can you hear this? We dedicate this requiem to you

Jupiter | She/Her. I love yandere stuff & Chrollo 18+ | dark content 𖥠

[sleepypandabea]

Why do toxic fanfics keep popping up on my fyp, like no I don't want Gojo cheating on me, fucking me as an apology and me actually FORGIVING him???. I need a man who is OBSESSED with me and wouldn't even think of looking at another woman. The only fanfics that truly still my hunger are yander fics.

[ewnamored-deactivated20260512]

✦ KISS IT BETTER, BREAK THE BEARER ✦ YANDERE CHROLLO X GN!READER ✦

• SUMMARY: Throwing things at Chrollo in anger has become second nature to you. But what do you do when, for once, he doesn't dodge and you end up burning him? You tend to him, anxious about the possibility of retaliation, even though you're aware he's playing with you the entire time... only to be caught off guard when he asks for a supposedly small recompense. But with him, nothing is ever truly innocent.

• CONTAINS: burns, very suggestive, guilt-tripping, fear of punishment, dub-con implication and entrance at the end, one reluctant but very heated and somewhat explicit kiss, nudity, chrollo is annoying and scheming, unwanted touch, forced relationship, reader battling their own feelings towards him. inspired by my own coffee burn I once accidentally suffered (fortunately it happened a long time ago and there’s no scar left today :].) WORD COUNT: 5,6k.

• NOTE: Every time I think I’m done with my Chrollo fixation, some new idea comes to my mind *sigh*. Divider is by @/saradika-graphics.

Whether Chrollo is deliberately provoking you or he’s simply irritating on his own, it’s usually irrelevant to the bad habit you’ve been fostering ever since he started dragging you along his criminal journey as his own pocket lover. It’s quite often that you find yourself reacting with a violent tone, that is flinging the nearest item at him once he provoked you enough.

Your little baseball game isn’t actual violence — it’s more about relieving built-up tension or proving a point for your pride when you fling things at him, as you’re fully aware that Chrollo will dodge every attack. The action is cathartic… until the frustration of missing hits right after, along with the relief.

He memorizes each item that would be capable of causing harm should he actually allow them to hit his body… but you throwing a hot liquid at him is new in your usual repertoire. A shoe in the head would hurt but give no more than a bruise, a pillow is nothing, while a freshly brewed coffee is on another level of artillery to be weaponized, ought to give anyone a nasty burn. Quite ungrateful too, considering he made the brew for you.

Although, liquids are still nothing that he cannot dodge; however, this morning, for some odd reason, the black caffeine ends up coating his skin, burning it through his shirt.

A few words too many, of the category he could choose from worse than usual, and you were boiling hot from anger, choosing to skip the morning drink supposed to wake you up for the sake of expressing yourself — and that bastard let you hit him, moving rapidly out of his seat only once it happened, not before like you anticipated.

It’s been heavy seconds of you staring at each other in shock. You’re frozen in the spot after you stood up from the kitchen chair to hurl your mug’s coffee towards him, now terrified by the implications of him not moving away, as if one wrong twitch could set him off. You have for once managed to hurt him, and it’s not empathy that forces gnawing fear of consequence into your entire nervous system, but the idea of his retaliation. You doubt Chrollo would benefit from killing the one he’s obsessed with, which is no relief if there’s many ways for him to make living for you as dreadful.

“Why… why did you just stand there?” you ask with panic, across the kitchen table. Your hand holding the mug slowly falls down back onto the flat surface, in hopes you can somehow restart this 8am of some cheap motel room you’re staying at as a pit stop.

It has to be a game of sorts — why would he not get out of the way for once? Why would he let him himself hurt?

Chrollo winces in pain and you wonder if it’s performative. Out of all injuries he has suffered in the past, combining the endurance of them with his prowess, surely some burn is like a scratch to him. “You threw a hot liquid at me and you’re mad at me for getting burn?” his tone actually sounds tormented, and then he looks up at you with a gaze full of unusual for him fragility.

“That’s not—” you try to argue he must know what you mean, but he’s just standing there, out of his own chair, clutching his front. Your terror grows, seeing the soiled black material of his shirt clinging to his upper abdomen, surely where the burn is. Oh no, once the blisters form and their liquid dries, the fabric will stick to the skin.

You shouldn’t care about his wellbeing. You don’t. It’s the dread that has you moving around the table and towards him. You are worried about some hypothetical punishment you’re not even sure he’ll deliver; and maybe you do feel some sympathy, because unlike him, you’re not a heartless being.

“Fucking hell, Chrollo, you need to remove that shirt - immediately,” you urge him, pulling at his sleeve nervously. The smell of coffee is overwhelming your nose, reminding you of what you’ve done, supposedly not deliberately. Closer to him, you notice there’s actually a lighter splatter all over the rest of his clothes, matching the one on your pajama you still didn’t change after waking up.

The tilt of his lips in response is either a reflection of his amusement or another wince — your wide eyes of something different from anger surely must be a spectacle to him. “It’s alright, I can take care of myself…” he says humbly, looking at you wistfully. “Also, I feel compelled to ask if you got hurt in the process too?”

“No, and don’t play games with me right now, and take it off, now!” with more assertiveness, you scold him and tug at the hems of his long sleeve.

You imagine him saying something almost flirty at your insistence of undressing him in any other situation. As of right now, he obediently lifts his arms for you; not without another tiny, pained breath that your hammering heart takes with even more frighten.

You’re met with the sight of his chest, and while it’d typically be an uncomfortable confrontation, all you can concentrate on is the red and shiny blotch that has formed already, right below his sternum, a size of an average hand. The contrast of it against his pallor makes you nauseous.

“Does it hurt much?” you ask tentatively. If Machi was there, she could easily take care of the scald; if anything, Chrollo should be able to handle this injury relatively easily. And yet, you’re fussing over him, trying to make it up to him before he could decide you need to be punished even if you both know you have never meant to actually achieve harming him; at least, you think you know that.

Right as his mouth opens, you shut it with an urgent-sounding demand. “Nevermind. Let’s get this cleaned up!”

He’s got to be messing around; as you lead him by his arm to the bathroom, his steps are not hurried enough, he focused mostly on vocalizing his pain. There’s simply no way for Chrollo to be suddenly so sensitive! Your own stroll is with you dizzy, sweating from the nerves. You suspect it’s not even the fact that you hurt him but the visceral reaction to hurting someone this badly in general — very human.

“Chrollo. Please, move faster. We need to cool down your wound!” you beseech with anxiety, imagining the nasty blistering and whatnot should you not make it in time. And then, when his members come here later they will be mad at you, and Chrollo will tell you that you intentionally harmed him—

“I’m trying, best believe. It’s not easy to walk when every move makes it worse…” he sighs pathetically.

Incorrigible. You are now absolutely certain he’s being dramatic on purpose. Not that a burn is something to walk off for a regular folk, yet a man of his caliber should be able to take it well — what’s coffee in comparison to some toxic chemicals he for sure felt on his skin during fighting some enemies?

And yet, you feel like you have no choice but to be nice — at least to show some regret, easing the impact of your transgression.

Finally stepping into the bathroom, your sanity is fraying at the seams already, your brain overworked from him making things unnecessarily difficult. Still, you try to figure out the logistics — the sink is awkward to work at with the burn, so you think a shower will be more comfortable for spraying cold water at it.

Watching him stand in the narrow space of the yellow-tiled bathroom, he hunched over like some victim, you decide, “Okay, Chrollo, take off your clothes and step into the shower. We need to rinse you with cold water. Please hurry!”

Here he goes being himself, at last, as if he’s trying to lighten up the mood even if you know it’s not quite that. “You seem quite desperate to witness me naked today,” he chuckles, glancing at you with mirth despite his supposed suffering. “It shouldn’t require scalding my skin for you to get this chance — you only need to ask.”

The fluster he still manages to provoke in you despite your ongoing panic is revolting; you almost drop the idea of helping him.

“For someone so hurt, you’re doing little to be treated,” you mock scornfully and narrow your eyes in suspicion. “Get naked or I’ll assume that you’re fine!”

Chrollo sighs again, before moving onto grabbing his pants — slow and struggling. As you hear the familiar clinking of his belt, you’re suddenly reminded of what you asked in actuality, turning your gaze away. Seeing him bare usually happens in less comfortable positions for you. You’ve seen him in his most natural state many times, yet each time, you want to bleach your eyes; he’s surely with an attractive physique, but it’s the gentle manipulation, intrusive, that you usually face his body with.

He breaks the trail of your thoughts with another offensive line. “You’re not undressing as well?”

You whip up your head towards him, eyes bulging from the worry. “Huh? Why would I do that?”

“I thought you were eager to lend me a helping hand,” he says with interest.

You gulp. On one hand, you don’t want to be naked next to him, in the cramped space of shower especially. On the other hand, you feel it’s your duty to tend to his wound, you desperately trying to minimize the damage you appearing to want to hurt him was. Except—

“Chrollo, all you need to do is stand under a cold water for a few minutes. I’d only get in your way. Meanwhile, I’ll prepare something to patch you up,” you manage to talk strictly enough, for once in this situation not yielding to your desire to please him. A cold shower is the least he can do on his own, you decide with more logic, if only to avoid him taking advantage of your kindness.

A short look of satisfaction passes over his face, as if he’s proud of you setting your foot solidly for at least one matter. “Very well. I’ll stand there, hoping that this excruciating pain will be rinsed off along with the water,” he says rather dramatically, and removing his clothes entirely, he finally steps inside the shower cabin.

You release the breath you’ve been holding. “Excruciating pain my ass,” you mumble under your nose, opening the cabinet above the simple mirror of the sink.

There’s something you can work with, you realize as the water droplets drone against the tiles in the background. The first aid kit this motel is providing, albeit not full, has some sachets of gauze and medical tape remaining. You find a bottle of aloe vera gel Chrollo bought for you when you one day burned yourself on the porch’s sun, too stubborn to go back inside into the same space with him, as well some painkillers for when living as his reluctant lover serves you a headache. Gathering all, you leave the bathroom, making sure you don’t look towards the clear glass Chrollo is behind of — there’s not even any heat fog to cover his nudity.

On your way to your shared room, you think about how idiotic the notion that you’re babying him is, considering he has to be pretending about the extent of his harm the coffee caused, and you anticipated him moving out of your way when throwing coffee at him as usual. But he has you operating based on your deepest fears, skillfully, leaving you in uncertainty about how mad he might be at you, never making it clear if you taking care of him will actually help your case and ease his disappointment or is merely you taking responsibility and some discipline still awaits you. He’s not hiding the fact he’s acting, and yet, you still are serving him on auto-mode.

You didn’t even mean to hurt him and you’re sure he knows about that. You threw the liquid at him assuming nothing bad will happen and he’ll dodge as always. Can you even be at fault if he didn’t dodge in clearly a deliberate way, considering his agility? Is he not making a ploy to paint you as an assaulter and leave you squirming from the price of being one? It’s unfair, really — you can’t even defend yourself, if the harm was done anyway.

Still, you suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry — showing lack of consideration would only make you look malicious as intended.

You plop yourself on the creaky bed laid out with a brown blanket and throw your items at it, awaiting his return. The room smells musty, the wallpaper is peeling off, the wooden furniture is scratched everywhere, but you don’t bother to close the curtains and let the sunlight in. Closing your eyes for a few moments, you’re measuring every sound he makes through the thin walls, then the step towards you that start few minutes later, as you attempt to take deep breaths…

You open your eyes only when the door does, freezing upon the sight. Chrollo’s body is dripping with water droplets, and he has only a white towel wrapped around his hips. Sitting up on bed immediately, you start expressing your disgruntled mind. “Couldn’t you get dressed?!”

“The clothes were stained in your coffee. They have to be washed,” he informs you calmly.

“Then…” you sputter in anger, though you quickly assess his wound while you’re already staring at him. The redness has barely decreased on his pale skin, and some blisters are forming already. “Something from the closet.”

“Sure. Eventually. I want to lie down for a moment. Surely you don’t mind, if I’m still in pain?” he asks innocently, and not so innocently, he moves to put his body next to yours on bed. The bed was never that big, so the space between you two is rather suffocating; you already are forced to sleep next to him at nights.

You’ll have to dress his wound when he’s like that — is your dreadful realization. “Great..” you mutter.

Chrollo crosses his arms under his head, sprawled across the mattress. He looks at you expectantly, curious of your next move. “You really don't need to do this, if you don't want to. I’m sure I can handle myself,” he assures nonchalantly.

His words are chosen to give you the illusion of free choice, which to you only reads like a trap — one you’re scared to leave.

At this point, Chrollo’s not even hiding the fact he’s taunting you. Gone is the painful expressions that were meant to push you into the belief that you've hurt him; no need to keep the act if he knows where you’re headed already.

You probe previously gathered items under your hands, grinding them into the blanket, as your mind is addled by the weight of one stupid sentence.

You don’t have to — technically — but what will happen if you don't do the thing? Would he actually punish you for burning him? He has not yet lashed out on you in the span of the last months you lived with him, only was incredibly intrusive in different ways, yet it is also the first time you've managed to land your attack on him…

“Let me take care of your wound. We wouldn't want you to think I threw my coffee at you with premeditation,” you say sardonically, despite the worry that you can’t hide is written all over your body language. You shift your body weight onto resting on your knees in front of him for easy access.

“You didn’t?”

Here comes another question, one that makes you question yourself all over again. You tense up even more. Every time you’ve thrown something at him, you told yourself it was safe — he would always dodge, and so you could act without consequence. But now, confronted with his words, you can’t tell: have you been throwing things because you trusted he would always avoid them, or because you hoped he might finally get hurt?

You can tell it was at least in the beginning of your forced relationship that you were aiming to serve him real harm. Nowadays, adjusted to the brutal truth you can’t land even a scratch on him unless he decides so, it’s hard to tell what your intentions were.

“N-no. Why would I be fussing over you if I were to intend to hurt you?” you ask defensively.

“Because rage lends people a certain bravery. And once that rage subsides, they scramble to undo what they’ve done. Your tending to me now doesn’t have to imply you never meant to hurt me — it might only mean you lost your nerve and confidence afterward.”

He’s got you good. You stare him, and he stares back at you without any specific emotion for you read from, apathetic and relaxed. So you deflect, bringing up his own crime, as you rip open the gauze sachet, so hard your knuckles bracket each other. “And why didn’t you dodge, like you always do?! It’s as if you wanted to make me look malicious!”

“Dodging would’ve changed nothing,” he argues with infuriating calm. His body is below yours but it’s him controlling the flow here. “You already threw it. I simply let the truth land where it was headed. Seeing the wound… makes it harder for you to pretend you weren’t aiming to hurt me. It’s eye-opening about how vicious your intentions seem to be. Consider it a lesson from me.”

The audacity to go this far to prove some point — who normal hurts themselves for the sake of proving a point? Teaching you a lesson about what?! Showing you how you’re stressed out by him, especially when constantly provoked by him?

“I told you, I didn’t want to hurt you!” you snap. “I threw it expecting you’d dodge, like you always do!”

He tilts his head, studying your face as if he can see the argument cracking under you.

“You’re used to me dodging,” he agrees softly, as if he’s suddenly understanding how hard it must be for you to admit something your pride wouldn’t want you to — he’s patronizing you this way. “But did you actually hope I would?

When you’re angry enough to throw something at me… can you truly swear it’s harmless? A performance to make yourself look scary? Or were you finally hoping I wouldn’t move out of the way, when choosing to grab a hot liquid for the first time?”

The room rises up by a few degrees, and you try to finally attempt to treat his wound before your nerves would eat you alive and you’d start believing him. Opening the bottle of the aloe gel with a loud pop of the plastic, you use one more argument. Your eyes are darting between your shaky hands and his upper abdomen, while avoiding the risqué sight of his hips in towel. “Chrollo… I don’t deny that you are an artisan when it comes to provoking my anger, but I mean it when I tell you I’m not a violent person. I have never attacked anyone before meeting you, let alone gave them a burn on purpose,” for once, you use a tone closer to being civilized that you usually stray from when interacting with him.

He places his hand on your thigh and you think that maybe he’s reconsidering things; only for him to speak another conjecture, while his hand is trailing too high, as a reminder of his possession over you… and your mind. “But have you ever resented someone the way you resent me?” he poses the question lowly.

You know the answer is no; or that at least, it’s been a while since there was an individual as blood-thirsty as he is when it comes to controlling your life. That alone could potentially turn anyone aggressive, even if out of need for protection.

You inhale deeply, trying to squirm away from his hold; he keeps you in your place on his bed that now feels even smaller, and you can’t avoid neither his touch nor his accusations. By this time, the wound should have been taken care of, yet you’re staring at the awful blisters spread across the breadth of his burn, thinking that maybe you should pop them open and let him feel pain all over again — chain him to a rock and do it over and over—

—And then you remember that showcasing this desire would only prove him right.

Trying to dim your wick, you redirect your rage onto the task at hand, squeezing out a lot of clear gel onto your fingers. “Both versions can be true, can they be not? I could have been hoping to hurt you, as I could have been hoping that you step away from the trajectory of my throw as usual. I could have forgotten there’s coffee inside, intending to throw a mug at you only. What matters now is that your burn did happen,” you force every words with enough pressure, making sure you’re heard.

His mouth opens to argue immediately. You don’t give him a chance, “It might hurt,” shoving your fingers into his burn, and this time, unlike when he was freshly burned, you hear a noise you suspect is of a genuine pain. The coldness of the gel doesn’t help either.

But Chrollo is relentless; he says something else in the brief break of you grabbing the gauze, “You’ve changed.”

Your hands freeze above his stomach. “I changed how?” you scowl. He’s throwing more and more curveballs at you, and you are still taking the bait.

“You’ve become more circumspect when it comes to speaking to me. Choosing your words carefully, but also trying to not let your anger ingulf you,” he remarks with a small smile, while inching his body closer to you. The towel loosens and you gulp.

You’re confused, glaring holes into his burn as if it might open and speak for him — really, there’s so much mental trouble in one morning over one wound, who knows what else will happen tomorrow. “Then what’s all this deal with me throwing things at you is supposed to be?” you point out.

“I reckon your anger at my words still tips the scales towards you doing that. A bad habit, perhaps. Outside of that, you search for more logical and sound arguments. I like that about you,” his smile widens, and his dark eyes sparkle prettily when he’s honest for once, veiled by thick lashes.

You think he’s actually praising you. Noticing something positive about you than twisting some aspect of your person to his benefit. You don’t know how to feel about that. “Well, I have not intended to have debates with you for sport or fun, if only to make you listen to me. I still don’t enjoy the thought of being here with you,” you grumble.

“I know your disdain is strong, but who can say what rules time might rewrite?”

The idea of you transforming into someone who actually wants to be with him is both ridiculous and laughable. You would have launched another round of anger if it weren't for the exhaustion that has only just made itself felt; morning or not, Chrollo drained your mood for the rest of the day like an energy vampire.

Spreading the gauze over his stomach, you force yourself to ask one last thing, desperate to know your fate after your hypothetical assault.

“Anyway... I just want to know if you're going to punish me for throwing that coffee at you.”

“Do you want to be punished?” he doesn’t answer immediately, rubbing your leg instead. That question posed with his touch on you send chills into your spine — not the pleasant kind, if you’re hoping his groping doesn’t evolve into more.

Of course, you shake your head. You haven't even had the (dis)pleasure of knowing what being punished by him is like yet, which isn't exactly the relief it should be — it only leaves you hanging in anticipation and uncertainty, as you await the first time he’ll get back at you properly, in way another than being petty, annoying, or intrusive. Up till this day, you’re not sure what exactly he wants from you, other than breaking you into pieces to analyze and own.

“I'd much rather make it up to you... if you're holding a grudge or something,” you admit quietly.

You press a piece of tape onto his skin, no longer caring that he's nude in front of you, and almost laugh when he shivers at your touch, suddenly soft under your fingers. Even now, he's not immune to you.

“I don’t hold grudges. But, I do earn favors that might come in handy when needed… or those that simply bring pleasure.”

It is now that you put on the alarmed suit once more this morning, your mind wrapping the word pleasure into the worst hypothetical scenario.

Chrollo chuckles, slowing down his strokes on your thigh into something soothing; you don’t believe him to be that caring, not with his smirk and his eyelids resting low from the desire your defiance brings him. “Not of that kind. Merely a kiss to make amends… and to make it feel better. My burn is still deriving a lot of pain, you know?”

A kiss is surely easier to take than being manhandled by him — it’s definitely lighter in comparison to a painful punishment — but still is something you’d love to avoid. “There’s a painkiller, so…” you mumble awkwardly, patting down the finished dressing under his sternum. Out of sight, out of mind. “There. You should avoid sleeping on stomach or wearing tight clothes, though I’m sure you know that…” you ramble from another tension growing in you.

He peers down at his body below. “Mhm. It’s neat enough. Back at our topic…

Pain management of chemical kind is rather dull, and if a kiss is meant to make it up to me just like you wish to make it up to me…” a dramatic sigh follows after, as if he really needs your lips to kiss it better, and then he dares to look at you from under his lashes, holding some command in it to make it worse. Your stomach twists.

“I-is there no other way?” you stammer, eying his mouth with a clear reluctance.

“We could bargain, I suppose. I wonder what else do you think would be equivalent to one kiss for me to forgo it?” he asks humorously, eager what other price your mind could come up with that wouldn’t be only worse than a kiss he’s well-aware you don’t want to share with him.

Your brain errors, and you don’t need time to ponder to know a single kiss is a short annoyance and bruised dignity in comparison to what else Chrollo’s whims could steal from you; the deal of only a saliva exchange is really accommodating and lenient of him. At the same time, it’s extremely suspicious, and you doubt he’ll make the makeout easy.

You decide to get done with it, enticed by the idea of being able to move on for the rest of your day. You're pushing your head down with a hand carefully placed on his chest, right before your lips envelop his with a rather angry energy resurfacing again.

Then a certain itch that appears. Desperate to control something in your dynamic with him for once, your movements are firm and messy, as you’re craving to assert yourself, to show that you’re not entirely under his sway. For a moment, it feels like you’re finally in charge; be it brief, fleeting satisfaction, it’s still intoxicating and both comforting.

You hear him gasp in surprise and your head swims in ecstasy.

Unfortunately for you, Chrollo doesn’t stay passive. His hands wrap themselves around your midriff, strong and steady, and he’s drawing you even closer, pushing your upper body to rest directly on his, desire making him forget any burns or pains your weight is provoking. You yelp into his mouth, as your pajama is the only layer between you and his toned chest, and you can feel the growing bulge under his towel. It’s all as if he's been finally called to grab what he’s owed. It’s not enough to break your defiant stance but still enough to make it clear that he’s in control regardless of you kissing him first.

If you have thought it was your kiss that was heated, he proves you wrong, moving his lips with a provocative pressure, keeping his eyes shut to enjoy the feeling of you properly. There’s a roughness behind the kiss that renders your nerves raging the same way it ignites the desire you can never quite accept, and it makes your chest flutter in a way you don’t entirely understand, not that you want to. His pepper perfume and the closeness of his handsome features is already too overwhelming — now it’s hard to focus on what’s happening exactly when your faces are so close and he’s like mad, everything being blurred in your vision.

Still resting your hips on your knees and bent in this uncomfortable position, you press back your palms against his chest to withdraw for least the second, wanting your breath and comfort back, also fueled by the resistance long engraved in you. But he brings your head with one hand leaving your body ending up on the back of your skull, and so he’s catching your lips again.

The kiss worsens; with disgusting precision, controlled intensity, as if he’s trying to swallow you whole, releasing the tension that's been brewing between you two for the past hour, as well is testing the limits of your restraint. Your heart hammers in your chest, both the familiar bitterness and flush churning up your stomach. His skin is hot under your defensive palms, for once not cold like he is; he’s really not hiding his desire for you. You’re worried about the towel on his hips moving below you.

As you struggle to slow him down and watch clear pleasure in his knitted brows, you think you’ve never tasted him to be so impatient before, and you wonder if he's that starving for you, if he wants to make it dreadfully memorable for you, or all the above. Each press of his lips go deeper until he’s shoving his tongue into your mouth, grunting as if he cannot get enough of your taste, while still keeping your head close. When his hand pushes at your waist with even more insistence, you can’t breathe at all, and the friction between you two builds up too much sensitivity that you can’t stop any noises coming from your throat.

Every few rolls of his tongue is with you trying to push away, only for him to push you close, reminding you that you want to pay him back for hurting him. Until you finally relent, returning the favor with even more anger, giving your own punishment for being a bastard ever since the first day you have met him, indulging yourself in the ephemeral sense of being his equal. You press your body at him with more force, kissing him back instead of trying to shut your lips like before, growling as he only laughs into your tongue.

He murmurs something against your lips — low, soft, almost a taunt about you being aggressive again — and so you bite his lips and grab his biceps to scratch at them, drawing out a weak mewl. Your skin prickles and flushes with lust when he takes that as an invitation for lowering his hand from your waist to the apex of your ass. You close your widened eyes to focus on physical sensations, even if you know he occasionally opens his to watch the myriads of emotions passing over your face and enjoy them.

Initially thinking you’re reclaiming your control over your body if you can’t take control over your life, he still twists things other way around, at last shifting his weight to press you down onto the bed and under him. The kiss continues as more teasing now, suddenly slow, and you gasp between the short withdrawals, catching your oxygen. He doesn’t let you forget who really is in charge, pinning your wrists above your head; right as that damn towel finally slips off his hips.

It's becoming dangerous, the vile in your stomach turning into almost butterflies, overwhelmed by the heady softness behind the kiss as well noses brushing each other, even if you recognize the affection in it is faux. Chrollo is clearly trying to fluster you, going further than the kiss you owed him, and you are stuck in limbo of knowing better and not wanting to get away.

And so when he finally pushes his head up from you, letting you inhale properly and witnessing you in your must vulnerable state, he naturally says:

“Thank you for tending to my burn, darling. It’s reassuring to see you don’t despise me enough to leave me in discomfort. How unexpectedly tender you can be… It makes me wonder what the future holds, with all the trepidation of a lover waiting to be surprised,” he throws the words at you with a tone deceitfully gentle — meant to burn your cheeks and cause indignation at the very idea you might start wanting him, and succeeding.

Oh, how much you hate his guts; not any less when his hands start wandering everywhere over your body, but your mind asks for a short reprieve for the sake of receiving pleasure your stressed-self begs for, carefully manipulated by him. And Chrollo will be there, gathering the fruit of his labor, desiring you the same if not more as you show him your “disdain.”

[uvobreakmylegs]

Private Party

Uvogin x female!reader

🎃Happy (very belated) Halloween🎃

Warnings: noncon, fingering, gaslighting, stalking, brief mentions of blood, reader is a lil drunk and vulnerable

Word Count: 9.9k words

It was barely 9 PM and the party that Uvogin's housemates had put together was in full-swing: the loud, spooky-themed music that had been picked for the holiday was blasting in nearly every room of the off-campus house, and the decorations that had been haphazardly put up only minutes before guests started to arrive were already beginning to come apart, as streamers of bats were falling off of the pins that kept them hanging on the walls and cut-out skeletons were slowly becoming un-stuck from the tape held them upright.

There'd already been a casualty for the evening as a small jack-o-lantern with a flashing light in its mouth that had been knocked off of a table and subsequently smashed into pieces, ultimately being swept up with a dustpan and dumped in the kitchen garbage bin.

With the crowd that had gathered for the party, it probably wouldn't be the first decoration to end up getting tossed.

Standing in the main living area of the home, Uvogin was leaning against the banister of the stairway that lead up to the second level of the house while sipping from a red solo cup. He hadn't dressed up, largely because most costumes weren't made to fit someone of his size. But even if he had options that ranged beyond a muscled up action movie hero or some barbarian character, he wouldn't have bothered. Beyond using it as an excuse to get drunk, Uvogin didn't see much point in celebrating Halloween. Not as an adult, anyway.

Uvo didn't even really want to participate in the party. While free alcohol was fine, the company wasn't. His housemates were people that he largely tolerated while the guests who had come for the party were all strangers that he wanted nothing to do with. Had the circumstances been different, he would have done what he usually did, which would have entailed him holing up in his room with some beer in order to avoid the thing entirely.

But unlike the other times his housemates insisted on throwing parties in their efforts to make the place a hangout spot, there was something here tonight that had him willing to put up with all the noise and chaos that the party brought.

He took another slow sip from his drink while he discretely kept his focus on the living room area that stood across from him. That area and the kitchen were where most people were gathered while they talked and drank, and he needed to look past a variety of costumed guests in order to keep an eye on what had brought him out of his room that night.

Because tonight, it just so happened that with all of the guests who had come to the party, you were among them.

Pulling the cup away from his lips, Uvogin watched you closely from where you stood in the living room. You were standing next to the woman that he knew to be your roommate, and the two of you were having a conversation with some guy who appeared to be dressed like a zombie. Who the guy was and what he was saying to you, Uvogin didn't know. But he watched the way you smiled politely at whatever was being said while you sipped at your drink.

In the meantime you remained completely oblivious to his attention on you, the same way you normally did whenever he would watch you outside of school hours.

And he'd been watching you for a while now.

Uvogin wasn't keen on college. He didn't feel that getting a degree would be anything other than a waste of time and money. But seeing as it was Chrollo who was insisting, telling him that it was a necessary in some future scheme, Uvo ultimately conceded to the demands of his boss.

Not that it didn't come with conditions, with the main one being that he didn't need to spend his nights in the stuffy, cramped rooms of the student dorms.

Thus, Uvo ended up moving into an off-campus house that gave him a lot more breathing room. Nobunaga had joined him, citing that he also hated the idea of the dorms. While that was probably true, Uvo was also pretty sure Chrollo wanted someone to keep an eye on him while living in a house full of what was, at the time, strangers.

They were still strangers for the most part. While he wasn't as bad as some of the others in his group, Uvogin could admit that he didn't tend to accept new people in his life very easily, and he honestly didn't see the point in getting close to any of the guys he lived with. After his four years was up, he didn't plan on seeing any of them again. So as long as they all left him alone, it was fine. Anything else was inconsequential.

And yet, despite his aversion to new people, you had somehow managed to catch his attention the day you moved in.

Not in the place he was living, of course, but you moved into a different off-campus house meant for female college students, and it just so happened to stand across from where he lived as the backs of the houses faced one another with a single strip of forest separating the two. On the day you moved in at the beginning of the new semester, Uvogin happened to be sitting at the desk that sat in front of the window that looked out into the backyard, and when he saw movement across the way in the other home, he glanced up and caught sight of you as you were carrying moving boxes into your new room.

With nothing better to do in that moment, Uvogin sat there watching you for the remainder of that afternoon while you and your roommate went back and forth between your room and the downstairs part of the house that he couldn't see, bringing up more boxes until the two of you began to unpack and set everything up.

You had caught his eye. Not for any real reason; you weren't very different from anyone else he'd seen on or off campus. He was just bored with his classes and wanted something as a distraction.

He decided there that you were just the distraction he needed.

When he wasn't finishing up assignments, Uvogin was watching you whenever he was able to, even going as far as buying a pair of binoculars so he could look at you in greater detail whenever you were in your room. When Nobunaga questioned him on it, Uvo claimed he had gotten into bird watching out of boredom. Whether or not Uvo's roommate bought the excuse, he didn't know, but Nobu hadn't said anything or brought it up since, so either he was oblivious or he didn't care.

As long as Uvogin wasn't creating the sort of problems that would land either of them in hot water, he was free to do as he pleased.

He'd learned a lot about you since this habit had started up. Your full name, your birthday, your interests, what you were studying, what you planned to do once you graduated – all of it, either by learning the information he wanted through his observations or by enlisting Shalnark's help to find it out for him. There was a lot that he considered to be useless information and he honestly wouldn't have normally cared to know about. Did your preferences in music and books matter to him? No. He couldn't give less of a shit. Did he gain anything by watching how, whenever you were stumped on an assignment, you ended up playing with your hair while you thought over whatever the solution to your problem might be? Not at all.

But it was you and he was determined to make note of all of it, even when it meant nothing.

Watching you sitting on your bed with your laptop in front of you as you typed out your assignments was a common past time for him now, and you didn't notice at all, too wrapped up in whatever you were doing to even glance across the way to where he sat. Maybe you thought the woods that separated the two houses were a good enough cover to not need to worry over prying eyes, if you even worried about that at all.

The first half of the semester passed like that with no real end in sight. Uvogin wasn't even sure what his end goal was with this, if he even had one. All he wanted from you was for you to keep him distracted and entertained. Maybe when he got bored with you, he'd find something else to keep his attention. But seeing as that hadn't happened yet, his focus was still on you.

Even more so tonight, and for a multitude of reasons.

For starters, it was the first time he had ever been so close to you, because up until this point he had only ever watched you from a distance. To see you so close and without a few layers of glass and tree branches in between the both of you felt odd. Not bad, but certainly not what he was used to.

He also hadn't realized you were going to be dressing up for this party, and you appeared to be in a good mood that had only been bolstered as you had gotten several compliments on your costume – Uvogin wouldn't have thought Sherlock Holmes would have been your first choice, honestly, but when he saw you dolled up in your swooshing cape and the skirt you had used to replace the pants in an effort to make the outfit cuter, he felt that you were pulling it off well.

Everyone else who spoke to you certainly thought so, and that had you feeling good as chatted with the other guests alongside your roommate and sipped at the drink that you held in your hand alongside your plastic magnifying glass.

But the longer he watched you it continued to get later and later, a third thing about you caught his attention, that being the gradual shift in your mood, starting from obviously feeling good about yourself until that sense had faded away almost entirely.

You weren't being obvious about it. In fact, Uvogin would say that you were making an effort to hide it. But it was obvious to him that you were starting to get antsy as time went on, like how you would pull out the magnifying glass that came with your costume and twirl it about in your free hand, or when the magnifying glass would reenter your pocket and you would start fidgeting with the edge of the cape, all the while you kept a smile on your face that, the longer he looked at it, he found to appear more and more forced.

What was going on with you?

As much as Uvo wanted to ask, he knew it'd be weird of him to approach you to ask what was wrong. Even if he knew you, you didn't know him, and you wouldn't be inclined to answer that question if he came up out of nowhere, especially not when you were trying your hardest to hide how you were feeling. The fact that he was pretty intimidating also didn't work in Uvo's favor here, either. If anything, him approaching you right now would only leave you feeling worse.

Plus, even if you didn't make a big deal out of it, Uvogin wasn't so sure that your roommate wouldn't, either by swinging her ice wand in his direction or even taking out the fake icicles sticking nearly upright in her hair and trying to stab him with them if she viewed him to be some sort of a creep. That, combined with all of the people who were currently hanging around, would spell trouble that would follow him for the rest of his years spent on campus if he wasn't careful.

So while the way you were acting was bothering him, he kept his distance. For the moment, at least. After all the time he'd spent watching you, it felt slightly surreal to see you up close like this, and he wanted to keep an eye over you for a little bit longer.

Uvogin lifted the cup in his hand up once more, still feeling bothered by the way you were acting and the fact that your roommate didn't appear to be leaving you, but his thoughts were interrupted when he was hit with the fact that he had already drained the contents of the cup without even realizing it, as the inside was completely empty save for a few drops at the bottom.

He hadn't even realized he'd been getting so close to finishing it off.

Uvogin stepped away, walking the short distance through the hallway that lead to the kitchen to toss the cup into the trash, not bothering to give the people who happened to be in his way any room and forcing them to sidestep around him. Despite the clear rudeness of his action and the hour that was growing later, there was no one around who was drunk enough to attempt to call him out on it.

Though he quietly found himself hoping that someone would. Might make the evening a bit more interesting.

“Hey.”

Uvogin was still in the doorway of the kitchen, his attention now drawn away as he heard a familiar voice call out to him. Unsurprisingly, it turned out to be Nobunaga, who was holding a full cup of cider as he made his way over to the kitchen's entrance.

“Hey,” Uvo said in reply before he turned and made his way out of the kitchen, once more bullying his way past the few people who were still lingering in the small hallway. Nobunaga followed, sipping at his drink and saying nothing as Uvo returned to his spot next to the banister. The black haired man settled next to him, leaning against the wood as well and causing it to creak slightly against their combined weight as they both looked out to the room full of people, with Uvogin's attention on you while Nobu's was on seemingly nothing or nobody in particular.

“Didn't think you'd be down here this long,” Nobu commented, “or that you'd be down here at all, honestly. You usually hate these sort of things.”

“I don't hate parties,” Uvogin replied, “I just hate the parties that these assholes throw.”

“You hate their parties, but you clearly don't have any issue drinking the alcohol they provide,” said Nobu, taking a swig of his drink after.

“It's compensation for throwing a shitty party and making me listen to all this noise,” Uvo answered.

“Plus I'll never say no to free drinks when they're offered,” he added.

“What do you mean when they're offered? You always get free drinks because you always take them without asking,” Nobu teased.

Uvogin shrugged, not saying anything in response as he turned his attention back to where you were standing. You and your roommate were still talking with that zombie guy, and there wasn't any sign that the conversation was dying down, much less any sort of hint that you and your roommate would be separating for any reason.

He let out a quiet sigh.

There probably wasn't much point in continuing to keep an eye on you tonight. While being in the same room as you was nice, there was something a little frustrating that he couldn't do anything at that moment. But then, what did he expect? There were too many people around and no chance at getting you alone with the house being as crowded as it was.

Had he really deluded himself into thinking that anything significant would have been able to happen at an event like this?

Shaking his head, Uvogin doubted that he'd stay down here much longer. With no desire to attempt small talk with you while your roommate was hanging around you and not wanting to continue to be tantalized by your presence, he was inclined to leave the party that he didn't even want to be at in the first place.

Although seeing as Nobunaga had now joined him, Uvo figured he'd stick around for a little while more.

Nobu took another sip of his drink before he looked back up at Uvo.

“Did you hear the rumor someone spread about Chrollo and Kortopi?” Nobu asked suddenly.

Uvo's eyebrows furrowed as he looked to Nobunaga, asking back “what kind of rumor could spread involving Chrollo and Kortopi of all people?”

“The kind where people are claiming that Kortopi is not only a child, but that he's actually Chrollo's son,” Nobunaga answered, a grin on his face as he added “the only question people still have is: which one of the three ladies Chrollo hangs out with most is the mother?”

A beat of silence passed as Uvo stared at Nobunaga.

And then he couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter. Most rumors about his group didn't tend to include the boss, but when they did, they were usually pretty funny.

Nobu was laughing as well as he asked “What are the chances Shalnark started it?”

Uvogin shook his head.

“Shal wouldn't do that. Not to Chrollo,” he answered, a chuckle in his voice as he said “unlike you or Phinks, Shal actually respects Chrollo.”

“Unlike me? What does that mean?” Nobunaga asked, his question accusatory but his tone joking.

“You know what I mean,” said Uvo, “there's only a short list of people that Shalnark likes, and an even shorter list of people that he likes and respects. You're only on one of those lists.”

“And what, you're among the few he respects?”

“When was the last time you heard Shal shit-talking me?”

Nobunaga scoffed, but seemed to concede.

The conversation was cut short when the front door opened, and a whole slew of new, costumed party guests made their way inside the house. Uvogin grimaced at the sight, and even Nobu seemed put off by the sight of all the incoming people.

Nudging his roommate with his elbow, Nobu asked “wanna head back up to our room? I think I'm finished with this party, honestly.”

Uvogin began to nod, prepared for the rest of his evening to consist of him and Nobu watching a movie on a laptop with their headphones in so they could at least drown out some of the party noise and then not coming back out until the next morning, at which neither man would bother helping their housemates clean up the mess from the night before.

But before he made his way up the stairs, Uvo's eyes went to you, wanting to see you one last time before he headed away for the night.

And then he stopped.

Not only was the zombie dude you had been talking to gone, but you had stepped away from your roommate, indicating towards the kitchen as you said something to her that he couldn't hear.

It looked like you were about to head off.

On your own.

He was proven right as you took another step away, smiling at your roommate before you turned and headed out of the living room and towards the kitchen, keeping your head low as you navigated your way past the many people, including Uvo and Nobu as you needed to walk close to them in order to access the small hallway.

A smirk found its way to Uvogin's lips.

He'd figured tonight was a bust – and it still could be. But now that you were away from your roommate, and after all of the time he'd spent merely watching you, it'd be a waste not even try to talk to you. And he figured he had a pretty good way to make sure your roommate would be preoccupied.

With a new goal in mind, Uvogin looked to Nobunaga, indicating towards your roommate with a nod of his head.

“Actually, I noticed that chick dressed as the ice witch has been looking at you. You should go talk to her,” Uvo told him.

Nobunaga blinked, not looking to where Uvogin had wanted him to as he repeated “ice witch?”

“Yeah, from that one movie. The one with the talking lion and the kids going through a closet to another world. The lion, the witch and the whatever.”

“Ohhh, that one. I never actually saw that movie. But I did watch the TV version at one point,” Nobunaga said, taking another swig of his drink before he added “the people in the fursuits looked weird.”

A tinge of irritation began to form in Uvo, and he was halfway tempted to smack Nobu over the head for whatever inane bullshit he was spouting instead of actually listening to what was being said to him. But instead of causing a scuffle, Uvogin forced himself to maintain his composure and keep from putting hands on his roommate.

“Yeah? Well, that's something you should say to the ice witch, because she's looking right at you,” Uvogin reiterated.

“She is?”

That time, Nobunaga turned his head, and it seemed as though the universe was on Uvogin's side because your friend turned her head over in his direction at that very moment, looking straight at where Uvogin and Nobu were standing. Upon making that eye contact, your friend grinned at the two of them and waved with an unsteady hand.

She was very drunk. Hopefully drunk enough to forget about you for a little bit if Nobunaga was able to distract her.

“What'd I tell you,” Uvogin said before giving Nobu a slight shove forward while he added “go talk to her.”

Surprisingly, Nobunaga didn't seem overly excited, and Uvogin noticed the way the black haired man's head turn towards the kitchen, where you had just disappeared into. But whatever reservations Nobu may or may not have had, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly before he ultimately chose to go to where your roommate was standing in the middle of the living room.

With the mood your friend appeared to be in, Uvogin was hopeful that Nobu would be able to keep her busy long enough for him to be able to get to you without anyone noticing.

And as for you…..

Uvogin pushed off the banister again, this time in pursuit of you.

Once again returning to the kitchen, Uvo stopped just inside the doorway as he scanned over the room, expecting to see you in there.

Except you weren't.

Uvo's eyebrows furrowed as he looked over the people standing within the area of the relatively small kitchen and didn't see you anywhere. But this was definitely where you'd gone, and there wasn't any way that you could have already returned to the living room; Uvo would have run into you on your way back. So if you weren't in here and you hadn't left the kitchen by way of the hallway entrance….

His gaze went towards the door at the other side of the room, one that lead to the outside deck at the back of the home.

He stepped forward and once again made his way through a large group of people in order to reach his destination, his eyebrows still furrowed as he wondered what had brought you out there. Maybe you needed to make a phone call or something.

In a matter of moments he was turning the knob and pushing the door open as he stepped outside into the cool night air.

His question as to what you were doing was answered quickly as Uvogin was surprised when he immediately caught sight of you at one end of the deck.

Oddly, you were on the floor, sitting in a fetal position while your back was resting against the wall. There was a shudder that ran through you while you sat there, noticeable due to how you were holding your hat in one hand as the fabric was shaking in your grip while the other was holding your head. Your eyes were squeezed shut as he saw you breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, the kind of breaths people took when they were trying to calm themselves down.

Uvogin was surprised and found himself wondering if he was the cause of this; he'd thought he was being subtle, but had you caught onto him?

Just as quickly as the thought came to him, he pushed it aside. If he was being so obvious as to make you uncomfortable, you would have told your roommate and the two of you would have left the party entirely. Something was bothering you, that was for sure, but whatever it was, it wasn't serious enough to make you leave the premises completely.

And while you appearing to be emotionally vulnerable was unexpected, Uvo did get something he'd been wanting:

You alone with him.

You finally noticed him when he let the door swing shut behind him, forcing your eyes open and turning your head to look at him with mild surprise. Like you hadn't expected anyone else to come out here.

It didn't seem like you knew what to say because you just stared at him for a good few moments.

One of Uvogin's eyebrows arching up in question as he asked “you okay?”

Hearing his voice snapped you out of it.

“Ah – yeah, I'm fine. Or I'll be fine,” you quickly said, trying to compose yourself as you reached up to brush some of your hair behind your ear while you gave him a half hearted smile. Despite that, you chose to remain sitting on the floor of the deck.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stepped closer to you.

“You sure?” Uvogin asked.

You nodded, but you didn't seem as certain that time.

“I was feeling overheated,” you mumbled, and now your words were slightly slurred as you added “it's a little too much in there and I needed quiet. That's it.”

“You sure?” he asked again. By now he had reached where you were sitting, and had chosen to kneel down next to you. Not that it helped much with the height difference as he still towered over you, but at least you weren't straining your neck as much just to look up at him.

“If you're having some kind of issue, I'm happy to help out, if I can,” Uvo said.

You shook your head.

“I'm fine. Don't wanna bother you,” you answered.

His eyebrow raised once again as he stared at you.

“You're not bothering me. I just want to make sure you're okay,” Uvogin said as he reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder that he then squeezed reassuringly.

You didn't react to his touch other than to glance over at where his hand was holding you, but as he looked at you, he noticed a certain vulnerability that was present in your gaze, mixed with uncertainty.

“Did something happen in there?” Uvo asked.

You shook your head quickly, looking away from him after. Of course, he didn't believe you.“

Is it something you can't talk to me about?” he then asked. You shook your head again.

“So something did happen?”

“N-no, it's just…”

You trailed off as you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hat that was still in your hands as you gathered up the courage to speak again.

“I don't feel good,” you told him, “it's warm and loud inside and I felt like I was gonna faint.”

Uvogin's eyebrows furrowed on hearing that.

“Why are you still here then?” he asked, “if you feel bad you should go home.”

“But I've been looking forward to this,” you softly protested, “same with my roommate. Especially since she made her costume. If I left, she'd want to come with me and I don't wanna to ruin her night.”

“…… I see,” was all he said to that.

Even though he didn't say it out loud, what he thought about your reasoning was made loud and clear through his tone, and that made you hang your head slightly, like you were worried he thought you were being stupid. And in Uvo's opinion, it was pretty stupid. A college party wasn't worth this kind of distress, no matter how much you might have been looking forward to it. The thing that you should be doing was obvious; go find your roommate, tell her that you didn't feel good and either she would stay while you would leave or the both of you would head back. Regardless of what she would do, it was in your best interests to go back to the safety of your room.

But instead of encouraging you to do the sensible thing of going back, Uvogin saw an opportunity in the unexpected situation, and decided that he would act on it.

He got your attention when he spoke to you again.

“Tell you what,” Uvo began, “if you want to see if the feeling of being overwhelmed passes with a little bit of time, then why don't you come to my room upstairs?”

“Your room?”

There was a look of hesitance in your eyes when you said that, but you also didn't seem completely against the idea.

Uvo smiled warmly as he continued “yeah. I live here. I can't guarantee that my room is the nicest or the cleanest, but no one else will be in it and the noise from inside won't be as bad in there. You can even lay down for a bit and see if you feel any better. It'll be more comfortable than staying out here, anyway.”

You were quiet after he said that, which prompted Uvogin to add “no pressure, though. But if you're really feeling bad, I do think it'd be best for you to find some place where you can relax a little, y'know?”

“Can I not stay out here for that?” you asked.

“Not really. There's going to be people coming out in a bit,” Uvo lied, “I think they were going to carve pumpkins or something.”

“Oh…..”

That was all you said before you went quiet, staring down at your hat while you seemed to be weighing your options. Since you were insisting on making stupid choices, maybe he would luck out in you picking the choice that would be the most beneficial for him.

And after a few more moments, you relented as you told him “I think…… I think going upstairs should be fine."

You looked back over to him and asked “it won't be much trouble?”

“It won't,” he answered.

Your fingers were tugging at your hat again before you responded again.

“Okay.”

The new urge he needed to fight was an urge to grin ear to ear as held out his hand for you to take. You did so somewhat hesitantly, letting him wrap his fingers around your palm before he helped you stand to your feet. He wasn't going to scare you away, not when you were trusting him like this.

Entering the house once again caused a surge of noise to surround the both of you, as the laughter, music and incomprehensible chatter was all mixed together while Uvogin led you through the kitchen. He made an effort to walk forward quickly, noticing how being back inside was already affecting you negatively as you squeezed his hand that you were still holding onto like it was a lifeline, and it was visible as you winced when the music was clearly too loud for you.

You were more than eager to follow him up to his bedroom.

As he stepped out of the kitchen with you trailing behind, Uvogin noted that he no longer saw either Nobunaga or your friend in the living room.

Did they go up to his and Nobu's shared room before he could get you up there?

Evidently not, as when Uvogin took a glance out of a window which looked out onto the porch at the front of the home, he saw that the two of them were seated on a bench that had set out there and in the middle of a passionate make out session. Whatever mood Nobu had been in when he initially approached her, he had clearly gotten over it as his hands were all over your roommate while she was practically sitting in his lap.

Uvo grinned to himself again as he made his way up the stairs, with you seeming to not have noticed what your roommate was up to as your head was still hanging downwards while you relied on him to lead you away from the noise.

If things went well, Nobunaga might not be the only one getting lucky tonight.

Some party this was turning out to be, you thought to yourself bitterly as you followed behind the large man who had invited you to his room.

You really had been looking forward to this; after the weeks of studying and tests and getting used to the new environment, you were excited for a night where you would be able to relax a little bit, get a bit more of the college life experience that wasn't focused on the classrooms and was instead more about having fun. Because one could only take so much never ending working before cracking under the weight of it all, and you definitely felt yourself buckling under the pressure of your first semester.

So why did that pressure become too much when you were at the party? The thing that you were hoping would relax you at least a little?

It wasn't fair.

That was the thought you had running through your mind as you found yourself standing in the middle of a bedroom – the bedroom of the guy who had so nicely invited you up so you could take some time to calm down and breathe. Even though the party could still be heard through the door that had been shut behind you, it felt a lot more tolerable now that it was more of a distant murmur as opposed to the overwhelming racket of voices and music that it had been while you had been downstairs.

You were able to let out a sigh of relief on hearing that, and you felt the tension in your shoulders lessening ever so slightly.

You'd be okay. Just take a little time up here and everything would be fine.

The man's voice suddenly cut through your thoughts as you heard him say “you can sit down there, if you want.”

Looking up at him, you saw that he was pointing a finger in the direction of a bed. Presumably his own, and one that was slightly messy as the covers had been pulled over rather haphazardly. You nodded and took a few steps forward before you took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” you mumbled aloud.

“No problem,” was all he said in response.

He seemed to be keeping his distance as he took a seat at the desk, turning the chair around so he could face you fully. Not that you were fully paying attention to him at that moment since you were still focusing on calming yourself down. But you could see out of your peripheral vision that he was turned in your direction. He was keeping an eye on you. That was nice.

Then again, what else was he going to do after inviting a random person up into his bedroom?

After a few moments where you forced your breathing to become a bit more normal, you looked back over to him, and you realized something then that felt embarrassing.

“We didn't introduce ourselves, did we?” you asked quietly.

“Hm. Nah, I don't think we did,” he agreed, leaning back as he said “I'm Uvogin, but you can call me Uvo. You?”

You answered with your name, adding a small “nice to meet you,” after the fact.

Uvogin nodded.

A silence followed after that, broken only by the sounds of the party below your feet. It had you feeling awkward; going up to a guy's room and then not saying anything? Especially when he was going out of his way to put up with you. You needed to say something, make some sort of conversation if just so you wouldn't feel so weird.

With your hat still in your hands, you murmured “Sorry that this is how you're spending Halloween.”

Was it bad that was the only thing you could think of to say?

“Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal to me,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders after.

“Not big on Halloween?” you asked.

“Nah, it's not for me.”

“Oh.”

The awkward silence took you over again before you said “sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Uvogin asked.

“You must not be happy having a party like this in your house,” you said.

Uvogin shrugged again at that.

“It was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not. No sense in getting angry or anything,” he said.

“And besides,” he added as he leaned in, “I'm pretty happy the party happened since I was able to meet you.”

You couldn't help but let out a weak laugh. He was just being nice. Even if he didn't care about the party, there couldn't have been any upside to dealing with a stranger who had been on the edge of a meltdown. But at least he wanted to be nice about it.

“I wish I was better company right now. It can't be much fun looking after a girl who's having a freak out over her first college party,” you told him.

“You're plenty good company. And I don't mind looking after you. Just keep relaxing there, and if you need anything, let me know,” Uvogin told you.

You nodded again before your gaze went back down to your hat that was still being held tightly in your hands. You were going to destroy the thing if you didn't stop pulling at it the way you were, and this costume hadn't been cheap. Not that you were likely to wear it again after tonight, but still.

And speaking of your costume, it was starting to feel stifling.

Of course it did. There were too many layers to it; first the cape, then the vest, then the long-sleeved shirt beneath that. You hadn't been thinking of what the conditions inside the home would be when you bought the thing, or how having so many layers would affect you. Why hadn't that thought occurred to you before this?

Since you didn't care for the thought of sweating all over Uvogin's bed, you placed your hat to the side before your hands went up to the tie that held your cape together, and though your fingers were somewhat fumbling with it, you managed to untie it before pulling your cape off with a large sigh of relief.

“You doing alright?” you heard Uvogin ask.

“It's warm,” you mumbled while you set your cape to the side, placing it on top of where you had set down the hat. Your hands then went back up to the area beneath your throat as you began to undo the buttons of your vest.

Uvogin stayed quiet during that.

You weren't really paying attention to him as you removed the vest, putting it in the same spot as the other pieces of your costume you had removed, folding and setting it on top of your cape. After taking off the heaviest parts of your costume, you felt better. It was still warm, but not to the almost unpleasant degree it had been moments ago.

Maybe when you felt like you could rejoin the party, you wouldn't bother putting the costume back on.

You were also thirsty, you noted. Maybe some water would do you good, both in calming you down and also cooling you off further. Turning your attention back to Uvogin, you began to ask “um, would it be okay if….”

You stopped yourself in the middle of your sentence once you looked at him, as you found him to be staring at you with an intensity that you weren't expecting, his eyes zeroed in on you while his form was stiff in the chair. Maybe like you had made him uncomfortable or upset.

That thought immediately had you worried as you asked “um, is everything alright?”

Uvogin blinked like he'd been lost in thought, and then his expression changed again as he grinned at you.

“Yeah, everything's great,” he answered. He then used his thumb to point to a mini fridge that sat next to the desk as he asked “you want a water or something?”

“Sure. Thank you,” you quietly answered.

It's fine, you told yourself as he got up from the chair and bent down to retrieve the water out of the fridge. He was acting normally, and things probably only felt weird to you because of how out of sorts you were feeling in that moment. You couldn't have done anything to upset him.

Soon enough, he was standing in front of you, holding out the bottled water for you to take, which you accepted with more words of thanks.

Yet you had barely began screwing the cap off, and Uvogin sat down next to you on the bed, with him sitting so close to you that his large thigh was brushing against yours.

You looked up at him, feeling your eyes widen slightly in confusion. Uvogin in turn seemed confused by your reaction, tilting his head as he asked “something wrong?”

“…. N-no. I'm good. Thank you,” you mumbled as you finished opening the bottled water.

It's fine, you told yourself. Sure, it felt a little strange that he would suddenly get this close to you, but it was his bed, after all. And maybe… Maybe he was just trying to be nice again by sitting next to you, or maybe he was just trying to be friendly. With that thought in mind, you brought the bottle to your lips and drank while Uvogin remained seated on the bed with you.

He spoke again while he leaned back on the mattress in a casual manner, asking “so this is your first year?”

“Yeah,” you answered quietly before you took another sip of the water.

“What are you studying?” he asked.

“Right now it's just required classes,” you said, “I'm not sure what I wanna to do yet.”

“Well, it's your first year, so you've got some time to figure it out.”

“Yeah.”

It's fine. It's just small talk, conversations being made to break the ice, to make you relax a bit more. Even though you would have rather Uvogin had stayed where he was sitting, you told yourself that you didn't get to dictate that since you were sitting on his bed in his room. And again, he was just trying to be friendly. Overall he seemed like a nice guy who only wanted to look someone who was clearly overwhelmed.

It's fine.

You kept telling yourself that, even as you were screwing the cap back onto the bottle as you waited for him to say something else, or if you were the one who was meant to lead the conversation now. A question about what he was in college for was a good place to start, and you opened your mouth to voice that.

But the instant you did that, you suddenly felt his hand on your thigh, his fingers dangerously close to slipping beneath the fabric of your skirt.

And then the thoughts in your head went blank.

You froze the second Uvo put his hand on you, but the truth was that he barely noticed your reaction at first.

Because all he was focused on was how he could finally do to you what he had fantasized about for a while now.

Uvogin had watched you for quite a time, but the one thing you were careful on was closing the blinds of your room whenever you changed your clothes, something he had often tsked at when his view into your room would be cut off by the hanging strips of plastic. There were even times he'd been tempted to ask Shalnark to put a camera in your bedroom, but ultimately chose not to as it would cause issues if something like that was discovered by you or anyone you lived with. A discovery like that could be bad enough to make you leave the home you were occupying, so he'd held off on risky moves like that, not wanting to lose the access he had to you.

Now you were here, not just in his room but also going as far as to undress yourself in front of him, taking off the heavier layers of your clothing and letting him see your bra through the white fabric of your shirt. You were provoking him by doing that, and he was only a man, after all.

To not take what he wanted when it had been so blatantly presented to him would be a crime.

His rough hands began to caress the smooth skin of your thigh, his fingers slipping beneath your skirt. That finally made you speak as he heard you ask “wh-what are you doing?”

Uvo looked over to your face to find wide eyes looked up at him again, now with far more shock swirling in their depths as you sat stiffly on his bed.

He smirked to himself. Of course you would be like this.

“Something wrong?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“Y-you…. Why are you-?”

Your words were cut off with a yelp as he pushed his hand fully underneath your skirt, his fingers now traveling up the skin of your thigh and getting dangerously close to the apex of your thighs.

“Don't worry so much,” Uvo told you, “it'll help you relax.”

“Huh? This doesn't-”

“Just go with it. You won't have a good time if you stop to question every little thing, you know?”

“B-but-!”

Again he cut you off, this time with his fingers easily making contact with your clothed pussy and beginning to rub against your folds through your underwear. You dropped the water bottle he had given you, both of your hands going down to grab at his arm as you tried to stop him. Not that it did any good; even with you using both hands to pull at his sleeve in an effort to take his hand away, you couldn't get him to budge.

Your attempt at scooting away from him was similarly met with failure, because when you tried to get off of the bed, he moved with you, reaching up with his other hand to hold you by your shoulder, pressing you into place against the wall while he moved to straddle you.

In moments, Uvogin was hunched over you, keeping you pinned in place on the bed while his hand was still cupping your clothed pussy. Once he had gotten you into a place where you couldn't move any further, his touch grew bolder, rougher, all the while you looked up at him in fear and betrayal.

“Wait. P-please, don't do this,” you whispered.

Uvogin laughed.

“That's it? For someone who says she doesn't want this, you aren't trying very hard to get away from me,” he teased. Uvogin then leaned in closer, his breath hitting the shell of your ear as he murmured “you're lying, aren't you? The truth is that you actually want this.”

“I-I didn't-”

“If you didn't, then why did you take off your clothes?” he asked.

“It was hot….”

“Sure it was.”

His fingers continued to travel up and down the length of your folds through the thin fabric of your panties, intent on memorizing the feel and committing that to memory. And, while it was maybe half as a result of the alcohol you had drank before you came up here with him, Uvo felt a growing wetness coming from your pussy the longer he toyed with your folds through your underwear.

“There, see? You want this,” he told you when he knew you wouldn't be able to deny it. Uvo moved back slightly in order to see your face, and he found that your eyes were still just as wide and shocked as they had been when he'd crowded you against the wall, like you couldn't believe your body was responding in the way it was.

“It's okay,” Uvogin told you, “there's nothing wrong in having a good time and enjoying yourself. It's a party – you're allowed to let loose. And I'm happy to help you do that.”

“Th-that isn't-”

Once again he cut you off, using his free hand to tangle in your hair and force your head to tilt upwards so he could lean in and capture your lips in a rough kiss that silenced you.

Maybe you actually bought the explanation he had provided for you, your mind gone enough that you were willing to let go of your concerns and hold onto his every word as fact. Maybe you were more affected by the alcohol and couldn't bring yourself to fight what he was doing.

Maybe you were just too scared of what might happen if you were to struggle too much and upset him.

Regardless of what it was, be it one of those options or a combination of them, you remained still and stiff beneath him, the tension that had been in your body when he found you outside, that had previously left you, now having returned due to his invasive touch. You were shaking and your lip was trembling as Uvogin pushed your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to his gaze, and the only attempt you made at covering yourself was to try and close your legs.

Uvogin shoved your thighs back open with little effort before plunging his fingers into you.

The yelp that you made when he did that held notes of both pleasure and pain, and that cry of yours went straight to his hardening cock while the thrusts of his fingers grew rougher as he finally got to feel your soft, inner walls for the first time.

“You feel good,” Uvo stated, “you're a little tight, but we can fix that.”

The muscles of his forearm flexed as he fingered you, spreading his digits wide in an effort to stretch you out so he could fuck you comfortably. When he felt that spongy spot inside of you, he focused on that, placing the pads of his fingers on that area and watching with satisfaction as you seized up, biting down on your lip in shame.

“There we go, just like that,” he said with a grin.

You were already crying, the tears leaving streaks in your makeup as they ran down your cheeks.

And somehow, the sight of you in tears only had his dick growing harder.

Uvogin kept you like that, pressed against the hard surface of the wall and his own unyielding figure as he forced his fingers into you, eventually adding a third in his effort to stretch you out for him. You cried the entire time, your hands still uselessly trying to push his arm away while he forced noises of pleasure to leave your lips. You were fighting him on that, too, trying to keep the sound of your voice contained as you kept biting down on your lower lip.

That just made him more determined to touch you, to make you cry out while you came on his fingers. Which was why his thumb ended up on your clit, rubbing at it harshly while continuing to thrust his fingers into your walls. You jolted at that, your body tensing up while a whimpered moan left your lips as you felt the nail of his thumb scrape against the sensitive skin.

He continued just like that, watching in satisfaction as your face scrunched up as you tried to fight the pleasure that he knew was building inside of you. If your reactions weren't enough, then the wet squelching that could be heard in the bedroom that came from your pussy as he shoved his fingers in and out were more than enough evidence for that fact.

When you did eventually cum, you did so with more tears while your cunt clenched down on his digits, squeezing them as your fluids came gushing out and utterly soaked his hand.

Uvogin grinned as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“See? That wasn't so bad, was it?”

You only answered in the form of a choked out sob, your head bent downwards as if you were trying to hide from him.

You didn't stay that way for long.

As soon as he had pulled his fingers out of your spasming cunt, you were pulled away from the wall and forced to lay down on the bed beneath him. The same hands that had treated you so roughly were now on your shirt, forcing the buttons through the holes and showcasing more of your sweat-slicked skin for his viewing pleasure, though he still maintained a semblance of control as he told himself not to tear your clothing apart.

Your tears could be concealed; a wrecked, torn outfit, even with the layers being put back on, wouldn't be as easy to hide to anyone who was paying attention.

With your shirt now open and the cups of your bra pulled down, Uvogin paused as he drank in the sight of you. Your breasts exposed and your nipples seeming to ache for touch, while your wet, swollen pussy lips remained slightly parted, and all the while you stared up at him, tears still in your eyes while you breathed out through your mouth, little gasps filling the sudden silence in the room.

Despite the way you'd made it clear that you hadn't wanted this, your body was responding to what he had done, whether you liked it or not.

Uvogin grinned again, unable to help how pleased he was with himself, and with your reactions to his ministrations.

It wouldn't take long after that for him to free his erection that had been straining against his pants and force it into your cunt with the same ruthlessness as he had done with his fingers.

The strained cry that came from your lips when he did that was loud enough to make him cover your mouth with his hand.

The bed creaked in time with Uvo's thrusts, the sound of the springs easily being heard despite the party still going on downstairs. He held you down, one hand staying on your mouth while the other had grabbed ahold of your hip, using that to keep you steady as he pushed in and out of your cunt with his cock, the action growing easier as time went on due to your walls slowly started to part more easily and accommodate to his thick length.

Your muffled cries also took on a different tone as he continued, sounding less pained and more pleasurable.

Uvogin took a chance then. He removed his hand, eager to see what you would do.

Much to his delight, you didn't cry out for help.

“I was right, wasn't I?” Uvogin asked, his breath hitching slightly as he kept up his pace. “You wanted this, but you're too embarrassed to admit it.”

Instead of responding, you turned your head to the side, your eyes squeezed shut once more.

Uvo simply took advantage of your open neck that you had offered to him and began to mark it up with bites.

Later on he would need to figure out how to hide the state you were in. Excuses could be made, sure, but most people would at least raise their eyebrows if they saw a woman coming down from a guy's room crying and looking like a mess. But later. Even though later wasn't too far away from the current moment and the potential mess he found himself in would need to be dealt with tonight so no one outside of the two of you would be aware.

Actually, the three of you, as Nobunaga must have had some inkling as to what was going on since there hadn't been so much as a knock on the door since Uvo brought you up here. There was some security in that, because in a worst-case scenario Uvo knew he could count on Nobu to help him out should things escalate in a bad way.

But he didn't think they would.

Uvogin leaned down, his hand once again maneuvering your head so he could force you into another kiss. You whined, though the sound was muffled due to how his lips had overtaken yours. But when he pushed his tongue into your mouth, he was pleased when he felt your own tongue reluctantly moving against his.

He grinned. There may have been a part of you that was still resistant, but you were reacting positively now, lost enough in the pleasure that your reservations were being overtaken by your urges.

Uvo couldn't help but be pleased that he had driven you to this state.

Eventually, this would end, and he'd need to deal with the reality of cleaning you up so you were presentable to the guests of the party downstairs. He'd convince you to keep quiet, tell you like he had at the beginning that you had wanted this, and point out to the things you had done to prove that to be fact.

But if you were coherent enough not to be convinced, then he'd find another way to shut you up.

Getting photos of you in a vulnerable, half-naked state would be a good way of ensuring your silence, he thought to himself, and he was certain you would fold instantly if you tried to make a fuss and he produced those.

Holding those over your head would also be a good way of making you do what he wanted in the future.

….. The future, huh?

Uvogin pulled away from the kiss, now watching your facial expressions as he slowed his pace, his cock gliding in and out of your cunt while his hand went down to your clit. You whimpered again when you felt his thumb caressing it in tandem with his cock, and he watched as small beads of blood could be seen forming on your lower lip as you bit it again.

You were responsive in a way he enjoyed. In a way he wanted to see again but in a different setting. Like one where he would be able to have you all night.

At first, he hadn't been sure if he wanted you again after the first time; you were just a distraction, after all. Something to keep his mind off of the boring college life that he wasn't interested in. While he had watched you intently, at the back of his mind he was aware it was partially because you were easy to access. Once he finally had you, he didn't know if that interest would stay.

But Uvo was pretty sure it would now.

Because he liked you a lot, and he wanted to see you again after this.

Whether or not you would accept him or need to be forced into it again, only time would tell.

But for now, he would simply enjoy having you like this, and as his thrusts grew faster as he felt his peak approaching, he felt his infatuation with you take hold completely.

You were his now.

[ewnamored-deactivated20260512]

──── 「‪‪★KINKTOBER 2025‪‪★」

──── ‬ꗃ DAY 24: MIRROR SEX ⁀➴ YAN!CHROLLO, ILLUMI, HISOKA, PARISTON ♡︎

• CONTAINS: non-con, fem!reader, mirror sex, painful penetration and cervix bruising, some praise, nipple play, Illumi uses his needle, housewife/domesticity kink, rough sex, slight blood, degradation, cutting skin with nails, coercion and abuse of authority, choking, one mention of vomiting.

!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHROLLO

You have a tendency to defensively close your eyes during sex, refusing to see Chrollo’s inspecting gaze, or show the way he taking you is affecting you.

Unfortunately for you, his brain never stops working in terms of how to keep you in check, doing what he wants when he does want something from you; he offers some liberty in regular circumstances, but anything that has to do with intimacy has to go according to his will.

So there you are, lying sideways on the friction-burning carpet of some cheap hotel room, right in front of the wardrobe’s mirror. Chrollo is right behind you with his head coming out above the line of yours, keeping one of your legs bent up in the air so he can fuck into you, while also offering you the view of his cock disappearing inside your cunt.

You’re not allowed to look away as punishment for avoiding his gaze the night yesterday when he was filling you up with his cum, and should you do anyway, he threatened to deny you for hours on end.

And you don’t take his ultimatums lightly; so you can only scratch at the carpet, burning with mortification at the view you’re being forced to see. Worst type of exposure therapy after your mind tried to protect itself against his scrutinizing; even if you can’t see his face right in your nose, the mirror reflection is far scarier.

Reminding you of how he always will have you against your tears; even with his own grunts and quiet moans, feeling good and not caring about anything else in the world for once. “Sucking me in like you’ve been thinking about this too…” he whispers, sending humiliating heat to your stomach.

You feel your mind try to slip into some blurry state, unable to watch as his length keeps sinking into you almost entirely, or his balls slapping you with shame, but every thrust knocks you out of that state. “Chrollo…” you say through the cadence growing higher, begging him to at least slow down and not have the rough fabric scratch at your sides. Your wet eyes meet his eager ones in the mirror.

“Shh… you’re doing so well for me, love. You can last a bit more. Don’t make me repeat my warning…” if you weren’t focusing on his words, he would have sounded soft to you. He definitely isn’t, picking up the pace, getting off to your vulnerability. Chrollo chokes a little when you squirm around him. “Stay still or I will…” he doesn’t finish his thought, keeping his glory.

The other hand that’s under your head like a pillow slips to the front of your face, gnawing at your mouth.

You open it, mindlessly sucking on his fingers to have at least one thing to soothe yourself with, whilst trying to ignore the fact same hand has killed thousands. You catch a gentle chuckle near your ear, something about you being restless.

“That’s it… keep looking at yourself, at me… I’m sure you can at least admit you make a good view, no? Better than some art pieces I have stolen…” The mention of thievery has you sucking on his fingers harder — not from the flattery of his praise. You’re drooling all over them, eyes glued to the reflection.

The orgasm he’s sending you close to has your head spinning, creating the image of your two forms blurring into one. Your hips have been aching too, bursting from the pressure of his cock pulling at your walls that always remain tight from the stress of being fucked by him.

The fact the door to the room is located so close to the wardrobe is as nerve-wracking, creating the worry guests passing by your door will hear your wanton moans. You’re glad that mouth plug is keeping them quiet, especially as your submission must have spun something inside Chrollo suddenly bringing your hips even closer to his pelvis, stealing breath from your lungs. “What a good girl… taking what’s given to her…”

Your sound-safety doesn’t last long, however; he realizes how quiet you’ve turned, for once again denying him of your vulnerability. He removes his fingers out of his mouth, you ending it with a pop sound as your lips try to lock them in place, until you’re crying to the walls again. Although, it’s not as if the sound of skin reverberating against another, or the slick being sloshes has been keeping the room quiet anyway.

“No need to be shy,” he teases, and you know he wouldn’t care about anyone hearing you two — it’s not as if you wouldn’t sound like a typical couple. “No need to deny your own needs.”

Instead, his fingers reach lower down your body, ending up on one supple flesh of your breasts, soon fondling it and rolling your nipple between his digits.

You’re flailing your legs, unable to even protest fully at this point; he tuts you. “No, keep looking ahead.”

Despite the need to run away from it all — him, his thrusts, his life — your mind still clings to his prior warning. You force yourself to keep staring into the mirror, watching your pathetic misery, your tit being pulled on, and his girth stretching your folds.

You know the night ahead of you will be long, judged by his jubilant expression when he lifts his head to kiss you. And when you moan into his lips and tighten around him from what’s coming, his hand almost crushes your leg and Chrollo sighs with bliss.

ILLUMI

You can’t move. The needle stuck to the side of your neck has turned you into a limp doll to be fucked by Illumi, yet also the one who also is made to feel everything happening in her body. You’re frozen in motion of your hands staying on the sides of the mirror on the wall, with your ass and hips arched towards him for both easy access and coveted view.

You’re not sure if you’ve done anything wrong to earn this, but it feels like a punishment regardless. Typically, you would have been doing anything in your power to get away from him, or at least to release your accumulated tension on something; now, you are forced to feel anything he’s putting in your body:

He’s reckless, throwing his cock into you with inhumane speed and hitting your womb painfully. Your legs threaten to cramp from standing still in this position and there’s no way to work it out. The ugly pleasure growing in you has no place to go. But worst amid all, is your head unable to turn away from the reflection he placed you in front of — your wide eyes dumbly watching your terror stuck since the moment his needle pierced you, as well your body still being pushed back and forth by his hips slapping your ass. He only allowed your throat to still work, so you can keep wailing and moaning for his sake.

Regardless of your state, you being able to move or not, the shame and sense of being humiliated, fed to a monster, is always present as well.

He put you in front of the mirror so you can’t miss out anything; however, you’re not any grateful to be exposed to yourself, and reminded of the place you never wanted to be in.

And yet, Illumi has been behaving closer to a shy virgin. Trying to stay quiet, muffling his groans, as if finding this sort of intemperance shameful in himself. Perhaps that the reason he has you immobilized — just so you can’t make things worse for him by squirming and being enticing. You do doubt he is experienced.

Still, he’s vigorous as ever, as if trying to drill additional depth in your pussy stretched to its limits already.

“Y-you’re squeezing me so tightly even in this state, if not more like this…” he curses through his teeth, his hips momentarily faltering when he cannot take it much longer.

Your eyes strain to look away, but to no avail; you watch his flushed cheeks and hands trying to slip off your hips, only to grip them more tightly when he remembers to stay in control. “I-Illumi…” you can barely speak, feeling as if you could pass out from his brutality.

He bites his lip hard until it covers in crimson when he hears yours name, and slaps your ass once. “Don’t say my name,” he scolds, then adds with quietness and fragility, “Not like this…”

He even looks away from your face in the mirror, concentrating on your ass jiggling under thrusts instead. You’re not sure if you have ever witnessed him so shaken up by your body, wondering what the hell has happened to turn him into a guy averting his gaze at a sight of a woman; although, the strength he uses on you during sex had not disappeared at all, engraved in his muscles forever.

Illumi then suddenly speeds up his pace, grabbing your forearms and bending them behind your back, now using them as handles to guide your body.

The stretch of his cock on your taut muscles becomes so unbearable you’re barely breathing, and still all you can do is watch your breasts shake back and forth in the glass of the mansion’s bedroom, begging for him to stop playing those frames back and forth. “Illumi… what’s wrong…” you whine out from desperation.

Somehow, the question works on him, to your surprise. He stops, and while not entirely, he brings your body to his back, now supporting you with both arms around your waist, with aiming into your pussy with a slower space. Your body, still motionless, bends to his will.

You’re confused, especially when he speaks more softly out of nowhere,

“Ah… I just…” he tries to gather his thoughts, his mind clouded by your wetness coating him, “saw you working in the kitchen… the dress you wore, it exposed a lot when you bent down for something… I had to have you after…” he admits with light humor in his usually apathetic tone.

You wouldn’t know that, but you asking him about what’s wrong with him filled him with some desperate sense of warmth; he’s unused to people worrying about him, and if the apple of his eye does that…

even if you asked that out of confusion only.

Your mind works hard to understand what he means; although, you’re grateful he’s switched to being more gentle. You didn’t suspect he’d be so prone to losing himself to lust, just because his forced fiance looked pretty and home-like.

Being rocked and forth onto his cock, you realize Illumi who’s always been on his own must have been dreaming of some sick domesticity, playing house with you in his own way. Was just oddly shy about it.

You now feel even more repulsed.

HISOKA

“Been racking my brain over what would have you stay in place… thought that maybe, watching yourself in the mirror will remind you of how your body betrays you.”

It’s disgusting; Hisoka is seated on a chair in front of the hotel mirror, and you are seated on his lap, both legs spread wide open with his hands on your thighs. He’s using your body like a toy, thrusting you up and down his cock with no mercy. And you’re forced to watch it all — any attempt to look away is met with him speeding up until you’re squealing in pain. He’s huge, and working only with spit and your arousal that barely started building up makes him fucking you agonizing.

It’s not because you tried to run away. It’s not because you said you hate him. It’s after you tried to sell info about him to other hunters when on the run — that’s what rattled his cage.

“There’s no way I will ever want you…!” you exclaim to your own reflection, as if trying to prove it to yourself who looks utterly lost. You even want to accuse him of using some sort of trick on you — anything to deny how your own body still succumbs to his and not your will, curling your toes from small sparks of something amplified with every thrust.

“I don't give a crap if you want me or not. You’ll be mine anyway,” he laughs, biting so fiercely at your ear, he actually draws blood — then licks it off. This closeness allows him to keep spilling wanton moans into it too — with no filter or being bashful.

You squirm with your calves flailing, tightening your grip on his hands — the only thing you’re able to hold onto in this precarious position. The fact the chair under him rasps with every lift of his hips under the strong force he’s creating, adds a worry it’ll break under you two.

You shake your head, living in denial. He might have kidnapped you, he might have been dragging you to every unsafe zone of the world, he might have turned you into some sort of housepet, but… “N-no, I won’t be yours,” you try to proclaim, staring with your teary eyes at your expression attempting to suggest otherwise.

Hisoka laughs again, this time digging his sharp claws into you they also bring blood to the surface of your thighs. As you wail in pain, he says, “No, you won’t be indeed — because I forgot you’re mine already. And you’re so tight, trying to milk me dry…”

The words spin the carousel of you disagreeing, muttering “no,no” with every bounce of your body; unfortunately, your misery only excites him.

“No, no!” he mocks, meeting your pitiful eyes in the mirror; you see his cock going into you, you see how your flesh there has swelled, and you see the wickedness in the yellow gaze eating it all up. “But take a good look at yourself. That’s closer to a whore enjoying herself being used, than her being hurt and split open.”

You suddenly close your eyes, unable to take the degradation of your person anymore. Naturally, Hisoka doesn’t like it.

“Open your eyes,” he says with forced calmness, digging his nails harder, as well picking up on his pace.

You feel the pleasure and pain fighting against each other, now the latter winning again, but you don’t give in, shaking your head with fat tears rolling down your cheek.

“I said: open your eyes, darling,” he hisses, then sinks his teeth into your nap, willing to shake you off your stubbornness.

Your eyes open, but they close as quickly, too scared to see your unbecoming in the mirror again. So he has enough.

Still holding your body by your thighs, he stands up from the chair, before beginning to fuck you in the air. His grip is unrelenting, yet you are put through a torture.

Your eyes snap wide open, feeling as the gravity keeps aiding him on shoving you down on his length, beating your cervix with every fall. You can spot your terror and his satisfaction.

“Won’t look away now?” he asks.

You nod your head rapidly, unable to speak as what he’s doing to your body has you suffocating.

“Good. Remember about this the next time you think of betraying me,” he taunts, aiming his hips more to the front so you think he’ll have you drop on the floor.

You’re totally defenseless in his arm, dependent on him for stability. Your body is tense, with your heart pounding in panic. And yet, you feel an eruptive orgasm approaching you, eager and grateful to dehumanize you the same way he’s been doing. Your mouth hangs open, singing for him the way he pleased it to be, even if most noises are coming from a dry and irritated throat — the scream you let out is light and coarse.

But Hisoka doesn’t stop fucking you, even if you’re growing dizzy and sob — he lets out a highest moan at the way you suddenly squeeze on his cock. “Mmm… don’t give up on me now… there’s still a lot ahead of us…” he purrs.

PARISTON

When you passed a word to Pariston about wanting to be more than a one-stared hunter, the excitement you felt about him inviting you to his place was never about what’s currently happening.

Barely standing on your feet, his hand over the front of your neck and hip, not even fucking into you but pushing you onto his cock as hard as possible with a bruising squeeze on both sides — all happening in front of the mirror of his penthouse. There’s nothing you can hold onto, every thrust having you feel as if he’ll have you fall on the floor, your hands flailing in the air.

No clothes on you while he keeps his trashy suit on, adding to your sense of vulnerability — with the glitter fabric scratching your skin too.

“Look at yourself,” an entertained voice taunts from behind you. The hand on your neck travels up and grips your cheeks, forcing you to witness your own reflection; showing your body jiggling and being hit back and forth with a rapid speed. He’s been cruel with you, and while you can’t see much from the front, the disgusting sight of his balls slapping your skin still hangs brow below the gap between your shaky legs.

“You’re fucking disgusting… you sleazy bastard...” you insult despite the fact you’re sobbing like a baby. The tears are so thick they're coming down your throat too, turning into phlegm you can’t spit out. You were so stupid, thinking he’s inviting you for a talk about your future; yet he also was so nice to you all these months prior, you’ve been fooled by Pariston.

His hand, in response, not only grips your hips, but actually pulls on and fondle the flesh here as if trying to skin it from your bone, sending more pain to you.

“I promised you that you will be a star, didn’t I? I think this is a very small price to pay…” he chides playfully, not thinking of any guilt.

He offers you a deep thrust, hitting your cervix just to hear you cry in aches again, so violently you think it’ll be maimed forever. The fact he’s truly girthy is adding to your agony, you’re assuming he might give you a tear soon — it’s not as if he prepped you much in the first place either.

“And if you believe not, then I think it’s just you being too prideful. Some sacrifices must be made!” the sadistic lilt in his voice burns both anger and the sense of your humanity being crushed like a bug into you.

You cannot believe your ears, him calling the violation he's doing just a small favor. He set up that mirror on purpose, that much is obvious to you — he knew you'd hate yourself for letting him do this, and forcing you to witness with your own eyes was to add to his cruelty. Was all about “oh, no, no, we wouldn’t want you to miss your own show!”

“Don’t think this is over… I’ll let other know… I…” you try to threaten, despite the fact your voice is breaking and you’re heaving.

Another deep and painful thrust; you think you really will collapse this time, but he holds you snugly to his back, squeezing your face harder. He looks at you in the mirror, smiling knowingly, curled with a mocking pity too, “Tell them what? That you came over to the Vice Chairman’s place? For what, some tea? As if people wouldn’t make their own assumptions…”

You hate how he can speak all collected even as he’s being suffocated by your hole; there’s only some breathlessness, outside of occasional muffled grunts. Your body is working against you, instilling unwanted pleasure at some point, but Pariston is still far behind you.

When you don’t answer, he pouts with disappointment, right as he adjusts your slouching form and doesn’t allow you to escape from harming thrusts. “Come on, I have been observing you for so long, thinking about you like some infatuated idiot…” He taps his fingers against your tears. “Don’t turn boring now.”

He then grabs some necklace from the tray on his commode close by, and drapes it over your neck with a condescending noise coming from his lips, “This is what you wanted? Being lavished in riches?”

Right as you’re about to curse him again, his hand tightens the grip of the choker on your neck, cutting off your air. Your hands fly at his, trying to remove the surprisingly strong chain from your throat.

“Little lamb,” he mocks, suddenly pushing your body flat to the mirror; you’re grateful it doesn't break from the place. He does so he can keep fucking you handless, just so the hand on your hip can move up to shove its fingers down your throat.

You can’t breathe, only gag on his fingers and try to not puke. You can watch yourself panic and growing red, eyes bulging from the pressure as you are coughing. And yet, him continuously fucking you while your body runs an adrenaline course has you coming fast on him, with your head hitting the mirror. Your mouth opens but you don't know if you’re screaming or staying silent, teetering on the edge of passing out.

Your head bursts with pain, yet it feels so dull at the same time. You barely hear him laughing from behind, but it works its way in shaming you for being such a slut — and maybe he says that himself.

KINKTOBER TAGLIST:

@elissa-bat @gaynesthetic @imkumichan @dyingsweetmackerel @tremendoustragedybard @snowsilver2000 @yandere-romanticaa

[thisloveihave]

fetish for being so loved and so adored and so unbelievably yearned for

[ewnamored-deactivated20260512]

hihi, i love your work!

For your thank you prompts I‘d like to request prompt 1 (skin to skin cuddling) with a yandere Chrollo.

maybe a bit of a soft yandere core? A long time into being captured

#1. Skin to skin cuddling for my 1k special.

cw: gender neutral reader, forced relationship, non-sexual nudity, slightly suggestive, forced proximity, mentions of being punished, quite affectionate Chrollo. Word count: 2,2k.

Note: Thank you! 😊

One of the disadvantages of traveling often or spontaneously under a sudden threat is the limited space for luggage. In your situation, it has been made worse, as it means your only pair of clothes is rain-drenched and has to be currently drying while you and Chrollo remain nude.

This criminal wannabe lover of yours has made you take a bath together to exploit that disadvantage before he put you both in bed. There’s no space left between you two, and disgustingly, you have no choice but to cling to him — it’s due to the outside air freezing and chilling your bones. To make your losses worse, you don’t hate the ‘cuddling session’ in amounts you’d like to be present, whether it’s due to resignation chiseled into you or loneliness.

You’re bound chest to chest, as he keeps you on top of him with strong and vicious arms keeping you close by your waist. The hand that strokes your hair makes you flinch every few slides, naturally. Your cold skin in collision with his soaks in all of his warmth but wants to repel all ensuing intimacy.

“Are you comfortable?” what’s smoothly spoken is not a question about your emotional comfort, considering there’s always something about you that’s haunted by him. He’s merely acknowledging your physical easement. You don’t dare to lift your head away from your vision field gathered on the wall, worried you’d see content, or worse, a satisfied look on his face; so you nod.

“Good,” he murmurs. “It’s quite the weather today, isn’t it? You know what they say about circulating warmth, it works best skin to skin, so I hope you’re not holding a grudge against me.”

Of course you do. It’s an unfortunate situation of using an old blimp with a barely working heater, leaving you no choice but to cling to him for heat. If you don’t crash in that old aircraft, that will feel like a miracle. The microscopic and ugly bedroom inside the transport isn’t most welcoming either.  “Isn’t that a solution for the case of hypothermia? Cause I’m not hypothermic.”

“You’re not hypothermic because I’m preventing that state from developing,” he says bluntly. There’s no mocking you: it’s him pointing out the fact.

“Are you sure hogging the blanket all for myself wouldn’t have worked on its own? You clearly are a case-hardened man, you could manage sleeping without a blanket,” you go as far as pinch his bicep your hand is rested on to accentuate your dissatisfaction. He returns the gesture by gently pulling on your scalp and making you wince.

What comes next you might not see, but you do hear and feel it — he must be smiling at your cheekiness, because his chest rumbles with a quiet laugh. You almost pout. He finds you to be at your fullest potential, or endearing for that matter, when you try to annoy him. Defiance speaks of your fortitude and is a sign he hasn’t eradicated your personality that has drawn him in many months ago.

This is the only reason he hasn’t hurt you too badly in the past: any traumatic experience is a risk of him ruining your true essence. You’d have to do something truly egregious for him to consider punishing you severely. Besides, it’s much more fun — unpredictable and honest — when your dynamic isn’t constantly of a thief and his property. Fear instilled in you would mean limiting your behavior he enjoys to observe.

“Keep talking to me like that and I’ll manage to distract you from freezing.”

When you sigh at his equanimity, he adjusts you in his arms, as if to remind you of your position. He pulls your body even more upward, until the top of your head is a rest for his chin. Your ear is now closer to his heart that’s running sturdy; if you didn’t know it’s an indication of how easily he can commit violence, you’d have found it relaxing. Your chest against his, your legs tangled together, his arms now dragging their hands up and down your back under the covers… there is definitely too much skin connected together, yet it all brings warm relief you’ve been missing after getting caught in the pouring attack at the airport.

A short silence follows, with as much silent implication that he’s giving you time to get used to this obscene closeness. He speaks only when you’re no longer squirming around. “But your observation indeed is astute. Lack of warmth is a small issue for my trained body, making its presence a mere, secondary comfort. In fact, I’m used to sleeping in freezing temperatures. Which doesn’t mean I don’t have to ask, do you truly hate being this close to me?” he asks, steady-voiced. When you freeze up at his question and squeeze his arm — you’ve been taught admitting your vulnerabilities is selling some part of yourself to him — he soothes you with fingers gently digging into your shoulder. “Relax. It’s an innocent question.”

This time, Chrollo seems to mean his clean hands. He hasn't done anything unusual all night; you didn't notice any strange tone, and he appears comfortable by himself. Chrollo often carries a sense of tension within him, even if it isn’t visible; it’s a preparedness for any situation that may arise, knowing he will handle it eventually, regardless of the outcome. Maybe everything has been going well today. 

Or maybe, he’s hiding something beneficial for him, from you. None of which is good. You don’t like changes as they bring unanswered questions and unanticipated problems.

When you don’t satiate his curiosity, he doesn’t force you to. He continues speaking for you. “You have been under a lot of pressure lately. At some point, I thought you’d bite my head off,” he chuckles.

“… Are you saying I made you scared for once?” you mutter dryly into his chest, albeit hopeful even if doubtful. A treasure can only wish.

“Hmm, no. But it’s certainly an appealing sight when you express your anger. It’s a sign of you caring there, somewhere,” he notes teasingly. He lowers his gaze to be at your shoulders, eager to see whatever skin is still peeking out of the blanket.

“Not in a positive way, so that’s no compliment for you!” you huff. He chuckles again, “I’ll take any attention, as long as it’s coming from you.”

The way he says it, all nice and gentle, it stirs something within you; unwanted sensation, too ignited to be from his touch. “Shut up, Chrollo,” you say with fluster. That’s not how things are meant to be. You don’t want to like his presence.

“If that will finally put you to sleep.” He cups your nape and massages it. It feels too good to be an involuntary pleasure.

“I’m not sleeping because you’re talking to me,” you talk back with annoyance. You even dig your nails into his skin, and he doesn’t even budge.

“You didn’t tell me to shut up until just now. I couldn’t have known,” he feigns innocence, using your words against you.

“I’m telling you that now.”

“Are you sure you want me to stop talking?” he teases again.

“Yes, I’m sure!” you finally gather courage to lift your head up and look at him, trying to prove your conviction about your call for him to glue his lips shut. It is just now you are able to see his relaxed face, with slightly droopy eyes; he truly is snug tonight, suspiciously. Your change in position was a mistake if you’re forced to lock in an intense eye contact exchange; his darkness is as disturbing as ever, and an abstruse glance at your lips lowers your confidence.

His hand disconnects from your nape and moves to caress your cheek, observing how quickly your eyes begin to flutter with vulnerability upon his affectionate touch — shifting between a slight fear and subversion. Your hesitance hasn't been eliminated yet, and he can feel you tremble under his hand on your waist.

“You’ve been unusually well-behaved tonight though,” he observes, taking delight in your lips parting in immediate protest. “You didn’t really attempt to get away from me.”

“That’s…” you stumble on your words, “I’m cold. You said it. Not to mention, I’m tired.”

His face leans in to meet yours crumbling properly. “Are you sure? You could have still tried to put us in another position. Instead, I see you lie on me quite like a lazy cat in my arms,” he draped your hair behind your ear as he states the humbling of your person.

“Because this mattress is uncomfortable–” When your eyes widen further, your mind whirling to desperately look for an excuse, he lifts your hand adjacent to the elbow resting on his chest. He presses the first kiss of today into the inner part of your wrist. 

Your chest flutters and you gasp slightly. You feel flush everywhere. “Chrollo, you—”

“Yes?” he says low-toned. The next kiss lands on the top of your hand. 

“Stop teasing me,” you beg, uncaring about how pathetic you may sound.

“I’m not teasing you,” he says with a wicked glimmer in his grey eyes. “Because if I wanted to tease you, I’d do this…” he flips your hand around and kisses your palm. When you try to withdraw your hand instinctively, viscerally as it happens, the tip of his tongue licks against your skin, spreading tingles down your arm.

When you yelp from the tickle and yank your hand away, he allows you to take it back with a soft laugh. He’s quite merciful tonight; where is that good mood coming from?

“That was disgusting.” It is now when you try to finally untangle your body from his, even if you’re not warm enough yet. That one, he doesn’t permit. He lets you move to be on your side, but he stops you from moving further: he seizes you by your hips and turns around to end up on his own side, before pushing your chest against his once more. His leg ends up between yours as a precaution in case of your escape.

“Don’t run. You’ll get cold again,” he orders, although patiently. “You need to rest. You’ve been through quite a lot of stressful ordeals lately.”

“And whose fault is that?” your anger is muffled into the old pillow yet still palpable.Touching him with your own skin becomes unpleasant for another second. 

“We went through this discussion on several occasions in the past already.” He doesn’t acknowledge your complaint further. Instead, his palm travels to rest between your shoulder blades. You received a whole view of his face once more and it’s making you nervous. “Go to sleep. You’ll have your clothes to put on in the morning.”

You know it’s non-negotiable. Not only you won’t be able to skip this revolting domesticity any other way than through sleeping, you also are exhausted. However, a certain question lingers on your mind at the end of this day. “Chrollo, before I do that, can you please tell me where we are going tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” he repeats, deciding whether he should tell you that and risk your whines before sleep or wait until morning where you can’t avoid his plans from happening. “We’re landing in Meteor City.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t make a comment when your eyes bulge from shock. You’ve heard him mention it a few times in the past; you’ve been with him long enough to know he’s from there or about the existence of this place. “Why are we going there all of a sudden?” The wasteland doesn’t seem most promising. He’s donated some of his steals in the past but usually through someone.

“I don’t think it’s all of a sudden— it’s time you get to know me a bit more and I show you around,” Chrollo informs, curious of your judgment.

Hearing revelations about his past is not something you have ever agreed to. Nonetheless, if it might make you help understand the mystery this man is… “That’s why you’re so nice to me tonight. Going back to old roots makes you giddy,” you at last get your chance to tease him in return.

“I’m always nice to you,” it’s all he says in response to your taunt. “As I said, go to sleep. Or should I read you to sleep?” he threatens, well-aware he can bore you into sleep with his books.

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You can always bother him about his nostalgia tomorrow. “Goodnight, Chrollo.” You yawn and close your eyes. Your head falls to rest your face in the hook of his neck, your cold cheeks needing some warmth also.

“Goodnight, darling.” He begins to stroke your hair, having noticed it worked wonders on you a few minutes ago. He’s enjoying a rare moment where you’re not trying to scratch his eyes out. 

Only once you have fallen asleep, does he allow himself to do the same — same priority reserved for you as always.

[jupiter-lover]

Tomato chunks

After sending a silly little ask, the lovely @ewnamored just gave me the perfect motivation to write some stuff (definitely go check her out😙)

yandere!Chrollo x fem!reader

warnings: yandere, reader being a picky eater, tomato hate (oops), rough childhood, mentions of starvation, englisch isn‘t my first language so I apologize for any mistakes beforehand

Even now, you can recall some days in your childhood.

Your mother yelling at you to “eat the fucking thing!” while you were seated on a chair in front of the food she cooked, it had gone cold by that point, was still untouched, and tears streamed down the cheeks of eleven-year-old-you.

You can recall those days very well.

Being a picky eater wasn’t something you wanted to be, you just… didn’t like that much stuff. Whether it be the texture, the taste or just the way it looked. You couldn’t eat it. And your mother either forcing you to eat what she cooked or screaming “sit here ‘till nighttime and starve, for all I care!“ wouldn’t win an award in being your top childhood memories. But better than her throwing something at you for being „a bad child“, nonetheless.

And while it had gotten easier, you ate more food and didn’t have to look at the menu before going into a restaurant, you‘re still picky. Still put the tomato sauce next to your noodles instead of pouring it on top, and still pick out the coarse pieces from your meal.

Yeah, you got better.

Just not with everything, especially not with chunky tomatoes. They‘re your kryptonite.

“No, I said stop.”

“You didn‘t eat a single one.” he argues back, sitting across from you. Even going as far as to push those ugly, mushy tomato chunks back on your plate with his fork. The only thing you didn’t eat and, feeling a bit bold five minutes ago, pushed onto Chrollo‘s already empty plate.

“I told you, I don’t like tomatoes. Stop forcing me to eat them.”

“I‘m not forcing anything, my dear, I am simply feeding you nutritious and delicious food. And, besides, keeping you from starving yourself.”

“I’m not starving, I ate everything else, and It’s not delicious when it tastes horrible.”

Chrollo sighs loudly and closes his eyes like you just told him to go slit his throat (which you definitely did once, in your earlier days as a captive). When he opens them again you, thanks to being stuck with him - learned how to read his mood, know what’s about to happen.

Here he goes.

“Did I never tell you about the children of Meteor city? Back then, fruits or vegetables, like those horrible tomatoes here, were a delicacy. The first time I ate a tomato was with.. hm, with seven, maybe? I found it, half molded, half eaten, in the trash. I still ate whatever was somewhat normal looking - or not already bitten off. I remember that day quite clearly, after all, most kids there didn’t have the luxury of tasting vegetables,” A dramatic pause, “…much less made it to that age, either starved or were killed before they had such opportunities.”

He chuckles at the last part, like it was funny to joke about the horrific conditions he grew up with, perhaps also the reason he now is the same Chrollo you (unfortunately) know.

As he continues his lecture, combined with the awful story of his terrible childhood, you take a frustrated bite out of the damned thing.

Chewing as quick as you can, you try to ignore the bitter taste, the syrup-like juice on your tongue and the cringing sound it makes while being masticated.

You can already imagine your face; eyebrows pulled together, a visible frown that crosses your delicate features.

And Chrollo? He stopped talking, his focus shifted towards you, taking in your expression. You wonder if you‘re going to get another scolding, but no, he‘s quiet.

After looking - or rather, admiring you, he speaks, slow and measured (as if discussing your hatred for certain meals is the most interesting thing on earth.)

“You hate tomatoes, tomato chunks,“ he smoothly corrects, “but like tomato sauce?”

You nod, glad that you at least swallowed, though the flavor still bothers your taste buds “Not too much sauce, but yes! It‘s better.”

“… it’s still a tomato.”

“It’s about the texture! Tomato sauce is smooth, chunks are mushy.”

To your surprise, he shoots you a smile, this time, it looks honest and not pulled out of his ass to make him seem more human.

Without another word, he grabs your plate, pulls it towards him, then pierces the chopped up tomatoes with his fork and starts to eat them.

You‘re surprised, and somewhat… thankful?

The next time you encountered tomatoes was when you were deemed ‚good enough‘ to go outside. Because hell come or not, Chrollo wants you to go out with him. Especially on cute little dates that have him feeling something close to… giddy. (Even if his face or body language rarely ever tells)

You were in high spirits, finally being able and allowed to appreciate the beautiful city Chrollo decided to stay at in the meantime. And you were really, really nice to him, you‘ve earned that. So after exploring and sightseeing a bit you decided to take a break.

Once you‘re settled on a bench with some sandwiches Chrollo made back in the hotel, you grin excitedly.

But your good mood is short lived as you see those red things. Tomatoes. In your sandwich.

… that fucker.

You can either eat it anyways and feel like puking the entire thing out, or pull them out of your sandwich and… what then? Throw them away?

With someone like Chrollo next to you, staring pretty intensely, it’s easier said than done. Especially because you know how he gets with food, specifically, food waste.

So a compromise it is.

“Chrollo?”

With an innocent tilt of his head, he hums, “Yes, my love?”, feigning knowledge that he deliberately put tomatoes into your sandwich. Asshole.

“The sandwich,” you respond, gesturing with your free hand to the filled bread.

“What about it? You must be pretty hungry, we walked the entire day… and if I remember correctly, you were the one who suggested bringing sandwiches with us.”

You let out a sigh; he truly enjoys complicating matters, making you verbalize your thoughts, emotions and desires out loud. Really his specialty.

“The tomatoes,” you try again, “I don’t like them.”

“You told me as much.”

You draw your lips into a gentle pout, some silly expression you picked up on Chrollo’s apparent liking (or even affection) for it, combine it with a soft voice and beseeching eyes, and… voilà. You have him.

“Can you eat them for me, please?”

The face he makes can only be described as boyish, a stupid little grin on his already smug face. God, he anticipated it.

“If you insist…” then, to make it worse, “but you’ll have to feed me.”

You sigh defeated. “Fine.” With another exaggerated exhale you grab one sliced tomato from your sandwich with two fingers and pull it out, then hold it up.

“I‘m afraid my tongue isn’t thirty centimeters long. You’ll need to feed me.” Chrollo chuckles, a playful shimmer in his dark eyes.

You grimace before turning your hand in his direction. The tomato held upwards, now perfectly in front of his face since he insists on such domestic gestures.

“Thank you, my dear.”

He makes you hand-feed him all tomatoes in your sandwich (and now you’re completely sure he did it on purpose - because what psycho puts six tomatoes in a single sandwich?!), while totally disregarding the juice running down your fingers until it pools in your palm. Same with your unhappy expression. Only thanking you afterwards where he finally gives you a napkin to clean your sticky hand.

And oh… you are certain, Chrollo will find a way to smuggle tomato chunks, slices - or whatever food he finds out you dislike (not counting in allergies, he‘s extremely cautious about that) into your food or onto your plate. Having you feeding it to him then because you really, really don’t want to eat stuff that makes has your tongue curling inwards in disgust. And you rather have gooey fingers for a moment than a ruined meal, plus an agitated Chrollo. It’s a win-win situation, at least kind of.

As much as Chrollo finds your picky habits... a bit unfortunate, he tries not make you feel bad about it. A bit uncomfortable, yes, but bad? No. Hopefully not, it wouldn’t do good to the relationship he desperately wants to build.

Chrollo could give you that special treatment. Just don’t try to piss him off with not eating, being purposely picky or - the worst one: throwing away good food.

He doesn’t have to be nice, you know? So better be grateful if a mass murderer loves you enough to eat the tomatoes you pluck out from your sandwiches.

[jupiter-lover]

there‘s something special about fall… and I don’t mean that my birthday is in october, lol

I think the horrorposts and kinktober fics are keeping me sane and motivated during that time xD

[wallsofparadis]

how i feel opening up tumblr to read x reader ffs at my big age

[after-witch]

Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.

Word count: 7100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre

The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly. 

In surprise.

In trepidation. 

In realization.

The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance. 

How lucky for him. 

How unfortunate for you. 

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill? 

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear. 

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later. 

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise. 

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you. 

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches. 

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy. 

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate? 

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front. 

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way? 

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him. 

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis. 

It’s you that he focuses on, now.  And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted. 

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person. 

You.

What to make of you? 

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find. 

He remembers such a living. 

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats. 

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them. 

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you. 

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm. 

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you. 

You stiffen. 

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say. 

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.”  He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City. 

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.” 

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach. 

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels. 

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that. 

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

--

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them. 

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it? 

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more. 

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear. 

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.” 

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips. 

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant. 

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies. 

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised. 

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter. 

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him. 

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.” 

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs. 

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets. 

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

--

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining. 

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement. 

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You. 

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume. 

What would  you be like, once you were fully his? 

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden? 

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it. 

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

--

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder. 

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits. 

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it. 

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate. 

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping. 

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two. 

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb. 

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least,  you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit. 

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut. 

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer. 

--

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good.  Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?” 

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.” 

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you. 

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside. 

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom. 

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think. 

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.” 

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself. 

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top. 

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest. 

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner? 

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears. 

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling. 

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

 He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm. 

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why? 

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap. 

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you. 

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin. 

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you. 

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.  

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology. 

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do. 

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild. 

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap. 

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it. 

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two… 

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

--

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there. 

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras. 

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years? 

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be. 

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this. 

There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever. 

[jupiter-lover]

one of my favorites, absolutely amazing

[jupiter-lover]

Stargazing.

yandere!chrollo x fem!reader

The moonlight shimmers over the balcony, illuminating the dimly lit space where you currently stood - your hands gripping the railing while you leaned over, watching the calm sky above, and the busy city beneath you.

Chrollo really did like apartments high above, huh? Was it because the world seemed smaller, or because it made him feel bigger?

Your thoughts are cut short as a sudden weight settles behind you, arms sliding around your waist. You nearly jump from the sudden appearance of your captor, who has the habit of making no sounds, always startling you with his sudden arrival. But by now you know better than to push him away, you learned better than to fight the moments where he chose to show you physical affection.

So you stay still, not wanting to break the peaceful moment, if things could ever be described as such, with the man behind you.

A soft kiss on your neck - something Chrollo only recently picked up - before he speaks. „Didn’t I tell you to wait inside?“

„Mm.“

He sighed, his breath feathering against your skin. “Why sneak out anyway, when I said no?”

„Does it matter?“

„It does.“

After a short silence you answer him, „I wanted to see the stars.“

„Hm. Any other reason, my love?“

You counter with a question of your own, ignoring the nickname. „Do you smoke?“

His eyebrows raise slightly, your unexpected question doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

„Not really. I don’t see any reason for doing it. I’m not in need for nicotine. Why?“

„I want one, please. I know you got them with you for.. for Links?“

„Phinks.“ he corrects gently, and you repeat the name out loud, trying to lock it in your memory.

You wait for him to continue, wait for him to tell you no.

He doesn’t.

Instead, one arm leaves your waist to reach into his pocket, pulling out a pack.

„Your reason?“

„I just need it.“ Always the same with him, prying out as much information from you as possible. You‘re sure he‘d love to dive right into your brain just so he can ‚understand‘ you better.

After considering your argument, Chrollo gives in. „Just so you know, I won’t allow you to smoke regularly. Consider it a gift for debating with me earlier this morning.“

You nod before Chrollo takes out two. „I thought you don’t smoke?“

„You don’t smoke either.“

„Stalker.“ You said it lightly, but it earned you a half-smile and a cigarette back in the pack. Bastard.

„I‘m not sharing.“

„Then you won’t get to smoke.“ He already knew your next move. Silently taking out a lighter and handing it to you.

You took it, lighting it wordlessly. He leaned down, his breath fanning your cheek with the flame casting a shadow on his pale face. His eyes never leave you, as if memorizing every inch, every breath you take, while inhaling.

Chrollo always lingers on these innocent displays of intimacy. If it’s interlocking pinkies while walking (you‘re not allowed outside otherwise), not pulling away while your thighs touch or something like this - lighting up his cigarette.

You wonder which novel he got that from.

He brought the cigarette to his lips again, took a slow inhale before blowing out the smoke a second time.

Chrollo holds it out for you to grab it, you do - ignoring how your fingers brush against each other.

And so you stood together, looking at the sky while the smoke curls around you both as you pass the cigarette back and forth.

As if you were just two lovers watching the stars while smoking, not a thief and the most precious thing he’d ever stolen.

Authors note:

Lol i wrote this at 2am yesterday - so I apologize beforehand for any mistakes! Englisch is not my first language, oops.

I‘m not a smoker, but I do find the act of lighting someone‘s cigarette and then smoking it together incredibly intimate. (So yes, you got me - I‘m the one who‘s a sucker for those innocent acts of affection.)

-jupiter

[ddarker-dreams]

painful as it is to admit, talking to chrollo about your thoughts on a book/movie/video game/music/etc would be really enjoyable. he's well-versed in topics ranging from history to philosophy, the man always has unfairly interesting input. it'd be so much easier if you could pretend to be bored, but no, he's over here offering worthwhile insight on your favorite media over breakfast like it's nothing.

[jupiter-lover]

Chrollo thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m the one mischaracterizing Chrollo - but then I rethink.

First of all, this isn’t hate. I’ve read many blogs on Tumblr where Chrollo is portrayed that way, and honestly, I don’t mind. In fact, I often enjoy those posts - I wouldn’t read them otherwise. (And there‘s nothing wrong with interpreting a fictional character a certain way, especially if you‘re the one who writes about them!)

So, now that that’s clear, I’d like to share my opinion. If you don’t relate, feel free to stop reading here.

Chrollo is an intelligent, incredibly cunning character - and above all, emotionally detached.

He tries to hide his emotions (the opposite of Hisoka, which is why I like their dynamic: Chrollo is someone who goes to great lengths to suppress or conceal his emotions. Hisoka, on the other hand, is all theatricality. He’s expressive, chaotic, and seemingly ruled by impulse - but underneath that flamboyant exterior, he’s emotionally hollow. One hides something behind nothing, and the other disguises nothing behind everything.)

Back to Chrollo’s emotional detachment: I highly doubt he’s ever been interested in anyone romantically or sexually. I’d even estimate his body count to be zero. It simply doesn’t fit his character to expose himself to that kind of vulnerability - no matter the reason.

And what about his kiss count? I’d say the same. Chrollo probably doesn’t feel comfortable, safe, or stable enough to engage in those kinds of intimate acts. Besides, some people consider their first time (or even their first kiss) special, and I highly doubt Chrollo would want anyone to have that “special first” with him. Not that he cares, but it’s more about what it represents.

What I’m trying to say is this: Chrollo is a complex character, often mischaracterized simply because he’s good looking. It’s never implied that he uses his looks to manipulate anyone, just that he’s handsome.

If you look at the Yorknew arc with Neon, he acts like a bodyguard. Not once do you get the sense that he’s romantically interested or has intentions beyond stealing her ability (like intercourse). He doesn’t flirt with her or anyone else in the entire series (manga included), and he never initiates personal conversations beyond what’s necessary to steal abilities.

No, Chrollo does not actively charm Neon or anyone else in canon. If anyone feels “charmed” by him, it’s purely incidental, not intentional. He doesn’t use his looks to seduce anyone - not in the anime, not in the manga. The idea that he seduces or charms people for their abilities is pure fanon.

Sex seems foreign to Chrollo. He doesn’t see the use in it. He doesn’t want anyone to see him that vulnerable - physically (being naked) and mentally (since intercourse isn’t just physical). The same goes for kissing, though I think he might see it symbolically - maybe a forehead kiss as a goodbye. (Not a casual goodbye, but as a last farewell when someone dies.)

Romantic acts and sex involve direct physical and emotional vulnerability — two things Chrollo actively avoids. He doesn’t want to expose himself that way, not even as a tool.

Sleeping with or kissing someone for an ability would be deeply out of character. He’s too detached, too in control, and sees his body as something to master, not leverage.

(I love yandere stories and want to write some in the future, so that would be the exception - but only then. If Chrollo ever wanted someone as his “darling,” it would take a lot of time for him to come to that point. Romantic acts would happen, sure, but he will need time for this since it’s completely new for him. Chrollo only ever read about intimacy — never lived it — because he’s never seen the appeal.)

For me, Chrollo is probably the least likely person to ever sleep with someone - not just for abilities or information, but in general. He’s read about it countless times, and that’s been enough for him. If he were ever desperate or pent-up (which would be rare), he has his hand.

He’s not cold just for aesthetic reasons - he is deliberately inaccessible, emotionally untouchable, and probably uninterested in traditional intimacy or connection.

Authors note:

Phew, quite the text. I guess it’s clear that Chrollo is one of my favorites. Please, if you have any questions about my thoughts - feel free to ask!

-jupiter

[sauronns]

“You look like you’re about to kill someone.”

PRINT AVAILABLE.

[uvobreakmylegs]

30 Seconds

This one might get a sequel but I’m not sure yet

Bodyswap Soulmate AU

Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence, threats of violence, kidnapping

It was like something out of a horror movie.

Several men lay before you in a darkened room, pieces of their bodies – their heads even – completely gone, the marks that were left around the gaping wounds that had an odd white glow to them, akin to something having taken a bite out of them.

Something like the fish that swam in the air above you.

Weiterlesen

[chunxli]

[bootytickler-3000]

No funnies tonight I’m genuinely sick to my stomach