Yan!Chrollo w Willing!Reader (they have Stockholm Syndrome) that LOVES his muscles? (biceps, abs etc) They are OBSESSED with them. Like, obsessed obsessed. Maybe NSFW? Please?
(Afab She/her Willing! Reader with a muscles kink)
This was requested literally so long ago that I can't remember if they requested a short story or head-cannons but I'm doing it now and that's all that matters.
Contains: Fingering, mentions of fourth base, and Stockholm Syndrome
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Finding a workout for Chrollo that would actually work was always a rather challenging feat; Someone of his strength and dexterity found nearly every exercise to resemble that of a mere walk in the park. Where most would venture to the gym in pursuit of maintaining health or fitness, Chrollo merely saw a few stones to be lifting, or machines that couldn't possibly keep up with his inhumane speed. Therefore, whenever possible, Chrollo would actually take any opportunity to train his muscles, so as to not rely solely on his ability in combat. Considering such an area to train is not so easily discovered, these chances were always appreciated by him in a similar way that most appreciate little things in life- such as a simple, summer breeze.
A summer breeze...sure would be appreciated right now. At least, to you.
The surrounding miles are obsolete to most- dark, dust covered rubble and fallen buildings. Truth be told, you're not entirely sure where you are. An abandoned city, most definitely. There are empty constructions and crumpled architecture as far as the eye can see. The air is dry, and the temperature is uncomfortably warm, but not unbearably so. The large mound of sturdy concrete you sit upon is warm as well, but it doesn't burn you. If you were to lay down, you could bask in the sun and the heated concrete- much like a cat laying on the ground that's been toasted by the sun. That certainly is an option; there's not very much to earn you attention in the surrounding area...
It's funny, almost. How long has it been since he had first taken you? A few months? a year or so? Time flew by once you accepted your fate. You had kicked, clawed, scratched, bitten, and screamed the whole time- his steady, smug patience and confidence that you would, indeed, one day give up and love him only intensified such visceral, feral hatred and reactions of him. Him blatantly telling you such things with a blank face- as if it was a mere fact- only bolstered such feelings.
However, as time went on, the fire in your eyes flickered and gradually did along with your dream of re-gaining your freedom. More time spent with this man (You wouldn't have even considered him a man in the past, being more partial to the term 'monster') you realized that resistance was utterly futile: There would be no running, no escape, no reprieve nor retrieve from him. Even if you managed to run- which you tried- he'd always find you. And the period after the fact was always more depressing and sickening than before you ran. So you learned to adjust certain behaviors for your own ease and sanity. It started off with simple things: Don't run from him, life becomes dreary and devastatingly insufferably after. Don't hit him, though he may not strike back because-in all honesty, you suffered more damage than he- it's the thought that counts, and the fact you tried to hurt him earns you less freedoms. Things to that nature.
These acts of obedience would become the gate-way to more 'correct' behavior, things Chrollo would reward with more freedoms. After the end of the larger instances of rebellion, it trickled down into other aspects of your rebellion- like immediately recoiling from his touch- and even into the finest cracks of your refusal to succeed.
With every more 'correct' behavior you displayed, Chrollo would reward you with the illusion of freedom and choices. Suddenly, the less you ran from him, the more nice places he took you to. The less you attempted murder-much to his endearment on the days of his better mood- you were even allowed to pick what nice places he would bring you to.
It closely resembled a master giving their dog a treat to teach them good behavior- Don't run from your master, don't bite your master, don't destroy their furniture. You knew the parallels. You were aware of them from the first 'reward' he bestowed. But what choice did you have? It was either resist, lose, and be punished, or behave and be rewarded. Along with the fire in your soul to be free, your dignity also slowly diminished, allowing room for more rewards.
And of course, feeling less shame about it made life much easier- the rewards helped, too. The rewards made you want to behave even better. The illusion-despite you being aware of its falsehood-was the closest thing you knew you'd realistically get to any semblance of freedom. And so, you learned to do not just things that were 'correct', but even exceptional. You no longer moved his hand off your thigh with aggression and malice. You no longer cut his attempts at conversation short, and fought him on every little thing.
And once again, like a dog, Chrollo would soon have you sitting, barking, rolling over, and doing all kinds of tricks for his own amusement and adoration. It wasn't until much later that you came to the harrowing realization:
It wasn't the 'treat' of freedom you were after anymore: it was the satisfaction of pleasing your master.
Soon, no treats were necessary for doing the 'correct' or 'exceptional' thing- it just became standard. However, even as you lost the necessity for the illusion of freedom, some reward was in order- Chrollo knew that, or else all the positive re-enforcement would have been utterly useless. So instead of giving you a treat, you were given pets, praise, and affection. And it worked.
You didn't need to be taken out for a night. You didn't have to choose where you were able to go. You didn't want to be able to go wherever you felt- so long as you were at Chrollo's side. So long as he would still hold you in his safe, strong arms. So long as he would still kiss you and let you kiss him.
That's why you don't roll over on the concrete and bask in the sun. You watch Chrollo with rapt attention. The premises is dry enough, sure, but even if there was a carnival or clown show behind you, all you could watch was Chrollo- The way his muscles moved when he lifted the biggest chunk of concrete you had seen.
A bead of sweat barely makes its way down his working bicep- he is, quite literally, barely breaking a sweat. It would seem that, even though that humongous piece of architecture would suffice for now, it was hardly doing the trick. He was so strong, and could lift more than fifty of you, let alone you by yourself.
You giggle softly at the thought as you watch him set the 'weight' down; the thought of him carrying you- it was such a cliché, but one that makes your heart swell slightly at the mere thought, nonetheless.
"Something funny, my dear?"
You jump slightly as his low, ever-soft voice pulls you out of your trance. A light heat paints your cheeks in the softest of pink as you smile at him, brushing off the incident.
"Yeah, I was just thinking of a joke from a while ago." You lie. It's not a bad one, right?
"Oh really?" He wraps his large, dry arms around your waist. "Do tell."
Jesus Christ, he really didn't actually break a sweat.
You try to avert the conversation with genuine curiosity. "You're so dry. you really didn't sweat at all while lifting that thing? Even in this heat alone?"
"No, it wasn't that much of a challenge." He hums casually before kissing the side of your head, causing your heart to skip once.
He tightens his grip on you minimally, a slight squeeze, before adding, "Did it amuse you that much?"
"What do you mean?" Play clueless. In all your time with him, you've learned that's the best route. He sees through all lies and half-truths. Hell, he still sees you playing dumb. But he's least likely to call you out on that.
"So, what about me lifting that bit of detritus is so entertaining for you?"
Of course he's not letting it go.
"It wasn't. I told you, I was thinking of a joke from a while ago." You huff, crossing your arms and letting them rest on the portion of his arms that are wrapped around the front of your midsection.
"Really? Then tell me the joke."
He's silent for a moment. Of course he is, that was the dumbest possible excuse you could give, but what else? You panicked! You couldn't even think of a cheesy dad or uncle joke to tell him, and even if you did, it would have ended on embarrassment on your part- either he would have played along, and you would have to pretend you find those stale jokes humorous, or he would have called you out on your lie.
He tightens his hold on you slightly, studying you carefully for a moment, as if analyzing something, before pulling his arms away. Much to your dismay, you couldn't help the fraction-of-a-second display of disappointment at his retreat. Chrollo being himself, it doesn't go unnoticed.
"Let's go back." He finally responds, offering you his hand to help you off the rock. You take his larger, calloused hand and hop off, following him wherever he goes. Honestly, he could head in the opposite direction of where you came in from, and you wouldn't notice nor care less with his hand in yours being all you can focus on.
At last, you arrive back at the room you both are currently staying in. It's not one of the more fancy places he usually takes you to, but then again, you're not exactly near a busting city.
You've been sitting in bed, propped up against the headboard, staring at a book- certainly not reading it. You've been replaying your previous conversation in your head- God, you either looked stupid in front of him, or he's planning on re-visiting the earlier incident, and you can't calculate when- you never really can. He's always keeping you on your toes. Even as he's been laying right beside you the whole time- only he was actually reading.
"Is there something on your mind, love?"
God, he said it in the same exact tone as earlier, too.
"No." You respond too quickly. After so long of being with him, you'd think you'd get better at lying. But you can't get better at lying if you never get away with it.
He hums a soft sound of acknowledgment, and you think that's the end of it, until he lowers your book from your hands and away from your face (You've had quite the history of hiding whatever your face with whatever book you happened to be holding) and he tilts your chin up ever so slightly to look him in the eyes.
"You have no reason to be ashamed of your desires. Not with me."
His voice, honey smooth and so reassuring is so...
Let's just say it makes your thighs clench marginally.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Your voice barely cracks out as you turn your head and body away to the opposite side of him- now opting to lay down on your side rather than sit up against the bed frame.
You don't move. In fact, you squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about how his voice sounds, how big his muscles are, how strong he is, how easily he could manhandle you, or how good they looked when he was working out, or-
Your thoughts are cut off by the weight of the bed shifting-the soft creak of the bedframe at the movement- and his arms on either side of your head. Your body instinctively turns to face him, now on your back than on your side.
The familiar warmth on your cheeks rises again, and spreads to pool around your gut and thighs.
He leans in and kisses your lips softly, tenderly- a toxic reassurance. You think back to how it used to be. How much you used to hate him- everything about him. Especially his lips and any sugary, poison coated word that flowed out. You're aware none of this is normal. None of it ever will be. You're aware that all attraction you feel to this man isn't real- it's an illusion, just like the freedom he would grant you when you were good.
But you don't even care anymore. If it's so bad, why does it feel so good? If this is toxic, you hope you drown.
Your lips move against his, and both your hands slither up to grip his biceps- you would say to ground you, but that's only half the truth.
You keep your hands there even as he slowly pulls away and gazes upon you- your flushed cheeks, hair gracelessly splayed on the pillow, skin heated to the touch and even slightly shaky-trembling with need.
He leans in to almost kiss you once more, but instead opts to kiss your ear and whispers in it, causing a shiver to shoot through your spine, "May I...?"
You're suddenly aware of his hands that are gripping the hem of your shirt.
You're also aware of the fact that this is, again, an illusion- one of patience and 'gentlemanly' behavior. But you don't care anymore. Not when you've been silently suffering for the longest of time whenever you see his rock-hard abs, solid triceps, and that defined clavicle that looks like Michelangelo himself carved it into stone? Oh, that gets you drooling- despite it being a bone and not a muscle.
"Yes," You whisper as you nod, feeling your heart race as he moves the shirt above and off your head, exposing the cool air to your stomach- intensifying the feeling in your gut.
He kisses his way down your neck-featherily and light- as he makes his way down to your breasts, undoing the clasp of your bra with ease and setting it aside. Gentle kisses cause your skin to summon goosebumps as he makes his way to your nipple-maintaining eye contact as he licks around it. A small whine involuntarily escapes your throat as he does so, and your hands toy with the bottom of his own shirt. You can feel the smugness radiating off of him as he sits up whilst still straddling you.
"You can take it off, if you want..."
Of course he's going to make you do it to feed his own ego and embarrass you- this is the same Chrollo you woke up this morning with, after all. Luckily for you, you gave up the majority of your dignity long ago when you first started admiring the way his abs looked when he first stepped out of a steamy shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist.
Throwing all caution- and shame- to the wind, you grab hold of the hem of his shirt and pull it off. It felt like un-wrapping a Christmas gift- one you were going to devour.
What are you even thinking? Devour him? What is wrong with you? But how can you resist? Who can blame you? Probably the egregious number of people he's slaughtered without mercy or a twinge of guilt. But it's not your fault; you're a human with needs, too.
He sees you pause-at war with yourself and your morals, which you thought you set aside in favor of him long ago. A soft chuckle leaves him as he gently grabs your hands and sets them on his chest- guiding you to do the correct and exceptional thing.
His skin is so warm, yet his body is so firm. Would it be weird to say you want to bite his arm and suck on his bicep? Most definitely, you should keep that to yourself. But his eyes seem so...inviting. You know it's just more manipulation, but how many times do you have to remind yourself you don't care?
The room is silent as your hands travel up his chest to feel his collar bone, then down this pecs and finally to his abs- Fuck, you're finally touching them after so long. This feels illegal, almost, and wrong in so many ways. But you're finally feeling them.
"Chrollo..." Your voice shakes with need as you breathe out his name. "Yes, my Dear?" He whispers in your ear again.
"I..." You need him. Fuck, you need him, but the words are caught in your throat- unmoving and refusing to budge. His honeyed voice lets out a low chuckle as he kisses down your neck once more. "You can say it." He coaxes as his hands run down your sides and leave a tingling sensation in their wake. They trail down your sides, over your hips, then between your thighs, where he rubs so very close to the warmest part of your body.
He's trying to get the words out of you by making your need overpower your shyness towards doing it for the first time with him since he took you.
"Say it." He repeats in your ear, then lightly sucks the skin just underneath it- forcing another noise from your lips. You'd call it betrayal, but you're both past that. "I...I need you." You manage, at last.
Against his temptation to make you repeat yourself for his own satisfaction, he decides to play nice for now- to ease you into this so it becomes a more normal thing. "As you wish." He murmurs against your ear, allowing you to feel his soft lips against them. He sits up and straddles you once more, letting you to sit up with him; it's clear he's letting you decide what you want from him. While you would adore having his fingers or tongue in you, he wouldn't derive any mind-numbing pleasure from that, would he? No, it would be only you orgasming from that. Of course, if he offered you wouldn't deny. But if given the choice, you'll choose to let him feel good, as well. So, your hands slide down his toned chest and down to his pants, where you give them the slightest pull to send him the message.
Once again, he holds back on his urge to make you clarify what you want to stroke his ego. Isn't he so gentle and kind to you? Rewarding you with mercy when you allow him to do this with you? When you behave correctly?
On any other occasion, Chrollo would have made quick work of unfastening his belt and pants. But he's more observant and clever than that. He slowly reaches for his belt to do it at an agonizing, cruel pace, just so you could watch how his muscles flex and move with every micro-movement of his hands and arms. Naturally, you accept his silent, generous offer to gaze at all he has.
Ultimately, he strips himself for you, then proceeded to do the same for you in the same, barely-moving technique he used for himself. He's doing it for you to save you the trouble and embarrassment- isn't he so considerate of you as he runs his fingers up and down your slit to spread the slickness evenly?
You can't help but enter a breathless daze as you watch the way his arm muscles naturally flex while moving his arm in that vertical motion. A smirk crosses his face as he catches where your eyes are locked- he knew it, of course. "I'm glad you're so attracted to my appearance, my dear. It would have been a shame for you to feel nothing towards me."
And with that, two fingers slip inside your hole, ripping a sharp gasp from within you in a way that pulls you out of your short-lived haze. "Chrollo, wait-" You whine and try to sit up. You don't want him to do this to just you. Not unless it's mutual. Not unless he can feel like this, too. However, he just sets his other hand on your chest and cautiously eased you into laying back down.
A subtle noise of protest escapes you until you reluctantly agree- as much as you'd love for him to feel this, too, you're not exactly going to complain nor underappreciate this moment where he is just going to take care of you, even if he has selfish motives. That noise of protest melts into a soft moan of pleasure as the wonderful feeling travels to your head and gut simultaneously. Each and every thrust and curl of his fingers both trigger a shot of euphoria to surge through you, and his muscles to flex more and more. You would have your eyes on his, you really would, but how could you resist a show such as this? His perfectly solid arm moves in tandem with your gratification, his abs crunching ever so slightly as he leans forward in the most micro of amounts.
He continues to move his fingers within, thumb now joining to press against that glorious bundle of nerves- causing yet another gasp and even louder moan to elude you. He leans down further now-purposefully this time- to whisper beside you, "Next time you need this, tell me. I will do it for you. Don't sit there and long for me while I work out or read. I'm yours, as you are mine." The tingle of his breath brushing against your skin, mixed with the constant feeling of budding and ever growing pleasure, topped with your long period of being so very touch starved, all comes to a conclusion as you gasp one last time before letting delivering a broken moan that comes out as more of a cry.
Your body seizes up and ecstasy takes control of your whole being as Chrollo watches the result of his work- you paint his fingers with the fruit of his efforts, until you finally reach that phase in which your mind numbs and then simmers- your body rendered boneless. He leers down at you with pure smug satisfaction. He kisses your forehead, before kissing your cheeks, then finally your lips before purring,
You nod, dazed and staring at the ceiling. That wasn't true. One look at his toned, perfectly sculpted body and you'd be ready to consume this man.
