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lumiambrose · 1 month

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LUMI LUMI LUMI LUMI LUUUUUMI

Would you please be so kind as to luminate my life with a one bed trope fic with isagi, my queen? 🧎🏻‍♀️

MAKE IT AS NSFW AS YOU WANT 😈

I can take him. (not in a fight though ;))

MIRA MIRA MIRA MIRA MIIIIIRAAAAA

your wish is my command ;)

pro!isagi x f!reader, one bed trope, reader is isagi’s first relationship, isagi and reader are 21+, nsfw under the cut, slight breeding kink if you squint hard enough

divider credits to @rookthornesartistry & thank you @strawchocoberry for proof-reading <3

isagi's nerves were shot. between the important match he had tomorrow and the idiotic hotel staff not being able to do their jobs, he was at a loss for words.

the two of you arrived at the hotel not long ago, baggage in tow, with reservations for the most exquisite five-star hotel isagi could book. this is supposed to be the perfect little trip for the two of you but of course, something had to go wrong.

that something being that despite having booked a room with two beds, you and isagi find yourselves in a deluxe suite, filled with luxurious amenities and only one bed.

yes, isagi is your boyfriend and yes, he loves you, but you two have only been dating for three months. he thinks it's far too early to be making such bold moves, especially when he knows he struggles to control himself around you.

you on the other hand, oblivious to his current predicament, are having the time of your life. all the fancy little souvenirs from the hotel and expensive champagne leave you in absolute awe. you wonder how the hell you would ever make it up to your loving boyfriend for showering you in such luxury.

you currently find yourself sprawled on the king-sized bed that comes with your suite, engulfing your figure in the silk sheets and plush pillows as you take in the fresh smell of clean bedsheets.

as he glances at you, comfortable on the bed with that little smile that always makes his heart skip, he almost feels a sense of guilt. feeling bad for putting you in such an awkward situation, he decides he should somehow make it up to you.

"baby, um… i didn’t mean for the room to be like this…" he says, scratching the back of his head, the tips of his ears burning.

staring at him in confusion, you tilt your head to the side, waiting for an explanation.

“well… i initially reserved two beds for us. i didn’t want to force you into anything you felt uncomfortable with.” he confesses, looking at the ground, the window– anything but you.

realisation hits and you finally understand what isagi was referring to. you look up at him, letting out a loud giggle with a playful glint in your eyes. "i don’t see a problem."

he gulps, his mind a jumble of thoughts. sure, you are his girlfriend, but sleeping next to you? it’s a whole new level of intimacy. "n-no, of course not. i mean, it's fine, right? we're adults."

you bite your lip to keep from laughing more at how flustered he was. "definitely adults," you tease, patting the empty space beside you.

isagi shuffles over, sitting on the edge of the bed like it might bite him. "i just... don't want to make you uncomfortable," he mumbles, his eyes darting everywhere but at you.

"yoichi," you call softly, reaching out to touch his hand, "i'm not uncomfortable, silly. why else would i come with you on this trip?."

easing isagi’s mind, the conversation slowly drifts away as the two of you bask in each other's presence. after ordering dinner, unpacking and showering you both prepare to call it a night.

isagi lies beside you in bed. the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the room. he can feel the warmth of your body next to his, your arm lightly brushing against his as you both settle under the covers. his heart is racing faster than it ever has before, with every tiny touch or brush against you setting his entire body ablaze.

“you know, you’re so cute when you’re nervous,” you tease lightly, turning on your side to face him. your playful tone easing the tension in the air, and he feels a small smile tug at his lips.

“i’m not nervous,” he lies, his voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing. he can feel heat creeping up his neck, and the way your eyes sparkle with amusement isn’t helping his case.

reaching out to lightly trace your finger down his muscular arm you giggle. “really? because you’re blushing, yoichi.” your touch sends a shiver down his spine and he swallows hard. he’s really trying his best to focus on anything but how close you are and how his blood is rushing to everywhere it shouldn't be.

his nervousness finally giving way to something else, he turns to face you and meet your gaze. “it’s just… this is different. i’ve never really… you know, shared a bed with someone like this before.”

“well, there’s a first time for everything,” you murmur, your voice dropping to a more sultry tone. “besides, it’s just sleeping, right? or…” you let the question hang in the air, your eyes locking onto his.

the implication makes his breath hitch and heart thud. there’s something in your eyes, something that makes his pulse quicken and his resolve falter. the playfulness in your gaze has shifted to something deeper, something that made his previous nerves fade into the background.

he swallows, feeling a surge of confidence he didn’t know he had in him. “or… we could make the most of this.” his voice low and steady as he leans in closer to you, whispering such a lewd line, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

your breath catches as his lips hover just above yours, his eyes flicking down to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. “yoichi…” you whisper, the anticipation thick in the air between you.

and that’s all it took. no further encouragement needed as isagi closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that is soft at first, almost hesitant, but quickly deepens as the tension that has been building all night finally snaps. his hand slides down to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss grows more urgent, more desperate.

when you finally break apart, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other's as you try to catch your breath. isagi’s hand lingers on your hip, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin.

"maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all," he murmurs, a playful smile on his lips.

you grin while your fingers brush through his hair. “told you so,” you whisper back, before pulling him in for another kiss, one that told him that this night was far from over.

his breath quickens at the feeling of your body pressed up against his, pulling you onto his lap so that you are lying on top of him. he can feel the heat radiating between you leaving his usually overthinking mind now blissfully blank.

pulling you closer, you’re now the only thing on his mind. the need to feel you, to be with you, overtaking any previous hesitations he held onto.

your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging slightly, as he groans into the kiss, his hips pressing against yours. "shit, you... don’t want you seeing me like this," he mumbles against your lips, his thoughts a mix of shame and desire.

"seeing what?" you breath, your hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the taut muscles of his back.

"how much i... want you," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper, his face buried in the crook of your neck, trying to hide the blush that spread across his cheeks.

you smile, guiding his hand to your thigh, letting him feel the warmth of your skin, the softness that made his heart race. "i think it's pretty clear how much you want me, yoichi," you tease, hinting towards the growing pain in his sweatpants.

he groaned again, a mix of frustration and yearning. "you're my girlfriend... this should be normal, right? but it feels... different. more intense."

"because it is," you murmur, shifting so you were straddling him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. "i feel the same way."

he looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, his hands gripping your hips, grounding himself in your presence. "i, just... let me make you feel good. please, baby?," he’s basically begging, his voice needy for your presence.

you didn’t need to confirm your lust for him yet you still let out the slightest whisper. "i’m yours," as you lean down to kiss him again, giving him all the confirmation he needs, your bodies pressing closer, the heat between you becoming almost unbearable.

isagi's hands roam your back, slipping under your shirt, exploring every inch of your skin, as if trying to memorise the way you felt. "i don't... i don't want to hold back anymore," he confesses, his voice strained with the effort of controlling himself.

"then don't," you encourage, your lips brushing against his ear, your breath hot and teasing.

that was all the permission he needed. with a low growl, isagi flips you onto your back, his lips crashing against yours with a fervour that surprised even him. his hands are everywhere, pulling at your clothes, desperate to feel more of you, to lose himself in the sensation of your skin against his.

you moan into his mouth, your hands equally frantic, pulling at his shirt, his pants, anything that keet you from feeling all of him. "yoichi," you gasp, arching into his touch, needing more, needing everything he has to give.

"is this... is this okay?" he asks, his voice laced with both uncertainty and desire, his hands pausing before they reached your tits to look at you, making sure that you’re ok with his movements.

"yes," you breath, your hands cupping his face, pulling him down for another kiss, your body arching against his seeking friction, the connection that was so close, yet still just out of reach.

isagi lets out a shaky breath, his control slipping as he loses himself in the feeling of you beneath him. cupping and playing with your plush tits, he made you elicit soft moans. the way you respond to his touch, everything driving him to the edge of reason. he couldn't think anymore, nor did he particularly want to, only wanted to feel you and pleasure you, to finally give in to the desire that had been building for so long.

not wanting to waste anymore time, isagi relieves you of your pyjamas as you help undress him. once you were both in nothing but you underwear, isagi positions you against the headboard, slotting himself in between your open legs, leaving your bare body open for his display.

one hand grasps onto your thigh while the other hand makes its way to your chest. he cups your, now bare, chest, letting his thumb tease your nipple in a circular motion. relishing in your sweet noises and cute expressions, he leans closer to take a mouthful of your tit. his mouth is hot and damp against the flesh, sucking and nibbling on it, making the most lewd sounds for your ears only.

moving the hand that was groping your thigh up to your other tit, he plays with both of them using his fingers and tongue with the sole purpose of pleasing you, drawing out needy whines.

while deeply enjoying the pleasure brought to you by your sweet boyfriend, you want-, no, need more. a soft moan escapes your lips and you take the moment to babble incoherent words of “needing more”.

obliging to your wishes, he kisses his way up to your collarbone and neck. he leans in to nibble on your tender flesh, sucking and kissing the surface of your skin, leaving purple marks in his remains.

“tell me what you want.” he murmurs into your ear, voice barely above a whisper.

“you yoichi, want you…” you barely manage out as you paled his aching cock through his boxers.

something inside of him snaps in that moment as he pulls you down to lie underneath him. letting his body tower over yours.

at this point isagi is fueled purely by desperate, awestruck hunger as removes his boxers and aligns his cock with your folds. “can i?” his voice needy as he barely manages to hiss the words out.

you couldn’t take it anymore as you give him an almost too eager nod, trying to grind yourself into him. and when he finally, finally enters you, he reaches for your lips to muffle the loud screams that leave your mouth. as he finally bottoms out inside you, you’re both left whining, panting messes, breathing into each other's mouths.

your tight pussy greedily sucks him in as you take him inch for inch. adjusting to the size was not easy, but something you had to manage to make this last. all the pent up pleasure that’s been building up can finally have its release.

he starts moving inside of you, albeit slowly, every move and sensation is sending shivers down your spine and heat to your core. isagi thrusts deeper into you, bodies slapping together, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in your suite. your eyes roll back into your head, the pleasure overwhelming as you cling to isagi for dear life, nails digging into his back leaving marks that certainly won’t be gone by morning.

isagi’s pace begins to pick up, the rhythmic slaps of bodies getting louder. his breath coming in pants he lets out a soft whisper, “fuck-, feel good princess?” wanting your reassurance. as cockdrunk as you are, you manage to let out a quick nod babbling praises into the air between you two. “mhm, isagi! feels good- you feel too good. ahh~ too much!”

isagi only quickens his pace from your words, feeling himself twitch inside of you, his thrusts only become more erratic, the animalistic need to fill you up taking over. as your walls clench around isagi, he feels his orgasm building, he knows he won't last much longer with you like this underneath him.

each thrust sends a shock wave of pleasure through you, your body rocking to meet his. the scent of sex fills the room, the air thick with the heady fragrance. isagi's breaths come ragged, his need growing unbearable. he can't resist the urge to whisper into your ear, "you're so tight, so perfect for me."

isagi leans down, kissing your neck, his tongue trailing down your skin. the sensation sends a jolt through your body, “princess- where should i-” you interrupted him before he was even able to finish his sentence. “inside yoichi, please.” his hips buck as his hot cum fills you, spilling out from between your legs.

but it’s not over yet, no. you haven’t came yet, despite the slight embarrassment he doesn’t let that stop him. hands gliding down to your abdomen where he puts his thumb on your clit, only adding to the overwhelming pleasure.

you cling onto isagi for dear life as the wave of your own orgasm crashes over you, your body convulsing. the hotel room now filled with nothing but the scent of sex, the air thick with the aftermath of your passion. catching your breaths, isagi collapses next to you, your bodies slick with sweat. despite you a panting mess and catching your breath, you look over to see your boyfriend who looks nothing short of perfect, not even looking one bit tired. a smile spreads on your face as you lightheartedly joke between deep breaths, “you don’t look tired at all, almost like you could go for another round.”

he turns over to look at you, locking eyes with you before smirking. “actually princess, that doesn’t sound like such a bad idea…”

it’s safe to say that despite the lack of sleep, isagi has never played better, leading his team to an easy victory and giving him a new pre-game ritual

don’t worry, sleep is for the weak ;)

an:

oh my god. i finally get to upload this and i'm so happy! i spent so long writing this and sacrificed way to many braincells learning how to write a full fucking fic (2.6k words wtf).

+ posting this got delayed for so long cause i wanted mira to be online when she received her req, hope you enjoyed it bbg <3

bonus:

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bluelock x reader #blue lock smut #yoichi isagi x reader #isagi x reader #isagi smut #isagi yoichi x reader smut #isagi x reader smut #isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x reader #bllk x you smut #bllk x you #bllk smut #✰ ─ the devils tales

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mistydeyes · 1 year

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hiiiii I LOVE YOUR WORK!!!!!!!! Can you please do 141 with a model reader who does Chanel,Versace etc and she gets an invite to do Victoria’s Secret runway and they see her down the runway how would they react

she’s not any model shes and icon,sex symbol,brains,she is the moment

big inspo for me ( I want to become a model)

AHHH I LOVE THIS! anon i feel you tho, every time i look on pinterest i just want to be a model! thank you for requesting <3

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summary: The 141 has always had an odd connection of friends, allies, and connections. However, they can't deny that they don't enjoy your luxurious life as a model and the perks that come along with attending one of your shows.

pairing: Taskforce 141 x fem!reader

warnings: swearing

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A series of events in Milan allowed the 141 to cross paths with you. Staying in a lavish French penthouse was far from what they had expected on a mission dictated by Laswell but her connections with your retired INTERPOL mother had brought them the extravagance of your home and lifestyle. Laswell had to threaten to have their court marshaled if they delayed their arrival home any longer. You thought of that brief moment in summer fondly as you left Gaz a voicemail. "I have a runway in New York coming up, let me know if you'll be on leave," you spoke on the phone, examining your manicured nails, "accommodations and champagne are on me."

"This is nice," Price said, dropping his duffle onto the marbled tile of their hotel room. "Are you kidding, Cap?" Gaz said as he opened every door into the massive suite, "This is fucking amazing." When they got off the plane at JFK, they had not expected a private driver who brought them to the ornate hotel. The room itself had four separate bedrooms with two bathrooms filled with the best amenities. Soap had taken the opportunity to run over and open a bottle of champagne while Ghost pilfered the small shampoo and conditioner bottles. While the men explored the vast rooms and fought over the beds, there was a knock at the door. Price opened it to reveal a well-dressed bell-hop boy, holding a tray with an envelope. "Four tickets sent by one of the models," he spoke and Price handled the black envelope with embossed pink lettering. "Hell of invitation," he muttered before he looked at the runway time and shared the details with his team. "Wonder what she'll be wearing," Soap mused as he turned to take over one of the bathrooms.

Behind the stage, there was organized chaos with models running around in their silk robes in between the stations. The chatter roared as they chatted with the various hair stylists and makeup artists. "First VS show?" your makeup artist asked as she applied glitter delicately to your primed lids. "Yes, but not my first modeling gig," you smiled as you felt the pressure on your closed eyes, "Versace was beyond a mess compared to this." The artist laughed as she continued to prep your look. You could see mixes of pink and gold applied to your lips and the apples of your cheeks. "We think an olive green liner would look stunning on you," she said before holding a green eyeliner pencil in hand. You nodded in response as you shifted a bit in your robe. You gently closed your eyes again as you envisioned your latest outfit for the night.

Weeks prior you had visited the city to see your outfit for the night. A sage green bra and panty set decorated with pink and glittery flowers to resemble a meadow. Your wings were made of a delicate rose pink chiffon that was reminiscent of a fairy. "Do you like?" the designer asked as you walked around the stand and examined every stitch and detail. You smiled as you nodded happily, feeling the soft fabric under your fingertips. "Any particular inspiration?" you questioned as you made sure to feel the weight of the wings. "The newest line of Victoria's Secret," she spoke dreamily, "the delicacy of nature."

With your makeup and hair done, you walked over to change and receive the final touches from the design team. The group walked rapidly around your figure, assuring every detail would shine when the lights hit your walk. "Have anyone special here tonight?" one of the designers asked as he cut a few loose stitches. "Just a few friends from Europe," you spoke, hoping you didn't sound too entitled. You wanted to talk more but your odd friendship with a small special forces group would definitely reach some tabloids. "You look perfect darling," another designer spoke and you nodded before beginning to walk in your heels. "You can mingle with the others. Your collection is after the classics set," she reminded. You took a deep breath and made some facetious conversation with the other women. They were in awe at your previous shows but you just simply talked as if each was a mediocre experience. "Alright ladies, walk begins in five," a voice called over the comms and you lined up accordingly. As you watched the excited group in front of you, you wondered what you would treat the 141 to for dinner. You were sure if someone knew this is what you thought of before a show, they would laugh.

"Move up, Y/N," the stage manager directed, pulling you out of your food-related musings, "almost time for you to go on." You moved forward, getting into the comfort of your model walk you had done so many times before. You took a deep breath as you heard the live music stream through the curtains and the ethereal light peek through. You looked down at your attire one last time before the model ahead of you returned and it was your turn to awe the show. "Go, go, go," you could hear the stage manager command as the bright lights and menagerie of faces met your gaze.

"I think this is her!" Gaz commented, leaning forward in his chair. "You've been saying that for the past four models," Ghost corrected before he turned to see who was coming out next. As the men directed their gaze to the stage, you confidently strutted onto the platform. They were glued to your figure, perfectly accentuated by the flirtatious lingerie set. The details were delicate and encapsulated your aura. "Fuck." Soap whispered under his breath as the glitter and flower additions to your ensemble shimmered underneath the light. Your wings bounced and looked like they flittered in the air as you made your way in front of the watching crowd. "She's a natural at this," Price commented as he watched the way you walked in a straight line with an air of elegance in each step. He also couldn't deny the way you shined on stage and how the cameras clicked in rapid succession. As you reached the end of the runway, you took an opportunity to look over at the seats you had picked for the 141. You gave a small wink before blowing a kiss in their direction.

Upon your exiting, there was a clamor amongst the group as to who the kiss was directed to. Primarily, Soap and Gaz were at odds thinking you made eye contact with them as you puckered your glossed lips. Price attempted to put a stop to them before Ghost spoke up. "I'm sure that was for me," he spoke quietly, leaving everyone to shelf the conversation and bring it up later over dinner.

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petitesmafia · 7 months

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hc the first time that Dazai sleeps over at Chuuya’s apartment is honestly by accident— he's lounging around to annoy his partner, plopping down on Chuuya’s bed and joking about how he should steal one of Chuuya's many luxury pillows. he replies that he’ll just rest his eyes for a bit when Chuuya asks what he’s doing, but then he actually falls asleep.

Dazai later stirs awake (still feeling drowsy) to see Chuuya’s clock showing that it’s a little after 5AM, and he’s taken aback bc he hasn't been able to sleep that well undisturbed in a long, long time. he turns to his right to see a sprawled out Chuuya, mouth open (is that drool??), lightly snoring, his leg stretched over Dazai’s (it’s clear that Chuuya tried to be considerate and leave him more room by the way he’s awkwardly angled, but he moves in his sleep so. well.)

Dazai softly laughs and turns his body towards Chuuya, fondly musing over how ugly he is (he’s not serious about this) and how he’ll definitely tease Chuuya for it tomorrow (he’s serious about this) before he dozes off again,,,

(Dazai only wakes again when it’s almost 7AM and he feels Chuuya trying to pull himself out of his grasp, muttering, “OI wtf is wrong with this guy? Get off of me. I need to get ready for work.”

Dazai doesn’t budge. “What are they gonna do,” he sleepily replies, “fire you?”)

[BONUS - the following night]

Chuuya, arriving home to see Dazai lounging on his couch: what are you doing here AGAIN??? Dazai: for a sleepover ^-^ Chuuya: says who Dazai: me Chuuya: this is my house Dazai: okay? good for you

Dazai: don’t flatter yourself btw I’m only here to use your amenities and for your king sized bed (half truths) Chuuya: get your shameless ass to a hotel then Dazai: why would I do that when I can stay here for free Chuuya: says who Dazai: me

#ena.hc #enarchive: skk #bsd #soukoku #nakahara chuuya #dazai osamu #me projecting bc i have horrendous sleeping schedule and patterns #Dazai’s break in shenanigans

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laxreehotel · 8 months

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#hospitality supplies wholesale #hotel equipment for sale #hotel supplies wholesale #luxury hotel amenities suppliers #Luxury hotel furniture suppliers #luxury hotel room amenities #wholesale hotel products

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carpbread0 · 11 months

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NPC Life is the best

(Genshin Impact x gn reader - sagau)

(second person pov)

part4 —> part5 —> part6

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Sinking into the bathtub, you sigh happily as you finally take a much needed bath. All that moving in one day sure is exhausting..

You take your time enjoying the amenities that resided in Diluc’s guest bathroom, such as countless soaps, masks, lotions, and even skincare products. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve assumed it was a luxury hotel..

Changing into your new set of silk pajamas, you couldn’t help but stare at yourself in the mirror. Back on earth, you had the occasional pimple or two, but now your skin looked better than ever. Could it have been because of Diluc’s immaculate products or could It have been because of the effects of tyvat? Questions like these plagued your mind as you suddenly feel the urge for a late night snack.

Creeping down the stairs quietly, you notice a warm figure sitting on an armchair near the fireplace.

“Diluc..?” You say softly as though not to disturb him. hearing no reply, you walk quietly over to him and notice he’s asleep.

His position is straight as if he were awake, but his tilted head and relaxed, closed eye expression gives away his deep slumber. Gently chuckling you can’t help but stare at his soft face. Unlike awake Diluc, this Diluc is much more soft and peaceful. not as stressed and not as stiff as he was before.

gently shuffling over to the couch, you bring over a blanket and drape it over his shoulders, making sure the blanket covers his entire body besides his head. Proud of your work, you step back and stretch, now reminded of your previous reason for coming down the first floor.

you head over to the kitchen and grab what seems to be tea time snacks from the fridge. Surely Adeline won’t mind..

Gobbling them up, you down a cup of water and sneak back upstairs. With a satisfied smile you bury yourself under the luxurious covers of the bed and fall into a peaceful dream.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Smiling softly, Diluc couldn’t help but bask in the warmth of the blanket draped over his body. He knew he was enamored by you when you had begun to chat back at the tavern, but now he couldn’t help but relish in the fact that he was the one to receive your kindness, your soft touch..

you had gotten so close to him too. Tucking in the blanket behind his shoulders and fixing the blanket to cover his whole body, Diluc was so nervous that you would hear his heart beat out of chest from your fleeting and gentle touches. Even though they weren’t much, it still made him feel so tingly. It was only then did he realize, did others receive this much kindness from you? Surly they didn’t deserve it. They probably don’t even know the worth of your smile or the worth of your kindness.

Diluc was certain about this. You shouldn’t be so trusting of others.. what if they end up treating you badly? What if they hurt you? All these thoughts plagued his mind as he glared at the fireplace. You had so easily followed him back to his manor and had so easily believed every word he said. Of course, Diluc would never be so barbaric and lie to you or harm you. He was sure that if it was anyone else who had offered you to stay in their home, that they would most definitely harm you in someway.

the thought was unbearable

sighing softly, Diluc got up from the armchair and made his way upstairs. Passing by your room, he could hear soft snores. Smiling at your silly noises, Diluc made his way to his bedroom.

perhaps it was best if you stayed with him..

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taglist thingy

@eliciana @kbar1013 @vianitry @iruiji 🤍

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Hello world 😗

#sagau x reader #genshin x reader #genshin sagau #mondstadt #gender neutral reader #yandere diluc #sagau #genshin x gender neutral reader

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after-witch · 2 years

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Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You were kidnapped by Chrollo Lucilfer, and truth be told, things aren’t exactly terrible. You don’t have to worry about bills or paying for groceries or appeasing a shitty boss. It’s come at the price of your freedom, but it might be worth it. There’s only one thing you can’t accept, and it’s the one thing Chrollo won’t stop trying.

word count: 5417

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

Outside, the city lights are all whites and reds and greens, twinkling and glistening amidst the darkness of the night sky. But from up here, you hear nothing of the bustling night outside.

No sounds of half drunk friends giggling with arms linked, traveling from bar to restaurant and back to bar again. No car horns laid upon by impatient drivers, eager to get home after a long day at work. No quarrels, no compliments, no queries about what you’re doing later tonight.

Nothing at all.

Up here, in this hotel room, there is only you and the quiet hum of the air conditioner--and of course, Chrollo. Better known as your kidnapper, who is (at least for the moment) blissfully quiet. Minus the sounds of turning book pages, but those hardly register. Not when you’re absorbed in your own book, and not when you take a break and stare out the window at the city below.

Far, far below. He tends to book rooms as high as he can get them. You’ve wondered if he does this on purpose, a deterrent, since you can’t hope to escape out the window. Or if he simply prefers to be up and above everyone, literally and figuratively. But maybe you’re overthinking it.

Maybe the luxurious rooms he prefers to book tend to be on the higher levels. Above all the noise of the city, of the restaurant on the first floor, of the laundry that churns out fresh sheets and towels, washing away dirt and fluids and whatever else someone has left behind in a hotel room.

Did the workers ever wonder about the people behind those dirty towels, those rumpled sheets? Did a bellboy ever see you, your tired expression, and think, Hm, I wonder if she’s all right? Did the maid who turned over your hotel room see the stacks of books piled up near the window, the blanket and pillow stuffed on the chair, and wonder: But aren’t they a couple? Why would she be sleeping on the chair and not the bed?

Truth be told, there’s only two things that infuriate you about your current situation. One, that Chrollo repeatedly tries to put the moves on you. And two, that he insists on trying to make you sleep with him in the same bed. Keyword being, of course: trying. You’ve yet to give in.

The rest of it? The rest of the life that came with Chrollo, you can accept. It’s almost cathartic. Sure, you don’t have freedom of movement, of choice, of life.

But you have freedom from so much else.

Freedom from having to work day and night just to make enough money to pay your bills, and sometimes you still got behind on them. Freedom from worrying about whether or not the funny sound your sink made was an issue with the plumbing that would drain your savings and rack up more debt. Freedom from your friend’s drama and your mother’s exacting expectations that you could never meet.

Besides, the lifestyle he forced you into gave you opportunities you’d never have otherwise. You usually stayed in high-end places, fancy hotels and condos; there was the occasional ramshackle safe house, but they were few and far between. They were always just the right temperature with just the right amenities, keeping you safe and comfortable.

You got to do whatever you wanted, within reason. You could read as many books as you could get your hands on; you could ask for crafts and hobbies, and he typically indulged in.

You ate good food every night and never wondered where your next meal would come from, or debated skipping meals to save money. You’ve tried dishes that you only read about in books or saw in films about rich people. Sure, some of it you couldn’t pronounce, and there was an air of superiority in the way Chrollo explained them to you. The taste, however, was completely worth the pompous comments.

And Chrollo himself could be tolerable. Sometimes. He was always up for a discussion or debate. You didn’t mind the traps he set, the way he tried to worm his way into your psyche at unsuspecting moments. Because what did that matter, when you knew you weren’t likely to get away from him unless he happened to die. Your life was this now, so who cared, really, if Chrollo wanted to psychoanalyze you because you wanted pizza for breakfast three days in a row?

Sometimes you wondered what it said about society that you felt genuinely relieved to be kidnapped away from it all. The financial obligations. The social stress. All of it replaced with near constant indulgence in your personal whims and your mind’s lovely but strange ability to relax despite what should have been a high-stress kidnapping scenario.

But… the damn bed situation.

That’s one thing Chrollo refuses to do--accommodate your desire to sleep separately in any reasonable way. You’ve given up asking him to request two beds, you’ve even stopped asking if you would call room service and have them bring up a cot for the floor. But it would be nice if he would at least book a room with a sofa, and not simply a chair, which no matter how expensive the room is, is never comfortable enough for sleeping.

He won’t, though. He’s nothing if not persistent in his romantic pursuit of you, outlined in little touches, the way he likes to lean in close to speak with you, voice hushed and husky and flirtatious. He’s offered to kiss you, flat-out, sometimes. You refused. He continues to offer, continues to touch, continues to want.

He’s stubborn, in that respect.

But so are you.

Which is why you don’t put up with it, don’t indulge in it, and ignore it as best you can.

He may have kidnapped you. He may have taken away your freedom, but he wasn’t going to force you into a relationship. That was the one thing he wouldn’t take from you.

On that, you stood firm.

You just hoped the ground would never crack underneath the weight of his expectations.

“Dearest,” Chrollo says, and you don’t bother hiding the way you roll your eyes. It’s a pet name for a lover, and you are not a lover.

“Mm,” you respond, non-committal. You keep your eyes laser-focused on the coloring page in front of you. It was something they sold at a gas station gift shop, one of those books with complex lines and fanciful illustrations, aimed at adults with nothing better to do. Which, it so happens, turned out to fit you just fine.

There’s a pause. And then the shift of his clothing as he gets up from the queen sized bed and pulls out the chair across from you. He leans his elbows on the tiny side table, and you’re forced to scoot your book onto your lap to avoid it getting creased. Jerk.

You flit your eyes up to him.

“What’s up?”

At this, he exhales through his nose, almost a snort. Not quite as inelegant, you suppose.

“You’ve been behaving rather well these past few weeks.” He considers. “Months.” He considers, again, this time tilting his head in what appears to be an exceptionally practiced gesture. “You’ve always behaved well, actually, haven’t you? From the start. From the moment you woke up in my…” He seems to reach for a word. “In my care.”

You purse your lips.

You remember the first day well.

You were walking home from work, feet aching, mind thinking of a million obligations you had to get done before the week was out. That’s when you heard footsteps from behind you.

You immediately froze. The footsteps stopped when you did. Slowly, you turned around, and there was a man standing there. An attractive man with a wrap around his forehead. When he saw your stricken expression, he smiled.

“I apologize,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You pressed your lips down. “It’s fine.” Your heart raced, because you weren’t stupid, and strange men coming up to you at night was iffy at best and dangerous at worst. You were going to cross the street and head into the closest diner, just to be safe. Or that’s what you planned to do, before it went sour.

Before you could do anything, there was a terrible pinch in your neck and you saw his arm pull away just slowly enough to spot the needle in his hand. Everything went hot and blurry and when you woke up, you were in a hotel room bed with silk sheets underneath you and Chrollo Lucilfer standing above you.

“Good morning,” he said, and smiled.

Had it really been months since you were taken? You don’t exactly keep track of time, unless you’re eager to catch a certain movie on TV or you’re tracking the release date of a new book. You remember when you had to keep track of time for other reasons--making sure you got just enough sleep to avoid collapsing, calculating your work hours so that they would cover the bills, stretching your food budget thin enough to last the month.

Now, all you have to worry about is convincing Chrollo to head out to the bookstore on release date to get you what you want.

“Okay,” you say, after he’s been waiting long enough. “I don’t know why you’re bringing this up.”

You feel like a teenager being praised by their parents. The praise he gives is unwanted, confusing. You don’t know what to do with it, so you stare down at the book in your lap, and let your mind wander to more fun things. Maybe you should have used a darker green for the leaves--

“I’m curious as to why you’ve behaved this way.”

You shrug your shoulders without looking up. You’d like to get back to coloring, but if you tell him that, then he really won’t leave you alone.

“You haven’t tried to escape,” he continues, leaning in closer. There’s mint on his breath. He sometimes crunches them, and the sound irritates you. When you tell him so, he seems to do it more, but you genuinely can’t decide if he does it on purpose to piss you off or if he’s that damn addicted to the little candies and their breath-pleasing effect.

“You don’t try to ask anyone for help. You don’t put up a fuss when we move from place to place.” One of his hands reaches forward and rests on top of yours. When you move to pull away, he interlocks his fingers with yours. His skin is warm and the intimate contact is unpleasant.

It’s this gesture that irritates you, finally, and you tug on his hand. He doesn’t relent and you huff.

“So what? Do you want me to act like that? Do you want me to start screaming at the hotel concierge, “Help, I’ve been kidnapped!’?”

He chuckles. “There wouldn’t be a point, dear. No one would--”

“I know,” you interrupt. “No one would be able to help me. That’s not the point. I don’t ask anyone for help because it would be pointless. I don’t try to run because it would be pointless.” The edge of the coloring book suddenly becomes very interesting, and you bend the corner back and forth as you talk. “So why not take what’s good here and run with it? Unless you want me to start clawing at you every time you put your fingers near my thigh.” You let yourself grin, however empty it may look. “Actually, that sounds like a good idea.”

“You don’t fight me,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But you do have a mouth on you.” His lips twitch, almost an imperceptible annoyed gesture, before his expression smooths back out into familiar calmness. But you saw it, and it makes something in your gut feel tight. He normally doesn’t care if you get snarky, but what if…?

His grip on your hand relaxes and he lets you pull your fingers away.

“You’re being annoying, and I’m going to color over here.” If your words are a little slower than usual, you can’t blame yourself for feeling nervous. But the half-smile you get in return is familiar territory, and the anxiety in your gut eases up.

You sigh through your nose and scoot your chair backwards, taking your book to the room’s large windowsill and pulling yourself onto that instead.

“Can we get takeout tonight?” You ask, without looking up. The light by the window is nicer for coloring, you decide, if a little bit more uncomfortable for a long coloring session.

“We’re going to cook tonight.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s watching you, still sitting at the table. He leans his cheek against the palm of his hand. “The grocery delivery came this morning.”

You pout, all worries from the odd conversation gone. What little storm clouds that do show up in your life are, almost always, easily pushed away. “I really wanted takeout from the place we got the other day. Can’t we do groceries tomorrow?”

”No. I don’t want the meat to spoil.” His voice is firm, and he doesn’t respond to your pouting or the whittling, vaguely cloying tone you’ve taken.

You let your body sag in defeat. Oh, well.

It’s one of the few instances in which you know you can’t, and shouldn’t, push him. Chrollo has always been very particular about food. Or food waste, you suppose, is what he’s most particular about.

You learned your lesson on that months ago, when he insisted you finish the last bite of a meal you’d ordered, admittedly, out of spite. The stomach ache was not worth whatever triumph you imagined you’d get from sticking something in his figurative craw.

You take up your colored pencils again and start to fill in yet another empty space.

“Fine,” you mutter, determined not to let it spoil your otherwise relaxing evening. “But go easy on the garlic this time. It makes your breath stink.”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs. And there’s something almost wistful in his tone that catches your chest for a moment. But you push it away.

Doesn’t matter, nope. What matters is the coloring page in front of you, the relaxing motions of gradually filling in each space with your desired color, the ability to focus on nothing but this activity and not have to worry about anything outside the walls surrounding you.

You don’t look up.

Days blend into weeks blend into the blurry, vague--mostly comfortable--existence that is your life.

Or it used to be comfortable. Lately, very lately, Chrollo has become a bit stranger. It’s almost as if he’s on edge about something, which naturally puts you on edge. If he has something to worry about, then it must be serious, indeed.

But it’s bothersome. Because not only has he been behaving as if something big is on the horizon, he’s gotten a lot more insistent on his desire for something more with you. Maybe his nervousness is making him less shy about approaching you and your veneer of coolness towards any affectionate gestures.

This morning, when you stepped out of the shower, the chair you’d pushed up against the window, also known as your bed for the past two weeks, was gone. Not moved, but simply gone. You didn’t bother asking him where it went. The cool smile on his face as he pulled his change of clothes from the hotel drawer was answer enough.

Maybe you should have yelled at him. But thoughts of his glances lately, the tentative way he’d begun to talk with you, the gut-roiling fear of something happening, stopped you.

And that’s why you’re here, now, sitting in the same bed as Chrollo Lucilfer despite swearing to yourself that you’d do everything in your power to avoid this moment.

That’s why you’re enjoying the moment so fully right now, despite his proximity to you. He’s just… sitting, for once. Sitting and reading, or pretending well enough to fool you. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not trying to make a move.

But of course, he speaks, and breaks the peace.

“Are you enjoying the book, love?”

You turn the page.

“Not your love. But yes.”

You glance over and see him set his own book down on the side table. No bookmark in sight. You wonder if he was actually reading it or if he was just pretending tonight. You’re not sure which would annoy you more.

It doesn’t matter, because while you’re considering how you’re going to put off going to sleep for as long as possible, you feel the unmistakable sensation of his hand on your thigh. Your muscles tense immediately, and your brain seems to simultaneously.

“Perhaps,” he says, shifting closer to you on the bed, “you can take a break from your book.”

“I’d rather not,” you reply, biting, and try to shift your thigh away. But his tender touch becomes a firm grip on the meat of your thigh. You make a strangled noise and he leans in, voice irritating in your ear.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Your book gets set on the bed, half-open, and you swat at his hand. He doesn’t budge.

So you try something else.

“What’s most beautiful about me?” You glance up at the mirror on the other side of the wall, above the faux fireplace. “The sweatpants that I’ve worn two days in a row, or that piece of broccoli stuck in my teeth from dinner?” He finally did let you get takeout, after the groceries were used up. “Thanks for that, by the way.” It’s not entirely sarcastic.

“You’re welcome,” he says, voice all silk. You wonder, briefly, if he’s ever entranced anyone with that soft, low tone that should drip charisma but instead makes you want to poke him in the eye. Maybe it would have entranced you, if he didn’t take you forcibly. But you’ve sworn to hold onto the one thing you can keep--your consent--and you’ll be damned if you shrug that off like you have everything else he’s taken.

He brings his other hand up to trace the top of your ear and you flinch.

“Stop.” You sound for all the world like you’re fighting with a sibling who has decided to irritate you deliberately on a very long car ride. “You’re being--” Irritating? Pushy? Creepy? A little of all three? “You’re in my space and I don’t like it,” is what you settle for.

It takes a few moments. But Chrollo does shift himself away from you, slowly removing his hand from your thigh, resting back in his previous position which was close but not unbearably so.

“You’re quite stubborn.” It’s said in a quiet tone that makes you want to think; it makes you want to wonder why he’s being so much more insistent lately, why he got rid of your chair when it’s something he’s indulged (not without complaints, mind you) for months.

You pick up your book with an overly dramatic, obvious gesture, hoping it doesn’t look as false as it feels.

“Well,” you tell him primly, resolving to get through the night with your dignity intact. “So are you.”

To say that you were surprised the rest of the night passed uneventfully would be an understatement. It took you hours to fall asleep, because you were sure--absolutely sure--that Chrollo would take advantage of the nighttime proximity to slide his hands around your waist or kiss your neck or something else unwanted.

But he didn’t. If anything, he was quieter than normal. There were no honey-laden queries before you went to sleep, his usual attempts to drag something personal out of you; all he did was bid you goodnight and rest his eyes.

It was enough to make your stomach churn.

And here you are, picking at breakfast. You weren’t in the mood for eggs--because of how restless you felt? You weren’t sure--but that’s what he gave you, and it’s what you were going to eat this morning.

The breakfast table is unusually quiet, almost taking on a veneer of domesticity, until he speaks up.

“I’m taking you to meet someone today.” You look up, genuinely shocked. He continues, ignoring the wary, uncertain expression on your face. “Several people, in fact.”

The runny yolk clinging to your fork seems suddenly interesting. It makes a little pattern when you scrape the fork against the bottom of your plate, dragging gooey orange with it.

Your voice is thick with sarcasm, a tone you often take with him when the subject gets uncomfortable.

“Soo… is this a ‘I’m taking you to meet my parents’ type of thing? Because I don't think t hey’ll--”

“No,” he says, interrupting. Something in his clipped tone makes you immediately clam up. There might as well be a red sign above his head, flashing, DANGER, DANGER, DO NOT ENTER. So you drop it.

“Companions,” he continues, more calm and routine now. He begins to butter your toast for you (a gesture he insists upon, and which you hate) as he speaks, and you shove a piece of warm egg white in your mouth. “The closest ones I’ve had.” He pauses. “Except for you, of course, dearest.” He says this last bit to soothe your ego, as if you were offended--you weren’t.

You eye the toast he drops on your plate and pick it up. Maybe if you eat faster, you can get some reading time in before you go… wherever it is he’s taking you. Thinking about it too much makes you feel a little sick.

“What’s the occasion, anyway?” The toast is warm and perfectly buttered and delicious. It annoys you, that he knows how to butter your toast so well. It’s such a stupid, small thing--but it’s grating, especially right now, with things so out of sorts. “You don’t normally let other people near me.”

He smiles, and you could swear it’s wistful. “No, not normally. This is different. It’s customary to introduce our companions once they’re… settled.”

You don’t like how he says the word settled. You don’t like how he says the words companions, either, for that matter. You’re about to tell him as such, when he speaks up, asking a question that raises your alertness even higher.

“Are you going to be good today?”

Your lip quirks up, mouth still filled with toast, when you answer. This morning, the sass feels forced.

“Am I ever bad?”

He hums, and sips his coffee. “That depends on the perspective, doesn’t it?”

You don’t respond, and the two of you eat in silence that doesn’t quite feel companionable. There’s something in the air. Thick and buzzy. You can’t shake off the feeling of dread that’s building inside you, and it doesn't get any better when Chrollo finishes his meal and stands to go clean up the dishes.

Or when he leans over the table and places his hand on your hand. His favorite gesture. Your fingers twitch but you resist the urge to smack him away today. It feels like the wrong move right now.

“Really,” Chrollo says, adding your name with a seriousness that you’ve rarely heard. “Do behave yourself today.”

You swallow the toast and pretend the knot in your stomach is from the eggs.

Suddenly, Chrollo seems far more normal than you’ve ever viewed him before. Far more safe. And it’s this newfound perspective that keeps you almost clinging to his side.

You forget the names of the people in front of you as soon as Chrollo introduces them. You hope it doesn’t matter . You’ll probably forget their faces, too, if you don’t see them often enough. But you won’t forget the absolute power that radiates from them, even standing here simply and casually. You feel this with Chrollo, too, but never to this degree. Is it because Chrollo turns himself down for you, or because there’s only one of him?

After, it’s time to introduce you. Chrollo has the decency to keep holding your hand--you don’t want to be separate from him for once, at this moment--as he nudges you forward just enough. He tells them your name--you wonder if they care, and then doubt it.

“And it goes without saying,” he continues, some sort of soft pride in his tone, “that they’re my--”

Christ, you’re scared of the people in front of you, and maybe it’s the terror that pushes forward that impulsive, intrusive desire to keep Chrollo from telling his companions that you’re dating or in a relationship or whatever he had in mind.

“We’re roommates,” you blurt out, loud, obtrusive. “Just roommates.”

You’re proud of yourself for saying this, as you are every time you manage to keep the only thing you have left intact. Proud and relieved and feeling high from the adrenaline of it all.

But oh, the way Chrollo grips your hand tighter. Oh, the way the expressions on the people in front of you shift in varying degrees, eyebrows raised, expressions disbelieving. One of them, impossibly huge with a matching mane of hair, snorts out a laugh that he smothers when Chrollo inclines his head just a fraction toward him.

Oh, you have fucked up. You have fucked up in a way that makes your stomach drop, makes your hand begin to tremble, and not just because of Chrollo’s increasingly uncomfortable grip on your hand.

The lock clicks behind you and it seems to resound louder than ever before. Was the hotel room always so chilly? Maybe the heat wasn’t working.

Or maybe it was the fact that Chrollo said not a single word on the ride home, or on the way into the hotel, or in the elevator on the ride up to your room. You thought he might have calmed down on the way home, but no such luck. On the way, you tried to think

You drop your coat on the bed and resolve to hop in the shower, to get away from him for a bit, to hopefully let things get back to normal. But he says your name, almost too quiet to hear, and you slowly turn to face him.

“Chrollo?” Your throat feels tight and you swallow against it.

He’s staring down at his hand. At his finger. Then he looks up at you.

You’re about to make an absurd joke about a wedding ring, anything to ease the tension, but the deepened look in his gaze stops you. Deep and dark and almost frenzied. Your heart suddenly feels like it’s leaping. You pissed him off, you really did, and he didn’t have to say a thing for you to know it.

“Roommates.”

He takes a step toward you. You take a step back. He takes a step forward. And you go back, until you’re against a wall. The shell you’ve made around yourself, carefully laid with quips and smirks and endless distractions, cracks with each of his footsteps.

”Listen,” you say, voice light and wobbling. Maybe you can save this. Maybe. “About tonight, I know I shouldn’t have said--”

“Be quiet,” he says, firm, unrelenting. You shouldn’t push him, and your stomach drops to the floor as he presses himself against you.

In a moment, he’s not just against you--but kissing you. It’s not a nice kiss, nothing soft or sweet. There’s frenzy in it, desperation, frustration. You don’t know if lips can bruise but if they do, yours surely will. You keep your teeth clenched but it doesn’t stop him, licking and biting at your lips as your stomach flips horribly.

It’s too much. You don’t want this, not like this, not him, not here--

After far too long, he slowly pulls himself away from you. The dark expression in his eyes has only deepened.

“You’ve really never seen it,” he says, breath warm against your cheek. He sounds as if he’s finally realized something important. And he has.

“What?” You blink, you shake your head, you want to get away. You turn your head away from him, anything to stop seeing that look in his eyes, but his hand grips your chin and turns it back. “I’ve never seen what?”

“The red thread,” he murmurs, the words soft against your lips.

“What are you talking about?” You don’t hide your confusion, voice cracking and airy.

The hand holding your chin relents and he trails his thumb over your sore lips before pulling away entirely.

“The red thread,” he tells you, and instead of anger in his voice there is only a deep indulgence. It scares you far more than the chilly atmosphere in the car ride back. “Why do you think I chose you, hm?” His voice drops lower and the words are too close, too intimate, too much. “We’re soul mates.”

Your brain scrambles, but not a single snarky word comes to mind. You weren’t… completely oblivious to the concept of soul mates. You knew people who swore they could see a connection between them and someone else. Red threads, sure, and sometimes other things. Names etched on skin. Symbolic tattoos. But you had never seen anything like that on your body.

Was there really a red thread connecting the two of you? It would explain a lot of things. Like why he took you. Like why he put up with you.

“I don’t want to be soul mates.” You don’t mind it, the freedom from all those burdens. You will pay the price of captivity if it means release from all that, but this last thing? Your ability to be yourself, to be separate from him in some way? You won’t give that up. Not willingly. Never.

He only chuckles, short and dark, at your words. There’s something bitter in it.

“It doesn’t matter what you want.” His hand comes up to caress your cheek again, and the unwanted touch seems to remind you of everything he’s taken from you. You’re starting to feel sick. “The thread that connects us was pre-destined. You could hate me, dislike me, all you want and…”

“I don’t hate you,” you interrupt, blunt, blurting. Intrusive thoughts win out again.

He raises his eyebrows and his eyes widen and in that, there’s a fraction of vulnerability. Like a tiny fissure.

“No? Then why do you persist in refusing me?”

Looking at him is hard, but this time, he lets you turn your head away, dropping his hands to his sides. You’re stuck right in front of him, regardless. It’s the least he could do.

“I don’t like you… like that.” You bite on the inside of your cheek. “I mean, well. You kidnapped me. I don’t think that’s unreasonable to say.” You glance at him, but he doesn’t look angry. Merely interested.

You take a deep breath, and a confessional sigh escapes your throat. “But I can live with this.” You gesture towards the room. “With being kidnapped, I mean. It’s not all bad.” You think about how you no longer rip your hair out from stress or cry yourself to sleep wondering how the bills will be paid this month. “As long as you’re not trying to do… the relationship stuff.” You drag your teeth over your bottom lip. You can still taste him, insistent and firm.

Tentatively, you let your gaze return to meet his. Behind his eyes, you can practically see the clockwork and cogs moving.

“I see,” he says, slow, thoughtful. “Thank you for the clear explanation.”

“Are you mad?”

He smiles. It looks like a weight has been taken off his chest, and that scares you.

“Of course not. Apologies will be in order for your behavior earlier today. But as for the rest? I’m not angered in the slightest.”

“Why not?”

The hand, the one he claimed held the red thread, catches against your own. His fingers interlock with yours and you feel too numb to pull away this time.

“Simple, dearest.” He pulls his fingers tighter and somehow it feels like your hands will never part again. It’s a ridiculous thought, childish, but it makes your heart quicken anyway. “Since you are so prone to acclimating to your… situation in other respects, I feel confident that you will not always feel so negatively towards a relationship with me.”

You want to protest. You start to, but you can’t find the words–sarcastic or otherwise.

“After all,” he continues, voice low and smooth and confident now. His other hand returns to your chin, tilting it up as he stares at you, assessing, greedily taking the sight of you in. “I have the rest of our lives together to change your mind.”

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #afterwitch writes

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