sad uwu noises

20s || i Iike cats wbu

[hypnoswrites]

All That's Needed

A commission for the lovely @spacyst for a mafia! Chrollo x Reade. It got a bit long lmao so enjoy

Warnings: Mafia! Chrollo, yandere, lawyer! reader, female! reader, dubious consent, explicit violence, extortion, crime, breaking and entering, mass-murder, blood mention, slight nsfw, 11k words

Sometimes you wished fate had handed you different cards. 

You’d seen the christmas movies, the main character always having a job that required hard work but also gave a lot of satisfaction, the entire setting coated in a dust of snow that never seemed to inconvenience anyone. You knew it was all romanticizing something that didn’t truly exist and that working in a lovely little boutique or a bakery had its fair share of hardships, but god did it look comforting. A wonderful house, without the stress from a massive mortgage. A sly best friend living nearby you’d go on coffee trips with. A handsome man come from the city, who you’d reteach the true meaning of Christmas, yadda yadda yadda. Your job would be to make others happy, and that alone made it a far cry from your current occupation. 

Sighing as you scanned your card, you entered the building. 

It’d already been a long day, but you still had a few meetings, all of which would generate more work for you. Comments like ‘maybe you can check out-’ or ‘have you read this and this?’ were helpful, but for once you wished someone would arrive at a meeting with finished tasks instead of more dead-ends to off load onto you. 

Though, to be fair, even if someone offered to lighten your workload, you’d probably look upon them with a large amount of suspicion and decline. Control issues aside, there were very few colleagues you trusted enough, both on their level of skill and their loyalty to the cause, to work with you on this. 

The stakes were too high.

It was one of the things that horrified you most about your job, being a prosecutor for the city of York New. Justice wouldn’t be enacted if you were anything less than perfect. 

Proof of imperfection causing harm was everywhere: misinterpreted witness reports, faulty or late documentation, language barriers that weren’t solved by a half-decent translator. Before you’d been accepted to study law, you’d had some faith in the system, believing that errors would be caught in the end and empathy would have a place throughout the process. You’d been taught the rationale behind the rules, and as such you believed them rational. You’d been taught that this system separated man from beasts and assured some certainty that people would treat others as they wanted to be treated themselves, and while there were a lot of contexts in which law did just that, you quickly found out during your internships that law was also merely a tool to hide the true injustices. 

A parking ticket. An overdue payment. An assault from one blue collar employee to another. All these cases gave the illusion of justice being served, but not once during your career had you seen anyone with even a modicum of power truly get what they deserved. Even if they were charged with this or that, it would only be because they got sloppy and some bigshots needed a scapegoat. The system at large was never punished, because at the bottom of it all, law wasn’t a means to enact justice, it was a means of control. 

And the ones that controlled York New were despicable, a bunch of thugs that had had let the power go to their heads. The entire system was now built to sustain the excessive amount of underground dealings happening in the bowels of the city, every mom and pop shop extorted to finance laviscious lifestyles and bids for power. Every single person holding residency in the city had one or two stories about brushes with the mob, and it was an untold truth that as far as most people were concerned, the mafia was the government as far as practicality allowed them to be.

Still, to keep up the illusion that the legal system would look out for the little guy, there were light spots, the tricks of the powers that be thrown back in their faces with such brute force that they had no choice but to bend, lest they break instead. To achieve something like that one required a media circus, a strong case and a fair judge. With the attention of the masses, the odds of naked corruption would lessen significantly, though with the speed of the news these days, this alone wouldn’t win you your current case. You needed more. More proof, more case law, more time. 

All of this especially because despite what the news had recently claimed about York New being safer than ever, corruption had never been more rampant, even if it was less visible to outsiders. It would only take a person one day in your shoes to realize this, you thought as you entered one of the rooms you’d reserved for a meeting with a colleague specialized in evidence-gathering specific to criminal law, an old woman with sharp eyes called Nimmegen, and you were instead greeted by the sight of a handsome young black-haired man with stormy eyes and a classical appearance.

Your breath had hitched, your eyes also quickly indexing the people standing behind him, the black-haired man the sole one seated, Nimmegen nowhere to be seen. For a second you wondered if you’d just merely misremembered the room number, but when the man motioned for you to sit down, you realized this was truly what it seemed to be. 

No matter, you sternly told yourself, your expression hopefully masking the panic you felt inside. 

The man, the root of all of your issues, opened his mouth to say something, but you took that moment to get yourself out of here.

“Mr. Lucilfer. I must apologize for wasting your time.” As you spoke he stirred his coffee, a perfect picture of corporate confidence. To your own ears you sounded like a robot, mechanically sounding out vowels you hoped would save you from this situation. “There are proper channels for contacting the opposition, and overtaking a confidential meeting between me and a colleague is not one of them. I’d be happy to speak with you on official terms. Good day.” 

With those words, you turned around and left the room, closing the door behind you as you left. With quick strides and your breath thundering in your ears, you quickly walked towards the elevator. Behind you, you heard the door to the conference room open again, and your last name called throughout the garden of cubicles by someone other than fucking Chrollo Lucilfer, a few people looking up to see what was happening. You reached the elevator and pressed the button to go down, praying wordlessly for it to hurry up and arrive. 

Footsteps behind you, though you did not want to look over your shoulders. This was an institutional building with tight security for obvious reasons, but the blonde man you’d seen stand behind Chrollo Lucilfer had been very openly carrying a gun, clearly having been let through without inspection. The odds of them starting a shoot-out here were low, but the fact that you were even considering the possibility had goosebumps forming all over your arm. The footsteps were getting closer. 

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped inside, past the two office employees stepping out, immediately pressing the button to the ground floor, following it up with the button that closed the doors faster, trying not to convey the haste you felt rush through your body. You couldn’t go home, that was not public enough, so a different office would probably be the best route. Even if they’d gotten through this buildings’ security, it’d hopefully take a while for them to arrange new access to your next destination. What you’d do once the sun was down was still up for grabs. 

The doors closed and you looked up. 

Right into Chrollo Lucilfer’s unimpressed smile. 

While you couldn’t exactly see your own expression, it felt as if you were masking your continued shock pretty well, the straightening of your own posture as he waited for you to finish noticing him all the time you were afforded to start improvising. 

“While I am sure my being here must’ve been quite the surprise, there was no need to flee the premises, miss.” He said, placing both his hands into his pockets as he nonchalantly went to stand next to you. “I came here to talk.”

“And as I said, mr. Lucilfer, I am open to a discussion through the proper channels.” You wouldn’t be strongarmed into settling for any less than this man’s complete and utter defeat, and if he believed you to have the conviction of the typical lawyer roaming these halls, he was wrong. Yorknew was rotten and infected with criminality because of him, and it would mean betraying everything you were to even consider any other course of action. You had to repeat these sentiments, lest fear of possible consequences would catch up with you. “Coming up to my place of vocation with armed guards is not one of those channels.”

Suddenly a thought occured. If you could find the camera footage of him and his posse entering the building, and waiting for you in the conference room, it would paint a very nice picture of the Phantom Troupe interfering with the legal process. Since the footage was property to your institution and they entered of their own accord, they wouldn’t have any way of rejecting its use in court. 

Though you couldn’t imagine him not knowing that.

“I apologize for that.” He said, turning his head to look at you, a bid for attention you purposefully ignored. “But I am truly serious when I say that my appearance here was just to have a conversation with you. I’ve read quite a bit of your work, and now am probably becoming a part of it, so I wanted to put a face to the name.”

You didn’t reply, hoping your lacklustre expression faced toward the metal of the elevator door would do the talking for you. 

There was no way he didn’t already know what you looked like. This legal struggle had gone on for years already. The amount of death threats, spam calls and blood soaked packages found outside your door were all way too targeted for him to not have even an inkling to what you looked like. The mention of now knowing your face was just another threat, just another sprinkle of fear to worsen the few bits of sleep you sometimes managed to get. 

The elevator opened with a ting. 

You stepped out of the elevator with haste, hoping he wouldn’t follow you out. 

He didn’t make any moves to do so. “I heard about your brother.” 

You cursed yourself as you immediately turned towards him, not hesitating even for a second. The obnoxious villain just stood there, a twinkle in his eyes and an easygoing smile on his face as he realized he’d caught your mask of professional behavior slipping with the angered scowl you had to certainly be wearing.

The mere mention of your brother, even without any syllable of his actual name mentioned, made a skittish feeling crawl up your legs, a childish urge to immediately run or cry or punch the one who broached the subject a common feeling. At least you weren’t tempted to act on the urges anymore, the control you’d managed to gain throughout the years truly an admirable feat. 

With a slow and confident stride, like one approaching a skittish cat, he walked up to you, taking advantage of your short moment of livid paralysis. “I do not know anything out of firsthand experience, the entire affair being quite a while ago, but if you want, I can tell you what I know over dinner, no strings attached. You can even pick out the place if you worry for your safety.”

“I hesitate to agree to something like that.” You said honestly, your jaw tensing as you pushed down everything you felt to return to the professional state of mind that would protect you in this situation. “Primarily because I don’t see any reason for you to offer me something like that, no strings attached.”

“If you give me a chance to prove myself,” He said, motioning to the entrance of the building, the outside world beckoning you to go along with him, the blaring of traffic and the hum of people commuting audible even through the thick glass walls dividing you and them. “I could show you that this entire affair doesn’t have to be nearly as grim as it currently is.”

His words made a small smile appear on your face, your urge to maybe go along with his idea immediately cut short at his words. He found the case you’d created against him grim? Oh, dear, what a shame. You certainly didn’t want this infamous mob boss to be uncomfortable as he went to face the consequences of his actions. Had the numerous witness testimonies recounting the crimes of his underlings not been happy and cheerful enough? Was it costing him sleep? Did the paparazzi annoy him when he stepped outside?

Your brother would still be alive if it wasn’t for his kind. 

Relieved to have refound your nerve, you let the smile on your face fade into a neutral, but confident gaze. “Thank you for your offer, but I must decline. And, again, mr. Lucilfer, proper channels, please.”

You turned around and walked away, trying to ignore the hefty weight of his gaze on your back. Eyes kept strictly on your destination of the door, your shoulders sagged with relief when you  scanned your employee card at the gate and heard his footsteps move away. The security guard you’d just seen a mere ten minutes ago seemed surprised to see you leave so early, since you were usually the last to leave, but he didn’t note on it outside of a small greeting.

Still, dinner or not, this posed a problem. 

If you had annoyed him with your refusal, odds were big he’d amp up the pressure. More goons trying to bribe you, more vague acquaintances being blackmailed into giving false testimonies to the press on how you were the real corrupt monster here, all to minimize the damages you could hail onto his organisation. Perhaps he’d go all the way and just kill you, break in your house and snap your neck before dumping your body into the river with concrete shoes. You doubted it, considering the image it’d sketch, but perhaps you’d pissed him off enough today.

After you returned home, taking multiple detours both in several taxi’s and on foot, you locked the door with every home security measure you could think of. A cabinet was pushed in front of your front door, you double-checked every lock on the windows and smashed several wine glasses that had been collecting dust in the back of your cupboard at every possible entrance. You scoured the house for every bill of cash you could find and put it all inside an envelope beside your bedside table, right next to a small bottle of pepperspray you’d had since college (you doubted such things went out of date) and a gun you’d bought impulsively in a fit of paranoia a few months back. 

Every time you readied yourself for bed, you thought of more things to do, and as such you left the warmth of your blanket multiple times, each time with a new task. Closing every curtain while being very careful not to step on your homemade glass trap, collecting several large knives from your kitchen to include in your bedside table safety kit, double-checking the locks a final time. By the time you were sure you’d done every insane thing imaginable to make sure the intruder you were sure would come would have the worst time of his life breaking in, it was deep into the night. 

Your eyes were wide open, and sleep would not come. 

Sleeping pills were out of the question. What if you’d sleep too deeply and not notice something amiss? What if you slept through your alarm and missed your 9 am appointment with a fellow prosecutor to look over a previous case against the phantom troupe? It wasn’t an option, but as things were standing, you could barely blink, let alone lie down and let oblivion take you. 

You sighed and made one final trip out of bed, grabbing your laptop and a cup of tea. If sleep wouldn’t come, you’d best make use of the time and work on the case. There were still several documents that had to be revamped, old case law you had to read just to make sure you were not missing a single thing, interviews to prepare and a few emails that had to be sent out before too long, most, if not all pertaining to the impromptu meeting of today. You hadn’t found a way to flip the meeting to something you could use outside of the possible camera footage, but you were tired, and perhaps one of your colleagues would see a way somewhere. 

The blue light of your screen did not soothe, and concentration was far to be found, but you would continue regardless. 

There was nothing else to be done. 

Despite your fear of things escalating, life actually seemed to slow down in the days after the incident. You were left alone on your way to work, and hadn’t been faced with any surprise mob boss meetings since. Days were still long, and the work seemed endless, but at least you could grab a coffee every now and again without realizing you were being followed. It was either that, or the people who followed you now were more professional. Either way, you appreciated it, your paranoia feeling misguided for once. 

At least, until you woke up one day and found a bouquet of flowers on your dinner table. You’d already been in the midst of calling the police when you found it, having noticed the glass by your bedroom door to have been swept to the side, but you were asked to come to the station if you wanted to file a claim, and you simply didn’t have time for something like that. Not when you needed to install new locks and buy new wine glasses. 

A few uneventful days after that, it came as a slight surprise when you received an officially signed letter of Mr Lucilfer, sent through the right person, requesting a meeting with you. After you scanned the letter in and made sure to inform everyone you could think of on having received the request in case you went missing, you sat behind your desk and tried to formulate a response. An intern tried to come into your office at one point to bring you some coffee, but in a flash of fear, you’d sent them out the second they opened the door, immediately imagining them as a mole trying to intercept your response before you were ready to give it. 

You felt bad as he left, the young man clearly upset, but you decided you’d apologize later, the email you were drafting right now feeling of much more importance. 

The letter had specified a time and place, with the option to change both if you were otherwise occupied, and with a humorless chuckle you noticed that the request was for you to meet him at seven in a fancy restaurant, one you’d lived right next to in your student days. Calling it coincidence would be stupid, and you reckoned he’d chosen the place since he assumed you’d be dying to go there, since it was easy to imagine you having smelled the food every time you went back up to your student housing to down another cup of noodles and a granola bar. He was right, of course, and that terrified you. 

You were paid enough to go there now, but when did you have the time?

Closing your eyes, you tried to picture the entire event. A meeting with Chrollo Lucilfer was not easy to arrange, or so you’d been told by several of the ex-mafia employees that had spoken to you (most were dead by now), so for him to want to speak with you at least painted the picture that you held somewhat of a strong hand. Strong enough to at least force him to act. If you remained professional and closed off, you could win information or at least some insight on the man whose organization you were attempting to bring down. He already seemed to know everything about you, so it would bring you on some more level playing field.

On the other hand, it was most definitely a trap.

The email you drafted so far was an acceptance of the offer to meet at the designated time and place, and you generally could trust your own instinct regarding these things, but something still seemed off. 

You grabbed a small blue disposable cell phone you kept in your desk, hidden underneath several years worth of stationary, and sent a text to someone you would trust to at least give you a hint to the nature of this meeting. If the phantom troupe was allowed to have illegal informants in your institution, you weren’t above doing a little of the same. If he didn’t know, that would be an even better sign, since that would mean it hadn’t been discussed thoroughly in the top brass. 

‘Is it a trap?’

A few minutes passed with you staring at the disposable phone like it would sprout legs and walk away if you didn’t keep it under a vigilant watch, before it buzzed. You grabbed the phone aggressively and opened the received text. 

‘A trap worth springing <;3’

You took a deep breath, rubbed your eyes, and sent the email. 

The Bronte, as the restaurant was called, was a sophisticated place, with avant-garde wall art and marble floors. The table cloths were pearly white and there were multiple sets of cutlery next to a set of plates that would be removed the second you ordered anything. Just for show, just to make it seem nice. When you walked in, the hostess didn’t ask for your name and immediately escorted you to a table in the middle of the restaurant. 

Despite coming all this way for him, to see him sitting there still surprised you somewhat, like part of you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He was dressed impeccably, but not in a way that made him pop out of crowds, certainly not one as upper class as this one. You were satisfied you’d also decided to dress appropriately, not just because of him, but because even the waiters seemed dressed to the nines, and having dressed business casual would’ve put more attention on you than the black cocktail dress you’d opted for instead.

It had pockets, one carrying an extra burner phone and the other a small pocketknife.

Just in case.

“Mr. Lucilfer.” You greeted as you reached the table, the hostess immediately disappearing to take your coat to the wardrobe. Those pockets were, of course, empty, the thought of anyone checking them having made you empty them of even the smallest lip gloss last night. “Good evening.” 

“Good evening to you as well.” He motioned for you to sit, the exact same hand gesture he’d made in the conference room, and you decided even that if he looked decidedly nonchalant, he most definitely was not being casual about this affair. “You look lovely.”

“Unnecessary, but appreciated.” You said, half-seriously, feeling uncomfortable with the forced introductory small-talk. When he sent you a look, you sat down and placed your bag by the side of the table, out of the way of the staff. “I don’t want to immediately sit down and rush you, but I’ll leave the itinerary of this meeting to you, seeing as you requested it.”

“Straight to the point.” He huffed out a laugh. “I’d suggest we eat something first.”

“I don’t mind that, but could you at least give me some idea of what we are meeting for today?” You tried to smile disarmingly, but you’d been told by your public relations manager that you looked incredibly stressed and uptight even with a so-called ‘smile’ on your face. You remembered being rather upset by that comment for a few weeks, but it wasn’t like your job allowed you to be relaxed and happy. “If we are talking content today, I’d love to be able to mentally prepare a bit beforehand.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that.” Chrollo replied, waving away your comment. “Trust me when I say it isn’t an urgent matter.”

“I don’t want to be rude.” You did. You wanted to be very rude. If only this asshole would give you the reason he’d made you come all this way, because it’d better not have been just to taste test the paté with you. “But can you at least give some indication? Please?”

He sighed.

“Well. I had imagined we’d get to this part a little later, after getting to know you a bit better, but it’s fine.” If you weren’t mistaken, he sounded rather disappointed by the fact. “I brought you here today to hear my confession.” 

The immediate acceleration of your heartbeat felt close to intoxicating, your eyes wide with confusion and shock as his words registered in your mind. He couldn’t be serious, could he? You didn’t want to look like a fool if you responded too seriously right now. “Could you clarify what you mean?”

“I’ll confess to whatever you charge me with.” He said calmly, leaning forward on the table. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“I am not in this specifically to annoy you, no, but if you are willing to confess things you’ve done, or were responsible for…” You held eye contact and waited for the catch to be revealed. There was no way he’d share all this without having some kind of play in mind. “I wouldn’t be opposed to this.”

“I imagined we would first eat something, but judging by your expression, you’d just frown through the entire meal.” Despite the harsh but true words, he seemed amused the very truthful statement. “You want to do this now?”

“Can we?” You said, your frown fading from your face like it’d never been there, hating how you sounded like a child asking for a present instead of a grown woman looking to indict a hated criminal. “I mean,” you coughed. “I’d prefer to do this right now. I’m not a very patient person, so I’d probably be bad company.”

When he opened his mouth to say something, you held up a finger and opened your purse to fumble through it, placing your phone down with the screen facing upward the second you found it. your finger pressing the record button quickly. “Before you continue, I’d like you to confirm your identity and your voluntary confession, made under no duress and recorded with permission. This conversation takes place in the Bronte, at approximately 8 o’clock on Thursday the seventh of January.” 

He chuckled. “Despite being willing to meet me here, you’re very by-the-book, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

“I don’t mind you saying.” You wondered if that trick worked on others, and decided that it probably did. Insisting others be relaxed and ‘cool’ often made people make juvenile mistakes, social pressure making even the greatest mind revert back to the teenager not fitting into their group well enough. “But if you’ll humor me?”

“I’ll confess, but in return I want you to answer truthfully to whatever questions I have. We can do it in turns, so we both get the most mileage out of this. You can even cut out my questions and your answers in the audio file you send in as evidence, if that worries you.” 

“That’s agreeable.” You had no idea what he’d want from you, but further loss of privacy was worth this confession. Everything was worth this confession. No judge would be able to look the other way with this kind of evidence, even if the manner of collection was a bit unorthodox. You’d leak it to some colleagues first, as was customary, and then to the press, making the source of the leak more obscure. They’d have a field day with this, so even if the Phantom Troupe managed to get this recording to be inadmissible, it’d be a large hit to their reputation and their hold on the legal system, especially if you could get some names of crooked judges and politicians. A video would be even better, but cutting out certain pieces of audio would be more noticeable that way, you reckoned. “So, if you would?”

“Fine. My name is Chrollo Lucilfer, I am in charge of several operations under the name of  the Phantom Troupe, and I have given this confession openly and under no duress. The date and time match the earlier mentioned data.” He took a sip of his wine while tapping on the glass with his index finger. “Is that sufficient?”

“It is.” Curious to find out what he wanted from you, along with granting yourself some time to think your first question through, you opted to wait a bit. “Since you offered to do this, why don’t you start with a question.”

“That surprises me. I thought you’d go right for the kill.” He said. “What drives you to want to dissolve my organisation so bad?”

You blinked and frowned. “You know why.”

“And yet I asked. Answer the question.”

“Fine.” You looked past him while finding the words, knowing already you’d cut out each and every one of these questions from the recording. It wasn’t relevant to the case to know how emotionally involved you were, and any kind of lawyer would use your sob story as a way to disqualify you as a prosecutor, mentioning how you were too ‘deep into the case’ to act objectively. Even you couldn’t deny their point, so it wasn’t a point that was allowed to be made. “Twelve years ago, I was the one to find my brother dead in my living room. It was suspected he had ties with the mafia, and he’d been telling me for a while that he feared things were going sour. Police didn’t report it, labelling it as a suicide, which motivated me to try and fix a rotten legal state where a sawed off neck can be considered a suicide as long as its convenient.”

Yeah, you’d have to cut out your own words. Nothing screamed unfit to practice law as openly denouncing the very system, at least according to the powers that be. Even if you’d try to spin it as a mere comment of irony, it wouldn’t be accepted. You took a deep breath, hoping you wouldn’t spit out so much dangerous material.

He nodded and didn’t say anything, so you continued.

“One of the charges that was dropped earlier last year was on the subject of the Phantom Troupe bribing and threatening employees of public institutions related to health, defense and governance to act in favor of the troupe. Creating policy, rulings, subsidies, that sort of thing.” You asked, “Do you deny these charges? And if not, can you name some names of those you bribed or threatened?”

“I’ll count that as two separate questions, so I get two questions after answering. Is that agreeable for you?” When you nodded, his expression got very serious, which you preferred to the casual and confident air he’d been emitting before, even if it had been fake. This felt like you were taken seriously and that you were winning. “In order to scale up several of our operations, specifically those related to business permits and violent acts that cannot be committed in more… private circumstances, we’ve made sure to install enough people in positions of power to ensure those operations run smoothly. Since these are our members first and foremost, bribes and threats are not often necessary, but it does occasionally occur.” 

“And for names, the current chief of police, the entire board of auditing, judge Clover and judge Bertrand are the most notable of the bunch, I think. I am sure there are plenty more, but those are handled by other people. These are the ones I am personally familiar with.” As he spoke your fingers tensed against your skin, your nails painfully pressed against your own thigh to let the pain distract you from the anger that bubbled up at his list. “Is that to your satisfaction?”

Judge Clover had been the one to flunk the previous cases against the phantom troupe, and even worse, he’d been the one denying your appeal to revisit the cause of death for your brother. You remembered meeting him in his office, the faux sympathy offered through a handshake and a sharp nod, the sigh he’d let out when you tried to explain your own situation. The diluted excuse of coffee you’d been offered as an apology.

If you’d ever see him again, you hoped you’d be able to restrain yourself from pulling that tongue from his grotesque mouth and cutting it off right where it had started to rot. 

The waiter came by with a bottle of wine that had been gifted by another guest along with a complementary basket of bread. Chrollo didn’t ask who had made the clear attempt to create goodwill, but allowed the waiter to fill his glass and yours anyway. If you had to guess, it’d been the man sitting by the bar, his entire persona seeming nervous and twitchy, his eyes going to your table constantly. You’d noticed before, but had assumed it was just someone who either recognized you or the man you were with. The latter had proven true.

He took a sip of the red wine.

With the waiter still at your table, you mirrored him, barely tasting anything, and smiled slightly. “It is.”

He smiled back and the waiter left, leaving you to think about the information that was currently gathering on your phone, specifically the magnitude of it. He could’ve just said yes and mentioned the names, but he went on and admitted to instating those people as well, as well as giving his rationale. Since Judge Clover had been the judge dealing with the previous court case against the phantom troupe, the admission that he was dirty would probably make that entire ruling void. If this evidence managed to get into court, you were nearly certain the amount of charges you could add on were a tenfold increase of the current case. There was no way he would let you walk out with this recording. No way. 

He wasn’t an idiot.

There had to be a catch.

“Then I think it is my turn.” He placed down his glass. “Where were you while he was murdered?”

You still couldn’t tell why he was so interested in your backstory, but decided that you shouldn’t overthink it too much. The trap had yet to fully spring, and for all accounts it could be an attempt to psych you out. “My brother, you mean? Out on a grocery trip.” 

“Hmm.” You could see he’d almost instinctively asked a follow up question, but had decided to remain quiet to think it over a little longer. “That’s being awfully succinct, don’t you think? After all that effort I made to answer your question fully. We’re both aware I could’ve said much less to earn your satisfaction.”

That was fair, and you didn’t want to end this game here yet. “Fine. He’d told me to go on a grocery trip for some chips. I knew we still had some, but he insisted. I went and when I returned he was dead. Whether it was a meeting gone wrong or he knew he was going to get murdered, I do not know, but when I got back he was dead.” You huffed, recollecting the darkest page of your own history. “Safe to say, the entire flooring had to be redone due to the amount of blood that had seeped through.”

There was no visible reaction to that statement and you narrowed your eyes. “Satisfied?”

He clicked his tongue. “Certainly.” 

“Then ask your second question.”

“Did you like the flowers?”

You’d been in the midst of raising the glass to your lips again, your movements stilling as you processed what he meant. So they had been from him. “No. I find it rather off-putting that you managed to get those in my house without me being aware.”

“I would hardly call you being unaware.” He said. “The homemade traps you made were certainly unconventional and not really a sign of someone who doesn’t expect unwanted visitors. Either you are exceptionally paranoid or you suspected I’d drop by.”

The answer to that was that you were exceptionally paranoid, but that was not something you wanted to share per se. Ever since having your home life spoiled by a murder and dedicating your life to taking down everyone involved, trust and comfort had been luxuries not often afforded.

“I never would’ve suspected you personally.” Don’t taunt him, don’t taunt him, don’t taunt him. “I’d think the top man of the Phantom Troupe would spend his time a little better.”

To your relief, he seemed to find the slight jab funny, or he managed to conceal his distaste better than you were able to read him. “Never too busy for my favorite prosecutor.”

Huh?

Was that an attempt to psych you out or something, or was he failing at being funny?

Trying not to get distracted, you thought of further questions you could ask. Making him confess on current charges would be useless, since they were all minor offenses that you’d manage to link to the phantom troupe, and he’d probably be truthful if he said he had nothing to do with those. You couldn’t imagine him being aware of every murder and extortion practice happening within his organization. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, nevertheless, especially since he’d seemed rather forthcoming with information so far, but that only made you more suspicious. 

Before you could think too long on it, you’d already spoken. “Why would you confess?”

“Oh, are we switching up the game?” If anything, he seemed happy you’d switched off the indicting questions. “I don’t mind confessing because you are not going to send this in as evidence.”

“Why wouldn’t I? This has been a lovely evening so far, but I am afraid that it won’t change my mind on the case itself.”

“Simple, because by the end of this night, you’ll delete the recording yourself.” He motioned to the entirety of the room, confident in his stature. “If only to save the lives of the people in this restaurant.”

You’d been breaking off a little piece of the bread on the table while he was speaking, so it took a while before you caught on to his threat. It was said so lightly, so casually, you’d have believed it fully had you hallucinated the sentence. Sadly, when you looked up, he seemed colder than ice, and you would’ve liked the look on him had it not immediately been connected to a possible catastrophe. Mass-murder was one of the charges that had been dropped during the early stages of the case due to lack of evidence, but that had been a massive show of corruption if you were to be asked, witnesses and reports disappearing like snow on a summers day. You knew how vile the man in front of you was, the cologne not masking the rotten personality you knew was hiding under that classical facade. 

“That’s quite the threat, mr. Lucilfer.” You said coldly, placing the piece of bread on your plate, no longer feeling any sort of appetite. “Your invitation for today implied a certain level of civility between the two of us, or did I misinterpret that?”

“Have I been anything but civil with you? I’ve answered your questions honestly and have adhered to every demand you’ve given me so far.” He shrugged casually. “And your life is not in danger here, I promise.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He nonchalantly pointed behind you, making sure to make the gesture barely interpretable as such for any people watching along. Despite his efforts to make it casual, you looked over your shoulder openly, momentarily feeling a bit of satisfied spite when you re-met his gaze and saw his disappointment at your lack in tact. He wanted to play games, not you.

“The blonde woman over by the doors is an employee of mine. She’ll close the doors on my order if you do not delete the recording. After she closes the door, the two men sitting in the corner by the window will systematically kill everyone in this building, save for those under my employment and us, of course.” He leaned further forward, as if sharing a secret, despite not speaking nearly as silent as you’d have expected him to. If he was mirroring your bluntness, you didn’t like it, your eyes immediately checking the tables next to you if they were listening in. “Involving the media was smart in terms of self-preservation. With your presence being as big as it is now on the screen, you are right in assuming I do not find it worth the mess to kill you. However, now that you are in control of such incriminating evidence, you are a larger threat. I still do not mind you walking out with the recording, but it will cost you something.”

You scoffed. “What did the people in this place do to you?”

He twirled a finger around his glass. “Beside serving me spill for wine? Nothing. I’m sure all these people are well-rounded members of society.”

The table to the left was a round one, filled with women talking loudly about one of their relationships. It seemed one of them had gotten engaged a few weeks ago, but was a bit miffed her fiancée had since then not spent a single weekend with her, instead going on expensive golfing trips with his friends, under the gist of ‘getting it out of his system’ before the wedding. The table to the right was a mere two people, both on their phones, making photos of the food in front of them, whispering excitedly to each other on the quality and presentation of the dish. Neither table had heard what had been said. 

“So.” While he was speaking like it was all up to you, he seemed quite certain on what would happen next. “What will you do?”

If he got his way, you’d delete the recording and go home, having gained nothing and lost parts of yourself you didn’t want a mafia boss to have. His angle for wanting to know all those personal things about you still eluded you, but odds were he’d done so to figure out how to stop you for good, or to freak you out with the knowledge that the one in charge of the institution you were trying to bring down knew exactly what kind of person you were. Any other reason was too childish for you to entertain.

The evidence would be gone, and you’d be back to fighting day and night for the slightest odds of justice. People would die while you’d work out a new solution. People would be extorted while you’d fall asleep by your desk. The citizens of your city would suffer, and you’d have to hope your best would be enough to make a change. You looked at your phone, the red dot blinking playfully. It had recorded everything, even the final threat. If he killed everyone here… not only would it further prove the validity of the recording… it’d re-introduce the mass-murder charge. The current case you had would not only get expanded, it’d be a done deal.

It’d win you everything. 

“Give the signal.” You hoped he was bluffing, but were surprised by your own acceptance of the possibility that he wasn’t. This evidence would rid the city of so much trash, so many extortionists and murderers. The restaurant was full to the brim with happy couples and families, but a quick scan revealed that the setting was too posh and expensive to have kids running around. A bunch of rich socialites you could probably rationalize killing for the greater good, children you could not. “Do it.”

He sat up straight and blinked, suddenly looking much younger in his open confusion. “Seriously?”

Part of you wondered if you’d gone crazy, the endless sleepless nights and paranoia having made you lose reason completely, but that part was silenced by the confidence that this would shake up everything. The mere idea that your endless toil would soon end, in a catastrophe or not, gave you a rush that made it all feel like the right call. Instinct, right? 

“Yes. Do it.” You mimicked him and leaned forward, grabbing your phone and sliding it your way while you steeled yourself. “Strengthen my fucking case.”

You’d probably be killed while holding the recording the second you got home, but you could leak it before then, make sure every journalist you knew got front page news. Killing you here would make the Phantom Troupe look bad, sure, but you were even more sure that holding the recording painted a target on your back the size of a skyscraper. You’d die, that was for certain, or you’d spent the rest of your life in jail right next to the filth you’d dragged down with you, the city knowing you’d let all these people be killed to save the rest. 

But, god, it’d be worth it.

Wide-eyed with something you hesitated calling admiration, he closed the distance between the two of you and kissed you, a quick peck that was over before you could even register it. As you regained yourself and placed the phone in your bag, Chrollo dramatically rose up from his seat and addressed the entire restaurant. Most had not noticed yet, though as you looked toward the blonde haired woman, nausea rose inside you as you saw her move to close the doors. There was still a chance this was all a bluff, but the odds of it being such were declining at an alarming rate.

God, had you just sentenced everyone here to die?

Including yourself?

“Ladies and gentleman, may I please have your attention!” Chrollo exclaimed, fronting a dramatic and charismatic facade that hid the calculating and sinister man you’d seen lurk underneath. He didn’t have to speak loudly, those who recognized him falling silent and others probably expecting a proposal or something, a few clicks of photos being taken interrupting his speech. “I have an announcement for everyone present.”

The piano player started playing softer, before stilling completely, the restaurant falling eerily quiet, giving Chrollo every bit of room he demanded.. 

“As you all know, the city of York New has been facing threats of legitimacy for quite some time now. Corruption, extortion, violence, have become common place in this wonderful place, and few dare to stand up against it. Few, but not none.” 

The nervous man by the bar tried to stand up and leave, but he was stopped by the blonde woman that had closed the door, his arm twisted behind his back and a hand slapped on his mouth to shut him up. Only a few people noticed.

“So let us all thank the city's most famous prosecutor, for defending this beautiful place from those who would do it harm, no matter the personal cost.” Being included in the speech made you panic slightly, not used to being put in the spotlight out of the blue. “You all must be eager to resume dining, but I am afraid that will not be possible. You see, the prosecutor has just finished gathering all the puzzle pieces needed to indict probably half of my entire organisation, and I’m afraid, you all are the cost of that decision. Rest assured, I am sure she will put all of your sacrifice to good use, all for the greater good.”

He addressed you and you felt the eyes of the entire room on you. 

“Won’t you?”

Terrified and sick of being toyed with, you closed your eyes and answered the question you feared to be rhetorical. “I will.”

The sound of cutlery being indelicately dropped served as the start signal.

And then the gunshots started. 

“Don’t say it.”

“What? You expect me to comment on the irony of this?” Chrollo traced the bars of the cell, smiling amusedly as he watched your frown deepen. “I’d never.”

You hadn’t expected him to visit, but now that he was in front of you, you could only scoff. Of course he’d come to gloat on the situation. 

“Ha. Ha.” You were lying on your back on the bench inside your cell, a cold underground place in an undisclosed location, where you’d probably been for about a week by now. Two times a day food appeared through a latch, meaning Chrollo was the first person you’d seen in several days. You’d mainly slept, so even if someone else had visited, they hadn’t woken you up. “All this means is that it probably won’t be me. There’ll be someone else.”

“You underestimate yourself.” He leaned against the bars with his shoulder and crossed his arms, and as you turned to fully look at him, you noted that he was wearing a very similar suit to the one he’d been wearing to the restaurant. It looked good on him, so it was probably a staple. “You won’t believe the curses I’ve heard my lawyer utter ever since you came into the picture. You made quite the convincing case. In all the years I’ve been in charge, I’ve had to step in a few times, but I’ve never had to do anything like this. Even in its futility, I am impressed by what you’ve achieved.”

“And what did I achieve?” You stretched your hands above your head and pulled yourself up, tired of looking at him while laid down. It hurt your neck, though everything hurt after having slept on rock-hard plastic for the last week. You wondered how you looked, the grey scrubs your clothes had been replaced with not exactly the summit of design, and you hadn’t showered since before the incident. “Last I checked, it was me behind bars, not you.” 

He tutted. “I thought we were not supposed to comment on the irony, but since you asked, you’ve achieved in garnering my attention.”

And your life had certainly not improved by it. 

After the event at the Bronte, during which you’d had to throw out your heels for the ride home because they were so drenched with blood that you’d left behind red footsteps, coming home had been disorienting. During the taxi ride, you’d already sent the recording to every single journalist you knew, not bothering to edit out anything since your life was already void anyway, so when the door closed behind you, you’d been able to cry excessively. It was unfair that a monster like you was allowed to feel so saddened by what happened, but you couldn’t control yourself. 

Two sleep pills, five drinks and an entire box of take-out later (a small part of you regretted not having had dinner at the restaurant), you fell asleep on the couch. You were awoken, maybe three hours later, by police sirens. You’d looked out the streetside window and had seen multiple vans with armed officers swarming outside your building, several groups going in. Panic hadn’t really set in, since it never stopped since the events at the Bronte, but there was no way you were escaping anything. Better to await the specifics to the situation and deal with it then. 

Either they’d kill you, or Chrollo would probably meet you in the middle of the night and strangle you right in your bed, just to validate your paranoia one more time. In all honesty, you preferred it like this, when you knew it was coming. Didn’t mean you weren’t scared, but being tipsy helped a little.

Ah. You really wanted to check your messages for the responses. 

A little late for that. You already heard them race up the stairs. 

You’d immediately surrendered when they’d knocked down your door- they hadn’t knocked first- but nevertheless you’d been tasered and knocked out. When you woke up you were in familiar circumstances, a holding cell, just on the opposite side. An unfamiliar face claiming to be an attorney had told you what you were charged with, namely the mass-murder of the entire Bronte. To your surprise, you weren’t named an accomplice or an inciter, but the perpetrator. No mention of Chrollo. No mention of the blonde woman. No mention of the two men that had gunned down every person inside that restaurant.

You’d kept quiet, terrified at the situation and not entirely sure how to explain that this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. 

You were saving the city. 

Falsified and real images were shown as evidence, and even you had to acknowledge how well-made the fakes were. You at the table, Chrollo purposefully left out of the shot. You standing over some corpses with a look of determination. You holding a gun. You walking out of the restaurant, stepping over some bodies to do so, your entire attire splattered with red. That was a genius touch, you thought, remembering how it had only been your fingernails and heels that had been in contact with the blood. 

Accepting that you’d lost was a heavy pill to swallow, knowing exactly how easily this evidence would breeze through court. For all the difficulty it had taken you to get even the slightest case against the phantom troupe, the corruption you’d meant to take down would ensure this would go by smooth. You’d probably never see daylight again, let alone live to see another week. 

With a slightly crazed smile, you’d asked the attorney what had happened with the recording, the one you’d sent to all the journalists. 

He’d raised a brow and asked you what you were talking about, meaning it’d all been for nothing. 

You laughed mirthlessly at the thought of him thinking you were proud in having achieved this attention, knowing it was obvious as day what it had cost. “What an honor.”

“I’m quite serious.” For a second you lost his attention, a quick glance at his watch indicating that he didn’t intend to stay here for long.  “I have people for this, but they all came to me like scared rabbits, crying about the prosecutor that wouldn’t leave them alone. One they couldn’t handle, and couldn’t force out of the picture. Everyone has a price, I wholly believe it, but nobody seemed able to find yours. Even I failed in that regard. Turns out, subtle tactics weren’t going to cut it.” 

“So, what’ll happen now? I’m assuming I won’t make it to my own court case.” 

“Definitely not, no.” He didn’t quite manage to sound apologetic about it.“You’ll kill yourself in a guilt-induced psychosis a few days before the hearing.”

“I see.” You put your hand in your hair, disliking how greasy it felt.  “Can I make a request on the method?”

“Let me guess, beheaded with a wire?”

You fell silent. 

He chuckled. “Wanting to leave a little hint to a prospective heir to your task is commendable, but I don’t feel like repeating this in five years.” He unfurled his arms and put one hand in his pocket. “And sadly the entire act has already been decided upon. According to the coroners report, you’ll have bitten through your own tongue. Your funeral will be held in private circumstances, with closed casket, and that will be that.”

“Why are you telling me this?” It was something you were curious about, but it wasn’t why you asked the question. Truth be told, you’d been bored out of your mind, despite the amount of sleep having proven wonders for your headaches. With how hasty he was acting, he probably wouldn’t stay for long, and if you could do nothing else, you’d love to waste more of his time. “Does it make you happy to have rid yourself of me?”

“On the contrary. I am doing everything I can not to rid myself of you. If I’d let you continue, I would’ve been forced to actually kill you.”

When you looked up at him in confusion, he continued.

“You won’t be actually killed, you’ll be safely transported to a more pleasant prison on my premises. It would be a waste of talent, of mettle, to have someone like you meet your end in this place. Instead, I wish to get to know you a little better, so let’s just call having to endure my company your punishment for frustrating my people so long.”

“What do you think you’re getting out of this?” You said, utterly confused. He’d kissed you that night at the Bronte, right before the occurrence that had put you in this situation, but you’d assumed it to be in appreciation of your lacking ethics, or a weird form of sexual gratification you were too repressed to understand, not something actually worth pursuing. “It has been my life’s mission, from the moment one of your underlings placed the decapitated head of my brother on my fucking doorstep, to ruin you, and everything you represent. I hate you, do not let my professionalism so far blind you to that. I’d suggest you reconsider and kill me, because you could lock me up in a room with a silk bed and feather pillows, but nothing will stop me from detesting you and doing everything in my power to make your life as miserable as I can.”

“There it is.” He crouched down, lowering himself to your level. “I quite enjoy that look on you.” He suddenly blinked and laughed to himself, covering his face in faux embarrassment. “Hahaha- I might be taking over a few bad habits from a colleague of mine.”

“Then I’d urge you to take over more of their bad habits and just kill me.” The humiliation you were imagining would be unbearable. What good would your commitment have been for if you allowed yourself to be turned into a puppet. You’d be no better than the pieces of shit that had obstructed you your entire life, like that waste of space judge Clover. “Or is that not enjoyable for you?”

“If your imagining I’ll keep you purely so I have something to fuck when I’m done doing whatever evil things you imagine me doing daily, you’re a bit off.” For him to vulgarly admit so bluntly what you’d been suspecting this was all for threw you off-guard. The very idea that you’d caught his attention in that regard being rather unsettling, especially since it spoke novels on what he considered arousing. “Not to say I’m not interested, because I am, but I am more interested in seeing whether or not I can break you in. Turn you from a thorn in my side to something a bit more useful.” 

“I said everyone has a price, even you, but perhaps you need more incentive than most.” He stood back up to his full height. “How about you kiss me?”

You were still seated, growingly incredulous as he stepped forward to the iron bars, lining up his face in between, close enough to allow you to do so, not that you were inclined towards that point of action. 

“Well since you’ve got me all figured out, incentivize me.” You said coldly, the dark and predatory look you read of his face only intensified by the artificial and blue-ish light coming from the ceiling. “Or did you think I would want to? Sorry, but I don’t think ‘framing me for a mass-murder’ is the flirting strategy you think it is.”

“Oh? I thought you’d learned by now that I am a man of my word, someone worth listening to. I can list some threats, events you’d be keen on avoiding, but we can also just skip that.” You opened your mouth to speak but he held up a hand, interrupting you. “While your life doesn’t seem all that precious to you, you want me to be destroyed most of all, particularly through that lovely legal system you place so much faith in. It’s worth everything, even an entire building full of the people you swore to protect. That is your price, and while I wont do anything rash for something so petty, I could be persuaded to allow your earlier request.”

Earlier request? You tried to remember the entire conversation, your mouth falling slightly ajar when you realized what he meant. The suicide. He’d said you would be registered as having bit your tongue, but he was offering to change that to a sawed off head. It’d cast major suspicion on your death, which you hoped would still be considered odd seeing as the timing was so spot on. 

Your brother’s death hadn’t caused any ripples, despite everything you’d tried, the massive amounts of emails you’d sent to whomever you could think of. It’d been covered up, and your insistence on speaking on it had never made anything happen. 

But…

He’d not been in the limelight when he died. or even before. He wasn’t killed after a very open legal battle, and he hadn’t made numerous public appearances on television before dying. If you died, allegedly at least, like that, surely there’d be outrage? Surely someone would play the part of whistleblower and blow a hole in this entire facade?

Chrollo didn’t seem to think it was possible. 

He was sure of it. 

Hope is a weird feeling, you thought as you stood up and walked up to him, pressing your lips to his for the shortest time physically possible. Swiftly, you pressed your lips to his for the briefest moment imaginable. Observing a hint of a smile on his face just before the kiss, you experienced a surge of frustration and shame. Determined not to provide him any satisfaction, you quickly withdrew.

Before you could step back, his hand was tangled in your shirt, and he forcefully pulled you back towards the bars, his mouth back on yours, quite a lot harsher than your chaste peck had been. You tried to pull back a little from his grip on your shirt, but he was stronger than you had thought him to be, his grip unyielding as he kept your lips locked with his. You felt his tongue brush against your lower lip, but there was no way you were going to open your mouth the slightest. It was just a kiss, you didn’t have to make out with him. 

“I know what I said, you don’t have to make your case.” He laughed as pulled away and brushed his nose against your cheek, the look in your eyes probably telling him exactly what you’d been thinking. “Sure there’s nothing I can do to buy your enthusiasm?”

“I’m not a fucking prostitute.” 

“Everyone sells their body, in some regard. And did you not just kiss me because I granted a request?” You felt your jaw tense at his words, his grip on your shirt still forcing you flush against the bars, the iron pushed into your chest. “Make another one.”

For all the ways you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, your mind did immediately consider the ways you could twist this your way. He seemed to think himself invincible, especially like this, with you locked away and him on the other side, clearly the victor. It infuriated you, the mocking longing you wanted to wipe off his face. “Release the recording. Again. To every journalist in this city.”

“Ah, I’m sad to say it has already been destroyed.” He closed the distance a bit more when you leaned your head back to create some space, his breath flowing against your jaw. At this distance, his nonchalance seemed paper-thin, an obsessive fire lighting up the otherwise empty black eyes. “Your phone was replaced the night I brought you the flowers. All the risky contacts shifted to fakes, just to be safe.”

“You-!”

“Make another one.” 

There was something demanding about his tone, and you really didn’t feel like finding out what would happen if you didn’t take advantage of the situation. He’d mentioned threats, and if they were anything in the ballpark of the Bronte, you couldn’t justify letting people die just because you were too prideful to make out with the person you hated the most, no matter how much it made your blood boil. Despite knowing you weren’t brave enough to reject him, frustration and anger made the words that came out of your mouth feel foreign to your usual composure. You wanted him to hurt. You wanted the people who’d put you here to hurt. You wanted them all to suffer and burn. “Kill that fucking judge Clover.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t pull back. “I’ll do it.”

And though you had no reason to believe him, you did.

Fueled by anger, you kissed him again, this time making sure that there could not be made a single comment on your ‘enthusiasm’. He did not back down from the challenge you formed, responding to your kiss with equal, if not more, zeal. 

It’d been quite a while since you kissed anyone, and certainly you’d never shared a kiss like this, but from the way Chrollo moved and toyed with you, despite you having initiated it, you knew you were out of your depth with an attempt to overwhelm him like this. If anything, by the time you felt your fire sputter out, he was still chasing you, not letting you have any space to catch a breath. He was the one who controlled the pace, and he decided when to stop. When he stopped locking his lips with yours, you felt suffocated and exhausted, your entire body feeling aflame.

The hand keeping you flush against the bars let go of your shirt, and you fell backwards ungracefully, only barely saving yourself from tripping onto the floor.

“As I said, you have potential. I am quite sure you can be an asset, given enough time.” He smiled softly when one of your hands went up to feel your lips, the skin bruised and plump. “But if that fails, I’m sure we can fill that time with other things.”

[hypnoswrites]

All That's Needed

A commission for the lovely @spacyst for a mafia! Chrollo x Reade. It got a bit long lmao so enjoy

Warnings: Mafia! Chrollo, yandere, lawyer! reader, female! reader, dubious consent, explicit violence, extortion, crime, breaking and entering, mass-murder, blood mention, slight nsfw, 11k words

Sometimes you wished fate had handed you different cards. 

You’d seen the christmas movies, the main character always having a job that required hard work but also gave a lot of satisfaction, the entire setting coated in a dust of snow that never seemed to inconvenience anyone. You knew it was all romanticizing something that didn’t truly exist and that working in a lovely little boutique or a bakery had its fair share of hardships, but god did it look comforting. A wonderful house, without the stress from a massive mortgage. A sly best friend living nearby you’d go on coffee trips with. A handsome man come from the city, who you’d reteach the true meaning of Christmas, yadda yadda yadda. Your job would be to make others happy, and that alone made it a far cry from your current occupation. 

Sighing as you scanned your card, you entered the building. 

It’d already been a long day, but you still had a few meetings, all of which would generate more work for you. Comments like ‘maybe you can check out-’ or ‘have you read this and this?’ were helpful, but for once you wished someone would arrive at a meeting with finished tasks instead of more dead-ends to off load onto you. 

Though, to be fair, even if someone offered to lighten your workload, you’d probably look upon them with a large amount of suspicion and decline. Control issues aside, there were very few colleagues you trusted enough, both on their level of skill and their loyalty to the cause, to work with you on this. 

The stakes were too high.

It was one of the things that horrified you most about your job, being a prosecutor for the city of York New. Justice wouldn’t be enacted if you were anything less than perfect. 

Proof of imperfection causing harm was everywhere: misinterpreted witness reports, faulty or late documentation, language barriers that weren’t solved by a half-decent translator. Before you’d been accepted to study law, you’d had some faith in the system, believing that errors would be caught in the end and empathy would have a place throughout the process. You’d been taught the rationale behind the rules, and as such you believed them rational. You’d been taught that this system separated man from beasts and assured some certainty that people would treat others as they wanted to be treated themselves, and while there were a lot of contexts in which law did just that, you quickly found out during your internships that law was also merely a tool to hide the true injustices. 

A parking ticket. An overdue payment. An assault from one blue collar employee to another. All these cases gave the illusion of justice being served, but not once during your career had you seen anyone with even a modicum of power truly get what they deserved. Even if they were charged with this or that, it would only be because they got sloppy and some bigshots needed a scapegoat. The system at large was never punished, because at the bottom of it all, law wasn’t a means to enact justice, it was a means of control. 

And the ones that controlled York New were despicable, a bunch of thugs that had had let the power go to their heads. The entire system was now built to sustain the excessive amount of underground dealings happening in the bowels of the city, every mom and pop shop extorted to finance laviscious lifestyles and bids for power. Every single person holding residency in the city had one or two stories about brushes with the mob, and it was an untold truth that as far as most people were concerned, the mafia was the government as far as practicality allowed them to be.

Still, to keep up the illusion that the legal system would look out for the little guy, there were light spots, the tricks of the powers that be thrown back in their faces with such brute force that they had no choice but to bend, lest they break instead. To achieve something like that one required a media circus, a strong case and a fair judge. With the attention of the masses, the odds of naked corruption would lessen significantly, though with the speed of the news these days, this alone wouldn’t win you your current case. You needed more. More proof, more case law, more time. 

All of this especially because despite what the news had recently claimed about York New being safer than ever, corruption had never been more rampant, even if it was less visible to outsiders. It would only take a person one day in your shoes to realize this, you thought as you entered one of the rooms you’d reserved for a meeting with a colleague specialized in evidence-gathering specific to criminal law, an old woman with sharp eyes called Nimmegen, and you were instead greeted by the sight of a handsome young black-haired man with stormy eyes and a classical appearance.

Your breath had hitched, your eyes also quickly indexing the people standing behind him, the black-haired man the sole one seated, Nimmegen nowhere to be seen. For a second you wondered if you’d just merely misremembered the room number, but when the man motioned for you to sit down, you realized this was truly what it seemed to be. 

No matter, you sternly told yourself, your expression hopefully masking the panic you felt inside. 

The man, the root of all of your issues, opened his mouth to say something, but you took that moment to get yourself out of here.

“Mr. Lucilfer. I must apologize for wasting your time.” As you spoke he stirred his coffee, a perfect picture of corporate confidence. To your own ears you sounded like a robot, mechanically sounding out vowels you hoped would save you from this situation. “There are proper channels for contacting the opposition, and overtaking a confidential meeting between me and a colleague is not one of them. I’d be happy to speak with you on official terms. Good day.” 

With those words, you turned around and left the room, closing the door behind you as you left. With quick strides and your breath thundering in your ears, you quickly walked towards the elevator. Behind you, you heard the door to the conference room open again, and your last name called throughout the garden of cubicles by someone other than fucking Chrollo Lucilfer, a few people looking up to see what was happening. You reached the elevator and pressed the button to go down, praying wordlessly for it to hurry up and arrive. 

Footsteps behind you, though you did not want to look over your shoulders. This was an institutional building with tight security for obvious reasons, but the blonde man you’d seen stand behind Chrollo Lucilfer had been very openly carrying a gun, clearly having been let through without inspection. The odds of them starting a shoot-out here were low, but the fact that you were even considering the possibility had goosebumps forming all over your arm. The footsteps were getting closer. 

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped inside, past the two office employees stepping out, immediately pressing the button to the ground floor, following it up with the button that closed the doors faster, trying not to convey the haste you felt rush through your body. You couldn’t go home, that was not public enough, so a different office would probably be the best route. Even if they’d gotten through this buildings’ security, it’d hopefully take a while for them to arrange new access to your next destination. What you’d do once the sun was down was still up for grabs. 

The doors closed and you looked up. 

Right into Chrollo Lucilfer’s unimpressed smile. 

While you couldn’t exactly see your own expression, it felt as if you were masking your continued shock pretty well, the straightening of your own posture as he waited for you to finish noticing him all the time you were afforded to start improvising. 

“While I am sure my being here must’ve been quite the surprise, there was no need to flee the premises, miss.” He said, placing both his hands into his pockets as he nonchalantly went to stand next to you. “I came here to talk.”

“And as I said, mr. Lucilfer, I am open to a discussion through the proper channels.” You wouldn’t be strongarmed into settling for any less than this man’s complete and utter defeat, and if he believed you to have the conviction of the typical lawyer roaming these halls, he was wrong. Yorknew was rotten and infected with criminality because of him, and it would mean betraying everything you were to even consider any other course of action. You had to repeat these sentiments, lest fear of possible consequences would catch up with you. “Coming up to my place of vocation with armed guards is not one of those channels.”

Suddenly a thought occured. If you could find the camera footage of him and his posse entering the building, and waiting for you in the conference room, it would paint a very nice picture of the Phantom Troupe interfering with the legal process. Since the footage was property to your institution and they entered of their own accord, they wouldn’t have any way of rejecting its use in court. 

Though you couldn’t imagine him not knowing that.

“I apologize for that.” He said, turning his head to look at you, a bid for attention you purposefully ignored. “But I am truly serious when I say that my appearance here was just to have a conversation with you. I’ve read quite a bit of your work, and now am probably becoming a part of it, so I wanted to put a face to the name.”

You didn’t reply, hoping your lacklustre expression faced toward the metal of the elevator door would do the talking for you. 

There was no way he didn’t already know what you looked like. This legal struggle had gone on for years already. The amount of death threats, spam calls and blood soaked packages found outside your door were all way too targeted for him to not have even an inkling to what you looked like. The mention of now knowing your face was just another threat, just another sprinkle of fear to worsen the few bits of sleep you sometimes managed to get. 

The elevator opened with a ting. 

You stepped out of the elevator with haste, hoping he wouldn’t follow you out. 

He didn’t make any moves to do so. “I heard about your brother.” 

You cursed yourself as you immediately turned towards him, not hesitating even for a second. The obnoxious villain just stood there, a twinkle in his eyes and an easygoing smile on his face as he realized he’d caught your mask of professional behavior slipping with the angered scowl you had to certainly be wearing.

The mere mention of your brother, even without any syllable of his actual name mentioned, made a skittish feeling crawl up your legs, a childish urge to immediately run or cry or punch the one who broached the subject a common feeling. At least you weren’t tempted to act on the urges anymore, the control you’d managed to gain throughout the years truly an admirable feat. 

With a slow and confident stride, like one approaching a skittish cat, he walked up to you, taking advantage of your short moment of livid paralysis. “I do not know anything out of firsthand experience, the entire affair being quite a while ago, but if you want, I can tell you what I know over dinner, no strings attached. You can even pick out the place if you worry for your safety.”

“I hesitate to agree to something like that.” You said honestly, your jaw tensing as you pushed down everything you felt to return to the professional state of mind that would protect you in this situation. “Primarily because I don’t see any reason for you to offer me something like that, no strings attached.”

“If you give me a chance to prove myself,” He said, motioning to the entrance of the building, the outside world beckoning you to go along with him, the blaring of traffic and the hum of people commuting audible even through the thick glass walls dividing you and them. “I could show you that this entire affair doesn’t have to be nearly as grim as it currently is.”

His words made a small smile appear on your face, your urge to maybe go along with his idea immediately cut short at his words. He found the case you’d created against him grim? Oh, dear, what a shame. You certainly didn’t want this infamous mob boss to be uncomfortable as he went to face the consequences of his actions. Had the numerous witness testimonies recounting the crimes of his underlings not been happy and cheerful enough? Was it costing him sleep? Did the paparazzi annoy him when he stepped outside?

Your brother would still be alive if it wasn’t for his kind. 

Relieved to have refound your nerve, you let the smile on your face fade into a neutral, but confident gaze. “Thank you for your offer, but I must decline. And, again, mr. Lucilfer, proper channels, please.”

You turned around and walked away, trying to ignore the hefty weight of his gaze on your back. Eyes kept strictly on your destination of the door, your shoulders sagged with relief when you  scanned your employee card at the gate and heard his footsteps move away. The security guard you’d just seen a mere ten minutes ago seemed surprised to see you leave so early, since you were usually the last to leave, but he didn’t note on it outside of a small greeting.

Still, dinner or not, this posed a problem. 

If you had annoyed him with your refusal, odds were big he’d amp up the pressure. More goons trying to bribe you, more vague acquaintances being blackmailed into giving false testimonies to the press on how you were the real corrupt monster here, all to minimize the damages you could hail onto his organisation. Perhaps he’d go all the way and just kill you, break in your house and snap your neck before dumping your body into the river with concrete shoes. You doubted it, considering the image it’d sketch, but perhaps you’d pissed him off enough today.

After you returned home, taking multiple detours both in several taxi’s and on foot, you locked the door with every home security measure you could think of. A cabinet was pushed in front of your front door, you double-checked every lock on the windows and smashed several wine glasses that had been collecting dust in the back of your cupboard at every possible entrance. You scoured the house for every bill of cash you could find and put it all inside an envelope beside your bedside table, right next to a small bottle of pepperspray you’d had since college (you doubted such things went out of date) and a gun you’d bought impulsively in a fit of paranoia a few months back. 

Every time you readied yourself for bed, you thought of more things to do, and as such you left the warmth of your blanket multiple times, each time with a new task. Closing every curtain while being very careful not to step on your homemade glass trap, collecting several large knives from your kitchen to include in your bedside table safety kit, double-checking the locks a final time. By the time you were sure you’d done every insane thing imaginable to make sure the intruder you were sure would come would have the worst time of his life breaking in, it was deep into the night. 

Your eyes were wide open, and sleep would not come. 

Sleeping pills were out of the question. What if you’d sleep too deeply and not notice something amiss? What if you slept through your alarm and missed your 9 am appointment with a fellow prosecutor to look over a previous case against the phantom troupe? It wasn’t an option, but as things were standing, you could barely blink, let alone lie down and let oblivion take you. 

You sighed and made one final trip out of bed, grabbing your laptop and a cup of tea. If sleep wouldn’t come, you’d best make use of the time and work on the case. There were still several documents that had to be revamped, old case law you had to read just to make sure you were not missing a single thing, interviews to prepare and a few emails that had to be sent out before too long, most, if not all pertaining to the impromptu meeting of today. You hadn’t found a way to flip the meeting to something you could use outside of the possible camera footage, but you were tired, and perhaps one of your colleagues would see a way somewhere. 

The blue light of your screen did not soothe, and concentration was far to be found, but you would continue regardless. 

There was nothing else to be done. 

Despite your fear of things escalating, life actually seemed to slow down in the days after the incident. You were left alone on your way to work, and hadn’t been faced with any surprise mob boss meetings since. Days were still long, and the work seemed endless, but at least you could grab a coffee every now and again without realizing you were being followed. It was either that, or the people who followed you now were more professional. Either way, you appreciated it, your paranoia feeling misguided for once. 

At least, until you woke up one day and found a bouquet of flowers on your dinner table. You’d already been in the midst of calling the police when you found it, having noticed the glass by your bedroom door to have been swept to the side, but you were asked to come to the station if you wanted to file a claim, and you simply didn’t have time for something like that. Not when you needed to install new locks and buy new wine glasses. 

A few uneventful days after that, it came as a slight surprise when you received an officially signed letter of Mr Lucilfer, sent through the right person, requesting a meeting with you. After you scanned the letter in and made sure to inform everyone you could think of on having received the request in case you went missing, you sat behind your desk and tried to formulate a response. An intern tried to come into your office at one point to bring you some coffee, but in a flash of fear, you’d sent them out the second they opened the door, immediately imagining them as a mole trying to intercept your response before you were ready to give it. 

You felt bad as he left, the young man clearly upset, but you decided you’d apologize later, the email you were drafting right now feeling of much more importance. 

The letter had specified a time and place, with the option to change both if you were otherwise occupied, and with a humorless chuckle you noticed that the request was for you to meet him at seven in a fancy restaurant, one you’d lived right next to in your student days. Calling it coincidence would be stupid, and you reckoned he’d chosen the place since he assumed you’d be dying to go there, since it was easy to imagine you having smelled the food every time you went back up to your student housing to down another cup of noodles and a granola bar. He was right, of course, and that terrified you. 

You were paid enough to go there now, but when did you have the time?

Closing your eyes, you tried to picture the entire event. A meeting with Chrollo Lucilfer was not easy to arrange, or so you’d been told by several of the ex-mafia employees that had spoken to you (most were dead by now), so for him to want to speak with you at least painted the picture that you held somewhat of a strong hand. Strong enough to at least force him to act. If you remained professional and closed off, you could win information or at least some insight on the man whose organization you were attempting to bring down. He already seemed to know everything about you, so it would bring you on some more level playing field.

On the other hand, it was most definitely a trap.

The email you drafted so far was an acceptance of the offer to meet at the designated time and place, and you generally could trust your own instinct regarding these things, but something still seemed off. 

You grabbed a small blue disposable cell phone you kept in your desk, hidden underneath several years worth of stationary, and sent a text to someone you would trust to at least give you a hint to the nature of this meeting. If the phantom troupe was allowed to have illegal informants in your institution, you weren’t above doing a little of the same. If he didn’t know, that would be an even better sign, since that would mean it hadn’t been discussed thoroughly in the top brass. 

‘Is it a trap?’

A few minutes passed with you staring at the disposable phone like it would sprout legs and walk away if you didn’t keep it under a vigilant watch, before it buzzed. You grabbed the phone aggressively and opened the received text. 

‘A trap worth springing <;3’

You took a deep breath, rubbed your eyes, and sent the email. 

The Bronte, as the restaurant was called, was a sophisticated place, with avant-garde wall art and marble floors. The table cloths were pearly white and there were multiple sets of cutlery next to a set of plates that would be removed the second you ordered anything. Just for show, just to make it seem nice. When you walked in, the hostess didn’t ask for your name and immediately escorted you to a table in the middle of the restaurant. 

Despite coming all this way for him, to see him sitting there still surprised you somewhat, like part of you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He was dressed impeccably, but not in a way that made him pop out of crowds, certainly not one as upper class as this one. You were satisfied you’d also decided to dress appropriately, not just because of him, but because even the waiters seemed dressed to the nines, and having dressed business casual would’ve put more attention on you than the black cocktail dress you’d opted for instead.

It had pockets, one carrying an extra burner phone and the other a small pocketknife.

Just in case.

“Mr. Lucilfer.” You greeted as you reached the table, the hostess immediately disappearing to take your coat to the wardrobe. Those pockets were, of course, empty, the thought of anyone checking them having made you empty them of even the smallest lip gloss last night. “Good evening.” 

“Good evening to you as well.” He motioned for you to sit, the exact same hand gesture he’d made in the conference room, and you decided even that if he looked decidedly nonchalant, he most definitely was not being casual about this affair. “You look lovely.”

“Unnecessary, but appreciated.” You said, half-seriously, feeling uncomfortable with the forced introductory small-talk. When he sent you a look, you sat down and placed your bag by the side of the table, out of the way of the staff. “I don’t want to immediately sit down and rush you, but I’ll leave the itinerary of this meeting to you, seeing as you requested it.”

“Straight to the point.” He huffed out a laugh. “I’d suggest we eat something first.”

“I don’t mind that, but could you at least give me some idea of what we are meeting for today?” You tried to smile disarmingly, but you’d been told by your public relations manager that you looked incredibly stressed and uptight even with a so-called ‘smile’ on your face. You remembered being rather upset by that comment for a few weeks, but it wasn’t like your job allowed you to be relaxed and happy. “If we are talking content today, I’d love to be able to mentally prepare a bit beforehand.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that.” Chrollo replied, waving away your comment. “Trust me when I say it isn’t an urgent matter.”

“I don’t want to be rude.” You did. You wanted to be very rude. If only this asshole would give you the reason he’d made you come all this way, because it’d better not have been just to taste test the paté with you. “But can you at least give some indication? Please?”

He sighed.

“Well. I had imagined we’d get to this part a little later, after getting to know you a bit better, but it’s fine.” If you weren’t mistaken, he sounded rather disappointed by the fact. “I brought you here today to hear my confession.” 

The immediate acceleration of your heartbeat felt close to intoxicating, your eyes wide with confusion and shock as his words registered in your mind. He couldn’t be serious, could he? You didn’t want to look like a fool if you responded too seriously right now. “Could you clarify what you mean?”

“I’ll confess to whatever you charge me with.” He said calmly, leaning forward on the table. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“I am not in this specifically to annoy you, no, but if you are willing to confess things you’ve done, or were responsible for…” You held eye contact and waited for the catch to be revealed. There was no way he’d share all this without having some kind of play in mind. “I wouldn’t be opposed to this.”

“I imagined we would first eat something, but judging by your expression, you’d just frown through the entire meal.” Despite the harsh but true words, he seemed amused the very truthful statement. “You want to do this now?”

“Can we?” You said, your frown fading from your face like it’d never been there, hating how you sounded like a child asking for a present instead of a grown woman looking to indict a hated criminal. “I mean,” you coughed. “I’d prefer to do this right now. I’m not a very patient person, so I’d probably be bad company.”

When he opened his mouth to say something, you held up a finger and opened your purse to fumble through it, placing your phone down with the screen facing upward the second you found it. your finger pressing the record button quickly. “Before you continue, I’d like you to confirm your identity and your voluntary confession, made under no duress and recorded with permission. This conversation takes place in the Bronte, at approximately 8 o’clock on Thursday the seventh of January.” 

He chuckled. “Despite being willing to meet me here, you’re very by-the-book, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

“I don’t mind you saying.” You wondered if that trick worked on others, and decided that it probably did. Insisting others be relaxed and ‘cool’ often made people make juvenile mistakes, social pressure making even the greatest mind revert back to the teenager not fitting into their group well enough. “But if you’ll humor me?”

“I’ll confess, but in return I want you to answer truthfully to whatever questions I have. We can do it in turns, so we both get the most mileage out of this. You can even cut out my questions and your answers in the audio file you send in as evidence, if that worries you.” 

“That’s agreeable.” You had no idea what he’d want from you, but further loss of privacy was worth this confession. Everything was worth this confession. No judge would be able to look the other way with this kind of evidence, even if the manner of collection was a bit unorthodox. You’d leak it to some colleagues first, as was customary, and then to the press, making the source of the leak more obscure. They’d have a field day with this, so even if the Phantom Troupe managed to get this recording to be inadmissible, it’d be a large hit to their reputation and their hold on the legal system, especially if you could get some names of crooked judges and politicians. A video would be even better, but cutting out certain pieces of audio would be more noticeable that way, you reckoned. “So, if you would?”

“Fine. My name is Chrollo Lucilfer, I am in charge of several operations under the name of  the Phantom Troupe, and I have given this confession openly and under no duress. The date and time match the earlier mentioned data.” He took a sip of his wine while tapping on the glass with his index finger. “Is that sufficient?”

“It is.” Curious to find out what he wanted from you, along with granting yourself some time to think your first question through, you opted to wait a bit. “Since you offered to do this, why don’t you start with a question.”

“That surprises me. I thought you’d go right for the kill.” He said. “What drives you to want to dissolve my organisation so bad?”

You blinked and frowned. “You know why.”

“And yet I asked. Answer the question.”

“Fine.” You looked past him while finding the words, knowing already you’d cut out each and every one of these questions from the recording. It wasn’t relevant to the case to know how emotionally involved you were, and any kind of lawyer would use your sob story as a way to disqualify you as a prosecutor, mentioning how you were too ‘deep into the case’ to act objectively. Even you couldn’t deny their point, so it wasn’t a point that was allowed to be made. “Twelve years ago, I was the one to find my brother dead in my living room. It was suspected he had ties with the mafia, and he’d been telling me for a while that he feared things were going sour. Police didn’t report it, labelling it as a suicide, which motivated me to try and fix a rotten legal state where a sawed off neck can be considered a suicide as long as its convenient.”

Yeah, you’d have to cut out your own words. Nothing screamed unfit to practice law as openly denouncing the very system, at least according to the powers that be. Even if you’d try to spin it as a mere comment of irony, it wouldn’t be accepted. You took a deep breath, hoping you wouldn’t spit out so much dangerous material.

He nodded and didn’t say anything, so you continued.

“One of the charges that was dropped earlier last year was on the subject of the Phantom Troupe bribing and threatening employees of public institutions related to health, defense and governance to act in favor of the troupe. Creating policy, rulings, subsidies, that sort of thing.” You asked, “Do you deny these charges? And if not, can you name some names of those you bribed or threatened?”

“I’ll count that as two separate questions, so I get two questions after answering. Is that agreeable for you?” When you nodded, his expression got very serious, which you preferred to the casual and confident air he’d been emitting before, even if it had been fake. This felt like you were taken seriously and that you were winning. “In order to scale up several of our operations, specifically those related to business permits and violent acts that cannot be committed in more… private circumstances, we’ve made sure to install enough people in positions of power to ensure those operations run smoothly. Since these are our members first and foremost, bribes and threats are not often necessary, but it does occasionally occur.” 

“And for names, the current chief of police, the entire board of auditing, judge Clover and judge Bertrand are the most notable of the bunch, I think. I am sure there are plenty more, but those are handled by other people. These are the ones I am personally familiar with.” As he spoke your fingers tensed against your skin, your nails painfully pressed against your own thigh to let the pain distract you from the anger that bubbled up at his list. “Is that to your satisfaction?”

Judge Clover had been the one to flunk the previous cases against the phantom troupe, and even worse, he’d been the one denying your appeal to revisit the cause of death for your brother. You remembered meeting him in his office, the faux sympathy offered through a handshake and a sharp nod, the sigh he’d let out when you tried to explain your own situation. The diluted excuse of coffee you’d been offered as an apology.

If you’d ever see him again, you hoped you’d be able to restrain yourself from pulling that tongue from his grotesque mouth and cutting it off right where it had started to rot. 

The waiter came by with a bottle of wine that had been gifted by another guest along with a complementary basket of bread. Chrollo didn’t ask who had made the clear attempt to create goodwill, but allowed the waiter to fill his glass and yours anyway. If you had to guess, it’d been the man sitting by the bar, his entire persona seeming nervous and twitchy, his eyes going to your table constantly. You’d noticed before, but had assumed it was just someone who either recognized you or the man you were with. The latter had proven true.

He took a sip of the red wine.

With the waiter still at your table, you mirrored him, barely tasting anything, and smiled slightly. “It is.”

He smiled back and the waiter left, leaving you to think about the information that was currently gathering on your phone, specifically the magnitude of it. He could’ve just said yes and mentioned the names, but he went on and admitted to instating those people as well, as well as giving his rationale. Since Judge Clover had been the judge dealing with the previous court case against the phantom troupe, the admission that he was dirty would probably make that entire ruling void. If this evidence managed to get into court, you were nearly certain the amount of charges you could add on were a tenfold increase of the current case. There was no way he would let you walk out with this recording. No way. 

He wasn’t an idiot.

There had to be a catch.

“Then I think it is my turn.” He placed down his glass. “Where were you while he was murdered?”

You still couldn’t tell why he was so interested in your backstory, but decided that you shouldn’t overthink it too much. The trap had yet to fully spring, and for all accounts it could be an attempt to psych you out. “My brother, you mean? Out on a grocery trip.” 

“Hmm.” You could see he’d almost instinctively asked a follow up question, but had decided to remain quiet to think it over a little longer. “That’s being awfully succinct, don’t you think? After all that effort I made to answer your question fully. We’re both aware I could’ve said much less to earn your satisfaction.”

That was fair, and you didn’t want to end this game here yet. “Fine. He’d told me to go on a grocery trip for some chips. I knew we still had some, but he insisted. I went and when I returned he was dead. Whether it was a meeting gone wrong or he knew he was going to get murdered, I do not know, but when I got back he was dead.” You huffed, recollecting the darkest page of your own history. “Safe to say, the entire flooring had to be redone due to the amount of blood that had seeped through.”

There was no visible reaction to that statement and you narrowed your eyes. “Satisfied?”

He clicked his tongue. “Certainly.” 

“Then ask your second question.”

“Did you like the flowers?”

You’d been in the midst of raising the glass to your lips again, your movements stilling as you processed what he meant. So they had been from him. “No. I find it rather off-putting that you managed to get those in my house without me being aware.”

“I would hardly call you being unaware.” He said. “The homemade traps you made were certainly unconventional and not really a sign of someone who doesn’t expect unwanted visitors. Either you are exceptionally paranoid or you suspected I’d drop by.”

The answer to that was that you were exceptionally paranoid, but that was not something you wanted to share per se. Ever since having your home life spoiled by a murder and dedicating your life to taking down everyone involved, trust and comfort had been luxuries not often afforded.

“I never would’ve suspected you personally.” Don’t taunt him, don’t taunt him, don’t taunt him. “I’d think the top man of the Phantom Troupe would spend his time a little better.”

To your relief, he seemed to find the slight jab funny, or he managed to conceal his distaste better than you were able to read him. “Never too busy for my favorite prosecutor.”

Huh?

Was that an attempt to psych you out or something, or was he failing at being funny?

Trying not to get distracted, you thought of further questions you could ask. Making him confess on current charges would be useless, since they were all minor offenses that you’d manage to link to the phantom troupe, and he’d probably be truthful if he said he had nothing to do with those. You couldn’t imagine him being aware of every murder and extortion practice happening within his organization. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, nevertheless, especially since he’d seemed rather forthcoming with information so far, but that only made you more suspicious. 

Before you could think too long on it, you’d already spoken. “Why would you confess?”

“Oh, are we switching up the game?” If anything, he seemed happy you’d switched off the indicting questions. “I don’t mind confessing because you are not going to send this in as evidence.”

“Why wouldn’t I? This has been a lovely evening so far, but I am afraid that it won’t change my mind on the case itself.”

“Simple, because by the end of this night, you’ll delete the recording yourself.” He motioned to the entirety of the room, confident in his stature. “If only to save the lives of the people in this restaurant.”

You’d been breaking off a little piece of the bread on the table while he was speaking, so it took a while before you caught on to his threat. It was said so lightly, so casually, you’d have believed it fully had you hallucinated the sentence. Sadly, when you looked up, he seemed colder than ice, and you would’ve liked the look on him had it not immediately been connected to a possible catastrophe. Mass-murder was one of the charges that had been dropped during the early stages of the case due to lack of evidence, but that had been a massive show of corruption if you were to be asked, witnesses and reports disappearing like snow on a summers day. You knew how vile the man in front of you was, the cologne not masking the rotten personality you knew was hiding under that classical facade. 

“That’s quite the threat, mr. Lucilfer.” You said coldly, placing the piece of bread on your plate, no longer feeling any sort of appetite. “Your invitation for today implied a certain level of civility between the two of us, or did I misinterpret that?”

“Have I been anything but civil with you? I’ve answered your questions honestly and have adhered to every demand you’ve given me so far.” He shrugged casually. “And your life is not in danger here, I promise.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He nonchalantly pointed behind you, making sure to make the gesture barely interpretable as such for any people watching along. Despite his efforts to make it casual, you looked over your shoulder openly, momentarily feeling a bit of satisfied spite when you re-met his gaze and saw his disappointment at your lack in tact. He wanted to play games, not you.

“The blonde woman over by the doors is an employee of mine. She’ll close the doors on my order if you do not delete the recording. After she closes the door, the two men sitting in the corner by the window will systematically kill everyone in this building, save for those under my employment and us, of course.” He leaned further forward, as if sharing a secret, despite not speaking nearly as silent as you’d have expected him to. If he was mirroring your bluntness, you didn’t like it, your eyes immediately checking the tables next to you if they were listening in. “Involving the media was smart in terms of self-preservation. With your presence being as big as it is now on the screen, you are right in assuming I do not find it worth the mess to kill you. However, now that you are in control of such incriminating evidence, you are a larger threat. I still do not mind you walking out with the recording, but it will cost you something.”

You scoffed. “What did the people in this place do to you?”

He twirled a finger around his glass. “Beside serving me spill for wine? Nothing. I’m sure all these people are well-rounded members of society.”

The table to the left was a round one, filled with women talking loudly about one of their relationships. It seemed one of them had gotten engaged a few weeks ago, but was a bit miffed her fiancée had since then not spent a single weekend with her, instead going on expensive golfing trips with his friends, under the gist of ‘getting it out of his system’ before the wedding. The table to the right was a mere two people, both on their phones, making photos of the food in front of them, whispering excitedly to each other on the quality and presentation of the dish. Neither table had heard what had been said. 

“So.” While he was speaking like it was all up to you, he seemed quite certain on what would happen next. “What will you do?”

If he got his way, you’d delete the recording and go home, having gained nothing and lost parts of yourself you didn’t want a mafia boss to have. His angle for wanting to know all those personal things about you still eluded you, but odds were he’d done so to figure out how to stop you for good, or to freak you out with the knowledge that the one in charge of the institution you were trying to bring down knew exactly what kind of person you were. Any other reason was too childish for you to entertain.

The evidence would be gone, and you’d be back to fighting day and night for the slightest odds of justice. People would die while you’d work out a new solution. People would be extorted while you’d fall asleep by your desk. The citizens of your city would suffer, and you’d have to hope your best would be enough to make a change. You looked at your phone, the red dot blinking playfully. It had recorded everything, even the final threat. If he killed everyone here… not only would it further prove the validity of the recording… it’d re-introduce the mass-murder charge. The current case you had would not only get expanded, it’d be a done deal.

It’d win you everything. 

“Give the signal.” You hoped he was bluffing, but were surprised by your own acceptance of the possibility that he wasn’t. This evidence would rid the city of so much trash, so many extortionists and murderers. The restaurant was full to the brim with happy couples and families, but a quick scan revealed that the setting was too posh and expensive to have kids running around. A bunch of rich socialites you could probably rationalize killing for the greater good, children you could not. “Do it.”

He sat up straight and blinked, suddenly looking much younger in his open confusion. “Seriously?”

Part of you wondered if you’d gone crazy, the endless sleepless nights and paranoia having made you lose reason completely, but that part was silenced by the confidence that this would shake up everything. The mere idea that your endless toil would soon end, in a catastrophe or not, gave you a rush that made it all feel like the right call. Instinct, right? 

“Yes. Do it.” You mimicked him and leaned forward, grabbing your phone and sliding it your way while you steeled yourself. “Strengthen my fucking case.”

You’d probably be killed while holding the recording the second you got home, but you could leak it before then, make sure every journalist you knew got front page news. Killing you here would make the Phantom Troupe look bad, sure, but you were even more sure that holding the recording painted a target on your back the size of a skyscraper. You’d die, that was for certain, or you’d spent the rest of your life in jail right next to the filth you’d dragged down with you, the city knowing you’d let all these people be killed to save the rest. 

But, god, it’d be worth it.

Wide-eyed with something you hesitated calling admiration, he closed the distance between the two of you and kissed you, a quick peck that was over before you could even register it. As you regained yourself and placed the phone in your bag, Chrollo dramatically rose up from his seat and addressed the entire restaurant. Most had not noticed yet, though as you looked toward the blonde haired woman, nausea rose inside you as you saw her move to close the doors. There was still a chance this was all a bluff, but the odds of it being such were declining at an alarming rate.

God, had you just sentenced everyone here to die?

Including yourself?

“Ladies and gentleman, may I please have your attention!” Chrollo exclaimed, fronting a dramatic and charismatic facade that hid the calculating and sinister man you’d seen lurk underneath. He didn’t have to speak loudly, those who recognized him falling silent and others probably expecting a proposal or something, a few clicks of photos being taken interrupting his speech. “I have an announcement for everyone present.”

The piano player started playing softer, before stilling completely, the restaurant falling eerily quiet, giving Chrollo every bit of room he demanded.. 

“As you all know, the city of York New has been facing threats of legitimacy for quite some time now. Corruption, extortion, violence, have become common place in this wonderful place, and few dare to stand up against it. Few, but not none.” 

The nervous man by the bar tried to stand up and leave, but he was stopped by the blonde woman that had closed the door, his arm twisted behind his back and a hand slapped on his mouth to shut him up. Only a few people noticed.

“So let us all thank the city's most famous prosecutor, for defending this beautiful place from those who would do it harm, no matter the personal cost.” Being included in the speech made you panic slightly, not used to being put in the spotlight out of the blue. “You all must be eager to resume dining, but I am afraid that will not be possible. You see, the prosecutor has just finished gathering all the puzzle pieces needed to indict probably half of my entire organisation, and I’m afraid, you all are the cost of that decision. Rest assured, I am sure she will put all of your sacrifice to good use, all for the greater good.”

He addressed you and you felt the eyes of the entire room on you. 

“Won’t you?”

Terrified and sick of being toyed with, you closed your eyes and answered the question you feared to be rhetorical. “I will.”

The sound of cutlery being indelicately dropped served as the start signal.

And then the gunshots started. 

“Don’t say it.”

“What? You expect me to comment on the irony of this?” Chrollo traced the bars of the cell, smiling amusedly as he watched your frown deepen. “I’d never.”

You hadn’t expected him to visit, but now that he was in front of you, you could only scoff. Of course he’d come to gloat on the situation. 

“Ha. Ha.” You were lying on your back on the bench inside your cell, a cold underground place in an undisclosed location, where you’d probably been for about a week by now. Two times a day food appeared through a latch, meaning Chrollo was the first person you’d seen in several days. You’d mainly slept, so even if someone else had visited, they hadn’t woken you up. “All this means is that it probably won’t be me. There’ll be someone else.”

“You underestimate yourself.” He leaned against the bars with his shoulder and crossed his arms, and as you turned to fully look at him, you noted that he was wearing a very similar suit to the one he’d been wearing to the restaurant. It looked good on him, so it was probably a staple. “You won’t believe the curses I’ve heard my lawyer utter ever since you came into the picture. You made quite the convincing case. In all the years I’ve been in charge, I’ve had to step in a few times, but I’ve never had to do anything like this. Even in its futility, I am impressed by what you’ve achieved.”

“And what did I achieve?” You stretched your hands above your head and pulled yourself up, tired of looking at him while laid down. It hurt your neck, though everything hurt after having slept on rock-hard plastic for the last week. You wondered how you looked, the grey scrubs your clothes had been replaced with not exactly the summit of design, and you hadn’t showered since before the incident. “Last I checked, it was me behind bars, not you.” 

He tutted. “I thought we were not supposed to comment on the irony, but since you asked, you’ve achieved in garnering my attention.”

And your life had certainly not improved by it. 

After the event at the Bronte, during which you’d had to throw out your heels for the ride home because they were so drenched with blood that you’d left behind red footsteps, coming home had been disorienting. During the taxi ride, you’d already sent the recording to every single journalist you knew, not bothering to edit out anything since your life was already void anyway, so when the door closed behind you, you’d been able to cry excessively. It was unfair that a monster like you was allowed to feel so saddened by what happened, but you couldn’t control yourself. 

Two sleep pills, five drinks and an entire box of take-out later (a small part of you regretted not having had dinner at the restaurant), you fell asleep on the couch. You were awoken, maybe three hours later, by police sirens. You’d looked out the streetside window and had seen multiple vans with armed officers swarming outside your building, several groups going in. Panic hadn’t really set in, since it never stopped since the events at the Bronte, but there was no way you were escaping anything. Better to await the specifics to the situation and deal with it then. 

Either they’d kill you, or Chrollo would probably meet you in the middle of the night and strangle you right in your bed, just to validate your paranoia one more time. In all honesty, you preferred it like this, when you knew it was coming. Didn’t mean you weren’t scared, but being tipsy helped a little.

Ah. You really wanted to check your messages for the responses. 

A little late for that. You already heard them race up the stairs. 

You’d immediately surrendered when they’d knocked down your door- they hadn’t knocked first- but nevertheless you’d been tasered and knocked out. When you woke up you were in familiar circumstances, a holding cell, just on the opposite side. An unfamiliar face claiming to be an attorney had told you what you were charged with, namely the mass-murder of the entire Bronte. To your surprise, you weren’t named an accomplice or an inciter, but the perpetrator. No mention of Chrollo. No mention of the blonde woman. No mention of the two men that had gunned down every person inside that restaurant.

You’d kept quiet, terrified at the situation and not entirely sure how to explain that this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. 

You were saving the city. 

Falsified and real images were shown as evidence, and even you had to acknowledge how well-made the fakes were. You at the table, Chrollo purposefully left out of the shot. You standing over some corpses with a look of determination. You holding a gun. You walking out of the restaurant, stepping over some bodies to do so, your entire attire splattered with red. That was a genius touch, you thought, remembering how it had only been your fingernails and heels that had been in contact with the blood. 

Accepting that you’d lost was a heavy pill to swallow, knowing exactly how easily this evidence would breeze through court. For all the difficulty it had taken you to get even the slightest case against the phantom troupe, the corruption you’d meant to take down would ensure this would go by smooth. You’d probably never see daylight again, let alone live to see another week. 

With a slightly crazed smile, you’d asked the attorney what had happened with the recording, the one you’d sent to all the journalists. 

He’d raised a brow and asked you what you were talking about, meaning it’d all been for nothing. 

You laughed mirthlessly at the thought of him thinking you were proud in having achieved this attention, knowing it was obvious as day what it had cost. “What an honor.”

“I’m quite serious.” For a second you lost his attention, a quick glance at his watch indicating that he didn’t intend to stay here for long.  “I have people for this, but they all came to me like scared rabbits, crying about the prosecutor that wouldn’t leave them alone. One they couldn’t handle, and couldn’t force out of the picture. Everyone has a price, I wholly believe it, but nobody seemed able to find yours. Even I failed in that regard. Turns out, subtle tactics weren’t going to cut it.” 

“So, what’ll happen now? I’m assuming I won’t make it to my own court case.” 

“Definitely not, no.” He didn’t quite manage to sound apologetic about it.“You’ll kill yourself in a guilt-induced psychosis a few days before the hearing.”

“I see.” You put your hand in your hair, disliking how greasy it felt.  “Can I make a request on the method?”

“Let me guess, beheaded with a wire?”

You fell silent. 

He chuckled. “Wanting to leave a little hint to a prospective heir to your task is commendable, but I don’t feel like repeating this in five years.” He unfurled his arms and put one hand in his pocket. “And sadly the entire act has already been decided upon. According to the coroners report, you’ll have bitten through your own tongue. Your funeral will be held in private circumstances, with closed casket, and that will be that.”

“Why are you telling me this?” It was something you were curious about, but it wasn’t why you asked the question. Truth be told, you’d been bored out of your mind, despite the amount of sleep having proven wonders for your headaches. With how hasty he was acting, he probably wouldn’t stay for long, and if you could do nothing else, you’d love to waste more of his time. “Does it make you happy to have rid yourself of me?”

“On the contrary. I am doing everything I can not to rid myself of you. If I’d let you continue, I would’ve been forced to actually kill you.”

When you looked up at him in confusion, he continued.

“You won’t be actually killed, you’ll be safely transported to a more pleasant prison on my premises. It would be a waste of talent, of mettle, to have someone like you meet your end in this place. Instead, I wish to get to know you a little better, so let’s just call having to endure my company your punishment for frustrating my people so long.”

“What do you think you’re getting out of this?” You said, utterly confused. He’d kissed you that night at the Bronte, right before the occurrence that had put you in this situation, but you’d assumed it to be in appreciation of your lacking ethics, or a weird form of sexual gratification you were too repressed to understand, not something actually worth pursuing. “It has been my life’s mission, from the moment one of your underlings placed the decapitated head of my brother on my fucking doorstep, to ruin you, and everything you represent. I hate you, do not let my professionalism so far blind you to that. I’d suggest you reconsider and kill me, because you could lock me up in a room with a silk bed and feather pillows, but nothing will stop me from detesting you and doing everything in my power to make your life as miserable as I can.”

“There it is.” He crouched down, lowering himself to your level. “I quite enjoy that look on you.” He suddenly blinked and laughed to himself, covering his face in faux embarrassment. “Hahaha- I might be taking over a few bad habits from a colleague of mine.”

“Then I’d urge you to take over more of their bad habits and just kill me.” The humiliation you were imagining would be unbearable. What good would your commitment have been for if you allowed yourself to be turned into a puppet. You’d be no better than the pieces of shit that had obstructed you your entire life, like that waste of space judge Clover. “Or is that not enjoyable for you?”

“If your imagining I’ll keep you purely so I have something to fuck when I’m done doing whatever evil things you imagine me doing daily, you’re a bit off.” For him to vulgarly admit so bluntly what you’d been suspecting this was all for threw you off-guard. The very idea that you’d caught his attention in that regard being rather unsettling, especially since it spoke novels on what he considered arousing. “Not to say I’m not interested, because I am, but I am more interested in seeing whether or not I can break you in. Turn you from a thorn in my side to something a bit more useful.” 

“I said everyone has a price, even you, but perhaps you need more incentive than most.” He stood back up to his full height. “How about you kiss me?”

You were still seated, growingly incredulous as he stepped forward to the iron bars, lining up his face in between, close enough to allow you to do so, not that you were inclined towards that point of action. 

“Well since you’ve got me all figured out, incentivize me.” You said coldly, the dark and predatory look you read of his face only intensified by the artificial and blue-ish light coming from the ceiling. “Or did you think I would want to? Sorry, but I don’t think ‘framing me for a mass-murder’ is the flirting strategy you think it is.”

“Oh? I thought you’d learned by now that I am a man of my word, someone worth listening to. I can list some threats, events you’d be keen on avoiding, but we can also just skip that.” You opened your mouth to speak but he held up a hand, interrupting you. “While your life doesn’t seem all that precious to you, you want me to be destroyed most of all, particularly through that lovely legal system you place so much faith in. It’s worth everything, even an entire building full of the people you swore to protect. That is your price, and while I wont do anything rash for something so petty, I could be persuaded to allow your earlier request.”

Earlier request? You tried to remember the entire conversation, your mouth falling slightly ajar when you realized what he meant. The suicide. He’d said you would be registered as having bit your tongue, but he was offering to change that to a sawed off head. It’d cast major suspicion on your death, which you hoped would still be considered odd seeing as the timing was so spot on. 

Your brother’s death hadn’t caused any ripples, despite everything you’d tried, the massive amounts of emails you’d sent to whomever you could think of. It’d been covered up, and your insistence on speaking on it had never made anything happen. 

But…

He’d not been in the limelight when he died. or even before. He wasn’t killed after a very open legal battle, and he hadn’t made numerous public appearances on television before dying. If you died, allegedly at least, like that, surely there’d be outrage? Surely someone would play the part of whistleblower and blow a hole in this entire facade?

Chrollo didn’t seem to think it was possible. 

He was sure of it. 

Hope is a weird feeling, you thought as you stood up and walked up to him, pressing your lips to his for the shortest time physically possible. Swiftly, you pressed your lips to his for the briefest moment imaginable. Observing a hint of a smile on his face just before the kiss, you experienced a surge of frustration and shame. Determined not to provide him any satisfaction, you quickly withdrew.

Before you could step back, his hand was tangled in your shirt, and he forcefully pulled you back towards the bars, his mouth back on yours, quite a lot harsher than your chaste peck had been. You tried to pull back a little from his grip on your shirt, but he was stronger than you had thought him to be, his grip unyielding as he kept your lips locked with his. You felt his tongue brush against your lower lip, but there was no way you were going to open your mouth the slightest. It was just a kiss, you didn’t have to make out with him. 

“I know what I said, you don’t have to make your case.” He laughed as pulled away and brushed his nose against your cheek, the look in your eyes probably telling him exactly what you’d been thinking. “Sure there’s nothing I can do to buy your enthusiasm?”

“I’m not a fucking prostitute.” 

“Everyone sells their body, in some regard. And did you not just kiss me because I granted a request?” You felt your jaw tense at his words, his grip on your shirt still forcing you flush against the bars, the iron pushed into your chest. “Make another one.”

For all the ways you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, your mind did immediately consider the ways you could twist this your way. He seemed to think himself invincible, especially like this, with you locked away and him on the other side, clearly the victor. It infuriated you, the mocking longing you wanted to wipe off his face. “Release the recording. Again. To every journalist in this city.”

“Ah, I’m sad to say it has already been destroyed.” He closed the distance a bit more when you leaned your head back to create some space, his breath flowing against your jaw. At this distance, his nonchalance seemed paper-thin, an obsessive fire lighting up the otherwise empty black eyes. “Your phone was replaced the night I brought you the flowers. All the risky contacts shifted to fakes, just to be safe.”

“You-!”

“Make another one.” 

There was something demanding about his tone, and you really didn’t feel like finding out what would happen if you didn’t take advantage of the situation. He’d mentioned threats, and if they were anything in the ballpark of the Bronte, you couldn’t justify letting people die just because you were too prideful to make out with the person you hated the most, no matter how much it made your blood boil. Despite knowing you weren’t brave enough to reject him, frustration and anger made the words that came out of your mouth feel foreign to your usual composure. You wanted him to hurt. You wanted the people who’d put you here to hurt. You wanted them all to suffer and burn. “Kill that fucking judge Clover.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t pull back. “I’ll do it.”

And though you had no reason to believe him, you did.

Fueled by anger, you kissed him again, this time making sure that there could not be made a single comment on your ‘enthusiasm’. He did not back down from the challenge you formed, responding to your kiss with equal, if not more, zeal. 

It’d been quite a while since you kissed anyone, and certainly you’d never shared a kiss like this, but from the way Chrollo moved and toyed with you, despite you having initiated it, you knew you were out of your depth with an attempt to overwhelm him like this. If anything, by the time you felt your fire sputter out, he was still chasing you, not letting you have any space to catch a breath. He was the one who controlled the pace, and he decided when to stop. When he stopped locking his lips with yours, you felt suffocated and exhausted, your entire body feeling aflame.

The hand keeping you flush against the bars let go of your shirt, and you fell backwards ungracefully, only barely saving yourself from tripping onto the floor.

“As I said, you have potential. I am quite sure you can be an asset, given enough time.” He smiled softly when one of your hands went up to feel your lips, the skin bruised and plump. “But if that fails, I’m sure we can fill that time with other things.”

[feitanporter]

CHROLLO LUCILFER

[pixelartpeach]

If you fall for a social media prank, do you reblog/pass it on to your followers?

[frogs-and-oscar-brainrot]

Yeah, I'm fine

*Types "<character name> x reader" into tumblr search bar*

[soft-lovely]

they nappin’

[julieterbang]

oksu.mansu_

[bekkuwu]

it's always the people from healthy households who try to give you life advice

[lysanderrr]

⛓🕷Yorknew City arc × The silence of the lambs

[ddarker-dreams]

Winter Wonderland.

Yan Chrollo x Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 2k.

Bleary blankets of snow beat down on the isolated cabin you inhabit.

The hearth does what it can to stave off the relentless assault of nature, yet the biting chill sinks its teeth into you nonetheless. You glare at the frosted-over window as if the glass is a personal affront to you. An argument could be made that this architecture was intentionally sought out for its dilapidated quality and the certain advantages poor insulation could bring. A working theory, but the indignation it stokes within you is the most reliable source of heat you’ve discovered thus far.

The wind vocalizes a shrill aria, accompanied by the off-beat thump of loose roof tiles struggling to remain tethered. This orchestral procession keeps your mind on high alert. Exhaustion is a temptation you shoo away to the best of your ability. It’s difficult to imagine a restful slumber when every sound hints at some imminent collapse.

“Aren’t you cold?” Chrollo calls over, as if he actually needs your confirmation. “There’s plenty of room over here.”

What a revelation! Indeed, courtesy of your occipital lobe and functioning eyes, you’re capable of discerning the information he’s oh so generously provided. You grit your teeth and succumb to another shivering spell. Pride is a curse and you’re undoubtedly damned. Chrollo is the one who led you into this problem and still thinks himself deserving of offering a solution. He’s situated directly in front of the fireplace, on a loveseat, moved over to the left side in waiting for your inevitable resignation.

“Hypothermia is distinctly unpleasant, dear.”

You roll your eyes. You’re about to thank him for sharing such esoteric knowledge with you, when an alarming realization settles in.

Your hands are starting to go numb.

The crackling fireplace exerts a magnetic pull you’re growing increasingly unable to resist. Your survival instincts commit mutiny, overthrowing your incessant need to be as spiteful with Chrollo as humanly possible. Before you know it, your feet are moving in his direction of their own accord. You’d like to accuse him of using one of those Nen abilities, though when you get closer, his precious book is nowhere to be seen.

He pats the empty cushion beside him at your continued reluctance.

Thankfully, there are no demeaning words on his part when you resign yourself to your fate. Your weary legs cheer at this opportunity to relax. The rest of your body is already reaping the benefits too, thawing the layer of cold you were encased in. It seems whatever higher power exists has seen fit to continue smiling upon you, for Chrollo shares his blanket without you needing to grovel.

“Is that better?” Chrollo queries. You eye him with undisguised suspicion. This amiable mood of his is odd, a departure from the usual script. How much of it is manufactured or genuine is inscrutable. You try to read his face, like you’ve attempted thousands of times before, inspecting each crevice for hints you’ll never find.

He surprises you by chuckling. The sound is breathless, almost melancholic. It makes you frown.

“It never ceases to amaze me, just how many ways you can express your hatred without needing to utter a word,” he tilts his head, inspecting you in the same way you did him. He’s grown closer without you realizing it. He’s akin to a disease that way — always encroaching where he’s never welcome. “Does it make you feel better?”

“Yes,” your reply is instantaneous. His lips quirk up, but it’s far from a content smile. “However, it’s not for the reason you think.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Hesitation returns. You’re falling into his cadence, lulled like a lamb to slaughter. Having your brain picked by Chrollo is as regular a daily activity as eating. You’ve never arrived at a singular reason to explain his obsession with the act; whether it be depravity, curiosity, or to satiate the need for human contact he can’t get elsewhere. Perhaps it’s a mixture of all three. A malformed cocktail with ingredients too noxious to palate.

You’ll never get used to the taste, so it’s best to down it all at once.

“There’s something truly sad about you,” you lift your hand to touch his cheeks, made rosy from winter’s unforgiving embrace. It gives you the false impression of a cherub, the very being he’s the antithesis of. “You don’t know yourself, so you must dissect others. It’s safer that way. You don’t run the risk of discovering something unsightly if you never search in the right place.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was under the thrall of a hypnotist’s pocket watch. His gaze is distant yet somehow present, fluctuating between two extremes.

“It’s an interesting theory,” he allows. His voice is playful whereas his expression is not — you note the dissonance. “I can tell you’ve considered it at length. Do you think about me often, sweetheart?”

You sidestep the bait he’s set out for what must be the umpteenth time. “That was the primary goal behind the creation of solitary confinement, yes. Forcing the inmate to think.”

The jab at your living arrangement doesn’t go unnoticed. He raises an eyebrow.

“About themselves, wasn't it?”

“And the warden too,” you reaffirm.

He closes his eyes — contemplating whether to press you on this subject or another, no doubt — then reopens them with newfound conviction. “You’ve yet to explain your original point.”

“I was getting there, when someone saw fit to interrupt,” you huff. He never fails to get on your nerves. “Yeah, I’m sure petty satisfaction has something to do with it. You’re not above that yourself. It’s more than that, though. It’s about choice. It’d probably be easier if I went along with all your whims and acted the part of a starry-eyed lover. Then I remember you are who you are because you made the easy choices. So I don’t want to.”

Chrollo doesn’t bother trying to conceal the interest this piques in him. “You think I’ve made the ‘easy choices’ to get where I am today?”

A premonition coils its tendrils around you then, attempting to constrict you before you wander into volatile land. There’s no threatening lilt in his voice yet, or the look that tells you to keep your mouth shut before you regret it, but you’re getting there. Traipsing a steadily fraying line when it’d be simpler to cower back to safety.

It’s a wonder what you’re looking at is a human being. That your hand is touching skin, which bleeds when broken just as yours does.

“Cruelty is almost always easier than kindness. It’s our natural condition. That’s where humans are special, distinct from any other organism. Our capacity for growth. We can become kind, although we’re born cruel. I think that is strength. That is the difficult choice. Which is why you and the other Spiders don’t make it,” you drop your hand, finding it sufficiently warmed. “You refer to people as ‘puppets’ because it’s easier that way. You kill and steal for the same reason.”

Another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were such a humanist.”

“You didn’t?” Your expression conveys your disbelief. “I thought that’s the entire reason I’m here.”

“That’s certainly part of it.”

There’s unsteady silence for a moment. Most days, he’d counter your points and nitpick every little detail with the fanaticism of a zealot. For whatever reason, this method doesn’t interest him now, he seems content to take what you’re dishing out. Is he trying his hand at self-flagellation or something? Whatever the case, you’ve spoken your piece.

You turn your attention away to the fire. Its glow swaths the rustic room in a reddish hue. If you were here with anyone else, you might go so far as to call it cozy. That was probably Chrollo’s intention behind choosing the locale. The snowstorm holding you hostage was just an added bonus.

An arm slithers its way around your shoulders. You sigh but bite your tongue. The addition of his body heat at least has a practical use; he once mentioned mastery over Nen includes the ability to manipulate one’s physiology at will. That must be nice in conditions like this.

He tugs you toward his side, and you relent, knowing you lack the strength to put up a meaningful fight.

“I admire your tenacity,” he reveals. You stay trained on the flickering flames. “Most would shrivel up in fear before they spoke to me that way.”

“Should I fear you?”

“A little,” Chrollo hums. “Everything in moderation.”

The branch from a nearby tree beats incessantly against the window. You jump, attempting to twist your body to the left where the sound originated, but Chrollo’s grip grows impossibly tight. You may as well have been wearing a straight jacket. Figuring it’s just his way of reasserting dominion over you, you don’t bother dwelling on it.

“[First].”

It’s rare that he says your name. You’re normally assailed with sickeningly sweet monikers like dear or sweetheart, a tendency you’re half-convinced he developed to irritate you. Swallowing down your dread, you prepare yourself for the potential fruits of your earlier premonition.

“Hm?”

“You’re right that I chose to be this way,” he says. This catches your interest. “Whether or not it was an ‘easy’ decision by your definition of the word… I’m unsure. I became someone worth fearing out of necessity.”

His earlier melancholy weighs heavy in the air.

“That’s just as well. I don’t regret it. No… it’d be more accurate to say I’m grateful for it. Say I chose the ‘difficult’ path. Exemplified the virtues you hold so dear. I’d be awfully miserable in this proposed universe of yours.”

This is a trap you can’t sidestep. “Why?”

His lean fingers dance up and down your forearm. “Cruelty is my natural element, you said so yourself. I’d be denying the desire I was born with. I may even be denied you, consequently. What allows me to have you here, like this, the subject of your undivided attention and object of your thoughts? Is it kindness? Morality?”

His espousing of libertine values is nothing new to you, yet the resonance of his words is deeply unsettling. It’s as if they’re dawning on him for the first time. That by entertaining your discourse, you took him by the hand and personally led him to this conclusion. Nurtured a nascent idea he never would’ve found otherwise.

You feel cold again.

“No, it’s none of those things. I have you because I played dirty, [First],” his chest rumbles when he chuckles. “You are a wonder I can never lose my appetite for, every taste has me longing for more. Your mind, your heart, your soul… you bare them all so willingly, with a little prompting. How many would you have benefited if I never interfered in your life?”

It’s agony — still, you wrench yourself against his hold, to the degree he must loosen it, lest he break you — mustering up all your malice to glower at him. If you were capable of exerting bloodlust, it’d certainly be thick enough to devour anyone it came into contact with. You have no such parapsychological abilities, so you settle on what you can do, your animosity raw.

Chrollo’s eyes soften with warmth only you can draw out. “I’ll be the sole benefactor of your effulgence. If given the opportunity to do it again, I wouldn’t hesitate to go down the path that ends with you.”

Your lips part and then close.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to adhere to mind over matter. A few seconds that carry the weight of eternity pass. You relax your posture to the best of your abilities, your shoulders drooping and your body heavy as lead.

Once again, you raise your hand to touch the cheek you held earlier.

It’s wet.

“… I meant what I said earlier,” you observe the glistening of his skin with an impassive expression. “There’s something terribly sad about you, Chrollo Lucilfer.”

If he’s incapable of acknowledging this reality, you’re more than willing to.

[hellaephemeral]

[solisaureus]

came home drunk last night and got way too excited to see my cat

[queerical]

[ID: two images featuring a fat white cat with pink lipstick marks staining its fur on its head and shoulders /END ID]

[catasters]

[troutlawyer]

Grandmas were so right about puzzles and knitting and crocheting and solitaire and reading slow and slippers and baking and watching deer in the backyard send post

[bekkuwu]

A Little Opossum

✥﹤┈┈┈Memory 1 ┈┈┈┈﹥✥

Once upon a time there lived a Little Opossum. She was a cheerful little thing. She lived in a cottage at the edge of the forest with her parents and grandmother. She enjoyed baking, knitting and taking care of the peonies in her mother's garden. She loved freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, listening to the old tales her grammaw would tell her before bed and most of all...

She loved to roam around the forest near her house during the day.

One day she came across a big, scary looking Lion! The Lion was roaring softly in pain. “Aargh… grrr…. Ahhghh” The Lion was terribly troubled.

The Little Opossum thought to herself, “Honestly this doesn’t concern me at all. I should just move along.” But the Lion’s cries only grew more and more persistent, if not more pathetic. “Oh how horrible this all is! I, the mighty Mr. Lion, am brought down to this trembling mess all because of a little thorn!”

Little Opossum's ears twitched! A thorn? Surely now this is something she could help with. Throwing all caution to the wind, Little Opossum walked straight up to Mr. Lion and said, “Oh, Mr. Lion! I can be of help! Let me remove that thorn for you!”

Mr. Lion glared down at the ugly, smelly creature before him, ”Oh? You’re approaching me? How would you be able to help, garbage rat?”

“Actually it’s Little Opossum! But my parents and grammaw call me Lil!” exclaimed the excited Little Opossum, after all, it isn’t everyday she gets to be of help willingly!

“Right, well, I think I mustn't trouble a little… thing… such as yourself, you see, it isn’t much of a problem at all. I’m completely fine.” Mr. Lion then further proved his statement by simply standing up and limping away.

Little Opossum was rightfully miffed. She hurried after him. “Mr. Lion! You are clearly not alright. Please let me help you!”

Mr. Lion stopped and glared down at Little Opossum with a distinct scorn. “Listen here and listen well, you filthy creature. I would rather take help from ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ than from the likes of you. Now get away from me before I tear your little empty head from your useless body. ”

Little Opossum stopped in her tracks and let Mr. Lion limp away. Dejected and clearly hurt, Little Opossum sat down for a moment. How could she forget? There was a reason her family lived away from all the other animals. She shook her little head, clearing away all those bad, sad thoughts that began to cloud her mind. “No!” exclaimed Little Opossum, “Today will be a good day!” With this she continued on her forest exploring adventure.

[moobiess]

finished the TGCF character requests i got from twitter :D

i drew almost all the characters minus a few i couldnt fit in cries

[taniabaj]

Bai Wuxiang