Hi there! I’m not sure if this idea might be a bit odd, but what do you think about a fic with Adultrio (all separately) × female reader with traits similar to Hisoka?
✦ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐨 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐤𝐚 ✦
𝑨/𝑵: Hello, anon! Thank you so much for the request!! Here is another piece featuring our beloved AdulTrio!! I sincerely apologize for the delay, but I was giving it my all to deliver good writing and a solid story. I noticed you even sent the same request again; I was actually in the middle of finishing it at that exact moment giggles. Don't worry, I didn't ignore you!! I’m always checking the requests that come into my ask box, I just need a little time to come up with the best ideas :-D!!! Happy reading, everyone!! :-)
𝑷/𝑺: There is an easter egg hidden in the middle of one of their stories.
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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･
🕷️🕸️𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐟𝐞𝐫: the melancholic philosopher
The luxury restaurant in Yorknew City was a labyrinth of shadows and crystals, bathed in an amber light that seemed designed to mask intentions. Chrollo Lucilfer sat at a reserved table, his posture casual yet masking the readiness of a leopard. Across from him, a young woman—a Nen user with a promising ability—was prattling on about her life, oblivious to the fact that, to the leader of the Phantom Troupe, she was nothing more than a blank page waiting to be torn out.
Chrollo maintained a polished smile, his eyes fixed on his companion, but his attention was a precision mechanism operating in layers.
It wasn't a sound. It was atmospheric. It was a fluctuation in the air density. Chrollo felt a magnetic pressure, a Ren that was not hostile but possessed an erratic, electric texture—like sparks of static electricity running down his spine. He tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes finding a specific angle.
S/N was sitting a few tables away, in a position where the main chandelier’s light left her partially in the shadows. Chrollo could see her, but the woman in front of him, blocked by the angle of a decorative pillar and Chrollo’s own body, had no idea of her presence.
He watched as Y/N swirled her crystal glass between her fingers—a lazy, sloppy movement, yet charged with dangerous intent. She wasn't just sitting there like a lady waiting for her date; she was "playing" with the surrounding Nen, letting her aura leak out in a disordered and irresistible way, as if searching for a target to identify her and come to her. It was a trap, and the womanizing bandit understood it perfectly.
Chrollo felt a shiver of pure intellectual pleasure. Her energy wasn't contained. It was different. It was a reflection of a mind that didn't follow rules—an aura that reeked of danger, lust, adrenaline, pleasure, and unpredictability.
‘I wonder, what kind of ability is she hiding behind that unraveled facade?’ he thought, the idea passing through his mind like a cold blade. ‘Powerful? Chaotic? She must be a powerful Nen user, perhaps even more than the one I’m with now. Such a peculiar aura... it feels similar to one of the Troupe members, that damn Hisoka. I wonder if this lady is as skilled and powerful as he is. I must find a way to approach her as soon as I’m done with this one. I can’t stop looking at her; something keeps drawing my eyes to her. What an interesting woman—I’m not even talking to her, yet somehow she diverts all my attention to herself.’
The woman sitting with him, sensing the shift in his focus, frowned, realizing Chrollo’s attention had drifted.
— Chrollo? — she called out, starting to turn her torso to look over her shoulder, curious about what had captured the man's gaze. — What are you...
Before she could complete the movement, Chrollo’s hand shot out with supernatural speed, closing gently, yet with unshakeable firmness, around her wrist. He kept her from turning, holding her prisoner in his orbit.
— No — his voice came out low, a velvet whisper that made the woman freeze, captured by the magnetism of his gaze. — My sweet chérie, your focus must remain solely on me. Looking back when you have a treasure right in front of you is a waste of time I am not willing to allow tonight.
Chrollo didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. He saw the way she watched him, realizing she already knew exactly what he was doing. Her aura, which he could now feel vibrating like a dissonant note in a perfect symphony, was a silent invitation.
Chrollo’s heart, rarely moved by anything other than the cold logic of the Troupe, accelerated. He felt the weight of that night, the taste of the challenge. Today, he wasn't just after an ability for his book; today, chance had placed before him a prey that didn’t behave like the others.
He felt a visceral desire to extend the night. The woman in front of him was just another page to fill in his book, but Y/N... Y/N was his perfect hunt. A rare book whose cover he hadn't even managed to open yet. And, for the first time in a long time, Chrollo felt that if he wasn't careful, he might be the one getting captured by his own curiosity.
The conversation with the woman flowed in a monotonous stream, a dance of superficial words that Chrollo conducted with the skill of a puppeteer. However, his peripheral vision remained a gravitational force field, constantly pulled toward the figure of Y/N. She remained there, unshakable, the cold drink sweating against the crystal glass, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that seemed to pierce through reality itself.
At a pause in his companion's speech, Y/N raised her glass, her lips brushing the rim with deliberate slowness. She took a long sip, her eyes locked onto Chrollo’s, a shamelessly sensual gesture that carried the weight of a forbidden promise.
Chrollo felt a rush of adrenaline surge down his spine. He didn’t falter; he merely narrowed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his lips curling into an almost imperceptible smirk—a silent acknowledgement of her game. To the woman across from him, he appeared lost in deep thought, but under the table, Chrollo’s fingers tightened against his own thigh, starving to end this charade.
— You seem fascinated by that book — the woman remarked with an innocent giggle, pointing to the Bandit’s Secret resting on the table. — Is it an antique? May I touch it? I want to see if your hand is as large as it looks.
Chrollo smiled, a glint of pure malice dancing in his dark eyes. — Feel free. Curiosity is a virtue, isn't it?
The woman reached out, covering the book's cover with her palm. She felt only the cold leather, the harmless touch of a mundane object. She didn’t feel Chrollo’s Nen wrapping around her essence, nor did she perceive the subtlety with which he, at the exact moment of contact, met all the conditions of Skill Hunter. The theft was clinical, clean, and invisible. She was empty now, though she continued to smile, oblivious to the fact that her ability resided within the pages of that book.
The sound of a low laugh, like clinking glass, echoed through the lounge. Y/N, from a distance, watched the scene with a glimmer of amused disdain. Chrollo caught the sound instantly. Y/N stood up with the elegance of one who owes nothing to anyone. She finished what remained in her glass in one gulp, dropped the money on the table with a precise movement, and, without looking back, walked toward the exit. The sway of her hips and the way her Ren dissipated into the restaurant's shadows as she crossed the door left a vacuum in the air.
Chrollo felt a sharp blow of disappointment. The "prey" he had just robbed lost all residual value immediately. The real fun was walking away, and the urge to follow her fought against his need to keep up appearances.
He didn't hesitate. With a restrained sigh, he closed the book and stood up.
— The night is only just beginning, wouldn't you agree? — Chrollo said, ignoring the void Y/N had left behind. He turned to his companion, whose expression shifted from confusion to radiant expectation. — I know of a more private spot, an observatory at the docks where the view of the city under the moonlight is, they say, unforgettable. Shall we?
The woman, feeling like the most special person in the world, rose quickly, her eyes gleaming with thirsty malice. — I would love to, Chrollo.
He offered his arm to her, but his gaze, one last time, slid to the door where Y/N had vanished, filing the challenge away for a near date.
The observatory at the docks was a rusted metal skeleton jutting out over the black, churning water. The wind blew hard, tousling Chrollo’s loose hair, which fell over his forehead, held back only by the characteristic band he wore across his brow. His dark suit, impeccably tailored, seemed to absorb the little moonlight.
The woman beside him, intoxicated not only by the wine but by the aura of danger emanating from him, shortened the distance. She grabbed his lapels, pulling him down, seeking contact. Chrollo did not shy away. He tilted his head, maintaining the magnetic, predatory smile that always served as bait.
— You are such a charming man, Chrollo... — she whispered, lifting her face for a kiss, completely vulnerable.
The moment her lips brushed his, Chrollo’s free hand—the one that wasn’t being held—moved with the precision of a surgeon. He did not use brute force; he applied exact pressure to the vagus nerve, right at the junction of the neck and collarbone, a point that interrupts cerebral blood flow instantaneously and painlessly.
The woman didn't even sigh. Her eyes lost focus mid-kiss, and she collapsed, inert, into his arms. Chrollo gently settled her against the iron railing, as if she were merely sleeping deeply. He straightened her collar, a gentleman's gesture for a victim who was no longer of any use.
He sighed, feeling the satisfaction of his new ability pulsing in his memory, but the silence of the harbor was suddenly broken. A vibration.
He felt the air crackle again, the same erratic, chaotic Ren from earlier. Chrollo’s skin prickled, a thermal shock that had nothing to do with the cold night wind. He spun around quickly, his dark eyes sweeping the shadows of the shipping containers and iron beams.
She was leaning against a concrete pillar, watching the "disposal" of the woman with a smile that was not of judgment, but of pure delight, as if she had already expected what would happen and was simply admiring the "show." Her eyes met Chrollo’s. She didn't look surprised; she seemed to have foreseen his every move.
S/N stared at him for a long second, her smile curving with an insolence that defied the natural authority Chrollo usually held over everyone. Then, with the same carefree elegance, she turned and began to walk into the labyrinth of the docks, still looking over her shoulder, casting him one last silent invitation before vanishing into the shadows.
Chrollo felt a punch to his solar plexus. The adrenaline, which used to be a resource controlled by him, now ran rampant, heating his blood.
‘She is playing with me.’
The thought didn't come as a threat, but as a glorious revelation. He ignored the unconscious woman behind him. Then, with a careless smile and his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, Chrollo simply took the first step in the chase, moving with the lightness of a predator who had finally found a challenge worthy of his time.
The interior of the abandoned warehouse on the edge of the wharf was a vast, enclosed space, wrapped in gloom and silence, where the echo of every step seemed muffled by the thick concrete walls. The rancid odor of rust, sea air, and dust permeated the dense air of that cold structure.
Chrollo entered the shed, following the trail of that atmospheric disturbance. A few meters away, he caught a glimpse of Y/N. She stood with her back to him, her shoulders slightly slumped in apparent nonchalance. However, the irregular density of the Ren around her revealed that this was no distraction; it was an invitation, a game, a stage meticulously set to lure him into a trap. Chrollo’s dark eyes shone with a voracious interest, a calm and cunning smile drawing across his lips as he closed the distance.
— What is your name? — Chrollo asked, breaking the stagnation of the air with a soft voice that resonated through the empty space.
Y/N turned her body calmly, without any trace of a startle. The gaze that met his carried a dangerous electricity, the hunger of one who does not fear the abyss.
— Y/N. And you are Chrollo Lucilfer, right? — she replied, sustaining his intensity with a fascinating disdain.
Chrollo tilted his head minimally, absorbing the audacity of that posture. — An interesting night for a solitary stroll at the docks, don't you think? What is a lady with such a peculiar Ren doing in a place like this?
Y/N tilted her chin, evaluating the impeccable posture of the troupe leader.
Chrollo made a tutting sound, a nasal noise of contained amusement at the provocation.
— You thought you would have to get rid of me? — Y/N inquired, interrupting his train of thought.
— Why do you think that? — he responded, keeping his mask of serenity intact.
Y/N let out a short laugh, thinking to herself: ‘He thinks he’s too clever.’
— Well... wasn't it you who made her faint minutes ago, Mr. Chrollo..?
Chrollo cleared his throat, bringing his hand to his mouth in a polished gesture while his lips twitched slightly. — Perhaps.
Slowly and deliberately, Y/N cut the space between them, approaching with a poise that defied the natural authority he usually imposed.
— Chrollo Lucilfer, leader of the Spider... better known popularly as the Phantom Troupe — said Y/N, dragging the syllables with an audacious and challenging tone, savoring the danger of pronouncing the truth right to the criminal’s face.
Y/N touched his shoulders lightly, brushing her fingers against the dark fabric of his suit as she passed him, invading his personal space entirely. Chrollo remained static, but his eyes followed the movement of her hand with surgical precision. The excitement and lust of testing the limits of that dangerous man dominated her; she was in her element, wanting to play with danger without knowing how or when to stop.
She stopped right behind him, turning to face him head-on. — That pleasant girl was foolish to have trusted an unknown, gentle man. But kindness often comes disguised as interest, doesn't it? You have an interesting ability... different... rare... you must be a specialist.
Y/N’s eyes shone with a frightening insight as she unraveled the opponent’s gears. — Your Nen emanates a different energy, quite different from other users. That book you showed the woman... I suppose it is a Hatsu of yours, your ability. It is a type of Nen that collects and stores, or rather... You subjugate the target’s will and simply steal their technique. However, your conditions require an absurd effort, a bureaucracy of rules to follow; it shouldn't be that easy, since nothing comes for free. I guess there are about 3 or 4 rules. — She said, cynical and calculating.
Those words, spoken with such precision and a touch of mockery, hit the amber of Chrollo’s mind, triggering a spark of pure fascination. He did not feel attacked; he felt read.
Y/N let out a light chuckle, staring at him from very close range. — You stole her ability, didn't you?
He let out a quick, relaxed laugh, finally sinking his hands into the pockets of his black dress trousers. — I imagine you know the answer, Y/N.
The warehouse silence was broken by the sudden change in the environment’s pressure. Chrollo turned abruptly, his movement fluid like that of a snake, delivering a direct strike to Y/N’s shoulder. She anticipated it with a wild smile. Y/N inclined her torso millimeters before the impact, transforming the dodge into a counterattack. She rotated her hip, delivering a precise kick against his right arm, the dry thud echoing through the shed, before rotating her body to dodge a sequence of hooks Chrollo launched in response.
The Troupe leader advanced again, his quick legs trying to close the gap. He lunged with a low blow, but Y/N lowered her body, her weight on her hands, attempting a sweep aimed at knocking him off balance. Chrollo, with an almost offensive calm, propelled his body into the air in a graceful leap, his leg extended in a descending kick that split the air. Y/N, however, was no longer there. She propelled herself backward in a series of agile somersaults, her feet touching the ground like a tensioned spring.
As she retreated, Y/N channeled her Nen; she manipulated her own aura to become an extension of the environment. When she touched the ground on the last somersault, she fired thin, almost invisible filaments of transmuted Nen that latched onto the iron beams behind Chrollo.
The instant he landed, Y/N pulled the threads with brute force. It was a traction trap.
Chrollo felt the sudden change in tension behind him — the iron beams, unstable with age, were pulled abruptly by her aura, colliding with his back at the exact moment he landed. It was a fraction of a second, pure instinct speaking louder. He tilted his head and twisted his torso in a contortionist movement, avoiding a fatal impact, but the force of the metal beams' traction hit his shoulder with violence.
The impact threw him backward abruptly, dragging his heels across the concrete, carving grooves into the floor.
Chrollo stabilized himself, his suit slightly disheveled, the band on his hair still impeccable. He looked at the beams vibrating with the remainder of her aura, and then at Y/N, who was laughing, breathless, with the manic glint of one who had finally tasted the fight. For the first time that night, Chrollo’s smile was that of a hunter who had just realized that the animal before him had claws far too sharp.
— Interesting — he murmured, his voice hoarse, his left hand rising to adjust his collar, while his intense, dark eyes remained fixed on every movement she made. — You don’t just want to win, do you? You only want to treat this fight as if it were your own game — he said, convinced. — And I am your little toy tonight.
The fight continued like a duel between predators. The warehouse became a blur of rapid movements and dense Ren. Finally, after a sequence of calculated lunges, Chrollo intercepted a kick from Y/N, spinning and pinning both of her wrists with just one hand, while the other immobilized her against a steel beam. She arched her body, her eyes glowing with ecstasy, and let out a low laugh, devoid of any frustration.
— You have a rare talent — Chrollo remarked, his breathing nearly steady, observing her with a cold appreciation. — I have no interest in stealing your ability today; it would be a waste to nullify what makes you unique. The vacancy in the Troupe is open, should you ever want a place among us.
Y/N tilted her head, strands of hair falling over her face as she held his gaze with the same petulance of an elite gambler.
— I appreciate the offer, Lucilfer, but I don't share the stage. The Troupe is a troupe; I prefer my own spectacles. I like to savor danger alone, and your organization is full of rules that... would bore anyone seeking true amusement.
Chrollo nodded, slowly releasing her. — Very well, I understand. I will leave you in peace.
He turned away, and for an instant, Y/N thought he would leave. But Chrollo stopped, spun on his heels, and with magnetic speed, pulled Y/N close. The impact of her body against his was immediate. Y/N’s breasts brushed against the expensive fabric of his suit, and his hand, firm and possessive, gripped her waist with an authority that seemed to disarm her. That fallen angel, with his aura of dark intellectualism and his nature as a refined demon, was a living trap.
Y/N felt a rush of adrenaline. She replicated the mischievous look that Hisoka used to cast at opponents who intrigued him, the tip of her tongue tracing her lower lip in a predatory gesture, while her dilated eyes explored Chrollo’s face. The urge to yield to carnal desires pulsed, even though she knew that the second she let her guard down, that man would not hesitate to destroy her.
Chrollo moved closer, his voice as serene as the silence that precedes an execution, his lips brushing the skin just below her ear, while his hand slid down, firm and deliberate, to the curve of her hip.
— You have stirred a curiosity in me that goes beyond your technique, Y/N — he murmured, the woody scent of his cologne invading her senses.
Y/N felt the air leave her lungs, her pulse hammering between her legs with a hot intensity. She leaned in, maintaining precarious control of the situation.
— Fufufu, Lucilfer... — she said, her voice unstable, loaded with instinctive provocation. — You are dangerous. And I don’t mean your Nen. It’s the way you dismantle other people’s certainties.
Her gaze dropped to his neck, imagining the mark she would leave there, but she composed herself, returning to that rogue cynicism that characterized her advances. Y/N reached for Chrollo’s hand at her waist and removed it, but in a gesture of audacity, her fingers brushed his palm with a suggestive pressure before pulling away.
— But not tonight... the hunt has already lost its shine for this evening, and I hate cold dishes — she said, arching an eyebrow with the smile of someone who knows exactly what game she is playing. — Don’t go getting used to this. Our next encounter will be much more... bloody.
✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦
📍🖤 𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐙𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤: the flawless hitman
The commercial building on the outskirts of the city smelled of mold, isolation, and the metallic tang of freshly spilled blood. Illumi Zoldyck’s mission was simple: eliminate the CEO of a corrupt logistics company, a man whose debts had accumulated to the point of becoming a risk to the interests of many businessmen. The target lay slumped over his mahogany desk, a single needle piercing his temple, his face frozen in a mask of surprise that had lasted less than a second.
Illumi maintained his impeccable posture, his vacant gaze fixed on the lifeless body. The silence on the floor was absolute, save for the rhythmic dripping of a faucet in the executive restroom.
Illumi's perception, honed by decades of training as an elite assassin, detected an irregularity. It wasn't the sound of breathing or the weight of footsteps, but a dissonance in the fabric of the Nen that filled the room. Someone was watching him.
Illumi turned slowly. His black eyes, like two lifeless spheres of onyx, found the figure leaning against the doorframe leading to the corridor.
Y/N was there, arms crossed, her body far too relaxed for someone who had just witnessed a professional assassination. The Ren emanating from her was something Illumi found intrinsically offensive: an erratic, "dirty" aura, charged with static and a chaos that seemed to lick the walls like a wildfire.
‘Hisoka,’ was the first thought that crossed the assassin’s mind. The discomfort was immediate. ‘Damn clown. Even when he isn’t physically here, clones of him seem to sprout from the ground just to annoy me.’
Illumi took two steps forward. The atmosphere in the office shifted drastically. He unleashed his Ren—a dense, dark, and heavy pressure that would have made an ordinary man collapse into hysterical weeping, begging for mercy. The air became thin, almost impossible to breathe. Fear, for Illumi, was a tool; he expected her to recoil, for her eyes to lose focus, for her body to tremble.
Instead, a sound echoed through the silent office.
It was not a laugh of nervousness or a panic attack. It was a genuine laugh, laden with a mockery that Illumi had rarely, or rather, never seen anyone dare to exhibit in his presence.
Illumi stopped. The tilt of his head was almost imperceptible, a mechanical movement of someone processing a severe logical failure. He watched her aura flicker, reacting to his Ren not with submission, but with a vibration that mimicked his own pressure, defying it.
— No one usually finds that amusing — Illumi said, his voice monotonous, without a shred of emotion, as the metallic glint of a needle appeared between his fingers. He was not irritated, at least not in the human sense. He was curious, in the same way an entomologist observes an insect that refuses to be pinned to the display board. — Why are you laughing?
Y/N did not recoil. She took a step forward, entering the range of Illumi’s needles, completely ignoring the imminent danger. Her eyes shone with that hungry, unstable intensity characteristic of someone who seeks stimulation above their own survival.
— Because your pressure is boring, Illumi Zoldyck — she replied, her voice devoid of any hesitation. — You’re a first-class assassin, but you try to use fear as if it were a circus trick. And, honestly? That vacant stare of yours is far less interesting than the blood you just spilled.
She tilted her head, studying the needle he held with the same avidity a collector evaluates a rare piece.
— You’re curious. I can feel your Nen trying to label me, trying to find a pattern to fit me into your list of targets or assets. But the truth is, you don’t know whether to pierce me now or watch me for five more minutes to see what I’ll do next.
Y/N let out a short breath, dropping her relaxed pose and assuming a combat stance, the Ren around her whipping through the air.
— So, let’s skip the part where you pretend I’m a logical threat to your contract and get to the part where you admit that, for the first time in a long while, you’ve found something you can’t manipulate. — She gave a thin, almost imperceptible smile. — Are you going to stick me with that needle, or are you just going to stand there making calculations?
Illumi’s reaction was devoid of any hesitation. To him, the conversation had exhausted its utility; it was time to apply the necessary correction to the unstable variable before him. With speed that defied human sight, he lunged. There was no sign of an attack, no preparatory muscle contraction—just a fluid movement, like a shadow extending.
His right hand shot out in a precise arc, the manipulation needle as sharp as a scalpel, aiming for the nerve center at the base of Y/N’s skull. It was a finishing move, an "adjustment" he had applied to countless targets to turn them into silent, obedient puppets.
But the variable reacted before the metal touched her skin.
Y/N did not recoil. She did not block. In a move of pure audacity, she lunged toward the danger, twisting her body by mere millimeters. The needle sliced through the air, stopping millimeters from her eyeball, but she didn’t blink. She pressed her face close to his, her lips nearly brushing his metallic wrist, feeling the cold, sterile breath he exhaled.
She looked up at him, her predatory smile remaining firm.
— Too predictable, Illumi — she whispered, her voice laden with amused disappointment, as if his attempt at control were a bad joke.
Illumi stopped. The metal of the needle vibrated slightly, held by the strength of his grip, which did not tremble. His black eyes locked onto hers, diving into the unfathomable darkness of Y/N. The assassin did not back away; he froze in a cold, absolute analysis. He processed the proximity, her scent, her complete lack of self-preservation reflex, and the strange distortion in her Nen.
‘Not a target,’ his logic rewrote the original sentence in milliseconds. ‘A specimen.’
The desire to neutralize her, which had previously been a mission requirement, transformed into a possessive, dark curiosity. He no longer wanted to simply silence her. He wanted to open, disassemble, and catalog that instability. Illumi remained motionless, his face inches from hers, the needle still held in an attack position, while his mind, like an organic computer, calculated the best way to "possess" her without destroying the most interesting component: that defiant madness.
Illumi pulled the needle away slowly, tucking it back into his attire with surgical precision. He no longer looked like an assassin about to conclude a contract, but like an architect evaluating a complex structure. His black eyes, fixed on Y/N, held no malice, only calculating emptiness.
— You have no fear — he stated, his voice sounding like the clash of cold blades. — Fear is a basic survival instinct. Its absence is an anomaly. As an experiment, you are inefficient for the hiring market, but you are fascinating for cataloging purposes.
He took a step back, creating a calculated space between them.
— Work for me. Not as a subordinate, but as an asset under observation. I will monitor your reactions, your thought patterns, and how you circumvent danger. In exchange, I will provide the necessary resources for your... activities.
Y/N let out a low laugh, a harsh sound that seemed to vibrate off the office walls. She didn’t accept; she challenged.
— You talk as if I were an object on your shelf, Illumi. But let’s flip the roles. How about a more interesting contract? — She tilted her head, her eyes sparking with the instability of a huntress. — You have a mission coming up, don’t you? I’ll show up at it. I’ll cause chaos, I’ll dismantle what you’ve built, and I’ll force you to spend more energy than you ever have.
The silence that followed was heavy. Illumi tilted his head to the side, his expression like an inanimate mask.
— And what do you stand to gain? — he asked, monosyllabic.
— If you can’t stop me — Y/N replied, her smile widening, becoming more feral —, I win the right to hunt you. Not as a target, but as prey—my prey... The first one to break the other’s will, wins.
To Illumi Zoldyck, who viewed life as a series of probabilities and results, the proposal was illogical. It was risky. Above all, it was a challenge to his competence. He never lost a bet because he didn’t enter games without a guaranteed victory. He saw it as the perfect opportunity: he would control her through risk. If she were hunted, she would be forced to reveal everything she was hiding.
— I accept — he replied, without blinking. — But understand this: when I decide it is time to end your little show, there will only be the end.
The mission had been a blur of destruction, exactly as Y/N had promised. The location was a decommissioned cargo terminal, where dust danced under the moonlight filtering through the shattered roof. Illumi stood in the center of the hall, his impeccable clothes untouched despite the chaos he himself had dismantled minutes earlier. He held a long needle between his fingers, its silver glint reflecting the absence of light in his eyes.
Y/N stood a few meters away, breathless, the manic glow still pulsing in her aura. She was the perfect specimen, and Illumi was about to carry out his "study."
— You have proven to be a highly unstable variable — Illumi declared, his voice maintaining that flat, cutting modulation. — Most things I encounter fit into predefined categories: obedience, fear, profit, or death. You are the first thing... that I cannot label.
He advanced. With an insatiable intention to possess, typical of him as a petty man obsessed with absolute control. His hand moved with the precision of a surgeon, aiming for Y/N’s shoulder—a non-vital point, but strategically positioned so that the manipulation needle, integrated into his own Nen flow, would serve as a constant sensor of her presence and movements. It was the Zoldyck mark; possessiveness disguised as logistical control.
The instant the metal was about to pierce her skin, Y/N did not recoil. In a move that defied physics, she twisted her body, capturing Illumi’s wrist with her left hand while, with her right, she drew an arc through the air, causing her own transmuted aura—now with the consistency of a sticky, electric gum—to trap the needle before it touched her dermis.
She yanked his wrist down, forcing him a step forward, invading his personal space. Y/N leaned in, letting her chest brush against his arm, and with her thumb, she traced his lower lip, forcing him to maintain eye contact.
— You want to label me, Illumi? — she hissed, her voice low, laden with sadistic and daring pleasure. — You want to feel every move I make? You want to know where I am every second?
She brought his face close until their foreheads touched.
— Needles are tools for a puppeteer. And I will never be a puppet. If you want to feel me, don’t use metal. Use something that bleeds.
Her hand moved slowly down Illumi’s chest, resting over his heart, feeling the metronomic, cold, and perfect beats of the assassin. The room was heavy with predatory sexual tension. Y/N pulled away just enough for him to see the lust in her dilated eyes, but not enough to release him.
— The game is just beginning, Zoldyck — she murmured, feeling his aura flicker for the first time—a flaw in his mask of perfection. — You wanted an experiment? Congratulations. You just became my lab rat.
Illumi remained motionless, the needle forgotten in his hand, his mind processing the sensory overload of her touch. For the first time, logic served him no purpose. He simply watched Y/N walk slowly toward the shadows, leaving him there, marked by her audacity, with an insatiable curiosity that he suspected, deep down, was the beginning of his own ruin.
✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦
⭐💧🃏𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐤𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐰: the chaotic performer
The air in the 200th-floor ring of Heavens Arena was heavy. The sound of the crowd was a distant hum, muffled by the dry impact of your last strike against your opponent’s chest. The man before you collapsed, his thorax sunken from the raw force of your transmuted aura. The stone floor was cracked where you had propelled yourself for the attack. You exited the ring, your breathing rhythmic, your Ren still flowing like hot oil beneath your skin, ignoring the stunned stares of the other fighters in the corridors.
You walked toward the private locker rooms. The dimness of the corridor was cut by neon lights that flickered at irregular intervals. The silence there was absolute, save for the metallic clicking of your footsteps.
He was leaning against the wall, just before the turn leading to your sector.
Hisoka Morow wore his jester attire with his habitual negligence, the colorful garments contrasting with the darkness of the hallway. He did not move as you approached. He kept his eyes fixed on you, tracing every tense muscle, every drop of sweat trickling down your neck. Bungee Gum hovered invisibly in the air around him, a web of viscous, pulsating aura that seemed to trap the very light in the room.
He did not wait. As you passed, he peeled himself off the wall, his movement fluid and silent. He stopped directly behind you, his presence occupying all available space. His scent—a mixture of expensive tobacco, dried blood, and something unclassifiable that resembled the ozone of an imminent storm—invaded your nostrils.
Hisoka extended a hand, his long, thin fingers tracing the contour of your shoulder without quite touching your skin, feeling the heat of your aura. He passed the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, a calculated movement, while his yellow eyes shone with raw voracity.
— Your fight today was a waste of potential, Y/N — he said, his voice raspy, emerging as a dry whisper against your ear. — You held back. The opponent barely had time to taste his own end before you decided the game should end.
You stopped, your body slightly tense, feeling his aura intertwine with yours, creating a static connection that traveled down your spine.
— The opponent was mediocre, Hisoka — you replied, without turning around, keeping your voice as cold as his. — If I gave it everything, there wouldn't be anyone left to carry his body out. You know better than anyone that the arena is full of trash.
He let out a low laugh, a sound that reverberated in his ribcage against your back.
— Trash, yes. But you... — He took a side step, blocking the corridor and standing before you, his eyes dropping to the point where your Ren emanated most strongly. — You are ripening too quickly. Each time I watch one of your fights, this fruit becomes more succulent. It is a torment to wait until you are perfectly ripe.
He toyed with a playing card between his fingers, spinning it with hypnotic skill before driving it into the wall, millimeters beside your head. His aura surged, a cutting Ren that threatened to destabilize your own senses.
— Tell me — he continued, his face inches fr
— What exactly are you after, Hisoka? — You asked, your voice devoid of any tremor, meeting his hungry gaze with the same predatory coldness. — You didn’t come here for a hallway chat. If you’re so keen to see how "ripe" I am, let’s stop pretending this corridor is enough for us.
Hisoka smiled, a wide, manic cut that revealed the tips of his teeth.
— A duel — he murmured. — Here, now. Just us, no judges, no Arena rules, and no audience to waste our attention. Let’s test that resilience of yours.
Before you could answer, he struck. There was no warning. An invisible line of Bungee Gum connected his wrist to your shoulder. With a sharp, violent yank, he tried to drag you to the center of the corridor, attempting to throw you off balance. You felt the viscosity of his aura gripping your skin, trying to dictate your movement.
You didn’t resist the pull; you followed it, using the momentum to twist your body and launch a side kick straight at his throat. Hisoka tilted his head, narrowly escaping, while his gum stretched like a spring, snapping him back toward you in an elastic motion.
He tried to pin you against the wall with a web of Bungee Gum, but you channeled your Ren into your fingertips, making your aura extremely corrosive and unstable. With a "dirty trick" move — a sudden discharge of Nen that dissolved the grip of his gum instantly — you broke free and appeared right behind him, digging your fingers into the space where his neck met his shoulder.
Hisoka let out a hissing groan, a sound of pure ecstasy that seemed to scratch the air. He spun around, trying to grab your waist with his gum, but you slipped through his fingers with grotesque ease, leaving a superficial cut on his costume with a blade of aura you had forged in the last second.
He backed away, laughing, the skin where you touched him slightly reddened. His excitement was palpable; the Ren around him, previously oppressive, now flickered like living flames of pure anticipation.
You stopped, wiping a trickle of blood that ran from a scratch on your cheek — the result of the speed with which he had tried to immobilize you. Your eyes shone with the same insanity as his.
— You are much more fun when you aren’t trying to be enigmatic, Hisoka — you said, a scornful smile curling your lips. — But if this is your best "cat and mouse game," you’re going to need more than aura chewing gum to keep me on a leash. I’m not a toy or a little fruit for you to collect; I’m an accident waiting to happen in your life. And believe me... I’m far more destructive than anything you’ve ever faced.
Hisoka’s breathing was irregular, his eyes dilated in a way that bordered on total loss of control. He loved that audacity. He loved that you weren’t afraid to get as dirty as he was.
— Exactly... — he whispered, his tongue tracing his lips again, slower, more lascivious. — That’s what I need. Tell me, sweet Y/N... how far will you force me to go before you break?
— If you want to know my limit, stop asking questions and come find out for yourself — you replied, your voice laden with a sharp challenge.
The mood in the corridor shifted instantly. The playfulness was gone. The air felt denser, saturated with the transmuted aura emanating from both of you. Hisoka lunged, no longer with the elastic, playful movement from before, but with a predatory speed that made the space between you vanish. You tried to anticipate his move, but he was faster, using his own Bungee Gum to alter the trajectory of your strike and redirect it.
In the blink of an eye, you were against the wall, feeling the cold concrete at your back. Hisoka was there, his body pressed against yours, his arms blocking any escape. His aura boiled around you, an oppressive, violent heat.
He tilted his head, his fingers grazing your face softly before losing themselves in your hair.
— This fruit... — he hissed, his voice deep and laden with manic satisfaction. — It’s so ripe that the skin almost gives way to my touch. The scent of your excitement mixed with the bloodlust... it’s a banquet I shouldn’t postpone. I have an insatiable hunger to taste a piece.
You didn't recoil. Your heart beat against his chest, a rapid rhythm of pure adrenaline, the same rhythm you knew he shared. You lifted your chin, challenging him with an equally manic smile.
— Then why are you still waiting, clown? — you whispered, feeling an electric shiver run down your spine as he used strands of Bungee Gum to traverse your skin.
The gum, invisible and viscous, slid down your arms, up your neck, and traced the curve of your breasts with a precision that mimicked a real physical touch. It was impossible to escape; his aura was literally mapping every centimeter of your body, feeling the vibration of your own Nen reacting to his. It was an absolute and consensual invasion, a dance of predators speaking the same language.
Hisoka watched every reaction of yours with an insane glint in his yellow eyes. He loved feeling the electricity of your excitement — that shared biological response — collide with the deadly danger he represented. He pressed his body closer to yours, and you felt the weight of his intention: he was caught between the desire to consume you and the desire to see your blood stain the floor, and you knew he loved that you desired the same.
For you, there was no separation between pleasure and threat. You arched your back, pulling even closer, smelling the ozone and danger emanating from him. The tension was a double-edged sword, and you were ready to see who would yield to the chaos first.
s do you intend to make me wait before you stop playing around and actually try to tear my head off?
The air in the hallway felt as if it were about to explode, a Nen overload that would have made anyone below the 200th floor faint from the pressure alone. Hisoka kept his hand pressed flat against the wall beside your face, his breathing heavy, his eyes fixed on yours with a hunger that would not be satisfied there.
Suddenly, he let out a short, dry laugh, undoing the Bungee Gum strands that were mapping every curve of your body. He stepped back, recomposing his posture with disturbing elegance.
— What a pity... — he murmured, his voice emerging as a low, dangerous note. — If we continue this game here, one of us won't walk away. And it would be a massive waste to destroy such a promising fruit before seeing it reach the peak of its sweetness.
You felt a pang of frustration, an abrupt void where the pressure of his aura used to be, but soon a smirk curled onto your lips. You knew he was right; the environment was too restrictive for the kind of carnage you both required.
— You’re right, clown. The Arena is too tight for what we have in mind — you said, wiping the rest of the blood from your cheek. — I know an isolated spot in the nearby mountains, a testing ground that doesn't appear on any map. When I decide I’m ready to open your chest, that’s where we’ll go. No judges. Just us and the silence.
Hisoka stopped, his yellow eyes shining with renewed intensity. He loved the idea of an "invitation to the slaughter." He traced his tongue over his lips, a gesture he repeated like a nervous tic of anticipation.
— An isolated place... — he repeated, the sound emerging like a promise. — I can barely wait for your invitation letter.
You both began to walk side by side toward the exit of Heavens Arena, the presence of you both creating a vacuum in the hallway where other fighters recoiled as you passed.
— Besides, Hisoka — you remarked, with a casual tone that hid a sadistic glint —, lately, I’ve been having some fun hunting new prey. I need a warm-up before I get to you.
Hisoka turned his face toward you, his eyes narrowed in genuine curiosity.
— Oh? — he hissed, genuinely intrigued. — And who are the lucky ones who crossed your path?
You looked ahead, thinking of the two who had been occupying your mind and your needles over the past few weeks.
— A guy with long hair who looks more like a porcelain doll, always so contained and methodical... — you described, seeing the corner of Hisoka’s mouth curl. — And an attractive bandit, with his hair parted in the middle and a headband, wearing green earrings, with a look that makes him seem like an angel who fell from the sky, but who has an emptiness behind that mask of leadership.
Hisoka stopped walking, a genuine, shrill laugh escaping his lips, echoing off the metal walls of the Arena. He stopped in front of you, blocking your path, his face overflowing with manic pleasure.
— Illumi and Chrollo... — he hummed, his tone laden with delighted mockery. — You really aren’t afraid of getting into big trouble, are you? A Zoldyck assassin and the leader of the spiders. Choosing two of my favorite targets to play with...
He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his smile nearly tearing his face apart.
— Take care, my dear Y/N. If you finish them off before me, I will be very, very disappointed. But, thinking about it... — he paused, his eyes gleaming — ...that just makes you seem even more irresistible.
You took a step forward, closing the little space that remained between you, completely ignoring the implicit warning of danger. Your eyes did not waver, maintaining the predatory gleam that fascinated him so much.
— If I finish them off before you, Hisoka, don't be disappointed — you replied, your voice laden with arrogant, cutting confidence. — Just understand that they are the main courses of the banquet. If they are capable of stopping me, then I will have proven that you chose a target far above your average level of entertainment. And if they fall... well, that just confirms that I am the only thing in your world worth your time.
Hisoka froze. For a moment, the hallway seemed to vibrate with the intensity of your statement. He let out a long, almost shaky breath, and his fingers, still drawing invisible circles in the air, crackled with aggressive static electricity. His smile did not merely remain; it became something more fixed, more visceral.
He did not feel insulted. On the contrary, he took a step back, bowing in an exaggerated, mocking reverence, as if he were standing before a work of art that had finally reached perfection.
— Magnificent — he hissed, his voice almost a raspy whisper. — The level of self-confidence you carry... it's like a drug.
He extended his hand to trace the air around you, as if sealing an invisible pact.
— I have many toys scattered across this world, Y/N. Some are predictable, others are just disposable — he said, as his yellow eyes pierced through you, mapping your every move as if you were the only point of interest on a blank map. — But you? You are my favorite piece. The prey I take the most pleasure in pursuing. Do not mistake yourself into thinking I will be far away; every step you take, every blow you strike against my "toys," I will be there, watching closely.
He leaned toward your ear once more, his hot breath laden with a murderous and lascivious intent that would have made anyone shudder, save for you.
— Play your game, Y/N. Break whatever toys you want. But remember: the more you move, the harder it will be for you to hide when I finally decide the hunt has reached its end. I will be watching every beat of your heart.
