Hey.. I just had to drop by and let you know that you are an AMAZING writer. Srsly your talent is off the charts. I stumbled upon your account a few days ago nd I am utterly obsessed.
Now i have a teensy weensy favor to ask... Honey those angsty gojo stories have shattered my heart into a million pieces. just finished reading Table No 13 and I'M CRYING SO HARD IT FEELS LIKE MY EYES ARE BLEEDING ISTG 😭😭 so either pay for my therapy or do me a solid and write a cute, fluffy, happy gojo one shot. Pretty please with a cherry on top?
Sis I'm not kidding I'M LITERALLY DYING RIGHT NOW. SAVE ME!! I BEG OF YOU 🙏🏻🙏🏻😭
Thank you very muchhhh 🥺
I promise, as soon as I feel better, I will write part 2 of that fic and will give yall the happy ending you deserve! Don't worry!
I do have a funny Gojo One-shot... maybe try this one? The Wacky Widow's Woes
my tag tornado, but always up to you 😘 @unadulterated13 @mokonasenpaiposts @d3vilsadv0cate @lisa-pia @staubmotte @shintin @whereflowerswenttodie @shaytoru @minsooons @a4nnnnn @vespertinetales @hippie-melancolica @arguablyferal
They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.
Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gunplay, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.
Song Recommendation: Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?
Note: Sorry for the delayed update. Unexpected events in life took place. I hope with this smut chapter, I can earn your forgiveness.
Chapter Index - Next Chapter
The darkness suffocated you; unsettling dreams bled all over your mind and prevented you from finding rest. You only had your dreams to give you peace, but now they had vanished, leaving you unsure how to get them back.
All you saw when you closed your eyes was Knives.
You kept getting cut over and over and over, with a knife in his hand, and Vash shot his brother in the leg and outside, the wind sang, but its high-pitched and off-key melody made it difficult for you to ask it to stop. The blood on your skin drained the warmth from your veins, leaving you freezing. The floor beneath you seemed to engulf you as you lay on your back. You could taste the clotted blood in your mouth, throat, and heart.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Yet another delightful adventure in the land of perpetual misfortune.
With a sigh, you turned in bed, your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and when you blinked, you realized the leather couch in front of the windows was empty, with rumpled sheets tossed aside. Despite the house having millions of rooms, he chose to sleep on the couch. You weren't sure why he kept you in his room or why he preferred the sofa over another room. You didn't seek answers or dwell on it. Having him in the room brought comfort, but he was absent right now.
Once again, a sigh came out of your lips.
Being in Vash's presence was like a rollercoaster ride. He was so used to solitude that each day spent with him brought new revelations. These discoveries weren't entirely negative; in fact, most of what you learned about him was endearing and harmless.
Just last week, you stumbled upon him in his office, listening to vintage vinyl records. While you had seen his collection of records before, stacked high alongside old books and artwork, but seeing him simply sitting and listening to the music was a new experience altogether.
He didn't even notice your presence when you walked in that day. He sat completely motionless, staring at the wall, and you later realized he was listening to a Johnny Cash record. You discovered this when you peeked into his office hours after he had already left.
Your curiosity got the best of you as you couldn't help but wonder why Vash kept resetting the needle to listen to that one particular record. You were determined to find out which song it was, and it turned out to be a tune called "You're My Sunshine."
You had yet to share with him what you had witnessed that day, as you didn't want to disturb his comfort in his own space. However, some of you wanted to unravel his past, uncover both the good and bad aspects, and lay bare all the secrets so you could be done with it because you believed your imagination posed a greater threat than any of his hidden truths.
But you were not sure how to make that happen. He wasn't exactly known for his communication skills.
The previous night, you had feigned sleep as you watched him enter the room, cautiously lighting a small lampshade to avoid waking you up. He silently took a seat at the table, unloading his firearm and arranging the golden bullets on a cloth. He leaned over and cracked open the window slightly, hoping to dissipate the scent of gunpowder, but the bold wind had other plans. It audaciously swept in and playfully tousled his golden locks, eliciting a bittersweet smile from you that carried a tinge of pain. Yes, even smiling hurt. But witnessing him find solace was a rarity; now, you were fortunate enough to experience it twice.
With a revolver clutched in his gloved hand, he diligently used a bore snake to clean the barrel. You recognized the process because, when your father still had remnants of his humanity, he had taught you how to assist him in maintaining his firearm. However, you were only a child back then, unaware that cleaning the gun meant he had likely used it to take someone's life.
Men and their guns. They all use them for destruction, and the man before you had even used it to make you—
As the old memory resurfaced, a blend of anger and shameful emotions welled up, stinging the back of your eyes. You closed your eyes tightly, unwilling to witness Vash's sinful ritual any longer.
As you glanced around the dim room, your sleep-riddled eyes scanned from the couch to the shadows cast by the furniture. The filtered sunlight seeping through the covered windows faintly illuminated the space. Amidst the shadows, a phantom-like silhouette took shape that wasn't there, with light blond hair, chilling green eyes, and a mole beneath the right eye—a vicious ghost.
Your grandmother used to say that if you dwell on the thought of the devil long enough, he will appear at your doorstep.
The floorboards made a creaking sound to your right, seemingly originating from somewhere in the bedroom. Your head swiftly turned in that direction, and you took a sudden, sharp breath. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end like a frightened dog backed into a corner. You held your breath, being cautious not to make any noise in case the sound repeated. Silence enveloped the room, an eerie stillness. Your fingers tightly gripped the duvet on your lap as your heart raced faster.
There was an intruder in the room. But how? How the fuck did Knives manage to evade the guards again?
After another creak, a distinct footstep echoed through the room. You cautiously rose from the bed, but as you stood up, a wave of dizziness nearly caused you to fall. You managed to grab onto the side of the bed, trying to steady your spinning head.
You made your way over slowly, masking the nausea coursing through your body. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, breaths coming in quick succession. With measured steps, you pressed your back against the cold wall. Despite your attempts, a trembling breath managed to escape. Your chest heaved as you took rapid, shallow breaths while the echoing footsteps reverberated from an unfamiliar location.
You stood frozen, your back melding into the wall as if you were one with it, rendering you immobile and unable to hide. However, you refused to become a victim once more. Determined, you knew you had to find a sharp object. With urgency, you sprinted towards the wooden nightstand by the bed, frantically rummaging through the drawers in search of a knife, a gun, or any means of defense.
But you suddenly stopped.
One of the drawers contained a collection of origami made from napkins, which you had previously crafted. It struck you as odd that Vash had kept these seemingly insignificant origami pieces while discarding the plates he used to bring you donuts.
With hands trembling, you shut the drawer and turned your attention elsewhere in search of a weapon. However, in your state of unease, you accidentally collided head-on with something solid.
Something human.
Male.
You heard him sharply inhale, felt his hands stabilize your body, and sensed the blood draining from your face, leaving you weak and lightheaded.
"Vash," you exclaimed, struggling to catch your breath. You went through the familiar motions, just as you always did. Your heart skipped a beat, then raced uncontrollably, your breath became shallow, and your palms grew sweaty. No matter how many times you encountered him, he consistently evoked the same response from you: a mix of fear and excitement. You couldn't quite explain why it excited you.
Something had to be amiss with you. It wasn't ordinary for fiery warmth to surge through your veins in such conditions, leaving a tingle in its wake.
He refused to release his grip on you. You could hear the rapid, forceful thumping of his heart in the quiet space between you. He remained incredibly still and tense as if he were struggling to maintain control over his own body.
Your heart was giving out. "It was you—"
"What are you searching for?" he whispered, his words strained as if he struggled to breathe. His eyes, an unusual shade of blue, captured your attention even in the darkness—they were stunning, crystal clear, and had a penetrating quality that was somewhat unsettling. His hair was thick, a lustrous hue of gold, and his physique appeared slender and unassuming, yet his grip conveyed effortless strength.
"I thought someone was in the—" you trailed off, abruptly stopping your words. Vash stood before you, clad in nothing but a towel. A TOWEL! The embarrassment swept over you, and you wished you could simply disappear, perhaps even roll under the bed to avoid the awkwardness.
The voice you heard came from him. He had just stepped out of the shower, appearing as if he had hurriedly done so because of you. Water droplets cascaded from the tips of his hair onto his shoulder blades, trickling down towards his chest and well-defined abdominal muscles.
Vash maintained a deliberately neutral expression, his voice unaffected as he assured, "He won't return to this house again."
For a brief moment, it was hard to fathom that you were still standing there, gazing at Vash, who was wearing nothing but a towel. It wasn't easy to take the situation, or even yourself, seriously.
"You kept those origamis."
There it was. A flash of anger. In and out. Vash's eyes flickered with intensity, then settled. He shifted his gaze towards the wall, remaining silent for a moment. "Yes," he murmured, his voice calm and composed.
"I didn't intend to rummage through your belongings."
He said nothing.
"I was searching for something sharp to defend myself against the person hiding in the room." The words slipped effortlessly from your mouth. What surprised you even more was the need to vocalize them, to reassure Vash that you hadn't invaded his privacy.
"I couldn't care less if you get bored and snoop around my stuff," he stated dismissively, walking past you without making eye contact. "My mother used to craft origami. They reminded me of her." His voice was chillingly cold. You observed as he opened the drawer, clutching the towel around his waist with one hand, and crushed all the origami in his wet fist. " But she's dead now, so it holds no significance anymore." With that, he returned to the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet right before your astonished eyes.
You couldn't quite understand why you felt a pang of hurt, considering those napkin origamis held no particular significance to you. However, witnessing him collect and preserve them in the drawer beside his bed stirred something tender in your heart. Unfortunately, as always, you couldn't shut up and ended up ruining the moment.
However, you were now aware. This man would go to any lengths to eliminate anything that could be perceived as a weakness.
He emerged from the bathroom and proceeded towards his walk-in closet, disregarding your gaze. You continued to watch him as he dropped his towel, exposing his bare buttocks to your view. You gulped as a hot sensation enveloped you, and your eyes shamelessly roamed from his butt cheeks to the muscles of his thighs, finally settling on his calves.
Who did sculpt this man?
Vash had everything going for him in the looks department. He was hot as sin, with a stunning body and killer charm. You almost drool, but when he caught you stealing a glance, you hastily averted your gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the fantastic sheets.
Sheets? Seriously? Huh!
"You know, it's pretty rude to be snooping on people, love."
Embarrassment flooded your face, heating your cheeks, as you were caught in such a juvenile act. Suddenly, you felt utterly clueless about what to do with your hands. Your thoughts raced, overtaken by self-reproach. What the heck was wrong with you? The overwhelming urge to hide and disappear consumed you. You sprinted to the bathroom, securing the door with two locks. Leaning against the door, you slid down until you sat on the cool, black-tiled bathroom floor.
Stop grinning, stupid girl!
*
Another day in the never-ending circus of misery.
The gentle afternoon sunbeams lazily brushed against your cheeks, almost as if teasing you. Squinting your eyes, you peered out the window. It was chilly outside, yet the usual forecast of rain seemed absent for the day. The Gods above were like twisted demons, mocking you by making such a gloomy day appear this beautiful.
Ugh! Why—
No!
Wait a damn minute!
Vash stood in the yard, and you were aware of this because you could see him from behind the curtain. He wore a tailor-made shirt that hugged his figure, a black shade so deep that it nearly dazzled. His shoulders were embraced by a charcoal gray coat, fifty shades darker than coal, while his golden spiked hair contrasted the somber autumn surroundings. Black pants adorned his legs, accompanied by black leather gloves and matte black boots.
He appeared flawless, particularly amidst the grimness of the dirt and decay, encompassed by the dreariest hues this scenery could present. He stood as a striking figure, his eyes adorned in shades of deep blue and turquoise, casting a captivating silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun in a stunningly beguiling manner.
He could be glowing.
That could be a halo around his head.
This could be the world's way of making an example out of irony.
Vash possessed a beauty that surpassed even your most attractive ex-partner. He was far from being human; every aspect of him was extraordinary and unconventional.
He looked around, his eyes shielded by purple round sunglasses, and a gust of wind momentarily revealed the holster strapped to his right leg as his coat flapped open. He didn't even step into his own yard without his gun. The irony!
The men surrounding him appeared to be awaiting instructions, anticipating something, and you couldn't tear your eyes away. A strange thrill coursed through you, being in such proximity yet still distant. It felt like an advantage, being able to observe him unnoticed.
He was a strange, strange, unhinged man. You weren't sure if you could ever forget what he had done to you, the way he had made you feel, and the intense desire to bring harm upon him. The urge to despise him indefinitely lingered within you, but it was gradually weakening. He had abducted you, callously exposing you to danger, and vanished while his brother subjected you to repeated torment. Yet, he also took it upon himself to mend the shattered fragments afterward, carefully gathering and reassembling them—as janky as it was. You wanted to harbor hatred towards him but found yourself at a loss as to how to do so anymore.
You had no clue about who he truly was—actually, you never had much knowledge regarding how he spent his days unless he was in your company. Even now, you remained clueless about his purpose for being there.
He eventually uttered a few words to the men, and they nodded in swift agreement before running around. You retreated entirely behind the curtains, making sure to stay hidden. You positioned yourself at an angle, ensuring he wouldn't catch sight of you even if he happened to glance in your direction.
Vash removed his glasses and ran his hand across his face, briefly covering his eyes before his hand settled on his mouth as though he held something he couldn't bring himself to say.
Suddenly, he seemed tired. His eyes appeared somewhat … sorrowful, although you were convinced you were just reading him wrong. You observed him as he observed those around him, paying close attention to notice that his gaze lingered on the red Geranium flowers, fighting to survive in the harsh weather. You attempted to decipher Vash's expression as he stared at them, but he was always careful to keep himself completely neutral. He remained like a statue in the wind, doing nothing more than blinking.
A stray dog headed straight toward him. Suddenly, fear gripped you. You felt concerned for the poor creature, a weak little animal that had mistakenly wandered into the wrong place, searching for morsels of food to stave off hunger for a few more hours.
Your heart began racing in your chest, pumping blood too quickly and forcefully. A sense of impending doom washed over you, leaving you with an unexplainable feeling that something dreadful was on the horizon.
The black dog dashed straight into the back of Vash's legs as if it had impaired vision and couldn't see its path clearly. It panted heavily, its tongue hanging to the side, seemingly unsure how to retract it. The dog whined and whimpered slightly, leaving saliva all over Vash's impeccably fine pants. You held your breath, anxiously awaiting as the golden man turned around.
You half expected he might draw his gun and shoot the dog directly in the head, having witnessed him do such a thing to a person before. However, upon seeing the dog, Vash's countenance underwent a transformation. His flawless facade fractured, revealing cracks in his otherwise perfect demeanor. Surprise elevated his eyebrows and widened his eyes if only for a fleeting moment, providing you with ample opportunity to take note of it.
He looked around, his eyes shifting as they surveyed his surroundings before he gently scooped the animal into his arms. You felt a sudden desperation to witness his next actions, and your anxiety heightened, making it difficult to catch your breath.
You had witnessed the extent of Vash's capabilities when it came to harming another person. You had observed his callous heart, his emotionless eyes, and his complete indifference. His composed and collected demeanor remained unshaken even after he took a life without hesitation. Now, you could only speculate about what he might have in store for an innocent dog.
You felt an urgent need to witness it firsthand. You had to dispel the notion of him being a good person from your mind, and this was the perfect opportunity. It would serve as evidence that he was sick, corrupted, completely in the wrong, and would forever remain so.
You had to see what he was going to do to the helpless animal when a familiar voice called out from behind you, causing you to freeze in your tracks.
"Having an absolute blast, aren't we?" Bradd remarked sarcastically. "This room conveniently provides the ideal windows for our top-notch boss surveillance operations."
You quickly turned your head, giving him a sharp glare. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and shrugged nonchalantly upon noticing your reaction. He proceeded, "I knocked on the door multiple times. However, it seems you were so absorbed in your mission that you didn't notice, and I had to come in without an invitation."
Bradd moved until he stood beside you, and his presence tightened the knot forming in your stomach. T There was an ice-cold fortress shrouded around him, as palpable as the tension in his shoulders. It felt as though he was creating a distance between you, as if you were about to be sent off to war, and he believed he would never see you again.
On certain days, you resented him for assisting the twins, but deep down, you couldn't deny the truth that he was a good man. He had become your emotional support in recent months, and you had started to understand his character. He belonged to the category of men who prioritized only their own family, and anything beyond that circle? Held no significance to him.
At the moment, you were an outsider who had disrupted their usual order, akin to a parasite, just as he had described.
You turned your head, and your eyes widened at the sight of Vash crouching on the ground, using his hands to feed something to the dog. The trembling, bony body of the animal was nestled inside Vash's open coat, seeking warmth after enduring the cold for so long. The dog wagged its tail vigorously, briefly making eye contact with Vash before diving back into the cozy refuge of his coat. You heard Vash laugh, a sound you had rarely witnessed. It was a laughter that seemed to transform him into a completely different person, the kind of laugh that put stars in his eyes and dazzled his lips.
You realized you had never seen this side of him before. You had never glimpsed his teeth, so impeccably straight and white, an embodiment of perfection.
A flawless, flawless exterior for a man with a black, black heart.
It was almost inconceivable that the person you were staring at had blood on his hands. He looked soft and vulnerable—so human. His eyes squinted from his wide grin, and his rosy cheeks bore the marks of the chilly weather. Even his dimples were visible, adding to his overall charm.
He was undeniably the most breathtaking sight you had ever encountered. And yet, you wished you had never laid eyes on him, for something within your heart was tearing apart at the seams. You struggled to comprehend the image before you, as you desperately needed him to be wicked so you could revert to hating him. However, he defied your expectations. You didn't want to see Vash like this. It felt wrong, yet in some inexplicable way, it also felt right.
You believed that the revelations had ended, but you were mistaken once again. This realization left you pondering the extent of what remained unknown and how much more you would discover about Vash in the days and months ahead.
And it scared you.
Because the more you uncovered about him, you found fewer excuses to distance yourself from him. The image you once had of him was transforming right in front of your eyes, becoming something that terrified you in ways you never could've expected. Amid so much uncertainty, all you could think was that it wasn't the right time. It wasn't the right place. Not when there were still so many problems around.
If only your emotions could grasp the significance of perfect timing.
You released a sigh, frustrated with your own indecisiveness. Although you couldn't ignore your physical attraction towards him, you struggled to let go of your initial perception of his character. It wasn't easy for you to abruptly shift your perspective and view him as anything other than a manipulative monster. You required time to adapt to the idea of accepting Vash as a normal human.
"The dog," Bradd interrupted, returning you to the present. "Nicholas used to take care of that dog, but we hadn't seen her around for quite some time until a few days ago," Bradd explained. "Seems like Angelica has taken a liking to Vash as well." Bradd glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and you found yourself perplexed, trying to comprehend why he continued to smile at you even after he averted his gaze. Flustered and feeling strangely embarrassed, you scrambled to find something to say.
"Is there anything you need from me?" you inquired, keeping your gaze fixed on Vash as he affectionately rubbed the dog's head and chuckled, trying to avoid eye contact with Bradd.
"Hm?"
You shifted your attention to Bradd. "You're here. Did you come for small talk?"
"Oh," Bradd responded, scratching the back of his neck while sporting a smile. The creases forming at the corners of his lips and eyes revealed his age. You wondered whether he had a family and if they were aware of his association with mafia freaks.
"I came to see how you're doing and to let you know that Vash wants to meet you in the living room. If you need to change, I'll wait here to accompany you. I know you've likely become familiar with the layout of this house through your very successful attempts to flee, but I still want to ensure you don't wander into the wrong rooms," he said, winking.
You bit your tongue to refrain from responding with more sarcasm than his.
*
Vash couldn't hide his surprise when he walked into the living room. As you glanced up, you finished the remaining Vodka in your glass. "Apologies for once again getting into your alcohol," you said to him, and he blinked in response.
"You're feeling better."
You nodded over your shoulder. "I was thirsty, and the drinks were there while you ran late."
"Yes," he replied, speaking slowly and cautiously.
"So I had a few shots."
"I can tell," Vash remarked, remaining stationary near the stairs, his gaze fixed upon you. He didn't utter a word but slowly advanced into the living room, removing his coat and delicately placing it over an armchair. He retrieved a gun from his holster and another from his back, deliberately positioning them on the table beside your empty vodka glass.
"I want to hurt your brother, Vash Saverem," you blurted out abruptly. It startled you to realize how much you had transformed over the past few months. You felt like an entirely different person—more audacious, hardened, and, for the first time, willing to acknowledge your anger. It was a liberating experience.
"Are you—" he shook his head, then apologized, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
You looked up, feeling the weight of Vash's stare. He appeared captivated as if intrigued by your words. If he didn't fully grasp your meaning, you were prepared to express it differently. "I need revenge," you stated firmly, or that's what you thought.
He took a seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and intertwining his hands. A wide, amused grin spread across his face, radiating a genuine sincerity that struck you like thunder. Something pricked at your eyes and weakened your knees. "How do you plan to accomplish that, love?"
"I've got plans."
"Is that so?" He leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest, and couldn't help but maintain a constant smile.
"Yes," you replied, growing increasingly irritated. Vash didn't seem to be taking you seriously, likely attributing your seriousness to being drunk. While you were indeed drunk, you were also very, very serious.
Vash waited, observing your annoyed expression, and nodded once, signaling you to continue.
A familiar, intoxicating buzz settled in your stomach, amplified by the alcohol swirling within your empty belly. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead, and your mouth felt parched as if you had swallowed sand. "Your brother—"
"You can't even speak his name yet talk about revenge?"
You attempted to conceal your surprise, but now you found yourself uncertain why you hesitated to utter his name. Perhaps it was because you feared that he would suddenly materialize, much like summoning a devil by speaking his name.
You slid your empty glass towards Vash, indicating that you wanted him to refill it. Vash glanced at you, and what looked like concern was clouded in his pretty eyes.
"If you want me to mention his name, hand me the bottle," you declared, snatching the vodka bottle from his grasp before taking a large gulp. The taste made your face contort, reaffirming your belief that alcohol tasted like shit when it wasn't mixed with something. You'd die on that hill. However, you did appreciate the burning sensation as it traveled down your throat, spreading warmth throughout your body.
"Knives," you said the name, taking a deep breath. Remembering the adage that fear of a name only heightens fear of the thing itself, you decided to defy that fear. So fuck him and his name! "Are you content now?"
He let out a snort. "Do you honestly believe that you can simply stroll out of this room," Vash said to you, "knock on Knives' door and shoot him in the head?"
Yes. "No."
"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Vash said softly, and you glared at him. "My brother isn't here," Vash continued. "He's gone to deal with a business complication elsewhere."
"He's not here?" you questioned.
"No," Vash responded, his smile fading. "And that's precisely why I wanted to speak with you." He picked up a larger glass from the table and poured himself a whole serving of Bourbon, likely his preferred drink. He downed the bitter liquor in a single gulp, then refilled the glass. He pressed the glass against his lips with his gaze fixed on you. "I need you to be gone until he returns," he said, closing his eyes as he swallowed the entire contents of the glass.
"What?" Your heart picked up so quickly that you thought you might be experiencing a heart attack.
"You heard what I said."
"No," you declared, shaking your head. It's often said that you can't repeat the same mistake twice; for the second time, it becomes a choice rather than a mistake. Therefore, this was your decision.
"Bradd will help you. It's up to you whether you want to return to your father's house or forge a new path for yourself. If you opt for the latter, I'm ready to offer my support—"
"I JUST TOLD YOU I WANT TO GET MY REVENGE!"
"How?" Vash scrutinized you intently. "How do you plan to reach my twin? How will you confront him?"
"I already told you I have plans!" you exclaimed, clenching your fists. "But I require your help," you whispered, filled with both fear and a glimmer of hope. You caught Vash's gaze from across the table. "What if I exploit Knives' vulnerability?" you asked, raising your eyebrow slightly.
"That seems unlikely."
"Why do you think that?" you said, feeling desperate. "Even if there's the slightest chance—"
Vash sighed and ran his hand through his hair, disheveling his perfectly spiked hair. "He doesn't have any weaknesses. If there were any, I would have discovered them long ago. You wouldn't be making such statements if you knew him like I do. Hope will only break your heart all over again."
You dug your nails into the leather that you feared it might rip. However, you resisted the urge. You were well aware of the threats you had heard and your chosen path. "I am an outsider," you found yourself saying. "Maybe I can perceive things more clearly than you—"
"Love—"
"Dammit, Vash! I have to give it a shot. You have to understand—"
"This is not good for you," he avoided eye contact. "It's dangerous for you to believe anyone could harm Knives."
You stared at his resolute and unwavering profile while he focused on his hands. "In the worst-case scenario, I might end up dead. You have nothing to lose, so why won't you allow me to pursue it?" you whispered.
He rubbed his forehead. "I have numerous conflicts to deal with in the coming days," he said, his voice tense. "I have meetings to attend and negotiations with people even worse than my family." He took a deep breath, the air feeling constricted. A weighty silence hung between you. "I understand that you are now afraid of even your own shadow," he continued, his voice filled with concern. "You struggle to sleep, and I know my presence makes you uncomfortable. However, I can't leave you alone anymore. I've lost my trust in Knives. So, I'm granting you your freedom once again. But this time, I'll ensure you truly are leaving. I'm making this decision for your well-being."
"Oh." A pause. Was he sleeping on the uncomfortable couch because he was worried about you?
"Yes," he said—another pause.
"Or," you said to him, "I remain here, and you use me for whatever plan you have involving my father—"
"I don't have any plans regarding that," Vash replied melancholic.
"Fortunately for you, I have made plans, and in exchange, you will allow me to seek revenge against your brother, I mean Knives. I am prepared to face the consequences on my own."
Vash fought a smile but couldn't hold it back. He glanced downward, letting out a small laugh, before locking eyes with you. He shook his head.
"What's so funny?"
"My lovely girl."
"What?"
"I've been waiting for this moment for quite a while now."
"What do you mean?"
"You're finally ready," he remarked. "You're finally ready to fight back."
Shock surged through you. "Of course I am," you replied. In an instant, memories of the unbearable pain and the horrifying fear of being brutally attacked flooded your mind. You hadn't forgotten any of it, but you realized that if you wanted to find peace, you needed to momentarily set aside your animosity toward Vash. Because now that you were prepared to fight, you felt a sense of empowerment like never before. You marveled at how different you felt and how different you knew things could be. You had a lot of things to do, so many scores to settle, and a big revenge to exact.
Everything had changed. The child you once were had succumbed to her foolishness. It was your turn to engage in this game on your terms, and you were not afraid of cheating.
No matter what lay ahead, there was no going back for you now. There were no other choices. "I forge forward or die."
Vash burst into laughter, his expression bordering like he might cry.
"I will cause hurt to your brother," you declared, "and I will make sure he learns not to threaten me."
He was still smiling.
"I will."
"I know," he said.
"Then why are you laughing at me?" you asked, puzzled.
"I'm not," he said softly. "I'm just wondering," he said, "if you would like my assistance."
"What? You agree with—" You blinked rapidly, unable to believe what you just heard.
"There are three things you should know about me, love," he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. "First," he began, "I hate my brother more than you could comprehend." He cleared his throat. "Second, I am unapologetically self-centered and make decisions primarily based on my interests in nearly every situation. And third," he paused, looking down and chuckling softly, "I believe death would be a reward for despicable people like me or your father." He lifted his head. "I've always told you," Vash said, "that we would make an exceptional team. From the moment we met, I've been waiting for you to be ready to acknowledge your anger and strength. I've been waiting patiently all this time."
"That's why you wanted to use me to hurt my father?"
"Does that bother you?"
Your jaw dropped. "What? Of course, it bothers me! Wouldn't it bother you?"
"No," he said casually. "I would feel honored to have assisted."
Words eluded you. You couldn't tell if it was the influence of alcohol or a newfound courage that ignited within you, urging you to let your inner fire scorch others as well. "If that's the case," you declared, your gaze fixed on Vash's face, "then I want to bestow an honor upon you, Mr. Savrem."
He raised an eyebrow. "You want to use me?"
"Yep," you exclaimed, emphasizing the P. "We can hit two birds with one stone."
Vash took hold of his glass and reclined against the couch, looking at you as though he no longer recognized you. Good. When something is subjected to intense pressure, it becomes distorted. It forms sharp edges that can inflict deep wounds.
He lightly tapped his finger against the crystal, and the sound reverberated through the quiet living room. The crackling of the fireplace was the only other sound present.
Vash crossed one leg over the other. "Elaborate," he demanded.
"Do you—like, do you just like men?"
"Why? Are you trying to seduce me?" Vash asked in a relaxed manner, drawing your focus toward him as he sipped his Bourbon and peered at you over the rim of his glass.
His gaze was probing and studious, yet you offered no reaction. Your facial muscles remained steadfast as you replied, "That's what you desire, isn't it?"
A sly grin appeared on Vash's face, accentuated by the dim lighting and the flickering shadows, giving him a sinister look. However, you didn't even flinch in response. He no longer had the power to intimidate you. You had witnessed him kneeling before you.
"Is this a part of your grand plan?"
"Yes," you replied, contemplating how you wished you had a bigger mouth to accommodate more alcohol. It was essential to muster courage for what you were about to say.
"Nothing will hurt my dad more than seeing everyone talk about his beloved daughter fucking his enemy. And about your brother," you stated, taking a deep breath. You couldn't believe those words had come from your mouth. Your ears grew warm, but you had to press on because Vash didn't even flinch and needed him to take you seriously. "He has a vulnerability, and it's you," you continued, and he lowered his glass, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows furrowed. Encouraged, you pressed forward, "He cut me because he believed you cared for me, and I am growing in you." You let out a mocking laugh, "So, you are his weakness. He doesn't want to share his little brother, and I want to do the exact opposite."
"You didn't tell me anything about this detail."
"There was no reason for you to be aware of it then. However, now I want you to pretend that you have succumbed to my seduction. I know you are skilled at acting, so it shouldn't pose a challenge for you," you said, taking another swig and wincing at the burning.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't fuck you," he stated, finishing the remainder of his whiskey.
The words felt unpleasant on your tongue, but you forced them out anyway. "I don't want a relationship, and If you are interested in the buttholes—"
"For fuck's sake! I've been with women as well. So, let's put an end to this discussion about holes!"
"So, if you're not exclusively interested in men, what's holding you back?" you rushed out. He tilted his head, patiently waiting. "From fucking me," you stated plainly. "You didn't hold back before. What's preventing you now?"
He remained quiet for a moment. "Because I couldn't bear the guilt," he whispered, gazing at you contemplatively. "If it were to happen again, the outcome would be vastly different — you're already aware of that."
You folded your arms. "Would it, though?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "Do you think if I were to pin you against a wall, you would resist initially only to succumb to pleasure eventually? Or do you think you would fight as if your life depended on it, only to end up mentally checking out from the trauma?"
You swallowed, the truth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.
"I will never claim to be a good, kind, or even honorable man. There is little of that left in me, and the truth is, it was never truly there to start with. I was born with a blackened soul. However, there is a distinction between those who are needlessly evil and those who do wrong in the hopes of achieving something good. I'll leave it up to you to decide which category I fall into."
You realized you didn't need to think about it at all. Trauma had a tight hold on you, but all you wanted Vash to do was hold you tighter.
You downed the remaining Vodka in a single gulp, relishing in the burn as it traveled down your throat. The clock ticked, approaching eight PM. It was the perfect timing since the household staff would soon be present to serve dinner. Why not put on a performance for them? You were confident that at least one of them would discreetly inform Knives about everything.
Adrenaline got steadily released into your bloodstream, akin to injecting heroin into a vein. Rising to your feet, you approached Vash, causing his muscles to tense up as you parted his crossed legs and settled onto his lap. Almost subconsciously, his hand swiftly grasped your waist to hold you. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, it was clear that men were all the same. Their dicks dictated their every decision.
"You'll end up getting hurt," he cautioned, his voice taking on a deeper tone as the words slipped out quietly and deliberately.
" Maybe I need another pain to wash away the one I'm experiencing now," you stated, unreservedly running your hand between your legs, provocatively stroking his crotch through his pants, all while maintaining unwavering eye contact with him.
He took a deep breath. "You're toying with fire," he croaked, shifting his gaze from your face to your hand resting on his groin.
"Then let your flames consume me, Vash," you urged, intensifying the pressure of your hand against the fabric. "Imagine the retribution we will exact upon the men who ruined us."
He tightly shut his eyes, tilting his head back as his lips parted. You reached out and touched him once more, this time with gentle tenderness. You felt his thumb caressing your side. Good.
You wished for Knives to witness this moment, wanting to prove something to the deluded man who thought he owned you. The only person with the right to claim your body was the one you granted permission to. You would allow Vash's hands to explore every inch of your skin, followed by the touch of his mouth. You would let his tongue lick your pussy until you were sated, right before he fucked you until you no longer knew your name.
You would let him because you said he could.
Vash drew you closer, pressing his body against yours and pinning your breasts against his chest. Your breath faltered as you felt the warmth surround you, his arm encircling your waist tightly, firmly locking you in place.
You liked the way he felt pressed against you. The softness of your body molded against the hard ridges of his. It felt... pleasant. Satisfying.
"We can handle this, Vash. Approach it like a business," you whispered in his ear, sensing his breath leaving him and his heart pounding against your chest.
Vash locked eyes with you briefly, and as you leaned in to kiss him, he placed his forefinger on your lips. "No need for kisses. This is not about making love. It's strictly business," he asserted.
As you were about to part your lips to speak, you were interrupted by his soft lips gliding rhythmically against your neck, reminiscent of water swaying the rocks beneath a cliff. A moan rose from your throat, and you immediately grasped the back of his neck, urging him to press his head closer to your skin.
He emitted a low, primal growl, his self-control slipping away. His other hand entwined itself in your hair, adjusting the angle of your head to gain better access. He sank his teeth into your flesh, skillfully exploring with an unrestrained fervor.
You clung to him tightly, pressing further into him. Shuddering with the feel of his hard cock digging into your stomach, his size only fueling your desire. He wasn't small, and that was precisely what you craved tonight. Something that would silence Knives' voice with pleasure, leaving you breathless and thoroughly gratified.
His tongue wrestled with your collarbones, skillfully swiping and lapping while his teeth playfully nipped at them. Another moan slipped free, bouncing in the air until he matched it with his groan.
The grip on your hair tightened, tilting your head back, allowing his lips to roam freely along the sensitive area where your neck and shoulder met.
You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, a subtle warning before he sank them in. The sharp pleasure rolled your eyes to the back of your head, followed by a long moan.
"Fuck," he cursed, his tongue flicking against your neck as he emitted a primal groan. "That voice drives me wild."
You felt your eyelids flutter as you succumbed to the pleasure his tongue and teeth were drawing out of you. His hands ventured lower, and soon, you felt a firm tug on your jeans. The button popped open in seconds, accompanied by the low purr of your zipper being undone.
On a low growl, Vash inquired, "Is your pussy wet for me like before, love?" as he playfully nipped at your neck. It stung a little, causing you to wince in response to the slight pain. However, his tongue glided over the bite mark, soothing the sting.
"Yes," you whispered, pleasure overpowering the lingering pain. His hand smoothly slid down the front of your jeans and underwear, his fingers gradually moving lower until the tip of his middle finger teasingly dipped inside you.
A low, guttural growl arose from you as he realized how truthful you were being. "Fuck, love, that's it. If you want our plan to succeed, you need to be louder. Don't you want everyone to know we're fucking?"
Suddenly, two fingers delved inside you, skillfully curling to hit that sweet spot. Your vision blurred, and a scream of pleasure erupted from your lips, becoming your sole response. It was the only thing you could do at that moment.
With instinct, you tilted your hips, grinding against his hand. He withdrew his fingers partially before driving them back into you again. And again, until he fucked you with his fingers, leaving you with nothing to do but hold on tightly, your nails digging into his shirt.
You let out long, husky moans that emanated from your throat, obediently filling the space precisely as he had requested.
"You certainly know how to make a scene," he whispered into your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip. The heel of his palm pressed firmly against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. With his skilled fingers, he elevated your arousal, causing the orgasm to coil deep in your stomach. Then, he rubbed you just right, causing your knees to quake from the intense pleasure.
"Oh," you moaned, your breath coming in irregular, breathless gasps.
In a dark whisper, he asked, "Will you scream when you come on my hand, love?"
You thought you nodded, but you couldn't be sure, for in a matter of seconds, your head jerked backward as your climax escalated, building up to an intense peak.
"Let me hear it," he encouraged. His fingers glided out, only to plunge back in, this time with the addition of a third finger.
You bit your lip as you tumbled over the edge. A cry rushed out, the sound wavering in pitch as deep-seated pleasure engulfed you. Shamelessly, you pressed against his hand, surrendering to the relentless waves of ecstasy.
"So vindictive," he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. Breathless yet possessing a heightened hunger, he took out his hand and lightly brushed it against your lower lip, spreading your arousal. "You've made quite a mess on my hand, love. It would be rude not to clean it up."
While maintaining eye contact, your tongue darted out, the tip sliding across his finger. He smiled wickedly, prompting you to open your mouth wider. Soon, you tasted your own familiar flavor, but it didn't last long as he withdrew his fingers and licked the remainder himself. You never expected such a simple and primal act to make you ache for him even more than you already did.
His hot breath tickled against your face, causing a shiver to run down your spine. As you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but bite your lip when you felt his hands slip into your shirt.
"Vash," you said in a hushed, breathless voice. His warm breath caressed your neck as he leaned in closer. Gentle lips delicately grazed the edge of your ear. Like a cascading waterfall, a torrent of chills raced down your back.
"You're such a good, obedient girl," he remarked. The aroma of smoke mingled with hints of mint and wood enveloped you. The thought of him being delicious and the desire to have him in your mouth crossed your mind.
As if reading your mind, he reached up and placed his hand on the back of your head, his fingers entwining in your hair and drawing you impossibly closer. In a moment of impulse, you did something foolish. You drew his lower lip into your mouth, savoring the taste of him and the feel of his lips against yours. Suddenly aware of your behavior, you let go of his lip, attempting to pull away.
He was like a drug, and similar to the actual substance, he led you to make idiotic decisions.
He held onto you tightly, using his hand to press your forehead against his own forcefully. "I explicitly said no kissing. Right?" His grip on your hair was firm.
You nodded in response.
In return, his tongue traced your chin, descending towards your neck once more. You let out a soft, unintentional moan, and as soon as he noticed your body's response, he nibbled on your skin. He completely consumed you, sucking and licking your body in a way you'd never experienced.
He was leaving hickeys all over your skin, and you found yourself powerless to resist him, just as you were powerless to deny the pleasure that ran through your veins. Another low growl pinged through his mouth, serving as a mere indication of his following action.
He gripped your waist and lifted you. "You're such a good fucking girl," he praised, leaning against your chest before biting your breasts through your shirt and bra. He held you against the wall, his body pressing tightly against yours.
Gasping for air, your feet touched the ground as you struggled to hold up your head, desperately inhaling precious oxygen. He firmly held your cheeks with his large hand, growling against you.
You inserted your hands between your bodies, traveling towards his muscled stomach and firm chest. With force, you roughly pushed him away.
"Wait, please stop," you gasped, feeling a haze of confusion clouding your mind. The heat of the moment had left your pussy pulsating and your senses overwhelmed.
"What did I tell you?" he demanded with a sharp tone. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, captivating you in a hypnotic grip. It was difficult to avert your gaze when you felt like a helpless prey entrapped by the eyes of a predator.
"What?" you whispered, still feeling lightheaded.
"You're toying with fire," he reiterated slowly, his voice rough with gravel. Your mouth opened, but the words remained trapped, unable to get out.
His lips brushed against your cheek, tracing a path along your jawline. "Think about the prying eyes behind these walls. Let's stick to your original plan and provide them with something to gossip about," he concluded, punctuating his words with a sharp nip on your earlobe. Your body reacted, arching involuntarily as sweat drops formed on your skin. " I know you want me."
"No," you denied in a whisper. "You're wrong."
He raised his head, a smug smirk gracing his lips. "So, you're going to be a bad girl tonight? Lie to my face and act like your pussy isn't aching to be filled up with my cock?"
A flush of heat spread across your cheeks, a blend of anger and embarrassment. "Not everything revolves around physical attraction," you retorted after a moment. "Maybe my body wants you, but up here," you tapped your temple, "it's a different story."
He nodded slowly, studying your face with a pensive gaze. Stepping back, he left you feeling a sense of emptiness. It was akin to a dark veil encasing the sun on a scorching summer day—a sudden, chilling coldness that seeped into your bones.
He seized your hand and yanked you away from the wall. He twirled you around until you stood in front of one of the mirrors next to the fireplace. You watched him from the reflection as he pressed his body against yours, his warmth soaking into your very being. Your gaze fixated on the mirror, your eyes meeting and colliding through the glass.
He lowered himself gradually, bringing his mouth close to your ear, never breaking eye contact. "If you've had a change of heart, I won't push you into anything and will stop right now," he whispered in your ear, eliciting sparks throughout your nerve endings. His voice carried ominous promises and dangerous new beginnings.
You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. The word "No" teetered on the edge of your tongue, like a delicate ballerina dancing precariously at the tip, dangerously close to falling off and breaking her ankle. Because if you said no to this man, you'd spend the rest of your night—week—possibly longer, regretting it.
As he desired, a sense of recklessness and impulsiveness descended upon you. All you yearned for was to surrender yourself to him. You were dying to deny him, yet you had to fight your body from turning and pulling him into you.
Perhaps, just this once, to piss off Knives, you considered giving in.
You rolled your lip between your teeth, and he watched you closely, studying every gesture as if trying to interpret a cryptic language concealed within the contours of your body.
"So you think it'll work?" you inquired, your voice husky and uneven. His mouth remained close to your ear while his gaze remained fixed on yours.
He nodded slowly, his expression serious and his gaze penetrating. "Yes, love," he whispered. You closed your eyes, resignation taking over your body. You couldn't deny the truth to yourself anymore. Even if he doubted the plan's success, you still wanted him to have you tonight.
Noticing the shift, he trailed his hand over your stomach. You stiffened under his touch, feeling goosebumps rising on your skin. His fingers gripped your shirt, gradually lifting it up, parting the material at a painful pace.
"Does it hurt you when I touch your scars?"
Your eyes widened. The man, bearing his own soul's fractures, would never perceive your scars as repulsive.
"Just get it over with," you snapped, frustration emanating from his intentionally slow progression.
A malicious grin appeared on his lips, and even the mirror couldn't diminish the cruelty behind it. "Poor little thing," he jeered. "You miss having a man inside you? Were your fingers not enough to satisfy you? Have you fantasized about me while touching yourself?"
With just a glance, he possessed an uncanny ability to steal the air from your lungs. When his words accompanied that piercing gaze, it felt like you had no lungs at all.
Your shirt fell to the ground.
"What if your men come in?" you whispered, your voice barely breaking through the palpable tension in the air.
He grinned—a mischievous smile that conveyed his indifference if someone did. "What do you think they'd do?" he asked, his fingertips lightly brushing against your scars.
Goosebumps emerged, a tangible reaction from the electricity dancing across your skin wherever his touch landed.
"Do you think they'd watch?" he asked. "Do you think they would relish the sight of your naked body? Maybe they would get off on witnessing your dripping pussy or the rise and fall of your chest as you climax. I even think they would delight in watching your eyes roll back when my cock fills you so fully you can't fit any more of me inside you."
A shot of fear jolted through your heart, forcing the muscle into overdrive. Yet, despite this, your body still reacted more illicitly. Just like his words, you felt a renewed throbbing between your legs.
Would you be comfortable with a stranger observing? You doubted it. But there was something about the way he described the scenario that made you wonder if he would allow it to occur regardless.
"Are you comfortable with others seeing us undressed?" you challenged, breathless while staring at your shirt on the wooden floor.
Vash's fingers traced along your spine, moving slowly and purposefully. Their touch felt scorching, like searing lava against your flesh.
"No," he murmured into your ear. You observed him as his gaze descended, fixating on your chest. The band of your bra tightened, pressing uncomfortably against your skin before loosening. The black cups that held your breasts released, leaving you fully exposed. Your nipples were painfully erect.
When he caught sight of your hardened peaks, his tongue drifted across his lower lip as if he was salivating at the sight. "Do you want to know what I would do?" he questioned. "I would allow them to watch. I would let them watch me fuck you. They would watch as my cock fills every one of your holes and watch you cry with intense orgasms. And then, I'd fucking kill them. With my cock still wet from your cum, I would slice their throats for daring to lay their eyes upon us."
The fear within you constricted, forming a sharp tip that seemed capable of bursting the fragile balloon of sanity you clung to.
"You're insane," you gasped.
This time, he chuckled, his deep laughter sending a shiver straight to the apex of your thighs. "You were aware of this, and yet you asked for it," he murmured absentmindedly.
His focus pulled away, and his hands explored your stomach, delicately tracing the lines of your scars as if he found them captivating. Eventually, he cupped your breasts, his large hands making them appear smaller, barely contained within his grasp. He was a monster. Inside and out. Yet, despite all logic, you couldn't ignore the fact that other than your panties, your jeans had become wholly soaked, too. It seemed impossible for the body to experience both hatred and desire simultaneously.
He forcefully squeezed your breasts, causing you to scream out of pain.
"Be a good girl and scream louder," he ordered before relinquishing his hold on your breasts and moving his hands towards your jeans. You were swamped by confusion and a sense of dread. You knew this was all so terribly wrong. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to stop him as he hooked his thumbs on either side, pulling your jeans down. First, he assisted you in removing your shoes and effortlessly slipped the jeans off, setting you completely free.
You remained clad only in your wet black panties. Swallowing hard, your heart raced as you surveyed your reflection. Vash, on the other hand, remained fully clothed, his eyes examining every angle of your undressed form. He looked as if he couldn't decide, unsure where to begin.
You resisted the impulse to cover yourself. The act of hiding felt more humiliating than standing nearly bare before an attractive man.
"You need to undress as well," you insisted. There was no way you were going to be the only one left vulnerable and exposed.
Finally, he came out from behind you and stood directly before you. It felt more real when you were not looking at them through a glass mirror. Yet, you couldn't pretend that your pussy wasn't weeping for him and that you were not anticipating the feel of him inside of you. You weren't a victim this time, as you were the mastermind behind this ill-advised situation.
"If you want that, love, then you'll have to be the one to do it," he declared with a raised voice. He regarded you skeptically as if he doubted your willingness to undress him. And there was no doubt in your mind he understood the effect that look had on you. The jerk was well aware of your inability to resist a challenge.
You reciprocated the same level of respect he had shown you. Slowly and delicately, you undressed him, purposefully grazing your fingers against his skin, earning your own shivers and growls of impatience.
You took off his shirt and stared at his scarred and rugged skin. His scars still caused him pain, evident by his reaction when your fingertips brushed over them, causing him to tense and bare his teeth. It wasn't physical pain; these scars had already healed. Yet, they resembled icebergs—seemingly formidable and commanding on the outside, yet concealing something far more significant and menacing beneath the surface. They had the power to sink someone to the depths of their darkest desires, much like the Titanic. These scars wounded him deeply within, and you were genuinely curious about the stories behind each one.
In the areas without scars, there were tattoos. The most notable tattoo was a giant maze extending from his neck to his right arm. You didn't know, but he had a few small tattoos here and there, too.
"You didn't cover any of your scars with tattoos," you quietly observed, running your finger along the maze lines. The tattoos intentionally avoided the raised skin, as if deliberately respecting the scars.
"I don't hide from my failures," he asserted. However, his physical beauty extended beyond his failures. His body was filled with well-defined muscles, strong without being too bulky. His physique made it clear that he could kill you with his pinky without looking like he took steroids for breakfast. And if that alone didn't turn your knees to jelly, the thick veins roping from his neck, down his robust arms, and into his large hands were enough to unravel you.
He was… fucking phenomenal.
He observed you with great care, his eyes burning with intensity as you examined him. He was nearly vibrating beneath your slow perusal, so you moved on and resumed your torture. It took a total of zero seconds before he was bristling with the need to fuck you. You felt so much power in your fingertips, and you couldn't help but wonder how much more powerful you would be if he had a feeling for you.
With every inch of his skin revealed, you grew shakier and wetter. It seemed unjust for someone to possess such flawless allure despite the visible imperfections and scars. If anything, the evident signs of the hardships his body had endured only made him that much more edible.
You choked on air as you lowered his pants, his hard cock jutting out from the confines of his pants. So this was what accepting death via dick looked like.
Once he was completely undressed, you took a big step back and examined the reflection in the mirror. Your gaze fixated on his muscular thighs, firm and shapely buttocks, and sculpted back that had enticed you since that doomed morning. You couldn't help but fantasize about running your hands all over them. And then there was the most gorgeous cock you'd ever seen.
You wanted to run away. Far, far away. To put as much distance as possible between yourself and this man. It was clear to you that he would bring about your downfall after tonight. You could taste it on your tongue.
"Are you scared?" he asked in a low, dark voice. His gaze bore into you, his expression inscrutable.
"Yes," you responded honestly. His smile, almost breathtaking, nearly weakened your resolve. It felt unnatural how strikingly beautiful he was. Without a doubt, he was the embodiment of darkness. Now, more than ever, you were convinced he was the fucking devil.
"You ought to be," he warned, his voice tinged with menace. Without thinking, you took another step backward, but he made no move to impede your retreat.
"Get on your knees, love," he commanded in a sinister tone. You hesitated, uncertain whether to obey or search for the common sense you seemed to have misplaced somewhere along the way into this living room and make a swift escape.
"Don't test me," he growled, his face dropping into a stern expression. Lowering his jaw, he glared down at you with an intimidating gaze. The threat in his face frightened you, causing your juices to dampen your thighs.
You dropped to your knees with a jolt, the impact causing pain. It was exactly what you both desired. He tilted your head back forcefully, making you gaze up at him. His cock brushed against your cheek, serving as a forewarning of what lay ahead.
"You enjoy being a naughty girl, don't you? You like the thrill of testing me because you get off on the fear I instill in you. You're a silly little girl toying with danger," he taunted, his face contorted into a cruel snarl. Tears welled up in your eyes as he held your head firmly, burning just like the inferno of ire and lust in his eyes.
"Tell me, love, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"
"Better," you hissed, feeling the dormant resentment towards him resurface. Something very dark and dangerous shuttered over his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and instantly, you recoiled inward. It was a lie. You both knew it.
Good girls don't lie. That was the first thing you learned when you were put in a religious school as a child. The second lesson was not to trust the devil and his influence. However, they forgot to mention the crucial advice of not provoking him once you had fallen under his sway. Perhaps that was considered basic common fucking sense.
Your lip quivered as you scolded yourself for your foolishness. Feelings of bitterness and mistrust simmered just below the surface. You couldn't fathom why you entertained the idea of allowing Vash to dominate and have his way with you without putting up a fight.
"Open your fucking mouth, bad girl. Right now, or I'll make you gag on my cock," he demanded, his voice dripping with threat.
This time, you obeyed. The moment your lips separated, Vash forcefully thrust the tip into your mouth, pushing it deep down your throat. He hissed through his teeth, accompanied by another feral growl.
You whimpered and then gagged as he pushed his dick deeper. It felt like rigid steel wrapped in smooth fabric, but the sleekness did little to alleviate the pain. He was too thick and too long for your mouth.
Tears instantly flooded your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as he continued to penetrate you forcefully. As a reflex, you grasped onto his sturdy thighs, attempting to create some distance. However, he swiftly seized both of your hands, clasping them together in one of his while maintaining his grip on your head with the other. He held your bound hands high against his abdomen, giving the appearance of a woman kneeling in prayer, worshipping the very embodiment of evil.
"Suck it. Now," he growled.
You complied with his command, hoping he'd ease up. You sucked hard, creating a hollow in your cheeks while running your tongue smoothly over the prominent vein on the underside of his length.
"That's it, love," he exhaled, granting you a momentary respite. However, within seconds, he pulled you back towards him, taking control of your movements as he guided your head back and forth while you continued to suck him with your mouth.
He murmured words of encouragement and let out deep, pleasure-filled groans as he became increasingly assertive. Every syllable and moan that left his lips fueled your growing desperation to satisfy him.
"Let's see. Your high school sweetheart, Eren Yeager, he was better than me, huh?"
Your eyes widened in confusion, unsure of how Vash knew him and fearing this conversation's direction. "I highly doubt he was better than me. Who else?" he emphasized the last word by thrusting deeper into your throat, causing you to choke. After a few seconds of struggling, he relented. "Satoru Gojo, Cloud Strife, that boy Zuko..." he continued, listing off every man you had gone on a date with. Admittedly, the number wasn't significant, but it felt a lot considering the peril in which you had just placed their lives. He abruptly jerked your head back, granting you a brief moment to catch your breath as he uttered, "I will enjoy killing each and every one of them, love."
Before you could even form a response or take another gasp of air, he resumed choking you with his cock. Your vision began to blur at the edges as he thrust deeply into your throat. No matter how much you gagged and fought against him, he only became harder and more aroused.
"What if I cum in your mouth, and you swallow it to make your father proud?"
For a brief moment, you glared up at him, your hatred burning brighter than any trace of desire. He smiled, or rather revealed his teeth, as he noticed the anger reflected in your eyes.
"You want it, but you won't damn well receive it. You haven't earned that privilege just yet."
Without any warning, he forcefully yanked your head back, his cock popping free. He gripped your chin firmly, raising you until you were on your tiptoes.
"Vash, please," you whimpered, your vision hazy from tears and your chest constricted from the lack of air. Uncertain of what you were pleading for, whether it was your own life or the lives of the innocent men you had unknowingly condemned to death.
"That's such a good girl," he praised. "I love it when you're scared and begging."
Just as you believed you could finally inhale, he swiftly stole your breath again. His lips closed tightly against yours in a captivating kiss, electrifying your senses. Your nails dug into his chest, provoking a deep growl from him as he dominated your mouth with his own. He claimed he wouldn't kiss you, but the energy between you crackled and exploded, causing both of you to drink from each other fervently. The kiss ignited sparks of fire and filled your tongue with the mingling flavor of bitter whisky.
Poison had never tasted so good.
As your tongues battled for control, he firmly grasped your waist and yanked you upwards. Your legs naturally wrapped around his trim waist just as you felt the cool glass pressed against your back. The mirror's chill threatened to send shivers curling for epilogue through your body, but the heat radiating from his body against yours was scorching hot.
A sudden, piercing bite of pain on either side of your hips caused you to gasp into his mouth. With a quick, forceful pull, he tore your panties away from your body, leaving the shredded fabric caught somewhere between your bodies.
He withdrew and positioned the head of his cock at the entrance. "Spread your pussy for me, love," he commanded.
"No!" you shouted. "There's absolutely no way I'll let you fuck me without a condom!"
"Why bother? You already have an IUD, so clearly, my spawns won't have any chance of impregnating you," he retorted, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm.
"How the hell do you know that?" you exclaimed, swiftly hitting his chest.
"Milly."
So the nurse examined you, checking if Knives had raped you or not.
"I don't want your STDs!" you spat out angrily.
"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Vash demanded, his eyes ablaze with anger.
"A manwhore!" you said.
He pushed you closer to the mirror while glancing between you and his reflection. "I haven't been with anymore since Nick!"
"Oh, C'mon! You fucked a girl on your birthday!"
"I didn't," he said, then relaxed his hold, letting you free.
"But Bradd—"
"I helped that abused waitress to run away," he said quietly.
You tried to speak up and ask him to just fuck you, but the anger on his face silenced you. Just as he was about to move away, you halted him and obeyed his instructions.
You spread your legs and, grabbing his cock, guided it into your entrance. It was belittling when he knew you weren't supposed to want it. And as a consequence of offending him, he was going to make you show him how much you wanted him. By spreading your pussy and inviting him in.
Gods, you hated him.
His hands tightened on your hips painfully. You knew that you would wake up tomorrow with bruises shaped like handprints, and a part of you dreaded that. The imprints left on your skin would make it impossible to forget what happened.
"Do not ever label me as a manwhore," he warned just before he forcefully brought you down onto his awaiting dick.
"Ah!" you cried out, your hands poised to push him away from your chest. He was too much, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. Your eyes rounded into giant saucers as you whimpered in response to the extreme pressure.
You sensed his grith slipping through your fingers as he worked himself deeper. "Stop! It's too big," you gasped.
"Well, tough luck for you," he cooed mockingly, his tone husky and tight. "This is the consequence of being a naughty girl, isn't it?"
When you remained silent, he forcefully pulled you down on his dick harder, causing you to let out another pained whimper.
"Answer me," he barked.
"Yes!" you exclaimed, breathless, as you tightly shut your eyes in response to the invasion.
"Will you behave now?"
"Yes," you mewled desperately. The pain was morphing into something much more intense and breathtaking.
He slid out and then eased back in with a gentler but still angry motion. It felt as if your body was on the verge of exploding. This wasn't natural to be so goddamn full.
He withdrew until only the tip remained, and then he slammed his entire length inside of you. It went so deep that you felt it all the way up to your throat.
You cried out, your voice cracking under the swell of emotions welling up in your chest. It didn't feel right at all.
"Damn, love, I can barely fucking fit."
Perhaps that's why it felt as if he was ripping you apart. He began with deliberate and powerful movements, forcefully thrusting before pulling out at a painfully slow pace, only to slam back inside you once more.
You felt your body starting to yield, eagerly taking him in as he ravished you with each thrust. He widened his stance, using the mirror for support, causing your stomach to tighten in anticipation of the damage he was about to exert on your organs.
Shockwaves scattered throughout your nerve endings as he quickened his pace, roughly fucking you against the mirror while loud noises you never made in your life fell from your lips.
The pleasure was blinding, and the sight of him moving in and out between your fingers heightened the strong desire stirring in the pit of your stomach.
He let you down, swiftly turned you around, and wasted no time before thrusting back inside you. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against the mirror to find stability.
"Look at us in the mirror," he demanded roughly. It required significant effort, but you pried your eyes open and let them wander over the mirror. It was too much— watching him drive himself inside you so deeply.
Your eyes were partially closed, and your face displayed undeniable bliss. Then, you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and your gazes met. A torrent of emotions washed over you, causing your heart to sink, and you quickly averted your eyes. It was the most euphoric experience you ever had.
Your eyes met his again, and a sly smile spread across his face. He leaned in, his lips gently skating across the crook of your neck as he watched you slowly come apart at the seams, all the while maintaining a mischievous grin.
"Now, confess, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"
You nibbled on your lip and shook your head, resisting the temptation to roll your eyes in sheer exasperation.
He abruptly halted, causing an involuntary, embarrassing scream to leave your lips. He pushed your back down to readjust your positions, and the moment he hit that particular spot, your legs trembled uncontrollably.
"Oh my God," you moaned, unable to prevent your eyes from rolling back this time.
"That's right, love. I am your fucking God," he growled, and then you felt his teeth sinking into your neck.
Your stomach tightened as an orgasm built rapidly, threatening to overpower you. It felt as if a furious Poseidon resided within, conjuring a destructive tsunami that seemed poised to engulf you.
The mirror began to shudder from the force of his intense thrusts violently. It seemed as if it could shatter at any moment, yet you were unable to bring myself to care. Just as you were on the brink of reaching climax, he pulled completely out.
You whimpered, feeling the sudden emptiness almost as if it were painful. "What—"
He took a step back and gestured towards the floor. Your knees wobbled, your balance disrupted by the sharp pleasure throbbing between your thighs. "Get on your hands and knees," he instructed.
You didn't protest, primarily because the absence of the orgasm was distressing, and your legs could barely bear your weight any longer. Frustration welled up, evident in the tearful corners of your eyes, but you suppressed your snarky remark. You knew that he would only escalate your punishment further.
You expected him to enter you once more from behind, but instead, he swiftly slid his hands between your legs and gripped you from underneath your hips. He lifted you, causing your knees to lose contact with the ground, and you had to quickly catch yourself to prevent from falling face-first.
You felt his warm breath fanned across your pussy just moments before his teeth latched onto your sensitive clit. You yelped as pain and pleasure mingled. However, he wasted no time in lavishing attention on your throbbing bundle of nerves, skillfully using his mouth to suck while lapping at your dripping cunt.
He hummed, sending delightful vibrations resonating through your core. "You taste so fucking good," he murmured before teasingly flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit. You gazed up shamelessly, observing him feast on you from behind. You adjusted your head to obtain the best view of him on his knees, hungrily devouring your pussy as if he were famished.
The impending orgasm resurfaced, now even more imminent than before. You were unable to grind back into Vash's face like you desired, leaving you utterly defenseless against the relentless assault of his tongue.
"Vash, please," you begged, your eyes crying with pleasure.
"Do you want to come?" he asked; his voice was breathless and unsteady.
"Yes," you pleaded with a groan.
Vash pulled away, and in frustration, you screamed, pounding your fist against the floor. Overwhelmed by fury from being denied for the second time, you struggled against his grip, thrashing in defiance. He chuckled at your futile attempt.
"You motherfucking ass—"
He abruptly halted your outburst by seating himself inside you, causing his balls to smack against the sensitive nub. You choked on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. He seized your hair, forcefully pulling your head back, making you look directly into the mirror in front of you. From this angle, you could witness him vigorously fuck you.
"You want to cream all over my cock, love?"
You nodded your head frantically.
He responded with a smile. "Have you been a good girl?"
Once again, you nodded unsteadily.
"Then fucking say it," he urged, calling out your name.
As his gravelly voice pronounced your full name, you instinctively clenched around his cock.
"I'm a good girl," you breathed, too far gone to feel anything but blinding lust. He molded his body against your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. The hand in your hair slid down to wrap around your throat, exerting a firm grip, while his other hand splayed across your stomach. Your vision became hazy, and finally, the tsunami of orgasm crashed through you.
You emitted an ear-piercing scream that nearly rattled the mirror. Vash's name spilled from your lips in a frenzied chant as your entire world exploded into myriad fragments.
"Fuck! That's it, love. Your pussy is incredibly tight. Milk my cock," Vash managed to say through gritted teeth. He concluded with a growl, his hips trembling as he slammed into you for one last time, filling you with his cum until there was no room left inside of you. Your combined fluids trickled down your thighs as you lay on the floor, panting and breathless. Your body convulsed with aftershocks, even after the biggest orgasm you had ever experienced subsided.
You couldn't fucking breathe, let alone move or form coherent thoughts. None of it felt normal. Not a single bit.
Your breath hitched, and your teeth clenched from the feel of him sliding out of you.
Disregarding Vash's presence, you hurriedly scrambled to dress yourself.
As you approached your shoes, a muttered "shit" caught your attention from behind. Turning around, you found Vash staring at his phone, his face etched with a serious expression. He was dressed in nothing but his black boots and loosely fastened pants, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the well-defined V disappearing beneath the fabric. The glow from his phone emphasized the muscles flexing against his smooth skin, with scars and intricate black tattoos only enhancing his raw allure. The veins coursing through his hands and arms were visibly bulging, and if you weren't already leaning against the mirror, his overwhelming presence would have caused you to collapse. That masterpiece of jagged scars and rugged edges had ravished you completely, leaving you breathless.
You closed your eyes and leaned against the glass, seeking respite. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Vash's hand on the back of your neck, causing your eyes to snap open. You realized he was pulling you closer, resting your head against his chest and draping his shirt over your shoulders. Assuming that this would be the last time you permitted his touch, you allowed him to slip his hands beneath your knees and neck, hoisting you effortlessly into his arms.
Exhaustion had enveloped you so entirely that his words, "Let's bring you to our room," evaded your weary ears.
Girl PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE release the sequel for Table No. 13 cause I’m STILL feening and it’s almost been a year. I still think of the story from time to time. It’s had such a chokehold on me I need some closure I beg 😭😭 🙏🙏
hi...
i will do my best to write it.
also, i need to put it here that it's been a while since my real-life condition is a bit messed up. i am struggling with health issues. this is the reason i am not capable of updating any of my fics or answering my asks/messages.
i even have written the next chapter of my series (Gunpowder Dreams), but sadly, i have no energy (mentally and physically) to edit it.
I read the hickey on your neck and DAMN YOU DAMN YOU DAMN. YOU. buuut I loved it, it’s def well written💜 that goes for your other works too! I actually…..may or may not have a pitch for an alternative ending for it to make it less sad lol it may seem like a stretch and outlandish but are you up for me telling you abt it?
Hello 🥰
I'm DAMN glad you liked it 😂
My first decision for the end of this one-shot was Wolfwood finding Vash and returning him to Meryl and Milly... but at some point, my devil deceived me to make it as angsty as possible 💀
So, let me hear your alternative ending. I am always open to hearing your opinions and ideas.
I just wanted to say I love love LOVE your Gunpowder Dreams series! I think I've read what's available like three times now and I'm always looking forward to the next chapter 🥰🥰
Hiiii...
thank you very much. you put a big smile on my face before falling asleep. i'm glad you are enjoying it.
have this little detail: 3/4 of the next chapter is smut, and we all know this Vash knows how to stampede hard 😈
They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.
Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gunplay, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.
Song Recommendation: Tom Odell - Another Love
Note: This is one of my favorite chapters.
Chapter Index - Next Chapter
You were blind.
The heat was pouring into your being to the point of taking over your sight. All you felt was an intense, searing heat that flooded every part of you—your bones, your nerves, your skin, your very cells. It was as if everything was engulfed in flames.
At first, you thought it to be the familiar heat in your chest, the ache from the void where your heart once resided. However, you soon realized that this heat didn't hurt. It possessed a comforting quality—an extreme warmth, yet strangely soothing. Your body didn't want to reject it. There was no instinct in you to flinch away or protect itself from this sensation.
As the fire reached your lungs, you felt somebody lifted your body. You found yourself gasping for air, taking in tumultuous, rapid breaths as if your life depended on it. Each inhalation was deep and forceful, as if you were on the verge of bursting into tears.
You gulped down oxygen, consuming it voraciously, struggling to catch your breath and restore a sense of normalcy. Your body convulsed as it fought to regain stability. It felt as if your chest was torn and stitched together. Blinking, breathing, and attempting to focus, your vision remained hazy and indistinct, yet gradually improving. Life returned to your fingers and toes, and it coursed through your limbs. Now, you could hear the steady rhythm of your heartbeat once more.
Then, all at once, the heat vanished completely. The hands that held you disappeared. You crumbled onto a bed, and darkness enveloped everything.
A familiar voice spoke "Love," compelling you to open your eyes. There stood someone, their gaze sweeping across your entire being, examining you from head to toe to ensure you were still intact, arms and legs and everything in between. Their scrutiny ceased the moment your eyes met theirs. You stepped into the sea of blue in their eyes, dived right in, and drowned. It felt as if a fist had struck your lungs, robbing you of all your breath and oxygen in an instant.
"You're going to be okay."
The voice felt like a lifeline, one you yearned to grasp. You wanted to catch it, tie it around your waist, and have them pull you out from the stagnant world where you felt ensnared.
Although unfamiliar, their expression bore deep concern and sheer horror. You wished to reassure them, to alleviate their worries, assuring them that everything was alright, that you had come to terms with the situation, that you were prepared to face death.
However, you found yourself unable to utter a word. Only agonizing gasps escaped your lips while you questioned why your body refused to surrender. Suddenly, the person standing before you clasped your hand tightly and assured, "You will be alright. We're going to fix this— you're going to be fine. Take deep breaths,” he urged. "You're going to be perfect. Do you hear me? Love, can you hear me?"
You blinked repeatedly at him, captivated by his presence. Their eyes held your attention—such a striking hue of blue, truly fascinating.
They squeezed your hands tightly while someone else seized your arm and swiftly injected a sharp needle into your skin. Once again, warmth enveloped you, accompanied by weariness. You found yourself submerged in strange dreams and fragmented memories. It felt like you were swimming in quicksand, and the harder you tried to escape, the more quickly you were devoured.
*
The floor was full of scratch marks.
"Jesus, fuck," Livio muttered, stepping into your room behind Vash, their faces curling with disgust. Dead bodies couldn't bother Vash, but the sight of someone desperately fighting for survival would curdle even the strongest stomach.
Right away, he noticed dried blood stains on the wooden floor.
"Her blood," Livio affirmed, approaching cautiously, and he made sure to avoid stepping in the blood. "Do you think it happened right here on the floor?"
"I found her on there," Vash whispered, feeling his heart race while he scanned the surroundings.
"Definitely over an hour," Livio observed. "She's been enduring his cuts for at least an hour."
Vash half-listened to Livio's ramblings about his brother's mishaps while meticulously examining every corner of the room. "What else?" he muttered, his forehead creasing as he attempted to connect the dots. His attention fixated on the discarded hairbrush in the corner, struggling to make sense of the bewildering events that had unfolded.
"Judging by the marks on the wall, it seems Knives-sama has hit her too," Livio concluded.
Vash nodded, coming to the same conclusion. Anger welled up within him, tainting his mind with shades of red.
"What could have provoked him?" Livio asked. "Why would he intrude upon your household and coerce your men and do this?"
"Don't act like you're clueless, Livio," Vash grumbled, his hands trembling as vivid images of Kni cutting you raced through his mind. What if things had escalated further? Would Kni have subjected you to rape? In a surge of anger, Vash's fist crashed into the nearest wall, breaking through it. Like a malfunctioning machine, he repeated the motion, striking the wall again and again—third, fourth, fifth times. Livio intervened, seizing Vash's arm and using his momentum to pull him back. Vash stumbled, and the force nearly caused both of them to fall.
"Get a grip, Vash-sama!" Livio barked, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Vash growled and vigorously shook his head, reminiscent of a lion shaking off a blow to the head. His knuckles were scraped, and blood trickled down, staining the parquets.
"Smashing walls won't change anything," Livio muttered. "She could have been injured even more severely."
Vash ignored Livio's words. He was ready to storm into Kni's residence and beat the shit out of him, torture him in the worst imaginable ways, despite him retaliating worse. Fuck. The urge to sever any connection that tied him to his brother consumed him. He wanted Kni to regret ever sharing a womb with him, not for your sake, of course, but for his own. Every muscle in his body was taut with tension, locked firmly in place.
No. Fuck Livio. He wouldn't be grateful because Kni didn’t violate you like him. This shouldn’t have happened. Not when he assured you’d be safe under his watch.
"Review the footage from all the security cameras in the house and provide me with the names of every guard present that day," Vash snapped. He clenched his teeth, exerting immense willpower to prevent himself from screaming out of anger, pain, and frustration.
Livio perched on the edge of the stained bed as if the sight would haunt him. He retrieved the tablet and began examining the recorded footage.
Vash averted his gaze, feeling on the brink of losing control when he saw the bloodied blanket and mattress. To regain composure, he focused on decompressing, shutting his eyes and cracking his neck.
"Keep it together," he repeated to himself, chanting the words like a mantra. He witnessed so much fucked-up shit throughout his life, more than most could endure. However, Kni's sadistic torments were the worst thing he ever experienced. He felt utterly powerless. He thought about severing ties with this damned brother, willingly dousing everything in his path with gasoline and setting it ablaze, but it wouldn’t work. Being a part of this family was a curse he was born with.
Vash, remember what I've told you about reacting impulsively when you're angry?
Suddenly, echoes of Nick's voice haunted him. It made the temptation of unleashing destruction linger just within reach, just waiting to be set free. It felt as effortless as striking a match, igniting a tiny flame that could spark annihilation, but his dead lover wouldn’t want that. No.
"Vash-sama?" Livio's voice pierced through Nick's whispers, dissipating like tendrils of cigarette smoke. Speaking of which, he swiftly reached into his hoodie pocket, retrieved a cigarette from the pack, and lit it up.
Livio's mouth hung open, hesitant to utter words that he knew Vash didn't want to hear at that moment. "Don't lecture me about smoking because of what Nico would want," Vash interjected, his voice strained with rage.
Hearing his boss, Livio's mouth clicked shut. He nodded and showed Vash videos of Kni entering the house alongside Legato and his other dogs. The footage showed Kni kicking and threatening the loyal guards while bribing others to abandon their posts. Pathetic varmints. They would face the consequences of their actions.
"It's strange that Knives-sama didn't destroy the cameras," Livio murmured, speaking more to himself.
Vash was too consumed with inhaling a cigarette as if it was breathing life into him rather than taking it away. If he were to watch that video once more, he might be tempted to draw his gun and unload rounds into the tablet's screen until it crumbled into shards of plastic and metal. He didn't want to explain to Livio that this act was Kni's way of punishing him for becoming attached to a toy—meaning you—that he was supposed to tear apart.
He flicked his cigarette and crushed it under his boot, blowing out smoke while watching Livio skipping through several recordings. Just as he was about to kick away the discarded butt, he abruptly halted, his jaw clenching upon spotting one of your flipped nails. Inhaling deeply through his nose, black fire licked at his nerves.
His actions became automatic, operating on autopilot. He picked up the nail, swiftly tucking it into his pocket, and forced himself to redirect his attention back to the screen. He needed to learn the names of the guests whom he would be welcoming into his white-tiled torture chamber.
It wasn’t a dilemma that Vash always wanted to hurt his enemies, but not like this. Never like this. The urge to seize a knife and slit someone's throat from ear to ear had never gripped him like this until now.
*
A sharp gasp.
Horror jolted your eyelids open. Your body was soaked in cold sweat while your mind was submerged in relentless waves of agony. Your eyes focused on swirling black shapes that faded into the darkness. You had no clue how long you had been dozed off. You were unsure whether everything had been a nightmare or not.
You coughed a few times, followed by heavy breathing.
You recognized it all as yourself—your voice, your breath, and your heart racing. But where was your head? It felt burdened, weighing you down. Your eyes shut tightly, sticking together momentarily. You tried to dispel the haze, struggling to recollect, yet certain parts of you remained numb, including your teeth, toes, and the gaps between your ribs. Suddenly, a laugh escaped your lips, and you couldn't fathom why—
Knives.
Your eyes snapped open, and your skin erupted in a sudden chill sweat.
Oh-my-God!
You remembered. Knives had cut you.
You tried to sit up and couldn't. Felt so heavy, so heavy with blood and bone. Suddenly, a chill enveloped you, turning your skin into cold, clammy rubber that stuck to the sheets. The floodgates of emotions opened instantly, and a sudden desire to cry surged within you. Memories of your room, the cold, the struggle, and the confusion rushed back, engulfing your senses. Tears streamed down your face, silently, warming your cheeks, while your voice remained trapped in fear-stricken silence. Knives' threat echoed relentlessly in your mind, like a stray bullet ricocheting in an endless loop within your brain.
You tightly clenched your fists, seeking solace in the pain as a means to drive away those memories. Remembering was the last thing you desired. You didn't want to dwell on it, the thoughts of all the things Knives had stolen from you.
You shut your eyes, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a wave of tears. A sob worked its way out of your throat, and you pressed your lips together in an effort to hold it in.
Suddenly, another shock coursed through your senses, heightening your alertness. Panic cut through the mist, granting you a brief moment of clarity. With determination, you managed to prop yourself up on your elbows, despite your head spinning.
Sucking in a sharp, surprised breath, you suddenly became aware of the unsettling unfamiliarity of the room, and panic quickly gripped you, screaming that you hadn't woken up where you had passed out.
You seized the opportunity to survey your surroundings. You found yourself lying on a bed adorned with luxurious damask fabric in shades of gold and deep burgundy, reminiscent of the darkest blood. The floor was covered in a thick, opulent carpet like the color of a setting summer sun. The room exuded warmth and appeared considerably larger than the one you had been in before. Its furnishings were relatively standard: a bed, armoires, side tables, and a chandelier sparkling from the ceiling. However, what struck you was the abundance of doors within the room.
Your heart pounded as you slowly edged backward until your back met the headboard—the instinct to run away overtook you. Hastily, you tossed the blankets aside, but a searing pain tore through your stomach like the fury of hell unleashed. Glancing down, you discovered that your torso had been swathed in numerous layers of bandages, making movement nearly impossible.
The taste of death lingered in your mouth, causing you to shiver in place. You were disoriented, unsure of your location or the time.
You blinked, attempting to move, only to find your legs were stiff and unyielding. Foreign fingers grazed your shoulder, and you felt an urge to scream. You blinked once more and then again.
A girl's face appeared and disappeared, intermittently blurring in and out of focus. You turned your head, hoping for a clearer view, and continued to blink. She stood tall, with caramel brown hair and broad shoulders.
"It's okay," the girl said, a wide smile adorning her face. "It's all right—"
"Why am I here?" Panic surged through you, enveloping your thoughts. "Where am I?"
"Please, I won't harm you—"
"Then tell me, where am I? Who are you?" Your voice trembled, and you fought to maintain its stability. "Where's this hellhole—"
"This is Vash-sama's room," she exhaled, her look shifting toward the wall.
"What? Why?"
"He probably thought you'd be more comfortable here. I'm not sure," she replied, turning to face you. "Would you prefer to stay in your own room?"
"No."
You made a conscious effort to suppress the fear within you. Examining her face closely, you observed her patient and sincere demeanor. Her face appeared familiar. Was she the girl who had administered something to you the previous night? It must have been last night, right?
"How're you feeling?" she whispered.
"I'm fine," you responded to the blurry figure, though you suspected you were lying. "Who are you?"
"You don't recognize me?" she asked. Even though her image remained blurry, you could perceive the kindness in her voice. "It's me, Milly. I'm sort of a nurse here."
Oh, right. The nurse. The one Vash asked Livio to call.
"What happened?" you asked. "How long have I been out?"
She remained silent, leaving you to wonder if she had not heard your question. "Milly?" you called out, attempting to establish eye contact. "How long have I been asleep?"
"You had a fever," she explained. "Your body needed time—"
"How long?" Your voice dropped to a whisper.
"About three days."
Despite being aware that you would feel nauseous, you abruptly sat upright. Fortunately, Milly had anticipated your condition and promptly provided a bucket. Just in time, you emptied the meager contents of your stomach into it. Soon after, you found yourself dry-heaving into an oversized t-shirt that didn't belong to you.
Milly gently wiped a warm, damp cloth across your face, offering reassurance with soothing sounds. She assured you that everything would be alright, that you needed to rest, and since you were finally awake for a significant period, she encouraged you to eat something. She kindly assured you there was nothing to worry about, as she would take care of you.
"Do you need anything?" she asked, bringing you back to the present moment as you noticed Milly looking at you. "Are you feeling well enough to leave the bed?"
You couldn't find the words to respond to her inquiries as you glanced from one eye to the other and back again. Instead, a crippling wave of shame enveloped your soul, causing you to retreat into another version of yourself. You felt like a frightened little girl, yearning to fold herself away until she could no longer be found.
"I'm so sorry for all the trouble," you found yourself repeating incessantly, unable to halt the torrent of words. It felt as if a button in your brain had malfunctioned, as if you were afflicted with a disease that compelled you to apologize for everything—your mere existence, your desires for more than what life had bestowed upon you.
"There's no need to apologize," she reassured you. "This is my job."
You mustered the courage to meet her, and her eyes appeared tender to your surprise. They were gentle, green, and slightly squinted from her smiling. She sat on the right side of your bed and adjusted a screw on the end of the serum connected to your hand. As she removed the syringe that you had only just noticed was attached to your arm, you winced, and she gently patted your bare arm, her expression filled with concern and sadness. However, you had little time to dwell on it as your attention shifted. You just noticed that the room was filled with a sweet fragrance, reminiscent of the first time you had entered this house.
"Thank you," you whispered, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. You pondered your struggle with expressing yourself freely, both in words and emotions. You marveled at your inability to engage in effortless small talk, converse smoothly, or fill awkward pauses with empty words. You didn't possess a repertoire of "umms" and ellipses to insert at the beginnings and ends of sentences. You didn't know how to be a verb, an adverb, or any kind of modifier. Through and through, you were simply a noun.
Milly smiled and replied, "I'm glad I could help. Remember, I'm always here if you need someone to talk to."
She provided easily digestible food such as soup and ensured you ate it all. Like a nurturing mother tending to her young child, she administered your pills and left you in peace to rest.
But as time went by, your anxiety heightened with each passing minute. No one had come to see you, yet an unsettling sensation lingered in the depths of your mind. It felt as if something heavy was pressing on the back of your brain.
The tension became so intense that you feared your brain stem would snap under its weight. Something dreadful had already occurred, and its impending doom loomed over you. However, you had an intuitive feeling that something even worse was on the horizon. You could sense it.
But not this time.
You hastily removed the bandages and gazed at your wounds, yet it provided no comfort as your sense of dignity had been shattered. You could perceive the violation of your spirit as if observing it from outside your own body—an experience detached from your control, helpless to prevent it from happening.
With desperation, you tried to redirect your thoughts towards anything else—your sister—the train derailed every time, kept veering back to your room. The memory of Knives persisted like a ghost haunting the corridors of your mind, and it simply dissipated whenever you tried to grasp onto it.
Frustration welled up within you, prompting you to shut your eyes tightly. You should've shut your mouth in Knives' presence. Yeah, that's what you should've done.
The tears were fresh and falling fast, traveling quietly down your cheeks and into your open, gasping mouth. Your shoulders trembled uncontrollably, your fists clenched tightly, and cramps seized your body. Your knees shook and knocked together.
You had to let it go. You had to let it go. You had to let it go. You had to.
You tried to breathe, taking in sharp, laborious breaths.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
…
C'mon girl.
You had encountered similar situations in the past. You had experienced even greater loneliness, deeper despair, and more intense desperation. You had been in here before, yet you survived. You knew you could overcome this. However, you had never felt completely stripped of love, potential, friendships, and prospects. Everything had vanished. Now, you had to begin anew, facing the world again in solitude. The time had come to make a final decision: surrender or persevere.
You tossed the blankets aside and paused to steady yourself, feeling the weight of the thick, plush carpet beneath your bare feet. Your mind was in turmoil, thoughts knocking into one another. You tightened your fists, suppressing the urge to scream, as you concealed your crushed dreams and burning thirst for revenge within your heart.
You chastised yourself, feeling humiliated. How stupid you were to believe that you could slip into the role of an innocent girl trapped in the mafia games and live out the stupid hero narratives you had read in countless books.
You.
You being a hero.
The mere thought of it was enough to fill you with mortification. You felt embarrassed that you had entertained the notion of changing your circumstances. That you looked at yourself in the mirror and believed you deserved a better ending.
How misguided those hopes were.
How sad.
You consistently saw yourself as the one who escapes and discovers a fairy to make her into a happy girl with a promising future. You held onto a glimmer of hope, grasping onto possibilities and maybes. However, you should have heeded your father's words when he told you that dreams were forbidden for people in your family.
You were starting to believe he was correct. You were beginning to question whether you should simply bury yourself in the ground before remembering the fact that, technically, you were already there. You didn't even require a shovel.
Stupid, stupid girl!
It felt peculiar. The emptiness within you was profound, as if echoes resided in the depths. You resembled the chocolate rabbits they sell during Easter—a sugary shell concealing a void within, a world of nothingness.
You were like that.
You encapsulated a world of nothing.
A sudden chill enveloped you, sensing tremors in your hands, or perhaps it was your bones. Maybe your bones were shaking.
You made an effort to move methodically, so slowly, as if time had slowed down and your mind was still fuzzy.
The room lay in darkness. Moonlight seeped through the balcony doors, casting shadows that transformed the wooden furniture into monstrous figures. You weren't afraid of them. Amidst it all, the true monster in the house was Knives.
Now that you were standing, you needed to revise your initial impression. Vash's room wasn't just spacious; it was gigantic. It made your room at your father's house appear absurdly small. Being alone gave you the freedom to explore around.
There was an office, a generously sized bathroom, a well-stocked walk-in closet, two large windows overlooking the night, a bookshelf, and a table near a dark brown couch adorned with various gun maintenance items like brushes and cloths and countless other details.
There were no picture frames. None from his mother. None from his brother. Not even from his Nick.
You spent an immeasurable amount of time surveying your surroundings. Whenever your focus shifted to the wooden floor, you couldn't help but imagine yourself lying on the ground with Knives standing triumphantly over you. It had been a while since you felt haunted like this.
That's why you adverted your attention to a particular area that intrigued you the most—a staircase that seemed to lead to an ominous destination, quite possibly hell.
You descended the stairs and stared at the sight before you: a room entirely dedicated to an extensive collection of alcohol. Your knowledge of alcohol brands was limited. Throughout your life, you primarily indulged in tasting cocktails and mocktails. But damn!
Indeed, you had seen your father's treasured bottles in the dimly lit winery. However, your fascination was undiminished when you laid eyes on the numerous bottles meticulously arranged on the wooden shelves that adorned the dark, paneled walls of the room. Apart from two large, brown leather chairs and a glossy coffee table, the space remained devoid of furniture. A transparent jug brimming with a golden-hued liquid, likely whiskey, rested on the coffee table. Adjacent to it sat a half-filled drinking glass, evidently abandoned by its owner—likely Vash.
Don't think about him.
Everything here was dark, carrying a somber and aged scent of wood and mustiness. As you extended your hand, your fingers trailed along the wooden panels, and you started to count. Among the four walls, three were entirely devoted to showcasing an assortment of ancient bottles, with the majority containing a captivating amber liquid. Only a few bottles held a clear liquid within their glass confines.
You took a step closer to inspect the labels. The transparent bottles contained Vodka, while the bottles filled with the captivating yellowish liquid had various names. A significant portion of them were labeled as Scotch. There were also seven bottles of Tequila. However, the majority of Vash's collection in this room consisted of Bourbon. Surprisingly, there were no beers on the shelves. The only wall that held items besides alcohol stacked several boxes of cigars and more of those intricately designed short drinking glasses.
As you reached out, you grabbed a solitary "Bride" wine bottle and nearly fumbled it. It turned out to be much heavier than it appeared. Ops!
Curiosity got the better of you as you pondered Vash's intentions behind creating this room. It seemed like an unusual notion to allocate an entire basement solely for showcasing alcohol bottles. Why not house them in a winery where they would seem more fitting?
Taking a seat in one of the chairs, you glanced upwards, captivated by the dull lighting from the ceiling. It was difficult to explain why you were drawn to this basement. However, you knew you could feel a proper sense of solitude. Cut off from the clamor and chaos of the outside world, you realized you were at peace. Here, surrounded by the bottles, you felt a soothing isolation that allowed you to unwind. For the first time in a while, you felt a deep relaxation wash over you. You felt yourself retreating, withdrawing as if running away from the dark corners of your mind.
There was a unique sense of freedom in surrendering. Being angry and being alone brought a feeling of liberation. But what was strange was that within Vash's hideout, you finally grasped an understanding of him. You realized how he managed to live the way he did. He purposely avoided feeling and getting hurt, kept emotions at bay, and didn't let them in his life. He had no obligations to anyone except himself, and that liberated him. It was his selfishness that set him free.
You reached out and removed the cork from the deep red liquid bottle. You stared at the glass, which seemed to stare back at you. After a moment's hesitation, you decided to take a sip.
You raised it to your lips. One gulp and you almost spitted it out, coughing violently as it burned your throat. It tasted like a combination of death, fire, oil, and smoke.
Determined, you managed to gulp another mouthful of the repulsive drink before promptly setting it aside. Your eyes welled up with tears as the alcohol worked its way through you. The minutes began to slip away as your eyelids fluttered open and closed, embracing the peaceful silence. You ran a finger along your lips, and surprisingly, the unpleasant taste of the drink didn't seem so terrible anymore. Gradually, a delightful warmth blossomed within you, sending gentle pulses of heat coursing through your veins.
Oh, you thought.
Oh.
A faint smile tugged at your lips, even though it felt slightly askew. Yet, you didn't mind the crookedness, not at all, especially as your throat began to tingle with numbness.
As you savored the taste, you reached for the weighty bottle once more and took another substantial swig of the fiery liquid. Surprisingly, you no longer dreaded the taste. It was oddly enjoyable to surrender to this oblivion, letting your mind be filled with wisps of clouds, breezes, and, ultimately, numbness.
As you rose to your feet, you sensed a looseness and a slight clumsiness in your movements. However, it was pleasant, accompanied by a warm and enjoyable feeling. Embracing this state, you found yourself ascending the stairs with a newfound ease.
It was too hot up in here. Maybe you should remove your clothes to alleviate the heat, and within moments, you found yourself standing in nothing but your undies.
You couldn't stop giggling as you aimlessly wandered around Vash's room, almost completely undressed. It was an unchaining experience, making you feel more unrestricted than you had in a long time.
Eventually, you plopped down onto the big leather couch and swiftly drank the remaining contents of the bottle in a few gulps.
Time seemed to blur as if spanning years, centuries, or even lifetimes. Faintly, you registered the sound of a door opening, but you couldn’t care less.
Your current position on the couch was sideways, with your legs draped over the armrest, reclining as you observed the spinning chandelier above.
Was it spinning before?
Suddenly, your moment of tranquility was abruptly disrupted. The familiar voice you vaguely recognized filled the room, and you chose not to budge. Instead, you merely squinted and turned your head toward the sounds without shifting your body.
"Shit! Boss—" Livio burst into the room, but his movement came to an abrupt halt as he locked eyes with you. Suddenly, a hazy recollection reminded you that you were lying here in your underwear, your wounds exposed.
A part of you would have preferred not to be seen like this by Livio, but another part lacked the motivation to act. You wanted to prove something to the twisted Saverem family, who believed they owned you. You wanted to demonstrate that they had no power over you.
Livio's face filled with deep concern. "Oh, no—" he uttered, clearly worried.
Only then did you realize that Livio wasn't the only one present. Standing before you were Livio and Vash.
Mr. Saverem was dressed in a gray hoodie and trousers, with his hair flowing freely. No spikes? How funny!
The two stared at you, their expressions filled with horror and disapproval as if you had made a horrible mistake. Did that bottle of wine hold such immense value? Not nearly as much as your sense of self-worth, and that realization ignited a flame of anger within you.
"What?" you said, annoyed. "Go away."
"What have you done!" Vash exclaimed as he leaned over you, causing you to struggle to focus. Your vision became blurry, making it difficult to see clearly. You blinked repeatedly, attempting to stabilize your sight, until finally, you were able to focus your gaze on him, taking in his face.
He looked like you remembered him, with his golden hair, flawless skin, and eyes shining too brightly despite their faded sapphire color. It was a face that shouldn't be desired. It held a destiny of trouble, danger, and the need to overcompensate for its stolen innocence. It was excessive and overpowering in its appearance.
He embodied the archetype of a boy solely raised to become a man. His lips rarely curved into a smile, and his forehead remained smooth, devoid of any signs of distress. He had been ingrained with the lesson of concealing his emotions, shielding his thoughts from the world, and placing trust in no one and nothing. He had been taught to seize what he desired using any means necessary.
But you observed a notable transformation in him, noticing the evident change. He was no longer attempting to conceal his emotions from you.
He looked so sad, and he seemed on the verge of speaking. However, Livio interjected, saying, "Vash-sama, I think she drank the entire bottle of Nico's wine. Given her weight?" Livio muttered a curse under his breath. "That amount of wine would destroy me."
Vash shut his eyes. "Livio," he said quietly. "Turn on the shower and then leave."
"On it."
The man headed towards the bathroom, and you faintly heard the faucet being turned on. Shortly after, the door to Vash's room closed.
Vash reached out for your hand, and a part of you struggled to recall that you were angry with him, that you didn't like him anymore, and that you no longer wished to see or speak to him.
A black hole churned in your chest, consuming any remnants of goodness within you. You glared at him, the fire in your eyes burning even more fiercely than before.
"WHY?" you exclaimed, your voice trembling, high-pitched, and filled with brokenness. It felt as if the wounds in your mind were ripping open, and your eyes fixated on a spot just a few feet away on the carpet. Uncertainty plagued your thoughts, questioning your torment, yet you were compelled to hear him speak the words.
"Why?" you repeated. It was a simple and seemingly foolish question. "Why did Knives decide to harm me to teach you a lesson?" you asked. Your breathing ceased, and you barely spoke, merely forming letters with your lips as you expelled the words.
Vash avoided making eye contact with you. His stare wandered towards the wall, the floor, the curtains, and even the shape of his clenched fists, but not at you. He deliberately avoided looking at you as he spoke softly, saying, "Don't trouble yourself trying to understand his actions."
Your entire body stiffened. Your bones, blood, and brain froze as if immobilized by a sudden, uncontrollable paralysis. The discomfort spread rapidly, leaving you unable to breathe correctly. You struggled to inhale, wheezing with strained breaths while the walls continued to sway before your eyes.
Did you go through everything for nothing? Was it all for naught, simply because this was Knives' true nature?
"You're awful!" you exploded, anger, horror, and humiliation converging into a single outburst. You hurled the cushion towards his face. "Why should I go through this? You stupid, arrogant—"
"Please, love," he said, stepping forward while deftly avoiding the cushion and reaching for your arms. "I'm sorry for—"
"Don't touch me!" You jerked away, glaring at him, gripping another cushion tightly like a weapon. "I should shoot all of you for what you did to me! I should—I should—"
"WHAT?" he chuckled. "Are you going to throw another cushion at me?"
"You. Selfish. Monster!" You shoved him away and staggered to your feet. "You're just the same, aren't you?" you snapped, your voice trembling. "You've forced yourself on me before, remember? You've taken from me—stolen from me. What makes you any different, huh?"
Your eyes burned from the tears welling up. And within seconds, they spilled, running down your cheeks.
"I'm deeply sorry," he murmured gently. "Truly, I am. I didn't know you back then, not like I do now." He bared his teeth, a flicker of anger in his eyes. "I would never treat you that way anymore."
"You don't know me!" you shouted, thrusting your fist towards his chest. "Reading a file doesn't mean you know who I am, you fucking bastard—"
When he remained unmoved, you unleashed a barrage of punches, striking his chest, arms, stomach, and legs—anywhere you could reach. You wished you could crush every bone in his body to see him writhing in agony beneath your grasp.
He nodded, his eyes losing their anger gradually. Deep down, you knew better. He wasn't furious with you; he was enraged because he was helpless. Hopeless. A goddamn lost cause. Because he knew you would never be the same again. However, what he didn't comprehend was what that meant for him.
You sobbed, yet the anger still lingered.
He approached cautiously like one would approach a frightened animal with sharp teeth. His eyes didn't stray from yours, and you felt on the verge of falling back into the immobilizing grip he once had on you. Before you knew it, he stood right in front of you, pressing his forehead against yours.
"Hitting me makes you feel powerful?" he whispered.
Despite another wail escaping your lips, you took a step back and continued to strike his chest with uncoordinated punches, unaware of how draining your attempts were. The anger dissipated swiftly, giving way to a wave of pain. Suddenly, all you wanted to do was cry. Your body trembled, torn between a sense of relief and lingering fear.
"Does this make you feel alive again, love?"
You scowled, but the courage to respond eluded you. The emotions stirred within you, yet you couldn't put them into words. You knew that they were unwelcome. Overwhelmed, you broke, squeezing your eyes shut to hold back the deluge of tears. But it was like trying to cover a bursting pipe with a piece of paper. Your face twisted in anguish as torrents of torment washed over you.
"I don't want to feel anything anymore," you choked, barely getting the words out as a heart-wrenching cry burst past your lips.
"Let me—fuck, love, just let me fucking hold you," he bit, his voice cracking. He pried your hands away from his hoodie and scooped you into his arms.
You felt weightless as he pressed your face against his sturdy chest.
"Let go of me," you screamed, but, oh, only in your imagination. Your lips had ceased to cooperate, your heart had succumbed, and your mind had descended into hell for the day. And your eyes? They were probably bleeding.
Vash murmured soothing words you couldn't hear, his arms enveloping you completely, attempting to hold you together with sheer physical strength, but it wasn't helpful.
His hold tightened painfully, his body trembling as he clung to you. He buried his face in your neck and... listened. He listened to the sound of your heart breaking alongside his own.
It was only then that you became aware of the excruciating, earsplitting wail escaping your lips as agony tore through every fiber of your being. You wanted to speak, to protest, to accuse Vash, to assign blame, to call him a liar. Yet, you found yourself unable to articulate anything coherent, only producing feeble sounds that left you almost ashamed of your weakness.
You took a long, deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't desire, but you were too consumed by your sorrow to act as you wished.
You can't escape me.
I want to see you drenched in red, little bug.
You like feeling me, don't you?
I'm going to drink that fucking blood, feast on it at all hours of the day.
You'll either belong to me or cold grave.
Knives' voice amplified in your mind, growing louder, and you frantically clawed at your skull, desperate to get it out. However, his hands intercepted your attempts, seizing hold of them and keeping them trapped between your chests.
"He's not here anymore," he whispered unevenly. "Listen to my voice instead."
You shook your head, yet he continued speaking. He recounted the first time he laid eyes on you, describing how courageous you appeared despite being a kidnapped girl. He likened you to a warrior confined in a fragile enclosure, with everyone else too afraid to approach. Then, he reminded you of the memory of your initial confrontation, how you stormed out, shrieking like a banshee, your eyes ablaze with fire, and venomous words pouring from your lips. He reminisced about how impressed he had been by your remarkable bravery.
"I've seen the woman who wanted me to kill her and then the woman bold enough to point a gun at me and my men," he said. "You carry a fire that that will never fucking change. No one will ever extinguish that flame within you, love."
His words only intensified your tears, but gradually, they began to drown out Knives' voice. An immeasurable amount of time elapsed before you finally managed to regain your composure.
The logical part of your brain urged you to withdraw and not let another man touch you again for the rest of your life. You didn't want to see the images flash through your mind every time you felt skin slide against yours. You refused to let any man take more from you than they already had, knowing they would never stop if you did. Handing over every fragment of yourself would continue until nothing remained but a chalk outline.
"I don't know," you hiccupped, "how to be okay with it."
"I'll figure it out, alright?" he rasped and gently pulled away.
Your brows knitted together as you looked up at him through swollen eyes and you didn't need a mirror to know that your skin was flushed red and streaks of dried tears on your cheeks.
"Liar," you whispered, your voice dripping with venom. You were drunk, angry, and mean, and you couldn't be bothered to care. You stole a fleeting glance at Vash, catching a glimpse of hurt flickering across his eyes before it vanished.
His voice hugged the letters in your name so softly you died five times in that second.
A single word, so simple yet foolish, jolted the slumbering butterflies in your stomach, only to remind you that being fine was no longer an option. You were far from your former self, and he couldn't mend you. In an instant, the butterflies met their demise, falling lifeless.
You broke free of his arms, stumbling and gasping. As you clutched your stomach, you discovered that some of your wounds had reopened, leaving bloodstains on his hoodie. FUCK! It made you want to vomit that you were violated like this.
But then he touched your face, and you let out a contented sigh and leaned your cheek against his palm.
A memory of something beautiful and gentle, along with a rush of feeling, flooded you at that moment. You couldn't help but notice the rhythmic movement of his Adam's apple, tempting you to reach out and trace your fingers along his neck.
"You reek of alcohol," he whispered. "Why—"
"Do you know how much I hate you?" you uttered. "I hate— hate you so much. So much."
His eyes held a deeper sorrow now, shimmering with a glimmer of unspoken words. Emboldened by the wine, you touched his lips, leaning closer. "You have such a nice mouth," you whispered. He tried to smile, but it also bore a tinge of sadness. "Do you like me?" you asked.
He nodded.
"Really?"
"You're beautiful," he managed to say, his words faltering. His voice cracked as he continued, "Why did you do this? Were you trying to harm yourself?"
You attempted to respond but were overcome with sudden nausea. Your head started to spin, prompting you to shut your eyes to regain balance. However, the unpleasant feeling persisted, refusing to subside.
"Shower's ready," you heard him say, and suddenly you were in motion. Everything around you seemed to shift, tilting left and right, and as you opened your eyes, the world blurred before you, causing you to shut them hastily.
Vash carried you in his arms, and you nestled your face in the warmth of his neck. His scent was comforting and familiar, and it made you feel safe. It almost felt like a honeymoon with a man who would love you unconditionally if circumstances differed.
You wanted to speak, but the words seemed to come out slowly. It felt like your lips took an eternity to form the words, as if time slowed down. The words stumbled out, rushing together as you repeated them over and over.
"Mmm," you mumbled against his skin. "Vash, where are we going?"
He gently placed you on the ground, steadying you as you stood, and guided you into the standing shower. The moment the water cascaded over your body, you were on the verge of screaming. Your eyes shot open, a sudden jolt of sobriety coursing through your mind as the cold water enveloped you. You blinked rapidly, breathing heavily, leaning against the shower wall. Your eyes darted around, wild and unsettled, as you stared at Vash through the glass.
Water trickled along your skin, pooling in your eyelashes and seeping into your open mouth. The trembling in your shoulders gradually subsided as your body adjusted to the water's temperature. Minutes ticked by, and the two of you locked in a wordless exchange. Your mind began to steady, yet a lingering fog clouded your thoughts even as you reached out to adjust the dial, increasing the water temperature by several degrees.
Even through the blurry glass separating you, his face remained visible, its beauty undiminished. He asked, "Are you okay? Feel any better?"
You stepped forward, studying him in silence, without uttering a word. As you unhooked your bra and let it fall to the floor, he reacted with a subtle widening of his eyes and a shift in his chest. You smoothly removed your underwear, tossing it aside, and he gulped, his eyes blinking multiple times. He instinctively took a step backward, briefly averted his eyes, and then looked back at you again.
You pushed the shower door open and urged, "Come in." However, he refused to meet your eyes. "Vash..." you called out, seeking his attention.
"You're not feeling well," he said.
"I feel fine."
"Love, please, you just drank your weight in wine—"
"You were so eager to touch me earlier," you stated. "Why the sudden change? Is it because I'm covered in cuts or because you prefer men?"
Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes trailing up your body leisurely. You saw a profound shift within him, as if something cracked inside him. He looked hurt and vulnerable, swallowing hard as he moved closer to you. Steam enveloped the room, and warm water droplets splashed against your bare hips. His lips parted, his eyes fixated on you, his hand reaching out. You thought he might come inside, but instead, he closed the door between you both and softly uttered, "I'll be waiting for you outside."
*
You were asleep.
After taking a shower, you slipped into one of his t-shirts. Then, you settled onto his lap on the couch and quickly fell asleep, resting your head against his neck, all the while mumbling things he knew you would regret saying come morning.
He abandoned you in the shower, drenched in a heavy downpour of tears. He watched you from the misty glass, questioning incessantly why and why and why he cared so deeply for you. Why was he sad? Was it because you shared the same fate as him?
A need still emanated from his heated skin. Yet, his lips would remain stitched, concealing the secrets within forever. Meanwhile, his heart brimmed with unwavering determination, awe, serenity, and boundless potential, teetering on the verge of overflowing. Hope enveloped him, cradling him in its embrace. He dared to believe that tomorrow and the days ahead you would be just fine, and he must be so delirious that he actually dared to believe it.
Summoning all his willpower, he carefully unhooked your soft, warm figure from his hold. Tenderly, he tucked you into bed and pulled back, experiencing an ache akin to what he imagined it would feel like to strip the skin of his own body.
While he was often inclined to push your boundaries, this was one he refused to cross. Despite his less-than-honorable actions in the past, he had no intention of exacerbating your trauma. You already suffered more than enough, and the last thing he wanted was to be another man who took something from you.
You pleaded with him to stay, and he pretended not to hear you. You told him you hate him, and he couldn't muster a response. You cried, even with your eyes shut. But he couldn't trust that your actions and words in your drunken state truly reflected your desires. He knew better. With your limited experience with alcohol, he could only imagine that once clarity returned in the light of day, you would not want to face him. You wouldn't want to acknowledge that you had made yourself vulnerable in his presence.
Granting you some space, he lay his head on the other pillow, wondering whether you would recollect what happened.
As for him, he was beyond despair. The image of your glistening eyes in the bathroom haunted him. They resembled the dying stars, devoid of life but radiating a brilliance that promised to extinguish everything in their wake.
It was well past three in the morning, and he felt like he hadn't slept in ages. The thought of closing his eyes was almost unbearable. Being alone with his thoughts was something he couldn't deal with.
However, he couldn't prevent the uncontrollable bitterness that gripped his throat, tugged at his heartstrings, and transformed it into a destructive puppet.
Although there were no cameras in your room, he discerned from the voices that he had heard your agonized screams and desperate pleas for Kni to stop.
Did you grow tired of the “please” word? Did it sound funny to you now? When a word is repeated incessantly, it loses its essence and transforms into gibberish—a mere combination of sounds without meaning. It becomes a tool created by humans to express desires and necessities. However, what significance do words hold when no one bothers to listen?
He allowed it to happen despite knowing better. You could never have anticipated the true extent of suffering at the hands of Kni. You were innocent, unaware of the harsh reality. However, Vash was well aware. He knew Kni and the risks involved but still left you alone. He allowed himself to forget, to act recklessly, and to be stupid, believing that Kni wouldn't dare. His foolish optimism clung to fairy tales, happy endings, and boundless potential. He wanted to think that Kni had changed for the better, but he was confronted with the opposite truth.
His eyes looked at you again, and he saw a profound sadness etched across your face. And there it was. Shame. Embarrassment. Sorrow.
Goddammit!
You weren't supposed to mean anything to him.
He felt utterly broken, sustained only by sheer necessity.
Time and time again, he had been undone by his own emotions. It was emotion that drove him to kidnap you in pursuit of getting Nick's revenge. It was emotion that compelled him to keep you alive and devise a new plan to harm Gasback. It was emotion that moved him to rescue you from Kni's torment, relinquishing his self-control and earning his brother's grudge, becoming a shattered soul once more. He didn't want anyone, especially not you, to endure that humiliating agony. It was his fragile emotions that ultimately cost him everything.
He had no peace. No love.
He wished he could tear his heart from his chest, maybe after his work was done with—
You shifted slightly, murmuring a few incomprehensible words, and immediately, he became concerned that you might be running a fever once more.
Vash made an effort to be as quiet as he could. He didn't want to disturb your sleep; he wanted reassurance that you were okay. He fidgeted with his hands, acutely aware of his racing heart.
He knew he probably shouldn't touch you; he couldn't resist. He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. Everything appeared normal. As he was about to withdraw his hand, your eyes fluttered briefly, but they didn't open.
He knew he should get up. He knew he should go. He knew he should leave the room. However, he preferred to remain here and look at you than move an inch. Because he was weak, he was so weak, and it was killing him.
In your sleep, you uttered a desperate "Please," and it pained him so deeply that he wanted to die. The intensity was such that he believed if he continued to stay by your side any longer, he would lose his sanity.
He couldn't stop thinking, he couldn't see straight, he couldn't see through the curtain of anger and something unknown obscuring his mind. Despite the turmoil, he refused to let go of you.
Four of your nails were torn off. With a trembling hand, he reached out to clasp yours, and he felt you tense momentarily, but suddenly, you drew yourself closer to him.
He dared not break free from your embrace, even though he acknowledged that you were not his beloved Nick.
*
Vash was asleep.
You knew this because he was sleeping right next to you. The darkness was so deep that it took several attempts to open your eyes and realize that, this time, you were not blinded.
The maroon curtains were drawn shut, but somehow, you knew the day had broken. You were still here. In Vash's bedroom, with him fast asleep on the pillow beside you.
His features were so soft, so ethereal. His face was deceptively calm, unassuming, and innocent. And you thought of how impossible it was that he was here, lying next to you. That you were here, lying next to him. That you were lying in his bed, sharing the same blanket. It seemed almost surreal.
He hadn't moved an inch since you had awakened. He rested on his side, with his right arm tucked under his face and his left arm resting against his torso. There was a subtle scent of soap emanating from him.
You couldn't fathom why you couldn't stop staring at him. You made an effort to avert your eyes but found yourself unable to do so. Why were you so naïve?
As you attempted to shift your neck, a flood of memories rushed through your mind. The proof of what had transpired manifested in the throbbing, pounding headache, the unpleasant taste in your mouth and stomach, and the insatiable thirst that gripped you as if every cell in your body was parched and devoid of hydration.
Yet, even more distressing were the other things you remembered. They were hazy but still intact, and you recollected everything. Drinking Nick's cherished wine. Standing in front of Livio in nothing but your underwear. And then, with a sudden, agonizing gasp—undressing in the shower and inviting Vash to join you.
What the fuck!
As a wave of nausea overtook you, you shut your eyes tightly, fearing the imminent upheaval of the little sustenance in your stomach. Mortification washed over you with astonishing swiftness, engulfing you in a profound sense of self-disgust that seemed to cling to you persistently.
Your movement was barely noticeable, yet Vash's response was immediate. He sat upright, his jaw clenching and unclenching while running a hand through his hair. It was only then that you realized for the first time he wasn't wearing a shirt.
As you observed, the contours and outlines of his silhouette came into view. Every motion he made caused the muscles in his arms to tense, captivating your attention. Your eyes trailed along his forearms, and it struck you for the first time that he made no effort to conceal his scars from you.
You were suddenly on fire. Flames danced upon your skin, and a burst of searing heat coursed through your stomach. His body bore countless scars and emanated an aura of power, its every surface somehow radiant in the midst of darkness. You had never seen anything quite like him.
Everyone you had encountered thus far seemed like a boy compared to him because he was the epitome of a man.
He became motionless as he glanced at you and realized you were awake, eyes wide open. Numerous thoughts, words, and actions flooded your mind, a whirlwind of things you wished to convey, sort out, and decide upon. But for now, there was only one thing you needed to express.
In a soft, whispered tone, you uttered, "I'm sorry for yesterday."
It took Vash a moment to find his voice. He responded, "It's alright." After hesitation and inner turmoil, he added, "I deserved it."
You nodded in acknowledgment, observing that he continued to watch you intently. Looking and looking and looking at you like he wanted to touch you, but he was afraid to get too close. Eventually, he whispered, "How are you?"
You smiled to yourself, thinking of all the ways you could answer that question. You thought of how your body felt utterly exhausted, defeated, and depleted like never before. How you'd never been more confused about people, about who they seemed to be and who they were. You thought about how you were lying in a bed in the house of your abductor. And you thought about how this terrifying monster before you possessed a capacity for tenderness. How days ago, you were lying in a pool of your blood.
It took a moment to realize that you were entangled in the very sheets Vash had slept in. A sudden blush colored your cheeks, prompting you to extricate yourself from the bedding hurriedly. You quickly moved them aside, nearly losing balance and almost falling off the bed.
You chose not to acknowledge his question.
Vash's voice carried a tone of concern as he asked another question, "Did you sleep well?"
The realization struck you that the very person who had caused you so much suffering was now displaying genuine worry for your well-being. He was so angry and ruthless just a few days ago and so careful and quiet right now.
You raised your head and noticed a smile on his face, one that carried a hint of pain. Determined, you maneuvered into a seated position, and Vash shifted to accommodate you. The sudden movement took its toll, causing your brain to spin and your skull to feel the sway of a weighted pendulum. Despite staying still, you instinctively planted your hands against the mattress to steady yourself.
You were tired and weak, and aside from some overall soreness, you seemed to be in good condition. You were alive. You could feel the rhythm of your breath and blinks. You were existing.
You met Vash's eyes, and it was undeniable that he and Knives were identical. The echoes of the other twin's laughter lingered in your mind. If you concentrated, you could revisit the precise moment it occurred—the agony so overwhelming, so torturous that it was etched into your memory. However, despite the striking resemblance, Vash was not his brother.
Because, to be frank, Vash appeared in a woeful state. He was pale, his breathing unsteady. His lips were tightly pressed, and his eyes conveyed weariness and distress, resembling deep, boundless wells. His hair was disheveled.
All you wanted was to dive into his arms, but instead, you found yourself seated there, reminding yourself to be cruel.
"You don't wanna talk?" he asked, fixing his gaze upon you, his hands clenched into fists pressed firmly against his thighs. Ah, those gray trousers!
You felt as if you were ensnared within another person's story. So, you didn't want to speak unless it became absolutely essential. Instead, you preferred to sit here, unabashedly absorbing his presence without needing words. Silence was preferable, allowing you to savor the sight of him without saying anything.
He swallowed hard, looked up, and then averted his eyes. Exhaling, he rubbed the back of his neck and clasped both hands behind his head. He turned away, shielding his face from you. The effort made the veins on his arms bulge, and you had to resist the urge to touch the sliver of skin on his lower back by clenching your fingers.
He was still looking away from you as he uttered, "I really, really need you to say something, love."
The anguish and torment evident in his voice could bring you to your knees. Yet, you remained silent. In response, he turned around and directly faced you.
He cleared his throat and spoke in a quiet yet resolute tone. "Alright," he said and turned his back to you without uttering another word and rose to his feet.
"Where are you going?" you asked instantly. You didn't want him to go. Somehow, you found yourself unexpectedly feeling secure and protected in his presence.
"You clearly have no use for my company," Vash stated, concentrating on you for what seemed like an eternity. After a prolonged silence, he added, "If there were even a sliver of possibility to spare you from this pain, I would have seized it." It was this—his genuine sincerity—that destroyed your partly built walls. The truth was so unbearable that you wished he had spared you a lie.
"Thank you for letting me stay in your room."
His eyes roamed across your face, searching for something that was absent. "You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need. I'll arrange for your belongings to be moved—"
Out of nowhere, a piercing scream tore through the air. Panic surged through you, causing you to scan your surroundings frantically. Something breaking echoed, accompanied by a distant, tortured cry. You knew those dungeons—encased in thick concrete, with walls sturdier than the floors and ceilings combined to suppress sounds from traveling too far. If the agony reached your ears, it must be unbearable beyond measure.
"Who is that?" you found yourself saying.
"No longer anyone," he stated, his eyebrow raised. His eyes remained focused and clear despite the veil of uncertainty surrounding you. He took a deep breath. "He was among those who let Kni in. They are paying the price of their disloyalty. Nothing you should worry about."
He subjected his men to torture because they had allowed the devil to enter. You were unprepared for this. Not yet. Not in this way. However, a surge of emotions flooded your mind, and despite your efforts, you couldn't push the thoughts aside. You couldn't ignore the unsettling reality that he was ending lives as a result of the pain inflicted upon you.
He was engaging in this act for your sake. He was taking lives, all for you.
You could almost perceive the rhythmic thumping of your heart within your chest. You should’ve hosted this, but somehow you were so full of revenge that you could even enjoy their pain.
Concerned, he inquired, "What's wrong?"
Startled, your breath quickened, and for a fleeting moment, you contemplated responding with "Nothing." After all, apart from being petrified, nothing seemed amiss. Except for his actions' unsettling effects on you—peculiar and irrational feelings that stirred within your chest and entwined your very being. However, you refrained from speaking any of those thoughts. Instead, you posed a question whose answer you already knew: "Why are you asking?"
"You're trembling," he observed.
"Oh," you uttered, the two letters escaping your mouth with a startled tone as if seeking refuge in a distant realm. In such moments, you wished you had the strength to look away from Vash. You wished your cheeks wouldn't enflame so effortlessly. You wasted your wishes on foolish things, you mused to yourself.
"No, I'm fine," you eventually replied, but deep down, you desperately wanted him to cease causing these feelings within you. You really needed him to grant you that favor—putting an end to it all. "I'm just taken aback," you added, attempting to explain your reaction.
He remained silent, his eyes beseeching you for an explanation. He had transformed into someone simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar in a brief span, defying your expectations. "You want the world to think you're a merciless killer," you conveyed to him. "Yet, you are not."
He laughed, his eyebrows raised in astonishment. "No," he responded. "I'm afraid I'm simply a typical murderer."
"But why—"
"Do you need something?" he asked, adopting a firm tone that indicated his unwillingness to further engage in the conversation.
You let out a sigh. "Is the nurse, Milly, available? I might require fresh bandages."
With all your effort, you maneuvered to the edge of the bed as his footsteps faded. Examining your attire, you noticed you were wearing another oversized black T-shirt and a pair of boxers that didn't belong to you. Embarrassment and shame slapped you in the face. In addition to his T-shirt, were you wearing one of his underwear?
The urge to bury yourself beneath the blanket and disappear intensified, but then you heard Vash's voice. "There's no need for that."
You lifted your head in surprise, observing Vash's return to the room. He carried a first aid kit and maintained his usual calm demeanor. It was then that you realized he wasn't wearing that cross necklace anymore.
"Why did you remove your bandages?" he asked casually. You remained silent, pursing your lips and giving him a stern glare. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he caught a glimpse of your expression. For a fleeting moment, he looked furious, though you couldn't tell who with.
"Um... my clothes," you hesitated, nervously touching the fabric of your outfit. "Did you—I mean—did you?"
He grinned and maintained his gaze until your cheeks flushed. Then, he shook his head and placed the box on the bed. "You don't remember anything from last night?" he playfully remarked.
"No," you lied.
"You're a terrible liar, love," he commented, causing you to feign nonchalance as he sat on the floor.
You looked away to avoid his smirk and then pretended it was a happy coincidence that his hands brushed against your bare thighs. You pretended that having him on his knees before you didn't feel amazing. You pretended not to notice the way he was looking at you.
"I need to take care of your legs," he murmured, his breath against your skin, sending a thrill through your veins. For a brief moment, you didn't grasp the meaning behind his words. Yet, you didn't mind. Your thoughts were so dreamy and unfocused that even you surprised yourself.
You knew you said you didn't want hands on you, but Vash was an entirely new experience. Touching him was all you wanted to think about.
"The cuts aren't too severe," he remarked, his fingertips gently gliding over your calves. You held your breath. "But, you should keep the bandages on, just as a precaution. Sometimes, it's safer to be stabbed than to have multiple cuts. We don't want them to get infected."
"Why don't you ask Milly to do it?" you suggested, nudging him. "After all, she's the nurse here."
"Do you want me to leave you bleeding until she arrives?" he retorted, his tone tense and slightly impatient.
"No," you whispered.
"Then accept it for what it is."
You clamped your mouth shut. This time, you had no issue complying with his demands. Despite his reluctance to admit it, he wanted to help you. It was an unexpected act of kindness from someone in his position as a Mafia Don. Instead of questioning him, you chose to appreciate his help.
He glanced up, his hand resting on your knee. You found yourself nodding, unsure of the reason behind your actions. You wondered if your external trembling matched the ferocity of your inner turmoil. You hoped the darkness concealed the deep blush on your face, the embarrassment that his touch on your knee had such a crazy effect on you.
He applied cream to your wounds with a gentle touch, causing a shiver down your spine when his fingers made contact. These hands had taken lives, yet they had also shielded and safeguarded you. How could you separate his wrongdoings from his acts of kindness?
"Lift your t-shirt," he demanded.
You squinted, displeased with the commanding tone he was using towards you.
Seeing the expression on your face, he sighed and said, "Please."
You stared at his undercut as he lowered his head, searching for something within the box. In a soft voice, you asked, "Why did you save me, anyway?"
"Why do you assume I saved you?" he challenged, stealing a glance at you while retrieving bandages and Neosporin. "I'll need your t-shirt up."
You sighed and complied with his request. You hiked your clothes up to your armpits, and it saddened you to witness how accustomed you had grown to exposing yourself to him. You weren't wearing a bra, but that might as well be nothing with how gay he was and had no interest in you.
"Why do you pretend you don't care?" you asked. "Why do you want people to think you are ruthless?"
He stretched his neck, causing it to crack. "Why does it matter?" he replied. "Let people believe what they want. I don't need their validation."
"So, you're fine with it," you inquired, "that people pass such harsh judgments on you?"
"I have no one to please," he responded. "Nobody who cares about what happens to me. I'm not in the business of making friends, love. My role is to lead a mafia, and I excel at it. The things I've achieved wouldn't make anyone proud," he admitted. "Nick is no longer alive. I lack a family. My brother sees me as feeble and pitiful. My men want me dead. The world is going to hell. And the conversations I have with you are the longest I've ever had."
"What—really?" you questioned, your eyes widening.
"Really."
Vash's presence in the room felt heavy, almost like a weight on your chest, yet you decided to focus on examining the meticulous wrapping of your fresh bandage. The gauze felt taut around your waist as you lacked the courage to refute his words. You wanted nothing more than to have him hold you, but something was gnawing at your core, scraping at your insides, telling you that it was probably best if you stayed precisely where you were.
He gestured for you to turn over by twirling his finger in the air.
"You shouldn't rip off your bandages," he advised, his face adopting an unreadable expression. "Your wounds won't heal properly."
Huffing, you turned your back to him, feeling the tension as his fingers brushed your back. "It's not my fau—"
"Own your mistakes and accept your faults," he interrupted, his voice deepening with severity. "Never forget that." He rummaged through the supplies.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your day of human trafficking," you muttered, seething with anger. In response, he placed an alcohol-soaked pad on your cuts. The sudden stinging made you hiss through your teeth, and a string of curses hovered on the tip of your tongue. What a despicable jerk.
"You'll find yourself in even worse situations if you keep talking like that," he informed you. "What's it going to take for you to learn your lesson? Getting killed?"
Swallowing hard, you managed to say, "You promised you'd keep me safe."
A loud, booming laugh erupted from him, causing you to whip your head towards him, consumed by anger, while his shoulders shook with amusement. His twinkling blue eyes were almost as intimidating as his anger.
"You're laughing at me," you exclaimed, unable to believe it.
"Love, I'm a liar. Why do you rely on my words?"
"You just said sorry—"
"Yesterday is in the past. Today is a fresh start," he interjected, his smile fading slightly but his eyes still gleaming with amusement. " As sexy as it is for you to place your trust in me, love, it's the last thing you should do in this place."
Disgust twisted your lip as you thumped your head back while he continued cleaning up your back.
"Don't call me sexy," you snapped, not because you disagreed but because he was right. You shouldn't trust anyone.
"You gonna kill me for it?" he challenged nonchalantly, pretending to be indifferent. Although, that wasn't how he sounded earlier.
You shrugged. "That's gonna happen anyway, so I suppose it doesn't matter."
He fell silent, and when you thought he wouldn't say anything, you heard him whisper under his breath, "I know."
You could never forget the horrible things he did to you, yet you also saw a person who had never been afforded the opportunity to be a human. It made you question whether you were just as cruel as him, if you deemed him irredeemable, if you believed he couldn't change, if you thought there were people in this world who didn't deserve a second chance. But you couldn't help but disagree with that notion.
Clearing your throat, you moistened your dry lips. "Are you going to do anything to stop Knives?"
He sighed. "I can't."
You snarled, "So, that's all? You're just going to stand there and do nothing?"
He didn't respond immediately, and you appeared to have struck a nerve. "He's a Mafia Don. I can't harm him just like I can't harm your father. That's who I am, love. A bad, bad man without any remorse."
Liar. If he lacked remorse, he wouldn't be here now, tending to wounds he didn't have to take care of.
"Why do you do it?" you whispered, wincing as the alcohol stung a sore area. "Is it for the money?"
He scoffed. "I couldn't care less about money. I can't take it with me when I'm dead, so what good is it to me?"
"Then, why?" you pushed.
He sighed, tearing open a new package of gauze with his teeth. "You don't get to choose your family," he replied curtly, his tone indicating the end of this conversation. However, you didn't heed his signal and continued.
"You're fully aware that you could get killed, so why do you persist?"
He harshly applied a strip of tape onto you, revealing his growing frustration with your persistent questions. "I have scores to settle. Once that's done, I have no purpose for staying alive," he whispered.
"You're simply determined to carry on until you kill my father?" Your face fell as realization sank in. A knot formed between your brows. "Why not just run away and start a new life?"
"The only way to escape families like this is as a corpse. Are you done with the interrogation, or should I also regale you with the story of how I lost my virginity?"
You sealed your lips tightly. Vash already provided you with plenty of information. It wouldn't be fair for you to continue pushing him. He finished attending to your wounds, placing fresh gauze over them.
After he finished, you let go of your shirt, adjusting it as an uncomfortable silence enveloped the room.
"Thanks," you muttered hastily, feeling the words scorch your tongue as they escaped.
He glanced at you, "Don't thank me just yet, love."
They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.
Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gunplay, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.
Song Recommendation: Tom Odell - Another Love
Note: This is one of my favorite chapters.
Chapter Index - Next Chapter
You were blind.
The heat was pouring into your being to the point of taking over your sight. All you felt was an intense, searing heat that flooded every part of you—your bones, your nerves, your skin, your very cells. It was as if everything was engulfed in flames.
At first, you thought it to be the familiar heat in your chest, the ache from the void where your heart once resided. However, you soon realized that this heat didn't hurt. It possessed a comforting quality—an extreme warmth, yet strangely soothing. Your body didn't want to reject it. There was no instinct in you to flinch away or protect itself from this sensation.
As the fire reached your lungs, you felt somebody lifted your body. You found yourself gasping for air, taking in tumultuous, rapid breaths as if your life depended on it. Each inhalation was deep and forceful, as if you were on the verge of bursting into tears.
You gulped down oxygen, consuming it voraciously, struggling to catch your breath and restore a sense of normalcy. Your body convulsed as it fought to regain stability. It felt as if your chest was torn and stitched together. Blinking, breathing, and attempting to focus, your vision remained hazy and indistinct, yet gradually improving. Life returned to your fingers and toes, and it coursed through your limbs. Now, you could hear the steady rhythm of your heartbeat once more.
Then, all at once, the heat vanished completely. The hands that held you disappeared. You crumbled onto a bed, and darkness enveloped everything.
A familiar voice spoke "Love," compelling you to open your eyes. There stood someone, their gaze sweeping across your entire being, examining you from head to toe to ensure you were still intact, arms and legs and everything in between. Their scrutiny ceased the moment your eyes met theirs. You stepped into the sea of blue in their eyes, dived right in, and drowned. It felt as if a fist had struck your lungs, robbing you of all your breath and oxygen in an instant.
"You're going to be okay."
The voice felt like a lifeline, one you yearned to grasp. You wanted to catch it, tie it around your waist, and have them pull you out from the stagnant world where you felt ensnared.
Although unfamiliar, their expression bore deep concern and sheer horror. You wished to reassure them, to alleviate their worries, assuring them that everything was alright, that you had come to terms with the situation, that you were prepared to face death.
However, you found yourself unable to utter a word. Only agonizing gasps escaped your lips while you questioned why your body refused to surrender. Suddenly, the person standing before you clasped your hand tightly and assured, "You will be alright. We're going to fix this— you're going to be fine. Take deep breaths,” he urged. "You're going to be perfect. Do you hear me? Love, can you hear me?"
You blinked repeatedly at him, captivated by his presence. Their eyes held your attention—such a striking hue of blue, truly fascinating.
They squeezed your hands tightly while someone else seized your arm and swiftly injected a sharp needle into your skin. Once again, warmth enveloped you, accompanied by weariness. You found yourself submerged in strange dreams and fragmented memories. It felt like you were swimming in quicksand, and the harder you tried to escape, the more quickly you were devoured.
*
The floor was full of scratch marks.
"Jesus, fuck," Livio muttered, stepping into your room behind Vash, their faces curling with disgust. Dead bodies couldn't bother Vash, but the sight of someone desperately fighting for survival would curdle even the strongest stomach.
Right away, he noticed dried blood stains on the wooden floor.
"Her blood," Livio affirmed, approaching cautiously, and he made sure to avoid stepping in the blood. "Do you think it happened right here on the floor?"
"I found her on there," Vash whispered, feeling his heart race while he scanned the surroundings.
"Definitely over an hour," Livio observed. "She's been enduring his cuts for at least an hour."
Vash half-listened to Livio's ramblings about his brother's mishaps while meticulously examining every corner of the room. "What else?" he muttered, his forehead creasing as he attempted to connect the dots. His attention fixated on the discarded hairbrush in the corner, struggling to make sense of the bewildering events that had unfolded.
"Judging by the marks on the wall, it seems Knives-sama has hit her too," Livio concluded.
Vash nodded, coming to the same conclusion. Anger welled up within him, tainting his mind with shades of red.
"What could have provoked him?" Livio asked. "Why would he intrude upon your household and coerce your men and do this?"
"Don't act like you're clueless, Livio," Vash grumbled, his hands trembling as vivid images of Kni cutting you raced through his mind. What if things had escalated further? Would Kni have subjected you to rape? In a surge of anger, Vash's fist crashed into the nearest wall, breaking through it. Like a malfunctioning machine, he repeated the motion, striking the wall again and again—third, fourth, fifth times. Livio intervened, seizing Vash's arm and using his momentum to pull him back. Vash stumbled, and the force nearly caused both of them to fall.
"Get a grip, Vash-sama!" Livio barked, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Vash growled and vigorously shook his head, reminiscent of a lion shaking off a blow to the head. His knuckles were scraped, and blood trickled down, staining the parquets.
"Smashing walls won't change anything," Livio muttered. "She could have been injured even more severely."
Vash ignored Livio's words. He was ready to storm into Kni's residence and beat the shit out of him, torture him in the worst imaginable ways, despite him retaliating worse. Fuck. The urge to sever any connection that tied him to his brother consumed him. He wanted Kni to regret ever sharing a womb with him, not for your sake, of course, but for his own. Every muscle in his body was taut with tension, locked firmly in place.
No. Fuck Livio. He wouldn't be grateful because Kni didn’t violate you like him. This shouldn’t have happened. Not when he assured you’d be safe under his watch.
"Review the footage from all the security cameras in the house and provide me with the names of every guard present that day," Vash snapped. He clenched his teeth, exerting immense willpower to prevent himself from screaming out of anger, pain, and frustration.
Livio perched on the edge of the stained bed as if the sight would haunt him. He retrieved the tablet and began examining the recorded footage.
Vash averted his gaze, feeling on the brink of losing control when he saw the bloodied blanket and mattress. To regain composure, he focused on decompressing, shutting his eyes and cracking his neck.
"Keep it together," he repeated to himself, chanting the words like a mantra. He witnessed so much fucked-up shit throughout his life, more than most could endure. However, Kni's sadistic torments were the worst thing he ever experienced. He felt utterly powerless. He thought about severing ties with this damned brother, willingly dousing everything in his path with gasoline and setting it ablaze, but it wouldn’t work. Being a part of this family was a curse he was born with.
Vash, remember what I've told you about reacting impulsively when you're angry?
Suddenly, echoes of Nick's voice haunted him. It made the temptation of unleashing destruction linger just within reach, just waiting to be set free. It felt as effortless as striking a match, igniting a tiny flame that could spark annihilation, but his dead lover wouldn’t want that. No.
"Vash-sama?" Livio's voice pierced through Nick's whispers, dissipating like tendrils of cigarette smoke. Speaking of which, he swiftly reached into his hoodie pocket, retrieved a cigarette from the pack, and lit it up.
Livio's mouth hung open, hesitant to utter words that he knew Vash didn't want to hear at that moment. "Don't lecture me about smoking because of what Nico would want," Vash interjected, his voice strained with rage.
Hearing his boss, Livio's mouth clicked shut. He nodded and showed Vash videos of Kni entering the house alongside Legato and his other dogs. The footage showed Kni kicking and threatening the loyal guards while bribing others to abandon their posts. Pathetic varmints. They would face the consequences of their actions.
"It's strange that Knives-sama didn't destroy the cameras," Livio murmured, speaking more to himself.
Vash was too consumed with inhaling a cigarette as if it was breathing life into him rather than taking it away. If he were to watch that video once more, he might be tempted to draw his gun and unload rounds into the tablet's screen until it crumbled into shards of plastic and metal. He didn't want to explain to Livio that this act was Kni's way of punishing him for becoming attached to a toy—meaning you—that he was supposed to tear apart.
He flicked his cigarette and crushed it under his boot, blowing out smoke while watching Livio skipping through several recordings. Just as he was about to kick away the discarded butt, he abruptly halted, his jaw clenching upon spotting one of your flipped nails. Inhaling deeply through his nose, black fire licked at his nerves.
His actions became automatic, operating on autopilot. He picked up the nail, swiftly tucking it into his pocket, and forced himself to redirect his attention back to the screen. He needed to learn the names of the guests whom he would be welcoming into his white-tiled torture chamber.
It wasn’t a dilemma that Vash always wanted to hurt his enemies, but not like this. Never like this. The urge to seize a knife and slit someone's throat from ear to ear had never gripped him like this until now.
*
A sharp gasp.
Horror jolted your eyelids open. Your body was soaked in cold sweat while your mind was submerged in relentless waves of agony. Your eyes focused on swirling black shapes that faded into the darkness. You had no clue how long you had been dozed off. You were unsure whether everything had been a nightmare or not.
You coughed a few times, followed by heavy breathing.
You recognized it all as yourself—your voice, your breath, and your heart racing. But where was your head? It felt burdened, weighing you down. Your eyes shut tightly, sticking together momentarily. You tried to dispel the haze, struggling to recollect, yet certain parts of you remained numb, including your teeth, toes, and the gaps between your ribs. Suddenly, a laugh escaped your lips, and you couldn't fathom why—
Knives.
Your eyes snapped open, and your skin erupted in a sudden chill sweat.
Oh-my-God!
You remembered. Knives had cut you.
You tried to sit up and couldn't. Felt so heavy, so heavy with blood and bone. Suddenly, a chill enveloped you, turning your skin into cold, clammy rubber that stuck to the sheets. The floodgates of emotions opened instantly, and a sudden desire to cry surged within you. Memories of your room, the cold, the struggle, and the confusion rushed back, engulfing your senses. Tears streamed down your face, silently, warming your cheeks, while your voice remained trapped in fear-stricken silence. Knives' threat echoed relentlessly in your mind, like a stray bullet ricocheting in an endless loop within your brain.
You tightly clenched your fists, seeking solace in the pain as a means to drive away those memories. Remembering was the last thing you desired. You didn't want to dwell on it, the thoughts of all the things Knives had stolen from you.
You shut your eyes, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a wave of tears. A sob worked its way out of your throat, and you pressed your lips together in an effort to hold it in.
Suddenly, another shock coursed through your senses, heightening your alertness. Panic cut through the mist, granting you a brief moment of clarity. With determination, you managed to prop yourself up on your elbows, despite your head spinning.
Sucking in a sharp, surprised breath, you suddenly became aware of the unsettling unfamiliarity of the room, and panic quickly gripped you, screaming that you hadn't woken up where you had passed out.
You seized the opportunity to survey your surroundings. You found yourself lying on a bed adorned with luxurious damask fabric in shades of gold and deep burgundy, reminiscent of the darkest blood. The floor was covered in a thick, opulent carpet like the color of a setting summer sun. The room exuded warmth and appeared considerably larger than the one you had been in before. Its furnishings were relatively standard: a bed, armoires, side tables, and a chandelier sparkling from the ceiling. However, what struck you was the abundance of doors within the room.
Your heart pounded as you slowly edged backward until your back met the headboard—the instinct to run away overtook you. Hastily, you tossed the blankets aside, but a searing pain tore through your stomach like the fury of hell unleashed. Glancing down, you discovered that your torso had been swathed in numerous layers of bandages, making movement nearly impossible.
The taste of death lingered in your mouth, causing you to shiver in place. You were disoriented, unsure of your location or the time.
You blinked, attempting to move, only to find your legs were stiff and unyielding. Foreign fingers grazed your shoulder, and you felt an urge to scream. You blinked once more and then again.
A girl's face appeared and disappeared, intermittently blurring in and out of focus. You turned your head, hoping for a clearer view, and continued to blink. She stood tall, with caramel brown hair and broad shoulders.
"It's okay," the girl said, a wide smile adorning her face. "It's all right—"
"Why am I here?" Panic surged through you, enveloping your thoughts. "Where am I?"
"Please, I won't harm you—"
"Then tell me, where am I? Who are you?" Your voice trembled, and you fought to maintain its stability. "Where's this hellhole—"
"This is Vash-sama's room," she exhaled, her look shifting toward the wall.
"What? Why?"
"He probably thought you'd be more comfortable here. I'm not sure," she replied, turning to face you. "Would you prefer to stay in your own room?"
"No."
You made a conscious effort to suppress the fear within you. Examining her face closely, you observed her patient and sincere demeanor. Her face appeared familiar. Was she the girl who had administered something to you the previous night? It must have been last night, right?
"How're you feeling?" she whispered.
"I'm fine," you responded to the blurry figure, though you suspected you were lying. "Who are you?"
"You don't recognize me?" she asked. Even though her image remained blurry, you could perceive the kindness in her voice. "It's me, Milly. I'm sort of a nurse here."
Oh, right. The nurse. The one Vash asked Livio to call.
"What happened?" you asked. "How long have I been out?"
She remained silent, leaving you to wonder if she had not heard your question. "Milly?" you called out, attempting to establish eye contact. "How long have I been asleep?"
"You had a fever," she explained. "Your body needed time—"
"How long?" Your voice dropped to a whisper.
"About three days."
Despite being aware that you would feel nauseous, you abruptly sat upright. Fortunately, Milly had anticipated your condition and promptly provided a bucket. Just in time, you emptied the meager contents of your stomach into it. Soon after, you found yourself dry-heaving into an oversized t-shirt that didn't belong to you.
Milly gently wiped a warm, damp cloth across your face, offering reassurance with soothing sounds. She assured you that everything would be alright, that you needed to rest, and since you were finally awake for a significant period, she encouraged you to eat something. She kindly assured you there was nothing to worry about, as she would take care of you.
"Do you need anything?" she asked, bringing you back to the present moment as you noticed Milly looking at you. "Are you feeling well enough to leave the bed?"
You couldn't find the words to respond to her inquiries as you glanced from one eye to the other and back again. Instead, a crippling wave of shame enveloped your soul, causing you to retreat into another version of yourself. You felt like a frightened little girl, yearning to fold herself away until she could no longer be found.
"I'm so sorry for all the trouble," you found yourself repeating incessantly, unable to halt the torrent of words. It felt as if a button in your brain had malfunctioned, as if you were afflicted with a disease that compelled you to apologize for everything—your mere existence, your desires for more than what life had bestowed upon you.
"There's no need to apologize," she reassured you. "This is my job."
You mustered the courage to meet her, and her eyes appeared tender to your surprise. They were gentle, green, and slightly squinted from her smiling. She sat on the right side of your bed and adjusted a screw on the end of the serum connected to your hand. As she removed the syringe that you had only just noticed was attached to your arm, you winced, and she gently patted your bare arm, her expression filled with concern and sadness. However, you had little time to dwell on it as your attention shifted. You just noticed that the room was filled with a sweet fragrance, reminiscent of the first time you had entered this house.
"Thank you," you whispered, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. You pondered your struggle with expressing yourself freely, both in words and emotions. You marveled at your inability to engage in effortless small talk, converse smoothly, or fill awkward pauses with empty words. You didn't possess a repertoire of "umms" and ellipses to insert at the beginnings and ends of sentences. You didn't know how to be a verb, an adverb, or any kind of modifier. Through and through, you were simply a noun.
Milly smiled and replied, "I'm glad I could help. Remember, I'm always here if you need someone to talk to."
She provided easily digestible food such as soup and ensured you ate it all. Like a nurturing mother tending to her young child, she administered your pills and left you in peace to rest.
But as time went by, your anxiety heightened with each passing minute. No one had come to see you, yet an unsettling sensation lingered in the depths of your mind. It felt as if something heavy was pressing on the back of your brain.
The tension became so intense that you feared your brain stem would snap under its weight. Something dreadful had already occurred, and its impending doom loomed over you. However, you had an intuitive feeling that something even worse was on the horizon. You could sense it.
But not this time.
You hastily removed the bandages and gazed at your wounds, yet it provided no comfort as your sense of dignity had been shattered. You could perceive the violation of your spirit as if observing it from outside your own body—an experience detached from your control, helpless to prevent it from happening.
With desperation, you tried to redirect your thoughts towards anything else—your sister—the train derailed every time, kept veering back to your room. The memory of Knives persisted like a ghost haunting the corridors of your mind, and it simply dissipated whenever you tried to grasp onto it.
Frustration welled up within you, prompting you to shut your eyes tightly. You should've shut your mouth in Knives' presence. Yeah, that's what you should've done.
The tears were fresh and falling fast, traveling quietly down your cheeks and into your open, gasping mouth. Your shoulders trembled uncontrollably, your fists clenched tightly, and cramps seized your body. Your knees shook and knocked together.
You had to let it go. You had to let it go. You had to let it go. You had to.
You tried to breathe, taking in sharp, laborious breaths.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
…
C'mon girl.
You had encountered similar situations in the past. You had experienced even greater loneliness, deeper despair, and more intense desperation. You had been in here before, yet you survived. You knew you could overcome this. However, you had never felt completely stripped of love, potential, friendships, and prospects. Everything had vanished. Now, you had to begin anew, facing the world again in solitude. The time had come to make a final decision: surrender or persevere.
You tossed the blankets aside and paused to steady yourself, feeling the weight of the thick, plush carpet beneath your bare feet. Your mind was in turmoil, thoughts knocking into one another. You tightened your fists, suppressing the urge to scream, as you concealed your crushed dreams and burning thirst for revenge within your heart.
You chastised yourself, feeling humiliated. How stupid you were to believe that you could slip into the role of an innocent girl trapped in the mafia games and live out the stupid hero narratives you had read in countless books.
You.
You being a hero.
The mere thought of it was enough to fill you with mortification. You felt embarrassed that you had entertained the notion of changing your circumstances. That you looked at yourself in the mirror and believed you deserved a better ending.
How misguided those hopes were.
How sad.
You consistently saw yourself as the one who escapes and discovers a fairy to make her into a happy girl with a promising future. You held onto a glimmer of hope, grasping onto possibilities and maybes. However, you should have heeded your father's words when he told you that dreams were forbidden for people in your family.
You were starting to believe he was correct. You were beginning to question whether you should simply bury yourself in the ground before remembering the fact that, technically, you were already there. You didn't even require a shovel.
Stupid, stupid girl!
It felt peculiar. The emptiness within you was profound, as if echoes resided in the depths. You resembled the chocolate rabbits they sell during Easter—a sugary shell concealing a void within, a world of nothingness.
You were like that.
You encapsulated a world of nothing.
A sudden chill enveloped you, sensing tremors in your hands, or perhaps it was your bones. Maybe your bones were shaking.
You made an effort to move methodically, so slowly, as if time had slowed down and your mind was still fuzzy.
The room lay in darkness. Moonlight seeped through the balcony doors, casting shadows that transformed the wooden furniture into monstrous figures. You weren't afraid of them. Amidst it all, the true monster in the house was Knives.
Now that you were standing, you needed to revise your initial impression. Vash's room wasn't just spacious; it was gigantic. It made your room at your father's house appear absurdly small. Being alone gave you the freedom to explore around.
There was an office, a generously sized bathroom, a well-stocked walk-in closet, two large windows overlooking the night, a bookshelf, and a table near a dark brown couch adorned with various gun maintenance items like brushes and cloths and countless other details.
There were no picture frames. None from his mother. None from his brother. Not even from his Nick.
You spent an immeasurable amount of time surveying your surroundings. Whenever your focus shifted to the wooden floor, you couldn't help but imagine yourself lying on the ground with Knives standing triumphantly over you. It had been a while since you felt haunted like this.
That's why you adverted your attention to a particular area that intrigued you the most—a staircase that seemed to lead to an ominous destination, quite possibly hell.
You descended the stairs and stared at the sight before you: a room entirely dedicated to an extensive collection of alcohol. Your knowledge of alcohol brands was limited. Throughout your life, you primarily indulged in tasting cocktails and mocktails. But damn!
Indeed, you had seen your father's treasured bottles in the dimly lit winery. However, your fascination was undiminished when you laid eyes on the numerous bottles meticulously arranged on the wooden shelves that adorned the dark, paneled walls of the room. Apart from two large, brown leather chairs and a glossy coffee table, the space remained devoid of furniture. A transparent jug brimming with a golden-hued liquid, likely whiskey, rested on the coffee table. Adjacent to it sat a half-filled drinking glass, evidently abandoned by its owner—likely Vash.
Don't think about him.
Everything here was dark, carrying a somber and aged scent of wood and mustiness. As you extended your hand, your fingers trailed along the wooden panels, and you started to count. Among the four walls, three were entirely devoted to showcasing an assortment of ancient bottles, with the majority containing a captivating amber liquid. Only a few bottles held a clear liquid within their glass confines.
You took a step closer to inspect the labels. The transparent bottles contained Vodka, while the bottles filled with the captivating yellowish liquid had various names. A significant portion of them were labeled as Scotch. There were also seven bottles of Tequila. However, the majority of Vash's collection in this room consisted of Bourbon. Surprisingly, there were no beers on the shelves. The only wall that held items besides alcohol stacked several boxes of cigars and more of those intricately designed short drinking glasses.
As you reached out, you grabbed a solitary "Bride" wine bottle and nearly fumbled it. It turned out to be much heavier than it appeared. Ops!
Curiosity got the better of you as you pondered Vash's intentions behind creating this room. It seemed like an unusual notion to allocate an entire basement solely for showcasing alcohol bottles. Why not house them in a winery where they would seem more fitting?
Taking a seat in one of the chairs, you glanced upwards, captivated by the dull lighting from the ceiling. It was difficult to explain why you were drawn to this basement. However, you knew you could feel a proper sense of solitude. Cut off from the clamor and chaos of the outside world, you realized you were at peace. Here, surrounded by the bottles, you felt a soothing isolation that allowed you to unwind. For the first time in a while, you felt a deep relaxation wash over you. You felt yourself retreating, withdrawing as if running away from the dark corners of your mind.
There was a unique sense of freedom in surrendering. Being angry and being alone brought a feeling of liberation. But what was strange was that within Vash's hideout, you finally grasped an understanding of him. You realized how he managed to live the way he did. He purposely avoided feeling and getting hurt, kept emotions at bay, and didn't let them in his life. He had no obligations to anyone except himself, and that liberated him. It was his selfishness that set him free.
You reached out and removed the cork from the deep red liquid bottle. You stared at the glass, which seemed to stare back at you. After a moment's hesitation, you decided to take a sip.
You raised it to your lips. One gulp and you almost spitted it out, coughing violently as it burned your throat. It tasted like a combination of death, fire, oil, and smoke.
Determined, you managed to gulp another mouthful of the repulsive drink before promptly setting it aside. Your eyes welled up with tears as the alcohol worked its way through you. The minutes began to slip away as your eyelids fluttered open and closed, embracing the peaceful silence. You ran a finger along your lips, and surprisingly, the unpleasant taste of the drink didn't seem so terrible anymore. Gradually, a delightful warmth blossomed within you, sending gentle pulses of heat coursing through your veins.
Oh, you thought.
Oh.
A faint smile tugged at your lips, even though it felt slightly askew. Yet, you didn't mind the crookedness, not at all, especially as your throat began to tingle with numbness.
As you savored the taste, you reached for the weighty bottle once more and took another substantial swig of the fiery liquid. Surprisingly, you no longer dreaded the taste. It was oddly enjoyable to surrender to this oblivion, letting your mind be filled with wisps of clouds, breezes, and, ultimately, numbness.
As you rose to your feet, you sensed a looseness and a slight clumsiness in your movements. However, it was pleasant, accompanied by a warm and enjoyable feeling. Embracing this state, you found yourself ascending the stairs with a newfound ease.
It was too hot up in here. Maybe you should remove your clothes to alleviate the heat, and within moments, you found yourself standing in nothing but your undies.
You couldn't stop giggling as you aimlessly wandered around Vash's room, almost completely undressed. It was an unchaining experience, making you feel more unrestricted than you had in a long time.
Eventually, you plopped down onto the big leather couch and swiftly drank the remaining contents of the bottle in a few gulps.
Time seemed to blur as if spanning years, centuries, or even lifetimes. Faintly, you registered the sound of a door opening, but you couldn’t care less.
Your current position on the couch was sideways, with your legs draped over the armrest, reclining as you observed the spinning chandelier above.
Was it spinning before?
Suddenly, your moment of tranquility was abruptly disrupted. The familiar voice you vaguely recognized filled the room, and you chose not to budge. Instead, you merely squinted and turned your head toward the sounds without shifting your body.
"Shit! Boss—" Livio burst into the room, but his movement came to an abrupt halt as he locked eyes with you. Suddenly, a hazy recollection reminded you that you were lying here in your underwear, your wounds exposed.
A part of you would have preferred not to be seen like this by Livio, but another part lacked the motivation to act. You wanted to prove something to the twisted Saverem family, who believed they owned you. You wanted to demonstrate that they had no power over you.
Livio's face filled with deep concern. "Oh, no—" he uttered, clearly worried.
Only then did you realize that Livio wasn't the only one present. Standing before you were Livio and Vash.
Mr. Saverem was dressed in a gray hoodie and trousers, with his hair flowing freely. No spikes? How funny!
The two stared at you, their expressions filled with horror and disapproval as if you had made a horrible mistake. Did that bottle of wine hold such immense value? Not nearly as much as your sense of self-worth, and that realization ignited a flame of anger within you.
"What?" you said, annoyed. "Go away."
"What have you done!" Vash exclaimed as he leaned over you, causing you to struggle to focus. Your vision became blurry, making it difficult to see clearly. You blinked repeatedly, attempting to stabilize your sight, until finally, you were able to focus your gaze on him, taking in his face.
He looked like you remembered him, with his golden hair, flawless skin, and eyes shining too brightly despite their faded sapphire color. It was a face that shouldn't be desired. It held a destiny of trouble, danger, and the need to overcompensate for its stolen innocence. It was excessive and overpowering in its appearance.
He embodied the archetype of a boy solely raised to become a man. His lips rarely curved into a smile, and his forehead remained smooth, devoid of any signs of distress. He had been ingrained with the lesson of concealing his emotions, shielding his thoughts from the world, and placing trust in no one and nothing. He had been taught to seize what he desired using any means necessary.
But you observed a notable transformation in him, noticing the evident change. He was no longer attempting to conceal his emotions from you.
He looked so sad, and he seemed on the verge of speaking. However, Livio interjected, saying, "Vash-sama, I think she drank the entire bottle of Nico's wine. Given her weight?" Livio muttered a curse under his breath. "That amount of wine would destroy me."
Vash shut his eyes. "Livio," he said quietly. "Turn on the shower and then leave."
"On it."
The man headed towards the bathroom, and you faintly heard the faucet being turned on. Shortly after, the door to Vash's room closed.
Vash reached out for your hand, and a part of you struggled to recall that you were angry with him, that you didn't like him anymore, and that you no longer wished to see or speak to him.
A black hole churned in your chest, consuming any remnants of goodness within you. You glared at him, the fire in your eyes burning even more fiercely than before.
"WHY?" you exclaimed, your voice trembling, high-pitched, and filled with brokenness. It felt as if the wounds in your mind were ripping open, and your eyes fixated on a spot just a few feet away on the carpet. Uncertainty plagued your thoughts, questioning your torment, yet you were compelled to hear him speak the words.
"Why?" you repeated. It was a simple and seemingly foolish question. "Why did Knives decide to harm me to teach you a lesson?" you asked. Your breathing ceased, and you barely spoke, merely forming letters with your lips as you expelled the words.
Vash avoided making eye contact with you. His stare wandered towards the wall, the floor, the curtains, and even the shape of his clenched fists, but not at you. He deliberately avoided looking at you as he spoke softly, saying, "Don't trouble yourself trying to understand his actions."
Your entire body stiffened. Your bones, blood, and brain froze as if immobilized by a sudden, uncontrollable paralysis. The discomfort spread rapidly, leaving you unable to breathe correctly. You struggled to inhale, wheezing with strained breaths while the walls continued to sway before your eyes.
Did you go through everything for nothing? Was it all for naught, simply because this was Knives' true nature?
"You're awful!" you exploded, anger, horror, and humiliation converging into a single outburst. You hurled the cushion towards his face. "Why should I go through this? You stupid, arrogant—"
"Please, love," he said, stepping forward while deftly avoiding the cushion and reaching for your arms. "I'm sorry for—"
"Don't touch me!" You jerked away, glaring at him, gripping another cushion tightly like a weapon. "I should shoot all of you for what you did to me! I should—I should—"
"WHAT?" he chuckled. "Are you going to throw another cushion at me?"
"You. Selfish. Monster!" You shoved him away and staggered to your feet. "You're just the same, aren't you?" you snapped, your voice trembling. "You've forced yourself on me before, remember? You've taken from me—stolen from me. What makes you any different, huh?"
Your eyes burned from the tears welling up. And within seconds, they spilled, running down your cheeks.
"I'm deeply sorry," he murmured gently. "Truly, I am. I didn't know you back then, not like I do now." He bared his teeth, a flicker of anger in his eyes. "I would never treat you that way anymore."
"You don't know me!" you shouted, thrusting your fist towards his chest. "Reading a file doesn't mean you know who I am, you fucking bastard—"
When he remained unmoved, you unleashed a barrage of punches, striking his chest, arms, stomach, and legs—anywhere you could reach. You wished you could crush every bone in his body to see him writhing in agony beneath your grasp.
He nodded, his eyes losing their anger gradually. Deep down, you knew better. He wasn't furious with you; he was enraged because he was helpless. Hopeless. A goddamn lost cause. Because he knew you would never be the same again. However, what he didn't comprehend was what that meant for him.
You sobbed, yet the anger still lingered.
He approached cautiously like one would approach a frightened animal with sharp teeth. His eyes didn't stray from yours, and you felt on the verge of falling back into the immobilizing grip he once had on you. Before you knew it, he stood right in front of you, pressing his forehead against yours.
"Hitting me makes you feel powerful?" he whispered.
Despite another wail escaping your lips, you took a step back and continued to strike his chest with uncoordinated punches, unaware of how draining your attempts were. The anger dissipated swiftly, giving way to a wave of pain. Suddenly, all you wanted to do was cry. Your body trembled, torn between a sense of relief and lingering fear.
"Does this make you feel alive again, love?"
You scowled, but the courage to respond eluded you. The emotions stirred within you, yet you couldn't put them into words. You knew that they were unwelcome. Overwhelmed, you broke, squeezing your eyes shut to hold back the deluge of tears. But it was like trying to cover a bursting pipe with a piece of paper. Your face twisted in anguish as torrents of torment washed over you.
"I don't want to feel anything anymore," you choked, barely getting the words out as a heart-wrenching cry burst past your lips.
"Let me—fuck, love, just let me fucking hold you," he bit, his voice cracking. He pried your hands away from his hoodie and scooped you into his arms.
You felt weightless as he pressed your face against his sturdy chest.
"Let go of me," you screamed, but, oh, only in your imagination. Your lips had ceased to cooperate, your heart had succumbed, and your mind had descended into hell for the day. And your eyes? They were probably bleeding.
Vash murmured soothing words you couldn't hear, his arms enveloping you completely, attempting to hold you together with sheer physical strength, but it wasn't helpful.
His hold tightened painfully, his body trembling as he clung to you. He buried his face in your neck and... listened. He listened to the sound of your heart breaking alongside his own.
It was only then that you became aware of the excruciating, earsplitting wail escaping your lips as agony tore through every fiber of your being. You wanted to speak, to protest, to accuse Vash, to assign blame, to call him a liar. Yet, you found yourself unable to articulate anything coherent, only producing feeble sounds that left you almost ashamed of your weakness.
You took a long, deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't desire, but you were too consumed by your sorrow to act as you wished.
You can't escape me.
I want to see you drenched in red, little bug.
You like feeling me, don't you?
I'm going to drink that fucking blood, feast on it at all hours of the day.
You'll either belong to me or cold grave.
Knives' voice amplified in your mind, growing louder, and you frantically clawed at your skull, desperate to get it out. However, his hands intercepted your attempts, seizing hold of them and keeping them trapped between your chests.
"He's not here anymore," he whispered unevenly. "Listen to my voice instead."
You shook your head, yet he continued speaking. He recounted the first time he laid eyes on you, describing how courageous you appeared despite being a kidnapped girl. He likened you to a warrior confined in a fragile enclosure, with everyone else too afraid to approach. Then, he reminded you of the memory of your initial confrontation, how you stormed out, shrieking like a banshee, your eyes ablaze with fire, and venomous words pouring from your lips. He reminisced about how impressed he had been by your remarkable bravery.
"I've seen the woman who wanted me to kill her and then the woman bold enough to point a gun at me and my men," he said. "You carry a fire that that will never fucking change. No one will ever extinguish that flame within you, love."
His words only intensified your tears, but gradually, they began to drown out Knives' voice. An immeasurable amount of time elapsed before you finally managed to regain your composure.
The logical part of your brain urged you to withdraw and not let another man touch you again for the rest of your life. You didn't want to see the images flash through your mind every time you felt skin slide against yours. You refused to let any man take more from you than they already had, knowing they would never stop if you did. Handing over every fragment of yourself would continue until nothing remained but a chalk outline.
"I don't know," you hiccupped, "how to be okay with it."
"I'll figure it out, alright?" he rasped and gently pulled away.
Your brows knitted together as you looked up at him through swollen eyes and you didn't need a mirror to know that your skin was flushed red and streaks of dried tears on your cheeks.
"Liar," you whispered, your voice dripping with venom. You were drunk, angry, and mean, and you couldn't be bothered to care. You stole a fleeting glance at Vash, catching a glimpse of hurt flickering across his eyes before it vanished.
His voice hugged the letters in your name so softly you died five times in that second.
A single word, so simple yet foolish, jolted the slumbering butterflies in your stomach, only to remind you that being fine was no longer an option. You were far from your former self, and he couldn't mend you. In an instant, the butterflies met their demise, falling lifeless.
You broke free of his arms, stumbling and gasping. As you clutched your stomach, you discovered that some of your wounds had reopened, leaving bloodstains on his hoodie. FUCK! It made you want to vomit that you were violated like this.
But then he touched your face, and you let out a contented sigh and leaned your cheek against his palm.
A memory of something beautiful and gentle, along with a rush of feeling, flooded you at that moment. You couldn't help but notice the rhythmic movement of his Adam's apple, tempting you to reach out and trace your fingers along his neck.
"You reek of alcohol," he whispered. "Why—"
"Do you know how much I hate you?" you uttered. "I hate— hate you so much. So much."
His eyes held a deeper sorrow now, shimmering with a glimmer of unspoken words. Emboldened by the wine, you touched his lips, leaning closer. "You have such a nice mouth," you whispered. He tried to smile, but it also bore a tinge of sadness. "Do you like me?" you asked.
He nodded.
"Really?"
"You're beautiful," he managed to say, his words faltering. His voice cracked as he continued, "Why did you do this? Were you trying to harm yourself?"
You attempted to respond but were overcome with sudden nausea. Your head started to spin, prompting you to shut your eyes to regain balance. However, the unpleasant feeling persisted, refusing to subside.
"Shower's ready," you heard him say, and suddenly you were in motion. Everything around you seemed to shift, tilting left and right, and as you opened your eyes, the world blurred before you, causing you to shut them hastily.
Vash carried you in his arms, and you nestled your face in the warmth of his neck. His scent was comforting and familiar, and it made you feel safe. It almost felt like a honeymoon with a man who would love you unconditionally if circumstances differed.
You wanted to speak, but the words seemed to come out slowly. It felt like your lips took an eternity to form the words, as if time slowed down. The words stumbled out, rushing together as you repeated them over and over.
"Mmm," you mumbled against his skin. "Vash, where are we going?"
He gently placed you on the ground, steadying you as you stood, and guided you into the standing shower. The moment the water cascaded over your body, you were on the verge of screaming. Your eyes shot open, a sudden jolt of sobriety coursing through your mind as the cold water enveloped you. You blinked rapidly, breathing heavily, leaning against the shower wall. Your eyes darted around, wild and unsettled, as you stared at Vash through the glass.
Water trickled along your skin, pooling in your eyelashes and seeping into your open mouth. The trembling in your shoulders gradually subsided as your body adjusted to the water's temperature. Minutes ticked by, and the two of you locked in a wordless exchange. Your mind began to steady, yet a lingering fog clouded your thoughts even as you reached out to adjust the dial, increasing the water temperature by several degrees.
Even through the blurry glass separating you, his face remained visible, its beauty undiminished. He asked, "Are you okay? Feel any better?"
You stepped forward, studying him in silence, without uttering a word. As you unhooked your bra and let it fall to the floor, he reacted with a subtle widening of his eyes and a shift in his chest. You smoothly removed your underwear, tossing it aside, and he gulped, his eyes blinking multiple times. He instinctively took a step backward, briefly averted his eyes, and then looked back at you again.
You pushed the shower door open and urged, "Come in." However, he refused to meet your eyes. "Vash..." you called out, seeking his attention.
"You're not feeling well," he said.
"I feel fine."
"Love, please, you just drank your weight in wine—"
"You were so eager to touch me earlier," you stated. "Why the sudden change? Is it because I'm covered in cuts or because you prefer men?"
Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes trailing up your body leisurely. You saw a profound shift within him, as if something cracked inside him. He looked hurt and vulnerable, swallowing hard as he moved closer to you. Steam enveloped the room, and warm water droplets splashed against your bare hips. His lips parted, his eyes fixated on you, his hand reaching out. You thought he might come inside, but instead, he closed the door between you both and softly uttered, "I'll be waiting for you outside."
*
You were asleep.
After taking a shower, you slipped into one of his t-shirts. Then, you settled onto his lap on the couch and quickly fell asleep, resting your head against his neck, all the while mumbling things he knew you would regret saying come morning.
He abandoned you in the shower, drenched in a heavy downpour of tears. He watched you from the misty glass, questioning incessantly why and why and why he cared so deeply for you. Why was he sad? Was it because you shared the same fate as him?
A need still emanated from his heated skin. Yet, his lips would remain stitched, concealing the secrets within forever. Meanwhile, his heart brimmed with unwavering determination, awe, serenity, and boundless potential, teetering on the verge of overflowing. Hope enveloped him, cradling him in its embrace. He dared to believe that tomorrow and the days ahead you would be just fine, and he must be so delirious that he actually dared to believe it.
Summoning all his willpower, he carefully unhooked your soft, warm figure from his hold. Tenderly, he tucked you into bed and pulled back, experiencing an ache akin to what he imagined it would feel like to strip the skin of his own body.
While he was often inclined to push your boundaries, this was one he refused to cross. Despite his less-than-honorable actions in the past, he had no intention of exacerbating your trauma. You already suffered more than enough, and the last thing he wanted was to be another man who took something from you.
You pleaded with him to stay, and he pretended not to hear you. You told him you hate him, and he couldn't muster a response. You cried, even with your eyes shut. But he couldn't trust that your actions and words in your drunken state truly reflected your desires. He knew better. With your limited experience with alcohol, he could only imagine that once clarity returned in the light of day, you would not want to face him. You wouldn't want to acknowledge that you had made yourself vulnerable in his presence.
Granting you some space, he lay his head on the other pillow, wondering whether you would recollect what happened.
As for him, he was beyond despair. The image of your glistening eyes in the bathroom haunted him. They resembled the dying stars, devoid of life but radiating a brilliance that promised to extinguish everything in their wake.
It was well past three in the morning, and he felt like he hadn't slept in ages. The thought of closing his eyes was almost unbearable. Being alone with his thoughts was something he couldn't deal with.
However, he couldn't prevent the uncontrollable bitterness that gripped his throat, tugged at his heartstrings, and transformed it into a destructive puppet.
Although there were no cameras in your room, he discerned from the voices that he had heard your agonized screams and desperate pleas for Kni to stop.
Did you grow tired of the “please” word? Did it sound funny to you now? When a word is repeated incessantly, it loses its essence and transforms into gibberish—a mere combination of sounds without meaning. It becomes a tool created by humans to express desires and necessities. However, what significance do words hold when no one bothers to listen?
He allowed it to happen despite knowing better. You could never have anticipated the true extent of suffering at the hands of Kni. You were innocent, unaware of the harsh reality. However, Vash was well aware. He knew Kni and the risks involved but still left you alone. He allowed himself to forget, to act recklessly, and to be stupid, believing that Kni wouldn't dare. His foolish optimism clung to fairy tales, happy endings, and boundless potential. He wanted to think that Kni had changed for the better, but he was confronted with the opposite truth.
His eyes looked at you again, and he saw a profound sadness etched across your face. And there it was. Shame. Embarrassment. Sorrow.
Goddammit!
You weren't supposed to mean anything to him.
He felt utterly broken, sustained only by sheer necessity.
Time and time again, he had been undone by his own emotions. It was emotion that drove him to kidnap you in pursuit of getting Nick's revenge. It was emotion that compelled him to keep you alive and devise a new plan to harm Gasback. It was emotion that moved him to rescue you from Kni's torment, relinquishing his self-control and earning his brother's grudge, becoming a shattered soul once more. He didn't want anyone, especially not you, to endure that humiliating agony. It was his fragile emotions that ultimately cost him everything.
He had no peace. No love.
He wished he could tear his heart from his chest, maybe after his work was done with—
You shifted slightly, murmuring a few incomprehensible words, and immediately, he became concerned that you might be running a fever once more.
Vash made an effort to be as quiet as he could. He didn't want to disturb your sleep; he wanted reassurance that you were okay. He fidgeted with his hands, acutely aware of his racing heart.
He knew he probably shouldn't touch you; he couldn't resist. He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. Everything appeared normal. As he was about to withdraw his hand, your eyes fluttered briefly, but they didn't open.
He knew he should get up. He knew he should go. He knew he should leave the room. However, he preferred to remain here and look at you than move an inch. Because he was weak, he was so weak, and it was killing him.
In your sleep, you uttered a desperate "Please," and it pained him so deeply that he wanted to die. The intensity was such that he believed if he continued to stay by your side any longer, he would lose his sanity.
He couldn't stop thinking, he couldn't see straight, he couldn't see through the curtain of anger and something unknown obscuring his mind. Despite the turmoil, he refused to let go of you.
Four of your nails were torn off. With a trembling hand, he reached out to clasp yours, and he felt you tense momentarily, but suddenly, you drew yourself closer to him.
He dared not break free from your embrace, even though he acknowledged that you were not his beloved Nick.
*
Vash was asleep.
You knew this because he was sleeping right next to you. The darkness was so deep that it took several attempts to open your eyes and realize that, this time, you were not blinded.
The maroon curtains were drawn shut, but somehow, you knew the day had broken. You were still here. In Vash's bedroom, with him fast asleep on the pillow beside you.
His features were so soft, so ethereal. His face was deceptively calm, unassuming, and innocent. And you thought of how impossible it was that he was here, lying next to you. That you were here, lying next to him. That you were lying in his bed, sharing the same blanket. It seemed almost surreal.
He hadn't moved an inch since you had awakened. He rested on his side, with his right arm tucked under his face and his left arm resting against his torso. There was a subtle scent of soap emanating from him.
You couldn't fathom why you couldn't stop staring at him. You made an effort to avert your eyes but found yourself unable to do so. Why were you so naïve?
As you attempted to shift your neck, a flood of memories rushed through your mind. The proof of what had transpired manifested in the throbbing, pounding headache, the unpleasant taste in your mouth and stomach, and the insatiable thirst that gripped you as if every cell in your body was parched and devoid of hydration.
Yet, even more distressing were the other things you remembered. They were hazy but still intact, and you recollected everything. Drinking Nick's cherished wine. Standing in front of Livio in nothing but your underwear. And then, with a sudden, agonizing gasp—undressing in the shower and inviting Vash to join you.
What the fuck!
As a wave of nausea overtook you, you shut your eyes tightly, fearing the imminent upheaval of the little sustenance in your stomach. Mortification washed over you with astonishing swiftness, engulfing you in a profound sense of self-disgust that seemed to cling to you persistently.
Your movement was barely noticeable, yet Vash's response was immediate. He sat upright, his jaw clenching and unclenching while running a hand through his hair. It was only then that you realized for the first time he wasn't wearing a shirt.
As you observed, the contours and outlines of his silhouette came into view. Every motion he made caused the muscles in his arms to tense, captivating your attention. Your eyes trailed along his forearms, and it struck you for the first time that he made no effort to conceal his scars from you.
You were suddenly on fire. Flames danced upon your skin, and a burst of searing heat coursed through your stomach. His body bore countless scars and emanated an aura of power, its every surface somehow radiant in the midst of darkness. You had never seen anything quite like him.
Everyone you had encountered thus far seemed like a boy compared to him because he was the epitome of a man.
He became motionless as he glanced at you and realized you were awake, eyes wide open. Numerous thoughts, words, and actions flooded your mind, a whirlwind of things you wished to convey, sort out, and decide upon. But for now, there was only one thing you needed to express.
In a soft, whispered tone, you uttered, "I'm sorry for yesterday."
It took Vash a moment to find his voice. He responded, "It's alright." After hesitation and inner turmoil, he added, "I deserved it."
You nodded in acknowledgment, observing that he continued to watch you intently. Looking and looking and looking at you like he wanted to touch you, but he was afraid to get too close. Eventually, he whispered, "How are you?"
You smiled to yourself, thinking of all the ways you could answer that question. You thought of how your body felt utterly exhausted, defeated, and depleted like never before. How you'd never been more confused about people, about who they seemed to be and who they were. You thought about how you were lying in a bed in the house of your abductor. And you thought about how this terrifying monster before you possessed a capacity for tenderness. How days ago, you were lying in a pool of your blood.
It took a moment to realize that you were entangled in the very sheets Vash had slept in. A sudden blush colored your cheeks, prompting you to extricate yourself from the bedding hurriedly. You quickly moved them aside, nearly losing balance and almost falling off the bed.
You chose not to acknowledge his question.
Vash's voice carried a tone of concern as he asked another question, "Did you sleep well?"
The realization struck you that the very person who had caused you so much suffering was now displaying genuine worry for your well-being. He was so angry and ruthless just a few days ago and so careful and quiet right now.
You raised your head and noticed a smile on his face, one that carried a hint of pain. Determined, you maneuvered into a seated position, and Vash shifted to accommodate you. The sudden movement took its toll, causing your brain to spin and your skull to feel the sway of a weighted pendulum. Despite staying still, you instinctively planted your hands against the mattress to steady yourself.
You were tired and weak, and aside from some overall soreness, you seemed to be in good condition. You were alive. You could feel the rhythm of your breath and blinks. You were existing.
You met Vash's eyes, and it was undeniable that he and Knives were identical. The echoes of the other twin's laughter lingered in your mind. If you concentrated, you could revisit the precise moment it occurred—the agony so overwhelming, so torturous that it was etched into your memory. However, despite the striking resemblance, Vash was not his brother.
Because, to be frank, Vash appeared in a woeful state. He was pale, his breathing unsteady. His lips were tightly pressed, and his eyes conveyed weariness and distress, resembling deep, boundless wells. His hair was disheveled.
All you wanted was to dive into his arms, but instead, you found yourself seated there, reminding yourself to be cruel.
"You don't wanna talk?" he asked, fixing his gaze upon you, his hands clenched into fists pressed firmly against his thighs. Ah, those gray trousers!
You felt as if you were ensnared within another person's story. So, you didn't want to speak unless it became absolutely essential. Instead, you preferred to sit here, unabashedly absorbing his presence without needing words. Silence was preferable, allowing you to savor the sight of him without saying anything.
He swallowed hard, looked up, and then averted his eyes. Exhaling, he rubbed the back of his neck and clasped both hands behind his head. He turned away, shielding his face from you. The effort made the veins on his arms bulge, and you had to resist the urge to touch the sliver of skin on his lower back by clenching your fingers.
He was still looking away from you as he uttered, "I really, really need you to say something, love."
The anguish and torment evident in his voice could bring you to your knees. Yet, you remained silent. In response, he turned around and directly faced you.
He cleared his throat and spoke in a quiet yet resolute tone. "Alright," he said and turned his back to you without uttering another word and rose to his feet.
"Where are you going?" you asked instantly. You didn't want him to go. Somehow, you found yourself unexpectedly feeling secure and protected in his presence.
"You clearly have no use for my company," Vash stated, concentrating on you for what seemed like an eternity. After a prolonged silence, he added, "If there were even a sliver of possibility to spare you from this pain, I would have seized it." It was this—his genuine sincerity—that destroyed your partly built walls. The truth was so unbearable that you wished he had spared you a lie.
"Thank you for letting me stay in your room."
His eyes roamed across your face, searching for something that was absent. "You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need. I'll arrange for your belongings to be moved—"
Out of nowhere, a piercing scream tore through the air. Panic surged through you, causing you to scan your surroundings frantically. Something breaking echoed, accompanied by a distant, tortured cry. You knew those dungeons—encased in thick concrete, with walls sturdier than the floors and ceilings combined to suppress sounds from traveling too far. If the agony reached your ears, it must be unbearable beyond measure.
"Who is that?" you found yourself saying.
"No longer anyone," he stated, his eyebrow raised. His eyes remained focused and clear despite the veil of uncertainty surrounding you. He took a deep breath. "He was among those who let Kni in. They are paying the price of their disloyalty. Nothing you should worry about."
He subjected his men to torture because they had allowed the devil to enter. You were unprepared for this. Not yet. Not in this way. However, a surge of emotions flooded your mind, and despite your efforts, you couldn't push the thoughts aside. You couldn't ignore the unsettling reality that he was ending lives as a result of the pain inflicted upon you.
He was engaging in this act for your sake. He was taking lives, all for you.
You could almost perceive the rhythmic thumping of your heart within your chest. You should’ve hosted this, but somehow you were so full of revenge that you could even enjoy their pain.
Concerned, he inquired, "What's wrong?"
Startled, your breath quickened, and for a fleeting moment, you contemplated responding with "Nothing." After all, apart from being petrified, nothing seemed amiss. Except for his actions' unsettling effects on you—peculiar and irrational feelings that stirred within your chest and entwined your very being. However, you refrained from speaking any of those thoughts. Instead, you posed a question whose answer you already knew: "Why are you asking?"
"You're trembling," he observed.
"Oh," you uttered, the two letters escaping your mouth with a startled tone as if seeking refuge in a distant realm. In such moments, you wished you had the strength to look away from Vash. You wished your cheeks wouldn't enflame so effortlessly. You wasted your wishes on foolish things, you mused to yourself.
"No, I'm fine," you eventually replied, but deep down, you desperately wanted him to cease causing these feelings within you. You really needed him to grant you that favor—putting an end to it all. "I'm just taken aback," you added, attempting to explain your reaction.
He remained silent, his eyes beseeching you for an explanation. He had transformed into someone simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar in a brief span, defying your expectations. "You want the world to think you're a merciless killer," you conveyed to him. "Yet, you are not."
He laughed, his eyebrows raised in astonishment. "No," he responded. "I'm afraid I'm simply a typical murderer."
"But why—"
"Do you need something?" he asked, adopting a firm tone that indicated his unwillingness to further engage in the conversation.
You let out a sigh. "Is the nurse, Milly, available? I might require fresh bandages."
With all your effort, you maneuvered to the edge of the bed as his footsteps faded. Examining your attire, you noticed you were wearing another oversized black T-shirt and a pair of boxers that didn't belong to you. Embarrassment and shame slapped you in the face. In addition to his T-shirt, were you wearing one of his underwear?
The urge to bury yourself beneath the blanket and disappear intensified, but then you heard Vash's voice. "There's no need for that."
You lifted your head in surprise, observing Vash's return to the room. He carried a first aid kit and maintained his usual calm demeanor. It was then that you realized he wasn't wearing that cross necklace anymore.
"Why did you remove your bandages?" he asked casually. You remained silent, pursing your lips and giving him a stern glare. His eyebrows raised in surprise as he caught a glimpse of your expression. For a fleeting moment, he looked furious, though you couldn't tell who with.
"Um... my clothes," you hesitated, nervously touching the fabric of your outfit. "Did you—I mean—did you?"
He grinned and maintained his gaze until your cheeks flushed. Then, he shook his head and placed the box on the bed. "You don't remember anything from last night?" he playfully remarked.
"No," you lied.
"You're a terrible liar, love," he commented, causing you to feign nonchalance as he sat on the floor.
You looked away to avoid his smirk and then pretended it was a happy coincidence that his hands brushed against your bare thighs. You pretended that having him on his knees before you didn't feel amazing. You pretended not to notice the way he was looking at you.
"I need to take care of your legs," he murmured, his breath against your skin, sending a thrill through your veins. For a brief moment, you didn't grasp the meaning behind his words. Yet, you didn't mind. Your thoughts were so dreamy and unfocused that even you surprised yourself.
You knew you said you didn't want hands on you, but Vash was an entirely new experience. Touching him was all you wanted to think about.
"The cuts aren't too severe," he remarked, his fingertips gently gliding over your calves. You held your breath. "But, you should keep the bandages on, just as a precaution. Sometimes, it's safer to be stabbed than to have multiple cuts. We don't want them to get infected."
"Why don't you ask Milly to do it?" you suggested, nudging him. "After all, she's the nurse here."
"Do you want me to leave you bleeding until she arrives?" he retorted, his tone tense and slightly impatient.
"No," you whispered.
"Then accept it for what it is."
You clamped your mouth shut. This time, you had no issue complying with his demands. Despite his reluctance to admit it, he wanted to help you. It was an unexpected act of kindness from someone in his position as a Mafia Don. Instead of questioning him, you chose to appreciate his help.
He glanced up, his hand resting on your knee. You found yourself nodding, unsure of the reason behind your actions. You wondered if your external trembling matched the ferocity of your inner turmoil. You hoped the darkness concealed the deep blush on your face, the embarrassment that his touch on your knee had such a crazy effect on you.
He applied cream to your wounds with a gentle touch, causing a shiver down your spine when his fingers made contact. These hands had taken lives, yet they had also shielded and safeguarded you. How could you separate his wrongdoings from his acts of kindness?
"Lift your t-shirt," he demanded.
You squinted, displeased with the commanding tone he was using towards you.
Seeing the expression on your face, he sighed and said, "Please."
You stared at his undercut as he lowered his head, searching for something within the box. In a soft voice, you asked, "Why did you save me, anyway?"
"Why do you assume I saved you?" he challenged, stealing a glance at you while retrieving bandages and Neosporin. "I'll need your t-shirt up."
You sighed and complied with his request. You hiked your clothes up to your armpits, and it saddened you to witness how accustomed you had grown to exposing yourself to him. You weren't wearing a bra, but that might as well be nothing with how gay he was and had no interest in you.
"Why do you pretend you don't care?" you asked. "Why do you want people to think you are ruthless?"
He stretched his neck, causing it to crack. "Why does it matter?" he replied. "Let people believe what they want. I don't need their validation."
"So, you're fine with it," you inquired, "that people pass such harsh judgments on you?"
"I have no one to please," he responded. "Nobody who cares about what happens to me. I'm not in the business of making friends, love. My role is to lead a mafia, and I excel at it. The things I've achieved wouldn't make anyone proud," he admitted. "Nick is no longer alive. I lack a family. My brother sees me as feeble and pitiful. My men want me dead. The world is going to hell. And the conversations I have with you are the longest I've ever had."
"What—really?" you questioned, your eyes widening.
"Really."
Vash's presence in the room felt heavy, almost like a weight on your chest, yet you decided to focus on examining the meticulous wrapping of your fresh bandage. The gauze felt taut around your waist as you lacked the courage to refute his words. You wanted nothing more than to have him hold you, but something was gnawing at your core, scraping at your insides, telling you that it was probably best if you stayed precisely where you were.
He gestured for you to turn over by twirling his finger in the air.
"You shouldn't rip off your bandages," he advised, his face adopting an unreadable expression. "Your wounds won't heal properly."
Huffing, you turned your back to him, feeling the tension as his fingers brushed your back. "It's not my fau—"
"Own your mistakes and accept your faults," he interrupted, his voice deepening with severity. "Never forget that." He rummaged through the supplies.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your day of human trafficking," you muttered, seething with anger. In response, he placed an alcohol-soaked pad on your cuts. The sudden stinging made you hiss through your teeth, and a string of curses hovered on the tip of your tongue. What a despicable jerk.
"You'll find yourself in even worse situations if you keep talking like that," he informed you. "What's it going to take for you to learn your lesson? Getting killed?"
Swallowing hard, you managed to say, "You promised you'd keep me safe."
A loud, booming laugh erupted from him, causing you to whip your head towards him, consumed by anger, while his shoulders shook with amusement. His twinkling blue eyes were almost as intimidating as his anger.
"You're laughing at me," you exclaimed, unable to believe it.
"Love, I'm a liar. Why do you rely on my words?"
"You just said sorry—"
"Yesterday is in the past. Today is a fresh start," he interjected, his smile fading slightly but his eyes still gleaming with amusement. " As sexy as it is for you to place your trust in me, love, it's the last thing you should do in this place."
Disgust twisted your lip as you thumped your head back while he continued cleaning up your back.
"Don't call me sexy," you snapped, not because you disagreed but because he was right. You shouldn't trust anyone.
"You gonna kill me for it?" he challenged nonchalantly, pretending to be indifferent. Although, that wasn't how he sounded earlier.
You shrugged. "That's gonna happen anyway, so I suppose it doesn't matter."
He fell silent, and when you thought he wouldn't say anything, you heard him whisper under his breath, "I know."
You could never forget the horrible things he did to you, yet you also saw a person who had never been afforded the opportunity to be a human. It made you question whether you were just as cruel as him, if you deemed him irredeemable, if you believed he couldn't change, if you thought there were people in this world who didn't deserve a second chance. But you couldn't help but disagree with that notion.
Clearing your throat, you moistened your dry lips. "Are you going to do anything to stop Knives?"
He sighed. "I can't."
You snarled, "So, that's all? You're just going to stand there and do nothing?"
He didn't respond immediately, and you appeared to have struck a nerve. "He's a Mafia Don. I can't harm him just like I can't harm your father. That's who I am, love. A bad, bad man without any remorse."
Liar. If he lacked remorse, he wouldn't be here now, tending to wounds he didn't have to take care of.
"Why do you do it?" you whispered, wincing as the alcohol stung a sore area. "Is it for the money?"
He scoffed. "I couldn't care less about money. I can't take it with me when I'm dead, so what good is it to me?"
"Then, why?" you pushed.
He sighed, tearing open a new package of gauze with his teeth. "You don't get to choose your family," he replied curtly, his tone indicating the end of this conversation. However, you didn't heed his signal and continued.
"You're fully aware that you could get killed, so why do you persist?"
He harshly applied a strip of tape onto you, revealing his growing frustration with your persistent questions. "I have scores to settle. Once that's done, I have no purpose for staying alive," he whispered.
"You're simply determined to carry on until you kill my father?" Your face fell as realization sank in. A knot formed between your brows. "Why not just run away and start a new life?"
"The only way to escape families like this is as a corpse. Are you done with the interrogation, or should I also regale you with the story of how I lost my virginity?"
You sealed your lips tightly. Vash already provided you with plenty of information. It wouldn't be fair for you to continue pushing him. He finished attending to your wounds, placing fresh gauze over them.
After he finished, you let go of your shirt, adjusting it as an uncomfortable silence enveloped the room.
"Thanks," you muttered hastily, feeling the words scorch your tongue as they escaped.
He glanced at you, "Don't thank me just yet, love."
Description: Having fallen into this world, you were forced to shed blood to survive. But what about when you get tired, when you think the blood on your hands won’t wash off and give up because you have nothing to lose?
Yep, you were there, at rock bottom, rolling in the deep.
Then, there came a day when life gave you a new chance to live, laugh, and love, or so she thought.
Genre: heavy angst, sad love story, maybe tragedy, violence, lonely hearts, broken souls, +18.
Tags/Warnings: nothing but angst.
Song Recommendation: Mitski - I Bet on Losing Dogs
Chapter index -> Next Chapter
Year: 2019
Y/N lay on her side of the bed, quietly watching him. Unaware of her presence, he blinked, trying to pinpoint when she had entered the room. Suddenly, he noticed she was utterly motionless, a kind of stillness that was distinctly hers. The realization struck him, and he took a breath, fully aware of the impossibility of this moment.
Yet, despite his awareness, a delightful sensation of blooming flowers filled his stomach, their soft petals caressing every inch of his nervous system. It felt like he had been granted three wishes: to see, feel, and have her once more. It was the most peculiar phenomenon—an extraordinary, joyous impossibility delicately wrapped in tissue paper, tied with a bow, and safely tucked away in his heart.
Everything felt incredibly authentic, to the point where he could even sense the fragrance of lemons and the scent of the sea enveloping her.
Satoru nervously swallowed, slowly raising his hand. His eyes widened in surprise as his finger touched her face's smooth skin. She went still as he gently cupped her cheek, which felt as soft as velvet petals. His fingers then traced along the curve of her neck and explored the scars on her shoulders.
She didn't say a word, but her eyes remained on him.
As his gaze returned to her face, he was taken aback by the way she looked at him. Her eyes carried a weight that worried him, yet her expression remained tender, focused, and brimming with emotion that he found it difficult to look away, captivated by her presence.
She closed her eyes, and he couldn't help but observe even the simplest actions she took: adjusting her weight, her hair sliding across the pillow, and the subtle trembling of her lips. All six of his eyes followed every movement of her body. This moment with her felt incredibly strange, causing his chest to tighten and his heart to race. She had a way of making him long to remain trapped in this dream indefinitely.
Then, she came closer and closer and closer.
Reluctant to disturb the enchantment of the moment, he reached out silently and held her hand as if she were a lonely, fluffy cloud in the sky, destined to vanish with the northern winds. He brought her palm to his lips, planting a gentle kiss upon it, desperately hoping it would dispel the emptiness in her eyes. But alas, the stubborn void remained steadfast. He managed a melancholic smile as she pressed her cheek against his palm, and he delicately brushed strands of hair away from her face. Something stirred within him, a surge of warmth accompanying the movement of her head. Leaning closer, she gently pressed her forehead against his, her breath caressing his nose like a gentle breeze.
"Please stay," Satoru whispered, tightly closing his eyes.
Expecting her to leave him again, he was caught off guard when her lips brushed against his chin. In response, a raw cry escaped his throat, resonating with longing. His mouth parted, and the warmth of her sweetened throat flowed into him. At that moment, he was incapable of thought or action, consumed only by the exquisite experience of savoring her presence. Each breath she took, every gentle movement of her lips, felt like a miraculous gift after weeks of separation.
He drew her near and kissed her, kissing her with such intensity that time seemed to lose its grip. In that fleeting moment, he momentarily forgot the misery of his life without her.
The bliss was limitless, but she broke the kiss, and her leg brushed against his. Opening his eyes, he found her smiling—a small, secretive smile that conveyed so many unspoken sentiments, the kind that no one else could ever say to him.
Was it possible to hold onto her, to make her stay? He kissed her gently on the forehead, the curve of her nose, and the corner of her lips. Under his touch, she seemed to swell, to grow more vibrant.
"Satoru?" she spoke, breaking her silence for the first time.
"Yes?"
She shifted sideways, and he willingly made space for her by his side. She seamlessly filled the emptiness, nuzzling her face into his neck. It felt reminiscent of the old days, the days before she had vanished into oblivion. With closed eyes, he embraced the moment as if in prayer, and his heart sprang back to life.
Her hand let go of his beneath the sheets, only to settle on his waist and gently glide down his thigh. The touch nearly caused him to lose his composure, but then she planted a light kiss on his pure white hair. He gulped hard, suppressing the reminders of reality that threatened to flood his mind.
"I miss you," she uttered in a faint whisper he almost failed to catch.
"I'm here," he reassured, softly caressing her cheek. "Right here, Y/N."
But she shook her head, defying his attempt to draw her closer until she dissipated into thin air.
He blinked, his breath ragged and gasping as it moved in and out of his mouth in quick intervals. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing so loud it resembled the sound of someone who had been running for a long time. And then, the familiar white walls of the room released their hold on him. He made a silent vow to himself that he would love to forget how to wake up one day.
Drenched in sweat, Satoru sighed and leaned against the headboard, taking deep breaths. He needed a moment, so he tightly shut his eyes until her face carved itself in his mind. These dreams were his only opportunity to be with her. Although he willingly let her go, he searched for her in the following days, not to bring her back but to ensure her safety.
Yet, it felt like the ground had opened up and swallowed her whole. She had returned to being the ghost she once was as if she had never existed, as if the echoes of her laughter hadn't filled this room just a few months ago, as if his body didn't still carry her scent. He ran his hand over his eyes and rested it on his neck.
Honestly, he had been considering the idea that Y/N might be a product of his imagination. Perhaps it was because he couldn't fathom how someone with a personality like hers could survive in this harsh world. Moreover, he struggled to comprehend why someone like her would show any interest in a heartless, self-centered person like him.
Yet, through the bond they shared, he could feel her existence. She was tangible, alive, moving forward without him. Yeah, that's the thing. The most challenging aspect wasn't letting her go; it was coming to terms with the fact that she didn't wish to remain, and that realization caused even greater pain.
Satoru berated himself and pushed the covers away, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and burying his head in his hand. He had hours of work ahead of him, yet her face continued to intrude into his thoughts, and he realized that a small part of him didn't want to dismiss the thoughts of her. Some part of him found solace in the torment it brought.
She was destroying him, the strongest.
He covered his mouth with his hand, realizing he was losing his sanity. Shaking his head, he collapsed onto the bed, placed a hand over his forehead, and then dragged it down his face in frustration. If only his stupid brain hadn't betrayed him, he would never have abandoned her at the wedding. Because, since that day, every decision he made seemed to be a regrettable mistake.
He turned his head and looked at the sheets.
He turned his gaze towards the sheets. She slept here, he thought. She had shared his bed, waking up beside him. In this bed, she had smiled, dreamed, moaned, laughed, and cried—all next to him. But now, her warmth was a distant memory. She had been here, and he had allowed her to slip away.
He had lost her.
What could he do now?
She despised him.
She despised him, and the chance of ever seeing her again was uncertain. It was entirely his fault. When he had acted foolishly, he should have anticipated the consequences.
These dreams and memories might be all he had remaining of her.
His hand lingered over the sheets, attempting to conjure her presence beside him, even if only in his imagination, even if only for a fleeting moment within the confines of his mind.
The prospect of a negative outcome filled him with terror. What if he never had the chance to see her again? The thought weighed heavily on his mind, causing him to grip the sheets tightly, and in frustration, he forcefully slammed his fist against the bed.
It's funny how quickly he grew accustomed to her presence in this place. It brought him an odd sense of comfort, knowing they would share the same roof and sleep in the same bed.
Her presence in the school changed everything for him. The months she spent here marked the first time in years that he truly savored living in these dorms since his teenage days. He looked forward to her smiles, tantrums, and even absurd arguments.
Now, Satoru longed for her to be here, to shout at him. He would have congratulated her if she had ever slapped him across the face.
But she never did. She packed her anger and disappointment and left.
Oh, God! He wished he could sink into the ground. The proof of her presence was so vivid and real that it made it unbearable for him to remain in this place. He couldn't seek refuge in missions, as he was obligated to stay in the school for the investigation regarding Y/N's flee.
Higher-ups didn't know he was the one who planned her escape. Even if they knew, that wouldn't change anything in his end. He had no reprieve from the consequences of his actions.
After all, he was consumed by a profound sense of hopelessness.
The clock had ticked past five in the morning, and it felt like he hadn't slept in days. However, he could scarcely bear to shut his eyes. He couldn't bear the solitude with his thoughts or confront the vulnerabilities within himself. He felt broken, held together solely by obligation. He had unsuccessfully attempted to express the jumble of emotions clouding his mind, but to whom? Who would comprehend him? Who would believe that what he was experiencing surpassed a mere binding vow?
Kento Nanami and Shoko Ieiri? Not quite. Their relationship never quite clicked for them. They couldn't comprehend how someone like Satoru, with his diverse preferences in partners, could be an emotional match for anyone, especially someone like Y/N: a girl who ate, slept, and breathed emotion. They always believed that Y/N gave him too much credit and that she tolerated too much of his nonsense.
They were correct in their assessment, but her appearance or the sense of being desired didn't make him fall in love with her. It was the trust they shared and the comforting sensation of finding a home. He had never experienced it before, as he had always felt alone. When he was held in her embrace, he felt warmth for the first time. Y/N was his home.
Indeed, Satoru was engulfed in his misery, isolated and without companionship.
His loneliness was a vicious creature. It sneaked up on him silently, sitting by his side in the darkness, gently caressing his hair as he stared off. It wrapped around his very bones, constricting so tightly that he struggled to catch his breath. It planted falsehoods in his heart, lying beside him at night, draining the light from every corner. Loneliness became a constant companion without her, holding his hand only to pull him down when he tried to rise.
Even when he was prepared to let it go, break free, and start anew, loneliness remained an old acquaintance standing beside him in the mirror, challenging him to try and live without it. He couldn't find the words to resist himself, to battle against the inner voices screaming for her return—wanting her back, wanting her back, wanting her back, and knowing deep down it wasn't possible.
Loneliness was a bitter, wrenching companion.
"Is this what you felt all along, Y/N?" he whispered into the empty room. He tried to convince himself that it was merely a meaningless dream, but he was deceiving himself. The truth was, witnessing her sadness carved into his unconsciousness became too overwhelming, and the thought of her suffering inflicted unbearable agony upon him. Knowing that she had endured all these pains.
He had thrown her into this situation, causing her to be discarded and harmed. Guilt drowned him, immersing him in a world where he unexpectedly delved into feeling her pain so deeply.
It was killing him.
He stood up and began pacing back and forth in his bedroom until he mustered the courage to keep his shits together.
The room carried the fragrance of morning rain, saturated with traces of her presence. The air was dim and infused with an earthy scent. He inhaled deeply and approached the window, pressing his fingers against the chilly glass. His breath began to fog up. He closed his eyes, listening to the gentle patter of rain rushing in the wind. Right now, raindrops served as a reminder that clouds possessed a pulse, as did he.
When he was a child—of course, with no friend— he often pondered the nature of raindrops. He marveled at how they descended, stumbling over their feet, breaking their legs, and forsaking their parachutes as they trembled from the sky toward an uncertain fate. It seemed someone was emptying their pockets over the Earth, indifferent to where the contents would land. They didn't seem to mind that the raindrops would burst upon hitting the ground, or that they would shatter upon reaching the floor, or that people would resent the days when the drops dared to tap on their doors.
Now that he thought, he realized that Y/N was like a raindrop. Despite enduring hit after hit, bruise after bruise, tear after tear, she persevered and moved forward, facing her fears. Yet, when their paths intersected, he emptied himself of her presence and left her to evaporate, utterly alone.
How could he be such a monstrous person?
He pressed his forehead against the glass pane, feeling the familiar embrace of the cold against his skin. He couldn't continue living in constant pain every minute of the day, as it was unsustainable. On the other hand, if the pain ceased, she would be gone, and he couldn't bear that either.
He took a sharp breath to clear his mind, clenching and unclenching his fist, when his attention was drawn to the scar on his palm. It served as a poignant reminder. He was about to trace his fingers along its jagged edges when a knock sounded at the door.
Knock, knock, knock! The door swung open, revealing Satoru with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a sly grin on his face. "Hey, Granny! Got any spare ice for your lovely neighbor?" he asked, leaning casually against the door frame and peering at her through his shades.
"No," Y/N replied curtly, her annoyance evident as she tried to close the door. But Satoru held it firmly, her surprised gaze bouncing between his hand and his oddly pleased expression. What kind of power play was this that the infamous Satoru Gojo had initiated? She kept her distance, ready with a hidden knife up her sleeve, just in case.
"Don't you want to know why I need the ice?" Satoru inquired, his gaze fixed on where her hand and knife were concealed behind the door.
"No," she replied tersely.
"It's for my Scotch!" Satoru exclaimed, throwing his arms up in mock excitement.
"You don't drink," she retorted, her grip on the door tightening, fully aware that this flimsy door wouldn't stand a chance if Satoru had any intentions.
"Awww," Satoru pouted, winking at her over his glasses. "You sure know a lot about me." His grin widened. "But did you know that my six eyes can see your little knife?" He pointed directly at the spot where she had hidden her blade.
She took a deep breath, lips pressed together tightly. "Good night!" she declared, slamming the door in his face with frustration and determination.
*
Knock, knock, knock! The door creaked open, revealing Satoru. Again. "Hello, my favorite coffin dodger! I'm in desperate need of bobby pins!"
With an exasperated sigh, she leaned her head against the door frame, rolling her eyes. "Do I even want to know why?"
Satoru's smile grew wider as if this was all part of his grand plan. He pointed at the stray hairs falling over his forehead. "Ever since you ripped off my blindfold, these stubborn hairs keep getting stuck in my night cream!" To emphasize the point, he raised an eyebrow and shook his head, demonstrating that his hair was not moving an inch.
Her eyes remained fixed on his forehead, surprise evident in her gaze. "You use facial creams?"
Satoru struggled to contain his laughter. Despite her reputation as a skilled murderer, her emotions were easy to read, which amused him greatly. "You don't?" He covered his mouth with his hand as if sharing scandalous news. "No wonder you look like grandmothers!"
Her eyes quickly snapped back to his face, her furrowed brows and deathly glares revealing her annoyance and anger. It must have been a mistake. How could someone like her, infamous for being a monster, have such a vulnerable side? Was she the same angel of death he had encountered years ago on his deathbed, or had he completely misjudged her all this time? Damn it, ever since she touched him, his instincts couldn't be trusted. There was an enigmatic pull towards her that he couldn't quite pinpoint.
Lost in his thoughts, he heard her sharp retort, "Go to hell, you asshole!" followed by the slamming of the door.
*
Knock, knock, knock. The door reluctantly opened, revealing a woman irritated by the late hour. "For God's sake, it's 3 in the morning—" Her eyes widened in disbelief at the absurd sight before her. "What the fuck?!"
Satoru had his t-shirt folded up to his stomach, using it like a kangaroo pouch to carry random stuff. What a clown! But despite her best efforts, her eyes couldn't resist sneaking glances at his abs and the fine white hairs under his navel. Is that his happy trail?
Y/N never had time for these kinds of games in her straightforward life. Maybe that's why she always fell into the white fox's trap, or perhaps she was just a bunny who enjoyed being hunted by this hunter who found any excuse to occasionally knock on her door and play with his prey. But no matter what, he always managed to surprise her.
"Hey! Pervert!" he exclaimed, waving his hand. "My face is up here!"
Her eyes slowly and somewhat reluctantly made their way back up, her blush becoming more pronounced with every passing second. And boy, if it were any other time, he would have grinned with victory at this triumph. But for now, he kept a neutral expression. "I need you to hide these sweets!"
She bit her lower lip as he casually took her hands and pulled her in closer, way too close for comfort. He emptied all the chocolates from his t-shirt into her hands, her fingers brushing against his chiseled body for a fleeting moment, sending a warmth surging through her that felt completely foreign. She lowered her head, desperately wishing her hair would cover her face and hide her embarrassment. What the fuck was wrong with her?
But of course, Satoru didn't stop there. He then took her shoulders and guided her back to her room, leaving her completely dazed. "If I knock on your door in an hour asking for sweets, don't open it for me. Got it?"
Was he going to show up again in an hour? This was too much to handle; she knew it. But her brain was short-circuiting, so she simply nodded, still keeping her head down.
"Don't trust me, even if I try to trick you," he warned, gently brushing her hair away from her face and locking his gaze with hers. "Okay, Y/N?"
She gulped, not daring to question her own sanity or the bizarre nature of this encounter. "Okay," she managed to utter.
Satoru grinned in satisfaction, stepped back, and closed the door with a smile, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, utterly confused, with a bunch of chocolates in her hands.
*
Knock, knock, knock. He anxiously watched as the door swung open, revealing the hallway's darkness. " Do you like Kento?" The words slipped out of his mouth quicker than he intended. Desperate for her answer, he gripped the door frame.
"What?" She stood before him, dressed in red, aware that she was merely a plaything to entertain his boredom, but he was someone she desired more than anything in her life.
"Are you in love with Kento? Just tell me. Yes or no, Y/N?"
The urgency in Satoru's voice and the concern in his eyes made her lift her head and meet his gaze. What kind of game was he playing this time? Regardless, she was too weary to care anymore. "No," she whispered, looking away.
His wishes came true for once, and he got what he had longed for. He promised himself he wouldn't mess it up this time. He vowed to do whatever it took to protect this treasure. He took a step into the room, and Y/N instinctively stepped back, her last attempt to escape the fate that would shadow her life.
Counting down from ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...and one. Her back met the wall, and Satoru's lips found hers. There was no liberation in this love, so she closed her eyes and surrendered. His kiss deepened, and he promised her everything, everything she desired, as men in love often do. And despite herself, she trusted him, as women in love often do.
*
Knock, knock, knock. Satoru opened the door to find Y/N standing there, wearing a partially wet top and a sweatshirt that couldn't conceal her sweat. He wondered why she had come to his doorstep in such a rush. Despite the surprise, he didn't mind at all and actually enjoyed the sight of her. Observing her during her preparations, training, stretches, and even afterward became his new favorite meal of his six eyes.
With one hand on her side, she gestured towards the likely location of the training grounds. "I just saw Panda tossing Nobara around! Why aren't you supervising? What kind of sensei are you?"
Satoru casually shifted his gaze from her damp collarbones to her face. His half-opened eyes had a certain quality that his faint smile couldn't conceal. "What kind of sensei do you want me to be?" he asked, his voice husky as if he had just woken up. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame, shamelessly letting his eyes wander over her parted lips.
"I don't know!" She shrugged. "How about a responsible one?" she suggested, hoping he would take action and head to the training grounds upon hearing the news. However, he had no intention of doing so.
"Perhaps you could teach me," he proposed, his hand reaching for the hem of her waist, gently toying with the edge of her top. "During a private session," he added, his gaze locked onto hers.
"What the heck?" were the only words that came to her mind as he didn't wait for her response. He swiftly pulled her into the room and closed the door with a smooth kick. Her mind was filled with disbelief as Satoru stepped forward, cornering her. Their chests rose and fell with each deep breath as if they had just run for miles. There was a lingering desire in the air, an unspoken plea for vulnerability. Despite the years she had spent learning to defend herself, in that moment, she realized she wanted to be defenseless in front of him. There was an undeniable trust, a growing soft spot within her, certain that he would never harm her and she would be safe in his arms. He was the missing piece she had been searching for in her life.
She felt his warm delight as he called out her name. The tenderness in his voice returned, a tone he reserved for their private moments. He drew her closer, his hands enveloping her as if afraid she might vanish if he let go.
She softly whispered "Satoru" into the crook of his neck, and she could feel his hand sliding down her waist. He was her home, so she let him surround her.
He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. "You don't know what you do to me," he murmured, his voice gentle, smooth, and unhurried. She had never realized until now just how enticing his voice was.
His hand tenderly held hers as he leaned in, brushing his nose against the nape of her neck, causing her to stifle a moan. No one had ever touched her with such delicacy, treating her like a fragile cherry blossom. His lips lightly grazed her skin, and she couldn't help but whimper.
He smiled. He was the reason for her racing heartbeat. He was responsible for those tears of happiness she tried to hide. He was enough for her, just as he was, without needing any proof or change to keep her by his side. As his hands explored her body, feeling and memorizing every curve, he kissed the top of her shoulder blade, gently tracing over her scars.
She rested her hands on his chest, causing him to open his eyes. Gently, he lifted her chin slightly. "I'll be a good sensei," he whispered. "I'll be good to you," he murmured, stroking her cheek and gently kissing her forehead. "I'll be good to anyone you wish."
She stared into his eyes, which seemed to hold a vast heart like the oceans and skies. Rising on her toes, she kissed him with hunger, desperation, and a longing to explore and savor him. He tasted like cotton candy with a hint of vanilla in his scent. Within moments, Satoru responded with an intense kiss, his hands encircling her neck while she attempted to remove his oversized T-shirt with her fingers.
They moved with a sense of urgency, driven by their desires. Satoru firmly grasped her hips, his hands exploring her body. His arms enveloped her with strength while his lips remained gentle. Her head spun with longing. His lips found their way to her neck, savoring her essence, consuming her completely.
She grabbed the waistband of his pants, not realizing how much it would excite him. In response, he lifted her by the waist, pressing her against the wall. His hands held her firmly, supporting her backside, causing her to wrap her legs around him instinctively.
As she tightly gripped his hair, their lips met again, intensifying the connection. His hands slid under her top, and both of them were breathing heavily. The tension grew as his pants tightened around his arousal while she clung to his T-shirt, driven by desperation.
"I'm telling you, I saw Y/N heading to her room. Why isn't she responding?" Yuji's voice echoed.
"Maybe she's taking a shower. It's a normal thing to do after training, you know," Nobara replied, her tone filled with righteousness.
"Maybe Gojo sensei knows where she is!"
"Can't we just leave everyone in this dorm wing alone?" Megumi suggested, feeling trapped.
Satoru let out a heavy breath, closed his eyes, and loosened his hold, allowing Y/N's feet to touch the floor, yet he didn't release her completely. She gently held his face in her hands and softly kissed the tip of his nose. "They'll go away if we stay quiet," he whispered, brushing his cheek against her damp, sweaty hair.
"They won't, and you know it," she whispered, leaning against his chest. She could feel the rhythm of his heartbeats, as well as the bulge pressed against her belly, causing her to blush and hide her face in his embrace.
"How about tonight, after 10?" she proposed, running her fingers through his hair, futilely attempting to neaten the tousled strands.
He drew back, his eyes widening as he gazed at her. "Tonight, after 10," he whispered, a wide grin spreading. He lightly brushed his thumb against her lower lip, only to be surprised when she kissed his palm and smiled as if this was a usual occurrence between two people who shared physical attraction. But there was something more, wasn't there? The soft pink hue on her cheeks and the way she smiled stirred something within him. What was this feeling that enveloped him whenever she was near?
Rubbing the back of his head, he walked back and cleared his throat, observing Y/N hastily fixing her hair, trying to conceal any signs of mischief like a naughty child.
"It's moments like these that make me question my morals. Can't we all peacefully share Y/N?" he declared, opening the door to his room.
A gentle nudge on Satoru's arm and Y/N appeared before the door. "What do you all need?"
Nobara and Yuji immediately started discussing urgent matters with Y/N, seemingly oblivious to the time constraints. Meanwhile, Megumi noticed how their sensei looked at her with a broad, nostalgic smile he hadn't seen in years. Oh, boy.
*
Knock, knock, knock. The door opened instantly. Satoru had returned from a mission. "Sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to — "
Before he could finish his sentence, her arms tightly wrapped around his waist. She trembled with cold, her eyes red and wet from another nightmare. Without hesitation, he pulled her close, resting her head against his chest, disregarding the dirt on his uniform.
"It was just a bad dream, Y/N. Only a dream," he reassured her. Yet, her sobs persisted. Holding her hand gently, he pressed a kiss on it. "Look," he urged, encouraging her to open her tightly shut eyes. "There is no blood on your hand." He tenderly stroked her hair and kissed her temple.
She stared at her hand, almost disbelieving that the blood had vanished upon his arrival. Sniffling, she remained silent for a while.
"Are you alright, Y/N?" he asked with concern.
She raised her head from his chest and remained silent.
"What's wrong?" He gently wiped away her tears with his thumb. He was the strongest, yet something about this formidable woman brought out his weaknesses.
"Oh, nothing," she replied, a faint smile appearing on her lips as she lowered her head.
"What's amusing?" He grasped her chin and lifted it. Her eyes were still red, but the sadness seemed to have dissipated. Nevertheless, being with her made him feel complete, and for the first time in a long while, he experienced genuine happiness. Was he falling in love with her?
"It's just..." Her words snapped him back to reality. "...this is the first time someone has asked me that," she paused. "It caught me off guard." Balancing on her tiptoes, she hugged him, humming softly. "Yeah, I think I'll be okay. Thank you for asking," she whispered, closing her eyes.
"Y/N." His arms tightened around her, assuring her he would never let go. He would hold her like this indefinitely if it would mend her broken pieces. Because she was the missing piece he had longed for in his life: she and her pure heart.
*
Knock, knock, knock . Y/N rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. Knock, knock, knock. Silence greeted her. Trying again, she hit once more. Still no response. Her hand dropped to her side in the dimly lit hallway as Y/N leaned her forehead against the door. She had just arrived from Okinawa and Utahime's wedding, and despite her exhaustion, frustration, and the ache in her heart, she was determined to address the unspoken issue between them. She refused to accept that Satoru could be the person her eyes had seen that day. He couldn't be because what would that leave her to believe?
Knock, knock, knock. No answer.
It appeared that he was nowhere to be found.
*
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. "Where the hell are you, Satoru?" Y/N's voice was raspy, and her arms and the side of her face bore bruises. She shouldn't have been out of bed.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as her fist continued pounding on the door while her other hand clutched her stomach. "We need you, Satoru. Where are you?" She turned and scanned her surroundings. Why had she hoped that Satoru would sense her pain and return? Collapsing onto the cold floor of the hallway, her back sliding against the door, silent tears stained her cheeks.
"Y/N? What brings you here?"
She raised her head from her knees and faced Shoko. She shrugged her shoulders. "I couldn't sleep." An obvious lie.
Shoko glanced at the door and then at her tear-streaked face, concern evident in her eyes. "Why don't you tell me exactly how you managed to defeat all those Gojo jerks?" she suggested, settling down beside her. Nights like these were better endured with a companion so the darkness wouldn't win over the dawn.
*
"I think he might be sleeping, or he's not in his room," Megumi's whisper came from behind the door.
Ignoring the explanation he had just heard, Yuji knocked on the door again. "He can't leave the school. Once he's cleared from the investigations, they'll assign him as Y/N's executioner again," Yuji commented without bothering to lower his voice. "And if he's sleeping, well, he's a teacher. How about being responsible for once?"
"What if he's also feeling sad? I mean, I know she was a part of your family, but I believe she was his family too," Megumi whispered, the words not concealed behind the door and reaching Satoru's ears.
"What?" Yuji exclaimed. "Are you saying he's miserable? Did someone inform you about something?"
Megumi began mumbling once more. "Didn't you want to witness him in pain? I thought that was the entire purpose of us being here."
Yuji let out a sigh. "That doesn't mean I want to see him messed up. I'm still angry at him, but I must talk to him!"
"You know Y/N didn't leave because of him, right?"
"I know," Yuji replied. He fell silent for a moment before speaking again. "But I haven't forgotten his significant role. If he hadn't broken her heart—"
"He did what he did to protect her. It wasn't healthy for her to be around him, Yuji."
"Fine," Yuji scoffed. "Stop defending your stepfather!"
"Ugh, Yuji. You need to—"
Megumi's sentence was abruptly cut off by the sudden swing of the door, revealing their sensei standing in the doorway with messy hair. The sight of their sensei caught them off guard, but it was Satoru who seemed particularly affected. He instinctively lowered his head, his hand reaching for his sunglasses in an attempt to hide his red-rimmed eyes behind the dark lenses. Although he tried to conceal it, Satoru couldn't shake off the feeling that Yuji had caught a glimpse of the dark circles beneath his eyes. This suspicion was confirmed by the noticeable softening of Yuji's previously furrowed expression as if he understood the silent struggles Satoru was going through.
Satoru abandoned the effort it took to punish himself. Maybe he deserved to have a companion in these hard days. Talking to a real human being might make things a little easier. He practiced using his voice, shaping his lips around the familiar words unfamiliar to his mouth.
Satoru, amidst his inner turmoil, finally reached a point of surrender. The weight of self-punishment became too heavy, and he realized he deserved to have someone by his side, especially during these challenging times. The notion of connecting with another person and engaging in a conversation started to stir within him as a glimmer of relief.
Pretending not to hear Yuji and Megumi's earlier talks, Satoru spoke, "How can I help you, kids?" However, his voice felt strange, unrecognizable even to himself. The usual playfulness and goofiness that accompanied his conversations with students were absent.
Megumi's gaze shifted between the two of them.
"I have a favor to ask of you," Yuji said, deliberately avoiding making direct eye contact with his sensei.
Satoru fully opened the door and stepped aside. "Then come on in," he invited Yuji, his tone welcoming. He then turned to Megumi with a grateful smile. Megumi's defense of him in front of Yuji held great significance. "And what about you, Megumi? Care to join us inside?"
The boy with black hair scratched the back of his neck. "No, thanks. I have to join Maki," he replied. "She's waiting for me at the training grounds," he added, glancing at Yuji one last time and nodding before turning away and walking off.
As Satoru gently closed the door behind him, his gaze fell upon Yuji, who was already seated at the table and waiting quietly. He understood that this discussion would be far from easy, as it required delving into painful truths and facing the consequences of his actions.
Satoru had to face the fact that, in a way, he was responsible for his brothers' deaths, too. It was a bitter pill to swallow, acknowledging his role in their tragic fate. Yet, amidst the confusion and lingering questions, he found himself grappling with the perplexing connection between Y/N and Yuji. The circumstances surrounding their relationship remained shrouded in uncertainty, leaving Satoru with a sense of unease.
Summoning a deep breath, Satoru released a heartfelt sigh. Bracing himself, he approached Yuji, the atmosphere between them charged with unspoken emotions. He pulled out another chair, sat down, and positioned himself before Yuji, prepared to navigate the difficult interaction ahead.
Yuji's gaze remained fixed on the table as he abruptly began speaking. "I need you to locate her and assist her in finding our brother before the higher-ups intervene."
Well, Yuji was straightforward so that Satoru could respond with the same honesty. "I can't," Satoru said, running his hand over his face and pausing it at his mouth.
"What do you mean you can't? You must! You always said you did everything for her well-being, and now you're saying you can't? Is it because of the assignment the higher-ups will give you? You're Satoru Gojo. You can do whatever you please! You never conform to the rules!"
"Yuji," Satoru called out, and finally, Yuji looked at him. The white-haired man's smile was tinged with bitterness. "There are things even I cannot do," he said, glancing at the hair tie on the table. It belonged to Y/N. He reached out and pulled it around his wrist. "Y/N is skilled at hiding. You won't find her unless she chooses to be found."
"Why did you allow her to leave?" Yuji's anger flared.
"Don't ask about things you already know the answer to," Satoru replied, leaning back in his chair. "Staying here would have cost her life. She's better off without me and the Jujutsu Society."
With a trembling voice, Yuji accused, "You destroyed her life." Satoru didn't need to look at the pink-haired boy's face to understand that tears were streaming down it, but he maintained his composure and remained silent, allowing Yuji to express whatever was weighing on his heart. "You weren't there when she needed you. You weren't there when your own family tried to harm her and her child. You weren't there when that powerful curse emerged during the Exchange Event. You only show up now to find an excuse to kill our brothers because that's who you are. I don't even know what I expected from a man who murdered his friend in the name of following orders."
Upon hearing the final sentence, Satoru jerked his head and met Yuji's piercing gaze. Every word Yuji spoke was undeniably true, and that truth cut deep. Satoru couldn't argue against it. The pain he felt was a deserved consequence. Yuji had every right to harbor such intense hatred toward him. After all, what kind of father fails to protect his daughter and her mother? What kind of man disappoints the love of his life and, as a supposed apology, ends the lives of her brothers?
Yet, just because something is true doesn't mean he was prepared to hear it.
He was unaware of the true magnificence of the world, but when Y/N entered his life, she shattered his perception. She revealed the hidden beauty in everything, and now that she was gone, all the beauty in the world seemed to vanish along with her. He had also lost her, which caused him pain, even though he knew he was the primary cause of it all.
The truth broke him.
His voice faltered. His back bowed. His knees weakened. His face crumbled.
He gripped the table's edge tightly to prevent himself from collapsing out of the chair.
"Did you love her?" Yuji asked, breaking the silence. His face was averted as he gazed at the rain through the window.
"I wanted to marry her."
"What?" Yuji turned his head, his eyes widening as he looked at his sensei.
"I have numerous enemies, and I knew they would never let my family be safe. However, while she was building sandcastles with a child in Okinawa, a moment of fear struck me. At that instant, I realized that I wanted it. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I wanted to create a future together. I wanted to grow old with her. I wanted to marry her."
"Did you get her a ring?"
"No."
"What? What do you mean, no?" Yuji paused. "Did you at least do something, like light a candle or make her dinner?"
"No."
"Buy her chocolates? Get down on one knee?"
"No."
"No? You didn't do any of those things? None of them?" His whispers escalated into whispered yells. "You're the absolute worst, you know? The worst. You don't deserve her."
Satoru sighed. "I thought that was already clear."
"Damn." Yuji slammed his hand down. "You two were engaged, and none of us had a clue?"
Satoru's gaze was fixed on the floor, his thumb caressing the hair tie. He appeared composed, but when he whispered, "No," the sadness in his voice cut through Yuji's heart like a knife.
"You never proposed to her, did you?"
Satoru glanced at Yuji's face and shook his head. "No, I never did."
"Good," Yuji replied, tightening his fists. "She didn't need another heartbreak. I know how much she desired a family."
Satoru nodded, unable to find the right words to say. The sound of raindrops tapping against the window filled the room.
After a while, Yuji broke the silence. "You won't kill her when you see her, right?"
"You think I don't love her, right? You think it was easy for me to watch her leave. You think it wasn't painful to see her run away from me? Well, maybe you never truly understood who I am," Satoru retorted. "Because if you did, none of these thoughts would even cross your mind. I understand that labeling me as the devil makes it easier for you to accept her absence, to move forward, to cope. But if you truly knew me, you would understand that since she left, my love for her hasn't wavered, not for a single moment. So, no. Not only will I not kill her, but I will also stand up against anyone who wishes to harm her."
Have you thought about glue?
No one bothers to ask about how the glue is doing, whether it's tired of bonding things, concerned about coming undone, or even wondering how it's managed to survive through the weeks.
Satoru was somewhat similar.
He was like glue. He did his utmost to hold things together and safeguard those he could, yet nobody stopped thinking how he was faring.
Now that Yuji was paying attention, he likely noticed the fatigue in Satoru's eyes, the burden weighing on his forehead, and the tension in his shoulders. Perhaps it was time for Yuji to contemplate what Satoru was experiencing, what he wasn't revealing. Because, just maybe, throughout all these days, nobody had asked about how he was holding up. Because nobody ever anticipated the strongest person to be anything but fine.
Yuji gently pulled on Satoru's shoulder. "Megumi was right. You're not okay, are you?" Yuji whispered.
Satoru's eyes softened instantly, displaying weariness and faint amusement. It took him a moment to realize he hadn't answered the question. Only when he looked away did he eventually nod and say, "I'm okay."
"Are you sure?"
"It's okay, Yuji. I'm not feeling sad. I should have expected this from the start. It seems that anything I don't want to lose always ends up slipping away. That's just how things have always been for me. The moment I obtain something worth wanting, it becomes lost."
Yuji started playing with his fingers. "I'm still angry, but I understand you made her happy like no one else ever did. So, I want to believe that you'll find a way to be together in the end. I know a bit about her binding vow to you, but deep down, I don't think it all happened solely because of that. Hence, get a ring and be prepared for the next time you see her," Yuji said, offering a smile for the first time in months.
Satoru's eyes briefly showed surprise before he averted his gaze, running a hand along his neck to soothe the tense muscle. After a moment, he shifted his focus to the window. "The weather sucks," he remarked.
Yuji understood it as a code for "Thank you."
"Yeah," Yuji replied. "Does it always rain on your birthdays, Sensei?"
Summary: Satoru Gojo receives a letter, inviting him to a secluded cottage in the forest. Is it a trap by curse users or a haunting memory trying to scratch his wounds?
Or a story about how You and Satoru Gojo fucked after years.
Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, reader-insert, no Y/N, post-breakup, soft Satoru Gojo, curse user reader, no death, too much fluff and kissing, cunnilingus, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex (c’mon! we all want this), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, tear licking, emotional trauma, emotional sex, no manga spoilers.
Notes: Hey there! I wrote this because Gege Akutami left an emotional mark on me. So, you know...
You can read the "Disclaimers" at the end.
Song Recommendation: Forbidden Flames Playlist
You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.
As the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the dense foliage, a mysterious man with stark white hair and a black blindfold stepped into the heart of the desolate wilderness. Satoru Gojo. The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the musty aroma of decaying leaves, a reminder of the rainstorm that had visited the night before.
Every step he took got lost between the giggles and hisses of harmless curses hiding behind the trees with fear. The ground beneath his feet was carpeted with a mosaic of fallen leaves, their vibrant red, orange, and gold colors now muted and lifeless, as if drained of all vitality. Some of them, with still a breath to take, crunched beneath his weight, the sound of a heartrending dirge that reverberated through the desolation.
Tall, gnarled trees stood sentinel on either side, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers as if yearning to trap the unwary. Their towering forms were shrouded in darkness, their essence reduced to withered remnants. They whispered mournful laments in the wind, their voices carrying tales of forgotten sorrows.
The forest, once flourishing and thriving, now seemed like a tragic tableau frozen in time. The canopy above formed a suffocating barrier that only got disturbed by the man's ethereal presence. Wild ferns brushed against his legs, leaving behind a trace of dew upon his black trousers. The moist ground yielded beneath his every step as if reluctant to release its grip from his boots' footprints.
As he pressed further into the jungle, the darkness deepened, the path twisting and turning like a labyrinth of despair. The shadows grew longer, stretching out like grasping tendrils as if eager to ensnare his soul. The silence became oppressive, broken only by the occasional painful cry of a distant creature.
The cottage he had received its address stood as a solitary figure amidst the gloomy jungle, a crumbling monument to forgotten dreams. Its dilapidated walls whispered of lost hopes and shattered promises, its windows veiled with white curtains.
With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he watched the scene before him, a twisted smile playing upon his lips. He thought it was a perfect place, a trap waiting to spring him. But who would be foolhardy enough to challenge the strongest of all times?
But wait!
He couldn't feel any cursed energy! His six eyes were dumb. There was only one who could blind their watchful gaze.
So, when Satoru Gojo approached the house, his heart quickened after a long time, anticipation and anxiety coursing through his veins. The stage was set, the elements conspiring to test his resolve. Would he emerge from this shadowed encounter unscathed, or would the jungle claim yet another victim, lost to the depths of its sorrow-laden clutches?
Satoru's focus fixated on the doorknob, a slight gulp revealing his hesitation. Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed open the door. The scent of something sweet enveloped his nostrils, a reminiscent embrace that momentarily distracted his senses. However, as his eyes met the sight that awaited him, an unexpected revelation struck him with a force that resurfaced long-forgotten memories.
The inside resembled an aged hideout, with wooden walls and colorful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting warm, dappled patterns on the worn tatami floor. In the center of the room, a round table took its place, adorned with a vase of delicate forget-me-not flowers. Flanking the table were two chairs. And then, in the small kitchen stood the person who had left a void in his heart.
"You're late," your voice rang out in a cheerful tone, beckoning him forward. "Come inside. It's chilly out." With your back facing the door, you stood at the counter, appearing preoccupied with unwrapping something.
Caught in a maelstrom of emotions, Satoru's thoughts fragmented like scattered puzzle pieces, their intended purpose obscured by the inner turmoil. His hand held the doorknob tightly, trapped in a state of ambiguity, unable to release its grip.
Was this a mirage? How could it be that when you seemed precisely the way he had traced the outline of your body in the air while lying in bed, unable to sleep?
Yes, of course, there were nights when the desire to run his fingers through your hair filled his dreams. It was inevitable; your scent permeated everything, even riding on the breeze. There were days fatigue misled him, mistaking weariness for the embrace, he craved, only to discover the hollowness within his very bones. Your body was no longer curled around him, no comfort, and in your absence, each day left him icy, with lips turning blue and hands yearning for the warmth of your touch. He felt adrift in a blizzard, seeking the faint flicker of a fire you had extinguished.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Satoru? Think! Is this a manipulation technique?
And then, as if compelled by an unseen power, you turned your head, causing his heart to skip a beat—countless beats. You were undeniably real.
Seeing you was akin to being hit in the knee with a bullet. Satoru's legs nearly gave way, his heart raced, and his hands turned clammy, almost causing him to collapse. He had never felt this urge to tear off his blindfold before, as your departure had happened so abruptly that he didn't have a chance to see you. Although he had committed every detail of you to memory, but this…this… witnessing it in person was an entirely different experience.
He stepped back, feeling the heaviness of the past, necessitating some distance. The harsh truths loomed, threatening to engulf him as he wrestled with the profound effect of your presence. Yet, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you, his mind struggling to comprehend the unfolding situation. The reality was so surreal, making it difficult for him to grasp that it was really occurring.
"Why are you just standing there?" you asked, holding a pack of his beloved Kikufuku mochis in your hands. A radiant smile graced your face, illuminating the damp room with its brightness.
He couldn't give two fucks about mochis when your face had that effect on him, always causing him to lose track of where he was, who he was, and what he might say or do. And that familiar smile, it killed him a little. His gaze remained there, lingering for too long, his concealed eyes giving away his thoughts. "Why do you have that look on your face?" you asked, tilting your head with curiosity and stepping closer to him.
As you stood before him, the closeness amplified the wave of emotions within him. Joy and disbelief raced through his veins. The fragrance that surrounded you, so hauntingly acquainted, sparked a rush of nostalgia.
Satoru Gojo was born with a specific purpose, a set of perfect eyes, and the weight of his lineage on his shoulders. He was reserved and calculated. When he mastered the Limitless technique, he concluded that infinite solitude was the only way to survive. Because how he could describe the experience of seeing everything, for when you see everything, you see nothing. An excess of color turns into pure black, an infinite void.
Yes, he was born with those six eyes. People never let him forget. But to you, his eyes were simply eyes. He recalled the first time you teased him about them and how his heart caught in his chest because he had never seen someone as vibrant and colorful as you.
It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but it was something like that. The first time he saw you, he felt it. An ache. Like a little electric burn. He felt his life changed.
Gradually, his loneliness began to dissipate. He found a place for himself in this chaotic world. With you, he could laugh, cry, joke around, and even be a brat. It was something no one could genuinely grasp—the feeling of finally being alive as a person. Before you, he felt he hadn't truly existed, merely scattered atoms in an indifferent universe following a predetermined path. But you changed everything. You dismantled and rebuilt him anew. You molded him, nurtured him, and despite him being the strongest, you kept him safe.
Without a noble title or material wealth, you were everything that went against the expectations of the Clan Elders. Yet, you stood faithfully by his side, precisely where he believed you belonged. Or at least, that's what he presumed.
Then, on that fateful day, the day he desperately wished was nothing more than a dreadful nightmare, reality unfolded before him. How could it be real? He stood there, confronted by the lifeless bodies of two Higher Ups and their protectors, with you covered in their blood. It was inconceivable. He couldn't accept that you were responsible for such a gruesome scene. Yet, you showed no remorse. You firmly believed it was the only solution, fed up with their destructive actions that brought ruin upon sorcerers deemed insignificant. You had accepted the notion that a problem without a remedy should be eradicated like an unwelcome weed.
On that day, he considered shaking your shoulders and demanding that you deny it all. He even contemplated going against everyone because what was the fucking point of wielding such power if he couldn't safeguard the woman he loved? The thought of quitting and escaping with you crossed his mind, too. He was willing to sacrifice everything: power, wealth, status, even his own life. However, you didn't desire any of those things.
His friend, Suguru Geto, once posed a question: Was he Satoru Gojo because he was the strongest, or was he the strongest because he was Satoru Gojo? At that time, he had no answer. A 17-year-old couldn't possibly find a response to such a profound question. However, when you entered his life, everything changed. Being the strongest lost its significance. He was just Satoru Gojo, and he was who he was because you loved him. His existence held meaning because you touched his life. He saw because he needed to gaze upon you. He spoke because he longed to hear your voice.
And then, similar to his best friend, after causing a bloodbath, you also walked out of his life. Yet, this time, it wasn't solely loneliness that engulfed him. It felt like one of his lungs had been taken away, and he heavied without you by his side through each passing moment. He became nothing once more. There was a hole in his life where you used to fit perfectly, and no matter what he did to try and fill it, nothing worked.
It was a strange anguish, a pain he never anticipated or conceived of. It consumed him from within, setting him ablaze with a profound emptiness. Then, defying the assumption that someone as formidable as him could experience sorrow, he was burdened with the task of erasing you. It was as if you were deemed nothing more than a blemish, a dishonor.
"What... what look?" he struggled to say, his voice tinged with a desperate yearning. Regret lingered in his tone as his words fell short. With a touch of vulnerability, he shut his eyes beneath the comforting confines of his blindfold, seeking refuge in the veil of darkness. Taking a deep breath, he consciously filled his lungs, using them as an anchor amidst the swirling storm of sensations enveloping him.
"That look," you remarked, your voice carrying a mischievous tone that floated in the atmosphere. "It's as if you don't trust me," you added teasingly. A few playful strands of hair escaped their intended position and delicately framed your face, casting a bewitching allure. An irresistible urge welled within him, compelling him to extend his hand and tuck those strands behind your ear—stupid muscle memory. However, he restrained himself, his hand suspended mid-air, resolute in resisting the magnetic pull of his desires.
"Why did you invite me here?" Satoru voiced, his grip on the doorknob loosening as the impact of reality settled upon him. The initial shock transformed into a lucid understanding. He wasn't oblivious. He knew that you were aware of his assignment to eliminate you. So, why? Was it because you recognized your unstoppable nature? Was it because you had realized that the blackhole existed within you, devouring everything you once held dear unless someone intervened?
"You could have refused to come, yet here you are," you whimsically remarked, a devilish glint in your eyes as you punctuated your words with a wink. You strolled over to the weathered table and set the pocket upon its aged surface.
"Cut it out!" Satoru snapped, his frustration mounting. "You know, I had no idea it was you!" His heart thumped in his chest, urging his feet to move forward, even as his mind screamed at him to flee. A sense of unease gripped him, acknowledging the futility of engaging in a battle he felt ill-prepared to win.
You turned towards him, a hint of a smile gracing your lips as your hands stayed concealed behind your back. Leaning against the chair, you arched an eyebrow, your eyes locked on him. "I have a feeling you knew it was me as soon as you arrived at the house," you declared, a jovial tone lacing your words. "After all, I'm the only one capable of concealing my cursed energy from you."
"We both know that I shouldn't be here. I—" Satoru's sentence dissolved, left unfinished, as your hand reached out, bridging the gap between you with a gentle touch. Infinity never worked with you. Even the very essence of the cursed energy recognized that you posed no threat to him. Furthermore, he would gladly provide you with any justification to touch him.
Lost in his reverie, Satoru suddenly became acutely aware of your presence. The magnitude of his longing and the depth of his yearning surged within him. In that instant, he recognized the immense emptiness you had left and how much he had missed you. Emotions swirled together, blending past and present, uncertainty and desire, in a delicate dance that would shape your fates.
"Why are you here, then?" you inquired, and his eyes met yours, reflecting the same yearning that dwelled in his heart. "Tell me, did you come in to kill me?" With a deliberate movement, you folded his fingers, molding them into the shape he would use to unleash his hollow purple. Bringing his hand close to your heart, you held it there. Despite the gravity of the situation, a soft smile adorned your lips.
He couldn't do this.
Taken aback by your unexpected gesture, Satoru swiftly withdrew his hand from your grasp. Anger and heartbreak swirled within him, entwining in a tumultuous storm. The realization hit him like a relentless wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. How had you drifted so far apart? When had the divergence between your paths become so profound that he failed to notice? The weight of your choice, to embrace the life of a curse user, to tread a road stained with blood, bore down upon him with a heavy burden. The pain on his face mirrored the fracture within his heart, a sense of loss mingling with a flicker of betrayal.
He wished he could say something. He wished he could start yelling, expressing all the thoughts and desires he had harbored since then—whether shouting, pouring out his heart, or expressing frustration. However, he adhered to the predetermined script you anticipated because he loved you unconditionally, unable to deny you anything.
"I didn't think so," you murmured, closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his in a way that effortlessly eroded his resistance.
You tilted his face down, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling his blood with dangerous speed.
One of his hands naturally found its way to the back of your waist, holding you with a gentle yet possessive grasp, while the other securely clasped your arm, pulling you closer.
He felt incredible against you, your bodies fitting perfectly. Nothing ever came easier than kissing you. Every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.
In that moment, his eyes, his legacy, his clan's name, and the orders given about you faded away. This was his true purpose.
As your tongues entwined, a surge of electricity coursed through his veins, his body responding to the intoxicating enchantment of your touch. Your fingers traced the outline of his blindfold while others clung to his uniform as if he were your sole fulcrum in a world spinning out of control. Your back arched, and he embraced you tighter, his grip firm yet tender, his long fingers leaving an indelible mark upon your skin.
Breathless, as if you had just completed a marathon, you reluctantly pulled back from the heated exchange. Drawing him nearer, he yielded willingly, allowing you to guide him wherever you desired because wherever you led was where he believed to be his destination.
"Take this off," you beseeched, desperation and sorrow permeating your words as your forefinger lifted his blindfold and let it fall to the floor. His tousled hair cascaded softly over his forehead, unable to hide the azure eyes that had once captivated your heart.
In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow.
He swallowed, and you shifted your hand to his ear, lightly grazing his earlobe with your pinkie before tracing down his jawline. There was no rejection, yet no clear confirmation either. Your hand brushed against his undercut as you continued.
"There you are," you whispered, your voice laden with kindness. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, a solitary droplet making its way down your cheek as you gently cradled his face in your hands. He looked down at you, counting each tear on your lovely cheeks.
He clasped your hand, kissing your palm before guiding it to rest upon his heart. It was the same foolish heart, steadfastly beating for you, never having faltered. Through teary eyes, you looked at him, and he remained struck by the sheer beauty that not even your tears could diminish.
As your bottom lip quivered beneath his touch, quickly, with a light sweep of his hand, he wiped away the tears that stained your stunning eyes. You missed him too, didn't you? Was it painful for you, too? Silly girl! You couldn't maintain your carefully constructed facades for more than ten minutes when it came to him.
The realization washed over him, dispelling any remaining doubts.
Without a second thought, he effortlessly lifted you, your legs encircling his waist while your hands secured around his neck. Engrossed in a fervent kiss, both of you surrendered to the moment as he clasped your back firmly, pulling you closer to himself, relishing the flavor of your lips.
Letting go wasn't an option when every fiber of his being had missed you.
Determined and resolute, he carried you out to a room he presumed to be the bedroom, even though it didn't matter whether there was a bed or a simple mattress; what mattered was the way your touch kindled a blazing fire within him, and he had no intention of bearing that flame alone.
Keeping you securely nestled in his arms, he forcefully kicked open the door and lowered you onto the welcoming comfort of the bed. The urgency to discard his black jacket left no room for delay. At the same time, your nimble hands deftly undid the buckle of your pants, but before you could remove them entirely, his hands moved with an instinctual hunger, swiftly stripping you of the garment and casting it aside as if propelled by an untamed fervor. The passion between you burned fiercely, filling the room with an all-encompassing energy that eclipsed any other thoughts or worries.
With a quick movement, he discarded his black t-shirt, revealing the well-defined curves of his chest that shimmered with a touch of sweat. His desire was tangible, his lust unmistakable as he straddled between your parted legs, his hands grasping your nape.
The taste of his lips met yours, initiating a sequence of fervent kisses that persisted without pause, each delving deeper than the last. The world around you lost its significance as your breaths synchronized in rhythm, the heat between your bodies escalating.
In the meantime, your hands moved swiftly, deftly unbuttoning your shirt.
As his lips briefly separated from yours, he uttered a whispered confession. "I hate how bad I want you," he admitted, his voice carrying a raw sincerity. However, before you could reply, his attention shifted to your neck, where his teeth gently grazed your sensitive flesh, leaving behind tracks of tantalizing nibbles and passionate kisses.
You couldn't help but release a gasp as pleasure and a twinge of pain electrified your senses, sending delightful shivers coursing down your spine. In the throes of passion, your hand curled into a fistful of his hair, a silent request for more. Call it masochist, but he loved it when you did this. He tenderly pulled at your hair in response, tilting your head back ever so slightly, baring more of your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.
Then, you did what came naturally to you. With a voice brimming with longing and ecstasy, you spoke his name, "Satoru," the sound slipping from your lips like a hushed prayer.
His actions came to an abrupt pause. His lips separated from your skin, and his grasp on your hair loosened as if a sudden realization had hit him like a splash of icy water. It was ironic how you still possessed this power over him, a power that could both thrill and unsettle him.
The sound of his name on your lips had become something he treasured, and damn it, he had missed hearing it again. Just like every fucking tiny thing he had missed about you.
With a sudden movement, he withdrew his head from the crook of your neck and brought his forehead close to yours. His hands found solace in brushing back strands of your hair with comforting strokes.
He shut his eyes, and in a whisper, his voice carried a hint of fragility, a rawness that tugged at your heartstrings. "Say it again," he pleaded, his voice breaking under the pressure of unexpressed sentiments. It was as if that simple word held immense significance, a lifeline to his heart that he desperately craved.
Without hesitation, you took a steadying breath, the name forming on your lips.
"Satoru."
"S-Say it kinder."
"Satoru."
"Say it slower."
"Satoru."
"Say it gentler."
"Satoru."
"Say it louder."
"Satoru."
"Say it as if you wanna tell me you miss me."
"Satoru…"
"Say it as if you're annoyed that I eat so many sweets."
"Satoru!"
"Is this why you made the trip to Sendai just to get me those mochis?"
…
"Say it."
"Satoru."
"Say it as if you ever cared, spared a single thought for me."
"SATORU."
"Say it as if when you lied in bed, you remembered something I once said."
"Satoru."
"Say it as if it hurt you too when someone said my name with yours."
"Satoru."
"Say it as if every time a door opened, you too expected me to walk out of it, that every time you cooked, you hummed my favorite songs."
"S-Satoru…"
"Say it as if you need me."
"Satoru."
"Say it again."
"Satoru."
"Again."
"…Satoru."
"Say it as if you want to tell me something important."
"Satoru."
"Say it as if you want me to know you won't stay."
"Toru."
"No. Not like this."
"Satoru?"
"Please."
"Satoru."
"Say it as if you want me to know you're gonna run away again."
"Satoru…"
"Huh. Better. Now say it as if you wanna tell that you slept badly without me, that you only dreamed of me, and in the morning, you woke up exhausted without having any desire to live."
"Satoru."
"You don't have a line, do you? No remorse. No regret. Not even a single thought for the man you left behind like a walking ghost. And you won't ever stop."
"Satoru."
"Once you were gone, they gathered all your belongings as evidence. See this hair tie on my wrist?" He lifted his hand. "This and your sweatshirt, which no longer carries your scent, are the only things I have left. Say it as if you still have that shirt of mine."
…
"Say it!"
"Sa-to-ru."
"Did you know that I actually thought if I messed myself up, went all self-destructive, and threw a massive tantrum, you'd come back? I mean, why should I bother taking care of myself? That was supposed to be your job, right?"
"Sa…toru."
"Oh, by the way, I completely wrecked that bench on the hill where you used to sit. And then I went ahead and destroyed the whole damn place, then just sat right there amidst the wreckage. I mean, why should I even give a damn when you stopped caring about me? Say it as if you get where I'm coming from."
"Satoru…"
"Yet you know what's funny? Ask me if I still love you like the first day?"
"Satoru?"
"It can't be just me, right? You can't be done with me. Tell me you love me."
Everything he thought he knew flew right out the window. He had noticed the tremor in your breath and the shake in your voice, but the desperate murmurs of his name caused his eyes to flutter open. Your face was marked with the faint traces of tears, glistening in the light.
You blinked, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty unlike anything he'd seen before. The ability to convey so much with just a glance caught him entirely off guard.
Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed his lips against the curve of your cheeks, softly caressing them. Nuzzling his nose against your skin, he lovingly kissed away the salty tears, his tongue delicately brushing your face with a soothing touch. Each tender movement provided a comforting solace during your emotional moment.
As he lovingly attended to your tears, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. He paused, eyes widening in surprise. However, before any words could escape, you leaned in and kissed him. In that single gesture, you conveyed your desires, and he, in turn, found his answer within the depths of that passionate kiss.
As soon as his palms glided over your smooth skin, delicately capturing your erect nipple between his fingers, the bra was tossed somewhere amidst the bedding.
"Lie back," Satoru instructed. He then crawled onto you, your bare chests meeting. He supported himself with his arms on either side of your head to ensure he didn't crush you under his weight.
He positioned himself atop you, overwhelmed by the yearning that had built up in your absence. The thirst to have you beneath him had grown insurmountable. He had craved the sight of your body begging him to take you, the undeniable desire radiating from you.
He locked eyes with you, keeping you in his gaze as he absorbed every aspect of your beauty. The polished planes of your face shimmered with fresh tears, adding a new layer to the bliss. Your eyes were rimmed with redness, solely for him, and this sight rendered him speechless.
Because what if he accidentally stumbled upon the wrong words, and the magic vanished, snatching you away once more, leaving him with nothing but a pumpkin carriage and a single pair of shoes?
He didn't want his arms to be deprived of your warmth. Your touch. Your lips. God, your lips. Your mouth on his neck. Your body wrapped around his. He couldn't bear losing you again, and the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into him.
Blinking his white lashes, he swallowed back the fear building in his throat.
What an irony!
The strongest wasn't fearless.
With his knee between your thighs and his body pressing closer, he realized he was paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in his lungs.
"When we were together, I became you," he stated. "You became the reflection I saw in the mirror, and I liked it more. So, I stopped being myself. It was fine because I had you. But when you left, I lost myself along with you."
"Satoru," you called, your voice soft, so soft. He wasn't unfamiliar with the touch of women, but yours were gentler, yet deadlier than them all. "I'm sorry for bringing us to this point." You drew his form closer. The resonating beats of your heart were audible, pulsing deeply within your chest. "Will you ever forgive me?"
Your words unleashed a tumult of feelings within him. Goddammit. He wasn't lost before he met you, but he found himself after having you, only to get lost more after losing you.
Satoru's tears stung as they fell backward down his throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, and I'll forget everything," he uttered.
And you complied. You kissed him as if swimming through rivers of honey, as if being dipped in pure gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss, and he didn't realize you two were drowning because he was too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing held significance anymore—neither rules, nor the room, nor even the entire fucking Jujutsu society.
All that mattered was this.
This.
This very moment. These lips. This delicate body pressed against his, and these warm hands always discovering new ways to hold his heart.
Oh, My!
He wanted so much more of you. He wanted every part of you. And he kissed you back. Like a mild breeze. Like cherry blossoms. Like a blue spring.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Satoru drew away. It remained a secret, but piecing himself back together hurt just as much as falling apart. It felt like an ache that needed to be soothed.
You were the cure, so his finger lightly grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, curves, and subtle crevices. As he kissed the corner of your eyebrow, he whispered your name. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, causing a slight squirm in your body. He planted a kiss on your neck, just beneath your earlobe, and you tilted your head, inviting him in. Perhaps you resisted the urge to plead for more, for a faster pace.
You used to love this, remember?
His lips moved down the expanse of your neck, delicately tracing the sensitive skin of your collarbones. Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, roaming over his broad shoulders, pressing into his back dimples, and clutching his hips. With a handful of his hair, you pulled him closer, leaving small kisses on his neck, arms, and chest.
It was incredible. Being with you, touching you, having you like this. The adrenaline rush was so powerful and euphoric that it made everything feel within reach.
He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking.
He pressed his lips against your upper lip.
He ran his tongue along your lower lip.
He planted kisses beneath your chin, on the tip of your nose, along your forehead, temples, and cheeks across your jawline. Then he moved to your neck, behind your ears, and the space between your breasts. Delicately, he nibbled on your sensitive nipples, leaving a trail of kisses all the way down to your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly, his chest was hovering above your hips.
As his lips descended towards the hem of your underwear, he lifted his head right before crossing that boundary, locking eyes with you. His gaze carried a mix of intense reverence and a silent question.
You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between you. Your nod conveyed an affirmation, a wordless permission to continue. With your approval, he lowered his head once again. Before you knew it, he skillfully used his teeth to remove that small piece of fabric while the captivating scent drove him wild with desire.
Having removed your panties, his lips continued exploring, leaving heated kisses and lingering caresses from your toes to your thighs. Firmly holding your calves, he parted your legs, creating just enough space for his head to fit between them.
Your thighs were lifted, obscuring him from your sight. All you could see was the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that view vanished as his lips closed around your clit, causing your head to fall back and muffled moans to escape your lips.
Satoru's large hands trailed down and up your exposed upper thighs and ribs, tightly gripping your hips to keep you in place. He delighted in how you squirmed each time his hair brushed against your groin, until his tongue slipped into your hole, and the taste of you made fireworks explode in the back of his head.
With his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue danced and teased, evoking ecstatic cries from your lips. His mouth explored the known territories you had never witnessed, yet he remembered them intimately.
While fully engrossed in eating you, he suddenly and intentionally slipped his middle finger inside, and his mouth fervently sought to suck the soul out of your essence as if seeking retribution for all the times he had jerked off thinking about you creaming around his shaft. That's why he left you on the precipice of climax, working his way up your body. Satoru was never cruel enough to deny you the release you craved, so his fingers remained ready.
With an eagerness to witness the pleasure etched across your face, he slowly ascended your body, his touch kindling a burning anticipation within you. Continuing his exploration, his adept fingers navigated their way to your most intimate region, gently pressing against the delicate entrance.
"Let me know if it hurts, alright?" he whispered, his nose caressing the skin of your stomach, placing sporadic kisses around your breasts and collarbones to alleviate any tension. His disheveled hair and moist lips were evidence of the indulgence in your sweet taste.
"Take it easy— ahhh!"
He wore a satisfied smile as two of his large fingers effortlessly slid into your slit. Your nails dug into the sheets, whimpers escaping your lips as his hand rhythmically moved up and down within your tight walls.
Your mouth opened in a soundless moan, and he peppered you with kisses all around. Tears glistened in your eyes, and tiny strands of hair clung to your sweaty forehead. When his thumb rubbed, and the fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.
You firmly grasped his free arm and tugged him towards you, bringing him closer until he was on top of you. You might have turned into a cold-blooded curse user, left dead bodies behind, or broken his heart apart, but you were still the same girl beneath him. The girl who would laugh with joy and steal his treats. The girl who would fiercely fight by his side and protect him. The girl who would easily surrender and moan in his ear.
He pressed his lips against yours, a reminder of the residual sweetness on his tongue. Just like in the old days, a soft moan escaped your lips as soon as you felt your own taste. If this gesture could convince you to stay with him, why not revel in it? He willingly opened his lips, inviting you to delve deeper, your tongues intertwining and brushing against his teeth.
The stinging bitterness of the past was long gone. He had forgotten everything. Although there was something he knew he shouldn't forget, he couldn't recall why or what it was. With his hard length suffering in his boxers and his digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.
Seeing your desperation for his touch proved to be his downfall. He could die from this, he decided. From wanting you, from the pleasure of being with you.
He wore a smile as you locked eyes and reciprocated with your smile. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin flushed with heat. With his other hand, he held your head steady while your hands clutched his neck, your palms gliding over the area just above his neckline, and your fingertips tenaciously pressing against his undercut.
"Sato..." you managed to utter, your voice quivering with pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, consuming your senses. Waves of euphoria rippled across your body, inducing uncontrollable tremors. Amidst your release, a single tear broke free, tracing a glistening path down your cheek, much like the cascade of emotions that flowed within you.
While he remained atop you, his voice reached your ears, his lips near your earlobe. "Can you sit up?" he whispered, burying his face in the curve of your neck, allowing your ragged breaths to brush against his shoulder.
Still struggling to catch your breath, you managed to mumble, "Yeah, but..." However, before you could complete your sentence, the bedding beneath you shifted as Satoru pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight.
He exhaled and looked at you, but this time, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things he had never told you. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a fraying thread—you.
He touched your flushed cheeks as if uncertain of your tangible presence. His four fingers caressed the side of your face with tenderness before sliding behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.
He pondered the countless things your lips had done. They had touched, kissed, and pressed against sensitive areas of his skin. They had spoken lies and made promises, and the words they had formed, the shapes and sounds they had shaped, he yearned for them all.
Satoru inched closer, cradling you like you were made of precious crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands as if he couldn't believe you were real and truly there.
"I'm right here, baby. Look at me," you whispered, grasping his hands and kissing them.
All six of his eyes obeyed and stared at you. Gone was the curse user targeting Higher Ups. This woman before him had never done anything wrong. You were perfect and kind, untouched by the horrors of death.
He took hold of your hands and pressed your palms against his face, reclaiming the tears you had bestowed upon him. With an eternity of love, he whispered your name in the softest of whispers.
He shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and you embraced him like no one had before. Overwhelmed by the intensity, he struggled to contain himself, but seeing you cling to him as you might never let go stirred something within him. It was a heady sensation, knowing that you were there, caring for him, desiring him, needing him in this way. It made him believe that this was indeed real.
Gently, you stroked his silvery locks of hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. Gradually, your arms became the arms around his neck; your lips became the lips pressed against his, your body the warmth he felt. Funny how the moment he felt your touch, it burned a hole right through his head and pulled all his thoughts out.
He wasn't even breathing, but he was alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. His hands fervently caressed the small of your back as he lifted you onto his lap, and instinctively, your legs wrapped around his hips.
Then, it was your turn to reciprocate. You planted kisses all over him—his cheeks, eyelids, chin, the tip of his nose, and the space between his eyebrows. You trailed along his forehead and traced his jawline, covering every inch of his face. These kisses conveyed more than words ever could.
And you took your time.
As your mouth moved down his neck, he let out a gasp. It was a moment to relish. Your tongue continued to worship the hills and valleys of his well-defined arms, tracing the graceful curves of his collarbones. Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, you savored his taste. Your hands explored his abs, tracing along his navel and the delicate trails of hair beneath.
He broke apart with your small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at you dumbfounded. His mind remained hazy, unable to fully comprehend how your fingers toyed with the waistband of his boxer briefs.
Tilting your head to a side, you pressed your lips against his again, seeking him with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. Your other hand threaded in his hair, your lips so soft, so urgent against his, like fire and cinnamon exploding in his mouth.
Satoru nibbled your bottom lip in a flash before pulling back slightly. You were flooding his body with so much heat and desire. You parted your lips to sigh in his mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove him to the edge of madness.
Just as he was about to bring his mouth to your nipples, your hand suddenly slipped into his underwear and encircled his erectness pressing against your groin.
Oh.
Well.
He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan. Oh God! He had fucking missed you holding his member in your palm. But you didn't stop at that. He gasped as you began to rub the tip with your thumb. His body ached everywhere as he tasted the colors and sounds that existed nowhere else. Your forehead rested against his chin as you continued to stroke his hardness up and down beneath his boxers. You were untamed, cruel, yet remarkably gentle.
"Take it off, Satoru," you whispered in his ear, your breath ragged. "I want you in me. Deep. Right. Now. Please."
He was beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way he was feeling right now. He was left with only this very moment: You on his lap, your warmth against his hands, and your lustful eyes fixed upon him, making him absolutely insane.
Satoru held onto your waist with a firm grip, lifting you slightly, and in the blink of an eye, his briefs glided down his long legs until their whereabouts became irrelevant in the heat of the moment.
The wetness between your thighs was no longer a hidden secret, just as his hardness was revealed when you surrounded each other everywhere.
He watched as you reached down and guided his erection against your slippery entrance, making a few strokes to ensure the perfect alignment. His racing pulse could probably be felt in your palm and soon inside you.
Using both hands, he gripped your hips and pulled you downward, drawing you closer to him. A gasp escaped your lips as he entered you, always surprised about his size. He intended to allow you time to adjust, but you fervently clung to his neck, hitching your legs around his waist, urging him to penetrate you completely. A scream escaped your lips as you bit into his shoulder blade, but he remained composed, relishing the sensation of stretching you. He cherished the feeling of your inner walls squeezing him and the weight of your body against his balls. To be honest, he would stay like this forever.
Feeling your readiness, his hold tightened, and he started moving your body up and down. You cried out as you nestled your cheek into the curve of his neck, and he felt like dying and somehow being brought back to life in the exact moment, in the same breath.
Fuck! You were full of him.
He raised your thighs, stifling a groan that threatened to rip his throat as your lips met his. It left him bewildered, pondering why he hadn't perished, burst into flames, or snapped in half.
The room was consumed by silence, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breaths. Your chests pressed against each other, colliding with the rhythm of your pulses.
As he sensed your arms tightening around him, he reciprocated with heightened strength, lifting and thrusting you with an intensity that transcended the bounds of restraint. Each movement struck the place he knew too well.
His teeth captured your bottom lip, eliciting a momentary jolt of pleasure. Your nails pressed into his shoulder as his fingers ran through your hair, pulling you nearer, immersing you in the fervent abyss of his mouth. The taste of you was a captivating fusion of sweetness and passion, an intoxicating blend that left both of you craving for more.
He kept trying to say your name, but he found himself unable even to catch his breath, let alone speak a single word.
The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.
Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down and traveling quietly down your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, touching your tongue and the saliva within. It was as if he had discovered an oasis in the vast expanse of a desert, gazing at you with eyes ablaze like fire reflected in water.
"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile and uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lasting essence of pleasure in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your heads spun into a blissful oblivion.
Your head rested against his, and as you delicately nipped at his earlobe, he felt stripped down to his very core, just as he had unraveled you from within. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."
Something inside him melted. Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.
You. You belonged to him. You didn't erase the pain you had caused. You didn't fix everything you'd broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. All he needed was you, and with you, everything would be alright.
He firmly grasped your buttocks, burying his face against your shoulder as he sped up. He was shattered to pieces, but with you, he got put back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. Gritting his teeth, he succumbed to the impending climax. His hands glided along your back as you shuddered, your inner walls pulsating around him so hard that he couldn't hold back his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice, until everything around you both turned to a world of vibrant colors and radiant light, where the sun shone, oceans sparkled, and Sakura trees bloomed.
*
Both of you were lying on a pillow, breathless and sweaty. Satoru's face was buried in the crook of your neck.
Your hand had delicately weaved its way into his hair, fingers stroking the silky strands as you both sought to ground yourself in the aftermath of your orgasms.
You rested your cheek against his head, your voice carrying a hint of breathlessness as you began to speak. "How is Shoko doing?
"She's probably smoking even more now," he murmured, his lips grazing against your shoulder as he pulled you closer. Despite the physical closeness, a deep ache echoed within him, yearning for an even deeper connection that felt just beyond his grasp. The desire to merge both body and soul, to be completely intertwined with you, was tangible in his touch.
His arms tightened around you as if attempting to bridge an unseen gap that couldn't be seen, but he could feel it. Each hug and touch was an attempt to mend the distance that pained him. The depth of his need reverberated through his being. It was visible in the depths of his eyes. It sucked to be this close yet feel so far from someone. But he didn't want to worry. As long as you were together, he believed nothing terrible could happen.
"Why probably so?" you asked, your curiosity piqued as you turned your head towards him. Your lips touched his soft, silky white hair. "Is it because of the numerous missions you're taking?"
"You seem to know every detail of my life," he remarked, turning his head towards you, the closeness so intimate that your noses nearly touched. His hand found its way to your arm, his finger tracing a path down its length, lost in contemplation.
"I've always kept tabs on you. I'm not even ashamed of it," you declared, your attention fixed on his ocean-blue eyes.
He let out a shaky sigh. "There's no longer a reason for me to stay in Tokyo like I used to," he whispered, his voice hinting at wistfulness. The words floated in the air, pregnant with unspoken meanings. As he locked eyes with you, his gaze transformed into a sea of emotions, reflecting a profound depth of feelings that transcended mere words.
"What about your students?"
"They're doing well even without me," Satoru said, his voice filled with fondness and melancholy. As his hand gracefully slid into your hair, he tucked back the strands that obscured your face, revealing the beauty of your features.
His thumb stroked your cheek in a soothing gesture. "Megumi came close to expanding his domain," Satoru continued, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "Yuji would be thrilled to—"
"No, Satoru!" you interjected, your voice resolute. Your firm interruption halted his sentence as your face displayed a frown, your eyebrows furrowing with determination. "The answer is no!"
Satoru's hand dropped weakly onto the sheets, his fingers losing their previous touch. When his gaze met yours, a deep sadness flooded his eyes, turning the serene ocean within them into a turbulent storm.
He struggled to find the right words to make his case but couldn't resist trying to reason with you. "Come back with me. I have enough power and privilege to protect you—"
"I don't want your protection!" you exclaimed, your voice carrying a sharp edge that cut through his being. The words resounded with a harshness reminiscent of the day you decided to leave, which had left an indelible mark on both of you. It was a day that Satoru had always blamed himself for, haunted by the belief that he had failed to notice you drifting away.
His eyes, filled with sorrow, locked onto yours, silently begging for understanding as he summoned the bravery to express his deepest desires. "Don't you want a life with me?" he questioned, his voice brimming with the dreams and aspirations he had envisioned for both of you. "What about living in a house with blue shutters, windows overlooking the ocean, and—"
"How are you still such a wide-eyed, dreamy little boy, Satoru?" you remarked, your voice tinged with tenderness and sadness. As you spoke, your hand extended, interlocking your fingers with his. "Stop living in a fantasy world," you urged. The words pleaded for him to accept reality and let go of dreams no longer aligned with his chosen path. "Even if I had the chance to go back, I wouldn't want to," you continued. "The Jujutsu society is a broken bone that won't set right, and no matter how much you try to mend it, it won't work. I started hunting Higher Ups because I have a purpose. I can't be by your side."
As you raised your head, a glimmer of compassion and understanding shimmered in your eyes. The pain etched on Satoru's face was evident to you. In a gentle tone, you encouraged him, saying, "We've made different choices. Don't judge me because I never questioned why you didn't follow me. Our approaches may differ, but we share the same dream of creating a better world. So, I don't regret leaving, but if there's anything I regret, it's not cherishing every moment I had with you. But I'm doing it right this time. I'm memorizing every detail, so I have something to hold onto."
Your words bounced around in the fog of his head, blurring his senses, misting his eyes, and muddling his logic. In his bones, there was just ice. His entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped him in the face, punched him in the jaw, and dumped him into the ocean.
Until today, he thought he had fully come to terms with everything. He believed he had adapted to living with your absence, like a disabled person learning to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. However, deep down, he knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble.
But with your answer, stacks of sorrow grew inside him, settling on his bones as if a cable had twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.
He realized how foolish he had been to believe he could simply blend in and lead an ordinary life.
Satoru.
Satoru Gojo.
Satoru Gojo, The Strongest.
The mere thought of it filled him with mortification.
He shook his head, coughing as his lungs were tormented, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission. His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. With clenched fists, he fought against the misery, forcing it back down. Not again. Not again. Not again.
"Satoru?" you called out to him, and a thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. Realizing how deeply he loved you kept hitting him in the face, the skull, and the spine. He ran a hand across his face and through his hair, displaying signs of wanting to scream, to break something, as if he was on the verge of losing his sanity.
You hugged him, bridging the gap between your bodies and leaning your cheek against his rock-hard chest. Your hands caressed his stomach as your lips left random pecks here and there.
"It's not just your shirt that I have," you expressed. "I also have our shared blanket from our room and a collection of photographs I'm too afraid to look at. I fear that if I see them, I'll go right back to you and beg your forgiveness."
You dropped a kiss on his chin. Then, on the curve of his shoulder and his shoulder blades. Five kisses down his throat, each softer than the last. You kissed his cheeks, hands, and eyelids for every moment of loneliness he had ever endured.
You continued, "My body hasn't realized we are no longer together. It calls out for you at night, unaccustomed to not having you tightly enveloping me like a second layer of skin."
He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "Why are you putting me through this?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "Why are you scratching my wounds?"
"Because I want to remake you again, Satoru. You should get broken apart and rebuild in a way that won't cause you pain anymore." You kissed the hand covering his mouth, not holding back. Keeping your head there, you leaned against his heart.
"It's not as straightforward as a simple yes or no," you said, your voice cracking as you spoke. "Let's just enjoy this moment together..."
A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with sadness.
He shifted his gaze towards you, his eyes open, jaw clenched tightly, and muscles tense. Breathing heavily, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful.
You lifted your head and reached up to stroke his cheek. "Love is the most twisted curse," you murmured as you tilted his chin toward your mouth. He blinked rapidly. Words were whispered upon his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "And we are the most cursed of all, aren't we?" you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him again. Tenderly.
Unable to find the right words, he relied on the language of touch, pressing his lips against yours. A sigh escaped into your shared kiss, and you responded by kissing him even more passionately, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. The taste of salt lingered on your tongues. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made his flesh burn. Unsure of whose tears they were, he continued to cling to you, even if it was almost for the final time.
The saddest world in this whole wide world was "almost." You almost came back to him. He almost had you. You two almost made it.
*
You woke up with a smile, feeling a pleasant warmth enveloping your skin, remnants of the memories from the previous night. The room was filled with a fresh ambiance, hinted at by the open window that welcomed a gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth filled the air, evidence of the rain that had visited during the night.
Letting out a sigh, you brushed your face against the pillow. Your hand instinctively reached out to where Satoru was supposed to be, but a pang of emptiness washed over you. He wasn't there, and your eyes flew open, a sourness clouding their once-serene gaze. Something felt wrong.
Suddenly, sitting up, a sense of panic pulsed through your veins. The realization dawned upon you—Satoru had left the bed, and his absence spoke volumes. Your glance darted around the room, searching for any signs of his presence, but his clothes were nowhere to be seen.
An agonizing grip took hold of your heart. Conflicting emotions wrestled inside you. You had voiced your decision to part ways, to not be by his side, yet the depth of your desire for him remained steadfast. The pain and the desperate desire for his warmth was a stark reminder that not wanting to be with him didn't mean you were prepared to let go of him completely.
The bitter yet undeniable truth surfaced: as much as you and Satoru were meant to be, fate had not deemed you to last.
You could still feel the lasting presence of Satoru's cursed energy, an invisible thread you could identify even blind. Simply by scent, you would recognize it. It was a power that transcends physical senses, one that would recognize it in death, at the end of the world.
You swiftly snatched your robe and hastened out of the room. And there he was, Satoru, fully dressed, his blindfold tightly secured, sitting still in a chair, facing the untouched mochis. The hair tie was also on the table, indicating that he had removed it from his wrist. You couldn't determine whether it hurt you deeply to see him letting go of a part of you or noticing that he had left his beloved treats untouched.
He wasn't looking at you, so you had time to observe things you hadn't noticed yesterday. He had visibly lost weight. His hair showed signs of splitting and thinning, probably due to stress. Nightmares didn't let him sleep. His uniform appeared wrinkled, and his breaths were unsteady. You knew it wasn't your place to worry about him anymore, but you couldn't help it. Taking care of him had become a habit. He appeared weary, displaying the same profound exhaustion you experienced, filling you with fear.
His shoulders quivered up and down, and you could tell he was crying even though he was silent as a corpse. Your heart quickened as you approached him. With trembling hands, you reached for his blindfold, a desperate attempt because, goddammit, you fucking loved his eyes.
"What are you—" you started to inquire, your voice fading as you recognized that your touch couldn't reach him. He had activated his Infinity. Manually. Deliberately. A wave of profound sadness washed over you, tears welling up in your eyes, yet you swallowed them back, resolved to keep your composure. Your hand hung suspended, mere inches away from him, a symbol of the unbridgeable gap that had grown between you.
Then, in a sudden movement, Satoru stood before you, donning a black jacket that draped his figure. His voice emerged raspy, filled with a raw intensity that conveyed the turmoil within his heart.
"I can't handle this anymore. I can't continue being whatever I am to you," he admitted, his words heavy with a sense of resignation. The understanding that the current situation was no longer viable had taken hold of him. "If you want things to remain this way, I can't ignore the fact that we are enemies at the end of the day." He subtly avoided meeting your gaze, averting his eyes from your messy hair and the persistent sadness in your eyes.
"Can you honestly believe that?" you questioned, your voice brimming with incredulity. You took a step forward, narrowing the physical gap between you. It was essential for him to grasp the magnitude of your anguish and directly witness the toll your choice inflicted upon your heart.
Satoru took a step back, his brows furrowing beneath the blindfold that veiled his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I believe," he declared.
Despite the barrier that prevented physical touch, you closed your eyes, driven by the overwhelming desire to bridge the divide. Ignoring the protective shield of his Infinity, you leaned in, your lips seeking his in a desperate act of defiance. Tears streamed down your closed eyes as he relinquished the barrier that kept you apart. You pressed your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to respond, to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his hand while his other embraced you tightly. He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy.
You held each other tightly, his arms enveloping you as his fingers intertwined with your hair. In that stolen moment, you caught a glimpse of the life you longed for—a life filled with love. Having this every day was within reach, but the harsh reality of the jujutsu world loomed, casting a shadow over your fragile dreams. The awareness that he would be exploited until his final breath burdened you deeply. Unable to witness his suffering, you knew you couldn't change your decisions. You had to reset this Jujutsu World. For him. For his students. For the happiness you owed yourself.
As your lips reluctantly separated, a bittersweet trace of saliva remained between you. Satoru gripped your shoulders, and as you glanced up, you noticed his blindfold was damp, indicating the tears he had shed.
You lowered your head. "I wish you had never crossed paths with me," you murmured, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground until he reached out and lifted your chin.
"I wouldn't take that chance. Not in a million infinities. Because there was love, even if it didn't change anything, even if it made the pain worse, love was there," he said, staring at your mouth. "I'll love you in this life. I'll love you in death and in whatever lies after. And likely even beyond that," he whispered. The words did something to you. They burned something inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "No matter what, I'll always love you," he declared, and pain filled your veins. You could feel it in your blood.
"Satoru," you whispered. Your eyes fogged up, but you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears away. You couldn't let a second of this be blurry. You couldn't afford to allow any of this to slip away. His absence felt like a missing limb, and his longing for you was a bullet in the head. How could he still love you? How could he find relief in your touch?
"But if we meet again," he said, his thumb brushing against your earlobe. "Just kill me. Because I'll be forced to kill you, and it's the same thing." As if the longer he held you, the more he would want you, he let go of you.
The enormity of his duty and the unyielding constraints of the jujutsu world, forcing him to make an unbearable choice, hit you like a cold gust of wind, leaving you feeling isolated and abandoned. The chill of that moment seeped into your bones, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had felt this same frigid loneliness when you had left him behind.
Satoru walked towards the door, each step carrying the finality of his decision that settled upon the room. Pausing at the threshold, a silent plea lingered in his words. "So, please, I beg you to stay away from me." With those words, he severed the last thread that had linked you, leaving you with a deep sense of loss.
The door closed behind him, leaving you in an empty and heavy space with unspoken regret. You were alone again, bereft without him, half dead without him. You opened your mouth and screamed. You screamed and screamed until your voice cracked beneath the pressure. Until you feared your throat would shred from the force. You wanted to crawl outside of your body so desperately so that you could escape this feeling.
No one ever warned you how men with such pretty eyes, who smelled like vanilla, tasted like rain, and talked like silver, were the reason behind tear-soaked pillows, half-finished poems, and so many sad dreams.
One last shout ripped out of your throat, this one so full of pain that brought you to your knees. You crumbled. The raw sound tapered off, fading into a hoarse, staccato cry. You sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with oxygen you didn't want, but you were too lost in your grief to scream like you wanted to.
It seemed like Satoru Gojo's story had peaked, and anything that followed wouldn't hold the same significance to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you. For some reason, he never thought there would be an after you. But there was, and he was in it. He would be in it forever.
Moving forward, he silently implored his bones to remain firm, to support him for the remainder of the day and beyond. He ventured through the forest, his steps disturbing the mud and leaves as his footprints gradually faded away until there was nothing but the empty silence of a long, lonely dusk.
Tag list: @istanuwow @anime-lover1234 @rentaldarling @enchantedforest-network
Disclaimers:
This creation draws significant inspiration from the incredible artistry of @animaybi (TikTok) and features quotes from the captivating writings of @starlightonthewaves (TikTok). Both of these talented artists deserve immense praise for their remarkable contributions.
Summary: In a twist of fate, the most obnoxious person on Earth, Gojo Satoru, appeared by your hospital bed. Clearly, the universe had a wicked sense of humor.
Warnings/Tags: humor, no angst, whipped Satoru Gojo, bitchy reader, a lot of jokes about chapter 236 of the JJK manga (my personal healing process), mention of Kitkat, prepare for Gojo's nauseating love for his wife, who's probably sick of him.
Notes: I hope you laugh your ass off while reading this.
You can read my fics on AO3. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK.
On a very, very, very dull autumn afternoon, we find ourselves in a hospital room where its fancy ass curtains are just letting in enough sunlight to cast a gloomy, eerie glow.
There, on the bed, lies a woman who seems to have become one with the medical equipment—or, better to say, a high-tech octopus. Wires and tubes sprout from her body like overgrown vines, connecting her to an orchestra of beeping machines. It's like a twisted version of a modern art installation, where chaos and order collide in a symphony of medical mayhem.
The woman, blissfully oblivious to the cacophony surrounding her, snores away, blissfully lost in dreamland. It's almost comical how she manages to find solace amidst the tangled wires and the chorus of beeps. One might wonder if she's dreaming of a magical place where the cables turn into candy canes and the machines play cheerful tunes instead of somber heartbeats.
The lighting in the room sucks, perhaps to match the mood or new architectural ambiance design. For fuck's sake, who knows! Shadows dance across the walls, conspiring with the flickering fluorescent lights to create an atmosphere that's equal parts unsettling and strangely fascinating.
As if to bring a touch of irony to the scene, a sad excuse for a vase sits on a nearby table, barely holding onto life. Its wilted flowers, once vibrant and alive, now resemble a bouquet of autumn hues gone horribly wrong. It's a symbolic reminder that beauty is fleeting, just like the woman's health, and that even in the darkness, there's a twisted kind of beauty to be found.
The room carries the unmistakable scent of sterile cleanliness, mingled with a hint of despair. It's the kind of smell that makes you want to open a window and let in some fresh air (read jump out), but alas, in this hospital room, fresh air seems like a distant memory.
Well, hold on to your hospital gown because here's a plot twist for you! Picture this: you've been envisioning this serene hospital room, reading it in all its autumnal glory, and guess what? The woman lying on that bed, surrounded by beeping machines and tubes, is none other than... drumroll... you!
Yep, you're the star of the show, ready to wake up and face your second stroke. But hey, don't worry, it's not going to be as boring as your room décor. No, no, life has decided to throw you a curveball and add a dash of excitement to your hospital stay. Who needs a peaceful recovery when you can have a stroke sequel, right?
So get ready to jolt awake and embrace the chaos! Remember, even in between unexpected events, a good sense of humor can be the best medicine. Laughter might not cure your condition, but it can certainly make the hospital experience a little more bearable. So, chin up, brave stroke survivor! Your story is about to take an exciting turn!
Well, well, well.
As you wake up from your beauty sleep, feeling as if you've been smooching a cactus all night, the machines around you decide to unleash their inner DJs with a symphony of beeps. How thoughtful of them to create an auditory masterpiece that grates on your nerves like a tone-deaf choir. Ah, music to your ears, right?
But fear not, the brave warrior of hydration! You are on a noble quest to conquer the desert that has taken residence in your mouth. Summoning every ounce of strength (and probably some residual grumpiness), you muster the strength to ascend from your pillow fortress. With your hand gracefully reaching out for that tempting glass of water, victory feels within reach.
Your hand hovers mid-air as if suspended by an invisible force, frozen in a moment of pure disbelief. Just when you think the universe couldn't possibly play a more mischievous trick on you, there he was—sitting on the couch like he owns the place—the one person you would rather avoid more than a clown with a pie in hand. Seriously, is this some cosmic prank show?
Your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart skips a beat, and you can't help but let out a little groan. It's like the universe is trying to test your resilience, throwing you into this hilariously uncomfortable situation. Oh, the irony!
You: Hell no! What the fuck are you doing here?
Right in front of your very eyes sits the epitome of style and charm—a man sporting a white shirt and black pants combo that would weaken fashion gurus at the knees. No sunglasses dare cross the path of this confident fellow, for his piercing ocean-blue eyes need no protection from the sun's feeble attempts to outshine them.
But wait, there's more! Let's not forget about his head adorned with fluffy white hair that could rival the fluffiest clouds. Ugh!
Satoru: Hello to you too, love!
He strikes a pose that screams, "I'm the king of this couch!" With one leg casually crossed over the other and his arms spread wide on the back of the couch, he's claiming his throne in the most nonchalant and hilarious way possible.
Satoru: Is this how you greet your beloved husband?
You: Fuck off!
With the speed of a ninja on a caffeine high, you swiftly pull the blanket up to your chest, fully aware that the hospital gowns offer about as much coverage as a single sheet of tissue paper. Yes, those flimsy garments are the Victoria's Secret of the medical world—barely there and leaving little to the imagination! And just when you thought the situation couldn't get any more entertaining, you catch a glimpse of his famous smile. Asshole! Is he peeping on you?
Satoru: Aha! The feisty spirit lives on! Missed your sassy attitude.
He grins like a mischievous little rascal who just stumbled upon a secret stash of dad jokes, except it's a porn website!
Satoru: And, of course, your perked-up nipples!
Summoning your inner grumpy penguin, you dramatically cross your arms over your chest, shooting him a glare that could make a grizzly bear retreat in fear.
You: well, Mr. White-Haired Head with a stinky smirk and eyes bluer than a bottle of Windex, I didn't miss you AT ALL!
Satoru: Why, oh why, did you dye your hair white if you claim not to miss me, baby? Is it some secret signal to the hair gods that you're ready to experience the adventure of life without my captivating presence? Or perhaps it's your way of channeling the wisdom of Gandalf and Dumbledore, hoping that your newly snowy locks will grant you magical powers to forget all about me?
You: Hold your horses, chatterbox! My hair has turned snowy white without any meddling from me. No, I didn't secretly sprinkle it with magic hair dye while cackling like a mischievous sorcerer, you idiot!
Satoru: Whoopsie daisy! You've got a point there. Did I accidentally step on your delicate feelings, wise and experienced grandma?
In a grand display of determination, you muster every ounce of strength to grab the pillow behind your back, preparing to launch it at him. Alas, it seems the strength of a thousand paperclips has possessed your hands, rendering them feeble and incapable of fulfilling your pillow-throwing dreams. The valiant effort leaves you gasping for air as if you have just completed a marathon of pillow-tossing.
Satoru: Yowai mo!
He erupts into laughter, showcasing his undeniable talent as a professional tease.
You: Cut the crapola! Spill the beans! What on earth has brought you to this neck of the woods?
With your firm tone that could rival a drill sergeant's, the machine begins beeping faster than a sugar-rushed hummingbird on roller skates. It's as if the beeps are making their best impression of a hyperactive jazz band, matching the frantic tempo of your skyrocketing heart rates.
Satoru: I'll be rolling on the floor in laughter if you drop dead from the sheer intensity of your anger, Granny. Let's be real; finding inner peace is way more beneficial for you in the long run. Just saying!
You: Satoru!
Satoru: Yep, that's me. Breaking hearts and taking names. Can't a poor soul like me simply pay a visit to my dear wife on her deathbed?
You: Hell to the no! You can't just waltz in our life whenever you please! Sorry, but you lost that VIP visiting privilege when you—
Satoru: Oh, and on that note, could that charming chick who graced you with her presence earlier be our beloved daughter?
You sigh, exasperated, and gently rub your forehead as if trying to coax that headache into submission. Ah, the joys of a headache that seems set on conquering you before any actual sickness does. With a dramatic sweep of your hand across your face, you channel your inner drama queen and then grab your neck.
You: Oh, please, for the love of all that is awkward, just tell me that you didn't try to work your "smooth moves" on her.
Satoru: I was this close to making a move, you know? She's like a spitting image of when I was head over heels for you! It's like you've managed to clone yourself or something. Should I be worried? Did you secretly stash away all my precious genes and hoard them for your own amusement? Well, I guess I can't blame you for wanting to keep all those sperms to yourself! But seriously, she doesn't look like me at all. I am hurt!
He pouts like a baby, forever stuck in his eternal state of immaturity, but you aren't about to let that deter you. With an air of defiance, you casually lean against the hospital bed board, gazing intently at the serum making its grand entrance into your veins. Oh, and that obnoxious machine chiming away? You can't help but wish it could just shut up.
You: It's actually better for her, you know. At least she doesn't have anything that serves as a constant reminder of her absent father, who couldn't even be bothered to be present during her birth!
Your words are like a sarcasm waterfall, cascading with vicious wit. You've mastered the art of tongue-in-cheek remarks, and while you're fully aware of their potency, you couldn't care less. It's like you've got a license to sass, and you're not afraid to use it, even if it makes the world say, "Well, ain't you a delightful ray of sunshine!"
Satoru: Let's not paint the picture as if I had some glamorous options! Nope, I was bestowed with the honor of being the designated problem-solver, the one expected to handle it all while gracefully tiptoeing through—
You: Oh, pretty please! If it's not too much trouble, continue your reign as the honored one through heaven and earth, while sparing me from any additional bouts of annoyance. I must say, it's quite the talent you possess—being both honored and a master of irritation. Quite the balancing act, I must admit!
As you clench the blanket in desperation, that rebellious needle gleefully plunges itself into your hand. Fuck unexpected pain! And there, decorating your arm like a chilling masterpiece, are the bruises—trophy marks from your encounters with the needle army. Who knew injections could become an avant-garde art form? With tears welling up and the air growing thinner, it feels like the room is leaving you gasping for breath just to have a twisted sort of fun. Bravo, universe, for your fucked up sense of humor! A standing ovation for this macabre spectacle.
Satoru: Love?
You: …
Satoru: Baby?
You: …
Satoru: My Wondrous Whipped Cream Warrior, the Caramel Crusader, the Sprinkle Spritzer, the Marshmallow Maestro, the Treat Tornado, the Sugar Rush Superstar, the Jelly-filled Joy Bringer, and the Sweetness Sorceress who turns my world into a Never-ending Dessert Buffet! The Honeyed Pussy of—
You: WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT, SATORU?
You are wheezing like a chain-smoking asthmatic, desperately gasping for air, and his attitude is about as helpful as a wet matchstick. You and the mysteries of poor life choices! What possessed you, in that twisted moment of madness, to willingly plunge into the depths of infatuation with him? It's a dark, twisted enigma that not even the Grim Reaper could decipher.
Satoru: Are you still mad?
As you tilt your head, there he is, looking at you with those big, blue eyes, like a lost poppy desperately trying to win the "Most Heart-Melting Flower" award. What a sneaky trickster! He knows exactly what he is doing, employing his secret weapon of irresistible gazes, and darn it; it works like a charm! You can't resist the powers of those eyes, and you reluctantly surrender, cursing his effective tactics while secretly admiring his diabolical brilliance. Well played, Mr. Blue-Eyed Mother Fucker, well played.
You: I never stopped being mad at you!
Satoru: Fair, but you have to know that—
You: Spare me the creative excuses, please! You pulled off the greatest magic trick of all—knocking me up—and then poof! You disappeared into thin air, leaving me with a growing belly and a bewildered expression. Good job, Houdini!
Satoru: You're welcome, baby. But you've got to cut me some slack here! My job description practically has "Accident Enthusiast" written all over it. It's not like I wake up in the morning, rubbing my hands together, thinking, "Oh boy, I can't wait for another mishap!" So, let's blame it on my occupational hazard, shall we?
You: Oh, well, then, thank you so much for gracing us with your presence again! You chose to go down that path because, of course, you believed you were the one and only capable being in the universe. And oh, how lucky we are that you decided to leave me and our daughter behind. It's truly heartwarming to see you saunter back into our lives after years like it's just another casual stroll in the park. I mean, who needs a father figure during precious moments like birth, first words, and first steps, right? Clearly, you had more important things to attend to. Our daughter has grown up and gone through school, and I've had the pleasure of explaining why her dad couldn't be bothered to pick her up like those "normal" dads. Graduation, dating, first job—she did it all without you, and we couldn't be more grateful for your consistent absence. Now you have the audacity to—
You start coughing, and each painful gasp feels like your lungs are being ruthlessly ripped apart, leaving behind crimson stains on your once immaculate sheets and hands. And there he stands, towering tall, as handsome as the day he first stole your heart. It's just not fair that he still looks so good while sickness has mercilessly drained the life from your weary soul. He approaches you, the lingering scent of vanilla clinging to him, a bittersweet reminder of what you once cherished but now resentfully long for.
Satoru: Take a sip of water. Do you want me to help you?
Oh, he's all worried now, isn't he? But honestly, after enduring all that post-him misery, you're not about to let him off the hook just because he's offering a glass of water. Come on, you might be a little dumb, but you're not "drink-water-and-forget-all-the-pain" dumb! Nice try, buddy, but you'll need more than H2O to wash away the mess you left behind.
You: I DON'T NEED YOUR GODDAMN HELP! How about you kindly take a flying leap back to wherever you've been hiding all this time? I'm sure you've perfected your disappearing act by now. And don't forget to leave behind a trail of glittering resentment as you go, just to keep things spicy. Ta-ta, farewell, and may you step on a thousand Lego bricks on your way out!
Satoru: Listen up, partner in crime! I've had enough of leaving you to your own devices. It's been tough for me, too, and I sincerely apologize for piling on the hardship. But I learned my lesson! Starting right this very moment, I'm making a solemn vow never to ditch you again. Consider me your loyal sidekick, ready to tackle life's challenges together, even if it means enduring endless reruns of your favorite TV show or subjecting myself to your cooking experiments. We're in this for the long haul, love!
You use the sleeve of your flimsy, ridiculous gown to clumsily wipe away the blood from your mouth, all the while shooting him a perplexed look. Seriously, how on earth does he still manage to gaze at you with those doe eyes, all lovey-dovey, when you're rocking the vampire-on-a-sunlit-day aesthetic?
You: So, you decided to grace me with your presence just because I'm sick?
Satoru: Yes.
You: I see how it is! You're not here because you missed me, huh?
Satoru: Uh-oh, am I about to witness another round of your infamous anger? But hey, before you explode like a volcano, let me enlighten you that I didn't write the rulebook on how things work. Nope, not my area of expertise. Turns out, the universe didn't consult me when setting up the whole system. It seems they left me out of the committee meeting where they decided the rules of life. Classic!
You: Does it hurt?
Satoru: It hurt me badly because I snapped in half like a Kit-Kat bar. And no, there wasn't a delicious wafer filling in between, just pure pain and emotional wreckage.
You: Come on, Satoru! This is not the time for your quirky sense of humor. I mean, seriously, I saw your guts out in the open, and to top it off, ants decided to take a leisurely hike on them.
Satoru: TV producers really went all out with the graphic details, huh? Sure, I appreciate high-definition viewing, but did they need a close-up of my stuff? Talk about taking reality TV to a whole new level! I hope they provided a warning. Note to self: avoid snacking while watching shows that involve anatomical explorations!
You: SATORU!
Satoru: Alright, alright, no need to get serious! Can't a man crack a joke about his own death around here? Fine, I'll hold your hand during the whole thing. You know, I once spouted that cliché line about dying alone, but let's face it, that was a load of nonsense. Nobody goes down that final road solo. It's like a grand exit party!
You: Oh, really? So, you had some company, huh? Well, you know what they say: ignorance is bliss. I don't need the details, and my imagination can take a wild ride all on its own
Satoru: Jealousy looks good on you, love.
As he bends closer, his breath tickles your lips, making you wonder if he had onions for lunch. With a dramatic flourish, he grabs your chin as if auditioning for a cheesy romance movie. And then, like a vacuum cleaner on turbo mode, he plants a kiss that sucks the air right out of your lungs. It's like indulging in a dessert buffet filled with marshmallows, caramel, and insulin shots. Who needs a thrill ride at an amusement park when you can experience a sugar rush of epic proportions? You may be risking diabetes, but hey, at least you'll be leaving this world with a sweet tooth satisfied and an unforgettable, albeit comical, memory of that last smooch.
Unfortunately, after what feels like a fleeting eternity, he decides to break the kiss. As your eyes meet, you can't help but sneak a glance downwards, wondering if his pants harbored any surprises. Alas, it appears that either he's a master of disguise or ghosts have taught him their spectacular talent for concealment. Sneaky whores!
Satoru: Are you ready to go?
Oh, snap! Once the horniness fades away, reality hits you like a ton of bricks. Holy shit! How did you manage to forget about your daughter? Leaving her behind is definitely not the best parenting move. Time to snap back into responsible mode and give that little one the attention she deserves. Parenthood: where forgetfulness meets a reality check!
You: Will she be okay?
Satoru: She's our little munchkin. She'll be alright.
You: I want to see her for the last time.
Satoru: You can see her whenever you want.
You: WHAT?
He scratches his head, messing up his undercut, desperately trying to dodge eye contact like a game of social hide-and-seek.
Satoru: Ops! Did I just spill the beans on one of the perks of the afterlife? My bad! My master plan was to witness that priceless guilty expression on your face when we reached the pearly gates. Imagine your shock when you realized you blamed me for no reason, only to discover I had a front-row seat to all your shenanigans during all those years! Oh, the things I've seen! I know how many times you've touched yourself thinking about me! No judging, though! And yes, I know you secretly fumed when our little bundle of joy uttered "Dada" before "Mama." Don't worry, I won't tell a soul... except, you know, all the other souls up there. It's the ultimate celestial gossip!
You: WHAT? YOU KNOW EVERYTHING? THEN WHY THE FUCK YOU ASKED IF SHE'S OUR DAUGHTER?
Satoru: First, just to tickle your pickle. Second, as I cunningly planned.
You: You're still a brat!
Satoru: And you're still as beautiful as the day I lost you.
You: Smooth words, my friend, but let's not kid ourselves. I won't buy into any deceit. I'm old, wrinkled, and sick. Time and disease are killing me, just as you hated. Meanwhile, you continue to flaunt that glorious chiseled chest and those rock-hard butt cheeks.
Satoru: Thank you, ma'am, for keeping my ass in your thoughts. Speaking of which, I must confess I've made some boneheaded decisions along the way. Opting for death in the name of someone else can seem like a breeze compared to the complexity of choosing to live for them. So, kudos to you for being the badass who faced life's challenges to honor my memory.
You: I hope this is not just a dream.
Satoru: We can give it a try and see for ourselves.
As Satoru reaches out his hand, something extraordinary unfolds—the machine starts beeping. You look at the device, noticing that the time between beeps gradually increases. But then, your gaze shifts to your cherished spouse, the man whose absence has left an indelible void within you. The man with whom you would have fearlessly confronted doomsday on that fateful December 24th in 2018, had it not been for the fact that you were carrying his last trace of existence, a precious legacy nestled within your very being.
You: You feel so warm.
Satoru: Some things never change.
His hand gracefully slides towards your waist, triggering a chain reaction of chaos. Those pesky wires and tubes that were so dutifully attached to you? Well, they decide it's time for a break and go on a wild unplugging spree. It's like a rebellious dance party of freedom for those little connectors! And just when you thought things couldn't get any more exciting, your feet are about to touch the chilly floor, ready to embark on an unplanned adventure.
You: Hold up! Fetch my wheelchair for me!
Satoru: You don't need it anymore.
As you place your feet on the floor, you can't help but chuckle at the fact that your knees manage to hold up, allowing you to stand upright. The machines emit a continuous beeping sound, indicating a flat line on the monitor. Suddenly, the door swings open, and a troupe of nurses storm into the room. They swiftly gather around your motionless body lying on the bed. One nurse examines your vital signs, another administers an injection into your vein, and a third retrieves a machine to deliver cardiac shocks in an attempt to revive you. Witnessing these intense moments, you hold Satoru's hand tighter.
You: I don't want to come back.
Satoru: Are you sure?
Tears well up in the corners of your eyes and trickle down your cheeks as you gaze at him.
You: Yeah. I've spent more time living with your memory than I've had the opportunity to live alongside you.
Satoru's grip on your hand intensifies like he's determined to etch his touch into your very being. He lifts your hand delicately, planting a tender kiss upon it. Drawing you closer to him, he envelopes you in an embrace, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. With gentle affection, he presses a kiss upon the crown of your head, leaning his head upon yours.
As teardrops trickle onto your head, you find yourself clinging to him desperately, as if trying to hold onto the fragments of a shattered existence. In that agonizing moment, the harsh reality of his unfulfilled roles crashes down upon you like a relentless wave. He has endured the torment of being a husband bereft of a wife, a father denied a child, and a sensei forsaken his students.
Satoru: I will never let go of you anymore.
You: Is this just another one of those "oops, my bad" promises? You know, like when you swore to be to hold me for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health?
Satoru: Heyyy! I held you till death do us part. I even remember, the night before my, um, grand finale, I held you so good that you had spread your legs, moaning my name and begging me to hold you harder.
Just as you are ready to break free from his grasp and deliver a well-deserved bonk on his clueless head, the scene takes an unexpected turn. Your doctor rushes into the room and towards your bed, barking orders left and right, and proceeds to administer yet another mysterious injection into your poor, defenseless vein.
Deciding to redirect your attention, you avert your gaze and catch sight of your reflection in the nearby window. To your astonishment, your hair has magically reverted to its former glory, defying the clutches of time. Wrinkles? Vanished as if a skilled magician performed a grand disappearing act. You're suddenly transported back to the good ol' days of youthfulness. Bewildered, you inspect your once-bruised hands, only to find them as flawless as a newborn's.
You: Satoru? What's—
Satoru: I know, right? It turns out one of the unexpected bonuses of kicking the bucket is that you get to rock your sexiest form once again. So, brace yourself because I won't behave when you sashay around in that gorgeous drop-dead gown. I can't keep it in my pants till we arrive and I start making cream pies and babies with you!
You: Oh, my goodness! Does it actually work in the afterlife as well?
Satoru: You're referring to my... um, dick? Let me tell you, it still has the same old magic, if not a little extra pizzazz! It's like a fine wine, aging gracefully and delivering peak performance in the afterlife. Who knew there would be such perks beyond the grave?
You: No, idiot! I mean babies!
Satoru: How should I know? I made sure to wear a condom during my frisky encounters with angels.
You can't help but release an exasperated breath, causing your ears to turn as red as a tomato in a sauna. The thought of giving him a good old-fashioned strangling and sending him off to the after-afterlife has you chuckling at the absurdity of it all.
Satoru: Would it tickle your funny bone if I threw caution to the wind and played a game of "heavenly roulette" with unprotected encounters, potentially earning myself some out-of-this-world STD souvenirs?
With a masterful brow raise and a world-class eye roll, you are all set to deliver the ultimate "exit stage left" move. But he pulls off the ultimate surprise maneuver and hits you with the "Hold up, wait a minute" move. He has a secret superpower to freeze you in your snarky tracks! Goddammit! Those puppy eyes again.
Satoru: I was joking, okay? I just jerked off while watching your showering or self-exploration activities. I mean, fingering yourself while calling my name. That's it! Okay? Also, we should have a talk about that dildo you named Hollow Purple!
You: So, it seems you shamelessly watched everything, hm?
Satoru: Yes. Absolutely! I had a lot of spare time to slay, and, hey, let's not divert our attention from the Hollow Purple subject, you dirty little mouse!
You: God! Kill me already!
Satoru: Why? You're just itching to infiltrate the kingdom of my pants, aren't you?
You: You know what? I've had a change of heart. I'd rather try my chances with cosmic sickness than spend an eternity with your delightful company!
Satoru: Goodness gracious! You and your fiery temper! How on earth did you manage to cast a spell on me, making me fall for you?
You: It's common knowledge among our friends that everybody should bow down to your shameless expertise in the art of begging!
Satoru: Is that so?
He displays a smug smirk, his arms crossed firmly over his chest.
Satoru: Well, we can ask when we see them.
Your eyes go from their regular setting to full-on "wide-angle lens" mode, capturing the world in all its wide-eyed wonder. It is as if someone presses the "zoom" button on your peepers, revealing a comical level of astonishment.
You: They are there, too?
Satoru: Oh boy, buckle up for Nanamin's epic rage when he discovers our fashionably late entrance!
You: Well, chop-chop! Time to hit the road! We wouldn't want to unleash the wrath of the entire afterlife just because your chatty ass decided to go on such a long monologue!
He leans in and gently kisses your forehead, intertwining his fingers with yours as he guides you towards the door. As you both stand at the doorway, you cast a lingering gaze upon the nurses and doctor, who seem to have thrown in the towel on their attempts to revive you.
Satoru: I can't wait to spook everyone alongside you. You'll forever be my always.
Author's Note: I had an absolute blast writing this.
