#the scars are all from different things too

[bonkwrites]

OBSESSED with the whole american x 141 man combo. smut ahead!

Not necessarily giving up your identity when you move out of the US, just wanting to explore different cultures and see new things. Then you meet one of the boys, maybe it’s Kyle or Johnny, and they introduce you to your actual, literal husband within a week of knowing you. And Simon Riley isn’t a bad guy, they tell you, just a little rough around the edges. And you’re young, in a new country, you flew on a plane for the first time to get here and it didn’t go down so you feel invincible– and you fuck Simon Riley. 

The mask isn’t even in the equation, he won’t wear it when he’s not on a mission or on base, and he’s got a scar on his cheek that’s textured when you grab his face and kiss him. He tastes like bourbon. You taste like vodka and lime. He lays you down on your hotel mattress and spreads your legs and calls you love while he’s fucking you. 

“Fuck, lovie, like that. Take it like that.” you thought maybe the accent would make it too funny to be sexy but there might be something to be said about pavlov’s dog and the bell here…. 

He’s so big and so on top of you and he’s pushing your legs to your chest to pin you underneath him while he fucks you. You feel sorry for the other people on the floor the next morning but in moment all you can think is Simon, Simon, Simon and all you can do is beg him don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop– 

You’re so happy you got your IUD before you started traveling. 

Simon says sometimes he thinks he did it in the wrong order. You fucked and then he took you out to dinner. You tell him sometimes you wish he would have let you ride him that night. He remedies your wishes immediately, all the time. 

Did you know there’s only one Taco Bell in all of England? You crave chalupa’s so intensely that you once rode a train for an hour and a bus for three just to have the worst Taco Bell of your life. Did you know that almost 50% of Americans own a gun or are proficient with one? Color 141 the most surprised they’ve ever been when you go to a gun range while they’re stationed in Texas and Simon tries to teach you gun safety but you correct him the entire time. 

“I used to go hunting with my dad, Si, I know this.” and then you have decently good grouping that’s just a little to the left and Johnny tries to show you how it’s really done and– misses entirely. 

“Is that how it’s done, Johnny?” you taunt, smiling so cheekily that Simon can’t keep his own smile off his face. 

“Listen up, bonnie, I’ve done more training-” 

“Doesn’t seem like it to me.” you mumble. Simon swear he can see the steam coming out of Johnny’s ears. 

“Lass, so help me God, if you don’t-” 

“Poor baby, Johnny,” you frown, still taunting him, your hips sway as you walk up to him and take his face into your hands, “Did you get beat in a shooting contest by a civvie? Will you live to see another day?”  You shake his head in your hands and Johnny goes red for a completely different reason than his pride and anger. Johnny’s hands twitch, Simon can see him reaching for your sides as you release his face and step away from him. Soon, Simon wants to tell him, she’s going to tell you soon.

[hurtspideyparker]

Erik loves Charles like a dog.

Bared teeth, drool and rust on his lips; all Charles sees are those blue eyes begging to be softened with a gentle touch.

Erik is an obedient guard dog. A controlled violence, a protective streak that leaves bodies. His teeth always sink in too deep, never the superficial type. Charles speaks his language, speaks his command.

They all tell him to put that dog down. Violent, misbehaving, unpredictable. All Charles sees is devotion. He always comes back, he always listens to him (not when it matters, not when anyone else says the right thing—it's only Charles. It'll always be Charles).

Erik loves with a submissiveness. A deadly hand forced down not with power, but by his own neediness. Blood-stained fur, matted and cold. Charles' gentle scratches painful, but he doesn't shy away. Would never shy away from Charles.

He's only protective. It's out of love.

It's not a solution, they all tell him over and over, sharing their oval scars and pointing at sharpened claws.

Beast, monster, bloodthirsty.

The thing is, Charles isn't the exception. He's been bit too. The difference is Erik licks his wounds, whimpers until Charles pats him with a maroon palm. Remorseful of his impulsivity that leaves arterial streaks down his back. Forgiven before the bleeding has stopped.

Charles falls for it every time. Erik didn't choose to be like this, he was beaten into it. He thinks he's good, justified, helpful. Violence is the only problem solving he knows.

I'll teach him proper. He's really a good man, he just doesn't know better. It's instinct.

Erik loves Charles like a dog.

Charles loves Erik like a fool.

[grimmweepers]

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 !

[wisteria-lodge]

Why do female protagonists complain about their looks? I was reading a novel a friend recommended and within the first few pages the narrator is complaining that her eyes are the color of mud, her hair is boring and brown, she has freckles, etc. Is this supposed to make them relatable? I don't particularly like my freckles but it's not something I think about more than once or twice a year. It's just annoying and a downer when the character does this.

It's because girls in books (... and girls in real life...) are supposed to walk this tightrope where of course they are beautiful (because beauty = value.) But they can't seem like they're trying to look beautiful (because trying to be beautiful = vanity, shallowness, a kind of girly femininity that's either childish, pathetic, or sinister.) The Stepsisters are trying to be beautiful. Cinderella just is beautiful. Dress her in a potato sack and roll her around in mud, she'd still be more beautiful.

This is where the "protagonist who doesn't think they're beautiful" thing comes from. Obviously if they don't think they're beautiful, then they're not trying to be beautiful, with all the negative junk surrounding that. So you get these annoying descriptions where a regular or even cute-sounding person will say "ugh, I have eyes the color of mud and hate my freckles," not "I have brown eyes and freckles." (Bet you five dollars the love interest thinks her freckles are adorable, and gets lost in her deep, dark doe eyes.) Also - "mud colored eyes" is such a strange thing to think about yourself? If the author wanted to commit to writing about someone who actually had body image issues - then the internal narrative would be my skin sucks and I'm too fat. But that's a little too real: the reader can't actually think the protagonist is unattractive.

Which is too bad, when you have a female protagonist who is just isn't very attractive, that can be fantastic. In Jane Eyre, it's important that Jane is sort of unfortunate looking - it effects how people treat her, the sort of jobs she can get, but it also lets her fly under the radar and be invisible in way that would be impossible if she were more beautiful.

I tend to prefer descriptions that stress - how people move, or what they're wearing, because that reveals character in a way that "brown hair" just doesn't. I want to hear about a character's attractiveness if they are so remarkably attractive (or unattractive) that it affects how other people treat/perceive them. Same way someone might treat a character differently if they had a dramatic scar, or looked a lot younger than they actually were, or were a different ethnicity from the rest of the cast. Just give me a handful of their most distinguishing characteristics, and you don't have to do it on the first page.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hopefully this doesn't come off as snarky, but I find it genuinely hilarious that every "big-name" Leona fan that I've seen seems to like him against their will lol. I've always had Leona as my favorite, so it's fun to see the journey other people go through to liking/appreciating him!

Look 💦 I can’t speak for other L*ona likers (regardless of size, honestly; I'm a firm believer that one's level of internet fame isn't a factor in the devotion for a character) but for me—to quote Scar—“my words are a matter of pride.” And by confessing to (ick 🤢) LIKING LION… it’s throwing all that pride out of a window. It seriously does feel like these feelings exist against my will.

I have a summary of my story to explain my relationship with the lion lore 💀 I call it a summary, but it’s still kind of long— It's below the cut for those who are interested!

To begin with, the promotional materials didn’t sell me on him. Everything about how he initially presents—from his arrogance to his “tough/bad boy” design (seriously, that biker-cowboy combo of his dorm uniform is SO ugly and shows way too much skin for my liking…)—was so unappealing to me. He seemed exactly like the kind of character and tropes I tend to dislike. The only “good” thing I saw in him was his face (which, ironically, is what Vil says about him) and maybe his UM chant particularly the line where he demands you kneel before him. Then comes along book 2, which is easily the weakest of the main story and does a HUGE disservice to him, making L*ona seem a lot stupider than he actually is. At that point, I had basically written his entire character off. I claimed to all my Twst friends that there was nothing that would ever make me like him.

Around 2022, I decided to get involved in a round of EBG (Epic Bias Game) which is basically like a test of your will?? You’re supposed to compete with your friends to see who can go for the longest without talking about or acknowledging their oshi (which includes not being able to react to fan works of them). As part of EBG, each participant was randomly assigned a “new oshi” to replace the usual one AND GUESS WHAT, I GOT HANDED L*ONA BY THE WHEEL OF FATE 💀

One of my friends (who knew I hardcore hated him at the time) assured me that this would get me to change my mind. They even went out of their way to write a little story explaining how my OC was forced to spend more time with L*ona, which led me into writing interactions between them to build more of the lore. I managed to outlast the friend in EBG, but didn’t win the entire game. I came out of it not really feeling super different about L*ona, but I think forcing myself to write about him extensively helped me gain a little more perspective on his character. I still didn’t like him, but I at least appreciated his presence in the cast a little more.

AND THEN TWST HAD TO COME AND BASH ME OVER THE HEAD WITH L*ONA CONTENT… All the little vignettes and voice lines where other characters would talk about what a good leader he is (*glares at Epel, Jack, Ruggie, Savanaclaw mobs, etc.*), when he sarcastically claims to be a “delicate prince” or a “lost child”, those moments where he sasses others, times when he’s able to use his charisma and/or intelligence to pull ahead, rare instances when he whips out his royal manners, him respecting women… But I think the turning point for me had to have been book 6 OTL GOOD LORD, BOOK 6 FUCKED ME UP 😭 Him using his UM in a creative way to turn falling glass shards into harmless sand? And strategically turning himself in?? Willingly ceding control of the dorm to Ruggie??? Telling everyone about Styx’s lore???? AND THE BEEF HE HAD WITH JAMIL BUT STILL GIVING HIM WISDOM AND ADVICE… Sometimes I still tear up thinking about how L*ona says “You’re not like me,” to Jamil 😔 implying that part of the reason why L*ona guides others is because he has hope in their futures but not his own… (I’m still salty that EN messed up this line by changing it to “I’m not like you,” which makes him come off as way more arrogant 💦) Anyway, I blame book 6 for being the tipping point in my downward spiral 🌀 IT GOT WORSE IN BOOK 7 WHEN HE STARTED SHOWING HE'S MOTIVATED TO ACTUALLY GRADUATE AND TAKES ON AN INTERNSHIP THAT COULD BENEFIT HIS COUNTRY... Special shoutout to the Club Wear card for being especially hot-- I did my best to hold out against the steady drip of content that called attention to his… positive traits… (Not that I’m saying he doesn’t have any; I mean this in that whenever his strengths as a character are brought up, they really get to me as someone who loves intelligent, mature/responsible types and “big brother” figures OTL) BUT IT'S SO HARD WHEN TWST KEEPS PULLING STUFF LIKE THAT???

Then in 2024 came the stupid Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas event 💀 which finally introduced us to L*ona in full formal attire (MY WEAKNESS) and gave him the opportunity to be in the role of the "hero" and leader... and those Nightmare Suit vignettes 😭 Leona thinking about what it actually means to be "king"... Ugh, it was another strong showing of his character. I'm pretty sure it was this event that started the snowball of my friends (lovingly) bullying me about him and calling me a tsundere about it. Weirdly enough, a BUNCH of things started happening irl to push L*ona at me too. For example, my pet (who usually actively avoids or attacks Twst stuff) was actually eager to pose for a picture with a L*ona standee. In a group fan merch order, I had asked for the bonus Grim sticker but the artist (who had no idea about my complicated thoughts on L*ona) said they were out of the Grim sticker but they had L*ona stickers they could include instead. Most recently, I had just finished this last-minute artwork of Miss Raven eating pocky by herself to celebrate Pocky Day (11/11). Typically the fan art you'd see on this day would involve two characters playing the "Pocky Game" (in which the players try to eat a stick of pocky from either end; usually it's framed as romantic since meeting in the middle results in a kiss). However, I had chosen to do a solo Miss Raven art because I thought this suited her "I want to be taken seriously!" personality better. Well, guess what? I GOT A PACKAGE DELIVERY NOTIFICATION FOR THE TWST MERCH ORDER... WITH L*ONA IN IT 💀 Almost like he heard there was food meant for sharing and he came to claim it for himself... Like I literally did NOT choose for these things to happen to me, THEY HAPPENED ON THEIR OWN. I DON'T BELIEVE IN PREORDAINED EVENTS BUT THE UNIVERSE SURE IS WORKING IN STRANGE WAYS.

So now that the tables have turned, it’s really embarrassing. Everything is coming back to bite me in the butt… It truly feels like L*ona plotted this all along and was on the prowl, patiently waiting for me to get worn down before he pounces and delivers the final blow to my ego OTL Like, it's gotten to the point where many of my long-time friends in the Twst community are now joking that "It's over" for J word... ONE OF THEM EVEN TOLD ME IT FEELS LIKE I'M GETTING DIVORCED AND L*ONA IS THEIR NEW STEPDAD, HOW AM I SUPPSOED TO FEEL ABOUT HTHAT ??????????? ? ? ????? ? ??? ? ?? ?? ? ???? ?

But by the far the worst, the WORST part about everything here is that if L*ona were fully sentient, he would be so smug about recent developments 😡 It makes me SO mad thinking about how he'd look down on me with that hot smug rage-inducing smirk of his and make fun of me for eating my words so badly.

“What was that you said about hating my guts, herbivore? … Hah, it's written all over your face--you're terrible at hiding your true feelings. You can just give in, you know. Tell me how much you worship me. How much you want me. You'll give in eventually one way or another--so why not make this easier for the both of us and save us the time of playing the wait game? I don't bite, promise." (<- a liar)

(Disclaimer: NOT MY MERCH; this is a L*ona Liker friend’s picture that they’re letting me use as a reaction image 😅)

THIS IS FR MY OVERBLOT ORIGIN STORY…

[solar4seekstron]

Before and So Forth Chr. 4: Transformers x Cybertronian!GN!Reader

Transformers One!Starscream/Soundwave x Cybertronian!GN!Reader(Bit of Megatronus and Sentinel x Reader

Chapter Four: Starscream and Soundwave

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three,

TW/Tags: mild cussing, training sessions, Sentinel has a bad mindset, Starscream trying to make moves, fails of course, Soundwave is actually trying to keep things appropriate….in his own way at least through training of course, reader is done with sentinels shit

(Like last time no smut but there is angst in this one. I wrote the fight scenes the best I can hopefully it isn’t too confusing)

The next morning. After your small visit with Megatronus the night before. To stay you might soon gain eye bags if this keeps up would be an understatement.

You made your way into the training tower before a meeting with Soundwaves team about the next possible battle.

Taking place later tonight as he always kept these sort of meetings more organized more then Starscream would. Shockwave alongside the same as Soundwave.

As you past by many halls you descided to pass the lunch room. Making your way to your usual training room. Luckily Starscream was in a different meeting at the moments.

And so you got to work with your training. It’s time you continue by yourself now. You pulled out your swords as you looked at your reflection on them.

The scar still as visible as it will be…….so forth….You’re so tired….

You began doing some spinning moves. Your movements fluid and fast. Almost as if gravity was nothing showing your complete controle. Some moves include spinning your swords and you moved yourself.

Tossing your swords mid air as make a finishing blow on a dummy and catching your swords with perfection. Well almost in your opinion. You even stared to think about what Megatronus told you last night before departing as ou still kept your focus.

-Flashback-

“I’m afraid our courtship will have to pause for tomorrow sweetspark. I and a few of the other primes will be patrolling on the surface all day due to the other seekers coming from their shift and telling of Quintissons activity.”

He spoke to you in his room.

”So I wont be able to see you tomorrow?” You gently held his larger cervo as you looked up at him.

“Yes…Will you be alright while I’m away?” He looked down at you as he kneeled down. His optics soft towards you. You nodded and softly sighed as you pulled his cervo a bit closer to you. “I shall wait and I’ll be fine Megatronus…”

You gave him an encouraging nod as you sighed and looked out the window. “I shall take you out like last time.” And so he did.

-End Of Flashback-

As you conintue, many hours having gone by and is already past noon. You don’t hear the doors openeing over your grunts as you make one large finishing move and land on your knee and pede. (I was watching Star Wars while writing this lol).

Once you stood up. Noticing your wrist hurting a little. You must’ve pulled something well making a certain move. You let out a sigh as you close your optics. But at the corner of your optic you thought you saw something. And so when you glanced behind you.

Seeing Soundwave standing with his cervos behind his bac…Uh oh. That isnt good.

You also took note he didn’t have any cassettes in his chest as he usually does. You’d then put your swords back into your sword handles on each side of your hip as you faced him as you then spoke.

“Soundwave. What brings you here sir?”

He stays still for a moment before speaking as he walked closer to you. Now his frame a little closer to yours as he looked down at you. “Have you eaten. Y/N?”

Crap-

“Of course Soundwave. Have you?” You lied through your teeth. Hoping he doesn’t use his waves to sense that you’re lying. Luckily he doesn’t seem to try using it as he lifts his head and looked around.

“I have. I and the Cassettes have finished our meals and they’re currently helping Shockwave with his experients for a stronger weapon as per usual.”

His cervos left from behind his back to rest on his sides as he looked back down at you. You just nod and bow your head. “I have been training for hours. I should go for some lunch after our meeting in an hour?”

You past him about to leave until his cervo grabbed your arm. Making you stop as you looked at him. “Before our meeting….How a bit of training?”

His helm tilting a bit as he glanced at you under his visors. You only nod as you glanced at him as well.

———————————————————————————

You then put your swords down before returning to your spot. Placing your pede back as he does the same. You’d then put your guard up, well more. As he then soon attacked. Laying in the first punch against you.

Causing you to move your upper body back to dodge the attack. Then in a fast movement with his cervo still close to you. You grabbed his arm with both cervos as your chest was close to his cervo for a second. You’d then turn.

His frame behind yours but your arms moving along as his arm was still in the same place for a whole second.

Then pushing his arm against your shoulder, you lifted him up using your body force as he’s lifted into the air.

But he was stronger. Being quick to move midair. Moving his legs forward to land on the floor before him as his arm turned (I mean they are robots.) the cervo grabbing an arm as his other cervo comes and grabs your other arm.

He pulls you every close by your arms, your frame fully against his as your legs past his hips for a moment.

He then roughly pushes you into the floor. Creating a very heavy pressure into and against your back strut. Only for your legs to soon both kick him up over you making him fall to his back.

You were fast to use your strength to lift your upper body up by kicking against the floor. Soon standing on your cervos.

You leg then going down fast to kick him down deeper into the floor. But he too was fast you turn and roll to his stomach as use his arms to support him. Even faster on his knee and grabbed your leg. Pulling you closer and once your close he punches your stomach down. Causing you to groan.

He’d then grab at the top of your chest plate as he soon is on his pedes and lifted you up. His cervo only letting go for a moment as his kicked you further back. Although you fell on your bac flying back a bit, you’d soon end up pushing back so you’re on your cervos and back on your pedes.

Facing Soundwave as he ran at you with his movements show determination. You’d soon grab his wrists. Lifting your leg showing your flexibility.

Your pede kicking him in the chin. Whe he was back for a moment. you grabbed his shoulders and hit your helm against his as he opened his mouth mask. He groaned as he showed a bit of a angry expression just by his intake and dermas.

You’d then throw a few punches and blows against his frame even as he tried to block a few. You both were going to be here for a good while.

You both continued for a good while. A Long while. You took note he avoided your face as you kept going toawrds his waits and shoulders. Both of you putting in pretty good hits into eachother. You both will defiently be sore in the morning.

The other seekers are either at home until the meeting or the others are already in a meeting with either Shockwave or Starscream.

You both continued until Rumble and Frenzy came in. Speaking as they walk in on you two still training.

He was able to pin you down against him. His back against the floor as he laid with his legs around your waist. His arm over your neck keeps you locked against him as your legs squirmed around to try to get away.

His other arm around your toros above keeps your arms stuck to your side. You struggled as you tried to break free from his grasp. You try your best to get out.

But your were so out of stamina and against your better judgement. “I yield.”

Soundwave then lets you go. Rumble and Frenzy standing there by the door. frenzy with his cervo on his hip and Rumble sighing as they waited.

You were able to get up without pressing against him. He soon sits up and looks at the two minicons. “Time.”

”Just 20 minutes until the next meeting Soundwave.” Rumble said as he stays in one spot. Frenzy went to your swords to look at them. You’d hold the side of your waist as you stood up. Soundwave standing up as well as his cervo gently held his shoulder.

He then looked at you as he spoke. His mouth mask closed once more.

“Now we will commence with our meeting for the day. Will you be able to keep posture for another hour?”

He gestured to you as Rumble gently pulled Frenzy from your swords and held frenzys hand as the two looked at you bot.

You gave him a nod still standing straighter. “I’ll be fine Soundwave.” He then nodded and started walking to the door. Now closer to Frenzy and Rumble as they both looked up at him. “See you in 10.”

He walks out as the two waved to you as they both left as well. You waving back saying your good byes for now. As you stand there, you looked down. Training with him was…certainly interesting. You can admit that at least. As you thought more and more. He was…a bit more gentle with you than the last time you fought him even before.

Something Starscream did just yesterday….You shake your head. You cant be thinking of these things with the two. You are being courted by one of the Primes.

One of the most highest honors someone could ever have. You cant let old feelings start rushing out.

You walked to your swords. Picking them up and lookin at your reflection in them once more as you narrowed your optics. You have a new duty with your work.

You cant be waiting for anyone else but the one you have chosen…….chosen first who is Megatronus…Right?

——————————————————————————-

As you made your way to the meeting room in the higher levels of the building. Parts of your body was a bit in pain. But not distracting enough for you to speak and walk as you past a few guards who are leaving from the latest meeting that ended.

As you made it to the room Soundwave was already there.

He was getting a presentation ready for the meeting with the help of Laserbeak, Rumble, and Frenzy. Ravage was already in Soundwaves chair waiting as her pas rested on the table.

You’d then took a seat close to Soundwaves by just a couple seats. Something gestured by Ravage when she noticed you come in.

As you sat down. Slowly until the minutes got closer to the meeting more and more guards came in. Eventually Starscream came in and took a seat next to you.

Sitting closer to where ravage was as he had his usual smirk on his dermas.

As you both sat down you noticed by the corner of your eye that Starscream was glancing down at you as he rested one cervo on the table. And the other was on his thigh.

The other being the one closest to you. And just like that…The meeting has started.

As Soundwave spoke and sat in his chair with ravage on his lap like a kitten. Everyone listened with purpose. Giving him their full attention. You included as he goes over his plan for a possible next battle to fight the Quintessons.

Both of your cervos on your lap as your optics stared at Soundwave. His helm turning every now and then as he spoke.

Eventualy the meeting soon lasts over an hour. You can hear Starscream silently make a sound close to a huff as he looked over some data pads he had in front of him. His red optics narrowed as he had a frown on his dermas.

You you continue to look at Soundwave. You’d then feel a cervo on top of your cervo, it being a bit larger then yours. When you glanced down. Not moving your helm much. You soon realized it’s Starscreams. When you looked at him he was staring down at you. A little smirk at the corner at his lips as he then looked back down at the data pad.

You’d just look back at Soundwave. Not knowing that he noticed the moment.

Starscreams cervo stays there for a good amount of time. Gently squeezing every now and then..Is this is way of flirting???

It stays like this for a good while until it’s been almost 2 hours. The meeting was finally over. Everyone making a vote on weapons and such as so forth. From there everyone stands up. You included. You could hear a faint huff as Starscream was fast to move his cervo from yours as he looked at a few other data pads. You got up and walked out.

Only now realizing you haven’t eaten lunch.

You’d continue you path to the lunch room as the rest went home and other guarded the tower. You’d make it to the room and grab some lunch. That’s when Starscream comes in. He’d walk in and sit next to you as you ate some energon.

Being quiet for a moment before speaking.

“You know. I would appreciate it you were to return my affections…..Sweetspark…”

You side eye him as you ate your energon before speaking. “Thought you said to wait…right?” Starscream scoffed.

”Doesn’t mean I cant show you my affections sweetspark.” His digits gently holding your chin to make you look at him.

“Starscream-“

”I could care less of what Soundwave said. I make choices based off my Own. Understood?” You have stood up as you stared down at Starscream. You’d then start taking steps to the door until Starscream stood up grabbing your cervo. “You really wish to try this dance….Y/N?”

His words were a bit sinister. “Yes.”

You pulled your cervo away and face him. “Focus on being a superior and I’ll go do my job.” You soon walk away, he just watches you as you opened the door and then closed it being you. Wouldn’t be any better if you were to slam the door.

———————————————————————————

You continue to walk in the halls. Making your way to the front doors being done today. But as soon as you got past one of the doors to a cleaning closet. Frenzy has pulled you in….He a strong bot.

He’d then give you a data pad. “Soundwave said to meet him in the meeting room.” He then runs off with his little legs.

You’d sigh and make your way to the meeting room. From there as ou walked into the room. Sentinel was in there with him. The two seemed to be speaking to each other about the primes and such. When Soundwave noticed you were there. He nodded to Sentinel. Him doing the same as Soundwave walks past you.

You’d walk closer as Sentinel start down at Soundwaves spot. “YN, please. Sit.”

And so you do. When you first saw him you immediately remembered yesterday. When he pulled you into a kiss before Zeta opened his door….

What is he up to?

”I’m sure you’ve been wondering about yesterday and the meaning of me giving you that……Special kiss? Well you see my dear.” For a moment fore you just gave him a blank expression until his cervo held your chin as he just stared down at you.

”I believe it’s time Zeta and the other primes shouldn’t be so calm to believe that they’re superior to descide who thay may take as a Conjunx….” His helm leaning closer to yours as he spoke once more in a whisper.

“Soundly you agree with your special partner….say…Megatronus?..”

Your optics widened. “How.” Your voice was low and is more in a whisper.

”You two aren’t exactly as sneaky as you both like to believe to be. He said in his casual tone with a grin on his smile. Leaning back a sits straight on the chair. Both of his arms on the arms of the chair. His helm only barely turned looking towards you as only his optics look toawrds you.

”You aren’t the only one being used.” You head tilted up for only a moment.

”Zeta. The big man himself.” His cervos then gestured to himself as he grinned. “Trying to court me of all bots.” He chuckled. But that smile soon gone as he looked down.

”That kiss is to teach him a lession. Good thing I timed that perfectly…At first I thought why not you know. Cause well- why not?” He spoke as he then stood up and walked slowly to behind your chair. “But when I found out that giant Brute was keeping a special little bot. You. Courting you and all. Oh boy…did that open my eyes.”

He sets his cervos on your shoulders as you glanced behind you a bit.

”Though I wont lie. I can see why he’s so intrigued by you…” He’d then lean his held down next to you. Your optics side eyeing you as he spoke once more. In a whisper again.

”Tell me. Do you enjoy being used?”

You tried to find the words. Not sure what you can say right or what will be wrong. So..you only looked down as the table as his stays there.

Your intake opening a little bit before closing a few times. Sentinels optics staring down at you. Going from looking at your dermas to back to your optics. You didn’t look at him.

He had a frown on his dermas as he stands straight again. “After the War. We will handle this…and.” He had grabbed your cervos. Gently pulling you up to stand as he’s now in front of you.

“We shall no longer be used for such power. If you help me against the primes. I can promise you a better life. By my side.” His cervos now on your waist. He smiled down at you as you placed your cervos on his arms as you felt his chest against his.

”Sentinel-”

“Just give it some time. My door is always open once you accept my offer.”

Those last words he said with a bit more purpose. His cervo is then at your chin. His digits gently holding it. “I shall be waiting so patiently for you…Sweetspark.” You’d just stare at him. Your face unsure as he stared down with blue optics.

One of his cervos then grabbing yours and kissed the back of your cervo. His optics never leaving yours.

He’d then let out a small chuckle and finally let you go. “Just remember which Sid you are one Sweetspark. Because I’m not a bot.” He leaned close. “Who gives second chances…” You both stared at each other. Both expressionless as your optics stare narrowed. “…You’re dismissed.”

Oh man this one made me nervous but I think I was able to nail it with writing for Soundwave, Starscream, and a bit of Sentinel. Don’t worry Megatronus will be back for the next chapter. And Shockwave will have a bit more of a spotlight for the intertest with the reader. The reader is really going through it. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I’ll see you all in the next chapter!

[mikimakiboo]

Next in line for the backstory issssss

Killer !

Killer was born in the great Roman Empire in a very rich family !

As a slave.

His mother was a slave, and so he automatically was a slave too, and spent all of his childhood alternating between learning basic things and serving his masters, and then his teenage years just serving them

The house he was in was big with many slaves, his masters being very wealthy, even tho they lived in a rather small town

Killer's main job was cleaning, he would clean the floors as well as the laundry, clean the dishes, ... but he also served the masters directly by bringing them all sort of things the would ask for

Normally there would have been a slave per job but Killer was often punished and would have to work more

He wasn't the best slave, tending to be forgetful, slow, leaving out unclean spots, bringing back the wrong things... and so his masters would either make him work more when they were in a rather good day, or when they weren't in a good day, they would physically punish him by whiping his back, among other things

The times when he was working with the other slaves were calmer, they would chat, tell stories, the slaves who were once war prisoners would tell about their fights, he really liked listening to these stories and daydream about a different life in which he would be free

He knew some slaves could be freed, but usually these slaves were freed because they either paid a very high price, because their master died and wrote it in their will, or because they did an exceptionally great job and got rewarded, and Killer knew that it was all out of reach for him because he didn't have any money, his masters were young and healthy, and he wasn't doing a good job that would deserve a reward of any kind

He really wanted to be free thought, he wanted more than working everyday for the same persons, he wanted to travel, to discover the Empire that everyone kept saying was so great, to have a chance to chose his own way in life

He knew he wouldn't be freed anytime soon, but he also knew that if he didn't have any masters, then he technically wouldn't be a slave anymore

So he started plotting, he knew everyone's habits, he knew when and where they would be alone, what they would be doing, where the masters would be, he knew everything as he was here since his litteral birth

He would have to kill the masters, but he couldn't risk leaving witnesses so he would have to kill the slaves following them around, and since he didn't want the other slaves to tell everyone it was him, as he would be the only one missing since he planned to run away, that meant he would just have to kill everyone in the household, to make sure no one could ever know it was him who did it

It did sadden him a little to have to kill the slaves he worked with, he liked them, but his desire to be free was stronger and so he didn't hesitate when he stabbed them too

Once he made sure that no one was still breathing he waited for the night and ran away from the town with only a bag and his knife, going as far as he could, to make sure no one would catch him, and luckily his appearance changed when he started killing so he didn't look too much like himself anymore with the black liquid dripping from his sockets and his target shaped soul

Since that moment he started going from city to city, stealing food, clothes and all sort of things he could sell and make money from

He never stayed too long in one city and changed his name to a new one each time he moved, he picked Killer on the spot when Dust asked what his name was, and it ended up sticking with him

About the trauma now:

He has pretty bad scars on his back that he tends to hide, not wanting anyone to connect the dots and recognize it as punishment marks, and the scars are so big that he actually doesn't have that much sensation left on his back, he would feel it if you slap him but not if you caress the scars and due to this lack of sensations he absolutely hates it when someone touches his back, it makes him feel vulnerable and is part of why he always sleeps against a wall to make sure his back isn't exposed

He also hates receiving orders for a very obvious reason and he hates that his first instinct upon receiving orders is moving to do it, he has to stop himself from following the orders and he hates it, he hates how his training hasn't left him (the fact he doesn't understand any of what the gang says is good in a way because even if they do give him orders he just doesn't understand so he doesn't move, but he has the feeling that they don't give him orders anyways)

He's also very observant and notices small details about people due to him always analyzing his masters to see if they were in a good mood or not, he doesn't say anything tho, he just stares and sometimes smiles

And yes it's creepy, he finds it funny

[rhiannonsknife]

heyyy first of all, i just needed to say that your writing is soooo fucking good like i was genuinely impressed when you said that english isn't your first language because I can't imagine how this could get any better. Also, it isn’t only about the way you write but also the way you just get each character perfectly. That's just... woah, just woah. So yeah, I hope you keep on writing for a long time for the sake of everyone's happiness lol

And lastly, you remembered us about how you also write for the rest of the yellowjackets, not that I don't enjoy the whole "let's give love to all ella purnell's characters" thing going on here buuuut i remembered one scenario has been in my mind for a while and I'd love if you wrote about it.

Shauna, after losing so much to the wilderness, carries this relentless, overwhelming anger that keeps most of the other girls at a distance. Even those who aren't outright scared of her still know better than to get too close. She obviously needs love and comfort, but god help anyone who tries to say that to her. And then r decides to take a shot, carefully inching closer without setting her off. Slowly but surely, r makes progress. First, just being allowed in Shauna's space, then a hand on her shoulder, brushing her hand, maybe even touching her hair. When Shauna finally lets her guard down, r sees just how touch-starved she really is, how deeply she needs someone to just be there, to be her person.

Shauna and r start disappearing for hours, slipping off to somewhere, maybe the airplane, where r can pepper her face with kisses, making her feel safe. And Shauna just lets herself melt in those moments, holding r close.

my mind just goes ogdofgkditwukymg w her

── ౿🪵 NO ONE COULD SAVE ME BUT YOU

— summary: shauna shipman needs a hug. that’s it. that’s the summary.

— warnings: hurt/comfort. canon typical dark themes. implied cannibalism (duh). child loss. etc. so: angst. some fluff. did not beta-read this. + i had no clue how to start or end this fic.

— a/n: woah thank you so so much!! i genuinely appreciate that <3 i’m not planning on stopping any time soon! anyway, i hope you like how this turned out!!

out here, she’s lost everything. you all know it, though none of you dares to actually talk about it. it doesn’t come as much of a surprise that she’s beginning to lose herself too. it’s concerning all the same.

shauna still gets her chores done, so it is not like you don’t have her support in this poorly built system, this attempt to keep things under control when -really- all last restraints of control were lost the morning you’d found jackie’s body, buried in the snow, and with all that came after that. the things no one ever speaks about.

perhaps that is why none of the girls have approached her yet: as long as she does what she’s supposed to do, why would anyone try and cross her, or potentially upset her? after what she’s done to lottie, it’s no surprise. sometimes, in moments during which you find yourself staring at her hands for reasons beyond you, you can see the flash of a scar, standing out against the thin skin of her knuckles.

maybe they’re scared of her. or scared of what she’s become, out here. it doesn’t make a difference. maybe you should all be scared of what you’ve become.

either way, it’s not fair. you obviously know that she needs the same comfort some of the other girls have found in each other, whether shauna wants to admit it or not.

so you -with nothing better to do for the most part- make it your mission to be this comfort for her.

at first, shauna gives you short, cold responses when you try to make small talk, but you keep at it. there’s nowhere to go anyway, nowhere she could flee to get away from your slightly awkward attempts to just talk. it’s a first step.

gradually, you notice her replies get a little longer, her posture softens, just slightly, and she doesn’t seem so quick to brush you off. a small sign, but it means you’re beginning to earn her trust. you don’t talk, not always. sometimes, you’ll just linger nearby and watch her prepare the last remaining pieces of meat or sit in the same room as she scribbles in the journal she’s brought from home.

sitting with shauna in silence becomes its own form of closeness; she doesn’t say much, but she lets you be near her. you can’t remember, now that you think about it, when she was last hugged. when she last felt the touch of another person. your heart aches at this realization. could it have been jackie? it already feels like a whole lifetime ago, that she'd been among the group.

over time, she actually starts letting you sit close enough that your legs touch. you hope it’s her way of saying that maybe she doesn’t mind your presence as much as she lets on.

one day, after a particularly hard night, you take a chance and rest a hand on shauna’s shoulder. you’ve noticed, even from a distance, that she doesn’t sleep well. truthfully, no one out here does. but, with your makeshift mattress closest to the spot she’s preoccupied in the farthest corner of the room, you often notice the way she flinches in her sleep, or shoots up in the middle of the night, panting heavily.

when you notice it that night, you slip out of the more or less comfortable ‘warmth’ of your blankets and make your way over to her.

she tenses, but for a moment, she doesn’t pull away. her silence feels like a monumental moment, a sign that she’s slowly starting to let her walls down. you sit like this, hidden by the darkness of the cabin and with none of the others awake, for a long moment. neither of you moves, neither of you even dares to breathe, afraid it’ll pass by as fast as it has come. then, she shrugs away from your grip and mutters: “i’m fine”. she’s not, obviously. but you take it as a small victory. you’ve felt the way she relaxed under your hold, the way she didn’t immediately push you away.

as weeks pass, you notice shauna becoming less and less guarded in your presence. she’s still wary, still sharp, but you can sense the small shifts, a quiet murmur here, a shared look there, that suggest she’s warming up to having you close.

maybe that night is what’s to blame, or maybe she’s genuinely beginning to realize how much she craves the warmth of another person. your warmth.

it’s one of these days where she’s angrily scribbling down words into her journal when shauna reaches a first ‘breaking point’. she’s sitting beside you in silence, the weight of the wilderness and the day pressing down on both of you. the only noise is the angry scrape of her pencil against paper. in a rare moment of boldness, you reach out, brushing a strand of her hair back from her face.

you’re not sure why you do it. but shauna seems so far away from everything, so detached from the reality you live in, that you just want to offer her something grounding.

her first reaction is to freeze, her eyes widening with a flicker of surprise, and you nearly pull your hand away, wondering if you’ve overstepped. but instead, shauna lets out a breath and holds still, allowing you to tuck the strand behind her ear. as your fingers brush her cheek, you can feel her breath catch, her defenses lowering just a little. it’s a brief, fragile moment, but one that feels much bigger to you: an unspoken acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, she’ll allow more of this.

that’s when things begin to change: shauna starts looking for you after difficult moments, lingering by your side in ways that tell you she needs someone, even if she won’t say it; too stubborn to ever admit it out loud. she lets you take her hand quietly, her thumb rubbing yours a wordless promise that, just for a while, she’ll let you be her safe place.

it becomes routine for you and shauna to disappear to some quiet spot when the cabin feels too heavy. no one has figured you out yet, although you’re sure that they can put two and two together by now: tai has caught your eye, the last time you sneaked off together and lottie has long claimed that the wilderness has its fucked up ways of communicating with her. whether any of it is true or not, something about the glances she shoots in your direction tells you that she knows. that she might even appreciate it, though that could just be because she won’t be the outlet for shauna’s anger anymore.

after a particularly tense exchange with the others, she brushes past you, muttering, “let’s go.” you follow her immediately, of course, and the two of you wind through the forest until you reach the plane’s wreckage. inside, it’s silent and dim, a place that’s somehow managed to become a safe haven. the last reminder of civilization, somewhere far far away from you.

shauna lets herself lean back against the metal frame, shoulders dropping in relief, her usual guarded expression softening as you sit close beside her.

she doesn’t say anything, but her hand finds yours, squeezing it tightly, as if she’s grounding herself in your presence. then, in a rare show of vulnerability, she leans her head on your shoulder, her eyes closing as she lets out a shaky sigh. you wrap an arm around her, pull her closer, and let her melt into you, feeling her tension slowly give way as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.

together, you stay like that for hours, just holding each other. shauna curls into your arms, letting herself fully relax in the quiet. you actually dare to cradle her head and press gentle kisses to her forehead, feeling her melt into your embrace, and trusting you in a way she hasn’t trusted anyone else in a long, long time.

“you’re…you’re way too soft for this place, you know that?” you hear her whispering. she doesn’t stop you, though.

when it’s time to return, shauna doesn’t say a word but gives you a look that says it all: gratitude, trust, and something almost like relief.

even when you’re not together, shauna’s glances toward you become longer, her eyes lingering with something that remains unspoken, as if she’s trying to understand this newfound feeling.

around the others, she is still hesitant to be openly affectionate. in the cabin, it is only late at night, when it’s just the two of you, that she lets herself fall into your arms. It’s the only time she allows herself to be unguarded, clinging to you silently as if afraid you’ll vanish too if she lets go.

that same night, you catch a quiet confession under her ragged breath. she’s facing the other way, letting you spoon her from behind. only this way, does she dare to open up about how everything seems to slip away from her. she’s scared but hides it behind anger and frustration. you’re the first person allowed to see her tears.

you can’t even begin to imagine what she’s going through. all the things she’s been robbed of: girlhood, like all of you. even if you’re ever rescued (which seems less likely with every day that passes) how are you supposed to move on? how are you supposed to live, like none of this ever happened? her best friend, who no one dares to talk about anymore, afraid it’ll bring back the things you’ve done. it’s like she was never here at all which, you think, must be even worse. motherhood, too, though she never even wanted it. no one seems to acknowledge that, out of everyone out here, she might just be the one to have lost everything to the wilderness.

in an attempt to comfort her, you trace mindless shapes against the back of her hand, slowly soothing her back to sleep. the letters of her name, a loopy S, gliding across her scarred knuckles with a tenderness so contrary to everything these hands have done. your own name, next. you hear a gentle chuckle coming from shauna. she knows what you’re doing, of course. you don’t stop.

the outline of wiskayok, as you remember from the map. she doesn’t seem to recognize this one, a little crease between her brows. “home” you tell her quietly and the crease vanishes.

it feels surreal that, somewhere out there, home is still a place. that wiskayok still exists to the people, to your families, your classmates, and everyone else back there. that it’s more than just a fading memory.

“you suck at drawing” she finally manages. it’s the first time you can hear the glimpse of amusement in her voice.

“what? you think you’re any better?” you whisper quietly, wanting it to last.

shauna shifts beside you, and takes your hand with a gentleness you didn’t think she possessed still.

now it’s your turn to lay back and feel. she starts with words. “yellowjackets” she spells out. a small smile flashes over your features as shauna studies your face attentively. then, though it’s harder to make out, she traces the word: “champions”. your heart feels heavy with everything that could’ve been.

shapes are next: a tiny heart, resembling the shape of jackie's necklace, then a simple circle.

"that's a soccer ball" she whispers expertly. for the first time, you laugh. it only lasts a short moment before you remember where you are, and that the others are trying to sleep just a couple of meters from you.

you fall asleep with her hand in your own, as both of your eyes grow too tired and you drift off together.

other nights, when she’s fast asleep and -for once- doesn’t seem haunted by nightmares, you find yourself watching over her. it’s the only time you get to see her the way she’d once been: when her features aren’t tense or pained, but relaxed. when she’s the girl you met at the very first soccer practice years ago, who hasn’t known any of the things that’ll happen to her in this lifetime. you stay up all night, only realizing how much time has passed when light starts spilling into the cabin and she stirs up.

you know shauna hates being pitied. so while you do feel for her, instead of asking if she’s okay, you just stay close, offering your warmth and presence. when shauna’s frustration bubbles over, she lets herself scream or cry in your arms, knowing you won’t turn her away. you hold her tightly all through the waves of emotions, murmuring quiet reassurances, and she clings to you, even as she struggles to accept that someone genuinely cares.

“everyone else… they don’t understand. they couldn’t. but you-“ she murmurs softly. “you’re the only one who sees me. the only one who wants to.”

shauna begins to show subtle signs of protectiveness over you, too: always looking out for you and offering the little comforts she can manage. even though her gestures are often quieter than yours, and less obvious, she's found her own way of showing she’s come to care for you, and that she’s willing to fight for you as much as you’re willing to be there for her out there!! <3

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ TENDING TO THEIR INJURIES ( part i. )

ଓ.° ・ thoma ･ itto ･ childe. genshin impact. repost.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ thoma

"i'm okay, i'm okay! i promise."

the way thoma winces when you dress his injuries betrays a forced smile. you study him, brows furrowed in both concern and distress-- concern at his condition, distress at his failed attempts to downplay it.

you want to say a thousand things-- ask him why he's trying to hide the pain, what happened-- but the lump in your throat renders you speechless and the tears that threaten to form shift focus elsewhere. you inhale, shaky-- exhale, and look away from him. he doesn't need another problem-- and it's stupid to cause him worry because you're on the verge of crying.

it's hard to steel yourself when thoma has always been quick to pick up on your emotions and take them to heart. he notices how you struggle to pick up the antiseptic, takes one glance at your face and the way the tears well up, and perhaps that is the most painful of all.

his hands cup your cheeks so gently that you are afraid the tears will spill. how wonderfully loved and safe you feel in his hold.

"please don't cry," thoma reassures you, and you almost think you hear his voice quiver, "please. i'm okay, i really am."

"i'm not." you tell him that, but you are, and now he is, too. you imagine you both look so silly right now, crying and fretting over each other like it's the end of the world. "my allergies are bad."

"oh." thoma laughs through his tears, pinches your cheeks playfully and in meaning of you're okay and so am i. i am grateful. "so are mine."

"we're really bad at lying." you mumble, and he hums in agreement as he kisses your forehead. you place your hands over his, find closure in the idea that he is still with you, here and now. safe.

"thank you for coming back to me." you whisper, and under the stars, thoma presses his lips against yours in need.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ itto

itto, you've come to notice, gets hurt more often than one would think. a daring warrior that throws himself entirely into battle, caution and safety disregarded in the midst of adrenaline rushes. he comes home to you with wounds littered across his body; the cheeky smile on his face that appears at the sight of you almost makes the ache in your heart abate. almost.

he tends to forget about the pain, he tells you, so it's okay. he notices the way your jaw clenches at the sentence, how your words of protest die instantly. something in your chest tightens as if someone wrapped their hand around your heart and squeezed and squeezed until the words of innocence fell on deaf ears. because there are only so many times you can see the love of your life injured, and you are losing count.

how many times have you replayed this act before? an unending cycle of hurt and healing over and over again, the scenes blurred and turned into one. you remember where each scar came from -- how you did everything to ensure his wellness, and how the injuries faded into scars to serve as a reminder.

your fingers brush over the gash on his temple. he winces, slightly, but maybe his pain is insignificant in comparison to what you're feeling.

"please be more careful." you say after a long silence. he nods solemnly, finds that his usual lighthearted words of comfort will not do in this situation.

itto leans forward.

"kiss it better?"

you laugh for the first time that night, indulge in his request. a gentle kiss pressed against his temple and the feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist. he holds you closely, apologetic in his touch.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ childe

"i almost think you do this on purpose."

childe grins. you aren't entirely wrong-- but it's not like he tries to get hurt. it's more so that he enjoys the thrill of lethal situations and will jump straight into one for the sake of amusement and the yearning for acknowledgement that he can handle it. that's a bit different, he supposes, but he won't argue.

"i like the attention from you."

"i know you do." comes your flat tone, and you gently tap his chin as if that'll make his grin go away ( surprise: it doesn't ). "have you considered that you could just ask for attention instead of doing...this?"

ah. well, that makes it go away, and now you're faced with a very convincing pout. you sigh; he smiles at your reaction.

he never has the intention of worrying you with small cuts and bruises, not at all. he's completely fine, save for some discomfort and aches here and there, and while he truly does enjoy the attention and care, he's not one to cause you distress on purpose. ( the teasing is fun, though. he can admit that much. )

his expression softens as you inspect the bandage on his arm, fingers sliding down the cloth as a means to make sure it hasn't loosened anywhere. slowly, your hand meets his and he squeezes it tightly in reassurance.

"i'm sorry." his apology is genuine; it always is when this happens. "i'm alright though-- see? nearly at a hundred percent again because of you. couldn't do it without my favorite nurse."

"childe." you poke his forehead with your free hand, but he responds by grabbing it. "if i was your nurse, i would personally fire you."

he's grinning again. how annoying-- is what you want to think, but when he presses kisses against your knuckles, the touch light as a feather but heavy in meaning, you can't help but smile.

--until he talks again.

"you couldn't get rid of me if you tried."

"i know. it's annoying."

his laughter rings in the air, and you admit your defeat when you kiss him.

[bestangelofall]

I think both possibilities are interesting regarding what you can do with his character in this AU. World building wise, I love the lack of Daemon for resurrected people, because it leads into the idea of there being a price for the resurrection, and the possible stigma that people who came back to life would face.

Applying this to Jason specifically, would he be seen as less than by Bruce? As soulless? Would a Daemonless Jason be a reason to justify all the victim blaming, to justify all the other things Bruce does after Jason's resurrection? For example, the ending of UtH, or Gotham War, could be put as not being "that bad" because in Bruce's eyes Jason wouldn't be a complete person, and a part of him is forever lost.

I love that idea, but, as per HDM lore, to lose the connection with the Daemon is to lose the soul (at least in the case of the children which were cut), so I prefer the idea that the Daemon also comes back after resurrection. Maybe "come back" isn't even the right word, because when Lyra went to the Land of the Dead in The Amber Spyglass, Pantalaimon was left behind. Of course, Jason stayed dead for months, so maybe in this AU the daemon actually died.

I haven't read The Secret Commonwealth, but I do know that it addresses the aftermath of Lyra and Pan's separation, and that is that things between them aren't the same anymore, and they never will be. Of course, in Lyra's case, she willingly left Pan behind, which would be very different from Jason being murdered, but dying would still be a sudden and violent change, so I think that the same irreversibility would be reasonable here.

If Jason's death was wrong to be corrected (by Superboy Prime), it would make sense that his Daemon would be left behind while Jason went to the Land of the Dead.

Here we can have the option of continued separation after Jason crawls out of his grave, and that it contributes to his catatonic state, and maybe the Lazarus Pit has a role in helping with that (maybe it "reconnects" the bond, but not even the Pit can heal it totally, and there will always be a scar 🤔). I'm not so sure on this part, but it's an idea...

Anyway, Jason and his Daemon start early on not really feeling that separation as much as one would initially assume. They are both very motivated by the same goals, they both love Bruce very much but need to see proof of reciprocation, and most importantly, they both understand that what happened wasn't their fault.

However, as the time passes, and as other people treat Jason the way they do (and now I lean more into Rebirth Sad Jason) that disconnect that results from the separation during his death starts to show. The Daemon stands her ground, being the part of Jason that remains sure that they were good, that they didn't deserve what happened, and that it wasn't their fault - they were tricked by Sheila (and her Daemon) and still tried their best to save them.

Jason, however, after having been told time and again by Bruce & others that he screwed up, started to believe that, because if it was his/their fault, then all he needs to do is to be better, it's not something out of his control. It hurts less. And because of this subject, the discord between him and his Daemon is born and intensifies, and things get ugly. Rebirth Jason has the self-esteem of a wet paper bag, and fights with his Daemon constantly because she wants to impose boundaries to others, while he sees her as an obstacle for reconciliation with Bruce/Dick/maybe Babs/Alfred (btw, his Daemon fucking hates Alfred).

We see in HDM Mrs. Coulter acting on her self-hatred in the form of Daemon abuse which constitutes self-harm. I think Jason would do that too :/

I probably could talk more about this, but this is already a wall of text.

So like in a Daemon au do you think Jason's Daemon would be resurrected with him or do you think you can tell if someone has been resurrected by their lack of Daemon

[itsrlymine]

Hey!!! Its 🪩 <3

So today 12/11 in the morning as I was going to school I affirmed in my head that I will look INSANELY gorgeous and my skin would instantly clear up when I get off the bus!

Since it was a long ride and I kinda wanted to catch some sleep too cause it was 6AM I literally affirmed like twice or thrice, knew it was done and slept the rest of the ride.

When I woke up and got off from the bus the first thing my friend said to me was “*my name*!! Girl!!!! Your skin is freaking glowing! have you done smth different!” This was the exact thing she said! Plus some people said that my skin looks amazing.

Later when I looked in the mirror upon returning from school I saw that my persistent acne scars had reduced SO MUCH it was crazyyy and I looked so pretty (ofc I do like🤭)

So yep! another success story and more to come <3333

Love you mwah 💗

PERIIODDDDDDDD BC THAT'S ALL IT TAKES YAYYYYY!!!! Just changing your mind about something makes the whole world change. You better work sis! I'm so happy and proud of you omg. It truly is simple and we are so lucky to have the cheat code for life fr.

[itacats]

Operation 141: The Family Business - FINALE

FT: TF141 x gn!reader - Mafia AU

Warnings: mafia themes, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: As time flowed within HQ, the relentless pace of the outside world slowed, revealing a quiet intensity that enveloped you and the 141 Mafia. Unspoken glances and lingering touches hinted at deeper feelings, transforming your connections into something more profound—a family forged through shared struggles and intimacy.

Read Part 1 Read Part 2 Read Part 3 Read Part 4 Read Part 5 Read Part 6 Read Part 7 Read Part 8 Read Part 9

Part 10: Heartbeats in the Darkness

Time, once a relentless force driving the missions and battles of the 141 Mafia, began to take on a different shape as the days bled into weeks and weeks into months. It moved slower now, but not in the sense of dragging. Rather, it felt fuller, richer. Moments that had once been fleeting—brushed aside in the wake of the next operation—now lingered, drawing out a quiet intensity that none of you could deny. Something had changed within HQ, within the walls that had once been built on duty and discipline alone. There was a shift in the air, subtle at first, but unmistakable.

It began with glances—those lingering moments when you’d catch one of them looking at you a second too long, their gaze softening in a way that made your heart stutter. There was no immediate acknowledgment, no spoken words, but the energy between you all had shifted. The way Soap’s laugh would light up a room, but now it felt like it was meant just for you. The way Ghost, ever so silent and distant, would sit closer during those quiet evenings, the shadows of his past retreating just a little under the warmth of your presence. The way Gaz’s eyes would track your movements with something deeper than just friendship, a quiet admiration woven with something more. Even Price, the stoic leader, seemed to soften around you, his words holding a certain tenderness when he spoke your name.

It was a crush, undeniable and unspoken, but it was more than that. This wasn’t just the flicker of attraction that might come and go with time—it was something stronger, something born from shared struggles, from bonds that went deeper than the surface. Each of them carried scars, hidden battles they rarely let anyone see, but with you, those walls had begun to crumble. You had become the light in their dark world, and in return, they became yours.

Each moment with them was charged with an intensity that made your heart race. It was in the smallest of things—the brush of Ghost’s gloved hand against yours as he passed you in the hallway, the way Soap’s shoulder would linger just a fraction too long against yours as you sat side by side, laughing about something insignificant. Gaz would often stand a little too close when you worked together, his quiet presence a steady force beside you. And Price… there was a warmth in the way he spoke to you, a protective edge that felt different now, not just as a leader looking out for a teammate, but as something more.

At first, you had brushed it off as a natural closeness, a bond formed in the heat of battle and forged in the fires of shared experience. But as the moments stretched on, the truth became harder to ignore. There was something unspoken between all of you, something that had grown beyond camaraderie. It was a connection, an intimacy that you hadn’t expected but now found yourself welcoming with an open heart.

Your heart, once heavy with the burden of your past, began to quicken at the thought of them—not just as comrades or friends, but as something more. Each of them had their own light, their own shadowed histories that they carried silently, and somehow, you had found yourself becoming the anchor that tethered them to the present. They had given you a family, a sense of belonging that you hadn’t realized you had needed until you were wrapped in it.

And maybe, just maybe, you had come to love them—each in their own way.

Ghost, with his quiet intensity, had shown you a vulnerability that no one else had ever glimpsed. Beneath the mask, behind the hardened exterior, was a man who had borne the weight of too many secrets, too many losses. But with you, he had let down his guard, if only just enough to show you that he still had a heart, beating and bruised but alive. His silence spoke volumes, and when he lingered in the room with you, it was as though he found peace in your presence—a peace he hadn’t known in years.

Soap, ever the joker, had become something more than just the loud, rambunctious soldier you had first met. He had shown you a softness behind the laughter, a boyish charm that hid the deeper layers of a man who had seen too much, who used humor to shield himself from the pain. With you, his laughter was real, but so was the way his eyes would linger on yours a little longer, his touch a little more tender. He had found joy in you, and in turn, you had found joy in him.

Gaz, always the steady one, had become your constant. His admiration for you was no longer something quiet and distant—it was something you could feel in every shared glance, every moment you worked side by side. He admired your strength, your resilience, but more than that, he saw you. He saw the parts of you that you kept hidden from the world, and he cherished them. His respect for you had grown into something deeper, something that neither of you needed to say out loud.

And Price… Price had always been a leader, a father figure of sorts, but with you, it had shifted. He saw in you not just a teammate, not just someone to protect, but someone who gave him something to fight for beyond the next mission. You had brought warmth to his world, a sense of family that he had lost long ago. In you, he found comfort, a quiet sense of belonging that he hadn’t realized he had needed. And in his presence, you found a safety you hadn’t known before, a reassurance that no matter what came next, he would be there to guide you through it.

As the days stretched on, the unspoken feelings between you all deepened. It wasn’t something that needed to be rushed or defined. There was beauty in the lingering glances, in the brushes of fingers and the stolen moments in the quiet corners of HQ. It was a love that transcended words, a connection that had been forged in the fires of your shared pasts and now blossomed in the light of the present.

You had become the light in their lives, and in turn, they had illuminated yours. You, who had once been lost in the shadows of your past, had found a new kind of freedom—a freedom in the love you shared with these men, each of them warriors in their own right, each of them carrying their own hidden battles. Together, you had faced the darkness, and together, you had found the light.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough. Enough to know that in this world, where chaos reigned and battles were fought in the shadows, you had found a family, a love that went beyond the surface, a connection that would stand the test of time. Together, in the darkness, your heartbeats had found a rhythm, a song of survival, of hope, and of love.

And now, you were finally ready to embrace it.

In the warmth of HQ, the bonds between you deepened, each heartbeat echoing a connection built on love and trust. Together, you had become each other’s light in the darkness, united by resilience and hope. Ready to embrace the future, you found strength in the unbreakable rhythm of your shared lives.

Thank you for reading this far in the series! This is the ending of this story, but there will always be more to come for you to enjoy!

Tag List:

@strawberryrnilk

@rafaelacallinybbay

@stormy-stardust

Let me know if you would like to be added to the list lovely!

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[blu3-ja3]

Civilian clothing? Absolutely and a little Treat as well! Enjoy Lovelies!

O'Connor: Long sleeves and covered neck always, even when hot. Shes insecure about her burn scar and has enough people staring at her for a lifetime. On a very rare occasion does she wear short sleeves and it's ONLY with the 141 around. She likes rich jewel tones and soft fabrics, if it's textured it feels horrible or it's too tight on her skin, she hates how her scar feels. She likes silver jewelry and simple makeup, a bit of gloss and her eyes (shadow, liner, cute wing, and mascara) her nails are always painted whatever colors the sergeants pick. A skirt with nice tights or leggings and a cute boot? Yes. A nice pair of jeans with a cute belt and her old black combat boots, classic. Her hair is up, braided, ponytail, bun or beanie. It's only when she goes somewhere nice does she have it down. Her bag always has her knife, a bandana, and a hair tie along with her phone and wallet.

Price: Lumberjack, lots of well fitting flannels and cable knit short sleeve polos. Nice slacks or jeans with nice combat boots and a well kept leather belt. Nice wrist watch that was a gift from Ghost. Bucket hat that matches his flannels color, he originally only had two but Gaz found a color matched bucket hat for each shirt the man had. He didn't wear them at first but eventually indulged his partner. His beard is always well manicured and trimmed.

Ghost: Mans is unironically fashionable and only wears black. Wears long and short sleeve button ups they're all perfectly tight and hugs his chest and arms well. Soap makes sure of that. Nice jeans or slacks with a black and silver belt and his well worn combat boots. Silver wrist watch, chain necklace, and rings, with black nails. He keeps a face mask on and most times wears a beanie so his eyes and the makeup on them are the only thing seen. There's a difference between Ghost doing his eyes and Soap doing his eyes. Ghost's makeup is what he always does, smeared black nothing fancy. Soap's is intricate with liner and designs, it's still chaotic but in a beautiful way, it's perfect for Ghost.

Gaz: Fashion king, everything he wears is color coordinated with Price. Sweaters with knitted designs or embroidery over a white or black collared shirt. Well tailored black or brown slacks or jeans with a belt to match the sweater main color. Nice pair of chucks customized for Gaz by Soap as a birthday present. Lots of silver jewelry and accessories out the ass.

Roach: Nice acid washed jeans and graphic tees under an unbuttoned flannel. Nice pair of vans and goofy mismatched socks. Patterned belts, multi colored beanies, and chipped nail polish. He keeps his skateboard on him and walks around with his dog Ripley.

Soap: Punk Soap? Punk Soap... Why else the goofy hair cut? He's got a custom leather jacket with hand made patches, studs, and spikes. Graphic or band tees with ripped jeans or colored checkered pants. Well worn black combat boots with custom design embroidery. Chocker with a little ghost charm, rings and layered necklace and bracelets, as well as tongue and ear piercings. Will sometimes wears fake nose and lip piercing jewelry. Nail polish and eye makeup that matches his outfit, wears black lipstick sometimes it drives Ghost crazy.

Lil Treat height and ethnicity ( I think that what its called but idk I'm not smart)

Ghost: 6'7" (British Dad/German Mom)

O'Connor: 6'5" (Irish Mom/Scottish Dad)

Price: 6'4" (Both British Parents)

Gaz: 6'2" (African Mom/ British Dad)

Roach: 5'9" (Spanish Mom/Jewish Dad)

Soap: 5'7" (Both Scottish Parents)

[antianakin]

Oh I LOVE the idea of memorial tattoos! That's so sweet (obviously in an incredibly sad way, but still). There was a fic I read once where Cody gave himself tattoos for people he loved who were still ALIVE, with the intention that he'd cut through them and create a scar over the tattoo if the person died as a visual representation of that memorial while also being a reminder of the people who are still with him, and that's stuck with me to this day. I have no idea which fic it was anymore off the top of my head, but it's such an interesting way to utilize tattoos because it lives somewhere in-between using tattoos to just represent people you care about who are either still alive or who have already died. But getting a tattoo for people who ARE alive but who are incredibly likely to die soon due to their circumstances and so he has a plan to sort-of... visually mar the tattoo with a different type of body modification adds so much nuance to it in a way I've never seen anywhere else.

And that's what I find most interesting about it, how the clones choose to utilize this art form to define who they are, not JUST as individuals, but as a CULTURE amongst all of them. And how is this culture different from anyone else's, how is it impacted by the experiences the clones have had and are currently having? How does this impact their approach to art, which could certainly be tattoos, especially in their early days, but might also make its way into things like songs and poetry and storytelling that are oral art forms, or things like cooking maybe that could be impacted by both the approach to their diets by the Kaminoans as well as the amount of traveling they do later and the interactions they might have with other cultures.

I just love looking at what makes the clones UNIQUE and how different aspects of their culture might be different from others specifically as a result of their incredibly unique upbringing. That's why I loved the fic with Cody's memorial tattoo because it's such a unique concept, having to build a tattoo design for people who are still alive but with the knowledge that it will very likely need to BECOME a memorial later. How many other cultures would even need something like that? The clones have such a low life expectancy because they've been built to die and they're also so often separated from each other and they probably have very few ways of keeping around things that remind them of their loved ones. So they come up with tattoos that can be a remembrance for someone still alive but separated that can be turned into a memorial for someone who has died and it doesn't actually take away from the tattoo design. What other culture would have a similar need for that kind of thing?

And of course they can have happier or sillier options, too, like putting a loved one's face on their body in tattoo form, or maybe a lot of text options later like poems or songs or recipes that mean something to them and that they want to make sure can't get lost (we don't know if they have access to PERSONAL padds of any kind where they could write things down that aren't related to work and even if they do, the possibility that it could be lost or broken is pretty high).

I feel like there's WAY more attention paid to armor than tattoos in clone culture within fandom and I think tattoos deserve more attention than they get (and armor less). Because yes, we do obviously see different armor designs and the like, but we also see a LOT of clones wearing pretty much the exact same armor design as a lot of other clones (the Doylist explanation for this is obviously that the animators weren't going to come up with separate armor designs for every single background clone, but I'm taking a Watsonian approach here), whereas any time a clone has a tattoo somewhere, it's never the same thing twice.

Armor designs are fun, they're nice, but armor breaks and gets lost while the tattoos are on their bodies FOREVER. We've also seen a few clones who have armor designs that match their tattoos, and I'm headcanoning that the tattoos came FIRST. So even some of the clones who we DON'T see have matching tattoos to their armor designs probably actually do somewhere. So like Waxer and Boil didn't just put Numa on their helmets, helmets get broken and destroyed, they got her face tattooed on their bodies somewhere, too. Rex has the shriek hawk eyes tattooed somewhere. Cody has the sunburst tattooed. If the design means something to them, it's been tattooed on their bodies, too.

I want more shared tattoos between clones who care about each other, too. Probably not the same as the one they have on their armor, but something else that's special to just the two of them. Fives and Echo could have a little domino tattoo somewhere to represent not just their bond, but their bonds to the rest of the squad they lost. Sometimes it's a memorial for someone they've lost, like maybe Jesse and Kix have a tattoo for Hardcase after Umbara, or Fox has one for Thorn after Scipio.

Tattoos are also a lot easier to hide and keep private from certain people if necessary, while armor designs are always able to be seen no matter what. So tattoos can be a LOT more personal than an armor design, too. They can represent terrible traumas or the deepest dream, something they don't dare even discuss with anyone else but don't want to forget. Clones with tattoos of coordinates to a planet they might one day want to call home, clones with tattoos of quotes that inspire them or maybe the last words spoken to them by a loved one or a promise made to someone else that they hope they can keep. Many clones have plant tattoos of some kind, the first flower or tree they ever saw, to remind them of the beauty that exists in the galaxy and what they're fighting to protect. Names are incredibly common tattoos once they've chosen it, either written out in letters or represented in an image somehow.

Over time, maybe in a happy fix-it AU where they have the ability to really let this develop, certain designs and patterns start meaning certain things to the clones and so they become shared across MANY clones as almost a shared unspoken language. A specific design might mean loss, or specific achievements in life.

Just... more about the tattoos in clone culture, they're SO underexplored.

[lousypotatoes]

Only Fools Rush In

"So what? You've blown a fuse

Well, that happens to us all

Well, I come with great news

The day could change~"

Just A Cloud Away - Pharell Williams

--

Previous

Next

"Y-Y/N!? What-what the hell are you doing here?"

"H-Hello Lucifer, it's lovely to see you again."

The room was deathly quiet, you could hear the tiniest of pins drop. Everybody was staring at the King of Hell and the angel, their eyes wide and mouths agape. Even Alastor was surprised.

The two stared at each other from across the dining room table. He hadn't changed much since Y/N last saw him, all those eons ago. He still had the same fierce glint in his eye, and he still carried himself the same way, with that combination of elegance and danger that seemed impossible to pull off when you were in a place like Heaven.

But there he was, still the fallen angel that Heaven decided was too dangerous and unpredictable.

A troublemaker.

"You, you two know each other?" Charlie asked, surprise very evident in her voice.

"Yes, we were....acquaintances before he fell," Y/N replied, keeping her voice calm and steady.

"Acquaintances is an understatement" Lucifer said under his breath. "I didn't think they'd actually send someone down here, let alone you."

"Yes, well there is a first time for everything," Y/N shot back, still keeping her voice calm and steady.

Lucifer laughed dryly. "Out of all the angels, they send you? I didn't know Heaven was feeling so...generous."

Y/N forced herself to take a deep breath. She had a job to do, and whatever ancient history that was lingering between her and Lucifer was as relevant as an old scar.

"I am here on Heaven's orders," she replied crisply. "Nothing more."

“Orders.” Lucifer repeated the word with a quiet, almost pitying chuckle. “They’ve sent one of Heaven’s own to monitor me, then? How very…quaint.”

"Still as prideful as ever, I seem," Y/N said, coming out a bit more coldly than intentioned. "Unless you're running this hotel directly, my business here does not involve you."

"Doesn't involve me?" he laughed. "I might not be managing day-to-day, and unless you forgot that my daughter owns this hotel. I'm here to keep my eye on things and support her."

"Okay, um maybe we should move on to dessert," Charlie intervened. "Niffty made a really good apple pie an-"

"Are you sure Heaven didn't send you here to see if Hell's changed me?" Lucifer interrupted, a smirk on his face

"From what I've seen, you're still the same arrogant troublemaker that doesn't care about anybody but himself," Y/N said, getting angry.

"That's rich coming from you," Lucifer sneered. "Tell me, do you enjoy being Heaven's little watchdog? It must be scary being down here all by yourself."

"Do not say such things about me!" Y/N yelled, finally tired of Lucifer and his remarks. She stood up from her chair so fast that her chair fell over.

Everybody stared at Y/N, including Lucifer. They weren't prepared to see the proper and poised angel get so angry. And normally, Y/N wouldn't allow herself to get this angry, but she had had enough of Lucifer and his insults.

"I am not scared of you, and I am not scared of being here in Hell!" Y/N snapped. "I am not a watchdog, and I am certainly not here for you! So don't you dare say anything different! You know nothing about me, so stop pretending that you do!"

Y/N huffed and looked around the room at everyone, now starting to feel embarrassed for her outburst.

"I apologize for my outburst," Y/N said, looking down. "I'm terribly sorry Charlie, but I don't think I'm hungry for dessert."

"Oh no that's fine, you don't have to apologize!" Charlie immediately said. "I'll make sure to save you a slice."

"I appreciate that, thank you," Y/N said. "I think I'll be heading to bed now. Again, I apologize for my rudeness."

Y/N turned to walk out of the dining room after she picked up the chair off the floor.

"Goodnight, everyone," she said as she walked out of the room.

Walking out of the room, tears began to prick at her eyes.

This wasn't how she imagined seeing Lucifer again.

She thought it would be more heartfelt and lovely.

But, she was wrong.

And she wouldn't make that mistake in assuming something like that again.

Especially when it came to someone like Lucifer Morningstar.

im thinking about doing one of those notes things

what do you think??

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

[ramshackle-roach]

i think one of the things i think is kinda unexplored with c!Wilbur is that he's the time capsule of the SMP. he's seeing the SMP from the perspective of somebody who didn't watch these people slowly change from these events, who didn't see what made them the way they are. And now he's back, and he's changed a bit, he's alive and wants to stay that way, to make amends, to grab at the throat of life and bite, but so has everyone else.

He talks to Tubbo, who he knows as a kid who's kind, and trusting, and a bit of a people pleaser (but we all have out flaws and that's far from the worst of it), and Tubbo has changed. He is still kind, and forgiving but he's had the burden of responsibility on his shoulders and has come out the other side changed.

He talks to Quackity, who....sure, he was ambitious, but he was reckless and impulsive and kind. And Quackity is different as well. He still greets them with a smile (a smile on a face marred with a scar that couldn't be from anything but a killing blow), but he's closed off, collected, tracking every move with his only working eye. He refused entrance to Wilbur, something he'd never have done on his own before. Quackity has been crushed between one too many boots, and has gone from coal to diamonds

Its so interesting that Wilbur then teams with Ranboo. One of the appeals of Tubbo and Ranboos relationship to me is that he didn't know Tubbo Before. Before the wars, the betrayals, the weight of his world on his shoulder. Ranboo doesn't have the same expectations of Tubbo as everyone else. They're a blank slate to Tubbo and Wilbur both. They're someone who Wilbur doesn't make instinctual assumptions about. A perfect stranger.

Anyways coming back and the world has changed but you haven't. Coming back and not knowing how your brother will respond to your jokes, how your father's expression will shift when he sees your face, how your old fling friend will react to your taunts. Coming back to a world gone wrong.