"Chrollo is a narcissist who dragged his friends into his murder suicide cult"
"Chrollo structured the Spider the way he did because he wants to control its members"
Aight, let's tackle these assertions I've seen thrown around at my blorbo. He may be a terrible human being but I shall defend what miniscule honor he has against slander like this ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ
(This will be lengthy because I am ND as fuck and Chrollo is my special interest. My capacity to yap about him has no limits)
Ok, let's start with
"Chrollo doesn't care about his friends"
Meanwhile Chrollo when
Uvogin dies
Paku betrays him and puts herself at risk
Paku has died
Kortopi and Shalnark die
Sarasa died
Idk looks like the demeanor and actions of a man who doesn't give a farthing about his friends to me ( ´_ゝ`)
For real though what are we doing with this claim, guys?
Chrollo's love for and grief over his friends are one of his most defining characteristics all the way from his childhood up until the present, as well as the most human and sympathetic one.
Sarasa's murder was the reason the PT was formed. Chrollo's empathy for her and for MC as a whole are the reason why he became who he became.
And it's important to note that Chrollo doesn't appear to actually deep down believe in the PT's creed, at least not when it concerns his friends (why keep Pakunoda's spot vacant if he truly saw her as a replaceable leg, for instance? Why mourn the deaths of Shal and Topi and arrange a manhunt for their killer?). Chrollo's a hypocrite in the sense that he expects his friends to readily sacrifice him if things go dicey since he sees himself as merely a head that can be replaced, but he would never be able to coldly and pragmatically sacrifice any of the others if push came to shove. He's intensely human and emotional at his core, and his care for his friends/family is indisputable. Attacking that spot is the one thing capable of triggering him and of making him lose his composure (and reason) to suicidal degrees.
"He's a narcissist who dragged his friends into his murder cult"
????
The kid was literally elected leader??????
Like did we forget this happened or...?
He didn't drag anyone into anything what are people on about? Stop acting like the other mass murderers have no agency when we see throughout the manga that they have plenty. For instance they outright disobey Chrollo's explicit wishes in Yorknew in order to save him, and are shown to oppose or question him too, which Chrollo takes calmly and without interrupting. He listens to their grievances and their input.
Going back to the founding of the Spider and Chrollo "dragging his friends into it", Sheila walked away and Chrollo didn't try to stop her or even to convince her to "join his cult". The others could have done the same but chose not to. That was their decision.
Chrollo never forced his friends to do shit. They've always been willing participants and many of them are shown to be sadists who delight in killing and torturing. They're having a good time most of the time. Stop babying them in order to make Chrollo look even worse (he's bad enough already, aight. He doesn't need additional — and false — PR to look like an asshole).
As for being a narcissist, Chrollo doesn't even have a grasp on his own identity and places no value on himself as an individual, but sees himself as wholly replaceable and as no better or of more worth than any of his troupe members. That is not at all the mindset of a narcissist.
He's also explicitly shown to not give a rat's ass about his own life whilst on the other hand grieving for his friends to the point of crying and of self destruction.
I've even seen someone say that he "monopolizes" the notes left beside Sarasa's body and that he doesn't show real grief but uses the scene of her murder as an opportunity to monologue about himself.
Which... are just outright lies
In reality
HE is the one person who shows the most concern for Sarasa from the get go
HE is the one who walks up on stage to announce Sarasa's disappearance, crying and clutching his clothes like the anxious and frightened child he is, and taking full responsibility for the situation (not because he's a narcissistic attention whore but because he is an 11 year old kid who has been groomed by the grown ups around him and who has been placed in a position where all his friends look to him for guidance. It's messed up, but not because child Chrollo is evil, but because he — a baby not even in his teens — genuinely feels responsible for everyone at this stage, when he in fact shouldn't have to shoulder any of this)
HE is the one who first cradles Sarasa's body and HE is the one who silently carries all the horrors of what was done to her.
And the latter is not out of a desire to "monopolize" the situation. That's asinine talk.
Rather it's almost certainly to protect his friends, Sarasa included. He is shielding the living from knowing something that visibly broke something within himself, and he is also shielding Sarasa's dignity by not detailing the horrors she went through.
This is way more in keeping with Chrollo's character as presented in the manga.
My point is, Chrollo acts with the protection of his friends in mind. It's not a way to exert some form of control of the situation or to be the sole person holding the narrative* (*genuine claim I've seen btw) or some bullcaca like that come on now.
Also, in this moment Chrollo is a literal child who's just been irreversibly scarred for life. To have to read the note for himself is awful enough, but to do so aloud? To voice the excrutiating specifics? I doubt he'd even be capable of it, even if he hadn't had his self sacrificing mindset. To expect him to is asking a lot of an emotionally traumatized child cradling the dismembered corpse of his friend.
(As for the monologuing it comes after her funeral. At the scene of Sarasa's murder Chrollo is openly crying and distraught. After Uvogin rips him away from Sarasa's corpse and then throws him to the ground Franklin is seen comforting him as he weeps in the rain and dirt. To say he isn't grief stricken is disingenuous. Even after the funeral it's obvious that Chrollo is still messed up by the event; the closeup of his eyes as he speaks of the perpetrators twisted mindset is notably similar to the closeup of his eyes when Machi meets him on the black whale and he declares his intent to kill Hisoka.)
"Chrollo structured the Spider the way he did because he wants to control its members"
yeah mmhm. Right.
That's why he allows Hisoka to fuck around doing whatever.
That's why the whole troupe only ever meet up like once every 2 years and are able to do as they please all that time (Greed Island is a perfect example of the Troupe's independence; hell they even recruit a new member while Chrollo's gone and who he accepts)
That's why Uvogin and the others are at liberty to deal with opponents in Yorknew the way they see fit (Chrollo doesn't attempt to stop Uvogin from going after Kurapika by himself).
That's why Chrollo is shown calmly listening to his friends, and why he places Machi's hunches above his own.
That's why he's perfectly alright with dying and letting someone else take over as head.
That's why he doesn't tell the Spiders how to go about capturing Hisoka or that they can't kill him.
There's so much wrong with the claim that Chrollo wants to control his friends like a deranged cult leader that I am genuinely baffled by it
Again he was ELECTED leader
Chrollo wanted UVO to be Danchou. He himself didn't ever aim or even wish to become the leader and this very fact is stated by Togashi himself in an interview as a core aspect of Chrollo's character; this "this is how things are, so I will do my best" mindset. Togashi states that Chrollo is his favorite Spider and that he admires him specifically because he didn't nominate himself as leader nor actively sought the position, but stepped up to it because that's what the collective wanted. He respected the group's decision and made it his mission to do his best for them. It was never about ego or control.
Like how do you get this fundamental part of his character wrong?
Chrollo's character has never been about being a control freak, but about being a person who had responsibility shoved onto him before he'd even graduated middle school.
Genuinely... how can you read HxH and come away with the impression that Chrollo is a narcissistic control freak who doesn't care about the Troupe? I truly don't understand, because it runs counter to everything we know of him.
He's a POS absolutely but he's also complex. He is not 100% black but has shades of grey.
The backstory explicitly shows us that Chrollo was a good and empathetic kid who'd bring fresh flowers to the graves of murdered children (Pakunoda, a character explicitly shown to be good at reading others and to be deeply empathetic herself, picks up on his kind nature which is why she cares for and treasures him so much. The same I believe can be said of Sarasa, who was similarly good at reading others), whose upbringing, trauma, and feelings of responsibility (the latter seemingly drilled into him by the elders and definitely by everyone around him) warped him into the man we see in present day.
He's a dark mirror to Kurapika, a cautionary tale of what could happen if you walk down the full path of revenge and consuming anger. A key distinction though is that Chrollo never had a good support system unlike Kurapika. Chrollo was an orphan raised in filth and poverty where every day was a scramble for resources and survival and where he was bullied by kids bigger and older than himself until he proved himself, and where his friends were in no position to help either because they came from the same shithole and weren't equipped to give him fresh perspective. They were all discarded or spat upon by the world outside and left by the adults around them to raise themselves and survive best they could.
If you believe Chrollo was born evil and that he is narcissistic and controlling and incapable of caring about anyone then you either fundamentally fail to grasp his character or you willfully disregard it in favor to further fuel your own hatred for him. Or maybe it comes down to an unwillingness to recognize that Chrollo is not a character that can be boiled down to simplicities or extremes.
Chrollo is a fascinating and effective character precisely because there are aspects of him that are sympathetic and because his present self was, in a way, created by empathy and the complete absence of ego, rather than the opposite. Empathy for Sarasa and MC were the reason he became who he is. He was a naturally sensitive, caring and groomed child with a savior complex and too much responsibility (such as blaming himself for Sarasa's death, and protecting his friends from reading the note). His identity was swallowed whole in the process.
Chrollo's life is a tragedy because he could have turned out a good person. To strip him down to being irredeemably evil from birth ruins his character and his story.
Dgmw, I am not excusing or absolving Chrollo of his actual flaws or crimes. I've made dedicated posts pointing out how terrible he is. But let's not go twist his character into a one dimensional "born evil" character who strung his poor innocent friends along and "forced them" into becoming mass murderers. That is never who he has been.
I could probably go on but this is long enough. Just needed to vent a little haha. I am very passionate about this man, what can I say.
Tl;dr, it's valid to hate Chrollo, but there is no need to go inventing additional reasons to. He's plenty despicable already.
Feitan Portor x Fem Reader x Chrollo Lucifer: Shadows in the Rain #2
{ This scenario was requested }
NOTE: This is Part 2! You can read Part 1 HERE.
Info / Summary: After Feitan mentions a mysterious woman from his mission, Chrollo becomes intrigued and seeks her out.
Warnings: Mild tension, power dynamics, canon-typical violence mentions (background).
A few days after the warehouse job, the Phantom Troupe was gathered in their temporary hideout. Someone casually asked Feitan, “Any complications on that artifact retrieval?” Feitan clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Some woman showed up. Handled her own business. Fought clean. Didn’t get in my way too much.”
The room went quiet for a beat. Then a few members raised eyebrows “Wait… you didn’t kill her?” Phinks asked, confused. Feitan shrugged, looking irritated. “She wasn’t worth the effort. Too much noise if I did. And her stupid threads messed with the security before I could. Saved me time. Whatever.”
It was a lame excuse, and everyone knew it. Feitan rarely left witnesses. But he refused to elaborate further. Chrollo, who had been quietly listening, leaned forward with growing interest. “Describe her,” he said calmly. Feitan gave a brief, grumpy rundown calm demeanor, sharp mind, efficient fighting style, strange Nen threads that analyzed and disabled systems. The more he spoke, the more curious Chrollo became. A woman who could stand her ground with Feitan and walk away alive? That was rare.
“Find her,” Chrollo ordered softly. “I want to meet her myself.” It didn’t take the Troupe long to locate you.
You were deep in an old abandoned research facility on the edge of the city, on a personal solo mission. You needed classified documents on a past incident that had haunted you. Information the collector from the previous job had indirectly pointed toward. Your movements were silent and precise. Your Nen ability, Veil of Insight, let thin aura threads spread through the corridors, mapping security systems, predicting patrol routes, and highlighting the safest path forward.
Chrollo watched from the shadows for nearly twenty minutes. He was impressed. Your intelligence was evident in every calculated step. The way you avoided unnecessary fights, disabled traps with minimal effort, and adapted instantly when a guard changed their route. You moved like someone who had already foreseen most outcomes.
You suddenly paused in a dimly lit hallway. Your threads had picked up an anomaly. “Show yourself,” you said quietly, voice steady but defensive. You turned slowly, posture alert but not aggressive. You were doing your best to avoid conflict because you didn’t want to fight if you didn’t have to. Chrollo stepped out into the open, hands visible and empty, that calm, elegant smile on his face.
“You’re very perceptive,” he said, voice smooth like velvet. “Most wouldn’t have noticed me so quickly.” You studied him carefully, recognition flickering in your eyes. “You’re the leader Feitan answers to.” Your tone was reserved, carrying that quiet weight. “How did you find me?” Chrollo didn’t lie. “I had my people search after Feitan mentioned you. A woman who could work alongside him without dying… that intrigued me.”
You stayed defensive, creating a bit of distance. “I’m not looking for trouble. I have my own objectives here. I’d prefer if we didn’t interfere with each other.” Chrollo took a slow step closer, observing how your sharp mind worked behind those calm eyes. “You carry yourself like someone who has seen too much. Someone who chooses their battles carefully.” He tilted his head slightly. “Yet you continue walking alone. Why not align yourself with something stronger?”
You remained composed, but your guard was clearly up. “Because I know the cost of joining a web like yours. I’ve seen what happens when paths like that consume everything.” The conversation stretched. Chrollo was patient, he didn’t push with force. Instead, he engaged you intellectually, discussing philosophy, the weight of choices, and the nature of power. You countered calmly, revealing just enough of your own insights to match him. It was a battle of minds, and you held your own.
After a long, tense exchange, Chrollo finally offered his hand. “I won’t force you into the Troupe,” he said softly. “But I would like you by my side. Your mind and your strength is rare. Join us and we can walk this path together.” You looked at his outstretched hand for a long moment. Your expression stayed serene, but there was a flicker of reluctant acceptance in your eyes. You were tired of walking completely alone.
“I need time to ponder.” you finally said, looking away from his hand. Chrollo’s smile deepened. “I see.”
Hey @xenxenzen ! I'm sorry if this part is stupid!!! I'm not sure where I should go from here! If you have any crazy ideas, let me know.
✩Your Pace: Toji x Shy/Autistic Female Reader - Part 6✩
✩˚｡ Summary ｡˚✩ : Sad from not seeing Toji for days, Reader heads to a sketchy tax office at night. She spots a lone little boy who reminds her of someone.
♡ Warnings / Info ♡ : Soft fluff, Shy reader, overthinking, autistic reader Slice of life, gentle pacing, Mentions of grocery shopping, No angst, no spicy content
The days had blurred together in that quiet, heavy way they sometimes did when the world felt a little too empty. You hadn’t seen him in almost a week. No tall shadow falling into step beside you on the usual route. No patient voice cutting through the noise with a simple “Hey, kid.” No shared bags or warm broth or the steady rhythm of footsteps matching yours.
You told yourself it was fine. People got busy. Life moved at its own pace, not yours. But the ache still settled in your chest every time you passed the ramen spot or the grocery aisle where you’d first run into him again. You fidgeted with the strap of your bag more than usual, fingers twisting the fabric until it creased.
Tonight was no different. The sun had dipped low, painting the streets in bruised oranges and deepening shadows. You’d put off the tax thing long enough. The funky little ad you’d found tucked in your mailbox promised cheap help: “Taxes done quick and easy for just a few dollars!” And with your budget, it sounded like a lifeline. Probably too good to be true, but you were tired and the deadline was creeping up.
The office was in a part of town you didn’t usually go. Narrow streets, flickering streetlights, buildings that looked like they’d seen better decades. Your steps slowed the closer you got, shoulders curling in as the noise of distant traffic and muffled voices pressed against your ears. You clutched the strap of your bag tighter, breathing slow like you practiced. Just get it done. Then you can go home, make tea, curl up with Trixie, and pretend the week hadn’t felt so… empty.
That’s when you saw him.
A little boy, maybe eight or nine, standing near the corner of the sketchy building. Dark spiky hair, serious expression, arms crossed like he was trying to look tougher than the night around him. He was alone. No adults in sight. And something about him; the shape of his eyes, the intensity tugged at the back of your mind like a half-remembered dream.
Your feet stopped before your brain caught up. Heart picking up, you glanced around again. No one else seemed to notice him. The worry bloomed fast and warm in your chest, the same way it did whenever you saw something small and vulnerable out in the big loud world. You shifted on your feet, cheeks already heating with embarrassment. What if he thinks I’m weird? What if his parents are just inside? But the thought of leaving him here, at night, in this part of town… you couldn’t.
Swallowing hard, you took a few hesitant steps closer, voice soft and a little shaky. “Um… excuse me?” The boy looked up, green eyes sharp and wary. You fidgeted with your bag strap again, avoiding direct eye contact but trying to look kind. “Are… are your parents around? It’s getting late and… this doesn’t seem like a very safe spot for you to be by yourself.” Your words tumbled out quieter than you wanted, face burning.
He shrugged, expression closing off. “Don’t know. Don’t care where my old man is or what he’s doing.” Your brow furrowed gently. Old man? You’d asked about parents — plural. The answer felt… off. Sad, almost. But you didn’t push. Instead, the worry only grew. “I-I know it’s none of my business,” you continued, voice soft and embarrassed, “but… it’s nighttime and there are weird people sometimes. Could you maybe head home? Or… or call someone? I just… I’d feel better if I knew you were safe.”
He stared at you like you’d grown a second head. Irritation flickered across his face, mixed with confusion. “Why do you care? You don’t even know me.” Your fingers twisted the bag strap harder. Heat crawled up your neck. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… I worry. About kids out alone. It’s probably silly.” You offered a small, shy smile because you were too busy fighting the urge to apologize again. He was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a huff that sounded way too world-weary for his age, he muttered, “Fine. Whatever. I’ll go.”
Relief washed over you, soft and warm. Before he could turn away completely, you added quickly, “My name is Y/N. Um, you can call me if you ever need anything or just… be safe, okay?” You told him your name, voice barely above the hum of the streetlights. He paused, glancing back with that same guarded look. For a second you thought he wouldn’t say anything. Then, almost reluctantly, he mumbled something that sounded like “Megumi”... you think, before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking off.
Megumi. You repeated it softly to yourself, a tiny smile tugging at your lips despite everything. Cute name. You hoped he’d make it home okay.
The encounter left you feeling a little lighter even as you finally stepped toward the tax office door. The worry for the boy lingered, but so did a strange sense of… connection? Like the universe had nudged you for a reason. You pushed the door open, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead making you wince slightly. Just get through this, Y/N. Then you can go home.
Hello Everyone!
I am very sorry for the 7th month break on this series. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
✩˚｡⋆ Written with love by mintedmomments ⋆｡˚✩
Find the My Pace masterlist Here
See the pinned post or click the link to check request status Here
Feitan Portor x Fem Reader x Chrollo Lucifer: Shadows in the Rain #1
{ This scenario was requested }
Summary / Info A encounter between Feitan and a calm, highly intelligent fem reader with an Itachi Uchiha-like personality. While on separate missions in Yorknew City, their paths cross at a warehouse.
NOTE: THIS IS PART 1 ! Chrollo is present in Part 2 found HERE !
The rain fell in steady sheets over the derelict industrial district on the outskirts of Yorknew City. Shadows stretched long under flickering streetlights as Feitan Portor moved like a ghost through the alleys. His mission for the Troupe was straightforward: retrieve a rare artifact from a private collector’s vault, one that supposedly held encrypted data on high-profile auction targets. Simple. Bloody. Efficient.
He didn’t expect company.
You emerged from the opposite side of the warehouse at the exact moment he slipped through a broken window. Both of you froze for a fraction of a second. Your posture was perfectly composed, back straight, movements deliberate and economical the mark of someone who had spent years honing their mind and body into weapons. You wore dark, practical clothing that blended into the night, and your sharp, observant eyes assessed him instantly.
Feitan’s grip tightened on his umbrella-turned-weapon. “Wrong night for a walk,” he hissed, voice low and dangerous.
You regarded him calmly, rain dripping from your hair. “I could say the same.” Your voice was quiet, smooth, and carried the weight of someone who rarely wasted words. You were here for your own reasons; a personal objective involving the same collector. He held information that could expose a corruption ring tied to your past, something you intended to handle alone and cleanly.
Neither of you moved to attack immediately. The tension crackled between you like static before a storm. Feitan tilted his head, studying you with those sharp, sadistic eyes. You didn’t flinch. Most people did. Instead, you simply analyzed him right back calculating his speed, his likely Nen type, the reach of his weapon. It was the same analytical gaze Feitan himself used on prey.
“You’re not Troupe,” he stated flatly. “But you’re not civilian either. Who the hell are you?” You offered with no name. “Someone with business here. The same as you, it seems.” A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips not mocking, but acknowledging the unfortunate coincidence. “We could fight but it would be loud and unnecessary.”
Feitan clicked his tongue in irritation. He hated when people talked like they were above the violence. Yet something about your calm demeanor, the way your intelligence practically radiated off you, made him pause. You were strong. Not in brute force perhaps, but in presence. “Fine,” he muttered. “Stay out of my way or I cut you.”
You nodded once, accepting the terms without argument. The two of you moved through the warehouse like shadows dancing around each other never fully trusting, yet never fully opposing. You disabled security systems with precise, elegant Nen threads that wrapped around wires and sensors like invisible spider silk, shutting them down silently. Your Nen ability, “Veil of Insight”, allowed you to extend thin strands of aura that could analyze and manipulate simple systems or create localized zones of heightened perception, letting you predict movements and spot weaknesses with terrifying accuracy. It wasn’t flashy, but it was ruthlessly efficient; perfectly suited to your strategic mind.
Feitan noticed. Of course he did. As you both reached the inner vault, he moved first a blur of speed as he dismantled the guards with brutal efficiency. You followed, taking down the last two with calculated strikes that targeted pressure points and joints, dropping them without unnecessary bloodshed.
When the artifact was secured in Feitan’s hands, he turned to you. His clothes were splattered with blood, a wild grin on his face. “You fight clean. Too clean.” He stepped closer, voice dropping into that cruel, teasing tone he loved. “What, too much of a princess to get your hands properly dirty?”
A faint blush dusted your cheeks barely noticeable in the dim lighting, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. You looked away for half a second, composing yourself with that same serene mask. The rude remark had struck something private, but you gave no other sign. Feitan noticed the blush. His grin widened, sharp and predatory. You met his gaze again, calm as ever. “Efficiency matters more than spectacle. Your methods are effective but to loud and messy.” There was no judgment in your tone just quiet observation. He laughed lowly, a sound like scraping metal. “Boss would like you. Smart mouth. Smart head. Too bad you’re not joining.” You shook your head. “I have my own path.”
For a moment, the rain outside seemed louder. Feitan stared at you, something darker and more interested flickering behind his eyes. He knew you were dangerous not because you could overpower him physically (though you might in a prolonged fight), but because your mind worked on a level that even he found intriguing.
“Next time I see you on a job,” he said, stepping past you toward the exit, “I might not be so nice.”
You watched him go, the blush long faded, your expression once again unreadable. “I’ll keep that in mind.” But as the rain swallowed his figure, you allowed yourself the smallest, private thought: He was more interesting than expected.
Here's the second one you requested @purplestrawberrycycle ! I hope you like it.
Please see the pinned post to check request status HERE
Summary/Info: Chrollo headcanons with a powerful military or police force fem S/O who can match or even overpower him. She’s not part of the Phantom Troupe.
Warnings: Mild emotional manipulation, Power imbalance in the relationship, Mentions of canon-typical violence and criminal activity, Fear/anxiety elements, Toxic and complicated relationship dynamics
You’re one of the few people who can actually match or even overpower Chrollo in a straight fight. Whether it’s elite military special forces training or high-ranking police tactical expertise, your skills, instincts, and combat ability keep him genuinely intrigued. He respects strength, and yours is the kind that makes him watch you with calculated fascination.
You’re not part of the Phantom Troupe. You have your own duty, your own chain of command, and your own moral code. That divide is constant tension you know he’s dangerous and morally evil, but you can’t bring yourself to turn him in. Not yet....
Chrollo has never underestimated you. He treats you as an equal (or a superior threat) from day one, which is rare for him. There’s a quiet thrill in knowing you could actually take him down if you ever fully committed to it.
He subtly uses you for information. Small questions about upcoming operations, security protocols, or movement of high-value targets slip into late-night conversations. He’s never obvious about it — just a soft “Tell me more about your day” while his fingers trace your shoulder.
You’re scared of him. You’ve seen glimpses of what he’s truly capable of, and it kind of terrifies you. There are nights you lie awake wondering if today is the day he decides you’re a liability. Chrollo notices this fear of course and if it ever starts to outweigh your love, he would likely disappear from your life without warning because a fearful asset is useless to him. After all, he knows that there is a huge possibility that you can overpower him in a fight.
Despite everything, your love for him is fierce and stubborn. It’s the main reason the relationship still stands. As long as you keep loving him, he keeps you close. Your feelings are his most effective leash.
He’s almost gentle with you in private. Soft touches, quiet book readings, and that velvet voice that makes you forget who he really is. But you both know it’s partially calculated keeping you emotionally attached serves his purposes.
Power dynamics are complicated. You can overpower him physically if you push hard enough, but he dominates the relationship in every other way. He’s always three steps ahead, reading you like one of his precious books.
There are moments you try to confront him about the things he’s done. He never raises his voice. He simply listens, then calmly reminds you how deep you’re already in and how much it would hurt you to lose him now.
He has contingencies if you ever decide to act against him. You’ve caught hints of it files on your unit, backup plans, escape routes... He doesn’t hide that he’s prepared. It’s his way of saying “You can be replaced, if your usefulness declines.”
The relationship is strong only because of how much you love him. He knows this. He exploits it. And you let him because the alternative is living without the man who makes your heart race even while he terrifies you.
In the end, Chrollo sees you as the perfect balance: a powerful woman who could destroy him, but chooses to love him instead. He’ll keep you for as long as that love benefits him… and perhaps, in his own cold way, because he’s grown attached too.
So based on HxH, can you write a oneshot featuring Leorio and a woman reader with public nudity, chastity and humiliation please? In the fic, the two are dating and Leorio suggests that they go on a date while completely naked. The reader agrees but on the condition that Leorio has to have his cock in a chastity cage. Throughout the date, Leorio would try to tease and fluster the reader regardless of how much attention they're bringing to themselves. You can decide on where they'd go and any intimate acts as long as Leorio is kept caged and the relationship is consensual. What do you think?
I think I could do that! I'll put that into my writing list!
Thats alright. Ill make it an x reader if you prefer to imagine yourself in the story.
And harem boys refer to a group of men wearing revealing clothes who provide sexual services to someone in a position of power. The amount vary along with the activities.
But can you please specify which of those kinks youd be comfortable writing about please? Itll help me decide what to ask for.
I'm comfortable with chastity, exhibitionism, gags, drowning, male orgasms, public nudity, consensual gangbangs, hypnosis, duct tape mummification, consensual servitude, dub con, non con, humiliation, torture, abuse, harem boys, and prostitution. I apologize for not being specific in the previous answer!
Thank you for this. Im glad youre of age and i appreciate that i can ask for multiple. 😊
Now how do you feel about the following kinks? Male bondage, chastity, exhibitionism, gags, drowning, male orgasms, public nudity, consensual gangbangs, hypnosis, duct tape mummification, consensual servitude, dub con, non con, humiliation, harem boys, prostitution. I'll choose the ones that you're comfortable with.
Also is a reader necessary in the story or can it focus on just the character?
Let's see.... I think I'm really comfortable with the reader being the submissive one; because when I do write these stories and headcanons, i like to imagine I'm y/n (It gives me motivation to make more LOL). Though, I might make something where the male character is sub/forced sub. Concerning the other kinks, I believe I'm comfortable when it comes to writing about it. I have a little question though: I keep hearing and seeing 'harem boys' but I have no idea who they are; can you enlighten me please? 🫣
Destroys your things when he’s angry, he acknowledges the fact he does it completely out of anger, yet he makes you earn new things afterwards anyway
Lies and says he hasn’t had a vasectomy so he can make you beg for him to pull out (he never does he just likes your begging)
Flips like a switch if your to slow, he doesn’t mind grabbing you by the hair to make you go faster, that or tightly gripping you around the wrist to pull you wherever it is he wants you
Makes you try and fight him just so he can beat you up when you fail, you get a “week” punch to the stomach and now you’re begging on the floor for him to stop and let you go about your day, that your sorry for whatever you did, but he just yells at you to get up and come at him again unless you want him to start kicking, it’s his way of reminding himself he’s in control
Takes away your pillow so you’ll sleep on his arm but then moves in his sleep so your uncomfortable for nothing
It took months for you to earn the privilege of going out for a walk with him. The first step you took into the shoddy streets was nothing short of glorious (if not a bit overwhelming after your extended stays in the basement). It’s the best thing you’d had in a while, dodging the footpath’s cracks whilst Feitan trailed behind you, ensuring you didn’t get too far.
Of course, being Feitan, he had to come armed. Whilst he could easily take down most opponents single-handedly, he kept his umbrella tucked under his arm, sword safely hidden. An extra-safe precaution on the off chance one of his many Nen-wielding enemies decide to ruin what he’d you’d got.
You practically bounced as much as your weakened calves had allowed, an extra pep in your step from the much-needed vitamin D.
But then it started to rain.
As the first drizzle dampened your hair, your mood dampened with it. The quick switch to an assault of fat droplets only served to worsen your mood. Today? Of all days?
Then you remembered what your “companion” had brought with him. You really didn’t want to ask him, of all people, for any favours, but this was so overdue, and up until now had been so perfect…
“Feitan, could I borrow your umbrella?”
He stopped for a moment, staring at you with an unreadable expression. Angry? Amused? Bewildered?
He shook his head. “Tch. Just water. Such a baby.”
Something inspired you to push, despite knowing previous consequences for doing so. Maybe it was the fact that your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for fresh air had turned stale within minutes. Maybe you’d gotten too bold with all the buttering up you’d done. Or maybe it was the fact that precipitation was pummeling your face, forcing you to blink every two seconds.
“Please, Feitan. Please. It’d mean so much to me.” Your voice honeyed to an excruciating degree.
He narrowed his eyes at you.
“You can hold it, if you’re afraid of me breaking it. I’ll stay right by your side.” You didn’t actually think he was worried you’ll break it. But you crossed you fingers that he’d take the second half of the bait.
Wordlessly, he handed it over. So he was letting you take control of it this time? How utterly generous.
He stepped under it with you as you awkwardly opened it up. “Didn’t know you were scared of rain. Weaker than I thought.” He stood patiently as you stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded before continuing on your journey without a destination. The water soaking through your socks was irritating, but made you feel utterly alive.
“And,” he patted the bottom of umbrella’s handle, “don’t touch. Unless you want to blow up.”
Summary / Info: Seven months into a quiet, tender relationship with Chrollo Lucilfer, you discover the truth about his role as leader of the Phantom Troupe. When you try to ghost him, he finds you and is unwilling to let you go.
Warnings: Dark themes / unhealthy relationship, Emotional manipulation & gaslighting, Kidnapping / forced cohabitation (non-graphic), Angst with no fluffy resolution, Chrollo being calmly possessive and controlling, Brief descriptions of canon-typical violence (Troupe activities), Reader is afraid and heartbroken
You had been together for seven months.
Seven months of quiet evenings in hidden safehouses, his fingers turning pages while your head rested in his lap. Seven months of rare, genuine smiles when you quoted obscure books back at him. Seven months of him watching you with that unreadable depth, like you were the only thing in the world not yet catalogued in his mind.
You thought you knew him. Until the night you found the book.
It wasn’t his usual stolen tome. This one was smaller, leather-bound, tucked behind a false panel in the bookshelf he’d told you never to touch. You’d only been looking for a lighter. Instead you found detailed records; names, locations, stolen artifacts, body counts written in neat, elegant handwriting. And the symbol. A spider with twelve legs.
The Phantom Troupe.
Your hands shook as you flipped through page after page of atrocities. Massacres. Heists that left cities bleeding. The man you loved the calm, soft-spoken, book-obsessed Chrollo wasn’t just a thief. He was the head of the spiders.
You closed the book with a soft click and put it back exactly as you found it. That night when he returned, you smiled like nothing was wrong. You let him kiss your forehead. You let him pull you into bed and trace lazy circles on your back while he read aloud. But the next morning, you were gone.
You ghosted him for six days.
No texts. No calls. You changed the location of the small apartment he’d set up for you. You avoided every café he knew you liked. Every instinct screamed that disappearing was the only way to survive. On the seventh night, he found you anyway.
The knock on your new door was soft. Polite, almost. You froze with a mug of tea halfway to your lips, heart hammering so hard you felt dizzy. You didn’t answer. But the second knock came anyway, patient.
“Open the door, love.”
His voice was the same low velvet it had always been. No anger. No threat. Just quiet certainty. You stayed silent. Minutes passed. Then you heard the soft click of the lock turning; he had a key, of course he did; and the door opened. Chrollo stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. He looked… the same. Dark coat, calm expression, those grey eyes scanning your face like he was reading every micro-expression.
“You found the ledger,” he said simply. Not a question. You backed up until your thighs hit the kitchen counter. Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “How many people have you killed, Chrollo?” He tilted his head slightly, considering. “Does the exact number matter?”
“It matters to me.” Your eyes stung with hot tears. “I let you touch me and I told you I loved you. But you lied to me… you’re… a monster.” Something flickered across his face; not pain, definitely not pain, but the shadow of it. He took one step closer and you flinched hard. He stopped. “I never lied to you about who I am,” he said quietly. “I simply didn’t tell you the parts that would make you look at me the way you’re looking at me now.”
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw something. You wanted to beg the universe to let this be a nightmare. Instead you whispered, voice cracking, “I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to leave for good. Please? I can’t… I can’t be with someone who does those things. I thought you were different.”
Chrollo’s expression remained calm, but his eyes sharpened. “You thought I was different,” he echoed, almost gently. “And yet here you are, still trying to reason with a ‘monster’ instead of running. That should tell you something.”
You shook your head, tears spilling faster. “This isn’t fair. You don’t get to decide for me. I trusted you with everything and you hid this Chrollo. How am I supposed to just accept that? I deserve a choice!”
“You had a choice,” he replied evenly, taking another slow step forward. “Every day for seven months. You chose me. You chose my hands, my voice, my bed. The truth doesn’t erase that.” His voice lowered, soft but final. “And now the choice is gone. I’m not debating this with you.”
The tension in the room was as suffocating as a pair of hands closing around your throat. Your body trembled against the counter, the familiar scent of old paper and his cologne now feeling like the bars of a cage. The betrayal cut so deep you could barely breathe. This was the man you had trusted with every fragile piece of your heart.
You whispered, broken and shaking, “You’re going to keep me with you… even though I’m scared of you? Even though I hate what you are?”
Chrollo rested his chin on top of your head, one hand slowly stroking down your back in the same soothing rhythm he used to use when you couldn’t sleep.
“Yes.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your hair, then tilted your face up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. “You can hate me. You can cry. You can stay silent for months if that’s what you need… but you’ll do it with me. Where I can keep you safe from the world… and the world safe from what I’d become if you disappear again.”
He wiped the last of your tears with his thumb, then leaned down and kissed you slow, deep, and heartbreakingly gentle. The same way he had kissed you hundreds of times before, only now it tasted like possession and finality.
“Go collect what you want to keep. We’re leaving in 10 minutes. I already prepared a new place for you.”
You stood there frozen as he turned toward the bedroom like the conversation was over. The man you loved , the monster you now feared had made his choice. And he would be damned if he let you escape again.
Info: This is a dark romance headcanon set featuring Chrollo Lucilfer (Hunter x Hunter) and Y/N as a civilian.
🕷 Warnings: Possessiveness, heavy control, manipulation, emotional manipulation, fear/intimidation, unhealthy power imbalance, yandere-adjacent behavior, mild stalking elements, and overall toxic relationship dynamics.
No autism mentions. Reader discretion is advised.
Note: My dad put me on Hunter x Hunter and we are currently on the Yorknew City Arc !!!
You were just an ordinary civilian living a quiet life in a mid-sized city working a simple job, keeping to yourself, and spending most evenings curled up with books or quiet hobbies. Chrollo’s Phantom Troupe passed through the area on one of their operations. During a rare moment of downtime, he wandered into a small bookstore or café you frequented. Something about your soft, unassuming presence caught his eye immediately. He struck up a conversation that seemed perfectly harmless at first, his calm voice and gentle smile disarming you. Before you knew it, he had your number “just in case,” and within days he was showing up in your life with an eerie regularity.
At first you were drawn to his intelligence and the way he spoke about the world, like he understood everything on a deeper level than anyone you’d ever met. He listened (or at least seemed to) when you shyly shared small thoughts, and he made you feel seen in a way no one else had. His mysterious aura and quiet confidence felt romantic and exciting to your soft-hearted nature. Over time your feelings deepened into strong, overwhelming love. You fell hard, the kind of love that makes your heart race and your cheeks burn even when you’re alone thinking about him. You romanticize the intensity of your connection, even when warning signs appear.
Chrollo’s love is genuine in his own twisted way, but it’s overwhelmingly possessive and controlling. He treats you like a rare, delicate book he refuses to let anyone else touch. He knows where you are at all times (sometimes through subtle Nen tracking, sometimes through more mundane means like having Troupe members keep eyes on you). He decides what you wear, who you talk to, and how you spend your free time. If you try to make even small decisions without him, he’ll give you that calm, unblinking stare until you fold. His possessiveness shows in small, creepy gestures like keeping a lock of your hair in one of his books or casually mentioning details about your day that you never told him. He calls it “protecting what’s his.”
You’re genuinely scared of him. Not in a constant terror way, but a deep, anxious fear that sits in your chest whenever his mood shifts even slightly. You’ve seen glimpses of the ruthless spider he really is, and that fear makes you listen to him immediately. When he gives a quiet command, you comply fast, voice soft, eyes down, heart hammering. You tell yourself it’s because you love him and want to make him happy, but underneath it’s survival. The quicker you obey, the sooner that blank, smiling face softens again.
Chrollo doesn’t initiate or seek sex often. When it does happen it’s slow, deliberate, and entirely on his terms. More about control and closeness than passion. Your strong feelings make you crave more intimacy, but you’re too shy to ask directly. You drop tiny, embarrassed hints that he usually ignores or acknowledges with a faint smile before changing the subject. Most nights it’s just him holding you tightly, almost too tightly, while you lie there with your racing thoughts.
You have strong emotions and want so badly to express them whether it’s telling him how much you love him, how scared you sometimes feel, or even small daily things that made you think of him. But your social skills make it hard to put those feelings into clear words. You start sentences hesitantly, trail off, fidget, and restart multiple times, trying to find the right way to say it.
Chrollo always understands exactly what you’re trying to convey, but most of the time he just watches you with a faint, polite smile and a completely blank expression. He stays silent, letting the awkwardness stretch until your face burns with embarrassment and you mumble “never mind” or give up. Only rarely does he finish your sentence for you in that smooth voice, which somehow makes you feel even more exposed.
He’s a master at manipulating your gentle, trusting nature. He twists situations so that you end up doubting your own feelings or memories. “You were happier when you only had me, weren’t you?”. He uses guilt, subtle threats wrapped in affection, and love-bombing to keep you dependent. If you show even a hint of wanting more independence, he’ll disappear for a short time, leaving you anxious and desperate for his return; then reappear as if nothing happened, reinforcing that you need him. He makes you believe that his control is love, and that without him you’d be lost or in danger. You know on some level that something’s wrong, but your strong feelings and fear keep you trapped in the cycle.
Your relationship looks deceptively soft from the outside. In private it’s a constant push and pull between your shy affection and his quiet dominance. You try to be the perfect partner for him out of love and fear, while he keeps you carefully contained in the web he’s spun around your life. You’re his soft civilian anchor in a violent world, and he has no intention of ever letting you go.
[⫘⫘⫘☆⫘⫘⫘⫘☆⫘⫘⫘☆⫘⫘⫘⫘☆⫘⫘⫘⫘☆⫘⫘⫘]
I’m open to making darker versions or expanding on any of these themes. Just let me know what you’d like to see and I’ll let you know if I’m up for it!!!
I'm going to work on a master list for Chrollo. I'll let you when It's done!
The night carries you home in quiet steps, bags heavy but the weight shared. At the threshold of your apartment—your safe, small world—the air shifts into something softer, more intimate. Lingering in the doorway, small words and gentle touches stretch the evening just a little longer, carving out space for something new to grow.
♡ Warnings / Info ♡
🌸 Pure soft fluff, slow-burn romance
🍥 Shy, overthinking, autistic reader
🐰 Gentle/protective Toji, patient and quietly attentive
His lips curved slightly. “Don’t mind,” he said, taking a bag, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He nodded toward the stairs. “Lead the way.”
You took a breath, clutching your remaining bag, and started up, Toji’s steps steady behind you. The city’s hum faded, and for a moment, the world felt lighter, like it could fit in the space between you. The stairs creaked under your shoes—those familiar, worn sounds that always greeted you at the end of a long day. Tonight they felt different, layered with the softer echo of his footsteps, not too close, not too far. Your heart beat a little faster, but not in the sharp, overwhelming way the city sometimes caused. This was quieter, warmer.
At the landing, your fingers shook just slightly as you slid the key into the lock. The click sounded louder than usual in the empty hallway. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, reaching immediately for the small lamp on the entry table. Warm, amber light spilled across the room—not bright, not harsh, just enough to make everything feel soft around the edges. The faint scent of cooked turkey still lingered from earlier, mixed with the subtle lavender from the diffuser on the shelf. Your cat heard the door instantly; her paws pattered across the hardwood as she appeared, tail high, mewing in that demanding little way she had when dinner was late.
Toji paused just inside the doorway, letting the door ease shut behind him with a soft thud. He didn’t step further in right away, giving the space—and you—room to breathe. His eyes moved slowly around the room: the thick knit blanket draped over the back of the couch, the small stack of well-loved books on the coffee table, the single mug with a faint ring of apple juice on the coaster. Everything neat, intentional, comforting.
Your cat, undeterred by strangers when she was on a mission, marched straight to him and began weaving urgent figure-eights around his legs, head-butting his shin. He glanced down, one brow lifting faintly, then crouched—slow, deliberate—so she could inspect him properly. He offered his hand, palm up, knuckles scarred and strong. She sniffed once, twice, then pressed her whole head into his fingers with a loud, vibrating purr. A low huff escaped him, almost a chuckle. “Demanding,” he murmured, voice rough but warm. He scratched gently under her chin, exactly the spot she loved, and her eyes slitted in pure bliss. “Knows what she wants.”
You set your bag on the counter, the plastic crinkling loud in the quiet, and reached for the ones he carried. Your fingers brushed his again as he handed them over—warm, brief, but enough to send a small flutter through your chest. You busied yourself arranging the pears in the little wooden bowl you kept on the counter, rolling one slowly between your palms for the smooth, cool texture.
“She’s… usually picky about people,” you said softly, voice steadier now that you were home. “But she likes quiet ones. Ones who don’t move too fast.” Toji straightened, hands sliding into his pockets as he leaned lightly against the doorframe. His gaze settled on you—not intense, just present. “Makes sense,” he said. “Place feels the same. Quiet. Cozy.” He nodded toward the blanket on the couch. “Looks soft.” Your cheeks warmed at the simple observation. “It is,” you whispered, then a little clearer: “Helps when everything’s… loud outside.
He hummed, low in his throat, like he understood exactly. Your cat, satisfied with her greeting, hopped onto the counter beside you—technically not allowed, but you let her tonight—and began sniffing the grocery bags with great interest. You opened one, pulling out the small package of fresh turkey you’d bought for her. “She’s waiting for this,” you said, a tiny smile tugging at your lips as you tore it open. The scent filled the small kitchen, and she meowed louder, paws kneading the counter. Toji watched, arms loosely crossed now. “You spoil her.”
“Maybe a little,” you admitted, voice soft. You portioned out a small plate for her and set it on the floor. She jumped down immediately, tail flicking, and began eating with delicate, happy bites. Silence settled—not empty, but full. Comfortable. You fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, rolling the fabric between your fingers as you leaned against the counter. The lamp’s glow caught the faint scar on his lip again, and curiosity tugged at you. “That scar,” you said quietly, nodding toward his mouth before your gaze dropped. “Does it… hurt still?”
He touched it absently with one thumb, like he’d forgotten it was there. “Nah. Old. Doesn’t bother me.” A pause, then: “Got it fixing something that didn’t wanna be fixed.” No more details, but the way he said it—casual, accepting—made it feel like enough. You nodded, tracing slow circles on the countertop with one finger. “I like… knowing where things come from,” you murmured. “Scars. Food. People.” His eyes softened, just a fraction. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
Your cat finished her plate and returned to wind around Toji’s legs again, purring like an engine. He crouched once more, giving her a few more scratches. “Greedy,” he muttered, but there was fondness in it. You watched the way his big hand moved so carefully—strong, but gentle—and something warm bloomed in your chest. “She doesn’t usually do second rounds,” you said softly. “Must really like you.” He glanced up at you, lips curving just slightly. “Good judge of character.”
The words hung there, light but meaningful. You felt your face heat again and busied yourself putting away the potatoes, lining them up neatly in the basket under the counter. The quiet sounds—bags rustling, fridge humming, your cat’s purr—filled the space without overwhelming it. Toji stayed by the door, not pushing further in, but not leaving either. Like he knew boundaries mattered. After a moment, he spoke again, voice low. “That miso thing. Still good whenever. Could be simple—just broth, tofu, scallions. Whatever you like in it.”
You paused, a potato still in your hands. “I’d… like that,” you said, turning to face him more fully. “Soon?” The word came out smaller than you meant, but hopeful. He nodded once. “Soon.” A beat, then: “You got everything you need tonight? Juice, pears… all that?” You glanced at the bags, now mostly unpacked. “Yeah. More than enough.” You hesitated, then added quietly, “Thanks to you.” His gaze held yours for a second longer than usual—steady, warm. “Was a good night,” he said simply. “Didn’t want it to end with heavy bags and stairs.” Your heart did that soft flip again. You nodded, fingers twisting your sleeve. “It didn’t.”
Your cat chose that moment to jump onto the couch and begin kneading the blanket with deep satisfaction. You both looked over at her, and a tiny shared huff of amusement passed between you—his low, yours barely audible. Eventually, he pushed off the doorframe, stepping back toward the hall. “Better let you wind down,” he said. “Get some rest.” You moved to the door with him, not wanting the space to feel too empty too fast. “You too,” you murmured. “Thanks… for everything.” He paused in the doorway, looking down at you. The hallway light behind him cast his face in soft shadow, but his eyes were clear. “Anytime,” he said, voice low and sure. “Night.”
“Night,” you whispered.
He turned and walked down the hall—steps slow, unhurried—until he disappeared around the corner. You closed the door gently, leaning against it for a long moment. Your cat meowed from the couch, as if asking what took so long. You smiled—small, real, and lasting—and went to join her, pulling the cozy blanket over your legs. The apartment felt quiet, but not empty.
It felt like it was waiting, patiently, for soon.
✩˚｡⋆ Written with love by mintedmomments ⋆｡˚✩
Minted Moments @mintedmoments - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
