#Yandere phinks

[citrus-writing]

surrender to me

Thinking about how utterly humiliating it'd be to be forced to ride your yandere-

Tw: non-con, dub-con, extreme feelings of guilt and shame, reader is an active participant in their own assault 

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It's bad enough when he pins you down to whatever surface is nearby, taking whatever he wants from you, forcing you to take whatever he gives you. It's bad enough that you're helpless to his advances, that he can so easily overpower you, use you like his own personal toy. It's bad enough that he fucks you so good, hitting that spot that has you nearly screaming, keeping up the relentless pace until your legs shake, and making sure you always cum at least once, though he always always tries for more.

It's worse when he pulls you on top of him. At least when you're underneath him you can say it's not your fault, that you have no hand in what happens to you.

But now, as you straddle his waist, his cock buried deep inside you, he tells you to "ride me, come on, just the way you like it" you feel shame wash over you. He's your kidnapper, he took everything from you, and now he wants you to be an active participant in your torment. Everything in your rebels against the idea, tells you to fight it, to hold onto your pride at any and all costs. But it's not like you have a choice, you know what disobeying him means- you've faced too many punishments to risk another.

Shame eats at you as you begin to move, hesitant and humiliated, but unwilling to disobey. You rock your hips, trying not to shutter with every drag of his length along your walls. You're so wet for him and you know he can tell. You close your eyes, you don't want to see the way he's looking at you, can't bare to see the adoration in his eyes when you fuck yourself on his cock and he can't help but whisper that you're "such a good girl for me".

You hate that it feels good, that even your leisurely pace is making you bite back moans and fight the urge to ride him harder, to make yourself cum, and to feel him cum too. He grabs your hips, guiding you to pick up the pace a little, and you curse that he knows exactly what you like. He knows just how to guide your movements to make you tremble and whimper as he fucks you, he knows exactly what will have you moaning and gushing around him. He knows exactly how to make you his perfect little whore.

It's too much- the absolute misery of the situation is more than you can bear. You're riding your kidnapper, moaning and crying out for him, feeling your orgasm creep up on you too fast. It’s humiliating in a way that nothing else can compare to, nothing he’s ever done to you has been quite so potently horrid. 

You can't tell if he's still forcing your hips into the rhythm or if you've given into it, can't really tell if he's thrusting up into you or if your just bouncing on his cock that hard- but you're so close, and he feels so good inside you, and you want to cum so bad. You should be fighting this, but you’re not. You’re rocking your hips against his and whining his name and begging for more. 

"Gonna cum?" He asks, voice a little bit teasing but mostly breathless at the way you move above him and the way you feel around him. He tells you all the time that he loves you, that you belong to him, that he’d do anything to keep you all to himself. In moments like this, it’s easy to believe that. You nod, desperate for release. "Go on, then,” he encourages, moving his hips against yours to meet you halfway as you move. 

You do- with a desperate cry of his name you feel your orgasm wash over you, crashing down on you and you can think of nothing else but his length filling you up, hitting so deep inside you and stretching you out so wide. It's so dirty; knowing you threw away all your morality and pride for this- you let yourself be used by man you should hate just so you could get off, you practically begged him for it. 

Because no matter how your mind tries to convince itself this isn't what you want, your body knows this is exactly what you want. 

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[uvobreakmylegs]

Rework

vampire!Feitan x werewolf!reader (with a side of Feitan x werewolf!Phinks)

🎃Happy Halloween🎃

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, captivity, blood, depictions of violence, death, murder, gore, body horror, stockholm syndrome, implied future poly relationships

Word Count: 13.7k

“So, what are you two going to be doing at that castle?”

The taxi driver's question pierced through the silence within the cab as he looked back to where you and Feitan were sitting, looking the both of you over in the rear view mirror. It came out of nowhere, as over a half hour ago the drive had begun with little chatter from any of you. It made you nervous, and you couldn't help but gulp as you kept your eyes on what you could see out the window. It would be better to pretend that you hadn't heard him.

Feitan didn't like it when you spoke to other people, after all.

When neither of you answered, the driver went as far as to turn his head around. Ultimately his gaze ended up on Feitan as he was sitting behind the front passenger's seat, making it easier for the driver to keep his eyes on him.

“Well?” the driver asked.

Feitan finally responded to that just to say “it's private.”

“Private business at a castle. That's a new one,” the driver commented, laughing a little to himself after.

Feitan didn't reply.

Luckily the driver seemed to get the hint that neither Feitan or you were in the mood to talk, and he returned his attention to the road as the taxi steadily continued up the woodland path.

You felt relieved when he stopped pressing, mostly because you didn't want him to be injured or killed. You had found yourself wanting to like the driver simply because of the hat he wore – it reminded you of your grandfather, as he wore that same style of pointed newsboy caps that your grandfather would wear when he went out, and thus you associated the cap with him. So you were feeling warmly towards the driver, as silly as it was, and you hoped that any sort of incident could be avoided when it came to him.

At least Feitan wasn't prone to random acts of violence against other people for no reason.

For the most part, anyway.

With the chatter in the cab now ceased and nothing else to focus on, you kept your eyes trained on the view outside of the window, watching as the car drove past brightly colored falling leaves and the trees whose branches were slowly becoming more exposed every time the wind blew past them, stealing away more of their leaves in a sign of the upcoming winter.

It made for a pretty view, and keeping an eye out for the various colors that came from the different types of trees kept you occupied on what would otherwise be another long and boring journey. Unlike Feitan, you didn't feel comfortable attempting to read while in the car as you were too worried that trying to do so would make you ill, so the options you had for entertainment were limited.

It wasn't much, but at least it was nice enough to keep your mind on.

It also kept your attention away from the luggage that sat diagonally from you in the front passenger's seat.

…. You shouldn't have even had that thought. Because just like that, the temptation was there again, and you needed to force your neck to stay in the same position. All to avoid your gaze straying in that direction. It was made harder due to the fact that the large burgundy suitcase was just within your peripheral vision. The very edge of it taunted you, it seemed. It would be so, so easy to keep your attention on that case for the entire journey, staring at it as you allowed the anxiety and desperation to fill your mind.

What if, this time, they wouldn't work when you got them back? What if they were ruined now and you were left like this permanently? Was there any accounting for that? Did he have a way to restore you if that happened? Or would you be in this state forever?

Would he even still want you if you couldn't go back to the way you'd been before?

You did your best to keep those thoughts at the back of your head as you focused on the outside. Worrying about it wouldn't do you any good, and as much as you wanted to blame it on the fact that the case couldn't fit in the trunk due to the wheelchair, directing your attention over to where it sat would only annoy him.

… How was Feitan doing, mood wise?

You tore your gaze away from the window to glance over at the man who sat next to you, finding that his focus was still on the book he had opened at the very start of the journey, several hours ago before the taxi when you had gotten on board the train the day prior. By now he was more than halfway through that book, though given that you were on the last legs of your journey, he probably wouldn't be able to finish it before the cab reached its destination.

He clearly noticed the way you stared at him as he glanced over in your direction.

Upon making eye contact, you gave him a small smile.

Feitan stared at you for a moment.

Then he ultimately chose to return to his book, turning the page once he picked up where he'd left off.

He was in a pretty alright mood, then. Though you followed suit and returned your attention to the window immediately after. Even if he was in an okay place, it was better not to press your luck, as it could be incredibly easy to annoy him.

That was one thing you had learned about him: he didn't punish you without a reason. Though his rules and demands were tiring and hard to keep up with sometimes, he had never ordered anything that was so unreasonable you were automatically doomed to fail. Some of the things he made you do were difficult, yes, but never had he forced you into something that was a losing battle from the start.

At least in regards to your captivity and the way he treated you, that was one thing to be grateful for.

And technically, with what was happening right now, you weren't being punished: he just didn't trust you enough during travel. Surely in the future things would be different. As long as you remained on good behavior and kept him happy with you, things would definitely be different, and hopefully different in a way that favored you at least somewhat.

Just keep your attention on the outside, you told yourself. Take note of all of the different fall colors that you were lucky enough to catch sight of and don't even think of what you would be going through in the upcoming days.

There was no way to put it off, but you could at least enjoy the current moment, even if it did feel somewhat stifling within the small space of the car.

The taxi continued to climb through the uphill path. At one point the forest that was directly next to your window vanished, the trees dropping off in favor of giving you a view of the entirety of the wilderness around you as the taxi drove along the edge of a cliff. The sight helped to calm your nerves a bit as you managed to relax a little more. Once the taxi left the cliffside and reentered into the denser forest, you again kept your focus on that, and you had an easier time keeping your mind off of the little worries that usually plagued you.

There was nothing to be done about any of them, after all. Not in this moment.

A sign that you were entering an older part of the area came when the driver took a turn to the right, and suddenly the ride became a lot more rough as the road turned bumpy. There was one moment where were it not for the security of your seat belt, you would have been thrown directly into Feitan. As it was, you found yourself lurching about uncomfortably regardless, and you needed to keep your grip on the handle of the door as you waited for the ride to become smoother again. The taxi driver made some joke about the rough terrain during that time, and Feitan made no response to him, though it seemed that the conditions were too much for him to continue his book as he soon shut it and put it away.

At some point during all of that, the blanket that you had tucked around your waist began to fall to the floor. Yet you didn't notice until it had fallen completely.

With that, your lap was exposed. Or rather, what was left of it. If the driver were to glance behind him, he would see what you had been so futilely trying to hide from him:

The stumps in the middle of your thighs where the rest of your legs should have been.

The fact that the rest of your legs were gone was still a sight that you struggled with, and seeing the way others would look over at you with questioning glances whenever you had the rare trip out in public made you feel worse. No one was ever rude enough to ask, but just to have that attention on you made your skin crawl. You didn't like it. Not one bit. If the impossible happened and anyone saw beneath the bandages that were hidden under the rolled up legs of your pants, they would have seen the sutures that held your flesh together and the still fresh wound that refused to fully heal.

But no one would ever get that close.

Feitan would never allow it.

Upon realizing that the blanket had fallen, you reached down, straining yourself somewhat in order to pick it off the rubber mat that covered the floor. Despite it being slightly dirty, you placed it back on top of your lap, once more securing it and this time keeping your hands on it just in case it fell again. Given that the taxi was now beyond the roughest part of the old road, that seemed unlikely, but you felt better holding onto it.

As expected, Feitan made no comment to you, but you could tell he was watching you. Without something else to keep his attention, his eyes would generally move over to your form, keeping an eye on you regardless of if you were doing anything noteworthy or not.

Why was he so fascinated with you?

As often as you had wondered that to yourself, you had yet to come up with a sufficient answer to that question. There was no point in attempting to ask Feitan directly as you knew he wouldn't answer. You had tried that once. A long while back, after your rage from being taken captive had died out and you were left with nothing but apathy, you dared to ask why he wanted you, of all people, and his only response had been to stare at you in that same intense way that he always did.

All this time later, and you still had no clue as to what the answer to that question was.

But by this point, it was easier to accept this as your current reality. Things weren't perfect, but they weren't completely bad. Not like they used to be.

After ten minutes of travel on the now only slightly bumpy road the roof of the small castle within the forest could be seen through the front windshield of the taxi. Five minutes after that, the yellow cab was pulling up to a large iron gate that was left locked, requiring Feitan to step out and unlock the large, gated entryway so the cab could gain access. Feitan watched you from the outside as the driver pulled into the rounded courtyard of the aged building. Creeping vines covered a majority of the base of the structure, the reddend leaves all piled upon one another while the thin branches reached upwards as if with the intent to cover the entire wall. Despite how old the building was by now, there was no sense of decay upon looking at it. The nameless castle within the wilderness remained strong, and it seemed certain that only some otherworldly force would be capable of bringing it down.

A part of you really enjoyed the place; it was nice to look at, and certain areas within the structure were cozy during certain times of the year. But there was another part of you that felt a wave of anxiety fall over as you looked at the building in its entirety and your hands began to clench at and fiddle with the blanket over your lap.

Being in this place would be much more enjoyable if Feitan bothered to bring you here outside of the timing of the full moon. Sadly, he never seemed inclined to do that, so you were forced to associate the castle with the awful few days you consistently experienced here.

Maybe that might change, you told yourself. Though you wouldn't hold your breath on that.

The cab driver got out, and both he and Feitan headed towards the trunk to unload the wheelchair and the other luggage that had been placed in there. When the trunk opened, the view you had of them from the backseat was obscured.

With Feitan not able to keep as close of an eye on you, you took the time to steal a glance at the burgundy case in the front seat.

It looked the same as it had at the beginning of your journey: an unremarkable but large suitcase that was slightly heavy from the contents it held. But from your vantage point, it didn't appear that anything was wrong with it. It didn't look damaged, nor did there appear to be any leaks spilling out of the seams of the case.

That had you feeling a little better, though your hands continued to nervously clench at the blanket.

When your door was opened and the wheelchair was brought out, Feitan didn't allow the driver to assist him in moving you. When you unbuckled yourself and moved to the edge of the seat to make getting you out easier, Feitan was the one who picked you up. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you allowed him to move you from the interior of the cab out into the courtyard, and you stayed in his embrace for only a few moments before he placed you in the wheelchair that stood not far away.

The blanket fell again, this time onto the leaves that covered the old cobblestone beneath you. As you were being set down, the driver made a move to get it for you.

Feitan beat him to it, and the shorter man gave the driver a look that seemed to make him nervous as he took a few steps backwards.

That was a slight overreaction, you quietly thought to yourself as Feitan shook out the now dirty blanket.

But as long as that was all that happened, it didn't matter much.

With everything out of the trunk, it had been swiftly closed, as had the passenger's door once you had been removed from the vehicle. The driver adjusted his cap as he watched Feitan hand you the slightly cleaner blanket, and you were quick to pull it back up around your waist. When the driver's side door had been opened, you couldn't recall.

In the middle of all of that, you heard the driver speak again.

“All right, guess that's it, then.”

You looked up to find the taxi driver had turned around and placed one leg inside his car as he prepared to get in and take off.

That was it? But-

The case was still in the front seat.

And he was getting in without taking it out.

He was going to leave with it.

That fact seemed certain when he settled into the driver's seat.

“NO!”

You yelled so loudly that it startled him, and he turned his head just before Feitan materialized next to the driver's side door, holding his hand against it in order to keep it open.

“Wh-what's wrong?” the driver asked, his head swiveling as he looked to the both of you.

“Front seat,” Feitan said.

“O-oh. Right….”

Dutifully, the driver exited the vehicle and walked around it in order to retrieve the case, though he didn't bother to hide the alarmed looks he gave the both of you as he did so. Feitan glared at him the entire time while you clenched at the armrests of the wheelchair. You weren't going to feel good until you saw that case out of that car.

The sound of the passenger's side door opening seemed to echo within the space of the courtyard, and you breath hitched when you saw him reach in and pull out the suitcase.

Be gentle with it, you wanted to tell him.

The driver circled around the cab, seemingly in an attempt to avoid Feitan. As a result, he chose to approach you, and handed the suitcase to you instead. You caught the way Feitan's eye twitched at that, yet you chose not to acknowledge it as you grabbed at the case being offered to you.

With a sigh of relief, you held it tightly against yourself, ignoring the weight and the awkwardness that came with holding it.

“Sorry for upsetting you,” the driver told you, though his tone didn't make him sound very sorry. The way he looked at you clearly indicated that he felt as though you had been overreacting.

It looked like he was going to say something more, but Feitan chose then to step in.

“Your job is over,” he told the driver, “leave.”

“Fine, fine.”

The driver headed back towards the driver's door of the taxi, stepping in as he had before. But just before the door closed behind him, you heard him mutter the word “assholes.”

The ignition turned and the engine rumbled, and within a few moments the cab rolled out of the aged courtyard, once more jittering horribly as it drove over the old, cobbled road. Feitan followed behind as the car exited through the entryway, and once it was completely clear, he closed both sets of iron gates shut and just as swiftly locked them. The key to the gate was soon back in the safety of his pocket, and the vampire stared at the vanishing cab before he turned around and set his sights back to you.

The case had already been set upon the ground in front of you, your hands now in your lap as you kept your gaze to the side.

You messed up.

You weren't supposed to talk to other people. Feitan didn't like that. Even though you had only said one word to that driver and it was just to keep him from driving off with the case, you had still done what you shouldn't have and spoke to him instead of trusting that Feitan would realize the man's mistake and prevent him from leaving.

Feitan's footsteps sounded against the cobblestone, and you straightened your back slightly, though you still kept your gaze averted.

If you apologized right now, would he forgive you?

It was worth a shot.

“I'm sorry,” you told him.

“Sorry?” Feitan repeated.

“For disobeying you,” you clarified, your hands wringing the blanket as you continued “I didn't mean to, I just – no. Never mind. I'm sorry.”

Stopping yourself from pointing out that he was about to leave with the suitcase was a good move, you felt. Doing that would have been interpreted as making an excuse, and that was never going to end well for you. It was better to acknowledge your failure and leave it at that.

“Hm.”

Feitan was standing in front of you now, staring down at you while you shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of his gaze. You weren't sure what to expect from him in this moment, but you told yourself that whatever it was he said or did, you needed to go with it.

What a stupid thing to think. Of course you needed to go with it – what other choice did you have?

Your internal dialogue was interrupted when Feitan spoke.

“You did speak to him,” he began, “but this once, I'll overlook it.”

Your neck snapped up so you could look at him, uncertain if you had heard what you thought you had and wanting to know if he was being genuine or if this was some way to lull you into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out from under you.

Looking at him as he was now, it didn't feel as though he was particularly angry.

Feitan continued.

“He was going to drive off with it, after all. He's more in the wrong than you are.”

He then cocked his head as he looked at you before he asked “don't you agree?”

You waited a moment before you nodded your head in agreement, saying “yeah.”

That was all to be said on the matter, as Feitan then turned his attention to the suitcase you had set down. His dark eyes looked it over before going back to you, and he pointed to it with a single pale finger as he asked a different question.

“Do you want them back now?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Then you looked back down at the suitcase.

The answer was yes. Of course you wanted them back now. You'd never wanted them taken in the first place.

….. That sort of answer wasn't what Feitan would be looking for though, would it?

With your hands wringing at the blanket once more, you answered “only….. Only if you think I should have them back now.”

“Hm.”

The action after your response wasn't immediate, and you were left to sweat nervously in front of him as you waited for some sort of sign from him. He could tell you were nervous as well; his hearing was good enough that he could hear the way your heart began to beat frantically when you felt too much time had passed.

When he did choose to act, it seemed like that yours had been the correct answer, because Feitan reached over to stroke his fingers through your hair, petting you in the way he only did when he was pleased with you. Considering the trouble you had first believed yourself to be in, the action came as a relief. Not that it lasted long, as he pulled away soon after.

Without another word to you, he leaned down, lifted the suitcase by the handle, and walked around you as he made his way to the large doorway.

You bit your lip and clenched at the blanket once more, your shoulders sagging as you accepted his decision, even though it frustrated you that he had decided on that. It was being taken away from you again, the only option you had was to accept the unfair situation.

Maybe he was more upset over your outburst than he was letting on.

When you were certain that he was out of earshot, you let out a slow, sad sigh.

At least you had answered correctly, you told yourself.

Not long after Feitan returned for you, and given the age of the structure you found yourselves in and the lack of accommodation for the wheelchair, he needed to carry you up the steps and through the doors before walking along a familiar path through the castle, down a few hallways and up a single flight of stairs. Soon enough you had been placed in the room that would act as your bedroom for the remainder of your time here, and Feitan left you on the bed before exiting the room to get the rest of the things that had been left outside.

He wouldn't stay here long once that was done, probably. Once that was done, he would leave for the night, not coming back until morning. He had things to prepare for.

All of it had to do with the night of the full moon that was fast approaching.

You felt compelled to turn your head then, the tall glass of the window that overlooked your bed giving you a good view of the sky. You found what you were looking for in an instant: the waxing moon, still hanging low due to the earliness of the evening, but still visible over the tops of the trees. Within a few days, it would be full.

Once that happened, you would change as you always did.

Hence why you'd been brought to this place: for the isolation. Feitan wanted a controlled environment for you as you waited for the full moon to come and bring about your transformation. When you would change into what could only be described as a monster. Ravenous and violent, you couldn't be allowed anywhere near a large population. During the time that followed your transformation, you would be completely out of your mind, and the only thing that would drive you was instinct; instinct to hunt down and devour anyone within your immediate vicinity.

The thought of all that made you shudder, and you reached back to pull the curtains over the window to hide the sight away.

Such a thing was useless, you knew, but it made you feel better.

Late into the evening of the following day, Feitan brought you down into the main kitchen of the castle, specifically the one with the fireplace that was especially nice to spend time in during the winter. When the snow outside and there was a large fire going, it made for a cozy feeling that was pleasant.

Though you doubted whatever happened here tonight would be in any way nice.

But then again, it could be something good. Feitan didn't seem upset with you as he placed you upon a chair that stood near the unlit fire. With the exception of your outburst at the cab driver, you couldn't remember the last time you had done anything to genuinely upset Feitan.

His temperament just made it so hard to tell if things were okay.

Feitan kept silent after leaving you at the table. He didn't stay in the room long either, leaving almost immediately as he stalked down the hallway. The place where you sat allowed you to watch as he stopped in front of a door that led down into the cellar, the aged metal of the hinges creaking as he pulled it open before he slipped down into that darkness. The door shut with a heavy thud behind him, and you were left alone.

You let out a shaky breath.

Something was going to happen. All you could do was hope that it wouldn't be too bad. After all, you haven't done anything wrong, you once again told yourself, so you haven't done anything to warrant cruelty.

You repeated that in your head over and over as you did your best to calm your nerves.

It was sad how often that was the only solution you had for your issues.

The cellar door opened again with the hinges creaking for a longer period of time as Feitan was forced to open it wider than before. Though again it shut with a similarly loud thud as Feitan let it go once it was through. The noise of the hinges combined with the echo that accompanied it through the aged hallway was unpleasant, and you flinched as the sound grated at your ears. Not that you had much time to focus on that, as you quickly noted that it sounded as though Feitan was carrying something.

One quick glance at him and you saw what was in his hand: the burgundy suitcase.

You tore your gaze away and found yourself sitting up straighter again, your hands gripping at the edge of the chair as you stared at the empty fireplace while your heart began to beat wildly in your chest.

He could hear that heartbeat.

He knew exactly how anxious you were as he approached.

Feitan was soon upon you, standing in front of the chair you occupied with the case still in hand. As was expected of you, you looked up at him from where you sat, staring back at him as you waited for him to say something.

Holding up the case a bit, he asked “do you want them back?”

“…. Yes.”

Things were silent between the two of you then, your heart continuing to beat erratically while you kept your grip on your seat. You felt like saying 'yes' was the right answer, but there was always a chance that you were wrong. Whatever it was, Feitan was choosing to drag this out, his eyes focused on you while you knew that he was aware of how much you were panicking internally the longer this moment lasted.

You would accept it if he decided not to give them back. You would be disappointed, yes, but like those other times before, you wouldn't argue or fight him on it and would instead simply accept his decision.

Cooperating with him was the fastest way to get what you wanted.

Feitan then made his decision.

With one swift motion, he dropped the suitcase in your lap. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt the weight of the suitcase against you once more, holding it tightly as you looked back up to Feitan to make sure you had his permission.

He had already stepped away, pulling out a different chair from the table so he could sit in front of you before he also took his place, leaning forward and resting his arms on his legs as he watched you.

Feitan wanted you to open the case.

You were more than eager to do so, your fingers going to the clasps that held it shut as your heartbeat hadn't slowed even a little. No longer thrumming with anxiety, you were now shaking from anticipation. What was yours was finally being given back.

Wasting no time in undoing the clasps, you threw open the case and felt relief upon seeing what was inside:

Your severed legs.

They were folded neatly within the case, along with a few towels tucked in at the sides to keep them from moving about too much for whenever the case was being transported.

The relief you felt upon seeing them was immediate and you wasted no time in beginning the process of reattaching them. Setting the case on the table, you went to work on the bandages that covered up your thighs, tearing them off with ease until your flesh was exposed, and from there, you began to tear out the stitches that had been placed at the end of your thighs to keep the wounds from bleeding out.

Not that you would have died even if all of your blood had left your body.

The process of removing the stitches was more strenuous than removing the bandages, and you couldn't help the small noises of pain that came from you as the thin thread was torn out of your body, ripping through the skin when you pulled hard enough. But just as quickly as you had removed them, those injuries were beginning to heal, the small wounds on that part of your skin closing up and mending with no trace of there being any stitches to begin with.

When all of the stitches were removed and lay in pieces on the floor beneath you, you were left with the open wounds at the end of your thighs, bone and muscle exposed while blood began to drip down onto the surface of the floor alongside the torn up stitches. The excess skin at the end of your legs which had been used to patch you up like a band aid now hung loosely, waiting to be reunited to your legs that still sat in the suitcase.

Now for the next part which would take longer but wouldn't be as painful: putting your limbs back on.

Reaching over to the case, you grabbed one of them at random. It turned out to be your right leg. Despite feeling that you were in a slightly weakened state after dealing with the stitches, you were able to handle the weight of your own leg easily as you pulled it out of the suitcase's confines and slung it over onto your lap.

Feitan continued to watch, still saying nothing, but you were able to feel the interest he had in this part. You didn't quite understand why he was so fascinated by this; he was also immortal, so shouldn't he be used to seeing such things with himself?

You kept that thought to yourself and instead focused on the task at hand.

Lifting up one of the flaps of skin with one hand, you used the other to position your limp leg up against your open thigh. Like putting puzzle pieces together, you grabbed the end of your leg with both hands as you started the reattachment process by putting the bones of each segment together. Once you had positioned it correctly, you felt it when the two connected.

The sensation had you shudder and you needed to grab onto the nearby table to keep yourself steady as everything else followed suit with the bone of your femur.

Marrow mixed back together as muscles reached out for one another, ends connecting in the same way the thigh bone had melding together as they were supposed to. Veins and your nerves did the same, and you gripped the edge of the table tightly as the process left you out of breath. It wasn't that it was painful, just uncomfortable. Like the sensation of a limb falling asleep only for the feeling to come back once you moved it. It was just that this was ten times as intense as that, and no matter how many times you went through this, you doubted that you would ever truly get used to it.

You stole a glance at Feitan then, peeking up at him to find that his gaze was just as intense as you imagined it was. He was concentrated on the way your muscles repaired themselves, on the way the blood from the injury dripped down onto the floor until it didn't, finally stopped when the ends of those veins found one another and sealed themselves up.

When all of the internal components of your leg had been repaired, you only moved your hand to smooth out the flap of flesh that had remained pulled back. Now with everything else done, the skin of your leg was finally allowed to mend itself as well.

Within moments, your right leg was firmly back on you, and you took the time to stretch out and move your foot to test that everything felt right. When that appeared to be the case, you slowly pushed yourself back so you were sitting up straight again, and then you reached back to the case for your left leg.

At least the process was a bit easier the second time around.

By the end of it, both of your legs were back, reattached with no sign of having been chopped off in the first place. You, however, felt exhausted. Sweat had collected on the back of your shirt and you were laying your arms and your head on the table, breathing out from your mouth as you calmed down after the experience.

It was fine now. It was over. You did it.

The sweaty feeling was gross, though, and you desperately wanted a shower.

That thought was enough to incentivize you to sit back up, though that too was a struggle as your arms felt weak. Still, you made yourself do it, and you turned to look to Feitan once you were done.

He was no longer leaning forward in the chair; now he was resting his back against it with his arms folded across his chest. One of his eyebrows raised when you turned your attention to him, and he asked “want something?”

“Just to get a shower,” you answered.

He nodded, and you took that as permission to leave the room.

Not that leaving was easy. How long had you been without your legs? You weren't completely sure, but however long it was, it was long enough that you were incredibly unsteady as you brought yourself up to your feet, and you needed to brace yourself against the table, the chair you had been sitting on as well as the wall as you made your way out of the kitchen, taking small, soft steps as you hoped the feeling of walking would soon become normal again.

“Having a hard time?” you heard Feitan ask.

“I'll be okay,” you replied, “just need to get used to it again.”

“Hm.”

Pausing at the edge of the room to catch your breath, you made the mistake of glancing over at one of the tall windows at the other side of the kitchen.

Just like the night prior, the moon was in the sky despite the relatively early hour, and when you caught sight of it, you turned your head away, looking down at the floor and trying to will away the sight in your mind.

Feitan noticed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“…. Outside,” you answered.

He looked, and hummed when he saw the moon as well.

“Scared?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Why? Shouldn't you be used to it by now?”

After a long moment, you again nodded.

Feitan made a noise at that which almost resembled a laugh before he ultimately waved you away, telling you “get your shower.”

You nodded and exited the room.

The sound of the chair moving across the kitchen floor was loud, and once you had reached the door that led to the cellar, you heard him call out to you once again.

“I'll be gone when you get out.”

He probably wasn't looking at you, and he probably wasn't in need of any sort of response, but you nodded again anyway.

The ache had firmly settled in.

You were curled up on the bed, the sheets haphazardly thrown aside as it now felt too warm to keep them on top of you, but even if the cold set in again you weren't sure you would have the strength to reach for them again. Your arms hurt too badly by now, as did your legs.

You were hungry, too.

But as you spied the small refrigerator full of supplies that had been left for you, specifically for this predicament of yours, you had a hard time imagining you would be able to gather up the strength needed to crawl off of the bed and over to where it stood. You just felt too weak.

As much as you hated how it felt when you transformed into that monstrous state and the carnage that you had left in your wake more than once, you wanted it to happen just so this part would be over with already.

It would happen soon, you told yourself. Tomorrow, when the full moon would be in the sky, you would have your relief.

You began to feel cold again, but as expected, when you reached for the blankets by your feet your muscles protested vehemently and you were forced to bear with the cold as you placed your arms back down on the bed.

Ah, this part was always the worst.

You wanted food. You wanted a shower.

You wanted Feitan.

And by this point you were too far gone to find that feeling of yours to be wrong. Because once he walked through that door, you were fine again. The aches and the pains brought about in the period before your transformation would vanish the second you saw him, and the only thing you would be left wanting for after that was for him to be closer to you.

That wasn't how it had always been. In the months that followed your kidnapping, you were relieved that he was gone for that day and a half before you turned. It had been nice to get so much time to yourself, and you hadn't been afraid to show a sour expression when he came back.

You couldn't imagine doing that now. To treat him as though he were a pest that wouldn't leave you alone? Your mind wouldn't allow it. Not when you were in such a vulnerable state and you truly felt that you needed him with you. His continued absence during this time had set alight within you a yearning.

It was easy to wish that you could go back to before your time with Feitan, when the pains and the need for another's presence didn't even exist, when you had dealt with everything on your own.

But now, even if you went against your better judgment and defied him by running, it couldn't go back to that. He had done something to change you, and you feared that change was permanent. That you would always be longing for him and be happy to see him even when he returned covered in the scent of another.

He left you to spend time with someone else

For some reason, it bothered you. Both that he did so and the fact that you still didn't know who that person was. Those times at the beginning when you asked Feitan had refused to answer, and you had no wish to bring it up now as you knew he would only tell you if he decided that you needed to know.

As long as he came back, that was all that mattered.

That thought was what got you through the long hours that followed; when the sun finally set and the waxing moon rose, now only one step away from reaching the full moon state, you felt it begin to affect you. Knowing what would happen tomorrow night, the muscles beneath your skin began to loosen up as they prepared for the time when they would need to expand. The ache in your bones became more pronounced as they anticipated the way they would need to snap and grow, and your skin started the process of separating from the muscle beneath, all so it would be easier for when you would need to tear it away.

You hated it, but as long as he came back, you could deal with the pains, you told yourself.

The next day, after having spent all of those hours doing nothing but laying on your bed as you felt your body continue to prepare for the coming night, the sound of the lock clicking open had you shoot up from the bed, sitting at attention as your eyes were focused on the door, waiting for it to open.

Anticipating that you would see him.

The relief you felt when you saw that Feitan had indeed returned to you was immense, and all memory of the pain and longing you had gone through for the previous day and a half was forgotten as he stepped through the door, his eyes meeting yours before he looked you over.

No doubt you looked a mess, your wrinkled clothing and the circles beneath your eyes giving him some insight about the rough night you'd had.

As usual, he didn't comment on it. Instead, the vampire shut the door behind him before he headed over to the mini fridge, opening it to find that the food and water he had left for you were all untouched.

There was an ever so slight hint of a smile on his face when he saw that.

“Hungry?” he asked, turning his attention back to you.

Not feeling as though you had the strength for words, you responded by nodding at him.

Then come over and feed yourself

The words he had once told you at a different time echoed in your mind, and you gripped at the sheets, uncertain if he would have a similar response now. As usual, he noticed that reaction of yours, and for a few moments he watched you closely. Perhaps he was still deciding what treatment you would get today; no doubt he was going over the behavior you had displayed over the past month and deciding whether or not you had been good enough to deserve a bit of kindness from him.

Feitan made his choice when he took out a cup of yogurt from the fridge, pausing briefly after he closed it to grab a nearby spoon that had been left for you before he made his way over to the bed. When he pulled the seal off the top after he sat down, you held out your hands, ready to take the cup and the spoon from him so you could feed yourself.

The raised eyebrow and the annoyed look he gave you in response to that was surprising, and after a moment of him staring at you like that, you lowered your arms despite your confusion.

He wasn't just taunting you, was he?

You thought he might have been when he dipped the spoon into the cup, where it then seemed as though he was going to eat in front of you – he doesn't even need food, you dejectedly thought.

Then he turned back to you, the spoon raised up and hovering in front of your mouth.

“Open,” he told you.

You obeyed, and within a moment, he had placed the spoonful of yogurt into your mouth.

……

This…. This was horribly degrading. Your captor was literally spoon-feeding you.

After all of the hours you had spent wanting Feitan's presence with you, the irritation you felt at this one action was enough to break that spell, and you remembered all of the things that were so wrong about your situation. He had kidnapped you and had proceeded to train you as if you were an animal, teaching you to behave for him through punishments and rewards, all so he could get you here, to a place where you were so compliant that you didn't question or fight him on anything. Feitan wanted you to be dependent on him and he wanted you to be grateful for it.

You wished you could kill him.

As he pulled the spoon from your mouth to dip it back into the yogurt cup, you imagined yourself leaping on him and tearing his throat out. Gouging out his eyes. Smashing his head open against the floor. Biting off his fingers for having the nerve-

Feitan looked back to you.

The instant his eyes met yours, all of that fire inside of you died out.

He was strong; far stronger than you could ever hope to be. Even if you fought with all of your strength, you knew you would lose. Your rebellion would be ended swiftly and with more force than necessary, and the only thing you would gain from it was punishment. Many punishments, in fact. After he had spent so long to get you to this point, they would be harsher as a way to teach you the lessons you still refused to learn.

You didn't want to go through with all that again. Things with him were so much better now; why ruin that?

When Feitan brought the spoon up to your lips again, you opened your mouth and once more allowed him to feed you. There was no indication that he got any sort of enjoyment out of this, but the fact that he was doing so at all meant that he needed to be getting something out of it.

Feitan got up when the yogurt cup was empty, heading to the other side of the room to dispose of it.

That was when you spoke.

“Thank you, Feitan.”

Your voice was soft, but there was no way he hadn't heard you. Yet there was no verbal response on his end.

But when you glanced over to him and looked at his face, you caught sight of it again:

The barest hint of a smirk.

You had been hyperventilating for some time now.

With you locked away in the deep cellar of the aged castle, Feitan watched how you writhed about on the floor, breathing hard as you clutched at your head. Every now and then a twitch from a leg or an arm would jolt through your entire body and the pathetic noises coming from your mouth would only increase in frequency. Through your wailing and sobbing, he would occasionally catch words. Or rather, one word. One that you repeated over and over again.

“Please please please please-”

Feitan doubted you were trying to ask him to actually do anything – even if you were, there was nothing that he could do to relieve your pain. As content as he was to take complete control over your life, this was one aspect of it that was out of his hands. No matter what, once the light of the full moon hit you, you would transform. There was no getting around that.

He glanced up to the small window towards the ceiling, and he noted that it likely wouldn't be long until the moon came into view.

An idle thought came to mind – how was he handling it? – before his attention returned to you. And Feitan continued to wait, standing at the edge of the room as he watched what was the torment of your pre-transformation.

When the first rays of moonlight shown through the glass of the window, the result was violent.

Your entire body jumped, and the wails that had turned into quiet whimperings ceased as you were left speechless, your mouth hanging open and your eyes wide.

You began convulsing on the floor.

When you began to choke, you rolled over onto your back. The blood that had begun to block your throat spilled out from your mouth as hacked it out in violent coughs, and after a few moments, the red liquid that came from your mouth was accompanied by something else: your teeth. They came out in bunches, scattering as they were spat across the floor, one of them traveling far enough to bounce off the side of Feitan's shoe. Tears were streaming down your face again, this time accompanied by the blood that poured out from your gaping, bleeding gums.

The holes in your gums didn't stay empty for long, as Feitan could see the tips of the sharp, canine teeth coming through to fill up the empty spaces.

Then your bones began the process of rearranging themselves.

The way your bones cracked apart before they splintered back together filled the small room of the cellar, and he watched with no small amount of awe as you changed before him. Your limbs were becoming longer with the skin on top of them starting to tear apart as it no longer fit. Your face was going through a similar change as your skull broke apart, moving about as it changed its shape completely in favor of the form the moonlight wanted you to have. The skin of your face was tearing up as well as your nose and mouth began to push outwards, and more blood managed to come pouring out of your mouth as your gums were ripped apart by two long rows of sharp teeth.

By the time your hands began to tear away at your old skin, your mind was gone. Your eyes were wide and wild as you ripped yourself apart, showcasing the fur that had formed underneath. First your arms, then your torso followed by your legs; the skin was swiftly removed and tossed to the side as easily as trash. By the time you got to the skin that had once covered your head it was already in tatters, tearing further when your claws dug into it and ripped it off.

With that, your transformation was complete.

Anything that could have been identifiable as “you” was gone now. What stood before him was nothing less than a beast. With sharp teeth, long claws and powerful muscles that meant that few were capable of fighting or even outrunning you, you truly had become the monster that was the subject of stories that had been passed down through the ages, capable of decimating entire towns just to satisfy a primal bloodlust.

This version of you was breathing harshly, still affected by the trauma that had been the transformation process. But he was most interested in how you would react once you saw him.

Feitan knew very well by now that immediately after a transformation, werewolves had very little control over themselves. The first actions that would be taken were that of violence against anyone who was in their immediate vicinity, and if there was no one to be found, they would hunt for someone, anyone, to exact that violence on. Only then would anything resembling rational thought return to the shifter. After seeing the process so many times, Feitan had began to wonder if that was the result of the brain still catching up after the body had changed. The mindlessness seemed to indicate that, and maybe it was that act of taking a life that shocked the brain back into normalcy.

Though he also knew now it didn't need to be a life to snap you out of it.

He waited, his hands still in his pockets as he watched you collect yourself up from the floor, the blood still clotting your fur as you stood on shaking legs. He saw the way you sniffed at the room, but the scent of iron clogging your nose must have been too much, otherwise you would have noticed him by now.

It took you rising to your new, full height and looking in front of you before you noticed him, and you froze within an instant, yellow eyes growing wide as your fur stood up in shock.

Feitan's eyes met yours, and he waited to see what action you would take.

You stayed shocked for only a moment before your lips curled back to reveal the newly formed rows of canine teeth snarling at him as your ears folded back and your legs tensing as you crouched slightly.

One of aggression, then.

He tsked.

You lunged at him, claws extended and mouth open as you snarled-

Feitan hit you with the back of his hand.

The force was great enough that you were flung to the other side of the room, rolling over on the floor before you crashed against the wall. The hit made you yelp, and he had heard something crack beneath the force of his strike. Now you were cowering on the floor again, one monstrous hand clutching at the area where his hit had landed.

Had that been enough to wake you up?

Feitan again waited to see what you would choose. He was prepared that you may very well decide to keep fighting him, though at this point he trusted that you were past the point of fighting him through the whole night. From early on you recognized that forcing him to fend you off until the sunrise only left you hurting for days after, so these days it only took a few hits to knock the fight out of you.

When you pushed yourself back up and looked to him, your ears once again folded back. But not in anger.

This time, your form cowered against the wall as you bent your head low, letting out a small whimper as you did so.

A sign of submission.

That was better.

Your ears perked back up when he spoke to you.

“Come here,” he ordered.

A few seconds went by before you moved, shuffling over to him across the floor while still holding your injured maw, though he knew it wouldn't take long for that injury to heal.

Feitan couldn't help the smirk that made its way to his lips. Although you still weren't where he wanted you – ideally you wouldn't attack him at all – this was progress. Even in your most unstable form, you were learning what your place was.

When you were kneeling beside his feet, that same hand that had struck you now reached out to lay upon your head, petting the matted fur softly. You kept your eyes averted as he did as he pleased, your head still facing downwards.

“Hungry?”

That question of his made you look back up before you faced down again, answering with the smallest of nods.

He chuckled as he pulled his hand away, and he was about to motion for you to follow him out of the room when-

A wolf howl could be heard in the far-off distance, coming in clearly through the thin layer of glass that separated the both of you from the outside. You reacted, jumping slightly in place as you turned your head in the direction of the noise, your ears going back again in fear.

Feitan brought your attention back to him when he told you “don't worry about him.”

Then he motioned with his finger as he told you “follow me.”

When he began to head to the room's exit, you got up to follow, trailing behind him by a few paces.

It would be some time still before he would let you out to hunt. The way you had attacked him earlier was a clear sign that he couldn't let you out yet; if you were to get even the smallest taste of freedom from him, then you might very well try to run from him. And then all of his work would be set back and he would need to start again from the beginning.

As much as Feitan tried to be patient in the process, he didn't want to go through with all of that again.

Walking wordlessly through the cellar, he led you to a different door, one that had been padlocked from the outside. From inside the room, the sound of someone crying could be heard, though it was muffled by the heavy door. A few moments later a different voice snapped at the crying person, hissing at them to stop.

What followed after was tense silence.

Removing the key from his pocket and unlocking the door, Feitan pulled it open for you, revealing the half a dozen people he had gathered for you in the days and hours prior. One of the women in the room shrieked at the sight of you, and all of them began to cower in the furthest corner, all yelling at one another as they tried to push past each other in an effort to get away from you.

Half a dozen sets of eyes looked at you in fear, and that was enough to make you shudder in place as you stared back at the people in that room.

Yet you hadn't moved. Instead of going in, your yellow eyes looked to Feitan, who still held the door for you.

He nodded.

That was when you charged in.

The screams started up immediately as Feitan shut the heavy door behind you.

Waking up felt similar to the way your father's ancient desktop computer would boot up back in your childhood home. It had been the kind with the monitor that looked like a large square box, and while it would initially turn on at the touch of the power switch, it would take several minutes until it was actually operational, the screen staying black with little bits of text popping up before it would wake up. That was how you felt now. Your eyes were open and you were staring at whatever was directly in front of your line of view, but you weren't really taking any information in as your brain needed some time before it could function properly.

That memory came to mind first: when you were a child living in your family home and watching from around your father as he turned on his computer, waiting for him to get up and allow you to get online to play games on some website. It was so clear in your head and yet you couldn't remember what games you played or even what the website was called. That was enough to get you to huff out a small laugh.

It felt like a lifetime ago that you were there.

But now you were here, naked and sprawled on the floor of the cellar with the only source of heat you could feel being the sunlight coming from the window that hit a small portion of your legs.

You closed your eyes as you took in a deep breath.

Finding yourself on the cold, hard floor was normal now. It had happened so often that there was no longer any surprise when you came to and discovered that you had been left in one of those cellar rooms. Sometimes surrounded by the remains of your victims from the previous night, sometimes not. A quick look around the room showed you that you were alone, nothing else with you aside from the ashes that surrounded you from your change back into your human form.

Pushing yourself up to a sitting position, you idly thought that it was nice of him to bring you back here. Even if you still felt like shit, it was nice that he didn't leave you locked in that room he had taken you to last night.

You knew you had hurt people – more than that. You had killed them. While your memory of it was only bits and pieces, you knew that it happened.

And you also knew the night ended with you nuzzling your face into Feitan's lap while he was petting you softly.

Like you were a dog.

……

At least you were a dog that he treated somewhat well, as you noticed the over-sized sweater hanging from the hook on the back of the door. If he only intended for you to be his mindless beast that killed at his command, he wouldn't bother letting you have some dignity by allowing you to cover up your nudity. Even if, after you had slipped the sweater on, it showed off a lot of your bare legs that were still covered in goosebumps from the chill of the cellar. But at least all of the important parts were covered.

This was a consideration – a kindness – that he didn't need to show you. The fact that he chose to do so meant something.

…. You certainly hoped that was the case.

The heavy door opened easily when you pulled on it, and you walked out into the hall on unsteady legs, still feeling the affects from the night prior. You were so unfocused that it took you reaching the stairs to realize that there was a wailing coming from one of the rooms at the other end. Taking a glance back, it didn't seem as though it was coming from the room you had been taken to previously. So someone else was down here.

…. You couldn't tell if they were crying out of pain or if their cries were that of emotional distress. Perhaps from being kidnapped.

Perhaps from something worse.

Listening for only a few more moments, you turned your attention back to getting yourself up the stairs, putting your weight on the railing as you hauled yourself up.

You wanted a shower. Your skin always felt so weird after transforming, like there was an invisible layer of grime that you needed to scrub off before you felt you could do anything else. You would see Feitan after that was done, probably. He was never around when you woke up, but he would always be back once you left the bathroom. Though you often wondered where exactly he went off to, you didn't bother asking him.

Much like whatever was going on with that wailing person you were leaving downstairs, there were things he did that you didn't need to know about.

The door at the top of the stairs as another heavy one, but it too opened easily when you pressed against it. This time your walk was more of a stumble as you entered the first floor, holding onto the knob for a moment before closing the door behind you.

You felt a bit more light-headed than usual. What had caused that? Certainly you had eaten enough. Ah, maybe it was water. You couldn't remember when you last-

You turned around and saw a man standing in the kitchen at the end of the hallway.

All the thoughts in your mind went silent as you froze.

As you stood there in shock, you noticed that he seemed just as surprised as you were.

It was clear that he had showered recently as his blonde hair was still wet, and despite your senses still being out of whack, you caught the smell of his body wash that had all but just been applied. His height made him slightly intimidating, as he was far taller than either you or Feitan, and by looks of his muscles, he was clearly strong. Whether or not he was stronger than Feitan was hard to determine, but certainly he was far stronger than you. At least, as you were right now.

His golden eyes were wide as he looked you over, that expression of shock and awe still clear on his face as his gaze traveled downwards before it traveled back up again, those eyes meeting yours once again and this time maintaining the eye contact.

As for you, once the initial shock of seeing a random man in the kitchen passed, you were hit with another sense of shock as you realized something:

He wasn't human, was he?

Despite your senses being frayed, you were able to tell that much after a few moments in his presence. Like you and Feitan, this man was something else, one that only appeared to be human at first glance.

So then what was he?

Why the hell was he here?

What was Feitan going to do when he found out about this intruder?

And did this man plan on doing something to you?

Now you were scared to move, keeping your hand on the knob of the door next to you as your palms grew sweaty. A wrong move on your part could make this man snap, and with how weak you still were, you wouldn't be able to run far if that happened. The only guaranteed safety you had was if Feitan were to appear, but you had no idea where he was at the moment.

The man wouldn't stay like this forever – what do you do?

You didn't get a chance to consider your options further because the man's expression changed, and he smiled at you.

“It's nice to finally see you,” he said.

You blinked, uncertain what to make of that.

Your heart began to pound hard in your chest when he began walking towards you, however, and the grip you had on the doorknob was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I've waited a long time,” he continued, still walking towards you at a pace that attempted to be steady, yet it was hard to miss the pure excitement in his step.

“I really wanted to see you earlier but he's so particular on how things should be done. He really thinks that if you weren't ready when you met me that I'd manage to bungle your training.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, not understanding what exactly what he was saying. Was he talking about Feitan?

The man stopped in front of you and noticed your confusion.

“… Do you know what I'm talking about?” he asked.

You shook your head.

To that, he sighed, looking disappointed as he gazed at you.

“Figures,” he grumbled, “though I really thought by now he would've mentioned something about me.”

You were listening to him. Technically. But now that he was so close, you were caught off-guard by something else: his scent.

It was the same scent that was always, always all over Feitan when he returned to you before you transformed. That of another werewolf, going through the same pre-transformation stage that you were.

… This was him?

He was like you?

He had known about you all this time while you were left in the dark?

The man was speaking again, and what he was saying came in clearer when you noticed how he was raising up a hand to cup your cheek.

“But that's okay. We have all the time in the world to get to know each other.”

Still uncertain as to what was going on, you kept silent. You kept still as well, even when his palm came so close that you felt the heat that radiated off of him on your skin.

When was the last time someone with a pulse had touched you softly?

He opened his mouth, starting with “I know we'll all-”

“Phinks.”

Feitan's voice called out, and chill ran down your spine. Based on the look on the blonde man's face, one ran down his as well.

The two of you looked to find the vampire standing at the other end of the hall, his hands in his pockets and his cowl missing, allowing both of you to see the full extent of his disgruntled expression.

“Not yet,” Feitan continued, his eyes on the male werewolf.

The blonde – Phinks, he seemed to be called – scowled before he looked back to you, pulling away and placing both his arms by his sides. But his hands clenched into fists after, and it was clear that he wanted to get ahold of you.

The blonde werewolf made no move of touching you, but he didn't make any move to back away from you, and when a few seconds ticked by like that, you saw Feitan's gaze narrow as his expression grew darker.

“Phinks.”

The warning in the way he said the man's name was even more clear this time, and even Phinks flinched slightly at the sound, gritting his teeth as anger was growing within him as well. It was clear that he didn't want to listen to Feitan, but he was compelled to do so.

With a deep sigh and something incomprehensible that he mumbled under his breath, Phinks turned away from you, heading back to where he'd been when you saw him before. He stopped when he reached Feitan, and from the way the two of them glowered at each other, there was some sort of argument that was silently playing out between them. One that Feitan was victorious in as soon after, Phinks' shoulders slumped downwards in defeat before he walked past the vampire.

Feitan then looked back to you, and upon seeing those dark eyes on you and the way he ordered you to leave without speaking, you jumped into action. With renewed energy, you turned and spotted a door that you knew led to a bathroom.

Perfect. You could clean yourself off and by the time you were done, hopefully whatever confrontation Feitan was having with this other werewolf would be over and you could go back up to your room.

Though technically you could've headed up the stairs that were only a few steps away from the door you had entered. Although by the time you thought of that, you were almost halfway done closing the door behind you, and if you changed course to do that, you might actually end up angering Feitan.

Better to just commit to this.

Only once you looked at the room you now found yourself in, you realized that you forgot that the downstairs bathroom didn't have a shower. Only a bathtub.

Oh well. You'd get clean either way, right?

You could pick up on the voices down the hall, recognizing both that of Feitan and Phinks. It was possibly an argument. Though you didn't try to listen in, instead heading over to the tub and turning the handles. Water immediately began rushing into the empty tub and all that noise blocked out their voices.

It took a few minutes until the temperature of the water was to your liking and the tub was filled, and when you shut the water off, you couldn't hear either of them anymore.

It was confusing; not knowing who Phinks was when he clearly knew you. Feitan knowing him and clearly not having any major issues with him considering that he didn't attack the blonde upon seeing him with you. And the thing Phinks had said, something about having all the time to know each other?

Just what was Feitan keeping from you?

You sighed before you slipped the sweater over your head, leaving it on the floor as you stepped into the tub, slowly lowering yourself before you were submerged up to your shoulders.

The next sigh that escaped you was one of relief, as you felt the tension leave your muscles once you had settled in the water. This was nice; nice enough that you felt safe as you closed your eyes, leaning your head against the rim of the tub while you let your thoughts drift away. Perhaps it was a little dangerous to be in the water when you were still feeling so weak, but you told yourself it would be fine.

Even if you did slip under, you no longer needed to fear death by drowning.

The moments of peace you felt lasted for some time, and you made no move to scrub yourself down like you had originally planned as you felt too content to bother now.

Then the door creaked open.

The daze you had been in was broken immediately and you sat up as you turned your attention back to the door.

Unsurprisingly, Feitan was the one who had walked in. When he shut the door behind him with a good deal of force, you found yourself cowering slightly as you worried what that might mean for you.

You sat quietly as he approached, his steps echoing off of the smooth surfaces of the bathroom until he reached the edge of the tub. Feitan's gaze flitted down to what he could see of you beneath the water's surface for a moment before he turned around and sat down on the edge of the tub. Oddly enough, his attention was on the door.

What was his mood right now? Your brows furrowed as you tried to figure him out. With him being closer now, you found that he didn't seem angry, or even annoyed as he so often was. If anything, he just seemed a bit perturbed.

All because of your encounter with Phinks? Why was it that bad that you met him? Were you even supposed to meet the other werewolf? Phinks made it sound as though you were, but with the way Feitan was acting both outside and in here made you wonder if your paths were never meant to cross.

Curiosity drove you to say something then, and you cleared your throat as you asked “did I do something wrong?”

Feitan glanced at you, then shook his head.

“Then…. Can I ask who Phinks is?”

Feitan turned his attention to you fully and you couldn't help but shrink down slightly into the water once the weight of his gaze bore down on you.

“You can tell, can't you?” he asked.

You nodded.

His eyes narrowed as he continued with “so why ask stupid questions?”

Your response to that was to look down into the water as you mumbled out a “sorry.” Feitan scoffed in response, but then he shifted himself on the edge of the tub so his body was turned more towards you. He wasn't saying anything more, instead once again choosing to stare at you.

Did he really need to do that when you were in the bathtub?

Unable to stand the silence and the irritation that came with his last answer, you meekly asked “was I not supposed to meet him?”

Feitan let out a small sigh as he said “not yet.”

With a roll of his head, Feitan looked back to the door one more time as he added “he's just too overeager. He doesn't understand patience.”

You nodded along like you understood everything that he was saying, although when you thought on it, previous experiences with Feitan had you thinking that it was rather hypocritical for him to criticize others on being patient. Especially when the vampire had been around for as long as he had, you would have thought patience would be something that he was a master of.

That was yet another thought in a sea of them that you kept to yourself.

Not wanting to leave things there, you spoke up again.

“Phinks seems nice,” you said.

Feitan looked over to you and his expression was blank.

“…. Is he not?” you asked.

“He's better now,” Feitan told you, “but you wouldn't have liked him at the beginning.”

“Beginning of what?”

“His training.”

The vampire dipped his hand into the water, moving it about with gentle motions as he added “the process of teaching him to be obedient took decades. Training you has been much easier in comparison.”

He said nothing else as he kept his hand in the water.

You stared at him as you felt slightly shocked.

… Feitan… The things he had done to you…. Had he also done them to Phinks? Were you not the first victim of his to be kidnapped and subjugated? Phinks was so much stronger than you, and he had honestly seemed to be just as strong as Feitan, if not more.

Yet Feitan had managed to gain control over him?

Part of you wanted to ask the vampire more while another part of you never wanted the subject to be brought up again. And luckily for that latter half of you, that part was the one that got its wish as you got the sense that Feitan didn't want to talk anymore. In his mind, no doubt, he had been nice enough to give you the answers you had sought. Answers to questions that you shouldn't have even had since it truly seemed you weren't meant to meet Phinks. Not this day. To push him further would be to cause distress for yourself. If not now, then in the future.

You desperately didn't want that, if just for the sake of your own well-being.

There was then a quiet that settled within the confines of that room. Neither you nor Feitan spoke, and the only sound that regularly battled against the emptiness in the air was that of the gentle sloshing of the water against the smooth sides of the bathtub. With nothing else left to say to him, you told yourself that you should continue as you were. Clean off that grime and refresh yourself as you had been intending when you first entered the room. If Feitan wanted to watch then he would. If he didn't, he would leave.

…. For some reason, you didn't want him gone yet.

What possessed you to do what you did next, you had no idea. But slowly, you moved, scooting up slightly in the tub until your head reached where Feitan's thigh was sitting on the edge. Just as slowly, you moved your head forward until your cheek was resting on his leg.

Feitan said nothing, nor did he make any move to stop you.

Eventually, you were resting the weight of your skull on his leg, the parts of your hair that had been soaked by the water getting his pants wet in the process. Still, Feitan didn't do anything.

He couldn't have been completely against it. If he had, he would have shoved you away or stood up and left. That he allowed you to do as you pleased meant that he couldn't have minded that much.

When he finally reacted, you held your breath.

Feitan pulled his hand out of the tub, and with the water still dripping off of his skin, that same hand came down to rest on the top of your head. How he felt about this became clear when he began to pet your hair with soft, gentle strokes. At that, you allowed yourself to relax more against him, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch, humming contentedly.

It was similar to what had happened last night.

The memory came back again: of you kneeling before him in a room full of blood and body parts while he stood before you, and a single hand had reached out to stroke the top of the head of your monstrous form, his fingers becoming stained with red as they moved through the blood soaked fur.

This time was much nicer, you felt. The clean bathroom and the soothing water were much better accompaniments to the rare gentle touches from him that you had come to yearn for. Because he only did as such when he was especially happy with you. As you thought over the events of the past few days, you counted three different times, including this one, where he had shown you such affection.

That was good, you told yourself. It meant you were doing something right.

Things would be easier if you did the things that would please him. If you made that your goal, then you could be happy. And already, you felt a fragmented part of you wanting just that: for Feitan to be happy with you. To please the ancient vampire that had decided to choose you. Please him and accept whatever he wanted, be it to keep you to himself or to bring Phinks into whatever it was the two of you had.

Or were you the one being brought into something he had with Phinks?

It didn't make much difference.

As long as your mind could break enough so that it could accept this life with Feitan, that was all that mattered.

[paper-bag-boy]

i had an incredibly vivid dream about three mafia yanderes having the hots for the same victim. it's gonna be a looooooong one.

I'm imagining the guys as Nobunaga, Phinks, and maybe Feitan (hxh), or shigaraki, dabi, and hawks (mha/bnha). (mha/bnha).

tw: noncon, public sex(?), human trafficking (will get to that part later)

imagine you meet them in the cinema during a uni exchange programme. you're in a foreign country, you befriended like two other people who speak your language and you usually stick to those same people.

one day your group decides to go to the cinema but have to split up due to the crowd. you end up in between two attractive guys and aside from the awkward shuffling you have to make to get to your seat, you don't interact with them much.

then during the movie they start getting handsy. the guy on your left slips his hand under your skirt and the guy on your right gropes your chest, pulling a knife on you to keep quiet. abandoning all self preservation, you take a breath to scream but a hand slaps over your mouth, his burly arm almost crushing you. your heart stutters and you wish it'd stop completely, there was a third guy!

there's nothing you can do but sit there as they grope you. the man on your right sucks hickies into your neck while he fondles your breasts, while the one on your left pulls your panties aside and dips his fingers into your waistband, but whatever moans that escape you are muffled by the hand over your mouth. you can practically hear them grin as you start convulsing, the combination of the lips on your neck and fingers in your cunt tipping you over the edge, and they keep going when the pleasure bleeds into overstimulation.

you're gasping and twitching when they finally pull their hands away. the man on your left licks his fingers clean, the obscene gesture making you flush further, if possible. his mouth splits into a grin, and he taps your thigh, whispering a quick "thanks for the meal" before getting up and leaving with the man who'd covered your mouth.

the man on your right stays to help fix your clothing. or at least, he tries to while groping your curves one last time. once satisfied, he pulls back, giving you a quick peck on your forehead. the uncharacteristic action stuns you more than anything they'd done to you and you almost miss his parting words.

your friends find you after the movie, teasing you for falling alseep during the action scenes. but all you can think of are the men's fingers on you and how one had stayed to give his goodbyes...

"see you around, cutie."

(I'll write the rest later, i literally just woke up)

[hhighkey]

Cry-Baby // Phinks, one shot - part of hhighkey’s phantom troupe universe series

Rating: mature Story Contains: implied past kidnapping, emotional manipulation, possessive/overprotective tendencies, rough sex, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, overly sensitive / easy to manipulate reader, phinks is not the good bf reader thinks he is, reader is unaware of the troupe until halfway, panic attacks, anger issues Note: around 13.2k words, ao3 link: xxx , this one shot is a big expansion off the smut headcanon I did awhile ago for Phinks. This has references to my Uvogin oneshot 'Taken' as his partner is the Reader from that (she's unnamed), and my Feitan one shot 'An Ode to...' is referenced slightly. On ao3 I have these one hits in a series for like a ‘phantom troupe universe’ so there's some overarching themes / connections going on. which reading the others aren't needed tho if u don't want!

It didn't take much, the TV channels with the abandoned dogs or a too sappy book, even your favorite ice cream being sold out. You'd be tearing up, lash line wet and moist as tears slowly dripped down. A tightening in your sensitive chest as you desperately tried to stop the looming cries that always found their way out. 

Since the day a tall muscular, handsome  blonde in a tracksuit walked into your life, everything changed. At first overwhelming joy over the man who memorized your coffee order, brought you tulips after you said you liked them in passing. Even your elderly next door neighbor adored him and she was a tough nut to crack.

You weren't sure when it changed. Six months of spending time together, careful glances as you saw how Phinks had immeasurable strength yet he'd blush at the smallest of things that came to you. 

So when did your life take a hard right turn? Had it really been the moment you meant Phinks, or was it when you told him about your new job opportunity with relocation? You remembered the panic on his chiseled features, how he ran his thick fingers through his combed blonde locks. How your back hit the wall as he stood over you, apologies spilling from his lips and then black. 

Intense grief over your past life and sudden lack of freedom contributed to the constant tears of your already sensitive state. Did you necessarily care that the man you loved was insanely protective, not allowing you to leave his home? And that your poor, soft head never once considered it to be kidnapping? Once dreaming of the day he asked you out but now he wanted you by his side forever? Phinks tried his best, he really did, leaving the room if a fight got intense, body language the epitome of a dangerous man when angry. Even as his fists clenched in anger because you refused something. Let you yell at him. Let you have your moments to starve yourself just to spite him. But the man knew how to woo- from your favorite music to shows, to learning to bake with you. His hot temper and possessive tendencies meant little when he babied and cared for you every turn. 

One day, you supposed you'd just snapped that your relationship with Phinks was more important than being able to have a phone or shop on your own. Or perhaps you gave into the feelings that were already there before he took you. You just stopped fighting the claws of doubt that nudged at your mind that kidnapping someone was not normal, that you can't be with him now. That meant little once you finally pressed your lips to his out of the blue and his tense muscled melted against you. Once you remembered a book you read in school, an intense look into the life of a woman who had intense Stockholm Syndrome and the psychology into it. You cried and cried over the book. Mourned for the fictional character, but somehow, in a messed up way you kept finding yourself rooting for their love. Maybe that was a big reason the author wrote it. You didn’t believe your love for Phinks was based on a psychological abuse based bond.

Phinks took you because he feared he’d lose you, he’d apologized for his mistakes. He never got violent towards you when business went bad or you’d not communicated in a way he needed while traveling. And that was good enough for you. 

Oh you could not wait for him to get home, he'd called the landline this morning to let you know he was on his way. You could jump for joy, heart racing with every growing excitement, fluttering nerves as you'd cleaned the townhome all morning. 

You glance to the timer, the minutes ticked down to when your garlic butter pull-away bread would be done- Phinks’s favorite. Growing up, your mother always emphasized the importance of a clean home, of cooking and preparing a meal for someone after a long day's work. You hoped she'd be impressed with the life you had with Phinks. 

'Alright,' you smiled to yourself as a faint alarm went off. Grabbing the oven mitts, you pulled the perfectly golden loaf out and placed it on the cooling rack. Oven now off you left the kitchen to change. 

It was almost time for Phinks to arrive home. You’re too impatient by that point, keep looking at the clock in your bedroom. The scent of him that lingered on the pillow you liked to hug close was no longer comforting in his place. With a smile you wanted to dress up better, so you made your way to the closet to pick a dress. 

"Babe?" The front door to your shared townhome slammed shut. Phinks's voice carried up the stairs even though you heard him going towards the kitchen most definitely smelling the fresh bread. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, a gentle smile as you smoothed down your dress. It was a new one Phinks had given you with a blush, saying he saw it and figured you'd look cute. And seeing him so embarrassed made you giddy, excited for him to see you in it. 

And of course you'd let him know you missed him the last few days he'd been gone on a business trip.

"Hey, coming down." You called out, making your way to the stairs. You saw his bag dropped at the door with shoes discarded, mentally making a note to straighten them up. 

"There you ar-" Phinks stopped mid sentence as his gaze lasered on you, he always hated having you out of his sight, made him nervous. His pupils went big as they traveled along every inch of skin, raking in the dress that fit your body perfectly, "Shit you look good." 

"Think so?" You blushed, nervous as you gave him a little spin.

"Know so." 

Phinks wasted no time to grab your waist and pull you into him. He breathed in your scent as he peppered kissed onto the top of your head. He relished in how you squeezed him, nuzzling your face into his chest.

"Missed you." You whined before giving him your best puppy eyes, "You aren't leaving anytime soon again right? Been gone a lot lately and I hate sleeping alone."

"Aw baby," Phinks cooed, "You're adorable. Hate being away from you, you know that right?" 

You nod, enthused and burning with want. Liquid heat spreads throughout your core as his hands slyly inch closer, "I know." It never took long for Phinks to get you undressed and pliant beneath him, completely at his mercy. The feeling of his warm body encapsulating yours was intoxicating mixed with the smell of his cologne. Light kisses fanned your hot skin as he reclaimed your lips for the nth time, meshing into a feathery pure want. 

It was those kisses, how you found yourself stripped, panties discarded and the top of your dress pulled down enough to free your breasts, the skirt hiked up. His fingers dig into your hips and you think you’ll have bruises for days from how his hips had thrusted into your cunt for the last hour. Sounds of slapping skin still reverberated in your ears as beads of sweat littered his skin, muscles always flexing with every movement. 

"Oh baby," Phinks cooed as he stroked your cheek, fingers pinching and squeezing your wet stained flesh. 

You were a mess. Shaking hips and messy hair, eyeliner smeared under the waterline. Phinks had made you cum more times than ever already since got back and started with his head between your legs. So poor little you was a babbling mess with clouded, lust filled thoughts. 

Phinks preferred you this way, well-behaved and hazy, gasping for breath underneath him with your calves resting on his biceps. You're so dazed you barely notice how his thumb flicks to your sensitive clit making your lower body spasm,

"Oh!" you gasp as you see stars. And it's all becoming too much. How hot your body is, how untamable a fire within you is as your hips buck and knots tighten in your abdomen. "Too much Phinks!! Can't-"

And that's when your tears fall. As if all cords and knots snapped at once your mind glittered with pleasure- too much pleasure that it was painful. So much so that you let out an honest to god sob as pools of wetness stain your flushed cheeks. Phinks hips stuttered for a second, coming to a halt as he watched you cry with love in his eyes. The way you were a goddess underneath him, how your face contorted and with hips giving him perfect friction.

"Oh fuck baby- that's hot, keep fucking crying for me." Phinks pressed into you more as he spoke low like a threat, cock pistoning against your cervix as he abused your clit, his thumb determined to stay put as you squirmed. Seeing the puddles fall from your eyes made him shake, a shiver running down his spine. 

And tears fell faster from his words alone as your abdomen burned. You barely recognize the whines leaving your lips through sniffles and cries, and snot begins to drip. Your poor wrists burn from the rope that tied them to the bed frame, the helplessness turning you on even more. 

Phinks face was inches away as he loomed over you, his pupils blown wide as he grinned past his canines. He found it so fascinating how the tears rolled down staining the sheets around your head. Fascinating that he could give you, his pretty little girl, such pleasure like rapture that you were weeping. Your breath fanning across his face with desperate whimpers from the deep of your throat sent him over the edge. Each intake of air was a job in itself, ragged breathing as you clawed at any of his skin you could grasp. 

"Phinks! M' too full- too much-"

Phinks just grunts. Braced himself over you as he suddenly left you empty, just the utmost tip of his long cock inside your gummy walls. A cocky smirk danced across his face and chiseled cheekbones, utterly obsessed with you, twisted feelings in his chest. Your dilated irises, fidgeting and thrashing figure from electricity that corrupted you- made him growl as tears continued to roll down your puffy cheeks. And how as he slammed his hips to yours- to the hilt- deeper- making a cry leave you as a bulge formed in the low plush of your abdomen- made the knots in his stomach begin to unravel. Liked how he could see himself in you- liked how as he pressed down on your tummy you shrieked and cried, begging him to stop as you came, feeling too full, too out of control. Squirt dribbled from your swollen hole as he wiped away at translucent liquid dripping down your face. Blank eyes. All empty on your fucked out face because of him. 

He fucked you through your nth orgasm, grunting and gasping as the squelching noises from your dripping, swollen cunt rang through the air. "You're my good girl aren't ya? Such a pretty baby crying while I fuck your tiny cunt. Gonna fill that greedy tight pussy, princess.”

You cried, nodding your head furiously begging him to cum inside you, as if you'd die if he didn't. 

"Yeah? Know you like it when I cum inside you- beg me- please- need to hear you." And just like that he fell apart. The side of Phinks only you ever got to see. So demanding, so rough, but just a lovesick fool for your crying form shoved full with his cock.

"Ah Phinks-" you were seeing stars, vision slowly going in and out as intense waves of pleasure took over you as your cunt squeezed the life from your lover's cock, "Love you Phinks—" you were babbling, rambling unable to speak straight, "I need you- inside me- m' my pussy needs you."

"Fuck." He grunted as his climax was raining down on him, "All mine, babe." Phinks saw white as he came, falling down on you as he shoved his face into your neck. His cock was to the hilt, shoved into your womb as you dry sobbed leaving deep nail marks on him. Your stomach expanding as his warm cum swarmed your insides, leaving you fuller than you'd been before. Gasping and hugging him close, legs wrapped around his waist so he couldn't leave you- not like he would. The way he nipped at your skin, sucking and nibbling along your collarbone and lower neck. How he ground his still hard and pulsing cock against your spasming walls that just sucked him in. 

His calloused hands soon came into contact with your face as he pushed up, adoringly staring down. He wiped away your loose tears earning him a tiny smile he so loved to see. 

"You always take me so well," and your chest soared as he kissed your forehead. You'd done well for him! His good girl! 

The tears soon dried completely as you'd find yourself in a warmed lathering bath- Phinks doting on your every move whilst unbeknownst to you, the faint sound of the news in the living room was talking about a specific criminal organization.

-

"Are you ready to finally meet Uvogin and his girl?"

You nodded ecstatically, "Yes, yes, so excited to meet her, no offense to Uvogin."

"Figured you would be, he won’t care he’s probably only comin’ for the food. Woulda loved to have you meet her a few months ago but her health was bad, Uvo wanted to make sure she was hundred percent before meeting new people. Some disease involving her lungs wasn't paying attention."

"I understand, that's scary." You hummed, kneading dough for its final stretching. Though you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's ability to relay information regarding others, "This needs another 45 minutes to sit and rise some more, then it can go in the oven."

"Which is my job right?"

"Yes don't want to burn myself." You purse your lips, "Feel like something's missing though."

"Like what?" Phinks wrapped his muscular arms around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Don't know, maybe an ingredient?" You looked about your organized mess before a lightbulb went off in your head, "Oh, the fruit, can you get the cantaloupe out and cut it into cubes?"

"Yes ma'am." He kissed your head again before going to cut the fruit.

Boy did Phinks make cooking an extensive meal easier (though at first it was substantially harder by his lack of knowledge or experience). He’d handle anything too hot, he was better with knives, and no longer did you have to mix until an arm cramped. You liked the cute overly focused look that'd crease his brows and pursed his lips as he focused on a task you gave him. It warmed your insides at how dutiful he was towards you, how he enjoyed your girly hobbies as he’d call them. 

Time went by too fast whenever you cooked, and it felt as if you never left yourself enough of it. You cut it too close for comfort, the food ready a minute before the sound of the doorbell went off. You’re in the middle of bringing dishes to the dining room table as two new voices meet your ears. Not able to stop the growing but, still nervous as you brushed along your pink apron.

“Babe,” Phinks voice called out, “C’mere.” 

You obeyed as if on cue, “Hi.” As you walked from the open kitching to where they stood in the foyer, Phinks hugged you to his side. 

“Uvo.” Said the largest man you’ve ever laid eyes on with a large grin. And Phinks is stifling laughter as you look Uvo up and down with parted lips, head cocked to the side. Even the girl besides Uvo attempts to hold amusement too.

Uvogin introduced her to you, his fiancé, which had been news to Phinks. And earned him a glare for not knowing his friend got engaged when they recently moved right next door. The audacity of men. 

"Hi, I'm Y/N." You said, politely pulling the large man's partner in for a hug. Everyone was small compared to Uvogin you thought, but this woman had an aura to her that pulled you in as if the giant didn't exist. Her smile was so warm and she smelled of fresh rose and pine. You note she’s frail, remembering what Phinks said about her health, and you loosen your arms on her. 

“So,” You rub your hands together motioning for people to follow, “People hungry enough to eat?”

“I’m fuckin’ famished.” Uvogin helped his way to where the food sat out at the table; Different vegetables, cantaloupe, roasted lamb and a cinnamon loaf. From the corner of your eye you see his fiance scolding him as he tried to grab a piece of meat, and for a moment you felt a surreal sense of belonging. To see them seeing so content together, you hoped that was how you and Phinks came across, since interactions with others were so limited. 

You gave the table a final look as the three of them sat down, needing one last thing you moved to the kitchen. The sound of cell phones going off is easily recognizable as you grab napkins and a serving spoon. Glancing across the island you see Phinks typing away at his phone. A chime went off and then another. You watched as Uvogin and Phinks looked semi-annoyed scowling at the screens, “Huh.” Uvo muttered as he wrapped an arm over the back of his fiance’s chair. “What’s normally on Channel 5?”

“What?” She asked him, sending you an annoyed look that read ‘Men’ as you placed napkins around the circular table. 

“Dunno. Y/N could you grab the remote since you’re up?” Phinks asks.

“Of course, one sec, the remote is over there.” You say, padding over to the loveseat on the other side of the room where Phinks was watching something earlier. 

Clicking the TV on you find it was already set to Channel 5, immediately fixated on the news, showing pictures of a gruesome crime scene. Turning the volume up, your stomach drops at the banner flashing on the screen in red ‘Phantom Troupe Strikes Again: 35 Dead, 12 Missing.’ 

“Oh my god,” You say with a gasp taking in the horrid sight, “That’s horrible.”

As you glance to where the other three stand, you immediately notice the discomfort. Uvogin and his fiance are staring dead at Phinks, while Phinks fingers flex at his side unblinking, directed at you.

“What?” 

“She doesn’t know?” Uvo’s fiance asked in a hushed voice, you barely hear it. 

“Know what?” You move forward, while she stares at you with wide eyes, immediately looking down at her plate.

“Oh- uh,” Phinks stammered as he quickly got up to make his way to you, “Just that news has been all over, she probably assumed you knew. Pretty scary.”

What you can see of her, Uvo’s partner didn’t have the ability to play it off. She seemed as if mentally transported elsewhere as she played with her fingers. 

“We’re gonna get going...” Uvogin says abruptly. He shot Phinks a look and it makes you want to scream, feeling as if left out of one big joke.

“Turn that shit off.” Phinks is at your side faster than you’ve ever seen him move. You jumped back in shock, flinching from the dark look on his face. You’re frozen at the sound of the remote shattering against the wall. 

It’s then that Uvogin is dragging his girl out with none of the food yet to be touched, but you catch her lips moving your way, you think she’s mouthing- ‘It’ll be fine.’ Not that it comforted you. The front door slammed. And then there were two. 

Tension that could be cut with a knife. You inch away from him, gaze flitting from the now black screen of the TV to Phinks. Something tells you his outburst has to do with the news, why he always told you your soft brain couldn’t handle it. That he just wanted to protect you from bad things that’d make you cry. 

“Phinks?” He doesn’t respond; fists clenched as he stares downwards. A bulging vein on his forehead tells you this is serious. “Tell me what's going on, why did they seem nervous? Why’d they leave so quickly? Did I do something wrong?” 

“Thought I told you not to watch the news.”

“It was on when I turned it on Phinks, you were the last one who used it.”

“Shit.” He had been. He didn’t flip the stupid fucking channel or bother to remember which channel numbers lined up with which station. 

“Please be honest, you and Uvo were having a conversation with your eyes! I feel like an idiot being left out of this. Why did she say ‘I didn’t know’ when I brought up the Phantom Troupe? And what you responded with doesn’t add up.”

“You’re gonna hurt your brain thinkin’ so hard babe. Let’s drop it.”

“You broke the remote by throwing it against the wall, Phinks.” You place your hands on your hip, frustration bubbling in your chest. “That was uncalled for especially in front of guests.”

“Fuck.” Phinks breathes heavy into his hands before pressing them against his forehead, “Fuck!” 

You step back, swallowing hard. His outburst has your brow lining in sweat, terror pulsing at the back of your mind.

“Phinks?” The watergates opened as fat tears fell down your cheeks, “Y-you’re scaring me.” 

You think he’ll comfort, explain it and take your fears away. But he doesn’t. 

“Y/N.” His eyes look as if they’re screaming for your forgiveness. Slowly, Phinks tugs off his sweatshirt. Suddenly you felt as if the room increased a hundred degrees, you’re too hot, feeling like you’ll choke from the dense air. Then he strips off his shirt, “You know how I keep this covered, told you it was an embarrassing scar?” You nod. “It’s a tattoo.” 

“Tattoo of what?” You whisper. 

You were never bothered by the fact he kept a bandage-like piece on his right shoulder blade. You assumed it was so personal that eventually he’d open up. Because you trusted him. 

But as his fingers peel it off, you catch sight of black ink. 

A black spider with a number 5 inked in the middle stares back. 

An incessant ringing blares in your ears. You’d heard of that tattoo, that it signifies the person is a spider, a fearsome thief of the underworld. A member of the Phantom Troupe. An urban legend your mom once told you about so you wouldn’t sneak out with a boy at 15, that you only recently learned was true. 

“You’re- when you leave for work… What is it you do again? And don’t say some business- Tell me.” You say between your dry heaves, your sobs as you furiously wipe away tears. 

“I’m a member of the Phantom Troupe babe, one of its founding members.”

Your head is spinning, legs wobble as you lose your balance. Phinks hurries to catch you as they give out, placing you on the couch, between your legs. But you push at his head and squirm back to get away. Shying into the couch cushions as you stare at him, eyes red. 

“I- Don’t play with me. Please tell me you aren’t in that group! You can’t be.” 

“Baby-”

“Don’t touch me.” You spit venom in your words as you rip your wrist from his grasp, holding it to your chest.

“Y/N this doesn’t change the fact I love you, doesn’t change anything here for us. Shouldn’t it prove to you that my vows to protect you are legitimate, that I’m strong enough to do so?”

“That’s your attempt to convince me?” It won’t stop, the downflow of tears and the running snot you wipe at. Your words turn to pathetic blubbering. "You.. kill people?"

Phinks nodded, huffing into his hands. The man is panicking, his chest tight with knots when all he wanted was to pull you into his arms. He considered forcing you down so he can explain, maybe fuck you so you feel good easily compliant. He needs you to give him a second, needs you to stop asking questions. 

"Uvogin? Is he a member? Feitan too?”

“Yes.”

Fuck. Your world’s collapsing, you’re certain of it.

“D-Did he kidnap his fiancé too? Did Feitan kidnap his girlfriend as well?"

"Baby it's complicated, and well Feitan hasn't exactly made her his- Shit... Saying it like that sounds bad but-"

"It is bad! I-I forgot? I swore I was here because I realized there wasn't anything for me at home.. I loved you and.. Do you actually love me?" Your eyes welled with tears, sudden realization came back over you. You grieved for past life once, how did you forget that?

"Baby I do love you, you're safe with me, promise. It's me."

"You're a murderer." You emphasized, horrified and unable to push yourself against the wall anymore if you tried, "How many people had their lives ruined because of the Phantom Troupe?"

"I.. don't know. A lot."

Conflicting emotions wash over your fragile mind. The man who crouched a foot away from you looked as if his world was shattering down around him, like he was terrified to lose you. Yet he was a thief, a killer, and you realized he wouldn't let you walk out that door regardless of what you decided.

"You lied to me. I don't know who you are."

"Y/N fuck, it's me, promise nothing about who I am is a lie, only my occupation. I love you, I'd do anything for you." You flinched as he moved to sit in front of you on the edge of the couch, taking your face between his palms even as you flinch, "You're safe with me, I promise."

"Phinks..." You sniffled, "I.." At the end of all things, did that matter? What Phinks did for a living? He'd been nothing but a loving, supportive partner. The whiplash hurts. Your chest felt heavy, your breathing was too heavy as if your air was cut off. You think you’re going to pass out as you reach for him, eyes blinking furiously. 

"Baby? Shit." He pulled you into his chest, rubbing your back in soothing circles, "Breathe for me, yeah? In. Out." You follow his orders, "Good girl, see?" 

One deep breath after another and you regained your senses, his eyes boring into you. 

"I need space tonight." You whimpered. 

"Yeah, that's fine, I know you need to think."

You rubbed your arms, "I'm going to lay down to sleep, alone tonight. If you could please clean up the kitchen and table."

"I-" Phinks went to argue, no way in hell would he let you sleep without him while he was home. But he knew he needed you to have time to think, even if it were an illusion or lie because he'd join once you were asleep. Paranoia was heavy in his mind, ever growing as he thought of her without him. Even not knowing what she was thinking was close to setting him over the edge. But he loosened his imaginary grip and nodded, "Of course."

Your home moved by you as if you were a zombie, legs heavy as lead as you closed the door to the master bedroom. Locking it. Then unlocking it. 

Sobs choked out. You clamped your hand over your mouth. Your legs gave out, back slid down against the door as your butt met the ground with a huff. Tears flooding once more, you let out a broken wail into your palms as you shoved your face into your flesh. Hugged your knees to your chest as painstaking agony pierced your limbs. You're gasping for air. Begging for a sense of relief. Crying that it hurts so bad. 

You could feel Phinks's aura on the other side of the door after fifteen minutes, knowing he was sitting with his back against the wood the same as you. An unknown force had you wanting to shove your fingers under the door to get a touch of him, wanting to already fling the door open and collapse into him. Were you really that pathetic? Already compartmentalizing the fact the man you loved was a killer? When Phinks had told you about his upbringing it'd pulled your heart strings, having to survive with no parents, no money, no home? How uncanny that his hints slowly made sense. Could you... even blame him?

Groaning through your heavy gasps as you couldn't stop weeping, you felt light headed. You sucked in air far too sharp that had you spinning, ready to topple onto your side.

With wobbly legs you force yourself to stand, clumsily making your way over to the king sized bed. Collapsing atop you stare off at the wall, wetness falling down to your eyes, to your mouth, dripping down your neck. Oh it hurts. How your head began to pulse with heavy stabs up against your temple. Lips quivered. You pulled the blankets tight letting your fingers twist and tangle within them, needing anything to ground you. 

Two questions spiraled. Would you really face the reality of your situation and that leaving a man like Phinks was smart? Or would you stay because you loved him? It alarmed you how easily you were willing to ignore Phinks was in the Phantom Troupe, that you'd already forgiven him. Forgive him? No, no, it wasn't you he needed to convince it was those he affected... which, deep down, you were glad he'd taken you. Because your kidnapping gave you a beautiful partner and life! Maybe you should tell him that! 

So as exhaustion and confusion overtook your trembling form, you were plunged into a restless sleep. One that played the same nightmare on repeat, the cycle of meeting Phinks to the kidnapping, to your life together, and to now. Stuck at a crossroads of swirling doubt manifesting in dark fog that would only come to fruition if you made a choice. Your dream-self, your heart, wanted to be selfish, wanted to head down the path to Phinks no matter what. While your brain told you it'd make you complacent, that it'd be ridiculous to stay with a man like him. That one day maybe you’d become a victim in the crosshairs. Before the morning sun streamed unto you forcing you awake, your dream-self chose a path. 

-

When you opened the bedroom door, stomach fluttering with thousands of butterflies that made you want to puke- to your surprise Phinks fell back, woken and onto his feet in seconds. He'd fallen asleep against the door, respected your decision to sleep alone which tugged on the depths of your heart. 

Gazes locked and it was a battle of who'd speak first, though you hoped he'd leave the ball in your court. Phinks looked... scared? His eyes low, heavy bags beneath them. You desperately wanted to brush his messy hair back, to reprimand him not to sleep on hardwood! And you almost reached up but caught yourself, he glanced down to your hand.

"I.." You wonder how bad you look. Wonder how bloodshot your eyes are, how puffy your face is. And if he noticed, "Lets talk?"

Phinks grunted his answer. He wasn't always a man of many words, it took months for him to be more open, so you'd hate for him to shut down on you now. 

You followed him downstairs, taking your places on the couch, an awkward space in between how your bodies turned to face the other. Phinks wanted to scoop you up to take all your troubles away, wanted to pepper your face with kisses until you'd cry of laughter. Didn't like how far you felt, a foot feeling like a mile. Even being able to hold your hand would have helped the torrential storm that raged within him; fear so strong he thought he couldn't breathe last night until he passed out in front of the bedroom. Like losing a piece of him that only you could complete.

You'd made up your mind that morning. 

Staring at your fingers you tell yourself it would be okay, that you could tell him everything you wanted to get out.

“I have a lot to say.”

“Alright.” His voice sounds strained as he cracks his knuckles, never breaking eye-contact.

“You know, I’m still mad you kidnapped me and won’t let me have contact with anyone I used to know.” Phinks eyes became unreadable, his jaw tense, fingers flexing as if it was the only way to push his anger away. “I told you about my new job opportunity way back when because I wanted to see if you’d want to come, which now I know wouldn't have worked. But also to see if you’d ask me out and give me a reason to stay, I knew after you took me on that garden tour even though you were clearly uncomfortable, that I’d fallen for you. It’s weird after all this time I never told you that.” Seeing the tension that’d built within him start to evaporate, eased your churning stomach. He looks better, suddenly getting back color in his cheeks, chest inhaling a large breath.

You continue, “I think.. I think I had and continue to have a hard time because my heart knows I’ve always loved you, but my brain wants me to keep remembering you technically kidnapped me, and that’s a horrible thing for a partner to do. That even now you’re dangerous to an extent I may never understand since you’re a spider. That you could hurt me one day. I register the anger in your eyes on phone calls, I see how often you flex or crack your fingers to stay sane if I did something you didn’t agree with. There’s cameras in every room. You’d monitored my body for weeks to make sure I wasn't self harming or losing weight. Had to sit in on all my showers. I remember hearing Feitan quip at you that you’re a hot head. I saw Uvogin’s fiance’s fear towards the news.”

Tears prick at your lash line as you attempt to wipe them away, sending Phinks the slightest of smiles you could muster, “And I now know it’s because you're scared something will happen to me because you've seen horrible sides to our world. You are a piece of that horrible side, the Phantom Troupe… You and your friends are considered a giant threat. Anyone who’s capable of the things you all are, have to have something off in the head, I’m sorry to say it like that. So I understand you now more than ever. But you’re still my Phinks. You rub my back at nights, you put things on a high shelf so you can laugh at me as I try to get it only to swoop in. You watch those horrible holiday romance movies because I love them and you’ll never admit you do too.”

“What are you saying?” He asked hoarsely. 

“I hope you don't want me to leave, I love you.” You say bashfully, pink dusting your cheeks.

Phinks never planned to let you leave. None of the outcomes in his mind consisted of it. But there you sat with a cute, happy face telling him you want to stay and be with him, thinking he was going to let you go if you asked. So Phinks lets out a sigh of relief knowing he doesn’t need to become the bad guy, he can let you think he’d have given you the autonomy to leave. Because you knew he loved you regardless of everything and you never considered other more darker options. You’re a softy, so innocent and naive, someone who cries at anything, and this further proves to Phinks you need him. 

The last two years this very conversation weighed on him. Knowing the day you found out about the Troupe your loving relationship would come to an end, you’d hate him. And then when he’d have to inevitably chain you up or threaten to break your legs to keep you from going anywhere, you’d despise him and yourself. You’d be petrified of him. 

But none of that was going to happen and Phinks is thanking whatever God is up there with his entire doomed soul. 

“I never want you to leave.” Phinks was across the couch, pulling you into a bruising kiss. His warm lips meshing with your own in a desperate dance as if one would disappear. A whine from the back of your throat made his heart race, made him melt like lava, all consuming that he couldn't stand the emotion that warbled through him. Like he could burst with the emotion of a thousand suns yet it still wouldn’t be enough to describe what you did to him. 

Before the kiss gets too intense to the point of no return as you feel your thighs rub together in want, you push at his shoulders. You stroke his cheek as you study his face memorizing each inch shaped from the gods themselves to you.

"I want you to tell me everything, okay. No lies, I want your real childhood, real everything that you changed to leave out the Phantom Troupe. And don’t hide the tattoo anymore."

"I can do that." He nodded fervently, squeezing your waist, “I love you with all I got, okay? Tell me you know that.”

“I do, I know.” You pull him in for a quick kiss, giggling as he attempts to deepen it, ���Uh uh big guy. You have a lot of explaining to do before you get any of that.” 

He groaned, pressing a wet kiss to your neck, “I don’t know where to start babe.” 

“Well..” You think. “What do you… do? That’s not what I mean, so are you good with guns or something?”

“Ahh, I don’t think you understand Nen at all then if you’re askin’ that.”

“What’s Nen?” You cock your head, having zero idea what that three letter word meant. You hadn’t learned of it in school.

“Oh fuck me.” The mood he attempted to create to get your clothes off was ruined, but his genuine amusement makes him laugh, uncaring. He settled himself to get comfortable around your smaller frame, readying himself for a brutally open conversation with you. 

And as you two sat on the floor, Phinks relaying his story and the Phantom Troupes, you were glad you chose to stay even as you let him know you weren't happy every time he explained a heist. Because loving someone was the most important, at least you hoped that was enough. Because your heart couldn't fathom losing the blonde man who filled you, cared for you, protected you. You weren't sure if he'd survive losing you, or maybe it was the other way around. But you knew as he explained, that it didn’t matter at the end of the day, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not with the type of man he truly was with his work, dread consumed you, but you locked it away in the back of your mind.

-

MONTHS LATER

This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

One hand was shoved over your mouth, the other held to the wall for dear life. Your heart was in your throat as you listened to the different sets of footsteps outside. They’re talking but it wasn’t loud enough to hear, as much as you strained to listen. God you hoped they’d leave soon, decide this place was abandoned and move to the next. 

The day started out like any other, waking up besides Phinks, having to convince him to start the day by luring him into the shower. 

He attempted to make your coffee while you made pancakes. 

Then Chrollo called and the way his face dropped, you knew something bad had happened. The basis of newfound trust between you two was a fine line, probably would be for awhile. But for once you felt secure as he told you head on, he couldn’t tell you what was happening, because the stress he projected was more than usual. 

“Babe, why don’t we go out? There’s a farmer’s market on the other side of town, can find cute shit or something.”

“Really? Let me find something nice to wear!” 

Phinks held your hand as if he’d lose you in the crowd at any second. Even as you told him he needed to let up or else you wouldn’t have a hand for him to hold if he kept cutting off circulation. While the sudden outing was pleasant, you’d found a few fresh ingredients for cooking you had to have, Phinks was off. Knowing it had to do with his earlier phone call, you brushed it off.

While you hadn’t been to the market in quite some time, it’d never been this busy. Crowds of people pushed through to see the stall uncaring as they bumped shoulders. The sun beat down and without a cool breeze it was uncomfortably hot, you were itching for reprieve, something cold to drink perhaps. 

Your eyes caught sight of an ice cream storefront past the main square, just far enough to where not many people gathered. Perfect. You tugged on Phinks arm, your fingers still locked with his. It takes him a second to notice as he’s too intent on watching the crowd. Eventually he cocks a brow your way, nodding as you motion to follow. 

You (foolishly) assumed Phinks had you in his sights, had a hand on your back or something. You lived in a rose colored world with your boyfriend where you never needed to worry, so your hand slipping from him wasn’t of your concern, he’d have a handle on things. 

Panic strikes you, you whirled around desperately trying to spot Phinks. But you’re too short stuck in a group and suddenly everything feels like it’s a skyscraper around you, closing in as the air feels too heavy to breathe in. 

But then, “Babe.” You jump, a gasp leaving you as you ready yourself to shove someone away. But staring down at you with hands on your shoulders was Phinks, “Fucking hell, scared me.” Pulled hard against his chest, hearing his pounding heartbeat as his comforting scent washes over you- and you’re okay again. 

“L-Lost you. Didn’t mean to.” You whimper as you stare at him, fingers twisted into the material of his shirt. His features soften due to your terrified state. 

“I know, come on, let's get somewhere with less people.” 

This time Phinks is more aware of you than ever before, not taking any chances. Hypervigilant on the tightness of your grip, any time it loosened slightly his tightened. And this was why you needed him, you, so uncaring of dangers walking around with your head in the clouds. It’s as you go to wriggle yourself free to weave a sharp right, he acts.

“You don’t fucking let go of my hand.” He hissed, one hand firm on your shoulder while the other wrapped around your neck, you whimper from how tight his hold is. 

“S-Sorry, got distracted, saw something-”

“I don’t care, in public you know the damn rules.” As your bottom lip trembles, Phinks does his best to shove down his sudden raw temper, “Just- what if you get hurt? Or someone takes a liking to ya? Tell me if you wanna go somewhere all of a sudden, I can’t read your mind.” You nod, his gentler tone building back up your mood as he lets go of your frail neck. Your neck that he’d be able to snap faster than you could blink. 

Ten minutes later and you were sitting happily at a table with ice cream, Phinks sitting beside you with an arm tucked across the back of the private booth. He watches you with a faint smile, still coming down from his heightened senses when he lost sight and feel of you. And how quick he’d lost control, especially over an innocent situation. He pushed back pieces of hair as they fell from your updo, letting his fingers graze the soft skin of your face down to your neck, then to the collarbone he desperately wanted to mark. 

“So,” Phinks said, “Remember when I told you what actually happened to Uvogin’s fiance? How she’d been kidnapped by Hunters while sick?”

“Mhmm.” You hum, spooning strawberry soft-serve into your mouth.

“Guess uh- her name and picture got put on the Hunter database, as a missing person in danger so to speak.” You quirk an eyebrow as the look he gives you tells you not to say the obvious that well… Uvo did kidnap her. “Shal found your name with hers, but they only had an old pic of you, from when you were 14, I guess. This shit complicates things, there was talk of a group, lead by someone who worked with those obnoxious ass Hunters, saying they have possible locations on ya.”

As if on cue your fingers tremble, color drained from your cheeks, forcing you to place your ice cream down with a sudden drop. “Huh?”

“Shal wiped all the chats, the pictures and info. But right now, I don’t think it’s safe.”

“Phinks I don’t understand.” You can hardly hear the former bustle of the shop around you. A numbing high pitched tone starts up and your throat’s suddenly so, so dry. 

“That’s what Chrollo called me about this morning.” He waved his hand as if motioning to the prior call. Veins peeking out from his shirt are tense, you realize quickly he’s trying to keep his mood together for your sake, “Wanted us to come out and do something nice before we gotta leave for a few weeks.”

Your appetite- gone. A sour taste wipes the sweet strawberry one you’d been enjoying. “I-I don’t want to leave. I-”

“We’ll be back. Uvo and some others gonna handle it, throw them for some loops. Probably..” He stopped, “Kill them.”

At that point you were certain you were going to throw up on the table then and there. As total honesty was a part of your lives since finding out Phinks was in the Troupe, you’d asked for a gentler version of any details regarding a job. Hearing him speak of taking lives in a nonchalant way, never sat right. 

“Where do we have to go?”

“Meeting Shal outside the city, he’ll take us to Base. It ain’t bad, Uvo and the missus go there a lot, stayed there after we rescued her, maybe once before too. Primarily where I lived before you.” 

“Okay, do we have time to get some stuff?” You mentally began to race through the things you’d need for an extended time away.

“See, we don’t, so wish I thought of that before we left.”

“I swear to-” Phinks’s poorly timed laughter cut you off, “Glad my soon to be suffering because I won’t have my favorite pajamas is funny.”

The rendezvous with Shalnark turned into a shitshow. That was how you found yourself hiding in a closet in an old apartment complex, the furthest away place you found cover as nen (what Phinks called it, you think at least) brought the area to destruction. You can still hear the storm outside, the thunder boomed shaking the walls, the patter of rain. It came out of nowhere, along with all the people and crashing bricks of the buildings. 

People you don’t know were looking for you now. Even if it was a member of the Troupe you hadn’t met before, you were certain they’d say so, while the strange voices only yelled thinly veiled threats. You’re trying so hard to listen in, to gauge where people are, if they’re leaving or staying. Or even if a fakeout would be attempted. Staying put might be your best option, but you’re not fit for these situations! No experience, no self defense skills, just a girl with a racing pulse that might pass out any moment. You were one more crackling thunder away from just giving up. 

You wanted Phinks. You needed him. Praying for him to find you and make everything better, whisk you away and pretend this didn’t happen. What would these Hunters do to you? Would they listen if you tried to explain? Phinks said it hadn’t mattered for Uvogin’s girlfriend when she tried, so you assume right then that it wouldn't for you. One plan out the window. 

“Y/N!” You flinch each time your name is said by a voice you don’t know. Your stomach lurched. You pressed your hand against your lips harder. 

“I checked all these rooms, we should check the other apartments in this complex before we move on.” Another voice said, and you know what he said was a lie. They hadn’t checked in here or else they’d have found you behind boxes in the small closet. 

“Fuck this chase is getting annoying. I say we split before running into a Troupe member.”

“Yeah.” A new voice added in sounding further, “Those fuckers are scary strong, the infamous Zoldyck assassins don’t even fuck with them.”

“The big one took out Bates's entire team for his girl. I don’t want to end up like them. Dead, missing basically, no bodies ever found.” Retreating steps made you perk up. 

“If Y/N were here she’d probably be running to us for help, she isn’t here.”

You don’t dare move a muscle, but it’s so hard. You’re weak, cramping, emotionally crumbling, and unable to think of a viable plan. Minutes pass by like hours, time they continue to search getting so close but not close enough. A creaking door in the distance then a slam. Grating noises that sound all around. Playing with your mind, making you doubt your senses. And it hurts. Blood pounding in your ears and you don’t know how your stress isn’t enough to give you away to trained Hunters. 

An eerie silence. The hairs on the back of your neck standing talls, a chill down your spine. 

So you wait.

And wait. 

You count up to 60, then back down to 1. Then you do it again. And again. Your body screams at you to relax, you’ve balled up in the same spot for god knows how long now. Time was irrelevant to your plight when you couldn’t see outside your hiding spot. Had no way to tell if the men actually packed up and moved on, the rain was too loud to hear car engines starting to rev off. The silence was beginning to morph as your brain seemed to make noises that kept your heart racing like you couldn’t lose your wits, and you wanted to scream. 

Phinks will find you- he had to. He’ll find you. You keep telling yourself that as nausea rises up your throat, you gag against your sweaty palm. Eyes squeezed shut as they moisten. Maybe this was the world punishing you for being selfish and choosing to stay with Phinks after finding out his real occupation six months ago. Karma’s way of saying you deserved to suffer, to understand even a fraction of what your boyfriend’s victims went through. 

Your hand dropped from your mouth. You brace your palms against the floor, knees burning from how long they’d had to hold you up. Carefully, slow as could be you changed your position to sit back against the closet wall still behind a cardboard moving box. This is comfier at least, less awkward for your shaking limbs. 

Your head lulls. No no no. You suck in a sharp breath. Blood pressure dropped. Adrenaline crashing. Black crept into the crevices of your vision, slowly invading as you try to stay awake, begging yourself to do so. But you can’t give yourself away, not even as you go limp falling to the ground on your side with a thump.

-

A man sat bound and gagged, blood seeping from his empty eye sockets, fingers bent in unnatural positions. Kneecaps lazily removed, the bones absentmindedly feet away. He was lax because he bled out an hour ago, a thick gash along where his intestines would be. 

The next man who watched his coworkers torture, whimpers as he watched a short black haired man pick up a pair of pliers. 

“Where is Y/N?” He asked in his soft, yet sinister voice. Feitan’s dark eyes struck terror into the Hunter, who started to flail against the ropes. 

“D-Don’t know! No-None of us found her!” He begged, “You gotta believe me!” 

“I do.” Feitan shrugged, “Tell me where others are.”

There’s conflict in the Hunter’s eyes, like he weighed his options.

“Won’t say.” He finally said, tone defeated, he practically physically deflates knowing he’d be dying in the abandoned warehouse whether he said locations or not.

Blood seeped into the cement floor, a single bulb illuminating the room as it crackled. 

Feitan heard the approaching footsteps when they’d entered the building itself minutes ago. He waits, feeling a familiar aura. 

Phinks takes the sharp turn into where Feitan set up camp, distress and unkempt written all over him. The normal cool and collected (until pissed off) spider with a ridiculous pharaoh hat, was struggling. His heartbeat hadn’t settled in hours and he’d chugged most of the coffee Paku showed up with two hours ago.

Their prisoner won’t answer questions. Not even as he screeches, fingernails ripped out one by one. Not as he convulsed from the pain, a disgusting snap of breaking bones, blood spurting on his face. 

Phinks can only see red. He wants him dead. Dead. Dead. “Where the fuck is she?” He gripped the man’s cheeks, letting his fingers dig into his jaw, popping then the crack, gargled moans following. “Gone all quiet now, huh?” A maniacal grin pulls at his lips, his teeth brace and over, and over- again- and again- more- his fists pummel against flesh and organs. It’s when the prisoner is nothing more than a lump of mushed flesh does Feitan pull him off. 

Feitan smirked, “Got it all out?”

His knuckles burn, but the pain is nothing compared to the excruciating terror that’d made its home inside him. All Phinks can imagine is you tied up being transported between hunters as they mindlessly care for you, while under the pretense of helping. They wouldn’t care for your tears or pleas to let you go. He’s imagining them doing to you what Bates did to Uvo’s girl. How when they rescued her she’d been drugged up for months, bruised, with poorly stitched up gashes, and health deteriorating she couldn’t stand to walk. Phinks saw first hand how Uvo never left her side for the week she’d been unconscious with IV’s sticking in her veins. 

The thought of that happening to you makes his head hurt, sharp pulsating behind his forehead. He presses his fingers into his temple, prodding along his eyebrows for any sort of reprieve. Twisting anxiety, dense uncertainty gnawed at him. 

“Need to stay calm.” Feitan said, “Almost hear your thoughts.”

Phinks lets out a weighty exhale, shooting his ‘friend’ a glare, “I don’t know if she’s okay. I’m- supposed to protect her. This is fuckin’ ridiculous, these fucking Hunters are imbeciles.” It was getting out of hand, now the second Troupe member to have a partner taken by the same group. To Phinks, this had to be a declaration of war. And as he peers at Feitan who seemed deep in thought, he can tell the torturer felt the same, who had someone of his own too, “Your girl can be next, Feitan.”

“I know. Stop speaking.” Feitan spat, fingers involuntarily twitching. 

“We should go find Shal.” 

-

The rain had stopped; was the first thing you noticed as you groggily pushed yourself up. The air inside the abandoned room was sweet with the aftertaste of a storm, yet it made your head spin. Gathering your bearings you stare at the closet door as if it mocked you, dared you to open it.

You weigh your chances here, assuming you’d fallen asleep for one hour or ten, no one found you. And who’d wait that long to lure you out with malicious intent?

Legs wobble as you stand, they feel filled with lead as you approach your exit. Hand shaking as it grabs the handle, the thudding of your mind almost painful. Twisting. Opening. The hinges didn’t creak and you’re now staring at an empty room. The same as when you entered. Shit. The window shows you it’s night now, not mid afternoon anymore. All the heavy dark clouds were gone leaving the dark sky clear and dazzling with stars. 

Hugging your arms taut around yourself for warmth, you know what you need to do. You need to be strong and begin to make your way out, see if you can get to a phone or find someone willing to take you into the city. That was risky but you were desperate. And with the amount of nooks and crannies of the dilapidated buildings that once were a vibrant living compound, there was always going to be oversight. Maybe getting outside would help Phinks and the other members find you. 

You're somehow at the bargaining stage of grief and you almost laugh at how ridiculous you sound. Trying to stay quiet as a mouse while imagining dozens of scenarios, when you probably needed to be on the lookout. With each hall you walk through, you strain your ears for signs of life. As your weight shifts on floorboards and steps, if they make a sound you're frozen as you wait. But nobody came each time. It’s safe.

The exit to the entire building is finally in sight. You begin a slow descent of the stairs, still doing your best to be diligent. 

But it’s the sudden rush of voices, that has you screeching to halt practically holding your breath. 

“Per GPS maps, these two complex buildings are all we have left.” That voice. You recognize its higher tone, like it held a cheery imposition even at the large task at hand. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Another familiar voice. Their feet crunched on the gravel outside. 

“Nobu said no sign of the cars that peeled out earlier, not sure whether they decided being alive was better or if it's because they have Y/N.” 

“Why can’t I just start screaming her name loud as possible? She’s gotta know it’s me.”

“Uvo she’s probably terrified and you’ll manage to burst her eardrums. You know your girl is safe at home while Phinks is losing it right now.”

Uvogin. Shalnark. Faking their voices would be too elaborate of a hoax for anyone.  

“He on his way over?”

“Him and Feitan, yes. Others are tracking the rogue vehicles.” 

Phinks was on his way. Your chest blossomed in joy, you could weep happy tears as your body felt a million times lighter. Relief coursed through your veins and you went back to going downstairs. 

But what you hadn’t realized in all this time was your body struggled from the temperature drop. Your teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. The sundress you’d adorned did nothing to protect you when you laid unconscious in the closet. Your lips tinted purple. Your face flushed from the chill. The tips of your fingers numb. But all you felt was the anxiousness, the hiked pulse, and your fears rather than worry about your physical state. 

Shalnark spots you first, your meek trembling form with reddened skin appearing through the doorway like a ghost. He’s on you as he strips his jacket to get it around your shoulders. He’s checking for injuries before you're scooped up into bulking arms of a giant who exuded heat. You can’t speak, only nodding as Shal throws questions your way. The surrounding area is blurry, you squint for any sign of Phinks. But you could barely see Uvo, who was the one carrying you as you looked up. 

A commanding presence makes you subconsciously relax.

“Shal what- Y/N- Thank fuck,” Phinks is out of breath, filled with desperation as he raced to you, his heart plummeting when he saw you all small in Uvogin’s arms. Like your whole world is back on its proper axis, you’re trying to reach for him but you only muster up a whine in recognition. 

Uvogin hands you to Phinks, who cradles you in his strong hold as they take off to the car sitting idle. His touch sets you aflame as you begin to tear up, babbling nonsense into the crook of his neck, now wet from your tears.. 

“I got you.” Phinks whispered in your ear as he studied your face whilst his hands felt every inch of you. Needed to feel every inch as reassurance. Your smile is loopy, your eyes so distant as you reach to stroke his cheek. “Safe now, okay?”

The sky moved by fast, but you’re not paying enough attention. Having to will your heavy eyelids to remain open, so you can continue to look at your boyfriend. Taking in his severe face that was littered with worry.

You’re tucked into Phinks’s body as he holds you so tight, murmuring sweet nothings as you try to engage. You try to appreciate his roaming hands as they stroke along your neck, squish your cheeks in comfort; and as a way to remind himself you’re okay, he has you. A piece of you isn’t even hearing his words, nor the conversations taking place amongst Troupe members in the car. 

You couldn’t stop shivering even as heat blasts from the vents and as different articles of clothing had been offered up to cover you. Or as Phinks tries to rub your bare arms to generate heat. 

“Babe you can sleep, s’okay.” Phinks said, and you realize his eyes are bloodshot. His heart still hammered against you and you physically feel the fear he had and now the relief that now swirled around him. 

“Are you- okay?” You ask, concerned for him. 

Your question clearly threw him off but he shakes his head, slightly amused you were thinking of him after everything you went through, “I’m good, I got you back. I don’t want to think about what could have happened, thought I was losing my mind trying to find you.”

“I ran, I didn’t know what to do.” You sniffled, shuddering as you remembered the chaos, “Ran up some stairs, found a closet and hid. I was so scared I thought I was going to die and eventually my body gave out. I woke up and it was night.”

His gaze softens, before he leans down to kiss your cool lips, lingering before moving to peck your forehead, “We’re heading to Base now and we’ll get you warmed up.”

You cling to the blonde as if you’d be swept away any second. In and out of sleep for the drive, uncertain of the day or time at this point. It’s with the glint of orange rays that you’re alert to sunrise as the car comes to a halt. 

“I can walk.” You try to say to Phinks but he’s having none of it, sweeping you up bridal style before your feet even had a chance to touch the ground after the car door opened. 

“Babe stop, no reason for you to exert yourself. You can rely on me.” His lips press to the top of your head, the sound of him inhaling your scent as a comfort makes you shiver. 

You weren’t sure what to expect in a Base for the spiders, but a sprawling warehouse that just peaked above the surface level was not it. It has large, empty and tattered looking windows, run down and well- maybe that was to be expected for a group of criminals. Phinks carries you to a path and makes his way down a set of stairs that descend down to a single rusted door. 

You’re not sure if you really understood a wink of Nen when Phinks explained it months ago, or when you’d ask him questions. You’re not sure if it's some form of magic as when you two enter, it’s like stepping into a portal. From the outside looking in it would be expected to see continued dilapidation; rotted furniture, mold, rodents, general disarray of buildings left for time to handle. Yet what you see as the entry door opens to a platform with a metal staircase going down, was a perfectly normal space. Decorative pillars and art (surely stolen) haphazardly on the walls, with rugs in peculiar places. A long table for 12 was the grand room centerpiece. And from Phinks’s arms you see multiple doorways that must branch off into other spaces of the hideout, for a second you forget this belonged to criminals as you wonder if he’d let you explore. But that reality goes out the window when Phinks sets you down in a chair and you catch sight of Feitan entering from outside. He’s covered in blood and you’re nauseous at the sight. 

You look away, attempting to focus on the tiled floor, counting the squares you can see. Your legs are covered in goosebumps and as you feel along your arms, they are too.

“I’ll be right back.” Phinks pats your head and you want to cry out for him not to walk away from you. Leaving you as a fish out of water in a new place, an intimidating place where his friend who’s covered in blood watches you from the corner. Bookshelves line empty spaces, which most of the shelves are in disarray but present collections look ancient. 

You think it’s been five, maybe seven minutes since Phinks left the room, but you’re becoming antsy. Anxiety claws at you as you want him near, want to touch him and see his face to know everything’s okay. 

“Hey,” When you look up, the familiar face of Uvogin’s fiance greets you. She stands there looking frail, adorned in jeans and a sweater, but giving you a warm smile. 

“Hey, how are you?” You stammer out, the sight of her making you more nervous than calm. She takes a seat across from you at the grand table. 

She shook her head, “I should be asking you that. You okay? You’re not hurt are you?”

“I’m not physically, just… scared and now really cold.”

Her eyes went wide, “Oh would you like my cardigan?” But you stop her by holding up your hands before she can touch a button, “If you’re sure.” 

You hadn’t seen her since the day you found out about Phinks being in the Phantom Troupe, even though she resided literally next door. You’d slowly learned that while Phinks allowed you the ability to go out, Uvogin did not allow it for her. At least he stopped, though you aren’t sure why. Health? 

“I’m sure, thanks.” You want to say it’s because she looks like she’d need the extra body heat, that she shouldn’t look so malnourished.

An awkward silence falls over you and her, only Feitan’s faint shuffling breaking it up. You’re curious, sometimes too much for your own good and there’s suddenly a million questions at the tip of your tongue but you wonder if you should ask. Phinks gives you leeway because you accepted him full-heartedly, you wonder if she despises Uvogin’s work or something along those lines. 

“Are you-” Her glower makes your mouth snap shut. And it’s when Feitan tells you two to behave with a cackle as he leaves, does she lean in. 

“Why didn’t you run?”

“What?” You ask. Your stomach flutters with something unknown. 

“This was the best chance you ever could have had- more than…” She sighs, “Since my health’s not getting any better, I feel more awake than I ever have before about- life..” 

You’re confused. Her eyes look glazed over, you chalk her whimsical mood up to her illness, “I don’t fully understand… Sorry.” 

“You know Feitan carved his name into a girl's ribcage? Keeps her locked up in his attic. And you know where she’ll probably be in a year? Sitting here with us acting like a good dutiful lover.”

“Stop.” Your mind races as your pulse begins to climb up. And up. Fingers go numb as a tingling spreads along your limbs, “That- I don’t have stockholm syndrome.” 

She shrugged, “I might have it, might not. You can’t truly know either.”

“I loved him before he took me.”

“Does he let you have free reign of a phone?” You shake your head for ‘no,’ “What about, can you talk to old family or friends.” You don’t answer. “Cameras in every room? Constantly panicked if he can’t see or hear from you within seconds?”

“Would you… Want a new life away from Uvo?” Whether it was fear or anger that caused you to ask it, the pounding of your heart made you snap her.

“No. I’m content, I don’t know how much longer I have anyways. He’s in denial about it.” She seemed morose at the thought of her death, like she didn’t care, like her current life wasn’t worth fighting for. Just sitting there waving her hand in a simple gesture, “I guess I selfishly, while I’m alive, want to see one of them suffer like they’ve made others suffer. Like if Phinks lost you today.” You squirm at her words, “I know Uvo may not recover when I die, so guess it’ll be karma enough for his actions.”

“Don’t you love him though?”

“Does it matter? I had a tiny crush on him before he took me, the big strong stranger that tried to make me laugh when he tried my creations at the bakery.” She pauses and the quirk of her lips doesn’t slip past you as she recounts a good memory, “But, it doesn’t mean I wanted to be taken away or that it was okay. He killed someone in front of me then re-routed my life. I can look at you right now and say I’m irrevocably in love with Uvo because I am, at least my heart and body completely are. My brain always wants to be around him until it reminds me of who he is. That only started after he rescued me from my second kidnappers, same ones who tried to nab you. It isn’t logical to love someone who does all that yet, I do? Weird psychological stuff but… That’s all I want to say Y/N, don’t forget who these men really are. They’re no better than the Hunters with hero complexes trying to drag us to ‘safety.’ None of it is for our best interest. Because if it were, then both parties have left us the hell alone.”

“Just… Who’s the lesser evil?” You whisper.

“Precisely, and after what I went through with those Hunters, it appears the Phantom Troupe is the better choice, for me at least.” 

You agree, cringing at the memories of the way the Hunters talked about you in the abandoned building while you hid. Nothing about them was kind or willing to lay their lives down to protect you. This was an ego boost for them, bragging rights to say they fooled the spiders. That taking you and her were like trophies to boast about.

Uvogin’s fiance suddenly stood up, her chair almost knocking completely back. She brushed her hands off along her jeans. Clearing her throat, she speaks to you one last time-

“Ah, sometimes I say such strange things when I don’t feel well, sorry about that.” She smiles like a flip switched before she heads towards an entryway, you guess it leads to wherever Uvogin is. 

You nod, “Of course.” But your eyes exchange something far deeper, more meaningful and you know you’ll keep her words private. An understanding that left you feeling comforted in an odd way. And yet a part of who hates her for dragging you out of your rose colored world. But she was right. Even as a sour taste scratches the back of your throat to admit such a thing.

An unsettling feeling settles itself in your stomach, you think if you have to sit at the table any longer you’ll go mad. Like a ball of twine was slowly unraveling, you want out of the room where you partook in such a strange conversation. And the fact you’re still cold, though your teeth stopped chattering during the car ride. 

Technically, Phinks never said to stay put so you aren’t doing anything wrong by trying to find him. Technically. He’d walked down the hall behind you so you figure you’d run into him eventually. 

Your legs ache with each step, painful stabs against the bottom of your feet as you begin the trek. It felt like a maze the second you left the main room, the only light present from lamps every few feet flush with the ceiling. ‘Spooky,’ You think to yourself, hugging your arms close. 

The first door you pass is shut firmly. No sense of what could be behind it. You linger for a few moments debating whether or not to knock, but the lack of light from underneath deterred you. 

Taking a sharp turn, you practically collide face first into what felt like a wall, but when you looked up– Phinks.

“Babe, what’ya doing?” You don’t have time to argue as he’s picking you up, “You shouldn’t be walking around.”

“Wanted to find you.” You pout. Though as you cradle the side of his face, the earlier conversation slowly replays at the back of your mind.

Phinks noticed the slight drop in your face but chalked it up to the long day you’d had, “I was coming to get you.” Nuzzling your face into his collarbone you take a deep breath, letting his touch center you. Being against him in your state, getting a smidge of his body heat had you on fire for him, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he started walking back the way he came. 

Exhaustion nudges its way back unto you, a yawn eliciting to show as much. You want to keep track of the path he takes, a right and then a left- then… You aren’t sure. The halls look the same but he eventually nudges an ajar door open. 

“Alright, here we are.”

The room was fairly big but rather plain. As Phinks sets you down on the bed, handing you a change of clothes, you realize- this was his room. Simple furniture scattered about but strewn magazines of things he was interested in forgotten on a coffee table. An alarm clock that matched the one at home that had a layer of dust on the nightstand. Some art, definitely random pieces he probably didn’t care to have.

“This is your room isn’t it?”

“Yep. Needed to clean up, dust coated fucking everything been months since I last stayed.”

“Why..?”

“If I’m ever beaten up after a job-” He explained, “I don’t want you to see that. But with you to go home to, there's no reason to be here. Wasn’t bad for the bachelor life.” 

It’s nice to learn something new in that respect, to see something that’s been a piece of his life first hand. Soreness screams through you as Phinks helps you undress to slip on the heavy sweats and hoodie. A mound of blankets pulled over you next, you cuddle happily into the new warmth that spreads over you, almost as if you’d never been in that abandoned closet. 

You wait for him as he changes, admiring the way his back muscles flexed, “You’re coming to bed, right?”

“What a dumb question, babe. Need to hold you after this fucking day.” 

“I want you to stay by my side.”

His weight sinks into the bed, and he repositions so you can slot yourself against him. God he loved how small, weak you were compared to him. His fragile little girl he needed to treat like glass when all he wanted to do was fuck you into the mattress. Having to hold his urges back for your sake was the right thing to do though. He can’t scare you after the day you’ve had while all he wants to do is relish in your body because the adrenaline high he’s coming down from fucking hurts. So close to losing you. So close to understanding the anger and sadness they put others through when the troupe kills their loved ones. It’s a strange sensation really, to even think about empathizing, but after the day you two have had, he doesn’t care. Just wants to hold you in his chest as your breathing slows. Wants to squeeze the plush of your skin to remind himself you’re his. His. No one else's. Not the Hunters who think they’re the saviors of the Phantom Troupe’s women. 

God he wished he could make all your thoughts of everything and everyone else but him go away. 

“I love you.” Your tired voice, sleep about to drag you under, makes him melt inside.

“I love you too.” He says back, since he knows he loves you in his own fucked up way. A way you probably wouldn’t understand, would probably be scared of, “I’ll keep you warm tonight, you’re safe.” Right now he knows what you need to hear. 

“I was so scared I’d never see you again.”

Good. It’s secured in Phinks’s mind that you never thought to run away from him having had the perfect chance to. Hours he couldn’t find you- you could have gotten back to town and jumped ship in that time. Yet you stayed in your little hiding place hoping for him to save you. You’re just so cute. And he’s lucky to have someone who relies on him so heavily. That made his chest burst with dark possessiveness over you. Not that there’s anyone left to take you from him. Every Hunter who’d been there was now dead, even the ones who left by car, with all that’s left to find the remaining stragglers involved with this effort. If more came out of the woodwork to take you after trying with Uvo’s girl, he’s sure there’ll be more eventually. 

He soon drifts off thinking of you in tears, sobbing for him as he splits you apart on his cock. Sobbing that he’s ‘too big’, that you’re ‘too full’, and begging for him to stop- but gods he won’t stop not when you’re broken like that with big red eyes and wet skin from the pleasure turning to pain. And he won’t stop, never does, until you’ve gone dumb in the head drunk off his cock and filled with his come like you need it to breathe. And Phinks knows as his consciousness slips away, that his little daydream will become reality come morning time because he’s not a good man. Because a good man wouldn’t fuck his girl to break her poor little mind, to make her fall apart into tiny pieces so he could be the one to put her back together again. To get her nice and reliant. Especially not after a traumatic event. But you should know by now that he’s not good.

[rotten-pomegranate]

Yandere Trouble trio with hybrid reader

Warnings: smut, kidnapping, yandere, rape

Shalnark

Shalnark what’s a bat because he thinks your the cutest little thing in the world with your big brown eyes and little fangs that you try so cutely to bite him with

When he’s having sex with he lives watching your wings twitch and flop around trying to get him off you to no avail

He loves sneaking up and yanking on your ears randomly to see you jump when you feel the random pain

He gets you one of those pull up bars for the closet if you sleep upside down, half the time you don’t get to use it though because he wants you to sleep with him

If you drink blood he’ll have no problem stealing blood bags from the hospital for you

Feitan

Feitan wants a cat because they are quiet and for the most part obedient

Even when you have little outburst of throwing a vase or some plates on the floor he likes it because he gets to have his fun putting you back in your place

If you scratch stuff in his house your gonna get pinned down and declawed he only gives you one warning

Don’t worry he does understand you need to scratch so he’ll get you a post for it

He makes you sleep on the floor with no blankets or pillows when your bad other times he lets you sleep in the bed with him

Phinks

Phinks wants a cat because your cute and small and for the most part you listen to what he says

Your the cutest thing he’s ever seen in his life, with you little tail and your big round eyes

And your small he love that your small it makes it so easy for him to move around

If he ignores you for a little bit and you start curling up in his lap begging for attention he’ll lose his mind

He gets some mad cuteness aggression when your going about your basic human activity, your changing a light bulb and your standing on the counter because your to short? He’s dying of cuteness

He has you sleep with him every night because of how you curl up under his arm nice and toasty from his body heat

He won’t do anything sexual if you don’t start it, but if you do he’ll be so happy, he just lives watching you ride him with all your little tummy rolls and your cute little tail hitting his legs when you go back down

©rotten-pomegranate- All rights reserved, don’t steal, translate, copy, plagiarize, claim my work as your own or post it on other platforms.

[cherrysha]

Craving

Pairing: Vampire!Phinks x Reader

A/N: this was supposed to be short but it kinda got out of hand...also wanna thank True Blood for the whole 'vampire blood as an aphrodisiac' thing.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning: Blood, Death, Allusions to Sex, (Phinks could be seen as yandere in this piece)

Hunger. Its the first thing he notices when he opens his eyes. All consuming, bubbling and burning away at his stomach to the point he feels sick. It’d only been a few days since Phinks ate, although the meal itself was more of a snack. He hadn't had the luxury of gorging himself, seeing as he was on the road and there were very few people passing by at that hour in the night.

He had resigned himself to emptying the veins of someone in a nearby village; although they were poor and Phink’s meal reflected that. Instead of the nutrient dense blood he was accustomed to, this man’s had the viscosity of water and left Phinks barely satiated.

At the moment, he wanted to roll over and satisfy his empty stomach with you. It was the easiest option, and he knew your blood to be of high quality; ensured it even, but the last time he fed from you, without slaking his overwhelming emptiness on someone else first, was all too fresh in his mind. Your hollowed eyes and exhausted body had shaken him to his core. Even now he can see your gaunt face flicker through his mind in warning.

Slowly, Phinks rose from the bed, whisper quiet as all of his kind were, before leaving your little cottage just as quietly.

The walk into the city would’ve taken a normal man hours. For Phinks it was barely long enough to reorient himself. The moon shone brightly on the weathered path, casting shadow in the ditches that wagon wheels had left in the dried earth. It had to be close to midnight, although the passage of time seemed torturously fast to him, he’d gotten acquainted with telling it through the cycles of the moon. Phinks had one more week with you before he had to report back to the troupe. He loathed leaving you, the easiest solution being to take you with him, but the idea of any other of his kind looking upon you, drinking from you, was abhorrent to him. No, bringing you with him opened up the possibility that he’d be forced to share; An idea he wasn’t keen on.

The routine of finding his first meal was easy enough. The streets were packed on warm summer nights such as this. People eager to partake in festivities that hadn’t enticed him for nearly a century. There were brothels, bars, and other unscrupulous places to choose from; but Phinks preferred to choose from the nearly empty buildings in the city. 

A rich apartment complex had been built in the heart of town, over the sea of shantytowns that had, at one point, choked off the streets. Now, all that stood were regal, gilded buildings. The residents weren’t his target, no, they’d draw too much suspicion. He craved a filling meal and knew the guards would be all too easy. They were paid enough to be loyal, and that in turn meant they were fed well. He’d just have to set the scene.

Phinks enters the bar a little ways down the street from his targets as he does all things; with an air of smug arrogance that he’s been unable to shake since before he was undead. He fits in with the crowd, so much so that he’s not even questioned as he asks for an entire bottle of whiskey. As long as he’s got the coin to spare it doesn’t seem that the bartender cares. All to Phinks’ benefit. He empties half the bottle on the cobbled streets before returning to his hunt. He’d only need about half of it anyway, and knew better than to drink the swill himself. 

No, the last time he’d tried drinking alcohol he’d vomited so much that Shalnark still mocked him for it. He hadn’t been a heavy drinker before turning, but he’d wanted a touch of normalcy. Food and drink tasted like ash in his throat, yet sweets and alcohol were the worst offenders. The memory makes Phinks grimace, quickening his steps as he heads down the road.

It takes mere moments before two guards are cornered in a dimly lit alley and Phinks snaps both of their necks. He didn’t want to cause any injuries that would spill his dinner onto the dirty cobblestone. He was too smart for that. Instead, he drank his fill before snatching one of their pistols. He aimed, pointing at one guard’s chest and the other’s head before firing. The whiskey was easily dumped into their open mouths and he used the rest to douse them. The bottle clinked against the ground as he admired his work. A late night brawl between the two would draw less attention than finding them dead with their veins sucked dry. The last thing he wanted was a monster hunter on his trail. Phinks quickly emptied their pockets before leaving. You could use the money. Buy yourself something good to eat that, he too, could enjoy.

By the time the moon hung bright in the sky, he’d drank enough to calm his stomach, although his mind was still racing. With his new meal came euphoria, the feeling accompanying the quenching of his hunger. It was during this time that his thoughts inevitably returned back to you. 

He knew running full speed back to you was a waste of energy, but he did so anyway. The night was too perfect, the sky too peaceful to want to be anywhere but by your side. 

He judged by the moon that he must make it back in record time. Maybe a quarter past one if he had to guess. It’d be around this time that you’d start to fidget in your sleep, maybe even wake yourself up in preparation to fulfill his needs. You did so every night, and although he spurned you by ignoring your requests to feed, tonight he’d indulge. 

—

“It’s time.” Phinks calls to you, his curt tone belying a hint of annoyance that he didn’t truly feel. Unbeknownst to you he’d spent far too long just taking in your peaceful form, intent on studying the rise and fall of your chest that felt completely foreign to him at his age. Was there a time when he breathed like that? Out of sheer necessity instead of just having the instinctual urge from time to time? Phinks had copied your movements, breathing in sync with you as you dozed under the clear sky. He found that he enjoyed it, if not just for his senses being assaulted by your smell. He’d even leaned in closer to the juncture of your neck, had breathed in deeply and relished in the scent of blood pulsing just beneath your skin. The smell was exquisite, but what made his mouth water was how he was engulfed in a scent that was undeniably you.

You stir, groaning as you try to sit up, to gather yourself and answer his call. You knew him well enough now that ignoring him and continuing to sleep was not the best idea. Slowly, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before obediently waiting.

“We’re going outside.”

“Why?”

“So many fucking questions. Can’t you just do as you’re told for once?” His answer was sharp, as it always was, but lucky for him you’d just nodded. Gathering yourself before standing.

The night air was crisp, yet still comfortable. You’d even brought a blanket to shield yourself from the dew on the grass. Phinks grimaced at the thing. In truth, he was angered that he hadn’t thought of it, but yet he found the thin fabric to be an annoyance.

He’d made you come outside multiple times, enjoyed the way the moonlight danced along your skin, but to you, he’d always said feeding under the moon was less claustrophobic when he deigned to answer.

You sit, legs folded underneath you as you angle yourself to peer up at Phinks. He, in all restraint, moves slowly to sit in front of you, legs wide and inviting as he reaches for something at his belt.

The knife glints in the light, sharp and dangerous, and you felt your stomach roiling.

“We, we don’t have to do that tonight, Phinks.” 

“But don’t I?” He growled, “You always cry if I don’t” there was a stunning truth to his words, a truth that had you nodding along in acquiescence as he pressed the blade to his open palm.

The sharp pinch was nothing to him; a slight irritant in an otherwise perfect night. An annoyance he was willing to bear for your comfort, although he’d never admit to it.

With no words spoken, you kneeled on the ground before him, letting the warmth of his blood slip past your lips and down your throat with moan. It tasted good, fresh. The tang of it reminding you of ripe fruit, of summer and sweetness that belied the stoic expression of the man in front of you. Phinks resisted the moan that was building in his chest at the sensation of your full lips wrapped around him, drinking him in so greedily it caused hunger to stir in his stomach once more. Your desire was his own, magnified and heightened by the blood slipping down your jaw and onto your neck, pooling on the white fabric of your nightgown. Phinks smiles at the sight of you tainted by him. As you should be.

“So fuckin’ messy.” He tuts, his free hand wrapping around your jaw as he pulls you into his lap. It’s quick, as all of his movements are, but he slows down as he licks a stripe up your neck, cleaning you with his tongue before covering your mouth with his own.

It doesn’t take long before he’s prying you away from him, ignoring the whimpers that echo through the cool night air. You land on your back, legs immediately splaying open in invitation. Phinks takes a moment to consider you, soft hair and even softer eyes as you stare at him pleadingly. So well trained. He doesn’t have to cajole you to open up, to accept what he’s offering you, what he’s taking. In part, he knows it to be the effect of his blood, but on nights like this it was easy to fool himself into thinking the searing affection he had for you was reciprocal in nature. 

Phinks kisses his way up, following the veins marking the path to his next meal, his lips press behind your leg before stopping at the apex of your thighs. He finds that he quite likes breathing, likes the smell of you in his lungs, just as he likes the taste of you in his mouth. He remembers the first time he’d done this. Taken from your pliant body by force. No, his blood wasn’t necessary anymore but it made these shared moments all the more sweet. When he bites down its with enough force to make your legs shut on instinct, to rip a whimper from your lips. Phinks knows its not painful in your current state, can see the proof of your arousal glistening in the moonlight. 

He indulges. Lets his mind wander on thoughts of you as he drinks you deep. Hopes he can engorge himself on the very essence of you. He craves it, an itch in the back of his mind that won’t go away; to consume, to be consumed, until neither you nor him can be separated. He fills his lungs with your scent, ears attuned to the soft whimper of your voice, mouth latched onto your femoral artery and he thinks that this could be enough. 

The air around you shivers with the whine that leaves your mouth once he finishes. Over the past year you’d learned to find pleasure in the pain, learned to crave the feeling even. His mouth leaving your bloodied skin was a denial of that pleasure, the hollow ache in your chest incomparable to the mark he’d left on your skin. 

Again, Phinks reprimands you for being so greedy, for wanting even when he was willing to give. But right now his prize was staring back at him; lust blown pupils trained on his every move as he slinked his way back up your body.

He tastes himself on your tongue. To him, its a bitter tang compared to the sweetness of your blood, but he enjoys it all the same. Enjoys swallowing your moans, sounds made solely for his ears and his alone. He wonders in times like this if you ever regret letting him through the threshold of your tiny home. Allowing him entry when you were too clueless to know you’d dragged home a half dead, and malnourished, vampire.

He smirks at the memory of it. Of your fear, your helplessness as he pinned you down and nearly drank you dry. The only reason he’d stopped was the severity of his injuries. At the time, he had planned to use you as one does a cow for milk. Letting you rest until you’d regained enough blood to nurse him back to health. He’d hadn’t fallen asleep more than twenty minutes before a stake was driven through his chest, high enough that it wasn’t lethal, but deep enough to betray your courage, and he’d fallen for you just as easily as the stake had been pulled out.

Now you were a supplicant at his altar, open and inviting as the pink stain of your feast on his blood betrayed you. As your actions betrayed you. You were his, in every way that mattered, your spirit was intertwined with his own.

“Please Phinks. I need you.” Your pupils are dilated, breath heaving as you beg for him. For all of him.

His tone is dry, an honest smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he replies, “Of course you do.”

[sk3tch404]

The pookies are here!!! Omg Nobunaga :3

My hxh fixation is slowly coming back to me 😨

If you saw the old caption no you didn't

[after-witch]

Comin' In Hot! [Yandere Phinks x Reader]

Title: Comin' In Hot! [Yandere Phinks x Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes, when you've been kidnapped by a lovesick member of an infamous murderous Troupe, all you can do is order your comfort food and hope for the best.

Word Count: 700ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of emotional and physical abuse

You wanted to watch a women’s-night-out comedy. 

“Babe.”

Phinks wanted to watch an action flick.

“Babe.”

The movie playing on the TV now, as you both eat your takeout dinner, is a buddy comedy, which is a little bit of both, and a good enough compromise that you’re not in a sour mood. You’ve got to appreciate when he’s willing to compromise, even if it’s only for little things. 

“Babe.”

You blink, and look up, a spoonful of rice and curry on its way to your lips. 

“What?”

You slowly bring the spoon to your mouth, savoring the rich spice and the hint of lime brightness at the end. A great little citrus kick, thanks to the lime slice that the restaurant tucked into the carryout box. 

“Are you… doing okay?”

Your eyebrows furrow. Are you doing something wrong? It’s happened before--you doing or saying something that pissed him off or worried him without you realizing. But you can’t think of anything that you might be doing now, simply sitting next to him in the living room, eating a meal off a TV tray set before you. 

He huffs. And looks away. And finally juts his chin towards you, mumbling out something in a tone that passes for caring, when it comes to Phinks. 

“You’re crying.” 

Oh.

Well. You are crying, yes, that’s certainly true. A tear slides down your cheek and there’s a familiar blurriness to your vision, but without the heaviness in your chest that usually accompanies a hearty self-pitying sob session. 

That’s because the tears are instinctual here. Biological. It’s what happens when you get extra spicy food. Extra ultra mega delicious spicy food, which burns your taste buds and sends endorphins rushing through you like very little else does nowadays. 

Yes, it hurts, but it’s goddamned tasty.  

You sniffle through your nose, and wipe at your eyes with your forearm, careful to keep the spoon and its spice-laden curry remnants away from your delicate membranes.

“It’s fine,” you say, smiling, before digging your spoon back into the curry container. “It’s just because it’s really spicy.” Even talking hurts a little, and you lick a piece of stray rice from behind your teeth, which sends the spicy sensations tingling onto the tip of your tongue.

Phinks regards you with an incredulous expression. His eyebrows raise. "Maybe it's too hot for you. You can eat mine instead."

You shake your head, and quickly scoop up another bite, savoring the flavors and mm-ing for emphasis on just how enjoyable you find your lavalicious meal.

And yeah, your lips are a little swollen, your vision is blurry, and you’re sure you’ll have some heartburn tonight and asking Phinks for heartburn medicine will greatly depend on whether or not you want spicy food again anytime soon.  

And sure, sure, sure. You’re sitting in the living room of some abandoned house (if you can call “you have good reason to believe Phinks simply killed the previous occupant and took it for himself” abandoned) held captive by a member of the Phantom Troupe.

But you’re watching a movie that is pretty close to what you wanted, and he let you order your favorite foods and for once didn’t wring his hands and complain when you asked him to order it Extra Hot.

"I like it like this, Phinks," you tell him, pouting just a little. Not enough for him to find it rude. But enough for it to be cute--you hope.

He's been kind to you today. And there's a streak going, apparently, because after you give your explanation, he lets his wary expression fade away until he slowly turns back to the movie, taking bites of his own (much milder) dinner. 

”If you say so,” is his mumbled reply. You can tell he’s still a little worried, still a little bothered. But not enough to stop you. Probably because you’re being so complacent. Watching a movie with him. Eating dinner with him. Smiling at him. 

You smile at him again, thin-lipped, but still a smile. It’s better to smile and force yourself to enjoy the normalcy of this completely-not-normal moment. It makes him less volatile. It makes him less likely, in the end, to grip your arm so hard you’re worried that it might snap or yell in your face that he’s just trying-to-be-a-good-boyfriend-goddamn-it-why-can’t-you-see-that.

But now? With your mouth burning and a movie playing… you can pretend. 

Watching movies that you don’t totally hate helps you do that. 

Eating your favorite meals helps you do that. 

And if you stop yourself before you finish the container, you can do the same thing tomorrow with the leftovers. 

[hyperfixatedcatlover]

The Little Dancer In The Spider's Web - Prologue

Yandere Phantom Troupe x Ballerina Reader

So, this idea came to me randomly. I was wondering what a nen user with powers like Risotto Nero's stand Metallica would be like and wrote this. um, enjoy.

TW: Death of Sarasa, mentions of Kurta Clan Massacre, mentions of implied non-con (not the troupe members), future yandere behavior, MDNI

I do not condone these behaviors in real life.

I never belonged in that city.

Words you commonly think whenever the news of another massacre/heist done by the Phantom Troupe is reported on the news. The sentence wasn't too hurtful, for you know they were true. Even when you were a little girl in the place few know the existence of, whenever someone said it, you knew the words were true. Even as they defended you. Little you, abandoned with nothing more than a name stitched on a tattered blanket, birthday made to be the day you were found, raised in Meteor City, the city of criminals.

Why did I ever think I did?

When you were young, you met Sheila, a girl just a couple of years older than you, who gladly took you in as a shadow. Following her silently, clinging to her hand our hiding behind her when talking to adults, where ever she went, it wasn't a stretch to assume you weren't far behind. It was her who introduced you to Sarasa, another kind girl who took you in like a kid takes in a puppy, constantly jumping about with excitement. The three of you became like sisters. It was them who found the book on ballet, and it was your sisters who introduced you to him.

Why did he think I belonged with them?

He was thin and pale, but his hair was a rich black. His gray eyes seemed to know everything. By looking at you, it felt like he was watching your every memory and hearing your every thought like a movie. When he wanted to voiceover the VHS tape of The Power Cleaners, your sisters were on board, but not you. No matter what the two did, little you was so shy, a rabbit quivering in the city of wolves. Chrollo noticed your shyness and didn't seem to mind. He soon became another one you clung to. Shadowing him during days you couldn't shadow one of your sisters. He introduced you to them.

Why did they think I belonged with them?

They all knew eachother before, you could tell. One bonus to being so quiet that you're almost unnoticed is that you learn how to observe. Movements, sounds, patterns. Who a person first looks at and how says a lot about the dynamic between them. You met Pakunoda first. She seemed so mature despite being a teen, but that wasn't shocking. You grow up quick in that city, childhood is a mere biological stage in life. She was also close with your sisters, but there was always something that never seemed sisterly about her. Her eyes sharp, sharp enough to pierce through you, especially when you got close to Chrollo, you stopped shadowing him after a few too many glares from her. Then you met Uvogin, Feitan, Phinks, Nobunaga, Shalnark, Franklin, and Machi. They had known each other too, but some were closer than others. Uvogin and Nobunaga seemed to be connected at all times. Uvogin was like a wolf held back by something, and after seeing Nobunaga start a fight over a junk pile, you understood who was holding him back. They often joked about your height, being so small that one would sneak behind you and pick you up. Feitan, Phinks, and Shalnark seemed like a trio of troublemakers. They were, often pranking you and teasing you, something you still don't know if was done with malicious intent. They were good at hiding that from you. Machi seemed to go wherever and find a spot within the group. Her gut telling her where she should go, who she should trust, what she should do. Her instincts were almost always spot on and her cold demeaner somehow seemed less apparent with you. Franklin was always just there too, it felt. A silent protector, his size scaring off unwanted stragglers. He spoke little, but when he did, he was calm.

You weren't loud, speaking was hard, but you could dance.

The ballet book your sisters gave you was something you knew you'd like. You always had a rhythm in your step, you were always flexible, and you were silent. Moving about like a swan would, gracefully, silently, purely. The book had words in another language and you'd beg Chrollo to translate whenever you and your sisters saw him. You didn't like being alone with him, especially with Pakunoda not far behind. The book contained pictures of poses, step-by-step guides on moves, warm-ups, ballets, and everything you soon fell in love with. When you were alone, you'd go through the motions in the book, do the stretches, the moves, and make up your own dances. When people saw you dance, you seemed to hypnotize them, especially them. Uvogin and Nobunaga wouldn't pick you up, Feitan, Phinks, and Shalnark wouldn't tease you, Chrollo, Pakunoda, Machi, and Franklin would silently observe. Your moves were a little clunky, not having the music you needed, but they worked well. You loved to dance, and silently had the dream to become a dancer at the York New City Opera House, the worlds most famous stage, especially for ballerinas. You never told anyone, as you hardly ever spoke, but they could guess you wanted to be something more than a girl who could do a few tricks. Everything felt fine, normal, and happy. Well, as happy as things could feel in Meteor City.

Then the trio became a duo.

When you all split up to look for Sarasa who didn't show up for the recording that day, you went with Sheila. After failing to find her in the junkyard, you all reconvened, where one of the adults was taking the body wearing Sarasa's clothes to wear all the corpses go, a burlap sack held on top of the corpse. But then, you noticed something missing. Many in the group heard your voice for the first time that day when you said in a quiet voice,

"Sheila, where did Sarasa's head go?" Nobody answered. What could anyone say to that? When Chrollo looked at the bloody burlap sack, his reaction said it all. You were the most fragile. The silence broke you, the sight etched into your mind broke you. You fell to your knees, crying and silently screaming. Sheila's near crushing grip on your shoulders came after you fell to your knees like a puppet without a string. She pushed your head into her chest, holding onto you like you'd vanish if she let go. The grip was more for her than for you, you think. What else happened after the discovery is unknown to you. You faintly remember being picked up by someone, carried home, and being tucked into bed.

You were even more silent after that.

Everyone was shaken. Everyone felt a hollowness now that the bright energetic girl was permanently missing from your lives. Chrollo and Uvogin seemed to be the angriest. Uvogin was always quick to punch first and ask questions later, but there was nobody to punch in sight. Chrollo's anger was a quiet, simmering rage. Like a pot about to boil over, but nobody would realize until the burning smell permeated through every possible barrier. Everyone else seemed snippy. You distanced yourself for a while from them. From everyone really.

It took two years to dance again.

Everyone else seemed to recover. A secret strength unlocked in them. A year later, Sheila left to pursue her dream of being a hunter. You couldn't blame her. Everyone grew sick of this place eventually. A few days after Sheila left, Chrollo came by. You were stretching, using a decrepit table to prop your left foot on as you leaned to the side, right arm extended and touching your pointed toe and your side perfectly aligned with your leg. You remember the conversation to this day.

~~~~~~~~~

You paused as you heard a gentle knock and a gently calm voice asking to come in. Of course you let Chrollo in. You found some security with him and the Troupe. They seemed to ease up on teasing and piercing stares after a while. They were distracted by some promise Chrollo made Uvogin. You were going to ask if he needed anything but stopped when he said, "Do you want to join the Phantom Troupe?" You were slightly surprised.

"Is that the new official name for your acting troupe?" You were still quiet, but after Shelia left, you had to speak more.

"We aren’t acting anymore." That should've alarmed you, but everyone changed after the death of a member of the troupe. You just lived in denial. You turn to face him, looking up into his steely grey eyes.

"Then what are you doing?" Creaks in the floors from the other room let you know that the others were in the house listening for your answer. Quiet people always listen.

"Revenge."

"Oh." You knew this. This was something you wanted to avoid thinking about.

"Do you want to join? I know Sarasa was like a sister to you." Your fingers clutched the table behind you.

"No." Chrollo looked surprised for the first time, but only vaguely. His brows slightly raised and his eyes held that look of a predator figuring out the best way to catch his prey.

"No? You refuse to avenge your family?"

"I think we'd become the same monsters that killed her." 'We all know I don't belong in this city. Why are you even bothering with me?'

"People leave their stuff here. They need to learn they can't take it away. We'll be the ones to teach them."

"I refuse." 'I'm a weaking. I'll slow you down, I hate drawing blood. I can't do anything to help you.'

"Fine." Chrollo said curtly. He turned and left the building, the footsteps of the others following.

~~~~~~~~~~~

That was the last time you saw them in person.

Getting used to being alone took a while. People heard your voice more, people mocked you more. You realized how much you were guarded from when you lost the silent protection. But the pastor of the church took pity on you. He trained you in the same power that he taught the others. He told you how they asked him to not teach you as they could protect you, but now that they were gone, he'd teach you Nen. You caught on quick. The training making sense to you as ballet was also about patience. In a few months, you were able to do the water divination. You were a manipulator. After a few more months, you found your Hatsu, iron. Controlling iron came naturally to you. You never realized how deadly this was until a night you were dancing in a clearing, tucked behind several junk piles. You were practicing your pirouettes when a large man tackled you from behind, pinning you down. You knew instantly what he was going to do and your small size didn't help at all. You called your nen to do anything that would get the man to let go of you. When a warm liquid reeking of copper started dripping on your head and back, you realized what happened. You slid from his grip and watched as he coughed up blood and vomited razor blades.

It was that same night you left Meteor City.

 You ran into a well dressed man in your haste to get away from the bloody mess. He stopped you and asked, "Were you the dancer in the clearing?"

You shakily nod your head. Your mind racing. He smiled and said "You have talent. What if I took you from here? Taught you how to be a dancer? I own an opera house, and am famous for the dancers I teach." You believed him. Machi described the feelings her instincts gave her and what was brewing inside you matched.

"Yes."

With a single word, your whole life changed. You wrote a few letters. One for the council, to tell them you were leaving, one for Sheila, and one for the Troupe. The man introduced himself as Peter Ivan, and drove you to an airport where you got on an airship and landed in York New, where drivers picked you up and took the two of you to his penthouse apartment. He had his maid go scrub you down in the tub, gave you a good nutritious meal, and a warm bed. In the morning after breakfast, he led you to the studio in his suite and asked you to show him what you knew, which you did. He watched with an analytical gaze. He saw you had raw talent, your moves were objectively correct but needed more precision in the movements. He needed to break apart everything you knew and teach it to you again, which he did. He taught you everything, and introduced you to his dancers at the York New Opera House as a member of the Corp de ballet. You rose through ranks, eventually becoming a Prima Ballerina. When Peter passed away, lung cancer, he left his properties, assets, and opera house to you. You were now a star, shining under the spotlight.

Then you made a discovery.

Walking up the opera house stairs to rehearsal one morning, you caught sight of a newspaper dropped by a random person before you arrived. In bold lettering, you read:

Kurta Clan Slaughtered, Eyes Missing! Phantom Troupe Activity Suspected!

In shock, you couldn't hold your stomach and vomited everything inside it into a trash can outside the doors. The dancers nearby hurried to you and apparently you looked like you went through the wringer. One drove you to your apartment and helped you inside and set you up with some water and a blanket before leaving to rehearsal again. You were in a daze. 'How is that vengeance? Why did you do this?' You didn't realize that in a couple of years, you'd get the opportunity to ask them.

Little did you know, that in a few years, you'd be a butterfly dancing on a spider's web,

[citrus-writing]

noncon pussy eating phantom troupe ( + Hisoka if its possible) headcanons pls🫦

Thank you so much for asking! i'm so surprised so many people were interested in this!

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

yanderes who eat their darling out for their own pleasure, they cant get enough of their beloved darling, want to taste you all the time- 

Chrollo- 

Chrollo is obsessed with you, and of course, the faces and sounds you make for him when he kneels between your legs are no exception. He’s devoted to the task, almost worshiping you with his tongue and lips, determined to hear every little sound he can pull from your lips.

For a long while in your captivity in his home, he fantasizes about how you must taste, what faces you’d make, the little noises he’s so sure you’d make- but he leaves it a fantasy, because he doesn't want to scare you away. You’re inching closer to him with time, and he’s sure that if you knew the kind of things he was thinking you’d shrink away from him again, and he can't let that happen. But lately, you’ve been so tempting- wearing the little dresses he picks for you, short enough he can see the underwear he’d picked for you as well if you bent over even slightly. Everything about you makes him crazy, nearly desperate for a taste of what’s between your legs- what he’s sure is the most perfect pussy, made for him, just for him. 

So don't be surprised when he tells you to lie back on the bed and spread your legs- of course he’d taken the evening to soothe you into it. Your favorite food for dinner, your favorite movie on the tv, his arms around you all the while. His lips on yours- till your breathing heavy- his hands moving over your clothes to squeeze and toy with your chest. But it’s not nearly enough.

The look in his eyes tells you that there’s no getting out of this one, so you nervously lie back like he asked. “My love, what did I just ask from you?” he asks, nodding at your closed thighs. You struggle to fight the shame and embarrassment as you open your legs for him. 

He’s so romantic about it, taking his time to kiss and bite up your thighs, hands holding your hips still for him. He pulls your panties off slowly, making you whine in shame, but he’s convinced himself that you’re just as eager as he is. “Good girl.” 

Uvogin-  

Uvogin wastes no time at all in taking what he wants from you, and this is no exception. He’s imagined it so many times, has worked his fantasy over and over in his mind. He lays back on the bed, pulling you over him and manhandling you into the position he wants you in- kneeling over his face, wet folds hovering inches from his mouth. 

“Go ahead, baby, sit on down.” he encourages. His big hands are squeezing at your ass, your thighs, like he’s desperate to just feel you. You hesitate, looking for a way out of this, but of course once he’s made up his mind about something you know there’s no changing his mind. He looks up at you expectantly, “don't make me repeat myself,” and he says it with humor but it sends terror through you. You take a shaky breath and allow yourself to ease down, but it must be too slow for his liking because he grabs you by the hips to force your body down. 

The feeling of his tongue against your folds has you jolting from the shock, and maybe pleasure, but you don't want to admit that to yourself. It’s impossible to ignore how skilled he is with his tongue, something you’ve noticed when he’d kiss you, but something that is uncomfortably obvious right now, with you sat above him like this. He groans against you, the vibrations of his deep voice making you gasp, making you let out a tiny little noise of pleasure. He seems to like the sound, because he grows more eager- pushing his tongue inside you, lapping into you with a kind of hunger you hadn't expected. 

Illumi- 

Illumi isn't sure what about you has him so enamored- your smile? Your laugh? They way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love? He wouldn't be able to answer that if he was asked. But he knows what’s holding his attention right now. He can't pull his eyes away from your sleeping form next to him in the bed, blankets tossed off you and nightgown ridden up to reveal the underwear you're wearing. He’s seen you in less, of course, but something about this is different- you're unaware, completely at ease, all spread out for him to touch. 

He trails a hand down the contour of your waist, fingertips ghosting along the curve of your hip bone, letting himself touch the lace you're wearing. You dont wake up, only moving slightly when he first places his hand on your skin, but you remain peacefully asleep. 

He traces up and down the fabric with his index and middle fingers, teasing you and feeling your underwear grow damp at the sensation. You’re perfect- he tells you so all the time- but you’re absolutely perfect. He lets him dip under the waistline of your underwear, training his fingers down to gather up the slick gathering between your legs. 

You're starting to stir, moving a bit more, mumbling something incoherent. “Darling, go back to sleep.” he soothes. You mumble again, “illumi?” It seems sleep hasn't let go of you just yet, not really awake to realize your situation. When he brushes against your clit, you’re forced awake all at once with a desperate yelp. “Shh, you’re alright. I just want a taste of you.” 

Yanderes who eat out their darling in some kind of deranged attempt to make their darling feel good, to make their darling want them, beg for them- 

Nobunaga- 

Nobunaga is a delusional type of yandere, one who can convince himself that you want him the way he wants you. And he wants you all the time, anyway he can have you.whether it’s pining you down to the bed, forcing you to your knees in front of him, or spreading your legs to touch and taste your most sensitive places, he’s not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.  

Even when you struggle and shake, begging him not to, he just smiles at you with this soft look that makes you sick- he doesn't believe you. And how could he believe you don't want him when his fingers already have you so wet, dripping down his hands and down your thighs. He knows you want him as badly as he wants you, you must, by the way you whimper for him. Maybe someday you’ll be able to admit how badly you need him, but for tonight he won't force you to admit it. “You’re so good for me, aren't you?” he soothes, even as you continue to tremble. 

He pulls your legs further apart and settles his face between them, kissing at your thighs, licking at the slick gathered there. Licking up up up, towards his real prize. You’re all he wants, to touch you, taste you, feel you tremble when you cum from his tongue deep inside you. “I can't wait to taste you.” and, as if to prove his point, he drags the tip of his tongue across your entrance, not quite allowing himself to dip inside. No, he’s going to take his time with you. 

Hisoka- 

He’s always used you however he saw fit, taking anything he desired from you, because you were helpless to whatever he’d do to you. Most nights, that means carrying you to his bedroom- or the nearest surface, if he couldn't wait that long- before pinning you down and having his way with you. Hisoka is never a gentle lover, not even when he taunts you about how much worse he could be, but he does care for your pleasure- even if it’s only for his own satisfaction. 

That’s how you found yourself here, with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands keeping your hips still as you tried to fight and thrash. Of all the things he’s done to you, none have been so personal, so vulnerable. 

You want to be quiet so badly, but the way his tongue delves into you makes it difficult, even more so when he moans against you, sending vibrations up your body. It forces a little sound from you- a desperate little cry of pleasure, and no matter how much you don't want to believe it, it’s because it feels good. You don't want to be here- in his arms, in his bed, in his home- but the feeling of his hot mouth on you is so good you feel yourself getting almost lost in it. The sounds you made seem to excite him, and that thought makes you almost sick. He pulls away from you for a moment, looking up into your eyes, “are you enjoying yourself?” he’s taunting you, you know that. Before you can answer, he uses two fingers to spread you open, making you squirm. “Dont lie, darling, i want to hear how good it feels.” 

Phinks- 

Of course you’re scared, he knows that- you’ve made it very apparent, much to his annoyance. But it takes everything in him not to just take what he wants from you. And he could- that’s the thing, he knows he could do anything to you. It’s maddening, trying to coax you into trusting him, into coming nearer to him, into loving him. He promised himself he’d wait, and to be fair, he’s half honest about that. He won't take everything he needs from you, he just needs a taste, that’ll be more than enough. 

You’ve struggled your hardest, twisting around in his grasp for what felt like eternity, and now you’ve worn yourself out. It’d be pitiful if you didn't look so good under him, already out of breath, and finally- finally- plaint under him. He wastes only a second or two looking at your face before his hands move to remove your clothes. It’s agony not to fuck you, it’s all he really wants to do, but he reminds himself that he’d promised himself he’d settle for just the sight of your body and the taste of you. 

You're tense at first, when he pulls down your underwear and leans forward, bringing his face closer to you. You dont beg him not to, and he takes that as some kind of consent, though he’s not quite delusional enough to believe that. He feels you relax as he kisses your thigh, taking a moment to say “that’s right, just relax. I’ve got you.” before finally indulging in you the way he’s wanted to. He hears your breath hitch a little when he kisses just over where you want him. Your hands grip at the sheets, and he can hardly hold back enough to mumble, “I've waited so long for this.” 

Yanderes who eat out their darling as a form of punishment, making you beg and cry as they force you over the edge over and over- 

Feitan- 

Feitan has trouble expressing his feelings and desires for you in a way you can understand, and this is no different. How could he possibly explain to you the way you make him feel? How he has to fight off blushing when you’re close to him, how just the sound of your voice has his heartbeat racing, how just the sight of you in the outfit he picked for you has all the blood in his body racing south. It’s embarrassing- humiliating- and he won't stand for it. So when he sees you bend over in the little skirt, he has to do something about it. 

You yelp as he grabs you, his hand closing around your wrist as he spins you around and slams yur back into the wall. Your head hurts where it hit the plaster, and your wrist hurts where he’s still crushing it in his hand. “You did that on purpose.” he accuses. You don't even know what you did. “Don't move.” he demands, letting go of your wrist to drop to his knees. The action alone is so unlike feitan, it’s unlike him to touch you, and it’s unlike him to kneel in front of you like this. There’s something wrong. 

He reaches up under your skirt to pull your underwear down- he’d gotten a good view of them earlier, but it’s different when he’s taking them off you. Feitan pulls them off you, watching the way you shake slightly, but you don't move- exactly like he asked. 

He’s careful with you, methodical in a way that’s unsettling and foreign. You whimper when he brings his fingers to your folds, as if testing the wetness. He glances up at you, eyes not betraying any emotion. He traces his finger along your entrance, not quite letting his fingers dip inside. You try to keep quiet, try to stay still, but it’s so difficult when you can feel yourself getting wetter as he works at you. “Good.” he appraised.

He’s just as methodical and slow with his tongue when he angles his head to lap at your cunt, his lips sealed against you as he works his tongue into you. If he can make you cum like this, maybe he’ll consider forgiving you for your little stunt earlier. If not, he’ll eat you over and over again until you beg him to stop.

Shalnark- 

He looks up at you from between your legs, eyes shining as he carefully and skillfully swirls his tongue over your clit. Your whole body is trembling from the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he so deftly and methodically takes you apart. Shalnark knows he’s making you feel good, he can feel it in the way you clench around his fingers, the way your slick drips down his hand, the way that you taste so so good. 

He lets out a soft little laugh, his hot breath making you whine, and he pulls his mouth from you. You whimper at the loss, mind too foggy to really think of how you shouldn't want this. But he’s making you feel so good, and you can't deny yourself this- anything he’s willing to give you. 

“You want to cum?” he asks, voice obviously amused. You nod. He twists his wrist just so, making you gasp and arch up against him. “I don't know, you’re not acting like you do.” he taunts. Of course he’d take a moment like this to tease you- shalnark would never miss the opportunity to toy with you. “Maybe if you beg me, I'll consider letting you.” 

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

[lliminall]

yan!phantom troupe most to least likely to get you a cat | headcanons

tags: gn!reader, yandere, mentions of threatened violence against animals

pakunoda

she loves the idea! she even brings it up with you herself. she already likes cats and they always seem to like her, but she never thought about adopting one because of her unpredictable lifestyle. now that she has you, kept safe and hidden away in her home, it seems like a much more viable idea. she really does hate to see you so despondent and upset, and hates the thought of you being miserable all alone while she’s away, so bringing in a cat is a perfect solution to your loneliness. if you’ve been particularly good lately she may even bring you along to find one, either from a shelter or straight off of the streets.

machi

unlike pakunoda she won’t bring up the idea herself, but once you mention it she jumps right on top of it. not immediately, of course. she has to at least pretend to think about it and be cranky about it. really though, she recognizes this as a great opportunity to boost your mood and improve your opinion of her. she brings you a kitten because she thinks it’ll be good for you to put all your energy into raising it, and also because it’s just so cute. even if she won’t say it out loud. adopting the cat has a third, more unexpected benefit though. it ends up humanizing her to you, as soon as you see her cooing and petting the little baby when she thinks you aren’t paying attention.

phinks

sure. why not. that’s exactly what he thinks when you bring it up. he really couldn’t give a fuck about some fuzzy little animal living in the house, but if it’ll make you happy (and finally make you like him) he’ll do anything. the shelter employees are a little hesitant to hand one over when you walk in with this brooding, sketchy looking guy but none of them have the guts to outright refuse him, so you end up bringing home whichever one you want. he doesn’t ever grow to love the cat, but with time maybe he can learn to like it. just a little bit. maybe even let it curl up on his lap and get fur all over his track suit, if you gush about how sweet it is while he does it.

uvogin

another one who just doesn’t give a fuck. he doesn’t like cats, doesn’t dislike them, but if you really want one he’ll oblige. yanks one straight off the street and brings it home to you spitting and scratching like it’s life depends on it. the poor baby calms down a lot once you manage to get it out of uvo’s hands, but the cat never quite warms up to him and really only likes you lmao. uvo doesn’t mind though, he really only got it to make you happy, and as you later find out, to have a more convenient way to bring you back in line when you start acting up. all it takes is one off-handed threat towards the cat and suddenly you’re feeling a lot more cooperative. it is very cute to see him trying to pet it’s tiny head with his giant fingers though, even if the cat is less than thrilled to have him around

shalnark

shalnark isn’t thrilled at the idea of having a cat around, but he isn’t exactly opposed to it either. he just doesn’t really care about animals much. and the thought of a cat getting hair everywhere and jumping all over his desk doesn’t sound like the best idea to him. if you’re persistent enough, however, he might make it into a reward for good behavior. if you can make it a couple months without picking a fight or trying to break a window he’ll bring one home for you, but don’t think for a second that you can ever get away with acting out again. shalnark will not hesitate to threaten the cat to get your cooperation, and he’ll say it all with a smile on his face and a hand scratching the oblivious kitty’s ears. he’s another one who won’t ever love the cat exactly, but might grow to tolerate it. likes picking on it with a laser pointer or some other toy that it loves to chase but never quite catches

chrollo

chrollo isn’t too keen on the idea. he moves around a lot, and it’s enough of a hassle getting you from one place to another with no hiccups. throwing an animal into the mix is not an appealing idea to him, but it’s possible to get him on board if you’re very, very convincing, and by convincing I of course mean being as sweet and cuddly (and maybe even sensual) as you can stand to be. I think chrollo would initially plan to buy you some expensive pure bred, but if you asked for a shelter cat specifically he may be surprised to find out that he’s happier that way. there’s something strangely charming about this scraggly little stray you’ve brought in to care for and cuddle. with enough introspection, he might come to the conclusion that he sees some of himself in this cat; or at least, some of who he used to be. he’s another one who will use the cat to keep you on your best behavior, although I don’t think chrollo would threaten to hurt the cat, just to take it away from you if you aren’t obedient. he doesn’t want you to resent him too much, after all.

feitan

oh god. if you know what’s good for yourself you won’t ever even ask him for one. if you do, and he agrees, it’s for one reason and one reason only: to terrorize you into obedience. feitan will not hesitate to hurt this animal you love if he thinks that’s what needs to happen to win your cooperation. whereas some of the others may use those threats a bit emptily, feitan has absolutely no qualms about breaking a bone on this poor animal to remind you that it’s in your best interest to mind his rules, now. what makes it more disturbing is the fact that feitan seems to get along with the cat just fine while you’re not acting up, petting it and letting it curl around his legs while he’s busy. he’ll threaten to snap a bone or crush its windpipe while stroking it calmly, a wicked smile pulling at his lips. he knows how terrified you are of seeing this animal get hurt. you’ll likely never have the guts to disobey him again.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Phinks Magcub NSFW Profile

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, kidnapping, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, marking, spanking, anal, size kink but it's tall/bigger reader inclusive, mentions of somnophilia, praise, panty stealing, Phinks thinks your discharge is hot, breaking and entering, Phinks is vocal and you overhear him masturbating to you, marking, mentions of violence, pre-you Phinks is not a good hookup buddy, slight objectification, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

WC: 12K

HABITS:

Phinks is most certainly not a saint when it comes to anything involving sex; he’s had his fair share of hookups, nights spent in the arms of some random woman, only to slip out the door in the wee hours of the morning and never see them again.

 He’s got experience, knows generally what he’s doing between the sheets, though only to a certain extent – he’s very much aware of how to fuck, how to prep a girl and get them creaming around his cock, but any of the other softer sides that sex has to offer? Yeah, Phinks has no fucking clue.

Pillow talk, sweet nothings, praise and eye contact meant for anything other than sexual tension are things that he’s more or less clueless about, having never really felt the need to try them or do them in any shape or form. 

Why would he ever tell some random hookup that he loves them, that he’s so happy they’re in his life, that they’re perfect? 

It’s just never been a thing for him, but this is, ironically, something that’s on Phinks’s mind constantly when it comes to you. He holds such intense devotion to you, such intense obsession and infatuation and yearning for you that the idea of being naked with you, feeling your skin and lovely body against his own is something that literally gives him goosebumps, pleasurable tingles running up and down his spine, making him flush lightly and clear his throat. It’s a thought that Phinks loves to entertain; the idea of holding you close, his arms caging in your head while his hips thrust into you gently and languidly, your pretty eyes staring up into his wide, teary yellow ones, you whispering that you love him… 

It’s a guilty pleasure, and this leads to Phinks’s thoughts regarding you skewing a bit on the more lewd side, less innocent and wholesome. And while the thoughts of pillow talk and sweet words being exchanged between the two of you are things that frequently pass through his mind, so do the ideas of pinning you down and fucking you full of his cum, of having your legs thrown over his shoulders while he licks and sucks at your clit to make you come again and again and again, imagining you on your knees drooling and slobbering all over his cock. 

The dirty thoughts do very much populate his mind as his obsession with you forms, so much so that he actually feels a bit guilty for how often he thinks of you nude and moaning his name – is it disrespectful to have wet dreams of you on a nightly basis, his sheets harboring permanent stains all because of you? 

Is it tarnishing your image to be wringing himself dry to the thought of you on a daily basis, to be grunting and groaning your name so often that he’s sure the syllables are molded to his tongue, that your lovely name is being cried out while he does something so filthy?

He feels bad, but not enough to stop – no, not nearly enough, not when fucking his fist is the only possible solution to quelling the intense yearning and hunger he feels for you, if only slightly.

Phinks does, however, have one particular secret he feels really bad about – that is, while the thought of you is enough to get his cock throbbing, even just smelling you making him feel light headed and groaning lowly in his throat, he’s found that he really likes having an aid when he’s pleasuring himself. 

He can come to the thought of you (easily, pathetically easily, once even without touching himself), but if he has something of yours, something soft and pretty and used, his orgasms come faster, harder, stronger. 

That is, Phinks becomes something of a panty thief. The first time was genuinely accidental – he’d been snooping around your home, the front door’s lock carefully picked then relocked (he’d even taken off his shoes and neatly put them next to yours in the doorway, briefly staring at them side by side and letting the smallest of smiles flit across his lips). 

He always saves your bedroom for last when he’s broken in – something about the excitement gets his face flushing, the idea of being in your room, surrounded by your things making him fiddle with his fingers a bit, cracking his knuckles idly because he has to be doing something with his hands. And once he finally reaches your room, he’ll stand in the doorway and take a deep, deep breath, letting his eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s Apple bob because god, it smells just like you. 

He’s methodical and careful about the way he looks over all your things, staring at every little knick-knack and pen, carefully picking up any little bits of trash you may have on your drawers and throwing them away for you. He’s snooping through every drawer you have, looking over each piece of clothing and biting his lip as he imagines you wearing them, how your lovely body and curves would look with the fabric stretched across them. 

And eventually, of course, he reaches a more intimate drawer, filled with things he’s sure you wouldn’t let just anyone see. Your panties are neatly tucked away in a corner, the different colors and styles making his throat feel dry, and for a moment he’ll only stare, his fingers frozen as he imagines the fabric sitting over your hips, laying across your ass, framing that perfect little pussy. 

He’s gulping and carefully, oh so carefully, picking up a pair of black cotton ones, fingers gripping onto the edges, holding up and letting his eyes scan over every detail – a thread coming out here, discharge stains there, thinning fabric right over the padded area that must rub right against your cunt, the fabric maybe even bunching up, getting up in between your folds and getting drenched in your slick and tasting like you and smelling like you and fuck fuck fuck – 

He’s hard before he knows it, cock angry and insistent in his trackpants, and he stares for a moment longer, his face on fire, before nearly flinging the pair down back onto the stack, bringing a hand up to cup at his chin, fingers pressing tightly against his mouth. He can’t. 

God he wants to – to press them up to his face, licking and sucking at the fabric, letting any residual slick smear across his lips and skin, to revel in you, but he can’t. It would be too weird, crossing too many lines – plus, he doesn’t know how, but he feels like you’d know, like you’d somehow be aware of what he’d done with them. 

Guilt brews in his chest, but he can’t tear his gaze away, his lower lip sucked between his teeth as tentative fingers reach out once more, tracing over that pulled seam, the thread spinning between his fingers. 

Maybe you wouldn’t notice…? 

Before he can really even decide, there’s a jiggling of the front door and soon he can hear your heavy sighs as you push it open, and all too soon he’s hauling himself out the window, having already known which ways to slide it open so that it’s silent, how to move to the screen so that you wouldn’t see any trace of him. His heart pounds, and it’s not until he returns back to wherever he’s calling home base that he notices the bulge in his pocket. In the safety of his bedroom, he furrows his brows and digs into the pocket, only to feel something soft, unfamiliar, warm…? 

It’s those damn black panties; he must’ve grabbed them in his haste to escape your room, stuffing them absentmindedly in his pocket during his fleeing. Phinks gulps, staring down with wide eyes – what’s he supposed to do now? 

He’s got them, and it’s not like he can go back and just return them – you’re home, and maybe you’d smell him on them. (The heavy scent of his cologne – smokey and minty – is difficult to mask, even when he tries.) 

He’s not sure what to do, deciding to carefully fold them on his dresser and leave the room. It works, for a while – ignoring them, that is, until later that night when he’s got his TV on low, the poorly done action movie he’d thrown on getting to a part where the love interest and main character are alone.

The screen flashes to writhing bodies and obviously forced moans, and Phinks averts his eyes briefly, before snapping them back because that was weird, the actress looked just like you for a moment. 

Truth be told, he’d put on this movie because the lead looked like you through the hair, but certainly not through the face. Yet when they throw their head back like that and gasp, it’s you – or, at least, the you that Phinks sees when he watches you stuff yourself full of your fingers and that damn vibrator you seem to love. 

He bites his lip, watching as the sex montage only gets more explicit, the image of the man snapping his hips into the woman with enough fervor to get the bed shaking making him shake too. He’s palming himself, staring transfixed at the screen as the woman continues to moan and tremble under the man’s touch, Phink’s own voice mumbling your name as he reaches into his sweatpants to pull out his cock, already red and dribbling precum. 

He hisses as his hand wraps around it, squeezing a bit and making him lick his lips. He’s lost in the moment, but it’s not until the screen flashes to a new scene that he pauses, realization hitting him square in the chest. On the screen lie the woman’s discarded red lace panties, strewn haphazardly across the hotel room chair. Her moans blast through the speakers as Phinks stands up, suddenly running to his bedroom and snatching up your panties from off the dresser. 

Morals be damned, he’s hard – he’s hard and he needs you, and the closest thing to you he’s got is this stupid slip of cotton. He’s plopping back down onto the couch soon after, pressing the material up to his nose and letting a deep, strained groan tumble from his lips. 

He’s set the movie to repeat the sex scene over and over again, and as his hand reaches down to grab a handful of his balls and squeeze, he can’t help but inhale at the panties again. They’ve been washed, but they still smell like you – a musky scent, like not all of you had quite been washed out. It’s good, but Phinks wants more, needs more, and soon his tongue is licking across the area that presses right up against your pretty folds and clit, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

His fist is moving up and down so fast it’s nearly a blur, foreskin tugged and fondled as he brings himself steadily closer to his high. He can’t help but imagine you in the position of the woman on the screen – tits bouncing and face all screwed up in ecstasy, crying out like his cock is the single best thing you’ve ever felt. He grits his teeth as the trace edges of his orgasm approach, the tingling in his thighs and contraction of his abs. 

It feels good, so damn good, and it’s only once he opens his eyes again after fluttering them closed that he sees it – a stain, and not just any stain. Your discharge. 

The light color makes him choke back a gasp, his taste buds fooling him into thinking he's tasting you – he can taste it now, musky and intoxicating, and soon he’s biting back a yell, hips bucking up and into his hand desperately and unevenly, cum spurting from his tip in copious ropes. 

Your panties are pressed flush with his face, leaving practically no room for air, and all he can smell and taste and feel is you. 

The woman in the movie is still moaning, babbling something about feeling full, and Phinks can only stutter his hips, chest heaving as he tries to recover from his orgasm, letting the panties stay perched across his mouth as he leans his head back. He feels dirty, bad, because he knows that a good portion of what got him to his finish was the presence of the cotton – of you, really. 

But somehow, he doesn’t feel as guilty as he thought he would – rather, he feels this strange, indescribable sense of excitement, of satisfaction, because this is the closest he’s ever gotten to actually fucking you. He’s never had anything of yours to work with, and it felt so, so damn good – which is why he’s washing them and returning them, only to carefully pluck out a new pair the next week, gulping and – this time – purposefully stuffing them in his pocket, making a point to choose the one with the most stains on it. 

And the week after that? Well, when the dirty panties are sitting right on the rim of the hamper, still glistening slightly with the caked in slick on them? 

Fuck, he’s never come so much in his life.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your ass

Phinks likes to think of himself as relatively respectful towards women – he may be a murderer and a thief, but he’s never harassed or assaulted a woman. And he thinks that counts for something, saying at least something about his moral character. Consequently, he’s tried his best to stay away from objectifying women; or at least, belittling them down to their physical attributes.

And yet, there’s just something about you that makes it really, really fucking difficult for Phinks to not obsess over your physical appearance, to not be constantly fantasizing about how pretty you are. It’s incredibly difficult to not imagine the way your chest would feel against his, your nipples pebbled and brushing against the hard planes of his pectorals. 

It’s extremely hard to not notice how your neck is the perfect size for his fingers to wrap around lightly, the soft skin so very squeezable, bruisable... He doesn’t actively try to objectify you, but he can’t help himself from gravitating towards certain parts of your body. It makes him feel dirty, disgusting, but Phinks can’t help but let his eyes linger on your ass every single time he sees you. 

He’s not even doing it on purpose – his gaze is trailing down over your shoulders, along your spine, stopping right underneath your tailbone, his mouth suddenly going dry. It doesn’t matter whether you’re particularly endowed or not; Phinks has never felt such an urge to reach out and squeeze, to mindlessly grab and grope. 

He’s never wanted so fervently to reach out and smack, to see the way it jiggles and hear you yelp and smack his hand away, looking all flustered and embarrassed and aroused. He doesn’t, of course; he may force you into a multitude of other undesirable situations (stalking you and kidnapping you, for example), but he’ll never lewdly touch you without your consent, even as badly as his body (and mind) beg him to. 

And so, Phinks suffers in silence as you walk around, sneaking glances and then immediately feeling guilty, trying to fight the way his fingers twitch and fidget, practically aching to just brush against the soft fat, to smack, to spread your pretty cheeks and feel you shiver as cold air hits your folds. It makes him feel like a creep, so he tries his best to be inconspicuous with it – he doesn’t want you to notice him noticing you. 

He doesn’t want to be caught red handed, to be confronted by you and asked why he’s ogling you like you’re some slab of meat, like you’re something for him to put his cock into. 

(He wishes he could – he’d trade years of his life just to only once feel your warm cunt wrapped around him, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, to feel your kisses against his neck.) 

But despite his efforts, Phinks is not nearly as subtle as he seems to think he is – you’ve caught him staring more times than you can count, and while it initially scared you, as you grow more and more complacent, the more you’ll tolerate it. 

In fact, once your sexual relationship starts, you’re the one to sit yourself in his lap, scooping your hips and grinding down on his very noticeable bulge, even going so far as to grab his hands and place them on your ass. It makes Phinks splutter, because while he’s touched many women like this, it’s you – and it’s just as soft as he imagined it would be. 

He’ll spend a very long time with his hands idly groping and squeezing, the pressure behind his fingers becoming more and more the longer he’s got you perched on top of him, until you fear you’ll find finger shaped bruises the next morning. 

Once the floodgates are open, Phinks finds himself always gravitating towards your ass anytime you’re intimate with each other. His hands are finding purchase as he kisses you, cupping your thighs and pulling you upwards to wrap your legs around his waist, practically sprinting as he rushes to get you onto the bed to absolutely destroy you. 

He’s smacking your ass as your face pushes into the mattress, pretty moans and cries of his name slipping past your lips with each smack and thrust, the pleasure mixing with the pain. He likes it when you wear shorts around the house; his favorites are the kind that ride up as you move, bunching up bit by bit, until eventually the entire curve of your lower ass is visible for his prying eyes.

(The way he slowly licks his lips as he stares is almost comical to you, looking like some horny cartoon character. And yet, it’s strangely flattering – because you can see his erection from across the room when this happens, it’s just too insistent to hide.) 

He likes to take baths with you (this takes a while to happen, however, because the idea of it gets his head spinning and his cock involuntarily hard, even though he desperately wants the moment to be innocent, loving), pulling your back flush against his body, your ass pressed up right against his cock. 

You can always feel the way it slowly grows hard, his voice slowly getting deeper, his movements more fidgety and nervous. (You can feel it in the way his fingers – which had been drawing soft circles on the skin of your shoulders – freeze up if you move even slightly, the bob of his length in time with the little gust of air he breathes out.) 

There’s just something about how soft and warm you always are that makes Phinks melt, and anytime he’s in bed with you, something is touching your ass – be it his hand or hips.

His hands

While Phinks has never purposefully not given a hook-up an orgasm, it’s never been his top priority. He’s engaging in the hookup because he wants to get off, and if his partner doesn’t get there, is it really his problem? He doesn’t think it’s his responsibility to help them finish, and this philosophy has become pretty ingrained in him over the years. If they happen to get off before he does, great - if not, well, who’s fault is that, really? 

And yet, when he first starts fantasizing about becoming intimate with you, everything changes. He wants to make you feel good, to get you squirming and trembling under his touch. He wants to make you cry out his name and gush for him, to be left with a slick, sticky mess between your legs. 

He wants to make you gasp and writhe, and while he’s most definitely fingered a woman or eaten her out, he’s approaching these activities with you with a renewed fervor. He has to make you come – he won’t let the sex be over until you’ve reached your high at least once, and as time goes on he decides his favorite way to do this is by fingering you. 

His hands are rough; calloused and full of scars, evidence of the hard life he’s lived. Those hands cause so much pain and suffering, and yet when they touch you, they’re nothing but gentle, caring, eager. He likes the difference between his hands and your own body when he’s touching you in your most sensitive areas – you’re so soft and warm while he’s so hard and rough, and he’ll often spend time simply touching you. 

He’s letting his fingers run along the insides of your thighs, occasionally pressing down on the soft flesh a little too hard, sometimes leaving bruises in their wake. He’ll press his thumb along the curve of your pelvic bone, right above your  clit, tracing down to ever so lightly run along your slit. 

He’s drawing careful circles on your clit, eyes flicking up between your cunt and your face over and over, checking for every possible reaction to see what you like most, what makes your eyebrows twitch and your lips part into that pretty little ‘o’. 

He’ll carefully slip a finger inside, shallowly thrusting and exploring in every direction, seeing which spot makes you bite your lip or clutch onto him. He’ll slowly work it deeper, rubbing against your walls and feeling the way you clench down on him, beads of precum streaming down his length in anticipation of it being him inside you, fucking you like you deserve. 

He’ll slip a second finger inside, working into you and curling them forward, to the side, straight, anything it takes to get you sighing, anything to get you keening out a o-oh, right there Phinks, mmm! 

He likes watching you slowly fall apart on his fingers, and his stamina is good enough that he can keep up the same motion for hours, no matter how complicated or strenuous. His fall back is always to finger you, and once he learns the pattern you like, it’s over – he’s slipping his fingers inside any time he thinks he can get away with it (once you’ve consented to his sexual advances, of course – a mistake, really, as once the floodgates are opened, he’s insatiable). 

And oh – the way you look when your lips around his fingers makes him nearly cream his pants, the wet feeling and the way your lashes bat up at him making him so hard it hurts. 

He’s committed to making you feel as good as he possibly can, and once he notices your affinity for his fingers, he’s eager to get you creaming and gasping in any way he possibly can – just make sure he cuts his nails, because once he gets into the groove of it, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop until you’ve come all over his fingers so many times that you’re brain dead and just begging for something bigger to fill you up. 

And who would Phinks be to decline such a frantic request?

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Phinks’s sex drive is average – he’s had his fair share of hookups over the years, women he’d pick up in a drunken stupor or while on the high of a completing a job, spend the evening between the sheets, only to disappear when the rays of the morning sun peek through the low-class motel windows. 

He’s not especially ashamed of his history of fucking and running; he honestly doesn’t care – who’s business is it that he’s balls deep inside someone who’s name he doesn’t even know? Surely not a stranger’s, surely not even anyone else in the Troupe. 

Fucking is just fucking, after all – nothing more, nothing less. His sex life is something he’s a bit private about, and while he’s not embarrassed, he is actually a bit of a prude. Not enough to stop him from actively engaging in casual sex, but enough to make him a little hesitant to openly discuss it, especially when women are present. 

And so, while he very much enjoys getting his dick wet, feeling something warm and wet clenching down on his cock so tightly he thinks he might explode, he’ll keep his rather insistent horniness dormant for most parts of his life. Sex talk is reserved for the bedroom, and that’s that. But that dormancy starts slipping once you show up, bringing with you all of your curves and softness and beauty. 

To be honest, Phinks is absolutely done for the minute his obsession forms with you, if only because all those perverted thoughts and sexual desires that were swept under the rug in non-sexual situations are suddenly overflowing now that he has a target with which to fantasize. No longer is he swinging by the nearest dive bar and picking up a girl drunk enough to pass out, but instead he’s imagining your plush, wonderful thighs clamping around his waist as he fucks into you deeper. 

He’s not fucking his fist, hoping for a quick orgasm to get him to sleep, instead fantasizing about you caging in his head as he sucks and licks at your cute cunt displayed above him as you ride his face. 

No longer is he pleasuring himself to just the general thought of sex or receiving quality head, but instead he’s thinking of how you’d give him head, how your pretty lips would wrap so perfectly around his girth, how your little gagging noises would have his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his hips moving on their own, his tip ramming against the back of your throat as he loses control and uses your mouth as his personal cocksleeve. 

His desires for you come to light remarkably fast; he feels dirty, disgusting for sexualizing you so frequently and fervently, but Phinks honestly can’t help it – he can’t not think about what your body looks like beneath your clothes, how your curves and soft skin look when you’re laid bare and spread out on your tiny little bed. 

(He’s spent hours stalking you and watching outside your window with flushed cheeks and ragged breaths, so the question is really a moot point.) 

He can’t not think about how you’d sound moaning and crying out his name when you’re gushing all over his fingers. 

(He’d be more than happy to bring those fingers up to his lips and suck every bit of your slick off, the taste of you driving him forward and practically forcing his cock into your tight little hole, too frantic to even consider going slow for you.) 

He can’t not think about how you’d squeal and bite your lip as he pounds into you hard enough to leave you limping. (He’ll feel a bit guilty the morning after, but there’s this swell of pride settling in his chest because he did that, and the cum sitting inside you is proof of that.) 

He can’t not imagine getting intimate with you, and while he’s embarrassed beyond words to admit how often he’s humped your pillow or left cum stains on your panties all because of you you you, he also can’t deny it – because really, when your body calls to him on such an animalistic, raw level, how can Phinks deny anything?

However, when it comes to actually initiating anything sexual with you, Phinks absolutely refuses unless he has your explicit and eager verbal consent. 

He’ll never force you into anything in the bedroom, partially because he holds a certain amount of respect for women and for consent in general, and because he absolutely does not want you to be any more afraid of him than you already are.

He’s terrified that you’ll think of him as a monster if he were to try to force himself onto you, and while Phinks heavily tends to overthink and blow things out of proportion, he may honestly be right with this one. Because quite frankly, you will realize early on that he gets horny quite easily, and you will understand that if Phinks Magcub really wanted to, he could have you pinned down and skewered on his cock in a matter of seconds without you being able to land a single defensive blow. 

You’re both aware of this, to the point where Phinks actively avoids anything intimate between you both, even for things as simple as holding your hand or pressing a kiss to your jaw or neck. He’s just too nervous to scare you, and – though he’ll never admit it – he’s just nervous of you. 

He tends to get in his head, hyper fixating and worrying to an extreme degree about everything regarding you, and that natural awkwardness that he exhibits in nearly every other aspect of his obsession with you applies here as well. 

He wants to have the confidence to kiss you and touch you, but he really doesn’t – he wants to rip your clothes off and fuck you like an animal in heat and claim you as his, but he just can’t bring himself to, for fear of freezing up, looking like an idiot, doing something wrong, or oh god, what if he can’t make you come, if you’re unsatisfied and never want to sleep with him again oh god oh god oh god no – 

It’s a downward spiral, which leads to one clear-cut solution in Phinks’s mind – don’t try anything with you, and instead relieve the intense urges you inspire within him by himself. 

Which would be a wonderful plan, if it were to go as smoothly as he thinks it does. 

The reality, of course, is that the moment Phinks feels even the slightest bit of pressure in his pants, any sort of a rush of blood below the belt, he’s immediately spluttering, pulling some excuse out of his ass about how he needs to piss, I’ll uh – I’ll be back, no don’t pause the movie, um, I’m gonna go now and practically bolting away to the nearest restroom. 

He doesn’t feel proud as he locks the door behind him, chest heaving as his pants fall to his ankles, the eager and insistent erection pressing against his underwear making him curse and shut his eyes tightly, praying that he comes quickly so he can return to you. 

He hopes he’ll come fast so that he can look at you and think of you and hear you and smell you and imagine you – his hand gets the job done, for the most part, as he quickly and near violently begins jerking his fist up and down, the sensitive skin of his length making him hiss through clenched teeth.

It would all be a good plan – except that Phinks tends to be a bit loud, the passion and pleasure gripping him and making hoarse groans of your name tumble from his lips, curses and praises of what he imagines you in his fantasies doing (there’s lots of good girl, oh fuck that’s a good girl, look so pretty all stuffed full, gonna – gonna make you come so fucking hard baby), to the point where even with a hand firmly pressed over his lips, his sounds are more than apparent to you. 

You, who sits outside a distance away from the bathroom door and is forced to listen to the way he gasps and cries out your name so wantonly. You can even hear the wet squelching noises, rhythmic but getting less steady as he nears his finish. 

If he’s quick about it (and has a fresh mental image of you bending over, leaning forward, licking your lips, stretching, really anything), Phinks can be grunting and whimpering your name as white stains his hands in as soon as two minutes, though the noises he makes when he comes will be difficult to ignore – as is the way he stumbles out of the room, legs slightly shaky and his cheeks still a violent shade of pink as he averts eye contact, clearing his throat and asking what you’d like for dinner, if you’re feeling alright, why you’re looking at him with such an embarrassed and shocked face while you clench your thighs together… 

(His hands are still warm once he comes back, still a bit sweaty, and although he washed his hands afterwards, sometimes you think you even see a bit of cum left on his skin, evidence of how frantically he’d been trying to get off and return to you.)

He has no idea that you’re able to hear him, that his depraved confessions of love and desperation for you during the height of his pleasure are completely heard by you each and every time, but unless you want to see the blond near literally combust from sheer embarrassment and mortification, don’t mention it. 

No, instead, the moment you see a tent forming in his trousers, his body growing stiff as he nervously glances at you from the corner of his eye, stop him – he may not be willing to initiate sexual encounters, but that does not mean he isn’t willing to let you sink to your knees and beg him to please let me taste you, ‘ve been wanting to for so long, please Phinks… 

He won’t not let you climb into his lap and grind on him until he’s gasping and squeezing his eyes shut as his boxers are stained and sticky with his cum. 

He may be hesitant and constantly asking for reassurance that you’re really okay with helping him out, but he won’t ever say no – because you’re a beautiful woman that he’s madly, desperately in love with, and who in their right mind would say no to you? 

MAIN THREE KINKS

Size kink

For Phinks, this kink is really more about strength than actual physical size.

There’s something about you that’s so damn soft; your skin, your touch, your body, every physical part of you (and he knows every fucking nook and cranny of your body, even if you aren’t aware of it). Even your personality and voice are things that make him melt, the innocence that practically radiates off of you in waves making him flush and gulp. It doesn’t matter what your own past is – compared to him and his more alternative lifestyle, you are weak, laughably and worryingly incapable of defending yourself against others, like a bunny prancing around in a pack of wolves. 

But that’s what Phinks likes about you – you’re so damn warm and soft and perfect to just grope at and squeeze that it nearly makes him drool, his hands often having a mind of their own and landing on your curves before he can even stop them. 

You’re just so touchable, and Phinks really notices this when he’s got you underneath him, writhing under his fingers and moaning his name. He likes the difference in strength between the two of you; of course, it’s the root of many of his worries in the bedroom (like hurting you or fucking you too hard and breaking you), but it’s also one of the things he can’t stop thinking about when he’s got you wrapped around his cock, your walls fluttering and squeezing down on him hard enough to get him seeing stars. 

He likes how your body is so cushiony, the perfect juxtaposition against his calloused, rough skin. 

He likes how if he wanted to, he could hold you down with just a single hand, your pretty body open and vulnerable for him to do whatever he hell he wants with you - like you’re some sweet little toy all for him. 

And while he very much cares about your own pleasure, there’s something about that thought - of you being something for him to use, to fuck and touch and shove his cock into - that makes him so hard it’s nearly painful, his mind spinning because god, how did he get so lucky? 

He can’t help but marvel at the difference between you two once you’re even a bit undressed - every new inch of skin is something that makes him bite his tongue, suck in a sharp breath, gulp, palm at the growing bulge in his pants.

He can’t help but notice the way your arms aren’t corded with muscle like his - he can tell with how they tremble when you wrap them around his neck when he gets close to his end, his hips starting to stutter and move on of their own accord. 

He can’t help but notice the way your fingers are so damn tiny, staring and muttering a small fuck under his breath when you wrap them around his girth, fingertips just barely touching, looking so very different from his own hands that seem to dwarf his cock when he’s gripping it. 

He can’t help but notice the way your lips struggle to fit around him, your little mouth not big enough to get as much of him in as he’d like - though there’s something oddly hot about watching you struggle, about seeing the way you gag and choke on him when he goes just a hair too deep, his balls twitching and clenching because you can only fit a little over half of him in. He can’t help but notice the way your cunt desperately tries to make room for him, your walls squeezing down on him to the point where he feels like he can barely move, the grip so tight it’s mixing between pleasurable and painful. 

You’re just so weak and tiny, even if you really aren’t that much smaller than him, and in Phinks’s mind, it only solidifies your roles in the bedroom. He likes to think of himself as the one in charge, the one making sure that you feel good, like he’s the one fucking you, and when you’re just so pathetically weak and easy to throw around like some ragdoll, how can he not feel that way? 

He doesn’t manhandle you to the degree that he wishes he could, but he’s still insistent with moving your body the way he wants, switching positions where he’s doing all the work of arranging your body - all you have to do is look pretty and let him shove his cock back inside you, letting him work his way back up to an orgasm he hopes you’ll reciprocate. 

(He wishes he could manhandle you more, but he doesn’t if only because he’s scared he’d hurt you, nervous he’d lose control and accidentally send you flying across the room. And despite him dialing it down a bit, you most definitely feel like you’re just some sex doll for him sometimes - the way he just effortlessly grasps your hips and shifts you into his lap, only to manually thrust up into you from below makes you feel like you’re just a hole for him to stuff, like he’s using you for his pleasure. Of course, the praise and the way he eagerly rubs at your clit with frantic motions tell you it’s not so, but damn do you feel like it when he’s lifted you up against the wall, holding you with one hand while he grunts and groans and nearly kisses your cervix with his tip.) 

Phinks tends to lose himself during sex, your body and the pleasure you give him just too overwhelming for him to keep a clear head, but Phinks likes it. In fact, if you really want to get him in the mood (not a difficult task, but still), come up to him and press your tits against his chest, fluttering your lashes at him and tell him you feel empty, can you fill me up Phinks? Want you to stretch me out, I miss your cock… 

He’ll stammer and blush, mentally imagining the way you always writhe and bite your lip when he first pushes inside you, your muscles clenching and sucking him in deeper and deeper, right up until his balls are flush with  your ass, the warmth and wetness you cover him in making him hiss and suck a nipple into his mouth. 

He just likes the idea that he’s your big, strong protector, and you’re his sweet little woman, desperately in need of his care and protection, desperately in need of the masculine, large cock hanging between his legs, always ready to plug you up with his cum. 

He just wants to provide for you, really, and would he be a good boyfriend, partner, lover, if he didn’t regularly show you just how big he truly is?

Praise

Between the sheets, Phinks is relatively vocal. He’s not too much of a talker, being able to, at most, get out a stuttered phrase or two, but that doesn’t mean he’s quiet. Oh no, it’s just the sounds - he’s constantly grunting and groaning, cursing under his breath and softly gasping when you get tighter or wetter or claw down his back. He’s always groaning in your ear, his voice strained and gravelly and weak, as if he’s one breath away from coming the moment he slips inside you. 

(He is, most of the time, but he’s got enough self control to stave off his release. Most of the time.) 

He’s vocal in the sense that there’s always some sort of noise slipping past him, but as time passes and your sexual relationship with him grows, he finds himself uttering more and more words, actual thoughts slipping past his lips rather than a low grunt as he ruts his hips against yours loud enough to make a clapping, smacking noise. 

Before he knows it, there are praises slipping out when he’s buried inside you, his cheeks a light pink as he tells you it’s so good, his eyes fluttering closed and his lip caught between his teeth as you clench down on him. 

He’s telling you you’re so fucking pretty when you’re on your knees in front of him, soft lips clasped around his tip and lightly suckling, your eyes blinking up at him. 

He’s nearly whimpering as you slowly raise yourself up and sink down, cock dragging along your walls as you sit perched in his lap, gasping out a ‘s so fucking good, fuck baby, fuck! 

He doesn’t know where the instinct to praise you is coming from - past hookups have not been so fortunate, instead getting either nothing or derogatory comments mid-fuck about how they’re a fucking slut, demanding that they go faster, arch their back more, suck me harder. He’s never been nice in the bedroom, and yet it’s subconscious the way the words are slipping from his lips, his hands grasping onto your hips or ass as he lays into you, wanting to mold your cunt to the shape of him. 

And although he’s still a bit difficult to understand (his words are always a little rushed, a little slurred, a little stuttered), you’ll mostly know what he’s saying, hearing the way he’s always calling you pretty or warm or wet or perfect or telling you that he’s gonna come, fuck babe ‘m close, tell me I can come inside you - please, fuck tell me! 

(He doesn’t really need your permission on that last point, but he likes hearing you say it, admitting that you want him to come inside, that you want his cum, your own voice sounding fucked out and airy, just as he likes it. Besides, feeling the way you clench down on him even tighter, constricting around his cock so hard he can barely thrust in and out is worth it - it makes him wonder if you’re really that turned on, if you’re really feeling that good because of him, because of his body and his touch and his length. It makes him shiver, and he’s spilling inside you just from hearing your little y-yes, come inside Phinks!) 

It’ll make you feel good, honestly, and it only feels natural to extend the praise back - a development that Phinks really, really likes. His face turns red when you tell him that he feels good when he’s got his fingers rubbing against your walls, curling and rubbing against you with eagerness, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as soon as hears your voice.

(Often times you saying this will have him changing the pace slightly, excitement getting the best of him, leaving him to go faster, to rub harder, always getting embarrassed when you gently tell him like before, please, feels good when you do it like before.) 

His breathing gets heavier when you whine his name and tangle your fingers into his hair as he licks and tongues at your clit, your voice ringing in his ears when you tell him you’re gonna come, Phinks you’re so good, please let me come for you! 

(He’s groaning against your folds, hands squeezing at your thighs and nodding his head vigorously, his eyes squeezing closed as he focuses everything he has on getting you off, on making sure he feels the way your walls clench and flutter, the slick oozing out of you immediately slurped up with a moan.) 

And when he’s fucking you? Oh. Well, the moment you say anything even remotely positive about his performance, about his body, about him, he’s staring at you with wide, blown out eyes, before immediately crushing you into an embrace, his lips on yours with an unbridled passion that leaves you breathless. The kiss will be harsh, desperate, his actions rushed and nearly half-assed, as if there’s so much he wants to do and taste and feel that he can’t decide where to start. 

He loves when you tell him he’s so big, stretching me out so good Phinks! He growls when you run your nails down his back, whining about how it’s so good, right there, that’s it baby! 

He’s thrusting into you with new vigor when you tell him that you’ve never been treated so well, that you’ve never been fucked so good, only you Phinks, only you! 

He’s spasming and letting out these strained, embarrassed little whimpers when you throw your head back and moan his name, a rushed proclamation of ‘m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come-! Even compliments outside the bedroom have this effect on him; tell him his hair looks nice and he’s immediately trying to hide his face, his cheeks tinged pink and his heart hammering because you like his hair? 

If you tell him he’s strong, that his muscles turn you on, Phinks is training harder, hitting the gym more often, doing everything he possibly can to get stronger, subtly trying to flex his arms everytime you’re around just so that you’ll notice him, that you’ll find him attractive and want him. 

And when you run a finger down his chest, telling him he’s so handsome, I love that you’re mine? You’re on the bed quicker than you can process, clothes being torn off and eager hands groping at your tits, your ass, your hips while he spears you on his cock, sliding in with a wet pop and grunting out your name under his breath. 

He’s just so very affected by you, and even after his hips have stilled, his softening cock still snug inside you, he’ll whisper your name, telling you that you’re perfect, letting his fingers trace your cheekbones and run over your hair, his lips softly, nervously pressing against yours, the kiss innocent and sweet and almost sad. 

Because really, how can Phinks be displeased when he’s finally able to freely express how he feels about you, what he thinks about you? 

It feels good to be honest, to tell you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and as time passes he grows less shy about it - besides, when your cunt takes him so well and your face screws up into that lovely, sexy expression you make when you’re coming, Phinks would tell you anything you want to hear. 

Anything to get you screaming his name, anything to get you craving him just as he craves you. Anything at all.

Voyeurism

In general, Phinks wants to be an active part of your sexual pleasure. He wants to be the one touching you, slowly peeling off your layers of clothing as your pretty skin is revealed to him, looking so soft and touchable and fuckable. 

He wants to be the one kissing you, stealing your breath away and leaving you weak-kneed and desperate, your lips all swollen and puffy when he’s through with you. He’ll even leave a few bite marks against the supple flesh, simply getting carried away when he’s got you in his arms and his tongue pushing into your mouth. 

He wants to be the one that makes you shiver and rub your thighs together, your tits sitting in his palms as he squeezes and kneads, your nipples tweaked between his fingers or sucked into his mouth as he runs his tongue along your areola or very lightly nibbles on your nipple.

 He wants to be the one spreading your legs, a thumb dipping down to press against your clit, rubbing circles along the sensitive nub and leaving you twitching and moaning his name, your pretty hips jerking and bucking as he keeps up the pace. 

He wants to be the one who’s fingers are sinking into you, your little gasps and sighs all because of the way he curls his fingers and flicks his wrist just so, making you cream and gush so much that his entire hand is wet, fucking soaked. 

He wants to be the one sinking inside you, cock stretching out your walls and molding you into his shape, like you were made for him, like your cunt was made for sucking him in and never letting him go. 

He wants to be the reason for your pleasure, but there’s a strange, taboo sort of allure to watching you feel good, your body on display for him, all for his viewing pleasure. There’s something about the idea of you putting on a show for him that makes him gulp and palm himself, the idea that you want him to watch you fall apart in front of him enough to get him unbearably horny for hours. He likes the idea of watching you fuck yourself, of having you spread out before him with your body just out of his reach, just slightly too far for him to reach out and grab. 

He wants you to sit him at the end of the bed while your sit at the head, spreading your legs and letting him see how your folds glisten in the light, the amount of slick absolutely depraved. 

He wants you to tease yourself, rubbing along your inner thighs and all around that pretty pussy except for the spots he knows you really need it, your little whines and sighs making his cock twitch, already hard and aching to be touched by you. 

He wants you to spread your folds a bit, biting your lip and letting him see exactly what he’s missing out on; the way your hole clenches around nothing, a bit of slick oozing out at the motion, makes him audibly groan your name, unable to look away as you slowly, so damn slowly sink a finger inside, all the way up to your knuckle. He’ll watch with wide, rapt attention as you let your head fall back, humming at the feeling, making a show of pulling your finger out only to thrust it right back in, the wet squelching noise making his head spin. 

He wants to watch you add another finger, to go faster, to go harder, to finger you how he’d finger you – all firm motions and hesitant touches, so eager to pleasure you but not quite sure where to start. 

He wants you to pull your fingers out with a popping noise, parting those pouty lips and letting your tongue roll out to lick and suck the slick right off your fingers, jealousy and arousal pooling in his gut because god, he wants a taste too. 

He wants you to talk to him, to tell him how good you’re feeling, how you love it when there’s something inside you, how you need something big and strong and thick to fuck you like you need, like you deserve. 

He wants you to detail how you’re feeling, describing the pleasure as you draw shapes onto your clit, licking your lips and moaning about how it’s so good, ‘m gonna come soon Phinks! 

He especially likes it when you change positions, moving from sitting up and facing him to getting on your knees, spreading your legs and letting your face rest against the mattress, an arm coming up to clumsily sink back into your hole, the new angle making him imagine all the time he’s fucked you like this, absolutely pounding into you over and over until your ass was nearly bruised from the intensity of his thrusts. 

He can’t stop staring, seeing the way your thighs shake, the wet schlucking noises as you fuck yourself making him suck in sharp breaths, the slight bit of drool coming from your lips as you writhe and gasp making him want to stuff his cock into your mouth so you’ll stop being so messy. 

He just likes the idea of watching and putting on something so intimate and vulnerable for him, all while he has to sit there, unmoving, not even touching himself and instead just having to take it, to watch and stare and wish with every fiber of his being that it was his fingers and tongue making you cream and moan and cry out for more more more! 

It’s like some sweet kind of torture, reminiscent of the early days of his obsession when he was reduced to just watching you masturbate through windows or screens, unable to be present with you and help you out the way he knows he can. 

It’s exciting, taboo, dirty in a way that makes Phinks’ gut tingle with excitement, his balls clenching and tightening up, his fingers twitching because god, when you finally cave at the end, begging him to finally just touch you, he’s practically sprinting to you, jumping on you while his hands wander and grab onto every piece of you they can find. 

He’s all over you like some wild animal, a madman as he tries to get inside you only to be so excited and frantic that he’s slipping out, curses falling past his lips because all he really needs is to just fuck you, to be inside you, to be as close to you as he physically can be. 

He’s pathetic, really, and if you were to put on a show for him like this, he may even end up coming before you cave – untouched, too, the white cum splattering along his chest and thighs a reminder that even without stimulation, just the mere sight of you can have him blowing his load before it can even sit inside you. 

Wasting it, really, but if you were to sigh softly and kiss his cheek, leaning down and licking up every drop decorating his body? 

Well, he's sure he could fuck you hard enough to squirt if you’d just let him try. Please let him, he’s begging you.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Anal

Now, this isn’t something Phinks actively fantasizes about – he’s watched some porn featuring it before, and while it wasn’t something he would seek out again, he was oddly fascinated by it. 

There’s something arousing about the idea of stretching out something so, so incredibly tight, fueling his size kink and making him feel proud of just how big he is. But he’s never gotten a girl to agree to it before, and he’s not cared enough to press the issue – and even once you step into his life, he’s not desperate to enact this particular fantasy. 

He’d much rather partake in the thousands of other things he wants to do to you – and have you do to him, too. But once he’s been sexual with you for long enough, fleeting thoughts and curiosities are eating away at him. 

Would you like it? He knows most women don’t, but maybe you’re the exception, or maybe you’d be willing to let him indulge?

 He’ll bring it up after a very long time of debating, mentally rehearsing his words over and over to make sure he’s got them right, so that they aren’t forceful or demanding.

 He’s nearing stumbling over his own voice as he asks you if you’d like to uh, you know, use the other hole…? 

He makes it more awkward than it needs to be, but if you say yes, he’s gulping and nodding, already telling you he’s done research, that you need to avoid these foods while he goes out and buys enough lube to lasts you both years, all the while trying to ignore the steadily growing erection in his pants. 

You’re so damn tight like this - even more than your cunt, something Phinks didn’t think was possible. You’re warm, and the sight of him sinking into you, into the wrong hole, makes his head spin, every shitty porno he’s ever watched paling in comparison because god, who knew you’d take it in the ass so well?

If you say no, he’ll be understanding, vowing to not bring up the topic again – except, his curiosity doesn’t just go away. Instead, it’ll manifest itself in other ways; you’re on your knees, ass in the air and face resting on your pillow as he fucks into you hard enough to leave you gasping and clutching onto the seats? 

Well, he’s pulling your cheeks apart, his eyes fixing on your clenched hole the whole time, his hand smacking against your cheek and idly moving his thumb to lightly, gently brush over your asshole, lightly pushing and feeling the way you squirm under him. 

He’ll find himself between your legs, slick smeared all along his lips and chin, eating you out so frantically that his tongue is starting to hurt, only to – without even thinking, really – dip his tongue down,  tracing lightly over your lower hole, fluttering his eyes closed when your hips jerk and you let out a Phinks! 

He won’t ever force you into anal, but you’ll be able to tell what he wants from the way he’s always letting his gaze linger on your ass, his fingers dipping dangerously close, his hands spreading your cheeks and licking his lips at the sight. 

He’s not exactly subtle, so unless you want to run the risk of getting a finger up the ass with no warning, you might as well give into his desires – once couldn’t hurt, right?

Besides, you never know until you try – just be careful, because Phinks wants to claim every single part of you, and that pert, tight little hole is no different.

Marking

He’s possessive, every part of him yearning to own you, and in the bedroom this isn’t exactly a secret. He’s still desperate to stake his claim on you, to make sure you understand that you are his, that your heart and body and soul belong to him. 

And while it’s great and wonderful to be stuffing you full of his cum, leaving your pussy full of him and only him, he wants more. He needs to lay a physical mark on you that proves that you’re his, that he’s the only one allowed to love you, to touch you, to please you. Just the thought of leaving a mark on you gets him breathing heavily, his fingers clenching into fists and his knees feeling a bit weak because god. 

He’s picky about how he marks you up, though – because of his aversion to physically harming you, he reverts to sexual ways of marking you more often than he’d care to admit. 

He loves leaving hickies; the dark purple spots will appear all over your body, evidence of the way he’s pressed his lips onto every inch of your skin, his tongue often coming out to lick and suck at you until you’re squirming and left with the ugly, swollen bruise as a reminder of Phinks.

His favorite spots to leave them are along the expanse of your collarbone, right up at the base of your throat and stretching all along to your shoulders. There’s something so intimate about the area, something so sexy and demure, and he’ll purposefully only provide you clothing that doesn’t fully cover the area, if only because he really, really likes glancing at you and seeing the dark spots, his eyes immediately drawn to the places where he’s claimed you. 

(It makes him flush a bit to think that his lips have been there; his spit had been covering the area, lips and tongue sucking and bruising and kissing, all while you had to sit there and take it, maybe even carding your hands through his hair, maybe even sighing out Phinks… The bathroom’s far away, but he’s quickly rushing towards it, a hand coming down to block the sight of the now noticeable bulge in his tracksuit pants.) 

He’s also particularly fond of leaving hickeys along your inner thighs, purple spots leading up to your pretty folds, and every time he gets you spread out before him, he likes to kiss them, trailing his lips up and up and up, leaving you frustrated and desperate, more often not. 

He just wants something of his close to intimate, vulnerable areas - your cunt, your neck, your breasts, everything. 

You just look so pretty like this - so don’t be surprised when you notice his gaze lingering on your neck, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips as he stares. 

You’re just too attractive, so enticing, and how can he not leave hickeys on you every time he gets his hands on you, even if you ask him to stop? 

It’s like he’s not in control of his own actions - he’s too lost in the pleasure of being near you, of touching you, and when he finally snaps out of it you’ll be painted with bruises and swollen skin and him him him. 

He likes it, a lot, so just get used to it - because he will not stop. 

BIGGEST FANTASY:

Although a very, very large part of Phinks craves to fuck you in the most raw, animalistic way he possibly can, there’s another part of him that yearns for soft, gentle, romantic sex. He’s constantly at war with himself, alternating between wanting to get you screaming or getting you moaning. 

Does he want to leave you sore enough that you can’t walk the next day, left to fully depend on him because his cock literally made you go dumb? 

Or does he want you to be left with deep, big hickies decorating your collarbone and neck while he  praises you for your beautiful body, your soft hands clutching onto him even as you both wake up the morning after, unwilling to let go of him? 

He’s constantly fighting himself, because both options sound so, so very good, and frankly, he’s not too picky – either option is fine with him, it really just depends on your own sexual preferences, and what stage you’re at in your sexual relationship. 

That said, there are a few hard and fast fantasies that Phinks would give absolutely anything to live out. 

They’re the kind of scenarios that he thinks over in hyper specific detail as he drifts off to sleep, trying to immerse himself in every aspect of the fantasy so he can pretend to be right beside you, feeling your touch and hearing your cries and marking up your pretty skin and stuffing you so fucking full – 

They’re the stuff of his wet dreams, and one of his favorite fantasies to revisit is the idea of you waking him up because you need him in the middle of the night, your body craving his touch so badly that you just can’t take care of yourself without him. 

He likes the idea of you rousing him awake, slick already coating the insides of your thighs while you sneak a hand down into his boxers and squeeze, thumbing his tip and tugging him up and down a few times. 

He wants you to kiss him, whining into his mouth, only to pull back and beg him to please, please fuck me Phinks, need you so bad, I can’t come without you, please… 

Mostly, this fantasy stems from wanting you to desire him – he wants your body to become so dependent on his, to be so spoiled from his touch that you literally can’t come without him, that you can’t make yourself feel good unless he’s right there with you, helping you along. 

He just wants to feel needed and wanted, and if you were to actually wake him up and demand that he fuck you because the ache is just too great, the mixture of pride, arousal, and satisfaction would have him immediately nodding, hurriedly grabbing your hips, pulling out his already half-hard cock, slipping inside you and letting out something between a gasp and a grunt. 

He wants to be of service, and he likes that this fantasy implies that your desperation for him is nearly as high as his own – as if you truly, genuinely love him back.

            Phinks’ snores fill the bedroom, and for a moment you feel bad about reaching out, your fingertips brushing along his bicep. Your thighs rub together, the friction not nearly enough to quell the throbbing coming from between your legs.

            You had no idea what was wrong with you – you’d never been this unbearably horny before, as if your every thought was revolving around being filled with something much bigger than your own fingers, something heavier and thicker and fatter. Your nipples were pebbled, thighs twitching, forehead already a bit sweaty and your clit unbearably sensitive, and yet you hadn’t been able to come. You’d been trying for what felt like hours, using a nimble finger to circle over your clit tirelessly, drawing figure eights and making your hips jerk but never getting closer to that wonderful high you were craving. You’d stuffed yourself full of your own fingers, curling and thrusting and doing everything in your power to get off, but it just wasn’t working.

            Phinks stirs lightly at the feeling of your hand brushing against his chest, but it’s not until you dance your palm down to slip beneath the hem of his boxers that he truly starts waking up. You’re quick to grip him at the base, sliding up and down slowly, gently, nervously, because while he’s told you more than once that his body is yours to use whenever you need it – his hadn’t been able to meet your gaze when he’d told you this, with his cheeks flushed and his arms crossed in an attempt to appear confident – you’re still a bit hesitant to act upon that promise.

            His dirty blond hairs tickle your hand as you swipe your thumb across his tip, smearing the precum along his head as you shuffle closer, letting your lips ghost over his jaw, pressing against the light stubble. He groans slightly in his sleep, already in that halfway stage between dreaming and reality, but when you press your lips to his own, tongue swiping out across his bottom lip and your kisses becoming a bit more insistent, his eyes are fluttering open.

            He says something, but it’s muffled into your mouth as your kissing suddenly grows in intensity, your hand squeezing tighter and your body moving to be more above his. The ache between your legs is stronger now, a dull throbbing that makes you delirious with need because his cock is already in your hand, already pulsing and twitching and surely bright red with a need matching your own.

            When you finally pull away for air, Phinks can only peel open his freshly closed eyes and stare at you, a light flush on his cheeks and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Babe? What’s gotten into – shit, that feels good.”

            He cuts himself off with a hiss, your hand starting to move between stroking him and squeezing at his balls.

            “Need you, Phinks,” You start, pressing kisses along the nape of his neck and lightly sucking at the skin. The feeling makes a shiver run down his spine, the idea of you marking him up making his cock grow ever harder for you. “’m so empty, it’s not enough when it’s just me.”

            He swallows hard. Biting his lip, he tries to ignore the way your hand – all soft and sweet and clammy, slicked up with his own precum and making it incredibly easy to glide your hand up and down his shaft – is making his hips buck up involuntarily, his still sleepy state making him more sensitive than usual. “Yeah? You need me? Tell me what you need, baby.”

            You whine a bit, embarrassment eating you up, but the words are uttered out before you can really think about, your body driven by an arousal you can’t hope to fight. “I need you. I need your cock, it’s the only thing that can make me feel good, my fingers don’t feel like you do. Please Phinks, fuck me, please…”

            He groans at that, hands grabbing at your hips and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out on your back, chest heaving as you watch him clamber over you, his boxers discarded somewhere into the sheets. He’s painfully hard, already swollen and drooping slightly from the weight of it as he lines his tip up with your entrance. He takes a moment to tease you, awe tinging his voice as he asks, “Here babe? Right here?”

            Your ankles lock together around his waist, hands coming up to grasp onto the strong muscles of his back. “Please, please!”

            He likes the sound of you begging, the sight of you biting your lip and staring up at him with wide, glassy eyes practically drowning in need. But most of all, he likes the way you lift your hips up to rub your cunt against his cock, little airy moans slipping past your lips because god, even just the feel of him is better than anything you’ve managed to do to yourself so far tonight.

            Phinks curses, and immediately he’s plunging into you, tip ramming into that spot he knows you love – the one that makes you gasp and clutch onto him, your hips jerking and twitching while your breasts bounce with his every thrust.

            He buries his face into your neck, groaning and muttering your name under his breath, but he tries to quiet down as he hears you starting to talk again. More like blabbering, but your words make his eyes go wide.

            “I’ve been – oh,  ‘ve been fucking myself with my fingers, but Phinks, oh god Phinks, it wasn’t enough!” Your voice is strained, warbled, moans mixing between your words and making him gulp. The clapping sound of his hips smacking into yours is deafening, but he wants you to keep going, to keep talking to him like this.

            “Nothing feels as good – shit, as good as you do. You’re so good, it’s so – so big and makes me feel so fucking full –“ You cut yourself off with a moan, eyes fluttering closed as he brushes against every sensitive spot inside you over and over, your orgasm already steadily building.

            Phinks bares his teeth, face still pressed against the nape of your neck. “F-fuck, keep talking baby.”

            “Couldn’t make myself feel as good as you.” You cry.

            “Nothing’s as good as you.” You moan.

            “Couldn’t wait – fuck! Couldn’t wait, needed you inside, you feel so much better!” You gasp.

            “Phinks, oh Phinks Phinks Phinks – couldn’t come without you, only you can make me come!” You squeal, and at your words he freezes for a moment, letting them sink in. You whine, hips wiggling and begging for him to keep moving, but something about your phrasing makes something feral ignite within him. Something about the idea that only he is capable of making you feel good, that only he can make you orgasm (not even yourself) gets him feeling possessive of you, the cunt wrapped around his cock belonging to him and him only.

            He’s snapping his hips into you with a new fervor after that, the pace brutal as he fucks into you hard enough to make you bounce up and down the bed, your pretty tits bouncing along with you and rubbing against his chest. He’s chanting your name like a prayer, his voice husky and strained and still the tiniest bit raspy from sleep, and it only makes you clutch onto him tighter, harder, your walls clenching around him like a fucking vice –

            You come with a cry of his name, fluttering around him and making his hips stutter. The only warning you get before floods of warm, thick cum shoot inside you is a gaspy, almost pained sounding ‘fuck, t-take it take it-!’

            He’s panting, still keeping his head in the crook of your shoulder, too embarrassed to look at you. You’re still breathing hard too, and when you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, Phinks feels himself freeze up a bit. 

“Stay like this?” You ask, and your voice is so soft and unsure that it makes his heart ache, his body immediately relaxing and letting his arms slip under your body, pulling you both onto your sides so that you’re embracing one another. 

“Of course, baby. Now go to sleep.” He whispers, pressing a long kiss against the crown of your head. 

You obey, falling asleep almost immediately, and as Phinks drifts off himself, cock still nestled inside you, he can’t help smiling a bit, the corners of his lips turning up.

[rotten-pomegranate]

If requests are open, could I ask for some Yandere Adult Trio and Trouble Trio with a darling who escapes briefly (on their birthday or an anniversary, some sort of special occasion), not because she wants to leave them, but because she’s getting them a present and wanted it to be a surprise?

I love this

Trouble trio reader leaves to get gift

Tags: @shalscumbunny

Warnings: abuse, torture, yandere

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

Feitan

Feitan is pissed when you come back and he won’t believe you so your gonna get punished for trying to be nice to him for a change

If he thinks your even trying to escape he punishes you so now your in for hell

Your going to the chair in the basement so he can do unspeakable acts to you and it doesn’t matter if you brought back the gift he thinks your just scared of if you got caught

Phinks

was a nervous wreck when you quietly walked through the door and he instantly got mad but when you explain to him what happened he’ll be happy like yay your finally trying to make him happy like how he’s been trying to make you happy

he will ask how you got out though and he’ll quickly get rid of that and any other exit he thinks of

Other then that he has a talk with you and tells you it’s a big no no to sneak out even if it’s to get him a gift

Shalnark

Shalnark takes a while to notice, normally your quiet and meek when he’s around because you don’t want his attention, it’s never pleasant after all so he didn’t think much when you didn’t come out of your room for most of the morning

and then he sees your gone when he wants to go give you some of that unpleasant attention and just freaks out, where are you? How long ago did you leave? How far could you have gone?

You get back right before he calls the whole troupe to help find you and he’s on you in an instant hand around your neck asking where you’d been making you drop the little bag with his gift inside

He ignores the bag until you point it out, telling him it’s his gift, he very slowly takes his hands off your neck before picking it up and hugging you

He’s happy your back

[arias-diaryy]

More phinks hc’s or any content PLEASE, you opened my eyes to this man (I wanna write a fic and yours keep me going)

I’m so sorry for getting to this late anon if you write that fic please tag me id love to read it

cw yandere

I wrote a bit about this in this fic, but I really do like a dynamic where phinks and reader are both somewhat on edge around each other. phinks because he has no idea how to act around you, the object of his obsession that he’s crossed several lines for. and reader is terrified for, well, obvious reasons.

i just think it’s fun because phinks is used to using force or aggression to get what he wants, that’s part of the whole “being in a troupe full of killers and thieves” shtick. he can’t strong-arm you into being in a relationship with him (i mean, he already kidnapped you, he might as well go all the way)…

Definitely the type to randomly raise his voice at you and then backtrack after two minutes because he feels bad. For all of the stalking he’s done, you’d think he’d have a better idea on how to interact with you. If you make any sudden movements, Phinks grabbing at you immediately as if you’re trying to run away. He wouldn’t blame you if you were. Maybe. He apologizes after, for what it’s worth.

slightly paranoid phinks x skittish reader my beloved

[uvobreakmylegs]

Bystander

💕Happy (Belated) Valentines Day💕 (again lol)

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, murder, death, gore, blood, stalking

Word count: 6.1k

The sound of the woman's neck snapping echoed out into the night air, and she let out one final gasp as she fell to the pavement, the broken bone jutting out of her neck unnaturally.

“No! Kim! Goddammit no!!”

Phinks turned away from the woman's body in order to face the man screaming at the other side of the lot.

Tears were falling down the man's face, but he froze when he saw Phinks' attention turned to him – he was the last one standing. Everyone else from the group that had tried to jump Phinks was now dead, reduced to lifeless bodies scattered in different areas of the lot.

Despite being confronted with the fact that the people he'd teamed up with had died, it didn't push the man to try and attack Phinks for the sake of avenging his fallen comrades – in fact, it did the opposite.

The man turned around and began to run.

That was more than a little pathetic, Phinks thought to himself, although he could understand that reaction at least somewhat.

That guy and the others had been completely unprepared when they'd made the attempt on his life, their skills nowhere near being able to even scratch him. It was just another instance of sub-par nen users who'd learned nen in the fastest way possible and spent little to no time in trying to develop a worthwhile ability because they were too eager to try and get revenge on the troupe. It was something he and all of the others were used to by now.

Annoying, but at least it was easy enough to take care of. And with this guy, he could do so without too much effort.

Phinks leaned down, picking up a small bit of rubble that had come from the aging parking lot while the man continued to run. He infused the small stone with a bit of nen, and as the man turned to continue his escape past a building, Phinks threw it in the man's direction.

It punctured through his neck and tore through the throat muscles before it came out on the other side.

The man immediately fell to the pavement, gasping as he rolled over onto his back while he clutched at his neck, his fingers quickly becoming stained with red as he tried to prevent the blood that came gushing out of the wounds. If he was a bit more competent and a bit less panicked, he likely wouldn't have had any trouble dealing with that wound. But after what he'd seen happen to his companions, he had lost his composure in record time and wasn't able to think rationally.

As he looked at the man and the amount of blood that was slowly spreading out over the ground, it didn't feel necessary to walk over and finish the job. While Phinks didn't tend to be one to prolong the deaths of his victims, with the way things were going, the guy would be dead within a few minutes. No need to spend the extra effort when the outcome was already clear.

So he began to walk away from the scene, keeping an eye on his surroundings. There was an off-chance that there were still one or two from the group that were hiding, waiting for Phinks to lower his guard and strike when he felt it was safe. That had happened at least once with him, and a few different times with some of the others: blacklist Hunters, ones who actually knew what they were doing, would con those who had just learned nen into being bait for the troupe, and after they had been finished off, the Hunter would swoop in and try to kill off that troupe member.

And people said the Phantom Troupe were the bad ones.

Phinks had allowed himself to get a little distracted after he'd determined that there was no one else hiding in the darkness, and as he made it to the other edge of the lot, he noted the storm clouds that were in the sky. A bad storm was coming, it seemed.

“Oh my god!”

He'd been just close enough to hear those words being exclaimed.

Back in the direction where he'd had left the man.

Phinks looked back, and while he couldn't see everything from where he was standing, there was definitely someone now leaning over the man with the neck wound.

“Are you alive?!” he heard the new person say.

The next bit wasn't as audible, but Phinks was able to make out what sounded like someone gurgling in response.

So the guy was still alive.

Phinks sighed.

He could probably leave it. There was a good chance that the guy would bleed out before help could arrive. But there was a slim chance that he could survive his injuries. If that happened, it'd become a bigger mess that Phinks wouldn't want to deal with; leaving the would-be avengers alive tended to only make them come back stronger and a bit more cunning.

With another sigh, Phinks turned around and began to head back to the scene he had just left. This is what you get for not finishing him off, he said to himself. And he knew a few of the other members of the troupe would have criticized him for leaving the man in the way he did.

So much for not spending extra effort.

Staying in the shadows, Phinks took his hands out of his pockets and cracked his knuckles as he got closer to the man and the new person hovering over him.

You were kneeling down next to him, already looking overwhelmed by the sight of the man on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

“Why would someone do this?” you asked aloud, your voice wavering somewhat. It didn't seem like you were actually asking the man on the ground next to you, more like you were asking yourself.

You didn't appear to be anything other than an ordinary civilian, and Phinks doubted this group would've involved someone like that in their plot to kill him. So you were completely unrelated to the guy and the group who'd jumped him and just happened to be in the wrong place when you caught sight of him.

“Hang on, I'm gonna – gonna stop the bleeding,” you said to the man as you removed your hoodie. You pressed the fabric against the wounds in his neck while you tried not to hyperventilate, breathing out through your mouth as you did your best to keep yourself calm.

“I need you to hold it for a second, o-okay? So I can get my phone....”

You trailed off as you grabbed at your bag with one hand while still holding the hoodie to his neck with another. However, the man wasn't listening to you. He had his eyes fixed on Phinks, who was still standing in the darkness.

With the damage to his throat, the man wasn't able to say much and had been limited to grunts and moans. And instead of holding the hoodie like you'd told him to, Phinks watched as the man grabbed at your arm, getting bloody hand prints all over your skin as he tried to get your attention, tried to point out the murderer who was watching you fish your phone out of your bag.

Phinks needed to kill you before you were able to call anyone. And with how defenseless and unaware you were, that wouldn't be an issue.

The man sensed it when Phinks' aura flared with the intent of killing you, and he pulled at your sleeve again while he tried to get your attention.

The guy hadn't been able to run from him; did he really think that you'd be able to get away? Did he really think that Phinks would allow you to get away once you saw his face?

You paused in your search for your phone to look back down at the man. His arm then began to move, fingers straining as he tried to point over at Phinks.

Phinks already saw the way this would play out: you would look over to where the man was pointing, see him, and in the split second you had to realize that you were looking at a murderer, Phinks would rush forward and snap your neck like he'd done with the woman minutes prior. The man who lay next to you would follow shortly after, and then all the loose ends of this annoying night would be tied up.

That was how it was supposed to go.

But then you did something that surprised him.

Instead of looking behind you, you reached out and grabbed the man's hand.

“You're not gonna die, okay? I'm going to call for help, and someone'll come here who can fix you up. You're gonna be okay. I promise.”

There were tears pricking your eyes as you said that, though you were desperately trying to keep your composure as the situation was still stressing you out of your mind. But even then, you tried to reassure the man by smiling at him.

“You need to help me, though,” you said, “you-you're losing too much blood, you'll die if you lose anymore. So you need to press this against your neck. Put pressure on to stop the bleeding.”

With that, you took his hand and pushed it against your hoodie, trying to get him to help in applying the correct amount of pressure.

“Please. I don't want you to die.”

Your words seemed to have had some affect on the man, because after that he did as you said and pushed on the sides of his neck. Unbeknownst to you, the man finally realized that he needed to use his nen to keep himself from bleeding out.

You seemed to find the way he held at his throat encouraging, and you reached again for your bag with some reassurance that the man wasn't going to immediately bleed out without you.

But as you finally pulled out your phone and began to dial emergency services, you gave the man your name and then asked if he was able to speak. The man shook his head as best he could.

“That's okay,” you said, “you can tell me later.”

You hit the call button while the man looked back to Phinks. His eyebrows furrowed and he seemed confused as to why the spider had yet to attack you.

The weird thing was that Phinks didn't really know either.

There was literally no reason for him to stand there doing nothing while you continued as you were, calling for help and bringing in more potential witnesses.

Yet Phinks had been caught off-guard by the things you'd said to the man. Why that was, he wasn't completely sure, but for now, at least, he found himself wanting to wait and see what else you'd do.

Meanwhile, you'd managed to connect to someone.

“Please, I need an ambulance,” you told the operator, “I found a man – I think he got shot. I-in the neck. I'm trying to stop the bleeding but I don't know how long he'll last.”

You tapped on the screen to turn on the phone's speaker before you put your hands back on the sides of the man's neck, pressing the hoodie that was now thoroughly soaked with blood as you gave your location to the operator so they knew where to send the ambulance.

After that, you were talking to him again, the operator still on the other end of the line while you were trying to keep the man awake by speaking to him, a whole bunch of meaningless information spilling from your mouth. The area where you lived, what you did for a living, stupid facts about your life, and you even bothered to mention some upcoming video game that you were excited for, telling him that once he got better that he needed to tell you about himself and if he also liked video games.

In between all of that, you kept repeating that it would be okay.

After a certain point, Phinks had to wonder if you were saying that to reassure yourself.

It wasn't long after that the storm clouds hanging over your heads all this time decided to make their move, a drizzle of rain beginning to fall. You clearly realized that the water would be bad for the open wounds on the man's neck, and so you told him to press down on the hoodie again while you looked for an area where he'd be dry. You decided to move him by grabbing his ankles and pulling him to an area with a cover, all the while apologizing again and again in the event that you managed to hurt him while you did that.

How long was he going to let this go on for? Humor your attempts at keeping this guy alive before he stepped in and put an end to it?

Currently you still had your hands around the man's throat, keeping the pressure on his neck while the chill that the rain brought caused you to shiver. There was still no sign of any ambulance coming, though Phinks could still hear the operator assuring you that it was on its way.

Phinks noticed when the man turned his head back in his direction, staring at him once more. And that time, you noticed as you turned your head to follow his gaze.

The instant he saw your head begin to move Phinks got out of the way, finding cover fast so you wouldn't see him.

At first all he could hear was the sound of the rain falling to the pavement.

“Oh god.”

Your voice was trembling when you said that. You now saw the other bodies in the lot and it hit you that you were in a lot more danger than you had initially thought, if you'd even been thinking about your own safety at all before.

Phinks could hear the voice of the operator coming from your phone as they asked what was wrong.

“There's.... There's others. In the parking lot. On the ground,” you said, “I don't.... I don't see anyone moving. I-I'm too scared to go check over there.”

“You don't need to go over. Just stay where you are,” the operator told you, “do you see anyone other than the ones on the ground?”

“No.....”

“Then just keep doing what you're doing. Help will be there soon.”

“Right... Right. It'll be okay.”

Phinks peered out from behind his cover and found that your attention was on the man again. You were still talking to him, still repeating over and over that everything would be okay, and when sirens began to sound in the distance, you pointed it out to him and told him that help would be there in no time.

The cheerful demeanor you were trying to keep up for his sake was a lot more forced now. Phinks had to wonder what exactly had been going through your head when you first saw the man – you didn't think to check your surroundings at all? You just saw someone who was dying and didn't think anything beyond getting him help? That was beyond stupid, especially when you believed that the man had been shot.

The growing sounds of the sirens indicated that they were getting closer, proving you right that they'd be here soon. Phinks needed to decide on what he was going to do.

By now it was impossible to keep anyone else from getting involved – him standing around and doing nothing while you called for help had seen to that. Even if he killed the two of you right now, you and the rest would be discovered shortly. Not that big of a deal for him, as he was certain he could disappear while emergency services were still processing the scene.

But he didn't really feel like killing you for some reason.

And since you weren't leaving your spot while you helped that guy cling to life, killing him without you seeing would be difficult. But even if he was willing to let you live, he couldn't leave that guy alive.

When the flashing lights of the ambulance could be seen in the distance, a new thought occurred to him, and it was then that Phinks made the decision to leave. Once again keeping to the shadows within the lot, he intended on leaving the crime scene before doubling back.

He glanced back at you one more time while he could still see you. You were still reassuring the guy while you slowly began to relax just a little, confident that he'd be saved and that you'd been able to help him.

There was literally no reason not to kill you. Not only that, Phinks was aware that by his feet were a few more bits of rubble. He could easily do to you what he'd done to the guy, and this time make sure he killed his target by aiming at your head.

Why he still chose not to kill you, he had no clue.

Phinks found himself watching you a lot after.

Days had passed since that night and no one else came after him. It was unlikely that there'd be any connection made between him and the crime scene left behind, and there had only been one person who had seen his face in that lot. That loose end was now tied up, so he didn't have any other reason to stay in the area.

But Phinks still wasn't sure what to do with you.

Technically he didn't have to do anything; you hadn't seen him, and the man hadn't communicated anything to you, so you knew nothing about Phinks or the troupe. He could just leave you alone, forget about you completely and that would be the end of it.

But just like he'd been when he had stood by and let you call emergency services, he had no clue what was driving him to keep an eye you in the following days. No idea why he bothered to track down where you lived and watch what he could through your windows.

And he didn't know why that one moment kept replaying in his head – where you had grabbed at that man's hand and smiled as you tried to reassure him, promising him that he wouldn't die and trying to give him the motivation to keep fighting and live.

He thought about it a lot until he got to the point that he found he didn't want to think anymore about why he was watching you so closely, and just chose to watch you as if that was what he'd always done.

The days after the incident you spent most of your time hiding in your apartment, and on occasion you would pull away at the closed blinds just a little bit to glance at the outside. Only for a few seconds before you would quickly pull away.

You seemed pretty jumpy.

The theory that was starting to go around was that the group had died due to gang activity – if that was what the police ended up deciding on, that was probably why you were so nervous. You likely feared that you'd gotten involved with something you shouldn't have, and now there were dangerous people that would be after your life. And if you knew how Phinks had followed that man to his hospital room and broke his IV before jamming the two pieces through his skull, you'd have good reason to believe that your life would come to a grisly end.

You must've heard what had happened to the guy you'd tried to save – it'd been pretty big news over the past few days, a parking lot full of murder victims and the one survivor of the initial attack being found dead in after. People were at a loss as to why exactly the group from the “Back Lot Slaughter” had died and why the survivor had been hunted down.

Your name hadn't been released in any news reports, it looked like. Likely out of fear that it would make you a target.

After a little bit longer you left your apartment for a short period of time to get groceries, and the entire time you glanced over your shoulder while trying hard to act like you weren't. And when you were on your way back from shopping and found that the area around you appeared to be empty, you not so subtly reached into your bag so you could close your fist around your keys, ready to use them as a weapon if case anyone attacked you.

If you were that worried for your life then why stay here? Didn't you have friends or family who lived out of town that you could stay with?

Apparently not, as you stayed where you were, eventually leaving your apartment more frequently when you went back to work. Evidently you felt it was safe enough that you could head back out more often.

He needed to move on, however.

Phinks had only been in the city because he'd been heading back home after a job, and he'd never been intending on staying as long as he did; just one night at most. Really, he should've been trying to figure out if that group had known he would be there or if it was just random chance that they'd come across him. Not wasting his time watching someone like you.

He needed to figure out what it was that he wanted from you and then be done with it. Either by doing what he should've done that night, or.....

…..

Or what?

That was still unclear – what exactly he wanted from all of this. And once more he that he didn't feel like thinking about it too much.

Still, he wasn't going to continue like this indefinitely. So it needed to end soon.

He felt like he was about to reach that point one late afternoon a couple weeks after. He wasn't getting anything out of watching you hide away in your apartment, and it would be best to head back home and forget about the whole thing.

He was just about to head off when he noticed something.

You'd gone out for work and did a bit of shopping before coming back today. Another quick trip where you grabbed essentials while looking over your shoulder. So he found it odd when he saw you exiting your apartment again, hurriedly locking up the door before you turned away and headed back in the direction of the store you'd gone to earlier.

You must've forgotten something. And it must've been pretty important for you to go get while you felt that your life was in danger.

As usual, Phinks followed from a distance, close enough to keep an eye on you but not so close that you'd notice him.

At the end of your short but tense walk was the store you'd gone to earlier, and Phinks hung back, not feeling much need to follow you inside. If it was just one or two items that you were running inside to grab, it'd look weird if he went in and then back outside so shortly after you.

Apparently the thing that was important enough to make you go back outside was body wash, as you came out of the store with a bottle of the stuff in hand. Your pace was still somewhat hurried, and as you began to approach the stairs at the side of the store that lead down to a sidewalk, he got out of the way before you could spot him, heading down the stairs himself.

There was an automatic thought that he needed to get to a place where you wouldn't see him so he could follow you back, and he began to do that before he stopped. He knew he needed to stop this; following you back to your apartment would be doing the exact opposite of that. It was time to leave and not bother with you anymore.

Or maybe he could stay where he was so you would need to get close as you walked by. The entire time since he'd first seen you, you'd been at a distance. Maybe if he saw you up close and saw just how much of a stressed-out wreck you'd become in detail, the sight would annoy him enough that he'd be able to forget the way you'd been with the guy he killed. Maybe that had been the solution the whole time.

So Phinks stayed, standing against the wall at the bottom of the stairs while waiting for you to come down. You were at the top of the stairway not long after, and as you began to descend, he noticed the way your eyes glanced over at him before you looked to the path in front of you.

Not the reaction of someone who recognized a person who'd been at a crime scene, so at least that confirmed that you hadn't seen him that night. At least there was that.

What exactly had caused what happened next, he didn't know. It looked like something had distracted you, and you turned your head over your shoulder right as you were descending the stairs.

Phinks wasn't sure if you'd misjudged the steps or if it was something else, but you managed to lose your footing and began to fall face-first down the stairway.

The stairway wasn't a long one, but you'd bang yourself up falling from that height, maybe break a few bones.

It was lucky that he happened to be right there to catch you.

Though it was more like he broke your fall as you landed against him, face-planting into his chest.

But he grabbed you by your arms after to make sure you didn't go anywhere.

You pulled back slightly when you regained your footing and stared at him for a few moments. And when you finally processed what had just happened, a look of mortification formed on your face.

“Oh my god – I'm sorry,” you began, “thanks for catching me. Sorry that happened.”

“It's okay,” said Phinks, “didn't want to see you get hurt.”

“Thanks. Still, I'm sorry.”

You'd averted your eyes, clearly embarrassed.

And he still had his hands on you.

“What caused that?” Phinks asked.

“Nothing. Just me being stupid. Sorry,” you answered.

Then you looked at one of the hands on your arm, and then added “sorry, you don't need to hold me anymore. I'm good now.”

He let go of you, albeit reluctantly.

You side-stepped him almost immediately, giving him a weak smile as you said “thank you again.”

Then you began to continue down the stairs as you'd been before you tripped.

“Leaving already?” Phinks asked, an brow raised.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry.”

How many times were you going to apologize?

“I'm... I'm late for something,” you added.

“... Okay. Sorry to hold you up, then,” he said.

“You're fine. Thank you again.”

With that, you continued down the stairs, heading away from him and back to the safety of your apartment.

You glanced back at him a few times as you did, a small worry growing in you every time you found that he was still staring at you. After a certain point, you didn't look back anymore, but your pace did quicken shortly after that.

After you turned a corner, you were out of sight.

It was time to go for him as well.

… Except for whatever reason, Phinks found himself going back in the direction of your apartment.

The blinds were drawn shut when he got back, and no doubt you'd done your routine of locking and bolting the front door. You might recognize him if you peeked out through your blinds again, so it'd be best to make sure you didn't manage to spot him.

As the sun set and day turned into night, he saw that the lights inside your apartment were still on. And they stayed on when the normal time for you to go to sleep came and went.

You couldn't still be awake, could you?

With no one else in the area seeming to be active, Phinks approached your front door. While he probably wouldn't be able to figure out exactly what you might be doing, he'd probably be able to tell if you were asleep or not.

When he stood in front of it and quietly listened, he heard something coming from your apartment.

The sound of running water.

…. Phinks felt it was a weird time to get a shower.

….

If he went in there now you wouldn't be able to react immediately.

Why that thought crossed his mind he had no clue, but the instant it did Phinks was heading back down the stairs of your apartment and making his way towards the side of the building. Right under the balcony attached to your unit. Going in through the front door would make too much noise and alert your neighbors, so going in through an entrance where the obstacles in his way would be minimal was more ideal. So he climbed up.

A metal latch on the inside of the sliding door of your balcony was all that stood in his way, and he broke it easily when he forced the door open. There was a bit of noise when he wrenched the metal apart, and he waited a moment to see if any of your neighbors would step outside to investigate. But no one came, so Phinks stepped inside and slid the glass door shut behind him. It wouldn't lock now, but that didn't really matter.

You were supposed to be taking a shower, but after taking a few steps into your apartment, he noted that he didn't hear any water running. Instead, he heard different noises coming from the bathroom; what seemed to be the sound of your feet hurrying across the tiled floor.

He reached the small hallway right as you flung open the bathroom door and stepped out with only a towel wrapped around you.

Your eyes landed on him immediately and you froze.

Terror quickly took over your features as you stared at him, an intruder in your apartment who had come in when you had least expected it and were completely unprepared.

There was also recognition in your gaze; it was only a few hours ago that you'd seen him, so that wasn't too surprising.

A period passed where neither of you said anything.

And then-

“Hey-” Phinks began.

That single word forced you out of your shock as you bolted for the kitchen.

He followed.

You were trying to get at a knife block, your finger brushing against the hilt of the biggest one when he grabbed you around the waist and pulled you away from it.

You shrieked when he touched you, but the noise didn't last long as he clamped one of his hands over your mouth, muffling your screams as you tried to cry out for help.

The two of you ended up on the floor of your kitchen, his one arm wrapped around both of yours and keeping their movements limited while his other hand stayed on your mouth. You were trying to grab at him as best you could while you kicked your legs out in an attempt to escape his grip. All while you cried into his hand, the tears beginning to run down your face.

Phinks kept holding you, knowing that eventually you'd run out of steam.

And after a few minutes like that, you did. Now you were still, shaking in his grip while you continued to sob into his hand.

It was the second time he'd had his arms around you, he noted. Odd how the first two times you had physical contact with each other you ended up being held against him in some way. Odd, but he didn't mind it.

He noticed when you began to move again, trying to wiggle one of your arms out of his grip. The reason for that turned out to be in an effort to adjust the towel you were wearing. During the time when you were struggling, it had become loose and fallen open. Now that you weren't in as much of a panic, you were clearly feeling embarrassed and wanted to cover yourself.

Phinks decided to take a chance and took his hand off your mouth, and while you let out a shaky breath after, there were no more attempts to scream on your part. He hummed as he adjusted the towel so you were covered again, happy that you weren't being difficult. At least for now.

Once that was done, he wrapped that other arm around you, making you continue to sit like that with him. The drops of water that had remained on your hair and skin were soaking into the material of his tracksuit, but he took more note of what he smelled when he breathed in. A nice scent on your skin – that body wash you'd bought earlier.

As much as he wanted to say that he liked it, it'd probably be a weird thing to mention that he thought you smelled nice, at least in this situation.

He refocused when he saw you glance over your shoulder, still trembling as you looked at him. You probably wanted to know what was going to happen to you, but you didn't seem willing to say anything.

Since you wouldn't speak, he went first.

“I was being nice to you earlier and you blew me off,” said Phinks.

A sob was still coming out with every other breath, but you managed to pull yourself together enough to begin to form a response.

“I-I-I'm s-sor-”

“Don't say that you're sorry again. I heard enough of that earlier.”

You quickly clamped your mouth shut while he continued.

“Do you know why I'm here?” he asked.

You didn't say anything at first, seeming hesitant to answer.

Phinks huffed.

“You wouldn't stop talking when you found that guy in the lot; now you're barely speaking even when I want you to.”

That statement of his seemed to confirm some things in your head.

“Why did you try so hard for that guy, anyway?” Phinks then asked.

When you didn't answer that time, he chose to ignore that and continued with “what I don't get is how long it took you to realize that you were in a dangerous situation. You thought that the guy had been shot and didn't think that there'd be repercussions for trying to help him?”

“You... You heard that?” you asked.

“You weren't being very quiet; anyone could've heard you.”

“..... You killed those people?” you whispered.

“That's a stupid question, don't you think?”

“... Are you going to kill me?”

In response to that, Phinks finally loosened his grip so he could turn you and have you face him. Your hands immediately went to clutch at your towel and you looked terrified and confused.

Phinks still remembered how you'd been with that guy. How you'd begged him to help you help him, how you'd smiled at him as you told him that he'd make it, how easily you opened yourself up to a dying man and tried to make him promise that the two of you would talk again once he recovered from his injuries.

How you gripped his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

That thought had Phinks reaching over and grabbing one of the hands you had clutched against yourself. You let out a soft yelp as he pulled it away from you while he focused on how soft your hand felt in his.

Why had such an action stayed with him?

…..

He once again decided that he didn't want to think about it.

“I won't kill you,” he said, realizing that he hadn't answered your question.

“Why?” you asked.

Instead of answering, Phinks pulled you in closer, ignoring the way you began to panic when you saw how close his face was getting to yours. You were trying to escape the hold he had on you again, and when that didn't work, you pressed your free hand against his chest to try and keep him away from you.

He grabbed that hand as well.

When Phinks pressed his lips against yours, you whimpered.

He ignored it, far too taken by the thought of how nice it felt to have you like this.

Without anything to hold it up, the towel ended up falling off of you completely, and once again you let out a sad noise against his lips.

Phinks didn't do anything that time.

That was your own fault.

[rotten-pomegranates-fics]

Trouble trio with reader that has wings

Writing request are opened

Woop more writing 💪🏻

Phinks is the only healthy relationship here, shalnark is a bit of a yandere and Feitan just is one

Warnings: mentions of torture, smut, mentions of mind control, reader gets pinned down, Noncon/dubcon kinda? Shalnark puts his needle in reader

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Phinks

Loves everything about them, the way they look, the way they feel, they way they rube against him when he’s fucking you or when your just sitting next to him and the brush up against him slightly

He especially love when you wake up after him come down stairs and do a big stretch, they way he gets to watch them spread out and go back in

When your riding him and you have your hands on his chest and he randomly feels them against brush against his legs it’s an instant orgasm for him

If you get cold or scared and your feathers puff up a bit he just looks at you in aww because of how cute you are, it also makes you a target because he’ll always be trying to scare you

Shalnark

Shalnark definitely sticks you with you with one of his needles so he can watch you fly around and he also uses his needles for more devious activities when your not in the mood but he is

He helps you preen whenever you need it, he gets all those tricky feathers in the back of your wings that you can’t quite reach

If you ever try and leave him he would probably clip your wings to prove a point that you’ll never be able to leave him

Feitan (this one is longer because I like Feitan the most ;-;)

Hes a sadist through and through so he definitely ties you down and plucks feathers out just so he can watch you jump and scream every time

He clips your wings as soon as he has you in his grasp, and if he has mercy and doesn’t your never aloud outside and they get no exercise whatsoever

If you need help preening he’s gonna pin you down and yank the old feathers out really aggressively

He loves tying your wings to the wall so he can do whatever he wants to you and you cant do anything

If he’s fucking you and you move to much he’s gonna pin them to the bed really roughly

As a punishment if you do anything he doesn’t like he’ll make you eat bird seed

If you ever try and leave him he’ll break both your wings to send a message, but let’s be honest you would be to scared

©rotten-pomegranate- All rights reserved, don’t steal, translate, copy, plagiarize, claim my work as your own or post it on other platforms.