Hi! I absolutely love your writing and I was wondering if you’d be interested in a Chrollo-centric request.
The idea is that Chrollo’s mother (reader) is still alive and acts as a mother figure not only to him but to the entire Phantom Troupe. She’s a Hunter and has a mysterious past that nobody really knows about.
One day, while sharing stories with the Troupe, she reveals that when she was younger, she was once courted by a member of the Zoldyck family. I’d love to see the Troupe’s reactions to that revelation, especially Chrollo’s.
It would also be really interesting if there were interactions between her and the Zoldycks later on. Maybe during or around the time Chrollo and Silva fight, there could be some recognition, old history, awkward tension, or even nostalgia between her and the Zoldycks. I think it would be fascinating to see how Chrollo reacts to discovering his mother has ties to one of the most infamous assassin families in the world.
Of course, feel free to change or ignore any details if you decide to write it. Thank you for considering my request!
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞 | 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐨𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐚 𝐙𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
𝑷𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅: 07/01/2026
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 4.3k
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: Hello my follower!! thank you so much for your request!! :-D oh my gosh!! you requested this ages ago!! sorry for the delay, there were many requests ahead of yours plus my other fics that I was writing, and I also needed some time to think about your request, but here it is!! I confess I really liked your request, your idea is very creative. I haven't seen a fic in this style yet, at least, and I loved writing it!! A matriarch in the spider? interesting!! I hope my writing was more or less what you wanted. Happy reading everyone!! :-)
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝑵𝒐𝒏𝒆! (𝑵𝒐 𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒆, 𝒏𝒐 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒏𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔).
The air inside the abandoned building in Yorknew was dense, thick with the smell of old dust, damp concrete, and the metallic trace of dried blood. The shadows of the ruined pillars stretched across the floor like cracks in the very structure. None of the Phantom Troupe members spoke. The loss of Uvogin weighed heavily on the environment, transmuted into an aura of contained fury, a static pressure that made oxygen feel scarce.
In the center of this tense stillness, sitting on an upturned wooden crate, was (Y/n).
She was a professional Hunter, possessing a strength and Nen control that rivaled the most dangerous individuals in the underworld, but her history was rooted in the trash heaps of Meteor City. Decades ago, pregnant with Chrollo, she chose to return to the land of the forgotten. She used her license and her skills to wage a silent, brutal war against the child trafficking that plagued the region. It was a thankless battle; the lack of institutional support and the negligence of the outside world made the influx of local assassins and traffickers almost relentless, but she ensured that the territory around her remained untouched.
It was in that setting of scarce resources that she raised Chrollo. She taught him to read, to write, and to observe the world with clinical precision. From an early age, her son's mind revealed itself to be a terrifying prodigy. (Y/n) quickly understood that if he chose the path of the Hunter Association, he would become one of the most powerful Nen users on the planet. But destiny took another turn.
Along with Chrollo, she welcomed and mothered Sarasa, Pakunoda, Franklin, Shalnark, and the other members of their childhood in Meteor City. She raised them with the strictness necessary to survive the garbage and with the support that no one else offered. At that time, her only suspicion fell upon Sheila. (Y/n)'s maternal instinct had always warned her about the girl: her excessive optimism and cheerfulness, so detached from the local reality, seemed like a facade. After the tragedy with Sarasa, Sheila's evasive, mysterious behavior and subsequent distancing only confirmed her suspicions. Without concrete proof, and knowing the other youths' attachment to the girl, she kept her silence to herself, watching from afar as the brat disappeared.
Now, Uvogin's death opened a crater in her chest. The pain of losing a son raised by her own hands transcended the flesh, echoing directly in her soul. Being a middle-aged woman, hardened by the underworld, she had always known the price that creating the Spider would exact. But her decision had been made since day one: she would support her son's plan until the very end, even if she was the last one left to turn out the lights.
(Y/n) pulled the heavy fabric of Phinks's coat, methodically wiping away the crusts of dried blood with a damp cloth. Beside her, Shizuku kept her arm extended while (Y/n) applied a firm bandage, tightening the knot with the precision of someone who had already stitched hundreds of battlefield wounds. Her eyes were clear of tears; a veteran Hunter's grief manifested in silence and lethality.
— Not so tight, (Y/n) — murmured Shizuku, adjusting her glasses with her free hand as she looked at her bandaged arm. — It slows down the circulation of Nen.
— It's firm enough so your bone won't pop out of place if you need to use Blinky by surprise — replied (Y/n), her voice low and steady, never averting her attention from the mechanical work of her hands. — Keep your arm extended for another ten minutes. Phinks, your coat is going to need new patches on the right shoulder seam. You are forcing the movement during your Ripper Cyclotron.
Phinks merely grunted in response, crossing his bare arms and leaning against the concrete wall.
Further away, Nobunaga was cleaning the sheath of his katana with a piece of felt, his teeth dug into his lower lip. The stress of hunting the chain user made his aura fluctuate in short spikes of Ren.
— That chain bastard... — Nobunaga broke the silence, his hoarse voice echoing through the exposed ceiling beams. The hatred in his aura made the air around his katana vibrate for a moment. — The motherfucker knows how to hide and hunt!! He isolated Uvo, used that damn conjuration ability, and erased his tracks. He isn't just some idiot amateur from the Mafia. I'm going to decapitate that bastard with my own hands the moment I find his trail.
(Y/n) finished adjusting the thread in her needle. She caught the end of the nylon string between her teeth and snapped it with a sharp click before glancing sideways at the swordsman.
— Obstinate hunters are difficult to shake off, Nobunaga. It reminds me a bit of the Zoldycks' persistence. When I was young, one of them spent months tracking me through Meteor City just to leave a target's heart in a jar for me, as a courtship.
The sound of the felt scraping against Nobunaga's blade ceased instantly.
The silence that settled into the room became absolute, heavy as lead. In the opposite corner, the rhythmic noise of Feitan's whetstone stopped mid-stroke; his narrow, gray eyes fixed onto (Y/n)'s silhouette. Phinks, who was inspecting his fists, froze with his hands in the air, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before regaining his rigidity. Shalnark, who was typing on his phone, froze with his fingers over the keys.
In the darkest edge of the hall, sitting on a broken block of marble, Chrollo Lucilfer slowly raised his eyes from the pages of his book. The faint moonlight coming from the collapsed ceiling illuminated only half of his face, highlighting the cross tattoo on his forehead. The revelation that the elite of the world's assassins had ties to his mother cut through the atmosphere of grief with the precision of a blade.
Chrollo closed the book without making a sound, keeping his thumb between the pages to mark his place. He analyzed (Y/n)'s posture, deciphering the casual tone with which she had tossed that information onto the board.
— A courtship? — Chrollo's voice echoed through the shadows of the hall. It remained devoid of hesitation, but there was a different tone there: a subtle inclination of curiosity, the genuine interest of a strategist faced with an unforeseen enigma. — The Zoldycks operate strictly by commercial contracts and biological efficiency. They do not waste energy on pursuits without financial targets, unless their own survival or the family name is at stake. Which one of them broke the family rules to track you through Meteor City, mom?
(Y/n), who was sewing the rips in Phinks's coat, gave one last firm pull on the thread of Phinks's coat before cutting the knot. Her eyes turned to Chrollo, sustaining her son's analytical gaze with the calmness of someone who knows every gear of that genius mind.
— It was Silva — she replied, her voice echoing without haste through the cold concrete. — This happened long before you were born, Chrollo. I was in my twenties. I had just passed the Hunter Exam and returned to Meteor City to present my plans to combat trafficking in the South Zone to the Elders. It was the same week the city's leadership hired the Zoldyck family to resolve an internal matter.
The Troupe remained static, absorbing every word. Even Feitan tilted his head slightly to listen.
— One of the city's councilmen was diverting the medical supplies we received from abroad and facilitating the entry of sadistic human flesh smugglers — (Y/n) continued, putting the needle away in a metal case with a sharp click. — The Elders paid a fortune to the Zoldyck family to guarantee a clean execution. I located the traitor's hideout on the very same night Silva Zoldyck crossed the trash border.
She extended the patched coat to Phinks, who took it in silence.
— We met in the same locked corridor, in front of the target. I didn't know who he was, I just saw a young man, nearly two meters tall, with silver hair and a Nen release so dark that the very oxygen around him became suffocating. He tried to push me away with a direct Zetsu strike combined with brute force. I simply bypassed the attack using the flow of my own aura and kicked him in the stomach with enough force to break the concrete wall behind us. We ended up killing the target together. Somehow, I ended up charming that big guy. Besides the fact that I survived his assassin reflex, I didn't get frightened when he told me his last name to intimidate me, I didn't even blink. In Meteor City, since I was born and raised on the basis of surviving each day while running the risk of death, elite names mean nothing. Only the strongest prey prevails, just like I taught you all since you were children.
A contained, almost imperceptible smile appeared on (Y/n)'s lips as she remembered her youth.
— Silva remained in the city for two more weeks after the end of the contract. He would reappear in the shadows of the alleys where I patrolled, trying to understand what a newly graduated Hunter was doing in the middle of the trash. He was pragmatic, but persistent. The heart in the glass jar I mentioned was the pinnacle of his courtship attempt, a trophy from a high-level executioner for someone he considered an equal in combat. That's something quite typical for an assassin like him. Before leaving, he made me a direct proposal. He said that if I married him and went to the Republic of Padokea, I would never step into misery again. He promised twenty-four-hour-a-day butlers, access to the most expensive resources in the world, and said my strength would honor the Zoldyck blood. He insisted that that trash didn't match my potential.
Chrollo listened to everything without taking his eyes off his mother, processing the scale of that revelation.
— And why did you refuse? — Shalnark asked, curiosity breaking his rigid posture for a moment.
— Because I made a promise to this land and to the children born in it — (Y/n) replied, staring fixedly at Chrollo. — We came from the trash, Shalnark. If the strong people leave as soon as they get a license, who is left to ensure the weak survive long enough to fight? I've seen many acquaintances abandoning the city and even forgetting their roots out of shame of where they came from just to prevail in artificial luxury. I told Silva that the luxury of his mountain would suffocate me, and that my place was here, defending my own. He was a professional assassin, but he understood the weight of a conviction, since he also had his own reasons, like carrying the family heritage. Silva then accepted my refusal, withdrew his aura, and left the next morning. Shortly after, I learned he married a woman who was also from Meteor City, Kikyo. But I'll tell you one thing, men with high egos hardly forget the woman who bruised their ego, leaving a permanent mark — she said laughingly, closing her eyes — and him marrying a woman from the same city as mine is the living proof of that.
She stood up from the crate, wiping the dust off her pants. The atmosphere in the room had changed. The grief for Uvogin was still there, but now it came accompanied by the reminder that the blood running through the Spider's veins came from a foundation much deeper and more dangerous than the outside world would ever be able to measure.
— The Zoldycks are professionals, son — (Y/n) concluded, walking toward the exit of the hall. — If the mafia and even the Ten Dons paid their price to eliminate the Troupe, I am sure Silva will have another companion, I believe it will be his father, Zeno. Surely the mafiosos didn't hire just one assassin. I only tell you one thing: be careful with that old man. As much as you beat Silva years ago, he will have even more support to try and distract you.
Chrollo remained in silence for a few seconds, looking at the closed book in his lap before opening a calm, sharp smile.
— Don't worry. I won't allow them to kill me, mom.
The polished marble of the Yorknew auction building corridor reflected the dim lighting from the ceiling fixtures, creating a trail of pale light under Chrollo's footsteps. He wore an impeccable dark suit, with his loose black hair falling to frame his face, and a white bandana firmly tied across his forehead, completely concealing his cross tattoo. Visually, he passed as an ordinary young man from high society, but the stillness of his movements exuded a dangerous immobility.
Beside him, (Y/n) walked maintaining the same pace. Her physical presence was there, but to any Nen user sweeping the building with En, she simply did not exist. Her control over Zetsu was absolute, refined to the extreme after decades of surviving in the underworld and hunting traffickers in Meteor City; she closed every single node of her aura channels with such perfection that not even the slightest trace of energy escaped her body. She was an invisible specter advancing through the shadows, ensuring that no assassin would sense her approach from afar. She did not intend to steal her son's spotlight, but she would be there, camouflaged in the darkness, to serve as the ultimate line of defense should his calculations fail.
Chrollo kept his eyes fixed on the gloom ahead, his hands resting in the pockets of his dress pants. Behind his calm facade, his mind processed at high speed the weight of leading the Phantom Troupe in the counterattack following Uvogin's execution. The grief for his childhood companion was locked away in the coldest part of his brain, transformed into pure strategy. He glanced sideways at the woman beside him. To Chrollo, she had always been the solid foundation, the safe haven from which the Spider had been born. But the history revealed hours ago brought a new weight. He realized that, as much as he knew his mother, she possessed deep layers and technical secrets that he had never been able to fully decipher.
Without averting her eyes from the empty corridor or breaking the silence of her footsteps, (Y/n) spoke. Her voice sounded low, a dry whisper that cut through the static of the environment with the authority of a veteran Hunter.
— Remember once again, son, they have no personal resentments. Do not underestimate the weight of those fists and of the old man. And I tell you more: I cannot guarantee you will be able to steal the ability of either one.
Chrollo slowed his pace by a millimetric fraction of a second. A short, huffed laugh escaped his lips, breaking the rigid line of his mouth for an instant. Her comment about his inability to use Skill Hunter against Silva or Zeno struck right at his pride as a strategist, but instead of irritation, he felt his focus intensify.
He absorbed the warning calmly. Knowing that the Zoldycks possessed a combat discipline so hermetic that it made the conditions of his book nearly impossible to fulfill caused Chrollo to readjust his mental approach. With a contained smile under the shadows of the corridor, he recalculated the risks, making his preparation for the imminent fight even more cold, surgical, and lethal.
The main hall of the auction building was in ruins, reduced to a vast crater of fragmented concrete, exposed rebar, and a thick mist of dust that floated in the air. The brutal fight had come to an end. Silva's devastating attack — those two massive spheres of Nen emitted from his hands — had crushed the structure, tearing a hole in the ceiling. Chrollo was lying among the rubble, his body severely wounded and exhausted, but still breathing. Before (Y/n), who was observing everything from her strategic vantage point, could deactivate her Zetsu and deliver a lethal counterattack against Silva, the shrill sound of a telephone cut through the silence.
Silva answered. It was Illumi. The Ten Dons had been eliminated; the Zoldycks' mission had lost its legal and financial validity. Silva hung up the device with a dry click. A brief exchange of words followed between the three men, with Zeno and Silva noting their strategic withdrawal, while Chrollo, even while down, absorbed the conclusion of the checkmate he had orchestrated behind the scenes through his contract with Illumi.
Before the two assassins could turn to leave and disappear into the Yorknew night, the sound of firm and measured footsteps echoed through the dust of the destroyed hall.
(Y/n) emerged from the dense shadows remaining in the corners of the room. She walked calmly over the pieces of concrete, with the upright posture of a veteran Hunter. She had come with a single purpose: to ensure her son made it out of that hall alive, or to collect what was left of him to bury him under the laws of Meteor City.
The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The pure tension of mortal combat dissipated, replaced by a suffocating and heavy formality. Silva Zoldyck stopped his withdrawal movement immediately, his imposing body tensing slightly as he recognized her presence. Zeno's eyes narrowed, abandoning the coldness of an executioner to take on a gleam of respectful recognition. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, bowing his head slightly.
— So the rumors that you were under the Spider's wings were true, (Y/n) — Zeno said, his calm voice echoing through the ruined hall.
Silva, giant and imposing, fixed his eyes on hers. The silence that settled between the two was charged with the weight of an old history from decades ago — a subtle mix of youth nostalgia and the professional coldness of those who now operated on opposite and dangerous sides of the underworld.
(Y/n) walked over to the spot where Chrollo was trying to prop himself up to stand, assessing his injuries with a quick glance before turning her attention to the silver-haired man in front of her.
— You still hit hard, Silva. You almost killed my treasure — she said, her voice dry, devoid of fear, staring down the man who had once tried to take her to Kukuroo Mountain.
Silva observed her. Behind the implacable facade of the current leader of the assassin family, the corners of his lips curled into a restrained, almost imperceptible smirk. Her audacity, her lack of hesitation in the face of his strength, and the rigidity with which she protected her own instantly reminded him of the serious young Hunter he had met in the miserable alleys of Meteor City. Incredibly, she hadn't changed at all.
— Business is business — Silva replied with his deep, resonant voice, maintaining the implicit respect in his choice of words. — But the contract, by pure luck and enough time, was canceled.
(Y/n) crossed her arms, sustaining his gaze while letting out a short breath of air through her nose.
— Luck for whom, Silva? If that phone hadn't rung, the blood of one of us three would be decorating this rubble right now. In the Spider, we take care of our own problems our own way.
Zeno observed the dynamic calmly, letting out a small smirk from the corner of his mouth upon seeing his son confronted with the same firmness from the past. He took a step forward, preparing to leap toward the exit.
— Time passes, but your tongue remains sharp, (Y/n). It was a pleasure to see a real Nen user again. Take good care of your prodigy brat; the world out there is getting small for the Spider — the old Zeno said, before turning alongside Silva and disappearing into the shadows of the night, leaving behind only the dust settling over the rubble.
Silva and Zeno turned their backs, each heading their own way toward the doors that would take them far from there. Before disappearing, Silva glanced sideways, staring at Chrollo with that cutting coldness of a predator. Chrollo sustained his gaze, his dark eyes fixed on the man who had almost drained his life. But Silva's focus shifted right after. He diverted his eyes from the leader of the Troupe to face, one last time, (Y/n). Under the lights of the collapsed hall, she could have sworn she glimpsed a small, subtle gleam in those stern eyes — a living trace of their youth that the dust of time had failed to erase. Then, the two assassins opened the doors of the hall and withdrew, leaving only an aura of mystery floating in the air.
(Y/n) broke the silence of her footsteps and walked to the center of the crater. She kneeled on the stone fragments beside Chrollo, approaching without haste to check the severity of his wounds.
Chrollo, though severely battered, exhausted, and with the flow of his Nen fluctuating as he recovered from the impact, observed her thoroughly. His strategist mind reassembled the pieces of the current scenario. He had just witnessed the most dangerous men in the world, the very executioners who had nearly obliterated him under a death contract, treat his mother with a reverence and formality that the Zoldycks extended to practically no one else on the planet. The figure he had always known as his safe haven harbored secrets that defied even the logic of his book.
(Y/n) pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket and, with a maternal calmness that seemed to completely ignore the surrounding rubble, began to wipe away the blood trickling from the corner of Chrollo's mouth and across his forehead.
With the touch of the cloth against his skin, the weight of the grief for Uvogin returned to the hall. The requiem Chrollo had conducted hours ago, slaughtering the mafiosos and turning Yorknew into a stage of chaos and destruction, had been the definitive farewell for their fallen companion. The blood tribute was paid. (Y/n) gently pressed the fabric against the cut on her son's forehead, and her voice sounded low, firm, defining the priorities with the clarity of someone who placed the Spider above any past.
— I told you that you wouldn't be able to extract anything from either of them, but I must admit your skills in the fight were perfect; you are improving with each passing year, I am very proud of you, my son — she said warmly. — The Zoldycks kill for money, Chrollo. They are driven coldly by their own regulations. We kill for ourselves. Let's wait for the others, and from here we will go to the hideout. That's enough for today.
Chrollo slowly closed his eyes, accepting the maternal touch and the silent care. He relaxed his muscles under her hands, understanding in silence that, no matter how many abilities he stole or secrets of the world he deciphered, his mother would forever remain the greatest, most fascinating, and insurmountable mystery the Phantom Troupe had ever possessed.
Sometime after that confrontation, the stillness within the Spider was shatteringly devastated. Chrollo had been captured by the chain bastard.
Inside the hideout, the atmosphere was suffocating. (Y/n)'s despair ran deep, a silent and violent agony she fought to contain at all costs so as not to lose control of her own aura. Her son was in the hands of the enemy. Inside the abandoned room, only the members who had not participated at Chrollo's request remained: Franklin, Bonolenov, and Hisoka watched the perimeter, immersed in their own tense thoughts. And, in a distant corner, stood Hisoka.
Or rather, the person everyone assumed was Hisoka. The real magician was out, tracking down the whereabouts of Kurapika and Chrollo in hopes of securing his long-awaited duel. The one occupying the hideout was Illumi, disguised with his transformation needles and sustaining the skin texture and theatrical sway of number 4 with mastery.
The cellphone inside the fake Hisoka's pocket vibrated. It was the actual text message from the real Hisoka, warning that the hostage exchange demanded by Kurapika had been successfully concluded at the station, and that Gon and Killua were safe. Illumi's mission there had come to an end; he could leave now.
Taking advantage of the moment when Franklin and the others moved away to check the blind spots at the warehouse entrance, the Hisoka disguise slipped silently through the shadows, approaching (Y/n) without the other members noticing the interaction.
Without uttering a single word so as not to break the disguise against the room's echo, the fake Hisoka extended his hand, revealing a thick, dark paper envelope he had kept hidden within his garments, sealed with a black wax devoid of any official crest. Illumi did not know what was written inside, nor did he have the slightest interest in finding out; he was merely fulfilling a direct order his father, Silva Zoldyck, had given him before they departed from Yorknew.
(Y/n) knit her brow slightly, but took the envelope quickly, hiding it beneath her clothes before any other Spider looked in their direction. The exact moment her fingers brushed the paper, Illumi took a step back. His eyes behind the makeup maintained that empty, static monotony for a second, before he pulled away toward the exit, slipping out of the hideout to finally undo the transformation.
Ensuring she was completely alone in a dark, isolated corner of the warehouse, away from the watchful eyes of Kortopi and Franklin, (Y/n) broke the black wax seal with her thumb. She pulled the rigid card out from the envelope. There were no signatures, coordinates, or business terms. The handwriting was firm, heavy, and perfectly symmetrical, traced by Silva's imposing hand.
“I have never forgotten you.”
(Y/n) locked her eyes onto those words for a few seconds. Amidst all the chaos of her son's kidnapping and the tension that almost made her smash the concrete with her bare hands, she let out a low chuckle, a restricted and silent laugh. Her head shook in disapproval as she folded the card.
It was the absolute classic of men who spend their entire lives unable to get over the only woman who dared to bruise their pride and leave a permanent mark on their lives. With a genuinely amused smile that momentarily lifted the weight from her chest, she tucked the message into the deepest pocket of her clothes and turned her attention back to the shadows, focused on bringing her baby boy Chrollo back into her arms.
