#and she couldn’t understand that at the time

[chrollogy]

EPISODE 2: CHOCOLATE GONE WRONG

neuvillette x f!reader

NNN ‘24 masterlist | Next Episode

DETAILS: Neuvillette finds himself itching to break the sacred rule of No Nut November after naïvely indulging in aphrodisiac-laced chocolates gifted by Sigewinne—a popular craze among young Fontanian adults.

DURATION: 5.3k

CONTENT ADVISORY: explicit smut, mdni, porn without plot, p in v, creampie, neuvi has two cocks + emphasis on his draconic features, use of aphrodisiacs (neuvillette), neuvi uses his cane as a makeshift leg spreader bar, pet names (ma/mon chérie, ma belle, (my) love), not beta read

DIRECTOR’S NOTES: divider: cafekitsune. round 2! also i’m not quite sure i will get the next two fics out in time (or if i’m getting them out at all) but i will try my best T_T. your lil moon is having a rough patch rn so yeah but nonetheless enjoy!

For Neuvillette, the month of November was nothing significant to say the least—his job continued, overseeing trials, sorting out documents, meeting with important people, and more workload now that Lady Furina had stepped down from archon hood; so, when you had come into his office one day, talking about how a certain trend spread like fire across Teyvat, Neuvillette was rather intrigued.

It had a weird name—No Nut November—and couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea based on the name alone. He remembered how you explained to him Fontanians, and people of other nations were to engage in No Nut November which was to participate in sexual abstinence.

Naturally, the idea was all bizarre to him—not because he thought he couldn’t do it but more so the fact that it was natural for humans to engage in intercourse, same goes for his kind as well. Neuvillette couldn’t see the significance of such a trend, and why humans were participating but who was he to deny your proposal of a challenge? After all, there was no harm involved, he figured it would help him understand human customs a little better despite the it’s strangeness in nature.

Situated behind his desk, Neuvillette let out a deep sigh, letting the papers in his hand fall onto the wooden desk beneath before rubbing his temples. 

“Stressed, Monsieur?” A familiar, teasing voice sliced through the suffocating silence of the Iudex’s office. Neuvillette looked up from his desk, greeted by a friendly figure. The former was too focused on the case materials before him that he hadn’t realised the presence of another, “Wriothesley. I’m rather surprised to see you.”

The raven-haired male was clad in his usual attire, heavy obsidian boots sounding with each step taken against the carpeted floors.

“Ah, you’re not the only one.” Wriothesley chuckled, recalling his encounter with Sedene just mere seconds ago, who looked like she had just seen a ghost. Before Neuvillette could inquire about the sudden visit, the former beat him to it,

“Don’t worry, I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here because Sigewinne had given me an errand to run. She got these for you.” Taking a couple steps closer to Neuvillette’s desk, Wriothesley placed a small box atop the case papers. Carefully wrapped in an ivory satin ribbon, the azure container was adorned with intricate designs in gold that shone beneath the afternoon sun, neatly decorated chocolates peeked from the plastic window of the lid.

The Chief Justice subtly raised his brows in amusement, he wasn’t one to indulge in chocolate nor was he a sweet tooth but nonetheless, he appreciated Sigewinne’s thoughtful gesture.

“That is very kind, please thank her for me.”

Watching the way Neuvillette’s expression morphed into a naïve smile, Wriothesley crossed his arms over his chest, “Say, Monsieur, have you heard of the craze among young Fontanian adults right now?” He most likely already knew the Iudex’s answer to the question but what was life without a little teasing?

With how the popular sweet has been making rounds across Fontaine, it would be near impossible for anyone to be clueless about it but at the end of the day, Neuvillette was Neuvillette, probably the busiest man in all of Fontaine which is why Sigewinne had to intervene with the chocolates. The head nurse didn’t have to physically see the Iudex to tell how much he’s been overworking himself nor was a simple order from her was going to stop him.

So, what better way to disguise a remedy with something simple? Basically akin to administering medication to a pet concealed as a tasty treat

Sexual intercourse was the fastest—and best—way to relieve him of his stress. Sigewinne hoped for the Iudex to pardon her complete brazenness but he was as stubborn as a rock, and took her orders about resting rather lightly.

Naturally, Neuvillette shook his head with a light chuckle, a tinge of interest seeping its way into his skin, “I believe I’ve heard her talk about it but the details must have slipped my mind.” A subtle blush blanketed the Chief Justice’s pale cheeks at the mention of his lover, you. Wriothesley’s lips stretched into a teasing smile—one which the former paid no attention to.

 “Well, would you ever try an aphrodisiac?” At Neuvillette’s baffled expression, the younger male bit the inside of his cheeks, biting back a hearty laugh. 

“An aphrodisiac, you say? Substances that—” “That increases one’s libido, yes.” Wriothesley cut him off, tease practically dripping from his tone. Neuvillette was a man capable of many things, an esteemed individual once he’s in court but when it came to much simpler matters, the Chief Justice was nothing but clueless, especially regarding human customs that are a bit harder to wrap one’s head around.

“I’m afraid I have no such time for trivial things.”

The Iudex shook his head once more, this time dismissively waving a gloved hand at his friend. He cleared his throat, the blush on his cheeks deepening into a crimson hue—Neuvillette wasn’t going to say it out loud, especially not in front of Wriothesley but he deemed himself more than capable of maintaining his sexual desires and performances, you were enough proof.

Wriothesley left it at that, his friend may just end up as red as a tomato if he prodded around the topic any further. Needless to say, amusement filled him to the brim, “Alright. It was nice chatting with you Monsieur. I believe Sigewinne also left a small note there—”

The latter looked down at the box. Indeed, there was a small piece of paper neatly folded and tucked beneath the ivory ribbon.

“—do heed her letter.” With that, Wriothesley dipped his chin, sauntering over to the double doors.

Reaching for the handle, the Duke stopped in his tracks, he looked over his shoulder, icy cerulean gaze full of mischief, “Oh, and I hope you two enjoy—the chocolates, I mean.” With that, he left the office, leaving Neuvillette to his thoughts.

The day went by rather quickly, the azure skies turning into golden hues of oranges and yellows as the sun bid farewell to its people, disappearing below the horizon. The chocolates from Sigewinne remained untouched on the corner of Neuvillette’s desk, it watched as stars decorated the night sky; though, as the Chief Justice retired for the evening, he grabbed the box of sweets before heading out.

Neuvillette figured he’d share them with you at home.

Greeted with silent darkness, he was suddenly reminded of your words this morning at breakfast: ‘Oh, I have work dinner later, my love; so, I won’t be eating here. We’re celebrating a company milestone.’ Conveniently enough, Neuvillette had already eaten at his office before leaving so he won’t have the pleasure of sitting across an empty seat at the dining table.

Getting ready for the chilly night ahead, Neuvillette changed into his evening attire after taking a warm bath, he donned silken azure pyjamas paired with a fluffy ivory robe. His silver strands cascaded down the length of his spine, the cerulean bow, and golden hair clips he usually wore were neatly tucked away inside his jewellery box.

Situated on the love seat, Neuvillette casually flipped through case documents inside a brown paper folder. The fireplace across him was ablazed with hues of oranges and reds, casting a citrine glow upon the dimly lit living room. As flames danced atop dry wood, the dulcet sound of classical music poured from the record player, filling the space with its tunes.

After minutes of skimming and scanning the documents, he reached for the box of sweets next to his lap, taking time to read Sigewinne’s carefully written note:

Monsieur Neuvillette, I’ve acquired these sweets for you, and her! I figured these would help you loosen up a little so please do not shy away from consuming as much as you want. Make sure to share them with her as well. Enjoy!

Love, Sigewinne

A warm smile spread across Neuvillette’s face, and despite his better judgement of waiting for you to come home and indulge in the taste of chocolate together, he figured one piece wouldn’t hurt to try alone, right?

With the moon high up in the obsidian night sky, you walked down the cobblestone footpath that led closer to yours and Neuvillette’s shared space, the evening breeze gently caressing the apple of your cheeks. Work dinner had just concluded at Hotel Debord which housed a lovely singer who put on a dazzling performance.

By now, the streets of the Court of Fontaine were more deserted as people retired to their homes for the night, shop owners here and there packed away their respective signage, their stores devoid of any customers.

With each step leading closer to home, you soon found yourself in front of your home, keys jingling between your fingers as you unlocked the front door. From the entrance hallway, warm hues greeted you like an embrace, hinting at the ablazed fireplace in the living room.

“My love? I’m home.” You called out to Neuvillette while skilfully removing your shoes, and neatly placed them beside his own.

Met with silence, you figured he either must be occupied with something or must have fallen asleep while waiting for your return. You sauntered over to the end of the entrance hallway, making your way to the living room, and as you got closer, melodic sounds engulfed your senses—you recognized it, Neuvillette’s favourite classical music.

Turning the corner, you were greeted with a rather interesting sight, a wave of concern washing over you,  “Neuvi—Are you okay?”

Seated on the love seat was Neuvillette, his left elbow propped on its arm rest, face hiding behind his hand. A deep crimson blush painted his handsome face, intensified by the reds and oranges that the fireplace emitted. He sat there looking flustered, chest heaving up and down as he took heavy breaths. Drinking in the view, you noticed documents sprawled across the empty space next to him but what really caught your eye was the intricately designed box resting on his right thigh.

The box had its lid intact yet the loose ivory ribbon draped over his thigh hinted he had previously opened it. Upon closer inspection, you realised it's familiar packaging, a co-worker had shown it to you the other day, telling you how her and her boyfriend have been dying to try the popular chocolates—chocolates laced with a potent aphrodisiac. 

Your gaze made its way back to Neuvillette—who was still breathing heavily on the love seat—now noticing the prominent tent beneath his silken pants, the azure fabric was flimsy and delicate which left little to your imagination. Pushing away the impure thoughts that snaked its way into your mind, you kneeled before your lover with a concerned expression,

“My love, who gave these to you?”

Knowing Neuvillette, he most likely consumed the chocolates without knowing its true contents simply because he wasn’t aware of the trivial things that humans indulged themselves in.

He let out a pained groan, shaky and vulnerable as he shifted in his seat, “Forgive me, ma chérie. This is improper of me.” With trembling hands, Neuvillette covered his throbbing groin, completely embarrassed that you had to see him in such a state. Truth be told, he didn’t know what came over him—a chocolate or two was all he had, and the next thing he knew, his skin burned like a thousand suns as blood rushed down, down, down to his cock.

The very core of Neuvillette’s body churned with desire—carnal desire—and as each second passed, each tick of the ivory wall clock, the uncomfortable yearn between his legs grew. A light sheen of sweat coated his feverish forehead, as though he was experiencing a fever, and whatever this was, it heightened all five of his senses.

From your voice sounding like it dripped with pure honey, all the way to the saccharine scent of your body, Neuvillette was driven mad with lust. It didn’t help how you kneeled before him, and gently caressed his thigh, a poor attempt of comfort because it brought nothing but waves of icy shudders down the length of his spine. Sensitive. His body was completely sensitive to any external stimuli, and if you rubbed his leg any further, he might just come undone.

An embarrassing thought.

Neuvillette was pathetically needy. How preposterous, the high esteemed Iudex of Fontaine reduced to nothing but a lust-driven man eager to shove his aching cock deep in your velvety walls. The subtle buck of his hips against the thick air; the way he swallowed breathless whimpers at your touch; the violent throbbing between his legs, he was beyond irredeemable.

With another grunt, Neuvillette panted out, “Sigewinne gifted them. Wriothesley had delivered it to my office this afternoon.”

Truth be told, you weren’t surprised. At all.

Standing up from your spot, you walked over to the wall phone. You tried your best to ignore the dainty whimper that fell from Neuvillette’s lips as your warm touch left his thigh, you also tried to ignore how his body involuntarily sought you out—trembling hands reaching to chase your gentle hold.

With glassy eyes, Neuvillette watched as you deftly dialled on the phone, he couldn’t help but trace your breathtaking figure, from the square of your shoulders all the way to the curves and dips of your legs. Oh, the things he’d do to spread them open, and inhale your sweet essence like a mad man. Neuvillette could practically taste your honey on his tongue, its velvety texture sliding down his throat.

Another groan escaped your lover at the thought of eating you out, his cock rubbed against the fabric of his underwear as it shamelessly twitched beneath his pants.

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d be calling given the . . . circumstances.” Of course Wriothesley knew. Pure tease dripped from his honeyed voice, most likely paired with a smug smile, and an icy, taunting gaze.

“Why would you give him that?!” 

A chuckle from the other end of the line, “First of all, I just delivered the present. Our head nurse here bought it. She’s helping Monsieur Neuvillette out.”

You huffed, trying to make sense of Sigewinne’s motives, “By what? Feeding him chocolates with a potent substance?” You’ve always adored how Sigewinne cared for her loved ones, especially Neuvillette—whatever one’s deal was, she was always willing to help out in her own unique way. But this . . giving him such a substance without any warning felt like foul play, and not only was Neuvillette receiving the short end of the stick, you were as well.

You weren’t naïve, aphrodisiacs only wore off after one has reached their satisfaction through sexual means, like quenching one’s thirst. 

“You’re making it sound like we gave him drugs.” “It is drugs, Wriothesley!”

Before you could say anything else, gentle, yearning arms wrapped around your front, caressing your stomach which ultimately caught you off guard. Neuvillette. Nuzzling into the junction of your neck just beneath the telephone against your ear, he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive spot, soft smacks of his lips loud enough for Wriothesley to pick up.

You bit back a moan, free hand coming up to rest on the wall to support your weight. Neuvillette’s kisses had your legs trembling, it left prominent goosebumps in its wake as he trailed further down to your shoulder blades.

“Hm. Looks like it's time for me to go. Pass on my best wishes to Monsieur Neuvillette.” And with that, he hung up the phone.

“My apologies, ma chérie. I just—I need you.” Neuvillette sighed, hot breath ghosting over your bare skin, akin to a gentle caress coaxing you into the borders of lust, like a lone finger protruding from the darkness, beckoning you to its endless, sinful void.

“Love—mhm!” You let out a yelp, his hands finding comfort on the curve of your hips, keeping them still as he slotted his clothed cock between your ass. Neuvillette grinded into you, unshameful and devoid of any decorum. Placing the telephone back on the wall, your nails dug into the hearts of your palms, just the feel of his hard cock had you embarrassingly wet already.

Neuvillette was different from this, despite his sexual urges, he was never forward with you, he took his time—sensual and sincere, treating you like the finest piece of gold to ever exist. But saying you weren’t enjoying his brazenness would be a complete lie. Seeing a different side to your lover put you in a rather sensitive state, almost like a virgin bedded for the first time.

Something primal had awoken deep inside his core, and the only way to handle it was to satiate his carnal thirst.

Nonetheless, you tried to get your point across, “Neuvi . . What you’re experiencing is the effect of an aphrodisiac from those chocolates Sigewinne gave you.”

Your words fell deaf on his pointed ears, instead, Neuvillette mumbled some of his own, “I’m sorry . . Ma belle, I promised you about that challenge but it seems I cannot fight my urges any longer.” Another shaky sigh left his rosy lips.

Challenge? Oh.

Oh.

Even in his lust-driven state, Neuvillette was still thinking about the No Nut November challenge you had proposed earlier this month.

“I’m a man of my word but I need you, my love. Let me break the rules just this once, please?” Pure desperation coated every word that came out of his mouth. It was thick like honey, and melted on your skin like snow. God, at this point the stupid challenge wasn’t even on your mind anymore, not when he desperately humped your ass like an animal in heat—quick, little ruts of his hips that soothed the ache a bit better.

Who were you to deny your lover?

The transition from the living room to the shared bedroom was a blur—everything was hasty; desperate hands exploring each other’s bodies; lips sealed together in a rough, passionate kiss; a trail of clothes messily discarded on the floor leading up to the room. Everything Neuvillette did had you on your toes, completely breathless while trying to mirror his hurried actions.

Normally, Neuvillette would bask in your serene glory, peeling clothes off from your body layer by layer, and decorating your exposed skin with butterfly kisses. He’d gently stroke your hair, slender fingers weaving through the strands as he takes in your bare beauty.

Now, his tongue swiftly explored your mouth—lengthy and thick—something he has never done before. It dizzied you.

You landed on the foot of the plush mattress with a soft gasp as Neuvillette pulled away. Breathless and flustered, you stared up at him through your lashes, soft pants escaping your kissed lips. The sight before him made his cock twitch. How your hair was splayed around your head, mimicking a soft halo, a divine being greater than he.

Neuvillette discarded the last two pieces of clothing���pants and underwear—in one fell swoop, and what came into view undoubtedly had you clenching around nothing. Standing proud and heavy at the base of his abdomen were his cocks, both painted in a deep vermillion hue, and generously leaking pre-cum. The sticky pearlescent substance coated his bulbous tips, it glistened beneath the moonlight, beckoning you to wrap your lips around them, and have a feast.

This wasn’t the first time you saw Neuvillette naked nor were you not aware of his kind but it always brought you shock every time, not to mention the faint cerulean scales the underside of his cocks boasted, it was also his sensitive spot.

Stepping out from the puddle of fabric around his ankles, Neuvillette did the same to your undergarments, mindlessly tossing them elsewhere in the room. A low growl sounded from his chest as he pried your legs apart, his deft hands guided them to bend at the knees while resting the soles of your feet on the edge of the mattress, putting your glistening cunt on full display.

In less than a heartbeat, Neuvillette was on his knees, his eager tongue lapping along the length of your slit, your arousal pooled at the tip of his tongue like sinful honey, the divine taste of your cunt prompting another shameless growl from your lover. He repeated the movement a couple of times, each lick reaching closer and closer to your sensitive clit, and when he finally reached it with his hardened tongue, you let out a surprised gasp.

“Neuvillette!”

Shocks of electrifying pleasure kissed its way up your spine as Neuvillette tongued at your swollen bud—tight, fast circles, up and down, side to side, he toyed with you like it was the only thing he knew how to do. Your hands immediately flew to his ivory tresses due to his ministrations, it was almost like playing a game of tug of war, indecisively pushing and pulling his, unsure if you wanted more or if you wanted him to stop and slow down.

Lewd, wet smacks of Neuvillette’s tongue mixed with his low growls filled the room, allowing you to bask in the sounds of pleasure your lover unabashedly made. Almost akin to a vicious beast swallowing down its prey.

As your back arched off the mattress, and the grip on Neuvillette’s hair tightening, he pulled away, earning a rather disappointed whine to fall from your lips. Sweet arousal abundantly coated his lips and chin, bringing warmth to your cheeks. No one in the room dared to say it but this was the first time your cunt got embarrassingly wet, not that Neuvillette was inadequate in bed per se but you were wetter than usual, and you were confident that he had also noticed.

The glow of his lilac eyes and cerulean feelers were proof enough.

Standing up to his feet, Neuvillette languidly stroked the cock that sat beneath the other one, an immodest gaze raking over your sopping cunt, and how it shamelessly dripped with sticky arousal enough to soil the ivory sheets beneath.

“Are you ready, ma chérie?” Neuvillette’s lilac stare captured you in a haze, absentmindedly nodding at his words as though you were rendered speechless.

He slowly rubbed the tip of his bottom cock before pushing it past your soaked folds, it eagerly swallowed him in—a loud, shameless squelch filling your ears as he stretched you open further. Your toes curled at the sensation, hips immediately bucking into him as you moaned his name. The stretch was a pleasurable burn, one that had you rolling your eyes back, and digging your nails onto the sheets a little harder. Neuvillette was able to easily slip into you, courtesy of the plentiful slick that coated your velvety walls.

Neuvillette stilled as he bottomed out, quick, short pants falling from his rosy lips. God, you always took him so, so well, he could never get enough of the feeling of warmth wrapped around his cock. You took this time to get used to the stretch, your muscles relaxing to lessen the resistance he felt. Neuvillette filled you up so well you could almost feel him in your stomach—a thought that had you clenching around him.

One, two, three seconds later, Neuvillette slowly pulled back, letting out a shaky breath at the pleasurable sensation. And with only his cock head inside you, he took no time to slam all the way inside. You moaned, hands flying to his bare shoulders, immediately marking his pale skin with crimson stripes. Neuvillette unabashedly keened at the clench of your cunt around him, knees buckling as you gripped his cock like a vice, making it harder for him to move in and out.

“Haah! Mhm! Neuvi—right there, my love!” Colourful moans and whimpers urged Neuvillette on, dragging him further and further to the state of insanity. “You feel divine, ma belle . .” The words came out as a choked sob—pathetic and dainty. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead paired with a deep crimson blush that painted his cheeks, if anything, Neuvillette looked absolutely ethereal in this state despite how out of it the aphrodisiacs made him.

Not only were his cocks extra sensitive to touch but he could also perfectly smell the scent of your sex that lingered in the air. That sweet, sinful aroma he knew oh so well.

It made his head spin.

He tried holding back, he really did but your dulcet moans stroked his growing ego, and the feel of your sopping cunt deliciously sliding against him, the last thread of sanity that held him snapped.

Violently.

As if he saw nothing but bright hues of ruby, Neuvillette picked up his pace, long thrusts quickly turning into short ones as he mercilessly pistoned his hips over and over again, allowing his cock head to reach your sweet spot. Your fingers raked down the length of his spine—leaving violent ribbons of red in its wake—stopping right at the dimples of his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks as you dug onto the pale skin there. Neuvillette wasn’t the only one on the brink of insanity with how the underside of his other cock furiously rubbed at your swollen clit with each thrust, it rested at the hood of your cunt, thick and heavy.

“S-so good! It feels so good—ngh!” The thrust of his hips felt amazing, too amazing to the point where your body started to reject them. Your body entered fight or flight mode, parted knees instinctively closing together which only allowed an inconvenient amount of room for Neuvillette to move with.

Upon noticing the change, he slowed down, sweaty palms resting on either knee, “My love—haah . . Open up for me, would you?” Winded and weak, Neuvillette attempted to pry your knees apart to no avail considering his mushy state.

“Too much, mon chérie . . I—I can’t.” Neuvillette shook his head at your words before pulling out, leaving you confused and empty. From the mattress, you watched as he sauntered over to his side of the bed, grabbing a lengthy, obsidian object that rested against his nightstand. Before a question could even formulate in your mind, he returned to his spot in the blink of an eye; though, this time, with something in his hand.

A cane—his cane. The same one he used during court proceedings, in that context, it was deemed a sacred symbolism of his authority as the Iudex of Fontaine.

To use it in such a setting would be borderline blasphemy.

Hovering over your trembling body, Neuvillette placed chaste kisses on each knee, “Do you trust me, my dear?” Was that even a question? Of course you did. He wouldn’t harm you and you believed that completely.

With a soft touch, Neuvillette was able to easily pry your knees apart, the scent of your cunt once again filling his senses. He wordlessly slotted the obsidian cane beneath your knees, its surface cool against your feverish skin, you shuddered at the contrast in temperature. Neuvillette pushed down on the shaft of the cane, bringing your knees closer to your chest—you also noticed how it kept your legs still, meaning you had no option to close them.

You whimpered at the slight burn the position invited, especially with the cane pressing down on your soft skin. And once again, Neuvillette sheathed his cock inside your cunt before setting the same merciless pace. Only this time, you wouldn’t be able to deny him.

“Neuvi! Neuvi! Neuvi—aah! Fuck—mhm!” You held on to the ivory sheets above your head for your dear life as Neuvillette roughly pistoned his hips. With each relentless thrust given, your body jolted further up the mattress, breasts bouncing in full display for your lover to drink in. Oh, how he adored the way your naked body moved and reacted to him, so plush and pliant.

Sharp hisses from the bed frame interlaced with the pornographic sounds of your moans, creating a lewd melody for the moon to witness, a sinful song only for the darkness of the night to hear—full of heat and passion.

“Does—ngh! Does it feel good, my love? Will you give in to the—haah! To the pleasure I’m giving you?” Neuvillette curled over himself, tresses of ivory cascading down to cage your face as he leaned closer to you. Despite the blur of your vision, you noticed the faint azure scales that decorated the side of his neck along with his pupils becoming more animalistic.

Neuvillette’s draconic features only ever made itself known during his heat; so, this came as a genuine surprise to you. Not that you were really complaining.

His hand remained on his cane while the other found comfort on your hip, subtly guiding your body onto him to meet each thrust. Neuvillette met your gaze through a glossy stare, you watched as beads of crystalline-like tears formed on the corners of his eyes, eventually rolling down his reddened cheeks. The sight before you was beyond divine, it wasn’t every day one would see the Chief Justice in such a poor state, his usual expressionless face painted with a colourful expression.

One that unmistakably screamed how lost he was in pleasure: rosy lips parted to let out soft whimpers, brows tightly knitted together, creating a deep crease between his brows.

“Are you close ma chérie? Mhm—aah! Come with me?” Neuvillette breathed out. It took all of his will power to hold himself up, and keep his hips moving due to immense pleasure weighing on his body like a great burden. The feeling had him trembling to his very bones, like a yellow autumn leaf braving the evening winds, and no matter how much his brain screamed at him to stop, he didn’t.

The pleasure would be too great of a loss if Neuvillette stopped now; so, he kept going—pounding, rutting, and grinding into you as he chased both your impending orgasms.

You nodded vigorously, throat too dry from all that panting to choke out any coherent words. The burn of the position you maintained mixed with Neuvillette’s cocks stimulating your cunt sent you into a painful yet pleasurable overdrive.

Without a second thought, you hastily placed your hands between your bodies, blindly seeking out Neuvillette’s other cock, and wrapping your fingers around it. To the best of your ability, you vigorously pumped his shaft, matching your strokes with his thrusts.

Neuvillette shuddered, releasing a loud moan into the damp air. After a few more quick thrusts, he stilled deep inside you, sealing his lips with yours as you both reached your climax, eagerly swallowing one another’s lewd moans. Your back arched off the mattress, toes curling, and fingers digging into Neuvillette’s skin as you violently came, the feel of his thick, hot cum painting your plush walls white had your hips bucking into him, begging for more.

Embarrassingly enough, Neuvillette came a lot. Not only inside you—to the point where it spilled out of your cunt and onto the sheets below—but also on you. The cock you’ve been stroking spurted thick ribbons of cum on your abdomen, abundantly covering your skin in his essence. He looked at the filthy art that decorated your skin, colourful curses enough to make Fontainians gasp in shock filled his mind.

How beautiful you were marked by him.

“Did I hurt you in any way?” He asked, slowly peeling himself away from you. Neuvillette made sure to quickly remove his cane from under your knees, placing it flat on the floor before tending to you. He kissed your sweaty forehead, and pulled your bodies up the mattress with your head atop the fluffy pillows.

“Not at all but I have to say, I was reaaally looking forward to completing the challenge, mon chérie.” You joked, letting out a breathless laugh.

Neuvillette blushed, suddenly remembering how he readily accepted the proposal of your challenge . . What was it again? No Nut November?

“Another year is to be expected, I am determined we will overcome the challenge.” And you were looking forward to that. Very much so. You just hoped he wouldn’t consume another aphrodisiac-laced sweet in the coming year so the both of you could actually complete the challenge.

Well, at least you concluded that Neuvillette and aphrodisiacs weren’t such a bad match, right?

Looks like you had a certain head nurse to thank. —

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LOVE - LOCKED | FC43

an: this is based off of this request and i hope you like it bc i had sm fun writing a romantic slightly angsty thing i cant wait to hear what y'all thin, i also think it may be slightly rushed tho so lol ALSO LOL WE'RE GONNA PRETEND CARLOS IS YOUNGER IN THIS BC I NEEDED HER TO BE HIS OLDER SISTER

summary: carlos' sister has lived her life completely separated from him and their family name, instead she went and made a name for herself in the tennis world - she likes her life like that. that is until she meets franco colapinto

wc: 8.7k

The roar of engines, even from a distance, unsettled her.

They reminded her of the long days her father and brother spent in garages, the low rumble of motors and sharp tang of fuel in the air. Those were the hours she’d spend alone, working on her serve in the empty court across town, each hit ricocheting off the walls with a hollow, lonely echo. Her own choice, of course. She’d had no interest in the world of carbon fibre and grease, no desire to be the girl who simply tagged along, her name always in her brother’s shadow.

Now, years later, she’d become someone entirely on her own terms. A name people knew on its own — Vázquez de Castro — a name that meant something outside of her family, outside of her brother’s fame.

She slipped her phone into her bag and looked around the chaotic pit lane. Journalists, engineers, teams in matching shirts, faces alight with anticipation for the weekend's race. She knew she’d stand out here; her face might be familiar, but she was a stranger in this world.

The hum of voices around her faded as she felt his gaze. She’d been hoping to move through unnoticed, just a face in a sea of faces, but there he was: tall, familiar, unmistakably Carlos. His brow furrowed in surprise as he caught sight of her, his quick steps carrying him closer before she had a chance to dodge. She braced herself, turning to him with a calm that she didn’t quite feel.

“No aquí,” she murmured, her voice low, hoping that would be enough to keep curious ears at bay.

He paused, just a moment, his expression softening in understanding, and he tilted his head, his face somewhere between a grin and a frown. “You came.”

It wasn’t an accusation exactly — more surprise than anything. But she couldn’t miss the faint hope in his eyes, as if he thought she might be here to see him, to share a piece of his world after all this time. She let his words linger for a beat before she replied, her tone steady.

“I was invited,” she said, giving a slight shrug, “by Fernando.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the green and silver canopy, keeping her tone casual, but she saw his shoulders fall ever so slightly.

He nodded, glancing away for a moment, his jaw set. “Right. Fernando.”

There was something she wanted to say, something to soften the look in his eyes, but the pit lane was crowded, the eyes and cameras trained on every inch of the paddock sharper than she’d ever expected. They’d notice anything. And the last thing she wanted was for the papers to start spinning stories, putting her under a headline right next to him.

She touched his arm briefly. “Te hablo en el hotel. I’ll speak to you at the hotel.”

As she made her way toward the exit, ready to slip back into the background and disappear, she heard a voice calling out just over the rumble of engines and chatter.

“¡La princesa española!”

The words were unmistakable, lilting and clear, even with the crowd and machinery all around. The Spanish Princess. The nickname made her falter. It was something she sometimes heard on the tennis courts in Madrid or whispered by fans in distant cities when she played in international tournaments. But here? She scanned the area, puzzled at who would recognise her in this world of racing.

When she turned, her eyes met those of someone unfamiliar yet striking. He was tall, with an easy, disarming smile, his race suit gleaming with the bright, bold colours of his team’s livery. He looked young, not much older than she was, but he carried himself with that unmistakable energy she’d seen in rising stars before. The rookie, she realised, though she hadn’t kept up enough to know his name.

He held her gaze a moment too long, that same smile lingering as he approached, his eyes sparking with something between amusement and curiosity. She felt herself tense, almost involuntarily, her instinct telling her to slip away, to avoid whatever came next.

“Es realmente la princesa española,” he said, his tone playful yet certain.

Then it hit her.

Franco.

That was his name.

Franco’s grin widened as he closed the distance between them, his eyes bright with an almost boyish enthusiasm. “Soy un gran admirador de tu trabajo,” he said, his Argentine accent softening his words. “I’ve watched almost all your matches — I love the way you play.”

She blinked, taken aback. This wasn’t the usual kind of recognition she got, especially not here. She could count on one hand how many times she’d been recognised in public. She looked at him, trying to reconcile this confident young driver with the earnest fan in front of her.

“¿Me conoces?” The question slipped out before she could think, her voice tinged with disbelief.

He raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering. “¿Quién no te conoce?” he replied, with a touch of humour. “La princesa española, queen of the clay court, unstoppable backhand — yeah, I know you.”

There was something genuine in his tone, something that set him apart from the usual strangers who said they knew her. 

And before she could stop herself, she found herself almost smiling. She cleared her throat, searching for a response, but her mind was blank. What could she say? That she knew nothing of him, or any of these people — that she had only set foot here today by chance?

She settled for a simple, “Gracias.”

Franco’s curiosity didn’t waver. He leaned in slightly, folding his arms with an amused glint in his eyes. “So, what brings la princesa española to the F1 paddock?”

She shrugged lightly, careful not to reveal too much. “I’m here as one of Fernando Alonso’s guests. Aston Martin.” She left it at that, hoping he wouldn’t dig further. Noticing that she looked a bit like another driver on the paddock. Thankfully, he didn’t.

His grin only grew wider, and she had the feeling that her mystery intrigued him. “Well then, if you’re one of Fernando’s guests, that means you’re not tied to my team,” he said with a glint of mischief. “Come with me — I’ll give you a tour of my garage. It’ll be like… a private tour.”

She hesitated, her gaze shifting back toward the exit, where she’d planned to slip out and leave all of this behind. If she went with him, there was a chance people would recognise her, start to connect her with her brother’s world. She’d spent her whole career carefully avoiding this — the headlines, the whispers, the inevitable questions about why she’d chosen such a different path. But the look on his face, that open, boyish enthusiasm, was hard to resist.

She let out a sigh, then looked up at him with a sudden, defiant glimmer in her eye. “Screw it. ¿Por qué no?”

His whole face lit up. She could practically see the excitement radiating off him as he extended his hand, his confidence a little too easy, a little too certain. She eyed his hand for a moment before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“Modales,” she chided, her tone playful. “I’ve known you for five minutes. We’re not dating.”

“Yet,” he replied without missing a beat, a spark in his eyes.

Despite herself, she smiled, a real one, something she hadn’t felt since stepping into the paddock that day.

He led her through the bustling paddock with an easy confidence, weaving between crew members, equipment, and cameras as if none of it could touch him. She was impressed, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. The chaos of the pit lane, the narrow spaces and the clang of metal, all seemed to bend around him.

When they reached his team’s garage, he stopped by a young assistant stationed just outside, who looked at them with curious eyes.

“Do me a favour,” he said, barely containing his grin, “and grab a VIP lanyard for Williams’ guests, will you?”

The assistant glanced at her, his eyes widening slightly in recognition before he nodded and ducked away, returning a moment later with a crisp, team-branded lanyard. Franco took it with a pleased smile, then held out his hand for hers. She unclipped the Aston Martin lanyard from her neck and handed it over, watching with a mix of surprise and amusement as he replaced it with the one from his own team.

“There,” he said, adjusting the lanyard’s position with exaggerated care. “Now you’re officially part of the team.”

She couldn’t hold back her smirk. “You know, I don’t think lanyards change allegiances so easily.”

“Maybe not. But I do think it’s an improvement.” He winked, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Besides, the only lanyard you should be wearing here is mine.”

She laughed, caught off guard by his unfiltered charm, as he held out his arm with an exaggerated flourish. “And now, mi princesa, a grand tour.”

He led her into the garage, his tone switching between informative and teasing as he explained the various stations. “Over here, we have the engineering bay — where the magic of data happens.” He gestured toward a row of monitors displaying endless streams of numbers. “And these guys in the corner? They’re the wizards of aerodynamics. Make a mess, they won’t let you forget it.”

As they moved through each section, he offered her a glimpse into the world of F1, his energy and excitement almost contagious. She watched him with quiet intrigue; he seemed to belong here completely, as if he thrived in the chaos and intensity of it all.

“Now, over here,” he continued, leaning a bit closer to her as they approached a sleek wall of tires and tools, “this is where I go for my pre-race pep talks. I think it helps the tires, too.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You talk to the tires?”

“Only on occasion,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “And they listen. Or at least, I hope they do.” He grinned again, that glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Besides, they never talk back.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, but there was a smile in it, one she couldn’t quite suppress. He was disarming, funny in a way that felt refreshingly different from the sharp, serious world she’d known. He noticed the hint of a smile and held her gaze, leaning in just slightly.

Before she could say anything else, Franco led her deeper into the garage, weaving through the maze of tools, car parts, and engineers, who looked up now and then with curious glances. She followed, intrigued despite herself, and finally, unable to keep silent, asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, shooting her a look over his shoulder that was both charming and infuriatingly vague.

He stopped in front of a nondescript door tucked away from the bustle of the main garage. She glanced around, realising they were in the private part of the team’s area. He opened the door to his driver room, gesturing for her to step inside. The room was small but comfortable, filled with team memorabilia, spare racing gloves, and a neat rack of team-branded clothes. Before she could take it all in, he went over to a stack of neatly folded shirts and pulled one from the pile.

He turned back to her, holding up the shirt with a proud smile. “Here,” he said, offering it to her. “Wear this tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing between him and the shirt with mock scepticism. “Bold of you to assume I’d wear your merch.”

His grin only widened. “I think you’d look great in it,” he said, undeterred. “Besides, it’d be an honour to have la princesa española in my colours.”

She took the shirt, running her fingers over the soft fabric, and met his gaze with a slight smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough for me,” he replied, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to say more, but just then, his phone buzzed on the nearby table, and he glanced at it with a slight frown before pocketing it again.

“So,” he continued, his tone shifting to something a little more casual, “what are you doing for dinner?”

The question surprised her. She hadn’t planned on lingering much longer after her brother’s race prep finished. She hadn’t planned on any of this, really. But he was watching her expectantly, and for a moment, she let herself consider it.

“Dinner?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “You’re not very subtle, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted with a grin. “What do you say? Let me take you out. I promise I’m as good at picking places to eat as I am at tours.”

She couldn’t resist a small laugh. “Alright,” she said, glancing up at him with an easy smile. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but just then, a voice called out from down the hallway. “Franco man, we’ve been looking all around for you!” A team manager appeared in the doorway, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

Franco sighed, flashing her an apologetic look as he straightened. “Duty calls,” he muttered with a smirk. He lingered a moment, as if reluctant to leave, then glanced back at her with a warm smile.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, feeling a thrill she hadn’t expected. “See you tonight.”

He nodded, his grin returning full force, then turned to follow the manager out, giving her a final, backward glance that lingered just a second too long.

Back in her hotel room, she brushed a final touch of mascara over her lashes and glanced at her phone, where a text from Franco glowed on the screen.

Franco: “Ready whenever you are. No rush. See you soon :)”

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Tonight felt surprisingly… normal. Like she was just someone getting ready for a date, no stakes attached. She straightened her dress, checked her reflection, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at her door snapped her from her thoughts, and she felt a small flutter of excitement, assuming it was him. But when she opened the door, her breath caught.

Her brother stood there, his expression a mixture of confusion and something she couldn’t quite read. She masked her surprise quickly, stepping aside to let him in, though her voice was firm. “I can talk for a bit, but I have plans tonight.”

“With Franco?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, caught off guard. “How did you know?”

He gave a soft, humourless laugh, crossing his arms. “I saw you two in the paddock,” he said. “And I overheard him talking about it in the garage. Apparently, he couldn’t stop telling anyone who’d listen about his ‘date with la princesa de España.’” He looked at her, and his voice softened. “So why is it you have no problem being seen with him, but not with your own brother?”

His question hung heavily in the air, the familiar tension between them settling back into place. She took a breath, struggling for the right words. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen with him — it was the weight of everything that came with it. The press, the fans, the inevitable comparisons. She could already see the headlines if they were spotted together, her name placed directly beside his, stripping away the hard-won independence she’d fought for.

She sighed, glancing at him. “It’s not… about you,” she said carefully. “It’s just… everything that comes with it. You know how it is.”

He shook his head, looking slightly hurt. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve always thought we were supposed to be in this together. But I feel like… I don’t know, like you’re just trying to run from anything that connects us.”

She sighed, leaning against the doorframe, her voice dropping to something softer, more serious. “It’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I just don’t want to be known as Carlos’ sister everywhere I go. I’ve worked hard to build my own name, my own career, and sometimes… being around you, it overshadows that.”

Her brother studied her, his face a mix of understanding and something else, a flash of protective instinct. “You know, if you date Franco, you’ll just end up being known as his girlfriend,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s just a date, Carlos. Nothing more.”

He shrugged, his mouth quirking in a small smile. “Yeah, well, with him, nothing ever stays ‘just’ anything. Just saying.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth behind it. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine.”

They shared a quiet moment of understanding before she gently nudged him toward the door. “Go get some rest. And good luck tomorrow. I’ll be cheering from the sidelines.”

The evening was soft and cool, the sky painted in shades of violet and indigo as the city stretched out below them. The balcony they’d stepped onto was tucked away from the bustling noise of the hotel, private and intimate, offering only the sounds of the night breeze and the occasional far-off hum of the city.

Franco had arranged it all—quiet, serene, away from prying eyes. The dinner was simple but elegant: a few delicate dishes of fresh seafood, wine that wasn’t too heavy, just enough to let the conversation flow freely. It was just the two of them, and she realised as she stood there, her hand brushing the railing, how rare that felt.

She’d worn a dress that was understated, yet elegant—a deep midnight blue that mirrored the evening sky, the fabric light enough to catch the breeze. She hadn’t given it much thought; it wasn’t for anyone but herself. But when Franco first saw her, the look in his eyes told her that, maybe, it had been the right choice after all.

His gaze lifted from the table where he had been adjusting the wine glasses, and the moment he saw her, the words spilled out before he could even stop them.

“Dios mío, qué hermosa estás.” His voice was low, his gaze sweeping over her with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

She felt her cheeks flush, the compliment unexpected but not unwelcome. She had been nervous about the evening, unsure of what this was or what it would become. But his words, simple and sincere, relaxed something inside her.

“Gracias,” she replied with a small smile, feeling the warmth in her chest spread, her eyes meeting his.

He stood up, taking a small step toward her as if to take in the full picture, his gaze never leaving her face. “I swear,” he continued, his voice filled with genuine awe, “I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even more stunning than earlier. It's like... you're glowing.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’re just being kind.”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head as he closed the distance between them. “I’m not the kind of guy to throw compliments around just to be polite. Te ves increíble, you look incredible.”

After a decent amount of eating, a stretched out silence, Franco spoke up. “So,” he began, his voice casual but warm, “what’s it like to be the la princesa española outside of tennis?”

She raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t really think of myself as that,” she said lightly. “It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t know,” he teased. “I think it suits you. You have a... regal air about you.” His eyes glinted with mischief as he added, “I’m sure you’d never get away with being late for anything. Everyone would just wait for the princess to show up.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. “You really are persistent with those compliments, aren’t you?”

“Solo con la verdad,” he said with a grin, leaning back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

The evening unfolded easily after that. They spoke about everything and nothing: about their childhoods, what had brought them to this point in their careers, how it felt to always be in the spotlight. She told him stories from her tennis matches, and he shared wild tales of racing, of the constant pressure and adrenaline.

But it was the quieter moments, the small pauses between their words, that felt the most significant. When he leaned in to pass her the bottle of wine, their hands brushed, and the air seemed to thicken for a moment. His gaze lingered a bit longer than it needed to, and she noticed the subtle way his smile softened when their eyes met. She wasn’t used to this — this ease, this comfort that felt so unforced — but it was exactly what she hadn’t realised she’d been searching for.

“You know,” Franco said, his tone thoughtful, “I can’t remember the last time I had a night like this. Just—” He waved his hand toward the view, the quiet that surrounded them. “It’s nice. To not be rushing off to something. No cameras, no expectations.”

She looked out over the balcony at the skyline, the city lights twinkling in the distance. “I know what you mean. There’s always so much noise, so many people trying to pull you in different directions. It’s rare to just… be.” She turned to look at him, her voice lowering slightly. “It’s a little surreal, actually.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a silence between them that felt like a shared understanding. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at her, his expression genuine. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight. I’m glad I got to spend this time with you.”

Her heart did a little flip at the sincerity in his voice. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from the evening, but this — this felt right.

“So,” he continued, his voice lightening again, “any chance I can convince you to wear my team’s shirt tomorrow?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said with a wink, “but only because I know you’d look amazing in it.”

She rolled her eyes but could feel the warmth in her chest spread. “I’ll think about it,” she teased, mirroring his playful tone.

The conversation drifted back to lighter topics, the evening unfolding with ease as the world seemed to blur around them. As the night deepened, they shared stories, laughter, and quiet glances that spoke volumes. It wasn’t the fireworks, the grand gestures of a first date. But it was something else — something that felt like a beginning.

When the last of the wine was finished, and the candles flickered low, Franco stood, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes told her everything. His fingers brushed against hers, and she didn’t pull away.

As the night grew later, the air around them cooled, and they moved to the edge of the balcony, gazing out over the city. The quiet was comforting, the soft hum of distant traffic the only sound breaking the stillness between them.

She let out a small sigh, her mind wandering, and with it, the weight of everything that had brought her to this moment. She looked up at him, caught in the calm but uncertain about what this night might mean.

"Well, this has been lovely," she said, her voice light but tinged with something else. "But, just so you know… this is probably going to be our only date."

His eyebrows furrowed, his smile faltering for just a fraction of a second. “Why?” he asked, his tone suddenly laced with concern. “Have I done something wrong?”

She met his gaze, her chest tight for reasons she couldn’t quite place. There was no logical reason for her to feel that way — he had been nothing but kind, charming, and genuine all night. But there was still that lingering sense of hesitation, a wall she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tear down.

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if to reassure him. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked at her for a long moment, studying her face. The playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something softer, something quieter, as if he were trying to understand her better.

“I’m not really a person who runs from things," she said, her voice lowering slightly, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. “But there are parts of my life I’m... careful about. I can’t help but keep them to myself.”

She hesitated, feeling a strange tug in her chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, she found herself wanting to share something personal, something she had hidden away. She took a breath and let it slip out before she could second-guess herself.

“I have a brother,” she began, looking out at the city below them, trying to steady her voice. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Franco froze, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait... what?”

She glanced at him, a slight laugh escaping her lips at the look of genuine surprise on his face. “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Carlos.”

He blinked, his surprise turning into a quiet sense of disbelief. “Carlos Sainz?” He repeated her brother’s name, almost as if he were trying to process it. “I had no idea…”

She looked at him, a slight sadness settling in her chest. “Most people don’t,” she said, her voice quiet now. “I never tell anyone. I’ve worked my entire life to be known for me—for what I do, not because of who I’m related to. I don’t want to live in someone’s shadow.”

Franco didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence stretch out between them. He was thinking, she could tell. It was as though he were weighing her words, weighing the tension in her tone. Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice steady but sincere.

“With me, you wouldn't,” he said, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that took her by surprise. “You wouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow. Not if you didn’t want to be.”

She was quiet for a long moment, his words sinking in. Part of her wanted to dismiss it, wanted to keep pushing away the idea of anyone in her life stepping into that shadow. But there was something in his eyes—something honest and unwavering—that made her hesitate. He wasn’t offering her fame or status. He was offering her something far simpler. The space to be herself.

Then, he said something that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll be your WAG,” he said, his voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, his smile just a little crooked.

She laughed, a quick, startled sound. “What?” she teased, shaking her head. “Are you serious? ‘WAG’—really?”

He leaned in slightly, the smile still on his face but his eyes unflinching. “En serio. I’m serious.” he added with a little more emphasis, the words flowing naturally from him.

Her laughter died down, replaced by a brief, curious silence. She was still processing his words, still trying to understand how it had escalated from a simple dinner to this.

“You’re joking,” she said softly, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously.

“No,” he7 replied, his voice now calm, almost earnest. “I’m not. Look, I get it. The whole ‘WAG’ thing... it sounds ridiculous, I know. But the way I see it, we’d be a team. You’d have my back, and I’d have yours. No shadows, no expectations, just us. What we make of it.”

She took a step back, crossing her arms as she considered what he was saying. The idea of it felt foreign, a little intimidating, but something about it also felt right in a way she hadn’t expected. No grand gestures, no drama. Just… us, as he’d said.

“Don’t you think I’d look good in a sponsored Channel crop top?” he joked, and the thought of it made her laugh.

Before she could stop it, however, her mind flashed to her brother, to the years of keeping her life private, to the way she had fought so hard to remain in the background of her family’s legacy. And yet here was Franco, offering something different. He wasn’t asking her to be a part of his world—he was offering her a partnership, an equal footing.

For the first time that evening, she allowed herself to truly think about what that might mean. To be seen, not as someone’s sister or someone’s girlfriend, but just as herself.

“Maybe... maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she said quietly, her voice uncertain but filled with a growing sense of possibility.

Franco looked at her, a quiet confidence in his eyes. “Entonces, we’ll figure it out together. No shadows. Just us.”

“Just us.”

“You better wear my shirt tomorrow,” he said, his voice teasing but hopeful.

She smirked, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at him. “I’ll think about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You better. I’ll be watching.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his persistence. “We’ll see.”

The next morning arrived with the usual rush, the anticipation of race day filling the air. She woke up to a sunlit room and a few messages on her phone, the familiar bustle of the paddock already beginning to take shape outside her window. As she moved around the room, preparing for the day ahead, her mind wandered back to the previous evening.

She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair back into a sleek ponytail, glancing over her outfit choices. She’d packed a nice pair of fitted trousers and a smart blouse for the day. But then, as she opened her suitcase to grab something, she saw it—the shirt.

It was sitting on top of her suitcase, folded neatly, the soft fabric of his team’s shirt catching the light. The sight of it made her pause. She could feel a flutter of uncertainty in her chest as she stared at the shirt. It wasn’t like her to let herself be swayed by someone else’s request. But something about Franco, about the way he’d looked at her, made her reconsider.

She bit her lip, considering her options. The shirt was casual, simple, but it also felt like a statement. She could wear it for him, just this once, maybe just to see how it felt. There was no harm in that, right?

She grabbed the shirt, examining it for a moment. It was an understated design—his team’s logo in the corner, a soft fabric, nothing too flashy. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would normally wear, but for some reason, she felt drawn to it. And then it hit her—maybe it wasn’t about the shirt at all. It was about the confidence to wear it, to stand beside him and let the world see her as she was, without hesitation.

She had a moment of inspiration.

Instead of simply slipping it on with jeans like she’d imagined, she decided to give it a bit of a twist. She styled it with an oversized blazer, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the shirt underneath, and a pair of high-waisted pants. The look was effortlessly cool, edgy, but still very much her. She paired it with a pair of sleek, minimalist sneakers, and, just before she finished, added a bold red lip to complete the ensemble.

When she looked in the mirror, she felt a sense of pride. It was a simple shirt, yes, but it was her way of wearing it. And somehow, it made her feel like she was making her own mark, not hiding behind anyone else’s expectations.

She grabbed her phone, checking the time, then sent Franco a quick message.

“I thought about it. I’ll wear the shirt. But only because it goes with my outfit.”

She added a playful winking emoji before hitting send, knowing that he’d appreciate the humour in it.

The morning was just beginning to pick up its pace as she finished getting ready. The weight of the day’s events, the race, the energy of the paddock, all began to settle in. But for the first time in a while, she felt a small sense of excitement, an eagerness she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t about the race itself, but about the people she was meeting, the connections she was making, and—perhaps most unexpectedly—what might lie ahead with Franco.

She was just about to head out of her hotel room when there was a knock on the door. She knew that knock—steady and familiar. Taking a deep breath, she opened it to find her brother standing there, his usual calm exterior softened by a quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

She nodded, stepping back to let him in. She could tell he was a bit surprised when he saw the shirt she was wearing—the shirt of a rival team. He glanced at it, one brow raised slightly, but he didn’t comment, just closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall.

He took a deep breath, as if he’d been building up to this. “Are you… thinking of seeing him again?”

There was something tentative in the way he asked, a kind of brotherly concern that she hadn’t seen in a long time. She shrugged, trying to keep her tone casual. “Maybe. I’m considering it.”

He nodded slowly, looking away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “Why are you okay with being seen with him, and not with me?”

The question landed heavily between them, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression, the unspoken hurt in his eyes. It was rare for him to open up like this, to say exactly what was on his mind. She let out a long breath, searching for the right words.

“It’s different,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Different how?” he pressed, his tone gentle but persistent.

She met his gaze, feeling a lump rise in her throat. She hadn’t realised just how much this division had affected them both, how much it lingered in moments like these. “I never felt like I was a part of your world,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “It wasn’t just about you. It was Dad, too. He… he made it clear that I wasn’t cut out to be a part of it. I wasn’t… enough. Not like you.”

He looked at her, the quiet hurt in his eyes turning into something deeper, something sadder. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She gave him a small, sad smile. “How could you? You were busy making him proud. And you were great at it. I always saw how he looked at you, how proud he was of everything you were doing. He saw you as this… continuation of him, of his legacy. But me… I was never part of that.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he processed her words. “I never wanted it to be that way. I thought you just didn’t care about what we were doing. I thought you were happy doing your own thing.”

“I am,” she said, and she meant it. “Tennis is my world; it’s where I feel strong, where I feel like I belong. But… it didn’t come without sacrifices. I grew up watching you and Dad bond over racing, and it was like there was this door between us that was shut for good. I could watch, but I couldn’t be a part of it.”

There was a long pause, her brother absorbing her words, the weight of years of misunderstanding settling between them.

“I wish I’d known,” he said finally, his voice soft, tinged with regret. “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be a part of it. I thought it didn’t matter to you if Dad and I had that bond. But I get it now. I see what it must’ve felt like, standing on the outside.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken years filling the space between them. And then he added, “You know, you don’t have to keep yourself hidden to be in my life, right? I get it now. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Her throat tightened, a wave of unexpected emotion rising within her. She’d spent so long feeling like an outsider in her own family, so sure that her brother had never noticed. But now, here he was, standing in front of her, wanting to bridge that gap.

“It’s hard to just undo it all,” she admitted. “Sometimes, it feels easier to just… stay on my own path. To keep these things separate.”

He nodded, understanding. “But if you’re thinking of seeing Franco… letting yourself be part of his world… doesn’t it mean you’re ready to be seen? To be yourself, even in places that are unfamiliar?”

She considered this, his words striking a chord deep within her. He wasn’t wrong. She’d spent so long hiding parts of herself, keeping herself separate to avoid comparison or judgement. But with Franco, she hadn’t felt the same need. For once, she had felt like she could be herself—no shadows, no expectations.

“I think… I just want to find something that’s mine,” she said finally. “A space where I’m not just ‘your sister,’ where I don’t have to carry someone else’s legacy.”

Her brother gave her a soft, understanding look. “You’ve already done that. You are more than just my sister. You’ve made a name for yourself that has nothing to do with anyone else. You’re not living in anyone’s shadow… but if you ever want to step into our world—my world—I’d like to be part of yours too. Just… let me be there for you, even if it’s only sometimes.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of warmth, a sense of connection that hadn’t been there before. Maybe there was room for both worlds, after all. For the first time, she felt like she didn’t have to choose.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly, echoing her words from last night.

He smiled, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I hope you do.”

With that, he gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder, a wordless acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. And as he left, she felt a sense of closure, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to keep running from her family’s legacy to be seen as her own person. She could walk her own path, even if it sometimes crossed into theirs.

She arrived at the paddock a little while later, weaving her way through the bustle of race day, her heart beating a little faster than usual. Wearing Franco’s shirt under her blazer felt like a small, bold choice—one that had her both excited and slightly nervous. She walked through the crowd until she reached his team’s garage, where the energy was already crackling with anticipation.

As soon as she stepped in, Franco spotted her from across the garage. His face lit up the second he saw her, and he immediately started making his way toward her. When he was close enough, he lowered his voice and said in Spanish, a playful gleam in his eyes, “Wait here for just a second. Don’t move.”

Before she could respond, he turned and jogged back toward his driver’s room, leaving her standing in the middle of the garage, a little bewildered but smiling to herself. She watched as he disappeared into the room, curious about whatever he was planning. Within a moment, he was back, holding a bouquet of flowers—a mix of deep red roses and bright sunflowers, their colours vivid against the greys and metallics of the garage.

“For you,” he said, handing them over with a grin, his accent warm and lilting. His eyes softened as he added, “To celebrate your first race day as my guest.”

She took the bouquet, feeling a rush of warmth as she held the flowers. “You know, you didn’t have to do this,” she said, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. “I’m just here as… well, just as me.”

“And I think that’s worth celebrating,” he replied smoothly, his gaze locked on hers with unmistakable admiration. “Besides, you didn’t say no to the shirt, so I think I’m allowed a little celebration, no?”

She laughed, her cheeks warming as she looked down at the bouquet. “Alright, fine. You win. Thank you—they’re beautiful.”

Franco glanced around the garage, then leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to a playful murmur. “You know, you’re even more beautiful than I remember from last night. I thought maybe I was exaggerating, but… no. I wasn’t.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Careful, or I’ll start to think you’re trying to distract me from the race.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, chuckling. Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, he looked around the garage again and spotted one of his engineers nearby. Franco gestured to the man, who quickly nodded, understanding exactly what Franco was after.

The engineer handed him a headset, and Franco turned back to her, holding it up. “Here—so you can listen in and watch from inside the garage. You’ll get the best seat here.”

She blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. You’ll get to hear all the comms, see how it all works up close. Plus”—he leaned in, his voice low—“you’ll have an excuse to stay around here.”

She shook her head with a smirk, taking the headset from him. “Alright. But only because you’ve convinced me with flowers and shameless flattery.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin widening as he watched her settle the headset over her ears. “I’ll keep it coming if it means you stay.”

As the team began their pre-race preparations, Franco showed her the best spot to watch from, and he took a few moments to explain some of the technical details. She found herself captivated, not just by the race, but by the way he was so eager to share his world with her. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite herself, she felt the thrill of race day in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Before he had to step away to start his own warm-up routine, he gave her one last look, his gaze holding a touch of that familiar mischievous glint. “Enjoy the show, princesa. And don’t go falling in love with the cars now—they’re not as charming as I am.”

She laughed, giving him a playful shove. “No promises.”

Franco winked, backing away with a grin as he joined the other drivers and team members preparing for the race. She stayed in the garage, feeling the weight of the headset and bouquet in her hands, both of them symbols of the way her world had shifted in just a few days.

As she watched him walk away, his words echoing in her ears, she realised just how different today felt. For the first time, she wasn’t just watching as an outsider; she was here, part of the energy, sharing a moment in his world, just as he’d promised. And maybe—just maybe—she was finally ready to be a part of something new.

The race was intense, the roar of engines filling the air as she watched Franco’s car weave through the track, making his way up from P16 to P12, gaining positions one by one with determined precision. Her heart raced with every turn, every overtake. She’d never felt the thrill of Formula One from this close before, and she found herself completely absorbed, balancing her attention between the live race and the screens in the garage that tracked every driver’s progress.

And then, in the final laps, her eyes moved to another part of the screen—a familiar car that was in the lead. A red car. Her brother was out front, defending his position with expert skill, pushing with everything he had toward the finish line. She held her breath, fingers tightening around the edges of the headset as she watched the seconds count down. When he crossed the finish line in first place, a feeling she hadn’t expected washed over her—pride, pure and radiant, filled her chest. She found herself clapping, cheering, a bright smile spreading across her face.

Franco, having just finished his own race and done the mandatory weigh-in and debrief with his engineers, finally found her in the garage. He looked exhausted but happy, his face still flushed from the adrenaline of the race. When he walked over, he paused, noticing the way her eyes were glued to the screen as her brother celebrated his victory, lifting his fists in the air in triumph.

“You’re glowing,” Franco murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her reaction.

She blinked, glancing back at him and realising how giddy she must look. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it would feel like this. I’m just… so happy for him.” Her voice was breathless, filled with a genuine joy she couldn’t hide.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Then you should go to him. He’s probably waiting for you.”

She shook her head, hesitating, her gaze flickering back to the screen. “No, I couldn’t. I don’t… I don’t belong over there, with everyone. That’s his world.”

Franco tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. “Maybe that’s true most days. But today, you belong there just as much as anyone else. He’s your brother. Go celebrate with him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She bit her lip, uncertainty still holding her back. “I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

“Start with congratulations,” Franco said, flashing her a gentle, reassuring grin. “Trust me, it’ll be enough.”

He gestured toward the edge of the garage, where the barriers separated the track from the paddock. After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, taking a shaky breath as he guided her forward. The crowd around them was roaring with excitement as her brother’s car was pulled into parc fermé, fans and teammates celebrating around him. She could feel her heart pounding, each step filling her with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

At the barrier, Franco gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Go on. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

With that, he released her hand, and she took a step forward, catching sight of her brother through the haze of people and cameras. He was laughing, practically glowing as he embraced his team, still basking in the thrill of his victory. And then, as if sensing her, he turned and saw her standing there, just beyond the barrier.

His expression softened, and a smile broke across his face, one that was filled with surprise and unmistakable happiness. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made his way over, reaching out to pull her into a tight, heartfelt hug. She hugged him back, feeling the last remnants of the old distance between them dissolve as she held her brother close, finally sharing in his moment.

When they pulled apart, he looked at her, pride shining in his eyes. “You came,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

She laughed softly, tears threatening to sting her eyes. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick, brotherly kiss to her forehead. “Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here. Really.”

As the team around them cheered and the cameras continued to flash, she felt the enormity of the moment—a sense of belonging, not just as a tennis player, or his sister, but as herself.

She grinned at her brother, reaching up to ruffle his hair in a rare show of sibling affection. “Te quiero mucho, hermanito,” she said, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

His smile softened, and he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “Te quiero también,” he replied, wrapping her in one last quick hug. “Thank you for being here. Really.”

The moment was brief but profound, a quiet reassurance that, despite the different worlds they had each chosen, they were still connected. He glanced back toward his team, who were waving him over for post-race celebrations and interviews.

“I have to go,” he said, releasing her. “But I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” she replied, giving him a nod and a small wave as he returned to his crew. She watched him for a moment longer, feeling a sense of pride she hadn’t felt in years—one that was entirely unclouded by the complexities of the past. Then she turned and made her way back toward Franco’s garage, her heart still racing from the intense energy of the day.

When she found him, Franco was waiting near the garage entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a proud smile lighting up his face as he saw her approach.

“You did it,” he said softly, admiration in his eyes. “You finally let yourself be a part of all this.”

As she reached Franco, he turned to face her, his expression softening with a mixture of pride and relief as he took her hands in his. Her heart pounded, the intensity of the day lingering between them like a magnetic pull. She gazed up at him, her breath catching as she saw the warmth in his eyes—the genuine care and admiration there, as if he saw every part of her that she had worked so hard to keep separate.

Without a word, she stepped closer, her hand moving up to rest gently against his cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching hers, as if waiting for her to close the last small gap between them. Finally, she leaned up, closing her eyes as her lips met his in a slow, lingering kiss.

The world around them seemed to dissolve, the roar of the crowd and bustle of the paddock fading as the kiss deepened. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, his touch both steady and tender. She felt the warmth of him seep into her, grounding her in the moment, and she responded instinctively, fingers threading through his hair as he held her tighter. There was a gentleness in his touch, but an undeniable passion too, a desire that built slowly between them.

Time slipped away as they shared this unguarded moment, the boundaries she had set for herself crumbling with every heartbeat. She could feel the strength in his arms, the quiet reassurance he offered, and a warmth that sparked through her, as if he was silently promising that he would be there, no matter what.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing a little harder, their foreheads touching as they lingered close, unwilling to step away. Franco’s thumb traced a gentle line along her jaw as he looked into her eyes, his gaze filled with an affection so deep that it nearly overwhelmed her. “I needed that push,” she murmured against his lips.

His arms came around her, but he laughed as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on,” he said with a teasing glint, “the cameras have probably caught enough kissing for one day.”

She chuckled, letting him lead her back toward the quiet of his garage, away from the noise and eyes of the crowd. For the first time, she felt an undeniable sense of belonging—not just to the world she had worked so hard to create for herself, but to this moment, with him, with her family. She’d finally allowed herself to be part of it all, and it felt right in a way she hadn’t expected.

the end.

[itneverendshere]

all you've got to do is want something and then let yourself have it - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

this is a combination of a few requests: "hella see jj instantly jumping into uncle jay mode when autumn comes (...)  + "she's just so small against rafe and it's halloween where jj and monica and milo come stop by, and she's just so srunchy in her halloween onesie" + "the thought of baby cameron's first holiday being halloween! + thinking of jj having the most random nicknames for autumn that even rafes like what did u just call my daughter (...).

it was halloween—rafe’s first as a dad—and his baby girl, autumn, was just about a month old. his chest swelled with pride every time he looked at her—her little hands, those big blue eyes that still seemed so new to the world.

he'd never understood how people could fall in love so quickly with something so small. but now, looking down at her cute face, he couldn’t help but be consumed by it.

tonight wasn’t just another halloween—it was autumn's first.

rafe was determined to make it special. he'd even set up a few decorations in the living room, hoping to at least start the tradition early. not that she could enjoy it yet, but someday she would.

he heard the familiar chime of a text, swiping open his phone, he grinned at the picture you’d sent to the group chat. there was his baby girl, strapped in her car seat, snug as a bug, with her tiny fists curled up against the pumpkin onesie she was drowning in.

found her a decent costume, guess who’s about to come home! read your message.

he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he replied, i bet she’s ready to see her daddy.

another message popped up from jj, his voice coming through as if he were already in full-on uncle jay mode. he hadn’t even seen the baby for more than a couple minutes, but he was all about claiming his spot in the family.

aw, my sweet little chipmunk must be so excited to see me!

“chipmunk?” rafe mumbled to himself, brows pulling together as he shook his head. that idiot had a nickname for autumn every week since she was born, and every week, they seemed to get more random.

he could picture it now—jj walking in and immediately stealing the kid from his arms, calling her some out-of-nowhere name.

just as he pocketed his phone, he heard the front door swing open.

there you were, his pretty wife with that tired-but-radiant look in your eyes that made him weak in the knees every time, and there was his little girl, her chubby cheeks smushed against the car seat strap, already half-asleep.

“hey, troublemaker,” he whispered to his daughter as he scooped her up, her onesie crinkling as she wiggled and blinked up at him.

rafe had never felt so big as he did when holding her; her whole body fit in his arms like she was meant to be there. the doorbell interrupted their little moment, and rafe smiled to himself.

right on time.

he opened the door to see jj, monica, and milo—the familiar, chaotic crew.

jj was already leaning in for autumn, hands outstretched like she was his to claim. he rushed over, grinning like a kid who’d just won the jackpot. “ohhh, chipmunk’s home!”

“alright, alright, hold on,” rafe grumbled, stepping back. he shook his head, giving jj a warning glance. “dude, she’s barely awake. can you let her at least stay asleep for five minutes?”

“eh, five minutes is all she needs,” jj smirked, taking her from rafe’s arms with ease. “monica always says she’s got my personality—just sleeps through everything.”

monica rolled her eyes. “i never said that. don’t put words in my mouth.”

“come on, rafey, princess fussy butt just needs her uncle.” he shot rafe a wink, then immediately started babbling nonsense to the baby, who blinked at him with that open-mouth stare, like she was trying to understand why everyone thought this dude was so funny.

"what did you just call my daughter?" rafe raised a brow. “princess fussy butt? really, dude?”

maybank just laughed. “better than ‘chipmunk'.”

milo, meanwhile, was tugging at your sleeve, showing you the skeleton costume he’d been wearing all day, rattling off about the latest candy haul he was plotting.

monica glanced over, shaking her head. “if you start with that nickname, she’s going to think it’s her real name by the time she’s two.”

“good,” jj smirked. “she’ll be ready to take on the world by then.”

rafe chuckled, glancing back at his baby, her scrunchy little self bundled in her onesie, eyes already half-shut.

“look at her,” he nodded towards jj, while you rested your head against his bicep.

“it’s her first holiday,” you murmured.

“yeah, and she’s got maniac jj, aunt monica, and the skeleton over there to keep it interesting,” he joked, watching milo comparing candy bars with jj in what looked like a serious negotiation.

he was still cradling autumn, making faces at her and talking to her in a voice that was a little too high-pitched for anyone but a baby. rafe watched from the couch now, his arms wrapped around you as you sat beside him, both of you listening to the holiday mess around you.

“hey, i swear, if she calls him ‘uncle jay’ before she can even say ‘mama’ or ‘dada,’ i’m gonna fucking' lose it,” rafe muttered under his breath to you, nudging your side.

you chuckled, lifting your gaze to meet his. “as long as she doesn’t call him ‘princess fussy butt,’ i think we’re good.”

first holidays were a big deal, but it was more than that.

this halloween was his first as a dad, and it felt like his whole life had changed in the best possible way. you two were building memories now, the kind that would last for years, traditions that he could carry with him and pass down.

milo, now done with his fifth round of candy negotiations with jj, walked over to you two, shaking his head in frustration as he planted himself right beside the couch.

“seriously, you gotta get him to shut up,” he complained, eyeing the blonde as he bounced autumn in his arms, making strange sounds in an attempt to get her to smile, and failing miserably.

rafe snickered, his arm still around you as he pulled you in closer. “what did i tell you, kid? maybank's gotta be himself. we can’t tame him.”

milo raised an eyebrow, then glanced at you, trying to change the subject. “so, can we continue the candy haul now, or…?”

you grinned, happy to let him off the hook. “you’ve been thinking about candy for the last hour, haven’t you?”

milo nodded vigorously. “well, yeah, but only because jay’s been ignoring me. i’m on a mission. i need your professional opinion on my stash.”

you shot a glance at rafe, who was trying to hide his amusement. “looks like milo’s ready to be your candy mentor,” you teased.

he shrugged. “i don’t know, man. i might’ve been planning to steal some of his stash later.” he winked at milo, who, despite being ten, was wise enough to know when they were messing around.

“i need your help to make sure i got the best stuff this year. it’s a whole strategic thing, okay?” he leaned in close, as if he were about to reveal some secret mission. “the candy’s gotta be in prime condition.”

you raised an eyebrow. “so, you’ve got it all laid out?”

“oh, you bet,” milo said, reaching for the plastic pumpkin bucket beside him. he held it up with a dramatic flourish, as if he were presenting treasure. “operation candy haul is a success.”

rafe nodded, “what do you need from us?”

milo went into full-on candy expert mode. “okay, here’s the rundown. first, we’ve got your classics—snickers, m&ms, twix. but then there’s the premium section—reese’s, kit-kats, and my personal favorite, the milky ways.” he paused, looking at you seriously. “you have got to help me sort this. we need an unbiased opinion.”

you tried not to chuckle at his intensity. “you’re taking this a little seriously for someone who’s only ten.”

“well, i’m not ten anymore,” he said matter-of-factly. “i’m, like, ten and a half now. that’s practically a teenager.”

“i’ll give you that,” rafe said with a grin, as you smothered a laugh. “so what’s next on your list, teenager milo?”

“for the final test, you’ve gotta rank the ones that have the most chocolate-to-nougat ratio. i’ll leave that to you.” milo said, clearly trusting rafe’s opinion on these serious matters.

“you’ve got it,” rafe replied, pretending to think deeply. “the most chocolate-to-nougat ratio… now that’s a crucial step. can’t mess with the classics, kid.”

“exactly!” milo nodded, looking up at you. “we need to do a double-check of his candy haul. make sure the ratios are balanced.”

you pretended to ponder it, peeking at the candy bucket with exaggerated seriousness. “okay, you’ve convinced me. i’m in.”

you turned to rafe, who was already pulling a few pieces of candy from the pile, ready to play along. jj, still holding autumn, caught wind of what was happening and walked over with a dramatic sigh.

“what’s going on here? i hear talk of candy, and i need in.”

“too late,” milo said, grinning at him like he’d won a major victory. “i’m running this operation now.”

jj, not one to be outdone, threw a playful scowl at him. “when did you start talking back?”

as you and rafe dove into the candy sorting, a tiny whimper broke the festive ambience. everyone paused, glancing over to where jj was still cradling autumn and her face had gone from sleepy to fussy in seconds, her lips wobbling as her eyes squeezed shut.

“oh no, no, no...” jj muttered, bouncing her a little too enthusiastically, trying to avoid the inevitable meltdown. “come on, chipmunk, we’re just getting started here—don’t bail on me now.”

her hands clenched, and then came the wail—a high-pitched, all-out baby cry that instantly turned heads, her tiny face was scrunched, cheeks red, and her lungs proving just how powerful they were for someone so small.

“oh, jj,” you sighed, moving to take her, but rafe was already up, a smile spreading across his face as he reached for her.

“alright, alright, time’s up,” rafe said, easing her from jj’s arms. he held her close, gently rocking her, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her tiny back. “hey, sweet girl,” he murmured softly, his voice dropping into that warm, gentle tone reserved just for her. “shh, it’s okay.”

as if by magic, her cries began to ease, her little body relaxing against rafe as she blinked up at him, still sniffling but calming with each second. she reached a tiny hand up, clutching onto his sweater.

jj put his hands on his hips, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “see that? kid won’t cry for anyone else. i think i’m losing my charm.”

rafe smirked, not looking up from his daughter, “told you, maybank. you gotta have the touch.”

you leaned into him as he sat back down, resting your chin on his shoulder as you watched her settle, her wide eyes blinking up at you both, taking in the world from the safe haven of her dad’s arms.

the blonde grinned, putting a hand on his heart in mock sadness. “well, fine then. guess she’s got her favorites.”

monica elbowed him, rolling her eyes, “they made her, you idiot.”

“ew.” he gave you and rafe a teasing side-eye, earning a good-natured smack from your sister.

autumn, oblivious to all the drama, had already snuggled back into her dad’s chest, letting out a sleepy sigh. rafe’s face softened as he looked down at her, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her back.

halloween had never felt more complete, and as you looked at your husband holding your daughter, you knew it wouldn’t be the last.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

heyyy so like you are the only creator i fllw that can maybe write this...uhm like sukuna and insecure!reader that start making out and it gets heated and then sukuna takes readers shirt off and then his but when he wants to pull down her pants she stops him bcz she is insecure of her stretch marks but then he reassures her and they do it😭 I hope you will maybe write this and didn't have a stroke trying to understand this request 💓

- love anoo (i LOOVEE your work)

Unwavering

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, insecure!reader, soft!Sukuna, trueform!sukuna, fluff, smut, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, mdni, NO PROOFREAD SORRY IM TIRED.

An: I think this is a stupid cute idea 🥹 Thank you for trusting me and requesting anoo!! I really appreciate it 🫂

Sukuna’s a patient man. He had waited over a thousand years to execute a failing plan to take over the world. Now that he’s lost, he’s decided to take up other avenues in his life.

Learning to simply… live was hard. Sukuna’s a determined man. He needs to have a goal in mind in order to function. Whatever meaningless hobby he took up, he tried being the best at.

With his newfound free time, he also decided to try to live the slow life. He took meaningless trips to coffee shops, and he tried not to think about murder when everyone screamed and ran away from him. Maybe it was his 7’3 stature… maybe it was the extra set of arms… maybe it was the tattoos.

Everyday he was reminded of why he didn’t live this life in the first place. Humans do not accept him. They do not want him in their society. He was willing to bet that they’d almost rather him play the villain… Then, they could all shamelessly hate him.

Though, there was one human who didn’t run. The nervous barista gave him a shaky smile, and she politely asked for his name.

Sukuna was taken aback. This tiny mortal wants to know his name? Knowing someone’s name in the heien era was a privilege — not a right. He grew up and lived in a time before social media and phones. If you wanted to know someone’s name, you had to ask them for it, and they had to be willing to oblige you in an answer.

With your cute demeanor, Sukuna was willing to oblige you with his name. “It’s Suk-“ He stopped himself. That was a name that struck fear into people’s hearts. He didn’t want to be associated with that fear anymore, and the thought of frightening you actually brought him no joy. “Ryomen.”

You gave another shaky smile before you carefully etched his name into the side of a cup. For you, this interaction was terrifying, but you couldn’t afford to quit in this economy. So, you were serving a monster. No big deal.

“I like that name.” You complimented. It’s often a compliment you give patrons when you’re nervous… or when you’re trying your hand at flirting. Either way, you look back up at him, trying not to focus on the extra set of eyes. “What can I get you?”

Sukuna felt a weird shiver going up his back when you complimented him. Perhaps this was your cursed technique? Were you a sorcerer pretending to be a barista, so you could spy on him? The shiver wasn’t necessarily unpleasant… just unfamiliar. He didn’t hear much compliments from anyone besides Uraume, and Uraume’s doesn’t count. They compliment him for everything, including the way he breathes. He finds it annoying.

“It’s custom to give your own name when someone else has graced you with theirs.” He grunted, coming off much more gruff than he intended. He just wanted to know your name.

“Oh…” Your voice was soft, and you gaze away from the behemoth in your lobby. Was this some sort of trick? Some old myths and legends say that a name holds power. Would he be able to kill you if he knew your name?? You glance back over at him, noting his large muscled and incredibly toned chest that his kimono didn’t bother hiding. He was so fucking big. Your thoughts were completely baseless. If he wanted to kill you, he simply just could — regardless of knowing your name. “It’s yn.” You finally answer.

Sukuna nodded. “That’s a good name.” He realized that his compliment didn’t sound as personable as yours. It’s his first time though… He’s sure that he’ll figure it out.

“Thank you..” You respond as you started to contemplate what exactly your life had come to. You were having a semi-pleasant interaction with a monster at your job… Do you get paid enough to deal with this? “So… Ryomen, what can I get for you?”

Sukuna felt another shiver. He liked hearing your voice say his name. He wanted to hear it again and again. He wanted his name to fall from your lips like a mantra as he made love to you.

Shaking away those pestering thoughts, he finally gets to the task at hand. “Yes.. what is this.. coffee that you mortals speak of..?”

Oh boy.

*** *** ***

After explaining to the very skeptical monster what coffee was, you served him a cup with very little milk and sugar. Sukuna was delighted by the taste, and he was delighted with your company.

He made it apart of his routine. He woke up, took care of himself, got dressed in whatever Uraume had picked out from his closet, and he set forth to your coffee shop, where he’d hang around for hours — scaring away every potential customer.

He asked you all sorts of things, and you two got to know each other better. It was an unlikely bond.

It took him forever to finally kiss you. Scared of running off his one and only human companion — his first chance of living the slow life, he wanted to make sure you absolutely were ready and wanted that sort of relationship with him.

It led to some rather funny moments of you trying to kiss him, him getting confused and flustered, leaving you to feel rejected.

But when he finally did kiss you, Sukuna felt a sort of hunger that he hadn’t felt in his years of living. Sure, he has had sex before, mostly out of sheer boredom. Immortality isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.

But this, this was different. This was lust, longing, yearning. He wanted to make you feel good. He needed to show you how… happy you make him.

He had you sat upon his lap as he chased your lips with feverish kisses. Today would be the day. He’s going to finally indulge himself in your warm embrace and allow himself to enjoy on of the most human of pleasures: connection.

His hands were slowly rubbing your hips — trailing them up and down, feeling the beautiful curvature of your body. He loved every ditch and mound. He loved how you just fit against him.

His hands finally take a chance, and he slips them underneath your shirt. The skin-on-skin contact is nearly dizzying, and he feels almost embarrassed for letting a little bit of steamy foreplay get him so riled up. He can’t help it though, not when your lips taste so sweet.

Your shirt is promptly slipped up over your head, and he discards it to the side. His oversized palms slide up your tummy to your chest where he carefully grasped at your breast, groaning into your mouth as he feels the fullness and weight in his hand.

Though, despite his lust clouded brain, he didn’t miss the way your stomach flexed and tensed under his touch. Assuming you were just a big ticklish, he decided to ignore it.

His lips trail down to your neck, where he’s making mark after mark on you. Every mortal who dared to step foot in that coffee shop should know you’re not on the menu.

“Ryo.” You gasp his name so sweetly while your jaw tilts back ever so slightly. He’s never been a witness to something so pretty and pure.

His teeth go to nip at your neck, and his hands slide to your back, so he can free you from this contraption that dares to keep your beautiful breasts from his reach.

After a moment of trial and error (and a small giggle from you), Sukuna finally unclasps your bra, and his mouth waters when he’s graced with the sight.

He doesn’t take a moment for granted. Living the slow life would need to wait for a moment while he chases this euphoric feeling you give him.

His hand rests underneath the globe, and he flicks his tongue out over your nipple. For a moment, he wonders if his ministrations are more for you or him. His answer comes to him in the form of a breathy whine from you.

Clasping his mouth over the swollen bud, he uses his hand to toy with your other one. Your hands are entangled in his hair, weakly tugging as you let out those frantic whines.

He switches sides, paying an equal amount of attention to your other breast. He’s subtly experimenting with your body, trying to determine which of his tongue movements do you like the best based off the sounds that fall from your lips.

Licking and gentle sucks seem to be the winner. Personally, Sukuna would like to try biting, but you had let out this pained hiss when he tried. He quickly went back to his more gentle, loving licks.

By this time, his cocks were throbbing in agony. He can’t remember a time where he’s been this hard and hadn’t already decided to promptly handle it himself.

His hands fall to the waistband of your legging that hug around your hips, and he notices you tensing and arching away from his touch once more. He pulls away from your nipple with an obscene ‘pop’.

“Do you have a secret wound that you are not telling me about?” He finally prompts you, hands moving to your back where you seem more comfortable with him touching.

You shift just a bit in his lap from the sudden discomfort of the conversation. You figured this would come up at some point, but you didn’t know how he was going to handle it. Debating on lying to him and saying you are wounded, you actually end up deciding to tell the truth.

“It’s not that. I just…” Your eyes try to find anything else in the room other than him to focus on. “… don’t know if I am ready for you to see me like this.”

Sukuna’s face relaxes, and he sits up to eye you. “That’s an interesting choice of words, princess.” He casually notes before his hands go back to idly rubbing on your waist. “If you’d like to stop, you can just come out and say that. I think I can surprise you with my patience.”

You give him a small appreciative smile. Despite the coldness of his sharp facial features, Sukuna can say somethings that just instantly warm you to him. “It’s not that I don’t want this because I really do… Can we.. just maybe turn the light off when we…?”

His eyebrows furrow. If you wanted this, why did you seem so cautious. Then, it hits him. It must be his face and extra appendages. With the lights off, you can pretend that he’s another mortal man… that is very large and muscular.

“I don’t think dimming the lights will erase an extra set of eyes and arms, but I will do it to ease your worries, princess.”

Your eyes widen, realizing Sukuna had taken your request the entirely wrong way. “What-? Nononono- I don’t want to hide you.” You quickly scramble to get the words out, and Sukuna seems surprised when you cup his jaw so lovingly. “You’re perfect. I’m trying to hide myself from you.”

Sukuna blinks a few times, taken aback by your admission. “Why would you punish me that way?” He asks, not able to fathom why you would hide the most perfect thing he’s ever seen from him.

You’re rendered completely silent. Truthfully, you know why you don’t want him seeing you naked. You’ve seen the sight before… the purple and blue stretch marks that litter your lower tummy and inner thighs. You don’t want to tell him what’s making you so shy to the idea because then he’ll only notice it more. Plus, anytime you’re honest with yourself about the insecure thoughts, it feels like you’re one of those girls who fish for compliments.

Sukuna, while not very emotionally intelligent, is able to see the emotional turmoil you’re going through. His hands slowly move from your hips to your cheeks, and he holds your face to maintain eye contact with you.

“Do you know how long I’ve been alive?” He asks. His tone is warm and even. His red ochre eyes resting upon yours.

“No, I don’t.” You answer truthfully. You knew he was immortal, and he had lived a long life already. You just didn’t know how long that was.

His thumb tenderly strokes your cheek as he admires you. “I’m older than soap.” He quietly laughs. “I promise you… I have seen some things that you couldn’t fathom. Across all my time on this horrible planet, I have been with curses and mortals alike, and trust me mortal women put curses to shame when it comes to what’s downstairs.”

You let out an appreciative laugh, easing up in his lap. His lips crack into a small smile — glad he’s able to provide you with some comfort.

His hands engulf your cheeks. “You are the prettiest thing these hands have ever touched. Nothing about you could turn my gaze away. You have my word.”

“Besides, I think you may be a bit more put off by what my clothes are hiding.” He adds, piquing your curiosity.

“Oh? Is that right?” You ask with a cheeky smile that makes Sukuna’s chest feel all warm.

“If you’d like..” His voice feels like velvet across your skin. He speaks in a purr. “I can show you.”

Your mind goes completely blank, but you nod slowly, encouraged by his words. His lips reconnect with your neck, kissing right below your ear, and he moves his hands to your hips, guiding your movements to slowly grind against him.

You’re able to feel just how well endowed he is through the thin fabric of your leggings and panties. Every inch slides against you — rubbing and bumping against you in just the right way.

It quickly derails into another needy makeout session — as if you two are horny teenagers chasing each other’s lips.

This time, Sukuna undoes his own robes first. His philosophy is that once you see that he has two cocks instead of one, you’ll feel comfortable enough showing whatever you’re so afraid of.

Your eyes widen, and your head tilts a bit, causing Sukuna to chuckle. “Told ya I would win.” He smirked proudly.

“How am I…?” Your voice trailed off, not even knowing what to say — too embarrassed to ask how you’re suppose to take all that.

“Slowly and with a lot of prep.” He gives you a toothy grin, showing off his fangs. “Now…” His hands slowly dipped back down to your hips and the waistband of your leggings.

You tense up involuntarily, but you nod slowly, giving him permission. Sukuna lifts you off his lap, and he carefully lies you on your back against his bed — treating you like you’re fragile.

Once your leggings are discarded, your eyes avoid his — too scared of what he’d might think. You don’t even look down to see what you look like in this position, knowing you’d just end up turning yourself off if you saw the marks on your thighs and tummy.

Sukuna’s eyes rest upon your pretty cotton panties that are soaked and sticking to your cunt. His mouth waters from the sight, and he tests his luck, slowly removing your panties from your body.

Your pussy looks even more delicious than he could’ve imagined. His cock literally twitches from the sight before he gets on his knees at the edge of the bed, and he pulls you by your hips down to where he can get a good smell of your arousal.

He groans from your scent, imagining just what you’re going to taste like on his tongue. He wonders if you’re more of a moaner or a crier, but he snaps his thoughts back to your earlier hesitancy.

“What was there to be nervous about, princess?” He asks as his fingers can’t resist touching you. He teases your clit gently as he waits for an answer.

“I-“ You stifle a small whimper as you feel his fingers graze against you gently. After a beat of silence, you finally speak back up again. “It’s just… the stretch marks.” You mumble quietly.

Sukuna furrows his brow, and he looks down to where your inner thighs are, and he looks at your tummy. “What about them?” He bluntly asks.

You shift uncomfortably, wishing you could wipe his memory of it entirely. “I just don’t like how they look is all.”

Sukuna’s thumb slowly applies pressure to your clit, and he starts to rub in loose circles. “That’s stupid. Everyone has them.” He replies bluntly, his more rough around the edges nature coming out as he listened to you.

A small muffled whine comes from your lips, and you arch your back as you feel his ministrations. “What?” You ask, not able to grasp what he’s saying.

Sukuna smirks as he sees you start to lose track of the conversation. He leans into your cunt before letting out a warm puff of air from his mouth. He loves watching how your entrance tries to clench around nothing. It’s cute seeing how your soaking wet pussy thinks it’ ready for him.

“I said that’s dumb. Everyone had stretch marks. It’s a part of growth.” He reasserts as he looks back up at you.

“You clearly haven’t seen girls on the internet.” You mutter, but your attitude is quickly dispelled whenever Sukuna lightly spanks your cunt, causing for a wet slapping noise.

“No. I haven’t. I have no interest in looking at something fake.” His eyes glare at you before he leans in and gives your swollen clit a kiss. His tongue darts out, and he laps at your puffy folds. A groan escapes from his mouth from your taste, gently vibrating against your cunt before pulling away and returning his thumb to your clit. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed over such trivial things. The marks just show that you have grown, and everyone grows. That’s it.”

You try to think of a rebuttal, but your mind is so cloudy with lust that you can’t think of one. Your hips lift from the bed with a small whine — no longer wishing to focus on your insecurities. You even look down, not caring if you’re going to see the stretch marks. Your eyes meet his, and you give him a pitiful gaze.

Sukuna instantly chuckles as he knows what you’re wanting. “We’ll come back to this, princess.” He hums before he dives back in, gently kissing and suckling on your clit. If his eyes weren’t closed, he’s sure they’d roll back into his head from how sweet you taste.

When he feels your hands grabbing onto his hair, he lets out a small smug laugh before lapping at your cunt with his tongue. The wet sticky noises fill the room along with your moans and whines.

Sukuna begins to wish that he was blessed with two tongues like he was given two of every thing else, and that’s when he remembers…

His mouth is focused on your clit, licking, swirling his tongue around, gently kissing. He brings his hand below his jaw, and he presses it against your opening.

You’re briefly confused, but you don’t question him since he’s making you feel this damn good with his mouth. Your confusion is quickly whisked away when you feel a second tongue delving deep inside you.

“Fuck-!” You moan before quickly jerking your hips up, but his other set of hands holds your waist down while he enjoys his meal.

Sukuna’s such a genius. With this technique, he can make you feel twice as good, which means you get twice as wet.

His tongues work together, lapping and plunging to drink the most nectar from you. Your poor thighs are already shaking, and you’re a squirmy thing when you’re getting close.

Sukuna doesn’t seem to mind though. He’s so lost in your perfect cunt that anything besides the word “stop” would fly right over his head.

“K-Kuna… mmnnf! I’m gonna…. ah, gonna cum.” You warn, feeling that pit tightening in your stomach. He pulls you down onto his mouths harder, frantically devouring you as he hasn’t had his fill yet.

“Cum for me.” His words are deep and raw with desire. He pulses his hand tongue in and out of you quickly until he feels the way your sloppy walls constrict around him, making small squelching noises as you find your orgasm.

“Fuck-! Shiiiit~” You whine as your hips try to lift up, trying to escape all of the stimulation.

“Thaaat’s it.” He purrs as he watches his hand mouth do all the work. His chin is absolutely covered in your juices but he doesn’t seem to mind.

When your body relaxes, and you’re panting against his bed, Sukuna promptly removes his hand mouth before plunging two fingers deep inside your wet heat.

His fingers are so thick and long. He’s literally a monster. Taking two of his fingers is like taking four of your own. The stretch burns but in the best way possible.

“Ah-! W-wait.. too much!” You whimper, leaning your head back with a quiet hiss.

“Really? I think you can handle it.” Sukuna taunts with a small smirk before carefully pumping his fingers in and out. Your pussy is still so soaked, fluttering around his fingers to cause wet mushy noises. “I’d say she’s enjoying it.” He adds with a smug grin, referring to how noisy your cunt is.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you try to cope with how sensitive you are right after finishing so hard on his hand and mouth, but your eyes snap right back open when you feel his oversized palm grab onto your chin.

“Ah, ah, I want you to look at me, pretty girl.” He teases with a toothy grin. “Look at who you’re letting get you off.”

“Fuck..” You whimper as you try to lean up to kiss him, but Sukuna leans back and rejects you. He’s still such an asshole.

“You’re not getting out of looking at me.” His fingers start to piston harder, curling upwards until his bumps against that special spot that makes you see stars.

Your eyes cross as you grab at the sheets. No one had ever made you feel this good, not even you could when you touch yourself.

Sukuna’s just content drawing orgasm after orgasm. He loves watching you let go of all that worry you had, letting you focus on some of your most primal desires, and it does things to him knowing that you’re comfortable to do this with him — comfortable letting him see this side of you.

His cocks are still rock hard, pressed against his stomach as he feels how tight you are wrapped around his fingers. “You’re going to feel so good wrapped around my cock.” His voice is a low growl, fingering you harder as he thinks about what it’s going to be like to finally fuck you.

Your pussy is sobbing all over his fingers, damn near coating his hand in your arousal. He’s bullying your g-spot again and again, fucking directly into it to make you whine and cry out in pleasure.

“Yeah? You like that idea? How badly do you want me to fuck you?” He taunts, feeling the way your walls are constricting around his fingers. He can tell you’re getting close again.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, throwing your head back against the mattress. Your skin feels like it’s vibrating as your pleasure starts to build once more.

“That’s not an answer.” Sukuna’s other hand swats at your bottom, causing for a slapping noise to echo in rhe room.

“Badly! B-badly… please fuck me. Please!” You whine as you’re on the brink of an orgasm.

Sukuna’s fast. He removes his fingers, but before you have time to react, one of his cocks is sliding in, replacing that empty feeling.

Even with all that prep, it’s a tight squeeze, making even Sukuna growl. “Fuck. How can you be this tight?” His hands grab onto your hips as he buries himself to the hilt.

Your back is arching off the bed, letting out silent screams that come out as whiny mewls. The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Your spongy walls start to clench around him, pulsing as another orgasm is pulled from you.

Sukuna’s stuck in an awkward position as he’s too tall to fuck like this, besides he doesn’t want to move to ruin your orgasm, so he stays leaning over you as your body comes undone beneath him.

“Beautiful.” He groans, admiring your raw beauty as you cum on his cock. He’s truly never seen anything like it. You’re such a beautiful mess.

Your breath is shaky as you slowly come down. Sukuna sits patiently waiting for you to calm. His hips are beckoning to move, but he sits still, letting you get use to the feeling of being so full.

“Ah… hah.. fuck.. s’kuna..” Your voice is breathy, filled with utter need that makes his cock twitch inside you.

“Up you go.” He murmurs as he wraps his monstrous arms around you, lifting your body with absolute ease. He’s able to maintain full control over your body as he eases you down onto his cock carefully.

Your body is shaky, and covered in a sheen of sweat as you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging his body to yours closely. You two are connected in every way.

His lips press sweet kisses to your cheek and neck, gently nipping at your skin to give him something to focus on so he doesn’t absolutely ruin your cunt immediately.

It doesn’t take long before you’re squirming in his arms, trying to get whatever friction you can out of him. He chuckles lowly, “Careful princess. Don’t hurt yourself.” He purrs directly into your ear, breath brushing against you.

He slowly picks you up, until just his tip remained inside, plugging your tight cunt before he lowers you back down onto him like you weigh nothing.

“Mmm fuck… such a perfect cunt.” He growls before picking you up once more and lowering you back down. He loves the way your soft body feels against his, and you’re so warm. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.

“Goood girl..” He praises in a soft whisper. He’s not use to giving out compliments still… but he’s getting better. He’s been learning by watching your reactions, and this is by far the one that makes you blush the most.

“Mmph~ Kuna… so deep..” You whimper into his neck. He continues to move you up and down his cock, using you like a perfect little fleshlight.

The sound of wet squelches and clapping stays consistent throughout the room, and his other cock throbs from neglect - a pearl of pre-cum leaking out.

“Gotta give both of them attention, baby. I’m greedy.” He growls before slides all the way out of you, and he pushes his other cock inside instead.

They feel almost identical, except with different curvature. He was a little more forceful now, jerking your body up and down his length aggressively.

Your clit rubs against his pelvis, creating for the perfect friction. You grip at his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut as it’s all just so much.

Your thighs were trembling, and you let out every cry of pleasure that bubbled in your throat. No way to try to gain any control in this situation — you’re forced to just take it and cope with the stimulation.

Sukuna grunts and growls with each thrust. One of his other hands that aren’t holding you up reaches up to grasp your hair, and he pulls it back — forcing you to look him in the eye while he fills you so full again and again.

Your mewls and cries only fuel the more primal side to him. His mind is cloudy — chasing that high, wanting to spill himself so deep inside you that you feel him for days to come.

He yanks your hips up, and he takes a moment before he carefully sinks you back down on both his cocks. Both of them are slick from your arousal, but you’re still so tight.

“S’kuna~! Wait- nnngh… fuck I can’t!” You cry out, holding his gaze with bleary eyes from overstimulated tears.

“Shhh.. you can take it.” He mumbles lowly. “You wanna make me proud, don’t you? Take it…”

It feels like he’s splitting you apart while he tries to push deeper. Your entire body is trembling against him, let out pained whimpers as well as pleasurable cries because the stretch feels so good.

He gives your poor cunt just a moment to adjust before he starts bouncing you along both his cocks. The way your drooling cunt clenches around him, smushing his cocks together while he ruts upwards into you, making him grunt with pleasure.

You’re a whimpering mess in his arms, already embarrassingly close to your third orgasm while both his cocks are kissing your cervix so deeply — both leaking with an unnatural amount of pre-cum to make sure your pussy stays nice and lubricated for them.

His hand pulls your hair again, forcing your eyes back up at him. “Look at me.” He growls in a demanding tone, “Look at me while I breed this cunt.”

All 5 of his red eyes focus on you — completely enamored by your beauty. Lost in the haze and heat, only a couple words could fall from his lips. “So pretty…”

As if on cue, he feels your gummy walls squeeze around him, and tears fall from your eyes as your brought into another soul-crashing orgasm. His hands continue to bounce you up and down, riding you through your orgasm before he pushes himself in so deep. He swears he can feel your womb.

Both of his cocks pulse inside you, pumping your abused cunt so full of cum that it seeps from the edges of your entrance while he’s still plugging you.

“Oh gods-! F-fuck…” You whimper as it’s so hot. Like, it’s genuinely so warm in your pussy — you’re almost worried. “Why..” You manage to pant out, trying to ask him why it feels like that.

“Shh.. shh.. I have no explanation for you, princess. It just feels that way.” He speaks lowly as he slowly sits on the bed, still holding your body in his lap.

He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, and he feels your heart beat against his flesh. As he holds you to him, he wonders that if he had a heart, would it be in sync with yours? Would you two beat as one?

[skalfy]

Misunderstandings pt 2 (aka understandings)

alexia putellas x reader, ~4.9k words, part 2/2

The very long-awaited (by me and maybe no one else) second part to this one!

Ingrid had been shocked, then eventually amused when you finally managed to explain Alexia’s presence in your apartment. You couldn’t help but to share her amusement at the situation, albeit tempered with the frustration at how avoidable the whole situation was. It seemed especially ironic that the crueler Alexia had gotten in defense of her friend, the more it had driven you to rely on Ingrid. Jenni had, of course, found the whole thing hilarious. The dark-haired Spaniard had spared a thought for you in acknowledging that it didn’t make your Barcelona career so far any less hellish, but then immediately dissolved into laughter as she made you recount every detail of the captain’s misguided trip to your apartment. By the time you got off the phone with her, Jenni had brought herself to tears with laughter at least three times, the last as she tried to do her best impression of how awkward Alexia would be as she tried to make up for her behavior.

Jenni had not been wrong. 

Alexia had started by apologizing. It was sincere, and she looked so miserable that you had no doubts that she had been thinking about her behavior. You had wanted to be tough, to make her work for it, but when she came up to you the next morning with bloodshot eyes and an apology that took full responsibility for her actions and acknowledged how hurtful she’d been, with the promise of more to come, you had accepted and told her you just wanted to move on.

For Alexia, “just moving on” apparently meant cautiously hovering at all times. On the field, she had turned from your greatest critic to your (mostly) silent guardian angel. She was the first to check on you at any sign of discomfort, and showered you with an assortment of items. Water bottle? Alexia was already handing it to you. Chance of rain? Alexia saw you didn’t bring your jacket and just grabbed an extra one, it’s here if you need it. It would have been a bit annoying if she hadn’t been so perceptive and thoughtful. As she paid closer and closer attention, she got quite good at predicting your needs.

—

A few weeks after the apology, Alexia’s hovering had died down to a less alarming level. She still seemed to be extra concerned with your wellbeing, but there was a lot less of the awkward lingering that Jenni had anticipated. 

Without Alexia’s poor treatment to contend with, you had also gotten more into the rhythm of the team as well, and you were enjoying time with the team, especially the regular team events. 

At the moment, though, you had been feeling the threat of a cold coming on for the past few days, and that plus a cool, rainy game, had left you feeling even more achy and tired than you expected. It was a bit disappointing to miss out on team bonding, but you hardly hesitated to send a message to Lucy and let her know that you wouldn’t make it to the movie night she and Ona were hosting. You loved the team, but you were certain your head wouldn’t be able to take the laughter and loud chatter, not to mention your shoulders and neck were knotted so tight that anything more active than lounging around on your couch sounded miserable.

A gentle knock on your apartment door roused you from the half-sleep you had fallen into. You were disoriented for a moment, head throbbing angrily as you raised it from the cocoon of blankets you had wrapped yourself in. Pirates of the Caribbean was still playing quietly on the tv, and at first you thought that was what had woken you, then another knock at the door sounded and cut through your confusion.

Dragging one of the blankets along, you crossed over to the door and opened it, revealing Alexia.

Unlike the last time she had appeared at your door, the midfielder didn’t push her way past you. Instead, she stood in place, fingers twisting nervously as she waited for you to acknowledge her. For your part, you just stared as your fuzzy head caught up to the situation.

“Hi,” your voice cracked, so you cleared your throat and tried again with marginally more success, “Hola, Alexia.”

“Hola,” she replied. “You weren’t at the movie.” It didn’t sound like a reprimand, but you felt tears prick at the back of your eyes anyway. You felt so uncomfortable and unwell and the thought that Alexia might be here to tell you off for skipping team bonding was overwhelming.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders and dropping your gaze to the floor.

“No, not sorry! I mean-- dios mio!” The captain sighed in frustration and your stomach dropped. You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for her to continue. Instead, you were startled by a cool, dry hand gently cupping the side of your head. You couldn’t resist leaning into the soft pressure, and after a second it shifted from your cheekbone to your forehead. “Lo siento, I just came to make sure you are okay. I did not mean to upset you.”

You opened your eyes as Alexia slid her hand from your forehead back into the loose strands of hair escaping your bun, guiding them gently away from your face. The light touch felt good on your aching head, and you fought a shiver at the sensation.

“You feel warm. Let me help, vale?” 

You weren’t expecting the offer, but you also weren’t in a state of mind to ponder it further. Plus, while you weren’t sure how you felt about the captain, you did trust that she meant well this time.

“Vale.” You answered, then turned to walk back to your couch. Behind you, the blonde hesitated for a moment before following you in and shutting the door. 

After removing her shoes, she entered the living room and hovered awkwardly above where you had laid back down. You scrunched your feet up to make room for her at the end of the couch, but she made no move to sit.

“Have you had paracetamol?” 

You shook your head no, then winced at the shot of pain the motion sent from your neck to the base of your skull.

“Is it your head or your neck that hurts?” 

“Both, and my shoulders. Just tight from yesterday.” She nodded slowly.

“Where is the paracetamol?”

“Bathroom. Above the sink.” That was apparently her last question and you listened with closed eyes as she walked away.

You half-drifted off for a few minutes as Alexia made her way around your apartment, eventually setting a few things on the coffee table near you. You heard her knees crack as she crouched down, then felt her fingertips trail along your shoulder softly. 

“Can you sit up, cari?” Her tone was kind and you complied with the request, moving gingerly. “Gracias. Have this first.” She passed you a mostly peeled banana. You shot her a look, but obediently took a small bite. The midfielder waited patiently as you ate the whole thing, then traded the peel for two tablets and a glass of water. You took the pills with a sip of water, then reached out to return the glass to the table. Alexia intercepted you and pushed the water back, a smile tugging at her lips as you gave her another look before drinking the rest.

“Buen trabajo.” The praise might have made you blush if you were feeling better, but as it was you just handed the glass back.

Before you could lie back down, Alexia grabbed the pillow you had been using and sat where it had been. Setting the pillow on her lap, she gestured for you to lay there, guiding you until you were comfortable on your stomach with the pillow under your head. Surprisingly, the position felt much better than when you had arranged yourself on one side before.

“Okay if I rub your shoulders? To help with the pain?” She asked, voice a little uncertain.

“Yes, please,” you breathed out, desperate for anything to ease how tightly the muscles were knotted.

“Vale.” Her fingertips sunk gently into the muscles of your upper back, thumbs working carefully against the tops of your shoulders. The pressure was light, but you could feel her warm, steady hands start to soften the tension. 

You had nearly started to drift off again when the Spaniard moved to slide one hand up to grip the back of your neck. Caught off guard, you surprised yourself with a muffled groan as she dug her fingers in. Her hand stilled, but didn’t move from where it rested.

“Hurts?” Alexia asked in a low voice.

You kept your face tucked in the pillow, but responded, “Only a little. Feels good.

“Good.” You could hear the edge of a smile in her voice.

It didn’t take long after she resumed the massage for you to slip back into sleep.

—

This time when you awoke it wasn’t to the sound of someone at your door. You blinked yourself slowly into full consciousness, realizing as you did so that you weren’t alone. There was a hand cupped protectively against the back of your head, fingers threaded into your hair, and the warm glow of morning light throughout your apartment.

You were surprised to feel only a mild twinge of pain as you tilted your head to look up at the midfielder who was still sitting under you on the couch. You were amazed to see she was fast asleep, tucked into the corner of the couch, but still mostly upright. It couldn’t have been a very comfortable position, but she looked remarkably peaceful. 

After another moment of studying the sleeping blonde, you mentally shook your head and began to slowly extricate yourself from her lap. You felt well rested and far better than the night before, but now your body was reminding you that your dinner last night had only been a banana. Just as you carefully started to sit up, Alexia’s hand moved, stroking softly through your hair as she mumbled sleepily.

“Estás bien, dormirse”

Your heart squeezed at the way she instinctively tried to provide comfort. 

“Gracias, Alexia. I’m okay.” You replied quietly, gently completing your move to sit up out of her grasp. “I’m just going to make some breakfast, you can lie down and sleep.”

The blonde didn’t acknowledge your words, but when you stood up and draped your blanket over her form she did lean deeper into the couch and burrow into it rather adorably.

—-

As you moved through the kitchen, starting the coffee maker and heating up a pan for eggs, you thought about your visitor. It had been clear already from Alexia’s actions that she was trying to make up for the way she had treated you at the beginning, but the concern and care she had shown last night was more than you had expected. It hadn’t felt like an act either, the midfielder had simply seen you feeling poorly and stepped in to help. If this was the Alexia the rest of the team had all along, then you understood why everyone else held her in such high regard.

You were pretty certain, deep down, you had already forgiven the captain, but last night had certainly washed away any last temptation to hold a grudge. Alexia may have been in the wrong, but she had shown that her opinion of you had changed, and that she felt guilty about how cruel she had been. And, not that it excused anything, but you did understand her motivation in a sense– if nothing else she was trying to be a good friend, you’d grant her that.

The midfielder had been one of the players you were most excited to play with and learn from, so finally realizing that you both might be able to put the rocky start behind you was a relief. You felt almost like a weight had been physically lifted from your chest, though maybe that was just another ache that such a good night of sleep apparently fixed.

“Bon dia.” You looked up from the stovetop at the sound of Alexia’s voice. She was standing in the entryway looking somewhere between sleep-mussed and frustratingly model-like.

“Bon dia, Capi” you replied. “Thank you. For checking on me and for staying to help, I feel much better now.”

She ducked her head, but you caught a flash of pink across her cheeks as she did so. “No hay de qué, I’m glad you are better. Thank you for letting me sleep on your sofa.”

Now it was your turn to feel your cheeks heat. Did Alexia not realize you’d spent the whole night half on top of her, or was she just trying to give you a chance to pretend otherwise in case you were embarrassed. You chose your next words intentionally. “You are welcome to it anytime you would like, though I don’t think I gave you much of a choice when I fell asleep on you.”

The blonde’s bright smile told you that you chose correctly.

“Do you want any coffee? Eggs?” You asked, finally remembering the breakfast you were in the middle of making.

“I would, but my sister has already texted me four times to demand I meet her. I just wanted to check to see if you need anything before I go.”

“No, you’ve done more than enough for me already, don’t make your sister text you a fifth time.” You said, sliding the pan off the heat and stepping over toward Alexia. She stood completely still as you approached, but when you reached up to pull her into a hug, she softened into it immediately, wrapping her arms around your back to hold you tight. It reminded you instantly of the comfort of Jenni’s hugs, and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d missed out all these months of not hugging Alexia.

—

In the weeks since she had spent the night, you felt like you had turned a corner with your relationship with Alexia. You weren’t holding onto the memories of her unkindness, and there was no longer any part of you that feared her attitude might change again. The only problem was that it didn’t seem like she had the same confidence you did. You couldn’t help but feel like the captain was still going out of her way to make it up to you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the special attention she was paying you, but what you really wanted was to move on and put the whole thing behind you. Alexia’s guilt over something you’d already let go wasn’t necessary, and there was a not-so-small part of you that feared if you waited too much longer you were going to end up hurt when she inevitably pulled away on her own. Once the Spaniard realized that everything was fine between the two of you, she would go back to being a professional, a teammate and captain and nothing else, and you understood that. It was just that it made your heart sink a little to think about it. You had gotten used to her attention, nothing more than that– but you know that it would be better to cut things off before you got too used to it.

All these thoughts were not far from the front of your mind when you arrived at the last full practice before your first Champions League game. Alexia met you as you stepped out of your car (or, rather, Alexia materialized a foot away from you when you looked up after closing your car door, which startled you the first few times, but now was a normal part of your morning). The midfielder passed you one of the two coffee cups she held, giving you a quick smile in response to your enthusiastic “¡Gracias!”

The coffee thing was a relatively new part of the captain’s arsenal of apology gestures. She had appeared one morning and nearly forced the cup into your hand before walking away quickly. Once you had recovered your wits, you had taken a sip and discovered that it was a dirty chai– your favorite. It had only taken a little wrangling to get the story from Ingrid; Alexia had FaceTimed Mapi from the coffee shop and demanded to be handed over to her girlfriend so that Ingrid could give your order to a highly amused barista. Since then, the morning coffee had become a regular occurrence, and you had managed to get the midfielder to stick around and walk in with you.

You were intent on practicing your Spanish, so the two of you chatted the whole way, Alexia patiently letting you work your way through what you wanted to say without interrupting. She was one of your favorite people to practice with for that reason– so many of your other teammates were quick to finish your thought for you, or just wanted to practice their English instead.

It was exactly this kind of interaction, though, that was troubling you, and you resolved to fix the situation once and for all by the end of the day.

—

Practice had gone well, and you were feeling both nerves and excitement as you walked off the pitch knowing that there was just recovery and a light training session between now and your UWCL debut. The familiar sounds of Patri and Pina’s banter filled your ears as you followed the pair into the changing room, but when they suddenly went silent, you looked up to see both pairs of eyes looking right at you. 

“Someone has an admirer,” Pina said, giving you a pointed smirk. You were confused for a moment, then saw past the two of them to your locker. There was clearly a vase of flowers inside, along with a ribbon-tied white box. You felt your cheeks flush. Unable to come up with a witty response to knock the curiosity out of your nosy teammates, you just shook your head and slid between the two to reach your locker and the gifts inside. 

The flowers were beautiful, and you moved them carefully off of the box and deeper into your locker. Normally, you might have had the good sense to spirit the gift away from the prying eyes of your teammates, but you were certain you recognized it, and you couldn’t wait a moment longer to confirm. You pulled the red ribbon to release the knot, and as it fell loose, you raised the lid to reveal exactly what you suspected. 

Inside were four mouthwatering breads that you knew immediately were from the little bakery near your apartment in Nuevo Leon. It had become a tradition, almost a superstition, for you to stop there on the morning of an important game when you had played for Tigres, and it was a tradition you sorely missed. You felt a sting behind your eyes as you realized what someone had done for you.

You closed the box up carefully, protecting the perfect breads once again before you made your way to shower. As you crossed the locker room, you caught the gaze of your captain already on you. Her cheeks colored, but she didn’t look away immediately, offering you a bashful smile that confirmed what you already knew about the source of your gifts.

—

By the time you finished your shower, everyone but Alexia had filtered out of the changing room. She was quiet as you toweled your hair dry and dressed, eyes glued to a boot that she was holding and… inspecting carefully? You broke the silence as you .

“Someone left beautiful flowers and a very thoughtful gift for me. Maybe someone who did their research and found out one of my old traditions.” At your words, Alexia finally looked up.

“Hmm. A lo mejor.” Her tone was neutral, but the same bashful smile you saw before crept across her face. “They are right? I had to trust Jenni and she likes to… joke.”

“Yes, they’re perfect. Thank you, Alexia.” You crossed the room to pull her into a tight hug, whispering an extra “gracias, capi” as you pulled back.

“You are welcome,” she whispered back, sounding almost breathless. “I just want you to feel happy here like you did there. And I want you to score goals for us in Champions like you scored for Tigres.”

You laughed at her final comment, but even to your own ears your huff of amusement held a dangerous edge of affection for the woman in front of you. A woman who, you reminded yourself, was just trying to be a good captain to you and make up for the weeks of misguided ire.

“Maybe I’ll even score a golazo for you.” You said, cringing inwardly at how much it sounded like a line one of the men’s team players would try on you back in college. You tacked on “As a thank you, of course.” somewhat awkwardly. Alexia’s smile in response was so bright that you couldn’t tell whether she was laughing at you or genuinely pleased by the prospect. Either way, you couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Trato hecho. I will see you tomorrow.” The midfielder gave you one last quick smile as she turned to leave. As you watched her cross the room toward the door, you remembered your resolution from the start of practice. As much as you appreciated Alexia’s kindness, you had to rip off the proverbial band-aid. You called out to the blonde making her way out of the locker room.

“Alexia!” 

She stopped and turned immediately at the sound of your voice, walking back over to where you had both stood a moment ago.

“¿Sí? You are okay?” Her eyes scanned across you quickly as if checking to make sure you hadn’t somehow been injured in the last 30 seconds.

“Yeah, I just needed to tell you, um…” you trailed off, wishing now that you hadn’t called her back quite so impulsively. Her eyes had now settled intently on your face and it caught you off guard when you saw the intense, almost hopeful look in them. “You should know that I already forgave you, Ale. A long time ago. I appreciate how nice and thoughtful you have been, and the gifts and everything you’ve done, but I can’t let you keep doing it out of guilt. You can treat me like everyone else now, I just want to have you as my teammate and captain.”

“You.. que?” She furrowed her brows elegantly, face puzzled for a moment before it smoothed over into neutrality as she seemed to comprehend your words. When she spoke, her voice matched the blankness of her face. “Ah. Vale. Okey. Solo tu capitana.”

Her tone and words surprised you, but before you could react, Alexia mumbled a quiet “adeu,” and made a break for the door.

—

You had puzzled over Alexia’s reaction as you gathered up your belongings, flowers and box of panes included, and headed home. You had expected her to be, maybe not pleased, but at least glad to hear that you had moved past the earlier bad blood. She had clearly cared about fixing things, given the amount of effort she had put in to make it up to you, so why wouldn’t it be good news to her that you wanted to move past it?

The moment her face dropped into impassivity still hung in your mind as you set the beautiful vase of flowers on your kitchen table. As you rotated them slightly to appreciate the bouquet, a folded piece of paper caught your attention. It was nestled unobtrusively between soft petals, tucked away discreetly, probably so that prying eyes like Pina’s wouldn’t notice at a glance. You slipped it out carefully, unfolding and smoothing the creases so you could read the words inside.

Hola Y/N,

I hope you like the flowers. The florist said they mean luck and strength. You are already strong, and I know you don’t need luck, but they are very beautiful and extra luck is always good.

There was a crooked smiley face at the end of the sentence, and the thought of Alexia drawing it made you smile.

I am so happy that you are playing for Barca, and I am excited to watch you play in Champions League for the first time. You will be incredible, like you always are. No matter what happens in the game I am already proud of you, and I want to thank you for letting me earn your trust after how I acted.

If you have forgiven me, would you let me take you out to dinner after the game?

Con cariño,

Ale

The unfiltered kindness made your chest burn warm with affection, and you felt a swell of excitement at the invitation. It sounded almost like the captain was asking you on a date, and the idea filled your stomach with butterflies. Suddenly, your heart dropped. If it was an invitation to go on a date, then your words in the changing room must have sounded like an attempt to let Alexia down easy. You had clearly told her that you only wanted her to be your teammate. Thinking that you were freeing her from the burden of winning your forgiveness, saving your own heart from accidentally being strung along by the well-meaning captain, had you ruined the chance of more? 

Without thinking, you picked up the phone and called Ingrid.

“Hei du! What’s happening?” The norwegian answered after a ring.

“Ingrid. I think I fucked up.”

You explained the situation to her, speaking so quickly she had to ask you to slow down and repeat more than once. You finally finished with a wavery voice. “Do you think there’s a chance she might… have feelings for me?’

“Y/N…” Ingrid drew your name out slowly, then paused. “I think Alexia has been pretty well in love with you since about two days after she found out you weren’t stealing me from Maria. Herregud, you’ve been the only thing she talks or thinks about besides football. Maria’s been complaining for weeks that Alexia is too busy watching you to notice all the pranks she’s pulled on all children.”

You didn’t know what to say, and for a long minute Ingrid didn’t push you. Then, finally, she spoke again.

“Do you have feelings for Alexia?”

Your instinct was to defer, and “I don’t know” was right on the tip of your tongue, but before you said it, it felt wrong in your mouth. You thought about the way being around Alexia felt, the way you felt warm all over when she praised you, and how incredible it felt to be the center of her attention. You also thought about how good she looked on and off the pitch, the way her whole face lit up with a smile, and how she had looked standing in your kitchen, sleep-mussed from a night asleep on your couch. You bit your lip, cheeks rising in a grin.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“I think you better give our capitana a call.” You could just about hear the twinkle in Ingrid’s eye.

“Thank you, Ingrid.” 

You exchanged your goodbyes and ended the call, then after a deep breath, before you could lose your nerve, you called Alexia.

“Y/N?” She answered immediately.

“Alexia, hi. Hola.” You immediately stumbled over your words. “I read your note. I hadn’t read it yet when we talked before.”

“Sí, vale…” She said, imploringly.

“I thought everything you have been doing was to apologize, so that’s why I told you that I had already forgiven you. Because I have, and I like being your friend, and I like when you are sweet to me, and pay attention to me, and ask Jenni and Ingrid what my favorite things are. I was afraid that if you were doing those things because you felt guilty, that one day you would realize you didn’t have to feel guilty anymore, and you would start treating me just like every other teammate. Which would be okay, but it would also break my heart a little. So I wanted to make sure it happened soon, because I thought the later it happened, the more it would hurt.” 

You paused, and the midfielder made no move to interrupt your explanation.

“But after reading your note, it made me think that maybe I misunderstood. And it gave me hope that you might have feelings for me. Like the feelings that I have for you. So when I said I just wanted you to be my teammate and captain, I didn’t know that there could be an option for you to be more. So let me try to give you a better answer to the question you wrote in the note: I have forgiven you, and me gustaría mucho ir a cenar contigo.”

“Really?” Alexia breathed out.

“Really.” You replied. “I like you a lot, Alexia.”

“I like you a lot, too.” The smile in her voice was unmistakable, and you felt the last vestiges of worry drop away. You might have gotten started on the wrong foot, but things were looking pretty good after all.

Not planning for a part 3, but if anyone is really interested, let me know and I could be persuaded :)

tag: @marvelwomen-simp

[mapis-putellas]

𝑰𝒄𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 1400+

Warnings: none

Summary: You take Alexia ice skating, thinking she’d be great at it like she is at everything else. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

The day had started out with the best intentions. Alexia had been looking forward to the little break you had both managed to carve out of your hectic schedules, and you wanted to make it special. You'd decided to surprise her with an ice-skating date, thinking it would be fun to try something new together. Alexia was great at pretty much everything—football, her role as captain, even the random card games she managed to win without fail. You figured ice skating would be no exception.

Turns out, you couldn't have been more wrong.

As you laced up your skates and glanced at Alexia, a mischievous smile spread across your face. She was giving the ice rink a wary look, the skates on her feet looking very out of place as she wobbled slightly, her expression skeptical.

"Ready, captain?" you teased, reaching for her hand as you both stepped toward the ice.

She took a deep breath, squeezing your hand, her gaze shifting between the smooth, glistening surface and your confident smile. "I... I don't know," she muttered, her Spanish accent even thicker than usual. "Is... slippery, no?"

"Sí, it's a little slippery," you replied, trying not to laugh as she looked at you with a mix of terror and determination. "But that's part of the fun."

She gave you a doubtful look, but before she could back out, you gently tugged her onto the ice. Her eyes went wide, and within seconds, she was gripping your hand with both of hers, her feet sliding out from under her as she scrambled to stay upright.

"¡Ay! Don't let me fall!" she exclaimed, her voice just a bit too loud, drawing a few amused glances from other skaters nearby. She clutched at your arm like her life depended on it, her gaze fixed on you as if you were the only thing keeping her from crashing.

"Relax, I've got you," you said, wrapping your arm around her waist to steady her. "Just... try to stand straight. Use your core, okay?"

She let out a huff, shooting you a look. "Easy for you to say," she mumbled, her grip tightening as she leaned heavily against you, still wobbling unsteadily. "I play... on grass, not on this... this ice!"

You bit back a laugh, doing your best to keep her upright as you slowly guided her around the rink. She moved cautiously, her feet sliding haphazardly, and you could feel her frustration growing as she struggled to keep her balance.

"If you let me fall," she said, her voice low and serious, "you are single by tomorrow. Understand?"

The look she gave you was so intense that you couldn't tell if she was joking or not, and you felt a wave of laughter bubbling up, but you managed to keep it together. "Understood, captain," you replied, giving her a little nod. "I won't let go."

Alexia relaxed a bit, though her gaze remained focused on her skates, her movements awkward as she tried to mimic your graceful gliding. Every so often, she'd slip, and you'd tighten your grip, practically supporting her full weight as you kept her from toppling over.

After a few minutes, she looked up at you, a slightly embarrassed smile tugging at her lips. "Why... why am I so bad at this?" she asked, her tone almost pouty.

You smiled, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her forehead. "Hey, it's your first time. Besides, you're adorable when you're not good at something."

She narrowed her eyes at you, but the hint of a smile betrayed her amusement. "Adorable? I am... I am captain, not adorable!"

"Sure, sure," you replied, grinning as you guided her a little further along. "But I think the team would agree that you're both."

With a huff, she tried to straighten up, her grip on you loosening slightly as she gained a bit of confidence. "I... I think I am getting it," she said, her voice a little stronger now.

"You are! See, I knew you could do it," you encouraged, beaming at her as she wobbled forward a few more steps without holding onto you quite as tightly.

Emboldened by her minor success, Alexia took a deep breath, releasing her grip on your arm entirely as she attempted to skate on her own. You hovered nearby, ready to catch her if needed, but to your surprise, she managed a few wobbly strides without faltering.

"Look, I'm doing it!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with excitement as she managed to skate a few more feet. You could see the pride in her expression, and it warmed your heart to see her enjoying herself.

But just as she started to gain momentum, disaster struck. She slid forward, gaining a bit too much speed, her balance wavering. Before either of you could react, she veered slightly to the left and collided headfirst with an unsuspecting child who was standing nearby, also unsteady on his skates.

The child yelped, stumbling backward, and Alexia nearly fell herself, barely managing to catch herself as she regained her balance. Both she and the child stared at each other, equally shocked.

"Hey!" the kid exclaimed, frowning up at her as he rubbed his shoulder. "Watch where you're going!"

Alexia, still flustered, straightened up, trying to regain her composure. "It was... your fault," she argued, folding her arms stubbornly across her chest. "You should not... stand in middle of the ice!"

The child crossed his arms, glaring right back at her. "Maybe you should learn how to skate first!"

You watched the exchange, biting your lip to keep from laughing. Alexia, captain of her team and a force on the field, was now arguing with a child on an ice rink, both of them equally indignant.

Before things could escalate, you skated over, gently pulling Alexia back by the arm. "Alright, alright, let's not start a fight here," you said, smiling apologetically at the child's parents, who had appeared to escort their son away.

Alexia huffed, crossing her arms as she glared after the child, clearly miffed. "He was in my way," she muttered under her breath, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

You chuckled, gently guiding her off the ice and back to the benches. "Maybe we're not quite ready for solo skating yet," you teased, patting her shoulder. "But you did great for your first time."

She pouted, her arms still crossed as she sank down onto the bench, looking away with a grumpy expression. Her cheeks were still flushed, and you could tell she was a mix of embarrassed and frustrated.

"Hey," you said softly, sitting down beside her and nudging her with your shoulder. "How about some hot chocolate? Would that cheer you up?"

At the mention of hot chocolate, her expression softened slightly, and she gave a reluctant nod. "Okay... but only if I get the biggest one," she mumbled, her tone still a bit pouty.

You laughed, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Deal. Biggest hot chocolate they have, just for you."

A few minutes later, you returned with two steaming cups of hot chocolate, the whipped cream piled high on both. You handed Alexia her cup, and she immediately took a sip, her eyes lighting up as she tasted the rich, warm chocolate.

"Better?" you asked, smiling as you watched her take another sip, her pout finally fading.

She nodded, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Yes... much better." She glanced at you, her cheeks still pink, but this time from the warmth of the hot chocolate.

You couldn't resist the urge to tease her a little more. "You know, even though ice skating isn't exactly your thing, you looked pretty adorable out there."

She rolled her eyes, though you could see the hint of a smile as she took another sip. "You... you like to tease me too much."

You grinned, reaching over to wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as you leaned in to kiss her forehead. "Only because I love you."

She blushed, her gaze dropping as she murmured, "I love you too." Then, in a quieter voice, she added, "Thank you... for not letting me fall."

You chuckled, gently nudging her with your shoulder. "Anytime, captain. Besides, I'd like to keep my girlfriend."

With a laugh, she kicked her legs playfully, a soft smile lighting up her face as she leaned against you, completely content. The rest of the world faded away as you held her close, savoring the warmth of her presence and the quiet joy of the moment.

As you sat there, watching her kick her legs and sip her hot chocolate, you realized that these were the moments you cherished most—small, simple, and full of laughter, just the two of you, exactly where you wanted to be.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @codiemarin @girlgenius1111 @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[aquaticmercy]

My Own Soul’s Warning

Summary : You, an immortal being, falls in love with the very mortal Bucky Barnes. You would do anything for him, even if it meant you had to strike a deal with Death herself.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, trauma, mentions of sex (not graphic), cursing. Rio Vidal makes an appearance. Angst with a happy ending. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 6.3k

Note : This fic was inspired by Agatha and Rio, though this has a much happier ending. Reader is the Spirit of Suffering, an immortal entity who shows herself to people in extreme physical and emotional suffering to help ease the pain. The title is inspired by the Killers song of the same name. The fic started in the 1940s and ends after FATWS. Enjoy!

The first time Bucky saw you, it was 1942. He was in the trenches, under the dim moonlight of Germany.

He was supposed to be Sergeant James Barnes, fighting to defend his country. But then? He was only selfishly fighting for his own life. 

The air was thick with the stench of mud, sweat, and blood. The world around him felt like a prison of haze and darkness— machine guns firing in the distance, the rumble of explosions shaking the ground underneath him. 

He knew it only took one mistake, one slip up, and this is how he would die.

He was tired beyond anything he’d ever felt before, his body crumbling after days without sleep. His body ached from wounds he hadn’t couldn’t treat— the infirmary was crowded, too crowded to even see the ‘small’ gushing cut on his forearm that didn’t feel so small right now. 

But he could take the physical pain. It was the gnawing fear that was the hardest to bear, creeping over him, curling around his ribs like a rope, tightening until it hurt to breathe.

Then, through the smoke and shadows, he saw you. 

You were just a figure at first, standing a few yards away. You were cloaked in the same darkness that had swallowed up his world. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed that you didn’t quite belong.

You were almost radiant, the flickering light from the fire catching on something otherworldly in your gaze. Bullets flew past you, going through your being as if you were only made of smoke.

You were watching him, silent and still. Your expression was carefully neutral, a warmth in your eyes that cut through the cold surrounding him.

He blinked, half-believing you were just a figment of his exhaustion.

When he opened his eyes again, you were still there, a steady presence in the middle of the chaos. Bucky felt a strange sense of peace swallow him, like the world had gone silent in the space between his heartbeat and your gaze. 

You didn’t say a word, but you didn’t need to. Just being there, in a place where everything was twisted and brutal and so fucking wrong, you felt like a sliver of peace in this nightmare that was wartime. 

Something deep in his gut told him that he wasn’t meant to understand who, or rather what, you were. And yet, he felt safer at the mere presence of you. Before he could reach out to test if you were real, you were gone— slipping away into the dark like a ghost.

—

The next time he saw you was when he was half-dead, bleeding out in the snow after the fall from the train. The pain was more than unbearable, raw and sharp and insufferable. His nerves burned, radiating from every shattered bone, every freezing inch of his numb skin. 

His vision blurred, the sky above flickering in and out of view as his mind faded in and out of consciousness. He wondered if this was going to be his death, a slow and dramatic fade to black he only ever saw in the movies Steve dragged him to.

Then he saw you again, standing in the snow.

The sight of you jolted him back to consciousness, just enough to cling to the edge of the living world. This time, there was no mistaking the look on your face— a look of concern. 

For a moment, he thought you must be an angel coming to collect him. 

You must be. 

There you were, silently watching him with that same expression of warmth he’d seen in the trenches.

He struggled to sit up to get a better look at you, every little movement sent pain shooting through him. Finally, he slumped back to the snow in defeat, breathing hard. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, nearly swallowed up by the howling wind.

The cold, harsh winter wasn’t a place for someone who looked as fragile as you, he thought.

You carefully took a step closer, as if unwilling to disturb him. There was a slight curve to your lips, something that could have been a smile but wasn’t quite, as you looked down at him. “I’m looking out for someone.”

He swallowed a strange lump in his throat, the sharp tang of fear and curiosity contrasting the cold bite of the freezing air. “Who?” His voice cracked, barely audible.

“You,” you said, your voice as quiet as a prayer.

It was such a simple answer, but it hit him like a wave. In the midst of all the pain, he suddenly felt relief. 

The hurt eased, the cold stung a little less.

He didn’t know if you were a dream, a ghost, or something beyond his understanding. But at that moment, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were there, that you had come for him. That he wasn’t alone. 

As his vision started to fade again and the darkness crept back, he realised you didn't leave any footprints in the snow. 

—

Bucky didn’t know why you kept showing up. 

Over the years, he felt your presence like his own shadow, drifting through the Hydra bases, the laboratories, the dark corners of the cell they kept him in between missions. The world around him was cold and sterile, a cage of steel where hope had no place, no right to exist.

Still, he saw you, quiet and watchful, a silhouette in the dim light. 

He would catch glimpses of you while the scientists strapped him to machines, the hum of needles piercing his flesh. You were there, watching over him, as they shocked cold electricity through his veins. Each time, his eyes would land on you, and you’d watch him from the far corner of the room, with that same calm, steady gaze.

Everytime his eyes locked on yours, the pain eased, even if only a little.

It became easier to take the torture.

It became easier to find rest.

Over time, Hydra erased his memories. 

Soon, he forgot his life. He forgot the people who used to love him, who grieved for him when he was lost. 

But he had never forgotten you. 

Maybe it was the first sign that you weren’t quite human.

One night, after a particularly brutal round of reprogramming, he saw you again, this time closer than ever before. 

You stood by his bedside, where he lay in the dark, barely clinging to sanity. He blinked, pain searing in his throat. He tried to reach for you, fingers trembling, and felt nothing.

“Where did you come from?” he whispered, his voice rough and broken, as he felt that comfort once again. 

The comfort he only had with you.

A soft smile touched your lips, something gentle and knowing. You were a light in the darkness of his fractured mind. “Far, far away from here.”

He closed his eyes, trying to etch your face to his memory, certain that if he did, he could take some small fragment of comfort back into the waking nightmare that was his brutal reality.

You knew, by the way his life was going, that you were going to see Bucky more and more.

It was the nature of your job, to look out for people like him.

After the next couple of visits, he started talking to you more and more— whenever he was left alone with his thoughts, whenever the pain or the hollow emptiness crept too close, he would search for you. 

And you’d be there, listening to the murmured secrets he’d never told another soul. 

He told himself you weren’t real, that he was just losing his grip on sanity, conjuring a kind face to stave off the horror. But that didn’t stop him from craving your presence.

—

Years later, he’d managed to break free of Hydra’s grip. He had carved out a life hiding in the far reaches of the world when he saw you again, as if you’d followed him through every corner of hell he’d tried to escape.

Romania was quiet, the kind of place where he could keep to himself. He had a run down studio apartment where the days blurred by and the silence was almost peaceful. 

Yet in that solitude, you appeared again, lingering in the shadow of an alleyway, or standing just beyond his view on quiet, empty streets. He’d catch your gaze through crowds when he was most alone, and he’d feel an overwhelming sense of calm, an unexplainable rush he could only have with you. 

It was on one of those quiet evenings, when he was washing dishes, that he saw you again, watching him from across the room. He stared, wiping his hands absently on the dish towel, still unsure if he was simply dreaming.

He called out in that soft voice of his, almost a whisper.

“Thank you for being here.” It was a simple admission, but it was true.

You tilted your head, that familiar gentleness in your eyes. “Always.” He replied.

The suffering he had recently was different— it wasnt physical as it usually was. It was an isolated sense of longing that broke the deepest parts of his heart, one that he couldn't quite heal himself.

Your warm and steady voice anchored him to the present. For the first time, he didn’t try to tell himself that you were a figment of his imagination. For just a moment, he let himself believe that you were standing there, real and alive, not just an invention of his lonely mind. 

And even as you disappeared, slipping away into the shadows, the feeling of your presence lingered, filling the emptiness around him.

—

The last rays of Wakanda’s sun slipped over the treetops, bathing everything in a warm, honeyed light that somehow reached even into the white-walled lab where Bucky was preparing himself for a long, cold sleep. 

He looked around, his gaze fixing on the distant horizon, the soft sounds of Shuri and the lab assistants moving in the background. 

He could feel his heart pounding. He was terrified, the horror clawing into him, even though he knew that this was the right decision. He knew that it was the safest thing for him to do— to go back in the ice until his trigger words could be removed.

It didn't stop the instinctive dread of being shut away again, though.

And then he saw you, standing behind a desk. He didn’t know how you’d gotten there, or if anyone else could even see you.

But there you were, just as you’d been so many times before, giving him a piece of calm he didn't quite understand.

For a long moment, he said nothing. He only looked at you. 

Somehow, you looked more real in this light, more human than he’d ever seen you before. Still, you had that hint of almost supernatural haze. He took a deep breath, feeling safer by the second, now that you were here.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” he asked, the words coming out like a whispered plea. He didn’t expect you to answer, not really.

His heart beat quicker as he waited, hoping you wouldn’t vanish as quickly this time.

You just smiled, that same soft, knowing smile you’d given him in the darkest hours of his life.

You nodded, “Only if you need me.”

The warmth of your words lingered in his mind as he took one last look at you. He felt the tension in his chest loosen, just enough to let him breathe again. He laid down, a feeling of peace settling over him. 

He closed his eyes, holding the memory of you close, feeling the faint impression of your smile stay with him as he drifted into the dark.

—

The next time he saw you, it was in the middle of another waking nightmare—the battlefield of Wakanda, chaos erupting in every direction as the forces of Thanos closed in. Bucky was fighting on pure instinct, his body moving with an instinct he’d learned in war. He drew on more and more on his Hydra training and sheer luck. 

After Thanos snapped, he saw you again. You were standing behind Steve, amongst the trees.

For the first time, your expression was not calm. You looked terrified. Your eyes, usually so steady, were wide, your face pale as you looked at him with a horror he’d never seen from you before.

Something inside him understood. He knew, even before the feeling swept over him—a strange tingling, a disintegration at the frayed edges of his body—that he was about to be turned to dust.

He tried to reach out, to touch you, to ask if he’d see you on the other side, but before he could say a word, he felt himself fade, slipping into nothingness, his best friend’s name the last thing he uttered.

—

When he returned—when the world pieced itself back together after five long years—he felt the dread of loneliness again. 

You came, though it felt like you carried a deeper sadness in your gaze than before. It was as if you had… missed him.

When Steve left, when Bucky watched his best friend walk away, disappearing into a life they’d both only dreamed of, he felt the emptiness he had left in his wake.

He stood there, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, feeling a hollow emptiness settle inside him, knowing he’d lost something irreplaceable, something that could never be returned when Steve decided to live a life he always wanted.

Then he saw you again, just a few steps next to him. He almost didn’t dare to look, afraid that you’d vanish if he did. When he finally turned, there you were, as calm as you’d always been, watching him with that familiar warmth and understanding.

“You’re not alone,” you murmured, your voice so gentle it felt like a medicine to the sickness of his soul.

He swallowed hard, nodding as he looked down. He tried to keep his composure, though he failed. 

He couldn’t bring himself to ask you who you truly were, if you truly knew the depth of what he’d lost, if you understood the kind of grief that was now carved so deeply inside him.

And you did. Grief was a human suffering, after all.

You stayed there, silent, a quiet witness to his pain as you offered a supernatural solace. 

—

Over the years that followed, you'd show up when the loneliness clawed too deep, when the nightmares took hold or when the silence of his apartment was too much to bear on his own. 

He started talking to you more than ever before.

When the silence weighed heavy on him, he’d glance into the shadows, almost expecting you to appear. And, as if by some unspoken agreement, you’d arrive just in time.

Yet, you never came too close. You stayed at a distance, as if you were made of something too fragile for this world. Bucky never minded, though. He had learned early on that pressing you for answers, for explanations, only ended with your departure. So he stopped asking them. He started accepting your presence as a gift he wasn’t meant to understand.

You were simply…there, steady and unchanging, offering comfort and warmth in a way no one else could. 

He’d tell you things he wouldn’t dare tell anyone else—confessions that clawed up from the darkest corners of his mind, memories from the days he wished he could erase. You would listen, without judgement, without a flicker of fear or revulsion. Your presence only ever brought you peace.

In those quiet, lonely moments, he came to rely on you, to look for you in the shadows. You were a silent companion in his darkest hours. And though he never stopped wondering who you truly were, he let himself believe, if only a little, that he had someone, that you were real enough to him.

—

One night, after a long silence had fallen between you, he confessed something.

“You know,” he said, his voice thick with sorrow and exhaustion, “I don’t… I don’t think you’re real.” He tried to smile, but it was faint. It was hollow. “I think to you’re just… my mind is playing tricks on me. I think I needed someone so badly that I made you up.”

He was laying himself bare. Raw. Vulnerable.

He was almost afraid to look at you, afraid that if he did, you would disappear, proving his confession true. Then, he forced himself to meet your eyes, searching for any sign of reaction.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t deny it. 

You only looked back at him with that same soft understanding.

“You’re just…” he murmured, trailing off. “You’re the most beautiful person I could imagine, someone I must have conjured to… to keep me from losing my mind.” He laughed bitterly, rubbing a hand over his face, not quite meeting your gaze. “Because no one like you would actually be here. Would actually want to be with someone as broken as me.”

He waited, his heart beating harshly. Part of him hoping you’d break the illusion, that you’d tell him he was wrong, that you were real. 

Faint sadness flickered in your eyes. “Suffering has never broken you before,” you said, “It will not break you now.” 

You didn’t confirm his fears, but you didn’t deny them either. 

That quiet, ambiguous acceptance soothed him more than any promise could have.

He let the questions go, even though they lingered in the back of his mind. 

He came to understand that perhaps it didn’t matter if you were real or not. He only needed you.

—

It was the dead of night, and Bucky was trembling.

He had woken up in cold sweat, the remnants of his nightmare gripping him like icy chains. He sat up, pressing his hands to his face, trying to push away the memories that refused to fade, the fractured images of a past that haunted him even in sleep. He swallowed, his voice rough, almost a whisper, as he murmured into the dark.

“Where are you?” he rasped, his voice thick with desperation. “Please, come back.” His heart pounded, his words barely a breath as he called for you, “Come back to me.”

He let his head fall into his hands, feeling so fucking foolish. 

He should've known.

He should’ve known that after all this time, he was still calling for a ghost, for a figment of his imagination, for someone he’d conjured out of pure, pathetic loneliness. 

As his breathing slowed, he felt something shift in the quiet corners of his room. A familiar warmth settled over him, gentle and comforting. He raised his head, and there you were, standing just a few feet away.

For a long moment, he simply stared, disbelief and wonder filling his stare. You looked more solid than he’d ever seen you before, as if reality had woven itself around you.

Light no longer passed through you. Your footsteps made thudding sounds on the ground. You tripped over a couple of the steps, as if learning how to walk with legs for the first time.

You moved closer towards him.

Seeing him so shaken, so desperately calling for you, had drawn you out in a way that felt irreversible. His cry was a pull too strong to resist. 

Gently, you reached out, your fingertips brushing his cheeks, tracing the faint stubble along his jaw, the warmth of his skin grounding you in this physical form. 

It was wrong for an immortal entity as ancient as you to take human form— you felt weaker, and your grasp on the unknown faltered. You knew, when you inevitably had to return to your ethereal form, that you would be exhausted. That it would hurt.

But after nearly a century of watching over James Buchanan Barnes, you had to know what his skin felt like.

His breath hitched at your touch. Slowly, his hands rose, trembling, to cover yours, pressing your palms to his face as if he was afraid you might disappear.

He blinked, eyes wide, searching your face. “You’re… real,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, an astonished relief flooding his eyes. “I can feel you.”

You nodded, letting your hands cradle his face, your thumbs softly brushing over his cheekbones. For a while, you stayed like that, letting his mind settle on the reality of you. 

“Who… who are you?” His voice was filled with awe. His gaze locked onto yours, desperate for answers.

You took a steady breath— and it felt off, like you had to learn it. 

You had never needed to breathe before. But now, you needed it as much as you needed him. 

You knew that him knowing what you were wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“I am the Spirit of Suffering,” you said quietly, your voice as soft as the night around you. “I ease the pain of those who suffer, showing myself to those who need me most. For eons, I’ve been drawn to pain, to sorrow. But… I’ve never been drawn to someone like you.”

His brow furrowed, confusion mingling with a sense of awe as he processed your words. He searched your face, as if trying to reconcile the warmth of your touch with the truth.

“You’ve been watching over me?” he murmured, struggling to fully grasp the revelation. 

You nodded, the truth spinning between you like a fragile thread. “Yes,” you admitted, your voice gentle, almost a whisper. “Every time you were in pain, it was my job to be there. The natural forces would not let me stop what happened to you, James, but I could keep you company, share the weight of your sorrow.”

He closed his eyes, his hands still covering yours. His grip on you tightened, trying to anchor himself to this moment. “So all those times I thought I was imagining you…”

“You weren’t,” you said softly, your gaze unwavering. 

He took a shaky breath.

You sat on the bed next to him, feeling the softness of bedsheets for the first time in your eternal existence.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, James.” Your hand drifted down to cover his heart, feeling its steady beat beneath your palm. “In all the lifetimes I’ve witnessed, through all the suffering I’ve felt, I’ve seen people become monsters, lose themselves to pain and suffering. But you… you never let it consume you. No matter how much they took from you, no matter how much you suffered, there’s still kindness in you.” You smiled, a flicker of admiration in your gaze. “You were the first person to show me that suffering doesn’t have to destroy.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. He reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

His touch was fleeting, as if he still couldn’t believe you were real. He searched your face, seeing the depth of who you truly  were. He saw your boundless compassion, the centuries, maybe millenia, of understanding that lingered in your gaze. 

You had been more than a dream, more than a figment of his imagination.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with a sincere gratitude, “for helping.” 

As you looked at him, you realised just how much he needed you. And perhaps just how much you needed him.

—

Every night that he called for you, you’d be there for him, sacrificing your eternal strength just for a moment.

Just before the dawn’s first light, you’d pull away from Bucky’s life and disappear, dissolving back into the unknown.

You always lingered as long as you could, your human heart aching at the thought of leaving him alone again. But still, you slipped away, returning to your role as the silent companion of suffering, never able to stay beyond a few hours.

But Bucky kept calling for you.

Sometimes he’d wake from a nightmare, his voice rough with sleep and fear, calling you like a prayer, like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world. Sometimes he’d simply whisper into the dark, reaching out with an open hand, searching for your touch.

And each time, you answered. Despite the strain it placed on you, the unnatural weight of becoming flesh and blood for him, you would come back. You took on human form again and again, letting him feel the warmth of your hands. You told yourself that you could bear it, that his comfort was worth any mortal pain that your immortal spirit had to carry.

One night, in a moment of weakness, as you sat together on the edge of his bed, he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel as if your duties had disappeared. 

The silence stretched, and you could see what his eyes carried. The tenderness, the gratitude, the fierce need for you. He lifted a hand, gently brushing his fingers along your cheek. The softness of his touch reverberated through your flesh and blood. You were suddenly made aware that you had a beating heart as it was pounding against your fragile ribcage.

Before you could process the feeling, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle, soft as a whisper, but it set something inside you alight, a sensation you’d never known before. 

You had seen humanity’s love from a distance, had watched the joy and heartbreak it could bring, but this… this was something beyond mere understanding. His lips were warm and real against yours, the taste of him grounding you in this fleeting human form in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

For a moment, you were frozen, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips, the rhythm steady, grounding. And then, almost instinctively, you kissed him back. You leaned into him, feeling the depth of his sorrow and his hope in that single, shared breath. 

Every inch of you felt alive, pulled into his gravity, the intensity of this moment overwhelming every human sense you didn't think you’d ever experience.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I’ve waited so long to feel this,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “To feel you like this.”

You felt a swell of emotion like a lightning strike— something so unfamiliar and impossible to ignore. You were a spirit who had known only of pain and how to relieve it, who had wandered the world in search of suffering to ease, yet this—this was something else entirely. This was desire, love—all foreign feelings that made you want to stay, to linger in his arms a little longer.

But dawn was coming, as it always did. Despite the ache in your chest, you knew you had to go. The world was waiting; and others needed you, too. 

With one last touch, your fingers brushing along his cheek, memorising the feeling of his skin.

You slipped away, dissolving back into the unseen, feeling his absence as if it were a physical wound.

—

It became a brutal cycle.

Every morning you would go, and every other night, when he called, you returned. Each time, the kiss lingered in your memory, the softness of his lips, the rush of your pulse, the racing of a heart that should not be yours to feel. It left you longing, yearning, pulling you back to him over and over, until every time you left felt like you were tearing yourself apart.

And though you slipped away at dawn, leaving Bucky alone with the shadows, you knew that a part of you stayed, lingering there beside him, just waiting for night to fall again so you could return to him.

One night, Bucky reached for you. His touch was gentle and filled with a hunger that was new to you. 

Tonight, he had a human desire for you that you had only observed in passing. His fingers entwined with yours, rough and warm, pulling you closer with a care that sent a strange warmth rushing through you. You sensed a gravity between you, one that seemed to draw every part of your physical form into his orbit, a sensation you never could have understood in your ethereal form.

As he guided you towards his bed, his gaze stayed on yours, searching and vulnerable, as though asking for permission. You felt a flicker of understanding in his silence, a human fragility and need that made your heart—this temporary, fragile, human heart—beat a little faster. 

You nodded.

When he leaned in to kiss you, the sensation was breathtaking, as it always was. 

That night, he showed you the depths of human pleasure, the way mortal love could break open walls so high so intensely that the shockwave that came after felt endless. Every caress of his hands, every whisper against your skin, seared into you like a brand.

Bucky gave you something new, grounding you in sensations you didn’t know were possible. In his arms, your physical senses were overwhelmed by the beauty and ache of human desire.

With each touch, each shared breath, he showed you parts of himself he had never shown anyone in a long, long time.

And as he moved with you, every boundary between the known and unknown seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you, bound in a shared, silent understanding that felt more ethereal than anything you’ve ever encountered.

When it was over, he held you close, his fingers tracing soft, slow patterns across your skin.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice filled with wonder— it was the truth. His eyes met yours, laying his heart bare for you to do whatever you pleased with it. To cherish or to break, he really didn’t care, as long as you were the one holding onto it. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but I do.”

In those words, you finally understood humanity’s deepest, truest suffering—the need to love and be loved.

For eons, you had only known suffering, solitude. The burden of easing pain without truly being seen, without knowing love in its purest form. But with Bucky, it was different.

“I love you too, James,” you whispered. It was a confession, as much a promise as it was a revelation. And you meant it. You felt a love that was boundless, stretching far beyond what this temporary human form of yours could contain.

Days passed, and each night, he would pull you close, his touch tender, his words gentle. His love was a constant that anchored you in this fragile, borrowed form. But each morning, as the first light crept over the horizon, you would pull yourself away, fading back into the shadows. 

Every time you left, you saw the ache in his eyes, a silent plea that grew more desperate with each parting.

—

One night, after holding you in silence, you felt Bucky suffered more than he ever did before.

You felt the sorrow, and even you couldn't calm him down from this desperate longing that had fragmented his heart into a million pieces— it was knowledge that you couldn’t truly be his and that he couldn’t truly be yours that had caused this pain. It was knowing that, as long as you were immortal, you couldn’t possibly belong to a mortal man.

“Please stay,” he whispered, his hands shaking as they held you. “Don’t go. I can’t… I can’t keep saying goodbye. I don’t want to only see you in fragments of stolen time.” He squeezed you. His eyes were filled with a raw, desperate longing. “I want you here— with me. Always.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his cheek. You wanted to say yes, to let yourself stay, to finally surrender to this love and the peace it offered. But you knew better than anyone of your nature. You were bound to the suffering of others, woven into the fabric of pain that had defined you for a long, long time.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the words breaking as you forced them out. “I want to, more than anything. But I… I’m not meant to stay. There are others who need me.”

A flash of pain crossed his face, and he closed his eyes, trying to swallow the heartache that threatened to bury him. He nodded, though you could see struggle that lingered in the lines on his face.

“Just stay a little longer tonight,” he murmured, his voice tight, a bittersweet smile forming on his lips.

And so you held him a little longer, feeling the fragility of this human connection, the knowing that you would have to let him go. You stayed with him until the stars faded from the sky, until the dawn began to creep over the horizon. And as you finally pulled away, slipping back into the shadows, you felt a piece of yourself break, a piece that would always belong to him, no matter how far you wandered.

—

One day, as Bucky’s heart prepared to stop beating, you stood by him, devastated.

You were there as a phantom, feeling his soul slip through your fingers as he lay on the concrete after a mission gone wrong. He was unconscious, his life hanging by a thread as he fought to come back from the edge. In all the centuries of comforting humanity, you had never felt such fear, such desperation. 

While you watched him, fragile and fading away, you felt something shatter deep within you.

His breath was shallow— his fate uncertain. He would only have minutes to live. 

But you couldn’t lose him. 

So you made a choice that you had once thought impossible. 

With a heavy heart, you turned and sought out the one being who held the power to intervene: Rio Vidal, Death herself.

Death came to you quietly when you summoned her to the darkness neither of you occupied. She moved with an eternal calm, her presence as vast and ancient as the stars. She looked at you, her dark eyes filled with the weight of ages that rivalled your own. Her stare was neither evil nor kind. 

You knew that she'd already understood why you called for her. 

“Don’t take him,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Not now.” You were pathetic, desperation rising in frantically— a desperation that followed you into your ethereal form, an ache that you hadn’t known could exist in your immortal heart. “For the first time, I’ve found someone… someone I love. I can’t lose him.”

Rio regarded you quietly, her expression unreadable. She had seen countless souls come and go. She had met lovers, warriors, and spirits alike, each bargaining for one more breath, one more chance. But she had also never seen you — Suffering herself— here, pleading for a life. You, who had roamed the earth for centuries without attachment, a solitary being who moved through suffering like water, soothing but never bound. 

To see you now, so deeply connected, intrigued her.

Perhaps, she gave you a chance because she once felt this way, too.

“What would you give?” she asked softly, sheathing back her blade.

The answer rose in you, going again your own soul’s warning. 

“I’d give my immortality,” you replied without a second thought. “One day, you can take my soul, too. Just let me live beside him for as long as he has. Let me trade eternity for a single lifetime with him.”

Rio was silent for a long time, her gaze thoughtful, searching. 

“Do you understand what you’re offering?” she asked, her voice a blend of curiosity and pity. “To become mortal is to surrender everything you have known—the ability to exist beyond pain and beyond time itself. You would feel suffering as they do, you would face the limitations of flesh as they do.”

"I’m sure.” you nodded with nothing but conviction, “I would rather face an end, rather give up everything, than live without him for a single moment."

Rio studied you one last time, her stare as vast as the void between stars. Then, slowly, she inclined her head, a flicker of respect in her eyes. 

"When he is gone, I will come for you, too." Her voice softened just a little. "Cherish this life. It is not easily won."

When she vanished, you felt the world shift around you, felt your soul ground itself in ways it never had before. Your body solidified, your senses sharpened, and you felt, for the first time, the steady permanent rhythm of a heartbeat pulsing within your chest. 

You were no longer the Spirit of Suffering, bound to pain and sorrow. You, now permanently, were flesh and blood– human in every sense. 

And for the first time in forever, you felt real— mortal, permanently.

—

Bucky was recovering, weak but alive.

When you knocked on his door, he opened it, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you standing there, no longer a fleeting vision that appeared in his room.

You walked all the way here, your barefoot aching from the harshness of the concrete.

You were solid, as real as he was, standing on his doorstep with tears in your eyes.

He had never seen you cry before. He wasn't even sure if you could.

"You're… you’re here," he whispered, reaching out as if to touch you, to be certain that you were truly there. His fingers brushed your cheek, feeling the warmth of your skin, and his hand lingered there, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone as if committing this moment to memory. “You feel different,” he murmured, awe in his voice. 

“I’m here to stay,” you said, voice brimming with love you could barely contain, your own hand lifting to cover his. 

He let out a shaky breath, and his eyes searched yours, filling with a warmth and disbelief so deep that it mirrored your own. He pulled you into his arms, holding you as though afraid you might vanish again.

But you didn’t. 

You were here, bathed in sunlight, and real.

You melted into his embrace, feeling the thrumming of his veins against yours, knowing that, finally, your heart would beat alongside his for as long as time allowed.

-end 

I would love to explore this further! Maybe Bucky helps you find a name, maybe even pulls some strings to give you a fake birth certificate and ID. Maybe he realises that time is fleeting and has a courthouse wedding with you ASAP.

Maybe Bucky introduces you to Sam as his wife, and he realises that he’s seen you before, when Riley got shot out of the sky.

Maybe Bucky introduces you to the Thunderbolts* as his wife, and they all would have seen you before, at some point in their life:

Yelena would have seen you when she stood over Nat’s memorial.

Alexei would have seen you when he got separated from his girls for the first time.

John would’ve seen you when he killed that flag smasher with Cap’s shield, grieving Lemar.

Ava would have seen you when she was a kid, phasing out in and out uncontrollably in extreme pain.

Antonia would’ve seen you when the bomb blew on her face.

Or maybe I could explore more of how it affects you. How you now have human guilt to live with, knowing there’s no one out there anymore easing human suffering. Now, you also have to deal with your own human suffering.

Maybe people keep recognising you, keep pointing you out as if they’ve seen a ghost because you once came to them in a time of need.

Maybe you keep your powers? Maybe I should explore how those powers would manifest in a human body?

Anyway, let me know if you’re interested in any of these ideas and I might write them!

[shanastoryteller]

Sam seems convinced this is going to work, but Dean’s pretty sure it’s just a load of crap. Bobby’s even more convinced that it’s a whole lot of nothing, although he had admitted that he couldn’t read every symbol that Sam had added to this mess up devil’s trap. That didn’t mean it would work. It just meant that Sam had thrown everything he could think into it.

The real reason that Dean is going along with this, and probably Bobby is too, is because it means that Sam wouldn’t be alone after Dean is dragged to hell. Although standing in the middle of Bobby’s junkyard in a mess of spray paint isn’t exactly how he’d wanted to spend the last hour of his life.

“You really think Lilith is going to show?” he asks. He doesn’t know why she would. She just has to send the hellhounds, who’s howls and yips Dean has been hearing for days. And those things have never been stopped by any sort of devil’s trap.

“Yes,” Sam says, tense, not looking at him.

That’s another thing. For weeks Sam has barely looked at him, barely talked to him. Which sucks, because he’d really wanted to spend the last weeks of his life just looking and talking to and spending time with his brother, but Sam hadn’t been interested in that. At all.

He shares a look with Bobby, who just shrugs, hands tight on his shotgun.

Then the hellhounds come, just like he knew they would, no Lilith in sight. “Sammy,” he says, reaching out for his brother. Not because he thinks he can do anything, but because he wants to touch Sam one last time, one last memory to sustain him through hell.

Sam snaps out his hand and the hellhounds go skittering back, letting out pained yowls.

Dean stares, not understanding. “What did you – wait. You can see them?”

Only he should be able to see them. He’s the one that made the deal.

Sam still won’t look at him, damnit, even as Dean fists his hand in the back of his shirt. Sam's voice is low and pained when he says, “I’m sorry.”

Fear clenches in his gut. But before he do anything, there are demons surrounding the devil’s trap, appearing one by one in Bobby’s junkyard. They’d needed to take down his protections so Lilith could get in, but they hadn’t expected this. Of course she brought a freaking audience.

“Which one of you is Lilith?” he barks out, dragging Sam behind him. He refuses to let the last thing he sees be his brother hurt, or worse.

Dozens of demons stand there, human vessels with pitch black eyes. The hellhounds whimper and slink around them, but don’t seem interested in getting any closer. Dean can’t blame them.

Sam pries his hand off of him, stepping away before Dean can grab onto him again. He leaves the safety of the devil’s trap, which is fucking stupid. Dean’s lunging forward to stop him, but then there’s Bobby’s arm holding him back, face pale with a horror Dean doesn’t understand. He hadn’t looked like that even at Cold Oak, when they’d seen the gates open to hell.

The demons bow.

He blinks, not understanding what he’s seeing.

Sam is standing there in front of them, no protections, and they’re all bowing to him.

Except one.

Ruby is there, stupid red leather jacket and blonde hair and the smirk he hates so much. She walks around the demons up to Sam, who’s face is cold and expressionless. “She’s coming.”

“I know,” he says. “If this doesn’t work, I’m going to kill you.”

“Promise?” she returns. “If this doesn’t work, death will be a mercy.”

Dean tries to push Bobby off of him, to get in between Sam and this bitch, but he doesn’t let go.

Then there’s a little girl in a white dress, head tilted to the side. “Something here belongs to me.”

Ruby flinches, stepping just slightly behind Sam.

“Not you,” she sneers. “You haven’t belonged to me in a long time, I fear. You really think that this boy can save you?”

“Sam,” Ruby says.

He sighs, like this is a trial, and raises his hand.

Lilith’s sneer drops from her face. Her upper body yanks forward, but her legs won't move. “You bastard,” she snarls, raising her hand in return, but nothing happens.

For the first time, fear flickers across her face.

Ruby steps forward, her own terror swallowed up by arrogance, by delight.

Dean tries to move, but finds he’s just as frozen as Lilith, even more so. He can’t twitch a single muscle. Going by Bobby’s unnatural stillness next to him, he assumes he’s in the same boat.

“Samuel is the heir of the light bringer,” Ruby says. “He has taken his birthright. You can’t touch him.”

What’s she talking about? What birthright?

What has Sam done?

“No,” Lilith snarls. “He’s nothing more than one of Azazel’s experiments.”

“A night, a full day, and then morning,” Ruby says. “That’s what he was. Then he rose on the third day.” She shoots a mocking look his way. “If it weren’t for his brother, he would have died nothing more than a failed experiment. But he has risen.”

No. What does that mean? What’s she saying? He had just wanted Sammy back.

Did he do this? Is this his fault?

“Ruby,” Sam says, a note of warning in his voice.

“Right, right,” she sighs. Then, back to gleeful, “Her eyes.”

Sam’s finger twitches and Lilith’s eyes bleed black tears.

She screams, the sound even worse because her vessel is a child.

Ruby lists thing after thing, pulling out her fingernails, peeling her skin. Her blood is black, none of it red, and the injuries shouldn’t really be hurting her but they clearly are. Dean watches helplessly as Sam tortures Lilith at Ruby’s command, enacting one terrible thing against her after another.

Lilith lies there, moaning, limbs broken, body in pieces.

“That’s enough,” Sam says.

“Enough?” Ruby hisses, turning to face him. “You know what she did to me! She – she–”

Sam’s stoic mask breaks, creasing in sympathy. Dean would prefer it wasn’t for a demon, for Ruby, but at least he now recognizes his brother. He raises his free hand to her head, his touch an oddly gentle counterpoint to everything he’s done to Lilith. “I know. But it’s enough.”

Tears glint in her eyes, just for a second, then she swallows and nods, stepping away from Sam’s hand.

He steps forward, crouching in front of Lilith. “You shouldn’t have come after my brother. Now we both have to live with the consequences.” His mouth twists. "So to speak."

Whatever she would have said in response is lost in her screams. Black smoke pours from her, then lights up, like a spark in steel wool, the fire moving through her reminding him almost of the Colt.

Lilith dies. Sam kills her, no Colt, no devil’s trap. Nothing but his own terrifying powers.

“Will you bow to me now?” he asks.

Ruby tears her eyes from Lilith’s corpse and her irritating fucking smirk slides back into place. “Now?” She steps closer, tilting her head back almost like she’s about to kiss him, then falls gracefully to her knees in front of him. It looks more like she’s about to give him a blowjob than a form of subservience, but he thinks that for a moment Sam almost seems amused. “I bowed to you first.”

“So you did,” he says softly. He raises his voice. “Move out. Casey. You know your job.”

“Yes, sire,” says one of the demons, voice almost familiar.

Then Sam’s walking away, Ruby just a step behind him. The other demons follow suit, the hellhounds not even glancing at Dean as they get caught up in the procession.

Sam still won’t look at him. He only sees the back of his brother’s head as he leaves him behind

The only demon left is Casey. He knows her, he recognizes her, the demon he’d been trapped with in that city full of sin, the one that Sam had shot and killed. He’d seen him kill her.

She gets to her feet, offering him a smile as she draws closer. “Hello, Dean. I bet you never thought you’d see me again.”

She steps right into the devil’s trap and presses a hand to him and Bobby each. As soon as she touches them, they’re able to move, darting away from her and leaving her stuck in the devil’s trap.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, wishing his voice wasn’t shaking, but he has more important things to worry about.

She turns to face them. “Samuel does not want you to die. He did what he had to do to ensure you wouldn’t.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Bobby asks gruffly.

“I told you back then I was ready to follow Sam,” she says, stepping out of the devil’s trap like it’s nothing, which she definitely shouldn’t be able to do. Bobby hadn't thought that this thing would be able to contain Lilith, but Casey’s nowhere near Lilith’s level. It should work on her just fine.

Bobby’s hand darts out, throwing holy water over her, but it doesn’t so much as steam.

She just looks amused. “That won’t work on me now. Neither will an exorcism, or any of the usual tricks. I have been purified.” She holds out her hand to Dean and it’s the Colt, the one that they’d lost when Bela sold it. “This is the only thing that will kill me now.”

“And you’re just handing it over?” Dean asks.

“I have my orders,” she says steadily. “Samuel wants you to have it.”

His entire body goes gold.

“What do you mean purified?” Bobby asks, shooting Dean a concerned look. “You’re a demon. Purifying you should kill you.”

“And was Lucifer a demon?” she asks. “I have taken the sacrament.”

Dean doesn’t know what that means, but Bobby’s expression shifts from disgust to shock to a horror filled curiosity. “You drank Sam’s blood?”

She did what?

“I have taken the sacrament,” she repeats, lifting her chin. “Samuel purified me.”

How the hell would Sam’s blood do that? Why had she drank it in the first place? She’s a demon, not a damn vampire. Dean pushes those questions aside and instead asks, “How are you even alive?”

“Samuel resurrected me,” she says. First he can kill demons, and now he can bring them back? “He knows we had a rapport and he thought it would be easier if it was me.”

“What would be easier?” he asks. His head is spinning and his heart hurts and he doesn’t understand anything that just happened. At least being dragged to hell would have been simpler.

She presses the Colt into his hands. “Samuel doesn’t want you to die. He knows this will be difficult for you, that you’ll make poor choices. I have my orders. I am to stay with you and keep you alive. We’re going to get to know each other very well, Dean.”

“Like hell,” he says gruffly, hand tightening as he takes the Colt and raises it to her head. “What’s to stop me from killing you?”

“The same thing that will stop you from killing Samuel,” she says and he flinches. “Nothing.”

He stares at her. He can’t bring himself to speak.

“You’ll have to hunt him down the old fashioned way,” she says casually. “But if you can find him, you can kill him. We’re all under orders not to touch you. Samuel won’t stop you if you want kill him. The same way I won’t stop you if you want to kill me.”

“Why?” he asks.

She shrugs. “It’s always been up to you, Dean. He trusts you. If you decide that he must die, then he’s willing to die.”

Dean sold his soul for him. He’s not going to fucking kill him.

But the Sam he sold his soul for wasn’t capable of doing that to Lilith. He wouldn’t have even wanted to be.

“What about your demon lover?” Dean asks, thinking of the priest that Casey had embraced and kissed, the demon she’d begged to spare Dean’s life before Sam had killed them both. “Sam bring him back too?”

Grief chases across her face before she smooths it away. “He will. If I am good, and obedient, and loyal, then Samuel will bring him back for me.”

Dean’s stomach rolls to hear Sam described like that, like some sort of tyrant or king. Like Dad. “You really believe that?”

Casey meets his gaze steadily as she echoes the words she’d said to him in that basement as she spoke of Lucifer, except now she’s talking about his brother. “I have faith.”

[ellecdc]

The Bolter

Sirius Black x fem!reader who meet again [5.5k words]

prompt: poly!wolfstar or just Sirius x reader in which they were friends with benefits but it was obvious they loved each other even though they acted like they weren’t. Then, reader finds out shes pregnant and before telling them, they do something stupid. so reader runs away for a few months. When she comes back (only bc she had to for some reason) shes like 6-7 months pregnant

CW: secret pregnancy, angst, FWB to strangers to lovers, second chance fic, post war trauma, both Sirius and reader are meeesssssssssssyyyyy in this! I don't approve of what they've done but I understand it

“So…she’s coming back?” Sirius asked cautiously, focusing more on the condensation pooling on the coaster underneath his pint than the concerned gazes of his two best friends. 

“Well, I don’t know if she’s coming back, but she’ll be here for Harry’s birthday.” James mollified, sharing a nervous look with Remus.

“Right.” Sirius murmured around a swallow; throat tight and dry though neither the pint nor the pitcher of water in front of him looked as though they’d be able to help him with the matter. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Remus queried, and Sirius offered him the most arrogant scoff he could muster; he missed by a long shot.

“Of course I’m going to be alright.” He huffed. “Why? Can’t two friends see each other after five and a half months of silence?” 

“Sirius-” James started, but Sirius carried on. 

“She’s the only one who’s been silent, you know?” Though he knew that they did indeed both know. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried reaching out.” 

“Pads.” Remus offered consolingly, looking frustratingly like he was going to reach a hand out to Sirius as if he were some over tired toddler on the brink of a meltdown.

“Stop, no I- I’m fine, honest.” He insisted as he took a steadying breath. “I- you… talked to her, then?”

James and Remus shared another look before James allowed the segue. 

“Mostly by owl, but she has spoken on the phone with Lily a few times.” 

Sirius nodded as he considered this; considered the number of owls Sirius had sent that had gone unanswered - perhaps even unopened if the silence meant anything at all.

“She’s…okay?” 

Remus let out a sigh as he shot Sirius a tight smile that looked more like a grimace. “She’s…vague.”

“She doesn’t share a whole lot.” James agreed. “Says she’s fine, things are good. Mostly asks about…all of us, Harry.” 

“She’s still staying with that great aunt,” Remus added, “helping her with the property.” 

“She seeing anyone?” There was no point in pretending that wasn’t the most pressing matter in Sirius’ mind; of course it was. And as angry and bitter as the idea made Sirius, it would have been his own fault, his own doing. He had no one to blame but himself. 

And he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing he was the one who let you slip away - pushed you away - right into the arms of someone else. 

“Not that she’s mentioned.” Remus responded honestly; he couldn’t say for sure that you weren’t, but if you were, you clearly hadn’t said anything about it. 

“Right.” Sirius offered shortly. 

“Pads, I…we would understand if it's too hard for you to see her. If you can’t come-”

“Don’t be daft.” Sirius scoffed deploringly. “I’m not going to miss my godson’s birthday. If anyone should be missing it, it should be her; I’ve been here for the past four and a half months, she’s the one who fucked off for good.”

“Sirius-”

“I don’t understand why you had to invite her!” Sirius shouted then, startling even himself when he realised how breathless he sounded all of a sudden. 

James smiled at him sadly; Sirius wished he’d stop doing that. “We wanted all of Harry’s uncles and his aunt to be there, Sirius…it’s important, yeah? We…we almost didn’t get this chance.”

Sirius could feel a wicked migraine coming on; between talking about you, the close calls and the fact that the group of you were all alive following the war by nothing but chance, and the fact that the person Sirius was most angry with was himself, he downed the rest of his pint and flagged the server in favour of having to look at the pitiful gazes being shot at him by Remus and James.

Sirius couldn’t tell if he was eager for Harry’s second birthday or dreading it. But like it or not, Sirius was going to be seeing you again. 

It had felt like a good idea at the time.

It felt beyond foolish now, but it had felt like a good idea at the time. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

“Sirius, we just won. We just won, why do you have to leave now?” You practically begged as you followed Sirius through his flat. 

“Because if I don’t get out now, I’m going to be stuck here for eternity.” He all but spat at you as he shoved articles of clothing into his duffle rather haphazardly. You felt like grabbing the bag from him and folding them properly if the act wouldn’t leave you feeling like you were aiding and abetting his abandoning you.

“But what about James? And Remus? What about Harry? You fought this war for them, and they for you - we just got them back!”

“And they’ll be here when I’m ready to come home!” Sirius shouted; turning to look at you with wild, red rimmed eyes. 

“What about me?” You asked quietly, hating how small you sounded.

“What about you?” He asked; face falling painfully neutral. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was occluding. 

“I…I don’t know.” You started awkwardly, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought…maybe we’d have a chance now. To try?.”

“Y/N.” Sirius sighed as he rubbed harshly at his eyes; entire being oozed exhaustion at having to have this conversation with you. “Have I not been entirely clear about what this was between us?” 

“Right.” You agreed quickly, biting roughly on your lip and looking anywhere but at him as he let his hand fall away from his face. 

“It’s…it’s not you, doll-” but even your humourless scoff didn’t derail him “I’m not the kind to settle down and be content I- I wouldn’t be enough for you.”

“I’m not asking you for any more than what we have, Sirius-”

“Yes you are.”

“-I just want you to stay.”

“That’s too much for me.” He stated; his voice never raised though he may as well have screamed it at you. “I cannot sit here and play house, I cannot be that guy for you.”

“Cannot or will not?” You asked quietly, regretting the question the second it came out of your mouth and he looked at you with nothing but pity in his eyes. 

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry I asked.” You let out with a chuckle as you harshly wiped tears from under your eyes. 

“It’s…it’s not forever, yeah? I just…I can’t see myself being happy here…not right now, at least; not for a while.” 

“Where will you go?” Your voice grated painfully as it came out, but you tried to keep an air of nonchalance about you. You wouldn’t look at him, but you could see his shoulders shrug helplessly. 

“I don’t know…everywhere. Anywhere.”

Anywhere was better than stuck here with you, apparently. 

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is.” You offered, and you found that you meant it. As much as it hurt to say, you really, really meant it. Sirius had been fighting and running his entire life, and he finally won. If he wanted to celebrate his victory by taking off to be that rich, vague uncle who popped by with lavish gifts every so often, who were you to deny him? 

You loved him.

You were in love with him.

You loved him enough to let him go. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

He had sent James a postcard a few weeks later. Turns out he started in the South of France; his family had a home there that had been left untouched by the war, and Sirius was going to start by figuring out what to do with the property. 

And you? Well, you found out you were pregnant. 

You suppose it was a small mercy that Sirius wasn’t here to know; you’re sure it would have hurt more hearing him tell you he was leaving if there were two of you he couldn’t find it in him to love. You would have hated it even more if he felt trapped into staying with you just for this.

But all this meant was that you couldn’t stay, either. 

You supposed that was alright, though; the life you wanted to build here was with Sirius. You loved your friends, but you had a little one to think about now, too. 

You made up a story about a great aunt needing help tending to her property and wishing to be closer to your relatives now that you could be, now that it was safe. No one questioned it, likely because Remus had done the same following the war; moving back home to help his dad and ailing mother tend the property in whatever ways he could. 

You found yourself a little cottage, you wrote to the boys and had the occasional phone call with Lily, and you grew.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. 

But now you were almost six months pregnant and returning home for the first time since you moved to celebrate your nephew’s birthday with all of your closest friends, the love of your life whose child you were carrying, and none of them knew. 

You wondered if you should even go, but the thought of missing out on sweet Harry’s second birthday that the lot of you almost never got the chance to see made your throat constrict with tears you refused to shed since the war. 

You wondered if you should tell everyone before you arrived, but the thought of them all discussing you and your pregnancy without you being there left you feeling small and ashamed. 

You wondered if you should tell Sirius, but you looked over at the stack of unopened letters he had sent to you in the past four months - the first thin, perhaps a postcard, the second and third were thicker, the fourth was by far the thickest (like he had drafted an autobiography that he wanted you to proofread for him), the fifth was similar to the second, whilst the sixth (the last) couldn’t be more than one page - and wondered how the hell you’d even start that conversation after all this time.

Hey, remember me? Yeah, the bird who caught feelings during our friends with benefits situation that we both agreed would remain platonic amidst a battle for survival and then begged you to stay with no success? Well, whilst you’ve been off probably shagging every beautiful woman across the British Isles, I’ve been pregnant. Right, with your child. How was France, by the way? 

You swallowed around your gag reflex and groaned at your image in the mirror. You put on a pair of gingham pants with the baggiest band-tee you could find, planned on sucking in the best you could if anyone (when everyone) insisted on a hug and hoped to every deity that they all just assumed you’d been eating really well since the end of the war. 

You smoothed the fabric over your bump one last time before you left - looking at the proof that, if nothing else, you were protecting more than just yourself, and you let that be enough - before you grabbed Harry’s birthday present and called for Potter Manor, throwing a fistfull of floo powder into your fireplace and travelling by way of the flames. 

You could hear Harry squealing in delight in one of the adjacent rooms as you stepped into the floo reception room at Potter Manor; a smile taking over your face uninhibitedly at the sounds of the people you loved more than life itself, happy and celebrating.

How could you have gone so long without this? 

“Y/N!” Lily shrieked as she made for you, and you sucked in before returning her hug. “Merlin, you're glowing! Where’s your aunt's place again?” 

“Erm. Killarney.” You offered; not entirely untrue - you did have an aunt in Killarney. 

“Well,” she let out with a breath, eyes turning a touch glassy as they darted across your face, “it seems that Irish air’s been for you.” 

You smiled back at your friend before pulling her back in for another hug. “I’ve missed you, Lils.”

“Don’t let it go so long next time, yeah? We can come to you, too; I’m teaching James how to be a muggle, and Harry’s only had the odd burst of accidental magic yet. We could play the part in front of your aunt.” 

“I’d love that, Lily.” You responded earnestly. 

“Y/N!” James hollered then before you were being bodily tackled by the former quidditch chaser, a brief flash of anxiety at his hold around your stomach abating only when he relinquished his hold on you. “Where in the sodding hell have you been!?”

“Killarney.” Lily answered for you. 

“I love Killarney!” 

“Have you ever been to Killarney, Prongs?” Remus asked then, appearing in the door as he leaned against the archway. 

“No! But I love it there! I just know it!” 

“Hey Moony.” You greeted, quickly accepting his open arms and breathing him in.

“We’ve missed you.” He murmured into your hair, and you couldn’t help the traitorous hitch in your heart that he might’ve meant-

“Uncle Pafoo!” Harry squealed, suddenly standing right underneath you. 

“That’s right, Haz!” The voice that haunts your dreams called out. “Auntie is here!”

“Hullo, Harry!” You cheered as you picked him up, sucking in before settling on your hip. “Happy birthday, little dude.” 

“Am two!” He announced as he held up four fingers. 

“You are two! Way to go!” You laughed. “Is everyone here?” You asked the room, shooting Sirius a tight smile so you couldn’t be accused of hostility when your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason. 

He looked tired - a bone deep tired that no amount of sleep could rectify - and the bags under his eyes seemed to be chronic. But he was still so beautiful; his hair had grown slightly longer since the last time you’d seen it, the last time you’d run your fingers through it, the last time you’d brought sheers to it, and he donned more than a few new tattoos if the few you could see were enough to go by. 

You had to look away.

“Reg’s going to be by after work; his part-time student called in sick so he needed to be there to close the shop himself. Thankfully, they’re only open in the morning on Sunday’s.” Remus explained kindly.

“Good, it’ll be nice to see him.” You offered, and the room fell slightly awkward.

“Uncle Pafoo, aeroplane?” Harry asked then, and whatever exhaustion seemed to be plaguing Sirius vanished as he beamed at his godson. 

“Absolutely, little man!” He agreed, holding his arms out and taking Harry’s weight from you.

“Do you want something to drink, Y/N? Wine? Beer, Cider? Juice? Water?” James rapid fire, causing Lily to groan. 

“We just got her back, Potter. Do try to control yourself.” 

“Water would be great, Jamie. Thank you.” You laughed, following the group into the open concept kitchen-to-living room. 

Save the fact that you and Sirius seemed to be doing acrobatics to avoid each other, you were almost stunned at how easy and natural being back here felt. Regulus returned and the two of you shared friendly jibes, Lily caught you up on all of the drama at the Ministry, James strong armed you into agreeing to join them for their next pub quiz night, and Remus said that your old professors all wished you well. 

You loved your cottage - the home you’d built for yourself and your little one - but you found yourself feeling homesick for here, and you hadn’t even left yet.

You were leaning on your elbows against the kitchen island, watching Sirius and Regulus pretend to be knights in shining armour as they fought off a fire breathing dragon (Harry) to save the princess (James) when Remus appeared beside you and mirrored your stance. 

“It’s not the same without you, you know?” He murmured then. 

“But they seem to be alright.” You responded simply, and Remus allowed the two of you to fall into silence for a few beats.

“How far along are you?” 

You stood up straight and turned to stare at him in horror, only to see him smiling kindly at you. 

“How do you-”

“Lycanthropy - I could smell it on you.” He said with an embarrassed wrinkle of his nose. “I knew Lily was pregnant before she did.”

You shushed him and looked over your shoulder to ensure no one else could hear you.

“Come.” He said with a sigh, gently taking you by the elbow and ushering you out of the sliding doors to the back yard and closing it behind the two of you. 

“Remus-”

“Is it his?” He cut you off; his face held no judgement though perhaps just a touch of concern. For you or his best friend/virtual brother-in-law, you weren’t sure.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to clarify who he was talking about; you both knew. 

Remus simply nodded as he looked you over. “Is that why you left?”

“He left first.” You hissed petulantly.

“He left you, but you left all of us.” Remus countered somewhat sternly. “Besides, I didn’t ask about him; is this why you left?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because, Remus!” You shouted, tears flooding your vision as you turned to look at him. “Because he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to force him to come back just because… just because.” 

“Don’t you think he should have been able to make that choice for himself?” Remus asked gently.

“He chose! He did choose! He told me he couldn’t play house, he told me he couldn’t be this person for me. I loved him enough to accept that. I loved him enough to let him go.”

“Loved?” Remus asked with a tilt of his head. “Past tense?” 

“Remus.” You groaned. “Please.”

“He came back for you, you know.” Remus pointed out. “He left you, you left us, but he came back for you.” 

“Stop it.”

“It’s true, Y/N.”

“And so what if it is?” You nearly sobbed. “So what if he did, Remus? What can I do? I can’t go back in time and change my mind, I can’t go back and fix this. He made choices, I made choices, and here we are.” 

Remus heaved a sigh and looked at you sadly. “I don't think either of you realise that your choices don’t have to remain permanent; there can be an expiration date on them.” 

You were catching your breath from your mini temper tantrum when you heard the glass door slide open, both you and Remus turning to see Sirius standing there almost shy - far shier than you’d ever seen him before.  

“Just talk to him? Okay? You..don’t have to tell him now, just…talk to him.” Remus whispered before heading towards the door, clapping Sirius on the back before disappearing back into the house. 

“Hey.” Sirius offered cautiously after a few beats of silence, coming to stand beside you as the two of you looked over the railing of the patio to the rest of the manor grounds. 

“Hey.” You returned dumbly, clearing your throat before continuing. “You…you look good, Sirius.”

Sirius scoffed, and you could feel your shoulder rising before you saw him smirk at you - if not somewhat sadly - cutting you a playful glare from the corner of his eye. “Did you take up lying there in Ireland?” 

You let out a breathy half-laugh. “I’m not lying.” 

“Then you need glasses. I look like shite.”

“You look tired.” You amended. 

“I’m exhausted.” He agreed, and the two of you lapsed into silence. 

“You look good, though.” He continued. “Healthy.”

You hummed in agreement. “Funny what not having to run on rations and broken hours of sleep on military cots does for a person.”

“Why haven’t I heard from you, Y/N?” He blurted then, turning his entire body to face you. 

“Sirius, I-”

“Everyone else has. You’ve spoken to Lily on the phone. James and Remus have gotten letters. Even Reg got a postcard for his birthday.” 

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage to say.

“I wrote to you.” He continued. “Letters, a lot. Did you get them?”

You nodded your head yes shamefully.

“Did you read them?”

You felt your heart splinter at how hopeful and heartbroken he sounded over it. You felt like scum of the earth when you shook your head no, and he let out a sigh.

“I guess that makes me feel a little bit better, then.” He said as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. 

You found yourself taking a step away from him when you asked “why does that make you feel better?”

He let out a humourless laugh that forced smoke from his lips. “At least now I know that my begging for a second chance, begging you to come home, professing my love for you isn’t what kept you away.”

“Sirius-”

“I messed up, Y/N.” He declared earnestly. “I…I was fucking scared, terrified. I’d spent so much of my life living with one foot on the threshold of hell that after the war, I didn’t know how to live amongst the undead.”

He took a moment to catch his breath as if he’d run all the way here just to tell you something. “And I ran. I bolted, I…”

“You left.” You finished for him. 

“I left.” He agreed. “I… I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“Didn’t know what?” You asked as you choked back tears.

“Didn’t know what I had, or what I wanted. Or that I had everything that I wanted.”

“And you do, now? You know what you want?” You asked, and a look of determination painted his features as he met your gaze head on.

“For my entire life, I had never known what family meant, so I wasn’t even aware that I’d created my own with all of you until I’d risked it all. I was so sure I didn’t want to be like my parents that I never realised I may actually…want to be a parent someday. I was so sure I didn’t want to be my father that I never realised I actually did want to be a partner someday. I was so certain I’d never know what true love felt like that I didn’t even realise I had it right here all along with you.” 

“Sirius-”

“I messed up. I left. But what I don’t understand is why you did. Or why you stayed away.” He took a step towards you with his cigarette long forgotten in one of his hands, the ash threatening to burn his fingers before you plucked it and stubbed it out on the stone railing. He barely flinched. “Why’d you go?”

“I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you, Sirius. I- it hurt, I was hurt. And then-”

“I’m sorry.” He offered quickly, but you shook your head.

“I’m not telling you this for you to be sorry, I just-”

“I came back for you.”

“But it wasn’t just about me anymore, Sirius!” You shouted then, and you watched his brows furrow before his face fell in horror. 

“You’re seeing someone.” He asked, though he phrased it as more of a statement; like he’d been expecting it.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Sirius.” You sighed.

“Then why’d you leave? Why’d you stay away?”

“Because I’m pregnant.” You blurted, and Sirius fell silent. “I’m almost six months pregnant.”

“Six-” He started, eyes falling to your stomach still hidden behind the baggy article of clothing before you smoothed the fabric over your ever rounding bump. “Six months. Six…”

You let him do the maths in the head as he stared hard at your stomach like he was sitting in divination and it was a crystal ball that might just give him the answers if only he stared at it long enough.

“It’s mine?” He finally concluded.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“It’s mine. You’re pregnant, it’s mine.” He murmured, before his eyes met yours again. “You’re pregnant with my child?”

“Right.” You agreed, and he crumpled to a heap on the floor. 

“Sirius Orion Black,” Sirius heard Remus hiss, clearly hovering somewhere over him, “I swear to Godric if you do not wake up and eat some of this godsdamned vanilla cake you bought, your brother is going to skin you alive.” 

“It’s true.” James agreed from somewhere on Sirius’ other side. “He actually ran to the store when he found out you bought vanilla because he knew Remus wouldn’t eat any of it. Remus is going to get his chocolate cake, and you’re going to get egged.” 

“Shut up.” Sirius hissed as he scrunched his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

“How do you feel, mate?” James asked rather jovially as he clapped him roughy on the shoulder.

“Like hell.”

“Why’s that?” Remus joined in.

“Because I was in the middle of a dream and you sods woke me up going on about cake.” He muttered as he opened his eyes, realising then that he’d been propped up on a number of cushions in one of Lily and James’ spare rooms.

“S’he awake?” Lily whispered, and Sirius craned his neck to see you and Lily poke your heads into the room.

“Oh my gods.” Sirius breathed as he sat up, likely far too fast for someone who fell unconscious mere moments ago. “Oh my gods, you’re actually here?” 

“Did you hit your head, mate?” James asked as he prodded at Sirius’ head, causing Sirius to swat his arms away as he shifted towards the edge of the bed.

“You’re here.” He whispered as you slowly made your way into the room.

“I’m here.” You offered cautiously, eyes darting around at your oldest friends like there might be some secret threat lurking in the room.

“You’re pregnant…” He tried then, punching the air right out of Lily and James who both spun to stare at you in shock.

You smoothed the fabric of your shirt over your midsection again to expose a very obvious (now that everyone could actually see it) baby bump. 

“Oh my gods!” Lily and James chorused, causing Remus to snort.

“You knew, didn’t you!?” Lily accused Remus who held his hands up in surrender. 

“Only when she walked in, and not a second sooner.” 

“With my child.” Sirius continued, and you nodded at him. 

“Y/N.” Lily winced. “You-”

“You sodding scared me!” You shrilled then, grabbing one of the throw pillows James had dumped onto the ground to make room for Sirius and swinging it at him.

“I scared you!?” Sirius shrieked right back, much to the delight of Harry who started banging on the throw pillow that had landed beside him. 

“I thought I killed you!”

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry that finding out the woman I’ve been in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months - who was missing for all intents and purposes, may I remind you - is pregnant with my child happened to be a little shocking.” Sirius sneered sarcastically. 

“Well I only went ‘missing’ because the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months took off an-” The abrupt end of your statement nearly gave the room whiplash as you cut yourself off mid sentence and stared at Sirius like you’d never seen him before. 

“What…what just happened?” James whispered carefully.

“Years?” You whispered then, and Sirius hated every version of himself that deigned to let you go without knowing just how loved you were.

“Probably when we were still just cosmic dust.” Sirius smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t always realise, I’m sorry I didn’t make sure that you knew.”

“I take it to guess there isn’t an aunt in Killarney?” Lily offered then, smiling kindly at you when you turned your attention towards her.

“No, I- I think there actually is an aunt in Killarney, I just don’t live with her.”

“Where do you live?” Sirius asked eagerly, wondering if you could hear it in his voice or even see on his face just how desperate he was to know everything about you.

“Near Tintagel.” You offered abashedly as Remus slapped his hand on his thigh.

“You minx!” He scolded you. “You lived basically across the channel from me this whole time!”

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is” You offered him then, smiling through your tears as Sirius swallowed around his bile threatening its way up his oesophagus.

“I hope it’s nice.” Sirius blurted suddenly, and Sirius thanked the heavens for Remus John Lupin who seemed to understand that the conversation delved beyond the need of an audience, scooping Harry up and closing the door behind Lily, James, and himself to give you two some privacy. 

“It’s nice.” You offered wetly. “It’s quiet.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement. “In Tintagel, near Merlin’s cave?”

You laughed, which saw Sirius smiling. “I’m not right in Tintagel, just outside. My neighbours are mostly sheep.” 

“Does it have a picket fence?”

“To keep the sheep out of my garden.” You nodded with a smile.

“Flowers; lots of them.” Sirius deduced, you nodded again though Sirius watched your smile falter.

“You’d probably hate it.”

“Are you there?” He asked quickly.

“Well, usually, yes.” You offered, and Sirius shrugged easily.

“Sounds as though it might be my favourite place in the world, then.” 

The next breath that left you shuddered on its way out, and Sirius finally stood and met you in the middle of the room; close enough to touch but not daring to. He hadn’t earned that right yet. 

“Take me with you?” He all but begged then, and your face crumpled in misery.

“Sirius, I don’t want you to follow me because you have to, I-”

“I don’t have to though, I know I don’t; I know you’d never make me.” He assured you then, lifting a hand but pausing to wait for you to nod at him before he placed it on your upper arm. “The letters, Y/N, I- I’ve been looking for you for months.”

A sob tore through you as you lowered your head, and Sirius allowed himself to catch it in his free hand. 

“I don’t want you to feel bad; I’m not telling you so that you feel bad, love.” The endearment falling off his tongue so easily now that he had you in his arms. “But I need you to know that I want you - any of you, all of you - and have for a very long time.” 

“It’s just…you said-” and Sirius knew exactly what he said; he had played that conversation over and over and over in his mind until he found himself sick over it more than once. But we waited for you to tell him anyhow; he’d always wait for you. “You couldn’t settle down and be content, you couldn’t play house; you weren’t that kind of guy.” 

“I know, doll. I know.” He whispered. “I…I didn’t think I was capable of it. I didn’t think I deserved everything I wanted and I knew that you deserved better. That you deserve better.”

“But?”

“But I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life trying to prove you otherwise; trying to give you everything you deserve.”

“Sirius…” You sighed, and Sirius could see your walls cracking. “I…I’m-”

“Take me home? Please?” He begged then, words interrupted by a sob of his own. “To Tintagel, to Killarney, to bloody fucking Azkaban or the bottom of the sodding ocean, I don’t care where it is just as long as it’s with you, please. Please.”

Your hands landed on Sirius’ chest and he was sure you could feel his hummingbird heart beating under your fingertips. He only hoped you knew how it beat for you. 

“Please bring me home?”

James didn’t know if he could consider this a success or not. 

His motivation was not singular; it was a ‘hit two fairies with one gobstone’ sort of scenario, so to speak. Was his son turning two? Indeed he was! Was James throwing a party for said son’s birthday? You’re damned right he was. But was it also a really good excuse to force two of his idiot best friends into the same room again? Absolutely.

Except James seems to have gotten slightly more than he bargained for; Sirius falling unconscious in his childhood backyard, you sobbing into Lily’s shoulder out in the hallway as he and Remus tried to bring him back from the dead, Remus sneering at a slice of birthday cake like it personally offended him and Regulus threatening to defend his boyfriend’s honour, and - apparently - a new niece or nephew coming in the next three-ish months. 

But when he looked over to see you and Sirius emerging from the spare room - both of your faces tear stained and puffy from the grief and torment you no doubt put yourselves through - hands intertwined between your bodies and your hand resting protectively over your growing bump, and a spark in Sirius’ eyes James had thought he lost in the war but now realised he only lost when he lost you…

…yeah, James figured he could probably consider this a success.

[itsrlymine]

Ignoring Reality Makes No Sense When You Are Reality

Pay attention to the 3d because what you say about it tells you where you are in consciousness. If you know the outer world is based on your inner world, you don’t need to ignore it. If anything you should laugh bc Mrs. 3D really thought she was doing something like girl bye. 

This notion that you need to "ignore reality" in order to get what you want is wack asf and it pisses me off honestly. Why would you ignore reality when you are reality itself? When somebody calls you by your favorite nickname, are you gonna ignore them because you like that name or will you answer since it’s your name???? 

The 3d is a reflection of old and present thoughts and your state of awareness. How you respond internally is what determines what is happening externally. Change the meaning to what you “see” with your physical eyes and see with your mind’s eye that which you are now choosing to experience. Are you gonna ignore your sp, new money, house or car now bc they are in your 3d???

Your reality/3d only becomes real when you are getting what you want? Are you serious? Who told you that? You need to stop listening to that person. The 3d is you. So if reality isn't real, that means you aren't either boo. How can you be reading this post right now if the 3d isn't real?? Are you dreaming right now or something? Don't take people's advice just because they might be popular or get a lot of attention. Listen to what they say and actually see if it makes sense. Most of the times it doesn't. If you want to ignore reality, go ahead and ignore yourself for a week and see how that goes.

There were times people would tell me I couldn’t have something or do something because it’s too expensive or whatever and every time I’d respond back in my mind like “no wtf. It’s cheap asf actually.” I used this to lower my rent (somebody pays it for me now) and medications costs and ofc flights. Literally anything I want because I have come to understand that it’s just me. 

Similarly, it’s just you in your reality. The 3d is you and you shouldn’t fear it. Let it remind you of who you now are— the creator that has everything they want. Giving her power and trying to act like she isn’t there makes zero sense. Now that you have all your desires, are you gonna act like they are not real because you can “see” them in the 3d? No. That would be stupid and nonsensical.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hiii!! I saw your requests were open & was wondering if you could do a hurt/comfort vi x f!reader (romantic but could be platonic I don’t mind). Reader could be from the undercity and have similar experiences w vi so they relate and understand each other on that level. Not rlly sure what the angst could be but there’s a lot of canon to work from (like maybe vi sees smth that reminds her of her time in prison? Or smth idk), and reader is there to like, comfort/ground her. Like overall vi has a shitty time but has someone in her corner to listen/comfort her and maybe give her a hug yk? Anyways tyyy!

Sure I can! Enjoy!

To Be Loved

Vi hadn’t seen you in so long, at least, that she can remember. The alcohol did that.

All she remembered now was the shame of you finding her in the cramped apartment, after seeing her brutal pit fight.

The blood coating her knuckles, the makeup and black hair dye. But under it all, it was still your Vi.

Your hands cradled her off the floor, and she couldn’t understand why, but the feeling of your hands on her skin once more, brought tears.

“Oh, Vi…”

“I’m- I’m so tired, (Name)…I can’t-“ Vi cried, snot rubbing onto your shirt as she sobbed and gripped onto it with all the strength she could.

“I couldn’t protect her- I let him down… I let everyone down.” Vi insisted. It was unspoken of the people she spoke of, their names were never said out loud but it was practically screaming.

You told the stories, shared the memories and the pain, but never said their names. It made it real. It seemed like it was barely hitting Vi just now…

That her life would never be the same. Powder wouldn’t come home after playing with Ekko, Claggor and Mylo wouldn’t be clambering around on the floor, and Vander would never call them for dinner in The Last Drop.

Ever again.

Her family was gone.

The realization made her ugly sob into your neck, the sound crackling throughout the room as you held the back of her head and rubbed her back as you both sat on the ground.

The ring was her way of punishing herself. To feel the pain in her mind she had caused Powder, caused Jinx and Vander and Mylo and Claggor, even Ekko.

“You didn’t fail them.” You insisted, shaking your head as you shushed her cries and holding her to you. She tried to rebuttal, shaking her head but you simply pulled back.

You cradled her face in your hands, the look on her face so similar to seven years ago.

You mustered up your best smile and shook your head as you wiped her tears and she stared and cried at the feeling.

“You were a kid, Vi. Nothing was your fault.” You whispered gently, pressing your forehead to hers. Your lashes almost tickled her cheeks, almost mixing with her tears as she sniffled.

“Vanders proud of you. Powder…she’s not dead. She’s still here…” You whispered softly, your hand faintly ghosting over her heart.

Even if Powder changed, no matter how much she rebutted her name and past, grew her hair and grew taller, she couldn’t rid herself of the prescrnse you and Vi had on her life. She was still Powder. Just different.

“I hurt her.” Vi stated, trying to avoid your gaze. You frowned, looking her over for a moment as you saw the shame. She never wanted to hurt Powder.

“You love her.” Was all you could offer, pressing a gentle kiss to your loves forehead as she closed her eyes.

Everything inside her hurt, everything was aching and she hated herself. She felt guilty for indulging in your comfort, in taking it.

But even if everything was falling apart, her home, you, was still standing.

Your soft hands cradling her, your lips ghosting over her cheeks, her nose, her lips, her forehead and brows and lashes…she couldn’t help but drown herself in it.

She held onto you. Gripping your shirt and fisting it between her fingers as she hid herself in the comfort you provided.

In your comfort, Vi knew she would be okay.

The steady beat of your heart just made it all the more real. The hands that cradled her made it all the more real.

And you sealed it with a kiss.

[marysfics]

Through the Dust

Alexia Putellas x DownhillRacer!Reader

Status: Ongoing

Other Chapters: click here

This is a multichapter fic, and trust me, you’re in for one wild ride. No warnings so far. Just awkward fluff for now.

Word count: 2k

Chapter 2: "The Unsteady Ground Between Us"

You spent the night nursing a bruised shoulder and sore muscles, wincing as you applied ice to ease the swelling. But none of that discomfort compared to the restless buzz in your chest, the memory of that moment when you locked eyes with her—Alexia, as you’d learned from some fellow riders who were as intrigued as you were by the famous visitors. Her gaze had stayed with you, imprinted in your mind, sparking a strange thrill every time you thought back to it.

The next morning, the trails were less crowded. The early sun was low, casting long shadows across the mountain, and the chill of dawn clung to the air. As you prepared your bike, checking the tires and adjusting the suspension, you felt a familiar prickle on the back of your neck. Someone was watching you.

You looked up, and there she was again—Alexia, standing with her teammates just a few yards away. She had a distant look on her face, as though she hadn’t expected to see you this early. Her mouth was a straight line, her arms folded across her chest in that careful, almost protective way. But her eyes—those expressive eyes that seemed to flicker between fascination and doubt—told you a different story.

Your heart did a strange little leap. You weren’t used to feeling self-conscious, not on the mountain, not with your bike and the rush of the course to distract you. But with her here, it felt like every move you made was amplified, as though you were performing for an audience of one.

“Go talk to her,” Mapi’s voice teased Alexia from the sidelines, jolting her out of her stare. “You’ve been staring since yesterday. She’s going to think you’re some kind of creepy fan.”

Alexia scoffed, her cheeks flushing as she quickly turned her back. “I wasn’t staring,” she muttered, brushing off Mapi’s remark as if it was absurd. But her heart pounded in a way that felt foreign and dangerous, like standing on the edge of a cliff.

Mapi laughed, nudging her shoulder. “It’s okay to be interested, Ale. She’s clearly interested in you too. I saw the way she looked at you after the fall.”

Alexia’s jaw tightened. “I don’t get it, Mapi. She risks everything for what? A thrill? A medal? I don’t… I don’t understand her.” But even as she spoke, she could feel the lie hidden in her own words. She wanted to understand, wanted to know why anyone would choose to be so reckless, so daring. There was something almost… alluring about it.

Or maybe, she thought with a jolt, it’s not just about the sport.

The next few hours passed in fragments. You caught Alexia watching you again between your runs, her gaze intense, almost assessing, as though she was trying to solve some unspoken mystery. You couldn’t deny that the attention thrilled you, even if you tried to focus on your training, forcing yourself to ignore the way her presence made your heart stutter.

During a break, you decided to take a walk along the edge of the trail, needing a moment to clear your head. The thrill of speed, the adrenaline, the freedom—all of it was different with Alexia here. She seemed to add a new layer of complexity, a subtle tension that wound its way through your focus.

As you rounded a sharp corner on the trail, your tires screeched as you had to brake hard to avoid colliding with someone standing right in the middle of the path. The abrupt stop sent your balance wobbling, your back wheel skidding on the loose gravel. You barely managed to steady yourself, irritation flaring as you pushed a foot against the ground to keep from tipping over.

“Hey!” you blurted out, breathless and annoyed, “Are you kidding me? Who just stands right on a blind—”

But the words died on your lips as you saw her face.

Alexia turned to you, her eyes widening in surprise as she took in your frustrated expression. She looked so different from how she did on the field or even in the company of her teammates. Her gaze softened as she registered your surprise, her posture a little awkward, as if she’d been caught somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

You fell silent, the rush of anger melting into something else entirely. The sight of her here—alone, bathed in the soft, dappled light filtering through the trees—disarmed you completely. She didn’t look like the superstar you’d seen between her teammates, the assured captain who commanded attention on the field. Instead, she looked… almost uncertain, her brow slightly furrowed as though she was lost in thought.

“I’m—sorry,” she said finally, her voice quiet, and you noticed the faint trace of a Spanish accent, the unexpected softness in her tone. “I didn’t realize this was such a dangerous spot to stop.”

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers closing around her wrist in a quick, instinctive movement. Before either of you had time to react, you gently tugged her to the side of the trail, out of the dangerous blind spot and safely off to the edge.

“Come on, you can’t just stand there,” you said, your voice softer now, the frustration melting as you became hyper-aware of the warmth of her skin under your hand. Your fingers lingered, and for a brief, suspended moment, neither of you moved.

Alexia looked down at where your hand held hers, her eyes wide, surprise flickering into something more as her gaze lifted to meet yours. She didn’t pull away, and you didn’t let go. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you standing there, the forest around you quiet and still.

Her lips parted, as if she was about to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Her expression was caught somewhere between surprise and… something else, something intense that you couldn’t quite read. You realized, with a jolt, that your hand was still on hers. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you released her wrist, feeling the loss of warmth as your fingers slipped away.

“Sorry, I just…” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck, suddenly flustered. “Didn’t want you to get, you know… run over.”

Alexia’s lips quirked into a small smile, a hint of color rising in her cheeks as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice so soft it barely reached you. Her gaze lingered on you, her usual composure faltering as she looked at you with an expression that was open and unguarded, her eyes filled with curiosity and something deeper—something hesitant, almost like uncertainty.

For a moment, you were both silent, the sounds of the mountain fading into the background. You were caught in the intensity of her stare, feeling your heartbeat quicken as her presence washed over you, grounding you yet somehow leaving you breathless.

“Guess I’ll stay out of the way,” she finally said, her smile growing as she held your gaze a beat too long. Her voice was light, teasing, but her eyes told a different story, a silent question you couldn’t yet answer.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “You… you don’t have to, really.” Your voice came out quieter than you’d intended, and suddenly you felt a strange flutter of nerves. You cleared your throat, looking down and kicking at a loose stone on the trail. “I just… I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

The words hung between you, and when you glanced back up, you caught the look in her eyes—a spark of surprise, her expression softening as if you’d given away more than you meant to.

For a moment, her teasing smile faltered, and she looked at you with a gentleness that caught you off guard. Her gaze softened, her lips parting just slightly as if she wanted to say something but was searching for the right words.

“Oh,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. She shifted a bit closer, her smile turning into something warmer, something real. “Thank you.”

You felt your cheeks warm, the air thickening with a tension that felt as fragile as it was electric. The confident Alexia you’d seen yesterday, was nowhere to be found—instead, here she was, looking at you as if you’d just broken down a wall she’d been guarding carefully.

Summoning the courage, you took a deep breath, feeling the words form before you even fully decided to say them. “Hey, if you’re interested, I could… show you around sometime?” You hesitated, a little shy but hopeful, the invitation hanging there, vulnerable and unpolished. “I mean, if you’d like to see the mountains up close…”

But before you could finish, a voice cut through the stillness.

“Ale!” Mapi’s voice rang out from down the trail, unmistakable and playful as it echoed off the trees. You both startled, the moment between you snapping back into reality. Mapi appeared a second later, jogging up the path, eyes scanning until she spotted Alexia. “There you are. We’ve been looking everywhere.”

Alexia’s expression shifted, a small flash of reluctance passing over her face as she glanced back at you. She looked like she wanted to say something, her eyes lingering as if memorizing the moment.

“I—” she started, but Mapi gave her a nudge, clearly in a hurry to drag her back.

“You coming, or what?” Mapi teased, oblivious to the moment she’d interrupted. “The team’s waiting.”

Alexia exhaled, a faint crease in her brow as she looked back at you. “Maybe… another time?” she said, her voice soft but warm, as if she, too, wished things could’ve paused just a little longer.

“Yeah,” you replied, managing a small smile even as the moment slipped away. “Another time.”

----------------------------------------------------------

End of chapter 2.

[goblin-jr]

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you.

part 5 of 12

Synopsis: Morning confrontations bring afternoon coffee showers? Dealing with the aftermath of the bonfire

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

Warnings: luke being a shitty dad

masterlist

----

The morning sun filtered through the wide-open windows of the Chateau, casting lazy golden beams over the worn but welcoming space. Y/N had woken up early, unable to sleep much after the emotional rollercoaster of the previous night. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was distant but soothing, a sharp contrast to the unease she still felt in the pit of her stomach.

She had wandered into the living room of the Chateau, the place the Pogues often gathered, now quiet after the chaos of the bonfire. The remnants of last night's party—the beer cans, half-empty bottles, and scattered towels—were strewn across the floor, evidence of the good times they’d shared. But the joy from last night felt distant now.

Y/N settled into one of the couches, looking out at the ocean. She was lost in her thoughts when she heard the soft creak of footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Kiara walking in, wearing her usual calm expression, though Y/N could tell her friend had already sensed something was off.

“Hey,” Kiara said gently, taking a seat beside Y/N. She looked out at the water, then back at her. “You alright?”

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to start. She had been so caught up in her emotions last night, trying to laugh it off, but now, in the quiet aftermath, the weight of it all was harder to ignore. She bit her lip, looking down at her hands.

“I just… I don’t know,” Y/N started, her voice quieter than she intended. “Last night, the way they all were talking… I mean, it’s nothing new, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Kiara’s expression softened. “The jokes about you not hooking up with anyone?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. It’s like, they don’t see me as a girl at all. Just one of the guys. And I know I’ve always been… the bookworm, or whatever, but it’s different now. I don’t know why, but it just hurt last night. I wanted to be seen, you know? I’m not just ‘one of you.’”

Kiara let out a sigh, clearly understanding the struggle Y/N was dealing with. “You’ve always been one of us, Y/N. The Pogues, we’re a family. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be treated like more than just the ‘girl version’ of one of the guys. You’re allowed to feel that way.”

Y/N turned to Kiara, her eyes searching for reassurance. “But why does it feel like I’m always in the background? Like no one really notices me for who I am, just… who I’ve always been to them.”

Kiara gave her a small, knowing smile. “Because it’s easier to see you as the bookworm, the one who’s always steady and reliable. It’s easier than admitting that you might want something more. But you deserve that, Y/N. More than anyone else.”

Just as Y/N was about to respond, the door to JJ's honorary bedroom opened, and JJ walked in, his hair still messy from the night before, his signature carefree grin on his face. He paused for a moment when he saw them, then sauntered over to the couch, plopping down beside Kiara with a playful look.

“Good morning, ladies,” JJ said, his voice light and teasing. “I see we survived the bonfire chaos.”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “You look like you survived a tornado.”

JJ chuckled. “The waves were rough last night. But I made it through, don’t worry.”

Y/N couldn’t help but give a small laugh, but the knot in her stomach tightened again when she remembered the night before. She glanced at him briefly, her heart still doing that strange flutter whenever she saw him, even though she’d tried to shake off her feelings for him.

“Did you have fun last night?” Kiara asked, her voice casual, but Y/N could sense there was a little more to it.

JJ grinned. “Yeah, met a tourist. She’s cool. Gonna show her around today.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt a sudden pang of jealousy that she couldn’t ignore. Of course, JJ would find someone else to hang out with. He always did.

She didn’t say anything, though. Instead, she glanced out the window again, her mind racing. As if on cue, the door to the spare room opened, and a girl Y/N didn’t recognize stepped out. She was smiling, stretching as she made her way toward the kitchen, clearly in no rush to leave.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed instinctively. That was the tourist. The one JJ had been flirting with last night. She felt her chest tighten as the reality of her situation hit her harder than before.

Kiara must have noticed the change in Y/N’s expression because she shot a quick glance between her and JJ. “Everything okay?” she asked softly, but there was an underlying understanding in her voice.

Y/N didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she just nodded, trying to hold back the hurt and confusion she was feeling. JJ was already looking toward the door where the girl had gone, clearly not noticing the subtle shift in Y/N’s mood.

But then, he turned to her and noticed her distant expression. He gave her a questioning look, and for a moment, their eyes met. Y/N wasn’t sure what to do with the way his gaze lingered on her—whether it was concern or curiosity—but it only made her feel even more unsure of where she stood.

The awkward silence was broken when Kiara spoke up again, her voice a little firmer than before. “You should talk to him, Y/N. If there’s something you need to say, now’s as good a time as any.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest. The words Kiara had just spoken hung in the air, and she felt a surge of emotion bubbling up inside her. She didn’t know what had changed in her since last night, but it was like something inside her had cracked open—something she had kept buried for a long time.

She glanced at Kiara, whose expression was a mix of concern and encouragement. It was like Kiara could see right through her, and in that moment, Y/N realized she didn’t have the luxury of keeping things in anymore. She had to say something. She couldn’t keep playing along like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stood up, the muscles in her legs tense. She turned to JJ, who was still lounging on the couch, seemingly unaware of the storm brewing in the room. She had to get this out, had to make him see.

“JJ,” she started, her voice shaky but determined. “Can we talk?”

He looked up, his grin faltering slightly as he met her eyes. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Outside. Now” Y/N and JJ made their way out to the hammock. Taking a step closer, her eyes narrowing as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “What the hell, JJ?” The words slipped out before she could stop them, her frustration and hurt now spilling over.

JJ blinked, clearly taken aback by her tone. “What are you talking about?”

“The way you act like you’re in love with Kiara, but you’ll hook up with anyone who’s not her.” The words were sharper than she meant, but she couldn’t stop them. “It’s like you get to keep her on this pedestal and pretend that she’s the one, but you don’t treat her like that. You treat her like… like she’s just another girl to play with.”

JJ, who had been about to make a joke, suddenly went silent. He straightened up on the couch, his expression turning more serious, but Y/N didn’t let up.

“I’m sick of it,” Y/N continued, her voice shaking with emotion. “I’m sick of being the ‘good girl,’ the one you all forget is… well, a girl. You make these jokes about me, like I don’t care. But I do. I just don’t understand why you keep doing this—acting like you’re so into Kiara when you’re out there with anyone else who shows up. What about her? What about me?” Her breath hitched, the words coming out in a rush.

JJ’s expression shifted from confusion to defensiveness. He leaned forward slightly, running a hand through his messy hair. “Look, Y/N, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, don’t,” Y/N cut him off, her voice rising. “I’m not asking for an apology, I’m asking for you to think for once. Maybe stop acting like you don’t have feelings for Kiara when you clearly do. And maybe, just maybe, think about how I feel when I see you with someone else, acting like I’m just… background noise.”

There was a heavy pause. JJ’s eyes softened slightly, and for a moment, Y/N thought he might say something—anything—to try and fix it. But then he stood up quickly, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he pushed past her toward the door.

“Look, I’m just trying to have a good time. Maybe you’re overthinking this,” he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the intensity of the conversation.

Y/N’s heart sank. It was like he didn’t even understand what she was saying, like he was so caught up in his own world that he couldn’t even recognize the hurt in hers.

Without another word, Y/N turned on her heel and stormed off, her pulse racing. She didn’t want to be in this space anymore. Didn’t want to feel like this anymore.

As she made her way back to the house, JJ called after her, but Y/N didn’t stop. She needed air. She needed to get away from all of this for a moment.

The front door swung open just as she stepped onto the porch, and she stopped, breathless, seeing the girl from the night before leaving the kitchen with a carefree smile. JJ’s tourist. Y/N felt a bitter sting in her chest as the girl waved goodbye to him before heading out, not even sparing a glance at Y/N.

The jealousy coursed through her, but it was more than that—it was the feeling of being unseen, of not being enough. And in that moment, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

—

Later, Y/N started her shift down at the country club. The rhythmic clinking of glasses and soft hum of the lunch rush kept Y/N focused, the kind of steady routine she needed to distract herself after everything that had gone down last night and this morning. Cleaning the bar, wiping down counters—anything to keep her mind from wandering back to the bonfire and the sting of the Pogues’ comments.

But just as she was about to grab a fresh cloth to wipe the countertop, the door to the club swung open, and in walked Rafe Cameron.

Her eyes widened slightly. Rafe was looking like he’d just had the worst day of his life—frazzled, hair a little more messed up than usual, and his eyes wide with some mix of panic and annoyance.

“Y/N!” Rafe’s voice was a little too loud for the low-key atmosphere of the club, and he made a beeline for the bar. “I need your help. Like, right now.”

Y/N leaned back slightly, trying to hide her grin. “Cameron, here? What’s up? Your dad cut you off already?”

He shot her a look that was somewhere between exasperation and helplessness. “I wish. No, listen, my dad invited me to sit in on some huge business meeting today, right? It’s a big deal, but I—” he glanced down at his pants and then back up at her, “—I spilled coffee all over my pants. It’s bad, Y/N. Really bad.”

Y/N couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing, the image of the Kook prince—immaculate and untouchable—standing there with a coffee stain on his fancy pants was just too much. “You spilled coffee on your pants? Really?”

Rafe scowled, clearly embarrassed but too proud to admit just how serious he was about the whole situation. “This is a huge deal, alright? I’m meeting with some important people, and I can’t go in looking like this. I need help, please.”

Still trying to stifle her giggles, Y/N nodded. “Okay, okay. I’ll help you. But you owe me one.” She grabbed a towel and motioned for him to follow her. “Come on, we’re going to the bathroom. We’ll try to clean them up. Don’t get too hopeful.”

“Anything,” Rafe muttered, following her through the back of the club.

The bathroom was quiet, and Y/N could already feel the light tension between them as they stepped inside. She motioned for him to wait by one of the stalls. “Alright, take a seat in there. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Rafe shot her a doubtful look but did as she said, squeezing himself into the stall. Y/N was left with his coffee-stained pants, feeling both amused and slightly sorry for him. The stain was big, but not impossible to fix with some elbow grease.

As she worked on scrubbing the stain out, the silence between them stretched on, and after a while, Y/N broke it with a quiet sigh. “You know, I took your advice last night,” she began, her tone soft, almost uncertain. “The whole ‘don’t hold back’ thing. But… it kind of bombed.”

Rafe’s voice came from the stall, more serious than she expected. “What do you mean? I thought it was good advice.”

Y/N shook her head, her hands still moving over the fabric. “I mean, I told them exactly what I was thinking, and it didn’t go over well. They just made fun of me more. I thought maybe it would feel good to get everything off my chest, but instead, it just made things worse.”

There was a long pause before Rafe finally spoke, his tone softer than she had ever heard it. “I’m sorry. I was drunk, and honestly, I didn’t really think through what I was saying. I guess it’s not as easy as just throwing everything out there without consequences.” He let out a small, almost rueful laugh. “I wasn’t really thinking, was I?”

Y/N smiled slightly, feeling the weight of her own frustrations lift just a little. “No, you weren’t. But it did feel good to be honest, even if the timing was… well, off.” She looked at him over her shoulder, finding him still in the stall, his face partially visible, eyebrows knitted in concern.

“You know, I never really thought about it that way,” Rafe admitted, his voice quieter. “Like, yeah, I’m always the one telling people to do whatever the hell they want. But sometimes you gotta be careful what you say. Especially when it’s about people who matter.”

Y/N felt a flicker of understanding between them—something unspoken but real. “Yeah, I get that.”

She finished cleaning the pants, carefully checking to make sure the stain was almost gone. “Alright, I think we’re good. You might still look like you’re working overtime at a coffee shop, but it’s better than it was.”

Rafe finally emerged from the stall, straightening up and looking down at his pants. He sighed in relief. “You saved me. I owe you one, big time.”

Y/N shrugged, brushing her hands off and turning to face him. “Don’t worry about it. Just—next time, maybe don’t go around giving relationship advice while drunk.” She grinned, teasing him.

Rafe laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then, after a beat, he added, “But seriously, thanks. I didn’t think you’d even care to help me with this.”

Y/N smiled back at him, feeling lighter than she had in days. “What are friends for, Rafe?”

—

The evening sun was beginning to fade, casting an orange glow over the island, but Y/N’s shift at the country club wasn’t over just yet. The events of the day had played out in such a whirlwind—Rafe’s unexpected visit, the heart-to-heart they’d shared, and the awkward tension that still lingered between Y/N and the Pogues. It was a strange mix of emotions she couldn’t quite shake off.

She wiped down the bar one last time, scanning the room. The club was quieter now, the steady flow of people dying down as dinner hour approached. She could already feel the exhaustion setting in after an emotionally charged day, but it wasn’t over yet.

The phone behind the counter rang, jolting her out of her thoughts. She answered it quickly, as she always did in the quiet moments.

“Hello?” she asked, her tone soft from the fatigue she’d been carrying all day.

“Y/N?”

Her heart skipped at the familiar voice. It was JJ, and there was something in his voice that made her stomach tighten.

“JJ? Everything okay?” she asked, glancing around the bar to make sure no one needed her attention.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice shaky and strained, like he’d been holding something in for far too long. “My dad… he—he had another outburst. And it was bad, Y/N. Really bad.”

Her chest tightened as she set the rag down on the counter. “JJ… are you alright?”

There was a pause on the other end, and then a sharp, almost hollow laugh. “I’m fine, I guess. Just… it’s the same shit, you know? But this time, I… I don’t know. I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

Y/N’s heart ached for him, the weight of his words settling heavily in her chest. She had seen him at his worst, but she knew how much it meant when he opened up like this.

“I’ll be there in a few,” she said without hesitation. “Just… stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”

“Thanks,” JJ muttered, the relief in his voice barely audible. “I knew I could count on you.”

The line went dead, and Y/N immediately grabbed her bag, rushing to clock out. She wasn’t about to let him go through this alone, not after everything he’d confided in her before. Even if she didn’t know what to say to fix it, she’d be there.

When Y/N arrived at JJ’s house, she wasn’t sure what she’d find. The atmosphere felt different, heavier, as she stood at the front door, glancing at the dim lights flickering through the windows. There was no sign of movement from inside, but she knew he was there. He had to be.

She knocked softly on the door, the sound echoing in the quiet of the evening. The door creaked open, and there stood JJ, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair messy, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Without a word, he stepped aside, letting her in. The silence that followed spoke volumes—no words needed to be exchanged, as Y/N understood exactly how he was feeling. She had seen this before, the way his father’s outbursts left him fragile and raw. She just didn’t know how much longer he could keep holding it all together.

“Where is he?” Y/N asked, glancing around.

“Out,” JJ muttered, running a hand through his hair. “He left after… after everything. I don’t even know where he went. Doesn’t matter.”

Y/N nodded, understanding that he was just trying to hold himself together. She stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this alone, JJ.”

He looked down at her hand on his shoulder, then back up at her, his eyes searching hers. “I know. I just… I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” she replied quietly. “We’ve been through too much for me to walk away now.”

JJ let out a shaky breath, then nodded, his eyes lingering on hers for a beat longer than necessary. “I don’t even know how to thank you for always being here. You… you’re the only one who gets it.”

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat. She had always been there for him, but sometimes, it felt like she was the one who needed to be saved. She gave him a small smile. “It’s not about thanks. I’m here because I want to be.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Y/N said, breaking the silence. “You’ve been through enough today.”

JJ didn’t argue. He simply nodded, allowing her to guide him toward the small couch where he’d likely been sitting alone, stewing over everything that had happened.

–

The air in JJ’s house was heavy with unspoken thoughts. Y/N had helped him clean up, patched up the immediate mess his father’s outburst had left on him, but the emotional damage was still raw. JJ, sitting on the worn-out couch, looked every bit like a kid who’d seen too much too soon. His shoulders were slumped, his face shadowed by exhaustion, but Y/N knew better than to push him. They’d both been through enough for one day.

She sat down beside him, the room quiet except for the occasional hum of the old fan in the corner. No words were needed right now; sometimes, silence was the best comfort. They didn’t have to say much to understand each other.

Y/N glanced over at him, her voice gentle when she finally broke the silence. “You know, when we were kids, I never imagined things would turn out this way.”

JJ shifted slightly, his eyes downcast. “Yeah, me neither,” he muttered. “But I guess the world doesn’t give a shit about what we imagined, huh?”

Y/N let out a quiet, sad laugh, knowing that was the bitter truth. “Nope. We get what we get, and we have to figure out how to make it work.”

They both sat in the quiet for a moment longer, the weight of everything they’d been through growing heavier. She’d known JJ for so long, seen him go through so much, but tonight it felt different. There was a certain vulnerability in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, something raw and unspoken.

“Did you ever think about leaving?” Y/N asked suddenly, the question hanging in the air before she could stop herself.

JJ met her eyes then, his expression guarded. “I think about it all the time. But I know I’d never make it far. It’s just easier to stay and pretend like it’s all fine.”

Y/N nodded, the truth of his words cutting deeper than she expected. She’d always admired JJ’s ability to keep going, even when everything seemed to be falling apart around him. But she knew, like he did, that sometimes the hardest part was pretending it didn’t hurt.

“I’ve thought about leaving too,” she said quietly, her gaze falling to her hands in her lap. “Not for the same reasons, but… sometimes I wonder if there’s more out there for me than this island. Than everything that’s tied to it.”

JJ’s lips twitched upward in the smallest smile. “You’re one of the only ones I know who can get away from this place, Y/N. You could actually make something of yourself, get outta here.”

Y/N chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. “Maybe. But every time I think about leaving, I remember that everything I want is right here. Even if it’s all a mess.”

“You really think that?” JJ asked, leaning back slightly, a new kind of curiosity in his voice.

Y/N met his gaze, her tone steady. “Yeah. I think I’ve spent so much time thinking about leaving, I forgot what it means to stay. To fight for something that matters. Even if it's messed up and broken, at least it’s real.”

JJ looked at her for a long moment, his eyes softer than they had been all night. “I get that. I think… Maybe I just don’t know what it means to stay. Not with how things are.”

Y/N’s heart twisted at the words. She’d known about Luke’s temper, the violence that simmered beneath the surface of the man JJ had called father for so long. But she was the only one who knew how bad it really got. The others saw the bruises, the scars, the broken things, but they didn’t know how much of it was a product of a man who couldn’t control his rage.

She sighed, her voice quiet but firm. “You don’t have to carry this alone, JJ. I’m here. You know that, right?”

JJ glanced at her, the walls he’d built up over the years starting to crack. He opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come out. Instead, he just nodded, as if the weight of everything was finally getting to him. He let out a breath, a shaky laugh escaping him.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Y/N smiled, though the ache in her chest didn’t fade. She knew she was the only one who truly understood what he was going through. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what kept her coming back—being the one person who could hold the pieces together, even when everything seemed to fall apart.

JJ shifted slightly, his tone quieter now. “You ever wish you could’ve had a different childhood? A different family?”

Y/N let the question sit for a moment, knowing it wasn’t easy to admit. She leaned back against the couch, thinking back to her own complicated relationship with her parents. It wasn’t as bad as his, but it had never been simple either. They’d always been distant, more focused on their own lives than on her. She shrugged, her voice soft.

“I think about it sometimes. I wonder if things would’ve been different if they’d been different. But then I remember… you and me, and the way we survived this island. Maybe that’s all we need. To survive.”

JJ let out a dry laugh, the humor in his voice soft and weary. “Yeah. We’re good at surviving.”

The silence stretched between them, and Y/N realized they were both carrying the weight of things they couldn’t change. But at least they had each other. At least they had someone who understood. And for tonight, that would have to be enough.

Eventually, JJ shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket over both of them. He laid back, his head resting against the worn fabric, while Y/N curled up beside him as they’d done when they were kids. The tension in the room, in both of their hearts, started to ease as they settled into the familiar rhythm of being together—no words needed, just the warmth of shared history and unspoken understanding.

Eventually, JJ shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket over both of them. He laid back, his head resting against the worn fabric, while Y/N curled up beside him as they’d done when they were kids. The tension in the room, in both of their hearts, started to ease as they settled into the familiar rhythm of being together—no words needed, just the warmth of shared history and unspoken understanding.

As the night grew darker, Y/N felt the weight of her eyelids heavy, the exhaustion from the day, from everything, creeping in. It had been a hard day, a hard week, but for now, in the quiet of JJ’s house, with him by her side, it felt like they were just two kids again—no worries, no pain, just the comfort of each other’s presence.

“Hey, Y/N?” JJ whispered into the stillness, his voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah?” she murmured, her eyes already half-shut.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a sleepy smile, her voice soft as she responded, “Same, JJ. Same.”

And with that, they both drifted into a peaceful, familiar sleep, the kind that only comes when you know, deep down, that no matter how hard life gets, you’ll always have each other.

Before fully drifting off, Y/N thought to herself, Once we graduate... we’re leaving. Together. No more broken families, no more staying behind. And with that, they both let the quiet of the night pull them under, dreaming of the future they would build away from the island and all that had hurt them.

And with that, they both drifted into a peaceful, familiar sleep, the kind that only comes when you know, deep down, that no matter how hard life gets, you’ll always have each other.

---

Next up: a return to how it was, more or less

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Taglist:

@hockeybabe87

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A/N: last one for night.. wish me luck for my presentation in the morning!!!!

[grimmweepers]

wahhh i know i've chosen the worst time to finally read this because you're on semi-hiatus but better late than never right? it was so wonderful to see the first post you made about this wip grow into such a story-rich fic where the love and care and effort you put into it is palpable. i knew from the first paragraph i was NOT going to leave my commentary in the tags because i was going to have too much to say

"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?"

just fyi i saved these questions for later because i had an inkling they'd come back around in some way

"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."

this was so interesting to me! because i had the exact same thought when i read that part too!! i love how chrysanthemums play such different roles for each of them. for the reader, they’re something beautiful, a way to brighten up a space, but in chrollo’s world, they’re a reminder of death, a memento mori. it’s such a clever contrast that tells us so much about how differently they view life and loss.

i also feel this gnawing sense of dread every time chrollo notes the reader's routine. he’s carefully weaving her into his own life, his own routine. like i know it's part of his job but whether he admits it or not, she’s become a part of his life too—and that’s terrifying because what will this all lead to?

"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."

not chrollo only responding when reader does it sjdhfjkshfkdgdhgkhg

"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."

this right here was just so wellwritten!!! the slow growth of something he doesn’t understand, so strong it could destroy him. almost like he is being infested. i had to take a moment absorb this

"If anything, it was akin to a bird suddenly losing the ability to fly when flying was the only thing it knew."

LAWDDDD ANOTHER PERFECT LINE. mf is so disoriented by his feelings

"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"

i enjoyed this small glimpse into his psyche. it really goes to show the world hasn't been kind to him, as opposed to reader's life where (i’m assuming) most things are handed to her on a silver platter

“What—What about Mr. Euan?”- okay, i have to be honest, i was so wrapped up in the chemistry between reader and chrollo that i totally forgot about euan until he was mentioned again here LOLLLLL. i mean, how could i not? you have- "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."- right before this and i’m supposed to remember there's another man in the picture? IMPOSSIBLEEEEEEEEEEE

"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."

oh i have a feeling where this might be heading, i KNOW foreshadowing when i see it. i immediately felt a sense of foreboding, as if this aroma tied to death is a sign of what's to come...

so i had to stop myself from listing every line i loved otherwise, this would’ve turned into an essay (it kind of already is. FUCK). i have so much to say! first of all, i’m sorry if i’m reading too deeply into things, but i adored everything about this. you’re so insanely talented. it’s inspiring, honestly. i’m completely obsessed with the flower motifs woven throughout. even the smaller details, like “bloom in his chest,” make such an impact.

one thing that stands out is how chrollo’s whole worldview shifts after meeting her. everything he once knew seems to invert, like his reality is cracking open in her presence. are the wealthy inherently corrupt? is she a target or a lover? was this gun going to protect or kill her? are the chrysanthemums symbols of life or death? the fact that everything he thought he believed begins to lose meaning as he gets closer to her is so UGHHH idek the word... just GOOD. GREAT. it’s as if she’s the one force that makes him question his place, his values, and even his own motives. the internal conflict is so beautifully done.

when i read “devotion” in the title i assumed it would focus on her commitment. maybe that she’d sacrifice too much of herself and end up suffering as a result (i mean i suppose that's true) but then, as the story unfolded, it hit me: it was the cost of chrollo’s devotion all along. he finally committed, and the price was her life!!!!!!!!! the way this realisation crept up, only to hit in full force, was just chef’s kiss. the symbolism, the tragedy of it all, the way she gave life and meaning to chrysanthemums only to lose her own life

coming back to the line i saved earlier: “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?” it was so worth it to keep this question in mind because when she ended up pleading his name during the love-making scene, the contrast was 💡 !!!!!!!! who would’ve thought that she’d be pleading not for her life but in a moment of intimacy?

honestly, this whole piece kept me on my toes and left me a mess by the end. you portrayed chrollo so nuanced and i’m sure any chrollo truther would appreciate that. thank you for sharing this beast with us!! i loved it

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 !

[capquinn]

ok we've been losing our minds about seeing quinn with kids but imagine him losing his mind seeing you with kids and babies. they're just so naturally drawn to you, smiling and giggling at you. when it's time to leave the kids pout, the babies cry and refuse to let go of you. it breaks his heart a little, but then he thinks about how you have that effect on kids and his heart is just so full and warm. he can't stop smiling thinking about how great of a mom you're going to be one day

It’s something Quinn’s been noticing more and more — how babies and kids always seem to be drawn to you, like there’s some invisible pull. He sees it everywhere, little moments that only fuel the quiet ache he’s been carrying, a bad case of baby fever that just keeps getting stronger.

It was a late summer afternoon at his friend’s BBQ, the kind of day where everything felt a little softer around the edges, the air warm and filled with lazy laughter and the smell of grilling food. Quinn was mid-conversation with a few of his buddies when he glanced over and spotted you down on the driveway, a piece of colourful chalk in your hand, showing his friend’s daughter how to draw a flower.

You were laughing, your voice floating over the soft hum of conversation as you patiently guided her tiny hand.

“Like this, see?” you were saying, helping her press the chalk down firmly. “And a little harder here — see how it makes the colour brighter?”

The little girl, determined to get it right, nodded with intense concentration, her face scrunched up in that serious way kids get when they’re trying so hard. She pressed down on the chalk with all her might, the green and purple smudges already staining her fingers. And you, just as focused, knelt beside her, not minding that your knees were getting chalky too.

Quinn couldn’t look away. The sight of you like that, so at ease, laughing with a child who was barely up to your waist, tugged at something in him. He imagined a version of this scene in a few years’ time — maybe it was a little girl with your eyes, or his determined frown, a toddler who insisted on doing everything by herself. He could already see the two of you, that same effortless connection, sharing these small, beautiful moments, and his heart did this odd little flip that made his chest feel warm and tight at the same time.

The little girl tugged on your hand, proudly holding up her chalk drawing. “Look! I did it!”

Your smile lit up, and you nodded, leaning closer to inspect it. “You did! That’s amazing! I think you’re a pro at this, honestly.”

Quinn’s friend nudged him with an amused grin. “Man, she’s a natural. I think the kids like her more than us.”

Quinn only nodded, distracted, not fully hearing what was said because his mind was spinning. It wasn’t just that you were good with kids — it was the way you seemed to understand them, to genuinely enjoy being there with them, in their world. And suddenly, this idea started to blossom, the thought of a life where this wasn’t just an afternoon at a BBQ but something that happened every day. He pictured you like this, kneeling in your own driveway with a little one by your side, his heart pounding with a kind of certainty he’d never felt before.

Lost in thought, he didn’t realise he was smiling until you caught his eye and gave him a playful little wave. Quinn’s chest tightened, a shy grin pulling at his lips as he waved back. He barely heard his friend teasing him about being “smitten” because in that moment, all he could think about was how right this felt, how natural, and how he wanted that future with you more than anything.

It happened again a few weeks later at the grocery store, a place Quinn usually breezed through, his list memorised, rarely giving more than a glance to the colourful chaos of the cereal aisle. But that day, he was momentarily caught up, staring at the endless choices, debating between two boxes. That’s when he heard it — a tiny giggle that somehow cut through the chatter of shoppers, the hum of the store. Glancing over, he saw you a few feet away, your attention fully focused on a baby sitting in a shopping cart beside you.

The baby, not much older than a year, was staring up at you with wide, amazed eyes, completely entranced as you wiggled your fingers and made a soft, silly noise, your face lit with an easy smile. You repeated the sound, and the baby’s mouth dropped open, then let out another round of giggles, that beautiful, innocent laughter that would soften anyone’s heart.

Quinn couldn’t help but pause, frozen mid-decision, just watching. The baby’s mother had been focused on reading the back of an oatmeal box, scanning ingredients with the usual distracted look of a tired parent. But after a moment, she glanced up, noticing the small, quiet exchange unfolding beside her cart. Her gaze softened as she took in the sight of her baby reaching toward you, chubby fingers stretching, drawn to the warmth in your playful smile,

And then Quinn’s heart did that strange, achy thing it had been doing lately, where he felt both immensely full and oddly vulnerable, like he’d stumbled onto a vision of the future without realising it.

He imagined you like this, but with your own baby — a little one with his dark hair and your bright smile, or maybe a mix of everything he loved most about you. The two of you would share that same joyful bubble, so completely at ease with each other, lost in some private little world only you two would understand.

Quinn placed both cereal boxes into the basket, feeling a strange warmth build in his chest, one that he couldn’t seem to shake. His fingers tightened around the handle of the basket, the weight of the thought filling him with a kind of quiet longing. It was such a simple scene, one he’d seen a dozen times with strangers, but with you…it was different. He was already imagining a life that was filled with moments like this, and the ache that came with it was exhilarating, a reminder of how badly he wanted this — wanted you, wanted this life with you and all that came with it.

“Hey, are you ready?” you asked, glancing over and catching his gaze, breaking him out of his reverie.

He blinked, realised the mother and baby had moved on, then nodded, feeling a soft blush creep up his neck as he tried to play it cool.

“Yeah, just… got distracted,” he muttered, but he couldn’t hide the small, knowing smile that stayed with him all the way to the checkout, the warmth of the thought still lingering as he followed you down the aisle.

The feeling roots itself deeply, one he can’t quite ignore as he watches you with his cousin’s 8-month-old, who’s been wide-eyed and mesmerised by you since the moment you walked in. The baby, fussy with everyone else, settles effortlessly in your arms, chubby fingers curling tightly around your shirt, her small head resting trustingly against your shoulder.

Quinn’s cousin chuckles, watching you both. “You’ve got some kind of superpower,” she says, amused.

You smile down at the baby, shifting your arms to hold her closer as you sway gently, instinctively.

“She just needed someone to chat with,” you murmur, your voice soft and soothing.

You don’t see Quinn across the room, his gaze fixed on you, like he’s trying to memorise this scene, the tenderness in the way you hold the baby, your gentle laugh, the look in your eyes. His chest tightens, that strange warmth filling him again that’s both beautiful and a little overwhelming.

From beside him, his mom nudges his arm lightly. “You’ve got a look there, Quinn,” Ellen says quietly, watching him watch you.

Quinn gives a faint smile, eyes still locked on you, almost in disbelief.

“She’s… good with kids,” he says softly, as if the realisation itself has him feeling a little unsteady. “Just — look at her.”

Ellen’s face softens, a knowing smile lighting her eyes. “Some people just have that kind of warmth. Kids feel it. She’s going to be such a wonderful mom someday.”

Quinn glances at her, but his gaze quickly finds its way back to you, his heart doing an uneven thud as he watches you look down at the baby, cooing softly as her eyes close. You look up then, meeting his eyes, and you send him the sweetes smile, one that makes him feel like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

His mom places a hand on his back. “You’d make a wonderful dad, too, Quinn,” she whispers.

Quinn swallows hard, feeling a sudden swell of emotion he wasn’t prepared for. His mom’s words settle over him, and he feels it, the truth of them, sinking in deep. He’s always thought about it in passing, but the whole idea feels closer, more real, like something he could almost reach out and touch.

“You really think so?” he murmurs, voice barely audible, eyes flickering to his mom.

Ellen nods, her hand a steady presence on his back. “Absolutely,” she whispers, surprised that he even has to ask, her smile softening. “Have you two talked about kids lately?”

Quinn’s face flushes slightly as he keeps his gaze on you.

“A little,” he admits quietly, a small, almost shy smile creeping onto his face. “I mean, I think about it all the time.”

Ellen chuckles, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Well, whenever you’re both ready, you’ll be wonderful parents.” She pauses, trying to keep her smile from widening. “I can see it already. A Baby Hughes with those gorgeous dark waves,” she laughs, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

Quinn shakes his head, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he gently swats her hand away. “Mum,” he murmurs, trying to hide how much he’s secretly loving the idea.

Ellen laughs, her hand falling to his shoulder in a gentle squeeze. “No pressure, of course,” she says, though there’s a glimmer of excitement in her eyes that she can’t quite hide. “But when you do, I know you two will make a great team.” She looks back over at you, voice dropping. “You both have so much love to give.”

As he watches you across the room, swaying gently with his cousin’s baby asleep in your arms, he can’t shake the feeling that someday, hopefully soon, this picture will be a little different — a little closer to home.

Later that night, in the cosy guest room at his parents’ house, you lie curled up against Quinn’s side, watching the soft flicker of the TV in the dim light. His arm is wrapped around you, fingers tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder as you both unwind from the family gathering.

In his other hand, he’s casually scrolling through his phone, when he pauses, then turns the screen your way. It’s a picture his cousin posted of her daughter in your arms at the party. In the photo, you’re smiling softly, looking down at the baby as she rests against you, and the sight of it, even through a screen, makes his chest warm.

“That’s a good picture,” he murmurs, his voice quiet, thoughtful.

You smile, curling up closer to him, resting your head against his shoulder. Something about that moment earlier had felt so natural, so easy. And as you look at the picture, that feeling stirs again, warming you in a way that feels both exciting and a little nerve-wracking.

After a pause, you swallow softly, gathering your thoughts, and then, before you can second-guess yourself, you say, “hace you thought about having… you know, a baby? Starting a family?”

Quinn tenses for a split second, and you can feel his heart pick up, thumping faster under your cheek. He pulls back a little to look at you, eyes wide with surprise.

“Did my mom talk to you?” he asks, a hint of suspicion, as if he’s caught onto something.

You let out a laugh, the tension breaking instantly, and sit up, leaning back against the headboard as you turn your body toward him, raising an eyebrow. “No, why would she?”

Quinn rubs the back of his neck, chuckling softly. “She, uh… she sort of mentioned it earlier. Said she thought we’d make a great team as parents.”

He glances down, a hint of a blush dusting his cheeks, and there’s a shy look in his eyes when he looks back up at you. The gentle vulnerability in his expression makes your heart squeeze, and you can’t help but smile.

“So,” you say, voice small, “what do you think?”

He shifts a little closer, his hand sliding to the back of your knee, fingers tracing gentle patterns. “I’ve actually thought about it a lot lately,” he says, his voice steady, direct, like he’s sharing a part of himself he’s been holding onto for a while. He glances at you, his hand giving your thigh a soft squeeze.

There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, an openness that makes your heart flutter. “I just… I can see it, you know?” he continues, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his eyes linger on yours. “Us, with a little one. And…” He chuckles, pausing, looking a bit shy, “I wouldn’t mind if that happened sooner rather than later.”

You feel a warmth rise in your cheeks, the blush creeping up as you take in his words, your heart skipping a beat. He’s watching you with such earnestness, a quiet hope in his gaze that matches the longing you’ve kept close to your own heart.

You say it softly, almost like a secret, “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

The words settle into the quiet between you, filling the space with a warmth that’s been building, unspoken, for weeks. Neither of you rushes to say more, just letting the admission linger, letting it shape into something real and close.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

i wrote homeward a little while ago that sorta touches on this too if u wanna check that out too hehe

requests are open - let’s daydream!

[planetpedri]

Hi... PEDRI WITH NUMBER 7 FROM THE ANGST PROMPT PLS...

Waiting room — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Late night talks with your best friend was definitely your favorite time spent with him, but tonight it had only shattered you.

Word count: 1.17k+

Disclaimer/s: Based on the prompt ‘Have you ever loved someone before?’ so, basically all angst.

A/N: THANK YOU ANON.

The stars twinkled above you and Pedri. They lit up the dark sky, giving you a beautiful thing to look at so you could keep your eyes off him. The feint noise of cars passing by was the only thing to break the silence.

When Pedri could make time, he liked to visit your house. You lived at the edge of Barcelona, away from the busy streets. He couldn’t see the stars from his house, the city lights were too bright.

Pedri loved the stars. He’d once told you how they had gave him a different perspective on life, but he never told you the story. You didn’t mind though, you didn’t need him to.

Your mouth parts, ready to speak, but you find words hard to come by. Pedri rolls his head to the side, resting it against the blanket that you’d set out to avoid the itchy grass. He watches you quietly, expectantly.

“Have you ever loved someone before?”

The question caught him by surprise. His eyes widening just a little, “how do you mean?”

“Like, romantically, I guess.” You shrug, rolling your head to the side as well, meeting his eyes. “You never date. You never talk about girls to me, so I’m just curious.”

Pedri nods in understanding, his gaze drifting back up to the sky as he contemplates. The silence was enough for you to know his answer, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt.

Sure, you’d loved the man since the moment you met him. How could you not?

“No, I don’t think so. I came close once, but..” He trails off, looking back at you, right into your eyes. “It just wouldn’t work out.”

Your stomach ached. How could he look at you with his soft warm brown eyes, and give you such devastating news?

Humming, as if you could ever possibly understand, you divert your attention away from him. Your eyes trace the big dipper. “Why not? Did you ever give it a try?”

Pedri shakes his head, which you only caught from your peripheral vision. “No, I didn’t. I valued her too much.” Your heart felt like it was being squeezed and pulled.

“You deserve to be happy, i’m sure she valued you too.” And you meant it. If he was happy, even with another girl, you would’ve come to terms with it. You valued Pedri, more so than yourself.

You hadn’t noticed the way your voice had grown quiet toward the end, but Pedri did. He stared at your side profile, wishing he could read your mind—wishing you could read his.

“She does.” A beat of silence, “Have you? Y’know.. been in love?”

You chuckle, “yeah. Yeah, I have. Once.”

“With who?” He asks, Adam’s apple bobbing tightly in his throat.

Your head lulls to the side and you offer him a small smile. You. “It doesn’t matter who. It is beautiful though—loving someone.”

Pedri exhales through a small laugh. “Until it’s not reciprocated.”

“Well, I dunno. I think just knowing you are capable of feeling it, of feeling so much for someone, I think it can be beautiful in it’s own sense.” You hum before continuing, “like.. we as humans, are capable of feeling so strongly for someone even when it isn’t reciprocated. You don’t need to be loved, to love.”

The man felt his heart swell at your words. You had a way of finding words for things that he would’ve never understood if they weren’t coming from you.

“I hope you experience a requited love someday. You deserve it.” Pedri’s pinkie finger grazes over yours, sending a wave of warmth to your chest.

He didn’t know it, but when you looked back to the sky and saw a shooting star, you had wished he would love you one day. To experience requited love from him, was the only thing you’d ever wanted.

You didn’t know it, but while you looked back at the stars, he was looking at you, wishing so badly you would give him a sign.

A sign that maybe, you loved him back.

The thought got pushed to the back of his mind the second it inched forward, because Pedri knew for as long as you were friends, he could never allow it. He valued you too much as a friend to ever take that step. So, he looked back to the night sky, and sighed.

Nothing would ever come of the two of you. You waited for him for years, yet nothing moved forward. Eventually, he had gotten a girlfriend. She was lovely, kind, everything Pedri could ever need, but she wasn’t you. He looked for you in everything related to her. The way she dressed, the way she smelled, the things she liked.

The two of you drifted apart after that. You told yourself he was happy, that he had found love. That was all you needed to know, so you let him go.

He broke up with her a month later.

Years had passed, you’d gotten engaged. Thinking you finally moved on! You were dead wrong. The first time you saw Pedri after nearly three years, was in the middle of a shopping mall.

He seen you in a store across from where he stood, eyes widening. He called out your name, and when you turned, forcing a welcoming smile, he walked over.

“It’s been so—“ His words cut short, the glint of a diamond flashing in his peripheral. “Oh! Uh, you’re married?”

Your happy facade dropped into a deer in headlights look. “Uhm, engaged! Actually. Just engaged.” You ramble, not sure why you felt the need to explain yourself. He hadn’t reached out to you either?

“That’s..” He exhaled, “wow. That’s amazing. Congrats.”

His voice lacked any real enthusiasm and you only felt guiltier. “Yeah, yeah. It’s great.. his name is Jack. I was going to send you an invite! I just haven’t gotten them in the mail yet.” A complete and total lie. You had sent out invites last month, but Pedri didn’t need to know that.

He watched as your nose scrunched and his heart suddenly felt cold. That was your tell. Whenever you lied, your nose scrunched. He used to love it. He used to tap your nose every time you’d do it, telling you, ‘Cariño, you can’t lie to me, you’re too obvious.’

Swallowing hard, Pedri looks off to the side. “Well, I should go. I have a busy few months with football, so.. I probably can’t make it. Best of wishes though.” Before he could escape, he had to say one last thing.

“I’m happy you got the requited love we talked about. You deserve it.”

Then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd of shoppers, leaving you with a dull, hollow feeling encapsulating your once nearly full heart.

You called the engagement off a month later.

You couldn’t love anyone if it wasn’t him, and that was very clear now. Even after all these years, nobody was ever Pedri—nobody could ever be him.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future pedri posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @joaoflms @sakashq @ar4ujos @hrts4havertz @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to !