#chrollo so fine
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slutpoppers · 24 days ago
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Chrollo Lucilfer vs Zeno & Silva Zoldyck
Hunter x Hunter 1999
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kbandjelly · 10 months ago
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Once again, I am scary impressed with how accurate these are!
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ddarker-dreams · 2 years ago
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I feel like cringefail darling would say 'free-zah-riuh' like Jerma did in that one stream and Chrollo would just sit there trying not to laugh while she reminisced. I already love her
LMAOOO you're onto something here anon
the absolute whiplash chrollo is going to experience when he asks shal to check cringefail darling's internet history... it probably looks something like this:
lobster can lobsters feel? jerma the simpsons hit and run stream with chat thus spoke zarathustra pdf duck compilation health benefits of almond milk home alone movie trivia silent hill 2 ost croissant how to bake croissant psychology and alchemy pdf why does grass smell that way when cut top 100 movie ice cream machine cheaper ice cream machine how to make sorbet onomtoopia onotomopiea word for when words are sounds
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desolatespring · 1 year ago
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chrollo with a darling going through some shit .. but it's not because of him .. idk him being put aside bc darlings got bigger emotional problems to worry about makes me curious on how he'll react to that. will he use it as a means to get closer emotionally? or will he do something to make darling forget about it completely??
also nobunaga thoughts Hhhh want him 2 pin me against the wall
CW: gaslighting, manipulation
I could see him using either tactic as both result in him getting something he wants.
His reason for caring is deeply distorted as the level of affection he feels for you isn’t something he’s accustomed to. Generally speaking, he lacks empathy, but with you he feels almost hollow when you’re distant. It leaves him with an empty hole in his chest that he can’t seem to fill. Why aren’t you smiling at him as much? He lived vicariously through your joy as he felt his own so little. Why aren’t you thanking him as often? It felt so good to be appreciated by someone. It made him feel wanted and helped provide him with the meaning he’s so desperately seeking. He’ll do his best to cheer you up so he can bask in your warmth again.
On the other hand… if trying to show he cares doesn’t work out and you’d rather talk about it, he’s more than willing to have you open up to him. He can always use this to his advantage later.
You’re angry? It’s surely not because of anything he did, you’re just going through a rough patch again. Why did his incessant goading result in you crying today? Curse your mental health for causing you to overreact.
The gaslighting becomes absolutely unparalleled but it’s worth it to him since you’re now blaming yourself for your I’ll willed emotions instead of him. Now that you’re upset with yourself he reverts back to trying to make you feel better: it’s okay because he’ll always love you, no one else would be as accepting or as understanding as him, so why not just reciprocate his feelings and give into him already? Ultimately he uses your own emotions to confuse you and seek him out for comfort.
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afamiliarsword · 25 days ago
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I love how Togashi writes humanity, even in his villain characters. Like ooooo Yesss the villains are hypocrites because even they love and care about eachotherrrrrrr
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chrollogy · 3 months ago
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oh i think i’m falling ill again _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):
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throwmethroughawindow · 1 year ago
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idk what this says about my type but i could take them all😩😩😩😩😩😩
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saw it on twt and I just wanna do it here too!
Reblog with ur taste in men!
doesn’t have to be anime
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I like my men depressed (I like them better when they have something to live for too 🥰)
I like when they show their forehead (for yuuji maybe sukuna mode lol), is a sunshine, baby, deserve rest and love, cutest smiles, foreheads, is sweet and gentle, have feral side idk and omfg I wanna suck all of them-
tag (everyone who wants to join can join too!) @downforsanji @stephisokay @anemptypuddingcup @gojo-mochi @acesgf @hauntedhearthowl @milkzoro
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yanderenightmare · 1 year ago
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TW: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, size-difference
gn reader – fem clothing (lingerie: panties, bralette) & fem labels (trophy wife)
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Thinking about businessman yandere coming home to you after a long day of work...
He's so tired, so frayed, so static – nearly shaking with frustration and annoyance once he comes through the door, only one sweet thing on his weary mind, his hands shaking with the need to touch, to hold, to hug you tight and fuck you good.
He’ll be extra grabby with you, extra brutish, manhandling your ample body, taking handfuls of each asscheek and pinching them like putty, squeezing you like you're his own personal stress ball.
He’ll forget to be gentle, forgetting his strength as he pulls you to him, wrapping your legs around his torso with zero words coming from the grim line that makes up his lips – almost like he’s forgotten how to communicate with words – like he doesn't have time to spare.
He'll bear down on you, trapping your little body beneath him, drowning you in the scent of cigars, bourbon, sweat, and cologne as his chin-stubble grates your fine skin as he cuddles your chest with sloppy kisses and hefty groans
And you'll let him – the fine trophy wife you are – lying still like a doll with a pitter-patter in your chest at the feel of his hands stirring, fiddling with the thin lace of your panties, hooking his ringed fingers around the band – before tearing yet another pair of the expensive lingerie. Your bralette, too.
He’ll kiss a trail of hungry bites up your chest, nipping at your collar, licking up your neck, biting your earlobe, hands throwing the tattered pieces of lace onto the floor, left to roam your perfect body freely, finding your nipples as he humps his clothed bulge against your naked sex – wrestling his belt off with impatient groans, still in his suit while he sheathes himself inside you – moaning with fervor when he's all bottomed out – swallowed down to the hilt in that wet tightness welcoming him home.
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BNHA – Bakugou, Overhaul, Aizawa, Enji, Deku, Shoto, Shinso, Dabi
JJK – Nanami, Geto, Sukuna, Toji, Higuruma, Naoya
AOT – Levi, Erwin, Zeke
DS – Muzan, Sanemi
HxH – Chrollo, Leorio
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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 27 days ago
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think I’ll miss you forever; like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
when they leave you—but don’t worry, they’ll come back.
ft; kaiser, sae
part 1 - kaiser
⋆。°✩₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧₊ °✦
where was he?
you sat on the swings, a bag of warm bread on your lap. fifteen was probably too old to sit on the swings, but you really couldn’t care less. the bread was his favorite; michael’s favorite. you had even gotten the sugar and garlic flavored ones too—the ones that he always had the softest expression eating.
he was always there whenever you were there at the swings, usually with his soccer ball too. whether it was winter or summer, spring or autumn, you knew that you could always count on him to be there. your wallet sits lonesome in your pocket. he wasn’t even here to take your money either. (not donations, you would always tell him. you knew he wouldn’t accept anything you give him if he thought that you were donating.)
you stared up at the sky, your eyes flicking to your watch every 1 or 2 minutes, although it felt like hours. where was he?
⋆。°✩₊ °✦ ‧ ‧ ₊ ˚✧₊ °✦
2 years later
“pookieeee! come onnnn! let’s go! i heard that bastard münchen have themselves michael kaiser! i have a boyfriend and all, but he’s soooo hot! come on, just this once? i even bought bread
your best friend tugged on your arm, bright red and golden nails grasping onto your shirt. you froze. michael kaiser? no, no. can’t be. there are probably thousands of michael kaiser’s in the world. but if it’s really him, does that mean that his father finally left him alone? “okay, fine. just this once.” you muttered. “where’s the bread?”
.
after the match, all you could hear were screams, yelling, screams, yelling, screams, yelling, cheering, screams, yelling, and…yeah, nothing else.
bastard münchen won by a hefty amount. 5-1, yeah, that was pretty good. but it was the guy who was portrayed at least a thousand times on the screen. michael kaiser, that guy. okay, so looks like you were wrong. looks like it really was him. “come on, let’s go! my boyfriend’s waiting for us!”
before you could even open your mouth, your best friend was already dragging you to the locker room. “wait, no! i don’t wanna watch a bunch of sweaty teenage boys change! who knows what they do in there!” your best friend ignored your words as she pushed open the mahogany door to the locker room.
“i still have college ess-“
“oh, don’t be such a buzzkill. you have a 4.7 GPA! you’re fine.” your best friend cut you off before you could finish before running over to go hug her boyfriend, who scored a grand total of zero points for the team. you sighed and stood by the door, eyes searching around for michael. but since it’s been 2 years, you’d expect that he probably forgot about you already. he’d be 17 now, which is the prime age for hot guys to be dating a girl and being a dick.
you just didn’t expect a blue rose tattoo and long blonde hair to cover your sights, and a “long time no see, mein schatz” with a clear smirk in the words to flow through your ears.
———
bro this shit is so ass, i wrote this in like 5 minutes at 3 in the morning
BUT MY GLORIOUS KING KAISER HAS FINALLY BEEN ANIMATED AND VOICED ACTED BY MY GLORIOUS KING MAMORU MIYANO TOO YESSSS (the guy who voiced the loml chrollo and my husband atsumu)
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after-witch · 11 months ago
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Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]
Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]
Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.
Word count: 7100ish
notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre
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The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly. 
In surprise.
In trepidation. 
In realization.
The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance. 
How lucky for him. 
How unfortunate for you. 
You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?
The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill? 
And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear. 
He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later. 
His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise. 
As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you. 
The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches. 
Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy. 
What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate? 
All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front. 
As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way? 
But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once
From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.
And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.
He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him. 
Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis. 
It’s you that he focuses on, now.  And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted. 
Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person. 
You.
What to make of you? 
You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find. 
He remembers such a living. 
You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats. 
It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them. 
With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you. 
Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.
He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm. 
“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you. 
You stiffen. 
“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”
You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.
“None of your business,” you say. 
And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.
“That’s all right.”  He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”
Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.
“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”
Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City. 
“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.” 
He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.
And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.
“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.
He nods his head.
“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach. 
“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”
He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels. 
You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that. 
“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”
Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.
“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”
--
The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them. 
Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it? 
You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more. 
Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear. 
“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.” 
“You want to buy me clothes?”
You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips. 
He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.
You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant. 
“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies. 
For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised. 
The elevator doors open.
Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter. 
“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”
You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?
“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.
That might come in handy.
He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him. 
“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.” 
You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.
Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.
Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs. 
5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets. 
Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.
--
The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining. 
He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement. 
What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?
Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?
He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You. 
What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume. 
What would  you be like, once you were fully his? 
What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden? 
The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it. 
He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--
Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.
He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.
--
The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder. 
But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits. 
He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it. 
This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate. 
Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping. 
Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two. 
But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.
Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb. 
And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least,  you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit. 
It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut. 
Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer. 
--
At least, not before today.
“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.
Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good.  Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.
“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.
“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”
Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?” 
You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.” 
“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”
You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.
Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.
Only... none of that happens.
His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.
“I know a lot about that, actually.”
It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you. 
It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside. 
“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom. 
He nods.
“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think. 
He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.” 
Dear.
The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.
Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself. 
Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top. 
The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest. 
A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.
You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.
There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.
And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.
If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner? 
He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears. 
“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.
Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”
“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”
His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.
“You’re familiar with his work?”
You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling. 
You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?
“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.
 He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm. 
His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why? 
Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.
The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap. 
And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.
Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.
The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you. 
Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.
“So you were… homeless, before?”
You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.
His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?
“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”
Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.
If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.
“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”
“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin. 
“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”
“Which was?”
There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.
“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.
“Aren’t you lonely?”
“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”
He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you. 
Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.
Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.
“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.  
He tilts his head a little. “What for?”
Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.
Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.
“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”
You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology. 
He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.
It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.
Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.
A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.
You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do. 
The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild. 
Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap. 
Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it. 
Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two… 
You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.
--
There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.
But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.
You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there. 
You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras. 
The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.
He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.
You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years? 
How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.
He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be. 
Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this. 
There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever. 
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uvobreakmylegs · 2 months ago
Text
We'll Never Know the Place
title is from a Fever the Ghost song that felt appropriate for this piece
Chrollo x Cute Hunter!reader
Tumblr media
Warnings: death, torture, gore, body horror, mentions of captivity, implied kidnapping
Word Count: 7.9k
“You don't need me for this.”
Chrollo paused in his step, taking a moment to glance over his shoulder as he looked back at you. Feitan halted as well, having been making his way out of the room, and you felt the way he watched you, his expression no doubt turning to one of concern and displeasure at the fact that you were already kicking up a fuss.
Despite having both of these particular men staring at you, you didn't meet the gaze of either; your attention was on focused solely on the unknown male in the chair that sat in the center of the room.
He was slumped forward, his short, dirty blonde hair covering his face somewhat while the blood that had dripped down from his neck stained the bare skin of his torso. It had gone on to soak into the material of his pants before it ultimately created a puddle on the seat of the chair beneath him and dripped off the edge as it continued to pool below. He was only able to lean forward to a certain extent as his wrists were firmly secured to the arms of the chair by way of two pieces of thick rope that kept him firmly attached and thoroughly unable to get away from whatever he had been put through. Which had undoubtedly been a lot, based on what you had heard before and from what you could see now. There were several fingers missing on both of his hands, you noted, as well as something that was off with the skin of his left bicep that appeared to be blackened. A glance at his legs revealed that one of them had been broken severely as it was bruised and bent beyond belief.
There was more damage – there was always more damage with the things Feitan did to people – and while you didn't want to know what it was, the things you could smell clued you in to what he had done to this man. A distinct burning smell, combined with an odor so foul that it made you want to vomit.
The man was dead. Obviously, as you wouldn't have been brought in otherwise.
You had known this was coming, too. After hours of hearing him scream and cry and beg for the pain to cease, you knew what would be happening once Feitan stepped into the main room where the troupe was gathered and whispered something into Chrollo's ear. That had been followed by a quick nod of acknowledgment by Chrollo before he ordered the torturer to end the man's life. You knew that, not long after, the head of the troupe would stand and tell you to follow.
You knew what he expected from you, and there was absolutely no part of you that wanted to go through with it.
“You don't need me for this,” you repeated.
Chrollo stared at you over the fine white fur that lined his coat, his gaze unyielding and his presence as oppressive as ever.
Then he spoke your name, his tone stern.
“I would have thought by now that you knew how useless of an effort it is to try and get out of this,” he continued.
“Insisting on using my ability is stupid,” you argued. You stepped backwards despite knowing Feitan was right behind you. He was watching you carefully as well, likely poised to grab you if you made any attempt to run.
You weren't going to do that. But you would argue with Chrollo.
“Shizuku is right outside,” you continued, “Blinky is better suited for this. It'll take literally a second if you have her do it. Just use her and leave me out of it.”
Chrollo observed you silently, his gray eyes watching as you tried to convince him that Shizuku was the better option for what he wanted. Your argument wasn't just a way of a bullshitting to get out of what you didn't want. You knew that you were right. More importantly, he knew you were right.
But those cold eyes remained impassive no matter what you said.
“I brought you here for a reason,” Chrollo told you, “now I need you to do your part.”
His tone was a tad more dangerous that time, and that was enough to put the fear into you as you tore your gaze away and looked to the side, your fists clenching hard enough that the way your nails were digging into your palms was starting to cause you pain.
“….. I don't want to,” you answered.
“That's a shame,” he said.
He then turned so he faced the body of the man as he said “but I'm afraid this is the last chance you'll get to do it of your own volition before I'm forced to make you do so.”
“……”
There was little other choice than to do it before it got to that point, you told yourself. Otherwise he would give that order, and a sharp pain would form in your skull, getting worse and causing you absolute agony until you did as he had told you. Nor would it end there, as your defiance going that far would mean trouble for you once the troupe's business had finished and you were left alone with Chrollo again. You hated the way he was able to control you, but there wasn't anything else you could do. It was a lose-lose situation.
With a frown on your face and your eyes cast downward, you steeled yourself before you began approaching the man's body, your clenched fists shaking ever so slightly as you made your legs walk you forward.
I hate this
You kept your gaze downwards as you walked by Chrollo, keeping your eyes only on what was directly in front of your feet, not wanting to make more eye contact with him than was necessary. A small bit of defiance that did little to affect him, you knew, but it was all you could do.
How childish, you could hear him say in that subtly mocking tone that you were all too familiar with.
I hate you
After a few moments, you heard Feitan's footsteps walking out of the room before growing quieter. He had stayed when you had spoken out, his warning gaze heavy upon you as you had felt him silently urge you to do as Chrollo had said. Now that you were getting down to business, he was gone, having returned to that main room to sit with the others.
He knew what Chrollo was making you do, as did the rest of them.
I hate every last one of you
They were aware of those feelings of yours as well, and for certain members, it bothered them deeply. They didn't like how upset you became with them, nor how emotional you would get when Chrollo put your abilities to work. But no matter how much it bothered those members, all of them were in support of their boss.
None of them would ever come to your aid. All because in their minds, you were the one who was in the wrong.
The burnt odor coming from the man was stronger when you moved closer to him. Once you were standing directly in front of him, you were able to confirm that the darkened mark on his bicep was, in fact, a burn mark. The sight had you biting your lip in disgust as you thought of the agony he had gone through at the unfortunately creative hands of Feitan and the wide variety of pain he had no doubt experienced before his throat was finally slit wide open.
Hopefully with everything else that had happened, that final slicing of flesh wouldn't have been as painful.
Hopefully.
A cursory glance about the room revealed the moderately sized wooden box that Feitan had been using as a table that was stuck in the corner, as his tools were lined up neatly on top of it. Almost all of them were covered in blood. When you narrowed your gaze, you saw bits of flesh that were still stuck to the metal.
Chrollo already knew what you were thinking.
“Take care of whatever is left over of him over there,” he began, “but you're to do nothing that alters Feitan's tools.”
…. Damn. It looked as though that stunt of yours from last time really was a one time only thing, much to your disappointment. But it wasn't that surprising.
If Chrollo was ever to make a mistake, he only made it once.
Turning your attention back to the man's body, you kept your focus on him while Chrollo stood behind you, watching your every move as you prepared to use your nen. Thoughts of what would work best in the environment and how much you needed to alter came to mind, but first….. First was to make him more presentable. To give him at least a little bit of dignity in death. Because at the end of the day, he was a person who had a life, goals and ambitions, all of which had been snuffed out for the sake of whatever it was the troupe was up to now.
Was it possible that he had been just as bad as Chrollo and the others? Or potentially even worse? Yes.
But you still wanted to show some kindness.
You began by undoing the ties around his wrists, and immediately you found that the rope had been wrapped so tightly that the skin in that area was raw and bleeding, some of it even scraped away against the harsh material that bound him. How much had he attempted to break those bindings while Feitan was removing his fingers?
It didn't matter, you told yourself, because you were undoing them now. Once both pieces of rope were untied and laying on the ground beside him, you placed his hands upon his lap which allowed you to hide the stumps of his fingers somewhat. Though that action caused him to lean too far forward and you were forced to adjust him before he fell over onto the floor. You quickly grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him so he would lean back, and that made his head roll backwards as it followed the pull of gravity.
Now not only did you have a good look at that awful gash in his throat, but also the lifelessness in his unblinking eyes and the way in which his slack jaw hung open.
…. You could fix this. While you couldn't do anything about his throat, you could fix the way his expression looked.
Placing both of your thumbs over his eyelids, you gently pulled them shut. Then, while you kept your thumbs pressed over his eyes, you exerted a tiny bit of your nen that spread over the lids. When you pulled your hands away, his eyes stayed closed. You did the same with his jaw, locking the joints in place so his mouth would no longer hang wide open. When that was done, you stepped away, and the nen you had infused into those places on his face stayed strong. With his face looking like that, it was as though he was sleeping.
Even though that illusion was quickly shattered with one glance towards his throat, that felt better to you.
The other person in the room was clearly of a different opinion.
“You're wasting effort, love. No one who cared for him will know what you did,” Chrollo told you.
You frowned.
“He was a person; he deserves respect, even if it's just this much,” you answered.
“He was a person who existed outside of the troupe,” Chrollo corrected, “therefore he isn't important.”
“Maybe not to you.”
Damn it. Your voice was already starting to crack.
Chrollo noticed that as well and wasted no time in pouncing on your vulnerability.
“You haven't even begun and you're ready to shed tears?” he asked.
“With the things you make me do, what do you expect?” you responded bitterly.
“I expected that you would have grown used to this.”
“Maybe if being involved in this awful shit was something that I actually wanted,” you said, “but I still don't, and I never will.”
He didn't respond that time. Instead, as you were looking at the body of the unknown man and trying to figure out if there was anything else you could do for him, you heard movement coming from behind you as Chrollo walked to the side of the room. What he was doing was obvious when you heard the sounds of chair legs scraping against the concrete floor before they were lifted into the air, and then again moments later, when they were placed a few feet from where you were standing and directly in front of the dead man. An aged chair creaked as Chrollo settled down upon it, and suddenly the full intensity of his gaze was upon you once more.
“Whenever you're ready, love.”
“….”
There was no more stalling to be had, then. Nothing more you could do to put this off. Chrollo probably felt as though he'd been generous in allowing you to take your time and do what he felt were pointless actions in rearranging the man's body. After all, the troupe was still in the middle of a job, and he wanted you to get on with it so they could continue with the current loose end being fully tied up.
If you took any longer he would invoke that pain on you again.
With a deep sigh, you activated your hatsu.
Revival Gardener
In moments, your nen had conjured up your watering can. Moderately sized and brightly colored, it stood out among the gray rock and rotting wood of the abandoned room. The can itself was a pastel yellow and adorned with pink accents, topped off by the two handles that were shaped to resemble cartoonishly cute hearts. It was very likely that if there was ever a magical girl character with abilities that were focused on gardening, your watering can would surely be in her inventory. The light purple packet of seeds that was also adorned with hearts fell into your palm after the watering can, and you figured that would likely also be something she would use, though you wondered how her abilities might differ from yours.
Maybe she would've been smart and would have some sort of ability that was more effective in combat.
As interesting as it might have been to consider the show about a hypothetical magical gardening girl, you couldn't focus on that forever. Definitely not with Chrollo staring down your back. Placing the empty watering can on the floor next to you, you adjusted the packet in your hand, both sides of which were left blank, and reached into your pocket for a pen as you looked to the man again.
His body, his clothes, the chair, and the blood that had been dripped and spattered across the floor. Four things to make note of. Another glance over at Feitan's tools and the blood and gore that covered them, not to mention the blood trail that led from them and back to the body. You would need to make sure you covered all of that area as well.
With all that Revival Gardener was capable of, it sadly wouldn't be a difficult task.
Holding the pen to the packet, you began to write:
Male human body
Adult's clothing
You were about to write down shoes when you stopped to double check yourself. It turned out he wasn't wearing any shoes, so that wasn't something you needed to bother with. You continued with the list.
Wooden chair with rope
Human blood
….. That was it. After double and triple checking what was before you and what you had written down, that was all you needed to change. You flipped to the other side of the packet which had yet to be filled in, and you paused a moment as you decided what you would write.
During that time, you didn't hear anything from Chrollo. He stayed silent as you wrote on the packet, but you could tell that his gaze was still on you. You didn't need to turn your head to confirm that.
After a moment of pondering, you decided to write the word “lavender”. The area the building was in was appropriate for it, with dry temperatures and lots of sunlight. That would grow well here.
With the decision made, the pen went back into your pocket, and you ripped open the packet before dumping the entire thing into the watering can. The seeds, the packet and the words you had written all broke apart within the space of the can, transforming into liquid that began to swirl about within your conjured creation, emitting a soft purple glow as it filled the can to the brim.
When the water stilled was when you could begin, and now with the can in hand, you looked again to the dead man. Exhaling a shaky breath as you clenched the the handles tightly, you took a few more moments before lifting the can above him, and with a tilt of your hands, you proceeded to pour the contents upon the poor man's body. He was quickly soaked from the water while the blood was washed down all over him, pooling in that same place in the seat of the chair. The chair was soaked as well; you made sure of that as you walked around it to make sure you covered every inch.
The body, the clothes, the chair, the blood. All of the blood. You needed to take a few steps back as you covered the floor in the unending water, making sure that you got every last stray drop.
All of it needed to be changed.
The man still looked as though he was sleeping as the water ran down his face and caused his hair to stick to his forehead. The blood from his neck washed down fast, however, joining the growing puddle beneath him that now had the water mixed in.
You then walked over to where Feitan's tools sat and poured the water over them. Though the box and the tools were quickly soaked as well, those items would remain as they were once this was over.
The last thing to be done was to cover the floor where the blood had dropped between the tools and the chair, and just like everything else, the water soon engulfed it.
When you returned to the body to make sure you had gotten everything was when the conjured water finally ran out.
With that, the first part was done.
You took a step back, staying behind the body while your watering can vanished. The second half of the process was going to begin soon, and you needed to watch all of it.
Chrollo chose then to speak once more.
“Come sit with me, love.”
You looked over to him and frowned when you found him motioning to an empty chair that sat beside him. The temptation was there to refuse and insist that you would stand for the rest of it. But just like everything else, this wasn't something you could get out of no matter how much you protested.
You remained silent as you walked around the body and took your place by Chrollo's side, your eyes immediately going back to the man while you gripped at your knees while you desperately hoped that, just once, Chrollo would refrain from saying anything further. Even though you knew that was incredibly unlikely, both due to the fact that there was a fair amount of time that needed to be filled out before you could leave this room, and because there was no way Chrollo would overlook your continued resistance.
Still, you dared to hope that he might, just this once, keep quiet while you suffered.
But of course that didn't happen.
“You know that it doesn't need to be this way, love,” he began.
You frowned again.
“You're right; it doesn't,” you agreed, “and yet you're dead set on forcing things to be this awful.”
You then cut him off before he could speak, saying “don't bother telling me that I'm the one making things difficult. I'm sick of hearing it.”
Chrollo let out a hum in response. Hearing that only had your frown deepen while your hands clutched at your knees harder, all the while you kept your gaze focused on the body. There was no change to be seen as of yet. But that would take a little while, as it always started internally before spreading out beyond.
Right now the man still looked like he was sleeping.
“Have our discussions become so stale that you immediately know what I'm going to say?” he asked.
“They only ever go around in circles. Honestly, I would've thought you'd be sick of the same conversations over and over,” you said.
“Be sick of them? Never.”
Chrollo leaned forward on his knees as he gazed at you, and from your peripheral vision, you saw the serious look on his face as he told you “if it's a chance to help you, then I'll gladly have the same conversation tens of thousands of times.”
“You're not helping me.”
“I am, love. You just aren't able to see it yet.”
“Because kidnapping me and making me dispose of your victims is such a great way to help someone,” you sarcastically answered.
The man's body shifted somewhat as he slouched back in the seat, though even now he still appeared to be asleep.
“I'm putting your abilities to good use,” Chrollo countered, casting his gaze towards the body as well.
“They weren't meant for this.”
“And yet they work quite nicely.”
“Shizuku's ability is more effective.”
“So you've said.”
Chrollo leaned back in his seat as he continued “but Shizuku isn't the one that I'm worried about.”
You scoffed.
“You're trying to say that you're worried about me?”
“I am.”
You shook your head.
“That's a lie. You're not worried; you just want to control me,” you said.
“That's not true.”
“How is it not? You took me away from my work when I didn't want to go with you and you used one of your stolen abilities to make me do what you want. How is that anything other than you controlling me?”
“Because it's for your own good,” he answered.
“I think I know what's good for me.”
“And I say that you don't,” said Chrollo, “the others are in agreement with me.”
Because all of you are monsters
You couldn't say that part. Because even though you knew it to be true, there was no way you could bring yourself to voice such a thing. You had grown up with Chrollo and most of the others, after all. All of you living together and finding those little scraps of happiness within that city of junk and decay.
Even though you hated the people they had become and you made that feeling of them clear, there was still some affection you had for them, for the children they had once been and who were now nowhere to be found.
The man's body twitched, arms and legs moving in response to your nen.
Already there was bile building up at the back of your mouth. You hated how you now recognized that as being a sign that his nervous system was in the process of changing. Just how many times had you been made to do this now? You could count them if you really wanted to, but once again you kept yourself from doing so. The exact number didn't matter. The fact that you were being made to do this at all was awful enough.
Chrollo had paid no attention to the current condition of the body, his focus back on you as he asked “have we already reached the point where you ignore me? I thought we had a bit more banter to go through before that happened.”
Your scowl remained on your face as you replied “for someone who claims to be worried about me, you sure do take a lot of time to mock me.”
“I'm afraid that can only be blamed on you, love. I care about you deeply, but you make it difficult when you kick and scream at me in an attempt to test my patience.”
Hearing that made you bite your lip in frustration; he was making it sound like you were a child throwing a tantrum. That alone was enough to make you want to hit him. Not that it would do you any good, even if, in the moment, it might have been slightly satisfying.
But just like you had told yourself before, the repercussions of such an action would come fast and harsh once the troupe dispersed.
…. Maybe that was pathetic of you. That you, a Hunter, would allow something as simple as pain be enough to give him leverage over you. Weren't you supposed to be stronger? After passing the trials of your exam, how was that enough for him to control you?
Then again, you hadn't taken the exam in the hopes of proving your strength or even in the hopes of becoming stronger. Getting that license was simply the easiest way to achieve your goal.
The chair beneath the man groaned and the legs began to buckle, bending slightly forward while green began to appear in the blood soaked wood. The ropes that had been left on the floor were also being overtaken by the green color, and upon the surface of the floor that was marred by his blood, small sprouts were starting to appear.
With the way the front legs had bent forward, the man's body lurched over, his upper half leaning against one of the chair handles. Despite the change of position, his face was still largely facing towards you, and the sense of peace you had tried to grant him by shutting his eyes and mouth was still there somewhat, even with the awkward position his body was in.
You hated this. You hated that you needed to watch the body of this unknown man being slowly taken over. If you tore your eyes away for too long, the change would stop and you would be stuck in this place with Chrollo for that much longer, which he would definitely chide you for.
Though you doubted he would mind all that much.
“Who was he?” your voice whispered, your nails digging into your hands again as you were having a difficult time with the sight before you.
“No one of importance,” was his response.
“I want to know anyway.”
“You don't need to,” Chrollo said firmly before he added “if you wanted to know his name you should have made that a condition for your hatsu.”
“I didn't make it a condition because Revival Gardener wasn't meant for things like this” you replied.
“I know. Your reasons were far more pointless.”
That last part stung.
“It wasn't pointless. I was helping people,” you said.
He had the nerve to sigh deeply at that.
“Love,” he began, “you chose to become a Cute Hunter.”
“I was helping people,” you insisted.
“What were you helping with? The official role of a Cute Hunter is to maintain the beauty of people and keep them looking younger. Was helping others maintain their vanity so rewarding?” he asked, the disdain slowly but surely creeping into his voice the longer he spoke.
“You know what I was doing. You know wasn't anything like you're saying and you know how much it meant to me,” you said.
You turned your head so you could give him the full extent of your glare as you again insisted “I was helping people.”
“You were growing flowers out of trash,” Chrollo said, “such a thing is hardly life changing and I guarantee there were few who even noticed what you were doing. All of us agreed that it was a waste of your talents.”
“But it wasn't. It isn't.”
He was wrong. The troupe was wrong. It wasn't a waste. They were simply incapable of understanding because of the path they had chosen.
Chrollo shrugged at your response, saying “feel free to cling to those beliefs of yours while you still can.”
“You say that like you think-”
The words coming from your mouth were lost when the man's body moved again, this time in the way of a full body jerk as something inside him gave way to the life growing within him. Whether it was because of that movement or simply something you had done wrong when you had applied your nen earlier, you couldn't say.
But regardless, his eyelids and mouth snapped open, and with him still facing towards you even now, you were greeted with a horrific sight.
His eyes were gone.
All that stared out at you through the empty sockets were the green of the leaves and the soft purple petals of the lavender flowers that continued to grow and fill the space within the man's head. His tongue was gone as well, though his teeth still remained, sitting among the stems and leaves while his gums were being consumed, slowly but surely revealing the bone of his jaw that sat beneath.
Now with his mouth once again hanging slack and open, the flowers began to make their way out into the open, the plant life now poking out at the edges of his mouth. That seemed to have caused a chain reaction, for the plants began to make their way out of his injuries as well. The stems and buds were now hanging out of his neck wound, reaching down his bloody torso where they were met by the ones escaping through the cavities left by his missing fingers, all mingling together as the flower buds grew rapidly. Lavender was blooming in that burnt section of his arm and on his broken legs and spreading out just like the rest of the plant that had found its way to the open air.
Empty sockets continued to stare at you as the flowers continued to grow, reducing what once had been a man into nothing more than a human shaped terrarium.
All the moisture had left your mouth as you stared back. You were left unable to speak as you began to tremble within your seat.
Mercifully, Chrollo remained silent during this time.
When the change began to affect his bones, his neck was fast to break. His head quickly bent over to the side as his skull began to lose it's shape.
And upon seeing that, the horror of it all overwhelmed you.
With a hand over your mouth, the floodgates of your emotions opened wide and you began to loudly sob.
This wasn't the way things were supposed to be.
A woman in a sharp business suit and her long hair tied up in a bun looked about the trees that surrounded her in bewilderment, her mind clearly racing as she wondered how this forest had come from nowhere and if she had somehow gotten lost on the way to her intended destination.
“Are you alright?” you called out, causing her to jump as she turned to face you.
“Ah – yes! I just…..”
The woman looked about again as she said “I got mixed up somehow and ended up here. I must not have been paying attention when I was driving.”
“Where were you trying to go?” you asked.
“The abandoned strip mall,” she told you.
“The one that was built on a former garbage dump?” you clarified.
She nodded.
Your hand went to the back of your neck as you said “well, most of it's gone now, but I can take you to see what's left of it, if you want.”
The woman's eyebrows furrowed, but she followed anyway when you beckoned her. Through a moderately sized collection of trees, bushes and a few open glades filled with wildflowers, you led her to the other end of the newly formed forest, and the both of you were greeted with a mound of dirt, concrete and aged garbage, most of which had fossilized. It was large, standing high over both of your heads. That was more in line with what the woman had expected, but she again looked behind herself to see the lush greenery that was clearly present in a place that it shouldn't have been.
She looked to you as she began with “you said… You said that this was what was left of the hill?”
You nodded.
“The same one that used to be a dump that was covered over and had built the mall on top?” she asked again.
Again, you nodded.
The woman looked to the greenery and then to the remains of the old dump site before she looked at you again.
“How?” was her bewildered question.
You nervously clasped your hands together as you began to answer.
“I'd heard about it not long ago,” you told her, “that the structure was abandoned years ago because of the methane coming from the ground and the way it had been sinking, and that it was still sinking into the garbage underneath it. When I learned that nothing was being done about it, I thought I could help.”
Realizing that you hadn't actually answered her question, you added “I'm part of the Hunter Association, and I figured that my skills would be able to fix this place. So I changed the buildings and what was underneath it to this.”
You gestured to the forest as you explained “it took a long time, but I think it's turned out well.”
The woman didn't look any less shocked after you finished speaking.
“You can just….. Do that?” she asked.
You nodded.
The woman continued to stare at you in disbelief, and the longer she looked at you like that, the more you began to worry that she was upset.
Then she spoke again.
“Can I hug you?”
The request was unexpected, but you smiled as you nodded to her. The woman quickly pulled you into a hug, and she held you tightly.
“Thank you so much,” she said, “I've been trying for so long to get the city to do something about that place but they always put it off, saying there were more important things they needed to take care of. They were content to let that place rot and fall apart, and I didn't think anything would ever be done.”
“Thank you so much,” she said again, “you don't know how much it means that you've gotten rid of that junk hill.”
You smiled again as you hugged her back, and a warmth bloomed in your chest as you heard her words of thanks. What you wanted most was happening: this had been your most ambitious project in your role as a Hunter, and before you were even finished, it was making a difference.
If you could do that for this woman, then the thing you wanted most could surely happen:
You could change Meteor City.
Your sobs continued to wrack your body as you watched the man's skin fall limp, held up only by the lavender flowers inside of him. He had been reduced to a skin suit, an unnatural looking thing that few would guess had ever been a real, living and breathing human. The chair he sat on was now beginning to lose it's shape as well, and slowly, the suit of skin began to lower further and further onto the floor as the wood of the chair was also absorbed and transformed.
Once all of the bones had been completely taken over, the skin began to do the same. It started in the areas where the skin was already broken, spreading from there like a disease. You watched helplessly as the last of that unknown man was eaten up by your hatsu, as his skin was broken apart and changed from flesh into plant.
You couldn't help but cry as the thought repeated in your head: this wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Your hatsu was never meant to be used in such a way, never meant to be perverted like this. All you had wanted when you became a Cute Hunter was to help people by way of giving them small pieces of joy as you turned trash into something as simple and beautiful as a flower. Even if it was something small, it was worth it to you.
Why did Chrollo find that so objectionable?
The pieces of the man's skin that still remained reached lower to the floor as the chair gave away completely. His blood soaked pants were vanishing quickly, the rope that had once sat by his side was long since gone, and the trail of blood that had led up to the box with Feitan's tools had been replaced by a long and scattered line of flowers.
It wouldn't take long now until everything about the man – his actual body and the things done to him – would be gone completely. No one who hadn't been here would be able to guess as to what had actually happened.
All they would see was a large patch of lavender growing within the abandoned building.
Though the man was nearly gone now, it didn't make it any easier on you, as your tears still fell as you focused on the parts that were still there: the last remaining bits of his skin and his dirty blonde hair that still stuck out at the edge of the growing patch of flowers. It had spread out far enough that it had reached where the two of you sat, and when you felt the petals brushing against the edge of your shoe, you pulled up your feet.
As much as you wanted to console yourself by saying that there was some comfort in the man's body not being allowed to decompose or rot, you knew it would do little to ease your distress. You weren't a good enough liar to convince yourself of that.
Chrollo's feet had stayed where they were when the flowers had extended out towards him, drawing his gaze down to the floor. After a moment of consideration, he reached down to the space in front of him, finding a stem of lavender and grasping at it. Then without even the smallest ounce of force, he plucked it. Sitting back up, he examined your creation, twirling it as he did so and causing the flowers to spin in his fingers.
“The end result is beautiful, love, I will give you that,” he told you, “but ultimately your reasons for your ability are far more superfluous than I know you would ever want to admit.”
You had bitten your lip to keep your mouth shut, though it didn't stop the way you sniffled while you continued to cry as you watched the last of the man's strands of hair turning green and sprouting up flower buds.
“One day you'll see that it was a good thing that I stepped in.”
Again you didn't respond, but you stiffened when you felt him lean towards you and felt his fingers tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. The apprehension of feeling his touch turned to disgust when he placed the flower he had pulled into your hair, tucking it in with the hair he had so gently moved only moments before.
Cruel.
That was all he was.
When the last strands of dirty blonde hair were gone and all that sat before you was the lavender, you knew it was finished. Just as Chrollo had wanted, you had done 'your part'. With no trace of the scene of bloody torture from before, you could now leave the room.
You attempted to do so without another word, but no sooner had you stood up, Chrollo ordered you to sit.
With no other choice, you did just that.
Chrollo's hand traveled to your lap in order to clasp yours, and the squeeze he gave you felt like it was meant to be encouraging, though you knew it was performative. Just like everything was with him.
“I know you think that I enjoy seeing you in distress, love,” he began, “but I need you to know that it couldn't be further from the truth. Your well-being is something that I care about deeply.”
“…. You have a funny way of showing that,” you mumbled, not having the strength to speak louder.
“Think of it as rehabilitation.”
“It's not, though,” you said, shaking your head, “I don't need to be fixed.”
“And once again, you're simply wrong, love.”
“…..”
When you pulled your hand away from his, he chose not to react. Nor did he say anything when you pulled the bit of lavender out of your hair and tossed it to the floor where it was quickly hidden among the rest.
“Can I go back to the other room already?” you asked bitterly.
Chrollo hummed as he took a moment before answering you, as if to rub more salt into your wounds by treating you like a child that needed to ask for his permission before you did anything.
You had pointed that out, once, calling him out on how degrading it was as well as insulting.
“Well, you aren't much different now than how you were as a child, are you?” he had spoken in response.
“Even now, you haven't grown past clinging to your princess dresses and playing make believe that you can force the world to match your idealized fantasy.”
You had slapped him for that. Hard enough that there was blood that dripped briefly from the corner of his mouth and a bruise that had stayed for several days after.
He didn't do anything to you for that. Not immediately.
It was when the job was over and the two of you were left alone in a location of Chrollo's choosing that he retaliated, using that ability that made your head feel like it was splitting in two as he forced you into doing things that you didn't want to do.
Again, the question surfaced: what kind of a Hunter were you that you allowed pain to keep you from fighting back?
…. One that had decided that 'Cute Hunter' was the direction to go in.
The slight self-deprecation of that thought wasn't lost on you. And it wasn't lost on you that it had come from Chrollo, his opinion sneaking its way into your brain without him needing to say anything or even knowing your own internal dialogue.
I hate this, you told yourself again.
It was the only thing you could say because it was the only thing you could do.
“It seems as though we're finished here, so I suppose you can leave,” Chrollo finally told you.
Without another word you stood and all but ran out of that room, having no desire to ever enter that place again and not wanting to risk Chrollo giving you more orders while you were still within earshot.
Chrollo himself remained seated, again gazing at the miniature field of lavender.
It wasn't right, you thought as you wiped away more tears.
Things shouldn't be this way.
Heading back to that main room where everyone else was gathered – because you'd be brought back there anyway if you went somewhere to be alone – your return was noted by all of the troupe, questioning eyes going to your form as you entered and made your way back to the spot in the corner you'd been occupying for the majority of your time here. Those questioning gazes didn't stay that way long, as one look at your tear stained face told them all that they needed to know as to how your corpse disposal had gone.
You had completed it. Everyone knew Chrollo wouldn't have let you leave without doing that. But as they continued to watch you, seeing the way you curled in on yourself and held your knees to your chest after you had taken a seat on the floor, all of them could tell that it hadn't been easy for you.
They couldn't understand it.
As they watched you obsessively and angrily wipe away the tears that you didn't want them to see, those members who had grown up with you were again at a loss as to why you cared so much about someone you didn't know. That, after the things you had experienced alongside them with your childhood in Meteor City, you had somehow managed to turn out so differently from the rest of them.
A few moments passed before Phinks got up from where he was sitting, and with his hands in his pockets, he began to walk towards you, no doubt with the intent of offering some kind of comfort. The harsh glare you sent him when he came close had him stopping in his tracks, and he floundered for a moment before turning around and returning to his seat, the awkward and disappointed look clear on his face as he did so.
You didn't want their pity or their comfort. You didn't want to be around them at all. No matter what they said, the childhood friends you had once had were nowhere to be found, not here or anywhere else in the world.
It was easier to tell yourself that the day Sarasa had been murdered, all of them had died along with her.
For the rest of this job, not another word would be said to you. You had done what was wanted of you, and so your role ended there. All you had left was the end of the job when Chrollo would force you to leave with him, making you follow him like a puppy. The troupe would part ways and then you might see a few of them sporadically between heists, but the majority of your time would be spent with Chrollo, and the head of the spider would return your reality to the one where your world revolved around him and him alone. Your abilities that you had wished to be shared with the world would be only for him, and again you would be forced to languish while you remained in his company, feeling a bit of yourself breaking apart day by day.
Maybe one day he would be successful.
Maybe one day he would manage to brainwash you and you would no longer find what they did so objectionable. Maybe a new version of yourself would emerge, one that had died just like they had with Sarasa, and you would walk around with them like a zombie, committing the same foul acts they did and feeling nothing while doing them. Maybe you would tell yourself the same things they must have, that all that mattered were those within the troupe, and in that way you could callously disregard the lives of others.
That wasn't today, though.
Eventually Feitan would return to where the body had been, no doubt needing to take a bit of time as he pulled the purple flowers that embraced his tools off one by one.
Eventually Chrollo would return to that main room and give instructions to the members that he had deemed necessary for the current job, and he would do so without casting a single glance in your direction.
The rest of the troupe would follow his lead, continuing with the job. Business as usual.
But at the back of their heads, they would remain hopeful for you.
Because if there was anyone who could fix you, it was Chrollo.
810 notes · View notes
slutpoppers · 1 month ago
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Chrollo Lucilfer vs Zeno & Silva Zoldyck
Hunter X Hunter 1999 ->
38 notes · View notes
illubean · 8 months ago
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Bit of a long winded fluff/crack headcanon request: Illumi, Feitan, Chrollo, and Phinks developing the most infuriating crush on a gn! Reader who is just a lazy sopping wet dog of a person?
Reader will nap anywhere.
Will just kind of flop where ever they are when under too much emotional distress and refuse to move
Hell, sometimes they to be physically scruffed and carried/dragged to do social stuff and does the whole liquid cat thing where they go entirely slack just to be difficult. Overall reader's pretty reliable and will (begrudgingly) do just about anything the guys ask if incentivized, they're a surprising understanding and active listener, a highkey terrifying and precise combatant, and could probably be bribed to do anything from cuddle and never speak about it to horrible violations of the geneva convention for snacks and a nice nap afterward. They're incredibly easy to please and not that most/any of the guys would ever admit it but not being near them makes everything feel exponentially worse.
But they're also stubborn, incredibly low energy, and frankly seem a bit stupid on closer inspection to the point the guys are probably questioning "no- god- fuck- why???"
HXH Men with Lazy!Reader
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Characters: Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor, Phinks Magcub Type: Crack, Headcanons, Gn!reader
IM NOT DEADDD
Warnings: mentions of violence, mention of pregnancy like once
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Illumi Zoldyck
if you didn't have any special nen or whatever he would've killed you by now out of pure frustration
you were set up in an arranged marriage because of your status, and at first Illumi could not care but surprise surprise he caught feelings eventually
and it was upsetting.
1) he was feeling something 2) IT WAS FOR YOUR STUPID ASS
ALL YOU DO IS LAY AROUND THE MANTION AND EAT HOT CHIP
you remind him of Milluki sometimes and that just makes him even more mad
every time you guys are sent on missions together he actually has to drag you because you refuse to do any type of physical labor
if he's feeling particularly nice he'll throw you over his shoulder instead
at this point Illumi is only sent on missions with you to make sure you actually do it
because otherwise you would never be anywhere on time...
you're able to handle your opponents just fine you just...rather not
which is part of the reason Illumi gets so irritated with you
you have so much potential yet don't utilize it
at this point the only solution he can think of is knocking you up (if ur capable of getting pregnant) and hoping the kids don't come out as lazy as you...
Chrollo Lucilfer
with him being the leader of the phantom troupe aka your boss you should probably listen to him without hesitation but your ass does not gaf
he's learned how to deal with you
he keeps candy in his coat pocket just as a bribe if you don't feel like doing something he's asking of you
when he runs out you begrudgingly do what he asks anyways but not without complaints
Chrollo doesn't really mind having to physically move you places himself, considering you do most of his bidding anyways
but that's only because he likes you <3
if you were anyone else he would leave them wherever and whether they get up and follow him back to base is up to them
and because he's so lenient with you you feel bad sometimes and end up sucking it up and walking yourself
he doesn't mind your laziness as much as the others because you get your job done and could probably beat him up if you wanted to so who is he to tell you how to live your life?
he never sends you on missions alone, he needs to be there to make sure you actually do it (no he doesn't he just can't be away from you for too long)
Feitan Portor
this man is on the verge of killing you.
what the hell is the point of Chrollo keeping you around if all you do is lay around doing nothing and talk back when asked to do something??
he swears you act like a 5 year old boy sometimes
when he needs something from you he will threaten physical harm but its actually just empty threats
theres no fighting within the troupe and no matter how much he wishes he didn't, he likes you
and surprisingly, his threats are incentive enough to get you up and moving
most of the time...
other times when you refuse to move or just flop onto the floor he is grabbing you by the ankle and dragging you the rest of the way to wherever you need to go
he doesn't care if you get scratched and bruised up, if you wanted to avoid that then you should've just gotten up and walked by yourself
sometimes to get you to do things the rest of the troupe offers you things on Feitan's behalf
"Hey if you get up and beat this guy's ass with us Feitan will carry you all the way home instead of dragging you" "Like hell I will"
after seeing you in action for the first time Feitan is even more upset that you're so insufferably lazy
you are quite literally one of the most valuable troupe members but you??? never want to follow orders?????? this is literally your job
you're lucky he likes you because if you were anyone else he'd leave you where ever you decided to lay down and let you die there
Phinks Magcub
this man is going to argue with you for DAYS
at this point he feels like you refuse to do anything just because it makes him mad
hes another one who tries using incentives but he never follows through with what he promises
when you ragdoll he will begrudgingly carry you wherever you need to go
this guy battles your laziness with loud, annoying and never ending complaints
and tbh? it actually works most of the time
he gets so annoying that ur like "FINE FINE I'LL DO IT JUST SHUT UP ALREADY"
if you catch him on a good day he'll carry you/give you a piggy back ride without complaints
sometimes he uses your laziness as an excuse just to hold you <3
sry this one is so short I cant think of anything
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ddarker-dreams · 2 years ago
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myriadismx · 1 year ago
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@awalkingshame No, no, no, síguele, ya sacaste las de Panda y hasta las norteñas, ahora termina de decirlas todas 🤣
what are some song lyrics you always associate with your favs and why 🎤
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0asisbliss · 5 months ago
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His deep dive into your web of love and passion is what might save him. Something so special and unique is what you are. Such a fine and beautiful specimen that needs to be studied. Such a pretty thing you are. All he needs and for once in a long time your all he ever wants. He’ll get whatever you offer him this time he won’t be as greedy he promises love.
GOJO, Geto, Yuuji, Yuuta, CHOSO, (JJK) Baki, (BAKI) Cosmo, (KA) Chrollo, Shalnark, Phinks, Nobunaga, Kurapika, Leorio, (HXH) Eren, Reiner, ARMIN, (AOT) Dazai, Ranpo, Chuuya, (BSD) LOKI, Buddha, Anubis, (SNV) Tanjiro, Zenitsu, RENGOKU, (DS) or any of your favs.
Credit- @kodaswrld
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