candyladycry

[candyladycry]

[candyladycry]

The vampire bites the woman he desires

[candyladycry]

❤︎ ❤︎

[candyladycry]

[candyladycry]

*rolls my third eye*

[candyladycry]

I wondered why green is so associated with hope and then I remembered being 8 and seeing a little plant sprout after a few days of waiting and. Yeah. I get it now.

[candyladycry]

I'm obsessed with how Astation regresses once you enter Baulders Gate.

Specifically, when Tav says "I just want you to be happy." And he basically says "Ah! and letting me trick and kill my fellow spawn would make me so, so happy. You said you wanted me to be happy right? You want this to happen too. This is really for us, you want what's best for us, surly." Its sooo good. I was honestly surprised and very disappointed in him in that scene, but it made so much sense and I love it.

Hes flailing, and terrified and that's when hes his worst self. When hes scared hes ruthless, selfish, mean and manipulative. "I'm not soft, cuddly Astarion! I'm scared! I do bad things! This is how I've made it so far!" Hes back to trying to play you like a fiddle, but Tav can see through it so easily and understand him much better.

Such smart storytelling.

[candyladycry]

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

[candyladycry]

[candyladycry]

thinking about these tweets again, RIP me

(from 2017)

[candyladycry]

Fragile Things

Title: Fragile Things Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: Sometimes Chrollo really wishes you were more demanding of him. Word count: 600+ Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female) Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped reader, implied murder (not reader).

Sometimes Chrollo really wishes you were more demanding of him. You are polite and soft-spoken, never rude, never angry even when he deserves your anger, and always so very cautious, as if tiptoeing around an alligator pit. It doesn’t take a genius to deduce that you are afraid of him. A scaredy little thing. Yet you don’t beg or plead for him to release you. Perhaps you already understand the futility of it, or maybe you're simply wary to do so.

The first time he brings you a gift – an elegant chainlet studded with pink sapphires – you stare at him with something akin to terror. Your hands shake when you reach out and accept the velvet box he places onto your lap.

Chrollo wonders what would you do if he told you how he got it. No, better you don't know. You already shrink and jump every time he moves too fast, no need to add fuel to the fire.

"Thank you," you murmur, just a tiny bit hesitant before setting the box aside.

You wear it for a theatre outing when he asks you to, but apart from that Chrollo doesn't see you touch it again.

It would be easier, if you demanded something from him - clothes, books, movies, food. Anything. You don't. Apart from absolutely necessary things like the skincare products you use or feminine hygiene items you ask him to pick up once a month, you never mention anything else. It bothers him more than it should, this docile acceptance of yours. Makes him want to make you beg and cry and demand.

But you're fragile. He can't push fragile things too hard or they tend to shatter like intricate glass figurines. You can put them back together with a proper amount of glue, but the cracks don't go anywhere.

"Dear," Chrollo touches your cheek and waits until you look up from the book he brought you last week. You glanced at it in the shop, but didn't ask, despite the obvious interest. So he bought it. "Would you like something special for dinner?"

Your eyebrows furrow. "Special... Special like what?"

Ah, that sweet caution. Chrollo finds it endearing somehow, just as much as it's annoying. "Anything you'd like."

Your hands fidget on the pages, bending the corners before you seem to catch yourself doing it. Hastily you straighten the paper, and Chrollo really wants to take your hands into his and kiss each knuckle to soothe them. Maybe he will, later. But first - "Name anything and I'll cook it for you."

A moment passes. And then another. When he almost expects you to tell him that you'll have whatever he chooses - again - you speak.

"Can you bake an apple pie?"

A pie. A pie is not exactly dinner, it's a dessert, but he's wiling to indulge this small request. Still some proper nourishment is needed too.

"And for dinner?" He asks and then takes one of your hands in his after all. It's warm and soft, trembling when he brings it to his lips.

"Butter chicken and rice," you fidget, discreetly trying to tug your hand away and he almost snorts at this. Chrollo doesn't loosen a firm hold of your wrist until each finger is properly kissed. Only then he lets go.

You're looking anywhere but him, cheeks slightly pink and eyes jumping from one point to another - from the floor to the sofa to the window, back to the floor.

"Very well," Chrollo rises from the couch and heads towards the kitchen area. He feels oddly pleased, as if a fresh batch of spoils was just delivered to his doorstep.

Fragile things can bring much joy, it seems, despite their propensity to break.

[candyladycry]

A Spoonful of Sugar

Title: A Spoonful of Sugar Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: Sweet? Cute? What you really are is deadly. Word count: 500+ Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader Notes: yandere Chrollo, captive Reader, blood, not very graphic description of murder aftermath, Reader kills a man.

There's a certain look Chrollo has when he's trying to figure something out, a quiet contemplative expression. He has beautiful eyes, but ironically they're also your least favourite part of his face. They seem bottomless at times and remind you of predatory insects – spiders or praying mantises – dark and equally unblinking. It makes you feel as though he can see straight through you, like you're nothing more than a thin layer of glass. Creepy.

Right now this gaze means he's thinking about you. You aren't sure why it bothers you so much. Maybe because it feels intrusive, maybe because there are things about yourself that you prefer to keep hidden, despite his persistent resolve to drag them out into the plain light.

"Well," he says slowly. "That's an interesting development, dear."

There's a man on your floor.

And a spoon, sticking out from the man's eye socket in the most inelegant fashion.

You have to admit it was a rather creative use of improvisation on your part, although you wish Chrollo wasn't here to witness the rest. It's embarrassing, having someone watching you struggle to pull a utensil out of a man's skull. Difficult and messy, especially since the spoon is wedged in pretty deep. The handle keeps slipping through your fingers each time you try to get a grip on it, making the task even more awkward.

"Are you going to help me or just stand there?" You grumble, trying to grab onto the wide part for the third time.

Your bathrobe is ruined, so is the carpet. The soft sound of Chrollo's footsteps is muted, and then he's suddenly against your back. Calm and steady heartbeat, warm breath on your cheek - that's what Chrollo is when his hand wraps around yours. "Like this," he guides your fingers into a better position. "Pull up and twist."

You do as instructed, tug hard and the spoon finally comes free with a wet squelch. It's a grisly mess, and you throw it into the sink. "Gross."

"Indeed."

He doesn't move from behind you, instead choosing to remain in your personal space. Of course. You can feel his eyes with the back of your head, and there's no need to turn around to know what they look like. Dark and intense and focused utterly on you.

You don't like the soap here, you think, squeezing a generous amount out of the bottle. Sharp and pungent, it smells a little too much like Chrollo's cologne and reminds you of long nights spent tangled under the soft silk sheets, his lips tracing patterns over the delicate skin of your throat.

He takes a sponge, rubs it across your fingers in gentle circular motions. It's a tender action, yet you feel nothing but irritation. "I'm perfectly capable of washing my hands."

"Of course," Chrollo agrees easily. His thumb digs into your hand until you relax the fist you weren't even aware of forming. He keeps doing his thing.

"I think there's a lot you'll have to explain, dear."

You sigh, watching pink water swirl down the drain.

"But first let's clean up this mess."

[candyladycry]

Beholder [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Beholder [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: “I can think of a few reasons” you say, finally, voice barely above a murmur. “For one, you kidnapped me and are holding me against my will.” 

For request: Chrollo with a darling who is insecure about their body? Any type of insecurity is fine

Word Count: 2352

Notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, body image discussion, emotional manipulation

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

You don’t look up from your book. You don’t so much as acknowledge him with a noise, because any reaction is as good as an invitation to Chrollo. And right now, you’re tired, frustrated, dealing with a indescribable itch for something that you can’t possibly scratch. Freedom, normalcy, a concrete future–all the things that are very far from your grasp.

So suffice to say, you’re not really in the mood for a discussion, debate, mind game or dissection–which is usually what he’s aiming for when he tries to draw you into a conversation. You’d rather read your book and lose yourself in its words, if only for a little while.

And it truly is only a little while, because your silence doesn’t deter him.

Keep reading

[candyladycry]

Late Night Break In [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Title: Late Night Break In [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Synopsis: You never expected to find your soulmate. After all, it’s not like there were lots of people named “Uvogin” out there.

Word count: 3000ish

notes: yandere, soulmate AU, breaking and entering

Another Friday night alone. 

But it’s okay. You won’t wallow in self-pity and think about the couples who were out and about the city on romantic dates, or snuggled up on the couch prepping for a night of passionate (or not so passionate, depending on the strength of their relationship) sex. 

Life’s too short to wallow. And it’s not like you were exactly alone.

You’ve got your movie collection and your antique figurines and your latest purchase, a vintage sofa with restored upholstery that means you get the benefit of the original aesthetic without the downside of years of stains, rips, and potential bed bugs. 

And you have friends. Maybe you don’t see them very often, admittedly because you got tired of being asked when you were going to find your soul mate, whether or not you’d consulted a searching service to find them, if you were interested in one of them paying for the service if you didn’t have the money…

Sure, some people might get a little lonely without their soulmate. Someone who you were meant to be with forever and ever, until one or both of you died. And your coworkers who’d long since found their soul mates or who were actively searching day-after day (usually using those paid services that were perfect for such things--not that you wanted to spend your money on that) sometimes looked at you with these awful pity-filled expressions that made you want to roll your eyes.  

More so than your friend’s worried clucks and glances between each other, because at least you knew your friends were coming from a place of worry and not from a place of “why haven’t you done this thing society expects you to do?” like your coworkers.

And, really--

It wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t found your soul mate. 

It’s not like there were tons of people in your home city named “Uvogin,” after all. 

At least his name was well-hidden on your body. It was written, as everyone’s was, in a neat cursive scrawl in black ink that would never come off. You’d heard stories of people who had gone so far as to cut off the skin that contained their soul mate’s name--fighting destiny and all that--only for the name to pop up somewhere else or sometimes even on the same spot, black as ever on the healing, mangled skin.

It wasn��t something you were going to try. 

Uvogin’s name, whoever he was, was on the back of your neck,  low, between your shoulder blades. You liked it that way. It meant you couldn’t be the target of scammers or people who’d been unable to find their real soulmate and were obsessively, dangerously desperate to get someone (anyone) to be with them.

And you? Well. You wouldn’t deny that it might be nice to find your soulmate. Some of your friends and coworkers and passers-by-on-the-street certainly seemed happy to be together. 

But you weren’t going to stop living your life just because you were still on your own. So if you spent your evenings watching movies or rearranging your decorations or making the perfect beef-and-wine stew for one, what was so wrong with that? 

--

You don’t wake up when someone breaks through the wood of your door with a simple stab of their fingers, slides their hand in, undoes the lock, and turns the door knob to enter without any more fanfare.

You don’t wake up when someone’s eyes dart around your apartment, looking for your bedroom.  You don’t wake up when your bedroom door opens with only the tiniest creak.

You only wake up when a hand is slapped over your mouth, and you jolt from a dead sleep with a dizzying suddenness that leaves your head swimming.

You’re awake--you think--and there’s someone above you, a big, heavy presence that seems to take up everything in your field of vision. The taste of salt and flesh is on your mouth, a big hand pressed over your lips and jaw to keep you from moving them.

To keep you from screaming.

“Where is it?” The voice asks, and you can tell it’s a man. But he’s huge, tall as anything, and even in the dimness of your room you can see he has a wild shock of hair that makes him look more like a lion than anything else. The thought is almost silly in the fogginess of your head, but as reality comes in, clearing the way, there’s nothing to laugh about right now.

“Where’s what?” You ask, or try to ask, though you can’t do more than mumble against the large meat of his hand against your face.

  It takes him a moment to register that you can’t actually answer. You can see, barely, his eyes narrow down at you.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, and you won’t be. He wants money, presumably, and you can give him that. Or your TV. Or whatever he wants. As long as you make it out alive.

Slowly, he removes his hand, as if waiting to see if you’ll try to scream.

You don’t. As he moves his hand away, your thoughts come quick, untethered, flitting about the unfairness of the situation. You haven’t really lived yet, and you’re too young to die, and you hope he doesn’t hurt you at all but if he does just let him not kill you at least, is that too much to ask, God, you hope not--

“Where is it?” He repeats. And maybe it’s just your imagination or the fear getting to you, but he seems like he’s lowered his voice a little, sounding less harsh and more considerate. Maybe because you didn’t scream and you aren’t making trouble. That’s a good sign, maybe. It’s hard to tell. 

You swallow. You wish he would move back, so you weren’t lying on your back in bed. But he does no such thing, so all you can do is stare up at him, heart hammering, mouth dry.

“Where’s what?” 

He snorts. 

”Your soulmate’s name.” 

Does your heart stop? No, but it feels like it does. You expected him to say something else. Like. Your money or your safe or your most valuable items. But your soulmate’s name? Is he some sort of deranged loner who couldn’t find his soulmate and he thinks you’re itt? 

Or… 

You swallow, thick, as the thought finally comes to you. It’s not something you thought about often, because most people weren’t worried about things like this. But sometimes your soulmate was someone Not Very Nice. Someone that Hunters might be tasked to go after. And this man, bulky and strong and intimidating as hell, could definitely be a Hunter.  

More often than not, they went after civilian soulmates when catching the criminals proved to be too difficult--though no one could say for sure what might be done to them afterward. 

Some of them were used as bait. Some of them were taken to the authorities to help track down their not-so-law-abiding soulmates. And some… well. You’d heard rumors that killing a soulmate could hinder certain types of criminals. 

“None… none of your business.” Your teeth clack against each other, a thin, quick pain that seems to linger on in your mouth. 

The man’s lips twist into a frown, half-shadowed by the darkness in the room, although as your eyes adjust you can see more of him. It doesn’t make you feel any less worried about what’s going to happen, though. 

“No?” 

You see his arm move, and think he’s about to slap his hand over your mouth again, but what he does instead is shove his arm right in front of your face.

You blink.

And stare.

And it takes you a moment to realize what you’re looking at--on his arm, bulky as it is, scared as you are. 

It’s your name. In a nice, neat scrawl. Unmistakable and permanently stained on his skin.

This man isn’t a Hunter sent here to kidnap you or drag you into a station or kill you. And he certainly isn’t here to steal your wallet or your television or your collection of rare comic books.

He’s your soulmate.

Uvogin.

“B-Back… back of my neck,” you say, stammering. 

He hums. And then he shifts over on the bed, and you instinctively sit up in your bed, glad to no longer be prone underneath him. 

“Let me see,” he says, gruff. But there’s a gradual lessening of heaviness in the air, now that you know he isn’t here to kill you or rob you or who knows what else. That still doesn’t excuse breaking into your apartment and doing this, but…

You lean forward, and with a surprising gentleness considering his size, he pulls down the back of your nightshirt enough to see what’s underneath. 

“Heh, there it is, huh…”

 He lets the fabric go and you lean back, looking at him. He stares down at you, his weight sagging your mattress, his bulky frame taking up most of the bed.

“You gonna scream?” 

You think. You bite your cheek. You shake your head.

“You gonna try to run?”

You breathe out through your nose. And you think. And you shake your head. You won’t scream, you won’t run--you can tell without asking that neither of those would do you any good. And… do you really need to? There’s a strange sort of curiosity that’s building inside you, now that you know who he is--your soulmate. 

He nods, tilting his head back a little, craning his neck as if to stretch it.

“Hope so. Would be stupid if you tried, and I hope my soulmate isn’t that stupid. You get me?”

You nod again, and your breath hitches just a little when he stands up and begins to stretch his neck again. He sighs, evidently pleased by the releasing of tension, or maybe pleased that he’s found you and you didn’t shriek like a wild banshee and try to get away.

You could still try to run. Your fingers grip on your sheets, still uneasy. Sure, he was your soulmate but… soulmates didn’t usually burst into people’s rooms at night and tell them not to scream. Usually.

Uvogin, like his name, was definitely an outlier. 

He leans against the wall next to your bed, looking down at you with appraising eyes. It almost makes you wish you weren’t sitting in bed wearing an old nightshirt, eyes bleary, hair messy. It wasn’t exactly a good first impression. 

“Been looking for you for a while,” he tells you. “I thought maybe you were good at hiding… Shalnark’s soulmate kept him out of the loop for a while.” He chuckles to himself, reliving some private memory. “But looks like you’re just that much of a nobody.”

Something inside your chest bristles.

“Excuse me?” You sit up straighter, and finally get the nerve to lean over to your bedside table and flick on the lamp. Your eyes squint for a moment. The addition of new light doesn’t make your soulmate look any less intimidating. But it does make you feel less like some helpless rabbit in the dark, at least.

He raises his eyebrows, and there’s a small part of you--a churning in your stomach--that tells you to sit down and shut up. But you’re not about to be 

“That’s rude,” you say, as calmly as you can. “I’m not a nobody just because you couldn’t find me. Maybe it means you’re bad at looking.”

There’s a pause, a beat. You wonder if you’ve pissed him off. But then he throws his head back and laughs. 

“Fair enough,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Fair enough.” He sighs, then, and looks up at the ceiling. “There is the question of what to do with you, though.”

Ah, there it is again. That churning in your stomach. A growing pit, tight and electric. 

You sit up straighter, and piece what little you know of these puzzles together in your mind. It doesn’t add up to anything particularly wholesome, even with giant chunks missing. 

“I… I’m guessing you wouldn’t be okay with a long distance relationship,” you mutter. 

He scoffs, a little laugh. “Oh? What gave you that idea?”

He leans forward, and you don’t know exactly what you expected him to do, but it wasn’t to pat you on the head. But he does. 

“Smart,” he says, while his voice is teasing there’s something that sounds a little genuine in there. Or were you imagining it? Was it just part of the soul mate bond, maybe, to automatically see things your soulmate did as pleasant? 

He sits back down on the bed. The bed frame creaks. You aren’t keen on spending money to replace it, but you aren’t keen on scolding your very large, very strong soulmate right now either. So you keep mum.

He leans forward and rests his hand on his palm, keeping his elbow on his knee.

“Well. I don’t exactly got a house with a white picket fence. Or without one, for that matter.” He rubs at his nose, and it strikes you, how casual this conversation is… your soulmate, sitting on your bed, after breaking into your apartment in the dead of night. You take the moment of his consideration to lean over and look through your bedroom door, which faces the entryway. You can just make out the busted wood of your front door… fuck. What would your landlord say?

“Some of the others got one place they keep their soulmates, suppose I should think about it…” He glances at you, gauging something. “Makes it easier when you have one place to go, ‘stead of dragging your soulmate everywhere.”

His words finally do let you feel a sense of unease. You don’t know who the “others” are, or why they would need to be dragging their soulmates everywhere. He wasn’t a Hunter, but maybe something like it. Something that kept him moving. Or, more likely considering the circumstances of your first meeting, something that kept him on the run.

The thought of being dragged around or even taken to some sort of strange house brings back that churning in your stomach, an awful, lurching feeling. Your eyes dart around your room, to everything you’ve set up in your life up until now. 

Every inch of your apartment was carefully chosen, down to the rugs on the floor and the color of the tension rods you’ve shoved into the windowsill. But it’s not just the decor. It’s… your whole life. Your job, the coworkers you’d carefully built relationships with, the fact that you have a favorite diner for breakfast and takeout spot for the weekends. 

“I… don’t want to leave here.” Your voice is soft and at first you think he doesn’t hear you, but when you see him raising his eyebrows and lean forward, you get the nerve to continue.

“If-if that’s possible,” you add, a little quickly. “I’d like to stay here. This could be your… the place where you keep me. Or whatever.” The last words come out mumbled. They’re almost embarrassing to say, like you’re some kind of pet.

He doesn’t say anything for a little while. You almost start talking again, some half-baked plead, but he leans a little closer to you. His look is serious.

“How could I trust that you won’t just run away after I leave?”

Your lips press together. 

“I worked hard for this place. For this life. I would hate…” And you search for the words, lost somewhere in the dimness of your room. “I would hate for it all to become worthless.” 

You sit up straighter, before leaning towards him. Maybe it will be easier to convince him if you don’t act so rigid, so scared. You can do that. 

“If you let me stay here, or-or even if you just let me take my favorite things with me, I’ll be… good?”

He snorts. There’s a hint of a smirk as he leans forward.

“Yeah? You’ll be good?”

Warm flushing creeps to your cheeks, and for the first time you think about what it really means to be someone’s soulmate. Togetherness. Intimacy. 

Your words come out halted, and fumbling. But you mean them, as long as it guarantees that you don’t have to give up your life. Your apartment, your spots, every carefully curated bit of your existence here. Or even--and the thought is desperate--if he is going to take you away, it would be enough if you could keep your belongings. Just enough. 

“I’ll do what you want?” You shrug, keeping your eyes downcast on  your lap, though you can see him shift out of the corner of your gaze.. “Cook or clean or… whatever.”

There’s a hand on your chin, but this time he doesn’t cover your mouth. Instead he tilts your chin up and holds it there, forcing you to keep eye contact.

“So what? You want to make a deal? I let you keep some furniture, and you’re going to be a good little housewife for me?”

“I didn’t--” You say, practically spluttering the words out. “I didn’t say that.” Your cheeks feel impossibly hot. 

He laughs, and lets go of your chin. You don’t look down.

“No, I like it. It’s cute.” He grins at you. “I’m lucky. Some of the others, well…” He rolls his eyes, and you don’t press him on it. 

He drums his fingers against the bed. 

You look up at him, eyes wide, hopeful. 

He sighs, then gives you a lopsided grin that makes your stomach churn in a different way than before. Though the feeling is just as unnerving.

“All right,” he says, with a casual sort of finality. “You can stay here.” A pause. “For now. If you try anything--and I mean anything, like going to the cops, telling your friends, whatever…” He moves his wrist around in a gesture that you can only take to mean “all of this goes away.” He looks at you with a seriousness that makes you want to press yourself through the headboard and into the wall. “Got it?”

You nod.

But then…

“There’s… one thing I need you to do before morning, then,” you say, voice tight and quiet but determined. “Uvogin,” you add, hoping that using his name might make him a little less intimidating. It doesn’t, but maybe that comes with time. 

Both of his eyebrows raise. You almost think he’ll just shut you down, but instead he asks--

“Yeah? What’s that?” 

You gesture towards your open bedroom door, towards the front of your apartment.

“You have to fix that door first. My landlord will have a fit.”

For the second time since meeting you, Uvogin throws back his head and laughs. 

[candyladycry]

yes i love cringefail chrollo but also i love scary creepy chrollo.

imagine you catch him in the act of something, you’re sat on the floor of some dirty alley, back to the wall and eyes wide staring up at him. you briefly think of the blood, not yours, that’s dripping down your face. it matches the same splatter he has on his own.

your eyes drift to the corpse for a moment, but immediately flick back up to chrollo when he utters your name in that familiarly sweet tone. your breathing grows heavy.

he smiles at you softly, and you think your life flashes before your eyes.

[candyladycry]

OMG HIS SUCH A LOSERRR I LOVE HIM SOO MUCHHH!!!!😫❤️

Honestly I would fall then and there

chrollo is definitely the type of cringelord to bring a book he knows you like (through stalking) to the café you work at, just on the offhand chance you’ll notice and start a conversation with him.

he’ll order a coffee, cross his legs and sip it with one hand while the other holds the book up in a position that means you could probably read the title from where you are. he may even let out a thoughtful hum when you pass by, hoping you might be intrigued into what part of the book he’s at.

considering you’re struggling with the woes of capitalism and your minimum wage job, you probably won’t pay any attention to him at all, at least past a friendly smile when you take his order. the phantom troupe might notice that chrollo is a little more quiet on these days.

when he eventually steals you away, this habit of his only gets worse.

you’ll step onto the balcony of the luxurious apartment he’s keeping you in for the time being, hoping for a breath of fresh air, only for him to follow you out and start reading a book that you love more than anything. you’re tempted to take it from his hands and hurl it into the night sky.

settle for ignoring his very cringe attempts at gaining your attention and favour, it’ll make said attempts more common but will also serve in mildly annoying him, so really you win in the end.

[candyladycry]

I LOVE THIS VERY MUCHHH😫❤️❤️❤️❤️

Date Night

Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader

after being left alone by your date in a ballroom you weren’t even invited to, you make conversation with a strange man that has bindings over his forehead.

tw: murder, sexual tension, you make out with him which is a little bit cringe, romance is a little rushed but too bad, yan!chrollo, i wrote this a year ago and never posted it so excuse the shoddy writing

this is a soulmate au except chrollo is only one who can sense that you’re his soulmate so it isn’t really mentioned, maybe i’ll make his pov at some point.

“You appear to be as bored as I am.”

The lit cigarette in your hand almost topples into the darkness when you jump at hearing a voice behind you. You don’t turn, instead leaning back into your relaxed position against the balcony railing, facing out into the night sky.

You shrug, “Bored enough that I was considering throwing myself over.”

The stranger chuckles, and you swear the sound of it sends something straight to your belly.

“If you’re so bored, why not go home?”

Finally, you turn to look at him. You’re certain that if you were in a cartoon you’d have heart eyes at seeing the strangely handsome man with an odd bandage on his head.

“I mean, you can probably tell,” you say, gesturing towards your outfit, one that you put on tonight in preparation for a nightclub and not a ballroom, “that I’m someone’s plus one rather than an actual guest. That someone has gone off with another woman, leaving me here with a dead phone and no idea where I am. I have more pride than to go inside and ask those judgemental assholes to call me a taxi.” You look him up and down from the corner of your eye, taking note of his no doubt expensive suit. “No offence.”

“None taken. Does that mean that someone is looking for you?”

You sigh, frowning a little. “Probably not. My friends had basically left me alone at the club anyway. I don’t really enjoy going out to bars all that much, so when some guy in a nice suit offered me to be his date to some fancy ballroom party, I couldn’t pass it up. Now I wish I had just gotten a taxi home then and there.”

The man nods, seemingly in a bit of thought, before coming closer and planting himself next to you, also leaning against the railing. You can’t help but side eye how tight the suit is around the muscle of his arms.

“Your date and friends don’t sound like the best of company.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“May I ask for your name?”

You give him it, “And yours?”

He pauses for a moment, but not long enough for you to think too much on it.

“Chrollo… and, if you don’t mind, I have a proposal. It might help with your boredom.”

You nod, tilting your head a little in curiosity.

“Well, I came outside here to see if anyone wasn’t present in the ballroom. I have a plan set up so that I can thieve the antiques and artworks present in this building, as well as the jewellery being worn by the guests.” He hums, tilting his head a little at you. “You’re rather interesting. I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing some of the loot with you, provided you give some assistance.”

You stare at him with a blank expression for a little while. Then, your lip twitches and a loud laugh escapes you.

“Alright,” you breathe out, wiping away a stray tear, “deal. Make sure to leave that fancy pearl necklace the lady with the red hair has. I’m sure it’d suit me better.”

The man smiles, and for but a moment you take note of something other than amusement in the look, but it quickly goes.

“It’s a deal, then. When would you like to begin?”

“Hmm,” you hum, bottom lip jutting out and finger pressing to your chin jokingly. “Probably soon, it’ll be starting to get light in a few hours. Rich people melt in direct sunlight, y’know. Don’t want them taking the loot with them.”

Chrollo laughs, and it’s a gentle sound that has your heart beating faster.

“It’s a shame, though,” you murmur. “As a kid I always wanted to go to a big fancy ballroom in a big fancy dress and dance around with someone until my feet hurt. I doubt I’ll ever get the chance to be invited to one of these again.”

You sigh, eyes drifting from him back out to the scenery beyond the balcony. His own never stray from your face, a fact you don’t take notice of.

“I disagree.”

You raise an eyebrow, but say nothing more, and it prompts him to continue.

“You’re more interesting than all those inside put together. If I had been the one who had brought you here, I wouldn’t have left your side, and I would most definitely want to bring you with me again. Besides,” he says, voice shifting to a more teasing tone, “I’m sure once our little job is over, you would have enough money to come to these as you please.”

You giggle, blushing a little at the sweetness in his previous words, “Oh, with all the money I make after this job I’ll have my own ballroom to dance in. I’ll let you come visit it, if you’d like.”

The man grins, and god you almost swoon. “Oh? You’re sure you’d allow a man like me into your home, sweetheart?”

You’re considering letting him into your bed at this point.

“Hm, why would I not? I thought you were my partner in crime in all of this?”

“Well, I suppose you’re right in that,” he stands up straight, and a hand extends towards you. “How does a dance sound then, partner?”

“Sorry, partner. I’m not going back in there, at least not for a while.”

“I didn’t say anything about going back inside the ballroom.”

“Huh? Ou-Out here?”

“Why not?”

“As cliché as it sounds, I don’t really know how to dance all that well,” you admit rather awkwardly, and he laughs once more. You’re beginning to become addicted to the sound.

“You don’t have to worry, it’s only me out here. I can teach you the basics. I promise, it’s not hard, partner.”

You don’t say that you’d rather not embarrass yourself in front of the most attractive man you’ve ever met, instead hesitantly placing your hand in his own.

His skin is colder than you expect it to be, and when his other hand envelopes around you, gently holding onto your waist, you almost jolt. He leans in close to you, and the faint minty scent of his breath has your head feeling light.

“No need to be so rigid,” he murmurs quietly, “Just do as I do. I won’t laugh at you.”

How did you end up in this situation again?

He takes a slow step back, pulling you with him, and your foot accidentally treads on his own.

“Sorry!”

“It’s alright,” the man whispers, continuing to hold you as though you were made of the finest material.

A few moments pass of what you consider his graceful movements and your awkward shuffling.

“You are a natural at this, sweetheart.”

“No need to lie to me. Maybe next time we’ll bump into each other at the club and I’ll teach you how to move on the dance floor. Or, I would if I knew how. Maybe we can learn together… then again,” you eye him up and down, “you don’t seem the ‘club’ type, Chrollo.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Were you two always this close to each other? One wrong move and you might end up brushing lips. You’re not opposed to the idea.

“Oh, maybe not to others, but I’m good at reading people.” He pauses for a moment. “I would describe you as a book I just can’t seem to put down.”

“You can lay me down instead, if you’d like.”

He halts rather suddenly, and you register the words that just tumbled from your mouth with a gasp.

“S-Sorry! Shit, shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that-“

Chrollo’s hands are tightening around your flesh within a fraction of a second, and suddenly his lips are moulded against your own, your body being pushed back until it’s pressed against the brick wall behind you.

If you were more coherent, you would be wondering what happened to the sweet gentleman you had been conversing with only a few moments prior. Maybe you would wonder if he had been replaced by some wild animal, evident by the desperation in his kisses.

But you don’t care about all that, all you can think about is how hot the air has suddenly turned, how there’s a familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach forming, and how good this feels.

Chrollo pulls back from you for a moment, and through half-lidded eyes you’re able to catch sight of your smudged lipstick around his face. You can’t help but giggle at that, prompting a slight smile from him. It doesn’t last very long, as soon he’s moving lower, face pressing into the crevice of your neck and hands combing over your waist.

“I can’t believe I’d meet you here,” You swear you hear him mumble, but you don’t really have time to think on it, not when his body presses even further against you, and his hands ghost over the backs of your thighs.

“Jump.”

“Hu-Huh?”

He doesn’t give you much time to think about it, as you’re swept of your feet, thighs encircled around his waist and allowing him to move impossibly closer.

Something hard presses to the spot between your legs, and he quickly drinks up the gasp of his name you give in response.

“Oh my!”

It takes you a few moments in your lustful haze to realise that it was not your own voice you heard. Chrollo doesn’t even glance to the side at the no doubt horrified guest who had stumbled upon the two of you, instead sighing tiredly into the skin of your throat.

The poor intruder doesn’t stick around long, retreating back into the ballroom to no doubt call someone to kick the two of you out. Chrollo slowly places your legs back on the floor so that you can stand, and you’re tempted to tear off your own skin you’re so embarrassed.

“… God.” An awkward laugh bubbles out of you, and soon you’re wheezing uncontrollably, doubling over and your head pressing to Chrollo’s chest.

“A shame,” he murmurs. “I was enjoying myself… and by the sounds you were making, so were you.”

You fear this moment will plague you forever and ever.

“Maybe I should throw myself off of the balcony, after all.”

“I wouldn’t allow you to. How am I supposed to get the job done without my partner in crime?”

You laugh, a hand moving to your face so you can cover the blush that’s only growing worse by the second. “… I like you, Chrollo. I know this is a little, um… forward and, well, fast… but I want to keep speaking to you past this night. I-If that’s not what you’re after, that’s alright too…”

You’re not sure you can bring yourself to meet his gaze, especially not after the lengthy pause that follows.

“I would like to speak to you past this night as well... and… I like you, too.”

Maybe this night wasn’t a total disaster, after all. Maybe this is the beginning of something new for you.

“Alright, well… I’m going to go inside, and get a drink before we’re kicked out, if you’d like to join me. Looks like our master plan has yet to come into fruition.”

His hand meets your hip again, “I wouldn’t be so sure on that, partner… Shall we?”

“Wait, let me…” you raise a hand and softly wipe at the lipstick staining his lips and jaw.

“Don’t make me kiss you again.”

“Nope. No more PDA. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

He opens the door for you, and you breathe in a big breath of air. This is going to suck, but at least this weirdly charming man is with you.

As the two of you step inside, your eyes immediately find the food and drinks table, missing the sight of two strange men, one short and one large, on the stage.

“Ah, it seems Feitan and Franklin are ready.”

“Hm?”

You’re not sure what comes first, the ear piercing scream on the other side of the ballroom or the sudden darkness that blankets the area.

Another scream, and you jolt backwards, reminding yourself of Chrollo, who is still holding onto you, his grip only tightening and his front pressing to your back.

“Stay close to me. This’ll be over soon.”

“Wh-What?! Chrollo, I don’t-“

You yelp when something falls down beside you, the thud managing to be heard over the chorus of screams.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Someone cries out near you, “Call the-“

Something wet sprays across your neck and face, and another thud follows.

Is this real? Are you dreaming?

A flurry of gunshots are accompanied by brief flashes of light that illuminate the people fighting to get to the doors in front of you, treading and falling over each other in a scramble to escape.

Red. Red. Red. Every flash has you shaking at the sight of more and more blood, and less and less movement. The silence you soon hear is more deafening than anything else before it.

Someone groans, and a popping sound ensues. It is silent once more.

Maybe this is some prank, some elaborate joke set up by a morally bankrupt TV show, you just happen to be the poor sucker who-

Something cold wraps around your neck, and you taste vomit in the base of your throat.

“You were right. It does suit you better.”