#and i already had an awkward interaction with them earlier today where i misheard them and fucked up my words n shit

[lesbianpegbar]

woke up at 7 am worked until 7:30 pm went home got harassed by a big group of guys then just wanted to take a shower and sleep but got locked out of my room for an hour. peace and love on planet earth

[softinkshadows]

running into adultrio for the first time (x female reader) (3/3)

disclaimer: this is a feels fic CHROLLO The melodic sounds of pop rock from the speakers are louder this evening, over the clink of beer bottles and rowdy conversation. Propping your chin with one arm on the pub counter, you scan the sparse crowd - sure enough, business is slow today. Even the cigarette smoke which usually cling obstinately to the walls feels more distant. As expected of the Halich festivities, where most people in Saherta would be home with their families. For a small establishment like yours, in a town just on the eastern outskirts of the Gordeau desert, this means an early closing day. You are itching to get some rest tonight after handling the merrymakers in the past week leading up to the festive season. It is almost 6pm, you note, your eyes wandering across the pub. There is just a table of three regulars, and a man sitting alone in the far right corner near the windows. He looks slightly out of sorts, dressed in a long purple coat, his black hair combed back but slightly tousled. You can’t see his face properly now, but you recall the unusual cross tattoo on his forehead and the way he came in earlier, silent with the tell-tale shuffle of a worn traveler. You were a bit annoyed that he only asked for a glass of water before taking his seat, not budging an inch. Strangely, he seems preoccupied with the decorations on the wall, in particular the large and fading world map placed amongst photographs and notes from customers.  “Sweetheart! The tab please!” You hear a familiar yell that jolts you out of your thoughts. You stride over to the table of the three, late middle-aged men who are already slightly tipsy from all the drinks. “Hope you gentlemen enjoyed,” you hum cheerfully, collecting the cash. As you bend forward to clear the bottles, you feel a hand on your lower back moving down to pat your bum cheekily through your skirt. Internally, you roll your eyes. You immediately brandish the dagger sheathed in your belt and stab it right between the fingers of his other hand resting on the table. You move so fast that no one has the time to react, but you sense the man in the purple coat look up and glance your way. “How many fingers do you want to lose this time, Hanz? Shouldn’t you be getting back to Lina now?” you retort teasingly, used to your regular’s drunk antics. The table breaks out into hearty laughter as Hanz turns sheepish, and they shuffle out of the pub to return to their families for the night. You gather up the empty bottles and bring them to the counter, before turning down the music. Now it is just you, the yellow glow of evening light slanting through the dusty windows, and the strange traveler in the corner. “Hey,” you say as you walk over, wiping your hands on your shirt, “I’m closing up. You don’t need to pay for the water, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” You notice the slightest shift in his eyes to the sheathed dagger around your waist. Then, he looks up and you meet his gaze for the first time. He is extremely good-looking for a traveler, and the light scuff marks around his cheek somehow accentuate his attractiveness. His dark grey eyes are undeniably beautiful, but something about their intensity catches you off guard. His eyes are alluring, almost calculative, but they harbour a flicker of vacant sadness. It’s the latter that stirs something in you, and against your better judgement, you ask, “Do you... need help with anything?” “I am just travelling through the area, but I am looking for a place to stay the night,” he explains pleasantly, smiling slightly. His tone is friendly and warm, you’d dare say even charismatic, but your gut tells you that something is off. You spend a few seconds wondering about sending this dangerous-looking man out into town, rapping on the doors of houses filled with elderly and young children for the holidays... Here, it was just you. You could probably handle him. And it’s been many years since you had company on an occasion like this. You sigh deeply. “If you don’t mind sleeping on a couch, you can stay at my place. It’s just upstairs. Every other home will be packed today.”  ---- “Here you go. There’s nothing much,” you say as your swing open the door to your apartment. Thankfully you didn’t make much of a mess, save for some books left open on the sofa. The deepening orange glow of the sunset filters through the glass doors to the balcony, and your apartment appears cosy. The simple furnishings, the small table near the open kitchen, and the few cutlery by the sink only serve as an indicator that you live alone, and coming home to this sight every day always tugs at your heart slightly. You hear the click of the door closing shut behind you, and you wonder why the man hasn’t as much as said a word.  You walk to the kitchen counter, intending on offering him a drink, when you register a sudden flash of movement. You feel the dagger in your belt being pulled out swiftly, so quick that the hair on your neck stands on end, so quick that you don’t even have the time to feel shocked, as it is immediately followed by the telling rush of air as the blade swings down above your hea- your instincts kick in, and you turn around rapidly, missing the blade by a few inches, ducking fast before pinning the man to the kitchen table with his arm twisted behind his back. All is silent except for the clattering of the dagger to the floor.  “Listen, you piece of shit,” you growl fiercely. “I didn’t bring you up here so you could kill me. Here, you’re my guest, and I am your host. So you better start treating me like one.” You’re not sure why you’re hesitant to finish him off, but you release him. He turns to face you, rubbing his wrists, and in his dark eyes you notice a glint of intrigue. Somehow, he looks impressed. “I apologize for my rudeness,” he says with an amused chuckle, his previous innocent demeanour falling away. From this short interaction you can tell he is incredibly powerful, but you are not going to let it faze you. You pick up the dagger and place it back in your belt, giving him a glare.  “The least you can do now is help me with dinner. You haven’t had anything to eat didn’t you?” The man looks at you stunned for a brief second, a puzzled look crossing his face, before he relaxes. “Alright,” he relents, removing his coat and draping it over a chair.  You find yourself trying to stifle a laugh as you pan fry some meat, watching the man clumsily washing vegetables at the kitchen sink, his long fingers peeling and prodding the lettuce leaves without much experience. He doesn’t speak much, you realize, but you notice his eyes wander to the meat cleaver on the counter. “Don’t even think about it,” you snap, and you see a smile tug the corner of his lips. Later, you have dinner outside on the balcony, overlooking the glimmering lighted windows of other homes in the town. Beyond it the large rolling sandy hills of the desert. On most days you’d feel a crushing sadness being on this balcony as the past creeps back upon you. But tonight, it feels bearable. Your look to your side at the man eating in silence, looking out to the view occasionally, his eyes glazed with pensiveness and slight discomfort. He catches you looking at him. “The food is not to your liking?” you asked, preparing to be offended. “No, it’s just... this is new to me,” he replies. “What is? Eating?” you snort derisively. “Being taken care of,” he replies so softly you think you must have misheard. Your cheeks feel warm, and you grumble in your own awkwardness as you collect the plates and head back inside.  “Earlier on, why did you let me stay?” he asks, following you. You let the water from the tap run over your fingers absentmindedly before falling to rinse the dishes below. “Even after I tried to kill you? Aren’t you afraid not knowing what I could do?” You hear his voice coming closer, now a shade darker. “Who knows...” You turn off the tap, sighing, then turning around. “What more can you possibly d-” He grips your wrists firmly and pushes you against the counter, his knees between your legs pushing them slightly apart, making you lean back to maintain your balance. His face presses close to you, lips almost touching. The suddenness of intimacy sends a shiver up your spine, and for a while, you’re speechless and confused, searching his gaze for answers. “I could take you, like this, right now,” he murmurs, his warmth breath fanning your face, and for a moment you feel your desperate loneliness rush into your chest, lightheaded and heavy with want. You could kiss him now and not care what happens later. You could let him ravish you without a thought, graze your body with his lips and hands in places you’ve long craved for...Then you notice his eyes, lidded, sultry, but beneath it a pained undercurrent of emptiness. The rippling desire in you begins to fade, and you understand. “I’m a killer and a thief. Yet you still help me, and you don’t even know my name.” He whispers, his hands not letting go of yours. “You never asked for mine,” you reply, looking straight into his eyes. You both stay like this for a while, in silence, though it feels like he’s on the brink of saying something more. Then, he pulls away. For the rest of the night, you and him barely talk. He spends some time checking his phone, reading the books you left on the sofa, while you clean the dishes, shower and make some preparations for the pub tomorrow. Every now and then he gets up to help you wiping the dishes, or carry the laundry to the balcony.  When it is time for bed, you watch as he removes his shirt swiftly, before lying down on the sofa.  “Goodnight,” you say softly, turning into your bedroom. “Goodnight,” he replies, not looking back.  The events of the day and the past week catch up to you, and exhausted, you fall asleep almost instantly. You don’t notice when he comes into your room in the early hours of the morning. It is still dark, and his footsteps are quiet so as not to wake you up. You don’t notice as he bends over at your sleeping figure, gazing with fondness. “It’s Chrollo,” he whispers. He leans in closer, and cups his hand around your face. You shift and mumble a little in your sleep. He smiles to himself before placing a kiss on your forehead. He knows you aren’t listening, but says it anyway. “Wait for me.” Then he pulls on his coat and heads out the door, leaving soundlessly into the cold, dark morning as the first slivers of light begin to break across the sky.