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In the post mentioning flashing horny mantis there was meet and greet. I have a question how other monsters would behave in meet and greet (assuming that they will show up)
(Sorry for my English ;^;)
Also I love your work
POV: Your monster followers meeting you
content: gender neutral reader, mentions of stalking
LizardKing5 vehemently denies his attendance in the chatroom. "What, you think you're some celebrity?" he types, claiming he has better things to do than follow around some pathetic human.
Coincidentally, he's the first monster to greet you, standing tall at the very front of the queue.
"Whatever," he'll mumble, pulling out his merch and shaking your hand with feigned indifference. "I just happened to be in the area."
"What were you even doing before this," you ask, raising your eyebrows at the enormous backpack looming behind him.
Is that camping gear?
His clawed, scaly hand quickly ruffles your hair. Mind your damn business.
SharkMan is rather polite and reserved in his mannerisms. Don't misunderstand, he truly is excited to see you again, but he'd rather not add more to your plate. Besides, if we count the milestone event, he's already gotten way more than a handshake from you.
"Are you staying hydrated?" he asks, placing a bag of goodies on your table. "Here's something to eat during your break."
You smile and thank him for the thoughtful gesture. Hard to believe the same monster left you nearly crippled after a night together. You're sitting on the same cushion you needed for weeks after the affair.
DefNotAStalker will show up just to mess with you. He's watched you prepare for the event, he carefully observed you getting dressed; hell, he even ironed your outfit the night before! You swear the shirt had wrinkles last time you checked.
He'll shake your hand with an innocent grin and ask for an autograph. He's picked the perfect photo for it: to the unaware, it looks like a blurry print screen taken during one of your livestreams. In reality, he cheekily snapped it while hanging right above you, off-screen. You sign it with a chuckle.
"Thank you for coming, it was such a tiring week for me," you say, lowering yourself back in your seat.
"I can imagine. I hope the apartment complex will fix it soon."
You nod, distracted, and the monstrous creature slithers away.
Wait, did you ever even mention this to your followers?
Y/NSimp is elated to meet you. He's been carefully planning this for months, constantly daydreaming about the fateful encounter. His bag is filled to the brim with the required equipment: a fat stack of love letters, a marriage certificate, Photoshopped photos of the two of you together, an engagement ring, and a list of potential names for your future children.
He can already see it: he'll hand you the bag and the flowers, and you'll gasp, surprised by his romantic gesture. You never thought someone would care this much. Without hesitation, you jump into his arms, and promptly cancel the rest of the event. You'll be too busy with your husband-to-be.
Unfortunately, he has omitted one vital detail in his elaborate schemes: the correct address of the meet and greet. By the time he reaches the actual location, the doors are closed and the venue empty.
[Monster Streaming Series] | [Meet and Greet Part 1]
#monster streaming#monster followers#monster x reader#monster x human#monster fucker#terato#teratophillia
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hey!!! comms are opening up!! they're on PATREON first, so check them out there if you're a patron (please note that pledging does not GUARANTEE a slot, as my comms are not first come first serve; just gives u a better chance of nabbing one before they get filled).
i'll leave the head start going til about 6PM CET tomorrow, and then remaining slots, if any, will go live publicly! keep an eye out for me to re-reblog this post, or you can sign up to my commission mailing list to get emailed directly when they open.
and a reminder: i am always open outside these private comm slots for commercial work, such as book/album covers, posters, ttrpg work, pngtuber models, etc!! examples below. you can email me directly for commercial/publishing work at [email protected].
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your pedro pascal character placements - based on your astrological chart! 💟
i made this thread a while ago and i put a silly amount of effort into deciding which character should go with which placement, so i thought i’d post some of my reasoning here! *this is just my personal interpretation of astrology+pedro’s characters; one thing i love about astrology is that it’s all subjective! :)*
**i’m working on adding more characters+placements! i made this list a while ago so i have lots of new ones to add :)**
☀️ Sun signs are said to represent your general personality and the archetypes they symbolize are supposed to act as a goal you’re to achieve in your lifetime, or a way to follow your life’s purpose.
♈️Aries sun: Agent Whiskey
people who fall under this sign are bold, energetic, and passionate about virtually everything in their life.
♉️Taurus sun: Frankie Morales
infamous for being stubborn, people with this placement are rooted in themselves and can be drawn to sensual perspectives.
♊️Gemini sun: Javi Gutierrez
if you have this placement, your mind is a whirlwind; you might be called aloof, scatterbrained, or accused of being in your head a lot.
♋️Cancer sun: Javier Pena
this placement bestows a painful amount of empathy in oneself; therefore, one with this placement might be distanced or protective of themselves and those closest to them.
♌️Leo sun: Din Djarin
people who fall under this sign tend to be people-pleasers, which gives way to them being inclined to indulgence and pride, even if they may at first present or argue otherwise.
♍️Virgo sun: Marcus Pike
infamous for being meticulous, people with this placement tend to be tightly wound and potentially shy or nervous because of it.
♎️Libra sun: Ezra, Joel Miller
if you have this placement, you might fare very well in new situations because of your friendly demeanor. you could be indecisive, but that is often cured by your adaptability.
♏️Scorpio sun: Pero Tovar
this placement makes for confident, intense people who are enshrouded in a quiet, unsuspecting shell. they could give off "doberman" energy.
♐️Sagittarius sun: Max Phillips
so you know i'm an optimist! people with this placement are likely honest to a fault, yet indulge in escapism quite often. you might fall victim to seeing the world through rose-colored glasses.
♑️Capricorn sun: Dave York
people with this placement are one word: driven. this could lead them to being materialistic or standoffish.
♒️Aquarius sun: Maxwell Lord
people with this placement have either never heard the story about the cat being killed by its curiosity or chose to ignore it. they're likely to be intellectual and innovative.
♓️Pisces sun: Oberyn Martell
people who fall under this sign could be considered an amalgamation of all the signs that came before it. they have a knack for empathy and could live in their dreams a lot.
🌙 Moon signs are meant to illustrate your inner monologue, or your emotional reasoning. They heavily impact your personal relationships.
♈️Aries moon: Javier Pena
people with this placement are very direct, but run the risk of becoming argumentative or losing their patience quickly.
♉️Taurus moon: Javi Gutierrez
if you have this placement, you might have a hard time standing up for yourself. you have burdensome emotional depth, but you're conservative about expressing it.
♊️Gemini moon: Max Phillips
if you have this placement, you might feel restless in your own mind and turn to others to express it, making you have a magnetic way with words. you could become shallow when agitated.
♋️Cancer moon: Marcus Pike
people with this placement are empathetic to a fault, which makes them endearingly fragile. you could dwell on things often, unintentionally hurting yourself even more than what something's worth.
♌️Leo moon: Dave York
this placement is very prideful; you might enjoy having a position of control, stealing people's hearts, or being admired or revered. however, you might take things to heart too easily.
♍️Virgo moon: Frankie Morales, Joel Miller
people with this placement tend to be labeled as the "mom" friend; they're reliable, responsible, and like for things to play out simply.
♎️Libra moon: Maxwell Lord
i hate to break it to you if you have this placement (i have it too, so i'm calling myself out just as much as you): you're petty. you could be a natural flirt, yet run the risk of depending on the approval of others if you're not careful.
♏️Scorpio moon: Ezra
people with this placement enjoy starting old things anew. they're have a suspicious feeling ingrained in their minds that just won't go away, so they enjoy transparency in relationships.
♐️Sagittarius moon: Agent Whiskey
if you have this placement, you could enjoy competing with yourself a lot (or think of yourself as your own worst enemy). you could have a tendency to make reckless decisions with cheerful intentions.
♑️Capricorn moon: Din Djarin
although people with this placement can be very guarded, they have a juxtaposing need for validation from others often. therefore, they're calculating when it comes to who they devote their time and energy to.
♒️Aquarius moon: Oberyn Martell
if "not like the other girls" was a placement, it'd be this one. people with this placement tend to take on an observant role rather than an active one, so they are often self-serving, independent, and philosophical.
♓️Pisces moon: Pero Tovar
people with this placement are observant, but instead of being independent like the Aquarius moon placement, they can fall for people's tricks more easily. they have instinctual feelings about people, but their sympathetic tendencies win over, rendering them gullible.
⬆️ Rising signs, also called ascendant signs, are supposed to indicate how other people perceive you or how you present yourself to others. It’s not uncommon for someone to mistake your rising sign for your sun sign because rising signs are sort of like first impressions.
♈️Aries rising: Dave York
if you have this placement, people might think that you move through life at a fast pace, independently, and are quick to jump to action.
♉️Taurus rising: Marcus Pike
people perceive others with this placement as stoic and sensual, often with a calming presence. you might have a sort of comforting, "lived-in" quality to you.
♊️Gemini rising: Maxwell Lord
people with this placement are likely to be thought of as socially exploratory, expressive and analytical; like a firecracker or a party-starter.
♋️Cancer rising: Javi Gutierrez
if you have this placement, you might appear like a wallflower to others. but, your perceived sensitivity makes people feel safe to put their stake in your dependable character.
♌️Leo rising: Ezra
you know those people who command the attention of a room without even trying? they just might have this placement. even though it comes naturally to them, others might think these people to be ostentatious or dramatic.
♍️Virgo rising: Din Djarin
people with this placement are revered for having a reserved character yet are ready to help at a moment's notice. they're not valiantly selfless, though; they're equally receptive to their own needs.
♎️Libra rising: Frankie Morales
people who are sly like a fox — provocative and might be accused more than once of operating under a facade — are likely to have this placement.
♏️Scorpio rising: Javier Pena
if you have this placement, people might think of you as intimidating because of your perceived x-ray vision. but they can see through you, too, to your vulnerability that you try so hard to privatize.
♐️Sagittarius rising: Oberyn Martell
optimistic to an annoying degree, talkative, a go-getter; all phrases used to describe how people with this placement come off to others.
♑️Capricorn rising: Pero Tovar, Joel Miller
people with this placement are often thought of to be responsible and hard-working, contrasted with a deadpan or dry sense of humor that cuts through their tenseness.
♒️Aquarius rising: Max Phillips
if you have this placement, people are likely to perceive you as a unique, educated, flexible, and quirky individual that gatekeeps only the very best parts of themselves.
♓️Pisces rising: Agent Whiskey
people with this placement are received by others as chameleonic. you have a capacity to be emotionally receptive, theoretical, and understand the subjectivity of different perspectives.
#pedro pascal characters#astrology fun#astrological placements#agent whiskey#frankie morales#max phillips#marcus pike#javi gutierrez#javier peña#oberyn martell#maxwell lord#din djarin#pero tovar#ezra (prospect)#dave york#sun sign#moon sign#rising sign#aries#taurus#gemini#cancer#leo#virgo#libra#scorpio#sagittarius#capricorn#aquarius#pisces
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𝙈𝙔 𝘽𝘼𝘽𝙔 𝙒𝘼𝙎 𝘾𝙍𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂?!
Desc: Gojo coming home to you crying, how does he comfort you?
Warnings: none, just fluffff!!
Anon requested💙
He comes home from a long long day sighing while opening the door but he's very excited to see you, his heart is beating fast and he feels ecstatic from within.
"Hey babyyy" He calls out and looks around for you. Bedroom? Not there, living room? Not there, kitchen? Absent. He gets tired and turns to go to the bathroom and sees you coming out- and you're... Crying? 𝘞𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨
Hmm he doesn't comment on it just pulls out his arms and you sit on his lap he's patting your head and kissing your forehead occasionally.
After some time he asks "why was my baby crying hm? "
"I wasn't"
"Don't lie to me sweets, you signed up for 'telling my strongest boyfriend everything clause for dating satoru gojo'"
"You're so silly" You push his cheeks together with your fingers and his lips form the cutest pout
"Shoo tell me shweetie" He says through your hold.
"My friends went out without me and they forgot I was on their close friends list on Instagram"
He becomes silent for a while and speaks out after "they're shitty friends, how can they leave out my cutie out of their little trip, well all is good because nowww you can spend more time with your handsome boyfriend"
"Who said you're handsome?" You chuckle
He gasps like you hurt him really bad and pretends like he was shot in the heart "owwwww that hurtttt, but I'll forgive you, you can't convince me I'm not drop dead gorgeo-"
You kiss him to shut him up "yes yes I agree you're gorgeous and breath taking"
You snuggle up on him and think how you're so lucky that you have him because even if he isn't perfect at this stuff he really tries for you.
#gojo satoru fluff#gojo fluff#gojo saturo#jjk fluff#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojo x you#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru#anime fluff#anime fanfic#anime drabble#gojo#gojo fluffy fic
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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 ><
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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The soda jar predated me, so I gave it a wide berth, and didn't bring it up often. It was big and plastic, and had once contained cheese puffs, so more of a barrel than a jar. It said "SODA" in big block letters that had been shaded in. I didn't ask about it. Besides, I had switched over to only drinking water years ago, with a few rare exceptions, and game night wasn't one of them, at least not at first.
Whenever someone wanted a soda, they would grab it from the fridge, and then they would put money into the soda jar. There was a little sign below the big "SODA" on it, and I tried not to look too interested, because it would be weird to go to a friend's house and say "hey, what the hell is this".
But by the fourth night I was feeling like I belonged there, so I read the fine print. It was a list of sodas and how much each of them cost.
"You want a soda?" asked Roger.
"Uh," I said. "No, I have water."
"You want soda, just grab it from the fridge, prices are on the jar," he said.
I had a sense that this was a Social Encounter, and that I was on the verge of failing it, but I had to know, so I asked.
"Why?"
Roger turned to look at me, then he frown at the jar. "Just ... you know. Keep things fair?"
I nodded a bit. "But I mean ..."
"Yeah?" he asked.
"No, it's just," I said. "Like, how much does a soda cost?"
"It's on the jar," said Roger, pointing at the jar.
"Right," I said. "But we're all adults, we all have jobs, the cost is like ... a rounding error, right?"
Roger shrugged. "It's about being fair."
"Right, right," I said. "It's just ... if someone wants a soda, then they go to the minifridge, and then they have to have money on them, and have to look at the price, and then pay that price into the soda jar, which seems like ..." I held up a hand. "I mean, it's how you do things, I guess."
"Right," said Roger with a frown. "I mean, how would you do it?"
"I would just ... have people bring in soda?" I said. "I would go to Costco and get a big thing of it, and then just ... it's like, how much could it possibly be?"
"It adds up," said Roger.
"Right, but it also adds down, doesn't it," I said.
"What the hell does that mean?" asked Roger. He was frowning at me, and it was hard to tell whether this was good-natured curious frowning or if I was annoying him.
"There's like ... a lot of overhead, a lot of cognitive, social, emotional sort of friction, right?" I asked. "Having things for people to drink is casual hospitality, and if you're doing it this way, then you have to update the pricing sheet, and you have to have everyone be thinking about things, and ... I just think in the scheme of things it's just ... I don't mean to offend you by way of criticizing this system."
"People should pay their fair share," said Roger, like he was stuck in a loop, or like he was an NPC repeating his dialogue.
"I am suggesting a communist regime wherein we do not worry too much about that and, because the costs are nominal compared to wages, we do not track or worry about prices," I said. "I mean, I don't want to assume that other people are like ... comfortably wealthy, but if anyone is worried about a few dollars for soda, then yeah, I'll just pay their way and we don't need to talk about it or acknowledge it."
"You're offering to pay for the whole group?" asked Roger.
I considered that. "I'm saying that I would bring in a big cube of it and then someone else could bring in a big cube next time."
"Some kind of rotating schedule?" asked Roger. "Like, a roster of whose turn it is?"
"No," I said. "No, the whole point is ... I mean the point is that we shouldn't need a system, we're adults, soda is, in addition to being super bad for you, very cheap, and we shouldn't care about having any kind of system, we should just have faith that it'll work itself out."
"Okay," said Roger. "But like ... what if it doesn't? I buy soda, people drink all the soda, then no one gets more, so I get more, and people drink it, and then there's no soda again."
"I don't know," I said. "We could talk about it like adults?"
"Or we could just have a sign," said Roger.
And then our break was over, and I hated that I let him get the last word, but I also sort of knew that I wasn't going ever quite be comfortable in that group. Maybe Roger had been burned before, maybe he had been burned a lot, but the soda jar suffused the feeling of the whole group, and I could tell that I was never going to get them out of the soda jar mindset.
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LOST IN TRANSLATION
- sim jaeyun / jake one-shot
GENRE: Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Deaf Jake, College Life.
PERM TAG LIST: @run2seob
Jake is a 21 year-old deaf, junior university student, who has trauma from bullying over the fact he can't hear. Y/N is a 20 year-old, freshman university student, who just wants to make friends. She approaches Jake without knowing he's deaf, and he begins to dislike her when she couldn't understand why he was pointing to his ears. Y/N learned through Heeseung that Jake was deaf. Why not learn sign language? Will she be able to befriend Jake or will he dislike her until he graduates?
The alarm in her room, blaring, filling the room with its ever so annoying noises. Y/N's hand slams on the nightstand, searching for the alarm clock desperately, trying to turn it off.
“Just turn off already!” she exclaimed, sitting up and turning it off. A sigh of relief escapes her lips, “Finally…” her voice trails.
“Fuck! I'm late!” She hurries to change her clothes and get to her university, Decelis Academy.
While she was almost always late, she had good grades. Her GPA is what got her accepted. So, learning things felt like a breeze to Y/N.
Arriving to her class, she immediately got scolded by the professor. “Late again, Ms. Seo” Professor Jay remarked, annoyed at the tardiness. But, just glad she made it.
While, Professor Jay seems harsh. He actually is laid back and kind. Always making sure everyone is done with their work, and able to turn it in. The students appreciated it, this allowed them to understand the material better.
“Sorry, Professor Jay…” her voice trailed, “I was up late studying.”
A sigh left the professor's lips, “Sit down, at least you're late with a decent reason.”
A slight smile met her lips, “Thank you, Professor Jay!” she spoke excitedly, walking to her desk chair and taking a seat.
Being a Freshman gave Y/N some advantages, she was able to get off with being tardy, blaming it on ‘studying’ when she already knew the material.
Though, she had some challenges with making friends. They always walk away from her, saying that she was “Too weird.”
It irked Y/N, but she let it go.
After her class ended, she noticed a taller boy in the hallway. Realizing this was a chance to make a friend, she skipped over excitedly and spoke, “Excuse me? Would you like to be friends?”
Silence.
“Ah, ignored again…” she sighed as the boy turned around and jolted in surprise. His jolt made her jump as well, but she was still confused. Why didn't he answer her?
She said the same lines she just spoke, and he tilted his head. Bringing out his phone and typing, before showing her, “I'm deaf.”
Her mouth formed an ‘O’ shape, finally understanding the situation. She still wasn't sure how to communicate with him, and he got annoyed. Huffing and walking away.
Y/N reached her hand out as she frowned. Another chance down the drain.
The night of, she looked up videos to learn sign language. She realized that, to communicate better, she could learn sign language.
Y/N stayed up all night learning sign language. Practicing signs to perfect her understanding.
The next day, she walked up proudly to him and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and was visibly annoyed by her presence. “My name is Y/N, what is yours?” she smiled as she signed to him. His eyes widening in shock, no one having done this for him before.
“Jake.” was all he signed before quickly walking away.
“Jake, huh…” Y/N murmured, turning on her heel and making her way to Heeseung.
“Hey!” her hands clasped his shoulders roughly, making him jolt. “What the hell!” he exclaimed, “I'm doing an assignment, what's up?”
“Do you know who Jake is?”
“Jake? Yeah, he's the deaf student. Keeps to himself.” Heeseung quickly replied.
“Making more friends is hard, Seungie…” she whispered, visibly upset.
“What happened? Wait- Did you try to talk to Jake?”
“Yeah! But I learned sign language after that to fix things, I think that made him hate me more…”
A fit of laughter began as Heeseung couldn't hold it in anymore.
“Hey! It's not funny, asshole!” she hit his back lightly, making sure not to hurt him.
“It kinda is.” Heeseung spoke plainly.
“No!”
“Yeah!” He laughed heartily.
“I'll get Sunoo to talk to him, he knows sign language.”
“You will? Thank you!” she hugged her closest, and only, friend.
“Yeah, yeah. Now let me do my assignment, in peace.”
Y/N nodded and left the room.
Heeseung was able to get Sunoo to convince Jake to talk to Y/N. It was a long process, but they were able to do it.
Jake and Y/N meet up at the park, signing to each other, Y/N made sure to get every sign correct.
Jake noticed her concentration on making sure she was signing correctly. A chuckle left his lips, watching her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“What's so funny?” she signed to him.
“Your eyebrows furrow when you concentrate,” he signed back, “It's kinda funny.”
Y/N pouted, “No fair! I'm trying not to mess up and make you hate me…” she signed and frowned at the end.
Jake's eyes widened, he didn't particularly hate her, he was more weary of her.
“I got bullied for being deaf when I was younger,” he signed, explaining his childhood thoroughly.
At the end, Y/N understood why he was weary. But, he finally knew she wasn't like that.
Christmas came around in a flash, people around campus going home to visit family. Yet, some decided to stay in their dorms. Keeping time to themselves.
Jake texted Y/N that he was going to visit family and came to her dorm room to give her a hug. “Until we meet again!” he signed, making it dramatic as possible. Y/N laughed, “Yeah, yeah, get going drama king!” she signed back, before putting her hands on his back to push him.
He pulled out his phone and texted her, “See you later!”
She looked up from her phone and smiled. Mouthing slowly, “Bye.”
Holidays ended, and Y/N was waiting at the train station for Jake to arrive. She wanted to surprise him when he came back.
As the train came to a stop, the door slowly opened and people from inside came flooding out. Y/N was focused on finding Jake, her eyes searching through the crowd until their eyes met.
Her face lit up as a smile came to her lips. She noticed Jake mouthing, “Can I hug you?”
She gave him a nod as confirmation, and he walked over to her, pushing through the crowd and placing a gentle kiss on her lips.
Y/N's eyes widened as Jake pulled away, “Kiss?” she signed, “I thought it was a hug?”
Jake covered his mouth to laugh, before signing, “I mouthed, ‘’Can I kiss you?”
Y/N shrugged, “Either works!” she signed with a smile. Before giving him a tight hug, pulling away and signing, “Welcome back.”
While flowers take time to blossom fully, so does love. It takes time to learn a language, it takes time for feelings to grow. Love takes time.
#⭒˚。⋆. . . lost in translation#fanfic#kpop#enhypen fic#enhypen#enha#enha x reader#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen fanfic#enhypen imagines#enha imagines#jake imagines#jake x reader#jake sim#enhypen jake#txt#txt fics#txt imagines#le sserafim#sanrio#twice#kpop fanfic#kpop imagines#sim jaeyun#sim jaeyun x reader
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whoopsie!
boyfriend! soap x afab! reader
TW: cheating, violence, hitting with frying pan, being tied up, anger, angst? idk, anger, betrayal, but also kind of happy ending lol,
NO SMUT but mdni probably
theres not really any pronouns for the reader but he calls her bonnie and shes just very girly so i would say she's a girl or afab!
disclaimer this is probably so bad like i just had an idea and here it is also ive never published anything on here so yeah...... erm idek if anyone is even gonna like this might delete this highkey this is probably so corny or something help
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Tongue running over your top teeth, your jaw clenched as you read the messages.
Johnny: I’ll meet you with the money. ;)
Allie: cant wait ! <3
Johnny: I’ll be in the black pickup. Let’s make this quick, can't have her noticing.
Allie: :)
The messages, shared shamelessly between your boyfriend, Johnny, and your best friend, Allie. You seethed with burning anger, hatred, and a sad feeling of betrayal.
How could they do this to you? you had thought to yourself, running over mental images in your mind.
Were you not enough?
Your lip curled in disgust at the laptop screen. Your boyfriend's phone was connected to your shared MacBook, allowing you to see all of the texts between them. Fucking idiot, you thought, scoffing at his stupidity at getting caught.
He would get home very soon. In an hour or so, you knew.
You hopped onto your own phone, blocking your best friend's number, not wanting her to ever be able to reach you again.
And, it's not like you had read any previous messages. These were clearly messages that you weren't meant to find. You had seen enough from these two, you wanted both of them out of your life. To think that you were merely a bridge for their connections? They met through you, and you had only facilitated their abilities to be around each other! They're both fucking traitors, leeches, at best! Oh, God, you had thought. I'm so naïve.
You practically snarled at the thought, a nauseating feeling appearing in your stomach, festering from the years of pent-up emotions buried deep within. Great. Another thing to add to the list of things haunting you.
You plopped down lazily on your loveseat couch, tears welling in your eyes and a familiar feeling of defeat revealing itself to you. A tear slid down your cheek, icyhot, making it's appearance in the darkness of the room. You stared over at the MacBook that was still open, the screen now on standby mode, colorful bubbles bouncing across the screen.
Something dreadful pulled you from your entranced bubble-following, and you jumped up at the sound of his pickup pulling into the driveway of your house. Scurrying over to the kitchen, you grabbed a frying pan out of your cabinet, holding it up in self-defense.
So help me, God, you thought, I'm gonna knock this motherfucker out.
You watched from the darkness of the entryway of your kitchen, stealthily hidden between the wall and your trashcan. You observed the door opening, him throwing his stupid fucking scarf over the ledge in the entryway, happily smiling, only to find the house... dark. He caught sight of the MacBook, and furrowed his eyebrows. "Bonnie... I'm back," he spoke, looking around, as he stepped further into the foyer.
He searched, listened, for any sign of you, but didn't seem to get one.
"My love?"
"You're home early," you said, quickly, as he walked by the entryway of the kitchen, before you swung the frying pan and hit him straight in the head with a whack, forcing him to the floor.
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Once his eyes peeled open, a terrible pounding at his head engulfed him. He tried to move, but he was... tied against something. A chair.
At first, the soldier he was, he believed he was captured for an interrogation, and immediately flooded with panic at the thought of you not being alright. He started to wrestle against the duct tape holding him, desperately looking around.
But he was met with the sight of you. Looking down at him, seemingly... angry?
"Bonnie!" he gasped, looking up at you, relieved to see you okay, before furrowing his eyebrows. "What's- what's thi-" he started.
"Shut your dumb fucking mouth," you hissed, leaning down to his level.
"Allie, huh?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
"My best fucking friend? The person I trusted the most in this world that wasn't you!" you spat, eyes narrowing angrily.
Looking confused, and, a bit terrified to say the least, he peered up at you, his eyes glossing over.
"Bonnie, I really don't-"
You interrupted him again, slamming your finger down on the space bar of the MacBook, waking the screen up to display the text messages between the two of them. Shoving it in his face, your face twisted into an angry frown.
His glistening, blue eyes scanned over the screen of the laptop, taking in what he was reading. He didn't respond, only looking up at you with a sad look in his eyes.
Did you not like surprises, maybe?
"B-but, my love-"
"Mouth shut," you spat, again, shutting the laptop.
"Oh, the glory. The glory of being a soldier, Johnny MacTavish. A sergeant, you are. I bet everyone loves you, like I do, the funny, smiling in everyone's face, laughing and joking, Johnny. I bet your Captain wouldn't approve of you being a lying, conniving, evil fucking traitor!" you yelled, kicking his shin.
"Bonnie, what?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
"How can you act like you don't know what I'm talking about?" you choked, flopping down in a chair next to him.
"It was supposed to be a surprise," he said, quietly, looking hurt and tired.
"Oh?" you asked, perking up, a sarcastic smile on your face.
"A surprise? Boy, am I fucking surprised! Hey, y/n, look, surprise! I'm fucking your best friend, and I'm paying her for it too!" you mimicked.
"What?" he asked, looking confused and horrified.
"Oh, come on!" you replied, angrily.
"Release me from this-" he peered behind himself, observing his wrists tied together at the back of the chair, "from this tape, right now, y/n."
"Not until you admit you've fucked up. Then, once I untie you, you have an hour to get the fuck out of my sight."
"What? N-No!" he hissed, fighting against the duct tape.
"If you think, even for a second, that I want you in my sight after this, you're fucking insane," you declared, inching around behind him, until he couldn't see you anymore.
"Admit it. Admit that you're a liar, and a cheater."
"But M'not," he said, struggling to turn his head and look at you.
"Really tempted to knock you out with this pan again."
"You hit me with a pan? Is that why my head is poundin-"
"ADMIT IT!"
"NO!"
"I'm raising this pan," you whispered, and he watched the shadow of it raise behind him with horrified eyes.
"Bonnie, how much of those messages did you read?" he asked, swallowing thickly.
"Oh, I decided I'd seen enough sexting after the first four messages I'd read," you spat.
With a snap, the tape securing his wrists broke, and he scrambled out of the chair, backing up against the wall away from you. Huffing and puffing, he observed your form- angry, disheveled, almost, hair stringy and draped over you, in your summer frock that you enjoy gardening in. His heart melted a bit at the sight, but it was quickly swallowed by his fear of you rushing at him with the pan.
He caught your arm before you could bring the thing all the way down on him, and snatched it away from you with a grunt. He set the pan down quickly, not wanting to appear any harm to you, and raised his hands.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, unlocking it. He tapped the screen a few times, and set the phone down slowly on the table before looking up at you, eyes glossy.
You approached slowly, arms uncrossing themselves, and leaned down to read the messages, the screen lighting up your tired face in the darkness of the dining room.
Johnny: Hello, is this Allie? This is Johnny, y/n's boyfriend. I was wondering if you'd be able to help me with something. I know you're good with surprises, y/n has told me about your surprise party antics!
Allie: hi! yes, that's me :)) what's on your mind, then?
Johnny: Well, I was planning on proposing to her.
Allie: OHMYGOD!!!! YES! :0
Johnny: Haha. I was thinking the beach as the destination, but I can't find time to go and pick up the ring from the jeweler, so do you think you could grab it for me? I'll pay you back!
Allie: yes, i'll be able to. how much should i bring?
Johnny: $1,450
Allie: no problem! just bring me the cash right after, if you don't mind. then we can discuss the whole party thing
Johnny: Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Read 4:57 p.m.
Your breath hitched as you read through the messages, and you peered up at Johnny, eyes wide with surprise and sadness.
"Oh," you said, quietly, standing there dumb and aimlessly.
Johnny reached into his pocket, pulled out what appeared to be a red velvet box, and set it down on the kitchen table. It was briefly lit up by the phone screen until the screen went dark.
Silence fell upon the both of you. Awkward, guilty, hurt, confused, shocked silence.
"This was supposed to be a surprise," he sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs at the table, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'm- I'm sorry," you said, quietly, avoiding his gaze, guilt plaguing you. I mean, shit, you'd whacked his ass with a frying pan and tied him up. And he wasn't even guilty.
"I forgive you, Bonnie," he shook his head, smiling up at you, before reaching to the side of his head where the radiating pain was coming from.
"Though my brains are probably mush, by now. You got me good. Serves me right, though, I suppose, how I made that look," he huffed, a sad smile on his face as he looked up at you from where he sat.
"I understand if you don't wanna marry me, now," you choke, wiping your eye swiftly to prevent a tear from escaping.
He didn't reply, a solemn sigh escaping him.
"I would've never done this if I had known. I'm sorry I ruined the surprise, I ruined everything, I broke your trust probably-" you started, choking as you began to cry.
You covered your face in shame, hiding away from him, guarding yourself. You sobbed, frantically, realizing that you'd probably just fucked up two of the best relationships ever gifted to you by the heavens above.
Unbeknownst to you, Johnny stood up, and grabbed the velvety box, opening it up. He knelt down to the floor, and, with the sound of his rustling, you uncovered your face, blinking down at him. You let out another sob at the sight.
"Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, y/n?" he asked, quietly, solemnly, but shakily. You could hear the fear in his voice.
"Get up," you huffed out a laugh, softly, before letting another sob out.
"And yes, I'll marry you, even with a dent in your fuckass mohawk from the frying pan."
He stood up happily, and engulfed you in a loving hug, seemingly forgetting about the entire ordeal earlier.
"Hey, my mohawk is not fuckass. Also, that was my favorite frying pan," he huffed, before dipping down to plant a soft, loving kiss on your lips.
#john soap mactavish#soap cod#soap x reader#cod#task force 141#soap mactavish#soap#hes so husband#i have a crush on him#frying pan#lol
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PLAY SOME VOLLEYBALL!
The teams for the volleyball game that will be held on Saturday, August 26th are as follows:
TEAM BARRACUDA
Landon Nor, Benedict Hartman, Joshua Lane, Kenney Warren, Jamie Mariadaga-Evans, Iris Xanthe, Choi Jaesung, Tommy Maddox, Spender Lawrence, Joella Suh, Jason Browning, Jayla Hopkins, Kellan Newman, Elise Quinn, Harley Hua, Rian Rivera, Darrius Powell, Vincent Matthews
TEAM STINGRAY
Izzy Romero, Miranda Hartman, Rafael Bardales, Valentina Diaz, Amina Zaidi, Espie Tamayo, Reyna Delgadillo, Nari Gim, Olivia Hartman, Trey Wright, Corrine Khang, Libby Stewart, Cordelia Browning, Garrick Velour, Chloe Nwokobia, Bryan Lawrence, Emeline Newman
Be at the volleyball net by 3PM EST on Saturday to be sure to get your head in the game! We'll be announcing winners that day, as well!
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Bad: [Trying to lasso Pac for a bungee trick] Oh hey, Pac! Hey, what's going on?
Pac: Hi! Oh, I'm doing just great, how about you guys? Richarlyson told me you guys have something to show– [Gasps] Hi Chayanne! Hi Tallulah!
Bad: Pac, can you stand right here?
[Pac gets distracted by Etoiles and accidentally steps on the elevator]
Richarlyson: tio bad, dad pac is the most precious brazilian, be very careful with your doings
Bad: Oh, ok. [Proceeds to ignore Richas' warning] Hey Pac– stand over here for a second.
#Richarlyson#Pactw#QSMP#Badboyhalo#Etoiles#Mikethelink#Mike#Pac#Bad#BBH#September 4 2023#THE WAY MY HEART JUST *MELTED* INTO A PUDDLE HEARING THIS#You could hear Bad in Pac's POV saying ''dad pac is the most precious brazilian''#and I ZOOMED to open the VOD spreadsheet list to pull up Bad's VOD#This is the sweetest thing ever bro I'm crying 😭😭😭#You're so right Richas Pac IS the most precious Brazilian 😭😭😭#Well Richas and Pac are both precious but in different ways#(They are also both Certified Bastards)#lmao#I love that Bad just totally ignored Richas' warning pftt#but agh do you notice how before Pac can read the signs Richarlyson hurriedly breaks them?#Oh my heart#Edit: Aint no way it took over half a day for this thing to post wtf
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when your friend is writing a fic or analysis it feels like this
#this is a real peak company scene the dynamics all are fermenting wonderfully#that cahir when dandelion yells at him gets up and takes his stuff closer to MILVA#that he just starts listing varieties of writing is so funny. a rhapsody? an epic? a romance? a canzone?#that geralt knows dandelion well enough to know what he's writing#that regis does a pogchamp face because he's so elated about the work#that milva is conspiracy theorist levels paranoid about the writing#also what i find endearing is that i think with regis' comment that half a century is a blink of an eye#is that he intended to. be there. and read the memoir when it was published#to him ig it's like your friend saying they're gonna finish their book in a year and you're like oh yeah cool#regis was marking his calendar to be there at the book signing#if dandelion had a book signing regis would wait in line and when he got to the front dandelion would be like??#regis you dont need to wait in line we're friends i could just give you a signed copy#regis shrugs like he just wanted the experience of waiting in line. truly a michael goodplace type moment#the elbow-high diaries#f: a hansa's a hansa
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wild to me that it takes hours for people in the usa to vote. it's never taken me more than 10 minutes and that's including the inevitable chit chat with the people there because they're either my parents' neighbours or the parents of people i went to school with.
#literally have your voting card and some kind of id ready#if you don't have your voting car then you just have to look up what desk you're supposed to go to usually it's split alphabetically so#for albonium it would be desk 1#get there give id (either my id my passport my social security card my driving license or a hunting permit (💀))))))))#pick up the little papers and an envelop#get in the booth#put the little paper in the envelop#that's if you haven't done it at home already#get out#put it in the box#the person there says “ HAS VOTED”#you sign next to your name#take your id#and fuck off#before your cousin's neighbours' grandma asks how your aunt is doing and if you've heard about the bakery being closed because the baker's#wife cheated on him and now he's got to take care of the kids and aetstdfhgfsgjgthj#you get what i mean#10 minutes tops#even in big cities#also it's always by paper like this if you want you can vote for someone else but you have to file papers at the police station#people empty the boxes and count them all together#if you want you're allowed to stay and watch as they count#or you can ask beforehand to participate in the counting#kids are automatically signed up on the voting lists when they turn 18 if they've done their mandatory 'defense and citizenship" day#ok this one is kind of propaganda-y for the army the cops etc but at the same time it allows to test the entire population to see if they'r#illeterate (there's grammar spelling etc tests)#do some driving rules lessons#cpr training#reminder about blood donations etc#which imo is important
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I'm playing bg3 again and trying out the honor mode (which as it turns out, might be a bad idea if you never beat the game in general, much less beat it in tactician mode) and I have been confronted with the fact that I absolutely have dnd race favoritism and it absolutely is contributing to my need for many many bg3 saves because I constantly think "hmmm I want to try playing as a deep gnome to see if I get special dialog with Barcus Wroot, the Iron hands, and the underdark" before picking Drow for the 4th time.
#simon says#to be fair!!!#for my honor mode run I picked half-elf drow heritage because I liked the male face shapes more#and also because picking a Lolth Sworn drow for the 4th time would be a sign of a problem#if you want to know what option number 2 is for character creation is when I think 'i should pick something other than drow' it's halfling#i love halfling characters I love halflings I love the adorably sweet dialog options you get and I love how the game is in a new camera#like it's so fun talking to small characters and having them just look at you normally but having every large character look down at you#it makes every threat 100 times more threatening#someome threatens you and you're a big ol dark urge dragonborn? yeah okay bud. I got acid breath we'll see who wins here#someone threatens you and you're a fucking tiny little wild mage halfling who just spent the last hour telling Lae'zel to be cordial?#yeah I believe that threat. they could absolutely just pick me up and run off with me right now and the most I could do is accidentally fog#if you wanna know default number 3 if I dont wanna be a drow and halfling is just no cutting it?#dragonborn#in actual dnd I have never played them because there's so many other races I default to (like tiefling which is 4 in this list)#but in bg3 they're just SO fun to make and look so cool#it goes in order of special favorite little cultists > special favorite little combat avoiders > the most fun thing to make and play#and finally tiefling. i don't have much of an explanation besides the fact that tieflings are fun and I love their plot relevance in bg3#but yeah dragonborn is absolutely the most fun to create in character creation and very fun to play#but I gotta choose my special little guys with nothing in common#do I pick a dark elf choosing to leave the cult of lolth to be good? a dark elf who is still Lolth's special little baby girl?#a dark elf with nothing to do with the underdark since their parent left who has lived a surface life and doesn't like cultist association#or do I pick a halfling who's here to be as cordial as possible and find the funniest ways to avoid combat#I was considering having a halfling for my honor mode because I thought romancing Halsin would be fun#but I decided a drow because avoiding the goblin combats without using the tadpole is a HUGE plus#and also because I had used the best halfling hairstyle on my other halfling and I didn't want to just make the same guy twice#anyways I still need to do like every other race and class soon so I can get the fun dialog#but here's the tough truth that funnie pony artist number 32 really loves Drow and Halflings so so so much
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i know this is my pokémon blog but i gotta say it. if you use windows i'm so fucking sorry i don't know how you guys deal with it
#modern windows is one of the most convoluted malicious operating systems i've ever seen in my fucking life#if you need windows for work or video games or something this is your sign from god to dual boot a linux distro on your computer/laptop/etc#and fuck i mean. gaming on linux is already getting a million times better than it was. and if anyone has ever told y'all that#linux was complicated to set up IGNORE THEM!!!! yes there are distros that require some assembly when installing#but there are also SOOOOO MANY that are as easy as windows to just install and start using. EASIER even#and fuck i mean i would even recommend mac over windows at this point even with mac's laundry list of problems#awful. all of it awful i tell you#i have recommendations for easy user-friendly distros. btw. if anyone's curious at all.#AND!!! THE THING ABOUT INSTALLATION!!! you can test out live version of them without ever installing them to see if you like it#if you boot it from a usb stick!!!#SO YOU CAN MAKE SURE YOU'RE COMFORTABLE WITH IT BEFORE EVER INSTALLING IT!!!!#like. head in my hands. haaaaate modern windows SO bad
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no rizz just constantly "jokingly" tell him how fucking hot he is
#it's literally like: 'wah Mizu is soo attractive to me... btw have i ever told you I've always thought he looks kinda like you?'#'you'd look so sexy in that white shirt haha'#which btw it's the kind of stuff I've told him since forever. i '''jokingly''' had a List of Reasons Why You're Sexy lol#(which includes things like 'ive seen you repair a faucet with your bare hands' btw. like woah)#i just?? never realised?? how hard i was crushing?? because i was too obsessed w my former best friend/main crush#another friend of mine told me this is a good sign. i think he's right#still i am panicking over this crush. over liking people in general atm#i want to go to therapy tbh#how did i end up talking therapy?? i was talking about the boy i like??#anyways. thanks to whoever reads this & sorry if I'm oversharing I guess#I just have to retrieve several months of unrealised simping i guess hahaha#personal#cal has a crush and makes it everyone's problem once again
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Hey! I was summoned by the tags you put under my post bc I also very much enjoy discussing ethics. I might make this into its own post so I'll try to not elaborate too much...
I think that I can't just decide for everyone if the difference between doing good for the sake of goodness or in order to save oneself matters, but for me, in most cases, including Dazai's case, it doesn't.
I like to believe that morality is a choice one can decide to make, and I don't think it's fair to take that away from them, regardless on how they might feel on the inside. It's a wonderful thing to act morally because it's your "natural" tendency, but I think people also have the right to do so deliberately, for a reason that they choose, without their choice being minimised. They're two different processes for sure, but if the outcome is good, then the action is a good action, and, if being moral is a choice, then I don't think I have the right to decide that only one intention or emotion that will lead there is good enough.
Also, doing good for your own sake and for the sake of others are mutually exclusive at all. One feeds the other, and if we were to put every person's actions under such scrutiny, we would ultimately run in circles.
So, for people outside the story, I would say that the debate does matter, but for the sake of the people involved, it doesn't, because the outcome is the same, especially since Dazai is so opaque as a character, and what he really feels about the things he does is so hard to read, so at the end of the day all most of them experience is his actions.
[Post this is referring to] Thank you for your elaboration, I loved hearing your opinion on the matter!!! That's close to consequentialism, isn't it? The consequences of one's actions, how much good they produced, are telling of it being morally right or wrong. I don't necessarily agree, but that's definitely a valid way to see it!!! I personally believe one's intentions are the most relevant aspect to take into account when judging whether and action is ethically rightful or not. Note that that is judging the moral of the action itself, and not giving a judgement on the person; people can have a million reasons to act selfishly, and in my very “humans are always inherently good” worldview more often than not it's caused by society rather than an actual preference to not be altruistic. But that doesn't change the fact that even a good action, if it isn't moved by good intentions, won't ever be passable of being morally right to me. Besides, then, wouldn't the other way round work to? Someone well intentioned, who's however incompetent, and ends up with their actions putting more bad in the world– as long as they're acting with a true desire to help others for the sake of it, their actions can't be considered morally wrong for me.
To clarify, with reference to your ask; I don't think people who do something for selfish reasons, and end up doing good, are morally rightful; but if they decide to do good, well, isn't that a well-intentioned aim itself? Then I think they stop being selfish to the extension that they consciously decide they're going to do good. That's not morally reprinandable at all.
Now, regarding Dazai... Honestly, I don't think Dazai is a good person. Because he never meant to do good for the sake of it. But now, the thing is, I don't think anyone in bsd is meant to be interpreted as good or evil– nobody, not Atsushi, not Mori, no one. When it comes to bsd– I do think bsd expresses a more or less nihilist worldview. And I know pretty much everyone else disagrees with me on this, I know, I'm sorry. But I do think there lies an undergoing message that good and bad are ultimately the same, and equally meaningless– it's there in Oda saying “Neither good nor evil mean much to you”, it's there in the way it makes you root for mafiosi like they were the good guys, it's there in the way Dazai never even considered to make amends for the bad things he's done (because they were never bad to begin with, because good and bad mean nothing anyway), it's there in the way it constantly shows good people doing bad and bad people doing good in a way that basically equalises them. To me there's really no point in discussing whether Dazai is good, because he is most evidently not, but that's only because he was never meant to be interpreted as such to begin with. Please refer to this post for further details; it's not surprising at all that Dazai switching over to the “good side” didn't come with a radical change of heart, and that he basically stayed the same, because how could he become good when that's no different than being evil, and those both mean nothing anyway?
And I know most people see bsd's core theme as finding a reason to live, and maybe it is, but even then I think that wouldn't be by denying its nihilism, but rather accepting it and finding a reason to live in spite of it: to me all of bsd really sums up in “that, at least, is a little more beautiful”.
#Average Tumblr user reading this post: Wow Op really doesn't get anything about bsd's message#I know it's an unpopular opinion. I'm sorry. Sometimes it happens and you're fully entitled to think my takes are terrible#osamu dazai#bsd#bsd analysis#mine#people asks me stuff#Peoples I know every time I am prompted to say something of this kind I get ten different asks elaborating on why I'm wrong‚#and I truly appreciate them– without irony‚ I do‚ I dearly cherish getting to see things from a different perspective!#I just haven't gotten around to answering them because. It's just that there's only this much hours in the day–#and although I'm sure it'd open for extremely interesting dialogues‚ there's other things I'd rather be doing than discussing over–#whether bsd as a story is good or bad– I never signed up to talk about anything that wasn't ss/kk to begin with anyways.#I hope you understand!!!!#If I ever was to finish my infinite list of planned posts you can be sure I'll get back to them asks#but in the meantime they're probably going to lie at the bottom of my inbox.#Still I do immensely appreciate people's kindness in attempting to make me see things from a different angle!!!
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