#/ needed to change thread title

[verreprincesse]

@audaxbellator

"Yes," she pressed fingers to her left temple, wanting to groan at the question. "I understand it's going to cost money for the repairs but I would think the cost would be more if the orphanage is not repaired. The orphaned peasant children may not be an area of concern for you but it is for me." She leveled a stare at her council member, her other hand drumming fingers on the table.

She often dealt with push-back from her council, she was a woman, and not high-born and to be in a position of power above them she knew irked them. Most times she didn't let their whispered taunts get to her, let them roll off her like water but today's idiocracy was getting under her skin.

"We just don't have the funds! We might if we levied a higher tax-"

Ella's eyes flashed at the man.

"If you get all your work done." "And if you can find something… suitable to wear."

"We will not be doing any such thing." Her hands slammed to the arms of her chair. "The people already pay enough in taxes, if you don't have the funds then it is because you have mishandled the money. Perhaps, if a woman was in charge of your finances you wouldn't be missing anything."

She watched as the man straightened in his chair, doing his best to look down on her. "Your Majesty, I would never mishandle the orphanage funds."

Whatever quip she was going to respond with was interrupted by the door opening. "Who is interrupting this meeting now?" She sighed with annoyance.

[beseojun]

ᴘᴜᴛ ᴀ ꜱᴘᴇʟʟ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ

for @behaneul

there's still a rush hitting seojun after they performed on stage. he always felt that way when he did something in front of an audience so he needed to do something to focus his energy into something else. he's in his kiki costume and a part of him is already feeling embarrassed. why did he want to be true to the movie? he didn't know why but he's not going to go against his decision. he makes a beeline to haneul though, finding the other in the cat costume too cute. he latches onto his best friend, feeling a bit more affectionate at moment. plus he knows the other is his safe space when it comes to anything and he hopes that haneul feels the same way with him.

"hannie, should we go get more autographs at all?" he knows he tried to get some earlier but performing clouded his mind soon after. right now, all he wanted to do was spend time with his best friend who he also still had to confess to. sure the pinning was there but parts of him wanted to do more and that side was growing every day. he didn't pull away from haneul, letting out a sigh of content at being this close. though he couldn't help but mess with the ears of the other's costume.

maybe he was just whipped but he wasn't going to delve into that.

"unless you wanna do something else? we can show off our costumes or mingle a bit." he smiles as he looks at the other. anything they did together, he'd be happy about. they could just eat snacks and he'd be content.

[tangledfate]

Blog Arc: The Worst of Us

Major Players:

@daddymothxxx - Valentino

@tangledfate - Angel Dust

Minor Players:

@voxtekoverlord - Vox

@burningfeathersx - Lucifer (OC)

@sugarswirlbitch - Velvette

Synopsis:

Problematic relationship getting messier by the minute, news at 11:00. Two idiots having feelings and don't know how to deal with them.

Themes:

Drama, Romance, Abuse, Toxic vs Healthy Relationships, Complicated Feelings, Trauma, Personal Growth?

Plotted/Discussed Threads:

A Fair Trade - (Angel, Valentino)

A Bad Trip & A Death Wish - (Angel, Valentino)

Fuck Babysitters - (Angel, Valentino)

Communication is Key - (Angel, Valentino, Vox, Lucifer)

Fallout - (Valentino, Vox)

Crawl Out Through The... - (Angel, Valentino)

Side Threads:

[Mine.] - (Angel, Valentino)

He Did It Again cont - (Lucifer, Vox)

We Need To Talk - (Valentino, Vox)

Devil Comes A' Knockin' - (Angel, Lucifer)

Rose Colored Glasses - (Angel, Valentino)

Gatsby - (Angel, Valentino)

Get up. NOW! - (Angel, Vox)

Blind - (Angel, Valentino) [M!A]

Related Asks:

Insecurities - (Angel, Valentino)

Caught - (Angel)

I'm Here (Beginning of A Fair Trade) - (Angel, Valentino)

Do What?! (Beginning of A Bad Trip & A Death Wish) - (Angel, Valentino)

He Did It Again (Set between ABT&ADW and Fuck Babysitters) - (Lucifer, Vox)

Drabbles:

VIP (set midway through A Fair Trade when Val breaks the camera) - (Vox)

Coping Mechanism - (Valentino)

Chronological Order: (or at least as close as we can figure)

Insecurities

[Mine.]

Caught

I'm Here

A Fair Trade/VIP (after Val breaks camera)

Do What?!

A Bad Trip & A Death Wish

He Did It Again

Fuck Babysitters

We Need To Talk

Coping Mechanism

Communication is Key

Fallout

Crawl Out Through The...

Devil Comes A' Knockin'

Rose Colored Glasses

Gatsby

Get Up. NOW!

Blind [M!A] (Not necessarily main canon)

[bloodied-and-commander]

[ @lcpislczulii ]

A sound, a smell, a sight, a feeling.

Dark blue fur felt fresh, crisp air breeze through it like wind through a grassy hill. Great big paws dash across sand and kick it up behind them as the beast ran through the moonlit beach. Claws free to stretch, muscles aching, but still pushing harder and harder to get further and further.. until the beast's muscles give out from under them and they fall to the ground harshly.

The beast growled deeply in pain and discomfort, slowly getting up and shaking the sand off its fur. With an exhale through its nose, the beast shapeshifts back into its usual form and takes a moment to recuperate.

Red glanced around, taking note of where she was. Not too far off from Little Homeworld, and the boardwalk seemed much father away. The temple was barely in sight.

Good. I never wanna see her fucking face again.

The hybrid continued to walk towards Little Homeworld, if only for the reason that it was familiar and far, far away from the temple. At least for now. But, as she glanced up, she saw somebody in the distance. A dark silhouette of another gem, but she didn't, or couldn't recognize who. It was too dark to tell and the moonlight just wasn't bright enough.

But, sure as night, there was someone up there, on top of the windmill. Sitting on the edge. She squinted, but that did little to help the hybrid gem identify who this gem was. Or even if it was a gem at all.

Though she was confident in her fighting abilities more or less, she decided to approach with caution in case this... entity, let’s say, isn’t quite friendly. She thinks that she sees it holding something, but can’t quite tell what. Better to be safe than injured..

She drew out her demon wings and gave herself a powerful lift that she wished was quiet as she ascended into the air. It didn’t take too much effort to reach the top of the windmill-like structure and when she did, her feet made a soft tmp sound as she gently touched down on the structure’s rooftop.

Now that she had a better look, she was almost sure she recognized the gem, yes, it was a gem, but what type? Deep blue eyes widen at seeing the glint of a gem on their back. 

A deep, blue, teardrop shape. 

That’s the mark of a ... “Lapis...?”, they hybrid gem said carefully, almost as quiet as the night surrounding them. 

[asperants]

from shying me to blooming you

With the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion over and done with everyone in the academy seemed to have moved on to the next big event: the Ethereal Ball. Hortensia had done her fair share of digging when it came to the fête long before Ivy came to the academy - after all, balancing social time with academics was all part of being a top student!

She was glad now to be able to show her sister all she'd learned, and even happier to be invited into town for dress shipping. It was a first for them, together, and Hortensia was doing her best to not get too excited.

"It's pretty neat the Fódlan goddess cares so much about her people throwing a party for the monastery's founding, huh? I read up on a lot of legends about the Goddess Tower if you're interested, Ivy."

She had always been the more scholarly one, after all. Not that Hortensia would ever say she was lesser in magical talent, er, necessarily –  but she was certainly more hands on when it came to practice, so definitely for the best she tended to be on the support side.

(Huh. That reminded her... how was the old man Lindon doing?)

"We can talk and shop, of course! Hmm... oh, wow look at that one, don't you think with a darker color it might look nice on you?"

She'd pulled on her older sister's upper sleeve in excitement some, squeezing in a bit to point it out in the crowded street; this closeness it tugged at her heart a little. She tried not to show it just as she backpedaled, hoping not too overdo.

"Or, sorry, maybe you just wanna stick with what you're used to haha? Me, I want to try and find the poofiest thing around personally!"

@iyusiia

[dollypardonne]

en garde! prêts? allez!

closed starter for @clemencetaught.

there was little that chaeyeon knew about patrick. the two of them were a pair of reticent beings, dancing on the chances of points of agreement. they had a lot in common on the surface, as far as she knew, which makes either a wager for harmony or a clash between them. aware of her nature, however, chaeyeon banked on the latter to more likely happen. he seemed like a man of the law, fancying himself as a gentleman, while she was closer to being the enemy of it. her body language told it all; the way she lunged, the way she stomped the ball of her foot against the ground, the beats she had blown. if this was a bout, she would have gotten plenty of yellow cards already as it was hardly a conversation anymore, with chaeyeon's insistence and multiple feints only being countered by patrick's parries. the dry training's engagement ended with his derobement in reaction to chaeyeon's attempt to command the blade.

[ofpolitics]

CONTINUED FROM >> @guttcrson

                  something twisted within her, the oppressive weight of his words viciously dragging the ends in opposite directions.   no, they were not alone, but the presence of others was merely a safeguard, a sadly necessary one.   yet, here, amongst generals and tacticians, she prevailed, the heart amongst these minds.   a slim hand rose, palm out toward him, as the former senator shook her head, furrows forming between ginger brows.     ❝  you mistake my intentions.  ❞      what had he witnessed, or worse, heard, to make him believe such would be his fate?     ❝  general cracken informed me of the nature of your knowledge, and i wished to hear it for myself, not from the pages of a report.  ❞

                  the tension seemingly dripped off the poor man, and all she desired was to remove his misery.    ❝  we are not the empire, sergeant.   you have my word, whether you choose to reveal all to us today or not, no harm will come to you.  ❞

[normallyxstranger]

@smolcuriouskitten | title; watch out! (CJ & Roxie) | wanted a starter!

     Whenever she felt that tight coil in her chest pull even tighter, CJ did the only sure-fire thing to get rid of it—she ran. When she ran, her problems began to sort themselves out, therefore releasing the anxiety that came with them. It was as if she needed her legs to move as fast as her mind just to keep up, to think at the right speed. And because she was running and thinking and calming down, she didn’t pay a bit of attention to the path ahead.

     She saw the figure a half-second too late—in trying to stop, her feet struck the ground hard. One foot in front of the other, getting caught on her heel. Normally graceful in pretty much every physical move she pulled, she tried to spin the clumsy move but oh, no—there was no stopping it.

     “Watch out!” she managed to cry out, the sound somewhat strangled with a yelp as she struck the person, with her shoulder and arm. It was sheer luck that kept her from bowling them over completely, but that luck ran out when she hit her knee painfully on the pavement.

     Then CJ was sitting on the ground, wincing, knee bloody. “Ah, shit!”

[after-witch]

Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.

Word count: 7100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre

The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly. 

In surprise.

In trepidation. 

In realization.

The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance. 

How lucky for him. 

How unfortunate for you. 

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill? 

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear. 

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later. 

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise. 

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you. 

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches. 

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy. 

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate? 

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front. 

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way? 

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him. 

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis. 

It’s you that he focuses on, now.  And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted. 

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person. 

You.

What to make of you? 

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find. 

He remembers such a living. 

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats. 

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them. 

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you. 

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm. 

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you. 

You stiffen. 

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say. 

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.”  He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City. 

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.” 

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach. 

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels. 

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that. 

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

--

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them. 

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it? 

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more. 

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear. 

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.” 

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips. 

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant. 

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies. 

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised. 

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter. 

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him. 

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.” 

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs. 

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you���ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets. 

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

--

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining. 

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement. 

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You. 

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume. 

What would  you be like, once you were fully his? 

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden? 

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it. 

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

--

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder. 

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits. 

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it. 

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate. 

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping. 

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two. 

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb. 

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least,  you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit. 

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut. 

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer. 

--

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good.  Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?” 

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.” 

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you. 

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside. 

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom. 

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think. 

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.” 

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself. 

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top. 

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest. 

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner? 

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears. 

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling. 

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

 He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm. 

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why? 

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap. 

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you. 

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin. 

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you. 

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.  

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology. 

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do. 

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild. 

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap. 

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it. 

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two… 

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

--

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there. 

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras. 

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years? 

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be. 

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this. 

There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever. 

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me masterlist

Moodboard courtesy of the wonderful @mrsmando

Summary: dbf!Joel x f!reader. Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything. Complete.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

Chapter Two: It All Turned Around

Chapter Three: No Mirror for Monsters

Chapter Four: Until I had met you there was no sun in my sky

Chapter Five: My whole world came alive

Chapter Six: And I knew my heart wasn't mine

Chapter Seven: I'll Catch You Darlin'

Chapter Eight: We'll Dance in the Street like Nobody's Watching

Chapter Nine: I'd Fall for You Twice if That's What You Wanted

Chapter Ten: I'd give you my life from now 'til forever

Chapter Eleven: Fall Into Me and I'll Catch You Darlin'

Epilogue

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。TANGLED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. just suguru needing his hair brushed for him bc he’s def so me and gets mad over the knots lol—alternative title: princess suguru and his frog <3

suguru huffs in front of your mirror—and it’s quite the frustrated huff, too—before he slams the hair brush down.

you raise a brow, “you okay over there?”

“no. ‘s knotted,” he mutters, referring to his hair. there’s a quiet grumbling of something unintelligible under his breath before he glares at himself in the mirror.

suguru loves his hair—anyone would know that just by looking at him. most guys use two-in-one shampoo (like satoru) but suguru? he practically hogs your shower space with all of the products he owns. his hair is well maintained and perfectly neat every time you see him. but sometimes, like now, it’s also a pain to brush once it’s knotted. and, well, he doesn’t handle it very well.

“you’ve been brushing for—” you pretend to check your bare wrist for the time, “—like ten minutes,” you giggle.

“very funny,” he grunts bitterly. and then, more petulantly this time, “i’m cutting it off for real this time.”

“you said that last time,” you remind him, eyes glinting with amusement.

“this time i mean it.”

“no you don’t, sugu.”

“i do,” he insists, glaring at you through the mirror, “it’s getting too long, and i don’t have the time to brush all these damn knots every two hours. so, it’s getting cut.”

“okay,” you nod casually—anyone can tell you don’t believe him.

his expression sours. suguru gets in very bad moods when his hair doesn’t cooperate, it’s evident in the way he flares his nostrils and scowls.

“you still don’t believe me? i’m being serious.”

“okay, baby,” you snort, finally deciding to take matters into your own hands as you rise from your bed and walk over. you stand behind him, reaching around him for the hair brush before gently pulling him back to stand closer. “i’ll get it for you, don’t worry. wouldn’t want your princess hair gone.”

“stop calling it that,” he groans, but the tension leaves his shoulders as soon as you gently brush through his strands, starting at the bottom and working your way up. it’s quiet for a bit—nothing but the soft sound of your humming as you work through the tangles in his long (perfect) hair.

“you could’ve just asked if you wanted me to brush it,” you tease after a few moments, “no need to throw a tantrum.”

“glad to see you’re enjoying this,” he rolls his eyes. and then, when you’ve finished and set the brush down, he turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his face finds the crook of your neck.

you hum, pecking the side of his head before threading your fingers into his dark locks, stroking through the soft strands and silently marveling at the length.

“you’re so pretty, suguru,” you murmur, “did’ya know that?”

“oh yeah?” he chuckles into your skin, lips curling into a loose smile. his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“yeah,” you nod, “like a princess. my prettiest princess.”

“i thought i told you to quit with that,” he says exasperatedly—you can feel the heat from his cheeks, and you grin to yourself knowing he’s blushing as he hides his face deeper into your shoulder.

“it’s true,” you insist, “i’m no liar. i’m a truther.”

“debatable,” he mumbles. you smack his shoulder playfully, and he squeezes your hips in response. “aren’t you going to tie it for me too?” he finally asks, and you’re sure there’s a pout curled on those lips of his. you ache to kiss them—and you will, just not right now.

right now, you’ll stay like this a bit longer.

“this is real princess treatment,” you sigh dramatically, “yes your highness. i’ll tie it too.”

“thank you,” he says, thoroughly satisfied. and then, quieter, like it’s a secret only you’re supposed to know, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you happily murmur, “but that might change if you cut your hair.”

“are you only dating me for my hair?”

“yes,” you snicker playfully, “it’s the main appeal. the princess appeal.”

“you know what,” suguru says thoughtfully, “i’ll be your princess.”

“really?” you gasp in excitement, making him nod into your neck as he presses a delicate kiss to your skin.

“sure,” he grins slyly, “and you can be the frog.”

the moment is officially ruined—and for a second, you think you might just have to cut his hair off in his sleep after that one.

come join me in the most self indulgent drabble once again. also the title being tangled even tho the reference is the princess and the frog is a tad bit funny to me jdjsjd i did giggle i can’t lie

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: attention pls

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: M (minors DNI)

genre: fluff and smut

pairing: lucifer x reader

summary: lucifer just wants your undivided attention… and he’ll do whatever he needs to so he can have it.

sitting on the couch, you made a comfy spot in the corner. leaning your body into the side as your face was propped up on your left hand. your legs lazily tucked next to you. there was enough space for a someone to cuddle up right on your thigh, so lucifer took advantage of that when he saw you. he proceeded to lay against your plush hip, cuddling your thigh to himself as you chuckled.

“you can move up, you know?” you tell him as you scroll on your phone, glancing at him.

“i know but your thighs are just so… comfy!” he explains, his hands grabbing bits of your thigh and then letting go. you roll your eyes, but your right hand goes to his head, absentmindedly combing through his golden locks and go back to your phone. though lucifer was upset, not that you knew as he poured against your thigh, as something was taking away his darlings attention. you felt him grin against your thigh, as he hatched (haha get it? hatched like an egg… because ducks… never mind) a plan.

you felt his fingers trail up your thigh that was resting on the couch, from your knee to your inner thigh. your breath hitched as he drew circles close to your heat. your eyes widening as his hand rested gently in between your legs and then his fingers gently traced down your heat as far as he could and then back up and around your hips.

“lu-luce… what?” your voice breathless as his touch takes your breath away.

“pay attention to me.” he states plainly, moving up a bit and skillfully lifting your leg he had chosen to koala hug just a bit, his fingers going through your pant opening, past your underwear and finding your clit quickly. the moan that is forced out of you doesn’t sound for long as he quickly increases pressure, your voice then getting caught in your throat.

“i-faster… please… oh luce…” you’re not even sure what you are saying, what you want to say. all you know is that, “you can’t stop. please don’t stop!” you cry out as he rubs your clit quicker. your hand grips onto the couch arm while your right hand threads back in his hair. you chance a look down, seeing he is watching you and the look in his eyes coupled with the pleasure you feel, your head is thrown back as you try to lift your hips up for more. he moans against your stomach, kissing every square inch he can reach with out moving, when you accidentally pull his hair.

“i-im so close. please lucifer!” you cry out, his pace not changing as you double over and your orgasm washes over you. he helps you ride out your orgasm and then removes his fingers from you, looking up at you with a dopey smile.

“that got your attention.” his eyes half lidded as he settles back on your thigh, burrowing into your skin and holding your thigh to him. you pet his hair as you look mildly bewildered and then you hear a little snore from him and you chuckle. picking up your phone, you go back to social media. Since he was asleep now, he didn’t truly need your undivided attention, now did he?

[umbral-stigmata-unbound]

And boy did he want to try something, but he wasn't exactly in the mood for the lobby damage and pink slip that would likely come if he gave in to his irritated intrusive desire to grab that tail he knew was trying to be kept hidden and yank it.

Instead, he kept his smirk as the other left. "Get a good nap, kitten, the big boys will take care of things while you're gone!" he waved him off like the obnoxious prick he was, before getting to business.

And his assigned shift went as well as it usually did. There hadn't been much trouble or kidnapping or assassination threats in some time, not that he and the other Turks didn't keep a constant eye in every form they could. He almost wished he could be assigned a longer shift, just to rub it in that assholes face.

But, three days in a row was in his limit unless there was otherwise no choice, so it was time to change out, as was routine. Question was, would they be putting their preferred guard dog back on duty so soon or were they giving him a longer break? Tseng was in charge of visiting with the president as shift was changing out, so Reno made his way to the lobby, waiting.

"The cures are kept on hand in case someone like you goes out with him, instead of me." Kuja replied cooly- despite his calm tone, his tail still gave away the irritation as Reno's smirk widened. "Clearly if I tried to explain everything I do for him, I'll just be wasting my time."

Kuja turned his back to Reno, scoffing quietly. "I see no reason for you to keep talking to me- do you not have a job to do?" He snipped. It was only his own slightly bruised ego that had him turn his back- he knew exactly how dangerous a Turk could be, but he also assumed Reno would get in trouble for trying anything.

[reallyromealone]

Rome you know I'm gonna need a part 2 to that zoro x reader x sanji right cause I can't let that slide😊

Title: goodbye love

Fandom: one piece

Characters: Zoro, Sanji

Fic type: angst

Pairings: Zoro x sanji

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, angst, aggressive conversation, sad reader

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(name) hummed as he stocked bread in a small bakery, it had been five months since he left and he felt lighter and happier since the breakup. He was far from the island they docked from, getting a job easily at a bakery in a small coastal town.

Occasionally he wondered how his now ex boyfriends were, how they reacted to the letter... Were they sad? Angry? Did they even care? (Name) Didn't know and slowly stopped caring. He was starting fresh, leaving the pirate life to have something more domestic and stable though getting used to land was a bit tough.

"(Name), you work too much, go home early" the elderly bakery owner said softly, her cane tapping against the old wood with each step "are you sure? I don't mind being here" (name) asked her, (bakery owner) chuckled as she led him out "the rush is over, not many people will come today"

"Alright, but just get one of the kids to get me if it gets busy"

"Yes yes, now go!"

(Name) Chuckled as he was kicked out of the store, she was old but strong.

'with this extra time, might as well grab some stuff from the market' he thought as he went back to his place to grab some bags and coin, the walk calm and the gulls squawked as they flew overhead, the town was on the side of a huge hill, winding and full of turns, small but popular. It was perfect.

His apartment was small, he was surprised to have a one bedroom, a fireplace for cooking and even a bit of space for seating. His bed was the most expensive thing he owned, he saw it at the market and immediately got it. It was a futon, comfiest thing he ever slept on and he even got pillows. It was pricy but thankfully he had a fair amount of coin from his previous employment.

He only slept on wood or a hammock.

It was a nice adjustment.

The market was the biggest thing beside the town square, many vendors and travellers in and out selling everything and anything one could need.

(Name) Loved getting fruits from other places, one a trip as a treat for himself, today he got something called an apple, typically he's used to mango and jackfruit on this island so it was a nice change.

(Name) Made a few purchases, important house things and a few little trinkets for himself.

A book from a far away land.

An apple.

Some sewing needles and thread as he wished to learn to sew better.

And finally, a little music box.

It was nothing fancy but the sound it played reminded him of childhood, his mother would hum a tune quite similar to it.

What he didn't expect to see was a familiar boat.

"Shit" (name) immediately rushed home, he wasn't ready to face anything at the moment and definitely not with how he left.

(Name) Was shaking as he got inside, glancing out the window of his apartment to see if they are close to his home, irrational be knew but he had to check. Thankfully the street just had a few passersby and no strawhats. He would have to avoid anywhere that sold alcohol for a while, most restaurants and thankfully he was off for the next few days so he didn't have to go to the bakery. (Name) Looked at his collection of books and the sewing supplies and sighed happily.

Guess he has to stay inside and do the things he enjoy.

What a shame.

(Name) Spent the day doing his hobbies as a tiny radio played music in the corner, thankfully this small town had a radio station so he could enjoy some sound.

Knock knock knock.

(Name) Was engrossed in his quilt as he looked up curiously, setting his project down to go down to answer the door, a staircase down to the front door "hello (name), I thought you would enjoy some bread" his boss said kindly and handed him a basket of breads and a few muffins "ah thanks boss, that's real kind of you" the two made small talk casually, the elderly woman happy he's starting a new project "I have some sewing supplies at my home, I'm to old to use them but you can have them" the woman ushered him to follow and (name) realized he would have to leave his house.

Shit.

Silently begrudgingly he followed her, the woman excited to have someone take the supplies.

Then he smelt it half way to the bakery, cigarettes and fresh made food.

"(Name)?" He didn't turn around as his boss looked back curious, Sanji staring at his ex in awe.

(Name) Looked different.

Glowing, lighter and most of all; happier.

(Name) Turned to see his ex and sighed "hello Sanji" this is why he didn't want to go outside, his ex boyfriend looking hurt at the lack of sweet names for him, stopping closer he saw the uncomfortable expression wash over him "Luffy is gone to go get some food, have you.... (Name)" Zoro halted, staring at (name) like salvation.

(Name) Was startled at how awful the two looked, like they barely slept and sanji looked almost dead inside "can we talk?" His voice gravelly with exhaustion and (name) looked to his boss who smiled "we can talk later, you do what you need to do"

And that's how (name) ended up with the two in his apartment "So what do you guys want" (name) said less of a question and more of a demand, clearly uncomfortable "seems you settled down nice" Zoro commented as he looked at the homey space "I have" (name) stared at them unimpressed "why did you leave?" Sanji finally spoke up and the room grew more tense.

"I couldn't stay any longer, not with you two"

"Why?!" Zoro snapped and (name) had enough "because you two didn't care!" (Name) Fired back angrily "you two acted like I didn't exist! Flirting with women and ignoring me to do anything else! Who in their right mind WOULD WANT THAT! DID YOU EVEN LOVE ME?!"

It was silent as (name) heaved out a dog "I gave you two everything! And I get cheating and neglect!"

The two pirates barely had time to react as (name) lost his shit on them "why didn't you love me?" (Name) Finally asked, shaking and angry "why was it never me? You two showed more love to women and fucking swords than me!"

"I-im sorry..." Sanji whispered and (name) looked him in the eye "then why did you look at Nami in a way that you could never look at me?"

Zoro fidgeted, knowing he was next and in a rare moment... He was nervous.

"And why was I not worth spending time with?" There it was "you come here demanding to speak with me yet the time we dated you couldn't even be bothered to do the most basic of things with me"

"(Name)--"" I think you two should leave" (name) finally said "I have no interest in this conversation anymore... Goodbye "

"(Name) Come on-"" leave now, I'm begging you"

The two sorrowfully walk down the stairs, unable to get a word in as the door slammed behind them.

And at that moment they truly realized.

They lost (name).

[flamingpudding]

I'm so sorry I didn't get to finish but as Dan's Teekl is a Phoenix snake and he takes after Vlad since of dressing

When something big is going on the magical world and they need King Phantom's help he decides to bring along his children this is how the Justice League finds out just like Robin is a past dumb title so is Klarion all the Justice League deal with a bunch of hyper up chaotic children who have been antiheroes let's find out

I wanted this to be just like a we are robbing thing except with Clarion all of them showing off the fact that Teekl have never been a cat would be so funny to me

Anywho I haven't been able to come up with anymore ideas for Dan is Klarion but I did come out with this one hope you find it funny sorry that I messed up on the first part of the writing

Okay... so version one got deleted, per my rant post notices... so here is version two hopes to that it will still be as good... also... i didn't remember how I ended this the first time soooooo yea... sorry again for having messed up in between...

[Link to the first part of the Ask here!]

I hope this will still be as enjoyable....

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

Vlad didn't regret a lot of things but he regretted having told Bruce Wayne that he had a way of summoning the Ghost King. Why you ask? Because Bruce Wayne apparently leaked that information to the Justice League.

Well originally Vlad had told Bruce only about this because he was after the deal he had wanted for years with Wayne Enterprise. That man had been able to avoid Vlad for years now, and during his years when he hadn't been a redeemed man it had infuriated him.

But he was a redeemed man now. He had reformed his entire Company and since Wayne Enterprise was contracted with the Justice League, he had felt it was appropriate to boost that his Company had valuable connections too.

He also just wanted to rub it into Brucie Waynes face that he wasn't the only one with big name Hero / other worldly connections department. Okay it might have been a bit of an ego thing left. But he was a redeemed man.

And because he was a redeemed man he had not used his ghost powers to throw Batman out of the window the hero had used to barge into his hotel room at 3 -goddamn- AM only to demand the method on how to summon the ghost king.

No sir, Vlad was a redeemed man, he was nice now, a good guy.

He only grumbled and demanded the reason, which apparently was a demonic thread to the magical world that indirectly could wipe out the entire world itself. Great, little badger will not be amused hearing about that.

Daniel would be cross with him for using the summoning stone in the middle of the night but Batman was giving him a valid reason to use it. Surely Daniel would understand right? Plus Vlad could use that as change to see the little badger again. It had been a while since he last saw him.

Well Vlad regretted agreeing with Batman with the condition that he would be the one to do the summoning. That man in a bat suit did not hesitate to drag Vlad with him then bringing him, blindfolded mind you, to a place where he then was faced with several heroes, including but not limited to the Justice league.

Just great.

At least Vlad got to inform Danial about the situation and the reason for his summon as Ghost King via summoning stone, even if that blond British man had scoffed when he saw Vlad pulling it out, about the situation and what the little badger could expect the moment he stepped out of a portal.

What Vlad did not expect were several RED portals opening and similarly dressed young adults as well as one teen stepping out of them.

"Sup old man! Mom told us you called him about some world ending problem!" Dan greeted him in his Klarion get up, perfectly styled hair and his ghost pet, a phoenix snake, Snape (yes Dan named his pet after a mage from a wizard movie series) on his shoulders. Vlad could feel the distinctive illusion magic around the pet and he was pretty sure everyone without ghost powers were not able to see through it.

"KLARION?!" One of the present heroes yelled.

And of course all of the kids had to answer in reflect turning to where the voice came from at the same time.

"Yea"

There was a brief moment of silence in which Vlad face palmed.

"Ah sorry, that was on reflex. Old habits die hard!" Ellie laughed, she had grown into a young woman and was currently wearing what looked like a black suit crossed with a 90s style witch dress.

"I am the current Klarion, lose that fucking habit already." Dan grumbled annoyed as he crossed his arms glaring at every sibling that had answered to his alias.

"I am telling mom you cussed." Ellie instead grinned instead, before she looked around for a moment before her eyes landed on Nightwing, her face instantly lighting up. "ROBIN! I mean Nightwing! I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Do I know you?" Vlad could feel sorry for the hero, but these where the phantom kids, so he wasn't in the slightest and he was still cross with he heroes for waking him up at 3AM!

"I am hurt! Don't you recognise me!" Ellie gasped and Dan unashamedly elbowed her for acting so familiar.

"Misrule." He warned her. Ellies current Anti-Hero -Chaos Agent- Alias Vlad remembered. A name she specifically chose because it sounded like Miss Rule and she knew that the word play would annoy Nabu. That girl had some serious beef with the Ancient of Order.

"Oh shush little brother! Let me reconnect with the kids I used to mess with!" She shushed Dan ruffling his hair and nearly messing up his horned hairstyle, before turning back to Nightwing. "Don't you remember my lovely Armadillos? Though I only know you were the Robin I first meet because I looked into Grandpa Clock's time mirrors..."

There was a brief moment of silence on the other side where the heroes stood and Vlad swore he could have heard a pin needle drop.

"Oh god..." One of them finally spoke up as apparently some kind of realisation sunk into the heroes. But before Ellie could add anything more the one Vlad recognised as Red Robin cut in.

"Klarion is like Robin!"

"RR what are you...?"

"The title of Klarion got passed down like Robin!"

There was another brief moment of silence before Dan, Ellie and the rest of their siblings burst out laughing.

"It took you idiots this long to see that?!" Dan called them out, laughing as he hugged Snape.

Vlad would probably feel sorry for the entirety of the heroes before him if he wasn't amused by this himself, even he had seen the differences whenever 'Klarion' got passed on.

"For your information, I was the first Klarion, so i could mess with Nabu." Ellie grinned. "I was also the one that used a bit to much eyeliner."

"I never got the the horned hairstyle right."

"I was the one with a fancy black suit."

One by one the phantom kids listed of all the differences in their versions of Klarion until they all looked towards the youngest Dan, the current Klarion.

"What?" He grumbled as his elder siblings grinned at him.

"Fucking fine. I use a suit similar to the old man's style and I like to do more than just mess with Nabitch." He muttered after enduring his siblings stares for.

"And you cuss." Ellie grinned brightly causing the rest of the siblings to to chuckle.

Vlad recognised the look in Dan's eyes and before the kids could break out into an argument or a brawl, depending how violent Dan was feeling, he coughed loudly to get noticed by everyone.

"World threatening situation." He reminded everyone. "Where is your mother? The Ghost King?"

"Oh Mom is already dealing with the situation." Dan shrugged. "We more or less came to watch and see the heroes suck and fail at 'Order' to rub it into Nabitch's face."

Vlad really wanted to scowl the kids and he was going to but then the heroes cut in again.

"Can we get back to the thing about Klarion being a title passed down like Robin? With how many different Klarions did we have to deal with over the years!?"

"Red Robin not the right time..."

"Yes the right time! So many comments from Klarion make sense now! Like the first time he went right up into my face!"

"Red Robin!"

"Oh that was still me! The first Klarion!"

[feyascorner]

Sure, Astarion has his reasons for being the way he is, but he wasn't a good man before Cazador either.

He was a corrupt magistrate of high society, who had an insatiable thirst for power and immortality. He got it in the end, but at a cost he never expected to pay.

So imagine if he and Tav met centuries before the events of the game? Tav being one of the “commoners” he looks down upon, scrunching his nose in disgust at the library when your fingers brush against one another as you try to reach for the same book. He yanks his hand away so abruptly that it makes you blink.

“Ah, sorry, did you want it?” you hold out the book in his direction, but he’s already scowling. You’re by no means filthy, but he thinks you might as well be with how your clothes would fetch less than a few dozen gold pieces at the local market. And rather than having your hair neatly arranged like other ladies of high society, yours is messily tied back with a string, in a manner he'd consider disheveled.

“I did,” he mutters in return. “You can keep the damn thing, dear. I no longer have any need for it.”

You don’t know where this snarkiness is coming from, so all you can do is watch as he strides away, lips sealed in a confident yet mildly annoyed frown. He swears he won't return to this library again if those are the kinds of guests they allow in these days.

So imagine his surprise when he meets you at the nautiloid crash site. Well, he doesn't recognize you at first. You don't either. Who would? You've only said one sentence to one another. But when you see him reading at his tent, you mention favorite books of your own even though he never actually asked. Within them, is the very title of the book he let you have—which happens to be some obscure book basically nobody else reads.

He remembers you, because his encounter with you was just a day before he’d been ambushed and turned into what he is. And it’s an underestimate to say he's reimagined that very day at least a few hundred times in his head.

The same can't be said for you. You remain oblivious.

But he's different now. He stitches the rips on his own shirt at least a dozen times a month, making sure the seams blend flawlessly and the cloth makes him look as flattering as he possibly can. In the past, he would've made the expensive personal tailors do the work, but 200 years as a slave can enact more than a few lifestyle changes to an elf.

However, similar to then, he notices you're still struggling in your own ability to sew.

“Like this, darling,” he says again. “Through the loop, here.”

As you marvel innocently at his handiwork, he smiles. He's not sure how you can derive such joy from a simple needle with a thread, but he doesn't complain about the way you fawn over him rather than anyone else. He thinks about his first reaction to you, much to his avoidance. He misjudged you at the time. Terribly. And while he’ll come around to telling you eventually, he’d rather find little ways to make up for it for now.

And if he has to use a needle on the rips of your pants to do so, so be it. Besides, he thinks he likes sewing—especially when it’s for you.