gho(st)²ories (yan/obsessive chrollo x reader)

Act 5, Chapter 1

"I'm not saying this as a challenge, but I'll win. I'm a hundret (100) percent sure.  percent sure)" -Chrollo to Hisoka

Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your throat and for a moment you thought your heart was in your head by how aggressively it pumped.

Despite the fact that your heart seemed to work at full speed, your face turned pale.

It wasn't the door that slammed shut that worried you, even if you were 100% sure you had closed it, what worried you was the shadow you caught in the last second.

A tiny bit of last night came back up.

Was that what Chrollo meant when he said that the light didn't bother him anymore?

Then why didn't he just stay where he was so you could see him if that's what he wanted?

With slow steps you walked towards the storage room.

He was up to something, he had done something, you could feel it deep in your bones.

When you opened the door, a little dust fell in your face, which you waved away with your hand.

At first glance, however, nothing seemed different.

Wverything was where it was supposed to be.

Your eyes fell on the chest and you noticed that a small piece of fabric was looking out of it, caught between the lid.

You pulled the box out of the tiny space a little, just enough so that you could lean the lid against the wall without it falling back on you.

At the top was the top that you took out and that vanished after you took a shower.

It was also the piece of fabric that was hanging out, as if there hadn't been enough time to be put away properly.

Eyebrows furrowed you pulled the top out, held it up to check for holes or dirt, but apart from a crease and another, everything on it was like new.

Like you left it waiting for you on your bed.

You put it on, you were cold and with more fabric on your body you didn't have to feel so naked anymore.

But you weren't done with the box yet, maybe the rest of your clothes were there too?

You searched but found nothing.

Your eyebrows were still drawn together and you forced a neutral expression upon noticing this.

You looked in the studyroom before you went downstairs, finding nothing there either.

But when you looked down the stairs you suddenly felt sick again, the hot shower couldn't quite wash away the rest of the alcohol even though you had wished it to.

Again you grabbed the railing, but this time only with one hand because you needed to hold the towel around your waist with the other.

Since there was nothing upstairs, you decided to keep looking downstairs, you had to go down at some point anyways.

Arrived safely at the bottom, you still had the towel firmly in your hand so that it didn't slip off your hips.

You roamed the first floor looking for your pants.

You even lifted the pillows on the couch and in the guest room you checked the closet, under the covers and under the bed.

But there wasn't even a clue to where your piece of clothing had went.

Now you were standing in front of the door to the basement.

Did you really want to do this?

You had to go down to the basement anyway because of your laundry, but did you really want to do it to yourself more often than you actually would have to?

But if it was true what Chrollo had said, which the shadow that passed through your gaze only halfly confirmed to you, that lights on didn't matter anymore.

Did it really make a difference if you went down now or later?

No matter what the correct answer would'v been, if there was one at all, you prepared to go down to the basement.

Ghost or not, you've always been a bit scared of basements.

Evil in horror films always originated in basements, that's where the worst imaginable happened.

All you could do was pray that Chrollo would leave you alone while you were down there and save you a heart attack.

When you opened the door you could already make out the outline of the running washing machine.

Unusual.

The windows were usually blocked with wooden boards and tools and didn't let any sunlight through, you hadn't turned on the light or rather the light bulb.

However, from above you could not see where exactly the light was coming from.

You climbed down carefully, gripping the towel even tighter and wiped your free hand, sweating from fear, on the soft fabric.

You were so focused on finding the source of the sudden light that you didn't notice the figure sitting on the couch watching you through the turned off TV.

It was only when you got to the bottom of the stairs that you could see that a foxtail saw that was otherwise blocking the window had fallen down.

You wanted to go over to it and put it on the workbench but it wasn't until you stepped away from the bottom of the stairs that you noticed him.

You flinched violently, even a small scream escaping you before your head could react fast enough to put distance between you and the figure on the couch before your body just shut down in fear and shock.

And yet you weren't able to react fsst enough to just run back up the stairs, now you were pressed against the washing machine which continued to wash your clothes unfazed.

Your heart was pounding relentlessly against your ribcage, your hands were shaking and a pile of fear-sweat was forming on your neck and forehead.

It felt like an eternity for the silhouette to half-turn to you, sweat ran down your back from your neck.

"You're looking for this, I assume?" Even though it was a question, the words had more the effect of a statement.

The pale hand rose, waving the fabric inside it for your attention.

But you didn't have to look to know what it was.

As much as you wanted to call the person that, almost, happily sat on the couch in your basement a stranger, you couldn't.

You knew the hands, they had touched you before.

You knew the silhouette, you had seen it before.

You knew the aura that emanated from the figure, you had often felt it everywhere in the house even subconsciously.

But most of all you knew the face with the tattoo on the forehead.

The face you had seen behind you on your second night in the reflection of the window upstairs in the bedroom, on Abir's first sketch in your great-uncle's book.

That's where you'd also seen the tattoo, there was also a drawing of it on the thirteenth wedding photo of your great-aunt and your great-uncle's wedding.

You met none other than Chrollo Lucilfer in the basement in broad daylight, your trousers still flapping in his hands while your own cramped in terror.

-------------------------------------------
in the og version of this book (in my native language) i wrote two one shots for halloween that did not have anything to do with the actual story line. I was wondering if any of you were interested in reading them as well? I would translate them and publish them after each other after the next few chapters if any of you are interested :)