#consequence-free cooking is amazing though?

[starshineyellow]

Heehee, sorting the food and dishes in a kids’ pretend kitchen stove and oven makes dopamine go brrrrrrrrrrrrrr

[chrollogy]

THE COST OF DEVOTION | chrollo lucilfer x f!reader

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

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

word count: 18.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two weeks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lukas?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trust? Good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was more than crossing a mere boundary.

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

“I’m done with this conversation.”

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

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

You felt defeated.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

Correct. Chrollo did not care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was about time Chrollo hunted for his prey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Euan? Chrollo thought.

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

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

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

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

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

Unbelievable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only option left was to check the balcony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Was he nervous?

Impossible. There was no such emotion in his dictionary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How ironic.

You really did need that extra security from the Hestons.

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

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

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

If he got the job done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked so peaceful, and undisturbed. Vulnerable.

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

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

The problem was, Chrollo couldn’t do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help me escape even for a little while.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chrollo—!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On the bed . .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tonight is all about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to stop?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haah—! That’s right, give in to it.”

And you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah . .” You nodded in a daze.

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You believed it for a week.

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

He never smiled at you like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is . . rather unprofessional, miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me?”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little over a week.

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

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

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

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

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

Chrollo’s grip tightened around the wheel.

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

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

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

“I can give you that.”

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

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

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

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

The answer was more than obvious.

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

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

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

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

Maybe in another life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chrollo? What brings you here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we taking a detour, Chrollo?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

Ciaran. Chrollo. Kill. Your blood ran cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The faint scent of iron hung in the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that it mattered to Chrollo.

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

Until it withered. 

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The audacity he had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 1

*Chapter 1 written ahead of season 4 launching, this has been in my head a while ago, so it's amazing to find a scattering of similarities! Though as this will become romantic, it's obviously completely separate from any existing and future storylines.*

River decides, finally, that David needs some help at home, so sets about employing someone to do just that without really thinking of the consequences.

River Cartwright / Original female character (Seren is named, but feel free to insert yourself should you wish).

Masterlist

Chapter 1

River was late, of course. He'd tried to get out earlier, but he'd had to break up a fight between Louisa and Shirley. A full-on argument that had nearly escalated into physical violence and all because they were both stupidly stubborn. They’d patched things up when Shirley slid a cup of coffee onto Louisa’s desk along with the last of the Jaffa Cakes. They’d mumbled apologies and were laughing like nothing had happened when he’d ducked out. He tried not to dwell on his own stubbornness as he drove. He was already dealing with his lateness, and that was enough for right now. There was a small beat-up car parked alongside his grandfather's when he arrived, and the owner was nowhere to be seen, which meant she must have ventured inside. That was far from ideal. He hadn't had much time to broach the delicate subject with his grandfather, but he already knew from past attempts that it wouldn't be well received. The doctor had made the suggestion this time, though, that had to count for something? David had, of course, scoffed at the idea, but then two days later nearly burned the kitchen down whilst cooking dinner. Again. River was at his limit. With work so unpredictable, he couldn't be there when David needed him, and something had to change. He’d been loath to admit it, but then the doctor had passed the number to him, and he figured it was worth a try.

*

She'd answered on the second ring, bright and breezy.

“Hi, hello?”

“Are you… are you the person offering in-home support?” He asked hurriedly, as if his grandfather would overhear him despite the distance between them.

“No, Poppy, not the icing just yet, sweetheart. Sorry, yes, that's me. I'm just with a family at the moment. It's my last day so we're making cakes.”

“Cakes? I didn't know that was part of what you do?”

“Well it depends on the family, really. I've been looking after Poppy's mum, while she recovers from an operation, so this time it's been school runs, helping with homework, general domestic work. My last family before this one I was looking after an elderly couple, cooking, cleaning, administering medicines. My duties are often different depending on the people. I used to just sit and read aloud to one lady.”

“Oh.” He said quietly.

“You're new to this?” She guessed. “That's OK, why don't you let me know your circumstances?”

*

And so here he was, about to be in trouble on all fronts. His grandfather would hate that he was hiring help, and the woman he hired was about to bear the brunt of David's temper and his rapidly deteriorating mind, so of course, she’d end up hating River for that. He braced himself for a frosty welcome. He opened the old oak door with a soft click, trying not to insert himself immediately into the argument which was… not occurring? He moved quietly through the downstairs of the house, following the sounds from the library.

“And now, my dear, you see I have you in check.” His grandfather said, River could hear the smile in his voice. “We also have company at last. Come on in, my boy.” Rumbled. He peered around the door to see a teapot and three cups laid out on the table with two in use, and his grandfather sat across from a woman with the chessboard between them. “This young lady is from the book club at the local library. She’s trying to get me to sign up!” A frown crossed River’s face.

“Well actually,” the woman began,

“Sounds great, grandad. And you're… teaching her to play chess?” River interrupted.

“Exactly that. It's a curious game of logic and passion, everyone should learn it.” David replied gleefully.

“If I could just have a word, Mr Cartwright?” The woman spoke up again.

“Yes?” Both Cartwright gentlemen answered before River took the lead,

“Yes, of course.”

“Always turned by a pretty girl,” David rolled his eyes.

“Thanks for that, Grandad,” he muttered. “I'll put some more tea on?”

“Good man.” David settled back at the table and reviewed the chess board. “Don't go far, young lady, there's still a lot to learn.” The woman followed River to the kitchen where he braced his hands on the countertop with his head down.

“I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry I'm late.”

“Nice to meet you. I'm Seren.” She offered her hand, and he shook it.

“Yes, yeah, sorry, that too - nice to meet you, please, call me River. He thinks you're from the library?”

“I did introduce myself, we started talking about books, so I think he must have mixed the conversation up a little. It's no harm, but we should let him know why I'm really here?”

“And we will, for sure, I just… he's… the Old Bastard isn’t going to be happy about this, so I need to do it in the right way. Names and faces are getting harder for him. I’ve lost count how many times he’s nearly burned this kitchen down. He sleeps with a gun by his bed for fucks sake. Sorry.” Seren stayed silent and he prayed to any deity he could think of that she wouldn’t walk out.

“It's best not to prolong the lie, it'll cause more confusion later on. If it helps, I have a lot of experience with this, I’m not scared of the outbursts and moments of confusion and I’ll be right here to remind him of that during his times of clarity.”

“I get that, I do,” he stopped, looking out at the garden. “I don't know how to do this.” He admitted sadly. Seren joined him at the window.

“No one does.” She said softly. “I recommend we start with keeping it very simple, very factual. Explain that you're worried and you think having someone close by will help put your mind at rest.” He nodded in agreement.

“Can't promise it'll go well?”

“I know you can't. Unfortunately, neither can I.” She reasoned. She let him lead the way back to the library where David was still plotting his next move.

“Grandad? I think there's been a mix up. I thought we could do with some help around the house, this is Seren. I’ve asked her to look in on you, maybe make a bit of dinner a few evenings a week.”

“A babysitter?” David’s previously amenable demeanour was gone in an instant.

“No, not… not a babysitter at all. Just some extra help, some company for you?” River held up his hands in surrender.

“Young lady, get out of my house,” David demanded sternly.

“Stay, please Seren.” River implored. The woman looked genuinely torn.

“Let me give you both some space,” she concluded, turning to River. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” He nodded gratefully, the relief that she wasn’t leaving the house entirely was clear to see.

“Grandad, please?” River pleaded once they were alone. The elder Cartwright ignored him, turning his attention to the chessboard again. “I’m worried about you. Fires in the kitchen? A gun by your bed?”

“They’re always watching, we must remain vigilant.” His grandfather said quietly. River dragged a hand down his face.

“No one is watching you.”

“How would you know? Over with the rejects, out of the loop and fussing over parking tickets and unpaid licence fees.” River felt the blow. He’d worked so hard, or as hard as was allowed at Slough House, to prove to David that he was still a capable Agent. Someone who did have a future with the service. His grandfather had never doubted the Stanstead stitch up, in fact it was more proof to him that they were trying hard to erase the Cartwright name, but there was still an unspoken assumption that River could have and should have done more. River felt the pressure of it every day in the offhand comments his grandfather made. And those were only getting more frequent with David’s declining mental capabilities.

“You’re right. I don’t know,” River was forced to admit. “But the thought of you here alone terrifies me and I need you to understand why I’m doing this.”

“I won’t pay her.”

“I will.”

“I won’t speak with her or engage with her while she’s here.”

“Fine, I’ll let her know.”

“I don’t like this, River.”

“I know you don’t. But it’s happening. I’m sorry, but… I can’t take no for an answer on this. I’m giving her a key to come and go as she needs to. Speak to her or don’t, she’ll make sure you have food, she’ll collect your medications, she’ll be here whether you agree or not.”

“I think it’s time you left, don’t you?” David concluded, completing the chess game he’d ultimately ended up playing with himself. River placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder and gave a light squeeze.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he promised. He found Seren in the kitchen, as promised, her head deep in the fridge. She pulled out a few items and threw them into the open bin she’d pulled closer.

“Something stinks in here. I’m just getting rid of anything out of date and I’ll refill it tomorrow.” She told him, grimacing at the smell from the salad drawer. From a quick glance, he could see that the teapot and cups had been washed, the table was clear of clutter and crumbs and the grimey window had been pushed open to let in the last of the day’s sun. He released a long sigh he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in.

“Thank you,” he began, not really knowing what to say. She’d done more in the ten minutes she’d been left alone than David had managed for the last six months or more. He took a key from his pocket, along with his wallet, and started counting out a few twenty pound notes. She closed the fridge and turned back to face him.

“The seal is gone on the fridge door. I’ll get a new one and fit it in the next few days.” She scribbled on a notepad he hadn’t spotted on the table, the makings of a to do list. He could already see clean windows and food shop on the list. He took out another twenty quid.

“This is all the cash I have on me right now,” he explained, holding it out. She took the notes from him, kept twenty and passed the rest back to him.

“This covers the shopping. We’ll work out the rest later.”

“He won’t give you a penny-”

“I know, and that’s fine. I can handle this.”

“He’s going to be mad at you when he’s with it enough to know what’s going on, and he’s going to be mad at you when he hasn’t got a clue who you are or what’s going on.”

“So he’s going to be mad at me. I’ll get over it.” She assured him. He stared at the woman in front of him, a smear of dust on her forehead and her hands on her hips. His grandfather’s comments rang in his ear; always turned by a pretty girl. River sighed.

“Are you sure?”

“Let me do my job, Mr Cartwright.” She told him, taking up her notepad and the key. “I’ll be over in the morning with some shopping, I’ll batch cook some meals and start some household stuff. I’ll keep out of his way unless he needs me for something.” And then she was gone, only the scent of her perfume remaining.

*

It became a ridiculous dance. More often than not, River would arrive in the early evening a couple of times a week to find Seren in one room and David in another. He would go between the two trying to determine whether it had been a good day, a bad day or just a day. By the end of the first week, River was convinced Seren hated him for dragging her into his mess. David wasn't speaking to either of them unless it was to shout at them (separately of course). Eventually River was somewhat forgiven enough that David would at least speak to him but he knew that the same could not be said for Seren. River found himself half dreading and half looking forward to his visits. His grandfather essentially ignored Seren which made for an unwelcoming atmosphere but she'd quickly become the highlight of his day.

“Is that for me?” She asked one month into the role. She'd been standing on a windowsill when he arrived, cleaning what she declared to be the final window. He'd set about making dinner and trying to convince David to at least be cordial. She came down a short time later, gathering up her book, phone, notepad and anything else she intended to take with her to find that River had three meals plated up.

“If you'd like to stay? Thought it might be nice?”

“Nice?” She looked behind her to check that David wasn't in earshot, “River, I have spent a month being ignored when he's lucid and shouted and screamed at when he's not. I've cooked, cleaned and fixed things. In that time he has not spoken a single nice word to me, and that's absolutely fine, that's his choice. But I'm sorry, I don't intend to stay a little longer because you've cooked.” He looked aghast.

“I'm sorry. It was selfish to think that you might want to stay.”

“No, it's… it's not selfish. It was thoughtful of you, thank you. I just can't stick around. I'm not wanted here, that's been made clear. I just want to do my job and go home and drown in the bath.” Images which would likely earn him a black eye filled River's mind.

“Leave the girl alone River, let her go home.” David said entering the kitchen. Seren took a big step back, River hadn’t realised how closely they'd been standing.

“Goodnight.” She mumbled and headed out the back door.

*

Seren rested her head against the steering wheel of her car. For six long weeks she’d been David Cartwright’s metaphorical punching bag. Unwilling to tolerate her presence when he was lucid, he was angry and rude, and then in moments when his memories and mind were not his own, the outbursts were worse. She wasn’t sure which of his personalities she preferred, neither were remotely nice to her. She’d transformed the house, fixed multiple broken household items - the fridge, the floorboard she kept tripping on in the hallway, the plug socket she’d been horrified to see sparks coming out of when she used it. Fortunately it had been a socket David hadn’t bothered using, if he had, she was fairly sure the house would have burned to the ground long ago. The fridge was stocked with easy to heat up meals and snacks, and every single surface and window had been cleaned. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she roused herself to retrieve it. River’s name displayed on the caller I.D.

“Hey, how did it go today?” He asked as soon as she answered. She sighed heavily,

“Yeah, fine. Same as usual.”

“Are you sure? Are you ok?”

“I’m sure.” She said firmly. They fell into silence.

“You’re lying, aren’t you?” He asked. She stayed silent and swallowed thickly, her shaky breath giving away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “Seren, I don’t… is there anything else I can do?” He begged.

“No. We’ll get there, it’s just taking some time. I’m fine, really.” She brushed the tears away, angry with herself for letting the situation get to her, angry with the Cartwright’s for being so stubborn.

“I’ll be there tomorrow.” He promised. She hung up without saying goodbye.

*

The next morning she let herself into the house as usual. She called out and made her way to the sitting room to offer a cup of tea, as she had every morning and as he’d ignored every morning. David met her in the hallway, a pistol in his hand pointing directly at her. Her hands went up immediately and she searched his face for whether or not he recognised her.

“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” He demanded.

“David, it’s Seren, I’ve been helping out for a few weeks? Cooking, making sure you’re taking your medication and stuff like that?” She spoke softly and tried desperately to keep the tremor from her voice and tried to bring down the tension.

“I don’t know you. I don’t want you here.”

“I know, I know. Believe me, that’s an ongoing battle for another time. Can we put the gun down, David, please?” She pleaded. She knew that he was still physically fairly healthy, strong enough to slam doors in her face and throw the odd mug of tea across the room when he so wished. He was at least as tall as River which meant he towered over her by nearly a whole foot. The gun shook in his hand and she began to fear that rather than pull the trigger on purpose, he would do it by accident. She backed up slowly, towards the foot of the stairs and as soon as she had space between them, she ran for the only room she knew had a lock on the door. Age on her side, she slammed the bathroom door as he reached the top step. She pushed the lock into place and dropped down away from the door, crawling under the sink. Her phone was still in the back pocket of her jeans so she dragged it out and dialled the number that had last called her.

“River, he's just pulled a gun on me. I thought you were making shit up before but he has a fucking gun!”

“Shit, shit. Is he… himself?”

“No, he has no idea who I am.” The bathroom door rocked on its hinges as David banged on it, causing Seren to scream down the phone.

“I’m on my way.”

“I need to call the police.”

“No, please, please don’t do that. I’ll be there in an hour. Less than. Stay down, keep the door locked.” He begged and hung up before she could argue. The door stopped shaking. She waited quietly,

“Get out of there before I shoot through the lock!” He bellowed, banging the door again. Seren flinched, hugging her knees. She knew full well it would take longer than an hour unless he broke every single speed limit on the way. Seren was eyeing up the window and trying to work out if she could manage the jump without breaking anything when the door banged again.

“Shit!” David called out, clearly in pain.

“David? Are you ok? What happened?” She asked as gently as she could, crawling back towards the door. She knelt in front of it and listened for movement on the other side. There was nothing but silence. “Shit, shit, shit.” She cursed, there was no decision to make, she knew what she needed to do but still dreaded it. She reached up to slide back the lock and opened the door a crack. David sat in the hallway, leaning against the wall with a bloodied hand in his lap. He looked up at the daylight spilling into the space and saw the tears on her face and the fear in her eyes. “What happened David?” She whispered.

“Oh. Oh my dear girl, I’m not sure,” he sounded confused and scared, no longer imprisoned by his mind, he recognised her. “Seren, I’m not sure what happened.” He admitted. She fell to her knees in relief at hearing him use her name. She moved close to sit by him and gently reached for his hand. A small cut ran from the side of his little finger down towards his palm, nothing serious but with all the banging and commotion it had bled probably a little more than a normal hand injury. He suddenly felt so frail to her and it was heartbreaking.

“It’s ok, I’m here now. I’ll help you get that sorted.” She said softly, carefully and kindly taking his hand.

*

When River appeared 57 minutes later, he had not expected to see Seren and his grandfather enjoying tea and lemon cake in the kitchen. Since the day he'd introduced them he hadn’t once seen them in the same room.

“River, what are you doing here? Should you not be at work?” David asked. River’s eyebrows landed somewhere in his hairline and it took a look at Seren and the barely visible shake of her head for him to recover. He noted the bandage on David's hand.

“Had some time to spare, thought I'd drop in.”

“Never missing out on cake, I see. Seren brought this from the bakery.”

“We can have a walk there tomorrow, if you like? Get something nice for lunch?”

“Now that does sound an excellent idea.” David smiled.

“D'you hurt your hand?” River asked.

“Aye, caught it on a loose hook by the bathroom door. Gave Seren quite a scare when she came out of there.” He explained.

“I'll bet.” River took his time sitting down, using the time to appraise Seren and the scene before him. He could see she'd been crying. She offered a small nod, acknowledgement that she was OK, but the sigh indicated that there was definitely a conversation to be had.

“Why don't I take the tea to the sitting room? You can catch up while I finish cleaning up upstairs. Go ahead Mr C, make yourself comfortable.” She helped him up from the table, he was clearly exhausted by his exertion of the morning. She piled up a tray which River returned for once his grandfather was settled.

“Well?” He asked impatiently.

“Well River, your lovely Pops pulled a gun on me at the front door and ordered me out of the house. I managed to hide in the bathroom where I called you and you begged me not to call the police. I think he scared himself when he cut his hand. It brought him back from,” her hand waved in the air above her head, “wherever. I think he scared himself enough to realise that I might actually be here to help.”

“And the gun?” She passed by him in the narrow space between the table and the counter and opened the freezer, pulling out the handgun.

“Didn’t know where else to put it that neither of us would use it.” She shrugged. “Anything like that happens again, and I'm gone, got it?” River nodded, suddenly grateful that he hadn't come across a crime scene. Even more grateful that Seren hadn't walked out and left them.

Chapter 2

[baenyth]

Bethany's Bizarre Miraculous Reviews: The Shanghai Special

Fun fact: I went to the real New York City in the gap between my reviews. I hated it more than the special. It was oversized and drab. Also, I decided: no more tagging stuff as salt! Salt is a symbol of deranged hatred, and I want to be a fair critic! I don't hate Marinette, I just hate how she practices stalking and gets away with it. Either way,

Shanghai Shanghai Shanghai Shanghai; Hourai Hourai Hourai Hourai; FRANCO HOLLAND TIBET KYOTO LONDON RUSSIAN ORLEANS!

(Watch as I hate the special again, lmao.)

Alright, starting off with narmy dialogue, greed and tragedy, and a cool sacred cave.

Oooh, this girl! I don't remember her name, Fei Wu, right? But she's got a neat and detailed backstory!

"Everything was going well, until it wasn't."

Marinette, that's weird.

I heard she wanted to visit Shanghai not to learn about her roots, but to see more Adrien. It's even more disappointing to watch it happen, though.

Such sweet parents!

PSYCHOLOGY

I think he wanted you to help cook, Marinette.

This is actual stalking. The crushing disappointment is growing worse.

I love Adrien's Dad. He's silly, he cares for Adrien, he loves action figures, and he's a person magnitudes better than Hawkmoth!

Gabriel's moving like he's in a videogame lmao

So is Fei Wu. Amazing. I love her and I'd watch an entire show about her.

Sticky fingers! Amazing!

Big fan of the talking bird too. What's his ordeal?

I love the artist method of talking. And the artist's struggle. Kinda odd Marinette's looking for her earrings rather than her phone. I mean I know they make her Ladybug and everything but wouldn't her phone be useful to tell the people you're staying with what's going on? Ladybug isn't very discrete either.

Oh right. The greedy prick again.

As always, Capitalism is the true villain.

Oooh, new transformation music!

Damn, Big News.

Oh god all the ironies going on. Fei is in a deep tar pit. It's like Seinfeld again.

Zamn. Girlie had a whole character arc back there.

Pfft the prodigious kwamis are giving tutorial guides while Fei's trying to survive

Oh. It's just a puff of smoke? Whatever. I love shapeshifters.

Holy hell. Hawkmoth akumatized the guardian, of all people? Is he even sapient? Can Hawkmoth akumatize, like, dogs and cats?

VIBE CHECK

"I'm not worthy of this!" Neither is the guardian. Bro is disintegrating people left and right.

Oh right. He got possessed and isn't in his right mind.

Another plan where Marinette gets swallowed.

Mmmf. Good "what have I done?" thing. I like it.

So he's also a Kwami? Can Hawkmoth akumatize kwamis?

Pfft the excuses

Hey, that wasn't too bad! I really liked Fei's story here, although the whole revenge thing felt forced and crude. Someone who is understandably pissed about someone ruining their father's dojo and eventually life for greed and having to steal to survive (girl is practically homeless, let's be real. At some point she had to use that pawn shop cash for food or clothes that aren't rags.) has to learn about humility and everything while a girl that went to Shanghai to see the boy she has a crush on there gets off not really scot-free, but without having consequences directly for her actions. No matter. It was better than the cheating nonsense in the New York Special.

[afigzz25]

Angela Davis is one of the most amazing intellectuals and political activists of all time. Her book “Women, Race, and Class” which I read for the first time a few years ago (and want to read again soon) blew my mind. She explains and articulates, in such an incredible manner, the exact, detrimental ways in which our country has stood for, advocated for, and cultivated the belief, in one form or another, a capitalist, male, and white supremacy, so that poor people, people of color (Black people in particular) and women (women of color, especially Black women, in particular) always get the short end of the stick. If you’re looking for intersectional feminist literature to better understand how and why we got to where we are as a society, give this a read.

Just a few quotes—

“Expediency governed the slaveholders’ posture toward female slaves: when it was profitable to exploit them as if they were men, they were regarded, in effect, as genderless, but when they could be exploited, punished and repressed in ways suited only for women, they were locked into their exclusively female roles.”

“Though Black women enjoyed few of the dubious benefits of the ideology of womanhood, it is sometimes assumed that the typical female slave was a houseservant—either a cook, maid, or mammy for the children in the “big house.” Uncle Tom and Sambo have always found faithful companions in Aunt Jemima and the Black Mammy—stereotypes which presume to capture the essence of the Black woman’s role during slavery. As is so often the case, the reality is actually the diametrical opposite of the myth. Like the majority of slave men, slave women, for the most part, were field workers. While a significant proportion of border-state slaves may have been houseservants, slaves in the Deep South—the real home of the slaveocracy—were predominantly agricultural workers. Around the middle of the nineteenth century, seven out of eight slaves, men and women alike, were field workers.”

“By the 1830s many of women’s traditional economic tasks were being taken over by the factory system. True, they were freed from some of their old oppressive jobs. Yet the incipient industrialization of the economy was simultaneously eroding women’s prestige in the home—a prestige based on their previously productive and absolutely essential domestic labor. Their social status began to deteriorate accordingly. An ideological consequence of industrial capitalism was the shaping of a more rigorous notion of female inferiority. It seemed, in fact, that the more women’s domestic duties shrank under the impact of industrialization, the more rigid became the assertion that “woman’s place is in the home.””

“Even the most radical white abolitionists, basing their opposition to slavery on moral and humanitarian grounds failed to understand that the rapidly developing capitalism from the North was also an oppressive system. They viewed slavery as a detestable and inhuman institution, an archaic transgression of justice. But they did not recognize that the white worker in the North, his or her status as "free" laborer notwithstanding, was no different from the enslaved "worker" in the South: both were victims of economic exploitation.”

[platypotoo]

I've finally finished the second season of The Great. Man, what a ride! Spoilers under the cut.

The Good

- This season feels very different from the first. Though it continues the first season almost directly and the characters feel like themselves, nothing is repetitive or boring. Strangely few shows manage this.

- No Leo.

- Gillian Anderson is breathtaking. I'd known that she is beloved, but I hadn't seen much of her so far... She is amazing here.

- All the actors continue to be awesome.

- Marial/Grigor should be the most random, strange thing ever, but it grew on me fast. They are cute.

- Grigor seems like a completely different person without George. I never thought much about him, but this season made me like him a lot.

- Goddamn it Nicholas Hoult

- Elizabeth continues to be one of my favourite characters. I love that, once more, she turned out not to be mad after all. I adore her.

- The Igor reveal was astonishingly done. It makes absolutely sense (especially since it was hinted that he was Peter The Great's), but still I never would have guessed it, it changes nothing plot-wise but instantly, offhandedly changed a lot for a few specific characters, and the acting!

- I'm glad they didn’t fully Jane-Austen-hero-ify Peter, which it looked like they were going for in the first few episodes. He has definitely grown, he's a great father, he adores his wife, apparently is a good cook and even better lover, he slowly develops into the person he truly wants to be and in general he tries his best, but he's also a complex weirdo who does fucked-up shit. That's what I love about him.

- The chemistry between Peter and Catherine. It has been very noticeable in season 1, but in this season, it is SIZZLING. I consume a lot of media, but very rarely, if at all, have I seen something like it before.

- The sex scenes, too, were well-deserved after all this tension and super hot.

- I liked the revealed bond between Peter and Velementov more than I thought I would. It came from left field, but somehow it worked.

- Catherine made a lot of mistakes this season, I like it. At first I was a little annoyed, especially since I was unsure whether the narrative wanted us to agree with her. But I like that she was portrayed as being less than perfect after all, and also that we were shown glimpses of why she is the way she is, just like with Peter's background. By the end of the season, she has grown a lot, and I'm excited to see where the show will take her.

- Peter The Great was somehow nothing and exactly like I expected. He has always been a weird specter hanging over everyone, and it was hard to imagine a clear picture, but the one we saw fits.

- "First, try and start breathing again."

- The last two episodes were amazing from start to finish, every scene golden. I had goosebumps multiple times.

- I really like the Swedish royal couple. They are extremely fun to watch and open up a lot of potential for season 3.

- Have I mentioned how brilliant Nicholas Hoult is in this role?

- Marial had it coming to be honest, she was never truly loyal, never truly wanted the best for Catherine. I hope she gets to grow next season.

- I like the tiny bits strewn throughout that are accurate or at least a clear reference to what happened in reality, like Elizabeth taking Paul without Catherine's consent, or Catherine wanting to free the serfs but not being able to due to political reasons.

- His arc is super weird, but Archie continues to be one of the most interesting characters. I liked him especially in the last episode. He suffers a lot, but he tries his best and has not succumbed to his old demons yet. I also liked his siding with Catherine (character development! The consequence of their making peace earlier in the season!) and his reasoning: at least she believes in something.

- More Arkady and Tatyana! Arkady has fantastic comedy timing, I laughed so much at moments like "I can't tell if you're joking"

- Elle Fanning is astonishing, especially in the last episode.

- This show is extremely horny in a female-gaze-way and I respect it for that.

The Bad

- Peter trying to woo Catherine in his simple, naive, yet strangely intense ways is the most adorable thing, and hot as well.

- He knows her so well and loves her so much, even when trying to convince himself that he doesn't

- The dialogue, costumes, musical choices and acting continues to be among the very best out there right now.

- I can't even say why exactly, but the first half of the season was kind of a slog. After the first episode, not much seemed to be happening and even the dialogue seemed less witty.

- This is my personal problem and I'm aware it's probably rooted in internalized misogyny, but there was far too much talk about cunnilingus for me. There were episodes were this was mentioned every few minutes, and always like the men really loved it. The bit was funny and fascinating in small doses in season 1, but it transformed into a running gag/plot device sort of thing this season and was overdone. Don't pretend all men are eager to please this much and love the taste, that feels unrealistic in an embarassing way!

The Weird

- Would have loved to see more scenes between Archie and Marial again (I like their dynamic a lot). There were several character dynamics in the first season that have been neglected this season in favor of introducing new ones; Archie+Peter and Orlo+Catherine as well. I understand it, but it's still a bit disappointing.

- I'm used to a lot of weird shit on this show, but Archie's arc in the second half of the season... Wtf. Archie has been one of my favourite characters (at the same time sinister, complex, caring and earnest), but this arc is just batshit insane even for this show. It's horrifying, it's disturbingly funny, it's fascinating, and I have no idea where they are going with it. Is it some kind of commentary on real-life church institutions? Where does it come from? I have no idea and I don't know if I like it. Props to the actor, though - he's really going all in and doing a great job.

- Similar, but not nearly as crazy is Orlo's case. His arc and motivations are much more understandable, but he gave in so easily to the theft and it was handled weird. He's also acting strange when found out, like it's nothing, like Catherine is in the wrong for being mad at him for it, like she should apologize to him after kicking him from her closest circle. I don't like it. I hope this is getting built on more next season.

Overall, I think my expectations for this season were too high (I heard great things about it and the only thing I actively disliked in season 1 was Leo) and I'll like it more upon rewatching. But even so, The Great continues to be one of my favourite shows right now. It's smart, fun, witty, swoon-worthy, creative, darkly hilarious, extremely well-acted and produced, and looks amazing. I really love it.

- I'm a huge romance nerd and I love the relationship between Peter and Catherine, but even I thought that it took a bit too much room this season. It felt like Bridgerton at times (which I love as well! I just don't think it fits here!). I'd like to see more political intrigue next season, more vastly different plotlines, but somehow I'm convinced we will.

----

[liltaventures]

Those Who Walk Common Ground

For @aancunin

After a long and grueling tenday, the small group of adventures had successfully cleared the goblin camp, freed the First Druid, and gained more information on the cult surrounding the Absolute. The tieflings who were once faced with numerous challenges on their way to freedom could now safely make the trek to Baulder's Gate, free of the goblin threat that had once loomed over them. All Quillen wanted to do was find something to eat. He had struggled to find the time to feed properly since the journey had first started and now his poor body was facing the consequences. He was tired and his stomach and fangs ached constantly. Whether it was the blood of a squirrel or the blood of a boar. No matter the size of his prey if Quillen didn't listen to his immortal body's needs he would be prone to frenzying and the last he wanted was to go and bite one of his companions.

However, his little feeding fest would have to wait. The tieflings, in an act of gratitude, wanted to host a party at their campsite. There was no telling how long it was going to last but Quillen humored the idea and watched as his newfound companions indulged in good food, wine, music, and conversation.

Alfira had taken it upon herself to play for the party and sneak a few sips of wine in while no one was looking. Halsin and Zevlor had been chatting amongst themselves, trading stories and talking about what was to come next. Wyll had been off by himself drinking as he watched the river flow under the stars. Karlach was by Rolan and his siblings as the sorcerer showed off some of his magic skills. A few children were close by, watching in awe as the colorful aura lit up the space with wide eyes.

The half-elf crossed his arms, a soft smile creeping onto his face though it was hidden by his dark bandana. His companions deserved this after all of their hard work and he was happy to see them letting loose and taking time to rest. Quillen made his rounds, checking in with those he had met along the way to see how they were doing. At some point, a bottle of wine had ended up in his hand and then Karlach was pushing food into his face, begging him to try it. The smell of freshly cooked pork hit his nostrils and while it looked amazing it wouldn't taste like much to his half-undead palette. Quillen tried his best to decline the food but the look on the sweet tiefling's face made his heart drop and without another second to waste he slipped the meat under his bandana and dug into the meat quickly, relaxing as she stopped pouting. The smile on the woman's face was bright enough to light up an entire village and it was contagious. The dhampir couldn't help but smile back at her only to chuckle and shake his head as he hurried off to find Wyll to dance. His mind began to wander, thoughts of where they would end up next on their little journey. Deep red eyes slowly fell onto Astarion and his feet made their way over to the pale elf's tent. As Quillen went to speak his nose was hit with the sweet smell of blood and he did his best to steel his emotions. His head began to pound, his fangs ached, and his stomach felt more empty than ever. The half-elf grunted and held his head. "Apologies, I think I need to take a breather. I will check in with you later." He said softly. Gentle hands left the unopened bottle of wine by Astarion's feet and without another second thought, Quillen turned and made his way into the woods. Once he was out of sight the dhampir broke into a sprint toward the first scent of blood he could track. He managed to find a rather large fox and crouched down to hide from the wild animal. He wasted no time pulling off his bandana and stuffing the fabric into his back pocket before making his attack. The fox was captured in his large hands and the animal kicked and hissed at him only to go silent as sharp fangs sunk into its back. Quillen hummed softly in delight as the warm red substance hit his tongue and he drank from the fox in such desperation it looked like he was worried someone would steal his meal from him. The dhampir dropped the emptied fox and grunted in annoyance. "Shit...it's not enough. I need more. I am still too weak..." He grumbled to himself. The half-elf scanned the area and grinned when he spotted a rabbit in the distance. The furry creature had its back to him as it sniffed around for food of its own. Quillen crouched down and eyed the rabbit waiting for the right time to strike. Slowly, the dhampir inched forward in the shadows. He almost had it now, his prize was just within grasp. The sound of some acorns hitting the ground alerted both the rabbit and Quillen who stood up abruptly as he watched in utter annoyance as his meal scurried off into the night. "Dammit!..." He whined quietly to himself as he crouched back down to try and find something else to track.

[centurypestcontrols]

Methods of Natural Pest Control

You might need to contact a professional pest control agency if there are a lot of pests. Though it's not usually necessary, this can grow pretty pricey. Even though hiring professionals may be preferable if the insects have taken over your entire home, you can still utilize natural remedies if they are only in one area. So let's discuss some of these strategies that can help you save a lot of headache.

Use cucumbers and cornmeal to repel ants.

Everyone has ant infestations in their kitchen and other rooms at least once a year. This may be extremely irksome and not to mention filthy. But you undoubtedly already have these two things in your pantry, and they can put a permanent end to this. Put some cucumber slices there if you've discovered where the ants are coming into your house. Ants naturally avoid cucumbers and won't get near them. You can scatter some corn meal where the ants are prowling about your home as an additional control measure. They will consume it, and because they are unable to digest it, it will kill them.

No more chigger bites

The most bothersome pest of them all is the mosquito, which not only keeps you up at night but also bites you and makes you itch for days. For instance, garlic naturally deters insects. The ideal mixture can be made by combining one part of garlic juice with five parts of water. You can do this by spraying it on yourself or by soaking a cloth in it and hanging it in the chosen space. And if it doesn't work, neem oil might. You can repel mosquitoes throughout day and night by putting a few drops of this oil on your body.

Stop the constant buzzing right now.

Although they won't harm you directly, flies can still be an annoyance in your home. Fortunately, there is a cure for them because they buzz around your ears and sit on your foot. Eucalyptus repels flies, therefore dusting some on a cloth and hanging it in the area where flies are an issue would do the trick. Eucalyptus essential oil. In addition to keeping flies away, sweet basil plants can be used in cooking. You could even plant some outside your door.

The scariest insects are spiders, therefore get rid of them.

Spiders don't truly hurt you, just like flies don't. However, it is not particularly reassuring to see dozens of spiders crawling all over your home. Spiders are extremely repulsed by peppermint oil. They will therefore run away as quickly as their small legs can carry them if you mix some essential peppermint oil with some water and dishwashing liquid in a spray bottle. Spray this in all regions where spiders congregate for a pleasant scent and to quickly get rid of the spiders.

Only a small number of the numerous, effective strategies exist today. You can search for additional options on the internet if these don't appeal to you. Isn't it amazing to be able to eliminate all of these pests using natural means? They are non-toxic and offer significant cost savings. Consequently, these techniques are less expensive, safer, and spare you the headache of needing to engage professional services. How much more difficult would that have been, having to arrange for them to visit your home and use pesticides when you could have just planted some basil to repel flies. Test them out to see if they work for you; you might perhaps require a different approach. Try them out; you could find they work for you or you might require a different approach. Finally, you may take pleasure in a bug-free home.

Century Pest Control thinks it's crucial to keep your home safe, tidy, and free of ant or pest infestations.

[tender-rosiey]

Can I request baking headcanons with Nanami, Gojo, Itadori, and Megumi?

❥ Baking with JJK characters

Includes Gojo, Nanami; Itadori, and Megumi

ᴀ/ɴ: ily and this request is amazing also no proofreading cause it’s 2am 👩‍🦲

GOJO SATORU:

Mistake of your life time like don’t be fooled by how cool he is in the gif

I am serious

One of the laws of the universe is to not let this man near the kitchen and I don’t care if he says he is the best at everything he tries

SO NOW TO HOW THIS PREDICAMENT HAPPENED

Gojo wanted to try something domestic with you considering he doesn’t have the chance to spend a lot of time with you

Hence why he is gonna make the best out of his free time

So what’s better than baking? Baking with your lover who you adore so much

Man only cared about the lover part really, he was planning on letting you do all the work while he just annoys you like the menace he is

But guess what?

He is baking because he got challenged and “the great gojo never backs down from a challenge”

Famous last words HAHA

Okay now let’s get a bit fluffy

He actually tries, surprisingly and it’s pretty cute ignoring the crazy amount of sugar he puts, I am surprised he didn’t get diabetes or cavities my god

He plays around a lot though like finish the freaking cake then get the other type cake sheesh

Is the type of guy to put whipped cream on your nose and your cheeks then kisses them off

But then, he gets bored

God knows why

But the problem isn’t the boredom, the problem how he solves said boredom

𝐒𝐢𝐫 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞�� 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Well guess what

It wasn’t

Food fights never end well, there has to be a lost soul in the process 😔✊

But he starts it anyways because screw everyone

It ends up very fun though

“TURN YOUR INFINITY OFF YOU COWARD!” “HAHAHA NO!”

Smack him— or at least try to

He deserves it

T r u s t M e

Helps you in cleaning but only after you give him lots of affection and losing a bet because nothing is for free

Thanks for the reality check gojo

8/10-ing his toothbrush looking self

NANAMI KENTO:

Nanami is quite the organized man, and as we can see in most of his actions: said organization applies to all things he does to the best of his ability

So the recipe is to be followed step by step, no more no less

But he won’t mind adding a little more sugar or decreasing it a bit if you like it either way

To put it simply, baking with nanami is domestic love and acts at its best

I feel like he would be the one to just gently press a kiss to the side of your head when he walks by you in the kitchen

He also doesn’t reprimand you whenever you make a mistake or mess something up, instead opting for a more favorable way to deal with such mistakes

If you broke the egg, getting its shell in the dough, he would just take it from your hand politely and tell you “How about you go cut the fruit instead?”

And if you injure yourself then you won’t continue the baking, sorry but he is trying to spend time with you without having to worry about you

Injuring yourself with a knife DOESNT fall under the “no need to worry” category

PRO TIP: Make him read the recipe out loud

It would be like an audio book and a very good one at that

And if you fall asleep with him around then…you lucky bi—

10/10 would do again

ITADORI YŪJI:

We have gotten the understanding that yuji can cook if not fully then to a respectable extent

So I will be freely abusing this here

Consequently, baking with him is not peaceful nor chaotic, rather soft chaotic

Soft chaotic such as imitating conversations and throwing little comments here or there to fill up the silence when needed

“Y/N, what do you call a pig that does karate?”

“What do you call it, yūji?”

“pfft— wait give me a moment… it’s a PORK CHOP BWAHAHAHAA!”

“Get out, your speaking privileges have been provoked.”

In general, he is really fun to be around; messing up anything is just another reason for a shared laugh

Also, I am pretty convinced he would record you guys baking to save it as a memory and acts like it’s a cooking/baking show

“Today’s chef is y/n!”

“Your mom’s gay.”

“what.”

“what?”

A LOT OF VERY VERY ADDICTING AFFECTION

b👏a 👏c 👏k👏 👏h 👏u 👏g 👏s👏

And tickling your neck with his nose

He is so fluffy I am gonna die

9/10 mwuah mwuah stan yūji

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI:

Very quiet and occasional small conversations here and there

I don’t see him choosing to cook unless you beg or ask him to and for like a really long time

To the point he feels like it’s a necessity so he agrees and here we are 🎉 hooray toot toot

The kitchen is generally filled with a comforting silence, save for the sound of the utensils and dough being beaten

He would also randomly start small conversations

“Y/N.”

“Yes, ‘gumi?”

“Thank you.”

“Huh? For what exactly?”

Crap ton of appreciation from both sides to both sides and woe is me the lady who’s alone

Aside from these conversations, it’s generally quiet as we have mentioned but the one you need fell

INTRODUCING GOJO PLAN OF REASON 202:

meet the megumi -> mess with the megumi -> observe the reactions of the megumi -> proceed to step five you are his lover -> miss with his ass sweetheart

Like we said, mess with him and put a bit of whip cream on his cheek or eyebrows

“You kind of look like gojo-sensei.”

“I am absolutely dont.”

Overall very nice and comfy and entertaining and chef’s kiss

9.5/10 😌✨

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-2 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @bakugossanity @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @fiona782

copyright © 2020 tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or your guardian will be my spouse

[azuraskys]

say for a fun a Headcanons all the champions reactions to hearing that there S/O returned from an exercise trip to get fit and thy see there S/O is all buff and has a 6 pack.

A buddy of mine saw the Champion's s/o take their shirt off in the shower and he said that they had an 8-pack... That the Champion's s/o is shredded.

In all seriousness though, this is a very unique request! I like when you guys keep me on my toes.

Putting this under a read more so its not too long :)

The Champions reacting to their s/o coming back absolutely ripped

Link

He would have the most fun in this situation. Age of Calamity canonically confirms Link is a freak of nature, who can parry entire slabs of floor with ease. Having his s/o come back absolutely ripped would be like woah.

He'd check out his s/o's muscles before giving an enthusiastic thumbs up.

But overall, not much would really change! Link isn't really one to necessarily make a big deal out of appearances or ability, so he'd just act the same toward his s/o as he did before they got buff. Though he'd offer for them to come along with him if he's going for a run or something.

Link would want to see how many things they can lift, including himself.

To keep those muscles, you need protein. Link likes to cook... if they asked, he'd make a super cool protein-filled dish for his s/o just to try it out.

Urbosa

"Why didn't you let me tag along?" is probably the first thing she'd say. She's an athletic woman with a six-pack of her own, she'd want to experience whatever challenge her s/o faced to get this buff.

She'd offer to exercise with them to help them keep it up, or just for fun. She's proud of their ability.

Urbosa would want to start training her s/o to use a weapon like hers, if they didn't already. She likes someone who can defend themself properly.

Would playfully punch her s/o's abdomen and be like "Hard as steel! Nice."

But we all know Urbosa would love her s/o no matter what they looked like. What she's really amazed with is their dedication to exercise that much to even get a six-pack. She knows how much training you have to do to get there. Its hard, unforgiving work sometimes.

Daruk

"You look different from the last time I saw you. Did you do something with your hair?"

Daruk isn't being stupid, he just isn't one to necessarily... notice changes like that in someone's body. His own body is what he worries about.

But after seeing how strong his s/o has become, he's super proud of them! Though he tends to overestimate their ability a bit too much.

"Try lifting this boulder- wait, what do you mean you can't? Thinking like that won't get you anywhere!"

Would offer his s/o Prime Rock Roast to "help with bulking up" if he hasn't tried that already. Definitely would get them a sized version of his weapon to have them swing around.

Makes a joke about "rock hard abs".

Revali

"Where on Earth did you go?" Is probably his thought. One minute his s/o was their usual self, and the next they're suddenly super muscular and able to do things they couldn't before.

But really, that's of no consequence to him. His s/o is free to do whatever they want with their body. He'll still love them.

Seeing as the Rito's main form of, well, almost everything involves being in the air, he can't really physically train with his s/o, but he'll fly above them if they go for a run or idly watch them while doing something if they decide to exercise at home.

The Rito diet is already really good for keeping muscle, so there's nothing to worry about there! But he'd probably suggest they eat a little more if they're particularly active.

May or may not side-eye his s/o's abs while they're working out. Not in a bad way.

Mipha

Mipha would honestly just tell her s/o they look great! "I see you've been working hard!"

Swimming is a great physical activity. She'd love to do that with her s/o as a form of training/exercise, praising them a lot as they make their way through the water.

Mipha definitely loves her s/o no matter what, so her demeanor also wouldn't really change much. She'd just appreciate their vitality.

If asked to feel her s/o's abs, she'd probably touch them very lightly before taking her hand away and getting a little flustered. That feels very intimate to her.

She'd be very worried if her s/o chose to take up a weapon if they didn't have one already. She knows they're capable, but its still so tense to watch!

[imaginesupply]

Spencer Reid Imagine: Just peachy

Spencer Reid Imagine: Just Peachy

Summary : Reader (female pronouns, no Y/N, third person) is hosting dinner night at her apartment for the time. Spencer volunteers to help with the preparations. Derek is a good friend.

Warnings: Smut (handjob – male receiving, cum in pants), sub!Spencer, the Lord’s name in vain (only once), one mild curse word. (Because some of this shows Spencer’s thoughts, I had to refrain from using slang words for bodily parts and bodily fluids sometimes. Please don’t judge me.)

Word count: About 1.5k

Note: I wrote this really quickly when I was taking a break from working on my thesis (how Spencer went through the PhD pain thrice willingly, I will never understand) and my brain was fried. Consequently, this is the fic equivalent of the snack you make at 3am when you’re tipsy.

"Remember what we discussed?" Derek asked an exasperated Spencer for umpteenth time as he pulled over in front of their new co-worker's apartment building.

"Yes," Spencer groaned softly, adjusting his hair. "I have an eidetic memory, you know."

Next to him, Derek chuckled. "I know. No need to be so defensive," he teased, "just be yourself and there's no way she won't fall for you."

"Actually, it's not that -"

Derek cut him off before he could say anything more. "Bullshit. It really is that easy, pretty boy and" - he leaned over, grabbing Spencer's satchel from the backseat - "while everyone is due to arrive at seven, I can divert the rest of team if you just send me a text."

Spencer frowned, staring at his friend like he had grown two heads. "Why would I want you to stall -" He stopped in the middle of the sentence, his eyebrows rising high up his forehead and his cheeks turning pink when he finally realized. "Yeah, no, yes" - Spencer shook his head clearing his now corrupted mind - "what I mean to say is that I would definitely text you but - nevermind. Bye." Then he escaped from the car as if it were on fire, almost tripping on the laces of his converse.

Not even thirty minutes had gone by and Spencer already knew he was in trouble.

They walked through the farmers' market, Spencer carrying the fast filling linen bag. She guided him through the crowd, making them stop at the stalls that held anything of interest and buying various ingredients for dinner: vegetarian gratin and peach pie.

Eventually, they stopped at the fruit stand where she approached and asked the vendor if they could taste the peaches. Though they were out of season, they were looking quite ripe. The old man handed her a peach with a smile. "There you go."

She thanked the man and pulled back the sleeve of her lightweight jacket before taking a bite. That was the exact moment Spencer realised this had been a terrible idea. He should never have listened to Derek. He should not have offered to come earlier and help make dinner.

She took in the scent and hummed against the fruit, softly so, that only he would hear and erotically enough that he had to swallow down the saliva gathering in his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing. She bit down on the fruit, the tips of her lips curling up and then licked off a thin trail of juice along the inside of her wrist and forearm, eyes closed. Then, as if nothing, she turned to the old man. "They're delicious!"

She turned back to Spencer and he noticed she was sporting her usual slightly bemused grin. "Have a taste, darling." She turned the pale fruit in her hand and offered it to him, an expectant look in her eyes. And there, in the middle of the busy farmers’ market, Spencer felt like a teenager whose girlfriend had just slipped her hand down his pants for the first time. Which, of course, he had never experienced so he didn't actually know what that would feel like.

Knowing better than to disobey her, Spencer leaned forward into her hand and took a bite of the remaining fruit, leaving behind only the endocarp, while adjusting his satchel to hide the prominent bulge in his crotch. It was the way she looked and the way she looked at him, the way she made him feel like-

“Are you alright?” She asked.

Spencer swallowed the fruit, his throat tight. “Just peachy.”

If he thought that was torture, nothing had prepared him for the actually cooking part. The space between the cabinets and the kitchen isle was narrow, which meant their bodies always brushed whenever she passed behind him, and he was already a sweaty, blushing mess.

Just be yourself, he reminded himself of what Derek had told him. "Hey, umm," Spencer stammered, drawling off, "did you know that until refrigerators were invented in 1834, salt was widely used to preserve meat."

He heard her soft laugh behind him, immediately turning around at the sound before realising she was bent over the counter, trying to reach something on the highest shelf and he had just inadvertently placed himself right behind her backside.

For some reason he couldn't even begin to explain, his first instinct had been to touch. Luckily, though, he had managed to stop his hands mid air before he could effectively ruin everything, but now all he could see was the black fabric of her pants stretching over the roundness of her hips and the warm pressure against him and-

"Spencer!"

He started, finally looking away. "What?"

She chuckled again. "As much as I appreciate your ability to be a walking encyclopaedia, I'd really enjoy it if you could put your height to good use and pass me the pie dish."

"Of course." Spencer shook his head, clearing his mind. "Yeah, I can do that."

She stepped aside, allowing him to grab the item from the cabinet. "Thank you, darling," she said, grinning.

"No problem," Spencer quipped, wiping his clammy hands on his leg pants as he subtly made sure his predicament wasn't too noticeable.

"Great! You can go ahead and knead the dough before stretching it over the dish."

"Yes, ma'am." His brown eyes went wide when he realised that he'd just said it out loud. It wasn’t even his fault. There was just that natural authority about her that made him very compliant.

She laughed once more, softly, looking up at him almost endearingly. "You can call any m word you like, darling."

His start stopped in his chest. Was she flirting with him? He had noticed her body language did not indicate repulsion and she did touch him more than was strictly necessary, but he didn't think she'd actually flirt with him. Spencer considered that he might really have to send Derek the text, but he tried not to get his hopes up too much. He was already nervous enough as it was.

She came up behind him, taking a look at the dough he had absentmindedly tortured and shook her head in amusement. "No, darling, not like that," she cooed gently, coming up closer until her body was pressed up against his. Spencer gulped nervously, acutely aware of the way her breasts were being squashed against his side.

Then her hand wrapped around his over the dough. "You do it like this, Spencer," she whispered. Her fingers lodged themselves between his, applying light pressure, making them bend to her will. "You need to feel it. Are you feeling it?"

Spencer was certainly feeling it, but not in his hand. He would almost be amazed at how a simple touch on his hand could make him radiate warmth and make all the blood in his brain rush to his dick, if he weren’t becoming so lightheaded.

She kissed his arm over the fabric of his shirt. "Here, let me show you." He felt her free hand slide across his stomach and down to his belt. His body jerked at the touch.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice raspy and sounding like a whimper.

Her hand stilled over the now undone buckle. "You want me to stop?"

"No!"

It came out embarrassingly loud and he might have felt ashamed for it, hadn't she managed to remove his belt and open his pants in record time. She pressed her palm to the front of his boxers, cupping his bulge. The fabric was thin and damp, doing little to numb the sensation of her touch. Spencer knew there was already a stain from the pre-ejaculatory fluid he was leaking, but he couldn't get himself to look down. Two senses at once would be too overwhelming and he was already trembling.

At first, she just ran her the tip of her finger up and down his length, making sure to trace the small slit where the wet fabric clung to the damp head. He shivered against her and let out the cutest, most delicious whimper she had ever heard.

"Do you like how it feels?"

"Yes." He choked out the word. His eyes were shut tight, focusing on the sensation but then she surprised him, sliding her hand inside his boxers. And, oh God! Spencer panicked, if her hand alone already felt this good, how could he possibly survive being inside her - "Stop," he moaned urgently, his hand frantically rising to grab hold of hers but it was too late - it was too good.

"Oh, my darling boy," she sighed gently, pressing another kiss to arm as his dick pulsed in her fingers, making a mess of her hand and his boxers.

"I am so -" He didn't know what exactly he was apologising for and he didn't have the time to find out. The bell rang while he was still enjoying the aftermath of his first non-solo orgasm.

Panic set in. He had never gotten around to text Derek.

"Don't worry, darling," she said reassuringly before sliding her hand out of his boxers and bringing it to her mouth to lick it clean. "I'll go get the door and you go clean yourself. Don't want everyone to know how naughty you really are, do you darling?"

[nightcoremoon]

aggretsuko season 4 is 9 amazing episodes and then a wet fart.

I’m so mad that rather than have a cohesive ending to tying multiple plot threads together involving every single character we’ve grown to love and care for in this series, they used LITERAL ACTUAL MAGIC BULLSHIT to just wave a magic wand and aggretcon literally all of the events leading up to it.

it makes zero goddamn sense for haida to be cooking the books under orders from himuro, just because he’s tech-savvy, and it makes negative a thousand sense for him to do it simply to make retsuko notice him senpai.

what they SHOULD have done instead, to make it a way better ending, is to do this instead:

retsuko has been putting all of her energy into the death metal in order to make enough revenue to hire ton on as her accountant, and to help keep manaka and the other OTM girls on their feet financially, because retsuko is a kind and selfless person. she gives a little too much of herself, and thus doesn’t have as much energy at work. her performance slips, and she starts fucking up with her reports, BUT haida just says “yeah it’s fine good job” even though he is lying and she fucked up. so haida, the boss he is, through his love for retsuko, stays after work for several hours correcting her mistakes so that nobody not himuro not his lackeys not even GOD knows that she is dead weight on the company. haida knows retsuko is not going to be happy being tadano’s trophy wife or with performing on tour; haida knows that retsuko will only be happy working in accounting, even though she sucks at it, but he’s willing to sacrifice his own happiness and well-being and free time to make sure that she gets to keep the routine. she is suspicious of this so she and all of her friends go all mission impossible to check on the financial records only to find that no they’re all paranoid fucking idiots freaking out over nothing, himuro’s a good boy and washimi isn’t abetting embezzlement and haida isn’t uncharacteristically doing fraudulent and evil shit, and retsuko sees oh my god i’m accidentally taking full advantage of haida’s kindness. haida is still jealous of tadano and the arm wrestling scene is still perfect just the way it is, but then afterwards retsuko begs him to stop covering for her, and that she has to be responsible for her own fuckups. haida tells her he can’t do that for her because he loves her and she’s like, no. haida you don’t love me, you love the idea of being lovers with me. we are friendly coworkers, bordering on friends, but that is it. if you really want to pursue me romantically then you’ll get up off your ass and grow some fucking balls and actually ask me on a date, because why the fuck should she date a man who’s too much of a chickenshit to ask her out to her face? except she’d be nicer than me UNLESS she says it though death metal. you know, like she took care of all of her problems in the season finales beforehand. BECAUSE THAT WOULD ACTUALLY BE THEMATICALLY APPROPRIATE, UNLIKE THAT STUPID FUCKING DEATHCORE HADOKEN

and then, don’t even get me fucking started on the goddamn etch a sketch retcon storm. fuck it, there are no consequences. ton has his job back. kabae has her job back. the old president is back in play. himuro is on a bus and no longe relevant because OOPS WE FORGOT HOW TO WRITE A THEMATICALLY APPROPRIATE ENDING, FUCK IT, LET’S JUST GIVE UP AND TAKE A FEW STEPS BACK. all that really changed is that the death metal youtube channel is up and tadano is going to space and haida doesn’t work there anymore. which, like, okay yeah sure that’s worth the whole entire season.

NOTHING EVEN HAPPENED.

the status quo remained unimpacted.

what a ginormous waste of fucking time.

you had such a great setup for such an emotionally affective story, and also such an emotionally effective story, about workplace power dynamics and the shitty passive aggressive way japan deals with layoffs (don’t fucking tell me the japanese working class isn’t treated like absolute shit by the politicians and the corporate cronies who then bitch and mom about the declining birthrate and try to solve it by wasting taxpayer dollars commissioning weird misogynist mech fetish animes, rest in piss shinzo you spineless fuck) and how poorly mental health is treated in japan (aka the only fucking modern culture in the world with a location called the fucking suicide forest where thousands of people go to kill themselves just because they failed a standardized test or didn’t get a promotion at work, yeah sure that’s healthy, but sure you don’t need any therapists since that would be diShOnOrAbLe or some other bullshit) and other actually powerful subject matter that needs to be talked about, instead of this fucking clown college.

they just made it so goddamn generic and boring with a dozen untied plus threads not counting the ones that were just completely abandoned. what’s the point of kabae choosing to be a stay at home mom and maybe bringing some HONOR to a genuinely tough job, if just a couple episodes later they’re like ACTUALLY WHOOPSIE DOODLE HERE HAVE YOUR JOB BACK BECAUSE CONSEQUENCES ARE HARD!? what’s the point of retsuko hiring on Shitty Boss because she knows that he deserves to be recognized for his skill and dedication, if he just gets to be director later because some random writer waved a magic off-screen wand??? what’s the point of hiding the contents of the flash drive IF WE STILL DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FUCK WAS EVEN HAPPENING?

this is a disappointment. but hey at least it wasn’t the game of thrones ending. or worse, the sopranos. if you don’t know how the sopranos ended,

[writingindulgence]

Illumi x F.Reader - Expectation

Pairing: Illumi x Female Reader

Story tags: Arranged marriage, typical Zoldyck behaviour, angst-ish, heavy manipulation, ILLUMI, unhealthy one-sided dependence : ) my guy just toxic

3,200+ words and why? I don’t even like the dude. Also, two points of view.

The sound of fancy porcelain tea cups clinking against the glass table is soothing, along with the warm rays shining on your face. Times like these are what you are thankful for. The smell of purposely picked flowers, arranged to please the eyes. Not the stench of trash dumped for the sole convenience of other countries. Colourful butterflies and bees, instead of flies and disease ridden rats. A home cooked meal ready for your consumption rather than scraps of rotting food that you more often than not nearly died for.

Kukuroo mountain is infinitely more beautiful compared to Meteor City.

“(Y/n) dear, it’s unbecoming of you to make noise with your tableware,” a powerful feminine voice chastates your mistake. The woman sitting opposite you is none other than Kikyo Zoldyck. Or as she forces you to call her, mother.

Your heart flutters in relief, an apologetic expression weaving onto your face. She must be in an agreeable mood since her fan hasn’t struck your hand. Sometimes you are let off with a warning if she spots a blunder on your part. Sometimes, she resorts to physical punishment. It always depends on whether or not a family member said anything to ruin her day. In fact, any matter concerning Killua will set her off in a positive or negative direction.

Just like Illumi whenever you bring up his younger brother.

“I apologise mother, I’m too excited because Illumi is returning,” you proceed to take a sip and this time around, gently settle the tea cup down.

A content hum comes from her direction, her visor flashing for a split second. “Oh (Y/n), you’ll make such a good wife one day.” She picks up a fork gracefully and stabs it into the cake she asked for from the family cook.

The compliment ignites a multitude of feelings in your chest. It spreads out, only one thought in your mind.

How immensely grateful and happy you are to hear it.

Many of your friends from when you were young, starved to death. Some were beaten up by other desperate residents. Others lost their will to fight, a state you threaded on a magnitude of times.

Being taken away by the mafia one day was what gave you back the spark, a life in the city no more out of your reach. Until you figured out what type of work they wanted to sell you and other kids for. Stories from the older girls back in Meteor City came rushing back.

Your bloodlust and instinct to survive are what happened to change your life for the better. Out of all the line-up of children, you were selected by the Zoldycks. Instead of being the pet of some old pervert, you found a home within the assassin family.

There were many times when you felt like giving up. When the training you went through was worse than simply dying. However, you promised yourself to never throw away the chance you received all those years back.

You were indebted to the Zoldycks.

Hearing words of encouragement from one of the people you looked up to the most brought tears to your eyes. You wiped them away with your thumb.

Mother is a role model to you. It helped when you found out that she originates from Meteor City too. In a sense, it is easier to place yourself in her shoes and strive to achieve what she did. Being an amazing assassin, wife and mother.

A sudden scraping of a chair brought you back to the presence, startling you into a defensive pose. The knife under your sundress clasped in your hand.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Kalluto coming out from behind the bushes, his paper fan also ready for action.

“My Kil, what is he doing?! Quick, we have to stop him. Kalluto go call for Milluki right now!,” she orders shrilly before running into the mansion.

Without hesitation, you rush after her. It is expected of you. A nagging feeling in the back of your head also foreshadows that whatever is going on, it will have dire consequences if not stopped.

Killua is in the foyer, being kept idle by the servants. But not for long. You can see the irritation growing on his face, his muscles tensed.

You’ve known Killua since he was a baby, having been inducted as a future family member when mother was pregnant with him. There’s no doubt that if something wasn’t done, it would lead to a messy aftermath.

A few seconds after you make it inside, Milluki shows up and the servants are all dismissed.

“Kil, my little Kil, what’s wrong? Why did I hear that you’re leaving to take the Hunter’s Exam?,” mother’s voice is aghast, the idea of her favourite child abandoning the nest filling her with pain.

You too are taken aback at the news, a protective sensation coursing through you. Your fingers flex at your side.

“It’s boring here and I heard that the Exam is difficult so I’m going to test my skill,” he shrugs her worry off and spins his skateboard. Your heart begins to pound uncontrollably.

Hearing the disrespect, Milluki steps up and lashes out at Killua. “You brat, what’s with that arrogant attitude you-,”

“Stop that!,” mother’s voice sharply cuts him down.

She begins pleading with Killua to stay, her voice cracking multiple times. It pains you to watch someone you respect growing so desperate.

Killua is too young to understand what he’s putting the ones around him through. Of course, a rebellious phase is healthy-

A prickly discomfort surges through your head and you clutch it. Your unexpected movement grabs everyone’s attention. You try to brush it off, not wishing to be a burden.

It isn’t expected of you to be one.

“Killua, you should stay here. The world is a dangerous place,” your words try to reach him. “Illumi is coming home today,  why don’t we-”,

“I don’t want him around! Just leave me alone,” he angrily interrupts. The air grows heavy. Heavier than it’s been since the beginning.

Mother gasps in shock at his behaviour since Killua never really yells at you. Yes, he gets annoyed as much as any other kid but when he shouts, he doesn’t really mean it.

It’s expected of you to coerce him into calming down.

“You’ve changed during the past few weeks (Y/n), after Illumi came back before leaving again. Anyway, I will kill you all if you try to stop me,” Killua promises in a cold voice, his blue eyes a piercing ice.

This rouses an onslaught of insults from Milluki and a mix of agony and happiness from mother.

However, you’re currently stuck in your own mind, reflecting on Killua’s comment. It is true that during the past three weeks you doted on him more than ever before. Usually you try to split your attention between him and Kalluto when you have free time. What changed?

Nothing should have changed, Killua is the priority of the family.

A high-pitched scream echoes around the foyer and your clouded head awakens. The sight in front of you freezes your blood and it takes immense strength not to bite your tongue.

Mother is kneeling down on the ground, her hands covering her bloody face. Before you can take a step, Milluki rages and charges at Killua. The young boy bounces back and proceeds to plunge the knife into his older brother. Milluki curses and grabs his wound.

On impulse, your hand is already equipped with a knife and you’re ready to protect yourself as well as mother Killua.

Killua mistakes your movements as an attack and strikes his own knife across your arm. A long gash appears on your skin, the blood seeping out moments later. You take in the pain as punishment. Punishment for letting it get this far and failing.

You’re a failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.

Taking the chance to escape, he kicks his skateboard up and runs out.

And you were helpless to stop him.

*

It’s been a while since Illumi has been back home on Kukuroo mountain, his previous mission requiring him to travel across multiple locations. The target was a cautious person so they moved from place to place, leaving lousy decoys. That did not impede Illumi at all, it was simply an inconvenience at worst.

After all, nervous-wrecks are the ones who put their emotions out on display. They are the first to slip up due to the fact that they care about others.

Which is concerning because Killua is at a stage where he is showing his rebellious streak more often. It is crucial that he can snuff it out before his dear brother falls further down the slope of idiotic fantasies . In which case, it is a slight relief that (Y/n) is here. She tries to keep Killua in check in a subtle way instead of hanging over his shoulder or perpetuating his moody behaviour.

Though the last time he visited there were hints of her growing soft and losing her devotion of raising Killua to be the next head of the family. He is ashamed to confess that it irked him to some degree. It’s expected of her to put her desires down for what he wants. And he wants Killua to be the next head.

Even so, he thought that he dealt with this the last time.

However, imagine the surprise he felt when his mother came wailing to him, begging him to follow her little Kil to the Hunter’s Exam. To think that instead of a joyful family reunion, the news of his stray younger brother reached his ears before anything else.

That won’t do.

Currently, it’s close to midnight which is the time (Y/n) comes to his room to say goodnight. Why she even bothers is beyond him. The effort of keeping up with formalities could be used for better activities. It’s already indisputable that they are arranged to marry in the future at the request of his parents, so there is no reason to be close together in any romantic sense.

In fact, Killua will succeed as the head which is why there is no point in thinking about his own future.

A sigh leaves his mouth.

There is only one positive outcome that came out of this whole arrangement. He has an extra set of eyes and he’s sure that she will listen to him without question. All he has to do is play into these formalities and she’s wrapped around his finger.

An affectionate hug here, a tiny smile there...Normally he’d be concerned that a future Zoldyck , even if not by blood, would be so easy to deceive. However, since every carefully planned step is coming from him he’s not surprised in the slightest.

It’s expected of (Y/n) to be loyal, just as much as it’s expected for Killua to take over the family business.

The wooden clock hanging opposite his bed strikes 12 but there is no sign of (Y/n). She never runs late.

The fact that she hadn’t even greeted him when he came back is also unusual. Normally she’d be pacing in front of the entrance door but today his mother took over that role. He heard that she got injured by Killua but (Y/n) has experienced worse so what’s the fuss?

It’s not his problem, he’ll just take a bath before bed. She’ll come running eventually.

~

Illumi’s right arm is beginning to grow numb. He hasn’t moved from the water in over an hour. Not because he needed a break to relax, taking time off for yourself is inefficient. No, he hasn’t moved because he’s been waiting for the familiar steps and hesitant knock to come from outside his room.

Discerning who someone is from the sound of their footsteps and how they carry themselves is second nature to any professional assassin. For instance, Milluki hovers in one spot when walking while Kalluto creates soft patters with his toes.

On the other hand, (Y/n) always shuffles her feet forward just before his door. It takes her approximately 2 seconds to knock when she’s unsure, 1 second when she’s in a normal mood and 0.5 whenever she has news deemed worthy enough for him to hear. Reading the mood of someone before they see you face to face is important.

Coming to terms with the fact that today she won’t pay him a visit, he steps out of the bathtub, water dripping down his naked body. He throws on a plain black bathrobe and leaves the bathroom. Giving his bed a quick-over, he walks out the door.

Guess it’s time for him to pay a visit instead.

If he actually bothers and gives it some thought, it’s not a mystery as to why he hasn’t even seen her shadow today. She’s ashamed. Ashamed of being a failure for letting Killua go.

Her scrambled mind is most likely trying to piece together what she should say. How she should ask for forgiveness and repent.

He wonders if she’s starving herself or if she’s contemplating about going to the self-confinement room.

Normally he’d push her into whatever she makes up but a stick approach by itself won’t be enough. There needs to be a push and pull factor involved if he wants her to listen to him unconditionally.

And what better way than to appear before her, disheveled and still wet in his robe? She’ll jump to conclusions.

Further guilt will set in, how she unnecessarily worried him by skipping the usual goodnight. His state will continue feeding her imagination, connecting unrelated dots to make her believe that he cares for her.

Truly, a puppet and its real master.

Soaking footprints follow behind him on the floor, the dim candlelight making them difficult to notice. He knocks once before letting himself in and shutting the door, back turned to the only other person inside.

A small gasp penetrates the silence and a rush of steps follow suit, stopping just behind him.

“Illumi, welcome back,” (Y/n) is the first to speak. He stays silent.

A nervous shuffle. “Is..everything okay?”.

The voice quietens downs the more she speaks. That should be enough for now.

He turns around and looks down at her concerned face, with no emotion of his own. Her eyes widen a fraction after registering his condition. Before she can open her mouth to question him further, Illumi crinkles his eyes and smiles.

“It’s nothing. I was just worried since I didn’t see you today,” he gazes away, giving her enough time to fix her expression. It’ll be harder for him to get her to open up if she thinks that he sees through her lack of control.

“I missed you too-,”

Presumptuous to think that he missed her.

“-and I’m sorry for not saying anything. I just…,” she stops right before confessing her shortcoming.

He doesn’t provide her with any more time to compose herself, a full day is already generous. Grabbing the door handle he gives it a slight tug but her hand shuts it and pulls his sleeve. That’s new. (Y/n) rarely takes the initiative.

He allows her to drag him over to the bed, slightly curious about her next move. Is she trying to entertain him as an apology or simply trying to put distance between him and the door?

Both tactics aren’t half bad when it comes to simple targets.

He sits down on the covers and analyses her.

A long white nightdress, face ready for bed, barefoot, and a long knife wound going up her arm.

A shred of pride for Killua’s work passes through his head but he doesn’t showcase this. If by any chance she spotted the look, it would demolish the picture he wants to paint.

(Y/n) kneels down in front of him and takes his hand into hers. It’s warm, though not as soft as it used to be. Her breasts rest atop his knees.

His attention migrates from the sudden action to her face, looking for answers. He made sure that she will only expect affection coming from him, not the other way around. It would be too tiring to keep up a loving demeanour- no, scratch that. It wouldn’t be tiring but the expectations would eventually rise and it would result in less time spent on bringing up Killua.

Oh, he zoned out.

(Y/n)’s eyes are full of regret and desperation, the hand holding his trembling just enough to tell him that today’s event is eating at her. Is she waiting for him to say something?

Finally after what feels like an unprecedented amount of time, the scene unfolds.

Her smaller hand pulls his to her face and rests it against her cheek. The second his skin touches hers, he detects slight heat radiating. She must have not treated the cut. The knife was probably dirty too, Killua slacks off in that regard.

“I’m sorry for being a failure, I’m very sorry Illumi. I have no excuse,” the apology flows out of her mouth, bottom lip quivering. The pain of looking at someone she disappointed forces her eyes to shut close. Her free hand latches onto his thigh and she digs in before continuing.

“You can slash my other arm as punishment. Or hang me upside down in the self-containment room,” she throws out. “But please, please don’t give up on me. I can do better Illumi”.

And as if to prove how determined she is, her eyes open up again, staring deeply into his own. Unwavering. Confident.

Though the thumb that he has under her jaw gave the hammering pulse away.

1,2,3. 1,2. 1,2,3.

He stretched out the silence, pretending to ponder over his answer. The unsettling emotions influencing her thoughts will prove beneficial when he flips her assumption around.

He removes his hand from her cheek and moves the one on his thigh to her side. (Y/n) adopts a look of relief, believing that he agreed to her conditions of punishment. What he’s about to do is infinitely more cruel though.

She catches her breath when he follows her example and kneels in front of her. He pulls up the sleeve of her nightdress that’s slipping down before grabbing her shoulders, gently.

“How can I not give up on you when you give up on yourself,” he lectures her, peeking down at her wound. Make the target question their actions.

An expression of remorse adorns her face, a downward tug of the mouth.

He pulls her in, arms encircling and resting on her lower back. The material of the nightdress is light enough for him to make out the feeling of skin.

“Though I won’t give up on you.” Affirmation and a moment of reassurance.

One of his hands travels deliberately slowly up to her neck. It rests on the back of her head, fingers entangled in her hair. Illumi locates the present that he left her the last time he visited and pushes it back into her head. It has moved slightly out.

This prompts (Y/n) to hug him in response, her previously hanging arms now resting comfortably around him. Good, as for the finishing line.

“Though your failure is a disappointment, I know that you will not repeat the same mistake, because you

love me, right?”.

Her head moves to rest between the crook of his neck, nodding in agreement. She doesn’t ask him if he loves her.

It’s expected of her not to.

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (3)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha seeks to define her relationship with you and strengthens her friendship with Wanda.

Warnings: dark themes, stalking (let me know if I missed any!)

A/N: I originally had a completely different plan for this part but I changed the storyline a bit as I was writing and I’m so happy with the finished product. I hope you are too and I’m excited to hear your thoughts!

Previous part

-

Once inside your room, Natasha felt the peace return to her mind and body. The more time spent with you, the harder it became to leave you, and she feared a time when she wouldn’t be able to leave you at all. She hated the dependency and urgency that came with falling for you, welcoming it in the same breath because you were special. In what way, she wasn’t sure yet.

You were shivering slightly in your sleep, and she ran the tips of her fingers along your bare legs to see you react to her touch. A quiet chuckle escaped her lips as she pulled the blanket over you, climbing in bed next to you. Her head fell back onto the pillow while wrapping her arm around your waist, her hand occasionally moving to stroke your thigh as she attempted to match your breathing. Part of her was impatient, wanting to experience sleeping next to you every night for the rest of her life. It was too soon, though. All the pieces weren’t in place yet.

A phone call announced itself by loud ringing, and Natasha let out a string of curses when she realized it was coming from her pocket. She fumbled for the phone and answered, shushing Wanda as she waited with rigid muscles for your reaction. She breathed a sigh of relief when all you did was squirm a bit under the weight of her arm, light snores continuing.

“What’s up, Wan?” she quickly whispered, bracing herself for questions.

“I was going to ask where you were but I think I know now. Hot date?”

“You could definitely say that,” she breathed as her hand trailed over your body once more. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

She hung up and slid the phone back into her pocket, reaching over to kiss your temple before pulling away and leaving the bed altogether. She left the way she entered, fixing the curtains, closing the window and replacing the screen all in under a minute. She was home in a short amount of time as well, and a sigh left her when she spotted Wanda waiting on her bed.

“Am I going to get a lecture about something?”

“No.” Wanda released a sigh of her own as she waited for Natasha to sit next to her. “I just worry. I’ve never seen you this enamored with anyone and I don’t want her to take you down a path you can’t return from.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. Y/N is just special, and I don’t think it’s fair that I have to share her with other people. She’s the first person I’ve ever met that I could truly see myself falling in love with, no consequences whatsoever. I don’t think it’s a crime to want to protect that.”

“Then I want to help.” She pulled out a large silver ring holding a few keys. “May or may not have manipulated Tony into giving me these. He has a house upstate with a pretty amazing security system and a lot of privacy. I can set it up for you while you work on building your relationship.”

Natasha examined the keys with a frown, holding it as she looked up again. “Not that I don’t appreciate your willingness to help, but what changed your mind? You seemed to disagree with my plans at first.”

“Well I may have done a little stalking of my own.” Natasha’s eyes widened and Wanda responded with a sheepish grin. “This morning I kind of made another trip to the bookstore while Y/N was working there, and her thoughts were full of you the whole time. I think the two of you could have something beautiful together.”

“I knew you were my best friend for a reason.” A laugh escapes both of them as Natasha throws her arms around the grinning woman, pulling away after a few moments and lying next to her on the bed. “I love you, Wan.”

“Love you too, Tash. Now tell me your whole plan.”

-

In all of your years of existing, you’d never had such a dry feeling in your throat upon waking up. You wanted to blame it on an almost hangover, but you only had one glass of red, right? Besides, there was no headache, just the discomfort of the sunshine in your eyes.

Wait, sunshine.

Your head popped up from the pillow as you realized you hadn’t heard your alarm, and you quickly rolled over to grab your phone from the bedside table. A loud groan echoed into the room when you realized you never placed it on the charger last night and the battery died. The groan was followed by a gasp when your screen came on and revealed the time.

“Shit!” You paused in your movement of getting up when missed calls and a text appeared from the store owner.

Couldn’t reach you, so I got Ron to cover your shift. Hope everything’s alright!

You went to the contact to press the call button with shaky fingers. You knew your boss was understanding, but you hated disappointing anyone, especially someone you worked for.

“Hey!” you spoke as soon as the phone was answered, tone full of the guilt that coursed through you. “I’m so sorry I didn’t show! I forgot to charge my phone and it died, so I ended up sleeping well past my alarm time.”

“It’s okay, you clearly needed the rest! I’m just glad that you’re alright. See you in a few days!”

“Okay, see you then. Sorry again!” you quickly added before hanging up and placing the phone back on the table with a frustrated huff. You ran your hands over your face as you slouched forward, sighing again when your phone rang and quickly answering. “Hello?”

“Good morning, printsessa.”

You straightened from your defeated position, a smile appearing almost instantly at the sound of the warm and inviting voice on the other end.

“Nat, hi! Good morning to you too.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting you at work.”

“No.” You let out another one of those tired sighs that seemed to be second nature today. “I slept through my alarm and missed most of my shift. I’m just now waking up.”

“Did your manager give you a hard time?”

You frowned a bit at the hard edge that seemed to suddenly frame her tone, shaking your head and suddenly remembering she couldn’t see you.

“No, nothing like that. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“That’s good!” The sweetness returned. “So why do you sound so down, then?”

“I just hate letting anyone down, but especially my boss. They’re always so kind and understanding and I don’t want them to think I’m taking advantage of that.” You laughed a bit as you flopped back onto your pillows. “Sorry, I have a tendency to beat myself up with things.”

“It’s okay, I get it.”

“Really? Even someone as perfect as you messes up sometimes?”

“Of course not.” You laughed again, a little louder this time. “You know, I could send a car to bring you here to spend the day and maybe the night with me. How does that sound?”

“Any time with you sounds amazing. Give me an hour to get clean and packed!” 

You both exchanged warm goodbyes and you continued to lie there with a wide grin as you saved her number in your phone. You decided against facing the sunlight and instead turned the other way to get up and get ready, just missing the strand of red hair on the pillow beside you.

-

The car that arrived for you had tinted windows and a divider between the front and back seats, and you were met with a deep grunt in response to your warm greeting after climbing in. You watched the city life pass by on your way to the Avengers tower, smiling when you caught a glimpse of Natasha outside of the building as you arrived. She took your bag and grabbed your hand with her free one, all with a smile and adoring eyes.

“I see you made it here in one piece.”

“I did, thank you. Are all of your drivers that grumpy?”

Her head turned to look behind you as you walked toward the entrance, eyes lingering for a moment before returning her gaze ahead of her.

“Just the one.” She led you inside the elevator and freed a finger to press the button to her private floor. “I have a nice lunch prepared for us. It’s takeout from a restaurant, so I wouldn’t run the risk of killing you with my cooking.”

“I appreciate that,” you chuckled, squeezing her hand slightly. “But you know, I don’t mind showing you a few things in the kitchen.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer.” She leaned in to quickly peck your lips, dragging you out of the elevator and toward a table set up with covered meals and wine glasses. “Don’t touch anything until I get back!”

You sat down in one of the chairs, admiring the spacious dining area while you waited for Natasha to drop your bag off in her room. When she returned, grins appeared on your faces as you met eyes again, holding the gaze as she began to pour the wine. You were pleasantly surprised when the plates were uncovered and you realized it was your favorite meal from one of the first places you fell in love with after moving to New York.

“How did you know?”

“It’s my job to know.” She laughed. “I also may have made a guess based on what you ordered last night. Speaking of last night, I just want to say that it was the best date I’ve ever been on, and I would love to pursue something more serious with you. If that’s what you want too, of course.”

“I do,” you told her without a moment of hesitation, knowing that you felt the same way about last night. “In the short amount of time that I’ve spent with you, I’ve felt warmer and lighter than any other previous romantic experience, and I’m curious to see where this goes.”

“Same here.” She leaned across the table and you met her in the middle, smiling through the kiss until you pulled away, and she held her wine glass out to you. “To the beginning of something amazing.”

“To the beginning of something amazing.”

The two of you ate in a silence occasionally filled with light banter and echoing laughter, nearing the end of your meal when the elevator dinged and footsteps were heard in the hallway.

“Tash, where are--oh.”

“Wanda, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my best friend Wanda, who will probably hug you as she greets you.”

“Only if you don’t mind,” Wanda clarified with a sheepish grin, to which you responded with a laugh.

“No worries, I don’t mind!”

You dropped your fork and stood up, smiling just as widely as the cheerful Avenger that approached you, bright eyes holding a bit of a red tint. Her arms went around you as yours neared her torso, and suddenly everything went dark.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @nat-km-mh @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @fayhar @muted-stoneheart @witchxaf @sakurat123 @bebe404 @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se @trikruismybitch @darkangelxoxo @becka107 

[mionemymind]

Do I owe her the truth?

Summary: (Hermione x Gender Neutral Reader) Should Y/n tell the truth to Hermione no matter the consequences? 

Words: 5223

A/N: Let me know what y’all think. I’m sorry I having been writing a lot but I figured you deserve something for waiting for so long. Thank you for being patient. You all are the best!!

According to the great philosopher Kant, one must always do the nature of the good principle regardless of the outcome. Simply put, even if a killer was knocking on the door and asking for your friend, you must answer with the truth of their location. Although a lot argue over philosophies, Y/n simply minded their business. They figured that they have their whole life to sort out what good things they must do and bad things they must keep away. However, a bright witch among their age, made them question every single good and bad thing they had sorted out in life. Because on the very most important day of Hermione’s life, Y/n pondered the question, “Do I owe her the truth?”

The story starts out small like any simple home. You must start with a bit of foundation and the right material for it to be built. So, when Y/n transferred from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts, the very first student they were introduced to was Hermione Granger.

Walking around the halls, Y/n found themselves slightly amazed at the walls of the castle. From the decorations, to the hallways, its scenery, and even its people were more amazing than of Ilvermorny. “Right this way.” Professor McGonagall led the young sorcerer to the very Great Albus Dumbledore. Y/n had only read of the magnificent things Professor Dumbledore has done for the wizarding world and was only slightly scared to meet her current headmaster. While opening the vastly large door, Y/n slowly followed Professor McGonagall in. At the sound of the doors opening, a booming but soft voice uttered, “Ah there you are! Do come sit.” Walking up the stairs, Y/n sat at the seat in front of his desk. Sweaty palms and nervous thoughts clouded their mind. “It is a great pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts. I know you must be eager to survey the school so I will make this brief.” With a slight pause, Dumbledore had signaled for McGonagall to leave. “As a long-standing tradition of Hogwarts, let me first assign you your house.” Quickly, a hat that looked as if it lived through many ages, was placed on Y/n’s head. “Fierce loyalty like no other to those she cares about why you must be HUFFLEPUFF!”

The hat was taken off as quickly as it was placed. Soon, a new attire was placed on her lap. “Here is your new schedule that corresponds with what you should be learning now. I took great liberty to consult with your headmaster about your curriculum. They talk highly about you in regards to your academics and wizarding abilities.” Y/n blushed at the sound of the compliment. They weren’t used to the praise given to them. “To make sure you are consistently tested, I made sure to put you in classes with one of the brightest witches of your age – ah and here she is.” Y/n turned around and suddenly timed slowed down. A girl with red and black robes entered the room as if she already owned it. It was the confidence that surrounded her aura the most, but Y/n had noticed more of the beauty that she shows.

“This young witch is Hermione Granger.” Leaping to their feet, Y/n stood up to shake Hermione’s hand. “Y/n Y/l/n.” Hermione gave a small smile and sat next to Y/n as Dumbledore had briefly explained the rules of the school. “Ah – I believe that takes care of everything. Ms. Granger please give our newest student a welcoming tour around the school. I have already informed your teachers of your absence. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. Other than that, welcome to Hogwarts.”

The two young students left the office and went to the nearest bathroom. While Y/n changed to their new robes, Hermione had fiddled with her hands. “Not to intrude, but you must be extremely smart.” Y/n was buttoning their shirt when Hermione had answered the question. Good thing she couldn’t see them otherwise Hermione would have seen how red Y/n turned. Scratching their neck, Y/n replied, “I guess you could say that.”

“Oh, it’s not a guess rather a fact. You happen to have been put with some of the most difficult classes Hogwarts can currently offer for our year. That’s not something every new student experiences.” It was the way Hermione had said it as a matter of fact that made Y/n blush more. Exiting the stall, Hermione turned around and saw that they had their tie around their neck. “Need help?” Hermione said while pointing at their tie.

Once again Y/n blushed and nodded. Hermione was quick to get close to Y/n and started to tie their tie. “I do have to warn you though. There’s not a lot of competition when it comes to academics in Hogwarts. Don’t get me wrong, there is certain bright students, but none seem to come close.” Tightening the tie, Hermione looked into Y/n eyes. It was the first time she noticed how deep they looked. Regardless of their color, they were enchanting as well. “However, you seem to be my closest competition. So, I will have to take every chance I can get to beat you.” Y/n chuckled at the bright young witch in front of them. Hermione backed away after realized how close they were and cleared her throat. “Don’t take it as a laughing matter. Academics are truly important to me.”

Y/n had put their hands up in defense. “Don’t worry…I just find it funny that you think it’s going to be easy to compete with me.” Y/n smirked at their come back. If you were to ask where the hell that confidence came from, don’t bother. Y/n doesn’t know the answer either. With a similar smirk, Hermione said, “You and I are going to be great together.”

The story continues as the home is built. The next few things needed are the walls and roof.

It was the summer after their third year when Hermione, Harry, and Y/n had spent the summer at the Burrow. Ron had almost forgotten to invite Y/n when Ginny saved the day. The three of showed up at the house all dropping in one by one. Y/n was the last one to drop in, showing up during dinner time. Slowly walking in with trunk in hand, Y/n was met with the sound of their name echoing through the house. Ginny was the first to notice Y/n’s presence and loudly yelled, “Y/n!” Ginny quickly gave Y/n a hug when the echoes came from up the stairs.

“Did someone say Y/n?” George asked.

“Y/n?”

“Are they here?”

“Y/n’s here?!”

Hermione was the last one to ask when a stampede of people came running down the stairs. “Y/n!” One by one, they all started a group hug with Y/n in the middle. “Guys, I can’t breathe.” They all broke apart allowing Y/n to regain air, but was cut off when Molly came swooping in. “Oh, hello dear. I was beginning to worry that you couldn’t make it – are you hungry? You must be starving. I cooked your favorite.” Molly was quick to ramble on and on when Fred had pried the two apart. “Mum, I think Y/n needs oxygen. We’ll go ahead and start setting up the table.”

Molly slightly blushed and smiled at Y/n. “I’m glad that you’re here Y/n. Now come on people, dinner won’t serve itself.” The group was quick to help around the house, working like a well-oiled machine. Soon, everyone was sitting down at the table enjoying their home cooked meal. Y/n was sitting smack dab in the middle between Ginny and Hermione. Across from them were the boys.

Over the course of dinner, plenty of topics arose such as school, quidditch, muggles (only because Arthur can’t get enough), and more. The boys plus Ginny and Y/n couldn’t stop talking about the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. Hermione butted in about how glad she was that summer finally came. It was especially hard on the girl considering her tight schedule.

After dinner came the night. The house was quiet as the guests separated to their assigned rooms. It just so happens that Hermione and Y/n were assigned Charlie’s old room. If it weren’t for the dragon paraphernalia, Charlie’s room was actually quite neat and well organized. “Going to take a gander but I think Charlie really likes dragons.” Hermione snorted at Y/n’s obviously sarcastic comment. “Oh really? Could’ve mistaken me, I thought he was a quidditch fan.” Jokes aside, the two changed into their sleeping garments and went to bed.

Well Hermione went to bed while Y/n stared at the ceiling deep in thought. It was not until the moon was shining brightly through the window that Y/n realized how late it was. Considering the time, they tried to sleep but failed miserably. After giving up, Y/n laid on their side and faced towards Hermione. Seeing as the young wizard had already spent too much time alone with their thoughts, Y/n poked Hermione’s face until she was awake.

“Hermione. Psssst. Hermione” Y/n whispered as they poked her. “Hermione. Psst.” At the feeling of someone poking her, Hermione swatted their hand away. Seeing Hermione with an annoyed sleeping face was funny to Y/n but being alone sucked more. “Hermione, are you awake?” Suddenly, Hermione’s eyes opened; it was like a fierce dragon was staring into your soul. She looked mad at the fact someone woke her up from her slumber. “What Y/n?”

With an innocent smile, Y/n looked at Hermione and said, “Wanna tell secrets?” Hermione rolled her eyes and faced the opposite way of Y/n. “Go to sleep Y/n. We have to wake up early soon.” Y/n groaned at Hermione’s words. She was right, of course, but Y/n couldn’t go to sleep. Night was always the hardest.

“Come on Hermione.” Y/n received no response from the girl. Only a silent shoulder. Laying on her back and hands behind their head, Y/n looked at the ceiling. “Ya know, I know your secret…at least one of them.” Y/n glanced at Hermione and she still was facing away. “Or maybe two of them. Well, it’s the same secret, it just so happens that two Hermiones happen to share them.” Hermione quickly shot up and faced towards Y/n to see them smirking. “It’s not that hard to tell that a bright witch like you can’t be in two classes at once, but somehow you were.” Hermione grabbed her pillow and proceeded to hit Y/n with it. “Don’t you dare tell a soul Y/n Y/l/n. I won’t be afraid to hex you.”

Y/n grabbed the pillow and threw it back at the witch, making sure to aim at her face. “Well maybe next time, try not to be in two places at once. It sure threw me off when I had to drop off a note for the Professor only to have found you in a different class. And after I returned, you were still at the same spot I left you.”

“Unbelievable. I knew I should have volunteered to do that, but you just had to be faster than me.” Hermione rolled her eyes and sat up against the bed frame. Y/n followed suit and did the same thing. There was still an obvious smirk on their face. After a couple minutes, the silence broke. “Well, are you going to tell me your secret since you exposed mine?”

“Well Ms. Grainger lets see what secret you get to hear today.” Pondering for a moment, Y/n tried to think of information that no one knew, something of equivalently as important such as time traveling. “I got it! However, you have to promise me that you won’t tell a soul not even Crookshanks.” Y/n held out their hand with only their pinky in the air. Hermione looked them in the eye as she said, “I promise.” They locked pinkies as Y/n said, “I think I like girls.”

Hermione blinked for a couple seconds which only led devasting thoughts in Y/n’s mind. It didn’t take long, but she responded with, “Oh for Merlin’s sake. If you’re going to tell me a secret Y/n, at least make it to something that isn’t so painfully obvious.”

Hermione broke the gaze as Y/n stared in disbelief. “Don’t look so surprised. Just as you said, maybe next time try not to be caught staring at every single girl in Hogwarts.”

Gulping down their fear, Y/n said, “You don’t mind?” Hermione shook her head. “Nope. Not one single bit. You’re still the same, just love who you love except for racists and he who shall not be named. Well there’s a list. As long as they’re not genuinely bad people and you can see them joining SPEW, then I approve.”

Y/n looked at the girl beside her in amazement and wonder. They continued the conversation as the night grew, telling even more daring secrets as the previous. But one secret did remain with Y/n that night, it was their everlasting crush on Hermione Jean Granger.

The second to last thing a home needs is the spark to light the fireplace as well as the furniture. That way the home can feel as warm and as safe to those that harbor in it.

It was a winter wonderland at Hogwarts. Students were preparing to travel back home to their respective families. However, a group of students decided to spend the last weekend at Hogsmeade before leaving the next day. Right now, they had crowed the room at The Three Broomsticks with laughter, joy, and happy memories. The air was filled with a different type of warmth, one that felt safe and even like a second home. Everyone was talking so loudly within small groups, it was hard to even feel alone. Ginny and Y/n were standing near the fire talking when Fred had grabbed the attention of the room. “Everyone. Everyone. I propose a game. Let’s do a simple muggle game called truth or dare.” Everyone in the group oood as they knew where this was going to lead. They would start with a couple truths before someone breaks the ice with a good dare. Typically, the twins were the ones to propose the dare, but not a lot could compete. “Whoever cannot complete the truth or dare shall lose. Completion allows you to stay,” George had added.

The group sat in a tight makeshift circle that almost took up all the chairs and tables provided. “I’ll start. Harry, who was the last person you snogged?” All eyes were now on the chosen one. Everyone could see his nervousness, but everyone knew he would never want to be the first one out. “Draco.” Certain eyes went wide, but Y/n simply went unphased since she somewhat caught the two making out in between classes. “No questions. Neville, is your crush in this room?” Neville immediately turned red at the question and was the first one to back out. There were small boos mainly coming from the twins. “Since Neville backed out, lets go with the person to his right, Ron. Is your crush in this room?” Ron had the same reaction as Neville but had looked at the ceiling to refrain from giving away his crush. “Yes.” Everyone looked among each other trying to figure out who it could possibly be. “Don’t even try asking who it is. Ginny since you’re bloody enjoying this, did you and Y/n ever snog?” Y/n and Ginny both went wide eyed causing the group to lean a little bit closer to the two. What added more was at how everyone knew how close the two were. Not wanting to entirely answer the question, Ginny backed out the circle causing more booing from the crowd. “What a buzzkill. However, lets just ask the second-best person. Well Y/n, have you snogged my sister?”

Y/n looked at the crowded but had kept glancing towards Hermione. Although it was a simple question, Y/n hadn’t wanted to entirely answer it. You see, Ginny and Y/n did kiss before, but it was an accident. There was a bump, a stumble, then a fall, and then an accident kiss. It didn’t mean anything to the two of them, plus Y/n felt like her heart might’ve been for somewhere. So, Y/n had followed Ginny in the same manner and backed out the circle. “Oh bloody hell! You two have a knack to keep this stupid mystery alive.” They both rolled their eyes at Ron and watched the game continue. What Y/n failed to realize was how affected a certain witch was at their answer.

The game dwindled down until there was three left and unironically it was the golden trio that had made it this far. It was a little surprising for Y/n that Hermione had made it this far. Majority of the time, Hermione would be among the first to decline doing a truth or dare. “I’m sorry Hermione, but I must win. So, I dare you to kiss Ron.” It was something about the dare that made Y/n’s stomach turn. Their mood soured so quickly that they almost felt sick. Slightly tapping Ginny’s back, Y/n whispered in her ear, “Hey, I’m gonna head outside real quick. I don’t feel so good.” Ginny gave a concerned look. She was going to say something back, but Y/n was already out the door with their hand clutching their stomach.

Besides Ginny, Hermione was the only other person that noticed Y/n had left. In her line of sight, she saw past Ron and briefly seen them leave in distress. The deafening chants of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” didn’t register with her. The only thing running through Hermione’s mind was Y/n. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this dare guys.” Quickly getting out the circle, the chants stopped, and the game continued to declare the winner. Hermione excused herself and made her way outside. She made sure to grab hers and Y/n’s coat. “What an idiot. It’s freezing cold out there.”

Stepping out the tavern, Hermione saw various witches and wizards pass by. Some she knew and some she didn’t. Walking further out, Hermione grew frustrated after not quickly finding her friend. “Where the hell are you?” Walking around further, she saw an outline of a person. Clearly, they had no coat on with how much they were shivering. Hermione walked closer to the figure and realized it was Y/n. “For someone so bloody smart, you are such an idiot.” Hermione accidentally wrapped her own coat around Y/n. She didn’t realize she had instinctively put on her best friend’s coat. Y/n chuckled, but it was cut short due to the freezing weather. Hermione sat down beside them and focused on the view in front of them. There was a small silence between the two as they had people watched. Hermione almost forgot why she even went outside in the first place. She shook her head remembering her thought, “Are you okay? I saw you leave in a hurry.”

Y/n glanced at Hermione, giving her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I think my stomach was just feeling off. I went outside to get better air.” Hermione looked in their eyes and was quick to call bullshit. “Better air? It’s absolutely freezing out here. Even Merlin themselves wouldn’t want to be outside this weather. So why don’t you tell me the real truth? And if you lie Y/n, I will not hesitate to read your mind.” Y/n gulped at the sound of her threat. They glanced back out into the view in front of them. Taking a deep breath, Y/n nervously replied with, “During your dare, I suddenly felt…sick…I don’t know why but my stomach felt so knotty and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. So, I left.” Y/n glanced back at Hermione and immediately noticed the look on her face. It was intense and serious. Suddenly, something in the air felt different. It was getting hotter and hotter regardless of the snow falling around them.

“Can I kiss you?” Hermione asked in such a small whisper. A lump appeared in Y/n’s throat. They didn’t know what to quite say. They never really thought about what their feelings meant towards Hermione, but then again, everyone practically knew that Y/n and Hermione were in love with each other. Y/n just happened to be the biggest dumbass when it comes to realizing their feelings for others. But here Y/n was. They weren’t answering the question, but felt themselves leaning in. The two closed their eyes and was slowly leaning in. Hermione felt her heart beating so fast that she was certain it would explode, but she didn’t care. She knew that for so long, she wanted this.

However…the moment never arrived. It was cut off from a distant yell, “Y/n!” The two quickly separated and looked at different directions. Suddenly Hermione took it a step further and slightly moved away from Y/n. “There you are – I’ve been looking every where for you!” Ginny jogged up to the duo, noting the awkward tension that emerged. “We have to go back to the castle, I’ll explain on the way.” The red head dragged away her best friend while giving a small nod towards Hermione.

When they were far enough and half way towards the castle, Ginny explained the dire situation. “It’s your parents Y/n, you have to go home. An owl was sent towards the tavern. Here, you’re going to want to read this.” Ginny handed Y/n the letter. After reading it, Y/n’s stomach dropped. “I have to get home.” Ginny sent them a look. “Clearly dumbass. Come on, let’s get your stuff.” It was eerie quiet between the two since the situation had escalated. Y/n’s parents were in trouble and needed Y/n’s help.

Back at Hogsmeade, Hermione didn’t quite know what to feel. She was so close to kissing her crush, but Ginny just had to ruin the moment. The same person she was somewhat certain had Y/n’s heart. Asking the younger lad to kiss her took all the courage Hermione had, and here she was slightly heartbroken that she was gone. So deep in thought, Hermione didn’t notice Ron sit next to her until he said something. “Hey.”

“I need you to explain to Hermione that I’m sorry.” Ginny sighed. She slightly felt guilty for ruining the moment, but time was precious and something Y/n very much needed now. “I know you saw what was going to happen, but I don’t even know what I was doing.” Closing their trunk, Y/n stood up and looked at Ginny. “I do know that I also need to realize what I feel for Hermione. For a lot of my life, I thought I just had a deep love for her. I guess now it might be even deeper.” Ginny walked up and gave Y/n a bone chilling hug.

“I’ll try my best, but she’s definitely going to want to hear it from you.” They separated. Y/n saw the tears forming in Ginny’s eyes. “I’m going to bloody miss you. Please be safe in America and you better send me an owl at least once every two weeks.” Y/n gave Ginny and small salute and crossed their heart.

“I will Ginny. Besides, I need you to deliver all the letters I write for Hermione. I really gotta figure this out.” With one last hug and a small punch to Y/n’s shoulder, the young student left Hogwarts on to the next ride to America. The letter was still clutched in her hand and in it was detailed the long passage of how to save Y/n’s parents from the very people chasing after them. Y/n didn’t quite know how long it was going to take to save their parents, but they could only hope Hermione could understand. “Please wait for me.” Y/n whispered to Hermione in particular, but the younger witch didn’t hear those words. Instead, Hermione heard comforting words from a different red head.

The last thing a home needs is the very people that should live in it. It needs family, friends, and most certainly you and me.

Y/n stood, pacing around the bathroom. They knew time was running out, it was now or never. “Why? Why? Why? Why?” Y/n stood still and pinched the bridge of their nose. Eyes closed, Y/n pondered more and more about all of the things they didn’t do. How could they have let this go on for this long? Why did they let it go on for this long? Deep in thought, Y/n didn’t notice a certain ginger walk into the bathroom. “Y/n, what in the bloody hell are you doing there?  Hermione has been calling you and quite worried sick. If it wasn’t her big day, I would have already knocked you out you big prat.”

Y/n glanced at the second most important person of her life. With a heavy sigh, Y/n slid down the wall. Their knees were propped, hands in their face, and heart in their throat. “I don’t know what to do anymore Ginny.” Ginny pursed her lips and looked back out the door, making sure the coast was clear, before locking the door. She laid her small bouquet of flowers on the sink and sat down near Y/n while trying not to mess up her dress.

“Although I love my idiot brother with all my heart…I somehow love you more.” They sat there together knowing where this was going. “I can’t do it Ginny. I really can’t sit there without feeling like my world is crashing apart right in front of my eyes…The worst thing about it is, I can only blame myself for letting it go this long.”

Ginny rested her head on her best friend’s shoulder. She didn’t quite know what to say anymore. Offering her presence and her ear was the only thing left. “I-I-I spent so long in other countries to try and find my parents while trying to find myself. To try and figure out what I feel for her and by the time I have, she’s already engaged to another…And it’s my stupid fucking fault for ever thinking Hermione would wait. I mean why would she? If some other bloke can already provide her happiness, why should she wait for me? For…us?” Y/n hadn’t realized they were crying until their hands suddenly felt wet. “It’s sad, isn’t it?” Y/n said as they wiped their tears. “What is?”

“Knowing I am my own cause for my sadness. I mean who I am to blame Hermione. The girl was only doing what Aristotle says. Because as he said, we all want to be selfishly happy.” Sighing in defeat, Y/n got up and dusted off their attire. Lending their hand out, Ginny got up and did the same manner. “How much time do I got?”

Ginny looked at the clock in the bathroom. “You have five minutes before she needs to be walking down the isle.” With a small smile, Y/n kissed Ginny forehead and said a small goodbye. The two were only going to part ways for merely a bit. After all, Ginny is Y/n’s second-best friend. But here was Y/n, jogging to the very person that was going to forever have their heart.

Standing outside the bride’s room, Y/n silently prayed and opened the door. There she was in all her glory, the bride to be, the love of her life, the Hermione Granger. However, the brunette herself wasn’t feeling so great. With all the stress of wanting the wedding to be perfect, it wasn’t helping that her very best friend was mysteriously disappearing all the time without a single word. She looked up and sighed once she saw who it was. Picking up her dress, Hermione strutted to Y/n as they closed the door behind them. “Do you have any clue how worried sick I have been?”

“I-” With a single motion of Hermione’s hand, Y/n remained silent. “And anytime I happen to need my best friend to calm me down, they’re nowhere in sight. What is wrong with you? This is my special day Y/n and you haven’t been as great of a friend as you should be. So please, enlighten me where have you been running off to that’s sooo important that you need to leave me?” It was those piercing eyes that made Y/n’s heart melt over and over again. It’s those very same eyes that could practically melt the iceberg that hit the titanic. And it’s those eyes that makes Y/n’s world spin again.

“I…I can’t be your friend Hermione.” Y/n’s voice was so soft and so delicate, Hermione almost questioned if her ears were playing tricks. “What are you bloody saying? You’re not making any sense.” And all the remaining courage Y/n could muster up, they held her hands, looked her in the eyes and said, “When I was gone, I learned of this great philosopher named Kant-” “What does this have to-” Hermione saw the silently begging eyes in front of her and shut her mouth. This was serious and she wasn’t quite sure if she was ready for it.

“He always focused on good principles and always asked about the before of the action. Generally, he believed others should necessarily treat people how they want to be treated. So, a short example is that one should never lie under any circumstances. It does not matter the outcome, but it is simply something you must do. And although I’ve never really believed in absolute, I’ve been asking myself if I should tell the truth. And if people actually deserve to know the truth. So while I thought about it and asked, well what if they deserve the truth, should I still tell them regardless of the outcome? Although I thought I knew a lot of the world, it turns out I only know two things. One is that you deserve to know the absolute truth Hermione and the second is…you are the lie I repeat at night. Because every night I tell I love you, the truth is…I am so in love with you Hermione.”

The world went silent for Hermione. Not even a single pin drop could break the silence for her. Here she was still holding her best friend’s hands as they had just admitted that they were in love with her. “And I’m so sorry Hermione that today of all days was when I told you. I know I had my chances in the letters I sent but I must be honest now because you still deserve the absolute truth. And I’m running out of words to say, because it would be too selfish of me to convince you to run away. So I offer my congratulations Hermione, but I must still run. For then maybe in the blur of life, I can see a small fragment where there could have been you and I.” Y/n kissed Hermione’s forehead as tears may their way down. Letting go of Hermione, Y/n silently walked out the room without turning back because if they had, they would have broken down.

So, while Y/n told Hermione the truth directly. Hermione stood still at the alter with someone who she is most positively certain she loves pondering the very question, “Do I run after the truth?”

[scatter-the-stars]

Prompt: Terror

Prompter: @okaybutihitanightfury

note: Once again, I apologize since this part doesn't stick to the prompt that much.

Part 2

Part 1

The moment on the couch from the night before replays in Kurt’s head as he sits on the edge of the bed.

He woke up an hour earlier and briefly thought that the night before was some wonderful dream. Like the many others he had in the past year. But the delicious ache in his ass said otherwise.

Blaine fucked him.

His boyfriend’s seriously hot dad fucked him in a way he had never been fucked before.

To say he liked his boyfriend’s dad is putting it mildly. From the moment he first saw Blaine, he was smitten. Wanted the older guy. Wanted him more than he wanted his son.

Last night was inevitable. Blaine and him had been racing to that moment from the very first time they met. And he’s glad it finally happened. Glad they reached the place where they were always meant to be.

Kurt stands and goes to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face. Forgoes a shower for the time being so he can have Blaine’s scent on him a bit longer.

With Dex still sleeping, he dresses and walks out of the room. His heart jumps at the sight of Blaine in the small kitchen scrambling eggs. The mere sight of him has the night before replaying in his head. Has him wanting to repeat it again as soon as they can.

“Good morning.”

Blaine looks up. One corner of his mouth lifts in a lazy smile. “Good morning, Kurt.”

Kurt takes a seat at the breakfast bar and watches Blaine cook. Isn’t sure how to bring up the night before without sounding needy or desperate. Because he wants more. Wants to ask Blaine for more.

“So, um…”

“Yeah?”

“About last night.”

Blaine stops and gives all his attention to Kurt. “Last night was…” He blows out a breath. “It was phenomenal.”

“Yeah?” The hope Kurt has that Blaine wants more grows.

“Yes. But…”

That one word kills that hope. He deflates like a punctured balloon. “But, what?”

“It was a mistake that can’t happen again. Let’s just forget about it,” Blaine suggests.

“Yeah. Of course.” Kurt does his best to hide his disappointment. Doesn’t want Blaine to know he wanted more. “It’s for the best.”

He barely tastes the eggs Blaine serves him. Forces himself to eat every bite so Blaine can’t question if something is wrong. Says he’ll clean since Blaine cooked.

“Thanks, Kurt.” Blaine walks back to his room.

As he starts cleaning the dishes, Kurt hears the shower in Blaine’s room start to run. By the time he’s finished with the dishes, he’s somehow talked himself into going to Blaine’s room to confront him. It’s ridiculous, but he has to do this. Has to at least try before completely giving up.

Stood at Blaine’s closed bathroom door, he takes a deep breath before opening the door. He chokes on a breath at the sight of Blaine’s naked body under the spray of water. His cock swells as arousal pools in his belly.

He wants this man. Wants him more than his next breath. And he’s going to make sure Blaine knows that.

Before his confidence leaves, Kurt undresses, opens the shower door, and presses to Blaine’s back.

Blaine turns to him. Surprise on his face. “Kurt. What are yo-“

“I don’t want to forget about it,” he says. “I want it to happen again.”

“But Dex?”

Kurt loosely winds his arms around Blaine’s neck. “Dex barely notices me anymore. I’m lonely, Blaine. I want to feel good again. And you made me feel amazing.” He skims one hand down past Blaine’s defined chest and toned stomach. Stops right below his belly button. Teases his fingers at the base of Blaine’s cock. Feels Blaine grow hard against his hip. Confidence growing about this whole thing knowing Blaine wants him. “Please, make me feel that way again.”

Blaine says nothing for a long moment. Kurt starts to fear that he royally fucked up. That maybe he wanted this more than Blaine does, and he just made a complete fool out of himself. And that growing doubt and fear only intensifies when Blaine grabs his upper arms and pushes him away a few inches. The hard set of Blaine’s eyes feels like a precursor to his anger. Which he rightfully deserves. Because here he is propositioning his boyfriend’s dad for sex when said boyfriend is nearby. He really is what he confessed last night: a terrible person.

Tears fill his eyes as shame and embarrassment have him wanting to flee. Not just this bathroom, but the hotel and Aspen. He wants to run away until there are states between Blaine and him. Until endless space between them is all they share.

“I’m sorry.” He looks away from Blaine. From the man he’s shamelessly and selfishly fantasized about for a year. He drops his eyes to his feet.

He would give anything to curl into a ball and disappear in that moment. To go back a day and rescind Blaine’s dinner invite. To not know how it feels to be with Blaine. Wishes things were better with Dex so he didn’t have to fantasize about his dad, or turn to him when he wants to feel good.

“Kurt, look at me.”

Although he would rather continue to stare at his feet and not see the sympathy and anger in Blaine’s eyes, he lifts his head. A small, surprised gasp is torn from him when, instead of sympathy and anger, he finds Blaine’s eyes darkened with arousal and need.

Hope and excitement start to bloom. They chase out the shame and guilt he was feeling moments before.

Blaine pushes him until his back comes in contact with the tiled wall. “We shouldn’t do this.”

Kurt hears the underlying uncertainty in Blaine’s voice. And he should be the good guy he’s always been and accept Blaine’s answer as finality. But he can’t. Not when last night was the best night of his life. Not when he’s never felt desire so great for someone. That’s why he confidentially hooks a leg around Blaine’s waist and pulls him close. Why he says, “But?”

A sexy, salacious grin spreads across Blaine’s face. “But I want you too fucking much to push you away.”

Kurt moans when Blaine crushes their mouths together in a brutal, fiery kiss.

This is so wrong and fucked up. But he can’t stop himself. Won’t deny himself what he wants, even though he’s hurting someone.

Whatever the consequences are if Dex finds out, he rightfully deserves.

Right now, though, he deserves to feel good.

He rocks against Blaine. Their cocks glide together. The glide is made easier by the water and precum sliding down the sides of their cocks.

Blaine lifts his other leg and wraps it around his waist. Starts to rock faster against him. Admits with a groan, “I wanted this for so long.”

Kurt shivers at the pleasure Blaine is creating inside him and the honesty in his voice. He looks at Blaine and admits his own longing.

“How long?” Blaine curiously asks.

He doesn’t feel bad saying, “Since I first met you.”

Blaine groans and roughly kisses him.

They suddenly become frantic in their movements. Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck. Smashes his lips together to hold in the moans wanting to break free.

The mounting pleasure inside him spills over moments later. He buries his face in the side of Blaine’s neck as his orgasm slams into him. He spasms against Blaine while his cock jerks and spills between their bodies.

He’s still trembling against Blaine and riding his high when Blaine finally comes. A moan escapes him when Blaine’s hot cum hits his skin and mixes with his own. It’s dirty and hot.

A few minutes pass where they say nothing. Both of them trying to catch their breath. Kurt feels Blaine’s heart pounding against his chest. Hears his heavy exhales by his ear.

Blaine finally steps back after setting him down. He moves to stand under the water.

Kurt stares at him. Stares at his back that is to him. At the strength he sees. He knows Blaine works out to keep the body he has. That he works hard for it. And he appreciates that. Appreciates every single inch of Blaine’s sculpted, hard body.

Eyes drop down to Blaine’s full, round ass. An ass he’s thought about more than his boyfriend’s. Said boyfriend who does not take after his dad.

Tired of staring and wanting to touch, Kurt steps close to Blaine and presses to his back. Water cascades down around them. It quickly washes away the cum still on his skin.

Blaine covers his arms when he wraps them around his stomach. “We should get out soon.”

“We should,” Kurt repeats, but not wanting that. He wants to have more fun.

He reaches a hand down and skims his fingers along Blaine’s soft cock.

“Kurt.” Blaine groans.

“How long until you can get hard again?” Kurt wraps his hand around Blaine’s cock and gives a soft stroke. He kisses at Blaine’s neck. “Because I want you to fuck me again.”

Blaine covers Kurt’s hand and guides him in jerking him off. “I’m forty-five years old, Kurt. I’m going to need a few minutes.”

“That’s okay. I can wait.”

“Dex?”

Kurt understands Blaine’s concerns. So, he eases his worries. “Trust me, he’ll be passed out until after noon.” He’s dealt with a drunk Dex enough to know his patterns. To know he’ll sleep until the middle of the afternoon sometimes after a night of drinking.

“Fuck.”

Kurt isn’t sure if Blaine says that more because of what they’re doing or because he’s upset with his son. Maybe a combination of both.

As he strokes Blaine, guided by his hand, he takes in every ridge and vein of Blaine’s cock. The length and girth of him. Which is something else Dex didn’t take after from his dad. Where Dex is average in size and not that girthy, Blaine is bigger in length and girth. And he loves the upgrade.

He reaches his free hand down to play with Blaine’s balls. Feels the heaviness of them in his hand. Rolls and tugs them. Anticipates the moment he gets to suck them into his mouth.

With his hands on Blaine, and one of Blaine’s hands covering his, Kurt imagines what they look like. Groans at the mental picture he has. Knows there would be no coming back or talking himself out of this if Dex were to walk in and find them.

That should be enough to stop this and walk away. But it’s not. He’s positive nothing ever will be.

After several minutes of slowly stroking Blaine, Kurt feels him start to grow hard again. “Someone is ready,” he hotly whispers into Blaine’s ear before sucking and lightly biting the lobe.

Blaine grabs both his wrists and removes his hands. Kurt is about to complain when Blaine turns to face him with a fiery need in his eyes. He shivers at the sight. At the possibility it brings.

His whole body suddenly aches for this man. The emptiness he feels intensifying. He’s never wanted someone so badly like he wants Blaine.

Kurt steps back as Blaine steps toward him. His back comes in contact with the wall again. He breathes heavily with anticipation and need.

“You going to fuck me now?” His body would really love it if Blaine fucked him.

“No. Not yet.”

That’s not the answer he wanted to hear.

“Why?”

“Because,” Blaine grins, “there’s something else I would like to do first.”

“W-What?”

Blaine drops to his knees and looks up at Kurt. He wraps a hand around his stiff cock and strokes. Thumbs at the head. “Last night, when I sucked your cock, I quickly realized I could do that every day for the rest of my life.”

Kurt loves the sound of that. So does his cock since it twitches in Blaine’s hold. He rocks forward so it glides in and out of Blaine’s tight fist. Does that a few times. But whimpers when Blaine suddenly lets go and grabs at his hips.

All the warning he gets is Blaine saying I need to taste you before sinking his mouth down around him. He barely has time to slap a hand over his mouth before he loudly moans. With his free hand, he grabs the back of Blaine’s head.

Mouth clamped shut, and sure he won’t be loud, he drops his hand to grab at Blaine’s shoulder. He shuts his eyes and allows himself to sink into the sensation of Blaine sucking him off.

When Blaine did this the night before, he nearly came the moment his mouth was on him. This had been something he fantasized about frequently. Thought about it when he jerked off. Is even ashamed to say he thought of Blaine whenever Dex would go down on him. But it’s been months since Dex has done that. That’s another reason he almost came so quickly the night before. It’s been a while since he’s had the kind of attention Blaine is giving him.

He won’t apologize for going after something he needs and craves. Even if it’s with someone that isn’t his boyfriend. He’s human. Has needs just like everyone else. Needs that are not being met. Dex hasn’t attempted to touch him in weeks. And he’s tried on his part. He’s done everything he can think of. Even went as far as greeting Dex naked when he came home. But Dex took one look at him and walked away. That hurt more than Kurt will ever admit. To have your boyfriend look at you with no interest and walk away. He felt ridiculous. Held back tears as he dressed and fled Dex’s apartment. Promised himself as he made his way home that Dex’s sudden loss of interest in him had nothing to do with him. That something else was going on.

After that, he tried a few more times to get Dex to fuck him and ended up with the same results. Each rejection felt more and more disheartening than the last. That’s why he was happy for this Aspen trip. He saw it as a perfect opportunity for them to rekindle the spark that had gone out. To try and save what they had.

Fate, though, had other plans.

Confessing to Blaine the night before that his son hadn’t touched him in weeks seemed to light the fuse that started this. And he wouldn’t go back and take those words back.

As Blaine sucks and bobs his head, twirls his tongue around the swollen head of his cock, Kurt thinks of what else he told Blaine. That he had his reasons for staying with Dex.

At first he stayed with Dex because he thought he was happy with him and didn’t want to lose that. But he quickly realized that wasn’t the truth. It dawned on him one day a few months ago when Dex asked if he wanted to have dinner with him and his dad. The excitement and rush of joy he felt at the mere mention of Blaine was like a light bulb going off. He knew right then and there that the only reason he was staying with Dex was because of Blaine.

Guilt washed over him as he sat there. He tried his hardest to shove the thought away. Spent the next few weeks trying to fix his relationship to ignore the glaring truth. But he couldn’t. Blaine was his happiness. The person to make him genuinely smile and laugh. To make his heart race and stomach flip. The guy he thought about when he first woke up and before he went to sleep.

Blaine is why he stayed.

He didn’t want to lose that. Decided to stay with someone who lost interest just so he could still see their dad. But he made himself promise he would never do anything with Blaine. Promised to try and fix his relationship with Dex.

He kept those promises. Until last night. Until everything boiled over. Until his long denied desires and needs and feelings had him going after the one person he shouldn’t have fucked.

Karma is a tough bitch. But he deserves whatever it throws at him for what he did, and is doing.

Cold air hits his dick when Blaine pulls off. He looks down and watches him kiss and mouth along his cock. Thrusts forward when Blaine lightly nips at the base of his cock.

Before he can say anything, Blaine dips his head down and takes his balls into his mouth. Sucks on them a few times before releasing them. Lifts his head and sinks his mouth back down around him.

Kurt lets out a small moan as Blaine starts to suck him again. He holds the back of his head tighter and starts to shallowly thrusts his hips. Revels in the sensation of his cock sliding between Blaine’s lips.

He does that until the water starts to turn cold. Doesn’t increase his force or pace. Keeps his slow momentum since he doesn’t want to come this way.

Slowly fucking Blaine’s mouth, terror suddenly seizes Kurt for a brief moment when he thinks he hears something outside the door. He stops Blaine and listens; stares at the bathroom door expecting it to be flung open at any second by Dex to confront them.

Blaine stands and looks at the door. “What is it?”

Kurt looks at Blaine and breathes a sigh of relief at knowing they’re still safe. That they’re horrible secret is still just that. “Nothing,” he says. “I thought I heard something. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He grabs Blaine’s chin and turns his head so he’s looking at. “As much fun as this has been, will you please fuck me now?”

Blaine chuckles. “Yeah. Not here, though.”

They turn off the water and step out of the shower. After drying off, Kurt follows Blaine out to his massive bedroom. The king sized bed draws his attention. A blush staining his cheeks at what they’re about to do on it.

“Bend over the end,” Blaine orders before walking to his open luggage and grabbing his toiletry bag.

Kurt bends over the end of the bed as instructed. Shivers as the cool air hits his hot skin.

The sound of a lock sliding into place reaches his ears. He looks back in time to see Blaine walking away from the door while holding a condom and small bottle of lube. His stomach clenches as his need ramps up.

“Your ass is amazing.” Blaine grabs at his ass with both hands after dropping the supplies on the bed. He palms and squeezes at the flesh. Spreads him open. “How could he not want you?” he silently muses.

That’s the million dollar question right there. One Kurt has no answer to.

Blaine drawing the pad of a finger over his hole makes him shiver. He pushes back on the touch. Wants more when Blaine pulls away.

He hears the click of the bottle of lube being opened. Steps out further right before Blaine presses in with two slick fingers.

“Tell me, Kurt?”

“What?”

Blaine works his fingers in and out. Slowly fucks Kurt with them. “Have you always had a thing for older guys?”

The answer to that surprises even Kurt. “No.” Before Blaine, he wasn’t into older men like some of his friends were. Didn’t see the appeal. Then he understood when he met Blaine. Saw how mature and grown up he was compared to the guys his age who still acted like kids. And he really understood the appeal last night when Blaine fucked him. Where men his age are just in the game, someone older like Blaine has years of experience. Which showed last night when he fucked him better than any of the men he slept with previously.

“You love having this older guy fuck you now, huh?” Blaine says as he pushes into him after rolling the condom on. “Love how I made you feel?”

Kurt arches and pushes back to take more of Blaine into his body. “Yes,” he whines.

Once Blaine is sheathed inside him, he immediately starts to rock back on him.

“Can you reach a pillow?”

Kurt reaches up and barely manages to grab a pillow with his fingertips. He gives it to Blaine, who shoves it under his hips to prop his ass up. Hands on his shoulders hold him down. Blaine shoves as deep as he can and grinds against him. Rolls his hips over and over. He clutches at the sheet beneath his hands. Humps the pillow under him for some relief on his aching cock.

Blaine’s grunts and groans mix with his moans and whimpers when he really starts to fuck him. When he slams his hips forward so hard he’ll be feeling it later.

Sex has never been this good for him. Especially with Dex. Where with Dex it was always about him, and getting him off, with Blaine it’s the opposite. Blaine makes it about him and his pleasure. Makes sure he is taken care of before coming. And it’s nice to come first instead of lying there afterwards and jerking off to finish.

Skin slaps together as Blaine fucks him hard and fast. And when Blaine pulls out and flips him over, he lifts his legs to wrap around him. Moans when he sinks back inside him. When he grabs behind his knees and pushes them up to his chest.

As Blaine moves, he notices him keep his eyes trained down on where his cock is disappearing inside his ass. Remembers him doing the same thing the night before. Realizes Blaine likes watching himself fuck his ass. It makes him grin.

The pressure builds until he can no longer ignore it. He reaches a hand down to grab his cock. But Blaine immediately grabs it and his other hand and holds them down by the wrists above his head with one hand. “I make you come,” he growls.

Kurt trembles.

Blaine’s free hand wraps around his cock and strokes.

It takes all of four strokes before he’s coming. He cries out while spilling over Blaine’s fist. Pleasure swirls through him. And it only grows and grows as Blaine continues to stroke and fuck him through his release. He makes sure to wring out every drop of pleasure from him that he can.

Right as he finishes coming is when he feels Blaine bury himself deep inside his body and come. The hand around his wrists tightens its hold as Blaine’s cock jerks inside him.

After, after Blaine rides out his release and pulls out, after they scoot up on the bed to lie in the middle, after Blaine disposes of the used condom in the trash and wipes their stomachs, Kurt lies on his side and stares at the man he can’t stop wanting.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Blaine reaches over and brushes a strand of hair from Kurt’s face.

“I was loud,” Kurt replies. “That was dangerous.”

“Considering the moment, I won’t hold it against you.”

Kurt moves close and cuddles against Blaine, who drapes an arm over his side and holds him. He wishes he could spend hours in this bed with Blaine fucking and being held close.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Blaine says.

“What?”

“Last night you said something.”

“I said a lot of things last night.”

Blaine chuckles “At dinner.”

“What did I say at dinner?” Kurt has a feeling he knows where Blaine is going with this.

“You said you had your reasons for staying.” Blaine skims a thumb down Kurt’s cheek and strokes it over his lips. “At first, I thought it was because of the sex.”

Kurt snorts. Can see where Blaine would think that. “And now?”

“Now, I’ve had time to think.” Blaine wraps his hand around Kurt’s neck. Strokes his thumb along his jaw. In a serious voice, he asks, “Why did you stay, Kurt?”

A sheepish smile spreads across Kurt’s face. A blush stains his cheeks. “You know why.”

“I do. But I want to hear you say it.”

Kurt pushes Blaine to his back and lies on top of him. He smiles a big, happy smile down at him. “I stayed because of you.”

A huge smile of Blaine’s own turns up his mouth. “We are in so much trouble.”

“We are,” Kurt agrees before dipping his head down and claiming Blaine’s mouth in a kiss.

They steal a few more minutes on that bed kissing and holding each other. It takes great effort on Kurt’s part to finally climb out of bed and walk out of Blaine’s room. But he does so with a grin and a wonderful twinge in his ass. And a promise from Blaine of more.

Dex is still sprawled on the bed passed out when he walks back into their room. Anger unfurls inside him at the sight. At his reckless, childish boyfriend who seems to only care about himself.

He can’t remember what he ever saw in him. Can’t remember what made him agree to that first date. And that’s not a good thing.

Kurt takes a quick rinse to wash away the smell of Blaine and sex and the last of cum on his skin. Steps out of the bathroom to Dex still sleeping.

He walks out to the living room after dressing and finds Blaine sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. Without thought or care, he walks up to him and grabs at his shoulders before straddling his lap.

Blaine sets his phone aside before grabbing at Kurt’s hips. “What are you doing?”

“Having some fun.” Kurt drops down to sit in Blaine’s lap.

“Some dangerous fun.”

“Isn’t that the best kind?”

Blaine grins. “It is.”

Even though he shouldn’t, considering Dex could wake up and walk out of the bedroom at any moment and catch them, Kurt closes the space between them and kisses Blaine. Fire immediately ignites the moment their mouths touch. It grows wild and uncontrollable inside him when Blaine teases his lips open and thrusts their tongues together.

Kurt begins to rock against Blaine. Holds in the moans at the wonderful sensation of their cocks rubbing together.

“Want you again,” he softly murmurs against Blaine’s lips.

This sudden and strong hunger for Blaine is no surprise to him. Not only has he gone weeks without his boyfriend touching him, but he’s been crushing on said boyfriend’s dad since he first met him. So this is him finally being able to unleash all the desire and need that’s been built up inside him for over a year.

“We can’t,” Blaine replies.

Kurt playfully pouts after pulling back. He hates the reply but understands. It’s too much of a risk to have sex right here right now.

Blaine slides one hand around and pushes it past the waistband of Kurt’s jeans and underwear and palms at his ass.

“Let’s go somewhere, then.”

He watches Blaine consider the suggestion for a moment. Really hopes he takes him up on his offer. Because this morning wasn’t enough for him. He’s hungry for more.

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t care.”

“Alright. I know a place.”

Some time later, Kurt holds Blaine’s hand as he leads them to something called the Silver Queen Gondola.

“What is this?”

“A gondola ride up to the mountain.”

“Oh. Um…” Kurt rips his hand out of Blaine’s even though that’s the last thing he wants to do.

Blaine looks at him with worry. “What’s wro- You’re scared of heights. Right.”

Kurt’s heart jumps at Blaine remembering that. Just as it did last night when he remembered why he learned French.

“I… I can’t.” He shakes his head and starts to walk backwards.

“No.” Blaine grabs his hand and stops him. “It’s okay, Kurt. It’s a twenty minute ride up that mountain.” He points up the mountain. “And twenty minutes is a long time.”

“Yeah. To be filled with terror.”

“No.” Blaine grins and leans in to whisper into Kurt’s ear, “To suck your dick so you forget about the height thing.”

Kurt’s stomach clenches. “Oh. Yeah. That… That is enough time,” he babbles.

Blaine pulls back with an even wider grin. “Then lets go.”

In front of the gondola that will take him up the mountain, Kurt pulls in a deep breath to calm his already racing heart. He steps inside and clings tight to Blaine after he joins him. The terror he spoke of earlier coming on in full swing.

“It’s okay.” Blaine kisses the top of his head and says, “I’ll make it better soon.”

Soon happens a couple minutes into the ride. Kurt sits down and lets Blaine pull his ass to rest at the edge of the seat after he drops down between his legs. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. What if someone sees?”

“No one will see. Now, relax and enjoy the ride.”

Fifteen minutes later, Kurt walks off the gondola flushed, riding a pleasure high, and wearing the biggest smile.

“That’s a new way to start to get over a fear.”

Blaine chuckles.

“So, what are we doing now?”

“Lunch and then I figured we could do the guided nature walk. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like fun.”

For the next few hours, Kurt has the most fun he’s had in a long time. Blaine and him talk and laugh like they haven’t done in a while. He completely forgets about his boyfriend. Has no remorse or guilt since he is owed this piece of happiness.

Later, laughing at something Blaine said as they walk into the hotel room, Kurt is a bit upset to see Dex awake and sitting in the dining area eating. He quickly hides his disappointment at not being able to fool around with Blaine. Plasters on a fake, cheery smile. “Hey, Dex. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Dex grumbles. “Where were you two?”

“Oh, Blaine invited me to go on a gondola ride.” Kurt removes his scarf and hangs it over the back of the chair. “Then we had lunch and went on this wonderful nature walk.”

“It was great. I wish you could have joined us,” Blaine adds.

Kurt knows that’s bullshit. Especially since Blaine took every opportunity they had to kiss him out in the open where no one knew them and what they were doing.

“That’s not for me.” Dex stands and takes his dirty dishes to the sink.

“What are you doing tonight?” Blaine asks.

“Why?”

“I thought we could all have dinner together.”

“Oh. Um…” Dex runs a hand through his shaggy, curly hair. “The guys invited me to a party they’re throwing.”

“A party?” Kurt questions. “But you promised to make -up last night to me.”

“I know. But we still have two weeks here,” Dex replies. “I can do that any time. You can come with me to the party if you want.”

“No thanks.” Although he knows their relationship is basically over at this point, it still hurts to be rejected and ignored in this way by Dex. “I’ll go with Blaine to dinner.”

“Alright. I’m gonna go shower and get ready to meet up with the guys. They want to hangout before the party.”

“Okay.” Kurt turns and walks away. Hears Dex tell Blaine that he’ll most likely crash at the house where the party is being held. And he feels no guilt at the excitement that courses through him at knowing that while his boyfriend parties away he’s going to be having hot, dirty sex with Blaine all night long.

As he sits on the couch, he notices Blaine walk after his son looking angry and frustrated. He yawns and lies down; tired after everything he’s done today. Eyes fall closed and it feels like seconds later that someone is kissing him awake. He returns the kiss. Already knows the feel of Blaine’s mouth against his to know it’s him that he’s being kissed by. Briefly forgets where they are and who could catch them. He tenses with fear and pulls away.

“It’s okay. He’s gone,” Blaine says.

Kurt relaxes. “How long have I been asleep?”

“About an hour. I wanted to let you sleep.” Blaine cups the side of his face. Strokes a thumb over his flushed cheek. “I’m sorry about Dex. I tried talking to him.”

“It’s okay. I expect nothing different from him. Besides,” Kurt covers Blaine’s hand with his own, “I can spend the night in your bed.”

“You can.” Blaine grins. “Are you sure you can handle what I can give you?”

Kurt’s stomach clenches at the promise Blaine’s voice holds. “I’m ready to try.”

He sits up and climbs into Blaine’s lap after he sits down next to him. Hungrily kissing him, he can’t help but to think that between Dex and him, he got the better deal on this trip to Aspen.

As he kisses Blaine, thrusts his tongue against Blaine’s, he reaches down and pops the button of Blaine’s jeans before shoving his hand inside. He grabs Blaine’s hard, thick cock. Aches to have it inside him.

“Let’s skip dinner,” he suggests.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We can order room service. I want you to fuck me.”

Blaine groans. “Sounds good to me.”

Kurt lets out a small squeal when Blaine stands and tosses him over his shoulder before heading to his room. Tossed on the bed, he is perfectly content and happy to start their night of sex early.

A few hours and a couple rounds of amazing sex later, Kurt watches Blaine as he takes the power nap he suggested. The warmth that blooms and grows inside him is something he’s never felt before. No man has ever come close to making him feel what Blaine makes him feel with a simple look or smile.

He’s fucked. Well and truly fucked. Because he knows with all that he is that he’s in love with his boyfriend’s dad.

He’s in love with Blaine.

It fucking terrifies him to come to that realization. Because this will cause nothing but trouble for everyone.

Kurt pushes that realization down and focuses on the moment. Doesn’t want to ruin this night with Blaine. And when Blaine wakes up and pulls him close, he drowns in the pleasure he gives him to avoid the feelings raging inside him.