Feitan Supremacy~ Feitan Supremacy~ I Love This Man So Much, And I Like How Instead Of Going Down The

Feitan supremacy~ Feitan supremacy~ I love this man so much, and I like how instead of going down the whole he kidnaps the girl route, don’t get me wrong I like those too, she turns the tables on him it’s fun

I feel like this gif is his attitude around her after they get together cuz he gonna be hella teased after this

I LOVE the way u write for Feitan soooooo much!!! Would u ever consider writing something separate to soft spot for him?? I feel like you could write the sweetest (dirtiest) short stories for him.. or even some headcanons? ♡ I love all of ur writing!! Good job dude ♡♡♡

Thank you for your kind words. I'm really glad you like my fics with Fei 🥺. I hope you like this one as well. I'm planning on writing more fics with him after I'm caught up with all the requests 🤍✨.

I'm currently working on a Draken fic and a second part of the 'let's be friends' fic with Killua. I'm writing very slowly because I'm working until the summer and I don't have a lot of free time. I'm sorry guys :(

WARNINGS: smut

Word count: 1995

“Fuck, that auction was more work than expected”, Phinks rubbed the space between his brows, “Can’t wait to get a drink. What about you, Fei?”. “I don’t drink”, Feitan coldly replied. “Come on, little Fei”, Phinks smirked, “One drink”. “No”. “Hm”, a quiet chuckle left Chrollo’s throat. “Always so uptight”. “See? Even boss thinks so”, Phinks eagerly waved his hand in the air. “Tsk, are they blind here? I want to order something”. 

“Sorry sir”, you humbly bowed your head, “I’m afraid it’s a busy night. What can I get you guys?”. 

Your voice… So soft, so innocent… 

“Whiskey sour”, the blonde replied. “Scotch”, the other replied. “What about you?”, you kindly smiled at the dark-haired figure. 

“Water”. 

“Ignore that. He’ll have the same as me”, the blonde replied. “Water it is”, you playfully smiled before turning around. 

“What a pretty little thing”, Phinks’ eyes glided down your back as you walked towards the bar. “Should we take her?”, Chrollo’s eyes lit up. “I’m sure she’d make a cute toy”. 

Normally,Feitan would happily agree. He’d always liked the sound of cute little whimpers, but not today. He didn’t want you to be scared.

“What do you think, Fei?”. “I don’t think she’s pretty enough”. “What?!”, the blonde raised his voice. “She’s one of the prettiest girls we’ve ever met, right boss?”. “She’s got my attention, to say the least”, Chrollo studied your movements. “We’ll take her after her shift’s over”. 

No. He didn’t want them to take you. 

“Shouldn’t we focus on the mission?”. “What’s wrong, little Fei?”. “He doesn’t want to share”, Chrollo smirked. “Tsk, too bad. I want her”, the blonde turned his head to catch you leaning over the bar. You were obviously trying to grab something but failed to do so. “Imagine standing behind that perfect ass”. “Imagine waking up with your guts hanging out your stomach”, Feitan’s eyes lit up. “No fighting”, Chrollo sternly replied. “Let’s forget about her. Feitan’s right, let’s talk business”. “Nice, little Fei. You ruined the evening for everyone”. 

“Ruined?”, you smiled as you placed down the drinks. It was obvious they didn’t notice you at first. “He sure made mine”. “Huh?”, Feitan tilted his head to look at you. “Such a pretty face”, you placed his water in front of him, “It’s not often someone as handsome walks in this bar”. 

“Thanks”, a short reply. “Auch”, you softly giggled, “Anyway, enjoy your evening boys”. 

“What the hell, Fei?!”, Phinks gritted his teeth as you once again walked away. “She flirted with you, and you replied with ‘thanks’?”. “Tsk, what the hell was I supposed to say?”. “Want to play some pool?”, Chrollo hastily intervened, “The loser gets sent on a mission with Hisoka”.  “I’m going to the hotel. Tired”, Feitan sighed. “You sure? We don’t get many nights off”, a lingering smile on Chrollo’s face. “I’m sure boss. Goodnight”. “Okay Fei, see you tomorrow”. “Goodnight, idiot”, the blonde replied before walking to the pool table. 

His heart ached at the thought that he never see you again. He hated this feeling. 

“Leaving?”. “Huh?”, Feitan slowly turned his head. “Leaving?”, you repeated yourself as you closed your jacket. “Yeah, I’m tired”, Feitan ignored the taxi that was waiting for him. “Me too. Work’s stressing me out lately”, a serious expression on your face. “Hm”, another cold reply. 

“I’m starving. Want to grab some food?”. 

Why were you asking a stranger to ‘grab some food’? It annoyed him how careless you were. 

“Just be honest and tell me what you really want”, Feitan's eyes met yours. They seemed so cold and distant, but there was a slight smirk on his face.  “H-huh? I-I don’t know what you’re talking about”, you hastily turned your head to the ground, cheeks red with shame. “Normally boss gets all the girls”, he looked to the sky, “About time I had some fun”. “H-huh?”, you froze as you felt his hand around your wrist, pulling you towards the car. “W-wait-“. “Don’t back down now. You seemed so eager a minute ago”. 

“Where are you taking me?”, you pulled away, studying the car in front of you. “My room”. “Where? I’m not getting into a car with a stranger without knowing where you’re taking me”. “Waste of time. We both know you’re coming”. 

He watched as you grabbed your phone from your bag. You were so cute with your fake ‘stern’ expression and cherry-red cheeks. 

“What are you doing?”, he clenched his jaw. “I’m sharing my location with a friend”, you frowned, "If you end up murdering me-". “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to”, he interrupted you with a smirk. “Now get in. It’s cold”. 

--- 

“What’s your name?”, you asked as he opened the door to his room. It was a luxurious hotel, something regular people couldn’t afford. “Does it matter?”, he raised a brow. 

He knew you enjoyed this. The thrill, his arrogance… 

“It does”, you watched as he entered his room. “Just get inside”, he walked towards the bed. “Fine, I’m Y/N-“. “Don’t care”. 

“You’re lucky you look so handsome in your suit”, you closed the door behind you. 

“I’m lucky?”.

“W-what?”, you froze as you felt his hot breath against your ear. He was sitting on the bed a second ago… How could he be so fast? “I’d say you’re the lucky one. I’m very picky when I pick a new toy”, his hand traveled to your waist. “Toy?”, you loudly swallowed as you tried to control your breathing. You didn’t want to seem desperate. “You’ll never go back to your old life, to your friends, family… You’re mine now”. “So, you’re saying I can’t leave?”, your heart racing. “You can try”, he chuckled as he tightened his grip around your waist, “I want you to. I want to hunt you down, to hear you beg for mercy, to look at me with red-stained eyes, tears streaming down your face…”. 

“But my friend, she knows where I am”, you clutched onto your purse. “Cute”, he swiftly turned you around, pressing your back against the wooden door. “You have no idea who I am, do you? Who we were? Poor little thing. You’re like a deer caught in the headlights”. “W-wait!”, you tried to push him away as he softly bit the space between your shoulder and neck. “Wait?”, a devilish smirk as he lifted your skirt, swiftly pulling your panties to the side. “Fuck”, he looked down at his fingers. “You’re telling me to wait but you're soaking”, he chuckled as he grazed his tongue along the digits of his fingers, “So sweet”. 

“Well, I guess it’s time to drop this silly little act”, you smirked. “It’s obvious you haven’t noticed”. 

“Noticed?”, Feitan’s eyes studied yours. He didn’t like the sudden change in your energy. “I didn’t mean to let it get this far but…”, you softly bit your bottom lip, “You looked so handsome in that suit”. 

“Who are you?”, a sudden cold feeling against your throat. “Careful with that knife, Fei. No fighting between members, right?”. 

What? To be honest, he never felt more clueless in his life. 

“So cute… Like a deer caught in the headlights”, you chuckled. “Came across Chrollo a couple of weeks ago. To be honest, I almost won when he tried to steal my nen … But he gave me a choice: join the Troupe, or live without it”. “You’re lying. Boss didn’t tell me anything about a new member”. “Because he wanted to see who’d get careless when someone flirted with them. And you lost, Fei”, your words died out, making them sound venomous. 

“Tsk”, he took a step backward, swiftly putting the knife away. “Boss knows I never do this”. “But you did now”, you happily hopped behind him. “Show me your spider”, he froze as he looked over his shoulder. “Here”, you swiftly pulled your shirt over your head. “See?”, you pointed towards your waist. 

Right. This was the moment he started to hate you. 

“What’s that expression?”, you giggled. “You’re almost drooling”. “Get out”, he clenched his jaw. “You’ve made your point”. “I don’t want to leave”, you hastily replied, a frown on your face. “Sure, this was some kind of twisted test but…”, you paused as you fiddled with your fingers. “I really do think you’re handsome and… I mean… My body can’t lie”, a blush on your cheeks. 

How could you switch moods so fast? It was as if he was talking to a different person. Your stance changed, your voice, your expression… No wonder his boss decided to let you join. You could fool anyone, even someone as skilled as himself. 

“You sound desperate”. “Because I am”, you softly replied, “When you said I was going to be your little toy, that I was yours… I liked that”. “Too bad. Don’t like being tricked”. “B-but Chrollo told me to-“. “I don’t care”, Feitan laid down on the bed. “You should’ve stuck with your little performance. If you did, you’d be shaking underneath me by now”.  

“Fine”, you rolled your eyes, “Guess I’ll take my chances with Phinks”. 

No. He didn’t want you to. Even though you weren’t an innocent bystander, even though you were probably as strong as him… He wasn’t going to let that idiot have you first. 

“Don’t put your shirt back on”, he slowly sat up straight, looking as disinterested as ever. “Oh?”, you smirked, “Changed your mind?”. “He can have you when I’m done”, he slowly walked towards you. “Careful, I’m the possessive type”, you placed your thumb in between your teeth. “You don’t know me”, his hands now gently fiddling with the straps of your bra.“So?”, you pouted, “You’re mine now”. “Don’t say stuff like that”, he quickly grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “When we’re done, you’re going to leave my room and pretend this never happened”. 

“When we're done, you’re only going to want more”, you grabbed his other hand, guiding it to your skirt. “Come on, Fei. Let’s have some fun”. 

You were right. From the moment he felt your warmth, from the moment you arched your back… He was going to use you over and over again. He could never forget the way you felt, the way your body welcomed him… 

“So good”, you closed your eyes, your legs wrapped around his waist. “Feels so good, Fei”.

Normally he wasn’t like this. He never cared if the girl liked it, if she felt good, but now…

“What do you want me to do, princess? Want me to help you?”. “P-please”, your eyes flew open. “Touch me, please Fei”, an innocent look on your face. “Again”, he softly bit in your cheek, “Ask me”. “Please Fei, make me come”, you let your nails sink into his shoulders, “Please, please, please”. “Cute”, his lips found yours, “Hurry though, won’t last much longer”. 

“S-shit”, you tightened your grip, your legs shaking as his digits found your sweet spot. “I-I’m coming”. “Already?”, he smiled, “It’s fine, you can come. Won’t last long anyway”. 

“F-fuck, you feel so good when you clench around me like that”, Fei’s eyes were wide open. No one ever felt this good. “C-come with me, please”, your brows drew together, eyes locked with his. “W-where do you want me to?”, Fei mirrored your expression. 

He tried so hard not to fill you up already. He wanted to feel you come undone around him. He needed to. 

“D-don’t care”, you arched your back, “J-just keep going, please-“. “F-fuck”, he frowned as he looked down. “I-I’m coming”, you let your head fall back, nails dragging across his back. “M-me too, princess”. 

Was this the best he ever had? Even his legs were shaking. 

“Fuck”, he sighed as he intertwined his hands with yours, his head resting against your chest.  “What do you think?”, you tried to catch your breath. “What?”, his eyes studied your expression. “Was I right?”. “Hm”, he smiled, “Only want more, princess”. 

I love all things Feitan and though Phinks isn’t my favorite I do love the dynamic. You say ur not confident in it but I like it a lot regardless lol, if you made this a story I’d read tf outta it.

Common Interest

Yandere Feitan x Reader x Yandere Phinks

Synopsis: Feitan and Phinks talk about one of their common interests, you.

Warnings: Murder mentions, yandere content, reader is a troupe member, fem reader

idk how many words this is its 12 am and I’m just trying to get this blurb out of my drafts… not very confident in this but I just wanted to post something while I work on other stuff 🥲

Feitan isn't sure what to do with you.

People have piqued his interest before, for any number of reasons. If they were lucky, he got bored after a day or two. If he decided to see what the fuss was about, it usually sealed that person's fate. They'd be dead in a matter of days to weeks and tossed to the woods behind his house for the wolves to feed on. Feitan can't do that with you, he isn't ready to drag you by your ankles to his home and kill you with an assortment of torture techniques, nor does he want to.

After all, the other Spiders probably wouldn't take it too well if Feitan caused one of their members to disappear.

For once, everyone was all together at the base to celebrate a mission well done.

Feitan eyed you, only half pretending to read his book. He wasn't big on reading, but a book on medieval torture practices was sure to have some fun information. You were talking with Shizuku about something, sitting next to her in the hideout sharing a takeout box of food. The moonlight shined through the windows, illuminating you against the others. He sits further away, preferring to be at a distance while he ruminates on his feelings. Feitan's ears strain to pick up on what you two discuss, trying to ignore everyone else.

"Okay, you first, what does yours say?" You ask, stabbing a piece of chicken with your fork and eating it. Shizuku eyed the strip of paper, chewing on the fortune cookie as she did. Once she finished, she read out what was written. "Want to learn Mandarin? Leave us a review? Visit ou-" "Wrong side, Shizuku." She lets out an "oh" before turning the paper over to see what her fortune was. "A light heart carries you through tough times." She recites, blinking a few times. "What about you, what does yours say?"

You look at the rectangle of paper, having only skimmed it briefly before. You hold it up, reading it out loud to her. "Good business opportunities will come to you." You stab another piece of chicken with your fork. The conversation soon shifts focus as the two of you share your meal.

Why were you talking to her? She was going to forget whatever you said as soon as you left. It's one ear and out the other with Shizuku. Feitan wouldn't forget, he never has. Everything you've told to him he's remembered, anytime you addressed him directly or called him by his name. He's kept all of your mementos too: your hair ties, the old press-on nails Pakunoda encouraged you to get, and the cards you hid in your bra during a game of Uno (those were his favorite).

Feitan's fixation for you has gone on for so long he isn't sure how or when it started. Perhaps it was always there, and only now was rising to the surface. He wasn't sure of the reason for it, not that he needed one. Feitan didn't need to justify his attachment to you, especially not since you and him are one in the same; thieves. Oh, but he is hyper-aware of his own growing animosity toward the other Spiders. He's been meaning to put a stop to it, realizing how out of hand it had been getting when he grew resentful towards Kortopi for taking your attention when you should have been focused on him.

The common denominator had been you; so it was only right that Feitan deals with you. The others can't bother him if they can't interact with you, and if they can't interact with you then Feitan could have you all to himself. His thoughts drift to how he would even pull something like that off; if he should even try it.

Just as he was trying to tune back into you and Shizuku’s conversation, Phinks came to sit with him on the concrete he was using as a resting place. Feitan smelled him before he saw him, the distinct scent of his cologne was unmistakable. A warm musky fragrance, and if you really focused on it, it was almost floral.

"What you want?" It came out as an almost hiss, but that was just Feitan's normal tone of voice these days. "You're staring again." He points out. Again. Again? Feitan stares at Phinks, closer to eye level now that he's sitting down on the concrete. Behind the cowl, Feitan's mouth tightens to a thin line, and his gaze returns to you.

Well, if Phinks' picked up on Feitan's proclivity to admire you from afar, surely Chrollo has as well. The idea of that is enough to send an unpleasant shiver through him. Feitan is surprised Phinks would have picked onto something like this, he wonders if his interest in you wasn’t more obvious than he initially thought.

(Honestly, between the two of them- Phinks wasn’t exactly the perceptive one).

"You stare too." Feitan says, in an almost challenging tone. It isn't any of Phinks' business what Feitan does, really. "Could be doing a lot more than just staring." Phinks' says it like he's offering something, and Feitan peels his eyes away once more to look at Phinks. There’s that look on his face, one Feitan is familiar with. The cogs running through his head, deciding to do it, to take what’s right in front of you and to make it yours.

Feitan has noticed it; the fleeting glances and constant need to hear your opinion on things Phinks had. Sometimes, Feitan worries Phinks has become incapable to form his own thoughts on a matter without your input. Phinks was the only person (other than Chrollo, of course), that Feitan could tolerate you speaking to for more than a few minutes.

“She leaving after tonight, gone till next mission.” Feitan says, having picked it up from your earlier conversation with Shizuku. He wonders if she’s even remembered you told her that. “We could just keep her,” Phinks starts, leaning in so nobody else could hear. “My place is nice enough, yeah?” Feitan nods slightly, giving Phinks his approval for the idea. Hardly any words past that have to be said, evidently, they're on the same page.

If it had been anyone else, any other troupe member, to say Feitan would be irritated is an understatement. He'd make quick of killing them for even daring to breach the topic, but Phinks is an exception; he might as well be his brother.

He and Phinks killed people together, robbed the innocent and took joy rides in stolen cars, even shared a bed when they had to. Surely they can split you between themselves. It wouldn’t be hard, even if the two men could get insanely jealous and possessive. They’d be working together, not against each other. Two heads are always better than one; especially when Feitan knows you'd put up a serious fight should they go through with this.

The thought of it amuses him, Feitan, at your imagined struggle, begins to feel some pity for you. As valuable of a member to the Troupe you were, he doubts you’d do well against two spiders. Maybe you won’t even get the chance to get some good hits in, depending on whatever Phinks’ has in mind.

“So? What do you say?” Phinks asks, turning to face Feitan with crossed arms. There's a long pause, Feitan thinking the offer over and all of the ways it could go wrong. All of the ways it could go right.

"Let's do it."

---

Yuuji is so cute and lovable and Sukuna is so cool and sensual I love this story

Devils roll the dice. Angels roll their eyes (Chapter 1)

Of course, you always knew that the angel and devil on people's shoulders can manifest into a physical form. But you didn't expect it to happen to you. And most of all, you didn't think they'd be so sexy.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) x Yuuji Genre: Urban Fantasy AU, fluff, smut Word Count: 7k Playlist: Angel and Devil Warnings: 18+, smut, threesome, poly, oral, fingering, creampie, anal. Mentions of a car accident in the past. Religious themes, sacrilege. Yuuji is an angel, and Sukuna is a demon. They will have a romantic and sexual relationship with reader and each other. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

Thank you so much to my sweet friend @tinymaru for giving Yuuji and Sukuna their angel and devil look in the header! Love you!

This story is my contribution to the Heaven and Hell collab. Thank you so much to the lovely @semisgroupie for hosting this amazing collab! Also: Happy Birthday to you, Venus!!

They appear at your table without warning.

One moment you're wallowing in self-pity, wiping away some tears while taking a sip from the comfort-milkshake you ordered for yourself here in the slightly shabby diner you always go to after work when you're close to breaking down. And the next moment, you become aware of two tall figures stopping in front of your table.

You look up in confusion and slight alarm. What the fuck is it now? Not enough that you had a stressful day at work with two customers yelling at you on the phone while you had to stay friendly and professional, your shitty coworker ratting you out to your boss about a mistake you made, and that boss telling you that you have to take one more shift because your department is horribly understaffed. And now it looks like you're gonna get robbed or something in this shitty diner. Just great!

You're too done to even be scared as your gaze lands on the two strangers who dare to add even more problems to your already stressful day.

You blink in confusion. They look so much alike that they are probably twins, definitely brothers. Pastel pink hair, almost identical haircut, tall, buff body, very attractive. But as much as they look alike, they also give off very different vibes.

One of them is wearing all white. The other all black. One of them is smiling brightly. The other is glaring at you menacingly and has black tattoos lining his handsome face. One of them has honey-colored eyes that look golden somehow, and the other has maroon-colored eyes that seem to glow red.

It doesn't make sense. One of them appears bathed in a golden light while the other is standing enveloped in shadows. How is this possible? Is it a trick of the light? But the rest of the diner looks just like always.

Maybe you are finally losing your mind.

The smiley one in white lifts a tan hand in a little wave, and his smile grows even brighter. He looks like some college jock or something. Very handsome, dressed in sporty clothes, a soft-looking white hoodie, skinny white jeans, and matching white sneakers with gold-colored shoelaces. It suits him and accentuates his athletic build.

"Heyy, (y/n)! Did you have a rough day at work again, sweetheart? Can we join you, please? We're here to help!"

His voice is warm and pretty.

Pictures appear before your mind's eye: Honey and sunshine, gold wrappers around caramel chocolate, soft candlelight on a romantic date.

You furrow your brow in confusion. Why do you describe a stranger's voice in such a poetic way? Where is this coming from? And why does he act like he knows you?

You look directly into his eyes, realizing that he really has golden eyes. Are those contact lenses? And what does he mean, they are here to help you?

"Um...who are you?"

You hear an annoyed-sounding huff, and your gaze snaps to the guy in the elegant tailored black suit. His glowing red eyes bore into yours, making you feel strangely naked as if he can not only see through your clothes but also through your skin and flesh and see right into your heart and soul. It's a creepy feeling. You shiver slightly, unconsciously hugging yourself.

But you can't look away from him, as scary as he is. You imagine this is what it feels like to be trapped in a Venus flytrap. Knowing you will get devoured but still being attracted to the seductive scent of nectar that lured you in with the temptation of the most delicious meal you ever laid your eyes upon.

His muscular arms are crossed in front of his broad chest while he musters you as if you really are a mere fly. His voice is low and velvety, sounding somehow inappropriately erotic even though his reply isn't sexual in any way.

"What does it look like? We are your angel and your devil."

The same thing that happened when the guy in white talked to you happens again: Pictures appear in your mind. Dark red silk sheets, red neon lights, lovers entangled in a passionate embrace, a fire crackling in a fireplace, a juicy red apple offered on a plush velvet pillow. Temptation incarnate.

You realize that you moved closer to the edge of the bench. Closer to him. Your eyes widen in shock, and you grab the table tightly to stop yourself from moving.

His words slowly begin to register. Your eyes widen, and your mouth falls open in a surprised gasp.

"What? But..how? Why? How come I never saw you before? I...I thought I didn't have an angel and devil..."

The guy in black, your devil, you assume, clicks his tongue, raising his eyebrows while he lifts one elegant hand and inspects his slightly pointy black nails, looking so arrogant and annoyed but also sexy as hell. Literally.

A hysterical-sounding chuckle escapes your lips. But you fall silent when your devil speaks up again in his low, seductive voice:

"There was no use to show ourselves. Trust me, I didn't ask for this. I'm pretty busy ruling my circle of hell. I don't even know why I had to be bothered with something mundane like looking after a human anyways."

His little rant gets interrupted by the one with the golden glow around him. Your angel. He laughs softly, sounding sweet like cotton candy at Disney Land on a beautiful summer day.

His hand lands on the devil's arm, smacking it lightly. Tan, golden skin on black fabric, casting a warm glow over the shadows that seem to gather around your devil.

"Oh, please, don't act so almighty. I bet you are pretty bored down there on your lonely throne. I heard there's not much going on in the seventh hell circle apart from that river of blood."

He turns to you with a cute smile on his pretty face:

"I'm glad to finally meet you again, (y/n)! I've been watching over you for several years now. Can you recall your 18'th birthday when you got into that car accident? Maybe you remember me."

A memory comes to you. Lying in the wrecked car, waiting for help to come or for death. And suddenly, a soft glow. A feeling of peacefulness and safety washing over you. A warm hand holding yours, soothing words whispered to you, comforting golden light in the middle of the night.

A reassuring smile, pink hair, and a golden halo on top, something feathery soft brushing against your arms. A sensation of being wrapped in love and hopefulness.

"It's ok, sweetheart. Help is on the way. They'll be here any minute now. I'll stay with you until then. You'll be ok, I promise you. I got you. Just look at me. You're doing great. You want to live, right, sweetie? And you will. I love you so much, don't forget me, ok? Maybe we'll meet again."

You thought it had just been your delirious mind, high on adrenalin, confused from the shock.

"Wait.. so that was real? Are you...what? My guardian angel?"

"Yep, that's me! Yuuji, your guardian angel! I mean, it's my second job. We have a bit of a staff shortage since the world population has been increasing so much. So you only get one angel for all your needs and not several ones. I'm also the angel to guide your conscience. That little guy on your shoulder."

He looks at you with his big golden eyes, nodding and smiling, looking as if what he just told you isn't the craziest thing you have ever heard. Staff shortage in heaven, huh?

And describing himself as the little guy on your shoulder when nothing about him is little. He is tall and muscular, the glow surrounding him making him look ethereal, so powerful that it should be terrifying but instead makes you feel safe and protected.

Your mind is still struggling to accept that you met the angel and devil on your shoulder in the flesh. They really exist! Of course, you know that supposedly everyone has them, and some people meet the manifestations of them. You have even seen people accompanied by their angel and devil, but somehow they never looked so...so beautiful! They just looked like regular humans. Maybe only the people they belong to can see their true form?

Your angel, Yuuji, takes a step towards you. You can feel his aura. It's like feeling the sun coming out and warming you after shivering in the cold. It's like that sudden spark of hope you get when you receive good news. It feels like comfort and safety and love, and you almost start crying because it's so beautiful.

Your hands twitch and move forward out of their own accord. Before you can stop yourself, you tentatively touch Yuuji's hand with your fingertips, giving in to the need to touch this comforting aura. You feel warm and soft skin under your fingertips.

The angel laughs, a lovely sound like sunlight and diamonds glittering on wedding rings made of pure gold.

He turns his hand, so his palm is looking upwards, and he can take your hand in his and intertwine your fingers. His touch is gentle and reassuring. You remember it. It helped you in the darkest and loneliest moments of your life when you were lying in that car, so sure, there was no hope left until he appeared and wrapped you in his love.

A choked sob escapes your lips as tears gather in your eyes, and you tighten your hold on Yuuji's hand.

He squeezes your hand gently.

"Aww, I'm sorry, this must be a lot for you right now, sweetheart."

You are barely able to nod while staring at your hand in Yuuji's bigger one. You are holding hands with an angel!

"Y..yes.. this is kinda crazy."

A mocking-sounding laugh makes you turn your head towards your devil who's watching you with a rude look in his pretty eyes, which sparkle like rubies.

"Are you always this slow, princess?"

What is his problem? What did you do to piss him off that much? Your initial fear is forgotten, and you glare back at him.

"Are you always this grumpy?"

His red eyes flicker suddenly. They already looked devilish a moment ago, but now they are blazing with neon red fire. Your hand tightens its hold on Yuuji's. Maybe it wasn't the wisest decision to argue with a Lord of Hell. You are really grateful that your guardian angel is here too!

But to your utter astonishment, all the devil does is laugh softly before sliding into the booth and sitting down on the bench across from you. He places his elbows on the sticky table, resting his chiseled chin on one hand as he smirks smugly at you, eying you so intensely that it makes your skin crawl. He looks at you like a cat looks at a new plaything, a little mouse or bird it can toy with before it eats it.

His low voice is a sexy purr, seductive, making you lean towards him despite the fear you feel.

"I am Sukuna, your devil, and the one you should always listen to. I'll explain this only once, so you better listen closely, my dear:

I assume you are at least familiar with the concept of every human getting assigned a personal angel and demon, right? Our job is to guide your conscience. Some people never meet their angel and devil in the flesh because there's no need for it. They just go on about their boring everyday lives without much ado. Others meet their angel and demon at some point in their lives because a situation calls for it. And that's the case with you."

Somehow he's so close to you now, and one of his large hands reaches out to cup your chin with his thumb and index finger. You are mesmerized by his glittering red eyes, the black lines adorning his pretty face, his seductive voice, and the arrogant, sexy smirk on his pink lips.

The lips which are so close to yours now that you can feel his warm breath caress your skin when he continues to talk:

"There's only so long we can sit something out. But your constant worrying and obsessing over your job situation made it necessary for us to manifest in the mortal world. So now we're here at your disposal, unfortunately."

The last part is breathed against your lips, almost sounding like a moan, making you press your thighs together as your lips part in a soft groan, causing them to touch your devil's sinfully soft lips, sharing an accidental, almost-kiss that sends sparks through your body.

He pulls away with an evil grin on his handsome features, leaning back against the backrest of the bench, looking so conceited that it's infuriating.

You lick your lips and clear your throat feeling a bit dizzy. But Yuuji's strong warm hand squeezes yours gently, and it helps you focus again. Your angel joins you on the bench now, sitting next to you, sliding so close that you can feel his body heat next to you, warm and comforting.

You give him a grateful smile before looking at your devil again.

"Ok, thanks for the explanation. But um, look, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but why exactly are you here, Sukuna? Wouldn't it be better to only have an angel who guides us, humans? So we would make the righteous decisions?"

"That's not how it works, princess. What would hell be like if everyone made the right decisions and behaved themselves? We need souls down there too."

"Oh, that sounds extremely trustworthy, of course. Yep, I'll definitely listen to your advice now."

He sighs at your sarcastic reply, but you see the amusement in his ruby eyes. The devil seems to enjoy this situation a lot more than he claims to do. Maybe it's really boring in his circle of hell.

"Trust me, I'm not planning to drag you into hell with me. You already sound like a real brat. I wouldn't want that around me all the time! And my advice is useful. An angel will tell you to put others first, but a devil like me will help you fight for your own goals."

Next to you, Yuuji laughs softly, but his laugh sounds happy, genuinely amused, and good-natured.

"Sukuna is right. You can benefit from your devil's conviction. That's what this is about, after all. There are always two sides to everything. And we help you find the way that's best for you. Hey, can we order something now? Those milkshakes and burgers look delicious! I always miss human food when I'm not here!"

His pretty face is alight with excitement, golden eyes sparkling happily, sunshine smile making him look so beautiful that you can only stare at him with a warm feeling spreading through your chest and butterflies beginning to set flight in your belly.

"Of course, I'll order all the milkshakes and burgers you want, my sweet angel. You can have anything you want."

You blink in confusion. Why did you say that? Sukuna's laughter carries to your ear, and his amused, sexy drawl:

"And you thought only the demon would be dangerous, hm? Well, darling, your angel boy here is a hazard too."

At the same time, Yuuji exclaims loudly:

"Oh good Lord, I am sorry! Did I use some angel power? I didn't mean to! I'm so sorry, sweetheart! You don't have to buy anything for me! I have my own money!"

Angel power? Making you want to buy things for him and kneel in front of him to worship him and offer all your belongings to get a bit of his heavenly love? Wow.

Your life will definitely be a lot more interesting from now on, with your angel and devil by your side.

But Yuuji and Sukuna manifested here to help you, right? And you really could use some advice when it comes to your problems at work.

Also, they look really cute when they both sip on their milkshakes, vanilla for Yuuji, and maraschino cherry for Sukuna. And very pretty. And so sexy. You can't stop staring at them.

Whoever is in charge of assigning an angel and devil to a human did a fantastic job when deciding you'd get such gorgeous messengers of heaven and hell!

"So, are you gonna be here all the time? My apartment isn't that big, you know?"

It's a strange feeling walking down the street to your apartment flanked by those two tall pink-haired guys, knowing they are your personal angel and devil. The weird thing is not that they are here, but that it feels so natural as if they belong here by your side.

You just worry a bit as you near your home because you don't have enough space to have them both staying over. The couch is the only space besides your bed that can function as a sleeping place, but it only has enough room for one person. Or angel. Or devil. Do angels and devils even sleep?

Sukuna's deep chuckle lets you see more images in your head. A dark red velvet blanket and silk pillows, red candle wax dripping onto naked skin, crystal glasses with red wine standing on a nightstand, two figures entangled on a richly decorated bed, passionate kisses, rhythmic thrusts, and cries of pleasure.

"Oh princess, don't worry about that. I can just sleep on top of you. And angel boy here can sleep on the floor. Just use your wings as cushions, sweetheart."

"Oh heavens! I won't let you molest (y/n)!"

"It's not molesting if she wants me in her bed, and let's face it. All three of us know that she does."

The smirk on his face is so insufferable that your fingers twitch with the need to punch him. But Yuuji's warm touch on your arm makes you take a deep breath and instead just reply:

"Oh, is that so? Maybe I want Yuuji in my bed!"

"Look, there's no need to fight! We don't have to be here all the time. We will always be in your soul, yes. Watching you and your surroundings, but we don't have to be here in the flesh all the time. Only when we want to communicate with you."

Yuuji smiles reassuringly at you, solving the problem with that useful piece of information that your devil decided to withhold from you. But the relief is short-lived because Sukuna's velvety voice drawls:

"Well, then leave, little angel brat. I sure as hell won't."

Smug satisfaction is spreading over his handsome face. Yuuji's eyes turn so golden that they are blinding to look at here on the dark street. He sends your devil an indignant look.

"If you're not leaving, I'm not leaving either!"

An hour later, you have managed to shower and get ready for bed and are now lying on your side with a nervously fluttering heart as you watch your angel getting undressed in front of you.

Since Yuuji and Sukuna decided to bless you with their presence all night, you chose to let your angel join you in bed and banish your devil onto the couch. After all, sharing a bed with an angel sounds pretty safe.

But doubts are creeping into your mind as you watch an already shirtless Yuuji pulling down his white pants.

He is gorgeous. Tan skin with a golden glow, buff muscles everywhere. Broad shoulders, firm biceps, deliciously toned pecs with very lickable pink nipples, defined abs, a v-line that makes you want to get on your knees and worship him all night. Strong muscular thighs and a big bulge in those tight white boxer briefs that lets you know exactly how big your sweet angel is down there.

He looks at you with a pretty smile on his handsome face, truly looking angelic. So breathtakingly beautiful that it almost hurts to look at him.

Maybe it was a stupid idea to say you want him to sleep in your bed.

But he's already lifting the blanket, slipping underneath it to join you with a big smile on his soft pink lips and a pretty sparkle in his golden eyes, and how could you say no? And after all, he is also your guardian angel. You feel safe with him. You know he will protect you, will take care of you.

It's not yourself who you fear for. It's him.

Because it's so hard to stop yourself from touching him, from running your hands over that sun-kissed skin, caressing those big pecs and everything else, hoping that you can make your sweet angel boy moan because he probably makes the most heavenly sounds!

You gulp hard, tensing up because you feel so guilty about having those impure thoughts about a messenger of heaven.

But then Yuuji is there right in front of you with his cute smile and comforting presence. One of his large warm hands cups your cheek gently.

"Hey, please don't be scared, my love. I promise you are safe with me. You can just go to sleep. I will protect you."

"It's not me I am worried about!"

Your eyes widen as you realize what you just blurted out. Why did you do that? And why is your mouth opening again to add more?

"You are so beautiful, and I feel this...this urge to get closer...I am so sorry, Yuuji!"

His thumb caresses your cheek with so much tenderness that it makes your heart overflow with warmth.

"Aww, hey, it's ok, sweetheart. I get it. You want to touch me?"

"Yes."

"Well, you can. Don't hold back, sweetie. It's fine! I am in love with love and affection. I love sharing it with you. And I love you. I love you very, very much."

God, he is perfect!

Before you can stop yourself, your hands are running over his buff biceps, marveling at how firm his muscles feel and how soft his skin is.

And then you get a taste of heaven when Yuuji's warm lips find yours in a tender, slow kiss that tastes like cotton candy and sweet strawberries and clouds and sunshine and everything pastel pink and sweet.

This must be how the kiss of true love mentioned in fairytales feels like. Because Yuuji is the embodiment of love and comfort and everything good in this world. You find yourself sighing happily into his mouth when his soft tongue slips between your lips.

He keeps kissing you, slow and deep, so loving and sweet. Your heart clenches at the realization that Yuuji won't pull away unless you do. He won't take the comfort of his heavenly kiss away from you. It's your decision when you are ok with ending the kiss.

He's so good to you, truly your angel.

You pull away with a happy smile, and there's a matching cute grin on Yuuji's pretty face too.

"Do you want to sleep, cutie? It's already late, and I want you to get some good rest."

You nod, unable to say anything because you fear that if you do, you will end up crying. The last months have been rough for you, always stressing about so many things, always too much work, too much overthinking, too much bullshit to deal with.

You had wished for someone to hug you, to listen to you, to just let you fall into their arms and forget about the craziness of the world out there for a little while. And now your wish has come true so unexpectedly in the form of this beautiful and sweet angel who's currently lying half-naked in your bed after blessing you with the best kisses of your life.

Finally, you open your mouth to whisper in a voice thick with emotion:

"Thank you, Yuuji. For everything. For being there for me in the night of the accident. And for today. You're making me feel a lot better."

"Aww, please don't thank me, sweetheart. You're very welcome. I love taking care of you."

His smile is like your personal sun right here in your bed.

Yuuji snuggles closer to you, his strong arms wrapping you in a loving embrace. He rests his head on your chest and makes a cute noise that makes you reach out and run a hand through his soft pink hair that feels like you imagine a fluffy cloud to feel like.

You close your eyes while cuddling your angel boy. He is warm and heavy, but not in a suffocating way but in a way that makes you feel safe and comfortable and bursting from happiness.

You sigh happily, realizing that you haven't been this at ease for months. Usually, you lie awake for hours at night obsessing over the things your coworkers did or the piles of work waiting on your desk. But tonight, you feel happy and relaxed, wrapped in your angel's strong arms. Enveloped in love and affection, cuddling your personal piece of heaven as you drift off to a peaceful slumber filled with nothing but sweet dreams about pastel pink clouds and golden eyes.

You wake up the next morning feeling more rested than you did in a long time, stretching carefully so as not to wake your pretty angel, who's still snoring softly against your chest, feeling so comforting on top of you.

Just as you finish that thought, he stirs, and his eyes open, pure gold blinking sleepily at you through long black lashes. He's so pretty! It's like you have your personal sunrise here in your bed.

"Good morning, my sweet angel."

You can't help but coo at him and pet his soft pink hair as a happy smile spreads over your face. Yuuji blesses you with one of his angelic smiles as he leans into your touch.

"Aww, good morning, honey. Did you sleep well?"

"Better than in months! Thank you."

He laughs softly, a happy, joyful sound, so delighted that he could help you. Slowly he untangles himself from you and braces himself on his strong arms to lean over you, buff body covering yours completely. Soft skin and firm muscles. And to your pleasant surprise, even angels seem to have morning wood, rubbing against your thigh big and hard, heaven's sweetest treat.

Yuuji leans down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I'm glad about that! Is it ok if I take a bath? Us angels are always clean, but bathing is one of the things I really enjoy so much when I'm on earth! Bubble baths are so amazing! I don't understand why we don't have them! So, can I please?"

Your chest feels so warm. He's so sweet, so pure and genuine, so lovely and good down to his very core. How could you say no to his every wish? If your sweet angel wants to take a bubble bath, he should definitely do that.

Even though you would very much want him to stay here in your bed, on top of you, where you can run your hands over his muscular back and feel the big hard bulge in his boxer briefs press against you.

You wonder how it would feel to get fucked by him, by an angel. Your panties feel wet all of a sudden, and you can't stop yourself from arching your back a bit, making your panty-clad pussy rub against him.

There's only the thin fabric of your panties and his boxers separating you, and you can feel his hot erection throbbing through it. And he can probably feel your wet heat too.

"Yuuji..."

The guilt you felt last night is gone. He told you it's ok to touch him. You're just not sure how much touching is allowed. Do angels indulge in carnal desire?

Yuuji's breathing heavily when you look up at him, his eyes shining even more golden, making them look like two little suns.

"Yes, sweetie?"

He rolls his hips slowly against you, letting you feel more of him, and elicits a soft gasp from you when his large cock glides so heavenly over your swollen clit. His glowing golden eyes never leave yours as he repeats the motion, watching you closely for your reaction.

"Tell me what you need, sweetheart. I want to give you anything."

"I...I want...Um, can we? Is it ok if we... Oh gosh. Do angels have sex?"

Your angel boy's laugh is beautiful and sweet like the chiming of a hundred little bells. And the way he's rutting against you should already be answer enough, but his low soothing voice spells it out for you, sounding warm like honey, a sensual, comforting caress:

"Yes, we do. We make love. Do you want that? Do you want me to make love to you?"

You can't help but moan at his words, and your fingers tighten on his muscular back, fingernails digging gently into his warm skin as your hips buck up against him.

"Yes, please. Make love to me, my angel."

You spend the next half an hour learning just how heavenly sex with your angel is. He's taking you to several highs, making you feel like you are on cloud nine when his large hands cup your tits and his soft lips spoil your nipples with tender kisses, making you moan and cream so much that you almost cum from just this.

But Yuuji still has a lot more to bless you with, and his sweet kisses wander down your body. His hands and mouth make love to every inch of your skin they find on their way.

You welcome him eagerly between your spread thighs, so wet for him like you've never been for anyone else before. And beautiful Yuuji pulls down your panties and smiles up at you with his sweet sunshine smile, so loving and tender in everything he does.

"So pretty my love. Everything about you is so pretty. I want to taste your sweetness on my tongue."

He eats you out with his sweet soft angel mouth, kissing and licking and sucking your clit until you are lost to sweet heavenly bliss and yank on his soft pink hair as your thighs shake uncontrollably. Your back arches, and you cry out his name as you cum and cum and cum.

A series of gasps and moans tumbles out of your mouth, followed by an "Oh sweet heaven!" when you see his beautiful thick cock for the first time, so hard for you, so big and strong and pretty.

A loud, needy cry of his name when he pushes inside you, and you wrap your legs around his waist as Yuuji folds you in half, making sweet love to you with deep gentle thrusts that make you feel like floating through heaven.

"Is that good, sweetie? Does it feel good? I love you so much, sweetheart ah! Ah! I love how tight you are and how warm, so wet, oh sweetie! This is heaven on earth!"

His moans and whines sound so cute, so pretty, making your head spin. You look up at your beautiful sexy angel through half-lidded eyes, which are blurry with tears because his cock hits the right spot over and over again.

His strong body presses you down in the perfect way that makes you feel taken care of and fucked so good that you can't stop crying and moaning and begging for more.

And your sweet angel boy gives you more. He gives you anything you need without any hesitation. Strong snaps of his hips, deep, slow thrusts, perfect cock, and perfect body fucking you to paradise.

Your orgasm on your angel's cock is the sweetest bliss you have ever felt. You're cumming so hard, body spasming with wave after wave of pure heavenly ecstasy, as your pussy clenches around Yuuji's thick cock, and you cry out loudly, unable to hold back.

You're still a mewling crying mess when you feel your angel pump you full with his thick hot ropes of seed.

He stays inside you, heavy body pressing you down exactly how you need it, making you feel so protected and full and loved, as Yuuji kisses you tenderly, moaning softly into your mouth.

You caress his muscular back and his biceps, marveling at how good he feels. You could spend forever like this, wrapped in your angel's arms, his wonderful cock inside you, his strong, buff body on top of you. Basking in the exhilarating, joyous feeling of afterglow after he blessed you with the sweetest fuck of your life.

Or lovemaking, as he calls it. And that's truly what it is. You have never felt so loved before. So filled with love, surrounded by it, wrapped in it.

He pulls out slowly when your alarm goes off, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek and smiling this sweet smile at you.

"I guess it's time for you to get ready for work, sweetheart. You know what? I'll run a bath for you and me."

And he disappears into the bathroom, giving you a lovely view of his gorgeous naked body, the divine sight of his back muscles and toned thighs, and that firm round ass.

You moan and let your head fall back on the pillow. Meeting your angel in the flesh is definitely the best thing that ever happened to you.

When you get up a few minutes later, you find out that Yuuji's cum is just as pretty as the rest of him. Milky white trails run down your thighs, thick and glittering so prettily, like vanilla milkshake laced with gold dust.

You follow your sexy angel into the bathroom with wobbly legs and a racing heart.

You're glad you always set your alarm early because this way, you have enough time to enjoy your bath with Yuuji. He's sitting behind you in the tub, laughing happily because he loves the bubble bath so much. Blowing white foam off his large tan hands and chuckling in delight.

But his hands also do other things. They wash you with gentle caresses, making you so horny once again that you spread your legs needily for your angel. And he smiles and kisses you and rubs slow, tender circles around your swollen clit until you cum again, slumping bonelessly against his muscular body afterwards.

When you walk into the living room a while later, dressed and ready to make some breakfast, you catch yourself smiling. Something which usually doesn't happen when you're about to go to work. Your guardian angel is already doing a fantastic job! The prospect of going to work doesn't seem that bad after this blissful morning.

You are so deep in thought that you don't see the devil sitting on your couch until his velvety low voice purrs mockingly:

"Good morning to you too, princess. Yes, I slept great on your ratty couch. Thank you for asking. Your hospitality really knows no bounds."

You gasp and stop in your tracks, head whipping around to look at the impressive sight in front of you.

Sukuna is sitting on the couch, long legs spread slightly, mustering you with his glowing red eyes, which are glittering like red diamonds in the dimly lit room. The smug smirk on his handsome face makes him look arrogant. But also incredibly sexy. He looks like a king sitting on his throne.

And you feel so small all of a sudden, like a mere peasant who has to crawl in the dirt before the king's throne, begging him for forgiveness for not treating him like the powerful and perfect being that he is.

Without realizing it, you walk towards Sukuna. The grin on his beautiful face grows bigger. One long finger brushes over his lips. You watch, mesmerized as his forked tongue darts out to lick over the pointy tip of his black fingernail. His tongue is tattoed too, you realize, and it makes you groan helplessly.

Somehow the living room is much darker than it should be at this time of day. Wrapped in shadows and a red glow, making it appear like the insides of a nightclub. The air is thick, seductive, luring you to get even closer to the enticing demon dressed in his elegant black suit with the black dress shirt and dark red tie.

You reach your devil and open your mouth to say something, but Sukuna's large hands land on your hips before you can do anything else. He pushes you down with ease, strong hands making you kneel between his long, toned legs.

Your chest is heaving heavily in a mix of fear and desire as you look up at your beautiful devil. An elegant hand lands on your head, strong fingers petting your hair like one would pet a dog.

The smirk on the demon lord's beautiful face grows even more devilish.

"Yeah, that's much better. See, this is where you belong. At my feet, crawling before my throne."

Suddenly a light tinkle is heard, the sweet chiming of bells, and Yuuji appears in a puff of pastel pink clouds and glittering gold dust, manifesting directly behind Sukuna. He puts a tan hand on the demon's shoulder.

"Not so fast, my sweet devil. I think you forgot that you and I are supposed to serve her and not the other way around."

Your devil groans and his hold on your hair loosens.

"You're so annoying, angel brat! Always spoiling all the fun I have. I'm finally here in the human world with all its vice and sin, but instead of having the time of my life, I get kept in check by some pathetic virgin?"

The spell Sukuna had over you breaks, and you can finally breathe again, taking a deep lungful of air. The room seems lighter, too, now. You get up, and the first thing you say is:

"He isn't a virgin, trust me."

At the same time as Yuuji says:

"Why do you think I'm a virgin? Just because I'm an angel? You know we have fun in heaven too! We live for love! And that includes physical love. We cherish it. We admire and love each other's bodies. So maybe you are the real virgin here because I don't think there's much love down in your hellhole!"

"Let me tell you that I have a whole castle full of succubi and incubi at my beck and call."

"Oh wow, great, a demon joy house. It must be so amazing to know they only share their bodies with you because you order them to or because they want to get something out of it. Don't you want to feel loved? It's so much nicer when someone comes to you willingly and wants to show you how much they love you! When someone wants to please you and make you happy without a selfish reason!"

You see a bellicose twinkle in both their eyes. It makes you gulp hard as it is a reminder that they are both extremely powerful beings who once fought in a war on different sides. A war which Yuuji's side won, and that resulted in Sukuna and his companions getting cast from heaven. So it's no wonder that they are so quickly at each other's throats. The angel and the fallen angel.

"Boys, could you stop, please! I think we all get it. No one in this room is a virgin anymore, and that's perfectly fine. It would be fine too, though, if one of us was still a virgin. Ok? Please calm down, both of you."

Yuuji's gaze meets yours, and his golden eyes soften visibly.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'll be nice."

His sunshine smile is back on his handsome face as his hand wanders from Sukuna's shoulder up to his jaw, cupping your devil's chin and tilting his head back, so the demon looks up at the angel standing behind the couch.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch the scene before you. They look so beautiful together. Your angel and your devil. Light and dark, love and desire, heaven and hell.

The air becomes charged with tension. Sukuna and Yuuji are caught in their very own little dance. A game of power. You realize at that moment that dominance and submission aren't a defined line between them. Because as much as you feel that Sukuna is the dominant one, the one who takes, and Yuuji is the one who gives, you can't quite say who is in the lead here.

Your sweet angel seems to be able to deal with the shady devil pretty well. Which is a good thing, considering that they are here to help you make the best decisions.

You watch in fascination as the smirk on Sukuna's face turns into an amused smile as he stays in the same position, head tilted back, the angel's hand cupping his chin. And Yuuji leans down until his lips brush against the demon's ear.

"Doesn't it feel nice when someone touches you tenderly?"

His thumb brushes over Sukuna's lower lip, caressing it gently. And the angel breaths a soft kiss on the demon's ear.

"Don't you want to know what it's like when someone makes love to you instead of just letting you take them?"

By now, his hand has tilted Sukuna's face to the side, and Yuuji is leaning over him, closer and closer until his lips touch Sukuna's forehead in a slow, tender kiss.

Your devil laughs at that, and one of his hands darts up in lightspeed to wrap around the back of Yuuji's neck. His pointy black nails dig into the soft tan skin, holding the angel boy in place.

Sukuna's forked and tattooed tongue licks a wet trail over Yuuji's throat, flicking against his adam's apple teasingly and then further up over his chin and the corner of his lips. He stops when he reaches the angel's earlobe, which he takes lightly between his canines.

Like a cat that has your hand in its mouth, not yet biting but warning you to stop what you've been doing before it will be forced to hurt you.

He growls against Yuuji's skin:

"No thanks, angel brat. Making love sounds boring to me. I'd rather fuck you and our little human senseless."

His words make desire throb in your deepest core, and you think you hear a soft moan coming from Yuuji. But then the devil chuckles and lets go of the angel before adding:

"You better hurry up, brats. The little human has to be at work in half an hour, and as much as we hate that workplace, we always have to ensure to be there punctually, so the people in charge have nothing to use against us. The devil is an excellent businessman, my darling. So you better learn to listen to me."

Your devil sounds arrogant and commanding, but you think his voice has a softer tone now, and somehow you feel that your angel knows all too well how to handle his counterpart.

It makes you smile to yourself as you make your way to the kitchen to grab some breakfast before leaving for work. And today, you know that you have your personal angel and devil at your proposal anytime you need them. So maybe it will finally be a good day at work.

Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of my contribution to the Heaven and Hell collab! I had so much fun writing for the angel and devil theme! Yuuji is such a perfect (guardian) angel to me! I got so emotional and had so many butterflies while writing about him awww. And Sukuna is a very sexy devil who might be a bit softer for reader and Yuuji than he lets on at first :) He's from the seventh circle of hell, the circle of violence. I picked that because it suited Sukuna, in my opinion, and that circle has a blood river, which reminds me of Sukuna's domain.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Please let me know your thoughts! Comments and reblogs make me very happy!

CHAPTER 2

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Oh the feeling of dread I got when I read this because you already know this cute little romance wasn’t gonna end any other way. I find this super relatable because while my social anxiety isn’t this bad (or maybe I’m deluding myself into thinking so as well) I felt just about the same way the insert character about the different scenarios happening I could FEEL the stress. This was super well done in my opinion.

Idée Fixe.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Some not SFW elements, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, emotional manipulation, depictions of general & social anxiety disorder, depictions of a panic attack, mentions of anxiety medication, Chrollo administers medications to Reader without her consent, and mentions of religion. Also Chrollo just really, really sucks. Word count: 12.3k.

You met a strange man at the arboretum today.

Perhaps you aren’t in a position to describe others as ‘strange’, considering your latest proclivity for expressing earnest thanks to any honey bees you happen across for their service. After much contemplation, however, it’s ultimately the word you arrive at. ‘Strange’ not in a disconcerting sense that inspires fear, but just being out of the ordinary enough to exude an undeniable allure. A raised panel on the floor you stumble over yet suffer no serious injury from. 

Well-kept gardens might be the closest imitation to heaven on earth. That’s what brought you to this little oasis hidden in the desert that is urban life. It’s the type of day romanticists wax poetic about: baby blue skies, puffy clouds, and moderate temperatures with a light, forgiving breeze. 

You situated yourself strategically, so you’d be beneath the shade of a magnolia tree whose pink petals kept fluttering down as if in greeting, and near a patch of daffodils that matched the shade of your gingham dress. Blades of grass tickle your legs, but not unpleasantly so, they scratch an itch found only in nature’s loving reprieve. There’s no thought of upcoming assignments, what to eat for dinner, or if buying that purse you thought was a steal at 30% off was a good idea or not. 

It’s just you and your book. 

Until it isn’t. 

Every woman is connected in the experience that is trepidation whenever a man randomly approaches. There’s no telling his intentions, if he has any. You’re left to smile awkwardly and temporarily realign yourself with religion by praying to a higher deity for his hasty departure. You map out potential escape routes and recall the pepper spray situated in your impulse-bought purse. He gently calls out “Miss”, confirming that he hopes to speak with you. 

At least he has the propriety to stop a few paces from where you sit, electing not to intrude on your personal space. This causes your shoulders to relax. In the few seconds you’ve been made aware of his existence, you recognize his appealing features. He has loose, dark hair, along with wide and seemingly unassuming eyes. His outfit of a dark gray turtleneck accompanied by a black jacket and pants somewhat strikes you as odd, considering spring is in full bloom. Two other details steal your attention away from this; those being the beige wrapping around his forehead and his spherical, turquoise-colored earrings. It’s like he was caught undecided between wanting and not wanting to attract attention. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he begins. You try not to think about how pleasant his voice sounds. “I’ve been trying to make sense of the directory, but I’ve never been the best with directions. Do you by any chance know how to get to the Starling House?” 

You nod. It’s a quaint, centuries-old mansion, maintained by the non-profit that oversees the flora here. Getting over the initial apprehension from his approach, you try verbalizing the most efficient path to get there. This proves more difficult than you expected since the arboretum is vast and has few waypoints that can be used for reference. Still, throughout your explanation whose unhelpfulness you grow painfully aware of, he patiently nods and makes no attempts to rush you through. 

This willingness to put up with your scattered description wins over your sympathy, pushing you past your sheepishness. 

“I guess I’m not good at giving directions. I could just show you the way, if you’d like.” 

“I’d hate to disturb your reading, but… if it isn’t a bother, I’d certainly appreciate it.” 

You’re already setting your bookmark into place. “It’s no bother. This is my second time reading it, anyway. So don’t worry. I’m not being left off on a cliffhanger or anything.” 

He smiles at that. When you’re preparing to stand, he extends his hand, a gesture that gives you a momentary pause. Well, you are wearing a dress. You suppose it’s the polite thing for him to do. You accept his unspoken offer and he hoists you up without the least bit of exertion on his part. His hand is warm and bigger than yours, slightly coarse too, surprisingly. His immaculate presentation gave you the impression of a trust fund kid or something in that vein. He’s tasteful in ensuring his touch doesn’t overstay its welcome. 

Your heart pounds in your chest. 

You catch a hint of his cologne. Sandalwood, amber, and leather blend together to form a delightfully woody fragrance. As amazing as he smells, you create a little distance, walking ahead motioning for him to follow. His longer legs have no trouble catching up, yet he never creeps too close. 

The short journey that you expect to only be accompanied by the sounds of cardinals chirping and house finches singing is interrupted by the man speaking up again. Oddly enough, you don’t mind. 

“Do you find your thoughts on Prince Myshkin’s initially endearing simple heartedness changed, knowing how the book ends?” 

You pause, taking a moment to realize he must be familiar with the work. This revelation fills you with a tentative giddiness. It isn’t often you have a chance to delve into your literary thoughts to a willing audience. There’s plenty more you could say on the subject, but you try to exercise restraint nonetheless. 

“I thought I might, but I found myself more critical of the other characters instead.” 

“Oh? And why is that?” 

He appears genuinely interested, otherwise, you would’ve kept it at that. 

“Ah, well, maybe it’s that they serve as proof that innocence is never meant to last. Or if it does, it’ll inevitably be punished. There are moments where I feel frustrated with the Prince’s naivety… but then I stop and wonder why it’s so bad to want to see the best in people. Does that speak to a flaw in his character, or to a flaw in the character of others? Maybe it’s both. I can’t help but feel the Prince’s case is more sympathetic.” 

His eyes never leave yours while you give your answer. Heat rises to your cheeks and you internally groan over the prospect of making a stranger listen to your ramblings. He was probably just looking to make casual conversation, not everyone wants an existential crisis on a Saturday afternoon. 

“You must be someone who wants to see the best in people as well,” he surmises. There’s no hint of mockery in his tone — he’s oddly sincere. He says it with a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. 

Before you can hazard a response, you come across a sign displaying information for an event at the Starling House. The building itself lies in waiting atop a hill less than a quarter of a mile ahead. He stops to read it, as do you, operating under the assumption he came here for the event. It seems that they’re displaying historic artifacts from around the area. You suppose this will be where you part ways. You’re about to wish him well when he sighs, the miffed noise stopping you. 

“I got the time wrong,” he frowns, staring at his wristwatch. 

The sign says the event begins at 6:00 p.m. and a quick tap of your phone reveals it’s 4:00. 

“If you’re looking for a way to burn time, there’s a nice garden behind the House that’s always open to the public,” you explain. This piques his curiosity. “If the sage is in bloom, you might get lucky and see some hummingbirds.” 

“That does sound lovely,” he says. Then, his lips quirk up, promising the start of a smile. “Would you care to join me, Miss…?” 

You give him your name and he nods, as if deciding it fits you. 

“[First]. I understand if my tour guide wants to get back to her reading, though.” 

Bashfulness creeps up your back and threatens to sink its fangs into your neck. Your heart’s rhythm takes an erratic cadence. He’s posing the proposition in such a lighthearted way, offering an easy out if you want to take it. You internally weigh your options on a scale that’s worn from overuse. He’s being friendly, you tell yourself. That’s all it is. 

“Well, I guess I’d be a shabby tour guide if I didn’t show you where the gardens are.” 

On the brief walk to the gardens, the man introduces himself as Chrollo. You both situate yourselves on the same stone bench. You sit on the right, he sits on the left. Once again, he leaves you plenty of space, never testing boundaries. The scent of nascent sage wafts in the air. While you scan your surroundings for hummingbirds, he tells you that his work often necessitates travel, hence his unfamiliarity with the area. 

“Does it ever get lonely?” You ask, not thinking much of it. He gives you a look you can’t quite place, so you elaborate. “Traveling all the time, I mean.” 

He tilts his head, more inquisitive than offended. “What makes you think it’d be lonely?” 

“I just think I’d get homesick after a while, always being in an unfamiliar place. I’d miss my family and friends.” 

When he continues staring at you in silence with those unreadable eyes, you swear you want to slam your head repeatedly against a wall. Not everyone has a good relationship with their family or people to call their friends. The weight of your potential insensitivity comes crashing down on you like a tsunami. 

You move your hands around wildly, rushing to correct your discourtesy. “Uh, I mean, that isn’t to say you need those things!” 

“You don’t think I have any friends?” 

Your face must be radiating more heat than a furnace. Still, the embarrassment doesn’t reach a point where you’re unable to notice his omission of the word family. “I didn’t—” 

Contrary to the reaction you were expecting, Chrollo laughs. Not a little chuckle, but a genuine laugh, hearty in a way that stands in stark contrast to his otherwise reserved demeanor. The smile it imprints on his face somehow feels different than what he’s displayed before. Those were always so well timed, lasting as long as necessary and never a second more. It hits you then just how handsome this man is. Alabaster skin, soft and glossy hair, lips as rosy as the blush on his cheeks from his outburst of laughter. 

It doesn’t last long, he’s quick to school himself. The speed he does so is almost unnatural. “I apologize, I’m only teasing. You’re very expressive, [First].” 

You let out something between a huff and a sigh. “God, I felt so awful…” 

“I can tell,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender when you send him a non-threatening glare. “To answer your question… I’ve never thought about it much. I suppose it is lonely at times.” 

This revelation pours a bucket of ice-cold water over the embers of your indignation. Your face softens and a stinging pain shoots throughout your body. You can’t bring yourself to remain miffed when you’re the one who dredged this topic up. People use humor as a means to cope, that may be what Chrollo does. 

“Enough about me, though. I’m far more interested in you.” 

You shift in your seat. Did it always feel so warm out? 

“Here, let me guess. You’re certainly a student. Hm… of the humanities, perhaps?” 

“You got the student part right,” you agree. “I’m majoring in criminal psychology.”

There’s something like a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh? Is that so? You want to catch criminals, then?” 

“Er… not exactly. It’s more that I want to help them.”

He blinks. “Help them?”

“Not, like, as an accomplice,” you earnestly reassure, to which he smiles, “How do I explain it… take the city around us, right? It’s considered one of the most dangerous in the United States of Saherta.” 

As if on cue, a cacophony of police sirens begins blaring in the distance. 

“In the 80s and 90s, there was a surge of incarceration, yet crime as a whole set higher records each year. The policy at the time was ‘build more prisons, give longer sentences’. Obviously, that didn’t work out very well for anyone… except for private prisons maybe… that’s a whole different beast. Anyway, you reap what you sow. Crime rate is going down, but communities were gutted by these policies. There’s still a lot of work to be done. I want to understand ‘deviant’ behavior so I can see what safety nets would benefit them the most.” 

Chrollo is such an excellent listener that unlike before, you no longer feel the pressure to remain succinct and have little qualms completely delving into your passion. His body language suggests total engagement. 

“Ah, so you view crime as a result of societal shortcomings.” 

“It’s more nuanced than that,” you shake your head. “Hell, even when there were only four people on earth according to the Bible, Cain went ahead and committed murder anyway. That’s like… killing 25% of the population… how messed up. Wait. If there were only four people on earth, who did Cain go on to marry? How does that work…? Asexual reproduction…?” 

“The Quran says Cain and Abel both had twin sisters,” Chrollo offers. 

“Alright, that makes more sense than asexual reproduction. Okay! Enough about theology! Back to crime. There’s no totally eradicating it, but there is circumventing it. That’s what I want to help do.” 

You’ve been so preoccupied with verbalizing your thoughts, you failed to notice he’s scooted slightly closer to you. There’s enough room for decorum yet you can’t help feeling slightly flustered. Why this cute guy is still hanging around despite the fact you casually mentioned asexual reproduction not once, but twice, is a phenomenon that transcends human reason. 

This is so going to be one of those interactions that haunts you periodically at three in the morning for the rest of your life. 

“It’s a noble pursuit,” Chrollo comments. Then, he places a hand to his chin. “Forgive me if this comes off as pessimistic, but… what if you put in all that work, only for nothing significant to change?” 

You shrug. “I’ve considered that plenty, trust me. It’s fine if I don’t kickstart a utopia. So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.” 

“One person, huh?” 

It seems more like a rhetorical musing on his part, so you allow yourself to be momentarily distracted. In your peripherals, there’s a flash of colors, shades of green and red bleeding together. A low buzz accompanies the sporadic sight. The blur moves erratically, high to low, then low to high. 

You cover your mouth to stifle a gasp, then whisper to your companion, “Chrollo! Look! A hummingbird!” 

The thrum of nature is a wonder you’ll never tire of. It inspires awe that reflects in your eyes like a mirror, enchants without needing to cast a spell. You wrongly assume that Chrollo must be partaking in the same miracle that has stolen your attention. He’s fixated, yes, but not on the right subject matter. He’s still staring at you. This disruption of your expectations can only be explained away by the possibility he hasn’t spotted the creature yet. To remedy this, you slowly point in the hummingbird’s direction. Finally, he breaks his gaze from your form, acknowledging what it is you find so fascinating. 

By then, it’s too late. Your newly made acquaintance departs as swiftly as it arrived. 

“Aw, that’s a shame,” you lament. The disappointment you’d feel if you were in his shoes would be immeasurable. “You didn’t get to see it for very long.” 

You have no concrete proof, but you swear every smile he wears is different than the one before it. 

“It’s alright. I saw something far better.” 

Curious, you glance to your right, searching for whatever it is. You must’ve misinterpreted whatever he was looking at before. “Something better than a hummingbird?” 

“You could say that.” 

The remainder of the time you spend together is relatively uneventful. Chrollo asks you a great deal about yourself, ranging from your hobbies to book recommendations. You try to return the favor — as is only polite, in your opinion — yet the conversation never lingers on him long before circling back to you. It isn’t until you say you feel vain talking about yourself so much that he offers some morsels of knowledge. Aside from traveling for his occupation, he’s something of an antiquarian, hence his interest in the Starling House’s event. He also reveals he has colleagues coming into town soon, the aforementioned ‘friends’ you questioned the existence of. The way he teases is so devoid of malice, you can’t bring yourself to be upset. 

The hour flies by. Good looks aside, he’s a remarkable conversationalist. There’s never an awkward silence or social misstep. One could even call him perfection incarnate. His steady cadence, command of language, meticulously formed ideas… they’re reminiscent of cogs in an automaton turning together in complete harmony. Paradoxically, this immaculate image speaks to some underlying defect in his character he mustn’t want anyone to see. There is such a thing as being too perfect. 

For whatever reason, this draws you in closer rather than repelling you. 

Chrollo’s disappointment is palpable when he glances at his watch. It’s then you’re reminded that all good things must come to an end. 

“I—” 

“It—” 

You both start and stop talking at the same time. When it’s made obvious you intend to stay silent until he speaks his piece, he motions to you with his hands, insisting you go first. 

“It was very nice meeting you, Chrollo,” you say, your voice softening. It’s amazing how you can feel your previously discarded sheepishness returning in real-time. Amazing and annoying. “I, uh, hope you enjoy the event.” 

“Please, I should be the one thanking you,” he insists. Then, for such a well-spoken man, he goes uncharacteristically quiet. Deliberating on some issue you’ll never be privy to. “You’ve already helped me a lot, but could I possibly ask for one more thing?” 

You give a nod.

“May I have your phone number?” 

You stare at him.

He stares at you. 

You continue staring at him.

He continues staring at you. 

His request echoes through your head like it was spoken in a vast cavern. Phone number… phone number... you have one of those. He is asking for it. He wants to remain in touch. Indeed, that is what the statement normally means. Ah, it must be in a platonic sense! It’s nice to have someone to talk to, especially since you both share many interests. Not many of your friends are chomping at the bit to discuss if obtaining the philosopher’s stone was a literal practice or meant to be interpreted metaphorically. 

Whoops, you left the poor guy waiting for a response. 

“S-Sure!” 

He hands you his phone without delay. You put in your contact info, then hold it up for him to take. His fingers brush over yours when he picks it back up and you shiver. 

Well, that was certainly nice. You’re forming a blossoming friendship. You love making new friends. The word repeats in your head as if it were a broken record. Friends, friends, friends. Don’t look too into this. Put your magnifying glass down, brain. The stupid three pounds of gray matter delight in tormenting you with outrageous ideas and conclusions. There’s nothing flirtatious happening here. 

“Also, I hope you don’t mind my saying so…” he trails off, weaving a web you willingly allow yourself to get trapped in, “But you are very beautiful, [First].” 

… 

Ohhhh, he’s been flirting with you this entire time, hasn’t he? 

-

Going on a date is a harrowing experience. 

For some unknown reason, your traitorous amygdala regards going to a café at noon with the same severity it would if a lion were actively chasing you down. Your flight or fight response raises the banners of war. The army it amasses digs its trenches, readies the cannons, its matches lit to fire off the artillery on standby. Who is the dreaded opponent, one may ask? No one. Absolutely no one. Incredibly enough, you can actively recognize this fact, and still, your physiological response claims it knows better. 

Social anxiety is so stupid. You thought you and your body were supposed to be on the same team. Whatever inspired this mutiny, whether it be serotonin deficiency or some other science-y term you can’t pronounce, you most certainly don’t appreciate it. 

To be fair, your parent’s reaction didn’t inspire much confidence. Your dad was asking for information on Chrollo you’re 90% sure could be used to conduct a background check, whereas your mom posited the idea he’s a human trafficker. You felt like a lawyer trying to plead your case for why it’s okay that an adult such as yourself may go on a date (sacrilegious, you know, premeditated murder would be more excusable). With some solid arguments and a few instances of stretching the truth (this sounds far nicer than the word lying), the tempest was dissipated. If Chrollo ever were to meet your parents, you’ll have to tell him he’s actually a sensitive, poetic soul that donates to orphanages and saves kittens from burning down buildings. He’s also celibate. More important than any of those things, though, he’s a political centrist. 

Suddenly everything in your closet either felt prudish enough to befit a woman entering the convent, or raunchy enough you’d need to wear a trench coat to leave the house unobstructed. In the end, you find a skirt that’d pass your middle school fingertip test and a cute blouse that shouldn’t land you in purgatory. 

Your hands are shaking when you go to do the winged eyeliner on your left eye. Then you sneeze while applying mascara, granting a raccoon appearance you could’ve done without. You feel wound up so tight there a mere poke could shatter you into millions of pieces. This is great. Millions of years of evolution led up to this. That selfish, inconsiderate fish should’ve never grown legs and stepped on land. Everything’s gone wrong since then. Fuck that fish. 

Ultimately, you succumb and take one of your ‘stage fright’ medications. If it’s doing anything to help, you can’t tell yet. 

You have to beg your dad to stop staring out the window with a pair of binoculars. 

Eventually, a sleek black car pulls in front of your house. 

Following the theme of the day, you almost trip over yourself walking out the front door. Your phone buzzes — no doubt it’s Chrollo telling you he’s here — but you decide to just go to the car rather than text him back. He must’ve spotted you, for he exits and gives you a wave. You’re grateful he did that while a considerable distance away. There was a time a guy waved at you and you thought he wanted a high five. Needless to say, that was a traumatic incident no amount of therapy could help alleviate. 

“You look absolutely lovely,” he compliments. Your Broca’s area temporarily malfunctions at this bold declaration. Fortunately, you gather yourself fast enough to stop yourself from saying “you too”. 

“Thank you,” the phrase comes out as smooth as butter. You silently congratulate yourself for your immaculate delivery of two words. “Wow… you have such a nice car. And here I thought you were a fellow member of the middle class. Am I allowed to touch this?” 

Chrollo chuckles, having gotten used to the peculiar way you word things after all your electronic communication. No matter how you expressed yourself, he still texted you back, so you figured he must be okay with whatever it is you’re doing. He would’ve blocked you by now otherwise. 

His reply comes as he holds the passenger side door open. “Ah, don’t worry. There was a bit of a mixup at the car rental place. I wasn’t expecting something of this quality either.” 

You tuck this piece of knowledge away for later, should any sugar daddy-esque allegations be thrown your way. One can never be too prepared. 

Sinking into the leather seat is a luxurious experience, although it's cold against the exposed area of your thighs. Chrollo slides into the driver’s seat not long after and sets the car into drive. You silently wonder if your neighbors think you’ve gotten into an Uber. 

The short trip to the café soothes your electrically fried nerves. You’re once again reminded of how good he is at making you forget your anxiety, he could put SSRIs out of business. Or maybe the propranolol is finally working. Whichever it may be, by the time you both order your drinks, you feel more giddy than nervous. Is it a good idea to drink a caffeinated beverage when anxiety threatens to drag you into limbo at any second? Probably not. Does that mean you’re going to wisely choose a different beverage? Nope. 

The sunlight is harsher in the afternoon, but you find this is offset by an occasional breeze. No one else is present in the outdoor dining area except for you and Chrollo. You choose the seat facing a row of bushes so you can observe the house finches and house sparrows fluttering about. One little fella is helping itself to a dirt bath in the freshly spread-out mulch. You coo at the adorable display, pointing it out to Chrollo who admits it is a precious sight. You’ve made it your raison d'être to convince him that every bird is equally fascinating, whether it be a rainbow lorikeet or a common pigeon. 

He takes the first sip of the drink you recommended. 

“Well? What do you think?” 

“It’s good,” he decides with a smile. “I can see why you get it so often.” 

“Right? I’ve thought about conducting an Ocean’s Eleven type heist to get the ingredients they use to make it.” 

“Oh? Do you grant a moral exception to thievery?” 

Despite how lightheartedly he phrases this, his eyes have a certain intensity to them. You mull over the question for this reason. 

“Hm… it depends, I guess? Some people need to steal to survive. I probably wouldn’t care if a rich person or mega-corporation got stolen from either,” you say. He quirks an eyebrow at your last statement and you hastily add, “A-As long as no one gets hurt, of course.” 

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his amusement. “Your reasoning is very cute.” 

You groan and shrink back into the garden chair. “I know, I know, that probably came off as terribly naive and self-contradictory… the issue is complex. Giving a one-size-fits-all type of consensus feels impossible. How about you? What do you think?” 

“Coveting is mankind’s original sin,” Chrollo begins. He’s using a tone that tells you to prepare for an in-depth explanation. “It’s a theme that’s recurrent throughout history. David and Bathsheba, Hades and Persephone, Heathcliff and Catherine… we always want what we cannot have. This dilemma never leaves us entirely. We either ignore it, despair in it, or succumb to it. The desire to steal is as involuntary as the diaphragm contracting for us to breathe or the electric signals that cause our heart to beat.” 

A house finch begins its soulful serenade in the background. 

“Wouldn’t you say that calling it involuntary implies we can’t control it, though?” You query. 

“The only way to exercise total control over it is to kill it.” 

“Some parts of us are better off dead,” you decide. “Getting what you want doesn’t guarantee satisfaction. The examples you listed… maybe they were happy for a time, but ultimately, their transgressions caught up to them.” 

“Is a moment of bliss not worth a lifetime of anguish?” 

“Maybe, if I was a sensualist.” 

He rests his chin on his fist, the skin beneath his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Is that what you’re saying I am, darling?” 

Your eyes widen and you almost choke on your drink at the unexpected pet name. Warmth floods your cheeks and you take a long second to recompose yourself. Your blatant display of embarrassment further fuels his amusement, he actually chuckles. You consider kicking him under the table, but decide that isn’t very ladylike. Then you remember it's the twenty-first century, and to honor your feminist ancestors, you scrunch up a napkin into a ball and fling it at him. Although the aerodynamics of your makeshift projectile are questionable, it almost hits him. Until he catches it with admittedly impressive reflexes. 

“You have a good throwing arm.” 

“And you should consider retiring from your white-collar job to join a baseball team,” you take a sip of your delicious drink. This is definitely the most memorable date you’ve been on. “But no, I don’t think you’re a sensualist. I honestly don’t know how I’d classify you. You’re jaded… almost misanthropic. You acknowledge the world for what it is, but it’s like you once thought it could be better. You don’t care to be proven right or wrong about it anymore, you want something else.” 

“Ah… when put that way, I must seem pathetic,” he muses, his casual air hardly matching the severity of the words spoken. 

“Not at all!” Your passionate outcry appears to momentarily take him aback. “If you’re still looking for something, that means deep down, you have hope you might eventually find it. To me, that’s admirable.” 

He regards you for a few moments, before closing his eyes, his countenance strangely content. “You’re a very interesting woman, [First].” 

“Pfft, not really.” 

“I’m afraid this a point I’ll have to insist on,” or so he says, but you both know he secretly relishes his contrarian ways. “I have to wonder, though. How is it you came to gather any of this about me?” 

“Your opinion on books.” 

He blinks. “Pardon?” 

“We interpret media through a lens that’s formed by our experiences, so… I dunno. You can just infer a lot from what a person gets caught up with in a story.” 

In Chrollo’s case, what he doesn’t pay attention to is equally telling, although it took you a while to notice his unique display of apathy. He’d brush on certain themes while giving a rather surface-level commentary. Playing it safe, almost. He still had such an excellent way of weaving his words, that telling it came from another person's loom was difficult. It wasn’t until you hit on a subject he truly cared for that you could tell the difference. He’d give insights so particular to him that they must contain the true essence of his character. 

Even if it is a mere glimmer. 

He speaks your name.

“Hm?” 

“About what I’m searching for…” he unwraps the napkin you unceremoniously threw his way earlier, smooths out the wrinkles, then returns it. “I think I may have found it.” 

-

Everything has a way of escalating faster than you anticipated. 

You’re about thirty minutes into the movie Perfect Blue. For some time now, you’ve been praising its merits to Chrollo, who recently said you should watch it together. This begged the question of where. In the months since you’ve begun dating, while your parents have taken a liking to him, you didn’t think the subject matter of the movie should be proudly displayed in your living room. 

To remedy this, Chrollo suggested watching it in his hotel room. 

You couldn’t fully explain your initial apprehension if you tried. You felt comfortable around him and have been alone together plenty. Yet for some reason, being alone with a man in a hotel room produced this mental image you weren’t sure you were ready for. He never pushed you or asked why you seemed hesitant to take things further than kissing and some light petting. His lack of questioning had the unintended side effect of birthing different doubts. 

Does he not want anything else? Is he only acting like it doesn’t bother him? Will a day come when he tires of your squeamishness and simply moves on? 

It’s this taunting mantra that haunted you in the lobby, the elevator, then the long, impersonal hallway to his room. 

Your chest feels heavy enough that you wonder if lead has filled your lungs. 

When he sat next to you on the couch, you barely registered his presence, much less his question if the temperature in the room felt agreeable. At some point, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Then his hand began to meander, although his attention never left the screen. He played with your hair. Gently stroked your forearm. His hand wandered down, down, down, to the hem of your skirt. He straightens the lightly bunched fabric out. Your heart pounds. 

Chrollo’s fingers stay there, seemingly placated. 

During the scene where Mima sees her reflection as her idol persona, his hand creeps onto the exposed skin of your thighs. He gives it a gentle, tentative squeeze. A soft gasp leaves you and your attention turns to him. Immediately, your eyes meet his in the dark. The side of his face is lightly illuminated by an array of cool tones. He uses his free hand to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb rubbing your lower lip. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He speaks the question with such rapture, low and quiet. 

Your heart violently hits your ribcage like it’s trying to burst free. 

Silently, you nod. He tilts his head to the side and slots his lips against yours. There’s a pleasant buzz that tries so hard to overpower the frantic adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your body is at war with itself; indulgence or indignance. It’s a conflict that’ll never have a winner. You want to enjoy it — and you are, you think — so why does your biological makeup hold you as a prisoner without ransom? He tastes nice, feels nice. He did everything right. You don’t want to tremble at what’s a normal aspect of a relationship as if it were death itself hanging over your head. 

It’s this mounting frustration at your condition that spurs you into action. 

While maintaining the languid kiss, you situate yourself on his lap, a gesture that causes him to inhale sharply. He may be as surprised at your boldness as you are. You snake your arms around his neck and intensify the kiss. Humming, he reciprocates your ardor. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips and you grant him entry. He tastes of dark chocolate and mint, a combination you wish you could get drunk on, if only to put your tense body at ease. 

One hand squeezes and massages your thigh, the other cups your feverish face. In this position, you’re afforded no modesty. You can feel your skirt hiking up, exposing more of you. His fingers explore the new territory. They venture dangerously close to your panties, though he doesn’t go beyond there, as if respecting an invisible barrier. The cocktail of emotions this invokes is impossible to properly sort through. 

Can he feel the heat emanating from your body? Your pulse which finds new highs every minute? You want to lose yourself, but you can’t, your anxiety always drags you back kicking and screaming. It is an unforgiving warden that thinks you’d be better off in a cell. 

Chrollo admires you when you pull back, in desperate need of air. You’re starting to feel dizzy and you don’t know if it’s the right kind. There’s something hard forming beneath where you sit. His lust for you is apparent, and you want to please, want to be normal. It should be fun. Your friends regale you with stories of taking strangers home and never feeling more than butterflies in their stomach. That’s what you want. Not this contortion of the aforementioned organ that makes you think your insides are slowly liquifying. 

You still haven’t fully caught your breath, each one growing more shallow, more panicked. He finds other ways to entertain himself, namely, by lavishing your clammy skin with kisses. Your jawline, neck, then collarbone. He’s so calm you think you might be envious. Finally, he works his way back up, teasing your earlobe with his teeth, his breath warm as it fans against you. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

“[First],” his voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. Garbled, distant. “Should we take this to the bedroom?” 

You break into too many shards to fix. 

You get up. Straighten your skirt. You think you mutter something about needing a moment. Your legs don’t feel right. They move anyway. The bathroom’s door knob is like ice. You grab a hand towel. Turn on the faucet. Soak the towel until it drips water down the sink basin. Sit on the floor. The tiles are almost as cold enough to help. You place the towel around your neck. Your ears are ringing and you wish they’d stop. You hug your legs to your chest. What is it you’re supposed to do? Breathe? 

It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass. 

It always does. 

Just hold on a bit longer. 

Feeling comes back in your hands first. It spreads throughout your body, though the antidote is far too late. Exhaustion is the next thing you register. The kind that seeps into your cells, makes your limbs feel like dead weight. Cognition returns as well. You remember where you are, who you’re with, what you’ve done. 

It’s been a while since you’ve experienced one of these. Somehow, it’s worse than you remember. Infinitely worse. 

A shiver runs down your spine. Has it always been so cold? You wonder what temperature your body was running at for you not to have noticed sooner. 

How nice it is that your homeostasis decided to return. Is your sympathetic nervous system giving itself a pat on the back? Celebrating and popping champagne bottles at yet another job well done? We’ve done it successfully again, folks, you imagine it cheering. We’ve stopped her from doing something completely normal and harmless! 

You’d laugh, but this time, you can’t bring yourself to. 

As tempting as it is to stay here and pray for the tile floor to swallow you whole, you sincerely doubt that’ll happen, so you’re left with the far less appealing option of being an adult and facing the predicament you’re in. Getting back up, you’re treated to a glimpse of your reflection. 

The change in your complexion would make any onlooker think you’ve seen a ghost. 

Abruptly, you’re fourteen again, trying to get your mom’s attention so you can beg her to take you home because the social gathering of ten or so people is just too much. Next, you’re fifteen, talked into some weekend youth getaway because saying ‘no’ makes you feel guilty and the car ride has another two hours remaining. You feel sick, terribly sick, but you don’t want to get sick, because then your peers would think you’re strange, so you sit there and endure. Then you’re sixteen, locked in the stall of your high school bathroom, trying not to pass out because you think it’d be an inconvenience to anyone that happened upon you. 

You thought you were over this. You’ve done the therapy, read the self-help books, and taken your medication every day like clockwork. 

What’s left for you to do? 

Why does it always come back? 

Chrollo asks if everything’s alright when you walk back over to the couch. You say yes. He then asks if he can get you anything. A glass of water, please, is your reply.

You can tell he’s examining you when he hands the glass over. Your face warms — not in a fun way. The television screen is dark and yet you’re fixated on it like it’s the most intriguing thing in the world. Going from feeling as if you’re a stranger in your own body to being hyper-aware of everything never fails to give you whiplash. You can hear the low thrum of the air conditioning, footsteps coming from the hallway, the steady drip of the sink he filled your glass from. You think to rub your eyes then stop yourself; that’d smudge your mascara. It’d be nice if he could at least think you’re pretty as you struggle to hold yourself together. 

“Was it something I did?” Chrollo questions. He almost sounds… curious, a concept you furiously scrub from your head. You’re exhausted and your brain is waving the white flag. Attributing false interpretations to his words is not going to help. 

“N-No, not at all, I, um,” you have the words, you just don’t want to say them, so you opt for taking another drink instead. The glass runs out of water, your safe haven disappearing with it. “Just… a panic attack. It happens… sometimes.” 

“Entirely unprompted?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. “Kind of…? It— nothing about it is exactly logical. I can know I’m fine, believe it too, and still, that doesn’t matter. It’ll happen anyway. I guess I have some reservations about that level of physical intimacy, but what my body decides to do is completely overkill.” 

“You always minimize the role your anxiety plays in your life,” Chrollo points out. You’re grasping the glass tight enough that your knuckles hurt. “You can’t mention it to me without making light of it in some way. Is there a reason for that?” 

Well, he’s got you there. 

You’re about to joke and ask if he’s the one studying the behavioral sciences, when you realize that’d just be proving his point. 

So uncharacteristic acrimony bubbles to the surface instead.

“A reason? I can give you more than one. It’s stupid, it’s annoying. The most simple things become like a fucking life or death experience for me and I can’t stand it,” you feel tears gather at your lower lashline but you’re too far gone to care. It’s a good thing your mascara is waterproof. “And then I… I think sex sounds nice, but when it actually gets to the moment, I feel so guilty and anxious and wrong that I leave my partner frustrated or thinking they’re some sort of monster.” 

Usually, Chrollo's countenance is difficult to read, but there’s this raw emotion that makes itself known. Understanding? Relief? You don’t know for certain. It disappears without a trace, leaving you no way to confirm or deny your intuition. It’s probably too fried to be reliable, anyway. 

“Hm… you must think all this would put me off, then. Make me want to move on to someone else.” 

A knife stabbing you in the gut and twisting its blade until your viscera turned to mush would hurt less. 

“Sweetheart, I was already aware that it was worse than what you let on,” his voice sounds so kind and near, you marvel at it, the gravitational pull drawing you in. You barely realize he’s brought you into an embrace. Your cheek is against his chest, right above his heart. His has a calm, steady rhythm, whereas yours is picking back up once more. “Your avoidance of talking on the phone, how soft your voice gets when interacting with strangers, the way you act like you’re an inconvenience by asking for the slightest assistance.” 

The tears you tried holding in break free, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I find these qualities of yours very endearing. You can go from passionately speaking about your interests over dinner to going shy the second the waiter walks over. You care so much, feel so much… it’s a wonder to me. You experience this life in the exact opposite manner I do.”

With the hand he isn’t using to keep you secure against him, he rubs your back up and down. 

“Ah, my poor, sweet girl. What a tender heart you have,” he whispers. His grip on you tightens. That’s when you hear it — the undeniable sound of his heart beating a bit faster than it did before. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not after all the effort I put into stealing it for myself. No, I’m almost hurt you entertained the thought. Have I ever treated you with anything less than the utmost care? Hm?” 

Chrollo starts to pull you away from him, yet you refuse, clinging adamantly to his torso in an attempt to hide your face. He ignores the way you shake your head and by exerting the slightest force, achieves his original goal. His fingers find purchase on your chin, which he tilts upward, allowing himself an unobscured view of your puffy eyes and runny makeup. He smiles, wiping away your tears with such gentleness, he must think you’re made of porcelain. 

Sniffling, you remember he asked you a question, and attempt cobbling together a coherent response. Such is the polite thing to do. “I guess not.” 

“And why do you think that is?” 

“... The once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to conduct an in-depth case study for your future dissertation on GAD and SAD?” 

His visage lands somewhere between mild bemusement and exacerbation. “I know you’re smarter than that. Try again.” 

“My winning personality, once you wade through all the mental illness?” 

“That certainly plays a role.” 

“I know I’m cute, too. I suppose that helps. Otherwise, I’d be completely and utterly fucked.” 

“Yes, yes — you are terribly cute.” 

Sensing your hesitancy to land on a definitive answer, he decides to spell it out himself. “I’m fond of you, to a degree I previously thought myself incapable of. I have a… callous disposition, for lack of a better word. Yet for whatever reason, this doesn’t seem to bother you. I’ve never cared for subjective terms like ‘good’ or ‘evil’, but… if there is goodness in this world, it’d be found in you.” 

Chrollo’s knuckles brush against your cheekbone as he speaks, seemingly bewitched by the glittering stream your tears left behind. Tangible proof of your emotions that tumult like a tempest, whereas his often remains an unmoving body of water. 

You take his cheeks in your hands and glare at him. This time, when your lower lip trembles, it’s with righteous anger, not sorrow. “Why do you always talk about yourself like you’re the world’s biggest villain?” 

His eyes slightly widen — you’ve never used a tone like this with him before, or anyone else, for that matter  — though his composure doesn’t wane for long. 

“So what if you don’t think everything is sunshine and rainbows? You aren’t heartless; you just know the dangers of putting your heart on display for everyone else to see. I can’t blame you for that, from what you’ve told me.”

He’s never been particularly forthcoming about sharing details from his past. What you do know is that he grew up in extreme poverty, without parents or a guardian, scraping by with some other children in a similar situation. You never pushed to learn more. There was this quiet melancholy that possessed him in the rare moments he shared glimpses of his childhood. The specters that haunted him could almost be felt lingering in the atmosphere, turning the air heavy and thick. 

“You lost a precious friend in such a cruel way. That loss of innocence, it’s unforgivable, it’s completely unfair…!”

This time, your tears aren’t for you, they’re for a little boy you’ll never know and a girl that you couldn’t if you tried. “I don’t get why you’re so harsh on yourself. You act like you’ve done something unforgivable.” 

He parts and closes his lips. Whatever he intended to say, he must’ve decided against it. Instead, he pulls you back against him, almost greedily. He presses kisses atop your head then murmurs a few words you can’t quite catch. Your body is deprived of energy, having flickered through almost every major emotion a human being can experience. If your parents wouldn’t have fussed over the act, you could’ve fallen asleep on him for the night. 

The person who inadvertently caused your blistering anxiety is also the best balm for it. 

It’s unexplainable, teetering on the edge of delusion, this sentiment that he could shield you from all harm. He’s always so sure of himself when you remain plagued by indecisiveness. He can talk you out of any irrational thought, anchor you when a stressful situation is beginning to be too much, and understand you almost eerily well. He’s able to piece together your chaotic thought processes with next to no context. He listens to you, remembers everything you say (and you mean everything), and genuinely values your input, even if he disagrees with your opinions. 

This level of an intimate connection is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

“No one’s ever cried for my sake before,” he thinks aloud. He’s stroking your back again, almost mindlessly. You swear there’s something magical about his touch. 

“Do you think I’m weird?” 

“There are a lot of words I’d use to describe you,” he decides. As always, he’s clever at avoiding questions he doesn’t wish to answer. “Currently, the one that stands out to me the most would be…” 

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you. 

“Warm.” 

-

The arboretum is far different in autumn. Green leaves have transitioned into rich auburn and golden shades, hesitant buds nowhere to be seen. The grass beneath your feet is crunchier, the foliage dry and scattered, almost as if it were trying to form a protective sheath for the earth. No longer can you hear the melody of grasshoppers and buzzing from busy bees. The wind whistles when it blows, the underlying frostiness biting at your cheeks and ears. 

“Ah, would you look at that, it’s a junco,” Chrollo points out. You cover your mouth to muffle a gasp. Thanks in part to your guidance, he’s gotten better at identifying different types of birds. While you’d like to think it’s because he appreciates them too, you’re convinced he finds your excited reaction far more interesting. 

The little blob of black and white hops to and fro, using its feet to rummage for anything edible. You silently lament your lack of birdseed. You’ll have to settle for cheering the tiny friend on from afar. 

Hand in hand, you both traverse the area of your original meeting. Sweet nostalgia swirls in your chest. You’ve always found it befuddling how a single chance encounter can permanently change the trajectory of your life. In the moment, you have no idea how your actions will go on to form ripples that influence the future. Whether this is chaos theory or some other fancy metaphysical-sounding concept, you haven’t the slightest clue. 

What you do know is that meeting Chrollo was a catalyst for something greater. 

A wave of chills cascades over you.

“Are you cold?” He inquires, his tone having this ‘I told you so’ quality to it that you don’t appreciate. You’re wearing a light beige, plaid fitted blazer, that while chic, doesn’t have much insulation. You waved off his initial concern by saying you’ll warm up once you both get to walking around. So much for that. 

“Cold is a mindset,” the chattering of your teeth doesn’t do much to help your cause. He raises an eyebrow. “Mind over matter… mind over matter…” 

Chrollo shrugs his coat off and drapes it over you. “I wouldn’t want you to get sick, dear.” 

“You sound like my grandma.” 

“The one who tried taking my head wrappings off, or the one who kicked me?” 

“A combination of the two that coalesces their tendency to fuss over me.” 

“You’re very easy to fuss over,” Chrollo chuckles at the face you make at him. “You’re absolutely precious. It’s a mystery to me how you make the smallest acts endearing.” 

At this, you strike a dumb pose, winking at him all the while. “Aha, it’s no mystery. You have my irresistible charm to thank for that.” 

He sighs wistfully. “Indeed I do.” 

Although the sage gardens behind the Starling House are no longer in bloom, you decide to swing by anyway. The plans for the remainder of your day follow a similarly simple yet pleasant precedent. You’re going to go window shopping in a quaint commercial district, grab something to eat at a pub, then end the night off with a movie. Chrollo’s trying to convince you to watch some indie flick that’s in black and white and uses a 1.19:1 ratio. You want to watch Alien, a classic he’s never seen like the weirdo he is. 

The walk isn’t long or monotonous. It’s so idyllic that you could believe you’re the only two people in the world. 

However, that isn’t the case. Upon entering the garden, you’re quick to note the presence of another.  

A young woman is kneeling down, murmuring under her breath. She’s acting as if she’s lost something and can’t find it. Frowning, you detach yourself from Chrollo, approaching her with the intent to offer your assistance. She doesn’t lift her head upon hearing the obvious sounds of your footfall. She just continues blindly grasping at the ground. 

“Miss?” You ask, to which her entire body freezes. “Did you drop something? I could help you look for it.” 

She mutters another incomprehensible jumble of words. 

“Hm? What was that?” 

You lean over in an attempt to hear her better. 

Then, much to your confusion, she enunciates your full-given name. Even while doing this, she doesn’t spare you a single glance. 

“Have to… have to…” she’s back to being difficult to make sense of, “I have to…”

 A strange sensation possesses you.

Have you met this woman somewhere before? You do a quick mental scan of her disheveled appearance and come up with nothing definitive. Her hair is matted, her complexion sallow and her cheeks sunken in. Her disoriented state stirs concern within you. It’s a good sign that she’s still conscious and exhibiting motor functions, but the longer you examine her, the more you can tell she isn’t in a proper state of mind. You don’t want to leave her out here alone in such a vulnerable state. You try to push aside the uncanny feeling that came from her apparently recognizing you when you’re certain you’ve never met. 

Chrollo speaks your name. Turning around, you face him just in time to catch a surreal expression forming on his countenance. His eyes widen slightly, his lips part, then he’s reaching out for you. 

The passage of time grinds temporarily to a halt. 

And then there is a visceral burst of energy. 

It’s as if a blizzard manifests from the direction the woman is hunched over in. There’s this thick, harrowing tension that causes your legs to buckle at the knees. Swirls of negative emotions wrap around you in shadowy tendrils. Grief. Hysteria. Rage. Bitterness. Most notable, however, is the sickening yearning to inflict harm. How can a human being produce and project such raw feelings? It’s like hatred itself has been given a palpable form, submerging you in a swamp of mire. 

You don’t understand what’s happening to you, but you do have this primal foreboding that the longer you’re exposed to it, the more endangered you’ll be. 

In the millisecond it takes for you to blink, Chrollo is no longer in your line of sight. 

It’s strange, you think. There are no knives, guns, explosives; or anything that could hurt you in the traditional sense. In a way you could understand and reliably assess the threat level of. 

And still, despite this uncertainty, you have this unshakable premonition that death isn’t far away. 

-

You wake up in a bed that is not your own. 

Your body is drenched in sweat, your muscles sore, and your head feels as if it’s being clamped in a vice-like grip. Trying to get up proves to be a poor decision. Nausea and dizziness force you to lie back down. You take shallow, frantic breaths, wincing at yet another wave of throbbing coming from your temples. Your senses aren’t reliable either. The first few times you open your eyes, dark spots dot your vision. Then there’s your hearing, or lack of. There’s this distant ringing that while slowly fading, isn’t replaced by anything better. Your hearing grows so muffled you almost think earplugs have been jammed in your ear canal. 

Groaning, you manage to lift yourself off the mattress with trembling arms. The dark spots fade away enough for you to make out your surroundings. 

You’re in Chrollo’s hotel room, lying on his bed. 

It’s nighttime. The digital clock sitting on the bedside table reads 3:40 a.m.  

The next thing you do is feel around for your phone. It should be in the back pocket of your jeans, but it isn’t there. 

The brisk air takes your breath away when you tug the comforter off. Your body groans with protest at all the movement, yet you ignore its request to lay back down, the situation at hand far too perplexing. Your outfit is the same as the one you put on this morning, aside from your boots, which sit together near the wall. You then assess your body for any physical injuries, finding nothing visible to explain your current malaise. Are you hungover? Frowning, you dismiss the idea. You know your tolerance well and never try pushing it. 

Taking small steps and using the wall as leverage, you make your way over to the adjoined bathroom. You fill a dental cup with water and down it instantly. After satiating your thirst, you call out for Chrollo, your voice gravelly with sleep. 

No response. 

Sighing, you slink over to the closed bedroom door. Your equilibrium steadies itself enough that you only need to grab onto something every few steps. The handle doesn’t budge. You try again, exerting more force — still nothing. The subsequent attempts end in the same manner. There’s no denying it, it’s been locked. That begs the question of why. Safety, maybe? It’s possible Chrollo stepped out for whatever reason and wanted to ensure no one could get to you. Then again, that’s what the deadbolt on the door leading to the hotel hallway is for. 

You don’t want to start rattling the door and making a scene when you’re certain there’s a solid explanation for this. He has to come back eventually, his stuff is still here. Although, you can’t help noticing how sparse his personal belongings are. The book he was reading no longer sits on the bedside table, the framed picture of the two of you gifted by your parents isn’t on the wardrobe either. Next, you check the closet, finding it in a similarly desolate state. You once pillaged a shirt of his when you grew tired of wearing a dress, so you know its usual presentation. The hangers remain on the rack yet everything else is gone.

Chrollo told you his job had placed him in this city indefinitely. Is he planning to move to another hotel? 

Not knowing what else to do, you sit on the edge of the bed. The former pounding in your head has soothed into a far less egregious dull ache. You must’ve been asleep for a decent chunk of time, this initial grogginess is what you experience upon first waking up in the morning. You hope you weren’t unconscious for too long. It's an unsettling thought, being in that vulnerable state, totally shut off from the world. 

A few minutes of absentmindedly admiring the twinkling lights that make up the city skyline’s pass. 

Then you hear the door handle jingle. 

Chrollo silently examines you. It’s almost as if he’s gauging your entire being, anticipating what is to come. His mouth is set in a straight line and he’s standing unnervingly still. There’s this intensity to him that has you breaking off eye contact. Your mouth goes dry and you temporarily forget how to form words. You had so many burning questions in his absence, why is it that they've been wiped clean from your head now that he’s here? 

When you find the courage to look up at him again, there’s not a vestige of his former expression. The grave lines have smoothened out and you no longer believe you’re face to face with a stranger. 

“How are you feeling?” He’s quick to close the distance. The mattress dips, adjusting to his presence by your side.  

“Oh, uh, not the best, but… I don’t think it’s anything serious,” you say. Silvery moonlight shines into the room, illuminating him in an otherworldly veil. Goosebumps line your skin when he takes the side of your face into his hand. He’s cold. “I’m mostly just confused. Is— is everything okay? Why am I here?” 

“How much do you remember?” 

Remember, remember… that’s right, you hadn’t given that much thought. You pick through your hazy memories aloud. “Well, we were at the arboretum, just walking around. I remember heading to the gardens behind the Starling House. Then… um…” 

You squint and furrow your eyebrows together. It’s as if your recollection was a film reel that had been trimmed after that point. You try piecing together a mental image of the garden. Hummingbirds? Sage? No, that isn’t right, you’re thinking of its spring appearance. The colors would be more muted, there’d be less shrubbery. The image grows sharper.

Then there’s a shadow. 

Vaguely human-shaped, situated right in the middle of the mosaic you’re trying to form. Their outline isn’t solid, it’s splotchy, like water paint left to run on a canvas. 

Finally, something clicks. 

“That woman!” You exclaim. The corner of his lips twitch downward. “That’s right! Is she okay? She seemed so out of it.” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“How is that possible? You were—” 

“Let’s focus on you for now,” he cuts you off. There’s a finality in his voice you can’t bring yourself to challenge. “Can you tell me what symptoms you’re experiencing?” 

“Um, some disorientation and a headache.”

“I see. I’ll get you some painkillers, then.” 

You grab his wrist to stop him when he starts getting up. “I’d really prefer you told me what happened first.”

When he doesn’t immediately acquiesce to your request, you quietly add, “Please.” 

His eyes soften at your gentle, uncertain timbre. He intertwines his fingers with yours and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“Earlier, when we arrived at the garden, you grew lightheaded and fainted.” 

You take a moment to process the information. It seems plausible enough, yet the more you mull over it, the more little details start to catch your attention.

“Okay…” you trail off, pursing your lips. A vengeful throb from your head causes you to wince. He notices — frowns — then places a featherlight kiss against your forehead. The thoughtful gesture doesn’t invoke any pleasant warm fuzzy sensations. “So I fell unconscious for over ten hours and you didn’t… call an ambulance…?” 

“That is correct.” 

You shuffle in your seat, momentarily taken aback at how easygoing he’s acting about the entire ordeal. “Why?” 

“I’ve been monitoring your vitals,” he reassures. Sensing your growing apprehension, he adds, “I can promise that you were never in serious danger. I would’ve acted accordingly if you were.” 

The phrase ‘acted accordingly’ doesn’t tell you much either. What does he mean by that? Is there some threshold you needed to enter for him to have taken you to the hospital? Your various volunteer experiences with the city’s vulnerable communities taught you that if a person is unresponsive for over a minute, an ambulance should be called, just to be on the safe side. Besides, isn’t that just common sense? Chrollo is an intelligent man. You can’t fathom any line of reasoning that’d justify not erring on the side of caution. 

You glance at the clock again. 4:03 a.m. glows in the dim light of the room. It’s late. You wonder what your parents—

Holy shit. 

“Do my mom and dad know?” You glance around as if expecting to find them. There’s no way they wouldn’t have insisted on calling emergency services if you were unconscious for that long. 

“I didn’t inform them, no.” 

“What?” You make no attempts to tone down your incredulity. “Then— they must be out of their minds with worry! My phone, where’s my phone? I need to tell them I’m okay!” 

You shoot up off the bed too fast and your body doesn’t take kindly to the rushed movement. Debilitating lightheadedness causes you to lose your balance. Chrollo steadies your swaying form and helps sit you back down. You scoot away from him as far as you can, your thoughts an absolute mess. Nothing here is making sense. It’s not even a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces, there’s almost nothing to work with at all. 

He’s staring at you in that strange, anticipatory manner again. It makes your stomach churn. 

“My phone, Chrollo,” you hold your hand out. “There’s no way you don’t have it.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t give it to you,” he sounds apologetic too, which makes your subsequent temper flare up even worse. 

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, exasperation winning out. You were trying to be reasonable, but that is over and done with. “You’re acting like— like there’s nothing weird happening! Can you please take this seriously? You’re really starting to freak me out.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I knew this wouldn’t be easy for you, so I wanted to remain calm for your sake.” 

Your tongue couldn’t properly form words if your life depended on it. Sure, remaining calm in a crisis is helpful, but he isn’t acting like this is a crisis. He’s treating it as if he was burdened with sitting you down to relay bad news that no one else had the heart to share. 

You’re starting to think you don’t know the person you’re talking to. 

“For my sake,” you repeat in a wry deadpan. “If that’s true, then tell me what’s actually going on, Chrollo. Because I know you’re bullshitting me.” 

Not calling the ambulance or informing your parents, withholding your phone… then there’s the matter of how he got you here in the first place. Did he carry you through the lobby? No good samaritans thought it was unusual to see a man carrying an unconscious woman up to his room? Hotel staff these days are trained to have a vigilant eye for these situations too. Not one person thought it might be a good idea to ring up law enforcement over such a blatantly suspicious act? 

Nothing is adding up. 

“I’m being more forthcoming than you think,” Chrollo says, as if he’s doing you a favor. He tries reaching out for your hand again, only this time, you don’t allow him. “Everything I’ve said and intend to say is the truth, even if you don’t particularly like it.” 

That’s a hell of a creative way of putting it!

“Who was that woman earlier? What did she do to me?” 

“I have someone ironing out the details, but from what I’ve gathered, she was sent with the intention of killing you. I don’t believe she was aware of the fact herself until you entered her vicinity, triggering the necessary condition for the true culprit’s ability to activate. Otherwise, I certainly wouldn’t have allowed you to get so close.” 

Someone was sent to kill you? You? A run-of-the-mill college student who has no enemies to speak of? It’s not like you’re a part of the fucking mob. That can’t be right, not to mention the bizarre jargon he’s using. There’d be no plausible motive. If he says she was sent, and you choose to believe he isn’t making this all up, that implies it was premeditated. Not a spur-of-the-moment decision. That’d almost make more sense. 

That is, unless… 

You stare at him, eyebrows knitting together. 

“If you’re telling the truth — and right now, that’s a big fucking if — does this have something to do with you?” 

“That’s my clever girl,” he praises, entirely devoid of condescension. The pure fondness in his voice makes you sick. It’s almost as if he’s delighting in watching you piece this nightmare together. “Yes, you haven’t deliberately done anything to earn the wrath of the wrong people. They simply know getting to me is near impossible, hence their decision to go for the next best thing instead. That’d be you, dear.” 

“Oh my god,” you bury your head in your hands. “Why… why am I not freaking out more? I should be hysterical, or, or— I don’t know…” 

“Beta blockers,” he reveals. You look at him like he’s speaking another language. “In anticipation of how… touchy this conversation was going to be, I thought it might be best for you to be in a good headspace while receiving this information for the first time.” 

“You drugged me?” 

“If that’s how you want to look at it.” 

“Because that’s how it is!” 

A lump forms in your throat and lodges itself there. Are you stuck in a hellacious dream? Or hallucinating, perhaps? Visual hallucinations aren’t supposed to be this cohesive or clear. There has to be another explanation. Something you’re missing that’d make this all go away. The beta blocker admission certainly holds weight. Your heart rate, while slightly elevated, isn’t anywhere near as chaotic as it should be. It’d explain the general malaise, fatigue, and lightheadedness too. That, and you doubt you’d be able to think this clearly if there wasn’t something heavy pumping through your system. 

Your eyes hesitantly settle on Chrollo, who sits there perfectly still and almost relaxed. He’s observing you like a hawk. 

“Listen,” you try using a mellower voice. He raises an eyebrow at your drastically different approach. “You had ample opportunity to hurt me and you didn’t. That must mean you have my best intentions at heart, right? Why don’t we try to work something out, because this isn’t sustainable. My absence isn’t going to go unnoticed.” 

Chrollo sighs, heavy if not unsurprised. “Sweetheart, I’m not suffering a break from reality, although I’m sure you’d prefer to rationalize it that way. I assure you I’m lucid and everything I’ve done is intentional. You’ll come to accept it eventually.” 

It isn’t going to help, yet you feel your remaining grains of patience slip through your fingers. 

“What’s this talk about a ‘condition’ and ‘ability’, then?” You challenge. 

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d mention that,” he doesn’t sound like you landed on a reason that’d prove him wrong. “How to explain it… you once told me you think there are phenomena in this world that can’t be explained by empirical evidence. Consider this an example of that. I’m sure you must’ve felt it before you fainted. An intense, concentrated sensation that awoke your primordial fear. Bloodlust.” 

You want to argue until you run out of breath, but this description does strike a chord. Reality itself feels as if it’s drifting further and further away. In an awfully cruel twist, Chrollo and his collected disposition is the most grounding factor you have to latch onto. 

“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” he finally replaces that matter-of-fact tone with something resembling compassion, “But know this: you’re not in any danger. Neither are those you care about, so long as you act sensible.” 

Shivering, you hug your arms around your chest. “How can you say that to me so easily? I thought… I thought you…” 

He’s enveloping you from behind. You didn’t even see him move. Weakly, you struggle against his hold, but you’re not in any condition to put up a fight. In the event you were, it’s doubtful it’d make much of a difference. He’s strong. It goes beyond physical strength, into some esoteric realm you’ve become forcibly acquainted with. He’s exerting this slight pressure that makes your heart skip a beat, despite the medication. It isn’t comparable to what you experienced in the garden — there’s no malice — it feels more like a warning. 

“You’re surprisingly sensitive to Nen,” he murmurs, humming contentedly when you go limp against him. His chin rests atop your head and his arms ensnare your midriff. “How interesting. No matter. Whatever your fascinating brain concocted is still true. You may think me merciless, but if you knew me, you’d find this to be my greatest act of mercy yet.” 

“I thought I did know you,” is your weak reply. You don’t recognize the sound of your voice. 

“The parts of me I wanted to show you, yes,” he moves your hair aside so he can press a kiss to the nape of your neck. “And a few glimpses you gleaned in your own way. Really, you are such a sweet girl. Willing to overlook discrepancies to see the ‘good’ in me.” 

Heat rises and ignites on your cheeks. “I-I could scream, you know.” 

“You could.” 

That’s not the reaction you were expecting. 

“You’re… not going to try and stop me?” 

“No,” he responds. “I’ve always found experience to be the best teacher.” 

“You really,” you heave a humorless laugh, uncertain of what else to do, “You really don’t see anything wrong with this?” 

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, marveling at how your pulse remains steady, thanks to his intervention. 

“‘So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.’” 

“What?” 

“It’s what you said the first day I met you,” Chrollo explains, nostalgia evident. “I’ve thought about those words often. Your effulgence, your desire to do right by others. It made me wonder if there could ever be anyone more perfect for me than you. You, whose pretty neck I could snap before you’d ever realize what happened, stirred up a sentimentality in me I thought myself incapable of.” 

Sandalwood, amber, and leather. His scent is the same as that day.

Are his intentions? 

Is this a prophecy he himself ordained and always intended to see fulfilled? 

“You stole my heart, and as recompense, I will steal you. Think whatever you want about me, dear. Just don’t think I’m selfless enough to ever change my mind.” 

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Love me a Sukuna fic where the girl is just as deranged as him

Pairing: True Form Sukuna x f!reader Length: 5719 wc Synopsis:  If I was born as a blackthorn tree I’d wanna be felled by you Held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies Every three years the villages sacrifice a daughter to the King of Curses that resides on the mountain. This year, you were chosen.

CW/TW: dark content and subject matter, Heian era afab reader, heavy violence, reader is fucked up and slightly psychotic, parent smacking their child, patricide, monster fucking (it is Sukuna in his true form), stockholm syndrome lite sort of, reader brought as a sacrifice, rough and violent consensual intercourse, somnophilia, oral (fem receiving) A/N: I think that’s all the warnings? This is my first sort of…dipping the toe in the dark subject matter/content writing pool, so if you think of any other triggers or warnings, please let me know so I can add them. But here is this thing I am going to throw at you so I can get this dicknugget out of my damn brain.

They had started inviting Lord Sukuna to the harvest festival around a decade ago. It was done as a courtesy, mostly in fear of what might happen should they not invite him at all. Sometimes he attended, when he was bored enough, and sometimes he didn’t.

When he started leaving the heads of the jujutsu sorcerers they employed to kill him, that’s when they started sacrificing the women. Every three years, like clockwork, the five villages surrounding the foot of his mountain would hold council to see which of them would offer up one of their women to him that harvest. If he was pleased with the tribute, neither he nor his disciple would descend the mountain. If he wasn’t, then the parents of the girl would be gifted her heart in a box, and the elders of the village would be gifted her eyes, and the fields engulfed in flames.

Uraume was rather proud of how they would dress up the leftovers for the mortals. They would delight in the swell of pride that took over their heart as they started to hear the screams from the village below at the times when Lord Sukuna was bored with the woman supplied to him that year.

The villagers thought they could find a pattern in his tastes to offer up the best tribute to him. They tried younger women who had not yet hit their twenties, they tried more prestigious women who were paler and softer from lack of sun, they tried poor farm women who were thinner and darker from time spent in the fields and scraps on their plates. Beautiful women, women that were displeasing to the common eye, women that had bore children and women that had never been touched by men.

There was no rhyme or reason to the King of Curses whims. Sometimes he liked a certain woman and sometimes he didn’t. 

This year, it was your turn.

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I an soooo late seeing this but I’m happy that this part is out~

𝟙𝟠+ 𝕆𝕟𝕝𝕪, 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝔻ℕ𝕀

Premise provided by CallaLily9 on AO3: Sweet, caring, blushing Yuuji?

Soft, sincere Toji, who said please?!

A movie deal, and near death experience?!?

TOJI SHARING HIS FEELINGS, AND SAYING HE LOVES YOU DURING SEX?!?!

Toji started off at an arbitrary level 5. Yuuji worked his way up from a 0, to say, a 7. Toji is now at like level 15. Will Yuuji also get a chance at exponential growth? Does Yuuji stand a chance? Can these separate relationships even be compared on the same scale?

TW: sex, talks of cnc, talks of somnophilia,

MasterPost

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