#working on said technical difficulties

[harundraws]

may i offer a YJ doodle dump in these trying times?

[stunnedstarker]

But Peter doesn’t count as a love interest, not really. He can’t. They’re– partners, or- something. Whatever it is, Peter looks up to him for guidance and advice, and Tony’s already such a sorry excuse for a leader, he can’t go throwing feelings into the mix. Which is why, for maybe the hundredth time, Tony tilts his head back, eyes the ceiling, and says, “FRIDAY, open new voice message.”

A/N: This work had sorta been sitting in my stash for a long while because I’m chronically too-anxious-to-post, but the event convinced me to go for it. These prompts are fun, and the fic def is too. :)

[vampiresdeathandguns]

where will i be able to read this?? im really excited for it :D

Thank you for reminding me that I haven’t yet announced this on tumblr…

THIS SUMMER!

I have been juggling 50,000 technical issue that didn’t exist until this month, trying to sort out storefronts. As of this very second, nothing exists. But here’s what’s coming shortly…

vampiresdeathandguns.com*

will receive an overhaul, posters will be made available for sale and preorders for Part 1 will be opened. For now we are only planning on a physical release come June/July. Our website will always offer the best deal available.

Kickstarter

is a thing I want to try. As of this very second, the remaining production costs are north of £2000. For that reason, a large drive for funding is on the to-do list. Backers supporting a certain amount will receive the comic when released.

Anyone financially backing the comic pre-release will have their name / username / whatever preferred moniker added to the Thanks page and will receive their copies ahead of everyone else. (If via Kickstarter it’s easy enough, but if you preorder the comic I can send you a personal email that you can reply to with your preferred credit)

so! tl;dr —— you can read this a few months time by ordering your copy through vampiresdeathandguns.com. keep your eyes out for announcements soon when pre-orders open!

(Thank you for being so excited, it really means the world to us. I’m excited too. I never expected this to see the light of day. Your energy is brilliant to see, please keep it up — ask questions, share posts, go insane. Thank you being here ^-^)

[californiaquail]

i didn't even drink a quarter of my coffee today that's how ridiculous it was. anyway i'm getting an adhd assessment tomorrow i think

[rulesforthedance]

Last night I went to bed at 9:30 (a normal time for me) and then did NOT fall asleep. Eventually looked at the clock, it was 12:30, alarm was set for 6, was not even sleepy, could not come up with an explanation for why this was happening (it happens to me sometimes but usually for some obvious reason). Reset alarm for 8, took drugs to make me sleep, eventually fell asleep, had a nightmare that someone had turned my shower on and I could not find who had done it and was screaming. Woke up in the morning, posted on Teams that I would be late "due to a medical appointment" (fortunately had no meetings until 11 today so it was fine), THEN saw last night's melatonin dose sitting on my placemat 😭 that's why

[captainfantasticalright]

In 1985, one of the only persons interested in an interview with a “new” writer called Terry Pratchett, after his publication of the Colour of Magic, was one Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman was writing for Space Voyager at the time. "The Colour of Pratchett" was the name given here:

It ran exactly one page inside the June/July issue of that year. The interview took place in a Chinese restaurant in London.

Here is Neil many years later holding that issue. You can see it here if you want. Warning: extremely emotional video.

Neil arrived wearing a grey homburg hat. “Sort of like the ones Humphrey Bogart wears in movies” he later wrote. (Before saying that in fact he did not look like him, but like someone wearing a grown-up’s hat). Terry Pratchett, photo courtesy of one @neil-gaiman, was in a Lenin-style leather cap and a harlequin-patterned pullover. At this point, Terry was already a hat person, although not that hat.

Terry offered Neil this : "An interview needn't last more than 15 minutes. A good quote for the beginning, a good quote for the end, and the rest you make up back at the office"*. (Terry Pratchett had worked many years in journalism by this point ).

But the meeting went terribly well. The two of them realized they had "the same sort of brains". So well indeed, that in 1985, Neil had shown Terry a file containing 5282 words, exploring a scenario in which Richmal Crompton's William Brown had somehow become the Antichrist. Was a collaboration in the cards as of that moment? Not really. But Terry found in Neil someone to whom he could send disks of work in progress and to whom he could pick up the phone sometimes when he hit a brick in the road of his writing.

Terry loved it and the concept stayed in his mind. A couple of years later, he rang Neil to ask him if he had done any more work on it. Neil had been busy with The Sandman, he had not really given it another thought. Terry said, "Well I know what happens next, so either you sell me the idea or we can write it together". **

On collaborating together:

Here is a video of Sir Terry saying why he chose to collaborate with Neil, another video talking about the technical difficulties of writing a book when the two of them where miles apart ,and some pages from Interzone Magazine Issue 207 published December 2006:

An Interview with Sir Terry Pratchett and his works- and Neil Gaiman, where he shortly addresses the process of writing Good Omens.

Terry shortly mentions,

“Neil doesn't rule out another book with me and he was good to write with...yep, it could happen. With anyone else? I don't know, but probably not.?”

Neil says,

"Terry took that initial 5,000 words of mine and ran it through the computer (because I’d lost the files in a computer crash) and made it the first 10,000 words, and it was definitely Good Omens at that point. Neither one thing nor the other, but a third thing.”

"I think Terry could do a very good impersonation of me if he needed to, and I could do a very good impersonation of him; so we knew the area of the Venn diagram in which we were working. But mostly the book found its own voice very quickly. It helped that we were both scarred by the William books when we were kids...”

And as you know, unless you’ve been living in Alpha Centauri, the rest is history. That was the beginning of what would become William the Antichrist and later would get the name Good Omens:The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. (Title provided by Neil Gaiman and subtitle by Terry Pratchett).

More about the writing process:

Terry took the first 5,000 words and typed them into his word processor, and by the time he had finished they were the first 10,000 words. Terry had borrowed all the things about me that he thought were amusing, like my tendency back then to wear sunglasses even when it wasn't sunny, and given them, along with a vintage Bentley, to Crawleigh, who had now become Crowley. The Satanic Nurses were Satanic Nuns.

The book was under way.

We wrote the first draft in about nine weeks. Nine weeks of gloriously long phone calls, in which we would read each other what we'd written, and try to make the other one laugh. We'd plot, delightedly, and then hurry off the phone, determined to get to the next good bit before the other one could. We'd rewrite each other, footnote each other's pages, sometimes even footnote each other's footnotes. We would throw characters in, hand them off when we got stuck. We finished the book and decided we would only tell people a little about the writing process - we would tell them that Agnes Nutter was Terry's, and the Four Horsemen (and the Other Four Motorcyclists) were mine.

From the introduction to William the Antichrist:

“In the summer of 1987 several odd ideas came together: (..)I found myself imagining a book called William the Antichrist, in which a hapless demon was going to be responsible for swapping the wrong baby over, and the son of the US Ambassador would be completely undemonic, while William Brown would grow up to be the Antichrist, and the demon would need to stop him ending the world. The unfortunate demon, whom I called Crawleigh, because Crawley was a nearby town with an unfortunate name, would have to sort it all out as best he could.

It felt like a story with legs.

Terry took the 5,000 words, and rewrote them, calling me to tell me what he was doing and what he was planning to do. The biggest thing he was going to do, he told me, was split the hapless demon into two characters – a would-be-cool demon in dark glasses (which was, I think, Terry’s way of making fun of me, a never-actually- cool journalist in dark glasses) who had renamed himself Crowley, and a rare-book dealer and angel called Aziraphale, who would embody all the English awkwardness that either of us could conceive.”

William the Antichrist being a direct inspiration of the 1976 film The Omen. If the baby swap had just been a little bit messier and the kid had gone off somewhere else he would have grown up as somebody else. “And then there was a beat and I thought, I should write it, it will be called William the Antichrist” says Neil. ***

“The first draft of Good Omens was a William-book. It was absolutely in every way it could be a William book. It had Violet Elizabeth Bott, it had William and the Outlaws, it had Mr. Brown”.

Over time they realized that they would have more creative freedom if they in their own words filed off the serial numbers. William and the Outlaws becoming Adam and the Them.

But the spirit of Just William was never far away.

The joy for Neil was to construct “perfectly William sentences”. The one when Anathema tells Adam that she has lost the Book, and he tells her that he has written a book about a pirate who became a famous detective and it is 8 pages long… that’s “a William sentence”.

If you want to read more details about William The Antichrist, here are some slides I made.

Good Omens was also inspired by a particularly antisemitic moment in The Jew of Malta and John le Carre's spy novels. (Neil’s ask)

 Then I was reading The Jew of Malta by Kit Marlowe, and it has a bit where the three (cartoonishly evil) Jews compare notes on all the well-poisoning and suchlike they’d done that day, and as a Jew who never quite gets his act together, it occurred to me that if I were the third Jew I’d just be apologizing for having failed to poison a well… And suddenly I had the opening of a book. It would be called William the Antichrist. And it would begin with three Demons in a graveyard… (x).

“When we finished the book we estimated that the words were 60% Terry’s and 40% mine, and the plot, such as it was, was entirely ours.” -Neil Gaiman

"Neil and I had known each other since early 1985. Doing it was our idea, not a publisher's deal." "I think this is an honest account of the process of writing Good Omens. It was fairly easy to keep track of because of the way we sent discs to one another, and because I was Keeper of the Official Master Copy I can say that I wrote a bit over two thirds of Good Omens. However, we were on the phone to each other every day, at least once. If you have an idea during a brainstorming session with another guy, whose idea is it? One guy goes and writes 2,000 words after thirty minutes on the phone, what exactly is the process that's happening? I did most of the physical writing because: 1) I had to. Neil had to keep Sandman going -- I could take time off from the DW; 2) One person has to be overall editor, and do all the stitching and filling and slicing and, as I've said before, it was me by agreement -- if it had been a graphic novel, it would have been Neil taking the chair for exactly the same reasons it was me for a novel; 3) I'm a selfish bastard and tried to write ahead to get to the good bits before Neil. Initially, I did most of Adam and the Them and Neil did most of the Four Horsemen, and everything else kind of got done by whoever -- by the end, large sections were being done by a composite creature called Terryandneil, whoever was actually hitting the keys. By agreement, I am allowed to say that Agnes Nutter, her life and death, was completely and utterly mine. And Neil proudly claims responsibility for the maggots. Neil's had a major influence on the opening scenes, me on the ending. In the end, it was this book done by two guys, who shared the money equally and did it for fun and wouldn't do it again for a big clock." "Yes, the maggot reversal was by me, with a gun to Neil's head (although he understood the reasons, it's just that he likes maggots). There couldn't be blood on Adam's hands, even blood spilled by third parties. No-one should die because he was alive." -("Terry Pratchett : His World”)

(Here are some slides of mine where I go into some other details concerning the origins of Good Omens).

Another wonderful insight with Rob Wilkins in "The Worlds of Terry Pratchett".

*Quote: from Terry Pratchett A Life With Footnotes by Rob Wilkins, but said by Terry of course.

** All the quotes, facts listed here : see above.

***all other quotes by Neil Gaiman from various interviews and asks I’ll link.

[chrollogy]

THE COST OF DEVOTION | chrollo lucilfer x f!reader

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

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

word count: 18.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two weeks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lukas?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trust? Good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was more than crossing a mere boundary.

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

“I’m done with this conversation.”

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

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

You felt defeated.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

Correct. Chrollo did not care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was about time Chrollo hunted for his prey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Euan? Chrollo thought.

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

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

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

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

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

Unbelievable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only option left was to check the balcony.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

Was he nervous?

Impossible. There was no such emotion in his dictionary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How ironic.

You really did need that extra security from the Hestons.

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

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

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

If he got the job done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked so peaceful, and undisturbed. Vulnerable.

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

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

The problem was, Chrollo couldn’t do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help me escape even for a little while.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chrollo—!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On the bed . .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tonight is all about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to stop?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haah—! That’s right, give in to it.”

And you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah . .” You nodded in a daze.

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You believed it for a week.

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

He never smiled at you like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is . . rather unprofessional, miss.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me?”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A little over a week.

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

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

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

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

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

Chrollo’s grip tightened around the wheel.

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

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

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

“I can give you that.”

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

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

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

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

The answer was more than obvious.

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

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

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

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

Maybe in another life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Chrollo? What brings you here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we taking a detour, Chrollo?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

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

Ciaran. Chrollo. Kill. Your blood ran cold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The faint scent of iron hung in the air.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that it mattered to Chrollo.

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

Until it withered. 

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The audacity he had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

[hockeyboistrash]

not a couples costume | n.h

summary: a mistaken couples costume turns into something more

a/n: so I may have gotten a bit carried away with this 🫣 I didn't mean for it to get this far. sorry it's late coming out I've had technical difficulties and work. can we also appreciate how hot nico looks in this gif

“Oh, we’re not a couple.” You said for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. It was truly a coincidence that you and Nico came to this bar dressed up for Halloween in a couples costume. You didn’t even know he would be here tonight let alone wear something that paired well with your costume. The two of you worked in the Devil’s organisation and have only spoken in passing. Whenever you did though, any train of thought would be gone. You wouldn’t be able to focus on your work for the rest of the day, his smile imprinted in your head. God you love his smile. Nico was the same. He always hoped to see you when he was walking into the arena, feeling a little deflated when he didn’t. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” You playfully glared at him. To be honest, you could’ve walked away from him by now and gone back to your friends, you probably should’ve, but you didn’t. You let your eyes roam his body from head to toe, from the tight shirt that hugged his muscles in the right places to his hand holding the neck of his beer bottle firmly as he took a swig of his drink. You were unabashedly checking him out. Nico wasn’t complaining though because he was doing the same thing. He loved the way your ass curved perfectly in your costume. 

“I don’t know what you’re on about.” Nico shrugged, smirking as he took a sip of his drink. 

“No one is going to want to hook up with me tonight if the entire bar thinks we’re a couple.” You pointed out. Nico’s grip tightened and his smirk fell. He hated thinking about a pair of hands roaming your body that weren’t his.

“Is that such a bad thing?” He asked. You hadn't realised how close the two of you were sitting until you felt his warm breath against your ear. “I did save you from some sleazy guy earlier.” How could you forget? That’s how you ended up in this position in the first place. Some guy wouldn’t take no for an answer and Nico swooped in, saving you from the interaction. You still remembered how his fingers felt against the bare skin of your hip, the cold making you shiver slightly. You didn’t mind though. In fact you wish it was still there.

You were brought out of this bubble you and Nico were in by a waitress sliding a jug of some colourful cocktail onto your table. “Oh we didn’t order this.” You told her and she just smiled at you.

“It’s the prize for winning the best couple’s costume.” Was all she said before walking away, picking up empty glasses from tables.

“I should really get going.” You groaned, thinking about how bad of a combination the cocktail jug is with work tomorrow.

“We can’t let this go to waste.” Nico said, pushing the drink between you, a straw facing you both. “Besides, are you going to tell coach that you left me to drink this all by myself and that's why I'm severely hungover.” 

Nico pouted slightly, his warm chocolate brown eyes giving you puppy dog eyes. He didn’t want tonight to end. Not yet anyway, afraid that this will be the last time you speak. You weren’t particularly close before tonight. “Fine.” You agreed, feigning annoyance. You weren’t annoyed that much. Sure you wanted to go home so you didn’t feel rough the next day at work but Nico wanting you to stay with him made your stomach do flips. “But this is the last drink.” You said and his pout quickly turned into a grin. It was infectious making your lips twist into a grin.

Nico’s tongue caught the stray straw, having a sip of the colourful concoction in front of you, the image giving you impure thoughts making you clench your thighs. You wondered what else his tongue could do. 

The conversation flowed between you as the jug slowly emptied. Nico talked about his summer in Switzerland, coming second in the world championships. You listened intently as  he spoke about things he loves, his lips tugged into a smile the whole time. You could sit here all night and just listen to him talk. It felt like you were making up for lost time from all those missed conversations you had before tonight. 

“Come on.” Nico said, holding his hand out for you once he stood up. You gave him a questioning look as you put your hand into his, wondering where he was taking you. It wasn’t until you stopped at the dancefloor that it clicked in your head making you giggle.

“If you wanted to dance you could’ve just asked.” You shouted into his ear, the halloween playlist filling the bar making it difficult to be heard. 

“Didn’t know if you would have said yes.” Nico admitted, blush creeping onto his cheeks not that you could tell in the dim light. 

The two of you danced, getting lost in the music. Your bodies were pressed against each other, your ass flush against Nico’s crotch, his hands gripping your hips not wanting to lose you in the crowd or to keep you against him. You welcomed it though. It felt like it was just the two of you in here. Nico pressed soft kisses along your collarbone up to your neck and along your jaw before reaching your lips. You turned around, your hands moving to caress the stubble on his jaw as you deepened the kiss. You could feel Nico’s grip loosen, his fingers lightly sliding down to the curve of your ass. It was then that the fog lifted bringing you back to the reality that you were currently in the middle of the bar making out with Nico. Nico who you work with. 

You moved your head to the side, breaking out of the spell that was cast on you. “We can’t do this.” You sighed, gently pushing Nico away making him frown slightly. “We work together.”

“Technically we work for the same organisation, not together. Besides, no one has to find out. This could be our little secret.” He said, his fingers gently tilting your chin so you were looking back at him. “If you can honestly say you don’t want this we can stop now but I think you want this as much as me.”

You bit your lip, looking at him through your eyelashes. You wish you could say that but you couldn’t because you did want this. You wanted Nico’s big hands caressing your thighs as his lips found your sweet spot. “I want this.” You told him. “I want you.”

That was enough for Nico to grab your hand and drag you out of the bar into the cold New Jersey night. The worries from earlier slipping to the back of your mind as you climbed into the Uber, Nico’s hand resting dangerously high on your thigh.

[gooperts-gunk]

post-qsmp q!bbh's story so far...

back to back we have had new q!bbh story pieces, on mythcraft with lilithluvsya and as mr. x on arkanis, so im going to write down all of my own notes of what we have learned so far + my crazed theory talk :) this will be long!!! note: this is from the perspective of someone who doesn't know mythcraft lore and the only arkanis lore i know is from what i pick up in passing lol. i will do my best!!

starting with the halloween special on mythcraft with lilith and rurus in which bbh helps lilith solve a puzzle that leads to her finding and adopting a new child, we get to see an actual bbh summoning!! im unsure if the treats are a necessary offering or just a kind gesture, but the soulfire-esque flames or wisps seem to be a very specific detail...

the chant lilith says is "hear these words, hear my cry, spirit from the other side! come to me, i summon thee, cross now the great divide!" implying that if he's summoned, chances are, he was in the underworld or somewhere else. later on during technical difficulties, lilith mentions that "i don't even know the state of his soul at the moment! because usually whenever i summon a chant through those words," she repeats it, "his soul just acted a bit... weird! he usually doesn't act like that whenever i summon him. usually, the magic feels a bit more smooth, and it was very choppy this time. his soul just felt different from the last time i saw him. i can't put my finger on it." it's hard to say what exactly this means, (i've seen some people think it's about how he died with a split soul, he never got the other half back from purgatory as far as we know...) as we've never seen him be summoned before, but in this case, he just showed up on the chest crying out a confused "HELLO...?" but later on says "i could sense something was off, that's why im here." with his trickster confidence. he also mentions he's "been around, doing my thing. im very busy," and no concrete answer is ever stated. another detail is that halloween is said by lilith to be "the veils between our world meet once a year," meaning as far as we know he can only be summoned on halloween.

when he accepts the treats and attempts to leave he says "im trying to get back home!" a place of residence for q!bbh is implied, whether or not it's one we know of or even if it's an actual house is uncertain. when bad comes across a haunted house he says "oh my gosh! i had a house like this once, only it was red." which might cross out the place of residence being on the island. might, considering the house was later changed because most people hated the red lol. when bad is downed from fall damage lilith comments "why are you so fragile?! you're not usually, like, this breakable." bbh says "oh, as soon as i die, i get to go back home, so..." since we know how !bbh deaths work, (he can only perma-die once from a unique death, e.g. the combination of soul vulture infection and nuke radiation slowly ate away until perma-killing that version of himself, which means it was an entirely unique instance of death. so it's safe to assume that ever since he had fallen, he would have perma-died from simple things like starvation, but then can no longer perma-die from it again, with a possible exception of if it's starvation along with something else at the same time) we know that him dying wouldn't be enough to bring him 'back home' if it's implied to be the underworld or the mind desert, therefore, it would mean that if he dies during a summoning that the connection is immediately broken and he's back to wherever he was at the time. he's sometimes even excited whenever he gets downed, even saying "take me! take me home!" either because 1. he just really wants to get home for some reason or 2. he just really doesn't want to work for lilith.

but, we know he doesn't HAVE to work for lilith, because lilith states at the end after he's left to fellow mythcraft member nex that, "you know how im a witch? ... WELL... a long, LONG time ago... i made a mistake with my magic and i MIGHT have summoned a greater demon who turned out to be a TRICKSTER demon instead and KINDA reversed the contract on me and NOW im stuck with him until i die and i have to do his bidding whenever he comes around, but only whenever i create the first kind of contract for him to flip around. and he kind of... is around, and changes rurus a lot, and i have to work to make sure that rurus can transform back into a human one day because they're stuck in their bunny form..." which is a LOT to digest and she said it all in like two breaths lol. so in reality lilith is stuck with bad, not bad being stuck with lilith, and bad could peace out whenever he wanted because it's trickster demon rules and on top of that he can also transform humans into bunnies??!!

going back to where my previous notes were, when they arrive at rurus' house and bad seeing a painting of himself with 5 cracked eggs around him, he exclaims, "what the fudge is that?! THAT'S CRAZY!! who's the monster who made this??" meanwhile lilith is oblivious to whatever this means. he also steals the painting. rurus shows up! (rurus says he smells like sulfur, which is definitely the 'demon smell' ak!bagi mentions once she has a moment to speak with him after the chaos) rurus mentions making the painting and it was likely a gag that bad wasn't supposed to see during the lore stream but it's there now LOL and bad repeats the same horror to them as they're oblivious too, "it's you blowing up the moon! all the moons that you've blown up?" "oh, yeah, im sure it's blowing up the moon!!" he says in angry sarcasm, and then sobs a little. "i had eggs once..." both lilith and rurus inquire, and lilith is the one to say "you became a father?" in myth!lilith's defense, the residents have a lot of adorable baby creatures they care for and might sooner assume the eggs in question are cute creatures LOL "well i just said i had eggs, so..." "oh, you hatched them?" "ohhh he HAD eggs- lawren, he- he hit menopause, he said something about that..." I HEEHEE'D. idc if it's just a goof and not entirely canon im keeping it in here.

later on, when the trio complete the puzzles and find a well-decorated baby ghost named willow inside a willow tree, bbh's behavior to willow is very endearing and also straight-forward, casually offering some steak that he stole from rurus' house. he finds the way out of the tree for them by hearing a raccoon's chitter, and lilith comments "you're really good at talking to raccoons for some reason..." and rurus pokes further with "did you have a special relationship with a raccoon?" "yeah i- i speak raccoon." this of course is brought up from the perspective of both of them knowing his lore out of character and wanting to poke fun, but it's also a fun coincidence that it was a raccoon, as raccoons are very special to pomme. it starts storming, and rurus tells bad to give willow his hood but alternatively gives willow his soul lantern instead since his hood is a "...non-removable item...".

when they bring willow back to lilith's house, he continues stealing like he has been since he was summoned, but this time he takes a cookie from a cookie jar and passes one to willow before taking one for himself. when willow thanks him and says she loves cookies, he gives her another and says "you can never have too many cookies!" which would immediately make you think of his kids and their cookies, dapper especially as they're a total cookie fiend. as willow settles in he teaches willow the first and only lesson he's given to her so far: "whenever someone invites you into their home, you get to take whatever you want!!" he goes upstairs and shows himself and willow around lilith's house, rurus mentions a gaming chair, of which was a toilet. bad takes it and says, "i know someone who would love this!" which of course would be richas' gaming set-up that had a toilet for a chair because of a prank, if i remember correctly.

bad asks where his room is, making an assumption that his summoning meant he was going to move in. when lilith says he could stay at rurus', REALLY not wanting him here, he says "i can't have a room at both??" like the greedy little man he is. <3 willow is then shown her own room, where bad then proceeds to place the furniture he stole from lilith into the room for her.

the birth certificate is revealed! willow is lilith's daughter, and bbh is her guardian demon. (many were unsure if he was a parent to willow but lilith clarified on twitter that he's a guardian demon that will show up from time to time) rurus inquires if HE scribbled his name there, and he says "no, no! that's crazy. that'd be ridiculous." in a bit of a liar voice.

when he accidentally picks up willow's sign, he courteously says "im sorry," and gives it back, prompting rurus to tell lilith she could just ask and he'd give her stuff back. when she does in a cutesy way, he dodges it entirely by saying "no hablo inglés" and when lilith demands for the furniture in spanish, he says "i don't speak spanish". i wouldn't call it entirely parental as willow's not his kid, but as you can tell bbh has shown far more care and respect to this child he just met than his contractors. the trickster has priorities!

they tuck willow into bed, and bbh falls asleep standing up, when lilith starts shoving him saying it's time to get him to bed, he wakes up suddenly, yelling "night terrors!! night terrors!!" we know he's gone long periods of time without sleeping, but he's having night terrors when he does...

bbh has technical issues, and during that time, rurus and lilith have a back and forth about him and their contract which is summarized in the bout with nex above. rurus says "you know, i used to be able to swear before i knew him, and now i can't." "huh! that's a weird incantation." this itself is likely a joke about their out of character friendship, but they come up with the idea that he might have a literal swear jar that he puts people's swears in, never to be said again lol.

lilith decides to keep the portal open as bad loses summoning connection to their world (aka technical difficulties) so he can visit whenever he likes to be a guardian demon for willow.

this wraps up the mythcraft section of new q!bbh pieces! onto arkanis!

a lot of people were unsure if mr. x would be q!bbh, but it becomes VERY clear based on how he acts with familiar faces, and some late night conversations...

not much to note when bad / mr. x greets fit, but there's a very silly familiarity when he says he'd like to take fit out to brunch right before talking about torturing him... yeah sure man why not O_O when fit asks if he's considered being GOOD and not murdering people, bad says "i considered it, but my therapist says i should embrace my hobbies. im trying to listen to my therapist more." so he at least had a therapist in recent times to tell him this, because on quesadilla island when asked about therapy, he mentioned something along the lines of that he tried therapy once, but he'd get chased out of town by people with pitchforks.

to briefly dissect the cutscene, from what i've learned, bad floating is a sign that he's powerful in valigma! only people with magic in valigma can float, examples being araldo when we get to see him later, and also bia raux who is also brought up to bad when telling him the current lore after the event. also. the manor. the banquet. i love you builders, it's so eggpire-coded. that man can't escape the aesthetic of red vines even if c!bbh tried LOL and another fun detail, he has ghosties/souls bursting around him! it's become integral to his character :)

when mr. x encounters the brazilians and his escaped captive fit, all the fantasminhas float around him! it's super cute that the grim reaper got little ghost sidekicks, and then doesn't even recognize that they're ghosts <3 he mostly called denix a gremlin or goblin, but that's because out of character he DEFINITELY knew who the admin was, that's why he bullied them so much and not the others lol.

even though he's having fun annoying everyone as mr x., bad still takes moments for the little ghosts, like spam crouching with amora when she creeps up to him, him and denix bonding by killing a penguin?? and playing songs on the flute and they all surround him and dance. :)

when the find the button room starts, and bad does his npc voice, bagi immediately starts yelling, knowing the "you got this! you can do it!" all too well, and bad keeps saying it in recognition. while it was already true that ak!bagi is a continuation of q!bagi, this interaction itself can be enough to assume that mr. x is q!bbh if he remembers it like she does. when it's revealed it's a find the button room, she's even MORE distressed, "are you responsible for this? please- please tell me you don't..." "i would never!" he says like a liar, and then maniacally laughs. bagi also frequently calls him "bad" and not mr. x unlike mostly everyone else, seeing through the silly alias.

one interesting detail is how hungry mr. x is for totems!! every once in a while he'll mention how he wants more totems popped, in the valigma cemetary / cemetario do valigma, he asks quel for how many totems they have, when they say a hundred, he says "passa tudo!" and drops mobs on them. he really wants totems for some reason!! does he absorb something from it or did he just really hate foolish that day? lol

once the event is over, bad and bagi get to talk! bad becomes uncle to amora, bagi's daughter. amora is immediately very sweet to bad! bagi catches bad up on what's going on in valigma, telling him about araldo and bia, and bagi thinks because he's a demon that he could help the specialists understand and handle the magic themselves, "you see those pink blocks glowing that way? they're like some of the magic powers that this land has, but we can't just touch it and start doing magic all the way through the town. so, basically, there's powers everywhere that we don't know how to use and those two entities fighting each other, they use different kinds of power. so maybe you, being a demon and stuff... maybe you can teach us how to handle this." which, upon mention of him being a demon, he deflects by admiring a streetlamp. bad didn't act this way with lilith and rurus because they were already aware he was a demon since they summoned him, but he never confirmed anything to bagi other than the vague vastness of his age and his immortality, if i remember correctly. which is more than he's confirmed to other people!

bad points out bagi's smoking, "you've taken up smoking, im guessing it's been really hard?" "yeah! yeah, no, that was because, the things i lived before, you know..." "yeah i understand..." "it caused me a lot of trouble." if im correct in assuming this is about the island and losing the kids... :( which bad then segues into asking if there's an ikea. LOL

when jvnq starts taking bad to pac's house to steal furniture, he says "oh wow! you guys are all nice and close together, i like this. yeah, i hate having to walk really far." knowing that q!bbh tried really hard to get people to live close by to him when he was dying so someone would take care of his kids recontextualizes this as living far away being a regret he still holds </3 (not to mention, cc!bad himself regrets building his bases so far away)

when pac says he'll give bad more muffins and furniture if he teaches him how to fly and such, bad deflects by saying "yeah! it's easy, you just got to... you got a- you got a nice view!" and looking at the black hole outside his house.

later on, when bad gets transported by araldo, they seem to get along nicely and araldo wants him to do MORE chaos at some point, which i believe is worrisome if it's true that araldo is the problem in the fight between araldo and bia raux... but also very fitting for him. meanwhile, sent back to his friends, he has only good things to say about him, and also inserted some of his silly lies. the entire interaction feels reminiscent of the times he'd talk about the 'eyeball guy with the snatched waist' aka the watcher, or even cucurucho to a certain degree LOL

when gabe takes bad to space, bad comments that it's a first for him! "the moon is just like i imagined it'd be..." congrats !bbh for having your first moon experience, at least, as far as you can remember!

meanwhile, transported to the mr. x manor, bad gives a dizzying tour to gabe, denix, and amora! he introduces the skeppy room when asked about his bedroom, mentioning he doesn't really need to sleep, and he instead meditates on top of the skeppy. (someone PLEASE feed this man dapper's special cake recipe) he also introduces his chair and i have no doubt that people have shown a comparison of his chair here vs. his chair in the hall of grim but i'll put it here anyways lol. he's also very consistent because the vod i went to to get a screenshot of his hall of grim chair is the near exact same "and this is my chair..." when he introduces it.

when bad, gabe, denix and amora are in the maze that the experts + fit went through to get to the cemetary, they stop at a corner to chat and gabe asks bad "changing the subject a little, if you had a son now what would his name be?" (possibly more gender neutral than the translator says, which is how bad interprets it,) this likely was on the mind because a bit earlier while exploring the manor, denix asked him to give him a second name or middle name and bad hadn't answered. bad stops to think about it, before prefacing "well, i- i've had kids over the years, a couple, but you're saying if i got a new kid, right? what would i name... him... probably... how do you say 'gremlin' in portuguese?" it's the same, but alternatively gabe offers "duende." meaning denix's second name is probably duende now LOL but more importantly, for the first time, at least directly tonight, q!bbh was reminded of his children. gabe contextualizes why he asked, "it's because in this city... anything can happen, you understand? one day you're single, and sad, and the next you have a family." "no, that's true... yeah. i- i understand what it's like, one day you just wake up and you got kids, i totally get it... and then everybody dies, and you're left alone." OOGH. EEYOWCH. we don't know for certain how long q!bbh has been living after escaping quesadilla island, or if even in the end cc!bad is planning that he escapes at all, he might still be bound to it. but however long it's been, he's been carrying onto the weight of everyone disappearing, with only strange creatures (the bunnies, the penguins, cucurucho...) to keep him company once everyone is gone. gabe inquires about if his family died, and he covers up with "oh, no, im just saying that's the inevitable. that's what happens, sorry." ...top 10 sentences that are more depressing when contextualized by an immortal demon with a heart too big for people to comprehend... :( something that bad misses here is denix asking if he wants to adopt amora, but this comes back around!

transported again, while gabe walks bad towards the boat the experts arrived on, he says "valigma keeps many mysteries and lots of trouble, right? fights, in this case many fights, problems, death, pain, suffering, and then we decide to have a child despite all these problems; how can this be, right? it's a weak point." bad says "yeah, love tends to lead to lots of problems..." which would be specifically commenting on taking care of children. and from the perspective of his current situation, being without them... yowch. :( then bad falls into a ravine, shoved by denix, and amora saves him. :) but when he fell he purposefully avoided landing in the water. :(

later on they go to the leaderboard! there amora offers that bad can adopt her for a while, since she's "kinda an orphan" based on the activity of her parents other than bagi, and he accepts :) though knowing he literally can't be active either lol. from then on, amora calls bad "dad" for the rest of the night, and "pai bad" the next day when talking with some of the experts :)

some more fun stops later, they pause in the gallery as gabe explains more of the araldo and bia beef, to which bad says once more to "wine and dine" araldo... if u want it done right, do it urself, geez... chat, beat this guy up for me... he has a weakness for guys with power... another moment in this stop to goof around, bad says "yeah, im really good at cooking... people. meals." which is normal q!bbh and the least surprising thing he's said or done all night.

the night slowly comes to a close, after running into guaxi for a small reunion, he says goodbye with a bang when denix kills him and he logs out. they then contain mr. x's corpse in a box of glass, preserved for memories <3

if this is what post-qsmp has been like for q!bbh so far, IM SO EXCITED FOR MORE!!! and yes i HAVE spent at least 5 hours writing notes as i vod review!!! q!bbh on arkanis felt a lot like a classic day on qsmp with his character plus some pain and suffering, and q!bbh on mythcraft gave us some extra lore bits to think about!!! very very fun, im sooo excited for whatever ending cc!bad has been wanting to make for q!bbh, because if it means he's still kicking it going around to other worlds, all of his pain in tow, IM SO READY!!! thank you if you went through everything here it was a doozy and mostly for yelling about with other people since i haven't been on tumblr for a while and i miss the screams from here. :)

[michiviv]

flufftober, day 3: favorite scent, k. bakugo > the smell of him can calm you down in an instant.

warnings: healthcare worker reader, work day stress

authors note: i need a man who smells like him or smt... also dont like this much jajaj-- july me was crazy

work felt like it dragged on for years today. usually you're ready for the strenuous work but it was just patient after patient after patient— you were exhausted.

the day was rough too, when you went to work you stopped by a coffee shop just to find out they were closed. small things, doesn't matter, right?

you went to the break room and served yourself coffee from the break room when some guy bumped into you and made you spill your coffee.

dickhead didn't apologize.

you took a deep breath and decided to attempt to refrain your mindset, maybe he was stressed, overworked, overnight shift... so, we will move on.

as usual, patients can be... frustrating, refusing to eat, refusing to take their medication, it all happens but when they throw shit?  christ you just wish you could make them pick up everything themselves. a client, in a fit of anger and refusal to eat any food, threw their food towards the floor.

so you painstakingly had to clean up the spilled food, trying to keep a neutral face as to not give the patient the satisfaction of having pissed you the fuck off. then, of course, a medical emergency where you were called in due to an influx of clients causing you to miss your lunch break.

starving but still having to work, you ate while you filled your paperwork and as if to taunt you the computer decided to have technical difficulties causing you to take twice as long as you usually would've to complete the paperwork.

todays mission was to make it through without crying at work... and it was proving so hard right now when it all seemed to be going against you.

you let out a sigh as you finally walked through the door of your apartment. The stress of the day weighed heavily on your shoulders, making your entire body ache. You kicked off your shoes and tossed your bag aside, feeling too tired to care about where it landed.

the smell of the food that your boyfriend was making reaching your nose, causing you to seek him out in the kitchen.

"youre home late, you didn't text." bakugo spoke, his voice carrying the usual grumpy tone. Katsuki Bakugo, your boyfriend, looked up from the pan, his expression softening when he saw the exhaustion on your face.

"Yeah, it was a long day," you muttered, trying to muster a smile but failing miserably.

Bakugo sighed and opened his arm, pulling you into a side hug, his presence immediately starting to ease the tension in your body. He pulled you into a gentle hug, and you buried your face in his chest, inhaling deeply.

The smell of him—a mix of smoky, caramel and something uniquely Katsuki—washed over you. It was a scent that had always brought you comfort, grounding you even in the most stressful moments. Instantly, the chaos of the day began to fade away, replaced by the soothing familiarity of his embrace.

"You look like you've been through hell," he said softly, his voice rumbling in his chest.

"You have no idea," you replied, your words muffled against his shirt. "But this helps."

you hummed softly, pressing her head against his chest and looking at the pan of food. "what're you making?"

"Your favorite," he replied with a smirk. "Figured you could use something nice after a shitty day."

"Thank you, Katsuki," you murmured, feeling a bit lighter already. "I love you.."

"love ya' too, now go shower. wash the bad energy away or whatever the fuck mina says."

You chuckled and reluctantly pulled away from him to wash up, leaving his side with a kiss on his cheek.

After taking a cold shower to wash away the stress of the work day, you felt slightly more human. You returned to the kitchen, where Bakugo was plating up the food. The sight and smell of the meal made your stomach rumble, and Bakugo chuckled.

"Hungry, huh? Sit down. I'll get you some tea, too."

You sank into a chair at the table, watching him move around the kitchen with ease. It always amazed you how someone so fiery and intense could be so gentle and caring when it came to you. He placed a steaming plate of food in front of you, followed by a cup of your favorite tea.

You took a bite, savoring the flavors and the warmth spreading through your body. "This is amazing," you said between mouthfuls. "You always know how to make things better."

"Damn right I do, i'm amazing," he said with a smirk, sitting down across from you with his own plate. "Now, tell me about your day."

As you recounted the various frustrations and challenges you faced, Bakugo listened intently, occasionally grumbling in sympathy or making snide comments about the people who had annoyed you. His reactions made you laugh, easing the heaviness in your chest. Momentarily, you were also thankful he didn't know the dickhead who knocked the coffee out of your hands.

When you finished eating, you took the empty plates to the kitchen to wash them. As you washed the dishes, Katsuki stood behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist before resting against your neck, taking a deep breath.

if any of his friends saw him right now, he would never hear the end of it.

"Do that later, let's watch something," he suggested, guiding you by the waist to the couch.

As the two of you settled onto the couch, he grabbed the remote and pulled you close. You snuggled into his side, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest and the familiar scent that always calmed you. As the TV flickered to life with a cheesy sitcom, you felt the last remnants of the day's stress melt away.

"You're my lucky charm, you know that?" you whispered, looking up at him with a grateful smile.

"Tch, you're just saying that because I feed you," he teased, but the softness in his eyes betrayed his tough exterior.

"Maybe," you said with a chuckle, snuggling closer. "But I mean it. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Bakugo tightened his arm around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You'll never have to find out," he murmured. "I've got you."

[moomine]

backwash III | daisuke

author's note: thank you to literally everyone who’s reading this! you guys are so so sweet and i love you all <3 if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me!! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) Sleep is increasingly hard to find on the Tulpar. At night the reader spends her time in the cockpit, thinking about home. When she feels the whim to sleep, she ventures back to the sleeping quarters, only to bump into Daisuke. Instead, she joins him for a midnight snack and some conversation in the lounge.

word count: 2,372

warnings: no trigger warnings! all characters are 18+

now playing: Dave Bixby - "Morning Sun"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 034—

There was this movie I watched once when I was a kid, about a little girl who falls from the sky. Although I can’t remember the title of it now. I do remember that she was a part of another world, a part of something bigger. She was important. I don’t think you have us write these to talk about movies, do you? I’m sure you’d rather hear about the operations on board, or the technical difficulties, or if there’s been any damage to the cargo. You know, the “important stuff”.  Everything is running smoothly so far. Is that good?

I want to be a part of something bigger one day. Hopefully this experience will help me. I’m grateful to have this opportunity.

DAY THIRTY-THREE—

Pony Express allowed a maximum of five hours of sleep to their employees on haul. During those five hours, the Tulpar was shadowed by a veil of utter stillness. A silence not too dissimilar to that of a library, or that painful pause in awkward conversation. It was too quiet, which led you to stare at the ceiling until the fatigue of work or boredom got the better of you. Even when you could fall asleep, it was far from restful. Over the past month you had gotten the worst sleep of your entire life thus far. Worse than when you lived in those co-ed dorms with unruly neighbors and argumentative hallways. Worse than those nights thunder cracked down from the darkened sky and you clutched stuffed animals in your chubby, child hands. After a certain point, you had given up on finding sleep at all.

The computer screens within the cockpit would beep on occasion, the sound barely audible over the soft plucking of guitar strings in your headphones. The coords of some old folk song filled your ears instead. You sat in the captain's chair, curling in on yourself with your knees to your chest and arms around your person. Your head snuggled into the dip in your legs, cheek pressed your knee cap as you stared at the sea of glowing green.

Curly had given you permission not too long ago to sit in the cockpit at night. Within the first month of your apprenticeship, you had grown on him quite a bit. The captain had always been a kindhearted person. He was a people pleaser to his core, a man simply happy to help. Curly saw a lot of himself in you, and he knew what it was like to feel, well, restless.

“As long as you promise not to touch anything,” he had said, prefacing his next words with a comforting smile, “you have my permission to use your clearance to the cockpit at night. But if word gets to the higher ups, they’ll have my head, understood? We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Normally, you tried to pay attention to how long you had been sitting there, keeping track of each song that played to count the minutes as they passed, but tonight you hadn’t. With a sigh, you reluctantly stood from Curly’s chair, deciding to give sleep another try. You slipped your Walkman into the pocket of your pajama pants and left the cockpit. Each step you took was quiet, almost imperceivable, as you walked down the hall toward the sleeping quarters. You didn’t want to disturb the others, although you had a feeling nobody else was sleeping all that well either. The rusted, trusty pipes groaned as you passed, their settling moans somehow bypassing the volume of your music. It made you feel uneasy. You reached into your pocket and turned the music up a bit in an attempt to drown out the sound. 

Rounding the corner, you finally reached the door to the sleeping quarters. Just as you reached for the door handle, it slid open seemingly on its own, causing you to flinch. Standing there—holding a flashlight in one hand and with the other placed against his chest—was Daisuke, looking far more caught off guard than you felt. You winced as he shined the light directly into your eyes.

“Holy shit, dude,” he breathed, voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “You straight up scared the hell out of me. What are you doing walking around in the dark?” Daisuke adjusted his aim and shot the beam at the ceiling instead, creating enough light for the two of you to see each other a little better.

With a soft laugh, you pulled your headphones from your ears, allowing them to hang around the back of your neck. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

“You too?” Daisuke questioned.

“I’m surprised anyone can sleep on this thing,” you whispered. “Where are you going?”

His eyes dropped in embarrassment as he used his free hand to rub nervous circles against the side of his neck. “I’m… I’m grabbing a snack from the lounge. You wanna come?”

“Yeah, if you want me to.” You didn’t hesitate. Anything sounded better than tossing and turning. You stepped to the side, permitting him enough space to walk out of the doorway then alongside you.

Daisuke breathed a chuckle at your response. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.”

“Then I guess I’m coming,” you said in a hushed, playful tone.

Daisuke looked at you with a smile and nodded, shining his flashlight down the hall as the two of you began to walk in silence. In the quiet of the hall, the door to the lounge seemed to open with a deafening wheeze. Deep, royal blue illuminated the large room. The night-time window screen displayed a starry sky with wisp-like clouds, bathing the room with an otherworldly glow. It reminded you of going to the aquarium as a kid, surrounded by water and the smell of saltwater. You half expected to look up and see sharks and fish swimming overhead, but you knew all there would be was a dull, blank ceiling and slumbering lights.

Daisuke stuck his head through the doorway, peeking to see if anyone was already inside. When he determined that the coast was clear—although it wouldn’t have mattered anyway considering the noise of the door, he motioned for you to follow him inside.

“Hell yeah! The place is ours,” Daisuke celebrated, speaking louder once the door closed behind you two. He walked toward the vending machines with long, intentional strides. You tread on his heels, gaze fixed on him in amusement as he looked over the different options. 

You pulled your Walkman from your pocket, then leaned against the bar, palms pressed to the countertop as you pushed yourself up, and took a seat on the cool, brown laminate. “Is there normally someone else here?”

“Hmm?” He barely heard you, too fixated on what he was going to eat. As he processed what you had said, the words loading behind his eyes in a turning spiral, he ordered a pack of freeze-dried fruit and tore into the package. “Oh, nah. Not usually. I mean, I’ve seen Anya in here once or twice, but she’s always coming from medical bay. Getting coffee for those late nights, I guess.”

“She works too much,” you noted. “I wish she wouldn’t push herself like that.”

“You two seem close.” Daisuke approached, leaning against the counter beside you.

“Yeah. You could say that.” A tender smile graced your lips at the thought of you and Anya being close.

There was a pause, a brief lull in the otherwise newborn conversation. A series of crunches sounded from your right where Daisuke stood as he popped piece after piece into his mouth. You glanced over at him, the tenderness of your smile warping into something more entertained. He glanced over at you in turn, his mouth full of apple as he mustered a lopsided smile.

“Hey, it’s your Walkman,” he exclaimed after a swallow, pointing at the dated tech in your lap. “Whatcha listening to?”

“Oh,” you peeped with a suddenly flustered look on your face. “It’s a mix my mom made for me. Just a bunch of old folk stuff she used to play for me when I was little.”

“Can I listen?” he asked, shoving another piece of fruit in his mouth.

“S-Sure, yeah.” You unplugged your headphones and played the tape. It crackled, the old speaker not what it used to be. Or what it ever was, truthfully.

Maybe the quality of the sound would have bothered somebody else, but not Daisuke. As your small corner of the lounge filled with the sound of guitar—the stories of rural towns, first loves, and early mornings, Daisuke set his snack on the counter and listened intently. It was far from what he’d normally like, but something about listening to it here, with you made it sound perfect.

“It’s funny, actually. I never used to like this stuff back on Earth, but lately this is the only one I want to listen to,” you said over the music.

“You must really miss her.” Daisuke inched closer, standing less than a foot away from you as he leaned against the counter. His gaze flickered up to your face, quietly admiring the curves and arches of your profile. Under the blue light of the night time window screen, any blemish or imperfection on your face seemed to vanish. Not that he had ever noticed any imperfections on you. Matter of fact, for some reason, he couldn’t imagine seeing any part of you as imperfect. Even if he tried. There was a somber look in your expression as he spoke, one that made his stomach twist in knots.

“So much. I didn’t think it would be this hard being away from home.” Your voice was just above a whisper now. You felt your eyes begin to burn, the familiar sensation of tears welling in the corners as you tried to suppress the ebbing flow. With the shake of your head, you let out a quick laugh, feeling the tension gradually lifted from your shoulders. “What kind of music do you like?”

Daisuke didn’t blink or care about the change in discussion. He didn’t care about what the two of you talked about, and he wasn’t going to pry either. He knew that you would open when you felt comfortable enough to do so, and he was happy to wait however long that would take.

“A bit of everything, I guess. It kinda pisses me off when people say that and, like, they don’t actually mean it.” He slid his snack off of the bar and extended it to you, shaking it as the pieces inside rattled against each other. “I have a pretty impressive vinyl collection back home. Got everything from Etta James to Duster. You should see it sometime.”

Weakly, you smiled and took a piece of the fruit from the package. “Maybe when all of this is said and done. After the haul?”

“I’d love that,” Daisuke responded quickly, eyes trailing over your face. After another moment of silence, a brief break in conversation, he shifted on his heels and looked away. “So, you uh… you got anyone waiting for you back home? Y’know, like friends? A boyfriend? Or uh, a girlfriend? If you, like, swing that way or whatever. Which would be totally cool, obviously. I’ve got a bunch of gay friends-”

“Daisuke,” you said with a hint of that ever familiar amusement in your voice. “Relax, okay?”

He looked back at you and nodded. “Right, yeah… So, do you?”

“Friends? Yeah, a bunch. I miss them too. But a partner, not so much…” You felt your cheeks light up, a soft pink flush dusting the peaks of your cheekbones and the ridge of your nose.

“Hey, that’s cool,” he responded, bumping shoulders with you and trying not to sound too happy about your response. “Me neither. I mean, like I said, I’ve got loads of friends. Just not the whole girlfriend boyfriend thing.”

“Look at us,” you mused. “One in the same.”

“Yup, one in the same.” Daisuke glanced back at you hopefully, then looked away. He downed the rest of his dried fruit and crumpled up the package, tossing it in the direction of a nearby trashcan and missing by a couple feet. He winced, feeling a tinge of embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“You gonna go get that?” you asked jokingly, pushed yourself from the countertop, and landed on your feet, securely tucking your Walkman back into your pocket as the music stopped.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes and walked toward the trash before picking it up and disposing of it properly. “It’s on the way out anyway. In fact, I meant to do that.”

You trailed after him, following close behind as the two of you approached the exit to the lounge. “Totally,” you teased, smiling up at him.

Yet again, the door slid open with that deafening screech as Daisuke and you left the lounge. Together, you walked back to the sleeping quarters. At the door, Daisuke turned to you and stopped. His brown eyes trailed over your features once more in the darkness, illuminated only by the light of the flashlight in his hands. Even in the blackness of the hallway, his smile was bright. His gap-toothed grin seemed almost bright enough to flood the entire hallway with light.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he spoke quietly.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you responded.

Daisuke opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words he wanted to say seemed caught in his throat. Instead, he just nodded and displayed that same smile. Your brows furrowed questioningly, an expression that made his heart skip a bit. Before you could say anything, he opened the door to the sleeping quarters and ushered you inside.

“Goodnight, [Name]. See ya in the morning.” He bit his lip, walking backward toward his room and nearly stumbling when he reached the door.

“Sweet dreams, Daisuke.” 

With that, you slipped into your room with a strange feeling in your chest. A tightness you hadn’t felt since high school, since hallway crushes and etching names into wooden picnic tables. An ache at the loss of his presence. How strange.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

pookies (taglist): @xcryptk33p3rx @freakyydaisukee @sanctuaryofsmartiess @st4rrysblog @academiq @c4t-n1pp @iiveraii

[always-just-red]

Masterlist✨

Last Updated: 15/11/24 | All works are my own and belong to me!

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

🎨 Rafayel

Practice Makes Perfect (2.3k) Fluff + humour. "I'll teach you how to swim!" he said. "It'll be fun!" he said. Let's be honest: the warning signs were there from the very start.

Perspective (2k) Fluff. You've spent two hours preparing a meal for Rafayel, and he has absolutely no intention of sitting down to it.

Fourth Wall (Raf Ver.) (2.4k) Angst. You didn't think Rafayel would let you walk around an art gallery all by yourself, did you?

🩸 Sylus:

Technical Difficulties (2.4k) Fluff + comfort. You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Wrong Number (2k) Fluff + humour. You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...

Something Sweet (2.1k) Fluff. Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

A Gentle Touch (3.2k) Angst + fluff. You really can’t let Sylus into your head this time— he’s living there rent-free already.

To Remain Silent (2.7k) Angst + comfort. Sylus has told you to arrest him one too many times…

Unspoken (2k) Angst. You could fix all of this if Sylus would just resonate with you. Why won't he resonate with you?

Fourth Wall (1.5k) Player x character. L&D is getting more and more real with each update. This is a new update... right?

❄ Zayne:

Doctor's Orders (2k) Fluff. Zayne has suggested you skip work today, which isn't suspicious at all...

Reserved (1.2k) Angst + comfort. You've been looking forward to this dinner with Zayne for a week, but it seems he has other priorities.

🎭 Luke and Kieran:

Onychinus' Finest (2.1k) Fluff + shenanigans. All in a day's work for Sylus's loyal and committed worker bees crows

✨ Multi/Headcanons:

Game Night (4k) Humour + fluff. The most important men in your life can manage one evening together, right? For you? Please? Pretty please?

Putting On A Brave Face (4k) Comfort + fluff. Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

It's Just Not Your Day (4k) Humour + fluff. It's you against the kids of Linkon City, and guess what? The kids are winning.

[incarnadin3]

Obey Me! Incorrect quotes pt. 4

MC: I put the pun in punishment. Lucifer: I put the top in unstoppable. Diavolo: I put the cute in execute. Barbatos: I put the sexy in dyslexia. Simeon: I put the ass in class. Solomon: I put the D in MC.

MC: Time for plan G. Lucifer: Don’t you mean plan B? MC: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties. Mammon: What about plan D? MC: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago. Asmodeous: What about plan E? MC: I’m hoping not to use it. Lucifer dies in plan E. Belphegor and Satan, in unison: I like plan E.

Lucifer: I don’t do relationships. MC: *exists* Lucifer: Shit.

Belphegor: Imagine being under 5’4’’ and thinking you have rights lol couldn’t be me. MC: You wanna keep those kneecaps you better stfu Belphegor: I’m sorry, I can’t hear you from all the way down there, can you repeat that? MC: I SAID FUCK YOU BITCH

MC: I saw the most beautiful person outside today. Asmodeous: That’s impossible, I have been inside all day.

Asmodeous: You can de-escalate any situation by simply saying, 'Are we about to kiss?' MC: Doesn't work for getting out of speeding tickets, by the way. Found that out the hard way.

Belphegor: *sighs* Satan: You bored? Belphegor: Yeah. Satan: Wanna start drama for no reason? Belphegor: Thought you'd never ask!

MC: Think about this, Lucifer! I'm your hottest friend! MC: No- Asmodeous... MC: I'm your nicest friend! MC: No- Beelzebub... MC: I'm your friend!

[soojinieshifts]

Hihihi I just wanted to ask how world tour work and if their stressful :33

Oooo ok this is a good one!

TOURS

So tours are usually planned a few months in advance, some companies will do a year or 2 in advance but it depends on like the success of your groups and how big your fanbase is. The planning is done by your staff, managers, etc.

Touring can be so much fun honestly because you get to go to so many beautiful places and see so many cool stuff, my favorite part is getting to show my members around my home country and the places I’ve grown up. It’s also fun to introduce them to my family, have them try our foods and so much more things. Not all companies however have all countries in mind it’s usually just the ones they think are popular or care about but I script our tour stops usually so I don’t really run into this problem like I did when I was a baby shifter.

Usually your company will let you guys pick your set list, but they also will do a lot of them based on popularity of the songs. Like usually you will preform all title tracks that you have released since those are most popular but you and your members will also be able to pick the bsides and other songs for set lists. If you’re planning on having a solo stage then a lot of planning and practice goes into this before tour, and during sound check every set will be run through in order to avoid any mistakes.

All this aside, touring can also be very tiring. Especially if you are having a comeback near the end or middle because then dates become more closer and immediate/less spaced out?? (If that makes sense😭) in order for you guys to have time to go back to Korea for the comeback, if you have schedules then you will have your show and depending on when the schedule is you will usually be flown immediately to wherever said schedules is. (By schedules I mean events for brands and other shit like that). Some companies will give maybe a week or 2?? Cool down period before going to the next leg of the tour (like Asia, North America, South America, etc.) Some groups like twice for example does a complete different performance for each place they are going to so this means twice is practicing more than usual. Overall the most tiring part was traveling around often, going to the airport early in the morning, and very late practices.

For my personal experience for every tour I went on, we would sleep at hotels with the members sometimes it would be solo rooms or roommates (it would be really fun with roommates ngl), Concert outfits were entirely chosen by stylists but for solo stages we usually get a say in what we get to choose. My favorite moment of the concert was realizing that I was finally there. Everything just came to me naturally , all the training, practices, everything paid off to this very moment. It can still be stressful and pressuring but also very fun! But this was all my experiences so it might not be the same as yours.

Things I recommend you script: Tour edition

- you go to more places for tours (if shifting to a group where they don’t go many places)

- you always have the best outfits

- your solo stage!! Trust me this part is so fun fr

- no one ever has a wardrobe malfunction on stage

- there are never any technical difficulties (mics not working, sound issues, etc.)

[femmequixotic]

Hello #Femmequixotic, I am a huge fan of your fics, and I've recently finished the 4th part of your Tales from the Special Branch.

Firstly, I'd like to express my admiration and love for your writing and creativity, and after reading your last post here, I hope you currently find yourself in a better place.

Now, I confess that I came here to see when you had last spoken about your work, and was incredibly excited to see that you were working on it, only to see that it has been over a year since.

I understand how life can be unpredictable, and no-one will be upset (although certainly sad) about you abandoning the series, but I came here to simply thank you for your work, and ask if there is any chance of an update (that being new chapters or the definite end to the series).

Regards,

V.

Hi, friend,

I just logged in after a significant amount of time away and saw this and some other lovely messages of support for me from various people. Thank you all so much for your kind words.

To provide an update on why I once again disappeared....well. Life is curiously, frustratingly exasperating sometimes. Just as I got back into writing last year, I started to have some health difficulties that I had to deal with. Long story short, I was rediagnosed with cancer in the spring of 2023. This recent tumor wasn't operable due to its placement, and technically was considered metastatic, so over the past year, I have been going through a very long process of two different types of radiation treatment plus five months of chemotherapy. I still have a very long stretch of immunotherapy ahead of me, and while the tumor seems to have melted away, we're not entirely certain the cancer is gone based on some symptoms I continue to have. My oncology team is awesome, though, and they're doing everything they can to help me.

I'm better than I was a year ago--or even six months ago--so that's positive, and my brain is finally starting to return back to normal from some of the fatigue and fog from treatment and from being ill. I'd like to go back to writing, and I'm feeling more creative as my strength builds back up. I don't want to promise anything, since the last time I did, life decided to immediately throw me a curveball, and to be honest, I'm still wicked tired on my good days, but I hope to complete the story within the next year. That's my plan, at least, so fingers crossed? I've always said I didn't want to abandon it at any point, and I'm determined to keep that promise to you all--and to myself.

So, yeah. That's what's been happening. I'm still here, I'm still fighting, and I'm still writing. Just super slowly, lol.

[its-avalon-08]

Hey lovely, can i make a request for Daniel Ricciardo fic based on But daddy i love him by Taylor? You can have free reign on it, but just that line "me and my wild boy and all of his wild joy" is so Daniel and has been stuck in my head for ages. Something fluffy and funny, so whatever you want (maybe even a pregnancy reveal 👀👀) if you see fit i just love that song and it's so big ric coded.

Love your work!!! Thank you so much 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

but daddy i love him (dr3)

(please bear with me this one is extra long, ily all)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

the start of the most beautiful things in y/n's life were often masked by difficulties and plagued with the anxieties of life. but when danny was around, things just fell into place. time seemed to stop and the fast paced world began to still.

clutching their pearls, sighing "what a mess"

the air in your childhood home crackled with a tension thicker than the gravy simmering on the stove. you sat across from danny, his smile a little too wide, your dad's gaze narrowed like a hawk eyeing a squirrel.

"so, danny," your dad began, his voice gruff, "you're a… racing driver, is that right?"

"yes sir," danny chimed, a touch too enthusiastically. "formula one, actually! just signed with mclaren for next season."

your dad grunted, poking his mashed potatoes with a fork. "formula one, huh? sounds… dangerous."

"it can be," danny admitted, "but safety's paramount these days, you know?" he flashed a winning grin. "plus, the adrenaline rush? unbelievable."

your dad snorted. "adrenaline rush. sounds like you live life on the edge, son."

you shot your dad a warning glare. "dad, be nice."

he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "honey, I just want to make sure he's responsible. you deserve someone stable, someone who won't make you worry constantly."

"dad!" you exclaimed, cheeks burning. "he's not a reckless teenager, he's a professional athlete! and he takes care of himself."

screaming "but daddy i love him!"

danny, bless his heart, interjected, "exactly! I train like a champion, eat healthy, the whole nine yards. your daughter's in good hands, sir."

the tension remained, a thick fog in the air. dinner progressed in tense silence, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery. you stole glances at danny, his usual sunny disposition dampened. it broke your heart.

suddenly, your dad cleared his throat. "so, danny," he began, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "you said you race for mclaren? ever met lewis hamilton?"

you watched in surprise as danny's face lit up. "met him? I race alongside him! absolute legend, that man. we have some epic battles on the track."

for the next hour, the conversation flowed. your dad, a former racing enthusiast himself, peppered danny with questions about the sport, its history, the intricacies of car setup. danny, more than happy to oblige, regaled him with stories, technical details, even pulling out his phone to show pictures of him with lewis.

by the end of the night, your dad was chuckling at a particularly funny anecdote about a rogue pigeon causing a pit stop delay. he clapped danny on the back with a newfound warmth. "alright, alright, danny. you alright in my book. just take care of my daughter, you hear?"

danny, his grin back in full force, squeezed your hand. "wouldn't dream of it, sir. consider yourself one of my biggest fans from now on."

as you walked danny to his car later, a comfortable silence settled between you. "thanks for being patient with him," you whispered, leaning into his side.

i know he's crazy but he's the one i want

he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. "your dad just wants the best for you, that's all. and seeing you happy… that's all I want too." he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. "besides, I think I scored some serious brownie points tonight, wouldn't you say?"

you laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. "maybe just enough to convince him that a formula one driver can be perfectly responsible... especially when he makes my daughter this happy."

time skip

the sun beat down on the golden sands of miami beach, the gentle waves lapping at the shore lulling you into a state of pure bliss. sprawled out on your beach towel, sunglasses perched on your nose, you were lost in a trashy romance novel, the sound of danny's playful laughter occasionally breaking through your concentration.

suddenly, a shadow fell over you. you peeked over your sunglasses to see danny, a mischievous glint in his eyes, standing over you. before you could even register what was happening, he swooped down, scooping you up in his arms like a prize.

now i'm dancing in my dress in the sun and

"hey!" you shrieked, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. the book tumbled into the sand, forgotten.

with a triumphant yell, danny sprinted towards the ocean. the cool water rushed at you as he plunged in, carrying you with him. you shrieked again, this time with delight, water splashing everywhere.

when danny finally set you down, the waves lapping at your waists, you couldn't help but grin at him. his hair was plastered to his forehead, and a carefree smile stretched across his face.

i'm his lady, and oh my god

"you're a menace, ricciardo!" you exclaimed, shaking your head playfully.

he just laughed, the sound echoing across the beach. then, in a flash, he was pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. you giggled as he dipped you backwards, the cool water washing over you both.

when he pulled you back up, his eyes held a playful fire. before you could say anything, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was warm, sweet, and tasted faintly of salt. you melted into him, the world around you fading away.

me and my wild boy and all of this wild joy

the kiss ended with a sigh, foreheads resting against each other. you looked into his eyes, their blue depths sparkling with love and adoration.

"you're crazy," you whispered, a smile blooming on your face.

"only for you," he replied, his voice husky. he brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw.

you sighed contentedly, leaning into his touch. in that moment, with the sun warming your skin, the sound of the waves crashing in your ears, and danny by your side, everything felt perfect. you wouldn't trade this feeling for the world.

time skip

you fidgeted with the hotel room balcony railing, the bustling city of monaco blurring below. danny, oblivious, was humming along to the pre-race hype blaring from the tv. today was his big day, the monaco grand prix, and the nervous energy crackling in the air was almost tangible. you, however, were grappling with a different kind of jitters.

taking a deep breath, you approached him, the small velvet box clutched tightly in your hand. "danny," you began, voice barely above a whisper. he glanced up, a dazzling smile splitting his face.

"hey there, sunshine," he said, reaching out to pull you into a quick hug. "ready for the race?"

"actually," you mumbled, biting your lip, "there's something I need to tell you before you go."

he frowned playfully, his brow crinkling in mock seriousness. "is it that you secretly placed a giant shoey on toto wolff's yacht?"

you laughed, a little relieved at the lighter mood. "no, nothing like that. it's… well, it's important."

he set the tv remote down, his smile softening. "alright, come here," he patted the space next to him on the plush couch. you sat down, fiddling with the box in your lap. the words seemed to get stuck in your throat, a tangled mess of nerves.

"danny," you tried again, voice shaking slightly, "we might need to… postpone those post-race victory celebrations."

now I'm running with my dress unbuttoned

he chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "losing faith in your honey badger already? don't worry, I've got this."

frustration bubbled up. "no, it's not that! it's… it's…" you squeezed the box so hard your knuckles turned white. "i'm pregnant, danny!"

the playful smile vanished, replaced by a look of utter confusion. "pre… what now?" he asked, brow furrowed.

panic clawed at you. was this the wrong approach? "pregnant! as in, a baby, danny! we're having a baby!" you blurted out, your voice bordering on a squeak.

i'm having his baby

the confusion on his face morphed into a look of dawning realization. his eyes widened, then welled up with tears. a choked sob escaped his lips. he whipped his head towards the balcony door and threw it open, a joyous yell erupting from his throat.

"we're having a baby!" he bellowed across the bustling streets of monte carlo, his voice thick with emotion.

i know he's crazy but he's the one i want

he turned back to you, a goofy grin splitting his face, tears streaming down his cheeks. before you could even react, he swept you into a tight embrace, the box tumbling onto the floor with a soft thud. he squeezed you like a lifeline, muttering incoherent words of joy into your hair.

his emotions were infectious. you clung to him, tears welling up in your own eyes. he pulled back, his hands cupping your face. he peppered your cheeks, forehead, your nose, with kisses, every kiss filled with a love so profound it took your breath away.

"this is… this is incredible, y/n," he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. he pulled you close again, resting his forehead against yours. "we're having a baby. we're going to be parents."

he was chaos, he was revelry

the celebratory noises from outside were a distant hum, drowned out by the frantic thumping of your heart and the overwhelming sense of happiness washing over you. in that moment, in danny's arms, with the promise of a new life growing inside you, the world seemed to shimmer with possibility. you couldn't wait to start this incredible adventure together.

but oh my god you should see your faces