chrollo x reader.
notes: no warnings, other than the fact that this was written in 20 minutes max. fluff. chrollos a loser (again)
"I'm telling you..." You release an exasperated sigh, "It tastes like hand sanitizer at best." Your fervent pleas are almost running dry, no longer opting for softer approaches on expressing your displeasure of being forced to taste test wine in the middle of the night. You glace at the the red liquid swirling in your glass and immediately wince as the aftertaste you had to endure a few moments ago suddenly comes back to memory- an odd concoction of acidic, bitter, sour, and sharp resulting in a terrible pang to your taste buds. As attractive the deep, dark shade of red looks, it does not taste as good as its visuals intend.
"...I see." Chrollo says, his compliance suspicious to you. He does not seem that all amused that he's practically wasting what seems to be the most high-end wines on you. Five bottles of wine- all he had assured would be your favorite as it is his- situated on top of the cold dining room table. All each 'exquisite wine' have earned your ire, each more than the last.
"Perhaps you'd prefer ones of the medium-bodied wines instead." Chrollo smiles as he turns around to one of the cupboards and you groan. You're in your pyjamas, sleep mask shoved back messily creating all sorts of odd curls and spikes of your hair, and you don't know where your other slipper went so you're barefoot on your left foot. Your irritation only grows by each moment you're not warm and engulfed under heavy blankets, under dim lights and some light music in your ears. Instead you're in this cold, annoyingly bright room with the sour, sharp stench of wine stabbing your nasals.
"Chrollo, please. I know your last name's Lucilfer or whatever but don't live up to it." If you had more energy, you would climb over the table and (try to) strangle the man. But all you can do right now is amp up the complaints, which you don't have to guess are entering his ear and escaping the other. "God, it's almost one the morning. Don't you have an... Oh, I don't know, a heist or something due by 12 tomorrow?"
"Yes." He turns around, two more bottles of wine in his hand. You instinctively cover your glass in caution. And the vermin has the audacity to chuckle. "I'm thinking of heisting wine houses."
You think about smashing every single bottle he brings back on his head.