#but she was one of the roles that could have been an oc or a camp camp character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

voyter · 3 months ago

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DEVOTION — jeon jungkook.

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader genre. a song of ice and fire au. 103 AC. smut. knight!jungkook. queen!reader.

your knight is completely devoted to you, and while it’s his duty, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more behind his unwavering loyalty.

word count. 17.1k words (FUCK i am so sorry) warnings. this fic might be a bit confusing if you havent watched game of thrones or house of the dragon !!! misogyny. gender dynamics. seokjin and namjoon cameo hehe. forced / arranged marriage. over protective jungkook <3. cute convo between oc and her husband. violence. mentions of blood and murder. SO MUCH FUCKING TENSION. smut. two sex scenes !! dry humping. oral (male!receiving). unprotected sex (this universe takes place thousands of years ago and condoms didnt exist yet give me a break). bath sex. they almost get caught OOP. cheating (but both parties are consenting and they both openly do it to each other but they dont love each other romantically so its okay i guess) ???? jungkook literally worships her oh im sick i need him.

ana's notes. this fic ended up being much longer than i anticipated but oh my gosh i literally could NOT STOP WRITING !!! this is the longest fic ive ever written hello. this is inspired by alicent and coles relationship in season 2. sorry i hate them but this trope ??? OUUU TOO GOOD. so you know i got inspired. anyways, i love this one so much, so please let me know your thoughts <3. as always, keep your comments positive or say nothing at all xx

listening to. blue jeans by lana del rey / middle of the night by elley duhé / flawless by the neighbourhood

part of the based off film series. this one shot is based off house of the dragon.

You had always hated the idea of marrying someone you didn’t love, but you knew that marriage was not a choice — it was an obligation woven into the fabric of your destiny. Though reluctance filled you at first, you gradually came to terms with your duty, accepting the role thrust upon you with a measure of peace.

House Emberwyn ruled the Seven Kingdoms, making them the most powerful house of all. Your father had forged a deep bond with King Aelyx, the two men connected by the shared grief of losing their wives. Beyond their friendship, your father was adamant that uniting your houses through marriage was crucial. He envisioned a future where the intertwining of two powerful, wealthy legacies would forge an unbreakable realm.

Atticus, the son of King Aelyx, was only a year older than you — making him a suitable match. Like you, he was reluctant to marry, but he, too, understood the importance of duty. He wanted nothing more than to make his father proud, even if it meant sacrificing personal desire.

As the sole heirs of your respective houses, the pressure to produce children was immediate. The act of intimacy with Atticus was never one of passion or love; it was merely another duty. The first time was uncomfortable, almost unbearable, but over time, you learned to tolerate it. This was your life now, dictated by duty rather than desire.

Since your marriage, you have been blessed with three children. Ares, your eldest and only son, was conceived during your bedding ceremony. Now a boy of one and ten, he is wise beyond his years, his sharp mind driven by a deep love for books and knowledge. Celeste, your first daughter, is nine years old — a whirlwind of wild, unrestrained energy that seems impossible to contain. Already, she’s been eagerly awaiting the day she can take to the skies on dragonback, her spirit far older than her years. Then there is Luna, your youngest and newest addition to the family, a radiant little soul who brings warmth and light into every corner of your life. She is the calm of the storm, a small but powerful source of joy that never fails to lift your spirits, no matter how heavy the burdens of the day.

Atticus is a good father, never neglecting his children. He is present in their lives, providing for them with steadfast love and care. As a husband, he is kind and dutiful. Yet, despite all his virtues, he is not the love of your life.

The two of you had come to an agreement early in your marriage: you were free to seek pleasure where you wished, as long as heirs were made with each other. It was a compromise, one that allowed you both to navigate the confines of your duty while maintaining some semblance of personal freedom.

Tragedy struck shortly after Celeste’s birth when King Aelyx succumbed to an unknown illness. The crown passed to Atticus, and with it came the immense burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

With Atticus as king, you became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, unlike your husband, you did not feel the same pressure. Your days were mostly spent within the confines of your chambers, where the laughter and antics of your children filled your life with light and purpose. Despite never having known your own mother — she had died giving birth to you — you felt as though motherhood had always been your calling.

While you wouldn’t trade your life for anything in the world, motherhood came with its challenges. Ares and Celeste were at the age where they bickered endlessly over the smallest of things — whether it was toys, attention, or simply to see who could get on your nerves first. Their constant squabbles were a source of frustration, and yet you knew it was a phase they would eventually outgrow. Luna, on the other hand, still so small and newly born, could not seem to stop crying. Her wails often filled the castle, and while the maids were always close by, ready to assist, you never allowed them to. You wanted your daughter to find comfort in your arms, not anyone else’s.

There were days when calming her down felt like a losing battle, the hours stretching into what felt like an eternity. But when you finally succeeded, when her cries quieted and her tiny form melted into sleep, it filled you with a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory in a life full of larger, weightier battles.

Fortunately, today was one of the easier days. Luna wasn’t feeling particularly fussy, and after a few gentle rocks and soft pats on her back, she fell asleep in your arms without much protest. Relief washed over you as you gazed down at her peaceful face, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The soft warmth of her against you, the quiet of the room, made you feel like, for a moment, everything was right.

“Your Grace?”

A voice interrupted your quiet reverie, but you didn’t turn. Your eyes remained fixed on Luna, unwilling to break the fragile serenity of the moment. You hummed in response, acknowledging the speaker but unable to tear your gaze from your sleeping daughter.

“Your presence is wanted, though not required, Your Grace.”

The words draw you from your thoughts, and with a soft sigh, you finally turn to face the speaker. It’s the Lord Commander, standing tall and imposing, his armor catching the dim light filtering through the windows.

“What for?” you ask, your voice calm but laced with curiosity.

“The Kingsguard posting,” he replies, his tone formal, as always. “It’s been suggested that you select who will guard the Red Keep.”

You consider his words, your gaze drifting back to Luna, still fast asleep in your arms. The thought of placing your trust in someone else, of relying on others to protect what matters most, brings a weight to your chest. As a mother, your first instinct is always to shield your children. You would want nothing more than for them to roam the castle freely, knowing they were surrounded by those you trusted — those you handpicked.

“I suppose,” you murmur.

After carefully setting Luna in her crib, you linger for a moment, brushing a tender hand over her soft cheek. Ensuring the maids were nearby to watch over her, you quietly slip from the nursery and follow the Lord Commander through the castle's stone corridors. Your thoughts remain on Luna for a heartbeat longer before shifting to the matter at hand — choosing the knights who would guard your family, your children.

You arrive at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where a line of knights stands at attention, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. The air is crisp, the tension palpable as each knight awaits his turn to be presented.

The Lord Commander steps forward, his voice ringing with authority. "Step forward, Ser Kim Namjoon."

The knight moves with a quiet confidence, offering you a small, almost shy smile. Dimples crease his cheeks, and despite the serious nature of the proceedings, you find yourself smiling back, charmed by the warmth in his expression.

"Ser Namjoon has proved strong and steady in both the tourney lists and in service beyond," the Lord Commander begins. "While traveling through the Kingswood on the way to King’s Landing, Ser Namjoon recently brought a would-be poacher to justice."

You listen carefully, considering the man before you. His loyalty and steadiness are clear, and his recent actions speak of a knight who serves with honor. Still, your mind drifts to a darker, more urgent thought — combat. The Red Keep, and more importantly, your children, needed knights who were not only honorable but battle hardened. In these uncertain times, loyalty alone would not be enough.

"Ser Namjoon," you say, your voice polite yet measured. "We thank you for your loyal service to the Crown."

He bows deeply before stepping back into line, and you offer him a nod in return, though your thoughts continue to circle around the same question — how many of these knights had seen true combat?

The next knight steps forward, and your gaze narrows as you take him in.

"Ser Kim Seokjin," the Lord Commander announces.

This knight is taller, leaner than Namjoon. He holds himself with a quiet grace, his expression serious, but there's a spark of something beneath the surface — determination perhaps, or ambition.

"Winner of the melee at Cider Hall," the Lord Commander continues. "He was the last mounted of three and twenty knights. Ser Seokjin was knighted at eight and ten."

You raise an eyebrow, impressed by his accomplishments. Yet, your thoughts linger on something more pressing, more crucial to the protection of your family.

"Do any of these knights have combat experience?" you ask, your tone sharper now. "Beyond capturing poachers and winning tourneys?"

The Lord Commander nods solemnly, signaling the next candidate.

“Ser Jeon Jungkook.”

As the name is called, a young knight steps forward, noticeably younger than the others who had come before him. Yet, despite his youth, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence, his steps measured and purposeful. Strands of raven hair fall loosely across his forehead, framing a face that, while youthful, is sharp with focus. His dark eyes meet yours with a steady gaze, neither too bold nor deferent — he stands unshaken by the weight of the moment.

He looks about your age, perhaps even younger, and though he lacks the grizzled scars of a seasoned warrior, something about him immediately draws your attention. There's a natural grace in the way he moves, his armor fitting him perfectly as if he was born to wear it. He’s quite handsome, a fact you can’t help but notice as he stands before you, the light of the setting sun casting a faint glow over his features.

"Tell me, Ser Jungkook," you say, breaking the silence, "have you seen real combat?"

He doesn’t falter, his voice steady as he speaks. "I have, Your Grace. I fought for a year as a foot soldier against the Dornish incursions. I was knighted after we razed two of the watchtowers along the Boneway.”

There is no hesitation in his tone, no embellishment. The quiet intensity of his words, the weight of lived experience behind them, strikes you deeply. His demeanor isn't that of a man seeking glory but of one who has already faced the fire and come out stronger for it. In that moment, your decision feels clear.

“It’s settled.” Your lips curve into a smile, one of certainty and satisfaction. “I choose Ser Jungkook.”

The Lord Commander stiffens slightly, his jaw tensing as though weighing whether to speak. Before you can take a step back toward your chambers, his voice interrupts, filled with respectful hesitation. "Perhaps we shouldn’t be too hasty, Your Grace. There is no doubt Ser Jungkook is a fine warrior, but Ser Namjoon and Ser Seokjin are from houses that are important allies of the Crown."

You turn slowly, your expression cool but firm. The politicking of the court — alliances, the endless exchange of favors and titles — was something you understood all too well. Yet, this was not a matter of alliances. This was the safety of your family, the future of your children. And no amount of courtly maneuvering could change that.

“Those men are tourney knights,” you say, your voice laced with a sharp edge. “My children should be defended by a man who’s known real combat. Should they not?”

The Lord Commander pauses, his gaze flickering between the knights and your unwavering stance. He gives a short bow, conceding. “Of course, Your Grace.”

You nod once, satisfied. “Very well, then,” you say, a smile returning to your face, though this time with a sense of finality. “I expect you to plan Ser Jungkook’s investiture.”

There’s a flicker of something in the Lord Commander’s eyes — perhaps begrudging respect or recognition of your authority in this matter. He bows once more before stepping aside. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see to it.”

As the days passed, it became clear that your decision to appoint Ser Jungkook was more than justified.

Jungkook proved himself an unwavering presence in the lives of your children. He guarded Ares and Celeste like a loyal hound, always at their side, his dark eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Wherever they went — whether it was the training yard where Ares spent hours practicing swordplay or the garden where Celeste attempted to name every flower — Jungkook followed, his sight never leaving them.

In the corridors of the Red Keep, you would often catch glimpses of him, stationed at the door to whatever chamber Ares and Celeste had wandered into, standing with that same quiet intensity that first caught your attention. He never intruded upon their activities, never interfered with their games, but his presence was felt all the same. He was a silent sentinel, ensuring that no one entered or exited a room without his knowledge.

Even the servants and court members began to take note, offering respectful nods as they passed him. There was a certain respect that began to build around Jungkook, not just as a knight, but as a protector of the royal family — of your family.

Before Ser Jungkook’s arrival, the Red Keep had always felt secure. Its towering walls and seasoned guards provided a fortress of safety, a place where danger rarely crossed your mind. Yet, somehow, with Jungkook’s arrival, there was a new, tangible sense of protection. His presence, quiet yet vigilant, added an extra layer of assurance, as if the very air had shifted, growing thicker with safety, steadier with his watchful eye. He didn’t need to speak or make grand gestures; just knowing he was there, standing mere feet away from you, made the castle feel more fortified than it ever had before.

In many ways, he made you feel like that too — protected, even in the smallest, unspoken ways.

The Small Council was always the most grueling part of your day. Despite your title as Queen, you found yourself constantly sidelined, your voice often drowned out by the men who dominated the discussions. You had grown accustomed to their subtle condescension — the way they’d nod and pretend to listen, only to carry on as if your words had never been spoken. You’d learned to expect it, but the sting of dismissal never faded entirely.

And today was no different.

As you took your seat, Jungkook stood nearby, ever the silent sentinel. He’d grown adept at reading you, his dark eyes keenly observing the smallest shift in your demeanor. He noticed how, at first, you entered the room with a composed grace, ready to engage in the matters at hand. But as the meeting dragged on, frustration began to creep in, visible in the slight tightening of your jaw each time a man at the table spoke over you or dismissed your suggestions with a polite but infuriating nod.

Jungkook’s eyes followed the subtle changes — the way your posture stiffened, the soft sigh you tried to suppress, and then, finally, the way boredom started to settle in as you reached for the small stone ball on the table, rolling it between your fingers absentmindedly. He knew you were doing your best to remain patient, but the disrespect weighed heavily in the room.

His hand instinctively twitched at his side, a protective instinct rising within him as he stood there watching. He was ready to intervene if the moment called for it, though he knew better than to step in unless absolutely necessary. Still, his silent support was palpable, a reassuring presence amidst the clamor of men who failed to see the strength in the woman before them.

“Perhaps we should discuss Driftmark, Your Grace,” the Maester began, his voice too casual for the gravity of the subject. He directed his attention toward your husband, but the mention of Driftmark instantly drew you in, pulling you from your growing boredom. You straightened in your seat, the defensiveness in your posture clear.

“What of it?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, the raw emotion behind it hard to suppress. Driftmark wasn’t just a topic for idle conversation — it was family. Personal. The loss of the Lord of the Tides, your cousin’s husband, had been a blow that still lingered, and the aftermath of it weighed heavily on your heart.

He had been more than just family; he had adored your children as if they were his own, even naming your daughter, Celeste, as his heir. It was an honor, though one with its own set of complications. With Ares set to inherit the Iron Throne, Celeste was to inherit Driftmark. Your cousin, devastated by the loss of her husband and without heirs of her own, was to hold the seat in her stead until Celeste came of age.

The Maester’s eyes flickered between you and your husband, clearly aware of the tension in the room but too entrenched in his own position to approach the subject delicately. He cleared his throat, then spoke with a tone that bordered on patronizing. “It’s... a delicate matter, Your Grace. There are those who believe the succession should be reconsidered, given your daughter’s age. Furthermore, some question the wisdom of naming a girl as heir to such a powerful seat.”

Your stomach tightened, fury simmering beneath the surface. A girl. As if Celeste’s age or gender diminished her worth, her potential. You could feel the disdain, not just for your daughter, but for the very idea of a woman wielding such power.

You held the Maester’s gaze, your voice sharp with barely concealed fury. “And do you agree with them?”

The chamber seemed to freeze in that moment, the weight of your words pressing down on everyone in the room. All eyes flickered nervously between you and the Maester, the tension palpable as if even the air had thickened, making it harder to breathe. Everyone braced themselves for the confrontation that was surely coming.

The Maester, sensing the chance to finally reveal his true thoughts, straightened in his seat, his chest puffing out as arrogance replaced caution. He no longer glanced toward your husband for approval; instead, his focus was solely on you, his eyes glinting with condescension.

“A woman on the Driftwood Throne, Your Grace?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “Forgive my candor, but Driftmark is not some soft and delicate estate. It is a seat of warriors, sailors, men of the sea and battle. Its history is steeped in strength and tradition. To put a mere girl — no matter her bloodline — on that chair is folly, plain and simple. A woman’s place is in the home, tending to hearth and children, not commanding fleets or sitting in council chambers. The late Lord has a brother who would make a fine new Lord, more befitting the legacy.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your hands tightening into fists. “His brother has no desire for rule!” you shot back, your temper dangerously close to boiling over. “Celeste is his rightful heir. It was his wish, and it will not be questioned!”

The Maester, unfazed, continues. “Your Grace… with all due respect, your daughter is but a child. A girl of her age should be concerned with dolls and dresses, not the governance of a seat as vital as Driftmark. There are many in the realm who would argue that Driftmark deserves a stronger hand. A male heir, one capable of steering the course of the future, as tradition demands. Perhaps it is time to reconsider your decision, before it’s too late. Before the realm begins to question not only Driftmark’s future, but the Queen’s judgment as well.”

The insult hung in the air like a storm cloud, casting a heavy, suffocating tension over the room. The audacity — the sheer gall of the Maester to question not only your daughter’s right but your authority as Queen. Fury simmered beneath your composed exterior, your hand twitching as though you might lash out.

But before you could muster a response, Jungkook was already moving.

“You will watch your tongue when speaking to the Queen, Maester,” Jungkook’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble, carrying the unmistakable weight of a threat. His usually calm demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more menacing. “Or it shall be taken from you.”

The room seemed to shrink around the Maester, all eyes now on him as the color drained from his face. His earlier arrogance dissolved in an instant, replaced with wide-eyed panic. The man who had dared to question your daughter’s birthright now looked as though he might faint from fear.

“I- I meant no offense, Ser Jungkook,” the Maester stammered, his words tumbling over themselves in a desperate attempt to backpedal. His gaze flickered nervously from you to Jungkook, searching for some kind of escape.

“You did,” Jungkook cut him off sharply, his tone like the edge of a blade. His gaze bore into the Maester, unyielding, unwavering. “And I will remind you once more: mind your tongue.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the threat hanging in the air like a blade, and no one doubted that Jungkook would make good on his promise if pushed further.

You turned your gaze to Jungkook, barely concealing your silent shock. The man who stood just feet away, usually so quiet and composed, always speaking only when spoken to, had stepped in to defend you — boldly, without hesitation. The gesture was unexpected, and for a moment, you were struck by the kindness and protectiveness it held.

It was not just the words he had spoken, but the intensity behind them, the clear signal that he would tolerate no disrespect toward you. In a room full of lords and courtiers who often dismissed your voice, Jungkook’s sudden defense felt like a rare and precious show of loyalty. Uncommon as it was, it left a warmth spreading in your chest, a silent but deeply felt appreciation.

Jungkook still hadn’t met your eyes, his intense gaze fixed on the Maester, the disapproval and disgust etched in his expression radiating an aura so fierce, it was almost frightening. He stood there like a wall of steel, silently daring anyone to challenge him again.

You turned your attention back to the Maester, who now squirmed under the weight of the moment. His once confident, condescending exterior had crumbled, now sitting timidly in his seat.

“Celeste is the rightful heir,” you stated, your voice even and composed, though laced with quiet authority. “She will rule Driftmark, and she will do so just as well as any man ever could. Anyone who questions that,” you paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle over the room, “will regret it.”

The Maester lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze, his earlier arrogance completely shattered. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, forgive my words.”

Jungkook didn’t move an inch, his focus still locked onto the Maester like a hawk waiting for the slightest wrong move. The room felt smaller, the tension almost suffocating as the Maester’s earlier confidence reduced to a pitiful murmur.

“See that you don’t forget that again,” you said, your tone final and cold, leaving no room for further argument.

With that, you stood up from your seat, the weight of the moment still hanging heavy in the air. Without another word, you turned on your heel and made your way out of the courtroom, every step deliberate, your posture unyielding. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as you moved, a quiet power radiating from you that demanded respect.

Jungkook, as ever, was by your side in an instant, but he kept a respectful distance, just enough to remain a silent protector, his presence still like a shield around you. His footsteps were measured, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the corridors, and yet there was an undeniable sense of security in the space between you two. No words were exchanged as you made your way to your chamber — there was no need for them. His silent solidarity was all you required.

Jungkook’s presence was reassuring, like the calm after a storm, and it made the weight of leadership — of being Queen — just a little easier to bear.

After the heat of earlier’s events, the last thing you wanted was to step foot back into the chaos of the court. The weight of the Maester’s words still lingered in the air, and you felt the need to retreat, to recharge in the only place that felt truly like yours. So, you didn’t leave your chambers for the rest of the day. You took the rare opportunity to unwind, the need for solitude outweighing any further obligations for the day.

Without a second thought, you changed into your nightgown well before the moon rose, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the tense weight of your court attire. You moved with practiced ease, the familiar ritual of shedding the day’s responsibilities easing the knots in your shoulders.

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow that danced across the room. You sank into the couch, the cushions molding to your body as you settled in front of the flames. With a book in hand, you opened the pages, the words inviting you into another world — a world where you could forget, if only for a moment, the burdens of being Queen.

You lost yourself in the story, the flicker of the fire keeping time with the rhythm of your reading. Outside your window, the castle was quiet, the usual noise of the corridors muted by the sanctuary of your chamber. For the first time that day, you felt a sense of peace. The world outside could wait. Here, in the comfort of your own space, you could simply be.

But just as the fire’s soft, flickering glow began to lull you deeper into peace, a knock at the door broke the fragile silence, its sound sharp and intrusive. A flicker of annoyance stirred within you — someone daring to interrupt the quiet sanctuary of your evening. But then, a familiar voice, calm and steady, followed.

“Your Grace?”

It’s him.

You took a slow breath, the irritation melting away at the sound of his voice, and called softly, “Come in, Ser Jungkook.”

The door creaked open, but Jungkook didn’t immediately step inside. He stood just beyond the threshold, his tall frame framed by the dim light spilling from the hall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. There was something endearing in the way he paused there, as though uncertain, hesitating to cross the boundary of your private space without your explicit permission. His respect for the sanctity of your chambers was something rare, a simple act that made him stand out even more.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, like the evening air itself. “I’ve just come to alert you that the children are abed.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

What you didn’t know was that the children had been in bed for some time. Jungkook had only alerted you now because he was standing just outside your door, hesitating. He wasn’t sure if he should disturb your peace with the news. Still new to this role, he was uncertain of how to balance his duties with the delicate art of discretion.

“Thank you, Ser Jungkook,” you said, your tone warm with gratitude. “I would appreciate it if you informed me every night from now on.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Sleep well.” Jungkook gave a respectful nod, his voice as steady and sincere as ever, and he turned to leave.

“Ser Jungkook,” you called again, before he could close the door behind him.

He paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe, his dark eyes meeting yours in the soft, flickering firelight. For a brief moment, the noise of the castle seemed to fall away, the crackling fire the only sound that filled the space between you. It was rare, these moments of true stillness, where it was just the two of you, no interruptions, no duties weighing on either of your shoulders. The warmth from the fire cast a soft glow over him, accentuating the quiet strength in his features.

For the first time, you found yourself truly looking at him — not just the protector of your children, not just the present knight, but Jungkook.

“I’ve yet to thank you for earlier — in the Small Council chamber,” you said softly, your voice quiet but earnest. “I appreciate your defense. Thank you.”

The words hung between you for a moment, carrying a weight that felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just the defense itself, though that was significant; it was the quiet way he had stood up for you. Jungkook had always been the silent one, always just there, standing in the background. But today, he had been more. He had spoken when no one else had. His simple act of defending you meant more than you could say.

Jungkook’s posture softened at your words, though his expression remained composed, his usual stoic demeanor intact. Yet, as he held your gaze, his dark eyes seemed to linger a moment longer than usual, a subtle warmth settling in his look that wasn’t often there. It was as though the space between you both had shifted, the heavy tension of the day dissolving into something quieter, almost comforting.

“It was nothing, Your Grace. You need not thank me,” he replied, his voice low and measured, though there was something beneath it — something genuine, almost vulnerable, that made the words feel different from his usual calm, detached responses. His eyes remained steady on yours, and for a moment, the usual distance between you seemed to shrink, as though he was offering something unspoken, something more than just a knight’s duty. “You shouldn’t have to endure that kind of disrespect. It’s my duty to protect you, in all ways.”

You gave a soft nod, absorbing the weight of his words. Jungkook was a constant in your life — a silent guardian who stood watch over both your children and yourself. But hearing him speak of protecting you in such a way, so plainly and honestly, stirred something within you. It wasn’t just your children that mattered to him; it was you, as well.

“You do more than protect,” you said, your voice softer now, the weariness of the day gradually easing. “Your actions today… they meant more than you know.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched at the corners, acknowledging your words, but he didn’t respond right away. There was a brief silence between you both, the fire’s crackling embers filling the stillness as he shifted his weight, his stance still as rigid as ever, but now, a slight tension in his shoulders had eased.

“If there’s ever anything you need, Your Grace,” he said finally, his tone softer than it had been moments before, but with an underlying firmness that conveyed his commitment, “I am here.”

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around you like a quiet promise, steady and unwavering. The light of the fire caught on his features, casting soft shadows over his face, making his usually guarded expression seem less distant, more human. You felt a sense of peace settling into the space between you both, a momentary connection that felt more genuine than anything that had passed between you in the public eye.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, finding comfort in the rare, honest exchange.

Jungkook inclined his head once more, his expression softening in a way that was unusual for him — a small, but genuine smile curling his lips, the warmth of it making him seem more approachable, more... real.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” he said quietly, voice full of respect, but also something else — something deeper.

“Goodnight, Ser Jungkook,” you murmured in return.

With that, he turned and moved to close the door behind him, the soft click of the latch signaling his departure. But as the door clicked shut, you realized that this time, you didn’t feel the usual solitude. There was something different. Something comforting. Something exciting that made the pit of your stomach feel funny, in knowing he was standing just outside your door.

Just the barrier of wood between you two.

The next day unfolded much more peacefully than the last.

You sat on the floor of your chamber, the luxurious fabric of your gown pooling around you like a soft sea of silk. The quiet of the room was comforting as you focused on the delicate task in front of you — embroidering a blanket for Luna. Each stitch was a calming motion, your mind momentarily free of the weight of royal duties.

You hadn’t seen Jungkook yet, but his presence lingered in your thoughts, like an unspoken promise. The anticipation of his arrival stirred a quiet excitement within you, though you had no idea when he might appear.

The silence was broken by your husband's voice, cutting through the peaceful air as he entered without knocking, his tone casual. “How are you feeling today?”

You glanced up briefly, meeting his eyes before returning to your work. “Better,” you answered, the edges of your lips curving into a faint smile.

“Good,” Atticus replied, smirking as he made his way over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Do you think you’ll be attending the Small Council today?”

You hesitated, the thought of sitting through another long, tedious session filling you with a quiet reluctance. “No… if that’s alright?” you replied, your tone tentative, not wanting to seem too dismissive of his suggestion.

“Of course,” Atticus said, lifting the goblet to his lips. His eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he added, “But I’ll have you know, I’ve hired a new Maester.”

The words hit you like a spark, and without thinking, you put your needle down. The sudden shift in the conversation caught your attention fully. Your eyes locked onto him, eyebrows raised in surprise. The idea of a new Maester was unexpected — and it immediately piqued your curiosity.

"Are you upset about that?" you asked, your voice soft and laced with a hint of apology, eyes searching his face for any sign of how he truly felt.

Atticus paused, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, and he set the goblet down gently on the table. "I could never be upset with you for only standing up for yourself," he said, his voice steady, though there was an underlying heat to his words. "And someone as disrespectful as that will not continue to walk around in this castle."

His declaration was resolute, filled with a quiet determination. The confidence in his voice was not just from his position, but from a place of deep respect for you. It was as if he had taken the full weight of your frustration upon himself, and the fire behind his words showed that he would do whatever it took to ensure you never had to endure such treatment again.

You smile warmly at his words. "Thank you, Atticus."

He pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. "You know, as much as I’m not in love with you," he says slowly, his tone more thoughtful than usual, "I still love you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, the raw honesty in his voice bringing a quiet comfort. It wasn't the passionate declaration of romance you might have hoped for, but it was the kind of love that ran deep — steady, consistent, unshakable.

You meet his gaze, and your heart softens with understanding. "As do I," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine.

It wasn’t the kind of love that others might expect, filled with grand gestures and whispered sweet nothings. But in its own way, it was a love that had stood the test of time. It isn’t passionate, but there’s a respect and understanding between the two of you that runs deep.

“Now,” Atticus says, his voice low, teasing. “Can we talk about your knight in shining armor?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smirk that tugs at your lips. “Oh Gods,” you say, the edge of amusement clear in your voice as you go back to your needlework.

“Oh, come on,” he whines, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “I let you pick, now you have to tell me all about him!”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “It was you who suggested I pick?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you’d feel more content choosing someone yourself.”

“I do,” you reply with a small smile, returning to your embroidery. “It was a wise suggestion.”

“Oh, don’t change the subject now!” He motions with a dramatic hand. “What was that about yesterday?”

“He was just defending me,” you say, hoping to dismiss the conversation, though you’re well aware it won’t be that easy.

Atticus lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes in dramatic fashion. “No knight is that devoted to duty, my dear wife.”

His words make you pause, but you try not to let it show. Still, a smile begins to creep onto your lips, unbidden. You hadn’t really allowed yourself to think about it that way. Jungkook had always been quiet, loyal, reliable — but devoted in the way Atticus is hinting? It’s a thought that stirs something unexpected in you.

“Well, believe it or not,” you say, unable to stop the small grin now, “we’ve spoken to each other only a few times.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly, clearly entertained. “Is that so? And yet, with little words between you, he’s ready to challenge a room full of lords for your honor. Fascinating.”

You roll your eyes, returning to your needlework in an attempt to focus, but your mind can’t help but drift back to Jungkook. The memory of his voice, steady and unyielding as he defended you, lingers. Maybe Atticus has a point, but admitting that would only fuel his relentless teasing.

“He’s just dutiful,” you insist, though even you can hear the uncertainty creeping into your voice.

Atticus catches it too, and his smirk widens as he takes a slow, deliberate sip from his goblet. “Dutiful because he loves his duty? Or because of you?”

Your cheeks flush instantly, the warmth creeping up your neck as you try to brush off the insinuation. “You’re reading into this too much,” you mumble, focusing on the embroidery in your lap, though your needlework suddenly seems less interesting.

“Am I?” Atticus drawls, stepping closer, his tone playful but probing. “Did you solely choose him because of his skills?”

You glance up at him briefly, trying to suppress a smile. “Are you implying something?”

He shrugs, the smirk on his lips widening. “Well, did you?”

“I did!” you exclaim, the words tumbling out a little too quickly, as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. You glance up at Atticus, catching the amused gleam in his eyes. “He’s excellent with the children, and he strikes the perfect balance around here — intimidating enough to make it clear no one should challenge him, but not so much that the children are frightened. I trust him completely, and I’ve only known him a short while.”

Atticus hums, swirling the wine in his goblet with deliberate slowness before taking a sip, his skepticism apparent in the slight arch of his brow.

You shake your head, sighing lightly. “He’s proven his worth,” you say, trying to sound firm, though the soft smile that sneaks onto your lips betrays you. “It’s his abilities that matter.”

Atticus grins, thoroughly enjoying this exchange. “Of course, his abilities. And it’s just a coincidence that the knight you trust with our children’s safety also happens to be rather… easy on the eyes?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your amusement. “His appearance has nothing to do with why I chose him,” you insist, though your tone has lost its edge, becoming playful and light. “He’s capable, loyal, and vigilant. His looks are irrelevant.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. “Irrelevant, but not unnoticed?”

You shoot him a mock glare, though the smile tugging at your lips makes it hard to maintain any seriousness. “You’re impossible,” you say with a shake of your head. “I care about his skills and nothing more.”

Atticus chuckles softly, clearly entertained. “We shall see,” he teases, his voice lingering in the air as he begins to make his exit. His steps are slow, unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment.

He walks out with a lightness in his stride, and the faint echo of his laughter trails behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts — and the quiet, unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, his words weren’t entirely off the mark.

Returning to the Small Council felt different this time. The atmosphere had shifted. The men were more considerate, actually taking your opinions into account — a stark contrast to their usual dismissiveness. It seemed Atticus’ harsh punishment of the last Maester had sent a clear message: disrespect would no longer be tolerated. They were treading carefully now, not wanting to find themselves in a similar predicament.

You exhaled a long breath as you walked into your chamber, ready to unwind after the tense day. Removing your jewelry, you placed each piece delicately on the table, the soft clink of metal filling the otherwise quiet room. You went to bend down to slip off your shoes, eager for the relief of the cool floor beneath your feet.

But before you could, a sharp point suddenly pressed against your neck.

You froze.

Panic surged through you as the cold blade pressed harder against your skin, the world around you narrowing to the sound of your racing heartbeat.

“Don’t scream,” a low voice hissed in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “or you will die.”

Your breath hitched, the threat sinking in, terror flooding your veins. Tears welled in your eyes as helplessness gripped you. You had never felt so vulnerable, so utterly at the mercy of another.

The man spun you around with a jerk, and your gaze landed on another figure lurking in the shadows — both were dressed in the rough, dirt stained garb of rat catchers, but their eyes gleamed with intent far darker than pest control.

“We were paid to kill the little girl,” the man growled, his eyes boring into yours with malicious purpose. “The one who is set to inherit Driftmark. Where is she?”

Your heart stopped. They wanted Celeste. Your daughter.

Desperation clawed at your insides, but you forced yourself to remain calm, though your voice trembled as you spoke. “I have many things in here of great value,” you said, your mind racing to stall, to buy any time you could. “You can take whatever you want. Jewelry, gold…”

The man sneered, pressing the blade just a fraction closer, enough to make your skin prickle with fear. “We’re not here for trinkets,” he spat. “We’re here for the girl.”

The suffocating pressure eased as the man shoved you away, though he kept his dagger trained on you, its sharp point a constant threat.

“Lead us to her,” he snarled, “and you will live.”

Your pulse quickened, panic rising. But amid the terror, you clung to one thought: Jungkook was just outside, standing guard by the children’s room. He would protect Celeste.

Heart pounding, you forced your legs to move, stepping cautiously toward the door of your chamber. The rat catchers followed closely, one of them pressing the dagger against your back, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just inches away.

By the time you reached the door, your eyes caught a glimpse of movement. Jungkook — his back against the wood, waiting, ready. His gaze met yours, and in that brief moment, you felt a surge of relief, but it was fleeting.

Before you could react, Jungkook sprang into action. In a heartbeat, he grabbed your arm and yanked you behind him, shielding you with his body. You stumbled backward, watching in awe as he unsheathed his sword with deadly precision.

Jungkook wasted no time. His blade sank deep into the stomach of the first rat catcher, a sickening thud echoing in the hallway. The man gasped, blood spurting from the wound, and crumpled to the floor.

The second assailant, wild with desperation, swung his dagger wildly at Jungkook. But Jungkook moved with lethal grace, dodging each strike effortlessly. His movements were swift, controlled, each step calculated. In one fluid motion, he caught the man's wrist mid swing, twisting it with a force that made the man cry out in pain. Jungkook’s grip tightened, and with a brutal efficiency, he forced the attacker to plunge the dagger into his own abdomen.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, the weapon lodged deep within him, his strength faltering. Jungkook released him, and the second rat catcher staggered before collapsing to the ground beside his companion, both of them now lying in pools of their own blood.

In shock, you stood frozen, tears welling in your eyes as the reality of the moment crashed over you. Only a minute ago, you had feared for your life, for your family’s lives. And now, Jungkook had effortlessly put an end to the rat catchers, his blade on the ground still stained with their blood. It all felt too surreal, too close.

Before you could fully process what had happened, Jungkook rushed to you, his expression softening with concern. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his touch grounding you. “Your Grace? Are you hurt?” His voice was low but urgent, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury.

You shook your head, still unable to find your voice, too overwhelmed by everything. Your heart pounded, your throat tight as you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re alright now,” Jungkook whispered, his thumbs brushing tenderly across your cheeks. “Everything’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. The fear, the relief, the gratitude — they all hit you at once, overwhelming your senses. And before you knew it, your emotions spilled over. You erupted into sobs, throwing your arms around Jungkook’s neck, seeking the warmth and safety of his presence. You buried your face into his skin, your tears dripping onto his armor as you cried.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate for a second. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close to him, his strength and warmth offering the comfort you so desperately needed. One of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your back while the other cradled your head, pressing you gently against his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, was the only thing keeping you grounded amidst the chaos of your emotions.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, his voice soft and calming. “You’re safe now.”

And in that moment, in his arms, you believed him.

After Atticus learned about the rat catchers’ attack, his fury was swift and intense, shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. His voice thundered from the Small Council chamber, echoing through the halls as he took command of the situation. His anger wasn’t just justified — it was terrifying. No one dared stand in his way as he set out to make sure something like this could never happen again.

You sat in your children’s room, seeking comfort in their innocent presence. Even as you tried to calm your racing heart, the distant roar of Atticus’s orders only heightened the gravity of what had nearly occurred. He wasted no time doubling the guard, placing knights at every vulnerable corner of the Keep. The added protection was meant to reassure, but for you, it only underscored the severity of the danger that had almost taken your daughter.

Atticus was relentless in his pursuit of justice. He immediately dispatched his men to find out who had hired the rat catchers. It wasn’t long before the truth came out — your former Maester hadn’t been acting alone. There were more, many more, who shared his poisonous view that Celeste, your little girl, had no right to inherit Driftmark. These men, clinging to their outdated belief that only a man should rule, had conspired to end her life before she could ever sit upon the Driftwood Throne.

Those who were caught speaking against Celeste’s claim were dealt with harshly. Atticus showed no mercy. He threw them in the dungeons without a second thought, ensuring that any who dared oppose your daughter’s future would be silenced. In this, he was steadfast, and you were grateful for his fierce protection of your family.

But even with the threat supposedly contained, the fear hadn’t left you. That night still clung to you like a dark shadow, creeping into your thoughts when you least expected it. The memory of those men — of their knives and their cruel threats — replayed in your mind every night, a loop you couldn’t break free from.

Sleep was becoming harder to find. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the attack pressing down on your chest. Even with Jungkook stationed just outside your door, standing as your silent guardian, the sense of unease never fully faded. You trusted him more than anyone now, knowing he had saved you without hesitation, but your mind couldn’t silence the what ifs. What if something happened to him? What if the guards missed something? What if they came back?

Tonight was no different. The room was quiet, your children safe in their beds, but your thoughts raced. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind outside felt like a reminder of how close you had come to losing everything. You sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to calm the storm within.

Jungkook was right outside the door — so close, and yet, the fear lingered. You knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but that night had changed everything. The vulnerability, the terror, had been too real, and you couldn’t just forget it. Even though the Red Keep was locked down, even though Atticus had done everything in his power to keep you safe, you were haunted by the thought that danger still lurked just out of sight.

You couldn’t sleep. The quiet room, the stillness, your own thoughts circling endlessly — it was too much. You knew that tonight, like so many others, you’d be awake until the sun rose. So, with a sigh, you slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and quietly opened the door.

And there he was.

Jungkook stood just outside, his back to you, ever vigilant. When the door creaked softly, he turned, eyes meeting yours. In the faint light of the moon, his features were softened, yet his gaze was alert, concerned. The gleam in his eyes caught the moonlight, and for just a moment, the comfort of his presence made the world feel a little less daunting.

“Your Grace?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I thought you’d be abed by now.”

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice quiet but laden with the weight of sleepless nights and endless worry.

“You’re safe now,” he said gently, his tone firm yet soothing, as if trying to will your mind to find peace. “Allow yourself to rest.”

You managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You said you’d be here if I ever needed anything.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he nodded, understanding your unspoken request. “I did.”

You hesitated only briefly before speaking again, your voice softer now. “Can you come in?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he straightened. “Your Grace, I hardly think that is appropriate,” he replied, though his tone was more uncertain than firm. His sense of duty and propriety clashed visibly with his desire to help you.

“It will comfort me,” you said, the vulnerability in your voice enough to make him falter.

He hesitated, clearly torn. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if it could ground him in the face of your request. His loyalty to you was absolute, but the boundaries of it were something he grappled with now.

Seeing his hesitation, you added, teasing softly, “Your Queen demands you.”

That earned you a small smile, one that softened the tension in the air. Jungkook shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he conceded. “Well, who am I to deny my Queen?” he said, stepping past the threshold.

As Jungkook entered the room, his mere presence brought with it a sense of security you hadn’t even realized you’d been yearning for. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mix of concern and quiet understanding, as you led him over to the couch by the fireplace.

You settled yourself on one side, pulling a blanket over your legs as you crossed them beneath its warmth. When you glanced up, you noticed he hadn’t joined you yet. Instead, he stood a little distance away, unsure, his posture stiff as if still on duty.

“Sit,” you gestured to the empty space beside you.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the door as if he still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. But your gentle command was enough to sway him. With a slight nod, he moved closer, his heavy footsteps softening as he reached the couch. Just as he was about to sit, you spoke again, your voice quiet but firm.

“Take off your armor.”

He froze, eyes wide as if caught off guard by your request. “Your Grace,” he said slowly, his tone almost a warning, a reminder of the boundary he believed needed to remain in place.

But you shook your head, your expression soft but insistent. “I don’t want you here as Ser Jungkook,” you explained, your voice carrying a vulnerability you hadn’t meant to reveal. “I want you here just as Jungkook.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, clearly torn between his sense of duty and the comfort you were asking for. But then, with a slow exhale, he began to unfasten the clasps of his armor, the metallic clinks filling the otherwise quiet room. Piece by piece, the weight of it fell away, and he set it aside, each movement careful and deliberate.

Jungkook looked at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he gestured to his cloak. "If you would," he said softly, his eyes warm but with a hint of playful mischief.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit lighter as you stood from the couch, the blanket slipping from your lap and pooling onto the floor. Your fingers brushed against his as you reached for the clasp of his cloak, feeling the cool metal as you carefully undid it. The fabric was thick and heavy, and as you pulled it off his shoulders, it seemed to take with it some of the invisible barrier he kept between you both.

The air between you felt different now, more intimate, as you set his cloak aside with the rest of his armor. When you turned back to face him, he was watching you closely, his expression softer than before, as if seeing you in a new light.

For a second, you just stood there, gazing at each other in the soft glow of the fire.

Now, without the weight of his armor, Jungkook looked more relaxed, his shoulders less tense, though there was still a quiet alertness in his posture. When you invited him to sit, he did so without hesitation this time, his expression softening as he settled next to you on the couch.

As the fire crackled gently beside you, casting a warm glow over the room, you found yourself seeing him differently. Here, sitting in your chambers, with the walls of duty momentarily lowered, Jungkook wasn’t just your knight anymore. He was a man — kind, steady, and unexpectedly gentle in his presence.

“I’ve not been able to sleep as of late,” you admitted, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than you intended. “But with you here... I feel safe.”

Jungkook’s smile was soft, a flicker of warmth that reached his eyes. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, though his voice was still laced with the respectful formality he always carried. “Your Grace.”

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke your name, more firmly this time. “Use my name. The formalities can stay with your armor… Jungkook.”

The moment hung between you, quiet but significant. When he repeated your name, his voice was different, softer, almost intimate. It felt personal, as if you were the only thing that mattered in this room, in this moment.

Your heart fluttered hearing your name on his lips. The way he said it felt more intimate than you’d expected, and as the quiet settled around you both, you realized the walls between you were coming down even more.

“My mother died when I was four and ten,” Jungkook begins, his voice steady but carrying the weight of years of grief. “She was murdered right in front of me. I was weak, untrained... I couldn’t help her. I just stood there, frozen, and I couldn’t save her.” He pauses, his gaze distant, lost in the painful memory. “When I left the children’s chamber to go guard yours and I saw those rat catchers in there… I knew I couldn’t let you down like I did my mother. I couldn’t let that happen again.”

Your heart clenches and your brows knit in sorrow, completely torn by his story. His words hang heavy in the air, the realization of his past weighing on your chest. You feel both gratitude and guilt — glad that Jungkook trusts you enough to open up, yet heartbroken by the trauma he’s lived through.

It suddenly makes sense — why he’s always so guarded, so precise, so fiercely loyal. You understand now why he was trained in combat at such a young age, why he’s so vigilant, and why he holds himself to such a high standard. His devotion to you, his protection of your family, it all stems from a promise he made to himself long ago, a promise born from tragedy.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm resting on the back of the couch, your touch warm and comforting. Jungkook’s gaze flickers to where your hand rests on his arm, and then back to your face, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“You’ve done well to uphold that promise,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. As your eyes meet his, you offer him a genuine smile, hoping it conveys the compassion you feel. “Your mother would love the man you’ve grown to be, Jungkook.”

For a brief moment, Jungkook’s eyes soften, his usual stoic expression breaking. He looks almost vulnerable, as if the weight he carries is shared, if only for a second.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I find myself very… protective over you.”

You tilt your head slightly, a teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips. The soft glow of the fire casts a warm light over your face, and your eyes seem to shimmer with curiosity. “Why is that?” you ask, a playful lilt to your tone as you watch him.

Jungkook hesitates for a beat, his dark eyes holding yours. He slowly pulls his arm away, the loss of contact leaving your skin colder than you expected. But before you can fully miss the warmth, you feel the feather light touch of his fingertips brushing down your arm. His touch is slow, deliberate, sending a tingling sensation across your skin, awakening something inside you.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail lower, the gentle path they take igniting a flutter in your chest. When his hand finally finds yours, his touch is warm and firm, his fingers lacing with yours like it was meant to be all along.

Jungkook looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over the back of your hand as if testing the waters. “It’s more than duty now,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with something deeper. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, something raw and unguarded. “I can’t explain it fully, but… it’s like you’ve become more than just someone I’m sworn to protect.”

His gaze lingers on your face, searching for a reaction, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you — curiosity, anticipation, and something that feels dangerously close to longing.

Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest as the room feels smaller, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “More than duty?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s fingers tighten just a little around yours, grounding you in the moment. His eyes soften, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes… much more than duty,” he says, his voice tender yet filled with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but all you can focus on is him — on the warmth of his hand, the depth in his gaze, and the way the space between you seems to shrink with each passing second.

With his fingers still interlaced with yours, Jungkook gently pulls you closer. The sudden shift brings you nearer to him, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling your cheeks heat up as you blush under his gaze. The warmth of his body, the way his eyes are fixed on you — it sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

As the distance between you vanishes, your breath catches when you realize his gaze is locked on your lips. It’s intense, and it makes your heart race. You watch, spellbound, as he lifts his other hand slowly. His thumb brushes tenderly across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger soft against your skin. The simple, teasing touch sends a wave of warmth washing over you.

He lingers there for a moment, rubbing your lip, and then his thumb presses just a little more insistently, grazing the slit of your mouth as though silently asking for permission. The unspoken question in his eyes makes your pulse quicken, and you instinctively part your lips in response. His thumb slips inside, and you close your mouth gently around it, letting him in.

Your eyes remain on him as his thumb rests against your tongue, the sensation both intimate and electrifying. The fire crackles in the background, but the world feels muted, like it’s just you and him in this moment. Your heart pounds, and the connection between you grows stronger as you suck lightly on his digit.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes slightly uneven as he watches you, his eyes darkening with something deeper, more primal. He gently withdraws his thumb, his fingers now tracing the curve of your jaw, his touch both firm and tender. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

The air between you is thick with anticipation, the moment heavy with the promise of what’s to come. His forehead rests against yours, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop.

“We should stop before things go further,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and husky, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips as he gives you the chance to pull away.

You pause, your heart racing in your chest. “We should,” you whisper back, the words lingering in the air between you both.

But neither of you move.

Instead, your gaze remains locked on his, and you can feel the heat radiating between you, the unspoken desire that lingers in the small space that still separates you.

And just like that, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, his lips soft yet insistent as they press against yours. It’s slow at first, a tentative exploration, but the moment your mouths meet, everything else fades into the background.

As your lips remain locked with his, you straddle his lap, the movement seamless and natural, as if you’ve both been leading up to this moment for far too long. Your hands slide behind his head, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss grows more heated, more desperate.

Jungkook’s hands find your waist, gripping you firmly, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You feel his muscles tense beneath your fingertips as you press yourself against him, your hips moving instinctively. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel the hardness beneath you, his cock straining against the fabric of his breeches, the friction making you yearn for more.

Your hips begin to buck slowly, grinding against him as you search for more contact, more release. The heat between you two is palpable now, your breath mingling with his as the kiss deepens, tongues tangling in a rhythm that matches the slow, steady roll of your hips. Every shift of your body sends a wave of pleasure through you, and you can feel his grip tighten on your waist, his breathing growing heavier.

Jungkook lets out a low groan against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, igniting something primal. You can feel the restraint he’s holding onto, the tension in his body as he struggles to keep control, but the way his hands grip your waist tells you he’s just as lost in the moment as you are.

The friction between you both builds, the heat intensifying, but the layers of fabric between you only heighten the desire, making you ache for more.

“Perhaps I should thank you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and teasing as your hips roll against him, causing a deep groan to escape from Jungkook’s throat. You can feel him hardening beneath you, his body responding despite his attempts to maintain composure. “For your service…”

His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. “It is only my mere duty,” he says, voice strained, each word laced with barely controlled desire.

You smile at his restraint, your lips moving to brush against the sharp line of his jaw. “You’ve done so much,” you murmur, your lips trailing lower, leaving a warm path down his neck, just beneath his jaw. His skin is soft and warm, and his pulse races beneath your touch. You hear his breath catch as you kiss along his collarbone, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate press of your lips. “For me…” You move lower, your kisses more intentional, feeling his chest rise and fall more rapidly under your touch. “For my children…”

His hands twitch on your hips, torn between pulling you closer and letting you continue your slow, torturous descent. When you glance up at him, you see the way his dark eyes watch your every movement, clouded with need, a silent plea for more even as he struggles to keep himself grounded.

"I think you deserve a reward," you whisper, your voice sultry, teasing as your lips hover just above the edge of his tunic. Your fingers slowly, deliberately trace the hem, brushing against his heated skin as you make him wait, drawing out the anticipation.

Jungkook's head falls back, his lips parted as he releases a shaky breath, his control slipping with every passing second. His voice is a low growl, thick with longing. “You owe me nothing,”

You shake your head softly, your lips grazing the exposed skin of his chest. “I owe you everything,” you whisper back, your voice filled with sincerity and seduction, the intensity of the moment building as your hand moves lower, testing the boundaries of his restraint.

His body tenses beneath your touch, but his hands stay firm on your hips, holding you against him as if he’s afraid to let go. His eyes meet yours again, dark and full of raw emotion, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “I am yours,” he breathes, and in that moment, you know that he means every word.

With a soft smile playing on your lips, you slowly lift yourself off his lap, feeling the tension in the air as you lower yourself to the ground, kneeling between his legs. Jungkook watches you closely, his breathing uneven, eyes darkened with a mix of anticipation and restraint.

You place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric of his breeches, his muscles tense beneath your touch. You start slow, allowing the moment to settle between you, your fingers tracing soft, deliberate circles along his thighs, teasing without rushing. Jungkook’s breath hitches slightly, his gaze locked on your every movement, as if entranced by the sight of you at his feet.

With a deliberate slowness, you begin to untie the laces of his breeches, savoring the quiet rustling of fabric as you pull them off completely, your fingertips brushing against his skin, making him shiver. You take your time, your eyes never leaving his, a playful gleam in your gaze as you watch his resolve crumble little by little.

His cock springs free, finally released from its tight confines. Jungkook lets out a low groan, the sudden release of tension sending a wave of relief through him. The sight of him, hard and ready, makes your breath catch, but you don’t rush. Instead, you rest your hands on his thighs again, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin, feeling the subtle flex of his muscles beneath your palms.

You glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sends a thrill down your spine. His lips are parted, his breath heavy, and you can see the restraint in the way he grips the couch, knuckles white, fighting the urge to take control.

You spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock, feeling its warmth and weight resting in your palm. You start slow, allowing him to adjust to the sensation, your fingers curling around him with a firm but careful grip. As your hand begins to move, sliding up and down in deliberate, teasing strokes, Jungkook's head falls back against the couch. A low, breathy moan escapes his parted lips, his chest rising and falling more heavily with each breath, betraying his struggle to hold onto his composure under your touch. His muscles tense, eyes fluttering shut, as the pleasure builds with each movement.

His reaction fuels you, and you keep your pace slow and sensual, your hand gliding smoothly along his length. Each movement draws another sound from him — whether it’s a quiet sigh, a deep groan, or the way his breathing catches for a split second. The power you hold in this moment, the way his body responds to your touch, makes the air between you feel electric, alive with tension.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into the cushions beside him, as if holding on for control, but you can see the way his restraint is unraveling, bit by bit. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parted in silent bliss, eyes closed as he surrenders to the sensation.

With a mischievous smile, you tighten your grip just a little, adding the slightest bit more pressure as you continue to stroke him, and his moan deepens, sending a shiver through you.

You lean in, teasingly slow, letting the anticipation build. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he watches you, his chest rising and falling faster, his hands tightening into fists. The moment your tongue makes contact with the tip of his cock, his body tenses. You start with soft, delicate kitten licks, testing his sensitivity, letting him feel every light flick of your tongue as you work.

A bead of precum gathers at the tip, and you lap it up, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Jungkook’s groan is deep, almost guttural, his head tipping back against the couch once more as you tease him with your soft licks, never giving him more than just a taste of what’s to come.

The way he reacts, the way his body trembles under your touch, only spurs you on. You take your time, savoring the control you have over him, feeling the way his thighs tense beneath your hands.

You glance up at him through your lashes, enjoying the sight of Jungkook completely lost in the moment, his lips parted, breath heavy. His reaction fuels your desire to tease him more. Your tongue moves slowly, deliberately, swirling around his sensitive tip, while your hand continues its steady rhythm, pumping him with just enough pressure to keep him on edge.

He moans again, low and deep, his hips instinctively bucking up, searching for more of that friction you’re so teasingly withholding. You hum softly, the vibrations making his cock twitch against your tongue. You take him a little deeper, wrapping your lips around the head, sucking gently as you let your hand pump the base, building the tension.

Jungkook’s hands grip the couch tightly, fighting to stay still, his body betraying him with every small thrust of his hips. You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, your tongue working against the underside of his shaft as you slide him further into your mouth. His response is immediate — his body jerks, a strangled groan escapes him, and you feel his hands twitch as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and grab you.

You reach up and intertwine your fingers with his, and in that simple gesture, a new layer of intimacy blooms between you. His grip is firm, almost desperate, as if holding your hand is the one thing grounding him in the intensity of the moment. It's no longer just about desire; it's something deeper, more vulnerable, a connection that transcends the physical. His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles, a soft, tender contrast to the raw passion swirling around you. That small touch, full of unspoken emotion, speaks louder than words ever could, reminding you both that this is more than just a fleeting moment — it’s a quiet, shared promise.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes even more ragged as you continue to take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to push him closer to the edge. You can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding back, trying to stay in control despite the pleasure coursing through him.

He groans, your name slipping from his lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. You hum softly in response, the vibrations causing another moan to escape his lips. The combination of his hand in yours, his soft gasps, and the warmth of his skin beneath your touch creates an almost overwhelming sense of connection.

You pull off him with a soft, wet pop, leaving his cock glistening in the firelight. Your lips curve into a teasing smile as you drag your tongue slowly along the length of his shaft, watching his reaction. Jungkook’s breath catches, his body tensing with anticipation. When you reach his base, you let your tongue dip lower, tracing a path to his balls. You take your time, licking and teasing the sensitive skin before gently sucking them into your mouth.

The reaction is immediate — his hips jerk up involuntarily, a deep moan escaping him as his head falls back against the couch. His knuckles are white as he grips the cushions, and his fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. You keep your eyes on him, enjoying the way his face contorts with pleasure, his lips parting with a shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice rough and strained, the sound vibrating through the air, sending a thrill through you. His chest rises and falls heavily as you continue to pump his cock in your hand, your strokes slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of your mouth as you suck gently on his balls.

You can feel the tension building in him, his body trembling slightly under your touch. His muscles are taut, straining as he tries to hold himself back, but you know he’s close. The soft, breathless curses he murmurs between groans let you know just how much you're driving him to the edge.

Jungkook’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more intoxicating than the last. The feel of your mouth wrapped around his cock is overwhelming, your lips warm and slick as they glide over him, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. But what makes his pulse race even more is the sight of you — the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — on your knees before him, your eyes dark with desire, lips wet and swollen as you take him deeper.

He can barely process it. A part of him feels like he’s lost in a dream, but the grip of your hand on his thigh, the soft, wet sounds filling the air, and the heat of your mouth around him all ground him in reality. His fingers tighten around yours, the intimacy of your entwined hands a stark contrast to the lust coursing through him.

He can’t stop thinking about how utterly beautiful you look, your regal composure gone, replaced by raw want. It’s sinful, how he can feel his cock throbbing in your mouth while your crown sits not too far away, a reminder of who you are — his Queen. And yet, here you are, on your knees, giving yourself to him so completely.

And then there’s the thought of what comes next. His cock twitches at the idea of getting you beneath him, of spreading your legs wide and burying himself in your warmth. He’s desperate to feel you around him, to watch your face twist with pleasure as he takes you, over and over again.

But even with all those thoughts swirling in his mind, one thing keeps echoing louder than the rest: the sheer power of this moment. The Queen, on her knees, sucking his cock like she’s wanted this as much as he has.

The thought sends another wave of heat through his body. He’s barely holding on, every moan, every stroke of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge. His breaths come faster, more ragged, his hips beginning to move on their own, thrusting gently into your mouth.

Before Jungkook can take control, you pull back, rising from the ground and denying him the release he craves with a teasing smile. His frustrated groan fuels your confidence as you straddle him again, your knees resting on either side of his hips. Your fingers intertwine with his, and you guide both of his hands behind his head, locking your arms around his neck. His arms cross behind him, muscles flexing as he fights to keep himself in check.

The intensity in his eyes is undeniable — burning with desire, frustration, and the raw need to touch you, yet restrained by the control you've taken. Every part of him is taut, his body tense beneath you, waiting, aching for your next move. His gaze never wavers, fixed on you with an almost desperate longing, as if the anticipation alone could undo him.

You lean in slowly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, then another on his cheek, your breath brushing his skin. His chest rises and falls against yours, the heat between you both building to a near unbearable height. Then, lips grazing his ear, you whisper in a low, sultry voice, “I want you to fuck me the way a Queen should be fucked.”

Your words send a shudder through him, his body reacting instantly to your challenge. The restraint he’s been holding onto falters, his breathing turning ragged, his grip tightening slightly on your hands. The dominance of your demand ignites something primal in him, the heat in his gaze searing into you.

"Your Grace..." Jungkook murmurs, his voice deep and breathless, the title slipping out before he can stop it, laced with a mix of reverence and raw, uncontained desire. The slip into formality catches him off guard, as if he’s forgotten to leave the titles behind along with his armor. His jaw clenches, the tension in his body palpable as his control begins to fray at the edges. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, as if your very presence has set him ablaze, and now, all he can do is watch helplessly as the flames consume him.

You feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, and you smirk, rolling your hips against him, letting the friction drive him further into madness. “Are you going to make me wait, or must I command you again?”

That’s all it takes. His resolve snaps. With a low, feral growl, Jungkook releases your hands and grabs you by the thighs, lifting you effortlessly in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised giggle, heart racing at how easily he’s carrying you across the room. His strength, his commanding presence — it’s intoxicating, making your body heat with anticipation.

With a mischievous grin, he throws you down onto the bed, your body bouncing softly against the mattress. Jungkook is on you in an instant, crawling over you with a predatory grace, his body looming above yours, eyes dark and filled with intent. His hands press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you beneath him. The weight of him, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, has your breath catching in your throat.

His lips hover just inches from yours, teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “I’ll show you exactly how my Queen should be fucked.”

There’s a rough edge to his voice now, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands trail down your sides, fingers curling around the fabric of your dress, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you beneath him, his gaze smoldering as he drinks in every inch of your bare skin.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Jungkook’s lips descend to your neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, and lower still, as his hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. His touch is everywhere — greedy, relentless — stoking the fire that’s been building between you all night.

As his mouth moves lower, a soft moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him, craving more. And just when you think you can’t take any more teasing, he pulls back, hovering above you once more, eyes dark with lust and promise.

Jungkook pulls off his tunic, standing before you, fully bare. His gaze is unwavering, filled with awe and raw desire as he drinks in the sight of you, every inch of your body drawing him in with quiet reverence. The heat of his stare is palpable, his lips parting slightly as his eyes travel from your breasts down to your stomach, pausing at the faint stretch marks left behind by your children.

There’s no shame in his gaze, only admiration — those marks are a testament to your strength, the life you’ve brought into the world. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a second before brushing over your skin, tracing the delicate lines with his fingertips, as if memorizing every detail. His touch is tender, contrasting the heat in his eyes, and the reverence in his expression makes your heart swell.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice hushed but filled with sincerity, almost as though he's speaking to himself. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell. There’s no hesitation in his gaze, no second thoughts — just pure admiration.

You can’t help but smile. Despite being nearly bare beneath him, you don’t feel vulnerable. You feel cherished, worshipped even, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. There’s a sense of ease between you, as if his presence was always meant to be like this — intimate and without fear.

Jungkook leans in closer, his lips trailing down to your hip bone, placing a soft, lingering kiss there. The sensation is both grounding and electrifying, sending a shiver through your body. You glance down, meeting his gaze — intense and burning with desire, the kind of look that makes your heart race and your breath falter. In that moment, you can feel the fire behind his eyes, as if the world has fallen away and you're the only thing that matters.

Without breaking the connection, he lowers himself further, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The kiss is soft, reverent, but full of promise, inching closer to the place where you crave his touch the most. Your breath catches in your throat, anticipation thick in the air, when he finally leans forward and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your pussy through your soaking wet underwear.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the sudden contact, and instinctively, you lift your leg, gently pressing your foot against his shoulder to stop him from going further. His eyes flash with surprise, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in them as he looks up at you, waiting for your command.

“Maybe another time,” you murmur, your voice breathless but firm. “I want your cock.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy with anticipation, and Jungkook’s expression shifts, darkening with pure lust. He gives a low growl of approval, his hands gripping your thighs a little tighter as he quickly moves back up your body.

Jungkook wastes no time, his hands quick but careful as he pulls off your last piece of clothing and positions himself between your legs. His cock, already hard and slick with anticipation, brushes against your entrance, the warmth of him sending a ripple of electricity through your body. You can feel the tension in his muscles, every inch of him taut with restraint as he fights the urge to simply take you. He wants this moment to be more than just a rush of desire.

With a slow, deliberate nudge of his hips, he presses the tip of his cock against your core, the sensation both tantalizing and overwhelming. Your body reacts immediately, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he teases your entrance, the heat between you intensifying. His eyes are locked on yours, as if he’s savoring every second before fully sinking into you.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him to give you exactly what you’ve been yearning for. His lips crash onto yours in a heated kiss, the moment charged with raw, unspoken passion as he finally pushes into you.

“Oh Gods,” you moan, your back arching off the bed as the sudden stretch overwhelms you. Jungkook fills you completely, every inch of him pressing into you, making your breath hitch as your body adjusts to the delicious pressure. His movements slow for a moment, letting you feel every bit of him, the weight of his body grounding you as the heat between your legs spreads throughout your entire body.

Jungkook’s forehead drops to yours, his breathing ragged as he holds himself still, giving you a moment to adjust. "You feel so perfect," he groans, his voice thick with restraint. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips as though he needs to hold onto something to keep himself from losing control completely.

Your fingers slide up his back, nails grazing his skin as you tug him closer, desperate for more. "Move," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I need you."

That’s all it takes.

With a low growl, Jungkook begins to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the sensation sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Each movement is deliberate, deep, and measured. Your moans mix with his breathless grunts, filling the room with the sounds of your shared desire.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His pace quickens, and soon, he’s moving faster, harder, the rhythm building as the pleasure between you grows. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, more desperate as you cling to him, completely lost in the moment.

Jungkook’s lips find your neck, peppering kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. “You feel so good… so fucking good,” he pants, his hips snapping against yours with growing urgency.

Your hands tangle in his hair, your body responding to his with a need that’s been simmering for so long, now finally unleashed. "Don’t stop," you moan, your voice shaky as the heat within you builds to a breaking point.

Jungkook’s thrusts become erratic, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t think I can stop," he chuckles, his words sending a shiver through you just as the first waves of release begin to crash over you.

You kiss him eagerly, teeth grazing his bottom lip before tugging at it playfully. Jungkook groans into your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment at the sensation. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more heated as your hands pull him closer, your nails digging into his back.

He responds in kind, his lips crashing back onto yours, the intensity of his kiss matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He bites gently on your bottom lip in return, making you gasp into his mouth, your bodies completely in sync as the pleasure mounts between you.

Your kiss is a frenzy of passion, tongues dancing, breaths mingling, as every movement pulls you closer to the edge. You tug harder at his lip, and he growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.

Jungkook’s pace becomes relentless, his control slipping as he loses himself in you. “The day of the Kingsguard posting,” he starts breathlessly, his voice low and rough as he thrusts into you. “When you walked onto the balcony… I saw you. Thought you were so pretty. So, so pretty.”

His words, spoken between ragged breaths, send a shiver down your spine, making you arch closer into him. You gasp, your hands clutching onto his shoulders as his confession wraps around you like a heated secret. The intensity in his eyes as he speaks, as he moves inside you, is overwhelming — his vulnerability laid bare, a part of himself he’s never shared with anyone else.

“I shouldn’t have thought it,” he continues, his voice thick with desire and restraint as his pace quickens, “but I couldn’t help it. I wanted you from that moment.”

You feel your heart pound in your chest, not just from the pleasure but from his raw honesty. Your lips part, but no words come out, only breathless moans as he pushes you closer to the edge. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips brushing your ear.

“I never thought I’d have you like this,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe and hunger, each word laced with the weight of unspoken desire. “But now that I do… I’m never letting go.”

His confession wraps around you, sending a shiver through your body as his movements become more intense. The passion in his eyes, the way his body presses into yours, has you spiraling, lost in the heat between you.

You raise a trembling hand, gently brushing his hair back, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping from your lips like a vow.

The way his eyes darken, the way his grip tightens on you, tells you he’s heard it loud and clear. And in this moment, you know he’ll hold onto that promise as tightly as he holds onto you.

He laughs out a moan at this. His pace quickens, his thrusts deeper, harder, each one sending you spiraling further. Your moans mix with his, filling the room, the sound of skin against skin only adding to the fire between you. His hands roam your body, memorizing every curve, every inch of you like it’s the last time.

“I’m so close,” he whispers, his voice strained, his body trembling as he fights for control. His forehead presses against yours again, his eyes searching yours, desperate, as if he’s asking for permission to lose himself in you.

You nod, your own release building, teetering on the edge. “Cum with me,” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”

With a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you feel Jungkook’s body tense as he releases into you, a low groan escaping his lips. The sensation triggers your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you as your body tightens around him. You gasp, arching against him, your hands clutching at his back as you ride out the overwhelming sensations together.

His name tumbles from your lips in a soft moan, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, the world outside fades — it's just the two of you, tangled together, hearts pounding in sync, as you both come down from your highs.

He doesn’t move right away, his weight still pressed against you, his hands tracing slow, soothing circles on your hips as he catches his breath. You can feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, a silent reminder of the intensity you just shared.

Finally, Jungkook picks his head up from your chest, his dark eyes soft as they meet yours. He leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, just because he finally can. It feels different now, with no hesitation between you, just pure connection. After pulling away, he shifts to lay beside you, pulling you against his chest, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, both of you catching your breaths, the calm after the storm. Jungkook’s fingers absentmindedly trace shapes on your back, lulling you into a peaceful haze. But then, he breaks the quiet with a teasing tone.

“Did I exceed your expectations, my Queen?” His voice is low and playful, a soft chuckle escaping him.

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “Arrogant, are we?”

But you don’t let him respond. Instead, you sit up, straddling his waist once again, your grin mischievous as you lean down to kiss him, deeper this time, your lips lingering against his.

“Might need to go again to give you a wholehearted answer,” you say with a smirk, looking down at the man who looks far too comfortable in your bed — a man who, by all means, shouldn’t be here.

His eyes widen for a moment before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, matching your energy. He chuckles, his hands gripping your waist firmly, his desire evident.

Jungkook knew that once the children were tucked safely into bed, these sneaky nights with you would be his favorite part of the day — full of far more excitement than he’d ever imagined.

The days stretched on like endless hourglasses, the sand moving far too slowly. Every moment of the daylight hours was consumed by anticipation, the constant pull of wanting the sun to sink and the moon to rise. It was during the night, when Jungkook would slip quietly into your chamber, that the world finally felt right.

Whether it was tangled sheets, quiet conversations, soft laughter, or simply lying in each other’s arms, those moments with him were the highlight of your days — only second to the joy of your children’s smiles, of course. But with Jungkook, time seemed to bend, each night feeling like a stolen treasure that you cherished more with every passing hour.

As much as you despised the act of walking past Jungkook during the day, pretending he wasn't your lover at night, the thrilling game of trying not to get caught was undeniably fun.

The secret, the tension of it, had its own special allure. Yet, there were moments when the near misses took a more terrifying turn.

Like that one time.

You'd been soaking in a bath, the water warm and fragrant with bubbles, the steam swirling around you like a blanket of comfort. But Jungkook, always unpredictable, had snuck in without a sound. Before you could even protest, he was stripping himself bare, sliding into the tub with you, the sudden shift in water making a small splash as he settled in.

Laughter filled the room as water overflowed, but that quickly faded into a mix of heavy breaths, wet skin, and the sound of sloppy kisses. Jungkook's hands gripped your waist as he leaned back, his head resting against the tub's edge, eyes locked on you. Your hips moved in sync, the sound of water splashing and your soft moans combining with his groans, creating a rhythm that made your heart race.

Then, just as the heat between you both reached its peak, a knock at the door shattered the moment. It was so sudden and unexpected that Jungkook's hand shot up, covering your mouth before you could release a gasp, freezing you in place. Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest.

"Your Grace, I have your warm towels," came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. The maid sounded so oblivious, so unaware of what was actually happening just beyond the wooden barrier.

Jungkook didn't move a muscle, still as stone, his hand resting over your lips as his eyes met yours with a mischievous glint. Slowly, he lifted his hand, urging you to speak.

"J- just leave them at the door," you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heartbeat betrayed your calm facade. "I’ll grab them once I'm finished."

Jungkook stifled a chuckle, clearly finding the entire situation amusing as though it was nothing more than a joke to him. But you knew better. This was dangerous, reckless, and could cost both of you far more than just embarrassment.

"Very well, Your Grace," came the maid's voice, before the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance.

The moment she was gone, you slapped Jungkook's chest, eyes narrowed in mock fury. "We could've been caught," you said, your voice laced with both exasperation and something else — something darker, more thrilling. But the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your feigned seriousness.

Jungkook grinned, his chest rising and falling with a quiet chuckle, as he pulled you back toward him, the playful tension still lingering in the air.

Because nights with Jungkook were always too short, he made sure to steal as many kisses and playful winks during the day as possible. The fleeting moments shared between you were like stolen treasures, hidden in plain sight.

Whenever the children finished their lessons, Jungkook was quick to position himself in front of the door to the next room they’d move into, knowing you'd soon follow, eager to check on them and hear about what they’d learned. Each time, like clockwork, you’d approach, ready to step past him, only for him to block your way with a teasing grin.

“Let me in,” you’d whine softly, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

He’d simply point to his cheek, signaling for a kiss as if he were making a royal decree. You’d roll your eyes but play along, leaning in. Just as your lips brushed his cheek, he’d turn his head swiftly, catching your kiss on his lips instead.

Your heart would race as you quickly pecked his lips once more, a mixture of thrill and worry filling you at the thought of someone walking down the corridor and catching you both. With a final flustered glance at him, you’d hurry into the chamber to join your children, trying to maintain your composure as you asked them about their day.

Meanwhile, Jungkook would stand tall outside the door, his expression serious, as though he was merely guarding the room. But the sparkle in his eyes and the lingering hint of a smile betrayed him, the playful mischief still present even as he forced himself to appear composed.

The only person who knew about your secret relationship with Jungkook was Atticus. You’d confided in him, and he had been overjoyed to learn he’d been right all along. He had always suspected something, but hearing it from you only fueled his excitement and pride at being in on the secret.

Jungkook’s devotion to you went far beyond his duty as a knight. On the surface, he played his role flawlessly, always by your side, always vigilant. To everyone else, he was simply your loyal protector, the ever watchful guard who would give his life without question. But beneath that armor, beneath the stern facade he wore in public, his loyalty ran much deeper.

He wasn’t just devoted to you as his Queen; he was devoted to you as the woman he loved, with a fierce, unshakable passion that transcended titles or obligations. Every time he stood by your side, it wasn’t just as your sworn knight but as the man who would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant loving you in secret for the rest of his life.

In the quiet moments, when the world wasn’t watching, his love shone through. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer when they brushed against yours, or the way his lips would curl into a faint smile when he caught you stealing glances at him. It was in the way he held you at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke of a love so deep, words could never do it justice.

Jungkook didn’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. His devotion was in the small things, the quiet sacrifices, the way he protected you not just with his sword but with his heart. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word in the darkness was a testament to his unwavering loyalty — not to the crown, not to his duty, but to you.

And though the world might never see the depth of his devotion, you felt it every day. In the way he watched over you, in the way he shielded you from not only physical threats but from the weight of loneliness that sometimes crept in. He was your protector, not just in body but in spirit.

As the years passed, your secret love remained hidden, but his devotion never wavered. No matter the risks, no matter how many times you had to pretend in public that he was nothing more than a knight, Jungkook’s heart was yours, fully and completely.

In the end, it didn’t matter that the world would never know the truth. You knew. You saw the way he loved you, not just as a knight sworn to protect you but as a man devoted to your heart, forever bound to you in a way that went beyond duty or title.

And in that devotion, you found your peace. Because you knew, no matter what happened, Jungkook would always be by your side — not just as your protector but as your lover, your confidant, and the one person who truly understood the depths of your soul.

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chrollogy · 4 months ago

Text

THE COST OF DEVOTION | chrollo lucilfer x f!reader

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

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

word count: 18.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two weeks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lukas?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trust? Good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was more than crossing a mere boundary.

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

“I’m done with this conversation.”

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

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

You felt defeated.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

Correct. Chrollo did not care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was about time Chrollo hunted for his prey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Euan? Chrollo thought.

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

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

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

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

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

Unbelievable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only option left was to check the balcony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Was he nervous?

Impossible. There was no such emotion in his dictionary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How ironic.

You really did need that extra security from the Hestons.

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

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

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

If he got the job done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked so peaceful, and undisturbed. Vulnerable.

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

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

The problem was, Chrollo couldn’t do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help me escape even for a little while.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chrollo—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On the bed . .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tonight is all about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to stop?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haah—! That’s right, give in to it.”

And you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah . .” You nodded in a daze.

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You believed it for a week.

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

He never smiled at you like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is . . rather unprofessional, miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me?”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little over a week.

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

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

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

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

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

Chrollo’s grip tightened around the wheel.

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

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

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

“I can give you that.”

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

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

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

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

The answer was more than obvious.

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

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

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

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

Maybe in another life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chrollo? What brings you here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we taking a detour, Chrollo?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

Ciaran. Chrollo. Kill. Your blood ran cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The faint scent of iron hung in the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that it mattered to Chrollo.

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

Until it withered.

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The audacity he had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

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kumkaniudaku · 3 months ago

Text

Askew

Summary: Terry makes good on a promise.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: SMUT (18+)

Previous: At Last: Part Two

“I’m gonna fuck the glasses off your face tonight. Okay?”

A simple sentence. No fanfare. No lingering touch or a suggestive look. Not even a repeat of his matter-of-fact declaration despite the words nearly being lost to the pockets of conversation in Corey’s kitchen during a rowdier than usual Friendsgiving gathering. Terry calmly whispered the plain statement into Patrice’s ear as he passed by on the way out of the door to join the other men in the backyard.

Patrice tried to appear unphased while she sipped from her plastic cup of white wine. “Now?”

“I’ll let you know.”

He’d made up his mind to have her babbling incoherent sentences while he bent her over the living room couch before they could make it out of the house, but holding in his little secret had proven difficult. Terry wished he could blame it on the tequila shots or the haze of weed smoke blown out of mouths far too federally employed to still be dabbling with the plant. Either would be an acceptable lie because the truth was too trivial to share. It was the North Carolina A&T crew neck and black cat-eye glasses Patrice had chosen to sport for the night. His mind dreamt up all the times he’d missed her studying for exams in the sweater a hair too large, and glasses that made her look like a professor during office hours while she bounced around the room making small talk with people he hardly recognized. His social butterfly moving her lips a mile a minute when all he wanted to do was feel those lips on every square inch of his body.

Terry needed her in the worst way. The bathroom might’ve sufficed. Maybe even the backseat of his truck. But neither option provided the sound insulation he needed to fulfill his raging desire. He’d need the privacy of their home and a TV turned all the way up to avoid disturbing the neighbors.

The signal to leave came with a quick tap on Patrice’s hip in the middle of a spirited talk with her best friend, Vicky, about something he couldn’t care less about.

“I guess that’s my cue, girl,” Patrice laughed, trying to play her role as the chatty wife being called away by her quiet husband. “Talk to you later?”

Their exit featured hurried goodbyes and promises to return for the Christmas game night that they likely wouldn’t remember come daylight. Hands fumbled with keyfobs and door handles in their mad dash to somewhere a little more secluded. Blue lights from the dashboard reflected from Patrice’s glasses as they made out in front of their childhood friend’s house like maniacs, too intoxicated with lust to care if someone saw them from the open front door.

One hand on the steering wheel and the other middle and ring fingers deep in warm pussy had Terry breaking speed limits and running stop signs to turn a twenty-minute journey into ten if he were lucky.

They didn’t waste time with light switches or picking up discarded clothing on the clumsy journey to the bedroom. A split second of clarity told Terry to flip on the lamp as Patrice made the descent to his dick one sloppy kiss on his chest and stomach at a time.

“What you got for me?”

More than he’d bargained for should’ve been the answer had she taken the time to use her mouth for anything more than making his muscled thighs tense like he’d been tased.

With a pillow folded between her legs while she lay on her stomach and eyes looking up at Terry over the rim of her spectacles, Patrice put on an oral demonstration fit for a professional. Her glasses fogged from the cold air and steamy situation unfolding on their marital bed.

The corners of her mouth stinging from the stretch of him and the ache building in her core kept her tethered to reality when she wanted to escape into the pleasure of seeing her man so vulnerable from her touch.

He hissed and cursed as she ran a flat tongue on the underside of his dick. “Fuck, girl. I knew I’d get all of this up out you one day. Damn…”

Gobbsmacked. Astounded. Sucked into oblivion. Terry had transcended time and space once Patrice made a home for him at the back of her throat over and over again. Spit coated her hands, chin, and his lap while she focused on leaving him too stupefied to utter anything that had more than one syllable. She could’ve swiped every dollar from his wallet, bank account, and retirement fund and he’d still thank her for inviting him into her mouth.

Low groans and rough requests for more sounded like applause as Patrice went to work on her lover. His approach to the mountaintop matched hers as she desperately searched for friction from the pillow below her.

“Hell yeah, like that, baby. You know what you doin’. Shit.” Praise came in heeps. Her silk press had long turned into reigns for Terry to keep her head stable. Tears mixed with saliva for extra lubrication. She looked gorgeous under amber light to her husband.

Up and down, up and down. Take it. Gargle it down. Breathe through your nose. Looping mantras played in her head as he took control to finish what she’d started.

His release came in a photo finish. His toes curled from pure ecstasy. Body seized up in beautiful suspension, each bulging muscle in his arms and torso on display. Head thrown back to direct his loud moan to the ceiling. Eyeballs rolled behind fluttering lids. Kids drained down the hatch, never to reach their full potential.

She cleaned up the remnants with her tongue, splitting her attention between Terry and the building orgasm as she swiveled her hips against firm cotton. He stared down at her, taking in the way her jaw dropped to form that ‘o’ he loved so much. Her brow furrowed once her teeth took hold of her bottom lip.

“That feel good to you, baby?”

“Mhmm.” Patrice tried to give a more accurate description of her mind state. All she could manage was a slurred hum in the affirmative while he watched her unravel at the seams without his help.

“Show me. I wanna watch.”

And watch he did. Dick in hand and back pressed against the headboard, Terry used his refractory period to watch Patrice turn his pillow into her personal fuck toy. Her hips bucked slowly under his attention while she searched for her first eruption.

His stroke matched her movements blow for blow while she admired her lone audience member. Siren eyes and a confident smirk, hands kneading bountiful breasts, and his name rolling from her lips kept him engrossed in her one-woman show.

The inevitable approached like a crashing wave against a calm shore. “Let me cum for you, Terrence. Can I do that? Tell me.”

Patrice knew the trouble she’d started. Using his first name, and asking for permission, it was all to elicit the reaction Terry so eagerly provided. He scrambled to his knees for the chance to hover over her with his forehead pressed so tightly against hers that they shared pools of sweat.

Intense blue-green eyes peered down at her, wordlessly edging her closer to paradise.

“Nuh uh, eyes up here,” Patrice instructed when the view of quaking thighs and waxed lower lips became too distracting for Terry. “Tell me when, my love. I’m all yours.”

Her voice climbed, sounding like a symphony to his ears. He waited and watched until she met the brink of too much stimulation. “Now. Right now.”

A rush of emotions forever intertwining two bodies flowed between them through a kiss dominated by silky tongues and Patrice’s swallowed mewls. Terry had perfected the art of kissing. Knowing when to suck at her bottom lip, when to wrap his large hand around Patrice’s throat to keep her head angled upward, and when to pull away for other pursuits.

Normally, hickeys were childish evidence of adult activities, but tonight they were trophies for a job well done.

“I love you so much.” Even in furious fucking where feelings took a backseat to more carnal desires, Terry refused to miss an opportunity to utter his favorite phrase. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue trace the outline of her areola to his heart’s content before pulling away to show the other the same attention. He listened to her sigh and smiled. “I love the way you sound.”

“What else?”

A lick up her sternum before a kiss. “I love the way you say my name.”

“Yeah?”

“I love your body. You’re perfect.” An open-mouthed kiss at the base of her neck as he gripped her waist. “I love the way you take dick. Especially tonight. Think you can take some more for me, pretty?”

Like a magnet, Terry’s fingers found their way to Patrice’s slick inner lips as he gathered wetness to drag skilled digits around her clit. Her breath audibly hitched from the contact, making him chuckle with his lips pressed against her cheek. Slow circles, maddeningly slow and gentle enough to feel like nothing at all had her willing to agree to just about anything to get off.

“Whatever you say, baby.”

Terry didn’t say much. It wasn’t his nature. Only short, honey-sweet directions for Patrice to press her chest to crumpled sheets and spread her knees wide. He made it so easy to comply. So easy to contort herself into any position he wanted because she knew what awaited her on the other side.

He had her at his mercy. Her sat ass high up in the air with her flower on display from a gloriously deep arch. Terry felt an animalistic switch flip to remind him of his promise. Pupils dilated and reinvigorated by the lewd image manifesting at his fingertip, he went to work.

A relentless pounding. Punishing strokes that made the bed creak from the stress of it all. The sheer force knocked Patrice’s glasses askew without an opportunity for adjustment. She could only claw at the foot of the bed and push her hips back into his to match the rhythm.

The sound of smacking skin and mixed moans created a soundtrack for rabid, desperate fucking. His thumbs left impressions on the delicate skin of her back, turning his knuckles white as he dug deeper.

Patrice took every inch like only she could, earning a rough smack as appreciation.

“That’s my girl,” Terry gritted through clenched teeth. “Stay with me. I feel you.”

It was all too much. The angle. The vision of Terry’s chest clenching and releasing for exertion as Patrice looked back at him. The way his brows knitted in concentration. The scent of his cologne wafted with every move. His tattoos glistened under dim lights.

“Oh my God!”

Early sparks of a white-hot release turned Patrice into putty, forcing Terry to hold her close.

One hand between her legs and the other putting soft pressure on the sides of her neck kept Patrice and Terry tethered on their quest for joint waves.

“I love you.”

“I need you.”

“You feel so good inside me.”

“Kiss me. Please.”

“Cum for me.”

Terry sank his teeth into Patrice’s shoulder as she clenched around him, no longer able to contain himself inside her. Shared euphoria. A once in a blue moon experience that neither of them had encountered.

Moans became indistinguishable. Eyelids clamped shut as hips sputtered. Glasses tumbled from the bed to the floor, having served their purpose. Bodies wrapped themselves around the other until they were spent, toppled over, and basking in the feel of each other.

“Good job, baby.” Terry praised, his voice soothing her mind while his hands rubbed the peaks and valleys of Patrice’s hips and thighs while they lay on their sides. He couldn’t bring himself to pull out, too engrossed in the subtle aftershocks deep inside her body. “You okay? Talk to me.”

Patrice breathed out a delirious laugh as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. “I can’t see! I can’t believe you fucked me blind. You’re insane.”

“How much time you got tonight? I got some shit I been wanting to do to you for a long time.”

“Like what?”

Whispers of new positions and marathon lovemaking made the hairs on her arms stand at attention. A second promise had entered the mix.

They’d make a baby or spend the rest of the night and into the morning trying.

---

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future content.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown

#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge

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prettyfilmz · 29 days ago

Text

BIG JIM • JIMMY USO

author's note: hey my loves! I hope you had a happy new year🥳 i come to you with big jim for the big 2025. this idea spurred from back at war games and after many rewrites and revisions, this beautiful work was born. I hope you enjoy as I work on chain reaction pt. 2!💗

synopsis: in which amara is the only one who knows the origin of 'big jim'.

warnings: 18+(MDNI), jimmy has a big dick ;) , black female!oc, dirty talk, hotel sex, praise kink, riding, reverse cowgirl, mating press, squirting, creampie, lots of kissing, pussy slaps, overstimulation, spanking, slight dacryphilia, pet names (mama, love, pretty girl baby girl, baby), daddy kink (subtle) , teasing, fluffy lovey dovey shit at the end.

word count: 2.6k words

Backstage at the Intuit Dome, the camera crew was in motion, chasing wrestlers for interviews and behind the scenes moments. Among the chaos, Jimmy leaned casually against a wall, dressed down in his merch and a fitted snapback, a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

He wasn’t wrestling tonight, but his presence alone was enough to stir commotion. Everyone wanted to know the answer to one question, the same one that had been swirling for months.

“Jimmy, got a minute?” Cathy Kelley asked, stepping into frame with a mic. She was smiling brightly, but Jimmy could already tell where this was headed.

“Sure, what’s good uce?” Jimmy shrugged, folding his arms across his chest.

“Well, first of all, congratulations on the momentum you’ve been building since you’ve returned. The fans love and missed you, and you’ve been killing it out there.”

“Always,” he replied smoothly, winking at the camera.

She laughed lightly. “But there’s something else everyone’s been talking about, and I have to ask: the nickname. Big Jim. Where did that come from? You’ve got the commentators using it, fans are chanting it—and yet, you never seem to explain the origin.”

Jimmy chuckled, the sound low and easy, as if he’d been expecting this all night. “Man, y’all don’t quit, huh?”

“Come on, Jimmy, the people need answers!” she teased, leaning in slightly. “Is it a reference to your presence in the ring? an inside joke?”

“Nah, nah,” Jimmy said, shaking his head with a grin. “See, that’s the thing. That’s between me, my girl, and God.”

The interviewer’s curiosity deepened. “Your girlfriend Amara? So, she gave you the name?”

Jimmy tilted his head, smirking knowingly. “Somethin’ like that. You wanna know what it’s about, you gotta ask her. But good luck with that, ‘cause she ain’t talkin’.”

The camera zoomed in on his face as he finished the sentence, the smugness radiating off him, and the interviewer gave a resigned laugh. “You’re killing us here, Jimmy.”

“Hey, I just play my role,” he said with a shrug, then leaned closer to the mic, his voice dropping a little lower. “But trust me—she know exactly why it’s Big Jim.”

The interview ended, but the smirk didn’t leave Jimmy’s face as he walked away, hands in his pockets, and the sound of the fans chants ringing in his ears.

♡

Hours later, Jimmy strolled into the dimly lit hotel room he was sharing with Amara, his energy still vibrant from the night’s teasing. The second the door clicked shut behind him, he spotted her on the bed legs crossed, her curvy frame dressed in one of his t-shirts. It barely skimmed her thighs, leaving her soft, brown skin on full display. Her curls pulled into a cute pineapple bun, and her lips curled into a knowing smile when she looked up at him.

“Another interview about ‘Big Jim’, huh?” she asked, her tone amused.

Jimmy laughed, shaking his head as he tossed his snapback onto the dresser. “Man, I swear, these people don’t got nothin’ better to talk about but that.”

“Well, you love the attention, so don’t act brand new now,” she teased, watching as he peeled off his hoodie, revealing the tattoos that decorated across his chest and arms.

“Yeah, I do,” he admitted, stepping closer to the bed. His gaze darkened as it swept over her, lingering on the way the t-shirt stretched over her curves. “But you love it too, don’t you, mama?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, but her smile gave her away. “What I love is you keeping your mouth shut about why you call yourself that.”

Jimmy grinned, climbing onto the bed, his weight dipping the mattress as he crawled toward her. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because it’s nobody’s business but ours,” she said firmly, though her breath hitched as he slid a hand up her thigh, his fingers brushing the bare skin beneath the shirt.

“That’s right,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her, his lips soft but insistent against hers. “Ain’t nobody else gonna know what I’m packin’—‘cept for you, baby.”

The kiss deepened quickly, his tongue sweeping past her lips as his hands roamed her body, squeezing her thighs, her waist, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him. His hard length was already straining against his sweats, and Amara couldn’t help but grind against him, her own arousal building with every touch.

“You feel that, pretty girl?” he whispered against her lips, his voice a low growl. “That’s why they call me Big Jim. You remember, don’t you?”

Amara whimpered softly, her hands gripping his shoulders as he pushed her onto her back, his weight pressing her into the mattress. “I couldn’t forget,” she murmured, her voice breathy.

Jimmy chuckled, kissing her again, slower this time, as his hands slipped under the hem of the shirt, dragging it up her body. “Good. ‘Cause I’m about to remind you, baby. You ready for that?”

Her answer was a needy kiss, her hands tugging at the waistband of his sweats, desperate to feel all of him. Jimmy took his time, though, stripping her down from her shirt to her skimpy panties, his lips and hands worshipping every inch of her as he went.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his eyes raking over her naked body as she lay beneath him. “So fuckin’ pretty, mama. Every time I see you, I swear you get finer.”

“Jimmy...” she whimpered, her thighs squeezing together as his hands spread them apart again.

“Nah, don’t hide from me girl,” he said, his voice firm but teasing. “You know I love seein’ all of you.”

His lips trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin before sucking gently, leaving marks that she knew she’d have to cover up the next day. But she didn’t care—not when his mouth kept moving lower, over her chest, her stomach, until he was between her thighs, his breath warm against her heated core.

Jimmy grinned up at her, his hands gripping her thighs as he kissed her inner thigh, biting softly before dragging his tongue over the spot. “You want Daddy to take care of you, baby girl?”

Her answer was a soft moan, her fingers tangling in his hair as he spread her glistening lips open with his thumbs, his mouth descending on her swollen clit.

Jimmy’s tongue worked her like he had all the time in the world. He dragged it through her slick folds, savoring the taste of her, groaning against her pussy like he couldn’t get enough. Amara’s thighs trembled, her hands gripping his hair as he sucked her clit into his mouth, alternating between teasing licks and firm pressure.

“Jimmy... oh, my God,” she whimpered, her back arching off the mattress as his hands gripped her thighs tighter, holding her in place.

“Nah, baby,” he murmured between kisses to her sensitive bud. “Ain’t no God here. Jus’ me. And I’m the only one you gon’ pray to tonight.”

The cocky rasp in his voice sent another wave of heat crashing through her, and she couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from her lips when he dipped lower to her entrance, his tongue slipping inside her. He thrust it in and out, his nose nudging her clit, and the combination had her gasping, her head tossing back against the pillows.

“Jimmy! o-oh—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he growled, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his beard glistening with her arousal. “Give it to me, mama.”

His fingers replaced his tongue, sliding into her pussy curving just right to hit that special spot inside her that made her see stars. His tongue returned to her clit, flicking it mercilessly as his fingers plunged into her over and over.

Amara’s body tensed, her thighs trembling as she was pushed toward the edge. And then, with a sharp cry, she came, her release soaking his fingers as her hips jerked uncontrollably.

“Goddamn,” Jimmy muttered, licking his fingers clean, his eyes dark with hunger as he looked down at her. “You always make such a big mess, baby. Can’t get enough of you.”

Before she could catch her breath, he was on her again, dragging her into his lap. He sat back against the headboard, his sweats already discarded, his thick, heavy dick standing proud between them. The sheer size of him made her thighs clench instinctively, and Jimmy caught the flicker of awe in her eye.

“C’mon, mama,” he said, his hands gripping her waist as he guided her over him, teasing her entrance with the tip. “You’ve taken it before. You can take it again. You’re my good girl, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling, her breath catching as she lowered herself onto him.

The stretch was intense, almost too much, and Jimmy groaned low in his throat, his fingers flexing against her hips as she sank down, inch by inch, until he bottomed out.

“Fuck, baby,” he growled, his head falling back against the headboard as he felt her walls squeezing him. “Look at you, takin’ all of me. Pussy so fuckin’ tight for me. You feel that, huh?”

Amara whimpered, shifting her hips a little. “You’re so big, Daddy,” she gasped, her voice trembling.

“I know, baby. I know,” Jimmy murmured, his hands sliding up to cup her ass, squeezing it as he began to guide her movements. “But you’re takin’ it so good. Just like you always do.”

She started to move, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had them both moaning. Jimmy’s hands roamed her body, tracing the curve of her waist, her breasts, her thighs, like he couldn’t decide where to focus.

“That’s my good girl,” he said, groaning. “Look at you. Ridin’ daddy like a pro. Fuckin’ made for me.”

Amara’s pace quickened, her thighs burning with effort as she chased the pleasure building inside her. Jimmy watched her intently, his eyes fixed on the way her body moved, the way her nails dug into his chest as she lost herself to the rhythm.

“You close, baby?” he asked, his voice teasing. “You gon’ cum on Daddy’s dick?”

“Yes, yes,” she whimpered, her head tipping back as the pleasure surged through her, overwhelming her.

Jimmy grinned, gripping her waist tighter as he thrust up into her, meeting her movements with his own. “That’s it, baby. Cum for me. Let me feel you.”

Her climax hit her once again, trembling as she cried and cursed out his name. Jimmy groaned, his dick twitching inside her as her walls clenched around him.

But he wasn’t done.

“Turn around,” he says softly but firm.

Amara obeyed, her body still trembling as she shifted into reverse cowgirl, her hands gripping his thighs for balance. Jimmy’s hands were back on her ass in an instant, spreading her cheeks as he guided her back onto him.

“Look at this fuckin’ view,” he muttered, giving her ass a sharp smack that made her yelp. “You’re so goddamn sexy, baby. Can’t get enough of your pretty ass.”

He thrust up into her, the angle hitting deeper than before, and Amara’s cries filled the room as he pounded into her.

“Fuck, daddy!” she sobbed, her head falling forward as tears pricked her eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, his hands gripping her hips as he drove into her harder, faster. “You so pretty when you cry for me.”

Amara’s third orgasm ripped through her, her body shaking as her squirted around him, soaking his thighs. Jimmy didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, still pounding into her relentlessly as he chased his own climax.

“On your back mama,” he demanded, his voice rough.

She barely had time to move before he flipped her onto the mattress, folding her knees to her chest as he slid back inside her. His thrusts were deeper, slower, and Amara’s cries got louder as the pleasure overwhelmed her again.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his cock driving into her with enough force to make the bed creak. “I’m gon’ cum baby. You want that, huh? Want daddy to cum inside you?”

“Yes, Daddy, please!” she cried, her nails digging into his shoulders.

With a final, deep thrust, Jimmy came, his dick twitching as he spilled inside her, the warmth flooding her walls. He groaned low in his throat, his hips jerking as he emptied himself, his release spilling out of her as he stayed buried deep.

When he finally pulled out, Amara was trembling, her thighs soaked, her body completely spent. Jimmy grinned down at her, leaning in to kiss her softly, his lips lingering against hers.

He rolled onto his side, draping an arm over her body as they lay tangled together in the sheets. Her chest was still rising and falling heavily, a flush blooming across her brown skin as she tried to catch her breath. Jimmy’s head rested on her shoulder, his lips brushing against her collarbone, leaving lazy kisses like he was tending to a delicate flower.

“You alive down there, mama?” he murmured, grinning against her skin.

“Barely,” Amara muttered, her voice muffled as she pressed a hand to her forehead, feigning exasperation. “I can’t believe you.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up in mock offense as he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with an exaggerated pout. “What you mean you can’t believe me? Girl I’m out here givin’ you the best dick of your life, and this is the thanks I get?”

She swatted his chest lightly, but her lips betrayed her with a small smile. “You know damn well you’re a show off. Who does all that and still has the audacity to talk shit after?”

“Me,” Jimmy said proudly, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Big Jim, baby. That’s what I do.”

Amara rolled her eyes, but she was laughing now, the sound bubbling up soft and carefree. Jimmy grinned down at her, loving the sight of her like this; relaxed, happy, and vulnerable.

“You know what?” he said suddenly, his tone playful as he leaned down to kiss her again, this time pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, then her nose, then her forehead, each kiss accompanied by a dramatic “mwah!”

Amara squirmed under his affection, giggling as she tried to push him away. “Jim, stop! You’re so annoying!”

“Nah, I ain’t stoppin’,” he said, wrapping his arms around her tighter, trapping her against him. “I’m annoyin’, but you love it. Don’t even lie.”

“Do not,” she huffed, though her grin said otherwise.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow, leaning back just enough to look her in the eye. “Oh, so you don’t love it when I hold you like this? Or when I kiss you like this?” He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her lips that made her toes curl despite her resolve.

“Maybe,” she whispered, her voice soft now, her gaze flicking away shyly.

“Maybe?” Jimmy repeated, chuckling as he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Nah, mama. Say it right. You love it.”

Amara bit her lip, eyes rolling and her cheeks warm as she finally relented. “Fine. I love it.”

Jimmy beamed, his grin wide and boyish, and he pressed his forehead to hers, their noses brushing. “Damn right you do.”

The moment softened, their laughter fading into quiet, affectionate silence as Jimmy reached up to tuck a stray coil behind her ear. His hand lingered, cupping her cheek as his thumb brushed her skin.

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he said, “Now, don’t be surprised when I tell the next interviewer they gotta ask you why they call me Big Jim. You better have somethin’ good ready to tell ‘em.”

Amara groaned, covering her face with her hands as she burst out laughing. “You’re annoying!”

“You love it though,” he teased, pulling her into his chest, holding her tight as her laughter echoed around them.

And damn it she did.

taglist: @bebesobrielo @zillasvilla @harmshake @amandairene88 @pr0tost4r @skyesthebomb @cyberdejos2 @4milly @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @bloodlinesbabe93 @punksyeet @xbriexx @li-da-savage @partypoison00 @theusotwinzcom @fearlesschimera @luvrsluxe

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dkniade · 9 days ago

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🌌💫🌒

Fan art of @kianamaiart’s characters from I Don’t Want To Be A Magical Girl! (with glasses, ft misc glasses characters & two IDWTBAMG universe fan characters)

I’ve been following this project from the start so it’s been great seeing interactions between the characters and how the fandom is so excited for it. ^^

I tried to draw the cast from memory and, while Miss seems a little different from canon, at least I got the dark hair roots and strands sticking out lol. But details aside they’re all recognizable! Which means they’re lovely designs that are unique from one another✨

Eclipse’s shades are a combination of his usual eye mask and the shades from this artwork, and Hoshi’s glasses are inspired by this one!🌒⭐️

Designs… (I don’t have a name for her yet but) the pigtails girl’s shapes are a combination of curves pointing downwards and curves pointing upwards. The idea ended up being that she’s on Eclipse and Lady DeVoid’s side so (after reading this post by Kiana about how most of the characters had Aika’s design as the springboard and are designed to complement eachother) I wanted her design to complement those two’s, with some influence from Zira. I like that the strands of hair on her forehead and the shape around them mirror both Zira’s hair and DeVoid’s horns haha. Plus, I was trying to figure out how to design her glasses and they ended up being kind of the inverse of Eclipse’s eye mask, which is very nice. Eclipse and DeVoid seem to be associated with sharp curves and circle shapes; maybe her outfit could be a lot fancier…

As for what her role might be in the story… I dunno, if she works with Eclipse and DeVoid, and Eclipse is all ~theatric and grand~ then maybe she could be like… his assistant… or something? Who knows. Or, I say “observer from afar” so perhaps she actually gets along with Zira well and they’d watch on the sidelines while Aika and Eclipse duke it out…?

Eclipse… Moon… Umbra… man what if I just name the pigtails girl Yueshi (月食, lunar eclipse)(for both the moon motif that Zira and Eclipse have, and the darkness motif that Eclipse and DeVoid have haha)

Shooting star and telescope don’t feel quite right, but with the circular shapes and the lunar eclipse, I could kind of see her having some star trail motifs with her sweater…

I guess Umbra would be the same type of elf (? darkness/concept personified?) as Lady DeVoid but I’m not sure haha. We don’t have much information on DeVoid other than the fact that she is darkness itself and that she lost most of her powers which she can’t remember how to use. Banished by a Star Guardian, revenge, recruiting Eclipse to help spread the darkness particles to destroy the Star Guardian… If she has a similar backstory to MLP:FIM’s Princess Luna then does that mean she was originally Aika’s teammate or something? haha

About Umbra’s hair… (Feel free to correct me for any inaccuracies.) I think from the reference photos I was trying to draw box braids but got so focused on also making the braids look like moon phases that I’m not sure if it’d still be box braids in the end? They seem more like cornrows now, at least for the side ones?

Here are some earlier versions of the OCs! and more rambling about designs

Well, initially I scribbled down Yueshi so I could experiment with values because I was thinking about how light-coloured pants draw the eye too much if the outfit or the top half of the character is darker. (Half way through she ended up looking like a IDWTBAMG character so I tried to match the proportions with Aika’s turnaround.) But I suppose if there’s enough contrast for the upper half (and IDWTBAMG’s stark black design style gives a lot of contrast) then it works out better. I think the combination of making Yueshi’s hair and the top half of her sweater black and the circle shape white worked out okay. Initially she had large round eyes so I tried giving her round glasses too but since she ended up being a fan character in the universe, it was too similar to Aika and Zira.

Umbra’s design kind of popped into my mind today so I tried to scribble it down and experimented with hairstyles. But green and purple are already associated with Zira, and that shade of lavender is more like Eclipse so I guess I’ll fiddle around with her colour scheme more. Maybe there’s not enough of the signature black there, and both could use some more details to match the level of details in the canon designs… (If Yueshi works under DeVoid then she’d probably get a fancy outfit too.) Then again, Umbra is more like Miss in terms of detail so it seems she’d be a background/supporting character or something…🤔

(I can’t seem to escape the puffy sleeves/cone shape silhouette🤔 Gotta diversify. Also, not sure if it’s ‘cause of the project’s style or if I just really love circles in character design haha)

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arcaneweaving · 2 months ago

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I'm so fascinated by sevika as a character because she's so tragic, and so unique in many ways. she's an arcane OC, she's not part of the league of legends, but also, she seems not to have any internal motivation for her actions. she's not a character that any memorial is built to. she's not the voice of the people, nor is she their figurehead. her choices, viewed in and of themselves, often seem pointless or contradictory: she (one can only assume) was involved in the initial revolt of Zaun against Piltover, then betrays Vander once peace has been established. she accuses him of being weak for not warring against Piltover, then helps Silco terrorize and weaken Zaun with shimmer for years. She hates Jinx, then she saves her. She hates the council, then she joins it. The only interpretation in which her choices make any sense is that Sevika acts only in the interest of Zaun's greater good. She is, fundamentally, a martyr for her nation.

her choices (misguided or not) are borne of a near-total, self-sacrificing loyalty to her nation, the nation of Zaun. at each turn, Sevika's makes the choice that she thinks will further the cause of Zaun's sovereignty. Sevika is not so concerned with "Sevika" as an individual with wants, needs, or personhood. her impetus is that of-- as her name suggests-- a servant to a cause bigger than herself.

Sevika chooses Silco over Vander because Vander has (even in the name of peace) inhibited Zaun by allying the Underground with Piltover. She sacrifices her arm to save Silco because she believes that he is capable of unifying the Underground into Zaun once more-- she believes he could lead Zaun to battle, by whatever means necessary, even if it means creating soldiers of addicts. She conspires to keep Vi away from Jinx because Zaun needs its loose cannon in the fight against Piltover. The morality which others in the show are beholden to is not part of Sevika's motivation because the ego of personhood is not part of Sevika's motivation. She's not interpersonally loyal (she is loyal to Zaun's citizens: "We don't hand over our people"), she isn't above killing children, she's not a mother or a sister or a daughter. She is utilitarian. She's a revolutionary.

Ironically, this is why Sevika is not compelling enough to convince Zaun to rise from the ashes. After all she has sacrificed-- her body, her spirit, her peace-- when she tries to unify Zaun on her own, they refuse to hear her. The raised consciousness of a comrade seems distant and cold to a hungry son or scared mother. The comrade is impersonal, and so therefore unpersuasive. "It's no secret we got history. Blood spilled on all sides. But we grew up on the same streets, ate the same scraps. Like it or not, we're in this together. Enforcers raiding our homes, Noxians down our throats, innocents getting carted off to Stillwater. We gotta choose right now whether we're gonna throw in the towel or make a stand together." She gives the most radical political speech of the show, but she is no orator. Sevika's motive supersedes individualism. She says, "Not as Firelights, or Jinxers, or washed up goons. As Zaunites!"

The crowd's response to this call to arms is, "We wanna see Jinx!" They want a person, not an ideal, to rally behind. Despite this, Sevika doesn't indulge her ego. She does not want to be a hero, or a figurehead. She does not want to be praised. In fact, when she realizes that Jinx is the symbol that the people have chosen, she takes great pains to brace Jinx for the role, to ensure that Jinx-- alive or dead-- shows up for Zaun.

In the end, when Sevika joins the council, she again sacrifices a fundamental part of herself for the greater good of Zaun. She is lonely and out of place and hated there, but she takes the seat because Zaun needs her to. She may be seen as a traitor to the Zaunite cause. The council is the last place on earth that Sevika belongs-- but she goes there. To the end, she is a servant to Zaun.

#sevika is so fascinating to me #she sort of reminds me of Enjolras #pure revolutionary #arcane #sevika #I also think this is why she seems to like isha #who-- even being a child-- pushes jinx to be the revolutionary that Zaun needs

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yakichoufd · 5 months ago

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I got that issue thinking I would have a fun read and it was interesting but so disappointing too. There will be a of lof of spoilers here, so don't read my post if you want to enjoy that story first. It will also become an illustrated "fanfiction" cause I had to draw few things haha! I liked that Scott and Alex's parents survived their plane crash and both boys could have a normal childhood. The story is from Alex's point of view which is quite interesting. He barely remembers the plane accident, but Scott does (even if he never talks about it, but him remembering that event is important). Alex doesn't really know where he belongs since his big brother is "great at everything". Scott is great at school, sport, he has friends, he cares for his baby brother etc... and Alex feels like he is living in his brother's shadow. Then Scott get his mutation and get a personnality switch. Even if he controls his beams, he still freaks out and panics most of the time (which is fair, his power is very destructive after all). Then the story takes a direction I did not enjoy, so I won't talk about it. I will just explain what I would have liked to read instead. I would have loved for the two brothers to bond over what Scott was dealing with. For once Alex's big brother needed help and support. Alex could have been there for his so "perfect" big brother. It could have reversed their roles and boost Alex's confidence. It could have create a deep relationship between the two brothers.

Scott is traumatised by the plane accident. He has a nightmare seeing aliens looking after them when their plane hit the ground. It is during that nightmare that Scott's power manifests. Maybe him freaking out about his powerful mutation is linked to that traumatic event. Maybe he is scared of destruction since their plane got hit by alien's weapons? Maybe he thinks the aliens did this to him? I don't know but he is a very scared kid who is cclearly afraid of that attack. Scott could have talk about that to his parents. They are very supportive and caring. That story could have grown their family bond stronger. Plus both brothers have a destructive mutation, that could have made them closer than ever. Continuing with that alternative universe. Xavier gives up on Scott a bit too fast (which makes little sense imo) but I would have find it interesting that a less awkward Scott meet Warren, Hank, Bobby and Jean. He could have joined the mansion still as a lost teenager but his social understanding would have been so much better.

I do not think he would have fall for Jean like he did in the comics. Maybe he would never have fall for her since he was popular back home. I think comic Scott always fell for Jean because she was so perfect and he was a lost kid who had nothing but a lot of love to give. Or he could fall for her once he is more mature. I love that HC that Scott is a bisexual bean, so he could have had a boyfriend back home. Bobby could have understand himself a bit faster seeing Scott with another boy.

Scott being in a loving family he would be at ease with his sexuality and he and his family's popularity in town made everyone accepting everything easily. However Scott still being afraid about his mutation, he wouldn't have tell anyone why he went to Xavier's mansion. Whcih would confure his mutant friends a lot. Scott could still have trouble with accepting who he is and how his loved ones see him which will be his personnal dilemma.

(Todd is the OC boyfriend haha) Warren and Scott could have been close friends and maybe more. Angel is a very caring character too and he would have understand Scott's scasred mind. I think Scott could still have being brainswhased to become a child soldier (which would terrified his parents) but it would have helped Scott to accept his power. He could still become an amazing field leader but I do not think he would have stayed under Xavier's manipulation long. He would have take his own path eventually. He has the confidence and his years with the X-men would have created his network. I think that AU has a lot of potential and it didn't need to become over dramatic as the original issue did. Siniter could have shown up later or not at all. I do not think he needs to be present in Scott's life in every universe. Being a mutant is already hard as it is, you can always find dama around that if you want a dramaticc story.

#that was my long ass rant about that comic issue haha #I really loved some parts and hated some #I want marvel to also give us some fluff moments #no need to be dramatic 24/7 #we will still love the new stories and characters even if they have a happy ending in some stories #cyclops #scott summers #alex summers #havok #hank mccoy #beast #bobby drake #iceman #jean grey #o5

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baekhyunsbestie · 1 month ago

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── ❝ choose ❞ 🦢ྀི ̟!!

⟢ an arranged marriage au req’d by this qt anonie <3 :’) ty lovie!

જ⁀➴°⋆ content: 18+/MDNI. 22.5k+ words—omg i just don't know how to stfu do i ⁉️ baekhyun x f!reader. baekhyun x f!oc. sehun x f!reader. arranged marriage au. strangers to friends to lovers. the trifecta: angst, fluff, smut ⟡ alcohol consumption, explicit language, jealousy on both sides, solo masturbation (baek), pet names, praise kink, body worship, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, breeding kink, creampie ⟡

you could hardly wrap your head around the situation unraveling in front of you.

just a week ago, the idea of sitting in this stuffy, oversized meeting room, surrounded by your parents, their precious real estate company’s top shareholders, and a room full of suits from the country’s leading investment firm, would have been laughable. yet here you were, their board of directors staring across at yours like it was a chess match.

and apparently, you were the pawn.

“i know we’re asking a lot, dearest,” your father’s voice echoes carried the weight of his words as he spoke to you from the backseat of the car, heading toward the byuns’ estate. “but this arrangement with the byuns will strengthen our standing in the business world. you understand, don’t you?”

the words swirled in your mind like smoke, thick and suffocating. his company was already worth billions, a family legacy poised to stretch across generations. this wasn’t about business; it was just cold, unquenchable greed.

“plus,” your mother chimed in, her tone softened by the tinkling of pearls around her neck, “it’s about time you started thinking about settling down, darling.” she shot you a sympathetic smile that felt as cold and detached as the diamonds in her ring.

you offered a forced smile and a nod, swallowing down the rush of anger that threatened to spill over. you did your best to hide the unease bubbling within, a skill honed since you were young, the result of years spent learning to maintain a poised, unflappable exterior.

twenty five years in, and it felt like you’d spent at least twenty of those meticulously walking the tightrope of your family’s expectations—always striving to make them proud, to meet every demand placed on you. from a young age, you were drilled in the understanding that your role as the daughter of a man of notable standing was to be obedient, to speak with poise and intelligence, to master the intricate dance of business that came with being his one and only heir.

it was almost impressive how deeply your parents had buried this secret, orchestrating your future without so much as a slip-up. a plan so meticulous it must have been in the works since you were a child.

the room was alive with chatter, a symphony of negotiations and legal jargon — talks of contracts, investments, and of course, prenups. your chest tightened, the air feeling heavier with every word. the faint hum of voices blurred as your gaze scanned the room, searching for him — the heir, the man you were apparently promised to, like a relic passed between dynasties.

but he wasn’t there.

as if his father could read your thoughts, his voice sliced through the tension, calm and composed. “baekhyun is on his way. he…had to handle some important business in the city for me. but don’t you worry, you’ll meet your fiancé very soon.”

fiancé.

the word felt like a stone sinking in your stomach.

your nails dug into your palms, the sting grounding you, a small reminder that this wasn’t just some twisted dream. you were tired of this—tired of being your parents’ perfect little pawn, always following their rules, always nodding along. but this? this was too much.

your life wasn’t a business deal. but to them, that’s all it had ever been.

as the lively chatter swirled around you, the voices blending into a cacophony, you felt the faint throb of a headache creeping in. the air in the room seemed to thicken, pressing against your chest and making it harder to draw a full breath. your senses dulled, edges of the world blurring, and the faint dizziness began to spiral into something heavier, more oppressive.

the floor beneath your feet seemed unsteady, the room spinning as if it were alive. desperate to regain control, you pushed yourself to your feet, your only thought was to find some water—or escape the suffocating atmosphere entirely. each breath felt shallower, the weight of the situation curling in your stomach like nausea. in your haze, you barely registered the arrival of more guests, their presence another layer to the overwhelming din.

guests moved like shadows through the chaos, their chatter weaving another layer into the cacophony that pressed against your skull. the air felt heavier with every passing second, the room spinning just enough to blur the faces around you. each shaky step toward the door felt monumental, the faint promise of the hallway’s quiet drawing you forward like a lifeline. but before you could reach it, your knees gave way, a sudden betrayal of your resolve.

the ground surged up to claim you—but it never came. instead, strong arms caught you, steady and sure, halting your descent.

time seemed to pause as his touch anchored you, the frantic noise around you fading into a dull hum. lifting your gaze, you met his. the soft glow of the chandelier above crowned his features in a golden haze, casting delicate highlights over his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw. murmurs swept through the room like ripples on water, curious eyes turning toward the spectacle.

“you okay, sweetheart? you don’t look so good.” his voice was low, calm, each syllable threaded with quiet concern. his dark eyes searched yours, intent and unwavering, as his hands steadied you—gentle yet unyielding.

god, he’s beautiful. breathtaking, even. the plush curve of his pink lips, the faint scatter of freckles that added a boyish charm to his otherwise sharp features, the effortless way his perfectly styled hair framed his face like it belonged in a magazine spread.

“can someone grab her some water?” he called out, eyes still on you. he didn’t wait for a reply before one of the staff rushed to comply, leaving you with the full weight of his attention.

moments later, a chilled bottle was in his hand. he helped you back to your seat, his movements careful but efficient, like he’d done this a hundred times before. with a single twist, the cap came off, and he pressed the bottle into your hands.

“here. drink,” he said, firm but kind, his gaze never leaving your face as though willing you to trust him.

“thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you took a cautious sip, the cool liquid soothing against your parched throat. “i don’t know what came over me. i’m usually not like this.”

he watched you closely, a faint crease between his brows. “just take it easy for a moment,” he said, his voice softer now, the chaos of the room seeming to fade as his focus remained entirely on you.

"i’m baekhyun," he says, extending his hand toward you. his voice is steady, but there's a weight behind it, like he’s forcing himself to sound composed. “you must be my new fiancée.”

your fingers meet his in a brief, formal shake, and the two of you exchange tentative, almost apologetic smiles. it’s not the kind of moment you imagined when meeting your future husband—not romantic or thrilling, just... somber.

your gaze flickers over his features, taking in the way his body seems to rebel against the situation. his shoulders are stiff, tension radiating from him like a coiled spring. his eyes dart around the room, searching for some kind of escape, you suspect. when he finally settles in the chair next to you, his leg starts bouncing—an anxious rhythm against the polished floor. his fingers are laced tightly over his lap, knuckles white, and you can see the faint twitch of his jaw as he clenches it.

“care to take a walk?” you ask, your voice carrying a quiet plea for escape, craving the cool embrace of fresh air to cut through the weight of it all.

“yeah, let’s get outta here,” he answers, his gaze locking onto yours. an effortless, heart-stopping smile spreads across his face—so disarmingly perfect it almost feels unfair. you hate how good he looks when he does that, how his smile seems to eclipse the chaos swirling between you. but, in this tangled mess, it’s a small consolation. at least he’s easy on the eyes. it dulls the bitterness of it all—just enough to let you breathe.

even if only for a moment.

the two of you drift into his family’s garden, a hidden sanctuary tucked away from the grandeur and noise of the estate. vibrant blossoms stretch toward the sunlight in every direction, their hues weaving a striking contrast to the chaos you left behind. the air is cool and fresh, carrying a faint hint of jasmine, and as you inhale deeply, you feel the tension begin to melt from your shoulders.

the world seems softer here.

he trails behind you, his gaze following your every move as you admire the kaleidoscope of colors—blush pinks, fiery reds, golden yellows. there’s a childlike wonder in the way you reach out to brush your fingers across delicate petals. “my mom planted all of this,” he says, his voice gentle as he watches your delight. his steps slow as you move further along the path, his tone softening as he adds, “she pours herself into the garden, says it keeps her busy. i help when i can, but... well, my schedule doesn’t always allow it.”

the weight of his words lingers in the air, a quiet sigh you almost miss over the faint rustle of leaves. eventually, you find yourselves settling on a bench nestled in the heart of the garden. the riot of blooms seems to fade into the periphery, leaving the two of you cocooned in a world of your own. you trace the carvings in the wooden seat, wondering if his mother chose this very spot to escape—a retreat from the noise, a small oasis among the roses and the canopy of trees.

his voice cuts through the stillness, low and threaded with a quiet ache. “i’m sure someone like you knows what it’s like.” the unspoken meaning in his words brushes against your thoughts as his eyes hold yours, steady yet weighted. the scent of jasmine clings to the pause between you, heavy and inescapable. “to never have the freedom to make your own choices.”

you nod slowly, the motion deliberate, though your smile falters, never quite reaching your eyes. your gaze drifts upward, drawn to the tree above. its branches sway gently, a soft rustling of leaves carried by the breeze, like nature's quiet lullaby. the speckled sunlight filters through the canopy, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow over your face. there’s a calmness in the way the leaves dance.

he watches you with an intensity that feels almost palpable, his gaze like a brushstroke tracing the delicate contours of your face. his brown eyes, touched by the sunlight streaming through the trees, shimmer with flecks of golden amber, glinting like embers in their depths. they flit over your features—your lips, the subtle curve of your cheek, the way your lashes catch the light—like he’s trying to decipher the answer to an unspoken question, a puzzle that only you can solve.

there’s a quiet tension in his expression, something searching, like he’s trying to piece together how the two of you, tethered by circumstance yet worlds apart, have found yourselves here. the silence between you is heavy, not with discomfort but with the weight of everything unsaid.

you can almost feel his thoughts skimming the edges of yours, the quiet intensity with which he watches every word you speak, every tiny movement, as if measuring their truth. could someone so grounded, so effortlessly genuine, truly be the daughter of such a money hungry mogul? you don’t carry the polished veneer he expected—the smooth entitlement, the rehearsed charm that usually drips from wealth. instead, there’s a quiet gravity to you, an unrefined rawness that sets you apart, unpolished yet undeniably real.

it unnerves him, perhaps, how different you are from the image he had in mind. but as his gaze lingers, softening around the edges, you realize it’s not judgment you see in his eyes—it’s curiosity. maybe even something more, something unspoken, nestled in the spaces between his glances and the golden light that dances over the garden.

a flicker of something unspoken weaves through your voice as you finally break the silence, the weight of shared understanding hanging just beneath the surface. “looks like we’ve got that in common.”

he seems to snap out of his thoughts, his brows furrowing as he tilts his head, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. “what do you mean?”

your lips curve into a faint, melancholic smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. there’s a vulnerability in the way you say it, as if the words themselves are a confession. “not being able to choose for ourselves.”

the air in the garden was thick with the scent of blooming roses, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze as the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn. it was quiet here, far from the bustling estate where their families and shareholders were likely busy hashing out the terms of their future. you and baekhyun sat on the wooden bench beneath a willow tree, its long, graceful branches hanging low, creating a canopy of green above them.

baekhyun was leaning back, his gaze lost in the distance, fingers absentmindedly tracing the curve of the bench.

"so, i guess this is how it’s going to be," he said, his voice low and almost melancholic. "both of us, caught up in something we never asked for."

you turned your head to look at him, your eyes soft with understanding. you could see the way his lips barely curled into a smile, but there was a sadness to it, something more than just resignation.

"yeah," you said quietly. "my parents... they’ve made every decision for me. from the moment i was born, it was like my life was planned out, as if i never had a choice."

baekhyun chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "same here. every decision, every step, every role—always played the part they wanted. my future was written before i even had a chance to pick up a pen."

there was a silence between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was the kind of silence that came with shared understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the burden you both carried. the sound of birds in the distance seemed louder in the quiet, the rustling of the leaves above them almost rhythmic, as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for them to speak again.

"do you ever wonder what it would be like to just... choose for yourself?" your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was filled with longing, a quiet hope for something more than the life that had been mapped out for you both. "to do something—anything—that’s just yours?"

baekhyun’s eyes flickered to you, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "all the time," he admitted. "but then i think about the consequences, the responsibilities. it's not that simple, is it?"

you looked away, staring at the grass beneath you, the weight of your shared truth hanging in the air. "no. i guess it’s not."

"but maybe," baekhyun added slowly, his voice thoughtful, "maybe we don’t have to completely surrender ourselves to what they want. maybe there’s a way to carve out a little space for ourselves, even in all of this."

you met his gaze then, and for the first time, something flickered between you—an unspoken agreement, a shared sense of rebellion. the world inside the byun estate might have been spinning around you, filled with deals and plans and expectations, but here, in the quiet of the garden, you were just two people who understood what it was like to be trapped by others’ dreams.

“so, if we’re going to do this, we need to figure out what we want, not just what our families want,” his voice is calm, but you hear the urgency behind his words, as if this conversation is one of the few things in his life he can control.

you nod, your gaze fixed on the ground beneath your feet. you’ve lived your life so far based on what others expected of you—always the perfect daughter, the future heir, never really given the chance to choose. this marriage, this arrangement, felt like just another chain, another expectation to carry. but now, sitting beside baekhyun, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is an opportunity to reshape things.

“what if we made our own terms?” your voice is soft but resolute. “i don’t want to just play the role my parents set for me. i want... i want more than that.”

baekhyun turns to you, eyes searching yours. “what kind of terms are you talking about?”

you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “i think we need to agree on some ground rules. like... real ground rules. for us. not for them, not for the company, not for the shareholders, but for us.”

baekhyun raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "indulge me, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice a soft, inviting challenge.

you pause for a moment, your breath catching as his words swirl around you, the pet name slipping past your guard, laced with a teasing warmth. his gaze locks onto you with an intensity that makes your pulse race. you take a steadying breath, forcing your composure back.

"first," you begin, your voice steady but edged with the quiet fire you've been holding back, "we need the freedom to choose for ourselves. our careers, our lives—those can’t be controlled by anyone else. i refuse to be treated like some asset, some pawn in someone else’s game." you meet his eyes, holding his gaze with unwavering resolve. "and i’m sure you don’t want that, either."

baekhyun nods slowly. “agreed. i’ve spent my whole life following their script. it’s exhausting.”

your eyes soften. “we’re not puppets. we don’t need to be. and... we don’t have to start a family just because it’s expected. we should decide when the time is right for us, not because it’s what our parents want. i don’t want to feel like my life’s purpose is only to produce heirs.”

baekhyun’s expression shifts, and his gaze turns thoughtful. “i can’t stand the pressure to ‘settle down’ just for the sake of appearances. if we’re going to do this, it’s got to be on our terms. not theirs.”

a long pause hangs between you, the only sound the distant hum of your families inside the estate. the tension has shifted into something more peaceful, as if your agreement on those points has created a small, sacred space between you, one where you can both breathe. but there’s more.

“one thing,” baekhyun continues, his voice quieter now. “we can’t let them interfere with what we build together. i don’t want anyone pushing us, telling us what to do. not when it comes to our relationship, at least.”

you look up at him, a flicker of something new in your gaze. “agreed. no one gets a say in what we do in private. not our families, not the board members—no one.”

“and,” he adds after a beat, “we need to be honest with each other. no playing games. no pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. if this is going to work, it can’t be based on a lie.”

your lips part, about to speak, but instead, you nod, feeling the quiet weight of that commitment settle between you. “honesty. always.”

there’s a pause before you add something that’s been on your mind. “and if we choose to... see other people—since this is an arranged marriage and all—it has to be with complete discretion. no secrets. we let each other know, no matter what.”

baekhyun raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, he nods slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “i like that. transparency. no hidden agendas.”

you feel a weight lift, as if you’ve just cleared the air between you, creating space for something more real. this wasn’t going to be the typical marriage of convenience. it was theirs to shape, even with its constraints.

you sit there for a while longer, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting a soft, golden light over the two of you. the garden feels quieter now, as though the earth itself is listening to your promises, absorbing the unspoken understanding between you.

“maybe,” baekhyun says, breaking the silence, “this could be the start of something we both actually choose. not just something we’re forced into.”

you turn your head toward him, meeting his gaze fully now. there’s a quiet, unspoken truth between you, something neither of you can fully explain. you’re not bound by your families’ expectations anymore, not entirely. in this moment, you have something real—something you can build from the ground up.

“we’ll figure it out,” you say, your voice steady but with a hint of hope. “together.”

baekhyun smiles softly, genuinely, a smile that feels like a promise. he leans back against the bench, watching the last of the sun’s rays slip beneath the horizon.

“together,” he echoes, his voice a quiet vow.

you’ve heard the whispers about byun baekhyun over the years—rumors that float through the air like smoke, delicate but undeniable. they speak of his prowess at his father’s investment firm, a place where he moves through high-stakes meetings with the kind of effortless ease that makes you wonder if he was born for this world of numbers and deals. he’s the golden boy of the byun empire, the heir to a billion-dollar fortune, his name passing from lips with a reverence tinged with envy. there’s no denying it: he’s the one everyone admires, the one they all want to be.

women look at him with longing in their eyes, a mix of desire and fascination. the men? they admire him in a way that’s almost reverential, wishing they could command the same kind of power, charm, and effortless charisma. there’s a certain gravity to him, an aura that demands attention without him having to try. he’s everything people talk about, everything they crave—untouchable, almost, and yet somehow, always within reach.

and, of course, he’s heard about you, too.

the heiress to the nation’s largest real estate company. your name is spoken with just as much weight as his, though in a very different way. your company’s worth mirrors his own—both in revenue and stature—but it’s not just the numbers that catch his attention. it’s you. the soft-hearted, kind, and undeniably stunning woman who runs a billion-dollar empire, carrying yourself with a quiet confidence that never needs to be announced. your philanthropic efforts are well known, hosting charity events that seem to shimmer with a light of their own. there’s a grace about you, something almost ethereal, like you’ve stepped out of a dream. people adore you, but not in the way they adore him—your admiration feels real, like it’s earned, not given by default.

he finds that… refreshing. surprising, even. everything about you is more genuine than he expected, and your presence is like a breath of fresh air in a world that can sometimes feel suffocating. you’re approachable, down to earth in a way that makes him pause and reconsider everything he thought he knew about someone like you. in a sea of pristine, curated images, you stand apart—real, raw, and completely unaffected by the shallow expectations placed on women of your stature.

and yet… there are no scandals, no rumors swirling around you like a storm. no messy breakups, no late-night flings or headlines about your personal life. nothing worthy of note, nothing that would tarnish the carefully crafted image the world has of you. you’re the perfect saint—untouched by the kind of drama that seems to follow people in your world.

it’s that spotless record, that pristine reputation, that draws him in even more. you are the perfect package—beautiful, poised, charitable, and yet somehow still down to earth despite the immense wealth you command. it makes him wonder: how had no one managed to sweep you off your feet yet? in a world full of people eager to claim what’s theirs, how had you remained untouched, unattached?

the question lingers in his mind, and despite himself, he can’t help but be intrigued.

as he sat across from you now, watching your parents sign the papers that would bind you to him, the difference between the two of you felt almost like a chasm, vast and undeniable. he knew his own reputation well—a turbulent storm of scandals, heartbreaks, and fleeting, empty affairs that left nothing behind but whispers and regret. it had become his armor, the kind of image he had long since accepted as his reality. but you? you were something else entirely.

there was a purity to you, an almost ethereal quality that seemed to shield you from the messiness of the world. your presence was both grounding and mesmerizing, like the calm in the eye of a storm. every movement, every glance was effortless—natural, graceful—as if you were meant to be the face of your family’s empire from the moment you were born. you exuded a quiet strength, a dignity that contrasted sharply with the chaotic and often reckless energy that surrounded him. you were unmarked by the world’s harshness, untouched by the scandals and drama that followed so many like him.

baekhyun found himself drawn to you, captivated by the way you held yourself with a poise that felt almost unreal. it wasn’t the beauty that caught his attention—it was something deeper, something more elusive. it was the way you seemed untouchable, like a rare and delicate flower that bloomed in a garden no one else could enter. and yet, there was an undeniable pull in that beauty, a force that beckoned him, making him ache to understand the world you inhabited, a world he could never fully grasp.

it was a strange pull, one he didn’t quite understand. there was something about you that challenged him—something so perfectly poised, so untouched by the storms of life that it felt like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. how could anyone resist the temptation to peel back the layers, to see what lay beneath the surface?

but then again, baekhyun had never been one to turn away from a challenge. and you? you were the ultimate challenge. perfect, poised, and completely untarnished by the weight of the world.

how could he not want to get to know you better?

the byun estate hums with the familiar buzz of luxury. voices blend into a harmonious murmur, glasses clink with a soft chime, and the scent of fine wine and expensive perfume floats through the air. you've been here before, countless times—hosting galas, attending charity events, being the face of your family's empire. this world is nothing new to you. the polished smiles, the fleeting conversations, the constant ebb and flow of social rituals. you're used to the attention, to the admiring gazes that follow you from the moment you enter a room. it's nothing you can't handle.

but tonight, it's different.

tonight, the nerves in your chest feel like something foreign, something new. it’s not the usual excitement of orchestrating an event or making an impression; this is different. it’s the kind of nervousness that coils tight in your stomach and makes your palms clammy, the kind that comes with a weight you can’t quite place. it’s not just the eyes on you now—it’s the knowledge that those eyes are on you because you’re engaged. you are now, irrevocably, tied to baekhyun.

you catch yourself fidgeting with the hem of your dress, adjusting the delicate fabric for no reason at all, and then quickly stop, taking a slow breath to steady yourself. you’ve done this a hundred times before. but you can’t help the jitter of nerves that seems to crawl under your skin, prickling with the knowledge that this is an event meant for you and baekhyun. an engagement party, the beginning of a future that you never asked for but now have to walk into, with every eye in the room trained on you.

baekhyun has been standing across the room, holding court with a small group of guests. his figure is unmistakable—tall, effortlessly composed, exuding a quiet confidence that draws people in. you’ve watched him navigate the space, exchanging pleasantries, always poised. but when his eyes meet yours, there's something different about it. it's not the casual acknowledgment you’re used to when you’re the center of attention at an event. this is something deeper, something that makes your breath hitch for a fraction of a second.

and then, without missing a beat, he makes his way toward you, cutting through the crowd with a fluidity that feels almost deliberate. you swallow hard, feeling that strange heat rise to your cheeks again, despite how practiced you are in social situations. it’s not just anyone coming toward you now; it’s your fiancé—the man you’re about to enter a lifetime with, in front of a room full of people, their eyes watching, judging, speculating.

he stops just a few feet away, his smile warm and easy, like he’s just another person in this sea of faces, and yet there’s something different about the way he looks at you. not just out of politeness or social obligation, but something far more genuine, like he’s actually interested. you can feel the weight of his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

"you look beautiful tonight," he says, his voice a soothing balm that helps ground you in the moment. his words cut through the buzz of conversation, making everything feel quieter, softer.

you can’t help but laugh softly, trying to mask the nerves with the practiced ease you’ve perfected over years of public appearances. “thank you,” you say, but your voice betrays you, a little too soft, a little too unsure for someone who has spent their life on stages like this. “it’s a lot to take in, honestly. not exactly the usual type of event.”

he nods, a small, knowing smile on his lips. “i get it. it’s... different, isn’t it?” his tone is gentle, and there’s an understanding in the way he looks at you, as if he can sense the strain of the moment.

you can’t decide if that makes you feel more at ease or more exposed. the gentle way he’s watching you, like he sees past the polished exterior you’ve perfected over the years, makes your chest tighten. this isn’t just a man offering a polite compliment. no, there’s a subtle warmth behind it, something that’s genuine. and that’s what makes your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t expected.

before you can respond, a voice cuts through the moment—sweet, syrupy, but carrying a quiet sharpness.

“well, well, well. isn’t this interesting?” the voice is sweet, dripping with something syrupy but sharp.

she’s stunning. stunning—like a high-fashion model, her posture regal and her features flawless. her skin is smooth, a deep shade of mocha, and her hair falls in sleek waves around her shoulders, glossy and perfect. the way she holds herself is effortless, a kind of confidence that you can’t quite place, but it’s magnetic. you can feel the tension rise in the air as her eyes flicker from baekhyun to you, assessing you in the same quiet, deliberate way she seems to assess everything.

the woman’s presence alone seems to turn the room’s energy up a notch. there’s an edge to her voice as she continues, her gaze fixed on you with an almost calculating look. "i didn't think the byun men were ones for arranged marriages," she says, her tone too sweet to be anything but sarcastic. "how... quaint." her lips curl into a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes, which gleam with a kind of challenge.

you manage to lift your chin, but her words, her presence, make you feel small. you shift uncomfortably, the room suddenly feeling too hot. who is she?

baekhyun shifts slightly at her words, his smile still intact but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—a flash of discomfort, or maybe something else entirely—that you can’t quite decipher. he takes a half-step closer to you, his hand brushing yours subtly, almost protectively.

“aya, i didn’t expect you to be here tonight,” baekhyun says, his voice tight but polite. it’s clear there’s history between them, something unsaid, but you can’t quite grasp it.

aya’s eyes flicker back to you, and for a moment, it feels like she’s sizing you up, like she’s deciding something. she doesn’t bother hiding the slight sneer that tugs at her lips as she looks you over. “oh, i couldn’t miss the show,” she says, her tone saccharine, the words laced with something deeper. “i didn’t realize the newest member of the byun family would be so... delicate.”

the words sting, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks, heat spreading through your skin as a strange wave of doubt rises in your chest. you glance at baekhyun, but his eyes are fixed on aya, his jaw tight. there's something unspoken between them that you can feel but can’t quite name.

before you can gather your thoughts, your parents appear, pulling you two away, and in that moment, your conversation with baekhyun and aya is cut short. as you walk away, your mind races. who was she? and why had baekhyun’s demeanor changed so quickly? was there something between them?

the questions swirl in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that aya is more than just a passing acquaintance. there's something deeper, something personal, and now, you're left wondering just how much you don’t know about baekhyun and the world you're about to be tied to.

three months had passed, and in that time, you and baekhyun had settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural. between appointments with the wedding planner, company dinners, and endless events, your interactions had grown from polite exchanges to something far more comfortable. what had begun as a partnership forged out of obligation now carried an air of genuine camaraderie.

it didn’t take long before your schedules started overlapping even more. casual meetings evolved into dinner dates—just the two of you, away from the scrutiny of planners and business associates. those moments felt different, unburdened by expectation, allowing you to see each other as individuals rather than roles in a contract.

you discovered that the two of you had more in common than you’d anticipated. shared music tastes that had you both curating playlists for car rides, a mutual appreciation for certain foods that turned dinners into culinary adventures, and a surprising knack for poking fun at each other’s humor. you bonded over a love for art, both traditional and modern, and even found yourselves admiring each other’s impeccable sense of style—always coordinated, as if without trying.

the more time you spent with him, the more you began to notice the little things. the way baekhyun’s gaze would linger on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the soft quirk of his lips when he caught you smiling at something, the subtle brush of his fingers against yours that left a warmth in their wake. his presence carried a kind of tenderness, a quiet thoughtfulness that seemed to grow with every passing day.

you couldn’t pinpoint when it happened exactly, but you started feeling something deeper for him. it wasn’t just about finding him attractive—though he was undeniably so—it was the way he made you feel seen and understood, as if you were standing on even ground with someone who truly got you.

for the first time since this whole engagement had been arranged, a weight lifted off your shoulders. the uncertainty that once loomed over you began to dissipate, replaced by something softer, something warm. you found yourself feeling grateful—not for the circumstances, but for him. baekhyun was like a mirror image of yourself in many ways, a male counterpart who complemented you in all the right ways.

as the weeks passed, attending events and parties together became second nature. while your appearances had always been for the sake of optics, they now felt like opportunities to simply enjoy each other’s company in a setting that didn’t demand conversation but allowed for quiet connection.

tonight was one of those nights. the air buzzed with anticipation as you and baekhyun prepared for yet another event, but for the first time, you realized you weren’t dreading it. if anything, you looked forward to it—because he’d be by your side.

the gala hall pulsed with an opulent energy—muted laughter, the murmur of refined conversation, and the melodic clinking of crystal glasses. chandeliers bathed the room in a golden glow, casting shimmering patterns onto the polished marble floors. dressed in a gown that hugged your frame like it had been stitched with you in mind, you moved through the crowd with practiced grace, your every step exuding poise even as a quiet unease coiled in your stomach.

baekhyun stood effortlessly at your side, his presence magnetic. the sharp lines of his tuxedo accentuated his lean frame, and his posture held a kind of quiet authority. his hand rested lightly on the small of your back, a touch that seemed intimate to onlookers but was purely performative. the two of you cut an impressive figure together—a vision of elegance and synergy.

to the world, you were the perfect couple, a match made in heaven. but beneath the polished facade lay the truth: you were little more than companions caught in a meticulously arranged engagement, each navigating the precarious expectations thrust upon you.

“that you, angel?”

the low, familiar voice broke through the hum of the room, warm and laced with teasing nostalgia. you froze for a moment before turning, your heart skipping as you took in the sight of sehun.

his boyish grin was as irresistible as you remembered, though time had sharpened his features into something more striking. he had grown into himself, his presence commanding yet easy, like a favorite memory brought to life.

“sehun!” your voice carried genuine surprise, a smile brightening your face as you closed the distance between you. without hesitation, you wrapped him in a warm hug, the scent of his cologne instantly familiar, a subtle reminder of carefree days long gone.

“it’s been forever,” you said, pulling back to meet his gaze, your smile lingering.

baekhyun’s hand slid from the small of your back as if retreating from a territory no longer his, though he stayed close enough to watch. his brows drew together in a faint furrow, the only outward sign of the unease rippling through him as your attention shifted entirely to sehun.

your conversation with sehun flowed effortlessly, the years apart melting away under the weight of shared memories. his laughter, warm and familiar, softened as the minutes passed, his gaze lingering on you like he was cataloging every detail he had missed. his words turned personal, each one dipping into a past neither of you had truly revisited.

“god, you still look as beautiful as ever,” sehun said, his voice dipping lower, eyes tracing your figure with an intensity that made you shy under the weight of it. you glanced down, a soft laugh escaping, your fingers brushing your necklace out of habit.

from across the room, baekhyun’s conversation with a business partner faltered. his eyes snapped to you, catching the moment between you and sehun. the way sehun looked at you—like you were something he regretted losing, something he wasn’t ready to give up on—set something off in baekhyun. a flame of something unnameable stirred low in his chest.

sehun leaned a little closer, lowering his voice as if you were the only two people in the room. “so, i hear congratulations are in order,” he said, the casual edge of his tone undermined by the way his eyes searched yours. “engaged, huh?”

your breath hitched for a moment, the question catching you off guard. “it’s… complicated,” you admitted, the truth slipping out before you could stop yourself.

you explained the nature of your engagement, how it wasn’t a grand love story but an arrangement born of convenience and obligation. you admitted you were still figuring out what it meant, how to navigate the fragile, undefined space between friendship and something more.

sehun’s expression softened, but not in the way you expected. there was an edge to it, a wistfulness laced with something more potent. his lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes betrayed a lingering ache.

“that’s a shame,” he murmured, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear. “you deserve more than complicated, sweets.”

baekhyun, now standing a few steps away, caught every word, his sharp hearing honing in on the conversation like a weapon. his jaw tightened, the tension in his posture betraying his otherwise calm demeanor.

his gaze flicked to sehun, noting the way he leaned into your space, how his eyes drank in every detail of you, his lingering touches disguised as friendly gestures. it was unmistakable. sehun wasn’t just catching up. he was still in love with you.

and the realization settled into baekhyun’s chest like a stone, heavy and inescapable.

baekhyun’s presence shifted the atmosphere in an instant as he closed the gap between you and sehun, his stride purposeful, his gaze sharp. the moment he stood beside you, it was clear he was no longer just a bystander in this conversation.

“sehun, right?” baekhyun’s voice was calm, but the underlying tension in his tone was unmistakable. his eyes, however, were anything but polite—they were intense, unreadable, and they locked onto sehun with a quiet ferocity.

sehun’s lips twitched into a thin, controlled smile, a hint of something that was more a challenge than a greeting. “baekhyun,” he acknowledged with a nod, his eyes scanning the space between you. “we were just catching up. you know, we go way back.”

“that’s obvious,” baekhyun responded smoothly, his arm slipping around your waist with such ease that it felt almost rehearsed, like a declaration of ownership wrapped in casual familiarity. his touch was possessive, though subtle enough to not draw immediate attention.

sehun’s eyes flickered downward, his gaze briefly tracing the line of baekhyun’s arm resting on you before snapping back to his face. the playful edge in his smile hardened into something sharper, more pointed. “must be nice,” he drawled, his tone carrying a layer of ice, “getting to enjoy the benefits of a relationship without actually having to earn it.”

baekhyun’s posture stiffened, his jaw tightening as his eyes darkened with a dangerous edge. “excuse me?” the words left his lips with chilling precision, his voice dipping in temperature as the air around the three of you seemed to still, the tension thickening by the second.

you placed a hand lightly on baekhyun’s chest, a subtle plea for him to keep his cool, but sehun wasn’t finished.

“i’m just saying,” sehun continued, his eyes narrowing, “some of us actually had to work for her time and affection.” his voice lowered to a soft, venomous tone, dripping with barely concealed disdain. “not everyone gets handed things on a silver platter.”

the words hung in the air, sharp and biting. baekhyun’s grip on his composure slipped just slightly, his arm falling from your waist as he took a slow, deliberate step toward sehun. his hands curled into fists, muscles coiling with restrained fury. “careful, sehun,” he warned, his voice now low, dangerous, “you’re starting to sound bitter.”

sehun didn’t back down. if anything, his smirk grew, and his words came out with a touch more venom. “and you’re starting to sound insecure.”

the air between baekhyun and sehun was thick with tension, and you could feel the shift in the atmosphere as the subtle standoff drew the attention of those nearby. murmurs rippled through the crowd, all eyes instinctively moving toward the brewing conflict. your pulse quickened, and before things could escalate further, you stepped in between them, your hands pressing against baekhyun’s broad chest to hold him back.

“stop it, both of you,” you hissed, your voice low, but every syllable sharp and filled with authority. the heat of the moment crackled around you, but you stood firm. “this is not the time or place.”

sehun let out a quiet chuckle and took a small step back, his smirk never faltering, but the challenge in his eyes remained. baekhyun’s gaze, however, stayed fixed on him, a silent storm of possessiveness swirling in his eyes, the tension between them practically vibrating like static.

“i’ll see you around, sweets,” sehun purred, his words dripping with a mixture of mockery and something deeper, before he turned and melted into the crowd.

you turned to face baekhyun, frustration and confusion flashing in your eyes. “what was that?” you demanded, your voice betraying the storm of emotions you were fighting to keep in check.

“he’s still in love with you,” baekhyun spat, his voice low, like a growl that barely contained the storm of jealousy brewing beneath the surface.

“and that gives you the right to start a scene?” you shot back, the words escaping before you could stop them. you could feel your temper rising, and the last thing you needed was a confrontation. without waiting for his response, you stormed off, needing to clear your head.

you found yourself in the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom, the cool marble under your palms grounding you as you splashed cold water onto your flushed face. the chill of it did little to calm the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. just as you exhaled, trying to steady your heartbeat, the door creaked open. through the reflection in the mirror, you saw aya, her presence as smooth as ever, leaning against the doorframe with that calculating smile of hers.

“well,” she purred, her tone heavy with amusement, “you must be something special to have two men practically fighting over you like that.”

you stiffened, not allowing her the satisfaction of seeing your discomfort. your eyes locked with hers in the mirror, steady and defiant. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but filled with a quiet edge.

god, why is she everywhere?

aya chuckled, the sound like the scrape of ice over a raw wound, her lips curving into a sly, knowing smile. “oh, come on. it’s written all over their faces. but don’t get too comfortable. baekhyun has a type, and i’m sure you’re just... temporary.”

her words sliced through the air, cold and sharp, but you refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. your spine straightened, your resolve hardening like steel. you met her gaze with unwavering confidence, every inch of you radiating defiance.

“if that’s all, i think you should leave,” you said, your voice steady, calm—giving nothing away.

for a moment, aya’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she quickly recovered, the facade of sweetness back in place. “suit yourself,” she said with a shrug, pushing herself off the counter and exiting without another word.

you stayed in front of the mirror for a long moment after, your reflection staring back at you, caught between the tension of the evening and the weight of the drama unfolding around you.

you took a deep breath, willing the rush of emotions to settle before you stepped out of the bathroom. the hallway was quiet, a welcome contrast to the storm of tension you had just left behind. as you walked, you tried to collect your thoughts, hoping the worst of the night was behind you.

but when you turned the corner, there he was. baekhyun. his hand rested on the back of his neck, his posture tense as he stared down at the floor, clearly lost in thought.

you paused in your tracks, your heart still racing with the remnants of the tension that had flared only moments before. a flicker of frustration stirred within you, but before you could decide whether to avoid him or confront him, baekhyun’s gaze lifted, catching yours across the quiet hallway. the softness in his eyes was immediate, and for a split second, the weight of everything seemed to settle between you two.

“hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice quieter than usual—almost tentative, as though he were carefully selecting each word. “i’m sorry for earlier. i didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

your throat tightened, the weight of the night pressing down on you, the sting of everything still fresh. you swallowed, pushing down the swirl of emotions threatening to rise. “it’s fine,” you replied, your voice steady but betraying nothing of the tension still coiling inside you. “but i don’t want you making a scene like that again, baekhyun. it’s… unnecessary.”

for a brief moment, his expression faltered, the usual confidence slipping as something softer flickered in his eyes—vulnerability, maybe even regret. he took a slow step closer, his hands sliding into his pockets as if to steady himself, his posture shifting in a subtle attempt to ground the brewing storm between you two.

“i know,” he murmured, the words low, almost lost in the air. “i get it. i was… out of line. i don’t know why i reacted like that, honestly. sehun was… just so obvious. and it was hard for me to watch, watching him like that with you. i didn’t want other people getting the wrong idea.”

your brow furrowed as you absorbed his words, trying to make sense of them. your mind flashed back to the confrontation with aya in the bathroom—her words cold and sharp, but you weren’t ready to bring that up. not now. not when things were already so tangled.

“what exactly are you trying to say, baekhyun?” you asked, your tone steady but pointed, trying to keep your own emotions from spilling out in the heat of the moment.

baekhyun hesitated, and for a long second, his eyes searched yours, as if looking for the right way to explain himself.

he paused, his gaze locking onto yours with a quiet intensity, as though he were searching for something—perhaps understanding, or a sign that you wouldn’t hold his outburst against him. when he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost hesitant, as if weighing each word. “i know i overreacted earlier. but if you have feelings for him—sehun—it’s okay. i’ll understand...i know we said we'd let each other choose and all.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness, the words lingering in the air before you could process them. a moment of confusion passed between you, but then you shook your head, dispelling the uncertainty. “i don’t have feelings for sehun,” you said firmly, your voice steady, though it trembled with the storm of emotions underneath. “i just didn’t want you to make a scene, especially not in front of everyone. neither of us needs that kind of attention.”

a subtle shift occurred in baekhyun’s expression, the tightness in his face easing as his gaze softened. you could almost feel the tension drain from him, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. he ran a hand through his hair, a small exhale slipping from his lips. it was a relief, so quiet and imperceptible, but you saw it—the way his shoulders relaxed and the lines around his eyes softened.

“i don’t know what came over me,” he admitted, his voice taking on a self-deprecating edge, the hint of a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “sorry if i made things uncomfortable.”

you met his gaze, a warmth blooming in your chest as you saw the sincerity in his eyes. the storm between you two was already beginning to fade, replaced by a quiet understanding. “it’s alright, baekhyun,” you replied softly, the reassurance in your voice melting the last remnants of tension. “we’re good.”

the silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was more like a quiet understanding settling over both of you. still, there was a lingering thought in your mind, a question you didn’t know how to answer: why had baekhyun reacted like that? did he… like you? you tried to push the thought away, burying it deep, knowing the kind of history baekhyun had. you couldn’t afford to think that way. you couldn’t let yourself believe that byun baekhyun might want you—more than just his fiancée in an arranged marriage. you weren’t sure you could measure up to someone like aya, and that thought alone was enough to keep your heart locked up tight.

finally, baekhyun gave a small nod, his usual confidence slipping back into place as the tension melted away from his posture. he stood a little taller now, a renewed ease settling into his movements.

“well,” he said, his voice returning to its familiar warmth, “let’s go back out there then. like nothing happened.”

you couldn’t help but smile, a small curve of your lips. without another word, the two of you turned toward the party, the noise and chatter of the crowd greeting you as if nothing had happened at all. the tension seemed to vanish in an instant, replaced by the rhythm of the night continuing on around you. and just like that, it felt like everything was normal again.

you couldn’t help but smile slightly, the tension in your chest finally easing. “yeah, let’s do that.”

side by side, you both walked back toward the party, the noise and chatter picking up as you entered the room. it felt like everything had returned to normal—at least on the surface. the evening continued, the night moving forward, and for now, so did the both of you.

getting caught in a storm on the weekend you both had plans definitely wasn’t on your bingo card. the rain came down in heavy sheets, the city skyline all but vanishing behind a blur of water streaking down the windows of your penthouse. it had only been a few days since baekhyun moved in, settling into his own bedroom across the hall—a necessary arrangement, according to both your parents. they insisted it was time, given how long your engagement had been simmering in the public eye. rumors had started to swirl, questioning how “in love” you two could really be if you weren’t even living together yet. appearances needed to be upheld, after all.

thankfully, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you both had feared. no awkward silences or strained politeness. to your mutual surprise, things flowed easily. over time, you had become good friends, maybe even closer than you’d anticipated, but not so close that moving in together felt natural. it was more of a performance, a shared responsibility to keep the façade intact.

this weekend, you had both planned to escape the confines of the penthouse for separate outings. you were supposed to spend the day shopping with your closest friends, an itinerary of boutiques and coffee stops laid out in your mind. baekhyun, on the other hand, had his golf bag prepped and ready for a day on the green with his buddies. but now, the storm had derailed everything, leaving you both stranded in a shared space with no choice but to wait it out.

“what should we do?” you ask as you scroll through the weather app on your phone, the updates saying there were numerous road closures.

“i don’t think we have a choice but to stay in, sweetheart,” baekhyun sighs, plopping on the couch. “maaaan, i really wanted to try out those new golf clubs today.”

you plop down next to him in the same exaggerated way, “and i really wanted to go shopping in the city with my girlfriends.”

for a few minutes, you both sit there in companionable quiet, the only sound the faint tapping of rain against the windows. then, baekhyun’s gaze begins to wander around your shared home. his brows lift slightly, and a mischievous glint lights up his eyes as an idea forms. “wait… didn’t you say this place has a wine cellar? what if we… raided it?”

you turn to him, your eyes sparkling like he just proposed the most brilliant plan in history. a wide grin spreads across your face. “oh my god, yes. that sounds perfect. you grab a few bottles, and i’ll order room service. pizza sound good? i like mine with pineapples.”

he watches you, momentarily captivated, a thought slipping uninvited into his mind: god, it’s like you were made to be my wife. but he quickly pushes it aside. no, he can’t say something like that. so instead, he flashes you a grin, his voice warm and teasing.

“you’re speaking my language, sweetheart.”

two and a half bottles of wine down, a half-eaten pizza forgotten on the coffee table, and what feels like the seventh round of mario kart lighting up the tv screen—you and baekhyun are a pair of drunken, giggling messes sprawled across the couch. the atmosphere is warm and easy, the kind of buzz that softens edges and makes even losing seem a little less bitter.

“you’re such an ass!” you whine, your voice cutting through the hum of the game as baekhyun nails you with a blue shell, sending your character spiraling just as you were about to secure an easy win.

his laugh is loud and shameless, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he leans back against the couch, basking in his petty victory. “don’t hate the player, baby, hate the game,” he drawls, voice dripping with smugness.

oh, if he could kiss that pout right off your lips, he absolutely would.

the race grows tense as the finish line looms closer. with baekhyun now in the lead, you resort to desperate measures. as his fingers deftly work the controller, you smirk and reach out, clapping your palm over his eyes.

“hey, what the hell! cheater!” he exclaims, laughter bubbling out of him as he blindly mashes buttons.

you don’t let go until your character crosses the finish line in first place, throwing your controller into the air in triumph.

“HA! i win!” you declare, throwing your head back in drunken glee.

baekhyun shakes his head in mock disbelief, his eyes narrowing. “oh, so you like to play dirty, huh?”

before you can respond, a couch pillow smacks you square in the face. you gasp, feigning offense as you grab the pillow and throw it back at him with all the strength your wine-dulled reflexes can muster.

the look on baekhyun’s face shifts—his expression playful but determined. “you’ve just declared war.”

what starts as a volley of thrown pillows quickly devolves into chaos. laughter fills the room as naekhyun chases you around the coffee table, both of you dodging and weaving through the small space like children. you leap over the table in a bid to escape, but baekhyun catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist as you both tumble back onto the couch in a heap of limbs.

he pins you beneath him, straddling your hips as his hands dart to your sides, fingers mercilessly tickling. your laughter comes in breathless gasps as you squirm beneath him, trying and failing to fend him off.

“who knew my pretty fiancée was such a sore loser?” he teases, finally relenting as you lie panting beneath him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

your chest heaves as you catch your breath, but the competitive glint in your eye hasn’t faded. using his momentary pause to your advantage, you push him back, flipping him onto his back with surprising agility. now it’s your turn to straddle him, your hands pressed to his chest as you grin triumphantly.

“looks like i win—again,” you say, your voice breathy but teasing.

baekhyun blinks up at you, wide-eyed and momentarily stunned. his mind races, thoughts derailing entirely at the sight of you perched above him, your face mere inches from his. if every loss ended like this, he’d let you sabotage him every time.

your gaze flickers down to his lips, plush and inviting. you can’t help but wonder how soft they’d feel against yours, how easily they’d mold to you if you just leaned in.

but then the weight of reality presses in—a whisper of boundaries threading through your hazy thoughts. quickly, you scramble off him, retreating to the floor as you lean back against the couch, putting a safe distance between you.

“boundaries,” you murmur under your breath, though you’re not sure if the word is meant for him or yourself.

baekhyun sits up slowly, watching you with an unreadable expression. he doesn’t press, but the way his gaze lingers makes your heart race all the same. the game continues to play on the tv, but neither of you reaches for your controllers. the moment hangs in the air, charged with something unspoken, something neither of you dares to name.

the tension in the room lingers like a static charge, neither of you quite meeting the other’s eyes. you clear your throat softly, fingers brushing against the switch controller as you pick it up in an effort to shift the mood. “what other game should we play?” you ask, forcing a casual tone that doesn’t quite mask the slight waver in your voice.

baekhyun sits up straighter on the couch, running a hand through his hair as he clears his throat. “i’ve got super smash bros. if you’re up for it?”

you glance at him, a skeptical frown tugging at your lips. “but i don’t know how to play.”

a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, his smile softening the sharp edges of his face. “don’t worry, i’ll teach you.”

before you can process his words, he shifts on the couch, sliding down to position himself directly behind you. his legs bracket your sides, and you feel the warmth of his knees pressing lightly against your hips. his arms come around yours, larger and steadier, as his hands settle over yours, guiding your fingers to the buttons on the controller.

the scent of his cologne envelops you, heady and intoxicating, a blend of something fresh and woodsy with just a hint of spice. it fills your senses, clouding your thoughts as his voice murmurs close to your ear. “okay, so this button’s for jumping, this one’s for attacks, and if you press these together, you’ll do a combo,” he explains, his breath brushing against your cheek with every word.

you nod mutely, trying—desperately—to focus on the screen. but it’s impossible when his presence is so overwhelming. his warmth seeps into you, his body practically melding with yours as he leans in closer to point out a move. the deep timbre of his voice wraps around you, lulling and steady, though you barely register the words.

your concentration falters when his hands shift slightly, fingers brushing yours with a lightness that sends shivers down your spine. you lean into him instinctively, unable to resist the pull of his proximity. the way his toned arms feel around you, the sheer size of him encompassing you, makes your breath hitch. his hands fit over yours with startling perfection, like they were always meant to be there.

you try to focus on the game—on the screen, the characters, the combos he’s patiently teaching you—but your attention keeps drifting back to him. the solid weight of his chest against your back, the way his head tilts to the side of yours as he gives instructions, the low hum of approval he lets out when you manage to execute a move correctly—it’s all too much and not enough all at once.

“got it?” he asks softly, his lips dangerously close to your ear, his tone as warm and inviting as the heat radiating off him.

you nod again, though you’re not sure if you’ve actually absorbed anything he’s said. all you know is that you wouldn’t mind losing this game—or maybe just playing forever—if it meant staying this close to him.

the rain patters softly against the windows, a rhythmic soundtrack to the dimly lit room. after a series of giggly super smash bros. matches and a few too many glasses of wine, you and baekhyun have settled into the couch, the comforting hum of twilight filling the cozy silence. the glow of the tv bathes you both in flickering shades of blue and gray, perfectly complementing the gentle storm outside.

your body leans into his, the warmth of his side a comforting cocoon that feels almost natural. the smell of his cologne mingles with the faint aroma of rain-soaked earth wafting in from the slightly cracked window. you drunkenly tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a hazy, soft smile.

“hey, baekhyun,” you slur, hiccup punctuating your words as you clutch a throw pillow to your chest like a lifeline. “i know our situation sucks, but i just wanna say—hiccup—i wouldn’t wanna be in an arranged marriage with anyone else but you.”

baekhyun freezes for a split second, your words hitting him like the crack of lightning in the distance. his heart stutters, heat creeping up his neck, settling high on his cheeks. he hopes the alcohol in his system will serve as a good excuse if you notice. “oh, yeah? and why’s that, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice playful but laced with something deeper, something softer.

you blink up at him, your pupils wide and glassy from the wine. “because…” another hiccup interrupts you, making him chuckle. “i don’t think anyone gets me like you do. plus… you’re like, really, really, really cute.”

the melodic sound of your laughter sends a ripple of warmth through him, and he chuckles, shaking his head as his fingers reach out to pinch your flushed cheeks. “is that right, angel? well, you’re not so bad yourself,” he teases, though his touch lingers longer than necessary, his fingertips brushing against your skin with a tenderness he can’t quite explain.

your response is a soft yawn, your eyelids fluttering heavily as the wine begins to pull you under. “even though...” you trail off, your words slurring slightly, “even though our relationship is all but loveless.”

his smile falters, the weight of your words settling heavily between you. “you think so?” he asks finally, his voice quieter now, almost lost beneath the gentle patter of rain.

when no reply comes, he turns his head to find you leaning into him, your head resting softly on his shoulder, your breathing even and steady.

you’ve fallen asleep.

for a moment, baekhyun simply sits there, his gaze fixed on the serene expression on your face. slowly, almost hesitantly, his hand rises, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. his fingertips linger, as if reluctant to break contact, and he swallows hard as he takes you in.

god, you’re breathtaking. even like this, in the quiet vulnerability of sleep, you manage to steal the air from his lungs.

the back of his hand grazes your cheek, marveling at the softness of your skin, so warm and delicate beneath his touch. he traces your features with his eyes, memorizing every curve and line, every tiny detail that makes you... you. and as he does, a thought strikes him with startling clarity:

was this your idea of ‘loveless’?

because if it was, baekhyun thinks he might be utterly fucked. he leans his head back against the couch, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his heart swells with something he can’t quite name. not yet, anyway.

the door swung open, revealing baekhyun’s mother with a warm smile that immediately reminded you of him. her eyes crinkled at the corners, just like her son’s did when he was particularly delighted. “hi there, love. to what do we owe the pleasure?”

you returned her smile with equal warmth, the kind that made you feel instantly welcomed. “i’m here to help you with the garden,” you explained as she gestured for you to step inside. “baekhyun mentioned he tries to come by when he’s free to lend a hand, but since he’s away on business, i thought i’d fill in for him.”

her smile deepened, a mix of surprise and fondness lighting up her expression. “well, aren’t you sweet?” she said, guiding you through the cozy hallway toward the backyard.

the next few hours flew by in a whirl of soil-streaked hands, shared laughter, and the satisfying rustle of newly planted magnolias settling into their beds. the air smelled of fresh earth and the faint sweetness of magnolia blooms, and the rhythmic sounds of gardening created a peaceful camaraderie between the two of you.

as you leaned back to admire your work, you wiped a streak of dirt from your cheek and grinned. “i think you and i make a pretty good team, mrs. byun,” you said, your voice light with satisfaction.

she handed you a glass of ice-cold lemonade, condensation beading down the sides. “please,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “call me ‘mom.’”

the word settled over you like a warm embrace, filling you with a mix of gratitude and quiet joy. you both sank onto the wooden bench, the same one where you and baekhyun had once come up with the terms of your arrangement. the breeze rustled the leaves around you, carrying with it a sense of peace.

unbeknownst to you, baekhyun stood at a distance, his chest still rising and falling from the turmoil that had gripped him on the car ride over. he hadn’t made his presence known, too entranced by the scene before him. the way you interacted with his mother—so effortlessly warm, so genuinely kind—made his chest ache in the most beautiful way. there you were, sitting side by side with her, your laughter weaving seamlessly with hers, the sunlight highlighting the pure happiness on your face. in that moment, his heart swelled with a clarity that caught him off guard: this was everything he had always dreamed of, yet never believed he deserved.

only an hour ago, baekhyun had stepped into the penthouse, the silence that greeted him heavier than usual. a chill ran through him as he called out your name, his voice unfamiliar in the vast, empty space. the echo bounced off the walls, but there was no answer. his heart rate quickened, unease settling in as he pulled out his phone and dialed your number. it rang once, then went straight to voicemail. his stomach twisted, and he tried again. same result. his chest tightened with frustration, and a wave of dread washed over him. where were you? why wasn’t there even a text?

he moved through the penthouse, each room colder than the last, trying to find any sign of where you might have gone. this isn’t like you, he thought, his pulse quickening. you wouldn’t just leave without saying anything.

desperation clawed at him as he headed toward the front desk, barely able to keep his voice steady. “did you see my fiancée leave earlier?” he asked, the urgency unmistakable in his tone.

the concierge nodded. “yes, sir. she mentioned she was heading to the byun estate.”

the words hit him like a punch to the gut. the byun estate. his parents’ house. no… she wouldn’t… his thoughts spiraled before he could stop them. what if she’s going there to call it off?

without another thought, he dashed out the door, the weight of his keys in his hand, his steps quick and heavy with panic. the drive felt endless, the world outside the car a blur as his mind raced with one horrifying thought after another. what if she went to his parents’ to tell them she couldn’t go through with this?

his hands tightened on the steering wheel, the grip becoming almost painful. what if she changed her mind? what if after everything—after i let my guard down—she realized this wasn’t what she wanted? he could hear your voice in his head, calm and collected, as if you were preparing for this moment all along. i can’t do this, baekhyun. this marriage, this life with you—it’s not for me.

he swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat. no. no, this can’t be happening. she’s not like that. she wouldn’t do that to me… to us. but the thought kept gnawing at him, tearing through his mind. what if she’s already with my parents, telling them everything i’ve been dreading?

the drive felt like it stretched on forever, each passing second amplifying his fear. i can’t lose her, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. i wouldn’t survive it. she can’t leave. i have to make her see that this… that i’m worth it. that we’re worth it.

his thoughts kept looping back to that moment, the drunken night just days ago, when everything felt so right. maybe she was just drunk, he thought bitterly. maybe when she sobers up, she’ll realize it was all just a mistake. maybe she’s already realized it was too much too soon. that she never wanted this—never wanted me.

he shook his head, trying to force the thoughts away, but they kept coming, relentless and cold. i should have seen it sooner. she’s too good for me. she deserves someone who isn’t so messed up. someone who doesn’t have this baggage. his grip on the wheel tightened, the tension in his body coiling like a spring. i have to stop her. i have to talk to her. if she’s really at my parents’ place, i have to go there and make her see she’s making a mistake. i’ll do anything to make her stay. anything.

baekhyun’s car screeched to a halt in front of the byun estate, the tires skimming across the gravel as he threw the door open and rushed out without a second thought. his heart pounded in his chest, still racing from the drive over, the fear that had gripped him momentarily lingering like a heavy weight in his stomach.

his eyes scanned the sprawling estate, the large mansion looming in the distance, its windows glowing softly in the fading light of the day. the manicured gardens stretched out before him, the serenity of the place almost mocking his anxiety. his footsteps quickened as he made his way toward the back of the estate, where the garden bloomed under the last remnants of sunlight. he felt a sense of urgency, like he needed to see you. needed to know you were okay.

as he turned the corner, his eyes locked onto a familiar sight—a wooden bench tucked beneath a large willow tree. the same bench you and he had shared when you first met, your laughter filling the air, the weight of your arranged marriage contract hovering over both of you like a dark cloud.

but this time, you sat beside his mother, both of you engaged in a soft conversation, the tranquility of the garden around you both at odds with the storm that had been raging inside baekhyun’s mind just moments ago. he froze for a moment, his chest loosening as relief washed over him. you were here, safe. and his mother, of all people, was with you.

you looked up just then, your eyes catching his from across the garden. your gaze softened as a faint smile touched your lips, and you greeted him warmly. “oh, hey,” you called out, the sound of your voice pulling him from his thoughts. “i remember you telling me how much you’ve wanted to help your mom with the garden but haven’t had the time. so, i decided to come out here and give her a hand…how’d you know i was here?”

baekhyun couldn’t help but smile in return, but there was a flicker of something in his expression—something that still wasn’t quite settled. “concierge,” he replied, his voice still a little shaky. “they told me you came out here.”

he didn’t say a word about the panic that had gripped him just moments ago, nor did he mention the relentless stream of worst-case scenarios that had plagued his mind. his chest still tightened with the ghost of that fear, each breath a reminder of the stress he’d barely managed to keep at bay. the drive from your shared penthouse in the city to the byun estate had always been a tense, traffic-heavy 30 minutes at best.

baekhyun made it in 15.

you tilted your head, a little guilty smile creeping up on your face. “sorry, i left my phone inside the house. i just wanted to help your mom out here in the garden,” you explained, your voice soft and casual.

baekhyun nodded slowly, his expression calm, though it did little to mask the wave of relief washing over him. you were here—here with his mom, safe and sound. not walking away from him. not trying to end the engagement. the thought eased the tension in his shoulders, his posture softening almost imperceptibly. yet, the weight of everything unsaid lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding, filling the quiet spaces between your shared smiles.

“you okay, baek?” you asked, your voice soft, but the question carried an undercurrent of something more. “y’look a little... shaken up. somethin’ happen at work?”

baekhyun hesitated, his mind whirling, torn between the urge to spill everything—the turmoil, the storm of emotions he’d battled on the drive here, the realization that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want this engagement to be the cold, transactional thing he’d always thought it would be. but the words wouldn’t come. not yet.

he forced a laugh, brushing it off as if it were nothing. “huh? oh…no. nothing,” he said, his voice light, but it was a lie, and you knew it. he could see the flicker of doubt in your eyes as you studied him, but to his relief, you didn’t press further.

before either of you could speak again, baekhyun’s mother emerged from the house, a soft smile on her face. “you two free for dinner?” she asked, her tone casual but warm, the invitation hanging in the air.

baekhyun blinked, his mind still spinning, but he quickly recovered. “sure,” he said, his voice betraying none of the tension that had been building inside him.

you echoed the same sentiment, though your voice was a little quieter, more reserved. “yeah, sure,” you agreed, not meeting his gaze as the three of you walked toward the house.

as you all made your way toward the house, baekhyun’s mind was still spinning, lost in thought. dinner passed in a quiet blur, his mother filling the space with stories of her day, her voice light and cheerful. she couldn’t stop talking about how much help you’d been in the garden, even joking that she might prefer you there from now on instead of baekhyun. the flickering candlelight on the table cast soft shadows across everyone’s faces, adding a warm, intimate glow to the scene. but baekhyun couldn’t focus on any of it. his thoughts kept drifting back to that bench, to the strange, unexpected relief that had flooded him when he saw you there, safe and sound, sitting beside his mother.

and you? you couldn’t shake the way baekhyun had looked when he first arrived, the way his eyes had scanned the garden, like he was searching for something—someone. the way he’d paused, almost frozen, when he saw you with his mother.

you swallowed the thought, pushing it down, knowing better than to entertain the idea. no, you told yourself, he doesn’t see me like that. i’m just a part of this arrangement. nothing more.

but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but wonder what baekhyun was really thinking. what had been so wrong when he arrived? and why did you feel like maybe, just maybe, the whole evening was off-kilter in a way you couldn’t quite explain?

but for now, you buried it, pushing aside the questions that were starting to form in your mind. you had your role to play, just like he had his. this arrangement wasn’t about feelings. you knew that.

the weeks leading up to the wedding flew by in a blur, each day slipping through your fingers faster than the last. things between you and baekhyun were... tense. not in an openly hostile way—no, you were still good friends, still made time for your weekly dinner dates to catch up on each other’s lives. but there was a subtle shift in the air between you, an unspoken tension that neither of you seemed ready to address.

conversations you wanted to have with him—about your feelings, your fears, and everything in between—remained locked away, tucked behind a wall of hesitation. he was so polite, so considerate, his actions speaking louder than words ever could. every day, he brought you lunch without fail, and every vase in the house seemed to overflow with fresh flowers, their petals a vibrant reminder of his quiet devotion. yet, he never explained why he did these things, and you never asked. deep down, you were too afraid of the answer, terrified that it might be nothing more than a courteous gesture—something he did out of obligation, not affection.

but what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t see—was just how deeply you were affecting byun baekhyun. to him, you weren’t just the poised, untouchable princess of the nation’s largest real estate empire. you were his undoing. he never expected you to mean so much, never imagined that he would crave your presence, your laughter, the soft cadence of your voice, the way he did now.

night after sleepless night, he found himself consumed by thoughts of you. wondering if you ever thought of him too, if you liked the flowers, if you looked forward to the lunches he brought you. he worried they might be too much, too obvious, yet couldn’t bring himself to stop. ever since the day you quite literally fell into his arms at the byun estate, you had taken root in his heart, growing deeper with every passing moment. you were all he could think about, the one constant in his mind as the wedding loomed closer, a promise of something he both feared and desperately wanted: you.

the soft hum of conversation fills the air at the rehearsal dinner, a melody of clinking glasses, polite laughter, and the occasional burst of chatter. the room is a picture of understated elegance, bathed in the golden glow of chandeliers and warmed by the aroma of fine wine. you stand at the bar, the edge of your glass cool against your fingers as you sip your drink. the warmth of the crowd surrounds you, yet it does little to ease the faint nervousness coiling in the pit of your stomach. tomorrow is the day—the culmination of everything that has led you here. still, an unshakable weight lingers at the back of your mind, refusing to be ignored.

you’re lost in thought when you feel a presence at your side. instinctively, you turn, and there she is—aya. her smile is wide, perfect, and practiced, a masterclass in effortless poise. she looks stunning, of course. her gown hugs her frame flawlessly, her hair swept into an elegant style, and her makeup is immaculate, enhancing her already striking features. she exudes the kind of beauty that commands attention, but tonight, it feels almost oppressive, as though her glow casts your own into shadow.

“hi there, mrs. byun,” she says, her voice honeyed but with an undertone you can’t quite place—sharp and deliberate, like the edge of a blade hidden beneath silk. “congratulations on tomorrow. you and baekhyun must be thrilled.”

her words are pleasant, but something about the way she says them sends a ripple of unease through you. still, you muster a polite smile, swallowing the knot forming in your throat. “thank you,” you reply, your tone carefully measured as you meet her gaze. “we’re looking forward to it.”

yet even as the words leave your lips, a tension hangs between you, unspoken and unacknowledged, but undeniable all the same.

aya’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s something unsettling about the glint in her eyes as she leans in, just enough to make the air between you feel charged. “you know,” she murmurs, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone, as if she’s about to share a closely guarded secret, “baekhyun and i... we were together for a long time.” she pauses, her gaze sliding briefly to where baekhyun stands, engrossed in conversation with a group of guests. when her eyes return to you, they’re sharper, like the edge of a blade. “he was always so devoted to his family. so when they arranged this marriage,” she continues, her words pointed, deliberate, “he didn’t have much of a choice, did he?”

your heart stumbles in your chest, confusion and unease twisting together in your stomach. the words feel wrong, their weight designed to settle under your skin and sprout doubt. you take a measured breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “i’m not sure what you’re trying to say, aya,” you respond, your voice steady but laced with a cautious edge.

aya’s lips curl into a small, almost pitying smile, the kind that feels more like a taunt than an expression of sympathy. for a brief moment, her gaze softens, feigning sincerity, as though she’s letting you in on some harsh reality. “oh, sweetie,” she says, shaking her head with a sigh that feels too practiced, her tone syrupy-sweet, “don’t you see? that’s why he ended things with me. it was never about us. it was about his family. about what they wanted. why do you think he was late the first day you two met? he was with me.”

the impact of her words hits you like a slap, leaving a sting that spreads through your chest. your breath hitches, the room closing in on you, walls seeming to press tighter with each passing second. each syllable she utters piles onto the weight of doubt she’s so expertly planting in your mind.

your thoughts race, replaying the memory of that day. baekhyun had been late, his father brushing it off as work. but now, her words weave an unsettling narrative, one that chills you to the bone. could there have been more to his tardiness? had he really been with her? the mere suggestion sends a shiver down your spine, your world tilting as her voice continues to echo, cold and unrelenting.

you struggle to keep your composure, but the unease coiled in your stomach tightens with every moment. aya’s gaze sharpens, her eyes glittering with something like triumph. she knows she’s struck a nerve, and the satisfied curl of her lips only confirms it.

"baekhyun is a good man," she says, her voice laced with honeyed malice. "but he’s always been bound by duty, by what’s expected of him. tomorrow, when you’re standing at that altar, you’ll see—he’s made his choice. but don’t forget, he’ll always be the man who follows orders."

the venom in her words cuts deep, and for a moment, your confidence wavers. you want to retort, to shut her down with a sharp reply, but your tongue feels heavy, your thoughts tangled in doubt and questions you don’t dare voice.

aya leans back, studying you like a predator admiring its prey. her smile grows, syrupy sweet and razor-sharp. "well," she drawls, feigning disinterest as she delivers her final blow, "you might be his bride, but i was his first. and i always will be."

her words linger in the air like poison, and before you can summon a response, she turns and walks away, leaving a suffocating silence in her wake.

you stand frozen, her parting shot reverberating in your mind, sinking deep into your chest. a chill creeps over you, settling into your bones. you try to shake it off, but her words cling stubbornly, wrapping around your thoughts like a shadow that refuses to dissipate.

you don’t doubt her entirely—that’s the worst part. baekhyun has always been driven by duty, just like you. both of you trapped in a web of familial expectations, navigating a path neither of you truly chose.

but lately… hasn’t something shifted between you? there’s a weight between you two now, an unspoken understanding that feels as delicate as it is undeniable. the way his touch lingers when he brushes past you, the stolen glances that speak volumes, the ease with which your lives have intertwined—it’s all there, simmering beneath the surface.

yet, for all the moments that have sparked warmth in your chest, neither of you has dared to name it. the words remain unspoken, locked away behind fear and uncertainty. you haven’t even let yourself truly think about what this could be, too afraid of what it might mean—or worse, what it might not.

then there’s aya’s conversation—sharp, sudden, and cutting through your peace like a thunderclap. her words echo in your mind, relentless and unforgiving, forcing you to question everything. baekhyun. the same baekhyun who had always been known for his flirtatious charm, a man who thrived on the thrill of the chase. you never once thought he would string you along like this—but what if he was?

the possibility coils in your stomach, tight and nauseating. surely, he wouldn’t… right? he couldn’t be the type of man to do that to you. not baekhyun. not the man who brought you lunch every day and filled your home with flowers. and yet, the doubt lingers, growing heavier with each passing second. could he?

the room feels unsteady, spinning around you as you reach out to steady yourself against the bar. your fingers tighten around the cool glass in your hand, grounding you just enough to keep from tipping over. tomorrow is your wedding day. the words sound surreal even in your own mind, a reminder of just how quickly the world feels like it’s slipping away from you.

in the quiet left after aya’s departure, you’re alone with your thoughts—raw, messy, and unraveling. everything you thought you knew, everything you believed about baekhyun, about you together, now hangs in fragile uncertainty.

the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the penthouse, a quiet contrast to the chatter and clinking glasses of the rehearsal dinner only hours ago. the tension from earlier hadn’t dissipated. instead, it seemed to have followed you home, settling like a heavy fog in the air.

you stood in the kitchen, barefoot, wrapped in the soft folds of a robe, the faint glow of the under-cabinet lights casting warm shadows across your figure. the sight of you like this—so closed off, so different from the usual warmth that radiated from you—made baekhyun’s stomach twist. something was wrong; he could feel it.

and then it hit him. the robe. not one of his sweaters, not the familiar fabric he’d come to associate with you over the past few months.

since he’d moved in, baekhyun had made a habit of leaving his sweaters scattered around the penthouse—casually draped over chairs or conveniently left on the couch. part of him hoped, no, yearned, for the day you’d pick one up and claim it as your own. the first time it happened, he’d walked into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks.

you were curled up on the couch, nestled in one of baekhyun’s oversized sweaters, and the sight alone was enough to undo him. the fabric draped over your frame like it was made for you, the sleeves hanging past your fingertips, and the hem just barely brushing the tops of your thighs. it teased him with the smallest hint of the shorts you wore underneath—so short they may as well not have existed.

baekhyun stood frozen in the doorway, his breath hitching as the image seared itself into his brain. he felt his heart lurch, his pulse racing wildly in his chest. you looked so soft, so effortless, and yet so devastatingly alluring all at once. he barely managed to mumble some excuse before disappearing into his room, the ache in his chest quickly migrating lower, leaving him throbbing and desperate for relief.

he leaned back against the closed door, his breaths shallow and uneven, as his hand slid down to press against his growing arousal. the image of you—so cozy, so unknowingly tempting in his sweater—flashed through his mind, and he groaned, his head falling back against the door.

how would your lips feel pressed against his? would they be as soft and addictive as he imagined? fuck, how would you feel around him—tight, warm, and perfect, pulling him in until he couldn’t tell where you ended and he began? would your skin be as silky as it looked, begging for his hands to map every inch?

the thought of you shivering beneath his touch sent a shiver down his own spine. would you sigh his name, barely audible, or moan it like a plea? worse still, did you ever think of him the way he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

did you lie awake at night, your hands wandering across your body, imagining it was him instead? his fingers grazing over your curves, his mouth claiming every inch of you, his name a breathless chant on your lips.

baekhyun’s hand tightened around himself at the thought, his breath hitching as he imagined you lost in your own desire, your thoughts tangled with his. were you doing it now? were you picturing him the same way he was picturing you—completely undone, raw, and desperate for something only the other could give?

his chest heaved, the intensity of it all consuming him as he gave into the fantasy, the line between what was real and imagined blurring in the haze of his need for you.

the questions spun in his head, unrelenting, as he cursed under his breath, fisting his cock as his imagination betrayed him further. the thought of your scent mixing with his, your fingers tangled in his hair, the warmth of your mouth wrapped around him—all of it came crashing down at once, pulling him over the edge far too quickly.

but it wasn’t enough. not nearly enough.

he clenched his jaw, his breathing still ragged, and let the thoughts creep back in. he closed his eyes, imagining the way you might whimper his name, the way your body might arch into his touch, the taste of your lips if he finally gave in.

and so he did it again. and again. every time, it was something different. your laughter muffled against his neck, your nails scraping down his back, the sound of his name spilling from your lips as you unraveled beneath him. each thought left him more undone than the last, and by the time the evening was over, baekhyun knew one thing for certain: he was utterly, irrevocably fucked.

and now, here you are in the kitchen. but not in one of his sweaters. the absence was glaring, a quiet confirmation of the distance that had crept between you. he hated how much it affected him, how much he craved the sight of you wrapped up in something that was his. it wasn’t just about the way you looked—it was what it represented.

fuck, you were perfect. and the thought of losing you? unbearable.

the stem of a half-full wine glass balanced delicately between your fingers. the faint glow of the under-cabinet lights cast a warm hue over you, but your expression was anything but at ease.

baekhyun watched you from the hallway, his own unease growing with every passing second. you had been distant all evening, your laughter at dinner feeling muted, your smiles strained. he had tried to brush it off, assuming it was just pre-wedding jitters, but now, seeing you like this—alone, nursing a drink with your head bowed—it was clear something was wrong.

he approached slowly, the padding of his socked feet barely making a sound against the cool floor. “what’s wrong, sweetheart?” his voice was gentle but laced with concern, breaking the silence like a fragile thread snapping.

you flinched slightly, startled by his presence, before turning to face him. “nothing,” you murmured, your gaze dropping back to the wine.

“don’t do that,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “don’t shut me out. not now. please.”

the vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten, and before you could stop yourself, the words came tumbling out. “i talked to aya earlier.”

baekhyun stilled, his brows furrowing as a pang of nervousness rippled through him. “you did? what did she say?”

you let out a bitter laugh, swirling the wine in your glass as the weight of the words hung in the air. “she said you’re still the same baekhyun—the flirt, the guy who thrives on the chase. the one who prioritizes duty over his heart. and maybe… maybe you’re just stringing me along, too.”

the silence that followed was suffocating, pressing down on baekhyun’s chest like an unbearable weight. his throat tightened as the words hung in the air, unfinished and unresolved. “and you believe her?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though even the smallest sound might shatter the fragile moment between you.

“i don’t know what to believe,” you confessed, the tremor in your voice betraying the storm of doubt crashing through you. “i feel so stupid. i should’ve known better. i should’ve—”

“stop.” his voice cracked, cutting through your self-reproach with a sharpness that made your heart ache. he took a step forward, his eyes locked onto yours, desperate to pull you back from the edge of the abyss. “don’t do this to yourself, sweetheart. don’t let her words get inside your head."

you shook your head, the tears threatening to fall now, your gaze flickering away before finally meeting his. “baekhyun, we promised each other something the first time we met. we said we’d let each other choose. no expectations. no pressure.” your voice faltered, thick with emotion as you sucked in a shaky breath. “so… i’m telling you to choose her.”

the words hit him like a fist to the chest. his world seemed to collapse in an instant, the ground beneath him cracking as his breath caught in his throat. “what?” he whispered, his voice breaking with a mixture of disbelief and pain.

“choose her, baekhyun,” you repeated, your tears falling now, each drop heavier than the last. “if she’s what you really want, if this is all just some game to you, then—”

“no.” the word came out sharp, jagged, and so forceful that it seemed to stop time itself. his eyes blazed with raw intensity as he stepped toward you, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat. “don’t say that. don’t you dare say that.”

“baekhyun—”

“i choose you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion, raw and desperate. “i’ve already chosen you. over and over again, every single day. you’re the only thing i want, the only thing i need.” his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes burning with a sincerity that you could feel deep in your bones. “i love you. not her, not anyone else. you. just you.”

the words hit you like a wave, but the storm in your chest only grew stronger. tears spilled down your cheeks as you searched his face, looking for the truth you were afraid to find, but there was still doubt, still that gnawing uncertainty eating away at you.

“baekhyun… you don’t mean that.” your voice cracked, each word tasting like bitterness and fear. “you’re probably saying all of this because of your duty to your family, your obligation to this arranged marriage. you’re just confused. you’ve probably mistaken convenience for love. you’ve spent your whole life following expectations, following orders, and now you’re just trying to convince yourself this is what you truly want.”

the weight of your words hung between you, like a wall that neither of you could break through. his grip on your face tightened, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek, but there was something in his eyes now, something flickering between hurt and frustration.

“no,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper but fierce. “no, that’s not it. i’m not doing this because of them. i’m doing this because of you, sweetheart.” his forehead rested against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fall away. “you’re not just some obligation. i’ve never felt anything like this before, and i don’t need to convince myself of anything.”

as he spoke, the tight knot of doubt inside you slowly began to unravel. his voice was steady yet raw, every word steeped in sincerity, and his eyes, filled with something so deep and vulnerable, made it harder to hold onto the skepticism. the warmth of his touch, the way he held you as if he never wanted to let go, all of it made you want to believe him. you wanted to be the one he chose, even if the world had already made that choice for him. you wanted to believe that despite everything—the pressure, the expectations—he truly saw you as more than a duty, more than a predetermined path.

but the fear still lingered in your chest. could it really be that simple? could you truly be the one he wanted, or was this just the pull of something he couldn’t escape?

“please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, the raw emotion in his words almost too much to bear. his hands gripped your shoulders, as if holding onto his last shred of hope. “choose me. like i choose you. please.”

the plea shattered your resolve, and the walls you’d so carefully constructed around your heart crumbled at the weight of his words. a choked sob escaped you, the sound raw and unfiltered, as the floodgates you’d held shut for so long finally broke open. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, pressing you against his chest like he was afraid to lose you, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“i love you, sweetheart,” he whispered again, his voice trembling with the depth of his desperation, the intensity of his longing. “ever since you fell into my arms that first day we met. only you. always you.”

the words washed over you, each one sinking into your soul, filling the empty spaces you hadn’t even realized were there. for the first time, you let yourself believe him. you let the fear, the doubt, slip away, and in that moment, all that mattered was the sincerity in his eyes, the weight of his love pressing against you like an anchor.

“i choose you,” you whispered back, your voice shaky but unwavering, the truth finally breaking free. “i love you, too, baekhyun.”

he let out a shuddering breath, his body trembling as if the very air around you both was too heavy to breathe. his grip on you tightened, desperate, as if he were afraid that if he loosened his hold for even a second, you would slip away. “thank you,” he murmured, his lips brushed against your temple, his voice a soft, shaky murmur as he whispered, “thank you.”

he holds you tighter, as if he’s afraid to let go, and when he speaks again, his face inches from yours, you feel the raw intensity of his gaze as it darts across your features, memorizing every detail. it’s like he’s drinking you in, savoring the moment, as if this is a gift he might never receive again.

“i hope you realize you’ve had me from the very first moment i saw you,” he murmurs, his voice low, thick with emotion. his eyes linger on your lips, tracing the shape of them as if they’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “i…i love you, sweetheart,” he breathes, his words barely above a whisper, but they resonate deep within you. “everything about you… i knew from the start, you were the one.” his words carry weight, a promise, an undeniable truth, as if the universe had led him straight to you, and he’d known all along that you were meant to be.

“i love you, too, baekhyun,” you whisper, your voice barely audible but full of undeniable truth. “more than i ever thought was possible, more than i knew i could feel.” each word slips from your lips like a secret you've been holding for far too long, a confession so deep, so raw, it shakes you to your very core.

his lips find yours before you can even make sense of what’s happening. the kiss starts soft, hesitant, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile between you. his lips are warm and inviting, a spark that ignites deep inside you, and for a brief moment, everything goes still.

before you can even gather your thoughts or respond, he pulls back, leaving you breathless, only to press his lips to yours once more, this time with a little more urgency. the kisses are quick, almost frantic, a series of soft, eager pecks that blur together in a whirlwind of sensation. again and again, his lips find yours, each kiss a whisper of something deeper, something you can’t quite put into words, as if he's trying to convey everything he feels with the simplest of touches.

and then again, and again, until you’re lost in the rhythm of it, consumed by the intensity of the moment. each kiss builds upon the last, leaving you dizzy with desire, yet never enough to satiate the growing hunger between you both.

baekhyun’s lips brush softly against your eyelids, a whisper of a kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. "i love you," he breathes, the words almost reverent, as if he's offering a piece of his very soul. he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, the corners of your lips, each kiss a promise, a declaration that sinks deep into your chest. "i love you, i love you, i love you." the words crack and strain, coming from a place that’s raw and vulnerable, tearing from his chest in broken, desperate gasps. it’s unmistakably baekhyun—his voice, that familiar warmth—but there’s something new in it now, something that tugs at the very core of you.

his arms—strong, urgent—wrap around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. when did they even get there? the thought flits across your mind, hazy and distant, but it’s immediately replaced by the feel of him, solid and steady against you. your body pressed so close you can feel his heartbeat syncing with yours.

his hands slide into your hair, fingers threading through it with a tenderness that feels almost too gentle for the intensity of the moment. he tilts your head back, and his lips find yours again—slow, unhurried, like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. the kiss deepens, and it feels as if time itself has slowed. neither of you wants to break it, to let the moment slip away.

you respond instinctively, your fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him even closer, your body aching to feel more of him. his lips trace a heated path down your jaw, grazing over the sensitive skin of your neck. each kiss, each touch sends a shock of electricity racing through you, like your body has been waiting, anticipating, for this exact moment. you’ve been holding your breath, just waiting for him to pull you under his spell—and now he has.

without a second thought, you stumble back onto the couch, the plush cushions sinking under your weight as baekhyun follows, a shadow of heat and intent. how the two of you made it from the kitchen to here is a blur, lost in the haze of mounting desire. it doesn’t matter. not when his hands grip your hips with a commanding firmness, steady and unyielding, like he’s anchoring you to him.

your legs settle on either side of his lap, your bodies pressed so closely that the line between you feels blurred. the hard evidence of his growing arousal presses against your clothed core, igniting a fire that spreads through every nerve. the proximity, the shared warmth, the maddening friction—it’s nearly unbearable. your skin tingles, your pulse races in your throat, and your thoughts dissolve into a heady anticipation that leaves you breathless and aching for more.

you can’t think, can’t focus on anything but the way his touch sets your body alight. the air between you both is thick with desire, and you know there’s no turning back now.

“fuck,” he starts, voice raspy and thick with want, “i’ve been dreaming about this since i first seen you in my sweater, y’know? ya look so sexy in my clothes. probably jerked off at least five times that night at the thought of you.”

a soft moan slips from your lips at his confession, and in that moment, he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his mouth pressing against yours with a hunger that matches your own. his hands trail down your back, fingers sliding over the curve of your spine, pulling you closer, closer still, as if he’s trying to merge with you completely. your heart races, the world around you fading into the background as all your senses narrow to him—his warmth, his touch, the way his body fits against yours so perfectly, so desperately. every movement, every touch ignites something deep inside you, a heat that spreads through your veins, overwhelming every thought, every rational part of you.

nothing else matters—not the day ahead, not the vows you’ll soon make—it’s just him, and the fire between you both.

“s-show me what you’ve been dreaming about, baek,” you gasp, your body trembling as your mind spins in a haze of anticipation. his words ignite something primal inside you—a raw, uncontrollable fire that mirrors the heat building in his touch. the warmth of his chest presses against yours, the erratic rhythm of his breath matching the frantic beat of your heart. you can’t fight it any longer, that longing, that deep hunger that pulses through both of you, an undeniable pull.

“are ya sure?” his voice is low, thick with desire, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt, any trace of hesitation. his gaze burns into you, as if he needs your confirmation to proceed.

you nod, your fingers grasping the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer until there’s no space left between you. “yes, baby, i’m sure.”

with that, he sweeps you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you weigh nothing. you’re helpless in his grasp, consumed by the fire building between you both since the very first time you met. his lips are desperate against yours as he carries you to his bedroom, the world outside fading into nothing. it’s just you and him, and the heat that’s been simmering, waiting to boil over.

he gently lays you down onto his silk covers, and before you can breathe, his lips are on yours again, crashing into you with a hunger that burns through you. his hands move over your body, each touch sending waves of desire crashing over you, making it feel like you’re losing control. your breath hitches as his fingertips trail over your skin, igniting a fire so deep within you, you can no longer ignore it.

baekhyun pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, the air thick with the weight of the moment. “i hope ya know, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice husky, desperate, “’m never lettin’ you go.”

you smile, your lips curling into something both playful and full of longing. “wouldn’t want ya to,” you murmur before pulling him back in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that consumes everything around you.

the air between you and baekhyun crackles with electricity as his lips find yours again. there’s no hesitation this time, just the desperate hunger of two people who have waited long enough. his kiss is tender yet demanding, a perfect rhythm that matches the frantic beat of your heart. you sink into it, melting against him as if your bodies were always meant to fit together this way. the way your lips move in sync, effortlessly, like a dance neither of you has ever learned but somehow both know.

each kiss feels like a promise, a pledge of everything that’s been building between you. he pulls you closer, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a suffocating embrace, and you respond in kind, your hands reaching to tug at his shirt. the fabric slides off his shoulders, revealing the smoothness of his skin, the muscles that flex with every movement, and you can’t help but trace your fingers over him, exploring, memorizing.

baekhyun’s hands find their way to your robe, fingers teasing the skin just above your waist before he tugs it off, his lips never leaving yours, as if this moment—the connection, the heat, the growing need—is the only thing that matters. the fabric gives way, sliding off your body with ease, and you feel exposed, vulnerable, but somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

his hands move to your back, unclasping your bra with practiced ease, and you feel the rush of cool air against your skin as it falls away. the vulnerability stirs something deep inside you, but it’s not fear—it’s desire, the kind of desire that has been simmering between you both for far too long. baekhyun’s touch is reverent as his hands slide over you, exploring the curves of your body like he’s memorizing every inch, every contour. his lips break away from yours just for a moment, and you find yourself gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice raw and filled with awe. but there’s no time to respond, because his lips are back on yours in an instant. you’re left in nothing but your underwear, and his gaze traces over your body like a hungry fire, as if he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

the tension between you both is unbearable, but you need this—need him, all of him. his hands move to your thighs, sliding your underwear off with slow, deliberate care, his eyes never leaving yours. and when your bodies are finally bare before each other, the world outside disappears completely.

baekhyun’s lips meet yours again, this time with a rawness, a desperation that matches the intensity of your own. the kiss is a perfect dance, one that neither of you leads but somehow both of you follow, giving in to the rhythm of each other’s breath, each other’s touch. his hands caress your skin, the heat between you growing with every inch, every second that passes.

his gaze locks with yours, a look of intent and hunger in his eyes, and you feel your breath hitch in your chest. his hands slide down your legs slowly, deliberately, as if savoring every inch of your skin. he kisses you once more, softly, lingering against your lips, before trailing down your jaw, your neck, and lower still, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses that leave you shivering with anticipation.

when he reaches your thighs, his hands gently part your legs, the touch so tender it sends a wave of heat through your entire body. his lips graze the skin of your inner thigh, warm and soft, and you gasp at the contrast of his gentle kiss against the intensity of the moment. he doesn’t rush; he takes his time, savoring the moment, as if he’s memorizing the feeling of you beneath him, so close, yet just out of reach.

each kiss is slow, deliberate, a soft, wet press of his lips that leaves a trail of warmth in its wake. he moves lower, kissing along the sensitive skin, each touch sparking a shudder that runs through your body. his breath is warm against your skin, mingling with the subtle scent of desire that hangs between you. baekhyun’s lips brush the sensitive area just below your hip, and you can’t help but squirm under the sensation, your body instinctively responding to the way he’s mapping you out, with gentle, teasing touches.

his kisses are adoring, like each one is a silent promise to worship you, to love you completely. his hands gently press against the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer as he plants soft, wet kisses closer to the center of you. the heat of his mouth against your skin makes your pulse quicken, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to continue. he doesn’t rush, though, drawing out each moment until you feel like you might explode with anticipation, your body aching for him to go further, to lose himself in you.

you can't help the frustration that builds inside you as baekhyun continues his teasing, his lips hovering just out of reach, his touch soft but never quite enough. your patience is wearing thin, and the heat in your body makes it hard to think clearly.

“baek…” you whisper, voice thick with need, your breath shaky as you reach out, your fingers trembling as they brush against his chest. “stop bein’ a tease.”

his eyes gleam with mischief, a slow smile spreading across his face as he leans in closer, brushing his lips against yours, just barely, and you feel your pulse spike in response.

“what’s the matter, sweetheart?” baekhyun murmurs, his voice low, teasing, the words slipping from his lips like silk, sending a shiver down your spine. he inches closer, his gaze locked on yours, and you can feel the playful tension crackling in the air. “don’t ya like the way i’m takin’ my time?”

your breath catches in your throat as you bite your lip, the words heavy with desire. “y’know i need m-more,” you pout, your voice soft but unmistakable, your eyes locking onto his with a pleading intensity. “please, baek.”

his smile widens, a flash of something deeper crossing his face—something darker, possessive—his eyes never leaving yours. there’s a glint of knowing amusement in his gaze, and his next words are laced with quiet hunger. “you want more, angel?”

you nod, your chest rising and falling rapidly, each breath shaky with the heat of longing. your body trembles beneath the weight of his gaze, every inch of you alive with need, aching for him.

baekhyun chuckles softly, the sound rich and thick with desire. “whatever my princess wants, she gets,” he murmurs, his voice a low promise that sends a wave of anticipation crashing through you. then, with deliberate slowness, he presses his lips to your core.

one taste of your sweetness, your core pressed against his lips, and baekhyun couldn't fathom pulling away. his tongue glides in long, slow strokes, savoring the tender, swollen folds of your most intimate part, the wetness from your heat pooling in the most sinful way. each lick is languid, deliberate, as if he's trying to drink you in completely, unable to resist the intoxicating flavor that’s all you.

the sensation of you on his tongue has him tugging desperately at the tent in his pants, a rhythm to match the movement of his mouth as he rubs himself with a frantic urgency.

his tastebuds graze the very edges of your trembling skin, teasing circles around the delicate, slick folds, his tongue tracing every inch of your inner thighs as they quiver beneath him, drenched with your desire.

“b-baek,” you moan, the sound so low, drawn out, each breath coming out in a throaty gasp. the sound of your pleasure stirs something wild in him, his blood rushing, pooling painfully in his aching cock. “fuck—just like that.”

your gaze locks with his, eyes glazed and heavy, and he feels like he might collapse. a groan escapes him, his body pressing into yours as he moans against your warmth. “tell me—fuck, tell me what you want, sweetheart. anything.” your body arches instinctively toward him, craving his touch as he teases between your folds, barely brushing against the sensitive bud of your clit. “everything. anything for you.”

“you,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the overwhelming pleasure from his mouth consumes you. every deliberate stroke of his tongue feels like fire, igniting every nerve, and you can already feel yourself unraveling under his touch. he devours you like a man who has known nothing but hunger, each movement more desperate than the last. “want you,” you manage between gasps, your words spilling out like a confession. “only you. only ever you.”

with that, his mouth opens wider, and you slide effortlessly over him, your thighs straddling his face. so close. so messy. his tongue moves with determined force, sliding from the very base of your pussy up to your quivering entrance.

“fuck—” you whine, your hips grinding up against his mouth as he wraps his lips around your clit, dragging his tongue in heated, syrupy circles. it's not gentle, but it's exactly what you need. “don’t—don’t stop, feels too good—”

you aren’t sure if he hears you, hell, you aren’t sure if baekhyun’s even breathing at this point.

“fuck- fuck fuck fuck— baek!” you're slurring your words, breathless and frantic, hands gripping his head as you ride out your high, soaking baekhyun's pretty, pretty face. and he lets you—fuck, he lets you. “shit, feel so good—m’cumming-”

baekhyun is relentless, his mouth and tongue moving in perfect sync, keeping you on the edge as you ride out your high. every flick, every suck draws out more, leaving you trembling in his grip. the overstimulation makes you gasp, a sharp jolt of sensitivity racing through you. you push his head away, breath ragged, as he presses one final, wet kiss against your trembling core.

your breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale as you slowly come down from your high. he crawls back up to you, his presence overwhelming, and when he leans down to kiss you again, it feels like he's stealing the very air from your lungs. the taste of you on his lips sends a shock through your body, making your pulse race. for a moment, it feels like you're on the edge again, the sensation so intense that you wonder if you might just lose yourself all over again from the sheer intimacy of the kiss.

as his lips press against yours, you feel the undeniable hardness of his desire, straining against you through the thin fabric of his underwear. the sensation sends a rush of warmth through your body, and before you can stop yourself, a surge of boldness drives you to pull back from the kiss. with a quick motion, you slide your hand down, palming him through the soft fabric of his boxer briefs, earning a soft, breathy moan from him that sends a rush of heat straight to your core. the sound is pure music to your ears.

in one swift motion, you pull the fabric down, freeing him, the air between you thick with anticipation. your gaze drinks in every inch of him, from the long, thick length of his erection to the angry, rosy tip that leaks a steady stream of precum. the slick sheen of it catches the light, making your breath hitch in your throat. he’s impossibly large, and for a moment, you feel a mixture of longing and uncertainty deep in your chest. your thighs instinctively press together, the need building within you, even as you try to steady your racing heart. so impossibly beautiful, even like this.

“you're... bigger than i imagined, baek,” you murmur, almost to yourself, but the words escape anyway.

the moment the words slip from your lips, his dark smirk reappears, twisting his features with that signature confidence you've always recognized. “you imagined me?” his voice is soft, carrying an edge of something delicate that catches you off guard. but within seconds, the tone shifts, his words turning teasing as he adds, "who knew my little fiancée was such a perv?"

it hits you like a wave, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks. for a split second, you feel a rush of shyness under his gaze. baekhyun notices the change instantly, his sharp eyes tracking every subtle shift in your demeanor, the flush of embarrassment practically radiating off you.

“aww, don't get shy on me now, princess,” he murmurs, his voice thick and husky as his fingers dig into your hips, possessiveness seeping through his touch, sending a shiver of excitement through you. “i've thought about this—how perfect you'd feel.” the weight of his words hangs in the air as he slowly pushes inside you, his length stretching you in a way that sends raw waves of pleasure coursing through your body. “imagined how tight and warm you'd be around me,” he groans, his breath heavy as he fills you completely. “and fuck, it’s better than anything i’d ever imagine.”

you gasp, struggling to adjust to his size, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. "y'feel s-so good, baek," you murmur, your body already aching for more, every inch of you burning with a craving so deep it makes your chest tighten. “w-want more. wanna be filled with you.”

he pulls out completely, a low, wicked chuckle escaping baekhyun as he hears the frustrated whine you let out in his absence, the tension building in your muscles as your legs tighten around his lean waist. his movements are slow and deliberate, teasing you as he presses his reddened, swollen tip directly against the peak of your sensitive clit, each SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! of the contact sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “just look at how drenched you are,” he murmurs, voice thick with both amusement and desire.

“baek—” your voice cracks, a honeyed, drawn-out whine slipping from your lips, shaky and desperate, making him twitch against you. the sound drives him wild, and you squirm under him, the sensation of his precum dripping in hot, sticky streams over your already-soaked folds making you burn with need. “won’t you just put it in alre—ah!”

he doesn’t make it easy, though. baekhyun is cruel in his teasing, easing just the curve of his fat tip past your gummy entrance. the stretch has your complaints dissolving into the sweetest whine he’s ever heard, a sound that seems to echo straight through him.

“hah—there we go,” he grits out, his voice a breathless mix of triumph and relief. his long fingers slide from gripping his thick shaft to grasping at your splayed-out thighs, spreading you wider for him. he makes you do all the work, though, your hips shifting desperately against the silken sheets to take him deeper. “ohhh yeah—oh my god, there we fuckin’ go—”

when your walls clamp down around him unexpectedly, it tears a raw, guttural groan from his throat. his head falls back, neck taut as baritone moans ripple from his chest. “yeah—ya were holding out on me, weren’t ya?” he breathes, a cocky grin splitting his flushed face. “didn’t know it could feel this good. feels like fuckin’ heaven, angel.”

his lips descend in a heady, heated kiss, one that’s more teeth and tongue than finesse, as he pants against your mouth, “could fuck this pretty pussy forever—” he drags his lips to your jaw, his voice dipping lower, “—could fuck a baby into ya.”

it feels like your pussy is utterly helpless, stretched wide around him, clinging desperately to every ridge and vein of his cock. each thrust presses that slight upward curve perfectly against the spongy depths of your core, spearing into your cervix like it was made to reach you. every drag and push paints slick, glossy strokes across your g-spot, wringing out wave after wave of bliss that leaves you trembling.

you were finally, finally being fucked by him.

and it’s overwhelming—maddening in the best way.

“s-shit.” his eyes lock on your utterly wrecked expression, pupils blown wide with desire. he's mesmerized for a moment, glancing down stupidly to see how perfectly you're taking him, even as he feels himself teetering on the edge. his hips falter, stilling for just a second, and you let out a desperate whine.

“baby, why’d ya stop?” you whimper, your hips instinctively shifting against his, craving the friction that was so close to undoing you. “was s’close.”

“fuck,” he groans, his voice tight and trembling, every word slipping out like a plea tangled in desperation. “fuck, fuck, fuck—hah— stop movin’ your fuckin’ hips!” the rough snarl of his words is nearly lost beneath the ragged sound of his breathing. but it’s no use. the way your body clings to him drives him over the edge, and with one final, forceful thrust, he lets go.

his release hits you in hot, thick waves, filling you as his climax pulses through him, painting your walls white with every shuddering beat of his release. the air is thick with heat and need, and yet he doesn’t stop. his movements grow harder, rougher, as if trying to wring out every last shred of pleasure. he’s relentless, his hips pounding into you with a fervor that leaves you breathless, completely at his mercy.

he's hitting that spot—that spot—over and over, and your vision whites out when the pleasure crests. your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body tightening around him as you scream his name, the sound filling the room and tangling with the slick, sinful rhythm of your bodies.

finally, he collapses against you, his sticky skin pressing into yours, the only sound left in the room your shared ragged breaths. it’s a fragile, perfect moment as he buries his face in your neck, pressing lazy, reverent kisses against your damp skin. “i love you,” he murmurs between kisses, soft and breathless, the words spilling from his lips like a mantra. “i love you, i love you.” but before you can fully catch your breath, you feel him stirring again, hardening inside you. your eyes widen in disbelief, exhaustion and arousal battling for dominance. "again, baek? so soon?"

he grins, that signature wicked grin that always sends your stomach into a dizzying flip. “can’t help it, angel. you’re irresistible,” he murmurs before pulling you into a searing kiss that leaves no room for thought, only submission as you melt into him completely.

“you do realize—” his hands slide beneath your thighs with ease, lifting and positioning your boneless legs onto his broad shoulders. the shift presses you deeper into the mattress, folding your body until it feels like you belong to him entirely. his eyes darken, gleaming with an intensity that steals your breath, his voice dipping into a low, predatory growl. “—that i was dead serious ‘bout fuckin’ a baby into ya, right, sweetheart? ima fill ya up so good, princess. want ya walkin’ down the aisle tomorrow with my cum drippin’ down your leg.”

the thought barely registers before reality sets in—you can only hope your makeup team tomorrow is prepared for the aftermath. the lack of sleep will leave dark circles under your eyes, and the blooming hickeys he’s sure to scatter across your skin will be impossible to miss. you already know rest isn’t in the cards tonight. not with the way his gaze burns into you, smoldering with promises that will keep you awake until the first light of dawn.

the soft light of morning filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. you wake slowly, the warmth of baekhyun's body pressed against yours, your limbs tangled together from the night. it’s the day of your wedding, but in this moment, nothing feels more real than the feeling of his chest rising and falling against yours. the scent of him, warm and intoxicating, fills your senses, and when he shifts slightly, his lips brush gently against yours in a soft, slow kiss.

“today’s the day, mrs. byun,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy from sleep. there’s something undeniably sexy about it, the gravel in his tone making your heart race. it takes everything in you not to give in to the desire curling through your veins, the urge to pull him closer, to turn this moment into something far more than just a kiss.

but before you can, he grins, the playful gleam in his eyes making your breath catch. “but first, breakfast,” he says, voice teasing as he lifts himself from you and vanishes beneath the covers, his movements swift and confident.

before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on your thighs, warm and soft, kissing his way up toward you in slow, deliberate movements. the sensation sends a shiver through your body, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the heat of his touch. he doesn’t rush, taking his time, savoring each kiss as if he’s drawing out every moment.

you can hardly breathe, the mix of anticipation and pleasure making your pulse quicken. your wedding day is unfolding in ways you hadn’t imagined, and it feels impossible to think of anything else but the man beside you, lost in the heat of the moment.

you glance at the clock on the wall, your voice breathless as you say, “you’ve got twenty minutes until hair and makeup get here.”

but before you can even finish your sentence, he trails a slow, deliberate lick up your wet heat, and you gasp, your body tensing at the sudden contact.

"how many times do you think you can cum for me in twenty minutes?" he asks, his voice laced with dark amusement, that wicked smile of his making your heart skip a beat. it's the kind of smile that promises nothing good—and you know it's going to be the death of you.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ aaahhh ngl this was pretty challenging for me to write :') iykyk i always portray baekhyun as a clingy lil simp from the start, but this time he wasn’t like that until much later omg. but writing this was sm fun!!!! i hope i did your request justice, nonnie babie <3 i hope u all enjoyed this one 💓💖💞💗💞💖💓💖💞💗 mwah mwah mwaaahhh love u guys !!!! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* masterlist ° ᡣ𐭩 .

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun one shot #baekhyun fic #baekhyun x reader #exo smut #exo fic #x reader #exo x reader #kpop smut #kpop fic #baekhyun #lisawrites #dividers are by @anitalenia <3

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tadc-harlequin-au · 4 months ago

Note

God your designs are so fucking good bro, I'd love to know how the design process went

lmfao, I can give some insights

Caine's design was mostly an accident. In the scrapped initial intro animatic for this AU, he had a placeholder design until I could finalize him when I went to clean up the frames

which became this, then this, then...

He literally got designed as the animatic went on, the coat on shoulders was a subconscious approach because I blame One Piece for making me a coat-on-shoulders whore. His final coat design is mostly taken from my own oc lol

up to this point, I had no idea how he would've been colored until I did this shitpost

Pomni's is weird too

She was partially inspired by both the Circus breach crack idea, Pauline from my Unexpected Reunion AU, and Mystery!Pomni because I do love women (in suits)

so if Caine was designed overtime within an animatic, Pomni's design spanned fucking AUs-

Ragatha was literally just me thinking, "hm. what if. hear me out. maid. but tattered skirt cus puppet revolution time"

this is her VERY first appearance and it hasn't changed much since leave me alone let me enjoy women being gay

Now, Kingr is actually the closest ANY design in this AU would come to it's base inspiration Lies of P, because AUGH King of Puppets my beloved

He started as a boss design from the get go then reverse engineered to look more friendly, because by the time I was designing him, I was already incorporating the idea of Pomni having to fight bosses so she could free them from these insane forms of theirs

This idea was recycled from my other AU for fnaf btw, the Eternal Eclipse AU where Freddy has to free the other Glamrocks from their "Primal forms" by fighting them WITH THE POWER OF ROCK AND ROLLLLLLLLLL (which are GIGANTIC and INSANE, sound familiar yet?)

back to the rest, I actually didn't really know what I wanted for Jax, aside from a Cheshire Cat motif from Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland because love that mofo and Jax's constant smile reminds me of him

I guess that's why his initial design was so unnecessarily cluttered and so hard to draw, because all I knew was that I wanted it to be loose, flowy, bouncy and airy, like an actual cartoon. But, still respecting the laws of reality somewhat

and then I had to switch the outfit out, because at around this time, The Patriarch's design was finalized, and I didn't want people to start to think Jax was associated with him purely due to similar palettes. So I sneakily swapped it out with an explorer's outfit (since I was thinking of Jax as the team's scout), and tried to play it off as simply a "oh it was hard to draw"

He was even supposed to have goggles in the newer design, but I scrapped it because I'm repeating the same mistake of making him too cluttered again.

Z is a pretty straightforward one, although they diverged from the initial idea. My first thought was making them a brawler of sorts because they were initially going to be Pomni's training buddy, so I looked up "Victorian brawler" and yoinked the outfit I liked.

The concept of Z being the training dummy was then recycled to be Kingr's role instead because Kingr was more of a tank character than Z, and in turn, she became the weaponsmith

Each part of Z was also inspired by something that randomly came to mind when I was trying to wrack my brain with what parts should they have:

the hook peg is from Hiccup, the other peg is from A series of Unfortunate Events, the antler is a reference to Mystery!Zooble but combined with the Minecraft Warden's palette, spiked chokers were taken from my own sona's eel tongue. The flexible arms are very much Doc ock

Gangle... She was the hardest to design that my brain is blocking me from remembering the process because it was so traumatizing /j

I just know that like Caine, her design was also mostly an accident. Iirc, she wasn't meant to have cat ears/motif in the first place, but after I finished the mask with the <:3 face I went like "fuck it we ball" and went furry mode

I think she was also meant to have painted whiskers, and the only reason why she doesn't is I forgor 💀

There was no inspo for her outfit except maybe Disney Cinderella because I was only putting what worked and discarded what didn't (not recommended)

The double ribbon arms was literally just me thinking the ends are her little fingies, and her "feet" is just me wanting to make her ribbons look like a part of her dress and looking flowy because ew feet

anyways if you can't tell, there's a pattern here: recycle ideas, take inspo, look it up or fuck it we ball when all else fails lol

the lesson here is to not follow in my footsteps because I keep stepping on shit /lh

#thanks for the ask!#tadc #tadc au #harlequin au #tadc harlequin au #the amazing digital circus #pomni #caine #ragatha #jax #gangle #zooble #kinger #i'm so eepy #i've been typing for an hour now i think lol

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lupinqs · 1 month ago

Text

CHAPTER FIVE ━━ I Get You

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.9K

❀ ━ warnings: mentions of injury, angst

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: these hoes are gay

PAIGE SITS on the sidelines, her crutches propped up against the wall, the weight of her brace a constant reminder. The gym smells like it always does—sweat, pine-scented floor cleaner, and faintly of old rubber. It’s familiar, almost comforting, but today it just feels hollow. Every bounce of the ball, every squeak of sneakers against polished wood, every shout of her teammates feels like a sharp stab. She should be out there. She should be running those plays, setting up the assists, pushing the pace, and taking those impossible shots. Instead, she’s stuck here, immobile and useless.

Her hands grip the edge of the chair, the cool metal biting into her palms as she leans forward to watch the scrimmage. Jo’s running point, calling out a play with that calm, sure voice Paige has come to admire. Jo makes it look easy, like she’s been apart of this team forever, and the rest of the girls respond to her without hesitation. It’s the kind of command Paige used to have, the kind she oddly always thought no one could replicate.

But between Jo and Nika, they’re doing fine without her.

And she thinks that’s the hardest part.

Every pass, every cut, every layup feels like a slap to Paige’s pride. The team doesn’t crumble without her; they adapt. Jo steps into the role Paige left vacant, and Paige can’t even dislike her for it because she’s so damn good at it. She runs the offense and with precision, directing the team perfectly. And, of course, it’s not like Paige wants her team to fail without her. It’s just a reminder of what she can’t do anymore—or, at least not for a long time.

Her stomach twists as she watches the scrimmage play out. She’s never been good at sitting still, and now, that’s all she can do. Sit and watch. She used to be the one lifting everyone’s spirits, the one pushing them through tough practices. Now she’s just another body on the sidelines, invisible and irrelevant. She feels like a ghost of herself, haunting the gym where she uses to thrive.

The ache in her knee is dull but persistent, a constant undercurrent to her frustration. The brace is still and cumbersome, and the crutches are a pain in the ass to deal with. Even getting to this chair had felt like a marathon. She hates every second of this—the injury, the recovery, the helplessness. It’s not just the physical pain; it’s the way it chips away at her identity. She doesn’t know who she is without basketball.

She glances down at the clipboard balanced on her lap, a half-hearted attempt to stay engaged. Geno had given it to her, suggesting she could help track plays and stats during practice, but it feels like a consolation prize. Like something he made up to keep her busy, to make her feel less like dead weight. The truth is, she doesn’t know what the hell her role is anymore. She doesn’t know how to help when she can’t be on the court.

Paige forced herself to focus back on the scrimmage, her eyes narrowing as Jo drives toward the basket. Jo’s quick, her movements sharp and meaningful, and instead of finishing with the layup, she does a no-look, dishing it out to Azzi on the perimeter, who buries a three. Paige catches Jo’s eyes as she jogs back up the court, and Jo flashes her that smile—warm, reassuring, effortless. It’s the kind of smile that should make Paige feel better, but—for once—it doesn’t.

Paige doesn’t have the energy to smile back. She knows Jo means well, knows she’s trying to be supportive, but it just makes Paige feel worse. She’s not in the mood for reassurance. She doesn’t want to be told it’s going to be okay, because it doesn’t feel like it ever will be.

Jo looks away and gets back into the flow of the game, and Paige’s gaze drops to the clipboard again. She scribbles something down, not because it matters, but because she needs something to do with her hands. She feels the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to hurt.

The gym fades into background noise as her mind races. She thinks about the months ahead, the endless rehab sessions, the games she’ll have to watch from the bench. She thinks about how everyone else will move on, how the media will forget her name, how the team will find rhythm without her. She wonders if she’ll ever get that rhythm back, if she’ll ever feel like herself again.

She thinks she will. She has enough trust in God to hope he’ll at least give her that. But, here, right now, that feels so far ahead that it’s almost just wishful at this point.

Paige closes her eyes, breathing deeply. She can’t do this here, not in front of everyone. She pushes herself up from the chair, fumbling for her crutches. The awkward motion makes her wince, but she swallows the ache and glances at Geno.

“Gotta go to the bathroom,” she says, her voice too clipped to be convincing.

Geno narrows his eyes slightly, the way he always does when he’s trying to figure someone out. He nods once, and Paige feels the weight of his gaze as she turns away. She knows he can see right through her excuse, but he doesn’t call her out on it. She doesn’t need another lecture about staying engaged.

The moment she’s out of the gym, the air feels different—quieter, cooler, easier to breathe. The hallway stretches ahead of her, lined with murals of UConn legends. Paige’s crutches thud against the floor as she hobbles forward, her eyes skimming over the faces and names that loom on the walls. Maya Moore. Breanna Stewart. Diana Tayrasi. Sue Bird.

Her chest tightens.

She’s supposed to be part of this legacy. She’s supposed to be one of the names people remember, one of the faces immortalized in paint and pride. But now? Now she’s a girl with a busted knee and a brace that feels like a goddamn prison. The thought makes her stomach twist with equal parts anxiety and frustration, a bitter cocktail she’s been choking down since the surgery.

As she continues down the hall, trying to push those thoughts out of her head, she nearly collides with someone rounding the corner.

“Paige!”

Celeste Sinclair’s voice is bright and warm, and Paige immediately regrets leaving the gym. The grin that spreads across the redhead’s face feels too familiar, too personal, like an inside joke Paige isn’t in on.

“Hey,” Paige mutters, gripping the crutches tighter.

She hasn’t seen Celeste since before her ACL tear, and that’s probably for the best. The girls Paige hooks up with always have a way of getting too attached. Paige doesn’t blame them, not really. She knows she’s charming, knows how to make people feel like they’re the only one in the world when they’re with her. But that’s all it’s ever been: a moment.

Celeste is nice. Pretty. Accomplished. Good in bed. But Paige has never wanted anything more, never even given it a thought. Relationships aren’t for her. They never have been. Basketball has always been her first and only love, the one thing she’s willing to give herself to completely. And now that’s gone—at least for now. The last thing she needs is another reminder of how much she’s failed.

“I haven’t seen you since…” Celeste trails off, gesturing vaguely toward Paige’s knee, her voice tinged with sympathy. “How’re you holding up?”

Paige forces herself to smile, though it feels more like a grimace. “I’m good. Just takin’ it one day at a time.”

Celeste beams at her like she’s just said something profound, and Paige wants to die a little inside.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Celeste replies. “I wasn’t sure—did you get my card? I gave it to Jo to pass along before your surgery. Um, but you haven’t really said anything.”

Oh, right. The card. The one Paige didn’t even read. The one that’s now resting in a hospital trash can. Paige rubs a hand over her face, buying time to piece together an answer. “Yeah—uh, yeah, I got it. Sorry I said nothin’. Thanks, though.”

Celeste’s smile widens, and her eyes soften in that way that makes Paige want to shuffle awkwardly away. Celeste always looks at her like that, like there’s something more between them, something Paige knows she’ll never be able to—or want—to give.

“You’re welcome,” Celeste says gently. “I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”

Paige more, hoping that’s the end of it, but of course, it’s not.

“Hey,” Celeste starts, her tone shifting to something more professional, “any chance you’d be up for, like, a TikTok? Just something to show the fans you’re healing. They’d love to see you.”

It’s times like these that Paige understands why Jo thought it was so funny she was fucking their media girl. Paige stares at Celeste for a long second, feeling a spark of irritation flare in her chest, because, seriously, why would she even ask that? “No, Celeste. I don’t wanna do any media.”

The words come out sharper than she intends, but she doesn’t care enough to soften them. She adjusts her grip on her crutches, already turning to leave.

“Right,” Celeste says quickly, falling into step beside her. “I get that. Totally. Just… heal up, okay? Call or text, if you want to. You know where to find me.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just gives her a brief nod before hobbling down the hall. Her pace is slow, each step a frustrating reminder of how far she is from where she wants to be. Celeste finally stops following, and Paige exhales in relief as she rounds another corner, desperate for some space, some air, anything that doesn’t feel like pressure or pity.

AFTER PRACTICE, Jo walks into the locker room with the rest of the team, the chatter and laughter bouncing off the walls as everyone unwinds from the session. She’s still buzzing with the energy of the scrimmage (and the sprints they were forced to do after because of one-too-many missed layups), but as she rounds the corner to the lockers, she notices a familiar figure slouched on the bench.

Paige had disappeared halfway through practice, and though Geno didn’t make a big deal out of it, Jo had been aware of her absence like a missing puzzle piece. Now here she is, sitting in front of their side-by-side lockers, her crutches leaning against the bench and her gaze a little unfocused. Her brace sticks out awkwardly from her bent leg, and Jo feels a pant of sympathy tighten her chest.

“Hey,” Jo says as she tosses her bag in the cubby of her locker. She sits down beside Paige, close enough to make her presence known but not enough to crowd her. “You okay?”

Paige shrugs, her lips pulling into a vague shape that might be a smile but doesn’t come close. “Yeah. ‘M fine.”

Jo doesn’t buy it. It’s not that Paige is necessarily a bad liar; she’s just too proud, too stubborn to admit when she’s not. Jo watches her for a beat, the slump of her shoulders, the way her fingers fight with the hem of her T-shirt. She knows this posture, this energy. It’s the same one she’s seen in teammates who’ve been sidelined by injures, the same one she’s seen in herself on the bad days.

But Jo doesn’t push. She knows how that can feel—suffocating, like someone prying open a door you’re not ready to unlock. Instead, she plants her hands on the bench and leans back a little, changing the subject.

“Did you see Lou get me with that spin move earlier?” Jo asks, keeping her tone light. “Literally cooked me.”

Paige lets out a small, breathy laugh, almost imperceptible, but Jo catches it. It’s the first sign of life she’s seen in her all day.

“Didn’t even look like she was trying,” Paige mutters, her voice flat but laced with the ghost of a smirk.

“Right?” Jo exclaims, throwing up her hands in mock indignation. “It’s like, leave some dignity for the rest of us, y’know?”

She continues on, telling some half-dramatic story of when Nika picked her pocket after Paige left, weaving in jokes at her own expanse. She avoids anything too basketball-heavy, keeping the focus on the absurdity of her own experiences instead of the game itself. It’s a careful balance—Jo knows that bringing up basketball might sting, but it’s also a thread that ties them together, a shared language Paige can’t—and Jo knows she doesn’t want to—escape from.

Paige hums in response now and then, her focus flickering like a weak signal. Jo can tell she’s only half-listening, her mind somewhere else entirely. Still, she keeps going, hoping that her presence, if nothing else, might pull Paige out of her head a little.

After a while, as everyone’s getting up to go, Jo shifts the conversation again, tilting her head toward Paige. “Y’know, we could hang out later—maybe watch a movie or something?”

Paige looks at her, and for a split second, Jo thinks she might say no outright. Instead, Paige forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and says, “Maybe.”

The hesitation is there, sharp and obvious, but Jo doesn’t call it out. She knows better than to push. She lets the word hang in the air for a moment before nodding, as if “maybe” is a real plan.

“Okay,” Jo says, keeping her tone casual.

Paige turns back to her hands, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the bench. Jo watches her out of the corner of her eye, thinking of something that might reach her. She’s learned that Paige is pretty independent, something that stems from her childhood if Jo had to guess, and Jo respects that. She does. But there’s a difference between being independent and shutting everyone out, and Jo worries that Paige is tipping too far into the latter.

She tries to think of something—anything—that might help. She doesn’t need to cheer Paige up, necessarily. She’s learned by now that joy isn’t always the right goal. What Paige needs isn’t sunshine and rainbows (though Jo would probably be better at giving her that). What she needs is something steadier, quieter. A reminder that she’s not alone, even if she feels like she is.

She’ll figure something out.

PAIGE LIES sprawled across her bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the string lights draped along the wall. Her eyes are fixed on her crutches, propped up against the wall next to her like a taunt she can’t escape. They stand there, silent and unmoving, mocking her with their stillness while the rest of the world seems to keep spinning without her.

Today has been one of the most frustrating days she’s had since the injury. The hours feel heavier, pressing against her chest, leaving no room to breathe. Practice was a disaster, even though she wasn’t really in it. She hates watching from the sidelines, hates feeling so useless. She’d escaped halfway through, hobbling out of the gym under the guise of needing air, only to run into Celeste, of all people. That interaction still churns in her stomach—awkward and uncomfortable, like a bruise pressed too hard.

Jo had asked her earlier if she wanted to hang out tonight. Just a movie, something simple. Paige had said “maybe” at the time. But an hour or so ago, when Jo knocked softly on her door, her voice east and unassuming as she asked if Paige wanted to make good on the plan, Paige had thrown out some half-baked excuse about being tired.

Jo didn’t push, of course. She never does. She just nodded, smiled a little, and closed the door, before Paige heard her leave the apartment—probably to go upstairs and hangout with their teammates. Her stomach twisted with guilt as she listened because Jo is Jo—kind and patient and the only person who seems to understand that Paige doesn’t want to talk about any of this. She doesn’t want to be asked how she’s doing, doesn’t want to be told it’ll get better, doesn’t want to be smothered in sympathy that feels more like pity.

But Jo’s absence now feels louder than her presence earlier. Paige stares at the ceiling, trying to will herself into a calmer state, trying to shake off the weight of the day, the week, the last month. It doesn’t work.

She sits up abruptly, shoving the blankets off her legs and swinging them over the side of the bed. Her knee twinges at the movement, the brace digging into her skin, and she lets out a frustrated huff. Her eyes land on the crutches again, the sharp lines of their edges casting long shadows in the dim light. She feels a bubbling in her chest—an anger she doesn’t know how to direct, a helplessness she doesn’t know how to contain.

Before she even realizes what she’s doing, Paige grabs one of the crutches from beside the bed and hurls it across the room. It crashes against the wall with a dull thud, sliding to the floor in a defeated heap. The sound echoes in the silence, and for a moment, she just stares at the aftermath, her chest heaving.

And then the tears come.

It’s not the first time she’s cried since the injury, but it feels different tonight—uglier, rawer, like the dam has finally burst. She curls in on herself, her hands tangling in her hair as sobs wrack her body. She doesn’t bother trying to quiet them. There’s no one here to hear her, no one to ask if she’s okay, no one to offer meaningless reassurances she doesn’t want to hear.

Except, there is.

A soft, hesitant knock at Paige’s bedroom door jolts her out of her spiraling thoughts. She freezes, her hands instinctively wiping at her face, smearing away the tears that have already begun to dry against her skin. Confusion threads through her—she thought Jo had left. She hadn’t even heard her come back.

The door creaks open, and there Jo is, standing in the sun light spilling from the hallway. Her brows are furrowed, her mouth pulled into a concerned line. She takes a step inside, her eyes scanning the room. Paige knows what she sees—the red puffiness of her face, the dampness of her cheeks, and the crutch lying discarded by the wall like a casualty of war.

“Sorry,” Paige blurts out, her voice cracking as the word tumbles out in a rush. She feels a fresh wave of shame rise up. She’s been awful to Jo, she knows that. First brushing her off earlier, and now this—disturbing her peace with her mess, her ability to just hold it together for once.

Jo doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, her eyes roving over Paige’s face, taking in every detail. Paige hates how exposed she feels, like Jo can see right through the flimsy walls she’s been trying to keep up all day. Finally, Jo sighs and steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

“Paige,” Jo says gently, “you don’t have to be sorry.”

There’s something in Jo’s voice that makes Paige want to believe her. Something so simple, yet so genuine, that it threatens to unravel the last bit of control she has. She doesn’t respond, just watches as Jo walks closer. She sets something—a bag, Paige thinks—on the floor next to the bed, but Paige doesn’t even bother to look at it. Jo sits down on the edge of the mattress, close enough that Paige can smell the faint traces of strawberry body wash on her skin. She hates that it makes her stomach do that weird fluttery thing, hates that it makes her feel anything at all.

“I’m just—” Jo pauses, and Paige looks up at her. Jo’s eyes are soft but unwavering, and the way she’s looking at Paige, like she’s trying to will her to understand something without saying it outright, makes her heart squeeze. “I’m really worried about you, P.”

The flutter in Paige’s stomach turns into something heavier, like a weight pressing down on her stomach. Jo’s worried about her. Paige knows that other people have probably been worried about her too—her parents, her teammates, her coaches—but it feels different coming from Jo. It feels too much. She shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore the way Jo’s gaze feels like it’s peeling back all her layers.

“I’m fine,” Paige says automatically. The word sound hollow even to her, like a tired script she’s forced herself to memorize.

Jo shakes her head, her expressing softening even more. “No, you’re not. And it’s okay not to be.”

Paige doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to put into words what’s been clawing at her chest since the injury.

“But you’re shutting everyone out,” Jo continues, her voice steady but not accusatory. “It’s like you won’t even look at me some days, let alone talk to me. And I get it. I do. But I just—I want you to know that I’m here. That you can talk to me, because I’ve been there.”

Paige stares at her, the words catching her slightly off guard. I’m here. It’s such a simple thing to say, but the way Jo says it, low and earnest, makes something in Paige’s chest twist. She doesn’t know what to do with that—doesn’t know how to accept it without feeling like she’s admitting defeat.

“Azzi already tried,” Paige says finally, sounding shaky. “She tore her ACL in high school, and she tried to talk to me about it. But it’s just—she still didn’t seem to get it. No one does—I don’t know—” Her voice cracks on the last few words, and she feels the tears welling up again, hot and relentless.

Jo studies her for a long moment, her head tilting slightly. “You think nobody gets you?” she asks softly.

Paige nods, the movement slow and heavy, her throat too tight to speak.

Jo nods too, as if she’s been expecting that. “It’s not true,” she says simply. “I get you. I do.”

Paige shakes her head, a weak protest already forking. “Jo—”

“No, really,” Jo interrupts, leaning forward slightly. “You feel like everyone expects you to be perfect, all the time. You feel like if you’re not the Paige Bueckers everyone knows—the player, the leader, the star—that you’re letting everyone down. Your team, your coaches, your fans, your family—yourself. You feel like you don’t even know who you are without basketball, because it’s been your whole life for as long as you can remember. And now that it’s been taken away from you, you don’t know how to exist. You feel lost, like a piece of you is missing, and you’re scared—terrified, actually—that you’ll never get it back And you’re so used to dealing with everything on your own, to putting on a brave face and pretending you’re fine, that the thought of letting anyone in feels basically impossible. Like if you let even one crack show, then the whole thing will just come crashing down.”

The words hit Paige like a tidal wave. Every sentence is a punch to the gut, not because it hurts, but because it’s true. Jo’s right—about all of it. About the fear, the pressure, the suffocating wright of it all. And the way Jo says it, calm and matter-of-fact, makes it even harder to ignore.

“Was I right?” Jo asks softly, her eyes searching Paige’s face.

Paige swallows hard, her chest tight as she stares at Jo. There’s something about the way Jo’s looking at her—steady and unwavering, like she’ll wait forever if she has to—that makes Paige feel like the room is tilting. She wants to run from it, but she also doesn’t want Jo to stop.

Finally, she nods, her voice barely a whisper. “Yeah,” she says, her throat dry. “You were.”

Paige doesn’t know how to process the way Jo’s smile hits her. It’s small, soft, and knowing, but it wraps around Paige like a hug. Jo leans a little closer, her voice warm and teasing when she says, “See? I told you.”

There’s something about those words, about the certainty in Jo’s tone. She doesn’t want to cry anymore—God, she doesn’t want to—but something about Jo makes her feel like it would be okay if she did.

Jo’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Scoot over.”

Paige blinks at her, furrowing her brows. “What?”

Jo doesn’t elaborate, just gestures for Paige to move. Paige hesitates, unsure of where this is going, but she shuffled over, making room on the bed. Jo grabs the bag she set down earlier and pulls herself up onto the bed. Paige watches as Jo leans back, settling against the wall, her shoulder brushing Paige’s, her other side cuddling into Sunny, the stuffed animal she gave Paige.

“What’s that?” the blonde asks, gesturing toward the bag with a slight sniffle. Her voice is still shaky from earlier, and she hates how small she sounds.

Jo pulls the bag into her lap, her voice lighter now, almost back to her usual bright, less-serious self. “Oh, this?” She opens it and pulls out a little tub of ice cream. “I went out and got us ice cream. I got your disgusting mint chip.”

Paige blinks, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself. That’s where Jo had gone, even after she’d bailed on their plans. Paige takes the ice cream Jo offers, along with a spoon, feeling a warmth spread through her chest that has nothing to do with the food.

Jo retrieves her own tub—still cotton candy, still gross—and balances it in her lap.

They sit in silence for a moment, and Paige lets herself watch Jo as she digs into her ice cream. There’s something so effortless about her, the way she fits into Paige’s space like she belongs here.

Jo suddenly looks around, frowning a little as if searching for something. “Where’s your—?” she starts but doesn’t finish before her eyes lick on something and she leans over Paige, reaching toward the nightstand.

It happens so quickly that all Paige can do is freeze. Jo’s arm brushes her side, her hair falls near Paige’s face, and Paige can smell her shampoo, something sweet and faintly strawberry. Paige’s heart starts racing, and she doesn’t understand why.

Jo grabs the TV remote and sits back, settling into her spot again like nothing happened. Paige feels ridiculous for how flustered she is, but she can’t help it.

Jo turns on the TV, flipping through the streaming apps before looking over at Paige. “You ready to finally start The Vampire Diaries?”

The blonde groans, leaning her head back against the wall. “No, I don’t wanna watch that.”

Jo’s been pestering her about this show for what feels like forever, insisting Paige would love it if she just gave it a chance. Paige, naturally, has resisted every time.

The younger girl shrugs, clearly unfazed. “Well, I don’t care. You’re already a little too depressed to keep watching Grey’s, sorry. It’s more fun to watch vampires eat people. Besides, the Salvatores are hot.”

Paige deadpans, “I’m gay.”

Jo doesn’t miss a beat. “Okay, Nina Dobrev’s hot.”

And, yeah, Paige supposes she can’t argue with that. She sighs, defeated, and waves a hand toward the TV. “Fine. Put it on.”

Jo grins like she’s won a battle, which she kind of has, and presses play. Paige doesn’t know what to expect, but she lets herself settle in as the first episode begins. Part of her wonders why this show is Jo’s favorite. Because, really, what is it about brooding vampires and dumbass love triangles that she loves so much? Maybe, Paige thinks, if she watches closely, she’ll learn something about Jo.

They eat their ice cream in comfortable silence as the show plays, the room filled with the sounds of dramatic dialogue and overly intense music.

After a while, Paige’s appetite fades. She sets her ice cream tub on the nightstand, not in grow her arm brushes Jo’s when she moves. Her heart stutters again, and she tries to ignore it, sliding back into her spot.

Without really thinking, she leans her head on Jo’s shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it feels huge for some reason. Paige tells herself it’s just because she’s tired, that she needs comfort after everything that’s happened today. But the way her heart races says otherwise.

“Thanks, Joey,” she murmurs quietly.

Jo shifts slightly, and then Paige feels it—the warmth of Jo’s hand as it settles over her own. Paige’s breath catches, her stomach doing something weird and unfamiliar.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Jo says softly, certain.

But Paige does want to thank her, even if she doesn’t know how to put it into words. She doesn’t know how to explain what this means—Jo showing up, staying, not letting her spiral alone. All she knows is that her hand seems to fit perfectly under Jo’s slightly smaller one, and she doesn’t want to move.

The episode plays on, but Paige isn’t really watching anymore. She’s too focused on the warmth of Jo’s shoulder against her cheek, the quiet rise and fall of her breathing, the way her hand hasn’t moved from Paige’s. And in the back of her mind, Paige knows there’s something here—something bigger than she’s ready to admit.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wcbb #wbb #uconn #ncaa wbb #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers series #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers angst #wcbb x reader #nobody gets me #wlw #lgbtq

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clownstillwritesfanfic · 2 months ago

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I Could Be A Good Mother, and I Wanna Be Your Wife - Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!Reader (REUPLOADED)

PLEASE READ: my old blog (clownwritesfanfic) was deleted when my main blog attached to it got terminated for some unknown reason. I can’t get it back so I’m reuploading everything I had saved in my notes app. Sorry for any inconvenience or disappointment, trust me, I’m devastated, but with your help I can get back to my former glory so PLEASE reblog if you like it 🙏😭

Summary: Class 1A is given the surprise task of caring for baby dolls. Everyone is randomly paired up in two’s, and it’s just your luck that you get your crush as a partner.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 6,535

Warnings/Notes: plus size friendly, poc friendly, trans women friendly (except the bonus scene at the end), reader has a quirk

Disclaimer: This fic was written originally with an OC of mine in mind, however, most people don’t read Canon x OC and while I normally wouldn’t care and wrote one anyway, I am very proud of this and want as many people to read it as possible and hopefully enjoy it. So with that in mind, I took out any describing factors and her name but I did keep some of her backstory and her quirk. If that bothers you, you can move on but I hope you read it anyway because I’m very proud of this.

Also, there is another OC of mine in this story, Usagi. She’s not integral to the plot and has no speaking roles. I had to add her to keep the class even, otherwise someone would’ve been a single parent.

———————————————————————

It was a Monday, few weeks after a majority of Class 1A got their provisional hero licenses when Midnight and Recovery Girl entered the classroom. Aizawa had taken it upon himself to snuggle up in his yellow sleeping bag and take a nap after introducing the two women, leaving them to explain what today’s class is.

The students expected Midnight, considering she had taught a few of their classes before, but there were murmurs of why the school nurse was there.

“Listen up boys and girls! We have a very special and unique class for today!” Midnight announced as she raised her hand in the air, her leather whip clutched in her hand, catching the attention of everyone (who was awake) in the room.

“Today isn’t about hero work or everyday schoolwork. This lesson is special, it will help you all later in your lives if you choose this path. The path being….PARENTHOOD!” She exclaimed while striking an enthusiastic pose.

“Wait, what?!” “Seriously?” “What do you mean?!” A series of voices could be heard throughout the classroom.

“Settle down!” Midnight got the attention of the students. “This lesson is the most important lesson anyone can learn. Whether you want to become a parent or not, learning how to care for babies and children is a vital and selfless aspect of life.”

There were a couple hushed protests among the class but Recovery Girl talked over them. “You will have one week to care for these babies.” She explained as she pulled out eleven baby dolls of various genders and races. “These dolls are specially made for things like this. These babies will cry, make noises, “sleep”, “eat”, and soil its diaper like a real baby. They’re also able to record and grade you based on how quickly you can figure out and resolve its problem. And be careful what you say around it and how you say things. They can detect anger and verbal abuse which will drastically affect your score. Now…any questions?”

A bunch of hands were instantly raised. But that didn’t matter since Bakugou stood up and slammed his hands onto his desk and yelled. “WHAT THE HELL DO WE HAVE TO RAISE SOME DUMB BABIES FOR?! THIS IS THE HERO COURSE NOT A NURSEY COURSE!”

“Sit down.” Midnight said sternly. She took over the conversation. “While this lesson isn’t exactly meant to play into your hero work, this knowledge can be beneficial out in the field. For example, in some rescue operations, it can take hours for a child to be reunited with their family. Most of the time, medics will take the child and work with police to try and reunite them with their parents, but there are times where a hero must step in and care for and comfort the child. With older children around three to five years old, they’re easier to calm down. You can talk to them and explain the situation and reassure them. But babies and younger children are harder to console in high stress situations. If you learn these things now, you won’t be stressed if you ever get caught in a situation where you’re in charge of a small child. A lot of heroes are inexperienced with child care unless they are a parent themselves or have young family members. Think of this as getting ahead of a problem before it even starts. Make sense?”

Bakugou grumbled and sat back down.

“Eeeee This is going to be fun! We get to take care of cute babies!” Ashido squealed.

“I don’t think it will be that fun, Mina. Babies are a lot of hard work and dedication.” Asui chimed in, a finger lifted up to her lips. She had two younger siblings, so she knew a thing or two about raising kids.

“Correct you are, child.” Recovery Girl said. “The infant stage is one of the toughest stages of child rearing since they can’t communicate their needs and wants with words. It’s a lot of guessing and paying attention to their body language. However, these dolls do not move so you will have to rely on audio cues to guess what the child needs.”

Midnight spoke up. “You will be split up into groups of two all determined by a random draw. Because there are more boys than girls in this class, some of you will end up in a same sex partnership. You do not have to act as a real couple so don’t freak out if you’re partnered with someone you don’t have romantic feelings for. What’s important is teamwork on taking care of the baby. You are in charge of the child for the rest of this week, including the weekend. You may chose to either take turns or to split responsibility evenly. You will be given all the supplies you will need, if you end up needing more, Recovery Girl will help you. At the end of the week you will return the dolls and we will tally up the scores and see which couple has the lowest score. The lowest score is the winner since each mistake is marked based on how severe of a mistake it was. The higher the score, the worse you did. Any more questions?”

Iida quickly raised his hand. Midnight gestured for him to speak. He stood up and loudly asked “If we are to have the baby all day for the rest of the week, what do we do with it while training? You can’t expect us to take the baby with us! That’s highly dangerous and immoral and I would expect better from such a prestigious school!”

“Yes, you’re right. We don’t expect you to keep the doll with you while training. That’s why each of you will have to figure something out. One of you will have to sit out of training unless you can find a better option. Leaving the child in your dorm and hoping for the best is not an option and neither is bringing it to training and leaving it off to the side. It’s like real life. One of the parents has to stay home and care for the child. Sometimes they will get a babysitter but that is not an option for you since the scores need to come from you and your partner only for you to pass. If you really want to train that day, you’ll either have to talk it through with your partner, or train later in the day during your free time.” Midnight answered.

“Thank you very much for clearing this up.” Iida said, bowing deeply before taking his seat.

Midnight clapped her hands. “Alright! With everything out of the way, let’s draw for your partners.” She held up a blue plastic box. “In this box is twenty-two coloured tokens. There are eleven pairs. Each one of you will reach into this box and pull out one token, when everyone has a token, you will be given time to find the person with the same colour token. They will be your partner for the rest of the week. You may not switch partners. Each colour is already assigned to a baby as well, so you don’t get to chose that either.” As she finished explaining she walked around the room letting everyone reach in and pull out a token. When the box was empty she returned to the front and allowed the class to find their partners.

Midoriya and Uraraka had the yellow tokens, Shouji and Asui had the purple tokens, Mina and Kirishima had the red tokens, Kaminari and Jirou had the orange tokens, Hagakure and Yayorozu had the light blue tokens, Sero and Mineta had the black tokens, Usagi and Tokoyami had the dark blue tokens, Todoroki and Ojiro had the pink tokens, Iida and Aoyama had the green tokens, and Satou and Kouda had the white tokens.

You looked down at your brown coloured token and looked back up to scan the room. All your classmates were already paired up and either happily talking about how it would be to raise a baby together or complaining about their partner. You could faintly hear Mineta crying about not being paired up with a girl. You look across the room at Bakugou who was still sat at his desk, glaring at his token.

Upon closer look, you could see that it was the same colour as yours. You sighed, already accepting that you’ll basically be a single parent as you can’t imagine he’d want anything to do with this. You reluctantly stood up and made your way across the classroom to him.

“Um…hey. Looks like we have the same colour. Guess we’re partners for the week.” You said, gently.

“I can fucking see that. I’m not blind, dumbass.” He retorted.

Ah, it seems he’s decided to take on the verbally abusive and absent father route already. You’ll have to do your best to make sure you get a low enough score. You’ve never taken care of a baby before. You had baby dolls as a kid but they’ve never graded you before. This was a whole new challenge and you could feel the anxiety pooling in your stomach.

“Right…well. We should talk about how we want to do this.” You started. “I think we should take turns each day. I could take it today and you take it tomorrow and repeat. I know you probably don’t want to skip a day of training so I can take it during training even on your days. There’s not much really for me to train anyway so I can afford to lose a week of it.” You let out a weak laugh.

Bakugou growled. “Do whatever you want but don’t be stupid. You can train on the days I have it. Don’t stop your training over some dumb doll.”

“But…you would be stopping yours if you-“ You get cut off by the blonde.

“I’m already the best in this whole class! Missing a few days of training isn’t going to do anything. Besides, you’re weak and you need to be at your strongest so I can beat you and prove that I’m the best in this entire school!” He yelled. You think that was a compliment albeit he put it weirdly.

“Ha…yeah…okay.” You replied. Just then the bell rang and everyone started to put their stuff away. You went over to your desk to do the same.

“Please return your tokens to the box! And before you leave, pick up your baby with the matching colour onesie and the bag of necessities. You have the rest of the day to yourselves.” Said Midnight.

You slung your bag onto your back and walked to the front of the room and dropped your token back into the box. You waited for your classmates to fizzle out a bit so you could get your baby. The dolls were all lined up in car seats. You found the one wearing a brown onesie, a girl with blonde hair. You chuckled to yourself at the resemblance to your partner.

You grabbed the handle of the car seat and went to grab the big duffel bag next to it when someone grabbed it before you. You look over to see Bakugou standing over you, glaring off to the side.

“Move it.” He gruffed out as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

You left the classroom with Bakugou trailing behind you, still scowling. You turn around and start walking backwards to face him and hold out the car seat so he could see the doll nestled inside.

“Look. She looks like you.” You giggled. He glanced down at the blonde doll and huffed.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot.” He grumbled. You rolled your eyes and turned back around and followed your classmates to the dorms.

———————————————————————

Back in the dorms, everyone was changed out of their school uniforms and gathered in the common room with their new kids. Everyone of course…except for Bakugou, who very grumpily went to his room after dropping the bag of things off at your room.

You had went through the bag and found loads of diapers, clothing, a carrier that strapped to your chest, bottles, a pacifier, and some baby toys. You weren’t exactly sure why you would need toys, considering the baby isn’t actually real, but you guessed you’d find out the reason sooner or later.

You decided to change her out of her boring brown onesie so you picked out a cute outfit from the ones provided. You undid the buckles holding the baby in the car seat (why it came in a car seat when you don’t even know how to drive a car, you will not know) and gently and carefully lifted the little girl out of the seat, making sure to support her head.

As you laid her on the ground and started to undress her, she started making cooing noises.

“Oh! Hello….you must be awake now I guess.” You spoke to the baby as she cooed in reply. “Ha…I guess you are kinda cute.” You felt as if you were talking to yourself.

When your new daughter was dressed, you decided to go to the common room since you thought everyone would be there, and right you were. As you went down the hallway you could hear the excited chatter of your classmates getting louder. When you were in sight, Mina noticed you and waved you over.

“Hey! Come over here! We’re all showing off our babies!” She excitedly exclaimed. As you walked over, Kirishima stood up from his spot beside Mina and offered the space to you. You thanked him as you sat down and readjusted your baby in your arms.

“Course! What kinda man would I be if I didn’t offer a seat to a lady with a baby!” He replied. Ever so chivalrous, he is.

“Ha! That rhymed.” Kaminari pointed out.

“Awww you got a girl? How lucky!” Mina squealed. “Kirishima and I got a boy. We named him Kenji.” You looked down at her lap where the doll was laid on its back.

“You named it?” You asked.

“Well yeah! We can’t just keep calling him “it” and “the baby”.” She explained as if it was obvious.

Iida then chimed in, his baby tucked securely in one of his arms. “Yes, I suppose it would be beneficial to name the child. This is supposed to be taken seriously and we can not leave a child unnamed!”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room as everyone talked with their partners on what they should name their baby. You looked down to the small blonde doll in your arms that let out another coo and softly smiled.

“Riki…” You thought to yourself. “I’ll call you Riki.”

———————————————————————

“Riki?” Bakugou gawked. “You gave it a name?”

Bakugou was helping with making dinner, well, it was more like he forced everyone to let him do most of it because “no one was doing it right”. You were stood out of the way but within talking distance, your newly named baby in one arm and holding a bottle up to her mouth as she “ate”.

“First off, she’s a she not an “it”. Secondly, everyone in the class named their baby. We have to take this seriously and I’m not going to call her an “it” the whole week. Besides…I thought Riki would be a good name. It means “strong”….and since she kinda looks like you, I figured you’d want your kid to be strong like you so…” You trailed off looking down at the doll in your arms. “We can change it though if you really don’t like it.”

Bakugou huffs. “No…call it-…..call her whatever you want.” He continues to cook in silence. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks. You smile softly at him. Maybe you won’t have to do this alone after all.

———————————————————————

The first day goes by smoothly. You had a bit of a learning curve with changing the diaper but you managed after help from Yayorozu. Who knew she’d be so good at something like that?

You had just settled down into bed after putting Riki to “sleep” and were scrolling on your phone. It was about 10pm, most people were still awake but you knew the person you wanted to talk to most more than likely wasn’t. He went to bed at 8:30pm every night, even on weekends.

You stared at your screen open on Bakugou’s blank private messages page. UA made an app for the students to contact each other and teachers with. It worked like a regular texting app, every class had their own group chat and you could private message each other, even students from other classes. All of them were accessible to staff if needed though.

You didn’t know if you should even bother asking him if he’s still going to take Riki tomorrow. Plus you didn’t want to wake him up. You were about to turn your phone off when you got a message from Mina. You open up her message and see a picture of Kirishima with his hair down, asleep on one of the couches in the common room with their baby on his chest. You laughed quietly to yourself and responded with a cute reaction meme. You thought they would make an interesting pair for this project.

You turned off your phone and plugged it in to charge and set it on your bedside table. You got comfortable in bed and closed your eyes. It would take you a while to fall asleep so you started to let your mind wander. You realized that tomorrow Bakugou will miss out on training if he takes the baby. He already told you earlier today in class not to worry about it and to focus on your own training…but you genuinely couldn’t think on how training would benefit you.

Your quirk has always been more of a supporting quirk rather than one that could do well in a fight one on one. Your quirk is called Cheer, by speaking words of encouragement to someone, you can make your target stronger both physically and emotionally. The reverse also works, if you berate someone it makes them weaker. You can use it on more than one person but its effects get weaker the more people you use it in at once. There’s also a major weakness to your quirk. Anytime you berate someone, you gain confidence, but when you encourage someone, it takes away your confidence. Because of this you feel inferior to everyone else in your class. Even Mineta has a more useful quirk in combat than you do. You’re basically forced to sit on the sidelines and watch people fight. It helps in rescue operations but you still wished you could fight like everyone else. You only managed to get into the hero course because you racked up enough rescue points and got lucky with a three pointer.

It’s ironic that someone with an inferiority complex got paired up with someone with a superiority complex. It’s even more ironic that you managed to gain a crush on the bastard too.

———————————————————————

It was now Tuesday morning and Bakugou was sat in his room staring at the doll in its car seat.

You had entered the common room already dressed in your uniform with Riki in the seat. Hero training was the first class that morning so anyone who was in charge of their baby that day stayed behind and would join everyone later for normal classes. Your tie wasn’t done yet and your skirt was pulled up a little too high, showing off more thigh than you usually do, as you were in a rush since Riki wouldn’t stop crying and you couldn’t figure out why. She had finally managed to settle down when you gave her the included pacifier.

You weren’t much of a breakfast eater, especially if you were training in the morning so you didn’t go to the kitchen. You noticed Bakugou sat on one of the couches drinking something out of a mug. He was wearing a simple black tank top and sweatpants.

“Oh Bakugou! There you are. I’m guessing since you’re not in uniform you’re still taking Riki today.” You sat the car seat on the floor near him and started doing your tie. You knew you were just going to have to take it off soon to change into your hero costume but you still wanted to show up looking like you at least tried. “So I figured out that she makes different noises depending on what she wants. Most of the time she just wants to be held or given a pacifier so she makes really whiny sounds that almost sound like a cry. She was just crying now and the only thing that made her stop was the pacifier so she might start up again soon. I made a smaller bag of her things like diapers and her bottle just so you’re not carrying a big ass duffel bag later.” You were almost rivalling Midoriya with how fast you were muttering, you didn’t mean to but you didn’t want to be late and you kept fumbling with your tie.

As you were smoothing out your front, you felt a pair of hands grab the bottom of your skirt and start to pull down. You shrieked and smacked the hands away and turned around to see (to the best of your ability) Hagakure behind you.

“Oh my god, Hagakure! I had no idea who was behind me! You scared me thinking it was Mineta pulling at my skirt.” You laughed and grabbed onto the girls arms.

“Ahhh I’m sorry! I just noticed your skirt was up a lot higher than normal and you almost showed off a bit too much.” The invisible girl explained as you fixed your skirt. “Come on, we got to get to class!”

“Right, yeah, I’m coming.” You responded as Hagakure held your hand. You quickly turned to Bakugou again who once again had a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “You sure you’ll be okay? I know it’s only for an hour before I see you again so if you want to pawn her off to me next class then that’s fine.”

“Tch…how incompetent do you think I am? Of course I can take care of some stupid doll for an hour!” He barked back at you.

You felt Hagakure pulling you towards the front door. “Ok, well…see you later then!” You said as you finally took off with your friend, leaving Bakugou and a few others scattered around the common room.

“Heyyy, Bakugou! You get stuck on babysitting duty too?” Kaminari taunted, his baby settled in a carrier strapped to his chest.

Bakugou growled. “It’s not babysitting when it’s your own kid you idiot. And you look dumb with that thing on.” He stood up and grabbed the handle of the car seat and went off to his room. He could hear Kaminari complaining as he left.

Now here he was, in his room having a staring match with a doll. He wasn’t sure what to do for an hour, let along with a baby. He glanced up at some math homework left on his desk and decided to finish it up so he was ahead of everyone else in class. Ten minutes past when his concentration was interrupted by whining. He looked over at the car seat that was faced away from him at this angle and sighed. He reached over and turned it around.

“Jesus. She didn’t mention how fucking annoying it would be.” He muttered to himself as he undid the straps and lifted the baby out. “What the hell is your problem, huh?” He asked, surprisingly not as loud as he normally would. He thought maybe she was hungry and remembered you said something about a small bag with her bottle in it. He looked around but couldn’t find it. In fact, he didn’t remember seeing any bag with the baby anyway. He grumbled as he picked up his phone and opened up the messaging app and sent you a private message.

In the locker rooms you heard your phone buzz and decided to look at it as you were changing. You saw a notification from Bakugou and quickly opened it.

Katsuki Bakugou: hey, dumbass. she’s crying but I can’t find that bag you were talking about

You winced as you remembered that you never actually grabbed the bag in your rush to get downstairs.

You: damn I must have forgotten it in my room, sorry. feel free to go and grab it. my room code is 6678 it should be on my desk. you know which floor I’m on right?

Bakugou scoffed.

Katsuki Bakugou: yes I know. I’m not stupid.

You: never said you were <3 have fun lol

You didn’t realize you sent the heart. It was muscle memory from texting with your friends, but it sent Bakugou for a loop.

After he had quickly made his way to the second floor and grabbed the bag you mentioned, he went back to his room where he had left the baby on his bed. Her whining had turned into crying by now.

“Alright, Alright! I got your damn stuff.” Bakugou sat on the floor and settled the doll into his arm. He removed the pacifier and held the bottle up to its mouth. He felt relieved when the crying stopped. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He thought out loud.

He rested his back on his bed and started to drift off in to thought. Why did you send that heart? Did you mean to do it? Was it a reflex? Were you making fun of him? No…that couldn’t be right. You were one of the few that took him seriously. Sure you teased him sometimes, but not as much as the others. He thought back to a time where he accidentally overheard something he probably shouldn’t have that still made his heart feel weird.

———————————————————————

Bakugou was making his way to the kitchen to get something to drink. He could hear you and the other girls of Class 1A giggling and talking about random shit.

He was going to ignore the group when something made him stop in his tracks right before he would be seen.

“Sooo, who do you like?” Mina asked with a teasing voice.

“Who, me?” You asked as Mina nodded. All eyes were on you and you felt yourself blush. “Well…I guess I kinda have a thing for Bakugou…” You answered shyly, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“What?!” “Wait, Bakugou?!” “Really?” The girls cried out in unison.

“Why is that so shocking? You guys seriously don’t think he’s at least a little bit attractive?” You inquired.

Bakugou stiffened at the confession and he felt his heartbeat speed up. You…had a crush on him? Someone actually was interested in him romantically?

“You don’t think all his yelling and name calling is a turn off?” Uraraka asked.

“Hm…not really. Sure he says some mean stuff but…he doesn’t actually mean it.” You reasoned.

“I don’t know…he always seems to be serious about it. I mean he doesn’t even know our names.” Jirou huffed.

“Yes he does!” You laughed. “He’s not stupid. He’s a lot smarter than I think any of you give him credit for.”

“He is in the top our class academic wise as well as hero wise.” Yayorozu chimes in.

“Exactly. Have none of you realized that a lot of his plans actually work? He may seem like he’s rushing into things but it’s obvious he’s put clear thought into his plans. And the fact that he can make one up that quickly is impressive. He’s also more compassionate than you’d think.” You said, leaning back on the couch.

“Well I think you’re wrong with that.” Tsu replied.

“Because you guys are only seeing the surface level. You’re not reading in between the lines. For example, remember when we just moved into the dorms, the talk Mr. Aizawa had with us outside?” They nodded. “When Mr. Aizawa left, you could feel the uncomfortable tension in the class at being reminded of what happened. Bakugou grabbed Kaminari and made him go all dumb because he knew it would make everyone laugh. And it did! The tension was gone instantly! Bakugou really does care, he just doesn’t know how to show it like other people. And remember the school festival? He totally could’ve refused to play the drums but he did it anyway! That’s what I like about him. He’s not a cold hearted asshole, he just wants you to think he is. I use to be like that too.” You trailed off, looking ashamed.

“Wait. YOU were an asshole?” Mina prodded.

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah, back when I first got my quirk. I realized that putting other people down gave me a lot of confidence. I went on a power trip and started bullying everyone. I started to realize that the “friends” that I did have were only my “friends” so they could escape my words. Made me feel like shit when I found out. Now I hate using my quirk like that unless absolutely necessary. But yeah….I see through Bakugou’s walls and I guess it just made me fall for him.” You changed the subject.

“Wow…you’re whipped for him, aren’t you?” Mina teased.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don’t tell him that. I don’t need him on my ass about it.” You blushed and waved her off.

“You sure you don’t want him on your ass?” Mina teased again.

“OH SHUT UP!” You threw a pillow at her as the girls laughed.

———————————————————————

Bakugou had zoned out at that memory. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, it’s your fault for being so damn loud and talking about him in the first place! It’s been a few weeks since that and it’s still fresh in his mind. Did he like you back? He wasn’t sure. On one hand he was pissed at how you managed to figure him out so easily, but on the other hand…he felt comforted knowing someone understood him and didn’t make fun of him for it. He will admit that you weren’t that bad looking or as stupid as everyone else. He did wish you would see the potential you had with your quirk, though. He could feel his cheeks start to heat up and he scoffed, snapping out of his thoughts and looking back down at the doll in his arms.

“I guess…she’s not so bad…” He said softly to Riki.

———————————————————————

Training had finished and you and the rest of your classmates were on your way to your next class.

Upon entering the classroom you noticed everyone that had skipped out on training standing around, babies either in their arms, strapped to their chest, or in the car seat. Bakugou was sat in his spot, chin in his hand looking out the window to his left.

You had a few minutes to spare before class started so you walked up to your partner. “Hey! How’d it go? Was she fussy?” You asked as you squatted down to see Riki, who was in her car seat on the floor next to his desk.

“Tch, no. I told you I know what I’m doing.” He grumbled.

“I’m pretty sure none of us know what we’re doing but it’s nice to know that you’re taking this seriously.” You replied standing back up.

“HA? YOU THINK I WOULD’NT? YOU THINK I’M NOT CAPABLE OF THIS?” He yelled as he let off small explosions.

“Course not. I did kinda think you would end up leaving most of this to me though. But it’s nice that you’re playing along.” You smiled sincerely.

Iida started ushering everyone to their assigned seats as class was about to begin. You patted Bakugou on his shoulder and left to your seat near the back of the class.

He clenched his fists and glared down at his desk, he could feel his heartbeat going wild again.

———————————————————————

A few days had passed and it was now Friday night and you were at your wits end.

It was your day with Riki and she had been crying non stop for thirty minutes now. You were pacing your room with her in your arms as the doll “sobbed” louder and louder with each agonizing minute. You had no idea what was wrong; you tried feeding her, changing her diaper, holding her, giving her a pacifier, you even tried the toys that they provided but nothing was working!

You were close to tears yourself as you thought about how this would affect your grade and how pissed Bakugou would be if you ruined it. The whole week went by just fine, it never took this long for her to settle down. You had gotten lucky with the baby you were given as she was so easy to care for, but this moment right now was proving difficult.

Feeling like you had no other choice, you left your room with your still wailing daughter in your arms and quickly made your way up to Bakugou’s room.

You knocked on his door while still trying to shush Riki. When Bakugou opened the door, he looked like he had just woken up which made you start ranting.

“Bakugou, fuck, I’m so sorry to bother you right now I know you like to go to bed early but she’s been crying like this for like thirty minutes now and I’ve tried everything but she just won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do and I’m probably gonna make us fail cause I can’t get her to fucking stop and I just…” You panted “…can you please help me?” You nearly whined.

“Give her to me.” Bakugou reached out as you transferred her into his arms. He walked away with the crying doll, leaving his door open. You decided that was an invitation so you slipped into his room and gently closed the door behind you. You watched as Bakugou gently bounced the doll in his arms and started petting its blonde head.

You stared in awe as Riki started to finally quiet down until she was silent. You breathed out a sigh of relief but tears started to quickly gather in your eyes. Bakugou had opened his balcony door and stepped outside to the cool air. You ran a hand through your messy hair and followed them out onto the balcony. The not quite freezing but cold air nipping at your skin. It felt nice as you didn’t even notice that you were sweating from the stress. You bent over and rested your elbows on the railing and placed your head in your hands, trying to hold back your tears.

“She had been crying for so long…I tried everything but nothing worked. But the minute you have her she finally stops. What the hell am I doing wrong? Why am I such a bad mother?” You muttered more to yourself but your partner could hear you anyways.

A minute of silence went by as you tried to not let your tears fall when Bakugou finally spoke up, surprising gently. “Don’t beat yourself up over something you barely know how to handle.”

He leaned his back against the railing next to you. His arm barely grazing against your shoulder, his way of trying to comfort you. You sniffed and dropped your arms from your head and looked forward out into the dark courtyard.

“She’s been perfect this entire week. Nothing I couldn’t handle…but she just had to act like a total brat tonight.” You sighed.

“Hey.” Bakugou said sternly. “Don’t call our daughter a brat…that’s my line.”

You laughed at that, completely overlooking the fact that you called the doll “our daughter”. Bakugou softly smiled at your laugh, also not realizing exactly what he said. But her certainly felt his heart flutter as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

Bakugou decided he’d take her for the rest of the night so you could get some sleep. It was his turn tomorrow anyway.

———————————————————————

Monday had come by quickly, thus, ending the project. Recovery Girl had collected the dolls, and you couldn’t lie, you felt a little sad at the fact that you won’t have Riki around anymore. The class waited in anticipation to see whose grade was the lowest.

When the results came in, Midnight stood at the front of the class once again and started to call out the grades.

“Coming in last place is Sero and Mineta with a sixty-five.” Mineta started screaming about how unfair it was and that they got a faulty doll. “Todoroki and Ojiro have a score of thirty-four, Kaminari and Jirou have a thirty, Iida and Aoyama a twenty-seven, Usagi and Tokoyami with twenty-five, Shouji and Asui with twenty-one, Hagakure and Yayorozu with twenty, Mina and Kirishima with an eighteen, Satou and Kouda with a fifteen, Bakugou and (Y/N) with a score of eight, and lastly, coming in first place with the best score is Midoriya and Uraraka with a three! Good work everyone. I hope you all learned some valuable lessons from this experience!” Midnight finished.

There were high fives and cheers coming from the people with the lower scores and talks of what they could’ve done better from the people with higher marks.

You stared down at your desk smiling. Eight wasn’t so bad, right? Much better than what Mineta got.

At the front of the class, Bakugou has turned his head back to look at you and softly smiled to himself when he saw your relief. He turned back around to look down at his hands as he played with his pen. He could hear Midoriya and Uraraka being congratulated for the lowest score and for once in his life….he didn’t mind coming in second.

———————————————————————

Bonus:

Twelve years later, Bakugou had established himself as the number two hero with his own agency. You worked along side him as his number one sidekick. You both grew a lot since high school and grew closer from the experience. You managed to get rid of your inferiority complex and become more comfortable with using your quirk against villains rather than standing by and cheering on the heroes. You can also hold your own in combat pretty well now and you have a slew of support items to help.

But instead of kicking ass on the street you were laid out on a hospital bed after the longest 7 hours of your life. You were sweaty and exhausted, but it was all worth it as you looked at the little bundle in your arms. A head of blonde hair was peaking out of the blanket.

“What should we name her?” You whispered to the person leaning over you with their hand on your head and looking lovingly down at the newborn.

“…..Riki.” Bakugou said softly.

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