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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Idée Fixe.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Some not SFW elements, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, emotional manipulation, depictions of general & social anxiety disorder, depictions of a panic attack, mentions of anxiety medication, Chrollo administers medications to Reader without her consent, and mentions of religion. Also Chrollo just really, really sucks. Word count: 12.3k.

You met a strange man at the arboretum today.

Perhaps you aren’t in a position to describe others as ‘strange’, considering your latest proclivity for expressing earnest thanks to any honey bees you happen across for their service. After much contemplation, however, it’s ultimately the word you arrive at. ‘Strange’ not in a disconcerting sense that inspires fear, but just being out of the ordinary enough to exude an undeniable allure. A raised panel on the floor you stumble over yet suffer no serious injury from.

Well-kept gardens might be the closest imitation to heaven on earth. That’s what brought you to this little oasis hidden in the desert that is urban life. It’s the type of day romanticists wax poetic about: baby blue skies, puffy clouds, and moderate temperatures with a light, forgiving breeze.

You situated yourself strategically, so you’d be beneath the shade of a magnolia tree whose pink petals kept fluttering down as if in greeting, and near a patch of daffodils that matched the shade of your gingham dress. Blades of grass tickle your legs, but not unpleasantly so, they scratch an itch found only in nature’s loving reprieve. There’s no thought of upcoming assignments, what to eat for dinner, or if buying that purse you thought was a steal at 30% off was a good idea or not.

It’s just you and your book.

Until it isn’t.

Every woman is connected in the experience that is trepidation whenever a man randomly approaches. There’s no telling his intentions, if he has any. You’re left to smile awkwardly and temporarily realign yourself with religion by praying to a higher deity for his hasty departure. You map out potential escape routes and recall the pepper spray situated in your impulse-bought purse. He gently calls out “Miss”, confirming that he hopes to speak with you.

At least he has the propriety to stop a few paces from where you sit, electing not to intrude on your personal space. This causes your shoulders to relax. In the few seconds you’ve been made aware of his existence, you recognize his appealing features. He has loose, dark hair, along with wide and seemingly unassuming eyes. His outfit of a dark gray turtleneck accompanied by a black jacket and pants somewhat strikes you as odd, considering spring is in full bloom. Two other details steal your attention away from this; those being the beige wrapping around his forehead and his spherical, turquoise-colored earrings. It’s like he was caught undecided between wanting and not wanting to attract attention.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he begins. You try not to think about how pleasant his voice sounds. “I’ve been trying to make sense of the directory, but I’ve never been the best with directions. Do you by any chance know how to get to the Starling House?”

You nod. It’s a quaint, centuries-old mansion, maintained by the non-profit that oversees the flora here. Getting over the initial apprehension from his approach, you try verbalizing the most efficient path to get there. This proves more difficult than you expected since the arboretum is vast and has few waypoints that can be used for reference. Still, throughout your explanation whose unhelpfulness you grow painfully aware of, he patiently nods and makes no attempts to rush you through.

This willingness to put up with your scattered description wins over your sympathy, pushing you past your sheepishness.

“I guess I’m not good at giving directions. I could just show you the way, if you’d like.”

“I’d hate to disturb your reading, but… if it isn’t a bother, I’d certainly appreciate it.”

You’re already setting your bookmark into place. “It’s no bother. This is my second time reading it, anyway. So don’t worry. I’m not being left off on a cliffhanger or anything.”

He smiles at that. When you’re preparing to stand, he extends his hand, a gesture that gives you a momentary pause. Well, you are wearing a dress. You suppose it’s the polite thing for him to do. You accept his unspoken offer and he hoists you up without the least bit of exertion on his part. His hand is warm and bigger than yours, slightly coarse too, surprisingly. His immaculate presentation gave you the impression of a trust fund kid or something in that vein. He’s tasteful in ensuring his touch doesn’t overstay its welcome.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

You catch a hint of his cologne. Sandalwood, amber, and leather blend together to form a delightfully woody fragrance. As amazing as he smells, you create a little distance, walking ahead motioning for him to follow. His longer legs have no trouble catching up, yet he never creeps too close.

The short journey that you expect to only be accompanied by the sounds of cardinals chirping and house finches singing is interrupted by the man speaking up again. Oddly enough, you don’t mind.

“Do you find your thoughts on Prince Myshkin’s initially endearing simple heartedness changed, knowing how the book ends?”

You pause, taking a moment to realize he must be familiar with the work. This revelation fills you with a tentative giddiness. It isn’t often you have a chance to delve into your literary thoughts to a willing audience. There’s plenty more you could say on the subject, but you try to exercise restraint nonetheless.

“I thought I might, but I found myself more critical of the other characters instead.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

He appears genuinely interested, otherwise, you would’ve kept it at that.

“Ah, well, maybe it’s that they serve as proof that innocence is never meant to last. Or if it does, it’ll inevitably be punished. There are moments where I feel frustrated with the Prince’s naivety… but then I stop and wonder why it’s so bad to want to see the best in people. Does that speak to a flaw in his character, or to a flaw in the character of others? Maybe it’s both. I can’t help but feel the Prince’s case is more sympathetic.”

His eyes never leave yours while you give your answer. Heat rises to your cheeks and you internally groan over the prospect of making a stranger listen to your ramblings. He was probably just looking to make casual conversation, not everyone wants an existential crisis on a Saturday afternoon.

“You must be someone who wants to see the best in people as well,” he surmises. There’s no hint of mockery in his tone — he’s oddly sincere. He says it with a hint of bittersweet nostalgia.

Before you can hazard a response, you come across a sign displaying information for an event at the Starling House. The building itself lies in waiting atop a hill less than a quarter of a mile ahead. He stops to read it, as do you, operating under the assumption he came here for the event. It seems that they’re displaying historic artifacts from around the area. You suppose this will be where you part ways. You’re about to wish him well when he sighs, the miffed noise stopping you.

“I got the time wrong,” he frowns, staring at his wristwatch.

The sign says the event begins at 6:00 p.m. and a quick tap of your phone reveals it’s 4:00.

“If you’re looking for a way to burn time, there’s a nice garden behind the House that’s always open to the public,” you explain. This piques his curiosity. “If the sage is in bloom, you might get lucky and see some hummingbirds.”

“That does sound lovely,” he says. Then, his lips quirk up, promising the start of a smile. “Would you care to join me, Miss…?”

You give him your name and he nods, as if deciding it fits you.

“[First]. I understand if my tour guide wants to get back to her reading, though.”

Bashfulness creeps up your back and threatens to sink its fangs into your neck. Your heart’s rhythm takes an erratic cadence. He’s posing the proposition in such a lighthearted way, offering an easy out if you want to take it. You internally weigh your options on a scale that’s worn from overuse. He’s being friendly, you tell yourself. That’s all it is.

“Well, I guess I’d be a shabby tour guide if I didn’t show you where the gardens are.”

On the brief walk to the gardens, the man introduces himself as Chrollo. You both situate yourselves on the same stone bench. You sit on the right, he sits on the left. Once again, he leaves you plenty of space, never testing boundaries. The scent of nascent sage wafts in the air. While you scan your surroundings for hummingbirds, he tells you that his work often necessitates travel, hence his unfamiliarity with the area.

“Does it ever get lonely?” You ask, not thinking much of it. He gives you a look you can’t quite place, so you elaborate. “Traveling all the time, I mean.”

He tilts his head, more inquisitive than offended. “What makes you think it’d be lonely?”

“I just think I’d get homesick after a while, always being in an unfamiliar place. I’d miss my family and friends.”

When he continues staring at you in silence with those unreadable eyes, you swear you want to slam your head repeatedly against a wall. Not everyone has a good relationship with their family or people to call their friends. The weight of your potential insensitivity comes crashing down on you like a tsunami.

You move your hands around wildly, rushing to correct your discourtesy. “Uh, I mean, that isn’t to say you need those things!”

“You don’t think I have any friends?”

Your face must be radiating more heat than a furnace. Still, the embarrassment doesn’t reach a point where you’re unable to notice his omission of the word family. “I didn’t—”

Contrary to the reaction you were expecting, Chrollo laughs. Not a little chuckle, but a genuine laugh, hearty in a way that stands in stark contrast to his otherwise reserved demeanor. The smile it imprints on his face somehow feels different than what he’s displayed before. Those were always so well timed, lasting as long as necessary and never a second more. It hits you then just how handsome this man is. Alabaster skin, soft and glossy hair, lips as rosy as the blush on his cheeks from his outburst of laughter.

It doesn’t last long, he’s quick to school himself. The speed he does so is almost unnatural. “I apologize, I’m only teasing. You’re very expressive, [First].”

You let out something between a huff and a sigh. “God, I felt so awful…”

“I can tell,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender when you send him a non-threatening glare. “To answer your question… I’ve never thought about it much. I suppose it is lonely at times.”

This revelation pours a bucket of ice-cold water over the embers of your indignation. Your face softens and a stinging pain shoots throughout your body. You can’t bring yourself to remain miffed when you’re the one who dredged this topic up. People use humor as a means to cope, that may be what Chrollo does.

“Enough about me, though. I’m far more interested in you.”

You shift in your seat. Did it always feel so warm out?

“Here, let me guess. You’re certainly a student. Hm… of the humanities, perhaps?”

“You got the student part right,” you agree. “I’m majoring in criminal psychology.”

There’s something like a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh? Is that so? You want to catch criminals, then?”

“Er… not exactly. It’s more that I want to help them.”

He blinks. “Help them?”

“Not, like, as an accomplice,” you earnestly reassure, to which he smiles, “How do I explain it… take the city around us, right? It’s considered one of the most dangerous in the United States of Saherta.”

As if on cue, a cacophony of police sirens begins blaring in the distance.

“In the 80s and 90s, there was a surge of incarceration, yet crime as a whole set higher records each year. The policy at the time was ‘build more prisons, give longer sentences’. Obviously, that didn’t work out very well for anyone… except for private prisons maybe… that’s a whole different beast. Anyway, you reap what you sow. Crime rate is going down, but communities were gutted by these policies. There’s still a lot of work to be done. I want to understand ‘deviant’ behavior so I can see what safety nets would benefit them the most.”

Chrollo is such an excellent listener that unlike before, you no longer feel the pressure to remain succinct and have little qualms completely delving into your passion. His body language suggests total engagement.

“Ah, so you view crime as a result of societal shortcomings.”

“It’s more nuanced than that,” you shake your head. “Hell, even when there were only four people on earth according to the Bible, Cain went ahead and committed murder anyway. That’s like… killing 25% of the population… how messed up. Wait. If there were only four people on earth, who did Cain go on to marry? How does that work…? Asexual reproduction…?”

“The Quran says Cain and Abel both had twin sisters,” Chrollo offers.

“Alright, that makes more sense than asexual reproduction. Okay! Enough about theology! Back to crime. There’s no totally eradicating it, but there is circumventing it. That’s what I want to help do.”

You’ve been so preoccupied with verbalizing your thoughts, you failed to notice he’s scooted slightly closer to you. There’s enough room for decorum yet you can’t help feeling slightly flustered. Why this cute guy is still hanging around despite the fact you casually mentioned asexual reproduction not once, but twice, is a phenomenon that transcends human reason.

This is so going to be one of those interactions that haunts you periodically at three in the morning for the rest of your life.

“It’s a noble pursuit,” Chrollo comments. Then, he places a hand to his chin. “Forgive me if this comes off as pessimistic, but… what if you put in all that work, only for nothing significant to change?”

You shrug. “I’ve considered that plenty, trust me. It’s fine if I don’t kickstart a utopia. So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.”

“One person, huh?”

It seems more like a rhetorical musing on his part, so you allow yourself to be momentarily distracted. In your peripherals, there’s a flash of colors, shades of green and red bleeding together. A low buzz accompanies the sporadic sight. The blur moves erratically, high to low, then low to high.

You cover your mouth to stifle a gasp, then whisper to your companion, “Chrollo! Look! A hummingbird!”

The thrum of nature is a wonder you’ll never tire of. It inspires awe that reflects in your eyes like a mirror, enchants without needing to cast a spell. You wrongly assume that Chrollo must be partaking in the same miracle that has stolen your attention. He’s fixated, yes, but not on the right subject matter. He’s still staring at you. This disruption of your expectations can only be explained away by the possibility he hasn’t spotted the creature yet. To remedy this, you slowly point in the hummingbird’s direction. Finally, he breaks his gaze from your form, acknowledging what it is you find so fascinating.

By then, it’s too late. Your newly made acquaintance departs as swiftly as it arrived.

“Aw, that’s a shame,” you lament. The disappointment you’d feel if you were in his shoes would be immeasurable. “You didn’t get to see it for very long.”

You have no concrete proof, but you swear every smile he wears is different than the one before it.

“It’s alright. I saw something far better.”

Curious, you glance to your right, searching for whatever it is. You must’ve misinterpreted whatever he was looking at before. “Something better than a hummingbird?”

“You could say that.”

The remainder of the time you spend together is relatively uneventful. Chrollo asks you a great deal about yourself, ranging from your hobbies to book recommendations. You try to return the favor — as is only polite, in your opinion — yet the conversation never lingers on him long before circling back to you. It isn’t until you say you feel vain talking about yourself so much that he offers some morsels of knowledge. Aside from traveling for his occupation, he’s something of an antiquarian, hence his interest in the Starling House’s event. He also reveals he has colleagues coming into town soon, the aforementioned ‘friends’ you questioned the existence of. The way he teases is so devoid of malice, you can’t bring yourself to be upset.

The hour flies by. Good looks aside, he’s a remarkable conversationalist. There’s never an awkward silence or social misstep. One could even call him perfection incarnate. His steady cadence, command of language, meticulously formed ideas… they’re reminiscent of cogs in an automaton turning together in complete harmony. Paradoxically, this immaculate image speaks to some underlying defect in his character he mustn’t want anyone to see. There is such a thing as being too perfect.

For whatever reason, this draws you in closer rather than repelling you.

Chrollo’s disappointment is palpable when he glances at his watch. It’s then you’re reminded that all good things must come to an end.

“I—”

“It—”

You both start and stop talking at the same time. When it’s made obvious you intend to stay silent until he speaks his piece, he motions to you with his hands, insisting you go first.

“It was very nice meeting you, Chrollo,” you say, your voice softening. It’s amazing how you can feel your previously discarded sheepishness returning in real-time. Amazing and annoying. “I, uh, hope you enjoy the event.”

“Please, I should be the one thanking you,” he insists. Then, for such a well-spoken man, he goes uncharacteristically quiet. Deliberating on some issue you’ll never be privy to. “You’ve already helped me a lot, but could I possibly ask for one more thing?”

You give a nod.

“May I have your phone number?”

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

You continue staring at him.

He continues staring at you.

His request echoes through your head like it was spoken in a vast cavern. Phone number… phone number... you have one of those. He is asking for it. He wants to remain in touch. Indeed, that is what the statement normally means. Ah, it must be in a platonic sense! It’s nice to have someone to talk to, especially since you both share many interests. Not many of your friends are chomping at the bit to discuss if obtaining the philosopher’s stone was a literal practice or meant to be interpreted metaphorically.

Whoops, you left the poor guy waiting for a response.

“S-Sure!”

He hands you his phone without delay. You put in your contact info, then hold it up for him to take. His fingers brush over yours when he picks it back up and you shiver.

Well, that was certainly nice. You’re forming a blossoming friendship. You love making new friends. The word repeats in your head as if it were a broken record. Friends, friends, friends. Don’t look too into this. Put your magnifying glass down, brain. The stupid three pounds of gray matter delight in tormenting you with outrageous ideas and conclusions. There’s nothing flirtatious happening here.

“Also, I hope you don’t mind my saying so…” he trails off, weaving a web you willingly allow yourself to get trapped in, “But you are very beautiful, [First].”

…

Ohhhh, he’s been flirting with you this entire time, hasn’t he?

Going on a date is a harrowing experience.

For some unknown reason, your traitorous amygdala regards going to a café at noon with the same severity it would if a lion were actively chasing you down. Your flight or fight response raises the banners of war. The army it amasses digs its trenches, readies the cannons, its matches lit to fire off the artillery on standby. Who is the dreaded opponent, one may ask? No one. Absolutely no one. Incredibly enough, you can actively recognize this fact, and still, your physiological response claims it knows better.

Social anxiety is so stupid. You thought you and your body were supposed to be on the same team. Whatever inspired this mutiny, whether it be serotonin deficiency or some other science-y term you can’t pronounce, you most certainly don’t appreciate it.

To be fair, your parent’s reaction didn’t inspire much confidence. Your dad was asking for information on Chrollo you’re 90% sure could be used to conduct a background check, whereas your mom posited the idea he’s a human trafficker. You felt like a lawyer trying to plead your case for why it’s okay that an adult such as yourself may go on a date (sacrilegious, you know, premeditated murder would be more excusable). With some solid arguments and a few instances of stretching the truth (this sounds far nicer than the word lying), the tempest was dissipated. If Chrollo ever were to meet your parents, you’ll have to tell him he’s actually a sensitive, poetic soul that donates to orphanages and saves kittens from burning down buildings. He’s also celibate. More important than any of those things, though, he’s a political centrist.

Suddenly everything in your closet either felt prudish enough to befit a woman entering the convent, or raunchy enough you’d need to wear a trench coat to leave the house unobstructed. In the end, you find a skirt that’d pass your middle school fingertip test and a cute blouse that shouldn’t land you in purgatory.

Your hands are shaking when you go to do the winged eyeliner on your left eye. Then you sneeze while applying mascara, granting a raccoon appearance you could’ve done without. You feel wound up so tight there a mere poke could shatter you into millions of pieces. This is great. Millions of years of evolution led up to this. That selfish, inconsiderate fish should’ve never grown legs and stepped on land. Everything’s gone wrong since then. Fuck that fish.

Ultimately, you succumb and take one of your ‘stage fright’ medications. If it’s doing anything to help, you can’t tell yet.

You have to beg your dad to stop staring out the window with a pair of binoculars.

Eventually, a sleek black car pulls in front of your house.

Following the theme of the day, you almost trip over yourself walking out the front door. Your phone buzzes — no doubt it’s Chrollo telling you he’s here — but you decide to just go to the car rather than text him back. He must’ve spotted you, for he exits and gives you a wave. You’re grateful he did that while a considerable distance away. There was a time a guy waved at you and you thought he wanted a high five. Needless to say, that was a traumatic incident no amount of therapy could help alleviate.

“You look absolutely lovely,” he compliments. Your Broca’s area temporarily malfunctions at this bold declaration. Fortunately, you gather yourself fast enough to stop yourself from saying “you too”.

“Thank you,” the phrase comes out as smooth as butter. You silently congratulate yourself for your immaculate delivery of two words. “Wow… you have such a nice car. And here I thought you were a fellow member of the middle class. Am I allowed to touch this?”

Chrollo chuckles, having gotten used to the peculiar way you word things after all your electronic communication. No matter how you expressed yourself, he still texted you back, so you figured he must be okay with whatever it is you’re doing. He would’ve blocked you by now otherwise.

His reply comes as he holds the passenger side door open. “Ah, don’t worry. There was a bit of a mixup at the car rental place. I wasn’t expecting something of this quality either.”

You tuck this piece of knowledge away for later, should any sugar daddy-esque allegations be thrown your way. One can never be too prepared.

Sinking into the leather seat is a luxurious experience, although it's cold against the exposed area of your thighs. Chrollo slides into the driver’s seat not long after and sets the car into drive. You silently wonder if your neighbors think you’ve gotten into an Uber.

The short trip to the café soothes your electrically fried nerves. You’re once again reminded of how good he is at making you forget your anxiety, he could put SSRIs out of business. Or maybe the propranolol is finally working. Whichever it may be, by the time you both order your drinks, you feel more giddy than nervous. Is it a good idea to drink a caffeinated beverage when anxiety threatens to drag you into limbo at any second? Probably not. Does that mean you’re going to wisely choose a different beverage? Nope.

The sunlight is harsher in the afternoon, but you find this is offset by an occasional breeze. No one else is present in the outdoor dining area except for you and Chrollo. You choose the seat facing a row of bushes so you can observe the house finches and house sparrows fluttering about. One little fella is helping itself to a dirt bath in the freshly spread-out mulch. You coo at the adorable display, pointing it out to Chrollo who admits it is a precious sight. You’ve made it your raison d'être to convince him that every bird is equally fascinating, whether it be a rainbow lorikeet or a common pigeon.

He takes the first sip of the drink you recommended.

“Well? What do you think?”

“It’s good,” he decides with a smile. “I can see why you get it so often.”

“Right? I’ve thought about conducting an Ocean’s Eleven type heist to get the ingredients they use to make it.”

“Oh? Do you grant a moral exception to thievery?”

Despite how lightheartedly he phrases this, his eyes have a certain intensity to them. You mull over the question for this reason.

“Hm… it depends, I guess? Some people need to steal to survive. I probably wouldn’t care if a rich person or mega-corporation got stolen from either,” you say. He quirks an eyebrow at your last statement and you hastily add, “A-As long as no one gets hurt, of course.”

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his amusement. “Your reasoning is very cute.”

You groan and shrink back into the garden chair. “I know, I know, that probably came off as terribly naive and self-contradictory… the issue is complex. Giving a one-size-fits-all type of consensus feels impossible. How about you? What do you think?”

“Coveting is mankind’s original sin,” Chrollo begins. He’s using a tone that tells you to prepare for an in-depth explanation. “It’s a theme that’s recurrent throughout history. David and Bathsheba, Hades and Persephone, Heathcliff and Catherine… we always want what we cannot have. This dilemma never leaves us entirely. We either ignore it, despair in it, or succumb to it. The desire to steal is as involuntary as the diaphragm contracting for us to breathe or the electric signals that cause our heart to beat.”

A house finch begins its soulful serenade in the background.

“Wouldn’t you say that calling it involuntary implies we can’t control it, though?” You query.

“The only way to exercise total control over it is to kill it.”

“Some parts of us are better off dead,” you decide. “Getting what you want doesn’t guarantee satisfaction. The examples you listed… maybe they were happy for a time, but ultimately, their transgressions caught up to them.”

“Is a moment of bliss not worth a lifetime of anguish?”

“Maybe, if I was a sensualist.”

He rests his chin on his fist, the skin beneath his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Is that what you’re saying I am, darling?”

Your eyes widen and you almost choke on your drink at the unexpected pet name. Warmth floods your cheeks and you take a long second to recompose yourself. Your blatant display of embarrassment further fuels his amusement, he actually chuckles. You consider kicking him under the table, but decide that isn’t very ladylike. Then you remember it's the twenty-first century, and to honor your feminist ancestors, you scrunch up a napkin into a ball and fling it at him. Although the aerodynamics of your makeshift projectile are questionable, it almost hits him. Until he catches it with admittedly impressive reflexes.

“You have a good throwing arm.”

“And you should consider retiring from your white-collar job to join a baseball team,” you take a sip of your delicious drink. This is definitely the most memorable date you’ve been on. “But no, I don’t think you’re a sensualist. I honestly don’t know how I’d classify you. You’re jaded… almost misanthropic. You acknowledge the world for what it is, but it’s like you once thought it could be better. You don’t care to be proven right or wrong about it anymore, you want something else.”

“Ah… when put that way, I must seem pathetic,” he muses, his casual air hardly matching the severity of the words spoken.

“Not at all!” Your passionate outcry appears to momentarily take him aback. “If you’re still looking for something, that means deep down, you have hope you might eventually find it. To me, that’s admirable.”

He regards you for a few moments, before closing his eyes, his countenance strangely content. “You’re a very interesting woman, [First].”

“Pfft, not really.”

“I’m afraid this a point I’ll have to insist on,” or so he says, but you both know he secretly relishes his contrarian ways. “I have to wonder, though. How is it you came to gather any of this about me?”

“Your opinion on books.”

He blinks. “Pardon?”

“We interpret media through a lens that’s formed by our experiences, so… I dunno. You can just infer a lot from what a person gets caught up with in a story.”

In Chrollo’s case, what he doesn’t pay attention to is equally telling, although it took you a while to notice his unique display of apathy. He’d brush on certain themes while giving a rather surface-level commentary. Playing it safe, almost. He still had such an excellent way of weaving his words, that telling it came from another person's loom was difficult. It wasn’t until you hit on a subject he truly cared for that you could tell the difference. He’d give insights so particular to him that they must contain the true essence of his character.

Even if it is a mere glimmer.

He speaks your name.

“Hm?”

“About what I’m searching for…” he unwraps the napkin you unceremoniously threw his way earlier, smooths out the wrinkles, then returns it. “I think I may have found it.”

Everything has a way of escalating faster than you anticipated.

You’re about thirty minutes into the movie Perfect Blue. For some time now, you’ve been praising its merits to Chrollo, who recently said you should watch it together. This begged the question of where. In the months since you’ve begun dating, while your parents have taken a liking to him, you didn’t think the subject matter of the movie should be proudly displayed in your living room.

To remedy this, Chrollo suggested watching it in his hotel room.

You couldn’t fully explain your initial apprehension if you tried. You felt comfortable around him and have been alone together plenty. Yet for some reason, being alone with a man in a hotel room produced this mental image you weren’t sure you were ready for. He never pushed you or asked why you seemed hesitant to take things further than kissing and some light petting. His lack of questioning had the unintended side effect of birthing different doubts.

Does he not want anything else? Is he only acting like it doesn’t bother him? Will a day come when he tires of your squeamishness and simply moves on?

It’s this taunting mantra that haunted you in the lobby, the elevator, then the long, impersonal hallway to his room.

Your chest feels heavy enough that you wonder if lead has filled your lungs.

When he sat next to you on the couch, you barely registered his presence, much less his question if the temperature in the room felt agreeable. At some point, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Then his hand began to meander, although his attention never left the screen. He played with your hair. Gently stroked your forearm. His hand wandered down, down, down, to the hem of your skirt. He straightens the lightly bunched fabric out. Your heart pounds.

Chrollo’s fingers stay there, seemingly placated.

During the scene where Mima sees her reflection as her idol persona, his hand creeps onto the exposed skin of your thighs. He gives it a gentle, tentative squeeze. A soft gasp leaves you and your attention turns to him. Immediately, your eyes meet his in the dark. The side of his face is lightly illuminated by an array of cool tones. He uses his free hand to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb rubbing your lower lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

He speaks the question with such rapture, low and quiet.

Your heart violently hits your ribcage like it’s trying to burst free.

Silently, you nod. He tilts his head to the side and slots his lips against yours. There’s a pleasant buzz that tries so hard to overpower the frantic adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your body is at war with itself; indulgence or indignance. It’s a conflict that’ll never have a winner. You want to enjoy it — and you are, you think — so why does your biological makeup hold you as a prisoner without ransom? He tastes nice, feels nice. He did everything right. You don’t want to tremble at what’s a normal aspect of a relationship as if it were death itself hanging over your head.

It’s this mounting frustration at your condition that spurs you into action.

While maintaining the languid kiss, you situate yourself on his lap, a gesture that causes him to inhale sharply. He may be as surprised at your boldness as you are. You snake your arms around his neck and intensify the kiss. Humming, he reciprocates your ardor. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips and you grant him entry. He tastes of dark chocolate and mint, a combination you wish you could get drunk on, if only to put your tense body at ease.

One hand squeezes and massages your thigh, the other cups your feverish face. In this position, you’re afforded no modesty. You can feel your skirt hiking up, exposing more of you. His fingers explore the new territory. They venture dangerously close to your panties, though he doesn’t go beyond there, as if respecting an invisible barrier. The cocktail of emotions this invokes is impossible to properly sort through.

Can he feel the heat emanating from your body? Your pulse which finds new highs every minute? You want to lose yourself, but you can’t, your anxiety always drags you back kicking and screaming. It is an unforgiving warden that thinks you’d be better off in a cell.

Chrollo admires you when you pull back, in desperate need of air. You’re starting to feel dizzy and you don’t know if it’s the right kind. There’s something hard forming beneath where you sit. His lust for you is apparent, and you want to please, want to be normal. It should be fun. Your friends regale you with stories of taking strangers home and never feeling more than butterflies in their stomach. That’s what you want. Not this contortion of the aforementioned organ that makes you think your insides are slowly liquifying.

You still haven’t fully caught your breath, each one growing more shallow, more panicked. He finds other ways to entertain himself, namely, by lavishing your clammy skin with kisses. Your jawline, neck, then collarbone. He’s so calm you think you might be envious. Finally, he works his way back up, teasing your earlobe with his teeth, his breath warm as it fans against you.

Thump, thump, thump.

“[First],” his voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. Garbled, distant. “Should we take this to the bedroom?”

You break into too many shards to fix.

You get up. Straighten your skirt. You think you mutter something about needing a moment. Your legs don’t feel right. They move anyway. The bathroom’s door knob is like ice. You grab a hand towel. Turn on the faucet. Soak the towel until it drips water down the sink basin. Sit on the floor. The tiles are almost as cold enough to help. You place the towel around your neck. Your ears are ringing and you wish they’d stop. You hug your legs to your chest. What is it you’re supposed to do? Breathe?

It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass.

It always does.

Just hold on a bit longer.

Feeling comes back in your hands first. It spreads throughout your body, though the antidote is far too late. Exhaustion is the next thing you register. The kind that seeps into your cells, makes your limbs feel like dead weight. Cognition returns as well. You remember where you are, who you’re with, what you’ve done.

It’s been a while since you’ve experienced one of these. Somehow, it’s worse than you remember. Infinitely worse.

A shiver runs down your spine. Has it always been so cold? You wonder what temperature your body was running at for you not to have noticed sooner.

How nice it is that your homeostasis decided to return. Is your sympathetic nervous system giving itself a pat on the back? Celebrating and popping champagne bottles at yet another job well done? We’ve done it successfully again, folks, you imagine it cheering. We’ve stopped her from doing something completely normal and harmless!

You’d laugh, but this time, you can’t bring yourself to.

As tempting as it is to stay here and pray for the tile floor to swallow you whole, you sincerely doubt that’ll happen, so you’re left with the far less appealing option of being an adult and facing the predicament you’re in. Getting back up, you’re treated to a glimpse of your reflection.

The change in your complexion would make any onlooker think you’ve seen a ghost.

Abruptly, you’re fourteen again, trying to get your mom’s attention so you can beg her to take you home because the social gathering of ten or so people is just too much. Next, you’re fifteen, talked into some weekend youth getaway because saying ‘no’ makes you feel guilty and the car ride has another two hours remaining. You feel sick, terribly sick, but you don’t want to get sick, because then your peers would think you’re strange, so you sit there and endure. Then you’re sixteen, locked in the stall of your high school bathroom, trying not to pass out because you think it’d be an inconvenience to anyone that happened upon you.

You thought you were over this. You’ve done the therapy, read the self-help books, and taken your medication every day like clockwork.

What’s left for you to do?

Why does it always come back?

Chrollo asks if everything’s alright when you walk back over to the couch. You say yes. He then asks if he can get you anything. A glass of water, please, is your reply.

You can tell he’s examining you when he hands the glass over. Your face warms — not in a fun way. The television screen is dark and yet you’re fixated on it like it’s the most intriguing thing in the world. Going from feeling as if you’re a stranger in your own body to being hyper-aware of everything never fails to give you whiplash. You can hear the low thrum of the air conditioning, footsteps coming from the hallway, the steady drip of the sink he filled your glass from. You think to rub your eyes then stop yourself; that’d smudge your mascara. It’d be nice if he could at least think you’re pretty as you struggle to hold yourself together.

“Was it something I did?” Chrollo questions. He almost sounds… curious, a concept you furiously scrub from your head. You’re exhausted and your brain is waving the white flag. Attributing false interpretations to his words is not going to help.

“N-No, not at all, I, um,” you have the words, you just don’t want to say them, so you opt for taking another drink instead. The glass runs out of water, your safe haven disappearing with it. “Just… a panic attack. It happens… sometimes.”

“Entirely unprompted?”

You gnaw on your lower lip. “Kind of…? It— nothing about it is exactly logical. I can know I’m fine, believe it too, and still, that doesn’t matter. It’ll happen anyway. I guess I have some reservations about that level of physical intimacy, but what my body decides to do is completely overkill.”

“You always minimize the role your anxiety plays in your life,” Chrollo points out. You’re grasping the glass tight enough that your knuckles hurt. “You can’t mention it to me without making light of it in some way. Is there a reason for that?”

Well, he’s got you there.

You’re about to joke and ask if he’s the one studying the behavioral sciences, when you realize that’d just be proving his point.

So uncharacteristic acrimony bubbles to the surface instead.

“A reason? I can give you more than one. It’s stupid, it’s annoying. The most simple things become like a fucking life or death experience for me and I can’t stand it,” you feel tears gather at your lower lashline but you’re too far gone to care. It’s a good thing your mascara is waterproof. “And then I… I think sex sounds nice, but when it actually gets to the moment, I feel so guilty and anxious and wrong that I leave my partner frustrated or thinking they’re some sort of monster.”

Usually, Chrollo's countenance is difficult to read, but there’s this raw emotion that makes itself known. Understanding? Relief? You don’t know for certain. It disappears without a trace, leaving you no way to confirm or deny your intuition. It’s probably too fried to be reliable, anyway.

“Hm… you must think all this would put me off, then. Make me want to move on to someone else.”

A knife stabbing you in the gut and twisting its blade until your viscera turned to mush would hurt less.

“Sweetheart, I was already aware that it was worse than what you let on,” his voice sounds so kind and near, you marvel at it, the gravitational pull drawing you in. You barely realize he’s brought you into an embrace. Your cheek is against his chest, right above his heart. His has a calm, steady rhythm, whereas yours is picking back up once more. “Your avoidance of talking on the phone, how soft your voice gets when interacting with strangers, the way you act like you’re an inconvenience by asking for the slightest assistance.”

The tears you tried holding in break free, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

“I find these qualities of yours very endearing. You can go from passionately speaking about your interests over dinner to going shy the second the waiter walks over. You care so much, feel so much… it’s a wonder to me. You experience this life in the exact opposite manner I do.”

With the hand he isn’t using to keep you secure against him, he rubs your back up and down.

“Ah, my poor, sweet girl. What a tender heart you have,” he whispers. His grip on you tightens. That’s when you hear it — the undeniable sound of his heart beating a bit faster than it did before. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not after all the effort I put into stealing it for myself. No, I’m almost hurt you entertained the thought. Have I ever treated you with anything less than the utmost care? Hm?”

Chrollo starts to pull you away from him, yet you refuse, clinging adamantly to his torso in an attempt to hide your face. He ignores the way you shake your head and by exerting the slightest force, achieves his original goal. His fingers find purchase on your chin, which he tilts upward, allowing himself an unobscured view of your puffy eyes and runny makeup. He smiles, wiping away your tears with such gentleness, he must think you’re made of porcelain.

Sniffling, you remember he asked you a question, and attempt cobbling together a coherent response. Such is the polite thing to do. “I guess not.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“... The once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to conduct an in-depth case study for your future dissertation on GAD and SAD?”

His visage lands somewhere between mild bemusement and exacerbation. “I know you’re smarter than that. Try again.”

“My winning personality, once you wade through all the mental illness?”

“That certainly plays a role.”

“I know I’m cute, too. I suppose that helps. Otherwise, I’d be completely and utterly fucked.”

“Yes, yes — you are terribly cute.”

Sensing your hesitancy to land on a definitive answer, he decides to spell it out himself. “I’m fond of you, to a degree I previously thought myself incapable of. I have a… callous disposition, for lack of a better word. Yet for whatever reason, this doesn’t seem to bother you. I’ve never cared for subjective terms like ‘good’ or ‘evil’, but… if there is goodness in this world, it’d be found in you.”

Chrollo’s knuckles brush against your cheekbone as he speaks, seemingly bewitched by the glittering stream your tears left behind. Tangible proof of your emotions that tumult like a tempest, whereas his often remains an unmoving body of water.

You take his cheeks in your hands and glare at him. This time, when your lower lip trembles, it’s with righteous anger, not sorrow. “Why do you always talk about yourself like you’re the world’s biggest villain?”

His eyes slightly widen — you’ve never used a tone like this with him before, or anyone else, for that matter — though his composure doesn’t wane for long.

“So what if you don’t think everything is sunshine and rainbows? You aren’t heartless; you just know the dangers of putting your heart on display for everyone else to see. I can’t blame you for that, from what you’ve told me.”

He’s never been particularly forthcoming about sharing details from his past. What you do know is that he grew up in extreme poverty, without parents or a guardian, scraping by with some other children in a similar situation. You never pushed to learn more. There was this quiet melancholy that possessed him in the rare moments he shared glimpses of his childhood. The specters that haunted him could almost be felt lingering in the atmosphere, turning the air heavy and thick.

“You lost a precious friend in such a cruel way. That loss of innocence, it’s unforgivable, it’s completely unfair…!”

This time, your tears aren’t for you, they’re for a little boy you’ll never know and a girl that you couldn’t if you tried. “I don’t get why you’re so harsh on yourself. You act like you’ve done something unforgivable.”

He parts and closes his lips. Whatever he intended to say, he must’ve decided against it. Instead, he pulls you back against him, almost greedily. He presses kisses atop your head then murmurs a few words you can’t quite catch. Your body is deprived of energy, having flickered through almost every major emotion a human being can experience. If your parents wouldn’t have fussed over the act, you could’ve fallen asleep on him for the night.

The person who inadvertently caused your blistering anxiety is also the best balm for it.

It’s unexplainable, teetering on the edge of delusion, this sentiment that he could shield you from all harm. He’s always so sure of himself when you remain plagued by indecisiveness. He can talk you out of any irrational thought, anchor you when a stressful situation is beginning to be too much, and understand you almost eerily well. He’s able to piece together your chaotic thought processes with next to no context. He listens to you, remembers everything you say (and you mean everything), and genuinely values your input, even if he disagrees with your opinions.

This level of an intimate connection is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

“No one’s ever cried for my sake before,” he thinks aloud. He’s stroking your back again, almost mindlessly. You swear there’s something magical about his touch.

“Do you think I’m weird?”

“There are a lot of words I’d use to describe you,” he decides. As always, he’s clever at avoiding questions he doesn’t wish to answer. “Currently, the one that stands out to me the most would be…”

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you.

“Warm.”

The arboretum is far different in autumn. Green leaves have transitioned into rich auburn and golden shades, hesitant buds nowhere to be seen. The grass beneath your feet is crunchier, the foliage dry and scattered, almost as if it were trying to form a protective sheath for the earth. No longer can you hear the melody of grasshoppers and buzzing from busy bees. The wind whistles when it blows, the underlying frostiness biting at your cheeks and ears.

“Ah, would you look at that, it’s a junco,” Chrollo points out. You cover your mouth to muffle a gasp. Thanks in part to your guidance, he’s gotten better at identifying different types of birds. While you’d like to think it’s because he appreciates them too, you’re convinced he finds your excited reaction far more interesting.

The little blob of black and white hops to and fro, using its feet to rummage for anything edible. You silently lament your lack of birdseed. You’ll have to settle for cheering the tiny friend on from afar.

Hand in hand, you both traverse the area of your original meeting. Sweet nostalgia swirls in your chest. You’ve always found it befuddling how a single chance encounter can permanently change the trajectory of your life. In the moment, you have no idea how your actions will go on to form ripples that influence the future. Whether this is chaos theory or some other fancy metaphysical-sounding concept, you haven’t the slightest clue.

What you do know is that meeting Chrollo was a catalyst for something greater.

A wave of chills cascades over you.

“Are you cold?” He inquires, his tone having this ‘I told you so’ quality to it that you don’t appreciate. You’re wearing a light beige, plaid fitted blazer, that while chic, doesn’t have much insulation. You waved off his initial concern by saying you’ll warm up once you both get to walking around. So much for that.

“Cold is a mindset,” the chattering of your teeth doesn’t do much to help your cause. He raises an eyebrow. “Mind over matter… mind over matter…”

Chrollo shrugs his coat off and drapes it over you. “I wouldn’t want you to get sick, dear.”

“You sound like my grandma.”

“The one who tried taking my head wrappings off, or the one who kicked me?”

“A combination of the two that coalesces their tendency to fuss over me.”

“You’re very easy to fuss over,” Chrollo chuckles at the face you make at him. “You’re absolutely precious. It’s a mystery to me how you make the smallest acts endearing.”

At this, you strike a dumb pose, winking at him all the while. “Aha, it’s no mystery. You have my irresistible charm to thank for that.”

He sighs wistfully. “Indeed I do.”

Although the sage gardens behind the Starling House are no longer in bloom, you decide to swing by anyway. The plans for the remainder of your day follow a similarly simple yet pleasant precedent. You’re going to go window shopping in a quaint commercial district, grab something to eat at a pub, then end the night off with a movie. Chrollo’s trying to convince you to watch some indie flick that’s in black and white and uses a 1.19:1 ratio. You want to watch Alien, a classic he’s never seen like the weirdo he is.

The walk isn’t long or monotonous. It’s so idyllic that you could believe you’re the only two people in the world.

However, that isn’t the case. Upon entering the garden, you’re quick to note the presence of another.

A young woman is kneeling down, murmuring under her breath. She’s acting as if she’s lost something and can’t find it. Frowning, you detach yourself from Chrollo, approaching her with the intent to offer your assistance. She doesn’t lift her head upon hearing the obvious sounds of your footfall. She just continues blindly grasping at the ground.

“Miss?” You ask, to which her entire body freezes. “Did you drop something? I could help you look for it.”

She mutters another incomprehensible jumble of words.

“Hm? What was that?”

You lean over in an attempt to hear her better.

Then, much to your confusion, she enunciates your full-given name. Even while doing this, she doesn’t spare you a single glance.

“Have to… have to…” she’s back to being difficult to make sense of, “I have to…”

A strange sensation possesses you.

Have you met this woman somewhere before? You do a quick mental scan of her disheveled appearance and come up with nothing definitive. Her hair is matted, her complexion sallow and her cheeks sunken in. Her disoriented state stirs concern within you. It’s a good sign that she’s still conscious and exhibiting motor functions, but the longer you examine her, the more you can tell she isn’t in a proper state of mind. You don’t want to leave her out here alone in such a vulnerable state. You try to push aside the uncanny feeling that came from her apparently recognizing you when you’re certain you’ve never met.

Chrollo speaks your name. Turning around, you face him just in time to catch a surreal expression forming on his countenance. His eyes widen slightly, his lips part, then he’s reaching out for you.

The passage of time grinds temporarily to a halt.

And then there is a visceral burst of energy.

It’s as if a blizzard manifests from the direction the woman is hunched over in. There’s this thick, harrowing tension that causes your legs to buckle at the knees. Swirls of negative emotions wrap around you in shadowy tendrils. Grief. Hysteria. Rage. Bitterness. Most notable, however, is the sickening yearning to inflict harm. How can a human being produce and project such raw feelings? It’s like hatred itself has been given a palpable form, submerging you in a swamp of mire.

You don’t understand what’s happening to you, but you do have this primal foreboding that the longer you’re exposed to it, the more endangered you’ll be.

In the millisecond it takes for you to blink, Chrollo is no longer in your line of sight.

It’s strange, you think. There are no knives, guns, explosives; or anything that could hurt you in the traditional sense. In a way you could understand and reliably assess the threat level of.

And still, despite this uncertainty, you have this unshakable premonition that death isn’t far away.

You wake up in a bed that is not your own.

Your body is drenched in sweat, your muscles sore, and your head feels as if it’s being clamped in a vice-like grip. Trying to get up proves to be a poor decision. Nausea and dizziness force you to lie back down. You take shallow, frantic breaths, wincing at yet another wave of throbbing coming from your temples. Your senses aren’t reliable either. The first few times you open your eyes, dark spots dot your vision. Then there’s your hearing, or lack of. There’s this distant ringing that while slowly fading, isn’t replaced by anything better. Your hearing grows so muffled you almost think earplugs have been jammed in your ear canal.

Groaning, you manage to lift yourself off the mattress with trembling arms. The dark spots fade away enough for you to make out your surroundings.

You’re in Chrollo’s hotel room, lying on his bed.

It’s nighttime. The digital clock sitting on the bedside table reads 3:40 a.m.

The next thing you do is feel around for your phone. It should be in the back pocket of your jeans, but it isn’t there.

The brisk air takes your breath away when you tug the comforter off. Your body groans with protest at all the movement, yet you ignore its request to lay back down, the situation at hand far too perplexing. Your outfit is the same as the one you put on this morning, aside from your boots, which sit together near the wall. You then assess your body for any physical injuries, finding nothing visible to explain your current malaise. Are you hungover? Frowning, you dismiss the idea. You know your tolerance well and never try pushing it.

Taking small steps and using the wall as leverage, you make your way over to the adjoined bathroom. You fill a dental cup with water and down it instantly. After satiating your thirst, you call out for Chrollo, your voice gravelly with sleep.

No response.

Sighing, you slink over to the closed bedroom door. Your equilibrium steadies itself enough that you only need to grab onto something every few steps. The handle doesn’t budge. You try again, exerting more force — still nothing. The subsequent attempts end in the same manner. There’s no denying it, it’s been locked. That begs the question of why. Safety, maybe? It’s possible Chrollo stepped out for whatever reason and wanted to ensure no one could get to you. Then again, that’s what the deadbolt on the door leading to the hotel hallway is for.

You don’t want to start rattling the door and making a scene when you’re certain there’s a solid explanation for this. He has to come back eventually, his stuff is still here. Although, you can’t help noticing how sparse his personal belongings are. The book he was reading no longer sits on the bedside table, the framed picture of the two of you gifted by your parents isn’t on the wardrobe either. Next, you check the closet, finding it in a similarly desolate state. You once pillaged a shirt of his when you grew tired of wearing a dress, so you know its usual presentation. The hangers remain on the rack yet everything else is gone.

Chrollo told you his job had placed him in this city indefinitely. Is he planning to move to another hotel?

Not knowing what else to do, you sit on the edge of the bed. The former pounding in your head has soothed into a far less egregious dull ache. You must’ve been asleep for a decent chunk of time, this initial grogginess is what you experience upon first waking up in the morning. You hope you weren’t unconscious for too long. It's an unsettling thought, being in that vulnerable state, totally shut off from the world.

A few minutes of absentmindedly admiring the twinkling lights that make up the city skyline’s pass.

Then you hear the door handle jingle.

Chrollo silently examines you. It’s almost as if he’s gauging your entire being, anticipating what is to come. His mouth is set in a straight line and he’s standing unnervingly still. There’s this intensity to him that has you breaking off eye contact. Your mouth goes dry and you temporarily forget how to form words. You had so many burning questions in his absence, why is it that they've been wiped clean from your head now that he’s here?

When you find the courage to look up at him again, there’s not a vestige of his former expression. The grave lines have smoothened out and you no longer believe you’re face to face with a stranger.

“How are you feeling?” He’s quick to close the distance. The mattress dips, adjusting to his presence by your side.

“Oh, uh, not the best, but… I don’t think it’s anything serious,” you say. Silvery moonlight shines into the room, illuminating him in an otherworldly veil. Goosebumps line your skin when he takes the side of your face into his hand. He’s cold. “I’m mostly just confused. Is— is everything okay? Why am I here?”

“How much do you remember?”

Remember, remember… that’s right, you hadn’t given that much thought. You pick through your hazy memories aloud. “Well, we were at the arboretum, just walking around. I remember heading to the gardens behind the Starling House. Then… um…”

You squint and furrow your eyebrows together. It’s as if your recollection was a film reel that had been trimmed after that point. You try piecing together a mental image of the garden. Hummingbirds? Sage? No, that isn’t right, you’re thinking of its spring appearance. The colors would be more muted, there’d be less shrubbery. The image grows sharper.

Then there’s a shadow.

Vaguely human-shaped, situated right in the middle of the mosaic you’re trying to form. Their outline isn’t solid, it’s splotchy, like water paint left to run on a canvas.

Finally, something clicks.

“That woman!” You exclaim. The corner of his lips twitch downward. “That’s right! Is she okay? She seemed so out of it.”

“I’m not sure.”

“How is that possible? You were—”

“Let’s focus on you for now,” he cuts you off. There’s a finality in his voice you can’t bring yourself to challenge. “Can you tell me what symptoms you’re experiencing?”

“Um, some disorientation and a headache.”

“I see. I’ll get you some painkillers, then.”

You grab his wrist to stop him when he starts getting up. “I’d really prefer you told me what happened first.”

When he doesn’t immediately acquiesce to your request, you quietly add, “Please.”

His eyes soften at your gentle, uncertain timbre. He intertwines his fingers with yours and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze.

“Earlier, when we arrived at the garden, you grew lightheaded and fainted.”

You take a moment to process the information. It seems plausible enough, yet the more you mull over it, the more little details start to catch your attention.

“Okay…” you trail off, pursing your lips. A vengeful throb from your head causes you to wince. He notices — frowns — then places a featherlight kiss against your forehead. The thoughtful gesture doesn’t invoke any pleasant warm fuzzy sensations. “So I fell unconscious for over ten hours and you didn’t… call an ambulance…?”

“That is correct.”

You shuffle in your seat, momentarily taken aback at how easygoing he’s acting about the entire ordeal. “Why?”

“I’ve been monitoring your vitals,” he reassures. Sensing your growing apprehension, he adds, “I can promise that you were never in serious danger. I would’ve acted accordingly if you were.”

The phrase ‘acted accordingly’ doesn’t tell you much either. What does he mean by that? Is there some threshold you needed to enter for him to have taken you to the hospital? Your various volunteer experiences with the city’s vulnerable communities taught you that if a person is unresponsive for over a minute, an ambulance should be called, just to be on the safe side. Besides, isn’t that just common sense? Chrollo is an intelligent man. You can’t fathom any line of reasoning that’d justify not erring on the side of caution.

You glance at the clock again. 4:03 a.m. glows in the dim light of the room. It’s late. You wonder what your parents—

Holy shit.

“Do my mom and dad know?” You glance around as if expecting to find them. There’s no way they wouldn’t have insisted on calling emergency services if you were unconscious for that long.

“I didn’t inform them, no.”

“What?” You make no attempts to tone down your incredulity. “Then— they must be out of their minds with worry! My phone, where’s my phone? I need to tell them I’m okay!”

You shoot up off the bed too fast and your body doesn’t take kindly to the rushed movement. Debilitating lightheadedness causes you to lose your balance. Chrollo steadies your swaying form and helps sit you back down. You scoot away from him as far as you can, your thoughts an absolute mess. Nothing here is making sense. It’s not even a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces, there’s almost nothing to work with at all.

He’s staring at you in that strange, anticipatory manner again. It makes your stomach churn.

“My phone, Chrollo,” you hold your hand out. “There’s no way you don’t have it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give it to you,” he sounds apologetic too, which makes your subsequent temper flare up even worse.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, exasperation winning out. You were trying to be reasonable, but that is over and done with. “You’re acting like— like there’s nothing weird happening! Can you please take this seriously? You’re really starting to freak me out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I knew this wouldn’t be easy for you, so I wanted to remain calm for your sake.”

Your tongue couldn’t properly form words if your life depended on it. Sure, remaining calm in a crisis is helpful, but he isn’t acting like this is a crisis. He’s treating it as if he was burdened with sitting you down to relay bad news that no one else had the heart to share.

You’re starting to think you don’t know the person you’re talking to.

“For my sake,” you repeat in a wry deadpan. “If that’s true, then tell me what’s actually going on, Chrollo. Because I know you’re bullshitting me.”

Not calling the ambulance or informing your parents, withholding your phone… then there’s the matter of how he got you here in the first place. Did he carry you through the lobby? No good samaritans thought it was unusual to see a man carrying an unconscious woman up to his room? Hotel staff these days are trained to have a vigilant eye for these situations too. Not one person thought it might be a good idea to ring up law enforcement over such a blatantly suspicious act?

Nothing is adding up.

“I’m being more forthcoming than you think,” Chrollo says, as if he’s doing you a favor. He tries reaching out for your hand again, only this time, you don’t allow him. “Everything I’ve said and intend to say is the truth, even if you don’t particularly like it.”

That’s a hell of a creative way of putting it!

“Who was that woman earlier? What did she do to me?”

“I have someone ironing out the details, but from what I’ve gathered, she was sent with the intention of killing you. I don’t believe she was aware of the fact herself until you entered her vicinity, triggering the necessary condition for the true culprit’s ability to activate. Otherwise, I certainly wouldn’t have allowed you to get so close.”

Someone was sent to kill you? You? A run-of-the-mill college student who has no enemies to speak of? It’s not like you’re a part of the fucking mob. That can’t be right, not to mention the bizarre jargon he’s using. There’d be no plausible motive. If he says she was sent, and you choose to believe he isn’t making this all up, that implies it was premeditated. Not a spur-of-the-moment decision. That’d almost make more sense.

That is, unless…

You stare at him, eyebrows knitting together.

“If you’re telling the truth — and right now, that’s a big fucking if — does this have something to do with you?”

“That’s my clever girl,” he praises, entirely devoid of condescension. The pure fondness in his voice makes you sick. It’s almost as if he’s delighting in watching you piece this nightmare together. “Yes, you haven’t deliberately done anything to earn the wrath of the wrong people. They simply know getting to me is near impossible, hence their decision to go for the next best thing instead. That’d be you, dear.”

“Oh my god,” you bury your head in your hands. “Why… why am I not freaking out more? I should be hysterical, or, or— I don’t know…”

“Beta blockers,” he reveals. You look at him like he’s speaking another language. “In anticipation of how… touchy this conversation was going to be, I thought it might be best for you to be in a good headspace while receiving this information for the first time.”

“You drugged me?”

“If that’s how you want to look at it.”

“Because that’s how it is!”

A lump forms in your throat and lodges itself there. Are you stuck in a hellacious dream? Or hallucinating, perhaps? Visual hallucinations aren’t supposed to be this cohesive or clear. There has to be another explanation. Something you’re missing that’d make this all go away. The beta blocker admission certainly holds weight. Your heart rate, while slightly elevated, isn’t anywhere near as chaotic as it should be. It’d explain the general malaise, fatigue, and lightheadedness too. That, and you doubt you’d be able to think this clearly if there wasn’t something heavy pumping through your system.

Your eyes hesitantly settle on Chrollo, who sits there perfectly still and almost relaxed. He’s observing you like a hawk.

“Listen,” you try using a mellower voice. He raises an eyebrow at your drastically different approach. “You had ample opportunity to hurt me and you didn’t. That must mean you have my best intentions at heart, right? Why don’t we try to work something out, because this isn’t sustainable. My absence isn’t going to go unnoticed.”

Chrollo sighs, heavy if not unsurprised. “Sweetheart, I’m not suffering a break from reality, although I’m sure you’d prefer to rationalize it that way. I assure you I’m lucid and everything I’ve done is intentional. You’ll come to accept it eventually.”

It isn’t going to help, yet you feel your remaining grains of patience slip through your fingers.

“What’s this talk about a ‘condition’ and ‘ability’, then?” You challenge.

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d mention that,” he doesn’t sound like you landed on a reason that’d prove him wrong. “How to explain it… you once told me you think there are phenomena in this world that can’t be explained by empirical evidence. Consider this an example of that. I’m sure you must’ve felt it before you fainted. An intense, concentrated sensation that awoke your primordial fear. Bloodlust.”

You want to argue until you run out of breath, but this description does strike a chord. Reality itself feels as if it’s drifting further and further away. In an awfully cruel twist, Chrollo and his collected disposition is the most grounding factor you have to latch onto.

“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” he finally replaces that matter-of-fact tone with something resembling compassion, “But know this: you’re not in any danger. Neither are those you care about, so long as you act sensible.”

Shivering, you hug your arms around your chest. “How can you say that to me so easily? I thought… I thought you…”

He’s enveloping you from behind. You didn’t even see him move. Weakly, you struggle against his hold, but you’re not in any condition to put up a fight. In the event you were, it’s doubtful it’d make much of a difference. He’s strong. It goes beyond physical strength, into some esoteric realm you’ve become forcibly acquainted with. He’s exerting this slight pressure that makes your heart skip a beat, despite the medication. It isn’t comparable to what you experienced in the garden — there’s no malice — it feels more like a warning.

“You’re surprisingly sensitive to Nen,” he murmurs, humming contentedly when you go limp against him. His chin rests atop your head and his arms ensnare your midriff. “How interesting. No matter. Whatever your fascinating brain concocted is still true. You may think me merciless, but if you knew me, you’d find this to be my greatest act of mercy yet.”

“I thought I did know you,” is your weak reply. You don’t recognize the sound of your voice.

“The parts of me I wanted to show you, yes,” he moves your hair aside so he can press a kiss to the nape of your neck. “And a few glimpses you gleaned in your own way. Really, you are such a sweet girl. Willing to overlook discrepancies to see the ‘good’ in me.”

Heat rises and ignites on your cheeks. “I-I could scream, you know.”

“You could.”

That’s not the reaction you were expecting.

“You’re… not going to try and stop me?”

“No,” he responds. “I’ve always found experience to be the best teacher.”

“You really,” you heave a humorless laugh, uncertain of what else to do, “You really don’t see anything wrong with this?”

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, marveling at how your pulse remains steady, thanks to his intervention.

“‘So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.’”

“What?”

“It’s what you said the first day I met you,” Chrollo explains, nostalgia evident. “I’ve thought about those words often. Your effulgence, your desire to do right by others. It made me wonder if there could ever be anyone more perfect for me than you. You, whose pretty neck I could snap before you’d ever realize what happened, stirred up a sentimentality in me I thought myself incapable of.”

Sandalwood, amber, and leather. His scent is the same as that day.

Are his intentions?

Is this a prophecy he himself ordained and always intended to see fulfilled?

“You stole my heart, and as recompense, I will steal you. Think whatever you want about me, dear. Just don’t think I’m selfless enough to ever change my mind.”

#chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #chrollo lucilfer #yandere hxh x reader #not sfw #my stuff

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holylulusworld · 25 days

Text

Gun for hire (1)

Summary: You’re his next target. Nothing else. Right?

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x fem!Reader

Warnings: hiring a killer, Lloyd being Lloyd, being followed, sunshine reader

Gun for hire (Prologue)

Gun for hire masterlist

Lloyd curses himself once again.

He still didn’t get his money. His newest client is an annoying piece of shit. And on top of the pile of shit, this assignment turned into, the exotic beard wax he wanted to order was sold out.

In other words. Lloyd Hansen is fucking livid.

This doesn’t keep him from following his latest target around town.

So far you went to work, bought a muffin on your way to the library, and talked to the librarian for half an hour.

Lloyd yawns, bored beyond belief. He never followed such a boring person. Most of the people he killed were criminals, or at least interesting. You’re just…too nice.

You made it your mission to visit the elderly librarian every day after work to make sure she gets her extra portion of sugar – hence the muffin you bought. Plus, you try to make her feel needed by asking questions about books you already read.

He’s close to calling it a day when a man walks past you and the librarian. The man bumps into your side and has the guts to yell at you.

Lloyd pokes his head around the shelf he is hiding behind to watch you smile at the man. He can’t believe that you smile at a man yelling at you not moments ago.

“Crazy,” he concludes but decides to watch you for a little longer. Assignment or not, he’s got nothing better to do today.

“Sir,” you carefully pat the man’s arm while you speak to him in a low, but soft tone. “Your day must have been hard.” You batt your eyelashes, and smile again. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been so rude, right?”

The man suddenly smiles and apologizes repeatedly. The man’s whole demeanor changed so suddenly Lloyd could not believe his eyes.

“Drugs maybe…or a hidden gun?” Lloyd wonders. No man ever changed their opinion so fast without being under the influence of drugs, or in danger. “That woman must be the devil in disguise or something. She must be more dangerous than I first thought.”

“Come on, do something more exciting,” Lloyd grunts as your daily routine drives him up the walls. He looks at his notes again and sighs deeply.

He rereads his notes and tries to find new information.

“Work. Buying something sweet for Grace, the elderly librarian. Talking to said librarian for half an hour. Going home. Watching TV.”

This is not how imagined his Friday night would look like. He wanted to spend it at his favorite strip club, a pretty girl’s mouth wrapped around his dick.

“She’s so…” he rubs his tired eyes, “boring. I can’t believe someone wants to kill her.” Lloyd ignores the kink in his neck and his burning eyes, or the fact that he’s watching you giggle at something your elderly neighbor said. “I hate her so much.”

He could just end your life or call it a day, but he keeps on watching you smile and giggle. “She’s a fucking ray of sunshine. What the fuck!”

Lloyd shakes his head. Today someone spilled coffee all over your pretty sundress. Your boss yelled at you. And you lost your phone.

Nothing seems to ruin your mood. You are still laughing and joking with your neighbor.

“I should just go over there and kill them both. Less headache for me – a house and a car for my client,” Lloyd is tempted to get his gun and silencer out to shoot you and your neighbor. “Maybe later. I need to unlock her phone first…”

Lloyd rolls his eyes while scrolling through your phone. There are mostly pictures of bees, flowers, and cake on your phone. No interesting or naughty stuff.

“This woman can’t be real. She buys sweets for the librarian; cooks soup for her sick neighbor and has a fucking insect hotel on her veranda. She’s crazy…this must be it.”

He nods to himself. “I need to find out more about her. Maybe some files are password-protected. I know she’s hiding shit from me.”

“Boss, it’s two weeks,” one of Lloyd’s men dares to say. “He didn’t pay.” The man clears his throat. “The woman is still alive too. What is your plan?”

“I need to find out more about her,” Lloyd grunts. He doesn’t need one of his bootlickers to sniff around and find out Lloyd is following you because he’s fascinated and a little grossed out by your bubbly personality.

Your friendliness is hard to stomach, and he wants to find at least one thing you try to hide before he kills you.

“Boss, he didn’t pay,” the man insists. “We don’t work for free. That’s rule number—” A gunshot ends the man’s life.

“Rule number four is to never doubt me and my decisions,” Lloyd sneers at the dead man on the ground. He snaps his fingers at one of the others. “Clean this up. I got a job to do.”

“Boss…” the man nods and goes to work.

“And bring me her boyfriend. He broke our contract and didn’t pay me a single buck. I want to know why he believes he can fuck with Lloyd fucking Hansen.”

“What are you doing at my house?” You take a step back. A stranger is standing in your living room, a gun with a silencer aimed at your head. “Oh…Tommie.” You shake your head and sigh. “He’s such an unhappy man.”

Lloyd cocks a brow at your reaction. You don’t scream or beg. Instead, you are concerned about your ex-boyfriend.

“He doesn’t have the money to pay me back for the house and car,” you conclude and nod to yourself. “But he has the money to pay you?”

You take a step toward Lloyd, taking him by surprise. He backpaddles and aims his gun back at you.

“You don’t look like a guy he found on the street and paid him twenty bucks. You look like a…” You tilt your head to look the man in front of you up and down, “professional.”

“Sorry, but you got to go…” He murmurs, wondering a little about his words. It’s the first time he said more to a target than hello and goodbye.

“Uh-okay,” you wring your hands. “I just ordered takeout. Can I eat it before you kill me?” You cock a brow. “You know, the whole last meal thing and stuff. I got dessert too. Please don’t let me die hungry.”

Lloyd is stunned. No target ever accepted their fate without fighting back. Most of them at least begged and pleaded or offered more money.

“You can have some dessert too,” you softly say. “I guess in your line of business you don’t often get invited.” You giggle. “You know, because you kill all of your clients.”

“I don’t kill my clients,” he sighs. “Fine, have your last meal. You are giving me a fucking headache, sunshine.”

“Aw, that’s a cute nickname,” you point out. “Do you call your girlfriend that too?” You ask while walking past Lloyd. “I’m going to eat now. Please don’t shoot me before I finish my meal.”

“Just shut up,” he grunts and follows you inside the kitchen. “Why are you not screaming or throwing a tantrum?”

You shrug. “We all must die one day. Right?” Watching Lloyd, you smile. “Please don’t shoot me in the face. Someone must identify me, and I don’t want them to see me like that.”

“You always think about others first.”

He watches you prepare two plates of food. You watch him watching you. He cocks a brow, believing you will try to trick him. “It’s not poisoned. I’ll eat it too.”

“Do you want to sort things out first?”

“I got everything sorted out,” you smile. “I’m just worried about my neighbor and the stray cat I feed. They are both old and need help.”

Lloyd shakes his head. “You must be crazy thinking about others while a stranger threatens to kill you.”

“I thought you wanted to kill me, not just threaten me,” you round the counter to place a plate close to him. “I didn’t take you for someone making empty promises.” You run your fingertips over the hand holding the gun and smile. “Right. Mr.…?”

“Lloyd,” he says and drops his eyes to your finger running over his hand. “Are you flirting with me?”

You look him straight in the eyes and smile. “Why would I flirt with my executioner?”

Gun for hire (2)

Tags in reblog.

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #Gun for hire (1)#x reader

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zombiekillerbiceps · 1 year

Text

Am I Just a Joke to You?

Note: this was supposed to be so short. It was supposed to be a little drabble but noooooo I have to establish a whole ass dynamic and side characters. God damn it. Why is it this long. Jesus Christ.

Content: Long post, 4.6k words. Slow burn. Leon x Reader, no y/n, ambiguous era Leon between re2 and 4, mutual pining, jealousy, fake dating?, don't get caught, rough sex, size kink, slight possessive kink, proof read.

It takes Leon getting jealous to finally do something about your feelings for him.

---

"I don't dance."

You rolled your eyes at him. You were both all dressed up for a fancy, UN event that was supposed to be some kind of summit but was really just an excuse for bigger fish to rub elbows. Your job was to keep an eye on things. You were supposed to be protecting the president from the shadows. But honestly? You both scanned this place top to bottom. Half the fucking people here were probably various secret agents from every country on the planet with the exact same job as you. You did this kind of shit 5 times a year and nothing ever went wrong.

"How do you just not dance?" You asked him, picking out a martini from a tray as a caterer passed by. "I bet you're just bad at it."

Leon was leaning against the wall, scanning the room like a BOW was going to materialize out of the meticulously waxed tiled ground. He was clean shaven, his hair slicked back in a way that said he cared, but not that much. His suit fit him well. It perfectly hugged his shoulders and was tailored exactly to his height. His sleeves were rolled up, and you had to stop yourself from staring at his toned forearms. How many times did you fantasize about them wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him while he...

"Focus on the mission," he said. You met his eye and instantly felt embarrassed by the amused expression on his face. Fuck. He totally caught you staring.

You hid your embarrassment in the bottom of the martini glass, tilting it up to hide your face while you downed the whole thing. You passed it off to another serving tray bobbing between bodies.

"And maybe ease up on the drinking. We're on the job."

"Oh, like you've never gotten drunk on the job," you replied with an eye roll.

You'd gotten drunk together on a mission just a couple weeks ago! You were trapped in a snowy Swiss cabin with that blizzard keeping the chopper from retrieving you. He was the one that suggested it, even! Bringing over a crystal bottle of whiskey while you stoked a fire. The wood was limited, you needed to ration it carefully so the two of you didn't freeze. It'll warm us up, he said. It'll help with the adrenaline crash, he said. If we don't sleep next to each other, we'll be popsicles by morning, he said.

"That was different. The mission was over." You tried not to get your hopes up that he thought about that night too. It was the most recent incident, of course you'd both think of it. He didn't think of your bodies side by side, just centimeters from touching, hoping with bated breath that he would turn around and kiss you.

"This mission is basically over," you push. "Come on, Leon, this is a cake walk. We're getting paid a boat load just to be here, and if you want to just stand there, then you go ahead. But I didn't sew myself into this dress not to enjoy myself."

He was getting under your skin. He was always getting under your skin. You needed some space from him.

You turned your back on him and walked into the crowd. You didn't really have a path in mind but it looked like you were bee-lining for a buffet table, and you weren't about to embarrass yourself by doubling back. Especially not with his cool gaze on you. God, he was so irritating. Always so unbothered, like everything was a little bit boring to him, or worse - like everything was a bit of a joke. You knew if you turned around he'd have some wisecrack about getting lost, or missing him, or... Oh, who even cared. Why were you still thinking about him and his cocky smile anyways?

"Difficult choice, huh?" A different voice broke through your daydreams and you cursed yourself to get your shit together. The voice was a low, rolling Ghanaian accent, coming from a tall man that was wearing the best fucking cologne you'd ever smelled. You looked up from the expensive deserts you didn't realize you were staring at.

"Y-yeah," you smiled up at him, sizing him up while he took stock of you too. Broad, but not the kind of broad Leon was. Well built, healthy skin, shiny hair, but no scars or callouses. There was intelligence behind his black eyes. He wasn't a threat. Likely a diplomat of some kind. "There's always so much food I've never heard of at these things."

"You are naturally curious, then?" He leaned against the table while he talked to you. He flashed a charismatic smile that should have charmed you, but irritation still itched at the back of your mind.

"As much as anyone else is," you shrugged, pushing away thoughts of Leon and grounding yourself. A perfectly handsome man was flirting with you, fuck Leon. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. My name is Kwameno. Not that one." He extended his hand to shake. You took note of his perfectly manicured nails. You'd wager this man knew how to dance.

Your eyes darted to where you last saw Leon. You didn't know what you were hoping for. His eyes were fixated on you, expression unreadable from this distance. His posture was as unbothered as always. He was probably worried you'd do something stupid, like give your name. You know, you know, we're on a mission, we couldn't underestimate people, this man could be an enemy lying in wait. You had to blink to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him. You forced your gaze back to Kwameno and shook his hand.

"It's a pleasure." You didn't release his hand, instead taking it in both hands like the two of you were good friends. You leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. "Do you know how to dance, Mr. Kwameno?"

You knew the answer before he gave it. He was the kind of man who was used to women sneaking off with him with just a few words and a brilliant smile. So, you'd be the challenge. A mysterious stranger in a tastefully tight black dress, making him work to charm you. He fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

"I know a little," he said. "May I offer you a dance, Ms..."

"Mrs, actually," Leon's voice hovered behind you, smouldering with something you couldn't quite figure out. A knot worked it's way into your stomach.

"Oh, I apologize sir. I did not realize. I did not see a ring," Kwameno replied. He sounded genuine, but that last comment was an intentional jab.

"Her fingers swell when she drinks," Leon lied. He took one hand in his as if to prove a point, rubbing his thumb in a small circle in your palm. You couldn't ignore the intimacy of the gesture, his chest so close to your back you could sense the rise and fall of his chest.

What the fuck was he doing?

"If you wanted to dance, darling, why didn't you just ask?" Leon's voice was lowered, making it clear he was talking to you and only you. His breath stirred the hair at your temple. Your face almost turned to meet him, but you stopped short. The air felt hot suddenly. The closeness was decidedly unprofessional. It got your hopes up for something you knew he wouldn't give you and worst of all was that smug fucking tone in his stupid voice.

"I did, dear. I believe you told me that you didn't dance." There was barely hidden venom in your voice.

He moved so fluidly you hadn't even noticed that he was already leading you away from the other man. One hand on your waist, leading you towards where people were dancing in a slow, classical style. Some kind of tango, maybe?

"I didn't like that song," he deflected. He turned you to face him, that stupid smirk on his face. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to ask what he was doing this for. He was probably just going to lecture you about letting your guard down and you didn't want to hear it, and your arms were wrapped around the back of his neck before you knew what you were doing.

You should stop, you thought. He probably knew how you felt. He was probably teasing you, always looking for something he could have over you.

Then, one hand was taking yours in his, the callouses mirroring your own. Another found its way to your lower back, pulling you in close to him. He was steady and strong. Confident. You could feel his solid frame beneath the suit as your body pressed close to his. He led you through the dance expertly.

"Where did you learn how to dance?" you asked.

"Would you believe it was part of training?"

"Not unless I missed a memo," you replied.

You didn't know the tango or whatever dance you were doing, and you couldn't pull off any flashy moves, but you also didn't have to. He led, you followed, wordlessly reading and responding to each other. It was like fighting together, but quieter.

You knew you should stop. You knew that whatever this felt like, it wasn't. Yet, you couldn't stop yourself from placing one hand at the back of his neck, feeling the fine hair there. He reached his hand up and pulled yours from the back of his neck, and you burned with embarrassment. He uncoiled your arm from his shoulder. Then, he held you at arm's length.

You were struck by how beautiful he was in the warm lighting. Blonde hair pushed out of his chiseled face for once, letting you take in the sharpness of his features. A soft smile played on his lips. His blue eyes, normally so shadowed, were gentle. They gave his expression something close to open affection. He smiled playfully. Then, he rolled his hips in an exaggerated, flamboyant motion and the sight was so absurd you barked a laugh. He pulled you back in with a spin and a flourish. Your bodies pressed against each other again.

He returned your hand to the back of his neck.

I could kiss him, you thought. His face leaned down towards yours, a hand tracing your back from lower to middle. I should kiss him.

He let out a soft chuckle that turned your blood to slush.

Was this just a fucking game to him? See how far he could take it, just to... To laugh in your face when you finally think of giving in like he's won something? Tears welled in your eyes from the frustration. You pulled away from him.

"Wait, no-"

"Fuck you," you snapped.

You turned on your heel and started to walk away from him. He followed.

"No, wait, let me explain-"

"Am I just a fucking joke to you?" You couldn't look at him. This room was too small, too hot, too many watchful eyes.

"No!" He started to say the first syllable of your name but stopped, seemingly noticing the eyes on you. "Darling, I wasn't-"

"You were being mean!" You turned to face him now, swallowing the tears with your pride. You had killed BOW's the size of a tree and Leon had reduced you to a school-yard child, calling your bully a big dumb meanie pants. You couldn't think of anything else to say. "I can handle the teasing, and the snide insults, and the smartass comments but that was mean."

He stood there, open mouthed and rooted to his place. You took the moment of him being stunned to make your escape. He moved to follow you again when Kwameno stepped between the two of you, and you were thankful to get more ground.

"I don't think the lady wants to talk to you right now," you heard him say. A split moment of quiet before you heard Leon's response.

"If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you take it off me."

You'd rarely heard Leon's voice so threatening. You cast a look behind you to see Kwameno's hand was on Leon's chest. Kwameno was taller than Leon, but Leon was bigger. In muscles and energy. Leon spoke in the kind of way that commanded obedience.

Fuck it. Let them fight, blow our cover, I don't care, you thought, and kept walking.

Ten minutes went by of you searching for a bathroom to hide but, but for whatever goddamn reason the mansion the event was being held in was the only mansion ever built without any goddamn bathrooms.

Fuck! You were so stupid. Not only did you potentially blow your cover with that high school drama bullshit, but you actually believed Leon might want you.

God fucking damn it.

You were lost. You'd wandered into some dark hallway you were pretty sure was off limits, but there was no red tape anywhere and you were pretty dead set on finding a bathroom to hide in. Besides, what else were you going to do? Go back into that ballroom and do your job like an adult? Look Leon in the eyes and pretend like he didn't lean in to kiss you and then laugh in your face?

"Asshole," you said to the empty hallway. You tried a door knob, but it didn't turn. "Why isn't there some kind of bathroom usher. Fucking. Open goddamn it!"

You heard the sounds of footsteps coming down the hall. You knew they were Leon's. You didn't even have to turn your head. You tried the door again like it would magically unlock for you this time.

"I don't think they want you in there," he said, his voice attempting levity.

"Shouldn't you be watching the president."

"Like you said, half the people here are probably secret agents."

"Go do your job," you tried so hard to sound cold, but there was a waver in your voice. You abandoned that door and crossed the hall to try another.

"I wasn't laughing at you," Leon said. There was something genuine in his voice that caught you off guard long enough for him to close the distance between you. "I was just... Surprised."

You looked up at him, defenses flaring, only to lose momentum the second you saw him. The hallway was empty, and the two of you were far enough away from the main party that it felt like you were the only two people in the building. You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. He shoved his hands in his pockets and did the same, infuriatingly handsome while he did it.

"I know you know how I feel about you," you said. You were almost surprised by how tired you sounded. This quiet moment drained the anger from you. "You aren't stupid."

He chewed his lip, meeting your gaze but clearly mulling over what to say. You gave him the time to think it out.

"I didn't think anything would happen between us," he said eventually. "I realized I could kiss you, and..."

He trailed off. He didn't wear vulnerability well. But, neither did you. This was uncomfortable.

"Let's just... Forget this ever happened," you offered.

"No."

"Nothing is going to happen between us."

He took a single step towards you, closing the small distance between you entirely. He leaned on one arm between you and the door, looking down at you. A strand of blonde hair fell loose from his style. There was something pleading and a little confused in his eyes. His other hand brushed your jaw and tilted your head up to look at him. He was so... Gentle. Earnest. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"I want this," he breathed. "Don't you?"

There was no humour or sarcasm in his voice. He wanted you. And, if you were reading this right, he wanted you to want him too. He didn't push, but he didn't back off either. The next move was yours.

Oh, fuck it.

You kissed him. The second your lips met his, everything else faded away except excitement. And then, heat.

He didn't rush the kiss, but his hands were on your body immediately. Grasping at your hips while his tongue met yours, pressing you into the doorframe behind you. Your own hands slipped under his jacket, feeling the muscles under the silk button up he wore. You knew he was fit, you'd seen him in action, but god it was entirely different to feel it for yourself. To feel his strong arms wrapped around you. His hands travelled up the curves of your hips, then gently caressed your shoulders. He was so gentle.

He bit your bottom lip, earning a small noise from you. His kiss traveled down your jaw to the sensitive spot below your ear, beside your throat, the curve of your collar bone. He licked up the length of your neck with hot breath meeting cool air in a way that made you shiver, ending with a kiss that made you moan.

"Leon, don't-" he was already pulling away. You had to catch his shoulders and pull him back, "- don't leave any marks, we're at work."

You could feel him grin into your neck.

"But that's half the fun," he complained, his sultry voice coiling in your stomach. Oh, you'd let him do anything he asked if he asked in that voice.

One of your hands found his belt, pulling his hips flush against yours with it. He groaned, his hands becoming more insistent. They grabbed your hips and the outside of your thighs. He found the hem of your dress and pushed it up, fingertips brushing against the bare skin. One hand tucking around to the back of your leg, lifting your thigh so you could wrap a leg around his waist. You pulled him close with your leg and almost whimpered. You could feel how hard he was in those dress pants, pressed right up against where you needed him most. You could probably just push your underwear to the side and...

"Fuck," you muttered, fire burning in you now.

"Yeah?" He asked, grinding against you just lightly enough to tease. You whimpered, hands tightening on his back. "Oh, what was that, sweetheart?"

"Shut up," you tried to kiss him but he hovered just out of reach. Stupid, cocky smirk on his face. How was he still irritating you?

Fine.

You reached down to where your hips met and grasped his cock over his suit pants. You weren't as gentle as he was, stroking him firmly through the fabric. His eyebrows stitched together, a low groan rumbling from his throat. He looked so fucking pretty like that.

"Oh," you whispered mockingly, "what was that?"

He sighed something that sounded pretty close to bitch and your hips rocked up at the thought. He noticed, something between a moan and a laugh hummed into a kiss.

You wanted him to fuck you. God, you wanted him so fucking badly. But there was a reason you couldn't... What was it again?

Oh, shit. You were huddled in some off-limits hallway at a UN meeting when you were supposed to be protecting the president.

"We can't," you whispered. You pulled back from the kiss, the two of you panting with lust and adrenaline.

"Why not?" He asked, but he stilled his hands on you.

"We're at work!" You reminded him, giggling. His forehead rested against yours and he started to chuckle too. And then it grew to full blown laughter from both of you. Some of the tension defused between you, laughing it away until your cheeks hurt from grinning.

"You're right," he conceded. Then, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It wouldn't be appropriate."

"It wouldn't..." You cautiously agreed. He was up to something.

"Especially out in this hallway where anyone could catch us."

"Mhm...." The thought of getting caught bloomed warm between your legs, making you realize then how worked up you were. Could be feel how wet you were between the cotton underwear and his suit?

A hand left your body, leaving you cold where it had been, and grasped the doorknob next to you. You watched his arms flex with effort, tendons coiling under the skin. Goddamn, he was strong. There was a loud metallic pop as the doorknob snapped. The door swung open.

"Then we better not get caught," he said.

You were on him in a flash. The show of strength turned you on, urgency building up inside you. You really shouldn't be doing this. That only made it hotter.

He led you into the dark room, closing the door gently shut behind him. There was no lock to keep it closed, but no breeze or uneven ground to swing it open.

He backed you up towards a surface- a desk maybe?- the solid wood biting into your ass as he pinned you against it with his body. Your kisses grew messy, strands of spit connecting your tongues when you parted for air.

You pulled your underwear down, stepping one leg out of them. He followed your lead, pulling his zipper down. You could hardly see him in the dark, but the outline of his cock pulled from his boxer-briefs intimidated you. You watched, transfixed, as he worked his cock. He leaned his face closer towards you. You could still feel his movements, the wet between your legs threatening to start dripping. His breath was hot against your ear when he spoke.

"Getting me jealous like that was a clever little trick," he said.

"It wasn't on purpose," you said, and realized then you were lying to him.

"Bullshit." He pulled one of your legs back up around his waist, hands gripping you harder this time. It hurt a little. He stopped stroking his cock to press his fingers against your slit. He groaned, voice shuddering, "fuck, you're so wet for me."

For me.

"All for you," you told him. Goddamn, that sounded dumb, but you wanted him to say it again. You needed to hear it again. For him. His.

Two fingers dipped into your cunt and you moaned. He hesitated like he was deciding between two options, and then his fingers pushed inside you. You buried your face in his shoulder to muffle another moan.

"So needy for me," he cooed. He curled his fingers inside you, expertly working that sensitive, bundle of nerves. Fuck. Fuck, that felt so good. "I know, baby."

You must have said that out loud. Shame burned your cheeks red but you quickly forgot it. The tension in your center was growing quickly. Dizzyingly quickly.

"Does that feel good?" he asked. All you could do was whimper and nod. "Yeah?"

Your legs were shaking, your breath was coming quicker. He let out the occasional groan along with you. Was he that turned on working you up like this? Fuck, you could feel his cock leaking onto your leg. It was too much.

"Leon, please! Fuck, fuck I'm so close," you tried so hard to keep quiet.

"Yeah? Cum for me, sweetheart. Come on. Cum for me." His begging in your ear pushed you over the edge, cunt spasming around his fingers, whimpering into his shoulder.

He slowed as you came down, letting you catch your breath. You didn't need to see his face to tell there was some proud, smug look on it.

"Fuck you," you muttered, hearing him chuckle in response.

"That's what you get for making me jealous," he told you. He slipped his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling empty. You watched him use the wetness on his hands to circle the head of his cock.

Oh my god. Using your own cum to fuck himself. The combination of your wetness made a lewd, squelching sound as he fucked himself.

He rested his forehead against your shoulder and lined his cock up with your warmth. You were breathless with how badly you needed him to push into you.

He let out a shuddering breath and didn't move. You rocked your hips against him, trying to get an angle that you could slide onto him, but failed. You let out a frustrated whimper.

"Please, Leon. Stop teasing me."

"Beg for it."

"What?"

He placed a hand on your cheek and made you look him in the eyes. The hand drifted around to the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. His gaze was heavy. Serious. "Beg for me."

You searched his face, weighing your options. The growing need you felt was almost unbearable but begging for him felt like admitting defeat and you weren't about to grovel.

Then it dawned on you. He was looking for consent. You nodded, desperation driving you mad.

"Fuck me," you begged, "please fuck me."

His cock pushed into you with an obscene noise, gliding into you so, so easily. He filled you almost to the point of hurting you. Then he pulled out again, slowly, almost to the point of leaving you empty.

His hand tightened on the back of your neck, using it as leverage to pull himself into you. His pace got frenzied. Hard. The two of you whimpered, moaned, babbled out nonsense of mostly "fuck," and "please," and "so fucking good."

You were getting close again. Your pussy tightening around him, only making you more sensitive. You didn't realize how loud you were getting when his hand left your thigh and clapped around your mouth. You blinked in surprise, meeting his eyes: heavy lidded and pussy-drunk.

"If you don't shut the fuck up, we're going to get caught," he groaned. The timber of his voice, the roughness of his hands on your face and neck, the relentless pace he set with his hips... All topped off with the threat of being discovered doing something you really shouldn't. You tried to quiet down, but you were so close, and he felt so good. Of course he noticed. He noticed everything.

"Skirt hiked up, fucking me on the job," he grunted out, his voice getting higher pitched near the end. His pace was less steady, more erratic. "Fuck, m'so close."

You moaned your encouragement into his hand, pleading with your eyes. He tightened his jaw, fighting to keep himself quiet. His pitch got higher, faster. The sounds of your pussy soaking his cock heard over your muffled moans. You were close.

Fuck.

His hips snapped into you harder than before, just pushing you over the edge with white-hot ferocity. He pushed into you deeper, gasping and whimpering, cumming with you.

He looked so pretty when he was cumming.

You came down together, breathing hard, gently rolling to a stop. He slowly moved his hands from your face and his grip on the back of your neck eased up.

"I can't believe we just did that," you whispered, laughing in disbelief. He chuckled too, the sound familiar to the laugh on the dance floor, and another soft realization dawned on you.

He slowly pulled away, gently cradling your face, his eyes asking a question you weren't sure you understood.

"I don't regret it," you guessed. He smiled, then shook his head.

"I'm glad, but I didn't hurt you, did I? I was holding your face pretty hard."

You shook your head, gently kissing him.

"It was hot," you reassured him.

You held each other for a few minutes longer and enjoyed the afterglow. You both knew you needed to go, but neither wanted to initiate it. You tried to ease out of the moment.

"We should do that more often," you joked. He laughed softly in surprise.

"Yeah, we should."

He stepped away from you with a final kiss, pulling up his pants and tucking his silk shirt into them. You pulled your underwear up and smoothed down your dress. You helped fix each other's hair, soft, giddy smiles between you.

Then you snuck out of the room, hoping no one noticed you were gone for too long.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil smut #re4r smut #leon kennedy smut #re4r fanfic #re2r fanfic #leon kennedy x you #hey if you liked this consider leaving a comment!

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your-not-invisible-to-me · 2 years

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Wax Strips (Matt Murdock x Reader)

A/N: This one shot was supposed to be a birthday present for @pastafossa, but in the time before and since their birthday I've gotten COVID, started a new job, and have been exhausted ever since. But, alas, it is finally written.

I haven't written fanfic in a long time. Please be kind.

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary:

Matt prides himself on his memory until he forgets to take the trash out, causing you to learn a new secret.

Word Count: 1,825

Warnings for Chapter: mentions of toxic ex, insecurities, mentions of body hair/waxing

If there was one thing Matt Murdock was, it was precise.

He wouldn’t have survived this long without it. After everything he had been through with the accident, after everything he’d been through with Stick to lead to him becoming the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, who would he be if he wasn’t?

That included his memory. Especially when it came to you.

He remembered everything about the day you had come into his life. The way he picked up your heartbeat before you entered the building where the Nelson & Murdock office lay. You were old friends with Foggy, and had just moved back to the city.

He remembered the sound of your footsteps as they pressed against the floor, each beat making his heart pound faster as he wondered who they belonged to.

He remembered the smell of your perfume as it blew past his nose. Cherries and blossoms, like a fresh summer day brightening up the dark in his mind.

It was your voice, however, that would be sketched into his soul.

“And this is Matt Murdock, the second half of this esteemed establishment of course!” Foggy’s excitement about seeing his friend could be heard a mile away.

“Hello.” Sweet and shy. Beautiful. He knew he needed more.

“Hello,” said Matt. His voice was out like a whisper in the wind.

After a moment of silence that was just a moment too long, it was Foggy who groaned in annoyance.

“I’ll give each of you the other’s number later. Now come on, Matt has work to do and we have a lunch reservation.”

It took Matt another six months before he even dared to mention his secret, completely surprised when you didn’t turn him in, or even worse, turn and run away. It was another six months after that when you finally moved in with him.

But living together meant knowing everything- and there was one secret he wasn’t sure he was okay with you knowing yet.

He had thrown them away in the small trashcan he had kept in the bathroom that the two of you now shared. All of his supplies were tucked safely away.

That’s when he felt the fingers along his back, their soft pads wrapping around his stomach. It was then he felt your lips, soft kisses across his shoulder.

You had just gotten back from a week-long work trip and apparently weren’t too keen to see him up this early in the morning.

“It’s too early Matt, come back to bed.”

The kisses continued across his back before you slowly turned him around, chasing lips of his own. The way your tongue hit his lips, slowly opening him up to chase the feel of his mouth made a shiver go down his spine. He let you pull him back to bed.

He meant to throw the trash out of the bathroom, he really did.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat at the end of Foggy’s couch, nursing the beer in your hand. You knew Foggy was trying to tell you a story, but your mind was elsewhere.

The sound of Matt leaving the apartment had long faded away when you finally convinced yourself to leave the safety of the warm covers. You padded into the bathroom, content to wash up and relieve yourself when you saw them bunched up in the trash.

Wax strips.

What was Matt doing with wax strips? You didn’t use them, that was for sure. Why would Matt? The pouring of thoughts started breaking through, and suddenly all you could do was wonder what had gone on in the apartment in the week you had been gone.

“You okay?”

“Hmm?”

“Considering I finished my story, and you’ve been silent, I can only assume your mind is somewhere else,” said Foggy.

“Sorry, Fogs, I just...”

“What is it?”

“Is Matt cheating on me?” you asked. The words were out before you could even blink.

“What? What in the world are you talking about?”

“I know you heard me, Foggy.”

“Which is why I’m concerned. Do you know how long I’ve known Matt? I’ve never seen him more in love than he is now. Why on earth would you think he’s cheating on you?” He took a sip of his beer, his eyebrows scrunched in his own confusion.

“I found wax strips in the bathroom trash!”

And suddenly your face was spattered with beer as the only sounds you could hear were the one of Foggy’s laughter. You wiped your face, annoyed.

“It’s not funny, Foggy! I don’t use wax strips!” You threw a pillow at his head.

“Okay, one, rude with the pillow. Two. I know you don’t use wax strips. I can’t believe he’s still doing this, but they’re Matt’s.”

And that’s when he told you.

Matt had his fair share of ladies in college, but there was one girl, even before Elektra, that had done a number of him. One look at him without a shirt was all it took for her to dump him, and why?

Cause he had chest hair.

And she thought it was gross.

Ever since then, Matt Murdock had a wax strip budget. He waxed his chest regularly, and never let another girl close enough to tell.

As Foggy finished his story, all you could think about was one thing.

Someone had hurt the love of your life so much that he felt like he couldn’t be honest with you. He felt like he had to change himself, as if anything different would make you run away. Finding out he was Daredevil was one thing, but you were finding yourself feeling different about this.

Someone had hurt Matt’s heart, and that wasn’t okay with you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were sitting on the couch reading a book when he came home. The clang of the roof door echoed as he ran down the stairs and into the bathroom.

“You okay?” you called out, head not looking up from the page you were, at this point, pretending to read.

“Needed to pee!” The sound of the toilet flushing echoed throughout the apartment as you waited. You knew him too well.

“Fuck.”

There it is.

More time passed before Matt slowly emerged from the bathroom, devil suit in hand as he now wore the t-shirt and sweats he sometimes kept in the bathroom. He threw the suit into the trunk before slowly turning to you, your head still looking at the book.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you, um, did you take the trash out?”

“Yes, when I got home tonight.” You closed the book, finally looking up at him. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I just, um.”

In a way, this was fun. You hadn’t seen Matt flustered like this since the day he had first asked you to dinner. That being said, he was flustered for the wrong reasons.

“What is it, Matt?”

“You saw-.”

“The wax strips, yes.”

Matt stood there looking like a deer in the headlights. His eyes moved around quickly, and you knew what he was doing. He was trying to read you. But you knew he wouldn’t find what he was looking for. He wasn’t going to find the disgust.

“Come here? Please?” You reached your arm out to him and waited, like trying to lure an abused pet into trusting you. Hell, maybe that’s what you were doing to an extent. He eventually took your hand, sitting on the other end of the couch. Before he could say anything, you crawled into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

The stiffness in his shoulders bled out in a near instant as he buried his head in your neck. You took your time, softly scratching your nails down his back as you just breathed with him.

Eventually, you pulled back, taking his head in your hands.

“I’m sorry, Matty.”

“Sweetheart-”

“No, let me finish.”

His jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

“I’m sorry that that stupid girl back then made you feel like this. But I’m even more sorry that I made you feel like this was something you needed to hide.”

“You’re not, you didn’t, I... it doesn’t gross you out?” asked Matt. You could feel the worry simmer off his chest as if one wrong word from him would have you packing.

“No, Matt, of course, it doesn’t. And even if it did, I would never ask you to shave or wax for me. Your body is natural. Chest hair is natural. You shouldn’t feel like you need to change it for anyone!”

Matt dipped his head forward, giving you the perfect angle to place a kiss on his forehead. He let out a breath, each word shakier than the next as he spoke.

“She told me it was gross. That just, that just looking at it made her want to vomit. I had never even given a thought to my chest hair before then. I didn’t think I had to. How does it not gross you out?”

“Matthew Murdock, tell me, if I were to suddenly stop shaving my legs, would that gross you out? Would you tell me I needed to shave them or you’d leave me?”

The silence spoke louder than words.

“Exactly.”

Matt let out a sigh, a soft thud could be heard as his back hit the couch. It wasn’t hard to understand that he still wasn’t sure.

You took his chin in your hands, turning his head so you could give him a kiss. It still made you feel like you were floating on air the way he would automatically open himself to you in a moment like this. You pulled back gently.

“Listen, I’m not saying you need to change anything that you don’t want to right now. It’s your body.” He shuddered as he could feel the breath of each word hit his lips. “I’m just saying that if you did want to? I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

You kissed him again, tracing your thumb against this jaw before breaking the kiss. He softly spoke.

“Okay.”

It was only a few weeks later when you walked into the bathroom as Matt was getting ready. He stood up from where he was rinsing his face and faced you, causing you to freeze in your path.

Matt’s hairy chest.

He’d apparently stopped waxing, cause low and behold your boyfriend stood in front of you, his hairy chest right there for you to see.

It couldn’t have made you happier.

“Good morning,” said Matt. The nerves could be heard as he waited for any sort of reaction from you.

In an instant, your arms were around him. You rubbed your cheek against his chest as you buried your head into him. The little hairs tickled your face, feeling lovely as you pressed a kiss into his sternum. You looked up, placing a kiss on his chin.

“Good morning.”

The smile on his face was all you needed.

A/N: Feedback/comments always appreciated! I tried proofreading this the best I could! Feel free to let me know if I missed something.

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onestepbackwards · 1 year

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What’s All the Buzz About? Pt. 3

Hello! Welcome to part 3 of my Bee Hybrid Submas fic! ヾ(•ω•`)o Once again, this fic is inspired by @r0-boat‘s BeeGearStation Au! Please go check it out, their content is a must read! If you want to know what the bees look like, please check out @antidotesprout! They did some amazing art for the au, and their art is just amazing in general! I struggled a bit with this chapter, much like the last, but I still feel a bit better with this one than the last one. I apologize if it kinda feels like its everywhere, but I still hope you enjoy! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) Happy new year everyone!

Summary: Your first night seems to go well enough! However, you still have a lot to get used to with your new friends. The Kings decide what better way to ease your worries, than give you a small tour? CW: Description of leg injury, anxiety, nightmares, mentions of cave ins, mentions of coercion, Hybrid!Submas, bee hybrid Emmet, bee hybrid Ingo, Word Count: 6075 words! ->First: Link ->Previous: Link ->Next: Link ------

The bees were way more knowledgeable in human health care than you had expected. Sure, they didn’t have medical equipment like a hospital was equipped with, but within an hour, the Kings and several drones were able to quickly figure out all the issues with your leg. They determined where your leg was broken, and just how deep the breaks were.

Somehow through some touching, and buzzing, and a few other things with equipment, they were able to figure it all out in an hour. Thankfully, much to your relief, the bees had determined the breaks weren’t as bad as you anticipated. Most were hairline fractures, scattered in a few spots on your leg. However, there were two areas that needed more attention, and a cast. Since you had walked for so long on these injuries, those two breaks had worsened.

Other than that, it was mostly bruising and scabbing. Nothing else internally appeared to be majorly damaged.

The Kings and drones laid it all out for you in a way you somewhat understood, before getting to work.

Less than an hour later, they had your leg cleaned and patched up, and wrapped in a makeshift cast. It appeared to be made from some sort of silk cloth, and was firmly held in place with the hive’s wax. Even if it wasn’t a cast by a normal hospital's standards, it still seemed to easily function as one. After that, a platter of different fruit was brought in, along with some water. “We want our guest to have the best possible recovery, yup!” Emmet had chimed in as you stared in wonder of all the fruit. Both Kings insisted you eat as much as you could, and drink as much water as possible. When you had protested that they needn't give you so much, they simply shook their heads at you. “We have plenty of supplies and food to go around from our reserves and greenhouses. Food is not an issue, and you are our guest and patient. We will not be sloppy when it comes to your care.” Ingo had told you, his eyes sharp and voice firm. You really didn’t want to argue with a King, and he told you in a tone that more or less said his word was final. After that, just as you had begun to eat, a drone brought you a cup of what you thought was honey. You could only stare at it, confused, until the drone’s wings buzzed, capturing your attention. “It’s for you! Our honey, this kind specifically, was made in order to heal wounds and help fight bacteria! We have high hopes it shall help with your injuries!”

He seemed rather excited, his grin wide as you took the cup.

“...Thank you.” You told him, genuinely sincere. You could hardly believe that the hive was offering you their own honey. You had heard online and from some other folks, bee hybrid hives kept most their honey for themselves, only giving the rest up for means of trade. It wasn’t like regular bee honey. What you had in your hand was way more valuable. You nearly couldn’t believe they were letting you have some. You had been holding what many humans would consider a treasure. Something some would consider more valuable than gold. Not only that, the food had been absolutely delicious. You swear you had never had fruit so fresh, or so tasty before. It made the pain in your leg a lot more bearable. That, and getting some food in your stomach after everything helped calm you down a bit. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until after the first bite. You didn’t see it, but both Kings were incredibly pleased. As you had eaten, Ingo and Emmet had gone over a recovery plan of sorts with you. “It would be best if you stayed off the leg as much as possible. Unfortunately, we don’t have any crutches at the moment, but we will soon fix that for you.” Ingo told you, going over a clip board. Emmet hummed, before piping up after him. “Until then, we will have help ready to carry you anywhere in the hive you should need to go.” He said with a nod, and you could only look at him with slight surprise. “I’m not just restricted to this room?” You asked for clarification. To be fair, you expected to just be put in this room or an infirmary until you were well. Maybe get some time outside if they felt generous, or even just drop you off in the city after giving you a cast. Both twins looked at you, slightly shocked. “No, of course not! We would be horrible hosts to keep you locked up! You are our guest! Not our prisoner!” Ingo assured you, looking somewhat disturbed at the very idea. Both twins shared a panicked look. “We won’t keep you restricted to one area! There are some places we’d prefer you not enter without supervision for safety, but we don’t wish to keep you in this room against your will!” Ingo quickly explained. Himself and Emmet did not want you thinking you were a prisoner. It was the last thing they wanted you to think. If you assumed you couldn’t leave, or had to stay in a room, you would hate being here. They didn’t want you to hate this place. If you hated this place, you would want to leave, they couldn’t have that. Both Kings wouldn’t keep you here against your will, of course. However, they were so desperate. They needed a Queen, and a Queen who wanted to be here. One who loved their hive. If you wanted to explore, they would happily let you! In fact, they wanted you to look around. Surely, if you liked it, you would be more enticed to stay? That, and if they got you used to the area, that would only be a bonus. How can you rule a hive if you don’t have a basic layout of your home? Meanwhile, different thoughts were going through your head. However, you were sure about one thing. You were relieved. Even though you had resigned yourself to possibly being stuck into one room, the fact that they would let you wander around was a huge relief. By the looks of it, if you even wanted to leave, they wouldn’t hold you hostage. It was a weight off of your shoulders. After they finished patching you up, and your leg felt even a little better, you could just leave. But you couldn’t help but pause. Did you even want to leave that soon? Your eyes went back to your injured leg, which lightly throbbed against the pillow it was elevated on. Thoughts from earlier popped in your head briefly, though not so much in a wave like they had before. If no one was looking for you… Why not stay? At least until you could fully walk? You wouldn’t outstay your welcome, of course. If they asked you to leave tomorrow, you’d do so, thankful they at least did this much for you. But you’d let them take care of you. Why would it matter anyway, if you were missing for a while longer in the city? Call yourself petty, but if your boss and coworkers were sitting on their thumbs, terrified they had killed you, why not let them stew a little bit. As much as it hurt to think, you didn’t exactly have people waiting for you at home, anyway. What would your work even do? Sue you for getting trapped in a cave and not showing up for work? Hah. As if. The moment you were out of here, you were most definitely putting in a letter of resignation. You didn’t care if you had to live a bit more strictly with your money. What you had gone through was horrible, and you were not going to stay at a company that may not have even alerted authorities that you may or may not be dead. So your mind was made. Unless they asked you to leave sooner, you would let them take care of you until you could at least walk on your own again. That was your last thought as you later went to bed that night. The Kings and drones eventually left you be, assuring you they would bring you more things later on. They knew though you needed to rest, and keeping you up would only stall your healing process. So after you had finished your food, they bid you farewell, and left you to your thoughts. Though the Kings told you should you need them, they will leave some drones outside your door. “If you need anything, anything at all, please call for them! They will be ready to help you all through the night.” You wanted to tell Ingo they didn’t have to do that, but you got the feeling that would be another argument you wouldn’t be winning. However, you were kind of grateful for the drones outside your door. If you had to get up and use the restroom, or were hungry, you would at least have some help. They were already helping you more than any help you would have had if you had made it back home. Thankfully, after the Kings had left, it didn’t take as long to fall asleep as you had assumed it would.

You only laid in the bed for a while, partially covered by the soft blanket. The bed was incredibly comfortable. Much to your relief, you didn’t have to be alone with your thoughts for too long. Perhaps it was the fatigue and exhaustion, or the adrenaline crash. Or maybe it could be the faint sound of rumbling and buzzing that helped you relax. When you weren’t fearing for your life, the sounds were a bit more comforting. Maybe it was a bit of everything, but you were able to fall asleep with relative ease. Sleep itself though, was not as great as you had hoped it would be. You were restless most the night, and the dull ache of your leg did little to help with your comfort. Not to mention you couldn’t exactly move around in your sleep with the pain, and the giant cast on your leg. There were also a few times you would wake up in a panic, unsure where you were. When it finally hit you what had all happened, unease settled back in your gut as you fell asleep. Then there were the dreams. More like nightmares, really. In some, you didn’t move in time, and ended up painfully crushed. Sometimes you died instantly, others, you were stuck, and died slowly underneath some rubble. In other dreams, you saw your coworkers laughing at you as you struggled to crawl out from the cave in. “You should have just died. Do us all a favor.” “You would have made an excellent write off. Why can’t you stay dead?” “Maybe if you had been more enthusiastic, you wouldn’t have been stuck here in the first place, idiot.” “Why didn’t you come right back to work? How disappointing. I’m afraid we can’t keep you here if you can’t prioritize your job over trivial matters. We’re going to have to let you go.” Safe to say, you didn’t get much rest that night.

You later woke up around 9 in the morning. Thankfully, your phone had not died yet, though it was certainly low on battery. Having used its flashlight for so long last night definitely took its toll on the remaining charge. The phone had roughly 15% left. A weight settled in your stomach as everything came back to you the more you woke up. You were still in a bee hybrid hive, with a broken leg, and a phone that was nearly dead. Taking a deep breath, you counted to five, and exhaled. You were safe. You weren’t alone in the tunnel. The Kings and the drones wanted to help you, they didn’t want you dead. That familiar spike of anxiety tried to bubble up in your chest, but you took another deep breath. It was okay. You were okay.

Suddenly, the sound of your stomach growling filled the room. …You were also quite hungry.

You then looked at your leg, which you had to slightly readjust on the pillow that was supposed to be elevating your leg.

It wasn’t in as much pain as it had been yesterday, but it now had a very painful ache. You could feel nearly every throb of your pulse, just from how your nerves seemed to light up with each pump of your heart. The pain could be worse, you supposed. It certainly felt a lot better than what it had last night, that was for sure. You fiddled with your phone for a while, trying to come to terms with everything. You weren’t as much of an emotional mess as last night, but you were still certainly a bit of a wreck. But you were safe. And the Bees were very kind. That was something you couldn’t get out of your head. They took the time and effort for you to be comfortable, and help you out.

It made you feel… kind of special, if you were being honest. You couldn’t remember the last time of someone, or multiple someones taking care of you, and so seriously as well. Your stomach growled again, and you winced, and looked towards the door across the room. Should you call out for the drones who were said to be just outside?

Thankfully, as you were mulling over what to do, there was a knock on the door to your room. You stared at it a moment, taken a bit off guard, before answering. “Come in…?” Much to your surprise, Emmet poked his head through the door. When his eyes landed on you, his already present smile widened. The King entered the room, two drones trailing behind him. He clapped his hands together as he approached your bed. “Good morning!” Behind him the drone on the right walked up to you, carrying a platter with a plate of fruit, and what looked like honey on the side. He happily held it next to you, while the other drone stood next to your leg. Emmet stood next to you beside the drone with food. “Did you sleep well?” He asked, leaning towards you, his antennae twitching this way and that. You blinked. “Um… I slept okay? Kind of restless, I guess.” You told him. Emmet’s smile twitched for a moment, and he tilted his head. You could have sworn his face turned into one of concern and panic for a split second. “Ah, were there any issues? How can we help?” he asked, his face a bit more serious than before. Even the drones seemed a bit curious and serious about the issue. You shook your head quickly. “Oh, no, it was nothing any of you did. I think the stress and the mild pain from my leg… It was a bit hard to stay asleep for long periods of time. It was all me!” you told them. The King shared a look with the drones, before looking back at you. His smile was still on his face, though he seemed less upset than before. Unknown to you, he was a lot more relieved than you would have thought. If anything had gone wrong, and had been because of his hive, he would have had some choice words with those who may have caused you discomfort. No doubt Ingo would have been very upset as well. A lot was riding on keeping you happy and comfortable. That, and…. Well… Emmet watched you closely as you spoke, and he held his wings back from twitching. You were so kind. From the moment he met you, he knew you were something special, and you have been nothing but friendly to him. Even if this didn’t work out, he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.

If anything, he at least wanted to be your friend. It’s not everyday they meet a nice human, after all. It was another reason why he wanted you to be comfortable. Still, he stood up straight, and snapped his fingers. The drone next to your leg stood up immediately, and he waved for him to follow

The two shared some words that you couldn’t quite hear or make out. Though after a moment, the drone stood up, saluted, and quickly headed out the door.

You could only watch in slight confusion, until the drone next to you held out the platter.

“Here! The Kings made sure to go over the list of things you could and could not eat, before we prepared this for you!”

He gently sat the platter in your lap, and you could only look in amazement.

Different fruit was set out on a few bowls and plates, some that were even out of season were right here for you to eat. On the side were a few smaller bowls of honey, and it once again reminded you of how you were more or less holding something that many would find highly valuable.

“This looks delicious!” You couldn’t help but comment in awe. The fruit all looked fresh, and if the honey was anything like it had been last night, you had no doubts it would be tasty. “Sorry for the lack of variety. We are currently working on that.” He told you, though you just shook your head again. As you took a bite, you could only moan at the delicious taste. You swore, it tasted even better than the meal you had last night. Though you missed the dark look the King sent the drone. He hadn’t exactly wanted you to worry about that. “Mm! It’s no issue at all, it’s amazing!” The drone happily drank in your praises, though nearly jumped when Emmet tightly put a hand on his shoulder. “The fruit is grown right here at the hive. I hope you find it to meet your expectations.” You hummed as you ate, pouring some more honey on to some of the fruit you planned to eat. It truly was delicious.

Taking a few more bites, you were surprised to hear knocking at your door again. Quickly swallowing back some food, you glanced at the door, then back at the bee hybrids in the room. Emmet simply gave you a smile.

“Um… Come in?” You called out, though a bit unsure. You weren’t sure why, but it felt odd being the one to let others in when the King was standing right next to you.

Perhaps they were taking your privacy seriously as well? Not entering unless you gave permission? …The thought was incredibly sweet. The door opening brought you out of your thoughts for a moment, and you were slightly surprised to see Ingo walk in. The moment he entered, his eyes landed on you. He looked you over, and seemed rather pleased. “Good morning! How are you feeling? Did you rest well?” He spoke. His voice was a bit loud, but not enough to bother you. In fact, he seemed rather excited and curious to see you, if the tone of his voice was anything to go by. “Oh… I was just telling Emmet and the drone I slept okay. Was kind of restless, and my leg woke me up a time or two from the pain. Everything else though has been very nice.” You quickly explained, catching the other King up. Emmet quickly walked over to the other King, and whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened in understanding, and he gave Emmet a nod. When Ingo turned back to you, he stood up a bit straighter. “I see. We shall do our best to help with your comfort. If there is anything you need, please, do not hesitate to let us know. We can help if you need something for the pain. Anything else, we will do our best to assist.” You simply stared at him, trying to grasp what he had said. It was still a bit early, after all. How did you get so lucky? You had nearly died in the abandoned subway tunnels just yesterday, and now you were being treated like some esteemed guest in a royal bee hybrid hive? Even you wouldn’t believe yourself if you heard you say it. It sounded so outlandish. It was something you were still coming to terms with. It didn’t quite feel real.

As you dwelled on your situation a little more, you almost missed how there was more knocking at your door. Ingo answered it this time, talking to a cute little drone who popped his head in through the doorway. Both whispered something to the other, before the drone handed Ingo something. A few more words were exchanged, and Ingo closed the door. Heading back to you, you were surprised when he handed you an unopened bottle of pain medication, and some water. “How did you-” You began to ask, before Emmet cut in. “We have our ways! No need to worry.” Him saying that only made you want to worry, but hey, who were you to argue with something like this? They were helping you feel better, so you really had no means to ask or judge how they got medicine for you to take. You were more or less finished with your delicious meal, and put the tray to the side. The drone nearby happily took it off your bed as you grabbed the bottle of medication and water. It was surprisingly good quality stuff that would no doubt be strong. Thankfully it was stuff you could handle.

Though you briefly wondered just how they got their hands on this stuff. You needed an ID to purchase this, and it was a brand new bottle, still completely sealed. You opened your mouth to ask, but the words fell flat on your tongue. Again, you were being treated for free. Perhaps it was best if you don’t ask questions. As you screwed the bottle open, you missed the shared look between the twin Kings. They may or may not have had a drone or two break into a pharmacy after doing some research, taking different medications they normally wouldn’t be able to provide for you. They didn’t just take it without leaving anything though! Just because they hardly dealt with humans, didn’t mean they didn’t have a concept of their trade. They did their research, and left behind enough cash they had accumulated over the decade behind. Cash they had saved in case they had to deal with humans in the future. It was a decision Ingo was glad he made, back when they had first become Kings. The former Queen despised humans, and didn’t take care to learn about them. Ingo and Emmet wanted to, at least to have some sort of knowledge in case they ever had to deal with them. Saving any money they came across proved to be beneficial. The idea of stealing needlessly didn’t sit right with either King. Both watched you take a small pill, relieved you didn’t ask questions. What you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

After you quickly finished up the glass of water you had been given, Ingo cleared his throat once again. “If you would like, we can take you out to some parts of the hive! I’m sure you’d like to see the greenhouses, and a few other places of note!” Your eyes widened slightly. Sure, they gave you permission earlier to walk around and such, but it sounded as if they were offering you a tour of sorts. If you were being honest with yourself… It sounded kind of fun.

Then you looked at your leg, which throbbed in a painful reminder that again, you couldn’t exactly use it. “I’d love to, but… Do you have a wheelchair, or a cane I may use?” You asked. Emmet’s head tilted as he hummed in thought. His wings buzzed for a moment, before he shook his head. “I do not believe we have any on the premises at the moment.” You felt your excitement drop, though Ingo caught your attention with a gentle clap of his hands.

“However! We would be happy to carry you, if you are comfortable with that!” Recalling them carrying you last night, you felt your hand tug on the fabric of your shirt. Surely they wouldn’t offer if they really weren’t comfortable with it, right? …Plus, you kinda liked being carried. They held you so easily, like you were as light as a feather. Not to mention, they were very handsome King Bees. And you were still somewhat riding on the high that you were probably one of the only humans in a long time that was willingly being carried by a King bee hybrid. You felt very special indeed. It wasn’t like you were taking advantage, either. They were offering, and it's not like you could currently walk anyway.

Mind made up, you looked up at the two Kings, and nodded.

“I don’t mind! I would love to see the hive.” Every hybrid in the room stood up straight in excitement, including the drone. They all buzzed their wings, almost in an interesting rhythm.

Before you could dwell on it, you let out a squeak when Emmet was suddenly in front of you, oh so gently scooping you up in his arms. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding yourself close to him as he easily adjusted you in his grip.

Emmet’s antennae twitched eagerly, and he let out a small hum as you held yourself close to him. He was quickly learning he liked holding and carrying you. You were just so cute and tiny, he can’t help but enjoy it! He also purposely ignored the jealous glint in his twin’s eyes, and the needy sounding buzz from the drone. If they wanted to hold you, they should have been faster.

Not his fault they were too slow to hold cute little ‘ol you.

“Come! Let us depart!” He spoke cheerfully, heading towards the door. He may or may not have thrown a smug look to the others in the room as he walked by.

Emmet confidently walked through your doorway, and several drones scattered at the sudden appearance of the King. It seems they were caught listening in. Emmet paid them no mind. They had mentioned something about drones being outside your door for assistance, but you couldn’t help but feel those ones had been just curious about what had been going on. It was almost cute to see them all scatter away. Ingo followed you both out the door, his frown a bit deeper than normal, though he covered his face with his hat. He wouldn’t let you see him upset over something so silly. But it was a bit irritating. He also wanted to get close and impress you! Emmet also sticking his tongue out at him and throwing him smug looks from over his shoulder was not helping Ingo’s mood.

Regardless, he stepped beside you and Emmet, drawing your attention.

“First, let us take you to the gardens, and the greenhouses! It would be our honor to have you see something we pride ourselves in!”

You cutely tilted your head as they both began walking down the hall.

“Say, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you guys have gardens and greenhouses?”

It was something that you had been wondering in the back of your mind. They brought up these places several times, but you were unsure of their use.

Sure, it sounds obvious, probably for food supply and such. However, you had been under the impression bee hybrids also went out and found giant plants for pollen and food, which existed around Unova from the sheer amount of other hybrids out there. Giant plants started evolving when other large insect hybrids came into existence, if you remembered correctly. If there was a tiny version, it was a 50-50 shot of having a giant counterpart in select parts of the region. They were kept under close observation, but it’s been something scientists have been studying for decades. You know, details. Still, it was something you were curious about. Thankfully, both seemed eager to explain.

“The greenhouses are for personal food supplies, and special for trades. The gardens are similar, but are for seasonal luxuries and other miscellaneous plants.” Emmet chirped, his wings eagerly twitching behind him. “Some plants can only be grown and harvested in our gardens, so we use seasonal ones. The greenhouses have less variety, but are consistent all year.” Ingo piped in from beside you as he led the group into another large room. It made sense. With the amount of local large plants in the area, or lack thereof, seeing as it was the subway under the city, they probably needed to be self-sustained somehow. Though your thoughts shifted as you idly looked at each room you passed. Both twins would give you a brief description of each area. The first area had been another hub, the hive apparently needed several to keep up with upkeep of honey and drones. It had been huge, with walls covered in honeycombs, much like the first hub you had seen. There were also drones flying and running around, each trying to complete their own tasks, or talking with others for work. You were just as fascinated as you had been when you saw the other hub last night. Neither King seemed as interested as you, but still gave you another description of what was going on. Truth be told, this was business as usual to them. Especially since they had been drones themselves at one point. The hub area, as interesting as it might be to a human, was nothing more than an everyday sight. Even as Kings, they spent a lot of time here overseeing storage and trades. Though a thought did run through Ingo’s mind. If you were interested, that was a good sign. The older King was sure himself and his brother could handle business aspects of the hive, but if you were interested… That was an incredible plus, especially if anything were to happen to either King. Both would handle the work like this, but you needed to have an idea, if you were to become a Queen. Perhaps they should double down on their explanations on areas that interest you? Emmet had to hold in his excitement. The very thought of teaching you these things was incredibly exciting to him. If you were interested, surely you would be less likely to leave? Or at the very least, maybe come back and visit if you had to go back up into the city? Emmet couldn’t help but daydream a bit as he carried you, Ingo droning on beside him about how the drones did different jobs, and had different occupations. You probably would still want to go back to your home after all of this. That was something they couldn’t stop. But surely you would want to come back! And Emmet couldn’t help but wonder what your home looked like. Would you let him see it? Let one of them take you home? Would you invite them in, and show them all your cute human things? Emmet felt his antennae twitch as his excitement grew, and Ingo gave him an odd look, but continued on as you all exited the huge area. The younger King couldn’t help but continue to let his mind wander. Would you be willing to teach them different human things? Show them your more personal belongings? He had to keep himself from buzzing in excitement. Both Kings were wary of humans, sure, but that didn’t mean they weren’t curious. You were so kind and nice, the idea of learning these things from you made him all the more eager. Emmet had been so lost in his head, he nearly stumbled when Ingo elbowed him. As he had been lost in his thoughts, he hardly noticed how far they had walked, and how they were approaching the first set of greenhouses. As much as he wanted to give Ingo a glare, he was glad his twin had regained his attention. Seeing your reaction to the large buildings hidden underground was nothing short of a fuzzy feeling. …And a bit of an ego boost. Your eyes were wide as you took everything in. These ‘buildings’ underground vaguely looked like greenhouses you were accustomed to, but still so incredibly different. They had windows, but were still vaguely made of wood, steel, and wax. They had large lights above head, supplying light to the large plants you could see through the windows. “...How?” You couldn't help but ask, nearly at a loss for words as Emmet brought you into the closest building. “We built it, of course! Through the help of trade, and some knowledge from a neighboring ant hybrid colony, we were able to build something like this.” Ingo explained briefly to you, his eyes shining in excitement at your interest.

“Woah…” You mumbled, looking over the various rows of plants.

There were a few drones in the room, flying or walking here and there. Some were picking from some plants, others were taking care of said plants.

Some curiously peeked at you from behind flowers and pots, others were too engrossed in their work to notice you three had arrived. Some walked by, giving the Kings a small greeting before continuing on their way. Taking a deep breath, you happily took it in. When was the last time you had smelt such seemingly clean, floral air? Not to mention how much it was enhanced by the smell of honey lingering in the air.

Emmet hummed, a bright smile on his face as he watched your face light up. You seemed so relaxed!

Ingo couldn’t help but feel some tension leave his body, seeing you so excited. The greenhouses were what some in the hive considered dull work, since it’s all work and care underground. Most preferred the wilds outside Nimbasa city, and the wild areas beyond that across all of Unova. “I take it you like it?” Ingo couldn’t help but tease, the edges of his mouth almost twitching upwards in a smile when you looked back at him.

“I do! It’s beautiful here! And there is a… I dunno how to put it… A freshness here? The air is so clear here, it’s not something you can traditionally find in Nimbasa…” Both Kings seemed to stand up straighter at the praise. Even the drones who overheard seemed to buzz slightly at your kind words.

“Thank you! We appreciate your praise verrry much!” You took the moment to look at Ingo and Emmet, who seemed to bask in your words. They seemed so happy that some human appreciated their work. Did no one ever tell them good job? Or were they just unused to humans complimenting their hard work and their hive?

Both Kings, and even the drones, looked kinda cute as they soaked in your compliments. The way they seemed to stand up higher, and wiggle their wings a bit… It was incredibly endearing.

Not to mention how handsome they all looked when they were all so happy. It made your heart want to skip a beat.

Before those thoughts could go any further, you let out a small noise of surprise when you were lifted from Emmet’s grasp.

Ever so gently, Ingo adjusted you in his own grasp, gleefully ignoring the glare from his younger twin.

Emmet had gotten to hold you for long enough. It was his turn.

He had wanted to show you these areas himself after all. Emmet may have beaten him to the punch earlier, but now was his time to shine.

Even if his brother’s look was promising an argument later.

“Now, shall we head to the gardens, my dear?” He asked, his eyes shining brightly.

You smiled back, nearly taking his breath away. A small blush on your face at the nickname.

“I would love to!”

Oh yes, stealing you away for now was definitely worth the pain Emmet would no doubt give him.

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