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heartsforseo · 9 months

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Part 3 of this (a drabble)

ꨄ︎FLUFFꨄ︎

ꨄ︎Requests are openꨄ︎

Warning(s): none

Character(s) mentioned: Chrollo, k pop idol-reader, some random partner for the event.

IMAGINE CHROLLO GETTING JEALOUS AT UR PARTNER ON THOSE EVENTS LOLL

I JUST KNOW HE WOULD BE POUTY AND ALSO U CAN SENSE A MILE AWAY HIS AURA AND THE EYE TWITCHES T~T {rip y/n :(( }

IT Doesn’t help that you and you’re “partner” have to do some aegyo stuff T~T and what’s worse is if you guys are in a secret relationship! (L for Chrollo)

Bro was so giddy and happy that you were gonna be a mc and instantly regrets it when he founds out you’re not the only mc.

Praying for your partner fr (•-•^

But still he would be so supportive of you!

After the event you would tell him everything that happened! But whenever you mentioned your partner he would immediatly but smoothly change the subject or would distract you, Like:

“Oh and (p/n) was-“ “I really liked your outfit that you wore earlier y/n” he said smiling so brightly

You instantly forgot about (p/n) and starts telling him about the outfit you wore (y/n is just happy Chrollo isn’t busy!!)

You would prob recognize what he did on the following day and may or many not tease him.

A/n: P/n is for partner’s name!!

#fluff #gn reader #x reader #chrollo lucifer #fypfypfypfypfypfypdypfypfypfypfypfypfyfpfyfpfyp #hxh chrollo #kuroro #tumblr fyp #female reader #male reader #chrollo #lucifer #hxh #hxh chrollo lucifer #hxh kuroro #jealousy #tumblr #viral

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0asisbliss · 23 days

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Comfort is all you want. He gives you much more than that. He showed you that you all you needed mere physical affection. He’d kiss, hug, and smother you until stopped crying. It hurt him more than it would ever hurt you when you cried. Each tear that fell from your eyes were like a glass shattering every second you were sad.

YUUJI, YUTA, Gojo, Geto, Inumaki, NANAMI, Todo, Higuruma, (JJK) Luffy, ACE, ZORO, Law, Sanji, (OP) Ranpo, Dazai, Chuuya, (BSD) Aizawa, Shigiraki, (MHA) Chrollo, Phinks, NOBUNAGA, KURAPIKA, (HXH) or any of your other favs.

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merakidoll · 2 months

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『 ↳✧･ﾟ therapist! chrollo x bimbo! reader ;

warnings : black chubby reader. yandere!chrollo! stalking themes, riding, ALL CONSENSUAL!! soft dom chrollo, he’s just so utterly in love with reader !

mirahnote! : this is for @honeybleed underrated characters collab <3

a man of many talents, and lying just so happened to be his best one. you were someone who he adored. liked- loved even, but you had no clue who he was. chrollo was the man who lurked in the dark, whenever you felt like you saw something but blamed it on your shadow. it infact was him. eyes piercing and watching your every move. licking his lips whenever you did something that made his tummy boil with something he wasn’t so familiar with. you were such a dumb little thing, being so naive to think that you were going crazy for thinking that you had a stalker. it honestly pissed him off how everyone made you think it was you going crazy, making you seek therapy. how ironic, right?

“what made you feel that way?” he faked his concern so well that tears fell from your eyes. he hated seeing you cry, but he dug his nails into his palms to stop from grabbing you and soothing you. “w-well no one believes me” you looked up from your nails, big eyes watery and red. chrollo almost felt guilt, but he couldn’t find it in himself to. he was so close to you, closer than he’s ever been and it all feels so worth it. so with a sweet smile and what you thought was a safe person you let him sit beside you. rubbing his soft palms over your thighs.

“i’m here for you” he said so sweetly that made your heart flutter. what a fool. “t-that’s a good girl” your chest tighted as he paised you, pussy lips closing down on him to keep him secure inside of you. your arms wrapped around his neck, your face barried into his shoulder slob from your moans dripping down onto the expensive fabric. his scent alone had your pussy creaming around him. but the added thick head of his cock, and grit he exuded you were a mess. “chrollo loves you princess” he sounds so sincere. like had been waiting to confess such thing for years

your mind was too foggy to register it tho. so consumed by how stuffed your cunt felt. “y-yours” you whispered so high off the feeling of feeling good. “c-chrollos” you said his name sweetly. and he couldn’t help himself. ropes after ropes let go inside of you. he dug his toes into the dress shoes curseing in his head how he didn’t at least let you cum first. but he was too utterly in love with you to hold that back. when his cock finally calmed but came right back up, he printed his feet down into the carpet and gripped your hips. “who’s are you?” he sat you up from his shoulder sliding down into the couch just a bit.

“y-yours?” you said eyes watering at him going deeper. then he bounced. one, twice, your breast bounced with your body. nipples hard from the cool air, your fingers went to you lips bitting down onto the flesh not wanting to scream and disturb anyone. “thata girl” he smirked bucking his hips into you to meet your bounces. you couldn’t take it. “w-waitttt” you begged. your clit that rubes aginst his hairs making your feel so sensitive. your juices came out quick that neither of you had time to react.

it dripped onto his pants, and down your thighs. some even getting on the leather couch and carpet. you were so dizzy from the orgasm that all you could do was fall into a deep coma. chrollo of course took care of you, putting you on some of his clothes and humming as he wiped the sticky cums off of you.“precious girl” he said some himself softly rubbing your brown skin. you were finally his. and he couldn’t ever let you leave.

#— writings!#chrollo x reader #chrollo x black reader #chrollo smut #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo lucifer smut #chrollo x chubby reader #hxh x black reader #hxh smut #anime x chubby reader #anime smut #anime x black!reader

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the-saltiest-saltine · 3 months

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Reservations and Repose

(Yan!Chrollo x Fem Reader)

@sukunasfavoritehole hopefully this is enough to tide you over until my ao3 finally gets an update hehe

Word count: ~7.3k

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You’re naïve enough to believe Chrollo’s asleep. He loves that about you.

Warnings: NOT SFW, non -con thigh fucking, somnophilia, drugging, imagined not sfw scenarios etc

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IT WAS 3/4 FINISHED THEN I FORGOT ABOUT IT my sincerest apologies.

Also this is my first time writing smut so please go easy on me 😥

Chrollo is very disappointed in you.

You let him kiss your cheek this morning following a deep sleep. You didn’t reciprocate, though he continues to see your progress and knows that an ever-hopeful yet can be added to the end of that statement. To some extent, the allowance of such an act could be chalked up to his acceptance of you, flaws and all, willing to appreciate the neutrality of it as opposed to ardent rejection. In a matter of weeks, you’ll be returning the gesture. And in a matter of months, you’ll be doing it gladly. Warmth, or perhaps weariness, has slowly but surely seeped its way into your actions recently, your shaky hands finding a place in his, fingers interlaced.

Is that to say he was under the impression that you’d completely given yourself to him? Absolutely not. There’s fear in your smiles, as much as they may have metamorphosed from obviously and mockingly forced to meek and endearing. Chrollo has shown you all that you know he can do. This has been enough to keep you relatively restrained over the months. If he showed you all that he knows he can do, you’d most likely curl up into a ball and sob until you dried out. That’s not necessary, though. It’ll never be.

Like many things, it wasn’t linear. It was a path that went upwards and downwards and forwards and backwards and in cycles, cycles that would always leave you curled up, sobbing in his arms, grasping onto him for whatever comfort it would give. But progress is progress, right?

Ignorantly, he began to believe the crumbs of affection, of acceptance, of acquiescence. Stupidly, he thought you were making progress. It’s been a significant amount of time since he was last this naïve. If he wasn’t so disgruntled by your transgression, he’d most likely bask in the nostalgic feeling. But he can’t, for the time being, because you’re trying to do something very rash.

As unfortunate as it is, you’re trying to leave him.

It’s audacious, having thought that the monumental power difference between you two had been thoroughly demonstrated on multiple occasions, a well established and silently acknowledged fact of your travels with him.

It’s irritating, although regarded with the same irritation as one would have with a pet goldfish trying to jump out of its tank. You silly thing, why do you want to abandon the place in which you are safe?

It doesn’t particularly make sense, though. He’s checked his cards - nothing suspicious has been bought in his name. No travel tickets or prepaid car hire. He’s even checked the jewellery collection - maybe you’d snatched up a nice necklace or bracelet or pair of diamond earrings to pawn off. But again, nothing. No suspicious bags have been packed. No loose tiles or floorboards or ceiling panels to hide supplies in. Your clothes are all neatly folded and hung in your wardrobe.

You’ve got something up your sleeve- something desperate and jittery and not fully thought out. Something that relies on luck and prayers far more than precision and blow-by-blow planning. He never particularly took you for a daredevil, but to see you get pushed to such a limit, to be forced against your own timid nature, is beyond satisfying. If he could pluck it out of you and analyse it under a microscope, he’d be elated. Or perhaps even, he supposes to himself, he’d be so fulfilled that he might abandon the current pathway of his life, aimless and bloody and cyclical, finally so consumed with his obsession over you that nothing else is valued in the slightest.

He can’t say he didn’t expect an ulterior motive for your apparent benevolence, at least initially, but for it to be kept up for this long? The stares felt almost too natural. The gradual lessening of your flinches when he placed a hand on your shoulder, the way your gaze would be drawn to him rather than away, even if only to flick away immediately - the subtleties were downright impressive. To be able to track everything simultaneously, to be able to remember to exhibit so many behaviours at once…Perhaps he should be taking acting lessons from you.

Chrollo had watched you, humming a pop tune this morning, cheekily shaking your hips from side to side as you fried some eggs, over easy, the notes sometimes interrupted with a sharp inhale between your teeth when the oil spat just a bit too high and would burn you ever-so-slightly. A domestic sight.

You’d let him give you another kiss on the cheek before he shrugged his coat on, giving you one last lingering glance before he’d walked out the door and into the hallway of the apartment, locking it with warm Nen made of comfort rather than capture. He gave you another cheek kiss (despite his ever-growing urge to dip lower) when he got home to the smell of spices and vegetables and the bubbling sound of a low simmer. You don’t fight them anymore, and barely even recoil now, a result of steady but slight crossing of boundaries - his record was eleven times in one day (at least, his record for when you were conscious) when he was feeling particularly affectionate, although you’d definitely soured up by the end.

The…fantasies he’d had of domesticity…they were just that, weren’t they? Fantasies, mere ideas that were appealing enough to fully flesh out in his mind. Whatever actions you’ve taken, whether it be pecks to the cheek or folding his shirts, staining them with the scent of you, they’ve all been a means to an end. That certainly wasn’t part of the fantasy.

You’ve been buttering him up like the thick slices of white bread next to his bowl. What a betrayal.

Tonight’s stew is spicy and chunky, served courteously by you. His palate is experienced from an adulthood of travel, wealth, and nights spent with gullible women who couldn’t tell the difference between a Prince Charming and a swindler. Truly, there is little he hasn’t at least tried. Including this.

So, if there’s no other signs of you wanting to leave the comfort of the apartment and the familiarity of his presence, then what could’ve possibly cued him into your motives?

It’s something tenuous, something that could’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. It’s something subtle, buried under layers of rosemary and thyme and paprika. But diphenhydramine is such an acquired taste. And it’s one that’s made the past few weeks and months crumble to dust.

Oh, you sweet thing.

Acting as oblivious as ever, he spoons chunks of zucchini and carrot onto the bread, taking large bites, chewing and swallowing with purpose, the taste of the sedative lingering. He considers smacking his lips for good measure, to play around with you a bit, but eventually decides against it. That’ll come later.

You sit across from him, silence between you two. Normally, he’d fill it with tales from his busy day - but you’ve been so good lately, that he’s begun to refrain from doing that. Nowadays, he asks you what you’ve been up to, every painstaking detail from your dull days without him. But that’s only if you’ve been good, or at least if he’s under the impression that you’ve been good. As it turns out, you haven’t been good, you aren’t being compliant, and now he simply waits.

You stare into your bowl of stew, but he can tell you’re watching him in your periphery. It’s so very fascinating, the way you absorb each mouthful he takes, washed down with frequent sips of water (there’s no other substances in that, obviously). He takes another swill of the liquid, tilting his head slightly back, and in the corner of his eye, he can see the way you observe his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Does it appease you, the sight? Does it intrigue you? Does it make you, even for a moment, reconsider what you’re about to do?

Chrollo pauses for a moment, before placing the half-empty glass back onto its coaster. He knows the smirk that comes onto his face is nothing short of wicked, but he truly can’t help himself.

“Are you not hungry, my love? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Barely is an understatement. You haven’t touched it at all, in fact. Stupid, really. He knows that you know that he’s observant - but that information is irrelevant in this situation, considering it doesn’t take an keen eye to figure out your pattern of stirring your spoon around, picking up some carrot - even blowing on it for good measure - and nodding along with what few words he spoke initially, before giving an mhm! of agreement and letting it drop back into the bowl. You spend extensive amounts of time apparently fishing for just the right piece of zucchini, sorting through copious amounts of lentils (and seemingly taking the time to individually count them all), dragging chunks up the side of your bowl only to push them back down into the fray of assorted vegetables.

There’s almost a sort of jump in response to the words, ringing clear and well projected. But it’s contained above the shoulders - your head snaps to look at him, your eyes widening momentarily, staring into his own, trapped.

He can feel the shaky breath you take to steady yourself from over here, air stagnant and mouth dry.

“No,” you reply, “not particularly.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouthing an oh before returning to his meal. It doesn’t matter whether you take the bait or not, his suspicions have long since been confirmed. Confirmed, in the sternest sense of the word, syllables enunciated with force, the knowledge of your true intentions well recognised. Whether that displays on his face or within his interactions with you is inconsequential to the known ending of your silly stunt.

The sound of you chewing is enough to bring his attention back out of the bowl. That’s not fake.

So you’re eating it too? It’s certainly a bold move, but one he wouldn’t dare put past you anymore. You were always a clever one, one to be placed a mere few tiers below his own intellect.

He hasn’t caught you swapping the bowl out for a fresh one. Maybe you’ve mastered the art so quickly that even he can’t notice?

No, not likely. Not in just a few months. That’d be impossible.

Your bites of pumpkin are preceded with the slightest hesitation, a quick breath to presumably psych yourself up to the self-sabotage. He hates to see you so scared when you’re properly sharing a meal with him like this, deciding to return to normalcy as a reward for your cooperation.

“Tell me, darling, what did you get up to today?”

Your eyes flick to his, momentarily ensnared in the grey, before looking up at the ceiling to aid in the process of giving a verbal description of what you read, how you cleaned, how you entertained yourself with rearranging your meagre book collection (not his, that would be asking for trouble). The response is practically identical to every other time he’s asked the question, plain and unindulgent. It’s boring, he thinks, even with the unacknowledged omission of the hours you spend staring at the walls and pacing around the living area. He’s tempted to pry into how you decided on tonight’s dish, but decides against it. Not for lenience or mercy, but rather amusement. To give away what he knows now would simply be a waste of a situation you’ll never attempt to put yourself in again.

If you knew what Chrollo knew, would you still bother to indulge him?

You stare at him for a moment, allowing him to draw things out, before nodding at the I see he gives in response. He gives a forward nod to your bowl, giving you gracious permission to eat again after starving you for the length of your interrogation, merciful as ever. Your fear is better contained behind a split second’s confusion before you register the nonverbal instruction, picking up your spoon once more and eating with more confidence this time, taking exaggerated bites of zucchini that barely make it past your teeth, chewed excessively into grey paste before being swallowed. Maybe you reason that if you chew enough, you can break the drug down into something that won’t knock you out. A cute thought.

The spices stain your lips an enticing red, the chilli making them plump up so deliciously. If he kissed them, would they burn him? Would the capsaicin leave his lips tingling, a reminder of your soft touch?

He likes to think he’ll know the answer soon.

Chrollo feigns sleepiness, furrowing his brows in mock confusion as he tells you that he can’t quite keep his eyes open - perhaps he overdid it at work today.

Yes, work, as he loves to call it, like there’s the possibility of him spending his time away from you at a desk, punching in numbers on a computer, monotonous and repetitive and damn, couldn’t things just switch up for a day? Work, as in a beer-bellied husband whose idea of experimental fashion is changing which tie he wears with the same white button-up and black dress pants each day. Work, as in an assembly line employee who wakes up at three o’clock to be at the factory by four, ready and willing to make whatever sacrifices necessary to support his loved ones. Work, as in something at least vaguely respectable.

Work, as in literally anything other than stealing and slaughtering and scourging.

Chrollo relishes in the way your shoulders relax a little. It’s almost too adorable. Chrollo also relishes in the way they tense up again when he adds how it’s suspicious really. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt a tiredness such as this.

There’s an underlying anxiety in your pretty, pluckable, ever-so-slightly bloodshot eyes. Where others would be concerned for your health, he finds endearment, you precious thing. After admiring them silently for a moment, he announces that he’ll be off to bed now, darling. Remember to be there for me when I wake.

He leaves you alone in the kitchen to stew in your unease.

____________

Now he’s lying in bed, on the side closest to the door, limp as anything. It doesn’t matter whether his facade convinces you or not, he’ll have you in his arms by morning. The blinds aren’t fully down, leaving a pleasant blue hue that gives him a good visual of most of the room. Your side of the bed is still firmly tucked in from when he made it this morning, after running his hands up and down your arms until you’d given a great shudder and shoved him away - a pitiful attempt that he’d impishly gone along with.

Anticipation tickles his nose and prods at his heart. Childishly, he wants you to get over with it already, to sprint in, swinging a knife wildly, or cue him to start the chase with a slam of the front door so violent that the hinges threaten to crack. It’s unfortunate how your faux compliance conditioned him to be unable to accept a halt, or even slowing, of progress.

Ah, some solace - he can hear your footsteps come up to the door, attempting, albeit poorly, to be quiet. Or maybe they are quiet, to the average man, but someone well-versed in the art of stealth can practically see the way you tiptoe closer. The faint sounds paint a detailed visualisation of your movements - the balls of your feet lifting from the ground, the flexing of your toes, the dorsiflexion at your ankles, the soft thud of your heels hitting the ground.

The bedroom door creaks open, a thin streak of light hitting his eyelids, making him see an ever-so-slight orange behind them. He might be able to visualise your walk accurately, but the same cannot be said for your face. Are you fearful, lips downturned and eyes wide? Are you determined yet cautious, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line? Are you smug? Condescending? Grinning from ear-to-ear, excited to finally have what you believe to be freedom?

You’re not, he discerns.

Instead, you huff a sigh, a sweet note that makes his heart jump, a small flutter that could only be instigated by you. It’s a sigh of relief. The door is shut. He expects another door to be slammed, too - the front door, hinges quaking as you sprint to the stairs as far as you can, too scared to wait for the elevator (and for your sake, he hopes you’ve brought a pair of running shoes - you’re on the 35th floor, after all). But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he can hear the clanking of bowls and dishes, the smooth schwip as you push breadcrumbs off the chopping board into the bin with the back of the serrated-edge knife, and how you place said knife into the block without taking another one out.

So you’ve decided against stabbing him tonight? How agreeable.

In fact there seems to be no malice in the way you’re stacking the bowls, no scraps of extra force in how you shut the fridge. Whilst the sounds of your cleanup are nothing short of a ruckus to his alert ears, there’s an intentional tenderness he can hear. A conscious effort to be as quiet as possible with somebody sleeping peacefully in the next room.

It’s a gesture he’ll interpret in the best way he can. Even if he knows he’s deluding himself that you want to be quiet for his own peace rather than so you can escape, he’ll be sure to bring up the former as reasoning for your actions over the next few days, regardless of how you’ll spit venom at him, hissing that he couldn’t be more wrong.

Next is a movement he didn’t expect in the slightest.

You come back to the bedroom, with a pile of fabric in your hands - clothes, maybe? He thought you’d be off and away as soon as possible, or you wouldn’t get close to him again at the very least, standing patiently by the door until whatever you’re waiting for had occurred.

The quiet-ish footsteps make their way past him this time, and straight into the ensuite.

There’s the soft sound of clothes falling, and then the tap is turned on.

You’re…showering before you leave?

You really are a good teacher of the quirks of humanity. Logical as ever, he’d most certainly take no time for hygiene practices if it reduced his chances of being able to go on a small, liberating adventure. But perhaps that’s part of the plan? Do you not want to have a speck of dirt on you so you don’t smell bad? Will you hide out at a fancy gala, and have to be as fresh as possible? Are you trying to wash off Nen, perhaps?

No, that would never work, and he’s certain you know this too. Still, the idea of a little hopeless fire in you, taking a precaution you know is futile, makes his lips twitch.

So many questions, few of them answerable at present. His mind is stimulated so wondrously, for once not finding boredom in the predictability of human behaviour. He’s truly chosen well.

And then there’s something else, rising above the sound of the rushing water, above the drain gurgling it down, greedily gulping it away.

You’re humming.

It’s relatively random, most likely improvised, and slightly off-tune, but endearing all the same. He can taste the notes, sweet and soothing, running down his throat smoothly and pooling warmth in his belly.

You heave a sigh, and the tune changes. And then he recognises it.

It’s something he heard as a boy, back in Meteor City. He’d hear it at night, walking back to whatever semblance of a refuge he had with Franklin and Shalnark, past the hamlets of the younger children. Letting himself get lost in it, he can feel himself crawling to shelter on scraped knees, walking on calloused heels, eating stale bread, all accompanied by the faint smell of garbage, a smell that years of exposure had waned to a neutral accompaniment of the setting, rather than an inconvenience or hazard.

Despite the unhygienic nature of it all, it’s sweet. It’s these memories - memories of grime and rot and infection - that are the most pure. The most uncorrupted. They’re full of innocence and hope - just like you.

These qualities make you think you’ll leave him.

Upon remembering this, he’s tempted to barge in and ruin your peace, eager to hear your inevitable yelp and nervous laugh as he quizzes you about tonight’s events. But he doesn’t. Your lullaby is too enjoyable, the tune far too agreeable to stomp out yet. Resisting sin by committing another, he decides he doesn’t want to kill this mockingbird, if only to selfishly continue to hear it sing.

Few moments have come like this since you came to be with him. They’re all short-lived in comparison to the cold life he’s had, a firecracker popping on his tongue, fleetingly filling his mouth with syrupy sweetness before quickly dying off, barely an aftertaste to be savoured. He’s scratched them all down in an old leather journal with a quill and ink, lest he forgets what it feels like, or how to get that feeling again, but thankfully they’re scratched even deeper into his psyche.

You’d been agreeable enough for a reward of a dinner somewhere several stories up, city lights shining behind you, framing your hair beautifully. You were reluctant at first, turning your nose up at him and the priceless food in front of you, opting for the bottle of red wine instead. It wasn’t supposed to be gulped down with such vulgarity like that, but that was part of your charm and by your second glass you were giggling and halfway through your third you looked at him right in the eye, cheeks tinged pink, and you smiled a smile that you’d forget by morning but he wouldn’t…

He’d returned to the villa after a long day to find the fans blasting, and you slumped over on the couch as credits rolled on the screen in front of you. He’d flicked the TV off, not before noting the rom-com’s name, and regarded you, with your deep, even breaths and singlet strap falling down. He picked you up and carried you to bed, laying you down on the thin blankets, fixing your strap despite the small voice that called to him to take off the thing entirely. Your head rested on the pillow, your face not scowling for once, and you’d huffed the sweetest of sighs…

That’s the kind of moment this is.

There’s no thought of what he’ll be doing with the troupe tomorrow, or in a week, or what move to make next depending on what you decide to do. Every nook and cranny of his mind, every convolution of his brain is filled with the thought of you. Tonight, it’s warm and viscous, slowing time and cutting both of you off from the rest of the world; the rest of its filth.

In this moment, he can see himself in the shower with you. He’s across from you, lathering body wash onto his shoulders, letting the foam run down his back. All the while, he keeps his gaze on you, watching how your hands run over your body, soap running along your sternum, between your breasts, along the curve of your hips, your ass, all whilst you hum that tune… shit, he can’t let himself get hard now. He manages to drag himself out of the daydream, barely, just managing to claw himself to the surface of reality.

Caps are popped open and the lathering of soaps can be heard over the course of your performance, with a finale of the tap being turned off. There’s a fumbling of fabrics before you come out, followed by yet another move he doesn’t expect.

You walk up to the bed, peel the sheets back, and lie down beside him. You then roll onto your side, facing him. After a few moments, you prop yourself up onto your elbow.

A moment of nothing. You’re frozen, as is he. Calm before the storm, he prepares himself to catch your wrist and hear you shriek.

You lean over.

And then there’s a featherlight sensation on his forehead, right in the middle of his tattoo.

Had it been a split second later, he would’ve opened his eyes and turned to face you with a smirk as you screamed. But it’s not a split second later, it’s now, and now you’re kissing him. There’s no real benefit for doing such a thing that he can identify right now - perhaps you know he’s awake, and would like to make amends? Surely you know that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

The contact sends an electric zap to every corner of his body, although he manages to not make himself jolt. Months of stifled desire bubble up from his insides, desire that’s spent so long smothered by rationale of better outcomes and forcing himself to think of his bloodied obstacles and late nights alone in the shower. As often as his lips find their way to your forehead, unfortunately the reverse doesn’t occur even half as much.

You pull away, like you’re hesitant about what you’ve done, like you’re waiting for him to snap his eyes open and sit up with inhuman speed, ready to pin you down or tie you up or even slap you for tonight’s inconveniences. But that doesn’t make sense, because hesitation is supposed to occur before such an intrepid act, not afterward.

After receiving apparent confirmation that you’re not about to be attacked, he can sense your head slowly but surely coming to rest on your pillow. You shouldn’t strain your neck like that, someone like you could get hurt over time.

The back of his shirt is peeled up, slowly, delicately, and he has to focus to keep his breathing even.

There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, his number a pale contrast to the black ink, practically jumping out at you.

It’s your reminder, he supposes, of what he is. Theoretically and legally nonexistent, practically traceless. Zero evidence. Zero remorse. Zero morality.

Zero.

Then-

One, two, three.

Your lips mark a trail up his spine, at the bottom of the abdomen, right in the middle of the zero, on its head. Don’t shudder.

Once your deed is done, you pull back. There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, so silent that you’re barely breathing.

The fabric of his nightshirt is guided back down. You roll over and proceed to go limp, succumbing to the drugs intended for him.

What was that?

You’re not touching him anymore. He can sense the gap between your bodies, one that he would close every night, pulling you close.

Was it a relief? To go to sleep without him touching you?

You’d always stirred up such a fuss about his arms being around you as you slept.

It had always been a cause for seething rage on your part, later argument, later whining, and more recently huffing. Even last night, the stiffness before you fell asleep was a cause of his own discomfort. But you didn’t have to deal with that tonight, and now you’ve fallen asleep in record time. He can’t say it was just from the pills.

Did you change your mind on leaving after you felt their effects? It doesn’t seem likely that you’d ditch all that to sleep. Rather, that you wanted to sleep on your own terms.

He’d spent so much time concerned with stopping a potential escape, that he didn’t stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, that was never the goal to begin with.

And now Chrollo rolls over to face you, gently tugging on your shoulder to pull you onto your back.

You’re serene as ever, a sight to behold.

He brushes the back of his knuckles along your hair, feeling its texture, so light that his calloused hands - hands that have seen many a bruise and burn and slice and hangnail caught and ripped on the job - almost can’t feel it. Your exhales come out more as huffs and sighs now compared to gentle breathing, and he allows a chuckle (one that he finds incredibly endearing, as much as you’ve let your disagreement to that sentiment be known, preferring to describe it with wounding words such as “condescending” and “grating”) to slip past his lips.

It reminds him of you when you’re awake, when you used to try so hard to be difficult for him, when you used to scream and scratch as he’d spoon you, grip ironclad, until all you could do was huff and puff and plead with him (and as much as he enjoyed your attempts to compromise, this was something he simply could not relinquish) and eventually, your cursing would die down, your muscles would go limp, and you’d fall asleep.

Sometimes the sun would be up by the time you relented, and your breaths would be the heaviest then. It was amusing, how quickly you’d switch. One second, you were cussing him and his troupe out, the next, you were a paragon of tranquillity, the visage of an angel before him. He’d pray you love him.

He wants to grab your jaw, hold it firm, and kiss your lips as hard as he can. He wants to tilt his head and take and take and take. He wants to keep taking even if your breathing lightens. He wants to keep taking even if your eyelids flutter open, hazy doe-eyes looking at him with dozy confusion.

Well, he’d never deny his own indulgence.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead, just as you did to him.

The touch is as gentle as he can make it, as gentle as he can permit himself to be. There’s a split second of what he could almost call fear, an image of accidentally squeezing you too hard and hearing your bones snap flashing in his mind.

He rubs his thumb over where his lips previously were, feeling an unanticipated wetness left behind.

It’s then that Chrollo realises his mouth is full of his own saliva - whether that was because he was so entranced by your actions that nothing else mattered, body as limp as he could allow, or because, like some sort of filthy animal, he couldn’t help but drool at the contact from you, starved for it like a hyena, he doesn’t know. He swallows. That’s better.

And now for the main event.

He dips down to your lips, and lightly presses his own against them. The feeling is so heavenly, he wonders if you really are an angel. If you were one, would you bless him? Would you destroy him?

If you were to know what he’s doing, would you hate him more?

He pulls away.

The journey to get here was sizable. Memories of tonight flash by; your cooking, your conversation, your shower. Your humming.

Ah. The tune he heard as a boy. Innocent, naïve, hopeful.

Well, he’s a man now. And far less innocent.

He lets out a hum of his own, deep and rumbling.

Chrollo moves to straddle you, peeling the duvet and sheets back, layer by layer, unveiling the best present he’s ever gifted himself. Just moving into such an intimate position is enough to send pangs of heat downwards, the hardness he fought against earlier returning with an urgency.

For a moment, he tries to fight against it.

Is it to save himself from your hatred? Is it to save you from what he’s planning?

It’s neither, he discerns, as the attempt was doomed to fail before it even started. He knows it was never meant to succeed.

His groin only throbs harder, aching for friction. It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing, the way he presses it against your clothed crotch, rocking back and forth, the slight relief just momentary as his desire only grows.

He regards your unsuspecting face. Stunning.

Restraint is draining faster now, but still is present just enough to stop him from grinding any harder despite the urge. But if he’s to stop his movements, he’ll need a different kind of stimulation.

He bunches your shirt up, pulling, sliding a hand under your back so he can slip it off your arms and neck.

Now your chest is bare. How ravishing.

His fingers hook under the band of your sleep pants, dragging them off in a clean motion.

And now your legs are bare. How alluring.

He doesn’t take your underwear off - that would simply be crude, and he doesn’t need to tempt himself anymore. If he got the privilege (or right, considering your standings) of seeing you fully nude, as opposed to having a single layer covering the most tantalising part of you, he’d be oh-so-inclined to do something regrettable. His logic fights to win space within his buzzing thoughts, fingers daring to twitch as his imagination fills in the gaps of what the thin black layer forces to be left to it.

Chrollo parts your thighs for good measure, the maximum he can allow himself at this moment. It’d be impossible to not let his hands and gaze trail up them, observing how as he roams upwards, your flesh gets softer, warmer; how the flimsy fabric can’t hide all of your darker flesh; how your lower lips are pressing against the cloth, visible despite the darkness…

God, you’re so fuckable.

There’s a pretentious voice in his head, albeit muffled, that cries protests at the use of such a word to describe you. You’re something far more than that - beautiful, exemplary, one-in-a-million, ethereal. Surely your mouth would be better put to use having a fulfilling conversation with him, a conversation he can dissect and steer and puppeteer, as opposed to just opening as wide as it can to accommodate his cock, taking it as deep as your gag reflex will allow, barely able to breathe, much less talk. Although, he thinks with a faint, deep groan, twitching in his pants, that’s certainly a hypothesis I’ll have to test.

With the sight of your breasts, nipples hard and skin goosebumped from the chill of the room, it’s decided. Just because making his cheeks warm and his cock rock hard isn’t your most prominent trait, doesn’t mean that you aren’t absolutely exceptional at it.

Temptation isn’t something he’s inclined to resist, brushing a thumb over your nipples before leaning down to take one into his mouth. He swears he can hear your breath hitch as his tongue swirls around, breathing getting slightly lighter. An eager hand reaches for the other one, kneading as gently as he thinks he can.

Soft is the first thing he thinks. Your flesh is so soft, so delicate, so tender. If you were awake, he’d vocalise his compliments - and do so loudly, unrestrained.

Your breathing changes as he points his tongue to lightly flick at your nipple repeatedly. Chances are you’re being taken out of REM sleep, but your consciousness doesn’t matter at this stage. And some part of him hopes for it, brief images flashing in his mind of barely-open teary eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head. They’re obscene, so utterly immoral to even fantasise about, yet even the split-second thought makes his stomach jump, shivering a bit as he feels himself be almost overcome by them.

He can’t help but slightly wet his lips in anticipation, relishing in the knowledge that his instincts are being held back with the slightest thread. If he moves even slightly faster than his rational, calculating, non-carnal mind intends, then it’ll snap. He’ll snap.

Almost trembling, he reaches across to his bedside table. The movements are imprecise, but he’s sure this practice will allow him to execute them with much more grace for the inevitable time you’ll be awake. Yes, you’ll be awake and whining and he’ll wet his lips in anticipation and be met with your lingering taste and you’ll want him as much as he wants you-

He almost falls forward as his own lust threatens to overtake him. Focus on the necessary steps.

Taking a shuddering breath, he leans down to pull open the drawer, to find a bottle hidden at the back, purposefully concealed behind an upright copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Quickly shifting his weight back, he pops the cap open, spreading some of the slick contents onto his fingertips. With his free hand, he pulls down the loose elastic of his pyjama pants, shucking them off, the cold air making him quiver slightly.

Time’s running out.

The movements are trembling, sloppy as he pours lube onto his length, and then onto your spread thighs. There’s a frantic inertia of sorts, a mad momentum - the more he does, the faster he has to go, the anticipation making his stomach swell and dip. He’s really going to do this. It’s really going to happen, and it’ll be amazing.

There. Done. Everything’s ready.

Chrollo takes a shaky breath, gripping just above your knees, and squeezes your thighs around his dick.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your thighs are warm from the duvet, perfectly cosy and wet from the lube for his cock.

Little time is wasted as he begins to thrust his hips, trying not to give himself too much too soon. The steady pace is slowly increased, little by little, a fragile incline so he can drag this out for as long as possible.

Can you feel it? Can you feel the warmth radiating from him? Is there some part of your mind that’s awake, but can’t do anything to stop him? Or better yet, is eager to please him?

He strains out a hiss through gritted teeth, peppering kisses over your exposed neck, trying his best not to bite. The pace increases yet again. His eyes are fixated on the mound in your underwear, a more sinister form of curiosity burning within.

What does your pussy look like?

He won’t use En, that’s just cheating. He wonders and ponders and conjures up the most filthy images his mind can muster. A warm, tight hole that clenches for him as he slips in and out, teasing you. A pretty clit for him to tease with his fingers as you whine, for him to suckle on as you choke on sobs of pleasure. Folds for him to run his tongue through as you rut your hips against his face; for him to run his tip along, collecting your slick.

He imagines how his cock would look disappearing inside of your cunt, how your grip would be so suffocating, how your tits would bounce as he fucks it (because shit, they’re already moving so vigorously now, as he holds his strength, and he can’t even begin to picture what they’d look like if he loses control buried deep inside you, repeatedly stuffing you to the hilt as you cry out). He imagines how you’d tighten around him, babbling something incoherent as you wrap your arms and legs around him, and oh fuck, he can’t pull out now. He imagines the tension snapping, giving a rumbling groan as he shoves himself into you as deeply as possible, eyes screwing shut and burying his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, riding out his high with a few shallow thrusts.

And finally, he imagines how his cum would look leaking out of your pussy, twitching and swollen from a nice good fuck. The afterglow. The squeak you’d give if he fingered it back into you, growling at you to not waste a drop, keep it all inside for me.

The thought makes his hips stutter a little, threatening to slip out of the plushness between your thighs. Once he regains his rhythm, though, they’re speeding up, relentlessly fucking himself into your thighs over and over, kneading the flesh as he squeezes them tighter and closer.

Chrollo cups your face with a single hand, and leans in.

It’s the second time he’s properly kissed you tonight, and it feels fucking amazing. Your soft lips, your soft thighs, they’re all working together to make his head swim in bliss. You’re working to make him feel good. Yes, him. Nobody else. You’re his.

The thoughts run wild. He has as little control over them as he does his hips.

How would it feel to fuck you in some other position? How would it feel to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back to meet his, as he stuffs himself into your sopping cunt over and over, watching your ass bounce? How would you cry out at the way his balls slap against your swollen clit, building up the pressure inside you until you just can’t take any more?

How would you grind on top of him? How would you moan as you bounce, tilting your head back as you stretch yourself on his length, panting? How many times could you do it until your legs trembled uncontrollably, forcing yourself to impale yourself on his cock just one more time? When he’d plant his feet on the bed firmly and thrust his hips up, grabbing yours and bouncing you in time, would you wail, or simply slump over, completely unable to form a thought as you cum around him for the nth time?

You’re flexible enough to fold into a mating press, right? How deep could he go? How fast could he go? How would your beautiful skin look covered in love bites?

The coil of pressure within him grows even tighter even faster, balls slapping against your thighs, hips pistoning rhythmlessly.

If he asked, oh-so-nicely, for you to get on your knees and please him with your mouth, would you oh-so-sweetly do it? Would you suckle his swollen tip? Would you tease him with a glint of mischief in your eyes? Would you find his most sensitive spots and exploit them? Would you trace your tongue along the veins? Would you massage his balls? Would you let him control the pace, a hand intertwined in your hair? Would you look up at him as you tear up, doe-eyes wide and eager to please? Would you rub your pretty pussy while he shoots thick ropes of cum down your throat, pressing your nose against his pelvis?

Yes, he decides as the coil begins to snap, you would.

Chrollo comes to a sudden halt, choking out a rich groan in a low timbre. The noise becomes more strained as he rides out the high, the overwhelming euphoria becoming just a bit too intense as it begins to morph into overstimulation. Once he’s sure the moment’s over, he lets go of your legs, pulling back to catch his breath and admire his work.

Ropes of cum paint your chest, some making it as far as your neck, your chin. It’s beautiful, the unruly mess he’s made - no, the mess you’ve made of him.

You’re a real beauty, you know that?

The bathroom tiles are cold against his feet as he grabs a washcloth to clean you up. It’s sad to see it go, to a primal extent, but it’s probably for the best to ensure he doesn’t get any ideas for a second round tonight.

For future nights, though? The chest he’s covering up will soon be exposed soon enough.

He’ll have to get more sleeping pills. You simply must try this again soon.

Next time, he’ll taste you. The time after that, you’ll taste him. He can hardly wait, nor can he stop the dull throbbing starting up in his groin again.

He sates himself for the time being with the knowledge that the time after that, you’ll be awake.

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere hxh #hxh #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #tw yandere

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chrollohearttags · 4 months

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DOLL FACE • chrollo lucifer

synopsis: in which you become chrollo’s newest obsession with no chance of him ever letting you go.

content + themes: yandere, drug lord!chrollo, black!fem reader, reader is an escort, mirror sex, porn without plot, rough sex, spit kink, dacryphilia, prone bone, heavy breeding, unprotected sex, dark themes, drug use (consensual), read at your own risk, short drabble

word count: 0.8K

📝: just a little something/rehashing from a previous story I wrote for a while ago. May have to revisit this someday. Shoutout to @lostgxrlblog for reminding me of this! Should also go without saying but minors are not welcomed!!

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰───────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰────

leather pumps with bottoms painted in red, pointed to the ceiling…

the scent of bourbon and nicotine permeating throughout the air along with the smell of sex..

strips of cocaine lined up on a shard of glass..

sounds of rampant thumping and loud cries filled the room..

it was a sight or rather, a very lucid reality that you had been experiencing for quite some time now. A pleasurable fantasy fulfilled by none other than the man who had placed you in this situation in the first place. Face down in the plush cushion of a hotel bed mattress as he ruts his hips into the plumpness of your ass. Watching it ripple each time he peered down and thrusted in. Thumbs pressed into the visible dimples on your back..it was one of the many admirable features he loved about you. Honestly, he could ramble for hours on end about how beautiful, soft and sexy you were. How he loved you dearly..and you were the most precious thing in his life. So much so, he made love to you as if it would be his last. Vigorously pounding you into the bed; causing it to vibrate at the sturdy seams.

“Yesss..! Just like that, doll face. Look up..look at your pretty fucking face in the mirror.”

a backhanded yet endearing pet named he’d so affectionately adorned you with once you became his employee and lover. Truth be told, the former was not of your own volition. It had been a year since you’d become the proverbial ‘bottom bitch’ to the illustrious crime lord, Chrollo Lucifer. His top escort and appointed leader to all the other sex workers who served under him. Although not an ideal line of work, being in his presence was enough to endure anything. A feeling he shared mutually; proving so through discarding the demeaning term and giving you the aforementioned moniker. You were gorgeous..absolute perfection if he’d ever seen it. In the same breath though, he considered you as nothing more than an object. His toy and plaything to mold and shape in his image…in more ways than one…

“You take my dick so well…god, I love being inside of you. How am I supposed to let anyone else have this pussy when it’s so conformed to my shape? It’s made for me..”

powerful words he’d hiss into your ear whilst he hovered over your frame, taking full dominion over your center. Your sticky, sweat and otherwise stained skin smacking against each other. You’d take those deep, unrelenting strokes as much as you’d could but to no avail..that thick cock stretching you open but still not wanting to give way. As some semblance of comfort, you’d grasp and claw at the crisp white sheets, chewing into the pillow but much like the other pieces of normalcy in your life, he’d rip that away and forcefully tug you back by your wrists. Maneuvering you to his own accord..a fate you were used to. Forced to glare up at your own pathetic reflection in the mirror..a fucked out face marked with smeared makeup and saliva from both your own mouth and him filling it up with spit of his own. Claw marks from him, fish hooking his fingers into your jaw and your expensive dress ripped to shreds. That done the courtesy of the client that you had just seen prior to him bursting in the room and claiming you for his own. All but running the man out by gun point. It couldn’t be helped really..especially when he saw you strutting about in that bright red ensemble, rubbing on his chest and kissing the ugly fuck..he couldn’t take it! Hence why you were being marked and bred until he was satisfied. Make no mistake, it wasn’t the actions of a brutal tyrant. It was because he was so hopelessly in love in you! Having already filled you with two loads..that twitching cunt that couldn’t stop orgasming for him, already housing so much but willing to take so much more. As long as it pleases him, as long as it made him happy, as long as it kept feeling so fucking good..

“You’re mine, I’ll make certain that it’s implanted in your cute, empty head. Even if it takes me all night. Even if I have to put a baby in that pretty belly of yours.”

you’d forever remain his pretty little plaything. His precious doll face.

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bwabys-scenarios · 11 months

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Imagine being Feitan’s cute chubby!wife. You’re a literal walking ray of sunshine. Foster kittens, volunteer at shelters, wear the cutest bright colored dresses.

The entire troupe is genuinely SHOCKED when he introduces you to them. How can a twisted guy like himself have such a cute wife?? Shalnark is super jealous.

Bros like “hey babygirl he can’t handle all that, but I can 😏”

If looks were enough to kill Shalnark would be six feet under!!!

“Mine.”

Feitan just wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You just giggle and kiss his cheek. They fucking GASP.

“HOLY SHIT it’s not a joke oh my god!!”

Phinks is losing it. Chrollo is just giving his blessing and happy Feitan found someone. Uvogin is also shamelessly flirting with you and chrollo has to break him and feitan up before they kill each other.

You just laugh and cover Feitan’s face in kisses, which he accepts with an embarrassed tut.

“Sorry boys, but Fei is the only one taking me home tonight.”

Feitan is very shameless about his love for you. Grabs your ass in public, whispers dirty things in your ear. Doesn’t usually care who’s around, you are his and he isn’t afraid to show t. The only people that don’t see his PDA are the Phantom Troupe because he doesn’t want them thinking he’s gone soft(he has, you have him WHIPPED).

He’s a bit boney, so really enjoys cuddling up with his chubby wife. Your hands are soft, and his are calloused from a hard life. You kiss every scar he has and tell him how handsome he is every chance you get. He wonders what he did to deserve this love you give him.

Phinks is the only one he trusts enough to watch over you when he has a solo mission. You fix up all his injuries when he gets home with the sweetest of smiles.

You aren’t officially married, but it’s official in your minds. He doesn’t want to spend his life with anyone else.

Loves to just lay face first in your boobs while you hum to him, stroking his head. Though be careful he is mischievous and might bite your tiddy… you have been warned.

So gentle with his fragile wife, carries you like you’re made of glass. First time he tried to pick you up, you squeak out in protest. He easily picks you up, scoffing.

“Easy. Think I’m weak?”

“N-no, just thought I was too heavy!”

He lifts an eyebrow and holds you with one arm, his hand low key fondling your butt.

“Not heavy. Little wife.”

He’s so in love with you he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Would do anything for you.

A/N: send feitan requests PLS

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nendracula · 5 months

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entering my chrollo art era

#art #my art #fanart #hxh #hunter x hunter #hunter hunter #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #kuroro #kuroro lucifer #hes so babygirl

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illubean · 20 days

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Could I get headcanons for Feitan, Illumi, Leorio, and Chrollo falling for gn!reader who by all means seems like a strong, nuturing, emotionally stable individual but every once in awhile casually says or does smthin that makes people go "Oh you're a little fuckin nuts, actually"

(e.x.: Most of their D.I.Y. furniture is made of different kinds of bone, morbidly interested in the more gorey parts of their jobs, probably works in a field that allows them to be around the dead often like a taxidermist or a mortitian, highkey just unabashashedly a morbid little freak™️ whenever it comes up naturally in conversation but otherwise comes across as just an attentive lil guy you could bring home the average parents would love.)

HXH Men with a Morbid!S/o

Characters: Leorio Paladaknight, Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor Type: Headcanons, Gn!reader

this is so me

Warnings: dead things and body parts and stuff

Leorio Paladaknight

being an aspiring doctor, Leorio thought that your knowledge on both human and animal anatomy was pretty useful

at first he didn't think much about your job and just assumed you were some type of doctor or biologist or something

he often asks you questions as he studies and you're a pretty good tutor

the first time Leorio realized you were kinda weird is when one day you were walking down the street and saw some roadkill

and you were like "aww too bad, the skin and bones are too damaged to harvest"

and you kept walking like it was normal while he was like ?!!??!?

or you guys were having a normal conversation and you say something like

"if you died i'd taxidermy you and re-articulate your skeleton so you'd be with me forever <3"

1 taxidermizing humans is illegal and 2 WHAT

he is cold sweating wtf did he get himself into

when he comes to your house for the first time and sees a bunch of bones, animal skins and wet specimens he damn near passes the fuck out

how do you just casually have dead things and remains around your house!?

AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU MADE YOUR COFFEE TABLE OUT OF CAMEL BONES?

he is freaking the fuck out and you're just like "dw everything is ethically sourced :D"

yeah he thinks you're a freak and he is too fearful to break up with you ever (not like he was planning to anyways)

Illumi Zoldyck

whatever drew Illumi to you had to have been some type of power

aside from that power, to Illumi you were relatively normal and had a good grip on your emotions which made you a perfect candidate

that being said he could care less what your job was, you'd just end up working for or with him eventually

when he started bringing you around the estate, you often sought out their guard dog Mike and Illumi couldn't think of why

that is until you came back one day with a human femur and bright smile on your face

"... where did you even get that?" "From one of Mike's victims. If I collect enough I could make a whole set of bar stools!"

he blinked at you and chose to ignore your statement

i mean, to each their own am i right?

so you have ah hobby, big deal

Illumi just thinks you're pretty normal personality wise until you randomly but casually drop information about what you do in your free time or have in your home

so now whenever he has a job Illumi calls you in for cleanup

you get to do.... whatever it is you do and there's no evidence of a dead body left behind, it's a win win

Chrollo Lucilfer

he couldn't care less what your job is because it's probably not worse than his 😭

he didn't really notice anything "morbid" about you until he asked about your jewlery

you wore things like resin caster bug pendants or bird skull earrings and stuff

he just assumed they were fake and you bought them because they looked badass

but then you told him you make it all YOURSELF

he is intrigued

he doesn't really question you past that because you were probably buying the bones and stuff somewhere (spoiler alert you're not)

what really caused him to think was when you casually just picked up a dead rat off the floor in some abandoned building you were exploring and suck it in your pocket

bro was so confused

"What do you need that for?" "To make a new necklace :3"

yeah now he knows that your odd taste in jewelry goes deeper than just that

he won't judge you though, if anything you're a better person than he is considering you don't kill things yourself

he is literally a murderer and a thief and has committed like 3467633788 crimes so he couldn't judge even if he wanted to

so now when he sees dead animals and what not he bags them up and brings them to you

he likes to sit in on your cleaning and making process

you seem like a perfectly normal and sweet person to everyone else but Chrollo knows about your freaky little hobby and it just makes him like you even more

Feitan Portor

I feel like for you and Feitan to even be acquainted you have to be part of the troupe

whatever you do outside of it is your business

buttttttt since you are his s/o and Feitan is probably homeless he crashes wherever you are

thus him finding out about your hobby and other job

out of everyone on this list he is the most interested

he too is a morbid little freak

he goes with you to find things and will help you with the cleaning/taxidermy or whatever process if you let him

what he doesn't understand though is why you don't just kill the things you want instead of hunting for already dead things

sometimes he will go catch like a squirrel or something and bring it back to you like a cat and tell you he found it like that

Fei baby. No the fuck you didn't

after doing what you're doing for so long you can tell what caused an animal to die but you wouldn't tell him that

he's just so cute and wants to be supportive of your hobby <3

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vulpisnocturna · 29 days

Note

Heyyy so I actually just finished reading your Chrollo works and I would love to maybe brainstorm with you on having one where the reader actually is pursuing his affections, and maybe he doesn't know how to deal with it because its foreign. I would love to see him experience requited love, and the way you write is so beautiful!!

You’re too sweet! 🥹

Chrollo would be so cute in love and in a “healthy” relationship.

My headcanons are around this:

- Chrollo would be so confused at first. He would wonder what they see in him, what version or “character” he thinks he’s playing they are infatuated with. Do they see something clear about his personality? Do they ignore his amoral tendencies, or do they embrace them? Do they know his darker sides, do they see them, do they accept them?

- I think he’d look for a way to exploit this at first. If he was infatuated too, he’d probably feel like he won the lottery and play into those character traits they like to ensure the best chances of keeping them around

- If they called him out on it and told him to just be himself, he’d be impressed but also confused. Would probably ask something along the lines of “and what do you believe is “being me”?”

- Upon receiving an answer, Chrollo would do a lot of thinking about who he is, how he appears to people, how the one they are infatuated with sees them. He would probably test their “loyalty” or their infatuation by leaning more into his less savoury traits to see if they would leave, get scared or stay, whilst trying to keep himself as detached as possible to account for possible rejection

- To him, they would become so fascinating, and possibly the key to understanding himself. And yes, he would get attached, whether he tries to or not

- If they stay no matter what, Chrollo would start to become so attached to them and so fearful of a hypothetical betrayal on their part

- He would also start worrying about something happening to them, and would in turn become almost overprotective, to the point he would stalk his partner without them knowing and do background research on everyone they meet

- I feel like he would be extra jealous because he would fear being left for someone more morally acceptable. Chrollo is a confident guy, but when it comes to relationships where the control is not all in his hands, he gets nervous that his partner might choose someone who aligns with society’s morals

- He would seek them out for comfort after he begins to trust them. It would take a long while, but if he was sure they were in love with him, and he was in love with them, he’d like unwinding with them, cuddling and reading books, having them brush his hair, watching a film together etc.

- He’d try to be romantic. The poor guy would pick up some romance novels and steal “tips” from there, which would feel so forced and stilted 💀 They’d see his true romantic side in things he’d do genuinely, like stealing first editions of their favourite books, showing interest in their hobbies and conversing about them, intimacy and being a good listener as they vent or rant about something (watch the mansplaining though)

- I do believe Chrollo would treat his SO like royalty. So many dates, stolen gifts and nice food. He likes the finer things in life, and he likes to appear as a sophisticated, well-mannered gentleman. His flaws lie mostly on his morals, his arrogant, self-serving, jealous nature which stems from Meteor City ways of having to fend off others trying to steal things he has claimed as soon as he lowers his guard, and the fact that once you’re with Chrollo there is no way out unless he too gets bored. If his partner tried to leave him, he would see it as a betrayal, and turn to more drastic measures to keep them— see Yandere Chrollo.

#hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo headcanons #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x you #hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh x reader

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agendercrisisx · 3 months

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Chrollo wouldn't care about how much something cost, if you wanted it you're getting it. Even if he have so take it with force. You could look at a necklace for a second, and he would make sure you got it. Even if he had to kill the person who was wearing it. You're getting that damn necklace.

And when you want to pay back the favor, you get on your knees for the Phantom Troupe leader, slowly licking the tip of his cock. He will let you take your time, letting you have control. Until you beg for him to fuck you, and he will make sure you can't walk for weeks. But damn it'll be worth it.

#samx|imagine|#smut #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #hunter x hunter #chrollo lucifer x reader #chrollo smut

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spaceydoo · 1 year

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MAKE HIM MOAN

feitan may seem like a man of a few words but when you’re in bed he knows every word in the dictionary to turn you on. it’s like he’s a completely different person when he’s pounding you into oblivion.

“ah- shit you feel so warm” feitan says as you slowly start going down on his dick in riding position as he layed down flat on his back. you said you would be the dominant one this time just to try something new which he honestly didn’t care about. as long as he was getting fucked, he was happy.

you were completely in him at this point but just to mess with him a little you planted kisses on his lips to see his reaction of you not moving. he wanted to fuck into you badly but didn’t cuz he’s a man of his word. sometimes.

“the fuck are you doing.” he said staring at you coldly. you didn’t want him take over just yet by making him mad so you started grinding first then started bouncing like no tomorrow. you leaned back grabbing his legs for support and continued to bounce.

“you’re so fucking tight- ah- you’re doing such a good- job” he said in between moans. you wanted to mess with him more by stopping him from cumming by slowing down drastically because he stopped your orgasm the last time you had sex.

“did i tell you to stop? keep on going. what? you can’t handle it? guess i’ll have too fuck you silly myself to teach you a lesson.” he said as he sat up, you still being in him. he did break his promise about you being the dominant one but at that moment he didn’t care. he then grabbed your waist and moved your hips up and down on his cock at crazy speed, earning multiple moans from you. you wrapped your legs around him to feel him better as feitan stared into your eyes.

“you like when i fuck you sliiy? yeah? tell me how much you want it.”

“i wan- i want- ah”

“speak up princess so i know what you want.”

“i want you to fuck me stupid fei!” you said moaning out loud.

feitan always seemed to know exactly where to fuck you to make you collapse and he loved seeing you crumble in his touch.

your eyes were rolled back enjoying the noises your pussy was making and his dick touching all the right places. fei was sweating and looked dazed by aware at the same. his moans and praises were sending you off the edge and his high was coming as well. your body looked so beautiful to him he hugged you and hid his face in the crook of your neck as he came in you muttering praises and moans while your orgasm came as well.

“i love you so much y/n- mhh ah-“ he struggled to say in between moans. he never expressed this much love to you in bed which caught you off guard. all your juices soaked his cock as you finished cumming.

“princess look at the mess you made. don’t worry ill clean you up.” you we’re still panting when you got off him and layed on the bed.

“what was all the moaning about? you should do that more often it’s hot” you said as you finally regained your senses.

he shot you menacing a glare signaling to you to shut the fuck up which you instantly did.

he brought you a towel and cleaned you and him up. he stared at you the whole time which made you a little embarrassed when you were going to grab the sheets to cover your self when he stopped you.

“i just love staring at my girlfriend what’s the big issue? i’ve seen you like this many times.” he knew he was getting you flustered and he thought it was so amusing.

“nothings wrong i just don’t like you staring.” you said with an attitude.

“drop the attitude.” feitan said as he glared at you

“or else what fei?” you said in a joking tone to get under his skin

“or imma fuck it out of you”

let’s just say that attitude of yours was never seen again after this