Warning : minors DNI, 16+. Suggestive, heavy/strong language, blood, injury, Bonten being gossips but nothing more, kinda comical and funny !
Pairing : Bonten! Mikey x Female! Reader
Summary : what about meeting the Bonten ?
Since the day he met you, Mikey tried his best to keep you away from his gang life. Until that night...
Note : This is a short one shot, no one requested this, it's just a small thing I've been imagining before going to bed lol right after writing this I'll be back to your requests guys !
WORD COUNT : Around 6000
Running out of time.
Running out of thoughts.
Pedal to the floor, Sanzu pressed it until the dash indicated a number way out of speed limits.
A road, a race.
Not against a car, against time.
Against death.
And he didn't even knew where to go, which turn to take next, all he knew was that, damn, Ran is a motherfucker and Rindou an asshole, but Mikey would kill him if the elder died on his backseat.
-" Fuck, Mikey, we can't go to the hospital. "
That one, sitting right on the passenger seat had his fist against his mouth, biting hard on his fingers. Before he could even look at Sanzu or answer, Rindou's voice cut off from behind.
-" I don't fucking care about prison, you go to that shitty hospital. "
Dark irises peered through the car's central mirror, at Rindou's shape sitting on the backseat.His brother had his head his lap and his feet on Kakucho's.
The youngest Haitani sustained his boss' look, though trembling from inside, he kept a stoic face stained with his brother's blood, hands pressing Ran's thigh to slow down the bleeding.
If the road wasn't blurry from the speed Sanzu was hitting, if Ran Haitani was not bleeding to death on the backseat of his car, Mikey would have slashed Rindou's throat open for that order. Yet, Rindou was stained with his elder brother's blood, on the verge of losing him.
How couldn't he understand ? Especially him, who's brother have been stolen from him, who couldn't even get a look at his face one last time ? Through his hollow chest, there was still something beating, beating for him to do the right thing.
The right thing, the right one, the idea clicked in his head.
-" Take the right turn to Ebisu. Tsubaki's district. "
Bonten's second nodded, took the right turn just in time to head for Ebisu and was almost startled by Rindou's voice shouting from behind.
-" Mikey you fucking serious ? You... You know what ? Drop us. "
-" Rin' " Kakucho tried only to be cut off again by that one.
-" Just drop us at the hospital and you can go back to the headquarters. "
Pleading eye glance was dressed by an angry stare in Rindou's eyes, one that has been promptly ignored by Mikey who just started guiding Sanzu through the dimly lit streets.
Scoffing loudly, the Haitani brought his eyes to his brother's head on his lap, droopy eyes,shallow breathing, and a burning fever.
What the fuck is going on ? He wanted to scream.
-" I... I don't get it, you removed the bullet from his leg, why ain't he getting better ?"
Kakucho, receiving his question sighed loudly trying to calm his frantic heartbeats. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, along with the worry for his friend, he shrugged.
-" I don't know, maybe an artery has been touched ?"
-" And what the hell do we do-"
They were almost propelled forward by the power at which Sanzu had parked, immediately noticing that they were now in a residential area.
-" Wh-"
-" Stay here. I'll be back in a minute. "
Mikey left no room for argument, quickly getting out of the car and making his way to one of the houses, knocking at the door.
Be here, he prayed inside. Be here...
Multiple questions and death glares from Rindou toward the house after, the lights inside the house turned on.
2.am in the morning they knock at your door, every woman should have been afraid to even get up from bed.
But how to even be scared ?
There, all your dreams taking the shape of a man sharing your bed since weeks and weeks, standing in your front porch light.
The magnet to your smile, Sano Manjiro, he was a regular of your front door, the gift of the late night for you. So much, you hadn't even changed from your Pajama shorts and strapped top, nothing he hadn't seen anyway.
Only for a minute, the universe pretended it loved him. For a split second, there was just... Manjiro, and you. Because his heart had beaten like when he was a kid, a happy kid, seeing the smile you offered him with sleepy eyes.
What a shame if his old friends knew, after years of trying, the thing lifting him from the floor to be a weak small woman...
But your smile dropped as soon, remarking that he wasn't coming inside like he used to do, taking the hand you offered that it took him some time to get used to, but eventually started leaning in your touch.
-" A bitch, really ?" Rindou scoffed from the car, far from your eyes and ears. Indignation filled his blood but he was soon shushed by Sanzu and a frowning Kakucho.
-" She's not one of our girls" Sanzu explained, confused. " I don't know this place. "
They three watched their boss interacting with the young woman from afar, and stiffened when both of them started walking toward the car before Mikey opened the rear door from Rindou's side.
-" Here he is. " He showed you a rather tall man, head and feet resting on two frowning men legs. The street as well as the inside of the car were dimly lit, you could not see much more than blood flowing from the middle of his thigh, where his pants have been ripped. Mikey opened the door a little bit more when you crouched down next to the car, startled by the hand of the man gripping yours even before you could touch the injured man's face.
Guilt was a foreign principle for Rindou yet he could have sworn that was exactly what he had felt the minute the girl's doe eyes peered at him, maybe far, far from that sad reality where he was holding his brother's bleeding body, he would've took a minute to admire how beautiful she was...
Sensing his reluctance toward you, you pulled your hand away from him and peered at Mikey, standing next to you. You might have missed the dark glare he sent toward Rindou...
-" You told me he has fever, right ?"
He nodded, turning back to you. Frowning, you looked at the three men inside the car who already were eyeing you curiously.
-" Do you still have the bullet ?"
-" Are you fucking kidding me ?" The one with the purple mullet answered you, you pulled your head back surprised by the hostility in his tone. " Why in hell would we k-"
-" It's here " the one with the scarred face cut him off with a hurry, leaning toward the car's floor to reach for the bullet he threw there previously. He hadn't missed the step Mikey had took toward the car after hearing Rindou's answer, it was nor the time neither the place for fighting.
Taking the bullet from him, at first nothing seemed special about it. Yet you had your idea about the fever, and went to smell that one. Other than the smell of smoke and blood, and there was an after smell to it. One you used to smell at the hospital shifts...
The ball has been damaged, either from the impact or when removed from his body, but what had caught your attention was the dark, heavy paste adorning the crooked bullet, your head fell slightly backward in a curse.
-" Fuck... "
All of them frowned, but Mikey did because you rarely cursed, Rindou was faster to ask about what the fuck you mean. His words.
-" The bullets have been laced by curare. A deadly poison. "
His heart missed several beats, eyes going naturally back to his brother who already had passed out, his throat felt tight, and he couldn't even focus on your words when you stood up and mumbled to Mikey to get him inside your house.
Turning the living room lights on, Mikey moved your table out of the way while Rindou and Kakucho lifted Ran's body until your couch.
- " I'll be back in a minute" you whispered to Mikey before heading toward the bathroom, working at a hospital, your first aid kit was more like a whole surgery equipment.
All of their eyes watched you as you came back to the living room, hands full of medical equipment you put on the table before crouching down next to Ran who was lying on your couch, and there under the light they could finally take a better look at you.
And they were stunned...
Mainly because well, you looked like nothing of the usual girls they had at their clubs. Your face was empty of all make-up, your hair was loose falling around your face, but how attractive was that raw, natural sight...
Kakucho leaning with his elbows on the back of the couch, Rindou standing right next to him and Sanzu standing next to the armchair Mikey sat on, all of them eyes were on you.
And to say questions were eating their brain alive wouldn't be out of place. It was obvious with every rapid flutter of your lashes hitting those cheekbones, from your wide-eyed gaze, too pretty, too young, too pure for this, them, and him.
But you hands didn't shook, you didn't hesitated a second before wrapping the sterilized tourniquet around his leg, and to say the strength you put in that one woke Ran up screaming from pain... Well, you might be perfect for Mikey, they thought.
-" The hell-" Ran arched his back and breathed heavily, hand reaching his thigh to remove the pressure, as Rindou's hand pushed him flat on the couch, a soft one stopped him, he landed his eyes on you and-
It might have been the poison, the pain, but no one ever looked at him so... Truly.
-" I know it hurts, but you've been poisoned. I don't want the curare to reach your heart".
And just like that, a man surrendered. It all took a pretty shiny eye color, smooth hair surrounding feminine features, and a tiny voice coming from enticing lips to wreck his guards and make him drop his hand, make him take the pain.
Okay, you thought to yourself. This is do or die, the shallow breathing he had could be either because of the pain, or because the curare reached his lungs...
Was it too late or not, you were gonna give him the antidote.
-" Why'd you made this ?" The one with the mullet gestured toward the tourniquet, you went to answer but he cut you off again. " You better not make him lose a leg or whatever shit you've done it for, if he lost it-"
-" If he lost it what ?" Your voice rose up, dropping the syringe you previously had in hand to put both of your palms flat on the couch.
-" This, i'm only tryna repair your mistake. " You glared at him under everyone's surprised expressions. " Who do you think you are, removing the bullet as if you were doctor House ? That's the result of your recklessness, the poison spread faster and I'm trying here to limit it so you better shut up and not shout at me under my own roof".
Stunned, once again, no one found the words actually. It was obvious Rindou was upset, from how tight he was clenching his fists, however you managed to convince him to let you do your job.
As for Mikey, he simply could not take his eyes off of you.
You, his moonlight secret, the tide of his feelings, ones he thought he would never experience again. It all started with a smile, and before he could understand anything, a night a week, two nights a week, to an additional tooth brush in your bathroom, left t-shirts, and this house became a home.
Sure he knew you deserved way better, yet once you let the devil in your front porch come inside, again, and again, it felt right. He held you tight, and that was all that you seemed to need, his bruising hold, his cold hands and rough touches.
Took and kept him in your hands in order not to break him as if he was a promise, let the devil inside and kissed all of his demons.
You were all softness and delicacy, that was mainly why he has been surprised by the daggers your eyes threw at Rindou, and damn his heart missed some beats when you got all of his men tail between their legs with just a higher voice. That is when pride bloomed in his chest, seeing you head high in order not to drop the crown, his crown.
His queen.
It did not stopped him from glaring at Rindou however, while you were busy administering the treatment to his brother. Needless to say has it been another random girl of their clubs, he would not even care.
But you, the missing heart beat, the late night rendezvous, the tatoo-lingering kiss, he felt personally offended.
Thanks God, after minutes of giving him the treatment, the so-called Ran seemed more connected to reality. The tourniquet must have been done right before the poison could reach any higher parts and it was only his luck. And thank God, curare's antidote was a simple myasthenia's treatment, one you could easily have home, otherwise the ending would have been different.
They all watched you as you stitched him and him wincing from time to time, then the man with a scar along his face helped you throwing all the dirt.
Strange was it how you didn't even felt threatened. An angel standing in silk pajama lingerie, surrounded by demons who could not keep their eyes off of your bare legs under your camisole shorts, off of your breasts perking up under the silk strapped top.
Why would you be afraid ? Satan himself glared at his demons and soon their four pairs of eyes found the floor very much more interesting than his angel.
-" How ya feeling ?" Rindou asked his brother once you left to " make some coffee".
-" I'm good, thanks to her. You should... You kinda fucked up tho " he answered while eyeing his boss from the corner of his eye. Rindou who was leaning against the couch sighed, he knew he kind of loses it everytime Ran would be in the middle of it, and he regretted it now, really.
-" Yeah, your girl saved the day Mikey".
That was Sanzu trying to get crumbs of the truth and Kakucho elbowing him discreetly. Truth be said, he has been smelling the smoke and now he caught the fire. Usually he would be driving his boss home after missions, the late months were the exception since he preferred using his own bike, one that he didn't touched since years actually.
His usual spot at the VIP floor of the club where he would be silently mourning has been empty, and oh that was definitely not a white hair of his on his black turtleneck.
Mikey knew perfectly what Sanzu was doing and therefore just ignored his statement, would it confirm his thought ? That you were his girl? Let that sink in.
-" Here !" Your soft voice almost sang, bringing a busy tray with several coffee cups. You put that one on the table and quickly made your way back to the kitchen, fighting the smile on your face once Mikey's eyes got stuck on the plate of his favorite pastries you brought and put on the table. Needless to say he was the first one to reach them, your cooking never failed to impress him.
-" Thank you, for this and... " The man with a scar and heterochromatic eyes started, before Rindou grabbed a bowl of coffee and locked eyes with you.
-" And sorry for... You know. He's my brother and... "
-" I get it " you flashed a smile that had his heart sinking in his chest, impression or not the room warmed like water with it.
-" We own you one " That was Ran, lazily smiling with droopy eyes from the couch. He more than everyone in there was shamelessly eyeing you from head to toe, the fever he had experienced previously waking up his lower belly now that he could take a better look at you.
Their boss knew, and they all knew the unspoken forbidden words choking everyone of them at that moment ; what in the heaven, hell or earth had put such a blessing in Manjiro Sano's blood stained hands ?
-" And those ones are Mikey's favorites by the way " he precised toward the pastries.
You chuckled, and everyone, even the most heartless of them all felt it, the light seeping through all of their darkness.
-" I know, I always have some for him. "
Always, there was it, the fire Sanzu had spotted from miles. Rindou's weary expression turned into a whole surprised face, because damn, you were it. Perfect, either was it your face, your features, or just how every curve of you was a kiss for the eyes.
It was your beauty for Ran, the blooming young one, the forbidden thing for dirty men like them.
It was your devotion and honey-dripping self for Kakucho, how is it that their boss haven't drained you of all colors ?
It was your fierce for Sanzu, how you put Rindou back in his place just as if you were raised by Mikey himself.
And your wit for Rindou, useful hands, smartness, knew from A to Z how to deal with a poisoned bullet.
And they could go on for the night, why this house shouldn't be soiled by him, nor by them actually. The fact was, his hand reached for your waist and pulled you into his lap, and the smile you gave him could light up the whole town.
And there she was, his solace in the grip of his hands. He knew what they all thought and he thought it too.
Too good, too pretty, too much for him. One day, you would figure it out and leave him but, his heart beats were a countdown until you would realize it.
And you'd blew him away. He'd be blue.
Until then, he would take them soul crashing glances and enchanted kisses, see would the darkness swallow the light ? Or would the latter shine through?
-" Well... Think it's time for us to go " Kakucho cleared his throat and threw warning glances at his three co-workers. They were staring.
-" Oh, just leave him on the couch. It's better not to shake his leg for now " you warned Rindou who was about to help Ran to get up, the elder brother gulped down at the enticing thought of staying and they all looked at Mikey.
-" I'm gonna take a shower."
That was it, his answer. He would be staying, for sure he would never leave you alone with Ran. Well, he would have been staying anyway...
Sanzu's eyes widened slightly as he peered at his co-workers, Rindou had actually the same reaction, until Kakucho implicitly pushed all of them outside, waving good-bye at all of you and telling Ran to have some rest.
Back to the car, and Kakucho counted.
One, two, three...
-" The actual fuck ?"
The whole neighborhood must have been woken up by Sanzu's loudness at this rate, he turned to look at Rindou sitting on the passenger seat and Kakucho on the back.
-" The actual fuck is Mikey getting his kicks with the glamour-puss when we thought he was depressed as hell " Rindou replied, pulling his hair back still incredulous of what he just witnessed.
-" Could you drive us all home already ? " Kakucho rolled his eyes, earning curious glances from his friends.
-" Really? That's all you got to say ?"
-" Well..." He sighed and rubbed his eyelids. "She is obviously... something else, I'm happy for him though, man has been through hell. "
-" And she's a nurse, maybe even a doctor. Like, she has degrees hanging on her wall-"
-" Fresh clean pussy " The youngest Haitani chuckled soon followed by Sanzu.
-" Think Mikey fucks her as hard as he kicks ?"
-" Let's watch how she walks tomorrow and we'll know ".
-" You two are the reason why we can't have a Bible " Kakucho winced in a disgusted face, soon enough they started the car and he knew he would not stop hearing about it...
•••
Washing the thoughts under the water, the devil would have traded his hell, to let the water purify his sins. Once in a lifetime, Satan had wished to repent, all to be worthy of that damn forbidden fruit. Once in a lifetime his chest wasn't empty, it was filled with concrete-like worries, not good enough, not good at all.
As always, too swallowed in his own darkness, Mikey didn't heard the bathroom's door opening nor the clothes hitting the floor, and almost got startled by the warm hands wrapping around him.
When you are young you know nothing, they say. But you knew. He was walking some of his darkest alleys again, so hard to follow him through.
But it was alright, you just held him and if you two stumbled in the dark, then you'd fall together.
No words were needed, you turned him around and all the unspoken were in your eyes. Fever dream kisses, light touches on his cheeks, whispered sweet nothings built a wall between him and his demons.
Your hands pushed harder on his shoulders, frowning he looked at you and you whispered a " Trust me". He trusted no one.
But...
He dropped on his knees for you.
You smiled at him and your fingertips started massaging his scalp, washing his hair for him. Mikey hummed in silence, and slowly, like a sleepy child his head fell between your breasts.
Even your heart beats hummed a sweet melody for him, steady and slow, like whispering no rush, I'm not going anywhere.
-" You're so pretty... " You whispered, and smiled when he just growled.
As if you don't like it, you thought and rolled your eyes. And he did like it indeed, but he would never admit, burying his head deeper against you.
How could, whatever God after years of cursed fate, gift him such a blessing ? His arms tightened around you in another bruising hold, but you didn't said anything. You just took all of him, and he wondered was there a part of him you didn't took ? Did you even left anything for him, once you'd be gone ?
-" You gotta close your eyes " you whispered grabbing the shampoo bottle, Mikey looked up toward you.
No, they would come back.
And you were there, raw for him, nothing in between your two naked bodies except the water washing the sins away. The only sight that would ever give him goosebumps, you just had to be there, and he was not empty anymore.
-" I... don't like darkness."
And you were the light. Why would he close his eyes ?
On his knees in front of you the king admitted defeat, undressing his fears, and you swore to be there whenever his crown would be too heavy to carry.
The love caressed his cheek softly, no need to run, in your arms his darkness was tamed.
You drew stars around his scars, and like a blood stain marked him forever. Holy was the vision of the devil getting his wings washed, did it really matter if the angel would be stained ?
This was Manjiro Sano trying. He would change the ending, Peter would not lose Wendy, the bridges would not burn down, and the sun would rise on a whole new day after the dark night.
'cause after the poison, the blood, there were only two bodies loving each other in the middle of the night. One single heart beat, one skin, where you ended ? Where he began ? Holding yourselves so tightly it was just too hard to tell.
And in the end of the day, it was all that mattered.
•••
-" Dude, I'm telling ya. She's his girlfriend, not a bitch " Rindou explained to Kokonoi, Takeomi and Mochi. The first sitting behind his desk, he was working until late night when they all came in talking non sense about their boss having an affair, Takeomi was about to leave as well as Mochi.
-" we're talking about Mikey... Like, Mikey, like... White hair, dark impulse, Dorayaki ?" Kokonoi inquired with a confused face, only for both Rindou and Sanzu to nod their heads.
-" I don't believe you. "
-" No one fucking talked to you " Haruchiyo snapped toward his brother who just ignored him.
-" Either you do or not, he's home with her now, and Ran is there too. " Rindou pointed only to be stopped by Mochi.
-" What the fuck is Ran doing ther- you know what ? I don't want to know these kind of details."
-" He's been injured, and she is a nurse-"
-" A doctor, I'm telling you " Sanzu popped a pill from his bottle with a suggestive look.
-" And she's fucking hot, like... Lava hot. "
-" Like « I'm on the cover of playboy magazine » Hot " Haruchiyo added, Kokonoi rolled his eyes again.
-" I honestly don't trust your taste in women."
-" Kakucho ?" Rindou asked for the latter's say in the matter. That one who just sat on the couch sighed, crossing his legs and looked at Kokonoi dead in the eyes.
-" She's fucking gorgeous. "
-" Aha !" That was Sanzu, obviously, who was told he was too loud from his brother and who answered him with a middle finger.
It was usually this way,Bonten, all blood and guns from the outside, gossip girls behind closed doors.
Takeomi was about to add that he trusted Kakucho's taste more than the two others when the sound of Rindou's phone echoed through the room.
-" It's a Video call from Ran " he frowned, some of them gathered around him as soon as he answered it, seeing his brother's face on the screen.
-" Yo ! Aren't ya supposed to be sleeping?"
But no sign if tiredness was perceived in his face, he strangely was more... Interested.
-" What the actual glamour-puss fuck ?" He asked, getting his face even closer from the screen earning a chuckle from Mochi and Sanzu.
-" That's exactly what I said !" His brother pointed with wide eyes, but Ran was not done yet...
-" Wait bro, that's... "
He stood silent for a minute, dropping the phone on the couch which made his brother and co-workers frown.
-" Hey, you there ?" Silence... " Ran ?!"
Suddenly, the screen showed his wide eyes and a smug grin again.
-" Damn you'll never believe me, but I'm hearing moans, fucking moans !" He whispered-yelled the last part, the reactions were either a scoff or wide eyes.
-" quit shitting and go to sleep alr-"
-" I swear to fucking God, Rin' you know my face when I'm lying. They're in the bathroom, and there's fucking moans !"
They watched the younger brother's eyes widening, yes he knew his face when he was lying, and it was not that one.
-" Oh fuck-"
-" How's it ?" Kokonoi inquired curiously, like all of them trying to hear anything.
-" Can you record ?" Sanzu asked before getting an incredulous look from Kakucho.
-" Ran go to fucking sleep-" that one was cut off by Rindou.
-" No, can you get up ? "
-" Steal panties !"
" Mikey's gonna bury you alive " Mochi warned him, the confusion previously in the room replaced by an incredible unusual light atmosphere. They were simply acting as children and they knew it, but it was all so new coming from their boss, the usual iceberg that no one could even help it.
Even Kakucho, the one calling them out for their behaviours found the thought of your moans... Interesting.
-" I'm not stealing the panties. " Ran rolled his eyes, and in front of his friend's silence, he added. " but I'm recording. "
-" You all are so twist-"
It hit, it sounded, and weighted like a ton falling on their shoulders. Upstairs, where both of you were minding your own business, a particular thrust from Mikey sent you to overdrive, had your eyes rolling in the back of your head and legs trembling, crying his name so loud they heard you from the other side of the line.
All were kind of stunned, the voice moaning being cotton-candy soft, well now it had nothing holy...
Honestly, I don't know if I cringed so hard or if I laughed writing this, I'll just let you decide which one to pick but I couldn't just not write it, it has been haunting my brain for a whole night lol.
— all good things must come to an end. all illusions fade, floating away to make room for the harshness of reality.
tags/warnings — f!reader, cheating (manjiro is married), unprotected sex, pussy eating, some angst
word count — 1.5k
from jupiter — happy (late) birthday to my lover. it’s been a month since i’ve posted a fic and i’m coming back with the exact same thing i left with. horny mikey angst. oh well.
feedback & reblogs are encouraged and appreciated! 18+, minors do not interact.
Delusion. Noun. By definition, an idiosyncratic belief or impression that is firmly maintained despite being contradicted by what is generally accepted as reality or rational argument.
Delusion by definition has no impact on you and your lover, the two of you ignoring the contradictions of reality and marriage in favor of creating your own little wonderland in the soft sanctum of your sheets.
His hands burn untraceable marks into your body, the kind only the two of you can see. Warm palms sear unseen claims into soft skin, the kind of claims that shout “You’re mine, as I am yours” from the rooftops of his memory. He pulls and gropes at every inch of skin he can find, imbedding the way you feel beneath him into his fingertips as you whimper and squirm at his touch, mind already growing hazy at the feel of his lips along the column of your neck, his hand tugging your panties down your legs, not forgetting to rub and massage along your thighs as he makes his way back up, cupping your face to pull you into a sloppy mess of teeth and tongue.
Just his kiss enough to have you reeling, every fiber in your being burning with a need to sink into his bones, his marrow, to feel him from the inside out.
“I need you, Mikey,” you whimper, hands clinging to his neck, nails digging into his skin, desperate to keep him forever.
“You’ve got me. Always,” his voice is soft and sweet, mirroring the gentleness of his touch as he glides a hand down your front, stopping only when his fingers are splayed across your stomach and his thumb is close enough to rub slow circles on your clit.
Manjiro takes his time with you, fingertips memorizing every twitch of your clit, the curve and dip of your waist as he pins you to the bed, taking a mental snapshot of the way your body reacts to him, writhing and jerking at even the lightest touch. His head spins as you reach out for him, hands grappling to feel his skin beneath your palms. He moves to lace his fingers with yours, his lips pressing plush kisses to your stomach, eyes locked on your own.
“Sit still for me, love,” he murmurs, moving to lay on his stomach between your spread legs. After what feels like hours of nipping and biting at your thighs, kissing the pain away when you whimper for him, he finally, finally lays his mouth on you, tongue licking a broad stripe up your cunt, a low groan reverberating through his whole body.
“So fucking good for me,” he groans, voice muffled by your cunt, “Made for me, just me.” Manjiro keeps his hands in yours, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your skin as he devours you whole. His tongue and lips work your pretty cunt, fingers still interlaced, eyes still peering up at you as he flicks and rolls his tongue against you, groaning in response to every breathy whine you let out.
Your thighs tremble around him, tensing and on the verge of closing him in, but that doesn’t stop him. He moans outwardly when he feels your soft skin hit his cheeks, humming his encouragement.
“Gonna cum— fuck, I wanna cum for you, baby. Please, please,” you ramble, tears coating your lashes as heat coils in your stomach, snapping abruptly. Your thighs close tight around his face, hands squeezing his, pussy gushing on his tongue as he works you through it, deciding breathing isn’t a good enough reason to pull away, to miss even a second of you coming undone for him.
You're still trembling when he prys himself away from you, limp as he turns you on your side and crawls into place behind you, strong arms wrapped around your waist, gentle voice coaxing you back to him.
“Did so good for me, pretty. Love seeing you like that,” he whispers, breath tickling your neck. He’s ready to hold you until you fall asleep, ignoring the incessant ache in his pants in favor of watching you rest in his arms.
Your voice drags him out of his lovesick daze, unintelligible murmurs falling from your puffy lips as he furrows his brows in concern.
“What is it, love?”
“Want you, Manjiro.”
It’s enough to stop him dead in his tracks, heart skipping more than a beat, cock twitching, begging for the squeeze and tug of your pretty cunt.
“Wanna feel you— fill me up, please. Leave me with something to remember you by.”
“Baby—” he sounds hurt, broken, an absolute mess as he scrambles to tug his pants down his legs, cock slapping against his stomach before he’s sinking into you in one smooth draw of his hips.
He keeps you like that, turned on your side, one leg hooked over his arm as he bullies his thick cock into you. You turn your head back, pressing your mouth to his, swallowing his every gasp and groan while offering him yours.
The slick slap of skin on skin fills your ears, small whines bubbling in your throat as he gives himself to you the way he knows you love the most, slow and hard and absolutely perfect, his every movement dripping with an unfathomable love for you.
“My best girl, the only one I’ll ever love. You know that, right?” He presses his lips to yours, his hand moving from your leg to cup your face gently as he pushes his cock deeper, stilling inside you, riding out the way your pussy clamps and twitches around him. His eyes flutter open, boring into yours, reflecting an emotion so strong you have to fight back a sob as you return his gaze.
“I love you. Only you. Nobody else matters.”
Tears overflow and that hidden cry rakes through your body as you garble out your own iteration of his words, “I love you— ‘s only you, Manjiro.”
He presses his forehead to yours, broken groans falling from his lips as he plunges in and out of you, slipping his hand from your face to your clit.
“Cum for me? Wanna feel my pussy creamin’ around me,” he croaks, reveling in the way your eyes roll back almost immediately.
It doesn’t take long before you’re gushing for him, pussy twitching and clamping, sucking him in as he fucks you through it and inches closer to his own finish. He follows you in a matter of seconds, shuddering, groaning your name as he pumps you full of his cum.
You’re both left there, sweaty, gasping and sighing, clinging on to each other. The air is warm, laced with sex and love, as you two enjoy what little time your have together, lazily smiling into messy kisses, whispering your love back and forth to one another.
All good things must come to an end. All illusions fade, floating away to make room for the harshness of reality.
Your harsh awakening comes in the form of his ringtone, snapping you out of the hazy afterglow. He peels himself off of you, reaching towards the bedside table to pick up his phone with a heavy sigh.
“Is it–” you can’t bring yourself to finish the question, the unspoken words “your wife” bubbling and burning in your throat like bile. Tears well up in your eyes as you look up at him, noticing the furrow between his brows, the way his lips pull into a frown. You’ve got half a mind to kiss it off of his face, press your lips to his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead, till you’ve convinced him to stay.
You can hear her on the other end of the line, her saccharine voice like daggers, piercing you with every syllable. Your chest aches at the tone he takes with her, the forced tenderness in his voice, the way his hand seems to find yours, fingers squeezing around your own as his lips curl around a repetition of, “Of course, baby, I’m on my way.”
He tugs his slacks on and throws his shirt over his head with a heavy reluctance, eyes never leaving your soft, fucked-out form for more than a second. You’re half asleep, teary-eyed, choking down a sob when he walks over to you, leaning down to press a kiss to your puffy lips.
His eyes gleam with a sincerity that has you releasing any tears you were saving for later, crystalline drops falling down your cheeks as you break for him.
“You don’t have to go. I don’t want you to. We can leave, Manjiro, you always talk about it,” a desperation lingers in your voice that has him weak in the knees, throat constricting as he jumps to make you feel better, heart breaking in two at the sight of him hurting you like this.
Manjiro seems to be choking back tears of his own, flitting memories of hushed whispers in a sex-steamed room coming back to the front of his brain.
I’ll get us out of here. We’ll run away together— just you and me.
His warm palms cup each side of your face as he kneels beside the bed, pressing his lips to your forehead, to each tear-soaked cheek, to the side of your mouth.
remember the artist who animated manila mikey? they created a masterpiece again. just look at mikey! god he’s so precious!! support the artist plss this artwork belongs to mixe mirai <33
note: this chapter contains character death, descriptions of decapitation + torture + violence + panic attack. this is my fave chapter out of all the published chapters in wicked throne. what happens here is the sole reason i have ever been inspired to make this a series in the first place. please enjoy and lmk your thoughts! thank you for the feedback, memes, asks last chapter! 8.4k wc. + listen to icarus by phildel while reading the last scene.
[ 𝐢 ] — f!reader x s. manjiro. royal!au. rebel!au. enemies-to-lovers. ooc!manjiro i write him the way i want to idc. romance. heavy angst. fluff. slow burn. character deaths. eventual smut. violence & slight gore. tragedy.
+ playlist. | masterlist.
CHAPTER XX: PENITENCE.
Everything Manjiro Sano had learned since witnessing Shinichiro’s slaughtered body had turned to ash beneath his feet. Aenar’s teachings of the tenets and principles that a king should live by had been reduced to clouded phrases in his mind. Never before had he felt so sick as he did now, under the starless skies, with the moon’s judging eyes staring at the goblets strewn on the table beside him.
He had forgotten the taste of a fistful night’s sleep, let alone one free of betrayal, bloodshed, and tragedy.
Would he have perfected the ways to bear the gilded weight of the crown if he had known that it would cost the lives of his entire bloodline? Would he have devoured those books, their pages already yellowed to the edges, if he’d known that lusting for such power would leave him alone and without family?
How many deaths does it take to numb someone?
Manjiro wished he was paralyzed. He wanted not to feel a thing. However, feelings that were sheltered with painstaking effort were meant to bear fruit in the end. If he were to forget this pain, who would avenge and seek retribution for the death of his loved ones?
He had to pick his feet up and remind them of his position on this land. A crown was heavy, yes, but it was his greatest weapon. He must utilize its strength to conquer the one thing he needed most: lay chaos upon his enemies. Chaos that would leave them with nothing but burned dreams and deadened hearts.
But there was one problem. Or perhaps someone. This someone was like ice to his fire, putting out his ability to burn everything in his path. And if it hadn’t been for the agony of realizing that he had to burn this someone along the way, the deed would’ve been done already.
You: his fatal flaw, his incurable weakness.
What a wicked thing to love and despise you at the same time. What a wicked thing to wish you were dead when the mere thought was enough to kill him. What a wicked thing that he had to know of your betrayal after allowing himself to be twiddled with your fingers.
And was he? Was he your favorite thing to play with? Were you delighted to see him with softened eyes, looking at you with veneration that he wouldn’t even offer to a god? Was it satisfying to hear his hushed affection in the dark, as you both lay naked on the mattress in a room filled with deception? Had he provided you with the amusement you sought? Filled the hatred you secretly harbored with affection that you would’ve mocked and laughed at inside empty chambers because he’d been a complete fool, hadn’t he?
His folly was believing in you and him, despite knowing that you were created by lies. Hindsight failed to offer consolation, for it was the thing that made everything real: Emma’s death, Nera’s confession, and your lies.
Manjiro cocked his head, wondering what he had missed, what he had overlooked. And despite the never-ending flood of memories ever since your wedding, he could only blame himself.
House of Aven. House of Sano. And the long history between the two. For the longest time, it was malice that had welded your Houses together. How could he have forgotten?
What flowed through his veins was the Sano’s unadulterated blood. And perhaps his downfall was forgetting that the blood rushing through you belonged to a foe.
You didn’t know, and he wouldn’t tell: he was primed to move forward. That, for you, perhaps he could learn how to forgive Eros and you could forgive his family in return. Happiness, however, appeared to be a distant dream for someone like him. His plans, as seamless as they were, had been ripped at the seams.
“Sire.” A knock, followed by Haruchiyo’s voice traveling from the other side of the door. “It’s time.”
Manjiro’s jaw clenched. Before standing up and confronting the assassin, he took a long pause to gather his mind, prying them away from the thoughts of you.
There was a special place in the Third Palace for criminals that had done a great deal of damage in Elorus. That place was where Lord Vencasto had been locked away. And now, it was home for the leader of the Advari: the man named Draken.
He had no preconceived notions about the man. Despite the bubbling desire to interrogate, there was no expectation. He’d put an end to many a rebel before, but it was only Nera, the unexpected one, who gave him something valuable to hang onto.
Haruchiyo opened the door to an empty cell. Smaller than the normal ones, it had only one chair and a lamp hanging from the ceiling.
The man’s hands were tied behind him. His feet, too, had been roped together. He had a huge stature. Aside from that, Manjiro’s attention was drawn to the fight in his eyes, or rather the palpable death of it.
What else could he bring besides the ones brought about by Baji’s death and Izana’s deception? What more truth was he cramming down his throat? What more revelation could shake the earth beneath Manjiro’s feet?
“Do you know the Queen?” Manjiro locked his gaze on the man. Caught like a fish in the hooks, Draken’s jaw tautened.
“I know the Queen for being queen,” his voice was gruff when he replied.
“You lie in the face of death?” He moved closer to the insurgent.
“I am here to confess all that you need to hear. I’m afraid it does not include anything about Her Majesty,” Draken insisted, shoulders tight.
There was a caress in how he addressed the Queen. Or perhaps it was merely a cultivation of Manjiro’s greed to prove or disprove your ties to the Advari. He needed something more than Nera’s confession.
“You are Eros Aven’s accomplice, aren’t you?” The King circled the rebel as a hawk would to its prey.
Draken kept his gaze forward. “I was.”
"And you haven’t interacted with the Queen once?" Manjiro disposed of a sneer.
“I’ve seen her before, with no intention of speaking or interacting. She was unaware of the rebellion because her brother had kept it hidden from his family,” Draken narrated, voice untouched by any tone.
“What a loving brother Eros was, wasn’t he? A shame that he had to die,” Manjiro goaded, exceedingly irritated at the rebel’s face for no particular reason. “He would’ve been Elorus’ hero, no? Did you want to be a hero, too?”
“At some point, I was,” Draken answered without a shed of fear. “Because it was I who assassinated your brother. It was I, Ryuuguji Ken, a nobody born in the North who had put a bolt through your brother’s heart. Not Eros Aven.”
A physical pain that had pierced every weak spot in Manjiro's body. His eyes dimmed forthwith. With a sick echoing sound, the last bits of his sanity snapped. All that he had believed in was replaced with a few words. Anger, shame, and guilt: he had felt it all.
Shinichiro, Shinichiro, Shinichiro. It was incessant. Cruel. Sharp. Boundless sea of memories rushed to him: Takeomi carrying Shinichiro’s lifeless body on his stallion, the King and Queen scurrying towards Elorus’ future ruler, and him— that little boy gripping a wooden sword in his small hands, protected by the Kingsguard, shielded from the nightmare of seeing his brother’s body.
Manjiro felt compelled to say something: to express his disgust, to demand answers, and to curse Draken. But his anger, like the memories assaulting him, was bottomless. Nothing could mollify his rancor. Nothing.
And so, despite everything he wanted to put Draken through, it was the bone-rattling force of his fist colliding with the rebel’s cheek that had done its task first. His eyes had gone blank, hazy with his desire for devastation. Manjiro slid off his cape, flexing his fingers before launching another attack. And again. And again. And again. Until blood, Draken’s blood, splattered on his face like a sick reminder of false triumph.
From god the king, from king the law. Except for this time, there was no god but Manjiro Sano.
—
Prayers rustled past tongues, they filled the room with gentle yet ceaseless buzzing sounds.
You fluttered your eyes open, hoping to fall unconscious again, delivered by the dreadful pain in your lower body. It was a burning sensation, like bones splintering until they were pulverized. Your hip bore the brunt of the pain resulting from your fall. Panic laced apace, fearing that your feet wouldn’t move like they used to and that you were paralyzed for all eternity.
Such harrowing thought pricked your chest with terror. Despite the tenderness of your back, you bolted up straight to witness your father and mother looking at you. Eyes panic-stricken, with tears streaking their cheeks.
“Oh! My daughter! My daughter!” Your mother mewled as she cradled you in her arms. She clutched you tightly, afraid you’d slip back into the darkness if she let go.
Overwhelmed still by the High Priest and physicians crowding the room, with your maid-in-waiting dabbing a cloth to their eyes, you could only wander around the space using your eyes. And even then, disappointment teased your heart with Manjiro’s glaring absence. He was like a sore thumb, except the sore thumb wasn’t there.
“Oh, gods!” Lady Hestia hailed once more as tears streamed from her eyes, dampening your cheeks as she showered you with grateful kisses.
“Mother…” you mumbled, perplexed. “What—!” You recoiled as a wave of pain swept across your head. Servants swarmed you like ants to a sugar cube. They treated your frail body with care as if holding a precious and exquisite vase. “I’m alright. It’s only a headache,” you insisted, but the High Priest extinguished your obstinacy with his own by flicking his hands as language in place of his taciturnity.
“Your Majesty.” Dobroslav approached and bowed. His face retained its usual neutrality when he asked, “Do you know who you are?”
Eyebrows pinched together, you recited your maiden and married name subsequently. Your House and the House to which you now belonged: Aven and Sano. Dobroslav proceeded to inquire about things that might hint at any anomaly in your head: loss of memory, symptoms of an acute illness, anything. After a series of questions, he had declared you fully capable mentally.
The state of your body was a different matter, though. Several cuts had sliced your skin. Your body ached all over. Having your arms moving, albeit a tad bit strained, was the only consolation. Dobroslav said not to worry, that you would not die from any of your wounds, ample rest and heedful stretching would be sufficient to aid your quick recovery.
You would’ve made a fuss, despite it holding no weight, if the celebration for the Winter Solstice carried on. However, based on what transpired, you deduced that Manjiro had already canceled the feast.
Such expectations accounted for your incontestable surprise when Rindou informed you that the Winter Solstice would occur in five nights.
Except for Rindou and the assassin, everyone had left your chamber. Your parents returned to the manor, drawn there by something that required their undivided attention. Before leaving, the High Priest reminded you to pray for Aenar. And Dobroslav informed you about the herbs you needed to consume once every hour.
“How are things outside? Why is His Majesty pushing the Winter Solstice?” were the questions dashing out of your mouth. “And why am I to remain here until then?”
Rindou’s eyes flickered uncomfortably. They darted away from you and back to the assassin. A message passed between them, one that made your stomach crumple. Your inability to decipher that look had you coiled into a ball of anxiety.
“Your Majesty, the Palaces are in disarray. We wish not to put your health in jeopardy—”
“How about Emma?” Her name scalded your tongue. The syllables sliding were like a cliff fall: certain doom awaited at the bottom. “Is she… did she make it?”
“No.” It was too late to wish Rindou would slowly unwrap the terrible news. He had pinned it right after your question, giving no room to breathe. “The Princess had been laid to rest in the Temple of Valar a few moons ago before Her Majesty awoke.”
Tantamount to bathing in a river far North, you sucked in a sharp breath as goosebumps covered your flesh. Resurfacing fully gelid and unmoving from the grim reality breathed by Rindou, you were tossed back into the night of a bloodied Emma in the arms of Manjiro.
Had you been a fool for hoping that Emma would live? That the gods would not be obstinate in withholding their mercy from the King?
He was alone, now more than ever. And during the moments when you should’ve been there for him, you weren’t.
Withholding tears from racing down your cheeks, you chewed on your bottom lip. When Eros died, a huge part of you had been sliced open and chucked away. Manjiro had lost everyone. One after the other. You couldn’t imagine how it must’ve felt like for him.
“Your Majesty, I…” The assassin closed in on you. Her eyes were unsteady, as though she had not acquired enough sleep. Before you could ask what was wrong, she knelt and bowed her head. “This is my fault for not keeping you safe. Please, whatever punishment you will bestow, if it came from you, I’d gladly accept it.”
Rindou’s lips were in a tight line as you stared at each other. He appeared not shaken by it all.
“Rise. I will not punish you,” you declared emphatically. “I see no reason to.”
“Your mercy… I will hold onto it as long as I breathe.” She had risen, her head remained low.
“What became of… Izana and Kakucho?” you dared to inquire, hoping that your efforts in braving the gale were not in vain.
“I fought Kakucho and survived only by the skin of my teeth. Prince Izana, on the other hand, took the advantage to flee alone,” the monotoned assassin narrated. “Kakucho’s head had been delivered to Idrarean as a declaration of war.”
The sudden bump of your heart was enough to befuddle you. Head. Declaration. War. Three words that rendered you dizzy. As the words jumped and pounded, your head throbbed.
Words could not convey your emotions. As a result, you pushed the sheets away, attempting to meet the floor with your feet when Rindou gently drew you back.
“You can’t leave the room, Your Majesty,” he had almost begged.
“Unhand me, Rindou. I need to talk to the King!” You wriggled free, but Rindou had only tightened his grip. “Unhand me!”
“Your Majesty!” His voice pitched higher as he pinned your shoulders down the mattress with rigorous tenderness. “You must understand that war is the only thing left for His Majesty!” As if he’d run from North to South, there was a gasp at the end of each sentence. “It is cruel, yes, but don’t you believe he had been through enough? That perhaps, war is the only consolation?”
“Consolation?” you repeated, dubious and wild-eyed. “How can war provide consolation if everyone around you is dead?”
“Not if I’d lose.” Rindou wrenched away from you as Manjiro’s voice permeated the air with its casual domination. “And I have no intention of losing.”
You refused to believe your eyes and ears. It was not Manjiro who had spoken, and it was not him before you that night. There was a decline of sleep, plain to see in the dark circulating his eyes. Sharpened jawline and gaunt cheeks that hinted at meals he had forgotten or deliberately did not consume. He looked more like a pale ghost wandering around than a physical, breathing human.
“I understand that your disposition plays a role in the decision, but this is not the answer—”
His rictus smile severed your sentence. “No, my love, you do not,” he said, motioning for everyone to leave at once. Without another word or even a flutter of an eyelash.
What exactly did he mean? What didn’t you understand?
An oppressive air forced its way between you with each step he took closer. You swallowed the wriggling anxiety that had towed you into a tangle of racing pulse and throbbing head for reasons unknown. Your stomach was knotted, and there was an intense need to haul your guts out. Why?
“War is not the answer,” your lips contrived to utter. “I know that. I stand by that.”
“War is the only remaining option, and it will be carried out with or without your approval,” he had spoken with a tone so cold and detached that your throat clogged.
Something wasn’t right. You must locate it and set it ablaze. Eradicate whatever it was. But try as you might, it remained hidden in his depthless eyes.
“I am the Queen. My words carry the same weight as yours do,” you gritted, “and I will say it again: war is not the answer.”
“Then, what is?” he gnashed back with his timbre surging in impatience.
Manjiro drowned in grief was someone who slips away at everyone’s fingertips. You, having to witness him lose a loved one before, had undertaken your part of searching for him in the depths undeterred by your altercations. However, now, you could not recognize the man staring back at you to pull him up from the ocean of grief.
“We will find a way together,” you answered, summoning your strength by reaching for his hand, but even that had been withheld from you. He cringed away as if your fingers were made of molten rocks and he was afraid to be afire.
“You have suffered, too, haven’t you?” He appeared nonchalant of the hurt crossing your eyes at his revulsion. Instead, he had leaned closer, caressing your cheeks with a numbing pain plastered on his face. “But is that reason enough to inflict pain on others? Or were we only children who didn’t know any better?”
“What is this? I cannot recognize the eyes gazing back at me,” you murmured, on the verge of tears. “I cannot understand you.”
Manjiro winced, if only a bit, before pressing his forehead against yours, his hands wrapped around the base of your throat. “Tell me, and tell me honestly, who is Draken?”
—
Clothing your imagination stood as a vital way to get you through the day. Repulsion was an understatement for everything that your eyes could perceive. And if it weren’t for your circumstances, your heart would’ve soared at the intricate design of your Winter Solstice dress. Only that you knew it was in white fabric, like the snowfall outside, and was bedecked with jewels and stones that would rival even the stars.
“Have you not heard from Nera?” you asked Vienne for the second time that night, twisting the fabrics of your skirt with your fingers.
Ever since waking up, you had not seen her walk to your room, where you had been locked away under the King’s behest. Of course, there was a bite of something unpleasant for such an order. Like bile smearing your tongue. However, if it weren’t for his question, that question which had driven you hauling your stomach out throughout the day, you would’ve stood your ground.
Draken. Manjiro knew his name. How? You pounded your brain with the question for days and nights, unfortunately losing sleep but arriving nowhere no matter your efforts.
Rindou hadn’t said a thing, despite hiding the answer to your little and subtle inquiries in his eyes. It hurt a bit, seeing him look somewhere else while talking to you when he used to stare affectionately before.
Something happened while you were asleep. And none was willing enough to fill you in with the details. Izana’s escape, Kakucho’s death, and Emma’s demise— all of it felt nothing but canard whispered by bored mouths. There was no need to leave your chamber to feel the lackluster lamentation for Elorus’ princess.
And now comes the Winter Solstice. Your ability to walk had been hampered by an obvious limp. Dobroslav assured you that it would go away once you recovered, but that was no consolation.
Despite being aware of your situation, Manjiro decided to hold the Winter Solstice. Regardless of his sister’s death, as well.
“Nera hadn’t been in the Palaces for days, Your Majesty,” Vienne patiently repeated. “Even I am unquiet for her absence.”
The air was too thick to swallow. You pressed your palm against your stomach as if this would help you untangle your anxiety. Had she gone to the manor? If so, why hadn’t she returned yet? Your parents hadn’t revisited to ask them about Nera. Why hadn’t they visited you again?
“Where could’ve she gone?” was your anxiety-induced question. Despite living in the Palaces for months, surrounded by people who hated and feared you, you had mastered the art of hiding your nerves. Looking in the mirror only revealed how much of a fool you’d been. “We… we promised to celebrate the Solstice together.”
Vienne smoothed your skirt before facing you with a warm smile. “If Nera promised Her Majesty such a thing, then I see no reason for her to break it.“
“Y… yes. She hasn’t broken any of her promises to me yet. I appreciate your kindness, Vienne,” you murmured, slowly becoming acquainted with how to smile again.
“Always, Your Majesty.” She circled you for any lone thread. “Does the corset fit well? Or should we loosen the ties?”
“It’s to my comfort,” you replied. “It’s perfect.”
Vienne peeked over your shoulder. “You look very beautiful tonight, Your Majesty. If the King sees you in this dress, he would fall deeply in love over again.”
Your smile trembled. What would unfold if the opposite was to happen? Heart sinking, you turned away from the mirror to see Haruchiyo standing on the threshold.
“I’m here to escort Her Majesty to the gathering,” he declared to Vienne, dismissing your maid-in-waiting himself.
Vienne bowed before the assassin. She looked at you with a smile and said, “A pleasant Winter Solstice to you, Your Highness.”
Haruchiyo crept closer after Vienne had vanished from view. His eyes were as clear as water. His eyes were clear like water. A master of deception, he certainly was.
“You look dazzling, Your Majesty,” he tried to compliment, but his flat expression blocked the kind words from reaching you. “Like a lone star hanging from the heavens.”
For once, his accouterments did not resemble that of an assassin. He looked prepared for the Solstice, wearing a cape with intricate embroidery, trousers, and shoes polished to blindness.
“You look handsome tonight,” you shot back, holding the same dead countenance. “However, I must decline your offer. The King shall meet his Queen and escort her himself.”
Haruchiyo scratched his cheek. “I’m afraid this is a direct order from His Majesty, Your Highness. With the recent events, he wishes nothing but your safety. Therefore, I am here if anyone dares harm Her Majesty, the Queen.”
“Who would dare?” you scoffed, picking your skirts up to wend your way past him.
“You tell me. After all, I believe Her Majesty to be very familiar with them.”
Thousand ants crawled along your spine. Your sense and temper had been honed to that of untouchable level. Such skill could never be debased by the words of an assassin.
“Whatever do you mean by that?” Unhurriedly, you spun around, the hem of your dress hissing at the floor. “Speak up, assassin, or I will damn you.”
“This is too lovely a night for such temper, Your Majesty. I only meant to say that you are familiar with them, as we have worked together to demolish the enemies, have we not? It was by your own decree, as well.”
With the way he explained all of it, you were almost inclined to consider it honest, sans malice. If only you had forgotten about your encounter months ago about his hypothesis, you would’ve let him go.
“You have never treated me as Queen, have you? In your eyes, I have always been a lying and conniving Aven.” Your feelings collided with your temper was not an agreeable circumstance. Lady Hestia had painstakingly taught you how to separate the two, knowing that a collision of both would be disastrous. So, what would explain the itch to whip the assassin with your own kind of disaster tonight?
Haruchiyo leaned back lackadaisically. “Am I right?”
You peered at him. “Careful, assassin. You wouldn’t want to cross any lines tonight. Especially if you hold no evidence to support whatever accusations you have.”
He grinned. “Evidence? I heard it from your friend’s mouth, Your Majesty.”
From that point forward, whatever you decide to do may result in your condemnation. Once you jump and take him by the collar, demand that he lay bare the meaning of what he said, he would think you guilty. You would think you were guilty.
“Guards!” you bellowed, taking deep breaths. Once they were inside, your declaration was, “Take the assassin to the Reaper. I want his head on my plate at the gathering.”
Haruchiyo echoed a poisonous chuckle. “Your Majesty, have you forgotten that I can take down these men alone?”
You inched closer to him until your faces were so close that your breath mingled. “And risk slighting your Queen? Shall I remind you, then? Nobody threatens a queen, Haruchiyo. Nobody threatens me. But let’s see how far your stubbornness goes, shall we?” You motioned for the guards to take him by the arms. Haruchiyo pulled his jaws. “Resist. I dare you.”
He wanted to. His expression, the tick of his jaw, and the darkness that clouded his eyes all expressed his desire to break free and destroy the sentries who held him captive. Even so, he couldn’t. Not even as you walked down the empty corridors towards the Reaper.
“Your Majesty—”
“I’d say you start praying to the gods instead of wasting your breath, Haruchiyo,” you declared, “because we’re now descending to your death.”
A new kind of folly: granting him the chance to waste your time. However, Haruchiyo’s chastisement had been long overdue. He would only continue to insult you as long as there was air in his lungs. And that air needed to cease.
“His Majesty, the King—”
You bestowed him a scathing look as he was pushed inside the room where many heads had been severed from bodies before. “His Majesty is not here, is he? I do not have eternity to deal with you. Make haste and put your head on the block.”
“I am to die by the ax?” He looked dubious, offended, with sweat trailing on his brow. “Her Majesty ought to honor my death more than that.”
“You demand death by the sword? In front of me? You must be mad.” You sniggered. “Have you ever been on the battlefield?”
Haruchiyo’s eyes hardened. “No. But I have fought many battles. Therefore, I deserve to die by the sword.”
“You should’ve stopped at ‘No’ because the succeeding words are nothing to me. I care not whether you have executed a thousand enemies. If you have not fought on the battlefield, you cannot demand to die like a warrior.“ You motioned, and the sentries flocked to him instantly, leading him up to the platform where the Reaper patiently waited with his ax.
At first, Haruchiyo kept kneeling firm, even wagging his shoulders in disobedience. Sheer repugnance mantled his jade eyes before the sentries pushed his head down the block, his hands roped behind him.
The Reaper was a huge man. Covered from head to toe except for the eyes. He dragged his big feet to Haruchiyo’s side, bowed to you, and pinned the ax to the ground.
You climbed the platform, keeping your eyes at Haruchiyo’s bent head, before signaling the Reaper to lean closer. His sweaty and smoky odor assaulted your senses. Before descending, you carefully whispered something into his ear.
The Reaper knelt to confirm that Haruchiyo’s head was placed at the proper angle.
Your blood rushed to your head. Something you could only name as satisfaction growled deep in your belly. It was a wild thing: your desire to destroy him completely to the point where you refused to blink.
Even if it would bring horrible memories of your brother’s death, you refused to miss the ax landing on Haruchiyo’s pale neck. You refused to miss his blood spreading on the ground underneath your feet. You refused to miss his head tumbling down from the block.
Only that none of it happened.
The ax landed not on the assassin’s neck, but on the floorboard, a breath away from his skull. The Reaper missed. Deliberately.
You could taste the confusion. Could hear the audible sigh of relief from Haruchiyo himself. Without hardened eyes, you climbed on the platform and grabbed a fistful of his hair before tugging so his eyes could meet yours.
“Do you understand now? I am your Queen, Haruchiyo. If you dare insult me again, I will have your fingers chopped off. Then your hand, feet, and tongue. Last would be your head. And if you ever find your head on this block again, the Reaper will not miss the second time.”
Did it make you sick that you had amused yourself by playing with his life? Yes. Would you do it again to flaunt your power? Yes. It was a reminder that you were the Queen not because you had been wed to the King. Manjiro hadn’t any need to stand beside you so people would recognize your power. At least, you have that reassurance. At that point, it was all that mattered.
It was all that mattered, but it brought you no relief. You balled your fist once you were back inside your chamber, your eyes heating up at the rage coursing through your veins. Not only was it a labor to breathe, but your sight had also been disfigured and skewed. Sweat sprinted down your spine. And you were gasping, swallowing the thorns in your throat, tilting your head up to stop the tears.
What became of Nera? You sat down on the mattress, your heartbeat quickening.
What have they done to her? Your vision blurred, and you were dizzy.
Have you been betrayed by your friend? You covered your mouth to push back the bile.
“No… It’s alright,” you repeated like a mantra, almost breaking and sobbing in between words. “It’s alright. You’ll figure it out,” you whispered, pressing your quivering palm to your chest. “You will figure out a way. Like you always do.” A bitter lie that you had to believe in if you wished to survive the night. “You will walk out of this chamber and face the kingdom.”
With tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, you chewed on your bottom lip to stop its tremble. You turned around and faced the door, drilling into your brain that you were the Queen. Irrespective of their opinion, you matter.
The House of Aven was known for its class and dignity. The Houses that complete Elorus’ high-ranking society might possess both, but it was House Aven that stands brighter amidst all. Eros’ demise failed to take that elegance away. If not, his death had only strengthened it.
‘Chin up, chest out, shoulders pushed back,’ echoed Lady Hestia’s lessons on your mind, feeling the tap of her fan against your flesh as you traveled the dim pathway towards the gathering. ‘Never lower your head. Your eyes are a weapon, my dear.’
Eros would visit the veranda, then, snatching an apple from the table with a jocular smile on his lips. ‘Ah, what a way to break fast,’ he had said, taking a juicy bite off the fruit.
‘Don’t tease, Eros,’ you warned through the wide smile you were forced to maintain at your mother’s instruction.
‘Your smile appears a little stiff. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you desperately needed to use the privy but couldn’t,’ he teased nonetheless.
Lady Hestia playfully slapped his arm with her fan. ‘Is that how a gentleman behaves when he is eating? Must he speak when his mouth is full?’
You snickered, chest grumbling. ‘Serves you right.’
Eros swallowed the bits of apple with a chuckle. ‘A demure lady shan’t talk like that. Right, mother?’
Your nose flared. An action that your mother had caught right in the moment of its execution. She let out a displeased noise through her teeth. ‘A lady shan’t tease. Trivial criticisms shall not be given attention. If a remark does not provoke the mind, walk away with grace instead of engaging.’
‘Yes, mother.’ You pinned your spine straight, picking up your composure again.
The light from the Great Hall entered your field of vision. After a few more steps, you’d have to face a kingdom that hadn’t decided whether to love or hate you. You took a moment to look at your hands: your fingers were still trembling. Curling them with ferocity, you dug your nails into your flesh to remind yourself that everything was real.
Nera’s absence and the possibility of her betrayal. Manjiro’s and how he hadn’t stayed with you again after asking who Draken was. Haruchiyo’s words were fraught with threat. And Rindou’s silent treatment.
All of it was real. So real that you had no other choice but to wolf it all down.
—
There was a saying that whenever a room buzzing with conversation suddenly goes quiet, some heavenly creature had passed through.
You wondered if you were a heavenly creature for abruptly ending the conversation in the Great Hall with your arrival. Each set of eyes was on you, on your dress, and on the gems embellished on the fabric.
Before letting your eyes wander, you grabbed a glass of wine from a passing servant and raised it to the air. “Please, enjoy the night.”
“My love,” Manjiro, as if euphoric to witness you, came tottering in your direction. “I have been waiting,” he whispered before pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. He smelled of strong liquor. Not Vonvello. Its pungent smell whipped at your nose. “What took you so long?”
“You are already inebriated,” you noted with a forced grin, “and the Solstice has only just begun.”
Manjiro laughed, as if what you said was worth such hilarity. “Ah, yes. I needed it. I hope you do not mind,” he whispered the last sentence, stroking your cheek with his hand. Until he leaned in for a kiss— from which you turned away. In his eyes, the man in the first gathering stared back at you.
Prepared to sit, you gritted, “Behave yourself—”
He seized hold of your wrist and muttered, “You do not turn away from me, Aven. I am the King.”
Through the ache piercing your heart, you peeked over his shoulders to see everyone watching the both of you. From the corner of the Great Hall, a familiar face stood espying: Amara Vencasto with an impassive face and a half-empty glass of wine.
Facing the roister with his back, none could hear nor see Manjiro. Thus, you took his face with your hands and said, still smiling, “You do not tell me what to do, Your Majesty.”
Before Manjiro could inflict more pain on you, you turned away and swiftly ambled to your seat. While he staggered to the center of the hall, surprisingly walking to where Amara was.
“Ran.” The Savant leaned his head closer to you as encouragement that you continued. “Was my House not invited? My parents are missing from the crowd.”
Lady Hestia would have been present. Given your circumstances, not even a snowstorm could deter her from traveling.
“Oh,” Ran said while combing the throng with his eyes, realizing that the House of Aven was nowhere in sight. “We invited every House, Your Majesty, including your own. Perhaps they are running late?”
You swilled a generous amount of wine down your throat, hoping that it would take a little of your pulse with it. Ran may be correct, but it did not sit well with you.
“How about these lavish banquets? Did we not agree that to show leniency, we must live in moderation during winter?” You and Manjiro had considered it even way before the Solstice arrived. He promised that grand feasts had no place in the winter. The resources that would have gone toward one opulent celebration would instead be given to the marginalized.
Ran looked sheepish for once. “Yes, we did, Your Majesty. However, the King had decided to alter his plans while Her Majesty was yet to regain consciousness.”
“It did not occur to him to wait so we could have discussed everything together?” was your wavering question. “And this dress. I love it, yes, but it wasn’t what I have picked up for myself to wear. It exudes far too much grandeur.”
“His Majesty… also have chosen the dress himself. I remember him saying that it would look perfect on you, Your Majesty,” Ran explained, harboring no doubt in his tone for his King’s decision.
You leaned on your seat to watch Elorus’ upper crust droned in the Great Hall. Each House refused to be surpassed by another in their pursuit of the King’s attention. They would act a fool, or dance foolishly if it meant Manjiro would spare them a little of his attention.
Fine silks, rubies, and diamonds pricked your eyes under the brightly lit chandelier, the light of which had been reflected and intensified by the mirror surrounding the Great Hall. Each individual desired to be a beacon of light, wallowing in their vanity.
All of this after Emma’s death. No one wore a veil or wrapped their arms in a dark fabric to express their grief. Including you.
Shame boiled you in its presence, like hot nails on your back. To see these people laugh alongside Manjiro as he frolicked and danced with Amara in the middle of the hall. As simple as that, you were tossed back into the night you had been wed. Only this time, seeing him dance with her hurt. Only this time, you cared.
Your gazes locked across the room as if there was a force holding them together. He smiled at you. One devilish smile before pushing Amara to his chest, his chin over her exposed shoulder.
You tipped your wine glass and drank. Had he forgotten that his actions speak more about him than they did about you? Was it a threat? Was it a message that he could very well go back to her after manipulating her feelings?
Fathoming out that you would not stomp on his kind of entertainment and be the hysteric wife he was molding you to be, Manjiro excused himself from Amara. Florid cheeks, hazy eyes, flushed lips, wobbling up to you.
Without speaking, he took your glass and swiveled to face the nobles. “I have an announcement to make,” he said in his casual voice. Among these people, he needn’t shout. Unlike you, who had to first sell your soul to the devil to get their attention.
You observed him closely, maintaining a clear mind to prepare for the blow of his announcement. As much as you hated to admit it and tried not to think about it, the fact that you were a rebel might slip out of his mouth. Anxiety made your heart race. You shifted in your seat uncomfortably.
"Eros Aven did not murder my brother," he screamed so loudly that the guards in the Third Palace could hear him.
And there were explosives all over the place. The burst of your heart, the murmur of the people, and the gasp of those who couldn’t form words to save their lives were all explosives.
‘But it was clear. He assassinated Prince Shinichiro.’
‘He schemed against the kingdom!’
‘That’s impossible! That bastard was a traitor!’
Your chair scraped the floor when you attempted to bolt on your feet and reprimand whoever slandered your brother. But Ran was quick to grab your wrist, pushing you back to your seat.
“Your Majesty, let the King finish,” he rasped, and the Savant’s eyes flashed with the violence you thought was more eerie than Rindou’s.
Albeit the gnawing desire to ignore him, you sat back and frustratedly snatched your wrist from his grip.
“It is true that Eros Aven did not kill Shinichiro. He was not the one who stopped my brother’s heartbeat with a bolt.” He walked languidly to circle the long table before you, behind him were frantic murmurs of people demanding the name of the real murderer. Manjiro Sano was an ominous presence when he stood beside you. Tipping your chin up, he challenged, “Why don’t you ask me who did it, my love? After all, it was you who suffered from Eros’ death the most.”
Not having your parents in the gathering ended up being a stroke of luck. It would destroy you knowing that this truth would ruin them. Because it had been so long since House Sano began punishing your family. As Manjiro Sano looked down at you, you realized that he wasn’t done yet.
“You did not have to do this,” you murmured, gulping.
His mouth slowly surmounted to the sides, brushing your lips with his thumb. He shifted to empty the remnants of your wine before marching away. “Because my wife won’t answer the question, allow me to show you instead. Everyone, to the courtyard!”
Befuddlement was etched on everyone’s faces as they jogged on Manjiro’s trail like children chasing a vendor of sweets in the Capital. Everyone, including Ran, Rindou, and even the contemptible Haruchiyo puttered towards the crowd.
You pushed the chair with the back of your knees, sustaining your elegance in spite of the grumbling fear in your stomach.
Each step you took closer to the crowd was like stepping on daggers. They murmured about the man kneeling in the middle of the courtyard under the snow curtain.
‘A blonde man,’ they whispered.
Swallowing down a sob, you shouldered your way through the rabble of people you’d rather see dead. You pushed your body through, biting back your cry when somebody elbowed your ribs.
Reaching the open air was a death blow. And if you could rewind time to remain sequestered and clueless in the mass of nobles, you would.
“He is the man who murdered my brother. Ken Ryuuguji, a nobody born in the North,” Manjiro divulged, extending his hand out to present Draken like a circus performer. “He led the Advari, the rebellion that had placed Elorus’ peace in grave threat. And tonight, we will finally witness his death.”
He was alone in the middle of the courtyard. And the people, who had little to no idea of the life he had lived screamed and cheered for his death. His clothes were in tatters, his hands had been tied behind him. He knelt on the cold ground, his head hanging low until he lifted it just to see you. Just to look at you.
The snow continued to fall. Its cold stealing away the air from your lungs. You had forgotten how to breathe. Had forgotten your place when you braved a step forward. Only to stop when you noticed archers poised to every corner of the courtyard, holding their arrows and bows.
“No…” You wagged your head, refusing to accept that Manjiro planned to assassinate Draken by a dozen arrows. That he would assassinate someone in such a brutal way. “Manjiro—”
“Archers! On my mark!” the King roared. “Nock!”
You choked helplessly, hearing the archers nocking their arrows swiftly like the wind. There was only you, Manjiro, and Draken in the whole courtyard. No one else mattered. Your destiny had been intertwined for this moment, forging one tragic scenery of a king, a queen, and a rebel.
Draken’s gaze never wavered, looking at you with tender solicitude. You wagged your head slowly: a silent plea.
“Draw!” Manjiro’s voice did not falter as he once again bellowed.
“Stop!” you screamed, filling your lungs with the cold air. Without looking, you extended your hand to the nearest archer standing paces away. “I’ll do it myself.”
‘You have my heart. And I will always wonder: Will I ever kiss you again?’
The bow and the arrow had never weighed so heavy on your hands as they did that one night. You had never considered the wooden texture to be as loathsome as though it was an enemy, because ever since forever, the bow and arrow had been your closest companion.
When you moved forward, you had shut your heart and mind. Leaving your humanity as you nocked an arrow, lifted the bow, letting the string kiss your cheek as you prepared to let it loose.
Draken gave a timid nod. A signal, an acceptance, and your heart shattered.
‘I deserve not to die in your hands, but it will be mercy.’
Warm tears cascaded when you close your eyes. Peeling the other one open to find your target: Draken’s chest. A quick death, straight to the heart: your mercy.
Draken, you are forgiven. You shuddered, freeing the arrow from the tight nock. It had flown, zinged past the air and snowfall, and found his heart.
His smile faded at once, replaced by that of gnashing teeth, as pain consumed his body and blood spilled from his mouth. Until his head lowered, followed by his body, painting the snow-covered earth crimson.
He’s dead. Draken is dead.
And you were empty. So empty that you failed to hear Manjiro making his way beside you.
“This time, I win,” he whispered in your ear while grinning, doing so much as to kiss your cheek contemptuously, your tears dampening his lips.
“Do you know why?” you breathlessly asked while Draken’s body was dragged away. “Because you look exactly like your father tonight.”
—
“Let me through.”
“Your Majesty, the King strictly forbidden anyone—”
“Let me through,” you restated, pinning the guard with a razor-edged stare until he swallowed and opened the door reluctantly. “Do not allow anyone inside,” you commanded before stepping into the chamber. Unfeeling. With only coldness wrapping your bones.
A coldness that thawed instantly at the sight before you.
Through the windows, the full moon peeked as you picked your skirts up and moved forward to the huge stone slab in the center. A huge stone slab where Draken’s lifeless body had been perched.
You staggered over to where a basin and a piece of cloth had been placed before approaching his immobile frame. Sniffling, you started cleaning his face. He was barely recognizable. A split lip, broken nose, swelling eye, and a missing ear. You braced yourself by the edge of the stone, swallowing down your sobs as much as you could before proceeding to clean him.
But for the first time in your life ever since your brother’s death, you had forgotten how to when your eyes fell downwards to see Draken’s missing fingers. All ten of them had been cut to the bone.
Before you had the chance to realize and restrain yourself, tears were pouring down your cheeks, endlessly merging in the center of your chin to leave wet blotches on the stone, on Draken’s arm, and on the ground.
You could barely breathe through the low keening that had made your mouth tremble like you were utterly and severely pained. Lamentation that you had never felt before wracked your body when you grabbed the arrow digging into his chest, whimpering as you pulled the sharp object off his heart.
They butchered him. You butchered him.
“Forgive… me… forgive me…” You hiccuped over and over, grabbing a fistful of his clothes as you placed your head on his chest. “Forgive me… Draken…”
You drawled out a cry, not knowing where else to put your grief. What else to do with it.
Draken, with his easy smile and heartfelt laugh. Draken, who had taught you how to love freely. Like a bird freed for the first time from its cage. And now, that same bird had been locked up again.
“Draken…” You dragged your face closer to his, once again whimpering, once again torn in two, before pressing a kiss on his forehead. “Forgive me…”
“He has to burn,” a voice echoed behind you. And suddenly, all the grief you harbored had been turned to fury.
You rolled back to the time when the mere intonation of Manjiro’s voice was enough to ruin your day.
“No,” you whispered, “he will be buried.”
He grabbed you by the arm, pinning you with a death glare. “He will burn. Say something again, and you’ll burn with him.”
Rage— it was the only thing that had kept you standing with enough strength to shove him away. “Do it, then! You do not scare me!”
Once again, he gripped you by the arms, looking at you with such frantic eyes. “Looking at you hurt, do you know that? It kills me to look at someone as despicable as you! A liar, manipulative, heartless woman like you!”
“I feel the same way,” you muttered gravelly. “I have always felt the same way.”
That seemed to knock some sense in him. He took a step back, mouth slightly agape, utter pain crossing his face. “Take the Queen to the Tower of Grief,” he said when he regained himself, his expression falling.
You knew it was coming. Tower of Grief had imprisoned many royals with crooked moralities before. It was their home before they were executed. And yes, your heart fell to your stomach, but you were too numb to care.
“Do not touch me,” you hissed before any of the guards could reach you, “I will walk there myself.”
It was almost foolish that there was no trace of shame on your countenance. It couldn’t be found anywhere in you. You pushed your chest out, straightened your back and shoulder, and began your promenade.
“Aven,” Manjiro said under his breath. You came to a halt when you heard him ask, “Did you ever love me?”
What is love in war?
“What do you think?” was your response before disappearing from his sight. Before disappearing from him completely.
He had forgotten the taste of a fistful night’s sleep, let alone one free of betrayal, bloodshed, and tragedy.
Would he have perfected the ways to bear the gilded weight of the crown if he had known that it would cost the lives of his entire bloodline? Would he have devoured those books, their pages already yellowed to the edges, if he’d known that lusting for such power would leave him alone and without family?
How many deaths does it take to numb someone?
Manjiro wished he was paralyzed. He wanted not to feel a thing. However, feelings that were sheltered with painstaking effort were meant to bear fruit in the end. If he were to forget this pain, who would avenge and seek retribution for the death of his loved ones?
He had to pick his feet up and remind them of his position on this land. A crown was heavy, yes, but it was his greatest weapon. He must utilize its strength to conquer the one thing he needed most: lay chaos upon his enemies. Chaos that would leave them with nothing but burned dreams and deadened hearts.
But there was one problem. Or perhaps someone. This someone was like ice to his fire, putting out his ability to burn everything in his path. And if it hadn’t been for the agony of realizing that he had to burn this someone along the way, the deed would’ve been done already.
You: his fatal flaw, his incurable weakness.
What a wicked thing to love and despise you at the same time. What a wicked thing to wish you were dead when the mere thought was enough to kill him. What a wicked thing that he had to know of your betrayal after allowing himself to be twiddled with your fingers.
And was he? Was he your favorite thing to play with? Were you delighted to see him with softened eyes, looking at you with veneration that he wouldn’t even offer to a god? Was it satisfying to hear his hushed affection in the dark, as you both lay naked on the mattress in a room filled with deception? Had he provided you with the amusement you sought? Filled the hatred you secretly harbored with affection that you would’ve mocked and laughed at inside empty chambers because he’d been a complete fool, hadn’t he?
His folly was believing in you and him, despite knowing that you were created by lies. Hindsight failed to offer consolation, for it was the thing that made everything real: Emma’s death, Nera’s confession, and your lies.
Manjiro cocked his head, wondering what he had missed, what he had overlooked. And despite the never-ending flood of memories ever since your wedding, he could only blame himself.
House of Aven. House of Sano. And the long history between the two. For the longest time, it was malice that had welded your Houses together. How could he have forgotten?
What flowed through his veins was the Sano’s unadulterated blood. And perhaps his downfall was forgetting that the blood rushing through you belonged to a foe.
You didn’t know, and he wouldn’t tell: he was primed to move forward. That, for you, perhaps he could learn how to forgive Eros and you could forgive his family in return. Happiness, however, appeared to be a distant dream for someone like him. His plans, as seamless as they were, had been ripped at the seams.
“Sire.” A knock, followed by Haruchiyo’s voice traveling from the other side of the door. “It’s time.”
Manjiro’s jaw clenched. Before standing up and confronting the assassin, he took a long pause to gather his mind, prying them away from the thoughts of you.
There was a special place in the Third Palace for criminals that had done a great deal of damage in Elorus. That place was where Lord Vencasto had been locked away. And now, it was home for the leader of the Advari: the man named Draken.
He had no preconceived notions about the man. Despite the bubbling desire to interrogate, there was no expectation. He’d put an end to many a rebel before, but it was only Nera, the unexpected one, who gave him something valuable to hang onto.
Haruchiyo opened the door to an empty cell. Smaller than the normal ones, it had only one chair and a lamp hanging from the ceiling.
The man’s hands were tied behind him. His feet, too, had been roped together. He had a huge stature. Aside from that, Manjiro’s attention was drawn to the fight in his eyes, or rather the palpable death of it.
What else could he bring besides the ones brought about by Baji’s death and Izana’s deception? What more truth was he cramming down his throat? What more revelation could shake the earth beneath Manjiro’s feet?
“Do you know the Queen?” Manjiro locked his gaze on the man. Caught like a fish in the hooks, Draken’s jaw tautened.
“I know the Queen for being queen,” his voice was gruff when he replied.
“You lie in the face of death?” He moved closer to the insurgent.
“I am here to confess all that you need to hear. I’m afraid it does not include anything about Her Majesty,” Draken insisted, shoulders tight.
There was a caress in how he addressed the Queen. Or perhaps it was merely a cultivation of Manjiro’s greed to prove or disprove your ties to the Advari. He needed something more than Nera’s confession.
“You are Eros Aven’s accomplice, aren’t you?” The King circled the rebel as a hawk would to its prey.
Draken kept his gaze forward. “I was.”
"And you haven’t interacted with the Queen once?" Manjiro disposed of a sneer.
“I’ve seen her before, with no intention of speaking or interacting. She was unaware of the rebellion because her brother had kept it hidden from his family,” Draken narrated, voice untouched by any tone.
“What a loving brother Eros was, wasn’t he? A shame that he had to die,” Manjiro goaded, exceedingly irritated at the rebel’s face for no particular reason. “He would’ve been Elorus’ hero, no? Did you want to be a hero, too?”
“At some point, I was,” Draken answered without a shed of fear. “Because it was I who killed your brother. It was I, Ryuuguji Ken, a nobody born in the North who had put a bolt through your brother’s heart. Not Eros Aven.”
A physical pain that had pierced every weak spot in Manjiro's body. His eyes dimmed forthwith. With a sick echoing sound, the last bits of his sanity snapped. All that he had believed in was replaced with a few words. Anger, shame, and guilt: he had felt it all.
Shinichiro, Shinichiro, Shinichiro. It was incessant. Cruel. Sharp. Boundless sea of memories rushed to him: Takeomi carrying Shinichiro’s lifeless body on his stallion, the King and Queen scurrying towards Elorus’ future ruler, and him— that little boy gripping a wooden sword in his small hands, protected by the Kingsguard, shielded from the nightmare of seeing his brother’s body.
Manjiro felt compelled to say something: to express his disgust, to demand answers, and to curse Draken. But his anger, like the memories assaulting him, was bottomless. Nothing could mollify his rancor. Nothing.
And so, despite everything he wanted to put Draken through, it was the bone-rattling force of his fist colliding with the rebel’s cheek that had done its task first. His eyes had gone blank, hazy with his desire for devastation. Manjiro slid off his cape, flexing his fingers before launching another attack. And again. And again. And again. Until blood, Draken’s blood, splattered on his face like a sick reminder of false triumph.
From god the king, from king the law. Except for this time, there was no god but Manjiro Sano.
—
Prayers rustled past tongues, they filled the room with gentle yet ceaseless buzzing sounds.
You fluttered your eyes open, hoping to fall unconscious again, delivered by the dreadful pain in your lower body. It was a burning sensation, like bones splintering until they were pulverized. Your hip bore the brunt of the pain resulting from your fall. Panic laced apace, fearing that your feet wouldn’t move like they used to and that you were paralyzed for all eternity.
Such harrowing thought pricked your chest with terror. Despite the tenderness of your back, you bolted up straight to witness your father and mother looking at you. Eyes panic-stricken, with tears streaking their cheeks.
“Oh! My daughter! My daughter!” Your mother mewled as she cradled you in her arms. She clutched you tightly, afraid you’d slip back into the darkness if she let go.
Overwhelmed still by the High Priest and physicians crowding the room, with your maid-in-waiting dabbing a cloth to their eyes, you could only wander around the space using your eyes. And even then, disappointment teased your heart with Manjiro’s glaring absence. He was like a sore thumb, except the sore thumb wasn’t there.
“Oh, gods!” Lady Hestia hailed once more as tears streamed from her eyes, dampening your cheeks as she showered you with grateful kisses.
“Mother…” you mumbled, perplexed. “What—!” You recoiled as a wave of pain swept across your head. Servants swarmed you like ants to a sugar cube. They treated your frail body with care as if holding a precious and exquisite vase. “I’m alright. It’s only a headache,” you insisted, but the High Priest extinguished your obstinacy with his own by flicking his hands as language in place of his taciturnity.
“Your Majesty.” Dobroslav approached and bowed. His face retained its usual neutrality when he asked, “Do you know who you are?”
Eyebrows pinched together, you recited your maiden and married name subsequently. Your House and the House to which you now belonged: Aven and Sano. Dobroslav proceeded to inquire about things that might hint at any anomaly in your head: loss of memory, symptoms of an acute illness, anything. After a series of questions, he had declared you fully capable mentally.
The state of your body was a different matter, though. Several cuts had sliced your skin. Your body ached all over. Having your arms moving, albeit a tad bit strained, was the only consolation. Dobroslav said not to worry, that you would not die from any of your wounds, ample rest and heedful stretching would be sufficient to aid your quick recovery.
You would’ve made a fuss, despite it holding no weight, if the celebration for the Winter Solstice carried on. However, based on what transpired, you deduced that Manjiro had already canceled the feast.
Such expectations accounted for your incontestable surprise when Rindou informed you that the Winter Solstice would occur in five nights.
Except for Rindou and the assassin, everyone had left your chamber. Your parents returned to the manor, drawn there by something that required their undivided attention. Before leaving, the High Priest reminded you to pray for Aenar. And Dobroslav informed you about the herbs you needed to consume once every hour.
“How are things outside? Why is His Majesty pushing the Winter Solstice?” were the questions dashing out of your mouth. “And why am I to remain here until then?”
Rindou’s eyes flickered uncomfortably. They darted away from you and back to the assassin. A message passed between them, one that made your stomach crumple. Your inability to decipher that look had you coiled into a ball of anxiety.
“Your Majesty, the Palaces are in disarray. We wish not to put your health in jeopardy—”
“How about Emma?” Her name scalded your tongue. The syllables sliding were like a cliff fall: certain doom awaited at the bottom. “Is she… did she make it?”
“No.” It was too late to wish Rindou would slowly unwrap the terrible news. He had pinned it right after your question, giving no room to breathe. “The Princess had been laid to rest in the Temple of Valar a few moons ago before Her Majesty awoke.”
Tantamount to bathing in a river far North, you sucked in a sharp breath as goosebumps covered your flesh. Resurfacing fully gelid and unmoving from the grim reality breathed by Rindou, you were tossed back into the night of a bloodied Emma in the arms of Manjiro.
Had you been a fool for hoping that Emma would live? That the gods would not be obstinate in withholding their mercy from the King?
He was alone, now more than ever. And during the moments when you should’ve been there for him, you weren’t.
Withholding tears from racing down your cheeks, you chewed on your bottom lip. When Eros died, a huge part of you had been sliced open and chucked away. Manjiro had lost everyone. One after the other. You couldn’t imagine how it must’ve felt like for him.
“Your Majesty, I…” The assassin closed in on you. Her eyes were unsteady, as though she had not acquired enough sleep. Before you could ask what was wrong, she knelt and bowed her head. “This is my fault for not keeping you safe. Please, whatever punishment you will bestow, if it came from you, I’d gladly accept it.”
Rindou’s lips were in a tight line as you stared at each other. He appeared not shaken by it all.
“Rise. I will not punish you,” you declared emphatically. “I see no reason to.”
“Your mercy… I will hold onto it as long as I breathe.” She had risen, her head remained low.
“What became of… Izana and Kakucho?” you dared to inquire, hoping that your efforts in braving the gale were not in vain.
“I fought Kakucho and survived only by the skin of my teeth. Prince Izana, on the other hand, took the advantage to flee alone,” the monotoned assassin narrated. “Kakucho’s head had been delivered to Idrarean as a declaration of war.”
The sudden bump of your heart was enough to befuddle you. Head. Declaration. War. Three words that rendered you dizzy. As the words jumped and pounded, your head throbbed.
Words could not convey your emotions. As a result, you pushed the sheets away, attempting to meet the floor with your feet when Rindou gently drew you back.
“You can’t leave the room, Your Majesty,” he had almost begged.
“Unhand me, Rindou. I need to talk to the King!” You wriggled free, but Rindou had only tightened his grip. “Unhand me!”
“Your Majesty!” His voice pitched higher as he pinned your shoulders down the mattress with rigorous tenderness. “You must understand that war is the only thing left for His Majesty!” As if he’d run from North to South, there was a gasp at the end of each sentence. “It is cruel, yes, but don’t you believe he had been through enough? That perhaps, war is the only consolation?”
“Consolation?” you repeated, dubious and wild-eyed. “How can war provide consolation if everyone around you is dead?”
“Not if I’d lose.” Rindou wrenched away from you as Manjiro’s voice permeated the air with its casual domination. “And I have no intention of losing.”
You refused to believe your eyes and ears. It was not Manjiro who had spoken, and it was not him before you that night. There was a decline of sleep, plain to see in the dark circulating his eyes. Sharpened jawline and gaunt cheeks that hinted at meals he had forgotten or deliberately did not consume. He looked more like a pale ghost wandering around than a physical, breathing human.
“I understand that your disposition plays a role in the decision, but this is not the answer—”
His rictus smile severed your sentence. “No, my love, you do not,” he said, motioning for everyone to leave at once. Without another word or even a flutter of an eyelash.
What exactly did he mean? What didn’t you understand?
An oppressive air forced its way between you with each step he took closer. You swallowed the wriggling anxiety that had towed you into a tangle of racing pulse and throbbing head for reasons unknown. Your stomach was knotted, and there was an intense need to haul your guts out. Why?
“War is not the answer,” your lips contrived to utter. “I know that. I stand by that.”
“War is the only remaining option, and it will be carried out with or without your approval,” he had spoken with a tone so cold and detached that your throat clogged.
Something wasn’t right. You must locate it and set it ablaze. Eradicate whatever it was. But try as you might, it remained hidden in his depthless eyes.
“I am the Queen. My words carry the same weight as yours do,” you gritted, “and I will say it again: war is not the answer.”
“Then, what is?” he gnashed back with his timbre surging in impatience.
Manjiro drowned in grief was someone who slips away at everyone’s fingertips. You, having to witness him lose a loved one before, had undertaken your part of searching for him in the depths undeterred by your altercations. However, now, you could not recognize the man staring back at you to pull him up from the ocean of grief.
“We will find a way together,” you answered, summoning your strength by reaching for his hand, but even that had been withheld from you. He cringed away as if your fingers were made of molten rocks and he was afraid to be afire.
“You have suffered, too, haven’t you?” He appeared nonchalant of the hurt crossing your eyes at his revulsion. Instead, he had leaned closer, caressing your cheeks with a numbing pain plastered on his face. “But is that reason enough to inflict pain on others? Or were we only children who didn’t know any better?”
“What is this? I cannot recognize the eyes gazing back at me,” you murmured, on the verge of tears. “I cannot understand you.”
Manjiro winced, if only a bit, before pressing his forehead against yours, his hands wrapped around the base of your throat. “Tell me, and tell me honestly, who is Draken?”
—
Clothing your imagination stood as a vital way to get you through the day. Repulsion was an understatement for everything that your eyes could perceive. And if it weren’t for your circumstances, your heart would’ve soared at the intricate design of your Winter Solstice dress. Only that you knew it was in white fabric, like the snowfall outside, and was bedecked with jewels and stones that would rival even the stars.
“Have you not heard from Nera?” you asked Vienne for the second time that night, twisting the fabrics of your skirt with your fingers.
Ever since waking up, you had not seen her walk to your room, where you had been locked away under the King’s behest. Of course, there was a bite of something unpleasant for such an order. Like bile smearing your tongue. However, if it weren’t for his question, that question which had driven you hauling your stomach out throughout the day, you would’ve stood your ground.
Draken. Manjiro knew his name. How? You pounded your brain with the question for days and nights, unfortunately losing sleep but arriving nowhere no matter your efforts.
Rindou hadn’t said a thing, despite hiding the answer to your little and subtle inquiries in his eyes. It hurt a bit, seeing him look somewhere else while talking to you when he used to stare affectionately before.
Something happened while you were asleep. And none was willing enough to fill you in with the details. Izana’s escape, Kakucho’s death, and Emma’s demise— all of it felt nothing but canard whispered by bored mouths. There was no need to leave your chamber to feel the lackluster lamentation for Elorus’ princess.
And now comes the Winter Solstice. Your ability to walk had been hampered by an obvious limp. Dobroslav assured you that it would go away once you recovered, but that was no consolation.
Despite being aware of your situation, Manjiro decided to hold the Winter Solstice. Regardless of his sister’s death, as well.
“Nera hadn’t been in the Palaces for days, Your Majesty,” Vienne patiently repeated. “Even I am unquiet for her absence.”
The air was too thick to swallow. You pressed your palm against your stomach as if this would help you untangle your anxiety. Had she gone to the manor? If so, why hadn’t she returned yet? Your parents hadn’t revisited to ask them about Nera. Why hadn’t they visited you again?
“Where could’ve she gone?” was your anxiety-induced question. Despite living in the Palaces for months, surrounded by people who hated and feared you, you had mastered the art of hiding your nerves. Looking in the mirror only revealed how much of a fool you’d been. “We… we promised to celebrate the Solstice together.”
Vienne smoothed your skirt before facing you with a warm smile. “If Nera promised Her Majesty such a thing, then I see no reason for her to break it.“
“Y… yes. She hasn’t broken any of her promises to me yet. I appreciate your kindness, Vienne,” you murmured, slowly becoming acquainted with how to smile again.
“Always, Your Majesty.” She circled you for any lone thread. “Does the corset fit well? Or should we loosen the ties?”
“It’s to my comfort,” you replied. “It’s perfect.”
Vienne peeked over your shoulder. “You look very beautiful tonight, Your Majesty. If the King sees you in this dress, he would fall deeply in love over again.”
Your smile trembled. What would unfold if the opposite was to happen? Heart sinking, you turned away from the mirror to see Haruchiyo standing on the threshold.
“I’m here to escort Her Majesty to the gathering,” he declared to Vienne, dismissing your maid-in-waiting himself.
Vienne bowed before the assassin. She looked at you with a smile and said, “A pleasant Winter Solstice to you, Your Highness.”
Haruchiyo crept closer after Vienne had vanished from view. His eyes were as clear as water. His eyes were clear like water. A master of deception, he certainly was.
“You look dazzling, Your Majesty,” he tried to compliment, but his flat expression blocked the kind words from reaching you. “Like a lone star hanging from the heavens.”
For once, his accouterments did not resemble that of an assassin. He looked prepared for the Solstice, wearing a cape with intricate embroidery, trousers, and shoes polished to blindness.
“You look handsome tonight,” you shot back, holding the same dead countenance. “However, I must decline your offer. The King shall meet his Queen and escort her himself.”
Haruchiyo scratched his cheek. “I’m afraid this is a direct order from His Majesty, Your Highness. With the recent events, he wishes nothing but your safety. Therefore, I am here if anyone dares harm Her Majesty, the Queen.”
“Who would dare?” you scoffed, picking your skirts up to wend your way past him.
“You tell me. After all, I believe Her Majesty to be very familiar with them.”
Thousand ants crawled along your spine. Your sense and temper had been honed to that of untouchable level. Such skill could never be debased by the words of an assassin.
“Whatever do you mean by that?” Unhurriedly, you spun around, the hem of your dress hissing at the floor. “Speak up, assassin, or I will damn you.”
“This is too lovely a night for such temper, Your Majesty. I only meant to say that you are familiar with them, as we have worked together to demolish the enemies, have we not? It was by your own decree, as well.”
With the way he explained all of it, you were almost inclined to consider it honest, sans malice. If only you had forgotten about your encounter months ago about his hypothesis, you would’ve let him go.
“You have never treated me as Queen, have you? In your eyes, I have always been a lying and conniving Aven.” Your feelings collided with your temper was not an agreeable circumstance. Lady Hestia had painstakingly taught you how to separate the two, knowing that a collision of both would be disastrous. So, what would explain the itch to whip the assassin with your own kind of disaster tonight?
Haruchiyo leaned back lackadaisically. “Am I right?”
You peered at him. “Careful, assassin. You wouldn’t want to cross any lines tonight. Especially if you hold no evidence to support whatever accusations you have.”
He grinned. “Evidence? I heard it from your friend’s mouth, Your Majesty.”
From that point forward, whatever you decide to do may result in your condemnation. Once you jump and take him by the collar, demand that he lay bare the meaning of what he said, he would think you guilty. You would think you were guilty.
“Guards!” you bellowed, taking deep breaths. Once they were inside, your declaration was, “Take the assassin to the Reaper. I want his head on my plate at the gathering.”
Haruchiyo echoed a poisonous chuckle. “Your Majesty, have you forgotten that I can take down these men alone?”
You inched closer to him until your faces were so close that your breath mingled. “And risk slighting your Queen? Shall I remind you, then? Nobody threatens a queen, Haruchiyo. Nobody threatens me. But let’s see how far your stubbornness goes, shall we?” You motioned for the guards to take him by the arms. Haruchiyo pulled his jaws. “Resist. I dare you.”
He wanted to. His expression, the tick of his jaw, and the darkness that clouded his eyes all expressed his desire to break free and destroy the sentries who held him captive. Even so, he couldn’t. Not even as you walked down the empty corridors towards the Reaper.
“Your Majesty—”
“I’d say you start praying to the gods instead of wasting your breath, Haruchiyo,” you declared, “because we’re now descending to your death.”
A new kind of folly: granting him the chance to waste your time. However, Haruchiyo’s chastisement had been long overdue. He would only continue to insult you as long as there was air in his lungs. And that air needed to cease.
“His Majesty, the King—”
You bestowed him a scathing look as he was pushed inside the room where many heads had been severed from bodies before. “His Majesty is not here, is he? I do not have eternity to deal with you. Make haste and put your head on the block.”
“I am to die by the ax?” He looked dubious, offended, with sweat trailing on his brow. “Her Majesty ought to honor my death more than that.”
“You demand death by the sword? In front of me? You must be mad.” You sniggered. “Have you ever been on the battlefield?”
Haruchiyo’s eyes hardened. “No. But I have fought many battles. Therefore, I deserve to die by the sword.”
“You should’ve stopped at ‘No’ because the succeeding words are nothing to me. I care not whether you have killed a thousand enemies. If you have not fought on the battlefield, you cannot demand to die like a warrior.“ You motioned, and the sentries flocked to him instantly, leading him up to the platform where the Reaper patiently waited with his ax.
At first, Haruchiyo kept kneeling firm, even wagging his shoulders in disobedience. Sheer repugnance mantled his jade eyes before the sentries pushed his head down the block, his hands roped behind him.
The Reaper was a huge man. Covered from head to toe except for the eyes. He dragged his big feet to Haruchiyo’s side, bowed to you, and pinned the ax to the ground.
You climbed the platform, keeping your eyes at Haruchiyo’s bent head, before signaling the Reaper to lean closer. His sweaty and smoky odor assaulted your senses. Before descending, you carefully whispered something into his ear.
The Reaper knelt to confirm that Haruchiyo’s head was placed at the proper angle.
Your blood rushed to your head. Something you could only name as satisfaction growled deep in your belly. It was a wild thing: your desire to destroy him completely to the point where you refused to blink.
Even if it would bring horrible memories of your brother’s death, you refused to miss the ax landing on Haruchiyo’s pale neck. You refused to miss his blood spreading on the ground underneath your feet. You refused to miss his head tumbling down from the block.
Only that none of it happened.
The ax landed not on the assassin’s neck, but on the floorboard, a breath away from his skull. The Reaper missed. Deliberately.
You could taste the confusion. Could hear the audible sigh of relief from Haruchiyo himself. Without hardened eyes, you climbed on the platform and grabbed a fistful of his hair before tugging so his eyes could meet yours.
“Do you understand now? I am your Queen, Haruchiyo. If you dare insult me again, I will have your fingers chopped off. Then your hand, feet, and tongue. Last would be your head. And if you ever find your head on this block again, the Reaper will not miss the second time.”
Did it make you sick that you had amused yourself by playing with his life? Yes. Would you do it again to flaunt your power? Yes. It was a reminder that you were the Queen not because you had been wed to the King. Manjiro hadn’t any need to stand beside you so people would recognize your power. At least, you have that reassurance. At that point, it was all that mattered.
It was all that mattered, but it brought you no relief. You balled your fist once you were back inside your chamber, your eyes heating up at the rage coursing through your veins. Not only was it a labor to breathe, but your sight had also been disfigured and skewed. Sweat sprinted down your spine. And you were gasping, swallowing the thorns in your throat, tilting your head up to stop the tears.
What became of Nera? You sat down on the mattress, your heartbeat quickening.
What have they done to her? Your vision blurred, and you were dizzy.
Have you been betrayed by your friend? You covered your mouth to push back the bile.
“No… It’s alright,” you repeated like a mantra, almost breaking and sobbing in between words. “It’s alright. You’ll figure it out,” you whispered, pressing your quivering palm to your chest. “You will figure out a way. Like you always do.” A bitter lie that you had to believe in if you wished to survive the night. “You will walk out of this chamber and face the kingdom.”
With tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, you chewed on your bottom lip to stop its tremble. You turned around and faced the door, drilling into your brain that you were the Queen. Irrespective of their opinion, you matter.
The House of Aven was known for its class and dignity. The Houses that complete Elorus’ high-ranking society might possess both, but it was House Aven that stands brighter amidst all. Eros’ demise failed to take that elegance away. If not, his death had only strengthened it.
‘Chin up, chest out, shoulders pushed back,’ echoed Lady Hestia’s lessons on your mind, feeling the tap of her fan against your flesh as you traveled the dim pathway towards the gathering. ‘Never lower your head. Your eyes are a weapon, my dear.’
Eros would visit the veranda, then, snatching an apple from the table with a jocular smile on his lips. ‘Ah, what a way to break fast,’ he had said, taking a juicy bite off the fruit.
‘Don’t tease, Eros,’ you warned through the wide smile you were forced to maintain at your mother’s instruction.
‘Your smile appears a little stiff. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you desperately needed to use the privy but couldn’t,’ he teased nonetheless.
Lady Hestia playfully slapped his arm with her fan. ‘Is that how a gentleman behaves when he is eating? Must he speak when his mouth is full?’
You snickered, chest grumbling. ‘Serves you right.’
Eros swallowed the bits of apple with a chuckle. ‘A demure lady shan’t talk like that. Right, mother?’
Your nose flared. An action that your mother had caught right in the moment of its execution. She let out a displeased noise through her teeth. ‘A lady shan’t tease. Trivial criticisms shall not be given attention. If a remark does not provoke the mind, walk away with grace instead of engaging.’
‘Yes, mother.’ You pinned your spine straight, picking up your composure again.
The light from the great hall entered your field of vision. After a few more steps, you’d have to face a kingdom that hadn’t decided whether to love or hate you. You took a moment to look at your hands: your fingers were still trembling. Curling them with ferocity, you dug your nails into your flesh to remind yourself that everything was real.
Nera’s absence and the possibility of her betrayal. Manjiro’s and how he hadn’t stayed with you again after asking who Draken was. Haruchiyo’s words were fraught with threat. And Rindou’s silent treatment.
All of it was real. So real that you had no other choice but to wolf it all down.
—
There was a saying that whenever a room buzzing with conversation suddenly goes quiet, some heavenly creature had passed through.
You wondered if you were a heavenly creature for abruptly ending the conversation in the great hall with your arrival. Each set of eyes was on you, on your dress, and on the gems embellished on the fabric.
Before letting your eyes wander, you grabbed a glass of wine from a passing servant and raised it to the air. “Please, enjoy the night.”
“My love,” Manjiro, as if euphoric to witness you, came tottering in your direction. “I have been waiting,” he whispered before pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. He smelled of strong liquor. Not Vonvello. Its pungent smell whipped at your nose. “What took you so long?”
“You are already inebriated,” you noted with a forced grin, “and the Solstice has only just begun.”
Manjiro laughed, as if what you said was worth such hilarity. “Ah, yes. I needed it. I hope you do not mind,” he whispered the last sentence, stroking your cheek with his hand. Until he leaned in for a kiss— from which you turned away. In his eyes, the man in the first gathering stared back at you.
Prepared to sit, you gritted, “Behave yourself—”
He seized hold of your wrist and muttered, “You do not turn away from me, Aven. I am the King.”
Through the ache piercing your heart, you peeked over his shoulders to see everyone watching the both of you. From the corner of the great hall, a familiar face stood espying: Amara Vencasto with an impassive face and a half-empty glass of wine.
Facing the roister with his back, none could hear nor see Manjiro. Thus, you took his face with your hands and said, still smiling, “You do not tell me what to do, Your Majesty.”
Before Manjiro could inflict more pain on you, you turned away and swiftly ambled to your seat. While he staggered to the center of the hall, surprisingly walking to where Amara was.
“Ran.” The Savant leaned his head closer to you as encouragement that you continued. “Was my House not invited? My parents are missing from the crowd.”
Lady Hestia would have been present. Given your circumstances, not even a snowstorm could deter her from traveling.
“Oh,” Ran said while combing the throng with his eyes, realizing that the House of Aven was nowhere in sight. “We invited every House, Your Majesty, including your own. Perhaps they are running late?”
You swilled a generous amount of wine down your throat, hoping that it would take a little of your pulse with it. Ran may be correct, but it did not sit well with you.
“How about these lavish banquets? Did we not agree that to show leniency, we must live in moderation during winter?” You and Manjiro had considered it even way before the Solstice arrived. He promised that grand feasts had no place in the winter. The resources that would have gone toward one opulent celebration would instead be given to the marginalized.
Ran looked sheepish for once. “Yes, we did, Your Majesty. However, the King had decided to alter his plans while Her Majesty was yet to regain consciousness.”
“It did not occur to him to wait so we could have discussed everything together?” was your wavering question. “And this dress. I love it, yes, but it wasn’t what I have picked up for myself to wear. It exudes far too much grandeur.”
“His Majesty… also have chosen the dress himself. I remember him saying that it would look perfect on you, Your Majesty,” Ran explained, harboring no doubt in his tone for his King’s decision.
You leaned on your seat to watch Elorus’ upper crust droned in the great hall. Each House refused to be surpassed by another in their pursuit of the King’s attention. They would act a fool, or dance foolishly if it meant Manjiro would spare them a little of his attention.
Fine silks, rubies, and diamonds pricked your eyes under the brightly lit chandelier, the light of which had been reflected and intensified by the mirror surrounding the great hall. Each individual desired to be a beacon of light, wallowing in their vanity.
All of this after Emma’s death. No one wore a veil or wrapped their arms in a dark fabric to express their grief. Including you.
Shame boiled you in its presence, like hot nails on your back. To see these people laugh alongside Manjiro as he frolicked and danced with Amara in the middle of the hall. As simple as that, you were tossed back into the night you had been wed. Only this time, seeing him dance with her hurt. Only this time, you cared.
Your gazes locked across the room as if there was a force holding them together. He smiled at you. One devilish smile before pushing Amara to his chest, his chin over her exposed shoulder.
You tipped your wine glass and drank. Had he forgotten that his actions speak more about him than they did about you? Was it a threat? Was it a message that he could very well go back to her after manipulating her feelings?
Fathoming out that you would not stomp on his kind of entertainment and be the hysteric wife he was molding you to be, Manjiro excused himself from Amara. Florid cheeks, hazy eyes, flushed lips, wobbling up to you.
Without speaking, he took your glass and swiveled to face the nobles. “I have an announcement to make,” he said in his casual voice. Among these people, he needn’t shout. Unlike you, who had to first sell your soul to the devil to get their attention.
You observed him closely, maintaining a clear mind to prepare for the blow of his announcement. As much as you hated to admit it and tried not to think about it, the fact that you were a rebel might slip out of his mouth. Anxiety made your heart race. You shifted in your seat uncomfortably.
"Eros Aven did not murder my brother," he screamed so loudly that the guards in the Third Palace could hear him.
And there were explosives all over the place. The burst of your heart, the murmur of the people, and the gasp of those who couldn’t form words to save their lives were all explosives.
‘But it was clear. He killed Prince Shinichiro.’
‘He schemed against the kingdom!’
‘That’s impossible! That bastard was a traitor!’
Your chair scraped the floor when you attempted to bolt on your feet and reprimand whoever slandered your brother. But Ran was quick to grab your wrist, pushing you back to your seat.
“Your Majesty, let the King finish,” he rasped, and the Savant’s eyes flashed with the violence you thought was more eerie than Rindou’s.
Albeit the gnawing desire to ignore him, you sat back and frustratedly snatched your wrist from his grip.
“It is true that Eros Aven did not kill Shinichiro. He was not the one who stopped my brother’s heartbeat with a bolt.” He walked languidly to circle the long table before you, behind him were frantic murmurs of people demanding the name of the real murderer. Manjiro Sano was an ominous presence when he stood beside you. Tipping your chin up, he challenged, “Why don’t you ask me who did it, my love? After all, it was you who suffered from Eros’ death the most.”
Not having your parents in the gathering ended up being a stroke of luck. It would destroy you knowing that this truth would ruin them. Because it had been so long since House Sano began punishing your family. As Manjiro Sano looked down at you, you realized that he wasn’t done yet.
“You did not have to do this,” you murmured, gulping.
His mouth slowly surmounted to the sides, brushing your lips with his thumb. He shifted to empty the remnants of your wine before marching away. “Because my wife won’t answer the question, allow me to show you instead. Everyone, to the courtyard!”
Befuddlement was etched on everyone’s faces as they jogged on Manjiro’s trail like children chasing a vendor of sweets in the Capital. Everyone, including Ran, Rindou, and even the contemptible Haruchiyo puttered towards the crowd.
You pushed the chair with the back of your knees, sustaining your elegance in spite of the grumbling fear in your stomach.
Each step you took closer to the crowd was like stepping on daggers. They murmured about the man kneeling in the middle of the courtyard under the snow curtain.
‘A blonde man,’ they whispered.
Swallowing down a sob, you shouldered your way through the rabble of people you’d rather see dead. You pushed your body through, biting back your cry when somebody elbowed your ribs.
Reaching the open air was a death blow. And if you could rewind time to remain sequestered and clueless in the mass of nobles, you would.
“He is the man who murdered my brother. Ken Ryuuguji, a nobody born in the North,” Manjiro divulged, extending his hand out to present Draken like a circus performer. “He led the Advari, the rebellion that had placed Elorus’ peace in grave threat. And tonight, we will finally witness his death.”
He was alone in the middle of the courtyard. And the people, who had little to no idea of the life he had lived screamed and cheered for his death. His clothes were in tatters, his hands had been tied behind him. He knelt on the cold ground, his head hanging low until he lifted it just to see you. Just to look at you.
The snow continued to fall. Its cold stealing away the air from your lungs. You had forgotten how to breathe. Had forgotten your place when you braved a step forward. Only to stop when you noticed archers poised to every corner of the courtyard, holding their arrows and bows.
“No…” You wagged your head, refusing to accept that Manjiro planned to assassinate Draken by a dozen arrows. That he would assassinate someone in such a brutal way. “Manjiro—”
“Archers! On my mark!” the King roared. “Nock!”
You choked helplessly, hearing the archers nocking their arrows swiftly like the wind. There was only you, Manjiro, and Draken in the whole courtyard. No one else mattered. Your destiny had been intertwined for this moment, forging one tragic scenery of a king, a queen, and a rebel.
Draken’s gaze never wavered, looking at you with tender solicitude. You wagged your head slowly: a silent plea.
“Draw!” Manjiro’s voice did not falter as he once again bellowed.
“Stop!” you screamed, filling your lungs with the cold air. Without looking, you extended your hand to the nearest archer standing paces away. “I’ll do it myself.”
‘You have my heart. And I will always wonder: Will I ever kiss you again?’
The bow and the arrow had never weighed so heavy on your hands as they did that one night. You had never considered the wooden texture to be as loathsome as though it was an enemy, because ever since forever, the bow and arrow had been your closest companion.
When you moved forward, you had shut your heart and mind. Leaving your humanity as you nocked an arrow, lifted the bow, letting the string kiss your cheek as you prepared to let it loose.
Draken gave a timid nod. A signal, an acceptance, and your heart shattered.
‘I deserve not to die in your hands, but it will be mercy.’
Warm tears cascaded when you close your eyes. Peeling the other one open to find your target: Draken’s chest. A quick death, straight to the heart: your mercy.
Draken, you are forgiven. You shuddered, freeing the arrow from the tight nock. It had flown, zinged past the air and snowfall, and found his heart.
His smile faded at once, replaced by that of gnashing teeth, as pain consumed his body and blood spilled from his mouth. Until his head lowered, followed by his body, painting the snow-covered earth crimson.
He’s dead. Draken is dead.
And you were empty. So empty that you failed to hear Manjiro making his way beside you.
“This time, I win,” he whispered in your ear while grinning, doing so much as to kiss your cheek contemptuously, your tears dampening his lips.
“Do you know why?” you breathlessly asked while Draken’s body was dragged away. “Because you look exactly like your father tonight.”
—
“Let me through.”
“Your Majesty, the King strictly forbidden anyone—”
“Let me through,” you restated, pinning the guard with a razor-edged stare until he swallowed and opened the door reluctantly. “Do not allow anyone inside,” you commanded before stepping into the chamber. Unfeeling. With only coldness wrapping your bones.
A coldness that thawed instantly at the sight before you.
Through the windows, the full moon peeked as you picked your skirts up and moved forward to the huge stone slab in the center. A huge stone slab where Draken’s lifeless body had been perched.
You staggered over to where a basin and a piece of cloth had been placed before approaching his immobile frame. Sniffling, you started cleaning his face. He was barely recognizable. A split lip, broken nose, swelling eye, and a missing ear. You braced yourself by the edge of the stone, swallowing down your sobs as much as you could before proceeding to clean him.
But for the first time in your life ever since your brother’s death, you had forgotten how to when your eyes fell downwards to see Draken’s missing fingers. All ten of them had been cut to the bone.
Before you had the chance to realize and restrain yourself, tears were pouring down your cheeks, endlessly merging in the center of your chin to leave wet blotches on the stone, on Draken’s arm, and on the ground.
You could barely breathe through the low keening that had made your mouth tremble like you were utterly and severely pained. Lamentation that you had never felt before wracked your body when you grabbed the arrow digging into his chest, whimpering as you pulled the sharp object off his heart.
They butchered him. You butchered him.
“Forgive… me… forgive me…” You hiccuped over and over, grabbing a fistful of his clothes as you placed your head on his chest. “Forgive me… Draken…”
You drawled out a cry, not knowing where else to put your grief. What else to do with it.
Draken, with his easy smile and heartfelt laugh. Draken, who had taught you how to love freely. Like a bird freed for the first time from its cage. And now, that same bird had been locked up again.
“Draken…” You dragged your face closer to his, once again whimpering, once again torn in two, before pressing a kiss on his forehead. “Forgive me…”
“He has to burn,” a voice echoed behind you. And suddenly, all the grief you harbored had been turned to fury.
You rolled back to the time when the mere intonation of Manjiro’s voice was enough to ruin your day.
“No,” you whispered, “he will be buried.”
He grabbed you by the arm, pinning you with a death glare. “He will burn. Say something again, and you’ll burn with him.”
Rage— it was the only thing that had kept you standing with enough strength to shove him away. “Do it, then! You do not scare me!”
Once again, he gripped you by the arms, looking at you with such frantic eyes. “Looking at you hurt, do you know that? It kills me to look at someone as despicable as you! A liar, manipulative, heartless woman like you!”
“I feel the same way,” you muttered gravelly. “I have always felt the same way.”
That seemed to knock some sense in him. He took a step back, mouth slightly agape, utter pain crossing his face. “Take the Queen to the Tower of Grief,” he said when he regained himself, his expression falling.
You knew it was coming. Tower of Grief had imprisoned many royals with crooked moralities before. It was their home before they were executed. And yes, your heart fell to your stomach, but you were too numb to care.
“Do not touch me,” you hissed before any of the guards could reach you, “I will walk there myself.”
It was almost foolish that there was no trace of shame on your countenance. It couldn’t be found anywhere in you. You pushed your chest out, straightened your back and shoulder, and began your promenade.
“Aven,” Manjiro said under his breath. You came to a halt when you heard him ask, “Did you ever love me?”
What is love in war?
“What do you think?” was your response before disappearing from his sight. Before disappearing from him completely.
For context, the Sanos own a beach house. It’s the same setting for each boy, but on different occasions.
18+ ⭒ MDNI ⭒ 1.4k words
starring ⭒ Manila Arc Mikey ⭒ AFAB Reader
tags ⭒ Smut ⭒ Reader is a bikini wearer ⭒ Whipped Mikey ⭒ Dirty talk ⭒ Public sex ⭒ He’s kinda rough ⭒ Standing doggy ⭒ Stand and carry
note ⭒ Entry #2 for @fueledbysano’s Sano Collab! Thank you for the warm reception of Shin’s version! ⭒ Just realizing now that I’m not posting in the right order of the lyrics ⭒ Robyn, it may not be a penthouse, but I think you get the gist :]
network ⭒ Meet me behind @tokyometronetwork
versions ⭒ Shinichiro’s ver.
𝚂𝚊𝚕𝚝 𝚊𝚒𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛
𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎
When Manjiro reaches the balcony entrance, he stares.
You stand out against the backdrop of the sea—he knows he’s biased, but he has no shame in admitting it: you’re more breathtaking than the view of the beach, even with just your back facing him. Your elbows rest on the railing; the ribbon of your bikini top adorns your back; your curves cascade downward to more curves, where supple skin peeks out of your tight bikini bottom.
He’s committed plenty of sins before. But he believes, at this moment, his biggest sin is choosing a nap over the opportunity to be in the presence of this.
His knees wobble with regret.
He saunters, and the harsh sound of rolling waves mutes his footsteps. You turn your head in surprise when a pair of arms lace around your stomach, a warm figure pressing against your back. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” his voice is soft and low.
You regard him from head to shoulder. He’s in his favorite black tank top; it matches his hair, which sways lightly from genial winds; it matches his eyes, which still carry remnants of sleep. You smile, and your arms fall over his own, unaware that every motion rattles his chest—your whole presence has this effect on him. “’Cause you’re a grump when you’re woken up.”
“I’m not,” he has the nerve to deny, and you almost retort when his lips crawl over the slope of your shoulder, blurring any comeback you had in mind. “Especially not when you’re wearing this.”
His lips trail up to your neck, then behind the shell of your ear. Your skin prickles in response, but you hold your ground, leaning only slightly against his body while your head remains turned in his direction. “Is that so? Maybe I’ll wear bikinis more often, then. That ought to keep you tamed.”
“I’d like that,” he admits almost too quickly, “maybe a little too much.” The words vibrate against your ear, raising more bumps on your skin. Under the breeze cooling your chest, your heart thumps.
You hum in return, “What do you mean by that?” though you’re just playing coy. You’re entertained by this, this mania he disguises under a mask of calm.
“I think you look good against this railing. That’s all I’m sayin’.” His kisses behind your ear are too enticing, too hard to ignore.
You inhale quietly, “And?”
His hand wanders, cupping your breast over slippery fabric. “And I know how to make you look even better.”
You saw it from a mile away: his other hand burrows between your thighs, rubbing over the cloth. Your own hand finds the railing, needing to clutch it as your thighs clench around his rotating fingers. “If I moan,” you exhale, “do you think someone will hear us?”
“Maybe,” his fingers slide under both pieces of your swimsuit, brushing over your erect nipple and pulsing clit. You burn even more. “Would you let ’em hear you? Would you let ’em know what I’m doing to you?”
Your breath falters, and you can no longer help it. “Yes,” you arch your bottom to meet his groin, where his bulge resides, “so fuck me all you want.”
Once you say it, he can’t be stopped.
Two fingers slide into your cunt and stretch you immediately. The whine you let out competes with the roaring waves, the squawking seagulls.
He pushes you over the railing with his other hand, and you feel him tug at the string holding your bikini top in place; it slackens from your chest, pointing to the floor, and he fondles your bare breasts while working into your swelling cunt. As you loosen around his fingers, he grinds his pelvis against your bottom, and you feel his hard-on pressing, setting you further from reason. Your moans come out as stuttered hums, as messy vowels.
“Spread for me,” he tells you, and you comply, parting your legs wider. You feel him leave your figure all at once—his hands and hips gone, only an air of his silhouette left. Then he tugs your lower bikini down, and he grabs your hips, sliding his cock into you without warning. Your view of the sea blurs, and your throat strains with every inch he buries into you. Amidst his groaning, he utters, “Tight. And so fucking pretty,” he lets out a breath of pleasure before he moves at a fair pace.
You inhale sharply, arching your back as you fold your arms on the railing, dipping your head in-between. He strokes your clit at a brisk pace, and you curse over the sensation you’re unsure how long your body can withstand. “Fuck, Manjiro,”
“I like that,” he grunts between his movements, and you wonder how he can still speak in this position, “go on, keep saying it. Tell me who you belong to.”
“Manjiro!” you cry as he shoves himself further, his tip meeting a point that flutters your stomach and weakens your knees. You feel the hard contact of his groin on your ass, the slap of his balls against your wet bottom. Then your mind blanks when he pulls out, leaving you stretched and pulsating eagerly, heaving breaths.
He gives you a mere second of rest before he turns you around, your softened figure facing his own. You take a look at his earnest face, then you look down to where his cock glides over your wet slit. You moan faintly and meet his eyes again; you can see, even in your teary vision, that they burn with the same intensity as his flushed skin. “You’re stunning.” He breathes out.
His words are accompanied by another teasing nudge of his cock. You breathe through your parted mouth, your back pressing against the railing for support. “Manjiro, my knees are giving out,” you tell him weakly.
He snickers arrogantly; he knows what you’re asking for, humored by the hint of your statement. “You just wanna get fucked deeper,”
You mentally applaud him for knowing better, flattered by how well he knows you. You submit when he lifts you by the underside of your thighs, buckles your legs around the small of his back, and allows a glimpse of his cock as it enters you again. He slides far into you, and you reward him with soft cries and the clench of your cunt, admiring the stress on his features with your cloudy vision.
There’s a pressure in being sandwiched between his cock and the railing, one that urges you to throw your arms around his neck and cling on for dear life. Your body jerks with his harsh thrusts, his tip brushing the very end of you, your mind tossing into the seemingly endless wave of pleasure. “Manjiro. Manjiro. Oh, fuck,”
“Hold on to me,” he pants. Your skin rubs against the hot metal behind you, and your body shakes as you dig your nails into his shoulders. You tug him close until your chests press, the orgasm threatening to spurt with every beating pulse. “Come all over me,” he urges.
With a cry, you reach the peak of your arousal, and his warm fluid flows into you with the last of his thrusts.
You pant together in that spot, his body giving in to exhaustion, but his arms still securing you. He leans on your body, his chin resting on your shoulder as you let relief wash over you like waves.
“Can you stand?” he asks, his chest beating hard against your own.
“Yes,” you answer, heaving back. “You can put me down.”
With his remaining strength, he pulls out, and your bare feet meet the wooden floor. His hands rest on either side of you while he lowers his head. You take a moment to fix yourself; you pull your bikini back on, tying your top loosely, then you help him wear his shorts, too. You push his hair back and cup his face, brushing your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. “I wanted to swim,” you sulk jokingly.
He looks at you, resembling a puppy when he says, “Are you saying you rather wouldn’t’ve had sex?”
You linger in silence for a moment. “Sex is all right, too,” you feign nonchalance, but you’re unable to help the smile that grows on your face.
“All right? You were just all over me,”
You laugh, then you take his arm and drag him into the house. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s rest and go for a swim.”
You’re not sure what first set Mikey off. He longs for things you can’t imagine. But this is new, this strange possessiveness, the way he grabs you by the wrist to tug you close when you go anywhere together, the squeeze of his fingers on your shoulder. It is made abundantly clear, to everyone, including you: You are his.
This occurs nowhere more so than in the vast space of his apartment, when you are alone together: When he can pin you up a wall, or bend you over his bed, tear your clothes from you and thrust home, and you push your hips up to meet him.
There are quieter times, in the pitch black of his room, blinds closed and lights off - times where he worships you. He’ll bury his face between your thighs for hours, licking and sucking at the source of you, until you have no choice but to come undone, crying out and shaking, left boneless in the void.
And then Mikey is on you, the weight of his cock hot against your belly, insistent as he drags it down, its heaviness spooling a thread of warmth through you as he drags it over your clit. He knows how to use every part of his body as a tool to accomplish any goal, and this is no different - Mikey has learned what makes you squirm, or cry, or call his name, and he uses it constantly to his advantage.
“So tight,” he mutters once, in the silence crowded by the heave of your combined breath, as he pushes into the clench of your cunt, stretching you open inch by aching inch, but all that means is he can feel every velvet twitch and ridged ripple of you around him. He’s clenching his teeth and panting by the time his hips are flush to your ass, his fingers pressing into your hip, a fist planted for support against the headboard.
“Just move already,” you choke out, and he utters a broken chuckle, letting go of the headboard to slide his hand down the front of your body, cupping your breast tightly.
And then he presses his wide hand down on the base of your stomach, just above the cluster of curls at your mound, “So full. Full of me” and together you groan as he feels the weight and shift of his cock inside you beneath his palm as he moves. “Want to fill you,” he grunts as he leans over you, the expanse of his shoulders looming in your periphery. He wants nothing more than to fill you to the brim with him until you’re dripping with it, saturated with him, claimed.
You clutch at Mikey, inside and out, and hold him close as he mutters filthy confessions in your ear. “Feel you overflow, angel, you’re so - ugh - so soft, so perfect, so-”
“Yours,” you gasp, unable to articulate much else, the impossible eclipsing slide of him into you is too much; “I’m yours.”
Mikey makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a snarl, and you feel his teeth on your neck before he picks up the pace. He takes your knees in his hands and pushes them up, until they’re nearly at your shoulders, and you’re curved up for him to take him so deep you swear you feel the head of his cock nudge up against the dimple of your cervix -
“Would you?” he’s mumbling, and he sounds almost delirious above the slap of skin, sweat and slick. “Would you let me fill you full of my kids, angel?”
You’re not sure what turns you on more - the words - or the desperate, dangerous edge to his voice. You come undone, your inner muscles rippling around his cock with a ruinous pattern of squeeze-and-release, and before he can warn you he’s burying a hand in your hair, gasping your name against your temple and coming, too. He thrusts deep once more and holds there. His cock jerks in erratic spasms inside you, pulsing as the thick, pearly-white ropes of his come fills you; overflows and drip down your ass as he pulls back.
Mikey gathers the mess on his fingers, pushes it back into you. “Keep me in there,” he growls, and you’re too fucked-out to do much else than grin, blissful and savage as you pull him close for a kiss.
He’s no less focused when he takes you off the bed - your face shoved into his cold apartment walls - before he fucks into you like a man seeking his salvation in your pussy itself.
Mikey’s arms encircle you, and you feel him spread his hand over your belly, the other teasing and tugging at a breast. “So beautiful,” he breathes in your ear. It makes the pit of your stomach ache.
“Jiro,” you say, “I would.”
He doesn’t understand what you mean at first - not until you reach down and press your palm over his hand, more firmly over your stomach.
He releases his breath in something like a sob, and his hips stutter, but his rhythm doesn’t suffer further. In fact, he seems to increase his pace, snapping his hips into your ass with greater determination.
“You’d look so beautiful,” he murmurs. “Round with my child - ah, fuck-”
Mikey is close again, you can tell, and you’re not far off either. His hand ventures lower, and you let it as his relentless fingers find the throbbing point of your clit.
He works you over in tandem with his thrusts, until you’re wobbly on your feet and shaking with the need to come, and you spur him on with a gasped: “Fill me - please, Jiro -” and then you’re both lost.
Him, to the release of tension that draws his balls up tight as he holds himself inside and lets go. Gasping and shuddering as the liquid heat of his come fills you. And you, to the toe-curling heat that snaps through you like a sandstorm, leaving your nerves raw and twitching in its wake.
“Did you mean it?” he asks a little later, while you’re in his bed, trying to sleep. Your head is pillowed on the muscle of his shoulder, and you turn your head to kiss his chest, smiling in the dark. You’re sticky between your legs, and intend to keep it that way.
“Of course.”
And you regret telling him, because he’s hard again.
But you’re okay with sacrificing at least an hour or so of sleep. At least.
reasons vol. 2 makes me really believe the duffers are just bad at writing characters
mike wheeler. now they have mike be super caring about will in s1 & s2 only in s3 to have be suddenly be kind of a dick. this would have made a lot of sense if mike was meant to be written as queer. but obviously he wasn’t. he was just a dick for zero reason at all. also fuck them for making mike say that he doesn’t think his life really started till he meet el. that’s so fucking stupid.
will byers- here’s the thing with will, they seem to not know what to do with him if he’s not being affected by the upside down. they just seem to make him sad but he loves his friends so he’s gonna support them! they don’t know wtf he would be like if he’s not sad and suffering so they just make him sad and suffer.
eddie munson- eddie was great character this season. like he fit right into the groups dynamic and him steve robin and nancy were a super fun group. but the duffers refuse to touch the main cast even if it would make sense for those characters to die. how did him dying help? how was that in anyway a good way to end his story? what they killed hik just because they couldn’t think of a way to clear his name? honestly wouldn’t be surprised!
steve harrington- they jsut don’t know wtf to do with steve if he doesn’t have a love interest. i thought part of steve’s develop would be realizing that he don’t need romantic love in his life all the time. that he can still be loved by his friends but no. once again the you need a love interest to be happy trope!
them making lucas, the one black person in the party, join basketball even if he’s showed zero interest in it before
them having robin’s, the one explicitly queer character, love interest be a side character that we get to know basically nothing about
nancy staring at steve and having multiple scenes where it looks like they might kiss and have her cheat on jonathan even though s3 made it seem like nancy and steve didn’t have feelings for each other anymore
germansingergirl
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
pixelskylines
jbbartram-illu
vaporwave
theartofmadeline
janainaart
jacobvanloon
