#yan chrollo

Forces you into sex when your sick, it makes you so plaint and easy, your not even trying to scratch him when he climbs on top of you and starts trailing his hands towards your waistband, instead you just turn your head to the side and start crying quietly, yes, he thinks that is much better then your screaming and fighting

Using you as a foot rest has become somewhat of a common practice for him whenever you misbehave, your humiliation never goes away during it, how can it when you can feel his heals digging into your back

Doesn’t use lubricant when forcing you into sex if you aren’t wet enough, in his mind it’s the easiest way to train your body, get aroused quicker or suffer immense pain while he enjoys himself above you

Strips you in your sleep so you think he did things to you, sometimes he does but most often he does it to remind you how helpless you are

Thanks you for things he forced you to do, after your done scrubbing the bathroom on your hands and knees as a punishment he walks up smiling smugly, “thank you, was that so hard?” Don’t show him how upset you are that’ll just encourage him

/|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\ /|\^._.^/|\

He’s obviously still an ass (he’s Chrollo lol), but I don’t picture him as someone who’d physically punish or outwardly mock his darling. In the same sense, I don’t think he’d immediately go the “pin them down and rip their clothes off” route if he was denied. But I honestly love the high libido Chrollo hc lol.

So, would he be willing to force himself on you? Absolutely. But the way in which he does it would less likely be in the traditional, primitive sense (he sees himself as above that), and more likely to be coercion, manipulation, having you under the influence, or as some sort of deal for privileges or to get out of a punishment or something.

I don’t think he’d necessarily wait until a certain point in the “relationship” to try to get intimate with you. He’s a guy with urges. Regardless of if you’re going on “dates” with him or still try to scratch his eyes out when he looks at you, it’s more a matter of time rather than progress - after a few months, he’s getting seriously pent up.

It’s a sort of dilemma for him. He wants to maintain his gentlemanly façade so he can hopefully ease you into it and get you willing, but he’s so eager that parts of it slip slightly, making you less likely to give in.

If you’re “responsive,” as he puts it, he’ll ease you into things. We all know how great this man would be in bed, especially if it’s your first time - he’d whip out all his best tricks and technique and you’d be just goneee lol

If you’re not, he’ll up the ante. The façade will continue to slip, but he cares less for it now - what’s the point in exerting himself if you aren’t going to give him what he wants either way?

He’d give you more punishments, hoping that you might try and offer him your body to get out of it. If you do, he’ll simply eat up the opportunity, tasting your apprehension and humiliation in more ways than one. He’d love to see the conflict in your eyes as you lie beneath him, trying desperately not to react to his touch or shove him off you.

I think his next step would be slipping you an aphrodisiac. It’d be useful in several ways:

First of all, of course, its effects would make you more likely to give in to his whims, or even ask him for it.

It’d also be a way for him to get you to agree to completely unrelated non-sexual stuff too. If you agree to wear that dress, or be good on a date, or have a conversation with him about his book, he promises he’ll touch you. It’s amusing to see how frantically you agree to whatever he asks for.

Plus, if you somehow manage to deny him (and yourself), the unquelled burning inside of you is a fitting punishment for your stubbornness.

I think the aphrodisiac would be a last-ditch effort. Sure, he could use a Manipulator’s ability to incapacitate you, force you to kiss him, and have you strip and spread your legs while you beg for him. But it’s not just a matter of desire - it’s a matter of pride. To have you wholly under his control while he takes what he wants would ruin an important part of the pleasure for him: knowing that you, on some level, wanted your kidnapper to please you, to touch you, to fuck you.

Eventually, your obstinacy leads Chrollo to his breaking point. He’ll wake up one morning and just know. He’ll give you a stare over breakfast, and it’ll seem off. Sure, none of them were ever particularly comforting, but you can’t help but shiver from his gaze, what’s usually a void in his eyes being filled with something insatiable. The tension throughout the day would be almost tangible, hanging thickly between you two. Eventually, you might catch on to what’s going to happen.

He knows you’re getting paranoid, but can’t really bring himself to care. Of course, he wishes things could’ve been different, if only you weren’t so stubborn.

He’s almost trembling by the time you go to take your evening shower in the bedroom’s ensuite, mind flooding with tainted images of you as always. But there’s an extra element this time, one that sends shocks of electricity through him - tonight, all that he’s pictured is going to happen. You’re at his mercy, and you’ll beg for him.

By the time the water shuts off, his eyes are clouded and his pants are straining. You’re smart enough to always bring your change of clothes to the bathroom, so he won’t see you in nothing but a flimsy towel. But the comfort and protection it brings is purely psychological. The bathroom door opens, steam wafting into the bedroom.

He’s on you before you even know he’s in the room. He picks you up before you have time to react, throwing you on the bed and kissing you. His tongue invades your mouth as you try to pull away, with one hand holding your wrists tight as the other starts to pull down your pyjama shirt.

You’re crying now, but he doesn’t have any sympathy for you. You chose to be stubborn. You chose to test his limits. And now you’ve broken them.

Tonight was one of those instances. His usual methods of producing verbalized emotional turmoil, or as he liked to call it “banter” had ceased to work a few days ago. You remembered an article you read soon after graduating, and the term “stonewalling” stood out to you. It consisted of simply refusing to answer questions or responding to someone as an act of self preservation. Chrollo seemed to feed off your responses to him, you hoped by cutting him off from them he’d simply starve. Anything from a forced smile to you screaming in frustration was enough to temporarily satisfy him, providing him with enough material to psychoanalyze you for days, if not weeks on end. So, you decided to limit his resources.

You sat cross legged on the floor, back leaning against the bed, with a book in your hand. Under normal circumstances you loved reading, but alas, nothing with Chrollo could be considered normal. The only reading material you had he had supplied you with, was it really necessary for you to be reading “Fahrenheit 451” for the third time? You swore you’d go insane if he compared you Clarisse McClellan even once more.

When you first started reading Chrollo was at the head of the bed, reading his own novel, but after a few chapters he’d invited himself to lay down right behind you, his hand “accidentally” brushing your hair on occasion as he turned the page. Not long after this you could feel his eyes on you. The chill that tended to run up your spine under his scrutinizing gaze never came though. This is what told you something was off, even without turning your head you could almost feel emptiness radiating from him, threatening to swallow you into the abyss. That alone was almost enough to make you capitulate, ready to beg him for forgiveness for ignoring him.

Forcing yourself to focus on the pages in front of you, you successfully set these feelings aside. That was until the once sporadic brushes against your hair became more frequent. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that fingers that once touched you with an unspoken confidence became riddled with doubt. The touches were much more gentle, you could tell he was deep in thought.

That caused you yourself to think. Was he getting bored of you? If he was you considered yourself to be found guilty of treason, willing to receive capital punishment. No longer having an interest in you would surely be cause enough for him to kill you. You saw first hand the way he quickly disposed of his fortunes after heists. Once they served their purpose they were discarded and he moved onto his next target. Surely you’d meet the same fate if he no longer felt a need for you.

The realization had you speaking before you could stop yourself, “Did you finish your book?”

Just like that the emptiness you felt earlier was replaced with substance, you could practically feel the arrogant grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“No. Is yours too difficult to understand? I could explain it to you.” Almost instantaneously you regretted opening your mouth, maybe death would be better than having this cretin belittle you.

Deciding you’ve already had enough of the conversation you begin to focus on your story again. Your escape is short lived as the book is snatched from your fingers.

“What made you speak to me again?”

You sigh before turning to face him. Of course he would ask. Maybe trying to seem like you had his best interest at heart would temporarily win him over.

“You seemed disappointed.”

He pauses before responding. “Elaborate, there’s more to it than that.”

You purse your lips. Shit. I should’ve thought that one through better. “I assumed if you were disappointed with my silence you’d grow bored and just kill me.”

He seems satisfied with your answer. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise the king of deceit saw through your original deception.

Rolling onto his back he faces the ceiling with his fingers intertwined below his chest. His breathing is steady and his eyelashes flutter shut, casting a small shadow on his cheeks. In this moment all you think is how unfair it is for someone so evil to possess such attractive features. Wasn’t it said Lucifer was the most beautiful of God’s angels? you muse.

“You’re right you know? I feel like we’re at a standstill lately. I could replace you.”

Your breath hitches as you freeze. “I-I’m sorry?” Your voice sounds hoarse as you stutter.

“There is a way you could make it up to me. Buy yourself some time at the very least.”

You look at him reproachfully, waiting for him to explain further.

“You hardly resist when I touch you now.” He opens his eyes and turns towards you, watching for your reaction before continuing, “you could indulge me in some of my other… fantasies. Unless of course, I have to find someone new.”

The implications of his words causes your blood to run cold. Not only would your life be cut short, at this point that might be your preferred alternative, but he’d also find someone new. Taking a shaky breath you accept his offer. Someone new? Jealousy didn’t fuel your readiness to agree; you couldn’t bare the thought of anyone else falling victim to this man, not due to your own selfishness.

Sensing your forfeit, a satisfied smile chisels itself onto his alabaster skin, “come here.”

You hesitate before standing. Once you’ve risen you look down at your feet, each step looking like it was recorded in slow motion and looped back on repeat. All too soon your shaking knees collide with the side of the bed and you climb on top to kneel in front of him.

His hand reaches out, tucking the hair covering your face behind you ear. It slides down to underneath your chin as he gently lifts your face towards him. “Good girl.”

Under any other circumstances the action would have you swooning, but the butterflies in your stomach have turned to bile and you force yourself to keep it down. Pestilence sat before you, touching you with the delicate hands of a lover, while you became riddled with the plague.

Pulling you closer his lips hover centimeters from yours, the fresh smell of mint and cologne stinging your nose. If you weren’t so stunned you might’ve pulled away, but now it was too late as he finishes closing the distance between the two of you.

His lips were warmer than you expected. Softer too. Although the soul in Chrollo may have died long ago, his body was still alive and breathing. With a start you feel his tongue grazing your lower lip, his silent plea for you to reciprocate his actions. Swallowing your pride you lightly part your lips, begrudgingly allowing him access.

Once again he surprises you, the restraint he exhibits in this moment is unparalleled. Nothing is too rough or too fast, if it were anyone else you might even find it pleasant.

The taste of mint spreads to your tongue and you hesitantly put more effort into pleasing him. The hand on your chin relocated to rest on the side of your face while the other grips your hip. There’s no real force behind it but you know pulling away just got rendered impossible.

He continues to deepen the kiss as he guided you to straddle his lap. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable he begins leaning back, coercing your body to be on top of his.

Both hands are now on your hips and his fingers begin creeping under the waistband of your shorts. Using a little more force he guides your hips lower and motions for them to roll against him. Despite the voice in your head telling you it’s wrong, you follow his lead and cautiously grind against him. Overtime it becomes more natural and you resist the pleasantry less.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the way his pants begin to stiffen, adding more pressure to your clit. You inhale sharply, abruptly breaking the kiss. Chrollo uses the opening to his advantage.

“Hm, it’s a wonder how you denied yourself for so long, look at how you’re taking charge.”

The mockery causes your cheeks to flush in anger. Before you have the chance to argue that he’s the one making you do this, his lips are back on yours.

Satisfied with your silence he pulls his mouth from yours, now beginning to trail kisses down your neck. As he reaches your collarbone he gives a light nip before easing your shirt off of you.

You curse yourself for not wearing a bra, now leaving yourself far more exposed than you’re comfortable with.

It seems to be spur of the moment decision as he flips you over onto your back, opting for himself to be the one on top. His fingers wrap around your wrists and he has the strength to easily hold both of your hands with one of his own.

He now freed hand begins to fondle your breasts before he gently begins sucking one of your nipples. He releases it with a pop and blows on the wet skin, the cool air causing you to shiver and arch your back.

He looks at you with a knowing smirk. You shoot him down with a glare. He clearly isn’t deterred since he’s now sliding your shorts off of you. He snaps the waistband of your panties against your hips before removing those too.

You being fully nude when he’s still in a button down and black trousers only reinstates the power imbalance you know exists. You’re completely vulnerable to him, and he’s just observing you. It’s hard to tell if his arousal is coming from you or the humiliating position he’s put you in.

“Unbutton my shirt.” Your glare softens to more of a pout as you listen to his instructions. You try unclasping the buttons as fast as possible to get the inevitable done and over with.

“I didn’t realize how badly you wanted this. Slow down.” You look back up to him and the expression on his face can only be described as taunting. He knows damn well why you’re in a rush, and it has nothing to do with excitement.

Nonetheless you slow your pace and maintain the eye contact with him, making your discontent as apparent as possible.

The moment his shirt is discarded he’s grabbing your hips with more intensity and pinning them down to the mattress. His grip is bordering on painful but you try not to show it, deciding to just take it in stride and lay there.

He slowly lowers himself between your thighs, making sure to keep his eyes on you. At this point your will starts to crumble and you look away, suddenly wanting to give him as little to work with as possible.

Chrollo seems unbothered by this, admittedly probably expecting it. The next thing you notice is the feeling of his warm tongue licking a long, sensual stripe up the length of your inner thigh. You subconsciously try closing your legs at the contact. But in an instant his hands are leaving your hips and moving to your legs to hold them open.

He continues to trail up your leg, occasionally leaving sloppy open mouthed kisses and bites. Every time he gets close to your pussy he switches to the other leg and starts the process over. After a few repetitions you lose count of how many times he’s done it.

Despite it being Chrollo, you start to desire more and the teasing is getting to you. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sickening realization. He wants you to beg him for it. You whine in frustration at the thought, temporarily forgetting he’s there to hear all your noises.

“Is something wrong, my dear?” His words slightly hushed by the way he spoke them into your leg.

“Stop teasing…” you mumble, hoping that’ll be enough to satisfy him. It wasn’t.

He stops altogether and props himself up on his left elbow to see you better. “I can’t understand you darling, please look at me when you’re speaking to me.”

You huff and sit up slightly. “I said stop teasing.” Your words are even quieter this time and you can tell by his grin that you’re blushing.

“What would you like me to do instead?”

You bite your lower lip to avoid screaming at him. He seems to have mistaken it as a sign of arousal though because he grin only grows bigger.

“I-I um, I want you to eat me out…”

You can practically see how the gears turn in his head. Thankfully, this half hearted attempt at dirty talk seemed to be enough for him.

Not giving you time to react, he drops his head back down and licks along your slit before taking you clit between his lips and sucking gently.

“Ah-” you yelp in surprise and tilt your head back, not wanting him to be able to see any of your expressions. As you lay back down he only doubles down on his endeavors. Your back arches and much to your chagrin you can’t hold back your soft moans.

His tongue swirls around and over your clit until he finds a rhythm that you clearly enjoy. You go to reach for his hair but last second your fingers opt for the satin sheets instead.

You’re to blissed out to think much of anything when he reaches up and sticks two fingers in your mouth. Assuming it’s just a kink of his you decide to indulge him.

As he pulls his fingers out of your mouth his thumb trails down your lower lip. Your eyes widen and your whimpers get louder as he abruptly begins to finger you. Taken aback by the bold gesture you cuss him out.

“Fuck you.”

“We’ll get there.”

You scoff in annoyance but it’s quickly silenced when you feel his fingers begin curling inside of you. Between this and the love letter he’s writing with his tongue your orgasm begins to build.

You’re fairly certain you can feel him smirk against you as he comes to the same conclusion. Your back arches of the mattress and you string together a mantra of words.

“Chrollo- I’m, fuck I’m close.”

And just like that his fingers are gone and his mouth is pulling away. You sit up, confused. Shame washes over you at the sight of him. He’s perfectly composed, leisurely pulling his cock from his pants, while you’re forehead is covered with a sheen of sweat, cheeks red, and your mouth is slightly agape.

He looks up and seems rather proud of himself for leaving you with such a dazed expression. Now freed from his pants he grabs your calves and yanks you to him, resulting in a nervous giggle leaving your lips.

“Lay back down.” His tone is softer now and he nudges your shoulder, motioning for you to recline back.

You give him one last hesitant glance before doing as you’re told. The sound of him spitting in his hand before lightly stroking himself causes you to grimace. How alluring.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as he leans over you, staring into your eyes as he lines himself up with your entrance. This is the most life you’ve seen in the empty sea of grey. His pupils are blown wide with lust and there’s a glimmer of something else in there but you can’t quite put your finger on it. If he was anyone else you might’ve mistaken it for love.

He’s careful as he enters you. Watching your face for any signs of discomfort. The sudden look of care throws you off guard and you feel almost dizzy as your emotions muddle together.

You let out a shaky breath once he’s fully inserted himself, forcing your muscles to relax despite the slight sting from how he stretches you out. Once you adjust to his size he sets a slow, steady pace, gradually picking up speed as you settle into it.

He brings himself closer to you, resting his face in the crook of your neck which he makes sure to mark. His breath tickles as his teeth graze along your earlobe.

Being too lost in the moment to care, your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. The low groan he lets in response causes a pleasurable shiver to run through your body. Clearly appreciating your submission his hand snakes up and his fingers curl around your throat, giving it a light squeeze. When he hears no protests and only a high pitched whimper in response his grip tightens.

He sits up straighter at this and tosses one of your legs over his shoulder. The change in position causes your eyes to roll back as he ruts himself deeper into you, making sure to hit every spot that makes your leg shake around him.

For the second time you feel your orgasm approaching but this time he shows no sign of stopping. Instead, opting to coax your through it.

“Mm, I knew you’d take me so well, sweetheart~” his voice is husky and his cheeks flushed a light pink. If you weren’t so close to cumming you’d probably laugh at the sight of Chrollo looking flustered.

Instead, his words send you over the edge and your hand latches onto his forearm. The grip of his hand around your throat once again tightens as the way your nails dig into his skin. He groans as your walls squeeze around him.

He continues fucking you throughout your high and by the end of it your babbling from the overstimulation. He removes his hand from you throat and delicately places it in your hair, his pace slightly slowing as he sees you growing overwhelmed.

They way you now spasm with each thrust as tears prick at the corners of your eyes is enough to bring him to his own release. His hips stutter and he waits a moment before pulling out, relishing at your final whines, a symphony you’ve orchestrated just for him.

After you’ve both cleaned up he ticks you into bed, laying down beside you. Despite your earlier actions you still stiffen when his arm wraps around your waist. The silken sheets that helped ground you earlier now holding you prisoner.

“You know, I was only bluffing earlier. I don’t think I could ever get tired of you. A day with you could supply me with a lifetime of musings.”

It takes a moment for his words to set in, but once they do you’re sitting upright, anger bubbling in your throat, ready to be released.

“You mean that was all just a ploy to sleep with me?” Your fists clench at your sides, eager to collide with him.

The first few times he does this his touches would never be too invasive. But as you get more accustomed to it he’d up the ante.

One night as you’re getting ready for bed your favorite pjs magically disappear. The only thing left in your drawer is some thigh highs, panties, and one of his shirts. Asshole. Knowing you couldn’t truly relax in your day wear you begrudgingly get changed; it beats being naked (not that he’d mind).

Your annoyance is clear as you purposely sit on the far end of couch away from him. Despite the evident disapproval he just smirks while pulling you onto his lap. Anytime you’d try getting up the book in his hand was replaced with Skill Hunter and he’d casually read off pages to you. Usually ones related to conjuring ropes, ones that manipulate your muscles into moving however he’d like, you get the picture: poorly disguised threats. The odds of him actually carrying though on this are slim to none though. He’d much rather play mind games and break you on his own volition.

The longer you’re sitting on him the bolder he gets. His hands will dance along you waist, occasionally slipping down to the waistband of your panties and snapping them against your skin. They’ll creep to the edge of your stockings and firmly massage your thighs. When he feels satisfied at the way your breath begins to hitch and you not so discreetly adjust yourself on top of him he’ll turn you around and maneuver you so you’re now straddling his thigh. He’ll grip your hips and help you grind yourself against his leg, smirking when he purposely tenses his muscles to watch how your body jolts.

When he feels confident you won’t stop, his hands leave your hips, opting for you cheat instead. He’ll gently massage it and pinch your nipples whenever you move too slow for his liking.

You scoff. “It beats being locked inside with a dolt like you.”

“Such an uncouth mouth. Didn’t you hear the part where I said you’d have to behave to earn such a privilege?”

You reluctantly look over, already knowing the smirk you’re about to see. Aaand there it is.

That’s really the only push you need. You sigh as you rise from the couch, making your way to the refrigerator. Your eyes glint over the contents before finally settling on what they were looking for.

You snatch Chrollo’s whiskey, the label of which you could never dream of pronouncing correctly. Not bothering with the glass, you take a few big swigs straight from the bottle.

“What an unladylike way to drink.”

“I actually find alcohol dependency to be very sophisticated. Only the wealthy can afford to drink like this.”

He raises an eyebrow and his smile only grows.

“Darling, if memory serves, alcohol dependency is usually a sign of depression and anxiety. Both of which are prevalent mental illnesses amongst the lower class.”

And just like that you’re drinking more then heading to the kitchen sink. Now supporting a smirk of your own you begin dumping the bottles contents down the drain. “Then I’ll have to abstain.”

The mirth in Chrollo’s eyes is palpable as he watches the expensive liquor get wasted. He’s on you in an instant, trapping your body to the counter and holding the now half emptied bottle.

“There’s no need for abstinence,” the lecherous implications make your skin crawl, “but would a little class kill you?”

“If it would I might actually start acting dignified. Anything to escape the likes of you.”

You’d like nothing more than to smack the faux pout off his lips. Chrollo leans over you, reaching for two whiskey glasses from the cabinet. He makes sure to get closer than necessary as his body presses against yours.

Once retrieved he hands you a glass filled with the umber liquid and leads you to the couch by your wrist. You’ve been with him long enough to know attempting to pull away is futile so a mere groan of displeasure will have to suffice.

He settles down on the couch, dragging you along next to him. To an outsider looking in you’d appear as the perfect couple. His arm is wrapped around your back, rubbing what’s suppose to be soothing circles into your bicep, and he looks at you, granting you his undivided attention. You know better though, this is just a subtle display of his control over you. His grip tells you you won’t be getting up unless he allows it, and his watchful gaze is studying every minute detail about you. Any adjustment to your position, drop in facial expressions, or even a change in your breathing will be noted.

He at least has the decency to try and cater the conversation to your interests. “I’m not surprised The Walking Dead comic is better, the source material tends to be unmatched,” “I don’t sound like Patrick Bateman, I’m just saying it wasn’t until The Smiths release of The Queen is Dead that the band truly found their sound.”

Try as he might but you just can’t feign interest at his blasphemous attempts at being good company. Even a conversation as light as this feels dangerous. You’re refilling your glass without a second thought.

Overestimating your tolerance only proves to be detrimental. The effects of the alcohol are kicking in close to instantaneously. Truthfully, you’d been too stressed by your current living situation to eat much. The strength of the alcohol mixed with an empty stomach has it rushing to your head.

While you wouldn’t consider yourself to be angry drunk, emotional was an understatement. Whatever you were feeling before you drank became amplified until it was blinding. The arm Chrollo has around you is now stifling, his voice more grating than ever. It’s all so aggravating. His unwanted commentary throughout the night only succeeds in provoking you. You have to mentally applaud yourself for not ripping your hair out.

In an attempt to cover up your disgust you finish your second glass, hoping it’ll wash away your problems. It works for a bit. You’re forgetting things as they happen and you zone out unintentionally, yet your anger digs in it’s heels and remains.

You think you fell asleep at one point but judging by the way Chrollo continues monologuing you brush the thought aside. Realizing you’re starting to black out you begin grasping to every word he says as if it were gospel, desperate to stay alert. The last thing you’d need is to pass out and be unresponsive in front of him.

The next time you come to, your brain is scrambling to connect the dots. You don’t even remember what he said, but the emotions you felt still linger. The stinging in your palm and fingers is your next source of confusion. You look from your hand to his face trying to find the missing pieces to your mental puzzle. The handprint on Chrollo’s cheek is evident and despite your drunken stupor you begin putting two and two together. You look to your hand again for confirmation and, oh shit.

You’ve never hit him before. Passive aggressive behavior and wry responses were more your forte. Occasionally, when feeling particularly spiteful, ignoring him altogether was the solution. But this was certainly new. You know you didn’t actually hurt him, at least not physically. Yet you still fear his retaliation.

Your anxiety proves warranted. “That was bold.” Unsure if it’s the booze or his inhuman speed but your head is cranked to the side while your vision struggles to catch up. Your head swims, you feel like you could vomit from the sudden onset of dizziness. The pain doesn’t come immediately but it leaves you blinking back tears when you feel it.

It takes even longer for you to realize you’re now on the floorboards you counted so adamantly earlier. Supported by your hands and knees, you look up at him through tears fueled by an unholy concoction of fear and affliction.

He doesn’t speak right away and you aren’t about to test the waters by opening your mouth first. The silence is deafening but you find yourself longing for it the moment he breaks it.

“I miss how you use to look at me. Trepidation is very unbecoming on you.” He looks almost as pained as you. The way your body trembles before him isn’t the same confident person he first met. “I miss the old you. You’ve lost yourself.”

It’s rare to see any real emotion on his face, let alone for him to speak so openly about them. Realistically he only does this because he believes you to be too drunk to remember any of this in the morning.

Blaming the alcohol for your next response would be too simple: it takes generations of piss poor genetics and wasted potential for evolution to reach this level of idiocy.

“I’ve lost myself so you could be who you truly are. You have no one but yourself to blame.” The words are slurred as you reflect on the times before he kidnapped you. The man you use to admire, now strikes you down with his own hand. Nostalgia may kill you before he ever does. “I use to love you.” If your words won’t be remembered in the morning it’s best to make them count while you have the chance.

His gaze remains cold. The past tense doesn’t go unnoticed, and somehow these truths cut him deeper than any of your snide remarks ever did. You never fully come to this conclusion yourself as you pass out on the floor.

Chrollo sighs and carries you to your shared room. As he looks down at you sprawled unceremoniously on the bed he notices how the bruise already blossoming on your cheek stands in stark contrast to the pale satin sheets.