#Hunter x Hunter x reader

[cheenapri]

Transactional [Yandere Illumi Zoldyck x Reader]

Day two + three

Summary: It is now day two (and three) of the trip and you are very adamant on ruining the experience; Illumi doesn’t take too kindly to that.

Word count: 14k

Notes: yandere, kidnapping, gender neutral reader, unhealthy relationships, unbalanced power dynamics, mentions of past abuse, Illumi tweaks tf out, lots of arguing, reader is a huge brat and gets put in their place

Day one

Taglist: @lilyalone @yamekocatt

Something feels off.

You’re reluctant to leave your workplace once again, staring out the window and into the shadowy abyss before you. There were a few parked cars and the road was lit up with flickering street lights, making it look like something out of a horror movie. Those lights have been broken for some time now; they should really consider fixing those. 

You worked overtime again, wanting the extra funds so you could join your friends at an upcoming concert. You originally had no intentions of going, figuring it wasn’t worth it since you didn’t care for the artist too much. They kept hyping it up, however, eventually making you give in and start working extra hours in order to pay for the expensive tickets. 

You didn’t know the consequence of doing so would be encounters with crackheads after work. 

You bit your tongue. You shouldn’t have declined that ride from your coworker earlier, but you wanted to take a quick trip to the grocery store and didn’t wish to inconvenience them further. You did have your own car, but it was at the shop at the moment as something mysteriously damaged the engine and rendered it unable to start. This forced you to walk to and from work for the last week. You sigh, your hand hesitating for a moment before you pull on the door handle and step out into the crisp night. 

It’s rather quiet.

You cautiously look around before you begin speed walking; taking a brand new route despite how unconventional it was. Unfortunately, they always seem to find you no matter what.

Not even five minutes have passed before a taxi beeps and pulls up next to you, the driver’s movements stiff and puppet-like, his eyes vacant as he smiles creepily at you. 

“It’s d-dark out… n-n-need a ride?” his speech was somewhat slurred.

This was the fourth time this week a taxi had summoned itself, the driver attempting to coerce you to hop in. You glare at him, pace quickening even further as you look for a way out, your hand slowly gripping the switchblade hidden within your coat pocket. 

“It’s f-f-free of charge… just w-wanted to m-m-make sure you go-got h-home safe… You have s-s-someone waiting for you?” he says, still slurring. 

It was always the exact same stuttered lines: state that it’s dark, ask if you need a ride, state that it’s free of charge, pretend to be concerned about you, then ask if there’s someone waiting for you.

You felt as though you were in some sort of simulation; to say it freaked you out was an understatement. 

“I’m calling the police.” you say as you bring your phone out and dial the emergency service. If he were following the same script as the others, calling the police would cause him to drive off.

He doesn’t though, he must be going off script today. 

He lingers far longer than the others have, driving as slow as your quick walking speed, jittering and jerking the steering wheel to avoid running into parked cars, expression in an almost trance-like state as he keeps his smile. He doesn’t react to you telling the dispatcher about your current situation, slowing the taxi even further when you try to linger behind it in order to give them the license plate. 

“Do you h-have any… romantic interests?” he asks, the sheer audacity of this question caused your jaw to drop slightly. When you fail to answer in a timely manner, he keeps going. “W-What about exes? Do you… have any of those?”

You sneer at him once you finish giving his description and your current location to the operator. The person on the phone sounds a bit indifferent as they inform you that a police car is on the way and that you should try to move to a more populated area. 

“You live alone… d-don’t you?” 

You hadn’t even realized he was still talking. 

“Fuck off!” you shout at him, tightening your grip on the switchblade. You were beyond tired of dealing with these creeps. What did they want with you? You glare at him, eyes catching the gold piercing on the left side of his head — a strange place for a piercing.

Right as you were getting ready to bolt, a cop car suddenly pulled up; it’s red and blue lights causing the taxi to speed off into the night. It came unnaturally quick, but you didn’t think about that fact. You were already frantically recounting what had just happened before the male officer could even get out of the car, clearly distressed and completely forgetting about the dispatcher still on the phone. They soon hang up when the officer informs them through his radio that he’s arrived.  

He took your statement after calming you down and offered to give you a ride to the grocery store as you were still insistent on going. Your heart rate slowed once you reached the safety of the store, the presence of other, hopefully normal, people gave you a sense of relief. Rubbing your temples as you enter the store, you take your time gathering your items, picking up a few extra snacks to help relieve your stress. 

You call an Uber to pick you up as you don't want to walk home anymore, the driver was a kind older woman who advised you against being out so late despite its hypocrisy. You rushed inside once you reached home, your dog greeting you with a wiggly dance and tappy paws.

Something still felt off. 

You won’t be working overtime anymore, you’d have to cancel those concert plans. You sigh as you kick off your shoes and place your purchases on the counter. 

Your dog whines.

You walk over to the back door and open it, watching as they cautiously step out and quickly relieve themself before practically running back in, their fur standing on edge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you crouch down to pet them, trying to soothe them of their worries as well as your own. Your paranoia made you think the taxi driver was out there.

They only whined again, large eyes staring at you before darting to the living room window, their tail no longer wagging. You stand up and go to wash your hands, hoping they’re just hearing the neighbor or some critter of the night passing by.

You make dinner, giving yourself and your pup something gracious to comfort the both of you before starting your nightly routine. 

Your dog is growling at something. 

You step out of the bathroom and head downstairs, confusion on your face as you watch them pace back and forth from the living room window to the kitchen window.

You head to the back door, hoping letting them out to investigate would calm their nerves. Opening the door only seemed to make it worse, however, as they began barking, tail tucked between their legs as they backed away from you. 

Concerned, you decide to call the police again. You’d been calling them since your second encounter with the taxi drivers, your fears never being dealt with, the officers doing nothing but telling you that they’ll “take your statement and check for the taxi around the neighborhood” and to “call back if something happens.”

You’ll be found dead if this keeps up.

A female officer and her male partner arrive and you immediately explain your earlier encounter, telling them about the weird questions you’d been asked, the driver trailing you for a whole block, and the other police officer taking your statement. 

“Could you check around my house? My dog has been on edge since I got home and I’m afraid he followed me here.” you plead, not sure you’d be able to sleep tonight if they didn’t give you a peace of mind. 

They agree to check, leaving you anxiously waiting by the front door with your pup by your side. After a few minutes, you faintly hear a slight commotion, causing your heart to drop and your dog to bark. 

You continue to stand there, unsure of what to do. After a few more moments, the doorbell rings. You’re slow to open it, only sighing in relief when you see it’s the officers once again. They appear to be fine, though they look sluggish all of a sudden. The female officer informs you that it was just a raccoon hiding within the old grill out back, her words slurring and her eyes droopy.

“Oh?” you nervously chuckle, eyebrows wrinkled with worry. “Was that all?”

“Yeah… it was j-just a biggg raccoon… We’ll take your s-statement and ch-check for taxis around the n-n-neighborhood… C-Call back… if something… happens.”

There goes that exact same line again. As they slowly turn around and begin to leave, something within the female police officer’s hair reflects the porch light for the briefest of moments. You’re confused and shut the door immediately. Your hands are on your hips as you look down at your dog, worry still on your face. You let out a huff, choosing to return to your nightly routine as there wasn’t much else you could really do right now. 

Your dog has quieted down as the night progressed, much to your relief. They haven’t barked for a few hours now and slept peacefully at your feet in the living room. You’ve been talking with your friends, getting their advice about the whole situation and agreeing that you needed to find a better place to live. You hang up the call after a while and look down at the fuzzy creature by your feet. You give them one final pat before heading off to your bedroom upstairs, turning off the lights as you make your way up. 

You leave your bedroom door slightly cracked in case your dog chooses to come up and sleep on your rug. You glance over at the window — the moonlight seeps into the room, perfectly illuminating your face. 

It’s rather quiet.

You don’t know how long you’ve spent laying in bed, scaring yourself as you think about today’s   events, but you eventually fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow you could start looking for a new place to live. 

…

Something feels off.

You’re awoken, a bit groggy as you wipe your eyes. It’s still dark outside. How long were you asleep for? You give your eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness, turning over on your right side.

…

Your heart jumps into your throat, all traces of tiredness instantly leave your body as you stare up in horror at the featureless, black figure standing next to your bed. 

“Don’t scream and I won’t kill you.” it warns.

Your breath hitches, you couldn’t scream even if you wanted to. What the hell is that? You scoot away from it, nearly falling off the bed in the process. 

You swallow hard, “What are yo-“

“Be quiet.” its voice was low and smooth, a complete contradiction from its appearance. “You really love making my job harder, don’t you? Why couldn’t you just get in the car the first time, hm?”

You don’t answer. Your heart was beating rapidly. You can’t read its expression, all you see is it’s big, black eyes looking down at you. You couldn’t make out any attributes of the figure, it was like one big, black blur in an almost humanoid shape. 

A few moments of silence pass as it simply stares at you, as if thinking about something, the room slowly filling with a black mist. Your eyes quickly dart to your bedroom window then back at the monstrous entity. Maybe if you’re fast enough, you could jump out the window-

“Don’t even think about it.” it takes a single step toward you. “Things will go much smoother for you if you come with me willingly. If you so choose to be obnoxious, however, I will knock you out. You have five seconds to decide what you’ll do.”

“Y-you better leave this house right now, or else I’ll call the police!” your stuttering foiled your already awful bluff. It was close enough to do whatever it wanted to you before you could even reach for your phone. What the hell was the police supposed to do about this thing anyway?

It only tilts its head, large eyes staring eerily at you. After a few moments of silence, it finally spoke, “Very well.”

You scream as it charges at you, blacking out instantly as the black mist completely engulfs the room.

.

.

.

You scream and flail your arms as if you were being attacked, eyes shooting wide open in the process. Your breathing is heavy like you’d just ran a marathon; sweat beads form on your forehead. It takes a couple seconds for you to calm down, coming to the realization that it was only a nightmare. 

A nightmare regarding a memory rather.

Your breath is shaky as you sit up on your elbow, leaning over the side of the bed. You felt nauseous, anxiety bubbling within you as you tried to control it. You look up towards the bathroom door, then towards the TV in front of the bed, then finally towards the man sitting upright behind you.

Looks like you’re still in a nightmare.

You let out a frustrated groan, throwing yourself back onto the bed and covering your face with your hands. In your daze, you had forgotten where you were, only to be harshly reminded upon locking eyes with Illumi. 

“Good morning.” Illumi starts with his typical flat tone, observant of your quick shift from disorientation to exasperation. “Are you comfortable?”

“In a way.” you mumble, closing your eyes as you try to fall back asleep. You didn’t feel like having to deal with him first thing in the morning. 

He continues regardless, “You sound uncertain.”

“The bed is comfortable, yes.” you mumble yet again.

“But there is something you’re uncomfortable with, right?”

It’s him.

You let out another groan as you knew he’d keep questioning you, wanting you to explain all of your answers in explicit detail while not understanding your point behind them. You take a second to stretch before propping yourself up on your elbow once again and looking back at him.

You were skeptical about this unusual attitude of his, thinking it was a new manipulation tactic he’d randomly thought of trying. You’re curious as to how long he’d let you push him over, though.

“Were you watching me sleep all night?” you ask. Your tone hinted at a bit of annoyance which caused Illumi to tilt his head slightly.

He admits casually, “Yeah.” 

If there’s one thing you appreciated about Illumi, it was his honesty. His ability to nonchalantly admit to anything he was willing to answer both amazed and frightened you. 

“No wonder I had a nightmare.” you say, looking away from him. It took everything in you to say something so blunt, so confidently. 

Illumi doesn’t respond, confused by your sudden shift in attitude. You’d just woken up and you were already trying his patience. He keeps his attention on you, watching as you throw the blankets off and slide out of bed. You stretch yet again, back turned to him as you do so. 

“I’m hungry.” you state in an almost entitled tone.

“I’ll tell them to begin preparing breakfast now. You should freshen up in the meantime.” 

You take a deep breath. “Are you dictating what outfit I’m wearing today as well?”

Again, Illumi doesn’t respond — you turn to look when you hear the bed creak, a tad bit worried he was on his way to rip your head off. You knew you wouldn’t even have time to react if he was, though. 

He slowly walks to the wardrobe, shuffling through it for a moment before retrieving an outfit. You notice that he’s already dressed, he must’ve gotten ready while you were sleeping then hopped back into bed so he could continue staring at you.

What a creep.

The outfit was catered to your taste, but it clearly had a touch of his inspiration written on it from how… tight fitting… it appeared to be. You look at the outfit with disdain, allowing your facial features to tell him just how you felt about it. 

He’s indifferent to your scornful look, however, only staring back as he waits for you to take the outfit. He wasn’t changing his mind about this. You’re reluctant but you snatch the clothes from him, nearly stomping into the bathroom. 

The outfit turned out to be more tight fitting than you had anticipated. You hate him. 

You eventually come out of the bathroom, ignoring the way Illumi’s head immediately turned in your direction, and move to sit on the lounge chair.

He was on the phone, presumably calling the butlers to prepare today’s events — eyes still lingering on you as he spoke with them. He hangs up after a minute, fully turning to look at you. 

“That outfit looks great on you.”

You look away from him, eyebrows furrowed. “It doesn’t need to be so snug.”

“It suits you.”

“Of course YOU like it.” you roll your eyes at him, quickly getting tired of his ogling.

He takes a moment to eye you further before speaking, “Let’s go.”

You follow him out of the room and down the hall, that surreal feeling from last night returning once again. As you walk into the main section of the hotel, you instantly notice a huge lack of butlers. 

“Where did everyone go?” you ask, still looking around for other souls. 

“I told them to stay out of view since you have a tendency to stare.” he simply states, staring forward as he leads you down the halls.

You scoff at him. If anyone had a tendency to stare, it was him since his unblinking eyes never seemed to leave you. It was perspicuous that he didn’t want last night’s dinner experience to take place again, only wanting your attention on him and him only. 

“You know,” you suddenly speak up, voice a bit louder than usual, “If you truly want my opinion on things, l'd say you’re failing in terms of atmosphere. It's not normal for a place as busy as a hotel or a restaurant to be so devoid of other people, it makes it feel as though you and I are having a standoff.”

Illumi doesn’t acknowledge your comment right away, only continuing to stare forward as he attempts to process your audacious attitude. You already knew why he was doing it like this: he wanted to keep you away from what he deemed as “distractions.” you were smart enough to recognize and deflect his manipulative tactics to the best of your ability, which is how you’ve managed to retain your sanity for this long. 

You know he loves you — obsessed rather — although incapable of expressing it in a healthy manner. He arrogantly assumed you'd reciprocate the feeling with time and some gentle conditioning, but you never did out of spite, preventing yourself from falling for him as a way of fighting back. Not that you could fall for him anyway. He was far too rough with you, especially when he first brought you to the estate. He didn’t know how to handle someone so fragile, breaking your wrist when you swung on him and crushing your throat when you cursed at him. 

It took a while before you found out why he’d taken you, connecting the dots when he casually mentioned one day that he felt drawn to you before summarizing the five months he spent stalking you. He referred to you as his spouse once, but you were more of an experiment to him in the beginning, his feelings towards you cementing as time went on, confirming to him that he was indeed in love with you. You took advantage of that to the best of your ability, enticing him occasionally, giving him a false sense of your affections when you really wanted to avoid punishment, even if it didn’t always work out in your favor. 

“You’ve woken up in a bad mood, you’re just being grumpy.” Illumi finally responds.

“I’m not being grumpy. You may be used to being alone, but I’m not. For me, the lack of people takes away from the experience, it makes it hard to focus.”

Illumi swiftly glanced down at you before looking forward again, expression remaining neutral. You were dancing around the subject, hiding your true intentions under the guise of helping him improve the atmosphere. 

“I see, but I don’t think exposing you to the public would be ideal.”

“Ideal for yo-”

“Ideal for us.” he corrected, putting emphasis on the word “us.” 

Your attempts at persuading him into taking you somewhere more public wasn’t working, in fact, you were only succeeding in annoying him. Perhaps you were being too ambitious right now. 

“Surely not.” you mumble mainly to yourself, folding your arms as the two of you continue to make your way through the hotel. 

You reach the restaurant and sit at the same table, last night’s rose petals and candles still present. The butlers were nowhere in sight and there was a partition put up to block your view of the chefs. The glass wall was also covered with a thin drape, allowing light in but not see-through enough to give you a clear view of the people below.

Pay attention to him. 

“So uh,” you begin, feeling awkward as you try to get used to his direct staring once again, “what are we doing today?”

“We’re doing what I’ve planned.” Illumi states, not elaborating.

You attempt to pry for more details. “Could you be more specific?” 

“No.”

What a jerk. 

Despite the day just starting, the two of you were already getting on each other’s nerves. Since you can’t look out the window to distract yourself, you ultimately decided you would interrogate him in an attempt to fully understand the situation you were in. 

You take a long, deep breath before speaking. “You know,” you start, looking directly into his eyes, “I’m curious to know what made you decide to do all of this, did you watch some cheesy romance movie or did someone give you the idea?”

…

After a few moments of silence, Illumi slowly blinks at you. This was the first time you’ve seen him blink, mainly because you tend to avoid eye contact with him. He was caught off guard by how you directly questioned him, your bold confidence as interesting as it was concerning. 

“I was not inspired by anything. This is a simple product of my own ideas.” he stated, eyebrows slightly raised.

That’s doubtful, though you knew he wasn’t lying. 

“I see… men in romance movies typically don’t kidnap their partner, it was foolish of me to think you’d be inspired by that. Perhaps you were inspired by a horror movie?” it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact as you spoke, trying your best not to react to his silent indicators screaming at you to shut your mouth. You’d already dug yourself a hole, however, may as well keep digging. “Tell me, what inspired you?”

He’s glaring at you now, slight but noticeable. 

“Like I said, there’s no outside inspiration. I chose to do things this way on my own volition.”

“And that’s exactly why I described it as the ‘typical Illumi experience.’ it’s empty, devoid of life, and unnerving.” you say boldly.

His glare disappears, his neutral expression returning as he slowly tilts his head to the side. 

“‘Empty, devoid of life, and unnerving,’” he repeats slowly, “quite a descriptive set of words. Is it truly that way for you?”

“Yeah, I thought I made that clear by now.”

He straightened himself, blinking slowly once again. “It’s unfortunate to hear you see it that way.” 

His voice feigned politeness, turning his attention to the food now being brought to the table. The presence of the butlers doesn’t stop you from retorting, however.

“I gave you a clear solution to help you improve but since you’re so focused on isolating me, you won’t hear it.” you narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t respond until the butlers have left the room entirely. 

“Is your solution to see other people?” he finally responds in an almost sarcastic tone.

You hated the way he worded that. 

“Yes, the place is empty.”

“It’s not empty, we’re here.”

“We are two people.”

“The butlers and hotel staff are here.”

“Paying guests,” you were becoming annoyed with his intentional stupidity. “people from all walks of life who just want to enjoy some time at the hotel with us. You know what I meant.”

“You should eat before it gets cold.” he looks down, picking up a fork and beginning his unnatural eating habits. You don’t heed his indirect warning to drop the subject, however. 

You continue, “Tell me why you won’t.” 

He doesn’t even look up at you, pretending you hadn’t even said a word.

You speak again, determined to keep going until he gives you an answer. “Give me a reason.” 

“Drop it.” he replies after finishing his plate.

“I won’t until you give me a reason!”

“The reason I chose not to have people here should be evident.”

“And it should be evident as to why your little date with me is a waste of time! You refuse to listen to me at all!”

Illumi is silent. He didn’t like your tone. Your words got to him more than it should and he couldn’t understand why. He was doing everything he could to make this date go smoothly and you were doing everything you could to make sure it wouldn’t.

He didn’t like how aware you were — how aware of him you were. You should have given into Stockholm syndrome months ago, yet here you were forcing him to actually try to earn your affections. Him. A professional assassin who was raised for the sole purpose of killing, whose soul was filled with nothing but darkness. You had made it clear that he could rip you away from your past life, torment you, and force you to go out with him, but he couldn’t force you to love him. Genuinely at least.

Illumi wondered if he should even continue trying…

No. He’d put too much effort into this to call it off. You were just looking for a reaction, that’s it. 

The thought that you wouldn’t be resentful had he taken a healthier approach to your relationship does not cross his mind. In fact, his mind is clear as he gazes upon you, no emotion present on his features. 

You slowly began to eat once it was apparent the topic wasn’t up for discussion anymore. At least the food was good, even if it failed to distract you from the near deadly tension in the air. His presence felt more suffocating than normal, though he wasn’t releasing aura, causing you to quickly eat just so you could get out of here sooner.

He makes no move to stand nor does he speak once you finish, making you awkwardly sit before him a little longer. This was your fault. You should’ve just shut your mouth. The effects of his staring was taking its toll on you the longer you sat there. 

“What’s the plan? Are we going back to Kukuroo Mountain now?” you ask. As much as you hate being in that room, you’d prefer your solidarity over this.

Illumi doesn’t reply, only turning his head slightly before standing and beginning to walk out of the restaurant. He didn’t feel the need to explain anything to you, leaving you to figure it out through his actions. You considered staying seated, but ultimately got up to follow him, knowing that’s what he expected of you. 

You trail slightly behind him as he leads you out of the hotel and into the parking lot, a black Mercedes truck parked just outside the entrance. He opens the passenger side door and just looks at you, not even bothering to give you a verbal command or even a gesture. You stare at him for a moment, wanting to irritate him, before climbing inside and buckling yourself up. 

You stare at the hotel as he walks around and hops into the driver’s seat. He soon begins driving. He appears to have a destination in mind, not Kukuroo Mountain as he’s driving opposite of when you were first taken to the hotel. 

He’s not a quitter, unfortunately. 

He was taking you to a grand mall, one he, of course, cleared out. He still wanted to please you despite your earlier ungratefulness, or so he convinced himself.

The ride was soundless. He chose not to turn on the radio. His eyes unmoving as he stared straight ahead, left hand on the wheel while his right hand sat dangerously close to you on the armrest. 

There were a few more Mercedes trucks within the mall’s parking lot; you could see there were butlers inside as Illumi drove past them, the pink haired butler from yesterday making direct eye contact with you through the windshield of her car. He parked, glancing at you for a brief moment before moving to open the driver’s door. 

He climbed out of the car while you stayed put, you watched as he circled around the front to come open your door. You wished the car had magically started itself and ran him over. You take your time unbuckling yourself, sighing before taking his hand as he “assisted” you out of the truck. 

He led you inside the mall, stopping once you reached the middle of the food court. It was completely empty, just as you’d guessed. You look around as he stands there, staring down at you. Your uncomfortableness is evident as you awkwardly shift your weight and fiddle with the hem of your shirt. 

“You’re free to begin shopping.” Illumi finally stated, giving you the go ahead. 

You gave a quiet “oh” before looking ahead, hesitant to take a step. You genuinely didn’t even feel like moving, not wanting to participate in his plan to keep the date going. Eventually you begin walking, figuring since you were here, you’d get some stuff to entertain yourself with back at the estate. You felt no interest in visiting clothing or jewelry stores considering Illumi would police when you wore whatever you got.

“This is so ominous.” you mumble, hands in your pockets as you walk through the food court and into the main shopping section of the mall. You were curious to know how Illumi did it, how he was able to almost completely clear out all of these places. Did he strike a deal with the owner? Did he kill them and take over the place? You turn towards Illumi, “How come all these big places are so empty? What did you do?”

“Does it matter?” his response was quicker than you’d anticipated. He didn’t appear to be upset though, maybe you could pry some details out of him.

“Did you kill the owner or something?” you look back at him as you’re trailing ahead slightly, his eyes meet yours for a moment before looking forward again.

“That would’ve been the cheapest route, but no.” Illumi admits. “I didn’t kill them.”

“So what did you do?”

Illumi is silent for a moment, as if contemplating something. He then says, “I rented the place for a period of time.”

“You rented this entire mall?!”

“I did. For two hours to be exact, so make the most of it.”

He chose to humor your questions. Good.

Your pace is slow as you walk, taking note of how certain stores were closed down. The accessible stores contained a couple butlers and a store clerk, the butlers standing directly in front of the checkout as if trying to block your view of the clerk. You continue to peer inside but make no effort to actually enter any of the stores. 

You tried to the best of your ability to ignore Illumi’s looming presence behind you, finally entering a store that caught your eye. It was a store that sold adult craft projects ranging from diamond art, to crochet, to even DIY houses similar to the greenhouse you had. 

You quickly look around. You felt invisible, but under a microscope at the same time. The clerk looking down from what you could see of them, the butlers occasionally glancing at you with their stoic expressions but ignored your presence for the most part, and, of course, Illumi gazing directly into your soul. Examining a diamond art kit, you check the price tag out of habit.

“You shouldn’t worry about the tags.” Illumi’s voice scared you a bit despite how gentle it was. 

He’s right. You shouldn’t worry about the price tags. 

You grab as much as you can hold, almost considering buying out the entire store, but not wanting to be questioned as to why you wanted ten of the exact same craft. 

As you approach the checkout with the items in hand, the two butlers gently take them from you and proceed to purchase on your behalf.

You stand and stare at them while they do their job, Illumi placing a hand on your shoulder and nudging you back, “You don’t have to wait for them to finish.” Illumi spoke as he watched the butlers. “We can go to the next store now.” 

You don’t respond to him, side stepping out of his hold and walking out of the store. As you enter a video game store, you purchase, or rather the butlers purchased, several games, most of which you’ll probably never even play but interests you enough to grab. You’ve kept your back turned towards Illumi the whole time, a privilege only a select few could enjoy, wanting to keep him out of your line of sight as much as possible. 

“You’re acting strange.” he stated as he followed you out of the store, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m just trying to enjoy myself.” you said, head lowered as you walked.

“You’re deliberately avoiding me.”

You stare down at your feet for a few moments before responding, “You're like an entity that only I can see whose sole purpose is to haunt me.” your tone was indifferent as you continued to stare down, an echo accompanying your footsteps while silence accompanied his own. “I feel like you're not even real and I’m just hallucinating.”

Illumi didn’t understand what it was you were talking about, and neither did you really, his eyebrows slightly raised as he fully turned his head to face you. 

“I’m very much real.”

“That’s the issue.” you close your eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. Which was truly better? A real person tormenting you or a hallucination tormenting you? Illumi had no words for your comment — he turned to face forward again, eyes leaving you for much longer than they ever had since you entered the mall. “I don’t even know why you’re dragging this out, it was doomed from the start.”

He’s quick to respond, “Was it? Or are you just intent on being difficult?”

You can sense a ping of his aura, causing you not to respond further. You stop walking, you’re now at the far end of the mall standing next to the escalators. You watch the moving stairs for a bit before looking up into the skylight. 

The slight humming of the escalator was strangely comforting — the sun shone perfectly down upon you, bathing you in a warm light. You looked down at your feet once more; you felt like crying. The nostalgic feelings you were trying desperately to repress were becoming too much to bear. 

Illumi watches, studying your strange behavior as you stand there with your eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” Illumi asked after watching you for almost a full minute. 

You consider ignoring him, but you can still sense him releasing the tiniest amount of aura.

“A skylight in my room would be nice.” 

“Your room is underground.” Illumi stated matter-of-factly. His response was quick, almost as if he’d predicted you’d say something like that.

“You’re more than capable of giving me a room above ground then installing a skylight.”

“I am.” he gave you a subtle side eye. He indeed had more than enough funds to make your new room, he just didn’t like the thought of giving you one. He assumed it would give you ideas, ideas he didn’t want to have to severely punish you for. 

“So do it.” you open your eyes and look at him, meeting his black, empty ones. 

“Your current room is sufficient enough.” he retorts.

“I like natural light, Illumi.” 

His aura is no longer present, his shoulders dropped slightly. He continued nonetheless, “You can survive without sunlight.”

He won't budge on your request. He saw nothing wrong with keeping you in a windowless room and having you take vitamin D supplements. This was normal to him after all. 

“Anytime I request something that would genuinely make me happy, you dismiss it immediately.”

“Your requests tend to be quite ridiculous.”

“But renting a mall isn’t?!” your voice was getting loud, you were frustrated with him. “You’d rather spend all that extra money on bullshit than something that would actually make me happy?!” 

“This date was supposed to make you happy. In fact, everything I do is for your well-being.” Illumi spoke slowly, making sure to look you dead in the eyes as he said this.

Despite your outburst, Illumi remained stoic. Not a trace of annoyance or even irritation within him, he was completely neutral.

Deep breath in, hold it, breathe out slowly.

You turn on your heel, walking past him and back towards the food court. You stop near the exit doors, peering out the glass and into the parking lot. 

“I’m done shopping.” you were beyond finished with this. 

You wish he never came up with this pathetic little date idea and just left you back at the estate. You hated the constant mind battles between the two of you; you were mentally exhausted and just wanted time away from him to reset, preferably the rest of your life. 

“We’ve been here for thirty-five minutes. We have about another hour and twenty-five minutes to shop.” he says casually. You don’t respond, only glaring at him before looking out into the parking lot once again. His eyes continue to linger on you. “You should shop some more.”

It was clear it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. 

“Save your money-” you attempt to argue, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about my money. I’m telling you to continue shopping.” he spoke, signaling he was slowly becoming a bit irritated despite his very, very calm expression. 

“I already got what I wanted.” you glare at him again.

You knew exactly what you were doing. You were intentionally rushing so you could leave sooner and waste the money he’d used to rent the mall.

He was aware of this. 

“Do you not know how to enjoy yourself at a mall? I’m giving you a great privilege here.”

“It’s hard to enjoy a mall under these circumstances.”

“You’re just being difficult.” Illumi retorted, trying to make it seem as if your unhappiness was your own cause. 

“That’s NOT-”

“Watch your tone.” his voice sounded menacing, causing you to shut your mouth immediately.

His aura returned, his patience was running thin. You’re quiet for a moment, glancing out into the parking lot and daringly taking another step towards the doors.

“Can…” your voice is low as you speak, “can we just go back to Kukuroo-“

“Let’s continue shopping.” Illumi cuts you off once again.

You’re not daring enough to take another step, let alone actually make your way through those doors, as much as you want to. You continue to stand there despite Illumi’s request. Would you even be able to open the door before he grabbed you?

Your question was unfortunately answered when he moved swiftly and stood directly in front of you, basically teleporting before you. He cupped your face just as fast in a firm, almost tight hold, forcing you to look up at him. His hands were surprisingly warm.

“(Name).” he’d drawn out your name in a sickeningly soft tone, his eyes failing to match the gentleness of his voice. It was a sight you didn’t want to behold. You step back, to which he lets go, and turn to proceed back into the main shopping section. His eyes linger on you before he clapped his hands together once, all traces of aura instantly vanishing. “I’m glad you’ve decided to enjoy this experience further, (Name).” his voice was still soft, almost cheerful as he followed close behind you. 

Your heart is still beating rapidly as you walk through the mall, slowly taking your time exploring each of the stores. You don’t buy anything though, you were simply staring at the merchandise as if they were artifacts in a museum. Illumi starts pointing out things you’d like, or rather things he’d like on you, when you fail to make a purchase after the third store. 

Only an hour remaining.

You began staring at items for far too long, attempting to shave off as much time as possible, ignoring Illumi when he asked if it was something you wanted. He bought them anyway so it didn’t matter. He began purchasing anything you stared at, annoyed but not commenting on your stubborn attitude.

Only thirty minutes remaining.

As you walk the halls, you choose to stop and examine a statue you’ve passed at least three times. Illumi stands awfully close to you.

“You’re testing my patience, (Name).” he says. You don’t feel his aura, thankfully, but you knew you were pushing him too far.

“I don’t know what you want-”

“You know exactly what I want.” he slowly brought his hand to rest on your shoulder. You don’t sense any hints of mischief behind it, but you knew better than to trust it. “I thought this would’ve been a nice way for us to bond, but, of course, you’re obstinate.”

“Bond?” you ask, voice somewhat soft from the threat of his hand on you.

“Yes.”

“How?” you asked. Despite being held captive for months, you still fail to fully understand how Illumi thinks. You can feel his grip on you tighten slightly before resting once again.

“We bond whenever we are with each other, that’s how it works.”

You’re too tired to correct him, not that he’d understand anyway. “Tell me,” you start, “what is the purpose of this, Illumi?”

“This is the second time you’ve asked me this.”

“You never answered why you’re doing this, you only stated you weren’t inspired by anything and chose to do this on your own free will. I’m asking you why you’re doing this.”

Illumi is quiet for a few seconds before responding, “I wanted to spend time with you, that’s all.”

“Really?” you questioned.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” you brought your hand up to your chin, trying to think of a possible ulterior motive. There was definitely more to this, but you couldn’t think of what it was. 

Only twenty-seven minutes remaining. 

“We don’t have much time left here. I believe it would be wise for you to do what I expect of you.” Illumi states as he removes his hand from your shoulder.

You go along with it, just wanting to get it over without being overwhelmed by Illumi. 

One minute remaining.

You half assed the last twenty-six minutes of shopping, but it was good enough for Illumi. He didn’t complain, or speak at all really, as he watched you hand the butlers random items you’ve picked up.

Once that was done, he led you outside and back into the truck, a weight being lifted off your shoulders when you felt the wind blow against your skin.

You didn’t bother asking him about the next location, knowing he wouldn’t tell you. He put on some music this time; he must be feeling better. 

Your tiredness instantly evaporated once you realized he was driving into the city, other Zoldyck trucks joining and forming a motorcade around the two of you. 

The car comes to a stop on an empty street, your eyes scan the butlers standing guard, locking on the pink haired one for a split second, before moving to the blockades blocking off side streets. Illumi does his chivalry deed before walking you towards the bus stop. 

Your head doesn’t stop swiveling, turning towards the buildings, to the lake, to the butlers, to the birds pecking at the ground, to the approaching bus. 

“Is this a tour bus?” you ask, instantly recognizing it as you’d been on one with your friends before. 

“Yes.” he responds flatly. 

As the bus pulls up, you get a good look at it. It was a big, red double decker bus, the windows a little too tinted to be legally owned by any company. You’re a little quick to climb inside once the doors open, it was empty aside from two butlers seated at the very back.

“Can we sit on the roof?” you ask, wanting to feel the breeze on your face but also wanting a vantage point to scout for other signs of life. 

“No. Sit here.” 

Illumi doesn’t offer any reasoning, only pointing to a row of seats on the right side of the bus. You take the window seat and Illumi sits next to you, caging you in.

Perhaps you should’ve let him take the window seat instead.

There’s a screen in front of you playing a pre recorded audio commentary as the ride begins, it was the only voice heard within the bus. Your heart sinks a little when you see people walking about and civilian cars waiting at intersections. It was a normal day for them. 

You look forward, then behind you, ignoring Illumi and the butlers’ curious eyes, as you confirm that the bus indeed was part of another motorcade. You slump slightly, looking out the window and at the curious faces of pedestrians completely unaware of what was going on. 

You had barely caught anything the audio commentary had explained about the various landmarks you’d passed, too busy reminiscing on past times to even care. The bus had done a full loop around the city, soon coming to a halt at the bus stop it picked you up from. 

Instead of walking you back to the truck, Illumi holds your hand, correctly this time as he didn’t give you time to freak out, and walks you to a nearby grassy area along the lakefront. His hold was a little tight.

There was a large blanket set out underneath a lone cherry blossom tree, Shiori setting down a singular basket, bowing to the both of you, then leaving. 

You both settled onto the blanket, Illumi sitting unreasonably close despite the vast amounts of space. You allowed yourself to relax a bit regardless, taking in the view of the lake mixed with the falling cherry blossom petals. You paid no mind to Illumi as he fumbled through the basket, using hand sanitizer but not offering you any.

He carefully unpacked the contents, laying out a meal too small to be enjoyed by two people. You silently glance over at it before looking forward again. The view was nice, various skyscrapers and buildings lined the horizon, and a few clouds decorated the big, blue sky. 

It was silent, you and Illumi haven’t spoken to each other since you got on the bus — it was better that way. Illumi savored your docile demeanor, content that you were finally relaxing around him for once. He wasn’t fixated on you surprisingly, only gazing upon the city view before him.

You’d sat there for about ten minutes, relaxing enough to shut your eyes as you envisioned yourself in another place, before Illumi finally spoke up, “Aren’t you going to eat something?”

You slowly opened your eyes, looking at the mini meal sprawled out on the blanket, then at the fork Illumi held tightly before closing them again. 

“No.” you said simply. This was a trap.

Illumi tilted his head as he looked at you. “Why not?” 

“Why aren’t you eating?” you question him instead. “You’ve been holding that fork for a while now, and yet you haven’t reached for anything.”

You were suspicious. This was a one person meal and Illumi was holding the only fork you could see yet made no move to use it. This could only mean one thing.

“This is for you. I’m not hungry.”

You sit upright. “Where are all the forks?”

“In my hand.” he stated nonchalantly. “What would you like to eat first?”

You were becoming nervous. “Just give me the fork.” you state, holding your hand out to him. 

“What would you like to eat first?” he repeats, looking down at the options before him and ignoring your hand.

“Please don’t do this to me.”

“You will eat the chicken Alfredo first.”

You retract your hand as he reaches for the chicken Alfredo, opening the container and allowing its savory scent to escape. You watch in horror as he collects a few noodles onto the fork and holds it up to you. 

His intentions were clear; he was going to feed you.

“I can feed myself.” 

“I know. Open your mouth.”

“Illumi-“

The fork was shoved into your mouth, the prongs hitting the back of your throat and causing you to choke. You cover your mouth when he pulls the fork out, coughing through your nose as you collect yourself from the sudden assault. At least the chicken Alfredo was good. 

“Hopefully you’ll listen this time. Come.” 

He scooped more noodles and chicken onto the fork, holding it out to you again. You glare at him before complying, allowing him to feed you gently this time. The cycle continues until the entire meal is gone, leaving only empty containers. 

He didn't say anything else once he was finished, but you noticed a slight smile on his otherwise expressionless face. He was happy. Very, very happy. 

Both of you sit in silence for a while, Illumi enjoying your presence and you ignoring his. Eventually he stands up, motioning for you to follow. He leads you back to the truck, performing an unneeded act of chivalry as he helps you inside, before pulling onto the road, the same Mercedes trucks driven by Zoldyck butlers surrounding the vehicle once more.

Illumi had one more activity planned for the day, one he was sure you’d love: a botanical garden. He had a slight smile on his face as he drove, eyes never leaving the road but he was definitely paying close attention to you. 

It took a short while, but he eventually reached his destination, quickly helping you out of the car before guiding you through the gates and into the garden. He seemed quite eager. The garden was huge, so he expected the both of you to be there for at least two hours, walking and analyzing all the different plants.

You were partially in higher spirits as you took in the different sights and smells, your facial features softening slightly. You were docile as you followed Illumi throughout the garden, engaging in conversation with him about all the different plants. He educated you on the purposes of different plants, ones that healed, ones that calmed, and ones that were extremely toxic but had a sweet, almost candy-like flavor. You don’t question him about that. 

He felt like he was truly bonding with you for once as you engaged with him. There wasn’t an ounce of negativity within you as you walked beside him, though you weren’t exactly beaming and doing heel clicks. You were calm; that was enough for him.

The sun had set and the moonlight bathed the garden in a white glow, fireflies fluttering about in the near darkness. You two had already begun the long walk back to the entrance a few minutes ago, silent as you listened to the chirping of numerous crickets and other critters. 

“It’s nice being able to enjoy nature like this.” Illumi stated as he stared ahead. 

“Yeah.” your tone was indifferent. “I used to go on walks like this all the time, but then something really unfortunate happened.”

“Hmm.”

Illumi only gave a simple hum in response, not wanting the mood to turn unpleasant so suddenly. Thankfully you didn’t say anything else to force an argument, quiet as he led you back to the entrance and into the car. 

The drive back was smooth, the only sounds being heard was the humming of the engine and the soft music coming from the radio. He takes you to the restaurant upon entering the hotel and dinner was just as quiet. You must be too tired to challenge him as you simply stare down at your plate. Good. He was finally able to enjoy a meal with you without getting a headache.

After dinner, he took you back to your shared suite, both of you showering before hopping into bed. You immediately roll onto your side, facing away from him as you try to escape into a deep sleep. He’s sat up in bed though, silently staring at you. 

The curtain covering the balcony door was partially opened, allowing the moonlight to flood the room and perfectly illuminate your figure. The sight causes him to reminisce for a moment.

“You were happier today —” Illumi spoke, voice a bit soft, “in the later half at least.” he’s silent for a moment as he thinks to himself. “I want to discuss something before you nod off.”

“Mhm.” you lazily hum.

You’d contemplated ignoring him in hopes he’d think you were sleeping, but you could count zero times that actually worked for you before. 

“Despite the rocky start… did you enjoy yourself today?”

He was seeking reassurance. He was being vulnerable. 

You’re in no rush to respond, allowing the silence to linger longer than he’d like. You think of all the different types of responses you could give him, ones that would please him enough to get him to shut up, ones that would severely upset him, and ones that would probably lead to him laying hands on you. 

“Would you enjoy doing your favorite things with someone who torments you?” you ask, ultimately deciding your answer would be up to Illumi. 

“So you enjoyed it? That’s good to hear.”

You don’t bother to correct him, knowing it would lead to a back and forth that would never conclude. 

Illumi, on the other hand, is completely satisfied, despite misinterpreting the true meaning behind your indirect answer. He was convinced that, ignoring your earlier defiance, today had been a total success and a step forward in the right direction. 

He’d only hoped he could make even more progress with you tomorrow.

.

Day three

.

Illumi rises very early, as he usually does, and gets himself ready for the day. His movements are silent as he walks about the suite, putting his clothes on, combing his hair, and more. He stands next to your side of the bed for a moment, gazing down upon your sleeping face and admiring your relaxed features.

He stares for way longer than he intended to before quietly making his way out the suite and to a secluded area. He makes a long phone call before returning to the suite and sliding back into bed, sitting upright as he stares at the blank TV.

You stir three hours later, yawning and stretching before sitting up. You wipe your eyes then look back at Illumi.

“Morning.” he greets.

“Hi.” your voice was softer than you meant it to be.

“Sleep well?”

“Mhm.”

You slide off the bed and head to the bathroom before he could ask you more pointless questions about how you slept. You complete your morning routine, taking a moment to stare at yourself in the mirror, before opening the bathroom door and standing in the doorway. Illumi slowly looks over at you. 

“When are we leaving?” you ask, wanting to limit the amount of time spent locked in an enclosed space with Illumi. 

“Whenever you’d like.” he responded simply.

You silently maintain eye contact with him for three seconds before making a request, “I want to pick my own outfit today, Illumi.”

Illumi taps his chin as if contemplating before sliding off the bed and heading toward the wardrobe. You watch him from your spot in the doorway as he lays multiple outfits out onto the bed, all featuring short sleeved tops and shorts coupled with some form of sandals for shoes.

“Take your pick.”

Sometimes you wonder if he’s intentionally misinterpreting you just to play mind games or if he’s really that unaware. You know it’s the latter, though. 

“This isn’t what I meant.” you state as he stares at you.

“You said you wanted to pick your outfit. I am giving you options to pick from.”

You decide not to fight it as this was the most control you’ve had over your own outfit in several weeks. You pick one that seemed to have the least of his inspiration and head to the bathroom with it. 

Illumi watched as the door shut behind you, clueless as to why you still had a problem with him even when he let you do what you wanted. He doesn’t dwell on it, packing the leftover clothes back into the wardrobe and calling the butlers to prepare breakfast. 

Once you were done and ready, he escorts you to the restaurant as usual. You feel a ping of unexplainable dread bubbling within you, but don’t think too much about it, chalking it up to the thought of having to deal with Illumi for yet another day for who knows how long. 

As you sit across from Illumi, you notice the rose petals have been replaced with fresh ones, some white and pink ones thrown into the mix. You fiddle with them as Illumi blankly stares at you. 

“We will be spending a lot of time outdoors today.” Illumi said. He figured he’d be the conversation starter during breakfast today as yesterday’s breakfast conversation led by you turned out to be very unsavory. “It’ll be good for the mind.”

“Yeah, I bet.” you continue fiddling with and even slowly tearing apart the rose petals. 

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing?” Illumi inquired.

You don’t even look up at him. “What’s the point?”

“Do you not want to know what we’re doing today?”

“It’s not like you’d tell me anyway.”

“How do you know?”

You finally look up at him. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“I’m not. I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

You’d prefer if Illumi just kept his mouth shut as you weren’t in the mood for his pathetic attempt at a conversation. 

“For what? You’re not the talkative type.”

“I just wanted to talk.” he simply states. His voice had been slightly softer as he spoke with you.

“Is this another bonding experience of yours?” you mock, mentally rolling your eyes. 

“Yes.”

Of course he doesn’t sense your sarcasm.

“You know,” you start, noticing how Illumi stiffened slightly. “You know” was always your way of starting an argument. “communication in a healthy… relationship… is key. If you truly wish to bond with me, you’ll tell me everything you refused to tell me before.”

“I’ve already been doing that.” he states, referring to all the tiny bits of information he’s given you the last couple of days. 

“There is something bigger I want to know, something you’ve been refusing to talk to me about since you took me.”

Illumi looks down at the pile of mangled rose petals in front of you before looking back up into your eyes. He could already predict where you were headed with this and knew it would most likely lead to something that would put the progress he believed he made with you in jeopardy. You were simply seeking some sort of approval from him to talk, though.

“I’m not interested in this discussion.” Illumi boldly replies, the softness in his voice long gone. 

“It’s the least you could do, Illumi.”

“No.” he didn’t budge.

“You’re only going to end up sabotaging yourself.”

Illumi’s eyes narrowed at your subtle threat. You were basically telling him that if he didn’t have this conversation with you, you’d make the date hell for the both of you. 

“There is nothing positive that could come from this discussion; therefore, I see no reason to have it.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” Illumi says boldly. You were slightly taken aback by how quickly and effortlessly Illumi pinned the blame onto you, completely believing he’d done nothing wrong. “I see no point in giving you the chance to start unneeded drama.”

“You don’t need to give me the chance, it will happen regardless. I’m throwing you a bone by trying to settle things in a civil manner.” you say, watching as his eyes narrow even more.

“There is nothing to settle. Nothing will change whether you know or don’t.”

“You’re obligated to talk to me at this point.”

“I’ve been talking to you this entire time, I’ve fulfilled that obligation. You’re only going to throw a fit and ruin what we have going on currently.”

“You think we have something going on between us simply because we didn’t argue for a few hours?” You mock, your balled up fists resting on the table.

“Yes.”

Your words are caught in your throat as you realize just how out of it he truly is. Two butlers come and deliver breakfast, gently setting the plates of food in front of you and Illumi. They quickly leave, probably sensing the tension in the air, and Illumi immediately begins eating. He’s eating much, much slower than usual, though. 

He’s staring down at his plate as he does so, avoiding eye contact with you and hoping you’d just drop it for his sake.

You don’t.

“What was… the aftermath of my disappearance?” you ask, carefully choosing your words due to past experiences with Illumi’s negative reactions. Usually bringing up this topic was punishable by strangulation. Illumi had only warned you once before not to ask him about it, not explaining why or what he’d do if you did, only leaving you to find out through trial and error. “I deserve to know that much after so long.”

The dread coupled with asking the forbidden question is building in your stomach. You instinctively hold your hands under your chin, preparing yourself in case your plan to hold this date over his head doesn’t work. 

He doesn’t look up at you, but he’s not eating anymore either. Illumi had his reasons for not wanting to talk to you about this. It wasn’t because he felt guilt or shame for what he’d done, no not at all, it was because he didn’t want to deal with your reaction to it. You were a screaming, crying mess back then and even though you’ve calmed down to some degree, you’re still quick to return to your old roots. 

He found you as fascinating as he found you irritating, no longer questioning why he couldn’t bring himself to just kill you and move on with his life. You were a breath of fresh air, someone who kept him interested, someone who kept him wondering, and someone who always managed to surprise him with how bitchy you continued to be.

The realization that you’d rather be stifled until you’re unconscious than favor his simple demand sinks into him. You truly are an unruly brat. He finally looks up at you, which causes you to stiffen.

“What do you want to know?”

Illumi was made aware that you’d never shut up about it, and he wasn’t fond of the thought of cutting your vocal cords. He caved into your threat, to some degree, thinking that if he chose his words carefully, he could make it out of this discussion with minimal damage. He’d just have to walk on eggshells for a few minutes, eggshells he put down. 

Your eyes widened slightly. Was he actually agreeing to talk with you about it?

“You’ll… you’ll tell me?” you ask, hands slowly coming down to rest on the table.

“If we can move forward quickly afterwards and you never bring it up again, yes.” Illumi responded, making sure to place clear conditions.

“I will, only if you answer all of my questions truthfully.”

“Understandable.”

Your heart was beating rapidly as you looked into his eyes, all questions you had about the subject nearly leaving you before you quickly collected yourself. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come. You open them again after a moment, staring straight into his black ones.

“Have you harmed any of my friends or family since you’ve taken me?”

“No.” his answer was quick and concise. You were relieved. 

“Was I reported as a missing person?”

“Yes.”

“Did you… influence my case at all?”

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly. Yes he was answering your questions, but he wasn’t elaborating. “What did you do?” you ask.

“I made sure your case wasn’t thoroughly investigated.”

“Could you be more specific? I want to know the details.” you say with a hint of irritation in your voice. 

“I paid detectives to ignore all the statements the police took from you and to limit how long search parties spent looking for you. You were concluded as a runaway.”

Your eyebrows furrow even more as you think how distraught your family must’ve been when you vanished, what they must’ve been thinking when greedy detectives fed them lies in order to make a quick buck. You hate him.

“Why me?!” you yell at him.

You were beyond fed up with this, beyond fed up with him. He tilts his head at you, expression neutral as he brought a hand up to his chin as if he was thinking. 

“Indeed. Why you?” he doesn’t say anything else as he continues to stare at you in that pose.

“Why me?! Tell me, why are you doing this to me?!”

He takes a moment to respond, “That is indeed a good question.”

“You don’t even know why, do you?”

“No. I don't.” Illumi admits casually. “But even without knowing, the need is still there.” He straightens himself again, hands moving to rest on his lap. "I originally intended to kill you. I thought you were using some kind of power to control me. Imagine my surprise when I found out you weren't a nen user."

“A nen user? What the hell is that?”

He doesn’t answer your question, only silently looking at you. When you fail to say anything further, he looks down at his plate and continues eating in his usual quick fashion. It’s over with. He’s relieved.

You ponder momentarily, looking down at the food before you as you contemplate what you’re about to say. It was a long shot, but did you really have much to lose?

“I want to talk to my family. I want them to know I’m still alive and well.” you say confidently, not a trace of fear in your voice. 

If Illumi wasn’t obsessed with you, he would’ve killed you right then and there for making such a stupid, ignorant request. His frustration is calmly taken out on the fork he’s holding, his tight grip bending the metal into all sorts of shapes as his neutral expression remains fixated on the plate before him. It was a terrifying sight.

“Absolutely not.” his voice is terrifyingly nonchalant. “This discussion ends here.”

His aura warns you. You don’t care, though.

“I want to talk to them.” you repeat.

“We are not discussing this any further. Eat your food. Now.”

“Why can’t I talk to my own family?”

Illumi looks up at you, you see something flash in his eyes. “If you talk to your family, they’ll come looking for you. And if they come looking for you, I’ll kill them. By keeping them unaware, their safety is guaranteed. I’m doing you a favor.”

Your hands balled into fists once more. “How?! How are you doing me a favor?!”

Illumi replies quickly, “By not killing them from the start.”

“How can you say that and expect me to be happy with you?!”

“Because they’re still alive.”

“And so that’s it?!” your voice is starting to get loud. “Because you didn’t kill my family, I’m supposed to love and accept you?!”

“Correct.” he states boldly.

His aura was becoming more suffocating despite his completely neutral demeanor. You grit your teeth in anger.

“You’re fucking insane!” you shout at him, slamming your fist on the table and causing your untouched drink to spill. Illumi watches as the reddish pink fruit punch soaks into the table cloth. “Why would I want to live the rest of my life with someone like you?! I’d rather you just kill me at this point, it would be mercy!”

This is why he didn’t want to have this discussion, you were forgetting your place. 

“Watch yourself, (Name).” he says as he looks up at you. “This is your only warning.”

“Fuck you.”

Illumi abruptly stood up, the force knocking his chair back a few feet. Your anger immediately vanishes, fear taking its place. He grabs your wrist tightly, yanking you out of your seat and dragging you out of the restaurant. He had enough, your audaciousness had gone unpunished for far too long. 

Your weak attempts to pull away were only met with him tightening his grip more, causing you to cry out. It felt like he’d crush your wrist if he tightened any more. The tears had already begun streaming down your face, but you refused to beg for forgiveness. 

He’d taken you back to the suite, practically throwing you on the floor as he slammed the door shut behind him. He stood there, staring down at you with a look that would normally kill. 

“I’ve been very patient with you, I’ve been very lenient with you, and I’ve been very considerate of you, and this is what I get in return?” he asks.

You remain on the floor, wiping your tear stained eyes before looking up at him. “I don’t owe you shit. You ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life? You don’t know what ruining a life even means.” he takes a step towards you. He was convinced he saved your life, saved you from what would’ve been a violent death. You don’t seem to understand the type of person he is. “If I really wanted to, I could make your life a living hell. You understand that, don’t you?”

You glare up at him, your intense hatred for him evident on your face. “I hate you.”

Such a childish response should not have any sort of effect on him, but it did when it came from you. His aura quickly became overwhelming, striking you with complete and utter terror as you lay frozen on the ground. His eyes wide, his pupils shrunken to dots, and his hair floating in the air. You’d activated his bloodlust. 

His aura reached far and wide, paralyzing the hotel employees and causing the butlers to think he’d finally killed you. 

“No, you don’t. You love me.” he spoke his words as if they were fact, something you could not argue with. He takes another step toward you, eyes boring into you. “Isn’t it funny how you beg for death yet freeze in terror when the possibility of death becomes a reality?”

His voice was unnaturally soft for the state he was in. He was happy, happy that your talk of wanting to die was nothing more than a bluff, a tactic to control him. You didn’t actually want to die, you were just overreacting.

After a few seconds, he calmed down. His face returned to his neutral expression, his long hair falling back down into place. It’s as if nothing had even happened.

“Hm…” he hums, looking down at your paralyzed figure on the floor. He ponders for a few seconds before suddenly crouching down, scooping you into his arms, and gently placing you onto the bed. 

Without thinking twice about it, he lays beside you, one arm awkwardly outstretched on top of you as his head sits atop of yours. He was comforting you, though he didn’t know it. He had gotten an uncontrollable urge to do so, one he’d never gotten before, and was in no state of mind to resist. 

He stares out the balcony door as you lay unconscious in his arms. This feeling was foreign to him, just as everything relating to you was. He couldn’t comprehend how he felt right now, but knew he was at ease as he absorbed your warmth and slight twitches.

Illumi doesn’t move at all as he waits for you to wake up, awkwardly sprawled out partially on top of you as he continues to blankly stare ahead. His mind was empty, he felt no desire to dwell on what had happened, only allowing time to pass as he accepted this bizarre feeling. 

You eventually begin to stir, but he still doesn’t move, only shifting his eyes to look down at you. You slowly sit up, groaning as you do so, and wiping your eyes in the process. His arm falls lower than you’d like, causing you to grab and remove it off of you entirely. Neither of you say a word, but the tension doesn’t feel as heavy as you’d expect it to be after something so traumatic. 

Illumi remains in his awkward position, watching as you slide off the bed and head to the bathroom. You stay in the bathroom for quite some time, your quiet sniffling and sobbing reaching Illumi’s ears. He doesn’t move to check on you, or rather put a stop to your crying, choosing to sit by and let you cry it out for once. 

He finally gets up after a while, thinking he’d given you more than enough time to recover and move on. He pulls out his phone, quickly texting Shiori, before moving to knock on the bathroom door. He casually states that the two of you will be leaving soon and encourages you to come out. 

You don’t respond but you do comply after a few minutes, eyes reddened and slightly puffy. He doesn’t comment on it, only silently walking you out the suite, outside the hotel, and into the truck once more. 

Despite almost brutally murdering you twice within a five minute time span and bruising your wrist, Illumi was nonchalant. He has the radio playing so he must be in a good, or at least neutral, mood. 

He parks near his next destination — the beach — and assists you out the car as usual, his hold much, much gentler than it ever had been. He continues to stand there after shutting the door behind you though, holding your uninjured hand and watching Shiori as she appears out of nowhere. Shiori doesn’t say a word as she gently takes your injured wrist. You don’t know what she does, but the pain and bruising is suddenly gone. She swiftly bows before leaving.

You’ve never verbally questioned her magical abilities but you mentally thank her as Illumi proceeds to escort you towards the beach. You think to yourself how strange this whole ordeal is but don’t feel the need to comment on that obvious fact, only remaining silent as he takes you over to two lounge chairs set up under a beach umbrella. 

You sit down, propping your head up on your hand as you stare out into the ocean. This was relaxing. Shiori appears once again, placing a pineapple smoothie inside of a hollow pineapple on the little table beside you before leaving just as quickly, a red umbrella and a swirly straw placed inside for maximum corniness. You ignore it. 

There was a surprising sense of tranquility within you as you sat in the lounge chair; the breeze felt nice, the sound of the waves was like a massage for your ears, and the occasional seagull noises gave you a sense of nostalgia. 

Your mind was calm, yet racing all at once, a feeling you were all too familiar with. You fully relax onto the chair, kicking your sandals off and turning onto your side — away from Illumi. You rest your head on your hands, shutting your eyes as the warm sun cleansed you of your stress. 

An hour passes, then two, then three.

“The view is nice.” Illumi finally speaks, continuing to stare ahead of him as he had been doing since he sat down. 

You don’t acknowledge him, not that he minded — for once — as he retained his calm demeanor. 

Illumi continued after a few minutes, ”We’re going to have dinner with my family back at Kukuroo Mountain tomorrow.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach. You immediately sit up, looking over at him for the first time since you came here. 

“What?!” you ask, clearly distraught over this unfortunate information.

Illumi turns his head slightly, shifting his eyes toward you as he repeats himself, “We are going to have dinner with my family back at Kukuroo Mountain tomorrow.” he turns forward again. “It’ll only be for a few hours, we’ll come back to the hotel once it’s over.”

“But-but why?”

“Because we have more to do here.” Illumi states. God, you can’t stand him.

You fully sit up in the chair, “I’m asking why are we suddenly having dinner with them when you’ve never introduced them to me before?” 

“They’ve been wanting to meet you since they found out about you, especially my mother.” Illumi taps his chin with his pointer finger. “I reached a compromise last night: you said the lack of people took away from your ability to enjoy time with me, and my family won’t stop pestering me about you, so by taking you to have dinner with them, I’m killing two birds with one stone.” 

Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the Zoldycks, at least his mother and father, had been extremely curious about you. Illumi had only mentioned you to his father when he was asking for permission to construct your living quarters near the Butler’s Quarters as well as when asking for his advice on courtship. The idea of Illumi being in love with someone completely caught the man off guard, but he gave Illumi what he wanted nonetheless. 

His mother found out when she questioned her husband about the construction workers, her jaw dropping dramatically before immediately bolting to find Illumi. She spread the news and hounded Illumi since then, never missing an opportunity to ask a question about you, which were all left unanswered, and even going as far as to harass Shiori and any other butlers who saw you in person. She never got the answers she wanted from them, courtesy of Illumi. 

His father, on the other hand, was patient and allowed Illumi to do his thing, thinking he was finally transitioning into the next stage in life. That doesn’t mean he didn’t order his loyal, pink haired butler to keep tabs on you, having her use her monocle to record her very rare interactions with you. He even had her join the large group of butlers Illumi took with him on his trip, giving him intel on what went on as everything unfolded.

Illumi was aware and assigned her with jobs that would keep her the furthest from you.

“What?! Why would they want to meet me?! Did you lie about me to make me seem cool?!” your voice raises slightly.

Illumi doesn’t react to it. “I only told my father that you were my partner, that’s it. I’m guessing he told my mother who then told everyone else.” 

Illumi didn’t want to introduce you too soon for one simple reason: you weren’t ready. He wanted you to be his happy, willing partner in everyone’s eyes, even those who knew better, and was concerned your lack of respect and unpredictable behavior would ruin that image. 

It made sense for them to be so curious, none of them had ever imagined Illumi of all people finding a lover and being so committed to them. They were intrigued and wanted to know who it was that Illumi thought worthy enough for his time, effort, and affections.

You’re clearly terrified at the thought. 

You sink back onto the chair, pulling your knees close to you as you think of all the different ways you’ll be humiliated and brutally tortured, how high their expectations of you must be, and how they’ll laugh when they find out you’re just a normal, average person. They probably thought you were also some kind of murderer, taking jobs and lives left and right. It was nerve-wracking.

“I don’t…” you start, “I don’t want to…”

Illumi looks over at you. “I did what you wanted, you can’t back out of it now.”

“Why'd you even bother telling me this? You never told me your plans before!”

“You said communication was key in a healthy relationship.” he answered.

You don’t say anything else to him. Whenever you thought you’d gotten the upper hand, Illumi found a way to counter it. You wondered if you would still have to meet his family tomorrow if you had kept your mouth shut the other day or if Illumi would’ve even told you about it if you hadn’t started that argument during breakfast.

He was taking you into consideration, just in all the wrong ways. 

The two of you sit in silence once again, your mind dreading tomorrow’s dinner and his mind as relaxed as can be. You continue to sit there for a couple more hours before Illumi announces it was time to head back.

Your mind never stopped racing, replaying thoughts of them attacking you over and over again. You don’t say anything during the car ride, you don’t say anything during dinner, which was much appreciated, and you don’t say anything as you ponder in the shower, only coming out after Illumi rushes you for taking too long. He slides onto his side of the bed after coming out of the bathroom, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. You were already tucked under the blankets, trying and failing to fall into a deep slumber as your mind continued to torment you with endless possibilities.

Illumi browses through channels until he ultimately settles on a random cooking show. He didn’t particularly care for it, only wanting something to fill the silence while he waited for something. You shift constantly before laying on your back, allowing yourself to watch as the contestants on TV failed to execute a successful dinner service, a British man pointing out all their faults and demanding they fix it. 

Watching the show eased some of your anxiety so you stay up for another couple of hours before you feel yourself beginning to drift off. You turn onto your side once more, getting comfortable as you try to fall asleep again. 

Illumi sees this and swiftly powers the TV off, completely turning the room pitch black as the curtain covering the balcony door was shut. He continues to sit up, however, eyes lingering on you in the darkness. 

He suddenly moves, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you towards the middle of the bed, wrapping his arms around you and causing all traces of sleepiness to leave you immediately. You shift once, slightly pushing against his arm. He only pulls you closer to him. You shift again, pushing harder this time. He only tightens his grip. He was getting way too comfortable.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your heart rate beginning to quicken.

“Holding you.” Illumi stated simply. 

It was clear by your body language that you were uncomfortable, body tense and stiff as you tried not to rub against him even more than you already had. He didn’t mind, though.

You internally curse him for spooning you as you now find yourself unable to sleep. You lay wide awake in his arms, too nervous to move due to how close and personal he was, but too uncomfortable to stay still either. You couldn’t help but shift a bit more, eventually finding a position comfortable enough to grant you the escape of a deep sleep. Illumi, however, remains wide awake, a slight smile on his face as he absorbs your warmth once again.

Tomorrow will be one hell of a day.

#yandere illumi #yandere illumi zoldyck #yandere hxh #hxh x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #hunter x hunter x reader #yandere scenarios #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter

[bwabys-scenarios]

NSFW

He likes to have control in the bedroom sometimes. His favorite way of going about this is having you sit in his lap cockwarming him. You can’t move, your plush thighs squishing together as he plays with your clit, making you cream on his dick until you’re BEGGING for him to move through tears

Eventually he might give in. You’ve been so good all night! Usually, he’s weak to you in the bedroom and will give you what you want quickly, but he takes his time tonight, rubbing circles into your clit.

“Shh, you can handle one more angel. You’ve been so good, you’ll get what you want soon.”

It’s so cute when you blubber about how much you need him and gently move your wide, plump hips against him. How can he resist his pretty angel when you’re begging for him?

After making you cum around him again, he lifts your hips and slams you down onto his cock, nearly knocking the wind out of you. You don’t complain though, you’re too busy moaning his name, your mind fuzzy from pleasure.

He’ll fuck you until you forget your own name, only able to whine and whimper as you take his cock. He can’t help but fill up your pretty pussy with cum, giving you creampie after creampie. There’s no way you’re getting out of this without getting pregnant. And maybe that’s what he wants, to see you with a cute baby bump! <3

————————

|| KURAPIKA|| LEORIO|| CHROLLO|| FEITAN|| GOJO|| NANAMI|| CHOSO|| GETO|| RENGOKU|| TENGEN|| GIYUU|| EREN|| ARMIN||

#x reader #anime x reader #headcanon #requests open #reader insert #hxh x reader #smut requests #hunter x hunter x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo x reader #kurapika x reader #leorio x reader #nanami x reader #choso x reader #chrollo x reader #feitan x reader #eren x reader #armin x reader #tengen x reader #giyuu x reader #x reader smut #demon slayer smut #aot smut #attack on titan #attack on titan smut #anime x chubby reader #chubby!reader #female reader #fem reader

[saturncodedstarlette]

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me?”

“Like he never wants to look away.”

#Original : King of Wrath by Ana Huang #divider by cafekitsune #Call of duty x reader #Jujutsu Kaisen x reader #Bnha x reader #Spiderverse x reader #Genshin impact x reader #Honkai star rail x reader #Resident evil x reader #Chainsaw man x reader #Obey me x reader #Attack on titan x reader #Slashers x reader #Haikyuu x reader #naruto x reader #x reader #One piece x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #Tokyo revengers x reader #Demon Slayer x reader #Bluelock x reader #My 2023 works #dialogue prompt #hazbin hotel x reader #1k notes #2k notes #3k notes #4k notes #5k notes #6k notes

[plussizeficchick]

Men that still get shy when you tell them how attractive they are to you :((

Their cheeks get all hot and flushed, they still get a weird, funny feeling in their tummy. They still try to cover their mouth to hide the bashful smile that makes it’s way to their face, but it’s fruitless because you’re always pulling that hand into yours, lacing your fingers together.

They still get flustered when you tell them that you want them to fuck you, that they’re so hot and you’re so wet, even though he hasn’t done anything to warrant such a reaction. He’s simply manspreading on your living room sofa, mindlessly scrolling through channels when you make yourself known on his lap.

It’s subtle, at first. You press innocent kisses to his cheek and he can’t help the quirk in his lip. The smile itching its way. You trail to his neck, kisses getting a bit slower, wetter. He’s not so sure it’s innocent anymore. You start sucking on his jugular and he has to grit his teeth to prevent the groan that’s aching to come out. And when you add teeth? He’s gone.

You don’t even have time to register before he’s got you pinned underneath him on the sofa, veiny hand gripping your throat to suck his own marks into the skin. “Can’t even relax on the couch without you trying to fuck me.” He tuts, annoyed, though you know he’s anything but. 

He grinds his hard length into you and you can’t help but moan at the delicious friction. “You just looked s’good. I can’t help it!” You whine into his neck, and he’s thankful you can’t see the slight blush that makes its way to his face.

He composes himself before deciding to take pity, pulling his shorts halfway down his legs while you pull your panties to the side. You’re both too eager so you settle for rubbing against each other. The head of his cock brushes your clit just right, and you’re so wet, he’s sure he could just slip in.

It doesn’t take long before you’re both cumming, your clit throbbing against his cock, while he paints your cute, pudgy tummy white. 

It’s just not fair, you make him feel like a schoolboy.

— TOJI, NANAMI, YUUTA, Geto, BAKUGO, Iida, Izuku, AIZAWA, Enji, LEVI, ERWIN, Reiner, Armin, IWAIZUMI, Ushijima, OSAMU, Tsukishima, RINDO, Draken, Giyu, SANEMI, ILLUMI, ZORO, Ace, LAW

#x chubby reader #anime x chubby reader #anime x black!reader #x black reader #bnha x chubby reader #anime x reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #bnha x reader #demon slayer x chubby reader #demon slayer x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #attack on titan x chubby reader #attack on titan x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x Hunter x chubby reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x chubby reader #one piece x chubby reader #one piece x reader

[ddarker-dreams]

Better The Devil You Know.

Yandere Chrollo x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, discussions of past minor character death, and descriptions of anxiety. Word count: 2.6k.

You awake to cold sheets and damp cheeks. 

It isn’t a peaceful transition into consciousness. You fight for each breath, a losing battle that swaddles your mind in thick fog. The vapors thin out as time drags along. It doesn’t dissipate in its entirety, preferring to linger and prolong your disorientation. 

You wipe at your face with your wrists, ignoring the sting accompanying the action. Hesitatingly, you appraise it in a ray of moonlight that snuck past the blinds. It’s clear, not crimson and thick. A normal product of a healthy body. You should feel relieved, you think. Every organ is as it should be. Your brain remains in your cranium, your lungs expand and contract, and your heart pumps, albeit at an alarming speed. 

It’s better than the chill of encroaching death. 

… 

You are alive, aren’t you? 

This question prompts an investigation. 

Nothing hurts. Your throat, maybe, but that’s a minor ache spurred from thirst. Your skin is warm and clammy. Peeling the comforter off, you squint, assessing your body’s condition. Weary eyes take in everything. Your socks, the lace trimming of your nightgown, its diaphanous midriff, then your chest. Everything appears in order.  

Would your incorporeal form accurately reflect your physical body? 

You shake your head. 

This can’t be heaven — no pantheon would be cruel enough to set the stage of your paradise with props from your captivity. 

It can’t be hell either. If it were, you wouldn’t be alone right now.

You blink.

You’re alone? 

Chrollo’s side of the bed is notably empty. He must’ve got up in a hurry, the sheets are in disarray. The adjoining restroom is dark and unoccupied, confirming he must be elsewhere. Your stomach churns. Determined to do away with this creeping anxiety, you get up, padding across the hardwood floor. 

The night gifts shivers and goosebumps. Wishing to ward off its unwanted advances, you wrap your arms around yourself. You pass through the door that connects to the common area. Although it’s dimly lit, you can tell he isn’t here. The attached balcony is similarly uninhabited. A quick foray into the study confirms your status; you’re truly by yourself. 

What should be a triumph or a relief delivers nothing but dread. 

You return to the common room to assess the situation. 

You’ve never been left alone before. Not without him telling you in advance, normally with a rough estimate of when he’ll return. There’s no way an important detail like that would slip your mind. At a loss, you dredge through your memories for some sign you may have missed. His voice pierces through your head like an arrow. You wince but ignore your body’s displeasure at anything associated with him. The unintelligible noises sharpen, forming consonants and vowels. 

The thrum of the air conditioner eases away. 

You’re left in absolute silence, until Chrollo’s voice fades away, replaced by another.

“... She was five or six, I think. Right around the age where you start losing baby teeth. There’d been this game she wanted and, y’know, kids aren’t rolling in cash. So she figured, what better way to pay for it than through the tooth fairy? I caught ‘er with my wrench, determined as anything, ready to speed up the process. It ended up being a little inside joke between us.”

Your lower lip trembles. 

“... That’s how she ended up getting identified. Her teeth, I mean. Wasn’t anything else left to go off of. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. A whole life she lived, sometimes getting into trouble, but mostly helping others outta theirs. And to have that— all that— reduced to just… just a couple, couple fuckin’— teeth? What kinda joke is that?”

You fill a glass with water until it overflows.  

“Hey, tell me. Has that fucker ever mentioned ‘er? … Probably not, right? Probably never knew she existed in the first place.” 

Head thrown back, you gulp down the liquid, fighting the lump that longs to form in your throat. 

“Who knows? Maybe I’m the one in the wrong ‘ere. Hell, you don’t look much older than her yourself. I don’t— don’t wanna hurt ya. But…” 

Tears prick the corner of your eyes. 

“There’s no other way to hurt him.” 

Someone’s beside you.

You can hear their voice, though it sounds like it’s coming from miles away, carried over by the wind. Warmth sears your bare shoulders. You smell the faint aroma of sandalwood and amber. It’s distinct, this cologne that serves as an ill-omen better than any blackbird or cracked mirror. You couldn’t scrub it from your memory if you tried. That, or the scent of old books, leather, coffee, and red wine. 

You dig your nails into something — fabric, perhaps — but nothing grounds you. It’s like you’ve been transported outside of space and time. Existing, yet far from alive. Your stomach falls while your head floats away. Up, up, up, lifting you higher and higher. From this impossible vantage point, you sway, your limbs gleefully ignoring every attempt to regain control. 

And there it is again. Your name echoes throughout the atmosphere, beckoning you to acknowledge the sound’s source. 

Maybe you should.

Even if you’ll come to regret it. 

When you first met Chrollo, his eyes stood out the most, like the universe itself deemed them worthy of veneration. You found the gray depths captivating. The undertone varied, you never could ascertain if they were a cool or warm shade. All you knew was that once they found you, they boasted a vitality siphoned at the expense of your own. 

Presently, they can’t. Their unwitting host has been exsanguinated. 

“Where were—” You silence yourself, aghast by the implication. 

You’d sought him out. So desperate for an anchor, you would’ve latched onto the culprit behind your drowning. There’s no doubt he’d find some twisted satisfaction in the accidental admission. You shrink away, but the solid counter presses against your spine, halting your retreat. He doesn’t advance, you’d barely created any distance. 

“There’d been something that required my immediate attention,” Chrollo answers your unfinished question. There’s no thinly veiled derision or curiosity in his voice. You miss the familiarity. “Does anything hurt?” 

It’s then that you recall your predicament. 

You’re on the kitchen floor, surrounded by scintillating shards of glass. A pool of water gathers to your right. Chrollo’s bent down before you, wearing a heavy coat and a tint of pink on his nose. He must’ve come from outside. He stares unblinkingly, awaiting your verdict, which you deliver by shaking your head. There’s a dull ache in your tailbone but you keep that to yourself. It’s awkward enough that he found you in this state. 

You’re sitting on the floor with one leg extended and the other bent at the knee, allowing your short nightgown to ride up. The compromising position stokes your embarrassment. You shuffle around to maintain some dignity. In doing so, you forget the pointed glass strewn about. Before you make contact, you’re hoisted up. Chrollo foresees your struggle and holds you tight enough to thwart its success. 

“You’re alright,” he reassures, his sincere gentleness unbecoming. "Everything's alright."

He places you down on the closest couch and sits beside you. While you regain your bearings, he shrugs off his jacket, then drapes it around your trembling form. His scent and warmth flood your senses. You consider throwing it off out of spite, only to decide against it. You’d be the one to suffer the most. Chrollo remains unusually silent as you cocoon yourself in the thick wool jacket. It’s big on you, but not big enough to swallow you whole like you’d prefer. 

“Should I grab your propranolol?” 

Another head shake.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Foreseeing your tepid response, he adds, “Verbally?” 

You clear your throat as quietly as you can. “I got thirsty.” 

“Hm.” 

You both know he isn’t convinced. It’d be easy for him to poke and prod until you revealed everything — intentionally or not — but his lips remain in a thin line. You shuffle in your seat. The fabric brushes against your wrists, eliciting a sharp inhale. The burn is short-lived yet the memories associated with it rage on. 

“... Chrollo?” 

He blinks, likely unused to the sound of his name on your lips. “Yes, love?” 

“If that man killed me, would it have hurt you?” 

A shadow falls over his visage, like a waxing crescent transitioning to a new moon. When you shiver, it isn’t from the cold. Dark hair frames a far darker expression. His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to see you better, beyond your flesh, at the crux of your soul. You await whatever comes next, returning his stare with equal intensity. 

Finally, he slowly replies, “Yes, it would’ve.” 

“Then why was it so easy for you to kill his daughter?” You ask, the words weighing heavily upon you. “You might’ve liked her, if you’d gotten to know her.” 

The man revealed enough for you to feel like you knew her. Lana Ellis — a woman with an iron will, sharp tongue, and golden heart. She’d recently been hired to work as a waitress at a business that catered high-end events. Galas, celebrity birthdays and weddings, those sorts of things. It wasn’t going to be a permanent arrangement. Lana planned to ditch the gig after saving up tuition money, where she’d then aim for a doctorate in veterinary medicine. According to him, he’d squandered her college fund after the unexpected death of her mother; his childhood sweetheart. He said he’d never forgive himself or the Troupe. 

“She wasn’t s’posed to have been there,” he wheezed. “She never should’ve been there…!” 

Chrollo shuts his eyes. “What are you getting at, dear?” 

His words come out light, though they’re anything but. 

“She could’ve been me.” 

“Yet she wasn’t.” 

“But—!” Your voice cracks, so you take a deep breath and try again. “You… you deprive the world of people you could’ve come to like, be friends with, whatever! All for stuff you eventually do away with. How is that… how can you…” 

Righteous anger suits you. It's a sword and shield that requires no skill to wield, reaching for the instruments have become second nature. Their effectiveness doesn't matter so long as you can hold onto something.

“You don’t need to understand.” 

This isn't a parry or pivot, he's disarmed you.

“Huh?” 

“Yes… if anything, it’s best if you don’t,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His eyes find yours again. “I can’t make sense of your empathy any more than you can grasp my lack of it. If I could, you’d no longer be yourself. Your self-limiting, bleeding heart should remain as is. It’s the one part of you I’ll leave untouched.” 

You don’t know what you were expecting. 

You slump back into your seat. “... Don’t you think you’re overestimating yourself?” 

“Hardly,” he replies. Then, in a softer voice, “You torment yourself, love. This—” 

He rests his hand over your heart.

“—Hurts you more than anything I’ve ever done. Yet you believe it unthinkable I’d do away with such an inconvenience.” 

“So you’re a coward,” you mumble. The insult is uninspired but it suits your purposes. “You can’t handle it, so you took the easy way out.” 

“Rationalize it anyway you'd like.” 

Chrollo reaches for your forearm and coaxes it into view. His fingers brush along your wrists, where the man’s restraints left rope burn behind. The irritated skin is slowly recovering. The deeper wounds, those without a cure, will linger after the surface heals. They’re etched into your bones. 

“Isn’t going against your morals worse than having none?" Chrollo queries. “That girl’s father knew you had no involvement in his daughter’s death. You’re an unwilling third party, same as she was. And he was ready to hurt you regardless."

Your mouth feels dry. “He didn't hurt me—” 

Chrollo raises an eyebrow, causing head to flood your cheeks.

“—All... that... much. I don’t think he was going to...?” 

“No, not until he was intoxicated enough to stomach it,” Chrollo retorts. “We’ll never know for certain, darling. Thankfully, I interrupted before it could get to that point."

That point, that point, that point...

What could that man have done to you?

Chrollo appraises you like he's yet to decide on something.

After a moment passes, he leans in, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your muscles stiffen as he pulls you close. He exerts none of the force you know him to be capable of. The gesture's languid nature gives the impression you could wriggle free if you tried. You don't test this theory. Chrollo's mood seems pensive, not amorous, hence your hesitant compliance.

He speaks your name. Then, he asks, "What's really bothering you?"

Biting your lip, you turn your head away from him.

He doesn't relent. "You can tell me anything, you know."

If you weren't so utterly exhausted, you might've laughed.

"You wouldn't be my first choice for a heart-to-heart."

"How about your second?"

You look at him like he's just suggested the world is flat. He smiles softly, allowing you time to think.

It's weird.

This is weird.

The lack of verbal finesse, designed to extract any emotion or confession he desires. You're used to his cunning, his depravity, his unfiltered self. You've come to expect it, as one would the sunrise and sunset. Briefly, you search for it. The expedition is futile. His normal tells are gone.

Truly, you could almost forget the imbalanced nature of this dynamic and pretend it's normal.

It isn't, however.

So you'll need to keep your wits about you.

"Could... er..." you trail off, uncertain of the best parlance, "Will something like that... happen... again...?"

The claustrophobia of being shut in a trunk. Blindfolded, hands and feet bound, gagged by a rag. Terrified and sobbing. Unable to breathe, unable to scream.

You feel as small now as you did then.

The man told you his reasoning. It tugged on your heart. Wringed the organ for everything it was worth. He deserved justice. He deserved revenge. At that lone instance, the playing field was even. The immeasurable gap in strength between him and the Phantom Troupe's boss meant nothing if Chrollo wasn't physically present. There was a chance for this bereaved father to return the pain unfairly inflicted on him.

But why on you?

Why do you have to be cast into hell for the sins of another?

And why was it so tempting to forgive the devil's transgressions against you, if he provided salvation just this once?

You don't know when you began shaking, but you do know it won't be easy to stop.

"You must've been scared," he murmurs.

This observation makes your throat feel impossibly tight, as if a serpent coiled around your neck. His eyelashes flutter shut and he rests his forehead against yours. He contents himself on breathing in your air while you wrestle with the odd intimacy of it all; this simplicity untainted by needling or provocations.

"I never make the same mistake twice," Chrollo eventually says. "In light of recent events, I've made it clear that you are off limits. Those who still wish to try their luck, well..."

The air itself writhes like a malicious entity. The sensation is brief, but the impression lingers, chilling you on a primordial level. You're reminded that his control, while impressive, isn't flawless. Every surface can fissure, allowing the noxious contents contained within to break free. This concentration of ill-intent isn't even focused at you. To be on the receiving end must be to face the inevitably of death.

"... They can be made examples of too."

Curiosity nips at your heels, demanding satiation.

Your part your lips.

Then his eyes reopen. They're dull, lacking any illumination, like light itself felt the urge to flee.

It's an understandable sentiment.

For that reason, you decide some questions are better left unanswered.

#chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #reader insert #yandere reader insert #my stuff

[tinfairies]

hxh adult trio eating 🐱 headcanons ? this is my first time ever requesting something and i love ur work sm 😁🫶🏽

Adult Trio Eating Pussy Headcanons

Illumi, Hisoka, and Chrollo x AFAB!Reader

Illumi Zoldyck

He approaches oral like how he approaches an assassination.

Assess the area, find a weak point, attack.

Loves spreading you open and watching your tight cunt clench around nothing.

He knows exactly what's gonna make you writhe and moan and squeal for him. Illumi also knows what's gonna get you to beg him for more.

He loves to be a tease, mainly because it gives him more time to taste you and breathe in your scent.

Tug on his hair. Do it. He'll go insane and suck your clit until you're squirting in his mouth.

Hisoka Morow

Such a damn tease. He wants you to beg for his tongue.

Loves the smell of your cunt, and will tell you. He revels in the way you get all embarrassed when he says how good you smell.

Laps at you like kitten drinking milk. Edges you until your legs are trembling, then completely overstimulates you by sucking at your clit and shoving his tongue inside you.

Hisoka will give you orgasm after orgasm, devouring every drop of cum you give him.

He expects to be rewarded for his kindness and will either fuck your twitching cunt or make you take his cock down your throat.

Chrollo Lucilfer

Despite his put together demeanor, this man eats pussy like he's starving.

He's so messy, but manages to lick and suck at every sensitive spot.

Chrollo would happily spend hours with his head between your legs, mapping out every inch of your cunt with his tongue.

He wants to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied.

He'll crawl up from between your legs to kiss you, cum and spit smeared across his cheeks.

It's definitely a delicious sight, seeing a man that's always so pristine, covered in slick with a blush across his cheeks.

#smut #headcanons #hxh x reader #hxh smut #hxh #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter smut #hunter x hunter #illumi zoldyck x reader #illumi zoldyck #hisoka x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka #hisoka morow x reader #chrollo lucilfer #Chrollo Lucilfer x reader

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Obedience Training.

Pairing: Yandere!Illumi x Reader (HxH).

Commissioned by the very lovely @h2o2-and-baking-soda.

Word Count: 1.6k.

TW: Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Physical/Psychological Abuse, Pet Play, Dehumanization, and Controlling Behavior.

The ring was beyond repair.

It was the ugly kind of damage, too – the gold chipped and dented, some parts entirely flattened while others had scratched and tarnished to the point of virtual unrecognizability. The jewel itself (a diamond the color of the sky just before sunrise and the size of the nail on your pointer finger) had been pried out of its casing and polished with the blunt side of the hammer you’d pilfered from collection of one of the more forgetful servants. Any fragments that might’ve been worth salvaging were then washed down the sink of your en suite, and the near-microscopic remnants glistened against the table’s dark mahogany – twinkling whenever they caught the ample sunlight.

It'd been his mother’s ring; albeit, one of countless. Breaking it in such an obviously deliberate way had been a stupid thing to do, and a part of you must’ve known that while you were doing it. A part of you must’ve basked in the idiotic rage of it all, must’ve been dying to see what Illumi would be like when he couldn’t hide behind those big, blank eyes and that unreadable expression. As hazy as it seemed, you could remember being excited to see how Illumi would react, what he thought he could do to you that he hadn’t already put you through.

Now, though, standing next to him as he evaluated the damage, watching as those dark, glossy eyes skirted from the splintered wood to the decimated ring to the sparkling residue…

You weren’t excited, anymore.

Several seconds passed in silent paralysis. Images of braided rope and rusted chains and broken legs flashed through your subconscious, but he managed to draw you out of your spiraling thoughts with a low hum, a startling click of his tongue. Finally, he turned toward you and raised a hand, and you braced yourself for the feeling his fist around your neck, two fingers piercing the fragile bone of your skull, his pointed nails clawing out your eyes and leaving you to ble—

His palm came to rest on top of your head, petting over your hair gently. “Sweetheart,” he muttered with a tone as warm and as affectionate as a corpse in a snowstorm. “Would you come with me?”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. You nodded, the gesture stilted and jerky, and Illumi offered an approving smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, letting his hand fall to your wrist. He pressed a lingering kiss into the top of your head before tugging you gently towards the door.

Neither of you spoke as he guided you through the halls of his mansion. Usually, you could count on running into one of the sociopaths that made up his family or a member of their bloodthirsty staff whenever you left your room, but today, his sprawling home seemed to be vacant, lifeless, as empty as the killers who dwelled inside of it. Steadily, you moved downward, the marble walls turning to rough stone, the filtered sunlight soon traded out for the artificial glow of dim gas lamps. He didn’t drag his feet or try to prolong your walk to the gallows, but he didn’t rush, either, didn’t seem to be in any rush to carry out your inevitably punishment. Eventually, he came to a stop in front of a simple wooden door – unremarkable in every aspect save for the deep well of dread it managed to dredge up inside of you.

With little ceremony, the door was pushed open and you were ushered inside of ahead of him. Your attention quickly fell onto the object most immediately in front of you: a dog crate.

It was almost shockingly mundane; not overly massive, but big enough for a large pitbull or golden retriever, the bars thin but close together and the bottom cushioned by a small bed with pink and white paw prints splattered across it. A handful of miscellaneous items had been laid on top of it. Your attention caught on the collar, first, the cutesy type with a bell and fake (or, knowing Illumi, very real) gemstones studded into the leather and a matching leash, and then headband with what couldn’t be—

Illumi moved past you, approaching the crate and taking up the undeniably, indisputably dog-eared headband. He turned it over in his hands once, then twice, before speaking. “Strip.”

It sounded like gibberish; partially muffled by the static buzzing over your conscious mind and made even more difficult to process by your own unwillingness to do so. “What?”

“Strip,” he repeated. “Or I’ll break every bone in your right hand.”

It was the specificity of the threat (paired with the implication that your left wouldn’t be long to follow) that had your shaking hands reaching for the hem of your shirt and hauling it over your head. You looked towards him for approval after every shed article, but he only seemed to notice your obedience at all when you stood bare and vulnerable in front of him, completely unprotected from both his prying gaze and the chill of the damp dungeon air. You started to move towards him, but he stopped you with a quick shake of his head, a new softness to his expression. “Kneel.”

With a shallow breath, you complied, lowering yourself onto your knees. Now, now, he took his time, his terrible eyes raking over your trembling form as he came to stand in front of you. The collar was fastened around your neck deftly, the leash allowed to hang loose and pool in your lap. He was more careful with the headband – meticulously lining it up with your ears, your face before sliding it into place with a satisfied hum. In a very distant, very muted way, you found that you were surprised less that your hitman-turned-kidnapper would have a pet play lair hidden away in some dark corner of his basement, and more that the aforementioned kidnapper would use that pet play lair to dress you up as a dog, rather than a cat. Illumi was as cat-like as a man could be – silent and skulking, prone to digging his claws into what he loved most – but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Cats were smart and sly and perfectly capable of surviving on their own, whereas dogs were stupid and clumsy and almost painfully reliant on their owners. People get cats because they want something that can choose to love them back. People get dogs because they want something that doesn’t have another choice.

“I--Illumi,” you managed, his name still awkward and bitter on your tongue. “I… I’m really sorry, and I’ve learned my lesson, and—”

One second, you were staring at his feet, and the next, your head was snapped to the side, a searing pain stitched deeply into your cheek. His open palm slipped downward, cupping your chin and tilting your head back, forcing you to face him properly. “Good pets don’t talk.” His tone was shockingly sweet, coercive, as if he was trying to explain something very simple to a very stupid child. “Good pets only follow commands. Can you do that for me, puppy?”

Tears were starting to gather in the corners of your eyes, a tight knot lodging itself at the base of your throat, but you did your best to keep both at bay. You started to nod, then thought better of it, straightening your back and squaring your shoulders, trying to communicate the only thing you could seem to think – please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me – without giving him a reason to land another blow. In the end, he rewarded you with the ghost of a smile, his free hand held in front of your mouth. “Good puppy. Now lick.”

You hesitated, but the steady ache pounding in your cheek was enough to make you swallow your pride. Your tongue darted out from between trembling lips, and with no small amount of trepidation, you lapped over the back of his closed fist. He let you begin to pull away before moving – before forcing two fingers into your open mouth and pressing the pads of his digits into the back of your throat. You gagged, your body instinctually recoiling, but he didn’t relent, his thumb digging into your jaw as he held you in place. Your hands shot to his thighs, the tears you’d forced back resurfacing and flooding down your cheeks, but he didn’t budge, didn’t pull away until you were gasping and breathless and utterly humiliated. Finally, he drew back, wiping his spit-soaked digits on your shoulder as his eyes moved from your open mouth to your hands, still balled around the fabric of his pants. “I have something upstairs for those,” he said, voice dripping with all the warmth and affection he usually denied you. “I’ll forgive you this time, puppy, but good pets shouldn’t be able to grab.”

He reached down, taking you by the leash. You were too detached to resist as he half-led, half-dragged you towards the crate. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from shaking your head, from stammering out little ‘no, no, no’s as his fist curled around your collar and forced you past the metal gate and into the confined space, suddenly so much smaller than it’d seemed from the outside. You had just enough time to scramble for the door before Illumi slammed it shut, letting the clasp fall into place and leaving you withering inside the makeshift cage. You couldn’t stop yourself – hands curling around the bars as you looked toward him with your most pleading expression, but Illumi only shook his head. “You don’t have to sulk. Maybe, with some time, we’ll be able to move your bed somewhere warmer.”

He paused, his grin widening into the first real smile you’d ever earned from him.

“After you’ve proved you can be a good dog, of course.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #hunter x hunter x reader #yandere hxh #hxh x reader #hxh imagines #yandere illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #yanderecore #yancore

[crusty-chronicles]

HxH Men Throwing Down with their S/O's Plushies

Synopsis: How hxh men react to your plushie collection, and if they'd fight them when you're not there.

An: I'm tired of all the fine men being ignored in the HxH fandom. Here's a Valentine's Day special of some of my favorites who are always overlooked for the most white bread, cardboard personality, toxic men.*cough cough* adult trio* cough cough*

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

Leorio 🩺

100% fights your plushies

Without a doubt he throws down with them when you're not there. Even when you're in the room he's throwing hands.

And it is personal 😤

You've caught him on several occasions saying- "Think you can sleep next to my girl/man and get away with it?!? You homewrecker!!!!”

It's honestly really funny to see him put one of your giant bears in a headlock.

But you have to stop him before he tears it because those things are expensive goddamit.

“Leave him alone. I've had him for about ten years and I doubt you could find me another one. So drop him,” you lecture.

And he begrudgingly drops your big teddy bear. But not before complaining that you love it more than him.

All pouty and upset until you kiss his cheek and reassure him.

“Babe, they're not alive. You have absolutely no competition for my heart.”

He knows that, but they're everywhere. Watching him with their beady little eyes from their place on your bed.

Which reminds me-

He piledrives your little plushies when you're not in the room.

If he had it his way, they'd all be locked away somewhere.

But because he loves you with his whole heart, he moves them away from your side of the bed to his.

What? Those little bastards thought they'd get to sleep next to you when he's home? Not a chance!

He hates them for the attention you give them, but he also contributes to your collection.

Whenever he's got funds to spare, he'll bring you home a new addition.

With the condition that you give him twice as many cuddles ☝️

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

Ging 🎣

He's a little less aggressive than Leorio, but he still fights your plushies.

And he fights with the intent to win.

Which more often than not leads them to getting ruined.

Tackles the absolute hell out of your big plushies. Then he'll jab it's stomach a few times.

“Getting a little too comfortable on my side, Jeremiah?”

If they're on the bed, they're on the floor when you get back.

Doesn't really do it for jealousy, but because he thinks your reaction is funny.

He'll throw one of the smaller ones off and you let out the most offended gasp.

“You stop that right now! You're gonna get him dirty! And I can't put him in the washer!”

He comes up with excuses too, just to see how much you'll let him get away with.

“That one was looking at me funny.” “You've got a place on your bed for each and every one of those little shittlings, but absolutely no room for me. It's not fair.” “I didn't get you that one, so it's under the bed where it belongs.”

The answer: you let him get away with a lot. You secretly think it's cute, but it's annoying how filthy he gets them.

He also steals them from time to time.

Totally not because he likes having something of you when he's away. What? You're crazy 🙄🙄🙄

He'll complain, but he'll always get you replacements for the ones he damages. He'll even get you the jumbo versions of the little ones.

Just because he loves you, despite his lackluster way of showing it.

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

Morel 🚬

He's pretty respectful about it

Does not fight them.

But, every man has his weakness.

So there are times when he'll pick one of the smaller ones up and inspect it. Right before he squeezes it completely in his hand.

Why does he do it? Just because.

They're like little stress balls

And it's during one of these moments of weakness that you catch him.

“You're choking out my poor frog! Let him go before his eye pops out!”

And he laughs. He thinks it's sweet how much you love these things.

Even if you've got them on shelves and they stare into his soul at night.

He makes it a habit not to smoke or use his ability in front of them.

They hold too much sentimental value to you. And the last thing he wants is for you to get upset.

But the squishing? It doesn't stop.

It's like they're begging to be smooshed.

And you never fail to get after him every time.

“Quit abusing my babies!” You scold before taking back your stuffed rabbit.

He lets you have another bed to put all your plushies on.

He's a big man 😤😤😤 He can't afford space to share with them. He also likes to sleep next to his partner undisturbed, thank you 😤.

Also contributes to your collection.

And we're not talking every once and a while.

He's got that hunter money, so if you see something you want, it's yours

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

Knov 👔

Arguably the most mature of the bunch

Your precious little babies are safe from him

It doesn't even cross his mind to fight them

That being said, your plushies aren't allowed on the bed at all ☹️

“I refuse to have my sleeping space occupied by that thing.” He said, gesturing to a very well loved seal plush. One of its eyes missing.

“What’s wrong with Samuel?”

“Look at it. The poor thing's traumatized. And you're gonna end up choking on its stuffing.”

They aren't even allowed in the bedroom on shelves.

However☝️, he does end up doing something special for you because of how much you adore your plushies.

He lets you dedicate one entire room to your collection. Buy a little bed for you to put them on. Even gets special shelves installed for you.

That's their room and theirs alone.

Also encourages you to get more now that you have ample space for them.

Every trip/mission he leaves for, he always makes sure to bring you something back.

Whether it be one of the huge bears or a little keychain plush, he gets it for you.

Definitely not a man afraid to spend on his S/O and their interest.

He also doesn't bat an eye at the attention you give them.

They mean a lot to you, but so does he judging by the way you're always ready to compromise

That and the way you cuddle closer to him at night and say-

“You're a whole lot better than even my softest of plushies.”

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

Knuckle 🐕

On a bad day, it's on sight.

Always the bigger ones too

“What're you looking at?” And then he'll wrestle whatever poor plush caught his eye first.

But he feels incredibly bad about it afterwards

Picking up your little dinosaur nugget plush with tears in his eyes.

“I'm so sorry. You're mother's/father's gonna kill me for this.”

Even goes as far as to stitch up any little holes if he damaged them.

What can I say? He's a total softie

Like many of the men on here, he does contribute to your collection.

But you also inadvertently make him start his own 💀

You'll buy one for yourself and because it needs a friend, you buy another.

Only to gift it to him because ‘They’re dating like us.’ 🥺

That's how it starts.

You start buying plushies in pairs.

One for you and one for him.

It never fails to make Knuckle cry.

“Babe really? You didn't have to.”

And he's cradling the little dog plush you got him with such care. Like it's the most delicate thing in the world.

He, of course, makes sure to get another set to pay you back.

Plushies in the bed?

100%

No complaints here.

Even memorizes the names of all of them.

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

Kurapika ⛓️

He simply does not have the energy to fight your plushies

He comes home tired and drained, understandably. And the first thing he does is collapse on the bed, right on top of them.

Doesn't think twice about it. In fact, he likes the extra cushion they provide.

And you don't mind all that much either. Kurapika does a lot. He's been through a lot.

If he wants to rest right on top of your plushies, he's more than welcome.

However, when he's not completely exhausted, he's mean to them ☹️

He'll push off the ones on his side of the bed to make space for himself. And he will not pick them up

Or he'll hide the one you usually snuggle with at night so he can cuddle you himself.

He just wants your warmth after a long day. Is that so much to ask for?

“Kurapika, have you seen my octopus plush anywhere?”

And he'll look away guiltily before mumbling a ‘No. Can't say that I have.’

But he always puts it back when he knows he'll be gone for a while.

He knows it brings you comfort, and who is he to take that away from you.

He does get pouty when you give them extra attention.

“I've been gone for a month and you're too busy cleaning that thing to greet me.” He complains.

Only for you to get up and wrap your arms around him. Giving his cheek a smooch before saying-

“You know you're precious to me. But I wouldn't be so busy cleaning my baby if you'd stop leaving him on the floor.”

He makes it up to you everytime by getting you another one.

He always makes sure to pick you something up when he comes back from searching for his clan's eyes.

A little thank you for always waiting for him and giving endless patience.

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

Kite 🪁

Another man whom your plushies are safe from

He's supportive of your collection, but all he asks is that they don't take up the entire bed.

If they do, he's a little mean about it and organizes them all on your side.

That's about as far as he goes with messing with them.

He definitely builds you shelves to keep them in

Again, the less of them in the bed, the more space you two have.

He thinks it's cute how much you care about them, and likes to indulge you by asking how you got them.

He listens to each and every story you have and why each plush is special to you.

Safe to say, this man does not get jealous

A piece of fluff with stuffing is the last thing he's worried about

That being said, he contributes less frequently to your collection than the other men on this list

He limits them to special occasions like your birthday or an anniversary.

Why?

He wants to make sure each one is attached to a special moment so you hold them just as dear as your other ones.

An import memory that you're able to hold onto

He's also careful around your plushies.

He doesn't wanna get them dirty or accidentally tear them because of how much they mean to you.

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

Wing 👓

This man right here is a 10/10

The absolute sweetest man

The thought doesn't even cross his mind to throw down with your plushies

In fact, he prides himself on taking care of them while you're out

Dusting them off, reorganizing them, stitching up any little holes he sees

Also someone who goes out of his way to memorize all their names.

Knows each one by heart because he always listens intently when you talk about them

Your big dinosaur?

That's Chungus.

The little raccoon?

Sylvester.

You want the plushies in bed?

Of course! Each one has their own special place. And he makes sure there's enough space for the both of you.

If he's got money to spare, he's definitely gonna get you something.

You don't even have to ask, he's already bringing you home a little duck plush that Zushi thought you'd like. What can he say? The kid adores you

This man doesn't get jealous whatsoever

In fact, you're the one who ends up getting pouty because he's taking fantastic care of your plushies.

“Honey, I want cuddles.” You whine.

And he's cleaning off one of your bears with a damp rag.

“In a minute, dearest. You got him dirty last night.”

But as soon as he's done, you've got his full attention

He just knows how much you love those things and wants you to be able to cherish them for as long as possible.

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

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY 💕💕💕💕

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x y/n #hunter x hunter x y/n #x reader #leorio x reader #ging x reader #morel x reader #knuckle x reader #knov x reader #kurapika x reader #kite x reader #wing x reader #knuckle bine #morel mackernasey #ging freecss #leorio paladiknight #hxh valentine's day

[0asisbliss]

How HXH characters react to you cooking for them

Characters included: Chrollo, Kurapika, Pakunoda, Feitan, Illumi, Shalnark.

A/n: This has been sitting in my drafts for a while..😭

Chrollo:

He's fairly surprised, but then he isn't that's what's just expected of you. I mean you love him and you care for him, and you’re just showing that by doing this small simple act.

•May go over and give you small faint kisses on your cheek.

•Asks if you need help with anything.

•Loves it when you cook his favorite foods

•Will steal buy those cute aprons that say corny shit like “Guess who’s cooking?” Or, “Kiss the cook.” He will. Multiple times.

•If you like cooking dishes specifically from your culture he would looove it. Giving you compliments like “Honey it smells amazing”, “Whatever your cooking I’d like to try it because it looks good.”.

•Likes when you bring the food to him too. He’s patiently waiting for you to finish, and you sit two plates down at the dinner table.

•Chrollo has always liked when you two would sit down and chat about how your days went, while eating some type of delicious meal. It’s even better when you cook it.

•Tries to be helpful, but will listen if you tell him you’ve got it.

Kurapika:

He already introduced you to his love of seeing you cooking. He never verbally told this though. You found out from him when he came home one day after work to see you in the kitchen stirring up a pot of pasta. You didn’t notice he was home until he was standing beside you staring at you in awe.

•When you noticed that he likes seeing you cook when his eyes sparkled the minute they laid on you once he entered your shared home.

•Tries to help you by chopping up vegetables, or washing meats.

•He helps you season the meats also.

•Or he could just stand behind you and hug your waist while you fry up some meat.

Feitan:

•Clingy. He doesn’t try to be though he just stands there behind you and watches as your stir something in a pot.

•Sometimes you think it’s because he thinks you’re going to poison him. You even asked him.

“Fei?”

“….Yes..”

“Do you really think I’m going to poison you?”

“….”

•He did nothing but stare at you, but that was enough of an answer that you needed.

•Man is this man’s chop game astonishing. You give him 3 cucumbers and he has them all chopped up in 3 seconds. Maybe all of that killing has its benefits.

•Will just stand there beside you and watch like a little kid.

•Will ask to help every now and then. When understand if you say no.

Shalanark:

Another clingy one. Hugs your waist from behind while he watches you look for seasonings in your cabinet. He thinks it’s cute when you cook for him. He starts to steal buy you cooking supplies, aprons, and ingredients for you to cook more for him.

•He’ll tell you some of his favorite dishes, and constantly compliment your cooking.

•Never to critical. He’ll be honest with you when you ask him about the food. He’ll tell you what went wrong, and right.

•Loves helping you. Will do it either if you ask him or not.

•He always say thank you every time you set the plate down on the table. He likes the little talks you two have while you eat dinner.

•Will listen to you ramble about your day.

Pakunoda:

Thinks it’s cute when your in the kitchen cooking for her. Will go grocery shopping with you once you pick up the ingredients. Giving you advise on higher quality brands, and other food items.

•She thinks you might hurt yourself while cutting so she cuts everything for you.

•Pakunoda thinks that you both should cook for each other once she sees you cooking for her, so you guys end up taking turns in cooking and watching.

•She finds different ways to help you out. If she’s not cutting something she’s seasoning something. If she’s not seasoning something she could be measuring some type of liquid.

•She’s a foodie. She’ll love anything you cook her. Especially if you cook your cultural foods! (Doesn’t matter where your from)

•Everytime you cook for her she’ll say thank then begin to eat. (She’s so sweet💓)

Illumi:

He usually has his butlers cook for him, but once you ask him to come over as a date he’s hooked. He’ll ask you so many questions. He won’t sit down and watch he’ll stand over you to see exactly what you’re doing. It’s not as cute as when feitan may stand beside you he just stares, and not even blinking.

•He’ll ask questions the whole time.

•He’s also another one that’s good at chopping things.

•He might not look like it but he has a major sweet tooth!

•He likes it when you bake for him just as much when you cook dinner for him.

•Will tell what he likes about the dish at dinner.

•He may never admit it, but he likes it when you invite him over to cook for him.

•He likes the way you smile every time he says something good about the way it tastes.

“Illumi?”

“Yes darling? Is there something wrong?”

“So? Uhm.. how does it taste?”

“…I like it. Actually it tastes great. You’ve did a good job.”

•He may even pat your head once he gets up, and leaves

That’s it for today lovelies! Have a great day, and remember to drink enough water, eat.



#hxh x reader #chrollo x reader #hxh chrollo #pakunoda #shalnark x reader #illumi x you #illumi x reader #feitan x reader #kurapika x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh chrollo lucilfer

[manias-wordcount]

Never Enough (Silva Zoldyck)

Kinktober 2023 Day Twenty-Four: Breeding

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

“You smell so sweet, my love. Surely it must be time for you to give me another one, yes?”

  Given the person you married, such words aren’t too odd to hear anymore. Especially early, early in the morning. And especially accompanied by the feeling of hands pulling at your nightgown and tugging it above your head. After all, you’ve been in the game for long enough to know that whenever you wake up to the feeling of your husband’s large hands spreading open your thighs and him lapping at your cunt, it’s usually because you’re ovulating. 

  And when you’re wed to a man like Silva Zoldyck, ovulation days tend to mean a whole lot of nothing but him pounding away at your body and filling you up to the brim with his seed as many times as he possibly can. 

  With the hopes that one of these days will result in a nice, shiny gift being brought into the family around nine months later. 

  Of course, your husband doesn’t really need an excuse to put his hands on you. In fact, if this was any single other day on the calendar, he would be more than happy to take you anywhere, any time. In any position. In any place. But those days he would wait until you were up and awake and coherent before diving in for his sneak attack. But those are the days he fucks you because he wants you. They’re way different from the days he fucks you because he wants to put another baby in you. 

  As if two of you don’t have enough of those yet.

  But all too soon, the sleepiness and the grumpiness melt away from your face. The pout that you were trying so hard to keep up easily slips into something a little more lewd as your husband digs his tongue inside of your lower walls, trying to make you nice and wet and loose for the absolute monster he has still tucked in his trousers. And it’s in your lustful haze that you really decide that there’s no point in being so stubborn. That you don’t even know why you woke up feeling like you wanted to be this stubborn. Perhaps it’s some lingering feelings from your last post-natal period. Perhaps it’s something else. You wouldn’t know. 

  You’re just supposed to be Silva’s cute little wife. The nice and sweet little homemaker of the family. The one who pumps out all the babies. The one who’s just a hole for her husband to use. 

  And the one who won’t say anything- just whimper and whine and moan as her husband pulls away from her pretty little pussy just to have her present it to him on all fours like a good, good, good girl.

  Already, the sleepy part of your brain misses the feeling of his tongue inside of you and his lips wrapped around your clit. You can’t help but wish that you took the time to enjoy it. That you took the time to soak it all in- maybe even ride his face a little bit more. He did have the nose for it, after all. But you don’t quite have the luxury for that anymore. Because right now, you’re face down and ass up. And Silva’s large, large hands, and coming up to grab at your hips. To align his cock. To push it inside.

  And to breed you.

  There’s no time to waste. The second your warm, wet walls give in and let his dick push past their defenses, he’s snapping to sheath his full length inside of you. Only to pull it out a half second later and to 

    And you know this. You know this for a fact because the man behind you barely gives you a moment- barely gives you a second to breathe. Because from minute one, his goal is to impale you on his cock. To care less about your comfort. After all, he can do that on another day. He can do that when he’s feeling kind and caring. But today isn’t going to be one of those days. Instead, today is going to be one of those days where it marks the first of a couple of days where your children probably won’t see you. Where your body will constantly feel like it never had energy to begin with. Where your skin will know nothing but your husband and his touch and his voice. His commands and the bruises he leaves. His breath and heartbeat. Joining you. Becoming one with you. Over and over and over again. For one reason and one reason alone.

  “This next one is going to be a girl,” Silva murmurs from behind you, leaning in closer to hold you tight against his body. You gasp out as the change in position allows for him to hit an angle more deeply Your mind doesn’t even register that he’s speaking to you. That he’s saying saying to you. You’re far too gone. Far too focused on doing your best to stay up on your two shaking legs as your husband slams into you from behind with far too much power and energy for one man this early in the morning.“A strong one. I can feel it.”

  You whine in response- once again, unable to form the right words. Or any words, for that matter. Your mind has quickly gone to mush. And now you’re at the point, where you’re far too focused on gripping at the sheets in front of you and trying not to be blown away by the sheer force and purpose and hope he puts behind every thrust of his throbbing hard cock into your awaiting hole. A hole you know will be soon pumped full of his seed. And even then, it’s hard to imagine that he’d stop.

  After all, you’ve only given him five children so far. And you’re still so young. Still so able to bear such powerful children. Still so able to take him- all of him without breaking. So what’s one more little pair of hands and feet running around the manor in a year? What’s a few more tears to dry and bright eyes to love? What’s one more show of the physical bond between husband and wife? Between mother and father. Man and woman. What’s one more?

    “We’ll get you pregnant again, my dear. Just watch me.” 

  Well, it’s what Silva wants. And you’ve been in the game for long enough to know that for Silva?

“I’ll make you big and swollen with my child today, even if it kills you.”

  One more is never enough.

#silva zoldyck #silva x reader #silva #silva zoldyck x reader #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter fanfic #hunter x hunter fanfiction #hxh #hxh x reader #hxh fanfic #hxh fanfiction #x reader #xreader #fanfic #fanfiction

[l1tw1ck]

Saw you write for hxh, I was wondering if you could do something with Feitan x dom male reader, anything. There’s barely any content like that.

sub!bottom!ftm feitan x dom!top!male reader

this super duper short, srry

cw: mild dub-con, rope bondage, aphrodisiacs, nipple play, creampie

Feitan wakes up in an unknown bedroom, naked and wrapped in black ribbons. He looks up at you in confusion, his vision blurry and cheeks flushed. “What's going on?”

You look at the card attached to the end of the ribbon and chuckle. ‘Merry Christmas – Chrollo’. “Looks like Chrollo sent me a late Christmas gift.” You lick your lips. “Can't believe you've been hiding a body like this all this time.”

He realizes what's going on, his body growing even hotter. He's definitely been drugged but he can't say that his attraction to you is only because of the aphrodisiac coursing through his body. He wants this. He smirks. “Merry Christmas then, [Name].” He spreads his legs.

Feitan moans loudly, tears streaming down his cheeks as you ram into his wet cunt. You litter kisses and bites along his body, grinning when you hear him whine from biting his nipple. You lick the hardened bud and earn more whines and whimpers from Feitan. You use your hand to show love to his other nipple. He digs his nails into his palms and comes with a loud shout, his soft walls flexing around your cock. You pull away from his chest and bring him into a kiss while you continue fucking him. Thanks to the drug, he’d be upset if you did stop.

You finally slow down and come inside of him. Feitan smiles happily at the warm, gooey feeling inside him.

#wicks🕯️shorts #top male reader #male reader #feitan x male reader #feitan x reader #hunter x hunter smut #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter x male reader #hxh smut #ftm character #sub character #tw dubious consent

[junesilk]

HIII omg ive been looking for a hxh blog for a WHILE there’s barely any that’s very active😭😭okok so since i’m a kurapika simp could you write headcanons and IF YOU WANTT, a mini scenario of jealous kurapika? hmm if you want an idea it could be smth like the reader has a guy bsf and kura got jealous from the lack of attention :(( THANK YOUU!

JEALOUS, JEALOUS BOY!

hxh main 4 x fem!reader

characters included: kurapika, leorio, killua, gon

i absolutely will, i have always loved jealousy prompts!! i’ve got several of these asks so far, so i’ll just kill multiple birds with one stone and go ahead and put them all together into a list of headcanons

not beta read ☝️

kurapika—

WHEN HE’S JEALOUS…

He’d be quiet in the moment, withdrawing himself from the conversation while staying by your side.

You most likely wouldn’t notice it right away because he is naturally a quiet person—

The most he would do is send a glare at the man taking all of your attention away, but other than that he’d avoid conflict.

As soon as you two were alone in a private setting, he would be much more clingy than usual

Which, in of itself would be unusual, as he’s not the type to be so physically attatched.

Perhaps it was his more possessive side coming out to play, but it certainly was new.

WHEN YOU’RE JEALOUS…

He’d know. Out of all of the main four, he’d pick it up fastest.

If the conversation wasn’t important, he’d find a way to end it quickly, to save you the jealousy.

If it is, he probably wouldn’t speed through it quite as much, but he’d place his hand on the small of your back,

His little way of assuring you he’s all yours.

He’d bring it up once you were alone, assuring you that he only had eyes for you.

leorio—

WHEN HE’S JEALOUS…

You’d feel his hand slide around your waist, looking up to see him staring at the other person

It was weird, you’d never seen him like… this!

If he was actively speaking in the conversation, every sentence referring to you would include some form of a pet name.

You could’ve sworn he said the words honey & babe at LEAST seven times

Once at home, he’d remind you who you loved most, pressing kisses to your flushed face.

WHEN YOU’RE JEALOUS…

Oh boy.

He’d be so proud, honestly. You loved him enough to be jealous? Heart melted.

You’d take his hand, tightly pressing your palms together and squeezing.

It’d take him a while to realize you’d been giving the other girl nasty looks for a few minutes, but once he did, he chuckled.

He’d make an excuse, wave goodbye to the poor girl, and then turn his attention to you.

“Woah, babe. If looks could kill..” He’d joke about it for a while, but in the end, he’d assure you there’s nobody he loves more.

killua—

WHEN HE’S JEALOUS…

He’d be extremely mean. Not to you, but to the man you were speaking to.

Killua is naturally really sarcastic, but he takes it to a whole other level.

Scoffing whenever the man made a joke, crossing his arms and looking away when you laugh.

He might use his assassin lineage to scare the other man away, but it’s rare he would need it.

He’s scary enough.

After freaking out the other man to the point where he’d left, he’d flick your forehead and roll his eyes. “That guy was looking at you weird!”

WHEN YOU’RE JEALOUS…

You wouldn’t know that he knew.

Not until the day afterwards, when there’s a chocolate robot laying beside your head when you wake up.

It’s his way for apologizing, or just letting you know that he did, in fact, know you were jealous

When asked, he’d shrug it off.

gon—

WHEN HE’S JEALOUS…

Gon’s not the type of person to get jealous.

He simply just doesn’t. It’s not because he doesn’t care for you or anything.

It’s because he’s too busy becoming friends with the new person!

Sure, he may pout if he’s not very interested in the conversation being held, but that’s the most he’d do.

WHEN YOU’RE JEALOUS…

We’ve all seen the movie.

Gon is oblivious, and remains to be that way unless you flat out tell him.

Feels bad for not realizing it earlier, but once told he tries his best to make it up to you.

He’d take you out on a date the next day, perhaps a picnic or something out in nature.

You can’t stay mad at him. After all, he just doesn’t pick up on these kinds of things very fast.

i hate how this got progressively shorter…… but wtv!!!

#kurapika x reader #leorio x reader #killua x reader #gon x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #junesilk

[bwabys-scenarios]

NSFW

He knows you better than you know yourself.

The way you like your ice cream, and the fact that you’ll always need a napkin after it starts dripping.

You get too distracted looking at your phone or something in the window displays and don’t even notice that ice cream is about to fall onto your white blouse until he’s got his hand cupped underneath the cone, catching the mess while also using the napkin to cover the bottom.

He knows how your body works, the sigh of contentment when cool air wafts over your needy pussy, the soft whine that escapes your lips when his cock finally sinks in…

You’re easily distracted in bed too, always making a mess because you were too enraptured in the pleasure he was giving you to even realize you were reaching your fourth orgasm of the night. He never minded though, he made sure to place a towel under your bottom so it didn’t get on the sheets.

He just adores the faces you make, the little whimpers and the pleading. “M-make it better, please… wanna feel good!”

And he would, because he knows exactly how to make you feel better.

He understands your needs like no one else ever could.

——————

||GOJO ||GETO ||NANAMI ||CHOSO ||TOJI ||KURAMA ||KURAPIKA ||CHROLLO ||ILLUMI ||LEORIO ||ARMIN ||RENGOKU ||SANEMI ||GIYUU ||GYOMEI ||DOUMA ||AKAZA ||MUZAN ||YOUR FAV ||

#gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #choso x reader #toji x reader #armin x reader #kurapika x reader #illumi x reader #chrollo x reader #leorio x reader #kurama x reader #rengoku x reader #sanemi x reader #giyuu x reader #gyomei x reader #douma x reader #akaza x reader #muzan x reader #kny x reader #jjk x reader #aot x reader #yyh smut #hxh x reader #jjk imagines #requests open #hunter x hunter x reader #x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #chubby!reader

[rosazoldyckk]

Yandere! Silva X Daughter Reader

⚠️warning⚠️ obsessive thoughts and mentions of death

Fandom: Hunter X Hunter. Character(s): Silva Zoldyck, Zeno Zoldyck, Illumi Zoldyck, Milluki Zoldyck

A/N: I DO NOT INTEND FOR THIS CHAPTER TO HAVE ANY RELATIONS TO INCEST!! I'm aware that some things written in this chapter might be mistaken as incest, but I promise I don't intend to make it seem that way.

Of course you can interpret my writing however you want to, I have no issues with that. Just please know I don't write stuff related to incest♡︎♡︎

*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧ 1138 words *.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*.

*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*. *.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*. *.:✧*.:✧*.:✧*

"Didn't I tell you to stop killing these poor butlers, father? How do you expect us to be taken care of if you take your rage out on our servents?" The young Assassin grumbled while putting her hands on her hips. Suddenly, the whole estate went silent. However, the rest of the lower butlers blinked and gulped in hope.

At the edge of the room, the young assassin can be seen. Her long H/C hair that shined under the moonlight can put any woman to shame. Her E/C eyes that they inherited from her father were sharp yet adorable. It could not be denied that with her looks and god-given talent for assassination that the girl belonged to the Zoldyck family.

With their sudden appearance, Silva lowered his guard and relaxed. It could be seen by his face that he adored the presence of his dearest daughter. With a soft tone, he asked, "Y/N, dear, what are you doing here? I thought you were out of the house."

The Lower butlers secretly beg the assassin to spare them from their death. By doing this, not only do they have a higher chance to survive, but they could also continue to contribute in caring for the Head's most adored daughter, Y/N Zoldyck.

One with no common sense would simply assume that Y/N was the glass child of the Zoldyck family, but behind closed doors they couldn't be any more wrong. Y/N was the glue that kept the family together. She was known to be cruel, sadistic, and outstanding in the art of assassination. However, there were people such as her siblings that could see the other side of her. Most of the time, Y/N was a kind and calm individual outside of work. And today just so happened to be a day where she felt generous.

Y/N thought for a bit before shaking her head, "I thought I told you our agreement about killing butlers in the mansion. Their screams can be heard from my room. It would be better if you killed them quickly or just let them free," she sighed as she turned her eyes to the poor butlers that had been severely tortured by electric shock.

Silva on the other hand glared sharply. Although it was subtle, his eyes went smaller, and clenched his hand.

He hated it.

He hated it when HIS daughter ignored him for Illumi.

He despised it when HIS daughter left him alone to play with Kalluto.

He loathed it when HIS daughter was playing video games with Milluki.

He felt sick to his stomach whenever he witnessed HIS daughter braiding Alluka's hair.

He detested it when HIS daughter is 'playing' outside with Killua and his pathetic excuses of friends.

And oh dear god did he want to smash a boulder across his head whenever he saw HIS daughter laughing with her mother and grandfather.

Silva loved his only daughter to death. Every inch of his daughter belonged to him and ONLY him alone. He hated sharing with others, family only being a small exception. If he could, he would lock her in his room and make her look at him and ONLY him alone.

Knowing that the entire family would riot against him if he were to bring harm to the assassin, he buried that plan deep within his heart and continued to be a 'good dad' for her. He forgot the agreement and decided to play it funny so that his daughter could let this case pass.

"I apologize, dear," Silva grumbled with a fake frown. "Unfortunately, these foolish butlers failed their mission and their penalty is nothing but death. I thought it would be great to punish them first but I overlooked an important part,"

Y/N kept her mouth shut and looked at her father. Somehow, Her emotions had stirred up from her father's response. She knew that her father loved her the most out of her brothers. He would remember every word she had said and did not dare to break any promises. Sadly, although she had been feeling generous, today has been a tiring day for her and all she wanted is a good night's rest.

"Just let them free for my sake. I couldn't hear them screaming any longer! Do you know how much their screams had disturbed me from my sleep?! This is a simple agreement and somehow you can't even remember my words. I'm so disappointed in you," Y/N spat in tiredness. As soon as she said that, she quickly turned her back and jumped to her room which is located on the outer side of the fortress.

Silva hid his rage and waved to her daughter's back. "I hope you'll have a nice dream, my sweet Y/N"

Soon after Y/N left the room, the temperature dropped. The butlers shivered as the waited for another wave of electricity to shoot through their bodies, but nothing came. They glanced up at their boss, only to see him with an expressionless face.

Without another word, he allowed the ball of electricity growing on his hand to explode, killing the butlers in an instant. With his eyes full of tenderness, he took a deep breath of air.

"I'll make it up to you, my daughter..."

⁂✧⁂

Zeno sighed tirelessly as he observed his sons actions. "When will he stop with this obsessive behaviour? Those butlers did nothing except make sure Y/N was taken care of, and yet he still killed them? In all my years I've never seen Silva express such madness before."

Illumi sighed in helplessness to his grandfathers words, "Even I'm starting to get a bit bored now, As her beloved eldest brother I must make sure that she is on the path to success. Father doesn't need to get involved when she has me by her side at all times."

"You're right," Milluki replied in annoyance, "Though Y/N is next in line to head the family, seems like dad is a little too eager for her to stay by his side, am I right?" He grumbled as he shoved a handful of chips into his mouth.

The 3 of them shared looks of confusion as Silva finally got up to exit his room.

All they could do is wait.

#hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x reader #hxh x y/n #hunter x hunter x y/n #yandere #yandere x darling #hunter x hunter #hxh fanfic #tw obsessive behavior #yandere x reader #silva zoldyck #zoldyck family #hxh zoldyck #daughter reader #silva zoldyck x reader #hxh silva #illumi zoldyck #zeno zoldyck #milluki zoldyck #kikyo zoldyck #killua zoldyck #alluka zoldyck #kalluto zoldyck

[teabutmakeitazure]

Congratulations on 1000 followers, 1000 mouths to feed, and 2000 watchful eyes (｢• ω •)｢ Couldn't happen to a better writer ♡

I saw you sneak Illumi on that list. I am very frightened of the needle man. Can I request something with the first time Illumi realizes he is obsessed with darling?

Perforate and Permeate

>Yan! Illumi x Fem! Reader

>Word count: ~3.4k

Red flags start appearing in the form of odd piercings on taxi drivers. The feeling of something horribly off surrounds you, but in the end, some people are always powerless, aren't they?

The first red flag of the evening was the creepy taxi driver. There seemed to be some sort of yellow ball stuck to the skin on his neck, and his movements and speech were somewhat robotic. The second red flag was that he offered you a ride without you even calling for one.

Thankfully, the evening rush hour helped you get away from the peculiar man, and you slid into the subway train, hidden and safe among the numerous people around you. Ironically enough, it felt a little hypocritical to find comfort among the number of people since you were always adverse to crowds. The smell of sweat and close proximity of human beings made you a little nauseous, but right now it felt safe.

The third red flag comes in the form of your apartment building’s watchman being absent. He never takes a day off and always ensures that the other watchman - the man who usually works as the receptionist since for some reason there’s a desk and everything in the lobby - takes his place while he’s away for food or such.

Neither men were there and as you press the elevator button to your floor, you catch a shadow in the corner of your eye before the doors close. The fourth red flag is that your apartment windows are open. Not all of them, but the living room windows are open. You’re absolutely certain you had left them closed when you left. You could even swear on it.

Nevertheless, some sort of dismissive hope deludes you into believing that the wind opened them and you don’t dare come any closer. The reminder to check their locks is pushed into the back of your mind when you fall onto your bed face first. Silence envelopes you, its warm hands granting you the comfort of your home.

Despite how quick the comfort came, all relaxation leaves your bones when your phone rings. As you accept the call and press your phone to your ear, you realise you almost drifted off. Your mother’s voice greets you before turning into a scolding one when you tell her you just got home.

The conversation goes as it usually does, your nerves calming down despite the subtle feeling of not being alone. You don’t blame your scepticism. Ever since you moved out, you’ve always been careful and paranoid. Maybe it has to do with preferring silence and being around less people, but you don’t like the lonesomeness and silence as much as you thought you did.

You say goodbye to your mother on the phone, and sit up, groggily making your way to the kitchen. The silence of the apartment unnerves you, so you turn on your phone’s flashlight and check every single room and cupboard of the house, leaving all the light bulbs on.

The apartment is now fully illuminated and the TV plays some random news show while you cook. It makes for good white noise and you don’t feel as alone anymore.

But you still feel watched.

The curtains are promptly drawn over the windows.

Thankfully, the feeling goes but quickly returns when you sit down to eat dinner. The panic that arises constricts your throat, heart beating in your throat and you immediately dial your mother again, praying that the paranoia dies down.

It doesn’t. She never picks up. 

Three phone calls later, she picks up but excuses herself saying that she’s going out for lunch with your father. The time zone difference makes you frown, realising that you're ruining her weekend with your baseless paranoia.

Dinner gets your attention back, but something seems to have its attention on you.

You're cognizant of the sounds coming from the street, television muted. The drip drip from the kitchen sink sings the vocals while the refrigerator buzzes the music. Exhaling, you pay attention to the noisy details, dinner finished and an empty plate in front of you.

The feeling goes away soon, but comfort doesn't return.

-

The first red flag of today's evening follows behind you. A man with his hoodie hiding half his face is trailing behind you, and you're briefly wondering how dense he must be to not realise that you're leading him in a circle for the fourth time. You don't mind the extra walking, but it's pretty annoying.

Should you lead him to a police station? Losing him doesn't seem to be an option. He's persistent. Even in the fifth circle, he's casually walking behind you.

You go ahead with making your way to a nearby station, but he slips away when it's in sight. Your eyes watch the man as he heads the other way, an uneasy feeling stirring in your chest at the loss of someone's eyes on you. As you make your way back to the subway station, you contemplate walking home instead. Maybe you could drop by a café or even pick up dinner from somewhere.

However, a second red flag appears while you are in your thoughts. A taxi stops in front of you when you're scrounging around your bag for your phone and the window pulls down to reveal a taxi driver with a strange yellow piercing between his eyebrows.

The driver offers you a ride, and you stare at him dumbfounded. You didn't call for a taxi. A few passer-bys send you confused looks, but you brush it off. The man is promptly shut down and you walk away, mentally cursing yourself over the lack of crowd on the street.

Almost as though on cue, a lady grabs your arm. Her grip is unyielding and she frantically explains how you need to come with her. A familiar yellow piercing on either side of her neck greets you when you turn to look at her, but any composure you have quickly dissipates when she starts pulling you.

It takes everything you have in you to pry yourself off and run in the other direction. The few people that did stare at you turn away when they see you running, and honestly you don't blame them. No one wants to get tangled up in something like that.

By the time your legs start hurting, you're almost home. There's no time to pick up anything from a restaurant so you make a mental note to order in instead. As you walk with your phone in hand, the situation dawn's on you. Three red flags already. You don't even want to know what the fourth one will be.

But alas, the heavens never hear your silent pleas and the fourth red flag stands in the watchman-less lobby of your apartment building. You hadn't seen either men today as well, and simply seeing the person who casually leans against the wall with eyes fixed on you is making your heart do literal backflips inside your chest.

"[Name]."

The simple greeting makes you freeze. Hands grip your bag tighter as you look into his bottomless eyes and greet him back with a simple hello. He doesn't seem to mind your nervousness and gets straight to the point.

"I wanted to see you. It's been quite a while."

Your finger remains on the power button of your phone, ready to press it five times at the earliest notice to send SOS messages to your friends. Upon receiving no response, he continues, trying not to eye your deathly grips on your belongings.

"How was your day?"

"It was… fine." Voice meek, you don't know what to say to him. It's not everyday you see a person such as himself. "How… have you been, Illumi?"

The question seems to perk him up. "I'm not quite sure, but I suppose I've been alright. I do want to ask you something. Why are you holding your phone and bag so tightly?"

The muscles on your legs go taut, and you briefly glance at the elevator door thinking you could make a run for it. However, the reminder of Illumi's occupation mocks you. Of course a hunter wouldn't let you go so easily.

"I'm not sure." Your words are unsure as you speak. "I guess I'm not feeling very well."

"Should I get you medical attention?"

"No. Not that kind of not very well. I just feel a bit down, that's all."

He seems to have understood something because he's nodding. "I see. If there's nothing wrong with your physical health, it'll go away. Make sure to rest properly and you'll feel better."

"Thanks. I'll go to bed early tonight."

"Are you free right now?"

Free? Does he want something? You're no help to a hunter. "I'd like to get to bed as soon as possible, but I'm willing to hear you out."

Your grip on your phone loosens a bit, and Illumi immediately takes a few steps closer. Hardly a foot of space is left between the two of you, but before apprehension can return, he's demanding all your attention with his words.

"May I have your phone number?"

What?

"My… phone number?"

He nods. "Yes. Your phone number."

The dumbfounded look on your face makes him blink at you owlishly. 

"I was wondering whether or not it would be appropriate for me to ask for it. I suppose I settled with ignoring the thought."

Did he… really just admit that? 

"Um, alright. I don't see why not." You know where I live anyway, the voice in your head continues. 

You share your contact information with Illumi, but you have no idea why he wants it. His intentions are as clear as muddy water. It doesn’t make you feel any better, but if nothing, at least he asked you for it. With his licence, he could have obtained your number with ease like how he ended up in your apartment's lobby. You give him only a few points for human decency.

When he’s done saving your information on his phone, a satisfied look is on his face. The silence of the lobby remains as you wait for him to finally let you leave. That is to say he doesn’t request to visit your apartment.

“I think that’ll do.” Illumi looks up, head tilting slightly when he sees your exhausted expression. “You should rest. I won’t stop you. Just seeing you this evening is enough for me. We can talk some other time.”

Talk? What would you both even talk about? The only reason you know him is because some target of his was your work client and he scared him off. Honestly, never hearing from that man again is one of the best things that happened in your life.

“Sure,” you reply with a very obviously unsure voice. “I’ll see you later then.”

Illumi waves you off and as you step towards the elevator, you feel a little shameful for not inviting him for dinner. But then you remember that you live alone and he’s an adult man. Perhaps it’s better to not do so.

As you press the button, you glance back at Illumi down the lobby. He's waving at you, so you wave back. The door starts to close and the expression on Illumi's face changes. Lips curl upwards, eyes crinkling as well.

When the door closes, you're thankful for the distance. You never want to see that horrifying grin on his face again. It sent shivers down your spine and it seems like the creepy smile is now engraved into your brain.

Had you not been in the elevator, you would've ran out the lobby. Perhaps some people are better off expressionless after all.

-

It's been an entire day since Illumi took your number. There's been no contact, no message, nothing. As you stare at your phone sitting in front of you on the sofa, you think back over today's evening bitterly.

There was another taxi driver with the same yellow piercing. Added to that, an old woman with the same piercing had approached you and asked to walk her home. You declined. Though it felt bad to say no to an old lady, you didn't want to possibly find any unwanted trouble.

Besides, there's something definitely wrong going on. After the old lady, you found the watchman in the lobby. Even he had a piercing on his face, in between his forehead to be precise.

You didn't bother to reply to his greeting this time. There was something off about his smile.

Maybe you should move out as soon as possible.

However, that's not what's bothering you. It's the fact that there have always been four red flags. This evening, you only came across three.

The thought of an impending fourth one makes you feel nauseous. You're home now, back to safety. There has never been anything bad between these four walls, so why would there be anything now?

Maybe you missed counting a fourth one. Yes. That's it. You just missed one red flag. The thought doesn't do much to console you, but it's enough to allow you to sleep when your head hits the pillow. Unfortunately for you, that doesn't last very long.

The feeling of a pair of eyes wakes you up with a startle. You immediately throw away the covers and run to the switch, turning on the lights. Nothing. The same goes for the rest of your apartment. All the lights are on but there’s nothing out of place.

Are you going crazy? 

It must have been a bad dream. You still feel watched, but that’s just because you just woke up. Water. You need some water.

The glass is quickly emptied as soon as you fill it, and now you stand alone in the kitchen, the silence of the night and the refrigerator’s hum your only companions. The kitchen counter is cold underneath your lingering fingertips, and begrudgingly, you part with it.

Sleep doesn't come back easily. At least half an hour must’ve passed with no sign of slumber’s gentle embrace, so you get up and turn off the bedroom light. The door is then left open only a little bit to let some light from the living room bleed inside the room.

It doesn’t help much, but your eyes feel less burdened.

Upon turning to the other side and nuzzling into the sheets further, the lessened burden seems to increase again. There’s someone resting their face on the mattress, body probably sitting on the floor and this person’s eyes seem to be fixed on you.

It takes you blinking a few times and sitting up to realise this isn’t a dream.

By the time your eyes have completely blinked away any sleep, a hand is slapped over your mouth to stop you from screaming. Your chest heaves as you follow the arm to the body it’s attached to and finally the face.

Illumi.

“Pardon me if I woke you up. It wasn’t my intention.”

The mattress dips as he joins you on the bed. If the circumstance wasn’t unfortunate enough, he’s now literally hovering over you with one of his knees between your parted legs under the blanket. Long black hair cascades around his face as he leans in, large eyes observing your features.

You blink at him as your breathing settles down. The lack of action from Illumi’s end does help your nerves calm down a little, but the threat of an obviously more powerful man literally above still remains.

This is your fourth red flag.

The weight of his observant stare weighs you down, the feeling of a boulder on your chest making you sink backwards into the bed. All that you see are Illumi’s large, dark eyes. It’s suffocating and you want to scream, but the sound dies in your throat before he even lets go.

You don’t dare make a single noise as he sits up straight on your thighs.

Illumi briefly breaks eye contact, eyes dropping down to your collarbones peeking from your neckline from the dishevelled state before his eyes go back up to yours. The weight of the boulder had lifted during that time, but with his eyes back on you that weight goes to your consciousness.

“I suppose I should commend you for not screaming. Seems like you’re quick to understand.”

All he gets in reply is your nervous gulp.

“You require an explanation, don’t you?”

This time, he tilts his head at your lack of response.

“I gave myself an ultimatum. Four tries every evening for every working day of this week are all I have to work with. If your refusals of my lenient methods bother me, then I must get to the bottom of the feeling. If I am not bothered in the slightest, I must stop wasting my time.” Iluumi pauses, possibly in anticipation of some sort of response, but continues. “I suppose my presence here at this hour explains which conclusion I had come to.”

He waits again for a few moments but ends up explaining his own words himself when you’re still frozen in what he thinks is shock. “Your refusals bothered me. I can’t be certain why. Even your less enthusiastic response to me asking for your phone number bothered me.”

You’re still staring at him. Mind barely processing the words. Illumi is in your room in the middle of the night. Illumi is a hunter, a potentially dangerous person, and he’s caged you to your own bed. This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever been in your life, yet you can’t even bring yourself to cry over the absolute fear you feel because of the intensity that keeps growing and radiating from Illumi.

“You occupy my thoughts more than I would prefer, and the only cure I found for that is to watch you when you’re home. No other activity soothes it.”

His index finger and thumb hold his chin as he continues thinking over the matter, but his eyes are still fixed onto you. When his eyes widen slightly, the intensity you felt grows dramatically and you have to reflexively cover yourself till the top of your head with the blanket to not end up asphyxiated.

A hand gently pulls down the cover till your chin, and luckily, the intensity mellows enough to allow you to breathe.

“I came here tonight to understand why trying to sleep on my own causes me distress. It’s like I search for you in my own bed, and the lack of your presence makes me restless.”

He leans in, hands sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips and you instinctively shrink into yourself. Voice perfectly even, the tone betrays the depth of his words. “I talked to my mother about this feeling and came to a conclusion. I’m in love with you.”

Sweat starts to bead at your forehead, but Illumi’s eyes refuse to allow you any reprieve. One of his hands sneak up your body, fingertips gently tracing the outline till his hand lightly wraps around your throat. The grip is non-existent but the threat of a not so well meaning squeeze still exists.

“All I need to do is squeeze. A fragile human such as yourself would give in to death in under ten seconds if I do decide to test my grip. However, even the mere thought of it bothers me. Even now, I can’t bring myself to hurt you.”

The hand moves further upwards, cupping your cheek despite the sweat. “At first I thought you were using some kind of Nen to bewitch me, so imagine my surprise when I found out that you’re a non-user.”

You finally manage to shakily exhale through your mouth, but the beating in your heart suddenly becomes too loud when his thumb traces the edges of your lips.

“I thought I should kill you to get rid of your spell, but the thought of you not existing anymore made my chest ache.” Illumi sighs. “Seems like the damage has been done, and it’s quite a lot. With how the majority of my thoughts are about you, I could even claim that I’m obsessed.”

The intensity grows again, and it gets even harder to breathe in the cool room. When Illumi’s thumb forces your lips open and presses down on your tongue, you can only hope you’ll be safe. After all, the look in his eyes is absolutely frightening.

#thank you for the request #it was fun lol #AzureTea requests #yandere hunter x reader #hunter x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #illumi x reader #yandere illumi x reader #yandere illumi #why does the title sound like macrophages doing their everyday job

[ddarker-dreams]

Idée Fixe.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

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

You met a strange man at the arboretum today.

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

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

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

It’s just you and your book. 

Until it isn’t. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart pounds in your chest. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? And why is that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t think I have any friends?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks. “Help them?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One person, huh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could say that.” 

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

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

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

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

“I—” 

“It—” 

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

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

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

You give a nod.

“May I have your phone number?” 

You stare at him.

He stares at you. 

You continue staring at him.

He continues staring at you. 

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

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

“S-Sure!” 

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

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

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

… 

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

-

Going on a date is a harrowing experience. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He takes the first sip of the drink you recommended. 

“Well? What do you think?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A house finch begins its soulful serenade in the background. 

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

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

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

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

“Maybe, if I was a sensualist.” 

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

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

“You have a good throwing arm.” 

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

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

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

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

“Pfft, not really.” 

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

“Your opinion on books.” 

He blinks. “Pardon?” 

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

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

Even if it is a mere glimmer. 

He speaks your name.

“Hm?” 

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

-

Everything has a way of escalating faster than you anticipated. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chrollo’s fingers stay there, seemingly placated. 

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

“Can I kiss you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thump, thump, thump. 

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

You break into too many shards to fix. 

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

It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass. 

It always does. 

Just hold on a bit longer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What’s left for you to do? 

Why does it always come back? 

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

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

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

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

“Entirely unprompted?” 

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

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

Well, he’s got you there. 

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

So uncharacteristic acrimony bubbles to the surface instead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why do you think that is?” 

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

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

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

“That certainly plays a role.” 

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

“Yes, yes — you are terribly cute.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think I’m weird?” 

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

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you. 

“Warm.” 

-

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

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

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

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

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

A wave of chills cascades over you.

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

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

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

“You sound like my grandma.” 

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

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

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

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

He sighs wistfully. “Indeed I do.” 

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

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

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

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

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

She mutters another incomprehensible jumble of words. 

“Hm? What was that?” 

You lean over in an attempt to hear her better. 

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

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

 A strange sensation possesses you.

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

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

The passage of time grinds temporarily to a halt. 

And then there is a visceral burst of energy. 

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No response. 

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

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

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

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

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

Then you hear the door handle jingle. 

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

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

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

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

“How much do you remember?” 

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

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

Then there’s a shadow. 

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

Finally, something clicks. 

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

“I’m not sure.” 

“How is that possible? You were—” 

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

“Um, some disorientation and a headache.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is correct.” 

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

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

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

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

Holy shit. 

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

“I didn’t inform them, no.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing is adding up. 

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

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

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

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

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

That is, unless… 

You stare at him, eyebrows knitting together. 

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

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

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

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

“You drugged me?” 

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

“Because that’s how it is!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could.” 

That’s not the reaction you were expecting. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

Are his intentions? 

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

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

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