#Nature Jewellery Collections

[drydenjewelry]

Presenting Our Magical 🍀 Clover Faith Classic Studs 🍀 Available in Lapis Lazuli, White Mother of Pearl, Pink Mother of Pearl, Malachite & Chalcedony. All Our Products Are Adorned with VVS Grade Lab Made Diamonds. Coming Soon!

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[srlgemstone]

Dark Blue Fortification & Tube Agate

[kantilalexports]

Kantilal Exports offers semi-precious natural gemstone jewellery for purchase online. Explore our stunning selection of semi-precious gemstones in India, each with a carefully designed unique design. Our carefully chosen collection of semi-precious stones offers elegance and flair for any occasion, whether you're searching for rings, necklaces, or earrings. Discover the splendor of genuine gemstones and make secure online purchases. You may get the best quality gemstones at affordable costs from Kantilal Exports. Upgrade your jewelry collection right now by purchasing semi-precious stones online!

[jewelrybystyle1]

Women First Attraction : Mother Of Pearls

Add a touch of elegance to your jewelry collection with our stunning mother of pearl necklace. Made from genuine mother of pearl shells, this necklace showcases the beauty of nature with its luminous, iridescent sheen. The delicate pearls are expertly crafted into a sophisticated pendant, suspended from a durable rope

[malusokay]

little things to feel softer

Being kind to mean people

Teas with honey and sleeping early

A fun collection of cute mugs from little antique stores

Pearls and dainty jewellery

Buying flowers for yourself or a loved one, not just on special occasions.

being kind just because you want to, with no hidden motives, just genuine kindness

Reading and writing poetry

Self-care nights and long bubble baths

Going to the farmer's market to buy fresh fruits

No phone in the morning

Paying attention to the little things: changing seasons, moon phases, blooming flowers, etc...

Calm hobbies like painting, knitting, reading, baking

Matcha and tea over coffee

Being kind to stray animals and befriending them

Sending handwritten letters to your friends

Try cooking from scratch, make some jam, maybe attempt a sourdough... (nara smith my queen)

Flower prints and sundresses

Lacy tops and light colours

Taking time to appreciate art, listen to music, visit museums and art exhibitions, go to concerts, the theatre, cinema, etc..

Wearing only natural fabrics

Vanilla scented EVERYTHING

not sure how I feel about the title, but this all leans into the "softer/calmer life" thing; you guys get me lol. <3

As always, please feel free to share your own suggestions and tips in the comments!! ♡

love ya ･:*₊‧౨ৎ

[thehauntedetheral]

Yan Tribe X Reader

Requests are open!

• You were a camera woman for discovery channel. You loved your job. After all you get to travel world with your crew, see and explore the most interesting wonders, and get paid to shoot all of that in camera. What more can you ask for? Yeah your love life sucked because you were never at a one place for long. But who cares? You have your camera and your passion.

• Your crew has been assigned to shoot a new show by channel which is showing and telling people about the tribal life and community of an x forest. You were excited.

• You shooted and captured all the things about the tribal community. The people were friendly once they warmed up to your team. They showed and told you everything about their community, about forest, their lifestyle through a member of yours who knew their language and translated everything.

• You got to know about many tribal traditions, rituals, festive, their beliefs, their worships, hunting, farming style but what caught your attention was a certain tall, muscular young tribe man.

• He would always be with your crew even if he is not needed. You were shooting a particular episode on the womens in tribe? He was still there silently just observing you all especially you in a way you didn't notice.

• Your crew tried fishing for some fun in break time. And as usual your clumsy self would trip and ruin everything embarassing yourself. He would later leave a basket full of fish for you silently.

• You noticed that he was kinda good looking. Okay not kinda but a lot good looking with his huge built, dark black tribal tattoos covering his tan arms and chest, his sharp bone jewellery giving all Tarzan vibes with his long black hair tied in half bun that many women in community wished to be his mate. Also because he was a excellent hunter.

• You once told someone in community casually that you wished to taste raw natural honey from honeycombs like other tribals but were scared due to honeybees and he heard it. Well next day he gives you a huge piece of honeycomb anonymously ,freshly teared by him even though it caused him serval stinks from honey bee because this was not the season to collect honey but he would do anything for you.

• Their community had a practice where once in a year men would wear their best dresses, jewellery trying to impress womens and get their attention. This was a special episode that you weren't shooting but the other cameraman was doing because you were on the other side of forest with a few crew members shooting some shots of forest for another episode as your time of departure were close and you have to finish your work fast.

• You finished your shots. And walked a bit around the forest a little more to explore while your fellow mates moved back to see the celebration.

• You saw yan tribe sitting all alone under a tree. You felt sad seeing him all alone like this instead of being in the celebration with others. Well might be the women whose attention he is trying to grab chose someone else in competition you thought.

You tried to console him by speaking in your broken fluency in their tribe language which you have learned by staying with them for months. You were scared that you might have said something offensive to him unconsciously due to the language barrier because his expressions didn't change but became serious.

He only looked up at you and held your hand in his and said "MATE". You knew your speaking and listening skills towards his language were below average but you were 101% sure what mate word that he said means. And that scared you to dead because seeing his big strong hand holding your fragile one tightly made it clear that he is not going to let you leave at any cost.

Want part 2? Let me know through comments.

Requests are open!

For more yandere reading:

[tteokdoroki]

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — KATSUKU BAKUGOU. setting powder.

about. whilst getting ready to meet your new boyfriend’s extended family — you learn that he knows a thing or two about doing makeup.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, characters aged up to 20s, enemies to lovers, meeting the family, new relationships, brief mention of injury and hospitals, reader wears makeup and dresses, pro hero!bakugou, nurse/doctor!reader.

“we’re gonna be late, sweetheart.”

leaning against the door frame, bakugou crosses his arms over his chest — his perfect lips pulled into a suave smirk as he watches you finish your makeup for tonight.

“wha…huh? you said i had twenty minutes?” you’re still half dressed, your boyfriend’s baggy hoodie from an old merch collection draped over your sweet little dress to protect it from your foundation, your hair is tied back and away from your face so it doesn’t get in the way and though you’re still trying to blend your cream blush in with one of those sponge things — katsuki thinks you’re the most adorable thing in the entire world.

pushing himself off the door frame, he sits behind you on the bed — still watching you work at the vanity whilst he fixes the cuffs of his dress shirt. “that was twenty minutes ago,” the blonde rasps affectionately and grasps your at your jewellery laid out on the bed. the rough pad of his thumb traces over the ‘K’ on the silver heart locket he’d gotten you for your birthday before he undoes the clasp and places the chain around your neck — being mindful of your hair in the process. “y’said you’d be done by then.”

you catch your boyfriend’s vermillion stare in the reflection of your mirror — his subtle smile when he sees his initials dangling from your neck. it feels you with warmth to know that no matter what, katsuki will always find you beautiful and will always love you. even with how chaotic your makeup looks when half done. “i think i spent too long in the shower ‘n underestimated how long this look would take,” you sigh, reaching for your lip gloss next. you’ll have to put it in your purse, do your lips in the car. “do you think they’ll mind if we’re any later than this?”

“my parents won’t. neither will inko. deku — i mean — izuku will, but he’ll pretend he ain’t bothered,” bakugou prattles down the list, making a note of tonight’s attendees. it was tradition that the bakugous and the midoriyas had a monthly dinner together, it had been going on since the two pro heroes were children. only now, their partners were invited since they were family too. family included you.

you hadn’t gone to U.A and you certainly didn’t know katsuki until he became an up and coming pro hero. the first time he’d saved you, by the sidewalk of the hospital you worked at, you thought he was brutish and stuck up. you’d hated him and he’d hated you. but over time, and more frequent trips to A&E after saving civilians or sometimes after being wounded in villain attacks — you’d come to appreciate bakugou’s brooding personality and observant nature.

he’d come to like you too. how much you cared for others and wanted to make the world a better place. you reminded him a little bit of izuku, in a strange way.

so one night when you were on call, katsuki brought you flowers instead of a stomach wound that needed stitches and you’d given him a kiss instead of berating him about being careful, over vanilla and chocolate pudding cups from the hospital cafeteria.

signing impatiently, you bring katsuki back to present day. “i wanted to make a good impression on your aunty and on your best friend,” rubbing your arm nervously, you cast your gaze over the mess on your vanity — expensive products splayed across them in organised chaos.

“you will. they’re gonna love you. they already do,” bakugou stands behind you now, rough palms smoothing over your shoulders. “izuku says you’ve made me less bitchy at work. whatever the fuck that means.”

you giggle, eyes sparkling in delight as you look at the blonde in the mirror. “really?”

“really,” he nods sheepishly. the way you look at him makes him feel so loved. it’s new to him. nice to him. “now, whaddya need help with s’we can hurry up ‘n hit the road.”

you begin to ramble on, perking up at the idea of katsuki helping with the rest of your routine.“well… i’ve done my lashes, my eyes, my base and blush… i can do lips in the car. aside from putting on earrings and fixing my hair all i need is to set my face with—“

“settin’ powder,” bakugou grabs the little pot from your vanity as if he knew where it was all along, picking up a little face cushion as well as he prepares to get to work. “got it.” he dips the cushion into the translucent powder, rubbing the excess off on the back of his hand before leaning in real close to dab at the areas he thinks you need it. like your t-zone.

your boyfriend’s touch is like magic on your face, perfectly setting your makeup while making you feel like a pampered princess. “who taught you how to do this?” comes your shy mumble, his proximity to your face causing you to grow flustered and squirm in your seat. “h-how are you so good at it?”

“keep still, i’ll be finished faster if y’stop squirmin’ sweetheart. don’t wanna mess up what you’ve done already,” pausing his actions, katsuki gives you a toothy smirk — revelling in how bashful you’ve become under his touch while he helps you with your makeup. “…grew up behind the scenes of fashion shows ‘n shoots. so i picked up a thing or two i wanted to make sure i could still do it so i watched a couple of videos on it too. ‘n i noticed…you always put so much time ‘n effort into your makeup. wanted to help make the process easier for you.”

you feel as though you could melt at katsuki’s kind words and gesture as he dabs at your face a little more — tongue caught between the tips of his pearly white teeth as he sticks it out in concentration. he’s so cute it makes you want to scream. “you’re sweet,” you coo appreciatively, stilling yourself to let him finish before he pulls back — satisfied with his work. “i love you.”

it’s not the first time you’ve said it to one another, but the three words are still new to the both of you. “i uh…i love you more,” a pink, rosey hue rises on the surface of bakugou’s tanned skin and his red, loving eyes dart away from your face bashfully. “‘m gonna get your shoes ‘n jacket ready by the door while that sits. don’t forget your settin’ spray after you brush that shit off — oh ‘n don’t take my hoodie off until you’ve done that. don’t wanna ruin your dress, kay?”

“okay,” you respond fondly, hiding your smile at his very specific instructions. “i’ll be down in a minute.”

katsuki nods hesitantly, standing up as he gathers your belongings and outerwear — ready to load them up in the car, when he suddenly pauses in place. “you look beautiful tonight, sweetness. you always do.” he adds as one last parting message, before disappearing down the hall.

leaving you wondering how you ever lucked out with such a man. one who’s not only kind and gentle and loving, but a pro hero and a makeup artist at that.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[deminetly]

𓏵 YOUTUBE VIDEO IDEAS

──────────────────

┆ FASHION RELATED

thrift flipping random items my friend chose me

styling clothes I no longer like

closet cleanout

personalising something (your purse, bike, car, etc)

recreating pinterest outfits

how to find your style/finding my style

clothes Id buy if l was rich

current favourite fashion trends

wearing clothes wrong (scarf as shirt for example

recreating met gala outfits

letting my followers/friends style me

styling my followers

my favourite clothing items

how to spice up a boring outfit

making outfits based on random theme suggestions

upcycling my old clothes

jewellery collection

thrift haul + try on + styling

predicting fashion trends

how to dress more whimsical

weird fashion trends that actually existed

the science hehind why certain colors look good on you (explaining undertones, color theory and how to find your best shades)

only wearing old trends

my favourite trends

letting strangers pick my outfits from a thrift store 

─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─

┆ ART RELATED

guessing the prices of modern art

playing roblox speed draw until I win

drawing in weird conditions (in the dark/underwater/with your non doninant hand)

recreating famous paintings

trying out different art styles

guessing/making up the meanings behind famous pieces

turning random scribbles into masterpieces

can I spot the Al generated piece

trying to create a masterpiece with the cheapest materials

attempting to find my art style

drawing the same thing in ten minutes vs an hour

redesigning companies logos

redesigning cartoon characters (in my art style)

drawing how I think book characters/places look

painting scnenes from my dreams while telling you about them

making a piece of art only using materials from nature

turning my followers’ pinterest boards into characters/stories/pieces of art

reviewing my followers’ art

trying to draw random characters completely from memory

drawing a self portrait from memory

drawing a self portrait in different styles

rating my fanart

─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─

┆ …EVERY DAY FOR A WEEK CHALLANGES

trying a new hobby...

getting of my comfort zone (doing something uncomfortable...)

going on side quests alone...

trying out new styles...

dressing like 90s movie characters...

doing something nice...

watching a different movie...

letting followers/friends control my life...

listening to a new genre of music...

turning into my favourite characters...

letting my followers/friends style me…

interviewing strangers about their weirdest dream (or any other topic)…

testing out a new morning/night/writing/etc routine…

only wearing old trends…

─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─

┆ JUST VIBES / RANDOM

trinket collection/favourite trinkets

trinket hunting at the thrift store

whats in my bag

whats in my junk drawer

movie/book/music recs

character customizing (dyeng hair, getting nails done, etc)

reading my old journals

redesigning famous album covers/movie posters

going randonauticaing

turning into my favourite character for a day (dressing and acting like your favourite character)

rating media Ive consumed lately (movies, books)

room/car tour

being productive for a week

reading my followers confessions

doing public dares (with your friend/alone with dares that your followers submitted)

my wishlist

things I want in my future home/things I love in houses

my (month) favourites

weird facebook marketplace finds (+buying them?)

decorating my purse

hobby ideas

weird girl hobby ideas

trying new hairstyles and makeup looks

reading reddit confessions/AITA stories

career ideas if you like…

24h without my phone

replacing my screentime with isolation

putting the same writing prompt in story writing generators and ranking them

opening mystery jewellery bags

short film / short film ideas

stop motion film

the history of literally anything (journaling for example)

what Id buy if I was rich / wishlist

how to take good pictures / picture and pose ideas for photoshoots

rating my old pinterest boards and playlists

playing cozy games

making my room more whimsical / how to make your room more whimsical

attempting to follow a reciepe in another language

random dreams Ive had (+why you think you had them, their meaning, did it predict something?)

guessing how magic tricks work + learning them

revisiting childhood (trying your old hobbies, watching old favourite movies, etc)

trying to write a poem with random words that a random word generator gives me

interviewing strangers about their weirdest dream (or any other topic)

creating my own religion

creating my own holiday and celebrating it

reacting to beauty standars from different countries (and trying to look like that)

trying to do my followers homework

analysing a movie/book

asmr

how to add whimsy into your life

what your … says about you

answering strange questions

journaling prompts/questions for deep thinkers

my thoughts on …

creating a soundtrack for my life

reacting to embarrasing stories

reacting to mandala effects

taking uquizzes

asking strangers “whats the most interesting thing about you?”

letting a yes or no wheel decide my fate for a day 

going out and collecting things for my junk journal 

inventing my own country and language

letting strangers write a story sentence by sentence 

testing creativity techniques for a day

designing my dream life

conspiracy theories that I believe in 

reacting to random conspiracy theories

romanticising life 

─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─ ─

┆ RATING MY FOLLOWERS…

…letterboxd top 4

…style

…music taste

…instagram profiles

…rooms

…pictures as kids

…dreams

…deepest secrets

…crushes

[gay-dorito-dust]

Recently got into DMC and have been enjoying your headcanons so much. May I request headcanons for Dante and Vergil with a s/o who enjoys reading nearly as much as Vergil does?

Dante

never been a reader, unless you count magazines but i wouldn't put it past him to have a handful of books himself that he can actually get through and enjoy.

he's more fond of books that contain alot of actions more then anything, but besides that he doesn't read nearly as much as you or his brother did.

both you and his brother could read like there was nothing better to do, spending hours sitting down and reading a lengthy book, whereas dante could proably get into a couple of chapters before his need to move and do something else takes over.

yet if there's one thing that could get him to relax for long periods of time was listening to you talk about your readings, loving how excited you get with each and every chapter, even holding and comforting you when you hit emotionally destroying aspects of the book where certain characters meet unfotunate ends.

he just loves seeing you read as it feels as though he was reading along side you.

he loves the way your face reflected how you were feeling during certain aspects of the story, finding it cute when you mouthed the story to yourself to make sure you didn't miss an ounce of detail in case it'll come back futher down the line.

however he will become a pouty boy if you give your books more attention then him, seriously he'll get all huffy and act like your neglecting him if he sees that you were lost within your readings.

'just one more chapter dante.' you tell him, only for him to rest his head on your shoulder and groan.

'you said that five chapters ago. Pay attention to me.’

Needles to say you had to make yourself a schedule between times spent reading and time spent with a mopey half demon that demanded cuddles and kisses as compensation.

Dante would ask people who were well versed in books, even his own brother, when he wanted to get you something after seeing that you’ve pretty much read and re-read every book within your possession multiple times over.

He wanted you to start something new even though you had no issue re-reading some of your favourites that have become comfort stories to you at this point that it felt like you were being welcomed home in another universe in a way.

Yet the look upon your face when he does get you a new set of books was enough to make him mimic your wide smile as you threw yourself at him, clinging to him tightly as you gush over the new additions to your already overflowing collection, kissing his cheek in multiple thanks.

You felt loved knowing that Dante went out of his way to find you something you haven’t read yet, it was more precious to you than being given jewellery or any expensive gift. It held more meaning to you in ways most wouldn’t grasp.

But do expect Dante to drag you outside for some fresh air now and then, you tend to get lost in your books that Dante drags you out of the room and out the house, claims your both going on a walk together with your fingers tightly interlocked together.

Vergil

he's naturally founder towards people who appreciate reading books and or has a fondess for poetry as him.

it makes things a little easier for him to make conversation and to understand the inner workings of your mind.

would you have met at a bookstore? reaching for the same book in every cliche meet cute? yes because i too am that cliche and Vergil will take note of your taste in literature from the books within your hands and makes an hum of apporval.

Edgar Allen Poe, george Orwell, Mary shelley, bram stroker, Harper Lee, emily bronte, Jane Austein, R F Kuang (i love adding her, sue me) Kurt Vonegut amongst many, many more.

finally someone who wasn't always preocupied by their phone, dwlindiling their attention span to pathetic lows that even a goldfish would outsmart them with embrassing ease. (he can't use one for shit, nor does he want to)

so to find that you had affilation to spending most of your days within your home, busy reading books and delving into stories as your face gave away your feelings towards the plot lines and character development.

meanwhile the only reactions you get out of him when he's reading is hums and furrowed brows and subconciously mouthing the poem to himself a though he was reciting it to memory for future reference.

other then that he's mainly deadpan in his expression, having acustomed himself with not ever revealing how he truly felt towards anything.

but he's not against sharing his thoughts and opinions on the written arts with you as it only provides even further insight even if you two had completely differnt viewpoints in a characters choice or the overall message of the story being told.

it becomes a tradition for you both to stay inside within his makeshift study and just read in silence, sure it might seem boring to some, but to you and Vergil you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

it was nice for Vergil to share his love of reading with someone else, it brought a sense of comrodery, a sense that someone could understand him by the things he reads and he could understand you by the things you read.

You even compare notes if you were reading the same book, which is fun for the both of you, like a pair of absolute nerds. (Affectionate) you’d even look for books that the other might find interesting, which is sweet knowing that Vergil was actively looking for something to read for one extra person now instead of his lonesome self.

The Liberian/ bookstore owner would be excited that he has someone to share his passion of reading with, they’ve been waiting for this moment forever then minute this solemn looking man in blue walked through the door like an omen of death.

He’s flustered when confronted about it and a little defensive but deep down he’s happy too that he found someone alike him. He truly is sappy, but it’s in moments like these where his mind is elsewhere (you) from the his usual thoughts, it lifts a weight off of his chest in knowing he’s no longer alone.

Not anymore. (I need to give this man a fucking hug for fuck sake)

[bbyblumarine]

My Saviour

Clark Kent x Reader

Summary:

You’re Superman’s favourite person to save, and he can’t seem to understand why that pisses you off so much.

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: I’ve never worked in a jewellery store, so please suspend reality if you dare.

Thank you enormously for any likes, reblogs or follows! Your kindness continuously motivates me to carry on writing :)

You’d been stifling the same yawn for over an hour now; the ache in your jaw was persistent, begging you for permission to escape your mouth and accept defeat. You were a stubborn devil, you knew as soon as you freed the yawn from its shackles, your legs would cave in and you’d find yourself as a puddle of sleep deprived bones on the floor.

Today you were working through a long haul shift at your job at the jewellery store, covering for your colleague who had very conveniently come down with the flu (it was a Saturday morning, do the math).

You didn’t mind it so much— the reserved nature of the job granted you space to wander in your own thoughts, and involve yourself with short and direct conversations with the clientele. It was a surprisingly quiet day, nearing the evening time where everyone would rather be out on the booze than collecting expensive necklaces for their wives. No bother, you’d been abusing the clock with your eyes all day and for good reason, as there was only a mere 30 minutes left to your shift.

You began tidying up, running through closing jobs to save you more time for later, where you had devised a plan to run a relaxing bath, dip your toes in it, and inevitably neglect it by flopping on the sofa for a nap. Some peace and quiet would be charming: these past few weeks had been pure chaos, with the rate of crime ascending quite dramatically for no reason at all. Not to worry, the people of Metropolis would cry, their saviour Superman will be there to save them. You fight a stubborn eye roll everytime you hear his name in passing: oh Superman, he saved me from a burning building; why Superman, if it weren’t for him I’d be left with a penny to my name after the robbery; Superman, Superman, Superman. Like the cynical old hag you were, your opinion was that he was some egotistical fucker with a saviour complex, one that you unfortunately knew too well.

Somehow, as a result of your own terrible bad luck, you often seemed to find yourself caught in the crossfire between villain and hero no matter how hard you tried to evade it. Like a moth to a flame, what your family keeps telling you.

This meant that, almost weekly now, you’d come face to face with the infamous Mr Superman, the man adored by thousands. Your mother swooned when she saw one of your stories on the news, begging you to tell her every detail moment by moment. Bless her, she was crest fallen when all you had to come out your mouth was a series of vulgar expletives. No one understood why you resented this man so terribly, incomprehensible to speak ill of a hero so kind to save you not once, not twice, but enough times for him to now remember your name with ease. Man, screw that guy.

And so there you were, dusting down the shelves, when the bell chimed at the entrance. Curious, you whipped around; it was pretty unusual for customers to leave it so late, especially on a quiet day like today.

Your heart grew cold in an instant, when a gun was thrust towards your skull by a masked man in a balaclava. How cliché.

“You push that panic alarm, and you won’t have time to understand that your brain is gonna be on those walls,” he proclaimed calmly, nodding to the wall by your side. You had no reason to call his bluff, his hand was cocked on the gun unwavering in a way only a man skilled with the weapon could master. Despite this, your body started to burn with rage, incensed at a man gaining the upper hand on you like this - and only with half an hour to go!

You nodded your head meekly, pushing down your deep seated anger. There’s no way you were getting out of this. The streets were rife with people, with similar crimes like this robbery occuring all over the city. It couldn’t be possible for someone to save y—

“I suggest you put the weapon down, sir,” a deep and assertive voice chimed in, immediately dominating the tense atmosphere. The words were a command, but the tone, his register— it was advice.

Listen, you knew you should’ve been happy right now. This masked man would’ve stolen from here, and you’d risk getting fired, and then you’d have to move out because you couldn’t afford rent, et cetera. Your life was being saved right now.

But instead, you let out the most exasperated sigh, loud enough for the intruder to cock his head to the side in confusion. The poor sod probably didn’t know whether to be more unnerved by the caped hero behind him, or you.

The robber dropped his gun. Everyone in the city knew it was a losing battle as soon as they recognised the man behind the voice.

Moving to the side of the cowering man, Superman glanced at you quickly before returning to his observation of the man. To the human eye it would seem like a quick glimpse, but you’d spent enough dismal time around him to recognise that in that brief second, he’s likely checking your vitals, scanning your body for any signs of damage. The guy probably already knows before you do when your period is due. It’s insufferable.

A dizzy flash of red and blue bounced off the window, informing you of the quick arrival of police. It always did puzzle you how he’d manage to beckon the police so fast after the crime would occur. Clearly everyone was eager to please him once hooked on his words of persuasion.

Superman scruffed the intruder by his collar and dragged him to the door like he was a box of tissues, leaving you stood rooted to the ground. All you wanted to do was go home right now. You had already been physically worn out, now the mental stress of this encounter was melting your brain to mush. You might need to skip out on that bath later after all.

Walking back in, Superman afforded you the privilege of truly meeting your eyes with his own. Waiting, like a shark, or maybe like an eager to please puppy of sorts, though you were convinced on the former. The shouting of officers, the flashings of the lights, there was all so much happening at once. Superman was unperturbed, as always. He subtly shifted his body weight to the side, shielding you from the impeding glare of police lights blinding your eyes. It was stuff like that that would truly grind your gears, him somehow paying attention to the small tells of your body when you were feeling whatever emotion, and then jumping on any opportunity to protect you from it.

You opened your mouth, pausing, but knowing the words were begging to come out.

“I didn’t need you to come,” was all you had to say, chin high in the air, a heavy contradiction to your fast heartbeat.

His eyes flitted to the side briefly, before returning to yours like they never left.

“Actually, I’ve never once needed you here,” you blurted out triumphantly, a stream of your subconscious erupting out of nowhere. “I’ve never once needed you. Frankly, I’m sick of you turning up with this notion that I now owe you something each time. I don’t owe you jack! In fact, I think it’s pretty presumptuous for you to think that I can’t take care of myself in these situations. I’m self sufficient, I’m not some damsel. I don’t even know you! You don’t even know me…” you rattled on, losing any sense of cohesion as you rambled further and further.

The worst part is every time you’d throw your tantrum - which is every time - he would never once give in. He would stand still, face impassive, as if he was actually taking on all the petty things you throw at him. Why is it that it would infuriate you even more?

Silence eventually settled between the two of you, your breath ragged after your outburst.

Finally, his chin fell to the ground as he let go of a small sigh. Lifting his head once more, he allowed the small pull of the corners of his lips to form a shy smile.

“I’ll see you next time,” was all he said, before turning swiftly and disappearing before you had a chance to blink. You could almost taste his muted victory.

You fucking hate that you loved this man.

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[rannie-moon]

ik coachella literally js happend but i want to know how you imagine heran there. i think everyone would fall in love with her 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

synopsis: coachella day 1 and just heran having everyone in a chokehold (let's all act surprised)

masterlist | wattpad

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ RESPECTFULLY we will start with her outfit 😫 the group was decked out in the special prada cowboy collection and stuff, so naturally she was in denim as well. straight-legged jeans and just the right amount of baggy, a brown prada corset with these gems running down the center, her hair was in light waves like yessss the hairography!! and to make it even better? MY GIRL WAS WEARING HOOP EARINGS!!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she was OBSESSED with the setlist and genuinely would not stop glazing it, and as she should!!!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she looked SCRUMPTIOUS! abs and toned ahh arms on full display with her jewellery 😫😫 stopppppp it's too muchhh

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ now when the intro hit?? YOU BEST BELIEVE THAT THE CROWD WAS GOING BALLISTIC

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ like starting off with blockbuster?? YUH YUH YUH ALL THE RIGHT CHOICES!! HERAN'S FIRST LINE WAS THE PRE CHORUS AND THE CROWD WAS LOSING THEIR SHIT

💬 : there's a girl?? why is there a girl in a boygroup??

💬 : I'm so sorry this was like watching britney spears collab with nsync or some shit I loved it!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her and heeseung were on one. their hair colours made it so easy for people to identify them and that was the whole damn point

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ next was blessed-cursed and you know they always go extra hard for it. LIVE VOCALS WERE CRISP!!! AND HERAN'S ADLIBS?? DON'T EVEN

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ It was honestly such a good song to hype up the crowd, and not to mention how they went viral because they were singing live??? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT THEY DO!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ oh they screamed all right! the engenes in the crowed? nah they were seeing some premium content

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the group wanted to introduce their songs in a little quirky way but heran got carried away for future perfect... AND IT WAS FUCKING INSANE!!

"coachella! If you hate that fucking line then let me hear you scream!"

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the members were howling when she said that, bruh jake looked at her and dapped her up because that was probably the coolest thing he's ever heard in his life

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the locals were confused, they were screaming too but they had no idea why 😭😭 like what line?? why did they hate the line??

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ for the first verse of the song they got a moment to breathe and the dancers got to do their thing, but when it came to the second verse and they had to step down from the stands? WHEN JUNGWON'S SHIRT SLIPPED OFF HIS SHOULDER BECAUSE OF THE WIND??

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Insert that one tweet that said heran was gonna start going feral if the stylists put him in a wife beater 💀 bless her, she malfunctioned for a spilt second because that mf was GLOWING

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ you could literally see her mouth "what the fuck" to herself 💀

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ to say that she wasn't borderline scared of heeseung this entire set would be a lie. like she was going off too but he was FEELING himself and she just knew that her timeline was gonna be "that one red-head from coachella"

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ after future perfect they got a proper moment to introduce themselves to the crowd. and heran has really good stamina but she was soooooo out of breath

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ It was her turn to speak and she literally doubled over, hand on her hip like she just ran a whole triathlon 😭

she pulled herself together, giggling into the mic, voice all airy and cute, “I’m so sorry,” she laughed. “before we came on stage I had to sprint across the entire desert. I was watching charli's set.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ heran shook her head, wiping sweat off her temple with a little pinky up like a lady, and added, “I nearly lost my shit when she brought billie out. I was getting ready to ditch ya'll to stay and watch the rest.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ THE. SCREAMING.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ meanwhile jake was crying laughing behind her and handed her his water bottle like “girl please.” sunoo was literally fanning her with his hand and jay was just mouthing “SHE’S INSANE.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ after heran’s crowd-obliterating charli x billie chaos and a water bottle exchange that basically counted as the group’s hydration PSA, she shuffled off to the side as the next member started talking. she ended up beside ni-ki, who was very clearly trying to act chill

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she was just staring at him, and he looked at her like wtf is this chick doing?

"your collar." ni-ki put his hand on is jacket collar, flipped up like he'd just barely survived a tornado. "dude, I can fix it myself," he said and pulled away when she reached out. heran was not impressed, gave him that look of utter disrespect and scoffed. "no you don't. you never do," she said, reaching out for the collar like a man on a mission.

"I said I got it—!" "hold still—!"

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ what began as a simple collar adjustment immediately turned into a full-on slap-fight of chaos. he swatted her hand, she batted his shoulder, he ducked, she fake-kicked his shin. ni-ki tried to back away but she followed him like a gremlin with a vendetta

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and the engenes?? THE ENGENES WERE LOSING IT. screams from the barricade. tweets being fired off at rapid speed. fancams uploading mid-fight.

💬 : riki and heran fighting in the middle of their coachella performance. I love my family dawg 😭 💬 : reminds of the time when jake and heran were throwing punches at each other on stage during the aaa's way back in 2021. some things just never change smh

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ next we had paradoxx invasion yesssirrr!! It's one of her favourite songs to perform because kjdnffkn BRUH AND SHE JUST LOVES HOW HARD JAY GOES DURING IT

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ It just has "main dancer" energy written all over it, and NATURALLY as one of the main dancer's she's gonna go all in! one of the best tweets about the performance: "why was the girl thrusting like her dick is bigger than mine? I'm a guy..."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚NI-KI DANCE BREAK! NI-KI DANCE BREAK! we all shout in unison

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the transition to paranormal love was seamless. just another reason for heran to run around the stage tbh

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ during the tail end of paranormal love, she was sprinting across the stage, hair flowing, mic in hand, when she saw them—her brother and his girlfriend right by the barricade. and bro. she skkkkrrrrtd to a halt like someone pressed pause on her mid-chorus.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ nari was screaming so hard, smiling and waving back, "YOU LOOK GORGOEOUS!!" bruh and hyunmin was looking at her with his hand covering his mouth, his whole group of friends in utter shock

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ bro won "younger sister of the century" in 5 different languages

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ one of the most viral moments of the whole set tbh. everyone fell in love with how down-to-earth and chaotic she was—even mid-coachella

. 𐙚 ˚ next was XO, and the only logical way to introduce the song in heran’s mind? LET THE BAND RIDE OUT THAT SEXY ASS INTRO… and then drop the mic (figuratively) with:

"who wants a kiss?"

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ THE AUDACITY. THE CROWD. LOST. ITS. MIND.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ someone in the pit actually screamed, “ME!!!” so loud it picked up on the stage mics 💀💀

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ heran just grinned, head tilted like the brat she is, and laughed into the mic.

"hmm, that was definitely a yes."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ cut to sunoo dramatically clutching his chest in the background like she’d just shot an arrow through it 💘

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the band kept playing, the bass was THUMPING, and the lights went all red and hazy—the vibe was CRAZY. she took center stage, flipping her hair with the kind of confidence that makes people rethink their sexuality smh

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ cut to the part were the band paused and as part of the choreography they did that slowmo fall thing on the beat drop!! RAHHHHH SEXYYYYY

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ another moment that made rounds was the last chorus and miss girl was out here putting LIPSTICK ON!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she pulls the compact mirror out of her back pocket, flipping it open with a little snap that somehow matches the beat. in her other hand? a crimson lipstick that looks custom-made for trouble.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and she doesn’t rush. oh no. she applies it slowly, deliberately. a swipe to the bottom lip. a press together. a tilt of the head. serving.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and then. she finds the camera.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ it’s one of the dolly cams positioned near the front of the stage, moving just close enough. heran walked forward, locks eyes with it, leans in—

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ —and presses her freshly painted lips to the lens.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the screen behind them goes red for a split second. the kiss mark flashes across it. and the crowd???

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ THE CROWD ASCENDED TO ANOTHER PLANE. ENGENES WENT FERAL. LOCALS BECAME STANS IN UNDER 3 SECONDS.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ THE SCREAMING. PEOPLE WERE LOSING THEIR SANITY IN REAL TIME. THE CROWD LITERALLY SURGED FORWARD.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and the best part??? THE BOYS WERE EATING IT UP. when she first suggested the idea as a joke they ENCOURAGED her to do it!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ thank you enhypen, we all say in unison

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ so the song fades out with that smooth guitar outro, heran still catching her breath—cheeks way too pink (and not from the heat)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and she’s standing center stage like: 🤡 because she knows what she just did. the crowd is SCREAMING. the boys are giggling. SHE’S GETTING BULLIED

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ jake sidles up to her like, “yo… so when’s the wedding? you and the camera locked in fr.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ meanwhile, the band’s already starting the transition into no doubt—that grungy bass riff kicking in, tempo building, crowd sensing another HIT incoming

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the entire performance was just her trying recover from that single moment, like she was smiling but you could see her second guessing her entire life

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she managed to calm down for sweet venom though, she had no choice because she needed to serve vocals NATURALLY

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 10/10 for sunghoon's intro—she catches herself silently fangirling every time because that's just how impactful it is smh

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ talk to me when you have over 12 000 people screaming "I would give up heaven If I had to!" with you the way that heran sunghoon had them 🤷🏼‍♀️

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her and sunghoon shared a glance after—just a tiny moment, both grinning like okay yeah that was kinda insane.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and when it ended, she and sunghoon high-fived like the power duo they are before casually melting back into formation like they didn’t just have the entire crowd in a chokehold

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ THEN IT FUCKING HAPPENED!! IT WENT QUIET, THE DANCERS WALKED FORWARD NOBODY KNEW WHAT WAS NEXT AND THEN ALL OF A SUDDEN THAT SEXY MFING BASS STARTS PLAYING AND JAY IS IN THE CENTER

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ DAYDREAM STARTS AND EVERYONE IS LOSING THEIR FUCKING MINDS

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ heran's hitting those beats like it's her last day alive! AT THIS POINT SHE'S JUST ACTING OUT LIKE SHE'S IN HEAT

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her and jake's "boom boom bang bang bang BACK IT OUT" are like thisssss 🤞🏼

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ then it was the part we've all been waiting for because heran and jungwon had just been suspiciously calm the entire set so far

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the "bad bad bad bitches don't lie" line was a joke until this performance. because HE DEFINATELY SAID IT THIS TIME

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and how do we know this?? because he was looking at heran and smiling while saying it!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and heran??? SHE HAD THE NERVE to smile back

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ THE CROWD WAS ????????. people were screaming, crying, throwing up—it was like a live reenactment of a fanfiction scene

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ AND HERAN NEVER ADDRESSED IT. like girl just giggled through the rest of the verse and left us hanging??

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ twitter went FERAL:

💬 : jungwon calling heran a bad bitch on stage? revolutionary 💬 : nah that wasn’t a stage moment, that was a moment moment 💬 : bad bitches don’t lie and neither do secret boyfriends i fear 😭

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ next was the little moonstruck rendition that was HEAVENLY to put it simply

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ that into bite me was the most criminal thing ever... in the best way possible

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and everyone was super sad that they didn't bring out the female dancers but guess what? heran was female YUHHHHHHHH LET'S GET FREAKY

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ giving jungwon the open opportunity to touch her because she's in the center for the partner work? yeah, you're asking for trouble

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ SHE HAD FAMILY IN THE CROWD BRO COME ON

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ like sure she had partner work with jake and heeseung too BUT her and jungwon's was always a little more

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ you could see on his that he was visibly fucking excited. like with jake and heeseung they kept their eyes on the camera during their part her, but won KEPT EYECONTACT at all times

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and it catches her off guard every. single. time.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and part where the boys are supposed to put their fingers underneath their dancers chins to add to the tension feels 10000 times stronger with hewon

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the sun was down, the music is booming in their ears, their hearts are pounding because of the adrenaline and that moment is the perfect down to earth moment

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ heran's smiling at him. time just slows down. his gaze flickers to her lips for a millisecond. what the fuck

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and jungwon??? JUNGWON LOOKED LIKE HE WAS HAVING A REVELATION. like he just realised something standing there under the coachella lights, with 12k people screaming, hand under the jaw of the girl he can't believe breathes the same air as him

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ sunoo said later in their weverse live that the energy between them made him nervous and he wasn’t even in the moment 😭

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ hyunmin's standing in the crowd, his hands on his head in utter distraught, frozen in place as his watching his sister try and stop herself from kissing one of her members on stage

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ nari was screaming beside him. "why don't you look at me like that anymore?!"

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ “not now, nari,” he whispered, eyes still glued to the stage in betrayal.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ “no, because how is he allowed to gaze into her soul like that in front of 12,000 people and a camera crew???”

“HE HAD HIS FINGER UNDER HER CHIN, HYUNMIN.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ meanwhile, on stage, heran’s trying to keep it pushing like her brother isn’t having a full mental breakdown by the barricade 💀

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the worst part? she knows he saw. she knows it. because hyunmin is frozen like a statue and all she can do is mouth a sheepish “sorry”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the fans caught everything. and the fancams? already at 1.2M views titled “JUNGWON & HERAN COACHELLA STAGE: THE EYE CONTACT. THE FINGER. THE LIP GLANCE.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ drunk-dazed. that was heran's "oh my god this is really happening" moment.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ 4 years gone in the blink of an eye. she remembered their first win like it was yesterday, the confetti, the overwhelming emotions and her members telling her to take credit for it because she worked on the song

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ that song held everything. the early days. the growing pains. the sacrifices. the tears in the practice room. the constant battle to prove herself. heran’s chest physically ached from how full it felt

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and now there she was—performing that same song that kick-started their career, at coachella. everyone was raving and having fun but she was sightly emotional 🤧

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ even ni-ki looked emotional (which is saying a lot because that man does not do tears) and heran could feel the sadness in her chest mixing with adrenaline

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ BUTTTTTTTT THENNNN—

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ THE BABIES BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK 🔥 GO BIG OR GO HOME WAS THEIR MOTTO AND THEY CHOSE VIOLENCE FOR THEIR CLOSER

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the choreo was sharp, the lights were flashing, the fire effects were POPPING OFF—she hit that center moment like it owed her money

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and the final pose? HERAN. FRONT. AND. CENTER. hair blowing in the wind. her cheeks flushed from the heat under the moonlight. absolutely BEAUTIFUL

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ for a moment, it didn’t even feel real—like time just stopped for her to exist in that exact second

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ camera lights flashing. fans screaming. the booming of fireworks behind her. and heran just stood there, breathless, glowing like she was the finale

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and that's when "the blonde girl with the lipstick" was born 🙏🏼

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ because they were so pressed for time they didn't even get to say goodbye properly and had to leave the second the lights went off

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the second they cleared the stage, it was chaos in the best way—jake was literally hopping like a kangaroo, yelling “BRO DID YOU SEE US??” while ni-ki was trying to tackle sunghoon to the ground 💀

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ heran had barely made it down the steps before jay grabbed her arm and spun her around like “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” and she was just nodding with wide eyes and a dazed laugh like “NO BECAUSE… WHAT JUST HAPPENED”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ sunoo jogged over and without saying a word just pulled her into a hug—tight, grounding, real—and the rest of the boys followed like magnets until it was a giant sweaty, glittery, breathless group hug

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ "you guys were absolutely amazing," she said, breathless. "like absolutely unreal."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ “says YOU,” heeseung added, glancing at heran. “miss front and center, miss kiss-the-camera, miss your-collar-is-ruined-cause-of-ni-ki-fighting-you.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ staff were rushing around, calling them to change and move to the van, but for a few more seconds they just stood there in their circle, hearts pounding and lungs burning and still holding onto each other like it was the only thing keeping them grounded

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ no speeches. no cameras. just seven boys and a girl who’d poured their souls onto a stage—and survived it.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ and yeah, they didn’t get to say goodbye properly. the lights went out and they had to run—literally run—off the premises with staff yelling “GO GO GO!”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ but even as they were leaving, the chanting didn't stop. all the members heard was "ENHYPEN! ENHYPEN! ENHYPEN!"

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ abslutelyfuckinginsane.

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[the-saltiest-saltine]

Reservations and Repose

(Yan!Chrollo x Fem Reader)

@sukunasfavoritehole hopefully this is enough to tide you over until my ao3 finally gets an update hehe

Word count: ~7.3k

------

You’re naïve enough to believe Chrollo’s asleep. He loves that about you.

Warnings: NOT SFW, non -con thigh fucking, somnophilia, drugging, imagined not sfw scenarios etc

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IT WAS 3/4 FINISHED THEN I FORGOT ABOUT IT my sincerest apologies.

Also this is my first time writing smut so please go easy on me 😥

Chrollo is very disappointed in you.

You let him kiss your cheek this morning following a deep sleep. You didn’t reciprocate, though he continues to see your progress and knows that an ever-hopeful yet can be added to the end of that statement. To some extent, the allowance of such an act could be chalked up to his acceptance of you, flaws and all, willing to appreciate the neutrality of it as opposed to ardent rejection. In a matter of weeks, you’ll be returning the gesture. And in a matter of months, you’ll be doing it gladly. Warmth, or perhaps weariness, has slowly but surely seeped its way into your actions recently, your shaky hands finding a place in his, fingers interlaced.

Is that to say he was under the impression that you’d completely given yourself to him? Absolutely not. There’s fear in your smiles, as much as they may have metamorphosed from obviously and mockingly forced to meek and endearing. Chrollo has shown you all that you know he can do. This has been enough to keep you relatively restrained over the months. If he showed you all that he knows he can do, you’d most likely curl up into a ball and sob until you dried out. That’s not necessary, though. It’ll never be.

Like many things, it wasn’t linear. It was a path that went upwards and downwards and forwards and backwards and in cycles, cycles that would always leave you curled up, sobbing in his arms, grasping onto him for whatever comfort it would give. But progress is progress, right?

Ignorantly, he began to believe the crumbs of affection, of acceptance, of acquiescence. Stupidly, he thought you were making progress. It’s been a significant amount of time since he was last this naïve. If he wasn’t so disgruntled by your transgression, he’d most likely bask in the nostalgic feeling. But he can’t, for the time being, because you’re trying to do something very rash.

As unfortunate as it is, you’re trying to leave him.

It’s audacious, having thought that the monumental power difference between you two had been thoroughly demonstrated on multiple occasions, a well established and silently acknowledged fact of your travels with him.

It’s irritating, although regarded with the same irritation as one would have with a pet goldfish trying to jump out of its tank. You silly thing, why do you want to abandon the place in which you are safe?

It doesn’t particularly make sense, though. He’s checked his cards - nothing suspicious has been bought in his name. No travel tickets or prepaid car hire. He’s even checked the jewellery collection - maybe you’d snatched up a nice necklace or bracelet or pair of diamond earrings to pawn off. But again, nothing. No suspicious bags have been packed. No loose tiles or floorboards or ceiling panels to hide supplies in. Your clothes are all neatly folded and hung in your wardrobe. 

You’ve got something up your sleeve- something desperate and jittery and not fully thought out. Something that relies on luck and prayers far more than precision and blow-by-blow planning. He never particularly took you for a daredevil, but to see you get pushed to such a limit, to be forced against your own timid nature, is beyond satisfying. If he could pluck it out of you and analyse it under a microscope, he’d be elated. Or perhaps even, he supposes to himself, he’d be so fulfilled that he might abandon the current pathway of his life, aimless and bloody and cyclical, finally so consumed with his obsession over you that nothing else is valued in the slightest. 

He can’t say he didn’t expect an ulterior motive for your apparent benevolence, at least initially, but for it to be kept up for this long? The stares felt almost too natural. The gradual lessening of your flinches when he placed a hand on your shoulder, the way your gaze would be drawn to him rather than away, even if only to flick away immediately - the subtleties were downright impressive. To be able to track everything simultaneously, to be able to remember to exhibit so many behaviours at once…Perhaps he should be taking acting lessons from you.

Chrollo had watched you, humming a pop tune this morning, cheekily shaking your hips from side to side as you fried some eggs, over easy, the notes sometimes interrupted with a sharp inhale between your teeth when the oil spat just a bit too high and would burn you ever-so-slightly. A domestic sight.

You’d let him give you another kiss on the cheek before he shrugged his coat on, giving you one last lingering glance before he’d walked out the door and into the hallway of the apartment, locking it with warm Nen made of comfort rather than capture. He gave you another cheek kiss (despite his ever-growing urge to dip lower) when he got home to the smell of spices and vegetables and the bubbling sound of a low simmer. You don’t fight them anymore, and barely even recoil now, a result of steady but slight crossing of boundaries - his record was eleven times in one day (at least, his record for when you were conscious) when he was feeling particularly affectionate, although you’d definitely soured up by the end.

The…fantasies he’d had of domesticity…they were just that, weren’t they? Fantasies, mere ideas that were appealing enough to fully flesh out in his mind. Whatever actions you’ve taken, whether it be pecks to the cheek or folding his shirts, staining them with the scent of you, they’ve all been a means to an end. That certainly wasn’t part of the fantasy. 

You’ve been buttering him up like the thick slices of white bread next to his bowl. What a betrayal.

Tonight’s stew is spicy and chunky, served courteously by you. His palate is experienced from an adulthood of travel, wealth, and nights spent with gullible women who couldn’t tell the difference between a Prince Charming and a swindler. Truly, there is little he hasn’t at least tried. Including this.

So, if there’s no other signs of you wanting to leave the comfort of the apartment and the familiarity of his presence, then what could’ve possibly cued him into your motives?

It’s something tenuous, something that could’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. It’s something subtle, buried under layers of rosemary and thyme and paprika. But diphenhydramine is such an acquired taste. And it’s one that’s made the past few weeks and months crumble to dust.

Oh, you sweet thing.

Acting as oblivious as ever, he spoons chunks of zucchini and carrot onto the bread, taking large bites, chewing and swallowing with purpose, the taste of the sedative lingering. He considers smacking his lips for good measure, to play around with you a bit, but eventually decides against it. That’ll come later.

You sit across from him, silence between you two. Normally, he’d fill it with tales from his busy day - but you’ve been so good lately, that he’s begun to refrain from doing that. Nowadays, he asks you what you’ve been up to, every painstaking detail from your dull days without him. But that’s only if you’ve been good, or at least if he’s under the impression that you’ve been good. As it turns out, you haven’t been good, you aren’t being compliant, and now he simply waits.

You stare into your bowl of stew, but he can tell you’re watching him in your periphery. It’s so very fascinating, the way you absorb each mouthful he takes, washed down with frequent sips of water (there’s no other substances in that, obviously). He takes another swill of the liquid, tilting his head slightly back, and in the corner of his eye, he can see the way you observe his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Does it appease you, the sight? Does it intrigue you? Does it make you, even for a moment, reconsider what you’re about to do?

Chrollo pauses for a moment, before placing the half-empty glass back onto its coaster. He knows the smirk that comes onto his face is nothing short of wicked, but he truly can’t help himself. 

“Are you not hungry, my love? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Barely is an understatement. You haven’t touched it at all, in fact. Stupid, really. He knows that you know that he’s observant - but that information is irrelevant in this situation, considering it doesn’t take an keen eye to figure out your pattern of stirring your spoon around, picking up some carrot - even blowing on it for good measure - and nodding along with what few words he spoke initially, before giving an mhm! of agreement and letting it drop back into the bowl. You spend extensive amounts of time apparently fishing for just the right piece of zucchini, sorting through copious amounts of lentils (and seemingly taking the time to individually count them all), dragging chunks up the side of your bowl only to push them back down into the fray of assorted vegetables.

There’s almost a sort of jump in response to the words, ringing clear and well projected. But it’s contained above the shoulders - your head snaps to look at him, your eyes widening momentarily, staring into his own, trapped.

He can feel the shaky breath you take to steady yourself from over here, air stagnant and mouth dry.

“No,” you reply, “not particularly.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouthing an oh before returning to his meal. It doesn’t matter whether you take the bait or not, his suspicions have long since been confirmed. Confirmed, in the sternest sense of the word, syllables enunciated with force, the knowledge of your true intentions well recognised. Whether that displays on his face or within his interactions with you is inconsequential to the known ending of your silly stunt.

The sound of you chewing is enough to bring his attention back out of the bowl. That’s not fake.

So you’re eating it too? It’s certainly a bold move, but one he wouldn’t dare put past you anymore. You were always a clever one, one to be placed a mere few tiers below his own intellect.

He hasn’t caught you swapping the bowl out for a fresh one. Maybe you’ve mastered the art so quickly that even he can’t notice?

No, not likely. Not in just a few months. That’d be impossible.

Your bites of pumpkin are preceded with the slightest hesitation, a quick breath to presumably psych yourself up to the self-sabotage. He hates to see you so scared when you’re properly sharing a meal with him like this, deciding to return to normalcy as a reward for your cooperation.

“Tell me, darling, what did you get up to today?”

Your eyes flick to his, momentarily ensnared in the grey, before looking up at the ceiling to aid in the process of giving a verbal description of what you read, how you cleaned, how you entertained yourself with rearranging your meagre book collection (not his, that would be asking for trouble). The response is practically identical to every other time he’s asked the question, plain and unindulgent. It’s boring, he thinks, even with the unacknowledged omission of the hours you spend staring at the walls and pacing around the living area. He’s tempted to pry into how you decided on tonight’s dish, but decides against it. Not for lenience or mercy, but rather amusement. To give away what he knows now would simply be a waste of a situation you’ll never attempt to put yourself in again.

If you knew what Chrollo knew, would you still bother to indulge him?

You stare at him for a moment, allowing him to draw things out, before nodding at the I see he gives in response. He gives a forward nod to your bowl, giving you gracious permission to eat again after starving you for the length of your interrogation, merciful as ever. Your fear is better contained behind a split second’s confusion before you register the nonverbal instruction, picking up your spoon once more and eating with more confidence this time, taking exaggerated bites of zucchini that barely make it past your teeth, chewed excessively into grey paste before being swallowed. Maybe you reason that if you chew enough, you can break the drug down into something that won’t knock you out. A cute thought.

The spices stain your lips an enticing red, the chilli making them plump up so deliciously. If he kissed them, would they burn him? Would the capsaicin leave his lips tingling, a reminder of your soft touch?

He likes to think he’ll know the answer soon.

Chrollo feigns sleepiness, furrowing his brows in mock confusion as he tells you that he can’t quite keep his eyes open - perhaps he overdid it at work today. 

Yes, work, as he loves to call it, like there’s the possibility of him spending his time away from you at a desk, punching in numbers on a computer, monotonous and repetitive and damn, couldn’t things just switch up for a day? Work, as in a beer-bellied husband whose idea of experimental fashion is changing which tie he wears with the same white button-up and black dress pants each day. Work, as in an assembly line employee who wakes up at three o’clock to be at the factory by four, ready and willing to make whatever sacrifices necessary to support his loved ones. Work, as in something at least vaguely respectable.

Work, as in literally anything other than stealing and slaughtering and scourging.

Chrollo relishes in the way your shoulders relax a little. It’s almost too adorable. Chrollo also relishes in the way they tense up again when he adds how it’s suspicious really. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt a tiredness such as this.

There’s an underlying anxiety in your pretty, pluckable, ever-so-slightly bloodshot eyes. Where others would be concerned for your health, he finds endearment, you precious thing. After admiring them silently for a moment, he announces that he’ll be off to bed now, darling. Remember to be there for me when I wake.

He leaves you alone in the kitchen to stew in your unease.

____________

Now he’s lying in bed, on the side closest to the door, limp as anything. It doesn’t matter whether his facade convinces you or not, he’ll have you in his arms by morning. The blinds aren’t fully down, leaving a pleasant blue hue that gives him a good visual of most of the room. Your side of the bed is still firmly tucked in from when he made it this morning, after running his hands up and down your arms until you’d given a great shudder and shoved him away - a pitiful attempt that he’d impishly gone along with. 

Anticipation tickles his nose and prods at his heart. Childishly, he wants you to get over with it already, to sprint in, swinging a knife wildly, or cue him to start the chase with a slam of the front door so violent that the hinges threaten to crack. It’s unfortunate how your faux compliance conditioned him to be unable to accept a halt, or even slowing, of progress.

Ah, some solace - he can hear your footsteps come up to the door, attempting, albeit poorly, to be quiet. Or maybe they are quiet, to the average man, but someone well-versed in the art of stealth can practically see the way you tiptoe closer. The faint sounds paint a detailed visualisation of your movements - the balls of your feet lifting from the ground, the flexing of your toes, the dorsiflexion at your ankles, the soft thud of your heels hitting the ground.

The bedroom door creaks open, a thin streak of light hitting his eyelids, making him see an ever-so-slight orange behind them. He might be able to visualise your walk accurately, but the same cannot be said for your face. Are you fearful, lips downturned and eyes wide? Are you determined yet cautious, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line? Are you smug? Condescending? Grinning from ear-to-ear, excited to finally have what you believe to be freedom?

You’re not, he discerns.

Instead, you huff a sigh, a sweet note that makes his heart jump, a small flutter that could only be instigated by you. It’s a sigh of relief. The door is shut. He expects another door to be slammed, too - the front door, hinges quaking as you sprint to the stairs as far as you can, too scared to wait for the elevator (and for your sake, he hopes you’ve brought a pair of running shoes - you’re on the 35th floor, after all). But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he can hear the clanking of bowls and dishes, the smooth schwip as you push breadcrumbs off the chopping board into the bin with the back of the serrated-edge knife, and how you place said knife into the block without taking another one out.

So you’ve decided against stabbing him tonight? How agreeable.

In fact there seems to be no malice in the way you’re stacking the bowls, no scraps of extra force in how you shut the fridge. Whilst the sounds of your cleanup are nothing short of a ruckus to his alert ears, there’s an intentional tenderness he can hear. A conscious effort to be as quiet as possible with somebody sleeping peacefully in the next room.

It’s a gesture he’ll interpret in the best way he can. Even if he knows he’s deluding himself that you want to be quiet for his own peace rather than so you can escape, he’ll be sure to bring up the former as reasoning for your actions over the next few days, regardless of how you’ll spit venom at him, hissing that he couldn’t be more wrong.

Next is a movement he didn’t expect in the slightest.

You come back to the bedroom, with a pile of fabric in your hands - clothes, maybe? He thought you’d be off and away as soon as possible, or you wouldn’t get close to him again at the very least, standing patiently by the door until whatever you’re waiting for had occurred. 

The quiet-ish footsteps make their way past him this time, and straight into the ensuite.

There’s the soft sound of clothes falling, and then the tap is turned on.

You’re…showering before you leave?

You really are a good teacher of the quirks of humanity. Logical as ever, he’d most certainly take no time for hygiene practices if it reduced his chances of being able to go on a small, liberating adventure. But perhaps that’s part of the plan? Do you not want to have a speck of dirt on you so you don’t smell bad? Will you hide out at a fancy gala, and have to be as fresh as possible? Are you trying to wash off Nen, perhaps? 

No, that would never work, and he’s certain you know this too. Still, the idea of a little hopeless fire in you, taking a precaution you know is futile, makes his lips twitch.

So many questions, few of them answerable at present. His mind is stimulated so wondrously, for once not finding boredom in the predictability of human behaviour. He’s truly chosen well. 

And then there’s something else, rising above the sound of the rushing water, above the drain gurgling it down, greedily gulping it away.

You’re humming.

It’s relatively random, most likely improvised, and slightly off-tune, but endearing all the same. He can taste the notes, sweet and soothing, running down his throat smoothly and pooling warmth in his belly. 

You heave a sigh, and the tune changes. And then he recognises it.

It’s something he heard as a boy, back in Meteor City. He’d hear it at night, walking back to whatever semblance of a refuge he had with Franklin and Shalnark, past the hamlets of the younger children. Letting himself get lost in it, he can feel himself crawling to shelter on scraped knees, walking on calloused heels, eating stale bread, all accompanied by the faint smell of garbage, a smell that years of exposure had waned to a neutral accompaniment of the setting, rather than an inconvenience or hazard.

Despite the unhygienic nature of it all, it’s sweet. It’s these memories - memories of grime and rot and infection - that are the most pure. The most uncorrupted. They’re full of innocence and hope - just like you.

These qualities make you think you’ll leave him.

Upon remembering this, he’s tempted to barge in and ruin your peace, eager to hear your inevitable yelp and nervous laugh as he quizzes you about tonight’s events. But he doesn’t. Your lullaby is too enjoyable, the tune far too agreeable to stomp out yet. Resisting sin by committing another, he decides he doesn’t want to kill this mockingbird, if only to selfishly continue to hear it sing.

Few moments have come like this since you came to be with him. They’re all short-lived in comparison to the cold life he’s had, a firecracker popping on his tongue, fleetingly filling his mouth with syrupy sweetness before quickly dying off, barely an aftertaste to be savoured. He’s scratched them all down in an old leather journal with a quill and ink, lest he forgets what it feels like, or how to get that feeling again, but thankfully they’re scratched even deeper into his psyche. 

You’d been agreeable enough for a reward of a dinner somewhere several stories up, city lights shining behind you, framing your hair beautifully. You were reluctant at first, turning your nose up at him and the priceless food in front of you, opting for the bottle of red wine instead. It wasn’t supposed to be gulped down with such vulgarity like that, but that was part of your charm and by your second glass you were giggling and halfway through your third you looked at him right in the eye, cheeks tinged pink, and you smiled a smile that you’d forget by morning but he wouldn’t…

He’d returned to the villa after a long day to find the fans blasting, and you slumped over on the couch as credits rolled on the screen in front of you. He’d flicked the TV off, not before noting the rom-com’s name, and regarded you, with your deep, even breaths and singlet strap falling down. He picked you up and carried you to bed, laying you down on the thin blankets, fixing your strap despite the small voice that called to him to take off the thing entirely. Your head rested on the pillow, your face not scowling for once, and you’d huffed the sweetest of sighs…

That’s the kind of moment this is.

There’s no thought of what he’ll be doing with the troupe tomorrow, or in a week, or what move to make next depending on what you decide to do. Every nook and cranny of his mind, every convolution of his brain is filled with the thought of you. Tonight, it’s warm and viscous, slowing time and cutting both of you off from the rest of the world; the rest of its filth.

In this moment, he can see himself in the shower with you. He’s across from you, lathering body wash onto his shoulders, letting the foam run down his back. All the while, he keeps his gaze on you, watching how your hands run over your body, soap running along your sternum, between your breasts, along the curve of your hips, your ass, all whilst you hum that tune… shit, he can’t let himself get hard now. He manages to drag himself out of the daydream, barely, just managing to claw himself to the surface of reality.

Caps are popped open and the lathering of soaps can be heard over the course of your performance, with a finale of the tap being turned off. There’s a fumbling of fabrics before you come out, followed by yet another move he doesn’t expect.

You walk up to the bed, peel the sheets back, and lie down beside him. You then roll onto your side, facing him. After a few moments, you prop yourself up onto your elbow.

A moment of nothing. You’re frozen, as is he. Calm before the storm, he prepares himself to catch your wrist and hear you shriek.

You lean over.

And then there’s a featherlight sensation on his forehead, right in the middle of his tattoo. 

Had it been a split second later, he would’ve opened his eyes and turned to face you with a smirk as you screamed. But it’s not a split second later, it’s now, and now you’re kissing him. There’s no real benefit for doing such a thing that he can identify right now - perhaps you know he’s awake, and would like to make amends? Surely you know that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

The contact sends an electric zap to every corner of his body, although he manages to not make himself jolt. Months of stifled desire bubble up from his insides, desire that’s spent so long smothered by rationale of better outcomes and forcing himself to think of his bloodied obstacles and late nights alone in the shower. As often as his lips find their way to your forehead, unfortunately the reverse doesn’t occur even half as much.

You pull away, like you’re hesitant about what you’ve done, like you’re waiting for him to snap his eyes open and sit up with inhuman speed, ready to pin you down or tie you up or even slap you for tonight’s inconveniences. But that doesn’t make sense, because hesitation is supposed to occur before such an intrepid act, not afterward.

After receiving apparent confirmation that you’re not about to be attacked, he can sense your head slowly but surely coming to rest on your pillow. You shouldn’t strain your neck like that, someone like you could get hurt over time.

The back of his shirt is peeled up, slowly, delicately, and he has to focus to keep his breathing even.

There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, his number a pale contrast to the black ink, practically jumping out at you.

0.

It’s your reminder, he supposes, of what he is. Theoretically and legally nonexistent, practically traceless. Zero evidence. Zero remorse. Zero morality.

Zero.

Then-

One, two, three.

Your lips mark a trail up his spine, at the bottom of the abdomen, right in the middle of the zero, on its head. Don’t shudder.

Once your deed is done, you pull back. There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, so silent that you’re barely breathing.

The fabric of his nightshirt is guided back down. You roll over and proceed to go limp, succumbing to the drugs intended for him.

What was that?

You’re not touching him anymore. He can sense the gap between your bodies, one that he would close every night, pulling you close. 

Was it a relief? To go to sleep without him touching you?

You’d always stirred up such a fuss about his arms being around you as you slept. 

It had always been a cause for seething rage on your part, later argument, later whining, and more recently huffing. Even last night, the stiffness before you fell asleep was a cause of his own discomfort. But you didn’t have to deal with that tonight, and now you’ve fallen asleep in record time. He can’t say it was just from the pills.

Did you change your mind on leaving after you felt their effects? It doesn’t seem likely that you’d ditch all that to sleep. Rather, that you wanted to sleep on your own terms.

He’d spent so much time concerned with stopping a potential escape, that he didn’t stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, that was never the goal to begin with.

And now Chrollo rolls over to face you, gently tugging on your shoulder to pull you onto your back.

You’re serene as ever, a sight to behold. 

He brushes the back of his knuckles along your hair, feeling its texture, so light that his calloused hands - hands that have seen many a bruise and burn and slice and hangnail caught and ripped on the job - almost can’t feel it. Your exhales come out more as huffs and sighs now compared to gentle breathing, and he allows a chuckle (one that he finds incredibly endearing, as much as you’ve let your disagreement to that sentiment be known, preferring to describe it with wounding words such as “condescending” and “grating”) to slip past his lips. 

It reminds him of you when you’re awake, when you used to try so hard to be difficult for him, when you used to scream and scratch as he’d spoon you, grip ironclad, until all you could do was huff and puff and plead with him (and as much as he enjoyed your attempts to compromise, this was something he simply could not relinquish) and eventually, your cursing would die down, your muscles would go limp, and you’d fall asleep. 

Sometimes the sun would be up by the time you relented, and your breaths would be the heaviest then. It was amusing, how quickly you’d switch. One second, you were cussing him and his troupe out, the next, you were a paragon of tranquillity, the visage of an angel before him. He’d pray you love him.

He wants to grab your jaw, hold it firm, and kiss your lips as hard as he can. He wants to tilt his head and take and take and take. He wants to keep taking even if your breathing lightens. He wants to keep taking even if your eyelids flutter open, hazy doe-eyes looking at him with dozy confusion.

Well, he’d never deny his own indulgence.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead, just as you did to him.

The touch is as gentle as he can make it, as gentle as he can permit himself to be. There’s a split second of what he could almost call fear, an image of accidentally squeezing you too hard and hearing your bones snap flashing in his mind.

He rubs his thumb over where his lips previously were, feeling an unanticipated wetness left behind.

It’s then that Chrollo realises his mouth is full of his own saliva - whether that was because he was so entranced by your actions that nothing else mattered, body as limp as he could allow, or because, like some sort of filthy animal, he couldn’t help but drool at the contact from you, starved for it like a hyena, he doesn’t know. He swallows. That’s better.

And now for the main event.

He dips down to your lips, and lightly presses his own against them. The feeling is so heavenly, he wonders if you really are an angel. If you were one, would you bless him? Would you destroy him?

If you were to know what he’s doing, would you hate him more?

He pulls away. 

The journey to get here was sizable. Memories of tonight flash by; your cooking, your conversation, your shower. Your humming.

Ah. The tune he heard as a boy. Innocent, naïve, hopeful.

Well, he’s a man now. And far less innocent.

He lets out a hum of his own, deep and rumbling.

Chrollo moves to straddle you, peeling the duvet and sheets back, layer by layer, unveiling the best present he’s ever gifted himself. Just moving into such an intimate position is enough to send pangs of heat downwards, the hardness he fought against earlier returning with an urgency.

For a moment, he tries to fight against it.

Is it to save himself from your hatred? Is it to save you from what he’s planning?

It’s neither, he discerns, as the attempt was doomed to fail before it even started. He knows it was never meant to succeed.

His groin only throbs harder, aching for friction. It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing, the way he presses it against your clothed crotch, rocking back and forth, the slight relief just momentary as his desire only grows.

He regards your unsuspecting face. Stunning. 

Restraint is draining faster now, but still is present just enough to stop him from grinding any harder despite the urge. But if he’s to stop his movements, he’ll need a different kind of stimulation.

He bunches your shirt up, pulling, sliding a hand under your back so he can slip it off your arms and neck.

Now your chest is bare. How ravishing.

His fingers hook under the band of your sleep pants, dragging them off in a clean motion.

And now your legs are bare. How alluring.

He doesn’t take your underwear off - that would simply be crude, and he doesn’t need to tempt himself anymore. If he got the privilege (or right, considering your standings) of seeing you fully nude, as opposed to having a single layer covering the most tantalising part of you, he’d be oh-so-inclined to do something regrettable. His logic fights to win space within his buzzing thoughts, fingers daring to twitch as his imagination fills in the gaps of what the thin black layer forces to be left to it.

Chrollo parts your thighs for good measure, the maximum he can allow himself at this moment. It’d be impossible to not let his hands and gaze trail up them, observing how as he roams upwards, your flesh gets softer, warmer; how the flimsy fabric can’t hide all of your darker flesh; how your lower lips are pressing against the cloth, visible despite the darkness…

God, you’re so fuckable.

There’s a pretentious voice in his head, albeit muffled, that cries protests at the use of such a word to describe you. You’re something far more than that - beautiful, exemplary, one-in-a-million, ethereal. Surely your mouth would be better put to use having a fulfilling conversation with him, a conversation he can dissect and steer and puppeteer, as opposed to just opening as wide as it can to accommodate his cock, taking it as deep as your gag reflex will allow, barely able to breathe, much less talk. Although, he thinks with a faint, deep groan, twitching in his pants, that’s certainly a hypothesis I’ll have to test.

With the sight of your breasts, nipples hard and skin goosebumped from the chill of the room, it’s decided. Just because making his cheeks warm and his cock rock hard isn’t your most prominent trait, doesn’t mean that you aren’t absolutely exceptional at it.

Temptation isn’t something he’s inclined to resist, brushing a thumb over your nipples before leaning down to take one into his mouth. He swears he can hear your breath hitch as his tongue swirls around, breathing getting slightly lighter. An eager hand reaches for the other one, kneading as gently as he thinks he can.

Soft is the first thing he thinks. Your flesh is so soft, so delicate, so tender. If you were awake, he’d vocalise his compliments - and do so loudly, unrestrained.

Your breathing changes as he points his tongue to lightly flick at your nipple repeatedly. Chances are you’re being taken out of REM sleep, but your consciousness doesn’t matter at this stage. And some part of him hopes for it, brief images flashing in his mind of barely-open teary eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head. They’re obscene, so utterly immoral to even fantasise about, yet even the split-second thought makes his stomach jump, shivering a bit as he feels himself be almost overcome by them.

He can’t help but slightly wet his lips in anticipation, relishing in the knowledge that his instincts are being held back with the slightest thread. If he moves even slightly faster than his rational, calculating, non-carnal mind intends, then it’ll snap. He’ll snap.

Almost trembling, he reaches across to his bedside table. The movements are imprecise, but he’s sure this practice will allow him to execute them with much more grace for the inevitable time you’ll be awake. Yes, you’ll be awake and whining and he’ll wet his lips in anticipation and be met with your lingering taste and you’ll want him as much as he wants you- 

He almost falls forward as his own lust threatens to overtake him. Focus on the necessary steps.

Taking a shuddering breath, he leans down to pull open the drawer, to find a bottle hidden at the back, purposefully concealed behind an upright copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Quickly shifting his weight back, he pops the cap open, spreading some of the slick contents onto his fingertips. With his free hand, he pulls down the loose elastic of his pyjama pants, shucking them off, the cold air making him quiver slightly.

Time’s running out.

The movements are trembling, sloppy as he pours lube onto his length, and then onto your spread thighs. There’s a frantic inertia of sorts, a mad momentum - the more he does, the faster he has to go, the anticipation making his stomach swell and dip. He’s really going to do this. It’s really going to happen, and it’ll be amazing.

There. Done. Everything’s ready.

Chrollo takes a shaky breath, gripping just above your knees, and squeezes your thighs around his dick.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your thighs are warm from the duvet, perfectly cosy and wet from the lube for his cock.

Little time is wasted as he begins to thrust his hips, trying not to give himself too much too soon. The steady pace is slowly increased, little by little, a fragile incline so he can drag this out for as long as possible. 

Can you feel it? Can you feel the warmth radiating from him? Is there some part of your mind that’s awake, but can’t do anything to stop him? Or better yet, is eager to please him?

He strains out a hiss through gritted teeth, peppering kisses over your exposed neck, trying his best not to bite. The pace increases yet again. His eyes are fixated on the mound in your underwear, a more sinister form of curiosity burning within. 

What does your pussy look like?

He won’t use En, that’s just cheating. He wonders and ponders and conjures up the most filthy images his mind can muster. A warm, tight hole that clenches for him as he slips in and out, teasing you. A pretty clit for him to tease with his fingers as you whine, for him to suckle on as you choke on sobs of pleasure. Folds for him to run his tongue through as you rut your hips against his face; for him to run his tip along, collecting your slick.

He imagines how his cock would look disappearing inside of your cunt, how your grip would be so suffocating, how your tits would bounce as he fucks it (because shit, they’re already moving so vigorously now, as he holds his strength, and he can’t even begin to picture what they’d look like if he loses control buried deep inside you, repeatedly stuffing you to the hilt as you cry out). He imagines how you’d tighten around him, babbling something incoherent as you wrap your arms and legs around him, and oh fuck, he can’t pull out now. He imagines the tension snapping, giving a rumbling groan as he shoves himself into you as deeply as possible, eyes screwing shut and burying his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, riding out his high with a few shallow thrusts.

And finally, he imagines how his cum would look leaking out of your pussy, twitching and swollen from a nice good fuck. The afterglow. The squeak you’d give if he fingered it back into you, growling at you to not waste a drop, keep it all inside for me.

The thought makes his hips stutter a little, threatening to slip out of the plushness between your thighs. Once he regains his rhythm, though, they’re speeding up, relentlessly fucking himself into your thighs over and over, kneading the flesh as he squeezes them tighter and closer.

Chrollo cups your face with a single hand, and leans in. 

It’s the second time he’s properly kissed you tonight, and it feels fucking amazing. Your soft lips, your soft thighs, they’re all working together to make his head swim in bliss. You’re working to make him feel good. Yes, him. Nobody else. You’re his.

The thoughts run wild. He has as little control over them as he does his hips.

How would it feel to fuck you in some other position? How would it feel to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back to meet his, as he stuffs himself into your sopping cunt over and over, watching your ass bounce? How would you cry out at the way his balls slap against your swollen clit, building up the pressure inside you until you just can’t take any more?

How would you grind on top of him? How would you moan as you bounce, tilting your head back as you stretch yourself on his length, panting? How many times could you do it until your legs trembled uncontrollably, forcing yourself to impale yourself on his cock just one more time? When he’d plant his feet on the bed firmly and thrust his hips up, grabbing yours and bouncing you in time, would you wail, or simply slump over, completely unable to form a thought as you cum around him for the nth time?

You’re flexible enough to fold into a mating press, right? How deep could he go? How fast could he go? How would your beautiful skin look covered in love bites?

The coil of pressure within him grows even tighter even faster, balls slapping against your thighs, hips pistoning rhythmlessly.

If he asked, oh-so-nicely, for you to get on your knees and please him with your mouth, would you oh-so-sweetly do it? Would you suckle his swollen tip? Would you tease him with a glint of mischief in your eyes? Would you find his most sensitive spots and exploit them? Would you trace your tongue along the veins? Would you massage his balls? Would you let him control the pace, a hand intertwined in your hair? Would you look up at him as you tear up, doe-eyes wide and eager to please? Would you rub your pretty pussy while he shoots thick ropes of cum down your throat, pressing your nose against his pelvis?

Yes, he decides as the coil begins to snap, you would.

Chrollo comes to a sudden halt, choking out a rich groan in a low timbre. The noise becomes more strained as he rides out the high, the overwhelming euphoria becoming just a bit too intense as it begins to morph into overstimulation. Once he’s sure the moment’s over, he lets go of your legs, pulling back to catch his breath and admire his work.

Ropes of cum paint your chest, some making it as far as your neck, your chin. It’s beautiful, the unruly mess he’s made - no, the mess you’ve made of him.

You’re a real beauty, you know that?

The bathroom tiles are cold against his feet as he grabs a washcloth to clean you up. It’s sad to see it go, to a primal extent, but it’s probably for the best to ensure he doesn’t get any ideas for a second round tonight.

For future nights, though? The chest he’s covering up will soon be exposed soon enough.

He’ll have to get more sleeping pills. You simply must try this again soon. 

Next time, he’ll taste you. The time after that, you’ll taste him. He can hardly wait, nor can he stop the dull throbbing starting up in his groin again.

He sates himself for the time being with the knowledge that the time after that, you’ll be awake.