helplesslypurple77

....

You find out your mother remarried when her postcard arrives in the mail. It's a short note, and starts out by telling you that she's on vacation in Bali. She goes on in detail about all the cool things she's doing, and you just shake your head, very used to your mothers forgetful attitude. And then, at the end in a little throwaway sentence, she mentions that she got remarried. 

‘He's a lovely man. And he's got three boys, Name dear. Try to get along with them, and don't cause trouble!’ 

You shake your head, annoyed at the entire note. She tells you not to cause trouble? As if you would, you don't care enough about your mother to bother being upset about the news. But she could have at least invited you to the wedding. She probably forgot about you, her only daughter. It sounds insane, and impossible, but you're very used to your mother forgetting about you entirely. You didn't mind anymore. She pays for anything you need, and your life is comfortable, if not happy. But you could live with that. 

You stare at the postcard for a minute, taking in the colorful flowers and ocean on the front. The bright colors hurt your eyes a bit. But brothers! You couldn't believe it. You had lived your entire life an only child, and now that was about to change. You felt a bit of tentative excitement fill your heart, lifting your moon and painting a smile across your face. You smiled, pinning the stupid postcard to the fridge. It stood out, the only thing on the entire front of the fridge. 

Things are about to change. For better or worse, you don't know. 

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It's lunch break the next day. You're sitting at your usual lunch table, telling your friend about the postcard, the sun shining down on the uniformed students sitting around in the courtyard of your expensive private school. A brisk breeze whistles through the air, rustling your knee length skirt. You shiver, grabbing your uniform jacket from where you had discarded it, and pulling it back on. Your friend Evelyne, sitting across from you and picking at her sandwich, rolls her eyes.

“Your mom sucks, Name.” She says, popping a green grape into her mouth. You smile.

“Oh, she's not that bad, Evie.” You say, feeling the need to defend your mom, even though she doesn't deserve it. Evie rolls her eyes, pulling at the sleeve of her gray sweater. The school forbids any clothing items aside from uniforms of course, and a jacket or sweater over your white button up. Evie had decorated her sweater with pins and patches, adding a slight bit of uniqueness to the sea of girls wearing similar uniforms. You were too lazy, just wearing the normal dark navy uniforms. Evie was so cool in your opinion. She even dared to dye her hair a brilliant orange red color, which was against the rules. But apparently the school was too busy checking that all the girls' skirts were the correct length, that they missed Evie’s bright hair. Or maybe they didn't care. Evie’s father donated to the school a lot, after all. Evie pulls at her hair, fluffing her bob around her face. 

“Seriously though Name, that was so uncool of your mom. First she doesn't invite you to the wedding, and now just dropping three step siblings on you?” Evie says, her voice echoing in the courtyard a little too loudly. You look around anxiously, but no one cares. The brisk breeze blows some leaves off the large tree over your heads, and you watch them tumble down to the ground.

“I mean it's not too bad, right?” You ask, stealing one of her grapes. “I really don't know anything about them, they could be nice!”

“Sure,” Evie says, taking a large bite of her sandwich. “That was still a dick move, though.”

“Maybe,” You giggle, popping another grape in your mouth. “They might—”

Someone clears their throat right behind you. Startling, drop your third grape, and turn around. There's a boy standing behind you. Looming over you and Evie and the table, with long straight hair tumbling down his back. He's wearing the male version of the uniform, without the jacket. You raise an eyebrow.

“Um, can I help you?” You ask. You hadn't heard anyone come up behind you. The boy doesn't say anything, simply looking you up and down with no expression on his face. He has big eyes, like a porcelain doll in the window of a shop. His skin is pale, his lashes long, his mouth a pale pink. He's quite handsome. And then he opens his mouth.

“I am disappointed,” He says, voice even and cold. There is barely any inflection there at all, but his eyebrows furrow slightly as he looks at you. You frown.

“Uh, what?” You ask, confused. It seems like he’s insulting you, but you can't quite tell because you don't even know who this guy is, what the hell he's talking about, or why he's talking to you in the first place. Evie frowns, opening her mouth. You shake your head at her.

“You know, when people usually meet each other for the first time, it's polite to introduce yourself.” You say, trying to smile through the confusion and slight annoyance. The boy tilts his head, hair waterfalling down his back. You're kind of jealous of it, it looks so smooth and straight. 

“I am Illumi.” The boy says after a moment. And then, before you can spack, he continues. “Father informed us that we are to live with you from now on. I am disappointed.”

The pieces start falling together, the puzzle solving itself in an instant in your mind. Your mouth drops open, a chill running through your body. 

“You're one of my new step siblings?” You ask, jumping to your feet in shock. Illumi nods, frowning slightly at your sudden movement. He's very tall, looming over you even when you're standing right in front of him. You offer a hand, trying to smile. He's been quite rude, but you still give him a few chances to make it up. After all, he has a right to be upset about this situation, after all. His father had just gotten married, just like your mother. You wonder if he was invited to the wedding. 

Illumi stares down at your hand, frowning like it's personally offended him somehow. Finally, after your smile starts to waver, he takes it, giving you a quick handshake. 

“It's nice to meet you.” You say, really trying to mean it. Illumi nods. He doesn't talk much, just stands there before you, staring deep into your eyes with his big, black soulless ones. 

“You are very normal.” Illumi says, looking you up and down again. You raise an eyebrow, trying to figure out if that's a compliment or an insult.

“Is that good or bad?” You ask. You can hear Evie grinding her teeth behind you, like an angry guard dog. Illumi tilts his head to the side, tapping his chin. He moves a bit like a robot, slow, calculated, and cold. 

“Simply an observation,” He says, straightening his head. His hair flows distractingly around him. You don't know how to feel.

“Oh,” You say, forcing a customer service smile. “You look like a porcelain doll.”

Evie chokes on a laugh. You know she's rolling her eyes behind you. Illumi’s brow furrows, his black eyes slipping from your own for a moment, to look behind you. 

“Your friend is quite loud.” He says, looking back at you like you should deal with it. You raise an eyebrow. This guy is really weird.

“I guess?” You say, running a hand through your hair. “She sounds normal to me.”

Illumi frowns, standing still and straight like a robot. 

“The two of you are similar in your normality,” He says. “I shall inform father that I am disappointed in his choice of family.”

He turns, walking away briskly, his hair swinging behind him. You strain your ears, listening for the footsteps that are supposed to be there. You hear none. 

“Well, he's just lovely, huh.” Evie says, popping a grape into her mouth. You sit down again, taking a bite of your own food.

“He's quite odd,” You say, taking a sip of your soda. “Reminds me of a robot. Or a haunted doll.”

Evie chuckles, tossing her half eaten sandwich in the trash can with a thump. She grabs one of your apple slices, taking a bite. You steal a grape in retaliation, even though you’ve already eaten half of them. You make a mental note to grab some grapes at the grocery store later. 

“Well name,” Evie says, tossing the rest of her trash as the bell signaling the end of lunch echoes through the air. “I hope you're excited to meet the rest of your step-siblings.”

“I don't know, I guess I am a little bit.” You say, tossing your trash as you and Evie start towards your English class. “They can't be weirder than Illumi, right?”

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You might have to eat your words, you think to yourself as you stand in the front entrance of your large house, staring at the three boys across from you. It's been about two weeks since your first meeting with Illumi, and your mother and her new husband had just arrived back from their vacation. It seems the boys had not been invited. You feel a bit vindictively happy about that. Your mother and her new husband barely spared you a few drive by greetings before they vanished into the house with their bags. Leaving you and your three new step brothers in the front entrance. You break the silence, offering your hand with a smile. 

“Im Name,” You say, voice echoing in the front entrance. The room stills for a moment, and then the tallest one darts into action. He moves forward, gripping your hand in his cold, pale hands, and shaking it firmly. 

“How lovely it is to meet you, Name.” He says, smiling. His yellow eyes dart up and down your body, zeroing in on your uniform, and then your eyes. He runs a hand through his bright red hair, pushing it back off his forehead. It falls back immediately, obscuring his eyes slightly as he speaks.

“Having such a pretty sister is so exciting.” He says, pointed canines flashing in the light. You flush. 

“Hisoka,” One of the other boys says, voice a warning. “Stop it.”

The red haired boy, Hisoka, simply smirks wider, slowly bringing your hand up to press a kiss to the top. You flush, yanking your hand away from his plush lips. He tilts his head, pouting like a wounded puppy. The black shirt he's wearing stretches over the muscles of his chest and arms. He's really hot. So are all of them actually. You wince internally. These boys are going to be your step brothers, you aren't allowed to lust after them, no matter how attractive they are. 

“It's nice to meet you,” You say, forcing down your blush. Hisoka's smile returns to his face. It looks practiced, rehearsed, fake. This one is dangerous. 

“I'm the oldest, you see. Chrollo, the frowny one with the bangs,” he gestures backwards at the boy in question, who simply sighs as Hisoka continues, “Is the middle child. And the one on the end is the youngest.”

“Illumi and i met already actually.” You interject, frowning slightly. Hisoka raises a single eyebrow. 

“Oh dear, I hope he wasn't too rude.” He says, smiling apologetically. You resist the urge to tattle, and brush your hair over your shoulders. You're wearing simple clothes, some jeans and a nice blouse. Your mother had texted you before they had arrived, asking you not to ‘embarrass her’. 

“Oh, he was fine.” You say quietly, ignoring the way Illumi stares into your soul. “We go to the same school. Do you guys go there too?”

Hisoka chuckles, looming over you a bit. His stare edges towards predatory sometimes. 

“Oh no dear, I graduated a couple years ago.” He laughs, arm flexing as he pats you gently on the shoulder. 

“Oh,” You say, ignoring the lingering hand on your shoulder. He's very physical. “Would you guys like a tour of the house?”

“That would be lovely!” Hisoka exclaims, spinning you around bodily and gripping your waist. “You're very sweet, darling.”

You smile, ducking away from the hand clutching your waist. It's better for your own sanity. The other boys trail behind you as you exit the main entrance way. 

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Adjusting to the new living situation isn't as bad as you thought it would be. Your mother and her new husband don't hang around the house often, and even if they do, they usually stay secluded to their wing of the house. Hisoka often isn't at the house for long stretches of time, or comes back quite late at night. It's too bad, he's the most friendly of his brothers. Illumi is home almost twenty-four seven, leaving only for school and the occasional odd errand. Chrollo vanishes, you don't know where he goes. But he's probably still at the house. You think. 

It's been a few weeks since you were first introduced to them, but your life hasn't really changed all that much. The two younger boys aren't very friendly or inviting, and you haven't had the chance to talk to them as much as you’d like. It would be nice if you could get to know them a bit better. So that's what you're doing now. 

Illumi is probably in his room. He usually goes straight to his room after school, and shuts the door behind him with a slam. All of the bedrooms are in the same hallway, two on each side. Your parents bedroom is in their wing of the house, of course.

You walk up the stairs, steeling yourself for a hard fight. Illumi is a weirdo who can't really carry a conversation well and doesnt want to talk to you, but you're determined to try to be friends with him. Or at least, civil. You even have a plan. Ask for help with homework, and then the two of you could be study buddies. You were in the same grade, which meant you had the same classes. It was a perfect plan! Well, maybe not perfect, but pretty good. 

The hallway is dark. You switch on the light with a click, illuminating the metal plates on each door. Your room is next to Illumi’s. Hisoka and Chrollo’s rooms are on the other side. No light shows from under their doors. They're probably out. Illumi’s room has cold bright light leaking into the hallway, however. You dip into your room to change out of your school uniform. Slinging on a tank top and a pair of sweatpants, you grab your study materials and walk a few feet down the hall. Raising your hand, you knock tentatively on Illumi’s door. 

“Hey Illumi? It's me, can I come in?” You ask through the door. It's quiet, and for a moment you wonder if he's actually not in. and then he speaks.

“Yes.” He says, quietly, just barely audible through the thick wood of the door. You take a deep breath, steel yourself and open the door.

You step through, cold feet meeting a blue carpet, and close the door behind you. Illumi looks up, staring at you with wide, confused eyes. He’s sitting on the floor with his study materials spread neatly on a low table. You smile.

“Can I study with you?” You ask, hiding your shaking hands behind your back. Illumi blinks for a moment, as if mentally calculating whether or not it's a good idea. Finally, he nods.

“I don't see why not.” He says, looking back to his own study materials. You smile.

“Thanks,” You say, moving into the room and bending down to place your study materials out. Illumi makes an odd noise, like a choke and a cough at the same time. You look up, worried. His face is a little flushed.

“You ok?” You ask, sitting down across from him at the low table. Illumi nods.

“I am fine.” He says, eyes wandering from you to your work to the wall behind you. You shrug, turning to your study materials. The room sinks into silence, broken by the occasional turning of pages and the scratching of pencil on paper. Finally, when you think he's adjusted to your presence enough, you speak.

“Hey Illumi, what did you mean when you said I was normal?” 

Illumi looks up from his work, eyes darting past your chest a little slowly and focusing on your eyes. He tilts his head in confusion. 

“Exactly what it sounds like.” He says, as if it's obvious. You frown.

“But what does it mean?” You try again, “Like that im ugly?”

“You are not ugly.” Illumi says, voice sounding a bit weird. You flush.

“Oh, thanks.” You say, scratching your chain awkwardly. “Is it that I'm boring?”

Illumi stares at you long and hard, barely blinking. It seems like he's trying to figure out why you're upset. It reminds you of a robot, updating its programming as it tries to figure out what the weird human is upset about. Finally, he shakes his head.

“The words I used were inappropriate. I apologize.” Illumi offers, face still blank. “I simply met you were not the tyrant your mother portrayed you as.”

You frown. You've heard those words before, the insults aren't uncommon from your mother. But it still hurts. Your chest aches as you force a smile.

“Oh, really?” You say, forcing a fake laugh. “What did she say?”

Illumi frowns slightly, watching your face closely. He seems to be scanning for any change, any hint that you're upset. But your poker face is flawless, you've had a lot of practice. Finally, he opens his mouth.

“You were a spoiled brat who would throw a tantrum at a moment's notice.” He says, placing his pencil down on the table. “I was informed you went to my school, so I decided to meet you. You were not like I had been told, and I simply expressed it poorly.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You know your mother doesn't like you that much, or at least never wanted children, but is this what she thought of you? You feel like you're going to cry. You don't want to, you can't cry in front of Illumi. But against your will you feel tear after tear roll down your face. Illumi looks almost helpless as you cry, whipping it away with the back of your hand. 

“Are you sad?” Illumi asks, frowning. He looks like he doesn't know what to do.

“Yes, Illumi.” You sob, tears rolling faster and faster down your face. “I'm crying. Have you never seen a girl cry?”

Illumi shakes his head, hand hanging awkwardly in the air between you. He clenches his fingers a few times, then lets it drop down. 

“I don't really talk to girls.” Illumi says, staring in confusion as the tears roll down your cheeks. He looks almost adorable in his helplessness. Your shoulders shake as you cry, big fat tears rolling down your face and hitting the fabric of your tank top, soaking the blue fabric a darker blue. Illumi stares, awkwardly shuffling his pencil around in front of him. Finally, you give up.

“You're supposed to comfort crying girls.” You whimper, wiping the tears away as fast as they come. 

“Comfort?” Illumi asks, tilting his head. You nod.

“Just give me a hug, Illumi.” You cry, crawling around the table towards him. Illumi sits there awkwardly as you throw yourself against his black covered chest. You cry into the turtleneck he's wearing, muffling your sobs into his chest. Illumi sits straight up, hands hovering awkwardly above your body until finally, when you crawl fully onto his lap, he settles them on your back. His hands are big, and warm. Finally, the tears start to subside. 

You snuggle into his neck and shoulder, warm and snug against his surprisingly hot body. In both temperature and stature, actually. He has broad shoulders, and strong arms through the thick black fabric of the turtleneck. You giggle, drawing circles on his shoulders as you wipe the last tears away. 

“Thanks for giving me a hug.” You sigh, still burrowing into his warm body. Illumi coughs, the sound loud in the relative silence of the house. 

“I apologize if it was a poor hug. I was never taught to give one.” He says, voice rumbling out from his chest. You giggle, shifting on his lap.

“What are you talking about, silly. No one gets taught how to hug.” You say, running your hand through strands of his long, silky hair. Illumi coughs, clearing his throat as you shift on his lap again. The room sinks into comfortable silence for a moment. 

“What, have you never hugged a girl before?” You laugh, moving again. Illumi makes a choked little sound in his throat, and shakes his head.

“I told you, I don't really talk to girls.” He says, his voice sounding a bit strained. You frown, pulling away from his chest to look him directly in the face. A faint flush has painted itself across his cheeks. 

“Hey, are you alright? You sound weird.” You say, bringing a hand up and pressing it against his forehead. You shift on his lap a bit as you bring your other hand up, touching your own forehead. He doesn't have a fever, at least.

“I am fine.” Illumi nods. His cheeks are still just the palest petal pink, but his ears have started burning pure red among the strands of  black hair. You're kind of alarmed. You dont think you’ve ever seen a hint of pink on his face, and now you see so much. You shift slightly as Illumi’s hands fall, grabbing your waist tightly.

“You should get off.” He says, voice warbling slightly. You frown, trying to ignore how butterflies rise in your stomach as his hands clench around your waist. 

“Wait, why?” You ask, grabbing his shoulders as you slip slightly, pulling yourself close against him. “I was enjo—”

You stop suddenly as you feel something under your thigh. Illumi looks away, body tensing as you move experimentally, pressing against the thing. It jumps against you. Illumi chokes.

“Are you hard?” You ask, voice loud in the silence. Illumi winces slightly.

“No.” He says, pulling his head back until his hair partially obscures his face. You shift experimentally and are rewarded with his hands clenching down on your waist. 

“Illumi you literally are.” You say, biting back a smile. Illumi doesn't say anything. Now you know you should be disgusted. He's your step-brother, after all. But, you can't quite bring yourself to pull away and run to your room. So instead you slide down his thighs, slowly crawling backwards on the floor until you're sitting a few feet in front of Illumi. His face looks dreadfully blank, like he expects you to slap him. Your eyes trace down his figure, taking in his broad shoulders and trim waist, and the bulge in his pants. You really wanna fuck him. But somehow, that seems like too much. Like it's a line you can't cross as step siblings, so you'll settle for this. Reaching your hand out slowly, carefully, you bring it down, stroking him over his pants. 

The effect is instantaneous. Illumi’s back straightens, his body tensing as a small groan leaks out from between his clenched lips. 

“Wait, what are you doing?” Illumi asks, obviously trying to keep his tone even as you stroke him.

“Thanking you.” You smile, pulling the belt of his sweatpants down. There's a small wet patch on his gray underwear, near the tip. You grin, licking your lips, and pressing your hand against him. Illumi whimpers, and quickly bites the rest of the sound back. You wish he would let all of his sounds out, but you doubt he will. And so you pull him out of his boxers, stroking him gently in your hand. Illumi bites his lips, eyes falling closed as you stroke him. He looks so pretty like this. Back straight and stiff, hair pooling around his shoulders and hitting the ground, cheeks flushed cherry blossom pink. You grin, mouth watering, and bend down. 

“Wait, Name.” Illumi protests, his voice slightly hoarse. You pause, looking up at him from your position on the floor. His black eyes are filled with swirling lust and something else you can't quite place. 

“Yeah?” You ask, letting a big glob of spit fall from your lips and plop onto Illumis dick. It twitches and Illumis shoulders twitch with it. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, eyes locked on your own. You smile.

“I'm gonna give you a blowjob.” You say, and then start taking him into your mouth. He was clearly going to say more things, probably useless things that you don't want to hear, but they dissolve in his throat as you take him as far as you can, using your hand on the parts you can't reach. You make sure to use your hand on the parts you can't quite reach. Illumi groans again, as one hand clenches in the fabric of the carpet, and the other grabs your hair. You humm around him, pulling up and down, doing your best to drive him mad. It must be working, too, because tiny huffs and groans have started to leak out, even though he must be doing his best to hold them back. You can feel him twitching in your throat, probably close to cumming. 

You smile around him, pressing a kidd to the tip before eating him down your throat again. Illumi groans, hand yanking your hair a bit as he does.

“Wait name im—”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before something warm and sticky is flowing down your throat. You do your best to swallow it all before you pull off him, licking your lips. And then you realize what you just did. Illumi looks out of it, his black eyes hazy and confused, his cheeks still flushed. His dick is lying on the hem of his pants, tracking spit and cum on them. He looks very pretty. And then it just hits you what you’ve done. You gave your step brother a blowjob. You jump to your feet, trying to fix your hair. Illumi startles, shoving himself back into his underwear and pulling up his pants. Finally, when the room sinks into silence, you speak.

“Don't tell anyone.” You say, whipping a spot of cum off your boobs. Illumis eyes jump there, and then back to your own. You wait for him to agree, then flee to your room in embarrassment. What the hell have you done. 

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

So maybe your plan to get to know your step brother didn't exactly go as you had thought. But you were still determined to get to know them. Without the blowjob part, obviously. You sigh, turning a page in your book as you stare into space. The library was your favorite part of your house. The smell of books and lavender filled your nostrils and helped you calm down. The light was golden, pouring over the little seating area you’ve found yourself in. It was a perfect place to read. 

Too bad you're not actually reading, just trying to forget the Blowjob Incident™ from two days ago. You sigh, remembering it again and shifting your legs. You hate to admit how much it kinda turns you on. How you just wanna go back and demand that Illumi eat you out. You sigh, crossing your legs again, and closing your book with a slam. Well, the book was boring anyway. 

Your socked feet make barely a noise on the hardwood floors as you move back into the tall bookshelves that rise to the sky. Well, the ceiling. The bookshelves aren't that tall but they still feel tall. You slip the book away, and then move down the narrow hallways of books running your hand along their spines. Maybe a smut book will make you a little less pent up. Or more, but you could at least blame it on the book then, and not the Blowjob Incident™. 

The smut section of the library was there when you and your mom moved in. Actually, most of the books were. It makes sense because the house has been in your family for generations. You chose not to think too hard about which of your dead relatives had picked out the smut books. You had already read all of them, but you scanned the shelf for one of the better ones. 

Finally you spot one, the familiar gold and red cover sitting teasingly out of reach on the top shelf. You stand on your tippy toes, and reach up as high as you can, your fingertips just brushing the bottom. You brace your hand against one of the lower shelves and strain as high as you can. Someone chuckles behind you. And then a warm body comes up behind you, reaching just the last few inches to grab the book from the shelf and recede. You spin, and take in Chrollo, standing in front of you with the book outstretched.

“Here you go,” He says, offering you the book. You take it quickly, holding it against your chest as you flush.

“Thanks,” You say, hiding the title of the book as best you can. Better to be safe than sorry. Chrollo smiles slightly, folding his arms across his chest. He's wearing a fluffy looking sweater. You clear your throat, still standing with your back against the smut books. 

“Are you enjoying the library?” You ask, in a hurry to change the subject, so he doesnt start asking questions about your book.

“Yes it's quite extensive.” Chrollo says, brushing a hand through his hair. “I myself have been enjoying the philosophy and nonfiction sections.”

“Oh,” You say, smiling slightly. “Those sections are pretty good, the nonfiction section especially has some pretty interesting and rare books. ”

“You seem to know this library pretty well.” Chrollo says, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black pants. “I assume you’ve read most of the collection?”

“Yep, almost all of it.” You say, smiling excitedly. “I haven't quite got through the cookbook section.”

You love the library. It's such a lovely place to escape too. And besides, your mother never comes in here. She says it's too dusty, even though the maids do a wonderful job of cleaning the entire house. You sigh, leaning back against the bookcase. Chrollo frowns.

“You seem upset about something.” He says, moving a few steps closer. You sigh. Your mothers words still sit a bit heavy in your heart, but you're more used to her cruelty than you should be. It's embarrassing that you're actually more upset about the Blowjob Incident™. But you definitely can't tell Chrollo that. So your mother is getting thrown under the bus. Besides, you're kind of curious to hear what they were told about you.

“What where…” You say, clearing your throat, and trying again. “Well I mean, how much did you guys know about me before you moved in.”

Silence falls for a moment as Chrollo considers you, taking in your body, clothes up a turtleneck, pleated skirt and socks, your face as you avoid his eyes. Then he speaks.

“Oh, not much. At least I wasn't told anything.” Chrollo says almost soothingly, moving forward to pat you gently on the arm as he continues. “I know father told Illumi a bit more.”

You frown, tilting your head. 

“Why not you?” You ask, looking up at him. Chrollo stifles a smile.

“Oh, Father and I don't get along.” He rubs your shoulder reassuringly, and you shiver as his warm hand leaves you. “Illumi listens to him. Hisoka and I do not.”

“Oh,” You say, shoving down your confusion and the urge to pry. “Well, did you know anything?”

“Your age and gender.” Chrollo says, patting you on the head with a chuckle. “Is that what you were upset about? Don't you worry, We all had a favorable impression of you the moment we saw you.”

You frown, brow furrowing in confusion as Chrollo steers both of you out of the seas of bookshelves and back into the rest area. You spot a book resting open on the couch, a mug of something warm on the table. Steam spirals into the air, and you sit down on the other end of the couch, watching Chrollo as he picks up the book, sitting neatly in the middle. You sigh, brushing your hair out from behind you and leaning back, closing your eyes. The sounds of page turning fills the air, broken only by Chrollo’s slow, even, breathing. 

You open your own book, too embarrassed to change books now. What would you say if he asked why you were exchanging your book? ‘Oops, I grabbed a smut book because I was feeling horny after I gave your brother a blowjob, and I'm too embarrassed to read it in front of you.’ Hello no. Besides, Chrollo isn't paying attention to you, and you’ve already read this book a thousand times. The smut won't turn you on as it once had, you're sure. 

You were wrong. Maybe it's something about the fact that chrollo is sitting a few inches away, turning the pages of his own book calmly, or maybe you were just that horny, but you're barely into the smut scene when your pussy starts throbbing. You shuffle on the couch, crossing your legs and clenching your thighs together. You shiver at the little burst of pleasure that gave you and continue reading, body tight and tense. You're barely digesting the words on the page, far too busy being distracted by the warm body a few inches away from you. Chrollo is much more interesting than the stupid smut book anyway. 

You look at him out of the corner of your eyes. His hair falls gently, angled down towards the book in his lap. It's some philosophy book, you don't care enough to try to make out the tiny text at the top of the page. Chrollo's skin is pale, sharp against the black of his hair. It's a close shade to the cream white of his sweater. You want to reach out and brush his hair out of his eyes, then beg him to kiss you senseless. 

You curse the universe for giving you such hot men who were so close in age to you and lived with you, and then making them your step siblings. So out of reach. You ignore the looming memories of the Blowjob Incident™, and turn a page, trying to focus on the smut scene. But words on a page cannot distract you from the subtle scent of Chrollo's cologne, floating in the air between you. You shift uncomfortably on the couch as your pussy floods with heat, your body begging to be touched. 

You're crossing your legs again when Chrollo speaks.

“You seem a bit restless.” He says, pausing before the last word. You slam your book shut, not even bothering to put a bookmark in it. Your face must be flushed, you know.

“I guess.” You say, clearing your throat. You swear you can hear your arousal in your voice, smell it in the air. The room sinks into silence as Chrollo puts a bookmark in his book, setting it down on the table with a soft thump. You clutch yours in your lap, kind of thankful for a hard thing to clutch. Not like that. Chrollo smiles at you softly, his gray eyes glowing slightly in the lowlight.

“Bad book?” He asks, gesturing towards the book in your lap with a nod. You squeak, shrugging. 

“Uh, it's fine!” You say, putting it on your other side. You feel like a rubber band pulled tight, about to snap. Chrollo seems to be moving closer. 

“I'm impressed,” Chrollo chuckles, scooting closer to you along the couch. 

“What?” You say, heart pounding double time as his gray eyes move closer and closer. You scoot backwards until you're sitting with your back pressed against the arm. The book slides off the couch, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. Chrollo chuckles, stopping a few feet away from your knees. 

“It's quite bold to read a smut book an inch away from your step brother.” Chrollo says simply, a small smile marking his pale lips. Your mouth drops open.

“How did you know?” You ask, voice a little to breathless for you liking. A flush is working its way up your chest and neck, and overtaking your face. Your traitorous pussy drools arousal on your panties. Chrollo chuckles.

“I memorized the Library layout.” He says, smoothing a hand over your sock covered calf. “I'm sure you did as well.”

You’ve had it memorized since you were a child. But you're very distracted right now by his warm hand as it moves slightly higher on your raised legs, now brushing past your knee. You bite back a whimper, not daring to make a noise as his hand travels higher and higher. Chrollo chuckles.

“We certainly aren't the best step siblings, aren't we?” He says, hand stroking up and down your thigh, tips of his fingers barely brushing the edges of your pleated skirt. His fingers feel hot against your bare skin. You slap your hand over your mouth, and Chrollo smirks. 

“What are they going to say?” You whimper through your hand as Chrollo gently grips both your thighs, urging them apart. Chrollo chuckles, tugging down your panties, the last sticky barrier between him and your telling wetness. 

“Who, our parents?” he asks, voice still so soft in the large silence of the caverness library. “They're never here. How could they know?”

 You guess he's right, you think to yourself as he presses a delicate little kiss to your clit. How could they know, when neither of them pay attention to you. To any of their children, it seems. Your back arches against the couch, hands reaching down to tangle in Chrollo's black hair.

Chrollo eats pussy like a man starved. He eats you out like you're an oasis in a dry desert and he hasn't had a sip of water in years. He buries his head between your thighs, gripping your hips tightly as he licks and sucks you closer and closer to orgasm. You feel like you're losing your mind, tipping so close to insanity. Here you are, engaged in sexual activities with another one of your step brothers. Two out of three. And although you had initiated the one from a couple days ago, this one had been all Chrollo. 

You whimper as you feel your orgasm threatening on the horizon, as you tug gently on Chrollo's soft hair and moan his name tellingly into the empty library. 

“I'm gonna cum.” You whimper, warning him with a few extra tugs to the hair in case he isn't listening. He only doubles his efforts, concentrating his sucking and licking on your clit and tossing you off the cliff of orgasm like a rag doll. You moan loudly as you cun, body tensing and convulsing as you come undone, tugging at his hair. 

It takes you a moment to come back, blinking up at the overhead lights. And when you speak, your voice is hoarse. 

“You can't tell.” You say, voice trembling in the room. You wait for Chrollo to nod, and when he does, then you flee again, pulling your panties up and dashing out of the room leaving Chrollo behind you. 

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You straighten your back as you stand a few feet outside of the doors to the exercise room. You know Hisoka is in there. You know he's there because you made sure to triple check with him, and both his brothers. You need to talk to him. Urgently, one might say, because you're kind of having a crisis, and it's surprisingly hard to get him alone to talk. But the crisis. Maybe it has something to do with the incidents that had happened in the last week. You shiver slightly as you remember them, body trembling as it recalls all of it. You shake your head, straighten your shoulders, and march into the gym with your head held high. 

You don't go in here often. You don't like working out, preferring sports to things like gyms and working out. But you know the general layout.

Hisoka is over by the rack of weights. You can see his brilliant hair from all the way across the room, as he does some sort of weight exercise. You move through the room, catching your own reflection out of the corner of your eye in the mirror lining one wall. The room is silent, besides for the sound of your feet on the cold concrete floor, and the muffled music blasting from Hisoka’s headphones. 

He hasn't spotted you yet. As you move closer, you watch his arm muscles bulge, completely put on display by the black tank top he's wearing. You clear your throat, begging your already fried nerves and the arousal beating at your gut to calm down. 

“Hisoka? Can I talk to you?” You say, trying to be audible over the music pounding in his headphones. Hisoka looks up, meeting your eyes in the mirror in his sharp yellow gaze, and then smiles. 

“Ah, Name. I didn't see you there.” He says, placing the weight back in the rack, and pulling his headphones out of his ears. “Come to watch me workout?”

He winks, and you chuckle. He's not wrong, that's what you were doing just then. You shake any traces of arousal out of your face and force a smile.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you about something.” You say, bringing a hand to your mouth. You chew anxiously on your nails, heart pounding a bit too fast. Hisoka’s brow furrows, eyes scanning you up and down. 

“Is something wrong, darling?” He asks, moving closer to you, gently grabbing your hand and lowering it away from your mouth. You almost flinch as his hot fingers touch you, as he gets close enough and all you can see is the beads of sweat lingering on his skin. You want to lick them off, oddly enough. His hand is still holding your wrist. He can probably feel your pulse beating double time. 

“I,” You start, then clear your throat. “Well, this is kind of embarrassing.”

Hisoka raises an eyebrow, hidden behind his bright red hair. His eyes flicker the length of your body again, taking in your pajama shorts and t-shirt you cut into a crop top. You look like a slob, but he'd already seen you when he got home and you figured it would be weird if you showed up wearing something nicer to have this conversation. You didn't even know if he would believe you, or what he would say. You shake your head, begging your face not to flush. 

“Well, recently, i've been trying to get to know Illumi and Chrollo,” You start. Hisoka chuckles.

“Oh how adorable~” He says, patting you gently on your head. He smells of salt and musk and faintly of cologne. “Aren't you just the sweetest.”

You flush, body heating up at the nickname. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

“Is your hair natural?” You ask, too embarrassed to keep talking. Hisoka chuckles.

“Yes, doll. The three of us have different mothers.” He says, patting your head gently again. “Now what did you want to say?”

“Oh, um,” you stutter again, voice suddenly caught in your throat. “I'm not sure how to say this.”

Hisoka considers you, trying to peer into your soul through your eyes and figure out what's got you so worried. You almost wish he would. Then the words wouldn't have to pass your lips. He's starting to look almost worried. Or as worried as you've ever seen him look. 

“Why don't you sit down,” he says. You plop down onto the mat below your feet, sitting with your legs crossed on the cushy material. Hisoka sits down opposite you, smiling patiently at you. 

“Have my brothers been bothering you?” He asks, moving forward to smooth the wrinkle between your brows. “You don't deserve to worry your pretty head about those idiots.”

“Oh no, it's my fault too.” You say, shaking your head. Hisoka's hand withdraws, falling back into his lap. You don't know if you want him to touch you more or stand ten feet away. You can't decide which one you want more. 

“Well, I think I've been a bad step sister.” You confide, leaning forward a bit. Hisoka raises an eyebrow,

“Oh why would you think that?” He purrs, reaching forward again to smooth a hand over your shoulder. “If anything, you're too good for undeserving men like us, doll.”

You smile, brushing your hair over your shoulder. The gym is empty besides the two of you. You don't know if anyone else is home. Your mother and her new husband are on some favation. Illumi is 

“I guess. The other boys haven't complained or anything,” You flush, body temperature rising as you remember the things that had happened. “But, I keep doing things that step sisters aren't supposed to do.”

Hisoka’s face goes blank for a moment. He blinks a couple times, and then a smile appears on his face. 

“Whatever are you talking about?” He asks, a fake smile still glued to his face. You flinch, face still flushed. It feels like he already knows what you mean, or has an idea. But he seems like he wants to hear it from your lips. Hear you say all the dirty forbidden things you've gotten up to with his half siblings. You lick your lips and clear your throat. Your hands are trembling in your lap, and you clench them against your pajama shorts, suddenly feeling too naked to be doing this. You don't know why. 

Maybe it's how Hisoka is looking at you. His yellow eyes scan your body, taking in each square inch of bare skin on display for his viewing, or the careful way he holds himself. He looks predatory. You hate how it sends a bolt of heat to your gut. You take a deep breath, steady yourself, and speak.

“We have engaged in some sexual acts.” You whisper into the silence of the gym. Hisoka raises an eyebrow, looking mostly unsurprised. 

His yellow eyes dart down again, scanning your body as if looking for evidence of what you have spoken into existence.

“I'm afraid you're going to need to be more specific, doll.” Hisoka says, voice light and teasing as if the two of you are discussing something as trivial as the weather. You gulp down your spit, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. 

“I have Illumi a blow job. Chrollo ate me out.” You say, keeping your eyes closed. “What am I supposed to do?”

Silence echoes in the gym for a moment. And then Hisoka chuckles. 

“Oh my, what a dilemma you seem to have, doll.” He laughs, the sound echoing in the empty room. You open your eyes, kind of confused.

“You seem surprised.” You say, eyes gliding over Hisoka’s body again before you can yank them up to his eyes. You're already a bit turned on from just talking to him, touching him, being near him. Not to mention thinking too much about the events of the last week. 

“Oh, i figured it out as soon as you mentioned sexual acts.” Hisoka says, doing air quotations around the words ‘sexual acts’. He shoots you a wink as he continues. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Oh,” You say. He seems very casual about this, very unbothered. You pull your lower lip into your mouth, biting it as you watch him smile unnervingly. “Why aren't you angry?”

“Hmm~” Hisoka hums, eyes darting down to your mouth as you let your bottom lip out of your mouth, probably a bit red from the biting. “I wonder.”

It happens so fast. One moment you're sitting upright, watching Hisoka in front of you with apprehension. And then the next moment you're tumbling backwards, the world spinning on its axis. Your back hits the mat with a thump and you grunt. Hisoka looms over you, a feral light hiding in his eyes as he greedily scans you up and down. 

“What?” You say breathlessly, biting back the moan that wants to leak out as you take in Hisoka above you. His hair droops around him in a brilliant red halo. He cages you against the matte softened floor, and you whimper as his thigh finds its way between your legs, pressing up into your pussy. 

“My brothers and I are very different, you know.” Hisoka says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your neck. “But I suppose we are similar in some ways after all.”

He nips at your neck and you whimper, body reflexively straightening against his thigh. Your hands reach up to scrabble at his shoulders. 

“Wait, Hisoka.” You whimper as he breaths hot and heavy on your ear, pressing hickeys on the skin under your ear. “No marks, they’ll see.”

Hisoka laughs huskily. 

“Who doll?” He laughs, pressing his thug against your pussy harder. You whimper, pleasure running a hard line down your spine. You're losing your mind and he hasn't even taken your clothes off. 

“Chrollo” You breathe, the name coming out as more of a moan. “And Illumi.”

“Ah, not those pesky absent parents of ours?” Hisoka says, a chuckle in his voice. “Oh they won't mind. If anything, they’ll take it as a challenge. How would you like that doll?”

You whimper, gripping his muscled shoulders tightly and digging your nails into his back. Hisoka grunts, body pressing you deep into the floor. You're trapped, between the matt covered floor and a body of solid muscle. Hisoka reaches down, using one hand to pull the loose pajama shorts off your body, tossing them somewhere behind him. You whimper as he yanks off your panties too, exposing your poor pussy to the bare air and the mean strokes of his corded thigh. 

“You're so sexy,” You whimper as he drives his muscled thigh into your clit. You feel like you're going to break, just shatter to pieces right there on the gym floor. Hisoka laughs, heavy in your ear. 

“What a slutty step-sister I have.” he breathes, voice deliciously husky. “I wonder. Could you handle all of us at once?”

Your pussy twitches against him, drooling more arousal, leaving sticky trains all over the fabric of his sweatpants. 

“Oh god yes,” You whimper, images of it filling your mind. You're too turned on to be mortified as HIsoka laughs, kissing hickeys and bite marks all over your neck. You're losing your mind. It seems your three for three, and all you want to do is to be fucked stupid by your step brothers. 

Hisoka chuckles, pulling away to stare down at you with lust driven yellow eyes, almost glowing behind curtains of red hair. And then he shoves two fingers into your mouth.

“Be a good girl and suck.” He coos, driving his thigh against your pussy in regular thrusts, driving you closer and closer to orgasms. You're gonna cum. Soon, you're so close to losing your mind.

You're sure you look like a mess. Your hair is a messy halo around your head two fingers shoved in your mouth, your body twisting and turning on the mat. Shorts and underwear long discarded, grinding your bare pussy on your step brother's clothed thigh. But you don't even care. Hisoka smiles above you, canines sharp in the lowlight.

“You gonna cum, doll?” he smiles. You nod, sucking his fingers obediently, whining around them as best you can. Hisoka smiles, merciful as an avenging angel above you.

“You've been so good, so I'll let you cum.” You coos, leaning the weight of his body on you as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth. You're about to protest, but you don't get words as he replaces his fingers with his lips, sealing your mouth in a kiss as you fall off the edge.

Your body convulses as you cum, grinding down on his thigh until you can't anymore, until you're screaming from oversensitivity and you yank yourself away from his thigh, trembling. Hisoka eats every moan and scream, muffling it with his tongue and his lips. Until finally, he pulls away with a little chuckle.

“Done already?” He coos, wiping the tears and spit from your face with a laugh. “I was just going to call the others.”

...

.....

It was five till nine when you found a man splayed out on the second story landing of your apartment building. You were on the way back from a dinner date with your friend, a bit tipsy from the celebratory couple drinks you had enjoyed and the body of an unconscious man had almost sent you tumbling to the hard cold floor. Your apartment was nice, but not nice enough to heat the cold concrete stairwells and small floors that lead to the couple doors on each floor. 

Your heeled shoe hit the man with a thump, and you winced. 

“Oh gosh I'm so sorry!” You exclaimed, moving backwards a few feet and hiding your face. The man slumps, falling over sideways. His head hits the ground with a rather loud thump, curtains of smooth black hair billowing around him. You frown. Pearing closely, your eyes widen as you notice how beat up he is. His strange clothes have several cuts in them, his knuckles and parts of his legs are bruised. There's spots of blood on the green of his dirty outfit. Your heart stills. He must be unconscious.

You rush forward, crouching out and reaching out a tentative hand to poke the stranger. He didn't wake up when you accidentally jammed a heeled shoe into his side, but you didn't want to risk anything. 

“Um sir?” You whisper, poking him a little harder with a single, straight knuckled finger. “Sir, are you alright?”

The man doesn't so much as twitch. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Just what you needed, an unconscious man a few feet away from your front door. You glance at the only other door on this floor, standing cold and still. You could ask your neighbor, a cranky older lady for help, but she was most likely asleep at this hour. You sighed, gently grabbing the man's shoulders and straightening him, pulling his hair off the cold floor. He certainly has a lot of hair. You brush it away from his face, taking in the cuts on his face, and the small bruise on his cheekbone. He looks bad, like he's been in a fight and it's honestly something you don't want to deal with. You're reaching for your phone when a loud ring tone echoes through the air.

It takes you a moment to realize it's not coming from your phone. You still in the silent hall of your apartment building, considering what to do. It seems inappropriate to answer a stranger's phone, you think. So you let it ring, considering what you should do. And then, a few seconds after the ringing stops, it starts again. You sigh, grabbing the phone and taking a deep breath to calm yourself. 

The phone says it's a call from ‘that damn clown’. Doesn't sound promising, you sigh to yourself, but it's better than no one. You answer the phone, taking a deep breath. 

“It's rare that you don't pick up on the first ring~” The person on the other line says. “Is something wrong?”

“Um,” You start, clearing your phone. “So your friend is passed out on the floor of my apartment building.”

A beat of silence echoes on the other end of the phone. You run a hand through your hair, sighing out the tensions as much as you can. The man on the other end of the line chuckles finally.

“That so?” He laughs. He certainly has a striking voice. “And who would you be?”

You sigh. He doesn't seem that worried, it seems. 

“Im Name,” You say, and then pause for a split second. Maybe it was a poor idea to give this random man your name. But too little too late. You shrug it off as you continue.

“I just got home from dinner and discovered your friend?” You pause, words lilting up at the end. The man chuckles, urging you to continue. “He's completely knocked out and all bruised up. I was considering calling an ambulance but then his phone rang. Twice.”

“Ah, I see.” The man stifles another laugh on the other end. “You can just leave him there my dear. Don't call an ambulance, whatever you do.”

“Really?” You ask, kind of worried. The man stifles another laugh, sounding much too amused for the situation. 

“Yeah, he should be fine. Thanks dear.”

He hangs up. You frown, pulling the phone away from your ear and glaring at it in surprise. What an odd man. He doesn't seem that worried about his so called friends safety of his injuries. You look over him again, taking in the extent of his injuries. You can see a line of blood leaking through the jaked line of fabric. You didn't know how you hadn't noticed it before, the giant cut in his chest. It looks bad. And the man had said no ambulance. Standing there in the hallway, you deliberate for a second. And then, making your mind up, you reach down. Picking up the man as carefully as you can, drag him into your apartment. 

✯✯✯

Your friends always said you had no survival instinct. You were deemed first to die in a horror movie, and most likely to fall to a serial killer. Maybe they were right, you mused to yourself as you dropped the injured man on your couch, spreading his long hair on the pillow before you set his head down. After all you had brought some random injured man into your home with barely a second thought. You sigh, returning to the couch with your first aid kit and surveying his injuries. Their mostly surface level cuts and bruises, besides of course the large gash in his chest. You decide to start on that, and ignore the rest. 

It takes you a long time to get his shirt off. First, because you can't figure out how it works and then second because you're trying not to wake him up. But finally, you get the weird green shirt thing he wears off. You wince as you take in the cut. It's a clean cut at least, but it's still a large gash right between his pecs. Blood blooms from it, rolling down his chest and close to the old towels you had covered your couch with. 

You wince, rooting around for the rags and alcohol you keep in here. You don't know if you should attempt to stitch up the gash or not, but you start with cleaning the outsides of blood, and then pressing a clean cloth against the wound as hard as you can, until the blood stops flowing. 

Then, you panic text your nurse friend who informs you it's probably best to just bandage the cut and not attempt to stitch it up with a sewing needle and no experience. So you wrap up his chest in tight bandages, and then apply some of your favorite hello kitty stickers to the cuts on his face and chest. You just ignore the bruises, unsure of what to do. 

When he's all finally bandged up and sleeping properly, you sigh in relief. Scooting back you wipe your wrist over your forehead, cleaning the sweat from your face. Your hands are stained with blood and the dirt you had whipped from his chest and face with a clean wet rag. What a night this had been. Nothing better to sober you up from a night of drinking than an unconscious man outside of your apartment. 

You look over at him, laying still and silent like sleeping beauty on your couch. He's actually quite pretty, you can't help but notice. It was hard to tell with all the grime and blood covering his face, but now that he's all clean it kind of dawns on you. He also has quite a nice physique, even with the giant gash across his chest. He looks a bit like a porcelain doll from the neck up, with very pale skin and pitch black hair. 

You sigh, turning away from the couch and moving to the sink to wash your hands. You humm slightly as the water runs the blood and gunk from your hands. Hopefully he won't be angry with you when you wake up. His friend on the phone was an odd one, and based on his outfit and the numerous cuts and bruises he was probably weird too. Maybe a hunter, or something like that. They were certainly odd folk. You scrub more soap into your hands, watching as the pink suds flow down the drain. Blood is surprisingly hard to get off your skin. You don't know why you're surprised, it's not like you spent your days getting blood out of clothes and various surfaces. You're just a normal person working a normal job. 

You turn off the sink, stratified with your clean hands and humm slightly into the silence. You turn around, intent on picking up your first aid kit but when you lay eyes on the couch you still. There's no one there. 

For a moment, you think you hallucinated the entire thing. But the towels you had laid down on the couch before you set him down are still there, with spots of blood and everything. You frown, and then you look up. 

The man is clinging to your walls like a monkey, his fingers leaving dents in the wall. He's situated in a corner, hair floating around him like an angry cloud, black eyes glaring right at you. 

“Get off my ceiling!” You shriek, running another hand through your hair as you watch his shape nails dig into the wall, flakes of paint and drywall fluttering down to the ground. Your landlord is going to kill you. 

“Who are you?” The man hisses. “How did I get here?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes sky high. So he was a weird one. 

“I'm Name, and I found you unconscious outside of my apartment.” You say, slowly and carefully like you're speaking to a wild animal. You suppose you are in a way. The man's muscles bulge as he digs his hands deeper into the wall. Spots of blood have started to leak through the bandage you wrapped around his chest. You wince. 

“What did you do to me, woman?” The man demands, although a bit more worked up than before. His hair has sunk around him, his nails relaxing their death grip on the wall. His eyes are very big, and very black. Like a doll. He's rude as hell though.

“I patched you up.” you roll your eyes. “I was gonna call an ambulance but your friend said not to.”

“My friend? You're lying. I don't have friends.” The man bristles again, as more blood leaks into the cotton of the bandages. You wince, wishing he would come down so you could deal with the large gash in his chest probably about to drip blood all over your floors. 

“The man that called. ‘That stupid clown’ or something I don't know.” You say, fingers doing quotations in the air. “Can you come down please? My landlord is going to raise the rent price if you keep leaving holes in the walls.”

The man drops to the ground with barely a sound, but still plasters his body against the white wall. You sigh. He reminds you a bit of a black cat. You can almost visualize the cat ears bristingling along with his long hair. You stifle a small giggle, standing still by the kitchen sink. He would probably startle if you moved. 

“Are you helping her?” The man asks, flexing his arms experimentally. You frown, tilting your head.

“Who? What are you talking about?” You say, running a tired hand through your hair. “Can you come lay down on the couch again, your wound is bleeding.”

The man doesn't move, standing silent and still in the corner of your living room, right beside one of your large potted ferns. It looks pretty silly, but you have a feeling this man could kill you in an instant, so you don't laugh. Instead, you smile as friendly as you possibly can muster. 

“I'm just gonna deal with the blood coming from your chest wound again.” You say, taking a few steps towards the couch. The man surveys you, big black eyes scanning you from head to toe. Finally, after filling the apartment with awkward silence, the man speaks.

“You have no nen.”

“What?” You ask, wondering if perhaps a lack of blood is making him talk crazy. “What's nen?”

The man tilts his head, black hair cascading around his shoulders and chest again, until you watch in relief as he walks forward, plopping himself back on the couch. You sigh, grabbing for a cloth and wetting it in the kitchen sink, before moving towards the couch. You half expect him to jump up on the ceiling again, but the man stays still, body a line of tension as you stop in front of him, setting your damp cloth down on the table. 

“Lay down.” You say, unwinding the bandages. The man frowns. 

“Do it this way.” He demands, glaring up at you as you discard the bloody wrappings in the garbage can. You frown, crossing your arms.

“I can't clean the wound this way,” You say, tapping a foot impatiently. “Just lay down please.”

The man stares at you blankly for a moment, and then flops down on the couch with a small sigh. You swear you watch him roll his eyes as he lays there, spots of blood rolling down his well built chest. He's handsome. Too bad he's a damn asshole. 

You take the wet rag you dropped on the table, and gently begin to wipe away the blood from the edges of the cut. The man doesn't so much as whimper, or jostle at all. Silence fills the room, broken only by small even breaths and the sound of your feet tapping against the floor. Finally, you break the silence.

“What's your name, anyway?” You ask, unfolding your rag and turning to a side that isn't completely bloody. The man blinks at the ceiling.

“Why do you want to know?” He asks, even line of his voice interrupted with a slight hitch of breath as you accidentally brush over his wound. You sigh.

“You know my name.” You say, carefully edging around the wound. The man considers, blinking slowly and languidly like a sleepy cat.

“Illumi,” he finally says. You nod.

“It's nice to meet you, Illumi.” You say, smiling down at him as you reach down for the bandages. The man frowns.

“You have to stitch it up.” He says, gesturing down at the clean gash on his chest. You frown, picking up the first aid box and rifling through it. 

“I don't have any of the numbing stuff they use at the hospital,” You say, running a bloody hand through your hair. Wincing, you wonder how disheveled and bloody you look compared to the blinking porcelain doll before you. 

“I have a high pain tolerance.” Illumi says. 

“But i—”

“Just do it.”

“Fine,” You mutter, pulling the pack of surgical needles your nurse friend left behind for you, just in case. “But don't complain when it hurts, and when the stitching is uneven.”

Illumi simply grunts, lying down still and closing his blinking doll eyes. 

Your hand trembles as you thread the curved needle, and you dry your sweaty hand on your pants before you grip it tightly in your fingers. You know a bit about this from when your friend would study in college, but you've never actually done this yourself. 

“I'm sorry,” You mutter, lining up the needle with the edge of the cut. “This is gonna hurt.”

Illumi doesn't make a sound when the needle pierces his skin. You move as fast as you can, piercing only enough skin to sew the skin shut. It's uneven, but it's not bleeding anymore at least. You don't breathe until you're finished, until you toss the curved needle in the trash and wash your hands one final time. 

“There, all done.” You sigh, running another hand through your hair. You know for a fact that there's most definitely blood in your hair. You feel icky and dirty. 

Illumi opens his eyes, blinking blankly at the ceiling for a moment, before sitting up on the couch. 

“Your work is adequate, I suppose.” He says, sitting gingerly on the edge of your couch. You roll your eyes, searching in the first aid box for the bandages. 

“A simple thank you would work just fine.” You mutter. You can't find the bandages in the box. “Do you see a roll of white bandages? I'm sure I had some left.”

“Behind you,” Illumi says, nodding his head behind you. 

You turn, spotting the roll of white bandages on the floor behind you. They hadn't unrolled, thank goodness, but you hoped they were still sanitary. Sighing, you bend down, picking up the roll of bandages.

“You should keep better track of your stuff—” Illumi says, interrupting himself with a small choke, followed by a rather obvious cough. You stand up, bandages in hand and turn around.

“Hey, are you ok? Did the stitches pop?” You say, moving towards Illumi to check. He glares suddenly, crossing his legs on the couch.

“Stop,” he says. You pause, freezing in place. He coughs again, frowning. 

“You have blood on you,” He says, voice sounding a bit odd. “You should shower.”

“I mean I was going to anyway,” you mutter. “But what about your chest—”

“I'll do it myself.” Illumi says, voice stoic and cold. You raise an eyebrow. He sure is acting odd. Illumi just glares, holding out a hand for the bandages demandingly. Rolling your eyes, you toss him the bandages, and leave for your shower. 

✯✯✯

Illumis body aches. The gash really hurts, pulses beneath a layer of clean white bandages. But he's not worried about that. No, what he's really worried about is the swelling in his lower area. And not the kind from the bruise on his calf. For some reason, when that woman had bent over, Illumis dick had decided that it wanted to swell to life. It had then instructed his eyes to stare at it, and then to stare at your boobs when you stood up. His dick was the culprit. Illumi sighs, lying on the couch and staring up at the white ceiling of your apartment. It's a nice apartment. You're a nice girl. Very pretty too. But it's not like Illumi had noticed that or anything. Clearly, since he was injured, maybe his dick also thought it should be swelling up as well. 

The sound of the shower running in the other room hits Illumis ears. You're probably naked in there. It's how you should be in a shower. You would be weird for not being unclothed in the shower. Illumi doesn't know why his brain wants to fixate on your lack of clothing. Or the water tumbling down your body. Illumi sighs, closing his eyes against the bright light of your apartment. This night was a disaster. He had been defeated, caught unawares by his target and cut across the chest. He had barely escaped up a few flights of stairs before he had passed out against a random wall. And then he had woken up here, with a pretty girl who patched up his wounds. 

Illumi groans as the small pits of blood left in his body refuse to do his bidding, instead rushing to flood his dick. Fine. while you're in the shower he’ll take care of his needs and get it over with. Illumi lets out a sigh of relief, and presses a hand against his dick.

✯✯✯

You switch off the shower, tossing up your hair in a towel. You decided to take a quick shower, a bit worried about the weird guy on your couch. Illumi is really odd. Rude, standoffish, but really really handsome. Probably involved in some sort of illicit business, based on how warry he was about you. You sigh, tapping your serum into your skin.

You're almost done with your skincare routine when you hear it. A moan of pain from the living room.

You rush out of the bathroom, not really noticing your own nakedness, only worried for Illumis pain. He hadn't made that sound when you were stitching him up. Your mind was filled with gruesome images of him bleeding all over the floor or—

That wasn't what you got. Instead you got Illumi safe on your couch, his big black eyes staring somewhere below your collar bones. His hand wrapped around his hard cock. 

Your mouth drops open, as you stand there for a moment, genuinely shocked. And then you gulp up the saliva that dropped into your mouth as your eyes strayed down where they shouldn't and looked up to apologize.

Illumis eyes are darting between your boobs, your face, and your pussy. His hand is still clenched around his twitching dick. He looks like a deer in the headlights as you look at him. You flush, hints of arousal starting to trace their hot fingers down your body.

“I thought you were hurt.” You say lamely, as the towel drying your hair falls to the ground with a plop. Illumi frowns, a flush high on his cheekbones.

“I am.” He mutters, a slight hint of shame slinking its way onto his face. His eyes do their best to leave your body, black eyes staring directly into your own. 

“Oh,” You say, tilting your head in confusion. “You are?”

Illumi nods, ears burning a light pink. 

“I'm swollen.” He mutters, hand still clenched around his dick. Your mouth drops open again. Is he trying to seduce you? It's working, in a kind of awkward, cute way. Not to mention you wanna get him inside you. He's big. You giggle, shoving down your embarrassment as you move towards him, still naked.

“Oh no,” You say, voice trembling a bit. “I should probably check that out.”

Illumi nods, jerking his head up and down as you move closer. He moves to get up but you shake your head. 

“No, stay where you are.” You say, clambering onto the couch and straddling his legs. Illumi’s hand leaves his dick as his eyes blink, falling slightly. 

“I don't want to agitate the stitches,” You explain, playing with your pussy a bit. You're already quite wet, embarrassingly. Apparently all from seeing Illumi with his dick clenched awkwardly in his hand. Or maybe it was the way he looks at you. He probably doesn't realize it, but he looks at you like you're the most beautiful creature on the planet. 

“Are you clean?” You ask, damp hair falling down your back and dripping water down your back.

“Yes.” Illumi says, voice short and clipped. You grin, lining him up with your dripping entrance. 

“Me too. And I have an iud.” You say, tilting your head back as you lower yourself down, spearing yourself on him. You moan loudly, your back arching as he fills you, as he twitches inside you. Embarrassingly, you know you're not going to last long. You must be quite pent up. 

Illumis hands come up, gripping your waist tightly as he bottoms out inside of you, as your walls clench down around him. His hair fans out below him on the pillow, his ears and cheeks tinted a pale rosy pink. He looks about as undone as you're going to get him, and you find you like it very much. 

You set a medium pace, trying not to overwhelm him. He is still injured. You're careful to grip his sides, avoid the tender cut you stitched yourself. Illumi grunts. 

“I apologize. I am not very experienced.” He says, turning his eyes away from you. He almost looks ashamed of his inexperience. You smile, slamming down onto him again.

“You're doing great.” You smile, a moan tearing out of your throat. “Look, I'm gonna cum.”

Illumi looks where you're gesturing, at where your bodies are connected. Your pussy, stretched around him, seems to mesmerize him. He stares, eyes wide and curious, body tensing with arousal. You feel your own body trembling, your orgasm just looming on the edge of the horizon. 

“I'm gonna cum.” Illumi informs you, eyes moving from the place where your bodies connect, to stare at your boobs, bouncing up and down as you move. And finally, they land squarely on your eyes. You whimper, body trembling as your orgasm overwhelms you. 

‘Cummmig!” You whimper, bottoming out on him one final time, body trembling as you milk him for every spurt of cum he lets out. A small grunt leaks from between his clenched lips as he looks at you. The two of you keep eye contact as you cum together, falling off the cliff and tumbling towards the ocean below.

✯✯✯

Illumi is gone the next morning. You wake up groggy, body hurting from having slept on the couch all night and the first thing you see is a business card.

‘Illumi Zoldyck 

Professional Assassin

***-***-****’

The words ‘call me’ are scrawled in the corner. You almost fall off the couch in shock.

.....

.....

Maybe your decision to get a roommate was a mistake. It had seemed like such a bright idea a few weeks ago, when you had put the last minute listing online. Because you could have a nice, large apartment in a central location and halve the price. And maybe you could make a nice friend out of it. You were even safe, requiring an online form as well as an in person interview. You weren't too worried though, you considered yourself pretty formidable when it came to ability. 

But it was not going as well as you would have liked. You have received plenty of submissions, sure. But each one had something glaringly wrong with it. You shuffle through the forms you had printed out, sighing as each one passes through your vision. These are the better ones, you threw out the worse ones already. Now, only three remain.

The first one is a woman, who after a delightful interview where the two of you got along really well, she had informed you that she had four cats and three dogs, and a cow. And she would expect them to live with her. So she was obviously tossed. The second one had been a rather mousy looking man who had some clear stalker tendencies, and had asked you to compromise on rent. You had told him maybe, and shooed him away. 

The last option was the one you were most hopeful about. It was another man, who was set to arrive any minute now. His answers on the form were promising, of course, but also very general. That was why you had set up the in person interview. To probe people and get their general vibes. 

The doorbell rings, shaking you out of your thoughts. You jump up, straightening your dress and fixing your hair, before moving to the door. This is the last one. You send up a little prayer, begging that this one will be the perfect candidate, and open the door.

The man standing on the other side of the door with his hand on his hip is very hot. It's the first thing you notice, followed very quickly by the odd way he dresses. But have met many a weird dresser in your day so you try not to judge. 

“Are you Mr Morrow?” You question, smiling up at him. He's very tall, looming over you a bit in your own doorway.

“Yes, I was informed you were in desperate need of a roommate,” The man says, offering a hand out in front of him. “You have such a lovely nen, dear.”

You take it, wincing slightly as he shakes it. He's a dramatic one. And probably a pro hunter, given the fact that he noticed your nen. And pointed it out at all. But that doesn't mean anything, not yet at least.  

“I am. Come on in.” You say, yanking your hand out of his tight, cold grip and opening the door wide. The man breezes past you, sauntering into your house with no hint of hesitancy or fear. He shows only blind confidence, accompanied by a smirk tossed over his shoulder. He must be very strong. Or just stupid. You don't know which is better. You sigh, leading him towards the living room where you have your little interview area set up. 

“Alright Mr Morrow, could you tell me why you want a roommate?” You ask, sitting down on the couch of the cozy little living room. He sits down opposite you, in one of the cushy armchairs and crosses one leg over the other. 

“Hisoka is fine,” he says, brushing a hair through his red hair, pushing it back farther. “And it seemed fun!”

You raise an eyebrow. So he's an odd one. 

“Not for a financial need or…” You say, trying to prompt him into a more in depth answer. His smiles, yellow eyes flickering between your face and the rest of the apartment, probably taking it in. It's a nice apartment, and in a central part of Yorknew city. That's partly why you were so desperate for it. 

“Oh no, of course not. I could pay for this entire place if I felt like it.” He laughs lightly, and you chuckle. Probably a bad sign, you muse as he continues. “It's just that the address of my other residence got out and I had the most annoying visitors at all hours of the day.”

You raise your eyebrow high, so high you assume it's going to disappear into your hairline at any moment, and tap your pen. Hisoka shakes his head, pouting slightly and you kick yourself as it occurs to you once again how attractive he really is. 

“It was so inconvenient, I'm sure you know darling. So I had to move.” Hisoka says with a frown, head tilting to the side. “But I soon discovered that I had been put on a no buy list. Like a no fly list? You understand?”

He leans forward, like he's telling some great secret, and you nod with a sigh. This one is a complicated one. No matter how attractive you find his arms as they flex, or his thin waist in that odd outfit he wears, you need to remain rational and not rush such an important decision because you thought this guy was hot as fuck. Hisoka smiles, somehow not disturbing the strange symbols painted on his cheeks. 

“So I figured getting a roomie was the solution to both problems!” He says with a smile, pointing his finger in the air as if he's come up with the solution to a great puzzling problem. “No weak people will figure out my address, as your name will be on the lease. And paying you the rent mitigates the no buy list issue.”

“I see, how interesting.” You say, trying not to sound too amused. He sure is a weird one, alright. “Do you have any pets?”

“Oh no, animals don't like me.” He laughs, passing his hand through his hair again. “I couldn't tell you why, will that be an issue?”

“Oh, no.” You say, a beat of worry ticking at the back of your brain. “I don't have any pets, they make a lot of mess.”

It should probably be a bad sign that animals don't like him, but honestly all you care about is the fact that he doesn't have a pet, not any flags as red as his hair that answer might raise. 

“And you wouldn't object to sharing a bathroom?” You question. The apartment is nice, but it's a two bedroom one bath. You didn't know why, an odd design choice on the part of the former owners. Hisoka chuckles.

“Oh, not at all~” He says silkily, recrossing his legs with a flourish. “I can coexist just fine with someone as lovely as you. I hear that taking showers together conserves water~”

He shoots you a wink, a smirk flashing across his face. You laugh, trying to ignore what he's laying down on the table. It's better not to think of anything like that, lest it urge you closer and closer to just giving up and taking him on as a roommate.

“How environmentally conscious,” You say, appropriately neutral as you continue. “And may I ask what you do for work?”

“Ah work. That's a little complicated, I'm afraid.” Hisoka says, tilting his head to the side with a bit of a frown. “I suppose officially, I would classify as a blacklist hunter.”

Ah, of course. You can't really say you're surprised, but perhaps it's a bad sign for your mental health that his answer doesn't actually put you off as much as it should.

“I see,” you say, noting that down on your little notebook. Hisoka tilts his head, eyes flickering curiously.

“You don't seem at all alarmed.” He questions, yellow eyes staring directly at your face. Not dancing around your face and body, not at the wall behind you. He must be very interested in your reaction.

“It's really none of my business, as long as you don't mess with the apartment,” You explain, running a hand through your hair. “And besides, I'm a hunter as well, and you don't seem to mean any harm to me. Right now anyway.”

Hisoka blinks, letting the silence stretch on for a moment, filling the air of the cozy living room. He seems a bit surprised by your answer, for reasons you can't understand. Maybe he was surprised by your total lack of fear? Or maybe your casual attitude. It was only natural, both your parents were hunters and most of your clientele were as well. You supposed you were a bit dead to what was normal and unusual. You did make specialty weapons for people all over the world. Some of your best clientele were the infamous Zoldyck family. You were kind of used to weirdos dressed in odd costumes who wanted strange things. The only thing you might need to worry about from Hisoka was how attractive you found him. 

Hisoka chuckles. 

“How interesting~” he purrs, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. “What a strikingly brave person you are, doll.”

“I guess,” You say, shrugging off the pet name he’s already assigned you with a sigh. “Are there any questions you have for me? It's better to settle these things before you move in.”

“Ah, so you’ll have me then?” Hisoka asks, all smiles. You nod, shuffling your papers with a sigh. It seems he really is the best option. 

“Questions, hmm.” Hisoka says, tapping his chin. You wait patiently as he considers, a bit worried. Finally, he speaks. “I have an odd friend. You don't mind him showing up out of nowhere do you?”

You sigh. You've been doing a lot of sighing lately. 

“No, not really. Tell him my bedroom is off limits though.” You say, standing to your feet. You've known your share of weirdos, and as long as this one stays out of your private spaces you're fine. Hisoka smiles, rising smoothly to his feet with a slightly unhinged smile. He held out his hand, yet again. You eye it warily.

“So, we have a deal?” He asks, angling his hand upwards slightly, palm pointing into the ceiling. His nails are a bit long, you notice absentmindedly.

You reach out, taking his hand to shake. 

“Yes, for now.” You say, “But we still need to sign the papers.”

“Yes, of course.” Hisoka supplies, mouth curving into a smile as he grips your hand, bringing it up to his cold lips. You push down a flush, biting your lips as he presses a long kiss to the back of your hand. His yellow eyes flick up, meeting your own and pinning you to the spot. Finally, after what feels like an age, he stands up, gently releasing your hand from his chilly grip. It falls to your side, and you clear your throat.

“Would you like a tour?” You ask, proud of how clear your vocal cords remain. Hisoka chuckles, crossing his arms casually.

“Sure.” He laughs.

You fear for your future self. You’ve certainly found an odd roommate. 

⚀⚀⚀

Hisoka, despite the faults and red flags that constantly run in your vision, isn't actually that terrible of a roomate. He's quite clean, and not very noisy. He does cook at all, but you don't mind cooking for two and leaving leftovers for him as he comes and goes. In return, he cleans the kitchen for you, and often the rest of the house as well. The two of you end up not seeing each other as much as you would like, only meating for meals and the occasional free afternoon of dancing around each other. It's nice, honestly. You can ignore his other faults, like the makeup skin and hair products that are mixing with your own, and the incessant flirting. He flirts so much you assume it's just how he is. Because no matter how much you wanna fuck him, you doubt its returned. Because that's the other problem. You really wanna fuck him, and it can be reliably traced to a combination of a few things. 

One, because of your new roomie, you cant bring men home to fuck anymore. 

Two, He's just insanely attractive and touchy, a hand on your waist here, a brush of your neck there, and you're losing your mind.

And three, the walls are too thin for you to masturbate comfortably. You can only masturbate in the shower now. But that in itself is a problem. You try not to shower for too long because of the water bill and so you can only get yourself off way less than you need.

But it isn't really a big deal, you promise yourself. You don't find yourself spending long bouts of time with Hisoka anyway, so your obvious desire for him isn't on display. You can only hope you can hide it for as long as the two of your remaining roomies. 

⚀⚀⚀

You survey the counters of your bathroom, the white of the countertop slowly being swallowed by skincare. Your own skincare addiction was a beast, but with Hisoka living with you the problem had only worsened. The shelves were covered in various masks and serums, the cabinets taken up by painkillers and mysterious under the counter drugs. The shelves to the side of the counter are laden in your makeup, with a small space devoted to the few products Hisoka used to draw his star and teardrop. 

You shove a couple things aside to grab your hair brush. The mirror is clean, your reflection clear in the glass, a few little sticky notes stuck to one end. You eye them, your messy handwriting noting down the things you were running low on. It was better if you left them in the mirror. You looked at it every morning and night after all when you did your skincare. 

You sigh, running a brush over your scalp in relief. The shower isn't running yet, but you're excited for the opportunity to wash your hair, and of course, to masturbate. Your body is thrumming with pent up energy as you eye yourself in the mirror. Hisoka had been especially annoying this week. It seemed he had nothing to do, so every morning when you left for work you encountered him in the living room, and he was there when you returned. 

Sometimes he was on the couch, watching reality tv in a tank top and sweats, and sometimes he was clearly just coming from the gym with sweat gathering on his arms and face. Each time he was desperately tempting, and much too flirty for your sanity. Be it a wink and a flirty comment, or a brush of your waist and a breath on your neck. He was driving you crazy. 

You sigh, shedding the towel you had been wrapped in and fold it neatly, placing it on the small shelf next to the entrance of the shower. You dig your feet ingo the bathmat, running a hand through your hair with a sigh. And then you see it.

A spider. A nasty, giant spider the size of your palm, sitting directly in the shower. In the path of your feet.

You scream shrilly, jumping backwards dramatically as you run to get as far away from the spider as possible. You hate spiders, more than anything in the world. You scream again, your shrill voice echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Hisoka!” You shriek, hugging your naked waist in fear as the spider moves a few inches closer. “Come here!”

The door slams open, Hisoka moving with a sense of urgency. His face betrays no emotion besides amusement as he takes you in, shivering and naked, glaring at the spider on the shower floor.

“Can I help you doll?” he purrs, moving closer to you across the bathroom floor. You don't even notice, too busy with your worst enemy, the giant spider watching you from the shower. The shower in the bathroom is only covered with a slight wall of glass, leaving about a space wide enough for someone to pass through comfortably into the shower cubby. It's also enough space for the spider to escape and hunt you down relentlessly. 

“Don't you see it?” You hiss, body trembling in the chilly bathroom air. You shiver, holding your arms around your waist. You seem to have forgotten your nakedness. 

Hisoka chuckles, folding his hands across his chest as his yellow eyes scan your body, pausing on all the parts of interest. He licks his lips, moving towards you across the floor. You don't notice, too busy keeping an eye on the spider. 

“Look,” you whisper. “The spider. In the shower.”

“Ah,” Hisoka says, a slight laugh contained in his voice. “Afraid of spiders, are you?”

You roll your eyes, not happy with his sarcasm.

The spider jumps, moving out of the shower cubby and towards you on the floor. You shriek, jumping backwards and into Hisoka’s arms, clinging to his muscled body as you scream.

“Ugh, it's coming this way!” You yell, hiding your face in Hisoka’s chest as your legs clench around his waist. “Just kill it!”

Hisoka laughs, the sound rattling in his chest as you cling close to him. He has his phone in his pocket, poking against your thighs. It's odd, because you don't remember this pair of sweatpants he's wearing having pockets. The spider sits heavy on your mind though, and you grip his muscled shoulders close with a whimper.

“As you wish.” Hisoka laughs, gripping your thighs and holding your body close to him. Faintly, you inhale his scent, a mix of flowers and musk and the unmistakable faint scent of blood. It turns you on as fear runs through your blood. You hid your head in his chest.

“Is it dead?” You whisper, gripping him tightly. Your heart is beating fast against your chest, begging to escape and run away from the stupid spider. 

“Yes, doll.” Hisoka purrs, other hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, an attempt to calm you down. “Your knight in shining armor has rescued you from the great threat lurking in the depths of the shower.”

You roll your eyes. He's making fun of you.

“Did you throw it away?” You question, not loosening your death grip on his shoulders. 

“Yes, I'm delighted to report it’s out of your sight.” Hisoka says, a chuckle in his voice. You pull your head away from his chest cautiously, pearing backwards and scouring the bathroom floor for any remnants of the spider. The floor is empty, only occupied with the fluffy bath mat. You sigh in relief, your chest heavy distractingly against the black tank top Hisoka wears. 

Then you realize exactly where you are. You're clinging to Hisoka like a tree, completely naked and clutching at his body. You shriek again, almost as loud as you did when you saw that damn spider and fly away from him like you've touched fire. Hisoka chuckles.

“Aw, come back.” he coos, running a hand through his hair. “You were so cute, all helpless and scared.”

You frown and bite back a groan at the same time, covering your tits and pussy with your hands as best you can.

“Get out!” You shriek, fighting back the arousal that leaks in as you take him in. 

“How rude!” Hisoka chuckles, pulling his tank top over his head. “No thank you?”

You yank your eyes away from his pale chest, as your pussy twitches with arousal. He toys with the hem of his sweatpants. As he tugs them lower, and you take in the v line pointing lower and lower, you realize he's not wearing boxers. You yank your eyes away, but it's too late. He's seen your wandering eyes. 

“The water bill is getting too high.” You say out of nowhere, body tingling with arousal. 

HIsoka tilts his head, biting back a smirk.

“Is that so?” He smirks, voice lilting seductively. “You know, I've been told showering together conserves water.”

You bite back a smile. A callback to your very first conversation. You let your hands drop, as you move towards the shower. All pretense is gone, just two people who really wanna fuck each others brians out. You giggle.

“What a clever plan.” You say, stepping into the shower and turning on the water with a sigh. Hisoka crowds behind you, smirking like the cat that got the cream. You suppose that's an accurate description for what's happening right now. 

⚀⚀⚀

“How long have you known,” You whimper, boobs and face pressed against the glass divider. Hisoka chuckles, tick chock drilling your insides as you moan loudly. The steam of the shower floats through the air, obscuring his face slightly. His hair is down, dripping with water and plastered to his face, but he doesn't seem to care. You brace your hands against the glass as he grips his hips, hitting the spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

“Since your eyes first scanned my body,” Hisoka grunts, hands gripping you so tight you’ll bruise. “You aren't exactly subtle, doll.”

“Ah, how embarrassing.” you murmur, hair falling wet and heavy down your back, tangling in your mouth. 

“Don't be too upset about it,” Hisoka murmurs, pressing his back against you as he drills deeper into you. “Your lustful glances were very mutual. You're simply a bit romantically oblivious.”

You whimper, hands scrabbling at the slick glass. The bathroom is filled with steam, the sound of the shower muffling your moans and the slapping of wet skin. You hope your neighbors can't hear you. 

“Am i?” You whimper, head falling back as his steady thrusts bring you closer and closer to completion. “I thought you were just like that.”

“I am,” Hisoka mutters, sinking his teeth into your neck. You clench down on him, body tensing as pleasure and pain erupt from the bite mark, tangling and twisting into a heady cocktail of arousal. 

“Ah, god.” You moan, nipples rubbing against the glass. “We should have done this sooner.”

Hisoka’s clawed hand reaches down, abandoning your bruised hips to rub circles into your clit. Stars burst behind your eyes, the bubbles and steam of the ballroom only adding to the floaty, dream like atmosphere. Hisoka chuckles, body hard and powerful against your own soft, curvy one. 

“I think we'll be doing this a lot from now on.” He half chuckles, half groans, body pressing against yours, pressing you to the glass.

Your lips part as you cum, screaming his name into the abyss of hot steam and powerful muscles. And as the orgasms overwhelm your body, you smile to yourself against the glass.

It seems getting a roommate was shaping up to be the best decision you’d ever made. 

.....

Endnotes: my sister is terrified of spiders. I channeled her fear for the spider bit. I don't like spiders very much, but she's genuinely terrified lol.

.....

You didn't want to be here. The low light pours over your figure, your foot tapping against the carpeted floor with slight annoyance. 

A waiter appears at your table, silent and dressed in all black. 

“Are you ready to order, Miss?” He asks, smiling at you calmly. He must pity you, but be too professional to let it show. This is an expensive restaurant after all.

“Oh not yet,” You supply, hand coming up to twist your thin necklace. “I think I'll wait until my date arrives.”

“Very well.” The man says, fading away to the dark entrance to hell all the waiters had appeared from. You sigh. 

You’re here because of your mother. Because she had been begging and begging you to get married, and maybe going on a blind date would finally shut her up for a moment. You loved you mom, but damn was she persistent. So when she had told you about the nice woman she had met in pilates, and that the woman had this handsome single friend and she could set you up on a blind date you had finally folded. 

So here you were, dressed to the nines in a fancy restaurant staring out of the large floor length glass window, waiting for this mystery guy to arrive. You pull on the sleeve of your black slinky dress, pulling the black cardigan tighter around your shoulders. There's a bit of a draft. 

It is a bit embarrassing that you folded too easily to your mother, being a powerful member of the infamous phantom troupe. But your mom was way more scary than any of your co-workers for sure. And besides, you have some free time. They don't need you right now, you can do this whole dating thing tonight before you have to meet the rest of the troupe tomorrow. It's nice that you were already in Yorknew city visiting your mom when you had received the summons. 

The restaurant is very nice. Thin hard red carpet covers the floor, muffling footsteps until you can barely hear them. The room is low lit, and a Violin Quartet is situated in the corner, providing a lovely romantic atmosphere. If only this was a real date. You sigh, maybe the guy will be hot and you can get laid and go on your way home. Then at least some good can come of it. 

The table before you is covered in a pure white tablecloth, occupied only by a small bread plate beside which sits a knife, spoon and fork, and a wine glass. A small candle sits in the center of the table, casting a yellow light into the rounded crystal glass. 

You glance at your silver watch, eyeing the minute hand as it clicks closer and closer to seven. Maybe if he's late you can go home and tell your mom that he didn't show up and you were disappointed but there was nothing you could do—

“Excuse me, are you here for the blind date, Miss?”

Your date must be here, a few seconds from being late. His voice sounds a bit familiar, for some reason. You turn from the window, all ready to fake a smile and force a polite greeting, but the words dry up in your mouth as your eyes run up his body.

Everytings starting out promising. He's quite tall, and muscular through the fabric of his black suit. The two of you look like you're going to a funeral, you notice faintly. You start to hope that maybe, this guy will be handsome, and into you. And then you look at his face, and your jaw drops.

It's your boss. Because of course you can't have nice things. Chrollo seems a bit surprised as well, implying he didn't recognize you from behind. You would be offended, but you haven't actually been with the phantom troupe for that long. Only a bit over a year, and besides, the whole group didn't really meet up that often. 

“Boss?” You hiss through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice low. There are only a few other couples in the restaurant, but you would rather the whole room didn't know your business. “What are you doing here?”

“Don't call me that.” Chrollo says, sliding into the seat in front of you with a small fake smile. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was here for a blind date,” You mutter, picking up a menu to distract yourself from the fact that your boss looks pretty good in a suit. His hair is down, too. He looks much better this way, he kind of resembles an alien with his hair slicked back. Maybe he uses too much gel. 

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” Chrollo starts, and you sigh. “But you are supposed to be at the meeting tomorrow. Why are you arranging dates for yourself right before a mission, my dear?”

You flick an eyebrow at the title, and roll your eyes again. Must be sarcasm. 

“I didn't arrange this for myself. And besides, I could ask you the same thing!” You hiss across the table, scanning the appetizers. “Unless you decided it was appropriate to show up to a random restaurant in a suit and hit on a random woman.”

You smirk, trying to decide what to eat. Chrollo just smiles. Infuriatingly unflappable.

“I thought it would be fun.” He says. You roll your eyes.

“You sound like Hisoka.”

“Noted,” Chrollo says, wincing slightly, “But you didn't answer my question.”

“Should I get the cob salad, or the carbonara?” You counter, hand coming up to fiddle with your necklace. “I can't decide.”

Chrollo cocks his head to the side. 

“Get both.” 

“Too much food.” you say, deciding on the pasta. You're not that hungry anyway. A light meal sounds good. “What are you getting?”

“Carbonara i think,” Chrollo says, fingers running the length of the menu as his eyes follow behind. “Would you like to share a bottle of wine?”

“Sure,” You say, tugging at your necklace again. “So, what's the mission?”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow into the weird headband thing he has wrapped around his forehead, covering his tattoo. 

“I wasn't aware you were joining us tomorrow.” he says, faint humor hidden in his tone. You roll your eyes. 

“Who said I wasn't?” You ask, turning your eyes away from your boss and out the window. The lights leak into the night, creating a lovely pattern of shining diamonds against the black silk of the night. 

“You planned a date for the night before.” Chrollo says, flipping through the menu to the drink section. You hope he selects a good wine. His eyes flick up from the menu to meet your own for a moment, before he continues. “It's inappropriate for members of the spiders to have a boyfriend. One that isn't aware of your job, of course.”

You roll your eyes.

“We never had that rule.” You say, running a hand through your hair, mussing up the curls. Who cares, there's no mystery hot guy to impress and maybe fuck anymore. Chrollo’s eyes peer into your soul, trying to pry into your business. So what if you wanted to make your mom happy and maybe get some dick at the end. Chrollo doesn't get to know that.  

Chrollo chuckles, eyes flicking between you and the drink menu. Back and forth, back and forth.

“It hasn't been an issue before.” He says, making eye contact with one of the waiters. She nods, and disappears into the dark archway. Probably to send out another waiter or something. 

“That's an unfair rule.” You mutter, tugging at your necklace. “Why are you allowed to date, but the rest of us aren't.”

“I'm not,” Chrollo chuckles, smiling at you like you're missing something. You roll your eyes.

“Then why are you here, for a business meeting?” You questone, crossing your legs under the table, your heels hitting the center bar of the table with a small clack. 

“I—”

“Are you ready to order?”

A waiter has appeared from the abyss, and has come to stand beside your table, smiling a small blank smile. You nod, ordering your cob salad and settling back against your chair.

What an odd day this is shaping up to be. On a blind date, with your boss. You half think that maybe he somehow found out that you were in yorknew city about to go on a blind date and decided to show up and ruin your fun. But he's definitely dressed for a date. He even made an effort to put on a damn shirt for once and cover the strange tattoo on his forehead. You hold back a smirk. Too bad it was just you and not some babe. If he was going to ruin your fun, you would take pleasure in ruining his date.

“You look positively devious, my dear.” Chrollo says, handing both the menus to the waiter, who disappears into the darkness. You laugh.

“This is karma for ruining my date,” You giggle, gesturing around the two of you. “Sucks it's me and not some hottie huh? Well too bad.”

You smirk, crossing your arms over your chest. Chrollo's eyes dip for just a second. You blink. You must have imagined it, the small trip Chrollo’s eyes took down to your boobs. 

You're wearing a black cotton dress, with a halter neck and a bit of cleavage showing. Your arms are crossed under your boobs, pushing them up a bit. But there's no way Chrollo is checking you out. Absolutely no way. You drop your arms, pulling the small cardigan you're wearing tighter around your body. It doesn't go all the way around your chest, it was mostly to cover your arms. Chrollo coughs. 

“Touche,” He says, running a hand through his hair. It looks quite soft. “You must be quite unhappy. A date with your boss is rather…”

He trails off and you laugh again, brushing your hair off your shoulder in a great sweeping movement. 

“I was so surprised to see you,” You say, leaning forward a bit. “You don't seem the blind date type.”

“You as well,” Chrollo supplies, watching as the waiter returns, setting the wine bottle down on the table. “Would you like some, my dear?”

“Yes please!” You say, watching as the sparkling gold liquid foams into your cup. He's chosen a prosecco. From your limited knowledge of wine, you know that's a good wine to pair with Italian food, specifically pasta. A sweet wine, which is fine by you. You’ve always favored fruity cocktails and sweet wines.

You swirl the wine in the stem glass, taking a delicate sip. The bubbles dissolve over your tongue, the sweet fruity flavor flowing into your mouth and down your throat. You let out a little sigh of happiness. 

“Good choice, this’ll pair well with the carbonara.” You say, smiling across the table as you set the win glass back down beside your almost empty place setting. Chrollo simply stares at you for a moment, his face blank. You blink.

“What? Is there something on my face?” You tilt your head, hair falling over your shoulders as you cross your arms. Chrollo's eyes dip down again, this time for a second longer. You must be seeing things. 

“No, nothing.” Chrollo smiles finally, “I'm glad my choice of wine is favorable to your palate.”

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. He's acting kind of odd. Whatever, you giggle. You decide that you’ll just enjoy your dinner and then head home, boss or no boss. You sigh, uncrossing and re-crossing your legs. You kinda wanted to get some dick, but some carbonara and a fine wine would have to do. 

“But time to talk business,” Chrollo says, his brow furrowing from under the cloth covering his tattoo. You sigh, rolling your eyes as he continues. “It's a poor idea to have a boyfriend. You're a spider.”

You roll your eyes again, taking an angry swig of the bubbly prosecco. 

“I'm not getting a boyfriend, obviously.” You mutter, gesturing at Chrollo, seated across the table. “Besides, I just went on this blind date because my mom wanted me to.”

“Ah, really?” Chrollo questions, leaning backwards in his seat. He takes a small sip of wine, the liquid passing through his thin lips. “You should have turned her down.”

“She's been bugging me about getting married,” You sigh, tossing your hands dramatically into the air as you continue. “I figured going would shut her up. And maybe if the guy was hot i could get laid—”

You slap a hand over your mouth a bit too late. Chrollo smirks. 

“Ah, the real reason.” He chuckles, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “You could have just been honest, my dear.”

“Oh shut up,” You mutter, taking another swig of your wine. How embarrassing. Now your boss knew you were pent up and on the hunt for just any old dick. You sigh, swirling your wine around in your glass and watching golden liquid glow in the lowlight. 

“Well, I apologize for ruining your plan,” Chrollo chuckles, smiling through the steam that rises above your table as the waiter places two warm plates of carbonara down in front of each of you. You roll your eyes.

“Why did you agree to the date anyway?” You mutter, taking a bite of the pasta. It's quite good. “I told you, so it's only fair that you tell me.”

Chrollo is silent for a moment, spinning pasta around his fork delicately. You take another bite, tearing through your pasta with excitement. You were right, it does pair well with the prosecco Chrollo picked out. 

“It's…been a while.” Chrollo finally mutters, eyes sliding back to yours. He stares you down blankly, as if daring you to laugh at him. You roll your eyes instead, reaching across the table to pat him roughly on the arm.

“Aw, in the same boat as me?” You giggle. Chrollo stares at the place your hand had touched blankly as you continue, “Well, unfortunately it's not a sexy lady willing to give it up for a stranger, it's just me.”

Chrollo looks at you for a moment, watching as you take the last few bites of your pasta, silent. He seems like he's waiting for you to think of something, but you're too busy taking another swig of the lovely prosecco. It really does compliment the food well. 

“You know, I was quite surprised.” Chrollo starts, placing his fork beside his empty past plate. You tilt your head, as he continues. “It's not often I see you so dolled up, my dear.”

You laugh, patting your hair self consciously. 

“I guess,” You say, crossing your arms over your chest again. You lean forward, tipping forward on your chair, your hair slipping forward. Chrollo’s eyes seem to dip down again, this time lingering a bit too long. You can't be imagining it. 

“You too boss. You look much more handsome with your hair down.” You say, moving your arms, popping up your boobs even more. If he looks down one more time, you're gonna say something. 

Chrollo runs a hand through said hair, flipping it off his covered forehead with a small smile. Your eyes follow the movement, slightly mesmerized by the tendrils of soft black hair. You want to run your fingers through it, maybe yank on it to anchor yourself. 

Tonight isn't the first time you've had inappropriate thoughts about your boss. It has happened more times than you want to admit, even to yourself in your own mind. You've awoken with his name on your lips, your pussy throbbing with arousal. Youve found yourself drifting off into obscene daydreams when he speaks sometimes, or imagining him when your fucking other guys. It's embarrassing, but you may be in lust with your boss. But it's obvious he isn't attracted to you. Please, he barely tolerates you, he would never wanna fuck you, no matter how much you shove your boobs at him, across the table. 

You sigh, pulling back a bit, uncrossing your arms with a sigh. Chrollo smiles a small smile across the table. 

“Would you like dessert?” He asks, handing you the small card with the dessert menu printed across it. You survey the options. 

“I think i'll pass.” You sigh, sitting back in your chair. “It's late.”

Chrollo nods, making eye contact with a waiter over your shoulder. You reach down, rummaging in your purse for your phone and your wallet. 

It has been a nice night, a nice fantasy to add to your embarrassing lusty crush on Chrollo, but all good things must come to an end. You need to do a job tomorrow, after all. You look at your watch, noting that an hour and a half has passed. Where had the time gone. It had just slipped away, like a leaf in the wind. Maybe you had been enjoying yourself a little too much.

“Here,” you saw, waving your credit card at Chrollo. He simply raises an eyebrow delicately. 

“I'll take care of it,” he says, waving off your card. 

“You sure?” You ask, already stowing your card away. Better for you. Chrollo nods, shooting you a wink.

“What kind of date would this be if i let you pay,” He says, smiling softly in the lowlight. He really is quite handsome. You sigh, stowing your wallet away, safely in your purse. You smile.

“Thanks, boss!” You giggle, saluting him across the table. Chrollo just smiles at your antics. You open your phone, tapping open your driving app. It's gonna be a bit expensive, but you had assumed you would be heading home with the guys, so you hadn't driven. That was probably poor planning on your part. 

“Hey Chrollo,” You ask, slipping your phone back into your purse. You put a pleading expression on your face, and push up your cleavage. It's just a joke, but you wear his eyes flick down again, before they rise to yours.

“Yes, Name?” He questions, looking a bit wary.

“Can you give me a ride?” You question, leaning forward and being as pleading as you possibly can. “I was gonna go home with a guy. So I didn't drive.”

Chrollo chuckles. 

“Sure, my dear.” He says, running a hand through his hair distractingly. “But I must point out, that arent you doing exactly what you came to do?”

“What?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion. 

Chrollo stands, moving like a black shadow around the table to pull your chair out for you. You watch his eyes trace you, watch them skim down your neck, take in your cleavage, caress down your curves as you stand, black fabric pooling around your knees. He takes a small breath, a tiny inhale, and then composes himself. But you’ve seen it all. You have all the evidence you need. 

You arrived at this date fully prepared to get laid. And here you are, with the perfect opportunity. You smile, subtly tugging the collar of your dress a bit lower. Chrollo is smiling, a perfectly painted on smile that would fool anyone. But you know that smile. He uses it when he wants to hide something. Your grin is calculated. Each twist of your body is controlled as you turn your back to Chrollo, bending down to pick up your purse.

Your bend is controlled to show off your ass, the arch of your waist as you rise to your feet. And it works, because as you rise up with your purse in hand, you catch an unabashed expression of lust rocket across Chrollo's face. His lips are parted, a small huff of breath falling from them as his eyes zero in on your body, on the contours and dips highlighted by the slinky dress you wear. His chest rising a bit too fast. And a telling bulge in his pants. 

By the time you're fully up of course he's controlled his face again. But you saw it. And now there's nothing holding you back. 

♥♥♥

The windows of Chrollo's small car are already fogged up and all you're doing is making out. Well, more like eating each other's faces off in the backseat. Your bodies are pressed together, your legs splayed over his lap, your bodies thrumming together with arousal as he kisses you, as you grind down on the hard dick in his pants.  

If you had told the You of earlier today that the night would end with Chrollo's tongue down your throat and dick in your pussy you would have laughed in your face. And then probably reprimanded yourself not to let those thoughts of your boss take over of course, but that's besides the point. 

“We really shouldn't be doing this my dear.” Chrollo murmurs, pulling away from your mouth to press a kiss to your pulse point. You whimper, head tipping back as hair waterfalls down your back, tangling with his hands.

“Why,” You groan, moving your hips against his dick. “We’re both consenting adults.”

Chrollo rewards you with a small groan, accompanied by a heavy sigh. You moan, hitching up your skirts as you grind against him. You want him inside you so bad. 

“We should not fraternize before the mission,” Chrollo murmurs, hands digging into your clothed waist as you grind down. “It's a distraction.”

You giggle, letting the sound fill the hot and muggy car. 

“Do you really think anyone follows that rule?” You giggle, reaching down between your bodies to pull your panties aside. You can't get them fully off, but you can shove them aside to press a few fingers against your pussy. You whimper, head falling back as you eye him, a feral look in your eyes. “Your spiders are constantly ‘fraternizing’. Didn’t you know?”

Chrollo actually looks a bit surprised, until you yank his hand off your waist, pressing it against your drooling cunt. 

“You're so wet, name.” He says, pressing a finger into your dripping cunt. “Tell me, what is all this about the spiders my dear?”

You laugh, hands gripping his still clothes shoulders as you fuck yourself against his fingers, body lith with arousal.

“Not gonna tell,” You giggle. “But if the others can fuck their colegues, you can fuck me.”

Chrollo hums, fingers twisting inside you. You moan, hands fighting with his zipper. You're a mess on his lap, your lipstick smeared on your lips, your chin. Red stains his lips, his chin, his neck. You know the stain must surround the hickeys on your neck. It turns you on. 

“Come on, hurry up and fuck me damnit!” You goran, shoving your cleavage up as far as you can. Chrollo chuckles, hands withdrawing from your pussy with a squelch. 

“Whatever you want, my dear.” He murmurs, undoing the zipper of his pants, allowing his dick to spring up, eager and drooling for you. You giggle, stroking it a few times. Chrollo's twitches in response, mouth parting in a small moan.

“Aww, it's so desperate.” You giggle, grinding your clit against it with a sigh. Chrollo simply bites back a moan, hands anchored on your waist. You're almost dizzy with arousal when you speak, “You got any condoms?”

“Wallet,” Chrollo murmurs, body moving against yours. You reach around, fishing in his pants pocket and pulling out the wallet with a dramatic flourish. Chrollo simply smiles at your antics, a bit preoccupied with the friction of your bodies, hidden by a pile of black fabric. 

You brace yourself on his shoulders as you line up, sliding him inside you one inch at a time. Your head falls back, body twitching as you sink down. Chrollo watches you, eyes hazy and unfamiliar, smiling a bit. You kiss the stupid smile off his face as he bottoms out inside you. You grind slowly first, barely rising up at all, just moving back and forth. Chrollo presses a kiss to the space under your ear, breath heaving over your skin. 

“I saw you looking at my boobs,” You moan, head falling back. Your hair waterfalls down your back as you anchor your hands on the sea behind Chrollo. His hair is wilting against his forehead, at some point he'd lost the weird bandage thing on his forehead. He smirks.

“Can you blame me?” he groans, grabbing your things and slamming you up and down. You moan loudly, the air filling with the sound of slapping and squelching. The car smells like sex and your perfume and the expensive cologne Chrollo always wears.

“Uh god, Chrollo I'm gonna cum.” You moan, body tensing as you fight back an orgasm. Chrollo chuckles.

“Oh, done already?” He groans, body tensing against yours. He's full of shit. You can feel him twitching inside you as you clench down. You can feel he's close too.

Your orgasms come in fast like a waterfall. Tossing you off the cliff violently as you cling to your boss’s shoulders, whining and begging him for something, anything. He rewards you with a few pumps in your pussy, rubbing your clit raw. 

The car smells like sex when he pushes you down on the seat, when his dick still lodged inside you comes back to life, or when he smirks down at your twitching body.

You know you're in for a ride. 

....

....

Kurapika always seems to have the worst luck. Or the best, he hadn't quite decided which one it was. He squints through the torrential rain at the figure across from him, fighting back a frown. 

“We just keep running into each other,” Hisoka says, winking at him. “It must be fate.” 

Kurapika rolls his eyes. For some reason, not a drop of rain hits Hisoka’s red hair, or the white of his strange outfit, even though he holds no umbrella. If Kurapika squints, he can spot the rain hitting an odd barrier a few inches from his pale skin. He must be using bungee gum to stay dry. 

“Or coincidence,” Kurapika replies, holding his umbrella closer to his body. Drops of rain roll off it, a fine mist hitting the heavy black fabric of his suit.  “Why are you here, anyway?”

“For the same reason you are, I assume,” Hisoka replies, waving a hand dismissively. “You're looking for Barry Landstill, correct? There's no other reason someone would come all the way out here.”

Hisoka gestures around them at the tall trees reaching for the sky. The forest is remote, about an hour's drive from the nearest town, and thirty minutes from the nearest homestead. Far enough no one would hear a scream, let alone venture into unannounced. The ground is covered almost completely in fallen leaves and green grass, the occasional flower popping through the piles of leaves. Kurapika sighs. 

“Then I assume you're also here for the map?” Kurapika asks, squinting through the rain. It looks like it's starting to come down harder. A poor sign on a mission that is already going downhill at a breakneck speed. Now all he needs is a giant hole in the road to throw this mission off completely. When his employer had called on him to retrieve a special treasure map Kurapika had assumed the mission would go off without a hitch. He had factored some competition into it, but not competition in the shape of a Hisoka. This may be a small problem. 

“Hmm~” Hisoka informs him, running a dry hand through his hair with a small smirk. “It seems we have a problem.”

“Why do you want it?” Kurapika asks. “I had not assumed you were the type to want a treasure map.”

“You're correct, it seems you know me well.” Hisoka purrs, throwing him a smirk. “But to answer your question, I'm not actually after the map itself. Our dear friend Barry is my target.”

Kurapika sighs, ignoring the fine mist of cold water that is forming on his skin and hair. The rain slants sideways, and Kurapika angles his umbrella against it. Hisoka ignores it, the rain bouncing off his bungee gun covered skin entirely. Kurapika wonders why he bothers to use an umbrella at all. 

“So we have no conflict of interest, then?” He says, trying not to sound too eager. He would rather avoid a physical confrontation with Hisoka. While it might be interesting, the conditions were not ideal. Kurapika pulls at the lapels of his faintly damp suit, the umbrella changing hands. Hisoka smirks, running another hand through his hair. Something about the movement draws Kurapika’s eyes to his face. His eyes are very striking. Kurapika doesn't know why he hadn't noticed before. 

“I suppose not,” Hisoka says, sounding a bit disappointed. “Shall we move on then? We are headed in the same direction after all.”

Kurapika sighs. He's dealt with Hisoka before. During the hunter's exam and in Yorknew city, and while the experiences were taxing, he's learned it's always better to have him at your side, rather than opposite you. Besides, Hisoka must see enough value in him not to kill him at this point. Or maybe it's just too much work. 

“Sure, let's go,” Kurapika says, turning in the direction he was headed. Hisoka smiles, leaves rustling at his feet as he falls into line with Kurapika, hands swaying gently by his side. They sink into silence, the only sound in the empty woods the rusting of dry leaves and the rain. The occasional crashing of thunder and the flash of lightning break the repetitive sound of raindrops hitting the forest floor. It's peaceful, the air smelling of sweet rain and nature. And then Hisoka has to speak. 

“You've grown stronger,” He says, his voice silky smooth. “So much progress in so little time. It's inspiring.”

He doesn't sound inspired. He sounds excited. Kurapika wishes he was disgusted, but all he can manage to do is shove down the rush of forbidden emotions the praise gives him.

“I see you're still the same.” Kurapika replies, voice level and annoyed. It's been a minute since he and Hisoka have crossed paths, not accounting for the times Kurapika had thought of him. Hisoka has crossed his mind more than once. And not just a stray though as well. Hisoka chuckles.

“I changed my outfit,” He says, gesturing at the white outfit that adorns his body. His pale arms glow in a flash of lightning. Kurapika takes him in, momentarily blinded by the lightning. He does look good. But he always does, no matter the strange outfit he's adorned himself with. 

“I do question the choice to wear white,” Kurapika scoffs, turning his gaze to the woods. Their destination can't be far now. “You stand out like a sore thumb.”

“That so?” Hisoka hums conversationally. “I don't make an effort to fit in. I had assumed you thought the same.”

Kurapika sighs, staring up through the rain and into the gray sky. 

“I guess you're right,” he mutters, leaves crunching underfoot as they move through the unpaved woods. Rain muffles the sound of their footsteps, as the tree branches clack in the wind. Kurapika feels as if the crack of thunder that rumbles after that is a prelude of events to come. He hopes not, but he has a feeling this night is not going to go off without a hitch. 

♠ ♠ ♠

The hitch comes in the form of Barry Landstill, who happens to be lying dead in the mud when they arrive at their destination. 

“Oh dear,” Hisoka sighs, stepping out of the cover of the trees and into a small clearing. 

Dry leaves change to green grass underfoot.  The trees are giant here, the trunks are more walls of bark, standing wide and proud as the tower into the sky. They are sparse, towering up into the sky as if their pillars, holding up the clouds from crashing around them. This must be the oldest part of the forest. 

Barry Landstill’s body lies collapsed in a pile of mud, cold, silent, and most definitely dead. Oh no.

Kurapika moves into the clearing, umbrella falling from his hand, and afterthought. The rain hits his previously dry hair as he leans over Barry’s body, poking at it desperately for a pulse.

“He's dead,” Kurapika says, perhaps repeating the obvious. Hisoka tilts his head, arms folded across his chest. They flex, shiny in the rain. He dropped the bungee gum shielding his skin from the rain. Not a good sign.

“Is your map in his possession?” Hisoka asks, hair dropping slightly under the assault of water and wind. The symbols on his face are still intact, for now. Kurapika prays that this carefully balanced agreement won't dissolve into a tussle. 

Their sham of an alliance resembles a glass vase, fanciful and useful to both parties until it’s pushed off the edge of the table and left to shatter on the floor in a million beautiful shards. The shards could come back together if each one is carefully picked up and glued back into place by a careful hand. The vase is sitting on the edge of the table, dangerously close to tipping to the floor. 

Kurapika needs that vase to stay intact. 

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the rain plastering his hair to his forehead, and pulls the map from Barry Landstills cold dead body. 

Having the map in his possession is a poor victory. Because standing behind him, without the information he had come for and drenched in rain, was someone very dangerous.

“What did you need Barry for?” Kurapika questions, turning away from the dead body on the ground and back to Hisoka.

In the short time he was looking away the rain had done a number on him, drenching every inch of the white fabric covering his body. He's soaked, the light fabric clinging to each muscle hidden under his clothes. The star and teardrop painted on his face have run, and he wipes them away with a careless hand. His hair is still pushed back somehow, but it droops a little sadly. 

“Something secret, I'm afraid.” Hisoka chuckles, running a wet hand through his hair. The water glistens on his pale skin. “But it's irrelevant now. I have come all this way for nothing.”

He gestures at Kurapika, at the map clutched in his hand. It's waterproof, thank good, so the rain does nothing to mar the merchandise, but the words that pass from Hisoka’s lips still send a spike of fear through his system. He summons his chains, just in case. 

“You can't have the map,” Kurapika says, stepping a small step backward, away from the pale man dripping with water. “You don't need it.”

He tries to state the words as a fact rather than a question. Maybe Hisoka will repeat it as that, and leave him alone and unharmed. Somehow he finds the odds of that unlikely. The rain patters down, soaking the fabric of his back suit thoroughly, his hair sticking to his neck, his face, somehow falling into his mouth. He brushes it aside, tossing his coat into the dirt beside Barry’s cold body. He sets his bag down there as well and carefully slips the map inside. 

Hisoka’s eye twitches, fingers flinching at his side.

“I'm a bit annoyed,” He starts, his tone riddled with barely contained annoyance. “I've come all this way you see, only returning with nothing but wet clothes. It's a waste.”

Kurapika takes another step back, watching as Hisoka's face goes through a few expressions, annoyance, flashes of bloodlust, and something else. His hands twitch by his sides, shaking as one comes up to brush back his hair. It's falling in his eyes, flashes of red running through empty yellow eyes. Kurapika can see his calm and collected personality coming apart at the seams. It's alarmingly attractive. 

“It's unfortunate.” Kurapika says, voice low and slow like he's speaking to a wild animal. He is, in a way. A feral, nasty, dangerously attractive wild animal. Hisoka seems to be still holding onto his sanity by a thread, standing still in the rain, hair melting around his eyes, flowing down his neck, bright red against his pale skin. Kurapika takes a deep breath.

“Hmm, i know~” Hisoka coos, bringing a finger up into the air as if he's come up with a brilliant solution. His eyes flick to Kurapika, eyeing him up and down, taking in the slight state of undress he's found himself in. His only warning is a smirk. A small, gentle curve of lips into his pale cheeks, and then Hisoka is moving towards him.

The alliance is falling, crashing to the floor, and shattering into a million shiny glass pieces. The vase had broken. 

Kurapika dodges, by the skin of his teeth, pulling himself out of the way and jumping lightly to safety. The worst case scenario has come to pass.

When Kurapika decided to venture deeper into the woods with Hisoka, there were a couple ways it could have turned out. 

Option one is the best-case scenario. Kurapika got his map and Hisoka got his information and they parted on good terms, the vase still perched on the center of the table. ‘

Option two has two scenarios, with very similar outcomes. Kurapika doesn't get the map, but Hisoka gets his information. 

Or, Kurapika doesn't get the map, and Hisoka gets his information. But ultimately they part on good terms. The vase will still perch on the table, perhaps more towards the edge.

And option three, the worst-case scenario. Kurapika doesn't get the map, Hisoka doesn't get his information, and they fight or part on bad terms, shattering the vase.

He’s found himself in a terrible mix of options two and three. Hisoka lands gently, spinning on one leg and whirling back towards Kurapika, a mix of white and red and feral smiles. Kurapika dodges, spinning past him, and landing in the mud with a plop. 

His wet shirt is clinging uncomfortably to his body. Hisoka chuckles.

“That's no way to fight,” He coos, running a hand through his hair, pulling it away from his eyes. “Come on, get serious.”

The rain runs through Kurapikas hair, dragging it into his eyes, running cold down his face and soaking his shirt. He shivers, ice cold rain freezing his skin. His veins pulse with fire, with heat, burning him from the inside. 

The rain pierces him like shards of glass, dissolving away as soon as they have come. He feels heavy, weighed down by the water. 

Cards woosh towards him, their sharp edges aiming for his body, for his neck, for his face. He dodges them, one slipping dangerously close to his face, cutting a thin sliver of blood on his cheek. Kurapika brushes it away, uncaring and unaware of the blood dripping down his face. 

“I'm not giving you the map,” He shouts, releasing his chain in a whirl toward Hisoka. He dodges it with ease, body twisting delicately in the air, like an acrobat, or a ballet dancer. Kurapika's eyes linger a bit too much. 

“You want it so bad~” Hisoka purrs, his voice verging on a moan. He smiles in the rain, a sinisterly beautiful figure, balanced delicately on his heels. “It makes me want to take it from you.”

“Why are you so weird,” Kurapika says, exasperated. Hisoka simply flings more cards in his direction. 

One skims his side, cutting a slice in the white fabric of Kurapika's dress shirt. A bit of blood soaks into the wet fabric. 

He’s trembling. His whole body shakes. Blood drips from his hand, down his cheek, and stains the already stained fabric of his shirt. Faintly, he bemoans the work of cleaning blood out of white cotton. 

His breathing is uneven, and blood splattered across his face. 

The smell of blood hands heavy in the air, the moon glowing down on the cliffs, and onto his sinful actions. It's red. Everything is red. Kurapika breaths. 

In, and out. In, and out. 

He knows his eyes glow scarlet in the darkness. He needs to calm down.

Hisoka laughs, eyes manic, voice a seductive purr. 

“Come on now, I know you want to,” Hisoka laughs, stalking around Kurapika, his feet light in the clearing. “Just let go. Fight me.” 

The moon peeks out from behind the clouds, even as rain pelts his cold body, soaking him in wet, and red blood. 

“That's what I'm doing.” Kurapika grinds out through clenched teeth, trying to close the distance between them. His chain retracts, pulling back against his hand. It's better to close in on his soaking-wet opponent, that way he can land a few hits on him.

Hisoka moves in for him, spinning and twisting just out of Kurapika’s grasp. He smiles, lith and twisting, forcing them backward. There's a tree about ten feet behind him. He can't be cornered. 

“Look at you,” Hisoka purrs, licking his lips obscenely. “You're so irresistible when you let go.”

“Shut up!” Kurapika grits out, eyes running up and down Hisokas body. Tracing those muscled arms, the bulge he can see in his white pants. He should be disgusted, but all he feels is a heady cocktail of arousal and rage. 

Hisoka is taunting him. Working his mind, urging him into action. He knows this, and yet he still falls for it. 

He can feel the arousal working through his veins, mixing with the annoyance and exhaustion and worry and just everything. 

Kurapika’s eyes are glowing, rage and betrayal floating up from the depths of his body. He shouldn't feel betrayed, but his emotions betray him. The stupid glass vase of their fragile alliance is mending itself, one sliver of glass at a time. 

Kurapika flings out a chain, fueled by pure adrenaline. 

It connects, winding tightly around Hisoka. A light moan leaves his pale lips, his body twisted obscenely in the moonlight. 

The wind blows, but Kurapika doesn't feel the cold as he stands there, still. His body is running on pure adrenaline and rage, burning through the ice-cold air.

 Hisoka just smiles, his skin so pale it almost shines in the moonlight. Kurapika glares and pulls the chain a bit tighter.

It winds around Hisokas body, from his slim waist to the defined muscles of his arm. The chain seems to almost curve lovingly around him, and Kurapika watches in horror and his arms are tied above his head. 

It's so erotic. He hates it. 

Kurapikas breathing speeds up slightly, his eyes still burning a brilliant red. He feels unbalanced. 

“Aw look at that, I'm afraid you've caught me~” Hisoka purrs, grunting slightly as Kurapika pulls the chain tighter. “How kinky.”

“Shut up, let me think.” Kurapika mutters, mind muddled with confusing thoughts and feelings Hisoka laughs, clearly not going to do anything he instructs. 

Kurpaka glares. 

He's too wound up, tight like a coiled spring with tension and anger, and Hisoka is here just to stoke the fires. He knows that, and yet he yanks him closer, until they stand only a few feet apart. The chain is still curved around him, pulling tightly around his waist, twisting around his thighs and pulling his wrists and large hands above his head. Hisoka just smirks.

“What an interesting position you’ve put me in~” He says, lips curving into a smirk. Kurapika glares, his body sending a thrill of head down his spine. He ignores it, focusing simply on the task at hand.

Calming the fuck down. Begging his arousal to dissipate. Thinking of a plan. Ignoring their proximity. Ignoring Hisoka inherently.

And maybe that's a mistake. Maybe he should have been keeping a close eye on Hisoka, on his hands. Because before he can react, Hisoka somehow frees himself from the prison of Kurapika’s chain. 

Kurapika reacts a second too late, tightening the empty chain against nothing, too little too late. Hisoka smirks, standing close, too close, body looming over him.

Kurapika steps back. His back is cold, hard bark. He's trapped.

The map, the supposed reason this fight is even happening, is ten feet away, in Kurapika’s discarded bag. Kurapika knows that. Hisoka knows that. The pretense that this has anything to do with the damn map has long ago been shed, leaving them as bare and cold in the rain. 

“Look at you,” Hisoka smirks, looming a few feet away. Kurapika can't move his hands. They stuck to the tree, holding him in one place. He doesn't even really mind that much. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Kurapika asks, voice steady, even as arousal and fear mix in his body, twisting and weaving like a pair of tango dancers. Hisoka chuckles.

“Of course not, that would be a waste!” He simpers, voice twisting and curving as he walks forward. He flicks a card up, hands glittering in the rain. “There are other uses for you,” 

His voice is pitched low, intimate, forbidden. His card slices through Kurapikas shirt, cutting cleanly through the thin layer of already-soaked cotton, see-through with water. Kurapika bites back a noise, an embarrassing noise that begs to be released into the cold rainy night. 

“Let me go,” Kurapika says, voice only a little shaky. “I don't want this. I don't want you.”

“Liar,” Hisoka coos.

Kurapikas back arches as a cold hand grips him over his pants. Hisoka chuckles, cold hand stroking him through his soaking wet pants. Kurapika bites his lips so hard he tastes blood. His lips sting, blood warm on his lips, on his chin, dripping down to his neck. Hisoka follows it, his eyes zeroing in on the blood on his face.

Kurapika is pinned between a rock and hard place. Or a tree and a hard place. His feet touch the ground, his body pressed against the tree as Hisoka advances closer. 

He looks like a mess. His clothes are plastered to his body with rainwater, his hair falling into his eyes, covering his face, covering his eyes. He has bruises on his arms, where Kurapika’s chains had held him captive. He's probably covered in bruises under those clothes. 

“I see where you're looking,” Hisoka coos, his pale hand coming up, gripping Kurapika’s neck gently in his hand. He doesn't even need two hands to restrict his breath. 

With just a twist, Hisoka could release him from this mortal plane. Kurapika groans, his body twitching with arousal against the tree. Hisoka gets a chuckle out before he moves in.

His kiss is rough, hard, and barely there. He tastes like rainwater and blood. 

Kurapika has just gotten into it, hands grabbing at his back when he moves down, following the trail of blood down his neck, licking and kissing it away, leaving a trail of hickeys in his place. 

It takes him a moment of grabbing and panting moans into the rain to realize his hands have been released from the bungee gum that had held them captive against the tree. He could escape, he supposed. But what was the point anyway? 

Hisoka hoists him up against the tree, yanking his legs around the taller man's waist, and pulling him close. His body is warm, building a burning fire of heat in their connection. Kurapika bites back a groan, yanking at Hisoka’s bright hair. Hisoka pulls away from leaving incriminating evidence all over his neck to moan obscenely into the air. 

“We’re quite similar, you know.” Hisoka coos. “You just don't want to admit it.”

“Wrong,” Kurapika grunts, protesting with a mighty shove. “While we may share some qualities, we differ in the ways that matter.”

His voice is rough with arousal, occasionally interrupted with a hitch of breath. His feet hit the ground with a thud and he stumbles. The shreds of his blood-stained button-up hit the ground around him.

Hisoka laughs, lying passively on the ground. He knows that Kurapika is too far in to flee. 

Kurapika hates that he's right. 

“You want to do the work, I see.” He coos, voice heady with humor. Kurapika doesn't watch as he undoes his pants, stroking himself through his boxers. He's so thick. Fuck. 

The rain falls around them. A stark reminder of where they are. In a forest, alone, and in obscene states of undress. Kurapika vows that he will take this meeting to the grave. 

Kurapika almost cums when he sinks down onto Hisoka. He grips anything he can get his hands on as he sinks down slowly. Hisoka's arm, his own thigh, the soft green grass. He knows he's letting out obscene noises, probably embarrassing moans of his name. Hisoka just grins beneath him, looking heavenly and mostly unconcerned. When did he lose his top? His bare chest is on display, soaked with rain and glowing in what little moonlight they're allowed. 

“This a secret, right?” Kurapika voices, groaning as he braces his arms, using his thigh muscles to fuck himself up and down on Hisoka’s cock. Cold hands grip his waist, helping his pace a bit.

“Are you embarrassed?” Hisoka laughs, mirth interrupted by a faint intake of breath. “Don't worry, I won't tell your little friends I took your virginity.”

Kurapika stutters, body twitching as he groans, partly in shock, partly because he just fell down on Hisoka’s dick in shock. He resumes his pace, trying to disguise his slip up.

“How do you know I'm a virgin?” He says, thighs burning. Hisoka laughs, clawed hands gripping his hips tightly. There will be bruises to join the hickeys on his neck tomorrow. 

“Hmm, wouldn't you like to know~” Hisoka sing-songs, hands manhandling Kurapika into another position. The world spins as Hisoka pulls him off his dick abruptly, spinning him around and pressing him to the cold grassy floor. Kurapikas hands grip handfuls of grass as Hisoka shoves himself back in, fucking Kurapika deliberately and harshly into the grass. Kurapika muffles his groans in his mouth. 

“It's too bad, really.” Hisoka coos, muscled body pressing Kurapika into the grassy floor. “If only you weren't so irresistible. If only you didn't make your arousal so obvious.”

Faintly, Kurapika wonders exactly how obvious that arousal had been. 

At some point his clawed hand has wrapped around their bodies, gripping Kurapikas poor abandoned dick in his cold fingers. Kurapika bites back his moans, not wanting to inhale mouthfuls of grass. 

“Uhg, just shut up and fuck me.” Kurapika groans out. Hisoka laughs.

“As you wish.” He coos, hips adjusting their angle. Kurapika groans, tipping his head back as he hits that spot, the spot that lights stars behind his eyelids.

Hisoka notices it. And he does it again, and again and again—

“Gonna cum—” Kurapika moans. 

Kurapika reaches his peak suddenly, body trembling as he falls off the cliff. His body tingles, arousal running up and down it, as the cold ground freezes his front, as Hisoka’s burning hot body burns his back. His body is being taken apart, broken like the vase of their alliance, and then thin white fingers are putting him back together, stroking his dick and cooing in his ear and cumming in his ass. 

Hisoka doesn't even give him time to rest, spinning him around and shoving himself back in immediately. 

“Did you think I was done with you?” He coos, eyes alight with lust. 

“Did I tell you to stop?” Kurapika groans, blunt nails digging deep into his pale shoulders. 

The rain pounds around them, as they tangle on the ground like animals. The thunder and lightning do their best to disguise the obscene slapping of skin, the moans and groans, and erotic noises. 

The clearing smells like rain and sex, and Kurapika revels in the forbidden scents. The forbidden touches of someone he shouldn't want, he can't want, and yet he has anyway. The vase is mended, sitting pretty on the table, as if it had never been broken at all. It sparkles like the rain on Hisoka’s pale skin.  

....

Endnotes:  I hope y'all are enjoying it. I've been in love with Hisoka for like five years now lol, my friends and family all know and joke about it.

.....

Kurapika follows his new client down the hallway of a large house, feet loud on the hardwood floor. Two sets of footsteps echo in the hallway, bouncing off the high ceilings and the paintings lining the walls. The house is gigantic, it had taken his new Boss ten minutes of relative silence to lead Kurapika through the maze of courtyards and hallways and dining rooms. Mostly empty rooms, occupied only with maids and butlers of various ranks. They eye Kurapika with curiosity as they pass by. There are no bodyguards on the premises. 

Interesting, considering that was Kurapika’s new job. The Boss must be very sure of his own abilities. Mafia leaders frequently are. Still, this man seems to be different. More quietly threatening than the blustering threats and red faces of the men he was used to. 

“You're aware of your duties?” The Boss says, tossing the words carelessly over his shoulder as he turns the corner into yet another hallway. The are white with pink and black stripes running up and down a startling in comparison to the beige and white ones Kurapika had just walked through. 

“I will be your bodyguard, correct?” Kurapika responds, blinking his eyes to adjust to the violently pink and black walls. What a color change. 

“Almost.” The man in front of him says, arms folded across his chest. 

“I'm sorry?” Kurapika questions. The job posting definitely said that was what the opening was for. The lady at the job office had even commented on it, calling it a rare posting. “I was sure tha—”

“I intentionally misled you, and I apologize.” The Boss laughs, as a maid dressed in a baby pink maid uniform walks by, smiling brightly at the two of them. Kurapika blinks. All the other servants had been dressed in simple black pants and vests, regardless of gender. Two more maids walk by, one dressed in black and the other in white. They match the walls. 

“Mislead me?” Kurapika questions, wondering if he's being led to his death. 

“For safety reasons.” The Boss says, dodging yet another maid, this one running down the hall at breakneck speed, her bubbly pink maid dress bouncing brightly. She speeds past him and Kurapika gets a quick lungful of expensive perfume and baked goods. These maids are clearly very different from the ones in the rest of the house, what is going on here. 

At the end of the hallway is a single door, painted pink, with designs of little black hearts scattered haphazardly all across it. The rest of the doors in the hallway were white. They come to a stop before it, and the boss tosses a small smile over his shoulder. 

“Straighten your shoulders. You don't want to make a bad first impression.” He laughs, tapping quietly at the door. “Your job depends on it.”

Kurapika adjusts his posture, mind running at light speed to figure out what the hell is going on here. He dusts off the lapels of his black suit, hiding the chains that adorn his right hand. It's better to hide them. 

The door opens a crack and a stern looking woman peeks out, surveying their small group. 

“Hey Rosanne, the new bodyguard is here.” The boss says. Rosanne opens the door wider, eyeing him up and down through a small pair of thick rimmed glasses. She's probably middle aged, with dark black hair pulled into a tight bun. Her dress is different from the other maids. She must be a head maid of sorts. 

“Do you really think this is wise?” Rosanne says, not even bothering to speak to him. Kurapika frowns slightly, standing still a few feet behind his Boss. 

Kurapikas ears perk up. Who’s she? The boss just chuckles.

“Worth it to try, Rosanne.” He says, clapping Kurapika roughly on the shoulders. “I wish you luck.”

“Thank you sir,” Kurapika says, watching as the boss departs down the hallway, dodging around busy maid after busy maid. There are no male employees in this area of the building. Kurapika doesn't think he’s seen one since the butlers in the main entrance. Maybe that's a bad sign.

“This way.” Rosanne says, opening the door wider, tapping one black heeled foot. Kurapika steps through the door, trying not to wince as she slams it behind him. 

“May I ask where we are going?” Kurapika asks as they start down another long hallway, the walls still black, white and baby pink stripped. 

“No.” Rosanne says, marching down the hallway. Kurapika sighs as they turn the corner into yet another hallway. The few maids that pass Kurapika eye him curiously, whispering to each other as they pass by. Kurapika feels a bit like a exotic pet, being viewed curiously from all sides by curious maids. At least these ones aren't as obviously hostile as the woman marching in front of him.

Finally, Rosanne stops before another pink and black door. She leans forward, knocking twice.

“Young miss, I'm here with the new bodyguard.” She says, leaning her head against the door. 

Kurapika stands a few feet behind her. Young miss. She must be speaking of the Boss’s wife. A small silence echoes in the hallway, and then someone speaks.

“Send them in, Rosanne.” A voice says from behind the door. Rosanne pulls away, laying a hand on the door. She eyes him up and down, her blue eyes piercing into the depths of his soul. And then she opens the door.

The first thing Kurapika sees is a large bed, shrouded almost completely by thin lace curtains that fall from the ceiling. Someone is sitting on the bed, one leg over the other on the edge white and pink duvet. The walls are baby pink and white, the vanity in one corner of the room is pink, and laden with pots and sprays of various shapes and sizes. Kurapika can see himself in the large floor length mirror opposite him. He stands out in the sea of pink and white, a lone figure dressed in black. 

“Oh, a girl!” The figure says, and Kurapikas are drawn back to the figure on the bed as you jump down, sock covered feet hitting the white carpeted floor without a sound. The white floaty dress you wear dances around your thighs, just touching the skin a few inches above the top of your knee. You tilt your head, hair tumbling from your white headband around your shoulders. 

“How new! Take your shoes off, ok?”

Kurapika shakes himself out of his pink induced daze and nods, slipping off his black dress shoes and stepping forward onto the white carpet. It's soft beneath his feet as he moves towards you, extending his hand when he arrives before you. 

“I'm the new bodyguard your father—”

“Oh, you're a boy?” You question, taking his offered hand a firm shake. Your hands are warm. “And I know why you're here.”

“Oh,” Kurapika says, a bit off his game. You smile, a pretty face glowing under the soft white light of your overhead chandelier. You can't be the boss’s wife. You can't be much older than him. 

“You can sit there.” You say, letting go of his hand and gesturing at a single pink chair, sitting awkwardly in the middle of your carpet. It's the same shade of pink as the vanity in the corner.

Kurapika shakes himself out of his confused pretty girl pink induced coma, and follows your instructions, sitting upright on the white lace cushion sitting on the chair. You smile, hopping back up on the edge of your bed with a smile.

“Well then,” You say, crossing one leg over the other. “Let's get to know each other.”

✶✶✶

Kurapika settles into his job quickly. It's pretty easy, all he has to do is accompany you wherever you go, occasionally stepping in to deal with weirdos who follow you home or assassins contracted by your fathers enemies. They're never really that powerful, and he's always able to dispatch them quickly enough. The maids are sweet to him, always ready to clean blood out of his suits or occasionally help him dispose of a body or even a living person. Even Rosanne doesn't regard him with outright disgust now, only a face of apathy. 

But very soon, a problem is starting to become apparent. You. It's not like you're difficult to work with. Far from it actually. You're quite normal and sweet for the daughter of a major criminal, and always ready to give him days off or presents or thanks for his hard work. Actually, you're too nice. Too sweet. Too pretty. Kurapika might be developing a bit of a crush on you.

He noticed it one night when he had finished mopping up a batch of assassins that had targeted you. You had been so pleased you yanked him around, pulling him into a tight hug. You smelled of flowery perfume and sweet sugar candies, and Kurapika could feel the press of your boobs against his chest, and you whispered in his ear a thank you and his heart was beating too fast when you pulled away. He had assumed it was a one time thing. You were a pretty girl, it was only natural that he would be a little embarrassed if you hugged him like that. 

And then he started noticing details about you. 

Your smile, your laugh, the low cut tops of some of your dresses. 

How kind and generous you were to your employees. How all your maids loved you, loved working you and often gushed in the employee only areas about how sweet and cute you were. How welcoming you were to him as a newcomer, how you often invited him to just hang out with you and watch some show, or worried for his safety after a fight.

So maybe he had a problem. It was not right to have a crush on someone you were employed to protect. Worse yet were the beats of lust he felt when he saw too much of the skin shown by those little nightgowns you favored. Kurapika shoves down the images that rise as he thinks about those stupid nightgowns, looking around the empty hallways surreptitiously for any maids that might have stayed behind. 

But thankfully he was the only person in the long hallway. Kurapika sinks against the floor with a sigh, body folding down the striped walls with exhaustion. Thank god all the maids are away for a training session. Even Rosanne is gone, visiting family for her younger sister's wedding. You offered him a day off as well, but he had refused it, a bit too worried to leave you alone. Admittedly, he was a bit of a simp, but the worry he felt for you also doubled as part of his job, or so he could justify to himself. 

Kurapika had done bodyguard work before. But never solo. He was the only bodyguard employed at the whole estate. When he had asked, you had told him that the main estate maids were just as good. And that your father was very powerful. Not like you needed to tell him. He knew. Everyone did. 

He had asked you softly why he was employed there, and only a single bodyguard at that. You had informed him with a giggle that your father was a worrywart. That he worried about yucky men stealing his daughter away in the middle of the night. Kurapika couldn't blame him. He would steal you away if he could. 

Kurapika stands up abruptly, smacking the stray thought out of his head with a sigh. What the actual hell kind of thoughts is he giving himself permission to repeat. Hurriedly, he sets off on his patrol of the empty hallway. There's nothing better to do anyway. You had shooed him from your room, your head tilted down and your ears red. You must have something important to do.

Kurapika reaches the end of the hallway, opening the door silently and looking up and down the white corridor that marks the rest of the estate from your quarters, and then starts back down the hallway towards the forbidden lacy depths of your room.

As he nears, he notices something odd. The door to your room is cracked open, a thin sliver of white light pouring over the hardwood flooring. Kurapika stills, straining his ears into the silence of the corridor. You always close your door. You like your privacy.

All he hears at first is silence. Not a sound leaks from your room and into the corridor with the light. Kurapika moves forward on silent feet.

Dread builds in his heart. There is a window in your room. What if someone had creeped into your bedroom through the small window and made off with you in your pink lacy nightgown and white bedroom slippers. Kurapika shudders. He cant feel any nen, but a skilled nen user could easily conceal their presence, not alerting him that anything was wrong at all. He avoids any noise, moving silently on his toes, concealing his presence as he steps towards the cracked door, avoiding the light leaking out of the room. 

And then he hears it. A soft little sound that fills his heart with fear. A whimper.

Kurapika moves fast, opening the door with a slam, chains already flying around him. It takes him a minute to realize what's happening. You're safe, ok and lying on your bed, the lavender light of your mood lights slanting your body with lowlight. Your head rests on your pillow, your eyes closed. Your mouth parts in another whimper, and Kurapika frowns. You dont look like you're in pain. He scans your body carefully checking for injuries. 

Your still in the nightgown he left you in, and Kurapika gulps as his eyes scan past the mounds of your boobs, down your abdomen to where the hem is rucked up above your hips, so that your hands can reach—

Kurapika coughs, finally realizing what the hell is going on as his cheeks flush with mortification, blood running between his cheeks and ears, and down south. 

Your eyes open, and you sit up abruptly as you spot him. Your hand leaves its spot between your legs and you avoid his eyes, flushed a pretty pink. Your hair is mussed, tousled by the tossing and turning you had been doing on your pillows. You cross one leg over the other, shifting slightly. You aren't wearing any panties. Kurapika feels himself swell to life, rubbing painfully against the slacks of his work suite. He hopes you won't notice.

“I apologize name,” Kurapika gets out, clearing his throat hastily as he continues. “I heard—I mean I thought you were—I um…”

He trails off, and the room sinks into uncomfortable silence permeated by a slight tension. He turns away, staring resolutely at your cluttered vanity, praying his arousal will go down.

You cough.

“Kurapika?” You question tentatively, voice sounding a bit flustered. Kurapika jerks his head towards you again, fearing the worst.

“Yes?” He asks, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Your eyes are looking at him. Kurapika watches in horror as they sink down, taking in the probably obvious arousal pressing against his work pants, begging to be freed. He winces. 

“I'm sorry.” He says. The silence seems to last forever, but it probably only lasts for a couple seconds before you speak.

“Do you know much about it?” You say tentatively. You're biting your lips, hands winding around in your lap as you look up at him. Kurapika shoves down the arousal that rises again as his eyes are drawn to your bitten lips. 

“About what?” He asks, moving a bit closer. Not to close, but not ten feet away.

“Um,” You whisper, your cheeks flushing as you wave him closer. Kurapika is treated to a view of your cleavage as you lean forward, whispering the word as if it's forbidden. “Sex.”

“Oh,” Kurapika says, voice stilted. “A bit.”

He doesn't know much, but he probably knows more than you. You're a few months younger than him, but you're much more sheltered than he ever was. But then again, Kurapika was always more focussed on his revenge to bother with girls or sex or anything of the like. 

You wind a finger in your hair, cheeks flush prettily. Kurapika knows his own cheeks are flushed as well, not to mention the obvious sign of arousal that just refuses to go down.

“Can you teach me?” You ask, voice trembling slightly. Kurapika chokes.

“Teach you?” He asks, once the coughing fit finally subsides. You nod, eyes wide and curious, hands knotted in your lap.

“Yeah,” You whisper, and Kurapika watches in shock as your hand reaches out, pressing gently against the bulge in his pants. A groan gets out before he can muffle it, as the heat and pressure of your hand shoots a blinding line of pleasure up his spine and into his brain. Kurapika grips your delicate wrist, pulling your dealy hand off of his growing bulge. You look up at him, all nervous smiles and curious eyes.

“Did that not feel good,” You mutter, hand trembling a bit in his fingers. Kurapika shakes his head.

“No, it did.” He groans, resisting the temptation to put your hand right back where it belonged. ‘But we can't do this.”

You look up at him, a small line appearing between your eyebrows.

“Why?” You ask, a small hint of insecurity in your tone of voice. “Do you not want me?”

“No,” Kurapika says, perhaps a bit too quickly. How could he not want you? Wasn't it obvious, in his town, in his eyes, in his arousal. Oh god he wanted you so bad, and here you were practically offering yourself to him. But, he couldn't.

“Your dad—” He starts, trying to protest. You giggle.

“Daddy doesn't have to know.” You whisper, the hand that isn't clasped in his own coming up to smooth over the lapels of his suite. You look confident, but the trembling in your fingers and the nervous darting of your eyes betrays you, your breath is heavy when you speak again. “The maids are all gone. We're all alone. Please?”

Kurapika takes a deep breath. Breaths in the flowers of your perfume and the musky underbreath of your arousal. And he gives in.

“Fine,” He mutters, hand coming up to gently caress your flushed face. You smile, pressing your cheek into his hand. He almost melts at the adorable action. “I'm going to kiss you. Alright?”

You nod, leaning up into him. Kurapika leans down slowly, giving you time to move away if you want to. He half expects you to move, to tell him to leave. He half expects to wake up alone on his bed. Instead you close your eyes. 

Your lips are soft, moisturized every night with exfoliants and pasts that Kurapika doesn't understand. But they're soft, and your body curves into his as you lean up, letting a little breath escape your mouth. 

You taste like candy. How is that possible? Kurapika doesn't know, and he isn't going to pull away enough to ask. Your lips move against his, moving with the practice of someone who knows how to kiss. Kurapika moves with you, slowly and carefully winding a hand around the back of your neck. It tangles in your tousled hair, and Kurapika touches you as if your glass, as if you might break. You whimper against him, your own hands winding around his waist. Kurapika bites back a whimper. How embarrassing. He's coming undone at the seams already, just from your touch. 

You fall back, your back hitting the comforter with a soft thump. Kurapika falls with you, teeth clanking against yours at the unexpected move. You pull back with a giggle.

“You're a good teacher,” You smile, hands tugging gently at his suit jacket. Kurapika takes it off, obeying your wandering fingers.

“Really?” He questions, discarding his jacket somewhere on the floor of your bedroom. You nod, smiling gently against the white of your bedspread. You look like an angel.

“Uh huh,” You murmur, hands tugging at the hem of your nightgown, pulling it higher and higher. “So sweet, so handsome.”

Kurapika flushes, dick twitching at the praise. His eyes follow your hands, pulling and tugging the teasing hem of your nightgown. He knows you aren't wearing panties. He gulps, propped up over you on his hands and knees, suit jacket discarded on the floor. His dick is painful against his pants. You seem to notice, your manicured hand coming down to trace the bulge cupped in his pants. Kurapika groans, controlling his arousal at the touch of your hand. You smile

“It looks all squished in there,” You say, your eyes curved in hazy mirth. “Doesn't it hurt?”

Your fingers gently stroke him over the fabric, and Kurapika desperately resists the urge to cum.

“Yes,” He admits, biting his lips against the moans. Your hands trace the outline, and Kurapika almost sobs in relief as you undo the zipper, giving him some relief.

“Wait,” Kurapika groans. You freeze, looking concerned and uncertain. Kurapika hurries to continue. He never wants you to feel uncertain. “Do you have any Condoms?”

You nod, scooting out from underneath him and towards the end of the bed. Kurapika gets treated to a flash of your bare ass as you hop off the bed, sauntering over to your vanity and digging through the drawer. Kurapika takes the opportunity to shed the rest of his clothes, leaving him naked besides for his boxers. You smile, holding up an unopened box of condoms victoriously. 

“Rosanne gave them to me,” You explain, shrugging your shoulders. “I don't know why.”

Kurapika thinks Rosanne might know more than she's letting on. He sighs. Is he that much of an open book or is she just insane. He thinks it is probably the latter.

“You're very strong,” You say. Kurapika looks up, standing a few feet away from you. You're looking at him, eyes taking in his body. He's thin, lith, not as built as some people but not all bones. You look curious, a box of condoms still clutched in your hand. Kurapika can barely think enough to be self conscious.

You tear open the box, reaching inside to pull out a single foil wrapped package.

“Is this good?” You ask, discarding the rest of the box on your bedside table carelessly. It joins a mostly empty yerba mate can and some other nicknacks, looking wildly out of place. 

“Yes, this is fine.” kurapika says, taking the foil wrapped package out of your palm. You smile, body swaying distracting as you turn towards the bed. 

“You put it on,” You say, and Kurapika watches as you pull your nightgown over your head. The lace drags over your skin, pulling up to reveal your pussy, your stomach, your breasts. Kurapika bites back a groan, dick twitches in his underwear.

When he finishes putting on the condom you're already on the bed. Your legs are propped up, your head resting on your pillows, surrounded with a halo of hair. You look like a princess. You are a princess.

“Are you ready?” Kurapika asks. His hands tremble slights as he pulls your legs wide, lining himself up with your drooling pussy. He can feel sweat dripping down his back, blond hair dripping over his eyeline. You're a hazy mess beneath him, your body on full display for his viewing pleasure. 

“Yes,” You nod, body a tense line on the bed. 

As Kurapika slides into your body he knows he won't last long. And by the way your back arches, the way the walls of your pussy flutter against him, you won't either.

Your walls are so warm, contracting around him as you whimper, back arching off of the bed. Kurapika groans, resisting the urge to thrust deep into you, letting you adjust slowly to the unusual intrusion. 

When he finally bottoms out deep inside you Kurapika has to desperately resist the urge to whimper. Your body is so warm, your face full of pleasure as you gaze up at him, pretty pink lips parted in a moan.

“Can I move?” Kurapika grits out, trying to remain controlled and deliberate. You nod, and immediately your back arches as Kurapika pulls out, and then thrusts deep inside you. He won't last.

The pace he sets is slow, steady, more focussed on hitting the right spots than speed. And it seems to work, your hands scrabbling at anything, his shoulders, his arms, the fabric of your bed. 

Your hand settles on his shoulders, nails digging into his back. Kurapika pretends the pain doesn't turn him on a bit. 

“Gonna cum!” You whimper, back arching against him as he thrusts deep. Kurapika groans, hand winding down to find your clit. He's gonna lose it.

“Me too.” He groans, hand winding between your bodies. He's so close. He needs to tumble off with him.

The reaction when he finds your clit is immediate. Your body tenses, your walls clenching down against him, and Kurapika falls.

“Cumming!” You moan, and Kurapika cums with you, hiding his grunts and moans in the heavenly sounds that exit your mouth. He leans forward as the pleasure courses through him, swallowing your moans greedily into his own mouth, savoring them for later. 

He doesn't know what's going to become of this, if anything at all. 

But for the moment, Kurapika finds comfort in you, as the two of you tumble off the cliff or arousal and into the sea of content.

....

...

The music pounds in your ears, numbing your brain as you stir your cocktail stick uselessly, watching the colores flash across the bodies on the dance floor, across the far walls. Your friend Vera, sitting beside you at the bar takes a sip of her drink and winces. 

“Bad?” You say over the music, grinning as she shoves it away from her slowly.

“Terrible,” She says, rolling her eyes. “My fault, I felt adventurous. Maybe trying one of their specials was a bad idea.”

You laugh, eyeing the ambiguously labeled specials on the menu, and take a small sip of your own drink. It's not bad, but you played it safe, and ordered a drink you knew this club made well. 

“It's nice to have you out again, Name.” Vera says, smiling genuinely across the table as the two of you lean forward, shouting back and forth. “It's been a while.”

“I guess,” You say, taking another sip to let yourself think. “I’ve been busy.”

Vera eyes you out of the corner of her black eyes, the silver glitter on her eyelids glowing with each flash of light.  You stare at her, catching in her cute clubbing outfit, and then past her to the mass of moving bodies on the dance floor. 

Vera raises a delicately plucked eyebrow at you. 

“It's not because of—” 

“No, Vera.” You say with a roll of your eyes. You actually have been really busy. “I had to help my sister move, remember. And then work was a handful.”

“Those kids giving you trouble?” Vera asks with a wink. You smile.

“No, they're very sweet.” You say, taking another swig of your drink. “Just a lot.”

The sweet kindergarteners you had gotten this year were very well behaved kids. You’ve only had to break up one small fight over a pair of pink scissors, and not the dozens you got last year. You shudder, the problem children had moved on to first grade. 

Managing any large number of small bodies was a time sink, and mentally draining. But you wouldn't trade it for the world. 

“So, you're really over him?” Vera says, leaning forward to shout directly in your ear. You feign ignorance, spinning your glass on the counter.

“Who?” You ask, looking a bit over her left shoulder and not in her eyes. Vera has a scary talent for telling when someones lying. Not like you're lying, just stretching the truth a bit so she doesn't worry. But you're totally over him.

Vera’s eyes slide over the dance floor, surveying the thrusting bodies and you take the opportunity to take a small sip of your drink, smiling in relief. At least she's not looking at you with those knowing eyes. Vera hums conversationally. 

“Wow, there's this really tall man with red hair—”

You don't even let her finish her sentence. You spit your drink, turning your head so fast you almost choke, and survey the crowd.

“Wait where?” You shout, looking over the crowds of moving and twisting bodies frantically. “I can't see where he is, Vera. You gotta hide me.”

A short silence falls, as Vera fails to respond. It takes you about ten seconds of searching the crowd until you realize she's fooled you. You flush and turn away from the crowd, avoiding her eyes.

“Over him, huh.” Vera hums, swiping your drink to take a swig. You sigh, turning back to her and away from the dance floor, trying to cover for your embarrassment. 

“I am, I promise.” You mutter, snatching your now empty drink glass away from her with a sigh. “Why does it matter anyway? It's been months, and it's not like he's here.”

“You never know. Better to be safe than sorry.” Vera shouts, hopping down from the bar stools with a grin. “Wanna dance?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Later.” You say, you're a bit too tired for the dance floor right now. Maybe after a couple more drinks. Vera frowns.

“You want me to stay?” She asks, hand on her hips. You shake your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder with a smile. Vera’s a good friend, but you dont wanna hold her back. She's gonna be tearing up the dance floor any moment. 

“Nah, you go ahead.” You say, motioning towards the bartender. “I'll join you in a bit.”

“Alright,” Vera says, “If you leave early, text me.”

“Same,” You shout and she waves a hand back towards you as she disappears onto the dance floor. You smile after her, watching the silver of her top vanish between the writhing bodies. The bartender slides another drink across the bar and you pay with a smile, sinking back into your bar stool with a sigh. It's nice to be out again, letting the music run through your bones, the alcohol smooths down your anxieties and worries and leaves you with just pleasant thoughts. You down the drink quickly, politely declining the next one offered to you with as much of a smile as you can muster. Thankfully the guy takes it surprisingly well, accepting it and moving on to the next girl. How rare. 

At some point you get up and join the people on the dance floor. You don't dance well, you don't even really dance, you mostly let the bass take you, whirling you around your small circle of space. There isn't much room inside the twisting and writhing bodies. At some point you find Vera, tangled with a man and the two of you dance together, until you're pulled apart again.

It's nice to let go, to writhe and twist and scream with the other people on the dance floor. You're not even drunk, just buzzed enough to forget your problems and dance. 

The man who is dancing behind you smells really familiar. A faint perfume you cant place, mixed with sweat and what might be the copper tang of blood. You disregard it, swaying to the music, until you trip back into him. He's quite tall, you notice as your back his his chest. Muscular too, with how hard his chest is. His hands wind around your waist, studeying you on your feet with a small chuckle. He sounds a bit familiar, feels a bit familiar, like you should know him. But your buzzed mind doesn't want to think too hard.

You throw a half hearted apology over your shoulders as he steadies you, hands feeling lovely on your waist. 

And then you never move away. 

Somehow his hands just stay on your body, moving up and down, occasionally around, letting your sway and grind against him. In your half drunk mind it all feels familiar, and comforting in a way. Not to mention the usual doses of arousal. 

As large hands, planning over the skin of your stomach, want to praise yourself for the thin tank top you were wearing with your low waisted pleated skirt. Your future self is thanking you very much right now, as the man's large hand winds under the hem of your tank top, fingers sitting on your navel. The other one has found its way up to rest on your boob. Not squeezing or touching, just resting. You wish he would do more. 

Out of the corner of your eye you can make out a familiar flash of red as the man leans his head down, breath brushing your left ear. 

“It's been a long time my dear.” Hisoka whispers in your ear, teeth nipping lightly at the top. You whimper, but make no move to pull away. He chuckles.

“You don't seem surprised.” 

You already knew. Maybe from the moment you first caught his scent. How in the world could you forget the scent of a man you’d dated for three years. Your own body is a liar, clearly. You sigh, spinning around in his arms and pressing your face into his chest.

“Shut up,” You mutter against the black t-shirt he wears. “Don't ruin it.”

“I wouldn't dare,” Hisoka coos, hands winding down your waist, hands resting on your ass. You sigh, hands entangled in his body, arms entangled together. His hands are cold, a strange sensation among the sweaty crowd, pulsing with heat and life. And they send a chill through your body as they trace a thin line where the fabric of your pleated skirt meets the top of your thighs. A line as thin as your restraint. 

You want Hisoka. Badly. You shove down your desire and bite your lip. 

“I've missed this,” You mutter, the alcohol thinning the net of restraint between your arousal and your common sense. You hide your face in his muscled chest. It shakes as he chuckles, rewarding your lack of restraint with a gentle trace of the meat of your thighs. You sigh.

“You're certainly loose-lipped.” Hisoka chuckles as his fingers trace gentile lines below the hem of your skirt. And then, after a slight pause, “Me too.”

You don't want to delude yourself into thinking he sounds more sincere. But your more conscious mind notes the words. You know he's not lying. His body is as eager as yours. 

“Here all alone?” He asks, somehow managing to sound condescending over the raging electronic music and the raging fire of arousal and resentment mixing into a heady cocktail of delight. You shake your head into his chest, hands notting in the fabric of his shirt and digging into his back. Hisoka's hands are towing the line, tracing father and farther under your skirt. You don't protest.

“No,” You murmur, “With Vera.”

“Ah, no boyfriend then?” He asks, one of his cold fingers brushing your butcheek. Your pussy drools against your black panties, longing for the familiar touch of his thick fingers. Flashes of a past relationship flit in your touches, behind your eyes. 

“No,” You mutter, grinding against his hands. “Not right now.”

“What a surprise,’ Hisoka coos, “I would have assumed you would have no trouble finding a decent replacement. Maybe a less attractive one.”

You sigh, digging your nails into his back. You know it wont do anything but turn him on, but you want to show your annoyance somehow. Hisoka’s cold hand takes a handful of your ass, squeezing it appreciatively. 

“You're hard to replace.” You sigh, as you pull your head off his chest. Looking up at him was maybe a mistake. Hisoka is really sexy, more sexy than you had even remembered in your dreams. That fire red hair, down and distracting, hiding the flickering yellow of his eyes. He grins down at you, as if he's gazing upon a prize or a treasured painting. You hate the hint of emotion you catch behind his eyes. You wish it was pure lust. 

His kisses taste like alcohol. Like fire and salt and the past, and you melt into his arms with a sigh, resentment lingering in your touch. A hand slips fully under your skirt, fingers sliding over your panties. He chuckles, fingers slick against the mess you know he finds down there. 

“Messy,” Hisoka coos, as a single finger slips under the lace. A tease of what's to come. You whimper, yanking at his shoulders. 

“Wait.” You murmur. To his credit he freezes, hands placed incriminatingly on your body, your waist, your pussy. It's like he's been caught doing something he's not allowed, someone he's not allowed to do. “Not here.” You finish, as your hips grind on that hand, against your will. 

“Hmm,” Hisoka coos, as his thumb finds your clit. “Back area it is then?”

Your back arches against him, moan tumbling from your lips. The people around you haven't noticed, but you know they will soon. You nod. 

♥♥♥

There are a lot of things you could be doing instead of making out with your ex in the dingy back area of a club. Work, for example. Or maybe finishing your newest painting. Or perhaps even chores, or folding laundry, or grocery shopping. But instead you had your legs hooked around the muscled hips of Hisoka, as he practically eats your mouth off your face entirely. 

You pull your hands from his hair, head falling back with a clunk against the wall as he mouths at your neck, leaving possessive little hickeys for a future you. 

You don't want to stop him. 

“We shouldnt do this,” You maon, head rolling to the side, resting against the wall. You can hear the pulsing from the bass through the wall, the muffled sounds of music and bodies. Hisoka has you against a wall, tucked away in the corner of a hallway, behind a do not enter sign. But the two of you were never one to follow directions anyway.

“Why not?” Hisoka purrs against your neck. “It's just meaningless sex.”

He sucks another hickey into your neck and it stings, matching with the words that escape his mouth. You whimper, digging your nails into his back. You want to rip the damn shirt off those broad shoulders.

“It's meaningless.” You murmur, grabbing that red hair and yanking him up to kiss you again. “Just sex.” You moan, tapping the muscled arms holding you suspended off the ground. He lets you drop to the ground, your heels clacking on the ground. 

It's just meaningless. You can do meaningless, emotionless sex. If Hisoka isn't attached, neither are you. You'd rather roll around naked on a hotbed of coals than let that damn man hold something over your head. 

Hands tangled in that red hair, you force him down to his knees.

Hisoka is strong, much stronger than you both physically and in terms of nen. If he wanted to he could easily resist your guidance, he could shove you through the wall if he really tried. But he lets you push him, sinking to his knees with the kind of grin that splits you between slapping him and cumming. You whine, gripping his hair and shoving him close to your pussy. Hisoka smirks. 

“You're so eager for me,” He coos, cold hands stroking your thigh. “Are you sure you aren't still attached?”

You glare, hoisting one leg up and over his broad shoulders.

“Shut up,” You moan, head falling back against the wall with a clunk. Hisoka smirks, and does as you instruct.

Hisoka might be an annoying egotistical asshole, but if you could give him anything, he was extremely skilled in bed. 

You watch as he grips the gusset of your panties, arms flexing as he rips the place clean in half. You want to complain as you watch the lace pieces fall off your thighs and tumble to the floor, but then he puts his tongue to work and any complaints dissolve in your throat. 

God, you missed this. You anchor your hands in his hair as his hands grip your thighs, forcing them apart. The bass thumbs through your body, as Hisoka works his magic on your pussy. His nimble tongue dances around your clit, working up your already tense body, tying it as tight as a bowstring. You whimper, hands yanking and pulling at his hair.

Hisoka looks so good like this, on his knees, hair mussed and eyes hazy, a large bulge tenting his pants. And most importantly, silent.

Slurps and dirty squelching noises fill the empty hallway, accompanied by moans and groans, and of course the bass pumping through the walls and connecting with your body. 

Fucking your ex was a terrible idea, logically speaking. But as your body archings off the wall, as Hisoka suctions his lips around your clit and sucks, the idea seems really bright and clever. God he's so good at this. 

“Fuck,” You mutter, back arching as you feel your orgasm looming closer and closer. “Want more.”

“How eager~!” Hisoka pants, pulling away from your pussy for a moment, his spit slicked lips shining in the lowlight. You groan, muttering something in between his name and ‘shut the hell up’, and then your complaints dissolve into a whine as he abruptly shoves his fingers into your cunt.

Your back arches off the wall, head tipped back, mouth parted in a loud moan. Hisoka knows what he's doing. He knows what you like, how many fingers you want, how fast you want it, how you like your clit sucked. 

He knows it all. 

And you hate that. 

Hisoka holds the power to drive you wild, panting, insane, and you hate it. 

“Gonna cum,” You whine, bucking your pussy against his face. HIsoka mutters something unimportant into your pussy, but all you can muster is a moan of warning before you come.

Your orgasms overwhelms you, stars and lights and red bursting on your eyelids as the arousal falls around you, pumping through your veins in time with the bass. 

“Oh god, Hisoka,” You moan as you cum, and faintly your common sense scolds you for letting him know he has any power over you. But the rest of your body is currently occupied by the orgasms running in waves through your body, by the man on his knees before you. 

“Good, huh my dear?” Hisoka coos when you cum down, rising from his feet with an obnoxious smirk. It turns you on. 

“Shut up,” You whine, pulling your skirt over your naked ass. Hisoka laughs. 

“You’ll have to stand me for a little longer, I'm afraid.” He purrs, hand on your waist as you hobble out of the hallway, and towards the main floor of the club. “I know you can't get it this good anywhere else.”

You want to ignore him, to bruise that massive ego of his but right now you would rather ride the massive dick he has hidden in his pants.

“Fuck you Hisoka.” You mutter as the two of you wind your way across the dance floor and towards the exit of the club. Hisoka chuckles.

“Soon, dear.” He says, hand winding under your skirt to stroke your bare pussy. “Be a good girl and be patient?”

You choke on a moan, slapping his hand away from your bare pussy lest you cum on the floor of the club. You shoot Vera a text before you leave, informing her of your bad decisions. All you receive in response is a simple text.

‘I knew it.’ 

And then

‘Enjoy it.’

You laugh a bit, stepping out into the cold air as Hisoka’s hand winds under your skirt to smooth over your pussy again. You think you very much will. 

...

....

You didn't want to be at the park. You didn't like this park. It was cold and wet, and there was nothing to do. You clenched your mothers hand in your small hand, gripping your toy gun in the other. It's a stuffed gun and you absolutely adore it, taking it everywhere you go. 

“I don't like this park,” You whine, tugging on your moms hand. Your mom smiles gently down at you, squeezing your hand back.

“I know Name, but the other park is closed today.” She says, dragging you gently into the small grassy clearing, occupied by a few swing sets and a small play castle. You look around, looking for other playmates. A boy is sitting in the grass, fat hands clutching a gun stuffy just like your own. You grin, letting go of your mothers hand. 

You march across the grassy territory, dressed in your favorite black dress and small shoes, gun stuffy clutched in your hands. The boy looks up as you stand before him. His hair is very pretty.

“Look,” You say, showing him your gun stuffy. The boy tilts his head, studying you carefully as you continue. “It's the same.”

“It is,” The boy says, rising to his feet on unsteady knees. His hair is shiny. You want to touch it.

“How old are you,” You say, standing tall. You're a few inches taller than him, and you smile.

“I'm six,” The boy says, gun stuffy clutched in one hand, the other offered out in front of him. You look at it for a moment, and then take his hand, shaking it vigorously like the grown ups do. 

“I'm seven,” You say. “And I'm in charge.”

The boy tilts his head, blinking curiously at you with big black eyes. 

“Why?” He asks, and his pretty hair sways back and forth. You frown.

“I'm older, so I'm in charge.” You announce, proud that you know something he doesn't. “That's always how it is.”

The boy nods after a moment, tottering over towards you on unsteady legs. You grin, taking his smaller hand in your own and marching off towards your mother, who's talking with another tall woman in the distance. Illumi obeys, hand grips on your own.

“What's your name?” He asks, ears flushing a pretty shade of pink. You puff out your chest, your parents have informed you to be proud of your name.

“Name,” You say, and then, “what's your name?”

“Illumi,” The boy says, and then after a moment. “You have a pretty name.”

You grin, your cheeks feeling a bit hot. 

“You have pretty hair.” You say, placing your gun stuffy on the bench beside your mother and the woman. Illumi mirrors you, handing his stuff to the woman. She must be his mom. 

“You're pretty, “ Illumi says, hand clenching your own. He sounds important as he continues, “pretty like the princesses in my books.”

You giggle, reaching over to brush a hand through his silky hair. It's very nice hair. 

“You're not a prince though,” You muse, thinking about your books. “You're like a witch!”

Illumi tilts his head, confused. “Is that good?”

“Yes!” You announce, sure of yourself. “I like witches. Almost as much as princes.”

Illumi grins, and his hand leaves your own as he totters away, returning with a small bouquet of slightly crushed pink and white flowers. He holds them out proudly, a small grin on his doll face.

“For you,” he says. You smile, taking the flowers in your small hands, you do a curtsy, your knees wobbling and your hair falling in your eyes. But Illumi seems in awe. Your own cheeks feel hot as you stand again.

Neither of you notice your mother and Kikyo muffling their laughter and cooing into their hands. 

♥♥♥

Illumi has another friend. You aren't jealous, you really aren't. Being jealous at the grown up age of ten was ridiculous. You insisted to your mother that you were not jealous, and you just knew that even though you had never met Illumis friends, he was probably a very dull and boring person. 

Your mother simply laughs, continuing to stir the various pots and pans on the stove. You're excited, because tonight, Illumi and his family are coming to dinner. 

Your father says something to your mother, pressing kiss to her lips. You look away, making a disgusted face. Your parents laugh. 

The sound of footsteps on gravel alerts you, and you spin, turning to stand by the door and greet your guests. You're very excited. 

Kikyo and Silva arrive first, a small baby clutched in Kikyo's arm. Kikyo bends down, pressing a small box into your hands and patting you gently on the head. You like Kikyo, she smells like flowers and gives you presents. Silva smiles at you, patting you more roughly on the head. He's very tall, but you try not to be afraid. Being afraid at the age of ten is very embarrassing. 

Your mother and father coo over the baby, but you ignore it. Babies are boring, breakable things that can't talk. You're not allowed to play dress up with them or play with them, so what use do they have? Your mother always just laughs when you inform her of your very real concerns. 

The box in your hands holds a pair of small sparkly earrings. You grin, putting them into your pierced ears. You loved jewelry. 

Miluki arrives next, head already buried in his switch. He doesn't even spare you a glance, throwing you a small hello as he belines towards the living room couch. You find Miluki dreadfully boring, almost as boring as a baby. 

You smile, watching as Illumi turns the corner, pretty hair catching the light. There's a figure beside him. A tall figure, with brilliant red hair and pale skin. 

You frown. Your mother didn't tell you Illumi’s friend was coming. You're rather annoyed that she didn't warn you, so that you might be properly prepared. Your mother is praying for your downfall, it seems. 

The boy that saunters beside Illumi is tall. A few inches taller than you, and quite a bit taller than Illumi. You comfort yourself at the thought that Illumi is still shorter than you at least. You frown, eyeing the stranger up and down.

His hair is like fire, and his eyes are like pretty jewels. Your cheeks feel hot as you stick out a hand.

“What's your name,” You demand, “How old are you?”

The boy grins at you, bearing pearly white teeth, and takes your hand in his own. He doesnt shake it though, instead bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the top of your hand. Your cheeks feel hot, your body tingling as you pull away abruptly, probably very flushed. 

“Im Hisoka,” The boy says, standing much too close to you. You feel sweaty and uncomfortable. “And I'm eleven.”

You frown. He's older than you. Which means he's in charge. 

“You have pretty hair,” you mutter, frowning in defeat. The boy grins, looming into your personal space and draping an arm across your shoulder. You feel heat leak into your veins, your cheeks blooming with red as he steers you deeper into your own house. Illumi trails behind you.

“Your hair is very dull,” Hisoka says, as the three of you walk into the living room. 

“My hair is not dull!” You frown, smoothing down your hair. Your hair is very pretty, everyone says so. You roll your eyes, glaring up at the unfortunately older boy with contempt, fluffing your dress. He leans forward, tugging at the ends of your hair gently and holding it up to the light.

“I suppose it's not bad,” He grins, yellow eyes flashing from between the fiery red strands on his head. His pale fingers twist your hair between them, and you glare, yanking your hair away as you turn. You don't like this Hisoka person very much. He makes you flush with  anger. You march towards the living room, to join Miluki. 

The boys follow you. You turn with a spin, fire raging in your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest defiantly.

“Go away.” You mutter, puffing up your hot cheeks. Illumi frowns, looking a bit lost and confused, but you ignore his silent pleas for help.

Hisoka chuckles, leaning over to pat you harshly on the head.

“Aw, don't be upset.” He coos, reaching into his pocket and pulling a small box from within. “I brought you a present!”

You perk up, arms falling from their crossed position. 

“You did?” You ask, reaching for the box. Hisoka nods, shoving it into your hands. You frown, cheeks heating as you feel around the box for the clasp. Illumi brushes his hair away from his eyes.

“I helped,” He says, standing beside the red haired boy, a few inches shorter than him, with baby fat still on his cheeks. 

Hisoka smiles, patting Illumi roughly on the shoulder.

“Illumi and I looked long and hard for something a pretty girl would like.” He says, messing up Illumis smooth hair. You flush, picking at the edge of the box. 

“How did you know i was pretty,” You mutter resentfully. “I have dull hair.”

Hisoka chuckles, smoothing the top of your hair gently.

“Is the pretty girl sulking,” He says, smirking. “Open the present, maybe you’ll forgive me.”

Illumi nods, standing a few inches behind him, hands in the pockets of his overalls. You flip open the box. It's a necklace. A small, tear shaped glittering jem, shining in the lights of your living room. It hangs from a thin silver chain. It's one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Forgive me?”

You look up, and muster the gusto to form a small smile.

“Maybe,” You mutter, holding out the box. “If you put it on me.” 

♥♥♥

The man gurgles helplessly on the ground, blood dripping from the clean slit in his throat. You gag, turning away from the gruesome sigh, playing with the necklace strung around  your neck. Moonlight pores through the open windows of the hotel ballroom, casting silver lights on the marble floor. The marble is marred, cut with splatters of fresh blood, the occasional body littering the floor. It shines almost as bright as the diamond around your neck. 

There's clear differences between the four or five bodies scattered around the ballroom floor. The two that you were responsible for, the ones lying a few feet in front of you are clean, killed by a single gunshot to the head. 

About ten feet away the bodies are killed a bit more messily, with a clean cut to the throat. Blood leaks out, dripping onto the floor. And the last few bodies, mangled and toyed with, killed by a few playing cards to the head. You sigh, stepping gingerly around the puddles of blood and towards the open windows.  The boys are so messy, you prefer less to clean up.  

You breathe in the cold clean night air, closing your eyes against the sound of fighting behind you. You slip your gun into your thigh holster, brushing your dress over it with a sigh. It's late. The mission went on way too long, way longer than you had been promised. 

Illumi had promised that you would only be in Yorknew city for a couple hours, and then you could catch your flight back home and away from the busy city. But alas here you were, after two extra days, in the middle of the night finally completing your mission. You're kind of surprised that Hisoka hadn't complained earlier, but alas he had seemed content to kick around in Yorknew city as Illumi tracked your targets, and you shopped. He had disappeared somewhere, you had decided not to question him. It was always better with him to simply nod and smile. 

Right on cue you hear telltale signs of death, a loud scream of rage and a thump to the floor. You sigh. Maybe it's finally time to go.

“You guys done?” You ask, taking your last few breaths of cold night air and moving back into the room, dodging around blood puddles. Illumi is standing silent in the center of the room like a statue, hair rustling slightly in the breeze from the window. He's cleaning a small silver knife with a cloth. He nods, shoulder length hair bobbing up and down. You're kind of jealous of his hair. One day you'll sneak up on him while he's sleeping and shave off all of that gorgeous hair to make a wig. You grin rather scarily at Illumi, as he puts away his knife, completely unbothered. He's wearing a normal zip hoodie and pants, a black wife beater underneath. He looks so normal it's almost comical. 

“Where’s Hisoka?” You question, looking around for the familiar head of red hair. You're not even surprised when that familiar hair pops up right beside you, accompanied by a familiar smirk. You sigh.

“You guys are so messy,” You grumble, gesturing around you at the blood and guts and dead bodies with a grimace, “it's all so unnecessary.”

Hisoka chuckles, hands in the pockets of his black jeans. He's wearing a distractingly tight black t-shirt. It's almost odd to see him in such a casual outfit, you're used to at least one interesting print or color. He looks good though, he always does. But it's kind of odd that the purple of Illumis jacket is the brightest thing among the three of you. You're wearing a simple black dress with a slit in the side, hiding the gun holstered on your thigh. You fiddle with it, pulling it from its holster and spinning it around. The boy's eyes follow the movement. 

“Why do you use a gun?” Illumi questions, moving over towards you and Hisoka, standing in the center of the room. Hisoka chuckles, brushing his hair away from his eyes.

“Yes, it's so boring!” He says with a laugh, tossing his head back a bit. His hair sways distractingly as he throws a heavy arm over your shoulders. 

You shake him off and roll your eyes.

“Again, messy.” You say, leaning down to pick up a spare earring that glittered on the floor. You had already pocketed the other one earlier. “Pluis the police officers tend to assume a normal person did it, because of the bullet hole.”

“Hmm,” Hisoka hums, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder again, steering you towards the exit with a chuckle. “How smart. But boring nonetheless.”

You roll your eyes, letting him guide you towards the exit. You wanna go home, but you’ll have to settle for a hotel room and some mediocre sleep.

Illumi follows, standing a foot away on your other side. You sigh, bareing Hisoka’s heavily muscled arm weighing down your shoulders.

You’ve known Hisoka and Illumi forever. Perhaps too long, some would say. You didn't really know if you would consider your long friendship a net positive, but it certainly wasn't that bad. 

The night air is cold and refreshing against your skin as you step outside. Your breath freezes in the air, perfuming out in a great cloud. You shiver, curling into the warm furnace of heat that is Hisoka’s body in spite of yourself. His arm slides off your shoulder, falling around your waist. The butterflies fluttering around your stomach dance, swirling despite the cold. Your cheeks feel hot.

“Where are we staying, anyway?” You ask, nose freezing in the cold. You tuck your fingers into your armpits, trying to converse warmth. Illumi, who's walking a bit ahead of you, slows to walk beside you. You appreciate the extra warmth.

“I don't know,” Illumi says, words warming the air and then dissolving into the crisp night. “The closest hotel.”

Your mouth drops open as his words sink in. 

“Illumi,” you hiss, furious and cold. “We can't rent one, you know that!”

“Oh,” Illumi says, as if he had just discovered the major flaw in his plan. And then, after a moment of walking in silence, “Hisoka can rent one. He's eighteen.”

“That's true,” Hisoka offers, and you pinch his side. 

“Do you have your id?” You question, raising an eyebrow, “And besides, I'm seventeen! That's illegal!”

Illumi shoots you a deadpan look.

“You just killed someone, name.” He says, walking a few inches away from you. You huff clinically, not enjoying his humor. Of course he only decides to be funny when it doesn't benefit you. But really, you're cold and tired and kind of horny for some reason so you give up, relenting with a sigh.

‘Fine, whatever.” You mutter, watching your breath blow into the sky. “If we get in trouble it's your fault.

♥♥♥

The receptionist raises an eyebrow sky high. You try to grin convincingly as the three of you enter the lobby, moving towards the front desk of the mid level hotel. It's not a nice place, but it's not terrible.

“Who's gonna pay for this nonsense?” You hiss, moving across the marble of the empty lobby towards the very tired looking receptionist. 

“I'll handle it,” Hisoka whispers, searching his pockets for his wallet. You pinch Illumi, willing him to remain silent. You’ll let Hisoka handle this.

“Hello, Miss…” he starts, looking down at the receptionist's name tag, “Fumiko. We’d like a double room.”

He leans forward, turning on all the charm as he slides his id across the countertop. Fumiko raises an eyebrow. Looking tired, annoyed, and mostly unimpressed by Hisokas charm. You lean over to Illumi, standing still as a statue beside you. 

“This was a bad idea,” You mutter, leaning up to whisper in his ear. His hair brushes your lips as you pull away, smuggling into this side. You're still a bit cold. He lets you, hand hovering awkwardly over your waist. 

“We've only got one room available,” Fumiko says, holding Hisoka’s id up to the light and squinting at it. “You’ll have to deal with that.”

You sigh, pulling away from Illumi. His hand stays still for a moment, before falling back to his side.

“That's fine,” You sigh, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “How much?”

Fumiko considers you for a moment, her tired black eyes trailing over your ragtag group. She probably knows. It's kind of obvious, based on the fact that neither you or Illumi has produced ids, that you're too young. For a moment you worry that you’ll have to sleep on the street, in the cold night. But Fumiko just sighs, turning to tap into her computer.

“Minding my business,” She hums quietly to herself, yanking the credit card off of the countertop with some force. “Wherever I go, it's always the damn same…”

You sigh, letting her mutter to herself as she processes the transaction, sliding the room keys across the countertop. Hisoka grabs them, slipping them safely into his pockets. 

“Enjoy your stay,” Fumiko sighs, sinking back into her chair as soon as she's done, turning her eyes away from your group. You honestly just pity her. She looks exhausted. 

The hotel room is kind of small. It's a cramped space with only two rooms, a large small bedroom with a king sized bed, and a tiny bathroom. It's so small it doesn't even have a bath, only a small glass shower tucked away in the corner. You sigh, dropping your stuff onto the ground near the large window and plopping yourself tiredly down on the bed. Your eyes are already slipping closed, but you force them open as you hear the boys shuffling around. Hisoka dumps his few things onto the small table on one side of the bed, grinning suggestively at you, spread out on the bed. 

“Only one bed, huh.” He chuckles, stretching his arms above his head. You don't watch as his arms flex, you dont eye his neck as he tilts his head back, and you certainly don't ogle the small sliver of skin revealed by his tank top as he raises his arms. You cough rolling over with a sigh.

“Whatever,” You mutter, turning instead to Illumi. He's shed his purple hooding on the other side of the bed, but he still stands, staring. You shiver.

“What are you looking at,” You mutter, pulling your dress up reflectively. Maybe your boob had popped out or something. 

“You're distracting me,” Illumi informs you, folding his muscled arms across his chest. You scoff, glaring into his dark eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about,” You mutter, reluctantly pulling yourself to your feet.  Hisoka chuckles, grabbing his wallet and a room key from the table as you crawl to your feet. Tired.

You feel so grimy. Your black dress is heavy and uncomfortable against your body.

“I'm showering first,” You demand, working at the buttons of your dress. You don't even care that the boys are in the room. They're not interested in you. Illumi is a sexless creature, and Hisoka had his pick of pretty women. You sigh, undoing another button.

“Fine,” Hisoka says, a small smile working its way across his face as he watches you unbutton your dress. “We’ll head to the convenience store to grab some drinks. Right, Illumi?”

Illumi gulps, grabbing his hoodie robotically from the table and nodding.

“Yes, fine.” He says, marching towards the door like a robot. You roll your eyes, undoing the last button of your dress and letting it tumble to the floor in a shower of black satin. Illumi lingers, as the door slams behind Hisoka. His eyes seem to catch on your body, run up and down it until he notices your necklace.

“You still have that?” He asks, walking towards you. You suddenly feel very awake, and very naked in your bra and underwear. You shiver, air heavy against your sensitive skin.

“Of course,” You mutter, your voice soft in the room. “Undo it for me.”

Illumi is silent as you spin, and his breath is loud in the room as he walks forward slowly, stopping a few inches behind you. You shiver, holding in your breath as you feel his hands come up, trembling slightly as he undoes the clasp. The room is hot, heavy, and uncomfortable. You don't know what to say, what to feel. Maybe you're too tired.

The clasp comes undone with a small pop, and you turn with a smile. Illumi backs up, his cheeks flushed a bit pink. It must be your imagination creating that flush. Just like your imagination is creating the way his eyes scan you up and down, the way his fingers twitch at his side.

“Thanks,” You murmur. Illumi nods, his dark black eyes suddenly too much to look at. You can feel the heat of another pair of eyes nailing you to your spot, and as your eyes slide past Illumi and they find Hisoka, standing by the door. The look in his eyes is too intense, to know for your liking. His gaze is lascivious, impossible to imagine as his eyes scan you slowly, catching on your pebbled nipples in your black lace bra. You shiver, body pulsing with arousal, you can't take it anymore.

You toss your discarded dress towards Hisoka, faking a laugh.

“Aren't you guys going?” You toss over your shoulder as you place the necklace down, and book it towards the shower. You hear the door close as you start the shower, hiding in the hot steam.

So maybe you want to fuck your childhood friends. You consider your options as you step under the shower, body still thrumming with arousal. The hot water runs down your body, over the mountains of your breast and your hard nipples, down your body and pooling around your feet. You lean back under the hot water, closing your eyes and letting the water flow down your face, wetting your hair.

Your body still thumbs with arousal, your brain implanted with images of them, staring at you, burning into your soul. 

Against your will, your hand winds down to twist your nipple gently. You tilt your head up, steam filling up the bathroom as you bite your lips, water flowing down your back and hitting the floor with gentle patterns. 

Hisoka’s eyes burn. They had definitely scanned your body, you could remember their path with stunning clarity. His eyes had burned and in that moment, watching him stare you down across the hotel room, you had wanted him so bad you would have thrown yourself at him. If only he had asked, and you would have been on him in a moment. 

And Illumi. Oh god, you would climb that man like a tree. You could still feel the heat from his shaking hands on your back, the huffs of breath brushing against your neck. He was such a good friend. He deserved getting his dick sucked.  

Your hand winds down, slipping a finger inside your pulsing hole. You're horrified to find your soaking wet, arousal running down your legs with the water and draining down the pipes. 

You whimper, finger fucking yourself in the small shower, other hand bracing yourself against the wall. After all, it's not like this is the first time you’ve thought of your friends that way. 

How could it be? They had grown into really hot guys. What else were you supposed to do? But you had always shoved those thoughts aside, sure they didn't want you.

You sigh, moaning against the cool glass of the shower. You're so close, your body pulsing and thrumming with arousal.

And then you hear the hotel door slam, loud footsteps and talking in the hotel room. You whimper, abruptly pulling your finger from your body and shutting off the shower. You're not bold enough to get yourself off with the objects of your desire a mre room away. You didn't trust the thin hotel room doors. 

You wrap a towel around yourself, ignoring the thrumming arousal in your gut, and start to blow dry your hair.

You're almost done blow drying when you realize your pajamas are not here. You finish in a panic, searching around the entire small bathroom, ducking around corners and pearing into cabinets, but to no avail.

You must have left them outside.

Panic sets in  as you stare at yourself in the mirror, hair almost dry, clothes only in a scratchy white hotel towel, panic and arousal clear on your face.

You sigh, taking a deep breath and pushing the door of your hotel room open.

The boys look up, turning from their card game to look at you. You ignore them, feeling their stares as you walk to your bag, leaning down to dig around in it for your pajamas. You know they're there, your nice silk pajamas you specifically packed for yourself. You had worn them a couple nights ago, so it wasn't like you forgot them at home. 

“Have you seen my sink pjs?” You ask, tossing the question over your shoulder as you adjust your towel. You don't want to turn around. 

“You mean these?” Hisoka asks. He sounds closer than before.

You spin around, staring at the pink silk pajamas in his pale hands, and then to your childhood friends. Illumi is still sitting, his posture strange and upright and his eyes glued squarely on your towel. Hisoka is standing. He's moved closer to you, your pajamas clutch in his hands. His eyes are glowing with arousal, his posture tellingly hunched. 

As you watch them, their eyes scanning the bits of your body shown by the towel, you make an unconscious decision.

You walk forward, aiming for the pajamas and let your towel slip to the floor. You hold out your hands, completely naked in front of them. 

“My Pajamas?” You question, holding out your hands. 

Illumi stands, Hisoka grins. And you watch as he tosses the pajamas over your head. You suppose they land in the suitcase but you're too busy gripping Hisoka’s shoulders as he eats your mouth. 

He kisses roughly, desperately, and you whine into him. 

Illumi is behind you, hands sitting hesitantly on your waist, body hovering over yours. HIsoka is in front, hands gripping the sides of your face as he devours it, swallowing your moans and whimpers with your spit. Illumis lips are more hesitant, gently pressing little kisses and bites to your neck and shoulders, body uncouncly humping against your ass. 

“Bed,” You whimper, head falling back against Illumi. Hisoka chuckles, playfully biting your nipple. You whine into the air.

“No time,” Illumi mutters, gripping your thighs with a groan. “We’ll do it here.”

“Cant wait?” You moan, hands gripping Hisokas biceps as he undoes his pants enough for his dick to poke out. Your mouth waters, your pussy clenching around nothing. Illumi nods against you, hands winding down to find your ass and squeeze.

“Waited long enough.’ He mutters, and then he shoves his dick into your ass.

You moan, as the pleasure mixed with pain shoots through your body. He's so long, his dick stretching out your ass as you stand there, one leg in the ground, one held up by Hisoka’s large hand, supported only by the two men. You're going to melt, dissolve into a puddle of pleasure right there. And then, Hisoka slowly shoves himself into your pussy.

Your moan is so loud you know the neighbors must hear it.

Your head tilts back, your back arching as his thick cock shoves apart the walls of your pussy, the heat of his rocketing through your body and turning you into a turned on, babbling mess of a girl. Hisoka chuckles, one hand holding your leg high, the other gripping your waist. 

“It's too much,” You babble, hand wound around Hisoka’s shoulder. They thrust in tandem, working together to drive you mad. 

“You can take it,” Illumi mutters from behind you, his lips pressed to your neck, “You're so perfect.”

You whine, back arching as the praise rockets through your system, driving you closer to arousal. Hisoka chuckles, hand winding down to press teasing circles into your clit.

“You're kind of a slut,” He coos, leaving teasing bites on your neck, “So eager for us.”

“Touche, fucker.” You moan, the words loaded with more arousal than spite. HIsoka just huffs a laugh, sweat dotting his hairline. His fiery hair glows in the lowlight.

“Im gonna cum,” You moan, body tensing. You can feel their cocks pulsing inside you, filling you up to the brim. You're going to lose your mind.

They speed up their thrusts, Hisoka speeding up his teasing of your clit and your orgasm overwhelms you with a cry.

You know you whine their names as you cum, clenching around them. They follow soon with you, dicks pulsing inside you as they shoot their cum inside you. It drips down your thighs when you pull apart. 

They both look at you with what could be called reverence. Hisoka with his wild hair and burning eyes. Illumi with his dark eyes and flushed cheeks.

And as they eye you up and down, as their dicks bob to life, you know the night is far from over. 

....

....

The sun lines the hills in the distance. Kurapika looks into it, watching as it doubles, then triples. It's quite hot out. Pairo, resting on the horse in front of him, mumbles nonsensical words. Kurapika sighs, closing his eyes and letting the wind run through his hair, tossing it gently against his neck. It's nice to be out at this time of night. The sunlight pours over his eyelids as the horse bobs along, towards their destination, somewhere on the horizon line. 

“I'm tired,” Pairo murmurs, whipping his eyes with a hand. “It must be getting late, right?”

Kurapika looks up, watching as the sun on the horizon drops lower and lower behind the faraway hills. He nods.

“It is very late,” He says, looking at the small inn that had materialized on the side of the dusty road, a few feet before them. “We should stop.”

He steers the horse off the dirt road, and it sniffles as it comes to an abrupt stop beside another lone horse tethered to a pole. Kurapika jumps down first, and then helps Pairo descend from the horse before they both walk towards the creaking doors of the inn. Pairo winds his small hand into Kurapikas larger one as the doors creak open and they step into the dark threshold.

The lobby of the inn is poorly lit, and the light seems to move with them as they move towards the front desk. A lone figure sits turned away as they move closer. A lone figure who seems oddly familiar. Kurapika shakes his head, trying to free the cobwebs from his brain as he moves closer and closer. The figure is tall, and obviously a man. He's humming and seems to be counting something that sounds like money with his back to them. 

His red hair glows brightly under the low light. 

As Kurapika reaches him, he's suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of flowers and vanilla, mixed with blood. And then the receptionist spins around with a grin and Kurapika wakes with a jolt. 

The first thing he sees is black. Nothing. The cold reality of his situation crashes over him and he remembers that his sight has been stolen from him. 

A faint dull pain pulsed underneath Kurapikas empty eyelids. It's the first thing he notices as he’s pulled from sleep. Someone is standing by his hospital bed, still, silent, but threatening nonetheless. Kurapika fights the urge to stir, staying still and silent as he assesses his surroundings. 

He feels so helpless without his eyes, only able to rely on his other, less dominant senses. Honestly, he should take this opportunity as a positive, unique opportunity to hone his other senses. But Kurapika still longed for the day he could see again.  

Kurapika takes deep, even breaths, slowly relaxing his limbs and focusing on the noises around him. Faintly, he can hear Leorio's soft breathing about ten feet away, probably on a couch or an armchair. He can hear a slight breeze withling through the curtains on the window, the low murmur of voices on the streets, a distant pleasant buzz. It must be around ten or eleven, the faint sounds of drinking and laughing can be heard from the street. 

  But the figure beside him made no sound, besides the faint measured breathing. For a moment Kurapika thinks he's imagining things, but then he hears a small, tiny intake of breath. 

All he gets from that small sound is that the figure is tall. Very tall, probably over six feet. Kurapika runs through the mental list of people he knows, trying to remember those over six feet. There's really only a couple people it could be. 

Kurapika focuses on scent, resisting the urge to use any other sense and concentrating deeply through his nose. The first thing that hits his nose is the familiar odor of the disinfectant used to clean his wounds. Kurapika stifles a cough and tries to fight around the overwhelming scent of disinfectant and Leorio's strong cologne. 

A lingering thought sits in his mind as he adjusts to the familiar hospital smell. There are really only a few people he knows who are tall enough to be the figure, including Leorio who's resting on the couch a few feet away, snoring softly. A familiar flash of red hair floats through his mind tauntingly, but he ignores it, focusing on smelling the air around him. 

And then he catches it. The scent is light, floating in the air and lingering in a cloud around the tall figure. It's familiar, and Kurapika strains his nose, breathing in the faintest notes of flowers, vanilla, and the faint copper scent of blood. A woman's perfume, mixed with the scents of blood. Not fresh blood, more like the idea of blood. It's strangely familiar, evoking a sense of deja vu, but he just can't quite place it. Tensing his limbs and still taking those deep, measured breaths, Kurapika speaks.

“Who's there?” He says, his voice low in the still of the night. Leorio stirs, and Kurapika hears him move slowly before his movements abruptly speed up.

“Hey!” He exclaims, his voice full of surprise. “It's you!”

Kurapika can detect faint hints of fear hidden in Leorio's loud, incredulous tone. The pieces begin to fall into place. The stranger speaks then, in a voice so familiar that Kurapika shivers. 

“That aroma,” The voice coos, “antiseptics, mingled with blood.”

“Hisoka,” Kurapika says, abruptly sitting up. The cool air jerks the lingering touches of sleep from his body. Kurapika feels paralyzed and helpless, with a very dangerous man looming over him. He can hear Leorio's panicked breathing in the background, the rustling of the curtains, and Hisoka’s measured breathing. 

“Bastard, what do you want, anyway?” Leorio says loudly. Kurapika winces, Leorio's voice grating against his eardrums. He concentrates, trying his best to feel his surroundings, to visualize them as best he can.

Kurapika knows the room is small. He can feel a faint breeze, coming from multiple directions. There must be a few windows. His bed is small, covering soft to the touch. He can hear Leorio a few feet away, breathing in short, panicked breaths. Somewhere behind Leorio, lies a door. This must be a hospital. Kurapika can reasonably assume that the room has at least a few more beds. Kurapikas own is close to a window, so it must be the last in a row. 

Hisoka is a mere few inches on the other side of his bed. Kurapika can feel the body heat leaking off him, smell his scent, and if he dared, he could reach out to touch him. Kurapikas fingers twitch, but he resists the urge. 

He hears it before he feels it. A crisp swish as something moves through the air, stopping just an instant before Kurapika’s throat. 

A card, it has to be. 

When has his choice of weapon been any different? Kurapikas breath hitches, his heart pounding in his chest. A bead of sweat drips down his chin wetting the fabric of his thin robe. The only thing on him besides the bandages over his empty eye sockets. His lack of clothing hadn't bothered him before, but now he feels naked, even wrapped in his robe and the blankets over his legs. Kurapikas hands clench in the fabric, even as Hisoka's card sits an inch from his neck.

“Keep it down, please,” Hisoka says, his voice too normal. Nothing about that man is normal. Nothing should be normal. 

Kurpaika gulps. His voice has an alluring quality to it, only worsened by Kurapika’s lack of eyesight. The thin fabric of the sheet wrinkles as he grips it tightly, ignoring the heat in his veins. Taking a deep breath, Kurapika speaks.

“It's ok, Leorio,” he says, proud of how steady his voice is. “If Hisoka wanted to kill me, I'd already be dead.”

Hisoka hums in silent agreement. He is a strange man. Somehow always on the edge of Kurapikas orbit, moving in and out of his path as he pleases. His movements are illogical, his thoughts impossible to guess, but he isn't their enemy. At least Kurapika doesn't think he is.

“Since he hasn't yet,” Kurapika continues, begging his fingers to lessen their death grip on the sheets, “He has no intention to.”

“Smart boy,” Hisoka coos. Kurapika shivers, as the card slips away, back to wherever he keeps them. He dares to relax, begging his hands to release the fabric. They unclench slowly, cautiously, surely leaving large wrinkles in the fabric they leave behind. 

“Where are you?” He questions, blindly reaching out in the direction of Hisoka’s voice. Then, perhaps uselessly, “I can't see you.”

Hisoka chuckles into the thick air. “That so?” He asks, as Kurapikas hand abruptly comes in contact with a warm object. 

Kurapika dares to spread his hand, feeling around, trying to figure out which part of the dangerous magician is facing him. Leorio coughs awkwardly, but Kurapika shoulders on.

His hand spreads out over taut muscles, fingers smoothing over the clear shape of what must be a thigh. Kurapika flushes. 

“Where am I touching?” he asks, clearing his thoughts to hide the weird hotness creeping into his veins. Hisoka chuckles, and Kurapika feels large hands suddenly grip his wrists, pulling them up to settle on something.

“You have your hands all over my waist,” Hisoka says, strong hands gripping Kurapikas wrists, stopping him from pulling away. 

Kurapika can feel a flushing working its way up his neck and ears at the suggestive way he says it, but he tries not to take anything from it. Everything Hisoka says sounds slightly suggestive. On a scale of mildly suggestive to straight-up dirty talk, Kurapika would rank that squarely in the middle. 

It's embarrassing how easy it is to bring up images of Hisoka from the depths of his mind. From past encounters, his mind remembered in embarrassing detail, to even the slivers of his dream that remained in his consciousness. Kurapika finds himself imagining what his hands might look like, wrapped around Hisokas waist. They would barely fit around, he imagines, maybe barely cover the plane of his abs. 

Kurapika fights the images, but his mind disobeys, bringing up flashes of pale skin, catlike eyes, his full lips and brilliantly colored hair. He can see Hisokas too clearly in his mind. From the top of his brightly haired head to the points of his heeled shoes. The moonlight must backlight him, highlighting the trim waist and muscled arms. He's probably changed his outfit. He always does that. Kurapika wonders what he's wearing this time. 

Kurapika shakes his head, clearing the thoughts and images of Hisoka his mind had managed to bring up without any sight, and then abruptly remembers where his hands are. 

“I see,” He says, trying to pull away. 

“Do you?” Hisoka laughs lightly, and Kurapika feels him release his wrists from their iron grip. He scoffs at the lame joke, abruptly dropping his hands back to his hospital bed. 

“Why are you here?” Kurapika asks, his voice level. Faintly, he can hear Leorio breathing in the background. Hisoka chuckles, and Kurapika hears the wet sound of a tongue. He should be disgusted, yet he can't quite bring himself to be as his imagination fills in the gaps his lack of sight had left him with. 

“I have something for you,” Hisoka teases, and Kurapika feels a heavy weight suddenly sink onto the bottom of his bed. “About the man who stole your eyes.”

Dread sings through Kurapikas system, along with a strange song of excitement as he feels the proximity of him and Hisoka shrink dramatically. 

“What?” Kurapika says, his blood running cold. “Tell me!”

“Hmm,” Hisoka muses and Kurapikas's heart sinks into his stomach. 

“I'd love to tell you,” Hisoka says, “but I've given up so much info already.”

He lets the sentence hang in the air, and Kurapika’s breath stutters in his chest. Leorio groans.

“Can’t you just tell us?” He asks, “Why’d you even come here if you weren't going to tell us?”

For a moment, Kurapika fears Hisoka might get annoyed. But thankfully he just chuckles.

“Gon is not the only one I'm keeping an eye on,” Hisoka says, “the two of you also have potential worth watching, among other things.”

Leorio sighs. 

“You gotta stop saying weird shit, man.” He says, and Kurapika hears him plop dramatically back to the cough. 

Hisoka chuckles, but Kurapika doesn't relax. Something Hisoka had just said was sitting heavily in his mind. 

Leorio is a great friend. Really, he's kind, considerate and funny, and has excellent medical skills. But the man lacks media literacy, one could say. He takes everyones words at face value, not thinking into the actual meaning lurking behind the words. Much like Gon, he trusts at first word, but at least Gon had the excuse of age. Leorio was just an idiot. 

Now, with most people digging into their sentences to find hidden meanings was unnecessary. But Hisoka wasn't like most people. Neither were most hunters. Kurapika had found it was better practice when dealing with the characters they tended to meet on their travels, to question everything. He sighs, hands fiddling with the linen sheets as he prepares to break the calm silence that had fallen.

“What do you mean?” He asks, “What ‘other things’ could we offer?”

The question hangs in the silence, filling the room with an odd kind of tension. Kurapika breathes deeply, his own imagination as it tries to fill in the other things they could offer someone like Hisoka. He counts the seconds until Hisoka responds.

“Well, the two of you certainly have more to offer than Gon and Killua,” Hisoka muses, a suggestion that Kurapika doesn't want to understand heavy in his voice. 

He doesn't want to understand, but he thinks he has an idea. A tempting, dangerous, embarrassingly clear idea. An idea that Kurapika had also entertained, late at night when the world was asleep, when all he had was his hand and his imagination. Kurapika shivers, pushing the intrusive thoughts out of his brain as Leorio breaks the silence that has fallen. 

“The heck does that mean,” Leorio grumbles. It's more of a complaint than a question, and he moves on quickly when Hisoka remains silent.

“Anyway, are you gonna tell us or not.” Leorio says, and Kurapika hears him run a hand through his hair. Hisoka simply sits for a moment, letting the oppressive silence fill the empty space as they await his answer. Kurapika wonders if Hisoka enjoys their worry, enjoys hanging his information over their heads and watching them squirm. He must. 

“Alright, fine,” Hisoka says, and Kurapikas shoulders sink with relief. 

“But,” He says, and the air fills with tension again as he continues. “Its going to cost you this time.”

Kurapikas breath falls, his heart sinking abruptly into his stomach to join his nerves and the slight arousal that always seems to materialize when Hisoka shows up. What will it cost, he wonders. His life? His soul? Kurapika takes a few deep calming breaths, and prepares to speak. Leorio decides to insert himself into the conversation instead. 

Leorio groans. “Seriously?”

“Don't get so worked up,” Hisoka hums. “It's really not that big. Well, the price isn't.” 

Kurapika chokes on his own spit, shoving all and any images those words had created out of his mind. The joke seems to fly over Leorio’s head. 

“What will you take from me?” Kurapika asks, his heart rocketing back up into his chest. Maybe the question is a bit too illuminating. Maybe it shows where his mind has been through this whole conversation, but its too late to take it back. The words are already in the ether.

“That's a surprise~” Hisoka purrs. Kurapika tenses, breathing in and out of his nose, drawing as much calming oxygen into his system as he can. 

“I think you should go, Leorio.” He says, hands knotting in the linen sheets again, Leorio makes a noise of confusion. 

“What? Why?” He asks, and then after no reply, “You’ll be ok?’

Hisoka chuckles, and Kurapika feels the weight leave the edge of his bed. He hears heels walking on the floor, and feels his presence beside him. Hisoka must be standing right next to him, about six inches away from his tensed shoulder. A slight breeze blows through the room, tossing the smell of flowers and blood directly into Kurapika’s nose. He breathes deeply, trying to sort out rational thoughts, almost overwhelmed by the scent. 

“Yes, Leorio.” Kurapika says, “You should go check up on Gon and Killua.”

Leorio doesn't respond for a moment, and Kurapika takes deep, controlled breaths, trying to stifle the exhilaration and fear he feels at war in his brain. 

“If you're sure then,” Leorio says, and Kurapika hears his footsteps receding, and then the slam of a door. The room sinks into silence, as he's left alone with the man standing silent and still beside him.

Silence falls for a moment. Kurapika takes a break to concentrate, taking stock of his surroundings once again. 

Breeze, open window. 

Bed, soft sheets, linen fabric under his hands.

A soft robe, hanging loosely around his waist, held against him with two small cloth ties. 

The soft fabric bandages covering his eyes. 

Hisoka, still and silent, beside him. 

“The information?” Kurapika says, breaking the silence that has fallen. Hisoka chuckles, and Kurapika hears his soft audible footsteps on the floorboards. He's walking around the bed. 

“We keep meeting, don't we?” Hisoka says his voice light and teasing. Kurapika traces his footsteps as he crosses around the bed slowly, languidly. 

His footsteps are audible, loud. Purposefully so. Hisoka is fully capable of walking silently. He's done it before, and he could most definitely do it again. It's a conscious choice that Kurapika is hearing his footsteps now. He knows better than to take it as a compliment, that Hisoka is expressing a sliver of compassion. 

“I suppose,” Kurapika says, sitting still and upright as Hisoka stalks around him. Then, after a pause, Kurapika speaks again, “Why, now of all times, are you asking for payment?”

His voice is strong, but a keen ear could catch the hesitation hanging on every syllable, the softly murmured caution. 

“Hmm, merely a whim,” Hisoka says, footsteps tracing their way back around the hospital bed. Kurapika tenses as suddenly, his footsteps vanish. All at once, the steady sound of footsteps that had soothed him into a false sense of security are gone, and Kurapika is left grasping in the dark.

Hisoka seems to enjoy taunting his prey. He's a careless predator, more interested in the chase than the outcome. He seemed content to let those uninteresting to him out of his claws, watching the ‘unripe fuites’ run in circles in his hands like headless chickens. 

Kurapika had no idea how his mind worked, by what standards he decided people were worthy of his attention. But he didn't know if he feared that attention or craved it. Right now, it’s edging towards desire. Kurapika hates how his body betrays him, reacting without his permission, as Hisoka gips his jaw in a cold hand. 

Kurapika startles, hands clenching in that linen fabric as his jaw hangs open slightly, as Hisoka’s cold hand smooths down, caressing the fragile skeleton of his neck. It should feel threatening, but all Kurapika can sense is the slight tensions hanging in the air. 

“You're so eager,” Hisoka purrs seductively, as his hand rests in a feather-light caress on Kurapika’s neck. 

“I don't know what you mean,” Kurapika lies, hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets. “Tell me about the man who stole my eyes.”

He hopes that maybe the demands will steer the conversation away from dangerous territory, and back into the safety of familiarity. Because no matter the fleeting glances that lingered, the tension that hung heavy in the air each time their little information deal came into play, Kuraapika had dodged the urge to just give in. Hisoka chuckles, hand now feathering over Kurapikas collarbones.

“Now now, don't get ahead of yourself,” He says, a smile obvious in his voice.

His hand is moving up now, reaching around to grip the back of Kurapika’s head, tangled in his flaxen gold hair. The rustling of fabric fills Kurapika’s ears, and then his head is tilted almost gently forward, guided gently until his mouth comes into contact with something hot, and twitching. Kurapika sighs, obediently opening his mouth and licking around Hisoka’s cock. At least now he can blame his unwanted arousal on a biological reaction. 

Hisoka’s cock twitches, half hard as Kurapika finds his way around it blind. It's thick, and big, and pulsing. He ignores his own arousal, twitching to life in his pants, and envelopes the head in his mouth as Hisoka speaks.

“His name is Omokage.” He says, hand still knotted in Kurapikas hair. He doesn't sound at all affected by the mouth around his dick. Kurapika sucks the head a little harder, pulling away to lick a stripe along the vein on the underside. That gets him a shiver and a chuckle.

“Well aren't you a pro,” Hisoka teases, voice a little rough as he continues. “A few years ago, I replaced him as number four of the spiders.”

Kurapika chokes a bit, mouth stretching uncomfortably around the head of Hisoka’s cock. It's quite thick and drips salty precome down his throat. 

“So you defeated him?” Kurapika says, pulling back to voice the question. His throat is hoarse, the words coming out more husky and sexy than he intended them. Hisoka chuckles.

“Yes, although it was just a puppet of him,” He murmurs lazily, hand shoving Kurapika back towards his hard dick. Kurapika gets the memo, slowly enveloping the head in his mouth and moving down. 

“He slips into people's hearts and creates obedient puppets, using their greatest attachments.” Hisoka grunts and Kurapika feels another hand wind into his hair, yanking the strands a bit. His own cock, hiding under the layers of blankets and clothing, twitches with desire. 

“Wait,” Kurapika grunts, pulling off his dick temporarily. Hisoka sighs in disappointment as Kurapika uses his mouth to speak, “Why did you let the real Omokage escape?”

“If you want to know, I'll tell you.” Hisoka says, his voice curving seductively over the syllables. Kurapika moves forward again, going back to the task at hand. Something in Hisoka’s voice tells him exactly why he let Omokage go. But he listens anyway as Hisoka answers.

“It would be a waste, wouldn't it?” He whispers huskily, hand brushing through Kurapika’s hair almost gently, soothingly. It's alarming. 

The information Hisoka is giving him is crucial, but it's hard to concentrate with a thick cock shoved down his throat. Kurapika gasps around it, wondering why the hospital beds had positioned him at a perfect dick-sucking height. He didn't even have to strain his neck to reach. Hisoka chokes on a moan, and Kurapika feels a spike of pride. And then Hisoka starts to fuck his face.

Kruapika goes limp, letting Hisoka control his head, using his throat as a limp fuck toy. It's frightening and dangerously arousing. Kurapikas dick twitches, longing for the contact Kurapika denies. 

He takes deep breaths of air through his nose, letting Hisoka take full control of his head.

“Ah, yes I almost forgot,” Hisoka says, hands still knotted in flaxen hair. “The puppets retain their memories of the past. But they obey him without question, even against their own instincts.”

He fucks deep into Kurapika’s throat and cums down his throat with a small groan of pleasure. Kurapika simply sits, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides, his body thrumming with arousal, his dick twitching desperately against the fabric of his robe. 

“Fascinating, isn't it?” Hisoka murmurs huskily as he pulls away, his dick leaving Kurapikas lips. Kurapika groans, his throat sore and scratchy as Hisoka recedes. He almost begs him to move closer but resists as His dick twitches under the blanket. 

“I suppose.” He says instead, leaving back against the pillow, whipping a bit of cum from his lips. His throat is soar, and his body still thumbs with leftover arousal as he continues. “Then we’re done here?”

Hisoka chuckles, and suddenly a hot hand is tracing the outline of his dick through the fabric. A moan escapes his throat against his will before Kurapika swats his hand away.

“We’re done.” He mutters, trying to convince himself just as much as the man leaning over him. Hisoka just chuckles, feet moving farther away from the bed. 

“Ah, one last thing,” Hisoka says, pausing somewhere about five feet away. Probably a patio or a window. Kurapika can still smell him, flowers and vanilla and blood, all now undercut with undertones of sex. His dick twitches. 

“Be careful,” Hisoka says, voice sounding uncharacteristically blank. “Omokage is very powerful.”

And then he's gone.

Kurapika could ponder the warning, a warning Hisoka had never given out before. He could consider what he should do, he could plan for the inevitable attack, or he could come up with excuses to tell Gon, Killua, and Leorio.

Instead, he gets himself off, cumming with a groan of Hisoka’s name into his pillow. 

....

Endnotes: I'm literally so tired I'm losing it. I had such a bad headache yesterday and couldn't start a new fic, so I pulled this one out of my drafts, polished it up and finished it…here ya go!

...

You're in the middle of curling your hair, when your phone rings. You curse, dropping the strand of hair you were preparing to curl, carefully placing the curling iron on the stone beneath your feet, and grab your phone. 

“Hisoka, where the actual fuck are you? We’ve gotta go soon!” You say angrily, your voice echoing against the stone of the stupid church the troupe had decided to hide out in. You're wearing pajama pants and a large oversized t-shirt, bending awkwardly in front of a small mirror you have propped up against the wall, frantically pinning your hair into rollers. You and Hisoka are supposed to leave for the mission in about ten minutes, and the damn clown is nowhere to be seen. Most of the other people have left for their missions already, leaving just you, Chrollo, and Machi in the large caverness room. 

Hisoka chuckles. “I'm sorry dear, but I'm afraid I'll have to leave you on your own!” He says. You almost dropped your phone.

“You’ve got to be joking,” You say, deadpan in your delivery. Maybe this is one of his stupid jokes. You tilt your phone, propping it up against your ear and picking up your curling iron again. Might as well finish setting your hair while Hisoka goes on.

“I'm not,” Hisoka says, sounding much too pleased for your liking. “As much as I would love to accompany you, I got caught up in something.”

A beat of silence fills the speakers, as you absorb what he had just told you. Then, the anger starts the flow. 

“You got caught up in something?” You hiss, annoyance clear in your voice. Machi looks up from her own mission preparations. Of course she got the easy one, while you were stuck at a stuffy high class event, with Hisoka to entertain. You pin your roller into place, moving onto the next strand of hair, yelling as you go.

You hear Chrollo shut his book with a snap. 

“You can't just, like, abandon me!” You yell into the speaker. “I literally can't do this mission by myself, you know that!”

“I'm afraid it's out of my hands,” Hisoka says. You can hear his smile through the phone, and you almost pop a blood vessel. “I wish you luck!”

“Hey, you can't just—” Hisoka disconnects with a beep. You stair at your phone in shock for a moment, and then raise your arm to chuck it across the room in frustration.

“Fucking damnit!” You shriek, then hiss as you burn your finger on your curler. Machi chuckles in sympathy.

“Hisoka?” She asks, shooting a wry smile in your direction. You nod.

“The fucker says he cant come,” You groan, pinning your last hot curl into a roller, away from your tender neck and put away your curling iron. “He says he's caught up in something or whatever.”

Machi stiffles a giggle, and you shoot her a look of betrayal. 

“Maaaachi,” You whine, sinking against the rock floor with a groan, your hair still in rollers. No sense to take them out, after it took you so long. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You could go by yourself,” She says.

“I caaaant, I'm a noncombatant,” You whine, “And besides their expecting husband and wife, they'd totally suspect me if I showed up alone.”

“You could say your ‘husband’ flaked on you.” Machi says, “it isn't technically a lie.”

“If Hisoka was my husband I just might throw myself off a cliff,” You groan, rolling over onto your stomach, careful not to jog your rollers. 

“He's hot though,” Machi says, gathering up her things.

“True,” You say, “that's literally the only thing he has going for him.”

Machi hums contentedly, as you stew in annoyance on the cold ground, rolling carefully back and forth, keeping your neck at an awkward angle so you don't jog the rollers in your hair. 

“So what's the plan, Boss?” Machi asks, packing her supplies in her go back. You frown, and then swiftly remember that Chrollo is here as well. You tend to forget, he doesn't talk that much. 

Chrollo gently sets the book he was reading next to him, stacking it neatly on top of the other books that sit beside him. 

“I guess it can't be helped,” He says, standing up from his position on the big boss rock, and jumping down to the ground floor where the mortals sit. “I'll take his place.”

You stare at him in surprise.

“Really?” You ask, genuinely a bit confused. You didn't really know Chrollo all that well, even though he was technically your boss. He didn't really interact with you much, and he never went on missions. 

“Yes, if I must.” Chrollo says, standing a few feet away from you as you start mindlessly on your makeup. 

“Oh,” You say, a bit thrown off and confused. Machi chuckles

“You sound so surprised and confused,” She says, hoisting her bag over her shoulder and shooting you a small smile. “Chrollo does do missions occasionally.”

“Not with me,” You mutter, then cover it up with a nervous giggle. “I mean I'm just not used to doing missions with anyone but you, Machi. And Hisoka.”

“My condolences,” Machi grins, slipping her sandals onto her feet. “You work so hard for us, Name.”

“I know,” You whine, carefully contouring your nose. Chrollo coughs, and you jostle in surprise. 

“Oh! I forgot you were still here.” You laugh, whipping away the excess contour you had accidentally smudged, and shooting a smile over your shoulder. Chrollo makes an odd face, tilting his head slightly.

“You forgot I was here?” He asks, sounding a bit offended. You shrug.

“You don't really talk that much,” You chuckle, highlighting your nose. “Do you have a suite?”

“I can find one,” he says, still standing a bit back from you. You try not to be too conscious of his eyes on you as you finish your makeup, spraying it generously with setting spray. This shit better not budge all night, or you're officially losing it.

Machi giggles, tossing you a wink as she heads towards the door. “Good luck, name.” She says, and you wave in her direction as she steps out of the shelter and into the rain. Thunder booms and lightning cuts through the sky, and when it recedes you can't make out her figure anymore. You sigh. Tonight is going to be awkward. 

♱♱♱

The taxi ride is dead silent. You sit in the back, Chrollo sitting a foot away, a book sitting open on his crossed legs. You stare out the window, hair pillowing softly over your shoulders, dress pooling over your crossed legs. The Taxi driver is unbothered, airpods sitting firm in his ears as he drives on, not a care in the world that the people he's driving are sitting in awkward silence in the back of his car. You heave a deep sigh, and catch yourself wishing Hisoka were here instead. At least he never shut up. 

Hurriedly, you kick yourself, and try to make conversation.

“What are you reading?” You ask, desperately trying to fill the awkward silence. Chrollo looks up, closing his book with a snap.

“Simply cataloging my abilities,” he says, slipping the book into his pocket. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Nothing interesting,”

“I thought you read actual books,” You say, one of your heels scraping your ankle as you cross your legs. “Is that all you read?”

Chrolllo coughs, muffling what you think might be a laugh. 

“No, my dear.” He says, turning to look at you fully. “Are you feeling prepared for the mission?”

“I guess,” You sigh, restlessly uncrossing your legs again. “We practiced and stuff, but…”

“You practiced?” Chrollo asks curiously, and you turn to face him fully. He has his hair down for once, and a piece of fabric covering his forehead marking. You catch yourself thinking he looks handsome. He should wear his hair down more often.

“Yeah, Hisoka and I,” You say, “We mostly just memorized our characters' names and stuff like that.”

Chrollo nods. 

“I see,” He says, reaching into his coat jacket for the wedding invitation. “You didn't practice being newlyweds?”

You laugh, tilting your head back and pulling your freshly curled hair over your shoulders so it doesn't get smushed. 

“We didn't really need to,” You say, watching the driver's screen through the plastic window separating the driver from the back seats. His map says you’ll arrive at your destination in fifteen minutes. “We’ve done a lot of missions together, and besides, Hisoka can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”

“Ah, I see.” Chrollo says, flipping the invitation open and reading it carefully. “So we are Mr and Ms Benton, then?”

You nod, recalling the information along with him in your mind.

“We’ve been married for two weeks, and we're so in love everyone is annoyed and disgusted with us.” You say, watching the blue dot that symbolizes the car your riding in move closer and closer to your destination. 

“Right, and our mission?”

“Get in, steal the necklace and get out without causing a fuss.” You reply, sighing. “It's this a lot of hassle for one necklace?”

Chrollo chuckles, slipping the invitation back into his suit jacket with a small smile.

“Maybe,” He says, “But we all have our part to play.”

♱♱♱

The part is a boring one. You nod, smiling through your teeth as this man talks on and on, throwing in the occasional ‘Uh Huh’ to be safe. Chrollo, hand wrapped around your waist, smiles widely, his eyes glazed over. 

You shift closer to him, leaning over to whisper through your teeth.

“Can we go now?” You ask, ignoring the butterflies that flutter in your stomach as he squeezes your waist comfortingly. 

“We haven't done what we’ve come here for yet,” He whispers back quietly, barely moving his lips. 

You roll your eyes, and tune back into the conversation. One man has cornered the two of you in the corner and is talking at you about his money and how many cars he has and how his last wife was a model and blah blah blah. You aren't paying attention at all. 

“And i have just added a new Bugatti to my collection,” The man says, pausing like you should clap or something.

“Oh cool,” You say, deadpan. The man chuckles, seeming to not at all get the sarcasm in your tone. 

“If you want to see them, pretty lady, you can come over to my place after—”

“You have some impressive cars,” Chrollo says, squeezing your waist twice. The signal. You take a swig of your champain, then set it gently on the table beside you. You want to come back to that. 

“Oh hubby, I think I'm feeling a bit faint!” You whine dramatically, bring a hand up to your forehead, closing your eyes and tilting your head dramatically. Chrollo gasps, abruptly sweeping you off your feet and into his arms.

“If you’ll excuse us, I'll be taking my wife to lie down for a bit,” Chrollo says to the man in front of you guys. Your eyes still closed, you peek out of the corner of one eye to find the man eyeing you with disappointment. Quickly, you close your eyes again.

“Hurry Baby,” You whimper dramatically. “I feel faint!”

Chrollo's hands tighten against your body and you feel his chest vibrate against your side. He must be laughing. But he speeds away at your instruction, moving towards the powder room, which just happens to be in a long hallway off the main room the party was situated in. the perfect place for the two of you to disappear to for about two minutes. Just enough time to get your hands on the necklace. 

“How did it go?” Chrollo asks as you return to his guard position, situated a few feet away from the door of the women's bathroom. You grin, flashing him a thumbs up.

“A brief scrap with a security guard, but i hide in a closet,” You say, taking off your plastic gloves and dumping them into your small clutch purse. It was almost laughably how easy stealing the necklace had been. After Chrollo had let you down from his arms all you did was walk the ten feet to the storage room and hide from the lone security guard in the nearby closet. Then you just swiped the necklace and placed it in the plastic bag you had prepared, and dropped it out the window. Now all that was left was to go around the house and retrieve it. 

“Now we just need to get out of here,” You say, wiping the sweat off your hands and onto your dress. “You think we can escape without car guy yelling at us again?”

Chrollo chuckles. “Not likely, I'm afraid.” He says, grabbing your waist as the two of you walk back towards the brightly lit entrance room. 

“Oh well,” You sigh, “I wanted to finish my champain anyway.”

Sure enough, it takes you all of five minutes for the car guy to find the two of you again, walking with you as you beeline for your champain. You're going to need all of it to survive even five minutes of this guy talking.

“...and just yesterday, I added to my new Rolex collection…”

“Oh really.” You say, downing your champain. It tastes a little weird. Maybe it's gone a little flat in the short amount of time you were gone. You place the empty cup down on the table beside with a clank. The man looks at it, his brown eyes sliding to you in a way that makes your skin crawl, and you shiver. Chrollo squeezes your waist gently, hand sending butterflies frolicking around your stomach. 

A beat of silence passes. Then the man speaks.

“Do you feel alright, miss?”

You raise and eyebrow, tilting your head to the side. 

“I'm fine?” you question, and then after a beat an escape plan starts to form. “You know what, I'm tired. Can we go home now baby?”

Chrollo springs into action, gripping your waist and spinning you towards the exit with a grin. 

“Of course dear, whatever you want.” He says, voice fakely sweet as the two of you march towards the exit at a brisk pace. You wind through the small circles of people, about seven to five people in each round, talking of this and that. They spare the two of you a passing glance before returning to their conversations. You catch snippets of them as you wind by, nothing of any interest or note. You feel a bit hot, longing for the cold air of the night. You can't wait to go home and take a shower. 

Finally, the two of you escape into the night, the cold air enveloping you. You still feel a bit hot. Chrollo leans in, whispering in your air as the two of you stop a few feet away from the front doors of the manor. 

“I'll get the necklace.” he whispers, pulling away from you with a brief kiss to your forehead. Then louder he continues, “Stay right here baby, I'll be right back.”

You nod, hand tracing the spot he had kissed as you watch him disappear into the night. Your skin tingles where his lips had touched it, and your heart pounds a bit fast in your chest. You still feel hot, even though you’ve escaped into the cold air. You sit down on a small bench, feeling a bit out of breath, and stair at the manor you had just exited. It's really a lovely building, the gothic architecture hiding in the shadows of the night. Light pours out from most of the windows of the multi story building, casting panes of yellow light onto the cobblestone driveway. The manor is on the main road, but set back to give the illusion of exclusivity. You yawn, sinking back against the small bench.

“There you are, pretty lady.”

You jump, opening your eyes abruptly. The car guy from earlier is standing over you, his legs only a few inches from your crossed legs. You glare up at him, much too tired to deal with his nonsense. 

“Can I help you?” You ask, your annoyance leaking out in your tone. Where the hell is Chrollo?

The man scoffs. 

“Why so rude, girly,” He simpers, “you should be loosening up to me soon.”

“You're bothering me,” You mutter, rolling your eyes. You feel a bit weak for some reason, muscles refusing to cooperate as you force yourself to stand. You totter a bit and the man catches you. His hands feel unpleasant, and you recoil quickly. 

The man considers, tilting his head to the side in confusion. 

“It should be kicking in about now,” He mutters to himself, hand on his chin as he eyes you up and down. His eyes feel slimy, goosebumps run against your skin as he grips your biceps, holding your arms against your side. “No matter, I'll just have to start early.”

He licks his lips, and your skin runs cold as what he intends to do to you becomes clear. You struggle, but feel strangely sluggish. Your body feels like jelly, hot and cold at the same time, and your limbs feel weak. The man laughs unpleasantly, grinning down at you, his eyes focused on your boobs.

“Not so tough now, aren't you?” He simpers. 

You try to struggle, trying desperately to pull your arms from his grip, to twist away, to escape. But you can't. You should be able to, this man is not more physically fit than you, but for some reason your body feels so weak. You bite back a whimper of fear, desperate not to show any emotion. It's been a while since you were afraid. 

“Your husband left you all alone, did he? Don't worry, i'll take good care of yo—”

He stills, his body going straight and tight. And then his eyes roll back and you watch him topple sideways, his hands leaving your arms as he crumples to the ground. You bite back a sob of relief as Chrollo grins at you, patting his hands of any free dust. 

“I've got the necklace, so let's head out.” He says, and then as he takes you in, trembling slightly like a leaf in the wind he continues, “are you alright?”

You shake yourself, forcing a grin as you fight through the liquid in your brain and the jelly in your limbs. You shoot him a smile.

“Just lovely!” you say, trying to convince yourself as you force your legs to move, propelling yourself towards the gate. “Let's head home.”

You assume Chrollo is following you, but you can't be sure. You can barely focus on anything, only propelling your legs forward, and ignoring the searing heat that is boiling in your blood, under your skin, in your gut. You feel like you're going to dissolve, melt into a puddle onto the ground. You can smell Chrollo behind you, a mix of citrus cologne and sweat, and a heavy musk that you can't place. You bite back a whimper, suppressing the urge to move closer to that scent, to curl into his body. You stumble a bit, quickly regaining your balance as you move out of the gate and back onto the street. Chrollo catches up, shooting you glances as he walks beside you.

“You sure you're alright, name?” he asks. The streets are empty at this time of night, but light streams down around you, from windows overhead to the pools of light below the street lamps. You no longer have any trouble walking, strowing confidently across the pavement, your hips swaying. You feel hungry.

“Oh, I'm doing just fine~” You sing-song, feeling a bit giddy with happiness. A singular man walks by and you have the sudden urge to chase after him, and make him kiss you. It's gone as soon as it has come, but it makes you snap out of your fearver, coming to a sudden stop on the concrete. 

“Ok wait, maybe something is wrong,” You say, bringing a hand up to your forehead. You feel no fever, but your hand shakes as you bring it away. Your body is still pulsing with heat, thrumming from your toes to the tips of your fingers and back down. And then the pain strikes. Blinding white pain running in tandem with the pleasure, mixing into a terrible cocktail of agony. You suppress a whimper, as your knees buckle, sending you tumbling towards the hard concrete.

Chrollo catches you before you can fall, reaching out to grip your waist, catching you a few feet from the ground. You bit back another whimper, this one threatening to rise from your throat as you feel his warm hand around your waist. You feel like crying.

“Name?” Chrollo says, gently bring his hand up to your chin and turn your face to look at him. “Can you tell me what's going on?

You whimper, unconsciously nuzzling into his hand as the burning pain recedes a bit to the edges of your body, and your consciousness returns slightly.

“I don't know,” You whimper, fully relaxing against him. He's the only thing between you and the cold hard concrete. “Why are you asking me like it's my fault?”

“Ok,” Chrollo says, grabbing your waist tightly and pulling the both of you to your feet. “Let's get you inside.”

“Mhm,” You murmur, nuzzling into his shoulder and breathing in his lovely scent. “Whatever you say.”

♱♱♱

The receptionist of the hotel sends him a scornful look as he walks up to the front desk, helping you walk.

It's a rather gaudy hotel, clearly a love hotel but it was the first one Chrollo spotted so it would have to do. It was better to get you into a hotel as soon as possible, you're clearly on some type of drugs.

The receptionist seems to agree, with the way she glares tiredly at him. 

“I switch jobs and it's always the same, huh.” She mutters, hitting the keys loudly. “Name, sir?”

“Benton,” Chrollo says, sliding the fake identification card across the counter. “This is my wife, Name Benton.”

“Uh huh,” The receptionist, Fumiko, sighs deeply through her teeth. “What kind of room do you want?” 

“Ah, I'll take the cheapest option please.” Chrollo says.

Fumiko raises an eyebrow, pinning him to the spot with her stare and letting silence fill the mostly empty lobby. Slowly, she slides her eyes to you, clearly drugged on his shoulder, and back to him. Chrollo feels more ashamed than he's ever felt before. 

“Cheapass,” Fumiko whispers, returning to the keyboard loudly. “Id?”

“Oh it–”

“Yeah,” Fumiko says, swiping it from the countertop. She looks at it for too long, holding it up to the light. Chrollo fears for a moment that she'll kick them out. He really doesn't want to find another love hotel, and you're getting more and more limp by the moment. Thankfully, she just sighs, going back to the computer with a sigh.

“Why do I even bother?” She mutters to herself, sliding the id back across the counter at him. “It's always worse, every time I ask. From barely legal to barely conscious…”

She continues muttering to herself, tapping away at the keys of the computer as Chrollo stands there, your body draped ungracefully against his side, breath coming in uneven little bursts. There's definitely something wrong with you.

“Cash or card?” Fumiko says. Chrollo slides the money over the counter. For some reason, he feels like this was the wrong move as Fumiko regards him with more suspicion as she hands over the room key.

“Enjoy your stay,” She bites out. 

“Thank you.” Chrollo says, moving towards the elevator of the pink and red lobby. He feels her hard stare on his back until the elevator doors close behind them. He hoists you up, cradling you in his arms for the second time tonight as your head lolls back, faint little pants exiting your mouth. Your eyes are hazy, your pretty curled hair tangling with his arms, hanging towards the ground in a waterfall of color. You look very pretty, but then again you always do.

It's a bit of a struggle to get you into the room, but he manages it, juggling you and the door as it shuts behind him with a solid heavy thud. He places you gently on the bed, sighing in relief and turning away to shed his own coat. When he turns around, you blink slowly at him. 

“Ah, you're awake?” he says, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. “How are you feeling?”

You dont reply, blinking slowly at him, eyes hazy. Chrollo feels a bit more worried. You're not really conscious, you’ve barely spoken full sentences since that man put his dirty hands all over your arms. He had assumed your lack of fighting had been to avoid a scene, but maybe it was something else. 

“Name, I need you to tell me what's wrong.” Chrollo begs you, more worry than strictly necessary leaking into his voice. Finally, your pink lips part.

“Hot,” You mutter, jumping to your fighting with the top of your dress. “Help me out of this.”

Chrollo obeys, turning you around and undoing the zipper of your black dress with a sigh. He ignores the swaths of skin on display from him, pointing his eyes strictly over your shoulder. You sigh, slipping out of your dress. Chrollo watches it pool below you on the floor, black slinky material sitting in a pile. You smile up at him for a moment, a twinkle of innocence in your hazy eyes, your hair sitting messily upon your shoulders, the straps of your bra tempting his eyes to look a little further. 

“Are you feeling better?” He asks instead, keeping his eyes strictly above your collarbones. You do have nice collarbones. He'd like to kiss them, if you would let him. You don't seem to like him much. Chrollo acknowledges that you must consider him boring, compared to the louder and more eccentric mission partner you were assigned. But he could be interesting. If you’d let him.  

“Mm,” You humm, turning away to crawl onto the bed. Chrollo's eyes take in your body as you crawl back, your ass on display for him to view. You're wearing matching black underwear. Heat runs through his body, and Chrollo feels his dick jump against his thigh. It's probably been too long. 

You’ve propped yourself up on your knees, your face pressed against the white bedsheets, your ass still high in the air, presented like a present. Chrollo is beginning to understand what exactly that man had slipped you. It must have been an Aphrodisiac of some sort. It's clear as you wind your hand down, and Chrollo watches you stroke your pussy through your panties. He clears his throat.

“What are you doing, Name?” He asks, undoing another button on his shirt. It's too hot here. 

“I feel so hot,” You whimper, and Chrollo watches as you push your panties aside, slipping a finger into yourself with a squelch. Chrollo bites his lip, hard. 

“Do you need my help?” He asks. You need to say yes. What will he do if you don't. He might lose his mind.

“Yeah,” You whimper, the white sheets stark against your pink lips. “Hurry.”

Chrollo moves embarrassingly fast, tossing his belt and shoes onto the floor with his jacket, and thrusting himself inside of you.

Your back arches, your toes curling in the white fabric as you clench deliciously around him. Chrollo bites back a groan, embarrassed of his eager behavior. He would have linked to work you up normally, maybe eat your pretty pussy. But that would have to wait for another day. And it seems you don't mind as you buck against him, urging him to move. 

“Ugh, you're big.” You whimper, hands knotting prettily in the white sheets. You look so pretty like this, turned on your back and grinning hazily up at him. He wonders how long this will last. He wonders if when you awaken tomorrow, you’ll regard him with the same cautious contempt you always do. 

Chrollo grips your waist with his hands, thrusting himself deep inside your clenching walls, setting a slow deep pace. You move with each thrust, pretty pink mouth letting out breathy pants and groans. If he's lucky, a pant of his name. The world around you is hazy, the gap of window shown by the curtains is fogged up, condensation and sweat muddling the world beyond. Your back arches, your body trembling as you grow closer to your orgasms.

“I'm close,” You whimper, muffled against the sheets. Chrollo presses his body against yours, pressing the two of you deep into the bed. You're laying flat now, your but reaching up to meet his short, deep thrusts. Your walls are clenching around him, driving him giddy.

Chrollo doesn't know how to feel. And so he focuses all of his energy on pleasing you. On watching the shudders and shivers of your shoulders, the clenching of your fingers, the gasping breaths spilling from your pink lips. He presses little kisses to your neck, leaving a pretty scatters of hickeys across your shoulders. The red spots make him swell with pride as you clench around him. 

“I'm cumming.” You groan, body tensing and walls suctioning him deep inside you. Chrollo obeys your body's command, thrusting himself deep inside of you one more time and letting himself go. Your moans are pretty as you come, and Chrollo muffles his own sounds in your shoulders, as stars the color of your eyes spill across his eyelids. 

He doesn't know what's going to happen after this. But at least for now, as he pulls himself out of you and curls up beside you, the world is content.

...

...

As a seamstress located in Yorknew city, you got a large volume of clientele. Be it wealthy businessmen wanting a high quality suite or spoiled princesses shopping for their next dress, you pride yourself in your high quality work and your range of designs. You made sure to treat each and every patron of your business with respect, even the strange characters you often received. Because of course, as the wealthy clients wore their clothes to gatherings, you gained a reputation for your quality and openness. And of course, the odd ones took notice.

The first hunter you had ever tailored clothes for had been kind of normal, only requiring a special waterproof fabric. But the weirdness had increased and increased and now you regularly got a parade of weird guests after weird guests.

From simple garments that required special skills or fabrics, to gravity defying outfits that any designer would turn down, you took them all. At a handsome price, of course. 

It was raining. Thunder rattled the glass windows of your shop, rain hitting them so hard you worried for a moment they might break. It was dark outside, the blackness only momentarily illuminated by flashes of lightning. You hummed along with the headphones in your ears, carefully cutting the black fabric laid across your cutting table. Cutting was probably one of your least favorite parts, but it was ok right now, the music in your ears and the rain a faint lovely sound on your windows. 

Your shop and studio were the same, situated in a nice part of town. Your shop was in a pleasant little street, filled with mom and pop shops and cafes, and off the beaten path far enough that you might half to know where to look. You weren't looking to incur any damages, and you especially didn't want robbers or crime near your precious creations. You did have a hunter's license, in order to hunt certain types of hides, and you were moderately powerful and would be able to protect yourself in a bad situation, but you didn't like fighting. You would prefer it if you didn't have to defend yourself at all. 

Rain hits the long windows of your shop with a loud pattern, thunder cracking in the background. You humm, a calm russian pop playing through your airpods, dancing around your cutting table. You have certain songs you like playing during rain storms, just to give the right vines. Right now your favorites are В последний раз, and Goodnight Moon—

Your front door opened with a slam. You jump, one of your airpods falls out of your ear and onto the cutting table. A figure stands in your doorway. The figure is tall, with long flowing hair flipping wildly in the wind. Rain hits the hardwood floor a few feet in front of him and you push your shock and fear away and glare at the stranger.

“Can I help you?” You say, standing tall and crossing your arms. “You're getting rain all over my floors.”

The man tilts his head, backlit by the lightning, but you can kind of make out his face. He has pale skin, and big dark eyes, as dark as the night behind him. After a moment of consideration, he steps forwards into the light, letting the door close behind him. 

You bend down, picking up your airpod and carefully putting both of them away before you can lose them. 

The man in your doorway doesn't attempt to shake himself dry or remove the wet hair soaking water on the princess sleeves of his odd green outfit. It takes you one careful look over him to realize he's a hunter. The one lesson you’ve learned in your work with hunters over the years is not one of them dresses normally. Fastest way to spot a hunter in public is to look for the person wearing a discount spirit Halloween jester outfit or wearing what could only be described as a tree cutout robbed straight from a middle school play.

 The man in the doorway tilts his head. 

“You are a seamstress.” He says. It takes you a moment to realize that was a question. “You were recommended to me by my father.”

“I am a seamstress, yes.” You say, eyeing him carefully up and down. “But I'm closed right now.”

“Oh,” The man says, and then continues to stand still as a statue a few feet in front of your door. He looks a bit like a drowned kitten with big black eyes, surrounded by long black hair that sticks to his face, his clothes, his arms. He looked uncomfortable.

“I have a shower,” You say, trying to sound inviting. “You can use my dryer as well if you’d like.”

The man tilts his head slightly, black hair cascading in a wet curtain down his back. You wince as water hits your previously clean hardwood floor. He looks a bit like a porcelain doll, his face mostly eyes and confused blank expression. Finally, he speaks.

“Yes, that would be nice.” He says, stepping farther into your room. You hold out your arm to stop him.

“Stop, you're gonna get my fabric wet,” you sigh, motioning for him to stand still by the door. “Just wait here, I'll be right back.”

The man looks down, lifting his arm experimentally, as if he just remembered he's soaking wet at all. Water cascades off his arm, forming a small puddle beneath him.You sigh, massaging your forehead as you go and fetch some towels from your linen closet. When you return, the man is still standing still by the door. You hand him the towels, trying for a friendly smile. You're very tired. 

“Try to dry off as much as you can,” You say, turning back to your cutting table. No reason not to get some work done. You're almost done cutting out the mock up when you feel a tap on your shoulders. 

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to finish cutting out the piece you were in the middle of cutting. 

“Where is the shower,” The man says from behind you. 

“Oh, I'll show you.” You say, turning around. The man has rolled his long hair up in one of the towels you had handed him. In his hands, he's holding a bundle of green and yellow fabric. Fabric the almost exact color his clothes had been. You drop your scissors with a clatter, abruptly closing your eyes.

“Why are you naked?” You ask, trying to remain calm. You had only gotten a glimpse but the man looked pretty built. 

“You told me not to track water on your fabric.” The man says, sounding very confused. You take a deep breath and massage your temples, keeping your eyes closed.

“I didn't mean–you know what, never mind.” You say, turning back to your cutting table and opening your eyes. In the foggy reflection of the window opposite you can catch some glimpses of skin and muscles, but you do your best not to look.

“Follow me,” You say, moving towards the back stairs, the ones that lead up to your small flat. The sound of wet feet hitting your hardwood floor follows you, so you assume the man is following you.

“Are you afraid of the human form, Miss…” The man asks. You scoff. You would assume he was mocking you, but the total lack of emotions in his voice gave away the fact that it was a genuine question.

“Name, and no, obviously not.” You say, “I just didn't expect you to be naked. What's your name again?”

“Illumi,” The man, Illumi says. “I apologize for startling you.”

You sigh, opening the door to the back stairs and starting up. Illumi follows you.

“It's fine, Mr Illumi.” You say, reaching to the top of your stairs and opening the door of your small apartment. “You can leave your clothes on the table. I'll put them in the wash.”

Illumi doesn't say anything, but you assume he nodded. The door closes behind him, blocking out the sounds of rain. You flip on the lightswitch, and golden light floods the small living room of your apartment. You slip off your shoes, and move deeper into the apartment. 

“You have a nice house,” Illumi says, and you hear the wet slap of his clothes hitting your kitchen table as he continues, “although your security is poor.”

“Thanks, I guess.” You say, choosing to brush off the last comment. “The bathroom is this way.”

You walk past your open bedroom door, silently praying Illumi does not see what a mess it is, and open the small door of your bathroom, switching on the lights. 

“Here we are,” You say, turning around and abruptly being reminded that he's only wearing two towels. You yank your eyes from his abs and stair at his drowned face. “You can use whatever you want in there.”

Illumi nods his head up and down, the towel on his air bobbing comically. He blinks his big eyes slowly looking at you with what can only be categorized as curiosity.

“Why did you help me?” He asks. You frown in confusion.

“What?” 

“Why did you let me into your home?” He asks again, tilting his head. He really does look kinda sad and pathetic, if you ignore the rest of his mostly naked body.

“Uh…” you say, thinking for a moment. “I felt bad for you? You look like a drowned kitten.”

“Oh,” Illumi says, frowning. Then after a pause, “thank you.”

“Your welcome,” You laugh, leaning past him to grab a large towel from your upstairs linen closet, and pass it to him. He takes it and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

You're digging through your clothes drawers for some of your ex-boyfriend's clothes you know you kept when you hear the shower switching off. You hurry, grabbing some soft gray sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts and knock on the bathroom door.

“Illumi? I have some clothes for you to borrow.” You say, folding them and stacking them neatly into a pile. The door flips open and you avert your eye, shoving the clothes in his direction until you feel them leaving your hands. The door doesn't close though, and you close your eyes as clothing rustles, until the rustling has stopped for at least ten seconds. Only then do you open your eyes. Illumi looks much less drowned rat now, his pale skin still a little pink from the shower. His hair is wrapped up in a towel, and you're happy to note your ex-boyfriend's stuff fits him fine. 

“Your stuff will be done in about ten minutes,” you say, turning away and leading him back down the small hallway and into your living room as you continue. “You mentioned you had business with me?”

“Yes,” Illumi says as you move into your kitchen, starting the kettle. He's still standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room like an odd statue when you turn around. You giggle.

“You can sit down,” You say, urging him into motion. He obeys, sitting upright in one of your armchairs, hands folded neatly in his lap. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes,” Illumi says, and you pull two mugs out of the cabinet as he continues. “I was told your work is excellent.”

You select a chamomile tea out of the tea cabinet and put a tea bag into each cup. 

“It is,” You say. “Who said that though.”

“My father,” Illumi says. You scan your brain for anyone he could possibly be referring to and come up empty. 

“Did you need something made?” You ask instead, pouring the hot water into the mugs and putting a plate over them to let them steep. “I'm a bit swamped right now with an unusual request, but if it's easy I can totally make something for you.”

“Mother told me my suit is too small.” Illumi says, still sitting stiff and unnatural on one of your cushy chairs. You grab both of the mugs, placing one on the coffee table in front of Illumi.

“A suite, huh.” You say, taking a sip of your chamomile tea and letting the warmth sooth your bones. As far as normal garments go, Suites would probably be one of the hardest garments ever. Making a suite was one thing, making a well tailored suit in a small time frame without five hundred fittings was quite another. But, in your profession you had long ago learned that there were worse things you might be forced to make than a suite. This one time, this guy had shone up and requested to have a ball for a waist, and be able to use it in combat. You had done it, somehow. At least he had been hot, if very fucking weird. You shake your head, taking a ship of your tea.  

“I can make you a suit, yeah.” You say as you place your cup on the coffee table. “Let me get my schedule book and I'll write you in.”

“Im busy,” Illumi replies, sitting bold upright in your chair, tea clutch between his pale fingers. “Can you do it now?”

“Sew a suit, right now, while you're here?” You ask incredulously, sitting back into your chair. 

Illumi nods jerkily, taking a robotic sip of his drink and setting it on the table.

“Please,” he says.  The room sinks into silence for a moment as you take a few deep breaths, holding back a laugh. 

“I have inconvenienced you.” Illumi says, and you decide to take pity on him. 

“Is there a specific time frame you need to suit?” You ask, reaching forward to pick up your tea. “I can schedule you as soon as possible.”

“Mother says in two weeks,” Illumi says, a few strands of hair falling from the towel turban he put his hair in. in the distance you hear your dryer beek aggressively, signifying Illumis clothes have finished drying. You stand, moving towards your small laundry room, shouting over your shoulder as you continue.

“You said your father recommended me, right?” 

Illumi nods, taking another sip of camomile tea. “He said he gets his work clothes from you. He said your work holds up under extreme stress.”

“I make a lot of specialty clothes for hunters,” You say, bending down to pull Illumis dry clothes out of your front loading washer. “So it kind of has too. Is your father a hunter?”

“Assassin.” Illumi says. You nod, holding his warm clothes and slamming the laundry room door with your foot.

“Ah, you must be Silva’s son then.” You say, handing Illumi his warm, staticky clothes. He takes them, tilting his head to the side.

“How did you know?” he asks, big eyes blinking slowly. 

You giggle, taking his empty cup from the coffee table and putting it into your sink, along with your own half full one. 

“I don't get many assassins for clients.” You say, running water into the cups and putting them into your almost full dishwasher. You make a note to start it after Illumi leaves.

“You know, your dad has a fitting in a couple days.” You start, grabbing your appointment book from the countertop and moving back into the small living room as you flip through it. “ How about you come with him and I'll take your measurements? That sound good?”

Illumi sits still, head tilted as he blinks slowly, considering. 

“Alright,” Illumi finally answers, and you nod, writing it into your book. 

His clothes are still resting in his lap and you hop up, grabbing a bag from your closet. It's an old plastic take out bag. You take his clothes from him again as he thinks, putting them in the bag and handing it back. 

He looks at it in confusion. You smile, handing him a paper bag filled with the weird pins that had been stuck in the front of the clothes, and what looked like an id of some kind and a phone. 

“That way your clothes wont get wet,” You say with a smile, glancing at the clock. It's getting pretty late at night, around ten forty five. The sound of Illumis phone ringing cuts through the silence, and you jump. Illumi pulls an archaic looking flip phone out of the paper bag, flipping it open with a satisfying snap.

“Yes?” 

Someone's voice can be heard on the other line, yelling rather loudly. You pretend not to pay attention out of politeness, but strain your ears to hear something. Unfortunately you can catch anything and Illumi hangs up, rising to his feet abruptly.

“I have to go,” he says, “where should I change?”

“No knead,” You say, standing up and getting your appointment book on the table. 

“But your clothes,” He says, gesturing down on himself. You smile. 

“Dont worry about it, there my ex boyfriends old things.” You say, moving towards the front door. “I was just gonna donate them anyway.”

Illumi follows you, silent but for the rustling of the bags you had provided him. His footsteps made no noise, you hadn't noticed before because of the rain. Opening the door of your flat you step into the much colder stairwell and shiver. 

“I'm sorry i don't have a jacket for you,” You say, bare feet padding down the concrete stairs. “It's quite cold out.”

“As an assassin, I was raised to withstand below zero temperatures,” Illumi informs you blankly as you reach the button of the stairs, opening the door into your shop. 

“Well that's good.” You say, holding the door open as Illumi steps through, into the barely illuminated back room of your shop. A few mannequins standing in the corner look threateningly like real humans, and you giggle as Illumi stops still, staring at them before moving on.

“Jump scared by the manquines?” You ask. Illumi frowns, shaking his head. 

“No.” He says, walking a little faster. You giggle, he must be embarrassed. 

“So, you’ll be back in a few days for our appointment, right?” you ask, standing a few feet away from the front door. Illumi, holding two plastic bags of clothes and nicknacks against his chest, nods.

“Yes,” He says, and then a second later, “I apologize for inconveniencing you.”

You giggle. He's a bit cute, in a wild animal kind of way. You move closer, reaching up to yoink the towel from his head, watching his long hair tumble over his shoulders. He shakes his head like a dog, his long silky hair falling into place. His ears are red as he opens the door, stepping into the rain. You wave, and he nods in response as the door shuts with a heavy clunk. 

You smile all night as you lock up your room, shutting the doors and securing the windows and waving goodbye to the threatening dress forms in the corner. 

Tonight certainly was interesting. 

🪡🪡🪡

The sun is shining across your floors, when Illumi and Silva arrive for their appointment. The door opens with a chime of bells, and you look up from your design sketchbook and grin.

“Ah, there you are.” You say, putting your sketchbook and the table and rising to greet the men touring by the door. “I almost thought you wouldn't show up.”

“I apologize, Miss Name,” SIlva says, smiling down at you. He really does tower over you, in stature and height. “Be polite and apologize for the inconvenience, Illumi.”

Illumi, standing a bit behind his father, nods. 

“I apologize Miss Name,” He says, looking somehow both lost and sincere at the same time. You laugh.

“It's no biggie, you guys were only a few minutes late,” You say, leading them both into the main area, and grabbing the outfit Silva had requested. “I made the alterations we talked about last time, so hopefully everything fits this time!”

You hand Silva the formal suit jacket he had requested, and motion for him to change. He nods. 

“Where can my son sit while we finish this up?” He asks. You nod, turning to look at Illumi who has been standing awkwardly in the middle of your studio with a laugh.

“Illumi, you can take a seat over there if you like.” You say, gesturing at the comfy chairs off to the side of your studio. Illumi nods, moving towards the chairs and sitting down with a thump. His hands fold over his lap and you giggle.

“Your son has great manners,” You whisper, leaning over in Silva's direction. The large man chuckles, brushing his long hair out of the way as he slips the black suite over his white button down. 

“My wife has taught him well in that department,” He grins as you survey the fit of the jacket. “Although we have our concerns.”

“Oh really?” you ask, probably more interested than you should be. “How is the fit?”

“Good,” Silva says, raising his arms above his head. “Well as Illumi has gotten older, Kikyo and I worry he'll never marry.”

You stifle a giggle, subtle looking at Illumi as he sits still in your chair, looking around at the framed sketches on your wall. You frame designs you were especially proud of, with proof pictures of course. You turn back to Silva, a little confused.

“Really? He's quite handsome,” You say, checking the back seam as Silva flexes his muscles. The suite stays intact, not even straining. Silva looks at you oddly.

“You think,” He says, smiling slightly. “Well, lately he has expressed interest in a certain woman. Kikyo and I are thrilled.”

“Oh, really?” You say, your heart sinking in your chest a little. When had you even realized you were attracted to him? Maybe you were just disappointed that a handsome man was off the market. “That's just great.”

Silva nods, smiling a secretive smile as he sheds the jacket, handing it back to you. 

“The fit is lovely,” He says, “I'm quite satisfied.”

You smile, your heart feeling a bit odd, and turn to grab a bag, packing his suit jacket up carefully and neatly, tossing in a free sample handkerchief as you usually do, all the while feeling a bit sad. You don't quite want to admit why as you hand Silva the package, turning to Illumi sitting in the armchair with a sigh.

“Alright Illumi, let's get those measurements done.” You say, turning away to grab your measurement book and your tape measure. When you turn back, Illumi is standing a few feet in front of you. You hadn't heard him move at all. But you supposed that was expected for an assassin. 

“Your shop is nice,” Illumi says, voice stilted as you move closer, wrapping the tape measure around his chest. You ignore the beating in your heart as you take the measurement, noting it down in your book. 

“Thanks,” You say, turning back around to take the second measurement. “I try.”

Silence falls as your slightly trembling hands take the waist measurement. Illumi shifts slightly as you turn, noting the measurement in your book. Silence falls as you take the next few measurements, careful not to touch his body more than necessary. The shoulder, arm, and back measurements are all taken in awkward silence, until Illumi speaks again.

“The designs on your walls,” he says, “I recognize one.”

You have your back turned, writing down measurements and you turn to follow his pointing finger. He's pointing at a design you're rather proud of. The man who had decided he wanted a ball for a waist. You grin, proud of it as you turn back.

“Ah, Mr Morrow's design, one of my favorites.” You say, leaning down a bit to wrap the tape measure around his hips. “That design was a pain in the ass but it turned out so well.”

“You have sewed for Hisoka?” Illumi asks, shifting slightly as your hands pass over his hips, taking the measurement down mentally and turning around to write it on the page. 

“Yes!” You say with a grin, “Pain in the ass design, but he was handsome and so I guess it was worth it.”

Illumi frowns slightly, shifting as you drop to your knees, taking the length of his legs. Faintly in the background, you hear Silva muffle a cough. You had forgotten for a moment he was there. 

“You took his measurements?” He asks, frowning down at you. You look up in confusion, still on your knees with a tape measure in your hand, poised to do the inseam measurement.

“I take everyone's measurements?” You question, confused. “I had to do some really finicky stuff for that outfit, and it involved some odd and somewhat emberassingmeasruments.” 

You explain, knees still firmly planted on the floor as you lower your tape measure. Illumi frowns, hands falling over his chest. 

“I hope he did not inconvenience you.” He says, blinking very slowly. He sounds almost upset, but you shove it aside with a grin as you pick up your tape measure again.

“Oh, it wasn't too bad,” You say, gently taking the inseam measurement, careful not to brush any sensitive parts as you continue. “The costume was a pain, but he was very lovely to work with. His pretty face definitely helped. And the money, obviously.”

Illumi shifts slightly as you carefully take the inseam measurement.

“You guys friends?” You ask, finishing your inseam measurement and turning to write it in your book. Illumi coughs, shifting behind you with a rustling of fabric.

“I guess,” he says, a certain malice in his voice that you can't place.

“How nice,” You say, turning to write your final measurements, your heart feeling a bit heavy.

🪡🪡🪡

Silva and Illumi pay the whole 70,000 jenny upfront. You protest, but Silva waves it off with a grin, as he and Illumi disappear into the sunlight.

You hate to admit that you're really attracted to Illumi. You're not sure why. Maybe it's the whole wounded animal thing he was going on, or maybe it was his awkward nature and stilted conversation, but you were quite enamored with him. 

But thanks to Silva, you now knew you had no chance with him. 

The next few fittings with Illumi were an awkward mix of attraction and arousal on your end, and awkwardness at his end. He tried to make small talk with you, and you replied, but every conversation made you more and more sure he would never be attracted to you. 

He was even kind enough to bring you a lovely bouquet of red roses and white baby's breath, and apologize for the night you had first met. Every kind gesture made your heart hurt, but you accepted them with a smile. Every time you saw those roses, your heart hurt.

🪡🪡🪡

It was around seven when the events started. You were bone tired, body flopping onto the bed after a long day of standing over a table. Your back ached as you sighed, closing your eyes. 

Your phone lay beside you, digging into your back slightly as you relaxed. But you couldn't quite relax. There was a familiar, thrumming energy running through your body. You were horny.

Sighing, you stroked your nipples gently through your thin shirt, already having shed your bra as soon as you entered the room. Your other hand slowly winds down, stroking your pussy gently over your panties.

You're so horny. Maybe it has something to do with Illumi’s fittings. Having your hands all over him in a professional manner was too much. He had such a fit physique, you longed to grip his muscled shoulders, free of the fabric between your skin. You whimper, pressing a finger knuckle deep into your pussy with a sigh. You roll over slightly, back pressing into your phone. 

You can't be bothered to take it out from under you, even when you hear a faint click.

Illumi happens to be near your shop when his phone rings. He answers it quickly, holding it up to his ear as he stands in the middle of the darkened sidewalk a few miles from your shop. 

“Name?” He asks, standing a foot away from the ring of light cast by the sidewalk. The sweatpants he's wearing hang low on his hips. The sweat pants you had given him. They still smell like you still, and Illumi is ashamed to admit how hard he gets when he takes a whiff of their scent. Re refuses to relieve himself, as not to sully your name. It's become hard as of late, with your figure plaguing his dreams, your careful professional fingers brushing his skin. Illumi sighs, taking a deep breath.

You don't respond, the only sound he hears is a faint groan. Illumi starts moving towards your shop, worried.

“Illumi?” You say over the phone. Your voice shakes, sounding a bit odd. “Oh god Illumi!”

Illumi frowns, moving faster and faster towards your house. You sound like you're in some type of distress. 

“Name,” He asks again, “are you alright?”

No reply, only a faint groan leaking through the phone. Illumi’s dick twitches in his pants as he races towards your shop.

“Oh Illumi, you’ve got to help me!” You exclaim through the phone. Your voice shakes lightly, heavy breathing coming through the speaker as Illumi picks the lock to your shop.

“Are you ok, name?” He asks again. You groan, and then the phone disconnects with a click. Illumi dashes through your darkened shop, up the concrete stairs, and opens your door as quietly as possible. If someone is hurting you, he’ll kill them in an instant. 

You have two fingers shoved up your cunt when the door opens with a slam. You shriek, trying to hide the evidence of what you were doing as illumi stares down at your mostly naked body in shock. He's standing in your doorway, wearing the sweatpants you had given to him and a black muscle tea, and staring at your body in shock. 

He looks so delicious, as he takes you in, his face looking a bit bewildered. You trace his body, your eyes catching on the obvious bulge in his pants, and grin.

“Illumi,” You coo, spreading your legs with a grin. He visibly gulps. “I need something from you.”

This all feels so sudden, the tension hanging in the air between you, the way his expressions of lust spell so plainly on his face. How could you have missed this. You wonder if you had missed other signs.

Illumi moves forward slowly, the door closing softly behind him, feet making no sound on your bedroom floor. He stands at the end of the bed awkwardly, dick twitching in the gray sweatpants he wears. You gulp down saliva, scooting a bit farther onto the bed. 

“I want you to eat me out,” You say, bringing a hand down to spread your pussy lips. You watch Illumi gulp, want him crawls towards you on the bed until his head is positioned over your dripping pussy, his hair tickling your knees and thighs as he leans down. 

“I apologize if this is unsatisfactory,” illumi says, his voice still as robotic and clinical as ever, even as his eyes tremble with arousal. “I lack the necessary experience to—”

You interrupt by gripping his hair, and shoving his face into your pussy. His body collapses on the bedspread, hands winding around your hips and waist, as your hand winds into the base of his long hair.

You groan, your back arching as he licks a long strip along your pussy, tonge passing gently over your clit. 

You reward him with a tug on his hair, and he muffles a small groan into your pussy. The resulting jolt of pleasure runs through your spine, and his name escapes your mouth.

“That's good, so good.” You pants into the air, the hand not tangled in Illumis long hair notting into the white comforter around you. Illumi whimpers quietly, his own hips grinding into the carpet as you moan.

He's showering you with pleasure, his mouth going to town on you as your back arches, and your orgasm threatens to overwhelm you. You whimper, tugging at his hair.

“Oh god, I'm gonna cum.” You shiver, body jolting and jerking and Illumi fucks your whole with his tongue, his thumb drawing circles on your clit. 

“Me too,” he murmurs into your pussy, and you watch as he grinds helplessly into the comforter, completely occupied with driving you mad with pleasure.

It's that sight that pushes you over the edge. His hair tangled on your legs, his hands gripping your body like you’ll disappear in an instant, the desperate thrusts of his hips into the comforter.

Your body tenses as you cum, back arching and hand pulling the hair knots in your hands. His voice is on your tongue as you orgasm, stars bursting in your eyelids, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Illumi also tenses under your grip, muffling a faint moan of pleasure into your pussy, only prolonging your orgasm.

When you open your eyes, hazy from cumming and take him in over you, you feel more arousal running through your body.

He's looming over you, big doll eyes filled with lust, clothes long discarded. His hair falls over the two of you like an intimate curtain, hiding the outside world from view. His dick is bobbing back to life, big and ready to be inside you. A small, nervous smile is curing across his lips.

“Be my wife,” Illumi says, eyes darting anywhere but you. You grin, a feeling of elation running through your body as you reach up, gripping his face with your hand and looking deep into his eyes as you reply.

“Yes,” You say, and Illumis mouth devours you in a kiss so full of happiness you almost cry. Almost, until you feel that hardness pressing against your stomach and you reach down, storking it gently. Illumi moans into your mouth, choking slightly and you grin.

“You aren't busy, right?” You coo into his mouth. Illumi shakes his head.

“Good,’ You say, body twisting into his. “Because I think I'll have you occupied for the next couple hours.”

Illumi responds by kissing the breath from your lips. 

...

Endnotes:

I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!! I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!!