#i meant for this to turn out completely differently
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coolchasteboy ¡ 2 days ago
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"Jennifer, we need to talk." "Why do you keep calling me Jennifer, my name is Josh" I said. "Oh, OK 'Josh' we need to talk" she said very sarcastically. I didn't think it was funny. But Mina had been slowly feminizing me for about six months by this time. "What do you want to talk about."
"Jennifer, it is time that you start wearing panties all the time. I know you keep some boxer shorts and some men's bikini briefs to wear for the gym, but we can't move forward with your transition if you still wear men's underwear." "Well, who says I want to move forward with this." With this Mina got a serious look on her face. "I want it and Tyrone wants it. He isn't going to let you live with me if he thinks you think you are still a man." My heart sunk. "Well, what, I mean, what does Tyrone have to do with this. I mean, I agreed that you could see him and I even started wearing condoms like you asked so there was no risk that my cummies would get you pregnant. What else do you want?"
With that Mina, came over and hugged me. "I know Jennifer, it is hard. But this is really for the best. Being a girl really suits you. Don't you think?" "Well, um .... OK I guess it does in some ways. I feel more comfortable as a girl and the HRT is starting to work on my breasts. But I am still a boy - I mean I am still a man!!!" "Of course you are my sweet, but you are a different type of boi. You are a boi who is better as a girl. And you look really cute in your dresses. And remember, the guys are finding you quite attractive at work and the gym. I bet it won't be long until one of them asks you out on a date." "OMG, you think so Mina. I do love my dresses and heals and Chad at work has brushed my butt quite a few times last week." "See my sweet, you are turning into such a woman, much better than when you were a a so-called man. So it is official, only bras and panties as your underwear from now on, OK?"
What was I to say, Mina was right - as usual. I really am a much better girl than I ever was as a man. I took to heals very quickly. And I look so much better completely shaved. Oh, and I love my nail polish. So yeah, she is right, but still ... "Mina, can I still fuck you from time to time?" "Jennifer, you know how Tyrone feels about that." "But Mina I wear condoms now. And you are on the pill. There is no way I can get you pregnant." She replied "you are half right." I didn't understand and asked her what she meant. "You do indeed wear condoms, but I am not on the pill anymore. Tyrone threw them away and said I was not to take them anymore. He said that his cum is to circulate freely in my pussy. That I am to always take his cum in my pussy or in one of my other holes. I was worried about getting pregnant. He said not to worry. He was so sweet. He said 'baby girl, your pussy is meant to hold the seed of a BBC. It wants to feel the seed in it. And it also wants to take one of those seeds to make a baby. It is my job and it is your duty to make a baby for us.'"
I was stunned. "How long have you been off the pill?" "It started about 3 weeks after you started wearing condoms. So I guess about 8 weeks now." I was just stunned. "Were you going to tell me?" "No" she said. "Tyrone said our love making is none of your business." I asked, "does this mean I can no longer fuck you?" "Sweety, really. I mean, I can't even feel you inside me. He has stretched my pussy so much that I don't even know when you are inside me. I just moan and tell you how big and thick you are so that you will cum quicker and get it over with. You can't compete with Tyrone, that is why you are now a full-time panty wearer. Do you understand?"
All I could do was nod my head yes. I did understand. It made me feel a bit dejected. But I knew it was right. Panties just fit me better. I liked the different styles - bikini, string bikini, thong - and I loved wearing pink panties. Even our friends know I wear panties as Mina as made sure to tell them that I am a pink panty boi.
"OK Mina, I understand. I will get rid of my last few boy underwear. It will be embarrassing wearing my pink panties to the gym, but I guess most of the guys there no I am a sissy by now anyway." "That is so true Jennifer. I think the pink yoga pants that make your little tushy so cute gave that one away."
"I love you Mina. Thank you for helping me realize my authentic self. I was meant to be a woman." With that we both hugged and started crying. "I love you so much Jennifer" she said as she lightly kissed my lips.
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Daddy likes that I only ever wear panties now. 🥰
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sonotcopingatall ¡ 3 days ago
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stay with me
momo x fem!reader
synopsis: you and momo share a silent, charged moment, both uncertain yet drawn to what’s unfolding between you.
wc: 1.2k
author’s note: happy MOMO day! i wanted to write something that shows that sometimes silence is the best way to communicate. inspired by blackpink’s “stay”. also NOT proofread, dont make fun of me pls :( (i also know i posted something yesterday for momo but what’s the harm in posting something again?)
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the night had settled quietly over the city, a blanket of soft silence that felt strangely heavy. momo sat on the couch, her legs curled underneath her, staring out of the window at the rain that was now falling in sheets. it wasn’t a storm, but it felt relentless, like the sky was trying to wash away something.
she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be washed away or if she just wanted the rain to drown out the noise inside her head. It had been building for weeks — the way her thoughts kept drifting to you when they shouldn’t, the way her chest tightened every time you brushed against her, even the way her pulse picked up when you laughed, when your hand accidentally grazed hers.
the friendship had always been easy, simple. but recently, everything felt… different. she hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t planned it. she had never meant for her feelings to grow the way they had. but there was no turning back now.
momo sighed, her fingers tapping restlessly against her phone, scrolling without really looking at anything. Her mind kept circling back to you. it was frustrating. it wasn’t like she didn’t know you were important to her. you were her best friend; someone she trusted completely. but this… this was new, and it felt like she was teetering on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.
the quiet in the room deepened, and momo glanced at the clock. you should have been back from your errands by now. it was late, the kind of late where everything seemed to slow down, where emotions felt more intense than they usually did during the day. she didn’t realize how much she had been waiting for you until she heard the door creak open.
you stepped inside, damp from the rain. the familiar scent of your perfume filled the room — soft, floral, and grounding, and for some reason, it made her heart skip a beat. you didn’t immediately notice her, your eyes still on the ground as you shook the rain off your coat. but when you finally looked up, your gaze met hers, and momo felt like she was being pulled into it, like the whole world had disappeared and all that was left was you.
you didn’t say anything, just stood there for a moment, the space between you two thick with something unspoken. momo could feel it — the shift that had started weeks ago, the quiet tension that had been slowly building. it wasn’t just her. she could tell you felt it too. but neither of you had acknowledged it yet.
she bit her lip, unsure of what to say or if saying anything at all would only make everything harder. she wanted to say something, but words felt too heavy right now. so instead, she just gestured to the space beside her on the couch.
you hesitated for a moment before moving toward her, the sound of your footsteps soft on the wooden floor. when you sat down beside her, the space between you was small, but it felt like an entire world. you didn’t look at her immediately. instead, you pulled your coat off, draping it over the arm of the couch. your body was close enough that momo could feel the heat radiating off you, but neither of you said anything.
the rain outside continued its steady rhythm, the soft hum of it filling the space between you, drowning out everything else. you were both just there. not talking, just being.
momo couldn’t help but glance at you out of the corner of her eye. you were so close, and yet it felt like there was a distance between you that neither of you knew how to close. her heart was thudding in her chest, loud enough that she was sure you could hear it. every time you shifted, every time your arm brushed against hers, it felt like a spark.
she took a breath, trying to steady herself. she wanted to reach out to you, to ask if you were feeling the same way, to do something to break the tension, but she didn’t. instead, she kept her hands folded in her lap, her fingers pressing into the fabric of her jeans to keep them from trembling.
but then, without thinking, you moved closer. just a small shift in your seat, but it was enough. your knee brushed against hers, and momo froze, her breath catching in her throat. the touch was so small, so subtle, and yet it felt like everything had just shifted.
it wasn’t the first time this had happened — this quiet brush of skin, this unspoken connection — but tonight, everything felt magnified. momo could feel the heat of your body next to hers, the warmth of your presence pressing against her. it made her feel alive in a way she wasn’t ready to admit, a way that scared her.
she didn’t know how much time passed, but she found herself leaning a little closer, drawn to you like a magnet. it was almost like the air had changed, thickened with something neither of you had said out loud, but both of you understood all too well.
finally, you shifted again, your hand subtly moving toward hers. momo’s heart skipped, the simple motion so small, yet so full of meaning. for a moment, she was still, unsure of what to do, but when your fingers gently brushed against hers, everything inside her seemed to click into place.
the touch was soft, almost like a question. you weren’t rushing. you were waiting. and momo felt that. she felt the patience in the way your hand lingered, offering her space to decide.
slowly, without thinking, she let her hand fall into yours, the warmth of your skin sending a wave of relief through her. it wasn’t an answer, not yet, but it was a beginning.
you didn’t look at her, not yet. instead, you let your fingers curl around hers, the simple act of holding hands saying more than either of you could have in a thousand words. it was like everything had led to this moment — this quiet, unspoken understanding between the two of you.
momo closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the quiet. the city lights outside, the steady rhythm of the rain, the warmth of your hand in hers — it all felt so still, so perfect, as if time had paused just for the two of you.
without realizing it, momo shifted slightly, moving a little closer, her shoulder gently brushing against yours. she didn’t know what this was, where it was leading, but in that moment, all she wanted was to be here with you.
you didn’t say anything. there was no need to. the space between you had been filled with something soft, something quiet, and the air between you had shifted — just enough to change everything.
momoleaned her head against your shoulder, closing her eyes and letting herself relax into the moment. she felt safe here. she felt seen.
and for the first time in a long while, momo realized that whatever came next, she wasn’t afraid. not anymore.
she could stay like this forever.
echoes of silence, featuring sana | ^.^ | back to masterlist | ^.^ | for you, featuring momo
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grimmweepers ¡ 8 hours ago
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wahhh i know i've chosen the worst time to finally read this because you're on semi-hiatus but better late than never right? it was so wonderful to see the first post you made about this wip grow into such a story-rich fic where the love and care and effort you put into it is palpable. i knew from the first paragraph i was NOT going to leave my commentary in the tags because i was going to have too much to say
"Would you beg for him to spare your life like others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?"
just fyi i saved these questions for later because i had an inkling they'd come back around in some way
"He had no knowledge about flowers but he always thought white chrysanthemums meant death, specifically a symbol of mourning, and grief—a flower fit for one’s grave yet you displayed them in a vase to bring life into your room."
this was so interesting to me! because i had the exact same thought when i read that part too!! i love how chrysanthemums play such different roles for each of them. for the reader, they’re something beautiful, a way to brighten up a space, but in chrollo’s world, they’re a reminder of death, a memento mori. it’s such a clever contrast that tells us so much about how differently they view life and loss.
i also feel this gnawing sense of dread every time chrollo notes the reader's routine. he’s carefully weaving her into his own life, his own routine. like i know it's part of his job but whether he admits it or not, she’s become a part of his life too—and that’s terrifying because what will this all lead to?
"Surprisingly, Euan acknowledged Chrollo with a dip of his chin; you mirrored your date’s action, and only then did the assassin respond in the same way."
not chrollo only responding when reader does it sjdhfjkshfkdgdhgkhg
"Albeit subtle, Chrollo sensed it was there—as though a foreign seed had been planted in his chest waiting for it to grow, and destroy him from inside out. Whether it produced the fruit of anger, revenge or some other emotion in the dictionary, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was it took root inside his heart."
this right here was just so wellwritten!!! the slow growth of something he doesn’t understand, so strong it could destroy him. almost like he is being infested. i had to take a moment absorb this
"If anything, it was akin to a bird suddenly losing the ability to fly when flying was the only thing it knew."
LAWDDDD ANOTHER PERFECT LINE. mf is so disoriented by his feelings
"By no means was he insecure about those scars, in fact, he proudly wore them like a badge, to serve as a reminder that the rest of the world wasn’t his friend"
i enjoyed this small glimpse into his psyche. it really goes to show the world hasn't been kind to him, as opposed to reader's life where (i’m assuming) most things are handed to her on a silver platter
“What—What about Mr. Euan?”- okay, i have to be honest, i was so wrapped up in the chemistry between reader and chrollo that i totally forgot about euan until he was mentioned again here LOLLLLL. i mean, how could i not? you have- "That was the last thing he said before he found himself sitting on the edge of your bed, kissing you like he loved you. Did he? Large hands cupped your jaw, eagerly pulling you closer to his face. Even though Chrollo didn’t bare his heart, the zeal behind his kisses revealed the truth hidden in his chest."- right before this and i’m supposed to remember there's another man in the picture? IMPOSSIBLEEEEEEEEEEE
"If Chrollo was to put it in words, the aroma smelled of sweet death, and it reminded him of the church back in Meteor City."
oh i have a feeling where this might be heading, i KNOW foreshadowing when i see it. i immediately felt a sense of foreboding, as if this aroma tied to death is a sign of what's to come...
so i had to stop myself from listing every line i loved otherwise, this would’ve turned into an essay (it kind of already is. FUCK). i have so much to say! first of all, i’m sorry if i’m reading too deeply into things, but i adored everything about this. you’re so insanely talented. it’s inspiring, honestly. i’m completely obsessed with the flower motifs woven throughout. even the smaller details, like “bloom in his chest,” make such an impact.
one thing that stands out is how chrollo’s whole worldview shifts after meeting her. everything he once knew seems to invert, like his reality is cracking open in her presence. are the wealthy inherently corrupt? is she a target or a lover? was this gun going to protect or kill her? are the chrysanthemums symbols of life or death? the fact that everything he thought he believed begins to lose meaning as he gets closer to her is so UGHHH idek the word... just GOOD. GREAT. it’s as if she’s the one force that makes him question his place, his values, and even his own motives. the internal conflict is so beautifully done.
when i read “devotion” in the title i assumed it would focus on her commitment. maybe that she’d sacrifice too much of herself and end up suffering as a result (i mean i suppose that's true) but then, as the story unfolded, it hit me: it was the cost of chrollo’s devotion all along. he finally committed, and the price was her life!!!!!!!!! the way this realisation crept up, only to hit in full force, was just chef’s kiss. the symbolism, the tragedy of it all, the way she gave life and meaning to chrysanthemums only to lose her own life
coming back to the line i saved earlier: “Would you beg for him to spare your life like others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?” it was so worth it to keep this question in mind because when she ended up pleading his name during the love-making scene, the contrast was 💡 !!!!!!!! who would’ve thought that she’d be pleading not for her life but in a moment of intimacy?
honestly, this whole piece kept me on my toes and left me a mess by the end. you portrayed chrollo so nuanced and i’m sure any chrollo truther would appreciate that. thank you for sharing this beast with us!! i loved it
THE COST OF DEVOTION | chrollo lucilfer x f!reader
synopsis: When Chrollo Lucilfer is assigned to go undercover, and kill a billionaire’s daughter, he finds himself breaking the most sacred rule of the underworld—that there should be no feelings involved. The consequences of his actions backs Chrollo into a corner where he has to choose between fulfilling the job or following his heart at a risky price.
18+ MDNI; undercover assassin!chrollo, bodyguard!chrollo, billionaire’s daughter!reader, loosely follows some canon events (chrollo’s past), reader is referred to as ‘miss’, DARK CONTENT, DARK ROMANCE, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort (no happy ending), explicit smut, SLOW BURN, major character death, touches on arranged marriage, cheating, killing, money laundering, human trafficking, kidnapping, sacrilege & blood (briefly), gun use, chrollo struggles with feelings, chrollo has scars, OCs mentioned, not beta read.
word count: 18.6k
notes: divider: cafekitsune. ITS HERE !! thank u to @ljubimaya & @avatarofstars for supporting me throughout the writing process and for being such amazing friends :3 this is different from my usual fics + super self indulgent so enjoy. feedbacks & thoughts are much appreciated ><
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Loud music, enough to make one’s chest thump, annoying bright strobe lights, and the sea of intoxicated bodies that passionately danced with one another without a care in the world, Chrollo wanted out. He observed the luxury club with a subtle scowl, gaze sharp enough to tear one’s throat as he watched the spoiled, and rich carelessly sway to the beat of the music—you were one of them.
A privileged affluent businessman’s daughter who didn’t know how to handle one’s wealth so she resorts to spending nights swiping her card for overpriced drinks, and whatever expensive shit the club had to offer.
Meanwhile, the lower class had to work themselves to near death to be able to provide for their families. One, two, three jobs just to make ends meet—just to pay rent, just to bring food to the table even if it meant working for the underworld.
That was where Chrollo fell into the spectrum; fortunate enough to live but unfortunate enough to live a cruel life in an equally cruel world. He grew up learning how to steal, fight, and kill while you grew up having maids cook every meal, a solid roof over your head, and generational wealth to spend.
It made Chrollo sick to his stomach how wealthy kids like you could just take, take, and take yet had the audacity to complain about their lives as if society didn’t favour them at all. He could go on, and on about this whole ordeal but at the end of the day, no one would even bat an eye, plus, he had a job to do—technically, two jobs.
At the heart of the sweaty, inebriated club, you stood there beneath the neon strobe lights, it bounced off the strands of your hair like a colourful aura mirroring your careless joy. Body perfectly swaying to the beat of the music, a half-full glass of a sweet cocktail, and a blissful expression on your face; maybe if the circumstances were different Chrollo would have smiled at your blithe spirit but it wasn’t.
Your eyes—a drunken haze—found his own to which you immediately acknowledged with a cheery wave of your free hand.
It only took a split second for Chrollo to mask the obvious scowl on his face with a sickly saccharine smile—one that made his gut twist with disgust—he returned the gesture with a dip of his chin paired with raising a glass of water in the air as if to make a toast. Chrollo’s expression fell the minute you turned away, unceremoniously slouching back into the leathered booth you’ve booked beforehand, he let out a deep sigh, and rubbed at his temples.
Two weeks
It had only been two weeks since your father—Chrollo’s employer—hired him as your personal bodyguard, and as expected, extensive pre-screening was a must before one could securely acquire said role which Chrollo found extremely bothersome despite its lack of difficulty. Though this wasn’t a rare occurrence, it only made sense for the rich to hire a skilled bodyguard to protect oneself from unknown dangers.
Obviously, he didn’t apply to be your personal bodyguard for sincere reasons—far from it, actually; Chrollo was here for a task that would land him his heftiest pay yet, even just thinking about made his head spin with immeasurable happiness already but Chrollo figured he’d bask in filthy money after completing the job. He always did.
If anything, this should be a walk in the park for him considering there was nothing more satisfying than seeing the demise of a wealthy brat. But for now, he’d take it slow, and earn your trust ‘til the right time comes; where his mask falls, and true motives come to light.
Where the last thing the assassin would receive from you was a look of pure horror much like his previous targets. Would you beg for him to spare your life like others did? Or would you sit in complete shock, words lodged deep inside your throat?
These thoughts immediately dissipated at the call of his name; a few feet away, you stumbled your way towards the booth, the highball glass tucked in your hand was now empty with only half melted ice cubes remaining. Chrollo stood up, wrapping a firm arm around your back, helping you regain balance before guiding you to the leathered seat, the fabric cool against your feverish skin.
“Should I call the chauffeur, miss?” Chrollo feigned worry. His stature loomed over your sitting figure, back lit with red neon strobe lights, giving him a deep crimson glow. You stared at him longer than necessary before responding with a small nod; the wild atmosphere, paired with your spinning vision seemed like a good enough hint to head home, and retire for the night.
At your agreement, Chrollo let out a big mental sigh of relief—he may be an adept assassin but sitting idly for hours while watching his asset drink the night away exhausted his patience more than one could imagine.
The ride back to the estate was all a drunken haze for you, though, you recalled a brief exchange of words between Chrollo, and your chauffeur as the latter helped you inside the vehicle before, they seemed to get along swimmingly despite the former only being a new addition to your personal staff. Albeit, that description might be a bit too generous, maybe it was just your drunk self thinking but nonetheless, you appreciated the courteous manner between the two. 
“Lukas?”
You called out to the chauffeur, he donned a formal attire just like Chrollo—a black tailored suit—he was an old-timer who had been your father’s previous chauffeur before you were born. It was safe to say you’ve learned a lot from him growing up, and maybe even served more as a father figure than your biological one.
“Yes, miss?” Lukas glanced briefly at the rear-view mirror. “Chrollo . . He’s nice, isn’t he?”
The older man could only chuckle in response, letting your words soak into the darkness of the vehicle before nodding, “He’s a promising young lad.” He glanced at the mirror once again, this time letting his gaze linger on you, headlights from the vehicle Chrollo drove behind poured into the backseat, and illuminated your face; Lukas didn’t know if it was due to your drunken state or from pure sincerity but the subtle smile on your face somewhat warmed his heart.
He took a mental note that you seemed to be quite fond of your new bodyguard.
After safely reaching the estate, and escorting you inside, Chrollo made his way to the staff house. Walking past the wooden double doors, he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice, “Off to bed, Chrollo?” It was Lukas, your chauffeur; he sat on one of the crimson couches, one hand nursing a cup of hot coffee.
Chrollo stared at the old man’s face behind the wisps of steam from the drink, the latter donned a rather pleased look on his face, he thought nothing of it, and nodded, “And yourself?”
Lukas returned the nod, “A little later for me.”
Silence occupied the living room for a moment. Chrollo could’ve left the conversation at that but instead, he stood there, feet rooted on the wooden floor, sensing that Lukas had more to say but was debating on it.
Seeing as he didn’t want to waste any more time, Chrollo spoke up “Is there something else you’d like to say?” His voice cut through the quiet atmosphere, he had now angled his body towards the older man. Lukas set the mug atop the coffee table before giving him his full attention, “The young miss seems to have taken a liking to you.”
Chrollo didn’t know how to react to that—even if he did, he wouldn’t have let on.
At his silence, Lukas invited himself to speak further, “At times, she can be quite a handful . . but hearing her speak positively of you warms my heart. What I’m trying to say is, please take good care of the young miss, it means a lot for her to say such things about you.”
Trust? Good.
Chrollo’s rosy lips stretched into a genuine smile, “I will. Thank you.” And with that, he excused himself before heading to his room, the soles of his obsidian shoes produced no noise with each step. He wasn’t happy because you seemed to like him, no, Chrollo was happy because you trusted him so easily—probably the biggest mistake you’ve made.
Though, nothing would really change if you didn’t trust him, either way, you’d meet your demise no matter what.
As the new week rolled around, it was no surprise that Chrollo had already memorised your weekly routine—without a doubt, you spent days in the office but he had noted other destinations you frequented.
On Mondays, you visited a cosy flower boutique in the morning, owned by a lovely old florist who’s cheeks were as pink as the camellias neatly displayed on the counter next to her. You only bought one type of flower—white chrysanthemums, a dozen, to be exact; they were carefully wrapped in a simple brown paper, and topped off with an ivory satin ribbon.
On the way back to the car, Chrollo wondered why you chose these specific flowers, and upon asking, you simply replied with:
‘White chrysanthemums symbolise devoted love, and loyalty—something we need more of in this world, don’t you think?’ 
How ironic. He had no knowledge about flowers but he always thought white chrysanthemums meant death, specifically a symbol of mourning, and grief—a flower fit for one’s grave yet you displayed them in a vase to bring life into your room.
If you were being completely honest, chrysanthemums didn’t hold any significance in your life; one day you decided to visit the flower boutique run by the old lady, and she had told you all about the flower. Oddly enough, you started to grow fond of it.
Chrysanthemums were awfully common in his hometown—Meteor City—and not in a good way; inhabited by untraceable outcasts, it was the perfect hunting ground for illegal activities such as human trafficking, as well as an endless source of disposable hitmen, and assassins like Chrollo himself.
Due to mass abductions, and murders of the people, chrysanthemums were laid out at the church for each victim; he could clearly remember walking down the aisle, a smell so sweet, and minty filled the thick atmosphere. For an aroma so pleasant, who would’ve thought it was associated with such sorrow?
On Tuesdays, you attended your private pilates lesson at 8 AM on the dot which lasted a little under an hour. As usual, Chrollo stayed idly by the entrance of the studio, just at the foyer as the muffled voice of your instructor seeped from under the closed door; this was usually paired with brunch at a local café after, as per your words, ‘a much needed caffeine break’ whatever that meant. He couldn’t care less, he was too busy assessing the layout of the building for an escape route, and potential threats as though he wasn’t the biggest threat here.
The window seat offered a clear view of the street outside, vehicles driving by, people in their own little world as they headed to their destination; not to mention the ample morning sunlight that poured in, allowing you to study Chrollo’s reflection from the glass.
He stood behind you with his back facing the window, scanning the entire café; you watched as his head slowly moved from left to right, then right to left, giving you a peek of his side profile. Your eyes traced every dip, and curve of Chrollo’s face, from the slope of his nose, all the way to the sharpness of his jawline. It was odd how this man—who barely talked to you unless necessary—had piqued your interest. In what way? That was something you were still trying to figure out.
How Chrollo carried himself with silent confidence stood out from the rest of your security team; sure, he was vigilant of his surroundings but each action he displayed was calculated, and clean—too clean. You’ve also noticed how his steps were much lighter than everyone else’s, it made almost no sound as though he was actively stalking a prey. And for a brief moment, you wondered who that prey was.
On Wednesdays, you were present at your father’s company for the whole day. Though, the scowl on your face clearly screamed your opposition; it wasn’t a secret to anyone how uninterested you were in all the business talk—in fact, if anyone were to ask about it, you could probably go on, and on about how boring, and tedious it was, conversely, if asked what you wanted to do in life, you’d probably have a hard time answering.
Alas, as the sole heir, the company automatically fell to your hands whether you liked it or not. Wednesdays were always a drag, having to make acquaintances with investors, and show face during monotonous meetings that rarely concerned you—you’d rather spend time elsewhere.
On Thursdays, you were also at the company but for a different reason. Chrollo only knew you reported straight to your father’s office, and he was often ordered to wait at the ground floor. The meeting with your father always took approximately two hours, and each time, you came out looking like someone had pressed all your buttons.
Though today, for the sake of Chrollo’s own selfish curiosity, seeing as the hallway was deserted, he lingered outside the office for a bit but all he really got was pure silence—either you, and your father conversed in a hushed voice or the walls were soundproof. Whatever the case was, Chrollo didn’t bother sticking around but he was quickly stopped in his tracks as voices from inside were suddenly raised—yours first, followed by your father.
Looking back at the office door, Chrollo heard you shout in opposition, it seemed like the conversation had somewhat turned into a heated argument. Nonetheless, he continued down the hallway—it was none of Chrollo’s business, after all.
“No! I’ve already told you, I’m not doing that!” Loud voice sliced through the growing tension inside the room. The older male—who sat behind his desk—leaned back into the seat, leather groaning beneath his weight as he rubbed his temples at your stubbornness, clearly displeased with how much you were blowing everything out of proportion. You stayed rooted in your spot, just standing a metre away from your father.
“Look, darling, I’ve already agreed—” “Agreed without my consent.” Raising your hands in defeat, you paced around the room, each heavy step muffled by the crimson carpet beneath your soles. “I’m the one getting married to someone I haven’t met! I never even wanted to be in an arranged marriage just because of what—a stupid business partnership?!”
This was the first time you’ve raised your voice at your father; all the years under his care, and guidance, you gladly accepted what was left upon your hands. Continuing the legacy of your father’s company? Sure, no problem, you could deal the burden on your shoulders but marrying a complete stranger?
That was more than crossing a mere boundary.
Your father was a skilled business man, and you never doubted that once—he was excellent at negotiating, and closing deals so for him to stoop as low as agreeing with an arranged marriage for the sake of his company, it baffled you, a lot. What more could he possibly want?
“I’m done with this conversation.”
Letting out a breath you’ve been holding, you turned around, and headed for the door but before reaching the silver handle, your father spoke up from behind, “Next week. You’re attending the corporate event with Euan. That’s final.” All you could do was nod.
Chrollo spotted your rather distressed figure exit the elevator, and head for the car park, not so much sparing a glance as you passed him; nonetheless, he quietly trailed you, steely gaze observing your figure up, and down—shoulders tight, and fists clenched at your side.
You felt defeated.
The thought of spending the rest of your life with a man you didn’t genuinely love, was that really your so-called future? A bond made for the sole purpose of expanding business?
Stepping into the underground car park, you stopped in your tracks, the automatic glass door silently humming as it closed behind you. Naturally, Chrollo did the same but didn’t dare speak up. Click clack. Two clicks from the soles of your shoes as you turned to face your bodyguard with a deflated expression, he could only raise a brow in surprise before you sat on your haunches, and buried your face inside the hearts of your palms.
Oh.
One, two, three seconds—it took Chrollo exactly three seconds to register the sight before him, and he didn’t know what to do; awkwardness settled in the air between the two of you as you sobbed into your hands. He moved closer—taking a few cautious steps as though he walked on eggshells—and squatted down to your level, “Miss?” He called out, his dulcet voice drowned by your soft whimpers, every muscle in Chrollo’s body was stiff, movements unsure.
What was he supposed to do? Reach out, and stroke your hair? Pull you close against his chest? Chrollo was more than sure that doing so was completely unprofessional on his end. So, he was reduced to sitting next to you, silently watching your shoulders shake with each muffled sob until you finally decided to lift your head, “I apologise for acting this way. I’m certain you probably don’t care but—”
Correct. Chrollo did not care.
“My father has been pushing me in an arranged marriage. I kept saying ‘no’ until he went behind my back, and agreed to it. I found out today and I just—I lost it. The benefits of what comes after marriage are endless for the company; more investors, more money, more security but is that really worth sacrificing my shot at finding the one I truly love?”
Saying the words aloud made it sound so silly. Finding your one true love, how naïve, that only happened in children’s fairy tales.
Upon learning the reason for your upset, Chrollo could only nod, he wasn’t the type to console anyone, let alone his employer’s daughter. The last time he could remember doing so was almost a decade, and a half ago during the time his dear friend—Sarasa—went missing.
It was a rainy day in Meteor City, Chrollo remembered hugging his friends tightly, reassuring them that everything was going to be alright even though uncertainty gnawed at his skin. 
He was innocent, and didn’t know better then.
But the incident with Sarasa was what fuelled his pure hatred for the wealthy. Chrollo was only a kid, full of limitless joy, and hope despite growing up in poverty. It was during the height of abductions in Meteor City, and that was when he learned that not even his friends were immune from illegal activities after seeing it with his own eyes.
It was broad daylight, and Sarasa had been forced into a car by two large men—as if one wasn’t enough to take a helpless little girl. The worst part was, Chrollo could only stand, and watch as his friend got taken away with nothing but helpless tears in his eyes, and a blazing anger that burned a thousand suns.
He could still recall the way his nails dug into the hearts of his palms, the temporary pain it felt. The incident haunted his coming days, hearing Sarasa’s screams at night, and how she begged for the men to spare her life.
Chrollo overheard from the Elders that the ones behind illegal abductions were the wealthy, and that night, he made a promise to avenge Sarasa—even if it meant taking lives. It was clear the rich were parasites of the world, greedy for money, and power, leaving none behind for the unfortunate. 
Chrollo couldn’t bring himself to understand your situation, and emotions—he didn’t have to but some odd part made him want to.
From Fridays to Sundays, you usually spent the time out with friends but as the days came, you remained cooped up inside your room, and only came out unless necessary. The thought of isolating yourself somewhat ate away at Chrollo, despite not being able to fully grasp your situation, he figured it must have been a breaking point for you, and deep down, for some weird reason, he was worried.
This was the first time you’ve shown him an emotion other than happiness—which he presumed was most likely out of professionalism—so seeing your distressed state had him rather curious.
Stationed just outside the doors to your room, Chrollo couldn’t do anything to quench the sparked interest inside him—guarding the entrance of your room was all there was to do which ended up with him drowning in his thoughts while standing idly. Even though Chrollo didn’t understand your sentiment, he knew no one should marry a stranger for the sake of business.
Though, Chrollo didn’t have much time to ponder about your situation as his replacement came walking up the stairs meaning it was the end of his shift for the day. He entertained a brief exchange with his co-worker before heading out.
Walking down the stone path that led to the deserted flower garden, Chrollo dug into the inside pocket of his blazer, and took out a burner phone. As the assassin dialled a number, he was greeted with a view of endless greenery decorated with bright hues from a variety of flowers; the floral aroma wrapped around his body like a fluffy blanket. Somehow, the sweet scent reminded Chrollo of you.
The cheap phone rang once, twice ‘til a familiar voice spilled through its speakers, “I’m guessing you’re here to update me?” The male on the other side of the call questioned. Chrollo agreed, and the line went silent, urging him to give the details.
As he gave a thorough update, Chrollo mindlessly walked down the stone path, various colours making its way to his line of vision. Though, a particular flower caught his eye—a sea of yellow as bright as the morning rays decorated several bushes on the ground. While speaking into the phone, Chrollo squatted down to its level, and examined the delicate flower, Bird’s foot trefoil, the small ivory signage before it read.
Two months, that was the amount of time given to complete the job. It was reasonable enough with the amount of security you were surrounded with, and even though Chrollo was the only bodyguard you took whenever you left the house, Lukas remained by your side as well—he made sure not to underestimate the old timer.
Chrollo had never heard of this man before but from what he knew, he seemed to be about the same age. Why the man was seeking out revenge by targeting your life was also something that remained a mystery—after all, Chrollo was only there to kill, details weren’t necessary when it came to an assassin.
“‘M not gonna tell you how to do your job but remember, time is ticking, and I’m spending a whole lot of money on this, yeah?”
Voicing his agreement before ending the call, he took one last look at the flower, and stood up, heading for the staff house.
It was about time Chrollo hunted for his prey.
With the new week, everyone prepared for the corporate event in a few hours—even Chrollo himself, as well as the rest of the security team was busy scouting the venue, and looking for any potential threats around, and inside the building.
Tonight, he donned a sleek, all black look which was slightly different from the usual white button down, and black suit he wore.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, employees, and important investors began pouring in the building; the inside boasted a formal theme with a lavish teardrop crystal chandelier that mimicked the shine of a thousand diamonds, round tables were draped in ivory cloths which housed a bunch of butterfly pea flowers encased in sleek ceramic vases.
Silence was replaced with melodic laughter, and casual conversations between acquaintances, and co-workers as the vast room was slowly filled with more people.
Having arrived at the venue earlier, Chrollo stood by the entrance, waiting for your arrival. As the familiar vehicle rolled around, Lukas exited the vehicle, and opened the rear passenger door.
Expecting you to come out of the vehicle, Chrollo was caught slightly off-guard when a stranger clad in a navy blue tuxedo did so instead—he donned obsidian strands that carefully framed his handsome face, and piercing honeyed eyes that was sure to make any woman swoon.
The assassin watched as he turned to face the vehicle, and held out a hand to you. Taking up on the polite offer, you held his hand, and gracefully stepped out of the vehicle. And there you were, in all your serene beauty, skin glowing beneath the warm streetlights that made Chrollo inhale a sharp breath for some odd reason.
“Thank you, Euan.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
Euan? Chrollo thought.
With how he lovingly kissed the back of your hand, and from the way you forced a smile, it wasn’t hard to piece together that this was the man you were forced to marry. Somehow, Chrollo felt a tinge of annoyance spark within the depths of his chest—maybe because he was aware of the whole arranged marriage situation or maybe because he was yet in the presence of another stuck up, pompous spoiled person. 
Euan interlaced his fingers with yours before heading towards the entrance, Chrollo didn’t miss the way the diamond ring on your finger twinkled like stars in the night sky. Surprisingly, Euan acknowledged Chrollo with a dip of his chin; you mirrored your date’s action, and only then did the assassin respond in the same way.
The event was boring as one would have expected, your father—the CEO—mostly talked about the company’s milestones up on the podium, he held a champagne flute in one hand filled with golden liquid while entertaining the room with uneventful accomplishments. Though, what you didn’t expect tonight was for your father to openly reveal your arranged marriage with Euan in front of your subordinates, and investors,
“It’s my pleasure to announce that the COO of D&J—my daughter—is soon to be wed with Mr. Euan Heston from Heston Enterprises.”
As endless applause, and supportive smiles filled the venue, you sat frozen on your seat, unable to muster even the tiniest smile. From the corner of your vision, you could see Euan bashfully nodding his head, and shaking hands with those in neighbouring tables as they congratulated him. You stared at your father in complete disdain which only prompted a forced smile from him.
Unbelievable.
A shaky breath escaped your lips before swallowing the raging emotions, pushing them down, down, down to the depths of your core, and as though a switch inside you was flipped, a smile stretched across your face, throwing out thank you’s to those who offered their support.
With the end of the CEO’s speech, and certain formalities, all that’s left was to mix, and mingle with everyone else which—thankfully—Euan did while you quietly sneaked away to the open bar. Although, visibly drowning yourself in more champagne only invited more guests to come, and gush about the weighted ring on your finger, not to mention how openly they adored Euan.
Hearing such high praise thrown his way, you caught yourself staring at your soon-to-be husband; you watched as he gracefully waltzed from table to table, engaging in polite conversations with not only the important people in the room but also with your subordinates.
Euan was well-mannered, kind, and respectful—he was everything your father wanted as your husband but he wasn’t made for you, and deep down, you knew that.
From the corner of the room, Chrollo watched it all unfold. From the way you stiffened beneath everyone’s stares as your father revealed the marriage, all the way to your gaze finding Euan amongst the crowd. He felt weird.
Albeit subtle, Chrollo sensed it was there—as though a foreign seed had been planted in his chest waiting for it to grow, and destroy him from inside out. Whether it produced the fruit of anger, revenge or some other emotion in the dictionary, he couldn’t tell, all he knew was it took root inside his heart.
As Chrollo got lost in his thoughts for a bit, he was greeted with an empty barstool that was previously occupied by you; he scanned the vast room, stone cold eyes darting from left to right, and right to left trying to catch a glimpse of your familiar figure.
Slight panic didn’t settle in until Chrollo realised that you were nowhere to be seen—the feeling began to gnaw at his very bones as the attempts of finding your whereabouts led to a dead end, he even went as far as asking a woman standing just outside the bathroom if she’s seen you walk in but only shook her head.
Wide, panicked steps, Chrollo unceremoniously crossed the room in search of you while almost bumping into several guests in a nervous haze; he muttered out whispered apologies, gaze remaining ahead. His heart thumped loudly against his ears, serving as a mere distraction to throw off his already breaking composure.
God, your father would absolutely kill him if he were to find out that he’d lost sight of you.
But Chrollo wasn’t scared of that, not even an ounce of fear in his body at the thought of your father’s wrath, instead, he worried for your safety; the more minutes passed without a trace of you, the more frustration consumed every fibre of him.
The only option left was to check the balcony.
With a bated breath, he opened the sliding door, a gentle, cool breeze of the night greeted him like a welcome hug. His gaze scanned the open area which—thankfully—landed on your familiar figure, you stood there, leaning against the metal railing while looking up at the obsidian skies.
Relief briefly washed over Chrollo as he let out a sigh but this feeling was soon replaced with red, hot anger.
He stalked over to where you stood, each step heavy with annoyance, “Where have you been? I was looking all over for you! Don’t run off like that.”
The ever calm, and collected bodyguard coming for your neck with such ferocity caught you off guard, not to mention the obvious bite in his tone. With furrowed brows, you turned to face Chrollo, a look of disbelief painted on your face. The audacity of this man. Who the hell was he to boss you around as though you were his subordinate?
“That’s ‘miss’ for you—” You crossed your arms, head slightly tilted upwards as you looked down at him from your nose.
“And relax, Chrollo. I’m not harmed. I don’t see what the fuss is about.” You were absolutely right, and Chrollo hated that you were because he didn’t know where else to channel his anger, if anything, your words doused the flame inside his chest with gasoline, allowing it to expand, and burn an azure fire.
Despite his better judgement, Chrollo let it consume him, “Relax? I’m your bodyguard, it’s my duty to keep you safe, and out of danger! What if something happens to you, and I’m not around, hm?”
Chrollo felt the foreign seed inside his chest grow into uncertainty—an odd feeling he’s never felt before. Speaking out like this, and losing his cool over a situation was out of character for him but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to stop, as though words willingly flew out of his throat, and out into the open.
“Exactly, you’re only a bodyguard. You have no right to act this way towards me. Have you forgotten I’m not your equal?” You retorted, dishing out the same amount of ferocity he had given you.
Initially, you were going to let the whole thing slide, it was understandable where Chrollo was coming from—he was only doing his job—but it pissed you off seeing as how he had the audacity to act like that.
You looked up at the taller man, gaze not backing down from his steely ones; it took him a couple of seconds to hold your stare before breaking it, and looking off to the dark horizon. Though, you swore you saw his eyes subtly dip down for a split second before doing so—you weren’t too sure, maybe it was the darkness playing tricks.
You were right. Chrollo was only a bodyguard, so did he cross the line? The unclear answer made him all the more furious but for now, he’d have to settle for the explanation that he’s your bodyguard, and he has the right to worry about your safety. Even if Chrollo himself didn’t entirely believe this reason.
“You’re right. I apologise for crossing any boundaries, miss.”
Chrollo stationed himself near the sliding door, offering you space to enjoy the quiet night in peace. Now, you felt kind of bad for raising your voice at him when he clearly showed nothing but concern; you chalked it up to the stress your father weighed upon you tonight—the decision to tell everyone about the marriage, Euan being your date for tonight, the engagement ring that wrapped around your finger.
It was clear that Chrollo was still bothered about the whole thing, you could see it from the way his jaw tightened, and the subtle crease between his brows. Whatever. You’ll deal with it later.
A petty argument. That was it. But why did it have Chrollo all worked up? Why was he extremely bothered about it? Hell, where was that useless fiancé of yours, and why wasn’t he looking after you? Questions swirled in his mind, chaotic, and uncertain—now, Chrollo was really wondering why he was acting this way. In his twenty-six years of living, never had he felt this feeling before, it stemmed from his chest, blooming across his body, and consuming him in an unpleasant, foreign way.
The feeling stayed rooted inside even until reaching the estate where he stood guarding the door to your room.
Chrollo rubbed his forefinger, and thumb together while staring at the marbled tiles beneath his feet, it was past midnight now, and the only sound heard was the thumping of his own heart—the rhythmic beat that somewhat got louder with each passing minute.
He was soon reeled back into reality at the sound of the door opening behind him. Stepping out of your room, Chrollo watched as the darkness unclasped your body from its confines; he quickly averted his gaze at your vulnerable state—clad in a flimsy ivory nightgown that stopped just below the knees with satin ribbon straps comfortably sitting on your shoulders. He felt it was rather inappropriate seeing you in such an attire.
“Ahem. Anything you need, miss?” Chrollo coughed into his fist, staring at the darkness behind you instead of holding the gaze thrown his way.
Letting out a sigh, you replied, “I think I need to clear my head a bit . . Care to join me for a night drive? That way you’ll know my whereabouts.” The end of your sentence had a tinge of bitterness laced with it but Chrollo shrugged it off, it’d be no use trying to pick up where the two of you left off earlier.
“I take it as a yes, then? Meet me at the garage.” With that, you walked down the stairs, the thin fabric of your nightgown swaying with each step taken.
Chrollo quickly headed to the staff house to grab the keys to his assigned vehicle. Making his way to the door, he immediately stopped in his tracks as a sudden idea popped into mind—the gun hidden beneath his pillows.
Chrollo stared at his bed before swiftly lifting the ivory pillow, revealing a pistol given to him upon acquiring the bodyguard role. Without a word, he tucked it inside the holster beneath the obsidian blazer he donned, and walked out of the bedroom, heading for the garage.
Disappearing into the night, an odd feeling engulfed Chrollo—he wondered whether the gun on his hip portrayed him as your bodyguard or as your assassin.
Something he has never thought about before because it had always been the latter, regardless of the situation. Nonetheless, the weapon felt awfully heavy hanging onto him—as though it was a great burden that took an even greater effort to get rid of.
The drive was awkward, and there was no set destination; the only instruction you gave Chrollo was to keep driving, and he did, without questions asked. The only sound that filled the vehicle was the low humming of the engine which lulled you further into your thoughts, warm streetlights would illuminate the inside which allowed Chrollo to sneak brief glances at you through the rearview mirror. He didn’t want to pry but it was clear you were overwhelmed with a lot of things.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology caught Chrollo off guard, stone cold gaze looking through the mirror to meet your own for a split second. “Miss?” He furrowed his brows. “For earlier. I said some harsh words as well, and you were only doing your job. So, I apologise.” Now, it was your turn to steal glances through the rearview mirror. Chrollo’s expression remained unchanged—most likely trying to find an appropriate answer. 
He shook his head, fully aware you peered at him through the mirror, “It’s no big deal . . It wasn’t my place to raise my voice. As you said earlier, I’m just a bodyguard.” Chrollo’s eyes remained on the road ahead, enveloped by the night, he didn’t know why it suddenly became hard to glance through the mirror—maybe it was the unmistakable knowledge that you’d be staring straight back.
Was he nervous?
Impossible. There was no such emotion in his dictionary.
“It’s just—the whole announcing the marriage with Euan in front of all the guests stressed me out. The marriage is set in stone without my permission, and I just feel so helpless . .” You watched the outside view go by, dull colours of the night blending into a blurry haze.
“I know the arrangement has benefits. I know that.” It was directed more to yourself than Chrollo, as though some part of you agreed with the marriage.
“Euan is . . He’s sweet—a kind soul but I cannot see myself loving him, spending the rest of my life with him.” The assassin gripped the wheel a little tighter at the mention of your fiancé. “I don’t think anyone should ever go through that.” He cleared his throat, stealing another glance at you.
“You mentioned a while ago—” Chrollo spoke up, deciding to deviate the topic from Euan. “That the marriage would benefit the company ‘more security’ . .” He trailed off, realising how he’s prying but you didn’t seem to mind with how openly you replied.
“Long story short, my father had a very close friend—Mr. Driscoll—in the industry. It was later revealed that he was involved in money laundering so most of his assets came from illegal dealings. My father played a significant role in his arrest—basically, Driscoll was stupid enough to tell my father of his underground ties, urging him to do it as well. But my father had tipped the police instead. Naturally, his son, Ciaran Driscoll—who’s now the CEO of the company—saw us in a bad light, and it won’t take long until he makes my father pay for the damages done.”
“The arranged marriage with Euan would obviously combine our security team with theirs which would decrease the chances of Ciaran, and any other dangers from getting near my father, and I.”
Yet Chrollo was here—an assassin tasked to kill you—who easily took on the role of your personal bodyguard.
How ironic.
You really did need that extra security from the Hestons.
“Ciaran Driscoll?” Chrollo muttered the name under his breath which you quickly caught onto. “Yeah. Ciaran Driscoll from Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, you know him?” He wouldn’t necessarily say he knew him but Chrollo was awfully familiar with the name—familiar enough to conclude that Ciaran was the one who hired him to kill you.
Despite meeting at a deserted location back then—nowhere near that gave any hints of Ciaran’s real identity—one of his subordinates had addressed him by his last name which Chrollo immediately picked up.
The pieces fit flawlessly. It made sense for Ciaran to get revenge for Mr. Driscoll’s arrest by targeting what your father held most dear in his life—you. And for that to happen, Chrollo was the middle man, the one to fuel the chaos between two families.
If he got the job done.
“No.” Chrollo lied. “Just thought the last name rang a bell.”
“Understandable, they’re a household name. Well, it used to be.”
Short silence filled the vehicle yet again, both left to their own thoughts before you spoke up, albeit, it was more of thinking aloud, “I truly don’t know what I want in life.” Odd. Chrollo always thought that if one was wealthy, they’d be able to wish for anything, and everything yet somehow, even with all the gold in your hands, you were still lost.
Chrollo pitied you, and he didn’t know what to make of it.
Hell, he didn’t even know whether it was appropriate to reply. What did he know? He was someone born into poverty who didn’t have the luxury to question himself about what he wanted in life, just having to see another was already a blessing itself. Well, it wasn’t like the outcasts of society were given a choice on how to lead one’s life anyway.
The car fell in another silence but this time it was much longer, long enough for Chrollo to glance at the rearview mirror to see your eyes closed, and head leaning against the window, the rhythmic rise, and fall of your chest indicating the slumber you were in.
It was almost laughable how Chrollo was able to prove his theory right—that the rich were greedy for an even greater amount of money, the obvious example was the ex-CEO of Driscoll Pharmaceuticals, Ciaran’s father.
Chrollo’s grip on the wheel tightened, leather burning against his palms at the mere thought of dirty business. Illegal dealings. It was possible he had a hand in Sarasa's kidnapping. Mr. Driscoll didn’t belong in jail, no, he belonged before the barrel of Chrollo’s gun.
Taking another glance at your sleeping form, Chrollo quietly pulled over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before twisting his torso to face you. Warm streetlights casted a gentle glow upon your features, piercing grey eyes carefully tracing each one as though you were a divine creature—otherworldly, and beautiful.
You looked so peaceful, and undisturbed. Vulnerable.
While his eyes remained on you, Chrollo slowly slid a hand inside his blazer, reaching for the gun affixed by his hip.
The assassin pulled it out, pointing the barrel to your head, the weapon cool against the warmth of his hand. In, and out, he drew steady breaths, forefinger hovering over the trigger—one pull, and it’d be over.
The problem was, Chrollo couldn’t do it.
He has pulled the trigger countless times as though it was second nature, so why couldn’t he do it now? He couldn’t even bring himself to let his digit touch it.
As you stirred in your sleep, Chrollo swiftly tucked the gun back in his holster, and faced forward. Shaky, uneven breaths slipped past his parted lips, the sound of his heartbeat clouding his senses.
Hands balling into fists, he wondered what had gotten into him, mind racing with a million thoughts as he drowned in pure uncertainty. Chrollo stared at his hands—the same hands that have spilled blood countless times, the same hands that killed without a second thought, the same hands that were tasked to murder you.
Yet here he was, unable to do so as if it were his first time.
“Chrollo?” You mumbled aloud. As you peeled your eyes open, you tried to register your surroundings. “Why did we stop? Is there something wrong?”
He cleared his throat, taking a quick glance through the rearview mirror before shaking his head, “No, miss. I just had to take a quick call, my apologies.” With that, Chrollo pulled away from the side of the road, taking you back to the estate.
The ride home was silent. Fortunately for Chrollo, this gave him the opportunity to calm his thoughts, and steady his growing breaths.
Obviously this has never happened before, especially while out on a mission; it made sense for the assassin to lose his cool a bit after hesitating. If anything, it was akin to a bird suddenly losing the ability to fly when flying was the only thing it knew. To make things worse, Chrollo had just broken the unspoken rule of the underworld—to never hesitate.
To the underworld, hesitating meant fragility, and fragility meant that the enemy had the upper hand. He was confused, and conflicted, more so upset at himself for being such a coward—why was he a coward?
After returning to the estate, you softly called out to Chrollo who was heading to the staff house, “Do you want to come inside?” All it took was that foreign look in your face for him to fully understand what you meant.
He didn’t have to assume anything—you’ve never looked at Chrollo with such a burning gaze, full of intent, and vulnerability. God, it was a brazen move to do so but you wished he agreed. All you needed was a little company at the moment.
Something in the air shifted. Maybe it was because you were both stripped of your layers, baring your defenceless forms out in the open. Maybe it was the way Chrollo’s rational thinking became compromised on the way home. Or maybe it was how you oddly felt comfortable around his presence, as though he was a lifelong friend.
Nonetheless, Chrollo found himself inside your bedroom, and as expected, it was grand, spacious, fit for a billionaire’s daughter. Sweet aroma of fresh chrysanthemum’s filled the air but it was nothing like he had remembered back in Meteor City which was laced with grief, and sorrow. Instead, it enveloped Chrollo in a warm welcoming hug, he could finally understand your interpretation of chrysanthemums—devoted love, and loyalty.
Moonlight spilled from the windows, illuminating the side of Chrollo’s face. He was just standing there yet he mirrored the divinity of an angel as soft shadows contoured his handsome face, dark eyes gleaming beneath the dulcet glow; you’ve never been able to decipher the emotions behind his gaze but tonight was different, his stare was soft mixed with hint of uncertainty; Chrollo wore his heart on his sleeves.
“Help me escape even for a little while.” 
Like the obedient bodyguard he was, he nodded. Chrollo took one step closer, reaching out a hand to gently undo one of the satin ribbon straps. The flimsy fabric gracefully slid off your right shoulder, just enough to expose your pert nipple. It hardened beneath the cool evening air which had Chrollo swallowing thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing with pure excitement, and hunger; oh, how he couldn’t wait to put his lips on your skin, and devour you.
Wasting no time to undo the other ribbon strap, your nightgown instantly fell to the carpeted floors, the fabric pooling around your feet, leaving you almost completely bare in front of Chrollo.
Your skin grew feverish beneath his observant stare as he traced every dip, and curve, dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo’s lips were on your skin, palms finding home just above your waist; he placed gentle kisses down the side of your neck as though on a mission to mark you, pulling dainty gasps in the process.
You tasted absolutely divine—like a hopeful prayer between his lips, and he craved for more. Soft smacks slowly filled your ears as he praised you with kisses. Down, down, down Chrollo’s lips went before stopping at the junction of your neck, he gave the sensitive skin an experimental lick to which you responded with a heated gasp of his name.
Tilting your head to the side allowed more freedom for Chrollo to explore; hands coming up to tangle with his raven strands, and tug at it urged him to mark your skin with hues of dark purple, and red.
And he did. Gentle, wet kisses turned into rough, electric ones as Chrollo used both teeth, and tongue to nip, and suck at your skin.
“Chrollo—!” 
The assassin could only grunt in response as he carved himself onto your skin like knife on wood—over, and over again ‘til it left a lasting mark. And when you stare at these sinful hues in the mirror, you’d be reminded of the feel of his lips, how his kisses turned your legs into a wobbly mess, and mind into a lustful haze.
Embarrassing, warm wetness pooled on the fabric of your panties as Chrollo neared your breasts, you watched with a bated breath, and keen eyes as he wrapped his lips around a mound—the sinful sight of Chrollo trying to take in as much of it as he could had your legs buckling, you were sure to have met the floor if it weren’t for his firm hold.
You let out a soft moan at the feel of his hot tongue swirling around your nipple, teeth gently grazing the sensitive spot which sent lightning down the length of your spine.
Eager hands tugged at the roots of his obsidian strands, nails raking across his scalp; it was beyond lewd how you readily pushed your bare body into Chrollo’s face—a man you’ve only known for less than a month yet here he was, wicked lips made of fire against your naked skin that melted like ice.
A large hand snaked its way up your front, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and pausing just beneath the other breast before cupping it wholly—the heart of his palm rubbing against your sensitive nipple as he massaged, and toyed with the fat.
Without an ounce of shame left in inside you, you wantonly moaned his name at the feel of his lips, and hand making love to your chest, it had Chrollo twitching in his slacks but he paid no mind to it because tonight was about ravishing your body until no one else could compare—not even Euan Heston.
Chrollo didn’t know what this meant for the both of you after but that was okay because once the night ends, your body would crave for none but him, and only him.
Chrollo let go of your swollen, wet breast with a soft pop, he looked up through his lashes before licking his lips, as though he just devoured the tastiest meal of his life.
Working his way down your torso, he placed chaste kisses down the valley of your breasts, steadily sinking to his knees as he descended further, each passing second growing closer to your heat—where you needed him the most.
Before Chrollo could kiss the intimate spot just below your belly button, you cupped his face, making him look up at you with slight confusion,
“On the bed . .”
Three words was all he needed to understand before standing to his full height, “Jump.” Chrollo ordered. You didn’t need to be told twice before doing so, arms, and legs wrapping around him while he supported your weight.
As Chrollo sauntered to the bed, you used the time to eagerly explore the spot beneath his ear, using teeth, and tongue to suck at it which pulled a few soft sighs from him. His intoxicating scent filled your senses, the sweet minty aroma from chrysanthemums mixed with his musky perfume had you groaning into his skin.
He shuddered at the feeling, the tips of his fingers digging further into the fat of your ass.
Gently laying you down on the pillows beneath, he stared at the serene beauty before him, steely eyes drinking in your nakedness. Chrollo’s stare felt like you stood directly under the blazing sun on a summer day, igniting your skin to the core without anywhere to take cover but you liked it, you liked the feeling of his hungry stare, how he looked at you like fresh meat on a silver platter—a predator, and his prey.
As if to put on a show, Chrollo hastily shrugged off his blazer, mindlessly throwing it on the floor, leaving him with a white button down. He caught a glimpse of your lust-clouded gaze staring at the gun affixed to his hip to which he immediately removed by unclasping the holster.
The weapon landed on the floor with a heavy thud, you paid no mind to it but for Chrollo, it served as a harsh reminder of his real motive, and everything that would happen tonight was nothing but an insignificant moment in his life.
At least that's what he convinced himself this was.
The mattress groaned beneath Chrollo’s weight as he dipped down, wasting no time to connect his lips on your bare skin, and picking up where he left off—right below your belly button.
He kissed at it before wickedly pulling the waistband of your panties using his lips, and letting go of it to snap against your skin. A small gasp escaped your lips at the feel of the slight burning sensation which had you aching for more; it also didn’t help how his hot breath ghosted over the most intimate part of your body.
Though, before you could open your mouth, and beg, Chrollo hooked a forefinger around the waistband, and swiftly tugged it down the length of your legs, wet cunt squeezing at nothing as the cool air embraced its heat.  
Chrollo took his time to enjoy the bare sight before him by placing open-mouthed kisses dangerously near your sopping cunt—on your inner thighs, below your belly button, and the spot just above your clit. It had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, fingers digging into the sheets beneath; what a wicked, wicked man, he hasn’t even properly touched you yet here you were, legs shaking from all the teasing.
Pride bloomed across his chest at the sight of you—the fucked out expression you donned, the heavy rise, and fall of your chest, and the dainty whimpers that filled the air.
Hooking his hands behind your knees, Chrollo gently pushed them towards your chest ‘til you were folded in half, glistening cunt deliciously exposed for him to devour.
A wanton moan slipped past your lips as Chrollo traced his tongue around the outside of your clit before laying the wet muscle flat against it. He expertly rubbed at the sensitive nub, lewd sounds mixed with your shameless moans engulfed his ears, encouraging him to further stimulate the spot.
Your hips bucked against his face, hands flying down to his hair as the electric sensation returned to your body, sending massive jolts of lightning down the curve of your spine.
“Chrollo, right there! Yes—haah!” You gasped as he switched to the tip of his tongue to lick at your clit. 
Chrollo placed his thumb, and forefinger on either side of your clit for better access before moving his tongue side-to-side, across the area beneath the clitoral hood, resulting in a broader stimulation that had you stiffening with pure pleasure.
Looking down at the sinful view between your legs, you let out a loud moan as Chrollo met your eyes through his hooded ones. Without a doubt, ecstasy slowly consumed both his body, and mind with how he subtly rocked his hips against the mattress—cock aching for any kind of contact but Chrollo had to focus more on holding your hips down while you unceremoniously thrashed around, trying to slow your impending orgasm.
As Chrollo continued his torture, it didn’t take long for you to let pleasure consume your body as a whole, and cum on his tongue.
He drank in your pleasured state—lips parted, brows furrowed, and back arched off the mattress; the orgasm that hit you was intense, as though your whole body has been electrified, and the only way to respond was by moaning his name like a sacred prayer in hopes you keep you grounded to reality.
Relishing the taste of your essence on his tongue, he closed his eyes, humming against your sensitive nub in complete satisfaction which had your legs shaking, and hands attempting to push his head away. He gave a few more gentle licks before pulling away, revealing his chin completely drenched in your filthy arousal—Chrollo paid no mind, simply bringing a hand up to his face to wipe at it.
You watched through a lustful haze as Chrollo finally worked on his shirt, each button undone growing closer, and closer to exposing the entirety of his torso.
As he shrugged the fabric off, you couldn’t help but reach out to touch his bare skin—it was pale, fascinatingly chiselled, and scarred; Chrollo’s torso was decorated with a few raised, discoloured patches here, and there indicating the rough past he had. He stared as you traced a scar with your forefinger—a ghostly touch that brought a shudder down his spine—but before you could move onto the next one, Chrollo gently grabbed your wrist, and brought it up to his face, placing a chaste kiss on the heart of your palm.
By no means was he insecure about those scars, in fact, he proudly wore them like a badge, to serve as a reminder that the rest of the world wasn’t his friend.
You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat or two.
The kiss from Chrollo was different—different from the one Euan had given you during the company event. Yes, the latter was full of sincerity but it didn’t bring warmth to your face like Chrollo’s one had.
Or maybe it was just because of how lost you were in pure lust, unable to decipher even the simplest feelings.
“Tonight is all about you.”
Chrollo shouldn’t be doing this, it goes against his beliefs, and goals—against the very reason why he turned into the person who he was right now.
Mingling with the wealthy, even going to an extent as to have sex with you, if his younger self saw him right now, he wouldn’t be able to believe it.
But what was it about you that had Chrollo rewriting his rules? Why was he so willing to throw away the deep rooted anger inside his heart to pleasure you?
Moreso, what did he gain from all this?—not money, not power, definitely not the justice he sought.
Nonetheless, Chrollo threw those thoughts in the moonlit window—he’d grab them again later at the crack of dawn while guilt eats him alive. Slowly, he dipped his hands below his torso, fumbling with the zipper of his slacks; Chrollo felt your heated stare on his crotch, how your short breaths quickened as he tantalisingly pulled the metal zip down, the sound echoed along with your breathing, allowing Chrollo to bask in your desperation.
You thanked the stars above as he bared himself without anymore teasing, articles of clothing that once hugged his body were now strewn across the floor of your room like unmended pieces of oneself.
Moonlight surrounded Chrollo like a serene aura, an angelic-like glow that had his skin radiating beneath the celestial gleam, turning his hair into the colour of the first starlight. It was hard to focus on his heavenly appearance when sin was right between his legs.
“Do you want me to stop?” 
No, god, no, just the thought of Chrollo completely leaving you high, and dry brought tears to your eyes. Shaking your head vigorously, he crawled atop your lust-fuelled body before placing a chaste kiss on your temple then onto your nose, trailing further down ‘til he reached the valley of your breasts. You let out a shudder as Chrollo lapped his way down, not forgetting to tease at your pebbled nipples by giving them a light nip.
“Chrollo, please . .” For once, this was different from what was usually thrown his way—most people begged for their lives as they stared down the barrel of his gun with pure horror in their eyes, lips disturbingly quivering as they pleaded during their last moments.
Wasting no time, Chrollo met your gaze once more, his face mere centimetres from yours. You gasped as his cockhead gently prodded at your entrance as he reached down between your bodies, he rubbed it a few more times, the sinful contact earning low grunts, and moans from both of you.
Chrollo connected his forehead with yours, damp obsidian hair ghosting over your warmed cheeks, holding it in a gentle caress
Letting out a shaky breath, his cock slowly pushed your folds apart as he inched in. Immediately, your legs curled around the dip of his bare waist, interlocking behind his lower back; your hasty movement jolted Chrollo forward which forced his cock further into the plush of your velvety walls.
He sighed, cursing the eye rolling pleasure sent his body into a pathetic tremble. Though, you were no better, clenching around Chrollo every time he pushed deeper—not only did it test his sanity but it also tested his patience.
He reminded himself a million times that simply fucking you like a mere cocksleeve was not his intention for tonight. Or ever. Rich or not, you were still a woman after all, one deserving of nothing but genuine pleasure.
As Chrollo bottomed out, he held your starry gaze, watching as your eyes glistened with tears—whether it was from the bliss his cock had you under or from sadness, he had no idea.
You felt so full, as though the gaping void inside you had been magically sealed—his cock sat there unmoving yet it hit all the right spots, the ones that had you trembling a little harder, and moaning a little louder.
Hot breaths mingled as the two of you let out heavy pants, he stilled inside your wet cunt, allowing both himself, and you to adjust to the feeling, “You’re so tight—fuck.” You gave your hips an experimental rut at his words which pulled a long hiss from him, brows furrowing together.
After a heartbeat or two, Chrollo slowly pulled out, the languid drag of his cock against the plush of your walls had you whining in the shape of his name. It went straight to his cock, twitching at the pornographic sound you let out—if you noticed, you didn’t let on, you were too focused on the way he moved inside you.
With only the tip remaining, Chrollo pushed his hips using the same pace; all the way until he disappeared in your folds once again, heavy balls kissing the skin of your ass.
You could feel the entirety of his length—every dip, and curve which had your legs shaking, and toes curling a little harder. Chrollo’s cock was slightly curved upward which allowed an easy reach to your sweet spot, and with every languid thrust he gave you, his cockhead kissed it repeatedly.
Hands that were pinned to the pillows were released as Chrollo brought a hand to caress your cheek while the other supported his weight. You leaned into his fiery touch, as if doing so was going to ground you from cloud nine. 
Setting a deep, slow pace, Chrollo’s face remained a breath away from yours—he kept eye contact, nothing but an endless pit of alluring onyx that pulled you further into the ocean of bliss. Every languid stroke pulled oxygen from your lungs, it had you desperately gasping for air, one which only Chrollo could quench by whispering sweet nothings mere inches from your parted lips.
Mixed with breathless sighs of pleasure was the soft creaking of the bed frame which sung in unison beneath the weight of your rocking bodies. The air grew impossibly thick, and hot allowing the sheets to stick uncomfortably to your bare back but you didn’t care, not when Chrollo fucked you into the mattress as if the sun was going to burn out tomorrow.
You pulled him closer, arms instinctively wrapping around his torso to decorate his back with crimson streaks.
The sharp sting of your nails fuelled Chrollo’s drive—he picked up the pace but remained bottoming out with every powerful thrust, causing your body to jolt in response.
You clung to him tighter, legs painfully locked behind his back as he did his best to move in, and out of your sopping cunt. You were close, and despite Chrollo taking you for the first time, he knew—he could feel your body stiffen with each passing second, the way your greedy cunt grew impossibly tighter, making it hard for him move, and not to mention your broken cries of his name so close to his ears that those were all he could hear.
“I’m so near—god, please don’t stop, Chrollo—!” You sounded so vulnerable, so bare it made his cock twitch.
Greed consuming his pleasured state, Chrollo wrapped an arm around your shoulders, deftly snaking it between the mattress, and your back. He pulled you closer, the weight of your limp torso straining against his curled limb while the other supported his own body.
Chrollo cradled your head with his palm, pushing your face closer to his ‘til the tip of his nose brushed your own. Oh, how tempted he was to kiss the very lips that cried out his name as if he were your saving grace—an angel with his hand stretched out to you.
Barely a whisper above the heavy breaths you exchanged, your name smoothly rolled off his tongue. It was the first time Chrollo did so, and god how addictive it sounded; you shuddered at it, his dulcet voice engulfing the entirety of your being right down to your very core.
“You’ve been so good, are you going to cum? To let go, for me?”
With the minute space left between the two of you, you vigorously nodded your head, too fucked to care about the desperation that seeped from your skin like sweat. Chrollo moaned at your wordless response, fingers slightly curling at the back of your head, his nails dragging across your scalp,
“Haah—! That’s right, give in to it.”
And you did.
With a final drive of his hips, you came undone—the pressure that’s been slowly building up finally bursting inside you.
A broken moan escaped your lips, body arching closer to his as you let your orgasm take you beyond cloud nine.
As if you weren’t already breathless from panting like a whore, Chrollo greedily pressed his lips against your quivering ones to capture them in a passionate kiss.
His lips were soft, and sensual, like it was sculpted by the goddess of love herself. He greedily drank in every moan, and whimper you had to offer, claiming them as his own prized possession to keep. Chrollo’s pace faltered at the feel of your cum coating his cock in a warm embrace—a feeling he’s been deprived off, a feeling he didn’t know he needed.
Pulling away from the kiss, he spoke, breathless, “I’m close—fuck. Where do y—” “Inside.” Chrollo swallowed thickly with your legs tightening around him. It dizzied him, the thought of you so willing to let your insides be marked by him without a second thought.
A small gasp escaped you as he gently set you down onto the mattress, his cockhead brushing your sensitive spot. With his orgasm near, Chrollo dropped his body on top of your own, torsos flush against each other as he trapped you with his weight.
With his own pleasure in mind, Chrollo gave short, hasty thrusts, desperately rutting his hips to chase the growing bliss. The only option for you was to lay there, and moan his name from overstimulation; with his weight on yours, you couldn’t squirm your way out of the immense pleasure.
“I’m here—ngh! ‘M close.” Chrollo whispered into your ear, a hint of apology laced his tone, most likely from how overstimulated you were.
After a few more desperate thrusts, he stilled, sheathing his cock all the way inside your cunt, you felt him twitch before releasing his load with a low moan. 
Feeling his hot cum paint your walls white, you mirrored the sound he made. Loud, wet squelches filled the room as Chrollo rode out his high, effectively fucking his cum deeper.
The two of you stayed still for a moment, letting your bodies bathe in serene moonlight. You laid beneath him, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat pound away against his ribcage, it effectively lulled you to the borders of sleep, your heavy eyelids slowly closing in exhaustion.
Though, before you could fully close them, Chrollo rolled off your body with a soft grunt, his cock slipping out in the process. The loss of contact had you clenching around nothing at the feel of his cum slowly seeping out of your cunt. Before you could speak up, Chrollo beat you to it,
“I should go.” He cleared his throat, voice low, a hint of sadness laced in his tone. Though, you didn’t catch on. Chrollo quietly gathered his clothes, putting them on layer by layer until he was fully clothed. An indiscernible emotion washed over you as he made his way to the door, each quiet step taken tugging at an invisible string tangled in your heart. Oddly enough, it stung.
“Yeah . .” You nodded in a daze.
The lack of response from your end tore at Chrollo’s insides—it made sense, after all, he was nothing but a quick fuck, what did he expect? For you to convince him to stay the night? That was beyond delusional.
As Chrollo reached for the handle, you called his name out of instinct. His heart skipped a beat. “Yes, miss . . ?” He spoke your title in a small voice, unsure which name was appropriate in this situation.
“Thank you.”
That was all you could muster. What else was there anyway? Chrollo wasn’t a person you were supposed to be sleeping with in the first place, nor was he your lover who you could be intimate with after sex.
He was nothing but a bodyguard, and will remain your bodyguard. Whatever happened in this room was to be forgotten.
The sound of the door clicking reached your ears, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. His scent lingered in the air, becoming one with the sweet aroma of chrysanthemums.
Within the next coming days, you were right, and wrong. Right because in the face of others, the professional relationship between you, and Chrollo remained—a bodyguard, and his principal.
Wrong because stupidly enough, the both of you had not forgotten what happened a couple of nights back. The days were filled with stolen glances, and stuttering heartbeats, you couldn’t stand by idly while your heart yearned for your bodyguard.
At first, you convinced yourself that this feeling was purely lust-driven, it was only natural to seek out Chrollo’s presence after a night with him.
You believed it for a week.
One whole week until you felt your heart clenching at the sight of your bodyguard exchanging a conversation with one of the maids. Chrollo was all smiles, the kind that reached his eyes; the maid wasn’t any better, an obvious blush extending from her cheeks to her ears said it all.
He never smiled at you like that.
Why was he treating you—his boss—any different? Chrollo was always nonchalant with you, barely any words spoken yet here he was animatedly cracking jokes left, and right like he had some kind of alter ego. It pissed you off.
More so, being angry at the fact that Chrollo treated you differently upset you even more. At best, this was a trivial matter, something you shouldn’t even think about. 
But you couldn’t let go of it, not when he gazed at you the same way he had done so that night.
Within the next week, you’d realise that merely having Chrollo by your side wasn’t enough.
On Monday, you did your best to converse with him while buying chrysanthemums at the boutique, even going as far as giving him a flower from your bouquet, hoping that he’d think of you whenever he looked at it.
On Wednesday, instead of asking your personal assistant to grab your lunch, you took Chrollo instead, and headed out the office which gave you more alone time with him. 
And by Friday, you couldn’t take it anymore. You called Chrollo into your bedroom late at night after finding the courage to do so. Naturally, he stood inside as if he didn’t have you filling the room with your own moans two weeks ago.
The familiar sweet scent of chrysanthemums filled his lungs, taking him back to the pleasure-filled night with you. Chrollo pushed the thought down, deeming it extremely inappropriate, especially being alone with you like this, again.
He swallowed as you pat the empty spot next to you, your vulnerable state beckoning him to devour you. Who was he to deny himself of acting on his predatory instincts? 
“This is . . rather unprofessional, miss.”
That was the last thing he said before he found himself sitting on the edge of your bed, kissing you like he loved you. Did he? Large hands cupped your jaw, eagerly pulling you closer to his face. Even though Chrollo didn’t bare his heart, the zeal behind his kisses revealed the truth hidden in his chest.
Both lips fell into a unison, slotting into each other like they were made for one another. Before getting carried away, Chrollo pulled back, brows lifting in amusement as he watched the way your face leaned in, searching for his lips.
“What—What about Mr. Euan?” He asked, breathless, onyx strands dishevelled, courtesy of your wandering hands. 
You both knew you didn’t have feelings for Euan but saying it aloud wasn’t going to change the fact that a ring sat on your finger, it was far more complicated than that.
Lowering your gaze, you shrugged. Guilt picked at your skin, the thought of disrespecting Euan had you freezing in place. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be prying.” Chrollo whispered, hot breath fanning across your face. He tucked a strand behind your ear before sliding his digit down to your chin, lifting your face.
“Kiss me?”
You didn’t have to be told twice.
What the two of you had wasn’t exactly a relationship—beyond a professional relationship but less than a romantic one. But Chrollo cared for you all the same, even if it meant watching in the sidelines as Euan made his polite advances—kiss on your cheek, a hand on the small of your back, his fingers tucking stray hairs aside, Chrollo endured it all. Whether or not it affected him, he didn’t let on.
Instead, he returned affection tenfold in comparison to what Euan gave you. Your room had turned into a rendezvous—every night, behind its closed doors, Chrollo took you in his arms, and whisked you away from reality, from all the inhibitions you felt. And amidst all the meaningful conversations, the shared pleasure, the tears shed, a bond deeper than one could comprehend blossomed within these walls.
Chrollo became a rock you could lean on—a significant person you could be vulnerable with, and bare your heart on the table, unguarded. He listened to your problems, and silly thoughts with open arms, and ears, stroking your hair beneath the moonlight as the two of you lay underneath the ivory sheets.
With you, he was a completely different person, a person who he deserved to become. One that could relate to the little joys in life—whether it be chasing sunsets, dipping salty fries in vanilla ice cream or looking up at the night sky without any remorse in one's heart.
With you, Chrollo had a fleeting glimpse of the life he was robbed of because all he knew was how to survive for another day—how to kill swiftly, and effectively.
And he’d be reminded of all these when returned to his own quarters in the dead of the night. That the sole purpose of his arrangement in this estate was to take you out—not to nurture a bond with you, not to have sex with you, not to listen to all your thoughts, no. Chrollo was here as your assassin.
To hold you so gently in his hands knowing they would be the same ones covered in your blood. It was almost laughable, it surprised Chrollo how he—a person conditioned to destroy—was able to touch you with the utmost gentleness as if he’s never once tasted violence on his tongue.
Clearly, you both felt something for one another but acting on it was easier said than done—not to mention how this mission wasn’t supposed to end up like this, all tangled up in a web known as you. 
Did Chrollo love you? Truth be told, he didn’t know. He never had the privilege of experiencing what romantic love was. Wanting to be by your side was the only thing he was certain of.
Lying in bed, Chrollo looked over at his nightstand, it housed a singular piece of chrysanthemum soaked in a glass of water—one that you had given him earlier this week. Now, his room smelled just like yours, the flower’s sweet aroma lingering in the air.
It helped Chrollo sleep a little better; smelling its familiar scent tricked his mind into thinking he slept in your presence.
A little over a week.
That was how much time Chrollo had left to get the job done assigned by Ciaran. It wasn’t long, and he knew he had to make the decision soon but not before taking a gamble.
As Saturday arrived, you stuck to your routine as usual, the only difference was, the late night was spent driving around with Chrollo.
The atmosphere inside the vehicle grew thicker by the minute, he could tell something weighed your mind from the way you pursed your lips, and fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. But of course, the ever polite man he was, he waited ‘til you opened up to him—Chrollo knew you like the back of his hand, whenever things bothered you to an extent, it didn’t take long for you to break.
“Can I tell you something?” You murmured above the hum of the engine. Staring to the side, you watched as Chrollo wordlessly nodded his head, stealing a brief glance your way before focusing on the wheel. He took notice of how you sat on the front passenger seat instead of your usual spot.
Looking out the window, you spoke up, “I . . don’t know how to deal with all this.” Chrollo remained silent, urging you to continue. “I’m going to be married to a man I don’t love, and I’ll be running a company I don’t want. And us. I want you, Chrollo, I really do but I . .”
Chrollo’s grip tightened around the wheel.
“Why don’t we just run away, and leave all this behind? We can build a new life together and—” 
“Is that what you want? To run away with me?” Chrollo cut you off. Coming to a full stop at the red lights, he turned to you, the seriousness in his expression made you somewhat nervous.
Would it be foolish of him to comfort you with words he partially meant?—words that would only hurt you in the end?
“I can give you that.”
At this point, Chrollo was lying to himself. To be so brazen, and accept running away with you knowing well enough his neck was chained to the underground—loyal to his roots.
Weighing the options, it was crystal clear that the odds were against the both of you. Of course, you didn’t know that, you had absolutely no idea Chrollo had underground ties nor was he assigned to kill you by none other than Ciaran.
Considering the latter’s involvement in underground business, you wouldn’t be the only one with a target on their back; it only made sense for Ciaran to put a hit on Chrollo as well for disobeying his orders if he were to consider running away. It would elicit a whole lot of enemies, and he couldn’t put you in a situation where he was willing to risk you dying in someone else’s hands. 
Living a life hiding from dangers of the world—that’s what you would have to go through if you, and Chrollo were to run away. Did you really deserve to live that way? Did you deserve to live in the conditions Chrollo tried to run away from?
The answer was more than obvious.
Obviously, a life with Euan benefitted you more—you’d have more stability, and security. Who was he to take away all those things from you?
Having never tasted something as sweet as this feeling with you, Chrollo found himself holding tighter rather than letting go, he fed on greed, and delusion. 
Truth be told, it tore him apart. A part of him cursed, and yelled at him for being so naïve, and easily moved by a woman he had only known for a month and a half—not to mention how he despised your kind.
The other part urged him to reach for the unthinkable, and build a new life he deserved, with you. Chrollo was ready to lay his weapon down if it meant being by your side ‘til the end of time.
Maybe in another life.
He knew he had to make a decision. Soon. Ciaran had been making calls to his burner more often than not, and he could sense the former’s patience growing thinner, and thinner as each day turned into night.
Whatever Chrollo’s decision was, he just hoped you’d still love him all the same—forgive him.
There was one crucial piece of information Chrollo had remembered. On Sundays, you dismissed all security staff that accompanied you, including the chauffeur, Lukas. This meant that for one day, you were completely unguarded, and alone.
Chrollo was unaware of the reason but it was obvious you wanted to experience a sense of independence one way or another.
Nonetheless, he managed to keep an eye on you by using an ample amount of distance—it was a piece of cake, after all, he tracked his targets in stealth mode for a living; akin to a predator sizing up its prey before sinking its canines.
Sundays weren’t particularly eventful, you spent the day alone running around swiping your credit card left, and right until it made you feel a tad better. So when Chrollo had ‘accidentally’ bumped into you at the parking lot, hidden from public cameras, he was aware of how effortless it was to whisk you away from the public.
“Chrollo? What brings you here?”
The bodyguard was dressed in his usual attire, a white button down neatly tucked beneath his black slacks, and this time, he didn’t wear a blazer.
“I figured you’d be here, miss. Something came up at the estate—you’re needed back home.” A lie.
Chrollo observed as the sparkle in your eyes drained at his words, genuine concern rolling in like grey clouds looming above on a stormy night. His heart clenched. Not in a good way. “Don’t worry, no one is hurt.” With his reassurance, your shoulders dropped with ease, the breath you’ve been holding slipped past your lips in a relieved sigh.
It pained the assassin how trusting you were, how easily one could play you into the palm of their hand the same way he did right now. Why?—why didn’t you question how effortlessly Chrollo pinpointed your exact location? The city was expansive, no normal person would be able to trace your steps unless they followed right from when you left the estate.
The vehicle was quiet, leaving room for Chrollo to notice the faint scent of chrysanthemums inside—it was your personal car, not the one Lukas used to drive you around hence the flowery aroma.
For some odd reason, the smell no longer comforted him the same way it did whenever he frequented your room. It made him nauseous. If Chrollo was to put it in words, the aroma smelled of sweet death, and it reminded him of the church back in Meteor City.
Consumed by concern, and lost in your own thoughts, you paid no attention to your surroundings outside, how it grew less, and less familiar with each kilometre driven by your bodyguard. You also didn’t notice Chrollo repeatedly stealing glances through the rearview mirror every now, and then, missing the way his steely gaze housed a hint of nervousness—an emotion he didn’t normally harbour.
Though, as you finally came to, you gazed out the window, eyes carefully scanning the fleeting hues outside as the car drove by. Soft colours of pinks, and oranges seeped through the glass which casted an ethereal glow inside, it hinted at the setting sun, and the darkness that loomed just around the corner. As your brain registered the foreign roads, confusion settled in, 
“Are we taking a detour, Chrollo?”
He wordlessly nodded. You mirrored his action in acknowledgement but the feeling of unease was oddly difficult to dismiss, especially with how deserted these roads were. The streets were decorated with construction sites, abandoned buildings, and old houses that were decorated with wooden planks to seal off windows, and entrances.
A weird feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. You caught the way Chrollo’s stone cold gaze locked with yours for a split second but didn’t dare speak up.
Just as your heart started to race, the vehicle came to a halt, Chrollo had parked in front of an abandoned building—an old church, based on its architecture. Its unmistakable pointed roof aiming at the skies above, and stained glass windows marked with angels, and other holy beings said it all.
The building was surrounded by overgrown greenery, and wrecked furniture dumped on the side which hinted at years of apparent neglect. Its dressed stone walls were the epitome of sacrilege itself, littered with colourful vandalism from top to bottom; even just seeing it with your own eyes felt like a grave sin. A forbidden image.
“What—” “Get out.” Chrollo cut you off. For a tone so cold you could’ve swore a subtle shudder ran down the length of your spine. His stare met your own through the mirror for a second time and your heart sank all the way down to your stomach at how serious he was, dread slowly engulfing your body. What the hell was happening!? Why was Chrollo acting strangely?
“No.”
Chrollo turned to face you, still wearing that stoic expression. You felt small under his gaze, it almost felt predatory—no—not almost, it did; you didn’t want to admit but you caught a glimpse of the way his eyes sparkled with sharp, murderous intent.
Swallowing thickly, you crossed your arms, trying to appear nonchalant, albeit, it was more for yourself than for the man before you.
“Not until I get an answer. You mentioned something had come up at the estate, so why aren’t we—” “I lied.”
Before you could question his motives, Chrollo swiftly got out, the resounding thud as he shut the door closed had your body flinching a bit. You watched as he rounded the car, and made his way just before your door.
Opening it, a hand reached in for your wrist; gentle fingers curled around your skin as if you were a delicate flower—a daring contrast from the way his piercing gaze stabbed shards of unease throughout your body.
You pulled away, easily slipping off Chrollo’s placid grasp before helping yourself out of the vehicle. His hand curled into a loose fist as he watched you exit the car with an evident scowl on your face; funnily enough, Chrollo had the audacity to feel upset at the rejection. Never once have you denied his touch.
Crossing the narrow clearing that led to the unsealed church entrance, chunks of loose stone, and dirt moved beneath your steps; you stared at your feet as they navigated through the unstable terrain.
It was odd. Calm, and composed were the last two things you should be feeling in this situation, given the sudden shift in Chrollo’s demeanour, you were supposed to be fearing for your life right this instance despite your blindness to the hidden danger that lay ahead.
Chrollo . . He would never do that to you, right? Upon taking the job, he swore to protect you. But your better judgement screamed at all the glaring crimson coloured flags—an abandoned church in a deserted neighbourhood? It was the perfect set up for heinous crimes.
Out of instinct, you scanned the layout of the building from where you stood, if it came down to it, there was only one viable escape route which was through the main entrance of the church, the one Chrollo pulled open.
By now, the sun had fully disappeared below the horizon, and the colourful remnants the burning star left in its wake slowly faded into deep hues of night azure. Strangely, this end of the town harboured harsher winds with a freezing bite that had you rubbing your arms over the sleeves of your top.
A heavy groan sounded from the mahogany doors, it cut through the wind’s endless howl as it danced with the leaves, and through the sharp branches, interlocking trees in a soft sway.
A chill ran down your spine at the loudness of it. The doors parted revealing a view you’d expect in an old abandoned church—disorganised pews to create a spacing in the middle, antique chandeliers affixed to the high ceiling covered in thick layers of dust and cobwebs, and trash scattered across its marbled floors; by the state of the inside, squatters most likely frequented the building due to its unsealed entrance.
The inside was dimly lit from street lights outside, it poured through the stained glass windows which allowed a deep scarlet glow to illuminate the building. Chrollo stepped inside, the soles of his obsidian dress shoes quietly clicked with every calculated step further into the church.
Foolishly enough, you followed as though a crimson string bound yourself to his—he was acting strangely, and the most appropriate approach as of now was to question his behaviour, and the bizarreness of the situation. Walking away would only prove useless with how far he has driven, and he had your car keys; at best, you could only cooperate.
“Chrollo, will you please tell me what’s going on?” You navigated inside the old building, the scent of mildew, and rotten wood lingered in the damp air, it captured your senses in a tight hold.
Ruby bounced off Chrollo’s inky strands as he stood at the heart of the church, right beneath the stained windows with divine beings. It turned his pale skin into an angry red, and you wondered if that’s what he felt right this very moment, clearly you weren’t far off with how he pierced your soul earlier.
He turned to face you, “I’m doing this for your sake.” For the first time today, emotion seeped through the cracks of his nonchalance. 
Chrollo looked almost sad, you weren’t entirely sure given the lack of lighting but the unmistakable glint behind those obsidian eyes was anything but foreign. For a split second, it was the same Chrollo that spent countless nights in your bedroom; not as your bodyguard, not as anyone else but simply as Chrollo—your Chrollo.
“For my sake? What the hell are you talking about, Chrollo?” Like the vermillion glow that bounced off your skin as you stepped closer, anger slowly bubbled in the pit of your stomach. Chrollo was nothing but cryptic with his responses, and you couldn’t wrap your head around any of them! He had always been a straightforward person, sometimes blunt, so why was he holding back now?
Standing beneath the scarlet light softly illuminated your features, Chrollo thought you looked exquisite bathed in the brilliance of red. Even with a tinge of doubt, and anger in your eyes, you were filled with love the same way the colour kissed every part of your skin.
“An escape from all this . . That’s what you want, right?” With his right hand, Chrollo reached inside his pocket, it took you a few seconds to identify the item in his hand—a gun.
With the way it’s unmistakable silver glistened beneath the dim lighting, you could tell it was a weapon of his own; not the ones registered under your father’s name. You stiffened, and your body ran cold, gaze met with the barrel of his gun.
“Chrollo?” Barely a whisper, you called out his name above the thick atmosphere, each second spent inside it had you desperately gasping for air; whether it be from nervousness or confusion, you didn’t care to find out.
He swallowed thickly, fingers curling tighter around the handle of his gun, trying to ignore the way your desperate plea violently struck a chord in his heart.
“Chrollo please put the gun down! You’re out of your mind!” Panic surged from head to toe, it came in vicious waves, scratching, and gnawing at your bare skin like a vehement beast. Chrollo tried to ignore the apparent tremble in your voice, he couldn’t afford to mess this up.
“Yes, I want to escape—with you. Why are you doing this to me, Chrollo? Why do you want me dead?!”
The third time his name rolled off your tongue, he was ready to throw the gun across the room, and cradle you in his arms while whispering apologetic nothings in your ear.
But he didn’t.
Chrollo stayed rooted in his spot, gun aimed at you, “Remember Ciaran Driscoll?—” You furrowed your brows. Ciaran? “He paid me to kill you.” A shaky breath, that was all you could muster, your mind was too busy trying to piece everything together.
Ciaran. Chrollo. Kill. Your blood ran cold.
But Chrollo didn’t give you time to breathe, steady clicks of his shoes echoed throughout the church as he paced back, and forth, “I was elated when I agreed to his proposal. Why? Because a pompous soul dying by my hands is what I’m made for—” He was calm, and collected, a faint smile displayed on his face as he slowly walked towards you. “Did you know what your people did? To my home? To my friend?” Stopping just before you, Chrollo leaned in, obsidian gaze piercing right through you.
“A lot of you treated Meteor City like some kind of hunting ground at your disposal. As if—as if its inhabitants were nothing but mere animals. For what? The sake of illegal dealings? For more money? Power?”
Chrollo caressed the side of your face with the back of his left hand—the other remained motionless by his side—his ghostly touch trembled against your skin, afraid that if he pressed down any further, you’d crack.
The situation baffled you. Not only was Chrollo blaming you for the atrocities caused by other people, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he was in cahoots with Ciaran Driscoll to orchestrate your demise.
Is that why Chrollo applied to become your bodyguard? To get close before finally killing you off? You felt another wave of dread wash over you. Everything felt numb, your limbs, your torso, your heart.
Shaking your head, you finally broke the silence with a trembling voice, tears threatening to spill out,  “I’m not involved in any of those, Chrollo. Do you even hear yourself right now?”
He did. God. He fucking did and he felt absolutely foolish for blaming you. After you had bared your soul to him every night, Chrollo stopped seeing you in the same light as he did before. Yes, his deep-rooted disdain never left but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of loving you; it was a battle between desire and duty, and he already knew the victor.
The determination in your eyes, you were set on running away from the current life you had, and as tempting as that was, he didn’t have the courage to lead you into a new life full of nothing but danger.
Chrollo would rather have you dying by his own bloodied hands—for him to live each day filled with regret—than have someone else basking in the glory of killing you. At least that way, he’d be tainted by you.
“You’re all the same. Ciaran’s father is proof enough! You said it yourself that he was involved in illegal business—”
“So those nights we spent together . . were they just all part of the act? You never cared for me.” Chrollo barely caught the last part of your sentence as you muttered it under your breath; he watched as your gaze lowered, a wave of sadness engulfing you for a split second before finding his eyes once again. This time, you wore a glare.
You straightened up, “Tell me, Chrollo. Was it all just an act? A show you put on just to get close to me?” Questions lingered in the air the same way dust did, it sat heavy on Chrollo’s shoulders but he remained stubborn—silent. Would his answer change the circumstances? No.
After all, nothing good came out of trivial matters. At his stillness, you grabbed his right hand, trembling fingers curling around the shaft of his wrist as you brought it up to your face, pressing the barrel of his gun to your forehead. It felt icy against your feverish skin, like the kiss of a grim reaper.
Ever so slightly, Chrollo’s brows rose in shock, breath hitching at your brazenness. “Did you ever love me?” A broken whisper spoken into the crimson-lit night, so dainty, so weak yet it pierced his heart without a second thought. It left a gaping hole, as ugly as sin, and no amount of repentance could heal.
Love. How would one define love? Was it the act of sacrificing someone dear to oneself? Chrollo didn’t know. But more importantly, how did you define love?
“Did you?”
Digging deeper into the subject would only lead to the grave of his heart but Chrollo couldn’t care less, it was already six feet under since the day he sought revenge for his friend.
With a heavy sigh, your eyes finally softened, “Of course. I still do.” You felt his hand twitch in your hold, as if he briefly tried to pull the gun away.
Glimmering like the first starlight were tears staining your cheeks, one by one they fell down as a surge of emotions drowned your body; your brows were furrowed yet your eyes looked at Chrollo like he held the cosmos in his hands.
Is this what was meant when they said love and anger were painted in the same shade of red?
In his line of work, Chrollo has never seen anything as haunting as your gaze. It was natural for his targets to look up at him in complete horror, tears welled up in their eyes as they begged him to spare their lives but you—your eyes were full of nothing but love, and adoration despite his gun pointed at you. That look alone was enough to torment his coming days.
“Do you, Chrollo? Do you love me?” His chest tightened at the hopeful glint in your eye. Nothing good ever came out of trivial matters because at the end of the day, Chrollo was nothing but a man chained to his sinful revenge—blindly devoted to the hatred planted in his heart, and it came with a great price.
A sudden wave of red washed over his body, resulting in an ear splitting bang that resounded within the church’s bricked walls. Chrollo flinched at the sound—he’s never done that before—followed by a heavy thud against the marbled floors. It took the assassin one, two, three seconds to register the situation, the violent sensation of the gun’s recoil still fresh on his trembling hand.
The faint scent of iron hung in the air.
Chrollo looked down at the grisly sight before him, gun in his hand weighing heavy before it finally slipped from his absent grip. The weapon fell beside his right foot.
For the first time, Chrollo Lucilfer—the bringer of death—weeped, and mourned the demise of his target. He wailed into the darkness as warm crimson slowly pooled around your head, it resembled a faux halo, a tainted fallen angel.
Broken sobs, and ugly cries filled the damp building—this was the first in a long time that he had heard the sounds of his own grief. Guilt, and sorrow consumed Chrollo the same way the shadows of the night did but no amount of tears would bring you back to life, no amount of whispered I love you’s would reciprocate his words, no amount of cracks in his heart would turn back time.
You were dead, and it was all because of the man you loved so blindly. ‘Til your dying breath, you were shielded from the secrets of his true identity, and feelings, ones he swore he would take to the very grave he dug.
Chrollo fell to his knees, his fingers dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood. The vile pungence of your blood suffocated his senses, despite something so familiar to him, Chrollo heaved and curled over himself, quivering like an autumn leaf in the wind—he looked pathetic; hot tears and snot covered his reddened face as he cried out into darkness.
Every bit of air left his lungs and each breath felt like a chase he couldn’t win. Truth be told, he didn’t have the courage to reach out to your body, no, he didn’t feel like he deserved to do so.
To taint you more than he already had. So, Chrollo didn’t, instead, he weeped until the moon decorated the obsidian skies, until his tears tried, until your body ran cold, and every bit of colour you wore was gone. 
And when the assassin finally pieced himself together, he did three things.
One, let Ciaran Driscoll know that the job had been done using a burner phone.
Two, with the same device, Chrollo called the police, brazenly letting them know he murdered someone, and the exact location of the crime scene.
Three, he covered your car in flames, and fed the burner phone into it; he watched as bright hues of oranges and yellows devoured the vehicle before doing what he did best: disappearing into the night, and becoming one with the shadows to never be found again.
The night before, he had quietly handed in his resignation to Lukas who gave him an appreciative pat on the back, the old timer parted with words that Chrollo knew would remain ingrained in his mind, ‘I’m quite sure the young miss appreciated your service. Thank you for taking care of her.’ 
His heart shouldn’t have clenched at that but it did, and painfully so.
The coming days blended into nights with Chrollo sitting inside his hideout—a dingy, rundown motel with paper thin walls that housed interesting individuals. Completely unaware of the time, his only company was the ticking ivory wall clock above the cramped dining space.
The hefty payment from Ciaran lay untouched on the bed, concealed within a briefcase. He didn’t eat nor drink, not even having the energy to step outside for occasional sunlight, and every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the look you gave him during your final moments, he remembered the metallic tang in the air.
The old chunky television situated atop a rusty console table was what kept Chrollo’s sanity intact.
Day to night, it blasted morning, afternoon, and evening news—to the point of fellow motel goers knocking at his door to complain about the noise—just to keep up with information about you. As much as Chrollo yearned to bask in the memory of you, seeing your face plastered on television followed by a variety of words such as ‘rest in peace’, ‘murdered’, ‘assassinated’, and ‘dead’ didn’t help his mind at all.
At least what kept him entertained were the updates on potential suspects that may be tied to the crime scene; the murder weapon was an unregistered gun loaded with an unregistered bullet, and the footprints left at the scene had no unique tread.
So at best, there were no concrete leads in the case.
Not that it mattered to Chrollo.
Atop the cheap wooden table on which he sat were two things, the murder weapon and a singular stem of a white chrysanthemum. The one you had given him from your bouquet. Chrollo let the flower sit there for days on end until its ivory petals shrivelled into a brown hue—its sweet aroma turning pungent.
Until it withered. 
Until the scent of death choked him the same way his cries did that night—a mockery of what was lost, of what he willingly destroyed.
One month. It took Chrollo a month to finally step into the day, and out of the drab motel room. Brightness engulfed his vision, the sun’s afternoon rays shone as brightly as ever, enveloping him in a warm, gentle hug as if to welcome him back to reality.
He was certain he didn’t deserve kindness from this world, not even the permission to step foot in the very earth that held your body dearly in its grasp as though you were its prized possession.
Oddly enough, Chrollo found himself standing before a familiar flower boutique. With his gaze locked onto the floor-to-ceiling windows, he looked around the inside, as if doing so was going to have you magically pop out of nowhere, and buy a dozen of white chrysanthemums like before.
But you didn’t.
Pulled from his thoughts, a recognizable voice filled his ears, it was the owner, “Are you here to buy flowers for a lover, perhaps? I can recommend a few—” She stopped halfway through her sentence, realising the familiar face that stood before her. Chrollo watched as her face morphed into a sad smile, the cheery glint in her eyes disappearing beneath the thickness of her lashes,
“If I’m not mistaken, you’re her bodyguard, right?” He inhaled a sharp breath at the mention of you, heart violently thumping against the confines of his chest. Chrollo could only nod, anything more than that would have him breaking.
The old lady reached out her plump hand, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “I’m so sorry for your loss. She was lovely—”
Don’t say that. Don’t say it to me like I’m not the cause of her death. Don’t say it to me like I should be mourning for someone who died by my hands.
Chrollo gritted his teeth, jaw clenching at the sympathy thrown his way. He felt sick and disgusted with himself—as if he were a vile being trapped beneath human skin. All of a sudden the sun rays that gently enveloped his body didn’t feel like a warm hug anymore, sharp, hot prickles spread throughout his clothed skin, leaving a painful itch.
“—and the only customer who bought chrysanthemums frequently. Others usually bought the flowers once or twice for funerals and death anniversaries; she was the only one who truly saw chrysanthemums in a different light.”
A symbol of devoted love and loyalty, that’s how you saw them.
How ironic that the flowers you once adored would be laid upon your grave, holding a completely different message; mourning and grief. That didn’t sit well with Chrollo, you loved white chrysanthemums but not for that reason.
“Apologies, I ramble too much.” The owner let out a polite chuckle before continuing. “Well, can I at least interest you in some flowers? What would it be for you?”
“Can I get a dozen of those?” Chrollo pointed at the lively bunch soaked in water, situated just beside the boutique’s entrance. Following his finger, she looked behind her and smiled, “Right away.”
Its petals resembled rays of the first sunshine, the golden hue it wore promised eternal warmth even after death.
As day turned into night with the crescent moon high above the obsidian skies, Chrollo made his way to your perpetual resting place—it didn’t take much effort to do some digging around to find out where your body had been buried.
The chilly wind howled as it danced with the dark, trees and leaves swaying to accompany it with a silent song. He walked down the moonlit path of the cemetery, land that outstretched before him was decorated with tombstones, and in his left hand was the bouquet he bought earlier.
Moonlight shone over your grave as if the moon herself knew the secrets shared between you and Chrollo on cloudless nights. Bouquets of white chrysanthemums decorated the space around your grave, candles that were once lit rested atop the marbled tombstone that housed your full name.
Oddly enough, this felt like déjà vu. Maybe it was due to the fact that you and Chrollo rendezvoused in your room the same way he visited your grave—under a lonely moonlit night where soft whispers, and beating hearts were heard.
Bending down, Chrollo lightly caressed your carved name, cleaning out stray pieces of grass and dirt blown by the wind. He gently placed the bouquet amongst the sea of white, its colourful hue greedily taking all the limelight from the sombre flowers,
“I know these aren’t your favourite but I figured you’d like them too . .” He paused for a moment, foolishly waiting for you to reply.
“. . Yellow chrysanthemums just like the white ones but—” Who was he kidding? Chrollo felt stupid. Talking to your grave as if you were alive—as if he wasn’t the one who brought you to your demise.
The audacity he had.
Truth be told, every fibre inside his body screamed at him to turn back, and never show his disgusting self but Chrollo was as greedy as the darkness that drank the moonlight each night.
He envied the ground like sin, how held you in its arms, cradling your rotting body in its eternal embrace. It should be him. Now, he’d have to remember you longer than he had known you.
Instead, Chrollo was six feet above—alive; tied to, and haunted by the shackles of foolish regret. The memory of that night replayed in his mind over and over again like a cursed broken record, the disgusting thump as your lifeless body hit the floor, blood pooling around your head.
Most nights he’d find himself calling your name in his sleep—he always dreamt of the same dream: you, running away from him in a field of flowers, no matter how hard he worked his legs, he never seemed to reach your body. 
Chrollo sat before your grave and sobbed, letting creatures of the night feel his vulnerability; as the wind howled, the breeze carried the sounds of his cries to the trees, where it promised him to keep it a secret—a story only reserved for the dead.
Hot tears rolled down his frost-bitten cheeks, pooling on the tip of his chin before it fell on the damp grass beneath.
In antique texts, yellow chrysanthemums represented one’s heart left to desolation. Neglected love. It was only befitting for he has killed the very person who grew to love his blood-stained soul because in the end, he was nothing but a man only adept at destroying.
He let out shaky exhale, and whispered into the night the answer you sought, 
“I love you.”
—
affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !
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signanothername ¡ 2 days ago
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firstly: AAA YOUR ART AND COMICS AND STUFF ARE SO AMAZING!!!!
secondly: do you have any advice on how to come up with comics and then get them out of your head and onto paper?
BZHXHXHD THANK YOU SM!!!
And ooh that’s a good question
I usually come up with comics in one of two ways, either seeing something (whether another artwork, a text, something irl, etc) that inspires an idea for a comic, or via artworks I made that I expand on
Other times, it can actually be both
For example, the “A little life update” comic was actually inspired by this beautiful artwork, I saw it, and I immediately thought of Killer, idk something something about the despair of being stuck between a rock and a hard place etcetera etcetera (yes the comic that shows Killer to be in such a better place in life and show the hope he has, was inspired by crushing despair in actuality)
It made me wanna do something with Killer trying to call someone on a public phone, and so the first page came to be
Here’s the twist tho, I originally was gonna just make it into an artwork (yes, one single decision could’ve meant that comic wouldn’t have ever been made)
But a lil habit of mine is ask myself a shit ton of questions when it comes to my own artworks (it actually helps me turn what’s supposed to be artworks into comics), and that’s another way of how you can come up with comics, ask yourself questions, why is the character doing this? What are they doing? What if character did this? Etc
so I saw what was originally gonna be an artwork, and asked myself, who would Killer be calling if he ever did and why?
And the answer to those two questions that made sense to me most was Nightmare, but that led me to two more questions, when would Killer be calling Nightmare and for what?
And that led me to have a basic idea of how I wanted the comic to go
So it was basically like
Who would Killer be calling? Nightmare
Why would Killer be calling Nightmare if he ever did? That actually had different answers, to taunt him, to inform him of something, cause he misses Nightmare in his own fucked up way, etc
When would Killer be calling Nightmare? After he’s saved, or while still under him? After he’s saved makes more sense
What would Killer call Nightmare for? To give him an update about his life with Color
How would Killer be calling Nightmare? Through a public phone
Where would Killer be calling from? Somewhere in an AU in the surface
These six questions, what, why, when, who, where, how, are important to think of, they give you a basis to work on when it comes to comics in general
You don’t need to have a very clear answer to each of them to be able to work on a comic, but if you can at least answer 3 of them, that would give you enough information to work with in a comic
Now that I have a tiny bit of a clear idea about what I wanted to do (it doesn’t have to be perfect or completely concise) let’s talk about how you take these ideas out of your head and into paper
You can do that by imagining the dialogue in your head and then immediately putting it into paper, as I mentioned here, I actually struggle a lot with dialogue, art? No problem, I can easily imagine the art, but dialogue? It’s hell (please take the time to read the linked post, I talk in depth about how I handle dialogue)
That’s why you shouldn’t worry about perfection at this stage, just put every little piece of dialogue you imagine into paper, even if it feels like it makes no sense or is out of character, that’s something you can worry about later
Put in the dialogue, every little bit of it, and draw the panels that feels right for the dialogue
Here’s a little bit of example about what I mean when I say put the dialogue in then draw panels that make sense for it
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This is a comic I plan on making, I actually drew that first panel as a stand alone artwork, then that inspired the dialogue, I wrote the dialogue down immediately, it’s a rough version of it, maybe I’ll keep it the same, maybe I’ll change it up as I work through the comic, but so far, I’m drawing the panels based on the dialogue so far, see what I mean by write the dialogue down? It helps IMMENSELY
It doesn’t have to be perfect and it certainly doesn’t have to be the final version, but writing it down will help you imagine the art that comes with it
Does that mean you can never start with the art then think of the dialogue? NO
You absolutely can start with the art for the comic first, in fact, sometimes, doing that actually helps you imagine the dialogue better, other times you can’t really think of a dialogue but have a very clear image in your head about certain character interactions, draw that it’s ok, silent comics focusing on character interaction, is a thing that you can do without worrying about dialogue
Now when it comes to the actual making of a comic, first tip is find your own footing when it comes to comic making
Like listen, people are gonna tell you that the correct thing to do is that you have to make thumbnails for the comic before you make the actual comic to make sure the flow is good and you have room for speech bubbles and what not
Here’s the thing, making thumbnails for your comic is a life saver, it’s great, if you can do that go for it! But for a person like me with little to no energy, I can’t do that without losing interest and immediately abandoning my comic, I can’t do that without becoming frustrated and hate art for it
That’s why I say find your footing, if making thumbnails before working on the actual pages works for you go for it! or you can immediately just work on the actual comic itself like I do, it’s all about what you’re comfortable with and what makes more sense to you
That being said, when it comes to the panels themselves, always aim for less panels and more pages than the other way around
Sometimes, emphasis on certain emotions or aspects of the comic can only be done with fewer panels
That’s why my own comics would sometimes have pages that are either one or two panels max
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The less panels you have in a page, the more concise, clear, and easy to follow your comic is, one of the biggest mistakes I made as a beginner artist, is that I focused on cramping the story in as few pages as possible rather than focus on the clarity of the comic
Here’s an example
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Good luck reading that dggxgdgdh
This is a very old comic I made back in 2018? 2019?, I wanted the comic to be one page so bad I cramped everything into it without thinking about the fact people are gonna have a very hard time reading it, like this easily could’ve been 3-5 pages but old me couldn’t imagine doing that many pages (if she could see me now with 15 pages comics dhhdhdg) not only that, but the panels’ arrangement makes 0 sense
So when you make your panels there are 2 things to keep in mind:
1- less panels and more pages = clear easy to follow comic, as well as a better emotional impact
2- panel arrangement has to make sense and should be easy to follow, you can make sure it’s easy to follow by reading your own comic over and over as you’re making it, if you find difficulty following the dialogue or art, then it’s best to refine, change or edit your panel or dialogue arrangement
Another thing to keep in mind when making the comic is the flow, the best way to go about making sure that the flow makes sense is by thinking of the comic as you would an animation, how did the character go from point A to point B?
For example this page
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Killer clearly has a bit of a distance from Nightmare in the second panel, so how did Killer go from being at a distance (point A), to right in front of Nightmare in the last panel (point B)? That’s what the two panels in between the these two points are for, is to show you that 1- Nightmare is using his tentacle, and 2- that tentacle wrapped around Killer’s arm, the rest would easily be filled in by your brain that Nightmare basically pulled him closer
Now for the ending of a comic, not every comic has to have a clear ending where it marks the end of a story, but rather, you can go for whatever satisfies you as an ending, or keep an ending ambiguous or open, to expand on a comic later
I say that the perfect ending for a comic is what gets the point of a comic across, if the point is made, then it’s a good panel to end the comic with
Don’t be afraid to scarp any page or panels if they make the comic awkward or if they don’t make sense or if it seems out of character don’t hesitate to change, edit or completely delete it
An example is the “choice” comic, it actually originally was 4 pages, I just decided to scrap the last page cause of two reasons
1- it added nothing to the comic
2- it was out of character for Stage 2 Killer
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My last advice is don’t force the process, sometimes, the best way to go about making comics is to make them on your own time and slowly, sometimes, you get stuck with certain things in the comic, other times, you need a bit to figure out how to proceed with the comic, completely normal in the process, that’s why it’s important to work on comics in a way that suits you, but you can’t find what suits you without trial and error, so go and test the waters, you can never learn until you practice it yourself
Good luck, hope this helps, lemme know if you need more clarification or help, i’d be happy to help where I can <333
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icarusredwings ¡ 22 hours ago
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Thinking about Wade is having a stay-in date night with Ness, and this means the kitchen light is traded for a colored one, candles, half burnt pasta, cheap wine, and Careless Whisper blasting throughout the appartment complex.
He starts off with some cringy dance while V is up on the counter, rolling her eyes and smiling, but she can't help but feel like there was something different about Wade. Yeah, she knew this dance. She knew the routine of his 'serenade' and his littlw two step slow dance he had going on, making backup sound effects for Mr. George Micheal and eventually grabs the pasta spoon, singing into it.
This is not new, but.. something was. She couldn't put her finger on it but she knew her boyfriend. She knew him well enough to become engaged to him, break up with him, and start dating again.
It was like he was glowing.
But why?
"Tonight the music seems so loud! I wish that we could lose this crowd-" His non existsnt eyebrows wiggle, and Vanessa can't help but to almost spit out her wine.
"Maybe it's better this way, We'd hurt each other with the things we want to say!" He shouts into the pasta sauce covered spoon, leaning into her a bit as she rolls her eyes again, looking up at the ceiling. She knew what Wade wanted. He wanted to "earn" her with his performance.
God.. he really is her peacock, wasn't he?
"We could have been so good together! We could have lived this dance forever!" Taking her arm, He pulls her waist closer to him, connecting their foreheads with those pretty heart eyes of his beaming into hers with such love struck gleam.
"But now who's gonna dance with me? Please staaaayy~" He sings loudly, letting her go enough for V to notice that Logan is now staring too, the same lop sided love struck small smile on his face.
"And I'm never gonna dance again- Guilty feet have got no rhythm!!" He says, dropping onto his knees and arching his back, using her hand to keep his balance.
"You didn't have any to begin with!"
She hears, looking up to see Logan smirking as Wade jumps to his feet. "ExcUSE me!? My bad, not everything is a waltz, old man! Like seriously, when's the last time you could do anything but a simple one two three? Lincoln's wedding!?" He calls over the counter and Logan grunts, his joints popping as he gets off the couch.
Wades eyes widden with dangerous excitment as he turns to her. "Oh now, im in for it!"
"Damn right. I can do more then Waltz, you know."
"Oh, yeah!? Like what? Square dance?!"
"Whats wrong with square dancing!?"
Then it clicked.
Him.
That's what was different about Wade.
Logan had changed him. Unconsiously, for the better. He was so... Happy. He was like a missing puzzle piece to complete Wades purpose of being, mirroring what Wade needed, even if that meant insulting his dancing skills mid date.
Grinning widely like a moron with a crush, he changes the song- Wade was serious. He would never dance with anyone else except V to that song ever again- Pushing next on their shuffle only for Madonna to come on.
Squealing, he waves his hands, shoving the pasta spoon back into the pot then took Logan's hands. "Can you swing?"
"S-swing?- Woah!! Hey!"
"You wanted to dance so were dancing!"
"I didn't say that!"
As she listens to them bicker, she laughs as she watches Logan awkwardly step on Wade's foot multiple times.
"Ouch!! Hey! I'm regenerative, not indestructible! You're like 400 pounds!!" He teases, and the blush on Logan's face is something she wants to take a picture of, watching as he tries to teach Wade how to 'properly dance', spinning him around, holding his wasit and dipping him at certian parts.
"Ahh!! Don't drop me!!"
"I'm not going to drop you, Stop screaming!"
"Ness!! He's gonna drop me!"
She giggles, giving Logan a playful finger wag. "Hey do you mind? He needs all the braincells he can keep!"
"Yeah! Cancer already ate half of them!"
"Oh, sssuurree, just the cancer, definitely not how many times youve made me shove my-"
"Lo-Lo!!! Not in front of Nessy!!" He whines, being spun again.
"Oh shut up, i'm not going to embarrass you infront of Vanessa-" he turned to her, whispering "I so am"
"I HEARD THAT!"
"What? It's not my fault your game is weak." Logan teases him, giving her a playful nod, putting his hand out for her to take "Ma'am."
She laughs, hearing Wade suddenly complain that he wasn't supposed to be stealing his date.
"Maybe she wants to dance with a real man-" Logan coes, gently taking V and spinning her too... Vanessa could see why Wade liked him.. he was quite strong. And a gentleman.
"My gender blindness has NOTHING to do with this!" Wade whined in a high-pitched tantrum like sound, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him instead.
Oh great. And now they were fighting over her.
Gosh... Maybe she has two Peacocks...
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ritualove ¡ 20 hours ago
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Silas couldn't help but smile when Shira teased him about him mentioning cooties, it was like he was at the back of an english class, desperately holding in laughter while the teacher told off the class, it almost certainly gave his light blush a much more darker tone. His smile broke into a laugh when she doubted his judgement of the drink for this exact reason, frankly he was giggling, quite actively. "Well now I didn't admit that I wanted cooties, I admitted I want your cooties." He pointed out to her while she took another drink, completely aware of the possible innuendo, "Completely different things." He got his retribution when he watched her take another drink, as she much more openly reacted to her distate for it. His gentle laugher at this dampened as Shira asked Silas for his help, it was at this point where he realised just how much she was saying his name. He liked hearing her say his name, he liked it a lot. "I would love to help Shira," he said with a smile, taking the glass and having another bit drink, cutting the liquid inside the cup to half. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," he said smirking, there has been countless times he has sworn to make his own drinks less strong, only to ignore the measurements for his very next drink.
Silas appreciated Shira listening to him talk about his life. He's never had anyone actively turn him away when he reached out to talk about his childhood, at least not in recent memory, but he still didn't like to talk about it for his own reasons. To Silas' knowlege, Shira was giving him her full attention, and that meant a lot to him, to actually have someone listen for the rare occasion he decided to open up. He repayed her by listening to her talk about Portland, not that it was hard, he liked listening to her talk. She seemed so passionate about Portland, and she talked about the place in such a philosophical light. Most people would probably consider it pretentious, but Silas absolutely loved it. He loved listening to her talk, actually. He lifted the glass that they shared in her direction, as if inviting a clinking of glasses, "To Portland, if we ever find our way there again." He didn't mean to imply them traveling there together, but as he thought about it it did bring out a smile in him.
Silas didn't notice just how closely he has looking at Shira, he could only notice Shira. There was a moment of silence before Shira started to talk, Silas could probably have heard a pindrop if it weren't for the party still going strong downstairs, or is that his heartbeat? When Shira talked of her nervousness, it brought Silas back to the room they were in, he instinctively adjusted his posture, nothing drastic, just remembering where he was. He had a hint of worry from what she whispered, he would want nothing less than to make her uncomfortable, but after she corrected herself it took a little bit off the stress of his shoulders, but just a bit. "Sorry," he copied her hushed tone, "there's just something about you. A good thing." He hated being so vague, he felt like she deserved more, "You intrigue me." The room around him couldn't help but fade once more as he made eye contact when he talked.
This short moment between them, the whipsering and the feeling of confidentiality, like the intimacy of a confession booth, was a strange feeling to Silas. A feeling he hasn't felt often. "Thank you," he liked knowing she was entertained by him, liked knowing he was good enough. At least for a conversation, "You're not too bad yourself, Shira." Saying her name in a such a hushed tone was even stranger. Like it was more intoxicating than the drink or smoke he's had moments earlier.
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Shira raised a brow as Silas took a sip from her glass, an almost knowing look flitting across her features. A sly grin tugged at her mouth as her gaze lingered for just a second on his lips as he took a drink. She moved a hand to cover the grin, trying to hide the emotions it wore. There was something about the hesitation, like maybe he wasn’t feeling as casual as he was trying to seem; and that fact bemused her. “Really?” She teased, clasping a hand over her heart “You’d want my cooties? That’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Shira wasn’t sure who had brought the gin but she was fairly certain it was Seagrams. A fact she wasn’t going to mention to the man sat across from her. “Pretty good, but I don’t know if I can trust your opinion, you just admitted you want cooties.” Pleased with her quip — she giggled, her head tilting to the side and her eyes sparkling with delight before she reached for the glass. She brought it to her lips now to take another drink, a grimace shaking through her once more. Her tongue darted out in dramatic disgust before she thrust it back towards him, a pleading of “I need your help with this please, Silas,” falling from her lips, already abusing her knowledge of his name. She couldn’t help it, she liked to say it “I promise my next pour won’t be so heinous.”
Shira leaned her head back against the sill as he spoke, taking in the things he was saying and the things he wasn’t. There was something about the way he spoke, about the way he carried himself, that made Shira want to dig deeper. But she didn’t dare; because she didn’t want to make him frown. Not because she didn’t think he wouldn’t look nice frowning, in fact she was sure he would look just as handsome even if he were frowning, she just didn’t want to be the cause of it. “That’s good,” she said quietly, not pressing him further “I’m sure not a lot of people can say the same.”
Humming at his question, she took a moment to think about it. “Portland,” she repeated, allowing herself to feel the weight of it on her tongue. Bittersweet. “Yeah, I guess I carry some of that everywhere I go. It’s a city that can stick to you like glue if you allow it to. It’s not flashy or glamorous, but it’s really fuckin’ real. Flesh and blood. Filled with freaks and weirdos. A place where anyone can find somewhere to belong. I think that counts for something.” Her voice started to trail off, not meaning to go off on a tangent. “But anyways,” Shira shrugged, indifferent ���I don’t miss being there. I was feeling too much pressure.” A half-truth, despite the fact that her heart was screaming at her to be honest with him.
Shira caught the intense gaze and a small smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. It wasn’t often that someone looked at her like this; so curiously. At least it wasn’t often for her, anymore. She didn’t say anything at first, letting the moment linger as she wondered about what was happening inside of his head. Her own mind raced, with a million zingers, a million quips. Something like ‘I’m not a Rubik’s cube, you don’t have to try that hard to figure me out’ on the tip of her tongue. But her vocal cords acted before her brain — “You’re making me nervous.” But she didn’t sound nervous. Quite the opposite, actually. Almost as if they were playing a game of chess and she was simply commenting on his strategy. Hushed due to their proximity. Not wanting to give Silas another half truth, she corrected “You make me nervous.” Shira didn’t know why. Maybe it was because she was acutely aware of the fact that he was psychoanalyzing her, or maybe it was the fact that she wanted him to do that. She wanted him to see her.
Her shoulders relaxed and she mirrored his movements, leaning in to listen; as if they were sharing hushed secrets in a loud classroom. Like best friends, like they had known each other long before this party had even started. “I’m very honored,” she said, sweeter this time. Not saccharine, but real. Sugar cane. “and I must confess; you’re doing a fine job so far. Consider me entertained.”
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opens-up-4-nobody ¡ 4 months ago
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...
#im at such a weird point in my life. trying to choose between a phd and a doomed life as an academic and like just not doing that.#its crazy how not terrible i feel when im not in school. just give me tasks to do and i will do them. dont let me think.#but then im just avoiding my responsibilities. i dunno. i just feel like i would be happier with a structured job that ends when the day#is over. which is y my dad thinks i should get a government job. one of my former lab mates got a government job and he's settling into#spending the rest of his life out in Colorado. which is so weird. i dont kno how long ill be in the place im in now. will it b 4 more years?#or will it be only a few months? will i go back to school in the fall? its looking like yes bc i dont have a job lined up. but maybe ill#keep applying and dip out. let my dreams die in favor of balance and sanity. maybe some things arent meant to be.#its just so gutting. i was talking to my coworker this week. saying that im interested in so many things. i could have studied anything else#and traveled a completely different path. and a guy across the room was like: its never too late. but it feels like its too late. too late#to spend another impossible amount of money on getting a different degree. restarting on a second masters project. im almost 30.#im supposed to b saving money so that i can not work forever. but i cant do that if im just a student forever. so maybe i should just get a#job. god. but theres so much i still want to learn. and im in the perfect program for everything i thought i wanted. im in the perfect place#but everything's falling to pieces. whatever. i. just tired bc im on day 5 of work and have to go in for a day 6.#doing something i havent done before all day. but after than im going home for a week. so ill have lots to contemplate in the airport.#this is not how i thought things would turn out. but im glad im spending the summer working where i am. im learning lots on a human to human#level. and no one bleieves im 27 bc i apparently have a bby face lol. nope im 11 yrs older than u my 16yo coworker#unrelated
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emdotcom ¡ 4 months ago
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My brain is so full of Bees about Post-Shift 2.
It's a fan game that was delayed for 4 years -- by the time it released, fnaf fangames as a whole were not as popular as they had been, & most people in the scene had forgotten about Post-Shift 1, so not a lot of people heard about it/played it.
Worse still is the people who did talk about the game. Pretty unanimously, the consensus was this: this game is the craziest, most insane fnaf fangame. It's overly difficult with mechanics that have no rhyme or reason to them & tutorials that are wordy, unhelpful, & sometimes actively mislead the player, meaning you need to comb through a lot of text only to be misinformed. It's not as infamous as some other fangames, but it definitely was talked about very poorly.
In general, I think most of these criticisms were blown up out of proportion, but I can't really disagree with most people's problems -- it is difficult & wordy, & rather hard to understand. I think, however, that the game is still 1. Really fun, 2. Not a bad game at all, &, most importantly, 3. Is a free fucking game that was clearly a passion project. Most damn fangames never get off the fucking ground when made in groups because the creators will never make a red cent off the thing -- this game was made by one dude for 4 years & delivered to people for free. It didn't ask anything of you except to accept it as a difficult game & to not go in with wild expectations. The dev just wanted to make a game that was rough, but he also wanted to make a game that felt unique & was fun. & It is fun, too, is the damn thing.
#em.txt#ps2 post#post-shift 2#i obviously am biased#i also obviously have more to say#but for now i think this is a start. i think this is fine so far.#i got counter arguments i was gonna type about the problems#bc tbh i think the difficulty isn't as big a problem as the difficult curve -- it starts very high for a fangame#bc it assumed you know what they're like. you know how fangames work. but it over assumes that all the mechanics#work at the same frequency as other fangame#the difficulty curve of night 1 is pretty tough place to start which turned a lot of people off#especially with how long & unclear th tutorials are & of course night 1's tutorial starting with a character that is unused in that night#it's rough. night 2 is even tougher. but night 3 is a cakewalk once you beat 2 bc it only adds 2 threats#so you might expect the next night to be as easy or even easier & in my eyes yeah -- night 4 is easier than 1 even#except that it's completely different & is asking the player to learn a new game entirely which is its own difficulty#but i can crank out a night 4 easy peasy no prolem. so you might expect night 5 to be even easier right? WRONG#WRONG WRONG WRRRONNNGG even people who know what they are doing struggle#because a mechanic in the game actively increases the difficulty as the difficulty is increased which is EVIL#& night 6 is even harder i have seen 3 people beat night 6 it is absurd#i sat in a call with another PS2 fan who clearly played thr game s lot & loved it but they could not beat the night normally#& this night has fucking optional difficulty modifiers when you finish that make it harder it is hell on earth#there is no checkpoints it is bad it is so bad I haven't beaten it i talk abt this game every day i play all the nights#i do not fucking play this night bc the way the tutorial works is unreal & unhelpful it wants you to remember#all this shit but it removes the 'walk around & click things before the night starts to see how they work/where they are'#& then it changes every 2 hours to something new so you won 12-2 but you hit 2 & forgot this one person's mechanic#but the only way to read the tutorial again is to close the game bc it automatically puts you back into the night#& will not take you to the home screen to view the booklet for night 6 it's insane#so yeah. there is difficulty. but the difficulty curve being this inconsistent is worse tbh#i get night 6 is meant to be like a 'everyone is here!' bossfight but it's overwhelming & there is too damn much
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cheshirepirouette ¡ 1 year ago
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This is Mari [they/them, he/him] everyone say hiiii
Shared OC between me n @fatewritteninink <3
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that-foul-legacy-lover ¡ 10 months ago
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the MOST terrifying thing is getting a surprise message from someone you genuinely despise
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aureliobooks ¡ 2 years ago
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(listen i know i drop in out of nowhere every three months saying i’m gonna come back because i’m picking a wip up again but i MEAN IT THIS TIME i’m planning to completely rework wayfarer with a new setting and new character designs and i’m gonna try to actually!! write!!! over my month long break from school!!!! and if this is a lie and you see me say this same thing again a month from now everyone point and laugh <3)
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puretopia ¡ 2 years ago
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do you prefer playing with heidi and leo in the sims 4 or sims 3? They’re just so different lol
soo different! it’s true, honestly I will always prefer ts3 for gameplay. I really miss open world lots, I hate leaving the other sims unattended.
Decorating their home/cas I do actually think I prefer ts4, mainly for easy use as it’s faster and more reliable (no crashes!)
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helladventurers ¡ 2 years ago
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Fucking dammit, was having a cool mystery/puzzle dream about investigating a time loop and trying to find what's causing it/stop it eventually (similar to outer wilds)
I had to wake up to take my meds mid dream, did that, MANAGED TO GO BACK TO THE DREAM SOMEHOW AFTER FALLING BACK ASLEEP, but my sleep was super light and the moment i found the solution of the puzzle, i woke up for real because of the noise and couldn't go back to learn the rest of the plot :/ fml
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notebooknonbinary ¡ 2 years ago
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Me when I use a reference photo for drawing and it still turns out shit: *scream, crying, throwing up, tossing my sketchbook out the window.
Me when I use a reference photo for drawing and it turns out well: is this,,,cheating??? Unfair of me?? Or have I been temporarily blessed by art gods???
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nooooooooooooooooooooone ¡ 2 years ago
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mr-ladystardust ¡ 4 months ago
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on one hand I love trains, on the other hand my train was cancelled twice on Tuesday and I hate national rail <33
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