#A Self-Made Businessman

[galerymod]

A myth (more rarely mythus, obsolete mythe, plural myths, from ancient Greek μῦθος, "sound, word, speech, tale, legendary story, tale", Latin mythus) is in its original meaning a narrative. In religious myths, the existence of humans is linked to the world of gods or spirits.

Myths claim validity for the truth they assert. This claim to truth has been criticised since the Greek Enlightenment by the pre-Socratics (e.g. Xenophanes, around 500 BC). For the Sophists, myth stands in contrast to logos, which attempts to justify the truth of its assertions through rational evidence.

In a broader sense, myth also refers to people, things or events of high symbolic significance or simply a false idea or lie*.

For example, the adjective "mythical" is often used in colloquial language as a synonym for "fabulous-vague, fabulous or legendary".

Wikipedia

How can it be that a man who describes himself in public as a successful businessman worth billions cannot pay a financial penalty and that someone wants to vouch for him?

Trump can't pay 450 million dollars

In February, former US President Trump was fined 450 million dollars in New York for fraud. Now his lawyers have announced: Trump cannot pay. According to his lawyers, former US President Donald Trump is currently unable to guarantee payment of a fine of more than 450 million dollars from a fraud trial. Despite great efforts and negotiations with around 30 companies, it has not yet been possible to obtain such a guarantee, according to a letter from his legal team to the competent court in New York. Several US media outlets unanimously quote from the letter, arguing that it would be "practically impossible" to make the payment on time.

Trump has received a refusal from 30 bail companies, according to a letter from his lawyers to an appeals court on Monday. Many would not provide collateral in excess of 100 million dollars and would not accept real estate as collateral.

Forbes magazine estimates the property entrepreneur's total assets at 2.6 billion dollars. Trump recently stated that his cash assets totalled around 400 million dollars.

"I thought he was a billionaire? Is he lying to the public or the court?" Law professor Andrew Weissmann poses the question of questions on X in relation to Donald Trump's liquidity: How much is there to the image of the self-made billionaire?

How much money does Trump himself have?

Last year, Trump testified in court that he had a cash fortune of around 400 million US dollars. The latest legal documents indicate that he does not have anywhere near that amount of money at his disposal, Professor of Business Law Will Thomas from the University of Michigan. However, he and the Trump Organisation would have significantly more assets at their disposal. His largest asset holdings are tied up in property. If Trump is unable to pay in other ways, he could be forced to sell some of his properties, according to Professor Thomas. His lawyers want to prevent this and warn that Trump would have no way of buying them back if he is successful with his appeal.

Where could the money come from?

Without liquid funds, there are two options for Trump to prevent enforcement for the time being.

Guarantees: A guarantee would probably be the only solution for him. This would allow him not to have to sell anything for the time being. At the same time, guarantors require collateral and often only accept cash or shares in return - not property. Trump also needs to find someone who is prepared to guarantee an enormous sum of over 550 million dollars.

Donations or campaign funds: He is also receiving support from private sources, but the sums are nowhere near enough. Trump supporters are collecting money for him on the internet, with over a million private donations having been collected so far.

Again and again, it is also about money from Trump's election campaign. Federal law prohibits Trump from using campaign funds for personal purposes. However, it is legally unclear to what extent campaign money from political action committees (PACs) and funds from the Republican National Committee (RNC) fall under this. But even these funds would be far from sufficient.

If he loses the aura of the successful billionaire self-made businessman, he also loses his aura of success.

mod

This kind of legal action would not only be a serious blow to Trump's finances, but also to his image, as he always praises himself as a brilliant businessman.

The biggest bankruptcies* of Donald Trump

It was always visible to everyone, but as long as you can keep generating capital, the myth can be maintained

Trump Ice

In 1995, Donald Trump founded the Trump Ice Natural Spring Water brand (Trump Ice for short) - his own brand of bottled drinking water. However, the sales figures were not particularly good. After missed payments to the producer and a lawsuit against Trump Ice in this connection, production was discontinued. Today, only bottles with collector's value are sold on eBay and the like.

Trump Steaks

Donald Trump founded his own steak company in 2007. The company was to be dedicated exclusively to selling his favourite food and running a steakhouse in Las Vegas. The prices for the steaks varied between 199 and 999 US dollars. Despite such bargain prices, the company had to close in the same year. The steakhouse was shut down after the health department found 51 health code violations.

Trump University

In 2005, Donald Trump opened "Trump University" - a distance learning university specialising in the real estate industry that was not officially recognised as a university. Enrolment cost up to 35,000 US dollars, but many of the course instructors, who were allegedly selected by Donald Trump himself, often did not have the appropriate qualifications. The school had to be closed down for good in 2011. Thousands of students filed a lawsuit against the former US president, who relented in 2017 and offered a settlement despite his supposed innocence. This was confirmed by the US Court of Appeal in 2018 and secured compensation of USD 25 million for the more than 4,000 ex-students.

New Jersey Generals

In 1984, Donald Trump bought his own football team, the New Jersey Generals. However, they did not play in the famous National Football League, the NFL, but in the smaller offshoot, the United States Football League (USFL). Just one year later, the team was bankrupt and the entire United States Football League with it. Trump had tried with all his might to bring about a merger of the UFSL with the NFL. This prevented Donald Trump from taking over a team in the NFL.

Trump Vodka

According to Donald Trump himself, he does not drink alcohol. However, this did not stop him from launching his own premium vodka on the market in 2005. However, production was discontinued in 2011.

Trump Magazine

Donald Trump made several attempts to land a hit in the luxury magazine segment. After two failed attempts, he launched the quarterly "Trump Magazine" in 2007, which covered topics such as yachts and other toys for the rich. However, the magazine was cancelled in 2009.

Gotrump

In 2006, Donald Trump ventured into a search engine for luxury travel. It included private jets, tickets for exclusive events and supposedly personal recommendations and travel tips from Donald Trump. However, it was shut down again after just one year due to poor reviews.

Trump: The Game

Trump tried twice to establish himself on the board game market with the board game "Trump: The Game", but failed twice. The game is, of course, about money. The game first came onto the market in 1989, but was discontinued shortly after its release. In 2005, he tried a new edition in collaboration with Parker Brothers, but this version also failed.

Trump Shuttle

In 1989, Trump bought his own airline, "Trump Shuttle". The airline was to fly business people back and forth between New York, Boston and Washington. The interior of the Boeing 727 was elegantly furnished with maple panelling and chrome seat belt buckles, and gold fittings were installed in the toilets. However, the luxury was too expensive for the passengers. Three years later, the over-indebted company was sold to US Airways.

Trump Entertainment Resorts

With the company "Trump Entertainment Resorts", Donald Trump operated several casinos in the gambling metropolis of Atlantic City, including: Trump Taj Mahal, Trump Plaza and Trump Marina. All were closed between 1999 and 2016, and the company filed for bankruptcy three times between 2004 and 2014. In 2014, debts are said to have totalled around 1.8 billion US dollars. Trump himself withdrew completely from the company in 2016 and sold his shares to billionaire Carl Icahn.

Trump Mortgage

In April 2006, Donald Trump announced the founding of his own mortgage bank, Trump Mortgage, at a press conference. He predicted a rosy future for his endeavour and that the bank would soon become the largest lender for home loans in the USA. However, as with "Trump Magazine", the timing was not exactly fortunate. Just one year later, the former US president's mortgage bank had to file for insolvency.

[palatinewolfsblog]

Memento (The ungentle Reminder...

For my dear Friend Shane a.k.a. @acommonloon )

"Just to remind you:

The Don is not a successful businessman,

nor is he a self-made man.

Elon is not a visionary nor a gifted inventor.

And Fox News - well: Make an educated guess..."

[achievement-hunter]

Going a little crazy mashing my two faves together and trying to figure out which Enstars characters are the biggest Yugioh-fan bait

[whats-in-a-sentence]

He kept a diary:

The only businessman at whose house we were often received and who gave dances in our honour is Mr Jones. He is one of the richest men in the colony and he has joined the aristocracy. They say he is a very decent man with great business ability. It is mainly through whale-catching that he has made his fortune which is entirely self-made, having come to the country as a simple clerk – he belongs to a lower class in society as does his wife, daughter of a fruit seller in London, whom he had educated before marrying her. She is still pretty, but with excessively affected manners, a trait which she shares with her sister-in-law Miss Jones who is also a beautiful woman.

"Killing for Country: A Family History" - David Marr

[galleryyuhself]

Galleryyuhself - Charismatic, irreverent, abrasive to many, but never forgotten. George UMBALA Joseph has passed away.

[muntitled]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧

→ Mingyu x Fem!reader

→ Summary: "If you wanted me to get you pregnant so bad, all you had to was ask."

→ Warnings: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Businessman au, Humour, Slight!Body Dysmorphia, Insecurities, Workaholic!Reader, Shy!Reader, Slight Male Manipulation, Slight!Angst, Smut (+18), Semi!Public Sex, Slight Coercion, Needy!Mingyu, He Whimpers, Pervy!Mingyu, Corruption Kink, Desperate Sex, Massive Breeding kink, Mingyu has a choking kink, and a Praise kink, Slight!Daddy Kink, Unprotected Sex

Mingyu likes getting choked, pls argue with the wall

The dollop of heat in your stomach steadily grew into a pool of molten lava throughout the duration of the award ceremony. The entire televised event was supposed to be in celebration of your husband and the diligence he has extended to the company for all of 2 decades.

Instead, most of the evening is spent nursing your anxiety with a flute of champagne, while you attempt to not sweat through your very expensive makeup under the heat of multiple strobe lights.

Mingyu, sitting at the table beside you serves as your only anchor, keeping your feet planted firmly to the ground while the rest of the table exchange pleasantries involving baby pictures and ultrasounds.

The dread in your stomach only multiplies.

You've been made privy to how they speak about you and your husband behind gloved hands in hushed whispers. A husband who has had to be burdened with a wife whose internal clock was no match for the importance of a career. Perhaps they thought you were too self important and too driven. Perhaps that explains why you were always invited to events out of courtesy and never out of true interest. Perhaps-

"Stop that." Mingyu's voice travels to your ear at a low and conspiratorial baritone while the rest of wives and husband at the table talk animatedly.

"Stop what?" You ask while Mingyu draws your attention to his hand now resting on your thigh underneath the table.

"Don't play with me. I can tell when you're overthinking," He says, letting his palm brush over the sequins of your pitch black dress. It matched his all black suit to rude perfection, truly making you believe you were the best dressed couple in the whole event. "If you're gonna be thinking about something, I'd rather it be the likelihood of me eating you out in this dress after we're done."

His words succeed in dragging your thoughts away from the happy couples and their happy families and you meet his eyes and the amusement swimming within them.

"Is sex really all you think about-"

Mingyu answers your question by suddenly grabbing a hold of your hand and forcing your palm over his lap until your palm is lightly grazing the bulge forming there.

"Let's hope this ends soon so we can get the fuck out of here." The rest of the event was spent with you, staring down at the table in a mindless, lustful daze while Mingyu still guided your palm up and down the bulge in his pants. It was conspicuous enough for it to look like his hand was simply resting atop yours, if anyone really got particularly nosy. Luckily, everyone else was too drunk on overpriced soju to recognize Mingyu's forced self pleasuring while he took casual little sips from his glass intermittently.

You were both relieved once it was time to go home.

This inability to adapt into the upper echelons of housewife society had not bothered you initially and it certainly did not bother your husband. In fact, someone as aloof and optimistic as Mingyu was seldom concerned with the matters of holding face for a backwards capitalistic society.

"If we weren't rich I thoroughly believe we would be those 'eat the rich' people." Mingyu announces as he trails into the bathroom behind you. The overhead lights bathe the bathroom's onyx accents in a dim light, successfully relaxing you and easing the bundle of knots that had built up in your shoulders.

Mingyu seems equally pleased to be back home, kicking off his Abercrombie loafers and watching them fly into a corner while he undoes the buttons of his jet black dress shirt. His tall frame is hunched over as he wraps his arms around your stomach, allowing you to lead him to the bathroom sinks with heavy footsteps like a 187 centimetre baby.

You, of course, do not object when he pushes his head into the space between your neck and shoulder as you begin to brush your teeth. If the award ceremony was as draining for him as it was for you, then this truly is the first moment he is able to let himself go the entire day.

"I think we can still be those 'eat the rich' people because it's not like we're rich by choice, right?" Seeing your husband constantly run the risk of impending communism would be amusing, were it not for the sour taste still present in your mouth from the work event Mingyu had just taken you too.

"At least you got to watch me in my element-" He grumbles against your skin before begrudgingly peeling himself off of you to make his way to his side of the bathroom,

"Ugh," Mingyu groans with exaggeration as he commences with his skin care, "You literally got to watch your sexy and talented husband accept a corporate award in a room full of people. I'm so jealous of you,"

"Ugh, I know!" You nod back, "Jihoon looked so good on that podium. Remind me to send him a message later." You evade Mingyu's deadpan look through the oval shaped mirror as you continue to brush.

"On a serious note, Gyu, I'm glad you had fun while I was being forced to entertain those industry housewives." You momentarily stop your brushing, "I'm thoroughly overwhelmed by ultrasounds!" You exclaim frustratedly through a gurgle of toothpaste. The very thought of those women shot your blood pressure to hell.

Their idealistic lives and their idealistic vaginas that could somehow push out a steady stream of babies before snapping back as if nothing ever happened. Business as usual.

Meanwhile, your body threw a tantrum the very second you even had a vague thought of eating something outside the bounds of your diet.

Mingyu adored every part of you - you know this - but that nauseating feeling of inadequacy always crept up on you in moments of weakness.

You sigh, "I think those women have magical vaginas."

"Hey." Mingyu says, patting down his face, "All women have magical vaginas but you especially."

You swiftly ignore him and continue your furious brushing as you say, "Every single day it's 'This one is pregnant!' 'This one wants to get pregnant,' 'This one is trying to get pregnant!'" You rant, completely oblivious to the way Mingyu watches you through the mirror as you continue.

"'I'm not quite sure when it became socially accessible for couples to just air out their breeding kinks to the public-" an ungentlemanly snort escapes through Mingyu's mouth and he pauses to shake his head and compose himself.

"I'm ultra-sounded out!" You exclaim, finally bending over to spit out a wad of toothpaste. In your periphery, Mingyu watches you with that passive look of contentment and unwavering adoration that almost never seems to leave his face in your presence.

Despite his overly humorous tendencies at times, Mingyu also harboured the habit of reading in between the lines - he had to, not only for his job but for his romantic life as well. Being blessed with a shy partner meant Mingyu had to dig just a little deeper past the veneer of everything you say, to get just a little closer to what you actually meant.

Your shyness and stoicism is what initially drew him to you in the first place. Always beating around the proverbial bush to protect your most sacred dignity and independence. It was always a struggle for Mingyu but it turned him on way too easily to picture his put-together, independent little wife needing him in a way she might not even know.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You ask quietly, lifting your head before reigning your braids into a ponytail.

"How am I looking at you?" Mingyu asks in a voice way too husky to harbour any sense of professionalism.

"Are you seriously turned on right now?" There is no use in denying it because Mingyu knew you could read him like an open book. There's a soberness that hits him when he's turned on.

He jokes less than usual and assumes a more… slutty disposition that neither him nor you have ever been able to tame. Mingyu rubs the excess cream into his hands before leaning against the marble countertops. He watches you with a small, dangerous smirk that sends a flurry of butterflies swimming the pits of your stomach.

"If you wanted me to get you pregnant so badly, all you had to do was ask." His sentence bulldozes through the silence, steals the air right out of your lungs and nearly sweeps your feet out from underneath you. The world practically spins for a second but you grapple desperately onto your sensibilities for your sensibilities are one of the very few things you can arm yourself against your husband's slutty seduction.

"I think I could've squeezed you into my busy schedule," He chuckles lightly before stepping forward.

Almost automatically you step backwards, which evidently gets Mingyu way too excited. He raises his eyebrows with a slight before he's closing the distance between the two of you with 2 wide strides.

The light pouring down from the ceiling suddenly feels too warm, and the air feels like you've teleported to a crowded bazaar in the centre of the desert. You refuse to make eye contact with Mingyu, looming over you. You only splay a hand against his chest as you attempt to chuckle.

"You're being ridiculous." You say, "If you need to cum so bad, use your hand."

"Nah," He shakes his head without ever breaking eye contact, "That would be a waste, wouldn't it?" Mingyu's eyes frantically search your features for the same traces of lust so shamelessly displayed across his own visage. His lips are parted with his quiet breathing. "Just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

It felt like a betrayal on everything you held dear, admitting that the idea of him cumming inside you with the purpose of getting you pregnant turned you on. It felt like a betrayal on your career and your goals and aspirations.

However, Mingyu's sensibilities are completely clouded by unshakeable lust. He is so easily stimulated by every single thing about you, the softness of your body, the familiarity of your scent and the mental image of seeing you actually pregnant with his child. It has him pushing you further against the bathroom wall until the coolness of the stone sank steadily through your night dress.

Mingyu's hand immediately rips the offending article of clothing, pushing your night dress up slowly and feeling his own cock ache at how you silently comply.

"It's really easy, baby. I just need you to tell me you want me to cum in that little pussy of yours and I'll do it. Just wanna…" Mingyu's incoherence during states of exceptional lust always succeeded in making you absolutely wet. He became an insatiable, talkative and blubbering mess.

"...Just wanna make you happy," His breathing picks up almost as easily as yours, and inside himself, Mingyu releases a shotgun prayer that you want this just as bad as he does. He hopes your mind has been flooded with the exact same fantasies of him, sliding his bare cock into your soaking cunt. Him ramming into you and finishing inside of you and-

"Ah- fuck," He hisses, unable to get your panties down all the way before he's letting his fingers drift across your slippery folds. "Look at how wet you are, baby. You really do want me to cum inside your pretty little pussy, don't you?"

Mingyu's cock twitches uncomfortably in his pants while he drifts his fingers over your puffy clit, pulling a strangled moan from your throat.

"Feels good, baby?" He whimpers before slotting his hips between your legs. Mingyu's breath is warm against the side of your face as he continues to rub infuriating circles on your clit. "I can make you feel even better baby… if you let me fuck you, I can make us both feel good, yeah?" He's a whining mess - you both are as your hips move in tandem against his hands.

"Fuck, baby I need you to tell me you want this. I need you to tell me I can throw away the condoms, that I can cum inside you-"

"F-Fuck, Daddy," Your slip-up would've gone perfectly unnoticed, were it not for the heavy, almost oppressive silence between the two of you in the bathroom. Mingyu's ears perk up like a puppy that had just heard his favorite word, and he pulls himself away to gaze deeply into your eyes with adoration and awe. Mingyu's pink lips hang open as he scrambles back up to his height. He cups your cheeks with both hands, and you lean into his warm calluses as his thumbs rub gentle circles on your cheek.

The kiss he leaves on your nose is delicate and romantic.

The perfect calm before the proverbial storm.

Mingyu then nods slowly as he says, "Well now I'm definitely going to fuck you," the conviction and the bass in his voice urges a pathetic whimper through your lips and you're left to comply limply as Mingyu places a palm on your exposed thigh. He lifts you up until your leg is locked firmly around his hip and he's almost perfectly slotted between your bare legs. The feeling of having him so close to you, in such a starkly intimate position leaves you both momentarily speechless and you're watching each other as if terrified of breaking this spell of lust.

Mingyu is deliberate in his actions as he moves his hand to pull his cock out of his pants, all without breaking eye contact.

"Don't play with me like this, baby," it's the most serious he has ever been, and your back is almost moulded to the wall as Mingyu lines the tip of his aching cock to your dripping cunt. "I was literally so close to cumming in my pants, so if you're playing with me right now-"

"Mingyu," your voice is airy as you push your hips forward, taking initiative, as you always did, until the head of his cock was prodding your entrance. He shivers greatly before stealing a glance down at his cock entering you so swiftly, before he gazes deep into your eyes once more.

"If you want me…" Mingyu whispers as he fully sheathes his cock inside you, overcome by yet another violent shiver. "Baby, you have me."

The first thrust is nearly cataclysmic and he has to stop himself from cumming on the spot. Seeing him so incredibly turned on, so ready to burst at the seams has your cunt clenching around him, pulling him deeper and deeper until his gigantic cock was stretching your cunt to what felt like its limits. That second thrust completely drains him of all his composure and soon Mingyu's fucking you relentlessy into the wall as if he both hated you and loved you and did not know which was which.

Your mouth hangs open as you watch him absolutely ravage you. His dark eyes are hooded with lust and he's babbling his incoherent sentences while his long, messy hair brushes over his cheeks. He is absolutely fargone as he thrusts his hips into you, while his other hand is stationed against the wall above you. "Thank you for letting me do this, baby," he damn near whimpers as he pushes himself harder and faster into you, unable to stop the neediness from sinking into his tone. "Thank you, thank you, thank you-"

"You're doing so well baby" You whisper, causing his hips to stutter against yours while a pained moan releases itself from your throat.

Your mouth is still hanging open and Mingyu takes the opportunity to dip down and crash his lips onto yours. The kiss is furious and desperate and you realise this is exactly what you love about him. You appreciate how easy it is to please him, how unashamed Mingyu is of displaying his emotions. He is loud and passionate and it drives you absolutely insane.

"Fuck-I'm close," He breathes, as he peppers kisses along your face. His hand squeezes desperately at your breasts as he pants in your ear. "Tell me to cum inside you- pleasepleaseplease,"

You are operating purely on the lust distributed from Mingyu's incessant whining and whimpering until an idea strikes you so vividly you almost wonder why you had not done this before.

In between your feverish panting and Mingyu's ravaging motions, you delve your head into his hair before peeling his face away from you. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion before you slither your hand down to lock your palm around the his throat. Your hand doesn't fully enclose his neck but you succeed in adding pressure, causing the man before you to roll his eyes into the back of his skull in absolutely ecstasy-

"Oh fuck-I'm cumming-" his body spasms before you in a euphoric daze, quickly triggering your own orgasm as you continue to choke him and move your hips in tandem with his cock.

"Fuck, oh fuck!" He swears as he clamps his hand around your thigh as if begging to spread you wider, to push in deeper until he's filling you up completely with his load. It's messy and so wildly intimate, you're both lost in the crevices of your own respective pleasure. How anyone could make someone feel as completed as you two currently feel is so unimaginable, you both struggle to find the words. Mingyu is a panting mess above you while you attempt to ease your runway heart.

It strikes you then that you're perhaps afraid, now that the lust has cleared that the post nut clarity might rid him of his earlier statements.

All you do is watch as he places another kiss on the tip of your nose before easing his cock out of you.

"I'll run out to buy Plan B tomorrow. You don't have to -"

He shushes you almost immediately as he pads over the bathroom sink. Mingyu hums softly as he ruffles through the medicine cabinet until he finds what he's looking for. All you can do is watch as he dumps the entire contents of your birth control pills down the toilet. He never breaks eye contact, only maintaining a wide slightly manic smile.

<3

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[solxamber]

How about a request where Octa trio and idia (seperate) end up drunkenly confessing they have a crush on the reader during a moment where readers helping em + the aftermath of them realizing when sober and hung over and reacting to the situation? Feel free to delete or ignore! just had thought it could be fun

Drunken Confessions with: Octatrio + Idia

a/n: sorry for the long wait, i hope you like it <3

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul rarely let himself slip, and by slip, you meant this. He staggered, his weight shifting heavily against your side as you supported him on the walk back to Mostro Lounge. His normally polished demeanor was gone, replaced by flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and a faint, almost imperceptible slur in his words.

“Y-You’re…hic…so nice,” he mumbled, leaning more into you than he probably intended. “Why’re you so nice to me?”

You adjusted your hold, an amused grin tugging at your lips. “Maybe because someone has to make sure you don’t faceplant on the cobblestones, Azul.”

He blinked up at you, a soft, dopey smile crossing his face. “You’re funny. And good looking… so pretty.”

You stopped walking for a moment, looking down at him in surprise. “Are you sure you’re not hallucinating?”

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, waving his hand in what he probably thought was a convincing argument. “I’m serious! I… I think about you all the time. You’re… you’re perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Azul Ashengrotto, perfectionist extraordinaire and self-proclaimed businessman, was rambling about how great you were while leaning heavily on your shoulder. You felt your cheeks heat up, but you brushed it off as the effects of the alcohol loosening his tongue.

“You can thank me when you’re sober, Mr. Compliment Machine,” you teased, continuing your trek toward his dorm.

But Azul wasn’t done. “I mean it!” he insisted, nearly tripping over his own feet. You quickly steadied him, and he looked up at you, his eyes uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I… I like you. Like… like you like you.”

Your steps faltered, and you stared at him for a moment. His expression was so sincere, even through the haze of intoxication, that it made your chest ache.

“…Azul,” you said softly, “let’s get you home first, okay?”

He blinked at you, his brow furrowing in confusion, but he nodded obediently. “Okay… but you have to promise… hic… you won’t disappear. I'll give you free coffee for life.”

“I promise,” you said with a laugh.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, and Azul groaned as the dull, pounding headache reminded him of last night’s poor decisions. He buried his face in his pillow, groaning again at the flashbacks of you holding him upright, your warm laughter echoing in his ears.

What did I do? he thought, mortified.

And then it hit him—he’d confessed. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. He sat up too quickly, clutching his head as the dizziness hit him. You must’ve been horrified. Surely, you’d bolted the moment he fell asleep, wanting to avoid the awkwardness.

But then he heard a sound from the kitchen.

Azul froze, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. He slid out of bed, carefully padding toward the source of the noise. There you were, standing in the kitchenette, humming softly to yourself as you poured coffee into two mugs.

You turned when you heard him, flashing him a warm smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I made coffee—thought you’d need it.”

Azul stared, his jaw slightly slack. “You’re… still here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Where else would I go? You promised me free coffee for life, remember?”

Azul groaned, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean it.”

You laughed, stepping closer and handing him a mug. “I know. But you did mean the other thing, didn’t you?”

He stiffened, clutching the coffee mug like it might save him. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his face flushing.

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing smile. “The part where you said you liked me.”

Azul’s grip on the mug tightened, and he swallowed hard. “…Yes,” he admitted softly, not meeting your gaze. “I meant it. But I understand if you—”

Before he could finish, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His words died in his throat as he stared at you, wide-eyed.

“I like you too, Azul,” you said with a grin. “I have for a while.”

Azul blinked, his brain struggling to process your words. “…You do?”

“Obviously,” you teased. “Why else would I stick around to help you last night? You’re a handful, you know that?”

Azul’s lips twitched into a small, shy smile, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “…Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For the coffee? Or for liking you back?” you teased, taking a sip of your drink.

“Both,” he replied, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

And black coffee had never tasted so sweet to him.

Jade Leech

Jade Leech prided himself on his composure, his refinement, and his ability to remain unflappable under any circumstances. That all went out the window after a few too many drinks.

You hadn’t even expected to see him like this—flushed cheeks, a lazy, amused smile, and a rare looseness to his usual precision. He wasn’t stumbling per se, but his steps lacked their usual grace, and every so often, he swayed just enough to make you reach out and steady him.

“I must commend you,” Jade slurred, his voice as smooth as ever despite the alcohol. “You’re quite… considerate. Most wouldn’t bother with something so trivial as escorting me home.”

“Trivial? You can barely walk straight,” you said with a huff, adjusting your hold on his arm to keep him upright. “I’m not leaving you to faceplant in the dirt, Jade.”

His laugh was softer than usual, warmer somehow. “Hmm… you truly are unique.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Save the compliments for when you’re sober.”

But Jade had other plans. “You’re always like this,” he murmured, his gaze drifting toward you. “Kind. Thoughtful. Beautiful…”

You froze for a moment, glancing at him. “You’re drunk, Jade. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, I do,” he replied, the faintest pout gracing his lips. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long… but I couldn’t. You’re so… precious to me, I couldn’t bear to—hic—risk it.”

“Risk what?” you asked softly, your chest tightening at the vulnerability in his voice.

“Losing you,” he whispered. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty that left you speechless.

You stared at him for a moment before shaking your head. “Come on, let’s get you home,” you said gently, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

The next morning, Jade woke up with a pounding headache and the faint memory of warm hands rubbing his back as you murmured reassurances. His eyes snapped open as the events of the night before came rushing back.

“…Oh no,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. Confessed his feelings so blatantly, without any of the careful planning or subtlety he prided himself on. And to you, of all people—the one person he couldn’t bear to push away.

Jade steeled himself. He’d handle this like any other delicate situation—with poise and precision. If he acted normal, he could convince you that his confession had been nothing more than the ramblings of a drunk man.

And so, when he saw you later that day, he greeted you with his usual calm smile. “Good morning. I trust you slept well?”

You blinked at him, a bit surprised by his nonchalance. “Uh… yeah. How about you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” he said smoothly, showing no hint of the internal panic roiling beneath the surface.

You studied him for a moment, your brow furrowing slightly. “Do you… remember anything from last night?”

“Only bits and pieces,” he replied with a polite chuckle. “If I said or did anything out of the ordinary, I do hope you’ll forgive me.”

Out of the ordinary? You were starting to wonder if you’d hallucinated his heartfelt confession. Jade was acting so normal, so perfectly composed, that it was almost infuriating.

It wasn’t until later, when you were both in the lounge, that he slipped.

“Of course, I treasure you more than anyone else,” he said offhandedly, then immediately froze as he realized what he’d just admitted.

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Wait. What did you just say?”

Jade cleared his throat, his face betraying the slightest hint of embarrassment. “Ah… I misspoke.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “You meant it, didn’t you? Just like you meant it last night.”

He hesitated, his composure faltering for the first time since that morning. “…Yes,” he admitted softly, avoiding your gaze. “I meant every word.”

A smile broke across your face, and before he could say anything else, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Good. Because I like you too, Jade.”

His eyes widened, and for once, he was completely at a loss for words. “You… you do?”

You nodded, your grin widening. “Of course. Why do you think I stayed to take care of you last night?”

Jade’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, his cheeks faintly tinged with pink. “I see… I suppose I should count myself lucky, then.”

“You definitely should,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “Now, are you going to keep pretending nothing happened, or are you going to take me out on a proper date?”

Jade chuckled softly, the tension melting away as he looked at you with newfound warmth. “I believe I owe you the latter, don’t I?”

And with that, the polished, unflappable Jade Leech was yours to keep.

Floyd Leech was unpredictable on a good day. Drunk Floyd? That was another beast entirely.

He’d somehow managed to drink more than anyone else at the party, slinging his arm over your shoulder with a lopsided grin as he loudly declared you his “favorite Shrimpy.” If it weren’t for your quick reflexes, he probably would’ve knocked over at least three tables by now.

“Floyd, slow down!” you scolded, grabbing his wrist as he lunged toward a decorative vase like it was a basketball hoop. “We’re not here to redecorate.”

“But it’d look so much better broken!” he whined, leaning heavily against you. His sharp teeth flashed in a grin that was somehow equal parts adorable and terrifying. “Don’t ya think, Shrimpy?”

“No, Floyd,” you said firmly, guiding him away from the vase. “Let’s just focus on getting you home in one piece, okay?”

Floyd pouted but allowed you to steer him toward the exit, his lanky frame draped over yours like a human anchor. As you walked, he alternated between humming tunelessly, giggling at nothing, and telling you random, cryptic statements like, “The moon’s gonna eat you if you don’t smile back at it.”

“Sure, Floyd. I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, trying not to laugh.

It wasn’t until you were nearly to Octavinelle that his unhinged ramblings took a sudden, softer turn.

“You know somethin’, Shrimpy?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost wistful.

“What’s that?” you asked, adjusting your grip on him as he started to slump forward.

“I really, really like you,” he slurred, his mismatched eyes blinking up at you with a rare sincerity. “Like… not just as a buddy or whatever. I mean, like… like-like.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “Floyd, you’re drunk.”

“So what?” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping. “Still true.”

Before you could respond, he let out a content sigh and promptly passed out, his head lolling against your shoulder.

“Of course,” you muttered, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest. “You couldn’t confess while sober, could you?”

The next morning, Floyd was back to his usual self—or so it seemed. He greeted you with his usual wide grin and a sing-songy, “Mornin’, Shrimpy!”

You half-expected him to pretend last night didn’t happen, but instead, he seemed… more affectionate than usual. He leaned closer when he talked to you, casually draped his arm over your shoulder, and even offered you one of his prized snacks without a second thought.

It wasn’t until later, while you were both lounging in the lounge, that he dropped the bombshell.

“So, what do ya wanna do for our first date?” he asked, twirling a toothpick between his fingers.

You blinked at him. “Our what?”

“Our date,” he said, tilting his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, ‘cause we’re dating now.”

“…Floyd, you never asked me to be your partner.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, I did. Last night. Don’t you remember?”

“You were drunk, Floyd,” you pointed out.

“Still counts,” he said with a shrug, then grinned. “Unless… you don’t wanna date me?”

You stared at him for a moment, then let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked, leaning in with a teasing smirk.

“It’s a yes,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile.

Floyd’s grin widened, and before you knew it, he was scooping you up into a crushing hug, spinning you around as he laughed. “Knew ya couldn’t resist me, Shrimpy!”

As chaotic as he was, you couldn’t help but think you were in for one wild, wonderful ride.

Idia Shroud didn’t go to parties. Not unless someone twisted his arm—or in this case, dragged him out. His idea of fun was gaming in his room, not standing around awkwardly while extroverts did extrovert things.

And yet, here he was. Drinking something questionable because a certain someone (you) had sweet-talked him into joining.

He didn’t expect to end up three drinks deep, his face red, and leaning on your shoulder as you tried to guide him back to Ignihyde.

“Y-you don’t have to do this,” he muttered, stumbling slightly. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Just… a little dizzy.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dryly, tightening your grip on his arm. “You’re lucky I’m here, or you’d probably have wandered into the forest by now."

Idia chuckled, the sound softer and less nervous than usual. “Maybe. But you’d come get me, right? You always do…”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, brushing off the adoration in his voice to focus on keeping him upright. “Come on, almost there.”

He was quiet for a moment, save for the occasional muttered complaint about his legs feeling like jelly. Then, he said, almost too softly to hear:

“Do you know why I always listen to you?”

You glanced at him, surprised. “Why’s that?”

“‘Cause I… I really like you,” he mumbled, his face somehow growing redder. “Like… more than I like my SSR pulls. And you know that’s saying something.”

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. “Idia, are you—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he tripped over absolutely nothing, faceplanted into the ground, and immediately started snoring.

“…Of course,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

The next morning, Idia woke up with a pounding headache and the horrifying realization that he’d said everything out loud.

“No. No, no, no, no,” he groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. “I’ll just… never leave my room again. Yeah. Problem solved.”

His brilliant plan lasted all of five minutes before he heard you outside his door.

“Idia, open up,” you called, your voice firm.

“N-nope! Not happening!”

You sighed loudly. “Okay. Ortho?”

“Yes?” came Ortho’s cheerful reply.

“Break the door down.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Idia scrambled to unlock the door, cracking it open just enough to peek out. “No need to bring in the big guns! I-I’m opening it, see?”

He stepped back, allowing you inside, and immediately tried to hide behind his hair. “If you’re here to say you hate me now, just—just get it over with,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

“Why would I hate you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“B-because of what I said!” he wailed, his voice cracking. “I—I confessed, and then I passed out like an idiot, and—ugh! It’s like something out of a cringe anime!”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand, cutting him off mid-rant. “Idia, shut up for a second.”

“What—”

You leaned in and kissed him softly, feeling him freeze in place. When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but grin at his wide-eyed, stunned expression.

“I like you too, dummy,” you said. “Who else would I like? If not you, then who?”

Idia’s face turned scarlet, his hair flaring pink at the edges. “Y-you… you really mean that?”

“Obviously,” you teased, ruffling his hair. “Now stop hiding in your room and let’s go get some breakfast. You owe me for last night.”

Idia nodded, still too stunned to form words, but the small, shy smile on his face said everything you needed to know.

Masterlist

[chrollogy]

THE COST OF DEVOTION | chrollo lucilfer x f!reader

synopsis: When Chrollo Lucilfer is assigned to go undercover, and kill a billionaire’s daughter, he finds himself breaking the most sacred rule of the underworld—that there should be no feelings involved. The consequences of his actions backs Chrollo into a corner where he has to choose between fulfilling the job or following his heart at a risky price.

18+ MDNI; undercover assassin!chrollo, bodyguard!chrollo, billionaire’s daughter!reader, loosely follows some canon events (chrollo’s past), reader is referred to as ‘miss’, DARK CONTENT, DARK ROMANCE, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort (no happy ending), explicit smut, SLOW BURN, major character death, touches on arranged marriage, cheating, killing, money laundering, human trafficking, kidnapping, sacrilege & blood (briefly), gun use, chrollo struggles with feelings, chrollo has scars, OCs mentioned, not beta read.

word count: 18.6k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. ITS HERE !! thank u to @ljubimaya & @avatarofstars for supporting me throughout the writing process and for being such amazing friends :3 this is different from my usual fics + super self indulgent so enjoy. feedbacks & thoughts are much appreciated ><

Loud music, enough to make one’s chest thump, annoying bright strobe lights, and the sea of intoxicated bodies that passionately danced with one another without a care in the world, Chrollo wanted out. He observed the luxury club with a subtle scowl, gaze sharp enough to tear one’s throat as he watched the spoiled, and rich carelessly sway to the beat of the music—you were one of them.

A privileged affluent businessman’s daughter who didn’t know how to handle one’s wealth so she resorts to spending nights swiping her card for overpriced drinks, and whatever expensive shit the club had to offer.

Meanwhile, the lower class had to work themselves to near death to be able to provide for their families. One, two, three jobs just to make ends meet—just to pay rent, just to bring food to the table even if it meant working for the underworld.

That was where Chrollo fell into the spectrum; fortunate enough to live but unfortunate enough to live a cruel life in an equally cruel world. He grew up learning how to steal, fight, and kill while you grew up having maids cook every meal, a solid roof over your head, and generational wealth to spend.

It made Chrollo sick to his stomach how wealthy kids like you could just take, take, and take yet had the audacity to complain about their lives as if society didn’t favour them at all. He could go on, and on about this whole ordeal but at the end of the day, no one would even bat an eye, plus, he had a job to do—technically, two jobs.

At the heart of the sweaty, inebriated club, you stood there beneath the neon strobe lights, it bounced off the strands of your hair like a colourful aura mirroring your careless joy. Body perfectly swaying to the beat of the music, a half-full glass of a sweet cocktail, and a blissful expression on your face; maybe if the circumstances were different Chrollo would have smiled at your blithe spirit but it wasn’t.

Your eyes—a drunken haze—found his own to which you immediately acknowledged with a cheery wave of your free hand.

It only took a split second for Chrollo to mask the obvious scowl on his face with a sickly saccharine smile—one that made his gut twist with disgust—he returned the gesture with a dip of his chin paired with raising a glass of water in the air as if to make a toast. Chrollo’s expression fell the minute you turned away, unceremoniously slouching back into the leathered booth you’ve booked beforehand, he let out a deep sigh, and rubbed at his temples.

Two weeks

It had only been two weeks since your father—Chrollo’s employer—hired him as your personal bodyguard, and as expected, extensive pre-screening was a must before one could securely acquire said role which Chrollo found extremely bothersome despite its lack of difficulty. Though this wasn’t a rare occurrence, it only made sense for the rich to hire a skilled bodyguard to protect oneself from unknown dangers.

Obviously, he didn’t apply to be your personal bodyguard for sincere reasons—far from it, actually; Chrollo was here for a task that would land him his heftiest pay yet, even just thinking about made his head spin with immeasurable happiness already but Chrollo figured he’d bask in filthy money after completing the job. He always did.

If anything, this should be a walk in the park for him considering there was nothing more satisfying than seeing the demise of a wealthy brat. But for now, he’d take it slow, and earn your trust ‘til the right time comes; where his mask falls, and true motives come to light.

Where the last thing the assassin would receive from you was a look of pure horror much like his previous targets. Would you beg for him to spare your life like others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?

These thoughts immediately dissipated at the call of his name; a few feet away, you stumbled your way towards the booth, the highball glass tucked in your hand was now empty with only half melted ice cubes remaining. Chrollo stood up, wrapping a firm arm around your back, helping you regain balance before guiding you to the leathered seat, the fabric cool against your feverish skin.

“Should I call the chauffeur, miss?” Chrollo feigned worry. His stature loomed over your sitting figure, back lit with red neon strobe lights, giving him a deep crimson glow. You stared at him longer than necessary before responding with a small nod; the wild atmosphere, paired with your spinning vision seemed like a good enough hint to head home, and retire for the night.

At your agreement, Chrollo let out a big mental sigh of relief—he may be an adept assassin but sitting idly for hours while watching his asset drink the night away exhausted his patience more than one could imagine.

The ride back to the estate was all a drunken haze for you, though, you recalled a brief exchange of words between Chrollo, and your chauffeur as the latter helped you inside the vehicle before, they seemed to get along swimmingly despite the former only being a new addition to your personal staff. Albeit, that description might be a bit too generous, maybe it was just your drunk self thinking but nonetheless, you appreciated the courteous manner between the two. 

“Lukas?”

You called out to the chauffeur, he donned a formal attire just like Chrollo—a black tailored suit—he was an old-timer who had been your father’s previous chauffeur before you were born. It was safe to say you’ve learned a lot from him growing up, and maybe even served more as a father figure than your biological one.

“Yes, miss?” Lukas glanced briefly at the rear-view mirror. “Chrollo . . He’s nice, isn’t he?”

The older man could only chuckle in response, letting your words soak into the darkness of the vehicle before nodding, “He’s a promising young lad.” He glanced at the mirror once again, this time letting his gaze linger on you, headlights from the vehicle Chrollo drove behind poured into the backseat, and illuminated your face; Lukas didn’t know if it was due to your drunken state or from pure sincerity but the subtle smile on your face somewhat warmed his heart.

He took a mental note that you seemed to be quite fond of your new bodyguard.

After safely reaching the estate, and escorting you inside, Chrollo made his way to the staff house. Walking past the wooden double doors, he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice, “Off to bed, Chrollo?” It was Lukas, your chauffeur; he sat on one of the crimson couches, one hand nursing a cup of hot coffee.

Chrollo stared at the old man’s face behind the wisps of steam from the drink, the latter donned a rather pleased look on his face, he thought nothing of it, and nodded, “And yourself?”

Lukas returned the nod, “A little later for me.”

Silence occupied the living room for a moment. Chrollo could’ve left the conversation at that but instead, he stood there, feet rooted on the wooden floor, sensing that Lukas had more to say but was debating on it.

Seeing as he didn’t want to waste any more time, Chrollo spoke up “Is there something else you’d like to say?” His voice cut through the quiet atmosphere, he had now angled his body towards the older man. Lukas set the mug atop the coffee table before giving him his full attention, “The young miss seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Chrollo didn’t know how to react to that—even if he did, he wouldn’t have let on.

At his silence, Lukas invited himself to speak further, “At times, she can be quite a handful . . but hearing her speak positively of you warms my heart. What I’m trying to say is, please take good care of the young miss, it means a lot for her to say such things about you.”

Trust? Good.

Chrollo’s rosy lips stretched into a genuine smile, “I will. Thank you.” And with that, he excused himself before heading to his room, the soles of his obsidian shoes produced no noise with each step. He wasn’t happy because you seemed to like him, no, Chrollo was happy because you trusted him so easily—probably the biggest mistake you’ve made.

Though, nothing would really change if you didn’t trust him, either way, you’d meet your demise no matter what.

As the new week rolled around, it was no surprise that Chrollo had already memorised your weekly routine—without a doubt, you spent days in the office but he had noted other destinations you frequented.

On Mondays, you visited a cosy flower boutique in the morning, owned by a lovely old florist who’s cheeks were as pink as the camellias neatly displayed on the counter next to her. You only bought one type of flower—white chrysanthemums, a dozen, to be exact; they were carefully wrapped in a simple brown paper, and topped off with an ivory satin ribbon.

On the way back to the car, Chrollo wondered why you chose these specific flowers, and upon asking, you simply replied with:

‘White chrysanthemums symbolise devoted love, and loyalty—something we need more of in this world, don’t you think?’ 

How ironic. He had no knowledge about flowers but he always thought white chrysanthemums meant death, specifically a symbol of mourning, and grief—a flower fit for one’s grave yet you displayed them in a vase to bring life into your room.

If you were being completely honest, chrysanthemums didn’t hold any significance in your life; one day you decided to visit the flower boutique run by the old lady, and she had told you all about the flower. Oddly enough, you started to grow fond of it.

Chrysanthemums were awfully common in his hometown—Meteor City—and not in a good way; inhabited by untraceable outcasts, it was the perfect hunting ground for illegal activities such as human trafficking, as well as an endless source of disposable hitmen, and assassins like Chrollo himself.

Due to mass abductions, and murders of the people, chrysanthemums were laid out at the church for each victim; he could clearly remember walking down the aisle, a smell so sweet, and minty filled the thick atmosphere. For an aroma so pleasant, who would’ve thought it was associated with such sorrow?

On Tuesdays, you attended your private pilates lesson at 8 AM on the dot which lasted a little under an hour. As usual, Chrollo stayed idly by the entrance of the studio, just at the foyer as the muffled voice of your instructor seeped from under the closed door; this was usually paired with brunch at a local café after, as per your words, ‘a much needed caffeine break’ whatever that meant. He couldn’t care less, he was too busy assessing the layout of the building for an escape route, and potential threats as though he wasn’t the biggest threat here.

The window seat offered a clear view of the street outside, vehicles driving by, people in their own little world as they headed to their destination; not to mention the ample morning sunlight that poured in, allowing you to study Chrollo’s reflection from the glass.

He stood behind you with his back facing the window, scanning the entire café; you watched as his head slowly moved from left to right, then right to left, giving you a peek of his side profile. Your eyes traced every dip, and curve of Chrollo’s face, from the slope of his nose, all the way to the sharpness of his jawline. It was odd how this man—who barely talked to you unless necessary—had piqued your interest. In what way? That was something you were still trying to figure out.

How Chrollo carried himself with silent confidence stood out from the rest of your security team; sure, he was vigilant of his surroundings but each action he displayed was calculated, and clean—too clean. You’ve also noticed how his steps were much lighter than everyone else’s, it made almost no sound as though he was actively stalking a prey. And for a brief moment, you wondered who that prey was.

On Wednesdays, you were present at your father’s company for the whole day. Though, the scowl on your face clearly screamed your opposition; it wasn’t a secret to anyone how uninterested you were in all the business talk—in fact, if anyone were to ask about it, you could probably go on, and on about how boring, and tedious it was, conversely, if asked what you wanted to do in life, you’d probably have a hard time answering.

Alas, as the sole heir, the company automatically fell to your hands whether you liked it or not. Wednesdays were always a drag, having to make acquaintances with investors, and show face during monotonous meetings that rarely concerned you—you’d rather spend time elsewhere.

On Thursdays, you were also at the company but for a different reason. Chrollo only knew you reported straight to your father’s office, and he was often ordered to wait at the ground floor. The meeting with your father always took approximately two hours, and each time, you came out looking like someone had pressed all your buttons.

Though today, for the sake of Chrollo’s own selfish curiosity, seeing as the hallway was deserted, he lingered outside the office for a bit but all he really got was pure silence—either you, and your father conversed in a hushed voice or the walls were soundproof. Whatever the case was, Chrollo didn’t bother sticking around but he was quickly stopped in his tracks as voices from inside were suddenly raised—yours first, followed by your father.

Looking back at the office door, Chrollo heard you shout in opposition, it seemed like the conversation had somewhat turned into a heated argument. Nonetheless, he continued down the hallway—it was none of Chrollo’s business, after all.

“No! I’ve already told you, I’m not doing that!” Loud voice sliced through the growing tension inside the room. The older male—who sat behind his desk—leaned back into the seat, leather groaning beneath his weight as he rubbed his temples at your stubbornness, clearly displeased with how much you were blowing everything out of proportion. You stayed rooted in your spot, just standing a metre away from your father.

“Look, darling, I’ve already agreed—” “Agreed without my consent.” Raising your hands in defeat, you paced around the room, each heavy step muffled by the crimson carpet beneath your soles. “I’m the one getting married to someone I haven’t met! I never even wanted to be in an arranged marriage just because of what—a stupid business partnership?!”

This was the first time you’ve raised your voice at your father; all the years under his care, and guidance, you gladly accepted what was left upon your hands. Continuing the legacy of your father’s company? Sure, no problem, you could deal the burden on your shoulders but marrying a complete stranger?

That was more than crossing a mere boundary.

Your father was a skilled business man, and you never doubted that once—he was excellent at negotiating, and closing deals so for him to stoop as low as agreeing with an arranged marriage for the sake of his company, it baffled you, a lot. What more could he possibly want?

“I’m done with this conversation.”

Letting out a breath you’ve been holding, you turned around, and headed for the door but before reaching the silver handle, your father spoke up from behind, “Next week. You’re attending the corporate event with Euan. That’s final.” All you could do was nod.

Chrollo spotted your rather distressed figure exit the elevator, and head for the car park, not so much sparing a glance as you passed him; nonetheless, he quietly trailed you, steely gaze observing your figure up, and down—shoulders tight, and fists clenched at your side.

You felt defeated.

The thought of spending the rest of your life with a man you didn’t genuinely love, was that really your so-called future? A bond made for the sole purpose of expanding business?

Stepping into the underground car park, you stopped in your tracks, the automatic glass door silently humming as it closed behind you. Naturally, Chrollo did the same but didn’t dare speak up. Click clack. Two clicks from the soles of your shoes as you turned to face your bodyguard with a deflated expression, he could only raise a brow in surprise before you sat on your haunches, and buried your face inside the hearts of your palms.

Oh.

One, two, three seconds—it took Chrollo exactly three seconds to register the sight before him, and he didn’t know what to do; awkwardness settled in the air between the two of you as you sobbed into your hands. He moved closer—taking a few cautious steps as though he walked on eggshells—and squatted down to your level, “Miss?” He called out, his dulcet voice drowned by your soft whimpers, every muscle in Chrollo’s body was stiff, movements unsure.

What was he supposed to do? Reach out, and stroke your hair? Pull you close against his chest? Chrollo was more than sure that doing so was completely unprofessional on his end. So, he was reduced to sitting next to you, silently watching your shoulders shake with each muffled sob until you finally decided to lift your head, “I apologise for acting this way. I’m certain you probably don’t care but—”

Correct. Chrollo did not care.

“My father has been pushing me in an arranged marriage. I kept saying ‘no’ until he went behind my back, and agreed to it. I found out today and I just—I lost it. The benefits of what comes after marriage are endless for the company; more investors, more money, more security but is that really worth sacrificing my shot at finding the one I truly love?”

Saying the words aloud made it sound so silly. Finding your one true love, how naïve, that only happened in children’s fairy tales.

Upon learning the reason for your upset, Chrollo could only nod, he wasn’t the type to console anyone, let alone his employer’s daughter. The last time he could remember doing so was almost a decade, and a half ago during the time his dear friend—Sarasa—went missing.

It was a rainy day in Meteor City, Chrollo remembered hugging his friends tightly, reassuring them that everything was going to be alright even though uncertainty gnawed at his skin. 

He was innocent, and didn’t know better then.

But the incident with Sarasa was what fuelled his pure hatred for the wealthy. Chrollo was only a kid, full of limitless joy, and hope despite growing up in poverty. It was during the height of abductions in Meteor City, and that was when he learned that not even his friends were immune from illegal activities after seeing it with his own eyes.

It was broad daylight, and Sarasa had been forced into a car by two large men—as if one wasn’t enough to take a helpless little girl. The worst part was, Chrollo could only stand, and watch as his friend got taken away with nothing but helpless tears in his eyes, and a blazing anger that burned a thousand suns.

He could still recall the way his nails dug into the hearts of his palms, the temporary pain it felt. The incident haunted his coming days, hearing Sarasa’s screams at night, and how she begged for the men to spare her life.

Chrollo overheard from the Elders that the ones behind illegal abductions were the wealthy, and that night, he made a promise to avenge Sarasa—even if it meant taking lives. It was clear the rich were parasites of the world, greedy for money, and power, leaving none behind for the unfortunate. 

Chrollo couldn’t bring himself to understand your situation, and emotions—he didn’t have to but some odd part made him want to.

From Fridays to Sundays, you usually spent the time out with friends but as the days came, you remained cooped up inside your room, and only came out unless necessary. The thought of isolating yourself somewhat ate away at Chrollo, despite not being able to fully grasp your situation, he figured it must have been a breaking point for you, and deep down, for some weird reason, he was worried.

This was the first time you’ve shown him an emotion other than happiness—which he presumed was most likely out of professionalism—so seeing your distressed state had him rather curious.

Stationed just outside the doors to your room, Chrollo couldn’t do anything to quench the sparked interest inside him—guarding the entrance of your room was all there was to do which ended up with him drowning in his thoughts while standing idly. Even though Chrollo didn’t understand your sentiment, he knew no one should marry a stranger for the sake of business.

Though, Chrollo didn’t have much time to ponder about your situation as his replacement came walking up the stairs meaning it was the end of his shift for the day. He entertained a brief exchange with his co-worker before heading out.

Walking down the stone path that led to the deserted flower garden, Chrollo dug into the inside pocket of his blazer, and took out a burner phone. As the assassin dialled a number, he was greeted with a view of endless greenery decorated with bright hues from a variety of flowers; the floral aroma wrapped around his body like a fluffy blanket. Somehow, the sweet scent reminded Chrollo of you.

The cheap phone rang once, twice ‘til a familiar voice spilled through its speakers, “I’m guessing you’re here to update me?” The male on the other side of the call questioned. Chrollo agreed, and the line went silent, urging him to give the details.

As he gave a thorough update, Chrollo mindlessly walked down the stone path, various colours making its way to his line of vision. Though, a particular flower caught his eye—a sea of yellow as bright as the morning rays decorated several bushes on the ground. While speaking into the phone, Chrollo squatted down to its level, and examined the delicate flower, Bird’s foot trefoil, the small ivory signage before it read.

Two months, that was the amount of time given to complete the job. It was reasonable enough with the amount of security you were surrounded with, and even though Chrollo was the only bodyguard you took whenever you left the house, Lukas remained by your side as well—he made sure not to underestimate the old timer.

Chrollo had never heard of this man before but from what he knew, he seemed to be about the same age. Why the man was seeking out revenge by targeting your life was also something that remained a mystery—after all, Chrollo was only there to kill, details weren’t necessary when it came to an assassin.

“‘M not gonna tell you how to do your job but remember, time is ticking, and I’m spending a whole lot of money on this, yeah?”

Voicing his agreement before ending the call, he took one last look at the flower, and stood up, heading for the staff house.

It was about time Chrollo hunted for his prey.

With the new week, everyone prepared for the corporate event in a few hours—even Chrollo himself, as well as the rest of the security team was busy scouting the venue, and looking for any potential threats around, and inside the building.

Tonight, he donned a sleek, all black look which was slightly different from the usual white button down, and black suit he wore.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, employees, and important investors began pouring in the building; the inside boasted a formal theme with a lavish teardrop crystal chandelier that mimicked the shine of a thousand diamonds, round tables were draped in ivory cloths which housed a bunch of butterfly pea flowers encased in sleek ceramic vases.

Silence was replaced with melodic laughter, and casual conversations between acquaintances, and co-workers as the vast room was slowly filled with more people.

Having arrived at the venue earlier, Chrollo stood by the entrance, waiting for your arrival. As the familiar vehicle rolled around, Lukas exited the vehicle, and opened the rear passenger door.

Expecting you to come out of the vehicle, Chrollo was caught slightly off-guard when a stranger clad in a navy blue tuxedo did so instead—he donned obsidian strands that carefully framed his handsome face, and piercing honeyed eyes that was sure to make any woman swoon.

The assassin watched as he turned to face the vehicle, and held out a hand to you. Taking up on the polite offer, you held his hand, and gracefully stepped out of the vehicle. And there you were, in all your serene beauty, skin glowing beneath the warm streetlights that made Chrollo inhale a sharp breath for some odd reason.

“Thank you, Euan.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Euan? Chrollo thought.

With how he lovingly kissed the back of your hand, and from the way you forced a smile, it wasn’t hard to piece together that this was the man you were forced to marry. Somehow, Chrollo felt a tinge of annoyance spark within the depths of his chest—maybe because he was aware of the whole arranged marriage situation or maybe because he was yet in the presence of another stuck up, pompous spoiled person. 

Euan interlaced his fingers with yours before heading towards the entrance, Chrollo didn’t miss the way the diamond ring on your finger twinkled like stars in the night sky. Surprisingly, Euan acknowledged Chrollo with a dip of his chin; you mirrored your date’s action, and only then did the assassin respond in the same way.

The event was boring as one would have expected, your father—the CEO—mostly talked about the company’s milestones up on the podium, he held a champagne flute in one hand filled with golden liquid while entertaining the room with uneventful accomplishments. Though, what you didn’t expect tonight was for your father to openly reveal your arranged marriage with Euan in front of your subordinates, and investors,

“It’s my pleasure to announce that the COO of D&J—my daughter—is soon to be wed with Mr. Euan Heston from Heston Enterprises.”

As endless applause, and supportive smiles filled the venue, you sat frozen on your seat, unable to muster even the tiniest smile. From the corner of your vision, you could see Euan bashfully nodding his head, and shaking hands with those in neighbouring tables as they congratulated him. You stared at your father in complete disdain which only prompted a forced smile from him.

Unbelievable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips before swallowing the raging emotions, pushing them down, down, down to the depths of your core, and as though a switch inside you was flipped, a smile stretched across your face, throwing out thank you’s to those who offered their support.

With the end of the CEO’s speech, and certain formalities, all that’s left was to mix, and mingle with everyone else which—thankfully—Euan did while you quietly sneaked away to the open bar. Although, visibly drowning yourself in more champagne only invited more guests to come, and gush about the weighted ring on your finger, not to mention how openly they adored Euan.

Hearing such high praise thrown his way, you caught yourself staring at your soon-to-be husband; you watched as he gracefully waltzed from table to table, engaging in polite conversations with not only the important people in the room but also with your subordinates.

Euan was well-mannered, kind, and respectful—he was everything your father wanted as your husband but he wasn’t made for you, and deep down, you knew that.

From the corner of the room, Chrollo watched it all unfold. From the way you stiffened beneath everyone’s stares as your father revealed the marriage, all the way to your gaze finding Euan amongst the crowd. He felt weird.

Albeit subtle, Chrollo sensed it was there—as though a foreign seed had been planted in his chest waiting for it to grow, and destroy him from inside out. Whether it produced the fruit of anger, revenge or some other emotion in the dictionary, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was it took root inside his heart.

As Chrollo got lost in his thoughts for a bit, he was greeted with an empty barstool that was previously occupied by you; he scanned the vast room, stone cold eyes darting from left to right, and right to left trying to catch a glimpse of your familiar figure.

Slight panic didn’t settle in until Chrollo realised that you were nowhere to be seen—the feeling began to gnaw at his very bones as the attempts of finding your whereabouts led to a dead end, he even went as far as asking a woman standing just outside the bathroom if she’s seen you walk in but only shook her head.

Wide, panicked steps, Chrollo unceremoniously crossed the room in search of you while almost bumping into several guests in a nervous haze; he muttered out whispered apologies, gaze remaining ahead. His heart thumped loudly against his ears, serving as a mere distraction to throw off his already breaking composure.

God, your father would absolutely kill him if he were to find out that he’d lost sight of you.

But Chrollo wasn’t scared of that, not even an ounce of fear in his body at the thought of your father’s wrath, instead, he worried for your safety; the more minutes passed without a trace of you, the more frustration consumed every fibre of him.

The only option left was to check the balcony.

With a bated breath, he opened the sliding door, a gentle, cool breeze of the night greeted him like a welcome hug. His gaze scanned the open area which—thankfully—landed on your familiar figure, you stood there, leaning against the metal railing while looking up at the obsidian skies.

Relief briefly washed over Chrollo as he let out a sigh but this feeling was soon replaced with red, hot anger.

He stalked over to where you stood, each step heavy with annoyance, “Where have you been? I was looking all over for you! Don’t run off like that.”

The ever calm, and collected bodyguard coming for your neck with such ferocity caught you off guard, not to mention the obvious bite in his tone. With furrowed brows, you turned to face Chrollo, a look of disbelief painted on your face. The audacity of this man. Who the hell was he to boss you around as though you were his subordinate?

“That’s ‘miss’ for you—” You crossed your arms, head slightly tilted upwards as you looked down at him from your nose.

“And relax, Chrollo. I’m not harmed. I don’t see what the fuss is about.” You were absolutely right, and Chrollo hated that you were because he didn’t know where else to channel his anger, if anything, your words doused the flame inside his chest with gasoline, allowing it to expand, and burn an azure fire.

Despite his better judgement, Chrollo let it consume him, “Relax? I’m your bodyguard, it’s my duty to keep you safe, and out of danger! What if something happens to you, and I’m not around, hm?”

Chrollo felt the foreign seed inside his chest grow into uncertainty—an odd feeling he’s never felt before. Speaking out like this, and losing his cool over a situation was out of character for him but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to stop, as though words willingly flew out of his throat, and out into the open.

“Exactly, you’re only a bodyguard. You have no right to act this way towards me. Have you forgotten I’m not your equal?” You retorted, dishing out the same amount of ferocity he had given you.

Initially, you were going to let the whole thing slide, it was understandable where Chrollo was coming from—he was only doing his job—but it pissed you off seeing as how he had the audacity to act like that.

You looked up at the taller man, gaze not backing down from his steely ones; it took him a couple of seconds to hold your stare before breaking it, and looking off to the dark horizon. Though, you swore you saw his eyes subtly dip down for a split second before doing so—you weren’t too sure, maybe it was the darkness playing tricks.

You were right. Chrollo was only a bodyguard, so did he cross the line? The unclear answer made him all the more furious but for now, he’d have to settle for the explanation that he’s your bodyguard, and he has the right to worry about your safety. Even if Chrollo himself didn’t entirely believe this reason.

“You’re right. I apologise for crossing any boundaries, miss.”

Chrollo stationed himself near the sliding door, offering you space to enjoy the quiet night in peace. Now, you felt kind of bad for raising your voice at him when he clearly showed nothing but concern; you chalked it up to the stress your father weighed upon you tonight—the decision to tell everyone about the marriage, Euan being your date for tonight, the engagement ring that wrapped around your finger.

It was clear that Chrollo was still bothered about the whole thing, you could see it from the way his jaw tightened, and the subtle crease between his brows. Whatever. You’ll deal with it later.

A petty argument. That was it. But why did it have Chrollo all worked up? Why was he extremely bothered about it? Hell, where was that useless fiancé of yours, and why wasn’t he looking after you? Questions swirled in his mind, chaotic, and uncertain—now, Chrollo was really wondering why he was acting this way. In his twenty-six years of living, never had he felt this feeling before, it stemmed from his chest, blooming across his body, and consuming him in an unpleasant, foreign way.

The feeling stayed rooted inside even until reaching the estate where he stood guarding the door to your room.

Chrollo rubbed his forefinger, and thumb together while staring at the marbled tiles beneath his feet, it was past midnight now, and the only sound heard was the thumping of his own heart—the rhythmic beat that somewhat got louder with each passing minute.

He was soon reeled back into reality at the sound of the door opening behind him. Stepping out of your room, Chrollo watched as the darkness unclasped your body from its confines; he quickly averted his gaze at your vulnerable state—clad in a flimsy ivory nightgown that stopped just below the knees with satin ribbon straps comfortably sitting on your shoulders. He felt it was rather inappropriate seeing you in such an attire.

“Ahem. Anything you need, miss?” Chrollo coughed into his fist, staring at the darkness behind you instead of holding the gaze thrown his way.

Letting out a sigh, you replied, “I think I need to clear my head a bit . . Care to join me for a night drive? That way you’ll know my whereabouts.” The end of your sentence had a tinge of bitterness laced with it but Chrollo shrugged it off, it’d be no use trying to pick up where the two of you left off earlier.

“I take it as a yes, then? Meet me at the garage.” With that, you walked down the stairs, the thin fabric of your nightgown swaying with each step taken.

Chrollo quickly headed to the staff house to grab the keys to his assigned vehicle. Making his way to the door, he immediately stopped in his tracks as a sudden idea popped into mind—the gun hidden beneath his pillows.

Chrollo stared at his bed before swiftly lifting the ivory pillow, revealing a pistol given to him upon acquiring the bodyguard role. Without a word, he tucked it inside the holster beneath the obsidian blazer he donned, and walked out of the bedroom, heading for the garage.

Disappearing into the night, an odd feeling engulfed Chrollo—he wondered whether the gun on his hip portrayed him as your bodyguard or as your assassin.

Something he has never thought about before because it had always been the latter, regardless of the situation. Nonetheless, the weapon felt awfully heavy hanging onto him—as though it was a great burden that took an even greater effort to get rid of.

The drive was awkward, and there was no set destination; the only instruction you gave Chrollo was to keep driving, and he did, without questions asked. The only sound that filled the vehicle was the low humming of the engine which lulled you further into your thoughts, warm streetlights would illuminate the inside which allowed Chrollo to sneak brief glances at you through the rearview mirror. He didn’t want to pry but it was clear you were overwhelmed with a lot of things.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology caught Chrollo off guard, stone cold gaze looking through the mirror to meet your own for a split second. “Miss?” He furrowed his brows. “For earlier. I said some harsh words as well, and you were only doing your job. So, I apologise.” Now, it was your turn to steal glances through the rearview mirror. Chrollo’s expression remained unchanged—most likely trying to find an appropriate answer. 

He shook his head, fully aware you peered at him through the mirror, “It’s no big deal . . It wasn’t my place to raise my voice. As you said earlier, I’m just a bodyguard.” Chrollo’s eyes remained on the road ahead, enveloped by the night, he didn’t know why it suddenly became hard to glance through the mirror—maybe it was the unmistakable knowledge that you’d be staring straight back.

Was he nervous?

Impossible. There was no such emotion in his dictionary.

“It’s just—the whole announcing the marriage with Euan in front of all the guests stressed me out. The marriage is set in stone without my permission, and I just feel so helpless . .” You watched the outside view go by, dull colours of the night blending into a blurry haze.

“I know the arrangement has benefits. I know that.” It was directed more to yourself than Chrollo, as though some part of you agreed with the marriage.

“Euan is . . He’s sweet—a kind soul but I cannot see myself loving him, spending the rest of my life with him.” The assassin gripped the wheel a little tighter at the mention of your fiancé. “I don’t think anyone should ever go through that.” He cleared his throat, stealing another glance at you.

“You mentioned a while ago—” Chrollo spoke up, deciding to deviate the topic from Euan. “That the marriage would benefit the company ‘more security’ . .” He trailed off, realising how he’s prying but you didn’t seem to mind with how openly you replied.

“Long story short, my father had a very close friend—Mr. Driscoll—in the industry. It was later revealed that he was involved in money laundering so most of his assets came from illegal dealings. My father played a significant role in his arrest—basically, Driscoll was stupid enough to tell my father of his underground ties, urging him to do it as well. But my father had tipped the police instead. Naturally, his son, Ciaran Driscoll—who’s now the CEO of the company—saw us in a bad light, and it won’t take long until he makes my father pay for the damages done.”

“The arranged marriage with Euan would obviously combine our security team with theirs which would decrease the chances of Ciaran, and any other dangers from getting near my father, and I.”

Yet Chrollo was here—an assassin tasked to kill you—who easily took on the role of your personal bodyguard.

How ironic.

You really did need that extra security from the Hestons.

“Ciaran Driscoll?” Chrollo muttered the name under his breath which you quickly caught onto. “Yeah. Ciaran Driscoll from Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, you know him?” He wouldn’t necessarily say he knew him but Chrollo was awfully familiar with the name—familiar enough to conclude that Ciaran was the one who hired him to kill you.

Despite meeting at a deserted location back then—nowhere near that gave any hints of Ciaran’s real identity—one of his subordinates had addressed him by his last name which Chrollo immediately picked up.

The pieces fit flawlessly. It made sense for Ciaran to get revenge for Mr. Driscoll’s arrest by targeting what your father held most dear in his life—you. And for that to happen, Chrollo was the middle man, the one to fuel the chaos between two families.

If he got the job done.

“No.” Chrollo lied. “Just thought the last name rang a bell.”

“Understandable, they’re a household name. Well, it used to be.”

Short silence filled the vehicle yet again, both left to their own thoughts before you spoke up, albeit, it was more of thinking aloud, “I truly don’t know what I want in life.” Odd. Chrollo always thought that if one was wealthy, they’d be able to wish for anything, and everything yet somehow, even with all the gold in your hands, you were still lost.

Chrollo pitied you, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Hell, he didn’t even know whether it was appropriate to reply. What did he know? He was someone born into poverty who didn’t have the luxury to question himself about what he wanted in life, just having to see another was already a blessing itself. Well, it wasn’t like the outcasts of society were given a choice on how to lead one’s life anyway.

The car fell in another silence but this time it was much longer, long enough for Chrollo to glance at the rearview mirror to see your eyes closed, and head leaning against the window, the rhythmic rise, and fall of your chest indicating the slumber you were in.

It was almost laughable how Chrollo was able to prove his theory right—that the rich were greedy for an even greater amount of money, the obvious example was the ex-CEO of Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, Ciaran’s father.

Chrollo’s grip on the wheel tightened, leather burning against his palms at the mere thought of dirty business. Illegal dealings. It was possible he had a hand in Sarasa's kidnapping. Mr. Driscoll didn’t belong in jail, no, he belonged before the barrel of Chrollo’s gun.

Taking another glance at your sleeping form, Chrollo quietly pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before twisting his torso to face you. Warm streetlights casted a gentle glow upon your features, piercing grey eyes carefully tracing each one as though you were a divine creature—otherworldly, and beautiful.

You looked so peaceful, and undisturbed. Vulnerable.

While his eyes remained on you, Chrollo slowly slid a hand inside his blazer, reaching for the gun affixed by his hip.

The assassin pulled it out, pointing the barrel to your head, the weapon cool against the warmth of his hand. In, and out, he drew steady breaths, forefinger hovering over the trigger—one pull, and it’d be over.

The problem was, Chrollo couldn’t do it.

He has pulled the trigger countless times as though it was second nature, so why couldn’t he do it now? He couldn’t even bring himself to let his digit touch it.

As you stirred in your sleep, Chrollo swiftly tucked the gun back in his holster, and faced forward. Shaky, uneven breaths slipped past his parted lips, the sound of his heartbeat clouding his senses.

Hands balling into fists, he wondered what had gotten into him, mind racing with a million thoughts as he drowned in pure uncertainty. Chrollo stared at his hands—the same hands that have spilled blood countless times, the same hands that killed without a second thought, the same hands that were tasked to murder you.

Yet here he was, unable to do so as if it were his first time.

“Chrollo?” You mumbled aloud. As you peeled your eyes open, you tried to register your surroundings. “Why did we stop? Is there something wrong?”

He cleared his throat, taking a quick glance through the rearview mirror before shaking his head, “No, miss. I just had to take a quick call, my apologies.” With that, Chrollo pulled away from the side of the road, taking you back to the estate.

The ride home was silent. Fortunately for Chrollo, this gave him the opportunity to calm his thoughts, and steady his growing breaths.

Obviously this has never happened before, especially while out on a mission; it made sense for the assassin to lose his cool a bit after hesitating. If anything, it was akin to a bird suddenly losing the ability to fly when flying was the only thing it knew. To make things worse, Chrollo had just broken the unspoken rule of the underworld—to never hesitate.

To the underworld, hesitating meant fragility, and fragility meant that the enemy had the upper hand. He was confused, and conflicted, more so upset at himself for being such a coward—why was he a coward?

After returning to the estate, you softly called out to Chrollo who was heading to the staff house, “Do you want to come inside?” All it took was that foreign look in your face for him to fully understand what you meant.

He didn’t have to assume anything—you’ve never looked at Chrollo with such a burning gaze, full of intent, and vulnerability. God, it was a brazen move to do so but you wished he agreed. All you needed was a little company at the moment.

Something in the air shifted. Maybe it was because you were both stripped of your layers, baring your defenceless forms out in the open. Maybe it was the way Chrollo’s rational thinking became compromised on the way home. Or maybe it was how you oddly felt comfortable around his presence, as though he was a lifelong friend.

Nonetheless, Chrollo found himself inside your bedroom, and as expected, it was grand, spacious, fit for a billionaire’s daughter. Sweet aroma of fresh chrysanthemum’s filled the air but it was nothing like he had remembered back in Meteor City which was laced with grief, and sorrow. Instead, it enveloped Chrollo in a warm welcoming hug, he could finally understand your interpretation of chrysanthemums—devoted love, and loyalty.

Moonlight spilled from the windows, illuminating the side of Chrollo’s face. He was just standing there yet he mirrored the divinity of an angel as soft shadows contoured his handsome face, dark eyes gleaming beneath the dulcet glow; you’ve never been able to decipher the emotions behind his gaze but tonight was different, his stare was soft mixed with hint of uncertainty; Chrollo wore his heart on his sleeves.

“Help me escape even for a little while.” 

Like the obedient bodyguard he was, he nodded. Chrollo took one step closer, reaching out a hand to gently undo one of the satin ribbon straps. The flimsy fabric gracefully slid off your right shoulder, just enough to expose your pert nipple. It hardened beneath the cool evening air which had Chrollo swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing with pure excitement, and hunger; oh, how he couldn’t wait to put his lips on your skin, and devour you.

Wasting no time to undo the other ribbon strap, your nightgown instantly fell to the carpeted floors, the fabric pooling around your feet, leaving you almost completely bare in front of Chrollo.

Your skin grew feverish beneath his observant stare as he traced every dip, and curve, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo’s lips were on your skin, palms finding home just above your waist; he placed gentle kisses down the side of your neck as though on a mission to mark you, pulling dainty gasps in the process.

You tasted absolutely divine—like a hopeful prayer between his lips, and he craved for more. Soft smacks slowly filled your ears as he praised you with kisses. Down, down, down Chrollo’s lips went before stopping at the junction of your neck, he gave the sensitive skin an experimental lick to which you responded with a heated gasp of his name.

Tilting your head to the side allowed more freedom for Chrollo to explore; hands coming up to tangle with his raven strands, and tug at it urged him to mark your skin with hues of dark purple, and red.

And he did. Gentle, wet kisses turned into rough, electric ones as Chrollo used both teeth, and tongue to nip, and suck at your skin.

“Chrollo—!” 

The assassin could only grunt in response as he carved himself onto your skin like knife on wood—over, and over again ‘til it left a lasting mark. And when you stare at these sinful hues in the mirror, you’d be reminded of the feel of his lips, how his kisses turned your legs into a wobbly mess, and mind into a lustful haze.

Embarrassing, warm wetness pooled on the fabric of your panties as Chrollo neared your breasts, you watched with a bated breath, and keen eyes as he wrapped his lips around a mound—the sinful sight of Chrollo trying to take in as much of it as he could had your legs buckling, you were sure to have met the floor if it weren’t for his firm hold.

You let out a soft moan at the feel of his hot tongue swirling around your nipple, teeth gently grazing the sensitive spot which sent lightning down the length of your spine.

Eager hands tugged at the roots of his obsidian strands, nails raking across his scalp; it was beyond lewd how you readily pushed your bare body into Chrollo’s face—a man you’ve only known for less than a month yet here he was, wicked lips made of fire against your naked skin that melted like ice.

A large hand snaked its way up your front, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and pausing just beneath the other breast before cupping it wholly—the heart of his palm rubbing against your sensitive nipple as he massaged, and toyed with the fat.

Without an ounce of shame left in inside you, you wantonly moaned his name at the feel of his lips, and hand making love to your chest, it had Chrollo twitching in his slacks but he paid no mind to it because tonight was about ravishing your body until no one else could compare—not even Euan Heston.

Chrollo didn’t know what this meant for the both of you after but that was okay because once the night ends, your body would crave for none but him, and only him.

Chrollo let go of your swollen, wet breast with a soft pop, he looked up through his lashes before licking his lips, as though he just devoured the tastiest meal of his life.

Working his way down your torso, he placed chaste kisses down the valley of your breasts, steadily sinking to his knees as he descended further, each passing second growing closer to your heat—where you needed him the most.

Before Chrollo could kiss the intimate spot just below your belly button, you cupped his face, making him look up at you with slight confusion,

“On the bed . .”

Three words was all he needed to understand before standing to his full height, “Jump.” Chrollo ordered. You didn’t need to be told twice before doing so, arms, and legs wrapping around him while he supported your weight.

As Chrollo sauntered to the bed, you used the time to eagerly explore the spot beneath his ear, using teeth, and tongue to suck at it which pulled a few soft sighs from him. His intoxicating scent filled your senses, the sweet minty aroma from chrysanthemums mixed with his musky perfume had you groaning into his skin.

He shuddered at the feeling, the tips of his fingers digging further into the fat of your ass.

Gently laying you down on the pillows beneath, he stared at the serene beauty before him, steely eyes drinking in your nakedness. Chrollo’s stare felt like you stood directly under the blazing sun on a summer day, igniting your skin to the core without anywhere to take cover but you liked it, you liked the feeling of his hungry stare, how he looked at you like fresh meat on a silver platter—a predator, and his prey.

As if to put on a show, Chrollo hastily shrugged off his blazer, mindlessly throwing it on the floor, leaving him with a white button down. He caught a glimpse of your lust-clouded gaze staring at the gun affixed to his hip to which he immediately removed by unclasping the holster.

The weapon landed on the floor with a heavy thud, you paid no mind to it but for Chrollo, it served as a harsh reminder of his real motive, and everything that would happen tonight was nothing but an insignificant moment in his life.

At least that's what he convinced himself this was.

The mattress groaned beneath Chrollo’s weight as he dipped down, wasting no time to connect his lips on your bare skin, and picking up where he left off—right below your belly button.

He kissed at it before wickedly pulling the waistband of your panties using his lips, and letting go of it to snap against your skin. A small gasp escaped your lips at the feel of the slight burning sensation which had you aching for more; it also didn’t help how his hot breath ghosted over the most intimate part of your body.

Though, before you could open your mouth, and beg, Chrollo hooked a forefinger around the waistband, and swiftly tugged it down the length of your legs, wet cunt squeezing at nothing as the cool air embraced its heat.  

Chrollo took his time to enjoy the bare sight before him by placing open-mouthed kisses dangerously near your sopping cunt—on your inner thighs, below your belly button, and the spot just above your clit. It had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, fingers digging into the sheets beneath; what a wicked, wicked man, he hasn’t even properly touched you yet here you were, legs shaking from all the teasing.

Pride bloomed across his chest at the sight of you—the fucked out expression you donned, the heavy rise, and fall of your chest, and the dainty whimpers that filled the air.

Hooking his hands behind your knees, Chrollo gently pushed them towards your chest ‘til you were folded in half, glistening cunt deliciously exposed for him to devour.

A wanton moan slipped past your lips as Chrollo traced his tongue around the outside of your clit before laying the wet muscle flat against it. He expertly rubbed at the sensitive nub, lewd sounds mixed with your shameless moans engulfed his ears, encouraging him to further stimulate the spot.

Your hips bucked against his face, hands flying down to his hair as the electric sensation returned to your body, sending massive jolts of lightning down the curve of your spine.

“Chrollo, right there! Yes—haah!” You gasped as he switched to the tip of his tongue to lick at your clit. 

Chrollo placed his thumb, and forefinger on either side of your clit for better access before moving his tongue side-to-side, across the area beneath the clitoral hood, resulting in a broader stimulation that had you stiffening with pure pleasure.

Looking down at the sinful view between your legs, you let out a loud moan as Chrollo met your eyes through his hooded ones. Without a doubt, ecstasy slowly consumed both his body, and mind with how he subtly rocked his hips against the mattress—cock aching for any kind of contact but Chrollo had to focus more on holding your hips down while you unceremoniously thrashed around, trying to slow your impending orgasm.

As Chrollo continued his torture, it didn’t take long for you to let pleasure consume your body as a whole, and cum on his tongue.

He drank in your pleasured state—lips parted, brows furrowed, and back arched off the mattress; the orgasm that hit you was intense, as though your whole body has been electrified, and the only way to respond was by moaning his name like a sacred prayer in hopes you keep you grounded to reality.

Relishing the taste of your essence on his tongue, he closed his eyes, humming against your sensitive nub in complete satisfaction which had your legs shaking, and hands attempting to push his head away. He gave a few more gentle licks before pulling away, revealing his chin completely drenched in your filthy arousal—Chrollo paid no mind, simply bringing a hand up to his face to wipe at it.

You watched through a lustful haze as Chrollo finally worked on his shirt, each button undone growing closer, and closer to exposing the entirety of his torso.

As he shrugged the fabric off, you couldn’t help but reach out to touch his bare skin—it was pale, fascinatingly chiselled, and scarred; Chrollo’s torso was decorated with a few raised, discoloured patches here, and there indicating the rough past he had. He stared as you traced a scar with your forefinger—a ghostly touch that brought a shudder down his spine—but before you could move onto the next one, Chrollo gently grabbed your wrist, and brought it up to his face, placing a chaste kiss on the heart of your palm.

By no means was he insecure about those scars, in fact, he proudly wore them like a badge, to serve as a reminder that the rest of the world wasn’t his friend.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat or two.

The kiss from Chrollo was different—different from the one Euan had given you during the company event. Yes, the latter was full of sincerity but it didn’t bring warmth to your face like Chrollo’s one had.

Or maybe it was just because of how lost you were in pure lust, unable to decipher even the simplest feelings.

“Tonight is all about you.”

Chrollo shouldn’t be doing this, it goes against his beliefs, and goals—against the very reason why he turned into the person who he was right now.

Mingling with the wealthy, even going to an extent as to have sex with you, if his younger self saw him right now, he wouldn’t be able to believe it.

But what was it about you that had Chrollo rewriting his rules? Why was he so willing to throw away the deep rooted anger inside his heart to pleasure you?

Moreso, what did he gain from all this?—not money, not power, definitely not the justice he sought.

Nonetheless, Chrollo threw those thoughts in the moonlit window—he’d grab them again later at the crack of dawn while guilt eats him alive. Slowly, he dipped his hands below his torso, fumbling with the zipper of his slacks; Chrollo felt your heated stare on his crotch, how your short breaths quickened as he tantalisingly pulled the metal zip down, the sound echoed along with your breathing, allowing Chrollo to bask in your desperation.

You thanked the stars above as he bared himself without anymore teasing, articles of clothing that once hugged his body were now strewn across the floor of your room like unmended pieces of oneself.

Moonlight surrounded Chrollo like a serene aura, an angelic-like glow that had his skin radiating beneath the celestial gleam, turning his hair into the colour of the first starlight. It was hard to focus on his heavenly appearance when sin was right between his legs.

“Do you want me to stop?” 

No, god, no, just the thought of Chrollo completely leaving you high, and dry brought tears to your eyes. Shaking your head vigorously, he crawled atop your lust-fuelled body before placing a chaste kiss on your temple then onto your nose, trailing further down ‘til he reached the valley of your breasts. You let out a shudder as Chrollo lapped his way down, not forgetting to tease at your pebbled nipples by giving them a light nip.

“Chrollo, please . .” For once, this was different from what was usually thrown his way—most people begged for their lives as they stared down the barrel of his gun with pure horror in their eyes, lips disturbingly quivering as they pleaded during their last moments.

Wasting no time, Chrollo met your gaze once more, his face mere centimetres from yours. You gasped as his cockhead gently prodded at your entrance as he reached down between your bodies, he rubbed it a few more times, the sinful contact earning low grunts, and moans from both of you.

Chrollo connected his forehead with yours, damp obsidian hair ghosting over your warmed cheeks, holding it in a gentle caress

Letting out a shaky breath, his cock slowly pushed your folds apart as he inched in. Immediately, your legs curled around the dip of his bare waist, interlocking behind his lower back; your hasty movement jolted Chrollo forward which forced his cock further into the plush of your velvety walls.

He sighed, cursing the eye rolling pleasure sent his body into a pathetic tremble. Though, you were no better, clenching around Chrollo every time he pushed deeper—not only did it test his sanity but it also tested his patience.

He reminded himself a million times that simply fucking you like a mere cocksleeve was not his intention for tonight. Or ever. Rich or not, you were still a woman after all, one deserving of nothing but genuine pleasure.

As Chrollo bottomed out, he held your starry gaze, watching as your eyes glistened with tears—whether it was from the bliss his cock had you under or from sadness, he had no idea.

You felt so full, as though the gaping void inside you had been magically sealed—his cock sat there unmoving yet it hit all the right spots, the ones that had you trembling a little harder, and moaning a little louder.

Hot breaths mingled as the two of you let out heavy pants, he stilled inside your wet cunt, allowing both himself, and you to adjust to the feeling, “You’re so tight—fuck.” You gave your hips an experimental rut at his words which pulled a long hiss from him, brows furrowing together.

After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo slowly pulled out, the languid drag of his cock against the plush of your walls had you whining in the shape of his name. It went straight to his cock, twitching at the pornographic sound you let out—if you noticed, you didn’t let on, you were too focused on the way he moved inside you.

With only the tip remaining, Chrollo pushed his hips using the same pace; all the way until he disappeared in your folds once again, heavy balls kissing the skin of your ass.

You could feel the entirety of his length—every dip, and curve which had your legs shaking, and toes curling a little harder. Chrollo’s cock was slightly curved upward which allowed an easy reach to your sweet spot, and with every languid thrust he gave you, his cockhead kissed it repeatedly.

Hands that were pinned to the pillows were released as Chrollo brought a hand to caress your cheek while the other supported his weight. You leaned into his fiery touch, as if doing so was going to ground you from cloud nine. 

Setting a deep, slow pace, Chrollo’s face remained a breath away from yours—he kept eye contact, nothing but an endless pit of alluring onyx that pulled you further into the ocean of bliss. Every languid stroke pulled oxygen from your lungs, it had you desperately gasping for air, one which only Chrollo could quench by whispering sweet nothings mere inches from your parted lips.

Mixed with breathless sighs of pleasure was the soft creaking of the bed frame which sung in unison beneath the weight of your rocking bodies. The air grew impossibly thick, and hot allowing the sheets to stick uncomfortably to your bare back but you didn’t care, not when Chrollo fucked you into the mattress as if the sun was going to burn out tomorrow.

You pulled him closer, arms instinctively wrapping around his torso to decorate his back with crimson streaks.

The sharp sting of your nails fuelled Chrollo’s drive—he picked up the pace but remained bottoming out with every powerful thrust, causing your body to jolt in response.

You clung to him tighter, legs painfully locked behind his back as he did his best to move in, and out of your sopping cunt. You were close, and despite Chrollo taking you for the first time, he knew—he could feel your body stiffen with each passing second, the way your greedy cunt grew impossibly tighter, making it hard for him move, and not to mention your broken cries of his name so close to his ears that those were all he could hear.

“I’m so near—god, please don’t stop, Chrollo—!” You sounded so vulnerable, so bare it made his cock twitch.

Greed consuming his pleasured state, Chrollo wrapped an arm around your shoulders, deftly snaking it between the mattress, and your back. He pulled you closer, the weight of your limp torso straining against his curled limb while the other supported his own body.

Chrollo cradled your head with his palm, pushing your face closer to his ‘til the tip of his nose brushed your own. Oh, how tempted he was to kiss the very lips that cried out his name as if he were your saving grace—an angel with his hand stretched out to you.

Barely a whisper above the heavy breaths you exchanged, your name smoothly rolled off his tongue. It was the first time Chrollo did so, and god how addictive it sounded; you shuddered at it, his dulcet voice engulfing the entirety of your being right down to your very core.

“You’ve been so good, are you going to cum? To let go, for me?”

With the minute space left between the two of you, you vigorously nodded your head, too fucked to care about the desperation that seeped from your skin like sweat. Chrollo moaned at your wordless response, fingers slightly curling at the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp,

“Haah—! That’s right, give in to it.”

And you did.

With a final drive of his hips, you came undone—the pressure that’s been slowly building up finally bursting inside you.

A broken moan escaped your lips, body arching closer to his as you let your orgasm take you beyond cloud nine.

As if you weren’t already breathless from panting like a whore, Chrollo greedily pressed his lips against your quivering ones to capture them in a passionate kiss.

His lips were soft, and sensual, like it was sculpted by the goddess of love herself. He greedily drank in every moan, and whimper you had to offer, claiming them as his own prized possession to keep. Chrollo’s pace faltered at the feel of your cum coating his cock in a warm embrace—a feeling he’s been deprived off, a feeling he didn’t know he needed.

Pulling away from the kiss, he spoke, breathless, “I’m close—fuck. Where do y—” “Inside.” Chrollo swallowed thickly with your legs tightening around him. It dizzied him, the thought of you so willing to let your insides be marked by him without a second thought.

A small gasp escaped you as he gently set you down onto the mattress, his cockhead brushing your sensitive spot. With his orgasm near, Chrollo dropped his body on top of your own, torsos flush against each other as he trapped you with his weight.

With his own pleasure in mind, Chrollo gave short, hasty thrusts, desperately rutting his hips to chase the growing bliss. The only option for you was to lay there, and moan his name from overstimulation; with his weight on yours, you couldn’t squirm your way out of the immense pleasure.

“I’m here—ngh! ‘M close.” Chrollo whispered into your ear, a hint of apology laced his tone, most likely from how overstimulated you were.

After a few more desperate thrusts, he stilled, sheathing his cock all the way inside your cunt, you felt him twitch before releasing his load with a low moan. 

Feeling his hot cum paint your walls white, you mirrored the sound he made. Loud, wet squelches filled the room as Chrollo rode out his high, effectively fucking his cum deeper.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, letting your bodies bathe in serene moonlight. You laid beneath him, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat pound away against his ribcage, it effectively lulled you to the borders of sleep, your heavy eyelids slowly closing in exhaustion.

Though, before you could fully close them, Chrollo rolled off your body with a soft grunt, his cock slipping out in the process. The loss of contact had you clenching around nothing at the feel of his cum slowly seeping out of your cunt. Before you could speak up, Chrollo beat you to it,

“I should go.” He cleared his throat, voice low, a hint of sadness laced in his tone. Though, you didn’t catch on. Chrollo quietly gathered his clothes, putting them on layer by layer until he was fully clothed. An indiscernible emotion washed over you as he made his way to the door, each quiet step taken tugging at an invisible string tangled in your heart. Oddly enough, it stung.

“Yeah . .” You nodded in a daze.

The lack of response from your end tore at Chrollo’s insides—it made sense, after all, he was nothing but a quick fuck, what did he expect? For you to convince him to stay the night? That was beyond delusional.

As Chrollo reached for the handle, you called his name out of instinct. His heart skipped a beat. “Yes, miss . . ?” He spoke your title in a small voice, unsure which name was appropriate in this situation.

“Thank you.”

That was all you could muster. What else was there anyway? Chrollo wasn’t a person you were supposed to be sleeping with in the first place, nor was he your lover who you could be intimate with after sex.

He was nothing but a bodyguard, and will remain your bodyguard. Whatever happened in this room was to be forgotten.

The sound of the door clicking reached your ears, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. His scent lingered in the air, becoming one with the sweet aroma of chrysanthemums.

Within the next coming days, you were right, and wrong. Right because in the face of others, the professional relationship between you, and Chrollo remained—a bodyguard, and his principal.

Wrong because stupidly enough, the both of you had not forgotten what happened a couple of nights back. The days were filled with stolen glances, and stuttering heartbeats, you couldn’t stand by idly while your heart yearned for your bodyguard.

At first, you convinced yourself that this feeling was purely lust-driven, it was only natural to seek out Chrollo’s presence after a night with him.

You believed it for a week.

One whole week until you felt your heart clenching at the sight of your bodyguard exchanging a conversation with one of the maids. Chrollo was all smiles, the kind that reached his eyes; the maid wasn’t any better, an obvious blush extending from her cheeks to her ears said it all.

He never smiled at you like that.

Why was he treating you—his boss—any different? Chrollo was always nonchalant with you, barely any words spoken yet here he was animatedly cracking jokes left, and right like he had some kind of alter ego. It pissed you off.

More so, being angry at the fact that Chrollo treated you differently upset you even more. At best, this was a trivial matter, something you shouldn’t even think about. 

But you couldn’t let go of it, not when he gazed at you the same way he had done so that night.

Within the next week, you’d realise that merely having Chrollo by your side wasn’t enough.

On Monday, you did your best to converse with him while buying chrysanthemums at the boutique, even going as far as giving him a flower from your bouquet, hoping that he’d think of you whenever he looked at it.

On Wednesday, instead of asking your personal assistant to grab your lunch, you took Chrollo instead, and headed out the office which gave you more alone time with him. 

And by Friday, you couldn’t take it anymore. You called Chrollo into your bedroom late at night after finding the courage to do so. Naturally, he stood inside as if he didn’t have you filling the room with your own moans two weeks ago.

The familiar sweet scent of chrysanthemums filled his lungs, taking him back to the pleasure-filled night with you. Chrollo pushed the thought down, deeming it extremely inappropriate, especially being alone with you like this, again.

He swallowed as you pat the empty spot next to you, your vulnerable state beckoning him to devour you. Who was he to deny himself of acting on his predatory instincts? 

“This is . . rather unprofessional, miss.”

That was the last thing he said before he found himself sitting on the edge of your bed, kissing you like he loved you. Did he? Large hands cupped your jaw, eagerly pulling you closer to his face. Even though Chrollo didn’t bare his heart, the zeal behind his kisses revealed the truth hidden in his chest.

Both lips fell into a unison, slotting into each other like they were made for one another. Before getting carried away, Chrollo pulled back, brows lifting in amusement as he watched the way your face leaned in, searching for his lips.

“What—What about Mr. Euan?” He asked, breathless, onyx strands dishevelled, courtesy of your wandering hands. 

You both knew you didn’t have feelings for Euan but saying it aloud wasn’t going to change the fact that a ring sat on your finger, it was far more complicated than that.

Lowering your gaze, you shrugged. Guilt picked at your skin, the thought of disrespecting Euan had you freezing in place. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be prying.” Chrollo whispered, hot breath fanning across your face. He tucked a strand behind your ear before sliding his digit down to your chin, lifting your face.

“Kiss me?”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

What the two of you had wasn’t exactly a relationship—beyond a professional relationship but less than a romantic one. But Chrollo cared for you all the same, even if it meant watching in the sidelines as Euan made his polite advances—kiss on your cheek, a hand on the small of your back, his fingers tucking stray hairs aside, Chrollo endured it all. Whether or not it affected him, he didn’t let on.

Instead, he returned affection tenfold in comparison to what Euan gave you. Your room had turned into a rendezvous—every night, behind its closed doors, Chrollo took you in his arms, and whisked you away from reality, from all the inhibitions you felt. And amidst all the meaningful conversations, the shared pleasure, the tears shed, a bond deeper than one could comprehend blossomed within these walls.

Chrollo became a rock you could lean on—a significant person you could be vulnerable with, and bare your heart on the table, unguarded. He listened to your problems, and silly thoughts with open arms, and ears, stroking your hair beneath the moonlight as the two of you lay underneath the ivory sheets.

With you, he was a completely different person, a person who he deserved to become. One that could relate to the little joys in life—whether it be chasing sunsets, dipping salty fries in vanilla ice cream or looking up at the night sky without any remorse in one's heart.

With you, Chrollo had a fleeting glimpse of the life he was robbed of because all he knew was how to survive for another day—how to kill swiftly, and effectively.

And he’d be reminded of all these when returned to his own quarters in the dead of the night. That the sole purpose of his arrangement in this estate was to take you out—not to nurture a bond with you, not to have sex with you, not to listen to all your thoughts, no. Chrollo was here as your assassin.

To hold you so gently in his hands knowing they would be the same ones covered in your blood. It was almost laughable, it surprised Chrollo how he—a person conditioned to destroy—was able to touch you with the utmost gentleness as if he’s never once tasted violence on his tongue.

Clearly, you both felt something for one another but acting on it was easier said than done—not to mention how this mission wasn’t supposed to end up like this, all tangled up in a web known as you. 

Did Chrollo love you? Truth be told, he didn’t know. He never had the privilege of experiencing what romantic love was. Wanting to be by your side was the only thing he was certain of.

Lying in bed, Chrollo looked over at his nightstand, it housed a singular piece of chrysanthemum soaked in a glass of water—one that you had given him earlier this week. Now, his room smelled just like yours, the flower’s sweet aroma lingering in the air.

It helped Chrollo sleep a little better; smelling its familiar scent tricked his mind into thinking he slept in your presence.

A little over a week.

That was how much time Chrollo had left to get the job done assigned by Ciaran. It wasn’t long, and he knew he had to make the decision soon but not before taking a gamble.

As Saturday arrived, you stuck to your routine as usual, the only difference was, the late night was spent driving around with Chrollo.

The atmosphere inside the vehicle grew thicker by the minute, he could tell something weighed your mind from the way you pursed your lips, and fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. But of course, the ever polite man he was, he waited ‘til you opened up to him—Chrollo knew you like the back of his hand, whenever things bothered you to an extent, it didn’t take long for you to break.

“Can I tell you something?” You murmured above the hum of the engine. Staring to the side, you watched as Chrollo wordlessly nodded his head, stealing a brief glance your way before focusing on the wheel. He took notice of how you sat on the front passenger seat instead of your usual spot.

Looking out the window, you spoke up, “I . . don’t know how to deal with all this.” Chrollo remained silent, urging you to continue. “I’m going to be married to a man I don’t love, and I’ll be running a company I don’t want. And us. I want you, Chrollo, I really do but I . .”

Chrollo’s grip tightened around the wheel.

“Why don’t we just run away, and leave all this behind? We can build a new life together and—” 

“Is that what you want? To run away with me?” Chrollo cut you off. Coming to a full stop at the red lights, he turned to you, the seriousness in his expression made you somewhat nervous.

Would it be foolish of him to comfort you with words he partially meant?—words that would only hurt you in the end?

“I can give you that.”

At this point, Chrollo was lying to himself. To be so brazen, and accept running away with you knowing well enough his neck was chained to the underground—loyal to his roots.

Weighing the options, it was crystal clear that the odds were against the both of you. Of course, you didn’t know that, you had absolutely no idea Chrollo had underground ties nor was he assigned to kill you by none other than Ciaran.

Considering the latter’s involvement in underground business, you wouldn’t be the only one with a target on their back; it only made sense for Ciaran to put a hit on Chrollo as well for disobeying his orders if he were to consider running away. It would elicit a whole lot of enemies, and he couldn’t put you in a situation where he was willing to risk you dying in someone else’s hands. 

Living a life hiding from dangers of the world—that’s what you would have to go through if you, and Chrollo were to run away. Did you really deserve to live that way? Did you deserve to live in the conditions Chrollo tried to run away from?

The answer was more than obvious.

Obviously, a life with Euan benefitted you more—you’d have more stability, and security. Who was he to take away all those things from you?

Having never tasted something as sweet as this feeling with you, Chrollo found himself holding tighter rather than letting go, he fed on greed, and delusion. 

Truth be told, it tore him apart. A part of him cursed, and yelled at him for being so naïve, and easily moved by a woman he had only known for a month and a half—not to mention how he despised your kind.

The other part urged him to reach for the unthinkable, and build a new life he deserved, with you. Chrollo was ready to lay his weapon down if it meant being by your side ‘til the end of time.

Maybe in another life.

He knew he had to make a decision. Soon. Ciaran had been making calls to his burner more often than not, and he could sense the former’s patience growing thinner, and thinner as each day turned into night.

Whatever Chrollo’s decision was, he just hoped you’d still love him all the same—forgive him.

There was one crucial piece of information Chrollo had remembered. On Sundays, you dismissed all security staff that accompanied you, including the chauffeur, Lukas. This meant that for one day, you were completely unguarded, and alone.

Chrollo was unaware of the reason but it was obvious you wanted to experience a sense of independence one way or another.

Nonetheless, he managed to keep an eye on you by using an ample amount of distance—it was a piece of cake, after all, he tracked his targets in stealth mode for a living; akin to a predator sizing up its prey before sinking its canines.

Sundays weren’t particularly eventful, you spent the day alone running around swiping your credit card left, and right until it made you feel a tad better. So when Chrollo had ‘accidentally’ bumped into you at the parking lot, hidden from public cameras, he was aware of how effortless it was to whisk you away from the public.

“Chrollo? What brings you here?”

The bodyguard was dressed in his usual attire, a white button down neatly tucked beneath his black slacks, and this time, he didn’t wear a blazer.

“I figured you’d be here, miss. Something came up at the estate—you’re needed back home.” A lie.

Chrollo observed as the sparkle in your eyes drained at his words, genuine concern rolling in like grey clouds looming above on a stormy night. His heart clenched. Not in a good way. “Don’t worry, no one is hurt.” With his reassurance, your shoulders dropped with ease, the breath you’ve been holding slipped past your lips in a relieved sigh.

It pained the assassin how trusting you were, how easily one could play you into the palm of their hand the same way he did right now. Why?—why didn’t you question how effortlessly Chrollo pinpointed your exact location? The city was expansive, no normal person would be able to trace your steps unless they followed right from when you left the estate.

The vehicle was quiet, leaving room for Chrollo to notice the faint scent of chrysanthemums inside—it was your personal car, not the one Lukas used to drive you around hence the flowery aroma.

For some odd reason, the smell no longer comforted him the same way it did whenever he frequented your room. It made him nauseous. If Chrollo was to put it in words, the aroma smelled of sweet death, and it reminded him of the church back in Meteor City.

Consumed by concern, and lost in your own thoughts, you paid no attention to your surroundings outside, how it grew less, and less familiar with each kilometre driven by your bodyguard. You also didn’t notice Chrollo repeatedly stealing glances through the rearview mirror every now, and then, missing the way his steely gaze housed a hint of nervousness—an emotion he didn’t normally harbour.

Though, as you finally came to, you gazed out the window, eyes carefully scanning the fleeting hues outside as the car drove by. Soft colours of pinks, and oranges seeped through the glass which casted an ethereal glow inside, it hinted at the setting sun, and the darkness that loomed just around the corner. As your brain registered the foreign roads, confusion settled in, 

“Are we taking a detour, Chrollo?”

He wordlessly nodded. You mirrored his action in acknowledgement but the feeling of unease was oddly difficult to dismiss, especially with how deserted these roads were. The streets were decorated with construction sites, abandoned buildings, and old houses that were decorated with wooden planks to seal off windows, and entrances.

A weird feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You caught the way Chrollo’s stone cold gaze locked with yours for a split second but didn’t dare speak up.

Just as your heart started to race, the vehicle came to a halt, Chrollo had parked in front of an abandoned building—an old church, based on its architecture. Its unmistakable pointed roof aiming at the skies above, and stained glass windows marked with angels, and other holy beings said it all.

The building was surrounded by overgrown greenery, and wrecked furniture dumped on the side which hinted at years of apparent neglect. Its dressed stone walls were the epitome of sacrilege itself, littered with colourful vandalism from top to bottom; even just seeing it with your own eyes felt like a grave sin. A forbidden image.

“What—” “Get out.” Chrollo cut you off. For a tone so cold you could’ve swore a subtle shudder ran down the length of your spine. His stare met your own through the mirror for a second time and your heart sank all the way down to your stomach at how serious he was, dread slowly engulfing your body. What the hell was happening!? Why was Chrollo acting strangely?

“No.”

Chrollo turned to face you, still wearing that stoic expression. You felt small under his gaze, it almost felt predatory—no—not almost, it did; you didn’t want to admit but you caught a glimpse of the way his eyes sparkled with sharp, murderous intent.

Swallowing thickly, you crossed your arms, trying to appear nonchalant, albeit, it was more for yourself than for the man before you.

“Not until I get an answer. You mentioned something had come up at the estate, so why aren’t we—” “I lied.”

Before you could question his motives, Chrollo swiftly got out, the resounding thud as he shut the door closed had your body flinching a bit. You watched as he rounded the car, and made his way just before your door.

Opening it, a hand reached in for your wrist; gentle fingers curled around your skin as if you were a delicate flower—a daring contrast from the way his piercing gaze stabbed shards of unease throughout your body.

You pulled away, easily slipping off Chrollo’s placid grasp before helping yourself out of the vehicle. His hand curled into a loose fist as he watched you exit the car with an evident scowl on your face; funnily enough, Chrollo had the audacity to feel upset at the rejection. Never once have you denied his touch.

Crossing the narrow clearing that led to the unsealed church entrance, chunks of loose stone, and dirt moved beneath your steps; you stared at your feet as they navigated through the unstable terrain.

It was odd. Calm, and composed were the last two things you should be feeling in this situation, given the sudden shift in Chrollo’s demeanour, you were supposed to be fearing for your life right this instance despite your blindness to the hidden danger that lay ahead.

Chrollo . . He would never do that to you, right? Upon taking the job, he swore to protect you. But your better judgement screamed at all the glaring crimson coloured flags—an abandoned church in a deserted neighbourhood? It was the perfect set up for heinous crimes.

Out of instinct, you scanned the layout of the building from where you stood, if it came down to it, there was only one viable escape route which was through the main entrance of the church, the one Chrollo pulled open.

By now, the sun had fully disappeared below the horizon, and the colourful remnants the burning star left in its wake slowly faded into deep hues of night azure. Strangely, this end of the town harboured harsher winds with a freezing bite that had you rubbing your arms over the sleeves of your top.

A heavy groan sounded from the mahogany doors, it cut through the wind’s endless howl as it danced with the leaves, and through the sharp branches, interlocking trees in a soft sway.

A chill ran down your spine at the loudness of it. The doors parted revealing a view you’d expect in an old abandoned church—disorganised pews to create a spacing in the middle, antique chandeliers affixed to the high ceiling covered in thick layers of dust and cobwebs, and trash scattered across its marbled floors; by the state of the inside, squatters most likely frequented the building due to its unsealed entrance.

The inside was dimly lit from street lights outside, it poured through the stained glass windows which allowed a deep scarlet glow to illuminate the building. Chrollo stepped inside, the soles of his obsidian dress shoes quietly clicked with every calculated step further into the church.

Foolishly enough, you followed as though a crimson string bound yourself to his—he was acting strangely, and the most appropriate approach as of now was to question his behaviour, and the bizarreness of the situation. Walking away would only prove useless with how far he has driven, and he had your car keys; at best, you could only cooperate.

“Chrollo, will you please tell me what’s going on?” You navigated inside the old building, the scent of mildew, and rotten wood lingered in the damp air, it captured your senses in a tight hold.

Ruby bounced off Chrollo’s inky strands as he stood at the heart of the church, right beneath the stained windows with divine beings. It turned his pale skin into an angry red, and you wondered if that’s what he felt right this very moment, clearly you weren’t far off with how he pierced your soul earlier.

He turned to face you, “I’m doing this for your sake.” For the first time today, emotion seeped through the cracks of his nonchalance. 

Chrollo looked almost sad, you weren’t entirely sure given the lack of lighting but the unmistakable glint behind those obsidian eyes was anything but foreign. For a split second, it was the same Chrollo that spent countless nights in your bedroom; not as your bodyguard, not as anyone else but simply as Chrollo—your Chrollo.

“For my sake? What the hell are you talking about, Chrollo?” Like the vermillion glow that bounced off your skin as you stepped closer, anger slowly bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Chrollo was nothing but cryptic with his responses, and you couldn’t wrap your head around any of them! He had always been a straightforward person, sometimes blunt, so why was he holding back now?

Standing beneath the scarlet light softly illuminated your features, Chrollo thought you looked exquisite bathed in the brilliance of red. Even with a tinge of doubt, and anger in your eyes, you were filled with love the same way the colour kissed every part of your skin.

“An escape from all this . . That’s what you want, right?” With his right hand, Chrollo reached inside his pocket, it took you a few seconds to identify the item in his hand—a gun.

With the way it’s unmistakable silver glistened beneath the dim lighting, you could tell it was a weapon of his own; not the ones registered under your father’s name. You stiffened, and your body ran cold, gaze met with the barrel of his gun.

“Chrollo?” Barely a whisper, you called out his name above the thick atmosphere, each second spent inside it had you desperately gasping for air; whether it be from nervousness or confusion, you didn’t care to find out.

He swallowed thickly, fingers curling tighter around the handle of his gun, trying to ignore the way your desperate plea violently struck a chord in his heart.

“Chrollo please put the gun down! You’re out of your mind!” Panic surged from head to toe, it came in vicious waves, scratching, and gnawing at your bare skin like a vehement beast. Chrollo tried to ignore the apparent tremble in your voice, he couldn’t afford to mess this up.

“Yes, I want to escape—with you. Why are you doing this to me, Chrollo? Why do you want me dead?!”

The third time his name rolled off your tongue, he was ready to throw the gun across the room, and cradle you in his arms while whispering apologetic nothings in your ear.

But he didn’t.

Chrollo stayed rooted in his spot, gun aimed at you, “Remember Ciaran Driscoll?—” You furrowed your brows. Ciaran? “He paid me to kill you.” A shaky breath, that was all you could muster, your mind was too busy trying to piece everything together.

Ciaran. Chrollo. Kill. Your blood ran cold.

But Chrollo didn’t give you time to breathe, steady clicks of his shoes echoed throughout the church as he paced back, and forth, “I was elated when I agreed to his proposal. Why? Because a pompous soul dying by my hands is what I’m made for—” He was calm, and collected, a faint smile displayed on his face as he slowly walked towards you. “Did you know what your people did? To my home? To my friend?” Stopping just before you, Chrollo leaned in, obsidian gaze piercing right through you.

“A lot of you treated Meteor City like some kind of hunting ground at your disposal. As if—as if its inhabitants were nothing but mere animals. For what? The sake of illegal dealings? For more money? Power?”

Chrollo caressed the side of your face with the back of his left hand—the other remained motionless by his side—his ghostly touch trembled against your skin, afraid that if he pressed down any further, you’d crack.

The situation baffled you. Not only was Chrollo blaming you for the atrocities caused by other people, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he was in cahoots with Ciaran Driscoll to orchestrate your demise.

Is that why Chrollo applied to become your bodyguard? To get close before finally killing you off? You felt another wave of dread wash over you. Everything felt numb, your limbs, your torso, your heart.

Shaking your head, you finally broke the silence with a trembling voice, tears threatening to spill out,  “I’m not involved in any of those, Chrollo. Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He did. God. He fucking did and he felt absolutely foolish for blaming you. After you had bared your soul to him every night, Chrollo stopped seeing you in the same light as he did before. Yes, his deep-rooted disdain never left but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of loving you; it was a battle between desire and duty, and he already knew the victor.

The determination in your eyes, you were set on running away from the current life you had, and as tempting as that was, he didn’t have the courage to lead you into a new life full of nothing but danger.

Chrollo would rather have you dying by his own bloodied hands—for him to live each day filled with regret—than have someone else basking in the glory of killing you. At least that way, he’d be tainted by you.

“You’re all the same. Ciaran’s father is proof enough! You said it yourself that he was involved in illegal business—”

“So those nights we spent together . . were they just all part of the act? You never cared for me.” Chrollo barely caught the last part of your sentence as you muttered it under your breath; he watched as your gaze lowered, a wave of sadness engulfing you for a split second before finding his eyes once again. This time, you wore a glare.

You straightened up, “Tell me, Chrollo. Was it all just an act? A show you put on just to get close to me?” Questions lingered in the air the same way dust did, it sat heavy on Chrollo’s shoulders but he remained stubborn—silent. Would his answer change the circumstances? No.

After all, nothing good came out of trivial matters. At his stillness, you grabbed his right hand, trembling fingers curling around the shaft of his wrist as you brought it up to your face, pressing the barrel of his gun to your forehead. It felt icy against your feverish skin, like the kiss of a grim reaper.

Ever so slightly, Chrollo’s brows rose in shock, breath hitching at your brazenness. “Did you ever love me?” A broken whisper spoken into the crimson-lit night, so dainty, so weak yet it pierced his heart without a second thought. It left a gaping hole, as ugly as sin, and no amount of repentance could heal.

Love. How would one define love? Was it the act of sacrificing someone dear to oneself? Chrollo didn’t know. But more importantly, how did you define love?

“Did you?”

Digging deeper into the subject would only lead to the grave of his heart but Chrollo couldn’t care less, it was already six feet under since the day he sought revenge for his friend.

With a heavy sigh, your eyes finally softened, “Of course. I still do.” You felt his hand twitch in your hold, as if he briefly tried to pull the gun away.

Glimmering like the first starlight were tears staining your cheeks, one by one they fell down as a surge of emotions drowned your body; your brows were furrowed yet your eyes looked at Chrollo like he held the cosmos in his hands.

Is this what was meant when they said love and anger were painted in the same shade of red?

In his line of work, Chrollo has never seen anything as haunting as your gaze. It was natural for his targets to look up at him in complete horror, tears welled up in their eyes as they begged him to spare their lives but you—your eyes were full of nothing but love, and adoration despite his gun pointed at you. That look alone was enough to torment his coming days.

“Do you, Chrollo? Do you love me?” His chest tightened at the hopeful glint in your eye. Nothing good ever came out of trivial matters because at the end of the day, Chrollo was nothing but a man chained to his sinful revenge—blindly devoted to the hatred planted in his heart, and it came with a great price.

A sudden wave of red washed over his body, resulting in an ear splitting bang that resounded within the church’s bricked walls. Chrollo flinched at the sound—he’s never done that before—followed by a heavy thud against the marbled floors. It took the assassin one, two, three seconds to register the situation, the violent sensation of the gun’s recoil still fresh on his trembling hand.

The faint scent of iron hung in the air.

Chrollo looked down at the grisly sight before him, gun in his hand weighing heavy before it finally slipped from his absent grip. The weapon fell beside his right foot.

For the first time, Chrollo Lucilfer—the bringer of death—weeped, and mourned the demise of his target. He wailed into the darkness as warm crimson slowly pooled around your head, it resembled a faux halo, a tainted fallen angel.

Broken sobs, and ugly cries filled the damp building—this was the first in a long time that he had heard the sounds of his own grief. Guilt, and sorrow consumed Chrollo the same way the shadows of the night did but no amount of tears would bring you back to life, no amount of whispered I love you’s would reciprocate his words, no amount of cracks in his heart would turn back time.

You were dead, and it was all because of the man you loved so blindly. ‘Til your dying breath, you were shielded from the secrets of his true identity, and feelings, ones he swore he would take to the very grave he dug.

Chrollo fell to his knees, his fingers dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood. The vile pungence of your blood suffocated his senses, despite something so familiar to him, Chrollo heaved and curled over himself, quivering like an autumn leaf in the wind—he looked pathetic; hot tears and snot covered his reddened face as he cried out into darkness.

Every bit of air left his lungs and each breath felt like a chase he couldn’t win. Truth be told, he didn’t have the courage to reach out to your body, no, he didn’t feel like he deserved to do so.

To taint you more than he already had. So, Chrollo didn’t, instead, he weeped until the moon decorated the obsidian skies, until his tears tried, until your body ran cold, and every bit of colour you wore was gone. 

And when the assassin finally pieced himself together, he did three things.

One, let Ciaran Driscoll know that the job had been done using a burner phone.

Two, with the same device, Chrollo called the police, brazenly letting them know he murdered someone, and the exact location of the crime scene.

Three, he covered your car in flames, and fed the burner phone into it; he watched as bright hues of oranges and yellows devoured the vehicle before doing what he did best: disappearing into the night, and becoming one with the shadows to never be found again.

The night before, he had quietly handed in his resignation to Lukas who gave him an appreciative pat on the back, the old timer parted with words that Chrollo knew would remain ingrained in his mind, ‘I’m quite sure the young miss appreciated your service. Thank you for taking care of her.’ 

His heart shouldn’t have clenched at that but it did, and painfully so.

The coming days blended into nights with Chrollo sitting inside his hideout—a dingy, rundown motel with paper thin walls that housed interesting individuals. Completely unaware of the time, his only company was the ticking ivory wall clock above the cramped dining space.

The hefty payment from Ciaran lay untouched on the bed, concealed within a briefcase. He didn’t eat nor drink, not even having the energy to step outside for occasional sunlight, and every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the look you gave him during your final moments, he remembered the metallic tang in the air.

The old chunky television situated atop a rusty console table was what kept Chrollo’s sanity intact.

Day to night, it blasted morning, afternoon, and evening news—to the point of fellow motel goers knocking at his door to complain about the noise—just to keep up with information about you. As much as Chrollo yearned to bask in the memory of you, seeing your face plastered on television followed by a variety of words such as ‘rest in peace’, ‘murdered’, ‘assassinated’, and ‘dead’ didn’t help his mind at all.

At least what kept him entertained were the updates on potential suspects that may be tied to the crime scene; the murder weapon was an unregistered gun loaded with an unregistered bullet, and the footprints left at the scene had no unique tread.

So at best, there were no concrete leads in the case.

Not that it mattered to Chrollo.

Atop the cheap wooden table on which he sat were two things, the murder weapon and a singular stem of a white chrysanthemum. The one you had given him from your bouquet. Chrollo let the flower sit there for days on end until its ivory petals shrivelled into a brown hue—its sweet aroma turning pungent.

Until it withered. 

Until the scent of death choked him the same way his cries did that night—a mockery of what was lost, of what he willingly destroyed.

One month. It took Chrollo a month to finally step into the day, and out of the drab motel room. Brightness engulfed his vision, the sun’s afternoon rays shone as brightly as ever, enveloping him in a warm, gentle hug as if to welcome him back to reality.

He was certain he didn’t deserve kindness from this world, not even the permission to step foot in the very earth that held your body dearly in its grasp as though you were its prized possession.

Oddly enough, Chrollo found himself standing before a familiar flower boutique. With his gaze locked onto the floor-to-ceiling windows, he looked around the inside, as if doing so was going to have you magically pop out of nowhere, and buy a dozen of white chrysanthemums like before.

But you didn’t.

Pulled from his thoughts, a recognizable voice filled his ears, it was the owner, “Are you here to buy flowers for a lover, perhaps? I can recommend a few—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, realising the familiar face that stood before her. Chrollo watched as her face morphed into a sad smile, the cheery glint in her eyes disappearing beneath the thickness of her lashes,

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re her bodyguard, right?” He inhaled a sharp breath at the mention of you, heart violently thumping against the confines of his chest. Chrollo could only nod, anything more than that would have him breaking.

The old lady reached out her plump hand, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I’m so sorry for your loss. She was lovely—”

Don’t say that. Don’t say it to me like I’m not the cause of her death. Don’t say it to me like I should be mourning for someone who died by my hands.

Chrollo gritted his teeth, jaw clenching at the sympathy thrown his way. He felt sick and disgusted with himself—as if he were a vile being trapped beneath human skin. All of a sudden the sun rays that gently enveloped his body didn’t feel like a warm hug anymore, sharp, hot prickles spread throughout his clothed skin, leaving a painful itch.

“—and the only customer who bought chrysanthemums frequently. Others usually bought the flowers once or twice for funerals and death anniversaries; she was the only one who truly saw chrysanthemums in a different light.”

A symbol of devoted love and loyalty, that’s how you saw them.

How ironic that the flowers you once adored would be laid upon your grave, holding a completely different message; mourning and grief. That didn’t sit well with Chrollo, you loved white chrysanthemums but not for that reason.

“Apologies, I ramble too much.” The owner let out a polite chuckle before continuing. “Well, can I at least interest you in some flowers? What would it be for you?”

“Can I get a dozen of those?” Chrollo pointed at the lively bunch soaked in water, situated just beside the boutique’s entrance. Following his finger, she looked behind her and smiled, “Right away.”

Its petals resembled rays of the first sunshine, the golden hue it wore promised eternal warmth even after death.

As day turned into night with the crescent moon high above the obsidian skies, Chrollo made his way to your perpetual resting place—it didn’t take much effort to do some digging around to find out where your body had been buried.

The chilly wind howled as it danced with the dark, trees and leaves swaying to accompany it with a silent song. He walked down the moonlit path of the cemetery, land that outstretched before him was decorated with tombstones, and in his left hand was the bouquet he bought earlier.

Moonlight shone over your grave as if the moon herself knew the secrets shared between you and Chrollo on cloudless nights. Bouquets of white chrysanthemums decorated the space around your grave, candles that were once lit rested atop the marbled tombstone that housed your full name.

Oddly enough, this felt like déjà vu. Maybe it was due to the fact that you and Chrollo rendezvoused in your room the same way he visited your grave—under a lonely moonlit night where soft whispers, and beating hearts were heard.

Bending down, Chrollo lightly caressed your carved name, cleaning out stray pieces of grass and dirt blown by the wind. He gently placed the bouquet amongst the sea of white, its colourful hue greedily taking all the limelight from the sombre flowers,

“I know these aren’t your favourite but I figured you’d like them too . .” He paused for a moment, foolishly waiting for you to reply.

“. . Yellow chrysanthemums just like the white ones but—” Who was he kidding? Chrollo felt stupid. Talking to your grave as if you were alive—as if he wasn’t the one who brought you to your demise.

The audacity he had.

Truth be told, every fibre inside his body screamed at him to turn back, and never show his disgusting self but Chrollo was as greedy as the darkness that drank the moonlight each night.

He envied the ground like sin, how held you in its arms, cradling your rotting body in its eternal embrace. It should be him. Now, he’d have to remember you longer than he had known you.

Instead, Chrollo was six feet above��alive; tied to, and haunted by the shackles of foolish regret. The memory of that night replayed in his mind over and over again like a cursed broken record, the disgusting thump as your lifeless body hit the floor, blood pooling around your head.

Most nights he’d find himself calling your name in his sleep—he always dreamt of the same dream: you, running away from him in a field of flowers, no matter how hard he worked his legs, he never seemed to reach your body. 

Chrollo sat before your grave and sobbed, letting creatures of the night feel his vulnerability; as the wind howled, the breeze carried the sounds of his cries to the trees, where it promised him to keep it a secret—a story only reserved for the dead.

Hot tears rolled down his frost-bitten cheeks, pooling on the tip of his chin before it fell on the damp grass beneath.

In antique texts, yellow chrysanthemums represented one’s heart left to desolation. Neglected love. It was only befitting for he has killed the very person who grew to love his blood-stained soul because in the end, he was nothing but a man only adept at destroying.

He let out shaky exhale, and whispered into the night the answer you sought, 

“I love you.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

[honeqq]

So about the 9th route can you tell him about the info of Ford's reincarnation . Like his name , traits and what's his new nickname like "Sixer" or something ?

Okay

Name : Clifford Yale (Mc)Griffith (edit : this is based by most liked suggestions and what I like the most Combine )

Age : 27

Profession : 'A human Artist'

Personality : Actually a very cheerful guy , sassy , cunning and but very insecure about himself

He's a Artist who fighting in a ERA that all kind of art are created by AI , music , performer , writer everything is made out of Robot! Even claim yourself as a self artist will get you mocked and sue ! He are this dissapointment of the family cuz pursuing art rather be a scientist or something cuz art? That robot's Jobs!! When his age reach 25 he keep on getting new memory that he sure are not his , he keep on getting this glimpse of journal hiding in the forest. That he finally Tryin to find after 2 years pass.. and found Journal 4th in now so called out park. He Intrigued with content of the book , another human drawing that he rarely seen in real life ! It's a diamond artifacts! He keep on reading about this "Muse" who inspired the Author who wrote this book and decided to summon him . Maybe that Muse can inspire him to created a masterpiece that a robot can't created , something that they never see and possible change rules about Human can't created art anymore and have the right for their own. And also hoping this muse can help him out of the Artblock and prove his parents they're wrong

He actually a straight A student throughout his school years but Alway been passionate with art . Maybe he's not A super mega smart he just think he need to be smart to please his parents. He have a older brother who the success businessman and the golden child, his brother believing in his dreams and fund him with all his need. So he technical jobless who spent his brother wealth so easily (I mean he grew up in a wealthy family so it's effect him )

Bill Actually ended call him sevener or Twelve because he doesn't want to associate him with sixer

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Fix it yourself

James Potter x Bsf!Slytherin!Reader - Sirius Black x BrothersBsf!Slytherin!Reader (endgame)

Best Friend by Rex Orange County

Masterlist

Wc- 12011

Summary: Falling in love with James Potter was a whirlwind affair full of lies and heartbreak. Everything comes to a head when he asks you to fake date someone so Lily will give him a chance.

Cw; Cussing, Manipulation, James is such an arse (I love him don't come for me), self indulgent, themes of abuse and abandonment, sexual content and scenes, Jealous James being rude, Protective Sirius, Substance use, Reader had her things destroyed, dad gets sick, nudity, {let me know if I forgot anything!}

Taglist- @otterlockholmes

A/N: Shout out to @our-sweet-t-universe, this would not of been a smidge of happy in this fic if it wasn't for you. Next post will be part two to zombies and then two requests!

An endless cycle of churning.

That was what your dad called it. You and James’s push and pull of affections to hatred.

When you were younger, you could never imagine a life without James Fleamont Potter. He was your favorite person since you could remember names. Your father was an apothecary, business partners turned close friends with Fleamont Potter, or as you called him since you could speak, “Uncle Flea.”

Your father traveled for his work, always researching better ingredients and replacements, selling his remade patents of popular potions back to the creators in exchange to sell their potions and the ingredients. Your father was a clever businessman, a proud Slytherin in his school years. Fleamont would joke, every Potter had their Slytherin. Let that be romantic, as his mother and father, or platonic like him and your father.

James was still ever the dramatic, determined to believe he would never need his Slytherin, he didn't want a Slytherin. He had you, that was all he needed.

Oblivious and fiesty you would agree with anything he said to keep the ever confident boy talking. His voice was your favorite part of James Potter, which worked wonders with your ever quiet disposition.

“I don't need a Slytherin! I have {Y/n}!” James would fuss when the teasing began. “She's cooler then any green robe!”

“Yeah! I'm cooler than any green robe!” You would snap out of whatever day dream you were having as you played with your fathers miniature carvings he would make you in his travels. He always brought you one back, with a moving photo of him in some fantastical place posing with them.

Your father would smile knowingly at Fleamont, as Euphemia called you into the kitchen to help set the table, as was a part of your nightly routine. James pouted after you as he was left alone with the dads.

While your father traveled more, you spent more time with the Potters. Back then, you were always so sad about it, watching the window and waiting longingly for your father to return.

Around your older years, seven to eight, you finally learned to appreciate what they did for you. It's not that you ever showed you were ungrateful, your father had just always been your favorite person. Being away from him felt so much longer than it was.

You spent most of your time running around the large property and making it your own with James. You would carve path marks into trees and divide your territory. You would wage war and swim in the creek.

One summer, Fleamont even helped you build a treehouse. A treehouse you guys never used after that after that, outside of a hiding place for things you most certainly shouldn't have. That, and the ever growing collection of your father’s wood carvings, all on top of a silver padlock box with your father’s photos.

“These are for you and James to play with.”

He always made sure you knew that. Even if James was never particularly fond of them, he loved the stories your father returned with about them. So fond, in fact, that he kept a particular carving of a dragon when your dad told you both about the time he was attacked by one. Painted it and all, the only figurine not in the treehouse, Grandos.

The first time James exited your life was your ninth birthday. You were at the Potters again over the summer, when your aunt suddenly came to pick you up in the middle of a cold rainy night. Suddenly you were awoken from your fort on the couch with James, both of you snuggled under a mountain of blankets. Euphemia continued to come back and tuck you in.

It was quick and the adults seemed panicked. When you made it home you found your father bedridden, with dragonpox.

You spent that entire summer into the fall spending time with him. Your auntie gifted you a muggle toy, a two way radio. She set one up to always be on for your father. You would walk around the house with yours, turning it on to say something to your father just to listen to him cough and wheeze, the only sign he was still breathing.

James would send you letters but you never got to reading them. Just staying home and wandering the house. Your young mind finding paintings your father had hung himself to tell him about, reminding him what it was like in the kitchen, the silliest things to remind your father you were still there.

Everyday. Everynight.

Eventually, your father got better, and he summoned the Potters to Diagon Alley for a bite to eat. It was the first time you had seen James in three months. For two eight year olds, that seemed like forever ago.

James pouted through dinner, then the walk around the park. Every attempt to talk to him was met with loud sniffling and sobs for you to leave him alone. The Potter parents would wince at the interactions, eventually ending up with two blubbering children, both crying because they wanted to be friends again.

“You ignored me!” James shouted, making a scene.

“I was spending time with my da!” You would fuss back, fists clenched and your foot stamping.

“I thought you hated me!” He blubbered back and you began to sob louder. “I-I woke up and you were gone!”

“Why are you crying so hard, Niffler?” Your father would coo, not the least bit bothered by the prying eyes around the public place.

“Because Jamie thinks I hate him!” You shouted out, turning to your father and dragging your fists over your swollen eyes.

“Do you hate little Jamie?” He pushed and James sobbed louder at the question.

“No! I love Jamie!” You sobbed out and James gave a louder wail.

“I love you too!”

“Then forgive me!”

“Okay!”

Like that, you were once again spending every waking moment with the chocolate haired boy. That summer your father was cleared to work, and he never turned down the chance.

You went back to the Potters and spent the time you had with James like you never stopped being friends. Running through the forest, jumping in the creek, and now, James found a passion for listening to you read before bed.

When you both got your Hogwarts letters, you both demanded to be the first to get your wands. So, before August even came, you and James shared the most special moments of your childhood. Getting your wand from Olivander and getting your very own owl from Eeylops.

James ended up with a snowy owl he named Snow. You thought it was the most clever thing in the world, his parents just smiled knowingly at each other. You got a barn owl you named an equally clever name. Barn.

Thinking back on it, they should have never let you leave that store with that poor owl.

You gave James a lot of your favorite memories to cherish. He kept them the second time you stopped talking.

That was, when you both made it to Hogwarts. You walked into the grand hall holding hands, laughing about some stupid joke he made that was certainly not worth a laugh. You loved to feed his ego, his mother would say. You would just agree.

“His ego is never starved.” She would smirk and you would simply shrug with a cheeky grin.

“But it could always eat.”

You left the grand hall in tears and a green robe. He was already far ahead of you, in his own red robes, acting as if those eleven years of friendship were nothing to him. Much to your dismay, you didn't have your father to come save you this time, tell you his wise words and share his bit of wisdom for you to find your way through the pain.

There was no comfort found in the snakes den. Your dorm was shared with girls who seemed to have no other concerns then your blood status. You were a pureblood, of course, but their questions only caused you further distress. That night you cried silently into your pillow.

That night, and the next, and the next.

Eventually, you learned to cope to the cold dungeons. You became calm and emotionless, like the others. Learning to adapt to your surroundings.

James’s mutters of who you really were hurt more then you could ever imagine. You loved James Potter before you knew what love was. You were sure whatever yearning was in your chest went both ways. You guess you were wrong.

He made new friends, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. He wanted nothing to do with you.

So, you made friends as well. Cruel ones but ones who would protect you. Avery, Mulciber. Severus Snape was the only one you stayed consistently close to. You disliked Lily Evans, for no reason other than the fact she was everything you wanted to be. Gryffindor, smart, pretty, and had James’s attention. You hated watching him outgrow you, and Severus didn't particularly like that you didn't like Lily, but he hated James Potter so you both remained in an isolated boat of similarity.

As the year went on you grew to hate your colors more then anything. You learned that no matter what had happened, Slytherin was at fault. No matter your justification, you were wrong. Keeping your head down and remaining quiet was the safest you'd have it.

When the year came to an end, you went home. You told your father of the more recent events and he was mortified. You found solas in his arms as you always did. Being home was like a time out, protection from everything else around you. You were alone and happy. Safe and as far away from James Potter as possible.

But that made the yearning worse.

Your father tried to convince you to write him a letter for closure, but you could never pick up a quill. You don't want to know the vile things he thought of you.

Much to your surprise, however, your father called you down a week into your summer break. At the door, none other then James Potter. He was sniffling, clenching the dragon statue in his hands and rubbing his eyes. Your father left you two be, and you welcomed him in.

Of course you did.

It was your Jamie.

The second he entered he told you about how woes, how his concerns for Sirius, his dear friend, his best friend, made him appreciate what he had a bit more. It also forced him to realize, he was doing the same to you. The isolation over a house was never fair. He felt like a right arse.

“So you don't hate me?” You sniffled.

James shook his head vigorously. “No, no, I'm sorry, {Y/N}.” He sobbed and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

He held you back tight, and nuzzled his nose into your cheek. “Forgive me?”

“Okay.” Your voice cracked.

You shouldn't have forgiven him, because it became a pattern. The summer you were back to as thick as thieves, you had never seen Mrs. Potter more relived then when you returned to their home.

But when school started again, he went back to practically no contact. It was your James, though. You needed him.

Over the years you went from best friends over the summer to semi strangers in the halls. Everytime he'd come to your door with a bright smile and take you to his house. Even your fathers relationship with Fleamont began to grew strained because of the behavior. You were so hurt, all the time, but James would fix it.

James would know what to say and when to say it. James, never having a malicious bone in his body, didn't seem to understand what he was doing to you. You didn't know either.

By the time year three rolled around, the four of them seemed to tamper down their hatred for Slytherins, focusing purely on the ones they deemed evil. Even letting you into their groups on occasion. You clung to what little James would give you everytime. You ignored your jealousy of Sirius and James' closeness. You ignored Remus’s pitiful looks and Peter's tactless comments.

However, you had began to grow into yourself a bit more over the school year. You had more time to yourself, more time away from James. You met a few new people, one being a girl named Pandora.

She observed you every time you were with James, would utter small comments here and there about what she found in the blandest monotone. It was tough love she didn't even intend. You quickly realized that the friendship you shared with James went from two friends who would rather die then be apart, to two people.

You were just people.

~~~~

That summer, when James came over to retrieve you, you made that clear.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Potter.” You started with a soft smile in your doorway. He flinched at the formal name.

“What? You're not coming home?” He asked in a low heartbroken whisper. “My mum wants to see you.”

“I am home. I'll ask da if he plans to have you over for dinner.” You placate and look back to the proud but sympathetic look on your dads face from where he hid behind the door. As always, right there. “I'll see you later?”

“But- I- we don't get to hang out over the school year, I just figured-”

“Thank you again for the invite. Maybe some other time.”

When fourth year comes around you and James remain friendly in the halls. It was like the entire lives you had led before Hogwarts and over the summers were just secrets between the two of you now.

You spent more time with Severus, Dorcas, Pandora, Barty, and Regulus. That made Sirius oddly formal and kind to you as well, you expected the opposite.

It led to a small bit of bonding between the two of you, he would ask you about updates on Regulus and thank you like mad for you looking after the younger boy.

James didn't like how close you two were becoming outside of him. Everyday, you would meet Sirius outside of the library and he would walk you to the dungeons while you talked about his brother and the state of his mind, how he viewed what was happening in the household.

Your conversations would slowly trickle into your day to day life and Sirius would tell you of his. James noticed when Sirius began to get to the dorms later and later.

James would find it in himself to pester, if he wasn't so wrapped around Lily Evans’ finger. You knew it was unfair. You knew from the stories from Pandora, that if you just got to know her, you'd adore her. She was funny, brilliant, brave, kind, and she was enough woman to have James Potter, Severus Snape, and after a small listless confession, Pandora of all people in love.

You hated her, however. You couldn't bring yourself to like someone you wanted to be in the shoes of so badly.

~~~~

Over the summer, you learned Sirius Black had gone to live with the Potters after a particularly rough patch with his parents. With a quick letter to Regulus to gauge his view on the situation, you decided to check on eldest Black. You weren't insanely close with James anymore, but you still invited yourself over.

When the door opened after your knock you were yanked into a bone crushing hug by Fleamont, followed by Euphemia. They welcomed you in with open arms, like they always did. You greeted James with nothing more than a kind smile and walked right past him to go check on Sirius.

James stood in the middle of the hall, confused by your lack of enthusiasm to see him. Knowing the second you made it to the stairs, you were not here for him. A bitter feeling filled his chest.

You didn't know you were breaking the dumb boy's heart. He didn't know it either, but the look his mother gave him when you hurried up the steps said it all.

James had missed you. He had missed you more than life itself. He spent his summers moping in the treehouse you both never went in, fiddling with the things you never should have had. He felt like he was missing a part of himself every time you learned to put your self preservation above his desperate need for you.

But things don't work out perfectly, something the ever spoiled James Potter didn't understand.

He snapped out of his little daze and ran upstairs after you.

You were sitting on the bed in the spare room, hip to hip with the pouty and tired Sirius. He seemed to be rambling on some flirty nonsense that had James growing a bit red.

“You know bird,” Sirius started and you scoffed.

“Don't call me bird.” You reprimanded and he gave you a cheeky smile, his swollen eye just adding to his sloppy charm.

“Birdette?” He offered.

“I'm going home. May your tea be too hot to drink and too cold when you return to it.” You mused and moved to stand before Black grabbed your wrist and nudged you down.

“Cruel witch!” He shouted and you put your hand on his chest, both laughing like fools. James' expression turned tart. You used to laugh with him like that. When you both settled you brush some hair from his face to behind his ear. His lochs clung to his face through the sweat.

“Are you sure you're alright?” You hummed and he nodded, pressing his burning and trembling temple to your cold hand and you thinned your lips.

“Fever has gone down. Mum will be pleased.” You hummed and Sirius gave you a confused look before it clicked to him who you were talking about. You knew her since before you could walk, of course you would consider her your mother. He spotted James in the doorway and noticed the small smile on the teens face when you spoke familiar of his mother.

Sirius knew, how couldn't he? Since year one the only person James seemed to talk about was you. Even when he was pretending to hate you, it was always about you. He could see the way you looked at James too, it was so painfully obvious. Even after all the years of borderline manipulation, something Sirius would grow bitter of if he thought too long about it.

“I should head home.” You hummed and grabbed the discarded rag on the nightstand to clean off some sweat around Sirius’s cheek and neck, doting on your friend much like you did for James.

“No!”

“No, please!”

Both boys shouted together. You jumped and turned to face James, not noticing he had been watching the entire interaction.

You bit your cheek and fiddled with the rag for a moment before you sighed. It was hard enough to say no to James, but a sick Sirius?

You caved.

You spent the summer at the Potter’s again, something your father was cautious of. You were older now, and so was James, you just managed to escape the ‘safe sex’ talk when you went back with James to gather spare clothes, the only thing left at James was from before puberty.

It made you a bit aware that James had grown up. He had always been taller than you, but now he was broader, more defined. Merlin, the boy you grew up with was knee weakening.

The summer was amazing. It was a delight, being around both of them so casually.

Being older now, your fun consisted of much more mature activities. They started innocent, like taking walks around the property where you and James reminisced, sharing your favorite memories of the place with Sirius. Your afternoons baking with Euphemia now shared with the boys who didn't seem to have anything better to waste their time on. Even swimming in the creek like kids.

But you were older now. Afternoon swimming turned into late night skinny dipping. Walks along the trail turned into hiding away in your tree fort, hardly big enough for all three of you and the things you hid away. Smoking Mallowsweet and trying to pretend you weren't high at the dinner table. Not that either parent seemed to mind, just happy you were doing it in a safe environment. They let you three believe you were sneaky however, knowing the thrill is the fun part.

A few days out from going back to school you and the two boys were sitting in the fort again. You took a drag from the messy blunt and passed it to Sirius. You took notice of how he watched the smoke leave your lips. You sent him a playful wink and he wet his lips.

You both turned back to James as he let out a low groan. The attention whore he was not liking how you two continued to share moments he was not apart of.

“What is it, Jamie?” You pushed and he ran his fingers through his hair. “I got word from Evans. Said she would stop reading my letters. Says she thinks I'm in love with someone already.” He huffed.

You rolled your eyes and looked at Sirius who put his hands up to show he would handle it. “Come on mate, she clearly doesn't want ya’ move on.”

You almost face palmed at how Sirius tried to handle it. You cut in when James gave a louder groan. “I know it's not what you want to hear, but some girls just.. aren't going to cave the more you bother them, Jamie.”

“I just don't get it! I'm charming, I'm funny, I'm bloody hot.”

You rolled your eyes hard and made eye contact with a smirking Sirius. “You know he gets this from you, right?”

He chuckled and you slowly smiled at his look. James seemed to grow even more upset when your attention was on Sirius and not him.

“Come off it, mate.” Sirius laughed. “She hasn’t even seen you date one person at that school.”

“That is true. I don't think I would date someone if I didn't have an idea of what it was like.” You remarked airily, rapping your knuckles against your chin.

“So.. date someone to show Lily I'm dateable?” James concluded and you rubbed your temple.

“Or, and just throwing this out there, date someone who wants you?” You scoffed and James rolled his eyes with a mutter. Something along the lines of no one he wants, wants him.

You paused your rubbing before Sirius quickly cleared his throat. “You can't just date someone to impress someone else.” You cut in. “That's incredibly cruel.”

“Well-”

“Sirius, as someone who has not once had a serious girlfriend-”

“I am Sirius. All my girlfriends are Sirius girlfriends-”

You threw a book at him and he blocked it with his forearms, laughing as you huffed.

“But ser- genuinely.” You mused. “Don't go breaking anyone's heart to get her attention.”

“Well, it won't hurt anyone if I.. fake date someone?” He offered and you gave him a confused look. He slowly smiled, a smile that surely meant a bad idea.

“Jamie-”

“Hear me out! Hear me out!” He mused and sat up straighter. “One of you, date me, just for a few months! I can show her how good of a boyfriend I really am!”

You looked at Sirius with the most bewildered and offended look.

“I will not.” Sirius mused and finally put the blunt down. “Love you, but I would rather lick my own boot.”

James scoffed and looked at you hopefully. You bit your lip and thought about it for a moment, you were caving, you knew you were.

How bad could it be? Getting a slice of what you wanted more than anything. James’s full attention. Before you could answer, you heard Sirius mutter your name.

It was so soft, it was so gentle, like if he said it too loud you'd run. You looked over to him, and he gave you a look you couldn't quite decipher. Though, the implication was clear. Don’t.

You sighed through your nose and leaned your head back. Trying to sober yourself up before you continue this conversation. James wiggled his way over to you, putting his arm over your shoulder. “Come on, {Y/N}.” He whined and you thinned your lips as you stared into his big brown eyes. You could melt into them.

Your eyes, not of your own accord, flicked to Sirius and he was still staring at you. Then you realized what the look was, caution. You bit your bottom lip and didn't notice James glaring heavily at Sirius. As if warning him. Sirius's eyes never left yours.

“... Sorry Jamie.” You muttered and he huffed, pulling away from you sharply. You pouted and slowly hugged your knees. Far more valuable with your mind warped by the drugs influence.

James waved his hand dismissively and you looked down at your feet. You watched as a pair of Doc Martens slipped into view on either side of your ankles. You looked up at the owners. You had never seen such a proud look on Sirius’s face. Well, safe for when you told him of Regulus’s new found defiance. He held the smuggest smile and you felt your heart throb. Approval.

“I don't get it, come on {Y/N}-”

“Who does she think you love anyway, James?” Sirius huffed, taking your friend’s attention from you. You sent him an appreciative look.

“She thinks I'm in love with {Y/N}.” He scoffed and your breath hitched a bit. “I mean, it doesn't help that we haven't dated anyone. I figured that if me and {Y/N} dated and broke up she would see how crazy she is.”

You purse your lips at that. Yeah. Crazy. Why would James Potter ever love you?

“Oh!” James exclaimed and sat up, “What if you got a boyfriend?” James pried and you arched an eyebrow at him. “Or, you know, girlfriend.”

You scoffed. As if that was the issue!

“James, I am not going to date someone just to leave them so you can get with Lily.” You crossed your arms over yourself now, and James groaned. “Come on, please? I mean, you can tell them it's fake! I mean, I'm sure even Sirius would be willing-”

“Nope.” Sirius popped his lips and you looked up at him with a startled surprise. You couldn't help but melt at how he winked at you, nudging your ankles with his feet. “I'm not going to tarnish our little dragon’s reputation, here.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as James’s groans faded out. You looked up as a bell began to ring, signaling it was time to come inside for dinner. James got up and hurried out of the tree, Sirius was next, sending you a look as he climbed down, curious. You simply smiled at him and followed after, knowing it would reassure him.

You thought James had dropped it, but as you set the table and gathered drinks for everyone, the boys at the table began to idly talk.

“Anything interesting happened today?” Fleamont asked you as you set his coffee down by his hand, kissing his eyebrow, making him chuckle.

“No, Uncle Flea.” You hummed and set down Euphemia’s tea and did the same. She returned the kiss, leaving you unaware of how James seemed to be eyeing you. You set down Sirius’s drink and he poked his cheek, leaning closer to you. You kissed your hand and smacked him. He laughed and you finished up, taking your seat across from the boys on your own side of the table.

“How about you, son?” Flea asked Sirius next, and Black shrugged. “Nothing really.”

“Really? You're not going to tell him?” James smirked and you looked at him curiously, confused. Sirius shared your look and James continued. “I mean, If you won't, I will.” He cheeked.

“James what are you-” Before you could even finish, he threw his hands up in an exaggerated announcement.

“Sirius and {Y/N} are dating!”

Your jaw went slack in shock and Sirius snapped his head over, dumbstruck.

“I- what- James Potter!” You shouted at him, he smirked at you. This cheeky little bastard. There was a loud thud from under the table as you kicked him. Hard. The poor boy winced and tried to keep his face straight.

“James you bloody-” Sirius started with a clench jaw before Euphemia gave a laugh.

“No need to be shy you two, however, James you shouldn't have told us before they were ready.” She scolded and Fleamont gave a chuckle and clapped Sirius on his shoulder.

“Just be safe, boy. Mr. {L/N} and I are not ready to be grandpas.” He cheeked and you slowly sunk into your seat and covered your face, groaning low as Sirius began to stammer over himself, not sure if he should explain himself or not.

James was so dead.

~~~

You paced in your room, hands over your mouth in deep thought. James was cleaning the kitchen and Sirius was closing down the house, their respective chores of the night. You sat on your bed and tried to figure a way out of this, before someone knocked on your door.

You looked up and waved your wand to open the door, Sirius walking in holding James by his ear. The taller boy was cursing and following close behind. “Ow ow ow ow-”

“James Fleamont Potter!” You whisper hissed and stood up, Sirius smirking, for once, not the one in trouble.

“Hear me out-”

“No! We will do no such thing!” You continued to whisper-shout at him. “You need to tell them you were lying!”

James bit his cheek and looked at Sirius who was avoiding his eyes. “It's just a few months-”

“James-”

“Hear me out! Just, just three months! You saw how excited they got.” James pleaded and you sighed. Covering your face before you peaked between your fingers at Sirius who gave you a playfully scandalized look.

“Am I the only one with common sense here?” Sirius scoffed and you groaned.

“It would seem so. Frightening, innit?”

“Debilitating, actually.” He sighed playfully and you laughed.

There was a long pause between you and Sirius. James watched as you two seemed to be communicating between your eyes. James slowly pouted as he was, once again, left out of the loop.

“Fine.” You sighed and Sirius bit his lip. “Alright, three months.”

~~~

You were not ready for the whirlwind that was sixth year. A lot had happened in such a short amount of time.

You had forgotten about the ever growing issue of telling Regulus Black of your new found status with his brother. To your complete shock, he seemed happy about the news.

“Bloody finally.”

“The hell do you mean finally?”

“If I had to go one more school year watching my brother make eyes at you, I'd vomit. Just keep it behind closed doors please.”

Eyes? Your friends were going mad. Pandora seemed to actually express visual joy when you told her, smiling with a hand over her heart, with a simple. “That's lovely.”

Barty, Sirius’s self proclaimed nemesis, even seemed relieved. Though, he had to admit, he didn't figure you for someone who wanted to be with a player.

The only one who seemed to take the news hard was Severus, reminding you of the prank and how that bastard tried to kill him. You listened to his concerns, but in truth, you knew Sirius wasn't the only one at fault. You had, in fifth year, confronted Sirius about what had happened and he admitted his fault in it.

You knew it wasn't for you to forgive, but if you couldn't forgive him, what place did you have being crossed about it?

Eventually, Severus, Avery, and Mulicber wanted nothing to do with you. As Severus hurt, you had to admit, he was camaraderie found in misery. You refused to be miserable anymore.

Remus was the first to notice it, how much you had grown and who you had left behind. He also seemed to be you and Sirius’s biggest fan, and unexplainably protective of your relationship.

Before you knew it, you were sitting at the Gryffindor table every day, nuzzled under Sirius’s arm and watching him as he rattled on about Quidditch practice and the start of the season. You didn't really care about the game, you only used to watch to support Regulus as a seeker, which seemed to please James as well.

“Do you have a spare jersey?” You pressed your pinky to his side gently, muttering into his shoulder. Sirius looked down at you, a bit startled by your comment. He narrowed his eyes at you curiously and you pressed your tongue to your cheek. Watching as his expression shifted a bit and his cheeks turned a soft red.

“A jersey?” He pushed, trying not to get his hopes up. You gave a laugh at his nervous question.

“All I have are Slytherin colors.” You mused and slipped your arm around his back and nuzzled into his chest a bit. Regulus giving a playful gag, poking his finger to the back of his throat at your public displays of affections.

You giggled before James spoke up, he had been so quiet you didn't even notice him. “You can wear mine, I have an old Seeker one from before I was captain.” He hummed and Sirius stiffened against you a bit. You watched his jaw clench, and his attention was finally torn from you, playfully glaring at James.

“James-”

“Thanks Jamie.” You mused and Sirius snapped his attention back to you, just for you to be smiling up at him. “But I want to wear my boyfriend's name.”

Sirius swore he lost the air in his lungs. Remus whistled and you laughed at the out of character display.

“You're so fucking whipped-” Regulus huffed with a roll of his eyes and before you could turn to reprimand him, Sirius wrapped his other arm around you and pulled you practically on his lap. “Better be, just f’me.” He mumbled against your ear. No one else could hear him, you wondered why he even said it.

Regardless, you didn't think your heart could beat that fast for anyone but James.

~~~

Three months passed faster then you thought it possibly could. The cautious and careful moments between you and Sirius turned familiar and confident. From your new routine between classes to show everyone just how in love you surely were to the private moments you weren't positive you should be having with the best friend of the boy you loved.

Reality was slowly blending together with your facade, from him sneaking off with you to the astronomy tower, and your walks along the Black lake when no one could see you two.

Even now, where you laid in his bed, alone. Remus doing his Prefect duties and James’ surely wowing Lily. You were sitting with your back against the headboard, reading to Sirius as he hummed and dozed off. You propped the book against his arm that wrapped around your middle, your other hand tangled in his hair. He seemed to be in just a blissful state, absolutely unraveled as your nails ran over his scalp.

You trailed off, just admiring the sleepy boy. Slowly leaning closer to see if he had fallen asleep yet.

You were spending time with the boys in their common room. Sirius had complained about his horrid sleep schedule, and when you, ever the good girlfriend, suggested you read to him. He laughed at first. When you puffed up your cheeks and told him it always worked for James, suddenly his tune changed.

He practically dragged you up to their shared dorm and left Peter and James behind, snuggling up to you, like he said a proper boyfriend would. Your heart was going mad at first. You hadn't been in their dorm, let alone in Sirius’s bed before. He acted so natural about it, you tried to stifle the green monster that seemed to have switched targets from Lily to Sirius’s past flings.

You don't know when it changed, but looking down at Sirius’s peaceful face, how he seemed so comfortable with you in his arms and pressed against your body, you knew you had ruined your chances at a normal love life. Falling in love with Sirius Black was the worst idea you never had.

Suddenly, Sirius stirred, eyes opening, sagged and low, clearly still tired. Your eyes locked, and this warm feeling filled you as he slowly smiled at you. You didn't even feel nervous, just.. just peaceful.

“Is the book done?” He muttered and you slowly nodded. His eyes never leaving yours. There was a bit of quiet before he began to speak. “Dragon-”

Then the door slammed open. “Don't be naked!” James huffed, covering his eyes. You have a nervous laugh as your cheeks flushed, looking away. Sirius gave a low and annoyed groan. It was gravely and deep as he sat up. You did not need that stuck in your head right now.

“Damn it mate, I'm trying to sleep.” Sirius huffed and James seemed startled at your state. You were actually reading to him. When he heard ‘sleep’ his mind wandered to Sirius’s typical use for it. The idea of you sleeping with Sirius didn't get under his skin, but the idea of loosing a piece of you that was once his, did.

Instead, he walked in on you and him. Doing one of his favorite things. One of you and his favorite things. You were really reading to him. He slowly frowned as your fingers left Sirius’s hair. You pouted up at him, not even seeming to care James was there, just upset that your weighted blanket moved.

He didn't like that. Not at all.

Sirius shifted and his palm pressed down a bit too much weight on your thigh and you hiss. He quickly got off of you and muttered an apology.

“It's okay Siri.” You whispered and rubbed your skin. He took a deep breath. That bloody nickname.

“You know.” James cut in and you and Sirius looked over at him. “It's been three months.”

He gestured to the two of you and you looked back up at Sirius with nervous eyes. He seemed to try to study yours as well.

“I think that's long enough.” He challenged.

You slowly took a breath, Sirius seemed to be waiting on your word. “Well.. are you with Lily yet?” You questioned, looking over at the tan skinned boy and James gave you a scandalous look.

“I mean-”

“That was the deal, right?” Sirius asked and looked back at James, getting comfortable over you once more, nuzzling his head right against your stomach. You smiled down at him, not noticing the looks him and James shared. Not particularly friendly.

“You asked us, James.”

“I wouldn't say what he did was asking.” You mumbled and Sirius chuckled, looking back up at you and gesturing to the book. You glanced at a red faced James before carefully grabbing the book and opening it. You didn't care to watch James' betrayed expression. He had done this to himself.

~~~

“It's going to be so fun, Sirius!” Peter declared and James laughed, “Yeah, what's more important then charming the stairs to move when a Slytherin tries to talk on it?”

Remus smirked at Sirius who simply gave a fond smile and a sigh. “Sorry, I have business with my lovely dragon.”

Remus gave Sirius a proud smile and the tatted boy rubbed the back of his neck.

“What, are you two shagging?” Peter asked with a bored look and Remus smacked him.

“Thank you Moony, and no, I'll have you know. We haven't even kissed yet.” He huffed and James’s jaw went slack. Why would Sirius admit that?

Why in the bloody hell would I admit that? Sirius thought, mortified. He keeps forgetting this isn't a true relationship. It's been five months, Sirius wasn't known to wait longer than a week.

Peter was rubbing the back of his head with a huff and Remus gave Sirius a surprised look. Sirius looked anywhere but their faces.

“You two.. haven't kissed?” Remus pushed and Sirius shrugged. “Just.. I'm her first boyfriend, she is nervous. You know, all that stuff. She's sensitive.”

When he looked at the group he got a variety of different looks. Peter was shocked, James was confused, and Remus looked purely ecstatic.

“Seems Sirius found someone worth waiting for, hm?” Remus teased and Sirius flipped him off.

“I'm done talking to you lame-os anyway. She's waiting for me in the library.” He huffed and hurried off the opposite side of the hall, face red and absolutely humiliated. Even then, he couldn't think of anything but seeing you.

In the background, he could hear James shout. “To study!?”

~~~

You waited for Sirius in the library like you promised, thumbing threw a few of your school books and comparing you and Sirius’s grade cards. Since him and you began the charade, his grades had improved greatly. He seemed to start to care about studying. He, ever the flirt, would always say if he got to spend time with you, spending the day studying in the library wasn't entirely awful.

When Sirius showed up, you couldn't help how the most excited smile grew on your lips. You and Sirius were quietly enjoying each other's presence, but about an hour into your session you heard a voice call out to you. It was soft, soothing, and it sounded like honey.

“Can we join you?”

You looked up confused, staring into the green eyes of Lily Evans. You expected that familiar bitter twist of your chest to settle, but you didn't feel a negative emotion towards her. You looked beside her and there stood Mary Macdonald, Marlene Mckibbon, and Dorcus Meadows. You smiled at Dorcas and she nodded to you.

“Of course you can.” You gestured to the table, turning to Sirius for approval and he looked surprise by your answer. You smiled at him and shrugged, leaning a bit closer and whispered, “It'll help, yeah?”

“Help?” He mumbled back and you smirked against his cheek. Giving him a small kiss against it. “For Jamie, Siri.”

You pulled away and smiled at Lily as she turned to talk to you. Sirius was staring at you like you stole his voice, but he didn't want it back.

Pandora was right, when you got to know Lily, you did like her. Quite a lot.

By the end of the day, you and Lily were laughing with your arms linked, leaving the Library.

“Merlin, we should have talked ages ago!” She smiled bright at you and you laughed, nodding in agreement.

“Most definitely, when do you usually study?” You pushed and Dorcas muttered a goodbye, turning to leave without you and the redhead. Mary smirked at the scene and Marlene wrapped her arms around your neck.

“We are here too!” She complained and you laughed louder. You liked Marlene, but it seemed the bitter feeling that was once aimed at Lily was now on her. You really wish Pandora didn't tell you about her and Sirius having the longest standing relationship out of all of his past wix.

She was with Mary now, she didn't have any interest in Sirius. Merlin, please save you. Jealousy was your biggest weakness. Other then that, blending in with the girls was easy. They were so delightful.

Eventually, Sirius managed to pry you away from the three, leaving you reaching back for them and earning laughs from the girls. Sirius eventually lifted you up on his shoulder so you'd stop fighting him.

That distracted you.

Damn his beater toned arms.

You looked back at him from where he was holding you, making it to the stairs to the dungeons. You flinched a bit when you heard Dorcas curse. You looked back and saw her, stuck in the middle of the stairs, trying to walk down as the stairs moved against her downward steps up.

You gawked at it and nudged Sirius’s shoulder. “Someone is after you boy’s title.” You teased and Sirius shook his head.

“It was the boys.” He remarked and hoisted you up properly, watching as Dorcas managed to fight her way to the bottom. Holding her knees with an aggregated pant. You laughed and tried not to get too in your head about what he said and the conclusion you came to. He spent the day with you instead of pranking with the boys.

“How will we get down?” You asked and he smirked. “It just works with Slytherins.” He cheeked and suddenly began hurrying down the stairs. You yelped and clung to his back. He laughed and fixed his grip on your thighs to keep you over his shoulder. You huffed as you got to the bottom, only for Dorcas to tutt at you.

“You're huffing!?”

You laughed and he set you down. Dorcas waved you off and you tried to cover your smiling face.

You watched Dorcas enter the dorms, you followed after her before you paused and turned to face Sirius, who was watching you with his hands in his pockets. Trying not to seem winded.

“Hey, Siri.” You called him over and he tilted his head. Walking over to you, you grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down a bit.

His hands snaked around your hips and he went to hold his breath. You smiled at him and he seemed startled and waiting not so patiently for your next move. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips, and your eyes were locked in his lips. This was okay right? This is what partners do?

“Sirius, can I-”

Before you could even properly ask, Regulus rudely interrupted.

“Alright you, stop sucking my brother's face.” Regulus’s voice rang from behind you and you refused to budge. Sirius smirked and moved in, before Regulus yanked you back by your hood. The door closing behind you. He could faintly hear your sounds of disapproval.

Sirius stared at the door for far longer than he should have. Thinning his lips as he tried to remind himself. This was fake. And you loved James.

~~~

Eight months. Late April, and you were sitting in the Gryffindor stands watching the final game of the year. Well, if you could call trying to locate colors on the foggy backdrop with blistering rain watching.

You sat with Lily, Mary, Remus and Peter. It was foggy, drizzling, and the match lasted hours. You were wrapped up in one of Sirius’s leather jackets, it didn't do much to cut through the chill.

You didn't want to lie and say you understood what was happening, just that James and Regulus had yet to catch the snitch. Occasionally, the stands would cheer and you would throw your hands up in support of it all. Watching as Lily laughed at you.

“Sweetness, you look lost.” Lily sang to you, and you bite your bottom lip. “That obvious?”

“Only to everyone.” She laughed and put her hand on your arm, pulling you up. You both walked over to the railing and she put her hand above her brow and looked around. You looked at her movements, before copying her body language.

“There!” She cheeked and pointed out a billowing red cape, hardly making out James' name. You smiled and leaned closer. “Is that Jamie?”

“It … is.” Lily muttered softly and looked at you from the corner of her eye, as if looking for any sign of affection for the boy. Beyond platonic. To her pleasant surprise, your next words made her smile.

“Do you see Siri?” You asked, leaning closer so she could hear you above the cheering fans and the loud beating rain.

Lily lit up, laughing, gesturing over towards one of the goals. You narrowed your eyes and began to hit your heel against the wooden floor. The smile that unfolded onto your cheeks was far brighter then she'd ever seen you look at James.

Lily saw it, the shift in your eyes.

She wasn't the first one to see it, but she wouldn't be the last.

“Oh! Oh! They found it!” Lily exclaimed and you snapped your attention over to where Lily pointed. You looked down and your eyes widened, watching as James and Regulus raced for the snitch.

“Regulus!” You screamed.

“James!” Lily cheered.

Your eyes snapped to each other and you both began to laugh. You loved James, but come on, Slytherin could use this.

You both looked back and began to cheer and chant their names. Lily screamed out in delight as James caught the snitch, and you leaned over the railing with an exaggerated, “Booo!!” James noticed and you quickly covered your mouth.

Remus bellowed a laugh at James’s offended but playful look.

“Gryffindor wins!! I think.” The announcer screamed over the intercom. You laughed and turned to look at Lily who was already running down the stairs.

You scrambled with a bit of a slip as you hurried after her to the pitch. The red head was far faster than you, however. Remus just strolled back with Mary, who was rambling about how cool her girlfriend looked. You just missed her talking about how tone her girlfriends arms were-

It's the beaters charm, really.

When you made it to the pitch you watched James land, Lily practically tackling him off his broom. The boy wrapped his arms around her and spun her around. The team cheering and screaming in delight, the stands going mad with confetti. He looked up to you and let go of Lily, turning to face you as he brandished the snitch.

You lit up to match his smile, but before you could make it over to congratulate him, you saw Sirius land threw the crowd. You felt your entire body grow gittery, from your tightening toes to your squaring shoulders. He tossed the bat to the ground and ruffled his wet hair. He looked breathtaking. You watched as he threw his arm around Marlene, the two laughing and flexing a bit at each other. You narrowed your eyebrows a bit.

That was enough for you to take a few large steps forward. “Sirius!” You called over.

First things first, you were not jealous. You certainly weren't jealous, not of Marlene, she loved Mary. But you would be happy if he wasn't touching her- or if she just took two huge steps back. You wouldn't be upset about that.

Sirius looked over to you and his smile grew brighter, letting go of Marlene. Good. He began hurrying over to meet you. Eventually, you broke into a jog and he matched your pace. James watched in confusion as you threw yourself into his arms as your excitement grew. You laugh as he lifts you up and spun you around. You looked down at him with a bright smile, blocking out the rain from falling on his chiseled face. Your hands moved to his cheeks and he opened his eyes slowly. He paused in the center of the court and you bite your bottom lip. He wanted terribly to pull it between his own teeth.

“You won.” You whispered and his hands slipped higher up your sides. The intimate moment so public his hands felt like fire on your cold wet skin.

“I did.” He whispered and you leaned your body against his. He kept you up easily despite his throbbing muscles. You leaned your lips right above his, eyes locked in a trance. “Do I.. do I get a reward?” He whispered and glanced down at your lips.

You laughed, leaning down and completed the kiss. Holding him firm against yourself, he met you with pure hunger. Slowly setting you down, without breaking the kiss. You moved closer against him, your bodies meeting without an inch between your limbs.

This is okay, right? You thought blissfully. This was for James.

You both were lost to the world. Ignoring anyone else as Sirius began to grab at you with so much intensity you gasped. He took the opportunity to introduce your tongues.

You didn't notice as James gave a pained expression. He wasn't sure why you going to Sirius bothered him so much.

No, he knew why. He felt like he was losing you. Like everything that made James special to you was being replaced with Sirius. It was his own bloody fault.

Lily noticed his wandering eyes and her lip twitched. Resolving herself to take his cheeks and turn him to look at her. He slowly smiled and leaned down to take a kiss. She met him with a happy hum.

The moment went from bitter jealousy to melting joy. This was your favorite game yet.

“Am I just chopped liver!?” Regulus finally exclaimed, the only thing pulling your attention from your lip lock. You threw your head back with a laugh, and Sirius just stared with a love sick smile, kiss bruised lips, and in absolute joy.

~~~

By the time summer came around you were around the Potters more and more.

You stopped spending the night so much, the older you got the more Euphemia seemed to believe you and Sirius were being closer then close most nights. Making teasing remarks that killed you. Eventually, you stopped coming over when Sirius joined in on the teasing.

Your father and you were invited over tonight, however. You didn't want to introduce your father to Sirius, the man had a bigger heart then most, and you knew it would hurt him to meet your ‘first love’ just to lose him months later. You didn't think this would last so long.

So when the door opened and Flea welcomed you in, you were shocked to see Sirius on the couch, hair combed, clothing presentable, even hiding some of his newer tattoos he got over your time in muggle London. He smiled over at you and your father, standing up and walking over.

You were stunned by just how charming he was trying to be. Your father looked surprised, looking to you in confusion, as if he had expected someone else tonight.

“Sirius Black then? I know of your family.” He remarked and Sirius faltered a bit. You walked over to link your arm with his. He looked to you and smiled soft, hesitantly. Your father seemed completely pleased.

As the night went on you guys moved to the parlor room. You were ecstatic to learn Lily was coming as well, and when she got there, the night turned much more lively.

You were laying your legs across Sirius lap and laughing at your father and Flea’s ever heated debate about his most recent business decisions. Lily was listening intently, happy to learn more about the inner workings of the wizarding world. James was sitting on the floor with his head in her lap and her fingers tangled in his locks.

Sirius put a hand on your chin and turned you over to look into his eyes. You gave him a smile and nudged his arm with your knee. You leaned your chin greedily into his hand, wanting the full contact of his palm. When he gave it to you, you leaned your cheek into it. He stared at you and you pressed your lips together. “Sirius?”

“Yeah?” He whispered.

“What's this?” You whispered and slowly wrapped your hand around his wrist and turned to kiss his hand. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes. He about died.

“Awe, young love.” Euphemia cooed and you were startled back to the moment, pulling from Sirius who quickly fixed himself to look at the three parents, James effectively out of the conversation without a care.

Lily laughed and Flea reached over to pat Sirius’s shoulder. “What did I always say, {Y/N}?”

“Hm? What's that Flea?” You hummed and looked back at the men and Euphemia, he chuckled.

“Every Potter has a Slytherin.” He cheeked and winked at Sirius whose face turned to one of pure shock. You lit up at him and back to Sirius, who was smiling like a fool. You mirror his look and then Mrs. Potter spoke up next.

“I'm so glad you two figured it out.” She hummed..

“What was that?” You mumbled and looked back at her in pure confusion.

“Oh, that boy has been making heart eyes at you since he first got here. I could tell he was smitten.” Mrs. Potter mused a matter of factly, looking over at Sirius just past your confused expression, who was making a lip zipping motion, she gave him an amused and curious look, which made you turn and smirk at him. He quickly tried to play it off, earning a laugh from the group.

James rolled his eyes at their interaction, and Lily pouted a bit. Still confused as to why he seemed so determined to dislike the two together.

“You know, it's been a few months since me and Lily got together.” He remarked to the room, eyes on you and Sirius. You frowned a bit and looked away, Sirius met his look with a challenging one of his own. Euphemia narrowed her eyes but the men seemed none the wiser.

“And how lovely Lily is.” Fleamont mused and gestured to her, she smiled at him, happy with how they seemed to accept her so easily.

The night went smoothly from there.

Eventually, it was time to head home. The Potters, Evans, and Black walked you both to the door. You said your goodbyes, but whenever you would glance at Sirius he seemed preoccupied with your lips.

It wasn't something you thought you'd ever find attractive, how desperately Sirius wanted to kiss you at any given moment. Here you were, however, absolutely melting.

You leaned up on your toes and gave him a quick peck. Your dad smiled at this, but before you could turn away Sirius wrapped his arms around you and stole another longer kiss. If only by seconds. You laughed into his lips and he smiled against yours. Muttering a goodbye before you and your father finally apparated away.

You didn't think tonight could get much better, but when you looked up at the stairs to your manor, you locked eyes with familiar bright grey ones. Regulus Black, with a suitcase and a bruised cheek, giving you a cautious stare. Like a stray cat, ready to bolt, but instead of attention it was the first sign of rejection.

Regulus Black was a proud boy, like his brother. He was far too determined to do something and everything by himself.

Your father looked confused, before he glanced at you, like he was seeing double in one night.

You hurried up the stairs, not answering your father immediately as you moved to grab his bag. To your absolute shock, Regulus fell into you before you could, hands clenching your sleeves. You were bewildered, Regulus never wanted to be touched.

You didn't have to think twice before you wrapped your arms around his middle and pulled him in close. The younger boy crying softly into your shoulder. Tonight was a startling night for firsts with the Black children, but you didn't hesitate to embrace it.

Your father picked up his luggage and muttered something about fixing up a room for him as he went inside. You were content to comfort Reggie.

~~~

Once Regulus was comfortable in the spare room, you talked. He told you everything about what had happened the past month, and your heart broke. Regulus and you were closer than most, but he still kept cards to his chest. He was paranoid, but in his weakness, he showed you all of them.

He told you what they expected of him, at just fifteen they told him he would be expected to go through with what his brother could not. How when he expressed even the slightest hesitance, they resulted in reprimanding him like Sirius.

He told you how he missed his brother, how he hated being alone in that house. He left the second his mother went to Paris on business, trying to get him a deal with a pureblood overseas.

He promised he would only be there for a few nights at most. His expression was blank but his voice was soaked in sullen misery, sitting beside you on the bed and staring at the wall.

“Where will you go, Regulus?” You reached for his hand and he didn't pull away.

“I'll figure it out.” He mumbled and you gave an offended laugh.

“You're mad if you think I'll let you leave with no plan.” You scoffed. “Regulus, you're safe here.”

“I'm a burden here.” He snapped back, eyes flicking to yours. They were full of pain you were familiar with. Your lips parted and you tried to read his expression, before something sparked in your mind. Burden?

“Regulus, you could never be a burden to me. To us.” You whispered and he sniffled. The shock that went through your body wasn't foreign.

“Reggie…” You paused and tilted your head to try to get him to express what was under all of this. You knew he was prideful and independent, but this didn't seem in character. Not for you two.

A guilt filled you as he refused to meet your eyes. Your eyes widened. Was he.. was he angry with you? “Reggie-”

“Listen. I don't want to get between you and my brother. I'm glad you love him. I'm glad he has someone to love. Just wish you stayed my friend too.” He scoffed and sniffled, the tension in your body fell away. You slowly covered your mouth.

He was right.

You had been spending every waking moment with Sirius since school began again. Pandora had Dorcas, Barty had Evans, Severus had his horrid friends. Regulus didn't have anyone. He would come to the Gryffindor table to spend meals with you, but after, before, Merlin, even during, you were focused on his brother.

The one thing he had with you, Quidditch, and you ran to his brother when he won. Didn't even check on him for his loss. You thought his words were playful that day but truly? You were cruel.

You had abandoned him. To his family, to his self doubt, you left him alone.

You had done what James had done to you.

“Oh Reggie.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. He leaned his head against your shoulder but didn't hug back.

That night was filled with heart filled apologies, promises of a better tomorrow, and a guarantee Regulus had a home with you and your father.

It made you wonder, how you felt so guilty and ruined over the simple idea of what you had done to Regulus. Even his forgiveness didn't seem to be enough. James didn't seem the least bit apologetic in his words to you. Not as much as you thought he should.

Eventually, you let him sleep. You lettered Sirius, with Regulus’s permission, of his status.

You woke up early the next morning to your father calling you downstairs. Watching the Black brothers embrace healed something in you that you didn't know needed. Sirius looked so happy, and you watched Regulus grow flustered at his brother's affection. Laughing out as Regulus eventually pushed his sappy brother away and declared he was going back to his room.

You both shared a look as he disappeared.

The summer was the best yet.

~~~

Once school began, James and you had your last separation.

You came to him, voicing your thoughts about his cruelty towards you. He was confused as to where this came from, considering you had forgiven him. You had to remind him, you never did. You stayed at his house for Sirius that summer, he never apologized.

He had changed a lot, he kept true to his promise to better himself for Lily. You were proud of him, but it still hurt. Like a wound that continued to reopen whenever you were reminded that he didn't seem to truly care about what he had done to you. Just wanted to bury it. There was that nagging voice, telling you to just forgive him. Forgive and forget about it.

Then, would you accept that treatment for Regulus? It took seeing it through his eyes to understand you deserved more than an eight year olds apology. But that's what you got.

“Look, I get it. I really am sorry. Forgive me?”

“No.”

“... no? What, {Y/N}, come on. It's been two years now-”

“And I've tried. I have tried so hard, James. But as I've seen it.. I've fought to keep you in my life. You have never done that for me.”

“Fought for you? This isn't some book-”

“That's all I need, James. Just show me better.”

The argument that ensued was short and to the point. Nothing was resolved, so you left it that way. You wouldn't put forward the effort to keep a sense of normalcy despite the pain.

You were content with who you had, you would learn to get over the people you lost.

Your hand was off the wheel. You were done chasing after James Potter. You knew your father would be proud of you. You knew Sirius was proud of you, Regulus too. You never felt so at peace with the people you chose. Not because you never knew any better, but because they wanted you just as badly as you wanted them.

You and Sirius’s relationship was still dancing the line. You both knew that if this truly was just for James benifit it would have been over by now. You both were content as it was. Nothing said, nothing lost.

You both continued to blur the lines between you both, until the first win of the Quidditch season. It didn't take much convincing for him to lock Peter out of their dorm, leaving just you both to do what two young adults would. Something you both agreed was long overdue.

~~~

James had spent his night much the same way, waking up with Lily.

James was happy with Lily, she was everything he ever wanted. There was still something, however, eating him alive inside. He missed you. He didn't know how to handle his part in your departure, still unable to hold himself accountable for the pain he caused you all those years ago. Because you were kids! Practically siblings. Why did he have to prove he cared?

He pushed the thoughts away as Lily woke beside him. Giving him her breathtaking smile, something that James couldn't help but smile back at.

“Morning.” She sang so sweetly, leaning in to steal and lazy and long kiss. They both smiled into it, content at the moment.

James gave a laugh as Lily rolled onto his lap. Biting her lip as she grabbed the top of the bed frame. “Jamie~” She sang and he looked her up and down, giving a low groan as he snapped forward to kiss her, and like the tease she was, she rolled back over onto her back off his lap.

Neither of them had time to process what happened next, she hit her shoulder on his dresser and hissed. Leaning forward to cover her arm. He moved to rub her skin before he heard the sound of something hitting the floor.

He narrowed his eyes and looked over Lily, his face filling with dread.

Grandos. The dragon statue your father had carved all those years ago, shattered on the ground.

He shot up from the bed, just as Lily looked over. “Jamie?” She whispered and he hurried to get dressed, panicked. Taking out a towel and setting the statue on it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Jamie, oh- Oh James I am so sorry-” She began and tried to sit up, he took a deep breath and shot to his feet.

He was crying. Why was he crying?

He was coming to terms with the fact that you would never speak with him again, the figurine didn't mean the end of the world. But it was his last piece of you.

The last thing he didn't share with Sirius. With Regulus. With Remus, with Lily. The last thing that meant you and James would have a connection beyond the silly fights and petty disagreements. The last thing from when you were James. His heart was breaking. “I- She can fix it, right? Do you think she can?” James pleaded to no one.

Lily's heart broke. She could tell immediately what this was about. “James-”

“I-I’ll be back.” He declared quickly and put on his cloak.

It didn't take long for him to make it to the Gryffindor common room, holding the broken figurine like it was a wounded bird. You looked up from your perch on Sirius’s lap, the black haired boy huffing when he lost your attention.

“{Y/N}!” He shouted and hurried over. You narrowed your eyebrows at him, and he shoved the broken pieces towards you. As always, expecting you to mend it.

“James?”

“Please I- I don't know how to fix it. I can't loose it, please.” He begged and your looked to Sirius who seemed just as bewildered. There was a thick silence, as Remus bit his cheek.

It was so painfully clear to everyone but James what this was about.

You sighed through your nose and thought for a moment. Slowly, taking out your wand and waving if. “Repairo.”

Like that, the carving was as good as new. All perfect with its chipped paint and jagged edges. James seemed stunned as he looked down at the polished toy.

You slowly folded your arms. “James?” You whispered.

He hung his head low in shame.

“James.” You called in a more steady voice. He nodded to show he was listening. You scoffed.

“That's the last time, James. I'm not fixing anything for you anymore.”

“I-”

“No. That's it.” You put your hands up and James gave a breathy scoff of his own. Gesturing to you and Sirius, the boys lips thinning.

“Why?” He whispered in a broken hearted whimper. “Why does this fake relationship matter more to you then ours?”

You stared at him with wide and furious eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me, James?”

“Dragon-” Sirius tried to call out to you and you scoffed, waving him off.

“James, I have spent my whole life cleaning up the mess you made of me!” You yelled at the suddenly sheepish boy. “I am prioritizing myself! For once! If you want me in your life, then prioritize me too! I am doing the same for my boyfriend.”

He scoffed. “He isn't even your serious boyfriend! You dated him for me!”

You took a deep breath and before you could say something, Sirius gave a cocky smirk. “We've been over this, yeah?” He snaked his hand around your waist and pulled you back, trying to defuse the situation. “Everyone I date is a Sirius-”

“Stop.” You huffed at him and covered his mouth. He put his hands up in surrender. “James, I think you knew this stopped being fake the moment we agreed to it.”

Sirius gave you the stupidest smile, before coughing into his palm and looked away as you glared at him. Not the time you adorable bloody idiot.

“I just… I thought-”

“James. Everything I did was for you. For 14 years. Forgive me if I'm over it.” You sighed and gestured to the figurine.

“Next time. Fix it yourself.”

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Looks like requests are open. Mind if I send one in?

Scenario: Their presence felt comforting to you despite everything that went down. You felt safe to open up about your insecurities to them also. Arguments are an inevitable part of any relationship, but this argument was probably the worst one you've had by far. In the heat of the argument they insult you on the very things you're insecure about. And your reaction to that was a tearful "Thanks for basically confirming that I really can't trust anybody."

How would Vil, Riddle, Jamil, and Azul react to this?

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul, a man who was careful about allowing his weaknesses to see the light of day, knew he had taken advantage of your trust. It was only natural for him, a born businessman who had started from the bottom and was now securely at the top, to use every bit of information he had on you to prove a point; to get the upper hand in an argument that truly didn’t matter.  He had always fought to change his ways, to have his defenses up constantly, to not have his heart protected by reinforced walls, but it felt like an impossible task for someone like him.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil was the king of self-sabotage. At certain points it seemed he created his own obstacles, tossing them in the path of your blossoming relationship and becoming frustrated when it took even more effort to remove them. He tended to avoid arguments as much as he could but there were times, especially when he was in a foul mood, where he couldn’t help but feel the spark of anger and take it out on you. You can’t say you’d ever expected to hear such horrible things from him, the attack so direct it was unmistakable that he was trying to hurt you beyond recognition. You wondered if the relationship would even be salvageable after this as it wasn’t the first time Jamil had tested your trust, and even as he looked full of regret he bit his tongue, creating yet another hurdle that may truly be impossible to overcome this time.

Riddle Rosehearts:

It’s all Riddle’s ever known. It was like falling back on an old habit you thought you kicked, filling him with guilt, embarrassment, and every horrifying emotion in between. It made him sick to his stomach to think that he was becoming his mother, the woman he had admired for so long before realizing the methods she used were cruel and unfair to him. He didn’t want to be her but it seemed a piece of her remained within him, not sure how to apologize to you if you could even forgive him for his harsh words. He valued your trust more than anything and it was an admitted weakness on his part that his temper got the better of him, but he had only said those things to hurt you in the way he was hurting, not meaning a bit of what he said.

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil was normally level-headed, with many of your arguments handled in a mature manner that left no open-ended questions. He disliked fighting but he there are some things he can’t help but get irritated over, and it can be difficult to rise to his standards at times. It almost felt like he was keeping a tally of every time you messed up or upset him as he had examples on hand to bring up, thoroughly ‘winning’ the argument to the detriment of your relationship. You had always worried you weren’t enough for him and words from his own mouth seemed to be prove that was the case, leaving you to shakily pack your things as you needed time away from him. If it proved a better existence, you couldn’t say you’d ever come back, a fear Vil had to live with as you refused to respond to his texts or calls while you gathered your thoughts.

[stxrvel]

absence (1)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader... or not? content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, fangirling a lot and some self-deprecation. no proofread. this is just silly writing, we're on the safe zone for now. a/n. hi guys! i was gonna wait a little bit but i'm really excited about this one so you're gonna have earlier! thank u all for the support and i really hope you enjoy this 🫶🏻

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You met them all at school. Each with their own ambitions, their different dreams, but so similar in the nature of their core. It was almost funny how everyone with their dissimilar personalities fit so strangely well into one school group. There were times when you could still remember how you used to tell them that all together they could rule the world.

Maybe that's why you didn't see them years ago.

Jeon Jungkook was an idol. There wasn't an hour in the day or a screen in the city where you weren't watching him. He was so popular around the world that you suspected that not even one person didn't know him. His voice was on every radio station, on every cell phone of the people you passed on the street and on the buses, his face on the TV sets with the last interview he had done, as if it were a national achievement. You even saw him in restaurants, chefs naming dishes after him, production companies releasing collaborations with his company. There wasn't an object in that city that didn't have Jungkook's face on its forehead. It was impossible to escape him.

He was closely followed by Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin, two of the most promising models of the last decade, a national pride hand in hand with Jungkook. You didn't see them as often as Jungkook, but they still swept the international public and there was hardly anyone who didn't talk about them. Invited to catwalks in Paris, choosing their contracts and collaborations, wearing the most expensive clothes that you wouldn't even think of buying, wearing beautiful matching jewelry, expensive enough that a single outfit from each of them could buy you five houses in the small town they all came from. Taehyung and Jimin were known as the Siamese twins of modeling. Wherever one went, the other always had to be. Their exclusivity was incomparable.

In levels of recognition, Min Yoongi followed them in line. A great rapper who was well received by the general populace. Yoongi had managed to captivate a large audience thanks to his incredible command of the production of his music and his ease and gift for writing his own lyrics. His growth was gradual, but when he touched the sky he never went down again. His popularity was not low even though his presentation to the public was not that high compared to the other three. Still, Yoongi had enough charisma and talent to stand out, especially when his fans were obsessed with highlighting the duality he had when he was on stage and when he did those seventy question interviews with Vogue or whatever… that had made him one of the best rappers of his generation and probably of the last century.

Kim Namjoon was the owner of the company that made Jungkook's debut and welcomed Yoongi with total creative freedom. If he were not solely focused on music, he would surely also be Taehyung and Jimin's agent. Namjoon had inherited a company from his parents, but the success he had turned it into over the past few years, into one of the most profitable businesses in the country, was entirely to his credit and effort. His popularity was also high, because everyone said he was too handsome to be a mere businessman; not knowing, of course, that everything involved in maintaining such a business required much more than a pretty face. Of Namjoon the public didn't know too much, not probably like the other guys and you, if he was still half the person he was before.

Hand in hand with Namjoon were Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin. Hoseok was and still is to this day a national pride as he passionately played tennis since school and turned professional, reaching to participate in major international tournaments representing his country and winning one of them. However, two years after that great feat, an accident involving one of his hands prevented him from continuing to play. No one knows exactly what happened during the more than a year and a half that he almost completely disappeared from the public eye, but when he returned with his huge smile he announced that he would dedicate himself to dance, opening his own academy throughout the center of the city. Although he was not a recurrent teacher, his academy was one of the best in the country, and of course, it was financed by Namjoon's company. At one time Hoseok became Namjoon's associate.

Seokjin, on the other hand, was the one who kept the lowest profile. He was a great doctor, cardiovascular if you were not mistaken. In addition to being an amazing surgeon, his research projects were the ones everyone looked forward to the most at the end of each year. You didn't know much about the subject, but he was almost like the guru of medicine in his field specifically. The only reason he was so much in the public eye being a doctor was because he was regularly seen in the company of Namjoon, Hoseok and Yoongi. The four of them made up the holy grail of dilfs.

They had all had incredibly successful careers and you were glad that they had been able to accomplish everything they once talked about on the rooftop of Namjoon's house, with sneaky steps so their parents wouldn't scold them when they sneaked out in the wee hours of the morning.

You didn't know exactly what it was - or you didn't want to acknowledge it - that succumbed inside you every time you saw or heard about any of them on the news or on social media. Because yeah, no matter how low media exposure any of them had, always the faces of all seven appeared on your TikTok every week.

It was amazing how they had all moved on and you… well, you-

“Weren't you supossed to leave?”

You lifted your head from your phone, trying to hide it with trembling hands as you let Taehyung's face next to Jungkook's plunge into the darkness of your apron pocket.

“Huh?”

You tried to look distracted, returning your gaze between your boss and the notes next to the cash register. She had a soft gaze, between amused and sisterly. Her brown eyes shifted from your eyes and hot cheeks to the notes you held upside down in your hands, pretending to work as if she herself hadn't seen you completely frozen and gawking at the pair of the country's great casanovas.

“I thought you were leaving earlier today,” your boss shifted, settling her trench coat and long brown strap bag over her shoulder. At that moment she was leaving to walk around to each of the locations she had in town, just to do follow-ups. “Don't tell me you forgot.”

You followed her index finger until it landed on the red circle you had drawn on the calendar placed in your little cubicle a couple of weeks ago, with hearts surrounding it and exclamation points. Yes you remembered, of course you remembered, but at the point where you were at the time no one was going to miss you if you didn't attend.

“I didn't forget…” your voice trailed off as you looked down, your fingers finding the tips of the pages more entertaining than your boss's worried expression.

“y/n, you asked me to leave earlier this day from four months ago,” her high-pitched voice echoed in your head, reminding you how excited you had been a while ago for this day to come. “You can't just give up like that. Come on. You still have time.”

You began to shake your head, releasing your grip on the woman who was looking at you with the same worried eyes of a mother. Your boss had been one of the most encouraging people you'd ever had in your life, besides the handful of friends you had stored in your phone's contacts.

“It was a bust last time. I don't plan on going through that again.”

“But hadn't you told me afterwards that you weren't going to let that stop you? You said… what was it? I can't drown in this glass of water.”

You grudgingly resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Really you of four months ago was a deluded fool.

“I had no idea about life at the time.”

Your boss clicked her tongue, dropping her hands on your shoulders, giving little squeezes whose familiarity stole your breath.

“I'll leave Patrick waiting for you in case you change your mind.”

You shook your head, evading the memories. The man outside the store shook his head in greeting as the two of you turned to look at him, as if he knew you were talking about him.

“Don't miss this opportunity because you're afraid. It may change your life.”

You watched her leave, the clacking of her low heels drawing the attention of everyone in the store, earning every possible stare as she did every time she entered any room. Her chauffeur, Patrick, greeted her with a similar nod of his head as before and stood leaning against the black car parked right where he could get a perfect view of your nervous face.

You, unlike the great and successful lives of your high school friends whose company you still used to miss like a fool, had not had such a great and successful life.

You were a writer. Well, an attempted writer and, worse, part-time. The other part-time was this job behind the cash register at the largest pastry chain in the country. Or sometimes as a waitress, it depended on the day. There was good pay, mind you, at least it allowed you to make up for the losses you took every time you tried to sell a book and then had to market it on your own, only to have five purchases once every seven months and three of them were from your parents and brother. The other two were from your friends.

Four months ago you had been invited to a sort of convention for readers, how they had found you and why? You had no idea, but the idea of being considered in that way drove you crazy at the time. You were so excited that you had more copies of your failed books printed and prepared your booth several days in advance to present them to the horde of people who, you were sure at the time, would come to meet you.

Only one person came by to ask you about the bathroom.

You never recovered from that.

Even with all that failure, that same day you were invited to another convention and, for a while, you were excited to attend. Everyone goes through those kinds of bumps at some point in their life, right? You have to work hard to earn that kind of fame, you kept telling yourself. But as time went on and your networks didn't grow and your videos didn't get more than ten views, or fifty views at most in a week, you began to lose that spark of excitement you held for your dream. Your parents had never turned your back on what you wanted to do, but it was too demotivating and discouraging to have spent so many years at it, so many headaches and tears invested for you to just keep losing and losing money.

That was why you were sure you wouldn't go to that convention if you had to go through that mockery again. You hadn't even bothered to go and fix your booth so surely they already knew you weren't going.

“Have you seen them yet??????”

The female voice coming from the wine cellar made you jump up on your chair.

“Jesus, Yuna, you almost killed me here.”

“I don't care! We could die right now for all we care!”

“Wow, speak for yourself.”

“Haven't you seen theeeem?”

Yuna held up her phone, the screen at full brightness blinding you for a moment. The blurry dots you saw from the proximity of the device told you nothing, as your friend jumped excitedly beside you.

“God, hold still.”

Grabbing her wrist, you leveled the phone to see her TikTok and a picture of three men.

Namjoon, Yoongi and Jungkook coming out of a building. From Namjoon's building.

“They look amazing, don't they? They just came out! That means their car will pass in front of us any minute!”

Yes, Namjoon's building was just a few blocks away from your boss's place. In fact, your boss knew him and many times they would prepare large orders for parties at his company. You had never seen him set foot in this place or any other in the country, but every time he went to celebrate something he had to dial your boss's personal number and you would work until your backs burned because everything had to be perfect for the big businessman.

“Are you going out to greet them or what?” you frowned, letting go of her wrist and returning your gaze to the notebook next to the cash register.

Yuna let out an excited exclamation.

“Ohhhh~, should I? Should I?”

You grabbed her by the collar of her uniform as she tried to pass behind you.

“We're still on business hours.”

“I'm sure Sol wouldn't mind,” her almost heart pupil eyes stared down the street, her hands moving in front of her like she was a zombie. She almost seemed possessed by her fanaticism. Though of course you didn't blame her, if you didn't know any of the seven knights of the underworld you would surely be as excited as she was.

“Don't put words in her mouth. You'd better tell me if the lady's batch of cakes is out yet-”

Commotion erupted throughout the room. You almost saw in slow motion how all the people in the premises got up and running in the direction of the glass doors when you heard the screams coming from far away.

“They're comiiiiiiiiiiiing!!!”

Sometimes you wondered how they dealt with this level of fanaticism.

The ground almost shook with the amount of people running after a black car, where the three men who were causing such a furor so early that day were most likely to be, and the commotion was not tiny inside the venue where the screams erupted.

Having to deal with that on a daily basis would easily turn someone into a hater. Not that you were one... strictly...

“God, for a moment we breathed the same air,” Yuna plopped down on the table, her body doubled over with her eyes lost. You resisted the urge to smack her forehead.

“Their car windows were up.”

“So you saw them, right?????”

“Argh.”

You had to drag her back to work as the excitement in the store dissipated. You attended to another batch of consumers while Yuna fixed the display case and, in a moment of lapse you could almost tell, her back suddenly straightened and she turned to look at you with her eyes a little too wide. You passed the change to the man in front of you, who barely sent you a confused glance before continuing to claim his order at the other corner of the store.

“What's wrong with you?”

“You shouldn't be here.”

“Don't say that with that face. You look creepy,” you pulled out the bill to tuck it under the cash register as Yuna approached, leaving the frightened face behind.

“Wasn't that convention today?”

You sighed. “Yes.”

“Then why aren't you there?”

“Do I look like I want to be there?”

“Y/n! It's a great opportunity. You should-”

“A great opportunity for what, to be a laughingstock again?”

Yuna pursed her lips, looking almost pained that you would remember in that way the experience that was supposed to change your life. She had been one of the ones who had accompanied you to set up the booth and she was sure she had never seen you smile so much during all the time the two of you had known each other. Yuna was aware of how over time you seemed to have lost interest in this new convention, but she didn't think you would finally decide not to go.

On the sly, she had prepared your booth with the help of your mother and Sol, your boss.

“You were never a laughingstock! Don't say that,” Yuna patted your forearm harder than necessary. “Besides, I recently logged some purchases on the site! How do you-?”

“I know it was you and mom,” you raised your voice to interrupt her, stepping archly away from her body.

“What the… Of course not, ha, ha!”

“You're the only fools who would write down celebrity names to register purchases. Besides, the addresses don't even exist.”

“Fuck, I told her that wouldn't work.”

Under your heavy gaze, Yuna had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Okay, I'm sorry! We wanted to motivate you to go to the convention.”

“Can't you just let me do my own thing? If I don't want to go, I won't go.”

“Even if you leave Patrick waiting there?”

You followed his gaze, watching the man pull an umbrella out of the trunk of the car as the slightest breeze brushed against his body and the water droplets were smaller than a dew that the two of you had to squint to see them on the glass of the entrance.

“Whatever it is, I'm not going.”

“y/n…” Yuna pleaded, coming closer with her puppy dog eyes.

“No.”

“y/n, please…”

“No and stop doing that. You look weird.”

“I don't,” Yuna pulled away to frown at you. “I once heard you agreed with Seoyeon about my puppy face being cute.”

“I never agreed with that!”

“Seojun told me so!”

“Your first mistake is believing Seojun.”

“Do you blame me if the reason is your demonstration of love for me?”

“That was your second mistake.”

“Y/n!”

_____________________

That day you arrived home a little later than usual. Since Patrick had been waiting for you all day in the sun and mini rain and refused to let you take a cab on direct instructions from Sol, you asked him to take a ride downtown so you could buy the teokkboki your mom loved and incidentally bought some for him, even though he didn't want to accept it at first.

“y/n, dear, how did it go?”

Your parents were in the living room when you arrived playing Go. Your father left the table when he saw you carrying the bag of food and came over to take it from you.

“What does our little writer bring here, a contract by any chance?”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as your mother tried to get your father's attention by wildly waving her fan, while the man rummaged through the bag to find something warm and delicious smelling.

“Oh, it's teokkboki.”

Your mother stopped waving her arm to stare at the bag with sparkling eyes.

“The ones from the center? From Mrs. Wang?”

You nodded in her direction, taking a seat in their midst on the floor. Your parents started a pitched battle to see who would break the bag first to try the first batch of teokkboki and you could only watch them with a smile on your face. The day may have been difficult, but being home at the end of the day always made you feel so much better.

Amidst laughter and anecdotes, trying to avoid the elephant in the room because you knew your mother's furtive glances weren't for nothing, the three of you ate teokkboki until you were bursting at the seams. You organized the kitchen with your father while your mother grumbled from the living room whatever he said about her. You watched the three of you favorite soap opera on the fixed schedule and finally got ready for bed.

With your body more relaxed and lighter, you let yourself sink into the softness of the sheets, completely ignoring the messages Yuna had sent earlier and the stupid questions your brother asked at the most inopportune moments.

How do I unclog a bath?

Do I add salt to the rice???

Where do I get the kimchi mom makes?????

His independence was probably one of the worst things that could happen. You being the older sister thought you would leave home first. Even according to your twelve year old diary, you should have been married by then or at least planning your amazing, mega giant wedding, complete with helicopters and puppy dogs carrying drinks through the reception. You didn't know what kind of crazy dreams you had when you were younger, but up to that point you hadn't been able to fulfill any of your inner child's desires except to study for a career you were passionate about.

Still, what good had that done in the end? Maybe you should've listened to your grandparents to study medicine. Maybe your parents should've been a little more conservative instead of libertarian, which your grandparents always complained about when they had the chance. If you were a disgrace to anyone in the family, it was to them.

Ah, what a long day.

You didn't know at what point you fell asleep, but the incessant sound of your phone vibrating next to your pillow woke you up. With a grunt, you moved your hands to put the device in front of one of your half-open eyes to find Yuna on caller ID. Your eyes moved upward.

It was one in the morning!

“What the fuck are you doing calling at this hour? It better be an emergency because-”

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING THAT YOU DON'T CHECK YOUR MESSAGES?”

“WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT? IT'S ONE IN THE MORNING! WHY WOULD I BE DOING ANYTHING ELSE BUT SLEEPING?”

“I'VE BEEN TEXTING YOU FOR A WHILE NOW, Y/N!”

“YUNA HOW CAN I NOT FUCKING SLEEP-?”

“Well, whatever!”

You let out an exasperated snort, giving her time to say what she had to say.

“You're going to fall on your ass.”

“I'm lying down.”

“Your books have sold a thousand copies in the last hour!”

Silence. Absorbing silence…

“Yuna, if you really woke me up to play a fucking prank on me I'm going all the way to your house to pull out every single one of your hairs with a fucking tweezer.”

“First of all, gross. Second of all, I'm not kidding! Get on your fucking Instagram! What's worse is that's not the most shocking news. Well… depends on how you look at it.”

“Yuna, I don't think I'm following you.”

“Fucking Kim Taehyung was at the reader convention and he took a picture of your books and UPLOADED IT TO HIS INSTAGRAM STORIES!!!!! AN HOUR AGO! The damn shopping notifications woke me up and I think I took too much time trying to process what was going on because they already tripled!”

“What the fuck are you talking about, did you start smoking weed?”

“Ugh, why are you so insufferable? Just look at fucking Instagram!”

You didn't want to believe Yuna, but a part of you was vibrating in anticipation. You'd already seen her text messages, her exclamations and voice notes, you'd barely processed the images she'd sent you. You logged on to Instagram. The first thing you noticed was the exorbitant amount of notifications and direct messages.

You had to search for Taehyung's account because you weren't following him.

There was the colorful arc around his profile picture. The story.

You clicked on his picture on the screen.

Your books were all over his story, with his hand holding one of them.

It jumped out at you that there was a stand of your books that you had no idea where it had come from.

A description loomed between the image.

One of the best fantasy books I've read in recent years. And by one of the best writers I've ever met in my life.

Your user was next to the description. You had no idea how fucking Kim Taehyung had gotten your user when it wasn't even something related to your name. You hadn't even uploaded pictures of yourself once in all the time that account had been open.

“Did you see it?? Can you see I wasn't lying?”

With Yuna's malevolent laughter in the background, you felt your mind escape into an unknown mental space.

“You're going to be rich!!! And I'm going to meet Kim Taehyung!”

Your mind was racing a thousand miles an hour trying to make sense of what your eyes couldn't credit. His story was replaying on your screen. So many things you could say and just…

“What the fuck?”

--

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7

[sheep-from-rad]

Photograph (Platonic Batman x reader) (second half inched on the yan territory)

Notes: I made a joke that I wasn’t held enough as a child. Well, jokes on me because it was apparently not a joke. I'm still shit at making endings, help Merry Christmas folks <3 

Masterlist 

dividers by: @strangergraphics

“Isn’t this for newborns?” 

Bruce sat shirtless on the room’s armchair. The room didn’t exist until this week, back then it was just another one of the big guest rooms inside the mansion. From formal, vintage patterned, dark green wallpapers it changed into a soft pudding yellow (Jason’s suggestion)  and the corners are filled with soft plushies. He looked down on his shirtless self again as Alfred stood by the crib to prepare the four month old infant. Years of fighting rogues but it was the thought of holding a baby that made him nervous. 

He takes a silent pride on his body, from his back muscles to his strong arms, from bruises and scars, he wears them like an intangible medal. He thought that the media would question how a businessman like him would have such build but he was easy to conceal it with his ditzy public persona. Ladies did love it but then again holding a lady and holding a baby are two different things. 

“You might have missed their newborn days but bonding as father-baby is not too late”, Alfred explained. “Ah, skittish like your father when it was his first time holding you” 

Bruce’s hands protectively closed around the sleeping babe. He reclines as Alfred helps lay the baby on his chest, one hand on the head and neck and the other under their bottom. Skin to skin and warm. Warm. He didn’t know an infant could produce such warmth. Is this how his father felt the first time he held him? The feeling of happiness like a small glowing bubble melting in his soul, a warm innocent light in the gloom. 

He tensed again when he felt his little baby moved, their tiny arms stretching with all their might. “Alfred I think they are —” Before he could finish his words, he found himself staring at a pair of (eye color) eyes with their little lips curled in a curious ‘o’. They can barely lift their head for a long time but keep doing so to keep the little staring contest going. “What are you doing? Are you memorizing me?” He cringed a little especially knowing that he just butchered the movie quote. The little cringing turned to a small panic when the baby’s little trembled. He braced himself for a wail but instead he was greeted by a gummy smile and a giggle. 

A giggle! Sure he missed the days of them being a newborn but they were here to witness the giggle milestone. “You think dad is stupid for quoting it wrong?” As if understanding his words, their giggles turned louder. “Master Bruce, language please.” The master of the house didn’t hear the older man nor the sound of the camera going off, capturing the moment. A picture, one of the many to cherish in the later years. 

✮⋆˙(alternate ending here because I can’t make up my mind) ✮⋆˙

Bruce found himself in the room that he hasn’t been in for years. Each step that he took was heavy as his heart, echoing regrets and apologies that needed to be said not just in words but also in actions. 

The room was empty with the exception of the barebone furnitures and thin sheet of dust. The only sign that someone once lived in the now lifeless room was a picture frame that was left behind and placed facing down. It was left behind as if mirroring how they had abandoned you. “Where has time gone?” he asked, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. He is envious of his younger self in the picture. He wished he could turn back time, hold you close and hold you tight, and reclaim the promises he had forgotten to do. Forgotten like the pictures and the memories and the wallpapers in the room. All yellowed on the edges and faded. 

The small sound from his phone snapped him from his trance, he had to compose himself before picking it up. 

“Dick?” 

“B, we found them” 

“Bring them home”

[chaoticace2005]

Vox’s Rivalry with Alastor: Need for Control

The whole thing with Vox is control. He’s the embodiment of modern technology and surveillance. The privacy issues we face? In Hell that’s all Vox. And when you think of it like that his whole rivalry with Alastor makes so much sense on a logical level.

Things Vox Controls:

-The public: constant surveillance, brainwashing, and further control over media content they consume. He doesn’t just control what people watch but he watches people.

-This partners (to a degree): we see this with how he interacts with Valentino. He isn’t the one in CHARGE, but the thing with Valentino is he tends to be very explosive, and Vox is able to direct the blast in a direction that won’t harm him (offers to bring up employees for Val to kill so he won’t make a public display about Angel)

-Himself: We see how he puts so much energy on to be publicity ready and have a smile on his face. Talking very much like a businessman or politician. He acts completely different in front of camera.

Even his smile. Both Vox and Alastor use smiling as a mechanism to hide their true selves. But with Alastor it works as a way to keep people guessing, to inspire a level of fear oftentimes.

Vox isn’t like that. He puts on a fake, plastic smile. Alastor tries to make himself off putting on purpose, Vox doesn’t. He does it to keep them complacent. Alastor smiles so people won’t figure him out. Vox smiles so people trust him enough not to try.

We see that the second Alastor is brought up that smile vanishes. His self control is gone. Throughout the song we see him lose more control over his public persona, getting more visibly angry, while at the same time the public turns more to Alastor. Meanwhile Alastor also butters his partners up and publicly announces to the world that “no, Vox can’t control me. Trust me, he tried.”

Every single thing Vox controls is threatened when Alastor is involved. Vox has no way to control him.

-Methods he uses on the public? Surveillance and media? Won’t work because Alastor can’t be captured on camera well and hates modern technology. Brainwashing the public? Won’t work if they’re paying more attention to Alastor than him.

-His partners? Alastor declined his partnership and is willing to poke at the relationship between the Vees. All the Vees carry some weight in the relationship, but Alastor could make Vox seem obsolete. He’s able to control their public perception, yes- but one of them could easily go rogue and blow that to bits.

-Himself? Demolished. Gone. He has a public breakdown. He glitches out. Fully cries at the end of the song. Maybe it’s the fear of what Alastor could do, maybe it’s their past, maybe it’s Vox’s weird hate boner, maybe it’s unrequited feelings. Who knows. All logic and control goes out the window when Alastor is involved.

And the thing Alastor seems very much the same. He hates being under someone’s leash. He needs to be in control. When he’s reminded he’s not he lashes out. The first time we really see their masks break is when they’re reminded of the fact there is someone out there that is a threat to the control the have. The “What did you say?” they both do before lashing out.

I’m interested in seeing how they’ll interact in the future. Because they really do seem like two sides of the same coin. The only difference is we know who Vox is afraid of, we don’t fully know who Alastor is of yet. They need power over others, but more than that they need power over themselves. (Alastor being controlled by whatever the deal he made was. While Vox is controlled by his emotions towards Alastor. And both being controlled by their fear.)

( @gabrielsbubblegumbitch I’m curious on your thoughts? I’ve read some of your analyses 1’s would love feedback.)

[funkopersonal]

Here's your daily reminder that...

Jews are only 0.2% of the worlds population but...

Jews make up 14% of the World Total and 38% of the United States of America total winners for the Nobel Prize for Literature (source).

Of the 965 individual recipients of the Nobel Prize and the Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Sciences between 1901 and 2023, at least 214 have been Jews or people with at least one Jewish parent, representing 22% of all recipients. (source)

Jews make up 14% of the total winners of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction 18% of the total winners of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry; 53% of the total winners of the Pulitzer Prize for Non-Fiction (source).

Jews make up 39% of the total winners of the Antoinette Perry (Tony) Award for Best Play; 54% of the total winners of the Tony Award for Best Book of a Musical (with 62% of all Composers and 66% of all Lyricists of Best Musical-winning productions being Jewish) (source).

Jews make up 40% of the total winners of the Academy Award (Oscar) for Best Original Screenplay; and 34% of the total winners of the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay (source).

Although Jews constitute only 3% of the U.S. population...

80% of the nation’s professional comedians are Jewish (source).

90% of American comic book creators are jewish (source)

38% of the recipients of the United States National Medal of Science are Jewish (Source).

Jews are very successful, with educational levels higher than all other U.S. ethnic groups with the exception of Asian Americans, and income levels the highest of all groups. Six out of ten Jewish adults have college degrees, and 41% of Jewish families report a household income of $75,000 or more” (source)

Jews are a minority across the globe. We've been historically opressed and hated. But these key figures from history are all Jewish and loved, yet many don't even know they're jewish (or they don't know these people in the first place!):

Stan Lee (birth name: Stanley Martin Lieber) - An American comic book writer and editor, Former executive vice president and publisher of marvel Comics, creator of iron-man, spider-man, and more.

Albert Einstein - a Theoretical physicist, Received the 1921 Nobel Prize in Physics, developed the theory of relativity and the "worlds most famous equation"  (E = mc^2), and more.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg - Former Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, co-authored the initial law school casebook on sex discrimination, co-founded the Women’s Rights Project at the ACLU in 1972, and more.

Jack Kirby (birth name: Jacob Kurtzberg) - an American comic book artist, co-creator of Captain America, one of the most influential comic book artists

Harry Houdini (birth name: Erich Weisz) - a Hungarian-American escape artist, illusionist, and stunt performer, noted for his escape acts.

Emma Lazarus - An American author remembered for her sonnet "The New Colossus," Inspired by The Statue of Liberty and inscribed on its pedestal as of 1903.

Julius Rosenthal, Lillian Wald, Rabbi Emil G. Hirsch, Stephen Wise, and Henry Moskowitz - Jewish activists that helped form the NAACP along with W.E.B. Dubois, Ida B. Wells-Barnett, and Mary Church Terrell.

Mark Zuckerberg - Founder and CEO of Meta, a businessman who co-founded the social media service Facebook, and within four years became the world’s youngest self-made billionaire Harvard alumni.

Joseph Pulitzer - a politician and newspaper publisher, his endowment to the Columbia University established the Pulitzer Prizes in 1917, he founded the Columbia School of Journalism which opened in 1912.

Jacob William Davis - a Latvian tailor who is credited with inventing modern jeans and who worked with Levi Strauss to patent and mass-produce them, died.

Irving Berlin - drafted at age 30 to write morale-boosting songs for military revues (including “God Bless America”). Many Berlin songs remained popular for decades, including “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” “Cheek to Cheek,” “Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better),” “There’s No Business Like Show Business,” and two celebrating Christian holidays: “White Christmas” and “Easter Parade.”

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel - received his doctorate in Berlin. He was arrested by the Nazis in 1938, moved to the U.S. in 1940, and became an influential figure in the 1960s, marching with the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. in Selma, Alabama, and speaking out against the Vietnam War.

Elie Wiesel - Romanian-American writer and professor, holocaust survivor, nobel laureate, political activist. Authored 57 books including Night, a work based on his experiences as a Jewish prisoner in the Auschwitz and Buchenwald concentration camps

Bob Dylan - an icon of folk, rock and protest music, won the Nobel Prize in literature for his complex and poetic lyrics.

J. Robert Oppenheimer - ran the Manhattan Project, considered the "father of the atomic Bomb," presented with the Enrico Fermi Award by President Lyndon Johnson.

Betty Friedan - co-founded the National Organization of Women and became its first president, wrote The Feminine Mystique (1963) and helped spark the second wave of feminism.

Gloria Steinem - one of the most prominent feminists of all time, launched Ms. Magazine and co-founded the National Women’s Political Caucus with Bella Abzug, Shirley Chisholm, Betty Friedan and Myrlie Evers-Williams, widow of Medgar Evers.

Sergey Brin - an American businessman best known for co-founding Google with Larry Page, president of Alphabet Inc.

Judith Heumann - a founder of the disability rights movement, led a 26-day sit-in at a federal building in San Francisco. The protest spurred implementation of Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act, a precursor to the Americans with Disabilities Act.

Larry Kramer - co-founded Gay Men’s Health Crisis in response to the AIDS epidemic but was soon ousted over his confrontational activism. He went on to help launch a more strident group, ACT UP, and wrote a critically acclaimed play, The Normal Heart, about the early AIDS years in New York City.

Steven Spielberg - released his critically acclaimed epic film Schindler’s List, based on the true story of a German industrialist who saved Jews during the Holocaust. The movie won seven Oscars and led Spielberg to launch the Shoah Foundation at the University of Southern California, which filmed interviews with 52,000 survivors of the Holocaust and genocides in Nanjing and Rwanda.

Calvin Klein - made designer jeans and the infamous ad starring Brooke Shields revolutionized the fashion industry, sold his company to Phillips-Van Heusen (now PVH) for $430 million. Klein was the first designer to win three consecutive Coty Awards for womenswear.

Daveed Diggs - an American actor, rapper, and singer-songwriter. he originated the dual roles of Marquis de Lafayette and Thomas Jefferson in the musical Hamilton, for which he won a 2016 Tony Award for Best Actor in a Featured Role in a Musical. Along with the main cast of Hamilton, he was awarded a Grammy Award for Best Musical Theater Album in the same year.

And so much more. (a pretty decent list is available here)

Not only that, but the following are all Jewish inventions...

The Teddy Bear - made by Morris and Rose Michtom in honor of Theodore "Teddy" Roosevelt.

The Ballpoint Pen - *the first commercially sucessfull ballpoint pen was made by Lazlo Biro, a Hungarian-Jew, and his brother.

Mobile Phones - made by Martin Cooper, nicknamed the "father of the cellphone", and was born in Chicago to Ukrainian Jewish immigrants.

The Barbie - made by Ruth Marianna Handler, born to Polish-Jewish immigrants.

Power Rangers - made by Haim Saban, a Jewish-Egyptian

Video Games - made by Ralph Baer, a German-Jew

Peeps - made by Sam Born, a Russian-Jewish immigrants who came to the United States in 1909.

Cards Against Humanity - created by a group of Jewish boys from the same high school

Many Superheroes including Superman, Ironman, spider-man, batman, and more!

and more! (an illustrated list available here.)

Conclusion: If you're Jewish, be proud. You come from a long line of successful people. No matter what happened to them, Jews persevered, and they strived for sucess. Be proud of your culture, your history, these are your people. You're Jewish.

(feel free to reblog and add more, or just comment and i'll add it!)

Last Updated: June 25, 1:35 AM EST

[beenbaanbuun]

Hey!! I just read your most recent Addams!MATZ fic and the angst is DELICIOUS. Your talent for writing is incredible and your creativity really shines through with each and every fic. The fluff, angst, and even the smut are so wonderfully well done, you're one of my favorite ATEEZ writers.

If you're up to it, and feel free to ignore this, but I'd love to see a part two to the angst Addams!MATZ where seonghwa talks to hongjoong and hongjoong comes to apologize. If that's not something you see yourself continuing, I completely understand!

Make sure to keep yourself healthy and hydrated and get plenty of rest.

thank you for the compliments!!! they mean the world to me. i’m glad that my passion for writing and my love for these boys shines through in my work. here is a continuation <333

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seonghwa doesn’t even bother to knock before barging into his husbands office. yes, he thinks anger is an ugly emotion, but that doesn’t mean he is immune to it. in fact, it’s the only thing running through him as he steps through the doorway and slams the heavy slab of oak behind him. hongjoong hasn’t shown you the courtesy of being polite; why should seonghwa show his husband the same.

upon hearing the bang of the door, the overworked businessman turns around, pen still in hand and glasses low on his nose. he was half expecting to see your feisty little self again, but instead he’s met with the sight of his husband. if it weren’t for the sneer that twisted up his husbands pretty face, he might’ve explained the same thing he’d tried explaining to you. something tells him that seonghwa wouldn’t have appreciated being told ‘i’m busy, i’ll come and talk to you when i’m finished designing these pieces.’

“what’s wr—” hongjoong doesn’t even get to finish before seonghwa cuts him off with a scoff and a petty roll of the eyes. it’s hardly like him to wear his emotions on his sleeve, and yet hongjoong can see each one of them clear as day. hurt, anger, disappointment; emotions that he never wants anyone he cares about to feel. his heart sinks just a touch as he realises who those emotions are aimed towards.

“you are a piece of work, hongjoong,” seonghwa spits, sounding beautiful even with venom laced through his voice. hongjoong knows that’s the last thing he should be thinking right now, but he can hardly help admiring his husband, even when he is seething. it takes the man a second or two to knock himself free of the love-induced haze and allow the words to sink in. “do you think you’re in the right for yelling at our darling? do you think that just because you’re overworking yourself it gives you the right to make her cry?”

hongjoong’s world comes to a standstill. the clock on the wall stops ticking, the heart in his chest stops beating, and most importantly, for the first time in weeks, the brain in his head stops thinking. finally, finally, it’s no longer filled with a myriad of complex ideas, each one overlapping yet individual in its own right. finally he just has one singular thought. it’s just a shame it isn’t a good one.

he made you cry…

hongjoong made you cry…

it repeats in his head, over and over like a mantra. it taunts him, the idea that he’d upset you so much feeling like nails on a chalkboard. his hairs stand on end and his breath catches in his throat. lord below, what has he done.

“where is she?” his voice is weak, pathetic, nothing like he usually sounds. seonghwa has to admit that his resolve takes a hit when he hears it leave his loves mouth. he reminds himself to remain strong; your pain is his priority right now. “seonghwa, please—”

“take a guess, hongjoong,” seonghwa replies, once again cutting his husband off. this time it wasn’t out of anger but of fear that he might cave if he has to listen to hongjoong’s heartbroken pleas for much longer. the pained look on his face is enough to send seonghwa’s heart into overdrive; he doesn’t need any more distractions from the real reason he’s here. “where might you usually find her when she isn’t with one of us?”

the rug in front of the fire—jongho.

hongjoong almost feels ashamed that he even had to ask; he should’ve realised the second you silently left his office that you’d gone to seek comfort in your favourite onikuma. realistically, though, he should’ve realised a lot of things. it hurts him to know that he was too focused on work to do so.

he stands, and he’s grateful when seonghwa shifts to the side to allow him past, even going as far as to re-open the heavy door for him. hongjoong isn’t quite sure he deserves the soft hand that’s placed against his back as he walks through the doorway, but he appreciates it nonetheless. now isn’t the time to be wondering how he ended up with such a beautiful individual as a soulmate, but he finds himself lingering on that thought as the two of them begin their journey to the living room. it’s hard not to when the warmth of seonghwa’s touch never once leaves him.

in fact, it’s only when the two of them step through the archway that seonghwa gives a small shove to the bottom of hongjoong’s spine before going to reclaim his spot on the couch. with a single nod in your direction, seonghwa redirects his husband’s attention and hongjoong lets his gaze flicker to the floor.

the first thing he’s met with is a glare from the mutt he’d been so reluctant to allow into his abode. normally, the beast would be scolded for being so bold as to openly disrespect his master, but he let it slide this time. he can hardly tell him not to give him the attitude he so clearly deserves. in fact, this is light compared to what he would’ve expected from the overprotective creature.

at least hongjoong knows he’ll make a wonderful guard dog…

“dove,” hongjoong coos softly as he dips down to your level. he can’t remember the last time he’d sat on the floor, but this feels necessary. the closeness is something that he finds himself craving, wanting nothing more than to have you next to him again. he won’t lie and claim that the sole purpose of this is to comfort you; he needs it too, to stave off the guilt that has begun to eat him alive. “can you look at me?”

there’s a certain element of pain in his voice that tells you he’s being sincere. that he truly does feel remorse for how he treated you. whether or not it’s seonghwa that forced it upon him, you don’t particularly care. all you want is to feel hongjoong’s warmth again, so you listen. you turn your head until your watery eyes meet his.

“there she is,” he gives you a humourless chuckle, a sad smile twisting the corners of his mouth up and the corners of his eyebrows down. the warmth of his hand as he places it on your cheek is comforting; more so than any words he could say. you just need him close. he seems to realise that as he turns to the werewolf, dangerously aware of the way his ears twitch angrily above his head. “may i take her, yeosang? i promise i’ll be gentle with her.”

“you weren’t gentle with her earlier,” yeosang growls, behaving more akin to what hongjoong expects from him. it almost has hongjoong flinching back in fear of yet another bite-shaped bruise on his hand.

“that’s true, but i would like i make it up to her,” hongjoong is soft as he speaks, less so for the sake of the angry mutt, and more for the sake of you. he doesn’t want you to see any more anger from him. “besides i really think it should be my little dove’s decision as to whether i get to hold her, don’t you?” yeosang snarls, huffing in dismay as he unravels his arms from you and lets hongjoong swoop you into his. manipulation never really has been the man’s style, but he has to admit that it works wonders with the mutt. use you as leverage, and yeosang will behave like a fully trained lapdog. he’s just like them in that respect; so desperate to make you happy that they’d risk everything, dignity included.

it’s not hard for you to let yourself be passed around like some kind of teddy bear as a pose to a real, living human. you’re tired from crying, not to mention desperate for the confirmation that you’re still hongjoong’s good girl. in fact, as hongjoong tugs you into his grasp like a rag doll, you find yourself leaning into his grasp. it’s so soft compared to his sharp words and cutting tone earlier, and his familiar scent of spices fills your nostrils. it dizzies you, but hongjoong is there to catch you…

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear as he pulls you up to straddle his crossed legs, “my darling dove, will you forgive me?”

you don’t answer. you don’t find it necessary to. the way you see it there’s nothing to forgive; you annoyed him, he yelled at you. it’s give and take, and despite your emotions getting the better of you, you refuse to place the blame on hongjoong. not all of it, at least.

“only if you forgive me too,” is the answer you finally settle on, mumbling it into his neck. he squirms a little at the tickling sensation, and in your own mind, you find yourself thinking he’s cute.

“you have nothing to forgive, my dove,” he answers, “but if it will make you forgive me, then yes; i forgive you…”