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phantom troupe: do they snore?

this idea for phantom troupe hcs came to me randomly at 2:00am last night so enjoy xoxo

chrollo

-probably not unexpected but not really

-he’s generally a super quiet sleeper

-the loudest he ever is in his sleep is breathing loudly on occasion

-his lack of snoring is most likely attributed by the fact he’s a very light sleeper

-he’s one of those bitches who will wake up because the whistling of the wind was slightly louder than usual

uvogin

-his ass sounds like a heavy metal concert when he sleeps

-his snores are earth-shaking. ear-splitting. pain-inducing.

-his snores single handedly contribute to noise pollution

-think of how loud your dad snores and x1000

-if the troupe members have to share a room at any point during a mission, they will throw a whole rock paper scissors tournament to see who’s taking one for the team and sacrificing their sleep (it’s usually nobunaga)

-because covering his mouth with a sock doesn’t stop the snoring, the troupe have an emergency weighted blanket on standby

-the complete opposite of chrollo, this man could sleep in an active war zone and and not budge an inch (in other words you cannot wake his ass up by force to get him to stop snoring so the only option is to wait it out or sleep somewhere else)

pakunoda

-the most silent sleeper ever

-not even a peep from miss pakunoda

-the ideal person to share a bed with. she doesn’t snore, her breathing is inaudible and she’s extremely still

-almost unnerving in a way bc she looks dead when she sleeps

-if you were to share a bed with her you’d probably spend most of the night checking her pulse to ensure she is actually alive and breathing

phinks

-he’s one of those people who when he snores the buildup is super loud but he exhales quietly (i hope that makes sense)

-ljke the buildup is super dragged out like hhhHhhhhhhUUUHHHUUUH but the exhale is just hoooooooo !!

-idk how to express snoring via text so you may have to act it out to know what i mean

-honestly this type of snoring is arguably worse than uvogin’s bc at least his is consistent whereas phinks will give you hope that he’s finally stopped snoring until it starts up again ☹️☹️😢

-he will forever deny he snores tho

feitan

-comedic ass snore

-probably snores like mimimimimimimimi zzzzzzzzz 😴💤😴💤😴💤

-he sleeps like he should be wearing a night cap and a long night gown with a candle on his bedside table

-trying not to piss yourself laughing while he’s snoring if you’re still awake is an olympic level sport

-one time shalnark recorded him while he was snoring and showed it to him (when he was down with him, he ensured the recording was eradicated from his phone)

-ik realistically he would probably be a silent sleeper but the idea of him sounding like a whole cartoon character is actually hilarious to me

shalnark

-sleep? WHAT’S THAT? 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣 (get it because he’s the tech whiz so he probably stays up all night gaming lololololol XDD)

-probably a loud ass mouth breather

-like he sounds like a broken ventilator sometimes

-he sounds like he ran a lap around mt everest before bed why is he so loud

-if you pissed him off during the day he would probably amp up the volume on his breathing to prevent you from sleeping well (now we’re both mad xx)

shizuku

-for the most part very quiet

-occasionally she will jumpscare you awake by randomly snoring out of no where

-like you’ll wake up to this loud ass noise only to realise it was just shizuku

-sometimes she’ll wake up aswell and accuse you of snoring

-aside from that pretty quiet- not as ideal to share a bed with as pakunoda but fine for the most part as long as you don’t mind surprises

nobunaga

-i feel like he’d have one of those super low growly snores ???????

-like those low, shaky ones

-the ones that kinda sound like grunts

-idk if i’m making sense so i pray i am 🙏

-they’re not that bad tho bc they’re quiet enough to not keep you awake and are low-key kinda relaxing

-if you’re gonna share a bed with anyone who snores, it’s nobunaga

machi

-another generally quiet sleeper except for occasionally sighing in her sleep

-from time to time she’ll just go like huhhhhhhhh :// and then will go back to being quiet again

-don’t bring it up the next day tho bc she WILL deny it and seem embarrassed

-you can tell when she’s having a nice dream based on how often she sighs

franklin

-surprisingly quiet

-you wouldn’t expect his oversized enormous ass to be quiet but he is

-similar to chrollo, the most you’re getting out of him is some occasionally loud breathing

-aside from that he’s a quiet sleeper

bonolenov

-i feel like bc of the holes in his body he’d probably make a whistling sound in his sleep

-like a pan flute

-not the worst tho bc like nobunaga it’s low high key relaxing

-free asmr what could be better xxx

kortopi

-quiet as hell

-are we really surprised

-sorry to the two kortopi fans out there but i can’t be bothered to think of anything to add on he’s just quiet

another tazzertopia classic 💯💯💯💯 if you like these hc posts pls give me requests (idk if the ask box is visible on my profile but do it through here or via the comments) bc these are super fun, i can also do other characters too !!! if i do more i might start doing them for other shows anyways bye xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Uvogin x Thief reader!

Here’s Part 1 of Uvogin z Thief Reader!!! It’s an upgrade to a really old fanfic of mine and I’m very happy about it! Gonna be a slow burn but a very well written descriptive story!

——————

You're not the type to back down, are you?" The sly voice echoed through the dimly lit corridor, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

Y/N, the notorious thief known for her unmatched agility and uncanny ability to vanish into thin air, found herself in a tight spot. Cornered by a group of individuals who were equally adept in the art of theft and deception—the Phantom Troupe.

She had come to the auction hall to pilfer the latest set of rare artifacts, a prize that had eluded even the most skilled hands in the business. But as she held the gleaming treasure in her grasp, she felt the air thicken with the presence of her pursuers.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she recognized the unmistakable aura of Chrollo Lucifer, the leader of the Phantom Troupe. His crimson eyes bore into her as he offered a thin smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said, his voice like velvet over a sharpened blade. "But I'm afraid you're in no position to decline my offer." The other members of the troupe emerged from the shadows, their faces a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Y/N, with the artifacts clutched tightly in her bag, took a step back, her mind racing. Join them? Impossible. But she knew better than to underestimate the ruthlessness of the Phantom Troupe. Her options were slim—join or become their next victim.

She met Chrollo's gaze with defiance, her jaw set. "What makes you think I'd ever consider joining a bunch of thugs like you?"

-^1: Y/N, a renowned thief, is caught by the Phantom Troupe at an artifact auction. Chrollo Lucifer, their leader, is impressed by her audacity and offers her a place in the group. Surrounded by the troupe, she considers her options, knowing their reputation for ruthlessness.-

The air in the corridor grew tense as the troupe members exchanged glances. Chrollo's smile grew wider, revealing a set of sharp teeth. "Ah, a challenge," he mused, "how delightful." He gestured to the burly figure standing behind him, "Take her to the room we've prepared. She'll think it over."

Y/N was marched down the corridor, her hands bound with an unbreakable Nen thread that burned at the slightest struggle. The room they brought her to was surprisingly spacious, with a single bed, a table, and a chair.

The walls were adorned with weapons and trinkets, hinting at its usual occupant's tastes. As the door slammed shut, she looked around, realizing she was to share this space with Uvogin, one of the most feared members of the Phantom Troupe.

Uvogin leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his broad chest, watching her with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "You're going to be a handful, aren't you?" he said, his deep voice rumbling through the space.

Y/N's eyes narrowed as she sized him up. Uvogin was notorious for his brute strength and volatile temperament. But she had a knack for reading people, and she could see the flicker of something else in his gaze—respect, perhaps. Or was it something more?

“It appears we are.”

"Looks like we're bunkmates," Uvogin said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within the very walls of the room. He strolled over to the bed and plopped down, his boots hitting the floor with a thud. "Make yourself comfortable, if you can."

—————

Y/N took in the sparse accommodations, her mind racing with possible escape routes. She gritted her teeth, refusing to let the fear show on her face. "I'd rather not get too cozy with the enemy," she spat, her eyes never leaving his.

Uvogin chuckled, his amusement clear despite his gruff demeanor. "You've got spirit," he said, his eyes glinting with something akin to admiration. "But you're not going anywhere until Chrollo says so." He leaned back, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. "But don't worry, I won't bite—unless you ask nicely."

The days turned into a tense dance of cat and mouse. Y/N tried to maintain her distance from Uvogin, but the confined space made it near impossible. She watched him, studied his every move, looking for weaknesses she could exploit. But every time she thought she had found one, he'd catch her eye and give her a knowing smirk, as if he could read her thoughts.

Uvogin, for his part, was surprisingly courteous. He never laid a hand on her, except to unbind her when she needed to eat or use the facilities. He'd even bring her food, though it was always cold and tasteless, a stark reminder of her captivity.

The other troupe members would come and go, trying to persuade her to join their ranks with various tactics—from sweet-talking to outright threats. But she remained firm, her resolve unshaken.

. Uvogin's courteous behavior surprises her, and she remains unshaken by the Phantom Troupe's attempts to recruit her.

Nights were the hardest. The silence was deafening, filled only with the occasional snore from Uvogin and the distant echoes of the city outside. She'd lie there, her mind racing with thoughts of escape, her body tense and ready to spring into action at the slightest sound.

But each night, she'd also find her gaze drawn to Uvogin's silhouette in the moonlight, his chest rising and falling steadily. There was something almost…comforting about his presence, despite the danger he posed.

One evening, unable to stand the incessant whispering of her thoughts, she spoke up, breaking the heavy silence. "Why do you guys want me so badly?" she asked, her voice low and measured.

Uvogin stirred from his position, his eyes opening lazily. "You've got potential," he said, his voice gruff with sleep. "Chrollo sees something in you that could be…useful."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "I'm not a tool to be used," she retorted, trying to keep the tremor of fear out of her voice.

Uvogin sat up, his gaze intense. "You're not just any thief," he said, his tone serious. "You've got a reputation, and not just for your skills. You're…different.".

Y/N felt a twinge of annoyance at his perceptiveness. She had worked hard to keep her emotions in check, to never let anyone see past her tough exterior. Yet here she was, confined with a man who could potentially crush her with his bare hands, and he was peeling back layers she had kept hidden for years. "What do you mean, different?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady.

Uvogin leaned against the headboard, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. "You've got guts, y/n," he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "But it's more than that. There's a…spark in you. A fire that refuses to be put out, no matter the odds." He paused, studying her in the moonlit room. "The troupe needs that kind of spirit."

Y/N scoffed, trying to ignore the warmth that his words kindled within her. "Flattery won't get you anywhere," she said, turning away to face the wall. But his words had planted a seed of doubt in her mind. Was she really so special? Or was this just another ploy to get her to comply?

The days grew longer, the tension in the room thickening with each passing hour. Y/N felt a strange pull towards Uvogin, a confusing mix of fear and attraction. She would catch herself watching him when he wasn't looking, studying the way his muscles moved as he sharpened his nails—his own brand of Nen. His eyes, though fierce, held a gentleness that seemed at odds with his reputation.

“Goodnight Uvogin.” Y/n promptly flipped her body to face the other direction. “Goodnight y/n!!” His voice boomed with happiness

——

One night, unable to sleep, she found herself staring at the tattoo on his chest, a symbol of the Phantom Troupe. It was intricate, almost mesmerizing. "What's it like?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Being in the troupe?"

Uvogin's eyes narrowed, sizing her up. "It's family," he said, his voice gruff. "We watch each other's backs, share our spoils, and fight together. We're not just a bunch of thieves and murderes. We're something more."

Y/N rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. "And what makes you think I'd fit in?" she asked, her voice a challenge.

Uvogin's gaze softened, and for a moment, she saw a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes. "You remind me of someone," he murmured, almost to himself.

"Someone who didn't take crap from anyone, no matter how powerful they were."

The room grew quiet again, and Y/N felt the weight of his stare. She knew he wasn't just referring to her skills; there was something personal in his words.

"Someone from your past?" she ventured, curiosity piquing.

Uvogin's expression remained stoic, but she could see the flicker of memory in his eyes. "Someone I cared about," he admitted. "Someone who didn't make it out of this life."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken understanding. Y/N knew all too well the pain of loss and the cost of the life they led. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel a flicker of something other than defiance—sympathy.

"I'm sorry," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Uvogin's gaze sharpened, as if surprised by her sudden show of emotion.

A moment later, she felt his hand on her shoulder, gently turning her to face him. "Don't be," he said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. "It's the life we chose."

Y/N looked into his eyes, seeing the weight of his words. For the first time, she saw the man behind the moniker, the pain and the loyalty that had driven him to this path. It was a stark reminder that even in a world of thieves and killers, there were moments of humanity.

"Why do you stay with them?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Uvogin's hand lingered on her shoulder, his gaze searching hers. "Because," he began, his voice rough with emotion, "they're all I've got." He paused, his eyes flickering with something that looked almost like regret. "We're all lost souls, Y/N. Bound together by a thread of fate that none of us can cut. Besides I love violence, and making people feel pain.” His chuckles boomed with mischievously at his confession.

Y/N felt a pang of something unfamiliar—sympathy, perhaps—for this man who had become both her jailor and her confidant. "What was her name?" she asked softly.

Uvogin's expression grew distant, his eyes glazing over as he spoke her name. "Evangeline" he said, his voice thick with unspoken sorrow. "She was…special. Like you."

Y/N sat up, her curiosity piqued. "What happened to her?"

Uvogin's expression hardened, his grip on the covers tightening. "She was taken from us," he said, his voice a low growl. "By someone who didn't understand what family truly means."

"I'm sorry," she said again, the words feeling inadequate.

Uvogin nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "We all have our reasons for being here," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "But maybe, just maybe, we can find something more than just survival together in this life of murder, violence and thievery."

Y/N felt her walls cracking, the defiance she had clung to for so long slowly giving way to a strange sense of camaraderie. She didn't dare to hope, but the thought of belonging to something, to someone, was tempting.

Their eyes remained locked, the tension between them no longer just hostility, but something more complex, something that made her heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear. Without warning, Uvogin leaned in, his breath warm against her face, and for a moment, she thought he was going to say something else.

But instead, his lips met hers, the kiss firm and demanding, yet not without a hint of tenderness.

Y/N was taken aback, her mind reeling from the suddenness of it all. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she found herself responding, her body moving of its own accord as she leaned into the embrace. “Uvo~”

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, the beat of his heart pounding in sync with hers. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken desires, of two souls finding an unexpected kinship in a world that offered them little warmth.

The kiss deepened, Uvogin's grip tightening, his hand tangling in her hair. Y/N could feel the strength in him, the power that made him feared throughout the underworld. But there was something else there too, something that made her heart flutter—the gentleness that lay beneath the hardened exterior. It was a contradiction that intrigued her, a softness she hadn't anticipated finding in this place.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless. Uvogin searched her eyes, looking for something she wasn't quite ready to give. "I've been thinking," she said, her voice a little shaky. "Maybe…maybe Chrollo's offer isn't so bad."

The room was still, the air thick with the weight of their shared secret. Uvogin's gaze searched hers, looking for any hint of deceit. "You'd really consider joining us?".

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of her decision. "I can see the bond you all share," she said, her voice steady. "And maybe…maybe I could find a place among you."

Uvogin's expression was unreadable, his hand still resting on her shoulder. "You're not just saying that to get out of here, are you.?" he asked, his tone a mix of hope and skepticism.

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart racing. "No," she said, the word coming out stronger than she expected. "I've seen how you all are together. You're not just a bunch of thieves—you're a family."

Uvogin studied her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Then, slowly, a smile began to spread across his face. "Welcome to the Phantom Troupe," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "You're going to need a new name though."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "A new name?" she echoed, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Uvogin nodded, his smile growing wider. "Yeah, everyone in the troupe has one. It's part of our identity. What do you want to be called?"

Y/N took a moment to ponder, her heart racing. This was a significant step, a declaration of her new allegiance. "How about 'Phantom Thief'," she suggested, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

Uvogin chuckled, the sound rumbling through the room. "I like it," he said, his eyes lighting up with approval. "It's got a ring to it."

The days that followed saw a shift in the dynamics of their captor-captive relationship. Y/N, now considering herself the Phantom Thief, began to open up to the other members of the troupe. They were an eclectic bunch, each with whose needles could slice through anything with ease;

Shizuku, the stoic and mysterious member who was unique. Her weapon being a vaccum that could suck up anything.

Machi, a radiant girl who was deadly as she was friendly.

, strikingly lesbian, yet a femme fetal who was as unpredictable as the tides;

, whose fiery aura and torturing blade skills were as mesmerizing as they were terrifying. Shalnark and phinks were very accepting and fun to be around.

Nobunaga, Uvogin best friend was chill, deftinkeu high all the time too!

Their banter, their inside jokes, their shared meals—it all started to feel eerily familiar. Y/N found herself warming up to them, their rough exteriors hiding hearts that were fiercely loyal to their own. And then there was Chrollo, the enigmatic leader with the eyes of a predator and the mind of a chess master. He watched her with a mix of amusement and scrutiny, as if she was a puzzle he hadn't quite figured out yet.

—————-//—-/-

One evening, as the troupe gathered in their makeshift headquarters, Y/N approached Chrollo, her eyes meeting his unwavering gaze. "I've been thinking about your offer," she said, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. "Maybe I could get used to this life."

Chrollo's smile grew, his crimson eyes gleaming with excitement. "Ah, the Phantom Thief decides to join the fray," he said, his tone light and teasing. "Welcome, my dear. We're thrilled to have you with us."

The next day, to Y/N's surprise, Chrollo suggested a shopping spree as a way to celebrate her newfound allegiance. "A little treat before the real work begins," he said with a wink.

The troupe split into two groups—the girls and the boys—each with their own set of goals. Y/N, Machi, and Pakunoda set off into the bustling streets of the city, their eyes sparkling with excitement. They darted in and out of stores, their laughter echoing through the alleyways as they tried on ridiculous outfits and poked fun at each other's choices.

Machi found a pair of gloves that she claimed would perfectly complement her Nen abilities, while Y/N's eyes widened at the sight of a sleek, black jumpsuit that seemed tailor-made for her new identity.

Pakunoda, ever the fashionista, held up a garish hat with a wide brim. "What do you think?" she asked, her cheeky grin lighting up her face.

Machi giggled, her eyes glinting with mischief. "It's definitely…something," she said, holding it atop Y/N's head. "But maybe not for a Phantom Thief."

Pakunoda pouted playfully, snatching the hat away. "Fine, more for me then," she said, plopping it onto her own head and striking a pose. The three of them burst into laughter, the tension of their usual missions temporarily forgotten.

Meanwhile, the boys had taken a more laid-back approach. Uvogin, Feitan, and Phinks lounged in a nearby café, sipping coffee and watching the world go by.

Hisoka, ever the flamboyant one, had insisted on tagging along, his eyes scanning the crowd for potential…companions. More so children. "So, what do you think of our newest recruit?" Feitan asked, his tone casual as he stirred his drink.

Uvogin's gaze drifted to the memory of their stolen kiss, his expression unreadable. "She's got potential," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But she's still got a lot to learn."

“I think she’s a great woman, one id love to battle once more. Yet she holds not a candle to my Illumi~” Hisoka interjected. “What do you mean once more?” They asked the clown.

“we fought once, she took my precious Gon~ Away from me.” He pouted a bit. “Although I do say, it was quite ravishing.” “Why didn’t you say anything about this sooner hispka?” “It wasn’t in my best interes~” his face distorted into a lustful smile.

———

The shopping spree continued, with the girls trying on everything from flashy jewelry to tight leather pants. They giggled and whispered conspiratorially, sharing stories of their past heists and the thrills of outsmarting their marks. Y/N felt a strange sense of belonging, as if she had finally found her tribe.

"So, Phantom Thief," Machi began, holding up a pair of fingerless gloves that were adorned with silver studs, "What's your specialty?"

“I’m a jack of all trades, but my best specialty would be my hand to hand combat. I possess the ability to deduce one’s pressure points. But it doesn’t work on people as advanced as you bunch.” She laughed at her words.

Machi's eyes widened in admiration. "Wow, you're like a real-life cat burglar," she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "Maybe you could teach me a few tricks."

Pakunoda leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "Yeah, I've always wanted to learn how to manipulate pressure points! Mind reading is only as far as anything goes.” she said, her eyes shining with excitement. "Imagine the kind of mischief we could get into!"

The three of them shared a knowing smile, the kind that spoke of shared secrets and future escapades. They left the store, their arms laden with bags filled with their new treasures. The city lights reflected off the various weapons and gadgets they had managed to 'acquire' along the way.

It was a strange juxtaposition—the laughter and camaraderie of friends on a shopping trip, all while planning their next heist.

As they meandered through the crowded streets, the girls couldn't resist the allure of a street performer's sleight of hand. Y/N watched, her eyes narrowed as she tried to discern his secrets. "Amateurs," she murmured under her breath, earning a smack on the arm from Machi.

But amidst the chuckles and gasps of the crowd, she heard a familiar voice, one that sent a jolt of recognition through her. "Yo, that's the thief from Yorknew!" It was Gon, his youthful exclamation cutting through the din.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she turned to see the young boy, now older and more seasoned, standing alongside his friends—Killua, Leorio, and the stoic Kurapika. Her eyes widened, and she took a step back, her hand instinctively reaching for her pocket where she kept her lockpicks. Had they come to apprehend her? Or were they just here by coincidence?

Gon's eyes lit up with excitement as he rushed over, his friends following closely behind. "It's really you!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with the same enthusiasm she remembered. "Wow y/n , You're even more amazing than I thought!"

Y/N's hand froze over her pocket, her heart racing. She had hoped to avoid this confrontation, but it seemed fate had other plans. "Hi, guys," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Long time no see."

Gon's grin was as wide as she remembered it, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "We never got a chance to thank you for what you did back in Yorknew," he said, his eyes searching hers. "You saved us from that crazy guy—Hisoka!"

Y/N felt a twinge of anxiety. How much did they know? Did they recognize her as the thief she had been that night? She forced a casual smile. "It was nothing," she said, her heart hammering in her chest. "Just a little…adventure."

Killua's eyes narrowed, his sharp instincts picking up on the tension. "You're not in trouble, are you?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind racing. "No, no trouble at all," she said, her smile forced. "Just out for a little…shopping spree."

Leorio eyed the bags in their hands, his gaze shrewd. "Looks like you're going all out," he said, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Y/N forced a laugh, her heart racing. "Just living life to the fullest," she said, trying to keep her cool.

But Kurapika's gaze was unyielding, his scarlet eyes piercing through the facade. "Is that so?" he said, his tone measured. "You seem to have changed a bit since we last met."

Y/N felt the weight of his scrutiny, her heart pounding in her chest. She had hoped to keep her past life a secret from them, but it seemed fate had other plans. "You guys have changed too," she said, trying to deflect. "You're all so…grown up."

Gon's grin didn't falter. "Thanks," he said, puffing out his chest. "We've had our fair share of adventures."

Leorio leaned in, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "So, what brings you to the city?" he asked, his gaze flicking to the bags they held.

Y/N's mind raced. She couldn't tell them the truth—not about the Phantom Troupe, not about her new life as a member of the notorious group. "Just passing through," she said, her voice a tad too bright. "You know how it is with the life of a thief."

Killua's gaze sharpened, his instincts on high alert. "Y/n, you’re not in trouble with any hunters, are you?" he asked, his eyes darting around the area as if searching for signs of pursuit.

Y/N's pulse quickened, her mind racing for a plausible lie. "No, nothing like that," she assured him, her voice steady despite the rising panic. "I've just been…keeping busy."

Before she could say more, Uvogin's formidable presence appeared beside them, his eyes scanning the group with a hint of suspicion. "Looks like you've made some friends," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Y/N's heart sank. She had hoped to avoid this. "Guys, this is Uvogin," she said, her voice tight. "He's…an old acquaintance."

Gon's eyes widened with recognition. "Oh, you're with the Phantom Troupe!" he exclaimed, his excitement unabated. "That's so cool! Me and killua have already met them!!”

Y/N shot Uvogin a panicked look, but his expression remained unfazed. He simply nodded in greeting to the group of hunters. "We've got to get going," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "The city has more than enough to keep us busy."

Gon and his friends looked at each other, a mix of excitement and wariness crossing their faces. "Ah, right," Gon said, his smile faltering slightly. "We've got some exploring to do too."

Leorio stepped forward, his gaze still locked on the Phantom Troupe members. "It's been great seeing you again," he said, his voice a tad forced. "But we should let you get back to your…shopping."

Y/N nodded, her smile tight. "Yeah, we've got a lot to do," she agreed, hoping they would take the hint.

Machi and Pakunoda stepped in, sensing the tension. "Come on, Phantom Thief," Machi said, tugging at her arm. "We've got to get back before the boss starts to worry."

Their eyes met, and Y/N knew she had to play along. She took a deep breath and nodded, turning back to Gon and his friends. "It was great seeing you all," she said, her voice genuine despite the fear bubbling inside her. "But we really should get going."

Gon looked crestfallen, but he nodded. "Yeah, we've got a lot to do," he said, his eyes still sparkling with excitement. "Maybe we'll run into each other again."

She hoped they wouldn’t. For kurapikas scarlet eyes had awoken in that ver moment, if anything they both could’ve been killed on the spot. If she ran into him again, or with another phantom troupe member they’d be fucked.

It really was a mess, but at least of all people, she had Uvogin.

Phantom troupe plays Games!

This is a short little one shot about the phantom troupe playing some games together! Jenga, Uno, you name it!! Enjoy!

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"Alright, whose turn is it?" Chrollo asked, glancing around the crowded table. The Phantom Troupe had gathered in the quiet lull of their latest hideout, the low murmur of the outside world a gentle backdrop to their camaraderie. The room was dimly lit, casting flickering shadows from the candles scattered across the floor and walls.

Shalnark and Phinks exchanged a knowing look, their hands hovering over the Jenga

"Let's go again, Chrollo” Phinks grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "We're feeling lucky tonight."

Machi and Pakunoda giggled softly to themselves, watching the tension build as the two men took turns removing wooden blocks. “I wonder who will win again paku?” “Definitely not Uvogin or feitan that’s for sure.

The tower wobbled precariously, and Uvogin slammed his fist on the table. "This is ridiculous! How do you keep winning, Shizuku?"

“Really at Jenga, everybody except the loser wins, but if you must know.”

Shizuku shrugged, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "It's all about precision and patience," she said sweetly, blowing a strand of hair from her face. "You should try it sometime, Uvogin."

The room erupted in laughter, the tension momentarily broken. Uvogin's scowl deepened, but even he couldn't help but chuckle. “Whatever Shizuku.”

The air was thick with good-natured rivalry as the games continued. They had been playing for hours, the night stretching on into the early hours of the morning. The clatter of plastic and the shuffle of cards filled the space as they moved from Jenga to Monopoly and then to Uno.

The stakes were high, each victory met with cheers and groans, as if they were fighting for their lives rather than mere bragging rights.

“SHALNARK ILL GIVE YOU 1 MILLION JENNY! IF YOU BEAT ME IN ONE ON ONE UNO!” Phinks yelled with excitement. “OKAY PHINKS!! I CAN’T WAIT TO SHOP!

Nobunaga, ever the chill presence, leaned back in his chair, watching the games unfold with a lazy smile. "You know, I miss the days when we didn't have to play games to pass the time," he mused, stroking his chin. "But this isn't so bad either."

"Oh, come on, Nobunaga," Hisoka teased, flipping a card onto the Uno pile. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, you know I'd miss our little gatherings if we weren't playing something. Probaly would be stalking Gon~"

Feitan, whose irritation was palpable, glared at the flamboyant clown. "If you don't shut up about Gon, I'm going to turn this game into a real battle royale."

Hisoka's smile grew wider, his eyes never leaving the cards in his hand. "Oh, you're on edge tonight, Feitan. Did the Jenga tower collapse one too many times?"

Feitan's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his cards. "Keep it up, and you'll be the one regretting it."

Ignoring the threat, Hisoka leaned closer to the table, his crimson hair brushing the edge. "Tell us more about this 'special' thing you see in Gon, will you? Maybe it's his ability to annoy everyone so much that they want to fight him?"

The group chuckled, but Chrollo remained thoughtful, stroking the spine of his book. "Gon's potential is indeed intriguing. It's a wild card we can't overlook."

Shizuku's eyes flickered to Chrollo, a hint of respect in her gaze. "You're right, Chrollo. He's got something… different about him. An indomitable spirit.”

Uvogin rolled his eyes. "Spare me the poetic crap. He's just a kid with a death wish and a giant heart."

Machi and Pakunoda giggled again, placing their bets on the next round of Uno. The colorful cards danced in the candlelight as they played, each trying to outwit the others.

"You're all just jealous," Hisoka said, laying down a Reverse card. "I mean, I've seen the boy In action. But my little fruit is still unripe~ I’m itching for the day he becomes a man "

Uvogin's hand hovered over his hand, his eyes narrowed. "If he's so special, why don't you go play with him instead of bothering us?" “That wouldn’t be fun, I toyed with him and Killua last week.” He whined.

Shizuku’s smirk grew as she placed her next card. "Because we're here, enjoying ourselves, Uvogin. Besides, it's not every day we get to see you so… human."

The room quieted as Uvogin's scowl darkened. He slammed his hand down on the table, causing the tower to wobble again. "I'm not playing this kids' game anymore," he growled, pushing his chair back. "I'm going out for a smoke with Nobunaga.”

Nobunaga nodded, setting his cards aside. "Alright, let's go," he said, standing up with a stretch. The two friends made their way to the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stifling tension inside.

"You must like that kid, don't you?" Uvogin said, his voice gruff as he lit a blunt. “I’ve taken a liking to him, while you were away I asked him to join the troupe. But he declined.” Nobunaga chuckled.

“Seems like him, he’s not cut out for a life like this anyways.”

Inside, the games had reached a fever pitch. Feitan's frustration had boiled over, and he was now glaring at Shizuku, who had just won another round of Uno. "You're cheating," he accused, slamming his cards down.

Shizuku's smile never wavered, her eyes on her cards. "You're just not observant enough, Feitan," she said, placing a Reverse card with a flourish. The room fell silent as the tension grew.

"Maybe we should take a break," Chrollo suggested, standing up and moving to the kitchen. "I've got something that might improve everyone's mood."

Moments later, he returned with a tray of freshly baked brownies, the sweet aroma filling the room. “I suppose we should have a break.” Feitans eyes flared.

“Phinks! Go get the liquor for me.” Shalnark exclaimed. “Okay! Be right back.”

"Who wants the first brownie?" Chrollo offered, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Feitan's hand shot up, snatching one before anyone else could. "I'm not letting you win just because you baked us treats," he snarled, eyeing Shizuku suspiciously.

Shizuku took a brownie, her expression calm. "I'm not worried," she said, taking a bite and savoring the rich chocolate. "I play fair and square."

"It's not about winning or losing, Feitan," Chrollo said, placing the tray in the center of the table. "It's about the thrill of the game." He offered a brownie to Feitan, who grudgingly took one. “Besides feitan, youlll get your fun torturing somebody later.” “I guess you’re right Machi.”

“SPEAKING OF DELICIOUS TREATS MY GO~” “SHUT THE FUCK UP HISOKA!” Feitan yelled. “Fine how rude, I’m telling my Illumi.” He scoffed at the short man.

“moving forward, somebody go get Uvogin and Nobunaga so we can talk game plan for the Yorknew city auction.” Chrollo ordered.

In 15 days, the Yorknew city auction would take place. Hisoka would be plotting against the troupe and one of their own would be taken from them. But who?

It was times like these, that they would never know they took for granted. But they’d have fun doing them, with the only family they have.

The phantom troupe.

**Title: Seven Minutes in Heaven**

Short little fan fiction about Gon x Killua confessing their feelings in a game of seven minutes in heaven! There is Leorio x kurapika content too, but more so them being in love and supporting parents!

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The dimly lit room was buzzing with excitement and nervous energy. It was a typical night for the group of friends, but tonight felt different. The atmosphere was charged with unspoken feelings, especially between

a certain pair: Gon Freecss and Killua Zoldyck. They’d navigated countless challenges together, yet this simple game of “Seven Minutes in Heaven” brought the most formidable challenge of all: vulnerability.

Leorio and Kurapika sat together on the couch, their fingers intertwined. They’d long since settled into a comfortable relationship, and while they teased their friends about their obvious crushes, they couldn’t help but hope that Gon and Killua would finally take the leap.

“Kurapika, do you think it’ll happen today?”

“Maybe Leo~”

“Let’s hope, it’s getting tiring seeing them all shy.” “LEORIO!” Kurapika playfully smacked his arm.

“Alright, everyone!” Leorio announced, his voice cheerfully cutting through the ambient chatter. “If we’re going to play this, we need to set some ground rules. Only the brave shall proceed into the ‘heaven’ of that closet!”

“Don’t you dare call it that.” Killua rolled his eyes, suppressing a grin. His gaze instinctively flicked to Gon, whose excited smile made his heart race. Maybe tonight would unveil the feelings they’d both kept buried.

“Let’s get started!” Kurapika clapped his hands, his anticipation palpable. “We’ll draw names randomly, and everyone must take their turn. But… let’s keep Hisoka out of it, alright?”

Gon chuckled, but there was a tinge of worry in his eyes. Hisoka was unpredictable, and the thought of him alone with either himself or Killua made Gon's stomach churn

“Why not? I promise to behave!” Hisoka chimed, appearing out of nowhere, a mischievous smile plastered on his face. The flamboyant clown had a knack for drama, and the tension skyrocketed as he licked his lips, clearly reveling in the suspense.

“I think our odds of survival decrease significantly if Hisoka is part of the game,” Killua mumbled, his expression tinged with anxiety. “Babs, stop scaring the children.” Illumi interjected.

The games began, laughter and giggles punctuating the room as each participant disappeared into the closet for their seven minutes.

Kurapika and Leorio emerged first, their cheeks flushed, and their smiles a mix of triumph and giddiness.

“Leorio, it’s our turn what should we do.” “I think you know what, Kurapika.” “Do I~” his words were interjected by Leorio pulling Kurapika into a steamy kiss. “Leo..” Pika whispered.

The two emerged out of the closet looking flushed and slightly disheveled. “Oh my God, how unholy of you two~” Hisoka teased.

*CHROLL DESCENDS FROM THE HEAVENS*

“AH WHAT THE FUCK!” Killua screeched. “Did somebody call me?” Chrollo spoke. “Bitch get out of my house!” Kurapika responded. “

Pretty Kurapika, don’t be so mean to me.”

“HE’S TAKEN. IM GONNA KILL YOU!” Leorio charged at him.

“I think that’s my cue to leave, see you around Kurta~”

*Chrollo descends to hell*

“That was random as hell.” Illumi says while wheezing.

Finally, it was Gon’s turn to draw. “I got killua!! Yay come on.” “Baka! Don’t be so giddy.” Killua said blushing.

The rest of the group watched in anticipation, particularly Leorio and Kurapika, who were practically bubbling over with hope.

Just as the two boys stepped into the closet, the door creaked ominously. The moment it clicked shut, the familiar warmth of a shared space surrounded them. Time seemed to stretch, distorting their senses as they stood close yet uncertain.

“Um… so, what should we…” Gon began, his voice barely a whisper, filled with exhilaration and nerves.

, Hisoka swung open the door of the closet, a wide grin on his face. “I couldn’t help it! I need to protect my little Gon from… bad influences!” His tone dripped with mischief, eyes sparkling as they landed on Killua.

“Don’t you dare put your hands on him!” Killua growled, already outside of his comfort zone. The threat of Hisoka brought forth a primal urge to protect.

“Really? I just want to play!” Hisoka twirled, making a mock bow. “Is it so wrong for me to want to spend time with my favorite boy?”

. He glanced at Killua, who looked ready to unsheathe a blade at a moment's notice. The tension was palpable, a powder keg just waiting for a spark. “Killua it’s ok!”

“Hisoka, you have no right to barge in here,” Gon said firmly, surprising even himself. “You need to back off.”

“Look at you, so brave!” Hisoka laughed, unfazed. “But let’s see how brave you are alone — and how long Killua will stand by!”

Just then, Illumi stepped forward, his presence a cold shadow looming over them. “You should leave my brother alone, Hisoka.” His voice was low and menacing, and the room instantly quieted, tension thickening the air.

Startled, Hisoka held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! I was merely playing a game!” With a flourish, he stepped back, practically skipping away from them.

The closet door finally closed behind them again, sealing Gon and Killua in their moment. The silence stretched, heavy with half-formed thoughts. It was then Gon mustered the courage to break the ice.

“Killua, I…” Gon’s voice trailed off, the raw honesty flickering between them like a flame.

“I feel the same. I’ve always felt the same.” Killua took a step closer, their hearts now racing in rhythm. “But I didn’t know how to say it.”

Gon smiled—this was the moment he had yearned for. “Maybe we don’t have to say it. Maybe we just have to understand it.”

With that, they leaned closer, the past few moments fading away in the glow of their realization. The world outside melted into insignificance as they shared a whisper that only they could hear, the door of the closet forgotten.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the room outside, Leorio grinned at Kurapika, relief washing over them like a tide. Their friends had finally started to piece together the puzzle, and with his eyes on Illumi, Kurapika hoped that perhaps tonight, darkness would stay at bay.

“We knew it Kurapika, today was the day!!” He squeezed the blonds hand tighter. “They did it.”

As the minutes passed, their prayers echoed in silence, wishing for a world where love, no matter how complicated, could always shine brightly in dark corners, just like the love blossoming in the closet between Gon and Killua. And in a moment, the world outside would be forever changed.

hunter x house: Bake off!

Fan fiction about the hunters x phantom troupe in a challenge tv show. Todays challenge is a bake off!!! ———

“Today we’ll be competing against the Phantom troupe! I hope we win!” Gon said with a gleam in his eye.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Leorio murmured to himself as he surveyed the kitchen. The counters were cluttered with ingredients and baking equipment, a stark contrast to the sleek, professional tools he was used to in his medical practice.

“what should we do Killua?” “Ion know gon, but let’s stay out for now.” Leorio grabbed kurapikas hand with assurance.

“What are your thoughts kurapika?” “I just want the prize.”

The groups had been briefed by the eccentric producer of the reality show, a man who loved to stir the pot more than he did his batter. Each team was to bake a signature dish that would be judged by none other than the legendary Chairman Netero and the elusive Hanzo. The Phantom Troupe, known for their destructive tendencies, had been pitted against the hunters in a culinary battle royale, and the stakes were high.

"Alright, everyone," the producer announced, "You have one hour to prepare your dishes. No nen, no shortcuts. Just good old-fashioned baking skills."

The room buzzed with excitement as the contestants donned their aprons. “Guys! Im so excited what should we do?” Meanwhile, Killua's curiosity was piqued by the variety of spices and flavors at their disposal. “Maybe we could use a unique flavor?”

"Guys, I've got it," Gon exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious. "We're going to make a triple-layered cake with each layer representing one of our personalities!"

Leorio rolled his eyes, "Gon, we're not here to make a metaphorical mess, we're here to win."

Kurapika, ever the strategist, suggested, "We should focus on something simple yet impressive, like a chocolate lava cake. It's hard to screw up, and if done right, it's bound to wow them."

Leorio nodded in agreement, "Fine, but we need to stand out. How about we add a twist with some exotic fruit filling?"

Killua smirked, "I know just the thing." He dashed to the pantry and returned with a basket of rare Whale Meat fruit, "This will give our lava cake an unexpected kick."

Leorio raised an eyebrow, "Whale Meat fruit? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Trust me," Killua replied with a grin, "It'll be a taste they'll never forget."

As the clock ticked down, the kitchen transformed into a whirlwind of activity. Gon carefully measured out the ingredients for the batter, his hands steady and precise. Leorio, on the other hand, was more experimental, mixing and matching flavors with a devil-may-care attitude. “LEORIO be more careful!”

“I’m doing the lava center, I’ll make sure it’s perfect”. Kurapika said.

The tension in the room was palpable, each team eager to outdo the others.

The Phantom Troupe members weren't exactly known for their baking prowess. “Ughhhh this is too hard!” Uvo roared. “I’m just going to dump in the ingredients.”

“Uvogin, be patient and try to measure more. “ chrollo offered advice. Nobunaga, ever the rebel, had snuck in some suspicious-looking herbs, whispering to himself about the "special" brownies he intended to bake.

Shalnark, the brains of his group, watched with amusement, occasionally tossing in a helpful tip.

In another part of the house, Phinks and Shalnark were locked in a friendly bet. "If we win, I get the artifact," Phinks said with a smug smile.

Shalnark retorted, "And if we don't?"

"If we don't," Phinks said, his eyes narrowing, "You owe me a favor."

Shalnark's smug smile didn't waver, "I'd rather eat Uvogin's burnt cookies than lose to you."

The kitchen was a symphony of whisks, purring mixers, and sizzling pans. Each group had its own strategy and dynamics. Chrollo, the leader of the Phantom Troupe, tried to maintain order amidst the chaos, his eyes darting between the clock and his team's precarious creations.

Meanwhile, the girls' team of Shizuku, Pakunoda, and Machi worked in harmony, their movements fluid and efficient. They had a secret weapon: Machi's ability to manipulate threads of nen to assist in their baking. “but are you sure we can use men?” “Yeah machi, they said not to.” “Shizuku, and paku it’s okay!”

They hoped it would give them the edge they needed.

Hisoka and Illumi, in the sixth group, had a different approach. They weren't here to win; they were here for the thrill of the game. Hisoka had his eyes on Gon, eager to test the young boy's limits, while Illumi remained in the background, his fingers playing with the strings of fate. They had agreed to work together, but it was clear that their alliance was as fragile as a soufflé.

"So, what are we making?" Hisoka asked, his voice a purr as he sauntered over to the counter.

"We're making you regret ever stepping into this kitchen," Illumi replied dryly, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

Gon, blissfully unaware of the darker undertones, was busy slicing strawberries for the garnish. "Guys, remember, we need to plate our desserts nicely. First impressions are important."

Killua nodded, his focus on the whipped cream, making sure it was perfectly fluffy. "Got it, Gon."

As the timer approached the final minutes, the kitchen grew hotter, both from the ovens and the pressure. The Phantom Troupe's kitchen was a mess of spilled flour and smoking ovens. Uvogin had managed to burn something yet again, and Chrollo sighed heavily.

"This is a disaster," he muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

The girls' team, on the other hand, was a well-oiled machine. Machi's nen allowed them to achieve a level of precision that was unheard of in the baking world. The three of them had created a multi-tiered masterpiece that was as beautiful as it was daunting.

"Machi, make sure the nen threads don't show," Shizuku whispered, her eyes sharp.

Machi nodded, concentrating as she pulled the threads taut, ensuring the perfect symmetry of their dessert. "Don't worry, it's all under control."

Leorio, feeling the heat of competition, took a deep breath and checked on their lava cakes. The timer beeped, and he opened the oven with a flourish. The cakes looked perfect, their chocolate centers threatening to ooze out. "Alright, team, let's get these plated!"

The hunters worked together to assemble their dessert, carefully placing the warm cakes on their plates. Gon's strawberry fanfare added a touch of whimsy, while Kurapika's precise knife work created an elegant border of chocolate shavings. The exotic fruit filling added a burst of flavor that made their mouths water.

"Looks like we're ready," Leorio announced, stepping back to admire their creation. "Now, let's just hope the judges appreciate our… unique combination."

The teams made their way to the grand dining room, where the judges sat at a long table, their expressions unreadable. Each group placed their desserts before them, their hearts racing as they awaited the verdict.

“We’re going to calll our teams by random but.”"Let's start with Team 1," the producer announced, gesturing to the hunters. Gon beamed with pride as they presented their whale meat-filled chocolate lava cakes.

Chairman Netero took a bite, his expression inscrutable. After a moment, he nodded. "Interesting flavor profile. The fruit complements the richness of the chocolate quite nicely."

Hanzo, the sterner of the two judges, tasted a piece and was silent for a moment before speaking. "The technique is good, but I'm not sure about the fruit choice."

Leorio felt his heart drop, but before he could protest, Gon chimed in, "It's a delicacy where we come from!"

The room erupted in laughter, easing the tension. The other teams watched with a mix of admiration and trepidation. The Phantom Troupe's dessert was a hodgepodge of burnt cookies and half-baked brownies, but the smell of the "special" ingredients in Nobunaga's brownies made even the stern Hanzo lean in for a closer sniff.

"Team 3 ," the producer called out, and the trio of Phinks, Shalnark, and Feitan stepped forward with their offering. A cake that looked as if it had been through a battle. The icing was a Jackson Pollock painting of food coloring and the cake itself was lopsided.

"We call this the 'Nen-tastic Chaos Cake'," Phinks announced with a smirk.

Shalnark rolled his eyes, "You do remember the bet, right?"

"It's all about the taste," Feitan said, a sadistic glint in his eye as he cut a piece for the judges.

Chairman Netero took a cautious bite, his face twitching slightly. "I can see the… effort you've put into this," he managed to say, his tone diplomatic.

Hanzo, on the other hand, was less forgiving. "What is this supposed to be?" he grunted, poking at the lopsided cake with his fork.

Phinks' grin didn't falter. "It's a representation of the chaos we bring to our enemies."

The room was filled with snickers, and even Hanzo couldn't help but crack a smile. They moved on to the next group, the tension in the air thickening with each plate presented.

The girls' team had constructed a dessert that was both beautiful and intimidating, a testament to their nen abilities. The cake looked like a sculpted work of art, each tier perfectly balanced and gleaming with an otherworldly sheen.

"This is our 'Thread of Destiny' cake," Machi explained, her voice steady despite the nerves that danced in her stomach. "The nen threads are invisible, but they hold the layers together and keep the filling from spilling out."

The judges exchanged a look of intrigue. Hanzo took a knife and sliced through the first tier, revealing a perfectly sealed layer of raspberry compote. The cake held firm, and the room fell silent as he brought the slice to his mouth.

The flavors exploded, a symphony of sweetness and tartness that made even the stoic hunter's eyes widen in surprise.

"Impressive," he murmured, his praise echoing through the room. The girls' team exhaled in relief, sharing a proud look. “But the points was to not use nen.”

Machi blushed, “It’s just for show. We promise!”

The producer winked, “Well, let’s see if the taste can win you some points, then!”

Hisoka and Illumi, approached the group with a dessert that was as enigmatic as they were. It was a simple, single-layer cake with a dark, mysterious glaze.

"This is our 'Heartstopper' cake," Hisoka announced with a dramatic flourish, his eyes gleaming. "It's a special recipe, one that's sure to… well, you'll see."

Illumi smirked, placing the knife in Hisoka's hand. "Go ahead, judge it for yourself."

Hisoka cut into the cake with a dramatic flair, revealing a deep red center. The room collectively gasped. It was eerily reminiscent of the bloody battles they had seen the duo partake in. “Gon~ this one’s for you.”

Gon looked up, his eyes wide as he took the proffered plate. He took a tentative bite, and to everyone’s astonishment, his face lit up. “It’s delicious!” he exclaimed.

The room buzzed with shocked whispers. Even the judges were taken aback by the positive reception. “How did you manage to get the taste just right?” Kurapika asked, his curiosity piqued.

Hisoka chuckled, his eyes never leaving Gon’s. “It’s all in the presentation, my dear boy. And the secret ingredient, of course.”

Illumi leaned in, his voice a low murmur, “We used your blood, young one. It adds a certain… je ne sais quoi.”

Gon nearly choked on his bite, his cheeks draining of color. Killua's eyes narrowed, and Kurapika's grip on his knife tightened. The room fell silent, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

"Your turn, Team 2," the producer said, trying to lighten the mood. Chrollo stepped forward with a forced smile, his team's dessert a sad-looking pie that had seen better days.

"Our humble offering is a classic apple pie," Chrollo announced, hoping against hope that the judges would appreciate their simplicity. The crust was burnt, and the filling looked suspiciously runny.

Chairman Netero took a bite, his face a mask of politeness. "Ah, the timeless appeal of apple pie," he said, his voice a tad forced. Hanzo took a piece and chewed thoughtfully. "It's… edible," he said finally, earning a glare from Chrollo.

The Phantom Troupe leader's pride was bruised, but he couldn't argue with the truth. Their baking skills were as sharp as a spoon.

"Alright, Team 6," the producer announced, "Hisoka and Illumi, let's see what you've got."

Hisoka stepped up with the "Heartstopper" cake, a smug smile playing on his lips. He slid the plate in front of the judges, the deep red center seemingly mocking them.

“we hope you enjoy our cake~”

Chairman Netero took the first bite with a look of skepticism. To everyone's surprise, his eyes lit up, and he nodded in approval. "The flavor is quite… intriguing," he said, savoring the bite.

Hanzo, ever the skeptic, took a slice, his expression unreadable. His first bite was met with a flicker of shock, quickly followed by a nod. "It's… surprisingly good," he conceded, earning a smug smirk from Hisoka.

. It was clear that Hisoka and Illumi had played a clever trick, using their infamous reputations to throw everyone off balance. The tension was palpable as the judges moved on to the final dessert, a cake from Team 4 that was a concoction of random flavors and textures.

"This," bolenov announced with a dramatic flourish, "Is our 'Phantom Phusion' cake. It's a fusion of our diverse tastes and abilities." The cake looked like a Jackson Pollock painting had collided with a dessert, a wild mix of colors and patterns that seemed to shift and swirl before the eyes.

The judges shared a look, then took their forks and dug in. The first bite was a symphony of flavors, each layer a surprise. It was as if each bite told a story, a story of the Phantom Troupe's chaotic existence.

"Well," Hanzo began, his expression thoughtful, "it's certainly… unique." “Franklin, kortopi, and bolenov you outdid yoursevs, didn’t you?” The room chuckled at the understatement, the tension easing slightly.

I was time to announce the winners. The producer clapped his hands, and the room fell silent. "Judges, have you made your decision?"

Chairman Netero leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. "This was indeed a… unique experience. But, after much deliberation, we have our winners."

The room held its breath as he announced, "Team 5, with their 'Thread of Destiny' cake, wins for creativity. Team 1, the hunters, your whale meat-filled chocolate lava cakes were… an adventure for the palate.

Team And Team 6, Hisoka and Illumi, your 'Heartstopper' cake had us all on the edge of our seats. But, the overall winner, with a perfect balance of flavor, presentation, and sheer audacity, is Team 6!"

Gon watched in horror as the judges enjoyed the "Heartstopper" cake, his mind racing. He hadn't realized that Hisoka and Illumi had gone to such lengths to psych out their competition.

Killua's eyes narrowed, his hand tightening around his own plate, and Kurapika's gaze was as sharp as the knife he held.

"Well done, Team 6," the producer exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Your prize will be revealed shortly. For now, let's take a commercial break."

The room erupted into a cacophony of voices as the contestants dispersed to their respective corners. The Phantom Troupe members exchanged high-fives, while the hunters congratulated each other on their close second place. Hisoka leaned in closer to Gon, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Looks like I've got your blood on my hands," he murmured, wiping a smudge of the dark glaze from his lips. "In more ways than one."

Gon's eyes widened, and he took a step back, his heart racing. "What did you do to the cake?"

Hisoka's smile grew wider. "Just a little trick to make it extra special for you," he whispered. "But don't worry, it's all in good fun."

Gon's eyes searched the room for the producer, hoping to voice his concerns, but the man was nowhere to be found. Killua noticed his friend's distress and stepped in, his own expression cold and hard. "What's the deal with the cake, Hisoka?"

Hisoka's smile didn't waver. "Oh, just a little secret ingredient," he said, his voice a seductive purr. "But don't worry, it's all for the thrill of the game."

Killua's eyes narrowed, his grip on his plate tightening. "If you've done anything to harm Gon…"

Hisoka held up his hands, still smiling. "Relax, it's all just a harmless prank. Besides, you know I prefer my battles to be more… interactive."

Killua's eyes searched Hisoka's, looking for any hint of deceit. After a moment, he nodded, his tension easing slightly. "Fine. But if you mess with him again, I won't be so forgiving."

The producer returned, a gleaming artifact in his hand. "And now, for the grand prize," he announced, holding up the artifact. It was an intricately carved stone, the surface etched with ancient runes that seemed to shimmer with an inner light.

"This is the Heart of the Dragon, a relic said to grant the user a temporary boost in their nen abilities. But remember, it's only temporary. Use it wisely."

. "We'll take it," he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

Leorio couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. "What are you going to do with that?" he challenged. "Use it to bake better cookies?"

Chrollo chuckled, his eyes never leaving the artifact. "Oh, I have much more… ambitious plans for it. I’m going to put it up in our side of the house! Just to rub it in to Kurapikas face.” “BITCH i don’t care you won!!” Kurapika yelled.

The producer nodded, placing the Heart of the Dragon on the table. "As winners, Team 6, you have the right to choose the next challenge. What will it be?"

Hisoka's eyes gleamed, and he leaned in closer to the producer. "How about a game of hide and seek?" he suggested, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"But with a twist. Whoever finds the hidden treasure first gets immunity for whatever mischief they get into at the house.

The producer's eyes lit up at the idea. "Excellent! And what will this treasure be?"

Hisoka's smile grew even wider. "Oh, something that'll really get their hearts racing." He glanced at Gon, who looked increasingly uncomfortable. "Let's say… a single golden ticket to the next round of the show, hidden somewhere in the house.

The first team to find it gets a pass to the next challenge without having to compete."

The producer's eyes sparkled with excitement. "And what happens to the team that doesn't find it?"

"They're automatically up for elimination," Hisoka said, his tone playful yet predatory.

The hunters exchanged glances, the air in the room growing thick with anticipation. Kurapika set his jaw, his eyes flicking to the Phantom Troupe's side of the house. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "We'll play your game."

“How delightful~”

“Good luck, gon”

play up- leorio x reader

Summary: After getting yourself into a ruckus, your knee resulted in being scraped. Even though you don’t think of the wound as a big deal, you have a soon-to-be doctor up and ready to take care of you.

ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ﹕ ᵇʳᵘʰʰ ⁱᵛᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱⁿ ᵐʸ ᵍᵒᵒᵍˡᵉ ᵈᵒᶜˢ ᶠᵒʳ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵃ ʷᵉᵉᵏ ﹕ᵖ ⁱ ᵏᵉᵖᵗ ᵖʳᵒᶜʳᵃˢᵗⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ʳᵉ⁻ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵈⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ. ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱᵐ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ, ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵉᵛᵉʳ. ʳᵒᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵒˡˡⁱⁿᵍ. ⁿ ᵉ ʷᵃʸˢ, ᵐʸ ᵇᵒⁱ ʰᵃˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ⁿᵒ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿʸʷʰᵉʳᵉ. ⁱᵛᵉ ˢᵉᵃʳᶜʰᵉᵈ ᶠᵃʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷⁱᵈᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ˡᵉᵒʳⁱᵒ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ. ʳᵃⁿᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʷᵃᵗᵗᵖᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃᵒ³, ᵃᵇˢᵒˡᵘᵗᵉˡʸ ᶻⁱᵖ. ʷᵉˡˡ ᵃᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ ˡᵉᵒʳⁱᵒ ˣ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ. ˢᵒ ⁱ ˢᵗᵉᵖᵖᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖˡᵃᵗᵉ ᵗᵒ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉ. ᵖˡᵘˢ ˡᵉᵒʳⁱᵒ ⁱˢ ᵐʸ ᵃᵇˢᵒˡᵘᵗᵉ ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳⁱᵗᵉ ʰˣʰ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ ⁽ʰⁱᵐ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇⁱˢᵏʸ ᵐⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵗⁱᵉᵈ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ..⁾ ˢᵒ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸ  (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

----------------

"You know you really don't have to do this. It's really not a big deal."

"Don't sweat it. How will I become a successful doctor if I can't take care of a little scratched knee?" The four-eyed lanky man said while kneeling between your legs. His ebony hair continued to erect in spikes even after a prolonged session of his daily studying.

You roll your eyes at his predictable response, "Exactly, it's a little scratched. Rub some dirt on it and I'll be fine."

He dabs a wet cloth around the gash; the stinging sensation summons a hiss from the back of your throat. Even though you've gotten scraped more times than you can count, the stinging will never fail to have you squinting.

"Just for practice," he assured, laughing at your response.

"No one's gonna go to a hospital for a scratched knee... You can just put a band-aid on it and call it a day."

As he looks up at you, the setting sun glares off of his glasses, contacting your own eyes. You clamp your eyes shut tight, tight enough to see visions of white stars.

He lets out a little laugh. "Do I have to make up all these excuses just to spend a little quality time with you?"

"Well, you could've just said so.." you pout at him, making him pout back at you in a chain reaction.

Though it's a little embarrassing for him to treat you like a child, giving you a full treatment for a little gash. There's no denying that you like the attention.

The almighty pain of the wet cloth making contact with your gash has you bouncing your leg, trying to ease through the pain. Leorio uses his other hand to hold your calf in place, lightly squeezing the meat.  

The med student squeezes an antibiotic cream onto his hand, gently applying a thin layer over the damaged skin. "Oh- God. Ouch."

Leorio snickers softly to himself over your position. "I thought you could handle this? It's just a little scratched." he giggles.

"Oh, hush." your muzzled voice comes out from behind your clenched teeth, almost as if you're a ventriloquist. "It's just that I've never had such strenuous care for my knee."

Leorio sets the medication next to him, finished with the 2nd step in cleaning your wound. "I'm a soon-to-be doctor!" he replies confidently. "You should have expected this when moving in with me!"

A hum sounds from deep in your throat, "Mm, true, true.” Agreeing with him, you notice Leorio grabbing the skin-colored gauze he had once stored in the bathroom drawers.

“Damn,” you taunted, “I was thinking a band-aid would do, but this is cool too.” Leorio stretches the gauze out, the sound of the stretch interrupts your voice.

“You know it.” He quickly wraps the bandage around your knee, almost quick enough for your eyes to only see the motion. Proving just how skilled he is at taking care of others.

He begins wrapping at your mid-calf, the start of the bandage at the outside of your knee. Without missing a beat, he starts to quickly and smoothly wrap the gauze around your leg, all the way up to your knee. Circling your knee a few extra times to be safe. He finishes the job by securing the bandage with some tape.

“Impressive!” His quick, swift wrapping has you giggling, charmed by his skills.

He smiles at you, slightly bending his long neck to meet your knee. He gives your clothed joint a brisk peck, laughing into the bandage. As his lips leave your knee, you eye a Leorio-sized wet lip print stamped onto the gauze.

“Feel better?” Leorio asks, moving all of his tools into one pile.

You beam at him, feeling butterflies after that gesture. As childish as it may have seemed. You wrap your hands around the sitting man, using all your strength to pull him up.

“Much better.” Even though the scratch wasn’t too painful in the first place, the kind act made you feel treasured.

He smiles at you with heart-shaped eyes, his swarthy iris’s flickered with pride. “I’m glad I could be of service.”

You giggle into his kiss, tickling yourself with your laughter. His Tea Shades are pressed onto your own closed eyes, sure to leave a small imprint.

(!☆!: Reader is written as a female)

Ch. 1: The Fallen Shepherd is out now!

Author's Note: This is a rewritten version of an old idea I had planned for a fic/series, sparked by sudden inspiration and a plethora of ideas, as it takes place before the events of the York New Arc. I plan to update chapters weekly. As for now, here is the summary!

You were once a well-known Hunter, a name whispered with respect and fear alike, until you vanished, leaving your past behind. But when a young man’s tragic story awakens old wounds, you return, determined to finish one last job. Disguised as a devout follower, you infiltrate a quiet town where a beloved priest hides in plain sight. You soon recognize the ghost of the child you once cared for haunting the Phantom Troupe leader in question. As you walk the fine line between duty and personal guilt, you must decide: can you bring down the monster he’s become, or will the weight of your own failures trap you in his web?

☆ I just wanted to point out something that I found ironic and something I did not plan at all. How this fanfic’s first upcoming chapter takes place on September 1st and today is September 1st…how the stars align LMAO ☆

(!☆!: Reader is written as a female)

Author's Note: This is a rewritten version of an old idea I had planned for a fic/series, sparked by sudden inspiration and a plethora of ideas, as it takes place before the events of the York New Arc. I plan to update chapters weekly. As for now, here is the summary!

You were once a well-known Hunter, a name whispered with respect and fear alike, until you vanished, leaving your past behind. But when a young man’s tragic story awakens old wounds, you return, determined to finish one last job. Disguised as a devout follower, you infiltrate a quiet town where a beloved priest hides in plain sight. You soon recognize the ghost of the child you once cared for haunting the Phantom Troupe leader in question. As you walk the fine line between duty and personal guilt, you must decide: can you bring down the monster he’s become, or will the weight of your own failures trap you in his web?

A Chrollo x F!Hunter Reader Fic | Summary

Best advised to be read in dark mode. AO3 link coming soon!

★ 18+ MDNI WARNINGS: descriptive murder, burning of corpses, torture?, arson, slight implication of attempted suicide, gore, blood, violence, strong mentions of sexual abuse towards children including human trafficking, implied kidnapping, perversion of innocence, predators, CP, and implied rape. (NO I DO NOT ENDORSE THE ABUSE OF CHILDREN. it is only briefly mentioned since it is disgusting to keep the story realistic and strictly used as awareness since this is actual problems in the real world they don't just kidnap children. I WILL NEVER! write about non-con with underage characters or children, rape, and assault.) ★

☆ word count. 8.9k (sheeeesh had to hold back on somethings)

✥ Chapter Summary: Lost in the shadows of your despair, haunted by memories of the children you once saved, you find yourself drifting further from your purpose. But when a call from Chairman Netero breaks the silence, you're pulled back into a world you thought you'd left behind, drawn into the unknown for one last round — for the sake of saving a young man from making the same mistakes you did. ✥

The church was still, bathed in the soft glow of flickering candles. You remained in the pew, feigning prayer, while your mind wrestled with turbulent thoughts.

But before you found yourself here, in this quiet sanctuary, there was a journey—a path that led you back to the world you had once left behind.

“You can’t save them all.”

The words echoed in your mind—a truth you had grappled with for most of your life. So why was it so hard to accept that cruel reality? Why did you live your life the way you did? Most people would argue that they wish they had your power and skills. But they didn’t understand. They couldn’t comprehend the burden that came with such strength.

Why would anyone want to carry that weight for so long?

Power is a double-edged sword. If you aren’t corrupted by it, you’re crushed beneath its weight. How easy it is to destroy rather than create.

You often wondered why Netero had chosen you that day. What did he see first—the helpless child who had lost everything or the Hunter who would grow into his greatest soldier?

You trailed behind the men, each step leading you deeper into the belly of this vile place. They had no idea you were not one of them, no clue that every word you spoke and every move you made was part of a carefully laid trap. The air around you was thick with malice, a foul concoction of despair, fear, and predatory intent.

Since taking the head of your family’s killer, there has been a void in your heart—one you filled with vengeance.

But now, you had a new purpose: to use your power to hunt down the worst of humanity, like this network of mafia traffickers.

Suddenly, your senses sharpened. You heard it—a soft, muffled cry—the children.

The group leader, a man with greasy hair and a twisted grin, laughed. “You hear them, little rascals?” he sneered, gesturing ahead with a perverse pride. “Got a fresh batch of chicklings just yesterday. Innocent, full of life... worth a lot more in certain markets, if you catch my drift..."

A wave of revulsion swept over you, but you kept your face steady, fighting internally the burning in your throat.

Sick bastards. That’s all they were to you. There was nothing more vile than preying upon children, tearing away their innocence, and selling their pain.

Once, you had believed killing was always wrong. But when faced with monsters like these, death seemed like the only solution.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right, Mistress?” The leader’s voice was thick with expectation, his beady eyes studying you for any sign of weakness.

You met his gaze with a cold, calculated, calm one. “The price is no problem, but I’ll need to see the ‘quality’ of the children you speak of to ensure they’re worth it,” you replied, playing along with his sick game. He grinned, his yellowed teeth bared like a predator sensing victory.

“Of course, my lady, right this way,” he said, gesturing for you to follow him up a rickety flight of stairs.

As you ascended, you noticed the tapes scattered on the floor—stacks of them carefully labeled and arranged. Your heart sank at the sight. You knew exactly what they were: recordings of abuse. Child pornography is waiting to be sold and distributed. Evidence of what these children had endured and what they were being forced to relive in the most horrific way possible.

Images of small, terrified faces pinned to the walls, some in tears, others with expressions frozen in fear, burned into your mind. You forced yourself to keep moving, to keep your eyes forward, your face blank. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to lash out, but you had to stay focused. You had to see this through.

When you reached the top, he led you to a door and pushed it open with a creak. Inside, the children were huddled together, wide-eyed and trembling. At the front stood a small boy with big gray eyes—"The runt." of the group. His clothes were torn, dirt smeared on his cheeks, but there was something in his gaze—a spark of defiance that hadn’t yet been snuffed out. The other children seemed to hover protectively around him, even in their weakened states.

“Well, what do you think of these little lambs?” the leader asked, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Aren’t they precious?”

You glanced at the children, your heart aching. For a split second, your gaze softened when you saw the small, porcelain-skinned boy, his eyes locked onto yours. He seemed to sense something in you, something different. You took a slow, steady breath, and without moving your lips, you mouthed, “I’m here to help.”

The boy’s grip on the bars loosened slightly. Hope flickered in his big gray eyes. You could feel the children’s fear and desperation mingling with a fragile thread of trust. They were so small, so fragile, yet somehow still fighting.

“They are precious,” you murmured, your voice taking on a steely edge. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

The men’s laughter faltered. They sensed the shift, but too late. You moved swiftly, raising your hand. A wall of stone shot up from the ground, separating the children from their captors. Panic spread among the men as they scrambled for their weapons, but you were already moving.

With a flick of your wrist, a vine extended from the stone wall, and in its grip, a sword was handed to you. The blade flashed, slicing through the air. In one swift motion, you severed their hands before they could draw their guns. Blood spattered against the walls, and the men screamed.

“You crazy bi—” one of them began, but his voice was cut off as you grabbed his face. Nen flames flared from your palm, melting his skin. His screams turned to a hideous, gurgling cry as you slammed him against the wall, against a picture of him touching one of the children.

“My flames are nothing compared to the ones you’ll face for eternity,” you said, your voice cold and unwavering.

"THE DEVIL! YOU'RE THE DEVIL!" he shrieked, his voice cracking in terror.

“YOU’LL GO TO HELL TOO!” another screamed.

You tilted your head slightly, unbothered. “I know,” you replied calmly. “And I’ll be right there with you... to make sure you suffer.”

With a final, furious surge of nen, you let the flames consume him, his body twitching as the fire took hold. One by one, the men fell, their screams swallowed by the inferno of your rage.

The air thickened with the stench of burning flesh, but all you felt was a calm, cold satisfaction. You took a deep breath, letting the fire die down, leaving only smoldering ashes behind.

The floor was now slick with blood, staining everything it touched. You closed your eyes and focused, drawing on your nen, the energy that flowed through your very being. You felt a ripple within yourself, a gathering of moisture in your veins, pulling towards your fingertips. With a single thought, you summoned it forth.

20%

A small, shimmering blob of water began to form, hovering just above your palm. It glistened with a faint blue hue, infused with your nen—your life force flowing through it. The water was more than liquid; it was an extension of your will, a manifestation of the purity and cleansing you desired.

You moved your hand slowly, and the blob expanded, reaching toward the crimson stains that pooled on the floor. It touched the blood, and a strange, almost serene reaction occurred. The nen-infused water seemed to drink up the blood, absorbing it into its depths, turning it from a crystalline blue to a dark, murky red. It quivered and shifted, gathering every last drop, until the floor was clean.

Once it was done, you flicked your wrist, and the blood-tainted water dissipated into steam, evaporating into the air. The scent of iron and smoke faded, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of moisture.

You turned to the vine still hanging from the wall. “Take the corpses to another room,” you said softly. “I don’t want the children to see this.”

The vine extended, wrapping around the charred remains and dragging them away, leaving the room clear. You watched it go, feeling a pang of sorrow in your chest. “I’m sorry, Mother,” you whispered, “but someone has to purge the evil, right?”

The vine nodded as if in understanding and vanished into the shadows.

With the room now clear, you lowered the stone wall, allowing the children to see. They were still huddled together, wide-eyed, trembling, but there was a new light in their eyes—a glimmer of hope.

You kneeled, using a tiny flame to illuminate the room gently. “You’re safe now,” you said softly, your voice switching to a delicate tone.

The small, marble-eyed boy stepped forward. His hand slipped into yours, his grip surprisingly strong for his size. “You back came for us?” he whispered, his voice shaking but resolute.

You nodded, squeezing his hand gently, a warm smile breaking through your hardened expression. “Always.”

The children began to move toward you, timid at first, then with growing confidence, their small hands reaching out, seeking comfort. For now, at least, they were safe.

And you would make sure it stayed that way.

It was mostly your funding that kept the orphanages in Meteor City from crumbling. Your money was funneled into the broken, forgotten corners of the city where children like Chrollo and his friends sought refuge. You couldn’t always be there, but when you were, you made it count—your presence, your touch, your attention. That was the difference, wasn’t it? You had to put your wealth somewhere, after all—unlike Ging or Pariston, whose fortunes seemed to disappear into the wind, chasing their whims. For you, though, Meteor City had become an escape, a place to atone for the things you couldn’t control.

But it was more than duty, wasn’t it?

Chrollo had bonded to you in a way that you hadn’t expected. The other children admired you, but he worshiped you. His innocence clung to you, unsettling and infectious, dragging you into a world where, for brief moments, you almost believed you could be more than just a Hunter. That you could be someone who stayed.

It was one of those quiet, unguarded moments when you found yourself in Meteor City again, his small, frail body curled up against yours on his bed, his head tucked beneath your chin as if he could melt into your very being. His face pressed into your chest, and his small hands clung to your shirt as if you were his entire world.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice soft, pleading. His wide gray eyes blinked up at you, still so full of that childlike adoration that made your chest tighten painfully. He didn’t understand—how could he? He was too young, too innocent.

You combed your fingers through his shaggy, jet-black hair, pretending it didn’t hurt to hear him ask. Pretending it didn’t make you feel like you were betraying something inside yourself. The glow from the window—the familiar golden light of dawn—signaled your impending departure. Mother Nature, it seemed, always knew when it was time to pull you away. You would have to leave again. You always left.

But not yet.

“Okay,” you whispered, the lie slipping from your lips like it always did. “I’ll stay.” You tucked his head back against your chest, hoping to drown his fears in the safety of your embrace. He felt so small compared to you, so fragile. You held him tighter, but no matter how tightly you cradled him, you knew it wouldn’t be enough. You couldn’t stay.

He sighed, his words soft and filled with frustration. “I wish you were just a normal girl. Not the Great Hunter. They always take you away from me.”

The weight of his words crushed your chest. You swallowed hard, burying the guilt and sorrow that always surfaced in these moments. He was just a boy, after all—a boy who didn’t know what it meant to live a life like yours. His love was simple, innocent, and untainted by the reality that you could never be what he wanted you to be.

He sighed again, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s not fair. You’re just a kid like me, but it’s like... you’re not. You’re stronger, taller... you have magic. You’re not afraid of anything.” His sleepy eyes blinked up at you, half-lidded, his gaze lingering on your face as if you were the only thing keeping him from falling asleep. “You’re so cool, Y/N.”

You forced a smile, your heart aching with every word. How could he say these things so easily, not knowing the storm they stirred within you? You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be feeling this pull toward him, this unbearable conflict between duty and something else—something darker, something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I want to be strong like you,” he continued, his voice fading as sleep began to pull him under. “Then I’ll be the one to save you.”

You let out a chuckle, though it felt hollow. “Oh really? I can’t wait to see you try.” Your voice was soft and gentle, as if you could keep him safe from the weight of your feelings. But even as you spoke, your gaze lingered on his longer than it should have. The way his eyes—those innocent gray eyes—held yours made something inside you crack. You didn’t want to look away.

And yet, you had to.

As Chrollo yawned, his body slowly relaxing into the warmth of your embrace, your heart clenched in that familiar, bittersweet way. You knew what was coming next—the moment when he would fall asleep, and you’d have to leave. You always left. He knew it too, even if he didn’t say it. His eyes fought against the sleep pulling him under as if staying awake would keep you there just a little longer.

You should go. You needed to go. But instead, you held him close, brushing your thumb along his cheek, tracing the outline of his pale face. He murmured something so soft, so quiet, you almost didn’t hear it.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart shattered.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You didn’t respond. How could you? What could you say to that? You weren’t supposed to feel this way. You weren’t supposed to let it hurt. And yet, his innocent words cut deeper than any wound you had ever known.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you cradled his face in your hands, letting the silence fill the space between you. Your mind and heart were at war, clashing violently as you tried to convince yourself that you felt nothing for this boy—nothing beyond duty, beyond the role you were meant to play.

But his words lingered. His love lingered. And it was killing you.

Only you could carry this burden. You had to ensure that you were the last shepherd, even if you were just a broken saint now.

And when he called, you would answer, no matter how much time had passed since that harrowing incident.

Isaac Netero’s familiar contact flashed onto your phone just as you returned to your quiet estate. The grand home, surrounded by vast lands, had become your sanctuary—where time seemed to stand still. Bamboo trees swayed in the wind, whispering secrets you couldn’t quite hear, and the rustle of leaves was like a lullaby to your broken spirit. This land, untouched and isolated, had become your refuge. Here, you could pretend the world had forgotten you, just as you had tried to ignore it.

You rarely needed to leave; everything you required, you grew with your own hands. The earth was rich and forgiving; the bamboo was tall and kind, your only companions, as well as the critters that inhabited the land, your only solace. They tried to aid in healing your scars, though they only made the loss more bearable. They connected you to reality, keeping you grounded and pulling you back from the edge whenever you felt yourself slipping away. They depended on you as much as you did on them. 

But even Mother Nature, with all her quiet persistence, couldn’t fill the gaping void left by your loss. She could only make the emptiness more bearable, less suffocating.

You had given in to the silence, but she hadn’t given up on you. Yet the moment Netero’s contact appeared, the corpse of your heart couldn’t help but beat with a retired purpose you knew you could no longer fulfill.

Still, your hands, worn and deft, quickly picked up the phone, bringing it to your ear.

“Y/N L/N. Think you have a chance to talk, my dear?”

His familiar, softened gruff voice was a reminder of how time had aged him, even though he had left you with so many unanswered questions. He was still your father in many ways.

But you were now Netero’s little fallen general.

“I’m here,” you replied, your voice a ghost of itself, as if unused to forming words meant for anyone else. “It's good to hear your voice. I would ask, How have you been?”

“I am well, Father,” you cut in, a weary undertone threading through your words. “Trying to keep the ground from swallowing me whole.”

A heavy silence fell between you, a shared history that neither of you wanted to address hanging thick in the air. Netero sighed, his voice dipping into a tone you had not heard in years—gentle, almost pleading. 

“Y/N…”

You remained silent, unyielding, waiting for him to continue.

“Listen to me, just this once,” he started, but you interrupted again, sharper this time, like a blade cutting through the fog.

“My nen is gone, Isaac," you said, each word deliberate and hard. "There’s nothing more to that story. There is no Master of the Hunters anymore.”

The silence that followed was colder, heavier. You could almost hear him wince at the use of his first name, a name you rarely called him. You knew it hurt him—that it stripped away the façade he liked to wear around you.

He hesitated, then took a deep breath, his voice laced with quiet desperation. “I'm not asking for her to listen to me,” he said carefully. “I'm asking for you, Y/N.”

Your gaze drifted to the bamboo outside, watching the stalks bend and sway in the wind. There was a part of you that wanted to hang up, to let the silence consume you once more, but another part—a faint, barely alive spark—kept you on the line.

“There is a young man,” Netero continued, “who is the spitting reincarnation of you."

Your chest tightened, the ache spreading like a slow poison through your veins. You swallowed, but it felt like shards of glass in your throat.

Netero’s voice softened, almost as if he were trying to soothe a frightened child. “I know I pushed you to retire early, and for that, I am sorry,” he confessed, his words heavy with regret. “I couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen if the wrong people found out you had lost your nen. But this boy—he needs someone who can show him the way. Someone who can give him a chance to choose a different path. A scent he can follow.”

He paused, the weight of his words settling into the air between you. “None of us can do that.”

A flicker of frustration sparked within you, threatening to crack the numbness you had wrapped around yourself like armor. You closed your eyes, the familiar heaviness of duty pressing against your chest. "Why... why do you always drag me back, Isaac?" you murmured, your voice almost devoid of emotion, a whisper lost in the wind.

“Because,” he replied softly, his voice steady but filled with quiet insistence, “you lost your nen, but you didn’t lose everything. I couldn’t save you from your fate... but you can save him before he makes the same mistake.”

For a moment, the world outside seemed to be still. The bamboo stopped swaying, the wind held its breath, and even the critters paused their quiet movements. Everything waited for you to decide whether you would let yourself be pulled back into the life you had tried so hard to leave behind.

A slow exhale escaped your lips, and your grip tightened around the phone. Maybe it wasn’t about saving yourself. Maybe it was about saving someone else—just one more time.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally whispered, knowing you were already halfway convinced.

Netero's sigh of relief was almost inaudible, but you felt it—a soft echo in your chest. "That's all I ask," he said gently. "Just think about it."

And with that, the call ended, leaving you standing alone in the quiet of your sanctuary, the wind picking up again, the bamboo swaying once more.

For the first time in a long time, you felt the stirrings of something beyond emptiness—a faint, fragile thing that might have been hope.

You let yourself fall back against the mat, feeling the familiar, frayed edges pressing into your back. Your phone lay loosely in your grip, screen dark, but its weight still anchored you to the moment. You stared blankly at the stone pond before you, the water still and silent under the overcast sky. But inside, that gnawing feeling had grown stronger, louder, and more insistent. The doubt and emptiness you had tried so hard to bury now surged to the surface like a wave, threatening to swallow you whole.

Then you saw her—the familiar, ethereal form rising from the pond—"Mother," your nen-made spirit, tilting her head at you, trying to read the emotions you kept so tightly locked away. Her shape shimmered and wavered, the liquid surface of her body catching the dim light, reflecting a thousand tiny, dancing fragments of your surroundings.

“You’re cruel...” you muttered, not bothering to lift your head. You didn’t need to see her to know she was there, watching you with a concern you could not bear. The water spirit hovered closer, her presence radiating a gentle insistence. A wave of water reached out, almost like a hand, and as she moved, droplets broke away and splattered onto your face. The cool water trickled down your skin, obliging you to finally look up and meet her gaze.

Her expression was unreadable, but the tension in her form, the way her edges seemed to blur and tremble, told you everything. She was worried. She is always worried. Especially when you have attempted to end your suffering...

Seeing her like that... It only made the ache worse. It plagued you and gnawed at you like an open wound. You hated it. You hated feeling like this—so useless, so empty. Once, you had been so certain of your place in the world, so sure of your purpose. You had moved like a blade through the darkness, cutting down every evil in your path. You had saved countless lives and fought battles that others had deemed impossible. You mattered.

And now... now it felt like all of that was gone. Stripped away the moment your nen vanished. When it had left you, it had taken everything with it. Your sense of self, your purpose, your reason for being—it had all crumbled to dust, leaving nothing but a hollow shell behind.

"Quit it," you muttered, your voice low and tired. "I'm not in the mood."

But Mother didn’t listen. She never did. Instead, she moved closer, her form rippling like a soft wave, the water elongating until it seemed to reach across the space between you. With a sudden, playful motion, she curled around your feet, a cold grip tightening around your ankles. Before you could protest, she yanked you off the mat, dragging you across the ground.

“Really?” You groaned, exasperation flaring. You knew what she was doing. She was trying to wake you up, to stir something inside you. “Cut it out, Mother.”

She didn’t respond. The water around your ankles tightened, and with another tug, she lifted you upside down, your hair falling toward the ground. The blood rushed to your head, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented. For a moment, you dangled there like a rag doll over the pond, your feet held aloft by a watery tendril.

You found yourself staring directly into her face—or what passed for a face—her liquid eyes focused intently on you, unblinking, unwavering. She was demanding your attention, forcing you to look at her to confront whatever was buried deep inside. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the gentle slosh of water moving with every slight motion.

“I said quit it,” you repeated, a hint of irritation in your voice. But she didn’t budge. Her expression seemed almost stern. The water droplets that made up her body shivered slightly, as if she were speaking a language only you could understand.

Mother’s form shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her head tilted again, and for a second, she almost seemed to frown. The water that held you up began to twist and turn, slowly spinning you in the air as if examining you from every angle. Her touch was cold, but there was something else there—something gentle, almost comforting, beneath the chill. She wouldn’t let you hide from this. She wouldn’t let you sink back into the darkness you’d been wallowing in for so long.

“Quit it, Mother,” you muttered, voice strained, but there was no real fight in your tone. You were too exhausted to fight her, too tired to do much more than dangle there, your heart heavy and your purpose frayed.

Mother, ever persistent, moved the water around you in a swirl, as if shaping something from the depths of her core. You felt a coldness, a thin sheet of water sliding up to your face, and then you saw it—your reflection mirrored perfectly in the water.

But Mother didn’t stop there. Slowly, deliberately, she turned the reflection around.

Your eyes widened as you caught sight of your own back and your skin. The large, red Hunter symbol emblazoned between your shoulder blades, stark against your flesh, with the L/N family symbols woven underneath, bearing the phrase that had once given you strength:

"No child left behind." 

The words, so familiar, stared back at you with a cruel clarity. Your vow, your creed. The promise you had whispered to yourself a thousand times over, in the darkest nights, in the quiet moments of despair. The very words you had once tattooed onto your skin were like armor against the world.

Your breath caught in your throat. You tried to look away, but Mother twisted the mirror slightly, making sure you couldn’t escape it.

The reminder was as sharp as a blade, cutting through your excuses and your self-pity.

You were The Great Hunter, not because of the nen you wielded, but because of the promise you had made. Because of the innocent you had sworn to protect.

Mother watched, her watery eyes soft but firm, refusing to release you until the weight of that reflection settled back into your bones.

You sighed, a long, tired exhale, and for a moment, just a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the ache of that old purpose stirring within you.

She stared back, unyielding. Her watery surface rippled slightly, as if in response to your unspoken thoughts, and you felt a tear prick at the corner of your eye. A tear you quickly blink away. The silence stretched on, filled with everything you weren't saying—filled with all the things she knew you didn’t want to admit.

You sighed, feeling the fight leave you, your shoulders slumping. “Fine. Fine, you win,” you said quietly, feeling defeated, but in a way that almost felt like relief. She had always been there to stop you from corrupting yourself, always pushing you, always forcing you to face the things you wanted to ignore. And now, as much as you hated to admit it, you needed her to do it again.

You felt her release your ankles, and for a moment, you simply stood there, breathing, your heartbeat slowing, the cool air biting at your skin. She hovered closer, her watery hand reaching out as if to touch your face, but she hesitated, just a fraction of an inch away. You stared into her eyes, feeling something inside you break loose like a dam giving way.

You hated this... You hated feeling like you were nothing. Like you were just a vessel for the person you used to be.

Your Nen was gone, but you were still here. That gnawing, insatiable need to matter, to make a difference, was still there, burning quietly beneath the surface.

You took a breath, your fingers tightening around the phone still in your hand. "Alright," you whispered, almost to yourself. "Alright, I'll do it."

Mother seemed to shimmer, her form brightening slightly as if she were smiling. Her droplets swirled around you, a gentle, swirling dance of liquid light like she was encouraging you, cheering you on.

Your thumb moved over the phone screen, almost of its own accord, and you found Netero’s name again, hesitating for just a heartbeat before you pressed the call button. The phone rang once, twice, and then his voice came through—calm but expectant as if he had known you would call back.

“Y/N?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, steeling yourself, and then spoke, your voice steady. “Where is he?”

You stepped off the airship, choosing to take a more grounded approach this time. It had been so long since you walked among society; today, you wanted to feel the earth beneath your feet and hear the noise of life all around you. Normally, you would have flown in on Khan, your Seraphrid—a creature resembling a winged horse, only larger and more formidable, a loyal companion since your youth. But today felt different.

As expected, Khan had already beaten you here. His sleek, black form stood tall among the trees, his six powerful legs moving with an elegance that defied his size. His head was turned in your direction, and the two long, string-like antennae that served as his natural bridle extended, sensing your presence. They wrapped around your arm, their touch gentle but firm, syncing with the veins on the underside of your wrist. The bond was immediate, an ancient connection that required no words.

With a familiar pull, you mounted him, his raised hoof serving as a stepping stool, an unspoken offer only the two of you understood. You clicked your tongue softly, a signal you’d always used, and he responded with a low, rumbling neigh that resonated through your bones.

Khan didn’t need instructions. He read your intentions through the link you shared, feeling the subtle shifts in your thoughts and emotions. He began to trot into the dense forest, guided by your thoughts alone, the rhythm of his steps matching the cadence of your heartbeat.

Netero had informed you that the young man, the one you were to meet, was training in these woods. He had given you the young man’s contact information, though he had been elusive with any real details. When you had pressed for more information, Netero had only chuckled, his words tinged with mystery: “You’ll see...”

Typical of him to leave you to uncover the truth on your own, to dig up the bone yourself, like always. As Khan weaved through the thick underbrush, you found yourself wondering about this boy. What was it about him that had made Netero reach out to you after all this time? What was so special that it warranted pulling you back into this world?

The dense forest began to thin, opening into a sun-dappled clearing. Khan slowed to a gentle canter, his antennae twitching as if sensing something ahead. You felt it too—a presence, quiet yet intense, like a heartbeat echoing through the trees.

This had to be the place. As you dismounted, Khan’s gaze remained fixed forward, his body tense and alert. You patted his side, reassuring him, and he relaxed slightly, though his eyes never wavered from whatever lay beyond the clearing.

You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar stir of curiosity and something deeper—something that felt like the whisper of purpose reigniting within you. Stepping forward, you moved into the clearing, ready to meet the young man Netero had sent you to find, ready to face whatever awaited you on the other side.

You dismounted slowly, your feet sinking into the damp earth as the coolness of the soil crept up through your boots, grounding you in the present moment. The clearing before you stretched wide, dappled sunlight breaking through the thick canopy above, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of moss and earth, a living, breathing presence around you. Khan stood tall beside you, his powerful form coiled with restrained energy, his antennae twitching in tune with the undercurrent of tension that rippled from you like a stone dropped in water.

Ahead, the low murmur of voices reached your ears, punctuated by the rhythmic clack of wood striking wood and the sharp rustle of leaves disturbed by quick, deliberate movements. You moved forward slowly, cautiously, each step bringing the sounds into sharper clarity. As you reached the edge of the clearing, you paused, taking in the scene before you.

Two figures moved with practiced grace, their forms entwined in a dance of combat, their bodies speaking a language of strength and discipline. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, had a presence that radiated intensity and control—Izunavi, a hunter you had known from years ago. His sharp, unwavering gaze and the calm precision of his movements marked him as a hunter, one who had taught countless others the art of survival.

But it was the boy who drew your attention.

He was younger than you had imagined, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a halo, his eyes narrowed in concentration, a fierce determination burning in their depths. His posture was taut, muscles coiled and ready, every motion calculated and precise as he mirrored Izunavi’s steps, his gaze never faltering, never leaving his mentor for even a heartbeat. His body moved with the grace of a predator, but there was a tension there—a rawness, a desperation that was almost painful to watch.

So this was Kurapika.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was like staring into a ghost, a specter of who you had once been—a younger self, with that same consuming fire, that same drive, that same reckless need to prove something to a world that had never shown mercy. You recognized the look in his eyes immediately. You had seen it in your reflection, in the faces of those you had saved and those you had failed. The beast of burden lay heavy in his gaze, the weight of vengeance familiar darkness that seemed to clutch at his very soul.

He was still a child. Just as you had been—a child thrust into a world too cruel and too vast, carrying a burden too heavy for shoulders so young. You lingered in the shadows, your heart tightening in your chest, a sense of foreboding curling in your gut. Finally, you decided to step forward, your presence pressing through the air like a ripple in still water.

Izunavi’s movements stilled. He sensed you first, his eyes flickering toward you, his expression a mask of calm neutrality, though you saw the faint recognition behind his eyes. His stance eased, a subtle acknowledgment. Kurapika followed his gaze, turning to face you, and the intensity of his scrutiny hit you like a blow—a look so piercing it seemed to strip away layers, searching, demanding answers before he even spoke.

“Master,” Izunavi greeted, his tone respectful but carrying a hint of something harder beneath. "Netero told me you might be dropping by."

"Y/N," you corrected, voice soft but firm. Each syllable felt heavy in your mouth, burdened by the memories of your past. You inclined your head slightly, stepping fully into the clearing, moving with purpose, though a knot tightened in your stomach. "It’s been a while, Izunavi," you said, your voice sounding almost foreign to your ears. "I see you’ve taken on another pupil."

Izunavi nodded. "One with a special kind of determination," he replied, a note of pride softening his otherwise stern demeanor. He glanced at Kurapika, who stood like a coiled spring, ready to snap. "Kurapika, this is Y/N L/N—once known as Master Hunter, The Great Hunter, the Hound of the Hunters… too many names to count."

Kurapika’s eyes widened slightly at the sound of your name. Recognition flickered across his features—his expression shifting from curiosity to something deeper, something darker. You could almost see the thoughts racing behind his gaze, the questions forming, and the curiosity and anger mingling in a storm of emotion.

Netero had left you a note from the first examiner of the 287th Hunter Exam: "Kurapika Kurta said he wishes to become a Hunter to exact revenge on the Phantom Troupe and seek aid from the Master Hunter." The Phantom Troupe, a name you had only heard in passing, a whisper of a threat, a gang too small to matter back then. But now, seeing Kurapika’s face, you realize how much had changed and how much you had missed.

“Where were you that day?” Kurapika’s voice was low but steady, each word laced with a simmering rage that seemed barely contained. "I read stories about you... Master Hunter, the one who made crime vanish like mist before the sun. When my people were slaughtered, I didn’t fear, because I knew—you would come. You would hunt them down for me."

The pain in his voice was like a knife twisting in your chest. “I waited years for you! Held onto that hope until I had no choice but to become the hunter I needed.”

His voice cracked, but the fury within it did not waver. "You let them walk this earth after what they did to me... to my people." His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white, his breath ragged. And then you saw it—the flash of scarlet behind his gray contacts, the burning rage of his clan's curse, the anger and grief all mixed into one volatile storm.

A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard against it. The weight of his accusation bore down on you like a physical force. In your absence, the world had shifted and twisted, and you had been powerless to stop it. You had lost your Nen that day, the day you had lost everything.

That’s why you weren’t there.

The same beast of burden now latched onto him had once latched onto you. You had failed him, and his words cut deep into whatever was left of your fractured soul. If only you had known... If only you had hunted them when they were small, a mere whisper of a threat. If only…

But you hadn’t. And now you were facing the result of that failure.

Your silence hung heavy in the air. You felt the burn in your eyes, the sting in your throat, and the weight of every decision and every choice you had made that led to this moment. There was nothing you could say to erase the pain in his eyes—the sense of betrayal that seemed to radiate from him like heat.

Kurapika's expression hardened, his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing to slits. “I need justice,” he said, his voice colder now, like a blade drawn against a stone.

You drew a deep breath, fighting against the rising tide of emotion within you. “Justice is a fine line, Kurapika,” you replied quietly, meeting his gaze with a steady resolve. “And revenge can blur it until you don’t know which side you’re on.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a mixture of fury and something deeper—something fragile and almost broken. He turned away, shoulders tense, his footsteps heavy, as if carrying the weight of the world on his back. A part of you wanted to reach out, to stop him, to pull him back from the edge. But you knew better than to force it. He had to find his way, just as you had.

“Kurap-” Izunavi began, his voice edged with concern, but you raised a hand, silencing him. Your eyes remained on Kurapika’s retreating form, watching as he disappeared into the trees, swallowed by the shadows.

“Let him go,” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. "I’ll talk to him later... once he’s cooled off."

Izunavi hesitated but finally nodded, trusting your judgment. You stared into the forest where Kurapika had vanished, the weight of his words still heavy on your heart. You knew that if he continued on this path, it would lead only to more pain and more loss. You weren’t sure you could bear to watch someone else descend into the same darkness that had swallowed you whole.

You had to try for his sake and yours.

“How far is he in his Nen?” you asked, breaking the stillness. Izunavi turned, his expression solemn.

“He's a determined, quick learner, but he’s already made those terrible vows for his Nen ability. It’s been five months since he started, and he’s planning something for September 1st.”

Next month, you thought. Not much time. “Is it related to the Troupe?”

“Positive.” Izunavi’s response was immediate; his voice edged with tension.

You sighed deeply, feeling the familiar heaviness in your chest. Another lost child, another soul standing at a precipice. The memory of the children from Meteor City flickered in your mind—those small, eager faces filled with both mischief and hope. Even now, you could remember the way they looked up to you, their eyes wide with wonder and something more—something like belief.

Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks—all those troublemakers who had once felt like yours in some way despite being the same age. You had often wondered where they were now, how life had treated them, and if they had stayed on the path you had hoped for them. Maybe, when all of this was over, you’d find them again. Just to see. Just to know.

Izunavi’s voice pulled you back. “His vows are monstrous, Y/N. I don’t know what he sacrificed, but his chains are still out of control. He’s powerful, but he can’t command them yet.”

“Chains?” You repeated, an eyebrow arching in surprise. “That’s his ability?”

Izunavi nodded gravely. “Yes. He wants to bind the spiders to hell with them.”

A small, amused laugh slipped past your lips, as that did sound like something he would say. Then your expression turned serious. “Izunavi… I’ve lost my Nen. If I decide to teach this boy, will you be my eyes?”

Izunavi blinked, momentarily stunned, but he quickly nodded, his gaze steady and filled with a new understanding. “I will,” he promised softly. “But... are you ready for this?”

You took a breath, the weight of your own words settling within you. “I wasn’t Netero’s best hunter just because of my Nen.”

You could still feel Nen, even Mother’s Nen whenever she came to you, like a whisper at the back of your mind, a gentle reminder of the power that once flowed through you like a river. You hadn’t lost your instincts—if anything, losing your Nen had sharpened them. It was like losing a sense and gaining another. You could feel things now, in ways that other Nen users couldn’t—like sensing the shift in the air before a storm.

Izunavi hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, his voice a little softer, a little more unsure. “Y/N, you can do it? Teach him? With your Nen gone…?”

You looked at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “I can.”

Izunavi seemed to consider your words, then nodded again, more firmly this time. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be your eyes.”

Your gaze drifted toward the direction where Kurapika had stormed off, your thoughts tangled with the past and the present. You knew the path he was on—you had been there yourself once. And you didn’t want Kurapika to stain his hands as you had stained yours, even if it was for what you believed was “good.”

If you could help him find another way—if you could keep his hands clean, you would. You were willing to stain yours all over again for the sake of keeping him from the blood that had already marked too many lives.

You had to operate in his shadow. Teaching Kurapika while also trying to beat him to the Phantom Troupe would be no easy task—especially if you had to do it behind his back. There was still so much you didn’t know. The years you spent disconnected from society left gaps in your knowledge. You couldn’t deny it, and the thought made you clench your fist. At least you could still rely on the physical strength of the L/N bloodline—but even that might not be enough. What if the Phantom Troupe’s Nen abilities were stronger than you anticipated? If they were all together, no matter how much experience you had, they could easily overwhelm you by sheer numbers.

What if you couldn’t protect Kurapika? The thought sent a shiver up your spine.

This was a mess just waiting to explode.

Izunavi watched you quietly, sensing the shift in your mood, the old scars being reopened, and the new purpose forming in your heart. You felt the stirrings of a familiar resolve—a quiet, burning fire that refused to go out.

“Let’s start now,” you said, meeting Izunavi’s gaze with a calm but determined look. “We have until September 1st. I won’t let him fall.”

You followed Kurapika as the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. Shadows lengthened, and the woods grew quieter, the sounds of the day's creatures giving way to the night’s. You had given him time—enough time, you hoped—for his anger to cool and for his heart to steady. But you knew that the embers of rage didn’t die so easily; they could smolder for a long, long time.

You found him near the lake, sitting against a tree with his knees pulled up, his blonde hair catching the last rays of sunlight like threads of gold. He stared blankly ahead, lost in thought, his face a mask of quiet resolve. You watched him for a moment from a distance, letting your presence be felt without imposing yourself. You knew words wouldn’t be enough—not yet, not for a boy with a fresh wound.

Slowly, you made your way toward him, moving carefully and deliberately, leaving space for him to turn you away if he chose. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t push you away either. That, in itself, was something. You took a seat beside him, leaving enough distance between the two of you to let him feel unpressured but close enough that your presence was felt. You let the silence stretch, understanding that sometimes it was the only thing that could truly speak.

After a while, you finally broke the silence, your voice soft, almost tentative. "You want to hunt the Troupe, right?"

Kurapika didn’t move at first, his eyes still fixed on the water. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but resolved. “I don’t have a choice.”

The words hung between you, heavy with finality. You have heard that before, spoken in different ways by different people. It was always the same. A choice made in desperation, when the soul felt trapped by the past, by the need to correct something that could never truly be fixed.

“You always have a choice,” you replied softly, your tone neither reprimanding nor coddling. It was simply a statement of fact.

Kurapika shifted, his hands tightening around his knees. “Not when it comes to this. Not when it comes to them.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, studying the lines of tension etched across his young face. He was still so young—too young for this kind of rage to live so deeply inside him. But rage wasn’t something that cared for age, wisdom, or even reason. You knew that better than anyone.

“They took everything from me,” he continued, his voice harder now, laced with bitterness. “Everything. My family, my home, my future. I can’t just let that go!”

You exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh that was lost in the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting,” you said gently. “It doesn’t mean forgiving either. But this path you’re walking... It’s not just about revenge anymore. It’s about who you become at the end of it.”

Kurapika’s eyes flicked toward you then, sharp and wary like he was expecting a lecture he’d heard a thousand times before. But you weren’t here to preach.

“I’m not asking you to stop,” you clarified, your gaze still on the water, the gentle waves reflecting the dying light. “I know that’s not an option for you. But you need to be careful, Kurapika. Rage has a way of consuming everything in its path. It’ll burn through you if you’re not careful. Until there’s nothing left of the person you used to be.”

He was silent for a moment, absorbing your words. The tension in his body hadn’t lessened, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—uncertainty, perhaps. Or maybe it was understanding.

“I can control it,” he said, his voice quieter now, but the determination in it was unmistakable. “I have to.”

You nodded slightly, acknowledging his resolve. “Control is important. But you also need balance. Power without purpose is dangerous, even to yourself.”

Kurapika frowned, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Purpose? My purpose is to kill them.”

You turned to face him fully then, your eyes locking onto his. “And after that? What happens when they’re gone? What’s left for you?”

The question caught him off guard. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. For a moment, the hard façade he had built around himself seemed to crack, and you saw the lost boy beneath. A boy who had lost everything and didn’t know how to live without his hatred to guide him.

“That’s why I’m here,” you continued, your voice softening. “I’ve walked this path before. I know where it leads. If you’re not careful, you’ll reach the end of it and find that nothing is waiting for you on the other side. Nothing but emptiness.”

Kurapika’s hands slowly unclenched, his fingers tracing the edge of his sleeves as if grounding himself in the present moment. He didn’t say anything, but you could see the conflict in his eyes.

You reached out then, gently placing your hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort. “I’m not saying this to stop you,” you said, your voice low, almost a whisper. “But I am saying you need to think about what comes next. After the bloodshed. After the vengeance. What will you be left with?”

Kurapika lowered his head, the weight of your words sinking in. The silence stretched between you again, but this time it wasn’t filled with tension. It was a moment of quiet reflection.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice barely audible.

You gave a small nod, squeezing his shoulder lightly before pulling your hand back. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know yet. Just... don’t lose yourself in the process.”

For a long moment, Kurapika didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the ground, deep in thought. When he finally looked up, there was a new clarity in his eyes, though the fire still burned there, too. He wasn’t ready to let go of his vengeance, but at least now he was starting to see the danger in letting it consume him completely.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than before.

You nodded again, satisfied for now. It was a start. He would need time to fully understand what you meant, but at least the seed had been planted. And as much as you wanted to protect him from the pain of the path he was walking, you knew he had to walk it for himself. All you could do was guide him along the way.

As the last traces of daylight disappeared from the sky, you stood up, brushing the dirt from your pants. “Come on,” you said, offering him a hand. “Let’s head back before it gets too dark.”

Kurapika hesitated for a moment before accepting your hand, pulling himself up to his feet. He stood beside you, his gaze lingering on the horizon for just a moment longer before he nodded, turning to follow you back toward the camp.

As you walked side by side, the soft sounds of the night surrounding you, you couldn’t help but glance at him, the weight of the future heavy between you both.

The journey was far from over...

© eyesofbong. All rights reserved. Do not plagiarize my work. If you see this content on any account that is not mine, please report it. My work is only available on this platform and on AO3 under the name @eyesofbong

◇━━━ Breakin' Tiles!

a/n note. I wanted to see if I could still write smut while I was completely butt ass naked in the bath—definitely not inspired by my bathing daydreams or anything! Who created this picture?! @luvhiso and I couldn't find it anywhere; we could only track down the official art sketch. If anyone knows, please reach out to either Smiley or me so I can give proper credit. ♡

pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader

◇ warning. Let's see here, 18+ MDNI, explicit rough sex, shower sex, blowjob (m receiving), face fucking, throat bulging, cum swallowing, floor sex, p in v, fem bodied reader, unprotected sex, creampie, he uses nen on your pussy (?!)

sypnosis. Grief-stricken by Uvogin’s recent death, Chrollo seeks solace in you, and before he departs to steal Neon’s nen, you offer yourself to him, allowing him to release his sorrow through your sweet cunt in the shower. 

word count. 3.8k

Chrollo’s gray-hued gaze bore down on you, cold with the lingering cloud of fresh grief. Despite his mind being far away, he was studying your submission, savoring how low you’d sunk—on your knees, cunt throbbing, mouth-watering, waiting for his command. His gaze, distant and gloomy, only made your desperation worse. You were nothing more than a devoted whore for him, and the shame of it made you wetter, your swollen folds practically begging for release. But that wouldn’t come until he decided. Until you earned it.

You didn’t care that your knees ached, and bruised from kneeling on the cold tile. That pain was a dull throb, nothing compared to the fire raging between your legs. Every second of his silence was unbearable, his unreadable glare making your heart race, your lips parting to catch your breath. You licked them instinctively, eyes wide and worshipful, as if his body were the only thing you lived for.

Chrollo’s body was your altar, and his cock… your offering.

It dangerously loomed before you, impossibly thick and heavy, veins bulging like they were about to burst under the pressure. The fat, swollen head dripped with precum, the thick liquid oozing down the length of his shaft. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it, couldn’t stop the way your body ached with need, the slick between your legs running down your thighs. His cock curved slightly upward, the tip an angry, dark red, so close you could almost taste it. Your cunt clenched at the sight, your body already begging for him to fill you, stretch you until you broke.

Your trembling fingers reached out, wrapping around the base of his cock, feeling it throb against your palm. His skin was hot, slick with water and precum, and you felt his desire pulse under your grip like a second heartbeat. Your hand barely fit around the girth, and the sheer size of him made your mouth go dry with anticipation. You knew that once you took him in, he’d wreck you, ruin you, and the thought made your pussy clench in anticipation.

You leaned in, your tongue slipping out, eager to taste him. The first lick was tentative, a soft swipe along the underside of his shaft, but the salty bitterness of precum and water made you shiver. You licked again, firmer this time, dragging your tongue up the thick vein that ran along his length. Chrollo’s cock twitched in your grip, a silent order for you to keep going. His hand clamped down on your head, fingers digging into your scalp, forcing your mouth to take him.

You gasped as he guided you, your lips parting to take in the swollen head, your tongue swirling around the tip as precum flooded your mouth. He tasted filthy—bitter, salty, and thick, making your throat tighten, but the feeling of submission only made you wetter. His cock was heavy on your tongue, stretching your lips as you took more of him, inch by inch until you were choking on his length. The pressure of him against your throat was unbearable, but you didn’t stop, your cunt dripping onto the shower tiles as you worshipped him with your mouth.

Chrollo’s grip tightened, his hips pushing forward, forcing you to take him deeper. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you gagged around his cock, the obscene, wet sounds of your mouth echoing in the shower. He was relentless, using your mouth like it was nothing more than a toy for his pleasure. The thought of it, the humiliation, made your pussy gush, your whole body trembling as you gave yourself over to him completely.

You moved with him, your body syncing with his rhythm as he forced himself deeper down your throat. Each brutal thrust sent a shiver through you, the bulge of his cock visibly stretching your throat as he plunged in and out. The crushing grip he had on your head only made you slobber more, spit dripping down your chin and onto your chest as he fucked your mouth mercilessly. If he pressed harder, he could easily pop your head like a melon, and that knowledge—how close he was to destroying you—only made you more desperate to please him.

His cock hit the back of your throat repeatedly, a violent rhythm that left you gagging and choking, your eyes watering as his heavy, porcelain balls slapped wetly against your chin with each thrust. The obscene, wet slap, slap of his balls against your face echoed in the shower, mixing with the sound of your choked breaths and the filthy squelch of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. He was relentless and rough, and it felt like he was using your mouth to rid himself of every bit of grief weighing him down.

And yet, even as he used you, you felt like you were giving him something—sucking the sadness out of him, your mouth offering a kind of solace. His gaze darkened, the icy detachment in his gray eyes cracking slightly. His lips remained pressed into a thin line, but the tension was there, building, about to snap.

His eyes, though—there was a flicker of something behind them now, something more primal, more raw. You felt it. He was losing his control, bit by bit. And you wanted to see him break, wanted to watch the stoic mask crumble and reveal the feral lust underneath. You craved it, to make him lose himself completely, to pull him back to life with your touch, your mouth.

Your hand slid up his thigh as you deepened your suction, hollowing your cheeks around him, pulling him deeper with each thrust. The guttural groan that escaped his throat sent a thrill through you, your cunt clenching at the sound of it. You were so close to unraveling him, to make him forget everything except the feeling of your mouth and the heat of your body.

You sucked harder, your tongue swirling around the thick veins of his cock, savoring the salt of his precum. His grip tightened, his hips jerking forward more erratically now. His breathing was ragged, lips parting as his control slipped away. You could feel it in the way his cock twitched, the way his balls tightened as he neared his breaking point.

This was what you wanted—to bring him to the edge, to make him lose himself in you completely, to watch the cold, distant Chrollo unravel into something raw and primal, just for you.

His cock twitched violently in your mouth, thick and pulsing as he reached the brink. Without warning, his grip on your head tightened to a vice-like hold, shoving you down until your nose was pressed against his pelvis. You felt him hit the back of your throat and beyond, your airway constricting as your lips stretched around him, eyes watering. He groaned, low and primal, as the first hot, thick spurt of cum exploded down your throat. It hit so fast that you barely had time to process it, let alone breathe.

Wave after wave of his cum flooded your mouth, sliding down your throat in thick ropes, overwhelming your senses. You gagged, throat convulsing around his cock, but he didn’t let up—forcing every last drop down until you were choking on it, gasping for air. Gulp. Gulp. The filthy sound of you swallowing echoed in the shower, his cock twitching with each swallow, as if marking every bit of control he had over you.

You could barely keep up, his cum spilling from your lips, dripping down your chin in messy, obscene strands. But he wasn’t finished. Just as the last tremor of his orgasm wracked his body, he yanked his cock from your mouth with a slick, wet pop, leaving you gasping, drooling, and cum still leaking from your parted lips. You barely had time to recover before his hands were on you, dragging you up like you weighed nothing, your legs shaking from the intensity of it all.

Without a word, he slammed you against the glass wall of the shower, your back hitting the cold surface with a sharp slap. The shock of it sent a jolt through your body, your bare skin sticking to the fogged-up glass, wet from the steam and your sweat. You let out a needy, breathless whine, your body trembling as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart, his cum still clinging to your lips.

Before you could catch your breath, his lips brushed your ear, his voice dark and commanding. "You're going to take it," he growled, his tone sending a fresh wave of arousal straight to your core. "Take it all."

His words were like fire, setting your nerves alight. You felt the heavy weight of his cock—still rock hard—press against your slick entrance, the head teasing your swollen folds. Your pussy throbbed, drenched, and aching to be filled. You whimpered, your body betraying you as your hips shifted forward, desperate for him to stretch you, to fuck you senseless.

He didn’t hesitate. His cock shoved into you in one brutal, unforgiving thrust, your slick walls parting around him with a wet squelch. The stretch was instant, the thick girth of him forcing you open, your pussy swallowing him greedily, your head thrown back against the glass as you let out a strangled moan. The sharp slap of his hips against yours echoed through the shower, each thrust deeper than the last, his cock plunging into you like he was claiming you, owning every inch of your body.

“You feel that?” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice barely above a growl as he buried himself inside you, his hips grinding against yours, forcing you to take every inch. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be fucked until you can’t even think?”

You could barely respond, your mind blank from the overwhelming pressure of him filling you, stretching you so wide it hurt—but in the best way. Every thrust hit deep, dragging a filthy, wet sound from your cunt, the tight space between your bodies slick with your arousal. His balls slapped against your ass with each brutal thrust, the obscene smack of skin on skin only heightening the filthy scene, making you tremble.

Your legs were shaking, barely able to hold you up as he pounded into you, pushing you harder against the glass. It creaked under your weight, but neither of you cared. All you could feel was him—his cock ramming into your tight heat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as he whispered filthy things into your ear. "You’re going to take it all, aren’t you?" he rasped, his voice dark, breath hot against your neck. "Every fucking inch of me."

Chrollo’s presence was overwhelming, his body towering over you with a deadly grace that made him seem more god than man. The steam from the shower clung to his pale skin, droplets running down the sharp planes of his body, tracing the defined lines of muscle that rippled with every motion. His chest was broad but sleek, the kind of strength that was deceptive—he didn’t need to bulk up to be powerful. His shoulders were wide, tapering down to a narrow waist that highlighted the striking V-shape of his torso. The faintest scars marred his otherwise perfect skin, each one a silent testament to the battles he had fought, adding a rugged allure to his otherwise pristine beauty.

His dark hair usually slicked back with meticulous precision, was now disheveled from the water and the heat of your body. Strands of it clung to his forehead, damp and wild, casting shadows over his piercing gray eyes. Those eyes—once cold and emotionless—now burned with intensity. There was a depth in them that you hadn’t seen before, a flicker of something raw, something primal, as they roamed over your body, taking in every quiver, every tremble of pleasure he drew from you.

His lips, pale and thin, were pressed into a hard line as he fought to keep control, but the flush of color creeping up his neck betrayed him. His breath came in ragged pants now, heavy and uneven, the tension in his jaw showing how hard he was holding back. Yet despite the restraint in his expression, his body told a different story. His muscles were taut, veins bulging down his arms as he gripped you, holding you up with an ease that made you feel impossibly small in his grasp.

His thighs, powerful and thick, flexed with each thrust, driving his hips into yours with a relentless rhythm that shook the glass door behind you. Every inch of him was perfection, sculpted and lethal, his body a weapon of control and desire. His cock—thick, veined, and still pulsing inside you—felt like it was made to stretch you to your limits, the head hitting deep against your cervix with every powerful thrust. It curved slightly upward, veins running along its thick length, its heavy weight filling you.

His hands, calloused yet elegant, gripped your thighs tightly, fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he held you against the glass, shaking the very structure with the force of his need. His pale skin, wet from the shower and slick with sweat, gleamed under the dim light, making him look almost ethereal like some dark angel sent to break you. Yet for all the perfection in his form, it was the small cracks in his facade that made him irresistible—the flush on his cheeks, the subtle twitch of his lips as he struggled to keep control, and the way his breath hitched every time you clenched around him.

Chrollo was an enigma—a perfect blend of beauty and danger, control and chaos. As his hips drove into you, as his cock stretched you open, it felt like he wasn’t just fucking you—he was consuming you, body and soul. 

Unbeknownst to you, the atmosphere between you shifted. Chrollo’s quiet intensity was morphing into something far more dangerous, more consuming. He had been slowly releasing his bloodlust, the dark, primal energy that he kept so carefully locked away, letting it seep into the air around you, winding tighter and tighter. That unrelenting grip, those vicious thrusts—all of it carried the weight of the hunger he had been holding back. And now, he was letting it loose on you, intensifying every touch, every thrust, making your body quake with an overwhelming surge of pleasure mixed with fear.

His gaze, once icy and detached, was now wild, unhinged like he had finally given in to the madness swirling in his chest. You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved, yanking you down from the glass, flipping you over so quickly your world spun. Your body was slammed down onto the cold tile floor, your face pressed against the wet surface, your ass raised high for him. The hard tile bit into your skin, but that pain was nothing compared to the sheer force with which he took you.

"Chrollo…!" you cried out, voice breaking as his cock drove back into you, filling you with a brutal intensity that made your body arch in response. “Please—ah! I can’t—!” Your words were cut off by a sharp gasp as he thrust deeper, harder, slamming into you like he was trying to break you.

His hands gripped your hips tight, fingers digging so hard into your flesh you were sure he’d leave bruises, but the way he was fucking you, the way he was completely losing control, made you forget about everything else. All you could feel was him—his cock stretching you, filling you, the thick length dragging along every sensitive spot inside you, forcing wave after wave of pleasure to crash over you.

The atmosphere around you grew heavier as if the very air was thickening with an oppressive force. You could feel it—the surge of Chrollo’s Nen, leaking out of him uncontrollably, intertwining with yours. It was suffocating, pulling you into an emotional maelstrom as his aura pressed down on you, its weight forcing submission, forcing surrender. Every movement, every thrust became not just a physical act but a spiritual one, his essence penetrating you deeper than you thought possible.

His silence was deafening. There were no more commands, no words at all—just the frantic, almost desperate way he was fucking you. His grip on your hips tightened, nails digging into your skin, and you knew he was unraveling.

Your face was crushed against the cold, wet tile, and all you could hear was the steady crackle of it shattering beneath the intensity of his thrusts. Each violent slam of his hips echoed through your entire body, the sound of the breaking tiles mingling with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding. His cock was relentless, stretching you, filling you to the point of madness, the slick squelch of it plunging into your soaked pussy resonating through the room, the kind of sound you swore Shalnark could hear down the hall.

His thrusts were so brutal, so animalistic, that the glass door of the shower shook violently, rattling in its frame with every slam of his hips. You were sure it would shatter under the force of him, but you couldn’t focus on anything except the feeling of him inside you—huge, thick, and unforgiving. Every inch of him was pulsing, throbbing, pushing you to the edge, over and over again, until you were lost in a haze of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

Your body betrayed you. You had already lost count of how many times you came, the sheer force of it each time tearing a scream from your throat. Your legs shook uncontrollably, barely able to support you as your body was wracked with pleasure, your pussy clenching around him as you shattered again and again, completely at his mercy.

But then something changed. His thrusts became erratic, and wild, as if he was losing control. You couldn’t see him—your face was pressed too hard into the floor—but you could feel it. The raw, frantic energy that was consuming him, making him shake, making his aura explode around you. It was like he was breaking apart, piece by piece, and as his thrusts became more violent, you felt something wet hit your back—not water from the shower, but something warmer, something more human.

He was crying.

Silent, desperate tears that spilled onto your skin as he drove into you with a force that felt like it was tearing him apart. His body shook, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps as he fucked you harder, faster like he was trying to purge every emotion, every fragment of grief, anger, and despair that had been buried deep inside him.

His hands were trembling now, still gripping your hips with bruising force, but there was no control anymore—just pure, unfiltered need. He was an animal, his aura swirling chaotically, enveloping you both in a whirlwind of intense emotion, his spiritual energy mingling with yours until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

The cracking tiles beneath you splintered further, breaking under the sheer force of him slamming into you, your body a trembling mess as another orgasm tore through you. Your cunt clenched around him uncontrollably, your cries echoing in the small space as you felt your aura give way, bending completely to his overwhelming power.

His body was magnificent—every muscle in his back and arms rippling with tension, veins bulging under his pale skin as sweat and water dripped from him, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, the strands falling messily over his furrowed brow, but his eyes—those usually cold, calculating eyes—were broken now, overflowing with something raw, something vulnerable.

The tears kept coming, mixing with the water as he pounded into you, his cock throbbing inside your soaked, swollen cunt, stretching you beyond your limits. His jaw was clenched tight, lips pressed into a thin line, but you could feel the silent sobs wracking through him as he gave in, completely losing himself in you.

You could barely speak, barely breathe, the intensity of his aura crushing you, forcing you to take everything he had—every emotion, every thrust, every ounce of grief that was pouring out of him. You came again, your body convulsing as his Nen washed over you, the sheer force of it pushing you beyond the edge, making your entire being tremble with the overwhelming ecstasy of it all.

His cock twitched violently inside you, and with one final, brutal thrust, he let go—completely. His aura exploded around you, suffocating, consuming, as his body convulsed, and he came deep inside you, filling you with a hot rush that seemed to burn through your entire core. You cried out, your voice broken and raw, your hands gripping the shattered tiles beneath you as he spilled himself into you, his body trembling uncontrollably, the last remnants of his control slipping away.

Chrollo’s head dipped close to your cheek, his breath labored and uneven. You felt the wet warmth of his tears, pure and unchecked, streaming down his face, mingling with the sweat and water. He pressed his pelvis hard against you, his cock still buried deep inside, as his body shook with the overwhelming combination of pleasure and grief. "Fuck... I didn’t know it could feel like this," he muttered hoarsely, tears falling faster as he cursed himself for not doing this sooner. Your swollen cunt, so tight and soaked, gripped him like nothing else, and the pain of his loss only heightened the pleasure.

Both of you slumped on the floor, bodies spent and battered, as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your vision fading into white. Yet even in that haze, you felt the soft press of his lips on your forehead, his inky black hair falling over his intense, sorrowful gray eyes, and the cross that was etched into his temple. Your ass burned from the groping, the slaps—red and tender from the roughness of his touch.

"We should have done this sooner," he chuckled lightly, his voice soft as he checked over you with a tenderness that felt almost foreign after what had just happened. His thumb gently stroked your sensitive clit as he pulled out, offering a soothing touch despite how completely wrecked you were. And then, as you lay there, utterly spent, his quiet laugh made your heart flutter, the faintest spark of life in the aftermath of your shared devastation. You had given him something, even if just for a fleeting moment—a solace that ran deeper than words could express.

Your head turned weakly over your shoulder, and you were met with his lips, soft yet firm as they captured yours in a brief, gentle kiss. "My sweet girl…" he whispered, his voice laden with a mix of affection and exhaustion.

Extra <3:

Shalnark barely glanced up, but the moment he caught sight of you, he raised an eyebrow, his expression deceptively serious.

"Whoa," he said, spinning around in his chair to face you fully. "You okay? That shakiness isn’t normal. We should probably get you to a hospital."

Your cheeks burned, and you shot him a look. "I’m fine," you grumbled, trying to sound more composed than you felt, but the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Shalnark, of course, wasn’t fooled. His lips twitched, holding back a grin. "Uh-huh," he nodded sagely. "Sure you are." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "But, you know, if you start feeling faint or anything, just let me know. I’ve got connections with a great nurse!"

You couldn’t help but glare at him, though deep down you knew he was just messing with you—probably having the time of his life after what he undoubtedly overheard and felt...

© eyesofbong / Do not plagiarize my work. If you see this content on any account that is not mine, please report it.

Stealing Killua’s turtlenecks

-I have risen from the dead to make this post specifically -i can’t get over how adorable this boy is (in his own right lmao) -bullet points because I am too tired to write an actual one-shot (it’s 2:45 in the morn lmaooooo) -established relationship + aged up

-killua’s shirts look very comfy, be honest here lmao -he wears them all the time except when it’s sweltering hot (like on Whale Island–it’s way too hot there) -just seeing Killua bask in sunlight by the windowsill on a stormy night makes you wonder how comfy his shirts are -when Killua is off to have lunch and train with Gon, you decline -’I’m taking an active rest day today, you guys have fun’ -pfft, the heck is an active rest day? Killua has no clue. He brushes it off in favour of shrugging and bidding you a good day -that’s when you rummage through Killua’s room and find his shirts -they smell nice, like candy and chocolates (but not in a sense to overpower your nose) -it’s a soft smell and reminds you of childhood -killua’s shirts are very soft, you can’t help but flop on his bed and pull up the turtleneck -it’s sooooo soft -no wonder he wears them so often! -if it weren’t for the cool autumn air though, you would be sweating like crazy -it starts to rain outside as you lazily lay in bed -you wonder if Killua and Gon will stay out to train or come back home early -eventually you begin to fall asleep -it’s very cold in Killua’s room since he left the window open, and with the rain pelting outside, a draft causes it to feel like Siberia -but Killua’s turtleneck is warm and soft against your skin, like a warm hug that refuses to let you go -and his scent? Well, it feels like Killua is there with you, even though you know he’s out and about training/having lunch -eventually you fall asleep cuddled in the sheets -it’s too late when you realise the door has opened. Your eyes snap open and the familiar voice of your boyfriend fills your ears -”(Y/n)?” he calls. “I brought you something back for lunch. You’re always hungry, so I thought you’d want some. It’s your favourite.” -usually, you’d burst from your room and race through the halls to tackle Killua in a thank-you hug (just to see him get all blushy and flustered) -today? Well, you’re panicking -if Killua so much as sees you in his shirt, you’ll never hear the end of it -he’ll bully you to death with that stupidly handsome face of his, then make you all embarrassed and -the door opened before you could finish that thought -uh oh, it seems Killua is much too sharp for your groggy mind -he stares at you for a good moment before letting out something between a laugh and a snort -you see the look in his eyes. He’s ready to tease you to death -”Killua, if you’re gonna say anything mean–” -instead, he rips off the sheets and hauls you into his arms -he’s very strong (but so are you) -suddenly he’s burying his face into your shoulder, a cat-like smile on his lips -”You missed me that much? I was only gone for like, five hours.” -his lips are on yours and you swallow back a snarky retort to savour the gentle way he looks into your eyes -gosh, when he looks at you like that, it makes your heart melt

Just reminding y’all that requests are open and I have some serious writing block so some inspiration would be greatly appreciated 🙏

Also officially writing for hunterxhunter!! I’ll write for basically any character but my top ones are:

Hisoka

Chrollo

Illumi

Basically all of the Phantom Trope

Killua (platonic)

Gon (platonic)

Kurapika

I won’t be writing for the Chimera Ants because that’s festy but I’ll definitely try to write for others!

Closing requests as I finish off my requests and drafts!! Stay tuned

Chrollo with a s/o that makes them the ultimate power couple

Requested by a very relatable anon who said: i'd love headcanons for hisoka or chrollo in a power couple...i could read a whole book about that tbh. i wanna be the villain's partner in crime💔

A/N: I got you fam I daydream about this daily. Oh, to overthrow the world with Chrollo 😪

a/n: sir please end me (respectfully)

First of all, I would love to make this gender neutral, but the thought of going undercover with him when he’s in that suit and you’re in a cocktail dress is just

Imagine going undercover with him thoooo

Hand in the small of your back, shoulder to shoulder

He’d whisper in your ear when he’s located the target or wants you to look out for a certain person

The eye contact would be both flirtatious but practical and sly

He’s funny with being protective 

He’d either not let you leave his side and keep you out of harm’s way

Or, and this is my favourite option, he’d be so confident in your skills that he’d sit down and just watch you fight

He’d say something like “go get them, darling”, you’d tie up your hair, and he’d loosen his tie and sit down as you kick off your heals and strut off to kick ass 

Like????

Oh he’d be the most protective of you around the troupe

If he ever gets serious with you, you two are terrifying

2v20 is nothing to you two

It gets to the point where people know not to mess with you, so if Chrollo opens his book and you prepare your nen, game over

People quite literally part as you walk past, even if they don’t know who you are you guys just have a presence

I think it’s just the pretty privilege you guys have too

Especially when you dress up, oohhh undercover balls y’all

I know I kind of already spoke about this ugh

You can hear a pin drop as you two dance alone, just owning that ballroom, and you see the target and find the perfect opportunity to attack

Classical music still in the background as people scream is a vibe (I’m mentally stable I promise)

Yeah I definitely see the dynamic as Chrollo being the brain and you being the braun

It just makes sense? Idk

Imagine he gives you a mission (because you’re his most reliable ally) and you return to him covered in blood and he’s got his back to you looking out the window

You kind of just say “the job’s done” and he just goes “well done darling”

aaaaaaa

You two would totally have a couples name that relates to the phantom troupe

No, don’t just look out for Chrollo, look out for his s/o

Ya’ll would be on the news with a sick nickname and he’d be like “that has a ring to it”

Uh yes

Let me be called that forever thank you

Speaks of world domination with you, calling you his queen/king

Sitting on the top floor of buildings with champaign in hand, toasting to the thought of ruling the world with the heads of your enemies on a platter

And it’s not a far-fetched dream either

HxH: Feitan w/ a Strong! S/o Pt.1(?)

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`>When I say strong, the reader, in this case, would be as physically capable and have nen and/or abilities comparable to Feitan. I see a lot of headcanons but not many like this

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`>Getting back into the HXH fandom slowly so while I'm working on some more Food Wars! Content, have these since this gremlin has been plaguing my mind lol. If this gets enough love, ill make a part 2 so tell me what you all think :3

Warning: Murder, Stalking and Strong language

So if you a minor, beware.

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-To start, he might be a tad put off

-It's pretty rare to find someone with such prowess, especially ones that don't have less than-savory intentions

-Id assume you met on a battlefield of some kind or while he was on one of his missions with the troupe

-Just like him, you aren't exactly the upstanding citizen type and are committing crimes of some sort when you encounter

-Whether stealing the same things or killing the same people, you two have similar goals, regardless of the reason

-To be fair, he didn't think much of you when you first appeared

  "How. Troublesome...."

-An annoying obstacle, someone to dispatch quickly

-However, after a rather tedious fight and a good amount of bruises, he realized it might not be that simple

-Your moves were calculated and precise, and your battle iq no doubt honed over years of experience with nen abilities that even he found difficult to handle

-His interest was certainly piqued, as much as it can for Feitan anyway

-You’ll hand it to him; its been a while since you've seen his level of strength

-A true master of his craft, no doubt

-Regardless, that isn't why you were here

-You came to rid of a target and with your mission accomplished, there was no reason to stay, no matter how curious you were about the extent of his ability

-You were swift at your exit, swift enough that Feitan only caught your figure leaving from the corner of his eye

-Admittedly you've sparked more than enough of his interest

-something about your very being itched him in a way he couldn't describe and lingered his thoughts for moments too long

-Like it or not, your existence loomed his mind awkwardly and gave his chest a tighten

-Indescribably annoying

'Must. know. about. Her. Get rid of stupid feeling.”

-now we all know Feitan is no short of deranged and sadistic so it is no telling if he wanted to know for devious reasons or other

-Whatever the case, it led to him talking Shalnark into researching deep (and I mean very deep) into you

-Playing it off as a simple inquiry, he found you, a picture attached to your profile albeit a very blurry one

-All that he could get was your name and Age

"Y/n. Interesting. Name."

Shalnark is confused

-That's how he got here, peeping from your window as you rest

-Even with such little information, finding you was trivially easy

-Your apartment was small, compact he’d say

-Nothing compared to the places he’s layed his head: cold, dark, and filthy on a good day

-He spent the night watching you sleep, noticing every ministration, every time you got up abruptly and checked your surroundings, nearly certain something was amiss

-He didn't expect peeping on you to be so trepidatious

-That didn't stop him from stopping by every time he wasn't busy to check up and watch you

-Days became weeks and months flew by as he kept this cycle going

-It eventually got to the point that he'd follow you to and from your house

-He was searching and, surprisingly, unsure of what for

-He's never felt any particular connection to people outside of the spiders so it was usually easy to write it off as mindless curiosity

-He just wants to know why you interest him so much, and nothing more

-That's how he ended up in your house when you left for your 8 am morning run, which took you approx. 30 minutes to finish as of this week

-He was just checking your clothes because he wished to know where you frequented, perhaps he could lie in waiting as you shopped, snatching your jugular and relenting this pounding in his chest that paces just a few beats quicker

-He only checks the food you eat to see what your diet consists of, perhaps to poison you as your gaze falters from your plate, even if just for a second, permanently killing the heat that rises against his skin at the thought of you

-He doesn't care about you; he just wants to know your weaknesses to exploit, that’s all

-If that were true, then why was he in your room when you weren't? Taking in your scent as if an attached dog 

-Surely he could've killed you thousands of times over in the dead of your sleep; a slit to your throat would've ended this and yet he feels pulled to let you live 

“Just. one. More day.”

 -If it didn't matter, if you didn't matter, why did he effectively remove any potential romantic partner from your life?

-It's just to make you easier to kill; it's just to make you easier to kill, it's just to make you easier to take. No! Kill...not take...

-What was once curiosity became more of a crippling obsession.

-He had to know everything—what you were doing, who you spoke to, and what you ate in the morning

-You captivated him and even if he couldn't understand it, you had him wrapped around your finger without so much as a word 

-Ever since your mission 4 months ago, a certain feeling has lingered your consciousness and kept you on edge with no clue as to the source

-Things went missing, your associates became distant—well, more distant than you kept them—and your kills have become suspiciously easier.

-To the average person, such a prospect would strike fear and cause for trepidation

-Did you think I wasn't aware that he'd been watching me?

-All credit goes to him, spotting him was the hardest part

-He only let his presence be known through peeks of his bloodlust spilling before he vanished in the same motion, which gave away how seasoned he was

It was hard to tell if he wanted me to find him with how obvious his actions became; no, the word would be bold. His actions have gone from stealing articles from the back of my closet to lacing food when he was sure I hadn't seen him 

-Playing dumb was the easy part; actually avoiding his kidnapping attempt(s) was certainly a challenge 

-Before long, you could see the desperation in his nen

“You're getting sloppy, Stalker.”

-I suppose you've worked hard, stalker, I’ll let you win just this once

"Dancing with you"

Kurapika Kurta x fem! Reader

Note: another short scenario!

Your POV:

You walked along the various types of flowers, as it swayed across the feild. You sat down in a certain spot, perfect for a date. Which is why you're here at this moment, actually. You were waiting for your beloved significant other, which will soon be your fiance.

You waited patiently and hear soft steps from behind, you see no other than your beloved, 𝙆𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙞𝙠𝙖. He smiles softly when he saw you sitting so gracefully on the blanket you placed above the grass.

He walked closer to you, and you slowly stood up. 𝙆𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙞𝙠𝙖 gently held your hand, slowly bent down, and placed a soft kiss on top of your hand. He stood up straight and cupped your face, pecking your lips with his own. You both smiled in silence, enjoying the soft moment. "Shall we start this date, my love?" He asks lovingly. "Of course" you reply. You can't help but feel like a fool in love when you're with him.. It's just something you can't explain, but you know it's just how much you love him truly.

The date continued as planned, and as the sun sets, 𝙆𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙞𝙠𝙖 stood up and held his hand out for you "will you dance with me, princess?" He asks. Your cheeks gets tainted with red as you slowly take his hand in yours, "Yes, my love" you reply.

You both stood up and start to dance along the flowers in the sunset. It felt like a fairytale, unreal, perhaps, but this 𝙞𝙨 real. He was yours, and you were his. All alone in your own little world, together.

𝙆𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙞𝙠𝙖 chuckles as he cups your cheek and stops dancing for a moment. He slowly went in for a passionate and loving kiss, as you quickly kissed him back. "𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭, 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯.. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵" he says softly as a murmur but you heard it clearly, and smiled. You both decided to sit beneath a large tree, with you laying your head on his shoulder, both of you cuddled up within each other. You enjoyed the rest of your time enveloped within each other's presence, loving each second of it with no regret.

Masterlist <33

Little hunter x hunter comic !

It’s cute, I wanted to draw this for a long time ! Oh ! And I will be posting a fanfic to go with haha, but sorry it will be in French

Hope you like it, our little Gon kun deserves a lot of love ❤️

Check out my Instagram account : hikari_alpha