#killuaxreader

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A smile filled with lies, hands stained in blood; he’s a hunter, an assassin, a killer.

You were better off not knowing, he tells you, teal eyes piercing through your soul, with a look of—regret?

You were better off not knowing, you should’ve paid attention to the little voice whispering inside your head. It begged you to listen, pleaded to be heard.

(But you asked, didn’t you, curious cat? You boarded the magic carpet on your own free will, eager to learn more. You wanted to fly, and now, the door has opened. He’s going to show you a whole new world, dearest Jasmine. Are you sure you’re ready to see it?)

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Let down your hair, Rapunzel. Let down your hair before he finds another way in.

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He watches you with those cold, cold eyes. There is nothing for you to hide, so you steady your resolve and shuffle closer, pressing your body up against his.

You cling to him because, just this once, you want to feel his warmth.

(“Don’t ask for too much,” he warns, and finally, Elsa, finally the cold is starting to bother you.)

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It’s nauseating, the smells.

You don’t like what he’s doing but you understand; you understand, don’t you, Cinderella?

Old habits die hard. Murder runs deep through his veins and torture is in his genes. The killing is a part of him now, and you just have to accept it, no matter how much the sight of blood and detached limbs triggers you instinct to flee.

So you sweep up the mess, trying your best to avoid touching the bodies directly, and follow him to where the next victim will try on the glass slipper, even though you already know that there won’t ever be a perfect fit.

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Hush now. You’re Sleeping Beauty diagnosed with insomnia.

When will you finally be allowed rest?

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Hey, Aurora, why don’t we dream? Do you want to go to a land far, far away?

Let’s build a castle together, with all of our friends. There will be a ballroom—you’d like that, wouldn’t you?—and a large dining hall where we will play pretend with our makeshift family.

“May I have this dance?” He’ll ask, dressed up prettily with a suit and tie, white hair shining softly under the moonlight. You take his hand and twirl in beat with the music.

It’s all so dazzling and grand, glittery and majestic, but wait—if he’s the beauty, does that make you the beast?

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Hold on tight; we can’t have you drowning just yet, Ariel.