Aug 1, 2025
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Ig I forgot I have a tumblr so I will be spam posting now, sorry 🙏
❝'𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠'❞
Summary: You and Your Husband, Pariston Hill, are getting ready for a large donation event for the Hunter Association, but just as you’re preparing to leave and show your husband your outfit, it appears you look 'too good'.
Author’s Note: This is going to be a miniseries (Yes, we getting suggestive [17+, barely, if you squintƪ໒꒰ྀི´꒳` ꒱ྀི১ʃ] with this one ૮₍ • ˕ - ₎ა♡⋆⟡˖ ) of my personal headcannons on how HXH men would react to you wearing a distracting outfit. If you have a request for who you’d like to see next in this little series, leave a comment and lmk! I hope you enjoy! ໒꒰ྀི๑ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ๑꒱ྀིა -ᵇᵇʸᵇˡᵒᵒʳᵒˢᵉˢ𐔌՞. .՞𐦯🩵
Part Two: "Distracting": Illumi Zoldyck
It was late evening in Swadarni City, and the hint of sunset added a warm glow onto your vanity mirror as you applied the final touches on your makeup. As you applied your lip gloss, you watched your husband put on one of his many ties, his signature grin already plastered on his face.
You both were getting ready for a big donor event for the Hunter Association. It wasn’t the first time you heard about this event, but it was the first time you’d be attending as ‘Mrs. Hill’. In addition, this particular annual donation event brings in almost a quarter of the Hunter Association's funding, so it is a big deal, especially for Pariston.
As Vice Chairman, your Husband had a huge role to play, which, of course, he never shied away from as the man practically bathed himself in attention, not to mention the fact that he practically had his hand in every guest’s wallet as soon as they entered the room and laid eyes on his pristine smile and handsome face.
As you finished the final touches on your outfit, you stood up from the vanity and walked over to your husband. He was fixing the final touches on his suit until he froze for a moment as he saw you, and he immediately realized the attention may not be his tonight with how gorgeous you look.
He couldn’t tell if it was the warm sunset glow in your shared bedroom, the subtle sheen on your lips from your signature lip gloss, or your intoxicating perfume that mixed perfectly with your natural scent that caused him to pause.
Or at least that’s what he originally thought until he finally let the sight of you in that dress sink in, and his original assumptions were pushed aside.
God, that dress.
A dress that paired perfectly with his suit and hugged you in all the right places and more. With the way you’d look, it could easily be mistaken that this event was about something for you and not some stupid charity event.
“Well-..? What do you think?” You softly asked your husband as you straightened his tie.
“I think it’s beautiful, but may I ask what drew you to this…eye-catching ensemble?” Pariston said as he stepped closer to you, his hands resting on your hips.
“Oh! Well, I thought it’d look nice with your suit.” You hummed, taking pride in your dress choice.
“So you wanted to copy me?” Pariston said, already twisting your words before you could even process how to respond.
“Copy-? No, I wanted—“ You stammered, taken aback by your Husband’s sudden accusations.
“We don’t want the donor’s thinking you’re just some unoriginal trophy wife, do we?” Pariston condescendingly cooed at you.
“Well, no—“ You said.
“Perfect! I’m so glad we agree, darling. I must admit it’s a beautiful dress…so let me…take it off you.” Pariston said not bothering to wait for your reply, as he was already unzipping your dress.
Truthfully, He was jealous. Jealous of all the eyes that’d be on you. Eyes that’d usually be on him now on what’s his and he couldn’t— no. He wouldn’t allow that.
A sight like this should only be for his eyes, and as long as you’re with him, that’s exactly how it’ll be.
As his hands continued to move and maneuver your clothing, your damn narcissist of a husband kept talking as he slowly stripped you.
“You look so much better like this anyway, y’know?”
“Was this your plan all along? To distract me and try to get my attention?”
“Don’t act shy. You have my full attention now, and you’re going to love every second of it.”
As soon as your everything dress hit the floor, it was safe to say that you’d both be arriving late to the event.
Once you arrived, no matter how many times Pariston said it was because you took too long to get ready, That he just couldn’t bear to leave you behind, or whatever excuse he made up for the night, Anyone who saw the marks on your neck and the faint lip gloss stains on Pariston's collar could tell your lateness was simply because Pariston couldn’t keep his hands off you.
Written By - ᵇᵇʸᵇˡᵒᵒʳᵒˢᵉˢ𐔌՞. .՞𐦯🩵 Word Count: 0.6k♡༉‧₊˚. Reblogs + Comments are appreciated! ⋆｡‧˚ 🩵ིྀ ˚‧｡⋆
miscellaneous hunter x hunters
🎣⸝⸝ Hunter x Hunter (2011). PSD "Wow" por @colour-source (com alguns ajustes). Obrigado pela sugestão, @elizabethsloann.
Sitting on their lap - HXH adults
In these imagines you are in a relationship with these characters~ Any POV! SFW, but with underlying yandere themes for some characters. A long post so I put it under "keep reading"~ Characters: Kurapika, Leorio, Chrollo, Hisoka, Illumi, Pariston, Kite, Nobunaga, Pakunoda, Machi and Silva
𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧/𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭]
✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦
𝑷𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅: 05/25/2026
𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: As the Chairman’s right hand, you are the only one capable of keeping Pariston Hill in check. But after an assassination attempt at a formal banquet turns into a dangerous display of mutual obsession, the boundary between professional boundaries and toxic desire completely dissolves. He thinks he’s a predator who finally cornered his prey—but you’ve always known exactly how to play his game.
𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 7.6k
𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: As a way to say thank you for all the reblogs and likes, I present to you a lemon of a character I’m also super fascinated by!!! Our mysterious and sadistic Rat of the Zodiac!! :-D Besides, I’m officially declaring this week as: LEMON FICS/HEADCANONS WEEK!!! So, if you're reading this or just passing by, take the chance and drop your suggestions in my ask box!! Happy reading, everyone :-)
𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔:
𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒚𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒔: Strong/Badass Executive Assistant Reader (Y/n), Fem!Reader, Power Struggle, Mutual Obsession, Toxic Chemistry, Dominant/Possessive Pariston Hill, Mind Games.
𝑬𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂 & 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 (𝟏𝟖+): Heavy Smut / Lemon, Degradation/Praise, Hair Pulling, Marking/Biting/Spanking, Exhibitionism (Open-air balcony sex overlooking Yorknew City), Bareback, Overstimulated/Climax Loss, Rough Sex, and Desk/Armchair Fucking.
𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒂/𝑨𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑨𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆: Precision Nen usage (Ko/Advanced Combat), Association Politics/Zodiac Lore (Kanzai & Cheadle cameos), and brutal weaponization of office supplies.
Three months. That was the absolute record for anyone holding the position of executive assistant to the Vice Chairman of the Hunter Association. The last person to occupy the mahogany desk right outside the main office had left on a stretcher, muttering nonsense about golden butterflies and plastic smiles, completely broken by Pariston Hill’s psychological games.
You, however, were already in your fourth month. And you had absolutely no intention of resigning.
As an elite professional Hunter, you had already dealt with man-eating beasts, treacherous terrains, and the worst kind of criminals. To you, Pariston was just another high-risk mission, wrapped in an impeccable three-piece suit with perfectly styled blonde hair.
—(y/n)-chan~ his voice echoed through the open door, drawn-out, childishly melodic, and dripping with that fake sweetness that made anyone else's stomach turn. —Could you come in here for a second? I think I made a little slip-up.
You let out a faint, nearly imperceptible sigh before adjusting your glasses and your posture. You stood up, picked up your corporate tablet, and walked into his office. Upon entering, you were met with the usual chaos.
Pariston was sitting behind his desk, chin resting on his interlaced hands, with that radiant, toothpaste-commercial smile plastered across his face. On the giant projection screen behind him, red alerts were flashing: a deliberate error in a budget release had frozen the resources for three crucial Zodiac missions, and Cheadle was already calling the front desk incessantly. An absolute political and financial crisis, orchestrated by him on a silver platter.
All just to see your reaction.
—I signed the wrong memorandum on purpose, he confessed, his eyes gleaming with an almost feverish anticipation, leaning forward so as not to miss a single millimeter of your expression. —The support Hunters are furious, and Cheadle promised to have my head. What are we going to do, (y/n)-chan? Are we doomed?
He wanted to see panic. He wanted to see anger, frustration, a vein popping on your forehead, or your hands shaking—and you were not going to give him that satisfaction. Pariston Hill was a man who fed on destroying what he loved, and he was absolutely fascinated by your self-control. The colder you remained, the more absurd the crises he engineered became, all in the desperate hope of tearing a single genuine reaction from your unbothered facade.
You looked at the alert screen, then directly into his hypnotic, golden eyes. Your face remained an icy mask, flawlessly professional.
—The budget freeze was already anticipated in my contingency report last week, Vice Chairman, you replied, your voice calm and measured, without a single trace of emotion. —I have already redirected funds from a secondary Association account to cover the support Hunters. As for Miss Cheadle, I scheduled a clarification meeting for tomorrow at nine, citing a technical system glitch. Will there be anything else?
Pariston’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, sharpening into something slightly edge-like and darker. He let out a low laugh, a dangerous melody that sent a shiver down the back of your neck, though you didn't let it show.
—You really are incredible, (y/n)-chan... he murmured, rising from his chair with a predatory slowness and walking around the desk until he stopped just a few inches away from you. The scent of his expensive cologne invaded your senses. —So cold. So perfect. Sometimes I wonder if you have blood running through those veins, or just ice. What do I have to do to see what’s hidden behind this perfect assistant persona?
The tension in the room shifted drastically. There he was again, playing his usual mind games. This wasn't about politics or the Association anymore. His game had just become strictly personal, and the air between the two of you suddenly grew heavy, thick, and... dangerously hot.
Right then, you arched your left eyebrow, your lips tugging up into a smirk.
—My job here is to manage your political crises, Vice Chairman, not your personal cravings, you shot back instantly, your voice as sharp and polished as a scalpel. You took a single, milimetrically calculated step backward, re-establishing a professional distance between you two without breaking eye contact. —If you wish to test my blood temperature, I suggest you hire a doctor. My contract with the Association only stipulates the use of my intellectual faculties and my Hunter license.
Pariston’s smile widened, but now it carried a hint of genuine surprise. He was used to a completely different kind of reception.
After all, Pariston Hill's reputation within the Hunter Association wasn't limited to his political brilliance; he was a social predator in every sense of the word. The Vice Chairman's floor had already been the stage for countless casting couch attempts—or "bedroom promises," as some in the international high ranks preferred to call it. Ambitious employees, secretaries from other departments, and even lower-ranked Hunters frequently tried to use seduction as currency, throwing themselves at the blonde's magnetic and dangerous charm in hopes of securing an easy promotion or a high-level position within the Association.
Pariston, of course, was fully aware of the power he wielded. He never refused. He took advantage of every suggestive glance, every "accidental" touch, and every body that threw itself in his direction, using them solely for his own pleasure and the pure entertainment of seeing just how low human ambition could degrade someone. But the second the act was over and they tried to collect their price, his smile would turn ice-cold. The fate of all of them was the same: absolute failure, quiet resignations, or transfers to forgotten border posts at the edge of the world. Pariston loved destroying the expectations of anyone who thought they could manipulate him through sex.
But you? You were the first person to look at the most powerful, coveted man in the Association and treat him as if he were nothing more than a poorly formatted report.
—Ah, (y/n)-chan... you break my heart acting like this, he dramatized, placing a gloved hand over his chest, though his golden eyes were ablaze, devouring your flawless posture. —The other assistants used to be much more... cooperative. They understood that a man in my position has an extremely stressful job. They tried to please me in so many ways... Why do you have to be the only exception?
—Because unlike my predecessors, Mr. Hill, I don't need sexual favors or to lie on your desk to prove I am the best Hunter in this room, you shot back with a frankness so brutal and direct that the ensuing silence could practically be cut with a knife. You adjusted the files in your arms, keeping your spine perfectly straight. —If I move up the ranks, it will be on my own merit. And if you sign the wrong memorandum again, the report goes straight to Cheadle, with no contingency plan. Excuse me.
You turned on your heels and walked firmly toward the exit. The sound of your heels clicking against the granite floor was the only noise in the room—an echo of pure audacity. You closed the heavy mahogany door behind you, leaving the Vice Chairman behind.
Left alone in the vastness of the office, the silence swallowed the room.
Slowly, Pariston's perfectly poised posture relaxed. The sunlight streaming through the massive glass windows seemed to dim, paling before the dark, thick, and suffocating aura that began to emanate from his body. That malicious energy he kept under lock and key beneath his expensive suit began to spill over, warping the very air around him.
The angelic, TV-commercial smile vanished. In its place, the corners of his lips stretched from ear to ear in a wide, fixed, and purely psychotic grin—the same vacant, terrifying look he wore when hanging up the phone after manipulating the lives of hundreds of Hunters. His golden eyes, now stripped of any shred of humanity, stared at the closed door you had just walked through.
He brought his gloved fingers to his mouth, letting out a low, husky chuckle that broke the stillness of the empty room.
—Crafty little slut... he whispered under his breath, savoring every single syllable of the insult as if it were the most exquisite compliment he had ever paid in his life.
Pariston licked his lips, feeling a genuine shiver run down his spine. He didn't just want a reaction from you anymore. He wanted to see how much that straight spine of yours could take before it snapped. He wanted to see that mocking little smirk of yours turn into tears, into ragged breaths, into pure desire for him.
Political chess had just lost its thrill. Pariston Hill's new game was breaking you. And he could hardly wait for the next move.
✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦
Three weeks after the office incident, the perfect opportunity for his next move presented itself in the worst possible setting: the Hunter Association's annual charity banquet. The grand ballroom was packed with high-society figures, influential politicians, and elite Hunters. Pariston, as always, was the center of attention, parading his plastic smile while you stood two steps behind him, holding a tablet and maintaining your usual ice-cold expression.
The danger came without warning.
The sharp sound of shattering glass from the ceiling was immediately followed by the lights abruptly cutting out. A faction of radical political opponents, infiltrated as waiters and security guards, blocked the exits. Before the crowd could even begin to scream, three men wearing dark cloaks and wielding Nen-infused daggers leaped from the upper rafters, aiming directly for the Vice Chairman's head.
Pariston didn't even flinch. He kept his champagne glass in hand and his smile on his face, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, waiting—testing to see if real danger would finally make you falter.
He didn’t even have time to blink.
With an absurdly terrifying speed, you moved. Your corporate tablet was hurled with surgical precision, breaking the nose of the first attacker. In the next split second, your aura exploded around you—a Nen so dense, controlled, and cold it felt like absolute zero. You positioned yourself exactly in front of Pariston.
The first dagger came down. You blocked the bare blade with the palm of your left hand coated in Ko, the metal scraping uselessly against your energy-clad skin. Without changing a single muscle on your face, keeping your eyes focused and wearing the bored expression of someone stamping paperwork, you spun your body and delivered a devastating side kick to the second man's stomach, launching him into a marble pillar with enough force to crack the structure.
The third attacker tried to flank you, but you grabbed the wrist of the man whose dagger you had caught, snapped it with a clean, dry crunch, and used his body as a human shield just as a gunshot echoed through the hall.
The entire thing lasted less than ten seconds. Three elite opposition Hunters down, neutralized.
Slowly, you let the last man's body drop to the floor. Your evening gown remained flawless, save for a slight tear in the sleeve. You wiped the enemy's blood from your knuckles with a tissue you pulled from your blazer pocket.
And then, you turned toward Pariston. Your face was a desert of emotion. No heavy breathing, no trace of fear, no rush of adrenaline. Just the same cynical look. You arched your left eyebrow, glancing at the champagne glass he was still holding.
—You spilled a little on your suit, Vice Chairman, you said, your voice low, flat, and dripping with silent mockery. —The Association’s laundry service doesn't cover wine stains after 10 PM. I suggest we get this over with.
Pariston looked down at the unconscious men at his feet, then at the stain on his own blazer, and finally, at you.
At that exact moment, something snapped inside Pariston Hill's mind.
A violent, genuine shiver ran up his spine, making his hands tremble ever so slightly. It wasn’t the fear of death; it was the spark of a dysfunctional obsession locking itself into place. He realized he was addicted. Addicted to your disdain, to your indifference, to the way you saved his life as if you were simply taking out the trash.
Pariston's "affection" for you—if you could even call it that—was born right there: a sick need to possess a mind he couldn't decode, to manipulate every single aspect of your life just to keep you orbiting around him. And your affection for him, manifested in that unwavering yet deeply cynical loyalty, was the perfect fuel. You didn’t love him like your predecessors had; you protected him with the same mocked pragmatism one uses to handle a spoiled, dangerous child.
He took a step forward, stepping right into the blood on the floor, and brought his face close to yours. The psychotic smile he usually reserved for his loneliness almost slipped out in front of everyone, laced with a dark excitement.
—You are simply delicious, (y/n)-chan... he whispered, his voice husky, his golden eyes fully dilated as they scanned your unbothered face. —You risked your life for me without even blinking. Is this love? he asked, his tone teasing.
You held his gaze, flashing the exact same smirk from weeks ago.
—Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Hill. If you die, I lose my year-end hazard pay bonus. And the job market out there is terrible.
Pariston let out a loud, almost insane laugh that echoed through the ruined ballroom. He wanted you. In that very second, he decided he was going to rip that elite composure of yours right down the middle, even if he had to drag both of you to hell to do it.
—If you are finished with your dramatic monologue, I suggest you move, you interrupted, putting away your used tissue and straightening your blazer with a sharp motion. —I pinged local law enforcement and the Association’s internal affairs via my tablet's emergency channel before taking down that last guy. They’ll be here in less than five minutes to evacuate the ballroom and secure the perimeter. And I really don't have the patience to fill out incident reports until sunrise.
You turned your back on him without waiting for an answer, walking calmly toward the private emergency exit, your flawless posture and firm steps echoing beneath the panicked whispers of the other guests who were just beginning to stand up.
Pariston remained standing in the exact same spot, right where you had left him.
Around him, chaos erupted as the building's alarms began to blare, but to the Vice Chairman, everything seemed to move in silent slow motion. His golden eyes were locked onto your retreating back. His gloved hands, still holding the champagne glass, began to visibly tremble—not out of fear, but from the shock of a purely psychological adrenaline rush he had never experienced before.
The smile on his face widened grotesquely, stretching to the absolute limits of his features in a purely psychotic, insane grin as his teeth clenched under the pressure of his tight jaw. An overwhelming heat surged up his chest; the urge to run after you, pin you against the first wall of that dark corridor, and forcibly rip that mocking look right off your face was almost uncontrollable.
I need to control myself... I need to control myself...—the voice echoed darkly within his mind, drawn-out and thick, like a macabre mantra trying to contain the monster clawing to break free from beneath his skin.
He closed his eyes for a brief second, taking a deep breath of the scent your perfume had left in the air, intermingled with the smell of the blood of his opponents. Pariston knew that if he gave in to that impulse right now, he would ruin the game too quickly. He needed to savor the process. He needed you exactly where he wanted you before delivering the checkmate.
Opening his eyes again, with his fingers still trembling and his heart beating in a frantic, sick rhythm, he took his first step after you, forcing his plastic smile back into place, but keeping his eyes completely fixed on his prey.
Two weeks after the banquet attack, the routine at the Association had returned to its usual axis of bureaucracy and tension. The success of your containment strategy had boosted your internal prestige even further, drawing the attention not only of the high-ranking officials but also of other elite Hunters who frequented the Vice Chairman’s floor.
And that, to the misfortune of anyone who dared approach, did not go unnoticed by Pariston Hill.
You were in the archives and reports section of the Zodiacs' floor, organizing the documents for the upcoming global meeting. The silence of the corridor was broken by the massive, loud presence of Kanzai. The elite Hunter and advanced bodyguard walked into the sector with his arms crossed behind his head, his face wearing its usual scowl, but his eyes focused directly on you.
— Hey, (y/n) — Kanzai called out, leaning against the side of the desk where you were working, deliberately invading your space. He looked you up and down, letting out a sharp click of his tongue. — I heard about what you did at the banquet. Taking down three elite guys with a tablet and a kick? Not bad for a secretary in a suit.
You didn't even look up from the document you were signing.
— Just fulfilling my contractual obligations, Mr. Kanzai. If you'll excuse me, I need to finish these reports.
— Stop being so uptight — Kanzai laughed, leaning in a little closer with a smirk that tried to be charming but just came off as cocky. — What is a Hunter of your caliber doing serving coffee and cleaning up that washed-out blonde’s messes? You're wasting your potential there. My elite squad needs someone with your coldness for the next containment mission on the border. The pay is triple. And besides... I’d know how to appreciate a woman like you much better than that psychotic snob. How about dinner tonight to close the contract?
You finally raised your face, arching your left eyebrow, ready to give the Tiger one of your surgical shut-downs. However, before the first word could leave your mouth, the temperature in the room dropped drastically.
— My, Kanzai-kun... what a fascinating proposal.
Pariston's voice echoed from the shadows of the archive entrance. He stepped into the room with completely silent strides, his arms casually crossed behind his back. The plastic smile was right there, perfectly molded, but the aura around him... was something else entirely. It wasn't the explosive energy of a battle; it was a heavy, suffocating Nen that seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the room, like a predator that had just found an intruder in its territory.
Kanzai immediately straightened up, his combat instincts flaring as his own aura flared defensively.
— Pariston — Kanzai growled, narrowing his eyes. — Don't butt in. I'm just offering (Y/n) a real opportunity. She's way too good to be kept on your political leash.
Pariston stopped exactly one step away from you. He didn't look at you; his golden eyes, fixed and completely devoid of any warmth, stared directly at Kanzai's neck. His jealousy didn't manifest like that of an ordinary man—there were no shouts or drama. It was possessive, surgical, and quietly terrifying.
— Leash? What an ugly word — Pariston commented, his voice smooth, almost a childish whisper, as he extended his gloved hand. With an audacity you had never allowed before, he lightly touched your shoulder, squeezing his fingers there to mark his possession clearly. — (y/n)-chan is exactly where she wants to be. But I am touched by your interest in the efficiency of my department. In fact, I am so touched that I think I can help your squad.
Kanzai took a step back, sensing the very real danger radiating from that static smile.
— What are you talking about?
— I have just reviewed the patrol routes and priority missions for the coming month, Kanzai-kun — Pariston continued, his tone terribly cheerful, revealing the web he was capable of weaving in seconds to destroy someone. — The defense sector in the Swartani region has a terrible staffing deficit. An S-rank war zone, you know? Since you are so proactive and worried about wasted potential, I have just signed your immediate transfer as the leader of that front line. You leave tomorrow at five in the morning. Cheadle has already approved it. It should be around... a two-year isolated mission? No phone reception, I'm afraid.
Kanzai's face paled with rage and shock. Pariston had crossed political lines and moved high-ranking pieces of the Association in a matter of minutes, using his power in a purely strategic and cruel way, all just to banish a man who dared to flirt with you and threaten to take you from his side.
— You... manipulative bastard! You did this on purpose! — Kanzai stepped forward, his fist clenched.
Pariston let out a low, husky chuckle—the same dark sound from that night in the office—tilting his head to the side. His pupils were dilated, locked onto the Zodiac with a silent promise of death if he took one more step toward the two of you.
— I suggest you go pack your bags, Kanzai-kun. The Swartani desert gets very cold at night. We wouldn't want you to be late for your new... destination.
Kanzai looked at Pariston, then at you—you who maintained the same cynical expression and small smirk, finding this entire display of possessiveness absurdly pathetic, yet fascinating. Realizing he was playing a game where the rules had already been rigged against him, the Tiger muttered a curse, turned on his heel, and stormed out, his aura huffing with hatred.
When the door closed, silence reigned in the archive once again.
Pariston slowly removed his hand from your shoulder, but he didn't step back. His breathing was slightly faster. The line between a political game and a sick obsession with you had completely vanished. He was risking his own stability with the Zodiacs just to ensure that no one else touched what belonged to him.
You spun around in your chair, looking up at him from under crossed arms, letting out a mocking sigh.
— An S-Rank transfer over a dinner invitation, Vice Chairman? Your sense of priorities is getting worse and worse.
Pariston leaned over your desk, bracing both hands on the wood, trapping your body. His smile now was purely hungry, his golden eyes burning.
— I told you, (y/n)-chan... I hate when people try to mess with my things. And you are the only thing in this entire Association that I refuse to share.
He licked his lips, the sexual tension that had been building up for months finally hitting its boiling point. He leaned in even closer, until his lips almost blurred against the contour of your ear, and whispered in a deep, gravelly drawl:
— The shift is over, Assistant. And this place is much too small for what I want to do to you. My driver is already waiting downstairs. Let's settle this at my penthouse. Now.
⚠️ [ NSFW / LEMON WARNING ] ⚠️
The ride in the armored car had been a silent test of endurance, but it was upon crossing the threshold of the foyer that the sheer vastness of Pariston Hill’s territory revealed itself.
You stepped into the main living room, a monumental space of ultra-high luxury that seemed to float over the metropolis, framed by floor-to-ceiling panoramic glass walls that displayed the sea of glittering city lights below. The ceiling was high, supported by minimalist beams, and the dark porcelain tile floor reflected the soft, recessed lighting of the room. In the background, sliding doors made of fine wood and frosted glass indicated the pathways to the other opulent rooms of the penthouse. The atmosphere here wasn't just wealthy; it was imposing, utterly isolated from the rest of the world.
Instead of the hurried advance that the tension in the car had suggested, Pariston moved with a calculated slowness. He walked over to an exclusive, custom-designed armchair upholstered in dark, genuine leather and settled into it. Next to the chair, on a sleek accent table made of marble and brushed gold, rested a crystal decanter filled with aged whiskey and a heavy-bottomed lowball glass.
He leaned back into the leather, crossing one leg over the other. His expensive three-piece suit jacket was already half-open, his white dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing the toned muscles and the firm abdominal lines of an elite Hunter. The first few buttons of his dress pants were undone as well, giving him a dangerously disheveled, magnetic air.
Pariston propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his chin in his hand. His golden eyes, completely dilated and gleaming with a hungry malice in the dim light, locked onto you as you stood right in the center of that monumental room.
His smile stretched into a sharp, psychotic smirk. He didn’t just want your body; he wanted to test the limits of your pride.
— Stay right in front of me, (y/n)-chan... — his voice echoed through the immense room, drawn-out, in a low tone that made your core ripple. — Turn your back to me. Take off your skirt very slowly... then take off your panties. Arch your ass nicely for your Vice Chairman... and then open it. I want to see just how receptive you really are for me today.
The command was explicit, profane, and loaded with an audacity meticulously designed to see if you would hesitate.
You held his gaze in the dim light of the luxurious room. Far from showing the shame or submission that any other woman would feel, you arched your left eyebrow. The same side smirk, cynical and mocking, appeared on your lips. You accepted his challenge with your eyes, ready to put on the show he wanted so badly, but playing under your own terms of control.
The challenge thrown by Pariston floated in the heavy air of the monumental living room, but the reaction he obtained was not the embarrassment he was seeking so much. You took a step forward, fixing your eyes on his with an unshakable audacity, letting your side smirk dictate the rules of the game. If he wanted a show, you would give him the boldest performance of his life.
You began a mini-striptease right there, right in front of that luxurious armchair. With a torturous slowness, your hips began to move, swaying your waist in a rhythmic, sinuous cadence to the rhythm of an invisible song. Your hands descended along the sides of your dark pencil skirt, undoing the zipper with a snap that echoed through the silence of the apartment. Your eyes did not drift from his for a single second as you slid the structured fabric down your thighs, rolling your hips provocatively, playing with the blonde's expectations. When the piece finally gave way, you lifted one leg with pure elegance and, in a fluid motion, kicked the skirt forward, making it land exactly over Pariston's knees.
His gaze followed the fabric for a fraction of a second before snapping back to you, his pupils even more dilated.
Taking your time, you made a stylish and calculated turn on your pointed-toe stiletto heels, standing completely with your back to him. Your hands descended with precision to your hips, your pinky fingers firmly hooking into the two thin straps of your thong—a choice of lingerie that proved you already knew exactly what was waiting for you tonight.
Keeping your legs extended and maintaining the flawless posture of an elite Hunter, you pushed your hips back and leaned forward, lowering your torso in a controlled movement, identical to the perfect execution of a stiff leg deadlift at the gym. Your glutes arched prominently toward Pariston while you slid the panties very slowly down your toned legs, until the fabric touched the dark porcelain floor, leaving you perfectly naked from the waist down, wearing nothing but your stiletto heels.
Still in that bent-over position, showcasing the flawless curvature of your back and the firmness of your muscles, you brought both hands to your buttocks.
With firm fingers, you spread your ass cheeks, revealing to Pariston the most intimate and profane sight he could ever desire: your intimacy completely exposed, your inner lips already glistening, slick and wet from the desire you had been accumulating for months beneath that corporate facade.
The sound of his whiskey glass snapping against the marble side table was the only warning that the Vice Chairman's self-control had imploded. Pariston, who until then had been watching everything like a cynical spectator, leaned forward in his armchair, his heavy breathing cutting through the silence of the room. His psychotic smile vanished completely, replaced by an expression of pure obsession, locked onto the wet jewel you were displaying so deliberately to him.
You stood back up with an outrageous slowness, spinning on your pointed heels to face him head-on. With your fingertips, you fished the thong off the floor and, with an agile and mocking flick, threw it straight at his face.
Pariston caught the damp fabric out of the air with Hunter-level reflexes. Instead of getting angry at the audacity, his golden eyes gleamed with an insane lust. He brought the lingerie directly to his nose, closing his eyelids for a few seconds as he deeply inhaled your erotic and natural scent, mixed with the corporate perfume you wore. The contrast of that intimate fragrance made his jaw clench, and a low growl vibrated deep within his throat.
He pulled the fabric away from his face but kept it gripped in one of his gloved hands. The smile he wore now was the darkest, hungriest, and most psychotic that had ever crossed his lips. The mask of the Vice Chairman had been completely incinerated.
— Come here, you little slut... — Pariston's voice echoed through the monumental room, raspy, dense, and stripped of any childish tone. He leaned forward in the leather armchair, spreading his legs and exposing the rigid length beneath his unzipped trousers. — Let me show you what a dirty bitch like you deserves...
Far from being intimidated by the derogatory words, you accepted the insult as the highest level of fuel for that game. Your side smirk of pure mockery remained steady. You dropped to your knees on the dark porcelain floor and began to advance toward him, crawling across the expanse of the luxurious living room.
You arched your back deeply, keeping your ass as high as possible toward the mirrored ceiling with every advance of your knees and hands. The stiletto heels still on your feet provided an absurdly sinful and provocative angle to your hips, making your slick core glisten under the soft lighting of the room. During the entire path, you did not break eye contact for even a fraction of a second. It was a direct visual confrontation, a silent pact that, even in that position of physical submission, your mind remained untamed.
Pariston watched that feline approach with his chest rising and falling rapidly, the dark and possessive aura radiating from his muscular body as he waited for you to finally cross the distance between the spectator and his prey.
— You crawled on your knees across the floor until the top of your head almost touched his knees. With an excruciating slowness, you pressed both palms against the inside of Pariston's thighs, right where the fabric of his dress pants was tense from his rigid length.
You began to slide your fingers upward seductively, like a serpent climbing its prey, lightly scratching your nails against the fabric and moving up his hips, mapping the musculature of his waist until you reached his exposed abdomen. Using his body for support, you slowly rose to your feet, your stiletto heels snapping against the floor as you stood right between his parted legs. Without breaking eye contact, you reached your hands behind your back, unbuttoning your blazer and dress shirt in a single fluid motion and letting them slip off your shoulders, revealing your full breasts and goosebump-covered skin, completely bare in front of him.
Pariston, who was already fed up with this control game of yours and that torturous teasing, lost whatever remaining sanity he had left.
With a sudden and exciting brutality, his gloved hands dug into your waist like claws. He gave a violent tug downward, flipping your body through the air without the slightest effort and tossing you face down, draped across his thick thighs. The force of the impact crushed your breasts against the leather of the armchair, leaving your ass arched perfectly in the air, completely defenseless and exposed.
— You slut... — Pariston growled right against the nape of your neck, his hot breath burning your skin while his dark aura pinned you against his legs. — Did you really think you were going to keep dictating the rules of my game? Look at you, shaking all over while displaying this fat ass in my face. You spent months pretending to be the perfect secretary, but the truth is you were desperate to be treated like the whore you are. I am going to wipe that smug look right off your face so hard that you'll forget your own name by the time I'm done with you.
Before you could deliver your usual verbal comeback, Pariston raised his gloved hand and delivered a violent, full-force slap to your right buttock.
SMACK!
The sharp, stinging sound of the slap echoed cleanly off the glass walls of that monumental room, breaking the silence of the penthouse. The sharp, burning pain shot instantly up your spine, tearing a breathless little gasp from your throat, a mix of sudden shock and an overwhelming wave of pure arousal. The impact was so intense that your core, completely exposed and suspended in the air, throbbed violently, dripping even more wetness down your thighs.
Pariston saw the red mark of his fingers instantly map itself onto your pale skin and, turned on by the sound of your moan, gave you no time to breathe. He began to deliver several slaps in a row, a rhythmic and relentless sequence that made your ass bounce under his hands. With every stinging blow that echoed through the apartment, your skin burned a vivid shade of red, and the sensation of physical submission mixed with desire made your entire body shake, completely surrendered to your Vice Chairman's punishment.
The relentless sequence of blows ceased abruptly, leaving the heavy silence of the room to be filled only by the sound of your breathless and uneven breathing. Pariston kept his gloved palm resting on your skin, feeling the feverish heat radiating from the red marks he had just drawn. He began to caress your buttocks with an almost reverent slowness, his fingers tracing the contours of your punished ass, admiring the result of his work.
It felt too good to see you that way. The image of the flawless Chief Assistant, who once looked down on him with disdain, now lying face down on his lap, her body trembling and her core pulsing with excitement, was the greatest trophy he could ever desire. His urge was to break you right then and there, to shatter that pose of yours in half and satisfy the violent desire consuming him. But no... he wanted to wait. Pariston did not want you as a disposable object or a toy to be broken and thrown away, as he had done with so many other employees. He wanted you as his sole and definitive counterpart; the perfect mirror of his own madness, the only mind capable of rivaling his chaos.
With a sharp shift in his movements, Pariston grabbed your waist and lifted you up, pulling your body until you were sitting on his lap, facing him, with your legs spread around his hips. Your thighs were pressed against his defined abdomen, and the heat of your naked skin against his was the trigger for whatever sanity remained in the room.
No longer holding back, Pariston lunged at your lips. The kiss was a burning, desperate collision, loaded with months of accumulated tension. Your tongues met in a fierce battle; both biting, pulling, and fighting for dominance over the kiss, refusing to yield control, even as your sweaty bodies melded together. You dug your nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer, while he used his free hand to guide your hips.
Seizing the exact moment you threw your head back slightly to catch your breath, with your mouth still half-open and your eyes locked onto his, Pariston gripped your waist firmly and thrust his hips upward.
It was the perfect moment. Without any warning or soft foreplay, he buried his cock all at once, sinking completely into your already excessively slick and warm wetness.
The impact filled you entirely, making your body arch in his lap. A loud, sharp gasp, completely stripped of any pride, tore from your throat, echoing off the glass walls of the luxurious penthouse, while your inner walls clenched in shock around his rigidity. Pariston let out a visceral growl against your neck, delighting in the sensation of finally having broken the last barrier between the two of you.
In the midst of the relentless rhythm, with your body pressed against his and your mind floating in a pure trance, you dug your nails into Pariston's muscular shoulders. Throwing your head back, you held his gaze and let your usual side smirk return, even with your breath short.
— Dirty blonde... — you panted, your voice thick with lust but loaded with that mockery he loved so much. — Is this all the great Vice Chairman has to offer? I thought the man who wants to rule the Association knew how to fuck with a little more authority. Are you giving me orders or asking for my permission?
Pariston clenched his jaw for a second before letting out a low, husky chuckle, that psychotic and hungry smile ripping across his face in the dim light. His golden eyes gleamed with a dangerous promise.
— You really don't know when to shut your mouth, do you, (y/n)-chan? — he whispered in a terribly smooth voice, but his gloved fingers squeezed your waist with brutal force. — I love how loudly you bark before you are tamed. Let me show you who runs this desk.
In the very next fraction of a second, he delivered an upward thrust, ramming with devastating force deep inside your core. The impact was so profound that it made your eyes roll back, and a breathless groan was cut short when Pariston pulled your face and went back to kissing you with savagery. He slammed into you violently, without mercy, using his own body weight to pin you against the back of the luxurious armchair, turning the act into a delicious punishment.
Suddenly, Pariston stopped moving. The snap of the climax hadn't arrived yet, and his brilliant, sick mind demanded an even larger stage for that obsession.
Without disconnecting from you by a single millimeter, he stood up from the armchair in one swift motion, supporting the entire weight of your body with his strong arms hooked under your thighs. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips and crossed your arms around the blonde's neck to keep from falling.
Pariston walked with firm strides toward the massive glass doors that led to the balcony. With a voice command, the automation slid the panels open, and the cold night wind rushed into the room, sending a shiver through both of your sweaty bodies. He stepped out onto the immense, glass-floored hanging balcony, advancing over the empty space.
Outside, the monumental, breathtaking view of Yorknew City stretched out to the horizon — an endless sea of skyscrapers, neon lights, and busy avenues hundreds of meters below you.
Pariston pinned your back against the tempered glass railing of the balcony. The contrast of the cold metal against your skin and the gélid night wind hitting your bare breasts made your whole body shake. Without giving you time to get used to the height, he grabbed one of your legs, lifting it even higher, and began to slam into you right there, in the open air.
The thrusts were violent, fast, and deep, making the glass railing vibrate under the impact of your bodies. Without the barriers of the walls, your loud, sharp, echoing moans ripped through the Yorknew night.
Pariston leaned over your ear, watching the lights of the metropolis reflected in your eyes, which were filled with tears of pleasure.
— That's it, you slut... moan nice and loud — he ordered, his raspy voice mixing with the sound of the wind, while his gloved hand squeezed your throat lightly, just to dictate his control. — Make the people down there hear who you are moaning so good for. Show this entire city who runs the Association's perfect secretary. Moan my name, (y/n)!
You let out a breathless cry, digging your nails into his back, feeling the pleasure reach an almost unbearable level before the abyss of the city and the sick possessiveness of the man holding you.
The audacity you had sustained for so many months finally dissolved into pure ecstasy. Pinned against the glass railing, with the immensity of Yorknew below you, the pleasure reached the point of no return. Your inner walls began to contract violently and spasmodically around his cock. You threw your head back, your eyes tearing up before the void, and surrendered the last of your control:
— Pariston...! Ah! Pariston! — you moaned loudly, your voice tearing through the cold night, echoing in the open space of the penthouse.
The sound of his own name being claimed with such desperation by the coldest woman in the Association was the perfect trigger for the blonde's sick mind. He let out an unhinged laugh, a euphoric, psychotic, and purely insane sound that blended into the wind. He loved seeing you completely disarmed. In response to your outcry, he raised his gloved hand and delivered another violent slap to your already red and hot ass.
SMACK!
— Louder, (Y/n)-chan! — he laughed through his teeth, his voice thick with a sick excitement.
The blow tore an even sharper, more breathless cry from your throat, and the impact made your core pulse overwhelmingly, gushing wetness. Both of you were completely out of breath, chests pressed together, sweat evaporating in the freezing air of the balcony. Pariston accelerated his thrusts brutally, turning the sex into a sequence of sharp, fast, and deep pounding that made your hips slam against the glass.
Looking at your face completely surrendered to the trance, with your mouth half-open and the spasms betraying your imminent collapse, Pariston smiled triumphantly.
— Oh... are you about to cum already, (Y/n)-chan? — he panted close to your ear, his voice raspy and teasing, while delivering even more savage thrusts. — Look at you, completely open in my lap, shaking because of my cock... Cum... cum all over for your Vice Chairman! Show me just how good it feels to lose control with me!
You dug your nails into his back hard enough to draw blood, feeling the wave of the inevitable orgasm reach its absolute peak. Your core gripped his cock with so much force that Pariston's smile faltered for a second. His pupils dilated to the limit, and his hips tensed.
— Ah... I think I'm about to cum too... — he managed to stammer, trying to maintain his mask of control, but the truth was entirely different.
Oh, shit! I can't take it anymore... I can't control myself anymore!! — the voice echoed in his mind chaotically, an internal scream of pure psychological defeat.
For the first time in his life, Pariston Hill had been completely dominated by his own desire. He, who had always prided himself on dictating the rhythm of everything, was being dragged into the abyss by the tight grip of your wetness. Unable to hold back his own climax for another second, he gripped your waist with an almost crushing force and delivered the final three deepest, most violent thrusts of the night, burying himself deep against your cervix as you both collapsed together into the climax.
✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦✦ ─── ❖ ─── ✦
The next morning's sun rose cutting through the glass panes of the luxury penthouse, illuminating the trail of destruction that betrayed what had happened. After the overwhelming climax on the balcony, the lust between the two of you hadn't stopped; Pariston and you continued to fuck fiercely throughout the entire night, dragging yourselves back to the master bedroom and surrendering to more intense rounds of pure savagery and power struggles until nearly dawn.
In the master bedroom, you were already standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Your skin carried the clear marks of a whole night of excesses — deep bite marks on your neck, finger marks on your hips, and the reddish bruises from the slaps on your ass — but your face had already returned to that usual icy, flawless, and professional expression. You finished buttoning up a spare dress shirt (which you conveniently kept in your bag for emergencies), adjusted your glasses, and tied your hair into a perfect bun.
Returning to the bedroom, you found Pariston sitting on the edge of the bed. He wore only his loose dress pants, his blonde hair completely messy and falling over his eyes. He watched you with folded arms, wearing a genuine, relaxed, and almost hypnotized smile. He was fascinated by the fact that, after being completely undone in his arms during the night, you looked like an untouchable Association robot once again.
You walked over to the nightstand, picked up your corporate tablet, and turned it on. Without looking at him, you began to dictate in a linear, calm voice:
— Good morning, Vice Chairman. It is exactly seven-fifteen in the morning. Your driver is already waiting in the basement. The extraordinary meeting with the Zodiacs is scheduled for eight o'clock sharp. Cheadle will demand explanations about Kanzai's sudden transfer to the Swartani war zone, and you need to have your justification report ready.
— Pariston let out a low laugh, raspy from the intense night, and threw his head back, running a hand through his hair.
— Ah, (Y/n)-chan... you truly are the most terrifying creature I have ever met — he murmured, standing up and walking over to you with that predatory slowness. — We were two animals a few hours ago, I made you beg for my name until dawn... and now you're here, giving me orders as if nothing happened? Where is my slick little slut from last night?
You finally lowered the tablet, raising your eyes to meet his golden pupils. With all the calm in the world, you arched your left eyebrow and gave him your classic side smirk, loaded with mockery and cynicism.
You reached out and gave light, almost condescending taps on his bare, muscular chest.
— Your "slick little slut," Mr. Hill, only punches the clock after office hours — you countered, your voice velvety yet sharp. — From eight to eighteen, I am the Chief Assistant who keeps you from being removed from office or lynched by the other Hunters. So, I suggest you put on a suit and hide those scratches I left on your back, because we have a department to rule. And I detest delays.
You turned around with an elegant spin and walked firmly toward the exit door of the penthouse, the sound of your stiletto heels snapping against the floor like a countdown.
Pariston remained standing in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the door you had just walked through. His smile slowly widened into that broad, intense, and genuinely insane expression. The monster beneath his skin was vibrating with satisfaction.
He hadn't broken you. In fact, he had found the only person in the world who knew how to lock him in a cage and, at the same time, play with the key.
— Delicious... — he whispered to the empty room, feeling a shiver of pure excitement run through his body as he walked to the closet to grab his suit.
The political chess game of the Hunter Association would never be the same again. Because now, the Vice Chairman and his assistant played on the very same board — and the rules were written in blood, sweat, and secrets between silk sheets.
THE END
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𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: Ah, Pariston… that cynical and dark gaze of yours haunts (and attracts) anyone!! I hope you all enjoyed it, and remember: lemon season is officially open, so send your suggestions to my ask already!! See you tomorrow with Adultrio once again :-)
Small comic i made AWHILE ago where killua and gon run away constantly to see if their parents would care if they were gone. They mostly run away cus its fun ,its more like a hobby.
The last one i made for fun .
And here's pariging 🤷♂️and a killugon drawing I made
Yay 😊 idk
some messy doodles of my favorite characters before i go to sleep. 🍅🌀
i was just experimenting and simply having fun while drawing these characters from memory !