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damn-stark · 1 month ago

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Chapter 26 In that treetop night

Chapter 26 of Moonlight

A/N- I giggled

Warning- light swearing, talks of pregnancy and blood, some violence, angst, some FLUFF, and SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 491-515

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

The day was taxing, not because there was a battle that required all the energy his body had made that day. The battle was fought and the battle was lost, so one would say the day should be laxing. Yet it’s dealing with the aftermath of such a tragic loss that seems to be more wary than any battle.

“How could they win now?” Cregan thinks to himself as he hangs his head low and mindlessly watches the cold ground beneath his feet. “How could an army of men win against three dragons without being completely wiped out?”

It was trying to come up with a strategy for that question that was wearing him out. He has so many men to think of, so many lives are in his hands. How can he lead them to a hopeful battle?

“Lord Stark!” A voice cuts in before quick and stumbling footsteps stop outside his tent, pulling Cregan out of his running mind to listen with very low curiosity—All he wants is to rest. Maybe just close his eyes, but alas… “Forgive me for interrupting, I know you said not to disturb you, but it’s urgent!” The young voice speaks rapidly and between heavy breaths. “The princess and a companion are here!”

As if a spike of energy shot his heart, he snaps his head up in disbelief whilst that exhaustion is suddenly forgotten. Can it be?

What the visitor just announced to him can be one of the Targaryen twins. They’re not titled princesses but their father is the husband of a Queen so it could have changed. But it can also be you…with your husband?

Who is the companion they announced? Did you come together? If it is really you, that is.

Even if it isn’t, he has to go out to meet them, so he gets up from his seat and swipes his sheathed sword from the ground. As he walks out he straps the sheath over his shoulder and strides out with the tall and lanky young man, hoping to see no one in particular to avoid feeling disappointed if the outcome is not to his liking

“Just over here, past the clearing,” the young man interjects. “We did not want to let them through to be safe because of the sides the people say they’re on.”

Cregan hums, finding their caution justifiable after being betrayed by two of Team Black’s dragonriders, and hearing that the third one escaped to avoid being caught. Let’s see how the caution is taken though. He knows Targaryens have similar tempers to the dragons you all are linked to so here’s hoping it’s not made into a fuss.

“Lord Stark,” the young man interjects but pauses to take a deep breath as if weighing whether to share what's in his mind or not. “You have been around dragons, are they…”

Nevertheless, the next words to come out of the young man’s mouth are drowned out by the sight of you the moment he turns a corner and faces the clearing.

He can hardly believe his eyes. You must be some conjured-up illusion made by his exhaustion.

Yet how can that be when his exhaustion no longer exists as the mere sight of you is like a spike of adrenaline to his beating heart? You cause the blood coursing through his veins to pump frantically, tuning out every sound, and blurring everything besides you. You are the sole keeper of his attention. You, bathing under the shining spots of moonlight that break through the treetops are the center of all his attention.

You don’t see him yet, but oh he sees you standing there with a displeased frown curled on your face telling him that this encounter is the opposite of what he wanted, proving your short temper. Someone else is beside you but like a full moon against a clear and starry night, he can’t keep his eyes off you, not even for a second and he doesn’t want to look at anything but you.

Even as soldiers pass by him he doesn’t keep you out of his sight. Even as a man leads a pair of horses toward him, he doesn’t bother giving it a glance to stop and be careful, he forces the man with the horses to a halting stop as he keeps walking to you as if it pained him not to be close, as if he’s tranced by you and your beauty, by you in that shiny silver and soft purple gown that makes you look all that more divine.

Oh, and once you finally roll your eyes and find him making his way to you between the busy camp, that’s a completely different set of feelings he’s completely bombarded with.

When you find him, even though his blood is racing through his veins, causing his heart to thump and thump rapidly against his chest, suddenly his entire world slows down. Everything that surrounds him ceases to exist except for you and him breaking through barriers of space to at last reach you after a terrible couple of months of being apart.

Only you and him exist in your loud and busy world. Only you and him. Him and you. After all these months it’s finally him that you see in all his mighty glory, caught under the shine of the moonlight, and for the first time in a long time there in the depths of your chest, you can feel it. You feel your heart revive and skip a beat as you lose yourself in Cregan’s grey eyes. Which is unbelievable to your grieving soul that not even Aemond could get that reaction from you, but Cregan does. Cregan brings back the light to the stars and to the moon, and he brings back the color to your once dull world.

Oh and once he’s close. Once his presence is known, your heart starts racing and your lips slowly start tugging into a smile, erasing that disbelief caught on your features whilst every muscle in your body cries for you to move toward him; while he, himself, takes a daring step toward you, but nevertheless, neither of you can give into your desires. You’re stopped, and both snapped out of your stupor as the man who stopped you addresses Cregan and your current situation.

“Lord Stark, sorry to disturb you but as you can see the Princess is here.”

Cregan still doesn’t break eye contact, he keeps his eyes laid on you and bows his head. “Princess,” he greets and then stands upright and drifts his eyes to the side to at last acknowledge your companion; a slim charming young man with his dark eyes on him.

“Forgive me, I don’t recognize you.” Cregan addresses Addam with his chin tilted slightly higher than usual. “You are…”

“This is Ser Addam Velaryon,” you interject and glance at Addam with a small smile. “Son of Lord Corlys Velaryon. Rider of Seasmoke.”

Cregan nods and then bows his head. “Ser Addam,” he greets your companion, making your smile a bit wider.

“Addam this is Lord Cregan Stark,” you present him in return. “Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

Addam briefly meets your gaze before he looks back at the tall and buff man to bow his head. “Lord Stark, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Cregan nods in response to acknowledge his comment before he looks between the two of you with confusion. “It’s an honor having you both here,” he says and lets his eyes fall on you as if speaking to you alone. “Yet I am confused as to why. We did not expect your arrival.”

You nod. “That’s why we wanted to walk in, to explain, but your knight here has not let us pass,” you hiss as you drag your gaze to the knight and pass him a glare.

“It's a surprise, we know,” Addam cuts in and steps forward to take Cregan’s attention, but the Lord spares him a short glance before he once again focuses on you as if still in disbelief about your presence—“And it’s late, but we come with good intentions,” Addam explains. “We come to join your forces and fight alongside you against the Hightower army and the three Dragonriders.”

The men across from you look at each other, sharing speechless glances before Cregan gives Addam more than a second of his attention. “We would be honored to have you join our forces, but you have to also excuse our caution,” he shares, catching you by surprise even though it really shouldn’t. You know Cregan, he cares about his people, he cares about the men fighting with him, and puts them first so, you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s being cautious. But you still are.

“You were branded a traitor by the Queen, Ser, and you,” Cregan says and turns his gaze to you, shifting where he stands before he continues. “It’s been said you were allied with the Greens.”

You immediately react by shaking your head and correcting him. “My husband. Not the Greens, my husband.”

He blinks and hums. “You can see why you were stopped, right?” He adds and looks at Addam. “Besides, what is stopping your husband from coming after you and burning down our camp out of spite?” Cregan directs at you, making you stiffen and drop your gaze.

Addam proceeds to part his lips as he sees your reaction and intends to share the news for you so you wouldn’t have to say such heavy words, but you drag in a shaky breath and with tears already forming in your eyes you share the news yourself. “You needn’t worry about Prince Aemond because he,” you pause as the words pain you to even think about. “He…he’s dead,” you say with a shaky breath. And at the sound of the news Cregan’s face falls from that tense and serious hold and he looks at you with pity. Yet before he can express his consolation you continue abruptly.

“Vhagar is gone too, along with Daemon and Caraxes, so there’s nothing you need to worry about,” you mutter and avert your gaze to wipe away the stray tears that fall down your face.

“I am sorry for your loss, Princess,” Cregan’s voice is soft and his gaze is heavy on you. “And I am sorry for the loss of Daemon, he was a legendary warrior. His loss will cost us a great deal.”

You draw in a heavy and shaky breath before you lift your head and face the men with a collected demeanor, refusing to show them any more vulnerability. “If we can talk somewhere warm we can explain ourselves,” you interject with determination. “If not, well we can gladly leave and abandon you in your time of need.” You huff, making Cregan scoff and drop his head to hide his smirk

“Alright,” he says with a huff before he picks his head up and looks at you with his soft gaze. “Come with me.”

You share a speechless but assuring gaze before feeding that previous temptation and walking to Cregan to address him like old friends.

“It’s a pleasure seeing you out here, My Lord Stark,” you share in a honey-laced voice as you start to walk around each other to avoid walking away and remain as close as you can. All while neither of the other dares to lose eye contact. “Especially after you said you couldn’t leave your home.”

Cregan’s gaze narrows slightly in a lighthearted manner and the corner of his lips twitch up. “Well, my men and my Queen needed me. My choice was made with a heavy heart but I do not regret it.

You offer him a sweet and thankful smile before you express yourself in words too. “Well, the Queen appreciates your efforts. We all do.”

Cregan holds your gaze with a burning intensity while he comes to a stop right where he started as he sees how truly ethereal you look under the moon’s soft hue.

“Thank you, my Princess, and I'm sorry again for your loss.”

You blink repeatedly as your emotions come to you and proceed to respond with an acknowledging hum before you continue down your path, catching Addam’s questioning gaze before he quickly snaps his eyes ahead to look at the path instead.

“Uh, if you don’t mind me asking, Princess,” Cregan interjects as he leads the way. “How far along are you?”

You rest your hands on your belly and sigh softly before you give him the answer. “Seven. I’m almost there.”

Cregan nods and adds nothing else on the matter, letting you fill the silence. “How’s Rickon?”

Cregan peers back and responds. “Good. Growing every day and surviving the winter.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Silence continues to befall you again and once again Addam steals a quick look between Cregan and you, making you discreetly slow down to fall beside him instead.

Once you reach the intended tent you wait for the higher-ranked commanders and knights to join you before you make your case.

“You have every reason not to trust us,” you address the group of men. “You have every reason to question our motives, but I can say that in regards to myself, my loyalty lied with my husband. Neither you here are wives, but I am and…” you pause as you know you can’t give all the reasons why you truly sided with Aemond. “My loyalty was to him. I did the things they say I did. I took my part in burning House Strong,” you admit and make the men grow stiff as if fearful you have come to do the same to them.

“It was me. I won’t hide from it,” you continue as you look around the group of old battered men looking at you with displeasure and discomfort. “I won’t feel ashamed of it either. I did it because it was the right thing to do for me, and for my husband,” you mutter and stroke the table with the pad of your fingers. “Not Team Green. Not the Usurper, but for my husband who is…now dead,” your voice trembles. “Along with his dragon and Prince Daemon and his dragon.”

You end in silence so the men can do as expected, and share shocked whispers at the sound of such an unexpected revelation.

“But my shame on the matter is not what you should be asking, neither should you be asking if I was dedicated to Team Green,” you speak over the whispers and slowly regain the men’s attention. “The question you should be asking is if I would die for them. And the answer is no,” you say confidently as you press your hands on the wooden table and lean forward to be in the center of everyone’s attention. “But I am willing to die for my mother. For my Queen, and for all of you if the need arises. My loyalty is here, with you and with her too.”

The air in the tent slowly loses some of the previous tension they were holding, and their hardened gazes ease as your sweet yet confident words ease their hearts. Yet they can’t fully come to trust you because of Addam, but that’s why you don’t leave him out of your plea.

“As for Addam,” you add to the conversation, earning his undivided attention. “You will not find anyone more loyal. You won’t find someone kinder or braver than him. The son Corlys Velaryon, my uncle, and my dearest friend.”

Cregan sits up at the sound of your words, unbeknownst to you.

“Then why did the Queen cast him as a traitor?” A man blurts, returning your attention to the group of men. “Why run if he is not guilty of what he is accused of?”

You and Addam share a glance before you look at the waiting crowd and think about your words because you can’t say the truth or it will paint your mother in a bad light, and right now these men can’t lose hope or respect, not when they have already lost so much for her cause.

“Because the Queen was being cautious. That’s why she deemed him a traitor when he isn’t,” you add as you push yourself away from the table and stand up with your shoulders straight and your eyes narrowed so they know you’re being serious. “She has to be careful now more than ever, and that’s why Addam left. What are words compared to actions of dedication and loyalty?”

Addam passes you a thankful smile before he steps forward to garner everyone’s attention so he can speak in his own case. “That’s why I’m here, to prove to her that I would die for her. I don’t want to, not yet, but if it has to happen I would die to see her succeed because I believe in her, because she should be on that throne, and I can only prove that in the battlefield on top of my dragon, not on my knees begging. If she wants to punish me after, then so be it, but it will only be after we win against those turncloack and against the traitors wanting to march to the Red Keep and take her throne.”

You look at him proudly, missing the way Cregan catches the shared looks between the two of you.

“Now I know my word doesn’t mean anything to any of you, you don’t know me and I don’t know you, but trusting one another is by chance, isn’t it? So give us a chance and we will be your greatest ally,” he continues, easing the tension and their demeanors toward him and you—“we have a plan to garner more fighting men, and we have two dragons, but that power can only be gained if you trust us. Give us a chance.”

No matter what Cregan thinks about the two of you together, or just Addam making you smile so fondly, he still stands up to address the group now.

“You both speak fiercely, and from what I can pick up on, with sincerity, but may I ask one thing?” He asks and slowly lets his eyes drag to you. “Will you fight in the state you are in? If not then can your dragon fight? Because it’s true that we need what you can offer, we need it to win against three dragons, so if you can’t fight, can your dragon fight without you on her back?”

You blink in disbelief and challenge his gaze as if he had just uttered the most offensive thing he could ever utter, and then counter right away with a sense of ferocity so you’re not questioned or pestered as if you were a helpless little girl. “My dragon fights if I fight, if I am out of the field so is she. And right now you need all the firepower you can get so I am going to be on dragonback fighting like Addam.”

Said man sighs in protest, but he knows he can't do a thing about it so he just stays quiet. As for Cregan, even if he thinks that the babies you’re carrying are not his right now, he still cares about you and therefore cares for them so he’s not convinced or intimidated like the others are, but he will talk about that later.

“Alright,” he says with a nod before he sighs and goes on. “Well, I welcome you then, if the others are in agreement say aye.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer until the men gathered around the wooden table all agree to let you join their forces, letting you and Addam let out a breath of relief.

“Find an empty tent for Ser Addam,” Cregan instructs one of the young squires. “The princess can take mine until hers is set up.”

You immediately cut in with a shake of your head as you try to turn him down. “No, my Lord it’s quite fine. I can take any other tent.”

Cregan immediately shuts you down. “No,” he scoffs. “Don't be mad. I am not with child. You are and you are my Princess. You will take my tent, and if not, regardless I won’t sleep in it tonight.”

You part your lips to try and rebuttal him but you also know he won’t back down, not about this or the other matter if you’re being realistic, so you hesitantly give in. And since it’s already late and there isn't anything that needs your attention you find your way to Cregan’s tent right away.

Yet no matter how much the tent is riddled with his scent, no matter how every corner is a reminder that you are finally together, all you can think about is how long this day has been and how much you need it to end. In the morning you woke up with Aemond by your side, with his arms secured around you, and now you’re getting ready for bed with the knowledge that you won’t ever get to share a bed together. You won’t have your limbs tangled, and you won’t make him smile or watch him breathe as he sleeps deeply. He is gone forever and that thought makes your heart ache and weep.

You want to see him again. You want to steal one more kiss. You just need to feel his warmth one more time. You just need…something…

Yet how can you have any of it when he’s gone and will never return? You’re left with nothing but the memory of him. That’s all you will have for the rest of your life—how tragic. How depressing.

Nevertheless, as you’re lost in your grief, as the silence mingles in the tent, a voice makes your shoulders jump and cranes your head over your shoulder.

“Princess, may I come in?” You identify Cregan's voice right away.

“Yes, of course.”

Not even a lingering minute later the flaps of the tent open and he walks in holding something you don’t even give any attention to. Your eyes immediately land on his face and remain locked there.

“Did you forget something?” You probe, and he shakes his head before he lifts the fur blankets he brought in.

“No. I just had extra in my tent so I wanted to bring them to you. It’s cold when you’re in a tent,” he explains in a softer voice than he was using before.

“Oh,” you breathe out and nod ever so lightly. “Okay. Thank you.”

He walks further in to place the blankets on the table, and instead of proceeding to walk out, he stays where he is and studies your face, noticing the grief that now decorates every part of your face. You had held yourself together so well before, just like you were taught, just like a princess and an heir should, but now that it’s just you and him alone, you let your eyes droop and grief paints a tragic and aching picture in your eyes. More so now as he asks with his eyes alone if you’re okay—you completely break with a shaking breath as you hold his gaze as if he was everything you had been missing to let yourself really feel.

Thus without needing to utter a word, without gesturing each other close, you break away from your spot and he welcomes you with open arms, holding you tightly against him the moment you clash and clutch onto him like he is your salvation.

“Cregan,” you weep and he drags a hand up to cup the back of your head and press his head against yours.

“I know darling. I know,” he whispers to comfort you. “I know. I’m here.”

You cry harder at the sound of comfort and nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck without thinking about getting him wet. You keep yourself clung around him and he holds onto you as if his life depends on it, making sure to caress your back and stroke the back of your neck when he moves his hand down.

You remain in the silence, soaking in each other's comfort and company. Nothing is uttered but there is something you need to get off your chest, so you just drag your face away from his neck and break the silence.

“I tried,” your voice breaks. “I tried so hard. I tried, but I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save Jace. I was too late,” you cry. “And Viserys…” you trail off and shake your head. “I couldn’t find him. Now they’re gone. Jace is gone, he died in my arms and I couldn’t save him. If-if—” before you can finish, Cregan suddenly yanks himself back but doesn’t put too much distance between you, he cradles your face with his large hands and looks deep into your eyes.

“Listen to me, you tried. That’s what matters. You were there for him in his last moments, that’s what matters, darling. Do you understand? You were there for him, you comforted him and held him as he went. You did good,” he praises you as he caresses your cheekbones with his thumbs. “Do you understand?”

You blink repeatedly, letting more warm tears fall down your cheeks before you nod faintly and croak under your breath. “I understand.”

Cregan nods with you and tilts his head but never loses hold of your eyes. “And as for Viserys. There’s nothing you could have done. You tried, that matters. Now you fight for them, okay? You keep living for them, for their memory, okay?”

You sniffle and nod faintly once again, not daring to argue because this is all you needed; comforting words from someone who did care about your brothers. Someone to hold you so you could grieve them.

“Good,” he whispers before he fixes his head and points to the bed. “Let’s go sit okay, darling?”

You let him guide you to the edge of bed and sit with him in a comforting silence. After a while, after you no longer have running tears and your breaths come steady and not shaky, you look over at him and study him, noticing how dark the circles are under his eyes.

“You need to rest Cregan,” you point out without needing to ask if he is exhausted because you know he is. “You’re exhausted.”

Cregan slowly turns his head to take you in and sighs deeply. “I will. Soon. I just need to make sure you're taken care of.”

You scoff softly and drop your head to smile faintly at your hands. “I am. Thank you.”

He hums as he admires you while you’re not looking. “I will have some of the healers tend to you. Make sure you're fed and looked after.”

You roll your head up and look at him with a pointed gaze. “No need, I can tend to myself. Don't bother them. If I wanted to be looked after I would return home with Vanessa, but I’m here, I will remain here tending to myself.”

Cregan bites the inside of his cheek and nods slowly in understanding, knowing neither of you will get anywhere if you keep arguing about it. “Alright,” he gives you what you want.

You hum and then avert your gaze to stop feeling your heart flutter under his heavy gaze. “Where’s Ser Rolf? Sleeping?”

Cregan chuckles. “Probably, but not here. He’s in Winterfell in my stead since Rickon is too young.”

You nod with comprehension and feel his eyes roam your face before they fall on your belly.

“Your boy?” He asks. “Is he fine? Healthy?”

You smile brightly and nod as you face him. “Yes, healthy and fat. Dragging his bottom across the floor.”

Cregan hums and offers you a flickering smile before he leans in. “Well, my offer still stands. It may be winter but if your son and Vanessa need refuge they can find some at Winterfell. And if this war is still going on when your twins are born then they have a home there too. The people there love you, and therefore they love your children. They will protect them.”

Your heart swoons but you hide your flustered face by looking down. “Thank you, Cregan, really, and right now they’re taken care of by my mother and my sworn protectors. Hopefully, they won’t need refuge but if they do I will gladly accept your invitation:”

“Good.”

You nod gently and follow up with silence, letting him continue to just take you in as you fiddle with your sapphire ring. You should send him to his own tent so you can both find sleep, but neither of you actually want to leave each other's company so you find the excuse to linger next to each other for a few more stolen minutes.

“Your sword, it’s Valyrian steel. Which one is it?” He finds a reason to stay longer.

You glance over at Blackfyre resting by the table and give him the name. “Blackfyre. The one passed to the rulers of our house. Aemond…took it from Aegon while he was abed, and before…” you trail off but don’t and can’t finish the rest.

“I understand,” Cregan mutters.

You snap your head toward him and breathe out deeply. “He died today and I don’t know if I can take care of three children on my own. I…don’t know what to do without him.” You share in a moment of vulnerability, knowing in the back of your head that you are capable and that a bright future awaits you, but right now you feel so defeated and he’s your best friend. You know it hurts him to hear you speak about Aemond in such a way, you see him swallow thickly and finally let his eyes wander away from you, but you need to confide in him.

“You're the strongest person I know,” he says to the air ahead of him. “You may feel helpless now, but you’re just grieving. You can and will raise your children because you’re strong. This grief will pass eventually.”

You take a deep breath and look away too, losing your gaze on nothing in particular and just listening to each other breathe for a few more stolen minutes. And this time there’s nothing to keep him from leaving.

“I should let you rest,” he says with a deep breath before he gets off the bed. “Goodnight, my princess.”

You stand up with him and meet his gaze to return his comment. “Goodnight, my Lord.”

Said man scoffs at what you call him and before he can leave you lean in and press a kiss on his cheek, catching him by surprise.

“Goodnight,” you whisper again, earning his attentive gaze and letting it mingle on you for a moment before you force yourself back.

“Goodnight,” he says one more time before he bows his head and finally departs, stealing one last look at you watching him leave before he exits the tent, leaving you to your lonesome in that bitter night where all that occupies your mind and dreams is Aemond. Aemond, Aemond, and Aemond.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

There’s no escaping the pain, not anymore, not after losing Aemond, but as you look at the clouded sky, as you watch the parting clouds drifting by, for some reason there in that endless sky you can find the fact that eventually the pain will be a memory and you will look back at your losses in a much more fonder light.

You won’t cry every time the simplest memory comes to mind, you won’t want to stay curled up in bed as the kisses from the man you loved haunt your lips. You’ll think back and smile because they were in your life. That will be a beautiful thing, one day.

“Good morning,” the sound of Cregan’s voice pulls your attention away from the sky to drift your eyes down. You can’t see him since you don’t stand up, but you also don’t want to stand up so you just aim your eyes in his general direction.

“You left your sword in your tent,” he brings up and you then hear the shuffling of leather against his hands, meaning he brought Blackfyre with him. “We’re in an active war, you can’t be wandering off on your own. Not without protection.”

You blow a raspberry and turn your body against the water to turn towards your dragon resting her large neck in the water to keep the water warm with her steams of breath.

“My girl is with me,” you point your dragon out. “She’ll protect me.”

“And if something were to happen to your twins?” He keeps pestering you, but this time you don’t have a good argument so you just probe him.

“Why did you come find me? How did you find me?”

You hear his footsteps approach the lake's shore and come to a stop shortly thereafter to respond. “I went to look for you to invite you to break fast with me, and when I didn’t find you in your tent I asked around.”

A teasing smile tugs on your lips. “Well thank you for thinking about me, but I already broke fast. I saw the lake on Dragonback so I walked here after I woke up and had breakfast by the lake because the twins were hungry.”

Cregan scoffs in amusement before he fills the silence with a comment filled with…annoyance. You detect it in his voice. “I’m surprised your uncle is not here with you. Accompanying you.”

Is he jealous of Addam?

You almost have to laugh. You don’t but you let a smile dance on your lips before you finally push yourself to your feet and face him, seeing him wear that ever so heavy cloak, and carrying his own large sword as if he’s expecting to be attacked at any second.

“Is that not heavy?” You tease with a half smile, seeing him maintain his eyes on your face even though your gown is sticking to your figure and water is dripping off your chin and falling on your chest. You would have gone in completely nude but there are a lot of men around so you chose to play it safe instead.

“Your cloak? Your massive sword?” You specify. “Unload my Lord. We’re not going to war right now.”

Cregan swallows thickly and lifts his hand to take his sheathed sword off, but as you start to walk out of the water he stops what he’s attempting to watch your dripping body expose more and more as you walk to shore to meet him.

“Addam is my uncle, my friend. My confidant. Nothing more and nothing less,” you finally assure him. “Don’t…worry.”

When your feet hit the shore he snaps from his stupor and finally slides his sheath off his shoulder before resting it next to, Blackfyre.

“You wouldn’t want to take a dip with me would you, my Lord?” You offer with a taunting smirk that he catches as his eyes are quick to find your lips. “Astraea keeps the water warm so you wouldn’t freeze. Albeit you are used to a colder climate, so.”

Cregan’s grey eyes slide up to meet your gaze and he shakes his head. “Thank you for the offer but not now. Perhaps if the offer still stands later, when the day has drained me I will gladly accept a dip in the steaming lake.”

You swallow back nervously and feel your heart skip a beat as he holds your eyes with a great intensity. You almost don’t retort, but you manage to collect yourself.

“We’ll see if Astraea is willing to help again. The offer is very much ready now though, just say the word,” you roll out slowly before you start to walk past him, making him turn his body where he stands so he doesn’t lose sight of you, and so you keep each other chest to chest until you part away to sit on a rock.

“I heard conflicting reports,” Cregan doesn’t let silence intrude, causing you to pick your gaze off the dry and clean wrap that you need to put around your wet body to dry it—“you can touch fire without getting hurt.”

You lift a quizzical brow and press him for more. “What else have you heard about me?”

Cregan shakes his head. “I have tried not to hear much. I don’t let my men speak ill of you.”

A small smile flickers on your lips but you still press him, knowing that whether he wants to or not he’s heard about you; bad and good things. “But word still spreads. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing I believe,” he still avoids sharing the trash spread by venomous tongues. “Just tell me if it’s true or not that you can walk in fire.”

You drop your head to tie the long piece of cloth around you. “Yes,” you put it simply. “But the discovery is new. I only found out after I left Winterfell. I mean I have always had a feeling but given that I never had a reason to test it, I never really knew. Not until after I left.”

Cregan hums and you give an example as to what he might have heard. “They say I'm cursed, don’t they? That my mother gave birth to a demon?”

Cregan utters your name in disbelief and you look up at him unaffected by such things.

“I heard a man utter those words to an empty cobble square,” you share softly regardless of how unbothered you try to be. “He might be mad but he said it with passion so I know that it’s something that he doesn’t believe alone. If he says that, other people across the realm think it too.”

Cregan shakes his head and you put your hand up.

“Don’t try to be a gentleman,” you interrupt him. “People will say the same thing for as long as I live. Even when I die they will say the same thing. They will read it too, so I will spit in their faces even in death and be proud of my ability. I can walk through fire, I don’t burn. My flesh is fire made and I’m proud.” You say with the same emotions you speak of, offering him a proud smirk that he can’t help but be relieved by.

Yet even if you see the glimmers of pride brighten his grey eyes, you still have to doubt him out of fear. “It doesn’t scare you? What I can do?”

Cregan drops his head to glance at the ground for a brief moment before he walks to you and sits on the little space next to you, proceeding to tilt his head up to have you under his gaze before he speaks softly in the exact way his eyes look. “My people. My family can warg into the minds of animals. The dead are hidden behind a large wall, and you ride a dragon. I would have to be pretty ignorant and stupid to fear you, my Princess. The people fear you because they don’t know anyone like you because you are a fearsome thing to behold.”

You shake your head and whisper with a hint of insecurity. “I am not scary. I never wanted to be scary to people. I’m just a girl.”

Cregan’s eyebrows knit together and he follows your gaze as you avert them to hide the tears that well in your eyes.

“I know, but you are Targaryen, you ride a dragon, you wield a sword, and now you walk through fire without being harmed; the people will always fear the unknown, and you know your subjects should always hold a little fear for you while also holding respect and love,” he says to try and console you.

“I know,” you share with a vulnerability that comes easy when you’re speaking to him. “I know I have to strike fear in people, but I never wanted it. Not truly. I embrace it now, I relish in it, but isn’t it easier to love us? My mother, me, and my family? Why do they prefer war and death over letting her take her rightful place? Why do they push her over the edge?”

Cregan’s eyes flicker down to your hand, letting his hand slide over yours before his eyes find yours again and he gives you an answer. “Unfortunately it’s the way people are. They’re ignorant and close-minded, thinking a certain sex is better than another when it’s not true. It’s the way the world works, but it can change. Your mother can prove that. You can too. And if they still don’t want to see that then they can continue to lead themselves to death, or deal with it when she officially sits on that throne.”

Your ache eases and a soft smile slowly spreads on your lips. Cregan watches you, watches your smile, and takes a deep breath, letting his overdriving emotions push him forward.

However, before he can close the gap before the wetness of his lips can connect to yours, and before you can pull your head away, he keeps still and lets the warmth of his lips radiate over yours, letting his desire build but not give in.

“Cregan,” you whisper as you slowly cup his jaw. “Aemond just died yesterday.”

He gives you a nod that’s almost ghostly as he repeats what you just said. “Your husband just died. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes go small as you offer him a sweet smile. “I can’t truly give you what you want, what you have been longing for, and what I myself have desired. Not right now,” you say honestly.

Cregan lets out a deep sigh and lets his head drop, but you quickly give him some reassurance by tilting your head down to press your forehead against his. “We waited this long, we can wait a while longer, no?” You try to comfort him. “My path and my heart all lead to you, just give me time. Please.”

Cregan slowly presses his hand over yours, being quick to stroke your knuckles with his thumb before he draws in a breath to speak his mind.

Yet before he can utter a word, branches snap in the distance; yanking you apart from each other, and turning your heads away from one another to play as if nothing is happening. When the noise turns to an intruder you stand up and face Addam.

“Addam,” you greet with a pleased smile.

He doesn’t return it though. He looks at your body drenched in water and wrapped with a simple cloth before his eyes drift to Cregan and lets a displeased look start to mingle on his features.

“Someone arrived for you,” he reveals and peels his eyes away from Cregan slowly standing on his feet to focus on you and search for an answer without speaking a word about it.

“Who?” You probe with worry. “Is it news?”

Addam points to the direction of the camp. “Why don’t you come and see.”

You challenge him so he can reveal who it is, but he doesn’t give in, thus making you let out a deep breath before you take Blackfyre and walk ahead, knowing he and Cregan will trail behind you without needing to be told. However, Addam quickly gets behind you so the Lord isn’t any closer to you than he already was when he found you.

“Here,” he interjects and takes the sword from you so you don’t have to be carrying the heavy thing around when it’s not necessary—“why didn’t you tell me you were coming out here? I was worried.”

You sigh and peer over your shoulder. “Sorry, I just didn’t want to wake you that’s all. It was early.”

“The twins?” He asks making Cregan pay close attention—“are they bothering you?”

“They’re getting too big so they’re growing restless,” you share as you rub your belly. “Besides Daenys is always on time, she wakes up at the same time every morning.”

Addam scoffs and you catch him rolling his eyes at the fact that you call your unborn children by their names. Even though you shouldn’t know their gender yet.

“What?” You press teasingly and stop briefly to instead walk side by side. “Spit it out.”

“There’s no way for you to know what you’re expecting,” he utters the same bullshit as always. “You’re just getting yourself excited over what can be a boy.”

You smile as you roll your head to the side and once again repeat the same thing you already told him just yesterday. “I told you, Alys told me—well she told Aemond, and he told me, but she is not wrong.”

“Just like the witch is not wrong about your seven children?” He mocks you but you don’t ever back down, you nod confidently.

“I have one, and two on the way,” you argue. “That makes three. I just need four more.”

“I wouldn’t entertain it,” Cregan interjects, jumping on Addam’s side. “She loves her witches.”

You throw your arms out. “You say that like it’s a bad thing!” You exclaim. “Why don’t either of you believe in them when dragons and Green Men exist?!”

Addam shakes his head and argues. “Green Men are different. Protectors. Alys has lived in the depths of the forest alone for far too long. She’s mad.”

You shake your head and get ready to defend her but Cregan jumps in too. “And your Red Priestess is a part of a cult. Fanatics who only scam you.”

You roll your eyes and don’t let them dim your beliefs, you bite back. “The Red Priestess did not take my money first of all. She took my blood in exchange for a vision of my future. She approached me, and Alys helped me in the same way the Green Men helped you, Addam.”

He hums and nods his head lightly, telling you he doesn’t believe you, so you continue.

“She let me see the same thing the Red Priestess showed me in the fire, a long winter carrying the dead with it…”

Cregan stiffens at the sound of the words he heard you speak only months before. And like before you carry the same passion and belief behind your words.

“It can be an illusion. A lie to frighten you,” Addam rebuttals, but you hold his gaze and stand your ground, sharing more than you should have.

“It was not a lie because he told me,” you say and come to a stop, making both men stop to hang onto every word with intent—“my son. Not Aerion, and not either of the twins. And before you cut in with something witty, I know. Who wouldn’t know their own son? He was as clear as you are now, with deep grey eyes and dark hair…”

Cregan’s gaze narrows in confusion and more wonder than ever before.

“With a melancholy look, he shared what he knows. He told me about the long winter. He told me and I believe him and in turn, I believe Alys. So yes there is a way for me to know what my twins are. That’s all I know. Everything they told me is all I’ll ever know and I’ll cherish it.” You finish confidently before you turn away to continue walking down your path before they can ask questions. And even though they’re both itching to question you—Cregan, more than Addam; neither man speaks on the matter, choosing a stunned silence over speaking their minds. Thankfully.

Soon thereafter nevertheless, you reach the campgrounds and follow Addam to who’s waiting for you, catching a growing crowd of men already gawking and whispering about your visitor which in turn heightens your curiosity.

“Make room for the princess,” a man announces, forcing the crowd to break apart and clear a path toward the visitor. However, once the path is clear and leads you to your visitor, you come to a stop and drop your jaw out of surprise when you see Ser Cane Clegane is the one who came in search of you. He is the one standing in the middle of the crowd, and he is the one you face. Your sworn protector.

“Ser Cane,” you gasp and attempt to smile, but it comes out wobbly as you’re struck with disbelief, joy, and appreciation.

“Princess,” he immediately greets and bows to you, causing you to watch him so he wouldn’t get out of sight because a part of you believes he’s some illusion. It’s just…his arrival is a surprise. That’s why when he stands up straight and your eyes immediately fall on his gaze, you ask the overwhelming question.

“What are you doing here, Ser? So far from home?”

Ser Cane walks toward you and stops when he reaches a good and respectable distance to give your question an obvious answer. “Once I heard you left in a hurry, I came after you. I arrived at Harrenhal and the woman told me you had left so, I rode all night to catch up to you.”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and feel your eyebrows knit together for a brief second before your face eases and all you can express is disbelief. “You came after me?” Your voice cracks, making him look at you as if you just asked the most stupid question in your life, because why wouldn’t he come after you?

“I made the mistake of not going to find you before and you got held captive. You of course fought back and freed yourself,” he chuckles with a sense of pride. “But I never want you to be put in that situation again. Not while I’m still alive. I am your sworn protector, my duty is to protect you, my duty is to follow you to the ends of the earth until my last breath. That’s what I will do.”

Your breath hitches as your heart skips a beat. That look of appreciation that you hold on your face turns to sweet admiration and before he knows it you rush to him to surprise him with an embrace. And as caught off guard as he is, he doesn’t leave you hanging, he gently wraps his arms around you and lets you take the time you need, which isn’t a lot, but he still doesn’t rush you, letting you pull away first.

“Where’s Ser Jason?” You ask for your other sworn protector.

“I left him protecting the little lord,” he says and gives your mind and heart relief.

“Good, thank you.” You offer him kindly before you step back and turn around to move to the side and present him. “Lord Stark, this is my sworn protector, Ser Cane Clegane. Ser Cane this is Lord Cregan Stark.”

Ser Cane bows his head, and Cregan offers him a gentle nod as a greeting.

“And these are the men we are fighting with,” you introduce the knight to the crowd growing smaller and smaller now that they know who arrived.

Ser Cane offers anyone who is still lingering around a stiff nod before he gives you his attention.

“You must be tired of riding, so once a tent is set up you will find some rest. That’s an order,” you blurt before he can argue. “Ser Addam can watch out for me for today. Alright?

Ser Cane sighs as he’s left unable to even lift a finger to argue back.

“Tomorrow morning you may get up whenever you need to start your watch,” you ease his worry. “And if you do want to know to ease your heart, today we will just have a brainstorming meeting to figure out what to do, okay? Nothing grande.”

He hums and nods in comprehension before his eyes drift ahead. “Lord Stark, may you direct me to the commander in charge of your guards?” He interjects in an attempt to do the work he can while he’s on his short leave. “I would like to set up a watch for the night shift to stand outside the Princess’ tent.”

Cregan, the ever-so-protective friend, doesn’t hesitate to indulge the knight’s request. “Right this way Ser.”

Said man returns his attention to you and bows his head. “If you may excuse me Princess I will now go pick guards to protect you. If you don’t require any more of my attention that is.”

You shake your head. “No, that is all, I’m sure Lord Stark can share the inner workings of our camp and have someone give you a tent so you can rest. I mean it Ser.”

“Of course, I will, my Princess. Rest assured.”

You smile at him and grab his arm to give it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for coming after me, my friend. I’m

Thankful and glad you’re here.”

“Always,” he says in return with a surprisingly softer tone. “I am glad I found you.”

Your smile widens and you grow even more fond of your knight, choosing to watch him and Cregan walk off together and jump right into a conversation.

“May I ask you something?” Addam’s sudden intrusion surprises you, and when you look over at him you see his gaze locked on Cregan before he finds you with a curiosity you quickly dissect and know what it’s going to lead to.

“I’m going to change,” you cut him off before he can utter a word, and then turn swiftly to march to your tent.

“Wait!” Addam blurts and walks after you. “It's just a question.”

——

*LATER*

“The goal is clear; we march to the great and small houses of the Riverlands to have them gather fighting men to join us in our fight against the Greens in Tumbleton,” Addam shares what he’s been brainstorming. “That may not have many to spare but the numbers they can spare will still aid us in our fight.”

The men pass each other confused looks, and when they return their attention to Addam, one of them interjects with an argument. “The terror of the Trident is dead and…no offense, but you are considered a traitor to everyone who isn’t us, and,” he pauses and glances over at you. “The princess has been passing the war flying between enemy lines doing as she pleases. The houses of the Riverlands will not spare their few remaining men for…a chance.”

“Mind yourself My Lord, the Princess, and Ser Addam are not some common folk you may speak to as you please,” Cregan cuts in and steps forward so he can be seen and understood.

“It’s alright, My Lord,” you ease the tension and continue for Addam in a much rougher way than he was speaking. “It’s true. It may be difficult for us to gain their trust, but when we ask them they won’t hear the same speech we gave you. We will offer them kind terms or I will offer them fire and blood.” You flash them a smirk.

The men go uneasy at the sound of the threat that slips so easily off your tongue, and as your eyes scan their tensing bodies whilst you push your chair back. Addam helps you to your feet, but he proceeds to go on for you, letting you be an intimidating figure instead.

“If they don’t have men to spare we won’t force them to fight, but if they do it’s them that we will need. It’s why we need to march to the Houses we can, so we can have a chance at succeeding. This fight won't be won alone. It will take all of us.”

Addam’s words are kinder so some of their tension eases off their shoulders, but that threat you made still lingers in their heads, showing more distrust for you than the man next to you as they take you as some mad Targaryen.

“Very well,” another lord cuts in. “I assume we depart at once, no?”

Cregan is the one who answers this time, giving an answer only he knows since you are still getting to know the army of men. “At first light. So prepare to leave.”

The men around the table all offer him a comprehensive nod and soon thereafter one of them leans towards the wooden table to add something before the meeting can conclude. “What of the prisoners? The men who fought with Ser Criston? We can’t keep bringing them with us, can we? What is the solution for them?”

“I say we kill them and deliver their bodies to the Hightower army and the daring Prince. Show them that they still have not killed our spirit,” a young boy no older than Lucerys had been, offers a very loud and quite gruesome solution.

Yet it’s because of his bold offer that an idea comes to you.

“I have a solution,” you say and make them start to wonder. “Get all the prisoners out of their cells and gather them in the clearing.”

The men don’t move, they look to Cregan for permission and he himself doesn’t have an idea of what you have planned, but he doesn’t need to know, he trusts you so he raises his voice to scold the men. “You heard the Princess, gather the prisoners. She should not repeat herself.”

This time the men rise out of their seats and some do as you ordered, while others leave to gather men so they can all watch what’s about to transcend, leaving you, Addam, and Cregan in the tent.

“Call to Seasmoke,” you let Addam know as you turn and face him, catching the confusion flicker on his face.

“Why?” He asks.

“Do it, but don’t have him appear in the clearing just yet. I don’t want the men to be frightened,” you make him even more confused, but he doesn’t question you. He just brings up a question.

“How do I let him know when to appear and when not to?”

You flash him a smile and tap his chest with your fist. “It all comes from here,” you say and keep your fist pressed against his chest. “That’s how we communicate with our dragons. Our souls are intertwined. Listen.” You share as you pull your hand away and let it fall back on your side before you walk away with Cregan by your side.

Yet it’s only once you’re out of the tent that he finally probes. “What are you planning to do?”

You blink and turn to look at him at your side. “I know some of those men. I did not know them for long at all, but the moments we did share I got to garner some of their respect. And we need men.”

Cregan scoffs and the corner of his lips twitch to a smirk, but he doesn’t let it stay.

“Besides,” you add and look ahead again. “The men in there don’t respect me. They fear me because of my dragon, because of the rumors they heard, but besides their fear, I also need their respect as a warrior.”

“And you think what you have in mind will gain it?” Cregan asks out of curiosity.

You sigh. “If I could gain it another way I would take that route, but we are at war, and I am their commander. I need them to respect me like they respect you and the rest of the men here.”

Cregan hums and you let your gaze linger on nothing in particular before you turn your head to him. “You trust me?”

Cregan’s grey eyes find your gaze and he looks into you as if there isn’t an obvious answer to your question. He looks at you expecting you to know the answer, but you have been away from him for a long time, you’ve changed since the last time you saw him. And letters weren’t going to show that, but he sees that now so you need to hear his answer.

“I do. Whatever choice you make.” He reassures your worried heart.

You let out a relieved sigh and nod in comprehension, letting your gaze linger on each other so you’re all each other sees, so you’re all each other can think about to the point he remembers a matter he needs to get off his chest.

“May I ask you something?” He brings up, causing you to blink out of your daze.

“Of course,” you assure him with a nod before you look away.

Cregan clears his throat first before he probes. “This vision you had about your son. What was his name? What…was he like?”

Shit, you shared too much before, didn’t you?

Well, the boy did have grey eyes, a strong chin, and this solemn look Cregan carries too, but can you be sure he's his? What if all you do is get his hopes up for something that might not be his?

“What I shared is all I know,” you say without sharing your assumptions so you don’t hurt him in the process. “It was only a short vision. He said we would meet each other again.”

Cregan’s eyes stay on you for a second longer before he looks away, letting you now take your turn to look at him while he’s not looking. “You believe me now?” You tease him, making his lips flicker a smile on his features before he shrugs.

“I would be foolish not to wouldn’t I?” He says.

“Not really. More logical than anything else.”

He turns to face you with the corner of his lips turning up for a second before nothing else is added to the matter and silence seeps through as you head to the clearing.

Once you arrive at the clearing, you wait on top of a small hill that faces the clearing and wait for the prisoners to be rounded up, and a crowd to gather before you commence and finally feed the curiosity of all the men gathered before you.

“It's a surprise to see my face on the other side of this war, isn’t it?” You start off by saying with your hands clasped before you, your shoulders straight, and your nose pointed to the air—“not long ago we roamed the same campsite. Not long ago you followed the orders of my husband and his men, but now my husband and his men are dead,” you share without having your voice break. “And I stand before you. The ones who lived. You are captured but you are still alive and for that I applaud you.”

The crowd of men look at you lost, not knowing where you’re taking this gathering.

“As well as offer a way to stay alive,” you say and create a tension amongst the Rivermen and the Northerners. “As the heir to Queen Rhaenyra, and as your princess I will grant you the choice to bend the knee to Queen Rhaenyra, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, because I know you. I know how brave some of you are. I know some of you are respectful, and some of you were just doing what you were told after you got ripped from your homes, from your families, and from your lives to be given a sword and shoved to fight for a usurper you don’t believe in. I know some of you know nothing else but to fight, and to those, to all of you. I say bend the knee,” you sneer and look at them between your lashes.

Whispers travel throughout the crowd gathered around the prisoners, while some of the prisoners themselves look at one another to question what they have in mind before they mirror each other and bend the knee. Yet as some bend the knee without question, others remain defiant and stick out like a sore thumb as they remain standing.

“Very well,” you interject once everyone has made up their minds. “Round up half of the men left standing and the other half take them back to their cells,” you demand and right away the young lord from before is the first to bark orders at his men before he joins them and eagerly rounds up the defiant prisoners to the side, leaving those on their knees where they are and as they are. And since you don’t have anything to say to them right now you turn to Addam.

“Come, it’s time. Call to Seasmoke,” you let him know ominously before you walk uphill a few paces to be able to face the men that were gathered to the side. Addam trails behind you but stops before he can catch up when he hears the rustling of trees, and the echoes of branches breaking before the fierce glare of a dragon appears from the shadows of the forest, stealing the breaths of the men you’re allied with and the prisoners alike, before they’re completely out of their skins when your purple dragon brings down the trees in her path and stands right behind you.

“Mercy,” one of the prisoners breathes out loud enough to be heard, but nothing is done, his wishes aren’t granted. The men that gathered them up move away, leaving them there in your dragon's direct aim.

“You want to stand with your broken king?” Your threatening voice fills the air as your dragon snarls and slowly pushes her neck out to have her head hover over you—“well, so be it. Let’s see if he saves you now.” You snicker, creating goosebumps on the men who were against you around that meeting table, but earning the respect that they failed to have for you then as you don’t fear the violence or the tough decision. You don’t look away from death, you face it. They respect that.

However, they have yet to see what you have to demonstrate, and you only wait for Seasmoke to descend from the skies, bringing a blast of air with him as he lands harshly behind Addam.

“Mercy!” Another prisoner cries out and gets on his knees now, but you don’t give him what he so desperately wants. What he had the chance to gain before.

“Dracarys,” you respond to his plea with the command and a hungry look in your eyes that matches your dragons before she leans more forward to have her head past you and open her jaw.

“Dr—Dracarys,” Addam proceeds to voice his own command, and unlike Astraea, Seasmoke moves forward, past Addam to face the prisoners before he and Astraea both bath the prisoners with fire, creating a song of cries and wails to ring through the clearing, and causing Addam to move away as waves of heat from the dragon fire hit him. All while you stay under Astraea and show that the heat doesn’t bother you. You don’t flinch or cry, the lively fire eating away at the bodies reflects in your ravenous eyes before you turn away as it all suddenly goes silent when the men turn to nothing but burnt corpses the dragons feast on.

“Now,” you don’t linger in the silence and start to walk off the hill. “You.”

When you’re on the same level as the men left on their knees you continue. “If you want to leave you may. No one will stop you and no one will harm you. Or if you wish to stay, do so, but know you will fight yet another war at Tumbleton against the Hightower army who have sacked the town. Against my uncle Prince Daeron,” you spat his name. “His dragon, and the turncloaks who regrettably call themselves dragonriders. If you stay, you fight with me, with Ser Addam, Lord Stark and his men, and the Lords of the Riverlands. Stay, and you fight for Queen Rhaenyra, you fight to bring peace to this treacherous war. You fight for your families, your homes, and your own lives. Stay, and fight if you want. Or leave.”

Silence is a common visitor and once again finds a place amongst the crowd as you all wait to see what they will choose.

And as you and a majority of the lords expect the men to get up and leave, the men get up on their feet and instead face you with a fiery determination. “Blood Dragon!” One man exclaims from the crowd of previous prisoners.

“Blood Dragon!” Another man echoes before more and more voice the same thing with more excitement, turning the cry into a chant that litters your skin with goosebumps.

No matter how many times you hear people chant for you, the excitement and dedication shared in a roar of excitement is something you will never get used to.

“Give the men tents,” you give a demand once you turn away from the cheering crowd. “Feed them, offer them warm baths, and give them new armor. They will now be one of us, treat them as such. If I see any mistreatment I will personally see to that punishment.”

“Princess,” a commanding knight says in comprehension.

Shortly thereafter, before you take a step to leave a Lord interjects. “What of the other men you left as prisoners?”

You face the Lord with a creeping smile and give him a simple answer. “Let’s see some fun before we depart.”

With no further explanation, you depart and leave confusion in the air. Confusion that turns to curiosity. And curiosity that gets fed when the sun is down and the stars and moon are in your company, giving light to the prisoners gathered in a makeshift ring in the clearing, and giving light to you and Addam along with Cregan as you sit on the hill that overlooks the scene below and attracts a rather excited crowd as everyone gathers the fact that you are going to make the prisoners fight.

“Greetings everyone!” You make your voice boom as you stand on the hill and face the crowd of men. “Thank you all for joining us tonight. As you all may know we depart in the morning, and it will be the start of a rather wary journey. I won’t lie. We need to ask the houses in the Riverlands for more of their help so we may be that last push we need to win this war. And it’s because of it that I offer a night of fun.” You announce and slowly start to smile a rather cynical smile.

“Place your bets,” you suggest as you clasp your hands together and begin to look eager. “Get a drink and watch these traitors fight in a battle to the death where only one gets to be free and pardoned for not bending the knee, and turning their cloak against Queen Rhaenyra.”

Murmurs travel through the crowd, smiles spread, excitement glimmers in the eyes of tired men, and the little money they have with them is passed around as bets are placed on the prisoners all gathered around the makeshift ring.

“With that said!” You exclaim and throw your arms out because of genuine excitement riddling your body. “Let. The. Fight. To the. Death. COMMENCE!” You make your voice travel out throughout the clearing before you bring your hands together with a clap to signal the start, making the crowd boom with the same excitement that you show off.

Yet that excitement that once overfilled you quickly dies when you sit back in your seat and glower at the fighting men with a piercing glare that glistens against the fire dancing on the torches by you and the three you trust the most, making you seem like a predator stalking their prey from the shadows where if you pay close attention, only their glowing eyes are seen before death becomes their acquaintance.

And the glowering glare works as a warning to the men you spared, letting them know that at any wrong turn, they make that could be them; fighting with every breath they have to try and come out the winner—if they weren’t turned into dragon fodder that is.

Furthermore, the ravenous glare that paints your features, and the sight of the fighting prisoners also works to let the other warriors and the doubtful commanders and Lords know that you aren’t to be trifled with. You don’t squirm at the sight of blood, but most importantly they see that you are someone they can respect and fight with, fight for. It’s an odd and rather bloody way to gain someone’s respect, but it’s because you provide the depleted men with entertainment that they don't see you so high above them. You’re still rather unreachable, but they don’t look at you and see the soles of your feet, they can meet your eyes now and that’s worth fighting for.

What of the men closest to you though? Addam, Ser Cane, and Cregan, what do they see?

Ser Cane sees it as something that has to be done, a way that will keep the fighting men fed from growing mentally wary. While Addam sees blood, bright and crimson red blood, and a rather tasteless sport that he doesn’t take pleasure in watching or see why you seem to enjoy it so much.

As for Cregan? Cregan sees a part of you he didn’t know. A rather cynical part of you, a part of you that stands up and claps with an impressed look in your eyes as a man spins down to avoid being struck, but fails to see his opponent spin down too until it’s too late and his throat is sliced open.

Past that though, he also sees the pain that hides past that smile spreading on your face. He sees the need for revenge flickering like a dancing flame in your eyes as you watch the men from Team Green fight with every fiber their bodies can muster in hopes they feel what Jacaerys felt as he took his last breath, or what Lucerys felt as he was crushed by the jaws of a dragon, what Viserys felt when he was lost at sea, the pain your mother has gone through, what your grandmother felt when she fell to her death, and what Aemond felt. He might have supported Aegon, but you still crave that the men fighting feel what he did when he was stabbed through his head. Cregan can see that thirst for blood, it’s so desperate for something, for a single drop, and yet it’s such a painful emotion.

It’s why he’s not any less fond of you. Then again even if you didn’t carry the agony in your eyes he still would feel the same way he feels burning within him now.

“I’m going to bed,” Addam announces as he gets up.

You pick your head up and turn to look at him. “Okay,” you don’t argue and bid him a sweet goodnight before you turn to Cregan.

“If only I could fight,” you whisper to him as you keep your eyes on the fight below. “It would be so much fun showing them what they deserve.”

Cregan eyes shift to you, you can feel his stare besides just seeing it from the corner of your eyes. “And you think this,” he says and points to the fight. “Display of violence will make them see that they were wrong?”

You spare him a glance but don’t look at him long, choosing to keep your eyes on the fight before you answer without as much as thinking of your response. “I’m not making them fight to death in hopes they see their wrongs. I’m making them fight because it’s what they deserve. What use would they have in cells? What would rotting in a cell do?” You slowly start to grimace, proving to Cregan what he already knew. “They had it coming.”

“They had it coming” echoes in Cregan’s mind, and as he hears yours words echo over and over again, he hopes that your pure visceral anger beneath the surface of your grief and sorrow doesn’t find a way out or else may the gods bless your enemies left with a beating heart because he sees it, he hears that pure visceral anger wanting to break out and be the only dominating emotion.

A/N- Maybe two or three full chapters of cregan before another battle!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

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starmapz · 5 months ago

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shame on me || chapter seven || weapon

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 7.3k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

The feeling of the breeze threading through the open door is refreshing given the tense air in the cabin. The smell of spring blossoms puts a smile on your tired features from yet another long night.

At some point in the night, you had heard Gojo come down the stairs, his steps approaching your door but after some sort of turmoil, he seemed to decide against knocking. You had wondered if he thought you were asleep, but since you’d woken up he’d been avoiding you. He had left breakfast on the table for you early in the morning at some point, retreating back to his bedroom before you had the chance to talk.

Every time he shuffled or moved in his bedroom, you’d freeze, a sudden uncomfortable air to being in the cabin with him. You’d asked him for space last night and he was certainly giving you that, but it didn’t make you feel any better about the previous day’s interactions with him.

As you sit at the table eating your breakfast, a knock at the door makes you jump. Pressing your palms flat against the table, you push yourself to your feet, but before you can make your way to the door, Gojo hops down the stairs. His hand ghosts over your shoulder and sends a shiver down your spine.

“I got it,” he tells you, his first words to you since your argument last night.

You sit back down, wanting nothing more than to talk to Gojo about the events of last night, but the presence of Yuta at the door prevents you from doing so.

“Morning, Sensei!” The boy grins cheerily, gripping the bag slung over his shoulder. He peeks into the cabin, shooting you a kind but wary smile. “Good, you’re both here. Can I come in?”

Gojo shoots you a glance, a silent question. When you nod, Gojo makes space for Yuta to enter.

“Hey y/n, how’re you feeling?” He asks, sliding his katana bag off his shoulder and leaning on the table beside you as he sits down.

“Been better,” you admit but shoot him a reassuring smile.

“Yeah I’m sorry about stabbing you, by the way,” he chuckles as he runs a hand through his hair.

Gojo had mentioned that Yuta was the one who stopped your draconic rampage a few weeks back, but it didn’t make it any less of a strange apology to hear.

You shake your head in embarrassment. “I’m just glad no one got hurt.”

Yuta and Gojo excitedly exchange a few words as Gojo flips the chair opposite you, straddling it as he casually rests both arms over the back of it.

“So listen, the higher-ups called for me,” Yuta frowns, glancing between you both.

Avoiding Gojo’s stare, your brow furrows in confusion. “Why call for a student?”

“Oh!” Yuta chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “I’m a special grade sorcerer, so I’m a bit different from a normal student,” he exhales shyly. He watches as you nod, taking in a breath as his expression grows more serious. “Gojo, you know what that means, right?”

He hums, his blindfolded eyes very clearly locked on you in thought although you couldn’t see them. You’d grown more confident in your ability to read his expressions even when hidden, and the apprehension currently clouding his features was obvious.

“I see,” he hums, resting his chin on his arms.

“Do they know I’m awake yet?” You ask, fiddling with your fingers.

“No, Shoko’s keeping it under wraps.” Gojo’s foot begins bouncing as he’s deep in thought.

“So, can we keep stalling?” Yuta asks hopefully, pulling his knee up on the chair.

Gojo clicks his tongue. “If Yuta doesn’t kill you,” he points his finger in your direction, “they’ll send someone else.”

“Tsukumo?” Yuta cocks his head to the side.

Deep in thought, Gojo shakes his head. “She wouldn’t. The Zen’in, if I were to guess.”

You weren’t overly familiar with the clans aside from Gojo, but you recognized the name. From what you had heard they were relatively ruthless and Nanami didn’t seem too fond of them. A conversation had come up that multiple students in Tokyo and Kyoto had roots there and had chosen to abandon them based on their treatment.

“One Zen’in isn’t too bad,” Yuta muses. “We could handle a Zen’in.”

“I didn’t say one.”

“Oh.”

Tapping your fingers a couple of times on the table, you worry your lip between your teeth. “Would it be so bad for me to talk to the higher-ups?”

Gojo lifts his head, lips pursed. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, giving them a more disheveled look than usual. His leg bounces beneath him, a tic you’d started noticing more often. From what you could tell he seemed to do it when something was bothering him, but when it came to Gojo, things were always a mystery.

“Well…” Yuta chimes in when Gojo doesn’t answer. “It could work.”

“No.” Gojo’s voice is firm and earns surprised stares from you and the student.

“Why not?” You ask curiously, not having enough knowledge about the world of Jujutsu or the higher-ups to form an opinion.

“It won’t matter. And they won’t have you stand before them.”

“Can they… stop me?”

Gojo hums, shifting his jaw from side to side. “No, but-” He chews on his lower lip in thought, as though he’s grappling with something. “Give me a moment,” he sighs finally, getting to his feet and walking off to the washroom.

Your gaze follows the tall figure down the hall, fixing on the door as he shuts it behind him. Yuta sighs, mindlessly fiddling with his uniform jacket, one that was a stark white in comparison to the rest of the students.

“Miss y/n?”

You hum, turning your attention to Yuta.

“I think it could work,” he offers, shrugging his shoulders hopefully. “Talking to them, I mean.” He offers a kind smile.

“You think?” A flicker of hope shines in your eyes.

“They wanted me dead two years ago,” he chuckles. “Special grades scare them, especially Gojo.”

Even Miriko had been afraid of Gojo upon your first meeting, but knowing him now and seeing the way he interacted with the world around him, it almost felt like a crime to be afraid of him. He was so childish, you couldn’t envision a world where someone with a title of a ‘higher-up’ would be afraid of such a man. After all, surely they had to be powerful.

“Him? Why?”

“He’s the strongest.”

“So I’ve heard,” you sigh, getting awfully sick of that statement.

“The thing about Gojo is that…” he pauses, eyes flickering to the door as though he isn’t sure he should utter a word. His voice lowers as he continues. “I don’t think he’s ever really been one to listen or care about what they think,” he starts, “but they have to listen to him as the head of the Gojo clan.”

You nod slowly, taking in his words. You were familiar enough with the concept of the power the clans held, Gojo included.

“I think, though, what they’re really afraid of is the other side of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shoko probably knows better than I do, but…” His eyes flicker to the shut door again. “He’s a different person in battles. He’s willing to make sacrifices more than I think the average person is.” Your brow furrows, not sure where Yuta is going with this. “I think the higher-ups see him as a weapon, not a person. There’s no way he doesn’t know that,” his voice is small as he frowns. “I think if they keep ordering him to kill the people he cares about, he’s gonna snap.”

Your eyes widen at the revelation, thoughts racing through your mind as you take in what he said. Though you’d seen a more cold side of Gojo, even in battle you’d never once pictured him as any less of a person. Leaning back in your chair, you worry your lip between your teeth in deep thought, not sure which of the questions racing through your mind to start with.

On one hand, there was the question of who exactly Gojo had been ordered to kill. Did Yuta mean himself and Yuji? Or was there more to the story than just his students?

On the other hand, you weren’t confident that you qualified as someone Gojo cared about. Sure, he’d shown that at least now he was trying and there was a level of civility between you both, but him caring about you was another story.

“What do you mean ‘keep’ ordering him to kill?” You ask, leaning forward against the table, but before Yuta can say what’s on the tip of his tongue, the washroom door swings open and Gojo returns with a composed grin. Yuta’s eyes widen, his lips zipping tightly as he abruptly stops your conversation.

“Talkin’ about me?” He teases, stepping over the backwards chair to take his spot straddling it again. You roll your eyes at the cocky greeting despite him being right. “Why don’t we grab some food before we continue?”

Shooting a glance at Yuta, you nod. Maybe that would give you a chance to continue your conversation with him. Noting that you were still in yesterday’s clothes, the two men allow you time to shower, put your hair up and throw on more acceptable clothing, opting for a cropped shirt and joggers. You didn’t have the energy to put any more effort into how you looked.

Pushing the door open, you throw your old clothes into the guest room, slipping your phone into your pocket. Coming up to the table, you stand behind Yuta as you wait for the two to stop laughing over something.

“Ready?” Yuta asks with a smile, turning to look up at you.

Nodding, you look to Gojo to lead the way, his head fixed in your direction with pursed lips. Clearing his throat, he smirks. “Right! Tokyoooo!”

Yuta slings his bag over his shoulder, taking the lead as you stop to grab your sunglasses before unsteadily making your way after him. As footsteps approach from behind you, you feel something brush against your arm. The sight of Gojo offering you his arm catches you off-guard and you feel an embarrassing heat rise to your cheeks.

Somewhat begrudgingly, you take it and your small group has Ijichi drive them to a cafe not too far from the school that Gojo claims has the best mochi.

To your absolute delight, he was right.

Starry-eyed, you stare down at the treat, tongue gliding over your lips. “I gotta hand it to you Gojo, you were right.”

He hums in response, an uncharacteristically quiet response to what might even be a compliment, and when you look up at him he seems equally distracted. He’s worrying his lip between his teeth, gaze seemingly fixated on you, though you could only assume he’d spaced out or something.

Shrugging it off, you turn your attention to Yuta, who mutters, “Maki would love this, I’ve gotta bring her here sometime.”

You smile warmly at the thought of the students going out for food, just enjoying life. You’d grown so accustomed to sorcery that sometimes it was easy to forget they were all kids. They should be out enjoying life, not worrying about what curse would try to kill them next.

And yet that was exactly where your life had brought you. In fact, you were probably Yuta’s age when you forced yourself into isolation and lost your freedom. You grimace at the thought, training your attention on the mochi in your hands with a frown as though it was responsible for your loss of freedom.

You inhale sharply, forcing the thought aside. No need to feel pity for yourself when you were happy with how your life had been.

“I’m gonna grab some for my friends,” Yuta decides, getting up to stand in line.

With Yuta out of earshot, Gojo turns his attention to you. “I’ll arrange a meeting for you with the higher-ups.”

You tilt your head in surprise.

“I don’t want Yuta to stand before them. He’s just a kid.”

It’s strange to hear Gojo say something so protective, even when it comes to his students. His trust in them and their abilities was so great that you sometimes doubted his judgment when it came to them, but all that really told you was that there was something about the higher-ups that even he feared.

“I agree but… why the change in heart?” You ask, wondering why he’d decided to keep this from Yuta.

“I have a plan,” he tells you, leaning forward on the table. He attempts to slyly reach across the table and steal your last mochi, snickering when you try to slap his hand away but you’re met with Infinity.

“Why are you even using that? We’re in a cafe.” You grumble, watching him pop your last mochi into his mouth. Your conversation about Gojo’s plan is now long forgotten as you narrow your eyes at him.

“You never know,” he shrugs you off.

“You’re such a pain,” you grumble at his chipper laugh. “I was enjoying that.”

“Awh, were you?” He teases.

If looks could kill.

Yuta returns, brow raised at the looks being exchanged between the two of you. “Do you guys need a moment?” He utters uncertainly.

“No,” you force a kind smile.

After going over his mochi flavor choices, Gojo decides he needs to try some of them, getting back in line himself. Eagerly awaiting Gojo’s departure to continue your conversation from earlier, you unceremoniously flip towards Yuta.

“What did you mean, earlier?”

“Uh…” The boy’s brow furrows, the conversation clearly a passing topic for him, whereas for you it was the answers you were seeking. Or so you hoped. “Oh, about Geto?”

Your eyes widen as an image of the raven-haired man, pale and unmoving, in Gojo’s arms returns to your mind.

“Geto… Suguru?” You ask in disbelief. Of course, it made sense, but still it felt like pieces of the puzzle were missing. Gojo was a menace but even you could admit he wasn’t a monster. Geto, though, it was hard to make an argument for. Were they…?

“That’s the one,” he hums. “He once told me he was his only friend. I guess they were classmates with Shoko.”

At a loss for words, you lean back in your chair deep in thought. It had been a long time since you’d considered why it was that Gojo had seemed so desperate to have Geto back when he had inexplicably showed up at your gate.

Back then, you’d paid little mind to the melancholy laced between his words. The way he’d gripped the limp body in his arms with all the care in the world, how he’d begged for you to bring him back. You saw it now, clear as day. He had been in love and his tragedy laid in his arms, his wounds bared to you, of all people.

Yuta frowns, eyes trained on the bag of mochi in front of him. “He killed him a couple of years ago. Then when someone used his body, he had to kill him again.”

“He did some terrible things,” you reason, headlines of Geto Suguru’s actions coming to mind from when you were around Yuta’s age.

Still, you mumble a curse under your breath at the thought of having to kill someone you were so fond of. The horror of the idea tightens in your chest, digging uncomfortably into your heart as you shoot a glance at the cheery sorcerer ordering mochi with a boyish grin.

“That’s why he couldn’t kill you.”

“Hm?” You ask, unable to connect the dots between you and Gojo’s closest confidante.

Yuta’s head tilts sympathetically. “Maybe you should ask him about it,” he mumbles with a sparkle of mischief in his sunken eyes.

Pursing your lips, your confused expression remains as Gojo approaches your table.

“Alright! Ready?” As you and Yuta both nod, he makes his way around the table, reaching his hand out to help you up. Still lost in thought, you barely notice the way he effortlessly pulls you up by your forearms before snugly pulling you to his side, holding you up by your waist. You don’t bother to think about it, because Gojo’s always been one to invade personal space, and you need the help anyway.

The car ride back is filled with joyous laughter between Yuta and Gojo, though you can only watch the scenery go by as you try to make sense of what you know about the Limitless sorcerer. How many people had he lost? How many had he been forced to kill?

Why did everyone seem to see him as a weapon?

Pulling into the entrance of the school, Yuta thanks Gojo for lunch, his eyes lighting up when he spots his friends in the distance. His teacher urges him off to them, telling him the conversation about the higher-ups could be handled by you and him.

He bounds off happily towards the green-haired second-year who you recognize as Maki. She seems to soften when she sees him, smiling when he pulls out mochi for her before sharing with the panda (who is still an enigma to you), and the shorter blonde student.

“They’re cute,” you comment.

Gojo hums, smiling as he offers you his arm again. You take it as he leads the way back to his cabin, returning to your thoughts.

Yuta’s words clung to you like glue, unable to be shaken. Would Gojo even answer you if you did ask him why he didn’t kill you? Or would he give you another excuse? Would he avoid the question altogether? After all, you had asked him why he didn’t kill you when the higher-ups asked. By all accounts, it would have been excusable to most people given the damage you’d done. What was more surprising was spotting him waiting at your hospital bedside with sunken eyes and pale, tired skin when you’d woken up.

You’d never stopped to consider why he was so adamant on staying at your side. Why he had decided to take care of you, and not just keep an eye on you, but cook and clean too. Hell, even the way he helped you get around while you were struggling was soft, kind even.

Was it guilt?

Or… was there more to it than that?

Questions of Geto swirled in your brain as well. If they had been so close, what had happened? Had it affected him in a way he wouldn’t dare show others? Was his cheery act all a facade? A coping mechanism?

It was shocking how well his student knew him.

Coming back to the cabin, you kneel down to greet your excited pup at the door, squealing happily as he licks your cheek. He doesn’t even bother barking at Gojo anymore, clearly growing more accustomed to him.

“Miriko, you in there?” Gojo asks, half-sitting against the back of the couch.

“Can I help you, Six Eyes?” Her mouth appears on your cheek, your eyes rolling down to try to see it.

“You’ve got a week to heal y/n,” he says bluntly, removing his blindfold and tossing it on the table. His locks fall over his eyes and he shakes his head to clear his vision. “I have a plan.”

–

Days came and went with few changes besides an increase in your physiotherapy with Shoko and when Miriko’s cursed energy had finally returned, she was able to heal you fully. You had happily gone bounding down the faculty stairs back to the cabin where Gojo sat with feet up on the table, grinning as you excitedly bounded up to your dog and ran outside with him.

It was your first genuine, truly happy grin in a long time.

Too busy playing with Taro, you missed the way Gojo slyly followed you and leaned against the doorframe, ducking his head to fit properly through the frame as he watched you play with a rope toy with Taro. Stumbling back, you shriek in surprise as Taro lets go of the rope and you fall flat on your ass. You spot Gojo shaking his head in the distance, bringing his coffee up to his lips.

You’d gone a shocking amount of days with no real fight and only minor spats here and there when Gojo felt like being a pain in the ass, but there was nothing new about that. If there was one thing he enjoyed, it was irritating you.

He seemed to enjoy it more as your mood and coordination both picked up, growing more and more teasing each morning as he would practice cooking eggs to your preferences.

This morning is no exception as he calls you inside. You take a seat at the table, thanking him as he serves your eggs.

You raise a brow, turning your attention to him. “This is still burnt, Gojo. It’s almost impressive.”

“It’s not burnt! C’mon, it should be perfect,” he insists, spatula still in-hand as he rounds the table, only to spot that it was in fact a bit crispy as he invades your personal space when he leans in. “Hmm, it adds flare?” He insists as though he’s running out of compliments for his somewhat burnt eggs.

“I don’t need flare in my food, dumbass,” you tease, his eyes narrowing as he pouts at you.

“Maybe not in your food, but your personality could use some,” he mutters on his way back to the stove, surprised when you have not only the energy but also the movement necessary to lunge at him in a shockingly playful manner.

Gojo drops the spatula on the counter at the realization you’d lunged at him, dashing behind the couch in the living room. You stumble over yourself once but remain mostly dexterous as you face him on the opposite side of the couch. A boyish grin dawns his features as he places his palms on the arm of the couch, blue eyes gleaming playfully.

You feign to the right, before hopping over the couch, forgetting that he can, of course, teleport, as he disappears when you launch a pillow at him.

“Cheater!” You call over to him from where he’s now leaning against the wall with a sly smirk by the kitchen. You can’t help but smile at the infectious look, hopping down off the couch as you return to the kitchen. An overpowering smell of crispiness reminds you that Gojo was cooking when you dove at him.

He seems to remember at the same time as you both approach the pan with what was meant to be his serving of eggs.

“Do these ones have enough flare for you?” You tease as you both stare at the undeniably very burnt eggs in the pan.

“You’re a pain, you know that?” He teases with parted lips, poking your shoulder. Behind the guise of irritation, his eyes give away that he’s secretly enjoying your teasing.

“Speak for yourself, Satoru.”

Gojo’s teasing falls off as he stares at you in shock, his jaw practically dropping to the floor. Stiff as a board, he inhales sharply and rolls his shoulders, composing himself before you can notice the way you left him speechless. Never in a million years could either of you have imagined a world where you were on a first name basis, but whether it’s an accident or not, Gojo smiles fondly and lets you dump the eggs out.

“I’ll make new ones,” he says, clearing his throat. You sit down at the table again, eyes flitting over to your roommate as he leans down to grab new eggs from the fridge, his back muscles rippling from beneath his tight black shirt.

Your thoughts trail back to your conversation with Yuta and you debate asking the questions that remain unanswered, but it never seems to feel like the right moment.

“Hey, so listen,” Gojo starts, a more serious timbre to his voice. You give him your attention, tilting your head as he eyes you to see if you’re listening from where he stands over the pan. Still facing the stove, he continues. “I’m being sent on a mission, but you should be fine now that you’re healed.” You nod, not thinking much of it. You would still have one extra day to prepare for the meeting with the higher-ups when he got back, anyway.

“Must be a strong curse if they’re sending you,” you comment.

He hums in agreement. “The data they gathered on it estimates that it can negate the effects of cursed techniques.” He shrugs nonchalantly, a confident smirk donning his features. “Some sorta ugly humanoid thing I guess.”

The Thief cursed spirit?

You stare down at your eggs, repeating Miriko’s question aloud to Gojo.

“Hm? Dunno, I don’t have much more info.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Miriko appears on the back of your hand. You hold her up to face Gojo. “However I do not think it would be wise to send you.”

“Why’s that?”

“It sounds like a curse I knew once, it has the ability to temporarily disable and steal other techniques.” Her red iris darts to you, examining your curious expression. “You would be allowing it to use not only Limitless, but Six Eyes.”

“Nah, I’d win.” He grins nonchalantly, turning back to the stove and ignoring Miriko’s warning. “I’ll just kill it first.”

“You would be much wiser to send Itadori, he has no technique to steal and it shouldn’t be capable of reaching Sukuna.”

“It’s fine Miriko, I got this.” He grins again, shooting a confident look at the curse. She huffs before disappearing.

He is stubborn, she comments.

You chew your eggs, humming internally in response as you watch Gojo’s movements. You aren’t sure why, but a familiar anxiety settles in your stomach.

Do you think it can hurt him? You ask Miriko silently, spacing out as you speak to her.

Certainly. It did a number on me a long time ago. It’s unpredictable and very smart.

We can’t send a student.

It’s not very strong without a technique to steal. Itadori would be more than capable of taking it on alone.

You hum in thought, pulling Gojo’s attention from his eggs.

Could it… kill him?

Miriko pauses. I don’t know.

You swallow uncomfortably, poking at the remains of your eggs. A cursed spirit with a technique built to rival someone like Gojo. The anxiety begins to boil in your stomach, pulling your attention to the snowy locks of your roommate.

You suck in a breath as images flash through your mind of Kento. Of his smile, his warmth, his love. The way the light faded from his eyes when the curse pierced through him, when he lifted his arm to attempt to free himself, only to be pulled into a pool of acid, with nothing left of him but a blade.

Images of Gojo in the same situation settle uncomfortably in your mind alongside those of Kento.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, your breathing quickens and you stare wide-eyed at Gojo as words pour out of your mouth before you can think twice about them. “Please don’t go.”

Sliding his eggs out onto a plate and setting the pan aside, he turns to you with a raised brow at the meek tone behind your words. “Why? I can handle it.”

“I- I’m just looking out for you,” you stammer over your words, sitting upright. “Miriko thinks-”

“I’ll be fine,” he interrupts, waving his hand in the air with a scoff. “I’m the strongest.” There it is, that familiar phrase. The sentence you've heard uttered so many times that it makes your blood boil.

Anger begins to seep through the cracks of your calm facade, pooling in your chest and forming an uncomfortable weight that pulls you down. “For god’s sake, Gojo.” You sigh, watching with discontentment as he sits down to eat his eggs, pulling up his phone as he blatantly pushes away your concern.

Glancing up from his phone with a bite of eggs in his mouth, he hums questioningly at you when he sees the way your jaw is clenched.

“Can’t you listen to me for once?”

“What? C’mon, it’s not a big deal y/n. I handle shit like this all the time,” he shrugs nonchalantly, setting his phone down on the table.

“I know you do, but-” you pause, brow furrowed as you search for the words that will convince him, as stubborn a man as he is. “I just think- Miriko says-”

“y/n,” he interrupts, running a hand through his silvery locks. “I can handle myself, seriously. I’m the-”

“For fuck’s sake, I know!” You raise your voice, lowering it immediately as he glowers at you. “Just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you’re immune to everything,” you reason.

“I’ll be fine,” he mutters through his teeth, crossing his arms over his chest.

You stare at him in disbelief. Was everything you were saying going in one ear and out the other?

“For fu- Why are you being so stubborn?” Wide-eyed, you press on in hopes of getting him to listen.

“Stubborn? Do you hear yourself?” His voice raises now too, clearly growing upset.

“I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get hurt!” You raise your voice again, somewhat hurt at his lack of self-preservation.

“What does it matter? I’ll just heal myself,” he insists through gritted teeth, his voice edging on a growl.

You rub your hands over your face in exasperation. “What if you can’t? What if this thing is stronger than you think? What if-” Your words die on your tongue as the claws of anxiety begin to strike at your chest and your breathing increases, panic setting in thick. You take a shaky breath, balling your hands into fists in your lap to stop them from shaking. God, why did this keep happening? Why was he so insistent on arguing with you?

“You know what, whatever. I’m heading out.” Gojo gets to his feet, the clang of his plate rattling in the sink causing you to jump as it pulls you from your thoughts.

“Why is it so hard for you to listen to someone other than your goddamn self?”

He whips around, eyes flashing furiously. “You have to be fucking kidding me,” he spits. “It’s always something with you, I’m always doing something wrong.”

Hurt strikes you like a stake through the heart and you feel the familiar burn of tears brimming in your eyes. God damn it, not now. “I didn’t mean it like that, Gojo, I just-”

“Then what did you mean?” He hisses, swinging a hand through the air in disbelief. “Why does it even matter to you?” His accusation burns a hole through your chest and you don’t have time to think before words spill from your lips.

“Because I can’t lose you too!” You cry out, your arms hanging in the air before slowly dropping at your sides, your chest rising and falling quickly as you practically gasp for air, teetering dangerously on drowning in your own desperation. Because god damn it, why could he not listen?

The silence in the cabin is palpable, interrupted only by the incessant chirps of the summer cicadas. Even behind his sunglasses, you can see his eyes are wide, his jaw hanging ajar. Paralyzed at the sound of your words, he can’t manage to mask any amount of his shock. Satory Gojo, who you couldn’t seem to get to shut up most of the time, stood before you at a loss for words.

His shoulders fall, brow twitching as he finally processes what you’d just said. His lips part but he can’t seem to find words, shaking his head. His tongue swipes across his lower lip, your eyes flickering down to the motion for a brief moment.

“I- I didn’t realize…” He mumbles, clearing his throat. “I thought you didn’t care,” he sighs, ruffling a hand through his snowy hair.

“You’re so dense sometimes, Satoru,” you quietly chuckle, rubbing your hands over your face again. “Obviously I care,” you whisper, willing your voice not to waver as you bite your lip.

Quietly examining your face, the sorcerer inhales abruptly and walks back into the kitchen, his steps light as though he’s treading on eggshells. He eyes you for a moment before pouring a glass of water and sitting back down at the table, setting the glass down in front of you.

Gingerly, you reach for the glass, quietly thanking him for the oddly thoughtful gesture.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” His lips are pressed into a thin line, quietly observing the way your breathing begins to slow. A prolonged silence spreads in the cabin once again, neither of you daring to look at one another as though you’d been caught doing something embarrassing.

Then again, it was embarrassing to care for Gojo, sometimes.

Sighing deeply, Gojo leans back in his chair. “We can’t send Yuji alone. He’s not a first grade sorcerer yet,” he clears his throat, motioning to your hand as though he expects Miriko to pop out at any moment. “So… Why don’t we go over who should go with him

To your surprise, Miriko cooperates and you land on sending Kusakabe as backup, although Gojo claims he won’t be fond of the decision. Regardless, it puts you at ease as Gojo makes a call.

Leaning his head back, Gojo slides down in his chair. “I’m not dense.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Whatever you say.”

He pouts, closing his eyes.

Neither of you know what to say. Your relationship has always been strained at best, but the charged emotions left hanging in the air make it hard for either of you to make sense of one another.

Letting out a deep breath, you lower your head. The weight of the morning’s argument exhausts you, and as you glance at Gojo, you realize he too seems to be succumbing to that weight, his breathing already beginning to steady as though he was falling asleep. You quietly chuckle at the sight. He really could sleep anywhere.

Deciding to take after him, you make your way to the couch and it isn’t long after your head hits the cushions that you’re out cold.

–

It was the day of the meeting with the higher-ups and your nerves were at an all-time high even though you had rehearsed what you would be saying to them. Gojo had insisted he go with you in case of emergency, though the intonation behind his words told you there was something more to his insistence on standing before the “old hags” as he so chose to call them.

For the first time in a while, Gojo was wearing his familiar all-black faculty uniform with a high collar, adorned with golden buttons. He also claimed he’d gotten you one, but when you told him Ijichi had never dropped it off he’d just pouted. So you had chosen to wear a fancier black dress with pink flowers that flowed just past your knees.

The sight of a single door had never instilled such nerves in you. It seemed to taunt you, sitting in a strangely barren waiting room, as though you were in a DMV.

Mindlessly bouncing your leg, you sneak a glance at Gojo, who looks calm as ever, his signature smirk donning his lips as he leans back in his chair, crossed arms behind his head. He may as well be the picture of confidence as usual, which on one hand is reassuring, but it also has you wondering whether you might accidentally disappoint him.

Catching your stare, Gojo peeks out from under his blindfold with a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine,” he hums in a honeyed voice, smooth and calm. His blue eye is warm, white lashes blinking at you a few times before he replaces the blindfold.

You exhale, smiling thankfully at him. Since the day you’d called him dense, he’d seemed to catch on to your more minute emotions, actively trying to keep in tune with you. Every day he seemed to find new ways to make it harder and harder to even say you disliked him, let alone the idea you once hated him.

Nothing would change the fact that he was at all times a cocky pain in the ass, but what mattered was that he was trying. You were both trying.

As the time for your meeting rolls around, you wait in hopes that the door will creak open to a well-lit podium ready for you to speak at, but Gojo hadn’t prepared you for what awaited. Getting to his feet as the clock strikes the hour, the sorcerer springs to his feet, humming as he treads to the door and awaits your meek steps behind him.

Sliding the door open, he holds it for you before sliding it shut behind you. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the sights around you, the darkness of the room illuminated only by six dim lights, each pointed at a screen panel. The faint outline of a person can be seen behind each one, causing a shiver to run up your spine as you take your place in the center of the panels. All eyes on you, a frail feminine voice addresses you.

“l/n y/n. Your actions are called into question today,” she speaks. You turn to face the panel that the voice is coming from, glancing back at Gojo who shoots you a reassuring nod from the entrance. “For the damage you caused to the Tokyo Jujutsu Tech grounds,” she begins, “and for unleashing a special grade cursed spirit at full power.”

You swallow, staying silent. You’d been over this with Gojo. Do not speak unless spoken to. There’s a pause as they wait for you to speak up. Met with silence, an older male voice pipes in.

“Vessel, are you not responsible for keeping the special grade cursed spirit of death at bay?”

Turning to face the new panel, you swallow. “Yes, I am.” It pains you to say, just as much as it pains Miriko to hear, however every line is rehearsed. You just need to stay calm.

“Upon unleashing the cursed spirit at full force, you put not only faculty and students, but innocent bystanders in danger.”

“Kindly, sir, I was in control.”

Silence chokes you as you wait for a response. A deep and raspy voice snickers at you. “In control, eh? Is that why second-year student Okkotsu Yuta stabbed you through the head?”

You swallow hard. You knew the question was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. “I was in pain. We had discussed it before, it was premeditated.”

“Should that not be the responsibility of your equal rather than your student?”

Gojo remains unmoving as you nervously search for encouragement from him. He’s frowning now too, clearly frazzled.

“Y-Yes,” you stammer. “Gojo was unavailable.”

“I see,” a deep rumbling sounds as an older man laughs heartily, though you aren’t sure what’s so funny.

Maybe Gojo was right to call them hags. It wasn’t as far fetched as you had once thought, now in their presence. To think they had attempted to sentence two children to their death already, and you were potentially next.

“Miss l/n,” the first feminine voice addresses you again. Flipping to face her, you see a shadow shift from behind the dimly illuminated panel. “Do you have a defense in the case of the untimely death of a mother at the Yokohama hospital in 2008 resulting in the orphaning of a young boy?”

Memories come racing back through your mind, leaving a set of fresh wounds as deep as they had all those years ago. Like shards of ice, they pierce your skin as your blood runs cold.

This, you had not rehearsed. You’re not sure how they ever could have found out about the incident and it makes you shiver. Just how long were they watching you, secretly keeping an eye on you?

Your heart pounds hard against your chest as you glance back at Gojo. He’s frowning, his expression unreadable. The comfort you had hoped he would provide never finds you.

Taking a steadying breath, you steel yourself as you face the panel. “I wasn’t aware of my technique. It was an accident and I never caused harm again.”

The silence that stretches between you is too long, the uncomfortable sound of your nervous breathing all that can be heard. You whip around anxiously to face a different panel as a new voice speaks in a slow, low drawl.

“l/n y/n,” they begin, “as the Vessel of the cursed spirit of death known as Miriko, it is your responsibility to keep it at bay. You have proven on multiple occasions you are incapable of such a feat.” The voice doesn’t waver, the shadow of the figure straightening as they lift their chin, their voice booming. “On these grounds…”

You hold your breath. There’s no world where you’re off the hook based on what they’ve said, but still you hope.

“... We sentence you to death.”

A chill runs squarely up your spine at the words as you spin to face each of the panels. A low snicker sounds from a woman, followed by a grunt of approval from another.

“Gojo Satoru, you will kill the Vessel.”

Turning to face your assailant, your mouth runs dry. He stands unmoving at the entrance, hands in his pockets. Though blindfolded, you feel his gaze on you in a way that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. It’s as though the person staring back at you isn’t a person at all.

Yuta’s words echo in your mind.

“I think if they keep ordering him to kill the people he cares about, he’s gonna snap.”

It was undeniable at this point that, to some degree, you both cared for one another. Your argument a couple of days ago left little to the imagination in terms of how you felt about one another.

But would that be enough to save you? Would he deny them?

He slowly lifts a finger to his blindfold, pulling it down to rest at his collar. His eyes shine wildly in a way you’ve never before seen. His pupils are eerie pinpoints, unblinking as blue seems to tint the white lashes outlining his wide eyes.

Time seems to stand still as he raises a hand to face you, bringing his middle finger to meet his thumb. Swallowing hard, your breathing picks up and you bring your arms up in order to defend yourself despite the horror that roots you to the spot.

Why did it seem the world wanted you to suffer so badly? After so much time convincing yourself it was okay to be close to someone only to have them ripped from your grasp, you now faced the barrel of a loaded gun held by someone you had finally learned to trust.

You close your eyes as Gojo inhales, prepared to take his attack head-on but what meets you isn’t the pain of an attack. Rather, when you open your eyes, everything seems to happen in an instant. You don’t have time to register the way Gojo closes the distance between you, one muscular arm pulling you into his warm chest as he holds you tightly against him.

You feel the flexing of muscles against your shoulder in the arm he’s holding in the air as he makes a signal with his hand that you’ve never seen. His grip on your core tightens, fingers flexing around your shoulder as an unsettling anger seems to rip through the air around you.

“Domain Expansion. Infinite Void.”

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || thank you for reading as always! i had so much fun with that last scene and the egg scene ♡

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hollythius · 2 years ago

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A LOVER’S RETREAT TO MONDSTAT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tag list: @

#astronetwrk #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #tighnari x reader #cyno x reader #cyno x gn reader #tighnari x gn reader #x reader #windblume spoilers #i wrote this while in an allergy-induced fever daze so apologies if it’s not completely in character #never written about EITHER of these guys so i hope i did well (:#pleaseplease please don’t flop 🙏

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delicatebarness · 6 months ago

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i cant read your mind | chapter nine

Summary: Ah, the return of John Walker.

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

Word Count: 928

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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#i can’t read your mind #i cant read your mind #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #tfatws au #tfatws bucky

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chaotic-starlight24 · 5 months ago

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Johnny Cade General Headcanons

Thank you guys so much for all the love on the previous headcanons! I have a lot of fun making these :) Now for the next group of them!

Warnings: Spoilers, Abuse

He is very nervous about just about everything but he is also the most brave person you will ever meet. Bravery is not doing things without fear, but in spite of it. So whenever the rest of the gang is too scared to try something he’s always the first one to step forward. Like one time Dally convinced the rest of them they should all try this zipline in town and once they got there everyone changed their mind. Even Dally (Man, I don’t think this is a smart idea…) But Johnny immediately offered to go first. Dally and Pony tried to convince him otherwise and he just shrugged and pulled a “Well, if I die I guess it’s meant to be.” He had a great time on the zipline and the rest of the gang went after him. (Dallas was shaking when he got off though)

He got his jean jacket when somebody lost theirs and another thought it was his. He was at a rodeo watching Dally and Soda when somebody came up to him.

“Hey kid, what’s your name?”

“Uhh… Johnny?”

“Man kid, you seem like you thought I was here to kill ya or somethin! Anyways, found this jean jacket.”

“...Ok?”

“Well, if you're Johnny Cade I’m guessing this is yours. Your initials are written on the tag.”

“Um its no-”

Then the guy just walked off and Johnny ended up with a new jacket. Joey Castles didn’t need it anyways.

He has the most contagious smile you will ever see. It’s just so sweet and genuine that even Dallas can’t help but smile with him.

He doesn’t do great in school except for English and science. And he still isn’t amazing at those. English is the only class he pays attention in because thinking about the meanings behind stuff helps take his mind off of everything he's been through. The teacher loves his discussions he starts and wishes he would actually do his work because he would probably get an A. In science he just does the experiments. That’s all he enjoys in the class.

He’s actually not horrifying at hair styles (with my ocs he picked up on some stuff when he was hanging out with Tessa and Pony at Rosemary’s hair salon) but when he cut and bleached Pony’s hair it took everything in him to no grimace in front of Pony and call Rosemary about how to fix it. But he eventually convinced Pony that if they combed he would look fine. When Pony looked ok afterwards he made an audible sigh of relief.

One time he was sleeping in the lot and he woke up to a very large Newfoundland dog standing next to him. He screeched so loud it could be heard from Buck’s and ended up in a tree. At first he was convinced it was a bear coming to end him but eventually it just laid down below the tree. So he got down and just sat next to it. He decided to name him Bear and Bear now occasionally sleeps in the lot with him. He also will sometimes walk with Johnny around town.

When the gang first met Bear they all loved him. Except for Dally (he loves him now) who was jumpscared because he actually thought Johnny just brought a bear into the house.

He first met Sodapop in 2nd grade when he came to school with some bruises and Soda asked if he could help him. Johnny was ofc like “No! I’m fine! I’ve dealt with this before.” and Soda insisted, telling him that his mom had taught him how to help with pain. From then on Johnny stuck to Sodapop and basically lived at the Curtis house.

As I said in the Dallas headcanons before, he showed up in Tulsa while traversing America at the age of 13. And then slowly was integrated into the Curtis gang. Soda was very welcoming and so was Steve and Two-Bit but they were also kind of wary of him. They saw he was tougher than them, more cold, more mean. One day Johnny walked into the diner after Mrs. Curtis invited him and he just waltzed right up to Dally and started talking to him. And to everyone’s surprise they actually hit it off. Soon enough Dally became extremely protective of him and took the older brother role.

He has picked up a lot of things from Dally, including his unfiltered mouth. He is polite to soc girls and everything and doesn’t like whenever Dallas or any other greaser says some real dirty things about a random girl.He doesn’t care for dirty catcalls but he will just straight up start roasting people. And he’s good at it too!

He didn’t really like Sylvia. Mainly because he saw her and Dallas were just not a healthy relationship at all. They both tried in some aspects but their own (abusive) parents' relationships got into their way since it skewed their perspectives. So Johnny didn’t like to be there when they were together. (He sees a healthy relationship as Mr. and Mrs. Curtis)

If he had survived the fire he would be in a wheelchair and probably be one of the few to test out the new motorized ones. The hospital would learn very quickly that his parents were in no way going to be good caretakers and he would end up being adopted by a couple who lost their child. Their names are Eleanor and Russel and they love him very much. He would probably be a little less tense with them and the gang and put some more effort into school. But he will physically flinch whenever candles are lit and stuff so the gang and his new parents don’t use them very often.

The gang knows he has a rather low self esteem (think he doesn’t deserve stuff, etc.) and he doesn’t usually accept gifts so they have to be sneaky for his birthday. Sometimes they just let him decide what they do that day, sometimes Dally just takes him out to eat and lets him get whatever, sometimes they give him stuff and insist that they just didn’t need it.

He really likes plants and flowers so sometimes he just takes a stroll through the town gardens or through the forest just to try and test himself on their names. If he survived him and Eleanor would have a garden full of ferns, flowers, and veggies. They would tend to it everyday and it was also another way for Johnny to build up his strength. Pony comes by every other day or so usually with a botany book and they figure out the different ways to make the plants stronger and stuff. Johnny especially likes the more strange plants. (Eleanor and him also name the veggie plants :)

He is very sensitive to physical affection and hates whenever people hug him or slap him on the back and all that stuff. He always freezes up. The gang knows this and tries their best to not intrude into his personal space (though he is a bit more comfortable with them). He is ok with it sometimes mainly when the gang asks him first. Then he’s ok with them leaning against him or messing up his hair. He just mainly hates it whenever people take him by surprise.

At first he was really weirded out by Mr. and Mrs. Curtis because he didn’t think your parents were supposed to be nice. But after a while he warmed up to them and especially looked up to Mr. Curtis. Mr. Curtis was actually the one to encourage his interest in plants. Johnny was reading a magazine in the general store Mr. Curtis was in charge of and started pointing out some of the really cool plants. Mr. Curtis knew a fair share about them and started teaching Johnny some of the basics he remembered from his childhood. (Mr. Curtis grew up on a homestead where his mom grew all sorts of stuff)

One more survival AU headcanon, Steve and Soda have modified parts of Johnny’s wheelchair to help him do more things. Like having a smaller motor for it that Steve engineered so that Johnny could also control it. Soda also helped create a wheel chair that Johnny could use in different terrains like while he works in the garden.

His mother is native american and his father is partially mexican. His mother was born in Arkansas and traveled into Oklahoma where she met his dad. His father was born and raised in a small town near Tulsa.

#the outsiders #johnny cade #young author #dallas winston #ponyboy curtis #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #two bit mathews #Steve randle #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders headcanon #johnny cade headcanons

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waynes-multiverse · 5 days ago

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Polaris – Chapter 8

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, serial killer, Diane is her own warning, Grey's Anatomy & alcoholism, uhm... hard to explain the last one without spoilering. You'll be fine 😂

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: Oh boy, I'll save you guys long explanations. Life got in the way, so let's just all be glad we're back here 😅 Some of you brilliant sleuths already caught breadcrumbs of my scheming in the last part, so here's The One You've Been Waiting For...

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Chapter 8: Chemical Bonds

“Where is she?”

Your boot soles thudded on the floor as you dashed inside the station, your questioning look aimed at Jenny, who leaned against her desk with crossed arms and a stern brow. Beau was hot on your heels, just jogging in behind you. You practically raced him from the car across the parking lot.

“She’s in Interrogation Room 3,” Jenny informed you.

“Is she cuffed?” Beau asked, his voice carrying a hint of anger caused by concern. He had a whole car ride to the department to rile himself up and let his head spin with reasons. None of them soothing; all of them terrifying.

Jenny shook her head. “No. She’s not officially under arrest and hasn’t confessed yet, either. ‘Sides, she willingly came in and just all too happily sat down. She’s clearly playing a game. I’d be careful.”

“Alright, thanks,” Beau said and looked at you. “How you wanna do this?”

“Let’s just go in and talk to her. See what she has to say and what angle she’s playing,” you suggested, and Beau agreed with a nod, both of you falling into step as you headed down the hallway.

“My favorite couple. There you are,” Diane greeted you with a smirk that could only be described as lunacy as soon as you and Beau walked into the interrogation room. “Hope I didn’t disturb your evening.”

“Not at all,” you replied with an easy smile and took a seat across from her, Beau settling down right next to you and leaning back in his chair. “What can we do for you, Diane?”

“Well, I figured I come here before you call in the cavalry. There’s no need for all this drama. I have a feeling you two have enough of that,” she quipped and grinned devilishly at the both of you.

“So, you waltzed in here to confess to twenty-four murders?” Beau arched a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

“Oh, nice try. But I won’t confess to anything until you two have told me a little more about yourself,” Diane announced cheekily. “You talk – I talk. My rules. My game. Let's be honest. You don't have anything to nail me down. Zero, really. You two need this. I'm giving you a win, Sheriff.”

Beau and you shared a look. Neither of you liked this, but you supposed you had to play along if it led to a confession. You nodded at Diane. “Fine, what d’you wanna know?”

Diane grinned in triumphant satisfaction and folded her arms on the metal table, curiously leaning forward. “Look, I think it’s cute you two found each other… after divorce and death, of course. ‘Cause who likes a cheater, right?” she posed theoretically, her smirk getting wider. “I guess, for me at least, it’s just hard to believe there’ve never been any feelings before that. Seems kinda odd to me.”

You smiled wryly. “Well, for me at least, it seems kinda odd and, frankly, hard to believe some psychotic bitch would murder over twenty innocent people just because her husband was a cheating dirtbag. Yet, here we are.”

“Here we are indeed, Agent,” Diane snarked with a pleased smile. “And I’d be wary throwing the word ‘innocent’ around so carelessly. After all, just look at you two. I mean, I’m not saying you’ve planned this little hot love affair, but c'mon! What, no lingering looks? No fluttering hearts, dirty thoughts, or wistful what-ifs?”

You remained cool and held your gaze stern. No quiver of a lip, no twitch of an eye, no flinch of a muscle betrayed you. But Beau must’ve signaled something when Diane’s eyes drifted to him. She tilted her head with a delighted sneer forming on her face. Your heart halted in your chest. You knew she’d locked in on a target like a lioness on the prowl.

“Whoop, Sheriff Arlen, do you have something to tell me? You seem awfully quiet and… shifty,” Diane prodded the tip of her metaphorical knife into his ribcage, prying it open just enough to see inside. “If her husband was your partner, you must feel at least a little guilty for fucking his wife as soon as he was six-feet-under. Did you have feelings for her when they were still married? You did, didn’t you? I wonder what he’d say if he were still alive.”

“Okay, enough,” you snapped and drew a line in the sand, noticing how Beau withdrew more and more upon her words. She was getting to him and enjoying it. “Neither of us has done anything wrong, got it?”

Diane chuckled amusedly. “Sheriff Arlen, you should learn from your girlfriend here. She’s better at acting than you are. Or is it lying?” Her questioning gaze turned to you.

“What d’you want, huh?” you prompted with stern annoyance, hoping to take some heat off of Beau. “You want some weird confession, so you can throw one of us into a bunker?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Agent. We’re just having a friendly chat among colleagues, getting to know each other.” She grinned, her icy gray eyes sparkling with devilish joy. She leaned closer to Beau, circling in on him. She could smell he was close to a breaking point and aimed her sledgehammer at him. “Tell me, Sheriff, were you happy when your partner died? I mean, you must’ve been. She was finally free and all yours for the taking. Is that why your marriage crumbled so soon after his death? Why you followed her all the way to Mexico, leaving your family behind? Be honest, did you lead her husband into that warehouse on purpose?”

“Shut up!” Beau yelled and bristled, his voice trembling with anger as did every single muscle of his. He jumped up from his seat and kicked the chair roughly against the wall before storming out and slamming the door loudly behind him.

Shocked, you rose from your seat as well and threw Jenny a worried look through the one-way mirror. As you followed Beau outside, you could still hear Diane’s heinous laugh.

November 2020

‘¿Recuerdas que en tu infancia creías en cuentos de hadas? En la fantasia de lo que podría ser tu vida. Tu vestido blanco, un príncipe azul que te llevaría en sus brazos a un castillo sobre una colina…’

A knock on your door rattled you and snapped your attention away from the small, old TV in your room. The image was grainy at best, and you were sure the television itself was bought sometime in the early 2000s. Yet, you still managed to hook it up to your laptop and stream a few shows. Drinking and watching television was all you had for entertainment down here whenever you were on the lay-low and had some time off.

Oh, and there was the crying, of course.

You hurriedly blew your nose in one of the tissues in your hand and wiped the tears out of your eyes. Bolting into the bathroom first, you did a quick check of your appearance in the stained, wonky mirror. Well, good enough. Who were you trying to impress? You were a grieving widow. People expected you to look like shit.

Beau blinked at you as the door opened. He offered you a friendly smile, although he could tell you had cried again. You never admitted it, always telling him you were fine and brushing away any and all of his concerns. But your red and puffy eyes were hard to hide and even harder to ignore when he stopped by your room at night. It broke his heart every single time.

“Hey, I know you haven’t eaten dinner yet, darlin’,” he said and tried not to sound too scolding. Since Randy’s death you’d been basically on a grief diet, although you seemed to be more willing to eat since you’d come to Mexico. But Beau had taken it upon himself to ensure your stomach was always full.

“Uh, thanks, but I’m not hungry,” you said quietly and were already keen to close the door to get rid of him again. Sometimes it worked. Most times it didn’t.

Beau frowned and already slid his boot between the door and its jamb. “You know I’m not leaving till you ate. And since you’re being particularly difficult tonight, I’m just gonna have to watch you till that whole bag is empty. Now, trust me. This ain’t fun for me, either. Don’t make me spoon-feed you and do airplane noises. It’s been a while, but I have experience in that field. You wanna hear my lecture about your essential vitamins and minerals again?”

You sighed dramatically and were close to a whine. “Beau, I’m really not in the mood right now. Can you please just–” You stopped when you noticed the man wasn’t even listening to you. With a curiously furrowed brow, he cocked his head and leaned inside your room with a skillful weight shift, his green eyes focusing on the TV.

‘Vamos a domir a tu casa esta noche.’

‘¿Qué?’

‘¿Por qué siempre dormirmos en mi casa? ¿O no tienes una?’

“What are you watching?” Beau had fully stepped inside your room, and you knew your probability of kicking him out again sunk by the second. You sighed once more and closed the door behind you two.

“Grey’s Anatomy in Spanish. I already know the episodes, so I figured I could learn a little. I already forgot most of it from school,” you replied.

“Huh. Never watched this show.” Yet, he sat down on the foot of your bed and seemed hooked. His eyes were glued to the screen, brow lightly creased above the bridge of his nose that showed his interest. If you had popcorn, you would’ve handed it to him.

You rolled your eyes a little but smiled nonetheless. Randy had been the same. He’d teased you for watching till he caught one episode and was immediately enthralled. Afterward, you weren’t allowed to watch a single episode without him anymore.

“You wanna watch with me?” You grabbed the bag of food and crawled onto your bed, leaning against the headboard. You quickly discarded the tissues that were strewn all over your mattress. Luckily, he hadn’t noticed them yet, or you would’ve received a look full of worry and pity.

“Sure.” Beau nodded and smiled at you over his shoulder, happy you had decided to eat, after all. “So, what’s this show about?”

“A hospital in Seattle. But honestly, everyone’s just sleeping with everyone…”

It took a while till you had explained all the intricacies of each relationship to him. Fortunately, this was only the first season. He gasped when you informed him the show had seventeen of it – so far. By the end of the episode, he had joined you by the headboard, sitting next to you as you shared the remaining tacos.

‘Me gusta el helado de café, whisky de malta de una sola destilería, de vez en cuando un buen habano.’

“Ah! Now that’s a home,” Beau declared with a broad and longing smile, raising his beer bottle to the TV. “You know, I’ve always wanted an Airstream trailer exactly like this.”

“Uh-huh. Un remolque.”

His brow quirked. “Is that Spanish for trailer?”

“Yes, he just said it. You need to pay attention,” you chided playfully and took a sip from your beer.

“Hey, look, I’m just glad I can keep up with who’s sleeping with who, alright? Don’t need to add Spanish vocabulary to the mix,” Beau quipped, making you giggle. “I actually almost bought a trailer like that when me and Carla first got married.”

You grinned knowingly. “Lemme guess, Carla said no and almost shot you?”

Beau snorted a laugh. “Ha! Yeah, she definitely came close that time. But Emily was already on the way, so I guess it would’ve been impractical with a baby.”

“Smart choice.”

As your eyes traveled back to the TV, Beau’s gaze landed on you. He watched as your cheeks moved when you laughed with your whole heart. How your pink, full lips sealed around the bottle opening whenever you sipped on your beer. How your shimmering hair fell into your face in waves as you leaned forward and hugged your knees. Lingering looks.

“You wanna open a bottle of tequila with me and watch another episode?” you asked with a mischievous glint in your eyes as you looked back at him over your shoulder.

“Hm? Oh, uh, yeah. Let’s do that,” he agreed, swallowing lightly. A part of him almost felt caught in his shameless staring. But he was willing to do anything as long as it kept you from crying yourself to sleep for another night.

Jumping up from the bed, you sauntered over to the mini bar and bent down, hauling a bottle of tequila from the small fridge you’d stored in there earlier. Beau tried not to stare at the curve of your ass and how tightly those dark blue jeans hugged it. But he couldn’t control his heart as it undeniably accelerated and thumped loudly against its prison. Fluttering hearts.

Four episodes and two Margarita pitchers in, you stretched with a yawn, barely able to keep your eyes open. You glanced at Beau with an amused smile as he was still transfixed by the TV and heavily engaged in the show.

“I’m beat. You mind if we turn in?” you checked and laughed a little when his green eyes blinked at you in surprise.

“Oh, uh, sure. I’ll head back to my room,” he said, nodding. “You, uh, wanna do this every night, maybe? I mean, it’s not like there’s much else to do here… We could hang out and binge-watch, as the kids say. Netflix and chill.”

You snorted. “Beau, that’s not what you think it means…”

His brow furrowed. “Well, what does it mean?”

“Sex,” you said bluntly and watched his mouth open and close. It was rare to render that man speechless.

Beau pursed his lips, his cheeks redder than the desert sand. “Yeah, uh, no Netflix and chill, then.” He cleared his throat a couple of times while you stifled your laughs. “Can I just finish this episode before I go?”

You giggled, getting up from the bed. “Sure. Knock yourself out. I need some bathroom time before, anyways.”

As you sauntered into the small, dingy bathroom, you briefly glanced back and saw Beau’s focus was already back on the sexy doctors. You laughed a little, shaking your head before you began to wash your face and slip into your pajamas, which were just a pair of sweat shorts and an old college shirt of Randy’s. Go Cougars!

Unbeknownst to you, Beau’s gaze didn’t remain on the TV for long. At first, he only caught a glimpse of you from his periphery in the bathroom mirror through the cracked door. For a moment, he stared, unable to tear his eyes away as you shed out of your shirt. But when your bra came off as well, he averted his eyes shamefully back to the TV. His mind, however, still wandered, incapable of shaking the image of you, various unholy ideas gathering for a villainous summit. Dirty thoughts.

‘Así que, elígeme a mí. Escógeme a mí. Ámame a mí…’

“Still hooked, huh?” Amused, you arched a brow at him as you strolled out of the bathroom and saw he was still enchanted by the magic of dramatic television.

“He’s gonna go back to the cheatin’ ex, isn’t he?” Beau asked without looking at you. He sat on the bed with arms crossed and his brow scrunched.

You pressed your lips together as you smothered another laugh. “Oh, no spoilers from me, but it’s a bit of a ride. And we haven’t even gotten to Dr. Caliente yet,” you said, grinning.

You waited a moment for Beau to catch the hint that you wanted to go to bed. But soon you realized it wasn’t going to happen. The man had done a full deep dive into that show, and there was no way of pulling him back out.

“You know, you can stay and keep watching if you want to. I don’t mind. I’ve been sleeping with the TV on, anyways,” you said.

His gaze met yours, brow finally rising with realization. “Oh, uh, sorry. No, I can go. Let you catch some–” His eyes wandered back to the TV before he shook his head and tried to refocus. He blushed. “Sorry.”

“It’s really okay. You can stay. I don’t care,” you assured him with a soft smile and climbed under the covers, resting your head on the pillow. You switched off the lamp by your bedside table, the blue glow of the screen remaining the only source of light.

“Maybe just this episode,” he mumbled, his shoulders deflating as he sunk back into a more comfortable position again.

“This is nice,” you noted with a blissful sigh and closed your eyes. “I kinda hate being alone.”

Beau watched you as you peacefully fell asleep, the TV suddenly forgotten. For once you didn’t cry yourself to sleep. Tears, nightmares, and loneliness gone. And he wondered – what it would be like if he watched you fall asleep every night. What if he was still there in the morning. What if he could hold you as you wore his shirt. Then, the guilt came swiftly like the rising tide and washed those thoughts away. Wistful what-ifs.

“What the hell happened in there?” you hissed as quietly as possible as you caught up with Beau in the lowly lit hallway of the station. Luckily, the other cops had enough sense to stay away and keep their distance while the two of you hashed things out.

Beau dragged a hand over his face, kept his palm clasped on his mouth as he paced in a circle. You were surprised he hadn’t punched a wall yet, judging by the tension in his shoulders.

“You can’t let her get to you,” you reminded him gently, your face softening when you noticed how distraught and upset he really was. What Diane said to him must’ve cut deep.

“You know it’s not true, right? What she said in there? I-I didn’t kill him. I wasn’t… Fuck!” His eyes were brimming with desperate tears, his breathing quick. You could hear his heart race from feet away.

“Of course not. She’s a deranged psychopath,” you emphasized, although you didn’t understand why you had to spell it out for him. He already knew that. “Why are you so upset? Don’t let her get under your skin. She’s thriving off it like a hyena.”

“I know. I just-…” He took a deep breath. “What if she’s right?”

Confused, your brow furrowed. “About what?”

“Me. Us,” he said, not making necessarily more sense. “What if it’s true, huh?” He blinked at you and swallowed harshly, completely out of breath. “Look, uhm… I-I don’t know how to say this. I’ve never admitted it before, but recently, things have become a lot clearer to me…” He paused for a moment, rubbing his mouth with two fingers before he found your eyes again. “I’ve always had feelings for you, you know? There’s always been this… pull. Even back then. Since the first time I met you.”

You inhaled sharply, your lungs incapable of fitting more air as you held your breath for several heartbeats. “Beau, it’s okay.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if it is,” he said. The tortured tone of his voice pained you. “I mean, I would’ve never done anything. You need to know that, okay? I would’ve never hurt you or Randy. I never would’ve come between you two.”

“I know that,” you assured him. You wanted to take his hands in yours, touch him, hold him. But you knew it would only make the turmoil of emotions worse instead of better, like pouring oil into the fire.

“But sometimes, just for a blink of an eye, I caught myself wondering, you know? What it would be like to be with you… Hell, I wondered all the damn time. Even on your freaking wedding day,” he confessed. “That’s the kind of horrible person I am. And now, that I am with you and so fucking happy, I feel guilty every time that things worked out the way they did. ‘Cause it does feel like I’m happy that I’m with you, and he’s not.”

You let out a heavy sigh through your nose and finally took his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers as you squeezed them. “I know all of that,” you said, his brow rising in bewildered surprise. “In terms of being honest… I guess a part of me always knew you felt this way, but I never let myself go there. And yeah, considering everything, it’s only natural to feel guilty. But you’ve still done nothing wrong. We’ve done nothing wrong. You can’t control how you feel. Neither can I. And I’m not saying everything always was exactly right, and we did everything by the book, but I loved Randy with all my heart. There wasn’t room for anyone else… And now, I love you. But it was never at the same time, you know?”

Beau pulled you into his arms and held you tightly, kissing your crown. “No, I know. Trust me. I know that part.”

“I love you, okay?” You tiptoed to claim his lips, putting your whole heart into the kiss. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you wouldn’t lie, either. “Diane doesn’t get to use that against us. Everything that happened, everything we’ve done right or wrong – that’s between you and me… and maybe God at some point. But surely not that psychotic bitch in there. She’s doesn’t know what we think or feel, so don’t give her ammunition, alright?”

Beau nodded and pecked your lips, his hands caressing your cheeks. “I love you, too.”

Jenny cleared her throat as she carefully snuck up on you. “You guys okay?”

You gave her a soft smile. “Yeah. What d’you got?”

“Well, since Diane walked in and became our prime suspect, the new DA on the case signed a search warrant for her property, office, car, and all her devices,” Jenny informed you.

“Alright, take Pops with you and head to her house first. Call me if you find somethin’ we can burn that witch with,” Beau ordered, putting his sheriff hat back on, jumping into the saddle full-throttle.

“On it, boss.” Jenny gave him a resolute nod and hurried down the hall.

January 2021

“¡Feliz navidad!”

As you opened the motel room door, you found Beau on your doorstep with a giant grin on his freckled face and not one but two bottles of tequila. One in each hand that he joyfully wiggled in the air.

You chuckled, shaking your head at him. “Christmas was two weeks ago, payaso.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t here, so merry belated Christmas,” he retorted and strolled right in as you held the door open for him. “Can’t believe you stayed here and didn’t go home for Christmas.”

“Meh, wasn’t in the mood to be placated and pitied by my whole family. I know they all mean well, but if I get one more concerned head tilt and a ‘How are you holding up, sweetie?’, tendré que apuñalar a alguien,” you huffed.

Beau narrowed his eyes at you, slightly amused. “I only understood the word ‘stab’, but I think I get the gist,” he joked, laughing. “I see your Spanish is getting better. So, how was your depressing and lonely Christmas without your family?”

“Nice guilt trip, asshole,” you retorted playfully and scoffed. “Great, actually. I went out with the guys from our team who stayed here, too. Got insanely drunk on some Christmas cocktail Ignacio created. And some hot guy taught me how to Salsa dance. He got a little handsy towards the end, which, granted, is the most action I’ve seen in five months, so…”

Beau’s lips thinned as he weighted your words. “Huh, so to recap: you got wasted with five guys in a dingy bar and second base with some stranger. Sounds like Christmas-y fun.”

You frowned slightly, watching him open one of the bottles of tequila. “Alright, there were no bases being hit, Judge Judy. How was your Christmas?”

“Not as fun, I can tell you that much,” Beau muttered and gulped some tequila straight from the bottle.

Your nose scrunched, lips pursed. “You and Carla got into it again?”

“Oh yeah, big time,” he replied. “I’ve only been home twice, including Christmas. You’d think she’d be more happy to see me, but instead I get yelled at for not being home more and criticized like I’m some drunk.”

Your narrowed look drifted to the bottle of liquor tightly clasped in his hands as he plopped down on the bed with a sigh. “Well, you know, not really making an argument for yourself there, gaucho.”

He scowled at you. “Who’s side are you on?”

“No one’s!”

“What, you think I’m some alcoholic?”

You pursed your lips and hesitated briefly. “No… But I do think you have a slight issue with... occurrence and... volume.”

He sent you a small glare. “That’s the same thing, just different words.”

“Look, I get it. It’s not like I’ve been a healthy example these past months,” you said, hoping a softer approach would work. You sat down next to him on the bed. “It’s been hard for all of us. Grief wrecks you. But you have a family to think about. Maybe it’s time you go home… for good.”

His brow drew into creases, green eyes drilling a hole into you. “Do you want me to go?”

Your lips parted for a moment, reluctant to answer as his question hung in the air between you two. “It’s not about what I want. You should do what’s best for you.”

Beau considered your words, his head bobbing. “I wanna stay. I need to see this through. For Randy,” he declared, although it was only partially true. Another part of him stayed for you. There was an electrostatic force, invisible to the naked heart and irresistible to the free mind. A force that kept him in your orbit and bonded his atoms with yours.

Maybe you should’ve told him to go home, been more insistent on making him leave, clearer on what was best. But truthfully and selfishly so, you liked having him around. He was your constant, your little piece of home in a strange land and an even stranger new life. And you didn’t want to navigate this new life alone.

“You sure?” you still asked for the sake of your conscience, but the determination on his face over his decision made your heart sing in relief.

“I’m sure. Just wish things were easier…”

Walking back into the interrogation room, you smiled victoriously as you slapped a folder full of evidence on the metal table in front of Diane. The deputies had found “a buttload” in Poppernak’s words.

Regardless, you knew Diane wasn’t stupid. If the deputies found something, she had wanted you to find it. For some reason, she wanted to be arrested. But you didn’t care what sick game she was playing. Cuffing her meant there’d be no more bodies, no more victims.

She gave you a titillated sneer, glimpsing at the file in front of her before finding your eyes again. She bit her lip, smirking. “Oooh, lookey, what you found there,” she mocked.

“It’s over, Diane. You’re under arrest for multiple murders among a plethora of other charges. But you already know that,” you told her firmly.

Beau’s features were stone-cold. He was pissed, radiating that fire burning inside of him for miles. He made the Yellowstone supervolcano look harmless. “Stand up and turn around. Hands behind your back.”

Diane did as told without any protest. She grinned at you the whole time when Beau manhandled her roughly into her handcuffs, bending her over the metal table as he read her the Miranda rights. You couldn’t shake the eerie feeling in your stomach, though. You had your killer, but somehow this felt far from over. You knew she had an ace up her sleeve and was waiting to lay it on the table.

“But we were just getting started,” she snarled. “Aren’t we having fun?”

“Fun usually looks a little different for me,” Beau retorted and forced her back onto the chair as soon as she was cuffed.

“I bet it does, Sheriff,” she purred with a flirtatious glimmer in her gray eyes. “I think I’ll wait with my confession till tomorrow. Let you two lovebirds enjoy your last night together.”

Beau and you shared a wary look at that. But deep in your heart, you knew there was nothing that could tear you apart. And you hoped Beau knew it, too.

“Look, bitch, I don’t care what you think you’ve planned, but it won’t drive a wedge between us. All it’s gonna do is piss us off more, got it?” you threatened and leaned forward on the table with an angrily knit brow.

Diane chuckled. “Confident. I always liked you, Agent. Aren’t you even a little curious what I’ve got in store for you?”

“No,” you replied without hesitation. You looked up at Beau and rose from your seat. “Let’s go. She’s not gonna talk tonight.”

Beau nodded, putting his hand on the small of your back, leading you outside the door. And just as your hand reached the handle, Diane decided to play her ace of hearts.

“It’s about your husband,” she noted innocently. You could hear the satisfaction in her voice as your whole body stiffened, muscles freezing. Beau felt it, too. His heart began to race. “Dead husband, of course. I always forget that part. Silly me.”

Beau’s hand on your back gave you a soft caress, telling you it was okay to turn around and find out. You didn’t want to care. And most of all, you didn’t want Beau to see that you did. But as you met his forest-green eyes, they were full of understanding.

“What about him?” you asked bravely, your chin held high as you faced her.

Her grin widened before her gaze wandered to Beau. “It’s in my pocket. Mind giving me a hand, Sheriff? You can even touch. I know you have a hard time keeping those hands to yourself,” she taunted.

You scoffed exasperatedly, rolling your eyes. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh, c’mon, Agent. Let me have a little fun. I’m about to be felt up by enough women,” she quipped.

You ignored her, hauling her to her feet by her elbow and holding her in place as your other hand dived into her back pocket. Your brow furrowed as your fingers identified a small plastic stick. Your frown deepened as you pulled out a familiar thumb drive. It wasn’t the first one you had received from her.

Twenty-five.

Had she taken another victim before giving herself up? What was so special about this one? What did it have to do with Randy? Did he ever cheat on you? Did Beau know?

You found that quite unbelievable. In fact, you knew there was no chance in hell that was true. But that did nothing to ease your conscience.

Your hand trembled in sync with your palpitating heartbeats. You tried to steady it as best as you could and keep your jumpy nerves in line as you slipped the small drive into its designated outlet on your laptop, not wanting the team that had gathered around and behind you to catch on to your unnerving emotions.

As you clicked on the MP4 file, your heart came to a standstill when a video popped open in the player. Pressing Play, you sucked in a breath and then forgot to breathe at all.

It only took you a glimpse to die inside.

“Oh God…”

It felt like suffocating. Like jumping off a steep seaside cliff and drowning. Your body hit the ocean rocks; your heart split open.

It only took Beau a second longer to catch on. The horror in your voice had put him on immediate alert before he recognized the figure on the screen, too.

As your head spun and your stomach turned upside down, you couldn’t find any words and bolted outside. You needed fresh air. You needed to breathe. And you needed to goddamn puke.

“Beau, what’s going on? Who’s the guy on the video? You know him?” Jenny asked, her gaze worriedly flashing in the direction you had fled.

Beau swallowed the thick lump in his throat, forcing the name out that had haunted him all those past years. “It’s Randy.”

Chapter 9: Marooned – NOVEMBER 29

Dun, dun, dun... The dead have risen in Montana! This is where it becomes a Walking Dead crossover (at least if you ask Donno 😂). Did you call the little resurrection action beforehand? 👀 Lemme know all your wild thoughts in the comments! 💭

So happy to be back with y'all! 🤍

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burntheedges-updates · 1 year ago

Text

over again, chapter 3: dinner

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

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

Chapter 3: Dinner

Jackson, Spring 2024

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Slow is fine with me, cowboy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No fucking way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joyce Roberts?” he asks, incredulous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me go grab the CD.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck is this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yep, that’s the one.”

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

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

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

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

“The dinner was great, Joel.”

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

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

“Sorry she brought all that up so quick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel–”

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

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

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

“Probably better, at our age.”

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

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

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

“Take all the time you need.”

...

Austin, Spring 2001

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Celia Cruz, huh?”

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

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

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

“Ha! See, dad?”

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

“Do you know how to dance, darlin’?”

“In a club? Sure. Like that? No way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smirked. “Joel, are you ticklish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Night, darlin’.”

“See you Friday, Joel.”

...

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

update: ch 4 now posted!

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #my fic #over again fic #x reader

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wardenparker · 1 year ago

Text

The King's Queen - chapter 6

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javi Gutierrez #Javi G #Javi Gutierrez x you #Javi Gutierrez x reader #Javi Gutierrez x female reader #Javi Gutierrez x f!reader #The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent #TUWOMT #royalty au #arranged marriage

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shewasverynice · 9 days ago

Text

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links pos

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 14 ✧˚₊‧

Sarah peeked around the corner of Yaga’s office, practically vibrating with excitement as she watched him finish a phone call. The second he hung up, she dashed in, nearly bouncing as she approached his desk.

“Yaga-sensei!” she chirped, hands clasped behind her back, giving him her best "you-can’t-say-no" smile. He looked up with an amused but wary expression, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair.

“Yes, Sarah?” He had the air of someone who knew exactly what was coming.

“Do you think,” she started, carefully drawing out each word, “you might have some time to take me Christmas shopping? In Shinjuku?” She rocked back and forth on her heels, all wide-eyed hope and barely contained energy.

Yaga raised an eyebrow, eyeing her as if expecting some sort of catch. “Why not just go with your friends?” he asked, "I know they’re already planning a shopping trip.”

She scrunched up her nose, clearly horrified by the idea. “If I go with them, they’ll see their presents! And then the surprise is ruined!” She emphasized the last part, eyes wide with mock devastation.

Yaga heaved a long-suffering sigh but was clearly amused. He didn’t answer right away, just watching as she tilted her head a little, her expression growing even more imploring. “Please, Yaga-sensei?” she pleaded, leaning forward just a bit, “I promise it won’t take long!”

He knew that was a blatant lie, but he also knew there was no way he could say no to her when she got that enthusiastic. With another sigh, he nodded. “Alright, I’ll take you. But it’ll have to be next weekend.”

Sarah lit up instantly, clapping her hands. “Yes! Thank you! You’re the best, Yaga-sensei!” Before he could even respond, she scampered off down the hallway, her footsteps echoing as she practically skipped away, muttering plans to herself about all the perfect gifts she’d buy.

Yaga watched her disappear, and despite himself, a small smile crept onto his face. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, “That kid… always full of surprises.”

When the weekend finally came, Yaga stood quietly by the torii gates, hands shoved into his coat pockets against the brisk December air. He spotted Sarah bouncing down the path toward him, wrapped up in the white scarf he’d made her, its soft wool tucked carefully around her neck. It felt surreal seeing her wear it, knowing she had no idea he was the one who’d given it to her, let alone the reasons for it. Her binding vow weighed on his mind, but he forced himself not to dwell on it as she finally skidded to a stop beside him, grinning up at him with all the warmth of a winter sunrise.

“Yaga-sensei! Okay, so here’s the plan,” she began, practically bursting with excitement as she launched into her detailed plan. “First, I need to find something for Shoko and Satoru, and Suguru too. Then something for Mom and Dad and my brothers, of course. And then maybe something for Nee-chan? But... I guess I don't really know where to send her presents so maybe not...”

Yaga nodded along with her chatter, his face remaining its usual stoic mask, but he listened intently as they walked down the temple steps. Sarah’s footsteps echoed against the stone, her excitement practically exploding through the air. He knew this part of her well—the childlike wonder she exuded—and he would protect it for as long as it could last.

As they reached the bottom of the steps, Sarah suddenly stopped and looked up at him, biting her lip thoughtfully. “Yaga-sensei,” she asked, “what should I get Panda for Christmas?” She tilted her head, her eyes filled with genuine curiosity. “I mean, I know he’s only four, but I want to get him something he’ll actually like. Do little kids like RC cars?” She laughed, looking a little sheepish, “Or is that too complicated for his little paws?”

Yaga considered this, taking in the image of Panda's big, bright eyes and small hands gripping an RC controller, probably smashing the car into every corner he could find. The thought was so endearing he felt a tightness in his chest, but he kept his face calm, clearing his throat. “Panda would love that,” he replied, his tone as even as always. “He’s got a thing for anything he can push around. Toy cars…he’s got a whole collection already.”

Sarah beamed, clearly thrilled with his approval. “Then that’s it! I’m getting him the best RC car I can find,” she declared. Her excitement was contagious, and though Yaga didn’t show it, he felt a warmth settle over him, knowing how much thought she put into Panda’s happiness.

They continued down the busy streets of Shinjuku, colorful lights reflecting off the wet pavement from an earlier rain, and Yaga walked beside her, a silent guardian. He knew he couldn’t say the things he wanted to—couldn’t tell her about the memories kept locked away or the vow that had spared her from so much. But he was here, and that was enough. As she eagerly pulled him toward the first store, chatting on about all her gift ideas, he knew this moment was one he would keep close, long after the holiday lights had dimmed.

Yaga let Sarah lead him around, his usually heavy steps felt a bit lighter as she flitted from one display to another, bouncing between shelves of knick-knacks and decorations. She kept holding up various items and asking his opinion, her eyes bright as she weighed her choices. “Look at this!” she said, holding up a sparkly snow globe with a tiny dog-like snowman inside. Yaga only grunted in acknowledgment, but when she put it down with a grin, he gave her a small nod of approval. This was her way—scatterbrained but with a clear purpose, each little trinket carefully considered before she chose her gifts.

“Yaga-sensei, what do you think of this?” she asked, holding up a cozy scarf in shades of blue. He didn’t answer directly, just nodded thoughtfully. She flashed him a smile and draped it over her arm, clearly taking his nod as a ringing endorsement.

He didn’t offer many suggestions, only responding with hums and nods, but he noticed the little shift in her posture each time he quietly approved. In his own way, he was helping, and she seemed grateful for it. They wandered further, Sarah filling the silences with chatter about each potential gift, her voice filled with warmth and excitement.

Then, she stopped in front of a display of photo frames, a particularly cute one catching her eye. She picked it up, tilting her head thoughtfully, and Yaga immediately felt a shift in the air. The happy energy that had followed them was replaced with something quieter, almost wistful.

“Yaga-sensei,” she asked, looking down at the frame and then back up at him, “do you think it’s weird that my parents haven’t looked all that much older lately?” Her voice was soft, her brow furrowing slightly as she held up the frame with its stock photo—a father and daughter smiling together. “I mean, my dad’s got to be nearing forty-five by now, but… he doesn’t really look all that different from when I was a kid.”

Yaga felt a twinge in his gut, a sense of dread settling into his chest. He should have expected questions like these, should have prepared better, but it still caught him off guard. His expression hardened, though he tried to keep his tone steady. “Why would you say that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

Sarah looked thoughtful for a moment, her eyes still on the photo. “I don’t know… just a funny thought, I guess,” she murmured. She glanced back at him, noticing the deep lines of his own face. “Hey… now that I think about it, you don’t look all that different either. Not really.”

For a split second, Yaga’s face softened, and he surprised her by offering the faintest of smiles, a rare thing from him. “Maybe you just haven’t noticed,” he replied simply.

She blinked, then laughed and shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. I guess I’m just overthinking it.” With a little shake of her head, she placed the frame back and moved toward a shelf of photo albums nearby, already chattering about something else entirely.

Yaga stayed where he was, his hands clenching tightly in his coat pockets. The false memories—the binding vow—had kept her safe, but as time passed, cracks were forming, little gaps her mind seemed to fill with questions. He couldn’t protect her from the truth forever. His chest ached as he watched her bounce along, her earlier excitement returned, oblivious to the weight that he carried in silence.

But if she could remain happy, oblivious to those cracks in her memory, he would shoulder whatever he had to. As she glanced back and called for him to hurry up, Yaga forced himself forward, following her with a heavy heart but a resolve that didn’t waver. If she was safe and smiling, that was all that mattered.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

"You need to shave your hair so information can diffuse through your skin because your eyes aren't doing you any favours," Satoru muttered after probably the heaviest sigh ever uttered in his entire life.

"Excuse me?" Suguru snapped, "How am I supposed to know what specific thing you're looking for if you haven't given me any details?!"

"You know what she likes," Satoru huffed with a dramatic roll of his eyes, "I said just pick a character Sarah likes."

"Which anime? Which manga? Which show? Which--" Suguru's growl was cut off as Shoko stepped between the both of them and pushed them apart like Moses and the sea.

"You two are two cheeks of the same ass," She grumbled, "How are both of you so bad at this?"

"Look, I gotta get her something cool," Satoru said, crossing his arms and peering down his nose at Suguru from behind his sunglasses, "She got me such a cool Birthday present. I have to match that energy."

"Do you expect me to read your mind?" Suguru scoffed, crossing his arms, "Do you think I can just manifest exactly what you want?"

"We all watch the same shit!" Satoru groaned, letting his head tip back, "Just do the thing you're good at. You know what she likes more than I do!"

Suguru's fist balled up and he took a step closer again. "What is happening right now? What is this?"

"I don't know! Why don't you ask yourself that, huh?" Satoru growled.

"That's enough!" Shoko yelled, both of them surprised enough by her outburst to take a step back. She tapped her foot, her eyes flicking between the two of them before she pointed at Satoru, "Gojo. What's up? Why are you being so shitty today?"

"I'm not being shitty!" He gasped, his palm landing on his chest, "Suguru just isn't listening!"

"I'm not listening?!" Suguru narrowed his eyes, "Are you being serious? You've been on our cases all day! Everything has been getting on your nerves!"

"Yeah!" Shoko chimed in, "You're acting like a douche! If you don't want to be cool, then go shop by yourself!"

Satoru threw his arms up, his lips opening and closing as he tried to figure out what he even wanted to say. He settled on a harsh, "Fine!" And stormed off.

Without even looking back, he left the store, zipping up his jacket and throwing his scarf angrily around his neck when he stepped into the winter air. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, a scowl on his face while he stormed down the shopping center sidewalk.

"A douche, huh?" He muttered to himself, "I'm the one acting up, yeah? Stupid."

Through the decorated streets he stalked, not even looking at the windows or anything but straight ahead of him. Of course he knew he was on edge, but he didn't even want to come shopping in the first place! He wanted to just have someone do it for him. Someone like Suguru would have been good at it, but nooo. They just had to insist he came with them.

"Where's your holiday spirit?" He mocked with a huff.

"Gojo!!"

Satoru groaned inwardly the moment he heard Sarah’s chipper voice calling out to him across the shopping center. The last thing he wanted was to deal with Sarah’s relentless enthusiasm.

Still, he plastered on a halfhearted smirk as she hurried over, her white scarf bouncing with her steps, but his eyes flicked past her and landed on Yaga. "Oh, great," he thought bitterly.

“Hey, Gojo!” Sarah chirped as she stopped in front of him, hands clasped behind her back, her grin wide and sunny as usual.

“Sarah,” he replied flatly, his tone lacking its usual teasing edge.

Her smile faltered as her green eyes scanned his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, tilting her head, her concern genuine.

“Nothing,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. “Just leave me alone, alright?”

To his surprise, she didn’t flinch, pout, or get defensive like he’d expected. Instead, her expression softened, and that concern only deepened. “Gojo…” she said gently, as though she could see right through him.

He felt a twinge of guilt but shoved it down, looking away with a scowl. Then came Yaga’s heavy, disapproving sigh. The stern look from his teacher was impossible to miss, a silent rebuke that made Satoru’s jaw tighten.

“Satoru,” Yaga said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Sit down.”

“What?” Satoru scoffed, his mask of arrogance slipping just a little under Yaga’s commanding gaze.

“Sit,” Yaga repeated, nodding toward a nearby bench.

Satoru muttered something unintelligible under his breath but obeyed, flopping onto the bench with exaggerated annoyance. Sarah glanced between the two, hesitating for a moment before Yaga gave her a slight nod. She scampered off without a word, leaving them alone.

The silence hung heavy between them for a moment, Yaga taking his time to sit down beside Satoru. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there with his arms crossed, watching the steady flow of people passing by.

Finally, Satoru broke the silence with a huff. “What? Are you going to lecture me now?”

“No,” Yaga said simply. “Not unless you need one.”

Satoru rolled his eyes but said nothing, leaning back and crossing his arms defensively. The older man didn’t press, letting the weight of the moment settle until Satoru finally slumped forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“It’s stupid,” Satoru muttered, his voice low. “It’s just… the holidays, you know? It’s all so loud, and everyone’s pretending like everything’s perfect. It’s annoying.”

Yaga watched him carefully, his gaze steady. “The holidays aren’t perfect for anyone.”

Satoru snorted, but the sharpness in his expression softened slightly.

“Do you want to tell me what's going on?" Yaga asked, his voice gentle but firm.

Satoru let out a long sigh, his head tilting back as he stared up at the ceiling lights above. He hated that Yaga always seemed to cut through his defenses so easily, but a part of him appreciated it, even if he’d never admit it.

"I just... Have some bad memories around this time of year," he finally answered. "Things that really messed with me."

He didn’t elaborate, and Yaga didn’t push, though his gaze lingered on the young man’s face, noting the faint crease in his brow and the way his usual confidence seemed dimmed.

Satoru’s mind wandered, unbidden, to the bitter edges of his past life. He thought about that Christmas Eve, years ago, when he’d first confronted Suguru—his Suguru—and made the impossible choice to kill his best friend. It was a decision that had haunted him, even as he tried to bury it beneath layers of bravado.

Then there was the following Christmas Eve, the night he’d planned to kill Kenjaku, only to face a cruel twist of fate. Seeing Suguru’s body in Shibuya—a shell animated by Kenjaku—had shattered something in him he hadn’t even known was still intact. He remembered the bitter cocktail of rage, grief, and guilt that had consumed him.

And then, there was his own death, the final act in that tragic play. He hadn’t gotten his vengeance. Instead, he’d been pulled into the void, leaving everything unfinished.

This second chance at life had been an unexpected gift, a chance to reunite with Suguru, to have him alive and whole. It was cathartic in ways he hadn’t anticipated. But the ghosts of his past still lingered, their whispers casting long shadows over the joy he tried to embrace.

“I guess,” Satoru muttered, forcing himself back to the present, “it’s hard to let it go, you know? Even now. Even with everything being… better.”

Yaga stayed quiet for a long moment, his expression neutral as always while he processed Satoru’s words. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and said, “No one ever really recovers from a loss. Not completely.”

Satoru glanced at him, surprised by the somber weight in his voice. Yaga’s expression was calm, but there was something in his eyes—a knowing, a shared pain.

“Doesn’t matter how strong you are, how much time has passed,” Yaga continued. “There will always be things that stay with you. Regrets. Losses. Pain. That’s part of being human. But…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “The trick is not letting those things ruin what you have now. Don’t let them keep you from making new memories.”

Satoru blinked, caught off guard by the wisdom in those words. He looked away, his shoulders relaxing just a little as he mulled it over. “Easier said than done,” he murmured.

“It always is,” Yaga replied, his tone steady but kind. “But you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got friends. Let them help.”

Satoru smirked faintly, the ghost of his usual cockiness returning. “That sounds suspiciously like advice, Yaga. You’re getting soft.”

Yaga huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t push it.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, the crowded streets bustling with holiday shoppers. Satoru found himself glancing at the bright lights and decorations again, the crisp winter air stinging his cheeks. He still felt the weight of his memories, but Yaga’s words lingered, planting a seed of something in his chest.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muttered to himself, so quietly Yaga almost didn’t hear.

The older man didn’t respond, but the faint smile on his face said enough.

Sarah’s footsteps were light and quick as she returned, the winter air turning her cheeks pink. She approached the bench with a triumphant grin, holding two steaming cups in her hands. Yaga raised an eyebrow as she handed him one.

“For you,” she said cheerfully. “Coffee, black, just like you like it.”

Yaga nodded in thanks, his usual stoicism intact, though there was a slight upward quirk at the corner of his mouth.

Satoru took the other cup from her with a lazy hand, expecting the same. He popped the lid off out of habit to let it cool but blinked in surprise at the sight inside: hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream, a sprinkle of colorful candy bits gleaming on top.

“What’s this?” he asked, tilting the cup in mock suspicion.

Sarah huffed, crossing her arms. “I told them not to put the lid on so you could see the sprinkles and stuff. But nooo, they wouldn’t listen.” She jabbed a finger at the cup like it had personally betrayed her.

Satoru stared at her, then broke into a chuckle that warmed the air around them. He reached out and ruffled her hair, a gesture that was half affectionate and half teasing.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

To his utter surprise, she didn’t pull away or swat his hand like she usually did. Instead, she let him, her grin brightening as she plopped down on the bench beside him and Yaga.

“You’re welcome,” she replied cheerfully, swinging her legs a little like a kid as she sipped her own drink.

Satoru looked at her out of the corner of his eye, his mood lifting in spite of himself. It wasn’t often he felt something genuine crack through his usual facade, but Sarah’s thoughtfulness had a way of doing just that.

“Not bad, huh?” she asked, gesturing toward his hot chocolate.

“Not bad at all,” he admitted, taking a sip and letting the rich sweetness melt the lingering bitterness in his chest.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The common area glowed with the soft lights of the Christmas tree. The couches were cozy, piled with mismatched blankets they’d dragged out to make things even homier. Sarah hummed a little Christmas tune under her breath as they passed presents around, the crinkling of wrapping paper filling the air.

Satoru, naturally, dove into his gifts with enthusiasm. “Oh-ho, what’s this?” he grinned as he unwrapped Suguru’s gift: a miniature crossbow that shot rubber bands. He wasted no time loading it, firing a rubber band at Suguru’s head with a mischievous laugh. Suguru caught it midair with a deadpan expression, earning a laugh from Shoko.

Shoko’s gift to Satoru—a light-up stress ball shaped like a cat—made him laugh even harder. “This thing is ridiculous,” he said, squeezing it until it glowed in his hands.

But it was Sarah’s gift that truly stole the show. Satoru carefully opened the wrapping to reveal two toy cars. “Oh cool,” he said at first, but his face lit up when he realized they could mash together to form a dragon. “No way. These are awesome!” He immediately set to work combining them, the grin on his face a rare, genuine sight.

Suguru, ever the practical one, got thoughtful gifts. He unwrapped Shoko’s metal bookmark first, running his fingers over the engraved design with quiet appreciation. “Thanks, this is nice,” he said sincerely. Sarah’s gift—a set of high-quality headbands—earned her a small smile. “These are perfect. My old ones were falling apart.” Satoru’s gift of a sleek set of stud earrings prompted an amused, “You’ve got surprisingly good taste.”

Shoko beamed at her gifts. She slipped on the fingerless mittens Sarah had given her right away, flexing her fingers and admiring the warmth. “These are great, thanks, Sarah.” The sunglasses from Suguru got a nod of approval. “Stylish and functional. Nice.” But the new sneakers from Satoru made her genuinely smile as she held them up. “You actually paid attention to what I wanted. Shocking.”

Finally, Sarah opened her gifts, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Yes!” she exclaimed, holding up the manga volumes Suguru had gotten her. “I’ve been wanting these for ages!” Shoko’s gift of a high-quality hairbrush made her laugh. “You’re the only one who’d think of something this practical, but it’s awesome. Thanks, Sho.”

Satoru, grinning like a Cheshire cat, handed her the last gift. She tore into it and gasped. “Cinnamoroll!” she squealed, hugging the oversized plush tightly. “He’s perfect. Thanks, Gojo!”

The group sat together after the unwrapping, leaning back against the cushions, enjoying the calm and each other’s company. The tree’s lights blinked softly, casting an almost magical ambiance over the scene.

Satoru shifted, clearing his throat awkwardly. The chatter died down as everyone turned to him. “Uh… so,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… wanted to say sorry. For being kind of a jerk lately. Christmas is just… it’s kind of hard for me, you know?” He didn’t elaborate, his usual swagger replaced by rare vulnerability. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I’ll try to not let it ruin stuff in the future.”

There was a brief silence before Suguru shrugged. “We all have history. It’s alright."

“Yeah,” Shoko agreed, taking a sip of her coffee. “You’re not as bad as you think you are.”

Sarah smiled brightly. “Besides, it’s Christmas! Who cares about a little grumpiness? You’re here with us now, and that’s what matters.”

Satoru blinked, caught off guard by how easily they brushed it off. He felt… strange. Like the weight of the season had lifted just a little.

“Thanks,” he muttered, a small smile creeping onto his face.

"Okay!" Sarah clapped her hands together, standing suddenly, "Let's go outside!"

"But... It's getting dark?" Shoko said, glancing out the window.

Satoru grinned, standing up as well welcoming the change of conversation. "What do you wanna do?"

"Let's make like... A bunch of snowmen or something!" Sarah said, "Or draw stuff in the snow! We haven't done much in the snow yet and it feels like a sin or something!"

"I'll get my coat," Suguru chuckled, gathering up his gifts.

Satoru watched Sarah hurry over to put on her coat and scarf, the other two heading to their rooms to drop off their gifts. She paused when she saw him standing there, then walked over with a smile.

"Hey... It's alright if you just want to sit this out." She said, "I don't want to push you and--"

"Stop," he said, waving his hand, "It's not like that I just felt bad. I want to, don't worry."

She wrung her hands together a little, "Alright good. I didn't want to be too pushy."

"You're not too pushy," he chuckled, "Now, c'mon. Let's make a friggin' army around the faculty building!"

The cold bit at their faces as the four of them burst outside, bundled up against the chill but giddy with excitement. The snow blanketed the grounds of the school, pristine and untouched, just waiting for them to ruin it. Satoru immediately grabbed a handful, inspecting the quality like he was a professional snow analyst.

“Perfect packing snow,” he announced, molding it into a ball.

“You sound like an idiot,” Shoko deadpanned, but she was already crouching down to roll a tiny snowman.

Sarah was the first to build one, carefully crafting a miniature figure that stood no taller than a loaf of bread. “Look at this little guy!” she cooed, patting it's little head before brushing her hands off on her coat. Suguru raised an eyebrow but joined in, his snowman somehow turning out suspiciously symmetrical.

Soon, an army of tiny snowmen surrounded the building, their lopsided faces and stick arms looking more creepy than cute. Satoru laughed maniacally as he built one with three heads. “This is the leader.” he declared, pointing dramatically.

Suguru, rolling his eyes, picked up one of the smaller snowmen and hurled it at Satoru’s back. It hit with a satisfying thud, the snow exploding on impact.

“Oh, a rebellion I see,” Satoru said, whirling around, his sunglasses slipping slightly down his nose. He scooped up a massive pile of snow and launched it at Suguru, who dodged with a laugh.

From there, chaos ensued. Snowballs flew through the air, and alliances were hastily formed. Satoru and Shoko built a hasty wall of snow for cover, while Suguru and Sarah took over a bush on the opposite side of the courtyard.

“Watch out! Incoming!” Shoko yelled as a snowball from Suguru sailed through the air, hitting their wall with a dramatic puff.

Meanwhile, Sarah crouched low, a mischievous grin on her face as she crept behind enemy lines. Her target? Satoru’s back, which was just begging for a handful of snow down his coat.

But Satoru had an almost preternatural sense for trouble. “Oh no, you don’t!” he shouted, spinning around just in time to grab Sarah by the wrist. “Trying to sabotage me, huh?”

She squealed as he wrestled the snow away from her and tried to shove it down her own coat. “No! Noooo!” she shrieked, laughing as she tried to wriggle free.

Before he could succeed, Suguru appeared behind him like some sort of snow ninja. “Guess who?” Suguru said, dumping a huge armful of snow onto Satoru’s head.

“Traitor!” Satoru shouted, flailing as both Sarah and Suguru ganged up on him, pelting him with snowballs and handfuls of icy powder. Even Shoko joined in, tossing a half-hearted snowball at his feet.

Defeated and dramatically flopping into the snow like he’d been mortally wounded, Satoru groaned. “I hope you’re all happy,” he said, his voice muffled by the snow, "Now the snowmen have been reduced to anarchy."

They ignored him, instead stomping around to draw the most ridiculous shapes and doodles in the snow. Sarah proudly made a giant, crooked dick, only for Suguru to add devil horns to it. Shoko crafted a very unflattering caricature of Yaga’s face, complete with exaggerated eyebrows.

Satoru, rising from his snowy demise, shuffled his feet through the snow to write obscene things in kanji before Sarah smacked him with another snowball.

“That's nasty,” she said, grinning ear to ear, "You're nasty!"

“Maybe,” Satoru said, brushing snow from his hair with a smirk, "But they'll never know if it was me or you!"

The four of them dissolved into laughter, their breath misting in the cold air. The courtyard looked like a disaster zone of tiny snowmen, craters from snowballs, and questionable drawings, but it was theirs. And for that chilly Christmas Eve, nothing else mattered.

And when they shuffled back in to warm up, they said their temporary goodbyes. New Year's celebrations were coming, and they'd have to part, but it wouldn't be long.

⤶ Prev Main Next ↪

#fanfiction #writing #a03 fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #reincarnation fic #fix it fic

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cipher-the-sidhe · 4 months ago

Note

Was so excited reading your latest chapter! You're very skilled at setting the tone of your scenes and I love how you capture each character's personality. It is a skill I am trying to improve in my own writings. I look forward to all the next chapters to come, no matter how long they may take getting out. You can't rush good storytelling. I understand well that it can take some time.

I have a few questions, but I understand if you don't want to answer them due to possibility of spoilers for your story.

Will y/n ever get to the point where she no longer holds any fear and concern over her safety when it comes to the boys? Judging by your art of them (which is amazing by the way) it seems that she does come to start trusting them. Having a kid with them would definitely require a level of trust. And a knowledge that they are fully culpable beings. Does y/n make it to fully trusting them despite being apex predators or will there always be a part of her that is on guard? Especially around Moon because of his past actions and attitude towards her?

When he starts to catch feelings for y/n will Moon be putting any work and effort himself into gaining her trust and showing that he won't hurt her? Cause as is, that adorable artwork you drew of them cuddling together is definitely not happening soon with how rightfully scared and wary y/n is of him.

What would happen in a situation down the line where their positions are reversed? What if y/n was hurt and in need of being cared for? How would Sun and Moon, and y/n themselves react? How would they feel? What would they do?

Sorry for the long ass post. Got a little carried away and its longer than I expected. Again, I understand if you don't end up answering all or any of the questions. And again, I really enjoy your work and look forward to more!

Hi hon! I’m so glad you like the story so far!

Luckily, all of your questions are actually pretty related and I can say that they all pretty much get addressed in the story at the same time, in a scene I’ve actually already illustrated.

Will she fully trust them and grow past her fear of them as apex predators? Will Moon intentionally work on earning her trust and improving their relationship? What happens if she get’s badly hurt, in such a way that the boys need to be aware and careful of at least? One incident will address all three of these questions, and it’ll be a doozy.

If you look back through the WtTK art tag I’m sure you’ll find the scene, if you want. It’s a big turning point for these three. But basically yes, yes, and you’ll see. In that order ;>

#cipher talks #answered asks #what the tide keeps #WtTK #mer!moon #mer!sun

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shintin · 1 year ago

Text

Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 4 (Bogeyman)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

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

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

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

Disrespectful dog!

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

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

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

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

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

Buybull!

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

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

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

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

Bible basher!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Focus!

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

Red.

Everywhere.

His favorite color.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No ablution.

No funeral.

No farewell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harder. Harder. Harder.

He pushed the screwdriver harder.

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

“FUCK YOU, SAVEREM,” he snapped back.

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

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

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

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

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

It smelled like rain in the morning.

The room.

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

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

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

You were a raindrop.

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

This was your new life.

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

Piteous!

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

Fuck it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No! Stop it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're an idiot!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, you're an idiot!

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

“My sister—”

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

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

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

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

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

He cleared his throat but said nothing.

He shook his head.

He started walking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Gods! Someone was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled.

He was the fucking grim reaper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you think I did—”

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

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

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

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

How naïve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you bother confirming if it was me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her teeth clicked, confirming his presumption.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, wait, wait!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was too much.

This pain.

Too much.

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait! I said, wait, goddammit!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Licking her lips, she asked, “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shook her head, her legs trembling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boss,” Livio called. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vash turned towards the mirrored wall. The deep sadness etched on his face was palpable, his eyes heavy with unshed tears. It was as if a dark cloud had descended over him, casting a shadow over everything he did and said.

Did you witness his anguish? Would you continue to defend the man you called your father, knowing he had abandoned you and committed murder?

Today, you witnessed the depth of Vash's affection for his partner and how he had been taken from him in a senseless act of violence. You saw his grief, his anger, his despair, and his exhaustion. He revealed to you the heavy burden he had been carrying for a long time and that he was finally reaching the breaking point.

You just had to give him something, anything to hurt Gasback, and he would let you go.

A promise.

Vash heard the sound of skin being slapped and glanced back to see Livio roughly striking Elendira's cheek. Her head lolled to the side, and more groans escaped her throat.

"Please... show mercy," she whispered, her voice hoarse. But Vash knew he wouldn't be satisfied even if she begged until her voice was depleted. Livio's pain was too great, and he needed an outlet for his anger.

"Did you show mercy to Nico?" Livio's voice broke as he spoke. Tears filled his eyes, and it only fueled the flames in Vash's chest. Livio and Nick were like brothers, and because Nick was Vash's family, that made Livio family too.

Elendira swallowed, but words failed her for several moments. "It wasn't personal," she croaked. "I was only doing what Gasback told me to do."

"Oh, is that so?" Livio countered, his fist curling into a tight ball. Vash hoped he would use it, as he would only stop his man only to deliver a few punches of his own before letting him end her miserable life. "Did Gasback tell you to nail him to the fucking cross?"

“No, but—" she said and gulped, her last tries to survive. “L-look, I’m sorry for my share in this, but you have to understand that Gasback is crazy.”

When Vash stepped closer, not a shroud of understanding reflected back at her, she became more desperate. “Seriously! He'd have me if I didn’t do what he said."

“You chose to disrespect his dead body."

Elendira floundered, her mouth opening and closing as she searched for the right answer, or rather, the right lie. Livio's eyes were fixed on her as he held his hand out to Vash expectantly. Vash didn't look away from Elendira as he handed the barn nail to Livio, knowing precisely what he was asking for.

Livio didn't waste any time, didn't hesitate for a second. He just gripped it in a tight fist, the metal glinting off the tiled room's lights as he raised it above her and plunged it into her throat. The sharp metal cut through flesh and bone, silencing her pleas forever.

Her eyes widened into round discs as she stared at her reaper with disbelief. It was always disbelief as if they didn’t see it coming. Or maybe, they just couldn't accept the fact that they were actually dying.

People like Elendira, who had lived their lives so selfishly and with no regard for others' lives, were always the most desperate to live forever. However, they never understood that this was what made them so weak. The ones like Vash were the most deadly since they had no regard for their own lives. Nothing, not a single thing, would stop him from taking people down with him when he was going to hell.

There it was.

Your head, lying on the floor, cracked right open, your brain spilling out in every direction, and you wouldn't, you didn't, you couldn't even… You were sitting here, struck, numb, slightly dizzy. Horrified. Shocked to the core.

Scientists were liars.

This world was flat.

You knew it, too, because the truth had tossed you right off the edge, and it probably wouldn't matter if you even tried to climb back because you'd never be able to beat the gravity when the sins of the man you shared blood with were this heavy. The weight of his crimes had trapped you like a chain, and you couldn't escape the feeling that you were somehow complicit in his actions simply by virtue of being related to him. It was a burden you couldn't shake, drowning you in a sea of guilt.

Humanity was dead.

Your father was a human trafficker. He was involved in stealing and selling young girls to the highest bidders. And to make matters worse, he had played a role in the death of Vash's lover or something, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, the one who wanted to save some of those girls. A good man. Probably. You didn't know much about him, but from what you had heard.

Those men tortured him to a slow death by nailing him to a wooden cross, an inhumane punishment. But the cruelty didn't end there, as the twisted minds behind it had sent pictures of his dead body to this monster to confirm his death—a sickening display of power and brutality.

You remembered the pain in his eyes as he stared at the glass as if he could see you. As if he was waiting for you to do something, begging you to do something.

It wasn't a mirage.

In that brief moment, you had sensed a depth within him that belied the surface-level facade he had created. You could discern the pain and loneliness on his face, and you almost felt his emotions as though they were yours. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a connection that transcended words. It was as if you had known him for eons despite only meeting recently. But that moment had passed, and you couldn't ignore the damage he had done.

It may be that he deserved to suffer for his actions, for being the one who had to carry on without the other.

Bradd was staring at you.

You were still reeling from what you had just heard, unable to spit the chalk out of your mouth long enough to string a sentence together. “Considering what you heard," he said, rushing to speak now. "Do you still want to defend your father? I understand that he is your family, but—”

You stood up, the word "No" escaping your lips in a choked whisper. Your world seemed to be spinning out of control as you tripped sideways. "No" became a mantra, tumbling from your lips over and over again. In all this chaos, it was as if you were trying to convince yourself of something.

You stared at your feet and hands, feeling like the blot pressing down on your shoulders. The walls were closing in on you, and you wanted to scream and stumble toward the door, searching for an outlet to escape this nightmare that was your life. The reality of your fucked up family was like a punch to the gut; you didn't know how to process all the emotions swirling inside you. You felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of your own thoughts and feelings. All you wanted was to get away, to escape this prison of your own making and find some semblance of peace. But the door felt impossibly far away, and you didn't know if you had the strength to make it there.

“Ms. McFly—please—”

Hearing the last name, your heart almost stopped. You didn't want to carry his name, not after everything that had been revealed. You forced yourself to turn around to face Bradd, but his mouth fell closed when he met your eyes. His arm was outstretched toward you, trying to stop you from 10 feet away, but you felt like you were a million miles apart. You wanted to sob and laugh at the same time at the terrible hilarity of how the fuck your entire life had crumbled to pieces.

Bradd spoke in a gentle tone, addressing you as "Ms. McFly." He acknowledged the difficulty of the situation, recognizing that it might be hard to stomach the truth. He emphasized the importance of the information you could provide, stating that it would benefit a lot of victims in the long run. Even though this was a personal matter, he appealed to your sense of morality and urged you to help.

“Is this why,” you asked, your voice breaking. “Is this why he kidnapped me? Is this why he's keeping me here, beating me, humiliating me, forcing me to watch him joyfully torture others and spill their blood? How are you people any different than the ones you're slaughtering?” you demanded, your words biting. You were caught in a war between two sides, neither of which seemed to have any regard for the sanctity of human life.

Bradd's silence spoke volumes, and the unspoken words hung heavy. This fucking room was unstable, spinning too much, too fast, and you wanted to throw up.

“You don't like it here, too, do you?” Your voice was even shakier now, too close to tears. “I saw how you were trying to look away from them all the time and distract yourself with the phone, but your ears aren't deaf. You heard all the violence." Bradd was clearly uncomfortable, and you hoped you could appeal to his compassion. “You have to help me," you pleaded. "You have to help me. You know how fucked up he—"

“Ms. McFly, please—”

“DON'T CALL ME BY THAT NAME!" you shouted, your fingers trembling. "Just please answer the question.”

“All I heard was the hurtful truth,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “And yes! Certainly, I don't particularly appreciate how the twins, especially Vash, have turned out, but having known him for some time, I know the circumstances that shaped him into this person. You see yourself; sometimes, you must claw to survive in a predatory environment." He watched Vash talking to Livio through the window, not caring about standing in a bloodbath. "I've watched that boy grow up, and he trusts me enough to listen to my pieces of advice from time to time. So, I won't talk shit about him. The weight of what he has endured in the last months cannot be ignored. Wolfwood meant a lot to him. He was his everything and beyond. I think he was his salvation. I'd never seen him that happy since he lost his mother. He—"

“Oh, God, I—I can’t—” You tripped and covered your eyes with your palms. No wonder he was pissed when you insulted his mother. His dead mother, no less. Why the fuck you always had to be like this?

Your legs felt weak, your head still spinning, and your eyes blurred as if the surroundings were being washed of all its color. You were barely able to keep your balance when suddenly, you felt arms wrap around your waist, pulling you backward. The sudden touch startled you, and you struggled against the embrace.

“Are you okay?” Bradd asked, so urgently, “I need you to—”

“Let go of me.” Your voice was barely a breath. “I don't—I don't know—”

Bradd hesitated but walked back, raising his hands to show he wouldn't approach you without permission. He moved over to a chair pushed against the wall and carried it to a spot close but not too close to where you were standing. He sat down, propping his ankle on his knee, and leaned back, linking his hands on his knees.

You noticed Bradd nodding at you, offering a strained smile and allowing you to lean against the one-sided mirror that separated you from the harsh reality of what was going on on the other side. As you tried to steady yourself, you felt your legs give out, and you collapsed onto the cold floor, sliding down the glass. It hurt, but that wasn't why muffled tears flowed down your cheeks. Silence poured into the space.

It took a few moments for your breathing to stabilize. You closed your eyes, allowing your thoughts to drift as memories flooded your mind. Each memory felt like a jolt to the heart, reminding you of all the pain and trauma your father had caused you.

You knew him.

You always knew how he was.

You had incontrovertible evidence for his savagery.

Damn, you were even carrying some of them with you, etched to your skin, seared into your mind. It dawned on you that there were others, countless others, who had suffered at his hands as well. You had always believed his violence was limited just to you and your sister, but now you understood that there were so many.

How did you spend all these years in neglect? For fuck's sake! Perhaps you knew this all along but had put it aside in order to remain hopeful about the future.

After all, you were a victim too. What about your mom? After her death, was she able to find peace?

“I may be his daughter,” you finally said and hated yourself for saying it. “But I didn't know anything about his business.” Your thoughts were tangled in words that were not your own. You took a sharp breath, trying to clear your head, and clenched and unclenched your fists.

What a mess.

You tried to meet Brad'd eyes. You wanted him to see the truth in your gaze. You needed him to understand that you did not know of your father's involvement in criminal activities. However, he didn't look up or speak but remained lost in deep thoughts, tapping his foot too fast against the floor. Something was off.

After what felt like hours, Bradd's foot stopped tapping, but he still didn't meet your eyes. He covered his mouth with his left hand, then dropped it and cleared his throat. "You're telling me he kept his family out of his business?" he asked, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze. The intensity of his stare pinned you in place. He was trying to read you, figure you out, and decide whether he could trust you.

"I've never heard about these things before," you heard yourself whisper. "I swear—I didn't know about—"

"Are you sure?"

"What?"

"It’s a question. It’s a legitimate question," Bradd said, his tone serious. "I suggested bringing you here because Vash wanted answers you weren't eager to give. I thought if you saw the depths of the misery he can cause, you'd be more willing to cooperate. But here we are. You seem to be learning everything from us with nothing to offer in return." His words stung.

“I’m sorry, I really—”

"That's not even the only problem on the table," Bradd continued, his voice tinged with frustration. "Vash will be angry that this plan didn't work and want to take his revenge personally. He won't listen to me anymore, and I won't be able to do anything to calm him down. I know his brother can stop him, but that will cause new strife, and you know who will suffer the consequences?" He paused for a moment, then answered his own question. "You. He'll take it out on you."

The gravity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were surprised it wasn't bleeding. The fear and anxiety building inside you were almost too much to bear. You struggled to take deep breaths to calm yourself down, but it was difficult to shake the impending doom.

“So I’m wondering,” Bradd said, his gaze locked on you as he leaned forward, propping himself up. “If you know exactly what you're doing and you're a hell of a lot sneakier than you pretend to be, or if you really have no clue what you're doing and just have shitty luck. I haven't decided yet."

“What?” you gasped. “No!” Your eyes are wide, horrified, caught.

He leaned back and pressed his forefinger to his lips, contemplating his next move. "Do you want to spell out?" he asked, his voice soft but firm. "Or do you just want to get tied to that chair?" He pointed to the metal chair where Elendira's body had been left to bleed out. Vash, Livio, and the others had left the room, and you hadn't even realized from the horror gripping your throat.

“I swear, I don't—I n-never—” You had to bite back the words to blink back the tears. It was crippling, this feeling and not knowing how to prove your innocence. It was your entire life repeatedly replayed, with you constantly trying to convince people that you hadn't done anything wrong, that your father had hit you for no reason, and that you never intended for things to turn out this way.

But it never seemed to work out.

"I know nothing," you choked out, the tears flowing freely now. You felt disgusted with yourself, as if you had let everyone down by not being strong enough to resist or be useful. You had wanted so badly to protect your sister and make a difference, but now it seemed you had only succeeded in ruining and losing everything again.

You didn't even know how to tell him you weren't a liar. Because he might be right, maybe you should have tried harder, better to prove to the people around you just how sick your father was. Maybe then Wolfwood would live, and your life wouldn't be this miserable.

You heard Bradd sigh as he shifted in his seat, and you couldn't bring yourself to lift your eyes. "I had to ask," he said, his tone uncomfortable. "I'm sorry you're crying, but I'm not sorry for causing it. It's just my job to constantly think of ways to keep my circle of people out of danger from someone like you."

You looked up too fast. “But I’m not—I’m n-not trying to—”

"It means nothing," Bradd said, standing up from his seat. "You are not one of us but within our territories. It doesn't make you any different than a parasite." His words were harsh. So harsh.

Bradd knocked on the door three times, and you noticed two men standing behind it.

"I didn't want to be here in the first place! Why don't you let me go? " you asked, looking at Bradd. He avoided your gaze, staring at the wall or anything but you.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, considering your question momentarily. Finally, he spoke. "There's no way out of here for you," he said, his discomfort evident. You remained rooted in place. You noticed how his eyes seemed too tired, too strained. He looked like he hadn't been eating enough and hadn't slept in weeks. He hesitated and licked his lips before pressing them tight before he spoke. “I’m sorry,” he added as two men entered the room.

They came toward you, your eyes pleading, but they grabbed your arms and lifted you off the floor. You struggled against them, but it was no use.

Every touch in this house was painful, and this was no exception. Because you were nothing here. Bradd's words confirmed how they saw you. A parasite. A fucking parasite that hadn't chosen to be here. They brought you here by force, but you guessed it didn't matter.

"What about my sister?" you asked, turning your head to see Bradd's face as they dragged you out of the room.

"She has no idea about anything!" you exclaimed, tears streaming down your face. You knew your sister was utterly innocent, and the thought of her being caught up in a situation like you was almost too much to bear. "Will she be safe?"

Bradd's hand hesitated on the doorknob. "She'll be alright." And the door closed behind.

"I don't want any liability here," Vash said, and his hands trembled slightly as he picked up the gun, his fingers wrapping tightly around the cool metal. He slid the firearm out with practiced ease, the bullets clinking against each other and filling the room. He counted them silently, checking each one for any imperfections or damage. Satisfied, he slid the firearm back into place with a soft click, his eyes trying hard not to leave the gun as he pulled back the slide and let it snap forward with a metallic clang.

Distraction.

He needed a distraction.

The torture wasn't enough.

He repeated the action several times, each time with a little more force until the sound echoed through the room like thunder. Finally, he flipped off the safety catch with a sharp flick of his thumb and took a deep breath.

Relax.

He needed to relax.

The alcohol wasn't enough.

"But you watched the tape yourself and heard her words. We're sure she doesn't know anything," Bradd declared and leaned casually against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Vash nervously checking his gun over and over and over again. His eyes flicked over the weapon with a cool detachment, his expression giving nothing away.

Vash completed his meticulous maintenance of the gun and turned to face Bradd. Though Vash appeared intense, he met Bradd's gaze with unflinching confidence. He had learned early on that hiding his emotions was critical to survive growing up with Kni, who tended to take away anything he grew too attached to.

With a far-off look in his eyes, his hand reached to the small glass on the table. He raised it to his lips and downed the whiskey in one smooth motion, the burn of it doing almost nothing to dull the pain in his heart. Immediately, he poured another shot.

Numb.

He needed to be numb.

The blood wasn't enough.

He brought the glass to his lips, hoping that the alcohol would offer some relief from the constant torment in his mind. Would drinking be enough to make him forget his brother's possible involvement in Nick's death? Would this shit somehow solve all his problems? The pain persisted even when he was drunk most of the time. The grief had remained unrelenting. His eyes were bloodshot, and nightmares were lullabying him to awakening.

Nothing could help him. No one could ease this suffering.

Setting the barely touched glass on the counter, he slumped back, defeated by the weight of his emotions. He glanced at his councilor's worried eyes.

"I didn't say she's lying, Bradd." He sighed. His face was twisted in distress, his brow furrowed, and his eyes closed tight. This headache was throbbing behind his eyelids. But this was nothing compared to the ache in his veins.

He did slaughter Nick's murderer. Hooray! But why the fuck he hadn't calmed down even a bit? How the hell should he find his peace of mind? The answer eluded him, and he was left alone to grapple with his demons.

"Then why do you wanna do that?" Bradd questioned and tilted his head to the side. He then started talking and talking and talking.

Vash's eyes were half-lidded and unfocused as he listened to him. His shoulders were hunched as if he was trying to shrink away from the conversation, and his fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the armrest. He sighed deeply every so often as if he couldn't quite muster the energy to keep up the pretense of interest.

"She…she has no use anymore." His speech was slow and slurred, betraying the fact that he had had a few too many shots, and his words seemed to come out in a lazy drawl. He seemed disinterested, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes, plotting something twisted in his mind.

"You're not thinking straight! How can you make a decision about her life in this state? What's wrong with you?" Bradd exclaimed, throwing his arms up in disbelief as he approached the couch. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"A lot of things are wrong about me. Where do you want me to start?" Vash leaned his head back and let out a quiet yawn. His hair was disheveled, and red circles were under his eyes and on the tip of his nose. Obviously, he had shed one or two tears, but no one would point it out. He had just learned why his boyfriend had been nailed to a cross like Jesus Christ. Let him be!

His shirt was untucked, and his holster loosened, giving him a slightly disreputable air. As he shifted in his seat, alcohol wafted off of him, mingling with the room's scent.

"You'll regret this, Vash," he said, sitting on the couch, looking away from the man before him.

Bradd's disgust was all over his face, and he couldn't blame him. He despised himself as much as Bradd did. Maybe even more.

Finally, Vash let out a loud sigh and leaned forward. "You really think I'll regret getting rid of someone who even her almighty family doesn't give a shit about?" His laughter bubbled up from deep within him, a wild and uncontrollable sound that echoed in the silent house. It was a high-pitched, almost manic sound punctuated by sharp gasps for air. He threw his head back and let out a series of cackles coming from somewhere beyond reason.

There was something almost frightening about him, as if he had lost all control and was careening towards some unknown edge. Finally, the laughter petered out, leaving him gasping for breath and wiping tears from his eyes. Tears that for sure weren't from happiness.

With his cheek resting on his hand and his eyes narrowing, he braced himself to ask the question tickling his mind. "Bradd, can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Do you want to have her?" His eyes were deep-set and shadowed, holding a glint of wickedness that could make Bradd easily uneasy. The lopsided smirk on his face was almost mocking as if he enjoyed causing chaos and destruction.

Brad didn't even turn his head to look at him. "I think you're drunk," he said.

Grabbing his revolver, Vash stood up and stretched his body. "Is that a yes?" There was a cold detachment to his tone when he spoke as if he were discussing something trivial when his words were always intentionally chosen.

"No." A word with two letters was more than enough for now.

"Good," Vash said as he walked towards the corridor leading to the basement. "You won't miss her then." He was heading out when he heard Bradd called out to him, his voice cutting through the dead air with a sharpness that made him pause.

"She's just like you," Bradd said, and the words hit Vash like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened in shock as he struggled to comprehend the meaning behind them. What? No one could be like him, he thought. No one could have endured the same level of agony he had. Nonsenses!

As the shock began to give way to anger, he turned his head sharply, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. He quickened his steps, the sound echoing through the room as he stormed out the door. His movements were tense and purposeful as if trying to escape the weight of those words and the memories they stirred within him.

His face was set in a scowl, his jaw tight with anger and resentment. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were taut with hatred; his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

The words echoed through his mind, taunting him until he found himself in front of your room's door.

Don't think.

Just do it.

Click.

He turned the key, and as he stepped into the room, his gaze fell upon you, who was pacing across the room. You, a fragile thing, were like him? Stupidest joke Bradd could come up with.

He let out a sigh.

No hello.

No how are you.

No sorry for traumatizing you.

He raised his gun and pointed it at you in one swift motion.

You froze.

Fear immediately evident on your face.

Blood rushed down to his dick.

FUCK!

He was obsessed.

He was addicted.

It wouldn't matter how far he crossed if it meant he could indulge in your fear.

His mind had already been made up, the decision fortifying like granite in his brain.

He just wanted to touch you, feel your warmth for the last time.

He just wanted to hurt you, let you have the sweetest pleasure that was pain.

He was lying.

He just loved to see you cry.

It made him feel alive.

At that moment, your wandering eyes met his with a force that nearly caused him to buckle at the knees. The corners of your eyes rounded ever so slightly, conveying a deep animosity that seemed to mirror his hatred toward you.

And then your eyes landed on his finger holding the trigger, and he knew he needed to pull it before making a grave mistake.

Too late.

His eyes lingered on the way tears suited your features. It was as if you were born to cry for him as if it were your natural state. But then he remembered he hadn't seen any other emotions on your face since you had arrived, and the thought struck him.

For a brief moment, he hesitated, his resolve wobbling. But then he remembered why he was there —the seething hatred, the unbearable pain, the overwhelming rage. As he recalled the depth of his emotions, the emotions evaporated.

His cock was no longer in charge.

"There," he yelled and pointed with his gun. "Raise your hands and stand before that wall." His voice was low and menacing.

With trembling hands in the air, you stumbled backward, your legs giving up beneath you. Now you probably had realized what would happen to those deemed useless by him, that there was no escape from his grudge, no way out of this hell.

You surrendered to his will, and to his surprise, you didn't beg for your life, plead for mercy, or try to reason with him. Instead, you simply wept, your heart shattering within your chest as you faced the barrel of his gun.

You were such an obedient thing, weren't you?

He couldn't help but feel a sense of grudging respect for how docile you were acting today. A tamable brat. Such a shame your potential was going to be wasted. Because he couldn't keep up with this. There was something about you stirring him, annoying him. Something he wanted to get rid of and yet have it on his tongue.

He moved closer, too close to your body, closer than times before. For the last time, he said to himself.

"Cross your arms above your head," he ordered, his hot breath breezing your face as the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your chest, his sick grin spreading across his face. His other hand grabbed your wrists, causing him to lean more toward you. The smell of alcohol mingled with the acrid stench of gunpowder and cigarette smoke. But unlike you, your scent refused to be dominated by him.

Flowers.

Geraniums.

Red as your eyes.

Brave as your eyes.

Beautiful as your eyes.

Old, dusted, long-forgotten childhood memories.

Home.

A meaningless word that was scratching the surface, trying to be written again, to be spoken again, to be remembered again.

Home.

You.

Home.

You.

Home.

You.

Home.

You.

Home.

You.

A jolt of shock coursed through his body, leaving him reeling and disoriented. The images and sensations were so vivid, so intense that he felt as though he had been transported back in time to a place he thought he had left behind forever. His mind raced as he struggled to make sense of the fragments of his past, piecing together a narrative that had long been buried and forgotten.

Why the fuck were you reminding him of something he couldn't have anymore?

You witch!

He came here with a simple plan: shoot your arms and legs, watch you suffer, and maybe empty a bullet in your brain if he felt merciful.

But he was drunk. So drunk.

And fate was a whore. An experienced one.

And you were here. Seconds away from feeling his stiff cock.

BLOODY HELL!

He realized he was lost in the labyrinth of unregulated thoughts, a disordered symphony that threatened to drive him crazy. This was a new territory for him. Undiscovered. How could he run out of this relentless trap? Should he surrender to the glistening tears gathering in the corner of your eyes? Or maybe he should just focus on the tightening grip of his hand around your wrists?

Was he hurting you?

No. This couldn't be it because the touch of your soft breasts against his chest ignited a primal hunger within him, and the rhythm of your breaths, followed by the arch of your back, forced him to draw himself closer to your warmth.

Did you want this?

What?

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Why was he thinking like this?

The contrast between his intentions and actions was crystal clear, but despite it all, he couldn't ignore the long-forgotten yearning that scratched the old wound hidden in his broken heart.

He tried to deceive himself by blaming alcohol for compelling these things to him, but alcohol had no voice, no authority. It remained as a silent partner in crime, unable to even free itself from its glassy prison.

Goddammit!

These were your desires Vash Saverem.

No!

He separated his lower body from you, not wanting you to sense the growing hardness as he tried to make sense of the situation. The futility of recent events had washed over him, dulling his brain cells and settling him into a kind of daze he hadn't been able to claw his way out of. He was tired of this. This, removing you process was taking longer than he had anticipated, and he was here because he needed to teach Gasback a lesson, but how could sending back your dead body doubled filled with Lead pills hurt him? The shitbag of a father hadn't given a damn about you, and he needed a solution for this goddamn problem, and he wanted to scream and find a way to breathe because he hadn't breathed in months, and he missed Nicholas too much, and had no idea how to continue without him and …

Come to me, Vash. Aren't you tired, Spikey? Isn’t it enough? I promise you'll be happier if you off a bullet in your palate. I miss you, too.

His shoulders tensed up in rhythm with his thoughts. He looked at you. Maybe you had the answers, but you were like a house of mirrors in a carnival — he couldn’t trust what he saw before him was real and who might be staring back at him from behind those mirrors. You were trouble. Not a good one, and he couldn't read your mind. Your gates kept him outside, making him stare down at your gorgeously pointed nose and beautiful lips, neck, and...

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He was overcome with a sense of self-loathing at his behavior. He deserved to be punched in the head for the way he had been acting. He wanted to take a step back, but his gaze inadvertently drifted down to your chest, and he caught sight of a scar peeking out from your clothing. The blemish was jagged and barely visible in the dim light, but it stood out to him like a beacon. For a moment, he was transfixed, wondering what had caused such a mark and what other secrets you might be hiding.

He frowned, and his eyes lingered on the scar, his mind racing with possibilities. He knew that scars often held tales of pain and suffering that were etched into a person's flesh. He wondered what story this scar had to tell.

If he was going to end you today, what difference would it make if he turned you inside out and dragged out whatever you had to hide?

As Vash raised the gun, the nozzle moved aside your collar, and there it was: multiple blotches gathered around. You started to wiggle yourself free from his grasp, but he tightened his grip on your wrists, pressing himself even closer to you. You winced, surely not wanting him to discover the new acres he had just landed on.

Say no to him and watch him name every inch of you as his property.

With his forehead on yours, his ominous breath on your face, his tight grip on your wrists, and his gun on your scars, he asked a question. “How do you have those scars?” His husky voice slid in between your silky tresses.

Your stonelike eyes animated with a flash of anger. You probably could understand this was not a question born of genuine concern for your well-being. There was no hint of it in his voice.

Vash also understood that because he'd already pretty much gathered what happened to you. Those were scars left from cigarette burns. So his question was guided purely by his desire to get you to say it with your own mouth. A way of forcibly getting you to open up to him, to give him something. Anything. To keep you alive. He wanted, no; he needed you to provide it for him.

But you didn’t. You kept quiet.

Again, he asked, “How do you have those scars?”

“None of your business,” you responded this time, your voice every bit as defiant and remote.

Vash felt his irritation rose tenfold. Turned out it was a very bad idea to question a kidnapped girl he had under this much-unresolved tension. His hands clenched around your wrists even tighter, and your slender hands began shaking while the suffocated veins on your hands bulged.

“Who did this to you?” he rephrased the question.

“Go to hell,” you spat, and he pressed himself more into you. You couldn’t hold back a cry this time as your eyesight darkened with the cloud of his strength.

“Who hurt you?” he asked, his lips smiling, his voice – anything but. Why were you this fiery? Why did touching you both hurt and soothe him?

“I hate you, Vash!” You spoke his name, his eyes still deeply searching yours, and the blood that had halted its flow through his veins began gushing like a waterfall. Something profound got punctured within him and started leaking from the tip of his cock when you pronounced his name with such tenderness, intimacy, and exclusivity.

He almost smiled. “You said my name again.”

“You ordered me to, you monster!” You pressed your lips together, breathing and not breathing.

"And you obeyed," he said and tilted his head. His lips twitched. His eyes fell, and his lips drew in a tight breath. He dropped a gloved finger down the apple of your cheek.

"Your father did this to you, didn't he?" he whispered, too close to your eyes. You inched backward, but you were already pinned to the wall. Your throat bubbled as you gave up and accepted your fate.

He brushed his nose to the crown of your head and let you tremble silently, somehow knowing that you would rather die than speak a word.

Because he knew this shame.

As a child, he'd spent many hours hiding in dark corners, praying that his older brother wouldn't find him, hoping that he would be in a good mood and that things would be okay for once. But most of the time, Kni would scream and lash out, cutting him with a knife and seeming to enjoy watching him bleed.

For so long, he'd felt isolated and alone with the scars of his past until he learned he didn't get those scars because he was weak once. He had them because he simply was stronger than the one who tried to hurt him. He was stronger than Kni, and those scars on display were a testament to it.

Unbreakable.

He couldn't break you because you were already broken, just like him. Shattered. You already had those delicate, beautiful cracks on your heart that let the sun shine through them. Sharp edges that probably had cut you more than others.

How the fuck Bradd knew you this well?

With a deep sigh, he released your arms and lowered his gun. He stepped back and slowly returned the revolver to its holster. Your hands dropped to your sides, and with it did your guard. Your eyes suddenly had become bare, vulnerable, almost childlike. Innocent.

Seeing your defensiveness dissipate before his eyes, Vash adjusted your collar, helping you hide behind a thin piece of cloth if this would make you raise your head proudly again.

This wasn't a retreat.

No.

Just a temporary ceasefire.

Today was a hard day, right?

He turned his back to you, seeming to be lost in his thoughts, his mind preoccupied with everything that had happened. He took a few steps towards the door.

"Why don't you just kill me?" you called out, your tone tinged with sadness.

"I will," he said, turning his head to glance over his shoulder at you. "But for now, keeping you alive will piss off your dad more." He gave you a knowing wink before exiting the room, but not without one last warning: "Don't cause any trouble." With that, he locked the door behind him.

Leaning his back against the wall, Vash let out a deep sigh as if he had been holding his breath for far too long. His gaze drifted toward the basement ceiling, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed within him. It was as if a part of him that had been missing had finally been found, or a piece of him that he had carried for so long had been gone.

It was still too soon, but one day he would learn that when two broken people brought their pieces together, chances were they would never become whole without each other.

But he didn't know it.

He had felt cowardice, weakness, and strength. He'd known terror and indifference, self-hate and general disgust. He'd seen things that couldn't be unseen. And yet he'd known nothing like this beautiful, terrible, pleasant, paralyzing feeling that had filled his heart—since when he had a heart again? He felt crippled. Desperate and out of control. And it kept getting worse. Every second he felt sick. Empty and somehow aching. This new emotion was a heartless bastard. He was driving himself insane.

He expected to be disappointed for not killing you, but instead, he felt a strange sense of unease settling in his chest. Then his eyes fell on the bulge tightening his pants and shook his head. "Fucking whiskey," he cursed, blaming the booze.

Vash cracked his neck, releasing a shuddering breath. The irony. He was standing in the basement of his house, his dick still painfully pressed against his zipper.

Just as he decided to say fuck it—cheating on Nick by jacking off imagining her would be the least of his sins since he had gone—his phone vibrated in his pocket. He curled his hand into a tight fist, his muscles straining as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab his shaft.

He didn't think he had had blue balls like this since high school when Meryl Strife jacked him off in the locker room. It was the first time a girl touched his dick, and he didn’t even get to finish because the teacher, Roberto fucking De Niro, walked in before he could shoot his load off on her pretty face.

He answered the phone and brought it to his ear without even looking.

“Yeah?” he snapped, his frustration boiling to dangerous levels.

“Did I interrupt your fuck session?” Bradd crooned through the phone, his voice laced with mocking amusement.

He cracked his neck again, growling when his muscles didn't relieve him.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the P dramatically. He wanted to pop him in the face for it. “Bradd,” he said, his tone serious. He refused to touch his dick while on the phone with him. As much as he needed to lessen the pressure, Bradd’s voice would make him feel sick.

"You haven't forgotten tonight's meeting, right?" he said, and Vash smacked his palm to his forehead.

"I'm coming." Vash let out a sigh.

"Are you fucking her while talking to me?" Bradd said, and his laughter was the last thing he heard before hanging up the phone.

He adjusted his pants and continued his way upstairs.

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon - @emptybrain01 - @changingchances

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