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byeol-ssi · 2 years

Note

Heloo! I loved reading you "sharing a bed" trop it was amazing 😭 would you mind if i request one with the tot men? 🥺

Your work stays awesome as always 😭😭

hearts sealed by starlight

✦ artem wing. luke pearce. marius von hagen. vyn richter. x gn!reader

✦ tags: sharing a bed (completely SFW, although slightly suggestive jokes are made in marius' part) + various tropes. slight spoilers for luke's part if you've never played through his personal story.

artem wing *. ⋆ fake dating relationship

"ARTEM?" your tentative voice comes out as a whisper of sound.

artem hums in response. it was beginning to feel like, somehow, the silence had gotten louder now that you were both settled in for the night — with you occupying the bed, and artem laying on his makeshift cot on the floor.

your head pops out from above, and you look straight into his eyes with what seemed like surprise.

"you haven't fallen asleep." a statement, not a question.

work had been exhausting, to say the least. on the other hand, he was uncharacteristically wide awake despite the fatigue he'd accumulated throughout the past few days.

artem sighs through a smile. "it appears you haven't as well."

a beat. then, "would you like to come up and talk?"

"about?"

"anything, really!" your head peeks further out in your sudden burst of excitement, the blanket around your shoulders slipping. "let's just think of this as a sleepover. we can even share the bed!"

his forehead creases, "we never discussed, nor drafted a written testimony, should an event like ... bed-sharing occur during our agreed time together within the scope of our contract."

"artem, it's fine. it's not like i would file a lawsuit against you." you shook your head, laughing. "i probably wouldn't win anyway. so, come up."

he frowns. if he was being truly honest, the contract and terms were there more for his sake, since artem doesn't really know if he could control himself around you without them in place.

but then you're already scooting over, and he finds himself swiftly slipping in beside you.

the sheets rustled as adjustments were made, and you both soon realized with slight, sinking, horror that the bed was much smaller than you anticipated — evident in the way your skin inevitably brushed against his with every movement.

you clear your throat, offering him a sheepish smile. "i think people will definitely believe our story now ... but you still seem worried."

"although i do trust the judgment of celestine and my peers, i sometimes wonder if i'd gone too far in trying to protect my reputation," he admits quietly. "i'm likewise ashamed for involving you like this."

aside from the strain that came regularly with his responsibilities, artem found himself under extreme pressure and criticism from his environment.

somehow, being single while he neared his thirties labeled him as "unreliable and untrustworthy", and the firm subsequently saw a decline in clients.

this unfortunate reality is what brought him to you. by agreeing to become his pretend (keyword being, pretend. other synonyms included: fake, not real, an act) romantic partner, artem would be able to secure his image.

"hey. we do what we need to survive." you slid a hand across the bed and threaded your fingers with his. "and also, i've never been this happy before. so, i want you to stop burdening yourself with guilt."

he swallows, trying to ignore the warmth that spread from your touch and your voice — so soft and incredibly kind.

artem throws an arm over your stomach, keeping you as close as possible. skinship and other forms of physical contact were deliberated upon prior to this entire scheme, although nothing in your agreement explicitly stated that these had to be made only within public view.

artem only hopes you don't report him for taking advantage of this loophole. "you might fall off," he reasons out.

fitting yourself against the length of his body, your answering smile is warm, sweet, and playful. "swear to fall with me?"

"i swear," he vows, and nothing more is exchanged between you that night. when the moon rises high enough to peek through the clouds, you've already fallen fast asleep in his arms.

and artem stays awake throughout, wondering if he should someday reveal the truth of his worries.

what he expressed earlier wasn't a complete lie, but truthfully, he's becoming less concerned with preserving his name the longer he spends in your presence and focusing more on figuring out how to keep you as his.

because artem no longer cared if this was all fake, as long as he could stay by your side.

luke pearce *. ⋆ reluctant allies to lovers

"you never said anything about us sharing a room," LUKE snaps brusquely, trapping the phone between his ear and his shoulder. "i only agreed to this because you insisted that we could find a potential cure around here."

"just think of it as a vacation! you don't need any added stress, so don't worry about it and have fun. but not too much fun, if you catch my meaning. also, try to keep your hands to your —"

luke promptly ends the phone call as he steps back into the bedroom. two lamps had been left burning by the bedside tables, casting the space in a soft, warm glow.

you were already tucked into bed, cream-colored sheets dipping with the shape of your figure. you look up when he enters, setting the tablet in your hands aside. "was that doctor aaron?"

luke nods, dropping to the armchair. he rubs his forehead, trying to center himself. he's aware that he was being irrational, a far cry from his usual self.

the tension hanging precariously between you both wasn't the most ideal as well — another issue he admitted to being the cause for acting so cold and standoffish.

you purse your lips. "is something wrong? did he have any new leads?"

"no, no. he was just ..." playing matchmaker where his services were clearly unwanted, his mind provided. he coughs into his fist. "checking in."

an awkward silence ensues, one you break by nodding to where he was sitting. "okay ... are you sure you're comfortable sleeping there?"

"i've slept in a lot worse places. this is fine."

a sigh leaves your lips. "you don't have to. we can share, alright?" you propose, more forcefully this time. "i'd rather not have dr. aaron find out and scold me for not taking care of my patient."

ah, right. it wasn't unusual to find yourselves paired up frequently and you've played plenty of roles together in the past — albeit begrudgingly on luke's part.

and when you accidentally learn about his illness, you agreed to become his nurse/investigative partner as per the meddlesome doctor's request.

why? luke has absolutely no clue.

it takes all of his self-restraint to not glare at the bed, which would be the bane of his existence for the next ten hours.

"fine," he concedes. he lifts one side of the sheets, revealing your bare legs underneath. there wasn't anything remotely scandalous about your nightwear, but he squeezes the phone in his hands, terrifyingly similar to how a scandalized victorian woman would clutch her pearls.

he placed the gadget down with much more force than intended, and hopped into bed as quickly as humanely possible.

a cool palm — yours, he realizes — presses itself unannounced on his forehead, brushing away his bangs. he sits up jerkily, confident he was redder than a tomato.

"luke, you look like you're burning up. have you taken your medicine? how about some water?" you soothe gently, raising your hands to show you meant no harm. "or would you like me to leave? i can find somewhere else to stay the night, no problem."

and this is exactly why he dislikes working with you.

he doesn't even know you that well — has been trying not to learn more, has been doing his utmost to keep his distance — and yet, you relentlessly look out for him without making him feel as if he was glass.

and all luke wants to do is surrender.

he blew out another frustrated breath, stubbornly denying how you made him feel. it wouldn't be right. it wouldn't be fair. he shouldn't aspire for the bond between you to develop into something more.

not when he'd be leaving you too.

and so, he remains resolute in his decision to push you away — like all the other times in the past.

before you got too close. before his heart fell any further.

"it's nothing," he rasps, swinging a leg over the bed. "you should get some rest."

"do you ... want me to hold you?"

luke's entire brain halts, as does his attempt to escape. "wha — what?!" he sputters, heat climbing up even further on his cheeks.

"i heard it helps," you shrug. a yawn eclipses the next words that leave you. "doctor aaron said so."

he almost groans. luke should decline. conjure some sort of excuse or half-ass lie. drive the wedge between you even deeper than it already is — once and for all.

yet, when he clears the thickness lodged in his throat, something else comes out of his mouth entirely.

"yeah?"

you nod, motioning for him to come closer. "yeah."

he blinks. just this once, he convinces himself.

"okay." his nerves settle when he shuffles hesitantly into your waiting arms. his arms wrap around your torso as you settle back down on the mattress, burrowing deeper with his weight above you.

your hand starts carding through his hair, the sensation so relaxing that his eyes begin to droop shut. without thinking, he breathes you in, calming his heart in the process.

after a long while — when more stars eventually come out of their slumber and take their place in the night sky — you whisper, "are you feeling much better?"

he does. but that didn't mean he wanted to let you go.

"could we stay like this a bit longer?" he mumbles, lips grazing your collar bone.

you don't deny him. "sure, luke. as long as you want."

marius von hagen *. ⋆ arranged marriage

"you can take the left side," MARIUS offers, quietly going around the hotel room and flicking off the lamps.

you embrace the soft pillow in your hands a little tighter, trying to ease the nervousness quivering in your stomach. you find refuge in the queen-sized bed — which was ironic, considering that the bed was the last place you should be in given your present circumstances.

"is this another one of your cheesy pick-up lines?" you joke, attempting to lighten the subtly-charged air by adding, "because you're always right?"

the corner of his lips twitch the slightest before he shakes his head in amusement. "i am. but also because you always sleep on the left."

the sky had already deepened to a purple haze that reminded you of marius's gaze as you regard one another silently for a drawn-out beat.

your eyebrows draw up when his observation slowly sinks in, and you likewise couldn't help the suspicion that laces your tone. "i do? how do you know that?"

"you're my spouse." he shrugs easily. the bed shifts as he settles in next to you; the rustling of covers accompanying his movements. "these are things i should know."

you ignore the way your pulse trips over itself. instead, you flipped on your side to face him, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "but we've never even ..."

marius raises an eyebrow, and the smirk that followed after spelled purely of mischief.

"what? slept together?"

at your appalled expression, marius tips his head back and bursts into laughter, his hair a splash of color on the satin sheets. you're certain the warmth surging up your neck could rival even the hottest of stars.

"why would you phrase it in that manner," you grumble, sitting up and smacking him playfully with a pillow.

it was true. you've been married for a couple of months now, but still slept in separate bedrooms. he'd generously offered you a space of your own at his own house, and you'd always managed to get adjoining rooms during business trips.

this time, however, your parents were adamant about finally sending you off on a honeymoon they planned and prepared for — much like your marriage, and everything else that concerned your relationship — when you both initially refused and made excuses to take one shortly after the wedding.

his arm shoots out to grab hold of the pillow, bringing it down to catch a clearer view of your face. he stares at you for a few seconds, his expression softening, but his smile never slips.

"i check on you every night whenever i arrive home from work."

oh.

"and despite how spacious the bed is, i somehow always find you taking up the left side," marius continues, completely unaware of how your heart just shot itself up your throat.

"it's not really meant for one," you answer breathlessly, awkwardly huffing out a laugh. your hands fiddle with the edge of the pillow, "maybe we should start ... you know."

"sleeping together?" he unhelpfully — and too cheerfully — supplies.

your entire face bursts into flames again, but you refuse to let it show. "yes. you're my husband." you stick your chin up, feigning nonchalance. "it's only natural for married couples to share a bed. it'll also allow us to become more comfortable with one another in the future."

he'd be yours for real, if only you knew, and if only you asked.

carefully, he brushes your cheek with his knuckles, the ring on his finger glinting in the dark. "if it's alright with you."

"it is." you lean into his touch. certain you won't be running away from him anytime soon, he opens his arms out to you.

you duck your head to conceal your smile, laying your cheek against the center of his chest.

"but only sleep. no funny business, mr. von hagen."

marius wonders if you could hear the beating of his heart sounding out your name.

"i would never. sweet dreams, mx. von hagen."

vyn richter *. ⋆ childhood best friends to lovers

a hesitant knock resounds on VYN's bedroom door. he glances at the grandfather clock, takes note of the time, and smiles inwardly.

it seemed like you'd never changed.

"come in," he calls out.

the door creaks open, and your head peeks in first, your shoulders and the rest of your body obscured behind the polished wood.

"hey."

"good evening. was the bedroom not to your tastes?" he asks, something that sounded very similar to amusement lacing his voice.

embarrassment flickers across your face before your eyes narrow in defense. "no, you know exactly why i'm here. can i please stay?"

"you're very welcome to. come in," he repeats, already fixing the sheets and fluffing the pillows to your desired liking.

you finally step in, closing the door behind you and heading straight for his bed. he stifles a laugh when you flop down — ruining his handiwork — and pat the space next to you.

he complies, although he settles in much more gracefully. "i presume you were experiencing some difficulties falling asleep?"

"it's nothing new." you nod, throwing the duvet covers across both of you. it flutters down similar to a butterfly's ceasing wings, cocooning you together.

"you're aware that i am a licensed psychiatrist, right?"

"how could i ever forget your two doctorate degrees?" you snort, rolling your eyes playfully. "you only mention them like — all the time."

he chuckles, lightly pinching your nose. "do not play smart with me," he tuts fondly, evading your attempts to swat his hand away.

you tackle him into an embrace instead, which he reciprocates. when you've both quieted from your fit of laughter, his hand moves to rub circles on your shoulder blade.

"still, you know that i can help you with this." he urges, more earnestly now.

you shook your head. truth be told, your response is one he's already predicted, but it wouldn't hurt to try and convince you once more. convince you like he's done for several years already.

"you're my best friend. i don't want you to take a look inside my brain. that's just weird and scary," you'd whispered to him on an evening similar to this. only this time, the features he's long memorized on your face were a whole lot younger.

"why not?" vyn prods. "it wouldn't change anything."

"you can't promise that. not when there might be something truly wrong with me. or even worse, you'll bear witness to pieces of me that might lead you to regret ever becoming my friend."

'impossible. i adore you too deeply, and cherish our memories together too fondly, to ever consider any part of you unsightly,' he'd wanted to argue back then.

he only refrained from doing so and bit his tongue because that would mean upsetting the delicate thread in which your relationship hung.

it would mean crossing the line of platonic and leaving the safe barriers of "in-betweens". and vyn was not about to hastily gamble it all away with a poorly thought-out confession.

neither of you needed to say it aloud, but losing one another was yours, and his, greatest fear.

"nah, s'okay. i fall asleep just fine whenever i'm with you." you yawn, bringing him out of his fleeting flashback while you snuggle deeper into his side — far too close to be "just best friends".

"really now?" he murmurs, masking the satisfaction that fills his heart and threatens to bleed into his tone. he presses you closer to his chest, his other hand wrapping around your waist, intent to hold you like he's done so, so many times before.

you hum, looking up at him one last time with a dazed smile on your face. "yeah. your bed is always much more comfortable than mine. maybe i should find one similar to yours."

or you can stay here, in my arms, forever, vyn thinks. he doesn't mind waking up with dead, aching, limbs for the rest of his life as long as your face was the first thing he woke up to each morning.

"sleep now," he tucks your head underneath his chin. "or else you'll keep me up all night with your rambling."

"you adore my rambling," you add petulantly.

even though you never said the words to each other, both of you knew.

"i do. now, rest. wake me if you must," vyn says over your head.

i love you.

"mhm. good night, vyn."

i love you too.

✦ byeol’s notes: just to be clear, these were submitted waaay before i closed my requests. i worked on this quite late since i wanted to prioritize my event first, so i apologize for the exremely long wait!

✦ reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated! thank you and ily ♡

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festive · 2 years

Text

✿ - and when I look at you, I know I am loved.

and at times like these, I wish I could keep you here forever.

✿ - cw: fem!reader, slight angst, maybe some spoilers if you haven’t done the three magis quest, morning sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, cum eating, cervix fucking. added my own headcanons onto Cyno’s appearance.

✿ - a/n: more cyno x scholar reader because I got him c6 and I really can’t get over this dynamic. thank you, thank you to my beautiful beta readers.

+ tagging: @rczc @kazuwhora @manjiroscum & @bubble4u <33

The sun peeking through the blinds was enough to wake you up, nearly blinding you as you opened your eyes. It's almost a quiet morning, almost. The soft snores next to you tug at the corners of your lips, causing you to smile. You turn as carefully as you can without causing the bed to creak.

Your eyes soften — looking over your lover's sleeping body, watching in awe as his chest heaved up and down. His hair disheveled upon the pillows and his lips parted slightly as he continued to snore. One arm draped around your waist while the other rested underneath his head. You allow your eyes to travel lower, heat rising to your face as you scan over the scratches and marks you left on his skin from the night before.

Cyno looked peaceful, and then the reality of it all hit you at once — pulling at your heartstrings. You wished you could stay like this forever, but you knew you couldn't. So after this, you'd be heading back to the Akademiya, and he would stay here, in the desert underneath the red sun — the land he calls his home.

Guilt begins to settle in your stomach, almost making you feel nauseous. I don't want to leave, you mumble to yourself. The impending dread of waking up alone the following day is weighing heavily on your mind.

"Then don't," Cyno's voice is soft, although still groggy. He startled you, crimson eyes looking directly into yours — his face mere inches away from your own.

"Did I wake you," you breathe out, admiring every little detail in Cyno's features, from the shape of his nose down to the sunspots on his cheeks and even the little freckles.

"It's fine," Cyno's lips are soft against your forehead, and even though the kiss was brief — you can still feel him lingering. "Stay with me,"

"As much as I'd love to, you know I can't. Not everyone in the desert has the same luxury as me and Setaria," You sigh, correcting yourself. "I mean Setaria and me,"

And As much as Cyno hated to admit it, you were right — there's a heavy silence, and if you were being honest, you hated it. It was uncomfortable. Cyno's gaze on you is heavy, and you're anxious to know what he's thinking. "Then stay a little longer."

You look at him, desperation gleaming in his eyes. "Just a little longer, please,"

You nod, "I'll leave tonight, so at least we can stay like this until then," you can hear the sigh of relief that escapes Cyno's lips. "Although, I want you to give me a reason to."

"Oh?" Quirking an eyebrow, Cyno looks at you. "Am I not enough for you, or are you alluding to something else?" He teases — capturing your lips with his. The kiss is long and heated; he's not sure when he'll get to have you again like this, so Cyno makes sure to savor you as long as he can. So even when you're gone, he'll still have the memory of this kiss.

Both of you pull away for air, and as soon as you catch your breath, your lips instantly search for his again. You nearly whine when he denies you another kiss. "As much as I'd love to kiss you again, I'd like to do something else,"

"You suck,"

"I suck? Hmm, you weren't saying that last night, if I can remember correctly, weren't you the one doing the sucking on my—" Your hand is pressed tightly against Cyno's lips, instantly silencing as you're reminded of the events that took place last night, much to your embarrassment. "Ok, ok, that's enough out of you, smartass!" You can feel him smirking underneath your palm.

"I hate you," You murmur, looking away bashfully as you move your hand — before you can say anything else, you're flipped on your back, with Cyno hovering over you.

"Mhm," he says, placing a kiss on the column of your neck, one hand beside your head while the other inches its way toward your lower area.

You let out a sharp breath, feeling your lover's fingers drag across your folds, smearing your own slick that your cunt had produced — until finally, he slides them in.

"Cyno," you moan — his fingers buried deep inside, pumping in and out of your hole as he bites and ducks on your neck. He angles himself better, making sure to pay extra attention to that sensitive spot inside of you while he thumbs at your clit. Rubbing circles against the swollen bundle of nerves.

You're clawing at his back — your nails raking across his skin, adding more scratches along the surface. (It's not like he'd mind, he'll wear them as a trophy on the subsequent trial he faces.)

Sobbing as your orgasms hit you hard, your walls spasming around his fingers, drenching them in your essence. Cyno pulls back — bringing them to his lips as he sucks them clean. "I'll never get enough of you,"

His cock is stirring in his palm as he aligns the tip with your cunt. Finally, he lets out a low hiss, the shaft of his cock sinking further into you until he finally bottoms out.

"Look at me, my dove," He grunts, his hips slamming against yours as he thrusts himself deeper inside you. You do your best, mind partially gone from the euphoric bliss — but you're able to. You watch him, focusing on how his freckles crease with each movement of his face and the sharp fang peeking through his lips.

Cyno places a needy kiss upon your lips — swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You give him what he wants, allowing him to explore the cavern of your mouth while he devours you whole. He hates the fact that you both need air. He pulls away — cursing both your mortalities.

And when he pulls away, he stares at you intently — red orbs drinking in every little detail of your face, from the way your eyes are blown wide in pleasure and down to the shape of your lips. Immortalizing this version of you in his memories for as long as time flows.

The sound of skin slapping against skin resonates throughout the room, loud enough to rival the mixed moans and mewls that escape you.

His cock stretches you out with each thrust as he forces his way inside you — the tip of his cock grazing your cervix each time, making you writhe and groan.

Cyno knows you're close. He can feel it, almost afraid that if your walls squeezed around him harder, they'd snap his cock in half.

Cyno's name falls off your lips like a prayer as you reach your end — your body going limp underneath him. It doesn't take long for him to chase his own high.

His cock throbs inside as he cums, coating your walls with his seed — making sure to leave something to remember him by.

And after all, is said and done, he rolls off of you, panting heavily — he turns to you.

"I love you," his voice is soft, the sudden declaration almost has you fighting back tears — and as many nights you've shared with your lover, you've never seen him this raw, this exposed. Still, the look on his face, you know he's being genuine, and that's what makes things worse.

And you think about it, it's enough to make you reconsider. "I love you too,"

You clear your throat, "Listen, even when we're apart, I will always keep you in my heart."

"I will never love another," Cyno says, rubbing circles into your back — your skin feeling soft underneath his touch. You snort, laughing into his chest. "Please stop. You'll see me again in a few weeks,"

"And I will count every star in the sky until you return,"

"Cyno shut the fuck up."

#cyno x reader smut #cyno x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin impact x you smut #genshin impact x reader smut #cyno #genshin drabbles #genshin smut drabbles

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 2 months

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 12: Catharsis

Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.3k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

"Then say it, Astarion,” she urges him. Her lower lip trembles. She unconsciously bites it to quell the movement. A single fang peeks out and glints in the sunlight, white as the purest snow. “Open the bond and say it.”

“I…I-” he trails off with a rasp and cracking voice. The words are lodged in his esophagus and anchored on the tip of his tongue. That presence in his mind tugs at his psyche, grappling for control. It speaks its ethereal omens. “ She will be your end. She spins her web of destruction even now. When she snares you, she will crush you in her grasp, and when you finally break, I will be there to claim you once again." He grimaces at the ill-portent and cedes, “Perhaps you are right. This is a conversation better had at home.”

She nods, crestfallen and stares at the lake with a longing look that he does not like to see upon her face. It’s the look of defeat. All hope is lost and withered away. She yearns for stillness and obscurity to quiet her mind. Yes, he knows the expression inlaid on her features well.

Is he putting her in further danger if he says it? Could the voice in his head be speaking truths?

He’s said it before. What stops him?

Is it a lie? He is no liar.

He said it before….

He said it….

Gods. It’s hard to think clearly with this tittering in his head, defiling his thoughts with its blighted ballad. The presence screams that she is a threat. She has cast some sort of spell on him. “A trick!” It chimes, “A clever, beautiful trick by a clever, beautiful sorceress. She means to unravel you! She means to break you apart, crumble you into pieces and dance on your ashes!”

She would not do such a thing. Would she? Could she? He has used his beauty to mislead many in the past centuries. Is it possible she is doing the same? She cannot scourge him physically, but mentally… well, that is a fate far worse than even death.

She would not trick him. She need not trick him. He already lov-

Hells below, he cannot even think it, let alone say it aloud.

He can force her. He can make her his with naught but a thought. She already belongs to him. He can pull her strings and make her dance, a puppet upon his world stage because he is the Vampire Ascendant, and he can take anything he pleases.

No. He grimaces at the sadistic notion and how good and powerful it makes him feel. His thoughts become contorted and serpentine too easily these days, a pit of snakes twisting themselves into tangled knots.

She wants something real. She deserves something real, but what in the Hells does real look like? Is it supposed to be like in the silly stories he’s read? Surely not. Those are just a conglomerate of lovely words, trussed into pretty lies that the eyes can view.

He hears them before he sees them. They stand idle in the shadows, trying to hide their heartbeats behind the thundering hoofs of the horses and the wind whipping through the trees. They do not smell like powdered iron-vine.

They are learning.

They should not know he is here, but he does not have time to ruminate on it. His heart detonates in his chest, leaping around like a frightened bird in a cage. The presence in his head serenades him, pulling at its chains, pleading to be unleashed. He needs to get her away from here, from them and himself, before he sinks.

“Run!” He commands.

She hesitates, her pouty lips set into a hard line while she scowls at him and protests his commands. She draws the Weave. It shimmers around her like a vapour in the air. She is beautiful.

She challenges him at every damn turn. He loves it. He loves her for it.

He loves her…

She will not leave of her own accord. Even if he begs, an army cannot make her leave his side, and he knows it. He knows what he must do, but he does not wish to do it. Taking her control from her, forcing her into servitude, the idea used to thrill him. When did that stop?

Yet, he will always do what he must, even if it pains him as he has always done.

He confiscates her control, “Run to the manor as fast as you can and stay there until I return. You will stop for no one and nothing.”

She’s going to berate him later for this, but at least she will be alive to admonish him.

She sprints, and he summons every werewolf, every bat, and every ghoul he can, “Follow her!” He sends several away as the hunters rush him. He parries and dodges, sinking his blades into ribs, necks, and chests. “Protect her at all costs. Signal me when she is out of the forest and return here.”

Gods, his head hurts as he’s torn, the rattling of chains in his head splitting his concentration, but he must make sure she makes it out before he can give in and be overtaken. What will he lose this time? Whenever he drowns, something is stolen from him - a memory becomes snapped and riven like looking into a broken mirror, another part of the real him lost.

Once he hears the baying signal, he lets go and allows himself to be consumed, and all is black, black, black.

Shadowheart tugs on your limbs and clothes, wrapping her arms around your waist and heaving with all her strength. Her voice resounds, but it sounds like a faint, distant whisper, like the sigh of a weary breeze over barren plains. You feel like you’re staring at yourself from a distance. Fatigued, faded and lusterless, you’re a relic of what was and what could have been, just another corpse littering the earth. The skyline is the indigo and blue hues of impending dawn, and the stars no longer stare down on this tragedy as they wink out like eyes shutting against an unexpected bright light. When the sun rises, you will float away and be forgotten in the sands of time.

You were so close. Gods, so fucking close. In the end, Astarion had been right. Love hailed itself a saviour and became your destroyer.

“The sun is rising,” Shadowheart pants, panicked as she tries to pry your fingers from their clutch on Astarion, but they might as well be fused to him. “We don’t have a second longer to lose.”

Each time you blink, a new memory appears and plays in your mind’s eye. Some good. Some bad. Some terrible. Is this what they mean when people say your life flashes before your eyes at death? The reliquary opens, and your hopes, dreams and broken pieces are laid before you to gaze upon.

“Astarion would not want this!” Shadowheart raves, agitation and dread, making her voice tremble. She shakes your shoulders and hauls on them. “He would not want you to die!”

I am already dead.

The first thin golden strings of the newborn sun weave their way through the trees, a grand lace of radiant light that falls upon your pearlescent, colourless skin. Shadowheart screams, her heartbeat pounds in your ears, her blood a tidal wave through her veins as she tries to cocoon you with her body and limbs so the light cannot consume you.

“I’ve got her, Shadowheart,” Astarion’s faint voice charges the air. “I’ve always got her.”

You barely catch it, another whispering flutter in the air, but his chest shudders underneath you, and you’re plunged into your body. Your eyes snap to his, which are open in a hairline split. Crismon barely peeks through behind thick lashes, but somehow, you know he’s looking straight at you.

You grab his hands, interlocking your fingers with his, “Astarion?”

He does not answer, but his fingers twitch, and his grip tightens, if only by a barely perceivable fragment.

Shadowheart clambers, her hands glowing the baby blue hue of her magic so brightly that she could rival the sun as she focuses every morsel of power she has left. She slams her splayed hands onto Astarion’s chest with a thump that makes him wheeze and cough, and he’s bathed in vivid blue.

“You’re not burning.” Shadowheart’s chest swells and recedes like waves over a storm-tossed ocean with exertion, “Is he?”

Astarion stills again, eyes closed. Yet, you do not burn as the rays of light prance over your skin. Your ears perk and quiver as they catch the faint, feeble beating in his chest.

You smile at Shadowheart and throw your arms around her, “His heart beats. He lives. Thank you, Shadowheart. Good Gods, thank you.”

You sit cross-legged on the bed beside Astarion and fixate on him. Shadowheart helped you get him home and into bed, but he’s still not stirred more than some muttering and twitching in his sleep in three days. You’ve not left his side to sleep or eat, and you’re getting hungry. Very hungry. Shadowheart refuses to leave despite your insistence that she is not safe with you. With each passing second, it gets harder and harder to ignore her presence. Astarion’s heartbeat is of no concern to you, but hers… good Gods. Hers sounds like a culinary delight being offered to a starving ogre. You forgot how hard it was to be around the living with their delicious-smelling blood and beating hearts, begging to be tasted.

I’m a monster.

Shadowheart knocks and lets herself into Astarion’s bedroom. She yawns and stretches. You can hear her bones cracking and grimacing at the sound assaulting your ears, “Still nothing?”

“No,” you mumble, clutching fistfuls of bedsheets to stop yourself from scratching your skin in front of her. “His heart sounds stronger and beats more rhythmically, but he hasn’t woken.”

Shadowheart nods toward him, “May I?”

She’s been continuing to heal him every day as much as she can until she needs to sleep and recuperate. You’re surprised she’s putting so much effort into helping him. You thought she hated him, but there is worry etched into the lines of her expression and sadness you did not think you would see, at least when it came to him. You push yourself against a wall, splaying your hands against the wood. You cannot let her get too close to you. You are dangerous. Being a vampire spawn has not been as easy as Astarion made it look. Although, it is substantially less difficult when you’re well-fed.

“Go ahead,” you nod at Shadowheart with a small smile, “but always be wary of me. I cannot be trusted.”

She scoffs, laying a hand on Astarion and reciting incantations in a repeating melody, “You lived with me for a year, and you only tried to kill me once. I trust you. You have better control than you believe, but I will be on guard.”

You wince at the memory. It had been only a few weeks into living with Gale and Shadowheart after they found you in the sewers, starving, writhing and feral with hunger. Astarion had made being a spawn look easy. He could be around blood and gore, and it barely seemed to affect him, but you learned quickly that it was not as simplistic as that. Shadowheart and Gale could not understand why you would not leave your room or why you barricaded yourself in there with every spare piece of furniture you could. One night, you had ventured down, and Shadowheart had been cooking after having had quite enough of Gale’s dry and tasteless food. She nicked herself with a knife chopping vegetables. A small wound, but the blood in the air sent you into a feeding frenzy, blacking out everything but that delicious sanguine tang and you had lunged at her. Gale cast sleep on you before you could bite. Shadowheart laughed it off, but it was a wake-up call to you.

You are dangerous. You cannot be trusted, and you cannot trust yourself. Bloodlust overrides everything else far too easily.

Shadowheart’s magic washes over him again but with little noticeable effect, and she frowns at her palms as if somehow it’s her fault.

“He’s improving,” you assure her, disheartened by her sullen look. “Every time, he improves. His heart beats stronger.”

She clenches her fist with a nod and a grin, walking over to the chair at the other end of the room. She gives you once over and states, “You’re hungry.”

You swallow hard, crawl onto the bed and place your hand on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat in your palm, and it comforts you, “Yes. I’m very hungry,” you don’t bother trying to conceal it. “You should leave Shadowheart. I know you mean well, and I am grateful for all your help, but I am not Astarion. I do not have the control he does.”

“He keeps you well fed,” she points at Astarion. It’s not a question, and you cock your head at her, “You were skin and bones when you left, but you’re looking healthy again. You’re looking like yourself. I imagine you’ve not gotten much better at hunting, so he must do it for you.”

Your fingers curl into him, “He’s trying to teach me,” you laugh lowly for the first time in days. “He says I’m atrocious. I believe he called it an affront to the gods themselves,” you try to mimic his voice while rolling your eyes. “He takes me out every night, usually.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Shadowheart’s brows pinch. “You said you didn’t have time to explain it, but we have nothing but time while we wait on him. Gods. Is he always this lazy?”

She’s trying to cheer you up, and you giggle at her. You’ve missed her. Shadowheart was not overly pleased when you showed up as a spawn, but she accepted it when you told her it was what you wanted. Shadowheart has been the only one, other than Astarion, who you can be brutally honest with regarding your morbid urges.

“He always did enjoy his beauty sleep,” you shrug with a giggle, and she grins. “The Rite had more consequences than we assumed,” you sigh, “Not entirely surprising. As for what exactly, I cannot be sure yet, but I think it would be best if he tells you himself - if he wants to.”

“I understand. If he allows it, I will help any way I can,” she nods. She will not pry because she would want the same choice if it were her, and you would never give away her secrets, just as you refuse to give away his, “You need not be alone in this.”

Hells below. Shadowheart never fails you.

“I could hug you right now, Shadowheart.” You smile, fangs bared, because you do not need to hide from her, “But can we perhaps wait until I’ve eaten and you’re not looking so godsdamn delicious?”

“I’ll have you know that I am as delicious as you are pale. I will have to tell Astarion to get you out into the sun more often,” she giggles as you groan. You’ve had enough sun for a while after your last dalliance with it, “I will take the hug when you’re feeling less peckish. I like my blood in my veins.”

Peckish is an understatement. You could eat a bear, or two, or three, or perhaps an army of them right now. Those hunger cramps and spasms in your muscles are starting to make themselves known and hard to control. Your mouth is a salivating spring, and you have to swallow excessively lest you drool. If Astarion does not wake soon, you will have to push Shadowheart out with physical force if she does not heed your warnings.

“You really should think about going home, Shadowheart,” you urge with a plea that wobbles your intonation. Your hand hovers over bandaged wounds. The superficial ones healed long ago, but these. Gods. Any of these would have killed a mortal man instantly, and he has several, “Astarion just needs time to heal, I think.”

Shadowheart’s eyes flash with that pig-headed defiance you’ve come to know, and she sniffs, “I’m not leaving until he wakes,” she smirks as you grumble under your breath at her, “Is there anything you can tell me about what is going on with him?”

“I know this will be a challenge for you,” you smirk at her with a knowing glower, “But when he wakes, try not to make him angry. You two have always been like cats and dogs, but try not to push him too far. When he gets angry…. Well, let’s say he is not himself.”

“Don’t make him angry?” Shadowheart scoffs, crossing her arms and turning her nose up with a brashly twisted mouth, “Gods. That will be quite the task. He can be exceptionally insufferable.”

“I heard that.” Astarion grumbles, clicking his tongue while opening his eyes sluggishly, “I am a positively magnificent bastard, aren’t I?”

“Astarion!” You nosedive into him, wrapping your arms around him and basking in the warmth of his skin.

“Well, hello, little love,” he purrs comfortingly. His arm wraps around you and compresses you against his chest with his nose in your hair. He thrusts you back with one arm and scans you, “You are alright?”

“Me!?” You fight the overwhelming desire to shake him. He’s just woken up, and he’s asking about you? “You stupid, foolish idiot! When you are on your feet, you and I need to talk.”

He chuckles, running his fingers through your hair, “I expected as much.”

Shadowheart stands, “I hate to break this up, but may I?”

She gestures to Astarion, and you nod, pulling out of Astarion’s grip with a reluctance that makes your skin crawl. Astarion arches a brow at your retreat. Shadowheart’s magic infuses his skin, healing him slightly further, and he looks at her confused.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Astarion,” Shadowheart emphasizes with a genuine smile. “She’s looking well. I owe you gratitude for that. She would not tell me what’s happened to you, but I would like to help if I can - if you will accept it. I don’t need your answer now, but think about it.”

“Uh,” Astarion is taken aback by Shadowheart’s authentic appreciation, but he recovers his detached mask quickly. “You’re welcome,” he says cooly, “I will think on your request. Please tell me this does not make us,” he cringes, “friends.”

Shadowheart scoffs, “Gods, no!”

“Good,” Astarion giggles. “I do positively enjoy our squabbling, after all.”

Astarion’s eyes swing to you, pressed against the wall as if you’re trying to melt into it. Your jaw is clenched hard, teeth rasping. Try as you might, you cannot hide the discomfort you’re feeling, and you look away from him, uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. He will recognize bloodlust.

Astarion pushes himself upright, “How long have I been out? Please tell me she’s at least tried to eat.”

Shadowheart answers before you do, “Three days and no. She has not left your side,” she points at you with a scowl, “Despite my insistence that she do so. You know how stubborn she can be.”

“Hells below.” Astarion is out of bed before you or Shadowheart can comprehend what’s happened, and he pulls you close to him with a tight grip on your waist, “I thank you for your assistance, Shadowheart, truly, but you should leave. It’s not safe for you to be around her. I will think about your offer and walk you out.”

Shadowheart puts her hand up with a shake of her head, “That is unnecessary. I can show myself out. Take care of her, Astarion. Do not make me regret saving your hide.”

Astarion chuckles, “I can only promise I will take care of her. You have my word."

Shadowheart smiles at you, “I will be expecting that hug once you’re feeling better.”

The shattered glass crunches under your feet as you walk through the shambles of what remains of the mirrors, vases and paintings you ravaged. Little pieces of mirror reflect the candlelight, spraying it in a flickering array across the walls and ceiling like a conglomerate of stars. Your fingers tremble over the curtains, but the anguish is fresh in your mind, and you can’t get yourself to open them. It feels grave to be away from Astarion, even though he’s upstairs, and you keep your hearing trained on his heartbeat, afraid that if you don’t, it might arrest.

With a sigh, you bend down and start to collect the broken fragments of the mirror that spurns your existence and remains empty despite your fingers gripping the surface. You breathe on the glassy surface. You know nothing will happen, but for a reason unknown to you, the refusal to acknowledge you sways you in a sudden grip on anger. You squeeze it, and the sharp edges slice into your fingers. Blood wells up, gliding and smearing on the surface, and you grin as if you’ve forced the damn thing to accept you are real.

“Decided to do a little redecorating, I see,” Astarion chuckles, arching a brow at the mess.

You whirl, compressing the pieces of mirror in your hand so hard they start to buckle and splinter further. You want to berate him for sending you away, screaming at him for compelling you and scolding him for dying and almost leaving you alone for eternity, but once your eyes meet his, the anger is washed away by relief. He’s alive, and for now, that’s all that matters.

I have an eternity to chastise him for being an idiot.

“Sorry.” It’s the best you can do.

Astarion walks toward you, and even though the floor is littered with rubble, his footsteps still make no sound. His fingers slip down your arm to the hand that’s clutching those broken pieces, blood still rolling down the surface.

“It’s okay, little love.” He coos, taking the fragments from you and letting them fall back to the floor. He kisses your blood-smeared fingers, “It was all horrific. Wasn’t it? We can redecorate.”

We?

Gods. He talks as if nothing has happened, and it vexes you, but you slip your arms around him, push your ear to his chest, and enjoy that steady and strong beat almost stolen from you.

Astarion kisses your temple, then forehead and then tilts your head up and moulds his lips to yours in a lingering kiss before pulling back and scowling at you. His voice is coarse and booming, “What you did in the forest was bloody stupid! What in the Hells were you thinking? You would have burned to death had Shadowheart’s damn wailing not roused me.”

“You don’t get to lecture me on stupidity.” You push him away and meet his ire with your own. “You should not have sent me away! I could have helped.”

“It’s not your problem,” he shakes his head.

“Oh, Gods,” you scoff at him, fingers curling into fists at your side, “Not this bullshit again! Your problems are my problems. When will you learn that?”

“No.” He hisses, “I failed you once, and the Gur nearly killed you. I will not fail you again.”

“You imbecile!” You scream, starting to weep, and you put your hand on a wall to keep yourself steady as the leaden weight of everything that’s happened descends, “You died! You were dead! You… you almost left me here all alone.”

The blaze of anger in his eyes winks out, sterilized by grief. Astarion’s brows rise, and the corners of his mouth turn down, “Oh, love, no.”

Astarion’s arms fold around you as your knees give out, and he braces you against him with a hand at the back of your head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles with his lips against your forehead.

You almost want to push him away, to give yourself some distance, because you are falling too hard, too fast, but he guides your head up, and warm ruby eyes unite with yours. The connection with him croons the invitation to open, and you don’t hesitate to answer. Everything floods in a downpour. All your nerves, synapses, and neurons buzz with the efflux of information. You squeeze your eyes shut as your body attempts to orient itself. You inhale several shaky breaths as his heart beats inside your chest. It’s uncomfortable, but Hells, you will gladly take that pain.

The flood eases and becomes pleasant, languid streams that cross softly, slowly, and you are one. You are whole. You are complete.

Before you can open your eyes again, you feel Astarion’s lips ghost over yours, and you part them for him in a gasp as you feel his desire ignite. A raw, almost feral passion, unbridled and uninhibited. It’s so potent it’s intoxicating, and your yearning bursts and throbs between your thighs. Astarion kisses you with ferocity, and his tongue darts into your mouth. His taste is rich, deep and dark, and you moan as you drink him in. His fingers slip into your hair at the back of your neck, holding you firmly while he pushes your back against the wall. He grinds his hips into you with a resonating growl as he pins you.

Good Gods. With the connection to him open, you feel everything. His pleasure. Your pleasure. All brimming and teeming as one ocean of bliss you’re going to drown in. Without his smooth skin against yours, you feel painfully bare, and you rip open his shirt, flinging buttons askew. Astarion slips your dress from your shoulders with a smug smirk and lustfully hooded eyes, and it pools at your feet as Astarion lets his shirt fall.

Pushing yourself against him, you sigh with a pining whimper. He feels pure and warm as sunshine, and he is the light that parts the gloom of sorrow that has clutched your heart for the past few days.

Astarion parts your folds, spreading them and stroking the slickness. He is not slow this time. He is not teasing. He is feverish in his need for you. The pads of his fingers find your aching center, swollen with want, and quickly settle into a rhythm that makes your body twitch and spasm with white-hot pleasure, making you arch off the wall. You moan loud and animalistic, whimpering his name like a verse that’s stuck in your head, and his throat steals your moans with his lips on yours as if he can taste the euphoria in your cries.

Tension coils in your belly, and Astarion moans deep and velvety smooth as you crest and dissolve for him. He doesn’t waste a moment. You can feel his urgency from the connection, and it makes you just as rabid. You need to feel him stretching you, massaging your walls, making you his.

With a quick snap of his wrist, his trousers are below his hips. His cock is hard and yearning, twitching in the candlelight. Astarion grips your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist, and he buries himself into you with one quick thrust.

The pleasure is so intense, either his or yours or maybe it’s both combined, you do not know, but you clench around him so hard he hisses when he inhales and groans, bracing himself with his forearm on the wall as if he might fall over.

“F-fuck,” he pants. He pulls out slowly and slams back into you with a snap of his hips. “Tell me you love me,” he commands with another pump, plunging himself deeper.

Your ears barely perceive the words he’s saying while you sink into your mind-numbing ecstasy, but you know what he wants intuitively, “I love you,” you whimper, lacing your fingers into his soft curls.

Astarion’s pace increases, uncontrolled and more frantic, as he rears his hips back and drives into you. He pushes himself as close as he can possibly get while he pumps his into you.

“Again,” he instructs huskily as he finds a pace that snares all your senses. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you breathe, panting, bucking your hips to push against his thrusts, rolling them in the way you know drives him crazy. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” you repeat a whispering hymn.

Every nerve quivers in bliss, and your eyes roll back. You clench, gripping his cock tighter and tighter with every thrust.

“Come,” he growls the command darkly.

Your lips crash into his as you comply, your body submitting to his influence. It feels like a dream to obey, and you crash into your orgasm like a wave crashing upon a rocky shore. You cry out, fingers raking his skin, thighs squeezing him as you’re cast upon that shore time and time again.

“Good girl,” he purrs. His hips stutter as the tremors massage his girth. “Again,” he barks with a groan, his breath hitching as he plunges into you erratic and needy.

Every pump of his hips is an ode to possession. Every twitch of his cock is a chorus of control. Every time he drives you to your peak is a sonnet to claim.

He owns you. You belong to him. You are his.

Yes, take me and make me yours.

You don’t know if they are your thoughts or his, but you hear his answer in your mind as it drifts on the slipstream of your bond.

“I will.”

Good Gods. Astarion means to make you shatter around him over and over until your body cannot possibly splinter any further. He means to take, take and take until you have nothing left to give, and even then, he means to take more.

And he does.

The smell of Honeysuckle, Vanilla and brandy is heavy and prevalent, arousing you gently back to your senses. Your eyes remain closed with lingering fatigue. The muscles in your body ache with an obnoxiously constant pang, and you groan and grumble under your breath at the sensation. There’s a serene tranquillity rife that you cannot quite explain, like a peaceful and undisturbed pond. You’re warm as if swaddled in a blanket made of sunlight.

Sunlight. Sun…

No. You should not be in the sun!

Your eyes snap open, and you flounder, graceless and clumsy. Steam rises all around you, and water swooshes and splashes over the sides of a ceramic-tiled tub, splashing against the floor.

“Easy, love,” Astarion chuckles, pulling you against his chest to stop your inelegant lumbering. “You’re alright.”

Your head quirks up, and your eyes meet his gaze. Candlelight treads and sways in the sanguine sea, and kindness coruscates, making them radiate softly.

You blink, and your hand slices through the water, “What in the Hells?”

“A bath,” he grins handsomely, sweeping wet strands of hair from your cheek and behind your ear tenderly. His fingers trace your jaw, “Apologies. I may have gotten a little… carried away.”

Carried away is one word for it, I suppose.

“Oh,” he giggles, beautiful and lighthearted, as careless as a child at play. It makes you smile. You came so close to never hearing that sound again. “And what’s the other word for it?”

Shit. He’s still in my head.

“Yes,” he kisses your temple, hugging you tighter. His fingers skim across your skin comfortingly, “I am still in your head as you are in mine.”

“You put me in a bath?” You arch your brow at him.

“It was necessary,” he smirks arrogantly. “I made quite a mess of you.”

Astarion reaches down, his fingers parting your folds, and you jump, confused at what exactly his goal is. “Relax,” he purrs. “This is not about sex.” His fingers rub over you gently, washing you and easing that soreness his enthusiasm caused. His feelings of affection and genuine, thoughtful compassion roll through the connection. “Unless you wish to go for round four? Or was it five? Or six? I could be persuaded.”

You groan and slump down further into the bath. Despite your exhaustion, your body responds to his touch as it always does, fire igniting within your stomach and desire making your skin prickle.

“Good Gods, Astarion,” you mumble with a sigh. “No more.”

“I thought not.” Astarion lathers his hands with soap and starts washing your arms, chest and back. He massages your stiff muscles with perfect pressure.

Should I be angry with him?

“Oh, don’t be sour,” he tsks, clicking his tongue and nuzzling your cheek. “You enjoyed yourself. I felt it. I felt it every godsdamn time. I almost couldn’t contain myself. You’re lucky I have such excellent control. That would undo a lesser man immediately.”

“You are full of yourself, aren’t you?” You laugh. Astarion’s cheerful mood is infectious, and you can’t help but feel a little bubbly with happiness yourself.

He shrugs, “Can you truly blame me? I am rather impressive.”

“I think it’s me that’s impressive,” you smirk with a wolfish grin, “If the exultant Vampire Ascendant could barely contain himself.”

“Sassy girl,” he tuts with a chuckle. “You are inconceivably enchanting. Even with an eternity, I could never get enough of all this.” He gestures over your body with seductive eyes but becomes more serious, “And whatever this is, between us, I could never tire of it, my love.”

My love…

The words descend in your mind, slow and tortuous like a feather falling from a great height. He does not love you. He said as much himself, and his silence and reluctance when you pressed him only cemented that. Yet, his actions speak different words, and his thoughts and feelings that you can feel utter different syllables. You don’t know which language to believe.

“I do,” his answer floats in your head, not out of his mouth.

You push away from him, whirling around in the enormous tub, splashing additional water over the edges. You need to see him, be able to watch and look in his eyes. His brows furrow in confusion, and he looks at the swaying water, “At least, I think I do.”

“What happened downstairs was not love. You want to possess me, control me and claim me. You want me to belong to you. I felt it,” you frown. It’s all so godsdamned confusing. “You craved ownership, not a partner. Is that love to you?”

Astarion’s eyes widen, and his hand reaches for you, but you bat it away, and he stops his advance. You need distance if you have any hope of keeping your wits about you.

“You want to be taken and claimed. You want to be mine,” he snarls, but there’s a sorrow weaved in between that choler. “I felt it. I heard it. I do not understand why you deny yourself these truths. Why do you continue to fight me?”

He’s clever, always able to take your questions, skirt them artfully and turn them around on you, but you know his tricks. He’s partly correct. You do want to be his, to belong, but you do not want to be owned and controlled.

“You didn’t answer the question, Astarion.” You retort bluntly, narrowing your eyes at him.

You have to tread carefully over these hot coals. If you challenge him too much, you’re likely to be reacquainted with his anger made flesh.

Astarion takes a deep breath, calming himself and smoothing his severe expression, “I already admitted I got carried away and caught up in the intensity of the moment. Sometimes, my thoughts become twisted. What more do you want me to say?”

You can accept that sometimes his thoughts are out of his control. You’ve heard the chittering yourself, and it’s like a flesh-eating infection that grazes upon contemplations. If you want him to continue being open, you must be able to withstand his darkness.

You can and you will because you must.

Always the lovesick hero.

“You know what I want you to say,” you whisper with a tear glistening in the corner of your eye. You know he won’t say it. You can feel his aversion as if it were your own.

“I can’t,” Astarion says flatly. He does not offer a reason. His fingers comb through his hair, and he shudders as if ice was suddenly thrust upon his warm skin. “You want something real? I’m not entirely sure what real looks like, but I will try. For you, I will try. But I cannot say what you’re asking right now.”

“Then I think this conversation is over,” you growl bitterly while climbing out of the bath.

Water drips down your body as you wrap yourself in one of the plush towels. You can feel his pain through the bond, and it’s tearing you apart on the inside, but you cannot fathom being his pet. You are not an object to be owned and flaunted, and no matter how badly you want him, you cannot allow him to treat you as such.

He does not speak as you walk away, your feet leaving wet marks across the floor. You don’t turn when you speak. You cannot see the sorrow reflected in his eyes, “And Astarion, if you ever compel me like that again, I will walk out and never return.”

His answer is calculated and numb, “I will do what is necessary to protect you.”

“Then you better be ready to lose me,” you snarl. “I am not an object you can wield when it suits your needs and put away when you’ve finished with me.”

“So be it,” he concludes quickly.

This time, you close the door in your head, although you’re reluctant to do so as you tread the hall back to your room. You are hollow once again, but you fill the void with hatred. You will find out how the Gur knew of your whereabouts and descend on the wings of death.

You know exactly where to start.

Elowyn.

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

I felt terrible for the cliffhanger, so I spent much of my free time writing this week so I could keep mostly on schedule :)

#astarion fanfic #ascended astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion smut

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jinkookspencil · 3 months

Text

i got you | ksj

back from his service, jin tests out his strength and a theory of his

tags/note: jin x chubby / plus size / curvy reader (f) / fluff + suggestive / established relationship (they're engaged!) / low-key seokjin has soft-dom loving energy here but it doesn't get that steamy

wc: ~1.3k words

description/note: just domestic fluff in the kitchen / spoiler alert for jin's theory: he's sure he can carry his fiance and wants to try it out / no mentions of insecurity on yn's part, she just doubts jin can actually do it / intended with a plus sized woman in mind, but i think you can read and relate even if that doesn't apply to you? as long as you have any doubts that jin can carry you lol / no mentions of idol life, this jin can be whatever you want him to be / they're in the kitchen and jin had been cooking but no other mention of food / i actually wrote a jk version of this first but i will post that second - very soon, it's basically done! i have such a thing for fics based around jin's return i miss him yall / i shared an update post recently detailing where i've been and how i'll be with this blog moving forward! /also, happy valentine's day, here's a lil love from me and jin to my fellow chubby/curvy/plus-sized beauties!! <3 again, jk version coming very sooooooon! / update: jk version available to read here!

The clang of pots and pangs echoing through your apartment warmed your heart. It was an irritating sound when heard regularly, of course, but considering how long it’s been since you’d had your fiance messing about in the kitchen… it was more than welcome. Following the noise, you find Seokjin with his back turned to you, cleaning his used kitchenware and cutlery in the sink and quietly humming a tune. You cursed yourself for not peeking in earlier just to see the man in action - it always was a turn-on seeing Seokjin’s dedicated, sweaty, albeit chaotic cooking. This still did something, though. Hopping onto the freshly cleaned marble-topped kitchen island, you take it all in: the faint smell of something delicious in the oven, the sound of the gushing tap water, more clangs of metal on metal, but you really focus on the man that stood before you. Your man. His adorable growing hair was too short to be long, too awkward to be short. His broad shoulders and new muscles now pressed through his tee instead of his bones. His silver singing voice, even as a gentle whisper, which you hadn’t realized abruptly stopped.

“Drink it in. I’m enjoying this just as much as you are.”

You wonder what gave it away. The sound of your footsteps, the ruffle of your pajama fabric, or perhaps an admiring sigh you hadn’t noticed escaped you. It didn’t matter. You were enjoying the view, surely, but it was even better now when he turned to face you, a shy smile on his face.

“Missed cooking that much?”

“Cooking, yes, I missed being in the kitchen. I don't need to tell you how much I fucking missed your bratty ass, but what I meant was that I am enjoying you. I’m elated I finally have my girl and soon-to-be wife ogling me instead of the men at the base.” He chuckles, turning away and hiding a sudden shyness while drying his hands with a kitchen towel.

“And I'm elated just to be with her... Now that that’s done…” he whispers, undoubtedly ready for what you were with his hands and eyes on your plush thighs, his fingertips toying with the hem of your pajama shorts.

“It’s like you read my mind,” you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to pull him in for a kiss, only for him to pull away.

That was a first. Since Seokjin was back, at least. The two of you barely kept your hands off of one another….

“Or not…” you ask curiously, cupping his face in your hands. “Seokjin?”

Your fiance silently continues tracing the skin of your plush thighs, squeezing the flesh in his hands. He exhales before doing it once again and finally looking up at you.

You jump from the counter and face him, trying to look into his eyes, but he’s lost in thought. You pull his hand to lead him to the bedroom, but he doesn’t budge.

“Seokjin…?” you ask once again.

“Jump back on the counter for me, love.”

You do.

“Wrap your legs around me, honey.”

“Well, I was going to anyways,” you say, following his orders. “In there…”

“I’ll take you there.”

“What? No!” you shriek, unwrapping your legs from his body.

“Yes, come on, honey,” he says, his voice steady yet soft as he reaches for your leg.

“Seokjin, you cannot carry me,” you say, now pushing him away while he tries to tug you closer.

“Yes, I can,” he insists with a sternness to his voice that reminds you where he’d spent the past 18 months.

“Just because you’re all buff now doesn’t mean you can carry me, stupid. I’m still big, you know?”

“Well, guess who’s also big now? I mean, I always was, of course,” he says with a giggle and a flushed face as he raises his brow and tilts his head downwards, reminding you that he’s still your Seokjin. You promptly roll your eyes with a smile, pinching his arm. He regains his composure in mere seconds, a hand brushing your hair and tilting your face up towards his.

“I will admit that I probably wouldn’t have been able to do it before enlisting, but… I can now, honey. I can.”

“I don’t want you to,” you pout, unable to meet his gaze no matter how intense you knew it was, so knew it was best to shut it down as quickly as possible. Seokjin never forced you to do something you didn’t want to do…

“You.. why not?”

“Because in the case that you try to carry me but then realize you cannot, we could drop to the floor and one or both of us will get hurt. You could get hurt physically since I have padding and you don’t. I’d get hurt mentally, and I’ll be so fucking embarrassed that it was because of my weight.”

“The number of things wrong with that…,” Seokjin tsks, cupping your face and forcing you to look him in the eye. “First of all, I can carry you. Second, muscles are a form of padding, too, idiot.” He pokes your forehead and puts your hand on his shoulders to feel how strong he’d gotten while he takes your soft thigh in his hand. “I can take it, sweetie - all this tells me is I haven’t told you just how much work I did in the service. Third, it’s not because of your weight - nothing ever was. It’d be because I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Seokjin… I don’t know.”

“And you have nothing to be embarrassed about, my love. Ever. I mean… it’s me. I’ve seen and touched you in the most ungodly ways possible, and this would be what would embarrass you? Falling? When I-?”

You shake your head and interrupt him with shushes - nothing he could’ve said would have helped his case. “Can’t we at least put a mattress down or something? In case we fall?”

“Babe, this isn’t Jungkook’s apartment. We don't have an excess of mattresses here…”

The comment makes you giggle.

The way Seokjin rubbed your skin calmed your racing mind.

The kiss he plants on your lips reminds you that this is home.

This is safety.

This is love.

“Just trust me,” he whispers.

You nod, allowing Seokjin to wrap one of your legs around his torso and then the other. His hands sneak their way between your thighs and the marble countertop, digging into your plush skin already. You’d expected Jin to start a countdown, ease you into it at least… but before you knew it, his head was nestled in your chest, and you were off the counter, held up high in his arms.

A loud shriek escapes you, making your fiancee giggle beneath you.

“See, love? I got you...”

He was holding onto you securely, with no sign of any struggle on his part…. If he had been struggling with the weight of you, he hid it well…

“The view’s nice up here,” you smile, resting your head atop Seokjin’s when he finally looks away from you and buries his face in your flesh, kissing and biting you there.

“Seokjin, I can’t smell your shampoo anymore. When was the last time you showered?”

“Mm,” he says against your skin. “Fuck, that’s… that’s a perfect idea, honey,” he says, wide-eyed and excited, though he misunderstands. “It’ll be like a movie scene. But first…”

Seokjin dashes towards the bedroom with you still in his arms, shrieking until he plops you down onto your shared mattress.

“Safe?” he teases, pretending to check your body for any bruises before you pull him towards you until he’s leaning over you, his face a centimeter away from yours, with his hands already all over your soft body.

“Safe,” you say happily.

72 notes · View notes

jeewrites · 2 months

Text

Hold Fast | Ch. 3 - Curdles

Series Masterlist

Rating: M for language, but this blog is 18+ MDNI

Summary: We leave the gym! A little bit of angst (that resolves by the end of the chapter)!

A/N: There are things I’m not tagging to avoid giving away the story. Please remember this is a work of fiction. See the endnote for content warning/spoilers. Tyty to @bloviating-vy for being the best beta.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: no y/n, reader has a nickname, swearing, reader is a powerlifting girlie in her late 30's described as short and she has hair long enough to put into a ponytail, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar called Redfly's, Pope owns a gym, reader's mother is a menace, a lot of Frankie POV oops, use of Daddy but not like that

<< prev next>>

[text conversation]

😻🐟: Dinner Friday? Pick you up at 7? 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🎉🎉 😻🐟: Gonna to take that as a yes

🏋🏻‍♀️: 💃🏻💃🏻 😻🐟: Uhh, I don't do dancing

🏋🏻‍♀️: 💃🏻 = I'm excited for Friday 😻🐟: roger that 🫡

😻🐟: 💃🏻💃🏻 😻🐟: Did I do that right 🏋🏻‍♀️: 🎉🎉

It's been a week. Time crawled despite your full patient load. Frankie had texted you about dinner on Monday, but you hadn't heard from him since. It's not like you were great with texting either, seeing patients all day and charting in between, as fast as your fingers could humanly type. And the last thing you needed was for him to be texting and flying.

His last text had you chuckling between patients, a half smile ghosting your lips for the rest of the day. Your co-worker remarked on your good mood and you let it slip that you had a date you were looking forward to, before you remembered why you kept your romantic life private. What does he do? Is he also a doctor? Did you land another surgeon? What do your parents think? Does he want kids? Show us a picture!

As much as you liked and cared about the other physicians at the shared practice, they were also all mothers of young children, busy with playdates and the whirlwind of family life. The group practice was set up so the physicians could work part-time while also raising their babies. As the sole single and childless physician of the practice however, it felt like they lived vicariously through you sometimes. Well intentioned but prying questions into your love life or your life in general (what do you do with all that free time?). When you first started at the practice you declared any discussion about your failed engagement off limits. To distract from the drama of that whole part of your life, you sometimes offered up bits about your online dating adventures much to their interest and amusement. That is, until you heard, "I'm so glad I don't have to date anymore" for the millionth time. Ugh.

As you scarf down the last of your lunch on Friday, you feel your phone vibrate, alerting you to a new message. You take a quick peek, smiling when you see it's from Frankie. Your smile falls the next moment as you open the text.

😻🐟: have to raincheck on dinner sweets 🏋🏻‍♀️: is everything ok?

A text bubble appears after you respond, “...” flickering for what feels like eternity before disappearing. Your stomach curdles in concern and disappointment, was he okay? You didn't think he had his daughter this week. Was she ok? You were so looking forward to dinner with Frankie, especially after your last disastrous date with someone from the dating apps.

Frankie was still interested, right? He had hung around for your entire bench workout on Saturday until he absolutely had to go pick up his daughter from his mom's. He had been so protective at the gym when Mike was being an absolute douchebag.

Although he was also protective of Chloe too, that irritating voice in your head, your mother's voice, reminded you. As you sigh, staring at the phone willing him to respond, your favorite nurse Suze pokes her head into the break room alerting you of your next patient that arrived early.

"Ok, be right there," you respond, trying to keep an upbeat tone as you shove your phone and disappointment into your pocket and throw your trash away.

Frankie isn't sure when was the last time he slept more than two consecutive hours since Wednesday. Fuck, Delta-Force Ops Training was easier than this. First, Vanessa had texted Sunday morning, begging Frankie to keep Gabi this week, her week, for some opaque reason related to work being extra busy and Vanessa needing more time for herself. I never ask you for favors, Francisco, Vanessa had guilted him over the phone.

Frankie figured with his work schedule working in his favor this week, he could keep Gabi and have his mamá watch her on the days he flew and on Friday evening so he could still take you out to dinner. His grand plans came crashing down when Gabi started fussing Wednesday, clinging to Frankie and refusing to go to sleep alone. At breakfast she seemed ok, like maybe she just had a cold or something. By dinner time she was burning up, refusing to eat or drink anything. Snot nosed, congested cough, and crying unless he held her. So he did, rocked her all night in her little toddler bed. Waking up to check her temperature, listen to her breathing, was she getting enough oxygen? and jolting awake at every whimper, cough, or cry.

Gabi's congested cries snap Frankie’s attention back to her as he smooths her matted curls away from her face. She's still feverish to the touch and absolutely miserable. He briefly considers calling Vanessa in his desperation, but could already hear her biting response laced with resentment and anger. Why are you bothering me, Francisco? You're not doing me a favor by calling me when you agreed to keep her. You're the parent with custody right now, so fucking parent already.

This is the first time Gabi has gotten this sick when he had her on his own. Was this the flu? Did she have RSV? Why wouldn't she eat anything? Why couldn't the pediatrician's office fit her in this afternoon?

Call first thing tomorrow if she's doing worse and the Saturday on-call pediatrician can see her, the nurse's aide at the doctor's office tells him before relaying additional instructions on keeping Gabi comfortable and what signs to look for if she needs to go to the ER. It's only after Frankie hangs up the phone that he realizes it's Friday afternoon. He's supposed to take you out in a few hours.

Fuck.

He carefully sets Gabi down and tucks her blankets in around her before walking to the kitchen to wolf something down (when is the last time he ate something?) and text you. He hopes you'll understand he isn't blowing you off, that he really does want to take you out. You'll understand right? You have to know how much he likes you, admires you, is drawn to you anytime you are in the same place together, just wanting to be in your captivating presence. He still thinks you are miles out of his league, too smart, too pretty, too alive, to waste your time on a washed up someone like him with so. much. baggage.

The fatigue hits him from left field as he texts you to cancel. Eyelids like lead weights despite the bright afternoon sun. As he reads your text response and tries to type his own reply, Gabi lets out a pained cry that sends his fried nerves into overdrive. He drops his phone on the kitchen counter to rush to her side. He tucks her back into his arms, soft words for comfort, and gently rocks her and himself into a hazy half sleep.

It is still light out when you finally get home from work, but the apartment feels dark and cold for the first time since you left Chase and moved here. Your safe haven feels... lonely now. Too quiet. A single empty coffee mug sits on the small dining table, a ring of tacky coffee dried on the inside, abandoned where you left it as you rushed out the door this morning.

You flop on your small couch and text Frankie one more time asking if he is okay. The silence you usually welcome sits heavy — dense and gray — as you wait for a response. When none comes, you consider showing up at Redfly's to hangout with Benny and the guys, but you realize you'd have to explain why you are there and not out to dinner with Frankie. This is what Chloé must have meant when she was worried things would get complicated.

You need to get out of your apartment, out of your head, before you drown in the silence. You consider for half a second, phone in hand and thumb hovering over a dating app icon, maybe you should respond to the dozen or so messages in your inbox, before you click your phone off. No, you didn't want to make it more messy and you are just reacting. Running from fucking feelings that spread like tendrils down your spine and around your chest the more you think about Frankie and the way he looked at you with those big brown eyes, listened to you, and showed you that he was, is, interested. There has to be a legitimate reason he canceled on you tonight.

So you decide to do what you always do when you need to work out your big feelings. You go work out your muscles. Bigger muscles to handle bigger feelings. Release the not good enough, never good enough insecurities bubbling up and move through them rep by rep. Between a rare work shift tomorrow and the rest of the guys gathering at Redfly's, it feels like as good a time as any to get your SBD day in. You won't have to worry about getting in that monster of a workout after working six days in a row. Small blessings and all that. You pack extras of your favorite snacks.

"Who do we have on tap today?" you ask Suze as she comes around the corner to your work station. You cup your oat milk latte in both your hands, willing the espresso to work faster. Working Saturdays still sucks even if it is only every six weeks instead of every week. The parents are usually more freaked out and the cases often more severe. Fingers crossed you won't have to admit anyone to the hospital today. At least you got paired with your favorite nurse and you both worked together well as a team.

"Just the one kiddo with RSV-like symptoms so far. Dad's been calling since Thursday afternoon trying to get in for us to see her. Seems really worried, neither of 'em have slept much. Looks like mom is the one who usually brings her in, parents are divorced, and this is Dad's first time here." She continues with a list of symptoms she collected from the parent, adding her own observations and vitals she'd taken before you thank her and grab the tablet with the patient's chart on it to head to the exam room.

Suze lowers her voice before adding,“Oh, and between you and me, the dad is gorgeous.” Suze gives you a freckled smirk before heading back to the front. You flash her your best O, rly? face before you both break into maniacal giggles as quietly as possible. Suze always makes the work day better, you think as you make your way to the exam room.

You take a deep breath outside the door, glance at the patient's first name, and flip on your doctor demeanor as you knock on the door. At the muffled come in, you swing the door open and start to say Hi, Gabriella, I'm Dr. — before you realize you're looking at a distraught and disheveled Frankie cradling his daughter in his arms.

Was he dreaming? Did he forget to wake up and take Gabi to the doctor's? Why did the pediatrician look so much like you? Frankie rubs his eyes and looks up from his seat in the exam room chair. Nope, it is you standing there, white coat on and stethoscope around your neck looking like an angel despite the harsh fluorescent lights.

"Sweets?" he croaks. Ok, yeah, he definitely didn't forget to wake up because he can't wake up if he hadn't fallen asleep. He's sure he sounds as sleep deprived as he looks.

"Frankie?" you ease the door shut and step towards him.

Gabi lets out a congested cry and clings tighter to Frankie when she sees you approach.

"Shh, bebita, it's ok. The doctor's here to help you feel better," Frankie soothes, voice tinged with desperation.

He needs you to help Gabi feel better so he can feel better too. He looks up at you and catches you with knitted brows, chewing your lower lip for a moment before your face smooths, like you thought something over and made a decision.

You squat down to eye level with Gabi, "Hi Gabriella, I'm Dr. Sweets."

Gabi eyes you warily, "My. Name. Is. Gabi." Sniffles punctuate each word.

"Nice to meet you Gabi. Can you come sit up here for me?" you ask as you move to pat the exam table. Gabi buries her face into Frankie's flannel, shaking her head no no no.

"Oh, right, uh... she's been going through a big stranger danger phase," Frankie explains. He's worried you'll think he's the worst father, unable to get his daughter to comply.

"That's perfectly normal at this age," you reassure him, stepping back to give Gabi some space.

You hesitate for a moment before looking at Frankie and continuing, "It's kind of a gray area, treating someone or someone's kid I know... uh, socially." You pause for a moment, glancing at your tablet, appearing flustered. "But, um, I know it's Saturday and I don't want Gabi to have to wait until Monday to see someone if I can help her now. You okay with that, uh, Mr. Morales?"

Frankie nods with understanding, after panicking for a moment in his exhaustion, thinking that you are going to kick them out because he was supposed to take you out yesterday. Was that just yesterday? Also, “Mr. Morales” made him feel old.

"Ok then, please hop up on the exam table with Gabi for me then," you direct him, smooth doctor demeanor back on, as you pull the rolling stool over to the wall mounted monitor adjacent to the exam table. You pull up Gabi's chart on the screen and glance over the information.

"How about we chat a little bit about how Gabi's doing before we work on the stranger danger?"

Frankie grunts in agreement and stands with a groan before moving to sit on the exam table with Gabi. The exam table paper crinkles under his weight as he settles onto the table, checking to make sure Gabi is comfortable. You chat with him, running through his concerns, Gabi's symptoms, all the while warmly affirming the care he's given Gabi. He finds himself relaxing into the conversation as you lead him through your questions with a gentle and comforting voice. Everything is going to be fine. I'm going to take good care of Gabi. You did a great job taking care of her, Frankie. Delicate pecks on the keyboard as you document in Gabi's chart while also monitoring Gabi's body language towards you.

"Well, I think I have everything I need besides giving Gabi a once over," you conclude with a reassuring smile, standing up slow and steady, as Gabi continues to eye you, a miniature furrow in her brow identical to her father’s. Gabi burrows her face back into Frankie's flannel.

You offer soft words to Gabi who continues to shake her head “no” into Frankie's shirt before flicking your eyes up to Frankie as if to ask for his permission.

"How about I give your Daddy a quick check up and make sure he's healthy first?" you ask Gabi, a hint of playfulness in your voice, as you look to Frankie to confirm he's okay with it. You could do whatever you want to him if it would help you help his little girl, he thinks. Stab him with a needle and take his blood for all he cares.

Gabi pauses her head shaking and peeks out at you, soft brown curls falling over her eyes.

"Promise it's not going to hurt him, like it's not going to hurt you sweet pea," you soothe.

Gabi looks between Frankie and you with a bit more curiosity than suspicion. Frankie's heart swells as you talk to her with soft patience, explaining what the different scopes are used for, before demonstrating on Frankie, shining a light into his eyes, asking him to open wide and say aaaahhh, so you could look at his throat. Gabi giggles when he lets out an exaggerated aaaahhhh! He hopes he remembered to brush his teeth this morning.

Through it all, you worked through Gabi's stranger danger, peeling back layer after layer with your playfulness with the utmost patience and care. Frankie can feel Gabi relaxing her grip on his shirt, softening to you. He can feel the remaining tension he was holding in his stomach slowly unravel at your light touches and soft praise as you pretend to assess him and give gentle words of explanation to Gabi.

When you click on a disposable tip on the otoscope to check his ears, you let out a mock gasp “What's this?” that has Gabi climbing out of Frankie's arms as you magically pull a small stuffie out of his ear.

"Can you hang on to this little guy for me and keep him safe?" you ask her with your serious face on. Gabi nods and makes grabby hands before settling back into Frankie's lap facing forward towards you and hugging the stuffie within an inch of its life.

"I'm going to take a look at your ears now Gabi, okay?" you ask as you receive the smallest little nod from her. She allows you to check her eyes and throat as well. You note the redness in her throat before praising her extra loud aaaahhhh! Frankie's pretty sure you're a toddler whisperer at this point.

As you pull the stethoscope from around your neck, Gabi looks up and shrinks at the new equipment. Just going to use this to listen to your heart beat and how you're breathing, sweetpea, you explain, but Gabi starts to shake her head “no” again.

You pause for a beat before digging around the small toy box underneath the exam table before pulling out a play stethoscope. Now we have matching ones, you say as she abandons the stuffie for the new toy. You show her how to put the ear tips in her ears holding the diaphragm against Frankie's chest over his heart. Can you hear your daddy's heartbeat? Does it sound like a thump thump thump? Gabi nods with wide eyes and delight. He's relieved it's Gabi listening to his heart and not you as his heart started to race at your light touch to his chest.

It's smooth sailing after that. Gabi allows you to complete the physical exam, taking deep breaths on cue as you listen to her lungs, before you sit back down on your rolling stool. As you add to the electronic chart, Frankie catches your small grin as Gabi continues to play with the stethoscope, smooshing it against his cheek, nose, then forehead.

After a few more pecks on the keyboard, you turn to Frankie to give him your diagnosis (no, it's not RSV, thank goodness), but another viral bug that mimicked some of the symptoms of RSV. It’s been making the rounds in the community, but Gabi should recover within the week. As you move to discuss detailed care instructions and prescriptions to help alleviate Gabi's symptoms, Gabi tires of playing with the stethoscope and turns to you instead, arms outstretched.

Frankie can tell you're surprised as Gabi makes the universal toddler motion for "up." You pause before rolling over on the stool. Gabi leaps at you as you get closer and you manage to catch her in your arms despite your surprise. She immediately settles into you, tucking her head under your chin and plopping a thumb into her mouth, anchoring her other little hand on the shoulder of your white coat.

"No more stranger danger," you joke with an amused smile as Gabi cuddles into you with a sniffle.

You finish delivering the care instructions to Frankie as you rock Gabi, double checking with Frankie if he has any questions or further concerns. You reaffirm what a great job he did with Gabi the last few days, a balm to his frayed nerves and self-doubt. He could wrap himself in your reassurance and gentle patience, your soft, gentle words healing him. Is this what falling in love with you feels like?

"You can call the office if something changes or she gets worse," you offer, voice quieting. "Or you know, call me."

Frankie nods, relieved Gabi doesn't have RSV, doesn't need to go to the hospital, but also so moved seeing you with Gabi in such an unexpected situation. Your incredible care and patience for his baby girl, all softness and gentleness from your words to your touch. This side now melds with his experiences with you at Redfly's, at Pope's, the flirty fun side of you and raw strength he knows you possess. It makes him dizzy to think about the multitudes within you that he's experienced so far and hopes to experience more of it. Soft, strong, playful, and so fucking brilliant.

"I'll walk you out to the front where Suze can finish up and get everything sorted," you instruct as you stand and walk for the door. Frankie sees Gabi's grip tighten on your shoulder as you move. Baby girl does not want to leave. As you approach the exit to the waiting room, Gabi fusses, burying her head in your chest, not wanting to leave. Clinging to you as if she didn't spend half the visit hiding from you in Frankie's shirt.

"I know, sweet pea," you comfort. "Just having too much fun with Dr. Sweets, hmm?"

"Don't wanna go," Gabi pouts, refusing to look at Frankie. "I see you tomorrow?"

You look at Frankie for a beat before responding, "Well, if it's okay with your Daddy, I can stop by tomorrow and check on you. Maybe bring you some tasty chicken noodle soup? Would you like that?" Gabi nods “yes” into your shoulder.

"Sweets, uh, Dr. Sweets, you don't have to do that," Frankie balks. You've already done so much, he thinks.

You look up at him with soft eyes, "But I want to. If you're okay with it."

"Wanna see Doc-tah Weee," Gabi whines, pronouncing your name like weee!

"Okay, but you gotta go home with your Daddy first," you say as you manage to untangle yourself from toddler limbs before handing Gabi over to Frankie. "I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?" before you boop Gabi on her nose and hand her the stuffie. "Take good care of him for me until then." Gabi clutches the stuffie and nods.

"Hey," Frankie places his free hand on your forearm as you turn to go. "Thank you. So much."

"Take care of yourself too, Morales," you murmur, patting his hand and returning his gaze before heading back to your work station.

<< prev next >>

Endnote/SPOILERS: medical jargon, mention of needles and blood once, Frankie’s daughter Gabi gets sick and he cancels his date with you without explaining why. Frankie takes Gabi to see the weekend/on-call pediatrician and it’s you. Frankie falls more for you as he sees you interact with his baby girl.

👉👈 A little nervous as the story leaves the gym (we'll be back!), but I have such fun, sweet things planned for them. As always, comments and reblogs give me lifeee and keep me writing. I am open to constructive feedback but please be gentle with this baby powerlifting writer, yeah? I might be able to squat you, but I'm a big ol' softie.

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held @littlemisspascal @burntheedges @darkheartgatita @enretrogue @titabel @copperhalfcent

#hold fast a frankie x powerlifting!reader fanfic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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thiniceofeternalyouth · 4 months

Text

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER SEVEN

WISH UPON A PAPER PLANE [2 pt.]

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Chapter warning&tags : ooc, slight manga spoilers, profanity, mentions of alcohol, violence, murder;

Words count: ~11.5k

⊲ previous

Sitting on the bed, you stared blankly at the box that peeked out from behind the open closet door. The box was wrapped in purple paper and tied with a satin blue ribbon. Its night-lit edges reflected in your eyes, and the intrusive thoughts wouldn't come out of your head. You were frustrated. However, you weren't angry about why he'd stayed by your side or frightened that he might not change his mind, or if he did, why he hadn't told you. The only regret that settled in your chest was that you'd found out before December seventh.

The feeling didn't want to leave your chest, but you couldn't afford to sit still. As you walked to your closet and slammed the door shut, you glanced at your phone's screen and saw the low battery. You put it to charge and left the room.

From downstairs, you could hear a lot of activity: creaking floorboards, rustling jackets, children running and squealing, Frank's low exclamations, the clinking of cutlery or the clinking of tongues. As you went down to the first floor, each wooden step beneath you made a pitiful creaking sound.

You were barely downstairs when you were nearly knocked over by a passing Mike (who didn't even look in your direction afterward), who was out the front door in two seconds.

"I see ya've got this under control, don't ya?" you asked a panting Frank who was trying to hold a wriggling Tris in his arms while trying to pull off her snow-wet woolen tights to replace them with dry ones. "Now," you squinted taking Tris in your arms. Lifting her into the air, you looked into her eyes. "Either change the tights or no paper planes this year," your words made her chubby cheeks puff up even more, but she immediately went limp and fell silent.

"Ya're not much of a carer," Frank shook his head and sat the little girl on his lap again. "Couldn't ya've been gentler?"

"Weren't ya the one who threatened little me to take away all my toys if I didn't go to bed at nine at night?"

"That was a long time ago and not true," Frank muttered and finally pulled the tights over a motionless Tris.

"Listen," you began squatting down in front of them and began to put warm pants on the girl. "Lock Nael out of town."

Frank raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I thought ya two were allies."

"He owes me, Frank," you said grudgingly, wrinkling your nose. "As soon as he gets the chance, he's gonna set my ass up."

"Watch your mouth," the man snorted and flicked you on the forehead. "I'll shut him out, but aren't ya afraid of further questioning?"

"I think he'll understand why," you waved it off, and not wanting to talk about the subject any further, you immediately moved it. "Are the others outside already?"

"Sent them out to hand out torches to people," Frank informed. "We're already behind schedule today, two hours up the cliff and it's dusk outside."

"Then let's hurry up," you rushed them already pulling on your clothes yourself.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and wrapped the warm scarf around your neck. Even though Frank had assured you that you were fine after your bath that morning, you were still relieved that there wasn't a single blackened strand on your head, just your own hair color.

The steps creaked again, so prolonged and pitiful that they sounded as if they were about to fail, a sign that more than one person had went down the stairs.

Danielle appeared on the steps holding a folded paper plane in one hand and holding her side with the other. She struggled to move her feet, and on the next step, when she nearly stumbled and flew down, Megumi snorted irritably and picked her up.

He gave you a brief nod as he walked by and sat Dany on a stool near the entrance. He silently began to put her shoes on.

"Bun," you turned to the girl worriedly. "Wouldn't ya rather stay home?"

Megumi didn't even let Danielle utter the first word. "I already tried to talk her out of it," he muttered sullenly. "But she's just, she-" he stammered and clenched his teeth with such force that jowls showed on his face beneath his lower jaw. "I'd rather carry her in my arms than change her mind."

"Dany," you said in a quiet voice. "Why don't ya stay after all?" girl only shook her head.

You were just as quietly called out by Frank. "Hey," you turned around, and he gestured for you to come over to him. "I don't approve of her antics, but I think it's especially important for her right now," Frank whispered into your ear, and you kept your eyes on Danielle. "Besides, she has a caring young man. Oh, and I'll see to it, if anything."

You didn't say anything, but just accepted it. You couldn't just lock a fully self-aware and almost adult person in the room. "Whatever ya say. I'll go to others."

The door was right in front of you, but it seemed like a long way to get there: all from worry. What's going on with her? If she's sick, why not go to the doc? Why didn't she say she wasn't feeling well in the first place? She already told you it wasn't pregnancy (and you trusted her) - could it be that it's just some food poisoning? All these questions were beating against each other in your head forcing it to spin.

When you were finally outside the door, the frosty air finally brought you to your senses. You turned your head up into the clear night sky: at first you thought it was stargazing, but when you looked closer, you realized that the stars were the same glowing sparks Axel had shown you earlier. Unlike the stars, it weren't stationary: the sparks were moving from side to side, falling and rising, intertwining with each other as if dancing. One of them seemingly the boldest, flew right up to your face. You gingerly raised your hand and touched it with the tip of your index finger - the sparkle vibrated like a giggle and immediately flew back up into the sky.

It was good that there were no clouds in the sky, so there would be no precipitation that would soak the fragile paper planes. There was no headwind that would have prevented them from taking off.

A loud clamor came from the side of the bridge. You couldn't see the bridge from the corner of the house, but you could see the main street that led to it - even there was a huge crowd. It would be no easy task to break through it and find the others, especially given the mood of the town now: everyone would try to stop you just for chatting or exchange mutual congratulations. That was the way it was done with absolutely everyone who passed by.

Burying your face deeper into your scarf, you avoided the slippery spots and started down the hill straight into the main street.

Nathaniel couldn't call himself a pedantic man, but every time he saw a hair or lint on his or someone else's clothes, he was tempted to brush it off, or when a corner of a piece of paper was knocked out of a stack of papers, he'd put it back in place in one motion. Now it was not the presence of an extra pair of shoes in his hallway that annoyed him, but the fact that they stood unevenly.

The man carefully moved one shoe to the other and exhaled in relief, but the next task was more difficult: to deal with the owner of the shoes. He did not hesitate and ignoring the dread hunger immediately went to the ajar door of his office.

At Nathaniel's desk sat a man whose black hair was braided into a tight black braid. He was filling out paperwork, and Nathaniel shuddered when the man licked his finger once more to loosen the sticking sheets.

"Ah, here you are," said Christian looking at him over his glasses. Without waiting for an answer, he buried his face in the papers again, and the room was filled with the sound of a pen squeaking.

"What are you doing in my house?" asked Nathaniel indifferently, clutching his palms together and hiding them in his wide sleeves.

Christian smirked skeptically, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Your job."

Keeping a calm expression on his face, Nathaniel didn't think to react to the barbed remark. "I don't receive guests at this hour. You should go."

"You know...," Christian said in his drawling voice, scratching his chin thoughtfully, and pulled an already-written sheet from the stack. "I had a terrible craving for peaches the other day. I wanted them so badly that I couldn't think of anything else. Big, juicy ones. I can't get those at the grocery store. It's all plastic," he held up two sheets of paper - the one he'd just filled out and the one he'd pulled from the stack. Christian held them up to his face, his eyes running from one sheet to the other as if comparing something. "A lot more of our people have been killed this year, haven't they?" the question was unexpected and clearly out of context. "Now, what am I talking about," Christian looked pensive. "Ah, yes. I had to go to the market. So, I wandered around looking for peaches," he put the sheets back down and swatting at them with his hands, slowly rose from his chair. "And I saw an old lady. Her counter was filled with seeds. Seeds of fruits, vegetables, and... flowers," he walked up close to Nathaniel and abruptly pulled something out of his pocket. Clasping a clear bag of creamy beige dust between his index and middle finger, Christian shook it right in front of Nathaniel's face. "Are you going to explain where a fucking huckster got the seeds of black orchid from?" he hissed, but broke off into a shout at the last word. "You don't have so many tasks and one of them is to just keep watch and buy up seeds, and if you don't want to do it yourself, you have people to assign it to!" yelled Christian, and Nathaniel phlegmatically brushed the saliva off his cheek with his hand. "What if the demons saw this? What would they do to her? Don't you feel sorry for granny?" he asked in a mocking tone.

"If I remember correctly, we all have equal responsibilities. You have no right to show up at my house and hurl accusations. It's as much your fault as it is mine."

"Remind me who put you in the superior chair?" asked Christian in a low voice squinting his eyes contemptuously.

"Y/N did," Nathaniel replied, cocking his sharp chin. "And as you can see, I don't kneel at her feet. I'm not going to kneel at yours, either."

Christian's eyes widened with indignation, and his nostrils began to flare with rage. "You are out of line," despite his angry face, Christian spoke in as calm a voice as possible. "She may have helped you, but I could easily get rid of you."

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows defiantly. "Shall we call a council?" he inquired. "So let's do it. I think the rest of the higher-ups who unlike you have relatives and children living in Hopetown, would be very interested to know why you're trying so hard to sneak in.

Christian felt as if he'd been punched in the chest, and he immediately exhaled all the anger out of himself. "How are you-"

"You're not the only one with ears everywhere. Honestly, I don't care why you need to go there. I just want you to remember that just because you've been sitting a hole in a superior's chair longer doesn't make you more important."

Christian took a deep breath. Exhaled. Repeated. He backed up a few steps and leaned against the table. "I wonder why, of the five of us, only you have access to the town?" he asked and threw a bag of creamy beige dust in Nathaniel's face. He caught it with a deft movement.

"Probably because I don't act like an arrogant idiot," Nathaniel pointed out indifferently and tucked his hands back into his sleeves along with the bag. "You have two minutes to leave my house," Nathaniel said and turned on his heels and headed for the door. Pulling the handle toward him, he added: "The lad won't kill her. So leave the two of them alone," Nathaniel tossed over his shoulder.

Christian clutched his hand to his face as if he'd just been punched. "I need to...," he mumbled. "I just need to talk to someone who's doing their job properly. Or else my head's going to burst."

At the very path that began at the bridge, you silently pushed the empty crates aside. Your tongue ached from the endless congratulations, and your feet ached from being stepped on at least a dozen times as you made your way through the crowd.

You watched the people leaving the path, and the city seemed so empty now that you could hear the quiet hum of the golden sparks that hovered above it. Kyle's shout of 'torches overhead' was still ringing in your ears, and you shook your head trying to get rid of the sound.

Itadori fidgeted with the unlit torch; he glanced around at the rest of the people present. "Anyone have a lighter or matches?"

"Don't worry about it," you assured him shoving one of the few overflowing torch boxes toward the bridge, away from the path. "Ya'd better catch up with the others. And ya two too," you turned to Danielle and Megumi who was holding her shoulder.

You picked up your backpack from the ground and opened it; it contained a stack of blank sheets of paper and a few dozen pens, the conclusions drawn from past years when someone had either lost their paper plane or it was crumpled and, as a consequence, no longer able to carry fulfill innermost dreams and wishes. "I think I've got everything," you muttered to yourself and slung your backpack over your shoulders.

At the same time, Megumi picked up a weak Danielle in her arms, but watching such a scene you weren't at peace with joy for them, only worry. She'd been holding up fine for a year, had she only just gotten down?

Gojo's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. His tone was childishly whiny, but no less demanding. "Can't we do the same?"

"Nope," you stretched watching their distant silhouettes. "I'm afraid I can't carry you far."

"Bully," Gojo muttered under his breath. "That's not what I meant," he added even more quietly.

You turned around to Kyle who was waiting just for the two of you. "What about ya? Going forward as usual?" Kyle remained silent glaring at the man who stood directly behind you. "Hey," you muttered crossly and snapped your fingers in front of his face. "If ya're gonna kill someone with a stare, do it more discreetly."

Gojo's arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. "Don't worry, big brother. I'll take care of her," he said, and smiling broadly, rested his head on the top of your head. Kyle didn't seem to care what he said - he was already vividly visualizing the scarlet trickles of blood coming out of Gojo's nose.

Barely escaping the clutches of his fantasies, Kyle finally turned his gaze to you and looked straight into your eyes - you only blinked slowly, your eyes squeezed shut letting him know that everything was okay. You were comfortable. "Okay, I'll go."

"So what?" you inquired indignantly, exasperated by his terseness. "Not even an annual tutorial?"

Kyle exhaled in relief, laughing softly as a cloud of steam covered his face for a second. "Ya know yourself. Keep an eye on the laggards, and keep an eye out so it's not like last year. I don't really wanna spend all night again looking for a kid in a snowy forest who just happened to fall asleep in his own bed before the procession. That's it, I'll go now."

"Aren't ya forgetting something?" you asked sternly, tapping your forehead lightly with your finger. Kyle gave you a quick peck on the forehead, and then, taking a step back and looking you in the eye, he turned the triangle he'd made with his fingers downward: lights came on the horizon. He hurried out onto the path afterward, and at the same time, the arms around your waist squeezed you as tightly as if they wanted to be one with you.

After standing like that for a moment, you tried to unhook his hands, but to no avail. "I heard from a reliable source that you wanna live in a dumpster."

"What did I do wrong?" he snorted irritably into your hair. You tried to tear his hands away from you, again without any chance of success. It was time for the forbidden moves - you pinched his nose. "Ouch!" he exclaimed quietly and his palm flew to the sore spot on automatic; you immediately jumped out of the embrace. "You know, you act like that and I'll turn on infinity and you'll never touch me again," he mumbled resentfully, rubbing his nose with his fingers.

"Is it worth mentioning that all this time ya've been the first to seek to touch me?" you rubbed your forehead thoughtfully, but when you saw his indignant look and the way he took a deep breath, gathering more air into his lungs, you immediately returned to the original topic. "Look," you began softly. "I know Kyle seems rude, but he just... um," you stammered trying to string the information together into something concise and blurry. "He has some trust issues. So please forgive him for this behavior, but ya... Could ya please not provoke him? At least on purpose."

It was noticeable how he frowned his eyebrows slightly, and the way he clasped his hands together across his chest gave him an even stranger serious look. "What do you mean? I didn't provoke him."

You opened your mouth, but closed it again. His lack of understanding confused you, and what made it even more confusing was that you couldn't tell if he was really serious right now or if it was just part of another joke. "I mean, 'I'll take care of her?' What was that for? There are tons of ways to piss him off, but ya chose this one-"

"Okay, cease," he stopped you, and put his hands on your shoulders for good measure. "Maybe I didn't really think about how it would sound to you from aside, but... ahem," you tried to look him in the eye, but he was trying too hard to avoid your gaze staring somewhere behind you. He kept hesitating to continue, biting his lip, and then opening his mouth again, trying to get a word out. "I just... I really meant it."

You chuckled nervously. "You can't even take care of yourself."

"It's because you spoil me!" he whined in a reproachful tone, and when he heard your impish laugh, he shook you gently by the shoulders. His reaction only made you laugh even more, and he started doing something weird - still holding onto your forearms, he started rocking you back and forth. You shook your head dazedly, drilling him with a questioning look. "What are you-" you didn't have time to say before he turned ninety degrees with you and shoved you into a snowdrift.

You sank into it, but that didn't stop your laughter from spreading, now more like the whistling of a boiling kettle. "What is that-" you barely got it out in a choked voice, your chest refusing to take in air. "That-that's your whole revenge thing?"

"Not revenge," he hissed raking the snow that was on sides with his big hands and dumping it right on your face. "Justice!"

While you were floundering, he's already buried your legs in the snow. As soon as you were able to lift your body up, he shoved you back down.

"Ouch," you squeaked squeezing your head into your shoulders. "It seems I got snow down my back. It's cold!"

"What?" he exclaimed restlessly, immediately pulling you to him. He fussily but gently wiped the melted snow from your face with his palms, and when he reached under your scarf to wipe the back of your head, he felt that it was completely dry.

"Hey ya," you said quietly, squinting your eyes slyly. "The strongest sorcerer in the world as naive as a five-year-old."

He looked at you as if you'd stabbed him in the back with your dagger. Still sitting in the cold snow, he sighed dramatically and turned away from you, hand resting on his cheek. You knew it was just a joke - he'd pulled that trick more than once. Nevertheless, you crawled up behind him and rested your chin on his shoulder. He was lazily tracing patterns in the snow with his finger, not paying attention to you, and you had no choice but to rub your nose against his neck - once you did that, you looked at his profile again. "Some of us won't live to be old," he muttered turning his head slightly toward you. "Perhaps that someone is you. I'll kill you myself."

"Yeah," you said smiling. You started to pinch his sides: maybe it didn't have the same effect through the thick fabric of his jacket, but he started to smile - you could see the corners of his lips lift. "I know," you pulled away from him, but as always you didn't notice the way his gaze dimmed as you did so. "We should go."

It was a joke. Just a joke.

To the tinkling music of the heavy chains sang someone's long painful whimper. The woman's hands dangled limply in the shackles, and almost all of her fingers were missing their nails - and the ones that were left had small, thin nails hammered under them. As she struggled to move her arms, she sobbed raggedly and then began to cough up choking on her own blood.

She tried once more to raise herself up, and once more she failed. She couldn't feel her legs at all, and through the shroud of tears and pus she tried to see if they were still there.

As a child, the captive was a decent girl - an obedient daughter, a diligent pupil, always trying not to upset her mother and father. As a teenager, she tried to ignore all of the attentions and was immersed in her studies - she was too concerned about her own future. Of course, she fell in love at university, but is that a sin? With that man, she had a happy marriage, though not without minor scrapes and quarrels, but she never betrayed her beloved husband. They had two wonderful children, to whom the woman tried to give everything, and if it was not enough material resources - she made up for it with all-consuming maternal love.

The captive didn't understand what she did wrong.

She used her willpower alone to force her weakened body to sway sideways - sitting still was much more painful. That made the chains rattle with renewed vigor, and the man who had been tirelessly correcting the painting on the wall before finally turned around. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" He walked over to her and gently cupped his fingers around her chin forcing her to look into his eyes. "Thirsty?" the woman nodded weakly, though it was as her head had just dropped from helplessness.

Pouring water from the carafe into a glass, the man cupped her cheeks and brought the glass to her mouth. Her swallowing reflex was almost non-existent as the water ran down her neck, washing away the fresh blood and soaking the old dried one. "Here ya go," he said softly, scrutinizing her face. "Feeling better?"

The woman only covered her eyes, and he immediately removed his hand from her; the captive's head collapsed back against her chest.

However, the man paid no further attention to her; he put the empty glass on the table and returned to painting. He circled the canvas with his hands, barely touching it - he wanted to feel every stroke of paint, but lacked the courage to apply more force. "One of the three studies of the crucifixion," he whispered reverently, unable to take his eyes off the painted bloody human body writhing on the bed. "Ya really don't know where the others are?"

The captive was silent.

The man exhaled quietly and clenched his teeth only to unclench them and smile again. He turned and walked over to the woman again and squatted down in front of her; the captive clenched into a ball, as tight as she could be with her chained limbs. "Ya're an honorary restorer at the Solomon Guggenheim Museum, did they really not tell ya where paintings were taken?" he gently tucked a strand of her dirty hair (what little was left of it) behind her ear, and the tone of his voice was so soft and enveloping that the woman nestled her cheek against his hand.

"Rei," a voice hit his eardrums, and it was so annoying that the man didn't hear the clinking of chains or the thump against a weakened and gaunt cheek, he only heard the whimpering of the cornered woman. "Not tired of sitting in the shadows yet?"

"Who am I hearing," Ray noted sardonically, getting to his feet and adjusting the collar of his suit. "Ya know I can see better from the shadows," he sat down tiredly on the couch directly across from the newly acquired painting, crossed his legs. "Unless ya wanna offer me something interesting."

"I know what you're getting at," noticed the voice. "No. You treat chances the same way you treat money. Wastefully."

"Oh, come on," Rei waved it off examining the blood painted on the picture. His whole skin itched with the urge to add the real thing to it. "I got too... over-excited that time. This time I'll just blow her head off."

"Blowing her head off won't be enough this time!" came a voice so loud that blood flowed from Ray's ears. He wiped the scarlet liquid away indifferently with the back of his hand. "And as far as your games have gone, that's as far as she's been able to go. It's your fault she's walking around our territory and besides... opening it up to others."

"How much longer ya gonna spray?" asked Rei through clenched teeth. The voice had no right to say things like that: somehow, they were part of the same whole. It was their fault. "Just tell me what needs to be done."

"Let's start with her rear," the voice suggested calmly. "Weaken it preferably, remove it as a priority."

"Be specific."

"Check out the redhead's habits. How she dresses, who she likes to socialize with, how much she sleeps, what she eats, what toothpaste she brushes her teeth with, down to what time and how often she goes to the bathroom.""

"Where has our former majesty gone," Rei sighed staring blankly at one point. "If queens used to sit between our legs while kings licked our heels, now we have to watch some broad in the latrine."

The voice didn't answer.

The captive had long since gotten used to the man talking to himself from time to time, but what she couldn't get used to was his fits of rage right afterward. Each time, she hoped - no, not just hoped - prayed that in a fit of rage he would finally kill her.

She heard his footsteps approaching. Unable to lift her head, she began to sob quietly. An agonized and tearing moan escaped her chest as he grabbed the rest of her hair with a jerk. "So ya're not gonna tell me where the rest of the paintings are?" he bellowed in her face.

The woman wanted more than anything to shout 'I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!" but her voice had long since given up - the words wouldn't come, and she only had to shake her head from side to side.

Rei's face contorted. He grabbed the woman's face squeezing her cheeks - and it was unclear whether it was his gray strands or his eyes that were turning black faster. He was breathing heavily, and the woman felt pain - his growing claws digging into her cheekbones. "Okay," he whispered softly.

A second ago, the room was filled with convulsive sobs, but because the rage was confined within the four walls, it was replaced by the sound of tearing mandibular ligaments. The woman let out one last loud gurgling wheeze, after which everything was replaced by the sounds of blood dripping to the floor and the final clanking of old iron chains.

In the cold December, there was no music more beautiful to Rei than this.

The fire seemed to be warming the frosty air and pushing the winter out of its glow, but it was not the only thing warming people now, they were warming each other themselves. Some of them were already walking with their arms around each other, drinking songs; some were stealthily taking a few sips of wine or something stronger from their flask fidgeting around. Tired children were already sitting in the arms of adults comfortably as it was possible; other children, more active, were running from side to side, playing catch-up under the concerned shouts of older ones. Every passing person left footprints in the white snow, there was no better proof than this that someone was here, and that someone was alive.

It was a well-traveled and known road, but still the responsible adults led the younger ones by the hand, and the responsible younger ones led the older ones by the hand. Everyone was looking out for each other - everybody wanted to get to the cliff safely.

Frank had moved Tris from one hand to the other four times already, and she had refused to get off and walk on her own since the beginning of the trail. The man berated himself for it: just as he'd done with the three of you, he couldn't refuse Tris; he pestered himself with thoughts that she might grow up to be too spoiled, but if you hadn't, maybe this time it would be all right, too.

Frank never thought of himself as a good father. He kept going over in his head what he had given you and what more he could have given you, and it didn't seem enough, because he had missed the most important thing of all: your childhood. While you were growing up and trying to learn about the world getting bumps and scrapes, all he did was cut the throats of others. Higher-ups praised him a lot and often, but he hardly remembered it, but he sure remembered Rachel's delight at his first cooked breakfast, Kyle's brief but meaningful nod when Frank finally managed to explain to him how to use his ability of lighting, and your snide laugh when all the infant formula from the bottle he'd just fed Tris ended up on his shirt.

"Ya tired?" turned Frank to Itadori who had already been carrying Mike in his arms for about twenty minutes.

"No!" exclaimed Yuuji tossing the slumped Mike higher on his shoulder and grinning broadly. "I'm very resilient."

"Frank?" Yuta picked up the conversation peering out from behind Frank's big shoulder. "What happened to us? I mean... why did the sorcerers split up?"

"Son, it's been over a couple or three thousand years," Frank chuckled and was about to pat the boy on the top of his head, but remembered his busy hands and snorted unhappily. "I'm not quite sure I can say exactly what it was about. Although... My grandpa used to tell me that it was all because of the promise system."

Yuta tried to catch up with Frank, whose stride could be compared to three steps of a normal person. "Promise system?"

"I think you've met something like that," Frank hummed shifting Tris from one hand to the other. "All of this filth trying to negotiate something one way or another," Itadori looked further away with each word he said. "Long time ago, when the demons started to realize they couldn't cope, they started to negotiate with the sorcerers. Of course, at first, for just a 'small favor' the demons promised mostly more powers. Some sorcerers thought that this is a great opportunity: the more they will have strength, the more people they can protect, and other sorcerers didn't like it, because there is no limit to human greed, and all this will not end well. So we parted ways. I dunno how it happened, and I can't say that we had nothing to do with it... But as time went on, the caste of sorcerers that had given up on the idea began to be covered with dirt, and rumors have two properties: they spread very quickly and in addition, they grow with details that come from nowhere... and years later you look at it and don't understand why it was necessary," Frank sighed heavily. "Ya boys," he nodded his head at Yuta and Itadori. "Ya don't even know what the promise system is at all, do ya? I don't think your older generation is aware of it either... Nor of the existence of demons in general. And we're all just a thing of the past. But be that as it may, and whatever happened between our ancestors... I'm glad we're back together."

Yuta and Itadori looked at each other in confusion.

"We're glad to have met you too," said Yuta, and smiling, got all flushed.

"Stop it," chuckled Frank, and he thought he pushed Yuta lightly with his shoulder, but boy didn't fly off into the snowy bushes only because of his intense training.

"So how the promise system work?" blurted Itadori, and Frank raised an eyebrow in surprise at this unfamiliar pressure. "It's just..." he swallowed the thick saliva that rose in his throat like a cork. "Forewarned is forearmed."

"How-how... Unfairly it works," Frank spat in indignation. "Demons can watch ya for a long time, digging into your head for your most secret desires, and once they know... They come to a person and offer them a deal. If the terms aren't agreed upon onshore, the default is five years. I don't need to tell ya what happens if you don't fulfill the terms... If a person has done everything they were asked for within the specified period, they can also ask the demon to do something for them, and everything works the same way with deadlines. All this works in the opposite direction: a person can first come and ask for something. With one adjustment - the demon can pretty much say no."

"Can't a person refuse a promise?" queried Yuta confusedly.

"Son, ya think those bastards are gonna stick a piece of paper under your nose and ask ya to sign it?" Frank panted so hard that Tris wrapped her arms around his face. "All they need is your mental assent. They don't care what you say out loud. You can tell them fu- ahem, you can tell them no, but if they nailed, you're in trouble. You won't even know it. That's why... That's why hunters are taught not to want anything from childhood, and if they do, to keep it so deep inside that no bug can get to it."

"Why not turn this to your favor?" boiled Itadori. "Why not in return for their wants just ask that they all die?"

Frank marveled at the amount of stilted anger sitting in the pink-haired boy. "We tried," the man shrugged. "But we got the impression that the very concept of death itself was unfamiliar to them. The hunters tried different formulations: 'die' - only the body died, 'fade away' - only the body disappeared, 'burn in hell' - maybe they did burn, but they came back. Hunters tried to set impossible tasks, but if we take into account the fact that we want to keep humanity intact, there is no such thing. Ya can ask for the sun to go out, but there's no way to be sure they can't. But what if they could and would do it? Even if there was something impossible for them to do, all demon 'requests' result in a huge loss of human life, and it is too disproportionate and unfair that several human lives are taken in exchange for one demon life. I believe there is some formulation that will make them finally disappear, but so far, the hunters have not found one. The only two working methods now are judges and void killings. I hope you never fall for such a thing."

Amidst the chatter of all the people walking down the slope, only their voices were hushed - each buried in his own thoughts. Almost every minute each of them caught an occasional nudge on the shoulder and a loud apology as people hurried to the cliff.

Something - if intangible, but something to lean on - began to emerge in Itadori's memories. Their pact with Sukuna. The only thing he regretted now was that the curse had never learned how brightly human rage could burn. "Kid," Itadori yanked back so that Mike nearly fell out of his arms. Kyle, on the other hand, looked into his eyes searching for how he was feeling. "Everything okay?"

The anger in Yuji's eyes was immediately replaced by confusion, confusion replaced by awkward nods of the head. "Yeah," muttered Itadori. "Yeah, everything's fine. Kinda."

Kyle looked calm, but he still didn't relent and kept his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Why don't we wait a while," he pulled him aside and they stopped letting a group of cackling people pass by. Looking around, Kyle noticed that they were separated from the rest of the people by a few dozen feet. "No more bad thoughts popped into your head?"

Itadori's eyes became as round as two shiny coins. "No, no, of course not!" the boy rambled excitedly, and when Kyle was back on the path, Yuji scrambled up beside him.

"Look," Kyle began softly, choosing his words. "It's unlikely that I'll ever fully understand what ya've been through - it's not like I've ever had someone sitting inside me and controlling me intermittently. Besides, I can't promise you that the pain will ever diminish, but what I can guarantee ya for sure that time will change in size," Itadori noted to himself: the more times it was mentioned, the less pain he felt. Did repressed anger sit in him? Yes. Did grief sit in him? Perhaps. However, the pain flowed out of his body like water through the tiny openings of a huge sieve, or it still sat in him, but as a captive and overgrew the vines of a newfound hardness of character. "I know when the fruits of your labors are invisible to the eye, we can't help but wonder what it's all for. After all, the world would look the way it does now without us: calm, peaceful. We completely forget that it looks like this only because we had the courage to take on such a burden. Ya know what I mean?"

Itadori didn't dare blink, afraid that tears would come out of his eyes again, and tried not to sniffle, though his nose tickled unpleasantly. He nodded his head once not daring to answer, fearing that the brokenness in his voice might come out of his mouth.

"Cold today, huh?" asked Kyle casually, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Even my eyes are watering."

"Yeah," Itadori blurted out and began to wipe his eyes hastily with one hand. "True," he felt a sense of gratitude in his chest, and it came as sharply as the darkness of winter: just a blink, and there was darkness outside the window instead of sunshine.

They had been walking for a long time; the forest around them began to thin giving way to a landscape of bare rocks and cliffs covered with snow. The last turn showed on the horizon, and people along with their lights were turning and disappearing from sight. "I was talking to ya like a child," Kyle said. "Now I'll tell you like a man: you chose it for yourself. Get your balls up and take responsibility," Kyle was surprised at the harshness of his statement. They were already at the turnoff. "Still, there's something ya need to see. I hope that for you this day will be one of those memories that will generally justify living like this. Now look," they finally turned, and Kyle nodded toward the climb up to that very cliff.

Itadori stopped dead in his tracks, and he did it so suddenly that the people walking behind him crashed into his back.

However, he didn't feel it.

It was the third time the raven flew over your heads - Gojo kept throwing anxious glances at you, but you didn't seem to notice the bird, only stared ahead.

When the raven stopped silently circling over your heads and finally made a sound as if to attract attention, Gojo couldn't stand it, and behind his back - so that you couldn't see - he jerked his palm sharply, and the raven immediately began to fall straight into the crowns of trees. "Is it still far? " he asked diverting your attention and at the same time watching the bird's body fly downward.

"We'll go around that corner and almost done. We'll just have to climb up."

"If we're almost there, why haven't I seen a single person coming back?"

"We throw them off a cliff," you replied indifferently, shrugging your shoulders. "An annual sacrifice," you continued to tease him, and as he watched not a single muscle on your face flinch, he squinted his eyes suspiciously. "It's just a joke," you chuckled and nudged him lightly with your shoulder. "There's another road back there. The first year we organized all this, we didn't think about the way back. The road got so crowded... So we had to build another one as a matter of urgency."

"We passed one turn into the woods, didn't we," he drawled thoughtfully. The raven just appeared just as you approached it. "You mean that way?"

There was no point in lying now: when you were on your way back, Gojo would realize this wasn't the right road. "Nope," you shook your head. "It's just a cutoff."

It was obvious to a fool that it wasn't a shortcut - there was nowhere to cut. He was about to launch into another joking drama about your mistrust, but he shrugged it off - maybe that was all he deserved.

The last light on the horizon had already gone out; you were inevitably approaching the turn as well. "If that doesn't capture ya spirit, I don't even know what will."

"What are you talking about?" he asked puzzled, flapping his eyes.

You took his hand intertwining your fingers with his and turning the corner, leading him onto the final path. "Look."

He always knew exactly what he was doing: saving lives. He hardly did it out of the goodness of his heart - though he certainly had one - but rather to gratify his ego once again and to feel the power that had been flowing through his body since birth. He'd never seen the result of his labors and he'd never been interested in it, and no one knew or praised his name outside the sorcery world - he hardly cared.

Nevertheless, what was there left to do now with the feeling that filled his gut as inevitably and irrevocably as the coming of tomorrow? That feeling was reflected by hundreds of lights in his glittering eyes.

Those lights stretched and rose upward, and they did so as tenaciously as any hope can survive. What goes hand in hand with hope?

Every man could move a mountain long before he even knew he could do it. You just have to believe - if not in God or mythical creatures, if not in your relatives or science, then at least in yourself. For somewhere in the most secluded corner of the earth, faith kisses the hands of hope tenderly every time and assures it to go forward, no matter what.

What keeps them both going?

He unconsciously shifted his gaze to you - he was scrutinizing your half-hidden profile with an edge of his eye, and your eyes reflected the same lights as his.

The answer held his hand.

"Did you…," he stammered hearing his voice hoarse, and coughed quietly. "Did you do all this?"

"We!" you exclaimed confidently. "We did it all," you added quietly, but still firmly, and exhaled the exhilarating feeling that made your heart beat faster. "Let's go, the only thing missing there is our light," you shook the torch quietly. "I hope ya made plane?"

"Of course I did," he replied trying to suppress a smile.

"Won't ya show me what ya've written?" you asked peering into blue eyes.

"Dream on!" he hissed indignantly, pressing his hand to his pocket.

When you came up, there were hardly two dozen people left on the cliff - all the others who had made a wish had already gone down to the town to drink wine, eat delicious food, warm themselves by the fire and tell stories.

Still holding Gojo's hand, you walked around the embracing couple, and then you led him over to the cliff and nodded ahead. He puckered his lips, but you'd never say it was from embarrassment - his face was already red from the biting cold.

He carefully pulled out a paper plane and noticing you somehow furtively peering out from behind his shoulder, he clutched it to his chest with childish stubbornness. "Turn away!" he commanded. You, on the other hand, made a helpless and begging look and tried to peek again. "I said turn away!" you snorted and turned away: for the first time It didn't work out.

There was a quiet rustle and then silence, even the wind was quiet. The silence was short-lived; a few seconds later you heard an indignant cry. "Hey! It's gone!" he turned back to you, and you could barely keep from laughing: that was the look on Tris's face when she found out the snow wasn't sweet at all.

You threw up your hands and shrugged. "They always disappear, there's nothing ya can do about it."

"I thought it was just me," he snorted puffing his cheeks, but there was relief in his voice. "Now it's your turn!"

"Then turn away," you mocked him.

"How dare you!" exclaimed Gojo clutching at his heart.

"Turn away, or you'll leave poor me without wish," you sounded like you were about to cry, and without thinking he immediately turned away. He furrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment, realizing what he'd just done.

A small manipulator, that's who you was.

You turned slowly toward the cliff. You looked down at your empty hands and bit your lip so hard that you could taste the metal in your mouth.

"That's it," you squeezed out a cheery voice with the kind of difficulty that people use to squeeze the remnants of toothpaste out of an empty tube. "We can go."

"Can't we... Stay here a little longer?" he asked quietly. "I know you have a raid in a few hours, but still. I really want to hang out here with you."

"Sure."

Just as you were about to sit down on the edge of the cliff, an indignant shriek reached you. "Y/N!" Itadori was already running towards you at full speed with Mike in his arms, with Kyle running after the boy. "They're all missing, aren't they?" seeing the dumbfounded expression on your face, he added: "Planes! Everyone's missing them?"

"Uh?" you shifted your gaze from Kyle to Yuji confusedly. "I mean… Yes?"

"Thank goodness," Yuuji exhaled in relief.

"That's what I said," Kyle muttered quietly, wrinkling his nose annoyingly.

"Ya look like fucking yakuza. I wouldn't trust ya too," you wished you could say it to yourself; for under Kyle's gaze, your skin felt like it was starting to burn. "Itadori," you turned to the boy. "Ya okay?"

"I- Well, yeah... Yeah," he looked at you, and the way you regarded him made it all clear to him. "Did you... tell her?" he asked Kyle, and he sounded both embarrassed and ashamed at the same time.

"Just don't take offense to him, no one in our family knows how to keep their mouth shut, but it never gets any further," you assured Yuji. He looked at you, but didn't dare to look up at Gojo, afraid to see the disappointment in his sensei's eyes. "Alright, ya guys go have fun. We'll be here for a while," you patted Itadori on the top of his head, and with a glance you indicated Kyle to keep an eye on him. Your older brother seemed to accept your choice shoving his hands in his pockets and following Yuji out.

There were no people left on the cliff at all - even the couple who had been hugging each other was gone. You were left alone, and now no one could stop you from sitting on the cliff.

"What was that just now?" asked Gojo watching Itadori leave.

You knew what you were going to do. Break the reassurance given to the boy. "He kinda...uh, he tried to kill himself," you muttered quietly, looking down at your swaying legs.

It was too rare to hear him like this, in utter confusion and denial. "What?"

"Didn't he tell ya?" you asked uncertainly. "Those events in Shibuya... Sukuna overran the control and slaughtered people, so Yuji blames himself. We only got there towards the end; we didn't have time to do anything. And besides, Itadori thinks Megumi became a vessel for Sukuna because of him too."

"He...," he couldn't speak normally because of the rising lump in his throat. "He was telling me, but it was so casually, and I really thought that it might bother him, but not that much."

"Ya thought wrong then," you mumbled not taking your eyes off the distant tree crowns. You could hardly see them from here, but you looked like they were the most interesting thing on earth.

Without realizing it, he was looking at you pleadingly, but you refused to even turn in his direction. "You too?" he asked so bitterly that you immediately looked up at him. "You think I'm a shitty teacher too? A shitty person? A selfish asshole who doesn't care about the feelings of others," the last phrase came out of his speech - it sounded like it was an assertion.

"Satoru," you addressed him softly. The words you were about to say forced you to look away again. "I honestly have no idea if this will mean anything to ya, but... I'm proud of ya," you exhaled and without letting him get a word in edgewise, you began to jabber gesticulating vigorously. "I mean, ya've had so much strength since birth, and where strength is power, and power, it... it corrupts. But just look at ya. I don't care why exactly you're protecting people, but ya do. I don't think anyone taught ya the right thing to do either, so ya're probably just doing what ya can. Ya take custody of children, ya've even defended so many in front of your higher-ups, and most of the curses are sitting in corners shaking like mice just because ya exist, even though ya could have just tucked the world away and enjoyed it. But here ya are," you were so out of breath you had to take a pause. "Ya're here, and instead of burning some city to the ground, ya're throwing a paper plane. So yeah... I'm proud of ya."

You chuckled nervously; sometimes you just wanted to kill yourself for being so chatty. In the silence, you just wanted to tell him not to take it all in stride.

"Wanna be my best friend?" he blurted out and froze - his heart was racing too fast; he wanted to rip it out of his chest for a second so it wouldn't get in the way of hearing your answer.

"I...," you began confusedly. "Ya know, first... I have a question too."

Shut your mouth. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"Yeah?"

Just be quiet. It's okay; everything was going well as it was, you don't need to break anything with your little hands.

"Is it true?" you asked calmly enough, despite your earlier excitement and equally emotional monologue. "Is your pact with Christian true?" your hand that was resting on the cliff twitched, and a pebble that had been resting under the snow flew down the cliff. Enough time passed for it to finally reach the ground, but Gojo still didn't say anything. "Gonna say something?"

What you heard made you round your eyes. It wasn't his words that surprised you, it was his voice. It trembled. "How long have you known?"

You rubbed your forehead perplexed. Of all the answers he'd chosen, he'd chosen this one? "Yeah I'd love to say something like 'don't take me for an idiot, maybe I'm a fool, but I'm not stupid, and I knew about my position from the very beginning' and blah-blah-blah, but no. Nael told me this afternoon. I guess ya realized it yourself - I don't think ya ran into the storage all out of breath just because ya wanted to help."

His soul was a cloth of rubber threads, and with every word you said the threads snapped one by one. Where before Gojo had been able to sprawl on top of you without hesitation crushing you into the bed to your grumbling of displeasure, now he barely had the courage to put his palm over yours - you could feel that it wasn't just his voice that was trembling. "I-I can explain everything-"

"No doubt ya can," you said indifferently. "Ya must have been promised to be paid well. Maybe not even in money. Or not just money," you listed the options cheekily. "Or ya were simply told who I am and what I've done, and even a man like ya who has a few second chances scattered in his pockets for everyone decided it was best to get rid of me. Ya know what?" a chuckle escaped your lips. "I don't wanna know. I don't know what's worse."

Gojo wanted you to look at him at last. He wrapped his hands around your face and pulled you to his face. When you tried to break free of his grip, though without much enthusiasm, a painful whimper escaped from his lips. Why weren't you angry? He would have been so happy to take a slap from you, or a scream, or just a bucket of slop on his head. However, it was as if you didn't care. "I was so mad- I was so mad at you then. I was just angry, I didn't even know I could do that- And then you came in with those damn mochi and-"

"Enough," you said sternly, and he stopped talking. You struggled to pull his hands away from you - his grip was strong, but you could barely feel it on your face. "Ya've had a year to tell and now any explanation will look like an excuse," he kept looking at his hands and wondering why he missed you. You rose from your place and panic gripped him - he may not have had the right to touch you anymore, but he wouldn't be able to stand it if you disappeared from his life altogether. Still clutching at you desperately, Gojo jumped to his feet and stared into your eyes, shaking his head frantically, as if begging you not to leave. He was unable to say anything. He looked so confused and distressed that you had to soften your voice. "Ya know what we're gonna do? I'm going on a raid for three days, so ya'll have time to think it over," you said backing away from him a couple steps. "Think it over well. If you do stick to your agreement - leave, and if we meet again, we'll talk differently, but if you change your mind, then... just stay. Just stay and we'll never revisit this topic again."

"Okay," Gojo tried to sound as calm as possible, but here were his telltale hands still reaching for you. He barely lifted them, and then yanked back. "Can I... Can I at least hug you?"

"Nope," you shook your head. "We aren't friends yet or anymore."

"Let me..," Gojo began, but immediately fell silent, and you were dying for him to say something already. You could have just kept your mouth shut and everything would have been fine. "Let me walk you out, okay?"

"Deal."

Already dressed in your uniform, you raced around the room like a lunatic. If everything at home was a mess, at least you knew it was your mess, but in Hopetown, you had to work hard to find everything you needed.

Without taking off your original mask, you put on your work mask and started screwing filters into it, all in a hurry. When you were done with the respirators, you quickly tied your hair into a ponytail and grabbed your phone - the charger fell out of the socket and clattered on the table. You furrowed your eyebrows - you hadn't pulled that hard. You glanced at the screen. There was almost no charge.

The phone was not charging the whole time.

There was no time to deal with it - the main thing was to remember what date it was. With these thoughts, you grabbed your backpack and started looking for your watch, but everything but it came up. You remembered that you had taken it.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" you shouted out in a rush still digging in your backpack.

"Y/N?" asked Gojo quietly. "Almost midnight. You'll be late."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," you were already throwing the contents on the floor in panic. There wasn't even time to ask anyone for watch.

"Hey," he softly called out to you intercepting your hands. "Calm down. What's wrong?"

"Watch!" you exclaimed. "Watch. I can't find it," you mumbled anxiously combing out the loose strands.

He reached for his hand - the clasp clicked. "I'll give you mine, okay? Don't worry," taking your hand, he started to put the watch on you.

You stared at it all in utter shock. You'd never experienced anything like this before - the blood in your ears was rushing so hard you couldn't hear your hitched breath. "Ya... Ya can't do that. Ya can't give them to me."

"It's just a watch," finally snapping it onto your hand, he barely denied himself the urge to kiss your palm. "If it bothers you that much, you can just return it later."

"Oh!" you exclaimed as if it had hit you. "Yeah, sure," you checked the time on your phone screen against the clock. It was all coming together. "We should get going."

You ran out into the street and you took a quick stride toward the deserted place not paying attention to whether he was following you. Two steps across the bridge, you ran past the storage and on to where there was not even a hint of any building or presence.

Gojo followed you. Your quickened gait was like his normal stride, so he could easily keep up. He lacked the resolve to even look at your back, but he couldn't let you go without saying anything. He couldn't.

You had already reached a small and deserted field. The dark rustling forest in the background was eerie; or rather, it would have been if your thoughts hadn't been cluttered with other things. "Okay," you said stopping him. "I'll take it from here," he nodded briefly, and wrapping his arms around himself, watched helplessly as you walked away.

You took a dozen steps and stopped when he called out to you. "Y/N," Gojo's voice was so faint you hardly recognized it. You turned around - there he was, still the same one standing in front of you: tall, with disheveled white hair, and the blue of his eyes could be seen even from the distance that separated you, but you couldn't explain to yourself why the feelings were different now. "You belong in mine now," he said quietly, but it sounded like he was whispering these words right in your ear.

He'd never seen you look like that before; you looked down, and he could tell your mouth was open, but he knew you weren't going to say anything. You shifted your gaze back to him, and he had enough to catch a glimpse of your grateful look that he almost lunged at you. Сlosing your eyes and making a barely visible bow with your head, you turned away. Gojo immediately covered his eyes with his hand to keep from being blinded by the purple flash.

When he took his hand away, he knew he would be alone. Gojo was well aware of that, but he still hoped, and that hope turned into something else: the idea that next time he wouldn't let you go so easily. Maybe, he wouldn't at all.

[Timeless, Void; Time on watch 11:58pm]

Each of the voidrunners had gotten bilateral pneumonia the first time they'd entered the void. Not surprisingly, having come in here for more than the hundredth time, the cold stabbed at your face with sharp blades of ice.

As soon as your feet touched the ground, you began to run. Every step you took left black sand rising behind you, and the dust cloud seemed to chase you. There was nothing but a glowing purple line on the blackening horizon - and you ran straight for it, all the while looking around for something that stuck out. In simple words: anything.

Run.

Trying to distract yourself from the cold and the upcoming hungry and exhausting days, you started playing songs in your head, any kind of melodies: happy, sad, annoying, contagious. The sand under your feet crunched so nastily that it was better to run on broken glass, but you were never offered a choice.

Run.

Your peripheral vision picked up a growing purple flash; you looked back, and it was another rift. So some demon was coming out of that point, and if you were extremely lucky, it wasn't an loner, which meant there might be a settlement nearby.

Run.

You turned toward the rift, looking around much more carefully now. Nothing. You ran up the hill, thanking the creators of this place once again that at least there was no wind - otherwise you'd be tired of getting sand out of your eyes.

As you ran up the hill, your inner instinct barked at you to duck - and you did so obediently and sharply, and something flew over you. Still not slowing down, you looked in the direction from which the thing was thrown - there was a loner standing there. He was covered from head to toe in black ugly patterns that had a life of their own and crawled across his skin, blackened uncut hair falling over his face covering the same dark eyes. Loner looked at you and grinned in a way that showed all of his teeth, and the only thing you wanted right now was to knock them out.

You turned sharply in his direction, and changed from running to pacing.

"Shading."

The demon bent his head sideways unnaturally, and his eyes flickered - he straightened up again, ducked down a little, and began to spin around, seeking.

"Relocate."

Wherever and however he turned, you were always at his back. You looked at the spectacle for a moment, with one hand you dug into his face, pulling him close to you, and with the other, you gave him two quick dagger strokes between his collarbones, before he could even wheeze as he fell to the ground.

Emerging from the black haze, you resumed running, not looking back as the demon you had just killed crumbled into immediately vanishing ash.

You had been running for a long time, but it was as if the rift wasn't getting any closer. Another descent and another long ascent, and finally the purple-colored sand told you that the rift wasn't as far away as it seemed.

Only in that light was an unfamiliar dark spot. Another one?

You've gone back to a step - getting close enough to the figure, you saw that this certain someone was lying curled up, not moving.

You shoved him with your foot, but there was no response. With an annoyed exhale, you grabbed the man's head, and when you saw his face, you let it out in horror. It was Megumi. "Hey!" you exclaimed worriedly, pushing and braking him. You put two fingers to his neck and exhaled in relief when you found a pulse. "Come on," you started slightly slapping his cheeks and shaking him by the shoulders.

It was your fault. Getting rid of Sukuna, you led Megumi through the isolation, but you didn't realize the boy would be so strong that one time would be enough for him. However, how did he end up here? "Come on, open your eyes!" you whined lifting his eyelids with your thumbs. They immediately fluttered open. "Okay, good!" you encouraged him, though you doubted he could hear you. You pulled off your mask and leaned it against his face - it wouldn't fit him because of the customized shape, but it was better than nothing. "Come on, help me," you put his hand on the mask and he clutched at it, whereupon you picked him up by the waist and put his arm around your shoulder and waddled towards the rift.

He was barely moving his feet and almost all of his weight was on you; you were walking with your legs bent about halfway over. "It's okay," you assured him in a cheerful voice. "We're almost there. If you can get in here, you can definitely get out."

Once at the rift, he fell down and pulled you with him. "Pull yourself together!" you said anxiously, picking him back up. "Here," you said taking off your watch and quickly putting it on him. He wobbled from side to side, and you grabbed his shoulder each time bringing him back into place. He looked up at you - from under half-closed eyelids, he was staring at you with a stubborn look as if refusing to leave. "Don't worry, I've got another one, it's fine, just go," you immediately went behind his back not wanting to be under such scrutiny, and began to nudge him towards the rift. "Straight to the doc, got it? That's it, go. I'll be back in three days," you still pushed him to the rift, and he barely had time to turn his head to look at you - he immediately disappeared. You exhaled noisily, and leaned over and rested your hands on your knees, cursing under your nose.

When the adrenaline was finally out of your body, you looked down at your hand where your watch should have been. Pressing your lips together, you pulled out your phone - the screen showed five percent charge. "I guess I fucked up," you swallowed a lump in your throat and clicked your tongue. You buried your face in the palm of your hand trying to calm down - your hair was starting to darken from the roots.

In three days, you're not coming home.

The only thing left to do was run.

next ⊳

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shintin · 3 months

Text

Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 10 (Plan)

↳ 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, gunplay, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.

Song Recommendation: Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?

Note: Sorry for the delayed update. Unexpected events in life took place. I hope with this smut chapter, I can earn your forgiveness.

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

The darkness suffocated you; unsettling dreams bled all over your mind and prevented you from finding rest. You only had your dreams to give you peace, but now they had vanished, leaving you unsure how to get them back.

All you saw when you closed your eyes was Knives.

You kept getting cut over and over and over, with a knife in his hand, and Vash shot his brother in the leg and outside, the wind sang, but its high-pitched and off-key melody made it difficult for you to ask it to stop. The blood on your skin drained the warmth from your veins, leaving you freezing. The floor beneath you seemed to engulf you as you lay on your back. You could taste the clotted blood in your mouth, throat, and heart.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Yet another delightful adventure in the land of perpetual misfortune.

With a sigh, you turned in bed, your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and when you blinked, you realized the leather couch in front of the windows was empty, with rumpled sheets tossed aside. Despite the house having millions of rooms, he chose to sleep on the couch. You weren't sure why he kept you in his room or why he preferred the sofa over another room. You didn't seek answers or dwell on it. Having him in the room brought comfort, but he was absent right now.

Once again, a sigh came out of your lips.

Being in Vash's presence was like a rollercoaster ride. He was so used to solitude that each day spent with him brought new revelations. These discoveries weren't entirely negative; in fact, most of what you learned about him was endearing and harmless.

Just last week, you stumbled upon him in his office, listening to vintage vinyl records. While you had seen his collection of records before, stacked high alongside old books and artwork, but seeing him simply sitting and listening to the music was a new experience altogether.

He didn't even notice your presence when you walked in that day. He sat completely motionless, staring at the wall, and you later realized he was listening to a Johnny Cash record. You discovered this when you peeked into his office hours after he had already left.

Your curiosity got the best of you as you couldn't help but wonder why Vash kept resetting the needle to listen to that one particular record. You were determined to find out which song it was, and it turned out to be a tune called "You're My Sunshine."

You had yet to share with him what you had witnessed that day, as you didn't want to disturb his comfort in his own space. However, some of you wanted to unravel his past, uncover both the good and bad aspects, and lay bare all the secrets so you could be done with it because you believed your imagination posed a greater threat than any of his hidden truths.

But you were not sure how to make that happen. He wasn't exactly known for his communication skills.

The previous night, you had feigned sleep as you watched him enter the room, cautiously lighting a small lampshade to avoid waking you up. He silently took a seat at the table, unloading his firearm and arranging the golden bullets on a cloth. He leaned over and cracked open the window slightly, hoping to dissipate the scent of gunpowder, but the bold wind had other plans. It audaciously swept in and playfully tousled his golden locks, eliciting a bittersweet smile from you that carried a tinge of pain. Yes, even smiling hurt. But witnessing him find solace was a rarity; now, you were fortunate enough to experience it twice.

With a revolver clutched in his gloved hand, he diligently used a bore snake to clean the barrel. You recognized the process because, when your father still had remnants of his humanity, he had taught you how to assist him in maintaining his firearm. However, you were only a child back then, unaware that cleaning the gun meant he had likely used it to take someone's life.

Men and their guns. They all use them for destruction, and the man before you had even used it to make you—

As the old memory resurfaced, a blend of anger and shameful emotions welled up, stinging the back of your eyes. You closed your eyes tightly, unwilling to witness Vash's sinful ritual any longer.

As you glanced around the dim room, your sleep-riddled eyes scanned from the couch to the shadows cast by the furniture. The filtered sunlight seeping through the covered windows faintly illuminated the space. Amidst the shadows, a phantom-like silhouette took shape that wasn't there, with light blond hair, chilling green eyes, and a mole beneath the right eye—a vicious ghost.

Your grandmother used to say that if you dwell on the thought of the devil long enough, he will appear at your doorstep.

The floorboards made a creaking sound to your right, seemingly originating from somewhere in the bedroom. Your head swiftly turned in that direction, and you took a sudden, sharp breath. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end like a frightened dog backed into a corner. You held your breath, being cautious not to make any noise in case the sound repeated. Silence enveloped the room, an eerie stillness. Your fingers tightly gripped the duvet on your lap as your heart raced faster.

There was an intruder in the room. But how? How the fuck did Knives manage to evade the guards again?

After another creak, a distinct footstep echoed through the room. You cautiously rose from the bed, but as you stood up, a wave of dizziness nearly caused you to fall. You managed to grab onto the side of the bed, trying to steady your spinning head.

You made your way over slowly, masking the nausea coursing through your body. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, breaths coming in quick succession. With measured steps, you pressed your back against the cold wall. Despite your attempts, a trembling breath managed to escape. Your chest heaved as you took rapid, shallow breaths while the echoing footsteps reverberated from an unfamiliar location.

You stood frozen, your back melding into the wall as if you were one with it, rendering you immobile and unable to hide. However, you refused to become a victim once more. Determined, you knew you had to find a sharp object. With urgency, you sprinted towards the wooden nightstand by the bed, frantically rummaging through the drawers in search of a knife, a gun, or any means of defense.

But you suddenly stopped.

One of the drawers contained a collection of origami made from napkins, which you had previously crafted. It struck you as odd that Vash had kept these seemingly insignificant origami pieces while discarding the plates he used to bring you donuts.

With hands trembling, you shut the drawer and turned your attention elsewhere in search of a weapon. However, in your state of unease, you accidentally collided head-on with something solid.

Something human.

Male.

You heard him sharply inhale, felt his hands stabilize your body, and sensed the blood draining from your face, leaving you weak and lightheaded.

"Vash," you exclaimed, struggling to catch your breath. You went through the familiar motions, just as you always did. Your heart skipped a beat, then raced uncontrollably, your breath became shallow, and your palms grew sweaty. No matter how many times you encountered him, he consistently evoked the same response from you: a mix of fear and excitement. You couldn't quite explain why it excited you.

Something had to be amiss with you. It wasn't ordinary for fiery warmth to surge through your veins in such conditions, leaving a tingle in its wake.

He refused to release his grip on you. You could hear the rapid, forceful thumping of his heart in the quiet space between you. He remained incredibly still and tense as if he were struggling to maintain control over his own body.

Your heart was giving out. "It was you—"

"What are you searching for?" he whispered, his words strained as if he struggled to breathe. His eyes, an unusual shade of blue, captured your attention even in the darkness—they were stunning, crystal clear, and had a penetrating quality that was somewhat unsettling. His hair was thick, a lustrous hue of gold, and his physique appeared slender and unassuming, yet his grip conveyed effortless strength.

"I thought someone was in the—" you trailed off, abruptly stopping your words. Vash stood before you, clad in nothing but a towel. A TOWEL! The embarrassment swept over you, and you wished you could simply disappear, perhaps even roll under the bed to avoid the awkwardness.

The voice you heard came from him. He had just stepped out of the shower, appearing as if he had hurriedly done so because of you. Water droplets cascaded from the tips of his hair onto his shoulder blades, trickling down towards his chest and well-defined abdominal muscles.

Vash maintained a deliberately neutral expression, his voice unaffected as he assured, "He won't return to this house again."

For a brief moment, it was hard to fathom that you were still standing there, gazing at Vash, who was wearing nothing but a towel. It wasn't easy to take the situation, or even yourself, seriously.

"You kept those origamis."

There it was. A flash of anger. In and out. Vash's eyes flickered with intensity, then settled. He shifted his gaze towards the wall, remaining silent for a moment. "Yes," he murmured, his voice calm and composed.

"I didn't intend to rummage through your belongings."

He said nothing.

"I was searching for something sharp to defend myself against the person hiding in the room." The words slipped effortlessly from your mouth. What surprised you even more was the need to vocalize them, to reassure Vash that you hadn't invaded his privacy.

"I couldn't care less if you get bored and snoop around my stuff," he stated dismissively, walking past you without making eye contact. "My mother used to craft origami. They reminded me of her." His voice was chillingly cold. You observed as he opened the drawer, clutching the towel around his waist with one hand, and crushed all the origami in his wet fist. " But she's dead now, so it holds no significance anymore." With that, he returned to the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet right before your astonished eyes.

You couldn't quite understand why you felt a pang of hurt, considering those napkin origamis held no particular significance to you. However, witnessing him collect and preserve them in the drawer beside his bed stirred something tender in your heart. Unfortunately, as always, you couldn't shut up and ended up ruining the moment.

However, you were now aware. This man would go to any lengths to eliminate anything that could be perceived as a weakness.

He emerged from the bathroom and proceeded towards his walk-in closet, disregarding your gaze. You continued to watch him as he dropped his towel, exposing his bare buttocks to your view. You gulped as a hot sensation enveloped you, and your eyes shamelessly roamed from his butt cheeks to the muscles of his thighs, finally settling on his calves.

Who did sculpt this man?

Vash had everything going for him in the looks department. He was hot as sin, with a stunning body and killer charm. You almost drool, but when he caught you stealing a glance, you hastily averted your gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the fantastic sheets.

Sheets? Seriously? Huh!

"You know, it's pretty rude to be snooping on people, love."

Embarrassment flooded your face, heating your cheeks, as you were caught in such a juvenile act. Suddenly, you felt utterly clueless about what to do with your hands. Your thoughts raced, overtaken by self-reproach. What the heck was wrong with you? The overwhelming urge to hide and disappear consumed you. You sprinted to the bathroom, securing the door with two locks. Leaning against the door, you slid down until you sat on the cool, black-tiled bathroom floor.

Stop grinning, stupid girl!

Another day in the never-ending circus of misery.

The gentle afternoon sunbeams lazily brushed against your cheeks, almost as if teasing you. Squinting your eyes, you peered out the window. It was chilly outside, yet the usual forecast of rain seemed absent for the day. The Gods above were like twisted demons, mocking you by making such a gloomy day appear this beautiful.

Ugh! Why—

No!

Wait a damn minute!

Vash stood in the yard, and you were aware of this because you could see him from behind the curtain. He wore a tailor-made shirt that hugged his figure, a black shade so deep that it nearly dazzled. His shoulders were embraced by a charcoal gray coat, fifty shades darker than coal, while his golden spiked hair contrasted the somber autumn surroundings. Black pants adorned his legs, accompanied by black leather gloves and matte black boots.

He appeared flawless, particularly amidst the grimness of the dirt and decay, encompassed by the dreariest hues this scenery could present. He stood as a striking figure, his eyes adorned in shades of deep blue and turquoise, casting a captivating silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun in a stunningly beguiling manner.

He could be glowing.

That could be a halo around his head.

This could be the world's way of making an example out of irony.

Vash possessed a beauty that surpassed even your most attractive ex-partner. He was far from being human; every aspect of him was extraordinary and unconventional.

He looked around, his eyes shielded by purple round sunglasses, and a gust of wind momentarily revealed the holster strapped to his right leg as his coat flapped open. He didn't even step into his own yard without his gun. The irony!

The men surrounding him appeared to be awaiting instructions, anticipating something, and you couldn't tear your eyes away. A strange thrill coursed through you, being in such proximity yet still distant. It felt like an advantage, being able to observe him unnoticed.

He was a strange, strange, unhinged man. You weren't sure if you could ever forget what he had done to you, the way he had made you feel, and the intense desire to bring harm upon him. The urge to despise him indefinitely lingered within you, but it was gradually weakening. He had abducted you, callously exposing you to danger, and vanished while his brother subjected you to repeated torment. Yet, he also took it upon himself to mend the shattered fragments afterward, carefully gathering and reassembling them—as janky as it was. You wanted to harbor hatred towards him but found yourself at a loss as to how to do so anymore.

You had no clue about who he truly was—actually, you never had much knowledge regarding how he spent his days unless he was in your company. Even now, you remained clueless about his purpose for being there.

He eventually uttered a few words to the men, and they nodded in swift agreement before running around. You retreated entirely behind the curtains, making sure to stay hidden. You positioned yourself at an angle, ensuring he wouldn't catch sight of you even if he happened to glance in your direction.

Vash removed his glasses and ran his hand across his face, briefly covering his eyes before his hand settled on his mouth as though he held something he couldn't bring himself to say.

Suddenly, he seemed tired. His eyes appeared somewhat … sorrowful, although you were convinced you were just reading him wrong. You observed him as he observed those around him, paying close attention to notice that his gaze lingered on the red Geranium flowers, fighting to survive in the harsh weather. You attempted to decipher Vash's expression as he stared at them, but he was always careful to keep himself completely neutral. He remained like a statue in the wind, doing nothing more than blinking.

A stray dog headed straight toward him. Suddenly, fear gripped you. You felt concerned for the poor creature, a weak little animal that had mistakenly wandered into the wrong place, searching for morsels of food to stave off hunger for a few more hours.

Your heart began racing in your chest, pumping blood too quickly and forcefully. A sense of impending doom washed over you, leaving you with an unexplainable feeling that something dreadful was on the horizon.

The black dog dashed straight into the back of Vash's legs as if it had impaired vision and couldn't see its path clearly. It panted heavily, its tongue hanging to the side, seemingly unsure how to retract it. The dog whined and whimpered slightly, leaving saliva all over Vash's impeccably fine pants. You held your breath, anxiously awaiting as the golden man turned around.

You half expected he might draw his gun and shoot the dog directly in the head, having witnessed him do such a thing to a person before. However, upon seeing the dog, Vash's countenance underwent a transformation. His flawless facade fractured, revealing cracks in his otherwise perfect demeanor. Surprise elevated his eyebrows and widened his eyes if only for a fleeting moment, providing you with ample opportunity to take note of it.

He looked around, his eyes shifting as they surveyed his surroundings before he gently scooped the animal into his arms. You felt a sudden desperation to witness his next actions, and your anxiety heightened, making it difficult to catch your breath.

You had witnessed the extent of Vash's capabilities when it came to harming another person. You had observed his callous heart, his emotionless eyes, and his complete indifference. His composed and collected demeanor remained unshaken even after he took a life without hesitation. Now, you could only speculate about what he might have in store for an innocent dog.

You felt an urgent need to witness it firsthand. You had to dispel the notion of him being a good person from your mind, and this was the perfect opportunity. It would serve as evidence that he was sick, corrupted, completely in the wrong, and would forever remain so.

You had to see what he was going to do to the helpless animal when a familiar voice called out from behind you, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

"Having an absolute blast, aren't we?" Bradd remarked sarcastically. "This room conveniently provides the ideal windows for our top-notch boss surveillance operations."

You quickly turned your head, giving him a sharp glare. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and shrugged nonchalantly upon noticing your reaction. He proceeded, "I knocked on the door multiple times. However, it seems you were so absorbed in your mission that you didn't notice, and I had to come in without an invitation."

Bradd moved until he stood beside you, and his presence tightened the knot forming in your stomach. T There was an ice-cold fortress shrouded around him, as palpable as the tension in his shoulders. It felt as though he was creating a distance between you, as if you were about to be sent off to war, and he believed he would never see you again.

On certain days, you resented him for assisting the twins, but deep down, you couldn't deny the truth that he was a good man. He had become your emotional support in recent months, and you had started to understand his character. He belonged to the category of men who prioritized only their own family, and anything beyond that circle? Held no significance to him.

At the moment, you were an outsider who had disrupted their usual order, akin to a parasite, just as he had described.

You turned your head, and your eyes widened at the sight of Vash crouching on the ground, using his hands to feed something to the dog. The trembling, bony body of the animal was nestled inside Vash's open coat, seeking warmth after enduring the cold for so long. The dog wagged its tail vigorously, briefly making eye contact with Vash before diving back into the cozy refuge of his coat. You heard Vash laugh, a sound you had rarely witnessed. It was a laughter that seemed to transform him into a completely different person, the kind of laugh that put stars in his eyes and dazzled his lips.

You realized you had never seen this side of him before. You had never glimpsed his teeth, so impeccably straight and white, an embodiment of perfection.

A flawless, flawless exterior for a man with a black, black heart.

It was almost inconceivable that the person you were staring at had blood on his hands. He looked soft and vulnerable—so human. His eyes squinted from his wide grin, and his rosy cheeks bore the marks of the chilly weather. Even his dimples were visible, adding to his overall charm.

He was undeniably the most breathtaking sight you had ever encountered. And yet, you wished you had never laid eyes on him, for something within your heart was tearing apart at the seams. You struggled to comprehend the image before you, as you desperately needed him to be wicked so you could revert to hating him. However, he defied your expectations. You didn't want to see Vash like this. It felt wrong, yet in some inexplicable way, it also felt right.

You believed that the revelations had ended, but you were mistaken once again. This realization left you pondering the extent of what remained unknown and how much more you would discover about Vash in the days and months ahead.

And it scared you.

Because the more you uncovered about him, you found fewer excuses to distance yourself from him. The image you once had of him was transforming right in front of your eyes, becoming something that terrified you in ways you never could've expected. Amid so much uncertainty, all you could think was that it wasn't the right time. It wasn't the right place. Not when there were still so many problems around.

If only your emotions could grasp the significance of perfect timing.

You released a sigh, frustrated with your own indecisiveness. Although you couldn't ignore your physical attraction towards him, you struggled to let go of your initial perception of his character. It wasn't easy for you to abruptly shift your perspective and view him as anything other than a manipulative monster. You required time to adapt to the idea of accepting Vash as a normal human.

"The dog," Bradd interrupted, returning you to the present. "Nicholas used to take care of that dog, but we hadn't seen her around for quite some time until a few days ago," Bradd explained. "Seems like Angelica has taken a liking to Vash as well." Bradd glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and you found yourself perplexed, trying to comprehend why he continued to smile at you even after he averted his gaze. Flustered and feeling strangely embarrassed, you scrambled to find something to say.

"Is there anything you need from me?" you inquired, keeping your gaze fixed on Vash as he affectionately rubbed the dog's head and chuckled, trying to avoid eye contact with Bradd.

"Hm?"

You shifted your attention to Bradd. "You're here. Did you come for small talk?"

"Oh," Bradd responded, scratching the back of his neck while sporting a smile. The creases forming at the corners of his lips and eyes revealed his age. You wondered whether he had a family and if they were aware of his association with mafia freaks.

"I came to see how you're doing and to let you know that Vash wants to meet you in the living room. If you need to change, I'll wait here to accompany you. I know you've likely become familiar with the layout of this house through your very successful attempts to flee, but I still want to ensure you don't wander into the wrong rooms," he said, winking.

You bit your tongue to refrain from responding with more sarcasm than his.

Vash couldn't hide his surprise when he walked into the living room. As you glanced up, you finished the remaining Vodka in your glass. "Apologies for once again getting into your alcohol," you said to him, and he blinked in response.

"You're feeling better."

You nodded over your shoulder. "I was thirsty, and the drinks were there while you ran late."

"Yes," he replied, speaking slowly and cautiously.

"So I had a few shots."

"I can tell," Vash remarked, remaining stationary near the stairs, his gaze fixed upon you. He didn't utter a word but slowly advanced into the living room, removing his coat and delicately placing it over an armchair. He retrieved a gun from his holster and another from his back, deliberately positioning them on the table beside your empty vodka glass.

"I want to hurt your brother, Vash Saverem," you blurted out abruptly. It startled you to realize how much you had transformed over the past few months. You felt like an entirely different person—more audacious, hardened, and, for the first time, willing to acknowledge your anger. It was a liberating experience.

"Are you—" he shook his head, then apologized, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

You looked up, feeling the weight of Vash's stare. He appeared captivated as if intrigued by your words. If he didn't fully grasp your meaning, you were prepared to express it differently. "I need revenge," you stated firmly, or that's what you thought.

He took a seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and intertwining his hands. A wide, amused grin spread across his face, radiating a genuine sincerity that struck you like thunder. Something pricked at your eyes and weakened your knees. "How do you plan to accomplish that, love?"

"I've got plans."

"Is that so?" He leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, and couldn't help but maintain a constant smile.

"Yes," you replied, growing increasingly irritated. Vash didn't seem to be taking you seriously, likely attributing your seriousness to being drunk. While you were indeed drunk, you were also very, very serious.

Vash waited, observing your annoyed expression, and nodded once, signaling you to continue.

A familiar, intoxicating buzz settled in your stomach, amplified by the alcohol swirling within your empty belly. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and your mouth felt parched as if you had swallowed sand. "Your brother—"

"You can't even speak his name yet talk about revenge?"

You attempted to conceal your surprise, but now you found yourself uncertain why you hesitated to utter his name. Perhaps it was because you feared that he would suddenly materialize, much like summoning a devil by speaking his name.

You slid your empty glass towards Vash, indicating that you wanted him to refill it. Vash glanced at you, and what looked like concern was clouded in his pretty eyes.

"If you want me to mention his name, hand me the bottle," you declared, snatching the vodka bottle from his grasp before taking a large gulp. The taste made your face contort, reaffirming your belief that alcohol tasted like shit when it wasn't mixed with something. You'd die on that hill. However, you did appreciate the burning sensation as it traveled down your throat, spreading warmth throughout your body.

"Knives," you said the name, taking a deep breath. Remembering the adage that fear of a name only heightens fear of the thing itself, you decided to defy that fear. So fuck him and his name! "Are you content now?"

He let out a snort. "Do you honestly believe that you can simply stroll out of this room," Vash said to you, "knock on Knives' door and shoot him in the head?"

Yes. "No."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Vash said softly, and you glared at him. "My brother isn't here," Vash continued. "He's gone to deal with a business complication elsewhere."

"He's not here?" you questioned.

"No," Vash responded, his smile fading. "And that's precisely why I wanted to speak with you." He picked up a larger glass from the table and poured himself a whole serving of Bourbon, likely his preferred drink. He downed the bitter liquor in a single gulp, then refilled the glass. He pressed the glass against his lips with his gaze fixed on you. "I need you to be gone until he returns," he said, closing his eyes as he swallowed the entire contents of the glass.

"What?" Your heart picked up so quickly that you thought you might be experiencing a heart attack.

"You heard what I said."

"No," you declared, shaking your head. It's often said that you can't repeat the same mistake twice; for the second time, it becomes a choice rather than a mistake. Therefore, this was your decision.

"Bradd will help you. It's up to you whether you want to return to your father's house or forge a new path for yourself. If you opt for the latter, I'm ready to offer my support—"

"I JUST TOLD YOU I WANT TO GET MY REVENGE!"

"How?" Vash scrutinized you intently. "How do you plan to reach my twin? How will you confront him?"

"I already told you I have plans!" you exclaimed, clenching your fists. "But I require your help," you whispered, filled with both fear and a glimmer of hope. You caught Vash's gaze from across the table. "What if I exploit Knives' vulnerability?" you asked, raising your eyebrow slightly.

"That seems unlikely."

"Why do you think that?" you said, feeling desperate. "Even if there's the slightest chance—"

Vash sighed and ran his hand through his hair, disheveling his perfectly spiked hair. "He doesn't have any weaknesses. If there were any, I would have discovered them long ago. You wouldn't be making such statements if you knew him like I do. Hope will only break your heart all over again."

You dug your nails into the leather that you feared it might rip. However, you resisted the urge. You were well aware of the threats you had heard and your chosen path. "I am an outsider," you found yourself saying. "Maybe I can perceive things more clearly than you—"

"Love—"

"Dammit, Vash! I have to give it a shot. You have to understand—"

"This is not good for you," he avoided eye contact. "It's dangerous for you to believe anyone could harm Knives."

You stared at his resolute and unwavering profile while he focused on his hands. "In the worst-case scenario, I might end up dead. You have nothing to lose, so why won't you allow me to pursue it?" you whispered.

He rubbed his forehead. "I have numerous conflicts to deal with in the coming days," he said, his voice tense. "I have meetings to attend and negotiations with people even worse than my family." He took a deep breath, the air feeling constricted. A weighty silence hung between you. "I understand that you are now afraid of even your own shadow," he continued, his voice filled with concern. "You struggle to sleep, and I know my presence makes you uncomfortable. However, I can't leave you alone anymore. I've lost my trust in Knives. So, I'm granting you your freedom once again. But this time, I'll ensure you truly are leaving. I'm making this decision for your well-being."

"Oh." A pause. Was he sleeping on the uncomfortable couch because he was worried about you?

"Yes," he said—another pause.

"Or," you said to him, "I remain here, and you use me for whatever plan you have involving my father—"

"I don't have any plans regarding that," Vash replied melancholic.

"Fortunately for you, I have made plans, and in exchange, you will allow me to seek revenge against your brother, I mean Knives. I am prepared to face the consequences on my own."

Vash fought a smile but couldn't hold it back. He glanced downward, letting out a small laugh, before locking eyes with you. He shook his head.

"What's so funny?"

"My lovely girl."

"What?"

"I've been waiting for this moment for quite a while now."

"What do you mean?"

"You're finally ready," he remarked. "You're finally ready to fight back."

Shock surged through you. "Of course I am," you replied. In an instant, memories of the unbearable pain and the horrifying fear of being brutally attacked flooded your mind. You hadn't forgotten any of it, but you realized that if you wanted to find peace, you needed to momentarily set aside your animosity toward Vash. Because now that you were prepared to fight, you felt a sense of empowerment like never before. You marveled at how different you felt and how different you knew things could be. You had a lot of things to do, so many scores to settle, and a big revenge to exact.

Everything had changed. The child you once were had succumbed to her foolishness. It was your turn to engage in this game on your terms, and you were not afraid of cheating.

No matter what lay ahead, there was no going back for you now. There were no other choices. "I forge forward or die."

Vash burst into laughter, his expression bordering like he might cry.

"I will cause hurt to your brother," you declared, "and I will make sure he learns not to threaten me."

He was still smiling.

"I will."

"I know," he said.

"Then why are you laughing at me?" you asked, puzzled.

"I'm not," he said softly. "I'm just wondering," he said, "if you would like my assistance."

"What? You agree with—" You blinked rapidly, unable to believe what you just heard.

"There are three things you should know about me, love," he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. "First," he began, "I hate my brother more than you could comprehend." He cleared his throat. "Second, I am unapologetically self-centered and make decisions primarily based on my interests in nearly every situation. And third," he paused, looking down and chuckling softly, "I believe death would be a reward for despicable people like me or your father." He lifted his head. "I've always told you," Vash said, "that we would make an exceptional team. From the moment we met, I've been waiting for you to be ready to acknowledge your anger and strength. I've been waiting patiently all this time."

"That's why you wanted to use me to hurt my father?"

"Does that bother you?"

Your jaw dropped. "What? Of course, it bothers me! Wouldn't it bother you?"

"No," he said casually. "I would feel honored to have assisted."

Words eluded you. You couldn't tell if it was the influence of alcohol or a newfound courage that ignited within you, urging you to let your inner fire scorch others as well. "If that's the case," you declared, your gaze fixed on Vash's face, "then I want to bestow an honor upon you, Mr. Savrem."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to use me?"

"Yep," you exclaimed, emphasizing the P. "We can hit two birds with one stone."

Vash took hold of his glass and reclined against the couch, looking at you as though he no longer recognized you. Good. When something is subjected to intense pressure, it becomes distorted. It forms sharp edges that can inflict deep wounds.

He lightly tapped his finger against the crystal, and the sound reverberated through the quiet living room. The crackling of the fireplace was the only other sound present.

Vash crossed one leg over the other. "Elaborate," he demanded.

"Do you—like, do you just like men?"

"Why? Are you trying to seduce me?" Vash asked in a relaxed manner, drawing your focus toward him as he sipped his Bourbon and peered at you over the rim of his glass.

His gaze was probing and studious, yet you offered no reaction. Your facial muscles remained steadfast as you replied, "That's what you desire, isn't it?"

A sly grin appeared on Vash's face, accentuated by the dim lighting and the flickering shadows, giving him a sinister look. However, you didn't even flinch in response. He no longer had the power to intimidate you. You had witnessed him kneeling before you.

"Is this a part of your grand plan?"

"Yes," you replied, contemplating how you wished you had a bigger mouth to accommodate more alcohol. It was essential to muster courage for what you were about to say.

"Nothing will hurt my dad more than seeing everyone talk about his beloved daughter fucking his enemy. And about your brother," you stated, taking a deep breath. You couldn't believe those words had come from your mouth. Your ears grew warm, but you had to press on because Vash didn't even flinch and needed him to take you seriously. "He has a vulnerability, and it's you," you continued, and he lowered his glass, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows furrowed. Encouraged, you pressed forward, "He cut me because he believed you cared for me, and I am growing in you." You let out a mocking laugh, "So, you are his weakness. He doesn't want to share his little brother, and I want to do the exact opposite."

"You didn't tell me anything about this detail."

"There was no reason for you to be aware of it then. However, now I want you to pretend that you have succumbed to my seduction. I know you are skilled at acting, so it shouldn't pose a challenge for you," you said, taking another swig and wincing at the burning.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't fuck you," he stated, finishing the remainder of his whiskey.

The words felt unpleasant on your tongue, but you forced them out anyway. "I don't want a relationship, and If you are interested in the buttholes—"

"For fuck's sake! I've been with women as well. So, let's put an end to this discussion about holes!"

"So, if you're not exclusively interested in men, what's holding you back?" you rushed out. He tilted his head, patiently waiting. "From fucking me," you stated plainly. "You didn't hold back before. What's preventing you now?"

He remained quiet for a moment. "Because I couldn't bear the guilt," he whispered, gazing at you contemplatively. "If it were to happen again, the outcome would be vastly different — you're already aware of that."

You folded your arms. "Would it, though?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Do you think if I were to pin you against a wall, you would resist initially only to succumb to pleasure eventually? Or do you think you would fight as if your life depended on it, only to end up mentally checking out from the trauma?"

You swallowed, the truth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

"I will never claim to be a good, kind, or even honorable man. There is little of that left in me, and the truth is, it was never truly there to start with. I was born with a blackened soul. However, there is a distinction between those who are needlessly evil and those who do wrong in the hopes of achieving something good. I'll leave it up to you to decide which category I fall into."

You realized you didn't need to think about it at all. Trauma had a tight hold on you, but all you wanted Vash to do was hold you tighter.

You downed the remaining Vodka in a single gulp, relishing in the burn as it traveled down your throat. The clock ticked, approaching eight PM. It was the perfect timing since the household staff would soon be present to serve dinner. Why not put on a performance for them? You were confident that at least one of them would discreetly inform Knives about everything.

Adrenaline got steadily released into your bloodstream, akin to injecting heroin into a vein. Rising to your feet, you approached Vash, causing his muscles to tense up as you parted his crossed legs and settled onto his lap. Almost subconsciously, his hand swiftly grasped your waist to hold you. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, it was clear that men were all the same. Their dicks dictated their every decision.

"You'll end up getting hurt," he cautioned, his voice taking on a deeper tone as the words slipped out quietly and deliberately.

" Maybe I need another pain to wash away the one I'm experiencing now," you stated, unreservedly running your hand between your legs, provocatively stroking his crotch through his pants, all while maintaining unwavering eye contact with him.

He took a deep breath. "You're toying with fire," he croaked, shifting his gaze from your face to your hand resting on his groin.

"Then let your flames consume me, Vash," you urged, intensifying the pressure of your hand against the fabric. "Imagine the retribution we will exact upon the men who ruined us."

He tightly shut his eyes, tilting his head back as his lips parted. You reached out and touched him once more, this time with gentle tenderness. You felt his thumb caressing your side. Good.

You wished for Knives to witness this moment, wanting to prove something to the deluded man who thought he owned you. The only person with the right to claim your body was the one you granted permission to. You would allow Vash's hands to explore every inch of your skin, followed by the touch of his mouth. You would let his tongue lick your pussy until you were sated, right before he fucked you until you no longer knew your name.

You would let him because you said he could.

Vash drew you closer, pressing his body against yours and pinning your breasts against his chest. Your breath faltered as you felt the warmth surround you, his arm encircling your waist tightly, firmly locking you in place.

You liked the way he felt pressed against you. The softness of your body molded against the hard ridges of his. It felt... pleasant. Satisfying.

"We can handle this, Vash. Approach it like a business," you whispered in his ear, sensing his breath leaving him and his heart pounding against your chest.

Vash locked eyes with you briefly, and as you leaned in to kiss him, he placed his forefinger on your lips. "No need for kisses. This is not about making love. It's strictly business," he asserted.

As you were about to part your lips to speak, you were interrupted by his soft lips gliding rhythmically against your neck, reminiscent of water swaying the rocks beneath a cliff. A moan rose from your throat, and you immediately grasped the back of his neck, urging him to press his head closer to your skin.

He emitted a low, primal growl, his self-control slipping away. His other hand entwined itself in your hair, adjusting the angle of your head to gain better access. He sank his teeth into your flesh, skillfully exploring with an unrestrained fervor.

You clung to him tightly, pressing further into him. Shuddering with the feel of his hard cock digging into your stomach, his size only fueling your desire. He wasn't small, and that was precisely what you craved tonight. Something that would silence Knives' voice with pleasure, leaving you breathless and thoroughly gratified.

His tongue wrestled with your collarbones, skillfully swiping and lapping while his teeth playfully nipped at them. Another moan slipped free, bouncing in the air until he matched it with his groan.

The grip on your hair tightened, tilting your head back, allowing his lips to roam freely along the sensitive area where your neck and shoulder met.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, a subtle warning before he sank them in. The sharp pleasure rolled your eyes to the back of your head, followed by a long moan.

"Fuck," he cursed, his tongue flicking against your neck as he emitted a primal groan. "That voice drives me wild."

You felt your eyelids flutter as you succumbed to the pleasure his tongue and teeth were drawing out of you. His hands ventured lower, and soon, you felt a firm tug on your jeans. The button popped open in seconds, accompanied by the low purr of your zipper being undone.

On a low growl, Vash inquired, "Is your pussy wet for me like before, love?" as he playfully nipped at your neck. It stung a little, causing you to wince in response to the slight pain. However, his tongue glided over the bite mark, soothing the sting.

"Yes," you whispered, pleasure overpowering the lingering pain. His hand smoothly slid down the front of your jeans and underwear, his fingers gradually moving lower until the tip of his middle finger teasingly dipped inside you.

A low, guttural growl arose from you as he realized how truthful you were being. "Fuck, love, that's it. If you want our plan to succeed, you need to be louder. Don't you want everyone to know we're fucking?"

Suddenly, two fingers delved inside you, skillfully curling to hit that sweet spot. Your vision blurred, and a scream of pleasure erupted from your lips, becoming your sole response. It was the only thing you could do at that moment.

With instinct, you tilted your hips, grinding against his hand. He withdrew his fingers partially before driving them back into you again. And again, until he fucked you with his fingers, leaving you with nothing to do but hold on tightly, your nails digging into his shirt.

You let out long, husky moans that emanated from your throat, obediently filling the space precisely as he had requested.

"You certainly know how to make a scene," he whispered into your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip. The heel of his palm pressed firmly against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. With his skilled fingers, he elevated your arousal, causing the orgasm to coil deep in your stomach. Then, he rubbed you just right, causing your knees to quake from the intense pleasure.

"Oh," you moaned, your breath coming in irregular, breathless gasps.

In a dark whisper, he asked, "Will you scream when you come on my hand, love?"

You thought you nodded, but you couldn't be sure, for in a matter of seconds, your head jerked backward as your climax escalated, building up to an intense peak.

"Let me hear it," he encouraged. His fingers glided out, only to plunge back in, this time with the addition of a third finger.

You bit your lip as you tumbled over the edge. A cry rushed out, the sound wavering in pitch as deep-seated pleasure engulfed you. Shamelessly, you pressed against his hand, surrendering to the relentless waves of ecstasy.

"So vindictive," he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. Breathless yet possessing a heightened hunger, he took out his hand and lightly brushed it against your lower lip, spreading your arousal. "You've made quite a mess on my hand, love. It would be rude not to clean it up."

While maintaining eye contact, your tongue darted out, the tip sliding across his finger. He smiled wickedly, prompting you to open your mouth wider. Soon, you tasted your own familiar flavor, but it didn't last long as he withdrew his fingers and licked the remainder himself. You never expected such a simple and primal act to make you ache for him even more than you already did.

His hot breath tickled against your face, causing a shiver to run down your spine. As you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but bite your lip when you felt his hands slip into your shirt.

"Vash," you said in a hushed, breathless voice. His warm breath caressed your neck as he leaned in closer. Gentle lips delicately grazed the edge of your ear. Like a cascading waterfall, a torrent of chills raced down your back.

"You're such a good, obedient girl," he remarked. The aroma of smoke mingled with hints of mint and wood enveloped you. The thought of him being delicious and the desire to have him in your mouth crossed your mind.

As if reading your mind, he reached up and placed his hand on the back of your head, his fingers entwining in your hair and drawing you impossibly closer. In a moment of impulse, you did something foolish. You drew his lower lip into your mouth, savoring the taste of him and the feel of his lips against yours. Suddenly aware of your behavior, you let go of his lip, attempting to pull away.

He was like a drug, and similar to the actual substance, he led you to make idiotic decisions.

He held onto you tightly, using his hand to press your forehead against his own forcefully. "I explicitly said no kissing. Right?" His grip on your hair was firm.

You nodded in response.

In return, his tongue traced your chin, descending towards your neck once more. You let out a soft, unintentional moan, and as soon as he noticed your body's response, he nibbled on your skin. He completely consumed you, sucking and licking your body in a way you'd never experienced.

He was leaving hickeys all over your skin, and you found yourself powerless to resist him, just as you were powerless to deny the pleasure that ran through your veins. Another low growl pinged through his mouth, serving as a mere indication of his following action.

He gripped your waist and lifted you. "You're such a good fucking girl," he praised, leaning against your chest before biting your breasts through your shirt and bra. He held you against the wall, his body pressing tightly against yours.

Gasping for air, your feet touched the ground as you struggled to hold up your head, desperately inhaling precious oxygen. He firmly held your cheeks with his large hand, growling against you.

You inserted your hands between your bodies, traveling towards his muscled stomach and firm chest. With force, you roughly pushed him away.

"Wait, please stop," you gasped, feeling a haze of confusion clouding your mind. The heat of the moment had left your pussy pulsating and your senses overwhelmed.

"What did I tell you?" he demanded with a sharp tone. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, captivating you in a hypnotic grip. It was difficult to avert your gaze when you felt like a helpless prey entrapped by the eyes of a predator.

"What?" you whispered, still feeling lightheaded.

"You're toying with fire," he reiterated slowly, his voice rough with gravel. Your mouth opened, but the words remained trapped, unable to get out.

His lips brushed against your cheek, tracing a path along your jawline. "Think about the prying eyes behind these walls. Let's stick to your original plan and provide them with something to gossip about," he concluded, punctuating his words with a sharp nip on your earlobe. Your body reacted, arching involuntarily as sweat drops formed on your skin. " I know you want me."

"No," you denied in a whisper. "You're wrong."

He raised his head, a smug smirk gracing his lips. "So, you're going to be a bad girl tonight? Lie to my face and act like your pussy isn't aching to be filled up with my cock?"

A flush of heat spread across your cheeks, a blend of anger and embarrassment. "Not everything revolves around physical attraction," you retorted after a moment. "Maybe my body wants you, but up here," you tapped your temple, "it's a different story."

He nodded slowly, studying your face with a pensive gaze. Stepping back, he left you feeling a sense of emptiness. It was akin to a dark veil encasing the sun on a scorching summer day—a sudden, chilling coldness that seeped into your bones.

He seized your hand and yanked you away from the wall. He twirled you around until you stood in front of one of the mirrors next to the fireplace. You watched him from the reflection as he pressed his body against yours, his warmth soaking into your very being. Your gaze fixated on the mirror, your eyes meeting and colliding through the glass.

He lowered himself gradually, bringing his mouth close to your ear, never breaking eye contact. "If you've had a change of heart, I won't push you into anything and will stop right now," he whispered in your ear, eliciting sparks throughout your nerve endings. His voice carried ominous promises and dangerous new beginnings.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. The word "No" teetered on the edge of your tongue, like a delicate ballerina dancing precariously at the tip, dangerously close to falling off and breaking her ankle. Because if you said no to this man, you'd spend the rest of your night—week—possibly longer, regretting it.

As he desired, a sense of recklessness and impulsiveness descended upon you. All you yearned for was to surrender yourself to him. You were dying to deny him, yet you had to fight your body from turning and pulling him into you.

Perhaps, just this once, to piss off Knives, you considered giving in.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, and he watched you closely, studying every gesture as if trying to interpret a cryptic language concealed within the contours of your body.

"So you think it'll work?" you inquired, your voice husky and uneven. His mouth remained close to your ear while his gaze remained fixed on yours.

He nodded slowly, his expression serious and his gaze penetrating. "Yes, love," he whispered. You closed your eyes, resignation taking over your body. You couldn't deny the truth to yourself anymore. Even if he doubted the plan's success, you still wanted him to have you tonight.

Noticing the shift, he trailed his hand over your stomach. You stiffened under his touch, feeling goosebumps rising on your skin. His fingers gripped your shirt, gradually lifting it up, parting the material at a painful pace.

"Does it hurt you when I touch your scars?"

Your eyes widened. The man, bearing his own soul's fractures, would never perceive your scars as repulsive.

"Just get it over with," you snapped, frustration emanating from his intentionally slow progression.

A malicious grin appeared on his lips, and even the mirror couldn't diminish the cruelty behind it. "Poor little thing," he jeered. "You miss having a man inside you? Were your fingers not enough to satisfy you? Have you fantasized about me while touching yourself?"

With just a glance, he possessed an uncanny ability to steal the air from your lungs. When his words accompanied that piercing gaze, it felt like you had no lungs at all.

Your shirt fell to the ground.

"What if your men come in?" you whispered, your voice barely breaking through the palpable tension in the air.

He grinned—a mischievous smile that conveyed his indifference if someone did. "What do you think they'd do?" he asked, his fingertips lightly brushing against your scars.

Goosebumps emerged, a tangible reaction from the electricity dancing across your skin wherever his touch landed.

"Do you think they'd watch?" he asked. "Do you think they would relish the sight of your naked body? Maybe they would get off on witnessing your dripping pussy or the rise and fall of your chest as you climax. I even think they would delight in watching your eyes roll back when my cock fills you so fully you can't fit any more of me inside you."

A shot of fear jolted through your heart, forcing the muscle into overdrive. Yet, despite this, your body still reacted more illicitly. Just like his words, you felt a renewed throbbing between your legs.

Would you be comfortable with a stranger observing? You doubted it. But there was something about the way he described the scenario that made you wonder if he would allow it to occur regardless.

"Are you comfortable with others seeing us undressed?" you challenged, breathless while staring at your shirt on the wooden floor.

Vash's fingers traced along your spine, moving slowly and purposefully. Their touch felt scorching, like searing lava against your flesh.

"No," he murmured into your ear. You observed him as his gaze descended, fixating on your chest. The band of your bra tightened, pressing uncomfortably against your skin before loosening. The black cups that held your breasts released, leaving you fully exposed. Your nipples were painfully erect.

When he caught sight of your hardened peaks, his tongue drifted across his lower lip as if he was salivating at the sight. "Do you want to know what I would do?" he questioned. "I would allow them to watch. I would let them watch me fuck you. They would watch as my cock fills every one of your holes and watch you cry with intense orgasms. And then, I'd fucking kill them. With my cock still wet from your cum, I would slice their throats for daring to lay their eyes upon us."

The fear within you constricted, forming a sharp tip that seemed capable of bursting the fragile balloon of sanity you clung to.

"You're insane," you gasped.

This time, he chuckled, his deep laughter sending a shiver straight to the apex of your thighs. "You were aware of this, and yet you asked for it," he murmured absentmindedly.

His focus pulled away, and his hands explored your stomach, delicately tracing the lines of your scars as if he found them captivating. Eventually, he cupped your breasts, his large hands making them appear smaller, barely contained within his grasp. He was a monster. Inside and out. Yet, despite all logic, you couldn't ignore the fact that other than your panties, your jeans had become wholly soaked, too. It seemed impossible for the body to experience both hatred and desire simultaneously.

He forcefully squeezed your breasts, causing you to scream out of pain.

"Be a good girl and scream louder," he ordered before relinquishing his hold on your breasts and moving his hands towards your jeans. You were swamped by confusion and a sense of dread. You knew this was all so terribly wrong. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to stop him as he hooked his thumbs on either side, pulling your jeans down. First, he assisted you in removing your shoes and effortlessly slipped the jeans off, setting you completely free.

You remained clad only in your wet black panties. Swallowing hard, your heart raced as you surveyed your reflection. Vash, on the other hand, remained fully clothed, his eyes examining every angle of your undressed form. He looked as if he couldn't decide, unsure where to begin.

You resisted the impulse to cover yourself. The act of hiding felt more humiliating than standing nearly bare before an attractive man.

"You need to undress as well," you insisted. There was no way you were going to be the only one left vulnerable and exposed.

Finally, he came out from behind you and stood directly before you. It felt more real when you were not looking at them through a glass mirror. Yet, you couldn't pretend that your pussy wasn't weeping for him and that you were not anticipating the feel of him inside of you. You weren't a victim this time, as you were the mastermind behind this ill-advised situation.

"If you want that, love, then you'll have to be the one to do it," he declared with a raised voice. He regarded you skeptically as if he doubted your willingness to undress him. And there was no doubt in your mind he understood the effect that look had on you. The jerk was well aware of your inability to resist a challenge.

You reciprocated the same level of respect he had shown you. Slowly and delicately, you undressed him, purposefully grazing your fingers against his skin, earning your own shivers and growls of impatience.

You took off his shirt and stared at his scarred and rugged skin. His scars still caused him pain, evident by his reaction when your fingertips brushed over them, causing him to tense and bare his teeth. It wasn't physical pain; these scars had already healed. Yet, they resembled icebergs—seemingly formidable and commanding on the outside, yet concealing something far more significant and menacing beneath the surface. They had the power to sink someone to the depths of their darkest desires, much like the Titanic. These scars wounded him deeply within, and you were genuinely curious about the stories behind each one.

In the areas without scars, there were tattoos. The most notable tattoo was a giant maze extending from his neck to his right arm. You didn't know, but he had a few small tattoos here and there, too.

"You didn't cover any of your scars with tattoos," you quietly observed, running your finger along the maze lines. The tattoos intentionally avoided the raised skin, as if deliberately respecting the scars.

"I don't hide from my failures," he asserted. However, his physical beauty extended beyond his failures. His body was filled with well-defined muscles, strong without being too bulky. His physique made it clear that he could kill you with his pinky without looking like he took steroids for breakfast. And if that alone didn't turn your knees to jelly, the thick veins roping from his neck, down his robust arms, and into his large hands were enough to unravel you.

He was… fucking phenomenal.

He observed you with great care, his eyes burning with intensity as you examined him. He was nearly vibrating beneath your slow perusal, so you moved on and resumed your torture. It took a total of zero seconds before he was bristling with the need to fuck you. You felt so much power in your fingertips, and you couldn't help but wonder how much more powerful you would be if he had a feeling for you.

With every inch of his skin revealed, you grew shakier and wetter. It seemed unjust for someone to possess such flawless allure despite the visible imperfections and scars. If anything, the evident signs of the hardships his body had endured only made him that much more edible.

You choked on air as you lowered his pants, his hard cock jutting out from the confines of his pants. So this was what accepting death via dick looked like.

Once he was completely undressed, you took a big step back and examined the reflection in the mirror. Your gaze fixated on his muscular thighs, firm and shapely buttocks, and sculpted back that had enticed you since that doomed morning. You couldn't help but fantasize about running your hands all over them. And then there was the most gorgeous cock you'd ever seen.

You wanted to run away. Far, far away. To put as much distance as possible between yourself and this man. It was clear to you that he would bring about your downfall after tonight. You could taste it on your tongue.

"Are you scared?" he asked in a low, dark voice. His gaze bore into you, his expression inscrutable.

"Yes," you responded honestly. His smile, almost breathtaking, nearly weakened your resolve. It felt unnatural how strikingly beautiful he was. Without a doubt, he was the embodiment of darkness. Now, more than ever, you were convinced he was the fucking devil.

"You ought to be," he warned, his voice tinged with menace. Without thinking, you took another step backward, but he made no move to impede your retreat.

"Get on your knees, love," he commanded in a sinister tone. You hesitated, uncertain whether to obey or search for the common sense you seemed to have misplaced somewhere along the way into this living room and make a swift escape.

"Don't test me," he growled, his face dropping into a stern expression. Lowering his jaw, he glared down at you with an intimidating gaze. The threat in his face frightened you, causing your juices to dampen your thighs.

You dropped to your knees with a jolt, the impact causing pain. It was exactly what you both desired. He tilted your head back forcefully, making you gaze up at him. His cock brushed against your cheek, serving as a forewarning of what lay ahead.

"You enjoy being a naughty girl, don't you? You like the thrill of testing me because you get off on the fear I instill in you. You're a silly little girl toying with danger," he taunted, his face contorted into a cruel snarl. Tears welled up in your eyes as he held your head firmly, burning just like the inferno of ire and lust in his eyes.

"Tell me, love, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

"Better," you hissed, feeling the dormant resentment towards him resurface. Something very dark and dangerous shuttered over his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and instantly, you recoiled inward. It was a lie. You both knew it.

Good girls don't lie. That was the first thing you learned when you were put in a religious school as a child. The second lesson was not to trust the devil and his influence. However, they forgot to mention the crucial advice of not provoking him once you had fallen under his sway. Perhaps that was considered basic common fucking sense.

Your lip quivered as you scolded yourself for your foolishness. Feelings of bitterness and mistrust simmered just below the surface. You couldn't fathom why you entertained the idea of allowing Vash to dominate and have his way with you without putting up a fight.

"Open your fucking mouth, bad girl. Right now, or I'll make you gag on my cock," he demanded, his voice dripping with threat.

This time, you obeyed. The moment your lips separated, Vash forcefully thrust the tip into your mouth, pushing it deep down your throat. He hissed through his teeth, accompanied by another feral growl.

You whimpered and then gagged as he pushed his dick deeper. It felt like rigid steel wrapped in smooth fabric, but the sleekness did little to alleviate the pain. He was too thick and too long for your mouth.

Tears instantly flooded your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as he continued to penetrate you forcefully. As a reflex, you grasped onto his sturdy thighs, attempting to create some distance. However, he swiftly seized both of your hands, clasping them together in one of his while maintaining his grip on your head with the other. He held your bound hands high against his abdomen, giving the appearance of a woman kneeling in prayer, worshipping the very embodiment of evil.

"Suck it. Now," he growled.

You complied with his command, hoping he'd ease up. You sucked hard, creating a hollow in your cheeks while running your tongue smoothly over the prominent vein on the underside of his length.

"That's it, love," he exhaled, granting you a momentary respite. However, within seconds, he pulled you back towards him, taking control of your movements as he guided your head back and forth while you continued to suck him with your mouth.

He murmured words of encouragement and let out deep, pleasure-filled groans as he became increasingly assertive. Every syllable and moan that left his lips fueled your growing desperation to satisfy him.

"Let's see. Your high school sweetheart, Eren Yeager, he was better than me, huh?"

Your eyes widened in confusion, unsure of how Vash knew him and fearing this conversation's direction. "I highly doubt he was better than me. Who else?" he emphasized the last word by thrusting deeper into your throat, causing you to choke. After a few seconds of struggling, he relented. "Satoru Gojo, Cloud Strife, that boy Zuko..." he continued, listing off every man you had gone on a date with. Admittedly, the number wasn't significant, but it felt a lot considering the peril in which you had just placed their lives. He abruptly jerked your head back, granting you a brief moment to catch your breath as he uttered, "I will enjoy killing each and every one of them, love."

Before you could even form a response or take another gasp of air, he resumed choking you with his cock. Your vision began to blur at the edges as he thrust deeply into your throat. No matter how much you gagged and fought against him, he only became harder and more aroused.

"What if I cum in your mouth, and you swallow it to make your father proud?"

For a brief moment, you glared up at him, your hatred burning brighter than any trace of desire. He smiled, or rather revealed his teeth, as he noticed the anger reflected in your eyes.

"You want it, but you won't damn well receive it. You haven't earned that privilege just yet."

Without any warning, he forcefully yanked your head back, his cock popping free. He gripped your chin firmly, raising you until you were on your tiptoes.

"Vash, please," you whimpered, your vision hazy from tears and your chest constricted from the lack of air. Uncertain of what you were pleading for, whether it was your own life or the lives of the innocent men you had unknowingly condemned to death.

"That's such a good girl," he praised. "I love it when you're scared and begging."

Just as you believed you could finally inhale, he swiftly stole your breath again. His lips closed tightly against yours in a captivating kiss, electrifying your senses. Your nails dug into his chest, provoking a deep growl from him as he dominated your mouth with his own. He claimed he wouldn't kiss you, but the energy between you crackled and exploded, causing both of you to drink from each other fervently. The kiss ignited sparks of fire and filled your tongue with the mingling flavor of bitter whisky.

Poison had never tasted so good.

As your tongues battled for control, he firmly grasped your waist and yanked you upwards. Your legs naturally wrapped around his trim waist just as you felt the cool glass pressed against your back. The mirror's chill threatened to send shivers curling for epilogue through your body, but the heat radiating from his body against yours was scorching hot.

A sudden, piercing bite of pain on either side of your hips caused you to gasp into his mouth. With a quick, forceful pull, he tore your panties away from your body, leaving the shredded fabric caught somewhere between your bodies.

He withdrew and positioned the head of his cock at the entrance. "Spread your pussy for me, love," he commanded.

"No!" you shouted. "There's absolutely no way I'll let you fuck me without a condom!"

"Why bother? You already have an IUD, so clearly, my spawns won't have any chance of impregnating you," he retorted, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm.

"How the hell do you know that?" you exclaimed, swiftly hitting his chest.

"Milly."

So the nurse examined you, checking if Knives had raped you or not.

"I don't want your STDs!" you spat out angrily.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Vash demanded, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"A manwhore!" you said.

He pushed you closer to the mirror while glancing between you and his reflection. "I haven't been with anymore since Nick!"

"Oh, C'mon! You fucked a girl on your birthday!"

"I didn't," he said, then relaxed his hold, letting you free.

"But Bradd—"

"I helped that abused waitress to run away," he said quietly.

You tried to speak up and ask him to just fuck you, but the anger on his face silenced you. Just as he was about to move away, you halted him and obeyed his instructions.

You spread your legs and, grabbing his cock, guided it into your entrance. It was belittling when he knew you weren't supposed to want it. And as a consequence of offending him, he was going to make you show him how much you wanted him. By spreading your pussy and inviting him in.

Gods, you hated him.

His hands tightened on your hips painfully. You knew that you would wake up tomorrow with bruises shaped like handprints, and a part of you dreaded that. The imprints left on your skin would make it impossible to forget what happened.

"Do not ever label me as a manwhore," he warned just before he forcefully brought you down onto his awaiting dick.

"Ah!" you cried out, your hands poised to push him away from your chest. He was too much, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. Your eyes rounded into giant saucers as you whimpered in response to the extreme pressure.

You sensed his grith slipping through your fingers as he worked himself deeper. "Stop! It's too big," you gasped.

"Well, tough luck for you," he cooed mockingly, his tone husky and tight. "This is the consequence of being a naughty girl, isn't it?"

When you remained silent, he forcefully pulled you down on his dick harder, causing you to let out another pained whimper.

"Answer me," he barked.

"Yes!" you exclaimed, breathless, as you tightly shut your eyes in response to the invasion.

"Will you behave now?"

"Yes," you mewled desperately. The pain was morphing into something much more intense and breathtaking.

He slid out and then eased back in with a gentler but still angry motion. It felt as if your body was on the verge of exploding. This wasn't natural to be so goddamn full.

He withdrew until only the tip remained, and then he slammed his entire length inside of you. It went so deep that you felt it all the way up to your throat.

You cried out, your voice cracking under the swell of emotions welling up in your chest. It didn't feel right at all.

"Damn, love, I can barely fucking fit."

Perhaps that's why it felt as if he was ripping you apart. He began with deliberate and powerful movements, forcefully thrusting before pulling out at a painfully slow pace, only to slam back inside you once more.

You felt your body starting to yield, eagerly taking him in as he ravished you with each thrust. He widened his stance, using the mirror for support, causing your stomach to tighten in anticipation of the damage he was about to exert on your organs.

Shockwaves scattered throughout your nerve endings as he quickened his pace, roughly fucking you against the mirror while loud noises you never made in your life fell from your lips.

The pleasure was blinding, and the sight of him moving in and out between your fingers heightened the strong desire stirring in the pit of your stomach.

He let you down, swiftly turned you around, and wasted no time before thrusting back inside you. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against the mirror to find stability.

"Look at us in the mirror," he demanded roughly. It required significant effort, but you pried your eyes open and let them wander over the mirror. It was too much— watching him drive himself inside you so deeply.

Your eyes were partially closed, and your face displayed undeniable bliss. Then, you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and your gazes met. A torrent of emotions washed over you, causing your heart to sink, and you quickly averted your eyes. It was the most euphoric experience you ever had.

Your eyes met his again, and a sly smile spread across his face. He leaned in, his lips gently skating across the crook of your neck as he watched you slowly come apart at the seams, all the while maintaining a mischievous grin.

"Now, confess, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

You nibbled on your lip and shook your head, resisting the temptation to roll your eyes in sheer exasperation.

He abruptly halted, causing an involuntary, embarrassing scream to leave your lips. He pushed your back down to readjust your positions, and the moment he hit that particular spot, your legs trembled uncontrollably.

"Oh my God," you moaned, unable to prevent your eyes from rolling back this time.

"That's right, love. I am your fucking God," he growled, and then you felt his teeth sinking into your neck.

Your stomach tightened as an orgasm built rapidly, threatening to overpower you. It felt as if a furious Poseidon resided within, conjuring a destructive tsunami that seemed poised to engulf you.

The mirror began to shudder from the force of his intense thrusts violently. It seemed as if it could shatter at any moment, yet you were unable to bring myself to care. Just as you were on the brink of reaching climax, he pulled completely out.

You whimpered, feeling the sudden emptiness almost as if it were painful. "What—"

He took a step back and gestured towards the floor. Your knees wobbled, your balance disrupted by the sharp pleasure throbbing between your thighs. "Get on your hands and knees," he instructed.

You didn't protest, primarily because the absence of the orgasm was distressing, and your legs could barely bear your weight any longer. Frustration welled up, evident in the tearful corners of your eyes, but you suppressed your snarky remark. You knew that he would only escalate your punishment further.

You expected him to enter you once more from behind, but instead, he swiftly slid his hands between your legs and gripped you from underneath your hips. He lifted you, causing your knees to lose contact with the ground, and you had to quickly catch yourself to prevent from falling face-first.

You felt his warm breath fanned across your pussy just moments before his teeth latched onto your sensitive clit. You yelped as pain and pleasure mingled. However, he wasted no time in lavishing attention on your throbbing bundle of nerves, skillfully using his mouth to suck while lapping at your dripping cunt.

He hummed, sending delightful vibrations resonating through your core. "You taste so fucking good," he murmured before teasingly flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit. You gazed up shamelessly, observing him feast on you from behind. You adjusted your head to obtain the best view of him on his knees, hungrily devouring your pussy as if he were famished.

The impending orgasm resurfaced, now even more imminent than before. You were unable to grind back into Vash's face like you desired, leaving you utterly defenseless against the relentless assault of his tongue.

"Vash, please," you begged, your eyes crying with pleasure.

"Do you want to come?" he asked; his voice was breathless and unsteady.

"Yes," you pleaded with a groan.

Vash pulled away, and in frustration, you screamed, pounding your fist against the floor. Overwhelmed by fury from being denied for the second time, you struggled against his grip, thrashing in defiance. He chuckled at your futile attempt.

"You motherfucking ass—"

He abruptly halted your outburst by seating himself inside you, causing his balls to smack against the sensitive nub. You choked on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. He seized your hair, forcefully pulling your head back, making you look directly into the mirror in front of you. From this angle, you could witness him vigorously fuck you.

"You want to cream all over my cock, love?"

You nodded your head frantically.

He responded with a smile. "Have you been a good girl?"

Once again, you nodded unsteadily.

"Then fucking say it," he urged, calling out your name.

As his gravelly voice pronounced your full name, you instinctively clenched around his cock.

"I'm a good girl," you breathed, too far gone to feel anything but blinding lust. He molded his body against your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. The hand in your hair slid down to wrap around your throat, exerting a firm grip, while his other hand splayed across your stomach. Your vision became hazy, and finally, the tsunami of orgasm crashed through you.

You emitted an ear-piercing scream that nearly rattled the mirror. Vash's name spilled from your lips in a frenzied chant as your entire world exploded into myriad fragments.

"Fuck! That's it, love. Your pussy is incredibly tight. Milk my cock," Vash managed to say through gritted teeth. He concluded with a growl, his hips trembling as he slammed into you for one last time, filling you with his cum until there was no room left inside of you. Your combined fluids trickled down your thighs as you lay on the floor, panting and breathless. Your body convulsed with aftershocks, even after the biggest orgasm you had ever experienced subsided.

You couldn't fucking breathe, let alone move or form coherent thoughts. None of it felt normal. Not a single bit.

Your breath hitched, and your teeth clenched from the feel of him sliding out of you.

Disregarding Vash's presence, you hurriedly scrambled to dress yourself.

As you approached your shoes, a muttered "shit" caught your attention from behind. Turning around, you found Vash staring at his phone, his face etched with a serious expression. He was dressed in nothing but his black boots and loosely fastened pants, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the well-defined V disappearing beneath the fabric. The glow from his phone emphasized the muscles flexing against his smooth skin, with scars and intricate black tattoos only enhancing his raw allure. The veins coursing through his hands and arms were visibly bulging, and if you weren't already leaning against the mirror, his overwhelming presence would have caused you to collapse. That masterpiece of jagged scars and rugged edges had ravished you completely, leaving you breathless.

You closed your eyes and leaned against the glass, seeking respite. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Vash's hand on the back of your neck, causing your eyes to snap open. You realized he was pulling you closer, resting your head against his chest and draping his shirt over your shoulders. Assuming that this would be the last time you permitted his touch, you allowed him to slip his hands beneath your knees and neck, hoisting you effortlessly into his arms.

Exhaustion had enveloped you so entirely that his words, "Let's bring you to our room," evaded your weary ears.

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon - @emptybrain01 - @changingchances @awkwardchick87 @enchantedforest-network

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