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chrollogy · 3 months ago

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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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monamipencil · 20 days ago

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when strawberries bloom (teaser)

“When the strawberries bloom, I'll be by your side.”

premise. mingyu is content with his life in the capitol as a victor, although he's haunted by the images of the nightmare he lived ten years ago. but all that comes to an abrupt stop, when he discovers that you—his greatest demise had been alive all this time.

content. hunger games! au, victor! mingyu, f! reader, pseudo major character death, hints of trauma, mingyu is a blink away from alcohol poisoning, capitol shenanigans, this is set in the period of second rebellion, slow burn, jealousy, both of them are in denial, fight scenes, friends to lovers (?) to strangers to rivals (it's one sided??) to ???, angst, fluff, crack, smut. heavy fruit metaphor, yearning, pining, happy ending.

warnings. will be added in the fic post.

word count. tba.

release date. around december end.

author’s note. this is a part of the ‘catching fire’ collab hosted by @vitaminkyeom. i'm very excited to write this and share with you guys. though i'm barely done with fic, i thought i'd put out as a teaser to fuel me to finish it. and pls feel free to come to my inbox and scream abt this fic <33 send an ask to be added to the taglist !

Mingyu controls a deep sigh as yet another woman presses herself against him in the name of dancing. He fakes his gaze, pretending to be enamoured. The strong perfume she’d used makes his head throb, and irritate his nostrils.

The woman whispers sultrily, “I can’t believe I got you all to myself tonight.”

She flutters her eyelashes at him, her hands playing with the tie of his masquerade mask. It only covers the lower half of his face—a skillfully sculpted skull mask, lined with golden chains. He avoids looking at her, eyes darting all over the room to find something to fixate on.

His lack of attention doesn’t seem to faze the woman as she only steps in closer. He bites his tongue and focuses on the details of the mansion. Gold painting lines the ivory walls that are basked in the dim lights of the party now. Grand, maroon curtains hangs by the arched windows, slightly swaying as the wind flows in.

Awe turns into confusion which is replaced by disappointment when his eyes land on a glowing liquor fountain. But if he’s really honest, he’s a bit intrigued and his tongue feels dry, aching for the bitter taste of alcohol on it.

Another shift of his eyes lands on a familiar lady, adorned in a black gown and dancing with an old man. He recognizes you as the lady from the balcony though your face is now obscured with a masquerade mask. Relief floods through his system, if he had to catch another glance at your face, his heart would stop beating once and for all.

But as Mingyu had discovered long ago, things never really go the way he wishes them to. You turn your head, catching his gaze. Heat floods his cheeks and all the oxygen trickles out his lungs. He sucks in a sharp breath as you maintain eye contact. He doesn’t realise that he had stopped dancing till the woman whines. The sound prickles his skin, sending a shot of annoyance through him.

All the voices around Mingyu drown out, turning into a mere buzz. A vine wraps around his heart, its thorns puncturing the gentle muscle. He watches as you shift your attention. Your beautiful lips curving into a smile, reacting to whatever the man had said. Your body leaning towards the old gamemaker, drawing attention to your cleavage. Rage courses through his veins along with another feeling. Jealousy.

The feeling is foreign to him and he can’t even deduce why he’s jealous. Or, he knows why he’s jealous but even that mere idea seems incredulous. Still envy coils in his gut, rattling its tail at him and mocking him. Your eyes land on him again, and his heart skips a beat.

Just then, the song switches, carrying a seductive note. Soon, the woman is whisked away and not even a second later, you end up in his arms. His hands skate down your silk gown to the small of your back and he pulls you flush against him. The proximity makes your breath hitch and you place your arm on his shoulders, swaying to the notes. Your breaths mingle together, body heat diffusing into one.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system or maybe you look too much like her, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care. With a sudden craving of intimacy, he holds you tight against him and the other intertwines with your left hand as you both sway to the flowing music.

Any rational thought is chucked out his mind. The more he looks into your eyes, the more you look like her. In contrast to his prior wish, he wants your mask gone now. It obscures most of your face, cutting off near your right cheekbone to expose your right eye.

He brushes stray hair aside. His soft, manicured nail beds caress the exposed skin off your face. You tighten your hold on him, doe eyes staring up at him with something he can’t pinpoint. His heartbeat quickens, a strange nostalgia permeates the air. Mingyu swears that this has happened before, a sense of deja vu fills his veins.

Before he could comprehend his own actions, he undoes your mask. The sultry note tunes out into nothingness and the world seems to have stopped spinning. The mask hits the ground with a clank that gets muffled in the shock of the revelation.

And there stands Kim Mingyu with his long lost lover and best friend who’s supposedly dead.

You mirror his expression, horror staining your face as you shuffle to retrieve your mask. All while he stands still, going over the millions of possibilities. Why and how are you alive? Or is this a sick joke that someone is trying to play on him?

You try to slip away from him, but he catches your hand, stopping you in your tracks. His grip tightens when you try to pull your hand away. His fingers brush over a bump on your skin, drawing attention to it. His eyes land on a scar that runs from the palm of your left hand to your wrist.

Just then, you free yourself from his grip and escape into the bustling crowd of the party, leaving him alone. Though the mansion is filled with hundreds of citizens, an impermeable bubble seems to surround him—as if no one had witnessed what had occurred. It makes Mingyu question whether you’re real or if he made you up, like a mad man.

send an ask to be added to the taglist !

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radfemsiren · 2 months ago

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Remembering my Afghani American best friend from my islamic elementary and middle school whose dad would get drunk every night and beat the shit out of her mother. She begged and begged for sleepovers because strangers in the house would make him leave, and I never told my parents about the situation (I lied and said she had no father or brothers) because I loved spending time at her house and staying up the whole night doing all the things we weren’t allowed to do that was “haram”… watching rated r movies, playing horror computer games, dancing to music videos on YouTube, cat walking in heels and makeup, scaring ourselves with creepypastas.

I remember we had a million stupid ass discussions about who the purple guy from five nights at Freddies was, or what a slenderman proxy meant, or if there were illuminati signs in Katy Perry music videos, or if emo drawings of Jeff the killer were hot. We’d whisper fight if Beyoncé or Lana del Rey was a better singer, or if teen wolf or maze runner had cuter boys. She was team Beyoncé and teen wolf.

We had to constantly be separated in school for talking, and we hated the creepy janitor and would throw wads of wet paper towel on the bathroom ceiling for him to clean up later. We got into so much trouble together, and would always smirk at each other in detention when we got yelled at. We’d shoplift lipsticks from the mall, and throw away expensive Quran transliterations from school, and sneak into the teachers break room and steal handfuls of ice and throw them on the imam/principal’s desk when he was gone to ruin his paperwork.

I moved away like I always had to do with my constantly migrating family and we lost touch. The last time I saw her in person was when we were still kids at her brothers wedding. I was laughing while I tried to ask her why the bride kept changing into different brightly colored dresses throughout the night. She wasn’t listening, and she burst into tears and cried about how her brother was just like her father and did every horrible thing he did. I held her and squeezed her so tight I thought her bones would break.

I recently tried to reconnect with her again but she’s already married, pregnant, and has abandoned social media and texting because it’s “haram.” Trying to talk to her was like speaking to a stranger… she had no interest in any of the things we would spend hours playing with before. “Islam is important to me now, I’m a new woman. We were messed up kids, it’s time to grow up.” She told me to never contact her again and hung up the phone.

Sometimes I feel like I failed her, and sometimes I understand that I was a girl trying to survive too.

One day I’ll save money to travel back there and talk to her in person. I’ll snap her out of it. We’ll spend all night up together again doing every terrible thing our teachers and parents and religious leaders warned us against, and laughing the whole way through it. We’ll get kicked out of bars and get into trouble and snicker our way through it all, knowing we’ve already won. I still have her dirty, worn, my littlest pet shop horse she gave me when we first met. I hold it in my hands when I see news of the what’s happening to the women of Afghanistan, and I feel like I’ve failed her again. That I’ll forever be stuck an immature child and her a miserable adult, both of us doomed, unable to be saved from our fates in the end.

#radfemsirensart

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dead-boys-club · 2 months ago

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† what do you want? : the fatui.

❥ scenario: answering a simple question. ❥ no triggers ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ taglist: @mimis-happiest-day

"what do you want from me?" the words slip out, trembling in the cold. your voice is barely louder than a whisper, as if the weight of the question itself could shatter the silence around you. they stare back—each gaze colder or hotter, more calculating or more devouring than the last. whatever their answers, you know the fatui don’t give anything freely.

❥ arlecchino.

her gaze remained sharp as you stared at her, cutting through you like glass. "what do i want?" she repeated, almost mocking, but there's a softness - she thought over your words. "everything," she finally says, her hand reaching to trace over your jaw with the tip of her nails. "your loyalty, your strength, your heart. and, only if you're strong enough, your soul." her words are both a demand and devotion, the only way she would deliver them.

❥ dottore.

he chuckles, the sound low and unhinged. "what do i want?" he purrs in amusement. he takes your hand to hold it open, his thumb rested against your pulse. "to see what makes you tick, of course. to pull you apart, piece by piece - and then, perhaps, if you're good.." he trails off for a moment, his smile mischievous. "i'll put you back together, better than you ever were."

❥ childe.

he grins, a mischievous glint to his eyes. "what do i want? hm.." he echoes, moving closer, voice playful but laced with a surprising depth. "i want everything you've got - every laugh, every secret, every scar." his hand finds yours, fingers threading between your own. :i want to fight beside you, protect you, and maybe.. just maybe, find another reason to stop fighting."

❥ pantalone.

his smile is knowing as it forms, eyes shining with something dark and calculating. "ah, my dear, you know very well what i want." he steps closer, fingers finding your cheek, his gaze holding a weight you couldn't name. "loyalty, love - such beautiful words." his hand lingers a beat too long. "but, what i truly want.. is to see how far you'll go for me."

❥ signora.

her gaze is fierce as always, though tempered by something gentler, softer than her usual demeanor. "what do i want?' her voice is barely audible and she pauses, eyeing you closely. "i want to burn the world down, watch it all turn to ash - with you by my side. you're the one spark i never expected," she adds, a rare smile gracing her lips. ❥ scaramouche.

he scoffs, arms crossing in his usual fashion, acting like your question offends him. his tone is biting and mocking as he repeats your question. "i want you to stop asking stupid questions." but he looks away, letting out a deep sigh, annoyed. "you should know by now.. i wouldn't keep you around if i didn't think you were important."

❥ columbina.

her smile is serene, unsettling so, as if she sees far beyond you. "what do i want?" she hums, thinking over the answers as her fingers dance against your shoulder. "i want you, my songbird. to sing for me, to shatter the silence. most of all.." her voice drops, becoming a whisper, like the next words were a deep secret. "i want you to stay, forever bound to this melody only we share."

❥ pierro.

his gaze is unreadable, maybe solemn if you had to choose a word, carrying to weight of worlds and beyond. he repeats your words, considering the question. "loyalty. strength. is that not what everyone wants? but with you.." his hand fingers your shoulder, steadying and grounding you both. "i want.. peace." there's a softness to his voice, a rare vulnerability that you deemed impossible. "stay besides me, and let us carve a legacy that will never be forgotten."

❥ sandrone.

her head tilts, observing you with an eerie, calculating gaze. she always looked at you as if you were a piece of her collection. she repeats the words, quiet and detached, in a way that made you feel like she didn't quite understand. "i want you to stay perfectly still, exactly as you are. i've never been fond of things that break too easily." he fingers lift, tracing your cheek bone, a possessive, chilling touch. "for you, i might make an exception. just don't disappoint me."

❥ capitano.

the weight of his voice is that of unspoken promises, deep and quiet, a rumble if nothing else. "what do i want?' he asks, his tone unwavering but something told you he'd never been asked such a thing. "i want you to stand beside me without fear. to see the world through your eyes and remember what it is i'm fighting for." a gloved hand rested on your upper arm, a surprisingly gentle touch. "and, you're willing, i want you.. as my reason to keep moving forward."

#fatui harbingers #the fatui x reader #the fatui #arlecchino x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #pantalone x reader #la signora x reader #scaramouche x reader #columbina x reader #pierro x reader #sandrone x reader #capitano x reader

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ectospacecadet · 5 months ago

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Sam's toxic relationship with Danny.

Alright, so, in Double Cross My Heart we all know Sam gets a new crush and Danny becomes jealous. But, after watching this episode for the umpteenth time, I really don't think he was jealous, he was just being overprotective as always (13).

Moving on, there was something about Gregor I noticed from the get-go and why I think Sam just fell for him on-sight, anyone want to take a guess?

Well, let's see, he's tan, wearing black and white, has white hair, and green eyes (he takes his sunglasses off at the end of the episode). Any of these attributes sound, I dunno, familiar?

Do I think this was intentional? Yes, but not from his end, he had no idea Sam has a crush on Phantom, and yes I mean Phantom. Why?

This is when Sam's crush on Danny actually started, this moment here. No not earlier in the episode when they're holding hands, she and Danny do blush but it's because they're in an awkward situation, not because 'oh no I'm touching my crush's hands'. Sam doesn't show any actual interest in Danny in any episode prior to this, sure she and Danny are dancing together at the freshman dance (parental bonding) but there's no romance underlying the scene, it's just two friends dancing platonically, Danny even says he wish he took her just because she wanted to go.

Do I think Sam even knows she has a crush on Phantom and not Danny? No, she's 14, she wouldn't understand that. Why do I think that? Well it's just the way she treats Danny as Danny and not as Phantom, when Danny does regular teenage boy stuff she gets all angry and annoyed by him and Tucker, but when it comes to the ghost stuff she's not as bad about it. I get she's trying to get him to be more mature etc, but he's 14 xD let him be 14.

Then there's Memory Blank, remember how she just straight up gets called out for her causing issues with Danny and just not apologising for any of it? She apologises for the fight, not for what she's done, and Danny just rolls over. It's insane. "Welcome to my world, remember? We should make the menu recyclo-vegetarian! We should let the gorilla out! We should sell all of your dad’s stuff at a garage sale!" "Anything else you want to blame me for? The ice age? Puberty?" "Sam, both monsters knew your name. Either there’s another Sam involved in ghost fighting-- or it’s you." "How about a “thank you”, huh?"

She never actually apologises for any of that tbh, even in this episode she had a go at Danny for beating up the possessed cow balloon and not for haunting the Truck Dealership place. Y'know, he does mature superhero things and she's like "yeah but my agenda", Sam has a tendency to only be mad at Danny for abusing his ghost powers if it doesn't give her perks.

Killer Garage Sale: Danny gains popularity, Sam is ugh. Splitting Images (the NEXT episode): Danny (who's possessed and Tucker even states Danny's acting weird) gains popularity, Sam ignores Tucker's observation and jumps on Danny's popularity to save the frogs.

I feel like the two finally getting together was only because of Elmer's initial plan, but in-universe they only got together because every other character insisted on it. Sam only has the Class Ring because Valerie dumped him and the only reason it has her name in it is because of Jack, Danny never actually gave it to her.

Alright, gonna jump all the way to Frightmare now because I think, even subconsciously, Danny just doesn't have any real feelings for Sam. Why?

Because this happens. In order to wake up from Frightmare's dream helmet things, you need to have a shock in their dream, or basically a nightmare. So Danny's dream was basically perfect up until Danny was confronted with what he thinks is what he wants, yet he wakes up in distress over it. Then there's Sam's dream, which is identical, but Sam wouldn't have woken up from the kiss, it took this to snap her out of it.

Which feels... Kind of telling to me. Sam's perfect dream was happening and she would have remained asleep, but Danny's exact same dream was happening and he woke up. Our subconciouses are basically our thoughts and feelings in their purest form, the way how you feel about something will be very apparent in an instant.

Ok, last episode I'm gonna talk about it, ugh, Phantom Planet. I know, I know, the writing in this episode was so messed up, but the one thing it did get consistent was Sam's character in this. I'm just going to take her last line in the show, which also happens to be the last line in the show, period. "Why not? Cool statue. Personally I would have made it out of recycled materials but, you know, that's just me." Honey, your boyfriend just saved the entire planet and you're going to take the time to complain about his statue??? Like... C'mon Sam... Anyway, yeah, there's a lot more I could say about this btw, but I think I'm done here. Personally, I think if Paulina and Danny wound up together I don't think it'd be as toxic as one with Sam's currently is. "But she only loves Phantom", yeah, but also she's never mean to Danny on her own, she's only mean to him in front of her friends and to Sam to piss her off. She always singles Danny out from his 'loser friends'. Weird huh? ((Just know I'm not saying I ship Paulina with Danny, just that she's actually not as bad as people think she is to him, she's a lot less mean to him than Sam is tbh, you can probably guess who I think is the better person for Danny xD)).

So yeah, I feel like after some time Danny's relationship with Sam would dwindle and eventually end, they'd still be friends, but just that.

I'll end it there.

EDIT: I also forgot about this.

Danny spies on Sam with Gregor because he’s worried Gregor’s with the GIW and doesn’t want Sam to get hurt, Sam gets mad at him for spying on her whilst on a date.

But when both Sam and Tucker spy on him and Valerie because they’re worried Valerie might waste him as Danny Phantom (Sam also has some very blatant jealousy spikes) everything is ok???

I don’t think Danny gets upset that Sam and Gregor kiss because he’s jealous either, I think it’s because either: A) he’s realising he might be wrong, B) he’s worried that if he’s right Sam’ll be heartbroken. If he was jealous he wouldn’t have been suddenly ok with Gregor after stopping the GIW from attacking him, he even apologised to Sam for the spying, Sam and Tucker never did ouo

When Danny goes on to say there’s many reasons to want to date Sam, again, only Sam blushes here, Danny just plays it off and doesn’t blush at all. He was just being a good friend and making her feel better, not saying he would date her. He’s 14, he doesn’t know you can platonically call someone pretty.

Let’s not forget Danny’s feelings for Valerie haven’t gone anywhere yet, the episode (double cross your heart) literally starts like this.

#danny phantom #character analysis #sam manson #danny fenton

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itstheghostofmypast · 6 months ago

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Awake - (Hyung Line)

separate members Ateez x (F)Reader

Summary: You went to sleep after a HUGE (not really) fight, only, when you went to sleep you were alone, not in the comforting arms of your lover.

Genre: Hurt + Comfort

Rating: PG-17

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4.2k

Est.Read Time: 21 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

Maknae Line: Here

A/N: A special thank you to my one and only @edenesth , for helping me out with this- I swear for the life in me Yeosang still confuses me and Hwa seems to sweet to argue with (yeah i know that aint true) .I'll be updating my requests soon and uploading the next chapter of meow soon, too!

Kim Hongjoong

Waking up next to Hongjoong was as rare as going to bed with him. Considering he'd come to bed at an ungodly hour, unlike you, and leave at an ungodly hour, waking up way before you did- in theory, however, the man barely slept four hours. Then there were times when he'd choose to stay at the studio or the dorm. So often, you'd receive a text about his location and that was it- and for so long it was okay- until it wasn't.

There's no real reason or premise behind how it started, but all she remembers is that he had come home in the middle of the night, and ironically she had been watching a film at the time. Now, the reaction could've been sweet, could've been filled with love, but the words had left her sooner than she could stop them,

"You know, you should really take care of yourself too."

That was all it took for him to stare at her blankly before turning around and slamming the door shut behind him, leaving her wincing in regret on the couch, the same very couch she had cried on, lying across its expanse, trying to get in touch with him through text or call, only for her tears to dry up and eyes to close, falling asleep on the couch.

What you did not expect was to wake up in your bed, on your back blinking up at the ceiling, shades of golden seeping through the cracks of the curtains, illuminating the dancing specs across the room. With a heavy sigh you turned your head to glance at the usual empty side when you were greeted by an unusual sight. The same blonde man you had cried your heart out for last night was laying there, knocked out cold, lips slightly parted, hands folded on his belly as he lay on his back- Hongjoong was one weird dude. With a sigh you turn to lay on your side, staring at him, taking in his tired features, the dark circles under his eyes, his chapped lips, the way his brows were slightly furrowed. God, you definitely loved an idiot.

Taking a few more minutes, you thought to yourself, before letting out a sigh, at least he was home now, at least he was resting. With that in mind, you slowly pushed yourself up, sitting up and rubbing your face, trying to erase the remnant traces of sleep. You were about to slip out of bed when something tugged at your shirt, causing you to turn to lock eyes with your sleepy love, his gaze filled with some form of remorse and guilt.

“Don't…go.” his hoarse voice rasped across the silent room, her shoulder slumped at the fatigue in his tone, before shaking her head and moving closer to him, letting him pull her closer, enough for her to rest her head against his shoulder, a hand placed on his heart, appreciating the steady beat- his own rhythm for her.

“I’m sorry…”

“You should be.” she mumbled, turning to bury her face in the crook of his neck, feeling him draw her closer, the arm around her waist tightening, as if he were afraid that she’d disappear. Not a word was exchanged after that, her lips would often gently graze against his warm skin, curling into a small smile when she’d hear him let out a sigh, her leg now hooked around his, basically tangled around him. He never pushed her away or told her to stop, even when her hand slipped into his shirt, fingers tracing his warm skin, trying to feel him against her, as if she were trying to become one with him. He may not prefer skinship or let anyone else touch him, but she was the exception, she held the key to his heart, to his soul, giving her the free access of a more compliant and vulnerable Hongjoong, who was no longer a captain, but a boy who loved music, and she was but his muse, his inspiration, the rhythm his heart would dance to.

Park Seonghwa

Did she mean to forget it? No. Did she forget it? Yes. Was she sorry about it? Yes. But was she going to accept his berating and taunting? Not at all. She knew he was tired and exhausted, she knew being an idol wasn’t easy, it was a job accompanied with constant stress and fatigue- you knew what you were getting yourself into, but so did he. He knew you were a full eight to six job, a busy job, a hectic job, and that wasn’t accompanied with a driver or a manager or any other kind of comfort, no you had no one to lean on when it came to someone messing up and expecting you to clean up after them.

So, is it your fault that you came home all tired and exhausted to the bone, only to flop down on the couch, next to your boyfriend- who by the way did not even bother greeting you- and expect him to show you some compassion? Apparently, it was. Your head lay on the backrest of the couch, the TV acting like a white noise as your turned your head, eyes drowsy and tired to look at the magnificent being fate had paired you up with, someone so loving and caring, so endearing and tender, so pretty and-

“Did you vacuum today?”

“What?” sitting up properly she looked at the not so loving man, god, how could someone so pretty be so weird sometimes- oh shit. Shaking your head you cleared your throat, “Well umm…I know…I told you I’d do it today since I had to go later to work but I…kinda forgot? Plus you did clean yesterday so the house is pretty clean?” trailing off you averted your gaze, trying not to meet eyes with the man who looked borderline distraught and disappointed.

“Tch…this is why your mom got mad at you last week.” he mumbled and stood up, walking away, perhaps to the kitchen to get the stupid vacuum cleaner- no, he did not just bring that up! You sat there, too stunned to react, what may have seemed like a minute was perhaps more, especially when you felt something nudge at your feet, causing you to look up wide eyed at the source of hurt, staring up at him with blurry eyes.

Crying?

His eyes widened at the realisation, she had not been sitting there all stubborn while he was vacuuming, no, she was sitting there, crying, too shocked to even notice she was crying- the hell did he just do? He felt his fingers twitch, tongue poking out to lick his lower lip, an apology and more at the tip of his tongue, but before he could say anything, you were gone, the bedroom door slamming shut causing him to jerk back into his senses, running after you, trying to open the door, only to find it locked.

“Angel? Open- I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” he called out, all anger and dominance, instantly flushed out of his being, wanting nothing more than to cradle her in his embrace, trying to hold onto her crumbling pieces. He mentally cursed himself, knowing damn well how your mother’s visit last week ended poorly, an evening that was going great, until his future mother in law found out that he did most of the cleaning, which led you to receive an earful about the duties of a true, good wife.

You don’t remember much of what happened after, you had showered, cried during the shower, changed into something comfortable and snuggled into bed, ignoring the persistent knocking and apologies that flooded the room. Were you being childish? No. You could’ve talked it out with him, but you really didn’t want to and you really didn’t care enough right now to morph an understanding mood.

What you didn’t understand was why you weren’t able to move- oh. Trying to pry his arms off you, you huffed out frustrated and still upset, only for him to mumble something in your hair, pulling you closer as his grip tightened on you, pushing his leg between yours, tangling you in his long limbs. His hair fell of his face, the tips of his silky locks caressing your forehead, tickling your skin.

“Let go.” you mumbled only to hear him whine, about to ask him to ‘get lost’ until you heard a sniffle, followed by a broken, “I-I’m s-sorry.” Honestly, a part of you didn’t want to give in, but when you heard the way he whined, calling out your name like you were a million miles away, your heart clenched at the tone, hand gently squeezing one of the two that were tightly clamped around you.

“Hwa…” you sighed, leaning back a bit, feeling his lips press against your neck, ghosting up to your ear, whispering unending apologies, before squeezing you closer.

“Its…not fine but…please don’t…say that again.” she sighed, closing her eyes at the feeling of his soothing touches, letting his plump lips press against the shell of her ear before he flipped them over, with him hovering above her, keeping himself steady with his forearms pressing into the pillow on either sides of her head, staring down at her with puffy eyes and a pink nose, “I won’t…I’m sorry.”

You smiled up at him, placing a hand on his cheek, adoring the way he instantly nuzzled against it, before slowly bringing him down to meet your lips.

“Then make up for it.”

Jeong Yunho

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT!

Your blood ran cold, staring at what you had just done, oh my god, it was all over now, you were doomed- you had the worst luck known to man! You were also probably the dumbest person to exist- oh my god. The sound of the controller being placed on the table had you freeze up, but it was the loud exhale that had you flinching like a small kitten, ever so slowly turning your head to the source, trailing your eyes off the floor to lock with an unreadable pair.

“Babe.”

“Yes…Yuyu?” meekly responding, your grip tightened on the mop, trying not to run away, knowing that would only upset him even more. Okay, granted, he had told her as soon as he had come home that he was not in a great mood, the new choreography was a bit tricky and everyone was taking a bit longer than usual to pick it up, and that had led the dancer to embrace this sour mood. Even when she was smothering his cheek with kisses, clinging onto him, he had only sighed, turning to meet her lovey-dovey eyes with his tired ones, giving her a small smile before bumping his forehead with hers, “I’m gonna blow off some steam, yeah?” That had meant he’d be gaming the stress away, and she was supposed to act like a good little kitten and not play around. Lord knows why she thought of cleaning in the first place, perhaps because she was bored and needed a distraction- oh god.

He blinked at you, trying to control his expressions, though his hard stare had you shaking in your boots, slowly standing up he walked closer, and you took a step back, enough for your back to press against the wall next to the TV. Yunho had never hurt you, and he probably never was going to, but what he was doing now was uncharacteristic, exactly how angry was he? How upset was he for him to do what he had done? How angry and frustrated was he for him to say those words? For him to pull away with a glint in his eyes, watching you slowly grip your shirts, trying to control the frantic beating of your heart that was pushing the tears that were fighting to stay within your waterline.

He didn't even stop her when she slid down the wall, pulling her knees closer to her chest, his cold, harsh, brazen words slicing deep and bloody. He stared down at you for a moment before slowly moving away, his absence only hit you once you heard the soft click of the main door. It was moments later that you stood up, wiping your eyes you walked back into your shared bedroom, the scene replaying in your mind on loop;

He pressed his forehead against hers, not the way he would do so romantically, no, this was different, he was being mean, he wanted her to feel the anger coursing through his veins. Though his words were what felt like a cold slap,

“Can you do anything right? Or are you built to disappoint?”

Your eyes snapped open at the gentle call of your name, trying to ignore the lingering pounding at the back of your head. Of course, the persistent headaches were about to roll in, especially after that stressful scene followed by an unimaginable amount of crying.

Yunho whispered to you once more, noticing how you had flinched the first time, he knew your migraine would kick in as soon as he had seen your sleeping tear struck face- shit. He really did lose his cool this time, and had blown up on the wrong person. If there's one thing that he had learnt during his time with you, was that his girl was as fiery as a tiger, but her heart was as fragile as a kitten's, and his gold retriever self had managed to mangle it with his bare teeth.

“Love…” he brushed the hair away from your eyes, trying to meet your blank, unfocused gazed, as he cleared his throat, “I umm….I brought…something to eat-”

“Go away.” You whispered, gently pushing his hand away from you and sitting up, holding your head, the pounding getting louder and more difficult to handle, now that you knew he was right next to you. It was bad enough that you even dreamt about him saying that to you, in fact, in your dream he had broken up with you, which is probably why you gave him the stink eye as soon as he woke you up.

“I…I didn't mean to say that to you- tsk- it wasn't even directed towards you.” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair, trying not to rip it out in frustration. He did not mean to take it out on you, at one point he wasn’t even looking at you, he could just see himself and how he was failing - but did that mean he could take it out on you? No, it didn't.

You looked at him sitting there on his knees, he still looked like a giant, but his hurt puppy dog expressions just had you internally berate yourself, any moment longer and you would give in- “Wait…” you turn to look at the alarm clock on your side table and whine in protest, having his full attention on you. “You woke me up! I thought it was already morning- it's only 3 am.” huffing she flopped back down on her pillow, ignoring him by closing her eyes. This was the only way you could ensure you got your message across- granted you were at fault, that didn’t mean he could turn you into his personal punching bag.

Yunho sat there, staring at you, closing your eyes as his own cast down to his clasped hands, feeling even more guilty for waking you up, but the guilt had been eating him up, as soon as he had uttered those words the guilt had begun to bubble, watching you helplessly. That was why he had walked out, he needed to clear his head, he needed to calm down and think, and other than the monologue of an apology he had even gone out of the way to get you a cake- not sure you’d eat it now, considering you were still mad at him.

“Ah-Yunho” she giggled as her eyes snapped open.

You looked down at him and snorted, his head was placed on your tummy, ear pressed against your shirt as he looked at you. “What are you doing?” you asked propping up on your elbows to stare at him, wondering what his mind was up to this time.

“Shhh…I’m listening.”

“To what?”

“Your belly.” he stated simply before sitting up and replacing his head with his palm, “She tells me she’s hungry, and that she’d like this idiot to feed her cake.”

“Did you just call me an idiot?”

Shaking his head he cleared his throat, “N-no, your tummy called me the idiot!” he clarified before turning around and crawling to his side of the bed, picking up a tray and turning around to face her, “So…am I forgiven?” he asked, casually opening the lid of the box, glancing up to see her admire the icing, man, he really struck gold with this one, she was as forgiving as she was cute-

“Depends. If you promise not to have a single bite.”

His eyes widened at your request, trying to see if this was some kind of joke, apparently…it was not. Clearing his throat he placed the tray between them and saluted her with one hand, “Yes Ma’am!” he yelled before taking a spoonful of the cake and pressing it against your lips, “I live to serve and please my lady.” Leave it to Yunho to wake you up at the early hours of the day and feed you cake, a very Yunho way of apologising.

Kang Yeosang

He watched you barge through the front door, looking like a mad woman as you flung your bag somewhere across the apartment, not after kicking off your heels and stumbling into the kitchen, grumbling about how ‘shitty’ your day was and how you hate men, followed by a ‘minus you Sangie, you’re the best.’ His girl really was something else, it truly amazed him how he ever fell inlove with her, especially with her distaste towards most men, hell it took her some time to even warm up to the rest of the guys- except for Mingi, which was super weird because if you ask him, Mingi is the weirdest, but she just said he’s a giant baby who thinks hes cool, like boss baby!

Picking up the remote, he pressed play, leaning back against the couch to continue watching the film. Only a shrill call of his name has him jerking off the sofa and running into the kitchen. Stumbling through the door frame blinks at you, with you standing there with the fridge open, glaring daggers at him, holding onto a container - oh…no.

“Yeosang…” other than your horrifying expression, your overall tone was very calm, which honestly scared him, you were a very expressive person until pushed to a point where you begin to shut out others, and right now, he’d have you yell at him, than completely shut him out. He took a step in your direction, only for you to raise your hand and stop him, motioning towards the empty container, “Did you eat the last slice?” Even though it was a question, it really did sound like a statement, one that was holding back the predestined overflow of emotions, of stress.

With a light sigh, he nodded, clearing his throat as he continued, “I…um…I forgot that you told me to save it for you…I’m sorry, it completely slipped my mind.” His words held a gentle form of sincerity, the tender warmth of love, the calm essence of admiration - and she could not give a flying f*ck about it, especially not right now.

Making sure to maintain eye contact, you placed the empty container - the evidence - back in its place before closing the fridge. Taking a deep breath, you walked away, making sure not to spare him a glance as you walked out of the kitchen, ignoring his calls when you walked into the bedroom. You could hear him run after you, a gentle whine hanging off the tip of his tongue, but he froze when you turned around and looked at him, giving him no expression whatsoever, just, blankly staring at - no, through him. Honestly, it was then when he realised that this was not about the stupid cake, no, this was much more, he had forgotten something that was important to her, something she must have been looking forward to while she was on the bus home, something she must have been craving to eat- selfish, that’s what he was, and he knew deep down how mad she must have been- could he blame her?

He sat on the edge of the bed, ever so quietly, watching you go through your nightly routine. It hurt how easily you could pretend he wasn’t there, but then again, he wasn’t very attentive to your presence within this apartment either. He watched you go into the washroom, peaking through the door left ajar, watching you vigorously rub your face, holding back the urge of telling you to go gentle with the scrub on your skin, but he knew if he did, he’d probably get kicked out of the room- at least you didn’t ask him to leave you. You came back into the room, making sure to glare at him, something he caught onto pretty quickly, averting his gaze to his lap.

After a solid ten minutes of letting you change your clothes he glanced up at you once again, only to find you frowning at him through the mirror as you brushed your hair- at this point he realised you had not shut him out, but had decided to punish him like this. This went on for a while until you finally ripped The comforter from your side, making sure to land on the with an angry bounce, enough for him to jerk, turning to your direction for you to glare at him one more time and turn around as you flopped down on your side with an audible “HMPH”.

He didn't know if he should fine this cute, or be upset, a good part of him wanted to tease you, his inner menace begging to come up to the surface, but his more mature side or being kept reminding him that she was only doing this to avoid blowing up at him- which only added to his guilt, you really were a blessing.

You sat up to the sound of something shattering, heart racing a thousand miles as you turned to look at the place on the bed that was usually occupied by Yeosang, only to gasp when he wasn't there. Slipping out of bed, you slowly crept towards the door, grabbing your handy bat in the process as you tip toed out of the room, towards the kitchen. It was early morning, other than the noise from the kitchen, you could hear the early chirping of the bids- Yeosang had an early schedule today, so he was already out of the house- did that mean he forgot to lock the door? Shit, did someone come in because the door was unlocked, or did someone break in because they saw your boyfriend leaving.

With a bat in hand, you ran into the kitchen, ready to swing at the intruder, only you stopped mid swing when you met a familiar pair of eyes.

“YAH! KANG YEOSANG!”

His eyes widened at the sight of the bat, body frozen, crouched on the ground, waiting for the impact, only for him to jerk into action and fall back on his butt, staring up at her, whispering, “I almost…died.”

With a huff, you placed the back on the counter, pushing your hair back and walking over to your idiotic lover. Glancing at the pieces of shattered glass on the floor, oh, so that's what happened, huh? Giving him a hand, you looked at his face, raising a brow, watching him mumble something before giving your hand a squeeze.

“What?” you asked, leaning closer to hear him better, only he mistook it for you wanting affection, or perhaps he was the one who needed physical consolation. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush into his chest, making sure to squeeze you close. With a sigh you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, a good night's rest clearing your mind of any and all negative thoughts, in fact, now you were just exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to be pampered by your forgetful lover.

“What were you doing here?” You asked, looping you around from under his, placing your palms flat against his shoulder blades, feeling the slightest shift, pressing him closer to you - almost squeezing him like a plushie.

“Was…trynna bake you a cake.” He mumbled, burying his face in your hair, “But I messed up….I'm sorry…I ate your slice.”

With a sigh, you pulled your face back, giving him a small smile, “It's…alright Sangie…I'm sorry I got so upset last night…I just really really really don't like men.”

He pouted at your statement and nodded before leaning closer and pressing his forehead against yours, whispering, “Am I included in that statement?”

A giggled broke past your lips as you glanced up at him through your lashes, “Of course not…you're a fairy prince…not a stupid man…now come on,” with that you pulled away, gently lacing your fingers with his, “Let’s bake a cake together.” He could only smile at this, blushing at your compliment, any other day he'd argue about how he was a manly man, but today, he just wanted to shower her with all his love and tenderness, so he'd take it, and he'd be your fairy Prince for as long as you need him to be.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky @bunnyluvr25 @s-h-y-a @ateezswonderland

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baronessvonglitter · 7 months ago

Text

Blue Hour

outlaw!Joel Miller x runaway hitchhiker!f!Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: hitchhiking in the cruel Texas desert, you're picked up by a handsome stranger

WARNINGS: outlaw!Joel (not mentioned exactly what criminal activity he's involved in, but he does bear scars and looks as if he's been in a fight recently), also he's on the run, brief mentions of parental abuse and alcoholism, strangers to lovers, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex (birth control is briefly discussed), soft!Joel (he's respectful of boundaries)

Author's Note: I had initially wanted to do a trucker story, but thought that the criminal element fit better here. I would absolutely love to see a trucker!Joel fic if it doesn't already exist. Please do tag me if it does! Also this is lightly edited but the love is there..

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You're both running from something; that's how you find each other.

On a lonely stretch of highway in West Texas, Joel Miller picks you up on the side of the road, his mindset one of penance. If he does a good thing by saving someone maybe he can save himself. You're just glad to get away, as far away as possible from a mom who drank all the time, berated you, beat you, and was only at her most peaceful when she was passed out cold.

It's a danger in and of itself to get into Joel's truck, and a danger to come into his motel room, but to you, any other place is safer than where you grew up. The little roadside motel is brightly lit, welcoming, the sign neon against the cerulean summer evening sky.

By the fluorescent glow of the cheap TV screen with its staticky channels you exchange your stories. Joel doesn't tell you much apart from the fact that he's headed to New Mexico, and the scar on his nose, the way he's healing from a black eye you surmise is probably from a couple weeks ago. He carries a gun and his wallet is thick with cash. You can tell he's bad news but you don't care. You're just happy to have a roof over your head for the night and a plan of some sort of future taking shape in your mind.

With only one bed he offers to take the floor, but you insist it's fine to share. He's been a gentleman so far, despite the obvious flirtatious vibes you've been giving. It's impossible to keep to yourself as you both settle down to sleep. Your new life started the day you walked away from your home. You're a different person in this bed, laying on a cheap mattress with a handsome stranger. And, though you've never gone much farther than kissing, the newness of desire tugs at you from deep within.

"Joel.." his back is turned to you and he barely catches you calling for him. You press your hands to his back, which immediately gets his attention. He looks at you with slight confusion, as if he'd forgotten you were there, and when he sees the meaningful look in your eyes he knows what it is you want, and you don't stop him when he pulls you close.

Joel's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand roaming over your waist and hip, caressing and claiming you with a hungry and desperate fervor. You moan softly, your tongues dancing against each other, and you melt under the sweet shared pleasure. Your fingers slip beneath his shirt, feeling the broad smooth expanse of his back.

His senses are afire as your fingers trace along his bare skin, and his own hands continue to wander, skimming along your sides, gently caressing the curve of your hip. He pulls back just enough to take a breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

"I like the way you taste," you tell him, your confession soft and simple in the twilight glow of the room, your words caressing his lips. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he gazes at you in the semi-darkness.

"Yeah? And how do I taste, darlin'?" There's an edge of a growl to his words, his fingers stroking softly along your cheek, a fusion of longing and restraint etched into his expression.

"Like cinnamon, and whiskey," you whisper. "You taste like pleasure.."

He pulls you closer, nudging his nose against yours as a low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest. "You taste like sunshine and sweetness, sugar.." He dips his head back down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing your moans. Every sound, every gasp you make, fuels the fire burning within him, igniting an intoxicating blend of desire and hunger.

One arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand slides down your back, trailing fire along your skin as he moves lower, gently cupping your ass and pulling you against the heated length of his body. You gasp at the intimate touch. The way he presses you to his hardness awakens and excites something in you. "Joel!" you gasp.

The sound of his name, breathed out so sweetly from your lips, sends a shiver down his spine. "That's it. darlin'.. say my name.."

You whimper at the sweet friction as he continues to deliberately press you to his hardened arousal, kneading your cheeks. "Joel.." you say obediently, whispered in innocent pleasure.

He groans softly. "That's my good girl.." He presses you against him once more, allowing you to feel the full extent of his arousal, the heat and weight of it grinding against your core. Desire floods your veins and you slowly undulate your hips, finding little comfort in merely rubbing against him. "Fuck, you drive me crazy, darlin'," his voice is husky and raw with need.

"I want you.. please don't make me wait.." you tell him.

"Yeah? You want me.. like this? Is this how you want me to fuck you?" Joel's voice drips with primal need as he grinds against you, feeling the heat and wetness, his own arousal painfully hard at this point.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. "I can't think about anything else right now. Just you.. with me."

"Darlin', I can't hold back anymore.." he warns, but he takes time to ask about birth control, and you assure him you are covered.

You reach up to kiss him, before breaking apart a moment to take off your top and help him remove his own. The feel of his warm flesh against yours is heavenly. He bears scars and old wounds upon his flesh, evidence of a life lived in danger. But right now you only think about how warm he feels, how strong he is. "I just want to feel your skin against mine for a little bit.."

Joel's touch is almost reverent as his large, calloused hands roam your bare skin, learning the contours of your soft supple flesh, cupping each breast. "My sweet girl.." he whispers in awe.

Likewise, you trace every little scar, thinking on how each of those fights, those deadly interactions, brought him one step closer to you. "I need you," he whispers, feeling more alive, brand new under the heat of your palms on his chest. His fingers find the waistband of your panties and his eyes quickly flick to yours, seeking permission. "Is this all right?" You nod eagerly, "Lift up your hips for me," comes his quiet command, and he gently tugs at the elastic, slowly pulling your panties down your thighs. He sees you laid bare before him, your inner thighs moist with desire, the curls on your mound dewy with want. "God damn.. you're so beautiful.. I wanna taste you.." he groans, pressing a heated kiss against the sensitive skin just beneath your hipbone.

You sigh at his kiss, his beard pleasantly scratching your skin. "Yes.. please.."

Joel's tongue flicks out to taste the heated flesh between your thighs, groaning softly at the flavor of you on his tongue before he begins to lick through your slick, puffy folds. He smiles as you gasp, your eyes wide and mouth parted in an O. "Joel!" you moan, panting as his tongue explores you. When he said he wanted to taste you, you assumed he meant more kissing. You hadn't expected this, hadn't known this was possible. Your fingers fist in his hair as he continues. He groans against you, the sound vibrating deliciously against your cunt. "Taste so sweet,.. like heaven.. my sweet girl.." he whispers between long, languid licks, his arms wrapping around your trembling thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts. His tongue flicks and dances over your clit, swirling and teasing, wanting to learn every inch of you, what makes you scream and what makes you whimper, getting drunk on your taste like a thirsty man lost in the desert.

Your hips arch up to meet each lick, each worshiping swipe as his pace becomes more insistent, following the sound of your moans and sighs, feeling the shivering in your body, his tongue flicking and circling in a hungry rhythm, determined to bring you to the brink.

Your thighs start to quake but he expertly keeps them spread open, feasting on you. "God! Joel, I'm coming!" Pleasure uncoils from the very center of you, radiating outward, controlling every other sense and thought. His hands grip your shaking thighs, lapping up all your sweet nectar. "That's it, darlin', let go for me.. I got you.." he whispers. He gently eases you through your orgasm, tongue slowing, savoring every drop he can. "God damn, sweetheart.. you taste so damn good.. you doing okay?"

"Yes," you pant, a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin. "Oh, Joel," you moan, bringing him to you for a kiss and tasting your flavor on his lips and tongue. He rises, crawling up your body until his weight is draped over you, his arms caging you in as you kiss, sharing your taste with you. He gazes down at you, the way you trust him implicitly ignites a mix of feelings: a raging, possessive need, a deep sense of responsibility, and a swelling of unbridled affection and adoration. He lifts a hand to gently caress your cheek, his thumb tracing soft patterns against your skin. You can see his heart and soul bared to you in that simple touch. Your skin is flushed, hair mussed, eyes bright. You've never looked more beautiful.

Joel shifts his weight, pressing closer against you, the pressure of his hard length against your hip undeniable as your eyes meet. You take him gently into your hands, grasping and feeling him. He groans at the softness of your hands wrapping around his arousal, eyes glazing over with pleasure. "God.. I want you.. need to feel you around me, sweetheart.."

You sense now that you have the power. Slowly you run your hands over his rigid cock, swiping your thumb across the tip, wiping away a bead of moisture. "Is it going to fit?" you ask, feeling the heft of it, both length and girth.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest and his head bows down to bury his face against your neck. "It'll fit, sugar, I promise. Just take your time."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the ultimate thing that can bring you together, and will forever change what you mean to each other. "I'm ready for you.."

Joel's hands gently grip your thighs, guiding you to move and open further as he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock resting against your entrance. His heart pounds as he looks down at you. "You sure, darlin'? I promise I'll go slow."

"I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Okay, just tell me if you need me to stop. I don't wanna hurt you." He presses to you a little more, eager to fill you but waiting on your word.

"Kiss me," you whisper.

He pours all his love and need into the kiss, swallowing your gasp as he presses forward, his thick cockhead just barely breaching you, his groan joining with yours at the feel of your tight heat around him. You break the kiss, resting your hands on his shoulders as he enters you, a little at a time. His fingers dig into your thighs, his expression a cross between pleasure and concern as he pauses, giving you a chance to adjust to him. "How is that, sweetheart? Am I hurtin' you at all?"

"Wait." You press your hands to his chest. "Wait a little bit," you pant, forcing yourself to relax around him in order to accommodate him.

Joel nods. "Take your time, sweetheart. I ain't goin' anywhere." He stills himself, using every inch of willpower in his possession, "Just breathe, darlin', you're doin' so good," he coos. "You feel so damn good... touch yourself, darlin'," he growls.

Your breath falters as you acquiesce, fingers flitting lightly over your distended clit, adding pressure, circling the cluster of nerve endings, making yourself wetter, letting him slide in a little bit more. Joel fights to maintain his control. "Fuck, you feel so good, so tight."

Despite his willingness to take it slow, your hormones are asking for something else. "Take what's yours," you whisper. "I want you to."

A deep groan rips loose from his chest at your words, the sound thick with need and desire, his control fraying at the thought of claiming you with a hard and deep thrust. "Take a deep breath, darlin'." He takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, his grip reassuring. "I love you, my sweet girl, my sunshine.." He pulls out slightly, his body tensing as he prepares, and his eyes lock with yours as he thrusts forward, hard and deep. You cry out in surprise and pain, which is little more than a brief shock before you become acclimated, leaving you with a lingering dull throb.

"Hey, shh, it's okay, it's okay darlin', breathe for me. You did so good, you took me all, such a good girl," comes Joel's praise as he cups your cheek with one hand and stroking your belly, easing the pressure there from his length taking up room so deep inside you. When you inadvertently squeeze around him, stretching to fit him, it sends a shock of pleasure spiraling through him. "Damn.. if you keep squeezin' me like that I ain't gonna last long, darlin'," he warns. He takes a deep breath, slowly pulling out, savoring the drag of it, before slowly pushing back in, starting a gentle, deliberate rhythm. "You're perfect, sugar."

Soon the friction begins to cancel out the dull ache, more so with each thrust. "Feels good," you sigh.

Joel's eyes flutter closed, his rhythm remaining slow and gentle, the feel of you surrounding him, the feel of being buried inside your warmth as the most perfect sort of pleasure, his breath coming in short pants. "Sweetheart.. oh sweetheart.. oh god.. damn you feel so right, like you were made for me."

"You were right," you smile, "you do fit."

"Yeah darlin', I'm right where I'm meant to be, buried so deep inside my sweet girl." He keeps moving against you, spine tingling with delight as he feels you moving with him, naturally, your bodies in sync with one another. "Yes, just like that.. move with me, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in pleasure, heart swelling at his praise. "Joel.. give me more.."

He groans, his eyes darkening as his pace quickens, hips rolling forward with a little more determination, the sounds of your flesh slapping together filling the air. "Like this, sugar?"

"Yes! Fuck!" you groan, lightning filling your veins as you move quicker together. Your words shoot straight to his soul, heat pooling and coiling in his gut. "God, Joel, I'm so close!" you whimper. His breath comes in sharp pants as he drives you closer to the edge, his rhythm growing rougher, less controlled. "Me too, sugar. I'm right there with you.. wanna feel you come around me, wanna hear you say my name. Say it, darlin', come for me and say my name."

"God!!" Eyes scrunched tight you let go, coming hard as your cunt clenches around him, fluttering hard and fast. "Oh!! Joel!!" you scream. Joel's pushed over the edge, giving a few jerky thrusts before you feel him twitching and pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum, his thighs shaking from the force of his pleasure. "Oh, fuuuucckk," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, heart pounding wildly.

You feel his heart racing next to yours, almost as if beating with the same cadence, both of you trembling, spent, satisfied. He raises himself on his arms to look down at you. "You're so damn gorgeous, you know that? Especially when you're all breathless and flushed, still quakin' from comin' so hard."

Despite the breathtaking passion you'd just shared, you still blush. "Came hard thanks to you," you give him a soft kiss.

Joel grins, a cocky, proud smirk tugging at his lips, feeling a warm glow in his chest. He gently brushes back a strand of your hair. "How you feelin', sugar?"

"A little sore," you admit. "But I think, considering what we're working with, a little pressure was to be expected," you smirk, still feeling him inside you.

He chuckles, the sound of it making your heart thrum, as he slowly pulls out, knowing your still sensitive. "You took me like a goddamn champ, sweetheart."

You whimper at the loss of him, feeling his cum dribble out of you, and your eyes light up at his praise. "Really?"

"Really." He gazes down at you, his eyes a mixture of speculation and resourcefulness. "You wanna come with me to New Mexico, darlin'?"

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

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nereidprinc3ss · 11 months ago

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better late than never

in which uni student fem!reader finally shares exactly what she's been worried about with spencer

18+ for pregnancy scare warnings/tags: pregnancy scare, reader doesn't want to be pregnant, age gap (unspecified) a/n: listennn lots of you guys asked for more spence x uni reader... but u didn't specify WHAT u wanted... so now we're fantasizing about pregnancy scares because we're all what?? say it with me!! MENTALLY ILL!!!!

For the fifth time, you have to restart the paragraph you were reading. For the fifth time, it doesn’t make any sense—words strung together like clashing beads on a dancing string, blurred together by the tears you’ve been fighting all day. Anthropology is by far the easiest of the six classes you’re taking this quarter, but suddenly completing this routine assignment feels like scaling a mountain. It is, of course, nothing in comparison to the catalytic source of your immense stress. The thing you’ve been trying to ignore for nearly a week, and as a result, have become more and more obsessive about.

A flare of rage overwhelms you and you slam your laptop shut. Then as quickly as it appeared, it dissipates, cooling to desolation as you bury your face in your hands with a sob. You hear paper shuffling from the desk where Spencer has been silently working and you try to reign in your emotions, but it’s too late.

“Hey,” he says gently as he approaches, slowing to a stop in front of your spot on the couch. “What’s going on with you?”

You sniff, quickly brushing the tears away with trembling hands. But your voice is thick and strained when you fruitlessly attempt to lie.

“Nothing.”

When you refuse to look up at him, he kneels down in front of you.

“Really? This doesn’t have anything to do with why you’ve been so quiet these past few days?”

Of course, he noticed. You were a fool for thinking he wouldn’t. Finally you break, looking to him for subconscious comfort. And he’s looking up at you so earnestly, with so much genuine concern in those puppy dog eyes, that the waterworks threaten to start up all over again. Your lip quivers.

“I can’t tell you,” you squeak.

“That’s a really scary thing for me to hear. Do you understand why?” His voice is calm, carefully grabbing your hand and bringing to his heart. “Because I need to know if something happened to you.”

You shake your head tearfully, looking down at where you’re weakly grasping the front of his shirt.

“‘s not like that,” comes your reedy whisper. “Nobody hurt me or anything, I just—I don’t want you to get mad at me.”

“I won’t get mad, I won’t,” he promises desperately, “right now I just want to know what I can do to make this better. I hate seeing you like this.”

A shuddering sigh forces its way out of your lungs. You suppose this is the kind of thing you probably should tell your boyfriend about, as petrifying as it may be.

“I don’t know, I… I’ve just been freaking the fuck out because I’m worried I’m pregnant, and this would be the worst possible timing—like I know I want kids one day but I’m still in college and you’re like a real adult with an adult career and I don’t want to fuck that up for you and I know that even if I am pregnant I have choices but that’s still so scary and… and I don’t know.”

You’re expecting a long pause, punctuated by some berating and bemoaning, but it never comes. Spencer doesn’t miss a beat.

“Honey, this is exactly the kind of thing you tell me about,” he says, voicing your earlier thoughts. And he doesn’t even sound furious. You glance up, watching his visage swim beyond your teary eyes. “I am not mad. That wouldn’t make any sense. Do you know who’s fault it would be if you accidentally got pregnant?”

“Well—"

“Mine. So if this ever happens again, please don’t keep it to yourself for so long. I won’t be mad at you for something like this, ever.”

“But… you’re not worried?”

He shakes his head slowly, looking utterly unperturbed.

“I wouldn’t be worried either way. But no, I’m not concerned that you’re pregnant. We’re really safe. The chances of you being pregnant are essentially negligible.”

“But I’m two weeks late.”

“That can happen when you’re taking six upper level classes,” he agrees, swiping your cheek with a thumb. “You’re under a lot of stress. I’m completely unsurprised that your body is reacting to it.”

A weight like a ton of bricks is lifted from your shoulders, but doubt still lingers.

Spencer sees the hesitation in your eyes.

“Would it make you feel better to take a test? Just in case?”

You nod gingerly, wrapping your hand around his wrist. He takes it in both of his, kissing the back before dropping them to your lap.

“Okay. I’ll go get a couple. But I’m confident that you have nothing to worry about, and I’m usually right about these things.”

You take another deep breath, the last of the anxiety floating away with it. He’s usually right about everything.

“Spence?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing your palm with his thumb and looking at you with so much love in his eyes.

“Do you maybe feel like doing my homework for me?”

He smiles.

“Nice try. Get it done and we can go out for dinner, okay?”

“Always worth a shot,” you shrug.

He laughs, shaking his head as he stands.

“And the answer will always be no.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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andvys · 6 months ago

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Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty one ⭐︎ Please, I've been on my knees, change the prophecy

Warnings: fluff in the beginning, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, angst, mentions of unrequited love, kind of a sexist comment directed at blondie

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You never held much hope in your heart but for only this once... you did and it got crushed just like everything else was in your life and now you will probably never execute your plan and everything will slip right through your fingers just like you always feared it would.

Word count: 8.8k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult shoutout to roe, who always helps me with this story, ideas, dialogues etc. ily

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

Waking up to the phone ringing at full blast was not the best start for the morning. Steve’s gruff voice centers you as your head rises slowly from his chest, looking at him reaching for his phone on the bedside table and picking it up with a grunt.

“Hello?”

You can faintly hear Robin on the other side, not really hearing what she is saying, you are still so sleepy. You lay your head down on his chest again, closing your eyes as a soft yawn falls from your lips.

Steve wraps his arm around you again, rubbing your side as he grumbles into the phone.

“You– ugh… I thought you didn’t have to work today?-- Can’t you simply use your bike, the weather is nice,” his voice died down a little when he looked out his window, at the gray sky and the rustling trees, no sign of the heat and the sun from yesterday. He sighs and closes his eyes again, “fine, okay… fine.” He mumbles a goodbye before he hangs up the phone, putting the receiver back into place, he rubs his face and tightens his hold on you.

You open your eyes again and prop your chin up on his chest, blinking at the beautiful man before you.

Steve squints one eye open, a smile spreading on his lips when he looks at you, his hand falls to the back of your head, his fingers now running through your messy hair.

“Morning, honey,” he whispers, already making you feel butterflies this morning.

“Good morning, Stevie,” you whisper, giving him a sweet smile.

“I wish it was a good one,” he grumbles and breaks eye contact for a moment so he can look at the clock on his nightstand. It’s only eight in the morning. “I’m tired and I gotta pick Robin up in an hour,” he murmurs words that leave you disappointed.

You wanted more time with him before his shift…

Steve squeezes your waist and pulls you up a little, attempting to pull you closer and you welcome it. You bring your hand up towards his face, brushing back the hair that hangs in front of his eyes, you move closer to him, no longer fighting the urge to kiss him first thing in the morning.

You don’t know how his heart skips a beat and how the fire sparks within him when you press your lips against his, greeting him more properly with a soft kiss. If you knew, you would simply throw those three words out, right this second, you wouldn’t wait for a perfect moment, you wouldn’t wait for later.

Steve hums against your lips and presses his mouth stronger against yours, getting lost in this sweet morning kiss.

You smile against him and cup his cheek, nuzzling your nose against his.

You can still feel the previous night with him, his hands on your skin, his lips on yours, his words, his actions, your plan for today, which unfortunately got postponed already. You have no doubts, not a single one. You were thinking about it the whole time before you fell asleep, last night, you thought about how you’d do it, what you would say to him, what words would be right to use. You wanted to do it in the morning, you wanted to take care of him, make him coffee and breakfast, the way he always does for you and then afterwards, you would do it, you would tell him, you would get the words off your chest that you never thought would see the light in this life.

But something, someone already got in the way.

When you pull away from one another, you don’t shy away from giving him another sweet smile, a deep look into his eyes, another peck to his lips. You catch him by surprise and you don’t even know it – how his heart is racing, how his mind crosses out all the anxious thoughts that spread inside of him last night after this sweet kiss.

Steve’s hand is wrapped around your upper arm, his lips are tingling, his skin feels hot already, his eyes gaze into yours and he sees something that wasn’t there before or so he thinks. You look at him with a kind of softness that he feels a stranger to, you smile at him in a way you only did when you were drunk and clingy with him, you look at his lips as though you never want to stop kissing him.

You fill him with hope again, the hope that began to dwindle the night before.

“I’m gonna make you some coffee,” you whisper against his lips, squeezing his arm and blessing him with another smile before you pull away from him, leaving his side to his dismay. You push the covers off your body and place your feet on the ground.

Steve places his arm behind his head, admiring the way your hair falls down your bare back, the way your naked body looks so heavenly. His cock stirs underneath the covers when you bend down to pick up your panties, exposing yourself to him, causing his hunger to grow in him. He would rather stay in bed with you, kiss every inch of your skin and worship you in every way possible, make you moan his name, make you see stars, make you cling to him because he is the only one you need.

Clad in your underwear, you walk over to his dresser and pick out one of his shirts, completely ignoring your dress that hangs over his desk chair. You put on one of his only band tees that he owns, The Cure. He smiles, adoring the way his shirt looks on you. You pick out a pair of your shorts and put them on, tying the string at the front, you look over your shoulder and eye him up and down in a way that leaves him blushing.

Steve’s mornings with you are always his favorites but something about today feels… different. Something about the way you look at him makes him feel happy, happier.

He gets out of bed begrudgingly, he follows you into the bathroom after putting his boxers on, he brushes his teeth beside you and watches you through the mirror, sharing glances and smiles with you, he watches the way you brush your hair and the way you apply moisturizer to your skin and it hits him like it never did before, this moment is so intimate, just as intimate as any other moment you have shared lately. Every kiss, every touch, every glance, everything has changed, not just for him but also for you, despite his doubtful thoughts, he has to admit that it’s there, a change.

You wouldn’t do this with just anyone, right?

You wouldn’t make coffee, let alone cook breakfast for just someone.

You wouldn’t joke around and steal kisses from him if there wasn’t something.

And you certainly wouldn’t play with his hand, entwine your fingers with his on the way back to your house if he was just casual to you.

And when Steve parks his car in your driveway and you turn to face him with a smile on your face, something else sparks in your eyes… nervousness, hope, giddiness, excitement. You hide your face behind your hair after a moment of silence and he sees the way you take a few deep breaths before you look into his eyes again.

“Do you want to spend the night with me… after the party?” You ask with a sudden shakiness that catches him off guard a little.

“Of course,” he nods, furrowing his brows.

This shouldn’t even be a question anymore.

“Okay, good,” you nod, whispering. “Are you coming with Robin?”

“Yeah, do you want me to pick you up too?” He asks, smiling.

You shake your head, “no, it’s fine. I’m probably gonna go earlier and help Eddie with the snacks and everything.”

Steve nods, “alright then, guess I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah,” you whisper and look into his hazel eyes as you begin to move closer, “I’ll see you there, Stevie.”

You kiss his lips, making his smile even bigger.

You pull away and gaze into his eyes for a moment, your smile matching his own.

Steve feels a longing in his chest, a deep emotion that he can’t decipher yet as he looks into your eyes but something that he knows is that he doesn’t want to let you go in this moment, that he wants to kiss, kiss, kiss you until all his doubt is gone again, until he knows what you feel, until he knows that this is real.

He watches you with a smile that never falls, not even when you walk away from him, not even when he can no longer see you after you step into your home and shut the door.

His smile lingers, the way it always does because of you.

It lingers on the whole drive over to Robin’s, the tingling sensation on his lips and in his stomach stays, the fluttering and the beat of his heart never lessens, hope seeps back in, taking over once again after this morning with you.

And it all stays.

It stays.

The clouds grow bigger and darker, looming over Hawkins like a dark veil, the wind howls through the trees, the leaves ripping off the branches and falling onto the pavement, the curtains in your room move strongly.

You clutch your towel to your chest, not caring about the water that drips from your hair and onto your carpet, you quickly make your way over to the window that you forgot to close before your bath. You look out and up into the sky, feeling the anxiousness in you already seeping in.

The storm isn’t any close yet but it’s brewing, the clouds get darker and they move faster as the wind seems to get stronger and stronger. Something is coming and you hope that you won’t be here, alone in this house anymore once it takes over fully, so you decide to get ready sooner than you wanted to.

You turn on some music to drown out the noises from the howling wind. You sit down in front of your vanity and take a look at yourself in the mirror. The marks on your neck are clear, the happiness in your eyes even evident to yourself, the circles that always glow like shadows underneath them are no longer there, your lips curl into a smile as you touch the side of your neck where he kissed you, just the thought, the memory of it makes your heart and stomach flutter.

You take a deep breath and begin getting ready, applying make-up to your face, using only his favorite colors as you put on eyeshadow and lipstick, words mingle together in your mind as you form sentences and prepare yourself for something that you never thought you would do. You rehearse it all in your head, growing more and more nervous as you do so.

You don’t know how things will go, how they will end but one thing is for certain, tonight everything will change, no matter his reaction, things won’t be the same after this.

You feel scared and anxious, you know that you could lose him tonight, you know that he could slip right through your fingers, you know that he could break your heart and crash it into a million pieces but even that thought isn’t enough to stop you from going after what you always wanted.

Nothing can stop you, not yourself, not anyone else, not the storm building up behind you.

You feel a giddiness, an excitement you haven’t felt in a while, you’re not sure if you ever felt it.

You put on a pair of Levi’s and a white shirt, using the opportunity of the cool weather to wear your leather jacket today, you pick out your favorite jewelry and spritz his favorite perfume on your skin. You run your fingers through your styled hair and take another look at yourself in the mirror, glancing at your bed behind you and hope that tears won’t be shed into your pillow tonight.

Despite the fears that linger, despite the storm moving closer and closer, your excitement runs deepest in your bones.

You wonder what Eddie will say, think about your decision.

You know what Billy would think, what he would say, how he would look at you.

You know that he’d be proud of you for going after what you want, he always waited for this moment.

You remember the look on his face when you lied to him about what happened at Scoops Ahoy, you remember how he sighed and how he smiled sadly when you told him that you were too afraid to ask him out and never ended up going inside – you lied to him to protect Steve, you knew what he would do if you told him the truth about what really happened, you knew that Steve would lose another fight.

It only feels right to take his car today, you rarely do it, you rarely take the Camaro out for rides but for the sake of keeping the battery alive, you take it out for late night drives or for short trips to the store whenever you get a sudden craving for something.

It’s funny, maybe even eerie that the car still smells like him. It’s been over a year since he has been gone but his cologne still lingers. You don’t know whether that is the reason for the calming feeling in you whenever you’re inside of the Camaro or if it might be his ghostly presence.

But whatever it is, it grounds you, it makes you feel warm and safe, even in the storm and even through your racing thoughts.

When you arrive at Eddie’s and Wayne’s house, you park the car in their driveway, behind Eddie’s Impala. You sit there for a moment, not getting out of the car just yet, you take a few deep breaths and take another look at yourself in the mirror.

You’re pretty sure that no one is here yet, you got here early, two hours earlier than you should be. Eddie won’t mind, he had been asking to hang out with you alone for a while now and as you look at his house, you’re hit with a sudden guilt, you have neglected him a little once you and Steve started spending more time with each other.

When the rain starts pouring, you jump out of the car and quickly make your way over to his house, running up the porch steps and finding shelter beneath the roof, before you can even knock on the door or ring the bell, the door opens and a smiling Eddie greets you, his curly hair messy and wild, his eyes sparkling and pearly whites showing as his smile turns into a grin. He steps aside and lifts his arm, bowing playfully.

“Welcome to the castle, milady.”

A laugh falls from your lips, you shake your head at him as you walk inside.

“Hi Eddie,” you snort.

He chuckles at your eye roll, closing the door once you’re inside, he takes you in, the smile on your face, the sparkle in your eyes, the happiness and the excitement etched into your features. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Hey,” he smiles and squints his eyes at you, “how are you, sweets?”

You take your jacket off and glance at your best friend, at his squinted eyes, at the curious look on his face.

“Peachy.”

Eddie nearly laughs, thinking you’re joking by using that word, you said it too enthusiastically, too happily, too excitedly. The smile on your face matches the tone in your voice though and there is something about you that looks different today, he doesn’t know what it is but there is something. Your hair is styled the way it always is but it's shining beneath the dim lights in the hallway, your skin is glowing, you just look happy.

“You look pretty.”

You furrow your brows but smile even brighter.

“Thank you, Eds.”

Your best friend steps towards you, he wraps his arm around you and starts leading you to his kitchen.

“What’s up with the uh,” he pauses, pointing his finger at your face, “smiley face, you seem so happy today, did something happen or are you just that happy to see me?” He asks, chuckling.

You roll your eyes at him and shake your head. The giggle that slips from your lips and echoes through his hallway makes him clutch his chest dramatically.

“So, you’re not happy to see me?” He asks with a bewildered look on his face, “ouch.”

You slap his arm playfully and push away from him when you both step inside the large kitchen, “dork. Of course I’m happy to see you.”

Two paper bags filled with snacks and drinks are on the kitchen counter, nothing taken out of them yet, you instantly get to work, taking out the bags of chips and different kinds of candy he got for game night, movie night or whatever else this party’s theme will be.

“I’m glad you’re here early,” Eddie says as he makes his way over to his fridge.

“Why? So you got someone to fill the snack bowls?”

He looks at you over his shoulder, sending you a glare, “do you think I see you as my maid or something?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs at you and turns back again, “don’t see you wearing a maid costume.”

You snort at him, “that would look ridiculous.”

“I’m sure Harrington wouldn’t mind seeing you in one,” he cackles.

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you have to hide your flustered face even though you know that he isn’t looking at you now.

You know how protective Eddie feels over you, how he never approved of the situation you had gotten yourself into with Steve, how he wanted to protect you from the possible heartbreak that might be leading up to but despite his negative feelings about all of this, he had been calm in the past few weeks, less negative, less cold with Steve.

Will he encourage you when you tell him what you want to do?

Or will he think that you’re making a mistake?

You watch as he takes out two beers from his fridge, placing them on the kitchen counter, for a moment he looks around for the bottle opener with a frown on his face before he decides to use his lighter instead, popping the caps with ease. He slides one of the bottles over the marble counter, putting it in front of you, he raises his eyebrows at you as his eyes flicker back and forth between the beer and you.

With a chuckle, you push away the snacks and grab the beer, “party hasn’t started yet.”

“Party,” he snorts and brings his bottle up, clinking it against yours, “party is gonna be at Hopper’s wedding, I’m gonna get shitfaced with you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you mumble and take a sip of your beer.

“Why? Are you scared you’re gonna get all cute and clingy with Harrington again?” He laughs, giving you a smug smile, reminding you of the fourth of july.

You roll your eyes at him but you can’t hide the smile on your face, the smile that turns into a lovesick one as you think about last night.

Eddie drinks his beer and watches you, the way your smile doesn’t fall, the way your eyes are basically hearts, the way you seem so giddy over something as you shift from one foot to the other.

Had someone told him that he would get to see you like this a few months back, he probably would’ve laughed, he would’ve had more trouble believing that than what Dustin told him about the upside down when he was dragged into it.

You always had a stone cold face, your smile only ever appeared when you said something snarky, you rarely showed feelings and you only ever rolled your eyes at anything someone other than Max or Lucas said, it took you time to get used to the others, to warm up to them, it was a surprise that you warmed up to him so quickly but maybe it was because you had some things in common, though while you built a defensive mechanism around you by being cold and even mean at times, Eddie used humor and indifference.

Now you are standing here in front of him, a person so different from the one he befriended back in March.

You are happy, you are glowing.

Eddie is just about to ask, his curiosity is killing him and he can’t wait no more to find out what’s gotten you so excited.

“I’m gonna tell him.”

He knows what you mean, he knows right away.

“I-I don’t want to do this anymore, it’s just not enough. And I know what you’re gonna say but… I just want to do it, Eddie. We went to the city last night and we… we held hands and we kissed in the middle of the street and we talked for hours! He even started kissing me goodbye and I just… my feelings are getting stronger and I don’t even know how that’s even possible but I just… I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t tell him the truth and I know,” you pause to take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment before you look back up at him again, “I know how this can end, I know that he could reject me, break my heart and push me away but I need to try, Eddie. I want to try.”

Eddie’s eyes soften, his shoulders slump as a sad smile crosses his face.

The truth is, he is happy, proud of you for going after what you want but he is also scared, scared that this happiness that has just started showing will be taken away again when the man in question will shatter your heart to pieces.

Despite Steve’s obvious affection towards you, he still struggles to see through him, to read him, to find out what he is feeling for you. And what he had been told by a certain someone, doesn’t help his doubt. Yet he can’t deny what he sees in Steve’s eyes. He can’t deny the possibility that he feels the same for you so who is he to intervene? To stop you from going after who your heart desires the most?

You stare at your best friend, waiting for a reaction from him, his face is unreadable, his eyes distant but then he makes a move, he places his bottle on the counter and he walks towards you, surprising you by pulling you into his arms, he hugs you tightly and squeezes your arms.

A confused smile spreads on your face but you don’t deny him, you wrap your arms around his middle.

Eddie had always been affectionate, always stole hugs from you and a few others he considered close friends but usually it happened when he was hyper, drunk or high.

“I’m proud of you, sweets,” he mumbles and takes a deep breath before he continues, “I’ll be there to cheer you on… with pom poms.”

“Please don’t,” you giggle and pull back when he places his hands on your shoulders, his brown eyes are filled with kindness, his smile warm.

“Jokes aside, Harrington’s a really lucky guy, you know? You’re a catch, sweetheart and I’m not just saying that because I’m your best friend, you’re really fucking amazing and cool, he’d be really dumb and blind not to want you as his girl,” he grins, lifting his hand to tap your nose, “you’re a cutie.”

You swat his hand away with a snort, “cutie…”

“What, it’s true!” He laughs, his eyes glinting with amusement, he tilts his head to the side and his laughter dies down after a moment, a serious expression takes over instead and he squeezes your shoulder again, “but hey, no matter what happens, I’ll be there for you, okay?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, trying to smile but failing to do so when your emotions spread inside of you like a fire, you don’t know what’s gotten over you, maybe it’s the kind eyes of your best friend or the caring tone in his voice, the brotherly love he feels for you, the protectiveness that reminds you of one you had gotten before.

You appreciate him so dearly.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you whisper.

He smiles at you and gives you a nod.

“When are you gonna do it?”

“Tonight, after the party.”

He nods again, “alright, you gotta tell me how it went.”

“I will,” you smile and look into your best friend’s eyes, taking a deep breath, you realize just how nervous you are when you exhale shakily.

Eddie wants to take your nervousness, he wants to rid you of your anxiety and your fear of rejection, he wants to tell you that it’ll be okay, that things will work out, he wants to protect you but he can’t, and he won’t lie to your face when he is uncertain about it all, so all he can offer is comfort.

And for you, it’s more than enough.

“Now come on, let’s fill these snack bowls and order some pizza,” he grins and pats your shoulder before he steps away from you again.

“Yeah,” you smile, tilting your head down, you look at your hand, at the missing hair tie around your wrist, the one that found home somewhere else.

You don’t got a single clue to where this night will take you, not a gut feeling, nothing but as the time drags closer to the evening, your chest begins to fill with a kind of anxiety that makes you feel on edge, the one that prompts you to open a second bottle of beer when you finish your first, it doesn’t get you drunk, not even tipsy but it makes you feel a little calmer.

And once everyone starts piling in slowly, you start relaxing a little more, especially when Nancy arrives and she instantly pulls you away from the others to talk about wedding preparations, about the color of her nails and the shoes she hasn’t settled on yet, about how excited Joyce was when she went cake tasting with her, Will and El.

“Have you settled on a hairstyle yet?” Nancy asks you and takes a sip of the drink Jonathan made her.

She noticed the way you kept looking over her shoulder while she was talking, the way your eyes kept moving back to the front door like you were waiting for someone.

Everyone is already here, well, everyone except for Robin and Steve.

You shake your head, “no, I’ll probably keep it open, I don’t know yet.”

“You should add a pink bow to your hair! It would match your heels!”

You smile at her enthusiasm, at the smile on her face, at the kindness in her eyes. She has been such a good friend to you but sometimes it feels weird to get along with her, given her history with Steve. You wonder how she will react if the truth ever makes it to the light.

“You think?”

She nods her head causing her curls to bounce just the way Eddie’s always do.

“I might do that then,” you smile at her.

“I can’t believe the wedding is in a few days already,” she says as her face grows a little serious, “and that I’ll be leaving for college soon…” Her voice falls a little quieter, her blue eyes search for her boyfriend who is standing on the other side of the room, checking out the vinyls on Eddie’s shelf. A look of sadness and longing crosses her soft features, her lips curling into a sullen smile.

They are going to different colleges, their ways parting once again… for a while. You can see the sadness in them both, the looks they share as they spend their last days together. You have no doubt that they will make it, that they will push through this time of separation. Nancy and Jonathan are so deeply bonded, you can’t imagine one without the other permanently.

“I’m gonna miss our shopping trips,” Nancy mumbles, directing her sad gaze at you now. “You should come visit me in Boston sometime! Before Christmas! You could fly in and we could go Christmas shopping together and enjoy a couple days there before we go back to Hawkins together!”

You laugh at her lightened up eyes, at the happy grin on her face.

It feels weird to think that far ahead when it’s something you never really do anymore, you rarely even think about the next week, let alone a holiday that is still so far away, a holiday that usually only saddens you and reminds you of what you had lost.

“I’d love that,” you nod, smiling.

Somehow her blue eyes lighten up even more and it makes you feel warm inside, you’re not the girl people ever tried to befriend and you never blamed them, you weren’t exactly open to making friends but for some reason the girl in front of you chose you and you don’t even know why.

The doorbell rings at an unexpected moment, when you’re lost in your thoughts and unprepared to see him. You straighten your back and look over Nancy’s shoulder when Eddie rushes through the hallway to open the front door.

You miss the look on Nancy’s face as she keeps her eyes on you, the curiosity flickering in her eyes, the knowing.

You lick your lips and blink, heart already lurching to your throat when you hear Robin’s voice and wait for him to follow her inside but the door closes a little too soon for your liking and the lack of his voice and his presence makes you frown.

Robin walks in by herself, Vickie isn’t by her side and neither is the one you have been waiting for. Her a little wet from the rain, a not so happy look deep in her features.

Your eyebrows furrow and you can already feel the disappointment, the confusion settling inside of you so deeply that it makes you uncomfortable.

Where is he?

“Hey guys,” Robin smiles as she steps into the living room, waving at the teens who are in a hushed conversation that none of you seem to be allowed to hear.

You notice the way her smile doesn’t match the look in her eyes or the rough tone in her voice. She doesn’t look at you but that doesn’t surprise you, not anymore.

“Where’s Steve?” Dustin asks, beating you to the question that has been repeating itself in your head.

Robin hesitates, she shifts from one foot to the other, twisting the rings on her fingers as her eyes meet yours briefly.

“He’s not feeling well, he stayed home… he… has a migraine.”

If there is one thing that you learned about Robin, it’s that she is either a fantastic liar or the most terrible one and right now, she is a terrible one.

“Wait what?” Eddie mumbles from behind her, giving her the same look that you have given her, “he was fine earlier when I called him.”

You don’t know what to feel at this very moment but worry is the biggest emotion of all. You would drop everything now to go and take care of him.

“Well, he isn’t anymore, migraines come out of nowhere, he said he wants to be alone,” she grumbles and gives you a pointed look before she turns on her heel and leaves the living room to go into the kitchen.

Jonathan and Nancy pay no mind to her little attitude, no one really is, except for you and your best friend. Eddie shoots you a concerned glance, furrowing his brows at you in question but you are just as lost as him.

He watches how your expression falls, how your shoulders slump and your lips curl downwards. He sighs, wondering if Robin is telling the truth or if there is something else. He can’t stand to see the disappointment in your eyes when there was nothing but excitement and happiness just minutes ago.

You excuse yourself to Nancy, not even noticing the look in her eyes as they follow you until you’re no longer in her sight.

This moment reminds you of your first night with Steve, the same excitement that lingered in you then, the same one that was crashed when Robin arrived without him and told you that he went out with Heidi was crushed yet again, only this time, you know that he isn’t out on a date, he isn’t seeing someone else, he wouldn’t do that, not even if there are no feelings in him for you. Something else is going on, that deep unsettling feeling that takes home in you is proof of that.

This isn’t like him, even if he did feel sick, even if he did have a migraine, he would’ve called you, he would’ve told you that he can’t stay with you tonight.

You walk through the darkened hallway, not even flinching when lightning strikes outside, too absorbed in your anxious thoughts. You make your way into the kitchen where Robin is opening her beer, she rolls her eyes when she sees you and it really shouldn’t affect you this much anymore, she always has an attitude when it comes to you, it seems.

“Hey,” you mumble, still trying to be friendly towards Steve’s best friend.

“Hi,” she murmurs, grumpily.

You don’t walk into the room any further, wanting distance between yourself and her.

“What’s really going on?” You ask, not bothering to try and have small talk with someone who can’t stand your guts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shrugs with a stoic look on her face.

No matter how many times she had given you the cold shoulder before, it still surprises you sometimes to see her act so indifferent towards you. The girl who stuttered every time she tried to talk to you when you had just joined the group, the girl that always made you laugh and threw funny comments at you turned into this but she is only like that with you, no one else.

“Yeah, you do,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, “I know you don’t like me, I don’t know what I did to you but–”

Her scoff cuts you off, she looks up at the ceiling and mumbles some words that you can’t understand and it only angers you even more.

“Just tell me what happened, I was with him this morning and he was fine, he wanted to come here, he wanted to spend the night with me.” You are already pleading, showing emotions to a girl you probably shouldn't but you are desperate to know, to find out why he isn’t here.

She shakes her head at you and laughs, “I’m sure you’ll be fine without him, Blondie. You can always find another guy, it’s not like you had trouble finding some before,” she throws harsh words and a look of judgment your way, not giving you a chance to reply to her rude comment before she brushes past you and makes her way back to the group.

Your stare is blank as you keep your eyes on the ground, not knowing what to feel, what to think, what emotions are swirling inside of you right now because suddenly there are too many of them.

You found out how rude she can be with the comments and remarks she throws at you sometimes but she never judged you for your past, you never thought that she would do that.

How could you ever want someone else?

You never did before, not even when you were sure that he hated you, not even then did you want someone else.

He is the only one for you, he will always be the only one.

You glance at the telephone and you don’t think twice before you head towards it, basically ripping the receiver from its place, you quickly dial his number and press your back against the wall, waiting for the call to go through, waiting for him to pick up.

Your feelings tell you that you won’t get any answers, not like this, not right now.

It rings and it rings but nothing and that only makes you feel worse.

Steve always picks up the phone, no matter what, no matter who might be calling, no matter what time it is, no matter if he is sleeping or not, he always picks up the phone, always. So this is only another sign for you, a sign that something isn’t right.

“Hey.”

You flinch, not at the thunder that just struck, but at Eddie’s voice, his eyes are filled with pity as they flicker back and forth between the receiver in your hand and your face.

“Maybe he’s sleeping, he always does when he has migraines,” Eddie shrugs.

You know he is trying to make you feel better, to take your anxiety and your anxious thoughts away from you but nothing, absolutely nothing will do but you don’t want to ruin his mood or anyone else’s so you put the receiver back and you go over to the fridge, reaching for a soda instead of a beer this time.

You don’t want to be here, not anymore, you want to be with him, you want to check on him, see if he’s okay but the gnawing feeling in your chest makes you stay.

The storm that rages outside taking over your mind as well as the questions in your mind grow louder and louder.

“Come on,” you mumble without looking back, not baring to see the pity in his eyes any longer.

Your best friend follows you without a word, making his way back into the living room with you.

You smile at Max and sit down beside her, trying to distract yourself by talking to the girl but it’s not that easy, not when worry continues to rise in you, not even when Eddie sits down on the other side of you and tries to talk to you about anything but him.

For the following hour, you feel restless. Scratch that, restless is an understatement, you are panicking. Eddie tries to comfort you, tries to take your mind off things by playing a drinking game with everyone else, laughing when El tries out beer for the first time, and sends the can flying without touching it in disgust. Not even that could take your mind away from the boy that occupies every second of your life now… and there’s a person in this party that knows exactly what is going on and is acting as if she doesn’t, drinking her fifth margarita of the night and smiling, talking with Jonathan.

You reach a tipping point.

“Fuck this shit, Eddie.”

You slam your drink on the table, marching towards Robin and Jonathan while Eddie scrambles desperately behind you, trying to stop you. He had never seen you like this before. You are so determined, pushing through it all, just for the sake of knowing about Steve’s whereabouts. But he too is intrigued. He knows Robin knows something… but his chest compresses when he remembers the night before, hoping that it didn't have anything to do with what was happening right this second.

He doesn’t want to be the cause of your pain. He hopes he isn’t.

You stop in front of Robin with a frown on your face, not even apologizing for interrupting her conversation with Jonathan, for stopping her mid-sentence.

“I need to talk to you.”

Jonathan looks up at you, a little surprised at the seriousness on your face and your sharp voice. He looks over your shoulder, glancing at Eddie who shakes his head at him, he only raises his eyebrows in response, he turns away and sips on his drink, walking towards Nancy.

Robin clenches her jaw, she meets your eyes and stares at you for a moment, glaring back at you.

You stand your ground, not looking away, not moving, not asking but demanding for her to follow you when you tilt your head in the direction of the kitchen before you walk off.

Eddie looks around, relieved to see everyone busy with the monopoly game that Dustin brought.

Robin gets up with a grunt, slamming her drink on the table just the way you did, she shoots a glare at Eddie before she turns around and walks after you with Eddie hot on her heels.

You’re standing there with your arms crossed, your heart pounding in your chest and your anxiety burning by now.

Robin mimics you when she walks in, crossing her arms over her chest as well, she looks you up and down before she shrugs at you.

Eddie, who is already looking between the two of you nervously, closes the door, not wanting the others to hear but hoping that an argument won’t break out between you both.

“What do you want?” Robin grumbles at you, her words slurring.

You can’t lie and say that her glares, her dislike towards you, doesn’t sting a little but this isn’t the main focus now.

“Where is Steve?”

“I already told you–”

“I don’t fucking believe you, Robin!” You snap at the girl, throwing your arms up, “you’ve been lying to me from the moment you stepped into this house! I know he isn’t feeling sick, I know he doesn’t have a migraine, he would’ve told me! I saw him this morning, he wanted to come so don’t stay here and lie to my face! Tell me where he is and why he’s not picking up his damn phone!”

Already breathing heavily after your little outburst, you stare at her in desperation, wanting, needing answers.

Her gaze never changes though, it doesn’t soften, it’s still filled with dislike, and her lips curl downwards.

“He doesn’t want to see you anymore,” she shrugs, throwing those words out as though they mean nothing.

You would have believed her, if you weren’t so determined, if you weren’t so set on everything, you would have believed her. This would have worked on you months back but not now, not anymore, not after last night, not after this morning, and even if he did want that, he wouldn’t leave you in the dark like this.

Eddie furrows his brows, looking at Robin who is so obviously lying yet again.

“I don’t believe you, Robin.” You shake your head at her, stepping towards her. “I don’t believe you for a second.”

She blinks, eyes darting back and forth between you and your best friend before she redirects her glare at you.

“Why do you even care so much? You can get dick elsewhere, Blondie! Leave him alone and don’t mess with him anymore, I think you have done enough!”

Your eyes widen at the words that took a blow to your chest, your throat tightens and you shake your head in disbelief.

You have done enough?

What could you possibly have done?

Eddie squints his eyes at the drunk girl before him, and he steps closer to the both of you.

“Why doesn’t Harrington want to see her anymore, Buckley?” He asks carefully.

Robin takes a deep breath and sighs, mumbling incoherent words under her breath, she runs her fingers through her short hair and tilts her head up, chuckling at the ceiling though not in amusement.

And then she suddenly looks at you with the deepest frown you had ever seen in her features, a fire burning in her eyes as she sneers at you.

“Because she is just going to break his heart sooner or later! She doesn’t feel anything for him!” She yells, pointing a finger at you. “She’s been playing with him from the fucking start, with his feelings and he is already suffering. I’m not gonna let her do worse!”

You draw back, with your eyes wide and your face stunned, you don’t know what to say, you don’t know what to feel.

The storm is raging outside just as the one in this kitchen is, it’s thundering at full blast and raining harshly but nothing fazes you now, not even the purple lightning.

It takes you a moment, a long moment to realize the meaning behind her words and the moment they sink in fully, you feel the aching inside of you.

“W-What did you just say?”

Eddie frowns at her, blinking as he looks at her, “Buckley… you told me Harrington didn’t feel anything…”

You glance at your best friend, confused about his words too, and you’re about to ask but Robin isn’t done just yet.

“Why does that matter!? Why does she fucking care how he feels?” She points at you again, taking a deep breath before she continues, “she never did, never have, never will! She always treated him poorly, even in high school for fucks sake and you want me to believe that she feels something for him!?”

Heat spreads through your whole body, to your chest and your throat, to your face and lighting up everything inside of you in the worst way possible, making your skin tingle with rage and your eyes burn with tears.

You don’t even think before you step towards her and grab her shoulders, pushing her up against the wall behind her, catching both her and Eddie off guard as you let your anger take over.

“You don’t get to fucking dictate my own feelings! I always thought you were stupidly observant but now I realize you are dense with anything else around you besides two people! You are ignorant towards everyone else, never giving anyone the benefit of the doubt!”

Robin stares at you wide eyed, not knowing what to say or do.

“If you looked at me, even for just one second you would have known how much I care for him. If you had given me that chance you would have seen just how much I feel for him! If you had even looked at me back in high school you would have seen that I have been hiding and suppressing these feelings for him, for fucking years!”

“I–”

You shake your head at her, shutting her up with a simple glare.

Tears blur your vision, your heart is pounding in your chest as you look at someone you once considered a friend.

You don’t know what she said to him, what words she used to make him stay away but you don’t even know if you do want to know, rage runs deep enough already.

“And you think I am this cold hearted bitch, well news fucking flash, Buckley, you never got to know me at all, so you have no right to say that! You have no right to judge my own heart!”

Robin’s blue eyes shine with tears, her features now softening and twisting into regret as realization dawns on her.

Eddie stands there in shock, not knowing how to be of help.

“So… you… for Steve–” Robin stutters, whispering.

Your bottom lip trembles as hot tears fall from your eyes, the excitement that lingered in you all day has turned into fear. You don’t know where he is, what he thinks, what he feels now that this has been ruined, if there is still a chance for you to fix something you didn’t even break.

But even through all this, you now know that there is, there was a chance. She wouldn’t hate you over nothing, she wouldn’t feel so protective of him if there were no feelings involved.

Fear envelopes your heart so fully and strongly that it nearly paralyzes you.

What if it’s done?

What if it’s over now?

You tremble and your tears cascade down your face, you don’t bother to hide them, to wipe them away, to hide your pain from the one who caused it.

You breathe in shakily and step away from her, finally letting go of her.

“There is no way in hell you will be the first to hear those words coming out of my mouth. I won’t say it out loud for the first time unless it is with him.”

Those are your last words to Robin before you turn on your heel and walk away from her and from your best friend, who doesn’t even try to stop you.

With tears rolling down your cheeks and an anxious heart, you rush out of the kitchen and through the empty hallway, you grab your jacket and the keys to Billy’s car, not even bracing yourself before you walk straight into the storm, not caring about your pounding heart when thunder crashes above you and the wind blows strongly against you as the rain envelopes you on your way to the car, wetting through your clothes and sending shivers down your spine.

You jump into the car with your hair clinging to your face already, rain and tears mingling together and running down your hot cheeks. You try to blink your tears away but to no avail, they keep building up and falling, your throat tightening more and more each passing second as a sob threatens to fall from your lips.

You start the car and grab the steering wheel, sniffling as you hold onto it tightly, breathing in the air around you, clutching your hand around the leather as though you’re trying to find comfort in something that used to belong to the person that always encouraged you to fight for this, for him.

Everything inside of you is crumbling now, to pieces, to shambles.

You look at the sky and you do something you have never done before, you beg, you beg for that one thing to work out, you would fall to your knees if you had to. You can’t lose this, you can’t lose him.

You back out of Eddie’s driveway and slam your foot against the accelerator causing the tires to screech as you speed down the road.

Your hands are trembling just the way your whole body does, your ears are ringing, the rain that paddles down the windows matching your tears.

Her words echo in your mind, all the hurtful things she said about you don’t even come close to the pain you feel when you think about him.

You never wanted him to hurt, not for a single second.

You would have taken all the pain just to protect him from it all, knowing that he is aching because of you, brings a deeper pain to you than ever before and you don’t know how he will react to seeing you, if he even wants to see you now but you are willing to try and you are willing to fight.

You can almost feel a little shock coming through the leather of the steering wheel. Something that wants to prompt you into letting go and finally park in front of his house. Something that is pushing you into being strong, to fight, to finally jump over the hole to reach the other side. It’s almost as if you could hear the words…

You can do it sweets…

Steve’s car is in the driveway, the TV light flickers through the living room window, he is here, he is home and you don’t waste any more time, you park the car behind his, you jump out and back into the cold rain.

The water splashes beneath your sneakers, the thunder makes you flinch this time but you clench your fists and rush towards his house, ringing the bell and slamming your fist against the door over and over again, yelling his name.

You feel the hotness from your tears and the shaking of your lips, not because of the cold rain but because of the emotions bleeding through you.

You wait and you wait, fearing that he might not open, that he can’t even stand to see you anymore, that he won’t give you the chance to talk, to tell him how you really feel.

You slam your fist against the door again, knocking a few times as broken sniffles fall from you while the storm rages behind you.

What must be a few seconds that you’re waiting out here, standing in the pouring rain, feels like forever.

Your heart beats against your ribcage, the coil in your throat beginning to choke you and you can’t even see through your blurry vision anymore. You taste the saltiness from your tears, you feel the panic sinking deeper and deeper.

You’re still begging and it takes everything in you not to crumble to your knees.

And then, Steve opens the door with bloodshot eyes, a piercing gaze that threatens your hope, that threatens your resolve.

A gaze that says “it’s done.”

You’re both done.

♡

tagging friends and mutuals!

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

#dwoht -- chapter twenty one #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst

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jinxed-newyork · 2 months ago

Text

SMOKE & FOG

0.1 Red Smoke

pairing: jinx x reader (romantic) , isha x reader (siblings)

synopsis: Your entire life has been dictated by a debt you owe to Smeech, one that grows with every move you make. He holds your sister and you on a tight leash, one mistake leads to your sister being taken and your only option is to fight or die.

word count: 2.7K

warnings: villainous activity, murder, oppression, mistreatment, blood & gore, hurt/comfort, drugs & drug use, canon violence, suggestive themes, angst, spoilers, cursing, fighting !!

Red smoke filled the air, perhaps it was the blood dribbling that mixed with the air around it, or it was the suffocating rage from every child who watched as their parents, cousins, siblings and friends were torn to shreds by the flying bullets. There was no one who could save the poor souls on that bridge, there was barely anyone left alive except for Vander, his grunts of pain and adrenaline could be heard through the bridge, screams and cries of pain and terror came from those he faced off against and yet after a moment, it just stopped. There was nothing. Just silence. My body was hunched under a rock, shielding my little sister’s extremely frail body in my arms, she was a baby, still wrapped up in a little blanket that we could barely afford, her cries came from every loud noise and all I could do was attempt to shush her– fear and adrenaline being the only reminder of why I was still under here with her. However whenever the loud noises stopped and shooting gave out, what replaced it were footsteps. The relief that coursed through my body was unimaginable. Finally, it was over, win or lose. I didn't care, I just wanted to escape back home with Isha and our parents.

There was a silence that raged over the bridge as I climbed out, bodies piling on top of others, eyes wide open with dread still stricken upon their face, they all looked scared as if they weren’t ready for death and yet here their lifeless bodies laid. It was sickening, a soft cry escaped my lips as tears welled up in my eyes, where were our parents? Where did they go? They were on this bridge just like everyone else so where were they? I couldn’t run, as much urgency was in my body, I couldn’t move my legs fast enough to form a sprint, I just walked. Shielding the little girl in my arms from all the pain and terror, I wouldn’t let her see this, I wouldn’t let her remember this, I wouldn’t let her grow up in a time like this– it was all gonna change, it was gonna be different whenever she was growing up. Those thoughts in my head were the only thing that kept my head up high as I walked past the bodies. The bodies of friends and our parents, the bodies of those who fought so hard for something that should be a human right, whether they were from Zaun or from Piltover. The bodies of those who fought for Respect.

The rain is riotous, beating down on the small covers and hoods of those walking the streets of the undercity, no man or woman laid safe. One foot in front of the other, don’t look around. My gaze held towards the floor, looking around would only drag me into the reality I live in. Children on the streets without parents, working for scammers and con artists, insufferable and disgusting but we had to make money somehow. Not everyone was gifted with a silver spoon in their mouth and a warm bed to sleep in, not everyone was given private dance lessons and piping hot food that could feed an entire village for just one meal. Not everyone was born in Piltover and the price? Your life. There was no respect in the city of Zaun, at least not anymore, Vander was killed by Silco in some raging fight that took place in a warehouse and he was the people’s last standing symbol of peace. After Silco took over, shimmer raged through the streets and took over like a disease, even after his death it still runs rampant thanks to his goons. I am one of those goons, I am someone keeping it on the street, money is money and a job is a job, it hurts so many people but I do what I have to do to keep my family safe.

A small groan of annoyance escaped my mouth. I was only 17 years old but I had the weight of another human laid atop my shoulders. She could be no older than 7 but definitely not younger than 5 years of age, Isha, my sister. I don’t really know when her birthday is, not like we could celebrate it anyways, there are no birth certificates or calendar here, so we just assumed that it's sometime during the end of the year because that's whenever our parents would say happy birthday. 11/16, that is the birthday I have written down for her, the only one we care to acknowledge. My mind filled with grief as I entered the booming building, music blaring from the speakers and the cacophony of deals being made by every wall in his building was overwhelming and sickening. I turned my nose up in disgust (not like I was any better than them), as I turned towards the office building, a high rise, with glass windows to watch over the place as if he was some ghost. Smeech, one of the worst men I have ever met in my entire life, he had no good qualities, I would have rather he not offered me this job at all then let me watch as people waste their lives trying to get even a sniff of shimmer. Good and bad news was that the selling rate was down, more people were getting snatched off the streets while trying to find buyers and the production rate was too high to keep up with the missing sellers so whoever was left had to pick up the pace.

Caitlyn Kiramman’s enforcers were running circles around us, she made us look like chickens with our heads up off, which wouldn’t have mattered to me if it wasn’t for the fact that I couldn’t keep up. I had too many boxes on me at a time and too many lurkers and followers while trying to do my job, if he kept pushing me like this then I’d certainly get caught. With a heavy knock on his door, I pushed it open without waiting for confirmation– this was important. The rat creature moaned in annoyance upon even seeing my face.

“What do you want, child?” The sickening smoke of shimmer made its way out of his mouth while he smoked, filling the room with its pungent smell. Had it not been such an addictive drug I would have been turned away but something kept my feet from moving, a small inhale was all I took before turning my head away from his nonsense. “Less materials on my person. I’m carrying way too much cargo with not enough people to give it to. All my regulars are in hiding because of the enforcers or have already been grabbed! I have no one to sell to and walking around with even a drop of shimmer will get people arrested nowadays. What do you think they’ll do to me with eight vials full of it?” Despite the urgency in my voice, I didn’t raise my volume or lose my cool, I knew better than that, I knew my place, I wasn’t gonna be killed over such a trivial thing. I couldn’t be killed, I had to make it back home to raise Isha and make sure that she wasn’t alone, if I didn’t do it then no one would. “You’re a smart enough kid, you can figure it out. You sell the product, you get the money and you give it back to me. You’re already behind on repaying this debt of yours, don’t make me charge you an annoyance fee.” My debt.

I owed him my life because he was willing to take me in and promised that as soon as I paid him off he would let me and Isha go however every time I got even remotely close to freeing us, he would charge me some random out of the blue fee and added it to my tab making it once again out of reach. I knew it was on purpose, I knew he was never truly going to let us go but there was a small hope in that mind that maybe one day I could make enough money so that he doesn’t expect it, so that he has to let us go. A whine escaped my throat as I tried to reason with him, as I pleaded. “But sir-” “Make it a stupidity fee, how are you this incompetent? It’s just business sweetheart, and you’re behind on your dues anyways, there isn’t much room for you to be arguing with me. Out.”

I didn’t say a word after that, I couldn’t, I took whatever strength I had that would carry me out of the room and pushed until it led me out of the building.

Two hours later and I’ve only sold two vials, one to an elderly woman who looked like she was well on her way to death’s door, I tried to convince her that it wasn’t actually worth it to buy but she didn’t listen, something about being glad that she didn’t have to spend another moment down here was freeing to her and the second vial to someone from Silco’s old crew. They could buy plenty more but they chose not to directly interact with Smeech himself so they went through his buyers and even though we aren’t supposed to sell it to them, I did anyway. I tossed the gold coins up into the air with a smile, I completely overcharged him but who cares? “When did we say selling to Silco’s crew was back on the table, blighter?” Debt collectors, they roamed the streets while we were making deals, my head wasn’t in the right place, I completely forgot. Stuffing the coins into the small bag across my waist, I shrugged. “What’s it to you? We’re all charlatans, are we going to bypass the fact that you guys are charging children for crimes they didn’t commit to keep them in your debt? Or the old people you trick into owing their entire lives to you knowing that they won’t be able to afford it?”

My teeth clicked in arrogance, I held nothing over them but calling them out felt good to roll off the tongue, they needed to be checked every now and then too. “You’re just blood thirsty animals.” They scoffed at me, scoffed, my presence to them was insignificant, that I was aware of but seeing it play out in front of me still stabbed at my heart a little bit. “You forget yourself blighter. Perhaps we should.. remind you? Yeah?” The confirmation wasn’t for me and yet I couldn’t stop my head from shaking. This was going to end in bloodshed, there was no avoiding it but I wasn’t scared, I couldn't be scared of them. One thing went through my mind, I have to get home to Isha. My hands raised to cover my face, eyes peeking out behind my clenched fists to stare them down, I was ready for a fight.

I shouldn’t have been so naive to think that I could fight all three of them at once, however it was the only option. The taller gentleman rushed towards me first, swinging his arms in whatever way they would move towards my body. I looked like a child compared to them, they were unnaturally tall and buff and their suits didn’t hide it at all. My body dipped towards the floor as his hands rammed into the wall, I swore I could feel the ground shake, but that didn’t waver my spirit. I struck his chest with every force in my body, it wasn’t a lot but enough to knock him back up against that very same corner, not even a second to breath as I was bombarded with another man racing towards me, his palm struck my side, launching me into the wall. It cracked upon impact and my body felt like it shattered, every limb hurt to move, with a split second I moved to the right, his second punch landing into the wall right next to me. My eyes expanded and my pupils dilated and I pulled away from the wall and steadied my body and stance once again, but arms wrapped around me, a crushing weight that stayed on top of me and kept me in place. A scream erupted from my throat as I tried to escape, struggling in every direction as the weight on top of me only got worse, it got tighter, more restricting until crack. The vials. The shimmer, it was still in my bag, how many vials did he crush? Was it seeping into my skin? My mind went blank, the weight was no longer crushing me but I didn’t know what was happening? My face connected with the floor, was I dropped or did I hurt him? I didn’t mean to hurt them, even though they probably could have killed me. The intention wasn’t to get anyone hurt besides a simple warning.

When my eyes opened again all of them were on the floor, blood spilled out of wounds I didn’t remember making and my hands were covered in it. I tried wiping my face but it only smeared the blood already there, what have I done? Before I could make sense of anything the screeching from an enforcer came from the other side of the alleyway. I shook my head, this wasn’t me, I didn’t do this! I was innocent! Why wouldn’t my mouth open to explain? I opened up the pouch and raised one of the vials, I still had four safe but two of them were cracked, those were probably the two affecting my mind, my heart, my body. I could hear my heart in my ears, the thumping and beating as if I was inhuman, was I still human at this point? As soon as I raised the vial of shimmer, their guns were out? Panic was sewn into my nerves, I couldn’t get shot, were they gonna kill me? Leave my body for dead? Would I ever be found? Isha. My mind went blank and my eyes were bloodshot, I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t see straight, I blacked out.

When I woke all I could feel was crimson dripping down my hand, the puddle beneath me only growing wider, spreading through the cracks in the small alleyway. Enforcers. Dead. Three Enforcers were dead and three debt collectors right next to them. The topsiders would hear news of this soon and my boss would hear about his debt collectors being missing but I couldn’t worry about it, what was the last thing I was thinking about? Isha? Isha. Where was she? Where is my sister? I couldn’t care less about the head I bashed into the wall just a moment ago or the knife I plunged into another man’s throat or the Enforcer’s gun that I lodged into a man’s side as a distraction before his untimely death. Smeech’s debt collectors would probably be after her especially if they were after me, they knew where I was so they certainly had to know where she was.

I needed to get back to my sister. My sister. My sister, Isha, I need to get back to her. Ichor running down my arm no longer bothered me, the ever growing pain in my abdomen only lingered as I ran and yet I didn’t stop. I couldn’t even remember how I got that injury but I couldn’t stop, my legs carried me to the last place I saw her. Three more dead debt collectors (this seemed to be a brand), shot straight through the head. Clean. Not a single mistake, completely intentional, whoever made the shot knew exactly what they were doing. A waft of pink smoke wavered from the body, it was fre- pink? shit. Jinx. There was only one person in town creating such imagery and also being such a great shot, no enforcers were in town (not anymore) and to be honest none of them were this great of a shot even if it was close range. The wanted posters of her face made her look psychotic, terrifying, right on brand to what the topsiders thought everyone looked like. I couldn’t let this go, I was still alive and the dead men meant that my sister was still out there too.

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed the very first chapter!

taglist ; @llycrow @katethejinxwife @hank-girl @ayedomino0 @jiunxo @vivispace @d-demqn

#arcane #arcane season two #arcane spoilers #arcane jinx #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #isha arcane

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zoofzoofxx · 2 months ago

Text

—The art of eyecontact—

Pairings ; Axel Kovacevic x fem!reader

Summary ; After Sam insisted you accompany her to the club, you finally agreed, hoping it would help you move past everything that happened with Axel. However, a peculiar interaction with Kwon set off a series of unforeseen events that caught you entirely off guard.

Warnings ; Alcohol usage

Pt. 3

୨୧・・・・♡・・・・୨୧

‘Come onnnn, Y/n, don’t be boring,’ Sam whined, her voice dripping with exaggerated desperation as she gave me a firm shake. I was curled up tightly in my blanket, fully immersed in the comfort of my couch and a random movie that I wasn’t even paying much attention to. Her relentless persistence was beginning to chip away at my patience.

‘No,’ I replied flatly, shaking my head with finality. Sam was on a mission to drag me to the club tonight, but the idea of stepping into that crowded, chaotic environment was unappealing—especially because I’d seen Zara’s story earlier. She was there with her team, and of course, Axel was with her. The thought of seeing him so soon made my stomach churn. I wasn’t ready to face him yet. Tomorrow would already be challenging enough, and I needed time to steel myself mentally for what was inevitably going to be an awkward encounter.

‘Please, Y/n!!!’ Sam’s tone shifted to a dramatic plea as she sank to her knees, hands clasped together like she was begging for her life. Her exaggerated antics might have been amusing under different circumstances, but right now, they only added to my irritation. I barely glanced in her direction, still shaking my head in defiance.

Despite her theatrics, I remained unmoved. The mere thought of Axel lingering in the same room as me tonight was enough to make my resolve unshakable. Yet, as persistent as Sam was, I knew she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

Sam groaned dramatically, throwing herself onto the couch beside me, her arm draped across her face like the world had just come crashing down.

‘You’re such a buzzkill,’ she huffed, peeking at me from under her arm. ‘It’s one night, Y/n. Just one. You don’t even have to stay long, I swear. And let’s be real, you’re going to look amazing in that dress you bought on our first day here in Barcelona. It’s way too stunning to be wasted.’

I looked up from my cocoon of blankets, unimpressed. ‘The dress is still in the bag, Sam. And I’m wearing sweatpants.’

‘And that’s fixable,’ she shot back without missing a beat. ‘Ten minutes, max. I’ll help you get ready, you’ll look incredible, we’ll dance a little, and—’

I cut her off with a flat tone, ‘And I’ll have to deal with Axel.’

Her teasing expression faltered for a moment, the dramatic air she carried around her suddenly softening. Her voice was gentler now, almost careful. ‘Y/n, you don’t have to talk to him. You don’t even have to look at him. Zara’s going to be busy with her team, and Axel… well, let’s just say he’d be a fool to let anything ruin your night. He’s not worth it.’

I hugged my blanket tighter, staring at the muted movie playing on the screen. I wanted to go—part of me really did—but the idea of seeing Axel tonight made my stomach churn. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to handle him; I just wasn’t ready. Not yet. Tomorrow, I’d have no choice but to face him, and that was already weighing on me. How could I mentally prepare for that if I had to deal with him tonight, too?

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the silence hang in the air between us. Then, she shifted, sitting upright and leaning toward me with a small, knowing smile.

Sam’s knowing smile widened as she leaned closer, her energy impossible to resist. ‘Listen,’ she said, her voice soft and encouraging. ‘We’ll keep it simple. Just get up, put on that stunning dress, and I’ll help you with everything else. Trust me, you’re going to feel amazing. We’ll have fun, and you’ll completely forget about… well, you-know-who.’

I hesitated, my eyes drifting to the chair where the shopping bag from earlier this week sat. Inside was the dress I’d bought on our first day here in Barcelona. It was from a cozy little boutique we’d stumbled across while wandering the streets—full of warm lighting, vintage mirrors, and racks of carefully curated pieces. The moment I’d seen the dress, I knew it was something special. It wasn’t flashy, but the soft white fabric and simple elegance had caught my attention. Sam had encouraged me to try it on, and though I’d hesitated, I couldn’t stop smiling once I saw myself in it.

‘I don’t know…’ I started, fiddling with the edge of my blanket.

‘Y/n,’ Sam said firmly, her tone kind but insistent. ‘You loved that dress. Don’t let it sit there when you could be out feeling as amazing as you look in it.’

Her words were enough to push me into motion. I sighed, tossing off the blanket and rising from the couch. ‘Okay, fine. But if this night turns into a disaster, I’m blaming you.’

Sam grinned triumphantly, clapping her hands together. ‘Fair enough! Now, let’s get to work.’

While she rummaged through her bag, pulling out makeup brushes and curling irons like a magician revealing her tricks, I grabbed the dress and headed to the bathroom. The silky white fabric felt cool against my skin as I slipped it on, the fit just as perfect as I remembered. When I stepped out, Sam froze mid-motion, her mouth falling open in mock astonishment.

‘Y/n,’ she said, drawing out my name dramatically, ‘you look like you just stepped out of a movie. That dress was made for you.’

I rolled my eyes with a small smile but couldn’t deny the hint of confidence her words gave me. ‘Alright, what’s next?’

‘Sit down,’ she instructed, waving me toward the chair in front of the vanity. ‘Hair and makeup, obviously. You’re in good hands.’

As Sam worked, her chatter filled the room, light and easy. She styled my hair into soft waves, adding just enough volume to make it feel glamorous but not overdone. For makeup, she went for a natural glow with a touch of shimmer on my eyelids and a classic swipe of mascara.

‘You know,’ she said as she blended the final touch of blush, ‘tonight’s not about anyone else. It’s about you having a good time. So, don’t overthink it. Just enjoy yourself—you deserve it.’

I met her eyes in the mirror, her sincerity catching me off guard. ‘Thanks, Sam,’ I said quietly.

‘Anytime,’ she replied with a grin, stepping back to admire her work. ‘Now, look at you! Ready to turn heads.’

I stood up, glancing at my reflection. The confidence I’d been missing started to creep back as I smoothed the fabric of the dress. ‘Alright,’ I said, grabbing my clutch with a newfound determination. ‘Let’s do this.’

Sam beamed, linking her arm with mine. ‘That’s the spirit. Now, let’s show Barcelona what you’re made of.’

We stepped out the door together, and for the first time that night, I felt like maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

—

Sitting by the bar, sipping on an espresso martini, I found myself engaged in polite small talk with a few familiar faces from the opposing team. The atmosphere was loud and lively, filled with the thumping bass of the music and the hum of conversations around us. Sam and I had been chatting casually, laughing at something ridiculous she’d said, when she suddenly announced, ‘I need to call Miguel.’

I raised a brow at her. ‘Right now?’

‘Yes, right now,’ she said, grinning and waving her phone. ‘It’s important.’

The music was far too loud for her to have any hope of hearing him, so we decided to step outside. The crisp night air hit me the second we walked out, the stark contrast to the heat of the club sending a shiver down my spine.

Sam wandered a little further down the alley, pressing her phone to her ear and trying to find a quieter spot. I stayed back, leaning against a random wall as I waited for her. That’s when I felt it—the cold. It wasn’t just chilly; it was sharp, the kind of wind that made you regret not bringing a jacket.

Rubbing my hands together in a futile attempt to keep warm, I realized how much the alcohol had gotten to me. The espresso martinis I’d been nursing all night suddenly made my head feel heavy, and my thoughts a little sluggish. Drunk and cold was not the ideal combination, and I couldn’t help but shiver as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to stay warm.

The street around me was quiet, apart from the muffled music spilling out from the club doors behind me. I glanced over at Sam, who was pacing slightly as she talked animatedly into her phone. It was strange being out here, away from the chaos inside, but a part of me welcomed the break, even if it came with the chill.

I sighed, rubbing my arms as the cold wind sliced through me, making me shiver uncontrollably. The night felt even colder now that the alcohol in my system was wearing off, leaving me feeling a little disoriented. A yawn escaped my lips as I glanced toward Sam, who was still pacing further down the alley, her phone pressed to her ear.

The sudden sound of the club door opening made me turn my head, and there he was. Kwon.

He stepped outside, letting the door swing shut behind him, his sharp eyes scanning the area before landing squarely on me. He was wearing a black jacket with a bold Cobra Kai logo stitched on the chest, the emblem catching the dim light. His presence was unmistakable, commanding as always, though his expression was hard to read—part surprise, part amusement.

‘What are you doing out here?’ he asked, his tone blunt as he walked closer, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

I straightened up instinctively, the cold biting at my skin even harder under his gaze. ‘Just waiting for Sam,’ I said, motioning toward her as casually as I could. ‘She’s making a call.’

Kwon stopped a few feet away from me, tilting his head slightly as he looked me up and down. ‘You look like you’re about to freeze to death,’ he said flatly, a hint of mockery in his voice.

I laughed nervously, rubbing my arms to try and warm up. ‘Yeah, it’s colder than I expected.’

‘Clearly,’ he said, arching a brow. ‘Did you even think about bringing a jacket, or are you just bad at planning ahead?’

I frowned, his tone making my stomach twist uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t think I’d be standing out here for so long,’ I muttered, looking away.

‘Right,’ he said with a smirk, shrugging off his jacket and holding it out toward me. ‘Here. Take it before you turn into an icicle.’

I hesitated, glancing between him and the jacket. ‘I’m fine. You don’t have to—’

‘Don’t make this more complicated than it is,’ he cut me off, his voice sharp. ‘Just take it. It’s not like I’m doing this for you—I just don’t want to hear about how someone froze to death outside the club.’

His words stung a little, but the cold won out. Reluctantly, I took the jacket, slipping it on. It was warm, the fabric carrying a faint scent of him—clean and woodsy, though I tried not to think about it too much.

‘Thanks,’ I said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, though his tone didn’t carry much warmth. After a pause, he added, ‘Next time, maybe think ahead. You don’t seem like the type who handles cold well.’

I bit back a retort, pulling the jacket tighter around me. Kwon always had a way of getting under my skin, but at least now, I wasn’t shivering.

‘I’ll be leaving,’ Kwon announced, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night as he saw Sam making her way back toward us.

I glanced at him, still not entirely used to his bluntness, but before I could respond, he patted my shoulder arrogantly, the motion deliberate and a little too forceful. His touch lingered for a second longer than necessary, and I could feel the slight warmth of his hand through the fabric of his jacket.

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and started heading back toward the club. He didn’t look back, his strides purposeful and confident, as if he hadn’t just done me a small favor moments ago.

I opened my mouth, about to thank him for the jacket, but the words died on my lips as he disappeared into the club without a second glance.

I stood there for a moment, the jacket still draped over my shoulders, feeling the cold night air around me once more. I wasn’t sure why his arrogance stung, but it did. Sam was just reaching my side as I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

Sam raised an eyebrow as she approached me, noticing the slight shift in my mood. ‘What’s up? You look like you’ve been hit with a wave of confusion.’

I shook my head, trying to brush it off. ‘Nothing, just… Kwon being Kwon.’

Sam tilted her head, a smirk forming on her lips. ‘Oh? Kwon being Kwon? What does that even mean?’

I sighed, glancing down at the jacket draped over my shoulders. The familiar Cobra Kai logo on the sleeve caught her attention instantly, and her eyes widened in surprise.

‘Wait a second,’ she said, her voice rising with shock. ‘You’re wearing his jacket?’

I felt a flush creep up my neck, suddenly self-conscious. ‘Yeah, he gave it to me,’ I muttered, feeling oddly defensive. ‘I was freezing, and he—’

‘Gave you his jacket?’ Sam interrupted, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. ‘Hmm, that’s… not something I would expect from him. What did he want from you?’

I blinked at her, momentarily thrown off by her question. ‘What do you mean, what did he want?’

She gave me a pointed look, clearly not buying my nonchalant tone. ‘Come on, Y/n. Kwon doesn’t just hand over his jacket for no reason. There has to be more to it than that.’

I hesitated, unsure how to explain it. He hadn’t really wanted anything, at least not directly. He had been his usual distant self, sarcastic and borderline mean, but there was something in the way he’d offered me his jacket that made me question his intentions. Maybe I was overthinking it.

‘I don’t know,’ I said slowly, feeling a bit uneasy. ‘He just noticed I was cold and… I guess he didn’t want me freezing out here.’

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. ‘Really? That’s it?’

I sighed, crossing my arms and glancing back toward the club. ‘Yeah, I guess so. It’s not a big deal.’

Sam didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she let it go for now. She looked me over one more time, her eyes lingering on the jacket as if trying to piece together some unspoken motive. ‘Well, I’m not complaining. It’s a good look for you, anyway,’ she said with a wink, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. ‘Thanks, I guess.’

I could tell Sam wasn’t a big fan of Kwon, and I had a feeling her compliment about me looking good in his jacket wasn’t exactly genuine. She was just trying to distract me, to get my mind off Axel. It was clear in the way she’d casually brushed it off, as if the whole thing with Kwon was no big deal. But the truth was, it wasn’t that simple.

I tugged the jacket a little tighter around myself, feeling its warmth but also the odd weight of it, like it carried more meaning than just the fabric against my skin. The whole encounter with Kwon had been strange. There was something in the way he’d acted—his arrogance, his nonchalance—that made it feel less like a simple act of kindness and more like a gesture wrapped in layers of unspoken tension.

As we walked back toward the club, Sam chattered on about the night, about how great it was that I’d decided to come out and how much fun we were going to have. But I couldn’t focus on her words. My mind kept drifting back to Kwon’s indifferent attitude and the way he’d just left without a second thought, and then there was the nagging thought about Axel.

Axel.

The thought of seeing him again tomorrow had already been enough to set my nerves on edge, but now, with Kwon’s jacket wrapped around me, it felt like there was something pulling me in two different directions. I didn’t know what to make of any of it.

Sam nudged me playfully, clearly unaware of the storm brewing in my head. ‘Come on, don’t let that jackass mess with your vibe. We’re here to have fun, remember?’

I smiled faintly, trying to force myself back into the present, but the weight of the jacket, of Kwon’s words, and the unspoken tension between me and Axel stayed with me. It wasn’t that easy to forget.

We stepped back into the club, and the contrast hit me immediately—a hot, suffocating wave of air, thick with the mix of bodies, music, and lights. It was a sharp reminder of how loud and alive everything was in here compared to the quiet, chilly night outside.

Feeling the heat creep up on me, I slipped off Kwon’s jacket, draping it over my arm. The faint scent of it still lingered, grounding me in a way I didn’t fully understand. I opened Instagram on my phone, typing out a quick message to him: Hey, is there a chance we could meet later? I have your jacket. I hit send but noticed it stayed unread. Typical Kwon.

Before I could dwell on it too long, something else grabbed my attention. Sam was weaving her way back toward me through the crowd, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. In each hand, she held a shot glass, the liquid inside glinting under the strobe lights.

‘Look what I got!’ she said, her voice cutting through the music as she handed me one. ‘Cheers to us, Y/n!’

I hesitated, eyeing the glass suspiciously. I knew my limits, especially after everything I’d already had tonight. ‘I don’t know, Sam,’ I started, shaking my head. ‘I think I’ve had enough.’

But Sam, ever persistent, rolled her eyes before knocking back her own shot effortlessly. ‘Come on,’ she coaxed, her tone playful and teasing. ‘It doesn’t even taste like alcohol. I swear.’

She stuck her tongue out dramatically, proving her point, and I couldn’t help but laugh a little. She was clearly in her element, and her energy was infectious. Relenting, I finally raised the glass. ‘Fine. Just this one.’

‘That’s my girl!’ Sam cheered, pulling me into a quick side hug as I downed the shot. True to her word, it didn’t have the harsh kick I’d been expecting, just a subtle sweetness that lingered.

I smiled faintly, raising the now-empty glass in a half-hearted cheer. ‘To us, I guess.’

Sam clinked her empty glass against mine, her enthusiasm practically radiating off her. I, on the other hand, found my focus slipping as I clutched Kwon’s jacket in one hand and tried to lose myself in the moment. But my thoughts kept circling back to Axel.

What was he doing right now? Was he here somewhere in this chaotic crowd, or was he still out with Zara and the others? No matter how much I tried to shake it off, the thought of him loomed in the back of my mind, pulling me in a direction I wasn’t sure I wanted to go.

‘Soooo… another shot?’ Sam asked, her tone mischievous as she swayed a little, clearly enjoying herself.

I shrugged, feeling the buzz of the night taking over. ‘Sure!’ I replied, grinning and forgetting entirely that I was supposed to be keeping track of my limits.

Sam disappeared for a moment and came back with a different color this time—a vivid blue shot that glowed under the club lights. I took it in my hand, ready to drink, when Zara suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

She was as drunk as we were, her excitement bubbling over as she hugged me tightly. Her words were slurred, tumbling out in a chaotic, happy mess.

‘Whoa… re-repeat what you just said!’ I laughed, holding the shot in one hand as I tried to make sense of her rambling.

I was about to drink it when a firm hand stopped me. Turning, I saw Kwon standing there, his expression sharp and unamused.

‘I think you’ve had enough,’ he said curtly, snatching the shot glass from my hand before I could even protest. He placed it on a nearby table with a deliberate motion, clearly unwilling to argue.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Sam grabbing the abandoned drink without hesitation and knocking it back, oblivious to Kwon’s disapproval.

‘Oh! Kwon!’ I said, suddenly remembering the jacket. I grabbed it and shoved it into his hands with a bright smile. ‘Thank you for warming me up earlier.’

He looked at me with a mixture of exasperation and something unreadable, but I didn’t give him time to respond. Turning to Sam, I grabbed her wrist. ‘Sam, let’s go outside. I don’t feel well,’ I said, pressing a hand to my temple.

The club felt overwhelming—the heat, the pounding music, the blur of lights and voices. My head was spinning, and the sensation was too much.

I managed a weak smile at Zara and Kwon before guiding Sam toward the exit. Once outside, I collapsed against the same wall I had been leaning on earlier. The freezing night air hit my skin like a splash of cold water, helping to clear my mind, if only slightly.

I sat there, eyes closed, focusing on my breathing as Sam lingered nearby. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps, and when I looked up, Kwon and Tory were walking toward me. Kwon carried a bottle of water, his usual sharp demeanor still intact, while Tory’s expression was softer, filled with concern.

Tory knelt beside me, gently grabbing my hand as she offered the water. ‘Drink some water,’ she said firmly.

I barely registered the sound of more people spilling out of the club, their footsteps crunching against the pavement as they approached. My eyes stayed closed, my body too heavy, the cold air lulling me toward sleep against the wall. That is, until a familiar scent drifted past my pink-tinted nose—a warm, intoxicating mix of something unmistakably Axel.

My eyes snapped open, and there he was, kneeling beside me. His hand rested gently on my knee, its warmth cutting through the chill in the air. Axel’s expression was calm but serious, his gaze flicking to Tory as he murmured something about getting me, Sam, and Zara home safely.

Tory nodded, giving me one last reassuring smile as she rose to her feet. Kwon followed her without a word, his jacket slung over his shoulder, and they both disappeared back into the club.

I blinked sluggishly, trying to piece together what was happening, but before I could form a coherent thought, Axel scooped me up effortlessly. My head lolled against his shoulder as the steady rhythm of his footsteps replaced the chaotic noise of the night.

The crisp night air carried his scent, a mix of cologne and something inherently him. I found myself leaning into it, breathing it in as my eyelids fluttered. My thoughts grew hazy, and the world around me blurred into a comforting haze.

The next thing I knew, we were in the quiet sanctuary of my hotel room. Axel carefully laid me down on the bed, his movements gentle and precise, as if afraid I might shatter. The softness of the mattress beneath me felt like a cloud, pulling me further into the depths of sleep.

Zara appeared out of nowhere, rushing to my side and enveloping me in a drunken hug. Her voice was a jumble of words I couldn’t quite make out, but the warmth of her embrace was familiar and comforting.

Axel gently but firmly pulled her away, his touch protective yet restrained. As Zara stumbled back, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

I blinked up at him, catching the subtle shift in his eyes. They weren’t cold or indifferent like they usually were—they held something different, something warmer, something… admiring. He didn’t smile, but the look was enough to stir something in my chest.

I muttered something under my breath, barely audible even to myself. Maybe it was, ‘Sleep tight.’ Maybe it was nothing at all.

As I rolled over, hugging the small teddy bear I always kept on my bed, the faint sound of Axel’s footsteps retreating faded into the quiet of the room. My last thought before sleep took over completely was the lingering feel of his presence and the way his eyes had looked at me—like I wasn’t just another fleeting part of the night.

#x fem!reader #x female reader #x y/n #x you #couple #cute #fluff #axel kovacevic #axel #couple goals #cobra kai #miyagi do #netflix #fanfic #fanfiction

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wildsaltair · 2 months ago

Text

Tender Fires

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, with a few hints of spice)

Word Count: 6.4k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted, @streets-in-paradise, @xiscamoony, @aelondrias

Author’s Note: I'm back with another Maximus fic! This is actually part of a larger narrative in which Maximus escapes the execution attempt and ends up at reader's farm, where she tends his wounds and they fall in love but have to fight their feelings because he intends to leave to keep her safe. As always, this fic is written from the deepest longings of my lovestruck heart, and I hope that love is obvious :) Thank y'all so much for your kind words about the last fic, and I hope you enjoy this one!!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’re up late.”

At your words, Maximus turns his head to look at you, and a soft smile crosses his lips. His features are etched in shadow, flickering with the dancing firelight.

He’s seated in front of your kitchen fire, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, gazing deep into the flames as if searching for some hidden meaning within. You would never have known he was in here if you had not been awakened by the loud cracks of thunder outside and come in search of the warmth of the fire.

An autumn storm, a midnight fire, and the most captivating man you have ever known, dressed only in his plain white sleeping tunic. It seems like a combination intended to lure you into trouble.

As you move to sit in the chair beside him, he looks back into the hearth, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. “I have stayed awake staring at many fires in my life,” he tells you quietly, his voice deep and thoughtful.

Out of the corner of your eye, you risk a glance at him, looking for the scar on his ribs. He has been with you for a little more than two weeks now, helping you with odd jobs around the farm as his strength returns. His wounds, though still vulnerable, have healed quickly, and you are relieved to see no signs of further injury on the parts of his skin that you can see.

“As have I,” you reply, eyes still lingering on him. “Though for me, it has always been the same fire. This one.”

He hums in response, nodding slightly. You have never sat by this fire together at night, and you are bewitched by the way the light dances over him, makes his golden skin shimmer. The lines of his arms and shoulders are limned in shadow, the firelight flickering on his handsome features.

You are overcome with a desire to put your hands on him, to feel the heat of his skin and the strength of his body, but you cast your gaze on the fireplace instead.

“I envy you that,” he answers softly, after a short reflection. He glances up at you, studying you intently. “A home fire, always burning in the same place.”

The meaning of his words is not lost on you.

Every day, the thought of him leaving you is more painful. At the moment, as you sit close enough to listen to him breathing, the thought is unbearable. Your home is his home now, and you long — more than you have ever longed for anything — for him to realize that he belongs here.

His shadowed eyes search yours a moment more, then return to gazing at the flames.

You take a deep, steadying breath to calm yourself. Your hands are trembling, and you smooth them over your skirt, hoping he does not notice how nervous you are from this simple interaction.

“Tea?” you ask quickly, pushing yourself to stand and get a bit of space between the two of you.

He glances up again, and your heart clenches at the gentleness in his expression. He nods. “Thank you.”

Have his eyes ever seemed so wide, so earnest? Are you imagining the way his gaze lingers on you, drinking in every detail of the way you move?

You can feel the tension in the room thickening, your own heart beating faster as you fill the kettle with water and set the tea leaves to brewing. Somehow, sharing space with this man is so much more intimate at night, with a storm raging outside and a warm fire bringing extra heat to the atmosphere.

Even more astonishing to you is the fact that you are not afraid of this powerful soldier. He is strong enough to do anything he wishes to you, to take whatever he obviously wants. But even now, standing here in your night shift, with your hair and your defenses down, you have no fear of him.

If anything, you wish he would initiate a touch, a kiss, anything that would lead to the passion that has been haunting your dreams every night.

Such as your dream last night. You can still feel the sensation of your body thoroughly tangled with his, your limbs entwined, his hands pulling your skirt up to your waist. Your cheeks burn when you remember all the places he kissed in your dream, all the places he touched and explored and pleasured. Such thoughts make you ache all over again, especially now that you are standing so close to him.

A blinding crack of lightning, followed by the roar of thunder, pulls you from the dream-memory of his mouth hot on your throat.

To distract yourself from such dangerous thoughts, you ramble on the first topic you can think of. “My father used to tell me stories beside this fire,” you announce as you hang the kettle over the fire and settle back into the chair beside him. You don’t dare meet his eyes, even as a smile crosses your lips at the memory. “I always begged him to tell me ghost stories even though they frightened me.”

He tilts his head to the side to look at you curiously, a smile of his own playing at his lips. “What kind of ghosts do you have in these parts?” he asks, leaning on one arm of the chair to look at you more squarely.

Somehow, having his full attention focused on you is unnerving, undoing, arousing. You can hardly find the words to speak.

His eyes are still on your face as you feel a deep blush burning in your cheeks. You hope he will attribute it to the warmth of the fire, not your intense reaction to the way he gazes at you. If he only knew how much more heated you are by his presence.

“My favorite is the Howling Woman,” you blurt out, glad that your voice is not as unsteady as you feared. “She wears all gray, with her head covered. She’s been seen in these mountains for decades.”

He does not interrupt you, but your breath catches as his gaze wanders across your face. An absent smile is still on his lips, and he seems to be content to simply watch you, to let his eyes trace the lines of your face, your neck, your hair where it tumbles over your shoulders. His gaze is searching, admiring.

How will you find the strength to hide your desire when one look from him could bring you to your knees?

Clenching your jaw and willing the kettle to boil faster, you continue your story determinedly. “They say she was the wife of a farmer who was killed after being thrown from his horse. She found him with his neck broken.” You pause, still breathless from the effects of his undivided attention. “She went mad and drowned her own children. When she came to her senses and realized what she had done, she walked into the wilderness to die.”

You wait for him to interject, to ask some clarifying question or comment, but he does not. He is still leaning on the arm of his chair, his dark eyes captivated by the sight of you in the firelight. You can almost sense the way he is actively preventing himself from letting his gaze wander further down — where your shift does little to hide the shape of your figure.

But somehow, his watchfulness is not an act of seduction. He seems genuinely swept up in your story, spellbound by the sound of your voice. He listens to you intently, curiously, and waits for you to continue.

“But to punish her for her crime,” you continue, blushing even harder, “the gods cursed her to wander these mountains and valleys for eternity, never able to die and meet her family in the afterlife.”

It is the sound of your voice, you realize now. His gaze wanders over your features slowly, as if measuring them, but his silence persists the longer you speak. It is as if he cannot bring himself to interrupt you, so captivated as he is by your voice.

“She still walks at night,” you finish, finally allowing yourself to look deep into his eyes. There seems to be no end to them, no way to pull yourself out of the gaze that holds you captive. “She wanders, calling and wailing and howling.”

He swallows hard, licks his lips, though you guess he does so unconsciously. A shiver runs up your spine, and not from your ghost story.

You lean forward, just an inch or so, to finish the story. “They say you can hear her best on a night like this,” you whisper, and the silence between you is so concentrated that you feel you might choke on it.

His gaze flits down to your lips for a moment, and in this flickering firelight, surrounded by warmth and desire, you think he may kiss you.

The silence is broken by a loud crack of thunder outside, one that makes you jump at its suddenness. You both look away, realizing how intently you have been gazing at one another for an inexcusably long amount of time.

The tea in the kettle is boiling at last, and, glad for the distraction, you lean forward to take it off the fire. Your two cups are sitting on the table beside you, and you fill both before handing one to him. He nods his thanks, and the two of you sit quietly for a few moments, looking deep into the firelight.

He is the one who finally breaks the silence. “Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks softly, with that pleasant raspy quality you have come to recognize in him at night.

You smile and lean back in your chair to sip at your tea. “Of course,” you confirm lightly. “Don’t you?”

His expression grows quizzical, and he doesn’t lift his eyes away from the fire. He takes a sip of his tea, thinks for a long time before answering. You are more than content to sit in silence with him, but he finally comes to an answer.

“No,” he tells you quietly, still mesmerized by the dancing flames. Eerie shadows prance over his fine features. “Spirits do not wander the earth after death. They go to the afterlife.”

His voice is calm and even, but resolute, assured. You have talked so little with him about such things, and you cannot deny your curiosity at learning more about what he believes.

“How do you know?” you press, unconsciously leaning toward him.

He does not move for a moment, just grips his cup tighter and sharpens his gaze at the fire. “I have seen enough death to feel certain of it,” he declares, then turns his head to look into your eyes again. “If ghosts could exist,” he tells you softly, gently, “then I would be haunted by them every moment.”

Your heart aches for him now, for the pain and grief he carries with him always. His life has been difficult, laden with the weight of many lives and much responsibility. Even in a peaceful haven like your home, he is ever followed by the burdens of his past, no matter how much comfort and peace you have offered him.

“Perhaps they do not wish to speak to you,” you suggest, tilting your head to show that you are teasing him. “Perhaps you do not know all there is to know in the world.”

His haunted expression softens as he looks at you, taking in the meaning of your words. As before, his soft smile smoothes the lines in his face, lifts a bit of the weariness etched into his features. You can’t help wondering if he realizes your effect on him, if he craves these moments of tranquility and comfort as much as you do.

“I am sure of that,” he tells you in a low voice, and your heart turns over at the simple passion in his eyes.

You lapse into silence once again, each of you drinking your tea and losing yourself in thought. Your own ponderings are of him, wondering what he is thinking. He has seemed burdened ever since you found him sitting by the fire, and you long to know what worries him.

If he only knew how your heart leaps at the sight of him, how you long to cradle his face in your hands, to kiss him until all his burdens are lifted, until all he knows is this deep, all-consuming love that has swept over your heart like an autumn storm.

The thunder continues to roll outside, the rain pelting your roof relentlessly, but the warmth of the fire and the pleasant constancy of his presence is comforting.

You do not press him for several long minutes, letting him mull over his worries in silence until both of you have finished your tea. When you set your two empty cups on the table beside you, you finally decide to inquire, pushing your chair a few inches nearer to him and leaning on one arm of the chair so you can look into his eyes more closely.

“What troubles you?” you ask softly, and he finally lifts his head, dark eyes burning into yours with all the intensity of the hearth fire.

His voice is hardly more than a whisper when he replies, “Ghosts.”

“Memories?” you ask, entranced by the way he slowly leans forward, closing the distance between the two of you one inch at a time. Your skin suddenly burns, aching for a touch, one simple touch, that will answer your constant longing for his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, in which he seems to ponder the consequences of what he wants, he finally lifts one hand and trails his fingertips down the side of your face.

“Shadows of things I do not understand,” he murmurs absently, and he traces the line of your jaw with fingers so gentle you cannot imagine them ever wielding a sword.

He gazes at you more openly now, his eyes traveling down to your lips as his thumb brushes over them. You suppress a shudder at the contact, and he strokes your lips a few times, transfixed by the sight, before sliding the backs of his knuckles down the column of your throat.

Stars in the heavens, if he only knew how your body is aching for him, how you respond to the slightest touch he gives you.

You finally find your voice to speak. “Is it your men?” you ask softly, as if the room has suddenly been overtaken by a spell.

He sighs, brow furrowed deeply in thought. “They were not my men,” he replies at last, still stroking his fingers down your neck. “Not the ones who betrayed me. My men were loyal, courageous.” His voice is thick with sorrow, and you sense that recalling this memory is painful for him. “They were my brothers,” he half-whispers. “They would have risen up in rebellion if they had known.”

Your heart aches again at the sadness in his voice, the sadness he works so hard to disguise throughout the day. Somehow, in the darkness, in the stillness of nighttime, he seems more vulnerable.

“Why does the Emperor want you dead so badly?” you finally venture to ask.

His hand stills on your neck, eyes not quite focused on your face. He seems to be traveling back in time in his mind, and he draws a deep breath as he thinks. Almost as if he does not realize what he is doing, his hand wanders to the base of your neck, absently stroking the sensitive skin there.

It’s all you can do to hold still, to keep from betraying how perfectly wonderful his touch is to you.

His voice is low and measured when he answers your question. “I once received favor that he believed should have been his.” He pauses, then raises his eyes to meet yours meaningfully. “By his own father.”

His words take you aback, and you know he must notice your wide-eyed stare. “Marcus Aurelius?” you squawk in disbelief. “You knew the great Emperor?”

“Yes,” he replies, his face softening into a smile at the memory. You are shocked by the revelation, but his fond smile warms your heart after seeing his heavily burdened expression a moment ago.

He presses on, though his hand is now running softly over your shoulder, skimming over the top of your thin shift. “I was young when he took me under his wing,” he explains, eyes tracing the path his hand is making on your shoulder. “I had won some small battles, and he saw in me potential for greater things. He made me what I am today.”

He strokes your shoulder once, gently, then removes his hand, as though he cannot trust himself to keep touching you there. Again lifting his deep blue eyes to meet your gaze, he looks at you so tenderly, so affectionately, as he raises the same hand to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You want to melt, to close your eyes and sigh in pleasure at his simple touch, but you fight for your composure. “He must have been a great man,” you manage instead, meaning every word.

“He was the greatest man I have ever known,” he murmurs, stroking his fingers through your hair at your temple now. “He is the closest thing to a father that I ever knew.”

You have noticed how the man is drawn to your hair whenever you leave it down. He seems fascinated with it, with the way it cascades through his fingers when he cards them through it. His attentions are so gentle, so unobtrusive, as if he is unable to keep himself from simply admiring your beauty in this soft firelight.

“And that is why the Emperor envies you,” you observe to keep from losing your breath.

“Yes,” he answers quietly, his voice hardly above a whisper. “He believed that his father wanted to pass on his power to me.”

You nearly startle in surprise at his words. Not only the commander of the northern armies, not only a confidante of Marcus Aurelius, but the rightful future emperor himself?

You almost feel dizzy, though you’re not sure if it is from the shocking news or the way his fingers keep brushing your temple as he plays with your hair. “Did he?” you prompt him breathlessly, genuinely curious.

He ponders for several long moments, letting your hair stream between his fingers. You are entranced simply by looking at his features — his dark eyelashes, his sharp nose, the gentle creases by his mouth. He is so exquisitely lovely to you, so unaware of how deeply he affects you.

“I do not know,” he finally admits, tracing the side of your face before letting his hand fall back into his lap again. “He never told me.”

His words silence some of the shock you were feeling at wondering if you were in the presence of a man who was supposed to have ruled Rome. The thought of this man, this humble, honest, unpretentious warrior, ruling such a corrupt and conniving empire is almost unthinkable.

You are struck by the absence of his touch, and he seems hesitant to initiate any more contact now that he realizes how close he has drawn to you. He’s still watching you carefully, as if gauging your reaction to his touches, but you cannot resist reaching out to him now.

Your fingers seek out the necklace that hangs down to his chest, a simple cord bearing two wolf’s teeth on the end. You have never asked him about its origin. You handle it carefully, and the man barely breathes as your hand hovers over his chest.

“What would you have done if all this had never happened?” you ask softly, caught in the intimacy of this quiet moment. “Would you have been a soldier all your life?”

Your question is a heavy one, full of unspoken desire and curiosity. You can tell he senses that desire by the way his dark eyes burn into yours, by the way his chest rises and falls more quickly, as if you are taking his breath away just by touching his necklace.

He thinks for a few moments, still gazing deep into your eyes. “I always imagined I would die in battle,” he tells you, a hint of sorrow in his voice. “There seemed no other fate in store for me.”

Your heart tightens, and you let go of your loose grip on his necklace. Suddenly, all you want to do is touch him, to make contact with his body somehow. His words have struck a chord in your heart, reminding you how grateful you are that this world-weary soldier has come to your home, to your hearth, instead of falling on a battlefield hundreds of miles away.

With your pulse racing, you press your hand flat against his chest, splaying your fingers over his heart. Even through the fabric of his nightshirt, you can feel his heart pounding like a war drum, perfectly in rhythm with your own.

Oh, how you long to press your heart against his, to be wrapped up in his arms, so thoroughly tangled with his body that you cannot tell where you begin and he ends.

His breath comes more quickly now, his lips parted and his eyes scorching yours with a hunger that stirs your blood.

“But,” he begins in a hoarse whisper, his gaze flickering down to your lips and then back up, “I did imagine, sometimes…” He pauses, licks his lips again, takes a slow breath, “that if I did have a chance to grow old… I might…”

He halts again, his voice dying in his throat. You press your palm more firmly against his chest, and his heart skips a beat beneath your hand. You can feel his skin burning hot under his shirt.

“Tell me,” you whisper, and a look of unadulterated desire flashes across his face.

He leans close to you, close enough that his breath skims over your lips. “That I might one day have a home,” he breathes. “A family.” He sighs softly, the longing in his voice especially evident. “A life of peace always seemed… unlikely.”

The hesitation in his words is palpable, and suddenly his own larger hand is covering yours, pressing it tight against his chest. You realize that he is relishing your touch the way you relished his a moment ago.

After holding your hand against his heart a moment longer, he grasps your hand in his, lifts it to his lips. Your own heart skips a beat now, when he presses a slow, languid kiss to the back of your hand.

“And now?” you whisper, breathless and tingling with need.

He breathes against your hand, slowly and calmly. “Now,” he echoes, his voice rumbling in your bones. “Now a life of peace seems impossible.”

No. No, he cannot mean that. He cannot still mean to leave you when his gentle eyes speak of the passion he holds for you.

“It does not have to be,” you insist, lifting your free hand to touch the side of his face. He actually sighs at your touch, his eyes fluttering closed. His lips are slightly parted, and it takes all your willpower not to lean forward and kiss him until he can breathe nothing but your name.

His eyes remain closed when he responds, your hand still cradled in his. “To believe otherwise would be foolish,” he tells you, though his voice is anything but resolute. “Dangerous.”

You stroke the side of his face tenderly, enraptured by the way he reacts to your touch. He seems so relaxed, so overwhelmed when you caress him gently. The thought suddenly strikes you that this man has probably never been touched this way — not as light as a feather, with such love and affection that he can feel it beating in rhythm with his heart.

When you brush your fingertips down his neck, over the sensitive skin of his throat, he makes a sound so soft, so unguarded, that you nearly come undone for him right there.

“Are you not well acquainted with danger?” you whisper, leaning in closer to him. He opens his eyes when he feels you drawing nearer, and his fathomless eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You want him to stay. You want him to love you as you so desperately love him. You want him to never stop looking at you the way he is now.

And when you press your hand flat against the side of his neck, your gaze fluttering over every perfect feature of his face, his soul opens to you, and you see all the love you bear for him reflected deep in his own eyes.

“Yes,” he breathes, and he leans forward to close the few inches that separate your lips from his.

The first sensation that strikes you is his blood pulsing in his neck, hammering against your hand as you caress him. His own hand tangles in your hair, holding you in place while he presses his lips against yours.

There is no hesitation in this kiss, no second-guessing or reluctance. His lips move against yours in a rhythm so natural that you wonder if he has imagined this as many times as you have.

He tilts his head slightly to the side, drowning in your kiss like a dying man seeking air. You can feel the breath knocked out of your lungs, so unaccustomed to any attention as passionate as this. The man lifts his other hand to cradle your jaw, still kissing your lips, gently but insistently, over and over and over.

This is what heaven must be like, you realize distantly when his tongue slides against yours, every inch of your skin tingling in response. His undivided attention, his unashamed desire for you is so arousing, so delightful in every way.

You can feel your cheeks burning, your skin heating up, the longer his hands linger on your face and neck. His fingers stroke your jaw, and his other hand grips your hair just hard enough to hold you in place. He is still reveling in your kiss, still using his lips and tongue to draw out the softest moan you have ever made in your life.

As soon as he hears it, he moves his lips to press against the corner of your mouth, much as he did the first time he kissed you in the barn. He trails his lips down your jaw, peppering kisses on every inch of skin he passes.

Thoroughly excited by his kisses and touches, your mind is all too eager to provide any number of tempting images. When he dips his head to one side, lips touching the place where your jaw meets your neck, all you can imagine is the careful way he would undress you, lay you down, and make love to you, slowly and gently but passionately.

He drags his lips down your neck, his curious tongue coaxing another soft sound from you. Again, your mind flashes to all the ways he might use his tongue on you, all the places he could seek out and tease until you are so dizzy with pleasure that all you can say is his name, over and over.

Another press of his tongue, and it takes all your strength not to beg him to take you right here. You can imagine it so easily, the way he would grip your waist, your hips, the way you would wrap yourself around him and touch every inch of his bare skin if he would only give you the chance.

What would you not give to see him shudder in pleasure, to throw his head back and hold you tight as you cling to him and make him feel the same thing he ignites in you?

It’s at that moment that he whispers your name, tenderly, reverently, like a prayer, against the soft column of your throat. Your whole body shudders in response, your hands tightening where they have landed on his broad shoulders, and he finally fulfills what you have been aching for.

One strong arm wraps around your waist, the other around your upper back, and in the space of a breath the man has pulled you against him, leaning you to the side so that you are cradled in his arms across his lap.

You are suddenly very aware of how thin your shift is, of the way he must be able to feel every curve of your body pressed against him. His fingers are gentle where they wrap around your waist, and you feel with heightened awareness all the strength of his own body, all his powerful muscles and vigorous energy.

All you can do is sigh in pleasure as he keeps his head buried in your neck, still kissing your sensitive skin as though he cannot get enough of you.

You can barely take a breath, so overcome with the multitude of sensations he ignites in you. His hand flexes against your waist, and you respond in kind with your fingers digging into his back.

You have the distinct impression that the man is having to physically restrain himself from going further, that all he wants to do right now is yank open your shift and kiss his way down your bare body. As irresistible as that thought is, you let him take the lead, and he chooses to simply kiss you rather than ravish you.

He is a noble man, a man of honor, and though your body is aching for him to truly make you his, you take pleasure in his self-control, his respect for you.

His fervent kisses to your neck finally slow, and he breathes against your skin as though trying to memorize you. When he nuzzles his face against your neck, all you can do is close your eyes in absolute ecstasy. One of your hands finds its way into his hair, and it’s his turn to shiver with pleasure, pulling you even closer against his body and resting his lips against the curve of your neck.

He goes still in your arms when you stroke his hair, slowly and tenderly with your fingertips. Again, you are struck by his reactions to your gentle touches, by the way he melts into your arms as though overpowered.

Several long moments are spent in that position, with you cradled against his chest, his face against your neck. You would be content to stay like this all night, just listening to him breathe, feeling his heart beating against your side.

But the moment passes, as all moments do. Another crack of thunder shakes the house, and you can’t help but jump a little in his arms.

As if pulled out of his daze, the man smiles softly against your neck, strokes your back soothingly in a way that only serves to make you arch your body against his. A moment later, he lifts his head from the crook of your shoulder, letting his face brush against yours as you disentangle yourselves.

Though you have just spent the last few moments passionately embracing and kissing, and though both of you are still flushed and breathless with exhilaration, the following moment is not awkward. You do not look at each other as you part, but you can sense your own relief and contentment in him.

You do not know what will come of this. You do not know if he will stay much longer. But in a moment like this, with your lips still swollen from his kiss and your skin still burning from his touch, you feel as though no heartbreak can be as vast as this perfect fulfillment you feel with him.

You stand slowly, glad that you are not as unsteady as you feel, and you lift the kettle off the fire just to have something to do. You can feel the man’s eyes on you, though he does not speak.

“It is a fierce storm tonight,” you comment, almost without realizing that you are speaking. The silence between you was comfortable, but you long to say something, to know that he is still at ease with you.

He takes his time in responding, especially since you have your back to him. “Yes,” he says simply, his voice deep and husky.

Stars, how you want to hear that voice in your ear, in your bed, murmuring to you while you both reach the height of your shared pleasure.

You swallow hard to banish your intrusive thoughts. You move to set the kettle down in your cabinet and scramble to think of something else to say. Rain continues to pound against your roof, sending a slight chill through the air despite the warmth of the fire.

“Will you be warm enough tonight?” you ask over your shoulder, still conscious of his eyes burning into your back.

Again, he takes his time answering. “Yes,” he finally replies. “Will you?”

You let the question hang, still standing with your back to him. You hope he can understand your wordless answer, especially after sharing such an intimate moment.

The only warmth I crave now is the heat of your body against mine.

Still trying to avoid meeting his eyes, you half-turn to pick up your two empty cups from the table. Doing so makes you lean against the side of the little square table, and you notice with great surprise that it does not tilt dangerously to the side as it has for the last several months.

The table legs are perfectly even now, and you suddenly raise your eyes to look at the man squarely. He is gazing at you with the oddest combination of expressions — desire, contentment, admiration, sorrow, longing, affection, and several others you cannot name.

“You fixed my table,” you observe, genuinely struck by the kindness of his simple gesture. You don’t know when he did it, but sometime in the last few days he must have noticed the unsteadiness and taken the time to fix it somehow.

He holds your gaze for a long moment, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “It needed fixing,” he replies simply.

Your heart leaps into your throat, though you can’t say quite why. Despite the fact that just a moment ago you were wrapped up in his arms, sighing while he covered your neck with kisses, you are much more affected by his modest demonstration of kindness — fixing something of yours that was broken.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, returning his small smile with all the warmth blossoming in your heart.

You finish your task, setting the two cups in the cabinet to be washed tomorrow. The storm outside has quieted somewhat, but you can still hear the constant pounding of raindrops on the roof and walls.

Quiet thunder rolls in the distance as you turn to look at the man again. He is still seated, leaning forward with his knees on his elbows, gazing at you curiously.

This is what you want: this man in your home, always, sharing your fire, sharing your space, looking at you as if you hold his heart in your hands.

The words spill from your lips before you can consider them. “My father always told me that a storm can make a person change their mind about anything.” You hear the significance in your own words, and you press on anyway. “He said it’s in their nature to bring about transformation.”

The man’s darkened eyes do not leave yours for a moment, and you hold his gaze steadily, wanting him to hear your unspoken plea.

Stay with me. Let me love you as I do in my dreams.

His face does not betray any decision, but his gaze is tender, filled with a weary longing. His eyes explore each feature of your face as gently as his fingers did a few moments ago.

“Perhaps I will listen to it for awhile, then,” he murmurs, and your heart sighs.

All is not lost. You must simply wait.

As you start towards the doorway that leads to your bedroom, you pause beside his chair. The man is looking up at you with eyes that melt you to your very soul. Overcome with your affection for him, you lift one hand and stroke the side of his face, smiling down at him fondly.

“Goodnight, general,” you whisper, and your heart whispers, Beloved.

Before you can drop your hand, the man wraps his fingers around it and brings it to his lips. An unhurried kiss to the back of your hand, one that sends another shiver down your spine, and he releases you. His eyes burn into yours, intense, ardent, yearning.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, and your heart hears his whisper, Beloved, long after you have slipped into the next room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

#this may or may not be the best standalone fic i've ever written #i forgot about it but it seemed appropriate for halloween hehe #in case anyone is wondering this is what is happening in my brain constantly #this is just the words version of it #maximus is ALWAYS on my mind #i am eternally longing for sweet moments like this #i swoon i yearn i melt i die #the thought of sharing a moment like this with him???#i go into cardiac arrest #i wrote this and it still makes me melt every time i reread it #because it's from the heart!!#this was written with all the love i bear for him!!!#welcome to this tiny glimpse into my heart and soul friends #enjoy the drama #and the love #and the spicy hints here and there hehehehe #oh maximus how i love you #how i would love you if given the chance #gladiator #maximus #maximus decimus meridius #gladiator 2000 #russell crowe #fanfiction #gladiator fanfiction #maximus x reader #maximus decimus meridius x reader #my fanfiction

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