chrollosdemise

[chrollosdemise]

please continue youre anatomy of a phantom heart mini series.. PLEASEEE. not trying to pressure you or anything, but you just dissapeared 💔💔 hope youre doing well, i hope you see this and respond so we know youre not dead lol

Check my profile 🌚🌚🌚 thank you so much as well 🫶🏻 I hope it was to your liking

[chrollosdemise]

The Anatomy of a Phantom Heart - Chrollo Lucilfer

Pairings: Chrollo Lucilfer (HXH) x reader

finally got the motivation 🫶🏻 also I haven’t proofread this

Subject: O

For a while, neither spoke. It should have been oppressive. Instead, it felt like sparring, the kind where the first move was worth more than the last.

Finally, she sighed, tracing an idle circle in the wood with her fingertip. “I almost envy you.”

His eyes lifted, quiet and sharp. “Envy?”

“You sit there like nothing touches you. Detached. Curated. Meanwhile, my head never shuts up.” She tapped her temple with mock irritation. “I envy silence.”

He tilted his head a fraction, as if considering the words. “You mistake silence for peace.”

She smirked, leaning back. “And you mistake peace for weakness.”

For the briefest moment, his mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

“You reveal more of yourself than you intend,” he said.

“Do I?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. “Or am I giving you scraps on purpose, just to see how you chew?”

“Scraps,” he repeated softly, amused. “You think of yourself as the one feeding me.”

“Don’t I?”

That current between them tightened, sharp enough to cut. Her words were reckless, but her eyes didn’t waver.

“Tell me,” she said suddenly, voice sharpening, “does it ever get exhausting? Holding yourself together like that. Every gesture precise, every silence staged. Don’t you ever wonder what would happen if you just let go?”

His gaze was steady. Too steady. “I wonder why you ask questions you’re afraid to answer yourself.”

That landed harder than she wanted it to. For an instant, something flickered across her face, a small crack in the armor, a glance toward the floor before she smoothed it over with a scoff.

“Well,” she said, tone lighter, “at least when I unravel, it’s interesting. You’d probably just sit there and blink.”

The corner of his mouth curved. “And still, you’d watch.”

That silenced her for a beat. Not because he was wrong, but because of the way he said it. Not arrogant. Certain.

She leaned forward now, resting her elbows on the table. Her eyes gleamed, dissecting him the way she had the body earlier. “You’re fascinating, you know. Like a locked cabinet. I can’t decide if I want to pick it or smash it open.”

His voice was calm, but there was a quiet gravity in it. “And what do you expect to find?”

“Dust. Or blood. Maybe nothing at all.” Her smile turned sharp. “But isn’t the guessing the fun part?”

“You confuse fixation for amusement.”

“And you confuse control for identity,” she fired back.

The silence that followed was not empty. It was alive, breathing between them, filled with all the things neither would say.

Her eyes lingered on him longer than they should have. Not out of fear. Something far more dangerous.

She stood but didn’t leave. Instead, she moved around the edge of the table with measured steps, slow and deliberate, until she was near enough to see how the lamplight carved lines into his expression.

He didn’t move. His eyes tracked her but his body remained still, as though giving her rope and waiting to see how she would hang herself with it.

She stopped at his side, leaning one hand against the polished wood. “Up close, you’re worse,” she said, her voice low. “You’re too controlled. Too calculated. It’s like staring at glass, knowing it could shatter but never knowing when.”

“You think you want it to shatter.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I know I do.”

His gaze held hers, cool and unwavering. It was a standoff disguised as closeness, intimacy disguised as interrogation.

“You want me undone,” he said quietly.

“I want to know what’s real,” she answered, softer now, though the sharpness lingered at the edges. “I want to see what’s under the mask. Not the curated silences, not the borrowed poise. You.”

For the first time, his jaw shifted as though he might break the stillness. He didn’t. His silence was heavy, thick with something that might have been anger or might have been something else entirely.

She leaned in closer, enough to feel the heat of his presence. “You think you’re composed, but I’ve already seen the cracks. You’re unraveling. You’re too careful not to be.”

His voice came low, measured. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Her lips curved, not into a smile but something sharper, more private. “That’s the problem.”

Neither moved away. The air between them was tight, charged, almost unbearable.

“You could kill me,” she murmured.

“I could,” he agreed.

“But you won’t.”

His eyes lingered on her, dark and endless. Then, finally, he said, “No.”

Her throat tightened despite herself, but she masked it with a tilt of her head, a grin that cost her. “That’s what makes this fun.”

She stayed there, leaning into the silence, dissecting him with her stare until the table between them no longer felt like a barrier but a line neither dared cross.

[chrollosdemise]

guys my age ━━━ sakusa kiyoomi

pairing. sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader

summary. sakusa kiyoomi, middle blocker for the famous msby black jackals, is known for his clean reputation, never drawing attention to himself through scandals. ever since joining the jackals, he's kept himself out of the headlines unless over something good. that is until he drinks a little too much and finds himself in the news for going home with someone he doesn't know.

tags & warnings. 16+, blended smau, fake dating, slow burn. age gap (20-25), strong language, discussions of sex, implied sex, slut shaming, alcohol use, kissing/making out, kys/kms jokes, mental health issues and discussions, innuendos, homophobia (ch.28), y/n’s friends are horrible people (mostly), ooc.

taglist. CLOSED

status. ongoing

additional. any images i use for the character of y/n is only intended as a reference and not to imply that is what you look like. i am going to try my best to use diverse images for these references, however it may not always be possible. that being said, i do not own any reference images other than the general social media images.

pinterest board

osaka’s worst students || the jackals

♡ = contains written portion

chapter one. who’s your girlfriend?

chapter two. who the fuck is sakusa kiyoomi?

chapter three. negotiations ♡

chapter four. hoes mad?

chapter five. first ‘date’ jitters ♡

chapter six. you’re pookie

chapter seven. the msby black jackals ♡

chapter eight. party time!

chapter nine. a series of unfortunate events ♡

chapter ten. dinner time ♡

chapter eleven. no, you don’t

chapter twelve. ground rules

chapter thirteen. integrating the friend groups ♡

chapter fourteen. the morning after

chapter fifteen. but… what if?

chapter sixteen. volleyball virginity

chapter seventeen. the first ♡

chapter eighteen. what was that?

chapter nineteen. mind the [age] gap ♡

chapter twenty. my boyfriend will kick his ass

chapter twenty-one. that was scary… ♡

chapter twenty-two. do you… ♡

chapter twenty-three. the y/n effect

chapter twenty-four. halloween! ♡

chapter twenty-five. he’s an onion

chapter twenty-six. cowards ♡

chapter twenty-seven. lunch date ♡

chapter twenty-eight. can i trust you? ♡

chapter twenty-nine. queen shit

chapter thirty. in for life

chapter thirty-one. NOT my child

chapter thirty-two. secret santa ♡

chapter thirty-three. you think?

chapter thirty-four. meeting the family ♡

chapter thirty-five. did you mean it? ♡

chapter thirty-six. never again

chapter thirty-seven. are we… ♡

chapter thirty-eight. merry christmas ♡

chapter thirty-nine. FOMO

chapter forty. happy fucking new year ♡

chapter forty-one. i’ll wait for you

chapter forty-two. lazy susan

chapter forty-three. 3 YEARS LATER

[chrollosdemise]

What if I made a phantom troupe smash in college au….x reader obv….🌚🌚🌚

[chrollosdemise]

hi! i just wanted to say that i really like your writing. your mini series is so good, and the concept is really interesting and cool!

Oh my gosh!! This means so so much to me :(

You’re the sweetest ever, thank you so much 💗💗 I’m glad my writing can evoke such positive feelings and I will try to keep it this way

[chrollosdemise]

The last thing I’d ever feel towards this man is a motherly instinct but something about his face right now actually destroys me, I am not too sure where it’s from because I haven’t watched the older verision of the anime but oh my god?? I have my suspicions that it’s probably when he tells Hisoka he can’t use nen ( the cards?) or when he passes by paku which in my head make sense, that face was probably meant to be one without any emotions but I don’t know why I feel so sad when I look at it :(

[chrollosdemise]

The Anatomy of a Phantom Heart - Chrollo Lucilfer

Small mini series for those who stumble across this 🫶🏻

Subject C

Subject H

Subject R

Subject O

[chrollosdemise]

The Anatomy of a Phantom Heart - Chrollo Lucilfer

Pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer (HXH) x reader

Warning: gore, body injuries and death, mild but still present

Important Note:

Chrollo cracks way more than he should and much more that I would have enjoyed it, however this is a small series and it has to be a bit fast pacing and it was never meant to fully be developed!!

Chapter 3: Subject R

The room wasn’t locked. It didn’t have to be. The chill in the air was its own kind of barrier, sterile, quiet, watching.

She entered without asking, gloves already half-pulled on, her gait loose with mock-casualness. It was a borrowed confidence , one she wore like a coat with the price tag still dangling.

The body was laid out on the metal slab like a centerpiece at a wake no one had the stomach to attend. Young. Broad-shouldered. The kind of frame that had grown strong without realizing what for.

“I take it this one didn’t die of natural causes,” she said lightly, pulling the gloves tight with a crisp snap. “Unless murder counts as seasonal in your circles.”

Chrollo stood in the corner, silent as a shadow. Arms folded. Unblinking.

Not at the corpse.

At her.

Always at her.

She squatted beside the body, fingertips grazing the jaw before she tilted it to one side. The skin had already started to purple. A mosaic of bruising fanned across the throat and up behind the ear.

She exhaled softly. “Pressure from both sides. Trachea compressed. Vascular occlusion. No hesitation marks. No blunt trauma elsewhere.”

The victim’s fingernails were splintered and tinged with blood, small moons of resistance.

“He fought. Not long, but enough. Which means…”

She ran her fingers under the arm, then over the ribs , slow, calculating.

“…he didn’t trust the person who got close. Or he figured it out too late.”

Still, no response from Chrollo.

She didn’t look up. She had learned by now that his silence was less avoidance than curation.

“The grip here,” she continued, pointing at a deep bruise along the clavicle, “this isn’t random. Dominant hand across the trachea, other arm anchoring under the jaw. Braced. Calculated. This isn’t someone who loses control.”

She stood. Peeled her gloves off finger by finger. The latex creaked like old skin.

“No blade. No venom. No mess.”

A pause.

“This wasn’t a Troupe kill.”

Finally, Chrollo moved, just a single step forward. Like a tide lapping an inch higher. She knew this would get him moving.

“You sound certain.”

She raised a brow. “I’ve dissected enough of your people’s work to know the difference between vengeance and precision. This wasn’t a message. This was a conclusion.”

“You believe someone outside the Troupe did this?”

“I believe someone outside your logic did it.” Her eyes slid toward him. “And you already have your suspicions about an individual”

Chrollo’s gaze held steady. Calm. But his silence rang louder now. Not detachment this time but restraint.

She circled the body slowly, pacing. There were no restraints, no cuts, no torture. Just the perfect absence of struggle. Just a clean, absolute end.

“This,” she said quietly, “is a Zoldyck.”

The name landed between them like an indictment.

“I’ve only seen their work twice, this being the second. It is so painfully precise, one could think it was staged.” She didn’t need to look at him to know it hit , she could feel it in the shift of the air.

“He did well, he was certainly a struggle, which explains the reason why the body was even found”

“No,” Chrollo said at last, the word brittle and deliberate.

“You’re lying.”

“To you?”

“No,” she said. “To yourself.”

He said nothing. But the corner of his jaw twitched.

“You brought me here hoping I’d say it wasn’t what it is”, she continued. “You didn’t want to know. Not really. You just wanted a delay.”

His mouth opened like he might speak, but no sound came. Instead, he turned his head slightly toward the body, just enough to avoid her gaze. Not enough to escape it.

“You think I don’t notice,” she said, voice softer now, almost clinical. “But you’re unraveling.”

Chrollo’s eyes snapped to her. Cold. Clear.

“I’m composed.”

“You’re curated,” she replied evenly. “Held together by the idea of yourself. And this? This cracks it.”

His silence this time was different ,not frustration. Something older. Something heavier.

Doubt.

She stepped closer ,hyperaware, in that moment, of just how easily he could tear her apart. Not with anger. With decision. The kind of murder you commit like a ritual. A signature.

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

“He didn’t trust his killer,” she said, nodding to the corpse. “You don’t have to doubt who you can trust.”

Her tone changed ,sharper now. Crueler.

“For you, that’s worse than death.”

A pause.

Then Chrollo turned to face her fully. His expression was still blank, but the tension in it had shifted ,as if holding back a scream, not a sigh.

“He was loyal,” he said.

“Then he died for it.”

She stared at him. And in the silence, she became aware ,again ,that the room had only one exit. That she hadn’t seen the sun in days. That her boots still squeaked faintly against clean floors that weren’t hers.

“You could try to kill me,” she said after a beat, after she became aware of her position in all this.

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He stared at her. Something unreadable passed behind his eyes.

“Do you want to die?” she added, almost gently.

“I want,” Chrollo said slowly, “to know who I am… when none of them are left.”

She looked at him a long moment.

And then , softly, almost kindly:

“You might not like the answer.”

She walked toward the door.

He didn’t stop her.

But when she reached it, she paused , as if listening to the room breathe behind her.

“If you ever do die,” she said, hand resting on the frame, “I’ll dissect you anyway.”

A beat.

“Out of spite.”

And she left.

[chrollosdemise]

The Anatomy of a Phantom Heart - Chrollo Lucilfer

Pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer x reader

Warning: description of gore, dissecting, it’s mild but it’s there 🤷‍♀️

Chapter 2: Subject H

The room was different this time.

No more dimly lit stone walls and chains that whispered a threat. Now, it looked like a studio, almost. Clean. Sterile. White tile floor. Steel tables. A tray of instruments that gleamed like a silver smile. And in the center, beneath a surgical light, lay a corpse.

Female. Mid-thirties. Fresh.

Her fingers itched.

“Is this a joke?” she asked coolly, not bothering to turn around. She knew he was behind her. He always was, like a shadow that knew how to flirt.

“I prefer the word gift,” came Chrollo’s voice, calm, deliberate.

“I thought you might be bored. You’ve been sulking.”

“I’ve been chained to a radiator.”

“Yes,” he said, as if acknowledging a minor oversight. “But sulking nonetheless.”

She turned then, slowly, and met his gaze. His eyes were unreadable , as always. But there was something in them that shimmered when he looked at her like this. Like she was an exhibit. Or worse: a reflection.

….God forbid.

“You want me to dissect her?” she asked, tilting her head. “Right here? For your entertainment?”

“No,” he said. “For yours.”

He walked past her, slow and graceful, as if violence couldn’t touch him or maybe as if it had already done so and found him delicious. He picked up a scalpel from the tray and held it out to her.

Her fingers closed around it before she could stop herself.

God, she missed this.

“You’re disgusting,” she muttered, rolling up her sleeves.

“And yet,” he said, stepping back, “here you are.”

For the first ten minutes, there was silence , just the slick, wet sound of skin parting under metal and the soft metallic clink of tools against bone. She was in her element, lost in anatomy, labeling vessels in her head like poetry. The body was intact, unmarred by violence ,a clean slate. A rare treat. What had they done to her ?

Chrollo sat nearby, watching. Reading, supposedly. Some worn philosophical text half-open in his lap. But his eyes never really left her.

“You’re not going to ask where I got her?” he asked idly.

“No,” she replied, not looking up. “I assumed you stole her. Or charmed her to death. That seems your style.”

He smiled faintly. “So cynical. I thought you’d appreciate a perfect body.”

“I appreciate control,” she said. “Which, incidentally, I don’t have.”

“Yet,” he said, folding the book shut.

She stopped, betrayed the slightest glimpse of hope. Gloved fingers paused inside the cavity of the cadaver. “Yet?”

“I’m offering you… a partnership.”

She turned slowly, eyebrow raised. “Are you having a stroke?”

“No. I’m making a proposal.”

“To your prisoner.”

“To someone with… specific talents.”

Her laugh was sharp. “You kidnapped me, chained me, and now you want me to join your little murder club…and you said I had the Lima syndrome.”

“I prefer the term collective vision”

“Of course you do.” She ripped the gloves off. “Go dissect your own bodies.”

“You’re better at it.”

There was a beat of silence.

She hated that he was right. Hated that the blood no longer made her flinch. Hated that the scalpel in her hand still felt like purpose. Precision. Power.

She stepped close to him.

“You want me to help you?” she asked, voice low, dangerous. “Fine. But know this, Chrollo Lucilfer , the second I get the chance, I’m cutting you open. I want to see what’s behind that smile.”

His eyes flared with something unreadable. Not fear. Not quite desire either. Fascination.

“Then I’ll make sure I’m worth dissecting,” he said softly.

And that was the worst part.

She believed him.

another one!!!!

[chrollosdemise]

The Anatomy of a Phantom Heart - Chrollo Lucilfer

A small mini series, possibly

Pairings: Chrollo Lucilfer (HXH) x reader

Warning: the woman is a badass and wants to tear Chrollo limb by limb (literally) , gore description

Chapter One: Subject C

The room smelled faintly of iron and disinfectant.

Not fresh like a hospital, no, this was older, lived-in, the scent of metal soaked into every fiber of the room’s bones.

It had been a week since she'd woken up here. At first, she thought it was some rogue mercenary group, or maybe a twisted collector looking for her skills.

Her reputation had preceded her, after all.

She hadn't expected him.

Chrollo Lucilfer, leader of the infamous Phantom Troupe, sat across from her now, flipping through a small leather-bound notebook with the easy grace of someone who’d never had to fear a consequence in his life.

His legs were crossed. He wore his usual serene expression, which only made her want to throw her scalpel at his eye socket.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my tools,”

she muttered, eyes narrowed.

“I’d love to see what your brain looks like. Probably smooth as marble.”

“Ah, but then you’d have no one to talk to,” Chrollo said mildly, not looking up from his book.

“And between us, I think you’d get bored without my charming company.”

Her hands twitched against the restraints. “Charming is not the word I’d use.”

“What would you use then?”

He replied, in a tone that consisted of nothing but amusement.

“I’m torn between delusional and narcissistic. But I’m flexible.”

He laughed softly, and to her irritation, it didn’t sound forced.

“That’s one of the things I find fascinating about you,” he said.

“That bite. You’re not afraid. Most people, they whimper, or beg. But you look at me like you’re planning where to make the first incision.”

She smiled sweetly.

“Oh, I’ve already planned all of them.”

There was a pause. Their eyes met across the dimly lit space, her steel against his polished obsidian.

For a moment, it felt like the air itself leaned in to listen.

“Tell me,”

he said, resting his chin on his palm,

“is it more satisfying to cut someone while they’re alive? Or does the body become art only after death?”

“Depends on the subject,”

she replied dryly.

“In your case, I’d prefer you alive. I want to hear the regret in your voice when you realize just how many nerves are in the face.”

“You’re obsessed with anatomy.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Right.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, more frustration than amusement. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to escape.

On day three, she’d nearly gouged out the eye of one of the Troupe members (Hisoka, but there was more to her motives than escaping when she choose to jump on him) with a snapped-off fork.

That had earned her a tighter cell, and fewer utensils.

But Chrollo kept visiting.

He brought books sometimes. Books on anatomy, of course, or journals from old serial killers she had studied before. He liked watching her read.

Said her concentration was “arresting.”

She suspected it was some kind of mind game. A twisted psychological experiment.

Evil expects evil.

Yet the way his gaze lingered, just a little too long on her fingers when she turned a page, told her there was more to it.

“You know,” she said,

“if you’re expecting Stockholm Syndrome to kick in, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

Chrollo gave a thoughtful hum.

“No, I think what you feel is closer to Lima Syndrome. YOU are the captor now, aren't you? I'm at your mercy.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

“Please. The day I fall for a smug sociopath with a Messiah complex is the day I remove my own organs.”

“I’d like to watch that.”

“Of course you would.”

Chrollo stood and walked toward her, slowly. She didn’t flinch but her eyes widened and her pupils dilated.

That seemed to amuse him even more. He stopped in front of her, tilting his head as if examining a specimen under glass.

“You fascinate me,”

he said.

“You dissect things because you want to know how they work. People, mostly. I think it’s because you’re trying to find something. A soul, maybe. Or meaning.”

She arched a brow. “Boy….are you projecting? Or just bored?”

“Both,” he said. “But mostly intrigued.”

He knelt in front of her, eye-level now. His expression was unreadable, which infuriated her more than if he’d leered. He was so annoying beautiful, so dissectible.

“You keep saying you want to kill me,” he said quietly. “But you haven’t tried since the third day.”

Her eyes narrowed, despite being below him, it felt as if she looked down upon him.“You increased the sedation in my food.”

Clearly judging his futile attempt to control her.

“Yes,” he admitted with a smile.

“But you’re still sharper than most even dulled. So why haven’t you made a new attempt?”

She stared at him for a long, tense moment. Then she leaned in slightly.

“Because I’m saving it,” she whispered, her neck muscles flexing.

“The day I finally open you up will be the best day of my life. I want to enjoy it. Anticipation makes it sweeter.”

Chrollo smiled.

“Now that’s romantic.”

She resisted the urge to spit in his face. A pained sound escaped from her throat despite her sealed lips.

Later that night, she sat alone in her cell (if one could call it that. It was more like a medical room, all stainless steel and cold tile). A cot in one corner, a sink in the other. No windows.

She traced invisible patterns on the table with her fingers. Her hands itched for a scalpel.

Her mind kept replaying Chrollo’s voice, the infuriating calm, the way he looked at her like she was the most interesting murder he hadn’t committed.

She hated him.

She wanted to hate him.

But deep inside her, where the dark things lived, she felt the faintest flicker of curiosity.

What did it mean, to be the object of interest to someone like Chrollo Lucilfer?

And more importantly… what would it take to make him bleed? And for her to be the cause of it?

[chrollosdemise]

Chrollo Lucilfer - Stockholm Syndrome

Stockholm Syndrome. You had first heard it when you stumbled upon a so-called “Dark Fantasy” book which only made you wince and realize how little people actually enjoy reading. It appalled you how people could ever find or seek comfort from someone who, through their actions, brought doom and misery to them.

It had been so immature of you to judge without having the experience. In your uninformed disgusts, you had deemed it foolish and something you would have never had to succumb to. You never had to ,until him.

Until Chrollo had forcefully become an unavoidable presence in your days and routine.

How could he ever become avoidable?

He had caught you by surprise, you never knew what was going to hit you, and quite frankly, you still do not know what hit you.

From the most mundane life to the most suffocating and caging routines, the transformation had been so quick that adapting cost you your sanity.

It had cost you your sanity, and that was why you lay on the queen-sized bed you shared with your captor, in the dark, eyes trained to the spot marked by the separation of the two pillows.

There was once a pillow separating you and him, but that was now a revoked privilege after your flimsy attempt at manipulating him to escape.

It had cost you your sanity because the way your eyes were glued to this invisible barrier, as your mind carried the heavy consideration of crossing it, could not be explained in any other way.

You could not remember how long it had been since he had dragged you away from your life, and you had stopped counting after the first month.

You suppose that this life of isolation had led you to rely on the dreadful interaction with Chrollo, where he glanced at you with this soft, calculating gaze that had once been so uncanny.

Now, you live with the horrible knowledge that you found comfort in it.

Your lips parted, and they ached for the feeling of his skin underneath them. How scandalous, for you to become what you once judged so easily.

After a rather short period of contemplation ,despite knowing the outcome of this so-called “thinking” from the start , you slowly moved and crossed the forbidden border to his side of the bed.

The skin of your fingertips caused goosebumps all over your body once they made contact with the oddly soft skin of his back. They followed an invisible trail from his spine to the spider tattoo on the back of his right shoulder. All while you breathed heavily , not out of fear or an attempt to stay quiet, but because of how rewarding it all felt.

You weren’t thinking properly. You hadn’t since you began enjoying Chrollo’s blabbering about the biblical references in some show that you were watching.

And in your blurred train of thought, your nose poked his spine, and your lips pressed so tenderly on his back that you doubt they even made contact.

A shaky breath escaped you as you left three more kisses, each harder than the other, on his back. You felt too much. The feeling of comfort and safety you had longed for the entire duration of your captivity, and the utter horror of finding such feelings in the very man who had captured you, became too much for you. The tears left wet spots on his back, and you worried that this might bring about your end.

You were ridiculous and needy. So weak for him and only him. You couldn’t move. You began caring less and less for how morally wrong this was. You inched closer, and with your palms pressed onto his back and your cheek squished against it, you let sleep overtake you.

And Chrollo - he was awake. He had been after you had moved ever so slightly, of course he was. The feeling swelling in his chest couldn’t have been described, but he knew that he had broken you and made you perfectly his.

Poorly written and rushed, simply needed to get something about Chrollo out of my brain before I lost my mind!!!!!!!