#Sacred Heart fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seraphdreams · 10 months ago

Text

SMILE, YOU'RE ON CAMERA. | YUUTA OKKOTSU.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. when taking care of your university finances proves troublesome, the universe grants you your very own savior. but it’s gonna cost you.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, college au!yuuta / bimbo reader (obvi), filming, lots of porn references… a lot, virginity loss, praise, oral n fingering, slight obsession, pussydrunk yuuta, unprotected love making, yuuta’s rich and unsettling. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 5.3k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! omg, yuuta? i meant to have this out a few weeks ago but got caught in a little writing slump :( nevertheless, here’s to a new year and a new fic! yuuta’s been slowly creeping his way up my favs list , tehe !! as always, please reblog / comment if you enjoyed this , it’ll fill me with joy. thank u ♡

you’re a pornstar.

albeit, an amateur one with heaps to learn regarding the ruthless industry, but the weight still stands.

the details in which you came to the jarring conclusion were muddled with the convoluted steps that it took for you to get there, murky in your bubblegum-filled mind. all you knew was that yuuta okkotsu was a force, a gentle one, to be reckoned with.

it must’ve played out once you returned to your campus dorm beyond the dusk of midnight, under an unmitigating fatigue from the twelve hour waitressing shift just prior. through abhorrent patrons and the lack of a spendable paycheck, the excruciatingly long night barely made you enough money to even think about buying those dollish pumps you’ve been yearning for. how cruel.

in between working and haphazardly handing your earnings over to university fees and textbooks, you just couldn’t seem to make ends meet.

you would curse the day you took it upon yourself to branch away financially from your parents under the guise of growing up, since now it’d be a blessing to have even a cellphone bill paid off. whatever the issue seemed to be, lady luck was truly never bothered enough to be on your side.

fortunately for you, though, it was that same arduous night, you had been huddled against your stuffed animals in bed, mindlessly scrolling through the various social media apps on your phone; switching from sites like instagram and twitter to youtube then right back to instagram all over again, only to be met with an offer dusted in pink glitter that caught your eye as if it were made for you.

“stars needed — will pay upfront.”

it was a shoddy story post, one that could be clicked past and forgotten forever — yet, a brisk reminder of your situation in the form of borrowed, used textbooks with pages missing or vandalized, and today’s horoscope that said to take risks; you did exactly that, aiming a swipe up that would ultimately rid you of the worries of yesterday.

there were no reasons as to why you couldn’t be a star. certainly, you had the face for it, and you were told by multiple charmers that you were beyond beguiling to get anything you could ever ask for. what dismay could possibly unfold from contacting .. yuuta okkotsu .. about his offer?

hm, that’s funny. the name rang familiarity as it seeded in your mind.

must be one of yuuji’s friends.

itadori yuuji, your best friend of three years now. out of all the time you’d spent together, you came to realize that he could get along with anyone, despite their true intentions. he spoke highly of his friends as well, which earned him a sacred spot in your heart that couldn’t be replaced by anyone.

itadori had briefly mentioned in a ramen-fueled frenzy that one of his peers were “so insanely talented” and that you’d definitely get on with him. but when you asked for validity on that vague claim, all yuuji seemed to respond with was a mere “just meet him, you’ll see.”

from your recollection, the acquaintance he was boasting about, as if it was his own personal victory, was none other than your yuuta okkotsu. he was meek, stuck to a close-knit friend group consisting of maki and toge from your physics class, and the one time you ever spoke to him was to ask about yuuji’s whereabouts, to which he responded that he went back to his dorm after gojo-sensei’s lecture.

he seemed, normal. average, even. that surely had to be the case since your memory was hazy on his being otherwise.

it was true, though, yuuta was gifted. in a way that transcended words, skillful towards visual aesthetics, and careful with the craft. he would spend most of his freetime fumbling with a camera or recording the works of the mundane. overtly, he’d grown such a strong passion in the field of videography in hopes to capture the reality of humanity, the authenticity within intimacy — what could he possibly need a “star” for?

shadiness aside, you were in a tough spot, willing to do whatever to free yourself from the financial burden that was jujutsu technical university. with a swift swipe in tandem with the soft tapping of the pads of your thumbs on the keyboard, you were taking yuuta up on his offer.

within seconds, he responded back with his address and an appropriate meet-up date to start the project.

if only you were aware of how drastically your life would change from here on out.

a cluster of days had passed since you last got into contact with yuuta. he had told you to meet him at his place, claiming it would be more efficient than traveling to an unnamed destination with pounds of heavy photography equipment.

where you stood currently, was in front of the bare oak of his front door, hand wrapped in a loose fist as you knocked gently on the wood. a quick moment had passed by before you took initiative to raise your fist and knock once more. before your touch could meet the wood, a muffled “coming!” chimed beyond the door. from what you had heard on the other side; the scuttling behind the door and jingle of the lock, yuuta had opened the door soon after.

with his hand rubbing away the goosebumps that stood at the back of his neck, he beamed. cordially, warmly.

“you’re actually here. hi,”

upon first glance, yuuta had a distinct look. he stood tall, not tall enough to matter or incite intimidation, and although he wore a black button-up (a bit formal for an occasion as casual as today), his lean build shone through under the thin fabric, ripples of veins dancing up his forearms. what you couldn’t miss, however, were the grey eyebags under his emotionless navy orbs, as if he’d forgone weeks of sleep.

yuuta okkotsu was unsettling.

“hi,” your voice sounded as a sweet croon, dulcet enough that you could barely hear it yourself as it escaped in a breathy breeze. his smile grew softer in response, that monotonous gaze in his eyes fizzling away into something of serenity. “come in, please,” yuuta held the door open wider for you to tread past, caught up in observing the bunch of fabric that hugged tightly around your ass, then closed it gently behind you once you stepped completely inside. he silently cursed at himself for ogling — he truly didn’t mean to stare. you’re just a lot prettier up close. “i was just getting set up. you can have a seat if you’d like.”

as you’d expect from any guy your age, his place wasn’t much to gaze at, nor did it have much personality. in a corner to your right was a houseplant, that of the fern variety, and a few steps deeper into the abode was the living room, where yuuta resumed his fumbling with the transfiguration of his tripod.

you decided to sit on the couch across from him, taking in the bleak sight of his home. you would have almost believed it was unlived in had it not been for the scattered midterm review papers decorating his coffee table. it was obvious he had money from the endless rows of space that surrounded the two of you, although a candle or something would be nice.

he peered away from his tripod to look through the viewfinder of his camera, ensuring that the lens was functioning properly. he grew pleased to see the image of you distracted in fiddling with your thumbs reflected back at him. “are you nervous?” his gaze fell upon you through his own eyes, a concerned expression harboring his features.

you were pulled out of your muse of unfamiliarity to direct your attention to the sound of his mild voice, returning a smile to his that eased the worriment trapped behind dull, blue eyes. “n-not really, i don’t think.”

his lips curled up once more at that, in fact there wasn’t a time so far that you hadn’t noticed him without his signature smile. “here, let me help with that,” reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, tapping away at the screen before ultimately turning it back off and settling it back into its place in his pocket.

your phone vibrated beside you, screen lighting up with a bold alert.

[YUUTA OKKOTSU SENT $1000]

before you had a chance to even process the significance of the notification, he started back up,

“i hope i got the right information, wouldn’t want your hard work to get in the wrong hands.” the tilt of his head in tandem with a chuckle resonated sheepishly, and he returned to watch you through his camera lens.

he was right. the money did soothe your nerves.

“i’ve barely done anything yet.” a ditzy giggle followed soon after your sentence, a sound that yuuta couldn’t possibly ignore. you were already starting to pull at his heartstrings.

“and you’ve done it so perfectly,” his praise left you flustered in that moment and you bit down softly on your lower lip to keep your smile at bay. “thank you, yuuta.”

you would’ve never guessed that your introverted classmate had enough experience in him to be such a flirt, or have your cheeks heating up with fervid affection, no less. but maybe yuuta was just like that; maybe this had been natural.

“no, thank you.” his thumb hovered over the record button just as his eyes met your gaze over the brim of the camera. “would you like to start now?”

he took the nod of your head as confirmation to press the record button, finally getting started with the project.

you blinked blankly at him as he tilted his head and flashed a warmhearted grin. “how old are you?” was his first question. he had asked while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. as he did so, you took notice of the silver ring donned around his finger.

he couldn’t have been married, no?

keeping your answer as vague as possible for the sake of matching his comforting warmth, you responded, “twenty-something.” he let out a satisfied huff of air as he nodded and moved onto his next query.

“and what’s your major?”

with the question barely having enough time to linger in the suggestively tense air, he added, “you’re very beautiful, by the way. do you mind taking your dress off for me?”

as much as it should’ve alarmed you, you were swayed by his toothachingly inviting timbre, its gentleness pulling compliancy from you in a matter of a few mere words. you only shook your head, forgoing the short piece of fabric that clung to each curve and dip of your body while your nipples hardened under the glacial, artificial breeze of his home. once the silk pooled at your hips, that, along with your panties were dropped onto the floor, leaving you bare and vulnerable under the camera — and yuuta’s watchful eye.

he swallowed thickly at the sight, remaining as respectful as he could despite the monster growing in his pants; his eyes locked right back onto yours as if he’d get striked down for moving them even a millimeter south. “are you a virgin?” he queried, opting to move his hand from awkwardly at his side to fidgeting with the button at his shirt, ultimately undoing it and revealing another inch of skin at his heated chest.

from the nature of what you had signed yourself up for, you were hesitant to answer his question. of course you needed experience to be a star, and with you lacking the preconceived ability, you could kiss your $1000 goodbye..

yet he looked at you with an expectant gaze. no traces of malice in his eyes or frustration from your quick witted silence, but merely, with patience. and in that moment you couldn’t find it within yourself to lie.

“i am,” out of shame, you curled in on yourself, hoping that the sofa would engulf you, and your feelings, crossing your arms over your bare chest as if it’d create a wall of privacy behind your own humiliation. “is that okay?”

yuuta’s being only grew warmer at the response, you figured he’d be hot to the touch by now, from searing pleasure or unshakeable cordiality, you wouldn’t know. “yeah, that’s okay,” it came out breathier than he would’ve liked, a telltale sign of his aching desire. “that’s more than okay.”

truth be told, he had never met anyone as enchanting as you. you looked up at him with such trust in your eyes that it daunted him — fear that the assurance he wielded from you would shatter beneath him, and he’d be drowning. in a sea of his own wistfulness. now that he had you, he couldn’t let you go.

you were on to make a breathtaking star.

now feeling less coy than before, you relaxed your head into the palm of yuuta’s hand. you hadn’t noticed how long he’d been stroking at your cheek, or when he closed the vexing proximity between the two of you, all that mattered in that moment was the roll of his gentle vocables flowing through your ears and the thumb of his that graciously caressed your cheek.

you came to realize that he was much more handsome this way as your eyes toured his own, then down to the sliver of sweat-sheened skin peeking from underneath the black veil of his shirt, then down to his…

he’s so fucking hard.

confined against his slacks was his cock that leaked an ample amount even while it was untouched. you could make out its silhouette, something girthy, perhaps heavy, but nothing like you’d expect from yuuta. uncharacteristically huge.

“yuuta.” you whispered, mainly to yourself, as your mouth began to water at the sight, and his cheeks dusted pink once he realized what you were fixated upon.

“do you wanna,” he started up but faltered soon after when your lidded gaze flitted back up towards his. never had he felt so weak before, it was as if you’d casted a spell on him. “do you maybe want to—” he paused to avert his own gaze and embarrassment. “—put it in your mouth?”

he could’ve sworn he heard the increase of his heartbeat in his ears when you crinkled your brows, pretty face forming into an even prettier pout.

“but i’ve never—”

he stopped you before you could start, interjecting his own voice of reassurance.

“it’s okay. i’ll guide you,” taking his camera off its stand and moving the rest of the configuration elsewhere, he held it in one hand to better capture the scene unfolding before him. “just try your best for me, okay?”

“okay.” when he returned your concern with a small smile, you took it upon yourself to undo the arrangement of his pants, carefully hooking your finger into the elastic waistband of his briefs and pulling down just enough for his length to spring free.

for what felt like minutes, you marveled at his sheer size, wondering how anyone of his nature could possibly be hiding something like that. it curved upwards with a prominent vein or two running up the underside while it continued to leak, so much so, that you had to collect it all at the tip with your finger.

the tip? flushed the prettiest pink you’d ever witnessed and was as bulbous as it was mushroomed, you knew you’d have a bit of difficulty trying to fit into your mouth. it seemed to twitch under the fanning of your breath to which yuuta let out a whine of pure impatience.

“can i..?” your words trailed off when you involuntarily found yourself pressing chaste kisses along the length of his cock until they met with his sticky tip; a recreated scene from the various porn videos you’d seen. the sensation sent a jolt of palpable pleasure through his being, yuuta’s dark hair curtaining over his eyes while he made a damn good attempt at silencing his moans, with his teeth sunken into his bottom lip.

your eyes kept watch at his wavering expression while you wrapped your hand at the base of his length and began to pump slowly, yet another thing you had learned through the fascinating world of porn.

“suck it,” it was clear to you that yuuta had grown desirously impatient from your teasing, looking down at you with a hint of hunger in his beautiful orbs. “please?”

you took his words as an incentive to finally give him what he’s been leaking for, wrapping gloss-sheened lips around the thick inches of his tip, accommodating for the stretch with a dulcet whine that reverberated deeply within him. had you not been caught up in building the gradual bob of your head, he would’ve kissed you, left you with smeared lips and a tongue that ached for only him upon seeing the sinful sight of innocent eyes fixated on his own. you’re beautiful. truly, to die for.

caught all on tape to be watched over and over again.

at the bliss, yuuta’s lip parted open, alotting for a slur of groans turned whimpers to tumble past. “you- you’re already doing, so good.” he praises, the words floating on his breath. his free hand finds itself back at your face, thumbing the warmth of your hallowed cheek while he captured the moment behind his lens. once you came to a comfortable rhythm, you couldn’t stop yourself from dipping your fingers between your thighs to ease the evergrowing ache in your core. in fact, you’d been like this since the moment yuuta spoke a word to you, lightheaded and malleable — what he’s beginning to love most about you.

your digits collected slick at your entrance, the immeasurable amount of essence that you’d pool providing ample leeway for you to sink three fingers inside, pumping at the same rhythm in which you’re sucking yuuta. soft fingertips curling against your gummy walls weren’t enough, though, and when he had caught notice of your weakening resolve, his hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth.

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” he began, with a choked moan. “just- so close, so fucking close. c-can you take me in deeper?”

the hum of assurance that sounded from you sent vibrations coursing through his cock, from tip to base. had you not been preoccupied with chasing your own high, you would’ve missed the pitchy moan he let out just after. with your palm now pressed up against your clit while you worked in tandem to pleasure the nub and your greedy hole, you attempted to swallow another stubborn inch of him.

simultaneous with the bobbing of your head, he matched your pace, abdomen flexing when the white-hot pleasure became too much and he could feel it in his ears. he wanted so badly to throw his head back, completely lose himself in bliss, but he had a job to do. he wouldn’t dare let the sight of your glassy lidded eyes and glossy lips struggling to wrap themselves around the stretch of his dick go unfilmed, unseen.

as his tip continued to prod the back of your throat and your fingers aided you in relieving the discomfort from your cunt, you found yourself just dangling off the dangerous edge of your release, strokes away from making a mess — and yuuta did too.

it wasn’t long until his head started spinning, legs got weaker, and his core coiled tighter; all the signs of a mindblowing orgasm, and blew his mind, you did. “baby- y/n, if you keep doing that- i might cum.” what he was referring to was the way you fondled his balls in the warmth of your soft hands, yet another trick you had learned from porn. “i don’t wanna cum in your mouth but if you—,”

a jumbled slew of curses flowed from his lips as he did the inevitable, shot his load deep down your throat, gently thrusting his cock in shallow strokes to jettison every last remaining drop. the taste on your tongue was nothing like you’d be warned of before. yuuta wasn’t bitter, he went down easy.

hell, you’d use his cum as a condiment for desserts if you could.

in a matter of moments, your own high had washed over you like cold water over a heated body, much needed and refreshing. once he hesitantly pulled out from the heat of your mouth, cock still hard and twitching for more, he gently pushed back strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“can i see?”

you held out your cream-slickened fingers, sopping with your juices as yuuta proceeded to catch how they dripped on camera. he then took your palm, with the cadence of a knight kissing the back of a princess’s hand, and slipped the soiled digits into his mouth. his tongue lavved around your index and middle fingers while he hummed satisfactorily at your taste. “you’re just as sweet as i imagined.” he smiled, finding amusement in your post-orgasmic, dazed state.

“do you do this with a lot of other girls, yuuta?” you queried, taking the time to scan your eyes over his face. it was as if he seemed to get more attractive as your time with him went on. he tilted his head slightly, finding your question endearing. “you’re my first, actually.” yuuta responded softly, as if his normal speaking voice would be too heavy on your delicate ears.

you jumped at the chance to tease him as he did you, placing your thumb back over the slit of his hard-on and lightly rubbing; which resonated within yuuta as a tonal mewl. a little smile pulled at your lips when you got your perfect reaction. “can you be my first?”

“i’d love to be,” he took your request with unadulterated honor as if he’d been tasked by the deities above to serve you. “just- just lay back for me. i promise i’ll take good care of you.”

and that you did; conforming to his call of request with such compliance it made his heart swell. you had positioned your body to rest languidly against the seat of the sofa, shaky legs hesitant to spread fully while your hand roamed up your sternum to find solace in kneading your tits.

he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked, laid out for him as such. how had he been so lucky to be the only one to have the opportunity to marvel at the scene? with a steady hand, he faintly trails his hand up the expanse of your inner thigh, a silent beckon for you to open your legs wider. involuntarily so, your body had accepted his presence and allowed for the spreading of your thighs.

what you’d come to notice with yuuta was that he was watchful, observant. he seemed to pick up on every detail, even the minuscule bits that were most likely to fly over anyone else’s head, had been taken into account. it’s probably why he’s immensely proficient at what he does. not once had he allowed himself to miss the labored heaving of your chest, or the sheen of sweat thinly coating your body — the twitching of your clit when he stroked featherlight touches at the nub. he couldn’t call himself a true cameraman then.

his fingers had collected remnants of your previous orgasm before they worked in tandem, both middle and ring, to prod at your sensitive hole, slowly sinking themselves in. it was almost embarrassing how quickly your greedy cunt swallowed him in, as if it’d been waiting for his touch for years now. “y-yuuta, ‘m still sensitive.” you crooned in response to his digits exploring your cavern, plush walls gripping him with such tautness that he’d found it difficult to even curl his fingers.

his own mind spun (and cock leaked) at the thought of that same warmth around his length, and when you called his name, all he could think about was how pretty you’d sound moaning it. he wouldn’t mind if you were sonorous, if the neighbors would hear, if inumaki who lived downstairs would come knocking with a mouthful of complaints, if the whole world knew his name; because in that moment, yuuta okkotsu was yours.

yuuta okkotsu was in love.

after some shallow pumping, enough to have your legs attempting to enclose around his arm, yuuta had pulled his digits out and replaced the lost sensation with the fat tip of his cock stroking your slit up and down.

“i’m gonna put it in, okay? if you want me to stop, tell me. if i'm going too fast or slow, let me know.”

he perused your face for a hint of an answer, seemingly nothing going on behind your vacant, large eyes. your initial response was curt, an ode to the simplistic nature of your mind. “mhm.”

how endearing you were to him, just a unadorned reaction weakening his being, causing his heart to figuratively crumble within its confines against his ribcage. he had searched for a heartier answer, something tangible to hold on to, because, lord knows how terrible he’d feel if he took your indication the wrong way. “can you be vocal for me, please?”

you nodded your head. “i’ll let you know, yuuta.”

with a carefulness that only came from the most benign of beings, he had sunken the first inch of himself into your awaiting heat.

he was paused when your hand dashed to his lower abdomen, futilely pressing against the skin.

“wait—” you huffed wantonly. “—‘s too big.”

his eyes wavered with concern, hidden under the veil of pure arousal. in yuuta’s case he had dreamed of a compliment as self fulfilling as yours, for his thoughts of being average were shattered upon first inch. “should i stop?”

you shook your head, reveling in the light of his attentivity towards you and your body. “no,” you moved your hand from his abdomen. “don’t stop.”

one of his arms rested beside your head, helping to prop him up over your body while he dropped his head down to watch the way your bodies connected. gradually, the sight of his length slowly sinking inside, stretching you out further and further until he was in to the hilt flooded his vision. yuuta had caught on to your labored gasps, merely growing harder from your honeyed voice like music to his ears.

he then lifted his head, strands of inky, out-of-place tresses falling over his face and partially covering the depth of lingering eyes, that lingered for a second too long, causing that shuddering sensation you had once felt when you first met him to reappear. he held his camcorder beside his face, an all too cheerful grin masked over his features. “i’m all in!”

creepy.

there was no doubt that you hadn’t felt full. he practically spilled over with how much girth he possessed and throbbed innately within your walls. the swell of your tummy from just how deep he was, was enough to tear away at his composure and drag his length back before driving his hips in at a force unrecognizable to him. the yelp you had let out from his eager thrust dwindled into a blissful moan. “sorry, so sorry.” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the faultless assortment of breathtaking features that was your face, eyebrows creased together, parted lips and eyes squeezed closed as if you’d been focused solely on the pleasure he was giving you.

his next thrust stroked softer than its predecessor, having no remnants of eagerness but instead, the nuance of a man that’d been simply smitten.

the meticulousness of his ministrations coursed through your body wondrously, each push and pull lathered in lust, savored to be remembered for the rest of his time on earth. it was as if he’d known your body for years, knew every dip and fold, every swell and mast, aware of what exactly it took to leave your body hungry for his touches.

you’d grown comfortable in the pace at which he set, your mind hazing over each time the blunt tip grazed along your gspot. he peppered kisses along your jaw and down your sternum, the fanning of his warm breath against your chest doing the minimum in stiffening the peaks of your breasts. shootable footage forgotten, yuuta took your mound into his mouth, teeth gently rolling against your nipple which caused you to tighten around his cock in response, the sweetest mewl he’s ever heard from you tumbling from your throat.

“at least take me on a date first, yuuta..” the wittiness of your voice had earned a stifled smile from him, finding utmost admiration in the suggestion. he’ll be sure to take you up on your offer, just as you had done for him.

when you felt the familiar coil within you starting to build up once more, you dipped your hand down to rub at your clit in tandem with the increasing vigor of his strokes. the sensation was all too foreign to you, too pleasurable that you couldn’t keep your sounds at bay. “‘m so close, g-gonna cum!” you had warned, yuuta pulled away from your tit with a soft pop. he chose to rest his head at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, mindlessly chanting the words like a mantra.

“i love you, i love you,” his pace faltered, growing sloppier by the second. “love you, love you so much.”

intoxicated by your heat, your scent, just you being you, and being so perfect — yuuta was pussydrunk. incredibly so. never in his life had he ever felt as high as you made him. you were an angel, sent to him from heaven, to defile and mark.

quickly, your release surged through you in torrents of ecstasy, nothing that you’ve experienced before, coating yuuta’s cock in the glorious essence of you. “cumming!” you cry, to no avail particularly since yuuta wasn’t wholeheartedly aware of the situation at hand. his mind was clouded with you, just as you were full of him, wincing in the aftershocks of your fervent orgasm and convulsing around his length with need.

it wasn’t long before his own ununified thrusts came to a sudden close, signifying the warm spurts of cum painting your insides, filling you entirely to the brim and leaking down your ass from riding out his high.

“god, i love you.” he whined, pressing faint kisses to your neck, unable to peel himself away from your fervid body. coming to your senses, his words finally resonated for you. “we only just met.”

he pulled himself up, opting to look down at your flushed face with a vague hint of confusion on his face as he tilted his head. “have we?”

“we have.” you nodded.

to yuuta, he’s known you his whole life. you were the light of his existence, the fire in his heart. had he managed to confuse you with someone else? surely, that wasn’t the case.

once he pulled out of you, he made sure to capture the moment that you leaked his seed on film, but in that time, borrowed jealousy had filled his soul. he couldn’t share the tape as he had planned, no one else deserved to see you in the same way he did. no one.

he tucked himself back into his pants, leaving you bare and oozing for just one second to fetch a warm wet rag to clean you up with. when he came back, you noticed just how chipper he’d gotten, if that were even possible. “you were amazing,” he smiled, gently wiping your folds pristine. “i’m so grateful you came to me.” the smile you returned matched his own, “thank you, you were- really good too.”

he perked up, eyes moving from between your thighs to your face. “really?” and when you nodded to him, you could see the apparent relief flow within his being. “you know,” he started. “i’m very interested in you.”

you tilt your head, jutting your lips in a cute pout. “interested, how?”

the camcorder that now resided on his coffee table, unpresumebly documenting the scene on display was picked up by yuuta, and turned off. he grinned softly, eyes shutting from his ear to ear smile.

“may i take you on a date?”

5K notes · View notes

pastelaspirations · 7 months ago

Text

OKAY, OH MY GOD, I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T SEE THIS 'CUS I WAS STUDYING FOR FOUR DIFFERENT TESTS AND THEN HAD TO WORK ON A PAPER DUE IN TWO DAYS, SO IN SHORT I WAS DYING

BUT NOW I'M FREAKING DYING FOR A DIFFERENT REASON 'CUS OF MY HEART AND THIS FREAKING. MASTERPIECE OF AN ART PIECE-

I just. I c a n ' t. I am l o o k i n g. EVERYTIME I THINK I'VE SEEN IT ALL, I HAVEN'T.

FIRST OFF, can I just say.

THE SHADING-

You can't just. You can't just be so breathtaking at shading and not tell me how. H o w. What otherworldly entity did you sign a pact with for these skills-

ALSO, THE EYES. THE FREAKING EYES OH MY GOSSSHHHHHHHH

I am not okay

You know how they say that someone's eyes were like mesmerizing pools you could get lost in??? Like just staring into the infinite cosmos and it takes your breath away????

THAT'S HIM RN-

Lil Mr. Angel eyes, I don't even know-

How can I articulate. You made him look like a freaking angel that ascended down from the heavens, and to keep up with the idea that this is unattainable by earthly means, the shading and his absolutely breathtaking eyes is otherworldly.

There, I just. End of freaking gushing. I am shaking your shoulders. I am c r y i n g. I am holding, I can't. You made my lil guy look like a freaking angel, I can't-

Perseverance Ink you live in my head rent FREE.

click for better quality grrr

AU by @pastelaspirations guys

#What is one supposed to do #With all this freaking gorgeous fanart in just a few days #Stick into the sacred computer file that's what #Where all the other pieces I hold so very close to my heart reside #I had no freaking idea people liked my fic that much #I am o v e r w h e l m e d #But only with love and affection that my weak lil heart can't take #I need to get on writing chapter 39 tbh gotta get my freaking writer pants so I can please the literal art gods in my audience; I can't

55 notes · View notes

vidals-harkness · 12 days ago

Text

you’re so special, to me (rio vidal)

summary: nobody loves death. rio gets told a thousand times a day how much she's hated. but in the end, when it gets hard, there's always the one 'i love you' she can rely on. life's.

pairings: rio vidal x fem!reader

fic type: fluff with a smidge of angst

warnings: talks of death

word count: 1.08k

“I hate you!” Exclaimed the grieving daughter as Rio stood near the hospital bed.

“I hate you!” Yelled the mother as Rio cradled her baby in her arms.

“I hate you!” Screamed the husband, his wife’s body delicately walking beside her.

“I hate you!” Said the father, watching her take his hurting son away.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Day in, day out, till the clocks stopped working. Year after year, since the world began spinning. All that hate, all that resentment.

Every time she would feel those rattling breaths, the halting hearts, the tears shed by their loved ones, the blood on the floor. She would feel their pulse against her fingertips, their timers ticking slower and slower. The sand running out from the hourglass.

She would take their hand, bring them peace, and the first thing to be said was “I hate you,”

Nobody loved death. This was a fact. There were exceptions: those who ran into her embrace, those who were cast away, those who were unloved, those who had nobody.

But in the end, it was always ‘I hate you’.

She would never admit it, but despite every single century, she had sat in the darkness and wept.

She’d watch you, envious.

You’d enter a room, and joy would follow. You’d make the hearts beat again, the pulse quicken. You’d form life in the wombs, you’d make little limbs move.

“You’re beautiful,” they all said.

You were wanted, you were what they wished for. Not her.

But she loved you. She loved your radiance, the light you carried. She loved the way your blessings were gentle, divine.

You made the cycle start again, made the flowers grow, the birds sing, and the grass sway, made the breath flow steady in the air.

You were Life.

She was the one that turned it all to ash. The one who snatched the breath away. She was the one who wilted the flowers, browned the grass, silenced the birds.

She was Death.

Yet when the time for tranquility came…there you were.

I hate you, I hate you, I—

“I love you,” you whispered. One whisper silenced the shouts.

“Why don’t they want me?” She asked, her hair falling softly onto her face as she lay with you—moments of rare peace.

“They are flawed creatures, my love,” you responded, ever tranquil and reasonable. “They don’t know the aid you provide, the peace, the release,”

“Nobody wants me,” she said, her tears staining her soft cheeks. Before they could fall on her robes your soft hand caught them, tender as a feather.

“I want you,” you said plainly.

“Why? All I bring is gloom and grief,”

“What you bring is peace and tranquility, cloaked behind the mortal blindness of grief,”

She listened to your heartbeat, she felt your warmth. She’d spent lifetime after lifetime taking, but could never give anything in return. You spend lifetime after lifetime only ever giving, only to never take anything to compensate.

“Selfless creature,” she scoffed. “You give and give and give, you never take,”

You pondered for a moment. “That is the consequence, my dear,”

“How?”

“I never have anything for myself,”

“You never get told you are hated, ever,” she countered plainly.

“The boy on the roof, the girl in the ward, the criminal in the prison,” you listed out. “Many hate life, but the sacred balance unfortunately rests the highest burden upon you, my love,”

“Life cannot love death,” she said.

“Yet I love you,” you replied, sealing your words with a kiss to her forehead. “You are my balance, you are my shadow, you are my everything,”

She smiled, a rare smile that brightened her eyes and warmed her heart. Unknowingly it did the same for you. It made her cold cheeks tint pink, made your own heart flutter.

“I am destruction,” she said.

“You are the destruction from which life begins again,” you whispered, fingertips trailing along her neck. “You are the rugged beauty of the mountains, the beauty of the fall, the beauty of a dandelion, of a thunderstorm,”

She felt your words calm her racing heart, she felt it drown out the sea of insults, she felt beautiful.

“I love you,” you said, with a conviction that only an angel could muster. “I love you as the sun loves the moon, as the sky loves the earth. I will keep loving you till the timer runs out, till the last grain of sand falls in the hourglass.

“You can pillage, you can murder, you can plunder. But even then I will see your wild, wild beauty, even then I will wonder like I do each and every day, how such a beautiful soul could love me as I am,”

She leaned up, her hands her support, giving Life a kiss, giving her beloved a kiss. Your lips moved in sync, a dance of gentle and harsh, light and darkness.

As you broke away, still so close that you were breathing each other’s air. She inhaled your scent—so clearly alive. Of moss and petrichor and spring and summer. She understood why your role was what it was.

You were the embodiment of comfort, of joy, of peace. You were the reason why she could keep going without withering away and remaining a mechanical shell of herself.

“You silence the voices within my mind,” she admitted quietly, her eyes locking in on yours. “Your eyes hold the universe, and out of the tens of millions of people who say they hate me, wish ill-will upon me, you are the only one who says you love me,”

Your eyes crinkled at the sides as you smiled, the universe within those heavenly irises shifting as it twinkled. “I will spend every single moment of my eternal existence reminding you that you are loved, Rio Vidal,”

She traced the lining of your lips, your face, your eyes with her fingertips. “Are you even real?”

“I exist only for you, my love,” you smiled. “And you’re so special, to me,”

That’s all she needed.

One voice amidst the thousands. One ‘I love you’ to break through the hate.

Just one you, to help her through it all.

And so Death settled in the embrace of Life, allowing the sand in the hourglass to fall, allowing the timer to tick. Each breath, first and last, thrummed through your synchronised heartbeats, and there she just stayed, listening to the one sentence which fell from your lips.

“I love you,”

hello my bao buns! i’m sorry for the delay in my works but tumblr keeps deleting them :<. i’m working on ‘baby witch from death’ and your requests. thank you all for your patience, bao buns! i love you all!

love, jaya

#agatha all along #rio vidal x fem!reader #rio vidal fluff #fluff #angst #rio vidal x reader #lesbian #wlw #life X death

671 notes · View notes

celuere · 25 days ago

Note

uhhhhh can i rq fem reader x fallen angel arlecchino with virgin reader giving into temptation. also they do it in a church. on the altar.

Ngl anon you cooked with this request. But just for clarification: I will write this fic based on teyvats beliefs, NOT actual beliefs! Which means that reader will be a follower of Celestia/the Heavenly Principles, just to make this clear! I will not write stories based on reallife religions, beliefs, etc.

I‘ll repeat: this work is NOT based off of any religions, I purely made every single stuff up with the guidance of canon Teyvat Lore.

pairing: fallen angel!arlecchino x fem!reader

context: anon request!

cw: kind of an au, loss of virginity, hands down filthy sesbian lex, degrading, worship, arle fucking you out of pure spite for the divine, CONSENSUAL OFC.

NSFW utc, MDNI!

Your bare footsteps echoed through the wide halls, the colorful mosaic paintings being dimly lit by the surrounding candles as you made your way to the altar. A golden decorated podest, roses and other precious flowers being neatly aligned on the marble.

But that’s the least you could do for them. For the Ursurper. The one who came Second. On the day of their awakening you shall not be standing on their wrong side. Why should you? You‘ve been nothing but a devoted follower.

Regular sacrifices, dailiy prayers filling your routine along with one ritual being performed on each new moon.

And tonight there was no moon to illuminate your facial features as you slowly came to a stop in front of the altar, feet already numb from the stinging cold of the tiles on which this church was built upon.

It was a lonely, almost abandoned looking building at the top of a mountain with barely any visitors. Except for you. You made sure to keep the floor polished and the altar decorated with all kinds of goods that would perhaps please the divine. The colorful windows displaying a beautiful pattern made of all the colors you‘d find in a rainbow if the sun dared to light up the sacred mountaintop.

Todays ritual was no different.

With your hands neatly folded in lap and your eyes closed, the prayer started to fall from your lips like a waterfall. You knew every verse by heart, could recite every ritual down to the smallest detail. Quite the devoted follower, are you not?

But during your reciting you failed to notice the candles you so neatly arranged around the cathedral slowly getting put one by one until the last flame was finally extinguished when you opened your eyes again, darkness quickly engulfing you.

For a moment your heart set out until the excitement came rushing back in.

Did your efforts finally pay off? Where you finally heard? It has got to be a sign- there was no way that-

clap.

„All these efforts… only for the Divine to look down on you.“, a low, female voice ripping through the silence, „Say… would you water a sprout if you knew that it would never grow up into a tree? Causing your deeds to drown in vain… all the time, tears and sweat you put into watering the seedling, just to get ignored. Tossed aside.“, but when you sprung up on your feet to look around- there was nobody in sight.

„Show yourself-! Who are y-”, the scream leaving your throat was muffled by the hand closing around your mouth.

„My identity….? Such a curious thing, aren’t you? My lordship surely got themselves a sweet treat with you.“, the word lordship was laced with enough hatred to fuel a fire in the depths of the abyss, sending a shiver right down your spine.

„Lordship…?“, you didn’t dare to take a look over your back to face the unknown, instead your eyes wandered up to the statue of the Heavenly Principles or rather what they embody.

The cluster of stars that have been hammered into the crystal before you with a singular eye placed in the middle was silently analyzing you. Judging you. Whenever you stood right in this very spot for longer than anticipated, you‘d get the weird gut feeling that something might be wrong, might be watching. It creeped you out even after so many years of praying to the Heavens, that you just got used to it.

„Surely, you wouldn’t like to spend the rest of your life praying to an uncaring and corrupt deity. Or are you as naive and… innocent as you truly look?“, slender hands snaked around your waist, tugging you back against the strangers chest. As touch deprived as you were- goodness, it did some things with your pussy.

Fuck, she was tall.

„What… What do you know about the Second who came? A-A bitter soul you must be…“, yet you didn’t try to wiggle out of the tight grip of her arms when her sharp nails ran over your stomach that was still covered by the silken robe of yours.

Yes, being a devoted follower meant following certain rules. For example to not engage yourself in any kind of intimacy. Ever. No hugging. No holding hands. No kissing. No sex. But in all honesty you were a sucker for physical affection, not being allowed to even hug your loved ones on special days always nagged at your heart but you couldn’t- you mustn’t disappoint them. A non-negotiable deal.

„A bitter soul? You are not quite wrong with that, doll… what if I told you that your…“, her hot breath suddenly tickled the shell of your ear, „Ursurper is nothing but a coward? A coward feasting off on the hopes of the likes of you. Draining you. Laughing at you. Your efforts were doomed from the very beginning. But…“, slowly, the fabric of your cloth was tugged to the side, exposing your bare body to the cold atmosphere surrounding you.

A gasp left your mouth.

You forgot that the ritual from earlier required you to wear nothing underneath your robe. There wasn’t a specific reason since it was a solo act. That‘s just how it was written down.

„…but it is not too late for you to turn around and start over. To forget how you wasted the past years of your life for nothing in return.“, her words were strengthened by a soft, gentle kiss being placed right behind your ear, the touch forcing you to press your legs together. To try to ignore how the wetness wasn’t stopping to form between them.

Turn around and start over?

How?

The Ursurper has been the sole center of your life for the past decade. You woke up for them. Ate for them. Prayed for them. Sacrificed for them. Breathed for them.

Lived for them.

„I… I-I can’t- I-… th-they wouldn’t want me to turn away from them- to commit a sin in their name- th-that‘s not what they would have wan- Hah…!“, the hand sneaking between your legs came straight from hell itself. Knowing exactly how to glide her fingers in between your slickness, how much pressure to apply on the soft bundle of nerves, in which speed she should circle them over it.

„Is it truly a sin if it feels so good? Is this truly what you would consider defying the laws of the Divine? Look up at them and give me an answer.“

You couldn’t help but push your hips further into her hand, grinding them back and forth over her digits. You didn’t know what this mysterious woman looked like. Neither did you care. But what you did care about was this sinking feeling in your stomach when your eyes found the statue in front of you again.

Guilt.

How could you throw all of your hard work away for five minutes of thrilling ecstasy? What has gotten into you?

„I… n-no… th-this isn’t right… but… o-oh god fuck…“, your need for satisfaction was slowly starting to outweigh the guilty feelings. She was right. How could something feeling this good be considered a sin? Maybe it was a mistranslation from the old books? Maybe this was actually supposed to be a holy message to the heavens.

The stare looming over you felt now more heavier than ever as your hips were now practically fucking the woman’s hand, trying to catch that desired high, to maybe force whoever gods were sitting in the castle high above the ground to pay their attention to you.

„“This isn’t right“, yet you are practically using my hand for your own satisfaction. Didn’t they teach you some manners during all those years of useless worship?“, the sentence came out in a low groan, forcing you to bend over the altar which you swiped clean of any decorations beforehand.

The sound of fabric being ripped echoed through the cathedral.

Then you felt the chilly air ghosting over your wetness, forcing goosebumps to form on your skin as she practically pushed you down on the cold stone like you‘re supposed to be the next sacrifice.

Maybe you were.

Maybe you were going to be the next sacrifice by the way her next words reached your ears in a soft purr, „My, My… such a sweet lamb letting me bend her all the way over. I‘m not sure your lovely god would enjoy this sight. One of their most loyal acolytes just giving into her former Angel of Death like that…“.

The air around you stilled.

Angel of Death?

Goodness. You were in such deep shit.

A stranger would’ve been better than whatever she was.

There was little to no information about her, Arlecchino. The Primordial Ones deathbringer. It was all old tales dating back way before the Archon War, something about her being the Ursurper‘s executioner after they emerged victorious against the Sovereigns.

But something must’ve happened between the two of them for the Angel of Death to betray her superior by stepping into the destruction of Khaenri‘ah from 500 years ago.

The only witnesses to tell the tale died in the following impact from Arlecchino‘s punishment.

Therefore no records of her consequences exist.

„According to your silence, you are very much aware of who I am. That makes things easier for me. Now where were we again….? Ah… right…“, pressing her throbbing tip against your already soaked cunt earned herself a sharp gasp, „I wanted to show you just how much they really care about you. Surely, they would care about me tainting your purity with my cum, right?“.

„A-Ah-! I… I-I don’t know, I- ngh….“, Holy. She was big compared to your tight pussy.

Never once did you dare to pleasure yourself, too scared about possible consequences but Arlecchinos dick stretching you out further and further as she shoved herself inside… maybe this was the salvation you were looking for your whole life.

„You don’t know hm…? Goodness me. Are your likes really just all tits no brain?“, her hands. Her fucking hands grabbing onto your hips as she guided you over her length. How could this be considered a sin? What on earth is sinful about a strange, powerful woman splitting you open on her cock for the first time in your life? On an altar? In front of a statue of said deity?

Nothing came to mind.

Dragging her hips back now, a whine espaced your lips as you desperately reached behind you to grab onto her, lifting up one leg onto the sacred surface of the altar to grant her deeper access.

„N-No-! No don’t leave-!“, her movement stilled.

„Leave? Oh, doll.“, with a harsh tug on your hair, you were forced to look up right into the divine sculpture, its stare seemingly burning itself into your soul.

„I‘m just getting started.“

The thrust that followed her sentence had you moaning across the whole cathedral immediately. Hands searching for the edge of the altar for at least some stability as her dick dragged into your cunt, grazing the sensitive spot that made your back arch and your toes curl.

Just like that. Over a decade of prayers, rituals, reciting. Down the drain like that.

But her cock forcing your tight walls apart with each thrust of her hips into yours made it SO worth it. Is this what you’ve been missing out on for your whole life on purpose? My, you were dumb. So dumb.

„And? Where is that god of yours now that you‘re allowing me to fuck that pretty pussy for the first time in a place of worship? Do you feel ashamed? Maybe even guilty? Let me assure you…“, Arlecchino made sure to hit your spot which each thrust of her hips, sloppy sounds filling the holy walls as your wetness dripped down your thigh, „They could not care less about you.“

Maybe she was right. Maybe they really don’t care about you. Or else why would they allow their former subordinate to fuck you here in their church? Right in front of their sculpture? Spread on the altar like it‘s already a daily routine, fill up your tight cunt to the brim and have your eyes roll into the back of your head?

But you couldn’t think about that right now. Not when her tip was kissing your cervix with each thrust. Not when her dick started to slightly twitch inside of you, being unaware of what is awaiting you. And what is that tightening feeling intensifying in your abdomen?

„Who is your god now?“

You didn’t know what this heavenly feeling was when you threw your head back, pussy clenching and making sure to get every single last drop out of the liquid she just spilled inside of you prior to your own climax, telling her over and over who your god is.

Her.

Death itself fucking you senseless in a cathedral was not on todays to-do list.

„There, there… sweet thing… having her first taste of salvation. My, how come your legs are already shaking? That good?“, her thumbs stroking gentle circles over your hips when you felt her chest pressing against your back.

„Don’t worry. I‘m not even remotely done with you.“

#albarequests #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #arlecchino x female reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #arlecchino smut #arlecchino x reader #genshin x reader #fatui x reader #peruere x reader #arlechinno genshin #genshin smut #genshin women x reader

541 notes · View notes

supercutszns · 9 months ago

Text

bitter to the taste; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc + pairing: 5.5k, luke castellan x f!reader

synopsis: a sharp blade, a black eye, and (more than) two kisses.

warnings: this is even sluttier than the last one, language, sword fighting, sharp objects, blood/injuries, reader is still a horrible person and so is luke but he's also a loooser, making out, allusions/mentions of sex but no super explicit descriptions, kind of fluffy at the end

notes: i’m starting to hate this bc i think i’ve been staring at it too long sorry if this is not as good as pt.1 but i have plans for this series ok. also READER AND LUKE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!! THEIR RELATIONSHIP WILL NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD!!! THEY SUCK!! they are also not real but keep that in mind :) synopsis inspired by crush by ethel cain; designated song for this fic is unpunishable by ethel cain (i’ve got a whole chronological playlist for these freaks like it’s serious)

You’ve always had a taste for violence. And an equally powerful penchant for sloth.

You prefer to watch the carnage, not participate. It satisfies something inside you that you know, if it wasn’t for your laziness, could cause something irrevocable. Who the hell has time for that?. You’d rather lie back and watch instead.

This flaw of yours is the only reason you haven’t stirred more trouble, you think. It’s the reason you never attend camp games or sparring lessons. Sometimes, when you do, a dark muscle flexes inside your heart to curl out of its slumber, forming a hunger you don’t have otherwise. The second it starts to pry you have to rear yourself back and tuck the monster in. Banish the need for something more.

You don’t want to feed it. You don’t know what happens if you do. So you let other people do the feeding for you.

Luke cuts through two dummy heads in one swoop. It’s fucking gorgeous. The moon reflects off his sword, a silver sheen casting his face when he’s in the right spot. His brows are set, eyes so dark they blend with the night. Every motion is ruthless. Satisfying.

You don’t know how many times you’ve watched him like this. He called you out for it last night, but you’re sure he doesn’t know the half of it. The shadows are a sacred cloak to you, and you wait inside them until you want your presence known.

Meet me tomorrow.

It runs through your head like a broken record. You can still feel his breath on your lips and your neck is still tender—had to wear a sweater in the blazing heat to hide the marks. Since you were created you’ve accepted a universal truth about yourself: you don’t harbour affection for anyone or anything. There’s not a single thing you’ve felt drawn to or protective over but yourself. It’s solitary, yes, and lonely, yes, but that’s the way you’re supposed to be.

But you think about last night. You think about the moments between the kisses and the rush. When he teased you against your ear. When his hand brushed a certain spot on your back and something much lighter fluttered inside of you. When you crawled into sleep and thought about him, those were the moments that struck you the strangest.

His gaze pans over the treeline every once in a while, the anger diluted. Then it comes back twice as hard as he shreds another dummy to pieces.

He’s waiting for you. Oh, this is rich! A better person would probably turn around and go spoon their offerings into the bonfire the second they understand what they’re doing is incredibly destructive. But who are we kidding? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.

So you take a step forward, slip out of the comfort of the dark, and the next time he looks to the treeline he knows you’re there. He can’t see you, but he knows.

You wait. His strikes are less tenuous, much smoother. It almost makes you laugh. Some fucking showman he is.

Eventually, he buries his blade in the dirt and wipes his brow. “Are you gonna come talk to me or are you gonna stare at me all night like an owl?”

You relish in the feeling of shedding the darkness, coming into the light of the moon. “Hi,” you say flatly, but there’s a tiny smile on his face when he sees you that almost puts you off.

“Hello, rotten.” He tries to lean on the hilt of his sword but it isn’t quite tall enough so he stumbles. It’s so pathetic it almost makes you laugh.

“Don’t call me that,” you grimace.

“Okay, back to heathen?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Well, you don’t seem too happy when people call you by your name so pick your poison here.”

You don’t say anything, your mouth set in a scowl. “All right, both it is,” Luke shrugs.

He’s different from last night. Less impatient. You hope it’s not because he thinks he has you now—he’s got another thing coming. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna come,” he says with a crooked grin, neither bashful nor ashamed.

You’ve made your way closer to him, the soft grass turning to dusty earth. “Don’t know why I did,” you mutter crassly.

Having abandoned his sword, Luke chuckles wryly. “Yes, you do.”

That bitterness he hides from everyone else pierces through. He tilts your face up like he did yesterday, the press of his fingers beneath your chin almost burning you. You know he’s peering at the marks on your neck.

“If you made me come here just to hook up with me you’re delusional,” you glare.

“What, like that’s not why you’re here?” He pushes your face up a little higher, grinning a little when you add resistance. “I’m a gentleman, you know. I can be patient.”

This guy is full of fucking shit.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you snipe. The only point of contact you have is his hand on your chin, but you’re a hair’s breadth away from having everything else. The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you.

He keeps your face still. He’s studying you, and you’re suddenly curious about what he sees. You remember all those looks you’d share at the dinner tables that made this happen in the first place. What did he see then?

“You wanna fight?”

It takes you a second to react. “What?”

“You want to fight. Pick up a sword, let’s go.” He smiles as he finally lets you go, waltzing away from you to unbury his sword from the dirt. His touch permeates through your skin and you hate it.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I can’t fight.”

“Sure you can,” he replies, grabbing another sword from the training rack. “You need to burn off a little steam.”

You laugh sharply. “And you think me waving a sword around is gonna do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he grins. “It’s the method that lets us keep the most clothes on.”

You glare at him. His smirk is a mile wide. The way your stomach is simmering almost makes you sick; it’s like gorging yourself on candy except this time the candy has a sword and maybe wants to fuck you.

You just watch as he hands you his sword, and the moonlight glinting off the metal has you believing it’s not the kind used for training. “I’ll use the dull one,” he assures. “C’mon, heathen. I know you’ve used a sword before, they force us to.”

“I usually skip those classes.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if it’s at you or with you. “Of course you do.”

You don’t like following orders, but oh, what the hell. Luke knows something about you, just like you know something about him. You’re only a little curious about it.

“Straighten your back,” is the first thing he says once you’ve taken your stance across from him. The blunt of his sword reaches out to tap your hip.

You begrudgingly do as you’re told. He watches you mirthfully, and the press of his sword against you starts to feel like a substitute for his hand. All the closeness you’re hungry for, dampened by cold steel. It still makes you buzz.

He gives you the barebones—the right grip, how to maneuver, the proper balance. But long gone is his easy disposition. The motor inside him that powered all those dummy beheadings and disembowelments is running again, except this time it’s for you. He wants a fight. This is his battlefield. All right, you’ll bite.

You start to spar with the skill of an overgrown toddler. The sword feels like an unnatural ligament hanging off your body. Luke is precise, convicting, far more enthusiastic than you. “You can do better than that,” he prods after your swords clash lazily for the billionth time. “Stop going easy.”

“You’re going easy,” you shoot back.

“Yeah, but I’d really rather not. Come on.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. You think about that dark thing you keep harboured. A muscle aching to be used.

“Come on,” he says again, and he almost sounds pissed. “All of a sudden you’re playing nice? What are you afraid of?”

Something flares inside you. “Nothing!”

“Then pick up the sword and fight me.”

You huff and roll your eyes, but your next swing is far more inspired. Luke blocks it easily, but you don’t care. “There we go,” he nods. “Again.”

This is more than you bargained for when you decided to come see him. All you want is to make out with this hot, awful person and have him tell you hot, awful things about yourself you probably already know. Why do you have to fight to get it?

He keeps provoking you no matter how hard you try. Your temper picks up the more you swing, discordant clangs bruising the air, but it’s still not enough. Luke doesn’t let up. Of course the one time you try to be nice, you’re not allowed to. On second thought, why are you reigning yourself in for Luke? The only other person in camp with a real, consuming viciousness? If anything you should hit him twice as hard, since he’s so sure he can take it.

“No wonder you’re so angry all the time,” Luke heaves out, and it gives you a swell of satisfaction. “You don’t have a proper outlet. Maybe you’d be nicer if you didn’t sit around and complain all day.”

“Shut up,” you gnash your teeth.

“Just saying, maybe you should do something about it.”

You’re getting lost in the rhythm of the swords, the adrenaline, the sweat passing the scar on his cheek. Every swing you think less and less, and that dark muscle flexes more and more. It feels like home to you. Like a good meal. Your bones ache and the world has darkened, but that rotten pit inside you cracks open in full bloom.

Luke keeps egging you on but you can’t hear him. Not like he still needs to. You think you’re smiling, or huffing furiously, or both. The sharpness of the sword intrigues you. A million terrible things reflect off its blade and you imagine them, all at once, until you are out of your body and the black hole inside you has properly wedged itself open.

Luke jabs at you and you bring your sword down with a vengeance. But it’s a little too low. You only notice when he drops his weapon to the side and staggers back.

The fog of violence falters. It fades almost completely when he hisses long and hard, eyes screwed shut, and you see the tear in his shirt. In his skin.

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck.”

You don’t sound sorry, you don’t think you are sorry, especially when he laughs. It’s a wheezy one through his teeth as you come up to him, but a laugh nonetheless. “Knew you were going easy,” he remarks through a wince.

You ignore him, looking down at the injury. A gash across his abdomen. It’s bleeding a little, but not enough for it to drip. You did that. Just looking at the blood, you feel the bitter taste of it in your mouth, the reward a temporary hunger for carnage brought you. This is why you don’t play camp games.

“I’ve got thick skin. I’m fine,” Luke says casually. “I’ve got a medical kit under that tree over there in case I beat myself up too bad.” He’s no longer scrunched in pain, and you’ve got a feeling he’s telling the truth. So you go fetch the kit where he said it was. You need to wrap that slash. Not because you’re sorry for him, but because looking at it makes you angry.

You kneel and pop the lid of the small tin kit, covered in dirt. It’s mostly gauze and bandages. Rubbing alcohol too. “Just give me the gauze, that’s all I need,” Luke gestures.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m doing it myself.” You’ve already torn off some gauze, sitting all the way up on your knees.

“Most people just say sorry.”

“You pushed me,” you spit back, surprisingly forceful. Luke’s smile drops. You take a deep breath, adjusting yourself to get eye level with the injury. “I told you I don’t fight.”

You’re not sure what makes Luke give in, but he doesn’t say a word as you lift the hem of his torn shirt and he holds it up. There’s no proud remark about your eyes lingering on his stomach, or the hesitation in your hands. You stare at the wound. It really is shallow. Your thumb presses at the skin around it and he winces. “My bad,” you mutter.

As you sterilize the cut and wrap the gauze around his torso, you try not to let your fingertips cling to the warmth on his skin. You try not to notice the other scars littered there, most faded to the point they should be impossible to pick up even in the sun. It’s obvious he’s staring at you. Your neck is crawling with warmth. But you don’t engage, you just wrap the gauze a few times and do your best not to notice the rise and fall beneath his muscles as he breathes. Then you fasten things neatly and put everything away so you can get up. Any second. Come on.

“Good?” You ask instead, exhaling.

“Good,” he affirms. He slides a hand under your forearm and gets you up. It stays there once you’re standing. The night stills.

“I’m guessing you’re adding ‘attempted killer’ to your list of horrible qualities,” you go on to break the silence.

He holds your gaze unyieldingly. “I’d consider that a pro, actually.”

You are entirely fed up with this drawn out evening, but you can’t bring yourself to speed anything up any more than stepping closer so your chests brush. “I will give you one, though,” he continues, craning down to your ear. You smell his skin and it sends you back to the position you were in yesterday.

He finally kisses your jaw, just once, then your neck. You shiver. “You’re too tense.” Another kiss behind your ear. It’s not enough. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

“I don’t want to have fun,” you reply bitterly. I just want to make out with you, asshat.

Luke’s breath frosts over your face when he chuckles, but before he can get any further away you catch his mouth with yours. Almost instinctively his arm winds around you to pull you in closer, your hand looping through his curls. It's a relief, knowing last night wasn't some freak accident. This does feel good, actually, and it can happen. Everything you felt yesterday is only more urgent now, hungrier, and you're pretty sure the way you kiss him gives that away.

He indulges you, squeezing the base of your hips as his other hand thumbs across the marks on your neck. This is so fucking embarassing—you think you whine when he bites down on your bottom lip. You’ve never needed something this bad, you’ve never needed anything. But you press yourself as close to him as you can manage and his hand runs lower, slips against your inner thighs, and it’s difficult to worry about anything else.

Until he pulls away. Like a dick.

He doesn’t go far, his forehead pressed to yours, but you feel like pulling out all his hair. It’s a muddling mix of frustration and longing you’re starting to associate with him. “Dude,” you groan, an inner coil only starting to unwind begrudgingly compressing.

“Let’s go for a swim,” he says. The enthusiasm is almost alarming. Almost makes him look younger.

You’re homicidal. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, heathen. Let’s go for a swim, come on.”

He’s rubbing circles on your thigh, which only makes you want to strangle him. “But I—I don’t have my bathing suit,” you string out.

The smile gets more boyish. “Wow, whatever shall we do?”

It’s another challenge. Another dare. And he knows what you want, fucking jerk. You’re going to kill him.

“Fine,” you grunt, and the second the words leave your lips you’re pulled to the lake.

It’s a warm, sticky evening, only made worse with the sweat and the half-assed kissing, so the water doesn’t seem all that bad. Unfortunately, you don’t like giving into demands. So you stare ghoulishly at your fingernails as Luke tosses off his ripped shirt and his shorts so he can plunge into the lake. “Aren’t you going to at least come in?” He asks, but you don’t look at him.

“I don’t like swimming,” you lie.

“At least your feet. It’s nice, I swear!”

A splash, like smoke moving through wind chimes. You look up and Luke has completely submerged, popping his head up closer to the mouth of the dock. “Please,” he says with such conviction your resolve turns to butter. Gods, what is happening to you? You still need that lobotomy!

You sigh, roll your eyes, turn your back to him. “Fuck this,” you mutter under your breath. You undress to your undergarments and you’re not sure if you want Luke to be watching or not. The moon touches your bare skin and a chill trickles through you.

You take a seat at the edge of the dock, knees tucked to your chest. Luke swims over for you right away. His hair is dripping against his skin, and you hate how beautiful it looks. The waterline is high tonight, almost ridiculously so, so he props his elbows up on the dock with no problem. “Come in,” he urges.

“No.”

“Just your legs?”

“No.”

“Gods, I’ll make it worth it, just throw your damn legs in!”

Your eyebrows shoot up. His face is stubbornly pink. Oh, so now he wants something. You take your time uncurling yourself and Luke wades away from the dock so you can put your feet in. The water goes up to your calves, and you shiver. “So fucking difficult,” he mutters, and your pulse flickers.

“Sorry, what was that?” You let yourself grin for the first time all night.

“Nothing,” he hums. This time when he comes to the dock, he wraps his hands around your calves. You’re pretty sure he can stand here because he stops treading. The warmth of the water seems to spread further, long past the threshold of your knees.

He rests his chin just above your knee, water pooling on your skin. “Stop dripping on me,” you complain.

“Sorry.” He fake pouts when he kisses the damp spot. You see, ever so faintly, a diabolic shift in his expression. He nudges your leg with the point of his nose, then kisses it, then starts to move it aside. “Feel bad about teasing you all night,” he murmurs, still with an edge. He presses more kisses on your legs. “I really did want to see you.”

The irony that he’s still teasing is not lost on you. You’re not loving how desperately warm you’re starting to feel. “Why’s that?” You lean back on your palms.

“You’re a very interesting person,” he quips innocently. His hands are cupping the backs of your calves. He’s pulled you a lot closer to the water, and somehow you’ve just noticed. Another blistering kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“You’re fucking evil,” you scathe.

He looks up at you from between your legs. “You have literally done nothing but berate and injure me this whole evening.”

“Yeah, and right after I patch you up you jump in the water for shits. You’re playing infection roulette, Castellan.”

“See? You’re so mean.” He sighs, and in a move that almost surprises you to death, he hoists both your legs over his shoulders and they dangle into the river behind him. “And here I am anyway, making it up to you.”

You are suddenly illuminated on the purpose of this situation. Why Luke is between your legs. Your heart jolts. “Luke, you can’t be serious.”

“Mmhm.” He leans forward to kiss right under your navel.

You hate how much you want him to do it again, how your body burns, but you avert your eyes. “Someone’s gonna—someone’s gonna hear us.”

He snorts, “No they won’t. Either this or you come in the water with me. Or both. We’ll see.”

A huge smile cracks across your face before you push it back down. You’re going to spend a lot of time coming back to this moment, this night, wondering why. “What is wrong with you.”

It comes out like a compliment when it leaves you. You want to vanish. Luke chuckles, and something foreign to the both of you buzzes through the air.

“Are you going to be nice?” He asks against your skin.

“Are you going to be quick?”

His mouth finds your hip bones and yeah, why the hell would you say no to this? He nods, “Swear.”

That’s all you need. You let your eyes slide shut and your head tilts towards the sky. Luke takes your permission and runs with it, pries you open with his mouth until the stars soak through the black of your eyelids.

You discover pretty quickly neither of you are good at keeping promises.

The next time you need Luke’s med kit, he’s already awake.

It’s been happening more and more often. You lurking around camp past moonrise and finding Luke outside his cabin, going for a walk or a stretch or a … something with you.

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask him sometimes between flurries of kisses with your back against a tree.

“Could ask you the same thing, heathen,” he squeezes your hips and nips at your neck, but never answers the question. And neither do you, so you’re both okay with it. You’d hate to give up this feeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.

This is the first time in your punitive life you have felt alive. Like a person, with bones and flesh and soul, a real presence. Not a ghost of smoke and shadow. You are real.

Fooling around makes you feel like an actual teenager. You’re young, you remember when Luke joins you in the dark. You’re having fun. His hands under your shirt and his mouth on your collarbone, the way he bites down and winces when you do something a little too well, when you string out his name and he rewards you for it. You’re both greedy, insatiable people, so there’s a push and pull only the two of you would ever be able to handle. And nobody has to know. Despite all the bruises, the sleepless nights, the swollen lips, all you and Luke share in the daylight are noxious looks, and that's only if he can find you. A perfect crime. Camp Half-Blood’s angel and the vice that lives in the shadows. But in the dark, it’s hard to tell which is which.

“Luke,” you whisper. “Luke.”

“I’m up,” he grumbles, peering up at you. “You shouldn’t sneak into my cabin.” He was already sitting up in his bed when you slipped in, and he didn’t notice you were there till you were right in front of him.

“Worried someone will catch me? You should know better.”

He follows you outside so you don’t wake the other campers. There’s a thrill knowing just one interaction between the two of you could ruin both your reputations forever.

“What is it, heathen?” He asks as the door closes behind him. It’s so dark and your back is turned to him, but his voice is drenched in smugness. “You don’t usually want to put up with me more than once a night.”

“Don’t have a choice,” you mutter, staring out at the camp. You go to chew on your bottom lip, but you wince immediately. “Where’s your kit thingy? The one we used after I impaled you.”

“You mean after you lightly grazed me?”

“Just tell me where it is, Luke.”

Your sharpness could cut through any sleepy daze he possibly has. He’s silent behind you for a second. “Why?” He asks.

“Because I need it.”

His hand curls around your shoulder and before you can think to submerge yourself in darkness, he turns you around. When he sees you, his face breaks from something proud to something … you’re not sure you like. “Oh, heathen,” he murmurs. “What happened to you?”

You guess it’s a semi-appropriate reaction, although you expected at least a grimace. To put it lightly, your face looks gnarly as fuck. There’s a bruise on your cheekbone and your lip is split. But what really draws attention is the half-formed, garish black eye swelling up your right side.

“Just the usual. Pissed someone off.” It hurts the skin on your lip that’s caked with blood.

He rests his thumb on your unbruised cheek, but somehow it still stings. You know he can’t see much of you in the dark but he tries. The prolonged eye contact without the imminent promise of a kiss feels foreign. “You need to go to the Apollo cabin,” he concludes, brows pushed together.

A laugh slips past your broken lips. “No fucking shot. They would not help me.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of their shit-eaters did this!”

The words take a moment to register. You see them filtering through Luke’s brain. He blinks absurdly. “An Apollo guy beat you up?”

“Not beat up. Just … tussled.”

“How much tussling earns you a black eye, exactly? From Apollo kids.”

“Gods, just tell me where your kit is so you can go back to fucking sleep.”

His fingertips inch around the back of your neck, thumb still against your face. “Already wasn’t sleeping. I might as well help you,” he shrugs. “I move the kit every once in a while so some other campers don’t ravage it.”

“I don’t need help.”

Luke opens his mouth, then sighs deeply. He takes a firm hold of your arm and starts to tug you along. “Hey, what—” you swat at his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. “Come on.”

It’s strange. Luke’s never done you a favour before. At least not one like this. You’re disgruntled enough that you had to go ask him in the first place and now he’s dragging you around? “This isn’t such a big deal, Luke,” you badger. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, whatever. Wait right here.” He lets go of you and only then you realize you’re in front of the Apollo cabin. You grimace, and Luke must have noticed because he says, “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna go inside and grab some things. No one’s gonna jump you.”

You scowl at him, and he just laughs. A part of you hopes he hits his head on the way in. You hide anyway.

It’s a few minutes of waiting in the oppressive summer heat, until Luke emerges from the cabin with his hands full. He looks around, hesitantly calling, “Heathen?” Then again. You move out of your hiding spot and he jogs over to greet you.

“Nice haul,” you comment. There’s an ice pack, cotton pads, a few miscellaneous items. “How’d you get them?”

He smiles widely. “Everyone loves me, heathen. It’s not hard.”

“…So you stole them.”

“Yes, but only because I’m too tired to talk to people and I’m protesting for your sake,” he rattles off. “Now hold this ice pack before it gives me frostbite.”

The two of you make your way down to the docks again. It’s morphed into your usual meeting place, since the waves lapping at the shore mask when Luke gets a little too noisy just to piss you off. (At least that’s what he tells you.)

He’s stashed his little tin in a different tree this time. After he retrieves it he sets everything out like a chef preparing to make a meal out of gauze and rubbing alcohol.

Your head has been throbbing for the past few hours. You’re not proud that you antagonized the wrong Apollo kid and got a shiner for it. You’re less proud that you came to Luke for help. Just like everyone else does.

“Come,” he gestures, tugging at the waistband of your pants. You scoot closer to him and swallow the weight of your pulse when he touches you.

Luke slowly presses the ice pack to your black eye, letting you hold it. “What did you do to earn this, anyway?” He asks, head tilted to the side.

You’re hissing because of the ice, half-consciously shifting into him. “The usual. Spat at him. Made fun of his daddy a little too much. Tripped him so he landed face-first in his offerings.”

“You did not,” Luke laments as he dots alcohol onto a cotton pad.

“You’re allowed to say you’re proud of me, Saint Castellan. I won’t tell. You can be mean.” Your voice drips with irony, and you hope it bothers him. The flex in his jaw gives it away.

“You’re always gonna be meaner,” is all he says back. “This is gonna hurt.”

It’s all the warning he gives before he presses the pad against your lip. The sting envelops you immediately, and your good eye squeezes shut. “Shit, ow!”

“Stop moving your mouth.”

“Fuck,” you swear anyway. Your lip burns so hard you can feel it in your teeth.

Luke holds your jaw with his other hand so you can’t shy away. “I’ll kiss it better,” he teases. “Almost done.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke takes the pad off a few moments later. “Serious question. How are you so awful to people all the time?”

A groan tears through your throat with such force your head tilts back. “Not you too! I don’t need a fucking reason, there is no reason. Why doesn’t anyone get that?”

“I’m not asking why. I’m asking how.”

He’s oddly serious, the caress of his thumb on your cheek far slower. You hate it when people want a reason why you’re like this, just to help them sleep at night. But from the bags lining Luke’s eyes, sleep doesn’t seem to be on his radar.

“I just don’t care,” you admit, shrugging. “I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care about what they can do to me. I don’t care about anything.”

“…What about the Gods?”

It makes you cock your head. “Huh?”

“You wouldn’t care about them, either?”

You think, but only about which words to use. “No,” you decide, “They don’t scare me. They’re nothing. What are they gonna do to me?”

Luke snorts, almost nervously. “Uh, punish you for saying that, for one.”

You turn back to him, ice pack leaving your eye as you gesture. “How? By killing me? Pecking out my eyeballs? Burning me alive? I’m telling you, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. It’s all just nothing to me. I’m fucking unpunishable, I’d like to see them try.”

Huffing, you look back up at the firmament of stars. Luke says nothing.

The grass rustles as he shifts, and his mouth ghosts over the bruise on your eye. “Unpunishable,” he murmurs, like he’s testing it out. Then he places an uncharacteristically gentle kiss just beneath your eye. And another just above. “We’ll see about that.”

You get that feeling again, the unbearable lightness in a place it shouldn’t be. Mixed with the poison lodged in your heart.

Luke kisses you, still so delicate that you wonder if he’s been body-snatched. If anything, your bleeding lip feels soothed against his. His hands cradle your face with no ferocity at all. It seems wrong.

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling away, dark eyes nebulous and wide. The night usually sharpens his features. Now, they’ve been hushed.

“Um, better,” you reply.

He hums, laying a slow trail of kisses on your jaw. “Did you at least get the other guy?” He asks between kisses. “Like, did you hurt him?”

“Not really,” you divulge, wondering if you should feel shame.

“Why?” He’s made his way to your neck now, nudging your jaw up so he can kiss behind your ear.

“I’m not a fighter.” And, without warning, for a reason you will never, ever be able to explain, your tongue adds, “I’m a killer.”

Your own brows furrow. Luke pauses for a moment, but knocks his nose against your neck. “Guess one of us has to be.”

There’s no more fooling around. No snappy insults, no feverish kisses, no hunger to be satiated. Luke just checks you over a few more times, hides his med kit, and you both get up to sleep. But his hand wraps around your wrist, far less firm than when he dragged you here. “Stay in my bunk, heathen,” he offers. “Leave in the morning.”

You think you’re making a mistake when you agree, but it doesn’t feel like one.

The next day, after you’ve left Luke’s bunk, rumours float around camp that Luke Castellan accidentally butted some Apollo kid in the face with his sword during training. Caused a bloody, broken nose. Luke was very sorry, apologized profusely.

But you know, by the way he takes you behind the stables that night, that he didn’t mean a single damn word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz

rotten taglist: @thaliagracesgf

leave a pm/comment/ask if you'd like to be added to a taglist :)

#perrie’s fics #rotten to the touch #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan smut #luke castellan pjo #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #charlie bushnell #pjo x reader #luke castellan fic

2K notes · View notes

violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year ago

Text

Honey Girl. Chapter Two.

Previous Chapter. Next Chapter. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Pairing - Dad's Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky try to navigate what it means to be soulmates - and how difficult it is to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings - smut. cursing.

Word Count - 4k

Author's Note - part two!! thank you SO much for all of the love on part one - it has made me immensely happy. you're all the sweetest and i'm so grateful. i'm going on vacation in a few days, so i'm taking a hiatus for a few weeks as i won't have cell service. so, consider this my parting gift to you <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! I will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

Sunlight streams through the billowing white curtains, rousing you slowly. The gentle breeze cools the room, salt sticking to the air. Warmth is seeping into the glass of the windows, encouraging you to kick your sheets to the foot of your bed, limbs stretching and rolling.

You wake, and for a moment, you feel perfectly at peace. You feel light, tranquil, relaxed. You flex your neck from side to side, yawning as you do it. You notice that the sun is already up, beaming into your bedroom. It's going to be a very warm day, you think. I better pack sunblock.

You glance to where your bag is thrown haphazardly on the floor, contents spilling everywhere. It's unlike you, to not put something away properly. You take pride in being a tidy person. You must have been exhausted when you got home last night.

That's when it hits you.

Bucky.

The events of yesterday coming crashing down around you like a tidal wave. Hearts racing, hands interlacing, lips melding. Bodies tangling, breaths matching, knees buckling. Two souls, tied together forever.

Your Tethering.

To Bucky. Your Dad's best friend Bucky.

His absence is suddenly all you can think about. He's not here, and you feel like half of your heart is missing. You ache. There's a discomfort that you know can only be cured by the presence of your soulmate.

You're deep in thought when your phone rings, startling you. It's Bucky.

"Mornin' sugar," he drawls. The low tone of his voice is like molten honey, gorgeous and golden.

"Good morning, Buck."

You hear him exhale at the sound of your voice.

"I know we said we'd meet at ten, but can we make it earlier?" he asks. Then, quieter, "Feel like I can't breathe without you."

He murmurs the last part, as if it's a secret. Something sacred.

"Of course, Buck. I can be ready by nine?"

"Thanks, sweet girl. I'll pick you up?"

"Perfect. See you then."

"See you then."

It's almost painful to hang up the phone. It's like there's a gravitational force in The Universe, willing you against it. You ignore it defiantly and press the red button, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

There's something in your gut telling you that this might just be the first day of the rest of your life. You certainly can't go back to the way things were. You're not sure if you want to.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Bucky arrives at 8:45.

You're in the bathroom with the door closed, so you don't hear him pull up. You feel it. Like a magnetism, alerting you to his whereabouts. You breathe a little easier immediately, knowing he's outside.

You grab your bag and the picnic and pull on your shoes, eager to see him. You feel like a teenager again, giddy with anticipation. Apart from, this isn't your average first date. No, this is your last first date ever. This is a first date with the man you're bound to spend the rest of your life with. No pressure, you tell yourself. One step at a time.

Your heart kicks up in double time, thundering against your ribcage. You inhale deeply, cracking your knuckles. You can do this. It's just Bucky.

You bound down your stairs, practically running to his truck. Bucky's leaning against the passenger door, the wind ruffling his hair, sunlight reflecting off his steely blue eyes. He's wearing shorts and a white button up, which is blowing gently in the breeze. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms, exposing his gorgeous tanned skin. He has several shirt buttons undone, accentuating his broad chest, sunglasses tucked into the breast pocket. He looks so handsome. So classically elegant. Like he belongs in an old movie - a perfect leading man.

He eyes you carefully, gauging your reaction. You can tell he doesn't want to overstep, worried about pushing you too far too fast. You walk over and run your fingers across his exposed chest gently, tracing a path up his neck until you're caressing his cheek. His stubble tickles your fingertips, causing a smile to curl at the corners of your mouth. You finally meet his gaze, and all your stress is forgotten. You feel peaceful again.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs back, hands finding your waist. "You alright?"

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he grins. "So, how do you feel about a day of sailing? You, me, and the ocean, baby."

"I think that sounds perfect."

He opens the car door for you, helping you up and into the passenger seat. He climbs in, clicking on his seat belt and starting the engine. Before he pulls away, he turns and looks at you, holding your stare for a moment. Bucky reaches for you, lacing your fingers together, resting your intertwined hands on your thigh. He begins to drive away, taking you towards the ocean. Towards your future.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You know nothing about sailing.

Luckily, you don't need to. Bucky's quite content to keep you sitting pretty on the top deck while he does all of the work, pulling and tying and knotting. The crisp white sails billow in the wind, the ocean waves providing a steady, constant soundtrack. Birds fly overhead, sunshine beaming down, the wood underneath you warm and smooth. It's paradise.

You're soaking up the sun rays when you hear a click. You sit up to see Bucky holding his film camera, pointed right at you.

"Creep," you tease.

"Just want to have something to look back on. Our first day as soulmates. It's an occasion, you know," he grins.

He moves across the boat to sit next to you, thigh pressed up against yours. He's so close you can taste the spearmint on his breath. You tangle a hand in his hair, caressing the back of his head.

"I brought you a few new things to try," you tell him. "Some recipes I'm testing. I want your honest opinion. No sugar coating. Promise?"

"I promise," he winks, holding up a scouts honour. "I wouldn't lie to you, honey."

You reach over and grab your picnic basket, unwrapping various beeswax packages and laying them out in front of you.

"Okay - we have white chocolate and pistachio muffins, raspberry and lemon macarons, earl grey and lavender cookies and carrot and cinnamon cake."

You glance over at Bucky, expecting him to be deciding what to try first. Instead, you find him watching you carefully, gentle smile etched across his face.

"What?" you laugh.

"Nothing," he beams. "I just... I love it when you start talking about food. You're passionate. You light up."

"Don't make it weird," you joke, slightly taken aback by his honesty. He did promise not to sugar coat.

He reaches for a macaron, eager to try one after you mentioned them yesterday. He pops one in his mouth, and lets out a groan that can only be described as pornographic.

"Fuck," he moans. "This might be the best thing I've ever eaten."

"You promised you wouldn't lie," you laugh.

"I'm not," he chuckles, placing his hand over his heart. "I swear to you. These things should be used as medicine. They'd cure anything."

"Shut up," you tease bashfully, bumping your shoulder into his.

He tries the other sweets one by one, complimenting you immensely. He's so specific in the way he commends your baking. He comments on certain flavours, and textures, and the way everything melts on his tongue. He really takes the time to think about what he says. It's so intimate.

"You're gonna do this for a living, right?" he asks, turning to face you.

"I hope so," you confess. "It's all I want to do. Going to culinary school was a huge risk, but I did it. It was difficult, but they were also the best four years of my life. I just learned so much. I want to put it all into practice."

"I think you should. It'd be such a waste if you didn't. You're so talented, sugar."

"Thanks, Buck," you grin. "I just don't know where to start."

He thinks for a moment.

"If you could do anything, anything in the world - what would you do?"

He's looking at you so intensely, you almost want to shy away. His steel blue eyes are boring into you, reading your mind, figuring out your soul.

"I'd... I'd open a bakery of my own. I want a lot that overlooks the ocean. With big windows."

Bucky smiles gently, adoration written across his face.

"I'd be your most loyal customer," he vows. "Oh, I have a better idea - I'll be your quality control. I'll taste test everything before you sell it. You know, just in case."

"Just in case," you laugh. "Right."

"It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it," he winks.

The sound of your laughter is like dopamine to Bucky. It fires off neurons in his brain, receptors buzzing and alight. He almost feels drunk off the sound, floating above ground.

You relax into him, laying down and resting your head in his lap. He's warm, and soft, and so comfortable. You could lie here forever.

He runs his fingers through your hair gently, playing with the strands. The repetitive rocking of the boat lulls you into an easy sleep, the sunlight wrapping around you, taking the place of a blanket. Bucky watches you drift off, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

A particularly strong gust of wind wakes you, rousing you from sleep. Your fingers are interlinked with Bucky's, head still resting on his strong thighs.

"How long was I out?" you ask, looking up at him.

"Like, twenty minutes? You looked peaceful, thought I'd let you rest."

"Sorry, Buck," you chuckle.

"Hey, don't apologise. I'll take it as a compliment. You know, they say you only sleep around the people you feel safe with."

"They say a lot of fuckin' things," you laugh, repeating his words from yesterday.

"I do, though," you say after a moment. "Feel safe with you. It's not just the soulmate thing. I always have."

Bucky leans down to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. He pulls away and kisses the spot where you were just connected.

"We should talk about us," you murmur, sitting up to face him.

"Uh oh. Are you breaking up with me?" Bucky jokes, nudging your knee with his.

"Yeah, right," you scoff. "As if you'd be so lucky. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"I'll survive," he winks. "But we should. Talk about us."

You look at each other for a moment, carefully. You notice that the ocean is reflecting in Bucky's eyes, waves gleaming and blue.

"I don't know where to start," you whisper.

"Maybe start at the beginning," he suggests, reaching out to rest his palm on your thigh, fingertips rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"I... I think - I think we should do exactly that. Start at the beginning."

He nods at you reassuringly, urging you to continue.

"I want to start slow. Really slow. I know we already know each other, but this... this is different. We don't know each other like this."

"Like soulmates," he agrees. "It's a whole other level. A league of its own."

"Exactly. I know we're Tethered, but, I think we should treat this like a normal relationship. We should date, and just... take this step by step."

"One step at a time," he confirms. "Prepare yourself, honey. I'm about to date the hell outta you."

"Someone save me," you laugh, throwing your head back. "All those poor girls that have come before me - they had to put up with this?"

He laughs with you, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Trust me, sugar, you're different."

Bucky leans forward and slots his lips to yours, hands going to your waist to pull you closer.

Kissing your soulmate is unlike any other feeling. It's complete serenity. Two bodies, designed by The Universe to fit together perfectly.

Your fingers thread through Bucky's hair as you move to sit in his lap, straddling him. You grind your hips forward, illiciting a groan from the both of you.

Bucky slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugar there. He can't get enough. You're so sweet and soft underneath his hands, underneath his tongue. He wants more.

He tips you backwards, so you're lying flat on the deck. Bucky moves to kneel in between your legs, prying them open gently. He kisses his way from your ankle to your knee, occasionally nipping at your flesh. He likes the idea of there being a mark on you that he left. He feels more protective of you than he ever has of anyone. The feeling vibrates through his bones, fires up his nerve endings. He needs to feel every inch of your skin as soon as possible, or he's convinced he'll burst into flames.

He smooths his hands up your thighs, fingers catching in the waistband of your shorts. He shimmies them down your legs, and inhales sharply at the sight before him. You're laid out on the deck of his boat like a goddess, the white shirt adorning your body matching the white lace underwear underneath. The sun rays are beating down, illuminating you, making you glow from the inside out. Bucky can't breathe, looking at you. He feels like all of the oxygen has been stolen from his lungs, replaced with pure desire.

You're breathless, panting, chest heaving. You're shaking with anticipation, willing him to do something. Anything.

"Bucky," you whine. "Please."

He's never heard a prettier sound. It's like angel song, the way you say his name.

"Patience, sweets. I thought we were taking it slow."

"Asshole," you laugh, poking him in the chest with your toe. "You're a hypocrite."

"Am I?" he smirks, running his fingertips across the inside of your thighs.

"Yes. You can't kiss me like that and then tell me to have patience."

"My apologies, ma'am."

He leans over and kisses you again, biting your bottom lip as he pulls away. Bucky slips your underwear down your legs and tucks them into the pocket of his shorts, ignoring your scoff as you watch him do it.

"Come here, pretty baby," he murmurs, tugging at your hips to pull you closer to him.

He nudges your core with his nose, inhaling deeply. It's filthy, the action, but it makes you ache with want. He licks into the crease of your thigh next, tasting the salt on your skin. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging the chocolate strands. You whine again, and Bucky commits the sound to memory.

He surprises you by sucking your clit gently, causing your hips to buck up towards his mouth. He splays one hand across your stomach, holding you down. He uses his other hand to insert a finger into you, groaning at your warmth. He crooks it up, and you keen.

"I know, baby, I know," he coos, adding a second finger.

You're not sure if it's because of the glaring sunlight or because of Bucky, but there's a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin, dripping down your temple. You're burning from the inside out, white hot heat running through your veins.

He thrusts both fingers in and out of you steadily, curling them on the up stroke. You throw your head back, hips wriggling and writhing.

"Where you going, pretty girl?" he drawls. "Come here - that's it."

He pulls you back to him, fingers never stopping. He looks up at you, and notices that you've thrown a hand over your face, shielding yourself.

"Don't go shy on me now," he practically purrs, smiling when you move your arm away. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Fuck," you moan, suddenly glad you're in the middle of the ocean. The sounds you're letting out are filthy.

"I know, pretty baby. I know."

His fingers push you closer and closer to the edge, speeding up slightly. You're whining, keening, hips bucking up into him. You can't stay still. You feel like you're on fire, red hot electricity running through you. It's never been like this with anyone before. It never will be again.

"You're close, honey, I can feel it. You're almost there," he drawls. "Atta girl. Come on, baby. You got it. Good girl."

His low, honeyed words throw you into your climax, back arching off the sun warmed wood. Bucky talks you through it, encouraging and praising you in hushed murmurs. You see stars, bright white patterns flashing behind your eyelids. The world goes quiet for a moment, and all you feel is peace.

Bucky brings you back to reality by rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin of your thigh, still muttering softly. He lets you catch your breath before leaning over and kissing you gently.

"You okay, sugar?"

You smile at him in a daze, still floating on air.

"I'm good, Buck. Very good, actually."

He laughs at your response, moving your hair away from your face. You sit up to look at him, admiring him carefully.

"You're so pretty," you whisper. "I mean, I've always known it. But now, it's so... blinding. You're the most beautiful person in the world."

He's not sure how to process your words. He's never felt so loved, so safe, so appreciated before. It's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to say - so instead, he kisses you hard.

"You're the sweetest girl in the world, you know that right?" he whispers against your lips.

He moves to sit behind you, so your back is resting against his chest. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smells like warmth, and salt, and home.

"I don't think we should tell my parents," you say lowly, afraid to ruin the moment. "Not yet, anyway."

"I agree," he reassures. "I think we should figure this out first. Figure us out."

You lean up and peck his lips gently, pulling away to trace your fingertips over the contours of his face.

"It's gonna take a while to figure this out, isn't it?"

"That's the thing, sweet girl. We have all the time in the world."

You relax back into his arms, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into complete tranquility.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You spend all day on the boat with Bucky, soaking up the sun. Your shirts are billowing in the wind, hair blowing in every direction. The ocean rocks you both in routine motion, gentle and calming.

He teaches you the basics of sailing, sitting knee to knee with you while you repeatedly tie knots into pieces of rope. He stands behind you comfortingly as you pull and tug at the rigging, supporting you only when you ask for help.

The two of you sit tangled together on the deck, enjoying your picnic. You take a moment to rub sunblock into Bucky's shoulders, ignoring the heat that rises in your chest when he groans in delight. He's irresistible. This is more than just lust. This is a magnetism, an almost animalistic connection. It's quite literally written in the stars.

The both of you are clearly reluctant to go home. You sit in Bucky's truck outside your apartment for hours, talking about nothing and everything. You don't invite him upstairs. You know that if you do, you'll jump his bones instantly. You've both agreed to take this slow. You have to start being strict with yourselves, or you'll just keep ending up in bed.

Eventually, your stomach rumbles, making Bucky chuckle.

"You should go. Eat something."

"I know. I just... I like being with you."

He leans over the centre console to press a kiss to your lips, revelling in the way you taste like the ocean breeze.

"There's no one else in the world I'd rather be with," he murmurs against your mouth.

You pull away and take a deep breath, preparing to leave Bucky for tonight.

"Thank you, for today. It's been perfect."

"Perfect day for a perfect girl," he winks, making you both laugh.

"One step at a time."

"All the time in the world," he echoes.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper, moving in closer to press your forehead to his.

"Goodnight, honey girl," he whispers back, pecking your lips quickly.

He jumps out of the drivers side to help you down from the truck, holding your hand carefully. You smile at the déjà vu. He does too.

You look back at him once more before closing your front door. He's already looking at you, his eyes never once leaving your frame, smile never leaving his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're curled up on the couch when your phone rings, startling you from your peace. You look at the caller ID in confusion.

"Stella? Hey - you okay?"

"Hey, you. Long time no see, huh?"

"It's been a while," you laugh. "I didn't expect a call from you."

"I'm sorry we haven't talked in so long. I've been super busy - I'm opening my own café! It has a bookshop inside it too - oh it's gorgeous, you wouldn't even believe it."

"That sounds amazing, Stella. I'm so happy for you, wow."

"I'm actually calling because I have something to ask you."

"Ask away, Stell."

"I have a sort of... proposition for you. An offer, if you will."

"You're really building the anticipation here," you chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry! So, I'm gonna need a Head Baker. I can't do it, because I'll be manager, and I'm the owner which is a tough job in itself. Opening a café is fucking difficult, you know!" she laughs, before continuing. "You'd have complete creative control - you'd design your own bakes, everything would be completely down to you. There's quite literally only one person in this world that I'd want to do this job, and it's you."

You almost can't believe what she's telling you. It sounds perfect. It sounds like a dream.

"Stella - are you sure? This is a huge deal. You want me?"

"I only want you. I can't picture working alongside anyone else. We made such a good team in culinary school, and we always said we'd find each other in the future."

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"Say yes!" she encourages, giggling down the phone.

"Yes!" you echo, giddy with joy. "God, Stella, yes!"

You're smiling from ear to ear, unable to wipe the grin off your face. Your dream job has been presented to you on a silver platter. You'd be stupid not to take it.

"I mean - when do I start? What should I wear? Do you want a set menu, or can I change it up all the time? Vegan options? Gluten free?"

"I can send you all of the boring stuff in an email - contracts, salary information, all that shit. You can quite literally do whatever the fuck you want, girl. I trust you completely. I trust your culinary skills even more."

"Oh my god, I'm so excited. Thank you, Stella. Seriously. This is just amazing."

"I can't wait to have you here with me again!"

You process for a moment, trying to make sense of what she just said.

"Wait... what? Where?"

"In California. The café is here, in California!"

You can't hear her next words due to the ringing in your ears. Your chest tightens, your hands ball into fists, your breathing becomes ragged.

There's a million thoughts racing through your mind, and you can't quite get a firm grasp on any of them.

Bucky would never leave this place. This is his home. I can't ask him to abandon his life here - I wouldn't want to. We've been soulmates for two days. What about his job? His friends? Would I leave everything behind and move across the country for him? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I can't have my cake and eat it too. He'd give everything up for me in a heartbeat - I can't let him. It's not fair.

You're suddenly intensely aware - you have to make a choice.

Bucky or your dreams.

Tag List -

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

tag list continued here <3

4K notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 11 months ago

Text

Okay so the poll results were for an OC captain, though it was close enough that I still hesitate to name him in the canon of the fic.

I’m also going to be taking my time fleshing out his character because it’s been a while since I made an OC. So please be patient while I add tidbits here and there to build his character.

Content: safe/sane/consensual sex, descriptions of scars, mentions of past torture

Nikto beats you and Nova twice out of three rounds — but that’s no surprise. The man moves like a machine. Even against two opponents he controls the battlefield like a chess master. Neither you nor Nova take it to heart, especially since he always gives you both advice at the end, helping you to improve.

He’s a great partner, a great teammate; you’re sure to show him your appreciation after sparring with a kiss to his nose-plate. His hands spasm on yours as he helps you unwind your wraps, gloved thumb sweeping over your bare palm.

“You did good today,” he says, voice rough and accent thick. He must be pissed about earlier still, when Ghost and Soap threw your matches with them.

“So did you,” you reply, squeezing his hand in return.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asks.

You damn near melt. Nikto has an open invitation to your room, but his is a sacred place, only for him unless otherwise specified. That he’s asking you to come to his tonight…

“Absolutely,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I just need to see the captain first. Okay?”

He grunts in understanding, eyes flicking to the door the 141 left through earlier. He mutters something in Russian — some insult about goats and mothers you think.

“Yeah, exactly,” you reply, voice dropping with simmering irritation.

A good spar with him and Nova has helped ground you a bit, but it hasn’t helped the anger. You don’t spar any of your team with anger; they don’t deserve.

Luckily, you and your captain worked something out a while ago when you’re feeling a bit… aggressive.

“Cap?” You call, still holding Nikto’s hand. “Could I stop by for a nightcap later?”

His eyes flash, a sinful twist to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, babygirl. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

Over his shoulder, you see Nova arch her eyebrows and Keegan grin wicked into his water bottle. Gossip fiends.

“Showers. Now,” the cap says, slapping them both on the ass. “Double time. I need to have a word with Price still.”

—

Long after the sun has gone down, you’re standing outside your captain’s door. Take a breath. Remind yourself of your mantra. He wants you, always will, and he’s going to take care of you.

Then loosen your shoulders, unboxing all the frustration and aggression you set aside earlier. Feel it burn through you, make your hands twitch in and out of fists.

One more inhale, and then you shove the door open.

“There you are,” he rumbles. “C’mere.”

You flash your teeth, “No.”

He tilts head back and forth, cracking his neck. “Alright then.”

There’s no real fight. You’re not looking to get away or actually hurt him. And he’s not looking to actually make you submit. That’s not the point of this game.

He strides across the room and shoves you back, pins your shoulder to the wall. You grip at his forearm, nails scraping, and squirming as the hot, hard length of his body squishes you flat.

“Settle,” he orders.

“Fuck you,” you snarl back, nipping his lip.

He growls, tangling a hand in your hair and tipping your head back. Leaves a searing trail of kisses down your throat, bites a bruise into your collarbone. You wriggle and fuss all the while, safely held still and supported by his hands and body.

“Brat,” he rasps in your ear.

“I’m not,” you snap.

“Oh, yes you are, babygirl,” he replies, a mean smirk on his flushed face. “But that’s alright, I like you bad.”

He pulls you from the wall, bullies you onto the bed. You try to grab at him, get him under you. He doesn’t indulge like he normally would. Pins you on your back so that you can keep fighting, yanking at your wrists in his firm grip, pushing your hips up to grind into his as if trying to flip you both.

He slots his hips between your thighs, positions just his knees under your ass so that your back is arched, shoulders on the mattress. Limits your mobility, but that doesn’t stop you from kicking at air, making half-angry, half-desperate noises in the back of your throat.

“Gonna say please like a good girl?” He teases.

“No,” you hiss back.

He has the audacity to chuckle, which just riles you up more. (It’s supposed to). You curse as he works a hand beneath your shirt, palms at your bare breasts and pinches your nipples until they ache. You gasp like a pornstar, surprised and turned on.

“Pretty noise,” he coos. “Do it again.”

When he twists, you mewl, face immediately burning up as you renew your “efforts” to get away. All it does is make the treatment rougher than if you just laid still and took it, but that’s what you want, what feels good. A little edge to the pleasure as adrenaline and energy electrify you from head to toe.

He grinds against you, cotton of your loose shorts sticking against your soaked cunt. Christ you were turned on before you even barged in. Now you’re fucking throbbing for it.

“Gimme,” you grit out, rocking against him. Gears successfully shifted from physically taking control to just ordering him around.

“Give you what, brat?” He goads, slapping your pussy. The thin fabric muffles the sting, but it sends a white-hot ache through you that makes your eyes roll. “My cock? You think you deserve it?”

Another slap. You cry out, notice the sly look on his face when he notices that you’ve soaked through your shorts.

“Yes,” you reply, all confidence and reckless arrogance.

He yanks his underwear down to mid thigh, thick cock springing up to smack lewdly against his toned stomach. Precum smears over the pale scars there, sticks in the trail of groomed hair there.

“Yeah?” He growls. “Alright then.”

He yanks the crotch of your shorts aside (you hear stitches pop) and then he’s plunging into you. It’s too much all at once and you cry as much, knees squeezing around his tattooed ribs.

“Fuck.” His voice is shredded, so rough and low you feel it more than hear it. He lets your wrists go to grip at your ass, grinding deeper. Can feel the fat head of his cock bullying at your cervix, his favorite passtime while you adjust to the thick base of him.

“How does that feel, babygirl?” He murmurs in your ear. “You needed daddy’s cock, huh? Needed it to set you right again?”

You whimper out a curse at him, gripping at his biceps. He croons mockingly, thumb slipping between your bodies to press at your clit. Not rubbing or grinding, but just pressing. Just the right amount to make you sweat and pant, start trying to squirm to get any friction at all.

He lets you — could stop you if he wanted, or pull away entirely — but he likes winding you up like this. Likes seeing all that vicious energy turned to seeking pleasure from him.

“Fucking move,” you try to snarl, but your voice breaks midway through and comes out more pleading than you’d like.

“What was that, babydoll? Are you talking to me?” He teases, rolling his hips.

Your mouth falls open, a moan ripping from your chest, deep and needy.

“Daddy, move,” you cry, voice going up in pitch.

“There’s my brat.”

He pushes one of your knees up against your chest and slams into you. You scream and he doesn’t even try to cover your mouth, whispering filth as he tilts your hips for the best angle with his other hand. Fucks into you deep and rough, grinning at the obscenely wet noises every time he plunges into you.

Can practically feel him fucking your cervix open to get just that little bit deeper. Licks his lips when he sees the little bump in your stomach. You give as good as you get, squeezing down tight, bouncing to meet him, nails scoring lines down his back and shoulders.

“Gonna ask daddy to make you cum?” He goads.

“Earn it,” you reply.

He laughs and pulls out, flips you onto your stomach while you’re still dizzy with emptiness. Hikes your hips up and sinks into you like coming home. Your knees almost give out but that’s fine by him, he’s plenty strong enough to hold you up all on his own, using you like a noisy little toy for his own benefit.

“Fuuuuck,” you whine, feeling overwhelmed, pleasured tears gathering in your eyes. Then, in a whisper, “Daddy…”

“Feel like being good yet?” He asks. A large, rough hand circles that back of your neck and pins you face down to the mattress.

“N-no,” you whine, fight gone out of you now that you’re getting exactly what you want.

Fuck it feels so, so good. Every inch bullying you wide open and loose, so wet you’re dripping down your own thighs, wetting his ball as they slap against you. You feel split open and pinned, unable to do anything but take it, tortured stupid on ecstasy. He licks a stripe up your back before pressing you down prone, ankles locked around yours to keep you open and accessible.

“S’alright, doll, don’t need to be good to be mine.”

He’s barely pulling out halfway before ramming home now. You can barely get a breath in, the weight of him pressing whatever resistance was left right out of you.

“Daddy, daddy,” you sob. “Fuck, I wan’ it.”

“Want it, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, pressing your face into your arms. Cant your hips just that little bit to get him abusing that bundle of nerves.

“Oh, right there, huh?” He coos. “Did daddy find your little sweet spot?”

A series of short, ruthless thrusts right there, making incoherent, desperate noises fall from your mouth. Before you realize it, he’s wedged a hand beneath your hips and has two fingers toying with your poor, neglected clit.

“‘M gonna… f-fuck, fuck,” you whine, writhing (or at least trying to) against him. Not sure if you’re trying to urge him on or get away. Doesn’t matter, he’s in charge, has been since the beginning. “Daddy, I wanna…”

“Whenever you want, babygirl,” he replies, voice going all warm and gooey. Your chest hitches. “Squeeze around me nice and tight. Let me feel you cum on my cock.”

Didn’t realize that was what you needed, but you fucking scream as you clench down around him, stars bursting behind your closed eyes. He fucks you through it, tapping against your g-spot again and again until you dissolve into a weak, wet whimpers.

“Daddyyyy,” you whine.

And that sets him off, flooding you with heat. He loses control for a second as his hips jerk, pounding brutally into your oversensitive, swollen pussy. Makes a few tears finally slip down, soaking into the sheets along with your drool. The sound of him groaning as he cums makes you spasm around him again, a little aftershock that milks the last of his release.

“That’s it, easy,” he groans, brushing kisses over your trembling shoulders. “Easy, doll.”

He lies over you for a few minutes, letting you feel him there. Right there with you. Breathing and recovering, holding you through the endorphin rush. When you squirm a bit, he eases off you, cock slipping out. You shiver at the feeling of his cum trickling out of you, glassy eyes fluttering.

“C’mere,” he soothes, tugging you in. Lying on his side, he hitches one of your thighs up over his hip, tucks your arms between your chests and rests his stubbly chin on your temple. You splay your fingers over his peck, over the bold, dark symbol for SpecGru. Feel his heart settling back into rhythm and sigh, snuggling in.

The hormone drop is a monster on your emotions, often leaves you shivery and lonely, a little sick in your own body. First time you did this with him ended in tears, expecting him to get up and leave. He didn’t, never has, but you both learned that as much physical contact as possible in the aftermath eases the comedown away from a total crash.

“You did so well, babygirl,” he whispers, leaving kisses everywhere he can reach without dislodging you. “Such a good girl. Even if you think you’re being bad.”

You flush, hide your face against his neck. He chuckles, honeybalm on your soul. Can feel his hand start to move, then pause as he remembers that you can’t handle that stimulation right after sex. So he just squeezes, slow and gentle, helps get you back in your body.

“I still want you,” he assures, echoing your mantra back at you. “Always will. You’re mine.”

You outline a heart shape onto his forearm, not quite able to speak yet. He recognize the feeling though and gently guides your face up to place a slow, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Love you, too, babygirl. Ready to clean up?”

You nod. He eases you up, lets you cling onto his hand as he walks you to the en suite. Fills you a glass of cool water to sip on while he gets the shower running. Turns his back while you use the restroom and wash your hands, then guides you into the hot water.

You lean into him, near boneless, as he washes you, calloused palms with soap instead of a cloth. Then sits still, hands on your hips, while you return the favor. This part is one of the most important for you, getting to freely return touch.

(Simon hardly ever let you touch, especially in the aftermath. Sure, you could scratch and grip at him during sex, but during foreplay it was all part of his dom persona that you couldn’t just touch at will. And afterwards… well. It’s not like he didn’t do aftercare. He did! But the almost formulaic warm cloth wipe down, glass of water, doze for a bit before he left was not… not ideal. Not like this.)

Your captain hums, eyes half-lidded but trained on you, while you smooth your palms over the firms planes of his muscles. Fingers tracing over tattoos and scars. Squishing and patting at the healthy layer of tissue over his stomach and thighs. Lets you nuzzle and kiss his soft cock, even though it makes his fingers twitch with oversensitivity.

Squeezes when you lace fingers together to stretch his arm out, inspecting the lines your nails carved into him.

“M’okay, baby,” he says before you can ask. “Feels good.”

You similarly assure him over the bruises on your wrists and hips, smiling and leaning up to kiss his jaw.

When the shower is over, he dries you off, playfully ruffling your hair just to kiss the pout off your lips. He dresses you in one of his shirts and a spare pair of your own joggers, found in his duffel.

You sit with him for a while longer still, enjoying how he lets himself relax once he knows you’re taken care of. He lies with his head on your chest, your fingers fluffing his hair, while the two of you watch an episode of some stupid show Keegan got the rest of the team into.

Only when it’s over does he ask if you’re ready to go to Nikto’s. If you wanted to stay, you could. Nikto would understand. But you’re looking forward to a night with your quiet Russian while the other three have a little movie night.

At the door, you kiss your captain goodnight. Hug and kiss Keegan and Nova as you pass them in the hall headed to his room. Nova makes a point of kissing one of the bruises on your wrist, while Keegan whispers that he loves you.

You pad to the first door in the hall, where Nikto has stationed himself as the team guard dog. You tap gently at the door, a pre-determined pattern to let him know who it is.

The door cracks open, one startling blue eye peering from the darkness.

“Evening, Nik,” you coo.

A hand reaches out and gently yanks you inside. And then next thing you know, you’re wrapped up in thick arms devoid of any usual covering. You feel smothered, in a good way.

“Love,” he rasps in Russian into your hair.

You hum in return. Place your palms flat on his abdomen. The muscles clench, you pause as you realize his abs, impressive as they are, feel too defined. He needs water. Taking mental note, you draw your hands carefully around, feeling the raised bumps of wicked scars. Make sure he can track exactly where and how you’re touching until your arms are wrapped around him in a return hug.

“Smell good,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” You giggle. “Showered just for you.”

He snorts, then scoops you up. You make a delighted noise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you across the room. Of course his navigation is impeccable, even in pitch black. He lays you down on the bed, but before he can crawl up with you, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re dehydrated.”

He makes an annoyed noise, sounds like he’s about to protest. You shush him with a quick peck to his chest.

“Get a glass please? I could use some water myself.”

Which has him instantly moving. You politely turn away as the bathroom light flicks on, the water runs. Can hear him chug two entire glasses before he fills it one final time. The light turns off again. The bed dips as he returns, presses the cool edge gently to your cheek.

“Thank you,” you murmur, sipping about a quarter of it to appease him before he sets aside for you on a bedside table.

And then he gets what he really wants, stripping you down and tucking you in like a nesting bird. Practically on top of you while you’re still reeling from how much skin you can feel. Even during intimacy, he tends to stay clothed or mostly clothed. But right now all you can feel is a pair of underwear against your bare ass. Everywhere else it’s miles of warm skin, uncovered muscle and texture of scars.

“This is nice,” you coo. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

You wiggle around until you’re chest to chest. Start with his hands. Kiss each smooth fingertip, prints flayed off. Then his palms, the divots from nails driving through. Flip them over to kiss his scarred knuckles, smile at the way he twitches, flexing them outward like he’s trying not to close his hand.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Yes.”

You kiss his wrists, his forearms, to his collarbone. You’ve peeked a blue-black tattoo there before. Stars and the start of something that might be religious. Spend a little extra time there, tongue peeking out. He shifts; you take it as a sign of discomfort and move on.

“Here next,” he says when you dip to go to his chest.

He guides your face up his neck, where you press long (but chaste) kisses until you bump his jaw. And realize that’s all skin too.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Can I…?”

“Yes.”

You feather your lips along his fresh-shaved jaw, the nicked scars on his chin. Then up, ignoring the wicked scar along his cheek. Breathe against his temple, feeling dizzy with the trust he’s showing you.

“I love you,” you whisper, continuing along to his nose, twice broken and poorly set each time. A line over one nostril where a piercing was ripped out. He makes a noise in his throat, think he might be having trouble speaking again. Don’t mind.

He lets you get down to his mouth, where a particularly twisted scar warps part of his upper lip away from his teeth. You think that if you saw it in the light, his canine would be visible. His lower lip is uneven too, like a misaligned seam.

You don’t pay any special attention to any of it, focused more on reacquainting yourself with how your mouth fits with his. He doesn’t lead, doesn’t rush or pull or press. But there’s tension all along his body, everywhere you touch. You don’t ask for more than a chaste kiss, and when you pull away, you tilt your forehead gently against his.

“Still okay?” You ask.

“Still okay.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #the captain #cod nikto #the captain x reader #specgru reader #former 141 reader #nikto x reader

1K notes · View notes

domjaehyun · 3 months ago

Text

the boy is mine (l.dh) — part five

PAIRING. haechan x fem!reader GENRES. smut, angst WORD COUNT. 15.6k CONTENTS. infidelity, alcohol & weed consumption (MC is a non-smoker if that matters to you), explicit smut (dirty talk, fingering, finger sucking, oral (receiving), rimming (receiving), groping/frottage, marking, spit play, (brief) ear play, breast play, creampies/unprotected sex (if you explicitly need me, a stranger on the internet, to tell you not to fuck raw, you are not responsible enough to be reading this. move along now), snowballing, public sex, car sex, riding, bratty dom-leaning switch!haechan, bratty sub-leaning switch!reader, sweet dom!jeno, face riding, handjob, overstimulation (receiving), praise kink (receiving), light degradation kink (giving), mating press, morning sex) NOTES. here’s part five!! i hope you enjoy it!! please leave feedback if you liked it :) i would also greatly appreciate tips if you really liked it :3 THANK YOU LIKE THE HUUUUUGEST THANK YOU TO BRI (@jalitepng) FOR BETA READING THIS BIG OL FIC :D PLAYLIST. the boy is mine - ariana grande // fantasize - ariana grande (unreleased) // lowkey (feat. erykah badu) - teyana taylor // agora hills - doja cat // pussy is mine - miguel // softest touch - khalid // cut - tori kelly // seatbelt - josh levi // often - doja cat // surrender - nbdy

NEED TO CATCH UP? the link to the fic masterlist is here :)

You wake up before Haechan, or so you think before you feel him shift beside you, hips pressing into the flesh of your ass and thighs. His length digs into the space where your thighs and ass meet, hot and heavy on your backside.

“Haechan,” you groan, reaching back and pushing at his chest.

“Come on, baby, gimme a little something to work with.” he grunts in your ear as he clutches your hips and drags you back onto him so you’re practically sitting directly on his cock, the thick head of his length kissing where your lower lips meet.

“You’re so gross,” you mumble sleepily, ears perking up at the sound of him sucking in a sharp breath. “Don’t tell me you liked that.”

“Mm, why not? You gonna call me gross again?” he chuckles, shameless and eager. As if to further taunt you, he latches wet lips onto your shoulder and sucks and licks a path up to your ear. When you squirm away, one of his hands clutches your chin to hold your head in place. He swirls his tongue around the shell of your ear before dipping it directly into your ear, making you jump and squeal in surprise.

His responding chuckle sends ticklish vibrations through your eardrum and down your spine before his tongue dips into your ear once more, the sound and sensation of the wet muscle moving in your ear making your jaw drop and, to your surprise, eyes roll back into your head.

You reach back and clutch at his thigh with a shaky gasp as his tongue leisurely violates the sacred space that used to be your ear canal. His hand slowly slides down from your chin to your neck to your chest, where he cups one of your breasts in his hand and massages it slowly.

You can’t tell why it feels so good in spite of being incredibly overwhelming, but you can’t compose yourself enough to do anything but moan weakly, letting Haechan grope your chest and tongue at your ear to his heart’s content.

His fingers toy with and tug at your now hardened nipple, a soft groan leaving him that practically reverberates through you from his proximity to your ear. He lets his tongue slip out of your ear, chuckling triumphantly at the whine of disappointment that slips from your lips, before he sucks at your earlobe, simultaneously flicking your nipple back and forth and tracing circles around the bud.

“Thought I was gross,” he chuckles teasingly. “You warmed up to that pretty quickly.”

“What even was that? What fetish website did you find that on?” you question incredulously, frantically rubbing at your ear to rid it of the slimy feeling running all through where his tongue touched, and he snorts, catching your wrist and pulling your hand down.

“Why? Did you like getting your ear tongue-fucked?” he purrs, flicking his tongue over the hole in your ear cheekily and laughing when you complain and attempt to move away. “Wanna watch videos of it and touch yourself pretending I’m doing it to you?” he taunts breathlessly in your ear.

“You really are a little perverted freak, aren’t you?” you mutter in awe, and you don’t miss the way he stiffens behind you. “Don’t tell me that got you going, too.”

“Sure did, baby.” he grunts with an audible smile, and a moment later, you feel the now slick head of his length gliding up and down your upper thigh and experimentally pressing under the fleshy pocket where your asscheek meets your thigh.

“You know what?” you mumble, turning around to face him. He whines at the loss of contact but falls silent when you push his shoulder so he’s lying on his back and shift to straddle his legs, deliberately keeping your core hovering above where he clearly wants you most. “You’re not calling the shots anymore.”

His eyes widen in surprise before an unmistakable glint of excitement fills them. “No?”

“Nope.” you hum, running your nails down his bare chest and smiling when he shudders under your touch. “You’re a gross”—you poke his chest—“little”—poke—“pervert”—poke—“and I don’t think I should let you run whatever weird fetish experiments you want on me.”

He frowns up at you petulantly, but his length twitches under you, making his upset façade crack. “But I need you,” he urges, hands moving to caress your thighs.

“Need me to what?” you ask with an air of innocent curiosity. “If it’s gross, I’m not doing it,” you warn, trying to hide the thrill spreading throughout your body from being in charge of your very handsome, very bratty lover currently lying beneath you.

“Kiss me?” he asks breathlessly, and how could you say no to him with that pretty red blush spreading across his cheeks?

You pretend to think about it before leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips that leaves him chasing after you for more. Before he can get too carried away, you press down on his chest to keep him flat on the bed, and he groans in protest.

“More,” he grunts, “please?” He’s quick to add, brows furrowed in frustration.

You sigh heavily, looking down at him with an unimpressed expression that has him squirming under you and his fingers digging into your thighs and hips. ��What more do you want?”

“Tongue,” he replies immediately. “Wetter.”

“Wetter, huh?” you muse, leaning back down and cupping his chin as you bring your lips to his. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows in anticipation, and you hum disappointedly. “We could have used that. Such a waste.”

Before he can reply, you’re kissing him, gradually deepening the kiss until his tongue is slipping into your mouth with a relieved moan escaping him before it starts to swirl around your tongue and flick at the inside of your mouth.

You let your reins slip a bit as he kisses you, chalking it up to his superior kissing skills, and allow him to grope your hips, thighs and ass freely, his fingers clawing at you greedily as he sucks on your tongue.

The only sounds to be heard in the room are the wet smacking sounds of your kissing and the muffled moans escaping both of you, Haechan’s sounds soon growing more desperate and plaintive until—

“What do you want now?” you manage to ask in the middle of the kiss, and he moans pleadingly, the sound so melodic and tempting that you wish you could record it and play it over and over.

“Need more,” he gasps. “Wetter.”

“Wetter?” you mumble into the kiss in surprise.

He gives your tongue a long, hard suck before letting it go to retreat back into your mouth. “Wetter.” he confirms.

“How much wetter can it get? Do you want me to spit in your mouth or something—?”

“Please?” His response is instant, eyes bright and wide and filled with an obscene amount of hope considering what he’s just asked you to do.

You only offer a surprised raising of your eyebrows in response before cupping his chin and squeezing. His mouth opens instantly, his tongue dropping out, all pretty and glistening and pink, and you hear his breath catch in his throat when you lean over him and let a string of saliva spill from your lips onto his tongue. As soon as it hits his tongue, he moans weakly, the sound more of a cry, and you lean in to kiss him, his tongue gliding wetly against yours as the mix of your and his saliva spills from his lips, dripping down his chin and onto your hand still cupping his face.

You pull back and fake a disgusted expression, wiping your wet hand off on his chest. “Yuck, Haechan, seriously?” you groan with a grimace, and he licks his lips, gazing up at you with wild, unapologetic eyes.

“Couldn’t help myself.” he pants shamelessly. When you scowl and move to get off of him, he grabs at your hips, desperately pulling you back down on him. When he pulls you a little harder than you anticipated, your core makes contact with his length and he hisses in pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t leave yet.” he begs, voice on the verge of cracking.

“You can’t seriously think I’m gonna let you touch me after you just slobbered all over me.” you remark incredulously, and he nods excitedly.

“I’m not done,” he reminds you with a pointed look down to where you’re hovering over him, his length so hard it almost looks painful.

“What do you want?” you sigh in as bored of a tone as you can manage, considering his gradual undoing is affecting you more than you expected.

“I need to taste you,” he rasps, and you can’t deny that your core clenches with need at his words. “Want me to beg?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Not particularly—”

“Please let me eat your pussy, baby,” he groans, and a girlish, nervous giggle bubbles out from you amongst all the waves of desire that just crashed along your inner shore of composure. You definitely didn’t expect him to beg, but you also didn’t expect to like it so much. “Please, baby? Just need my tongue all over your pretty pussy—that’d make me feel so much better—”

“God, shut up,” you shudder, moving to cover his mouth. Haechan, however, always the brat, instantly clocks your body’s subconscious reaction to his begging and he decides to exploit it.

So he blocks your attempt to silence him, continuing with bright eyes, “Can I have you, baby? Can I please have a taste of your pretty little pussy?”

“Stop,” you whimper, feeling your composure slipping as arousal blazes in your abdomen and between your legs, the sensation of your core leaking so pervasive that you have to hope you’re not literally dripping onto his thighs. “I get it, you can—”

“Thank you, baby,” he moans in relief, hooking his arms under and around your thighs before unceremoniously hoisting you up, yanking you closer and closer to his face before you even get the chance to process the situation and, when you’re finally close enough, sealing his mouth over your core with a blissed out sigh as you hiss in pleasure. He pulls back and presses increasingly wetter kisses to your folds, lips growing glossier with each kiss as he pulls back to reveal more of your arousal and his saliva on his mouth. “Love your pussy so much,” he mumbles drunkenly into your core, sucking on your clit and massaging the underside with his tongue as you tremble above him.

“Fuck,” you whisper in awe, marveling at how Haechan’s managed to completely turn this situation’s dynamic on its head. Once more, you’re coming undone at his mercy which, you think as he clutches your thighs closer to his face roughly, you won’t be seeing any time soon.

“You like sitting on my face, baby?” he slurs through lewd kisses placed all over your core and inner thighs. “I love it so much—feels so good—like Heaven—”

“Mm, yeah,” you shudder dreamily. “You’re so good to me,” you coo, and he nods eagerly, his nose rubbing against your clit so purposefully that you wonder if it was intentional.

“I’m so good to my baby, right? Love making my girl feel good—could worship this pretty pussy with my mouth for hours—and you’d let me, right, baby?” he purrs against your clit and you find yourself nodding dumbly, a mischievous grin curling his lips before he resumes massaging it with deep strokes of his tongue until you’re rutting against his face in a desperate race to climax.

“Gonna cum,” you gasp, and he hums, urging your thighs and hips down until you’re practically smothering him and his eyes gaze up at you, intense and sultry and heavy-lidded as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. When you finally climax, it’s with a full bodied shudder and cry of his name as your hips act of their own accord, dragging your core back and forth on his outstretched tongue and the tip of his nose. “So good, so fucking good—”

“My pretty girl likes when I eat her out, yeah?” he rasps, hands gliding up from your thighs to cup your breasts and squeeze. When you laugh breathlessly and nod, he grins and nestles his face between your legs with a delighted hum, turning your airy giggle into a moan of surprise as he brings his lips to your clit again, fingers pulling back the fleshy hood to reveal more of the sensitive button.

“Shit, Haechan—” you hiss, recoiling from the sudden onset of overwhelming pleasure.

you must do this often baby, it’s so telling what you can do it’s a simple understanding between me and you

“You just said you liked it,” he points out with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Yeah, but—”

oh, because ‘cause when you run your tongue up my thigh

“So let me do it again,” he coaxes before dragging his tongue up your inner thigh slowly and blinking up at you with that heavy stare that has you cracking, looking away for a moment of peace.

i can’t help but wonder, hmm, why? you got so much more up your sleeve

“Don’t you wanna cum, too?” you try to redirect him for at least long enough to recuperate from your last orgasm, but he shakes his head firmly and dismissively.

you wanna make sure i don’t leave

“Could probably cum just from playing with you,” he grunts happily and you blink down at him, stunned.

“Top-grade eater right here, folks,” you praise sarcastically, and he snickers before biting down on your thigh. “It appears he’s taken the term ‘eater’ a bit too literally, folks, what a blunder!” you announce to the audience of exactly no one, but he’s entertained all the same, laughing loudly as he sits up with a sudden movement that sends you practically toppling over onto your back.

“That went way smoother in my head,” he manages to get out through his laughter as he scrambles over your body to assess you. “You okay?” he half-asks, half-giggles, his laughter only intensifying when you narrow your eyes at him in a failed attempt to hide your own amusement.

“You’re horrible,” you groan through your laughing, and he drops down beside you in relief as he succumbs to his laughing fit.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says sweetly, reaching over to squeeze your thigh apologetically.

“It’s fine, I guess,” you answer sulkily, and he snickers, rubbing his hand over your thigh and massaging the flesh. “You alright there?” you chuckle after what seems like an inordinate amount of time of him caressing your leg.

“Your skin is so soft and smooth,” he sighs dreamily, shifting closer to slide his hand up and down the expanse of your thigh.

“Thank you, I knew my lotions and body butters and body oils weren’t a waste of money,” you reply with a smile, and he shakes his head, shifting closer and kissing your cheek.

“Definitely not.” he mumbles, moving lower and kissing down your legs slowly with lingering, adoring kisses until he’s nosing your legs apart and slotting himself between them smoothly.

“You’re kidding,” you laugh incredulously, and he shakes his head, looking up at you with bright, hopeful eyes.

“I’m not,” he clarifies, and you pout down at him. “Let me try something?”

“Haechan, I already said no more fetish experiments on me—”

“Hear me out,” he presses, and something about the urgency in his voice has you falling silent and waving your hand for him to continue speaking. He shifts to hover over you so you’re face to face and gazes into your eyes before murmuring, “I wanna treat you like you’re mine.”

“Oh,” you mumble, shy all of a sudden, and his lips quirk up into a bashful smile.

“Yeah.”

“We can do that,” you agree softly, and his eyes widen in excitement before he scans your face and something softens in his gaze to a gentler, fond sort of fascination.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper as he brings his lips to yours.

“Yeah,” you let out a soft giggle before he connects your lips in a sweet kiss. It starts slow, with leisurely partings of the lips and teasing flicks of the tongue, but, because it’s Haechan, it builds, Haechan shifting slightly so your legs are slotted together and his thigh is up against your core before deepening the kiss and sucking playfully at your bottom lip and tongue.

When he parts from the kiss, he gazes down at you adoringly before whispering. “Hi.”

You smile up at him. “Hi.” When he doesn’t stop studying your face, you get bashful, turning your face away and covering your eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you complain, and he lets out a low chuckle.

“Because I want to.” he replies, kissing your shoulder before pushing it back down so you’re flat on your back. “Because I can.” He kisses your neck. “Because you’re pretty.” He pulls your hand from your face and peppers kisses all over it until you’re laughing. “Because you’re mine.” His last words have so much conviction you have to question for a moment if he knows something you don’t.

so lie to me, lie to me, lie to me so sweet ‘cause i don’t ever want to imagine all the other n****s like me ever had a chance to get in your pants, so tell me that the pussy is mine

“I kinda do like the sound of that,” you admit with a sleepy smile, and he beams down at you before kissing you again, this time letting his hands caress your body slowly, leisurely, like you two have all the time in the world.

The very notion makes your chest ache with longing, and you’re surprised by how deep the ache is, like it’s unearthing an old bruise you can’t exactly see but can feel if you press just the right way.

Haechan remains oblivious to your inner turmoil, instead languidly leaving slow, wet kisses down your body until he’s at just below your navel before looking up at you with bright eyes.

“What does my pretty girl want me to do, hm?” he asks softly, sitting up so he’s sitting on his heels and letting your legs drape over his thighs. “Does she want me to taste her again?” he suggests, hands gliding up from your knees to your inner thighs, massaging and kneading the flesh.

“No,” you huff, frowning down at him petulantly, and he smiles fondly.

“What is it, baby?” he urges gently, leaning over you so you’re face to face again. “What does my baby want?”

You battle internally to find the least embarrassing words to express your desire, finally settling on, “I want you,” then reaching down to wrap a hand around his length, “here,” you finish, bringing the head of his shaft to your entrance.

He licks his lips and inhales deeply before nodding slowly and reaching between you two to replace your hand around his base, stroking himself slowly as he scans your face and body with such intensity it makes you shy, your gaze shifting away nervously.

He pushes into you until his tip is buried in your core, a low groan and a sharp intake of breath leaving him and you respectively before he slowly bottoms out, your hands instinctively finding each other as you link fingers and rest your interlocked hands on your thighs just below your hips.

“My beautiful girl,” he murmurs adoringly, stroking the backs of your hands with his thumbs. “You just wanted to feel me inside you, yeah? Feel my cock filling you up?”

“Yeah,” you whimper softly. “You feel so good, Haechan—please move?”

“Anything for you, baby.” he promises, slowly pulling out and pushing back in with fluid motions of his hips. You let out a moan and he repeats the motion, pushing in a bit more powerfully and chuckling when you grip his fingers harder. “Feels good, yeah?”

“So good,” you urge breathlessly. “Keep going—don’t stop—”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby,” he grunts, starting to build a pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head and small whimpers and moans leaving you involuntarily, the sounds music to Haechan’s ears as he thrusts into you with powerful, skilled strokes. Haechan admires you as you lie on the bed—the way your breasts shift with every thrust, the sweat and saliva glistening on your body, your heavy-lidded, glazed over eyes, and your mouth parted in a silent cry—and he lets out an overwhelmed groan. “You’re so beautiful, baby—can you look at me?”

With a great amount of difficulty, you manage to refocus your gaze on your lover as he drives his length into you, filling you in the best way.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he coos, and heat flares in your cheeks. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, baby,” you echo shyly, and he beams down at you with bright, twinkling eyes.

“You look so good,” he moans, his adoring expression almost too much to witness. “All for me, only for me, right, baby?”

“All for you,” you repeat in a whimper, and Haechan chuckles fondly.

“Are you repeating after me because you can’t think?” he taunts gently, reaching down between your bodies and massaging your clit as you cry out.

“Mm—no,” you protest, brows furrowed stubbornly, and he raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“No?” he echoes, pressing down firmly on your clit as he rubs circles around the bud, and you shake your head insistently. “So you can think?”

“Uh-huh—” you gasp out, and he snickers before leaning over you so you’re face to face again.

“Then I must be doing something wrong, hm?” he murmurs with a growing grin before pulling out to the tip and thrusting back into you with a smooth roll of his hips.

When you suck in a breath of surprise, he chuckles and kisses the corner of your mouth, lingering as he works on building up a steady rhythm more intense than before. His one hand remains between your legs, working circles around your clit as he drags your linked hands up to beside your head to brace himself.

“Taking me so nice and deep, baby,” he praises, and you can only manage a whine in response. “Feel so good around me—like we were made for each other, pretty girl.”

“Mhm—” you pant, and he arches an eyebrow.

“Mhm, what?” he murmurs teasingly. “Mhm, we’re made for each other?”

“Mhm,” you sigh, relieved. “Mine.”

“Yours?” he laughs breathlessly, brows furrowing slightly in concentration as he pumps into you. “Are you mine, pretty?”

“All yours,” you hum dreamily, and he grins, kissing you again as he fucks you into a climax-induced stupor.

“All mine, huh? That’s what I like to hear,” he grunts as he slows down to deep, leisurely rolls of his hips as you come down from your high, and your walls clench around him, making him hiss. “Fuck, baby—do that again for me?”

“This?” you mumble sleepily, flexing around him, and he whimpers, nodding.

“Feels so good when you do that—so tight—milking me, baby, you’re so good to me—”

“You gonna cum in me, baby?” you ask in a soft lilt, gazing up at him.

“Mm, yeah,” he groans, “you want me to pull out?”

“No,” you hum, blissed out from your climax. “Wanna feel you inside me.”

“Fuck, baby, love when you talk like that.” he mumbles in a slurred voice. “Sound so pretty when you talk all nasty.”

“Want you to cum in me, baby,” you say with a small pout that you’ll deny later if it comes up. “Please?”

“Anything for my pretty girl,” he moans, his head dropping forward in ecstasy as his thrusts slow down gradually. “Pretty girl wants me to cum inside, I’m cumming in-fucking-side—”

“Want you to fill me up—wanna milk you dry—please?” you plead, and his eyes roll back into his head as he bottoms out in you, his length throbbing inside of you.

“Gonna be the death of me, baby,” he shudders as he fills you with his load. “That’s it, baby, take all of it,” he whispers as you clench around him repeatedly. “It’s all for you, mama, all yours.”

When he’s sure he’s got nothing left to give, he tries, bless his heart, not to crush you when he collapses on top of you, but fails miserably. You laugh breathlessly as he struggles to get comfortable, your laughter cutting short in surprise when he elects to lay on your chest between your legs with one hand caressing your side.

“So,” you muse, and he cranes his head to look at you before catching sight of the teasing expression on your face and burying his face between your breasts with a groan. “Mama, huh?”

“It’s just a thing people say,” he insists.

“I know. It isn’t a thing you say, though.” you point out with a grin, and he whines in protest, cupping your breasts before pushing them together and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. “You called me ‘mama’… now you’re sucking my ni—Haechan, I’m onto you—”

“Shut up!” He laughs loudly as he sits up slightly. “I just thought it felt right to call you that in the moment,” he whines, dipping back down briefly to place a kiss on your breast. “And I like your tits.”

“How sentimental and romantic.” you drawl, gazing up at him with an unimpressed expression.

His gaze softens to something tender yet still teasing. “You want me to be romantic?”

You blanch, realizing the implications of what you’ve said. “I, um, have to get ready for work.” you mumble awkwardly, sitting up slightly. Instead of moving out of your way like any normal person would, Haechan remains in your space, smiling at you knowingly.

“You like me.”

“Can you move, please?” you say with a pout, poking at his bare chest. “I have to shower.”

“Can you admit you like me?” he echoes your tone. “Then I’ll get up so we can shower.”

“We?”

“We.”

“Who says we’re showering together?” you scoff in amusement.

“Your water bill. The environment. The ecosystem. Me.”

You sigh loudly. “Fine.”

“Yay,” he says with a little smile. “Now admit you like me.”

“No!” you protest, but by the way he raises his eyebrows, you may have fallen into a trap.

“So you like me… but you won’t admit it.” he muses, and you scowl at him.

“Get away,” you complain with a small laugh, pushing at his chest. He lets you push him off of you this time, willingly flopping onto his back and running a hand through his hair as he regards you.

“I’ll take that for now.” he hums in satisfaction.

You narrow your eyes. “Shut up and let’s shower. You have work, too.”

“Mm,” he sighs happily, “okay, baby.”

When you emerge from the bathroom after washing up and finishing your skincare routine, you head over to your dresser and collect your lotion, body butter, and body oil before moving toward the bed.

Haechan is doing something on his phone as you enter the room, but when he catches a glimpse of you clad only in a bra, underwear, and an open robe, he locks it and clambers over from the headboard to the edge of the bed closest to you, eyes bright as he gazes up at you.

“Hi.” he says slightly breathlessly. “You look good.”

“Hi,” you echo, smiling in amusement. “Thank you,” you hum sincerely, and he watches as you squeeze lotion into your hand, eyes following your every move as you rub it into your arms.

“What’s this one?” he murmurs curiously, picking up the jar of your body butter.

“Body butter,” you answer simply as you bend over to apply lotion to your legs, and he nods in understanding.

“Can I smell it?” he asks hopefully, and you laugh as you nod, making him grin as he unscrews the top of the jar and brings it to his nose. “God, that stuff smells good.”

“That’s the goal,” you confirm, and he looks you up and down before wetting his lips slowly.

“Do you need help?” he asks, voice surprisingly husky, and a surreptitious glance at his lap reveals that he’s sporting a gradually growing erection.

“Believe it or not, I’ve done this before.” you reply wryly, and he pouts slightly.

“Do you want help?” he tries again.

You shrug. “Not particularly.” At his exasperated sigh, you burst into laughter. “Would you like to help me put my body creams on, Haechan?”

“Yes, please.” he grunts, grabbing at the back of your knee and lifting your leg so your foot is between his legs and under his crotch. “How much should I put?” he murmurs, studying the thick cream inside the jar.

“Like this much,” you show him, gently guiding his hand to scoop out some body butter into his hand. “If you use your knuckle, it doesn’t get stuck under your nails.” you murmur softly, and you look down at him to see that he’s just staring up at you in a daze. “Haechan.”

“Mm?” His reply is distracted, his eyes a little distant as he gazes at you.

“Are you paying attention?” you ask suspiciously, and he shakes his head.

“No.” he admits with a sheepish smile. “Got distracted,” he mumbles.

“Rub your hands together.” you urge him gently, cupping his hands in yours and showing him how to distribute the product onto his hands. When he’s prepped the body butter enough, you release his hands and gesture to your leg with a jerk of your chin. His gaze drifts down to your bare leg and he groans in delight before bringing his hands to your skin and starting to rub the cream into your skin. “Good,” you exhale, admittedly a bit aroused by the feeling of his hands massaging your calf and thigh.

“Good?” he murmurs playfully, eyes flicking up to your face curiously. Unfortunately for your dignity, he seems to find whatever he was looking for, as he grins triumphantly and looks back down at where his hands glide along your moisturized skin. “Feels so good,” he half-moans, half-mumbles, and you could almost swear you feel his length twitch from where it rests against the top of your foot.

“I think this leg is done, Haechan,” you chuckle, and he gives it one last lingering stroke before retracting his hands and letting you switch your legs, adjusting your stance accordingly. He carefully takes more body butter, diligently distributing the product between his hands like you showed him before he starts to massage your other leg. A small content sigh escapes you when his thumb digs into just the right spot, and he grins without looking up from where his hands are caressing your flesh. “What’s so funny?”

“You like this, too.” he points out, and you nod slowly, much to his surprise.

“That I do.”

“I like this a lot,” he muses softly.

You chuckle and nod, brows raised as you lift your heel to press the top of your foot against the underside of his length. “I can tell.”

“No, I mean—I like when you can be like this.” he explains carefully, looking up at you. “Real with me—and yourself—without feeling so… guilty.”

You don’t entirely know what to say. “I do, too,” you finally decide, speaking softly, and he smiles a bit more brightly before it’s replaced with a small frown that, for some reason, genuinely causes your heart to twist. “What’s wrong?”

“I just wish we could stay like this forever,” he confesses. “Like that song by SZA—crap, what’s it called?”

“Snooze?” you supply helpfully, and his face lights up as he nods.

“How can I snooze, when I’m with you? How can I snooze and miss the moment? You just too important; nobody do body like you do.” he half-sings, half-mumbles melodically, his ears reddening as he scans your face.

“Okay, vocals,” you tease, trying to keep the mood light despite the overwhelming ache he’s just caused you.

“Like, I never want to miss a single moment with you, and it sucks because I know this is all going to end when we walk out of here.” he laments sadly, catching your wrist as you reach to cup his cheek. He leans into your touch and sighs deeply before an idea strikes you.

Pushing him onto his back, you move to kneel on either side of his legs, straddling his lap as you smile down at him. “Then let’s not walk out of here any time soon.” you suggest. His hands move to your hips, thumbs stroking your skin as he watches you in fascination. You lean over him to grab your phone off of the nightstand, laughing when he sits up slightly so his face is pressed between your breasts, and sit back up, settling down on him comfortably.

“What are you doing?” he wonders aloud, and you put a finger to your lips to shush him as you dial a number and place the call on speakerphone.

“Hello?” the familiar voice of your supervisor comes through on the line, and you smile.

“Hey,” you say with as raspy of a voice as you can manage. Haechan’s brows shoot up in surprise and his curiosity only increases as he watches you with a growing smile. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t feel well enough to come into work today.”

His eyes light up as he finally seems to understand what you’re doing, and he sits up excitedly, only to be stopped by your palm pressing into his chest, manicured nails drumming lightly on his torso as you wait for your supervisor to respond.

“Aw, dear, I’m sorry to hear that,” she says sympathetically, and your lid drops down into a wink in Haechan’s direction as you fake cough twice into the phone. “I’ll put it down in the system that you won’t be coming in. Feel better, alright?”

“Thank you,” you say, sighing sadly for effect. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

“Take care, honey.” she replies kindly.

“You too.” you echo the sentiment before hanging up the phone and smiling down at Haechan, who looks like he could burst with excitement at any moment. “Your turn.”

“My turn,” he agrees immediately, struggling to reach his phone from his position under you. You roll your eyes in amusement before reaching over and grabbing his phone for him, sitting back up and placing it on his chest.

He picks it up and taps his screen a couple of times, brows furrowing as he focuses on the task at hand, before he sets it back down on his chest with the call open on the screen.

“Hello?” a man with a gruff voice answers the phone, and Haechan clears his throat.

“Good morning, Mr. Gauthier,” he greets in as solemn of a tone as he can manage, and you cover your mouth to silence your giggles. “I hope you’re well. Unfortunately, I have a personal emergency to attend to, so I won’t be able to come into work today.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, son. I hope everything works out.” The man’s voice is softer now, considerably more gentle, and you smile at the surprising compassion from the man on the other end of the line.

“Thank you, sir. I hope to be back at work as soon as possible.” Haechan says somberly. “Thank you for your understanding.”

“Of course, Haechan. Take care now, and good luck with everything.”

Haechan bids his boss goodbye and ends the call before grinning up at you mischievously. “My schedule just cleared up for the rest of the day.”

“Well, would you look at that? Mine, too.” you reply with a playful smile. “Yunjin already left for work, and she has Pilates in the evening after work, so we have at least… seven more hours together.”

“What are we gonna do with all that spare time?” Haechan asks rhetorically, wetting his lips as he stares at yours.

Rocking back onto his lap, you reach between you two and gently palm at his length as it strains against his boxers. “I can think of a few things,” you murmur with a giggle as you lean down to kiss him.

If you could live in this moment forever, you would, and that’s precisely what makes you so nervous; the gravity of your emotions, the depth—your feelings for Haechan are not unlike getting caught in a rip current at the beach; lurking almost unseen beneath the surface, they whisk you away without a moment’s notice and any attempts to swim against the current simply exhaust you. Before, the only way to escape was to swim along the shore, humor him for a bit until you could slip away, but… something in you doesn’t want to fight it anymore.

So, as Haechan rolls you over onto your back and climbs on top of you before giving you another, much deeper kiss, you decide to lie back and just float, letting the current guide you to wherever it chooses.

The day passes wonderfully, the two of you just guiltlessly enjoying each other’s company. You alternate from being in bed together, watching movies and shows, to cooking in the kitchen together, to curling up together on the couch—you name it, you two have found a way to make it a two-person job.

“Hey, Haechan?” you ask out of the blue.

“Yes, baby?” He doesn’t turn his head to face you, but he’s also deeply concentrated on thoroughly sautéing the shrimp you two are preparing for your impulsive meal of shrimp scampi, so you don’t take it personally.

You try to ignore the butterflies that erupt at his casual but fond use of the pet name. “Two questions. Actually three: two and a follow-up question.”

“Hit me,” he replies casually.

“Have you ever let Winter hold it while you pee?”

His movements stop entirely, your lover now frozen as he processes what you’ve just asked him. Gently setting the spatula down and turning to face you, he tilts his head and scrunches his face up in confusion before speaking. “Baby, what?”

“You heard me,” you reply nonchalantly. “Have you… let Winter… hold it… while you pee?”

“No. I am positive that she’s never asked, though.”

“So would you? If she did?” you ask, tilting your own head to the side curiously.

“No, probably not. That’s a little weird, no?”

“Haechan, you tongue-fucked my ear less than ten hours ago. You don’t get to call things weird, sir.” you drawl.

You’d be a fool—specifically, Winter’s level of fool—not to notice the way his energy shifts after your last word. He licks his lips, wetting them, and walks closer to you.

“What did I say about calling me that?” he warns you softly, and you press your knee to his chest, pushing him back slightly to keep him at bay.

“Not so fast, I have two more questions.”

“Okay, hurry up and ask me.” he replies, slowly scanning your face with a hint of amusement making his lips quirk upwards at one corner.

“Would you let me?” you ask curiously, and he raises his eyebrows.

“I am letting you. Ask me!”

“No, no. Would you let me?” you stress the last word, and realization dawns on his face.

“Let you…hold it…” he starts slowly.

“...While you pee.” you finish with a nod of confirmation.

He pauses to think about it. “I’m not opposed, it just… never really occurred to me.”

“Interesting,” you muse to yourself. When he pushes your knee down and steps closer to you, you stop him with a hand to his chest, giggling when he groans in anguish. “I have one more question!”

“You’re torturing me, woman.” he laments sadly, hanging his head.

“Sorry,” you lilt unapologetically. “It’s related, actually.”

“To?”

You elect to answer his question with your question. “Do you have, like, a kink for being called ‘sir’ or something?”

He rolls his eyes, poking his tongue in his cheek before laughing. “Is that the question?”

“Yes,” you reply matter-of-factly.

“I think it’s hot,” he answers, pushing your hand on his chest down and out of his way before stepping closer to you. He stops just when his thighs are pressed against your knees, looking at you for some sort of signal. When you spread your legs for him, he grins and steps closer, hands sliding up your thighs. “Really hot.”

“I’ve never tried that before.” you say thoughtfully, and he raises his eyebrows in intrigue.

“You kinda sound like you want to.” he points out, subconsciously wetting his lips again as he looks down at yours.

“Haechan, the shrimp is going to burn.” you point out, and he reaches behind him blindly, fingers fumbling with the stove dials before he turns the fire off and returns his hand to your thigh.

“Try it,” he breathes. “Try calling me sir.”

You look at him carefully, the hope and excitement written plainly on his handsome face. He watches you with eyes full of unmistakable hunger, lips parted as his breathing deepens.

“Would that make you happy?” you ask softly, hooking your legs around his legs to urge him closer to you. At his vehement nod, you giggle before nodding back slowly but with conviction. “Then it’s my pleasure, sir.”

“What a good girl,” he praises, the grunt sounding from low in his throat, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard Haechan sound this… wanting. He takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head up so you’re face to face. “You gonna let me kiss you now?”

“Yes, sir.” you breathe in reply, and he sucks in a sharp breath before tugging you closer and slotting his lips with yours. He’s assertive and dominant in the kiss from the moment your lips connect, his grip on your chin moving to cup the back of your head. He holds you to him firmly, greedily devouring your every attempt to catch a breath, leaving you dizzy and desiring more of his touch. When the hand still on your thigh slips between your legs, you whimper into his mouth, provoking a groan from him.

“You like how I kiss you, pretty?” he murmurs after finally breaking the kiss for air.

“Mhm—yes, sir,” you correct yourself at the last minute, lacking the shame you would normally have at how desperately you whine the words; you blame the lack of oxygen to your brain from that first kiss.

“I know you do, pretty girl. Love kissing you—you taste so good—could kiss you all day—” his words start to slur together as he pulls you in for another kiss, his fingers stroking at your clit gently through your shorts and underwear.

“Hae—sir,” you gasp when he slips his fingers up your shorts and starts to tug your underwear to the side.

“What is it, hm? What is it you want?” he urges you gently, tone lilting, low and playful.

“More,” you pant, and he chuckles.

“More, what?”

“More, sir,” you stress impatiently, and he arches an eyebrow in a silent challenge that you dare not take him up on. “Please?”

His gaze darkening considerably, he asks, “Am I about to hear you beg?”

You hesitate, not sure what to say, before stammering out a slightly stubborn, “No.”

He tsks at you in disapproval. “I bet you would’ve sounded so good begging for me to touch you.”

You shake your head with a small, bashful smile. “My pride won’t let me,” you reply with a tiny shrug, and he snickers.

“We’ll work on it. In the meantime, how about you give me another kiss, yeah?” he purrs, drawing you closer once more.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, blinking up at him through your lashes. He gazes down at you, expression full of a myriad of emotions: wonder, adoration, desire, and fascination swim in his eyes before he leans in to connect your lips once more. You two are so wrapped up in each other, kissing over and over and over again, that neither of you hear the door open. Or shut. Or the footsteps approaching the kitchen.

You do, however, hear the loud clearing of Yunjin’s throat, the two of you jumping apart hurriedly as you push Haechan off of you.

“Unbelievable,” she sighs, advancing further into the kitchen until she’s standing in front of you two, and places her hands on her hips. “I thought you two had a handle on this?”

“You’re home early,” you point out weakly, and she stares at you blankly.

“Pilates got canceled.” she explains dismissively.

“Ah.”

“Back to my question.” she presses, and you swallow, looking down at your hands. “What happened, girl?” she asks in a softer tone, and you frown deeply.

“I had a handle on it, I’m just—he’s just—” you stammer, and she arches an eyebrow expectantly. “This is really complicated.”

“Evidently.” she sighs. “And you—” she starts, rounding on Haechan.

“Spare me the lecture,” Haechan grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m willing to bet I’ve heard it all before.”

“And you still don’t listen.” she points out. “Imagine if I forgot to mention I was bringing Winter back here.”

“You wouldn’t just forget to mention that.” Haechan counters. “You would never forget to mention something like that.”

“I might if I don’t know you’re over here boinking my roommate and best friend!” she retorts.

“So, what, do you want a warning next time I’m over?” he asks petulantly, and she stares at him incredulously before looking at you as if to say, “Really? This guy?”

You shrug.

“I want there not to be a next time.” she says slowly. “Tell me you’re both done with this.” She crosses her arms and stares you both down.

You hang your head in defeat. “Okay,” you mumble reluctantly, and look over at Haechan in anticipation of an echo that never comes. “Haechan.” you whisper, nudging him. “Tell her you’re done.”

“I’m not, though,” he huffs, and Yunjin scoffs disbelievingly as you groan in frustration.

“Please? Haechan, just say it.” you murmur, and he sucks his teeth.

“Fine,” he mutters. Looking up at Yunjin with a dead-set gaze that you know him well enough to be unnerved by, he rolls his eyes pointedly before saying. “I’m done.”

“Literally nothing about that was convincing.” she sighs disapprovingly, and he shrugs.

“It’s the best you’re gonna get.”

“Fine. Whatever. Are you leaving now?” Yunjin asks, nodding as she does in the hopes it’ll influence his decision.

Apparently, it does. “Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice.” he grouches before standing up and heading in your room to get his things.

While you two are alone, you avoid meeting Yunjin’s gaze. However, never one to be ignored, Yunjin clears her throat again to catch your attention.

“I think maybe you should try to move on,” she says quietly. “So it hurts less.”

You nod dejectedly. “Yeah.”

“Jeno’s nice.”

“He is.”

Yunjin doesn’t say anything, but when you look up at her, she’s sporting a sad smile. “But he’s not Haechan.”

You sigh deeply and shake your head. “No, he is not.”

Haechan’s re-entry into the room cuts your conversation short, the male standing in your living room fully dressed and scowling.

“I guess I’m leaving now.” he announces flatly.

“Great. Get home safe.” Yunjin dismisses him, and you frown.

“Bye, Haechan.” you say sincerely, and he meets your gaze with a softened look in his eyes.

“See you later,” he replies, offering a small smile your way before leaving your apartment and shutting the door behind him.

It’s silent for a minute before Yunjin speaks. “How long was he over here?”

“Since last night,” you mumble.

“Didn’t you have work today?” she asks, confused, and you nod.

“We both called out.”

“Damn,” she sighs. “I’m sorry I cut your little fling thing short, I just can’t—I can’t knowingly have it under the same roof as me. I have no deniability that way, you know?”

“I get you.” you respond despondently. “I guess it’s over now anyway.”

“Honestly? I don’t think it is.” Yunjin replies. “There’s something about you two that I just can’t put my finger on, but—” she explains, brows furrowing in thought. “I just feel like the Fates have wound your strings so closely together that it’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.”

“Yeah? Well, tell them to stop playing arts and crafts with my life.” you grouch, and she snorts.

“I’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

jeno [19:17] hey! can i call you?

you [19:19] hiii sure :)

Your phone rings not even a minute later and you pick up before the first ring finishes.

“Hi, Jeno,” you coo into the phone, rolling over onto your stomach and kicking your legs up in the air casually.

“Hey! I wanted to ask you a question, but I had to open with that otherwise I’d lose my nerve and not ask you.”

“Well, now I’m nervous.” you chuckle, and he laughs on the other end.

“It’s nothing bad! I was just wondering if, uh, you might want to go out sometime? Like, on a date? …Like… with me?” You can hear how nervous he is over the phone and your heart does a little skip and a jump, finding his nerves endearing.

“That sounds fun,” you reply sweetly, and he exhales loudly in relief, making you giggle. “When did you wanna go?”

“I’m not sure; I didn’t actually think I’d get this far,” he chuckles nervously, and you coo affectionately. “When are you free?”

“Hmm, well… if you’re not busy, I’m free tonight?” you suggest, and he sucks in a loud and sharp breath before there’s a loud thud and a faint swear. “Jeno… you there?”

“I’m here!” There’s rustling on the other end and his voice comes out clear again. “I, uh, dropped my phone.”

“Cute,” you remark fondly, and he laughs, the sound sweet and welcoming to your ears. “So tonight?”

“Tonight definitely works! I didn’t have a big plan or anything, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” you assure him. “What time?”

“I can come get you at, like, eight thirty?” Jeno offers, and you nod before remembering he can’t see you.

“That sounds good. See you soon, Jeno! I gotta start getting ready.” you say, moving to sit up on your bed.

“Yeah, me too. I’ll see you soon.” He sounds audibly relieved, and it warms your heart to know that he likes you enough to be that nervous.

“Bye, Jeno,” you hum.

“Bye,” he echoes you, and you hang up the phone before standing up and doing a little excited jig.

“Now what am I going to wear?”

Jeno comes to pick you up right on time, smiling bashfully when you open your door.

“Hi, handsome,” you greet with a grin, and his smile widens.

“Hi, pretty. You look beautiful.” he says sincerely, and you wave your hand dismissively with a smile. “Are you ready to head out?”

“I sure am.” you agree, and he holds his arm out for you to take. You do, pleasantly surprised by the gesture, and let him lead you downstairs and to the downtown subway stop by your house. “Where are we going?” you ask curiously, turning to look at Jeno.

“There’s this hole-in-the-wall restaurant a couple stops downtown that has the best food. It’s kind of chaotic, but the food is so worth it.” Jeno explains, and you nod, content with and intrigued by his answer.

You two exit the train about twelve stops later, with you still dutifully following after Jeno as he guides you through the busy platform with a confidence and ease that has you swooning internally. You’re not walking on the street for long before Jeno pipes up, excitedly saying, “We’re almost there!”

The restaurant—well, it’s really giving dive bar, if you’re being honest—is truly a hole-in-the-wall type of establishment; it’s completely non-descript on the outside with a worn down sign faintly displaying its name—The Sloshed Sloth—and there’s a small line of people waiting to get in as the man at the door checks their identification. You and Jeno make it to the front of the line in no time, the security guard checking your ID and letting you in without issue.

When you two finally enter the dive bar, your senses are assaulted with the raucous sounds of numerous overlapping conversations, the pervasive smell of beer and sweat, and the fluorescent signing on the walls all around you.

“It’s definitely got character,” you chuckle, and Jeno snickers as he offers you his hand. Once you take his hand, he starts to lead you further into the venue, guiding you to an abandoned booth near the back of the bar.

“It’s a little less intense over here,” he explains, and you realize he’s right; the attention-grabbing neon signs are mostly located towards the front of the bar and the dozens of conversations from earlier don’t seem to reach back where you two are. “I wanted to bring you here because it may be kind of a hot mess appearance-wise, but their food is amazing.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you recommend, then?” you ask curiously, picking up the menu on the table and looking it over.

“I’m definitely getting their barbecue bacon cheeseburger,” Jeno gushes, excitedly pointing at the item on the menu. “I think I’m gonna get their sweet potato fries, too.”

“That sounds delicious,” you sigh dreamily, and Jeno laughs.

“What are you getting, do you think?” he asks as you look over the menu carefully.

“I think,” you say slowly, “I’m gonna get the chimichurri with french fries.”

“Excellent choice,” he affirms with a nod, and you let out a small giggle. Once he manages to get a waitress’s attention and she approaches your table with a bright smile and friendly greeting, Jeno places his order, surprising you by ordering for you as well.

She takes your orders down and tells you it’ll be out shortly as she turns and heads towards the kitchen.

“While we wait,” Jeno pipes up, prompting you to look over at him curiously, “I wanted to pick your brain about something.”

“Oh, yeah? And what might that something be?” you reply with a playful lilt, resting your chin in your palm and your elbow on the table as you regard him expectantly.

“Do you think there’s something going on between your helicopter boss in the library and the seventh grade math teacher?” Jeno asks curiously, and you blink, stunned.

“I’m sorry, what?” you blurt out, baffled.

“The day Haechan and I came to visit you at work, I saw them leaving together in a car,” Jeno explains carefully. “Not to mention, I think he’s been treating her to lunch for the past two weeks.”

“Dang?” you mutter to yourself, surprised. “I didn’t know he had it in him.”

“What, charm? Game?” Jeno supplies in an attempt to help.

You shake your head. “Kindness,” you say finally, and Jeno snorts. “Generosity. The capacity to love.”

“Is he really that bad?” Jeno laughs in disbelief, and you nod vehemently.

“He’s horrible. The worst. He’s a helicopter boss who’s not even truly my boss, and he’s a micro-managing twat that barely knows how to do his own job, yet he’s breathing down my neck as I do mine.” you huff, crossing your arms with a frown, and Jeno exhales in amusement. “What is it?”

“Nothing, you’re just… really cute when you pout.” Jeno answers, and you can’t help but smile, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

“Oh, really?” you hum playfully.

“Yes, really.” he answers. “I think you’ve definitely gotten that before from other people, though.”

Your mind wanders almost instantly to the main person who’s given you the compliment before, most recently, and most notably, and you shake your head absentmindedly to rid it of all thoughts of Haechan before you focus your attention on Jeno once more.

“What’s the seventh grade math teacher’s name, again? Isn’t she kind of new?” you ask curiously, and Jeno nods.

“She came while you were gone, so she is pretty new, yeah,” Jeno replies with another small confirmation nod. “Her name is Ms. Collins, but she lets the older kids call her Ms. Charlotte.”

“Oh, I think I met her in the elevator the other day!” you exclaim. “She’s, like, an older woman, right? Probably in her forties, dark brown hair with those cool gray streaks in it? Cat eye glasses?”

Jeno nods emphatically. “That’s her.”

You sit back with a thoughtful expression on your face. “Hm.”

Jeno chuckles. “Hm, what?”

“She could do so much better,” you remark. “Should I warn her he’s a dumbass and a half?”

“No, I think you should not meddle and break up what could end up being a very happy couple.” Jeno says with a very gently scolding tone, and you know he’s definitely talking about your asshat boss and the pretty older math teacher, but your mind heard “meddle,” “break up,” and “happy couple,” and now it’s racing with thoughts of your acts of infidelity and of your illicit lover, leading you to nibble at your bottom lip worriedly as you try to push the intrusive thoughts from your mind.

As if the universe was actually looking out for you for once, your internal flurry of thoughts come to a sudden halt when your smiling waitress returns with your and Jeno’s food, setting the plates down in front of you both.

”Enjoy your meal!” she chirps. “Let me know if you need anything.”

”Thank you so much,” you say gratefully, Jeno echoing you before she smiles and walks off. “Jeno, this smells delicious.”

”Doesn’t it?” he mumbles absentmindedly as he picks up his burger and takes a big bite. His eyes roll back into his head as he chews, and you wet your lips subconsciously before realizing that you, too, have a plate full of food in front of you.

Eagerly taking a bite of your chimi, you accidentally let out a groan of pleasure at the flavors on your tongue, making you and Jeno freeze, the two of you locking eyes for an uncomfortable second before you both burst out laughing.

”Good, huh?” he teases, and you nod, still giggling.

”Literally amazing.” you confirm, and he grins proudly.

”I’m glad.” he replies happily, and a comfortable silence settles between you two as you both enjoy your food.

At one point, the side of your leg brushes against Jeno’s, and he jolts, scooting over slightly while mumbling an apology.

You’re in the middle of assuring him that it’s fine and he’s allowed to touch you when a not-very-nice thought comes to your mind.

Jeno’s about as skittish as a stray cat when it comes to affection. Are you gonna be okay with initiating every act of intimacy?

Girl, shut up! Who asked you? you think to yourself with an internal huff. So what if he’s shy?

Is he shy or is he actually just not very affectionate? Haechan’s always all over you, regardless of who’s watching.

What’s your point? you roll your eyes to yourself and hope that Jeno can’t tell that your internal dialogue is really… dialoguing.

My point is: wouldn’t you want more love than you sometimes know what to do with? Or would you rather run the risk of asking for affection every day, maybe even multiple times a day, and possibly not getting it?

…Damn, you think with a small frown. You’re good.

Girl, I’m literally just you. Now, pay attention to your date before he realizes you’re talking to yourself.

Copy that.

“Jeno, that was delicious,” you say happily, swallowing your last fry as you sip your glass of water.

“I knew you’d like it,” he responds proudly, but the relief is also clear on his face as he smiles over at you.

You and Jeno stay a while after you’ve finished your meals, the two of you just talking and laughing until the door to the bar opens and a large, loud group of already drunk and belligerent men enters the establishment.

You observe them with increasing wariness and growing distaste before Jeno gently nudges your knee under the table with his.

When your eyes lock on his, he looks pointedly at the group of newcomers before quietly mouthing, “Wanna get out of here?” When you nod emphatically, he chuckles and flags the waitress down to ask for the check.

When she returns with the check, Jeno places his card in the leather pocket along with the receipt and hands it back to her, not once giving you a chance to look at the total.

“It’s my treat,” he explains with a warm smile, and you can’t help but offer him a bashful smile of your own.

“Thank you, Jeno,” you say softly, feeling shy for some reason, and he grins back at you before waving his hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it.” he assures you. The waitress returns with his card and a receipt to write the tip and sign, and he signs the receipt before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out three ten dollar bills, which, if you’re not mistaken based on the prices you recall from the menu, is a more than generous tip. “You ready?” he asks, standing and offering his hand to you to help you out of the booth.

“Ready, Mr. Big Tipper.” you agree, taking his hand and letting him guide you out of the booth.

“She doesn’t have an easy job,” Jeno explains as you two leave. “I just wanted to make it a little more worth it, y’know?”

“Yeah,” you hum in agreement. “You’re so thoughtful, Jeno.”

“Thanks,” he replies as a small blush spreads across his cheeks with his growing smile. “I try.”

“So, where do you want to go now?” you ask curiously.

“We can just walk around until something else catches our eye?” he suggests, and you nod with a smile, starting to fall into step with his walking rhythm.

As you two walk down the street, hands tentatively brushing against one another’s, you stop in your tracks and point down the block. “What’s that across the street?”

Jeno stops as well, leaning forward and squinting his eyes to see better. “Looks kind of like a park.”

“A park?” you emphasize as you turn to look at him with a growing smile. “Or a playground?”

His smile grows to match your own before he resumes walking, the two of you gradually increasing in speed as you approach the playground.

“I totally forgot there was a playground around here,” Jeno chuckles as you plop down in the tire swing, draping your legs over the tire and holding onto the ropes as you start to manually spin yourself.

Jeno moves closer to where you’re spinning, reaching out and grabbing one of the ropes holding you with ease and laughing as you yelp from the sudden jolt.

“Want me to spin you?” he offers, and you nod eagerly, giggling as he starts to twist your swing and pull it back before releasing it so you’re sent flying forward and also spinning around rapidly. A fit of giggles escapes you as you soar through the cool night air, and you can faintly hear Jeno laughing along with you at your delight.

“Come join me!” you offer, scooting over to make room, but he shakes his head with a small smile, resting a hand over his stomach.

“I’m kinda worried my food didn’t settle yet, and I’d rather not blow chunks everywhere and ruin our date.” he replies with a small chuckle, and you nod slowly in understanding, trying to mask your disappointment.

Haechan would have spun with you, a voice in the back of your mind sneers.

And who asked you, again? you think back bitterly before patting the spot next to you again.

“We won’t spin,” you suggest, “we can just swing a little bit.”

He pauses to think about it before relenting and nodding, smiling nervously as he climbs into the tire swing while you hold it steady for him.

Your legs draped over his lap, he lies perpendicular to you in the tire swing, the two of you leisurely starting to swing back and forth. His hand falls to your leg, resting just above your knee, and you silently relish the warmth radiating from his palm.

You study Jeno’s face as he gazes up at the night sky, admiring his bone structure and the shape of his lips before hurriedly looking away when he looks down to meet your gaze. You can feel his body shaking with amusement, his eyes trained on you as you busy yourself with looking up at the sky.

“The stars are so pretty tonight,” you mumble in an attempt to change the subject, and Jeno hums softly in agreement.

“They’re beautiful.” he agrees. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you answer, sitting up slightly.

“When I get high by myself, I just go to the nearest park and sit in the grass and look up at the sky and think about how beautiful it all is, how small we all are in the grand scheme of things, and how wonderful it is that we get to be a part of something so majestic.” Jeno says softly, almost like he’s embarrassed, and you feel your heart soften slightly.

“Jeno, that’s so deep,” you murmur in awe.

“Like, I know you don’t smoke, but it’s moments like that when I’m high that really make me appreciate nature.”

“I totally get you, Jeno,” you assure him with a smile. “I mean, I’m still not gonna smoke, but that makes perfect sense.”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Jeno’s quick to reassure you. “I’m not trying to make you smoke. I would never want to pressure you into doing something you don’t want.”

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” you coo at him sweetly, and he chuckles bashfully, his cheeks pinking.

His fingers tentatively crawl up your leg to where your hand rests on your thigh, and his fingers tentatively curl around yours, his body visibly slackening with relief when you give his fingers a gentle reassuring squeeze.

He beams at you before looking down at your hands as he starts to toy with your fingers. As he does, you close your eyes and tip your head back to rest on the rope as you think about your evening so far.

Without meaning to, you think you’ve started to friendzone Jeno, merely taking his affectionate gestures and words as harmless flirting and returning the energy with all the playfulness and virtually none of the actual intent.

He’s super kind, thoughtful, and sweet, you think to yourself, so you have no idea why you can feel yourself holding back.

You’re holding back, your mind chimes in, because he’s not Haechan.

Bullshit! What does Haechan have that Jeno doesn’t?

Spontaneity, your mind retorts. Excitement. Passion. Not to mention that look he gives you sometimes where it’s like he’s gently unraveling your layers and marveling at everything he reveals.

That’s enough out of you, you think bitterly to yourself.

Haechan offers a deeper connection—a chance at real intimacy. Jeno is the epitome of playing it safe. Don’t you want to take a real risk for once in your life?

Don’t you ever shut up? you think in a huff.

Girl, I’m literally you. There’s no off button to your thoughts.

You sit up with a sudden jerk that has Jeno jolting in surprise, his fingers stilling from their previous ministrations of messing with your hands.

“Sorry, I—” you stammer, trying to think of an excuse on the spot. “I got a cramp in my leg.”

“Oh, no, are you okay?” Jeno starts to fuss over you, moving to examine your legs. “Which one is it? Where’s the pain located? I can massage it out—”

“Oh, that’s okay!” you lie, starting to sit up entirely. “I think I can just walk it off, right?”

“Of course, yeah, let’s get you up and moving.” Jeno worries, climbing out of the tire swing and helping you to your feet. You stretch your limbs for good measure, shuddering in relief as your muscles tense and relax, and look up at Jeno expectantly when you’re ready.

“Lead the way,” you offer with a wave of your hand, and he grins, offering you the crook of his elbow. You take it and he starts to lead you both further down the street, your intrigue building as sounds of excitement in the distance register in your ears and get louder the closer you approach. Starting to observe your surroundings more carefully, you notice a bunch of lights and commotion further down the street.

Mindlessly looping your fingers with Jeno’s, you start to pull him towards the sounds of what you can now recognize as a street carnival.

“You wanna check it out?” Jeno asks, watching you with fond amusement as you tug him closer to the entryway arch.

“Can we?” you ask hopefully, turning to look back at him, and the way he looks at you in response—like he would give you anything you asked for and more—causes your cheeks to warm and you to turn back around shyly.

He catches up with you, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you in closer to him. “Anything you want.” He looks over at you with that same fond smile that has you running in circles internally while also feeling some sense of guilt that you don’t particularly want to acknowledge at the moment.

You two walk under the entryway arch and marvel at all the activities and booths and the smells of various carnival foods waft through the air.

You’re barely inside of the carnival for ten minutes before everything goes south.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice says from behind you, and you stop in your tracks.

It can’t be.

You turn around slowly and, sure enough, there stands Haechan with a mischievous smile trained specifically on you and with him is Winter, who waves excitedly with her hand holding a cone of pink cotton candy.

“Hey, guys!” Jeno greets goodnaturedly, and you wish you could share his enthusiasm, but one look at Haechan’s bright eyes tells you that he’s up to something.

“How did you know we were here?” you ask, staring dead at Haechan suspiciously.

“We didn't?” Winter answers, confused as she turns to look at Haechan. “Haechan just scooped me up from my apartment and took us here on a whim.”

“Haechan,” you ask as calmly and casually as possible, “what are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to go to a carnival! I love the, uh… ambience.” Haechan answers with a resolute nod that convinces everyone else but you. “When Jeno said he was taking you on a date to a carnival, how was I supposed to know it was going to be this one?”

You could almost swear your eye is twitching. “So you knew we were going on a date and, what, it inspired you or something?”

Haechan meets your eye contact nonchalantly, so entirely unbothered that it, in turn, bothers you. “Yep. What’s the matter? We can’t go on dates in the same place?”

You’re about to fix your mouth to say “No,” but Winter claps her hands excitedly, bouncing up and down in place.

“We can do a double date!”

“Yeah, a double date! How about that, hm?” Haechan’s eyes never once leave yours, and you can feel your insides twisting with discomfort and frustration as you level his gaze.

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” Jeno murmurs to you, scanning your face for any visual cues as to what you want. His consideration for your feelings makes you smile in spite of the difficult situation you’ve found yourself in, and you find it remarkably easy to turn that smile into an easygoing one.

“Sure,” you say, not sparing Haechan a second glance as you take Jeno’s hand and lead him further into the throng of people. “Why not?”

“Mm, churros.” Haechan sighs longingly as the vendor takes the $5 from Jeno and passes you your paper cone of churros. “Those look so good.”

You stare him dead in the eyes and bite down on the end of one of them, chewing and swallowing before you say, “They are.”

You keep walking, making sure to stay by Jeno’s side as you eat four out of five of your churros. It’s not until you’re on the last piece that Haechan speaks up again.

“I bet they’re so warm and crunchy and sweet.” he says, eyes flickering between the churro piece and your lips. “You know how much I like sweet things.”

“So I’ve heard.” you brush off his double entendre and turn to Jeno. “Jeno, you want some?”

“Mm, maybe–”

“What about me?” Haechan complains loudly, appearing from behind you and putting his chin on your shoulder.

“What about you?” you retort, and Winter giggles.

“Can I have a piece, please?” he begs, and you crane your neck to look at him disapprovingly. “Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please—”

“Fine!” you snap, breaking off a piece and stuffing it in his mouth so suddenly that he starts to cough. In the mayhem that is Haechan’s impending choking fit, he bumps you as you’re about to hand Jeno the final piece and the treat falls from your fingers, landing pathetically on the pavement. “You’re kidding.”

“Whoops,” Haechan says, far too chirpy to truly hold any signs of remorse. “Guess Jeno didn’t get to try after all.”

You frown up at Jeno apologetically, but he’s already waving you off with a warm smile.

“Don’t worry about me; I’m still pretty full from the dive bar.”

Winter’s face lights up as she migrates over to walk by Jeno’s side. “You guys went to the dive bar near here, or the one closer to the train?”

“The one near here,” he answers, and Winter starts to bounce excitedly in place.

“I love their fries,” she gushes, and Jeno nods vigorously in agreement as they start walking together, soon walking well ahead of you and Haechan as they get more immersed in their conversation.

“Haechan.” you say in a low tone, and he turns to look at you far too innocently. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing? I just love my sweets.” he answers, eyes dropping to scan your frame quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid your scrutiny. When he realizes he’s been found out, he drops the facade and trains his gaze on your lips, licking his own subconsciously.

“Stop looking at me like that.” you mutter under your breath, knowing full well you don’t trust yourself around him anymore.

“You got a little sugar right here,” he whispers under his breath, gesturing to the corner of your mouth and leaning in to swipe it off with his thumb before you get the chance.

“Thanks.” you say suspiciously, and he shoots you a dazzling smile right before popping his thumb in his mouth, ignoring your strangled yelp of surprise, and sucking the sugar off, his eyes closing in bliss before he reopens them with a small yet deeply inappropriate groan and trains his dangerously sultry gaze on you. “That’s strike one, Haechan.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared.” he feigns fear, shaking his hands and rolling his eyes.

“What do you want?”

“You.” he answers as if it were obvious.

You make a loud buzzer sound, shaking your head as you try to calm the butterflies that erupted at his bold admission. “No.”

“Stop ignoring me.”

“No? You know good and well why I’m ignoring you.”

“Because you know the connection we have and it scares you.”

You make the loud buzzer noise again and scowl at him. “Wrong answer! Because you have a girlfriend and you keep stepping out on her like some kind of slut.”

“...So if I wasn’t dating Winter, you wouldn’t be ignoring me right now?” He has the nerve to sound hopeful, and you narrow your eyes at him.

��If you weren’t dating Winter, I wouldn’t know you.” you remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

“We would have met eventually. I think we were meant to.” he says confidently, and you pinch the bridge of your nose and breathe in and out deeply.

“Go back to your girlfriend, Mr. Strike One.”

“Come one, come all, come try your hand at the Water Gun Race! First place gets to pick one of these adorable stuffed animals up top!” The stand attendant’s impressively loud voice carries over the din of the crowds, and you can’t help but look in his direction curiously.

Jeno follows your gaze and leans down to murmur in your ear, “I bet I can win you one of those plushies.” When you turn to look at him, he’s grinning and nodding encouragingly, his features bright with excitement.

“Yeah?” you muse thoughtfully, raising an eyebrow in a wordless challenge. You jerk your chin towards the penguin plushie sitting towards the top of the shelves. “I want that one.”

“You got it, babe.” Jeno puffs out his chest and strides over to one of the chairs, sitting down and holding onto the water gun attached to the table.

The fond smile on your lips from watching him drops at the sight from your peripheral vision of Haechan eyeing you both before he says something unintelligible to Winter and makes his way to the same table, sitting down at the other end of the chairs.

You turn to ask Winter what plushie she asked for only to find that she’s disappeared into the crowd without a trace.

“Haechan, where’d Winter go?” you ask suspiciously as you stand behind him and speak lowly enough for only him to hear.

“I gave her $3 to get herself a corn dog.” he replies dismissively, leaning back so his back is against your thighs. “I’m about to win you a plushie.”

You freeze and look down at him skeptically. “You wouldn’t dare do that.”

“Watch me.” The sheer determination in his voice is startling and, if you’re being honest with yourself, more than a little arousing, so you push yourself away from his back and make your way over to Jeno.

You lean against his back and place both hands on his shoulders, smiling when he tilts his head to the side to rest his cheek on the back of your hand.

The attendant starts the game, and all the participants start shooting water at their respective targets. You can’t help but look from between Jeno and Haechan, both of whom are sporting furrowed brows and straight faces of concentration that have your insides fluttering with excitement.

It feels like time slows as you realize that Jeno’s and Haechan’s moving markers are just about neck and neck and it fully processes in your mind that you do not want Haechan to win the stuffed animal and give it to you.

“Go, Jeno! You’re so close!” you cheer, and whatever powers that be seem to hear you, because his marker shoots ahead of Haechan’s, much to your relief, and hits the winning mark, making various people around you join in on your cheering.

He looks back at you with a bright, proud smile, and you beam back down at him. As he stands and reaches forward to point at the penguin plushie you want, your gaze slides over to Haechan, who’s watching you with a small smirk.

He raises his eyebrows as if to say, “Is that so?” You blink impassively at him before turning away to face Jeno, who’s handing you the penguin plushie with a triumphant grin on his face.

“Told you I could do it.” He runs his hand through his hair and you watch in a dazed fascination as his bicep flexes and tenses with the movement.

“I knew you could,” you hum sweetly, pulling him into a hug. His arms wrap around your waist and you rest your cheek on his chest, and you would be enjoying the moment if you couldn’t feel Haechan’s eyes on you both.

“Come on—let’s go check out the haunted house,” Jeno suggests excitedly, tugging you along with him as you whine in protest. “Are you scared?”

“Yes, actually. Yes, I am.” you admit, and he nods slowly.

“I’ll protect you,” he says with a teasing smile, puffing out his chest for emphasis.

After a moment’s hesitation, you groan in defeat and his smile widens as he guides you towards the haunted house.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, guys; I am not excited to go to this haunted house.” you announce, and to your dismay, everyone just laughs.

“It’s gonna be fun!” Jeno does his best to soothe you, but his reassuring words fall on deaf ears as you pass under the grim, dark entryway of the haunted house. Winter sticks closely to your side, Haechan just ahead of you both, and Jeno walks alongside you, the back of his hand brushing against yours in a wordlessly comforting gesture.

The first couple of scares are mild, actually; a sudden mechanical cackle and flash of light, a skeleton popping out from behind a corner, and you’re momentarily convinced that you can actually handle it.

“See, I told you it wouldn’t be bad—holy shit!” Jeno flinches back at the sudden revving of a chainsaw to your left and when you turn, a figure covered in blood and sporting a hockey mask promptly charges at the four of you, making you scream in terror.

A hand loops around your wrist and you’re being tugged forward, your mind going on pure survival instinct as you run to keep up with the person pulling you. The revving sounds seem to echo all around you, effectively concealing the person’s exact location, and fear builds in your chest, your breathing coming in short, shallow spurts.

When the hand holding you finally stops pulling you, you can barely even see straight, tears of panic swimming in your eyes, blurring your vision as you clutch your chest, breathing in and out erratically.

It all happens faster than you can process; one second, you’re doing what feels like fighting for your life, and the next you’re wrapped in a tight, warm, comforting embrace. The act of kindness is enough to tip you over the edge, apparently, because you start to break down in the person’s arms, crying and sniffling pathetically as they rub your back in soothing motions and shush you gently.

The person continues to hold onto you even after you manage to calm down, gently rocking you from side to side and humming in a… very familiar voice.

It dawns on you, now that you’ve somewhat regained your composure, that you never once got a good look at your savior, and your heart feels like it’s about to drop to your ass as you piece together the few facts you’ve gathered.

You’re almost dreading looking up, having a painfully strong inkling as to who you’re going to see, but your suspicions are confirmed when your savior finally speaks.

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re okay.” he murmurs into your hair, and you slowly pull back, staring up at Haechan incredulously.

“You’re kidding.” You very much sound like you’ve been crying, your nose stuffy and voice trembling slightly, but the entirely displeased tone of your voice rings out clear as day.

“God, you’re even beautiful when you cry,” Haechan murmurs in awe as he takes in the sight of your teary-eyed expression, and the dam holding back all of your frustration from earlier and your pent-up emotions just bursts.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” you say flatly, voice no longer trembling with unshed tears but with steadily building anger.

He has the nerve to tilt his head to the side in confusion. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Wh–what’s wrong?” you ask in disbelief. “What’s wrong? You’re not supposed to be here!” You’re so frustrated that the words are having a hard time coming out, but he clearly hears them all the same as a slightly guilty expression creeps onto his face. “It’s supposed to be you and Winter and me and Jeno!”

“Well, we got split up—” Haechan starts, but you cut him off, not wanting to hear any excuses.

“We got split up because you grabbed my hand instead of your girlfriend’s.” you say slowly and clearly so he can hear where he went wrong.

“It was a reflex!” He defends himself, and you groan loudly, clapping a hand over your face in exasperation. “You’re gonna stand there and get mad at me because I reflexively thought to save your life?”

“Haechan, it is not about the fucking chainsaw man or whatever that was.” you huff through gritted teeth. “It is about the fact that I’m trying to be a good person and end whatever you and I had going on, and you won’t let me.”

“I’m not doing anything!” he counters, conveniently avoiding your gaze as the blatant lie hits your ears.

“You crashed my date. That was the first red flag.”

“Anyone could have been at this carnival—”

“Haechan, do not piss me off.”

To your surprise, he actually falls silent, and it’s your first clear giveaway that he knows he’s in the wrong.

“You ate my churro,” you remind him, “then you made me drop the last piece so Jeno couldn’t have any.” You stare him down, daring him to defend himself, and he at least has the decency to look mildly ashamed. “You almost sabotaged Jeno from winning me this plushie. Now, we get into a haunted house and at the very first opportunity, you whisk me away from Jeno—not to mention you straight up abandoned your girlfriend.”

“Okay, I get it,” Haechan mumbles contritely, and you shake your head.

“I actually don’t think you do. Haechan, wh–why can’t you let me even try to be happy without you?” you ask, beside yourself with frustration, and it seems like whatever emotions Haechan has been holding inside finally reach a boiling point as he meets your gaze with a blazing intensity in his eyes.

“Because—because all I see—all I fucking see when I close my eyes is you!” He whisper-yells exasperatedly. His words take you by surprise, and the incendiary words linger in the thick silence between you two. He looks tortured, actually, the longer you look at him, and you start to wonder what else he’s been holding inside.

“Haechan, you can’t have both of us.” you say softly, and he laughs humorlessly.

“I thought you weren’t going to make me choose?”

“Haechan… if you really thought you could keep this up forever, you really are bonkers. Not to mention, I think we’re officially at the point where you’ve got me royally fucked up.”

His eyes snap up to look at you in surprise, a glimmer of hope plainly displayed on his face. “So… you have feelings for me?”

“I don’t know what I have.” you grouch, throwing your hands up in frustration. “I just know that whenever I see Winter hanging on your arm, I want to throw up and hurl a chair across the room.” Haechan is silent, and you almost don’t want to look at him, don’t want to see what he’s feeling, but you look anyway against your better judgment to see him standing before you almost devastatingly hopeful. Clearing your throat, you continue on, “I also know… that for some fucking reason, I can’t stop thinking about you… no matter how hard I try to distract myself.”

Haechan’s silent for several beats, most likely letting your words sink in, and then he takes a tentative step towards you. “Baby…”

You hold up a hand to stop him immediately, not prepared for him to come any closer. “Don’t call me that,” you mutter. “I can’t even look at you right now without thinking of that poor girl.”

You can see him nod slowly out of the corner of your eye, and he looks up pensively, seemingly choosing his next words carefully. “So what do you want to do?” he finally asks, and you’d be a fool to miss the absolutely raw vulnerability in his voice. He might as well have reached into his chest cavity and offered you his beating heart, and it becomes rapidly apparent to you that you must mean more to him than you previously thought.

“I want… to find a way out of here,” you sigh, feeling drained from the myriad of emotions you just ran through. “And I want you to make up your mind once and for all.”

He nods again, slowly, then once more with a surprisingly steely resolve that has you wanting to pick his brain to find out just what his decision is.

Before you can even consider asking, however, there’s a commotion coming from the hallway to your right, and when you see Jeno accompanying a shaken Winter, you don’t even know whether you feel relieved or disappointed.

“Holy crap, you guys,” Winter says, her face paler than usual. “Let’s never go into a haunted house again.”

“I’ll do you one better,” you chime in. “Let’s get the hell out of here before something worse happens.” You don’t wait for anyone to agree, simply turning around and heading towards what you hope is the exit.

“That was definitely in the top five scariest experiences of my life.” Winter says with a frown as you exit the haunted house, greeted once more by the sounds of joy and laughter and the sight of carnival lights flashing everywhere.

“It was top three for me—and it wasn’t two or three.” you huff tiredly, and Jeno laughs fondly, slinging his arm around your shoulders.

“It’s over now, thankfully.” he says soothingly, and you smile up at him, trying with all your might to avoid meeting Haechan’s gaze.

“Sorry to be a buzzkill, actually, but I think I want to go home after that,” you announce carefully, and Winter nods vigorously in agreement, looping her arm with Haechan’s and looking up at him with wide, puppy-dog eyes.

“Take me home?” she asks Haechan in a sweet, almost baby-like voice, and it takes everything you have not to gag and maybe even heckle her.

“Sure thing,” he replies, barely sparing her a glance. You wince internally at the way he brushes her off, but she seems not to notice, smiling brightly and redirecting her attention to you and Jeno.

“Good night, you guys!” she chirps, and you give her a half-hearted wave back, masquerading your reluctance as exhaustion.

“Night.” you answer, watching their retreating backs with both relief and a growing sense of unease.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” Jeno murmurs to you, and you answer him wordlessly with a genuine smile, subconsciously clutching the penguin plushie he won for you.

The train ride back to your place is quick and quiet, with you tilting your head to rest your cheek on Jeno’s shoulder as he plays with your linked fingers. Before long, you’re standing in front of your apartment door with a suddenly shy Jeno, and you can’t help but find his newfound nervousness endearing.

“I had a great time tonight.” Jeno admits, albeit a bit shyly, and you smile widely, nodding in agreement.

“Me too. We should do it again some time.” you suggest, and his expression perks up instantly, relief and hope written plainly across his features.

“Definitely. Have a good night, yeah?” He leans closer and you close your eyes in anticipation only to be surprised with a soft kiss to the forehead. The gesture is small, but sweet, and your cheeks start to blaze something fierce as a smile tugs at your lips.

“You too.” you reply, leaning up to press your lips to his cheek softly. He beams at you and squeezes your hand comfortingly. “Good night, Jeno. Text me when you get home?”

“You got it.” he agrees before slowly extracting his fingers from yours and turning to head to the elevator down the hall. You wait to enter your apartment, watching as the elevator comes and he enters it, the door sliding shut and leaving you alone in the hallway.

Closing your door behind you, you sigh deeply, heading to your bathroom to get ready for bed.

You think back about your time with Jeno tonight and how, despite Haechan’s constant interfering, you still had a wonderful time on your date.

As you climb into bed about thirty minutes later, a text comes in on your phone.

jeno [22:49] made it home safe :) have a good night

you [22:50] yay!! you too :)

You put your phone on your nightstand and roll over to go to sleep, wondering all the while why things can’t just be easy.

As if the universe was eavesdropping, a text notification pings on your phone, and you roll back over to face it, unlocking it and squinting at the bright screen.

haechan [22:53] i’m gonna fix this

you [22:55] fix what???? haechan what are you talking about?

haechan [22:56] us. i’m gonna fix it

you [22:57] …what are you gonna do

haechan [22:59] nothing right now

you [23:01] ????? that doesn't answer my question??

haechan [23:03] good night beautiful don’t worry about it

you [23:03] and yet here i am. beyond worried

you [23:10] helloooooo??

you [23:15] jfc good night i guess

You toss your phone back on the nightstand before flipping over in a huff and trying to calm your racing thoughts enough to fall asleep.

TA DA!!!!! i hope you enjoyed your read! the sixth (and final) part will be up in exactly one week! reminder that (only if you’re able) tips are very much appreciated, as is positive feedback! if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just shoot me an ask and please make sure your privacy settings are updated accordingly!

DON’T WANNA WAIT? The full fic is currently available on my Patreon, as is a bonus scene exclusive to Patreon!

LINKS: KO-FI // VENMO // CASHAPP // AMAZON WISHLIST // (if you’d like to support via paypal, let me know off anon!!)

#haechan smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #lee haechan smut #donghyuck smut #haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #lee donghyuck smut

501 notes · View notes

andy-15-07 · 8 months ago

Note

can you do a fic with Paul Atreides, where Y/n is a bene gesserit and they find he is the One

Our love is powerful

masterlist ! pairing: Paul Atreides x reader

Dune Masterlist

In the mystical world of Arrakis, where sand dunes whispered ancient secrets, Paul Atreides and you, a Bene Gesserit, found yourselves entwined in a destiny written in the sands of time. The air in the Sietch was charged with anticipation as the Bene Gesserit sisterhood, with their millennia-old knowledge, discerned a truth that transcended the ordinary.

As you and Paul stood in the sacred chambers of the Bene Gesserit, the reverence in the air hinted at the gravity of the moment. The sisterhood, with their eyes that held the wisdom of countless generations, regarded Paul with a mix of expectation and acknowledgment.

"Y/N," one of the elder Bene Gesserit addressed you, "the threads of fate have woven a tapestry that binds your path with that of Paul Atreides. He is the One—the Kwisatz Haderach."

The realization hung in the air, a moment that echoed through the corridors of time. Paul, with his piercing blue eyes and a destiny that weighed heavily on his shoulders, looked at you with a mix of curiosity and acceptance.

"What does this mean?" Paul inquired, the weight of the prophecy settling on his young shoulders.

The elder Bene Gesserit stepped forward, her voice a melodic resonance that carried the echoes of ancient wisdom. "The Kwisatz Haderach—the One who can bridge space and time, unlocking the secrets of the universe. He who possesses both male and female ancestral memories, breaking the limitations that have bound humanity."

You, a Bene Gesserit bound by duty and destiny, met Paul's gaze with a depth of understanding. "Paul, you are the culmination of a plan set in motion by the Bene Gesserit sisterhood. The threads of our bloodlines converge in you."

The gravity of the revelation seemed to settle in the room. Paul, born into a lineage of political intrigue and ancient prophecy, found himself at the crossroads of destiny.

As you and Paul retreated from the sacred chambers, the Sietch buzzed with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The sands of Arrakis seemed to echo the whispers of the prophecy that had been unveiled.

"Y/N," Paul began, his voice a quiet contemplation, "what does it mean for us? For our relationship?"

You turned to him, your eyes reflecting the weight of the truth. "Paul, our connection goes beyond the prophecy. The Bene Gesserit may have seen the threads of fate, but our love is a force that transcends destiny. Together, we navigate the path that unfolds before us."

The days that followed were filled with the intensity of preparation, as Paul embraced the training and revelations that came with being the Kwisatz Haderach. The Bene Gesserit sisterhood, with their watchful eyes, guided him through the intricacies of their ancient knowledge.

Amidst the trials and tribulations, your connection with Paul deepened. As he grappled with the weight of his destiny, your presence became a source of solace and understanding. Late nights were spent beneath the stars, the two of you seeking refuge in each other's arms.

One evening, as the desert winds whispered tales of destiny, Paul looked at you with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "Y/N, I may be the Kwisatz Haderach, but my heart belongs to you. Our love will be the anchor as I navigate the complexities of this path."

You smiled, a reassurance that transcended words. "Paul, no prophecy can diminish the love we share. The threads of fate may guide your journey, but our connection is a beacon that lights the way."

As Paul embraced his destiny, the sands of Arrakis witnessed a love story that defied the limitations of prophecy. Together, you and Paul Atreides forged a path that merged ancient wisdom with the unwavering power of love—a journey that echoed through the sands of time, leaving an indelible mark on the destiny of Arrakis.

#paul atreides imagines #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x female reader #paul atreides x you #paul atreides #paul atreides imagine #dune x you #dune x reader #dune imagines #dune imagine #dune part 2 #dune fanfiction #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet x reader

1K notes · View notes

chrollogy · 30 days ago

Text

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 !

388 notes · View notes

cherryredstars · 5 months ago

Note

Hi!! I love your writing! Can I request a Miguel fic where the (civilian) f!reader has never been in a relationship before and Miguel one day tells her he loves her after a while of dating. But the thing is, she’s never been in love before so she has no idea what being “in love” feels like cause she has nothing to compare it to. She definitely knows that whatever she’s feeling is the closest she’s ever gotten to it but she doesn’t want to tell him until she’s certain, so all she can tell him is “I’m falling in love with you” in response atm. Also if this could lead into a smut, that would be amazing👀👀 (maybe also a mini epilogue where she does tell him and his reaction?) thank you!!!

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Soft Penetrative Sex

A/N: Thank you, love! Enjoy!!

Unedited

It’s unfamiliar.

Everything, all of this.

And yet, he knows. He understands, he understands in a way you can’t and in a way no one has before. He doesn’t shun you or laugh at you for it. He just nods and smiles and takes your hand with the contrasting softness that seems impossible for worked fingers and says:

Let me show you what it feels like.

And it feels so fragile, so devoting.

His hands are like water as he caresses your skin, encompassing your body in sticky kisses and soft love bites. Nurturing as he soothes the bruised skin and pushes away hair from your face so you can see it all. Thrusts that are soft, yet defined so you can feel each inch that drags along your walls. A hand that reaches up to engulf yours when your lips part to let out mewls and breathy whines.

And he presses those sacred words into each nerve of your body.

I love you. I love you, I love you iloveyouiloveyouilove-

It’s like he’s trying to make the words, the feeling, seep into your skin and poison your blood stream. Like he wants your body to get high with the knowledge that this man feels so strongly for you, even if you’re unable to understand why. Like it’s already consumed him and he wants the infection to be spread. Yet, you ask him- beg him- between your soft moans and pleased gasps for him to keep saying it.

More. Again. Please, please pleasepleaseplease-

And it tips the both of you over. Ecstasy running through your body as you both release, panting each other’s name and refusing to let go. Holding on to each other like you might disappear or float away if they aren’t anchored to you. Only letting go when the bliss is nothing but a warm feeling in your stomach and the sweat cooling against your skin starts to feel uncomfortable.

And he loves you even then. You can see it, the greatest and gentlest love, as he cleans you. As he takes care of you even when your body feels weak and you aren’t sure you could be doing this for yourself. It radiates off of him as he runs a damp cloth over your body, pressure light on the oasis between your thighs.

This is love. Your brain and heart scream. This is what love is.

“I love you.”

505 notes · View notes

anto-pops · 2 years ago

Text

Fissured Composure - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: After watching you hold your own against a handsy classmate, Sebastian is feeling particularly needy and steals you away to the Undercroft to show you just how worked up your right hook got him.

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian reverently going down on you after you break Leander's nose

Based on this request I received! Hope you like it anon :))

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, minor violence, explicit sexual content, rough sex

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 as always !

Many of your friends would agree that you had the patience of a damn Saint.

Beyond dealing with Sebastian’s hard-headedness on a regular basis and keeping up appearances with your classmates, it was a wonder you had managed to maintain your cool, collected facade for so long. You could recall losing it once before, shortly after Professor Fig died. But the whole debacle had gone down in the safety and privacy of the Room of Requirement, so no one had been around to witness your indignant anger take root and assist you in trashing two thirds of your sacred space.

That had been two years ago, so you liked to think you’d gotten better at controlling your emotions since then.

Leander fucking Prewett, however, had seemingly made it his life’s mission to frustrate you to no foreseeable end.

While you had felt bad for him in your fifth-year and entertained his rambling mostly out of pity, somewhere along the way your lack of interest got lost in translation. He was a rather boastful individual, preferring to brag about himself and put down anyone that excelled in areas he wanted to be the best in. His attitude had only worsened with age, and for the last few months he had suddenly taken to attempting to woo you in passing.

His efforts were too pathetic to take to heart, but you certainly hadn’t told Sebastian about it yet. Not unless you wanted to trigger a fight that you knew you wouldn’t be able to intervene in, because the whole reason Leander was even trying with you was to get under your boyfriend’s skin.

Today was Wednesday, and you shared Herbology class with Leander, much to your displeasure. Your attempts at escaping out the door quickly had been thwarted when Professor Garlick asked to speak with you after class, and despite hoping against all odds that you would be left alone, Prewett was waiting for you at the top of the steps when you ascended the staircase.

“Ah, there you are,” he drawled, with far too much familiarity for your liking. “Did Professor Garlick hold you back to scold you for something?”

You grasped at the fringes of your self-restraint with everything in you. “No, we were just discussing some extra assignments she gave me last week.”

Wanting to leave the interaction at that, you picked up your pace and strode past him, eager to meet up with Sebastian and Ominis for lunch. At the very least, Sebastian’s presence would act as a safeguard against Leander’s incessant pestering. Unfortunately, the Gryffindor had no qualms about lengthening his stride to match your own, and he fell annoyingly into step beside you.

He raked one of his hands through his long strands of red hair, trying and failing to raise a brow at you questioningly. Instead he just looked constipated. “Wow, extra assignments? You must be some child genius turned prodigy, I can’t think of anyone who willingly says yes to more homework.”

“...I’ve been doing it for two years, Leander.”

Waving you off, he pressed on, “Then you’re way smarter than you let on.” What? “Not that I’ve heard otherwise from anyone, but someone as bright as you likely values intellect and wit, and I can’t help but notice Sebastian is in short supply of both these days–”

“Leander, now really isn’t the time.” Not this shit again. You pushed through the double doors leading to Central Hall, desperate to put your two Slytherin companions in between yourself the daft idiot tailing you.

“Oh, come on. I’m only suggesting we take some time to study together. Or maybe we could take a stroll through the Library since you’re so fond of books. Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for sneaking into the Restricted Section, although sometimes I wonder how much reading you actually do when you disappear there with Sallow.”

By now you had made it beside the fountain in the middle of the room, but your legs halted entirely when you registered the implication hidden in his words. One of your nails broke as you dug your fingers into the cover of your textbook, and you willed the thrum of your blood roaring in your ears to lessen as you finally pivoted to face Leander fully.

Your expression was stormy when you fixed your eyes on his beady ones, and you allowed yourself a moment to appreciate the nervous bob of his throat. “What is it you think I do then, Leander? What vapid, tasteless thoughts do you have whipping around in that giant head of yours, hm?”

At least he had the good sense to look sheepish, but he masked the look quickly with that false bravado that made your hands twitch. He raised his arms in a gesture of surrender, “Relax, doll. I’m just connecting the dots out loud. What does your prized boytoy tempt you with to convince you to break the rules so often?”

Merlin’s bloody balls, if you didn’t leave now, you were going to lose it in the middle of the school. There was no hiding your blatant scowl of disgust, but you found the frayed tethers of your composure and grabbed the ends like a lifeline. You pulled a deep breath into your lungs, exhaling in a way that conveyed your thinning temper, and turned to walk away.

You saw Sebastian standing on the other side of Central Hall talking to Garreth, and he was spying over the redhead’s shoulder to watch you. His face was contorted into a dark, threatening expression, and you knew he could read your own emotions plainly on your face. He was well aware that you were pissed off, and he jumped into action then, muttering something to Weasley under his breath before he was striding across the foyer to get to you.

You’d made it roughly three steps away from Leander when you suddenly felt his slimy hand slithering around your waist to haul you back against his chest. The brazen action took you by surprise, which was the only reason the bastard succeeded in squeezing the curve of your hip so generously. The feeling had you tensing all over, and you dimly registered Sebastian’s murderous expression nearing the opposite side of the fountain before your own anger took root.

“What, you’re not even going to dignify me with a response? That’s awfully cruel–”

A faceful of your fist cut him off mid sentence, and you watched through your narrowed eyes as Leander’s head flew back, his momentum carrying him to the ground in a sprawled, limp heap. You heard a series of gasps erupt from the students that were seated nearby, but you didn’t care. It took you a second to process the scene as you blinked the rage from your mind, but once you had, you were pleased to find Prewett’s nose hugging his cheek at a very broken angle.

“There’s your response, you prick,” you swore at him, bending down to snatch up your Herbology textbook that had fallen from your grip. Your knuckles throbbed from the impact still, but you simply flexed your fingers and shook the pain away. It felt good to get that out of your system, and entirely worth the bruises you would surely be sporting in the morning. “Do yourself a favor and stay the hell away from me, or I’ll be happy to show you exactly what I’ve learned from the books in the Restricted Section.”

As soon as you moved away from Leander, a group of younger students were flocking to his side, wisely giving you a wide berth as you left. Sebastian was frozen still as a statue on the other side of the fountain, looking at you slack-jawed with admiration twinkling in his dark eyes. You smiled softly at him, the look so at odds with the feral energy you had just exhibited twenty seconds prior.

“I– what the bloody hell was that?” Sebastian asked at the same time you circled your arm around his waist to lead him away from the bleeding Gryffindor.

“It was well deserved, that’s what it was,” you replied evenly, and then you felt Sebastian’s fingertips digging into the small of your back. “Don’t worry about it, please. He won’t bother me anymore, that’s for damn sure.”

Sebastian’s laugh sounded breathless, and he shook his head in disbelief, his pupils blown wide as he stared down at you. “Oh I’ll definitely be needing the backstory to that whole altercation at some point, but I’m more hung up on the fact that you actually punched somebody. You never get physical like that, where in Merlin’s name did that come from?”

You’d been leading Sebastian towards the Great Hall, having had your mind set on lunch for the better part of a half hour. But then you felt Sebastian take control of steering, and instead of turning down the corridor that led to your destination, he instead appeared to be guiding you in the direction of the Dark Arts Tower. “You’re acting like it’s unheard of for someone to lose their temper. In case you forgot, Prewett is particularly insufferable. Today he crossed one too many lines, so I reeducated him. End of story.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Sebastian murmured as you came up the staircase leading to a familiar alcove, and things suddenly started to click into place. “That was quite possibly the sexiest thing you’ve ever done.”

All the blood in your body seemed to flood into your cheeks then. Sebastian gazed down at you hungrily, whipping his wand out briefly to unlock the latch concealing the entryway behind the large clock. It opened with a clang, and before you could formulate a response to his statement, he was gently pushing you through the opening ahead of him.

While the two of you descended the narrow stairwell leading into the Undercroft, Sebastian replayed the glorious sight of your wicked right hook in his mind. He didn’t know what the hell Leander had been whispering to you about, but the look on your face had told him it wasn’t anything pleasant. Being the chivalrous and overprotective boyfriend he was, of course he’d bailed on his conversation with Garreth to step in.

Watching Prewett’s offensive appendage coil around your waist had sealed the deal, however; Sebastian had fully intended on sending the Gryffindor into an early grave. But then you’d dropped your items and spun around so fast– your textbook was still falling when your fist connected with his nose. It wasn’t the most tactful means of defense for a lot of people. After all, in a world of magic, who the hell bothered with brawling? There was no denying the appeal of it though. It was a more personal way of telling someone to go fuck themselves, and watching you set your boundries in such a way had driven Sebastian’s blood supply straight to his cock.

He liked this unrestrained side of you. He was desperate to see more of it.

Once you were past the threshold of the gate, you stopped to turn to Sebastian, ready to clarify that seriously– was he this affected by you throwing a punch? But then his larger body slammed against you, stealing the words from your throat as he captured your lips in a frantic, hungry kiss, and you were manhandled into his arms so he could walk the two of you over to the lounge stuffed away in the corner of the room.

As soon as your ass made contact with the velvet cushions, Sebastian broke away so his hands could get to work on hauling your skirt down your legs. The ferocity of the movement nearly sent you flying to the floor with the attire, but then the freckled man was moving back into your personal space so abruptly, your teeth knocked together before he began biting and sucking at your bottom lip.

“Fuck– Sebastian, what the hell’s gotten into you?” The pain from his ministrations quickly blurred together with the unmistakable arousal pooling between your legs, and when he pressed the pad of his thumb roughly against your clit through your soaked undergarments, he swallowed your shaky moans with a nefarious kiss.

“I have to have you,” Sebastian murmured as his hands came up to remove your blouse, exerting a smidge more self-control than he did with your skirt so he didn’t render your uniform unusable afterwards. There was still the matter of school technically being in session, but after watching Leander put his hands on you, Sebastian was feeling especially possessive, and seeing you lay the brute out like it was nothing made his thirst for you seem borderline unquenchable. He asked hurriedly, “Merlin’s balls, let me eat you out– please?”

You shivered as he undid the last button on your shirt and slipped the material over your shoulders, tossing it to the stone floor alongside the rest of your clothes. Having long since given up on wearing your bras after Sebastian ripped the straps of your last two, you were completely bare– an open invitation for him to begin kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples hard enough to make you arch into his touch.

He took full advantage of your close proximity and latched his lips over your thundering pulse, sinking his teeth into the skin to work a mark there, and you nodded shamelessly when you felt his fingers slip beneath your underwear.

“O-Okay. Alright– fine, but take this off,” your hands tugged at the collar of his shirt, ardently conveying that if you were going to let him satiate himself, the least he could do was let you look at him.

Sebastian was obliging you in a heartbeat, pulling away from your spread legs to wriggle his tie loose. It hung messily around his neck– just enough for him to swiftly begin undoing his button up– and the entire time he worked to shed the clothing, his dark, penetrating gaze never left your flushed body. Once the front of his shirt fell open and he’d discarded it, you were met with the tantalizing sight of Sebastian’s toned, freckled chest. The mouth watering trail of hair running below his navel paved a path to the tenting fabric of his trousers, and as soon as Sebastian caught you staring, his brown eyes were darkening impossibly further.

Prowling forward with feline grace, Sebastian smirked as he lifted his tie off of his shoulders to drape over your head. He didn’t bother tightening it, instead letting it hang in a disheveled heap between your breasts, and the sight did more for him than he cared to admit, his cock straining uncomfortably in his trousers. But right now wasn’t about him– not really– it was about you, and Sebastian’s reverent need to please you.

“Hold that for me,” he purred down at you before he was dropping to his knees in front of you.

A brilliant flush swept up your torso as his warm, broad hands came to finally slip your drenched panties away from your aching heat, gliding the material down your outstretched legs without tearing his eyes away from you. Goosebumps broke out all over your skin when the chill of the Undercroft passed over you, and your breath caught in your throat when he eagerly licked his lips and sidled up to the edge of the couch.

Sebastian looped his arms under your thighs, tugging you closer to him so that your ass dangled precariously off the cushions, causing you to shiver under his unyielding stare. He nudged your legs up onto his shoulders, casting a mischievous look your way before he was nuzzling his face into the sensitive skin of your legs, and the adoring kisses he peppered up the apex of your thighs had your stomach tensing in anticipation.

“Do you think we could try sparring one day?” Sebastian asked randomly, teasing his fingers closer to your dripping folds before pulling them away entirely. The dejected sigh that slipped from your lips made him chuckle darkly, and you narrowed your eyes at him as his question finally processed.

“Sparring? What the hell for?”

He shrugged, jostling your raised legs as his fingers dug firmly into your hips for a modicum of restraint. “I think I’d enjoy getting thrown around by you. Do you think you could?”

Merlin– he had officially lost his mind. “Maybe? I wouldn’t want to hurt you, though.”

Something wild sparked behind his irises then, and he began placing lingering kisses in the hollow of your leg. “I would love it if you did,” another soft press of his lips, this time right beside your aching center. “Seriously, when we do, promise me you won’t hold back.”

“You’re actually insane,” you wheezed out as his next kiss fell directly against your clit, and your nails dug fitfully into the padding of the lounge at the featherlight feeling.

“Only for you, darling.” Sebastian’s grip on your hips tightened as he mercifully sealed his mouth over your cunt, and your head kicked back against the sofa with an audible whack as your shrill voice suddenly echoed off the walls of the cavernous room. Your next breath was stolen from you as you felt Sebastian’s tongue circle over your clit, pressing and dragging the muscle down your heat to lap up as much of you as you could– and you swore you’d never been so wet in your fucking life.

By some miracle, you didn’t pass out from the overwhelming bliss, but you sure as hell saw stars dancing in the corners of your vision when Sebastian tongued at your tight entrance. The sordid sounds coming from the brunet between your legs was enough to have you clenching your thighs on either side of his head, and the blatantly aroused groan it pulled from his throat reverberated against you perfectly.

“Fuck, Sebastian,” you whimpered, snapping your hands up from the seat to fist in his curly, brown locs, and when you pulled him against you harder, he moaned at the sensation of your nails scraping against his scalp. He switched tactics then, shaking his head from side to side softly to rub his lips sinfully over your bundle of nerves. The friction was dizzying, and you brazenly bucked your hips against his chin to chase your steadily mounting pleasure. “Merlin–”

Sebastian was utterly transfixed by you. Through hooded eyes, he watched rapaciously as you crumbled above him; your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, and the ever darkening flush that decorated your skin made the green of his tie around your neck stand out even more, acting like a proprietary flag that claimed you as his. You cracked open your eyes to stare down at him, and your stomach flipped at his unbridled, lust-filled gaze boring into you.

Sitting forward more, Sebastian wound one of his arms over the angular curve of your hip bones, simultaneously pressing you harder into him while preventing you from shifting around. He mouthed sloppily against you, and you were left to balance your leg over his shoulder when he dropped his other hand to begin teasing at your soaked hole. He pressed the tip of his finger in slowly before withdrawing it completely, and he repeated the same motion a few more times until you were on the verge of tearing a fistfull of his hair out.

A keening sound ripped from your chest when he removed the digit slower than before, and you could feel Sebastian smirk against you. “S-Stop teasing,” you stuttered, your voice strained and airy.

Sebastian pulled away with a conniving chuckle, and the sight of your slick coating the entirety of his lower face damn near killed you on the spot. “I’m trying to take my time here– you taste so fucking sweet.”

His finger was back, sliding into you once again– only this time he spared you further torment by burying the appendage inside of you to the knuckle and curling it deliciously upwards. You gasped, arching off the back of the lounge in some vain attempt to feel more of him, but his strength pressing into your hips held you firmly in place, and a legitimate whine tumbled from your swollen lips.

He set an achingly slow pace, focusing more on wiggling his finger inside of you before pulling it back to thrust in again, and your throaty groan was cut short when Sebastian’s mouth reappeared on your cunt. He lapped at you furiously, working your brain into a tizzy with the rapid flicks of his tongue against your clit, and the cord in your gut was wrought tight as your climax roared to life in the far reaches of your mind. The wanton moans that slipped from Sebastian were electrifying, and the intensity of his ministrations increased when he added a second finger to the mix. Any pain or discomfort was nonexistent; all you could focus on was the sheer exhilaration his efforts brought you, and your hands tightened in his hair to silently warn him that you were close.

Leaning sideways for a better angle, Sebastian rolled his head against your inner thigh to peer up at you. Once your glazed over eyes landed on him, he let his mouth hang open in an obscene manner to lewdly flick his tongue over your nub at the same time he stroked your inner walls, and that was as much as you could take before you were crying out for Sebastian loud. Your orgasm hit you with the force of a train, stealing your breath and making your muscles tense so hard that your boyfriend’s face was effectively crushed between your trembling legs.

Sebastian took everything that you inflicted upon him in stride; the stinging drag of your nails through his hair, as well as the suffocating squeeze of your thighs on either side of his head. He relished in it– and he positively lived for how he could make you fall apart in such a way. His cock concurred with his thoughts, twitching enthusiastically against the confines of his trousers.

The freckled, Adonis incarnate before you rose to his full height after you had the good grace to release him from the stifling confines of your legs, groaning softly when his fingers slipped out of you. Sebastian regarded you with a predatory look that promised more, and you swallowed thickly as you watched his hands languidly work to undo the catch of his pants.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Sebastian’s brows pinched together with blatant need as he scanned your prone form against the sofa. “Fuck, do you have any idea what you do to me?” His imposing stature over you– shirtless and flushed, with his chest rising and falling from the strained breaths he pulled into his lungs– it had your heart hammering wildly against your sternum. You shook your head. “Then I’ll show you,” he vowed, and the timbre to his voice seemed to reignite the fire burning in your veins.

Working quickly, Sebastian shoved his trousers down to his thighs, pulling himself out of his briefs with a needy groan. He gave himself a few testing pumps, tipping his head back slightly when his fist squeezed around the bright red tip, and then he was zeroing in on you like you were the only thing in the room he cared to pay attention to. You were still quivering in your spot on the lounge when Sebastian stepped forward, hauling you upright by the tie around your bare neck to spin you around so you were kneeling on the cushions with your front pressed into the backrest of the couch.

It took everything in you not to sink back down on your wobbly legs, but then you felt Sebastian’s hands running down your back towards the shapely curve of your ass, and he squeezed at the skin there greedily before lining himself up with your spit-slick cunt. Far too eager to feel his cock inside of you, you watched over your shoulder as Sebastian gingerly pressed into you with a low, raspy moan, and your fingers dug into the backrest so hard, your knuckles blanched white.

Despite his urgency, Sebastian took his time rocking his hips into you, drinking in your sweet little sounds as he filled you up and slid home. “Fuck,” he breathed, leaning forward to rest his head between your shoulder blades as he buried himself to the hilt. His hands moved from your ass to your waist, holding you still with bruising strength as he got used to the sensation of your hypersensitive walls contracting around him. Your breaths were coming out fast and shallow, completely overwhelmed by the sheer size of him compared to his fingers. Having already come, you were like putty in Sebastian’s hands as he ground his cock into you firmly, and you felt him twitch inside you when your head fell forward against the upholstery of the seat with a gasp. “Fuck– you’re so wet still– feels so fucking perfect.”

When Sebastian pulled back to torturously thrust into you slowly, your hips rocked in tandem against him, and he redirected his eyes up from where the two of you were connected so he could drink in the expression on your face. Your lips were parted around a choked moan as he moved inside of you, those beautiful, luminescent eyes of yours sparkling with rampant affection and arousal, and his tie swayed around your neck in sync with his movements.

Sebastian hunched forward, lifting one of his hands to rake through your disheveled hair and pull your head back towards his shoulder, and you cried out suddenly before the sound transformed into a filthy moan that only served to spur Sebastian forward faster. His hold on you was unrelenting, effectively bending you backwards against his sweaty chest as he increased his pace and began spearing his cock into you with brutal efficiency.

It didn’t take long for him to start hitting the deepest parts of you, the thick head of his shaft curving up to graze deliciously over your sweet spot with every rough thrust. Your eyes rolled back in your skull, shameless noises spilling from your lips as Sebastian folded you backwards onto his cock to satiate himself. That familiar feeling blossomed low in your gut, and one of your hands flew back to dig your nails into the bare skin of Sebastian’s thigh behind you.

“Fuck, fuck, Sebastian–” your warbled voice was like music to his ears, pulling the corners of his mouth up into a devilish smile. His next thrust was particularly forceful, and the incriminating sound of skin slapping against skin filled the Undercroft, seemingly harmonizing with the cacophony of noises that the two of you created together. “Merlin–”

Sebastian growled, releasing your hair to trail his hand across your front and curl around your throat. He tightened his hold there, squeezing just enough so that your walls clenched around his cock as he upped his tempo. You were completely enveloped by him, held fast to his damp chest as he ruthlessly pounded into you, and the lack of oxygen to your brain numbed everything else as your second orgasm loomed threateningly overhead.

Overcome with telltale urgency, Sebastian chased his own pleasure desperately, bucking his cock deep into your clenching heat, wringing choked gasps and stuttered cries of his name from your open mouth, and he was fucking dizzy from how good it felt to be pressed against you, holding you tight in his arms. Sebastian tugged you closer to him to latch his lips over the sweaty skin below your ear, biting and sucking a mark there as he propelled his hips upwards inside of you.

There really wasn’t anything you could do to stop yourself from frantically rutting back in search of that building euphoria. You rode back onto Sebastian with as much give as you were allowed, your eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure and your thighs shaking from how good Sebastian was fucking you, filling you up deep and hard and fast, just how you liked it. The way he slammed you back down onto his rough thrusts by your throat only added fuel to the fire, leaving you a sloppy, gasping, pleading mess in his arms.

Sebastian released his ironclad grip around your waist to snake his hand lower to your sensitive clit, and your head fell back against his shoulder as he started rubbing firm circles over the overstimulated nub. Your voice strained against his uncompromising hold on your throat, “Fuck– Sebastian, please–”

“Come, darling, come on my cock. Let me hear your pretty noises, I’m so close,” he muttered the command against the shell of your ear, railing his cock into you so fast and so harshly, you had no choice but to oblige him.

Sebastian watched as you crumbled against him for the second time, utterly in love with the way your spine rounded as you sank into him, every part of your body trembling. Your walls tightened impossibly further around him, causing him to gasp into the crook of your neck, and Sebastian slammed his cock into your incredible cunt— nearly mindless from how you shook against him— and he fucked you clean through your orgasm until your sounds and body yanked him right over the edge with you. His dark eyes rolled shut, growling your name through his clenched teeth as his pace faltered before he was burying himself deep in you with a heady gasp.

The feeling of Sebastian emptying inside of you rendered you boneless, leaving your boyfriend with the task of keeping you upright as he ground his hips against your ass, milking himself dry with broken whimpers before halting his movements entirely. His hold around your throat loosened, and the rush of blood returning to your brain was akin to pure bliss alongside the remnants of your climax.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned after a few heated seconds, relaxing his grip on you so that he could slide himself out before gingerly lowering the two of you down onto the cushions together. Your hands slipped from the back of the couch and fell into your lap as Sebastian maneuvered you into a sitting position, your body too limp to even bother moving yourself. “Are you okay?”

You gave him a nonplussed blink as you willed your brain to function properly again, and then you nodded shakily. “Shit, yeah. I had no idea your bloodlust would turn you into such a lunatic, though,” you muttered, and Sebastian’s bellowing laugh roused you further from your post-coital state.

“It’s not bloodlust, darling. It’s you,” he countered easily, a smug smile playing on his freckled lips. He tucked his softening cock back into his briefs and tugged his pants back up over his hips before moving away from you to retrieve the scattered pieces of your uniform. When he reappeared with the ball of clothing, you took it graciously, staying seated on the couch as you worked your underwear up your unsteady legs. “I was serious about the sparring thing, too. I think it would be fun watching you let loose.”

You shot him a hesitant look, not particularly keen on his eagerness to get bloodied up at your hands, but his excitement at the thought was palpable, and you found yourself relenting to his ludicrous idea with a sigh after a few beats of silence. “Fine,” you conceded. “But only once. I don’t care how horny it makes you– I don’t like the thought of hurting you, no matter how easy it is to fix broken bones here.”

He had bent down to snatch his button up off the floor, but paused on his way up to glance at you with a pleased expression on his face. The shirt was momentarily forgotten as Sebastian fell to his knees once again, only this time it was to cradle your face in his warm hands and pull you in for a toe curling kiss. His thumbs traced along your cheekbones as his tongue delved deep in your mouth, and you sighed contentedly. The gentleness that always followed these heated moments between the two of you was, without a doubt, one of your favorite things.

Sebastian broke away to pepper a quick succession of lighter kisses all over your face, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly at his reverence. “Hell yes, whatever you want. I’ll do it wearing a damn ball gown if that’s what it takes.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re barking mad?”

He smirked, far too pleased to be hearing you say so. “From time to time, yes. Don’t lie, you love it.”

Your eyes twinkled with amusement, and fighting your smile proved to be easier said than done. “I love you. Your crazy ideas, however, I take with a grain of salt.”

From there, he stood fully to throw his shirt over his shoulders, and you mirrored his actions, redressing yourself as quickly as your shaky legs would allow. Once finished, you slipped Sebastian’s tie off of your neck, draping it over his shoulders with a coy smile, and you felt his arm coil around your waist to tug you flush against his front, stealing your lips in another steamy, doting kiss. You returned the gesture with equal fervor, rising to your tip-toes to trail your hands up into his hair to scratch shiver-inducing stripes down the nape of his neck.

The two of you stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before the screeching gears of the metal gate drew your attention, and you pulled apart at the same time Ominis strode into the Undercroft. His face was contorted in concentration, his wand sweeping across the room until he seemed to sense that yes, his two best friends had indeed abandoned him in the Great Hall to disappear into their shared space.

“Where the hell have you two been?” He asked, not even bothering to confirm that you were truly there. His outstretched wand pointed towards you both as he made his way to the back of the room. “I thought we were meeting for lunch, I’ve been entertaining idle gossip for the better part of a half hour. What is it that I keep hearing about Leander getting punched in the face?”

At that, you stepped away from Sebastian, adjusting your skirt slightly before bashfully rubbing the back of your neck. “Ah, yeah. That was me,” you confessed. “Word travels fast. What exactly is being said?”

Ominis cocked a brow at you as he came to halt a few feet away, a strange look passing over his features as his wand pulsed in your direction. “Rumor has it you broke his nose. Please tell me this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence– I can hardly keep up with Sebastian coming to blows with students as it is.”

“It won’t, don’t worry. I doubt he’ll even come around me anymore after this.”

Sebastian snickered under his breath, eyeing you with a proud look that reminded you of your recent escapades, and you blushed under his knowing stare. “If Leander knows what’s good for him, he won’t so much as glance in your direction for the rest of the year. But on that note, I’m famished. Anyone up for food?”

“I’ve been ‘up for food’ for thirty minutes,” Ominis muttered as he turned on his heel to head for the gate. The three of you fell into step alongside one another, Sebastian’s hand brushing against yours as you walked towards the exit, but then Ominis was pausing mid step, tilting his head up to… sniff the air? How odd. “Merlin’s beard, it smells like sex in here.”

You snatched your hand away from Sebastian’s to slap your palms over your eyes in embarrassment, every ounce of blood in your body rushing to your head and heating your cheeks as you willed the floor to open up underfoot and swallow you whole. Your boyfriend, however, only laughed.

“We had to work up an appetite before finding you,” Sebastian mused, unashamed at having been caught by the blond man. “Sorry, Ominis. I’ll send an owl next time.”

“Please stop fucking in the Undercroft. I’m too scared to sit down here anymore– I can’t tell whether I’m avoiding your cum stains or not.”

“You’ll want to steer clear of the lounge for the foreseeable future, then.” Sebastian fired back instantly, not a lick of chagrin to be detected in his voice. “That’s a mess you’ll want to avoid.”

“Please stop talking,” you grit through your teeth, and the coquettish expression on the brunet’s face warranted a sharp look from you. “Or I can’t promise I won’t punch you in the face next.”

“Didn’t we just establish that I want you to go that route? Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Ominis threw his hands up in utter exasperation, shaking his head in disbelief at Sebastian’s gall before damn near sprinting to leave the Undercroft, and the two of you were forced to skip after him as he ascended the staircase to head for the Great Hall. Even after sitting down and piling food on his plate, Sebastian continued to oggle you from his seat across the table. Every so often you would feel his foot nudge your calf, trailing the appendage up your leg to play with the hem of your skirt.

Despite your earlier mortification, he did a stellar job of brightening your mood, and when Ominis groused over his mug that the two of you should just get fucking married already, Sebastian looked at you wonderstruck, and he seemed to seriously consider it.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x female!reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow oneshot #sebastian sallow fanfic #ominis gaunt #leander prewett #sebastian sallow smut #my writing #probably counter productive to post this at 1am but I don't wanna look at it anymore

3K notes · View notes

delusional-day-dreamer · 5 months ago

Text

First. Love. Part¹ - p.b

playlist. next part.

‣ paige bueckers x oc (reader?, tbh i'm not sure how it works!)

‣ wc: 1790

‣‣ synopsis: people say in life, you have your FIRST love and your first LOVE, but what if paige was both?

‣‣‣ a/n: y'all i'm SO SORRY for my inactivity, summer classes and morning practices are awful. i promise i will try to release more fics on a more regular basis. For the sake of the FICTIONAL story, pazzi simply does not exist, they are best friends but denied the rumors during azzi's freshmen year and she has a boyfriend. Songs that are underlined are linked to tiktok covers just because I love them!

Us Weekly : Tuesday June 13th, 2023

Just this friday, upcoming singer-songwriter Jenna Smyths performs her own song, Means Something and an instrumental cover of Holy Ground by Taylor Swift at BBC Live Lounge to introduce her soon to be released debut album, Eternal Us (not my most creative moment I know 😔). The young singer has just graduated from UCLA after completing her three-year Bachelor's Degree with a double major, her focus being Business Economics with a minor in Film, Television, and Digital Media.

This Friday was Jenna's first televised performance, and her constantly sold out small-venue concerts have been applauded all over social media and by celebrities for her vocal maturity, depth and intricacy within her song lyrics, and her ability to convey raw emotion through her performances. However, this song cover was announced by the singer-songwriter to be particularly special to her, as she mentions that this song "brings back specific memories".

The twenty-one year old kept her composure throughout both songs, yet fans on various media platforms have pointed out Jenna's seemingly tear filled eyes during Holy Ground. The artist addresses the emotions she felt during the song during her first appearance on the Jimmy Fallon Show after performing her first released single, Promise, which is prominently featured as it’s one of her most popular singles.

The Tonight Show: Monday June 12th, 2023 "Please welcome to The Tonight Show, Jenna Smyths," Jimmy introduced you as you walked onto the set of the show, the live audience cheering loudly as you took your seat on the couch.

"Thank you so much Jimmy, it's such an honor to be here, sitting on this sacred couch," you joked, bringing some of your recently curled hair over your shoulder in hopes of disguising any traces of anxiety the crowd or camera may pick up. Thankfully, it worked as you heard the stir of laughter on set, allowing you to relax further into the couch, it actually was quite comfortable.

"It's incredible that we have you sitting here, I mean almost two years ago you blew up on TikTok for your incredible song covers, and then you started playing live in a bunch of LA venues, then you started releasing your own music, and now you're a UCLA Alumni sitting here," as he summed up your rise to fame, the audience began another round of applause.

"Oh my gosh I know right," you giggled, overjoyed that the audience was showing so much support towards you and that your first big interview was going so well. "I swear it was like two weeks ago I was singing on TikTok and then freaking out about my notifications and somehow I just teleported here," you laughed off the slight tinge you felt in your heart.

College had gone by far too quickly, and you were constantly consumed with stress regarding your future. Up until a few weeks ago, you had no idea what you were going to do with your life. What if your album flopped? What if you never made it big? How would you move on and get a regular job from there?

"Yes yes, I remember seeing some of your earliest covers on tiktok. In fact," a smirk appeared on his face, he clearly had something hiding up his sleeve. "We just so happen to have a little video edited together of your old covers, for old times' sake just to show how far you've come," he laughed at the nervous expression on your face and the crowd's enthusiasm.

"Oh god, some of those are from questionable times," you mumbled, raising your right hand to slightly cover your mouth as the video played.

Clips of you singing in your old college apartment bedroom appeared, switching in between guitar covers and piano while singing Katy Perry's Teenage Dream, We Can't Be Friends by Ariana Grande (yes pretend it was out at the time), Bags by Clairo, to the Man Who Can't Be Moved, and a few others. You watched your younger self, heartbroken and healing, singing songs to post on the internet just for your friends to watch, and yet somehow your voice had reached millions of people.

"Well you can see it here clear as day folks, Jenna has clearly always had a knack for those gut-wrenching songs, the ones that make you wonder if you're depressed or the artist is just incredibly good at what they do," you knew he was introducing your live performance with this, sneakily rubbing your sweaty palms over your jeans. You weren't nearly as scared as your BBC performance, but the combination of fear and adrenaline before any performance was overwhelming compared to logic at times.

"So what do you guys say, because I think we need to hear it live to determine which one it truly is," the small crowd erupted at Jimmy's rhetoric, eager to watch your performance.

"Well when you ask so nicely how could I ever refuse Jimmy?" You grinned, standing up to make your way over to the performance area with the live band.

With your guitar in your hands, you let the unique sense of calmness and security wash over you as you adjusted the mic in front of you. Music had always been one of the biggest parts in your life, and even know it never failed you. Not in your best moments, and not even in your worse.

"This is Promise from my new album, Eternal Us, out June 30th"

***Post-performance part of the interview***

"Jenna, you know I have to ask you this, because so far the songs on your album, your covers, and even your performance at the BBC Live Lounge were all fairly depressing songs," Jimmy insists. The two of you had been joking and answering the interview questions with a sense of ease after the performance aspect of the show. The audience was eating up the playful energy the two of you seemed to have, despite the twenty-seven year age gap.

"Please, ask away Jimmy," you quipped, enjoying your time on the show. The steady laughter from the live audience had long soothed any remaining nerves. Growing up, you always felt as if you were born to perform, and this type of live interview was right up your alley.

"And I swear I'm being serious with this, but does the emotion in your music affect you the same it affects your listeners? Because after your cover of Holy Ground aired, you blew up on social media even more then you were before. But one of the things your fans noticed was that it looked like you were gonna cry?" Jimmy inquired, you could hear small murmurs from the audience section at his question, no doubt intrigued to hear your answer.

"You know Jimmy," you began, "Honestly it was just a heat of the moment kinda thing. Like obviously I changed the song in a different key and sang it that way intentionally you know? Taylor is known for her ability to write the most gut-wrenching lyrics and then syncing them up to a catchy beat in a pop song and boom, it's a hit," you explained to both him and the crowd.

"But when I was offered the opportunity to go on BBC Live Lounge and I was trying to decide what song to cover, the lyrics of the song just really stuck out to me in a personal way and I wanted to convey to my listeners the emotions I felt reading and experiencing the lyrics, not listening to it as an upbeat pop song. But don't get me wrong, it's an incredible song just the way it is!" You ended your ramble enthusiastically, trying your best to not delve into the deeper emotions laced within your statement.

"Of course, I mean it was your first televised performance and to a Taylor Swift song no less, but this song has a very meaning to it, unlike some of Taylor's other doctorate-level essay worthy songs you could spend hours analyzing," Jimmy jokes, lightening the mood as always before asking the hard hitting question you had been dreading the entire interview.

"Why did you choose to sing a song about reminiscing of a past relationship, an ex lover if you will. I mean, a good majority of your songs follow the heartbroken post-breakup theme, but the media isn't aware of any relationships you may or may not have had during your time at UCLA, was there someone before?" He questions.

"You're right, I didn't have any actual relationships while at UCLA. My only serious relationship was during my last two years of high school, and a lot of my songs I'm releasing now were written during that time or even earlier, I've just polished them a lot. And of course, my earliest covers are from my freshman year of college, so the wound was still pretty fresh you know?" You skimmed over the topic, keeping the discussion as light-hearted as possible.

"Oh my god, all of that was from one person?" Jimmy jokes, unaware of how hard his statement hits home for you.

"Yeah I mean, I guess your first love will just do that to you, you know?" You joked back. You refused, refused, to let Paige Bueckers affect you in this way on national television. It had been three years for god's sake, you needed to get a grip of yourself.

"Well, they must have been one heck of a first love to be such a long-lasting muse for you," Jimmy pried, and you could tell he was waiting for you to give more details about your relationship.

"Nah nah, cut the cameras, I think we're out of time for tonight right," you nervously laughed, jokingly leaning over to gesture in an over the top manner to the camera crew to stop filming, which roused hefty laughter around set at your antics.

"Don't worry Jenna, we'll leave that topic for next time yeah?" Jimmy chuckled at your immediate refusal, using his perfected charm to continue the interview without any bumps or awkward conversations.

Before you knew it, the interview had been long over and you were laying in your hotel's bedroom. In your opinion, the NYC suite was luxurious and was far too large for just one person to reside. But fortunately for you, you were used to the sense of loneliness you felt in the empty room. To think that you were only a few hours away from Paige, your first love, your first everything, and yet you had never felt more separated from a person you used to love with your whole being.

Thank you for reading all the way through! Part 2 of So High School will be out soon I promise, this series just happened to randomly inspire me and I want to finish it asap before I lose motivation or hit writer's block!

376 notes · View notes

anundyingfidelity · 1 year ago

Text

FOR ALL TIME, ALWAYS – Loki x female reader

Summary: Loki escapes the TVA for a moment. Desperate and brokenhearted, he looks for you, his wife, in the Sacred Timeline. Even if you saw him die ten years ago.

Word count: 3.9k.

Warnings: LOTS of angst, some fluff, spoilers of Loki series in general. Language. Maybe I'm not getting how the branches work oops. This is right after the end of 2x02 and before 2x03. My English is also a warning, just in case.

Notes: while looking on the tags I checked a post of someone asking for a TVA Loki fic where he finds the reader but her Loki died in IW (not canon in my head btw). So I wrote it because is such a great idea, but I can't find the original post... ;-; anyway hope you like this!

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

It's harder to stay...

Wasn't this situation hard enough? Sylvie was right. She had a point. But Loki wanted to do the right thing. Maybe he would find a chance... Again, right? Probably he would make the proper decisions this time.

The TVA was already fucked up, and with it, the thousands of timelines and lives in danger within them. Sometimes, it looked like it didn't matter. In the end, they were trying to fix something that was already broken.

Loki let out a deep breath he didn't realise was holding and walked to talk directly to his partner, Mobius.

"I need a favor," Loki mumbled, so the grey-haired man would be the only person to hear his voice.

Mobius met his eyes. He knew that gaze, it meant he was up to something. "What kind of favor?"

The god motioned Mobius to step away from the newly acknowledged variants and far away from what B-15 was witnessing. The branches were pruned from the whole existence; thousands and millions of lifes lost to the void in just the blink of an eye. Loki knew he had to do something before it got worst. Something for himself.

"I need to go the Sacred Timeline," Loki announced.

"Are you nuts?" Mobius scolded, in the same low voice tone Loki had used.

"Is just- listen, it's something I have to do. I really need to go back there. Need to see someone, make sure everything is okay," Loki insisted.

During all the times Loki showed he was desperate, Mobius was sure this was the peak of all of them. He wasn't explaning more than necessary, he looked serious, and his voice was crisp. Loki knew what he wanted at that moment. Mobius sighed, his hands finding the pockets of his pants, unsure of Loki's request.

"So it's personal..."

"A little, yeah," Loki nodded.

"Promise it'll be quick," Mobius said, taking off the TemPad from his pocket and his hand stopped in the air before the object could lay in the god's grip. "Don't make me regret this."

"I won't."

2029, Sacred Timeline

When Loki arrived to his destination, the nerves got the best from him. New York looked no different from the last time he was there. Shifting his usual clothes he wore at the TVA, he chose a plain suit to go undercover, or at least decided he would try to, considering he was a criminal once in Midgard.

But as he walked through the halls of the familiar building he met decades ago, he didn't really care. He longed for something else. Better say, someone. And it was you.

You, who met him in the past right after Thor's banishment, and even helped him to find the Teseract, only to give up to SHIELD and those idiots that people called 'The Avengers'. Of course his heart hurted for a long time, but Loki tried to deny the feelings blooming inside and instead, he just decided to walk away from you, even if that meant hurting you. It was the best.

At least that was what he believed until he checked further his file; the file that Mobius had prepared for him. His life. Even after what he did to your people and planet, you still held no grudges. And Thor was good enough to seek for yours and the sorcerer's, Stephen Strange, help once Hela appeared in their lives.

Loki would never forget the loving look in your beautiful eyes when you saw him again, after years of parting ways. He really paid attention to you while watching his file, and he found there was only love, protection, and care in you. All for him. Someone who didn't deserve it, he thought.

He felt grateful at least he had the pleasure to enjoy happiness for a moment. Even if that meant Asgard was destroyed. Loki already lost his mother, his father, and he almost lost his brother. He couldn't stand losing you either. The simple idea of living without you - even if he didn't know you further than your Loki did - was unbearable pain.

So while in the ship on the way to Midgard with the asgardians and survivors of the Ragnarok, you held a cozy, small wedding when he asked you to marry him. This was one of the parts Loki would replay again and again from his file, with disbelief that he was actually happy and joyful, enjoying a good time with you, his brother, and all the asgardians who survived. Loki felt full of hope after your wedding, thinking fate had better things to come with you as an oficial part of his life.

Unfortunately, it didn't last long, thanks to the Mad Titan. As his steps got near your door, the memory of his brother and your figure mourning on his lifeless body appeared on his mind. It was an image he couldn't erase that easily. Probably, he would never forget that was his original destiny all the way. That was meant to be. And for now, he could not change it.

Loki stopped outside your apartment. He took a deep breath and raised his shaking hand to reach the doorbell. He waited for a moment, not knowing if seconds or minutes went by, it felt eternal. Until the door opened and he saw you.

The bright smile you had on your lips faded away. Your eyes flooded with tears, your forehead was furrowed, and still, Loki thought you were the most beautiful creature in all the Nine Realms.

"Hi..." Loki barely whispered, his eyes were glossy and a single tear also ran down his pale cheek.

You were clearly in shock. You wanted to get closer and finally touch him, to feel him physically. But even if you wanted to move to take his hand to confirm it wasn't a trick of your ruined mind, your body was stiff and your feet were glued to the ground.

"Is this an illusion?" you trembled.

All Loki could do was shaking his head, before muttering. "No..."

"Loki, I saw you die..."

Tears ran down your face, denying to yourself that this was real. That this was really happening to you. And your mind started to wonder all the possible scenarios and reasons on why him, the god of mischief, the only person you loved dearly with all your mind, body and soul, was standing right in front of your door even if he was gone for you... Long gone now. And that couldn't be undone.

"I know you did, my love."

You tried to smile, even a little bit, as he pronounced those words so dearly. Loki came closer to your figure, carefully placing a trembling hand on your cheek, feeling the tears flowing on your skin. You leaned into his touch, with a simpering smile. Such was the effect you had on him, that a silly smile he also had on his lips.

And you realized Loki was so real... His touch, his heat, his smile, his scent, the way he would hold you... Everything about him was exactly as you remembered. You felt his lips brushing softly against yours, gentle and hesitant, and instantly, you melted into a slow kiss, sure knowing that Loki would taste the salt of your tears running down your face. Leaning in closer as the space between would allow you, you savoured each second your breaths allowed, longing to remain right there for eternity. For all time. Always.

"But now I am here... and I can explain," he whispered once you separated your lips from his in the sweetest way.

You let out a soft chuckle. "Mind to enlighten me, oh, god of mischief?"

Finally you guided him inside your apartment. That old apartment Loki saw his other self visiting a couple of times before you were something. It still had your vibe around it and he loved it. He felt like he was at home after a very long time. Once you closed the door, his arms wrapped around your figure, and you let yourself cry, pressing against his chest and with a tight grip of your hands on his coat.

"You don't have any idea of how much I have missed you all these years," you sobbed and his heart shrank on his chest. "I kept wishing every night and every day to be me instead of you."

"My love," he said softly, separating a little and cupping your cheeks with his warm hands. His eyes were red now because of the tears he was holding back again. "Don't say that... It was supposed to happen."

"What?" you mumbled.

Your hands found his wrists and you pulled his palms away from your cheeks. However you kept the contact with him, you just needed to touch him, to feel he was in the flesh. He was alive right now, wasn't he?

"Look, I am not your Loki. I know what you did, what the Avengers did after Thanos-" his voice broke just a bit but he continued. "I know everything. I just couldn't resist knowing there was someone for me, out there in the Nine Realms, capable to love me for who I am," Loki explained as he watched your face. Was it disappointment? Confusion? He didn't know, but he had to tell you the truth.

Your voice came out as a barely audible whisper. "So... you are saying... you're another Loki? Another him?"

He nodded softly. "I am." Loki thought for a moment on how to explain everything, but he just went for what his heart felt it was right. "It's a little complicated. I did something that wasn't supposed to be, and perhaps will sound like I'm insane, but thanks to that I am kind of trapped in time. With an organization that is not what everyone thought it was, hence a multiverse was created. Sponsored by another me, by the way. You are in what is called the Sacred Timeline, where things flow as how they were supposed to since forever. And I just needed to see you after I found out you were the love of my life."

You took a moment to understand everything he said, wishing that his fate would have been different from what originally happened. Loki gave his best, even in the last worst moments, he was changing for good. For you. For Thor... It wasn't fair.

"Your death was supposed to be then?"

"Yes, it was."

"Oh, Loki," you cried. "You know what, I don't care what's happened. I'm just- I feel happy seeing you here... Please tell me everything you've been through. I want to hear your voice again, to know you're with me right now, to feel you near... I'm not crazy, am I?" you chuckled between tears and Loki curved his lips in a smile, wiping your tears from your face with his thumbs.

Loki granted your wish and explained everything, answering every question you had about the lies of the TVA; the files he found out were his whole life; about Sylvie, Mobius and his variants. He spilled all you wanted to hear, asking like a child, until you understood what was happening. You noticed he truly had changed, just like your Loki did when he reunited with Thor before the Ragnarok took over Asgard. It was a bittersweet feeling however, thinking how much they they seemed to each other. They were the same person after all, but this Loki didn't had the chance to continue his path as it was supposed to.

Taking his hand into yours, you leaned towards him and laid down your head on his shoulder while you both sat comfortable in the couch, just enjoying each others company. Your eyes were dry at this point after crying for what it felt were hours, but his voice helped to soothe you enough.

"I'm glad knowing you have someone like Mobius by your side," you said after a quiet moment. "He sounds like a very good friend," you looked at him, waiting for an answer. "Because that's what he is to you, right?"

"He is a great friend, I'm not alone if that is what is troubling you," Loki affirmed.

You let out a sigh. "That is totally a relief to me."

Loki chuckled softly, leaning to leave a kiss on your hair. "Now you've heard everything about me, would I hear something from you?"

"I'm just a mortal, Loki," you smiled. "Doing the normal shit, not the superhero stuff anymore. I am hating my pretty much normal office job every day; I feed the birds when I go outside at the park, also thinking about adopting a cat or a dog... Maybe a dog."

"Or you could do both."

"Yeah, I might. But my place isn't that big for pets. Sometimes I feel like I'm too alone, very much alone... I would love to have a big farm, or a cabin in the mountains with lots of plants, pets and animals to take care of." The idea did sound good for Loki. Hopefuly you could find peace that way. "Do you remember Pepper?" you said, straighting up on the couch to look at him. He nodded. "Well, after Tony died I still visit her and their daughter, Morgan. She is ten years old, could you believe it?" Loki noticed the sorrow and pain you still carried after all those years of losing your friends, your people... "And I've been missing you and mourning you for ten years as well."

"It's not your fault."

"I know, Loki."

"Do whatever is the best for you, my dear... I would have loved to be here with you now, as the Loki from the Sacred Timeline."

You smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Well, either way, you're here now. It's all that matters to me."

Once again, you shared a loving kiss and took his hand to walk to the kitchen, asking him to take a seat in your breakfast bar, glad he decided to search for you in one of your free days. Otherwise, you would have surely missed his visit. But he was looking for you. Probably Loki would have found you anywhere at this point.

You talked some more while you had some tea and ate some cookies that you saved for special days on the shelfs. The afternoon was pleasant, and this was your turn to speak. Loki, coat long gone, was catching up with you and he asked every single thing about your life now. He smiled more than ever, laughed more than you have ever seen, and it was certainly something you could get used to from now on. Knowing you never continued your life with another person made his heart ache though. However, Loki was no one to blame. He would have done the same thing. No other was like you, no one would have replaced you.

"It's my decision," you finally said, reading his face like an open book. "I have loved you, I love you now and I will love you forever."

He took your hand, lacing your fingers with his. "I know..."

"The day we married you gave me a ring. I always have it with me, today I'm not working, but I use this necklace with your ring," you searched for the necklace hiding inside your shirt and taking it off, you showed him the precious jewel hanging on a fine golden chain. The ring he recognized once was from his mother. "I want you to have it."

"No,I can't-"

"But this is what I want. I know I would have to forget, because you will make me forget about this. About you, coming here, risking everything just to see me. So please, take it."

Loki knew you had made a decision, but then if he left, taking your memories away about this day, what was left for you? He had nothing, and it was okay. He would still know he came to the Sacred Timeline; that he kissed you, that you shared a moment together, that you still loved him. But you will have none of that. And you, as human as you were, would die without the memories and without the ring. You would have nothing and he was sure couldn't bear it.

"Perhaps I can have something else to remember you, I want you to keep this ring as a promise," he closed your hand around the necklace. "My promise that I still love you and I will do it. Forever."

And you sighed, taking the necklace back with a smile. Always so stubborn. "Give me a moment."

Loki saw you leave the kitchen for some minutes. While he was alone, he noticed the sunset through the windows, as it was almost ending to welcome the dark sky around the city. He knew he had to go soon. As much as he didn't want to and the simple thought of runing away was starting to hurt him deep inside.

When you arrived, you stood by his seat on the breakfast bar, putting a small photograph, perfect for a passport, on the surface. It was all in black and white, and you looked what you thought it was nice. Loki took it between his hands, lovingly and with a proud smile on his face.

"I used that when I was taking my Master's degree. Looks pretty decent," you joked.

Loki laughed, tears right at the corner of his eyes. "It's more than that. It's perfect."

His smile faded, knowing this meant he had to leave you again. Loki wasn't supposed to have a happy ending, was he? How he wished to stay there by your side.

You kissed his cheek as a sort of goodbye and comfort at the same time, noticing the sudden change on his face and whispered softly. "So you don't search for me on those files."

"Thank you, love."

Loki got on his feet to put his coat on, like some sort of mental preparation before leaving your apartment and the Sacred Timeline. He saved your photograph on his pocket securely along with Mobius' TemPad, pretending to be strong and swallowing all the pain he was feeling right at that moment. You took his hand, lacing your fingers together one last time and walked until you stood there, in the middle of your living room. He looked at you with loving eyes, trying to save your face and your figure before returning to where he was supposed to be now. And it seemed like time had stopped, as everything Loki could see and feel was you and only you.

"I guess is time now," you began, interrupting his mind.

"I guess it is," Loki nodded, expecting an answer from you. Anything. But it never came. You were also trying to save the moment as much as you could.

So he cupped your cheeks, feeling for the last time your warm, soft skin against his palms. He didn't want to talk, because if he would have said something, it meant you were really saying goodbye forever. What Loki didn't know is that you felt the same thing.

Was there something good to say to your lover, whose destiny was just to bring the best from other people with his cruelty and chaos? To the man who had learn to make things better and, in the end, died trying to protect his people and his wife? Was there anything out there that would bring the god of mischief the happiness and love you always knew he deserved? With these branches and multiverse thing, you hoped deep in your heart there was a universe where he found what he longed for so long. This was just one of many of them. Probably he was happy and living in peace in some others.

"I love you, Loki," you mumbled. He caressed your skin with his thumbs and wiped the small tears that were running on your cheeks.

"I love you too."

Loki leaned to kiss you one last time. You welcomed the kiss with shut eyes, savouring his lips and the taste of your tears, mixing now with his own.

The pain started to bloom; every heartbeat felt like a sledgehammer pounding against his chest. He was not ready to let you go, so this was all he could do. The seidr flowed from his fingers, the green lights covering your body with the help of the spell he casted for you was made to protect you from anything that could get out of hand in the Sacred Timeline, particularly from his own hands, the hands of the TVA, or any other danger that could chase you. Because if something would happen to you due to his stubborn decision, Loki knew he wouldn't forgive himself. What he was sure about though, was that he would still look for you until the end of time.

So when the kiss ended, you fell asleep in seconds. He had to take your sleeping figure with his arms to your bedroom, where he carefully laid you down on the bed. Making sure you were comfortable in your sleep, fixing the pillows and the blankets, Loki remained there, just to take in the serenity emanating from you. It was something you had, the ease and calm your aura projected to everyone in the room. This was the last thing Loki wanted to save from you.

He kissed your forehead and dried the tears on your face before standing up. Once you were to wake up in some hours, you would not be able to know everything was real. Loki made sure you thought it was a dream. So that is what you would have in your head. Something you wished for so long that will only be nothing but thoughts, scenes and emotions that felt absolutely true. As real as life could be.

Loki took the TemPad and opened the timedoor to go back to the TVA, where he knew Mobius would be waiting already since he left for hours. Without looking back to your room, he stepped in and forced to compose himself just in case he would bump into someone else. He sighed, observing through the halls of the headquaters as he made his way back to the room that was assigned to him.

At his door, a worried Mobius was already waiting for him, walking in circles.

"God, Loki I thought you were gone for a second," the analyst breathed out. Loki just handed the TemPad and Mobius took it back. He noticed his weary demeanor and teary eyes. "Thank you. Sorry I doubted you for a second."

"It's fine," Loki shrugged it off, looking for something on his pocket. The photograph slipped from his fingers and fell down to the floor. Mobius was quick enough to pick it up for him, but as he gave it back to his owner he observed it thoroughly.

"So this was the personal thing you did," Mobius said, looking the photograph resting on Loki's hand. He remembered that face from his files.

"Yeah... I guess all set now," Loki sighed.

"Good, I hope you're ready for another trip to the Sacred Timeline." Mobius turned to walk away, deciding it was better to give him some time, but he turned back to Loki before doing so. "And if you're feeling like talking about this any day, only between us, just let me know."

And with that, he walked away. Loki smiled, standing alone outside his door.

You were right. Mobius was a good friend.

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #tva loki x reader #tva loki x female reader #tva!loki x reader #loki imagines #loki angst #loki laufesyon x reader #loki series fanfiction #loki season 2 #mcu loki x reader #mcu loki #loki series

2K notes · View notes