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shintin · 2 months

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Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 10 (Plan)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

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

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

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

Song Recommendation: Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?

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

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

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

All you saw when you closed your eyes was Knives.

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Yet another delightful adventure in the land of perpetual misfortune.

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

Once again, a sigh came out of your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you suddenly stopped.

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

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

Something human.

Male.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You kept those origamis."

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

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

He said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

Who did sculpt this man?

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

Sheets? Seriously? Huh!

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

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

Stop grinning, stupid girl!

Another day in the never-ending circus of misery.

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

Ugh! Why—

No!

Wait a damn minute!

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

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

He could be glowing.

That could be a halo around his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it scared you.

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

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

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

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

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

"Hm?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You're feeling better."

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

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

"So I had a few shots."

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

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

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

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

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

"I've got plans."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. "No."

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

"He's not here?" you questioned.

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

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

"You heard what I said."

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

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

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

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

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

"That seems unlikely."

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

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

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

"Love—"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," he said—another pause.

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

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

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

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

"What's so funny?"

"My lovely girl."

"What?"

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

Vash burst into laughter, his expression bordering like he might cry.

"I will cause hurt to your brother," you declared, "and I will make sure he learns not to threaten me."

He was still smiling.

"I will."

"I know," he said.

"Then why are you laughing at me?" you asked, puzzled.

"I'm not," he said softly. "I'm just wondering," he said, "if you would like my assistance."

"What? You agree with—" You blinked rapidly, unable to believe what you just heard.

"There are three things you should know about me, love," he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. "First," he began, "I hate my brother more than you could comprehend." He cleared his throat. "Second, I am unapologetically self-centered and make decisions primarily based on my interests in nearly every situation. And third," he paused, looking down and chuckling softly, "I believe death would be a reward for despicable people like me or your father." He lifted his head. "I've always told you," Vash said, "that we would make an exceptional team. From the moment we met, I've been waiting for you to be ready to acknowledge your anger and strength. I've been waiting patiently all this time."

"That's why you wanted to use me to hurt my father?"

"Does that bother you?"

Your jaw dropped. "What? Of course, it bothers me! Wouldn't it bother you?"

"No," he said casually. "I would feel honored to have assisted."

Words eluded you. You couldn't tell if it was the influence of alcohol or a newfound courage that ignited within you, urging you to let your inner fire scorch others as well. "If that's the case," you declared, your gaze fixed on Vash's face, "then I want to bestow an honor upon you, Mr. Savrem."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to use me?"

"Yep," you exclaimed, emphasizing the P. "We can hit two birds with one stone."

Vash took hold of his glass and reclined against the couch, looking at you as though he no longer recognized you. Good. When something is subjected to intense pressure, it becomes distorted. It forms sharp edges that can inflict deep wounds.

He lightly tapped his finger against the crystal, and the sound reverberated through the quiet living room. The crackling of the fireplace was the only other sound present.

Vash crossed one leg over the other. "Elaborate," he demanded.

"Do you—like, do you just like men?"

"Why? Are you trying to seduce me?" Vash asked in a relaxed manner, drawing your focus toward him as he sipped his Bourbon and peered at you over the rim of his glass.

His gaze was probing and studious, yet you offered no reaction. Your facial muscles remained steadfast as you replied, "That's what you desire, isn't it?"

A sly grin appeared on Vash's face, accentuated by the dim lighting and the flickering shadows, giving him a sinister look. However, you didn't even flinch in response. He no longer had the power to intimidate you. You had witnessed him kneeling before you.

"Is this a part of your grand plan?"

"Yes," you replied, contemplating how you wished you had a bigger mouth to accommodate more alcohol. It was essential to muster courage for what you were about to say.

"Nothing will hurt my dad more than seeing everyone talk about his beloved daughter fucking his enemy. And about your brother," you stated, taking a deep breath. You couldn't believe those words had come from your mouth. Your ears grew warm, but you had to press on because Vash didn't even flinch and needed him to take you seriously. "He has a vulnerability, and it's you," you continued, and he lowered his glass, tilting his head to the side as his eyebrows furrowed. Encouraged, you pressed forward, "He cut me because he believed you cared for me, and I am growing in you." You let out a mocking laugh, "So, you are his weakness. He doesn't want to share his little brother, and I want to do the exact opposite."

"You didn't tell me anything about this detail."

"There was no reason for you to be aware of it then. However, now I want you to pretend that you have succumbed to my seduction. I know you are skilled at acting, so it shouldn't pose a challenge for you," you said, taking another swig and wincing at the burning.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't fuck you," he stated, finishing the remainder of his whiskey.

The words felt unpleasant on your tongue, but you forced them out anyway. "I don't want a relationship, and If you are interested in the buttholes—"

"For fuck's sake! I've been with women as well. So, let's put an end to this discussion about holes!"

"So, if you're not exclusively interested in men, what's holding you back?" you rushed out. He tilted his head, patiently waiting. "From fucking me," you stated plainly. "You didn't hold back before. What's preventing you now?"

He remained quiet for a moment. "Because I couldn't bear the guilt," he whispered, gazing at you contemplatively. "If it were to happen again, the outcome would be vastly different — you're already aware of that."

You folded your arms. "Would it, though?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Do you think if I were to pin you against a wall, you would resist initially only to succumb to pleasure eventually? Or do you think you would fight as if your life depended on it, only to end up mentally checking out from the trauma?"

You swallowed, the truth leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

"I will never claim to be a good, kind, or even honorable man. There is little of that left in me, and the truth is, it was never truly there to start with. I was born with a blackened soul. However, there is a distinction between those who are needlessly evil and those who do wrong in the hopes of achieving something good. I'll leave it up to you to decide which category I fall into."

You realized you didn't need to think about it at all. Trauma had a tight hold on you, but all you wanted Vash to do was hold you tighter.

You downed the remaining Vodka in a single gulp, relishing in the burn as it traveled down your throat. The clock ticked, approaching eight PM. It was the perfect timing since the household staff would soon be present to serve dinner. Why not put on a performance for them? You were confident that at least one of them would discreetly inform Knives about everything.

Adrenaline got steadily released into your bloodstream, akin to injecting heroin into a vein. Rising to your feet, you approached Vash, causing his muscles to tense up as you parted his crossed legs and settled onto his lap. Almost subconsciously, his hand swiftly grasped your waist to hold you. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, it was clear that men were all the same. Their dicks dictated their every decision.

"You'll end up getting hurt," he cautioned, his voice taking on a deeper tone as the words slipped out quietly and deliberately.

" Maybe I need another pain to wash away the one I'm experiencing now," you stated, unreservedly running your hand between your legs, provocatively stroking his crotch through his pants, all while maintaining unwavering eye contact with him.

He took a deep breath. "You're toying with fire," he croaked, shifting his gaze from your face to your hand resting on his groin.

"Then let your flames consume me, Vash," you urged, intensifying the pressure of your hand against the fabric. "Imagine the retribution we will exact upon the men who ruined us."

He tightly shut his eyes, tilting his head back as his lips parted. You reached out and touched him once more, this time with gentle tenderness. You felt his thumb caressing your side. Good.

You wished for Knives to witness this moment, wanting to prove something to the deluded man who thought he owned you. The only person with the right to claim your body was the one you granted permission to. You would allow Vash's hands to explore every inch of your skin, followed by the touch of his mouth. You would let his tongue lick your pussy until you were sated, right before he fucked you until you no longer knew your name.

You would let him because you said he could.

Vash drew you closer, pressing his body against yours and pinning your breasts against his chest. Your breath faltered as you felt the warmth surround you, his arm encircling your waist tightly, firmly locking you in place.

You liked the way he felt pressed against you. The softness of your body molded against the hard ridges of his. It felt... pleasant. Satisfying.

"We can handle this, Vash. Approach it like a business," you whispered in his ear, sensing his breath leaving him and his heart pounding against your chest.

Vash locked eyes with you briefly, and as you leaned in to kiss him, he placed his forefinger on your lips. "No need for kisses. This is not about making love. It's strictly business," he asserted.

As you were about to part your lips to speak, you were interrupted by his soft lips gliding rhythmically against your neck, reminiscent of water swaying the rocks beneath a cliff. A moan rose from your throat, and you immediately grasped the back of his neck, urging him to press his head closer to your skin.

He emitted a low, primal growl, his self-control slipping away. His other hand entwined itself in your hair, adjusting the angle of your head to gain better access. He sank his teeth into your flesh, skillfully exploring with an unrestrained fervor.

You clung to him tightly, pressing further into him. Shuddering with the feel of his hard cock digging into your stomach, his size only fueling your desire. He wasn't small, and that was precisely what you craved tonight. Something that would silence Knives' voice with pleasure, leaving you breathless and thoroughly gratified.

His tongue wrestled with your collarbones, skillfully swiping and lapping while his teeth playfully nipped at them. Another moan slipped free, bouncing in the air until he matched it with his groan.

The grip on your hair tightened, tilting your head back, allowing his lips to roam freely along the sensitive area where your neck and shoulder met.

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin, a subtle warning before he sank them in. The sharp pleasure rolled your eyes to the back of your head, followed by a long moan.

"Fuck," he cursed, his tongue flicking against your neck as he emitted a primal groan. "That voice drives me wild."

You felt your eyelids flutter as you succumbed to the pleasure his tongue and teeth were drawing out of you. His hands ventured lower, and soon, you felt a firm tug on your jeans. The button popped open in seconds, accompanied by the low purr of your zipper being undone.

On a low growl, Vash inquired, "Is your pussy wet for me like before, love?" as he playfully nipped at your neck. It stung a little, causing you to wince in response to the slight pain. However, his tongue glided over the bite mark, soothing the sting.

"Yes," you whispered, pleasure overpowering the lingering pain. His hand smoothly slid down the front of your jeans and underwear, his fingers gradually moving lower until the tip of his middle finger teasingly dipped inside you.

A low, guttural growl arose from you as he realized how truthful you were being. "Fuck, love, that's it. If you want our plan to succeed, you need to be louder. Don't you want everyone to know we're fucking?"

Suddenly, two fingers delved inside you, skillfully curling to hit that sweet spot. Your vision blurred, and a scream of pleasure erupted from your lips, becoming your sole response. It was the only thing you could do at that moment.

With instinct, you tilted your hips, grinding against his hand. He withdrew his fingers partially before driving them back into you again. And again, until he fucked you with his fingers, leaving you with nothing to do but hold on tightly, your nails digging into his shirt.

You let out long, husky moans that emanated from your throat, obediently filling the space precisely as he had requested.

"You certainly know how to make a scene," he whispered into your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip. The heel of his palm pressed firmly against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you. With his skilled fingers, he elevated your arousal, causing the orgasm to coil deep in your stomach. Then, he rubbed you just right, causing your knees to quake from the intense pleasure.

"Oh," you moaned, your breath coming in irregular, breathless gasps.

In a dark whisper, he asked, "Will you scream when you come on my hand, love?"

You thought you nodded, but you couldn't be sure, for in a matter of seconds, your head jerked backward as your climax escalated, building up to an intense peak.

"Let me hear it," he encouraged. His fingers glided out, only to plunge back in, this time with the addition of a third finger.

You bit your lip as you tumbled over the edge. A cry rushed out, the sound wavering in pitch as deep-seated pleasure engulfed you. Shamelessly, you pressed against his hand, surrendering to the relentless waves of ecstasy.

"So vindictive," he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. Breathless yet possessing a heightened hunger, he took out his hand and lightly brushed it against your lower lip, spreading your arousal. "You've made quite a mess on my hand, love. It would be rude not to clean it up."

While maintaining eye contact, your tongue darted out, the tip sliding across his finger. He smiled wickedly, prompting you to open your mouth wider. Soon, you tasted your own familiar flavor, but it didn't last long as he withdrew his fingers and licked the remainder himself. You never expected such a simple and primal act to make you ache for him even more than you already did.

His hot breath tickled against your face, causing a shiver to run down your spine. As you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but bite your lip when you felt his hands slip into your shirt.

"Vash," you said in a hushed, breathless voice. His warm breath caressed your neck as he leaned in closer. Gentle lips delicately grazed the edge of your ear. Like a cascading waterfall, a torrent of chills raced down your back.

"You're such a good, obedient girl," he remarked. The aroma of smoke mingled with hints of mint and wood enveloped you. The thought of him being delicious and the desire to have him in your mouth crossed your mind.

As if reading your mind, he reached up and placed his hand on the back of your head, his fingers entwining in your hair and drawing you impossibly closer. In a moment of impulse, you did something foolish. You drew his lower lip into your mouth, savoring the taste of him and the feel of his lips against yours. Suddenly aware of your behavior, you let go of his lip, attempting to pull away.

He was like a drug, and similar to the actual substance, he led you to make idiotic decisions.

He held onto you tightly, using his hand to press your forehead against his own forcefully. "I explicitly said no kissing. Right?" His grip on your hair was firm.

You nodded in response.

In return, his tongue traced your chin, descending towards your neck once more. You let out a soft, unintentional moan, and as soon as he noticed your body's response, he nibbled on your skin. He completely consumed you, sucking and licking your body in a way you'd never experienced.

He was leaving hickeys all over your skin, and you found yourself powerless to resist him, just as you were powerless to deny the pleasure that ran through your veins. Another low growl pinged through his mouth, serving as a mere indication of his following action.

He gripped your waist and lifted you. "You're such a good fucking girl," he praised, leaning against your chest before biting your breasts through your shirt and bra. He held you against the wall, his body pressing tightly against yours.

Gasping for air, your feet touched the ground as you struggled to hold up your head, desperately inhaling precious oxygen. He firmly held your cheeks with his large hand, growling against you.

You inserted your hands between your bodies, traveling towards his muscled stomach and firm chest. With force, you roughly pushed him away.

"Wait, please stop," you gasped, feeling a haze of confusion clouding your mind. The heat of the moment had left your pussy pulsating and your senses overwhelmed.

"What did I tell you?" he demanded with a sharp tone. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, captivating you in a hypnotic grip. It was difficult to avert your gaze when you felt like a helpless prey entrapped by the eyes of a predator.

"What?" you whispered, still feeling lightheaded.

"You're toying with fire," he reiterated slowly, his voice rough with gravel. Your mouth opened, but the words remained trapped, unable to get out.

His lips brushed against your cheek, tracing a path along your jawline. "Think about the prying eyes behind these walls. Let's stick to your original plan and provide them with something to gossip about," he concluded, punctuating his words with a sharp nip on your earlobe. Your body reacted, arching involuntarily as sweat drops formed on your skin. " I know you want me."

"No," you denied in a whisper. "You're wrong."

He raised his head, a smug smirk gracing his lips. "So, you're going to be a bad girl tonight? Lie to my face and act like your pussy isn't aching to be filled up with my cock?"

A flush of heat spread across your cheeks, a blend of anger and embarrassment. "Not everything revolves around physical attraction," you retorted after a moment. "Maybe my body wants you, but up here," you tapped your temple, "it's a different story."

He nodded slowly, studying your face with a pensive gaze. Stepping back, he left you feeling a sense of emptiness. It was akin to a dark veil encasing the sun on a scorching summer day—a sudden, chilling coldness that seeped into your bones.

He seized your hand and yanked you away from the wall. He twirled you around until you stood in front of one of the mirrors next to the fireplace. You watched him from the reflection as he pressed his body against yours, his warmth soaking into your very being. Your gaze fixated on the mirror, your eyes meeting and colliding through the glass.

He lowered himself gradually, bringing his mouth close to your ear, never breaking eye contact. "If you've had a change of heart, I won't push you into anything and will stop right now," he whispered in your ear, eliciting sparks throughout your nerve endings. His voice carried ominous promises and dangerous new beginnings.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. The word "No" teetered on the edge of your tongue, like a delicate ballerina dancing precariously at the tip, dangerously close to falling off and breaking her ankle. Because if you said no to this man, you'd spend the rest of your night—week—possibly longer, regretting it.

As he desired, a sense of recklessness and impulsiveness descended upon you. All you yearned for was to surrender yourself to him. You were dying to deny him, yet you had to fight your body from turning and pulling him into you.

Perhaps, just this once, to piss off Knives, you considered giving in.

You rolled your lip between your teeth, and he watched you closely, studying every gesture as if trying to interpret a cryptic language concealed within the contours of your body.

"So you think it'll work?" you inquired, your voice husky and uneven. His mouth remained close to your ear while his gaze remained fixed on yours.

He nodded slowly, his expression serious and his gaze penetrating. "Yes, love," he whispered. You closed your eyes, resignation taking over your body. You couldn't deny the truth to yourself anymore. Even if he doubted the plan's success, you still wanted him to have you tonight.

Noticing the shift, he trailed his hand over your stomach. You stiffened under his touch, feeling goosebumps rising on your skin. His fingers gripped your shirt, gradually lifting it up, parting the material at a painful pace.

"Does it hurt you when I touch your scars?"

Your eyes widened. The man, bearing his own soul's fractures, would never perceive your scars as repulsive.

"Just get it over with," you snapped, frustration emanating from his intentionally slow progression.

A malicious grin appeared on his lips, and even the mirror couldn't diminish the cruelty behind it. "Poor little thing," he jeered. "You miss having a man inside you? Were your fingers not enough to satisfy you? Have you fantasized about me while touching yourself?"

With just a glance, he possessed an uncanny ability to steal the air from your lungs. When his words accompanied that piercing gaze, it felt like you had no lungs at all.

Your shirt fell to the ground.

"What if your men come in?" you whispered, your voice barely breaking through the palpable tension in the air.

He grinned—a mischievous smile that conveyed his indifference if someone did. "What do you think they'd do?" he asked, his fingertips lightly brushing against your scars.

Goosebumps emerged, a tangible reaction from the electricity dancing across your skin wherever his touch landed.

"Do you think they'd watch?" he asked. "Do you think they would relish the sight of your naked body? Maybe they would get off on witnessing your dripping pussy or the rise and fall of your chest as you climax. I even think they would delight in watching your eyes roll back when my cock fills you so fully you can't fit any more of me inside you."

A shot of fear jolted through your heart, forcing the muscle into overdrive. Yet, despite this, your body still reacted more illicitly. Just like his words, you felt a renewed throbbing between your legs.

Would you be comfortable with a stranger observing? You doubted it. But there was something about the way he described the scenario that made you wonder if he would allow it to occur regardless.

"Are you comfortable with others seeing us undressed?" you challenged, breathless while staring at your shirt on the wooden floor.

Vash's fingers traced along your spine, moving slowly and purposefully. Their touch felt scorching, like searing lava against your flesh.

"No," he murmured into your ear. You observed him as his gaze descended, fixating on your chest. The band of your bra tightened, pressing uncomfortably against your skin before loosening. The black cups that held your breasts released, leaving you fully exposed. Your nipples were painfully erect.

When he caught sight of your hardened peaks, his tongue drifted across his lower lip as if he was salivating at the sight. "Do you want to know what I would do?" he questioned. "I would allow them to watch. I would let them watch me fuck you. They would watch as my cock fills every one of your holes and watch you cry with intense orgasms. And then, I'd fucking kill them. With my cock still wet from your cum, I would slice their throats for daring to lay their eyes upon us."

The fear within you constricted, forming a sharp tip that seemed capable of bursting the fragile balloon of sanity you clung to.

"You're insane," you gasped.

This time, he chuckled, his deep laughter sending a shiver straight to the apex of your thighs. "You were aware of this, and yet you asked for it," he murmured absentmindedly.

His focus pulled away, and his hands explored your stomach, delicately tracing the lines of your scars as if he found them captivating. Eventually, he cupped your breasts, his large hands making them appear smaller, barely contained within his grasp. He was a monster. Inside and out. Yet, despite all logic, you couldn't ignore the fact that other than your panties, your jeans had become wholly soaked, too. It seemed impossible for the body to experience both hatred and desire simultaneously.

He forcefully squeezed your breasts, causing you to scream out of pain.

"Be a good girl and scream louder," he ordered before relinquishing his hold on your breasts and moving his hands towards your jeans. You were swamped by confusion and a sense of dread. You knew this was all so terribly wrong. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to stop him as he hooked his thumbs on either side, pulling your jeans down. First, he assisted you in removing your shoes and effortlessly slipped the jeans off, setting you completely free.

You remained clad only in your wet black panties. Swallowing hard, your heart raced as you surveyed your reflection. Vash, on the other hand, remained fully clothed, his eyes examining every angle of your undressed form. He looked as if he couldn't decide, unsure where to begin.

You resisted the impulse to cover yourself. The act of hiding felt more humiliating than standing nearly bare before an attractive man.

"You need to undress as well," you insisted. There was no way you were going to be the only one left vulnerable and exposed.

Finally, he came out from behind you and stood directly before you. It felt more real when you were not looking at them through a glass mirror. Yet, you couldn't pretend that your pussy wasn't weeping for him and that you were not anticipating the feel of him inside of you. You weren't a victim this time, as you were the mastermind behind this ill-advised situation.

"If you want that, love, then you'll have to be the one to do it," he declared with a raised voice. He regarded you skeptically as if he doubted your willingness to undress him. And there was no doubt in your mind he understood the effect that look had on you. The jerk was well aware of your inability to resist a challenge.

You reciprocated the same level of respect he had shown you. Slowly and delicately, you undressed him, purposefully grazing your fingers against his skin, earning your own shivers and growls of impatience.

You took off his shirt and stared at his scarred and rugged skin. His scars still caused him pain, evident by his reaction when your fingertips brushed over them, causing him to tense and bare his teeth. It wasn't physical pain; these scars had already healed. Yet, they resembled icebergs—seemingly formidable and commanding on the outside, yet concealing something far more significant and menacing beneath the surface. They had the power to sink someone to the depths of their darkest desires, much like the Titanic. These scars wounded him deeply within, and you were genuinely curious about the stories behind each one.

In the areas without scars, there were tattoos. The most notable tattoo was a giant maze extending from his neck to his right arm. You didn't know, but he had a few small tattoos here and there, too.

"You didn't cover any of your scars with tattoos," you quietly observed, running your finger along the maze lines. The tattoos intentionally avoided the raised skin, as if deliberately respecting the scars.

"I don't hide from my failures," he asserted. However, his physical beauty extended beyond his failures. His body was filled with well-defined muscles, strong without being too bulky. His physique made it clear that he could kill you with his pinky without looking like he took steroids for breakfast. And if that alone didn't turn your knees to jelly, the thick veins roping from his neck, down his robust arms, and into his large hands were enough to unravel you.

He was… fucking phenomenal.

He observed you with great care, his eyes burning with intensity as you examined him. He was nearly vibrating beneath your slow perusal, so you moved on and resumed your torture. It took a total of zero seconds before he was bristling with the need to fuck you. You felt so much power in your fingertips, and you couldn't help but wonder how much more powerful you would be if he had a feeling for you.

With every inch of his skin revealed, you grew shakier and wetter. It seemed unjust for someone to possess such flawless allure despite the visible imperfections and scars. If anything, the evident signs of the hardships his body had endured only made him that much more edible.

You choked on air as you lowered his pants, his hard cock jutting out from the confines of his pants. So this was what accepting death via dick looked like.

Once he was completely undressed, you took a big step back and examined the reflection in the mirror. Your gaze fixated on his muscular thighs, firm and shapely buttocks, and sculpted back that had enticed you since that doomed morning. You couldn't help but fantasize about running your hands all over them. And then there was the most gorgeous cock you'd ever seen.

You wanted to run away. Far, far away. To put as much distance as possible between yourself and this man. It was clear to you that he would bring about your downfall after tonight. You could taste it on your tongue.

"Are you scared?" he asked in a low, dark voice. His gaze bore into you, his expression inscrutable.

"Yes," you responded honestly. His smile, almost breathtaking, nearly weakened your resolve. It felt unnatural how strikingly beautiful he was. Without a doubt, he was the embodiment of darkness. Now, more than ever, you were convinced he was the fucking devil.

"You ought to be," he warned, his voice tinged with menace. Without thinking, you took another step backward, but he made no move to impede your retreat.

"Get on your knees, love," he commanded in a sinister tone. You hesitated, uncertain whether to obey or search for the common sense you seemed to have misplaced somewhere along the way into this living room and make a swift escape.

"Don't test me," he growled, his face dropping into a stern expression. Lowering his jaw, he glared down at you with an intimidating gaze. The threat in his face frightened you, causing your juices to dampen your thighs.

You dropped to your knees with a jolt, the impact causing pain. It was exactly what you both desired. He tilted your head back forcefully, making you gaze up at him. His cock brushed against your cheek, serving as a forewarning of what lay ahead.

"You enjoy being a naughty girl, don't you? You like the thrill of testing me because you get off on the fear I instill in you. You're a silly little girl toying with danger," he taunted, his face contorted into a cruel snarl. Tears welled up in your eyes as he held your head firmly, burning just like the inferno of ire and lust in his eyes.

"Tell me, love, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

"Better," you hissed, feeling the dormant resentment towards him resurface. Something very dark and dangerous shuttered over his eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and instantly, you recoiled inward. It was a lie. You both knew it.

Good girls don't lie. That was the first thing you learned when you were put in a religious school as a child. The second lesson was not to trust the devil and his influence. However, they forgot to mention the crucial advice of not provoking him once you had fallen under his sway. Perhaps that was considered basic common fucking sense.

Your lip quivered as you scolded yourself for your foolishness. Feelings of bitterness and mistrust simmered just below the surface. You couldn't fathom why you entertained the idea of allowing Vash to dominate and have his way with you without putting up a fight.

"Open your fucking mouth, bad girl. Right now, or I'll make you gag on my cock," he demanded, his voice dripping with threat.

This time, you obeyed. The moment your lips separated, Vash forcefully thrust the tip into your mouth, pushing it deep down your throat. He hissed through his teeth, accompanied by another feral growl.

You whimpered and then gagged as he pushed his dick deeper. It felt like rigid steel wrapped in smooth fabric, but the sleekness did little to alleviate the pain. He was too thick and too long for your mouth.

Tears instantly flooded your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as he continued to penetrate you forcefully. As a reflex, you grasped onto his sturdy thighs, attempting to create some distance. However, he swiftly seized both of your hands, clasping them together in one of his while maintaining his grip on your head with the other. He held your bound hands high against his abdomen, giving the appearance of a woman kneeling in prayer, worshipping the very embodiment of evil.

"Suck it. Now," he growled.

You complied with his command, hoping he'd ease up. You sucked hard, creating a hollow in your cheeks while running your tongue smoothly over the prominent vein on the underside of his length.

"That's it, love," he exhaled, granting you a momentary respite. However, within seconds, he pulled you back towards him, taking control of your movements as he guided your head back and forth while you continued to suck him with your mouth.

He murmured words of encouragement and let out deep, pleasure-filled groans as he became increasingly assertive. Every syllable and moan that left his lips fueled your growing desperation to satisfy him.

"Let's see. Your high school sweetheart, Eren Yeager, he was better than me, huh?"

Your eyes widened in confusion, unsure of how Vash knew him and fearing this conversation's direction. "I highly doubt he was better than me. Who else?" he emphasized the last word by thrusting deeper into your throat, causing you to choke. After a few seconds of struggling, he relented. "Satoru Gojo, Cloud Strife, that boy Zuko..." he continued, listing off every man you had gone on a date with. Admittedly, the number wasn't significant, but it felt a lot considering the peril in which you had just placed their lives. He abruptly jerked your head back, granting you a brief moment to catch your breath as he uttered, "I will enjoy killing each and every one of them, love."

Before you could even form a response or take another gasp of air, he resumed choking you with his cock. Your vision began to blur at the edges as he thrust deeply into your throat. No matter how much you gagged and fought against him, he only became harder and more aroused.

"What if I cum in your mouth, and you swallow it to make your father proud?"

For a brief moment, you glared up at him, your hatred burning brighter than any trace of desire. He smiled, or rather revealed his teeth, as he noticed the anger reflected in your eyes.

"You want it, but you won't damn well receive it. You haven't earned that privilege just yet."

Without any warning, he forcefully yanked your head back, his cock popping free. He gripped your chin firmly, raising you until you were on your tiptoes.

"Vash, please," you whimpered, your vision hazy from tears and your chest constricted from the lack of air. Uncertain of what you were pleading for, whether it was your own life or the lives of the innocent men you had unknowingly condemned to death.

"That's such a good girl," he praised. "I love it when you're scared and begging."

Just as you believed you could finally inhale, he swiftly stole your breath again. His lips closed tightly against yours in a captivating kiss, electrifying your senses. Your nails dug into his chest, provoking a deep growl from him as he dominated your mouth with his own. He claimed he wouldn't kiss you, but the energy between you crackled and exploded, causing both of you to drink from each other fervently. The kiss ignited sparks of fire and filled your tongue with the mingling flavor of bitter whisky.

Poison had never tasted so good.

As your tongues battled for control, he firmly grasped your waist and yanked you upwards. Your legs naturally wrapped around his trim waist just as you felt the cool glass pressed against your back. The mirror's chill threatened to send shivers curling for epilogue through your body, but the heat radiating from his body against yours was scorching hot.

A sudden, piercing bite of pain on either side of your hips caused you to gasp into his mouth. With a quick, forceful pull, he tore your panties away from your body, leaving the shredded fabric caught somewhere between your bodies.

He withdrew and positioned the head of his cock at the entrance. "Spread your pussy for me, love," he commanded.

"No!" you shouted. "There's absolutely no way I'll let you fuck me without a condom!"

"Why bother? You already have an IUD, so clearly, my spawns won't have any chance of impregnating you," he retorted, his tone laced with heavy sarcasm.

"How the hell do you know that?" you exclaimed, swiftly hitting his chest.

"Milly."

So the nurse examined you, checking if Knives had raped you or not.

"I don't want your STDs!" you spat out angrily.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Vash demanded, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"A manwhore!" you said.

He pushed you closer to the mirror while glancing between you and his reflection. "I haven't been with anymore since Nick!"

"Oh, C'mon! You fucked a girl on your birthday!"

"I didn't," he said, then relaxed his hold, letting you free.

"But Bradd—"

"I helped that abused waitress to run away," he said quietly.

You tried to speak up and ask him to just fuck you, but the anger on his face silenced you. Just as he was about to move away, you halted him and obeyed his instructions.

You spread your legs and, grabbing his cock, guided it into your entrance. It was belittling when he knew you weren't supposed to want it. And as a consequence of offending him, he was going to make you show him how much you wanted him. By spreading your pussy and inviting him in.

Gods, you hated him.

His hands tightened on your hips painfully. You knew that you would wake up tomorrow with bruises shaped like handprints, and a part of you dreaded that. The imprints left on your skin would make it impossible to forget what happened.

"Do not ever label me as a manwhore," he warned just before he forcefully brought you down onto his awaiting dick.

"Ah!" you cried out, your hands poised to push him away from your chest. He was too much, stretching you wider than you'd ever been. Your eyes rounded into giant saucers as you whimpered in response to the extreme pressure.

You sensed his grith slipping through your fingers as he worked himself deeper. "Stop! It's too big," you gasped.

"Well, tough luck for you," he cooed mockingly, his tone husky and tight. "This is the consequence of being a naughty girl, isn't it?"

When you remained silent, he forcefully pulled you down on his dick harder, causing you to let out another pained whimper.

"Answer me," he barked.

"Yes!" you exclaimed, breathless, as you tightly shut your eyes in response to the invasion.

"Will you behave now?"

"Yes," you mewled desperately. The pain was morphing into something much more intense and breathtaking.

He slid out and then eased back in with a gentler but still angry motion. It felt as if your body was on the verge of exploding. This wasn't natural to be so goddamn full.

He withdrew until only the tip remained, and then he slammed his entire length inside of you. It went so deep that you felt it all the way up to your throat.

You cried out, your voice cracking under the swell of emotions welling up in your chest. It didn't feel right at all.

"Damn, love, I can barely fucking fit."

Perhaps that's why it felt as if he was ripping you apart. He began with deliberate and powerful movements, forcefully thrusting before pulling out at a painfully slow pace, only to slam back inside you once more.

You felt your body starting to yield, eagerly taking him in as he ravished you with each thrust. He widened his stance, using the mirror for support, causing your stomach to tighten in anticipation of the damage he was about to exert on your organs.

Shockwaves scattered throughout your nerve endings as he quickened his pace, roughly fucking you against the mirror while loud noises you never made in your life fell from your lips.

The pleasure was blinding, and the sight of him moving in and out between your fingers heightened the strong desire stirring in the pit of your stomach.

He let you down, swiftly turned you around, and wasted no time before thrusting back inside you. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against the mirror to find stability.

"Look at us in the mirror," he demanded roughly. It required significant effort, but you pried your eyes open and let them wander over the mirror. It was too much— watching him drive himself inside you so deeply.

Your eyes were partially closed, and your face displayed undeniable bliss. Then, you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, and your gazes met. A torrent of emotions washed over you, causing your heart to sink, and you quickly averted your eyes. It was the most euphoric experience you ever had.

Your eyes met his again, and a sly smile spread across his face. He leaned in, his lips gently skating across the crook of your neck as he watched you slowly come apart at the seams, all the while maintaining a mischievous grin.

"Now, confess, have you ever been fucked by a man like me?"

You nibbled on your lip and shook your head, resisting the temptation to roll your eyes in sheer exasperation.

He abruptly halted, causing an involuntary, embarrassing scream to leave your lips. He pushed your back down to readjust your positions, and the moment he hit that particular spot, your legs trembled uncontrollably.

"Oh my God," you moaned, unable to prevent your eyes from rolling back this time.

"That's right, love. I am your fucking God," he growled, and then you felt his teeth sinking into your neck.

Your stomach tightened as an orgasm built rapidly, threatening to overpower you. It felt as if a furious Poseidon resided within, conjuring a destructive tsunami that seemed poised to engulf you.

The mirror began to shudder from the force of his intense thrusts violently. It seemed as if it could shatter at any moment, yet you were unable to bring myself to care. Just as you were on the brink of reaching climax, he pulled completely out.

You whimpered, feeling the sudden emptiness almost as if it were painful. "What—"

He took a step back and gestured towards the floor. Your knees wobbled, your balance disrupted by the sharp pleasure throbbing between your thighs. "Get on your hands and knees," he instructed.

You didn't protest, primarily because the absence of the orgasm was distressing, and your legs could barely bear your weight any longer. Frustration welled up, evident in the tearful corners of your eyes, but you suppressed your snarky remark. You knew that he would only escalate your punishment further.

You expected him to enter you once more from behind, but instead, he swiftly slid his hands between your legs and gripped you from underneath your hips. He lifted you, causing your knees to lose contact with the ground, and you had to quickly catch yourself to prevent from falling face-first.

You felt his warm breath fanned across your pussy just moments before his teeth latched onto your sensitive clit. You yelped as pain and pleasure mingled. However, he wasted no time in lavishing attention on your throbbing bundle of nerves, skillfully using his mouth to suck while lapping at your dripping cunt.

He hummed, sending delightful vibrations resonating through your core. "You taste so fucking good," he murmured before teasingly flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit. You gazed up shamelessly, observing him feast on you from behind. You adjusted your head to obtain the best view of him on his knees, hungrily devouring your pussy as if he were famished.

The impending orgasm resurfaced, now even more imminent than before. You were unable to grind back into Vash's face like you desired, leaving you utterly defenseless against the relentless assault of his tongue.

"Vash, please," you begged, your eyes crying with pleasure.

"Do you want to come?" he asked; his voice was breathless and unsteady.

"Yes," you pleaded with a groan.

Vash pulled away, and in frustration, you screamed, pounding your fist against the floor. Overwhelmed by fury from being denied for the second time, you struggled against his grip, thrashing in defiance. He chuckled at your futile attempt.

"You motherfucking ass—"

He abruptly halted your outburst by seating himself inside you, causing his balls to smack against the sensitive nub. You choked on your words, this angle allowing him in far deeper than before. He seized your hair, forcefully pulling your head back, making you look directly into the mirror in front of you. From this angle, you could witness him vigorously fuck you.

"You want to cream all over my cock, love?"

You nodded your head frantically.

He responded with a smile. "Have you been a good girl?"

Once again, you nodded unsteadily.

"Then fucking say it," he urged, calling out your name.

As his gravelly voice pronounced your full name, you instinctively clenched around his cock.

"I'm a good girl," you breathed, too far gone to feel anything but blinding lust. He molded his body against your back, spearing through your tightening pussy. The hand in your hair slid down to wrap around your throat, exerting a firm grip, while his other hand splayed across your stomach. Your vision became hazy, and finally, the tsunami of orgasm crashed through you.

You emitted an ear-piercing scream that nearly rattled the mirror. Vash's name spilled from your lips in a frenzied chant as your entire world exploded into myriad fragments.

"Fuck! That's it, love. Your pussy is incredibly tight. Milk my cock," Vash managed to say through gritted teeth. He concluded with a growl, his hips trembling as he slammed into you for one last time, filling you with his cum until there was no room left inside of you. Your combined fluids trickled down your thighs as you lay on the floor, panting and breathless. Your body convulsed with aftershocks, even after the biggest orgasm you had ever experienced subsided.

You couldn't fucking breathe, let alone move or form coherent thoughts. None of it felt normal. Not a single bit.

Your breath hitched, and your teeth clenched from the feel of him sliding out of you.

Disregarding Vash's presence, you hurriedly scrambled to dress yourself.

As you approached your shoes, a muttered "shit" caught your attention from behind. Turning around, you found Vash staring at his phone, his face etched with a serious expression. He was dressed in nothing but his black boots and loosely fastened pants, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the well-defined V disappearing beneath the fabric. The glow from his phone emphasized the muscles flexing against his smooth skin, with scars and intricate black tattoos only enhancing his raw allure. The veins coursing through his hands and arms were visibly bulging, and if you weren't already leaning against the mirror, his overwhelming presence would have caused you to collapse. That masterpiece of jagged scars and rugged edges had ravished you completely, leaving you breathless.

You closed your eyes and leaned against the glass, seeking respite. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Vash's hand on the back of your neck, causing your eyes to snap open. You realized he was pulling you closer, resting your head against his chest and draping his shirt over your shoulders. Assuming that this would be the last time you permitted his touch, you allowed him to slip his hands beneath your knees and neck, hoisting you effortlessly into his arms.

Exhaustion had enveloped you so entirely that his words, "Let's bring you to our room," evaded your weary ears.

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon - @emptybrain01 - @changingchances @awkwardchick87 @enchantedforest-network

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shintin · 3 months

Text

Hi.

I know I haven't been around, didn't respond to messages, and asks, BUT I'M GONNA UPDATE GUNDPOWDER DREAMS IN 2 DAYS AS A PEACE OFFERING.

#gunpowder dreams #vash x wolfwood #vash x you #vash x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash the stampede x reader

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shintin · 3 months

Text

ps: Art belongs to lovely @RockinViolinTT on Twitter/X.

#shintin writes #birthdays suck

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shintin · 4 months

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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.

#shintin answers #gojo satoru fanfic #vash the stampede fanfic #gunpowder dreams

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shintin · 5 months

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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.

#shintin answers #vash the stampede fanfic #vash the stampede smut #vash the stampede x you #vash the stampede x reader

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shintin · 5 months

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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 😈

#shintin answers #gunpowder dreams #vash the stampede fanfic #vash the stampede smut #vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you

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shintin · 5 months

Text

Guess what? You can feel even lonelier in a marriage or relationship.

#sad news #this wasn't supposed to happen #dream not found

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shintin · 5 months

Text

Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 9 (Please)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

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

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.

"Please. Pleaaase, stop! Please, I'm begging you! Please... please... please..."

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."

Taglist: @julk4e - @lune010 - @beanibon - @emptybrain01 - @changingchances @awkwardchick87

P.S: Smut next chapter. Finally.

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shintin · 5 months

Text

Vash's bedroom for chapter 9 of Gunpowder Dreams

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