90stvshowgoth:

—WORTH THE WAIT

summary: over the years it’s become easier to keep your feelings for your boss quiet but when he asked you to pose as his date during a mission your facade becomes much less convincing.

w/c: 7569

tags: mutual pining, exhibitionism, closet sex, excessive use of pet names

notes: jesus chriiiisst this took a million years. totally worth it tho. this was a request from @ddarker-dreams so thanks for the idea u jerk ily.

The Yul National Treasury was one of the most renowned institutions the world had ever seen, reopening as the new pride and joy of the nation of Yul. It was a small province that had just come into some serious money after its two neighboring countries had gone to war, profiting from both sides.

Its ruler, Markus Ano, was drunk on the power that had evaded him all his life, wasting away royalties on lavish parties to flaunt the wealth he’d accumulated. Tonight would be the biggest one yet, as the country’s fearless leader had just signed a contract meant to expand Yul’s borders and planned to celebrate accordingly. But, unlike his other galas, it wasn’t being held at his mansion. It was being held at the treasury.

You almost hadn’t believed Chrollo when he told you. Why would the supreme leader host a party there, where priceless artifacts and deeds of cash flow would be so ripe for the taking?

“It’s a brazen act of confidence,” Your boss had explained, “a flimsy attempt to make himself seem credible to the other world’s leaders. He’s daring any mercenary groups to crash the party.”

Shalnark’s eyebrows furrowed, his expression clear from the glow on his phone screen in the decrepit building, “Why would Ano want that?”

“To be taken seriously. If his military can fend off any attackers he believes it will increase his social standing with the other government officials.”

That made you confused. Chrollo had specifically called the Troupe’s recon members to Yul but from what your boss said it sounded like they were expecting a fight. Looking across the dimly lit building you saw the silhouettes of Machi, Paku, and Shalnark all wondering the same thing.

Your boss, insightful as ever, answered that unasked question, “We won’t be getting in there by force. If we try to barge our way in they’ll relocate the goods far before we find them. Our only option is to infiltrate the gala,” Chrollo held up four envelopes to the moonlight, each sealed in a garish purple wax, “Shalnark will provide support from here and the rest of us will pose as guests,”

His gaze focused on the blonde manipulator, “Can you access the hunter website to find out who the captains of the security team are?”

“Consider it done.”

“Excellent. Pakunoda will track down the captain and learn where they’re keeping our target. It’s either stored in one of the safes below the ballroom or somewhere else in the building.”

He called back the attention of the two women in the back of the room, “Machi, Paku, you will both arrive together. I assume your nen will be enough to restrain the guard silently?” He asked, gesturing towards Machi specifically. She didn’t say anything, just gave him a curt nod.

You willed your voice not to break as you spoke, “Um.. boss?” Keeping a level gaze with Chrollo when his wide, dark eyes flickered over to yours was more than a challenge, “what are we stealing?”

He smiled, and your treacherous heart skipped a scattered beat.

Keep reading

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, Chrollo is awful here Big Time oh lord oh god oh no, unbalanced power dynamics.
Word count:2.3k.

It was a testament to the poor quality of your company when every red light you received felt akin to personal torture.

Optimism, that’s what you need. Some adjustment in your mindset that will allow you to view this glass as half full rather than half empty. Optimism. How you loathe the word. You felt optimistic this morning, while eating warm pastries from the hotel’s continental breakfast on your room’s balcony. At lunch when you visited a café and found your drink was already covered, another customer had paid it forward. There was no way you could’ve predicted the sweet taste of the day turning dry and sour a few short hours later.

He’s saying something, you think, spinning pretty words from the loom that is his mouth. You pay him no mind. Rather, you find interest in the shifting landscape of your hometown, as observed from the passenger seat’s tinted windows.

The video rental shop you looked forward to visiting every Friday has been replaced by a liquor store. Your favorite diner is gone now too, the land bulldozed and the signs standing upon its grave promising ample warehouse space as soon as next year. How odd, since the day they promised potential leasers the project to be complete passed about five years ago. A waste, what a waste. 

“Are you intent on ignoring me all night? That isn’t very mature of you, [First].”

Maybe you’d think better of it if you were in a clearer state of mind, since alcohol’s pleasant buzz holds you prisoner now, but you respond with unbridled antipathy.

“Did you expect me to be in a talkative mood?”

“When there’s so much to discuss, yes.”

He’s not wrong on that front. You’d rather cut your own tongue out than admit it, though.

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” your rebuttal comes swift. Panicked. “I just want to get back to my hotel and sleep.”

“Hence my driving you, dear.”

“No, you’re driving me because my mom insisted—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat and you make no effort to free them. It isn’t right. For him to be here, where you grew up. In the town where you got your first part-time job, begged your older sibling to drive you to the mall on the weekends so that you could hang out with your friends, crushed over a cute boy from your class who worked at the movie theater. Chrollo didn’t belong here. It’s intrusive, a violation, a breach of your personal privacy to the highest degree. If your body rejects foreign pathogens that would seek to do you harm, it only makes sense that you would give him the same treatment.

Home is supposed to be your sanctuary — his presence is defiling that. Corrupting and warping it as if to say you could never be rid of him. It didn’t matter if you locked the doors and held them shut. He would always find a way in. Always.

“Did you lose your train of thought?”

“Yes,” you lie without hesitation. He knows it, you’re certain he does, but he’s already claimed victory. In the aftermath of a battle, the victor takes inventory of what they’ve gained. That has to be what he’s doing now. Sorting through the spoils and gloating. 

“A pity,” Chrollo confesses. Though you don’t look at him, you can tell he’s smiling by his voice alone. “I would’ve loved to hear your thoughts.”

“Somehow, I’m doubtful about that.”

Yet again, in another show of mockery from a cruel and indifferent universe, the traffic light overhead turns red upon your approach. Just like its predecessor. And the one before that. You’d think it was rush hour by the traffic lights alone, but it’s eleven o’clock at night, and you haven’t seen another car in minutes.

“On the topic of your family…” he trails off, purposeful in prolonging the silence, so that your suspense might accumulate. You grip your clutch tighter. “I wish I’d gotten to meet them sooner. We never got around to it, did we? Ah, the stories from your childhood were especially a delight. The senior photo in your father’s wallet was too. You’ll have to tell me what quote you picked sometime.” 

You don’t want to think about it, you don’t want to think about it. How a murderer shook hands with your father. Made pleasant small talk with your mother. Discussed cars and current events with your brother. All the while you sat sinking in the restaurant’s booth, your appetite lost, forced to regurgitate some flimsy excuse about why your family had never met your oh-so charming ‘friend’.

“To think I’ve been your first boyfriend in such a long time, too. Your ex still lives in this town, doesn’t he? Working at that… hm, what was it… gas station. I wonder if I’ll get to meet him as well.”

“We are notdating, not anymore,” you remind him, aghast. “And that’s a respectable occupation, anyway.”

“By your father’s tone, he certainly didn’t seem to think so.”

That’s right. What an excellentjob Chrollo did at establishing himself as appealing in every prospect, from the choice sports car sitting in the parking lot for them to ogle over, to paying for everyone’s dinner by the night’s end. How they must’ve thought reciprocating his affections would be a no-brainer. Still, you place no blame on your family — everything is his fault from beginning to end. There was a time when you were similarly so blinded by his presence that you assumed there was no darkness to be found.

“You have zerobusiness judging the employment of others with the line of ‘work’ you’re in.”

“Perhaps. And yet,” with the hand not on the steering wheel, he motions to your person. “You have no problem wearing a dress I obtained from my despicable ‘line of work’.”

Heat rises to your face and situates itself there, letting you know it won’t be going away anytime soon. 

The garment had already cast guilt on you. After discovering the truth behind Chrollo’s weeks of absence and seemingly endless pit of money, you rid yourself of every material item he’d ever given you. Bags, jewelry, purses, shoes, and clothes; they were either donated or thrown out as looking at them for too long nauseated you. This dress was the lone exception, not that arguing this point would do you any good. You were reminded of your cousin’s wedding and the subsequent need to fly home for it while ridding yourself of his gifts.

The high-end places you’d undoubtedly be attending for such an event spurred you to save one, just one, of his expensive presents. Never had you expected to “coincidentally run in” to him and be subjected to his torments over the moral ambiguity.

After what feels like an eternity, he turns into the hotel you were able to reserve on a limited budget; a potential light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe he’ll part ways with you here. Sever whatever connection bound you in the past, giving you freedom to pursue a future without him in the picture. He should feel satisfied over the agony he subjected you to this evening. For months, if not years, you’ll endure questions from your family about that fascinating stranger who happened upon you that one night and proved himself a desirable bachelor. 

“Did you not work out? Have you ever thought about contacting him again? Maybe smooth things over?” Queries such as this would be your personal agony, handcrafted by the man in question himself.

“There’s no need to sit there and pout,” Chrollo reassures, though his words promise the opposite of that. “You look lovely in it. And as you said, I have no business judging others.”

He doesn’t, but he’s going to anyway. 

You shrink into yourself when he places his arm behind the passenger seat, a habit you noticed he has whenever he backs up. Before, it birthed life to butterflies in your stomach, but now, you want to create as much distance as possible. No space would ever feel like enough.

He turns the keys in the ignition and the car’s humming falls silent.

For some time, the both of you sit there, neither moving nor making a sound. Your eyes remain firm on your lap while you can feel his stare searing into your profile. You’re agitated, at a loss on what to do, and most pressing of all, you’re tired. His presence promises more than ill-timed appearances and caustic words meant to eat away at your high defenses. Considering this, your stomach twists painfully. No amount of faux bravado on your part can hide your apprehension from him. He smells it out, like a shark sensing blood in water.

All you had in your arsenal were words, sharp yet ultimately harmlesswords. What he boasted in his… you dread the thought.  

“What do you want, Chrollo?”

It’s not that you want to ask, but that you feel there’s no other option available. This was a merry-go-round ride that would keep spinning until one of you fell off, and if anyone was going to fall, it would be you.

“I’ll let you decide that.”

He sounds sincere, however, you know better than to believe that. Suspicion must be written all over your face. He takes your hand in his and you let him. You wonder if he knows it’s his hands you fear the most, rivaled only by his hollow eyes that at times appear omnipotent. As they do now. At any given moment, he could see all of you, while you saw a mere fraction of him. 

Maybe it’s a blessing he revealed only so much. If you witnessed the full depths of his depravity, you might never surface for air again, drowning in a vat thicker than tar. 

How can so much darkness permeate from another human being? It was times like this where you couldn’t be certain if he wasone.

“I’ll either stay or leave by your discretion,” he announces, causing your eyebrows to scrunch together. Just when you thought you’d taught yourself to expect the unexpected with him, he finds new ways to throw you off-balance.

This has to be a trick. Something is hiding in the fine print, and you’re intent on finding out. “What does you staying look like?”

“You were always quick on the uptake,” he’s pleased, evidently, a factor he makes known by pressing a chaste kiss to your hand. All your self-control goes into not pulling yourself free. It may have been intuition or paranoia, but something told you he’d sooner let you dislocate your shoulder than allow you to pull away. Not after he’s waited months for this. 

“We’ll get out of this car together. You’ll let me into your hotel room — your bed — then your life. Your parents invited you to breakfast tomorrow, didn’t they? I’ll come with you. I’ll see your childhood home, look at old photo albums at your mother’s behest and laugh at the stories she tells me from your youth. I’ll compliment the arrangement of the furniture, how the colors go together just so. She’ll be simply taken with me. Your father, too, naturally. I’ve already begun to make excellent progress on that front.”

You don’t think you could breathe if you wanted to.

Chrollo leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper that made your earlier dinner want to claw back up your throat.

“I will attend your cousin’s wedding this weekend as your date. I’ll charm your aunts, impress your uncles. Play with your nieces and nephews. You can introduce me however you like. A friend, a colleague from work. They’ll know. They’ll read between the lines. They’ll ask when they can expect to see you walk down the aisle to me someday in the future. You can cry, if you so please, but they’ll simply mistake it as a maiden who is head over heels in love. I’ll tell them to keep their calendars free next June, and they’ll laugh, perhaps you will too.”

He squeezes your hand to anchor you. Otherwise, you think your mind would’ve given you the reprieve of going someplace else, someplace safe and sane and anywhere but here. Hell itself may be preferable, if you weren’t already there. 

“I will insert myself so deeply into your life, that to cut me out, you’d have to slice into yourself as well.”

You’re trembling now, like a leaf caught in a hurricane, with no hope of ever reaching solid ground again. Pushed and pulled by the whims of a being that so plainly outclasses you in every category.

What could you do? What could you say? Did it even matter what approach you tried to take? The web was spun and you were caught. The more you struggle the deeper embedded you become. 

So you play by his rules and voice yet another question you don’t really want to know the answer to. 

“And…” your lips are dry, so terribly dry, as is your mouth, “If… if I ask you to leave?”

He pulls back — not that it matters. It still feels like he’s there, the warmth of his breath, the woody notes of his cologne. Haunting you. Dominating you. Asserting that this nightmare isn’t over, oh no, it’s just getting started.

“That’s simple,” Chrollo takes your pallid face in his hands, stroking your cheek, gazing down at your through thick eyelashes. What gleams in his lifeless eyes, you can’t say for certain. You think it might be best if you remain ignorant to it. “You’ll come with me.”

A kiss to your cheek. He lingers this time, you’re in no position to protest. He savors the closeness he brought by interlocking you to his person with ironclad handcuffs.

“So, what will it be? I stand by what I said earlier. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Be a dear and share them with me.”

doubledgesword-2:

ITS BEEN A WHILE!! I know. I’ve been very, very busy with work and projects and whatnot. So I wanted to vent a little. This lil tea is unrequested but very self indulgent. It’s not everyone’s Rose tea cup cuz I know y’all like the spicy type but this one goes for anyone who just needs to be comforted. The other teas are coming rest assure, I’m just slow. This one is short, enjoy!!

Your big project had been driving you up a wall and even though you always managed, tonight was the breaking point.

A really important deadline was coming right up and you had been preparing for months. Chrollo’s presence has been intermittent for the whole week. Coming in late at night to cuddle you while you sleep and leaving in the morning with encouragement notes posted all over the house. It wasn’t ideal but you understood he had things to do.

However you wished he would stay a while longer just to help you relax or give you advice. He was always good with his words.

As you scribbled away adjustments on the paper and click clackle a couple of notes on the keyboard, you didn’t noticed Chrollo coming in through the open balcony window. He was so silent. watching you sitting down on the floor with notebooks, sketchbooks, books and papers all spread around yet neatly placed. Your shoulders looked tense and usually by this time you’re already in bed for him to coddle. He loves watching your peaceful expression, the way your chest rises and falls and everything seems so calm in those moments. The memories bring a small smile and he can’t wait to relieve them tonight.

Chrollo knocks on the window and you jump looking behind you to see him smiling innocently. He looks boyish and it makes you smile. But you can’t do that now, you have to finish this thing in one and a half hour before the submission deadline.

“I love you but I have to hurry, hurry, hurry, right now. Come sit with me.” Chrollo lifted a brow coming to sit beside you.

“Do you want to help me?”

“Sure, tell me what to do”

You explained how to write the things while you would sketch the ideas down and then do the other stuff. Overall it was a nice bonding experience, that the two of you cherished. But an hour passed and you still had to make your presentation board, color more sketches and attached more notes.

You started sighing when there were 30 minutes left. Then your leg started swinging in anxiety as the minutes ticked away.

Chrollo noticed all the quirks, quiet telltales of your rising stress, but you still seemed to be managing it well and he was helping you, surely you could make it even if it wasn’t perfect.

That’s what he told you and for the most part you did just that. So when there were 5 minutes left you rushed to compile everything together, making sure it was readable.

3 minutes in and your computer started giving your problems. Everything was too slow. too sluggish.

“I’m gonna cry, come on, come on” you said jokingly, exasperated at the laptop. But Chrollo kept watching you and he knew better.

You didn’t made it and that was okay.

You even seemed to be in a lighter mood that is until everything was compiled and you realized it was a mess. Chrollo and you exchanged looks and you started laughing hard alongside with him. The two of you just laughing out the stress but when his eyes opened he realized you were sobbing and couldn’t really stop doing both things at once.

Chrollo tilted his head and chuckled with you, feeling a bit out of place with the situation. He grabbed your arms pulling you into him even though you’d till couldn’t stop laughing and sobbing. He held you close tucking your head under his chin, feeling your chest racking and the tears making a wet spot on his coat.

“It’s alright, love, maybe it was fate. Maybe there’s something better. That’s not the only way to get an interview, besides your work is halfway done now all you have to do is work out the kinks. I’ll help you” he kisses the top of your head as your fit subsides.

Chrollo hugs you close, rocking you a little bit, drawing circles on your back and petting your hair while you let everything out.

You felt high but now you’re just tired. After laughing and crying everything out at the same time it was understandable, so when your body went limp in his arms he smiled gently at you. Chrollo picked you up bridal style making sure your tucked in close to his heart.

“Come on, let’s take a shower, we can clean in the morning”

“Im sorry…thanks for helping me”

“It’s alright dear. There’s nothing to be sorry about”

Even though I’m slow requests are still open! Please refer to the pinned post at the beginning of my blog :)

parakeetdetective:

No Title

✰- Paring -✰ Chrollo X Reader

✰- Summary -✰ Your grandfather recently passed away leaving you a mysterious old book. Now you’re out to find someone who can tell you anything about it.

✰ - TW(s)- ✰ Death of a Family Member, OCCness, Really just Fluff

✰ - Note- ✰ Sorry if Chrollo comes off as a little OCC. I liked the concept and wanted to write a lighter piece with him.

✰ - Word Count- ✰2032

You weren’t very close to your father’s family. In all fairness you weren’t close to any of your family, but you were all the sort to at least gather for funerals. That dreary fall afternoon spent watching your paternal grandfather’s casket lowering into the ground actually felt quite uneventful. Some part of you felt pretty guilty for not being more upset. Judging by the crowd of so called mourners you likely weren’t alone in feeling that way. Your own father too busy to attend the procession himself. Busy with whatever a prohunter does. He’d made some remark about gramps “understanding” when you’d asked over the phone if he’d be there. After all, grampa was a pro too once, but he was old and forgotten about it seems. Maybe all his colleagues simply died before he did. If not they hadn’t cared to be there either.

Keep reading

Chrollo…having feelings…

primbun:

General Disclaimer: I will do my best to keep the reader gender neutral and physically unspecific unless otherwise stated! The reader will be kept as realistic as possible but remember, it’s all subjective! Not everyone struggles with the same issues and this is a one person blog, so I really just have myself to try and make the reader relate to you! With that, I hope you enjoy this!

Warnings: Angsty themes, lime, unrequited crush, all these characters have issues (both internally and with each other).

—————————————————————————————

You were walking through the city with your new friend Kurapika. You had only met him a few weeks ago, but the two of you had already gotten close. The number one part about him that you had trouble with when talking to him was his life goal; to avenge his clan by eliminating the Phantom Troupe. Most people probably see his goal as honorable and heart-wrenching, providing their full support to him, but you couldn’t. Shortly before meeting Kurapika, you met Chrollo, the leader of the infamous troupe. There was an instant connection, for him being a master thief, you stole his heart easily, as he did the same to you. This led the two of you to spend as much time together as possible before Chrollo would inevitably leave for an unknown amount of time. He made you feel special, showering you with love, so did him being a mass murderer really matter? You knew it was wrong, but him being in your life felt right. Of course, you would never tell Kurapika this. He would flip out. You were sympathetic towards Kurapika and didn’t mean any harm to him, you just wanted to be there for him. Conversations with him could sometimes grow complicated as you had to navigate around not outwardly expressing dislike towards the group Chrollo holds over his own life, but not seem suspicious to Kurapika. In the kindness you had given to Kurapika, he trusted you far quicker than even he would like, but you had proved you were a good investment to give his trust to. You had to drop by your place to pick up your card so that you and Kurapika could go to dinner. Inviting Kurapika in, you ran off farther into the house, leaving Kurapika just inside the front door. Kurapika noticed an elegant-looking ivory-colored envelope and the side table by the door that read ‘Y/n’ in cursive. Out of curiosity, he picked up the envelope and opened it. When he took out the contents, he was astonished to find that it seemed to be a romantic poem, very worn looking as if it was from the 1600s. He proceeded to keep opening the letter, which was almost sickeningly romantic, but Kurapika was compelled to keep reading. You had never mentioned any secret admirer or romantic partner, so why would the letter be in your house untouched? Once he reached the end, his stomach dropped. The name signed at the bottom was Chrollo. Kurapika felt sick and dizzy. Why would you be receiving a love note from Chrollo? This was a cruel joke, especially as Kurapika was planning on asking you to date him tonight at dinner. Chrollo must have found out somehow and tried to woo you over himself, setting out to break his spirit. The idea seemed outlandish, but why else would it be here, unopened. As you walked back into the room and saw Kurapika with the letter in hand, you were puzzled

“Um, what do you have Kurapika?”

“A letter. I didn’t realize that the man who took away everything I loved also wanted you.”

Your eyes stared at the floor. You weren’t sure what to say. It was clear he had found out what was going on between Chrollo and you.

“Well um, Kurapika, I-”

“He really has set out on destroying everything I hold dear. But I’ll get my revenge. Come on Y/n, we should get you out of here. He knows where you are and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You realized that he hadn’t figured out what was truly going on. But you couldn’t let this go on. Kurapika had already started walking over to you, reaching out to grab your hand. You panicked and weren’t sure how to ruin his perception of you. Kurapika had his hand on the door handle, but suddenly the handle moved and the door opened. Kurapika moved you both back a step, keeping you behind him. Chrollo was standing in the doorway, a book in his hand. Chrollo’s face stayed blank as Kurapika flew into a rage. Kurapika had let go of your hand and lunged at Chrollo. You desperately reached for Kurapika’s hand to prevent his attack but you didn’t reach his hand in time. Luckily, Chrollo stepped out of the way as Kurapika launched outside the door. You gasped, worried that Kurapika had gotten hurt speeding outside. Chrollo glanced out the door, indifferent to the greeting he received. You saw Kurapika over Chrollo’s shoulder, his eyes ignited with scarlet and chains in his hand. As he was racing back inside of the house, Chrollo pushed the door shut. You cringed at the sound Kurapika made as he slammed against the door and was aggressively opening it. Meanwhile, Chrollo slinked behind you. He lifted his right arm to press it against your eyes and push your head back. He connected his lips to your neck and pressed soft kisses down your neck to your collarbone. You heard the door open harshly, but couldn’t do a thing.

“Chrollo! Let her go!”

Chrollo moved his eyes from you, making eye contact with Kurapika.

“Why? I’m sure she enjoys this. What gives you a right to her heart? She loves me.”

The worst part about listening to this was Chrollo saw him as nothing. He was instigating conflict with Kurapika but could care less about the outcome. Chrollo planted a deep kiss on your neck but kept his eyes on Kurapika’s. All you could hear was the slight sound of steps and the door slam. Chrollo moved his arm from your eyes and removed his mouth from your neck. There was a warm, lingering wetness on your neck from his kiss.

“Why was he here?”

“We were going to go to dinner. I just had to stop by here and grab my card because I forgot it.”

“That’s fair. I’m glad I decided to come over.”

Why? So you could show that his new friend betrayed his trust?”

“I saved him more trouble than if you had told him. Dinner would have made things worse.”

“Why’s that?”

“He clearly likes you. But that’s probably not the case anymore.”

You were shocked. It really hadn’t hit you that Kurapika possibly had a crush on you. Chrollo took you with him to the couch, sitting you down next to him. He pulled out his book and started reading.

“Wait, you caused all this trouble because you wanted to read a book?”

“I also wanted to know if you got my letter. I hadn’t expected you to have company. But yes, I also wanted to read my book somewhere comfortable.”

He continued reading while you pondered how ridiculous Chrollo was. What a dork.

—————————————————————————————

Author Notes: Hey everyone! This isn’t the kinktober story I’ve been working on because it’s not finished, but I wanted to write something small and angsty for today! I really wanted to make this for a while so I’m glad I got around to it. My apologies to Kurapika though, he doesn’t deserve this poor treatment! If only he’d take Leorio’s phone calls, maybe he would be going on a date! We stan Kurapika in this house though, and I’m sorry to any Kurapika simps because your bae would get some much better from you. I also didn’t really think to end it as silly as I did, but we needed some sort of pick me up after betrayal and what not. We’re done being long winded though, see you later!

—LOOSE ENDS

—ch.1—ch.2—ch.3—ch.4—ch.5

summary: neither you, nor chrollo can contain your excitement as you finally show him around the Yorknew museum; meanwhile you’re blissfully unaware that the reason why he arrived fashionably late is because he was rushing to finish disposing of the four corpses in his hotel foyer.

wc: 7075

tags: fluff, art history, graphic violence, masturbation

an: let’s not mention how long it took me to post this. i mean, not gonna lie, dating chrollo would be 90% him babbling about classic lit and art he hasn’t stolen yet. sorry to any christian chrollo fans, we’re getting kinda blasphemous this chap >:) (though, how many could really exist, chrollos the most blasphemous guy around)

The painting he stands before is a bleak thing, bathed in browns and reds, standing in sharp contrast to the other pieces that sit beside it; with their pastel skylines and flush landscapes, often accompanied by a naked woman or two. No, this was different entirely, and Chrollo was immediately drawn to it along the rows of hanging artworks.

“Good eye, that’s gotta be one of my favorites,” you commented, his brows raising in pleasant surprise.

Though he’d have to work on his phrasing, words coming off far too transparent, “It is?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your face scrunched up into a frown, and while it was adorable, it wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

“I meant nothing by it, I was just surprised,” Chrollo gestured towards the painting, “isn’t it a bit morbid for your taste?”

It was called Dante and Virgil, a tribute to the former’s Divine Comedy. On its canvas were two men, both bare, the larger man digging his grotesque fangs into the other’s neck, forcing him to the ground as his victim cried upwards in pain. Behind them were three spectators: an old scholar, a young poet crowned with a wreath of laurels, and a flayed, winged demon laughing at all four of them from above.

You just shrugged, fiddling with your hands to distract yourself, “Who’s to say what my tastes are, Chrollo? We haven’t exactly known each other long enough for you to find out.”

“…Fair point,”

His attention turned away from the Bouguereau painting, a smile toying at the edges of his mouth, “Then tell me.”

It looked as if your brain short-circuited, “I…what?”

“Tell me everything there is to know about you.” It seemed a bit fanciful saying it out loud, but those worries were quickly set aside when your voice hitched with surprise, pulling away to cover your grin in what he hoped was only embarrassment.

A nervous laugh bubbled up from your smile, awkwardly avoiding his gaze but being unable to hide the flush of your skin.

“Y-you—“ you sighed, frustrated, yes, but by now Chrollo knew you better than to think you didn’t secretly enjoy his compliments.

“Chrollo, can’t you just ask who my favorite painter is like a normal person?”

He shrugged, “But where’s the fun in that?” Raising a brow at his direction, you called his bluff, not that he was really laboring to look apologetic.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, I’ll stop, promise. But you do make a good point, so tell me, who is your favorite painter?”

Your voice faltered, “That… might’ve been a bad example of a question. I don’t really have one, if anything I have too many.” You winced as soon as it left your mouth, cursing yourself for the stilted phrasing and immediately trying to correct yourself for fear of sounding dumb; but far from it, your answer only made him curiouser.

“I have a handful of favorites, don’t get me wrong, but It’s so hard to choose just one to last me forever,” encouraged by his silence, you went on, “I couldn’t even pick between my favorite movements, let alone artists. Surrealism, romanticism, baroque… eighteenth-century realism, too. There’s so many different painters I love in those genres that I couldn’t choose one.”

When you finished rambling Chrollo felt no less enthralled with your explanation than when you began. There was so much you weren’t telling him, miles of unhewn thoughts straining against soft, closed lips. It killed him a bit inside — knowing that if he just gave you a push in the right direction you might not have stopped talking, might’ve indulged him with the way your mind works ever further. Lord knows he wanted to hear it.

“I’m afraid my answer might sound a bit boring in comparison.” Unfortunately, he didn’t think of himself as as open-minded as you were, at least when it came to art. Ever since he could remember picking up a half-torn copy of a museum magazine from a pile of rubble as a child, he’s always had a favorite.

You frowned, “Try me.”

“Alright then. You’ve heard of Caravaggio?”

Before he could get another word out he was silenced by an admittedly cute gasp muffled by a hand over your mouth. Regretfully, your bearings reminded him too much of how you’d looked below him last week, lips stained with wine and drunk off his tongue. A shiver went down Chrollo’s spine, and he cursed his thoughts for betraying him now of all times. Thankfully you cut him off by snatching his hand into your own, shoes squeaking against the waxed floors while you dragged him off to who knows where. Walking at the brisk pace you set wasn’t difficult for him to keep up with, but he hadn’t expected you to yank his arm so hard.

“Darling, where are..?“ You led him through the wave of tourists, grip tough to keep him from straying too far. Chrollo almost laughed as he imagined what the two of you must look like to onlookers. He assumed something quite similar to the elementary students that interrupted your moment outside, with your hands clasped together in a link to not get separated, childish in comparison to the building’s academic atmosphere; his thoughts offset by your fumbled apology after stepping on a woman’s toe.

There was something in his voice that even sounded like he was smiling, “Where are you taking me?”

Chrollo felt the questions evaporate off his tongue when you spun around to face him, a stray piece of sunlight from a nearby window dappling yellow across your skin, eyes bright, answering with a grin of your own, “It’s another surprise, Chrollo, isn’t that obvious?”

You do this constantly to him. In the unguarded moments where he least expects them, you will do or say something so inconsequential and all in one moment he’s made aware of just how strong a sway you have over him. A simple, rhetorical question, and it’s taken him how long to respond?

“You and your surprises again?” He teased, but made no move to let go of your hand.

Chrollo surrendered to your direction, following in your footsteps with a weak smile. The museum passed by in a blur - from paintings to sculptures then back again - always returning to that same shade of marbled white.

He only bothered to take in his surroundings after your footsteps skittered to a halt, mischievousness a beautiful look on your face, following your arm’s curve as you pointed at what was printed above the next hallway’s entry.

His throat tightened after meeting your line of sight, rereading the epitaph twice over to be sure he wasn’t mistaken.

Embossed on golden plating above the hall’s entryway were the words ‘Amerighi da Caravaggio.’

He blinked, jaw slack.

“So? What do you th—“

The kiss he pressed to your lips felt more like muscle spasming, a reflex he couldn’t resist, rather than a decision. With both hands he cupped your face towards him, momentarily forgetting where he was, he pinched your jaw to keep you in place as he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip. A fraction of nen slipped through his fingers by accident, and with far too much force he crashed your lips against his, your muffled squeak only exciting him further.

A part of him despaired at how the kiss didn’t last, leaving an electricity tingling down his fingertips when he pulled away. He didn’t bother with masking his expression, not now, and not around you, a million thoughts racing through his mind so fast it began to give him a headache.

How long would it take to call his spiders to York New? Were there any paintings in the museum being sought after by high price clients on the black market? Those metal detectors aren’t up to code, so should he ask Shalnark to acquire an EPM? How many guards did he see when he walked in the building - how many cameras? Would an offensive attack have more benefits than a reconnaissance mission?

And above all others, there was one question he refused to ask himself.

Does he actually care about you?

You were a distraction to him, nothing more. A way for him to stave off the stress that came with being the Troupe’s head and, perhaps, you could give more insight into the long-running questions he harbored towards his identity. But why did it feel like he was trying to convince himself more than anything?

Already you’ve given him so much to think about by merely existing with him, blissfully unaware of the blood caked beneath his fingernails. He felt like an idiot for considering your relationship as anything other than a passing fancy or social experiment but you made it so difficult sometimes.

It seemed like everything you did was in some measured attempt to enthrall him. Hell, the morning you went down on him and after he dropped you off for your shift at the coffee shop, Chrollo spent the next couple hours pacing around his apartment, launching into a full-scale debate with himself on whether or not you were an assassin sent to kill him. In the days following, he’d spent his time digging into your history. An online footprint wasn’t hard to follow if you knew where to look. Birth certificates, medical records, proof of residence, all of it checked out. You were just as ordinary as you claimed, and he found himself at a loss of what to do next.

Unlike himself and his other spiders, you had no reason to conceal your emotions, wearing your heart on your sleeve like it was going out of style. It was unfairly entertaining to see the gears turn behind your eyes until your cheeks burned red — he could do it for hours if he had the time. Underneath his nose you’d managed to inspire a fondness in him for each of the mundane fascinations that surround you, and he felt disturbingly comfortable with all of it.

Then again, why shouldn’t he spend time with you? He wasn’t exactly known to deny himself pleasure. If he wanted something, he’d take it. It was in a thief’s nature. And yet, when he found himself in your presence, all he wanted to do was give.

Nowthat scared him.

Only after he realizes you’re looking to him for a reaction does he snap out of his thoughts.

The first thing he finds it in himself to say is, “I had no idea this was in Yorknew…”

He barely registers you lacing your fingers with his, “That’s not too surprising. It’s the museum’s newest exhibit, It only opened to the public about four months ago.”

As if possessed by his own curiosity, he stepped forward into the gala, pulling you along in his soft grip. Even before the two of you approached the first display Chrollo can’t help but air his musings out-loud while subtly bringing you closer to his chest.

“Still, I can’t believe I didn’t hear about something like this,” he mused, a breath of air through his nose all there was to constitute a laugh, “perhaps I should be making more use of my hunter’s license to gather information - though I find it does occasionally take the fun out of a job.”

You giggle absentmindedly, thinking nothing of his comment as you follow him into the gallery.

As soon as the two of you stepped into the gallery his gaze locked on to the closest display, recognizing it from one of the stolen or salvaged art catalogues that used to fill his shelves back home. The Calling of St Matthew.

It was probably Caravaggio’s most famous work, or at least among his most widely respected. It was a depiction of Matthew 9:9, “Jesus saw a man named Matthew at his seat in the custom house, and said to him, "Follow me”, and Matthew rose and followed Him.“ Chrollo wanted to roll his eyes at the drab wording, but couldn’t find it in himself when he was staring at the adaptation before him. Unlike other Christian paintings, Jesus himself is depicted in shadows, only his hand pointed straight at Matthew being illuminated against the dingy room. The man of the verse is shown at the end of a table with his head in his hands, surrounded by those whose faces are bathed in light and awe at the sight of their savior.

Chrollo wouldn’t go so far as to call it one of his favorites, even if he could objectively appreciate it, but it did make him realize something crucial.

What struck him was just how large the painting was; nearly ten feet tall and matching in width. Turning an unfocused eye along the hanging rows revealed most of his other paintings to be around the same height, throwing a sizable wrench into any upcoming heists. He’d have to think of some way to transport them out of the museum without damaging the canvases, and while he trusted each of the spiders with his life, the same couldn’t be said about trusting some of them to hold anything too delicate. He still doesn’t think he’ll ever fully forgive Uvogin for accidentally dropping that Ludaran vase worth thirty-billion jenny.

“I can hear the gears turning,” you squeezed his hand and brought him softly back down to earth, nodding towards the painting, “what do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, of course,” he would’ve left it at that, yet that wouldn’t’ve felt like a proper answer to your question, “but… I’m not sure what it is, but it feels as if it’s missing something.”

“Right?I think it feels too pulled back, like with the composition? It makes you feel too much like an observer - but hey, that might’ve been what he was going for - lots of Christian paintings are made like that. I think it’s meant to convey the ‘holiness’ of it all. Like you get to see God’s perspective while he watches his kid run his errands.”

It was as if you’d forgotten he was there for a moment, fully enveloped with your explanation to the point where, when you stopped, the silence caught him off-guard as well.

“I-I mean, that’s— It’s just something I read online, I don’t… It’s not like I have an art degree or anything—“

“I couldn’t have said it any better myself,” he whispered, slightly awed.

A blush rippled from where he disturbed the calm waters of your cheeks, and Chrollo found it hard to change the subject and end your embarrassment. Riling you up was far too much fun.

Unfortunately he had to cut his amusement short. Spending this much time with you naturally led him to pick up on your habits, and the fact that you were most likely doing the same with him was something he loathed to consider. This habit of yours in particular was one he wished to correct as soon as possible, careful with his tone so he didn’t startle you, “Darling, you shouldn’t doubt your own opinions so much.”

Your eyes expanded to the size of plates, amateurishly covering up your surprise with nervous laughter, “You… what? I don’t know what you’re—“

“You don’t have to defend yourself or try to answer me. Just think about it. Alright?”

“…okay,”you sounded breathless, staring at him with such wonder he almost staggered.

The irony wasn’t lost on him that what he wanted most from you, your insight, was the one thing you withheld. It was frustrating beyond measure, and he was starting to think you might need a push in the right direction.

Dark pools scanned the halls surrounding him, and keeping himself from eagerly drinking in the sight of every painting at once took more self-control than he’d like to admit.

But then there’s a flash of red at the corner of his vision, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. Gently, his hands found themselves at your elbows, running up along the fabric until they rested comfortably on your shoulders.

With your back almost flush against him and using a millionth of the strength at his fingertips, he guided you towards another painting that made Chrollo’s fingers twitch just looking at it. It was a motor tick he acquired in Meteor City. Whenever he found himself staring at any kind of treasure he coveted, but was unable to immediately take, his palms began to fidget in anticipation. He remedied it easily enough by keeping his hands in his pockets whenever possible, especially during reconnaissance missions; which he had to remind himself he wasn’t currently part of right now. However, you were either kind or oblivious enough to ignore the stutter in his hands that still led you by your shoulders, something he was more than thankful for even if it left him a tad suspicious.

And as uncomfortable as it felt to admit it, Chrollo thinks he’s starting to understand the reason why he can’t shake that thief’s mindset. To envy, to want, the desire to keep everything for himself… Those beliefs were ingrained within him far too early-on as a child for him to be rid of them now, no matter how many years he’s spent outside the city. The thought comforted him, but not before it sent a chill down his spine. Because he’s enjoyed so little of life without the spider, it’s hard for his brain to rationalize any happiness that came from outside its circle.

The soft heat of your hand on his own was enough to bring him into focus as he felt his thoughts beginning to multiply, that same warmth beginning to infect his chest when he felt you relax into his arms; eyes closing as you made yourself comfortable in the crook of his neck.

Looking down at you gave him plenty of reason to table any thoughts for a later date, and he found his attention being tugged at from both ends; one by you and the other by a work of art he’s waited nearly all his life to see.

“The Beheading of Holofernes,”

He only realized he’d said the name out loud when you asked, “One of your favorites, too?”

Damn, he must be getting easier to read. “How could you tell?”

You shrugged, “We’re into similar stuff, and I was secretly hoping you’d say yes. It’s probably somewhere in my… top five? No—top three favorite Caravaggios.”

“Well, remind me to trust your intuition more often. I’ve wanted to see this in person since I was a child. Now then…” he didn’t let you dwell on the subject of his youth, instead trying to steer your attention back to the painting. Chrollo realized too late that guiding you from behind like this gave him far too many ideas - none of them sinless - all of which made worse when your steps faltered and accidentally pressed against his waistline.

Resolutely tabling any impure thoughts for a later date, Chrollo gently brought you forward before the oil painting’s unsettling gaze, “what do youthink?”

“Wha—“ He silenced any complaints with a knowing glance, and he had to admit, you feigned acceptance rather well, conceding reluctantly. After a pause you nodded, fixing a glare at the two women as if they had wronged you instead of Holofernes.

With the tip of your tongue poking out and brows furrowed in concentration you manage to string together a response, “It’s like… Judith wants to kill him, but she’s so disgusted by Holofernes she’s just getting it over with instead. Makes me think he probably deserved it.” You finished and looked to him for approval, almost going unnoticed as he was busy taking in the artwork himself.

“Are you familiar with the story of Holofernes? Because yes, he deserved it.”

The corners of your mouth winced, “No, don’t think so,” you hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed, “where’s it from?”

He crowed quietly, “I suppose a better question is, are you religious, darling?”

You held out your hand, awkwardly angling it in the air and shaking apprehensively, “Ehhh… n— I mean sort of? Not really. Why, Is it from the bible?”

He chuckled, laughing at his own joke, “The exact opposite, actually. The Book of Judith is a deuterocanonical addition to the bible, called an apocrypha— basically, it was an original text that predates even The Book of Revelations. The story goes that Holofernes was an invading Assyrian general sent from Nebuchadnezzar to exact punishment on the Jewish city of Bethulia for staying neutral in the nation’s most recent war. He spent weeks destroying shrines and razing cities to the ground; demanding that the Hebrew worship Nebuchadnezzar alone. Eventually the cities’ leaders decided that if no help arrived within five days, they would surrender themselves to the… Assyrians.” He made the mistake of looking back at your face near the end of his little lecture and it caused his voice to falter, a worshipful attentiveness in your eyes pinned all on him.

It felt as if for a moment he was standing at the head of a Troupe meeting, all eyes on him with ears so inclined to what he had to say. But this wasn’t the Troupe, something he had to keep reminding himself. You had no brutal respect for him forged out of blood and sand— you just enjoyed sharing the same space as him, a bright smile spilling onto your face at the mere sound of his voice. So unafraid, and blissfully ignorant.

You gestured your head towards the gruesome painting, “I like where this story’s going.”

“The next night, a Hebrew widow named Judith snuck into the Assyrian camp. With the advice of an old maid, she seduced Holofernes into drinking and dance until he was drunk enough for her to easily saw off his head with a scythe,” you whistled lowly, eyes looking over the oil rendition of the woman in the painting, “the next night she returned to Bethulia with Holofernes’ head, freeing the city.”

“…Good for her. I mean, no wonder it was edited out of the Bible, that’s way too awesome of a take on women.”

Chrollo couldn’t catch himself before some snort of laughter left his nose, and admittedly his ears turned pink when you acknowledged the sound of it.

“Are you sure you haven’t read it?” He quipped, turning the two of you down the hall, “but you’re right, it’s one of the only ethical murders I can think of in the whole book. Everything else is just… Religious zealotry that might look mad to us, but mundane to whatever old man wrote it down.”

His words must’ve unlocked some buried memory from the depths of your mind as you tapped excitedly at his wrist, “Ohhyeah,totally! Like with the father of Issac, right? So fucked up, and I’m sure that’s nothing compared to some other Old-Testament scariness you could tell me about.”

Oh, he could go on for hours.

And it felt like he did. The two of you arrived at the museum before the sun had even reached its peak, and after what felt like a few minutes had passed, Chrollo was blinded with the red glow of the sunset when the two of you walked by the occasional window. Time does fly when you’re having fun, but therein lies the problem, doesn’t it?

He cursed himself for how much he enjoyed your audience, it was unbecoming of the spider’s head to feel so… normal. He didn’t deserve it— More than that, he shouldn’t be seeking it out in the first place. When you graced him with your audience, he’d sometimes pull his hand away from your shoulder expecting to see a bloody handprint staining the skin. Just the same, Chrollo couldn’t help the words spilling from his mouth when you asked him to continue.

Your voice squeaked adorably, frame wracked with a yawn that stretched your arms out taut; scrunching up your nose before snugly pressing your back into his chest, finding a home in the crook of his neck.

His breath hitched, suddenly gripping your shoulders to keep you still.

“What’s wrong?” Wide eyes turned to ask him, unaware as always.

Chrollo plastered a placid smile on his face, “It’s nothing, really. Just a cramp.”

The way you kept pace in front of him was a double edged sword. On one hand, you walked in step so closely it was impossible not to accidentally press his hips against the small of your back. However, if he moved away from you, his imminent problem would become readily apparent to anybody who glanced in his direction.

If he could do so discreetly, he’d hit himself for the thoughts running through his head right now. Yes, he blamed the unfortunate circumstances that interrupted him the previous night, but that didn’t make him feel any less depraved.

See, it wasn’t enough that you were cameoing in his thoughts, filling out his already crowded head, but it was starting to affect his performance as the Spider’s leader.

He didn’t have this same issue over the few weeks spent with the Troupe after meeting you in that coffee shop, even with your copy of Dorian Gray burning a hole in his pocket. But of course, that was before he’d taken you to his hotel room, before you closed your legs around him as he tried to pull away; before he learned what you tasted like— damn, this wasn’t helping.

“Chrollo, is everything alright?”

“Of course, dear. What were you saying about Botticelli?” Awkwardly returning to your theories about the Italian painter, helped him shake the breath he was holding.

Yesterday he spent a mere twenty-four hours without you beside him, and that was seemingly all it took for his outraged subconscious to plague him with dizzying memories of your flesh the rest of the day; culminating that night when he gave into those temptations and tried to stave off his thoughts the way any other man would. With his hand.

He was quiet, as he always was whenever he touched himself, although his lips stayed parted for the dry breaths that escaped them. The covers lay bunched around his thighs, no longer sparing him the embarrassing sound of his own flesh as it seemingly echoed around the room.

Behind his eyelids was nothing but pure, unadulterated sin. He hadn’t had much time in the moment to internalize what you looked like without your clothes, but he’s always had a knack for quickly memorizing details, and he swears he’s perfectly committed your body to memory.

In his thoughts he was back in the same bed with you as that fateful night, but instead of you falling asleep, this fantasy of his just pleaded for more with your voice, wrapping soft legs around his waist, around his shoulders, taking him in so deep until he finally couldn’t think anymore.

Each gasp your figure made in his head brought him closer to the edge, at last he could feel the tension in his stomach start to snap. That is, until the shrill sound of a doorbell managed to grow louder than the beating of his heart.

Chrollo hesitated for just a moment, weighing out his options, before groaning with annoyance rather than relief and yanking his boxers back up his legs; doing the same with the nearby trousers he’d discarded in a hurry. He didn’t bother tracking down his button-down, too frustrated to care. The only other thing he grabbed before making his way towards the yapping bell was his trusty Ben’s knife, barely concealing it behind his leg in case the one at the door happened to be you. But he knew that was just wishful thinking on his part.

With each step towards approaching the entrance, Chrollo cast out with his en, disturbed to feel almost nothing behind the wooden barrier. Even non-nen users like yourself gave off some fraction of aura, similarly to any living being. Which could only mean that someone was trying to conceal themselves.

Eyes darkening as his hand made contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, he rested his back against the wall so that when the door opened he would stay concealed as the intruder came barging in.

Predictably enough, in came four mercenaries dressed to the nines with some kind of armored SWAT mesh. All it took was one clean flick of Chrollo’s wrist, and off came the first man’s arm, falling to the floor with a satisfying thump.

The screams would be a problem, of course, he unfortunately didn’t live alone on this floor, and he doubts his neighbors would be prone to ignoring the noises Chrollo was currently muffling beneath his hand. But after carving his knife along the intruder’s throat he let the body fall away from him, spraying both the spider and the other three mercenaries in a copper spectacle.

Frozen in time, he would’ve called the sight of blood splattering in slow-motion through the air as equally beautiful and unsettling as he saw you.

But it wasn’t all for show. Two of the three assailants couldn’t dodge the spray of red in time, showering their helmets in viscous gore, leaving Chrollo the opportunity to gut the closest of the two, sending him howling into his balled up fist to badly hide the pain. The third person - their leader, Chrollo assumed - wasted no time trying to issue commands, instead brandishing a blade of her own and made a beeline straight for the nape of his neck.

A few wisps of sheared black hair floated to the floor as he narrowly dodged the attack, gaining a fraction of distance before he faked an opening, concentrating nearly half of his energy into his balled up fists, baiting her to stab towards a specifically unguarded spot on his chest.

She went for it, thrusting forward the tip of her sword to pierce his heart. Bullseye. Chrollo flipped his Ben’s knife in a fluid arc through the air above her incoming blade, smirking once he caught the familiar handle in his dominant hand, now close enough to cage in the point of the attacker’s weapon with the poisoned knife’s odd, rectangularly serrated edge.

The two instruments collided in a spark of metallic friction, neither budging until Chrollo thought to use the two-handed weapon against her. Shifting his weight, he managed to direct her attack towards their right, angling both their arms out in something that might’ve looked like a tango.

That is, until Chrollo used his now free hand to reel his arm back and punch her square between the eyes, feeling the bone and cartilage of her nose crunching underneath his knuckles.

She couldn’t even make a sound of pain before her brain knocked against the wall of her skull, sending her into either a coma or serious brain damage.

Three down, one to go. When he turned his gaze to the last man standing and saw the pitiful look of fear, Chrollo groaned, annoyed he couldn’t have killed him and saved the woman for questioning instead. He was the picture image of terrified.

The would-be mercenary ripped off his helmet to see at some point, vizor stained with gore, and for a second Chrollo mistook his shock of red hair for blood, briefly worrying that he killed the man before interrogating him first. One look, and the Spider knew he’d have him singing in no time. Whenever Chrollo summoned his hatsu the next lungful of air he drew was heavy, filling his lungs with an energy that desperately wanted to escape its bodily prison, focusing it all into the palm of his hand until he felt the warm, familiar leather against his fingertips once again.

“How…?” The man murmured with a slack jaw, and despite the threat Chrollo posed, he was hard pressed to look away from where Bandit’s Secret appeared in his hand. His feet rooted to the floor, forgetting how to run away.

That’s when something managed to give Chrollo pause - the man’s eyes widened, brows furrowed, as confusion ruled his expression even more than fear - for a moment he looked too shocked to be scared of the man covered in the blood of his comrades - and that’s when he realized,

this man didn’t even know what nen was.

Chrollo was baffled at how someone so unequipped could have managed to track him down. It only reinforced his suspicions that there was some ringleader giving these goons their instructions, but to hire soldiers without any abilities at all? It speaks to either a tight budget, or a disregard for the lives of his subordinates. Or both.

Regardless, whatever surprise a regular person must have at seeing a book appear out of thin air was starting to wear off. But before he could make a break for the open doorway, Chrollo had already flipped to the perfect page, so familiar with his hatsu by now that he didn’t even need to look down once at the book.

“Black box.” As Chrollo spoke, he willed the stolen ability into existence, void springing from his fingertips and consuming the illuminated world around them. The man must’ve seen the creeping darkness out of the corner of his eye, desperately throwing his hobbling mass towards the beckoning light of the hallway he thought was a sanctuary. A primal scream ripped from his throat when his fingers grazed that light, thinking that perhaps he’d actually escaped. That is, until the void fully consumed them both, swallowing up his shrieks before they managed to reach the outside world.

When the man’s screaming didn’t stop Chrollo only had to look at the small pool of blood beginning to grow at his feet to guess the reason why. His hand really had grazed the barrier of the doorway, and what parts of him made it outside were severed, more cleanly and efficiently than he gave the stolen nen credit for. He counted the pads of three partially dismembered fingers, cut as if by a perfectly timed guillotine stationed at the top of his door frame.

Rolling his eyes, he realized that hilariously the man’s now constant screaming was what fully killed his erection.

‘That must say something good about me, that I take no pleasure in their screams. I don’t even like them,’ he thought bitterly, already feeling the onset of a headache, ‘this is why I leave the tortue to Feitan…’

“Alright then,” The cowering mass on the floor gave no indication that he heard what Chrollo said, “You haven’t found me in the best of moods, unfortunately, so you’d be smart to answer my questions.”

His footsteps seemed far too loud in the four by four box, the echoing click of his approaching heels managed to snap the man out of his stupor, whirling around to look at him. He must’ve looked like the grim reaper to the poor fool, who scurried blindly into the corner before realizing there was truly nowhere left to run.

“Wh..a-whatareyou?”

Chrollo answered as impassively as possible, “I am the man who’s going to kill you.”

Another wave of terror washed over his face, taking in the sparse surroundings like a wild, cornered animal,“P-Please, I… I have a wife—“

“You must not know what’s going on, or how I’ve trapped us here,” to his credit, as scared as he was, the man at least tried to stay quiet, “you might even be inclined to call it magic.”

“Did your boss even tell you who I am?”

Hesitantly, the mercenary shook his head no.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Chrollo could feel his headache get worse. Instead of saying anything, he just extended his forearm tattooed with the Spider’s brand.

Luckily his migraine might not be made any worse, as the truth of his identity finally shut up the man’s whimpering, mouth agape but silent.

“Now then, continuing with the metaphor, you could say this box I’ve trapped us inside is a kind of spell. And, like any magic spell, It’s bound by conditions. To put it plainly, this box won’t disappear until one of us dies.”

One thing Chrollo never got right with torture was timing. He ended up rushing through his rehearsed threats because he always grew impatient with saying them time and time again. Why did it take so long for people to wrap their heads around nen?

Admittedly, he’d had a frustrating night - a difficult day altogether, a litany of inconveniences and sour news regarding the logistics of his next heist, and there was no you to take his mind off things - his voice’s bite catching himself off-guard, “Christ, nod if you understand.”

Vigorously, the amateur hunter bobbed his head. Whether he grasped the situation or not didn’t matter, Chrollo just had to get the information he needed and be done with it.

He tried toning back the irritation in his voice. As they say, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

“You saw me dispatch your superiors. Be honest with yourself, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me one on one. However, If you answer one simple question, I promise to make your death as painless as possible,” Chrollo didn’t have to elaborate on what would happen if he refused.

“Who do you work for?” The million jenny question didn’t get much of a response out of him, although he at least seemed conflicted; hanging his head to keep from looking Chrollo in the eyes.

After a moment of silence the Spider took a few steps forward, ignoring the flinching of his victim as he approached. Crouching down on his haunches so that he was at eye level in front of him, Chrollo waited silently for his reply.

“I… I can’t.” The mercenary tried to look anywhere other than his eyes, misty tears beginning to brim in his own.

Chrollo’s hand shot forward, grabbing his jaw and forcing the redhead to meet his gaze.

His words were measured carefully in his head before speaking them, “You’re going to die here. Are you going to die protecting the secrets of the one who signed your death warrant? The one who sent you to me, knowing that if the mission went well, you wouldn’t be coming back alive? Or will you die giving me a name, so that you can rest easy in hell knowing your boss is right behind you?”

“That’s not it,” The man’s teeth were grit, forcing the next words out of his throat, “I want to tell you, but he… he knows my wife’s name.”

Something in his voice made Chrollo hesitate. It didn’t sound like a dead man trying to talk his way out of the grave. It sounded far too honest.

“…You weren’t lying about that?” Chrollo found himself whispering his thoughts out loud without even realizing it.

Now it was his turn to fall silent, having no idea where to go from here. The man took his wide eyes as an indication to continue, futility wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

“No!” He snapped, genuinely offended, a look of horror passing over him after realizing he’d mouthed off to a member of the Phantom Troupe, yet he let it slide.

“H-Her name’s Rhea… Rhea Cainhurst.” The redhead swallowed his fear, and looked him straight in the eyes for the first time that night.

“I fucking swear to you she knows nothing about this — about any of this. If she… If you… fuck—“ he seemed at a loss for words, his expression of something beyond desperation - although Chrollo’s seen the same many times before - left him feeling distinctly unclean.

Quieter than a mouse, the man barely squeaked out a question of his own, “Would you keep her safe..? If I… If I told you everything?”

There it was again. It felt like there was a river rock nesting in the pit of his stomach, shoving against his organs to make room. And yet despite how distinctly not okay his body felt, his mind was instantly made up on what to do the second the man spoke his peace.

Chrollo gave him the slightest nod, mouth fixed in a line. The mercenary must’ve had a similar talent for reading people by their eyes, because there was shockingly little doubt harboured towards the truth of his promise. The poor bastard had nothing to trust him with other than his word, and yet when Chrollo obliged him it was as if the weight of dying itself was lifted off the man’s shoulders, which now sagged with relief.

He was a member of the Phantom Troupe for Christ’s sake, since when did he start giving people dying wishes?

“I was hired by this bigshot hunter, all I have is his name and I only met him once. Toni Owada. He didn’ tell me anything about the Troupe - not a goddamn thing,” his voice trailed off into a grimace, cartilage grinding against plaque, “he just gave me an address and,” the man meekly looked up towards his St. Peter’s sigil, “…and said to report back if there was a guy living there with a cross tattooed on his forehead.”

He scoffed, “Congratulations.” It was a less than adequate lead, but he’d take what he could get.

However, If this Toni was anyone competent they’ll likely take the deaths of his subordinates as good of a confirmation as any that he was staying here. He’ll have to find a new hotel, preferably one closer to Burghnew, a small-town offshoot from the city, where you once mentioned your apartment was located.

For a moment Chrollo considered going back on his promise, leaving the man’s lover to whatever fate had in store for them, but as he brandished his butcher’s knife, fear flashing in the lamb’s eyes, something in his reflection managed to convince him that doing such a thing would only make the stone in his stomach grow heavier.

“Alright then, a deal’s a deal. I promise to keep your… ‘Rhea Cainhurst’ safe.” The man gulped, nodded, and braced himself for death.

But right as Chrollo went for the kill, the man hesitated, “W-wait!”

And he hesitated in turn.

“…tell her that I’m sorry for not telling her the truth—”

On hearing that, a panic he hadn’t felt since leaving the city shot through him, slicing the man’s throat almost down to the spine, nearly decapitating him; and as his blood sprayed all over his chest, he found himself flinching.

—LOOSE ENDS

—ch.1—ch.2—ch.3—ch.4

summary: you spend a well-needed break away from the intersecting web of Chrollo’s professional and personal life, leaving you plenty of time to think on where you would take him on your next date and the truth behind his shady history.

wc: 3425

tags: fluff, foreshadowing, banter, mild gaslighting

an: i’m not a highschooler anymore? a bitch graduated?? it was all pointless no surprise there but now i’ll have time to post a lot more often on this blog, plus i’ll try to get better at interacting with people who comment on my fics and inbox me n stuff it’s always such an amazing part of my day not gonna lie. hope this was worth the wait :)

Not five seconds after you walked in the door to your coffeeshop was Devan all over you, babbling question after question, hurriedly ringing up the irritated old woman he was serving at the register before brushing her off semi-politely. Dragging you into the backroom, he barely remembered to shout back to the other baristas up front that he was taking his ten minute break immediately.

“So did you sleep with him?”

“Devan!” You yanked your arm out of his grip, red rising up your cheekbones.

He grinned, “So I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

“I mean,” it was hard to keep secrets around Devan, some bubble of charisma surrounding him made it so easy to spill your guts if only for the chance to laugh at whatever lighthearted joke he was sure to make of it, “he went down on me I guess…” your voice trailed off the more you spoke, cut off by the half-obnoxious but fully infectious belt of the blond’s laughter.

“What a fucking gentleman,” he stressed, face in mock surprise at the fact you managed to get sort-of laid, “What was it like? Was he good? Did you get off?” Each rapid-fire question made the blush on your face worse, thankful your coworker at least had the decency to not embarrass you in front of the others and kept his voice down.

“Yes, Devan, alright? It— it was good, okay? Jesus, and you thinkIneeded to get laid.”

“I never said I didn’t,” he countered, throwing himself into the manager’s office chair, the wheels squeaking like mice as he spun himself aimlessly in a circle, “but I need details.”

“Details are a bit blurry, I was drunk.” His spinning stopped abruptly, not having to ask anything out loud for you to know what he was wondering by the concerned glint to his face.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, immediately trying to backtrack, “N—Dude, no, don’t worry, I practically begged him for it.”

Devan gasped, the tension of his shoulders gone in an instant, replaced with a jokey, christian kind of offense, “Slut.”

Neither of you could keep up the mock-irritation any longer, descending into a fit of giggles at his teasing. You went on to summarize your night as best you could, cherry-picking which parts to include or omit, For instance, you didn’t tell him about Chrollo’s tattoo— for all you know he could have some personal reason to keep it hidden, and if he wanted to keep it a secret from the world you didn’t intend to break that trust; The vulnerability in the moment Chrollo showed it to you had seemed a delicate thing, and the idea of sharing it with your friends almost felt like taking a step too far.

You were also sure to leave out the confrontation at dinner and Chrollo’s pissed off client. That kind of drama is what he lives for and you definitely didn’t want him to blow it out of proportion. After all, the details of that night were still hazy and disjointed. That, and you haven’t yet found a reason as to why his client called Chrollo a spider of all things.

So it was best to keep your mouth shut on that subject, Devan not minding at all as he was far more interested in your later activities.

“He went down on you and you passed out?”

You snorted, not bothered by it anymore since your encounter with Chrollo the following morning, “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Okay, so—“ Devan’s face scrunched up in frustration, your eyes having difficulty following his hands as he motioned wildly between the two of you, “Alright, time-out. So, to summarize, this guy is rich, hot, gives nice head, and is into the same nerd shit you like?” it did you no good to fight off the gleeful smile from your cheeks as you shook your head yes.

“…Does he have a brother?”

You smacked your forehead out of frustration, completely forgetting about your encounter with Shalnark that morning, “He does actually!”

“Shut up, no way.”

The grin on your face was practically evil, “Yeah. He’s a blonde twink, you two should get along fine.”

“Oh,fuck off,” While you were too busy laughing at your own bad joke, Devan was staring off into space towards the staticky old television set that sat on your manager’s desk.

When he spied whatever was playing on TV his eyebrows shot up, quickly rereading the headlines once or twice. All remains of his comedic persona vanished as he sat up straight in the creaking chair, jabbing his thumb into the volume button of the remote until the newscaster’s voice filled the kitchen.

“Devan, what..?” you groaned, already feeling a headache coming on from the impending conversation.

He shushed you with a wave of his hand, never turning his sights from the TV, but unfortunately for you it was impossible not to hear it.

“—cresion is advised. Mr. Serranto’s body was found in his estate bathroom at nine am yesterday morning, with several needles injected into his face. Due to the specific contortion the needles induced on the victim’s face post-mortem, many suspect this killing to be committed by a member of the infamous Zoldyck family who has been reported by witnesses as using a similarly described method, though police deny any allegations…”‘

Your drink started to taste bad once they started rolling gruesome, albeit heavily censored crime scene photos, “Why are you so into serial killers, Devan?”

“I’mnot,” you looked him up and down incredulously as he tried to justify his obsession. At any chance that would present itself he would ramble on about some gruesome story he had just picked up, “I’m into unsolved cases, totally different.”

“Yeah,totally.”

He whined, gesturing to your boss’ television, “Don’t you find it even a little bit interesting?”

“What? Murderers and robberies?” he nodded expectantly, and you just laughed back at him as you looked at the clock.

Chugging back the rest of your drink, you plucked your apron off the rack and began to tie it around your waist, “Not in the slightest.”

This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous.

Less than forty-eight hours ago Chrollo’s body was snug between your thighs as he unwound your nerves with his tongue and yet here you stood outside your apartment, a nervous bounce in the heel of your foot all while blushing like a schoolgirl.

Perhaps it was because this was the first time you’d ever had to prepare for one of your dates, all the others had been out of the blue at his request, the spontaneity giving you no time to second-guess yourself. Now there was little else to do but overthink your plans for the day and the man you’d chosen to spend them with.

You were adamant when you suggested the idea to him over the phone. Though it had all gone to hell in the end, he still took you to dinner the night before and it made you once again ask to return his favor. Of course, Chrollo was sure to go on about how he didn’t mind paying for your outings, how money was of no issue to him as a hunter, but your stubborn pride held strong. If he was going to be so old-fashioned as to pay for your dates then you’d want to at least choose where the two of you would see each other next. To that, he caved, and Chrollo now had no idea where you were taking him.

You were pulled from your thoughts as a familiar black car with tinted windows rolled to a steady halt on the street beside you. Taking a steady breath, you popped open the passenger seat door to reveal the man who’d been plaguing your thoughts all day, missing the dumbfounded look on his face as you slid beside him into the leather backing.

“…Is something wrong, Chrollo?” he blinked a few times, snapping out of whatever daze he’d found himself in.

“No, definitely not. It’s only… You look beautiful out of your uniform.” you hadn’t managed to occupy the same space as Chrollo for more than thirty seconds and he was already running a blush down your cheekbones.

Despite his teasing and your embarrassment the opportunity was far too perfect for you to pass up, “You would know.”

You’re sure your eyes must’ve lit up as you looked at his calm face crack from your joke. It was almost astonishing how different Chrollo looked when he laughed and you found yourself studying him like an architect whenever that chance arrived. His entire face softens at once, eyebrows pursing upwards as his head falls back a little, granting him a boyish complexion to his face that was often missing from his sharp features. Even if he would often cup his hand over his mouth while he grinned to hide it as if he was still unused to the sensation, you were still left beaming. But he didn’t keep it from you now, and for a glorious moment in time you just basked in the warmth his smile provided.

“Won’t you at least give me a hint as to where we’re going?” His lips were caught in a pout you would’ve called childish if it wasn’t so endearing.

You just grinned, a bounce in your step that you hadn’t felt in weeks as you led Chrollo through downtown Yorknew, his car in a nearby garage. He almost seemed impressed at your thoroughness when you’d asked him to park a block or two away from the destination you picked out for your date to keep him completely in the dark.

“Nope! Total surprise, but I think you’re gonna like it.”

He only appeared to settle for that answer, absently sighing as he took your hand, running his index softly along your wrist, “Are you sure? It’s only—I’m not fond of surprises.”

“Well, tough. Everyone should be surprised once in a while, otherwise life would be too boring.” Chrollo shrugged, clearly not satisfied with your response, turning you to look at him while you walked.

“Meeting you has been enough of a surprise to last three lifetimes.”

You sputtered, your cheeks doused in red, almost tripping over an unevenly set block of pavement, “Stop…that.”

If he noticed your almost-fall he was kind enough not to mention it, though clearly not kind enough to wipe the smug smirk off his face, “Stop what?”

“That,” The smallest of laughs echoed in his chest at your flustered face, only making the embarrassment worse, “You’re trying to win me over so I’ll tell you where we’re going, aren’t you?”

He raised his eyebrows at being caught, false innocence written all over him, “Is it working?”

“No, but keep trying.”

And with that he was pouting again.

He seemed to lighten up after that demeanor of his made you laugh, colorless eyes so lively in your presence even as a comfortable silence fell over the two of you. He surrendered himself to your directions, all the while never letting go of your hand.

Yorknew’s streets were brightly lit that afternoon by a sunny, cloudless sky, the vast blue sometimes hard to see among the thicket of towering skyscrapers. As you guided him down the winding sidewalks people rarely paid the two of you any mind, though it was hard to miss the curious stares some people gave Chrollo along the way. Either they were ogling the bandage snug around his forehead or they found him as beautiful as you did, their attention sitting oddly in your chest.

But those thoughts were quickly dismissed when you noticed the address you were turning onto. Taking his hand flush in yours, you squeezed gently to get his attention, the hunter looking down at where you met for a moment, lingering on where your fingers were laced together.

Chrollo only looked up when he heard you say, “We’re here.”

You were sure to watch his expression when his gaze locked onto the structure only a few blocks away. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him surprised, lips slightly agape and eyes moonlike, but once it faded something new took its place. No other words to describe it, Chrollo was just excited.

The Yorknew City Museum was an ancient thing, overflowing with the collected paintings, sculptures, and arts of cultures both far-away and close to home. It was one of the largest buildings in the city, and its old-fashioned architecture stood out like a sore thumb among the metropolis that surrounded it on all sides. Sure, it was usually filled with tourists, some days better or worse than others, but the exhibits were always worth the trip without fail. It was one of your favorite places to visit every month or so, but this was the first time you’d ever taken someone along with you.

“You brought me to the museum?”

Instead of answering, you simply brought the back of his hand up to your lips in much the same way he did to you on the first night you spent together at the coffee shop; softly but with such intensity that it turned what would’ve seemed like a modest gesture into something far more intimate. You could’ve seen your reflection in his eyes like a scrying mirror from how wide they went, his breathing hitched as your kiss lingered against his knuckles.

He looked as if he had a million things he wanted to tell you but none of the words to say them, pulse ecstatic when you felt his wrist beneath your fingertips. But before you gave him a chance to break the soft silence you’d created, you pulled away, tugging him towards the museum.

Once you’d reached the courtyard you intentionally let go of Chrollo’s hand, dashing ahead of him up the building’s steps. He trailed behind you with a puzzled slant to his expression, only to realize too late what you were doing.

By the time Chrollo reached the entry gates you were at the sales booth, the hostess inside handing you back a credit-card and two tickets through the slot in the window. You walked back to him triumphantly presenting the tickets you’d bought him, disregarding the exacerbated look on his face entirely.

He tried to start with you again when you reached the doorway, his childish stubbornness only secondary to yours, “You know, I could’ve—“

“—Don’t care,” you cut him off, raising your eyebrows at his insistence, “No matter if you’re a hunter or not, I don’t want you to think I’d use you for your money.or something.”

He almost looked sad for a moment, and the sight of it took you off guard, his voice hushed, “You thought that’s what I’d think of you?”

Slowly, you nodded. It was far too late to dig yourself out of this hole now.

He checked over his shoulder for a moment, making sure the two of you were still secluded before turning you to look at him, face unreadable, “I was… I’m not as used to luxury as you might think.” The distant clamor of midday Yorknew faded into the background under each softly spoken word, “even after coming into my work, the money was never what drove me.”

More than a few questions rattled through your brain but you were sure to tread lightly on what might’ve been a sore subject, “What do you mean?”

You began to notice whenever Chrollo was struggling with his words he’d tense his lips, parting or pressing them together as he strung along whatever perfect sentence he’d thought up in his head next. It was such a minute detail but for some reason the habit of his seemed like the most human, endearing thing you’d ever seen, “Money is worthless to me, Darling, it always has been, but never when it goes to you.”

Any response you could’ve forged died long before it left your lips, because really, what could you say to that? How could you see yourself be held on such a platform by someone so exquisitely unique and unlike anyone you’d ever met and not feel at the very least ecstatic with joy?

Luckily, you didn’t say any of that. Instead you briefly raised your hands in a mock surrender, laughing a bit to yourself, before muttering, “Chrollo, I… alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright, as in, you win. If you really feel that way… then you can pay for our dates, I guess,” before his smile could grow too satisfied, however, you continued, “but in return, will you stop changing the subject whenever you bring up your past?”

His lighthearted impression fell away, leaving behind an unsettlingly serious man whose eyes carried none of the softness of the day before. You hadn’t seen him like this since your dinner was interrupted by Chrollo’s ex-client and you weren’t thrilled to see it again, especially with it directed towards you; but still you kept his gaze, unflinching.

“You’re more perceptive than you let on.” Even his voice sounded strange, as if he’d picked out each sentence weeks beforehand and was now only reciting those lines from a page.

You weren’t sure what to say, it was hard to think of anything while subjected to Chrollo’s scrutinizing stare, so instead you held your tongue and your ground, and eventually his iron exterior began to chip away. His eyebrows were knitted in concentration as he spoke, as if he was weighing the burden of the words on his tongue, “It’s nothing I’d want to talk about, love, and nothing you’d want to hear either.”

“…That’s okay, Chrollo,” you said after a moment, not missing the wave of ease that swept over his tense body at your blind acceptance, “I do want to hear these things eventually, but only when you’re ready to tell me. Until then… I’ll still be here with you, in any way you’d have me.”

Undoing him with only your words never seemed like something you were capable of until that very moment, his eyes almost brown with warmth as he stared at you like he was watching a sunrise. With each reassurance you saw his indifferent front melt away, and you wondered if this was maybe in some small part how Chrollo felt whenever he’d tease a blush onto your face with just some sappy comment. Your words had struck some kind of chord with him, the fact making a giddy heat settle in your chest, and before you could blink he’d pulled you into his arms with a bruising, protective grip, burying his head in your shoulder.

Muffled through your clothes, you heard the quiet mumble of your name, followed by something softer you couldn’t quite make out. He snuck both his arms around yours just to hold you the tiniest fraction closer until you’re certain there wasn’t a speck of space between you.

“Darling..?” he uttered, voice opaque, the barest of tremors in his hands that would’ve seemed out of place on the person you’d met a few months ago, “…I think I—“

He was cut off by the sound of heavy doors racketing open, followed by the half-innocent, half-annoying cacophony of a kindergarten class being corralled outside by underpaid teachers. Twenty or so children all holding tightly onto each other’s hands poured from the museum’s gateway, likely on their way back from some field trip. By the time they were gone you’d long since pulled yourself away from Chrollo’s grasp, an awkward, stifled laugh still hanging from the tip of your tongue to fill the silence.

“So,” he cleared his throat, almost forgetting about the tickets your argument was founded on, “where were we?”

With a newfound grin on your face along with a grand, sweeping gesture, you opened the imposing double doors for him, bowing a bit for dramatic effect. That excitable look about him returned, and he wasted no time before capturing your hand and following you inside.

“Chrollo Lucilfer, I give you the Yorknew Museum.”

MASTERLIST

—;

breaking and entering; —ch.1—ch.2

summary: dabi is on the run from the cops when you just happened to leave your window open.

—;

loose ends;—ch.1—ch.2—ch.3—ch.4—ch.5

summary: you unknowingly spilled coffee on one of the world’s most notorious criminal masterminds, completely destroying an old book he had just acquired. to apologize, you insist on at least repaying him by lending your copy of the book you’d ruined.

worth the wait

summary: it had become easier over the years to keep your feelings for your boss hidden, but when he assigns you to pose as his date during a mission it suddenly becomes much, much harder.

—;

the bet

summary: you thought that as a member of the phantom troupe you were supposed to be smarter than this, yet here you were betting against hisoka. everyone knew that hisoka was a master at poker, cards were his weapon after all, but you couldn’t resist wagering one more bet on a drinking game.

—;

pulling teeth; —ch.1—ch.2

summary: after barely escaping death at the jaws of a night creature, you find sanctuary in a dreary old castle seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and unknowingly land yourself in the care of a being you couldn’t have ever expected to take pity on a human like you.

—WORTH THE WAIT

summary: over the years it’s become easier to keep your feelings for your boss quiet but when he asked you to pose as his date during a mission your facade becomes much less convincing.

w/c: 7569

tags: mutual pining, exhibitionism, closet sex, excessive use of pet names

notes: jesus chriiiisst this took a million years. totally worth it tho. this was a request from @ddarker-dreams so thanks for the idea u jerk ily.

The Yul National Treasury was one of the most renowned institutions the world had ever seen, reopening as the new pride and joy of the nation of Yul. It was a small province that had just come into some serious money after its two neighboring countries had gone to war, profiting from both sides.

Its ruler, Markus Ano, was drunk on the power that had evaded him all his life, wasting away royalties on lavish parties to flaunt the wealth he’d accumulated. Tonight would be the biggest one yet, as the country’s fearless leader had just signed a contract meant to expand Yul’s borders and planned to celebrate accordingly. But, unlike his other galas, it wasn’t being held at his mansion. It was being held at the treasury.

You almost hadn’t believed Chrollo when he told you. Why would the supreme leader host a party there, where priceless artifacts and deeds of cash flow would be so ripe for the taking?

“It’s a brazen act of confidence,” Your boss had explained, “a flimsy attempt to make himself seem credible to the other world’s leaders. He’s daring any mercenary groups to crash the party.”

Shalnark’s eyebrows furrowed, his expression clear from the glow on his phone screen in the decrepit building, “Why would Ano want that?”

“To be taken seriously. If his military can fend off any attackers he believes it will increase his social standing with the other government officials.”

That made you confused. Chrollo had specifically called the Troupe’s recon members to Yul but from what your boss said it sounded like they were expecting a fight. Looking across the dimly lit building you saw the silhouettes of Machi, Paku, and Shalnark all wondering the same thing.

Your boss, insightful as ever, answered that unasked question, “We won’t be getting in there by force. If we try to barge our way in they’ll relocate the goods far before we find them. Our only option is to infiltrate the gala,” Chrollo held up four envelopes to the moonlight, each sealed in a garish purple wax, “Shalnark will provide support from here and the rest of us will pose as guests,”

His gaze focused on the blonde manipulator, “Can you access the hunter website to find out who the captains of the security team are?”

“Consider it done.”

“Excellent. Pakunoda will track down the captain and learn where they’re keeping our target. It’s either stored in one of the safes below the ballroom or somewhere else in the building.”

He called back the attention of the two women in the back of the room, “Machi, Paku, you will both arrive together. I assume your nen will be enough to restrain the guard silently?” He asked, gesturing towards Machi specifically. She didn’t say anything, just gave him a curt nod.

You willed your voice not to break as you spoke, “Um.. boss?” Keeping a level gaze with Chrollo when his wide, dark eyes flickered over to yours was more than a challenge, “what are we stealing?”

He smiled, and your treacherous heart skipped a scattered beat.

“The last physical copy of a greek play hand-written by Homer himself. The Illiad. Some collectors would pay billions for just a chance to see it and it’s by far the supreme leader’s most priceless artifact at the treasury.” Everything started to click into place and you had to fight off a grin at the mention of your boss’ favorite thing to steal. Old books.

You nodded, bowing a bit further than necessary in an attempt to avoid his stare, “Understood.”

“Oh, and one other thing..” The sound of Chrollo saying your name was something you never heard often enough, the rarity only making it sweeter on your ears.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’ll be posing as my date for the gala. You and I will retrieve the play by ourselves.” If you weren’t turned to stone under his scrutiny you’re sure the panic would’ve been much more evident on your face.

It was immature to say you had a “crush on your boss,” but you absolutely did. Ever since you joined four years ago you couldn’t help but find him fascinating, and just a tiny bit attractive. But despite everything you were loyal to the Troupe first and foremost, you couldn’t let yourself get caught up in your emotions like some kind of schoolgirl.

Heart racketing against your chest, you found the nerve to speak, “Understood, sir.”

“Alright, we’ll leave for the party tomorrow after sunset. Meet me back here well before then so we can go over the details.”

The four of you all turned to leave, but the sound of Chrollo saying your name froze you mid-step, “Stay a bit longer. I need to discuss your plan for tomorrow now, if you don’t mind.”

Mutely, you nodded, and once the other three spiders had left the abandoned building you both stood in felt much smaller. A wisp of a smile fell over his face as he turned away from you to walk over to the hotel closet, the paneling chipped off from years of neglect. With a slightly dramatic flourish he drew back the door, watching the way your eyes widened.

A slim, black dress hung on a satin hook, layered with some kind of velvet lace at the ends that would trail to your thighs. You looked from the dress to Chrollo then back again, stuttering out a quick, “Thank.. you? Sir, I—“

“You don’t have to call me that, you know.”

You stayed silent, head a bit tilted in confusion, “Call you what?”

He nimbly took the dress from its hook, his approach towards you slow, the floorboards underneath him creaking with each hesitant step, “For this mission I’d be best if you called me Chrollo.”

The blush that wracked your cheeks was so prominent it was hard for Chrollo to not pity your embarrassment as you tried to string the syllables of his name together.

His fingers deftly grazed your shoulder as he held up the straps to your collarbone, humming in approval once he saw he’d matched your right size with what he bought, eyes and touch wandering over your skin a bit too long before pulling away, leaving the dress clutched in your hands.

Unwittingly, your eyes flickered towards his lips, indulging in your weakness briefly before looking away and stepping a few feet back, the distance between you far too close for comfort.

“Thank you, bo— Chrollo,” You corrected, trying to stare at anything but him, “I should.. should get going now,” Your grip on his present was tight as you sped past him, the hurry in your steps not lost on him as you fled, a smirk you couldn’t see lacing his face as you scurried away.

The Yul National Treasury was three stories high, five if you counted the two floors of hidden safes tucked into the earth below. You’d seen places that had taken your breath away as you travelled with the spiders, your recon skills making you more suited to this kind of espionage, but the luxury never failed to catch you off guard compared to the conditions you were used to.

This one might leave them all behind. The walls were a peachy stone all lined with silver plating and gilded archways. Balconies were filled with smiling socialites spilling their champagne as they laughed. The entryway was illuminated by hanging lights that draped from window to window, all along the branches and archways. The lights even strung around the armed guard towers clearly manned with machine guns, illuminating the polished weaponry for all to see.

‘You can do this, It’s just a mission,’ You drilled that thought into your head as you toyed with the ends of the pitch fabric.

You had arrived at the venue with Paku, the two of you going your separate ways as she reconvened with Machi, leaving you at the entrance to the party to wait for your boss.

Whenever he himself participated in a mission he sometimes arrived fashionably late, so you weren’t all that concerned. The night was peaceful, a waning moon barely illuminating the dark foliage that surrounded the pathway towards the party and it was easy to get distracted in the lull of the evening.

“You look beautiful,” The voice made your head shoot up, looking to see Chrollo, a soft smile on his face and arm outstretched towards you, “are you ready?”

As you locked one hand around him you clawed your fingernails into the other, desperately hoping the pain would distract your body from the pounding of your chest. The walk to the front door felt longer that it was, your doubts eating away at every inch of your nerves, each step somehow felt inadequate to your self-sabotaging brain.

Before you could follow that rabbit hole any longer you had arrived, the opened doors to the gala manned by about thirty guards, all using normal guns as far as you could tell. Chrollo handed one of the soldiers his two wax-dipped invitations, cracking the seals and glancing over each of their credentials. They must’ve been legitimate invites or damn good forgeries because the soldier stepped back, giving his man the go-ahead to let you both through.

If the outside was impressive the interior was even more so, with curved marble staircases leading away from the main ballroom and those same strings of light connecting to the ceiling like webs. The other attendants had clearly dressed to impress, with pearls and expensive silk all bleeding from their gowns and suits. Ironically enough, although both you and Chrollo had worn relatively simple black numbers for the event, the two of you had stolen enough wealth over the years to buy whatever these aristocrats were wearing twenty times over, but none of them suspected a thing.

The silence between the two of you was deafening, especially under the chattering voices of the crowd, only broken when your boss nodded towards your 3 o'clock, “There.”

In the far back of the room was a man wearing a golden coat adorned with countless medals and pins that you suspect he hadn’t actually won, his arms slung around two girls who were both clearly feigning interest in whatever the man had to say.

You recognized him from the debriefing immediately to be Markus Ano, the supreme leader of Yul.

“Go.” Chrollo whispered that last part into your ear, a shiver going down your spine.

Once you were away from your crush it was far easier to keep a clear head, taking a few deep breaths and fully summoning your nen as you strode towards your target.

When you joined the Troupe all those years ago Phinks had joked how your abilities were, in his words, “A man’s worst nightmare.” As soon as you entered the building your En had begun to slowly spread throughout the entire room. In simple terms, once your En had filled a room you could activate your ability on anyone, simple eye contact being all it takes to make them ever-more perceptible to your will. The caveat being that if they looked away from you, your influence over them would slowly fade away.

‘Its effects should be strong enough by now,’ You decided, the distance between you and the leader’s not-so-secret bodyguards disguised as nearby guests growing smaller by the second.

“Hold it,” One of his guards stopped you, his grip tight on your upper arm before slacking as you gave him a doe-eyed look.

“Please sir, I’d love to meet the Supreme leader, if it’s alright?” It was admittedly funny how fast the guard nodded, guiding you gently over to his boss’ side.

The ruler was watching the two of you from his gilded couch, interest piqued as he glowered over your body, “And who might you be?”

You gave him the most polite bow you could, the custom common in Yul, leaving him unabashedly staring at your chest; the gross sensation it inspired in your gut all too familiar by now. You’re not even sure he heard your fake name when you told him.

Locking your gaze onto his, he was done for, going so far as to shove the two girls off of him, though they didn’t seem unhappy at having an excuse to leave.

“I’m new in Yul, sir, It’s an honor to meet you, I’ve heard so many stories…” The flattery worked like a charm, Ano patting the now empty spot beside him and you were sure not to break a moment of eye contact even as you sat down.

“Tell me, who are you with?” He obviously didn’t recognize you among the crowd of his aristocratic friends.

You gave him a forlorn sigh, nodding your head towards another corner of the room, “My date was the minister of Targon, but he’s gone off somewhere, leaving me all alone…”

“What an idiot he was, then, for leaving a lady like you,” You’d decided your nen had been in effect long enough for you to drop the charade if the lovestruck glaze in his crinkled eyes was anything to go by, merely leaning to briefly whisper your suggestions into his ear to keep up appearances for anyone watching.

“Send your main forces to the west back gate, there’s been a disturbance… but ask for the captain of the guard to meet you by the second left exit, alright?”

“But… what about—“ He must’ve had at least a little mental fortitude to achieve his position, enough to repel your abilities for about three seconds. Not bad for someone who didn’t know about nen.

You slid you hand to his cheek, tilting him forward to look at you, each second making the breathing in his chest more ragged by the second.

As you blew a soft kiss towards Ano it was apparently his breaking point, ripping out his phone and quickly calling up his captain. While your new lapdog was busy barking out your orders you shrugged off his side, pretending to spot someone among the crowd.

“Oh, there’s my date now! It’s truly been a pleasure, Mr. Ano, thank you for keeping me company!” Hopping off the chair, you gave him a quick bow for the witness’ sake and left your spot on the couch. He was about to call out for you to wait only to realize he had completely forgotten your name. By the time he’d fallen from your trance you were long gone, one face among many.

Your part had gone off without a hitch, Pakunoda and Machi should be restraining the guard captain any second now. All that was left is for him to spill where the greek play was being kept and it would be up to you and Chrollo to retrieve it.

“Quite a show,” Speak of the devil.

Chrollo took his place in step behind you, a strange energy to him that wasn’t there before, just as you were growing comfortable around him, “Any word from Shal?” You asked.

He shook his head, discreetly checking his earpiece to be sure the device was still on, “Not yet.”

“Well, what should we do in the meantime?” You were only half curious, expecting a simple command to stand by like usual.

Instead he outstretched his hand, the steel of his eyes softer than you’d ever seen before, “Dance with me.”

You blinked, waiting for the punchline, only to be met with silence and an open invitation to the main floor.

“But you…” It was nearly impossible to find the right words with him, each question sounding wrong, “why?”

The corners of his lips tilted into a smile, heat blooming from your chest at the rare, honest sight, “Why not?”

You didn’t trust your voice not to crack so you kept quiet as you slowly took his hand. There was something in the way he carried himself that made your lingering doubts fall away, his confidence infectious as he effortlessly lead you to the floor and let his hand fall to your waist.

“Chrollo, I don’t.. I’m not good at dancing.” Especially not whatever classical number the other guests were a part of.

He chuckled, pulling your hand onto his shoulder, “I’ll teach you,” you gripped the dark fabric of his blazer as a way to steady yourself, the violins escalating over the course of the concerto, “It’s only four steps, just follow my lead.”

He was patient with you, carefully guiding you into a steady pattern, your steps miraculously falling into sync with his. You couldn’t’ve helped the shaky laugh bubbling from your chest as you slowly got the hang of it, the proud look on Chrollo’s face just made it more surreal.

It was as if everything else began to melt away like candle wax; the judging socialites, the mission, and even your dedication to keeping your infatuation with Chrollo under wraps. Dancing with him was almost as easy as breathing.

Looking up from between the two of you and moving without his steps for guidance was as much of a reward as it was a mistake. Seeing the look on his face almost made you trip, saving yourself at the last minute from falling into his chest. If he noticed your stumble he was kind enough not to mention it. Chrollo was looking at you like you were the only person in the room, his eyes alight and hiding a million things he wouldn’t say just yet. You were too far gone to even try to hide the blush dusting across your face.

It was over all too soon, the gleam in his eyes suddenly focusing into the hardened iron you were used to.

“What is it?” He didn’t answer you right away, guiding the two of you off the dance floor until you began to make your way through the crowd.

“Machi and Paku dealt with the guard, there’s been a change of plans.”

That was never good. “What happened?”

“The Illiad isn’t being kept in any of the vaults. It’s in Markus Ano’s private study on the fifth floor.” His voice was hushed, a tone only you could hear as he tugged you close to his side, the gravity of the situation all that kept you from focusing too much on that detail.

You cursed, hoping the order Ano sent out on your behalf was enough to get most of the security out of the building so the two of you could get to the study undetected, “Does Shalnark have the upper floor plans or access to the cameras?”

Chrollo repeated your question into his hidden transceiver and nodded back after a moment, “He says there’s an unguarded stairwell in the east hallway.”

Grinning, you gestured forward, “Then lead the way, boss.”

The corridors were thankfully empty as you followed, checking each stairway before heeding whatever directions Shal was feeding into your boss’ ear. After walking down a seemingly ordinary hallway on the fifth floor you were quick to notice the two guards still stationed in front of what you assumed must be the private study. The sound of a pen clicking under Chrollo’s thumb was all it took to tell you to fall back. He’d take them himself.

One of them slapped the other’s shoulder as the two of you approached, barking out some question as they raised their rifles, taking aim when neither of you wasted a response. You made no move to block or dodge, knowing just how capable the head of the spiders could really be.

Before either of them could pull the trigger Chrollo was at their sides, the ballpoint of his pen snug in the left guard’s jugular, simply cracking the other’s neck to avoid a trail of blood. The right one crumbled to the floor and where he once stood your date held out his palm, the worn pages of Bandit’s Secret appearing between his fingertips.

“I’ll summon the Indoor Fish to take care of the bodies. You should look for the book while they work.” You nodded, slipping inside and being sure to shut the door behind you, not wanting to be seen as fair game to the conjured carnivores.

Ano’s study was filled with treasures, some framed and some propped on pedestals but all interesting in their own right. Foreign riches stolen or bought lined the shelves like an auction hall catalogue, but none of them resembled what Chrollo was after.

That is, until you noticed what was sitting open near Marcus’ desk.

The pages themselves were frail and peach-toned from age but as you tilted the parchment in the light you saw how the gold lining of the edges still reflected as brightly as it had a thousand years ago. The bindings themselves were a polished bronze, restored by some professional curator under Ano’s patronage until the golden lettering stood out even in the dim husk of the study.

Curiously, you looked at the page your host had left open, the scene of war and bloodshed drawn beside the texts so captivating you barely noticed the sound of the door opening and your date stepping through, Bandit’s Secret nowhere to be seen.

You held up the book for him, smiling once you saw the childlike gleam in Chrollo’s eyes that always shined once he made another conquest, some begotten treasure that he’d cherish for a while before selling it off on the black market. He was like a kid asking for his toy back as he reached to take it from you.

He held the book with a reverence, fingers skimming over the gold of the title, “Remarkable…” He muttered.

You couldn’t help but smile unsteadily, the dance from earlier that night playing at the forefront of your mind as you asked, “Chrollo?”

“Hm?”

“If you… I mean—” It was an awful feeling whenever you stuttered around your boss. He was always so brilliantly concise, each word perfectly in place; so whenever you were unfortunate enough to trip over your words it made you feel like your faults stood out all the more.

You looked down at your shoes, “I can’t exactly read this language. So would- I mean if you’re not busy…”

He looked up from the play, patient with your nervous disposition, whispering your name in a quiet hush, “What is it?”

Closing your eyes, you forced the sentence out of your throat, “Would you read it to me sometime? The.. play?”

He blinked, briefly silent as he took in your words, and from that you assumed the worst, frantically trying to play off your request with a wave of your hands, “Not- no, sorry, boss— that was weird, I just—“

“—It’s alright,” His voice was so quiet, just barely loud enough for you to hear, “I’d be happy to.”

“Are you sure?” You couldn’t believe your ears. Chrollo had seemed so unapproachable when you first joined the Troupe, his power an entire league of its own. Saying you admired him would be putting it lightly. And yet here he still gave you the time of day.

Your laugh was as shaky as your heartbeat, half from disbelief and half in joy, having trouble comprehending the warmth that spread down your fingertips and up your neck, dousing your cheeks red. His eyes never left yours, completely enraptured with the effect he had on you.

Your moment together was short-lived as the both of you seized up at the very noticeable sound of loud footsteps from down the hall. The footsteps were in sync, marching towards the room you took refuge in.

‘How did they find out we were here?’ You didn’t have time to speak, thoughts interrupted by the feeling of Chrollo’s hand gripping your wrist, yanking you with him towards the back of the study. He scanned the room quickly before zeroing in on what must’ve been a storage closet, doors revealing a small room stacked with cleaning supplies.

He pulled you inside with a sharp tug, the darkness of the closet overtaking you as he locked it shut behind, suddenly very able to hear even the minutia of his breathing in such close quarters. Luckily you didn’t have to focus on it for long as what sounded like a small squadron of guards entered the study.

“Sir, we insist you stay here until the intruders are dealt with,” Even in darkness the two of you locked eyes after hearing that. Had Paku or Machi been captured? Unlikely, but what else could they mean? “They’re still putting up some resistance at the west gate, it’s not safe yet.”

You immediately recognized the voice that responded, “Come now, It’s my own party! I won’t let a few terrorists ruin my good mood.”

None of the security detail made their way to the back of the study, abundantly clear that whatever they were here for, they weren’t looking for you. The connection between the diversion you’d made up and the events transpiring began to click together in your brain.

“Please, Sir, just stay here for another twenty minutes or so. They clearly weren’t prepared for our assault, we should have them cleaned up soon.” It was almost too hilarious to be true. Had another mercenary company other than the Phantom Troupe descended on Markus’ gala? Chrollo had said he was taunting the entire criminal underground with the event after all, but you had no idea they were going to come from the west gate, it had just been the first direction you thought of.

You scoffed as quietly as you could and it was almost as if Chrollo could see you smile even in the pitch black. “What a coincidence,” You murmured, careful not to speak too loud, “I can’t believe I guessed that right.”

“I should learn to trust your instincts more often then.” He joked, his voice a beguiling hush of its former self, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. Your mouth opened and closed but nothing managed to escape, his overwhelming presence in the crowded room growing more apparent by the second.

“What’s wrong?” You weren’t able to answer him for a few seconds, wracking your brain for an answer that wasn’t ‘I want to know what kissing you feels like.’

“N-othin’ boss…” Even you weren’t convinced by that one. He hummed and eventually your eyes began to adjust to the darkness until you could get a clearer look at him. The two of you were as close as you had been when he danced with you what felt like hours ago, noticing how his wide eyes never left yours.

“I thought I told you to call me by my name?” He asked incredulously, a smug smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. For the briefest moment you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes flick over to your lips, but you quickly tried to brush it off as a trick of the lighting.

You blinked, “But that’s just for the mission, right?”

“Darling,”It was surprising that he didn’t notice the almost deafening sound of your heartbeat echoing through the confines of the closet, “from now on…”

As he took a step closer you couldn’t move, your legs weak beneath you as he pressed against your trembling frame, one arm keeping you caged against the wall and reveling in the squeak it drew out of you.

“When we’re alone?” Hovering his lips over your ear as he breathed the words against your temple, “I want you to call me Chrollo.”

In retrospect, you weren’t thinking clearly before you kissed him. It was like a compulsion, your conscience having no say over your fingers as you pulled him to your lips by the lapels of his suit. Despite all your screaming nerves and lingering doubts you somehow felt that if you didn’t do this now he could slip through your fingers again for good.

In all the years you’ve known your leader this was the first time you’d seen him stunned into silence, your impulsive confidence starting to backfire on your own brain.

You hastily shoved yourself away from him, shame pooling in your gut as you scrambled to apologize, “Chrollo, I’m-Fuck,I’m so sorry I wasn’t thinki—“

He cut you off by cupping his hand over your mouth, backing you further into the wall. Your boss raised a finger to his lips, shushing you with such a fond expression it actually helped you calm down. Tilting his raven hair to the door, he gestured to the guards outside who thankfully didn’t hear your hushed outburst.

“You’re terrified, aren’t you?” That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting him to say but you hesitantly nodded nonetheless.

Chrollo’s grip on your mouth went slack, his fingertips running over the plush of your lips, “Why?”

“I’m scared that I’m crossing a line.”

It was the simplest way you could put it, words hanging undisturbed in the air for a few moments before he could respond, “If that’s what you believe, then I’ll cross it myself.”

In the blink of an eye he’d trapped one hand in your hair, the other pulling you close by your waist and into a suffocating kiss. His lips were warmer than you thought they’d be but just as soft as you imagined; turning you into a petrified mess beneath him, brain short circuiting as his tongue held on to yours.

You pulled away first as the stinging in your lungs became too much to bear. As you tried to catch your breath you saw his expression, eyes dilated and lips slightly stained with the color of your lip tint.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you looked up at him as best you could in the darkness, “So does this mean you like me too?”

“Christ,” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, frustration lacing the way he said your name, “how could I make myself clearer?”

It was possible he could see the blush you were wearing even in the black lighting of the closet from how hot it spread. When he kissed you again there wasn’t a shred of hesitation or self-doubt left to overthink, his confession ringing in your head like the sweetest music you’ve ever heard. It wasn’t like any timid kiss of a new relationship, it was eager, raw, and long overdue.

His knee found its way between your legs, the friction everything you’d been craving and more, keening moans devoured by his lips before they could reach outside the closet door.

“Wait.. Chrollo, stop,” He froze, eerily still with an unreadably tense look on his face.

The voice that had been so laced with desire only a minute ago was gone, “Are you alright?”

“Wha- Yes, I-I’m fine, we just can’t do this here.”

He blinked in an owlish way that you’d call cute if he wasn’t being so flippant, “Why not?”

“What do you mean ‘why not?’” You hissed, pointing to the door and the entourage that awaited you beyond it.

You felt his lips curve into a smirk against your cheek, angling your jaw up until he spoke in a whisper, his hushed breath against your skin sending another wave of heat to your gut, “If they interrupt us,” Chrollo’s grip grew tighter, snapping you forward and forcing you to look at him, “I’ll kill them.”

“But… what about the escape plan? If they hear us—” He clicked his tongue and the hand that had been resting on your waist dipped between your legs, cupping you harshly through the black fabric of the dress, clasping your hand over your mouth to staunch the sharp whimper it brought out.

“Then you should try to stay quiet.” He led a trail of kisses down the curve of your neck, smiling as he felt you begin to relax under his grip, eyes fluttering open and shut from his touch.

He pulled his hand away, bunching the satin of your dress up your thighs until his fingertips ran along the soaked material of your panties.

“So wet for me, Darling,” It was all you could do to keep your voice down as he slipped his fingers under the waistline of the fabric, his breathing uneven as he toyed with the soft heat of your cunt, hovering kisses over your collarbone but keeping his gaze on yours as he asked, “how long have you thought about this? Thought about me?”

“A few months-ah—!”You were barely able to cover your squeak in time as he bit down on the vulnerable flesh.

“Liar.”

He read you like a book. At your juvenile silence that followed his remark he just sighed and started pulling his hand away, the absence of his fingertips on your clit enough to burn off what little shame you had left.

Screwing your eyes shut, you caved, “Since I joined the Troupe!” He paused at your hushed outburst, lips parted in what might’ve actually been surprise as you melted into his touch, “I’ve wanted you for years, Chrollo.”

“That long…” The blissful pressure on your clit was back and you would’ve doubled over if it weren’t for his grip holding you down. Your eyes were still shut so it took you by surprise as his next words sounded further away than the last, “I’ll have to apologize for keeping you waiting.”

Opening your eyes to see the leader of the Phantom Troupe on his knees in front of you, pulling your ruined garments down your legs with a starving glint in his irises was a sight you’d never forget. Not to be outdone when he ran his tongue along your lips, biting into your palm to hold back the whine of your voice.

“Fuck,” He cursed, a rarity for your composed boss and the raspy tremor of it only made your thighs widen. His eyes flickered to your trembling legs that didn’t seem to be capable of supporting your weight any longer, an imaginary lightbulb flicking above the darkened room. With an unnerving kind of strength he hooked his hand under your leg and locked it around his head, becoming all too aware of the heat of his breath against the soft curve of your thigh, settling it comfortably on his shoulder.

“You’re shaking,” He observed, lining a row of chaste kisses along the plush skin, “are you still nervous, Darling?”

Both of you knew he was wrong, and he proved it by leaning further closer to the ache between your legs, tongue prodding at your sensitive clit, “Or are you just that desperate for me?”

“—Chrollo,please,”The growl in your throat was almost enough to catch him off guard, lightly banging the back of your head against the wall out of bratty frustration, “For once in your life, shut up.”

He laughed faintly against your cunt, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your stomach before intoning a delicate, “As you wish.”

The first drag of his tongue had your back arching against the closet wall, the needy sigh he groaned against you sending another tide of heat into your bloodstream. He wasn’t as careful with you now, pace quickly overwhelming as his hands dug future bruises into your malleable flesh.

Your lungs hated being cooped up by your hand as you tried to stay quiet, a few honeyed pleas slipping through your fingers. There was a part of you still vacantly panicking at the compromising position you were in, the thought that one wrong move would be all it took to have the guards outside breaking down the door. You weren’t scared of them hurting you, god no, you were a member of the Phantom Troupe, a few armed guards would be nothing against you. That still didn’t mean you necessarily wanted an entire squadron of soldiers seeing you at your most vulnerable, coming undone at Chrollo’s sinful touch.

Dark strands of hair carded through your fingers as you basked in his attention, the warming knot in your stomach ever closer to snapping. His free hand dipped below the one supporting your thigh and carefully slipped two fingers inside you, curling them up and smiling at your muffled cries.

The reality of the situation was almost overwhelming, the desperation in your grip eased when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking the bud between his teeth. Your chest was heaving with the effort to keep still and silent even under his torture.

“Shit, Chrollo,” You whined lowly.

“Hm? What is it, love?” The new nickname was enough to make you crumble.

Even though it pained you to do so you wrenched his face away, nerves outraged at your body’s decisions. You wouldn’t admit it out loud but the stunning view of Chrollo Lucilfer, one of the most dangerous men in the entire world, below you with lips shiny and wet with your slick, was definitely giving you a power trip.

Summoning up what courage you had left, you shut your eyes and whispered, “Chrollo, Please just fuck me already.”

He didn’t move for a second, eyes black with want, but before you could beg any further he’d already rose to stand over you again while he made quick work of his belt. The clinking of metal was far too loud for your predicament but it wasn’t long before you were forgetting all about the assault team waiting outside. Once he unzipped his pants low enough to free himself from his briefs it was hard to think about anything else.

Without much effort he held your waist up to his own with one hand and lined himself between you with the other; not even his unshakeable resolve enough to completely stifle a groan as you eagerly wrapped your legs around him, trapping him closer.

He hissed as you dragged your aching walls down his cock and your pupils flared at the strained moan hot against your ear, “Look at yourself, Darling. Such a fragile little thing for me, so eager to have me inside of you…” His words trailed off as the he softly ground the leaking head of his cock onto your puffy clit.

“You’ve got quite the crush on me, haven’t you?” Chrollo’s kisses turned sharp as he bit along your shoulder and up the trembling climb of your neck.

The pleas you babbled were half illegible, teeming with the unbearable desire you’d kept dormant for years finally earning its due. As he began to push into you he took your lips in his, hiding each of your whorish moans in his mouth. It was almost surreal. You’d fantasized about this moment on and off for so long that to finally feel him pull your hips closer and stifle a groan into your tongue was shooting sparks down your spine. You eventually had to break away for air, panting madly as you rest on the wall for balance.

“Chr…oh-ah, shit, feels so good, Chrollo,” You whimpered, tucking your head onto his shoulder

When he said your name you almost came then and there, a vulnerable need in his voice you hadn’t heard before as he whispered it like gospel, “Goddamnit.. you’re so tight—“

You couldn’t wait for him any more, locking your thighs around him and drawing him flush with your waist as he audibly choked from the wet plush of your cunt. It stung for a moment but after ripping off that band-aid all you felt was full.

He couldn’t stop himself at that point, digging bruises into your thighs as he shallowly rut his hips against yours and tugged you down the wall to take you deeper.

Trying to regain his composure, he evened out his thickly voice and hushed soft praise into your ear, “Do you feel that, love? Feel me here?” He accentuated his words by curving one hand down to your stretched pussy, his palm intentionally pressing down on your abdomen as he curled precise circles onto your clit.

The sensation was unlike anything you’d ever felt, the moan it brought falling far too loud from your kiss-bitten lips. With a jolt of his wrist his hand was pressed against your mouth, head tilted towards the door.

“Wh.. Ivon, did you hear that?” A voice spoke from outside, and your heart fell into your stomach.

Blood was pounding in your ears as you waited for the guard’s response, eyes tearing up while mentally kicking yourself over the slip up.

The man who you could reasonably assume to be Ivon replied, “Yeah? James was just talking about the one of the guests. Did you hear somethin’ else?”

“No, I just thought I..” The guard trailed off, voice already muffled through the wood of the door.

Your eyes snapped open, glaring at Chrollo as he began to move your hips back onto his. Despite the nervous tremor that still wracked your core you couldn’t help but take a kind of sick pleasure in it. The fear of your enemies finding you was exhilarating your twitching body in a way you couldn’t imagine. Sparks caressed your limbs as he dragged himself inside you, igniting a fiery need in his wake.

He watched your muffled reactions with a cheshire grin, pleased to no end. His lips were parted from the friction, sweat beading under the cloth of his bandages, the lewd clap of skin on skin echoing faintly through the storage closet. You might’ve been a mess for him but the way his skin was flushed and his breathing stuttered as he snapped into you was enough to tell that he was close. You keened against his fingers, clenching tight around him and taking in the enticing way he shuddered.

Whatever cries you tried to make were gagged by his hand as he rubbed circles along your clit with the other. All at once the wall felt like it crumbled to dust behind you as you pulled him as close as It was the final push you needed to come undone, spasming and screaming into his hand as he left wet kisses along your neck.

Through the haze of your orgasm you couldn’t feel Chrollo take his hand off your mouth to dig his fingertips into your hips, desperately chasing his own release.

You heard him stifle each breathy curse and harsh groan into your neck, the oversensitivity enough to have you crying out from the numbingly hot friction. His teeth found solace in your jugular as he came, eyes pinched while he finished inside you, choking out the last fragments of his pleasure against your racing pulse.

It took you about two seconds before you realized what you’d done.

“Wait, what the— fuck?” A different voice said, the distinct sound of a magazine clipping into its holster echoing from beyond the closet.

Before you could panic Chrollo was pushing his index finger to your lips, a soft shush from your boss all it took to make you realize everything would be fine.

“I kne- hey James, get over here!” Ivon shouted, several pairs of boots crowding towards the closet door.

He set you carefully down to the ground, your legs wobbling under the weight and the sensation tingly on the undersides of your feet after being held in the air for so long, your boss pressing an uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead before collecting his bearings.

“This won’t take long, love.” He assured, locking an errant strand of hair behind your ear. Chrollo hadn’t actually taken any of his clothes off, something you resolved to change the next time you did this, and was already tucking himself back into his pants and brushing down his clothes to look at least semi-presentable.

“Whoever the fuck is in there, get out here now.This area is off-limits to guests!” You scoffed from your place on the floor, a blissed out smile on your face as you enjoyed the afterglow.

Chrollo feigned innocence as he answered, cautious to keep your exposed body out of their sight as he cracked open the door, “I’m coming out, there’s no need to panic..”

From where you sat you saw him summon Bandit’s Secret in the hand still obscured by doorway, flicking to a particularly nasty ability without even craning his neck to read which page he had turned to. You almost felt sorry for Ano and his guards. Almost.

As you began hunting down your underwear the noises of blood-curling screams filled the next room, the splatter of gore and thump of fallen limbs all too recognizable sounds in your line of work. You just managed to snatch your panties off the ground right before the steadily increasing pool of blood from under the door managed to reach it, a new red stream trickling in from the study.

You pulled your look together, trying to fan down the mess of your staticky hair as much as possible before Chrollo opened the door again, not a single drop of red visible on his suit.

Both Markus Ano and his guards had all been split into pieces, their organs hacked by the unknown energy in one of your boss’ many stolen hatsu and you found yourself having a hard time matching together Ano’s face with the rest of his torso. Covered in a sea of red, they all looked the same at this point.

“Well this sucks. How are we gonna get out of this?” You echoed, tiptoeing around the carnage to not get your new heels dirty.

Chrollo chuckled, holding out his arm just like he did earlier that night. It was easy taking it this time, none of the hesitance from before. As he led you past the doorway and into the still-empty hallway he explained, “There was an attack on the Yul treasury tonight but they don’t know we were ever here. If we don’t claim to anything I’m sure some rebel faction will take credit for our work soon enough.”

As you two wove your way down the hallways you weren’t even stopped by the guards who rushed upstairs at the sounds of screaming. To them it must’ve been impossible for two bloodless aristocrats to be the culprits, as by then you’d managed to blend your way into the crowd of confused guests. The party was as lively as you left it, the band playing a particularly triumphant melody as you escaped.

You almost scoffed as you walked out the front door, each guard none the wiser that their employer was currently littered across his study in chunks because of you; none of them even recognized the ten billion dollar play tucked safely under your arm. But you couldn’t blame them. After all, your attention wasn’t on the book either, but on the man beside you, completely enraptured by even the slightest smile on his face.

He might’ve had a good point earlier. You do have quite the crush on him.

—LOOSE ENDS

—ch.1—ch.2 —ch.3 —ch.4

summary: you help repay chrollo for the treatment he gave you last night.

w/c: 3133

tags: morning after, fluff, oral sex, slightly subchrollo

a/n: soooo im gonna tell a typical chapter out of order and make the porn first and then the story lol. this one is a lot smaller than the last one cause the next one is gonna be a pretty length one

By the time you woke up the sun was already high above you, light streaming through the window and onto your closed eyes enough to pull you from a dreamless sleep. For a moment you were scared, eyes frantically scanning the room until you saw your boots tucked neatly beside your bed and all the memories of last night came rushing back.

The sudden onslaught of blood to your head made the pounding in your skull even worse, nothing holding you back from melodramatically groaning into the silken pillow. Embarrassed wasn’t the correct word for how you felt. Even mortified felt tame. The thoughts of Chrollo, dark hair bunched into your fingers while he held your thighs still, eating you out like you were his last supper was enough to make a painfully familiar warmth start to pool in your gut.

Those memories were golden, the only problem was how they ended.

You’d passed out on him the second he was done, what kind of date did that? He must’ve thought you were pretty inconsiderate, or at least that you were a sloppy drunk.

Your guilt weighed heavy on your shoulders as you slowly tracked down your phone and clothes, finding all but your bra before making your way out to the hall. Either the lights were too dim last night or you were too drunk but you hadn’t truly appreciated how expensive your host’s penthouse was when compared to your apartment. The view of York New City from Chollo’s penthouse was breathtaking, the metropolitan skyline etched with the bright reflection of the sun.

Nervously, you opened your mouth to call out his name, you wanted to just find him and apologize already so you could stop feeling so damn uneasy.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Even though he spoke in the softest voice he could’ve managed he still spooked you.

“Christ, you scared me. Do you not make footsteps or something?”

He shrugged, apologetically gesturing towards the other hallway, “My apologies. I was about to wake you and see if you wanted any coffee?”

Despite the headache you still managed a smile at the offer, “That sounds great right now. Maybe top it off with a pain killer or two?”

“Of course.” The kitchen was as grand as the bedroom, with cabinets overlooking each marble countertop and a similarly beautiful view from the window by the dining table. The only thing that struck you as odd was when Chrollo pulled some creamer from the fridge, giving you a glance at how sparse his groceries were, only restricted to a few bare necessities.

Tucking yourself into a chair, your brain slowly woke up with the smell of the familiar caffeine. Before you could clarify how you liked your coffee he’d already poured it, adding exactly the same amount of sugars you’d told him you enjoyed when you gushed over Dorian Grey on the first day you met him.

As he fixed your coffee he kept his back to you, shoulders tensed as he asked, “Do you… remember what happened last night?”

You scoffed, “I only had a bit of wine, Chrollo, I remember perfectly.”

“Then what happened between us…” he turned to you, leaning against the countertop to keep his distance, “Do you regret it?”

Instantly you snapped up to him, “What? No,no, Chrollo I’m—“

“You were drunk. It was wrong of me to take advantage of you like that.” his guilty confession was unbelievable. You might’ve been tipsy but you can clearly recall the way you fell apart around him, pleasure bleeding from each cry of his name, and he was under the impression you hadn’t wanted it?

“Chrollo, I’m fine, last night was amazing. That’s not what I regret,” he blinked, genuinely confused.

“What, then?”

You looked back to the glass table, your reflection feint but clearly flustered in the clear mirror, “Because you didn’t… I didn’t make you feel good.”

His scoff was caught somewhere between relieved and puzzled, “That’s it?”

Looking up into his eyes as he brought the mugs of steaming coffee over was a challenge, “I’m just sorry I fell asleep is all,” you trailed off.

He snatched your hand, his eyes brimming with severity and want. “Trust me, love, I enjoyed myself too.” You had to look away, taking solace in the too-hot burn of the coffee as a way to take your mind off the intensity of his stare and help keep your voice from breaking.

“But what if I repay my favor?” The lilt in your voice wasn’t lost on him and all the sobering thoughts he fed himself did nothing to stop his pulse jumping at your words.

He visibly shifted in his seat, “You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” He was beginning to learn that you were a special kind of stubborn, conflict evident on his face.

“You don’t owe me anything,” his voice was strained, like he was holding back everything he wanted to say, “If.. if you don’t…

Your hand ran alongside his arm, reverently thumbing the muscle that hid underneath the grey fabric, “I know that, Chrollo. Doesn’t change how I want to feel you… tasteyou,”

He said your name like a scolding teacher, frown etched onto his face. If it weren’t for the thin flush of color that fled to his cheeks and the way his legs spread wider under your foot’s pressure you would’ve stopped.

“Most guys want this, you know?”

“You should know by now I’m not like most men,” before your confidence faltered you drew back your ankle, standing up from the chair to hover in front of him. He followed you with his eyes and it did nothing to keep your poise in check, running your hand down his chest and feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palm.

The cold wood of the floor met your knees, batting your eyelashes at him as best you could, “You said you enjoyed making me feel good, right?” He nodded as your hand moved down the thin trail of dark hair to his sweatpants where the strain in his body was all too obvious, toying with the seam of fabric between your fingertips.

“Well, then let me have my fun,”

The guttural groan from your words felt like heaven to your ears, knowing you’d won.

“…Alright,” it was all you needed, tugging down the material until you saw his length aching against the black of his briefs. You pressed mouthy kisses along until you felt him twitch beneath you, wrapping a soft hand around to squeeze him gently through the fabric, pulling another sigh from him.

The sound made you think you were doing good but looking up didn’t confirm the theory, his hands digging into the arm of the dining chair, mouth pressed into a straight line.

“Chrollo,relax,” he didn’t seem convinced, clearly turned on but fidgety under your touch, “do you want me to stop?”

“No, dear, I just—“ it was rare to see him at such a loss for words, “I’m not used to this.”

The idea that Chrollo hadn’t ever been taken care of like this was as astounding as it was annoying, “Why not?”

Despite the compromising position it took a long moment before he spoke, voice barely above a hush,

“It’s vulnerable.”

You didn’t expect to feel so moved while you were on your knees about to blow him, but the honesty of his words still made your heart skip a few beats.

As gently as you possibly could, you pulled his boxers off the cut of his waist, his cock hitting against his stomach when it was freed. The sight was intimidating, not only because it would be logistically difficult to fit him in your mouth but because of his expression; all wide-eyed and nervous, his breathing heavy above you. True to his words, it was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him.

Wrapping your palm around him, the gasp it drew made a wave of heat settle in your abdomen.

You didn’t have a way with words like him, you couldn’t make him stutter and blush like he did to you, so you tried to let your actions speak for themselves, taking an effort to worship every inch of him as his composure slipped away.

As you thumbed patterns into the exposed flesh you drew your tongue along his cock, prying out another pleased sigh, the tense strain of the hunter’s body loosening beneath you.

“More.” He said sharply, eyes closed into a scrunch while you smiled at your little victory.

Without wasting a moment you wrapped your mouth around his length that had beaded with pre-cum. Having to wrap your hand around what couldn’t fit, you took him deeper, willing yourself not to choke. The width of him was hard to manage but the sinful noises above you more than made up for the certain ache your jaw would be suffering later on.

“God, just..“ Chrollo stuttered, trying to keep his hips from snapping into your mouth, “more, Darling, I’m-”

The moan he gave you was quiet, hiding behind his hand, but you’d take it as a green light, moving your head back and forth to elicit the most overwhelming friction you could. He was a mess underneath you, or at least as much of a mess as he could be, one hand finally combing itself in your hair, his grip tight at the roots, while the other was resolutely over his mouth.

You twist your tongue over the tip of his cock, humming around him to see Chrollo’s head fall back from the pleasure, the rapid rising of his chest and muffled groans giving away his composure.

“Darling, so… stop, stop, I’m close,” his hips involuntarily pushed forward when you swallowed around him, his hand not being enough to staunch the breathy whines that you ripped from his chest.

He was a sight to see, the panes of muscle under his shirt clenched from the fire of your touch, eyebrows pursed together and eyes shut tight as he cupped a shaking hand under his nose to try and hide the way his voice cracked under the budding pleasure. His hips automatically jut into the air once you pulled back, eyes squinting open to see your tongue toying with the string of spit that connected you to him.

You pulled back just enough to kiss a few hoarse words onto the tip of his cock, red and sensitive from the heat of your throat, “Want you to cum in my mouth,Chrollo,”

Hearing your name being called so desperately, so sweetly, was more satisfying than anything, the filth of your words catching your lover off-guard.

“And don’t cover your voice either, I want to hear you,” he obliged, though begrudgingly, the pleading look in his big grey eyes more than enough to make you go down on him once again.

He tried to follow your request, stuttering out a moan as he rocked himself into your pace, eyes open this time as he watched where your mouth met his cock with a glazed focus. After a moment his grip in your hair tightened, beginning to guide you down his length as he saw fit, a slew of mumbled whines spilling from his trembling lips.

As Chrollo’s tip hit the back of your throat you forced yourself to breathe through your nose, easier said than done but somehow you managed, swallowing around his twitching head, a meretricious cry leaving him that echoed around the room. He pushed you forward in a moment of blind desire, your nose brushing against the patch of dark hair as you had to ignore the tears that involuntarily spilled down your cheeks as he came down your throat.

It was too much for you to take, his cum dribbling from your mouth as he rode out his high, the warmth thick as it went down your throat, his grip mercifully going slack. You swallowed most of it but some still spilled down your lips when you finally couldn’t hold back a cough, the brief oversensitivity sending him reeling, staining your cheek with a rope of white.

“God… damnit,” he huffed, trying to catch his breath as he took you in. You’re sure you must’ve looked like quite a sight with his cum dripping down your face and cheeks flushed red, tears brimming with starlight against your eyelashes.

You couldn’t resist teasing him a bit more, sticking out your tongue and swiping his cum into your mouth, audibly humming at the taste.

“You’reinsatiable,” he whispered under his breath.

The giggle that bubbled up from your chest was infectious and Chrollo couldn’t help but smile along as he tucked himself back into his sweatpants.

Standing up and swiping the floor’s dust from your knees, you rubbed the back of your neck, “You… liked it, right?”

His voice deadpanned as you asked, looking at the mess he’d made of your face, “Are you joking?”

“Where’s the bathroom, Chrollo?” He took a moment to laugh into his hand, chuckling at the absurd mundanity of the moment before directing you down the hall.

You whistled as you stepped into the bathroom, the tile reflecting porcelain and marble. First thing’s first, you turned on the tap until the water ran warm, dampening a towel and wiping off anything that remained of your escapade in the kitchen, your reflection after the ordeal looking noticeably more hungover than after you woke up.

Once you were decently clean you rummaged around for some kind of soap, stumbling upon more than a few odd discoveries. A half-empty box of latex gloves, a wig, and a full row of hydrogen peroxide bottles.

Was this all for hunter stuff? Being honest with yourself, you really don’t know much about what the profession entails, only that it’s dangerous and pays insanely well, but you couldn’t really place a finger on why they were all there. Eventually after shoving a row of medical supplies to the side you found some facial wash, cleansing until you felt fresh enough to go back out, ruffling your hair in the mirror before leaving.

Once you made your way back to the kitchen Chrollo was nowhere to be seen, but both your cups of wasted coffee were in the sink. Pity. You were resolved to wait there until he came back when the bright chime of the doorbell sounded from the living room.

“Chrollo? There’s someone at the…” you tried to call out but realized suddenly that you didn’t know just how big this place was. Shrugging, you decided to answer it for him, and soon enough you found your way to the living room, tugging open the door right in the middle of another ringing succession.

On the other side was a short, blond guy who was busy tapping something into a flip phone while wearing a bright, boyish grin that fell sharply as his eyes locked on to yours.

“Um.. Hello there,” you tried, clearing your throat, “are you looking for Chrollo?”

As he quickly typed something into his phone he never took his eyes off you, not even blinking as he asked, “Who are you?”

The beautiful sound of Chrollo saying your name saved you, appearing from the hallway and dressed in different clothes as he looked between you and the stranger at the door with a grave look on his face.

“Shalnark, what a surprise.” Was that the blond guy? It was an odd name to be sure but then again so was Chrollo, so who were you to judge? With Yorknew a transit city as it is, you’re sure you must’ve heard something similar at one point or another.

Once he came up to the door he rested his hand softly on the small of your back, a warmth spreading from where his fingertips grazed the skin. The contact made you think back on what had just happened a few minutes ago and paranoia set in, praying you hadn’t missed a spot while cleaning.

“Shal, this is… a friend of mine,” something tells you that from what just happened the two of you were far past being friends. The two of you had practically skipped that phase entirely.

The intense vibe surrounding the blond vanished and soon that smile from before was back on his face, although now his eyes very rarely left Chrollo’s as he let him speak.

“Darling, this is my brother, Shalnark.“ You tried not to let your shock show too openly on your face but your jaw went slack nonetheless.

“Brother?” Looking between the two of them it would’ve been impossible to tell, everything from their complexion to their hair was different.

Shalnark leaned forward, helpfully adding, “Adoptedbrother.”

You made a noise of understanding once the two of them nodded in unison. It wasn’t too shocking to think that whatever parent came up with Chrollo must’ve also come up with Shalnark.

“Would you mind waiting in your room, darling? There’s a family matter we need to discuss.” You smiled, nodding obliviously as you tried to retrace your brief steps to the comfy bed.

Once you were safely out of earshot the two spiders were held at a standstill, both waiting to see who would speak first, and for once it wasn’t Chrollo. Shalnark’s gaze met the floor, chewing on a question before finally spitting it out.

“She doesn’t know?”

“…No,” his expression was neutral, an invasive edge to his voice, “Why are you here?”

Shal took a deep breath, tucking his phone into his back pocket as he strode into the living room, “Got rid of the body at Earlson’s, thought I should let you know.”

“And I take it you need your license back?”

The manipulator grinned, “I can never sneak anything by you, huh?”

“I’d hope not,” he produced the card and handed it over, its use exceeded now that she had seen him with one the night before.

As the card returned to its rightful owner Chrollo paused, his tight grip on the license catching his underling off-guard.

“Don’t tell any of the others about her.” It was one of the first times he’d ever seen his leader ask for something so earnestly.

“I won’t, boss.” Shalnark’s loyalty to the Troupe was only outdone by his loyalty to Chrollo, resolve unwavering as he held the gaze of his superior.

“Besides,” he slid the identification back into his pocket, unable to keep himself from getting in one more comment before making himself scarce, “we all have loose ends.”

“Sorry about that, love, Shal just had to stop by for a minute,” you sat with your legs crossed on the bed, tugging your boots on and lacing them up tight.

You gave him a sympathetic look as you finished double-knotting your shoelaces, “Family drama?”

Chrollo pondered the comment, “You could say that.”

You just shrugged, waving off the topic, “Families are weird, I won’t pry.”

He must’ve appreciated the notion because with that he relaxed again, finally gesturing to your shoes, “Trying to escape already?”

“Chrollo, It’s 11:00 and I have work at noon. I didn’t leave yesterday thinking I’d have to set an alarm,” he scoffed and you playfully swatted at his arm in indignation, the embarrassed blush on your cheekbones doing nothing to detract from the mirthful smile that gave you away.

“Don’t laugh at my ‘normal-person’ job just ‘cause I don’t get attacked in the middle of making a french press.” by now he was full-on grinning, chuckling over your teasing act as you finished putting yourself back together.

He took the liberty of opening the door for you both, tying that winding cloth around his tattoo again before grabbing his keys on the way out, “I’m not laughing at you, dear, far from it.“

“Could’ve fooled me.”

There was something about hotel hallways that rang true no matter how expensive they were, as when Chrollo led you down the corridor lined with gold-plated room numbers you felt the familiar oncomings of a headache setting in until he called for your attention, “I assume you’ll need a ride?”

“I think It’s fair since you kidnapped me, don’t you think?” Stepping into the elevator, you turned to face him but didn’t expect the contemplative look on his face as he hummed.

As the ding of the lift slid the doors shut Chrollo’s voice seemed much louder in the tiny space, “Now that’s a thought…” he muttered.

Again you slapped his arm, “Don’t be weird.”

His smile returned and you noticed that recently he’d been sharing them with you more often than before, a stark contrast to the completely aloof mystery he used to be, “I’m joking, darling, honest.”

Stepping into the lobby, Chrollo took the liberty to guide his hand along your waist, pulling you close beside him as you made your way through the lavish waiting room and out to the valet, a quick interaction between your chauffeur and one of the staff bringing around the car you’d arrived in, only now noticing in direct sunlight how the windows were tinted dark.

As you tucked yourself into the passenger’s seat Chrollo was quick to pull onto the road, not bothering to ask for directions. A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as he drove, giving you a moment to relax into the warmth of the leather. Discounting last night, it’d been months since someone else had driven you anywhere and it was easy to admit that it felt nice.

After a few blocks his voice broke the silence, eyes laser focused on the road either to be a good driver or to avoid looking at you, “I did enjoy it, you know.”

“Hm?

“This morning. I wanted you to know that you didn’t scare me off.” His confession about the vulnerability your actions entailed were clear in your mind, the reassurance striking a chord in your chest.

“Neither did you,” you added, smiling after meeting his gaze once he turned your way, a strange double-meaning behind the fog of his eyes.

“Not yet.”

—LOOSE ENDS

—ch.1 —ch.2 —ch.3—ch.4

summary: after returning from his business trip, chrollo takes you to dinner to explain what he is and what he does, the false versions of them, that is.

wc: 7616

tags: nsfw, manipulation, drunk sex, cunnilingus, gaslighting, coffee shop, begging kink

an: ooo boy this took a fucking while to get up but not as long as i thought tbh. i know the hxh scene is a lot less prevalent than the mha one but i hope fellow chrollo fuckers understand the appeal of being manipulated with good intentions

Weeks passed. Not a day went by without you thinking of your mysterious visitor at least once, and sometimes when a customer would order an espresso you felt an odd twinge in your heart, casting a glance at the empty table where the two of you sat together. Little did you know that you’d be seeing him again far sooner than you thought.

It hadn’t even been a full month when he came back.

The door’s ringing barely caught your attention and you responded with your routine, “Welcome in, what can I—“

But there he stood in the doorway, bathed in the late rays of the setting sun, your copy of Dorian Grey in hand.

“Chrollo!” You exclaimed before the stares of the other patrons made you cough nervously, trying to keep your voice to yourself, “It’s good to see you again.”

That frail smile of his was a sight for sore eyes, “You too. Though are you sure you didn’t just miss this?” He held up your book for emphasis.

“Both,” he almost looked amused by your honesty, “I thought you said you’d be gone for a month?”

Chrollo picked his words carefully, “My business trip finished up early, so I thought I’d return a bit sooner rather than later. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” you grinned, way too delighted just by hearing the sound of his voice again. Your coworkers had teased you relentlessly for it, but their annoyance was justified. You’re sure it must’ve been hell on them to keep repeating orders and questions for you at work only for two weeks straight only for you to not hear them, busily caught up in thinking if your mysterious customer would come in that day. It seems luck must’ve been on your side for once.

“Tell me, what time does your shift end?”

Deftly untying your apron, you shoved it underneath the counter, thankful that he’d come in just as your shift was getting off, “You’re in luck, I’m actually just about to clock out.”

Before you could walk over to the booth you’d sat at before, his words stopped you.

“In that case would you like to get dinner?” You froze mid-step, the implications of his request both exciting and terrifying. You must’ve looked like a deer in headlights to him, all wide-eyed and disbelieving.

“Now?”

“When else?”

“But I just got off work, and…” suddenly each bit of grime and sweat that’d built up throughout the day felt worse, especially compared to Chrollo. He seemed to be carved from marble, not a hair out of place or wrinkle present in his dark button-down.

He scoffed, “If that’s the only thing stopping you, then I assure you there’s nothing to worry about.”

Internally you were screaming. The idea that he’d ask you out now of all times was nerve-wracking, but you couldn’t say no to those pleading eyes of his.

“Only if it’s not anywhere fancy,” you mumbled.

He smiled, though something seemed pained in his glance, “I assure you, It’s nothing too extravagant.”

Chrollo offered you his hand, taking yours in his before you could change your mind, and suddenly you were reminded of the night he’d left and your knuckles hummed with warmth at the thought of his lips on them again.

“Shall we?”

As soon as he pulled into the valet parking you were almost fuming.

“You promised nothing too fancy, Chrollo! I’ll stick out like a sore thumb in here,” the idea of all those eyes on you had your stomach turning.

You couldn’t help but jump when his hand found its place on your jeans, lightly brushing his thumb over the denim, and suddenly you couldn’t think of anything but him.

“I already made the reservations before I asked you here tonight,” your mouth parted in shock, was he really that confident in himself?

A few stuttered noises escaped you before you could manage to speak, “What if I didn’t say yes?”

He smirked, shrugging his shoulders, “I guess we’ll never know.”

With that the car came to a stop in front of the entrance and when his hand left your thigh you couldn’t help but feel a sting of disappointment. Chrollo quickly handed a few notes to the valet driver before walking beside you, his arm extended.

You couldn’t help but laugh a bit in disbelief at the sheer grandiosity of the past hour, but something still lingered; A nagging doubt that kept you on your toes. Just who was Chrollo? What kind of job would make him leave for months on end and come back with what looked like a fortune? Staring into his unreadable eyes betrayed nothing and a distant quote scratched at the back of your head as you hesitantly linked your arm with his.

“He is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma,”

The polished glass doors parted before you to reveal a middle-aged receptionist hidden behind a small table, a stack of menus at his side. The floors were a rich red fabric that made you paranoid about leaving any dirt behind from the worn soles of your boots, and the walls were fitted with an old-fashioned wallpaper, accented with stone pillars at each corner.

“Reservation for two? It’s under Lucilfer.” That got your attention. Sure, Chrollo wasn’t a common name but Lucilfer? Did he just happen to have surname modeled after the biblical devil or did he pick it himself for some reason? Either way it somehow fit him perfectly, and within no time the receptionist spotted his name on his guest list, bowing slightly before asking you to follow him.

The receptionist led you two through an archway into what must’ve been the most lavish restaurant you’d ever seen in your life. It was horrifying. Everyone else you saw was draped in pearls and flattering dresses, suits embroidered with designer labels meanwhile all you had on was a black sweater and jeans. Their judgmental eyes followed your every step, your grip on Chrollo’s arm growing tighter as you tried to make it to your table without tripping.

He fixed his gaze on you, perceptive to a fault, “Don’t be afraid, love, they’re not worth the thought,”

Your pulse was pounding in your ears as he whispered; you were surprised that Chrollo couldn’t hear it given how close he hovered to your neck. You tried in vain to follow his advice but how could you concentrate on anything when he said things like that?

After what felt like hours your waiter finally showed you to your table, a two seated set perched beside a looming, iron-gilded window.

You were sure to pull out your chair yourself before Chrollo could get a chance to; it seemed like the type of princely thing he’d pull to make you a stuttering mess. You were starting to wonder if he was some kind of sadist.

As the receptionist scurried off there was nothing to distract you from the man across the table, the snide glares of the other patrons rolling off you like water.

“Not so bad I hope?”

You shook your head, taking in the surroundings along with a few deep breaths, “No, It’s just… overwhelming,”

“I see. I guess it is a bit much,” Chrollo hummed in understanding, handing you one of the glossy menus and subtly gesturing to the other tables, “unfortunately I meet people like them more often than not in my line of work.”

Finally he’d brought up what you’d been itching to ask him, “What is it you do exactly? I mean, do you go on business trips like that a lot?”

His gaze turned sharp and oddly still before reaching into his suit pocket and revealing what looked like a small credit card. Tentatively, you took it from his outstretched hand. Only when you saw the red diamond and two black Xs adorning the ID did you know what you were holding.

Your eyes shot open, looking from him to the card and back again.

“You’re a hunter?” You gaped, brain having difficulties tying the hunter association’s elite ranks of fighters with the soft-spoken young man who reads Oscar Wilde in run-down coffee shops.

He nodded, his posture relaxing, “I’m an Antiques Hunter, so I usually don’t stay in one city too long before I have to leave,”

You were slowly wrapping your head around the news when you realized that you were basically holding the equivalent of six billion jenny. The shock made you shove the card back into his hands, stunned into silence. You might’ve guessed that Chrollo had a strange job, but this was something else.

But then why did it feel like you were missing something?

“Well, are you going to keep interrogating me, or would you like to have dinner first?” You snorted, thankful for him at least trying to lighten the mood.

You instinctively flinched at the price tags beside each dish, having to remind yourself that money was never an issue for a hunter, if Chrollo’s lascivious taste said anything else. After a bit of debate you picked out the most recognizable and pronounceable meal you could find, while your partner ordered a rare steak with some foreign red wine.

“So when will you have to leave again for your next…” you struggled to find the right words, “hunting trip?”

“Two weeks or so. I’ll be flying to the Lurka ruins for an excavation,” he handed off your menus to the waiter and within moments someone had arrived with an unopened bottle of wine. Popping the cork, your glasses were filled halfway, and with a weird hand gesture Chrollo had the waiter leaving behind the bottle.

“What will you do for the next two weeks?” He seemed thankful you didn’t press him on his work, it must have to be secretive if he’s a hunter.

His gaze flickered over to yours as he raised the glass to his lips, never breaking eye contact, “That depends on you. This trip will be a longer one, I’m afraid, and I may not see you again for a while.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at that, bringing up your own glass and knocking back a deep drink, downing nearly half the goblet. When you set it back down on the table and wiped the plum liquor from your lips against the back of your hand you didn’t expect to see an amusedly scandaled Chrollo, whose eyes were raised at theshotyou took of wine.

“…I’m not supposed to do that, am I?” He laughed, honest-to-god laughedat that, and the sound was beautiful just like him. Breathy but deep, more stunned than anything as you flushed red in embarrassment.

“—I love it when you laugh, Chrollo,” You grinned, resting your head on your hand and taking in how he looked with a toothy grin, knowing it might not come out again.

His laugh was abruptly cut short, your notion so sincere it unnerved him.

“I don’t find myself able to often,” he mused, almost to himself, before looking up at you with a vulnerable softness to his eyes, “but perhaps I should.”

All at once the tone of the air shifted, what warmth laid in those grey pools drained of color and Chrollo went completely rigid. You were confused. Did you say something wrong? Suddenly he flicked his gaze to yours, mouth in a straight line, giving nothing away. It was starting to scare you.

“Chrollo?”

A voice echoed from above you, “Well, what a surprise. I finally found you, spider.”

Standing beside the tablecloth was an older, burly man with rough skin and twitching fingers stood even taller than Chrollo, a burning hatred in his eyes.

The shadows of your date’s face fell darkly as he met the man’s stare.

“Do I know you?” His voice sounded wrong, different somehow. Like he was an actor from a stage show, brimming with falsity under the fluorescent lights

When the man slammed a heavy fist down on the table, nearly shattering the pressed wood in two, you couldn’t’ve stoped the shrill squeak from escaping if you tried, muffled by your hand cupped tightly over your mouth

“You know damn well who I am.” All conversation in the restaurant died instantly. The eyes of frightened socialites widened at the loud bang. Your breathing was shaky but you couldn’t take your eyes off Chrollo, desperate for a sign, a hint that everything was going to be okay.

Slowly, your date rose to his feet and even if he was shorter and far less bulky than whoever kept harassing him he didn’t look at all concerned.

Standing below him, Chrollo finally spoke up, “We can take this elsewhere.”

“Fine by me. I wouldn’t want to kill anyone but you.”

Tears were caught in your eyelashes, voice shaking as you asked, “Chrollo, what—“

“Stay here,” he spared you one last glance, “I’ll be back soon.”

The man scoffed, fixing his beady eyes on you for the first and last time that night, sneering, but before he could do or say anything, Chrollo had silenced him with a simple glare. Thankfully whoever he was, he didn’t seem to care much about you. The two of them left, Chrollo willingly following the man’s lead and not looking back. Nobody stopped them or even said a word as they vacated the building. All at once, the volume increased. Dramatic murmurs and phone calls making your head ache, the other patrons eager to gossip about whatever had happened at your table.

You slumped into the chair, hugging your arms to yourself to try and feel safe again. Immediately a waitress came over, a younger one with worry written all over her face.

“Miss, are you alright?” She outstretched her hand and you took it gratefully, thankful to have an anchor even if it was with a stranger.

As the moments dragged on you made best friends with the abandoned bottle of wine, which had somehow escaped unscathed. Drinking might not’ve been the best solution to your problems but it was what you needed. Your breathing went steady as you poured yourself another glass, trying to think of anything other than who used to be sitting in the empty chair across from you.

Was he alright? Was he hurt? God, you felt so powerless just sitting there, you couldn’t leave or call for help without going against Chrollo’s wishes but how much could you really trust his assurances? The image of your… lover? Date? The image of Chrollo slumped against some alleyway with whatever horrible injuries your brain could come up with riddled through his designer suit sent you reaching for the neck of the wine bottle once again.

Your silence wasn’t going to go on for much longer because only fifteen minutes or so after he’d left, Chrollo walked through the door. The relief caught you by surprise, wrecking your energy as he returned to the table, unfazed as if nothing ever happened.

“I’m truly sorry for all of this, Darling. I owe you an explanation,” he said your name so despondently and you were having none of it.

You shook your head, inadvertently making your vision spin from the drinks, “No, just.. what happened? Are you alright?”

He scoffed at your concern, letting you cling to his hand for reassurance, pulse steady compared to your erratic heart, “Yes, don’t worry, all I did was restrain him for the police, but we should probably get going.” You nodded, thankful for the idea of talking with him alone instead of among a crowd. You noticed that he seemed as healthy as he’d left, slightly putting your mind at ease as he scribbled down a check in messy penmanship.

Taking your arm as you stood from the chair, he rest his hand around your waist as he led you through the doorway, the distant sounds of York New’s night life a familiar comfort to your drunken mind. The car was already pulled up when he opened the passenger’s seat, you crawled in with your legs tucked awkwardly against the seat, too confused and tipsy to care about manners.

Soon the restaurant was in your rear-view mirror and you turned to look at your driver.

“Talk.”

He never took his eyes off the road while he spoke, “Hunters acquire enemies through their work. That man was a client that felt I didn’t do a good enough job on an assignment a few months ago. He must’ve thought that being stronger would help him in a fight, I suppose.”

You climbed up into the seat as best you could, clutching your head with a wince, Chrollo immediately asking, “Are you drunk?”

You couldn’t hold his gaze after that question, basically confirming his suspicions.

“I’m a nervous drinker,” you pouted, and without thinking you reached a hand over along the forearm of his sleeve, undeniably needy for physical contact, “and you scared me, Chrollo.”

As you came to an intersection he finally met your sight, taking in the flushed mess that you wore so beautifully, eyes glossy with unshed tears. It was all he could do to not reach over and pull you to him, but he knew he couldn’t. Not now at least.

“Where do you live?” Holding the bridge of your nose, you recited the address perfectly but still overthought about whether or not it was right.

“That’s… quite far. How is it you live half an hour away from the city?” You were far too drunk to answer the question you’d been asking yourself even since the bullet train was installed by your apartment, simply mumbling a string of nonsense as you held on to him for stability.

He took your hand away from him, setting it back on your thigh, but he didn’t pull away. The drunken blush spread to your nose at the heat, “I need to ask you something,” he tightened his grip, calling your name to get your attention. The action sent a rush of warmth through your body and settled in your stomach, making you almost rub your thighs together to relieve the pressure.

“Hmm?”

“My hotel is five minutes away. If you would feel comfortable with it, you can stay the night with me.” It was honestly a miracle that he had no bad intentions, because if he had you would’ve been easy pickings with how easily you nodded yes.

You almost caught a smile on his pale lips after you agreed, and soon enough you were pulling into his hotel, Chrollo kind enough to help you to your feet and guide you forward after handing some uniformed staff member a wad of credits that seemed far too much for a simple valet job but who were you to tell? You suppose in hindsight substituting dinner with wine wasn’t the best idea.

The elevator’s pull upwards made you clutch onto his chest for balance, swaying unsteadily. He ran a hand through your hair that was still messy from work, taking solace in the smell of burnt coffee.

Once the elevator came to his floor he took you before a tall door, swiping a keycard beside it before pushing open. The main room’s wall made of windows that overlooked the glowing lights of the city below, almost making you dizzy.

But you couldn’t enjoy the sight as Chrollo was leading you towards his bedroom. The insinuation made you think back to his grip on your thigh, feeling you through the denim. An ache between your legs was getting too hard to ignore, especially when he guided you to lie down on the bed.

You groaned childishly, clutching around his neck to keep him from pulling away, too comfortable in the blanket of his arms.

He said your name sternly, “Let go,” with a strength far from your own he took your hands away and kept them at your sides.

Chrollo left you on the mattress as he kneeled down to unlace your boots, pulling them off your feet and keeping them beside the bed. You, on your elbows, looked down at him, the intoxication making you flush from the sight of your date between your legs.

Once he removed your other shoe he caught your gaze, pausing once he came to that same conclusion. In the dim light of the master bedroom you could’ve seen the faintest rush of color beneath his pale skin.

He instantly tried to stand and move from that spot but without thinking you hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Stay, Chrollo,” conflict waged in his eyes, debating with himself whether or not he would follow your lead.

The hunter shook his head, “You’re drunk—“

“—You’rebeautiful,” he was stunned into silence. His stare finally flicking down to the bare skin visible beneath your tousled sweater.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped when you brought him closer towards you until you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin.

Chrollo squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a gravelly curse under his breath before finally moving up from your legs. In an instant he was on you, his lips cool against yours as his hands grasped at your bunched up shirt, yanking it above your head and throwing it elsewhere, fingers deftly unlatching your bra, never breaking his bruising kiss while pinching the soft flesh of your tits.

Chrollo was greedy, forcing your body to bend in any way he wished. He kissed down your neck, sucking on the skin until you dug your hands into his hair, moaning at the tingly sensation.

“I wanted to wait,” he muttered the words into your neck and you yelped from his teeth biting down, “But you couldn’t, could you? So desperate,”

“Don’t tease me, Chrollo,” you pleaded, rolling against his cock, slick pooling in your jeans.

He grabbed your waist, halting your motions and glowering up at you, “Are you that needy for me?”

You nodded, unashamed, “Need you in me, Chrollo—”

You cried out when he pinched one of your tits and rolled the blush between his fingers, drawing as many breathy gasps as he could before his kisses travelled across your collarbone. He locked eyes with yours as he wrapped his tongue around the pebbled skin, watching closely for whatever reaction you’d grant him.

“Not yet,” as his teeth bit into the sensitive bud you yanked on his hair hard, arching into his mouth while his hands stayed busy. One fell to your jeans, working off the metal buttons. You only realized what he was doing when the sound of your zipper cut through the air.

“I still need to have you for myself first,” soon you in nothing but black lace panties as you rutted against him in any way you could, absolutely shameless from the drinks.

His mouth parted as he took in your form, chest heaving and body trembling beneath him. It felt good, it felt right.

“And I’ve been dying to taste you.” Your undergarments must’ve been ruined by now, the deep tremor in his voice turning your legs to jelly. Your vision was still uneven from the drinks earlier, but if anything it only helped to heighten the otherworldly feeling Chrollo seemed so adept at drawing you towards.

Chrollo’s lips fell down to your stomach, kissing down until they met the soft lace. His eyes never leaving yours, his teeth pulled your panties below your thighs and you bent your legs up so he could slide them away. It was intoxicating, the steady heat in his eyes blazing as every slow movement looked like living sin.

Before you could close them, he gripped each of your calves and spread your legs wide, ignoring how the stretch made you yelp. It was almost unnerving to see the stoic man come undone, his breathing heavy and sweat beading underneath his bandaged forehead.

Why onearthwas he still wearing that thing?

“God, Chrollo,” his lips quirked into a smile as he ran a stipe down your folds, groaning at the sweet taste that seemingly invaded each of his senses. How could he have ever denied himself this?

He bent his tongue inside you and the noises it wrought were far from decent but you were careful to not let yourself get distracted. As your hands carded into the soft strands, you felt the ridge of bandages tucked around his head. Cautiously, you tugged him upwards, friction heavenly against your clit, before calling his name seriously to get his attention.

The sight of his chin shiny with your slick was something you’d never forget, but you couldn’t let your mind wander too long, whispering, “Can I take it off?”

He felt you toy with the edge of the bindings and seemingly contemplated the thought for a beating second before nodding silently.

Trying to not let your elation show too easily, you didn’t spare any time trying to undo his knot, simply pulling it up until the cloth slipped away. The lights were dim, but through it you could see more and more of what he was hiding as the bandage slipped between your fingers.

A crescent cross tattoo sat on his forehead, sending your eyebrows furrowing with confusion. You were fully expecting a disfiguring scar or injury, but certainly not a tattoo. You’re almost thankful you were drunk for this discovery; If you were sober you might’ve ruined the mood with all your prattling questions

He didn’t spare you any time to think, diving back into the nectar between your thighs. Your thumb rubbed over the exposed ink of his face as he tugged his tongue onto your clit. Faintly you began to notice the budding heat in your stomach, the coil tightening each time Chrollo wound you up.

“Fuck, I’m… I’m close, Chrollo, don’t stop—“ your thighs spasmed at the angle he held them and you knew you’d be incredibly sore tomorrow, though that goes without saying.

You tried to pull him closer despite or maybe because of that stinging pain, heaving out breaths of air as he ate you like a man starved. His tongue arched inside of you, a whorish moan escaping your lips as his elbow supported your thigh, a hand far wider than yours pressing into your stomach as his fingers rubbed quick circles onto your clit.

You didn’t last long, coming undone with a blinding hot flash of pleasure snapping inside your gut, a shout of his name music to his ears as his tongue arched around your clit. Your tendons were still aching even as he let his hold on your legs go, alcohol still coursing through your veins dulling any pain fast as you turned to your side, curling into the pillow and panting with exertion.

Eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath, you missed the way Chrollo stared at you. A foreign warmth to his lifeless eyes, burning with unanswered questions. He was painfully hard, straining against the fabric of his suit. A part of him he’d never fed before wanted to tear his bindings off and take you feral and fast until he’d finally find release in your velveteen body. He’d fuck you like he’d been fantasizing these past two weeks until you were begging for him to cum inside of you.

But as he crawled up your naked body he noticed how oddly calm your breathing had become. Flicking up to your face, he stared incredulously as you burrowed into the plush of the pillow, softly snoring with a satisfied smile on your face.

He almost laughed, but it might’ve woken you, and that was the last thing he wanted. Chrollo soothed his fingers over your sweaty skin, still smelling like coffee but much more now like sex. As softly as he could, he pulled the scattered covers over your bare body and you instantly cozied into the blankets.

The sight sent a horrifying warmth through his chest, and he left before he did anything reckless.

The air of the hallway felt cold compared to his bedroom, but Chrollo had to get a hold of himself. He’d take her home in the morning and that’d be the end of it, for now at least, but he still had something to take care of.

Palming himself through the material of his pants made a soft groan ripple through his chest as he leaned against the door, thinking of the delicious taste of your pussy, how soft your cries were for him. He’d been with women before, either for information or as a way to steal their nen, but the honest plea in your eyes when you asked to see his tattoo and the feeling of you running your fingertips over the ink as he devoured you was something new. Something intimate and dangerous.

He was the leader of the Phantom Troupe. That was all he truly knew for certain. It was the one facet of his identity he’d held onto for all these years, and nothing could ever drive him to abandon it. He couldn’t let himself become addicted to the vulnerable girl that slept soundly in his bed. You were only a bad habit, something he needed to quit, but Chrollo couldn’t help himself when he saw the needy tremble in your grasp. Was it your naivety that drew him to you? Your kindness? Or had he brought her into this mess of his own free will entirely, if he had such a thing left? He wasn’t sure, and the uncertainty didn’t sit unpleasantly with him at all. It only made him want you more.

And above all else, he was a thief. If he wanted something, he’d takeit.

His erection waned as he focused on whatever awful thoughts he could come up with to take his mind off the naked woman in his bed and the wet, sweet apex of her thighs. The death of his spiders, flies on corpses, the stench of a battlefield after a fight, anything to keep him sane.

Eventually it worked, and he felt composed enough to walk into the living room, pouring himself a rather tall glass of bourbon as he dialed a number into the burner phone he kept on hand.

Not a second ring had past before the cheerful voice on the other end came to his ear.

“Hey, boss, what do you need?” Shalnark, loyal to a fault, didn’t spare any pretenses before offering his services.

“I had to leave a corpse behind tonight, someone with a grudge against us interrupted my dinner and I left him in the alley behind Earlson’s, would you dispose of it for me?” As he took a sip the harsh amber taste of whiskey burned down his throat, the pain felt grounding and thick.

The manipulator hummed happily, “Sure thing, I’ll get going—”

“Oh, and Shalnark?” He held up the hunter’s license he’d brought with him into the moonlight, “Your license paid off well in my mission, thank you for lending it to me. I’ll get it back to you soon enough.”

“Not a problem, I was worried that you’d have a problem since it’s not registered to you,”

Chrollo spared a glance down the hall before tucking the card back into his pocket, “All that mattered was that I had one with me. It was invaluable.”

“Glad to hear it, boss, I’ll go clear the evidence.” With that the line disconnected, and Chrollo tossed the device into the garbage along with the others.

His night with you had almost been ruined by that vengeful idiot. If he’d given you any more hints as to who he really was, he would’ve lost you. And as much as it pained him to admit it, he would probably have to kill you if you ever learned the truth.

Chrollo traced his skin through the fabric of his shirt, the no.0 tattoo imbedded into his forearm surrounded by black, jagged limbs. He’d given every single spider their tattoo himself, not excluding his own, and while he swore by the brands, they were a dead give-away. He never thought that the marking would come back to haunt him in this way, but here he was.

If he were to spend another vulnerable night with you he’d have to keep his spider’s brand bound under bandages like his cross and refuse to reveal it, leaving no chance for you to recognize what it meant.

He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.

—LOOSE ENDS

—ch.1 —ch.2—ch.3—ch.4

summary: you unknowingly spilled coffee on one of the world’s most notorious criminal masterminds, completely destroying an old book he had just acquired. to apologize, you insist on at least repaying him by lending your copy of the book you’d ruined.

tags: eventual smut, coffee shops (not an au), strangers to lovers, mild gaslighting

wc: 2670

a/n: soooo i got hired at starbucks and couldn’t think of a prompt for chrollo to write about. now i accidentally planned out three more chapters. goddamnit. this is more like a prologue than anything else, all the nsfw will be next chapter, this is just for establishing stuff. this was originally gonna be like a paragraph of backstory but i got way too into it. i just wanna go on a book date with chrollo is that so much to ask??

Working as a barista, it’s surprisingly easy to learn people’s names and faces. If they come in often enough you can recount every detail of their regular order.

But you’ve never seen him here before.

He sat in the corner booth, completely enveloped in whatever book he was reading. Dark hair fell in waves around a bandage wrapped tight around his head. It was what made him stand out when you walked into work. After all, you wouldn’t have been able to forget someone as mysterious or handsome.

Walking up with notepad and pen in hand, you hesitantly cleared your throat to get his attention. “Hello, sir, what can I get for you today?”

Your customer service routine shattered when he looked at you, a placid smile on his lips that didn’t manage to reach those big grey eyes, “An espresso with four shots is all, thank you.”

Nodding quickly, you felt a feint blush on your cheeks that might work to gave you away. Especially because you couldn’t trust your voice not to stutter under the pressure of his stare so you gave a polite bow before hurrying away behind the counter. Trying to push any idle thoughts of the customer from your mind, you let yourself get wrapped up in making the best espresso of your life. When it was finally done you carefully placed it on the tray, walking over to the corner booth with a smile on your flushed face.

But you were so focused on catching a glimpse of whatever book he was reading that you completely ignored the child who suddenly rushed past you as his mother called him to leave. You couldn’t help but shriek when you felt your feet trip over themselves as you tried to avoid the stampeding nine-year-old.

Your hand flailed out to grab the corner of the nearest table as you fell, gravity somehow feeling ten times heavier as the cup you were carrying spilled onto the corner table.

Wait, the corner table—

A stab of realization cut through you, nearly slipping again when you scrambled up to stand. Turning wildly to look at the bandaged customer, you saw the tell-all stain of scalding coffee covering the previously white fabric of his shirt, steam rising steadily off the reddened, afflicted skin.

You were horrified, hands waved wildly in front of you as you stuttered out one apology after another, “A—Are you alright? Shit,um…fuck, I-I’m so sorry, sir— Full refund, no charge I—oh god,” hastily pulling a rag from your apron, you instantly tried to soak up whatever you could from the stains on his arm. But after that you were still a bit too mortified to look your short-lived crush in the eye.

You were expecting him to cry out in pain or maybe yell at you for your clumsiness, but he didn’t. In fact, he hadn’t said a word yet. The stranger didn’t seem to mind having boiling coffee poured on him, all things considered. He must’ve had a truly astounding pain tolerance.

“No, It’s alright…” he muttered, looking dejectedly at the book that laid in front of him. Your heart sunk further down to your stomach when you saw the pages stained with coffee, dark like ink. Frantically, you switched from trying to dry him off to trying to save his book, but it was too late. The espresso had already soiled the pages, its words completely illegible under the brown smear.

Despite that, you tried your hardest to resurrect the novel, dabbing at the worst pages with fistfuls of napkins. A few frustrated tears formed in your eyes once you realized there was no saving it.

Slowly, you turned back to look at him.

You wished he was upset. It would’ve been so much easier if he just yelled at you. But instead he ran his fingers over the soaked pages, a disappointed sigh leaving his lips at the loss of his book.

“I’ll buy you a new one! I-I can have it for you by tomorrow,” he shook his head, sitting up from the chair and inspecting how soaked his clothes were. It wasn’t too bad, but the stain on his sleeve would probably never fully wash out.

“No, that’s… It’s an older one. You won’t find it in a bookstore I’m afraid.” Well that made you feel doubly worse. With shaking hands you slowly picked up the book, wincing at the drops of coffee that dripped onto the table.

But the sinking feeling in your heart froze when you saw the title. The Portrait of Dorian Grey.

“Wait, I have this book!” You looked at him, a sudden idea on how to make it up to him abundantly clear.

He seemed more surprised that you knew the novel’s name instead of having scalding coffee spilled on him.

“You.. do?”

“Yeah, I got it years ago from an antique shop,” an uncertain smile found its way forward despite the way your hands still shook. The book was old, like he said, written hundreds of years ago in some tiny country, but it was one of your favorites.

You looked up at him, uncertainty all across your face, “I can bring my copy tomorrow if you stop by again.”

After a moment he seemed to get his bearings, staring at you with those big grey eyes, “I would appreciate that, miss…?”

That same stupid blush from before reared its ugly head, but you forced yourself from doing anything obvious like twirling your hair. The ghost of a smile fell on his pallid lips when you told him your name and he repeated it back to you like he was actively committing the syllables to memory.

He looked like he had been in a fight with those bandages wrapped around his head paired with the fresh burn on his arm but despite that he looked almost content, the frown from before missing from his features, “Then I suppose I’ll have to return. Though I must admit this is an… interesting way to get customers.”

The tension from the spill had felt all-consuming but his levity was working wonders with lifting the weight off your shoulders, “I mean, I didn’t think I’d find someone with the same taste in books as me by sacrificing one,” You cast a forlorn glance to the wet pile of paper.

He smiled that time at your teasing, a bit brighter than before and tinged with a short laugh. It felt like an accomplishment coming from the stoic man, “Well…” He cuffed the damp sleeve of his shirt, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He called your name once more, and this time you’re positive he noticed the red dusting your cheeks. As he left, probably on his way to some kind of laundromat, you could only follow him with your eyes. Just as he pushed open the door, the bell’s jingle ringing in your ears, you called, “Wait!”

He turned back with his hand still on the handle head titled.

“You never told me your name.” Saying that out loud almost sounded desperate, but the stranger just smiled.

“It’s Chrollo,” he answered, before the cafe door swung closed on its creaky hinges in his wake.

Chrollo, huh?

What an odd, beautifulname.

You tried not to make it seem too obvious that you were waiting for someone, though your coworkers were starting to notice how your craned your neck to see who walked in at the sound of the bell.

“So, who exactly do you keep looking for?” Your coworker, Devan, asked with a curious grin, leaning against the counters while the cafe was slow.

You groaned, knowing there was no way to keep it from him.

“Gossipy bitch, aren’t you?” You snapped, rolling your eyes at him and trying to keep yourself busy by taking care of all the tasks you usually like to put off.

“You know me,” he shrugged, following you where you walked like a lost puppy, “so really, who is it?”

Hesitating a moment, you figured he’d see him soon enough so why not get the teasing over with. 

“Remember that guy I spilled coffee on yesterday?” You said quietly, no sooner had the words left you before Devan burst into laughter. The barista’s laughs went hoarse by the time he started talking again.

“How the hell did you manage that?” 

Slinging the trash bag of used coffee grounds over your shoulder, you flipped you hair dramatically and spared your coworker an exaggerated, over-confident wink, “Devan? I’ve got no fucking idea.”

Followed by the barista’s infectious laughter, you slung your coffee grounds into the trash, sweeping off any grounds left on your shoulder. Before you were about to head back to the register you paused when you saw your bag hung up by the sink. ‘Guess I might as well tell Devan about the book while I’m at it,’ you figured, retrieving the beloved novel from your bag.

But as you walked back to the storefront a certain voice made your grip on the book grow tighter and a smile spread on your face.

Devan was in the middle of talking to Chrollo, well, more like talking at Chrollo. Your coworker was a gem, but sometimes he was too much of an extrovert to handle. Waving shyly, you approached the counter, seeing how your customer’s shoulders visibly relaxed when you came into view and expectantly tapped Devan on the shoulder. He took one look at the pleading expression on your face and sighed, saying a polite goodbye to Chrollo and whispering a quick “good luck,” in your ear.

You cleared your throat, “Hey, uh, Chrollo,” 

“It’s good to see you again. I take it that’s your copy?” He nodded to the book you’ve been clutching protectively in your arms.

“Yup! It’s ah… a bit worn down.” Understatement of the century. The pages were dog-eared and creased, the paper yellow with age, and you’re pretty sure you even jotted down some of your thoughts by the margins; However, the words were still as legible as the day they were printed, and for some reason that was enough to make it mean a lot to you.

Taking a deep breath, you handed him your copy of Wilde’s opus, suddenly very uncomfortable with the idea of seeing it in the hands of someone else.

He hummed, turning the cheap binding over in his palms, “Don’t worry, I promise i’ll take good care of it. as long as nobody spills any coffee on it, that is,”

You groaned, burying your head in your hands for a minute to hide from the embarrassment. You swear, if that kid ever comes in again you’re gonna have to let Devan handle it. Being fired for smacking a child upside the head isn’t exactly on your list of things to do today. Chrollo chuckled at your reaction though, so it must’ve been the one he was hoping for.

“Well, shall we?” You pulled away from you hands, not sure if you understood him right.

“Wait, what?”

He was patient with your confusion, “Would you like to join me? I’d like to know what you think of Basil Hallward, after all.”

It was too exciting of an opportunity to pass up. A kind, handsome stranger who shares your love of the classics? There had to be a catch somewhere down the line. Just as you looked across the counter, Devan was there very obviously listening in.

“Don’t worry, girl, I got your shift,” he sounded pretty happy to cover for you, probably because of how his constant dating advice was leading you nowhere and he was desperate for you to get laid.

Smiling, you responded to Chrollo by loosening the strings of your apron and untying your hair until it could fall free. Stepping around the counter, you both walked back to the seat he had been sitting in the day before.

Hours past, the two of you going back and forth on your different opinions until the sun set, casting the window beside you both in luscious orange hues. The empty coffee cups piling nicely beside you both and there were times were Chrollo would talk for minutes on end, only to stop abruptly when he realized he’d been rambling. All you told him in return was that you liked the sound of his voice.

“Although this has been lovely, I’m afraid I must be going soon,” he murmured, but you didn’t take it personally, you had been here for hours after all.

“That’s alright! Maybe sometime next week we could do this again?” Chrollo didn’t respond, and for some reason the friendly atmosphere that had kept you two safe turned sour.

He paused, his eyes staring into yours, “No, I’ll be leaving the city for about a month or so, perhaps longer.”

“Oh…” You couldn’t back hold the sadness in your tone. You’d just met him, this incredible mystery that you had clicked so well with, and already he had to leave. Rotten luck, you guess. Looking between him and the book, you had an idea.

“Keep it, then,” he followed your stare and looked puzzled at the offer, uncertainly muttering your name.

You straightened up in your chair, taking a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “I’ve had that book for almost a decade now, but I haven’t ever talked about it… with anyone really. This was really nice, Chrollo,” For the first time he didn’t have anything to say, simply watching you with an odd look of fascination.

“Besides,” you tried to cheer yourself up, not wanting to leave a sad impression of you in his mind, “Now you have a reason to come back, right? To return it.”

The smile on his face was the most genuine one you’d seen that night. You didn’t even try to deny the butterflies that flew from your chest when you saw it. It made you proud, almost, to count yourself as someone lucky enough to see it.

“A reason to return, hm?” He whispered so quietly that you barely heard it, and before you could follow him he’d stood up from his seat beside the table, your beloved copy of Dorian Grey tucked safely under his arm.

“Then, I’ll be seeing you in a month or so, my dear,” the endearment took you off guard but in the best possible way, two simple words sparking a whirlwind of emotions behind your eyes.

Slowly, like he was giving you ample time to pull away, he took your hand in his. Something as simple as holding your hand shouldn’t’ve made your breathing hitch, but between you both it felt like much more. Moments fled by like minutes as he brought your hand to his lips, gaze never leaving yours as you felt his breath fan over your knuckles before deftly kissing the back of your hand. He was so careful you barely even felt his lips against your skin before pulling away. It was almost like he was worried you would shatter if he did anything more.

“Until then,” he spoke, looking at you once more before letting your hand fall limp again the table. Just as he reached the door and the jingling bell brought you to your senses, you looked back for one more glimpse of him. It was hard to describe the feeling that rose in your chest when you saw Chrollo do the same; lost in his own thoughts like he was yesterday when you were lucky enough to meet him.

“Until then.”

The sound of that door closing never felt so loud before.