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the-queen-of-sorrows · 5 months ago

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The Ache of Being Yours

Phinks x Reader || Soulmate!AU || Shared Nervous System, Aches and Pains

|| Words: 16 184 || 18+ ONLY || Cross-posted on AO3 || Warnings: self-harm

Soulmates were once something you looked forward too, painted as some kind of beautiful, fairytale-like thing meant to bring you nothing but peace.

Ha…

The naivety of your peers, and the fact that you spend the first seven years of your life believing them made you laugh now.

Soul marks were different for everyone. Your parents were born with clocks counting down to the day they were meant to meet their pair; your sibling could see snippets of their soulmate’s day in their dreams; your best friend had a black palm, indicating the place that would turn gold when they would first come into contact with their soulmate.

You wish you could have been as lucky as them.

You wish the bond that tethered you to your soulmate was as sweet, as painless as theirs…

You spend most of your childhood in an ungodly amount of pain; spending days, weeks, months of your life in and out of the hospital for phantom pains, pains that weren’t your own, pains that your soulmate seemed to happily receive almost on a daily basis.

The day you remember the most forever dug a black hole in your heart. You’d only just recently turned seven, still sheltered from the gruesome reality that would soon become your life; unaware, unassuming, unknowing and oh so ill prepared to handle the next decade of your life. You’d been home from school, sitting at the dinning table trying not to cry from your father’s harsh tone as he tried to help you understand a math problem when it happened. You were in the process telling your dad that what he was saying didn’t make sense, that you didn’t understand, when the air was forcibly ripped out of your lungs. It felt like you’d been punched in the gut, a massive fist connecting with the plane of your abdomen with the sole purpose of going through you.

In an instant, you’d toppled to the ground, eyes bulging out of their sockets, mouth gaping wide as you tried—and failed—to breathe. With barely a second to register the shock and the pure, hot-white agony blooming in your stomach, air filled your lungs once more as you’d let out a scream; a terrifying, bloodcurdling scream as the bones in your ribs then snapped like twigs.

The world had gone hazy, the pain too sudden, too flagrant, too unbearable to handle for such a young child. You faintly remember your father shouting your name, yelling at your mother to call an ambulance as you choked on your next breath, flecks of blood dribbling down your chin, spraying your father’s face as you coughed, as you struggled to take in air, the constant assault over your body never ending.

You woke up a few days later in the hospital, beaten to a bloody pulp without being touched; limbs throbbing dully and body aching all over, head pounding in your skull; each breath hurting… Several broken ribs, the doctor had explained, alongside a punctured lung, a concussion, an abdominal contusion and a face so swollen you came in unrecognizable.

You’d sat in the hospital bed, half listening to what the doctor was saying, letting yourself drown in what was now your reality.

For a while, you believed that you didn’t have a soulmate.

You had no mark, nothing to identify a deeper link shared with another person. How you wish, now, that had been true… Over the years, there had been little scrapes and bruises that blossomed on your skin, nicks that seemed to appear out of nowhere, or the sharp sensation in your toe or shin or shoulder. But you’d been a child, a blissfully naïve child and when the aches came, you’d just brushed them away and continued on with your day, never one to complain or question things.

You hadn’t known…

You hadn’t thought…

And now, it was revealed to you that you did, in fact, have a soulmate and soulmate ‘marks’… you could feel whatever physical damage your soulmate received.

You could feel the pain they felt and they could feel yours.

A shared nervous system…

A shared nervous system coming for the depts of hell itself.

For the next five years of your life, you suffered, suffered more than anyone could possibly imagine.

You’d broken probably ever bone in your body twice—and not because of anything you did. The only sin you ever committed was existing. Gunshot wounds, lesions, bruises and scars, internal damage so severe it required hours upon hours of surgeries and transplants. You’d suffered it all until it drove you close to insanity, toes dangling off the hospital roof, the staff and your family begging you to reconsider your next move.

You had no more friends, disappearing from your life after being traumatized one way—having to witness you collapse in the blink of an eye from a new wound or watch your clothes be stained with pools of your blood.

At a birthday party, once, at the age of eight, the children and adults present were unfortunate to watch, horrified, as your shoulder magically pop-out of its socket, your face snapping to the side on its own, blood leaking from your nose in thick streams, a massive bruise appearing right under your eye.

No one invited you to their birthday parties after that or came to your own.

During recess, that same year, your peers and teachers had to deal with your leg spontaneously snapping in half before their very eyes, your screams of agony bringing the whole schoolyard to a standstill…

The administration refused to allow you to do any strenuous activities after that, including recess and gym class, confining you to your classroom.

And the more things happened, the more people avoided you.

You had no one, no hope for the future, nothing to look forward to when you woke up in the morning.

Absolutely nothing.

Until you did.

You had stood, weary and broken at the age of twelve, back facing the abyss of the ground below at the top of the hospital roof, right arm in a cast, every single atom in your body writhing in pain, in agony; on the verge of madness when hope came.

A man, tall and slender, parted the crowd, his face clearly marked by the years gone by; dressed in a fine-pressed suit and completely unbothered by the scene unfolding before him.

He’d sauntered up to you without a care, stopping only when you threatened to jump.

“Do you want to do something about it?” The man had asked, cocking his head to the side, hands buried in his pockets.

You’d wiped the snot and tears that pooled around your lips and your chin, so accustomed to the pain that you didn’t flinch when you rubbed the fresh scaring that littered your face, reopening the wound. “…What?”

The stranger had smiled then, somehow, without a single lick of pity, only understanding, tucking a piece of loose, greying hair behind one ear. “I said,” he repeated calmly, “do you want to do something about it, about what you’re going through?”

“What’s there to do…?” You had snipped back, “Years! Years of this and there’s nothing to do! I’m not the one doing this, they are! That fucking bastard is doing this shit to me and the only thing I can do is sit here and take it!”

“And what if I told you that wasn’t true?”

You’d frozen in place, eyeing the man as if he’d grown an extra head. But in your desperation, on the brink of insanity and death and with nothing to lose, you asked the only sane thing you could.

“How?”

And thus, you entered the next phase of your life.

The man—after the staff had cleared the roof, and he’d beckoned you off the ledge—had sat with you and your parents and explained the intricate and complex world of nen.

At first, you though he was a total quack, a runaway from the psych ward, but then he’d conjured up two golden whips out of thin air, wielded them with expertise you’d never seen before and watched as they morphed and evolved and the absolute destructive power behind them, and you had no other choice but to believe him. He then proceeded to explain the healing properties of nen and the potential usages of your own, uses that included being able to soothe the pain your soulmate caused you; that it could, if you chose to make it so, protect you from the pain or the wounds and even repair the damage in a matter of hours, days at most…

You were sold immediately, begged him to show you everything nen had to offer as soon as humanly possible.

Your parents, on the other hand, were not convinced and in fact, were utterly terrified by the man’s display of power and what could happen to you should you choose to pursue this.

“Look at me!” You had screamed at your parents, “Freaking look at me! My life has been an absolute nightmare! I have suffered more than either of you could ever even begin to understand and I’m… I’m so damn tired… I can’t do this anymore! This… this nen thing, it’s the first solution we’ve had and you want to take it away from me? Are you insane!?”

You spent the next ten minutes berating your parents, going on a tirade about what you’d been through until they relented, until they agreed for you to start learning nen.

After that faithful meeting, your life changed for the better.

You left home before your arm even finished healing, tagging along with the man, your now teacher, on his adventures.

He pushed you to your limits, built you up so that you could properly defend yourself, until you were strong enough to have your nen forcibly awakened. By then, your arm had healed and the worst you’d received from your soulmate were hits that felt like punches, more scars and more lesions, but no broken bones, no concussions or gunshot wounds and thankfully, no more internal damage.

“What I am supposed to do with this?” You asked, watching as your mentor—a reputable two-star Lost Hunter named Covyn Callaway—put a nearly overflowing glass of water before you, a leaf gently placed on top.

“This is how we find out what type of nen user you are,” He explained, taking his seat. “Remember what I taught you about exteriorising you nen? Well, we’re going to apply that principle to the glass, and whatever happens, will tell us with category you belong to.”

“And what would be the best category for what we’re trying to achieve?”

Covyn paused, pondering your question. “It depends, I guess.”

“Depends on what?”

He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his long, crooked nose. “On a lot of things. You can mold a healing Hatsu with every nen category, the only thing that’ll differ will be the method used to heal. But in a perfect world, you’d be an enhancer. It would be a lot easier and simpler for you to create and refine a technic that’s favourable to your goal. That, or a Specialist.”

“And those are rare…” you mused aloud. “Let’s hope I’m an Enhancer then.” Placing your hands around the cup, you closed your eyes and using Ren, focused your nen to travel down to your hands.

Nothing happened.

You expected something to happen, but the glass stayed still, the water unmoving and the leaf practically frozen in time.

“Why is nothing happening?” Your brows furrowed, lips curling into a snarl as you focused even more nen around the glass. “I know I’m doing this correctly so why is nothing happening!?”

“Who says nothing happened?”

You stopped all together, dropping your hands to the side. “Because… I mean… Are we not watching the same thing?”

Covyn had the nerve to chuckle; worn, thin fingers pointing at the glass.

It pissed you off.

“Taste the water.”

“What?”

“Taste the water.” He repeated, seemingly enjoying your confusion. You were completely puzzled, and doubtful of what he was attempting to show you but you listened. You always did.

And you were glad you did. Your pinky skimmed over the water, collecting a single drop of water and slowly, tentatively slow, you placed your finger on your tongue and immediately recoiled at the taste, face contorting into a soured expression that was amusing enough, apparently, to make your teacher laugh. “Wow… that’s—dear god that’s foul.”

The old man hummed, “You’re a Transmuter.” he explained, “While it’s not what we hoped for originally, we can definitely work with this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Covyn stood, glass of foul-tasting water in hand. You noted that as he walked to the sink, he seemed pleased with the result of the test. “Now, this is where the fun starts.”

He put you to work almost immediately—correction, he’d wanted to start right away but as you stood to join him, a searing pain bloomed in your shoulder, a wound appearing before your very eyes, blood pouring down your shirt and on the floor.

Your soulmate had just been stabbed.

At least, with your nodes open and the dutiful tutelage of Covyn, you were able to stop the bleeding fast enough to stop panicking and to focus on meditation and healing.

The next day, now all healed is when the two of you spent time brain-storming ideas on how to best apply your Transmuter type into something that could help you placate your soulmate’s violent and near suicidal way of life.

It took a few weeks to find something adequate that you could fine-tune and a few months to develop the technique enough for it to useful.

Master of Puppets, you named your Hatsu, inspired by a song your father loved. When activated, a pair of skeletal hands hovered above the user or the one needing of help, hundreds of iridescent threads hanging loosely from each boney finger; their ends so thin, so microscopic they were unnoticeable to the human eye. Depending on if the rules you set in place were followed, the hands could heal wounds, no matter their severity, without leaving any sort of scaring behind. Guided by the hands, the thread would enter the body, locate the area afflicted to sow the broken pieces back together. From the marrow of bones to teared muscles and split ligaments; gaping holes in organs to severed limbs to significant brain damage… Master of Puppets could do it all.

However, the more significant the wound, the quicker response time needed to be to work to its full capacity—as in seconds of the injury occurring—and the more complicated, the graver wound, the more time Master of Puppets needed to complete its task.

Getting your Hatsu to work on the smaller damage your soulmate gave you throughout those months had been great practice. It allowed you to direct it in a manner that would serve you best. In strength, speed and efficiency.

And through it all, Covyn guided and molded you to become powerful enough to handle the damage your soulmate irresponsibly and gladly threw your way.

He made you pass the Hunter Exam when you turned fifteen—around the time your soulmate decided they had enough of their rough life—and when you passed with little to no difficulty, you decided to follow in his footsteps and become a Lost Hunter.

Never stopping.

Always working.

Trying to put the misery forced upon to you behind.

And through those three years, you never got another opportunity to truly test the power your Hatsu as the worst you’d received as the years progressed were infrequent and light stabbings—nothing like when you were younger, along with sprained limbs, throbbing bruises from the almost daily kicks or punches and the sporadic dislocated joints. It had been years since you’d found yourself utterly gutted, hurt so bad that you couldn’t breathe.

You almost forgot what it was like to get a bone snapped in half, have your skin sliced open with your insides falling out. You forgot what it was like to feel your ribs pierce your heart or your brain crash along the walls of your skull, making you go blind, making you forget your own name and how to function.

You forgot it all until you didn’t.

Covyn guided you through your first ‘case’ as a Lost Hunter. Sure, he was the official lead on the matter, as the clients had hired him and not you, but he decided that it would be a great opportunity to show you, firsthand, how to get the job done. You’d done all the research, followed up on all the clues that could help you find the woman in question, interrogated suspects and witnesses and built an entire file on the events that led to her disappearance and the subsequent events that followed. It had gone well. You had done a stellar job, listened to your mentor and asked him questions and let yourself be fully immersed in what your life would be from now on.

You had loved it, loved every second of it, having found your purpose, your first source of happiness in a long time.

And that, in the end, would come to royally bite you in the ass.

After interrogating and using less than moral means to gain information from a group of men last spotted with the missing woman, you and Covyn had taken a break to have a quick supper, hungry from smacking around and… extracting things from the men for hours.

You sat outside an abandoned, dilapidated hangar, eating a sandwich when it happened.

Mid bite, you were suddenly hit with an inconceivable amount of pressure in your stomach.

A knife.

It felt like a knife.

Perforating right above your belly button and slowly, jaggedly, ripping your insides apart as it traveled upwards. You remember faintly hearing a piercing cry in the distance, melting together with your mentor’s horrified, panicked shout as he implored you to use your ability right this second or you’re going to die!

Blood sputtered from your lips as your tried to talk, dribbling down your shirt and melding with the endless rivets of dark red seeping from your gapping chest, sprinkling Covyn’s face and clothes as you tried to ask him where the source of the cry came from, if it came from the men inside. It took you a while to realise that the screaming wasn’t far away, and even that the source came not from a distant person but straight from your lips as your soulmate was being gutted alive, while you were being gutted alive.

Remember, for Master of Puppets to be used to its full capacity, it has to be used within the correct time frame and as your mind reeled from the white, hot-pipping ungodly agony you found yourself in, your brain just wasn’t in the right head space to think coherently, to be awake and wise enough to realise the gravity of the situation.

You hadn’t been able to breathe or to think, the edges of your vision blurring faster and faster as the seconds ticked on, as you lost more and more blood, your brain being filled with cotton. You’d barely been coherent enough to hear Covyn as he shook some sense into you.

But then you heard it, you heard him…

As the blurred edges turned to darkness, as numbness settled in your limbs, as the cold settled deep in the marrow of your soul, you heard him say the name of your Hatsu.

And you managed to find it, deep within you, the strength and cognisance to activate it.

In an instance, the true testament to what Master of Puppets could accomplish came to life. It went to work, digging its thread deep within your body to seal the more present injuries—your ruptured organs, your heart—sowing delicately, diligently as fast as it could, mending the unimaginable amount of damage you suffered at the hands of your soulmate.

Everything after that melded together, not even noticing that Covyn had left your side to kill the men who you’d found out had sold the missing woman into trafficking, nor when he came back, scooping you in his arms to transport you somewhere else. You still, to this day, couldn’t recall when you were placed on the ground of your safe house, light headed from the blood loss and your brain struggling to keep wake from the trauma. You have no idea how many hours, how many days passed as Master of Puppets did its job.

The few moments where you felt alive enough to be mentally present, you were filled with sadness, with chaos and confusion but mostly, you were filled with complete and utter steaming rage, with a kind of anger you didn’t know a human could possess…

When you awoke, sore and exhausted and thirsty and hungry and utterly miserable from the apparently three days it took for you to patch yourself up relatively back to normal, the feeling remained and it simmered to a boil… until it festered and exploded.

Covyn tried to force you to get some rest, seeing as you wobbled out of bed, delirious from exhaustion and the throbbing, painful scar stretching your entire chest, all the way past your breast, curling above your heart and ending right under your collarbone.

“I’ll…” You struggled to breathe, to form words as your brain took its time juggling waking up from its self-imposed half comatose state and the agony it had suffered through. Covyn clutched your shoulders, trying to settle you down back in bed as you babbled, seethed. “I’ll—I’ll k-kill them. Mis…Mister Calla-away I’ll… I’ll kill them.”

“I know.” Covyn replied in a soft, almost cooing voice, vastly different from his typically disinterested tone. “And they’ll deserve it. But now, you need to rest.”

“N-No.” Your attempt at trying to free yourself from his grasp was pathetic at best; limbs so weak, so feeble that it took your teacher no strength at all to herd you back under the bedsheet, everything in you practically giving up. “I need… They can’t… I—”

“—It’s ok. I’ve got it now, so get some sleep.”

You mumbled something as you finally let go, as your brain decided it was time to fully shut off, letting yourself drown in the fog in your mind and in the ache in your heart.

The next time your gaze met the sunlight, you were fully present, awake and well… as much as you could be.

Staring at the bathroom mirror, your fingers hovered over the scar, over the exposed, raw flesh that was never meant to see the light of day, and you watched as your vision blurred, as tears gathered at your lash line.

You hadn’t responded to your wound quickly enough to repair the damage fully. A dull ache settled over your chest; the scar half sealed—enough to protect your insides but not enough that it wouldn’t leave a scar. It would scar… and it did, it scared bad; a monstrous, jagged thing that tainted your skin, another one to add to your ever-expanding arsenal provided oh so shamelessly by your soulmate.

You cried a lot that day, unable to comprehend why this was happening to you, of all people. You cried because you finally realised the horrific life your soulmate must endure daily and the little regard they held for your own. You cried because they were tortured or—what you and Covyn really believed to be the case—they were a part of the underground scene, surrounded by criminality and most likely involved with the mafia.

Covyn, as he had leaned on the door frame, watching you sob, had mused that regardless of the pain the two of you faced, you could be assured that they, at least, possessed an incredible amount of strength and most likely knew how to use nen to be able to still be alive and kicking after all these years.

No one, no ordinary person could survive the damage they’d been forced to endure without power and a basic knowledge of nen.

It was reassuring, somewhat…

Not really.

Not at all.

It didn’t soothe the rage in your heart.

In fact, the hate that had slowly been accumulated over the years towards your soulmate festered into pure, unadulterated loathing. You hated them, despised them and you hoped, from the bottom of your heart, that you would never meet them.

They were selfish, erratic and irresponsible, not only with their life but your own.

And they were not the kind of person you wanted in your life.

Covyn had laughed when you claimed that if you ever met your soulmate, you would reject them, maybe even kill them as payback.

“It’s not something you have control over.” Pushing himself off the door, he’d taken a step in your direction, prying your twitching hand away from your sternum, where your fingers played with the open skin. “Soulmates… are the one thing in our lives that we have no power over, that we have no say, no control… You hate them, and after what I witnessed, I fully believe you and understand why you do—anyone in your circumstances would. But the bond you two share, that can’t be broken. It’s there regardless if you want it too or not. If you ever meet, you will fall for them, you will love them unconditionally. That can’t be helped.”

You sniffled, digging the palms of your hands in your eyes to wipe away the seemingly endless stream of tears that ran down your face. “Well…” you looked at him, broken and tried, “then I hope our paths never cross.”

The week that followed was spent more or less bedridden—the confinement forced upon you by Covyn—and exhausted, only allowed out of bed to use the restroom and shower or to meditate. At least you’d gotten enough information from the men in the hangar to forge ahead with your work. While your mentor went out to follow up on possible leads, you remained fused to your bed, computer in lap, delving deep into the dark web to find clues on human trafficking rings in the area…

You made a lot of progress, worked for hours on end to distract you from the slowly healing laceration and continuous sting surrounding it. But at night, you’d slip out of bed to trudge towards the kitchen, eyeing the knives in the wooden block next to the oven.

Even after years of suffering, you never thought of retaliating, of hurting yourself… of returning the favour.

But as the days dragged on and the hatred bubbled in your gut, you couldn’t get the thought out of your mind.

You wanted them to hurt like you had, panic like you had, you wanted them to be seized by fear of lack of control and seized by the whispered promise of death like you’d been oppressed with for almost a decade now.

They deserved it.

For taking not only their life for granted but your own as well.

So, one night, you cracked.

Like you had for a few days now, you slipped out of bed once again, making your way to the kitchen where you eyed the knives. But this time, you reached for one, ignoring the way your fingers shook, ignoring the way the knife quivered in your hand, and slowly, quietly, shuffled along towards the bathroom.

You removed your bottoms and sunk into the tub, eyeing one of the very few places on your body free of any sort of scaring.

Prodding at the skin, you wondered if you could even do this to yourself, wondered how badly it would hurt… you scoffed at that.

Of course it would hurt.

And of course you could do this.

The level of pain you could tolerate stretched beyond anything a normal person could ever grasp. You no longer flinched from stab wounds or lesions. You no longer flinched from the punches and kicks or hemorrhaging. Gunshots, knives, fists… your body long stopped registering these as anything other than minor inconveniences. Not attacks or anything that could be deemed life threatening. Your body, over the years, wasn’t the only thing that had toughened up. Your brain, your nerves and every single atom in your body grew not only in strength, but became resilient, indestructible to things that had once caused you unimaginable pain.

Taking a deep breath, you stretched the skin and hovered the knife over the outer portion of your thigh, focusing on stabilising your breathing.

You were scared. That much you knew.

Every time you’d been hurt, you hadn’t seen it coming. It jumped out of the shadows and you’d never been given any real opportunity to fully immerse yourself in what was going on. And by the time you were able to rationalise through the injuries, you no longer felt the fear, the panic nor the pain.

But now, you knew what was coming.

And you knew it would hurt.

The layer of nen you always kept around your body vanished, leaving you with a sense of dread; vulnerable and feeling more naked than you had your entire life. It was probably the first time since your initiation that you’d lowered the nen barrier encompassing your body.

The tip of the knife kissed your skin and, in an instance, your mind went completely blank and the only thing you could think of was the pure hate in your heart.

Hatred swallowed you whole, so much so that you didn’t register your fist raising into the air nor the knife sinking in the meat of your thigh.

Again and again you stabbed yourself, eyes wide and glued to the way dark, ruby-red blood quickly filled the tub, coating your thighs and your stomach, your hand and arm and just about every inch of you and you didn’t stop until you felt light-headed from the blood loss. But even then, another thought crossed your mind, making you freeze.

Your goal was to send a message and while yes, you were achieving that right now, you couldn’t be sure your soulmate would know that you were the one doing this and that it was all for revenge.

You activated Master of Puppets as you went to the second part of this foolish and dangerous pitying tirade; the threads glowing as they stitched your skin back up.

Then, you shifted your trembling hand to your other thigh and carved out a single word.

‘Enough’

And only then, as the blood bubbled and spilled, dripping down to the ever-expanding puddle underneath you, did you release the knife in your hand and breathe…

By the time Covyn came back, Master of Puppets had worked its magic, the skin of your thighs not holding a single piece of evidence of the madness you’d drowned yourself into, that you’d self inflicted. The shirt you wore was currently in the wash along with a few of your other clothes, the tub scrubbed clean of all blood splatter and the kitchen knife rinsed off and slipped back in place.

No one ever found out what you did that night, no one ever found out that it was the reason why you’d gotten the spring back in your step and you’d calmed down when it came to the talks of soulmates.

That night… that night would forever stay between you and your soulmate.

And the uplift in your mood?

Well, it seemed like your soulmate—whoever they were, wherever they were, whatever their life had once looked like—finally got the message.

You didn’t get a single ache or pain; a single wound be it big or small from your soulmate after that night.

It was all over.

Nine years later, your career evolved into something you never saw coming.

You long stopped tailing Covyn, working the cases you want the way you wanted too, on your dime and at your pace. You made a name for yourself as a Lost Hunter, your success reflected by the increase of high-profile and eccentric cases presented to you now.

No more lowly missing pet cases or misplaced grandparents who’d wandered off on their own.

No more dealing with police or doing things relatively the ‘moral’ way.

You’d been good at it, excellent, in fact. And it was those cases that made you move up in the world, that gave you a name and a sort of infamy attached to it. But now, you were free of those shackles.

And it is that increase in notoriety that brought you here today.

An odd, cooky billionaire with a particular hobby reached out to you a few months ago to help with finding a person, whom most believed to be a myth. You’d taken the case, intrigued by the myth surrounding the story the man gave you and the sheer evidence he’d collected over the years to prove the existence of his supposed ‘ancestor’ as well the exorbitant amount of money he had to throw not only your way but towards the project itself.

It took a few weeks for him to go through everything with you, explain the ins and outs of the legends behind who this ‘ancestor’—a pharaoh—had once been and it took months of your own research for there to be an actual breakthrough.

At first, you had believed the man to be total nut job, but much like when you met Covyn, you were quickly proven wrong due to the combined research from the man and your own, which showed that there was a very real possibility that he was right…

So much so that you’d not only recruited Covyn’s help, but acquired young aspiring hunters to teach and mold while they aided you in your task along with a few others. So much so that, as Covyn pointed out to you on your way to York New, you were well on your way to get your first star.

“What did he say?” Covyn asked you as the two of you walked through the York New City market. The night air was warm, pleasant, tainted only by thick fumes of exotic tobaccos and overpriced colognes from a nearby stall, making your nose itch.

You closed your phone, fiddling with a necklace hanging from one of the stalls. Definitely a scam, you could tell, the jewel at its centre a cheap replica of its original counterpart. The vendor had long stopped going on and on about the beauty and rarity of this sort of accessory, his aggravating insistence that you buy it only dying when you pointed out the poorly hidden coffer with copies of the fake behind him and how if he didn’t leave you alone, you’d blow his scheme sky-high. “He’s willing to put in an extra forty billion jennies.”

“That’s good.”

“Definitely.” You let the cheap necklace go, wandering a few stalls down. “It helped when I showed him the growing interest in the tablet.”

“With this amount of money, I don’t see anything stopping us from getting it.”

You hummed, pulling away.

The auction would take place tomorrow and you hadn’t slept a wink in days. You’d discovered the existence of an encrypted tablet not long after signing the contract for this job. It, apparently, according to the legend, held the exact location of the pharaoh Thesh’s long-lost empire and was the only real solid lead you found that could bring you closer to finding King Thesh I, your client’s ancestor. And when your subordinates called you to inform you that the tablet would be one of the featured pieces at the auction, you’d spent your every waking moment planning to acquire it.

“We should probably call it a night.”

Covyn checked his watch and nodded, swivelling on his pristinely shined dress shoes to return to your hotel. You made to follow him, your heels clicking on the cobblestone when you froze, your brows frowning.

In the sea of people gathered at the market at all hours of the night, there was no reason why your senses would suddenly heighten. You couldn’t feel anyone in the vicinity using nen, no bloodlust permeating the air.

Everything was calm, quiet… yet your gut told you something was definitely wrong.

Turning, you eyed the crowd, most faces shielded by the darkness of the night, bodies blending in together, all in their own little world.

Just as you were about to shrug the feeling aside and go on your way, you spotted him in the crowd.

He stood, just as you were, completely still in the middle of the market, staring right at you.

His eyes widened as you made contact, as if he was surprised that from the distance that stretched between the two of you, you’d somehow managed to spot him.

Yours though… your eyes gawked at him, if only for a second, for an entirely different reason.

The moment your gazes locked; you knew exactly who this man was.

Despite the furious maelstrom raging in your mind and in your heart, you willed yourself to calm down and school your features, to remain as impassive as possible; hoping to not arouse too much suspicion in the man, hopefully to smoother the realisation marred across his face.

People always said that when soulmates met, they could feel the connection, the bond instantaneously, like two halves of a whole finally fusing together after spending millennials apart.

And now, staring at this man, this terrifying yet breathtakingly beautiful man, you felt that pull, that sensation of being deprived for so long within you that you never knew existed, the yearning, the want… his soul linked with yours. For a long, agonising moment, you watched him, air stuck in your throat and unable to breathe. The cheesy, predictable butterflies erupted in your stomach, but their wings didn’t flutter around your insides, they didn’t tickle you until you felt weak in the knees. No, they sliced at the lining of your gut, souring the content of your stomach until you grew nauseous.

This man…

This man was responsible for years of suffering.

And you hated him.

Your skin jumped when Covyn called your name. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

“Sir…”

“…Yes?”

“We’ve known each other for a long time, correct?”

From the corner of your eye, you could see the subtle frown of his brow. “Half your life, last time I checked.”

You didn’t dare take your eyes off your soulmate, scared of what he might do if you did. You watched as he too furrowed his brows—or rather yet, the ridge of his brow bone—sharp eyes shifting from you to Covyn, his mind working in overdrive to make sense of what was going on, analysing your movements a little too keenly. You knew he came from the underground, the things he put you through a reflection of that enough and taking him in—the tracksuit, the slick back golden hair, his hardened features… he reeked of it and you weren’t dumb enough to underestimate him. Especially since he looked perfectly well, the picture perfect of health despite nearly killing both of you ten times over.

“And after all this time…” you drawled, manicured fingers twitching at your side, “it’s safe to say that there’s a certain level of trust between us, correct?”

Covyn said your name again, this time, finally understanding that something was very, very wrong. He shifted so that he partially faced you, his face inching a tad closer to yours, his tone serious. “Correct.”

You swallowed, or tried to, at least, the lump in your throat constricting your airways. “Then… if I tell you that we need to run—"

“—Then we run.”

You exhaled, nodding.

“On the count of three…”

Covyn counted down, voice low, only audible for your ears to hear. “One… Two… Th—”

The both of you turned and sprinted through the market before Covyn could even finish his sentence, running like your lives depended on it, slipping through the throng of people with as much grace as you could muster, so quickly passersby and the scenery around you blurred together.

You wished, in that very moment, as your heartbeat thundered between your ears and the air stung your lungs, that along everything Covyn Callaway had taught you, he hadn’t instilled the need to always be well dressed. Running in heels was difficult, especially at your speed, especially on uneven ground, especially when you were in the most important chase of your life.

Because that’s what it was…

A chase…

You were being chased.

You could feel him trailing behind you, slowly gaining traction, his aura powerful and crushing all at once.

The market disappeared quickly behind you, left in the dust of your panic and dread and desperation to get away from your soulmate. The seedling of dread nestled in your stomach bloomed as the chase continued into the city, towering, never-ending skyscrapers potentially giving your soulmate the perfect vantage point to strike from above.

You followed Covyn’s lead, not in the right headspace to make any kind of decision right now and all the while, as the seconds ticked on, your soulmate closed more and more of the distance between you, so much so that you swore, as you veered into a dead-end alley, that you felt him breathe down your neck.

The fact that you’d trapped yourself into a corner would have scared you had you not been a hunter, had you not trained for situations like this and experienced them countless times before.

You focused your nen into your legs and hands, jumping high into the air, Covyn right by your sides as you scaled the red-bricked building. Your soulmate, so close behind that his fingers, as he propelled himself upwards to follow you, grazed the side of your stiletto.

At the top, your brain worked on autopilot, on instincts alone. You knew that your soulmate would catch up the second he reached the top of the building, leaving you and Covyn no time to either get to higher ground or escape from below.

So, you did the one thing you could think of to buy you some time.

Like you predicted he would be, your soulmate climbed right where you were a second prior and storing as much strength in your foot, you swept the ground from underneath him the second he landed on the roof and kicked him as hard as you could in the chest, sending him flying far passed the mouth of the alley and on to the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

Ignoring the dull ache above your breast, where your heel no doubt dug in his chest, you and Covyn proceeded to make your way across the roof of the building, ignoring the fact that your soulmate was already back just as your feet touched the edge on the opposite side.

“Down here.”

You let yourself fall on an unoccupied balcony below, smothering your aura and slipping in the gap between the door and the side of the building; the alcove along with the darkness shielded you from being spotted as your soulmate descended to the ground, not a care or a scratch as he landed from what had to be a fifteen-floor apartment complex.

You held your breath, waiting, hoping your soulmate wouldn’t spot you. You didn’t dare move a muscle, not to blink or breathe or even think.

Time lost meaning as you waited, backs and limbs pressed against the glass door, not daring to move from your spot or utter a single word. You couldn’t see what was going down below you, couldn’t tell if your soulmate had continued his pursuit or if he had retraced his steps; and there was no way of confirming he had well and truly gone, even if you couldn’t sense him in the area anymore.

It was your mentor who broke from the trance first, pushing himself off the wall and tentatively peering down. When he judged the coast clear, he turned to you. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

His typical calm demeanor unnerved you to no end. How this old man managed to stay poised in every situation, no matter how dire, both scared you and made you revere him.

“We should go.” You replied, dodging his question and jumping back onto the roof.

The both of you made your way to your hotel room in silence, on high alert and making sure you took as many detours as you could to get there.

And it was only once you reached your room did you find it within you to breathe again.

“So…” Covyn drawled as he watched you slip off your heels and mess up your neatly styled hair. “Are we going to talk about what just happened?”

A long, heavy, drawn-out sigh whistled past your lips, exhaustion seeping into your bones. You sat on the edge of the bed, eyes falling shut as you dropped your head in your hands. “Fuck…” you groaned, pressing the heel of your palm in your eyes. “That, fuck—that man… that man was my soulmate.”

The silence that followed after you’d spoken those words into existence weighed heavy on your shoulders and you hated that while you tried to wrap your mind around what just happened, Covyn did nothing to soothe you.

“Huh…” You snapped your head up, gaze narrowing at the man before you. He scratched the edge of his beard, now all white, staring back at you with such nonchalance you itched to scream at him. “That’s good—”

“—Good?”

“Could’ve been worse.”

You gawked. “What… what do you mean, worse? This is the worst possible outcome!”

He disagreed, clearly, rolling his eyes dramatically. “It really isn’t. I thought that man was a competitor out to eliminate you from the scene, or someone possibly out to enact revenge… You’ve screwed a lot of people over the years, we all have in this line of work so it would make sense. Honestly, I’m surprised no one’s actually tried to get you yet—”

“—Alright!” You hissed, bolting to your feet. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“Are you ok?”

You tried to wipe the weariness from your face, only to find it impossible. The long days coming up to today and your unlucky encounter with your soulmate really taking it out of you.

“No…” you answered honestly, never one to lie to your mentor, mostly because he’d long learned how to read you. “I’m really not but, I will be. All I have to do is get through tomorrow and then I get the fuck out of this place and as far away from him as possible.”

Covyn nodded, patting you weakly on the head. “Get some rest kid.” He said after a beat, sending you a weak smile. “The twins should be here late in the morning, so I’ll take care of them, give you some time to catch up on sleep.”

“Sir… that really isn’t necessary—”

“—It is to me.” He countered, breaking away and making towards the door. “You look like you’ve been through it and we both know that the second those two get here, you’ll have your hands full.”

He had a point there. The twins, two newly appointed hunters who’d practically begged you to teach them had their energy settings permanently set on high. They were good kids, smart and thirsty for knowledge, they listened well and did what they were told… but fuck were they a lot to handle.

Covyn opened the door, grinning as he watched you sigh once again, wincing at the thought of having to deal with the twins while sleep-deprived.

“We’ll meet up for lunch, alright?”

You nodded. “That works. Goodnight, sir.”

And with that, Covyn stepped into the hallway and left you the heavy silence of your room, leaving you to stew in your thoughts…

“Remember,” you snipped, having finally managed to get the twins to quiet down, “mingle, build connections, but don’t forget why we’re here and who you are representing.” You narrowed your gaze, shifting from one boy to the other, hoping that everything you told them in the past hour fully registered in their brains. “Stay calm, polite… make light conversation and try, for the love of God, to not embarrass me.”

The boys didn’t have time to reply as the car slowed and the door opened.

“Out you go.” You motioned for them to exit the vehicle, Covyn hot on their tails. Carefully, you stepped a leg out, making sure the slit in your dress didn’t expose too much of your leg. The last thing you wanted was for the scars that littered your skin to be exposed to strangers.

There was a reason you always kept your body mostly covered; why, for tonight, despite the warmth, you’d bought a floor length dress with a high neckline and gloves that reached far past your elbows, stopping just shy of your sleeves.

You wouldn’t give your soulmate, or anyone that he may know, get a chance to identify you simply because you left your scars on full display.

But most of all, you couldn’t stand the pitying looks and the questions that tended to follow.

Security thoroughly assessed the four of you at the entrance, checking your purse and taking their sweet time patting you down, letting you through once everything adhered to their standards. You then went to register, taking the paddle from the woman at the booth along with the itinerary for the night.

Plucking a glass of champagne from a passing server, you met up with your group, flipping through the pages to find the artifact responsible for bringing you all here tonight.

“King Thesh’s tablet will be one of the last items put up for auction tonight.” You informed them, handing the twins the brochure with a detailed account of tonight’s proceedings. “So, I hope the two of you have it in you to sit through this, because it’s going to be a long night.”

“No need to worry about us, boss!”

“Yea! We’ll make you proud, you’ll see!”

You were thoroughly unconvinced, especially since they’d practically screamed in the foyer of one of the most reputable theaters on the continent, drawing the attention of half the room.

“I got them.” Frowning, you glanced at Covyn, confused. He made a motion for you to go away. “Go talk,” he took the champagne from your hands, ignoring your protest, “go get yourself a real drink and meet us after later.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve dealt with worse than these two.”

“Oi!—”

“—Quiet.” Covyn hissed, smacking his hands on the twins’ shoulders, his grip hard enough that they winced. “Let your teacher do her thing. C’mon.”

You chuckled at yourself as you watched the twins flounder, trying desperately to get back to you and Covyn having none of it.

As exhausting as they were at times, the twins really were good kids.

You loved them instantly when they ambushed you on your first meeting and couldn’t resist accepting their pleads to bring them under your wing.

Sighing, you stood a bit straighter and walked amongst the crowd towards the bar.

Covyn was right… you needed a stiffer drink to get you through the night.

Along the way, you were accosted by a few acquaintances, fellow hunters in or adjacent to your line of work and even a few old clients. As you mingled, a cool drink in your hand and warm liquid in your tummy, you found yourself actually enjoying the night, not having realised how much you needed a moment out, drinking and simply living.

Of course, you were here for work and you couldn’t be as loose and free as you wanted, but you still had fun. Old clients bought you drinks, telling you about friends that may need your help one of these days… Your network grew and you helped other hunters grow their own.

Even as the auction started, people remained around the bar, not quite yet the time for their specific piece to be put up for bidding, which is why you stayed standing, discussing the future possibly of hire with a new ‘friend’.

You’d been too engrossed with the conversation—the lady incredibly interesting, captivating even, to listen too—that it took you longer than you would have liked to sense him.

The same tingling in your gut appeared and out of instinct, you broke your focus from the woman and looked out into the crowd, only to find yourself in the exact position as last night.

There he stood, in a basic yet dashing suit, dressed to the nines and staring right at you.

And just like last night, he looked just as surprised to see you.

You sucked in a breath, stilling your features to not show the distress coursing through your body. Your limbs tingled, prickled; blood searing in your veins as your heartbeat thundered in your chest. Just like last time, you couldn’t breathe, air stolen from your lungs as his gaze bored into your soul, glued you to your spot.

“I’m sorry.” You dared turn your attention away from your soulmate and back to the woman you’d been speaking to for the last twenty minutes. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me, it seems like I am wanted elsewhere. It’s been a pleasure Miss Knottinghum, truly, to have made your acquaintance and I hope, if you wouldn’t mind, that you would indulge me over lunch sometime later. You are a fascinating woman.”

You weren’t lying, but you made sure to lay on the charm thick as to not anger her for cutting your discussion short. From the guards that hovered around her and the opulence of her garment, you could tell she—much like the man you were trying to get away from—was from the night scene, not someone you wanted to cross.

She clicked her fingers and one of the men behind her stepped forward, handing the woman her purse. “Here.” She gave you a card. “When you have a moment, call this number, a meeting will be arranged.”

While your skin crawled from your soulmate’s gaze still very much on you, you composed yourself enough to stop shaking and smile as naturally as possible, plucking the card from her fingers. “Thank you, Miss Knottinghum. Best believe you will hear from me soon.”

She smiled back. “I look forward to it.”

You kept up appearances as she left your side, your face dropping the moment the woman and her goons had their backs turned to you. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, your gaze found his once again and as soon as you locked eyes, you dropped the façade, blankly staring at your soulmate.

He, thankfully, hadn’t moved from his spot, but another person, a very short man with pitch-black hair had joined him.

Reaching for your phone would be a mistake, you knew that, but you needed a way to contact Covyn or one of the twins to alert them of what was going on and something told you you wouldn’t be able to do that while deadlocked with your soulmate.

So you downed your drink and placed the glass on a server’s tray and, as casually as you could in this kind of situation, turned away to put some distance between the two of you and hopefully get back to your team before you could fall into his clutches. The fact that the halls were still so crowded didn’t help either, limiting the amount of nen you could use and might need to use if push came to shove.

Your soulmate and his partner never stayed too far away from you, falling closely behind.

As you made your way through the halls, the thick of the crowd thinned, but offered just enough protection for you the reach the stairs at the end of the building, allowing you safe passage to the second floor. You pulled out your phone as you climbed the stairs, seeing that Covyn had texted you the exact location of where they were sitting. You let out a shaky breath of relief. At least you didn’t have to go up another story as they’d found seats on the second level. Had they been on any other floor, you knew that your soulmate would have managed to put his grubby, disgusting hands on you.

A few stragglers meandered the halls, making you curse silently.

You walked further and further down the hall, acutely aware that your soulmate had shrunken the distance between the two of you significantly. If you hastened your step, so did he; if you slowed, he followed suit…

Finding your seat was no longer an option.

You had to make your escape, now.

You turned down another hall, this time, completely void of another soul, an emergency exit sign glowing like a godsend above a metal door… your way out.

As soon as you were out of view, you bolted towards the door, heart leaping in your throat as your fingers came within reach of the handle. But of course, life seemed to have it out for you, and just as you thought you’d been successful in your escape attempt, your soulmate materialised between you and the door and looked absolutely pissed.

“Ok. You have got to stop doing that.”

Had things been different, you might have taken the time to take in his soft yet graveling voice or the beauty in the harshness of his features. But time was of the essence and you needed to flee.

You stopped dead in your tracks and jumped, kicking the wall right by your soulmate’s face to propel yourself back, knowing full well that the other man would be right behind you and he’d block you as well. At least, this way, you had height to your advantage and the element of surprise.

Or so you thought.

The second your feet landed back on the ground, you were gripped by the arm, hard, and rammed into the wall, your wrists secured above your head and a solid wall of muscle keeping you pressed to the wall.

“Stop…” he growled, face inching dangerously close to yours, “doing that.”

You tried to fight, curling your body to get some leverage to shove him off, nails attempting to claw his hands away but nothing worked. He stayed frozen in place, watching unimpressed while you struggled for your life. The difference in power between the two was staggering, you quickly came to realise, even though you strengthen your body with most of your Enhancer ability and yet, he didn’t budge.

He didn’t budge and you didn’t stop, gritting your teeth together until they threatened to snap, eyes watering until his angry, handsome face blurred into nothing.

“This is just sad.” Your soulmate grumbled, letting out a harsh sigh, his breath tickling the heated skin of your cheek. “Just fucking calm down, woman. Alright? I just want to talk.”

At his words, you deflated, letting out a choked sob. You weren’t going to cry, you refused to cry, you hadn’t shed a tear since you were fifteen and you refused to break your streak now simply because your frustrations overwhelmed you.

“Fuck you…” You gritted back, snarling right back in his face. “I don’t have anything to say to you now let me go.”

His faced morphed into what could only be described as confusion. “I’m not going to do that until you calm down and listen to what I have to say.”

You chuckled in disbelief, shaking your head at the sheer audacity of this man. “I don’t care what you have to say. I sincerely, with all my heart, could not give a single fuck about what convoluted story you’re going to force down my throat. So, fuck off and leave me alone.”

“She feisty.” The man with the black hair commented from the sidelines. “She a good one.”

The both of you ignored him, either not having heard him or simply choosing to not dignify him with a reply. “What is your problem, huh?” Your soulmate snapped back, finally having enough. “I haven’t done shit to you.”

Your mind reeled, your eyes clearing from tears as you were once again filled with seething fury, the loathing in your heart expending to whole new heights. The next words that came out of your mouth were low, stripped of any humor or humanity, cold enough to send a shiver down his spine. “What did you just say?”

His eyes widened, aware of how factually incorrect his comment was and how it clearly made the situation between the two of you so much worse. “That’s… that’s not what I meant—”

“—You haven’t done shit to me? Is that what you just fucking said?” You didn’t give him time to reply, leaving him to flounder, dumbfounded as any thought of escaping vanished, and you were left with this unexplainable need to give this man a piece of your mind. You had years of anger at the ready to unleash on him and if he was hellbent on keeping you here, you were going to let him have it and he was going to stay there and fucking take it even if it cost you your life at the end. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, you know that? Some giant fucking nerve when you’re the reason I spent years of my life in unimaginable pain.”

“Right, listen… about that—”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He gawked at the venom in your voice, at your boldness, at the bloodlust that seeped from your pores and coiled around him. With the little room he allowed you, you craned your neck up, your face right up to his, so close you could feel the chopped, shaky exhales puffing out of his nose. “Years,” you snarled, “I spent years of my life in and out of the hospital because you didn’t have it in you to keep your ass out of trouble.”

His yellow-olive irises narrowed, flickering all over your face, lingering on your lips, a little longer on a spot on your forehead before finally meeting your fiery gaze. “And if you’d just listen, I could explain—”

“—Let’s go through the list of things you didn’t do to me, shall we? And you better buckle up sweetheart because the list is long and trust me when I say that I remember it all. Let’s start from the bottom, yeah? Eight broken toes, the left big toe almost severed off… twice! A sprained right ankle and a left ankle blasted to smithereens—the one I have now, by the way, is titanium. Then there’s the three separate gunshot wounds to the tibia, shattered knee caps and the broken femur—”

“—That’s enough!”

“Oh, I’m not finished!” You practically yelled back, chest heaving as you struggled to breathe. “There’s the fractured pelvis and displaced disk at the bottom of my spine, a stolen kidney, severe abdominal hemorrhaging and let’s not forget the countless perforation of the bowel, intestines, stomach—hell, just about every single one of my internal organs. Several broken fingers, dislocated shoulder, shattered collar bone—man, that was probably the biggest bitch to suffer through out of them all! Let’s not forget all the times you shattered my ribs, or when you punctured my lungs and nearly got my heart sliced in half! Or how about getting your nose broken? That seemed like your favourite place to get smacked around since you got it broken what… eight, nine times now? How about concussions!? Mild, moderate, severe… I’ve had them all!”

“DAMMIT WOMAN, I SAID ENOUGH!”

“AND I SAID I AM NOT FINISHED!” You roared in return.

This time, you couldn’t stop the flow of tears that gathered at your lash line; so drained, so tired because of this man that you couldn’t find it in you to care about appearing weak. You hurt, all the time, Master of Puppets coming into your life too late to soothe old wounds, your nen constantly needing to be in used to appease daily aches provided to you by your soulmate’s irresponsibility.

Hearing the despair, the pure agony and desperation in your voice, the fight in him to get his way settled, and you hated the way he looked at you.

His gaze held no pity for you, nor your situation.

No… that would be too kind.

He looked at you with rapt attention, guilt and most importantly, understanding written all over his face.

He understood every single second of pain you’d endured and you despised that while he clearly didn’t feel a lick of sympathy, every atom in his body bled with empathy.

“I—” Your face fell as you sobbed, “I spent five years of my life practically chained to a hospital bed, so much so that by the time I found a solution to my problem, the doctors decided it would be best if I stayed there permanently. They… they reasoned that you’d find a way to get yourself hurt—get me hurt sooner rather than later and since the injuries were always severe, the best place I could be was there. And they were right. I lost everything… my family lost everything, because of you.”

You laughed, a dry, humourless laugh that chilled you to the bone. Glancing up at him, it surprised you to find that you could read him like an open book. His feelings were hidden deep beneath years of hardship and suffering, behind a wall that seemed insurmountable but standing, pressed against you, you could see clearly far into the fine cracks of his rough exterior. The shame that radiated off him made your skin crawl, the guilt of putting you through hell eating at his insides.

“I wanted to die.” You whispered, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets at your admission. “I mean, by then, I’d nearly died what… like five times? Twice at the age of seven, when you punctured a lung from several fractured ribs, making me drown in my own blood. And then there was the time when I was nine and I had to endure a barrage of bullet wounds—the only reason I survived that one was because I had just been admitted to the hospital for a broken arm. Then when I was ten and then eleven, and by the time I was twelve, I was ready to jump off a roof and end it all.”

“But you didn’t…”

“No…” You sighed, turning your head away, no longer able to stand the sight of him. “I didn’t”

“What happened?”

“I met my mentor.” You shouldn’t divulge any of this. This man, your soulmate, was clearly a criminal—a criminal with capabilities that far surpassed your own. You knew he could use nen, felt his tickling your skin where he pinned your hands above your head and you knew, deep in your gut that he could wield it with expertise, expertise that far outclassed your own and even Covyn’s. If he wanted, he could kill you, then go find Covyn to kill him too in less time than it would take your limp body to drop to the floor. Despite that, you couldn’t stop yourself. “He taught me everything I know. He’s the only reason why your actions haven’t killed me despite your best efforts.”

He huffed, shaking his head, exasperated. “And that’s why we need to talk.” One of his hands let go of you; the long, tan fingers of his other hand spreading across your wrists to cover lost ground. His free hand slowly lowered, igniting every inch of skin he touched on fire, his thumb dragging over the scar at the very top of your forehead then down the side of your face until it rested on your jaw, his hand gently tapping your face to make you look up at him. When you didn’t comply, he used a little more force, cupping your jaw and twisting you so that you couldn’t escape his gaze, no matter how much you wanted to. “You’ve got to listen, alright? There are things you don’t know—”

“—And like I said,” you cut in softly, “I don’t care. I already know everything I need to. I know that you’re reckless and irresponsible and selfish, not only with your life, but my own. I know that you’re a criminal, possibly mafia—that’s what we think, at least.”

“We?”

You ignored him. “I know that you had a hard life, there’s no doubt about that. But instead of doing something about it you dragged us through hell and back. You… whoever you are, are not someone I want in my life.”

That made him pause, freeze from head-to-toe. He gawked at you like you betrayed him, like you were the one who was responsible for making the both of you suffer.

When he couldn’t find the words to reply, you exhaled, now done with this conversation. You’d said what you had to say, aired out all of your grievances and it was time to end this.

“Please,” you whispered, pushing back gently against his hand on your wrist, “let me go.”

“But… I—”

“—Phinks.” You almost forgot that there was another person here with the two of you. “It almost time.”

Your soulmate, who you assumed was called Phinks, cursed under his breath. “How much?”

“Fifteen.”

“Shit…”

“Phinks—” His head snapped back to you when you uttered his name, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. You didn’t realise his name on your lips would sound so sweet or somehow taste this good, and you certainly didn’t realise it would have this much of an effect on him. You swore, as you tried to settle the harsh thumping of your heart making your head throb, that he was blushing. “I… you have to let me go. My team’s waiting for me in the theatre.”

His flushed appearance turned to stone in a blink of an eye. Gone was the fluster from you saying his name, his brow ridge furrowed and his gaze going cold. “I can’t let you do that.”

“What?” It was your turn to gawk, mouth dropping in disbelief. “Why?”

“You have to leave. Now.”

He wasn’t making any sense. “Uh, no I don’t? I’m here for a reason and I won’t just leave because you said—”

“—I’ll make you leave myself if you don’t listen.”

Your gaze bounced from one side of his face to the other. Then, like it would offer some clarity, you tried to find answers from the short man now at your side. When the raven simply stared at you with complete indifference, you turned your attention back to your soulmate and glared. “I’m not here for my own amusement, ok? I have a job to do and I can’t just leave because you said so without providing any reasonable explanation.”

He mulled your words over in his head a few times, looking at his friend, partner, colleague before speaking. “You need to leave because we’re going to kill every single person in this building.”

Your blood went cold. “What?”

“Phinks…”

“You heard the rumors, right, that someone was going to try to rob the auction?”

You stuttered to get the words out, your body starting to shake. Sure, people all night speculated that some poor soul would try to get their hands on the objects sold this week, but it wasn’t gossip that needed to be taken seriously. Every year someone tried to rob the auction, sometimes they failed, sometimes they succeeded. It was just how these things went.

So, of course, you’d heard about it, but just like everyone else here, you hadn’t cared enough to take extra precautions.

Though, others had remarked the up in security even though it wasn’t by much.

And then you felt like you were punched in the gut.

Rumors were always taken with a grain of salt, yes, but deep within them often held the truth. Tonight, multiple attendees speculated on who would attempt to rob the auction, some said mafia groups salivating at the thought of getting ahead in power and territory, some thought it would be some sort of obscure underground organisation finally making a move to step into the limelight.

Others…

Others joked that the infamous Phantom Troupe would make an appearance.

When you’d first heard that one, you’d laughed it off, as you couldn’t quite wrap your head around how utterly ludicrous that sounded. But the more you thought about it, the more you spent time in the presence of these two men, the faster your heart raced, the more your gut churned. Sweat gathered above your lip and behind your neck and every part of you began to shake.

Your intuition was never wrong, Covyn had made sure of that.

And then you remembered one afternoon when you were thirteen.

A stinging sensation, like a needle scratching your skin appeared on your stomach. It hadn’t hurt, more like prickled and when you’d raised your shirt so that Covyn could get a better look at the area, your mouth dropped when he said it looked like your soulmate was in the process of getting a tattoo.

You never got to get a good look at it, using your Hatsu to heal the skin in tandem with the needle.

But from what you vaguely remember, you and Covyn noted it had looked like the beginning of a spider.

Like much of your injuries or afflictions, you put this one deep in the back of your mind, especially since it was one of the least bothersome or painful things your soulmate had ever put you through.

You wish you hadn’t remembered.

“The…” you gulped, voice cracking, “mafia, some said. Others ha-had other… other theories…”

“And you?” Eyes widening, your throat suddenly went dry as you willed yourself to say the words, knowing full well, watching your soulmate dig into your gaze with his, that he knew the next words that would come out of your mouth. He leaned closer, impossibly close, your noses touching; lips ghosting, hovering right above yours. “Who do you think we are?”

Shuddering, your eyes fluttered closed, your heart leaping in your throat. You didn’t want to answer him. Answering him would solidify reality into existence.

His grip on your jaw tightened even more, just on the verge of being painful. “Phantom Troupe…” you whispered automatically, scared. “The Phantom Troupe.”

“Correct.”

“Phinks…” Shorty at the side warned, “Enough.”

Your soulmate, Phinks, paid him no mind. “You’ve heard the stories, right? How we’re thieves, how we take pleasure in torturing people, killing them, how we take what we want without a care who gets their heads cut off in the process.” You nodded. “So, know that I’m not fucking around when I tell that if you don’t leave, you and the rest of your team are going to die a pathetic, miserable and meaningless death.”

You believed him. Every single cell in your body told you that he wasn’t lying and that he, and whoever else he was with, had the necessary capabilities to achieve just that.

The Phantom Troupe and the reputation they garnered over the years festered and solidified enough to instill genuine fear in the hearts of even the toughest and skilled hunters out there, even the mafia believed the stories about them, many spending billions at a shot to get rid of even a single member.

You’d feared them as well, when you heard about them, and you knew full well what they were capable of…

And still, you couldn’t leave.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Your voice shook as it spoke. God, you sounded pathetic. “I really am, but I really can’t leave—”

“—What’s going on here?” All three of you turned, and your heart dropped in the pit of your stomach when you saw Rollan, one of the twins, standing at the mouth of the hallway, staring right at what had to be a very compromising situation. “Teach… Is everything ok?”

Phinks dropped your hands quickly, taking a step back, trying to appear as if he hadn’t been caught pinning you to the wall in a threatening manner, as if he hadn’t loosely hung the promised threat of your death over your head, your skin stained with tears. As you rubbed your sore wrists, blinking the tears and panic from your eyes, you clocked right away the silent conversation being held by the two men at your side and the way the short man’s ghastly pale hand sharpened.

“Don’t.” You pleaded right as he made to strike, your poor student mere seconds away from getting killed. “Everything is fine, Rollan.” You looked up, sending him your most genuine smile to try and reassure him despite sounding thoroughly unconvincing.

“But—”

“—I know…” He needed to leave, right now, your brain reeling a million times a minute to find a way to get the both of you out of certain death. “You trust me, right?”

He nodded, crystal blue eyes blinking dumbly at you, like a deer in headlights, body paralysed with fear. And rightly so.

“Good, then I need you to wait down the hall for me. Don’t go back in the theatre with the others just yet, ok? Wait for me out here and I’ll be right there.” When he didn’t move, the stillest you’d ever seen him, you pushed, gritting; “Rollan… now.”

Only when he saw the urgency in your eyes did he move, the tight coils of his hair bouncing as he nodded vigorously, his step hastened.

When he was out of sight, the searing tension that came with his sudden appearance lingered, souring the air.

“Please don’t kill him.” You looked down at the man with the black hair, who seemed to itch at the thought of getting to dig his palm straight through Rollan’s chest. “He’s a good kid. He was just coming to check up on me.”

“We won’t do anything to him if you leave.”

“But he saw—”

“—I don’t care.” Snapped your soulmate, glaring down at his colleague. “If it means she leaves, her team can live.”

You shook your head, scared that you’d have to partake in a fight you were holy unprepared and out-skilled for, scared of what these guys were truly capable of and tired of this conversation going in circles.

“I can’t leave.”

Clearly, your soulmate was just as exasperated as you, groaning loudly, eyes rolling dramatically. “Dammit woman, did you not hear me when I said you would die if you stayed here?”

“I did… but I can’t leave, not without this.” You pulled out a pamphlet from your purse, having snagged another from the bar during an earlier conversation with a fellow hunter. You reckoned that if you were honest, if you told him why you were here, he’d cut you some slack or even better yet, he’d understand your iron-grip insistence on staying. Over the years, you learned that people preferred honesty. They were much more compliant when they were privy to the whole truth. So, though your fingers shook, you did your best to flip through the pages until you reached the end, where the most expensive artifacts were advertised. Then, you clumsily extended the pamphlet towards your soulmate, gloved finger pointing at Thesh’s tablet. “Item 167, that’s what I’m here for. I need in for my search… for my client. It’s one of the only solid pieces of proof we’ve managed to find in months and getting our hands on it… it—it could open doors for us, it could change everything. Phinks… I… you have to understand…”

He looked down at the pamphlet, at the tablet, his large, rough hand wrapping around your own. Your skin prickled, warmed at the touch. “If you leave,” he muttered under his breath, “I’ll let you have the tablet once we’re done.”

“Phinks, boss no like that.”

You watched as he weighed his colleague’s words. And as a defeated look crossed his face, you panicked and blurted out: “I’ll hear you out!”

“…What?”

“If… If you let us leave and give me the tablet, I’ll sit down with you and listen to whatever you have to say.”

That single promise skewed the odds in your favour.

“Deal.”

“Phinks—no.”

You nodded, ignoring the short man, mind racing so fast you were getting dizzy. “How much time do we have?”

“Under seven minutes.” Shorty replied under his breath, aggravated at being dismissed. Then he frowned, thin brows obscuring his soulless, dark eyes. “Maybe less.”

Acquiescing your head, you shook your hands as you walked away from your soulmate’s direct vicinity, noting instantly how he became on edge and how your skin went cold; like it had the life, the warmth sucked out of it; like it craved to return back to him.

You pushed that feeling down, knowing it would do you no good. Instead, you continued, taking a few steps out until you could see down the hall, where Rollan, just like you asked, stood; pacing nervously, fiddling with his hands and picking at his nails.

His attention snapped towards you the second you crossed his peripheral, dread written all over his face. “Teach! What’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to explain, Rollan, but I need to listen to me carefully and do exactly as I say, alright?” He nodded, and you were acutely aware that your soulmate and his colleague, two infamous killers and thieves, two expert nen users and members of the Phantom Troupe were listening, ready to strike if you stepped out of line in any way. “I need you to go get your brother and Mister Callaway. And you need to tell them that we have to leave, urgently.”

Confusion crossed his features. “But… But I don’t—what about the tablet?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Your heart beat in your throat; a small part of your brain working overtime to count down the time you have left. The more you talked, the less chance of you surviving the whole ordeal. When Rollan made to argue, you did something you had never done to either Rollan, or his brother. You raised your voice. “Now Rollan! There is no time! GO!”

The hysteria plastered all over your face and the stress in your voice—two things he had never seen coming from you—pushed him into action, bolting down the hall, pass the staircase and down to the right, where he disappeared from view.

Once he was gone, you whipped around to face your soulmate, mouth drawn tight and eyes hardened.

“You better keep your end of the deal.” You hissed, tone dripping with venom. “I didn’t come all the way to this shithole for nothing.”

“You better keep your end of the deal too.”

God, this man was both unbearable and aggravating. He had some serious nerve to dare say that shit to you. “Fuck you.” You spat. “I get that in your line of work, you get betrayed and backstabbed a lot but news flash, I’m not a piece of trash like you or the rest of your gang. I’m a woman of my word and I intend to keep my end of this deal. You get me the tablet; you get your conversation in return. But fail to deliver and I promise you this, soulmate, that I will ensure, for the rest of our miserable fucking lives, that our paths will never cross again. Do I make myself clear?”

He seemed to enjoy watching you babble on in anger, steam practically blowing out your ears. The smirk on his plush, thin lips and the desire pouring out of him proved you as such. He licked his lips and took a step closer, not batting an eye when you took two steps back in counter.

“Crystal.” He husked lowly, making your skin crawl and unfortunately for you, not it a bad way. “I look forward to seeing you again… soulmate.”

You made to reply when a low rumble of hurried footsteps caught your ear, a quick glance over your shoulder showing Covyn followed closely by the twins. You didn’t miss the way your mentor spotted your soulmate, eyes narrowing a fraction. With one last look at Phinks, you pointed at the pamphlet still in his hands. “The Thesh tablet.”

“I won’t forget.” Any teasing in his voice had vanished, his exterior cold. “Now leave.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. Spinning on your heels, the hem of your dress raised, you sped as fast as you could down the hall to reach your team. You gave them no time to ask the numerous questions they clearly had, hooking your arms around the twins and essentially hauling them down the grand staircase.

“Teach…” Roman, Rollan’s twin tried to get your attention, but you focused so much on keeping your breathing steady that you didn’t hear him. “Teach please!”

He ripped his arm out of your grip, cradling where you had no doubt pinched his skin, his other hand playing with one of his dreadlocks. You hated when he did that, or when Rollan picked at his nails because of their nerves, and you hated that you were the cause of it. That’s why you forced Roman to tie his thick locks in a bun above his head and made Rollan keep band aids over the tip of his fingers.

You cupped Roman’s face before you could stop yourself. You never mothered or coddled the twins, you treated them just like Covyn had with you; with care, yes, but with a strong hand. His eyes, a greenish-blue you always found beautiful, widened, his dark brown skin pipping hot against your hands. Thumbing his cheeks, you made sure to avoid the long scar that spanned from the middle of his left cheek, across his eyes and sharp brow as he was still sensitive about it since he’d gotten it shortly after meeting you. “Roman, I will answer all of your questions once we are back at the hotel. But right now, we have to leave.”

Much like with his twin, Roman heard the change in your regular calm voice, the rawness, and realised the severity of the situation. He nodded immediately and wasted no time going down the stairs, the rest of you falling close behind.

On the first floor, you noted the distinct lack of life. Just a few minutes ago, the lobby, the bar, the halls had been packed with people socialising and mingling, drinking and having a good time…

Now, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

And the others noticed it too, each of them eyeing your surroundings with ever-increasing trepidation. They could all tell something had happened here.

The only other living person you could see was a woman around your age with choppy black hair and glasses, eyes just as empty as the man hovering around your soulmate. Her gaze never left yours as the four of you approached the doors, a phone pressed at her ears as she mumbled something softly under her breath.

She had to be on the phone with Phinks or the other guy and she had to be a member of the Troupe as well.

You didn’t bother to inquire or even thank her as she opened the door, your sights set on hailing the nearest cab.

There was no time to wait for the valet to find the limousine you came here in as in probably a minute or so, the whole entire building behind you would be plunged into chaos and every single person who hadn’t already been killed would soon meet the same fate.

You ushered the men in the back of the cab then slipped in front, giving the address of the hotel to the driver and then promptly informing him to get there as fast as possible. Thankfully, he didn’t argue or try to strike up any sort of meaningless conversation, most likely sensing the thick, heavy atmosphere encompassing you all. Choosing instead to drive you all to what he didn’t know was your safety.

And just as he merged into traffic, you looked back, not even attempting to hide your shuddered sigh of relief when the couple dozen security guards outside tried to rush in the theatre.

Not a word was spoken as the four of you exited the taxi, the air heavy as you made your way up to the twenty-sixth floor. No one said a thing when you all congregated in your room and you toed off your heels, reaching for the television remote.

The sight that greeted your eyes should have made you ill, but it didn’t…

You were just relieved the four of you made it out of there alive.

The twins crowded you by the television, glued to their spot as they watched the carnage unfold. The ride to the hotel had taken just over twenty minutes, and clearly, it was all it took for the Phantom Troupe to wreak havoc on social elites, vanish into thin air and create a media shitstorm.

“How…” Roman mumbled, turning to look at you. “How did you know?”

You promised you would answer their questions and as much as you didn’t want to, you hadn’t lied when you told your soulmate you were a woman of your word. Sighing, you wiped the weariness from your face, not wanting to say anything but having to. “You saw the men I was with?” He nodded. “They had it on good authority that the auction would be attacked and that we should leave.”

“And how do you know them, exactly?” Rollan asked, his eyes incredulous as he analysed you. He’d always been the more perceptive one out of the two. It also didn’t help that he found you basically pinned to a wall while having obviously cried. “Because when I saw the three of you together, it… it looked like…”

“The blond one is… an old acquaintance of mine, you could say. There’s bad blood between us.”

You weren’t being totally truthful, but neither were you explicitly lying. You and Phinks shared a bond that spanned your entire life, you knew of each other for the past twenty-four years and there certainly was bad blood between you both… Leaving details and keeping it somewhat vague was the best course of action here.

Rollan was unconvinced. “If there’s bad blood, why would he give you that kind of information, and why would you listen? Wouldn’t he just want you to die along with the rest of the attendees?”

“I never said the bad blood was double sided.” You muttered, walking to the vanity near the bathroom. “I hate him. He wants to talk shit through and I’m not interested in hearing it.” Tugging at your glove, you made eye-contact with Rollan through the mirror. “That’s what you saw—what I… what I wish you hadn’t seen. And I listened because I know that asshole and he wasn’t lying.”

Facing back towards the twins, you crossed your arms and leaned on the table, adding: “Luckily, I shoved my pride aside and believed him. We’re probably the only people that came out of this night with our heads still intact.”

“And what about the tablet?” Inquired Roman, taking a step towards you. “We needed it, bad. An-And now it’s… it’s gone!”

“That’s why we go to plan ‘B’. The two of you will leave for the Federation of Ochima in the morning, head to the Port in Amherst and try to get a meeting with that collector I found.”

The boys groaned. “Teach, you can’t be serious!” Roman whined. “We’ve been trying to get through that old fart’s brain for weeks! He’s not interested!”

“Well, make him.” You gritted back, pushing off the vanity. “There’s no guarantee the stolen merchandise will be found so, we need to explore all the other avenues we have at our disposal, no stone left unturned. You guys know this, c’mon! This is the job.”

“We know, but this part just sucks.”

You smiled at Rollan, understanding his frustrations wholeheartedly.

“I know, but we have to do it. And depending on if the tablet’s found or not, we might have quite the sum on our hands to bargain with. Make sure to tell him that—but don’t promise anything. And please make sure to remind him that all we want is to take a look at his scroll collection, not buy any of them?”

The twins nodded and soon after that, you shooed them off to their rooms.

“I’ll send you your plane tickets in a few minutes. Go get some rest, ok?”

You and Covyn watched them leave, and as soon as the door shut, you expected your mentor to say something, anything, about the half-bullshit you’d fed the boys or about the fact that one of the men in question that you mentioned just to happened to be your soulmate.

Instead, he chose to eye you in silence, letting you stew in your thoughts while you slowly began to unwind for the night.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

He sighed, taking a seat on the bed beside you. “About what?”

You knew what he was doing. Just as much as he learned how to easily read you over the years, so had you, and you knew he was trying to get you to spill your guts out to him without having to prod for answers himself.

Cutting the needless fat from the conversation, you went straight ahead to give him what he wanted.

“He’s a lot stronger than I am, even stronger than you…” You huffed, cringing when you remembered how easy it was for him to incapacitate you. “I tried to escape, but I didn’t stand a chance. An-And then—God, you won’t believe this—the bastard actually had the nerve to ask if we could chitchat.”

“And did you,” Covyn asked, “chitchat?”

Snorting, you raised an incredulous brow at your mentor. “’Course not. I told him off, then told him to let me go back to you guys.”

“…But?”

“But then he got pissed and said I had to leave because they—he and his gang—were going to kill everyone at the auction hall and steal everything.” Covyn didn’t seem phased at all by your tale, listening patiently and taking it all in, like he always did. “I managed to strike a deal with him before things got hairy.”

“For the tablet, I’m guessing?”

You nodded. “Astute observation there, sir. Yes, if I got to leave with the three of you alive and well and he gave me the tablet, I’d sit down with him and listen to what he has to say.”

“You think he’ll come through on his end?”

Taking a moment to ponder, you blinked at Covyn. From what you could tell from the brief interaction you had with Phinks, he didn’t even try to hide his desperation to speak with you, his eyes sparkling and mouth watering at the sheer possibility of you taking the time to hear him out. “I think he’ll try,” you replied after a beat, “but whether he’ll be successful is still up in the air at this point.”

That appeared to satisfy Covyn, who hummed and pushed himself up to stand.

As he made for the door, he paused, hand on the handle, casting his head back to look at you. “Everything’s going to be ok if I leave tomorrow morning as well?”

You raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Covyn shrugged, “Just making sure. I’d stay to see this through, but if I don’t come home in time for our anniversary, my husband will have my head and I don’t think I have to tell you how much I like breathing.”

“Ha, right. Forgot how Lumis is about those kinds of things. And everything will be fine, promise. Go home to your husband. The job is done here for now.” Covyn nodded, opening the door. But just as he was about to cross the threshold, you stopped him. “Sir…” You frowned, fingers twitching in your lap. You knew, deep down, that nothing would happen to you, your soulmate or any other members of the Troupe could not harm you without harming Phinks nor could they kill you, even so, you wanted to edge on the side of caution. “If you or the twins don’t hear from me in a week, assume the worst.”

Your mentor looked at you, deeply; his old, worn eyes piercing your soul as he took in your words.

“Will do, kid.” He replied. “Now you get some rest too.”

And with that, he shut the door in his wake and much like yesterday, you were left alone with your thoughts.

part II

#phinks x reader #phinks #hunter x hunter #hxh #soulmate!au #soulmateau #hxh smut #shared injuries #phinks is daddy and I will die on this hill idgaf

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hyperfixatedcatlover · 8 months ago

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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,

#phantom troupe #phantom troupe x reader #yandere x darling #yandere phantom troupe #hxh #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere uvogin #yandere nobunaga #yandere feitan #yandere shalnark #yandere machi #yandere phinks #yandere franklin #yandere hisoka #yandere illumi

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vanillinwrites · 1 month ago

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Asks that remain in the inbox!

Hi, i’ve gone through my inbox these past few days, and have decided on the requests that i’ll be keeping in the inbox, the rest have been tossed out. If your request is not on the list, feel free to request it again! The fandoms I'm taking requests for are; mobile suit gundam, hunter x hunter, ddlc and fire emblem three houses.

Hunter x hunter

Platonic yandere phantom troupe with rambunctious child reader (platonic)

Reader with yandere phantom troupe as kids (platonic)

Kortopi, uvogin, shalnark falling for troupe member reader

Yanderes most open to bringing their darling outside/ in public

Chrollo, feitan, shalnark and phinks with darling who loves them, but is hurt by an offhanded comment they make

Yandere troupe with a darling who is a killer

How the phantom troupe would fare with a neurodivergent reader

What would makes phinks snap at or lash out at his darling

Phantom troupe when they darling is normally affectionate, but an offhanded comment they make upsets their darling very deeply

Phantom troupe pre kidnapping; darling tires to distance themselves, but then confesses their feelings

Phantom troupe with darling who has a nervous tick like stuttering or fidgeting

Obsessive feitan

Darling commits suicide

Part two to my fic where chrollo noncons reader; now he deals with the aftermath of his actions

Yandere chrollo when darling is sweet to him while he’s in a bad mood because she’s scared of him

Yandere chrollo with a darling who he grew up with in meteor city

Yandere silva headcanons

Chrollo, hisoka and illumi react to someone calling their darling a milf

Illumi with a darling who is easy to manipulate and take advantage of

Kikyo talking to illumi’s darling

Punishments from yandere phantom troupe

Nsfw-

phantom troupe reacts to being bitten

Sitting on chrollo’s face

Feitan with a scent kink

Phantom troupe + hisoka; forced blowjob

Choking with phinks

Darling refuses to show reactions or make sounds during sex

Machi when her darling invites her to bed

Darling loses a fight with hisoka and pays for it

Illumi and darlings first time, darling is scared

Other fandoms--

Doki doki girls and reader on their period

Yandere black butler character of my choice with spoiled reader (platonic)

#citrus #citrus speaks #update #inbox update #yandere hunter x hunter #ddlc #hxh #yandere hxh #tw yandere #yandere #yandere gundam #yandere fe3h

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bwabys-scenarios · 2 years ago

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7 Minutes in Heaven

Various!HXH x Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

taglist: @desiray562 @lovelyxkazuha

if you would like to be added to the NSFW taglist, comment a ❤️!! make sure you have your AGE in your bio, and that you’re able to be tagged/mentioned!

It was late October, and after meeting up with your friend Kurapika and Leorio for some fun fall activities, you came home to see a letter in your mailbox.

“Dear (Name),

You have been cordially invited to this years Costume Party. Please come wearing a costume, and be aware that there may be some people there that you do not like. Guests are required to hide their identity with their costumes, and fighting is prohibited.

Regards,

Pariston”

You frowned, seeing that there was another letter attached that had the address and time it would be taking place. Fortunately(or unfortunately really), you didn’t have anything planned for that day, so you didn’t see why you shouldn’t go.

All you would need is a costume.

“You got an invitation too, (Name)? Both Leorio and I received one the day we parted ways.”

You blinked, looking between the two. “Oh yeesh, I hope that it hasn’t been handed out to every hunter in existence. I will actually pee my pants if Hisoka is there.”

Kurapika grimaced and Leorio started laughing. “Shit, don’t do that he might like it!”

Now both you and Kurapika were grimacing. “(Name), don’t worry. If he shows up, just stick by our sides and we’ll protect you.”

You nodded, giving your friends a quick hug and peck on the cheek. “Aww, thanks guys!”

You turned just in time to miss their blushing faces. “Let’s buy our costumes together, so we can recognize each other at the party!”

“Oh, that actually sounds like a good idea!” Kurapika said after recovering from the kiss. Leorio nodded, following after the two as they headed towards a costume store.

——————

You look down at your costume, a black dress, a masquerade mask, and witch hat. It was a little plain, but followed the rules of hiding your identity. The only people that would know who you are would be Kurapika and Leorio.

You walked towards the address, stopping in front of a large mansion. “Did he seriously rent out a mansion just for a party? Figures…”

Before you could even knock, the door swung open and you were pulled in by Pariston, the only person not wearing a costume. “Welcome, you’re just in time! Everyone else is here, and ready to party!”

He was right, the entire first floor was full of people, some easily recognizable, and some not. You were hoping that the man lingering in the corner of the room was not the leader of the phantom troupe, Chrollo, because that would mean a battle to the death between him and Kurapika.

“Pariston, I don’t know what you have planned, but-“

Pariston smiled down at you. “Shh, just have fun. Everything will be fine. Probably.”

You pout, but join the crowd of people, drinking a little and dancing. You spotted a short dark haired man nearby, sitting with a taller, blonde haired one.

“Come on, Fei. It’s not often we get invited to things. Phinks is already dancing, look!”

You blink, glancing to where the blonde was pointing to see a man swaying on the dance floor, sipping from his drink. They spot you looking, the shorter man giving you a look that sends you running in the opposite direction. “Hey, don’t mind him!” the blonde yells after you.

You sigh, bumping into someone as you turn. “Oh sorry I-“

A man towers over you, his hair dark and long. His eyes peer down at you through his skeleton mask, and you can’t help but feel tiny compared to him. Thankfully, he just pushes past you, patting your shoulder almost reassuringly.

“(Name)!”

Kurapika and Leorio spot you, sighing in relief.

“Geez, woman. You should have texted us when you got here! There’s a lot of creeps here.” Leorio said, patting your head.

Kurapika scowls. “Yeah, creeps and criminals. Does Pariston think we’re stupid? I can sense the phantom troupe is here. I swear I’ll-“

You grab his sleeve. “Hey, no violence, remember? Try to be calm, just for tonight. You recognize them, but they don’t recognize you. You could get some information out of them once they get drunk enough.”

He sighs and nods slowly. “You’re right… I need to be calm.”

Kurapika smiles appreciatively. “Thanks, (Name). You’re always a voice of reason.”

As the three relax and drink, planning, Pariston comes forward. “Alright gang, I’ve got a game planned for you all!”

You all turn to see Pariston holding a hat. “Drop an item of yours into the hat!”

Everyone grumbles, not a single person wanting to listen to the annoying blonde. To get it over with, you’re the first person to walk forward, placing your strawberry scented chapstick in the hat. “There.”

Others come forward, the entire party placing items in it. A few have to be dragged up to the hat, others grumbling and growling as they’re nudged forward.

“Alright, that’s everyone! Now…”

He looks to you, grinning.

“We’re playing 7 minutes in Heaven. Come pick an item, (Name).”

You blink. “Are you serious? What are you, a horny 15 year old?”

Pariston laughs. “No, but I am curious.”

You roll your eyes as some people start to murmur and ask what 7 minutes in heaven is.

“For those unaware, 7 minutes in heaven is a game where two people are locked in a closet for seven minutes! You can do whatever you want, and I really mean whatever.”

Your two friend begin to protest. “Hey, she’s the only woman here, this is sexual harassment!” Kurapika yells.

“Meh.”

Pariston offers the hat to you, and you groan. “Oh whatever. I’ll take a stupid item.”

You rustled through the hat… what do you pull out?

Options:

-a needle

-a bookmark

-a scalpel

-a cellphone

-an earring

-a piece of candy

-a roll of gauze

POLL FOR WHAT COMES FIRST!!

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bleach-your-panties · 2 years ago

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⇰INTRODUCING, AN OFFICIAL BYP🌹🌸 COLLABORATION EVENT...

...."BLONDES HAVE MORE FUN!"❀

⋱♡full collab info post ⇰here!

Deadline: MAY 31, 2024 (not a hard deadline!)

🎀Posts🎀:

♥︎Tokyo Revengers:

Chifuyu Matsuno @bleach-your-panties

Ken Ryuguji "Draken" @sin-and-punishment

🎀nsfw, smut |🎀fem reader

Shion Madarame @sin-and-punishment

🎀nsfw, smut | 🎀fem reader

Jeez Louise - Ken Ryuguji "Draken" x Emma Sano, Manjiro Sano "Mikey" x Reader (group sex) @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw, smut |🎀fem reader |🎀foursome |🎀fxf action

Takuya Yamamoto @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀fem reader

Tetta Kisaki @bleach-your-panties

Rindou Haitani @prncessrindou

Ran Haitani @ksakiswh0re-xo

Wakasa Imaushi @ranspuppy

🎀rating tbd

✿Bleach:

Izuru Kira @bleach-your-panties

🎀nsfw, smut | 🎀fem reader

Rose Otoribashi @semisgroupie

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd

Shinji Hirako @seireiteihellbutterfly

🎀nsfw | 🎀thick, fem reader

♥︎Hunter x Hunter:

Kurapika Kurta @bleach-your-panties

Shalnark @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀fem reader

Phinks @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀fem reader

Pakunoda @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀fem reader

✿Jujutsu Kaisen:

Kento Nanami x2 @ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater

Hell Hath No Fury - Kento Nanami @seireiteihellbutterfly

🎀nsfw | 🎀thick fem reader

Rosé and Bubble Gum - Yuuji Itadori @bleach-your-panties

🎀suggestive | 🎀fem reader | 🎀black-coded

Yuuji Itadori - @bleach-your-panties

♥︎Genshin Impact:

Thoma @ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater

Albedo @ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater

✿Attack on Titan:

Armin Arlert @stopisa

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd

Friends with Benefits - Reiner Braun @/shujistars-archived

🎀nsfw, smut | fem reader

Armin Arlert @sunarc

🎀nsfw | 🎀 more tbd

♥︎My Hero Academia:

Katsuki Bakugo @bakugosbratx

🎀nsfw| 🎀dark content

Mirio Togata @bleach-your-panties

✿Blue Lock:

Ryosuke Kira @bleach-your-panties

Ryusei Shidou @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd |🎀fem reader

♥︎Haikyuu!!:

Kei Tsukishima @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd | 🎀fem reader

Kenma Kozume @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw | 🎀more tbd | 🎀fem reader

Kentarou Kyoutani @ranspuppy

🎀nsfw |🎀fem reader

✿Fairy Tail:

Laxus Dreyar @bleachbrainrotbro

🎀sfw |🎀male reader

♥︎One Piece:

Sanji Vinsmoke @chrollohearttags

✿Death Note:

Mihael Keehl "Mello" @bleach-your-panties

#🎀bhmf.collab xo🎀#anime collab #writing collab #since y'all wanted the deets!#tokyo revengers x reader #bleach x reader #tokyo revengers x black reader #aot x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #genshin impact x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x reader #any fandom #please share!!#bow divider via glitter-graphics #dividers by cafekitsune #byp🌹

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z0-ne · 11 months ago

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WEB (Phantom troupe fic!)

Phantom troupe fanfic (platonic Chrollo. This is a Shalnark and Phinks x reader)

Tw: Stalking, mentions of past trauma, Chrollo is not a good person, alcohol, and foul language.

_______________________________________________

If you could ever make a wish and it would come true no matter how big or small.

What would you wish for?

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

"Souhait, I assure you I'm gonna be fine,"

you repeated for the second time within an hour while getting ready to go out with some friends tonight.

They've been against this since the last time they discussed it, and while you can understand their reasoning, it was your birthday today, and you haven't seen them all in so long

"No...No..."

Whispered a floating shadow-like figure with no face, or hair, and pitch black skin dressed in a red oversized sweater and grey sweatpants with socks.

They were curled into a ball, head resting on their knees, arms covering their forehead, feet crossed over each other, and floating right above your bed.

"Oh come on... Don't you trust me?"

You questioned as you finally put the earring on after struggling for what seemed to be five minutes or more. Now turning to face the figure who sat up at your question as if they were caught off guard by it.

"Yes...But I...do not trust them.Tonight one will betray you...I can feel it..."

As they spoke, lights began to flicker and lamps began to float. All while keeping that same position as earlier. The deep disliking they had for your friends always worried you, and it was the reason why you all hardly hung out.

They were also somewhat violent towards one of them. Not physically but they were verbally upset with their presence and made it known every time they spoke to them.

Souhait was someone you trusted more than anyone else in the world, but you haven't gone out in so long and they'd been begging you for a while.

"Betray...?"

The word alone put a slight lump in your throat.

"...yes...Betray...-"

Usually, you'd heed their words and prepare to cancel the plans and move away. Far away from the city at the mere mention of betrayal. Could be a trauma response, but you don't want to think that far.

It made you feel sick and reminded you of something you wished to forget, but...

"Victoria wanted me to go...and.."

It would've made you feel bad if you said no.

Looking up from the floor, and wiping your sweaty palms onto a paper towel. You put on a smile and came up with a solution.

"Well, then how about you come with me?"

You suggested, in an effort to calm them down or bring them temporary comfort, and maybe even get them out of the apartment for a little while. Even if it was to just go to some party. The last time they left the house was during high school.

"I...would've gone...anyways...Keep watch..."

It seemed like it worked, the lights went back to normal and the lamps floated back to the table and she stayed hovering in the air, now floating away from your bed and beside the closed window.

"Well then get ready, I'll wait for you ok?"

"Melt...I will just...melt..find clothes...later.."

"Seriously? How will you blend in?"

Just then, they began to drip black ooze onto the floor as their body began to melt into a pool of black ooze, bubbling slightly as they moved across the floor and towards you, their cold body touching your ankle when they got close.

They left their clothes flat on the floor as if they were just thrown there like dirty laundry.

"Oh- the shadow thing!"

Slowly the puddle began to fade into the ground and reshape itself into your shadow.

"That's such a cool trick!"

"Thank...you..."

You smiled down at them before you walked towards the front door, grabbed your keys, and then put your shoes on. You had a bag with a few things in it, that would hopefully be of use just in case, and the regular things in there as well.

"Okay...I'm sure I've got everything.."

"I slipped...something into your- Pocket."

"Thanks, Souhait!" you chirped, gratefully.

Turning around and opening the door, you walked out and locked it behind you. You lived on the highest floor in the apartment so when going downstairs you usually took the elevator, rather than the fourteen flights of stairs.

Not to mention the elevator you took was one rumored to give out at random times, so nobody used this one in specific, they took the other one down the other way of the hallway. To think that city folk was so superstitious, was so funny.

The elevator never played music, and the lights would flicker every now and then, so it was no wonder why people would want to stray away from it. However, these things all happened thanks to you.

"An elevator to ourselves is heavenly."

"No..awkward...talk..or strangers..."

You giggled against your hand and nodded.

"All thanks to you."

Now heading down the hall and into the lobby where there were few people either sitting down. walking out or walking in. Nothing too strange on the outside, but something felt weird this time around.

"Careful...I sense..danger..."

Souhait whispered in your ear as you were walking towards the door, digging through your purse to check for anything you may have forgotten. You perked your head upwards, and without glancing at them you relaxed.

"How close is it?"

You asked, wondering who or what could've been so dangerous that they would have to alert you instead of just ignoring it, but knowing how they felt about leaving in the first place, you figured something may be wrong.

As you kept walking you passed a small group of people and one bumped into you as you walked past.

"Oh- Sorry-"

A slightly deep gruff, familiar voice spoke and turned halfway to look at you.

A chill went down your spine as time seemed to slow down for a split second, not even wanting to look at whoever you just bumped into, but taking a glance regardless and catching a glimpse of blonde hair. Whoever it was had looked and felt familiar, they could be seen as a threat.

Not to mention that they meant you no good in your current lifestyle.

You closed your eyes and turned your head as you smiled and waved it off, not wanting to anger or set off whoever it was by being rude.

"It's alright! Have a good night!"

Without giving him too much time to answer, you calmly walked away from him and towards the door. Hoping you didn't seem too suspicious, at least not to him rather than to the people surrounding you.

That chilling feeling never left as you approached the door and felt those eyes staring you down, as the room seemed to fall silent and you could only hear your footsteps rather than the many people inside the building.

Luckily you made it outside in a matter of seconds that only felt like hours. Clutching your pursed between your fingers, you took a deep breath of fresh air and kept walking down the sidewalk as normal.

However, your heart felt like it'd jump out of your body and down the nearest sewer drain.

"Blonde hair...Souhait is that-"

"...Yes...but...Calm down... He seemed...Busy...."

While their words were slightly comforting, it wasn't enough to completely get you to relax. Where would you guys go if things went wrong? You scouted the area, but not enough to completely throw them off if something goes wrong.

If he caught a glimpse of you and thought about thirty seconds then he'd remember and recognize you. They'd be after you all night if they figured out thanks to that one interaction. In that case, you would have to find another place to sleep.

Then again, Maybe it wasn't all that bad. What are the chances of them following you anyways?

It was zero to none. Right?

"(Name)! They....are watching.."

Cursing in your head, you picked up the pace and kept your eyes forward as if you didn't hear what Souhait whispered. You spoke under your breath, in a hushed tone so nobody else could hear what was being said.

"Who?"

"I can assume they are working for him...some are familiar others not so much...Do not...run..yet.."

Hearing them whisper all this made nothing better, you could feel your blood chill, sending shivers down your spine as you continued to the spot you were told to meet. A bus stop that was a few feet away from your apartment.

The excuse was that the driver wouldn't stop in front, but they didn't need to get a limo anyway, it was probably Victoria's idea. It would draw attention to you and probably make this situation much worse.

As you got closer you could hear someone calling your name, it was close and when you looked up a girl was waving at you from the car, with pale skin, blonde hair, and brown eyes. She smiled as she waved you towards the car.

"Hey! (Name)! Hurry your ass up! We don't wanna be late!"

"Now...Go!"

Right as Souhait whispered/yelled for you to run, you picked up the pace and sped towards the car, quickly being pulled in by the girl who called after you earlier.

Engulfed into a tight hug, it was nearly suffocating but it was so comforting to finally have reached the car.

When you got in one other person was sitting beside her.

A pale man with brown long hair tied back into a bun who had blue eyes, his name was Jio. Jio sat by the window on the far left.

Which was a lot better in this case considering that was the last place you wanted to sit.

Vincent was bald, with purple eyebrows and slightly slanted pink eyes, he was the tallest one there and also the most muscular. His muscles were made from mass, so he was wide and looked intimidating when he stood up.

Vincent sat across from you.

Victoria was the girl who called you over earlier, also Vincent's sister. She sat on your right, sandwiching you between her and Jio.

"So! No more fake IDs for you! How do you feel?"

Jio blurted out nearly as soon as the river pulled off, and you scoffed halfheartedly in response before answering his little question.

You probably would've been a tad bit more excited about this had you not run into those people earlier, so for that reason, you didn't even feel like drinking all too much tonight if you did at all.

"I'm glad I made it this far but I don't really-

Suddenly you felt someone put their arm over your shoulder and heard Jio grunt in pain, looking over you saw victoria glaring at him as she pulled you over closer to her and further away from him.

"Hey! You dumbass! Say Happy birthday to my darling (Name)!"

Victoria slung her arm over your shoulders as she dramatically slumped her head on top of yours, cradling you into her chest as she scolded Jio.

"Jeez! I was getting to that!"

Jio yelled out in response to Victoria's scolding. You chuckled again before looking over at Vincent, the oddly quiet one, and it worried you a little especially since he was never one to be so silent.

He'd usually stop Jio and Victoria from arguing, but tonight he looked...especially intimidating. It worried you. everything worried you right now.

"(Name)...Where...are...we going..."

Souhait Whispered into your ear and it made you think. Nobody told you where you were going, they just gave you a time and said there would be a house party of some sort but this isn't what you expected.

"Hey Victoria, where are we going?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know, Vincent said he planned it all but he won't tell us anything! Says we talk too much!"

Victoria threw her right hand in the air and shook her head to the side as she rolled her eyes at the mention of her brother's words.

"Really?"

"Yeah! The nerve!"

You looked over at Vincent who smiled at you while Victoria ranted, you felt another chill go down your back.

It wasn't like he's never smiled before. Vincent's usually a sweetheart, always smiling but tonight was just different for some reason..his smile felt off...

"Vincent, where are we going?"

You weren't going to hesitate to ask him that. Not only did you want answers, but you also NEEDED them.

"...Can't say, it'll ruin the surprise."

You were suspicious about his answer, you didn't usually feel too uncomfortable around him. After all, Vincent was the most responsible in the group except for Souhait, and he seemed like someone you could trust.

Not to mention he was older by three years now.

You only hoped that it would stay that way and not backfire on you somehow.

After that, he was silent the rest of the ride, and so was Souhait. You couldn't understand why they were so quiet, but you just assumed that Souhait was thinking and Vincent didn't want to ruin the surprise.

Soon the car finally stopped, and Victoria opened the door for you, and then covered your eyes with her hands.

"Hey- Wait! Victoria I can't see!"

"That's the point of a surprise! Now come on and let me lead you in!"

It was a sweet gesture. You could understand why Victoria in specific was so excited to help you inside.

She's been the party planner since you met her and every year she's planned you a surprise party, and now she's letting her older brother do it.

If you had a family like hers, you'd be excited too.

"I don't think you should lead anyone/"

"Oh eat my ass Jio."

" you're so worried then grab their hand so they don't run into anything."

You chuckled as you walked along with Victoria and Jio. One kept your eyes covered and the other was holding onto your hand. Vincent was behind and walking slowly, you didn't know why and Souhaits silence concerned you.

As you got closer to wherever you guys were going, the air got colder, and the music got louder. So loud you could eventually feel it in your gut and chest as the bass boosted off the walls. Still, you continued to walk, now taking deep breaths.

"They...are no longer here..."

The sound of their words made you relax your muscles and let out a breath you had no idea that you were holding in. It made following Victoria and Jio much easier, still scary but not as much as before.

Knowing you would go to a possible public place with a possible stalker issue? It made this outing so much more of a hassle than it already was, and it didn't help your nerves that Vincent was acting so strange.

As you continued to walk, loud music, the smell of sweat and alcohol, and cold air all hit you at once causing you to flinch back, Yet with Victoria stopping right behind you, you couldn't get too far.

Finally, you heard Vincent's deep voice mutter some words, his tone alone still set chills down your spine.

"Happy birthday"

#x reader #x y/n #anime #x you #chrollo lucilfer #hxh x reader #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #platonic #shalnark x reader #shalnark+x+reader #phantom troupe #phinks x reader #chrollo is platonic #hunter hunter x reader #hunter x hunter x y/n #hunter x hunter #hxh 2011

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lightfeltmemories · 10 months ago

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18+, minors, blank, and ageless blogs dni, fem black reader in mind. my first post in this format please don't kill me if someone feels ooc.

he knew you were a baddie before your relationship with him, so, he doesn't police you on what you wear, in fact, he loves your outfits, and if anything, buys (or steals) anything you desire to keep you high maintenance, when walking down the street, he loves the thought of other men feeling envious because he managed to pull such a gem, your hand in his, you both walk down the street, the way your ass jiggles with every step in your short shorts, the way your tits bounce in the tight fitting tank top, the way your makeup is always flawless and glowing in the sunlight, the way your hair and nails are always done, the way you always smell good as fuck, he loves every aspect of you, and knew exactly what he was getting into when he pursued you, because at the end of the day, he's the one thrusting his fat cock deep inside you every night, his name is the one escaping your lips as he pounds into you, moaning and screaming for more, he's the one you chose to lay next to after it's all said and done.

jjk: satoru gojo, choso, kento nanami, toji fushiguro, shiu kong, naruto: naruto uzumaki, kisame hoshigaki, hidan, kakashi hatake, might guy, deidara hashirama senju, jiraya demon slayer: kyojuro rengoku, tengen uzui, douma, giyu tomioka, iguro obanai hunter x hunter: leorio paladiknight, uvogin, nobunaga hazama, shalnark ryusei, phinks magub, hisoka morrow, feitan portor one piece: monkey d. luffy, rorona zoro, vinsmoke sanji, usopp, brook, portgas d. ace, eustass kid, donquixote doflamingo,

anyone i didn't add, this can also apply if you want it to but these were the characters that came to mind for me :)

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ciaossu-imagines · 4 months ago

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I'm going to apologize so hard! C asked the following questions from the Fic Writing Meme and I mixed up the answers and had to delete the posts! Please find the corrected versions below and accept my apologies for the mess up.

Can you answer the ‘what are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.’ prompt – C

Oh my gosh, but I do think this is the absolute hardest question you sent in! It took me a lot of thinking about how to properly answer it and how to explain myself well. The honest answer is that I don’t properly know. For actual fics aside from little drabbles for the blog here and for my original writing, those are things that I write a first draft of and then later go and write a second draft for after rereading and editing here and there. During that first draft, I don’t think about themes, feelings, imagery, metaphors, anything at all along those lines. I’m just concentrating on getting the story out, finding the next bit of it, finding the ideas and the next perfect scene or bit of dialogue. I’m not thinking for a second about what imagery would work best, what the grand theme of the thing is, what tropes should be used. I’m writing focusing on just story. When I reread and then edit the story during that second draft, I’m focusing entirely on the readers. I’m looking purely for what will look best for the reader, what needs to be cut because it might bore the reader, what needs to be improved because the way it’s worded is confusing, what needs to be added to make things more exciting or emotional for the reader. Because of that, I next to never stop and think if there’s a grand theme, if I need more metaphors, etc., etc. So I don’t know if there’s common themes or imagery that appear often within my stories/fics/drabbles. I will say the only thing I can find in common across all my writing is that I do focus a lot on character feeling. I think it’s very important, while writing, to be able to give the readers proper insight into a character’s emotions, worldview, and thought processes whenever possible.

Who are your favourite characters to write?

Oh, this is another really hard one. I think I’ve said it a couple times, but the answer to this one is constantly changing around, always mutating. I get captured by different characters all the time and I don’t normally have any favourite characters that are all the time, never-ending characters that I enjoy writing for, without any other character taking their place, even for a brief time. So, this is the current list of my current favourites for each of my fandoms:

In 07-Ghost, it’s currently Hyuuga or Frau. In A3!, it’s currently Homare and Omi. In Black Cat, it’s currently Jenos. In Black Clover, it’s currently a tie between Fuegoleon and Gordon. In Bleach, it’s currently Kenpachi and Ikkaku. In Blue Lock, it’s Ego. In Boku no Hero Academia, it’s currently Mirio and Tamaki. In Bungou Stray Dogs, it’s currently Kunikida.

In Class of the Titans, it’s currently Odie. In Deadman Wonderland, it’s currently Ganta. In Demon Slayer, it’s currently Zenitsu. In Durarara, it’s currently Kadota. In Eyeshield 21, it’s currently Kid. In Fairy Tail, it’s currently Bickslow. In Gangsta., it’s currently Hausen. In GetBackers, it’s currently Ban. In Golden Kamuy, it’s currently Ogata.

In Haikyuu, it’s currently Asahi. In High Card, it’s currently Wendy. In Hunter x Hunter, it’s currently Phinks. In Ikemen Revolution, it’s currently Kyle. In Karneval, it’s currently Gareki. In Katekyo Hitman Reborn, it’s currently a tie between Shamal, Ken, and Basil. In Kekkaishi, it’s currently Masamori. In K Project, it’s currently a tie between Eric and Enomoto. In Kuroko no Basuke, it’s currently Kise.

In Magi, it’s currently Sinbad. In Mashle, it’s currently Dot. In Mob, it’s currently Shigeo. In Mystic Messenger, it’s currently Jaehee. In Nanbaka, it’s currently Nico. In Naruto, it’s currently Kakashi. In One Piece, it’s currently Killer. In One Punch Man, it’s currently King. In Ouran High School Host Club, it’s currently Honey. In Jungle Fury, it’s currently Casey.

In Ronin Warriors, it’s currently Cye. In Saiyuki, it’s currently Tenpou. In Servamp, it’s currently Sakuya. In Soul Eater, it’s currently Black Star. In The Covenant, it’s currently Reid. In The Royal Tutor, it’s currently Heine. In The Vampire Dies in No Time!, it’s currently Draluc. In Tokyo Revengers, it’s currently Mikey. In Wind Breaker, it’s currently Kusumi. In Welcome to Demon School, Iruma-kun!, it’s currently Purson. In Yowamushi Pedal, it’s currently Arakita.

#replies #admin chatter #admin's thoughts on writing #writing talk

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kirtokyo · 4 years ago

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hii <33 may i request feitan, shizuku, n phinks w a black s/o who is naturally curved? like people stay hitting on them 😮 i hope you understand! mwah thanks in advance <33

【 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐘 𝐒/𝐎 】 - dni !

❐ pairings Feitan, Shizuku, Phinks x black!curvy!reader

❐ genre - sfw

❐ format - headcanons

!! warnings - catcalling, unwanted attention, mention people acting perverted towards reader, cursing, mention of violence, specific body image

𝗙𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗻

Honestly doesn’t think that much of it but he does notice your curves though

Feitan doesn’t make a big deal out of it but does tend to be a bit more handsy with a curvy s/o

But he for sure isn’t perverted

With your body type he knows that clothes will fit different on you

It’s not like you have any control over that, and even if you did, that doesn’t give whoever the right be a asshole

It really frustrates him when people catcall you.

You’re his treasure so when someone or something puts you out of your comfort zone he’s quick to put a stop to it

He’ll ask them to repeat themselves. Not because he didn’t hear them, but because he wants them to know how much of a dick he sounds

And if he repeats it then… 😶

Feitan will violently kick the mf in the stomach. Well there goes his lunch ig

Then walks away with his hand in yours like nothing happened

He will think about it later that day though, how it didn’t have much effect on you because it happens so often

And that really upsets him

𝗦𝗵𝗶𝘇𝘂𝗸𝘂

She can relate to a lot of your struggles

Buying clothes can be hard sometimes

Such as the waist of your pants not fitting right, stuff fitting tight in some areas and loose in the others

Jeans REFUSING to go past your thighs and butt

Don’t forget about the ripped pant loops

Also can relate to people hitting on her often. And because she has a small frame, people think that she’s weak and they won’t suffer a consequence from her

When people hit on her she acts like she doesn’t hear them but she does, but gets physical if she obviously needs too

But when it comes to you, all of a sudden Shizuku can hear every single word someone whispered a mile away

Shizuku is a pretty laid back and chill person so she doesn’t often make a big deal out of things and she handles it with ease

The first few times she witnesses it happen to you she asks if you’re okay but once she realizes that it’s something that often occurs you see a completely different side of her

She single handedly brings that man down to his knees and you’ll think he didn’t have limbs to start with when she was finished with him

Them y’all flee the scene and get ice cream 😋

𝗣𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀

You had him taking double takes when he first saw you lmao

Likes to go shopping with you!!

Thinks that he has the best fashion so he helps pick you out some shoes

His favorite pants on you is bell bottoms for obvious reasons

Assists you when you need help pulling up them jeans 😩

As far as people hitting on you it’s rather… chaotic

As soon as you hear him crack his knuckles you know what’s gonna happen

He drinks his respect woman juice

Hates that you have to go through this so often and he can’t do much about it

Sure he can send a mean glare their way but there will be some bold ones who just don’t care

He’ll do gestures like holding your hand, putting a arm around your your back or head, and otter innocent things if you’re comfortable doing that in public

He wants the guy to properly apologize to you 😗 as he should

And if he won’t then that’s another punch, says it nonchalantly that’s a punch, says it a way he doesn’t like? BOP BOP!

Kinda embarrassing cause you’re just standing there like 🧍🏾‍♀️

Walks away with you with his chest puffed out

《 @crushsoli

Like and reblog !

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thatwasntverycashmoneyofme · 2 years ago

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—𝗉𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌

`𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴? 𝘪 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴’

♧↝𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 ♤↝𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 ♡↝𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ♢↝𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄

…𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗏𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗎𝖾 𝗅𝗎𝗏💙

#phinks masterlist #phinks x black!reader #phinks x black fem!reader

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the-queen-of-sorrows · 5 months ago

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The Ache Of Being Yours - Part II

Phinks x Reader || Soulmate!AU || Shared Nervous System, Aches and Pains

|| Words: 13.7k || 18+ ONLY || Cross-posted on AO3 || Warnings: Smut

Part I

Later in the week, you sat on the patio of a cafe near your hotel, a small espresso cup in your hand, your phone in the other and a half-eaten croissant at your side. The day was warm, your neck slightly damp from the beating sun and your attire.

You wore a white halter-top, something you never usually did because it showed too much of your scars, but with black dress pants and bright red gloved ending just shy of your shoulders, you hadn’t minded. At least, all the materials you wore were breathable and light.

In the five days since the Phantom Troupe had attacked the auction, you hadn’t heard anything from your soulmate.

You kept an eye on the situation via your network, paying close attention to the bounty placed on several of the Troupe members—somehow, Phinks hadn’t been flagged and his identity continued to remain a secret.

So far, no one claimed a bounty, yet the trail of bodies left in the wake of their attempted capture continued to grow. The Shadow Beasts were completely wiped out in the first night as were hundreds of mafia members, ranked high and low on the food chain as well as countless hunters… all of which clearly overestimated their power and skill.

And, from what you could tell, the Troupe continued on as if nothing happened, not having suffered a scratch from the whole thing.

Phinks, despite the deal you made, hadn’t reached out to you nor made any attempts to contact you.

Sure, you did not provide a way for him to reach you. But neither did he ask for one.

And you figured, if he really set his mind to it, the bastard would find a way back to you. You hadn’t moved; you stayed in York New, keeping tabs on the twin’s effort in Amherst while working on your end, never wandering too far from your hotel.

You would give it until Tuesday, once you’d been here a week, then you’d pack up and be on your way. Time was of the essence, your client furious that the auction fumbled the ball so hard the most precious of items were stolen, including the King Thesh tablet, or so people believed.

The chair across from you scraped on the stone patio slabs, and you didn’t even have to look up to know who’d taken the seat, his strong cologne and tracksuit an instant giveaway.

“Do you have it?” You asked plainly, pushing your round sunglasses up your nose, putting away your phone. You knew the answer to your question before he even got the chance to reply.

A select few items at the auction, those of highest value had, unbeknownst to everyone, been kept far away from the venue in the wake of gossip. Whoever told the organisers of the very real threat behind the rumours floating around had managed to convince them to take some rather drastic precautions, especially when it came to certain artifacts, and the tablet had been one of them.

The Phantom Troupe never got to get their hands on it.

It would be put up for auction tomorrow night.

He leaned forward, clearing his throat, his scent tickling your nose and fogging your brain. “No, but—”

“—Then we’re done here.” You cut in, not wasting time in getting to your feet.

While he sputtered, frantically trying to get his bearings, you ignored him, dumping a few jennies on the table and gathering your things, brushing past him to get back to the hotel.

“W-Wait!” He called, his fingers missing you by a hair as you said goodbye to your server and joined the throng of people crowding the street in the late morning.

You continued to ignore him, not interested in what he could possibly tell you now that he’d broken his end of the deal.

“Wait!” And then he said something that made your blood run cold...

He called your name.

“I said wait!”

You spun around, gapping at him, not even trying to hide your shock.

You never gave him your name, neither of the twins called you by your name, neither did Covyn… so how did he know?

Brows knitting together, it was your turn to flounder as you asked; “How?”

The both of you stood in the middle of the crowd, no more than an arm’s length separating you, people grumbling as you blocked their way. In any other circumstances you would care, you would notice that you were bothering people. But now, your entire focus, your entire world, revolved around this man.

Phinks scratched the back of his neck, shrugging. “You’re a hunter, right? That much we were able to gather from the way you were talking.”

“I’m not on the Hunter directory.” It wasn’t that far off a stretch to believe he had put two-and-two together regarding your profession. Sure, you didn’t advertise it, but it was subtle for the right people to notice.

“I know, but you mentioned the name Callaway, the old man with you that night, and he’s on it.”

You raised a brow, “And?”

“And there wasn’t much about him, from what we could find, but we managed to dig up an article about him, and you’re in it. Your face, your name… it was all there. It mentioned that you’ve been his protégé since you were a kid.”

Cursing under your breath, you wiped your face, annoyed that both you and Covyn had let something like this slip through the cracks.

No matter.

Back in your hotel room, you’d scrub that article from the internet and then make sure no trace of you remained, only the name of your company.

You hummed. “Well, thanks for letting me know. I’ll make sure to remove it.” Then you turned on your heels and waved him off dismissively. “Now, I’ll be off. Have a good life, soulmate, and please don’t get me killed.”

“Dammit woman.”

He caught up to you in a matter of seconds, but you were ready this time. As soon as you felt his fingers brush up against the tulle fabric of your glove, you pulled away, borderline hissing at him.

Phinks, obviously, did not appreciate being brushed off nor your attitude, and in a blur, you found yourself dragged into a nearby alley and flung against the wall, your sunglasses and purse flying somewhere off in the distance. Your head ricocheted off the wall so hard your vision went white, the air knocked out of your lungs. When you made to tell him off, he slammed his fist on either side of your face, the wall caving in with his strength. “You really, and I mean really, need to fucking stop walking away from me.”

Shaking the dizziness clouding your brain, you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the slight bloodlust oozing out of him. “And you need to stop pinning me against walls,” you grumbled in return, not at all in the mood for his tantrum. “It’s not my fault you broke your end of the deal. No tablet, no conversation. Now let me go.”

His fingers sunk into the wall even more. As he balled his fists, dust fell over your shoulders and down to the dirty, filthy ground.

“No.” His voice was low, raspy, angry, eyes revealing the cracks in his demeanor. They bored into you, straight through your heart and into your soul; your breath hitching as the yellow-green of his eyes darkened. “I’m fucking done with your bullshit. You’re going to listen to what I have to say, whether you want to or not.”

“I’ll scream.” It was the first thing your brain thought to say that might persuade him to stop. You couldn’t remove him from you physically and even if you did manage to free yourself, Phinks would catch up to you in no time.

Your words amused him. A chuckle from deep in his gut rumbled to the surface; the sound so foreign, coming from him, yet it gave you chills.

He lowered into your space, his face dragging the side of yours; nose running across your cheek and landing at the bottom of your jaw where he inhaled deeply. With his own, he pushed your face to look at the mouth of the alley, where people passed by without noticing your situation or simply not caring enough to meddle, too busy in their own worlds.

“Do it,” he egged on, breath ghosting over the column of your throat. “I dare you.”

His eyes shown with something sinister, lips curled into an irritatingly cocky smirk.

“You can scream all you want,” added Phinks, bloodlust spiking, “I want you too. But you won’t do that, will you?” His hand lowered, thumb dragging up to meet your pulse, the timbre of his voice both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. “Because you know that if any of these cockroaches are dumb enough to stick their nose in our business, I’ll break their fucking necks. And in the end, you’ll be no better off than you are now. I’ll be pissed, and you’ll have killed some poor, innocent bystander for no good reason.”

Your eyes met, fire clashing with fire, and you couldn’t help but snarl.

Phinks was right.

You knew Phinks was right, and you hated that he knew that you knew that the bastard held no qualms about burning this whole city down if it meant he got what he wanted in the end. That much you’d seen in the last few days.

Still, it pissed you off that even at your strongest—at your best, there wasn’t a chance in hell that you’d best him in any kind of fight.

In the end, with his bloodlust making you dizzy and the fact that you really were trapped here, you resulted in sulking. Arms crossed over your chest, you huffed petulantly like a child, casting your head to the side to save you the pain of having to peer at his smug face.

When Phinks didn’t automatically start rambling on about whatever he’d wanted to tell you—choosing instead to stare at your profile—you rolled your eyes and sighed. “Well?” you gritted under your breath. “C’mon then, spit it out. I don’t have all fucking day.”

Either your reluctant compliance or your attitude pulled a chuckle out of him, his bloodlust dispersing and ebbing away into the wind. “Feitan was right…” Phinks muttered absentmindedly, letting his palm stretch over the side of your face, twirling a piece of your hair that had untucked from the scarf around your head between his deft fingers. “You’re feisty.”

You smacked his hand away, using a little more force than necessary, the smirk on his lips broadening.

The sight of him enjoying this irked you.

Then, neither of you said a word and silence settled, the heaviness behind your past and the conversation you had prior weighing the mood down. The atmosphere around Phinks shifted too, his amusement, his bloodlust, all gone; replaced by the same seriousness you saw when you first encountered him at the auction hall.

He took this seriously, you noted, and it frightened you how much he did.

A man like Phinks… it didn’t make sense for him to show any kind of care towards you, about what you’ve been through and what he did. It seemed, at least, from your point of view, completely out of character.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

“I had a shit life.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes since you already knew that. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. But since you doubted Phinks was the type to divulge anything personal about himself, ever, to anyone, you let him. “But you already knew that, though.”

Nodding, you took a chanced glance back at your soulmate, surprised to see him staring at you with a mask of complete indifference. “It was hard to miss…”

“Yeah, well… with the kind of life I had, it’s easy to see how I’d assume my soulmate was dead.”

You frowned, turning to face him fully. “… What?”

“You said it yourself, right? I almost killed you ten times over and then some. I…” he sighed, suddenly not able to look at you in the eye. “You know, I never had anything in life, and I never wanted anything either. Still don’t.” Flicking back up to meet your gaze, his eyes bored into yours, hardened by the countless tribulations he was forced to face. “But you… I had you. You were the only thing that was ever mine, that I wanted to have. I didn’t care about fuck-all other than you. You were a quiet soulmate, and I was ok with that because at least you were with me.”

He glanced up at your forehead, hand slowly stroking up the side of your face, his thumb ghosting over the small scar there. It poked out slightly into view and disappeared into your hairline—into his hairline. The same healed wound splayed across his forehead.

“This,” he tapped it, “was the first thing you ever gave me.”

“I was five.” The words came out before you could stop yourself, breath catching in your throat when your gaze met again. “During recess in kindergarten,” you continued, breathless, “I ran into a wooden structure, hard, and hit my head pretty bad.”

“It pissed a lot of blood.”

Your lips twitched into a smile. “I remember… scared the shit out of me.”

“Made me happy.” You gaped at his admission, mouth parting, having not expected it. “First sign I ever got that I had a soulmate. Everybody else, they see in black and white or have names, marks, timers, something, but I never had shit. So I thought, on top of everything else, that I didn’t have a soulmate. Turns out all I had to do was wait a little while for you to grow up and get a semi-conscious.”

You opened your mouth to lay into him, anger bubbling inside, knowing that he chose to continue to be reckless despite knowing you were on the other side of the connection, not caring about how it would affect you, but then decided against it…

You didn’t care about what he had to say…

Remember?

“Made me happy every time you gave me any little sign of life. The forehead, your knee, bruises, scrapes… They weren’t much, but they were there.” He dropped the hand on your forehead to cup your face, his eyes running all over your features as if to take every inch of you in. “Until they weren’t.”

That made your brows knit together. “What do you mean?” you muttered. “I got injured a lot, all the time, especially when I got older.”

Phinks pulled away altogether. “You said the first time I almost killed you, you got a lung punctured from some broken ribs, right?” You nodded. “I remember that day, I remember ‘cause it was the first time I almost died too. I should have died, you should’ve died—I… I thought that incident killed you.”

“Well,” you gritted. “I didn’t.”

“I can see that… but you should have. You were a kid, probably weak and defenceless, but I wasn’t. I’d started building myself up by then, could beat the shit out of men in their prime, already knew the basics of nen so it made sense that I’d survive but you…” Phinks inhaled deeply, then exhaled, hard, shaking his head. “I thought you were dead.”

Your gut twisted, heart fluttering, your brain slowly wrapping itself around what he tried to explain.

“It fucking broke me, you know? Only time I remember feeling like that was when I woke up the next day, exhausted and hurting, knowing I had gotten you killed. You were the one thing that belonged to me, that I wanted more than anything and I’d ruined it.” The ridge of his brow bone furrowed, his eyes glassing over as his thoughts went somewhere else. “You have no idea how much that broke me. Losing your soulmate, even for people like me—for us in the Troupe—it’s… it’s the one thing that none of us can stand, the one thing that can hurt us, break us.”

You blinked, lashes fluttering as you were suddenly hit with a wave of understanding. He thought you had died that day, which, to be honest, you should have had it not be for extenuating circumstances. Living a few minutes from the hospital; your father being an ER nurse and having already dealt with injuries like yours before… they were the reasons why the paramedics arrived in time to stabilize you long enough to haul your ass in surgery. But Phinks didn’t know that; he assumed correctly, for all intent purposes, then lived his life accordingly.

“I thought you were dead, so I… I said fuck it and stopped giving a shit. The goal wasn’t to find you anymore, it was just to survive and fuck up as much shit as I could in the process. I didn’t know you were alive when I broke something or when I got stabbed or when I got shot. I—I didn’t know and if I had…” Your name slipped from his lips, so softly, so sweetly you nearly choked on a sob, your vision going blurry. You cursed under your breath, hating how this was the second time you felt the need to cry around your soulmate. He said your name again when you refused to meet his gaze, and this time you looked up to find captivating eyes watching you with something akin to fondness. “If I had known you were still alive, I never would have made us go through half the shit we did.”

Sniffling, you wiped the bottom of your nose with a trembling hand. “There’s just one thing I don’t get…” you croaked, clearing your throat. “I was initiated to nen the hard way, long after that day, so you must have felt it. And… And once I did, I trained a lot, got hurt a lot—it doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know either, never looked into it. Probably has to do with the both of us using nen or me going numb long before that. ‘Cause I promise you, I didn’t get anything from you after that.” He snorted, looking at the sky for a brief moment, the faintest of smirks curling at the corner of his lips. “Until… well, until you decided to butcher my leg.”

You went to reply, when a third voice entered the fold.

“Is everything alright here?”

The two of you snapped your attention to the mouth of the alley, the air shattering, gawking at an old, tiny woman taking a step towards you, her eyes scrutinizing the scene before her.

It had to look suspicious, no doubt about it . You, pinned to the wall, body caged in by a man who screamed criminal, your face blotchy from unwanted emotions and skin flushed from your soulmate’s proximity.

“Oh no, ma’am…” Immediately, Phinks’s threat from before moved at the forefront of your mind and you wasted no time going into diffuse mode, the faint bloodlust seeping once again out of your soulmate not helping. You took a step towards the old woman, smiling softly, “We uh… we’re sort of talking through some things but we’re fine. Everything’s ok here.”

She bent to the side, peering at Phinks and lips pursed, brow raised incredulously. Humming skeptically, she narrowed her eyes at you and pointed her cane at your soulmate. “He bothering you?”

“N-No—”

“—I’ve seen pretty girls like you get caught up with thugs like him before. Best leave them alone dear.”

His bloodlust expanded, soured, encircling your limbs. You feared he’d snap and kill her and then you’d have to deal with the mess, your conversation coming to an end. “Now listen here you old hag—”

You cut him off before he could say something that would just make the situation worse. “—He’s my soulmate, ma’am.” Saying the word out loud felt odd on your tongue, but you couldn’t say you hated it. “We’ve been through a lot, you see, and we’re sorting things out.”

Unconvinced still, the woman took a second to take in the both of you, finishing by settling her steel gaze back to you. “Very well…” she drawled, “but just know, young man, that I’ll be watching. I may be some old hag, but I’m still sprung for my age.” Then she wagged her cane at him, pointing it at his crotch. “And don’t think I don’t know how to use this. I’ll shove it where the sun don’t shine if need be.”

You grinned, utterly amused by the woman’s bold threat. And clearly, so did Phinks, because in an instance, his bloodlust was gone.

“Whatever lady, leave us alone.”

She huffed indignantly, tilting her chin in the air. But she did listen, turning on her heels to walk out back on to the sidewalk. Just as she was about to walk away from view, she cast her head back towards you. “You can do a lot better, honey. Stay safe.”

With that, just as Phinks took a breath to fight back, she disappeared, leaving the two of you, once again, alone.

Suddenly, staying in a dank, smelly alley didn’t hold as much as an appeal anymore.

You sighed, deflating from the heated conversation with Phinks and the stress from the interaction with the old lady, then turned around. You shrugged passed your soulmate, his focus right back to you.

Plucking your purse and sunglasses from the ground, you motioned to him to follow you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

You craned your neck in his direction, brow raised, motioning towards the street. “I said c’mon.”

His eyes widened. “You… you still want to talk?”

“Well…” you muttered under your breath, the self-hate in your gut brewing up a storm. Fuck, you hated being so weak. “We aren’t done yet, are we?” He nodded vigorously and you huffed at his child-like excitement, trying to hide a smile. “Then let’s go finish this conversation someplace that doesn’t smell like an armpit.”

You didn’t wait to hear his reply, walking out of the alley and back on to the sidewalk, heels clicking on the pavement.

Predictably, Phinks materialised by your side, his body almost pressed against yours as he followed you.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“My hotel room.” You replied, plucking your phone out of your pocket to check your mail. Just before Phinks arrived, you’d been reading over Roman’s rapport. It looked like they may have gotten through the collector after all. So even if you didn’t get the tablet, you now had a chance of getting your hands on scrolls from his time period. From the corner of your eye, you saw your soulmate stiffen, and before his mind wandered off to explicit territory, you elaborated. “There are things I have to do.”

It was weird… strolling around the city with your soulmate; like you were both two ordinary individuals, like neither of you were a part of a world much larger than those around you could ever fathom. And it was weird that after everything that happened, you were able to shove the remanence of your feelings down your throat to hear him out so damn easily.

Covyn had been right about the unyielding connections soulmates possessed.

At the intersection right before your hotel, you broke the comfortable silence as you waited for the light to turn green, not even attempting to hide your amusement. With your nen always activated, you could spot if someone tailed you effortlessly. “She’s actually still following us.”

Phinks let out an exasperated sigh, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, not at all surprised with your statement. “I got to give it to that old, dried-up prune, at least she’s persistent. Or maybe she just has a death wish.”

You snorted, grin broadening. “Looks like you and grandma have a lot in common.”

Phinks peered down at you, brow ridge knitted in a scowl, mouth opened and at the ready to say something. But then the light turned green, you walked away, and he was forced to shove down his comment down his throat to follow you.

He didn’t say anything as you entered the lobby of your hotel, nor for the entire duration of the elevator ride. And Phinks went with the flow of things even as you opened your room, watching you keenly as you entered and went about your business.

Like clockwork, you removed your shoes first and foremost, sighing contentedly once your feet met the cool floor tiles; then you dumped your purse along with your glasses on the vanity. Phinks continued to watch you from his place near the bed as you removed the scarf from your head, letting your coiffed hair go free.

You thumbed at your gloves, wondering for a brief second if you should remove them or not…

What a dumb thing to worry about.

Phinks knew about all the scars you had or could possibly have since he sported the same ones. There was no need to feel self conscious about them and frankly, you doubted he even cared.

You slipped a glove off, then the other, laying them down on the back of the chair before turning to face your soulmate, only to find him right in your space, frowning deeply as he took in the state of your skin.

His reaction made you swallow, made you regret taking your gloves off.

Did he find you disgusting?

A chill ran up your spine as Phinks took your hands in his, dragging his thumb over the surgical scars, the minute, fine-lined scars on top of each digit. He seemed deep in his own thoughts as he ventured upwards, stopping at each mole, each divot on your skin, each mark left behind by one of his violent kerfuffle over the span of eight, aggravatingly long years.

You welcomed the heat of his skin on yours, watching softly with baited breaths as he took every inch of you in, hands slowly ghosting up and up and up.

Then he stopped on your shoulder, right above the crease, where a single bullet scar poked out of your top. Brushing the fabric aside, Phinks uncovered another bullet wound further to the right, his gaze narrowing at the undamaged skin an inch or two below.

“There’s one missing.” He pressed his finger, nail digging in the meat of your flesh. You raised a brow in silent question, his gaze flickering up, then back below. “There’s one missing.” Repeated Phinks. “Should be three.”

“I probably learned how to use nen by the time you got shot in the shoulder a third time.”

“It left no trace, huh? The perks of being an Enhancer…”

A grin spread across your lips; brow quirked. “Who says I’m an Enhancer?”

The yellow-greenish hue of his irises eyed you incredulously. “I—I thought you were. A weak one, but still…”

You tried not to take offence at his comment, snorting. “First, I’ve never used my full Enhancer power on you, so fuck you very much. And second, I have a dual affinity. I’m actually a Transmuter-Enhancer; Transmuter being my primary affinity.”

“Really?”

Nodding, you glanced at where his finger continued to trace patterns around the bullet scars, goosebumps flaring to life in their wake. “I created my Hatsu with something specific in mind, so it holds no offensive or defensive power. We decided, after I nearly got my ass handed to me, that I should start building up an Enhancer arsenal for me to use, just in case. And what was supposed to take a while to learn took no time at all. Getting my skills to its full eighty percent took just as little time as it did to learn my Transmuter technique… that’s when Mister Callaway and I put two-and-two together.”

“And what it is, your Hatsu? I’m guessing it has something to do with healing?”

You placed your hand on his chest, pushing him away ever-so-slightly, mouth salivating when you felt the solid wall of his chest. “Take off your jacket.”

He sputtered, “Wh-What?”

“Take off your jacket.” You repeated, bending down to lift your pant leg, revealing the hunting knife you always kept strapped to your calf. “Unless you want to get blood all over it. You decide.”

Strengthening, the air was suddenly knocked out of your lungs as Phinks shrugged off the jacket of his tracksuit, his chest barely contained in the tight, dark grey tank he wore. The jacket really did him no justice, keeping the bulging, rippling muscles of his arms hidden. And his chest, fuck, his chest… broad and seemingly carved out of marble by Michelangelo himself, chiseled to perfection and so incredibly inviting.

You wanted to sink your teeth into him.

The thought made you shudder, heart skipping a beat.

You shook that thought out of your mind, grateful that he hadn’t paid attention long enough to catch you basically drooling over his body like a pervert.

Once Phinks faced you, you stopped the flow of nen enshrouding your body—ignoring the dull throb in your ankle—and extended your arm for him to see and with the other, raised the knife to your forearm.

Without blinking, you plunged the knife deep into your skin, a sea of blood pouring out of not only your wound, but the one that appeared on Phinks simultaneously, the floor bathed in crimson at your feet.

If there was ever a doubt in your mind that Phinks wasn’t your soulmate, that morsel of doubt vanished upon your act of self infliction.

Not wanting to waste much time, you activated Master of Puppets, breathing a sigh of relief once the pair of skeleton hands hovered above your head, the iridescent threads dangling from its fingers plunging into your wound and immediately setting to work. “Fix him too, please.”

Phinks observed, entranced, as the silk penetrated his own wound. Not a word spoken while your Hatsu did its job.

“It shouldn’t take more than a minute.” You explained after a beat, shaking the blood from your arm.

“This explains a lot, actually.”

You hummed. “Master of Puppets saved my life, haven’t gotten a single scar since I created it.” Just as you’d finish speaking, your Hatsu finished up with you and then with Phinks and you both watched as it took a bow, waving goodbye as you disactivated it.

“Except that one.” Your soulmate walked up right back into your space, his body pressed practically on your own; your faces so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him in waves, his breath fanning your skin. His hand, this time, splayed across your chest, right in the space where your cleavage opened up to your sternum. The large scar you’d gotten at fifteen, though faded and shrunken with time, was still slightly visible. It poked out from between your breasts—crossing with a pre-existing scar from heart surgery—reaching up to curl right below your collarbone.

He traced the scar, and you let him, heart beating in your throat, his eyes examining your skin with extreme diligence.

“Yeah…” you gulped. “Except that one.”

You noted, strangely enough, that he also had it, even though he shouldn’t. The two of you shared a nervous system. And while yes, whatever wound either of you received appeared and was felt by the other, you still had semi-control over how it healed. That’s why you had two bullet wounds instead of three like Phinks did. That’s why you were covered in scars that he didn’t have…

However, it made no sense that he would also have the giant scar from your abdomen to your collarbone.

Yet, here you stood corrected.

“Why?” He asked. A perfectly reasonable inquiry to have.

“For my Hatsu to work as flawlessly as it does, as quick and efficiently as it does… I had to give it strict rules to follow. One of them being that the larger, more fatal the wound, the less time I have available to activate it.”

“You didn’t activate it in time then?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t, no. By the time I learned nen and moved on to creating my Hatsu, you’d calmed down, significantly, so I never got to really test the limits of Master of Puppets. That is, until you decided to get yourself gutted.” Reaching across, your own hand pressed on his chest—over his heart. A tingle spread at the bottom of your spine as you felt the scar over the fabric of his tank; his heart beating steadily, matching the pace of yours. You sighed wistfully, shaking your head as you remembered that day. “To be fair, it’s my own fault.”

Phinks frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I got complacent.” When he raised a brow in question, you elaborated, “Like I said, you stopped getting major, severe, life-threatening injuries; so when I got a gunshot wound out of the blue, or a stab wound, or I got my bones broken from feeling like my soul was being punched out of body, I wouldn’t panic or think much of it because I’d gotten so used to it. I’d forgotten what it was like to be scared of dying… Until this.”

Scoffing, you still couldn’t believe you’d allowed yourself to get comfortable, to forget… Covyn gave you an earful as soon as you stopped sulking and being a general moody teenager.

You learned a valuable lesson that day.

Never… never, you decided, would you forget the unwanted pain forced on you.

“By the time I regained enough consciousness to activate my Hatsu, it was too late.” You continued, explaining. “Just in time to heal the internal damage, but too late to stitch me back up without leaving a trace.”

Phinks nodded in understanding, his fingers ghosting a trail from the top of your scar to where it disappeared between your breasts. They lingered there and had he been anyone else, you would have smacked him for touching you—or trying too, at least—in a private place. He seemed genuinely mystified by the scar, by the soft skin, by the swell of your breast poking from between the fabric.

“Sounds like what happened with me.” He muttered, managing, somehow, to step even closer to you. His voice lowered several octaves, face slotting against yours. “I fought someone a lot fucking stronger than me, and it gave me one hell of a reality check. I thought I’d become invincible…” You both snorted at the same time, a smirk curling at your lips when your eyes finally met again. “I fucked up my end of the job and by the time the nen user in the Troupe who’s got a Hatsu similar to yours found me…”

“It was too late.” You whispered; eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his leg parting yours apart, his lips grazing your jaw. No part of you understood how the atmosphere shifted so suddenly, why Phinks chose to push his luck and why you’d obviously thrown caution to the wind and accepted that you wanted it too.

The conversation wasn’t supposed to lead to this.

It wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

But then your heart leapt in your throat every time he stepped up to you; your stomach clenched, fluttered uncontrollably when his gaze peered into yours. His voice, which did not entirely match his rough, brooding exterior was like music to your ears. And his touch… no matter how forceful or invasive or inappropriate ignited your skin on fire, made you shiver with a fierce desire you never knew you had in you.

You hated it.

You hated it all.

Humming, Phinks moved his other hand, lowering it until it settled on your hip. He didn’t stay there too long, moving south until his fingers skimmed the hem of your shirt.

Without warning, he slipped his hand under, tearing a gasp from your lips, making your brain go dizzy for a second.

Strangely enough, Phinks didn’t acknowledge the reaction he effortlessly pulled out of you, choosing instead to focus on the tail end of your—now nearly fully exposed—scar. A sigh fanned your cheek as he observed it, heaving in tandem with your breathing.

“If I had known…” he mumbled under his breath, not to you, per se, but mostly to himself. “You were dead… you were supposed to be dead, so I didn’t know—I should’ve realised.”

You were hit, air knocked out of your lungs, by the sincerity behind his words and the storm brewing in his mind. As if his brain, now that Phinks finally got a decent look at you, fully took in the damage—the severe damage he’d unknowingly caused you. “Phinks, it’s—”

“—I never wanted this. I never wanted you to suffer.” He stared at you then, gaze set into stone. Fierce and hard and penetrating, imploring you to see the truth. “Not as much as you did, anyway.”

It took a few tries to swallow the lump clogging your throat, heart beating wildly as you were pinned between the console and his body, trying desperately not to cry.

You never knew how much you needed to hear those words and the raw, God-honesty in his eyes.

“I’m…” He gritted his teeth, struggling to get the next words out as his fingers sunk deeper in your skin. “I’m… I’m so—”

Groaning, Phinks looked like he was either about to explode or vomit, maybe both. He clearly never apologized in his life.

And you weren’t going to help him get the words out.

“Dammit woman, I’m… so—sor…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Poor guy couldn’t even look you in the eye, ears tinted pink in embarrassment, staring at the ground, begging it to swallow him whole.

A puffed-out, wet laugh burst out of your lungs before you could stop it, making Phinks snap a narrowed gaze back to you. The corners of your eyes crinkled as you grinned, positively amused. “You don’t apologize very often, do you?”

He didn’t appreciate your delight in his misery and chose to wipe the glee from your face with a simple motion. His grip found your hips and he pulled you flush to him, chests colliding and knocking your breath—and your smile—away.

This close, nose touching, and limbs intermingled, you saw—as clear as day in the now mostly yellow of his irises—the fondness, the pure unadulterated lust in his eye.

Your cunt throbbed.

“No… I don’t.” You trembled as his voice shot a bolt of electricity through your entire body, not even bothering to hide the effects he had on you. “You probably won’t ever hear me say it again, so listen closely when I tell you that I really am… sorry. And… And I—I’m going to make it up to you for the rest of my miserable fucking life. I can promise you that.”

You shouldn’t believe him.

You should push him off and tell him to fuck off. You should shout at him that he was full of shit and not even a lifetime of pay-back could fix the trauma you went through.

You should tell him that a mere ‘sorry’, sometimes, just wasn’t enough.

That he wasn’t enough.

But then you felt it.

A part of you, a part of you Master of Puppets could never reach, healed at that very moment.

That little girl, crying, begging for it to be over on that hospital roof all those years ago, not understanding why—why her!? finally got her answer, finally could rest at peace because now she knew.

It hadn’t been on purpose.

It hadn’t been done with malice or recklessness or selfishness or a gross lack of care…

It was done to you out of sorrow, out of misery for killing you, because you were taken away from him.

You pinched your lips, trying to suppress a smile as he threw the same words you said to him back at you.

“Even if you try to walk away from me again, and again,” Phinks added, head lowering just a fraction. “I’m gonna keep showing up. I’m gonna make sure you know I’m dead-fucking serious about this.”

“What if I never forgive you?” You countered, tilting your chin towards him, your lips ghosting over his.

One of his hands left your hips to tangle itself in your hair, gripping the back of your nape tight to keep you securely in place, lids heavy. He chuckled darkly, “Got a whole lifetime to wear you down…”

Then he smashed his lips to yours and time, life… it all lost meaning.

He kissed you with fever, with a kind of desperation so raw it went straight to your soul. His lips moved with every intent on sucking the air out of your lungs, to render you a breathless mess. That small piece of your soul you lost that day on the hospital roof returned to you, slotting deep in your heart and finally… after all this time, you felt whole again.

You let him grope and kiss you, melting against his touch, against the feel of his body moving in tandem with you.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, meeting very little resistance, pulling a whimper from your throat. You couldn’t breathe, mind going foggy as Phinks seemed intent on devouring you entirely.

And you didn’t care.

Not anymore.

You slipped your arms around his neck and tangled your fingers into his hair, pushing him against you even harder, flush. There could not be a single millimeter separating you both, no part of you could bare it. Your body, your mind, your soul wanted to be claimed by this man, by your soulmate, until there was nothing left.

You followed his lips as his body, his arms lowered slightly to cup the back of your thighs, a surprised gasp escaping from your throat as he picked you up effortlessly.

The man, without a doubt in your mind, probably could heave a car over his shoulder without breaking a sweat; yet it astonished all the same how easily he lifted you up, walking without ever breaking apart from you to the bed.

He threw you down, barely giving you a second to process things before grabbing your ankles and pulling you towards the edge, his body hovering slightly above yours.

You locked eyes, both of your chests heaving and lips swollen. He glanced at you with a fucked-out gaze, pupils blown wide with an almost deranged amount of lust.

Never looking away, Phinks slipped his hands at the waistband of your pants, tugging them off in one swift motion alongside with your panties, tossing them aside somewhere across the room. Hopefully not in the slowly drying blood still on the floor.

He sunk on his knees, curling his arms around your thighs, tugging until your sopping wet cunt met his face, his thumbs spreading your lips apart for him to admire.

Groaning, Phinks’s eyes rolled to the heavens, a low, wanton curse slipping out of his mouth. “Fucking look at you.” He muttered, breathless, dipping his face to your core, his nose pressing into your pubic bone to inhale your essence.

You wanted to be embarrassed, your cunt exposed and his eyes admiring every inch of you like you were the most precious, prettiest thing in the world… but you weren’t.

Every reaction Phinks naturally had to you simply existing turned you on in ways you never thought were possible. It made the once razor-edge wings of the butterflies in your gut soften, fluttering your inside and making you clench in anticipation.

They stole your breath away.

In his lust-filled delirium, you doubted Phinks even comprehended the words he spoke. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

You went to say something, but every thought you might possibly have left your mind the moment he licked a fat strip from your twitching, dripping hole all the way up to your throbbing clit with his warm tongue.

His lips latched on and you let out a broken, needy cry, back raising off the bed and toes curling.

“Holy shit, Phinks!”

He moaned, the vibration making you go dumb, hitting you straight in the stomach.

Phinks lapped at you like a man starved, like a man given his first few drops of water in days, his tongue drawing circles on your clit. If he didn’t lick at your cunt, he sucked your clit, teeth nipping at you, his fingers digging into your skin with a force that would leave bruises.

You’d been with others before, to scratch the itch and nothing more. But this… feeling Phinks part your folds with his tongue, pulling moan after moan, pathetic whines from you as easily as he could was unlike anything you ever felt before. You found yourself in utter bliss, not able to focus on anything other than his tongue wreaking havoc on your cunt; his fingers keeping you pressed against him, so close you doubted he could even breathe; each drag, each nip, each hard suck on your clit tightening the fast-widening knot in your gut.

You sunk your nails into his scalp, yanking at the roots of his hair to keep his face buried in your heat, trapping him further with your thighs, clamped hard and bracketing him in.

No part of you wanted this to end, chest heaving and sobbing, crying his name over-and-over like a mantra, your hips moving on their own as they ground over his face with a sort of desperation you didn’t know you possessed.

Despite keeping him as close to your cunt with as much strength as you could muster, Phinks managed to lift his head up enough to speak, pushing against your crushing thighs and the death-grip on his scalp.

At the loss of contact, the knot in your gut that he’d quickly built up flatlined before it could explode, you lifted up to peer down between your legs; a desperate, longing whimper echoing in the air.

Why did he stop?

You craved the feeling of him again, your orgasm just on the brink.

“Such a pretty pussy.” His face was covered in a thick layer of your slick and his spit; his tongue dragging across his lips, eyes rolling as he groaned. Managing to push your legs even further apart with his shoulder, he passed a thick, tan finger across your folds; losing himself in the feeling your wet, sinful warmth; mouth gaped in a silent, appreciative moan.

You mewled at the contact, lifting your hips to breach the distance Phinks put between you two. He held you down with a hand, unbothered, ignoring your silent plea in favour of admiring you further.

Then, just as you were about to bark at him to get moving, Phinks teased at your hole with two of his fingers and, without wasting another second, buried them deep into your cunt, making you cry out at the delicious, forceful stretch.

Swearing, Phinks lost himself in the sight before him, in awe at your juices coating his fingers as he pulled out.

Your gaze met his, and you forgot how to breathe, the fiery lust set ablaze in his eyes too pure, too raw for you to handle. No man had stared at you with this much want before, this much depravity, like a goddess sent from the heavens just for him, with something that you couldn’t quite believe for yourself just yet. And in return, you knew deep in your heart that your expression told him just the same. The want, the need, the desperation marred not only across your face but in the soft tendrils of your nen seeping out of your pores and your actions—chest heaving, entire body shaking, fingers itching to paw at him, a thin sheet of sweat pearling at your skin…

“Phinks…” You whined, hating the neediness in your voice as you called for him.

He made to stand, removing his tank top, his pants somehow off, his cock straining in his underwear. You wished you could have spent a little while longer admiring him, the chiseled muscles of his abdomen or his meaty pectorals, admire the scars and the freckles and the spider tattoo, admire his beauty… But he crawled on top of you, shielding himself from view; his face, coming to rest between your breasts, his lips placing hot, wet kisses on your dewy skin.

“You taste so fucking good…” He muttered, his fingers plunging back in you. You groaned, panting; his gaze narrowing at your reaction. He seemed to get off on every little sound he pulled out of you, working you loose enough to take him.

You grabbed the side of his face and pulled him to you. “Let me taste then.”

Phinks growled then kissed you, hard, barely allowing you the chance to breathe as he gave you exactly what you’d asked. You moaned at your taste on his tongue, muscles bristling as the wetness across his face smeared across your own.

None of this should excite you the way it did, affect you the way it did. But the way he touched you, worked you so easily, so dirty, so primal—so right you didn’t care about getting messy.

He set a steady, meticulous pace, concentrating on finding the right spot inside to bring you closer to the edge once more.

“Fuck…” you whimpered, breaking contact just enough to suck in a wisp of air, smacking your foreheads together.

“Fucking hell woman, I know… shit…”

You cried out into his mouth not a second later, eyes shut tight as his fingers pressed right against that spot inside that made you see stars, that made the walls of your cunt clamp down against him.

It was all over from there.

Now that Phinks finally found the place to make you squeal, he made sure to abuse it fully, ramming his fingers with a speed and precision that should be illegal; wet, sloppy sounds coming straight from your cunt. In the blink of an eye, you were pulled to the precipice, the coil in your gut tightening and tightening until no air could entire your lungs, his digits bending just right, the pads of his finger applying fierce pressure that made your mind go blank.

You clutched on to him for dear life as you cried loudly with pleasure.

“Don’t stop!” You squealed in between his kisses, so close to the edge you could taste it, gripping the back of his neck to press the two of you even closer together. “I’m gonna cum Phinks—Please don’t stop!”

“I know—Fuck.” He increased his speed, the sounds of you drenching his fingers music to his ears.

You sucked in a breath, chest rising to meet his as the knot readied to snap.

And just as you were about to cum, Phinks ripped his fingers out of you.

“You fucking bastard!” You practically wailed, sinking back into the mattress, sharpened nails digging into his scalp so deep you felt the pressure on your own.

Phinks chuckled darkly, lifting away from you.

You went to tear him a new one for denying you your release, when he did something that froze you still. He stuck his fingers—dripping with your slick—into his mouth, a groan rumbling from deep within his chest in appreciation. He took his time, properly cleaning each digit thoroughly as to not miss a single drop of you, to cherish your essence, commit it to memory, never once taking his eyes off you. “Taste so fucking good. Had to take a second appreciate it.”

“Fucking liar…” You breathe, tearing your gaze away, letting it travel lower and lower until it rested on his crotch.

His hand hardened, and slowly, he sliced the straps of your top then right down the middle, pushing the offending fabric aside to expose you fully for him to admire.

“Maybe.” he spoke, almost breathless; glancing, entranced, at the rise and fall of your breasts in tandem with your chest, then back to your eyes, a devilish smirk on his lips. “But as much as I want you to cum on my fingers, and as much I so fucking want you to cum on my face—which you most definitely will after this… first place you’re gonna cum, sweetheart,” Phinks pushed his briefs down and leaned back above you, features turning wicked, “is on my cock.”

Without warning, the fat tip of his cock bullied its way into you, forcing its way in one hard thrust; with no mercy, knocking the air out of your lungs. Your inside felt like they were being ripped apart, deliciously so, the stretch far beyond what his fingers provided.

Nothing could have ever prepared you for the feeling of your soulmate filling you so fully, or the immediate reaction of your body. Your back practically arched off the bed, your fingers finding purchase in the meat of his back; a shrill, almost volatile cry ringing into the open the moment the fat, weepy tip of his cock brushed against your walls, bullied against your cervix.

“Oh fuck…” His mouth dropped open; eyes scrunched tight as the feeling of your cunt suffocated his cock with its plushy warmth.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard any sweeter sound, seen a more beautiful sight than Phinks losing himself in the delirium of you. While he gave himself some time to regain a semblance of composure, you blinked heavy lashes up, heaving, your gut sinking at the sight, your cunt instinctively squeezing. That little squeeze brought him back to reality, his face teetering to peer down at you.

“…Phinks.”

He nodded, his hands reaching for the crease of your knees where he then proceeded to pin them to your chest, his thighs holding yours down in a flash. And without missing a beat, he pulled out, a whine slipping past your lips, only to slam back in with enough force to make you go blind.

You barely had time to react or think of much else as Phinks set a brutal pace, his hips smacking against yours again and again without abandon… with a desperation and need only you both could understand.

Air stuck to your throat; each breath knocked out of your lungs, and you swore, in that moment, that you saw the entire expanse of the universe behind your lids. You’d never felt this full in your life, so full that you couldn’t even remember your own name, so full that you forgot why you were ever angry with him in the first place.

You let yourself get lost in the feeling of your soulmate, of his heated skin caging you in—crushing you into the mattress so that you couldn’t escape… the wet, obscene sounds of the thick rim of cream coating his cock and dripping down his balls as they slapped against your ass and the deep groans rumbling deep within his chest, lulling you deeper and deeper into a type of bliss privy to so very few.

You clung onto him for dear life, your wanton cries of pleasure tickling the shell of his ear. His lips peppered kisses on the ridge of your jaw, dragged in the crook of your neck; teeth sinking in your shoulder to mark you as his, making your eyes roll in the back of your head.

“Fu—uck Phinks. Please.”

Grunting, Phinks somehow managed to pick up the pace even more, angling himself in a way that assured that each time his cock entered you, the head punched along your gummy walls, hitting that spongey spot inside of you that sent bolts of electricity up your spine, made your toes curl, tightened the knot in your gut. “I know—fuck I know.”

The pressure built quickly, in tandem with each snap of his hips, the coil in your stomach winding and winding until it grew painful; until your moans morphed into desperate, loud, needy whines; until your legs began to shake and for your hardened nails to dig into his skin, leaving harsh scratches across the planes of both your backs.

“That’s it.” Phinks snarled in the crook of your neck, one of his hands gripping the base of your skull, pressing you even more into him, the other wrapped around your neck, applying just enough force for your breaths to come out ragged, hollow. “Pussy feels so fucking good—could do this forever.”

You didn’t want this to end, “Y-Yes, please—Phinks. Don’t… don’t sto-op!”

He kissed you then, hard, crushing his lips over yours—all teeth and tongue—animalistic, primal, raw, as if trying to pour his convictions, his feelings, straight down your throat and directly into your soul. You returned the kiss with similar fever, your faces, bodies, molded together with every intent of fusing into one.

“Never.” Phinks muttered through sloppy kisses, biting at your bottom lip. “… Never—fuck!”

Your soul felt alive, raging with a fiery maelstrom you never knew could be possible.

All your life, you’d been told about the beauty behind soulmates and the indescribable bond shared between two people bound by fate… But no one had prepared you for this, for this feeling, for every missing piece within you—some you never knew you lacked—to slot easily into place.

Your heart pounded under your skin, your mind drowning further and further in ecstasy you once thought impossible. You buried your face into his neck, inhaling the sweet tang of his cologne mixing with his natural aroma, the combination delicious enough to make your eyes roll in the back of your head.

The sound of your moans mixing with his muffled curses and grunts made your gut clench painfully, sending you into your own downward spiral into madness, joining your soulmate who seemed to have long lost his battle with sanity… His fingers dug into your skin, his teeth nipped at you like a starved animal, his hips pistoning his cock into your core with reckless abandon.

And it was all too much.

A broken cry tore from your throat as every single one of your muscles trembled, clouded brain honing in on the rough sounds of his pleasure. And despite drowning, despite your mind fogging, you were anchored to reality solely by the salacious, sinful reverb of his balls slapping against your skin, by the squelching from your pleasured cunt, by the huffs of his breath cooling your molten skin.

You were so close, a shudder racking your chest. Phinks assaulted that tender spot inside of you relentlessly while his groin ground against your pulsing clit in a frantic rhythm.

Cursing, your fingers reached to bracket his neck, nails digging in his skin, whimpering like a bitch in heat. “I’m gonna cum.” You mewled, mouth dropping open when a particular snap of his hip stabbed the head of his cock directly in the centre of your womb, a sharp gasp punched out of your lungs. “Phink, I’m gonna cum.”

“I can tell—shit, your pussy’s trying to choke me.” He hissed, grunting as your cunt tightened like vice around his cock even more, sucking him deeper and deeper into your warmth, unwilling to let him escape. “C’mon. Cum for me sweetheart. I want to feel you drool all over my cock.”

You core fastened and fastened, the knot in your gut twisted, wound taut. That spark inside you ignited to life, looping from the tip of your toes and up your quivering legs, from the top of your head down to the heated skin of your face. The scintilla roared as it traveled across the expense of your wet skin, sweeping deep into your nerves, shooting hot and fast to meet in your centre, bubbling over and erupting the coil within you in a blinding kaleidoscopic orgasmic bliss.

With a shrill cry, your head fell back as you came, your vision going white; pleasure sizzling your skin, deep within the marrow of your bones and straight into your soul.

It seemed to last for an eternity, Phinks’s frantic movement stuttering as he too, neared his end, your pulsing, throbbing cunt suffocating him. His hips never once diverged from your pleasure point, dragging on your orgasm far beyond anything you could handle.

“Fuck yea.” Phinks hissed as your cunt spasmed furiously around him, gripping him in wanton desperation. Your legs convulsed over his shoulders, your wetness exploding and dribbling in between your two bodies in rivets, your voice no longer yours as your ability to breathe was knocked out of you.

“Oh my God,” you wept, a brutal shudder raking through your entire body. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

Then you felt it…

“Fuck… Fuck, fuck, fuck…” With his head cast back, Phinks grunted, teeth clenched like vice as he came, a series of gritted curses slipping passed his reddened, pillowy lips. His hips faltered as his body was overtaken by rigid tremors, his pulsing dick letting out rope after rope of heated spent in your warmth. He didn’t dare stop his movements, assuring that his balls emptied themselves completely into you, stuffing you to the brim.

And you never let go of him, not for a single second as you came down from your high; sweaty bodies pressed together, limbs intermingled, and lips locked.

He slowed, then stopped, your breaths intermingling as the fog—the rapture which had seized you both so wholly began to dissipate.

Your heartbeat pounded in your chest, between your ears, while your limbs shook, nerve-endings frazzled. Phinks shifted above you, his blown-out irises gazing down at you with a fondness unbecoming of a thieving, sadistic murderer. It made your heart flutter, caused your cunt to twitch, to be looked upon with so much adoration nearly bringing you to tears.

The soft, gentle kiss he placed on your lips melted any and all contempt that may have remained within you. You knew, deep inside—you even swore you could feel it—that Phink, in that moment, had given himself completely to you and with the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, you decided that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to do the same…

His hips had long stilled yet, his hands continued to roam, ghosting over your piping-hot skin with a care that made you feel as if you were made of the finest china.

Not a word was exchanged as the two of you bathe in the afterglow—and the realisation, also, for you—of what just occurred. You felt alive, more than you ever thought possible… all coming from the same man who was also responsible for making want to die, for bringing you at death’s door more times than you were comfortable with.

Here, with his cock softening inside your abused warmth, his weight creating a barrier between you and the world and his hands—his rough hands that gave you goosebumps… you never thought you’d feel more content.

Without slipping out of you, Phinks slinked his hands to your ass and flipped the two of you around, your head laying on his chest and his arms finding their way securely around your waist.

A deep, rumbling chuckle rung from his throat, the tender expression on his face replaced with a shit-eating smirk. “Fuck woman… If that doesn’t make up for the crap I put you through—”

You scoffed. “—If you think a single session of great sex will—”

“—Great sex?” It was Phinks’s turn to scoff, rolling his eyes. He squeezed you closer to his body, gaze both amused and offended. “Who’s the fucking liar now, huh? This… this, woman, wasn’t just ‘great sex’, this was the best sex of your fucking life, and you know it.”

Opening your mouth to dispute him, you found the words dying at your throat rather quickly, because the bastard was right.

You’d never had sex so mind-blowing. Where every single of your nerve-endings fizzled sparks, blood searing, bubbling in your veins; with your heart feeling like it would beat out of your ribs, your mind filled with cotton balls… Never once did you feel this connected with another person before, like every part of them fit perfectly into yours.

You pushed off his chest, slipping off his softened penis, his cum slowly leaking out of you to coat his balls.

And Phinks took in your naked body shamelessly, not bothered by the mess, his cock already hardening again at the sight of you.

You did the same, finally able to get a good look at him. The trademark spider tattoo sat very prominently on his carved abdomen, above his left hip, with the number five left blank in the middle. Something else caught your eye, though.

Something you’d long forgotten about.

Something you couldn’t believe he never got rid of.

Phinks sensed your change in mood, raising to his elbows, watching you closely as you traced the couple dozen scars on his right thigh. The word ‘ENOUGH’ hacked into his skin with little to no grace on the other.

His hand slid from your hips down to your own thighs, squeezing.

“Why?” You asked simply.

“Don’t you listen when I speak, woman?” In the blink of an eye, Phinks sat up straight, clutching your ass, claiming your lips in a hard, swift kiss. He tsked when the frown lines between your eyes never wavered. “I’ve kept every little nick you’ve given over the years ‘cause they made me happy, meant you were with me.”

You went to speak, but he stopped you. “These scars… they’re the best gift you—or anyone, really, could’ve ever given me. I thought you were dead,” He kissed your jaw, kneaded the fat of your ass, grinding you gently over his member. Licking the top of the scar stretching across your entire chest, Phinks continued, “But then, few days after I got this bad boy, my thigh was getting stabbed again-and-again right in front of me… Was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

Sucking in a breath, your clit caught on the fat head of his dick. Shuddering, you whispered, “You’re insane.”

He nipped at your collarbone, grinning. “Nah—well, maybe a little. I just couldn’t believe that we’d been wrong, that I’d been wrong. And not only were you alive, but you were fucking pissed.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “You got the message then?”

Nodding, Phinks lifted you up, lining himself at your entrance, pushing you back down on his shaft. You cursed breathlessly, head dropping back. “Fuck, Phinks...”

He hummed, grip hardening on your ass. “Yeah, baby… I did. I thought someone else was doing it to you until you started carving up my other thigh. Got your message loud and fucking clear that time. Couldn’t wipe off the smile off my face for weeks.”

“I’ll take it you didn’t mind the blood loss too much?”

“Had Machi stop the worst of it.” He rocked your hips, both of you hissing at the sensation.

“That’s the nen user with a similar Hatsu to mine?”

Nodding, Phinks brought your body closer to his, trailing patterns with his tongue on your shining skin, his hands expertly swaying you back-and-forth. “Now, as much as I love talking to you, and trust me sweetheart, I fucking do… I got a lot of mind-blowing sex to give you, best sex of your fucking life.”

He thrust up and you whimpered, closing your eyes at the feeling. “Fine, I’ll admit that you’re right about the sex. But this…” you muttered, pointing to where your body joined, pulling a moan from his lips as your cunt squeezed him. “This isn’t even close to making it up to me, by the way.”

A chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest. “Didn’t you hear me, woman, when I said I was gonna spend the rest of my life making it up to you?”

Humming, you rolled your hips, enjoying the small amount of power you held over him—the way Phinks let himself slowly get consumed by the feeling of you once more. His head fell in the crook of your neck, mouth pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder, all the way to your jaw.

“I did…” you whispered breathlessly, fingers intertwining in his hair. “So better get to it then.”

Needless to say, you spent the rest of the day in bed.

And not a single part of you minded…

A little while later, in the early hours of the morning, you sat, legs draped over Phinks’s lap, checking your emails while you ate.

There were a lot.

And even more missed calls.

“Rollan—” You pulled the phone away from your ear to save yourself a headache and a burst eardrum, the twins on the other end of the phone both relieved to have finally reached you and fuming. “Rollan I’m sorry I—”

“Hours boss, literal hours!” He lamented. Phinks, who sat so close to you he could hear the whole thing, raised a brow at you. “D’you know how worried we were!?”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry. Something came up and I couldn’t get to my phone.” You heard him sigh and for once, you actually felt bad.

“Whatever. It’s fine…” Judging from his tone of voice, it wasn’t, but he brushed his grievances with you aside to focus on the more pressing matter. “We actually have some good news.”

You stiffen, instinctively grabbing the hand rubbing circles on your thigh. “Rollan… is it the good news I want?”

“Yeah teach, Mister Cromwell agreed to let us take a look at his collection.”

“You’re kidding!”

“M’afraid not.” The grin in Rollan’s voice was unmistakable, as was your own.

“That’s—Holy shit, ok… What did you tell him, price wise and all that?”

“Nothing yet.” He replied.

You slipped off Phinks’s lap, ignoring his grumbled protest to fetch your laptop, returning not a second later, typing away, not paying much attention as you spoke next. “That’s great. The tablet is being put up for auction again, so I don’t have a price for him yet—”

“—You still want the scrolls even though we’re getting the tablet?”

You nodded, not that Rollan could see. And at your side, Phinks frowned. “We’ll cover more ground that way. I’ll have a number for him tomorrow night after the evening’s done.”

You heard Rollan and Roman speaking in hushed tones on the other end, and after a beat, Rollan spoke up once more. “Noted. We also have more good news…”

There was a silence on his end, pushing you to prod further as you emailed your client and Mister Callaway the update.

“Cromwell agreed to let us look at the collection and his price range lowered significantly from our original talks.”

You raised a brow. “How come?”

“Turns out Roman’s soulmate is the guys great-grand daughter.”

Freezing, it took a moment for your brain to process the information, only for you to burst out laughing. “You’re kidding?”

“He’s not kidding,” came Roman’s voice, the happiness evident in his voice, “took one look at her and my world burst into colour… it was amazing, teach.”

You took a chanced glance at your own soulmate, your lips pinched to hide a smile as your eyes locked. Despite his… annoyed expression, he melted at your touch, at your softened gaze and red-tinted ears, definitely having heard what your underling said and understanding your reaction to Roman’s words.

“No doubt about it…” You shook your head, trying to focus back on the task at hand while being distracted by your soulmate, whose hand decided to sneak further and further up your legs. “Just—uh, just how much lower are we talking?”

“Under a billion for access to the whole collection,” Roman explained. You tried to swat Phinks away, but he pinched the meat of your thigh, nearly making you squeak, continuing his slow venture. “He won’t let us take pictures or anything—won’t risk it, but he’ll allow us to take notes. Oh! And he wants to meet you before we proceed.”

You bit your lip, wrapping your hand around Phinks’s wrist. “Of course. Anything that man wants.” Dropping your head back, you swallowed a moan as your soulmate reached his destination, fingers finding the warm heat of your cunt, pushing the remnants of his leaking spent back into you. “I-I have to uh, to go. Ke-keep me updated—shit. Ok? I’ll, I’ll let you guys know tomorrow our price range.”

“Teach?” Rollan pipped out, worried. “Is everything alright?”

“Yep.” You gritted back, mind going foggy once more as Phink settled the pads of his fingers over that spot inside you, fluids already coating your thighs and his hands. “I—fuck, just really need to go. Keep me posted.”

“Ok—”

You hung up before Rollan could finish his sentence, chucking your phone and laptop aside to let yourself drown in pleasure once again.

But just as you were getting comfortable, Phinks pulled away, leaving you breathless and empty.

“Why d’you stop!?”

Lapping your taste from his fingers, Phinks narrowed his gaze at you, his annoyance morphing into simmering anger.

“The tablet’s up for auction?”

You deflated upon hearing him, shoving your own annoyance from the denied orgasm aside to happily bathe in his anger.

“That’s right…” you drawled, not even bothering to hide your shit-eating grin.

“And you knew this whole time?”

Nodding, you perched yourself on his lap, silk robe falling from your shoulders. “Found out a couple of days after the Troupe’s little stunt that a select few items from the auction were kept away from the venue—the ones said to make the biggest profits—just in case. The tablet was one of them. It was never in the vault that night. That’s why you guys didn’t get your hands on it.”

Phinks huffed, displeased. But even through his irritation, his hands found their way to your hips, rubbing soothing circles absentmindedly, unable to stay away. “So, when I came to see you this morning…”

“I already knew you didn’t have it.”

His fingers dug in your hips, grinding your cunt against his crotch. “You just stuck around ‘cause you wanted to tell me to fuck off, didn’t you?”

You grinned. “I see you’re starting to get me.”

“Yeah…” He pulled his cock out of his boxers, fat bead of pre-cum bubbling at the tip. “You wanna know what I think?”

“What?” Lifting your hips, the head of his cock dragged against your folds and you moaned.

“I think you wanted to tell me off again, sure. But I think, deep down, you wanted me—this, just as much as I fucking want you.” Without missing a beat, Phinks pulled you down hard, making you moan.

You had nothing to say to that, both cock-drunk as you bounced on his lap and because a part of you believed he was right. Nothing obliged you to meet him once you found out the tablet never got stolen and you’d be able to proceed with your original plan. You could have stayed in your room, secured and away from him. Yet, you went out, left yourself open for him to track you down, letting yourself sink in your soulmate bond, in him.

And now, creaming on his cock with a cry for the umpteenth time that day, you doubted you could ever untangle yourself from the invisible link that tethered you both by fate, by the universe itself.

More than that…

…You don’t want to.

Two years later, Phinks sat outside on a patio with Nobunaga, waiting for Shizuku to arrive. Boss, having long been freed from the chain user’s curse, had tasked them to retrieve the contents of a safe from a small, high-end art gallery nearby.

“How long’s she gonna take!?” Nobunaga grumbled.

“Have you met Shizuku?” Phinks drawled, annoyed with both Shizuku for being late and now having to deal with Nobunaga’s complaining. “When is she ever on time?”

Nobunaga said something, but the words fell on deaf ears as Phinks suddenly felt it—felt you… the feeling of you around, your aura, your essence, all so incredibly familiar by now.

As familiar as his own, dare he say.

He felt you before he saw you, before he even had confirmation that the person strutting towards him was, in fact, you.

“Oi! Are you even listening to me?”

No, Phinks wasn’t. He couldn’t care less about what his friends spouted. He stood then turned, his eyes locking straight with yours, his breath knocked out of his lungs.

Six months… he hadn’t been able to see you in six months, your career essentially exploding to new heights since your first meeting two years ago.

Turns out, the myths behind King Thesh were true. With the tablet and the scrolls you acquired, you’d pinpointed the location of what was thought to be one of the greatest Dynasties in the world. And there, you and your small team found it, an entire city buried under eons of sand, weather and time and then… things dissolved.

The team of eight you had expanded into a whirlwind. Ruin Hunters, Treasure Hunters and more Lost Hunters were called to aid, hundreds of individuals all working under your rule to study King Thesh and his empire. Your discovery had a significant impact on history, on science and astronomy, and along with forming a whole new batch of hunters, you earned yourself your first star.

And through it all, you always found time to see Phinks.

A few days every couple of months, you’d escape your hectic life to return to him, to your own little slice of paradise; away from the chaos and the lack of sleep and the stardom that you’d been thrust upon.

It had been hard.

Incredibly hard.

But last month, that project came to an end—relatively speaking—the Hunter Association bestowed you with a ceremony in honour of receiving your first star and now… now you were free.

“Finally…” Phinks abandoned Nobunaga, walking straight to you and your intoxicating, blinding smile. Fuck, you were so beautiful with your long, flowery dress flowing in the wind and your hair wrapped in a matching scarf. Ever since he spotted you in the York New market, you somehow managed to take his breath away, seemingly getting more irresistible, graceful than the last.

Bathed in the glow of the afternoon sun, you looked ethereal.

He scooped you up without a word, face pressed in the crook of your neck where he shamelessly took in your scent, having missed it—missed you, deeply.

“Hey…” And God, had Phinks missed your voice.

“Fuck woman, I missed you.”

Your fingers threaded in his hair, causing a shiver to seize his entire body, a wave of goosebumps erupting on his skin. You, everything about you made his heart flutter, mouth go dry, made him go insane. He was like an addict, finally getting his fix after suffering incredible withdrawal pains for months.

You cupped his face to look at him, your sparkling eyes batting their lashes in a way that churned his gut into mush; red painted lips curled in a delicate smile. “I missed you too, Phinks.”

He kissed you, then, not caring about making a scene in front of strangers, not caring that Nobunaga got a front-row seat to his bold display of mushy, pussy-whipped behaviour.

“What the fuck is this!?”

Neither of you paid too much mind to Nobunaga, your lips too busy rediscovering each other to grant him a reply. Having you in his arms, your body molded to his, the weight of your arms on his shoulders and your aura pulsing against his… that mattered so much more than providing his friend with answers.

When Phinks pulled away, he reached to grab your hand, ready to abandon all reason for you.

“I’m leaving.” He told Nobunaga dismissively, grinning down at you.

“What do you mean you’re leaving!? You can’t just leave!”

“It’s not like you need me.” Phinks countered, following your lead as you walked back the way you came from, his entire being tied to you like a moth to a flame, unable to resist your pull, unable to look away…

His shoulder jerked back, Nobunaga putting a stop to whatever trance Phinks willingly let himself slip into, making you frown… he loved it when you frowned, when you got angry, when that perfect mask of yours slipped and he got to see the real you.

“What the fuck, Phinks—”

“—Nobunaga…” Phinks sneered, bloodlust seeping from his pores. “You don’t need me for a lower-grade heist, ok? So let me go fuck the brains out of my soulmate before I fucking gut you in the middle of the street.”

His friend’s eyes widened, mouth gaped open, processing Phinks’s words.

The troupe knew about you, Feitan and Shizuku knew what you looked like, but Phinks never really spoke to them about you, he’d never introduced you to them and neither did you want too. Your involvement with the troupe, because of your line of work, needed to be kept to a minimum… needed to be kept to just him. And you couldn’t care less about them aside from your soulmate.

It made sense that Nobunaga didn’t recognise you.

“Your soul… Oh…”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Now fuck off.” Not waiting for a reply, you yanked Phinks back to you, pulling him down the street towards wherever you were staying for the time being. He had no clue how you found him, but he sure was glad you had. He grinned like a madman at your side, arm wrapped securely around your waist, where it belonged.

Phinks had no clue where life would take him next, but as long as you were right there next to him, elegant and beautiful and so very out of his league, he didn’t care.

You were the one thing he’d always wanted.

And now that he finally had you…

Phinks happily spent the rest of his days keeping his promise to make up for his idiocy for the remainder of your lives with a smile on his face and his heart full.

#phinks x reader #soulmate!au #soulmateau #hunter x hunter #h x h #hxh #phinks #phinks is daddy and i will die on this hill idgaf #hxh smut #smut #afab reader #reader insert #soulmate alternate universe

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yayasstuff · 5 years ago

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So like...I have something in my drafts...Would you read if I published?

I'm sick and tired of all these (Y/n)s having "pale, almost opaque skin" and "long lustrous locks of hair that you could easily run your fingers through". Like...WHERES THE NAPS WHERES THE BRAIDS WHERES THE MELANIN WHERES THE KINKS AND CURLS UGHHHH

#black!reader-x-anime #feitan #feitan portor #feitan x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #hxh x reader #phinks #uvogin #phantom troupe

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depravitycentral · 2 years ago

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Yandere! Feitan Portor NSFW Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, masturbation, kidnapping, spit, drool, lots and lots of cum, Feitan is gross and icky and comes in your conditioner I'm so sorry, seriously this one is pretty gross I apologize now, bondage, ropes, blood, period sex, consumption of period blood, Stockholm Syndrome, a few mentions of reader having pubic hair, mentions of premature ejaculation, Feitan has intimacy issues, a touch of sadomasochism, dry humping, blindfolds, begging, edging, overstimulation, there's a lot going on, 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 (oh my god)

HABITS:

Even amongst the Troupe, Feitan is particularly emotionally stunted.

Of course, he knows about relationships, about the intimacy that ensues - he’s never personally fucked anyone, but he knows how it goes, what it’s like (at least, in theory), how it’s supposed to feel. He’s just never wanted to - his libido is actually quite low, and although he’s spent nights tossing and turning in bed, cock throbbing and aching for attention, he’s never felt the urge to find some random woman for a fun, stress relieving night.

Sure, he’s jerked off more times than he can count, and he’s been to more strip clubs with Phinks and Uvogin than he’d care to admit. He’s been around it his whole life, even from a young age as a child in Meteor City - so yes, he knows about sex.

He’s just never been able to tolerate someone long enough to consider sleeping with them, much less actively wanting to sleep with them. And yet, once you step into his life, Feitan finds himself uncomfortably aroused by the idea of letting his hands wander your body, of seeing the way your pretty face would scrunch up in pleasure, of hearing your little moans and yelps when he kisses you and sinks his teeth in just a bit too hard.

Once his obsession with you forms and he begins moving past some of those initial mental barriers, Feitan finds himself beginning to crave you intimately, physically, sexually. And, just as the rest of his feelings for you, he hates it at first.

He hates how just a simple thought of you has his body growing hot, the collar of his jacket uncomfortably tight as he shifts his weight, trying to ignore the way blood is steadily rushing south.

He hates how just a simple look from you, with your eyes all innocent yet sultry, makes him gulp a bit, his fingers twitching at his side. He doesn’t like how he can’t control his body’s reaction to you, but it’s not like he can help it - it’s instinctual, primal, carnal, as if his body is recognizing that you’re the chosen one for him to fornicate with, as if you’re the only one worthy of his sexual attention.

Feitan doesn’t like this change in developments much, but quickly he finds himself at a crossroads; he can spend nearly every night staring at the black of his ceiling, laying in bed and glancing down at the massive tent in the sheets centered around his crotch, or he can give in and get working, letting his hand run along the length of his cock all with you on his mind.

He doesn’t feel guilty about masturbating to you, per se, but there is this weird sense of embarrassment that sits heavy in his chest as he exhales shakily and spreads the bead of precum along his shaft. There is this weird feeling like he’s doing something bad, something naughty, as if you’d be disgusted if you were to ever find out.

It makes him feel strange, but he almost likes it - it’s a thrill he gets, particularly to the knowledge that you’d probably be disgusted to know he wrings himself dry (often more than once at a time) nearly every night, all with the mental image of you naked, writhing and stuffing your fingers into that warm, wet, oh so fucking tight cunt of yours.

He’d never admit, but he’d give anything to be your fingers, to feel the sensation of being inside you, even if it was only for a few moments. (That’d probably be enough to make come the first time he fucks you, anyways.)

Once he gives in to getting off with you in mind, Feitan finds himself fucking his fist frequently, frantically, his hips thrusting into his hand faster and rougher the longer he goes on, the longer the image of you crying his name and clenching down around his cock plays behind his eyelids.

He wraps his hand around his girth and immediately starts violently pumping his fist up and down, until he’s eventually stuttering your name and coming, sending spurts of cum flying up onto his chest, the white staining his pale chest. It feels good, or at least good enough to satisfy him for the moment, up until he ends up palming himself through his pants the next night.

It’s a never ending cycle, and frankly it leaves Feitan frustrated – it’s just not enough. The thought of you is more than enough, really, to functionally get him shooting ropes of cum out of his swollen, needy tip, but there’s this part of him buried deep inside that needs more, something to make him feel like it’s really you he’s touching and fucking.

It’s not enough to be the one touching himself, when he knows it would feel different if it was your soft hand, your warm lips, your tight walls. He needs something more, something more intimate and personal and you in order to really get himself off, to really feel connected to you in the way he craves.

And so, Feitan makes a discovery one evening that changes everything; he has a penchant for sneaking into your room after you’ve fallen asleep, the dismal security of your apartment something he’s simultaneously grateful and irritated with you for. He likes to just watch you sleeping, those dark eyes taking in every detail about your unconscious form, all exposed for his viewing pleasure without you even knowing it.

He always shuffles closer the longer he watches, his feet taking just a tiny step every once in a while, just because he can smell you better when he’s closer, see more detail in your skin and features, and it’s only after he’s crept his way right up to your side that he notices it. He should be disgusted, he thinks, when he sees the bit of drool slipping past your lips, your slumber deep enough that you haven’t noticed the wet pool of it against your pillow.

He should be grimacing and scooting away, revolted by something so gross, but instead Feitan finds his eyes getting caught on the way your lips are just slightly parted, the wetness against your chin shining ever so slightly in the pale moonlight.

He doesn’t really know why he does it, but soon his fingers are reaching out, lightly brushing against your lip, a sharp inhale audible as he feels the warm wetness of your saliva against his fingertips. He’ll retract his hand, staring with narrowed eyes, before slowly, carefully bringing his fingers to his own mouth, slipping them past his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed because he’s tasting you.

It’s euphoric, your spit sweet and leaving the perfect tang on his tongue, and suddenly Feitan’s reaching into his jacket pockets, frantically searching for the vial he keeps on hand, just in case he needs a bit of blood from a victim or enemy. He gulps when he finally pulls it out, wiping at it to rid it of any remaining blood, before carefully bringing the glass up to your face, positioning it right below your chin so that the next bit of drool to drip out of your mouth lands in the vial rather than on your pillow.

It’s a slow process, filling it up, but Feitan’s committed, spending every night sitting beside your bed, watching you sleep and seeing the glass slowly fill with your drool, collected all for him. And when he finally has enough? Well, it’s easy to transition from slowly dipping his fingers in the vial and letting his tongue glide over them to letting the spit cover other areas of his body, even if the mere idea makes him scoff while a blush settles over the bridge of his nose.

It’s not until one night, though, that he finally takes the plunge, crossing a line he can never recover from. He’d been particularly pent up, his cock absolutely swollen, aching and desperate for release, and his fist was just not enough. Even as he pounded away, biting his lip and furrowing his thin brows, the pleasure just wouldn’t come.

His eyes wander from his ceiling down to his dresser, zeroing in on the glass vial sitting so innocently, so provocatively, practically taunting him to come closer. He’s snatching up the glass before he can really think, sitting back down and tearing the top off, his fingers moving faster than he can process.

Soon, he’s dipping them in, swirling them a bit to make sure they’re really covered, but instead of bringing them to his lips, his hands travel south - gripping onto his cock, the wet coolness making him hiss through his teeth. He brings his wrist up, your saliva slowly smearing along his shaft, leaving it wet and twitching in the cold air of his bedroom, visibly throbbing as he runs his thumb over his slit, making sure to absolutely drench himself with your spit.

His eyes slide shut, head rolled back slightly as he moves his hand at a steady, painfully slow pace, trying to calm his heart rate because this is so very different from before. It’s different, if only because it’s you - your saliva is letting his hand move smoother, your saliva coating his skin, you helping him to get off. It makes him feel dizzy, the familiar coil in his stomach appearing embarrassingly quickly as he speeds up his fist, images of you playing behind his eyes.

He can’t help but imagine you on your knees before him, staring up at him with those pretty eyes, all wide and glassy and yearning, with your hands tied behind your back and your lips parted, pink tongue lolled out and waiting for him to fill that tight throat of yours. He grunts, squeezing at his tip, digging his fingers back through the vial to refresh the supply of your drool, and in his mind he’s slowly tracing your lips with the head, smearing his precum along your skin as you clench your thighs together and hum, practically begging him to facefuck you.

Feitan hunches forward slightly as his wrist moves even faster, hand flying up and down his shaft, wet noises accompanying every jerk all caused by the excessive wetness he’s coated himself with, the feeling of your spit exactly what he’d be feeling if he was actually stuffing your little mouth, dark hairs tickling your cheeks and nose as he pushes your head all the way down, so that his tip is nestled down your throat.

He lets out a guttural groan at that, a strained noise that makes him grimace, but he can’t help it - his orgasm is approaching, and he can’t help but listen to the wet squelching noises and imagine your gags and sharp breaths accompanying them, his toes curling. It feels so good, a building warmth in his naval that only grows bigger, stronger, more insistent, and all too soon he’s imagining the way you’d present your face to him when he pulls out and strokes himself over your face, cum spurting from his tip and landing in rivulets all along your cheeks, lips, nose, even getting into your hair.

You’d look so good, all messy and out of breath and covered in him him him, just as he is you.

He bares his teeth as he feels himself right on the edge, his fingers clutching onto the vial so tightly he nearly shatters it, his cock bobbing and throbbing, balls clenching as he curls in on himself, small chants of your name mumbled under breath and then he’s coming, cum spraying everywhere as he gasps, hips bucking involuntarily into the air, chasing after his fist with every pump, aching to be releasing inside you, where it belongs.

He takes a moment to come down from his high, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring down at the vial in his shaking hand, the weight of his orgasm shocking him. He’d never come so hard, like every muscle in his body was spasming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. His eyes flick over to the clock, and he splutters, seeing the time.

3:08, meaning only three minutes had passed since he’d snatched up the vial, feeling your spit against his skin, feeling you against the sensitive skin of his cock.

His eyes close, his breath finally evening out, before he’s carefully setting the vial aside, recapping it and laying onto his back, trying to process why the hell he’d come so fast with something as grotesque as your spit to help him. He’s not sure, but then the images return of you on your knees for him, face still covered in his release and telling him that you want more, please Feitan, will you give me more?

He groans as he feels his softening cock suddenly begin growing once more, his hips twitching as he reaches down to lightly grope at his balls, swallowing and deciding whether to dip his fingers into the vial yet again - he only has a limited supply, after all, and he’d be needing it again tomorrow night when he inevitably lets his mind wander to thoughts of you tied up and begging for him.

He grumbles, a strained sort of sound, before getting to work once more, spitting into his hand and letting a small, barely there smile grace his lips, the slight flush still high on his cheeks. He’d have to get some more, he decided, because this?

Well, fucking you was surely better, but Feitan would be a food to not capitalize on this new discovery - and when he’s painting his chest with ribbons of cum again a few minutes later, he decides that he’ll never go back to not having something of yours to aid him while he gets off.

It’s just more intimate this way, better, like you’re really there - like you’re really naked and ready to fulfill every need, desire and fantasy of his.

Like you want him.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your face

In general, Feitan thinks you’re attractive. He’s hesitant to say beautiful or pretty or really anything of the sort, if only because the way he feels for you is a bit more complicated than that.

You’re not just pretty; you’re alluring, someone that always seems to catch his eye no matter how hard he tries to stop it.

You’re not beautiful; objectively, there’s nothing about you that he hasn’t seen in hundreds of other women, whether it be your hair, your lips, your figure, or anything else. (Except maybe your eyes, or maybe your smile - things that are just so unapologetically you, things that Feitan thinks he could recognize with his eyes closed.)

You’re nothing particularly special, physically speaking, and yet there’s something about you that he just can’t shake, some involuntarily thing that motivates him to always have his eyes on you, his body unconsciously facing you, his senses just so very aware of you. And because Feitan spends so much time simply watching you, he’s become extremely well antiquated with your features, with your pretty face that always seems to pull him in, like a moth to a flame.

He’s memorized the way your lips curve, the soft skin puckering and moving with every word you say, and he often finds his gaze flicking down to watch while you talk, eyes sitting there idly as he lets his mind wander to what else you can do with those lips, what other shapes they can make.

He’s studied every slope of your nose, the shape seeming to fit your face perfectly, and he even finds himself turning his lip when he sees models or celebrities with the same nasal structure - it doesn’t look nearly as good on them as it does you.

And of course, your eyes - he’s spent more hours than he can count looking into them, unwilling to break the eye contact as he stares, fascinated with the color, how they shine in the light, how sunlight seems to make them glow, making you glow.

So while there’s not any particular thing Feitan can say makes you attractive, you just are - enough so that he’s found himself seeing flashing images of your face late at night, when he’s unable to sleep and polishing his weapons, letting his mind wander and inevitably stumble into thoughts of you. He’ll relive the way you look when you smile - your grin is wide, teeth exposed, the pretty skin of your lips all stretched to accommodate your joy.

You look good like that, and all too soon his innocent thought process of you is slipping into something sinister, something dirty and risqué, because now he’s imagining the way you’d smile up at him when he’s got you underneath him, your pretty little pleas and desperate begs for him to touch you making his skin tingle and his throat feel stuffy.

He’s imagining the way you’d lick your lips when he tells you to get on your knees, his cock mere inches from your face as he strokes himself, the eagerness and hunger in your eyes making him rush forward and bury himself down your throat in one go.

He’s imagining the way you’d look when he’s got you creaming on his cock, face pressed against the mattress and a mixture of tears and drool slipping down your chin, the pleasure just too much, even while your hips grind back on him, wanting more more more.

He just likes your face, finding it oddly pleasing, and when the two of you are intimate, he finds himself eagerly searching out your facial expressions as often as possible - it’s the way he knows what you like, if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you, if he’s doing a good job.

So really, exaggerate the expressions, make it clear exactly what you’re feeling, and Feitan will be over the fucking moon - pounding into you with a new vigor, a sudden resolve to get you coming at least twice before he’s done with you. You’re just too attractive for him to resist, and he’s only a man, after all.

His hands

In general, Feitan is a fan of showing his feelings rather than articulating them, and even then only to an extent.

There’s only so far he’s willing to expose his vulnerability, and it just becomes easier and less scary to just show you, to let his actions speak louder. And despite it taking a very, very long time for him to grow comfortable enough to actually act on this philosophy, one of the first ways that he’ll settle into touching you is with his hands.

They’re rough, the skin calloused and scarred, pale fingers just the slightest bit off in certain spots, evidence of the multitudes of times he’s broken them. His fingers are lithe, nimble, quick and dexterous, evidence of his abilities with swords and the various tools he uses for work. And so, once he turns his hands onto you, you’ll notice all these things.

It starts small - a fleeting feeling of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, merely a ghost of a touch that leaves you wondering if you really felt anything at all.

He’ll reach out to flick at your forehead if you do something dumb (something endearing, but dumb), glaring at you and telling you to stop it, though his fingers are tingling where they made contact with your skin.

He’ll lightly lay his hand on your hip, or on your thigh, keeping it there for a few moments before snatching it back to his own side, his hand flexing and the muscles tightening up because god, did you like that? Did you like it when he touched you?

He gets in his head way too much about how you react to his touch, but the truth is that Feitan is incredibly touch starved, particularly when it comes to any sort of positive or romantic touch.

He’s a criminal and has grown up in horrible conditions, and he’s simply never cared. But now that you’re here, someone for him to live out all those cliche, stupid romantic tropes? Well, he can’t directly ask for your affection, but you’ll notice the way his hands lay on your body for just a beat too long, just enough to make you wonder whether that touch was really as innocent as he seems to think it was (it’s not, at least not as much as he wishes - every time his skin brushes yours, this spark of electricity dances up his spine, making him gulp and tense up, because while the feeling blooming in his chest is warm and good, it’s still foreign, still something he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet).

And even once he reaches the stage where he’s grown comfortable enough with the concept of being intimate with you to actually touch you, he still relies heavily on his hands. Particularly, Feitan grows an affinity for fingering you - he loves the way your cunt just seems to suck his fingers in, as if your body is begging for more and more of him, craving his touch and the pleasure only he can give you.

He’ll experiment a lot with you at first, curling his fingers or scissoring them, dark eyes appraising your face and checking for any changes in expression that could hint at what rhythm or area you like.

(You’ll wonder where he learned some of the motions he tries out on you - he’ll never admit to watching porn to learn some ideas, nor that he practiced them before trying them out on you, his hand sandwiched between two pillows as he diligently curled them, perfecting the ‘come hither’ motion or letting his thumb practice rubbing tight, firm circles against the cotton. No, he’d rather die than have you learn that - you can’t know how badly he wants to please you, after all.)

He likes to watch his fingers dipping inside you, the way they emerge all wet and glistening, a ring of white sitting right above his knuckles and filling him with pride.

(Often, he finds himself idly staring at his fingers after you’ve fallen asleep, your body sore and exhausted after the fucking he’d put you through. He’ll spread them, staring from all angles, remembering the feeling of your wet heat around them, how your walls clamped down on him, even how your lips and tongue flicked across them when he’d shoved them into your mouth earlier. He’ll bring them to his lips, idly sucking on them, trying in vain to get every last drop of you off of them, so that he can taste you for just a moment longer, just to satisfy himself for as long as he can.)

He’s a late bloomer and it will take him a long while to reach the point of being willing to touch you sexually (though he wants to from pretty much the get-go, much to his embarrassment), but once he does, you’d better get used to the feeling of his hands against your skin - after all, he’s insistent, and you do not want to reject his touch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just moan and sigh and tell him it feels good, because Feitan is just so much more agreeable when he’s happy - you’ll get to come that way, too.

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Feitan’s libido has never been especially high. Sex has never been a priority for him, and even once his days as a Troupe member begin, this doesn’t change. He doesn’t see the attraction to sleeping around, to fucking random women just for a few minutes of fleeting pleasure.

It’s just so much work to be around others, to have to communicate and hear their complaining when he doesn’t put effort into making them feel good – it’s just not fun, not something he wants to spend his time with. And so, while Feitan is certainly no saint, he doesn’t actively seek out sexual partners. And he especially doesn’t seek out touching another person, letting himself be touched, becoming vulnerable in any possible way.

So, once you step into his life, this self-inflicted celibacy doesn’t really change all that much. Of course, the idea of touching you is significantly more attractive than it would be to touch a random stranger, but Feitan is still not especially eager to fuck you once his obsession develops.

He’s a bit of a late bloomer, taking a while to let his emotions warm up to you. In doing so, it takes a long, long time for his sexual urges towards you to appear, because Feitan prides himself on having good self control. But once he fully gives in to the fact that he wants you, in a way that’s entirely new and scary and foreign to him, the urges begin appearing.

The idly thoughts wondering what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking about, if you’re in the mood… He’s still not as horny as some of his fellow Troupe members, but Feitan begins regularly imagining fucking you, the thoughts seemingly popping out of nowhere and completely unannounced.

Frankly, it’s irritating; why is he imagining you without a shirt on when Phinks is telling him about the latest job Chrollo had paired them up for? (It’s a pain in the ass to hide the slowly growing tent in his trousers from the blond - he always just seems to know, and Feitan would rather die than be subjected to the never ended teasing.)

Why is he imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock when he’s slicing off that man’s head, the cut clean and clear yet the only thing he can think of being how your cheeks would hollow as you suck?

It’s annoying, and although he tries to fight it at first, he eventually gives up. There’s only so much he can stop himself from imagining, and as his obsession grows deeper, the perverse fantasies he holds towards you only grow more numerous, more pronounced, more longed for. He finds himself actively wanting to be intimate with you, and while he won’t act on that desire for a very long time, it’s left to quality sit, festering and brewing inside him until one day it’s all just too much, a dam bursting that forces him to finally take that last step, to let himself rest a hand on you or brush his lips against your cheek or graze his finger along your nipple.

He doesn’t move very fast, but Feitan’s in no rush - after all, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life, and he’ll be the only other human you’ll ever interact with. By the time he’s ready to progress your relationship forward, you’ll likely have come around, desperate enough for human contact that you’ll want him to touch you, that you’ll want to touch him back.

Just the thought makes him gulp and flex his fingers, excitement and anxiety settling into his stomach, his cock growing half hard even as his mind winces.

However, because he has so many issues surrounding intimacy and vulnerability, Feitan will likely never actually force you into anything.

Because you’re likely to come around and develop Stockholm Syndrome by the time he’s ready to touch you, you’ll be more than eager to let his hand rest on your waist, or to let him stand behind you so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, the tent in his pants more than apparent. You’ll be ready, but until he’s ready, he has to find alternatives.

Because he’s still frequently experiencing sexual urges towards you way before he’s willing to act on them, Feitan finds himself quite sexually frustrated. He has all these dirty thoughts, all these possessive, insistent feelings urging him to just take you, to stake his claim on you by stuffing you full of his cock and cum, and he has to release them somehow.

And so, he falls back on a method that he isn’t necessarily proud of, but does find some sick, twisted sense of pride and amusement from. That is, because he’s the one supplying literally everything to you once you’re trapped under his roof, it’s not so hard to tamper with some of the ingredients of your essentials.

Your conditioner, for instance; he buys you the brand you love (something he tells you is coincidence but most certainly isn’t), and as he opens the cap and smells it one day while you’re asleep in the next room over, he can’t help but notice how creamy it is, how thick and how white it is.

It make shim gulp, and after quickly making sure to lock the bedroom door you’re trapped behind, Feitan shakily returns to the bathroom, exhaling deeply. It’s just a coincidence that the conditioner resembles something that he produces, right?

It’s an amusing twist of fate that your favorite conditioner (with the scent he can only describe as you) looks almost exactly like his cum, right?

Feitan thinks so, and as his mind wanders back to the little stunt you’d pulled earlier in the day, he finds himself settling onto the closed toilet lid, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, already drooling precum and sensitive to the touch.

You’d been laying on your bed, blanket barely covering your body as you slept, the skimpy pajamas you’d fallen asleep in in disarray on your figure. Your shirt had bunched up, letting one pert, supple breast slip out, your nipple on display, not even the blanket managing to cover it up.

(He’d froze when he noticed, slowly creeping closer, licking his lips and unable to stop staring.)

And those damn sleeping shorts, always getting moved around and never quite sitting right on your hips when you wake up, were twisted a bit, the holes for your legs angled just right so that if he looked the right way, he could see the very edge of your cunt, one lip covered with pretty pubic hairs, looking soft and warm and so fuckable.

You were asleep, and somewhere in Feitan’s mind he knows you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it’s hard not to blame you for being so indecent, for hoping to tempt Feitan into giving in. You’re such a fucking minx, all teasing and daring to show off your assets, and how was Feitan supposed to react to this? How was he not supposed to immediately grow aroused and flustered, unable to tare his gaze from your vulnerable body?

Eventually he’d managed to, shutting the door behind him and taking a few uneven breaths, trying desperately to not replay the image of your breast over and over in his mind. It’s no use, however, and as he splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom, that’s when his eyes land on the conditioner bottle.

His hand moves fast as he fucks his fist, hissing under his breath over and over as he steadily gets closer, driven forward by the idea of lewd it will be to have his cum in something as personal as you conditioner.

He can’t stop thinking about how you’d have no idea, waltzing around with his cum soaked into your pretty hair, maybe even making you smell like him - He’s groaning, the thoughts pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm hurtling forward as he imagines the way you’d lather it in your hands, humming and making sure every square inch of your hair is covered in it, covered in him.

He imagines the way you’d bring it up to your nose and deeply inhale, sighing because it’s your favorite scent, wondering why it smells a bit more musky than you remember, but not minding. Maybe you’d even like the new scent, and just the thought of that is enough to push him over the edge, a sharp growl slipping past his lips as he aims his cock right into the bottle, cum spraying all over the conditioner, the white colors matching perfectly.

He’s breathing hard, a seemingly never ending series of spurts coming from his swollen tip, and once he thinks he’s done, he grasping his length and lightly shaking it, lodging any loose bits of cum out, coaxing them to join the pile. Once done, he’ll gulp, letting a small smirk slip onto his lips as he closes the bottle, shutting the lid tight and shake the bottle, making sure to thoroughly mix it.

He won’t tell you about his little ‘gift’, of course not - but you’ll know something is up when he’s standing stiff as you exit the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and wet hair having been marinating in the special mixture he made for you, and when he’s eagerly sniffing your head every chance he gets after that, you’ll have to realize something is amiss.

When he’s asking you if your hair feels particularly soft, you’ll have to know he’s trying to get at something, some layer underneath the surface that he’s really speaking about.

It’s enough to satisfy him for the time being, his possessiveness over you quelling ever so slightly because even though it’s not in your cunt, where it belongs, at least he’s got his cum somewhere on you - and until he’s ready to fuck you properly, that’ll have to do. It’ll become habit, and one day you may even stumble upon him midway through the process, your conditioner bottle an inch or so from his tip as he frantically tugs and pulls.

(He’ll freeze, unable to process that he got caught, and frankly, he’ll just try to ignore that you ever saw it, not willing to broach the topic - and you won’t be either, because what the fuck?)He just really, really desires you, and Feitan is a resourceful man - so I hope you like the smell of musk and a bit of iron, because you’ll be smelling like it for weeks.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Orgasm Control

In general, Feitan has to be in control in the bedroom. It’s not that he’s particularly onto any dominant or submissive roles between the sheets, but more because he doesn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that accompanies letting other people pleasure him. Something about being at the mercy of someone else’s touch or whims makes him nervous, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his stomach that leaves him fidgety and jumpy.

And so, every sexual interaction with you will see him starring as the dominant role, always calling the shots, and nothing exemplifies this sentiment quite like the way he treats your orgasms. Despite not having a huge amount of sexual experience prior to his infatuation with you, he’s very obviously aware that both partners are capable of orgasming in any given sexual interaction, that it should be expected and achieved regardless of methodology.

With other women, Feitan wouldn’t care in the least – he’s selfish by nature, and if he were to ever have sex with anyone other than you, in no way, shape or form would he pay any mind to their pleasure, only chasing after his own release.

But with you, this sentiment is a bit different; he wants to get you off, if only because seeing the way your body responds to him, shaking and shivering and moaning and clenching, gets him harder, his breath more ragged, his palms sweatier. There’s something incredibly pleasing about seeing the way your body is sensitive to his every touch that makes him giddy, an odd mixture of power, arousal and eagerness filling him.

He wants to make you a mess, to get you gushing and creaming and whimpering as he fingers you, as he shoves his cock inside you, even as he tongues at your clit (eating you out isn’t something that happens often, but when it does, Feitan expects you to come from it). He likes the sight of you falling apart for him, and consequently, that desperation for power and control comes hurtling back – so that he is the one in control of your orgasms.

He wants to be the one choosing when, how, and why you’re coming, every one of your movements a result of him.

He tends to rely heavily on edging you, enjoying the way you squirm and beg for him to keep going. He’ll have two slender, nimble fingers buried inside of you, curling and scissoring, the stretch a bit painful but in a pleasure-tinged way, making your toes curl and your bottom lip catch between your teeth.

His thumb will rub consistent, steady circles at your clit, the little nub sore and swollen, and he’ll keep his ministrations up until you’re breathing heavier, your stomach and thighs clenching, the telltale signs that you’re nearing your high.

(He’s very, very good at reading your body when it comes to your sexual pleasure – he’s spent so long stalking you that he’s seen you touching yourself more times than he can count, and while watching the way your cunt takes the toy is very, very difficult to tear his eyes away from, he’d made sure to study every other part of your body, too. He’s watched the way your face morphs as you get closer, your brows shooting up and your lips parting a bit, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close as the pleasurable knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s watched the way your legs shake, the muscles in your thighs visibly twitching and clenching, trying desperately to close and clench together, prompting him to imagine how they’d feel around his head, around his waist, around his cock. He’s even noticed your breathing, how you sound, the way your voice gets higher and more breathy, your moans increasing in intensity until you let out this sudden, strained gasp that gets him swallowing harshly, a thick pearl of precum dripping from his tip from the mere sound.)

He’s constantly observing you even while he's intimate with you, those dark eyes never wavering from your form, and he’ll bring you right to the edge, noticing with a tightness in his throat that your legs are starting to tremble, that your voice is climbing up, that you’re starting to get all gaspy and your abdominal muscles are clenching, and god, you’re squeezing around his fingers so damn tight –

The confused, desperate whine you let out when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you makes him smirk a bit, the way your watery eyes blearily blink up at him, half clouded in lust and disappointment making him reach out to pinch at your pebbled nipple. Not yet, one more time. He’ll tell you, laughing a bit as you whine and gulp, chest heaving and your fingers twitching. He’ll make you wait, maybe even reaching down and jerking himself off a bit, making a show of hissing under his breath and making sure that you can see him, hearing the wet noises as he flicks his wrist and imagines it’s your sweet little pussy wrapped around him rather than his own fingers.

He’s embarrassingly sensitive when he does this, his own touch making him buck his hips as he stares down at you, spread before him, underneath him, where you belong. He’ll make sure to give enough time that you come down from your sensitivity, before resuming his ministrations, making you gasp and bite your lip.

He’ll keep doing this over and over and over, denying you of your orgasm some five or so times before he finally, finally decides that you’ve behaved well enough, that you deserve to feel good. (Often, what finally gets him to cave in is the fact that he too is very close, and while it’s cliché and stupid and a bit pathetic, he really likes it when you both come at the same time, your orgasms matching up so he can feel like you’re doing it together.)

He’ll work you through it, not stopping his motions, which brings up another aspect of how Feitan likes to tease you and assert his control over you – he doesn’t like overstimulation quite as much as denial, but he’s not shy about going faster, harder, his motions seeming almost frantic as you start whining and shaking, going on about how it’s too much, Feitan it’s too much I can’t!

He’ll just growl and shut you down, slapping (not too hard) your clit and seeing you way you jerk, telling you to shut up and take it, you’ve done it before. He likes seeing your eyes get all teary, your body spasming and shaking even harder, the overstimulation making you cry out his name with a renewed fervor.

(He’d never admit it, but that’s one of his favorite parts – he never pegged himself to be a fan of loud moans, but there’s something about the way that you do it, when it’s his name you’re moaning, that makes him throb, his cock twitching without any stimulation. You sound so destroyed, so wrecked and utterly desperate for him that it makes his head spin, his chest filling with pride and lust and satisfaction because you do need him, and your body is just proving that.)

He’s cruel, often pulling three or four orgasms from you every time he touches you, those dark eyes staring unblinking down at you, almost studying you as you fall apart on his cock, on his fingers, on anything he chooses. It makes him feel good to know that he’s in full control, that he can choose when you come – it shows his place above you, helping him to justify the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that he’s taking the time and effort to make you feel good when he really doesn’t need to.

He’s just being generous – you should be grateful he even cares about your pleasure at all.

(Say thank you to him as you orgasm and he’s gone – cum is dripping down your skin or out of your pretty hole before you can process what’s even happening, the man above you gasping and heaving, trying desperately to make sure you don’t see the slight red staining his cheeks.)

He wants you to follow his commands, so just let him do as he pleases – you’ll come eventually, most of the time.

Bondage

Tying into his preferences for holding control in the bedroom, Feitan has a certain affinity for seeing you restrained.

There’s something about the way your body is presented to him when you’re all tied up that gets him feeling hot, his hands twitching and yearning to reach out and touch you. He’s not picky about what he uses to bind you – the tried and true rope is never displeasing, and the variety of pretty knots and positions he can force you into this way leave him nearly drooling at all the different sexual fantasies he can carry out with you.

He’s particularly fond of tying you up in ways that are just the slightest bit humiliating, positions that make your neck and cheeks feel hot, embarrassment eating away at you because god, everything is exposed.

He likes when your legs are spread, a bit of rope keeping your calves firmly pressed to your thighs while your pussy is exposed to open air, the perfect amount of space between your legs for him to slip into. He likes when your breasts are free, jiggling and bouncing with every thrust, the rope digging into your sternum or ribcage as you moan and writhe.

(He also likes when the rope crisscrosses over your chest, digging into your nipple and making you whine in pain and pleasure, and when he undoes the ropes, he loves the way your nipples are so sore and swollen, a much darker color than they normally are and practically begging to be pinched at, to be twisted and pulled on until you’re a sniffly, moaning mess.)

He’ll often tie your wrists together behind your back, rope connecting from your waist to the back of your knees, keeping your legs bent while he forces your ass into the air, mounting you from behind and absolutely destroying you.

Rope is his favorite, if only because there’s something so familiar, so comforting in using it – of course, he never desires to fuck any of his victims, but he knows how to manipulate the material in order to get you bent the way he wants you to be.

And while he has no desire to do anything to you that he would to those he tortures, there’s something oddly sexy and taboo about the fact that he’s using the same kind of rope on you as he did to the man the other day. It’s dirty, sinful, if only because this is as close as he can come to mixing two of the things he loves most – you, and his job.

You’re safe this way, not liable to be cut or maimed or anything of the sort, but you’re still utterly at his hands, vulnerable to every whim or desire he wishes to enact on you. He likes how helpless you are when you’re tied up, unable to reach out or take control of your own pleasure, entirely reliant on him to do everything for you – something as big as stretching you out on his cock, or as small as pushing away a stray piece of hair in your face as he fucks your throat.

The power trip is insane, and while he won’t hurt you, just the knowledge that he could makes him harder than he’s ever been. He’s a fan of other alternatives to rope, too – handcuffs are fine, a bit too mainstream for him to use regularly, but in a bind it’ll do.

(Especially if he’s grown more comfortable with you, willing to show a more vulnerable side, because handcuffs give him less control and allow you to actively participate in your pleasure, letting you grind back against him or wrap your legs around his waist or any number of other things that can signal that you want him too.)

Silk ties are fine, and on days where he’s feeling a bit more sentimental or emotional, he’ll prefer to use these because there’s less chance of you bruising or getting any burns or rashes. (Plus, there’s something so fitting about you being shrouded in silk – you, who’s so weak and soft and dainty, matching perfectly with the fabric. It makes him snort a bit, because you always look like such an angel when you’re all tied up for him in this way – like a beautiful, naïve little angel just begging to be destroyed and tainted by his hands, a feat he’s more eager and impatient to accomplish than he’d care to admit.)

He’s even willing to use clothing to get you restricted – maybe the shirt you’d been wearing (his shirt, one he let you borrow, the one he finds adorable on you even if he’d never tell you) will get tied around your wrists, keeping them firmly above your chest as he sinks into you and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back the moan that threatens to tumble at his lips because you’re just so damn tight.

He’ll use your panties as a gag, though he doesn’t do this often because he really does like hearing your sounds – especially when they’re any sort of praise or his name.

(Often, after he’s stuffed the panties you’d been wearing past your lips, he’ll steal them back afterwards, sneakily storing them somewhere for later, for late at night when he’s standing over your sleeping form and breathing shakily, staring at you and rubbing the material – wet with both your spit and your slick – all over his cock.)

His preference is always to have you restrained in some manner, and it’ll only be once he feels as comfortable as possible with you that he won’t tie you up. To have you free means letting himself be vulnerable to your touches, and even your rejection of his touch, and just the thought is enough to get him nervous, having to wipe his slightly sweaty hands onto his jacket.

He’s had fantasies about fucking you without any restraints separating you before, but the moment it happens, you’ll notice that he’s oddly sensitive, his breath coming out harsher and more labored at touches that would normally leave him largely unaffected. It’s just so emotional for him, so scary and frightening, and he’ll stay inside you much longer than normal after he’s come, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you while your fingers maybe brush over his shoulders, maybe even running through his hair. It’s the sort of fantasy he’ll never, ever tell you about, though – and for now, he’ll stick with tying you up so that you’re easily accessible, provoking and arousing to stare at, and in no position to argue when he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants.

Dry humping

While he has sexual, lewd thoughts about you from pretty much the moment he truly accepts his feelings for you, Feitan takes a very long time to begin acting on those feelings.

Even more, it takes him a long time to get comfortable enough to be naked in front of you, much less actually fuck you. And so, while this hesitancy persists, he finds himself using other routes to sate his growing desire to be intimate with you – routes that are less invasive, less opportune for embarrassing accidents (like coming too fast, or facing your rejection).

And while it still feels awfully pathetic, Feitan finds that the simple act of grinding on you is enough to satisfy his desires, at least for the time being – there’s just something oddly enticing about it, something arousing and the pleasure just dull enough to thwart him from coming within three or four minutes of touching you.

He doesn’t like initiating it, though, finding it a bit too pathetic, even for him, even for the way he feels for you. Instead, he holds his breath, hoping that every time you brush against him (normally by accident, your whole body freezing up the moment you realize what you’ve done) that you’ll do it again, because even just a single bit of friction between your (fully clothed) bodies is enough to get his neck feeling warm, the ghost of an erection springing to life in his pants.

He’s just so, so touch starved, and so as time goes on, he’ll start subtly trying to get into positions where you might accidentally grind on him, sometimes without you even realizing. He’ll make you pick something up off the ground, then choose the exact moment that you’re bent over and your ass is in the air to walk behind you, letting his hips just barely graze against you.

He’ll manage to hold back the little strained noise he makes, but at some point you’ll notice that it’s happening much too often to be a coincidence, and you’ll eventually realize that the strange hardness you feel when he does this is actually him.

He won’t ever just grab you and rut into you, but god does he want to, especially when he sees your hips swaying, or when you’re sitting down, the fat of your thighs splayed out and your hips looking wide and full and perfect to grab onto.

He’s embarrassed by his own thoughts, but eventually you’ll probably realize what it is that he wants – you’ve felt the way he tries to subtly make it happen, and while you were at first confused and shocked (you’d had no idea Feitan wanted anything sexual with you, as he’d never made a mention of it or acted in a way that would suggest it), you eventually start getting a bit brave, too.

You don’t love Feitan, far from it, but you’ve been trapped with him for enough months to start craving any form of human contact, and so you’ll pounce – Feitan can’t help but sharply inhale when you grind back against him one day while you’re bent over, the feeling of your ass moving against his cock making him struggle to breath.

He’s not sure what you’re trying to do, too pessimistic to let himself believe that you’re the one grinding on him, but one day you’ll find yourself sitting next to him on the raggedy old couch, the TV playing some mindless horror movie that Feitan had thrown on, and your hand will just sort of move on its own, slowly, carefully placing itself very lightly over his thigh. He’ll tense up at the sensation, dark eyes flicking between your hand and your face, your own gaze nervously set on the TV in front of you.

It’s silent for a moment, but when he doesn’t move your hand, you’ll get braver, turning to look at him and asking in a soft, unsure voice if you can sit in his lap. Feitan doesn’t know how to respond, simply staring at you with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is some sort of trick – but eventually he’ll nod, telling you to be careful, don’t try anything.

You’ll position yourself so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, his thighs on either side of your hips, but you don’t lean back, even when you hear Feitan inhale slightly, having leaned forward to smell your hair. It’s a good twenty or so minutes later when you begin moving your hips slowly, nervously, listening to hear for any displeased noises or harsh commands for you to stop your movements.

Feitan is frozen behind you, staring at your hips and trying to understand what you’re doing – he likes it, but he doesn’t like the way his body is reacting, blood slowly starting to head south at the slight friction, at the way you’re so damn close to him, at the way he can smell you and can feel the heat radiating off your body.

It’s all too much, and suddenly he’s telling you to get off me, before quickly storming out of the room and locking himself in his bedroom.

His cock is in his hand within minutes, memories of how you’d felt against him, even with layers of clothes separating you still fresh in his mind. You’ll be left to believe he didn’t like it, that you’d totally misinterpreted his actions, ashamed and a bit afraid for how he’d respond moving forward.

Except, there’s no grand punishment, no mocking you for your actions – instead, the next night he turns on a new movie (still horror, gory and full of screaming and killing) and looks over at you expectantly.

His legs are spread this time, leaving a space between them, and for a moment you’re confused, unsure of what he wants. He just raises a brow at you, unwilling to articulate what he’s wanting, hoping you’ll understand it without him needing to say it.

You’ll shuffle closer, still staring at him, but soon he’ll just grumble, a hand reaching out and pulling you down to sit between his legs before you can even realize what’s happening. You’re stiff and unsure, unwilling to relax, and Feitan doesn’t like this. He wants you to move like you did last night, and after a few minutes of you sitting stone still, he’ll hiss into your ear do it again.

You’ll start slow, testing the waters, and you nearly jump when you feel Feitan’s hand ghost over your waist, setting his fingers against your shirt as if wanting to fully touch you, but not quite letting himself. He’ll occasionally tell you to go faster, the movie still playing in the background, the feeling of his cock digging into your tailbone making you a confusing mix of scared and aroused.

Eventually, he’ll let out this strange, unusual little sound, something like a grunt but much higher and strained, and you’ll feel something warm and wet pressing against you. Don’t mention anything, because Feitan doesn’t want you to say a damn word, not wanting to admit that the feeling of you grinding on him for roughly seven minutes has him coming in his pants, cum covering his cock and getting him all sticky.

He’s embarrassed, but it will become something of a ritual between the two of you – every time he turns on a movie, it’s your place to sit in his lap (eventually you actually will sit in his lap, fully on his lap, not just pressed against him, though this takes some time) and to gyrate your hips at that certain rhythm he likes, all up until you feel him tense up beneath you, seeing his fingers clutching at the couch cushions at your sides.

It’s a slow buildup into any sort of sexual activity between the two of you, but Feitan likes this, something about the intimacy making him extra sensitive, the feeling of you actually touching him (even peripherally, with clothes separating the two of you) making him feel lightheaded and airy. He likes it, and this will be the jumping off point for him to begin getting bolder, to begin letting himself actually fuck you, to finally do what he’s been craving for months.

And once you become aware that he likes it, please start imitating it – give him look and ask if you can um, sit in your lap?

He’ll almost always say yes, even if he’s in the middle of doing something, even if there’s not even a chair or couch nearby – he'll rush (not running, but very, very nearly) to the nearest surface, swallowing hard and staring at you, growing impatient when you don’t move fast enough for him.

Often, he’ll already be half hard, and while he prefers when your back is facing him, if you were to climb into his lap so that you were straddling him? Well, Feitan finds it much harder to look you in the eye, because now it’s your cunt grinding down on him rather than just your ass, and that’s much different, isn’t it?

Even once he’s progressed to stage of actually being willing to touch you, of being willing to let you touch him, Feitan still enjoys when you hump at him. And he particularly enjoys humping you, though he’s only willing to do this in the dead of night, when you’re fast asleep, your body ripe and vulnerable for him to touch, to explore, to use.

He doesn’t want you to be awake and see the way he crumbles when he drags his cock along the curve of your ass, if only because he doesn’t want you to see how pink his cheeks get, how he starts mumbling under his breath, how his every muscle is flexing and straining because he wants to go faster, needs to go faster, but he can’t risk waking you up.

It’s his dirty little secret, so you’d better start working on your stamina for grinding onto him – sure, he doesn’t last long, but he expects it often, and you can’t exactly refuse him.

Or else.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Begging

Feitan likes knowing that you want him. He feels so inferior and weak for having developed such strong, scarily dependent feelings for you, and it makes him feel good, satisfied, justified when you beg for him, all whiny and desperate for his touch, for his body, for his cock.

While he’s not particularly vocal between the sheets, he likes when you are - your voice is sultry when it gets all airy and gaspy, your little praises and pleas for him to go faster or please don’t stop making him double down and go harder, his desperation to please you driving him forward.

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to beg for anything, but you’ll be able to tell that he likes it.

You’ll see the way his eyes widen just a hair, the way his dark bangs settle over his forehead as he dips his head down, the exertion of moving his hips or wrist faster making him squeeze his eyes shut.

You’ll feel the way his thrusts get more insistent, hips slapping against yours while his balls clap against your ass, the sound lewd and only getting faster the more you beg.

You’ll be able to hear it in the way his breathing starts getting ragged, no amount of stamina adequate for hearing you beg for him, for him to touch you and pleasure you.

He wants to feel needed in the context of your sexual pleasure, as if you can’t get off without his help, as if you’re incapable of bringing yourself to orgasm when he so easily manages it. It’s unrealistic and he knows it, but he’s able to immerse himself in the fantasy of you wanting him when you’re begging him, able to delude himself into believing, if only for a bit, that you’re just as frantic for his love and affection as he is yours.

If you really want to get him going, a surefire way to have his cock springing to life and his heart lurching into his throat is to praise him a bit, then following it up with a plea for him to keep going. Tell him that it’s s’good, you feel so good Feitan, please don’t stop, just like that, fuck!

Tell him that you belong to him, that you’re his, that your cunt is his cunt, that you want him to come inside, that you need more more more. He might tell you that you’re greedy, grunting out something about you being a greedy slut, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the way his fingers tighten their hold on you will show you that he isn’t as unaffected by your words as he’d like to pretend.

He really just likes knowing that sex affects you just as much as it affects him, so please, please beg him - he’ll almost always do exactly what you want, almost like it’s a reward.

(After all, just getting to touch you is reward enough for him.)

Sensory deprivation

Because it takes Feitan so long to grow comfortable with letting himself be truly vulnerable with you (especially in the context of sex), he finds ways to get around this mental roadblock, so that he can experience everything he wants to without giving up any of his control.

And one of his favorite ways to do that is to limit your senses - specifically, Feitan loves to blindfold you. He doesn’t really want you to be looking at him during sex, too nervous and awkward and embarrassed, because once he gets inside you, his control over his facial expressions, his bodily responses, his everything is severely limited.

It takes all his will power to stop himself from coming prematurely, especially towards the beginning of his sexual relationship with you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you see the way his face crumples when he slips inside your wet heat, his dark brows drawing together and lips parting, eyes squeezing shut while he wills himself to calm down, to take deep breaths and not let himself get carried away.

He doesn’t want you to be able to look at him, but he wants to be able to see you - he wants full viewing pleasure of your body, and while this method does block seeing your eyes get all glassy and pleasured, it’s better this way.

This way, he gets to stare at the way your tits bounce as he fucks you, the soft fat jiggling and practically begging to be groped and squeezed at.

This way, he can stare at your ass he pounds into it, grabbing a handful of cheek in each hand and kneading the fat, spreading them apart and taking a peek at your pert, cute little asshole, seeing the curve and arch of your back.

He can let himself relax more this way, allowing his face to present every emotions and sensation he’s feeling, and he can let himself indulge in some of his more embarrassing urges - like reaching out to cup your hips when your bodies are facing each other, his fingers never quite brushing your skin but awfully close.

He’ll lean in close as if to kiss you, letting his breath fan over your lips but never actually closing the distance, just indulging in the smell of you and the idea of kissing you. He’s still very reserved, but this way he can do all the things he fantasizes about when he’s alone at night, his mind wandering to you and his body growing cold and lonely.

Plus, Feitan gains a certain amount of control this way - he gets to choose what happens to you, and because you can’t see anything, you’ll have no idea what’s coming next.

Will it be his hands, a vibrator, his cock?

You won’t know, and Feitan likes it that way - he wants to keep you guessing, to leave you unsure and awaiting his next move with baited breath.

He just likes how dependent you are when he’s got the black blindfold tied around your eyes, so you’d better get used to it - he’s not good at compromising, after all.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Feitan doesn’t harbor any desire to hurt you, there’s a certain allure that blood holds for him.

Of course, he doesn’t want to actually draw blood from you (the thought of you being in pain because of him makes any boner of his die immediately), but he discovers - by accident - that there’s a solution to mixing the two.

There’s a way to combine the two things that turn him on most - you, of course, and the slightest bit of blood - in a way that is safe for you yet still arousing, still enough to get him panting and his trousers feeling uncomfortably tight.

That is, Feitan discovers that he absolutely loves getting intimate with you while you’re on your period. It doesn’t matter if you get horrible cramps, mood swings, or are even totally unaffected - you’re sensitive, body needy and practically begging to be mounted and fucked, and who is Feitan to deny you?

Once he grows comfortable with intimacy, you’ll never be able to pull him away from you once the blood shows up in your panties. He’s obsessive, tracking your period for you, making sure that he knows the exact days that you’ll be starting and stopping.

He likes the way you respond to his touch so easily, your pretty pussy all messy and red and puffy, even the slightest touch making you buck your hips and gasp his name.

It’s euphoric, and when he slips inside you it becomes incredibly difficult to not immediately orgasm - you’re just so wet, so warm and wonderfully lubricated, and the sight of blood staining his cock when he pulls back to thrust back in makes his head spin.

You’re perfect when you’re menstruating, and you’ll notice he’ll be in a much better mood once you shyly report that it started, could you pick up some more pads for me? (He toys with the idea of actually collecting your blood, investing in one of those menstrual cups that you can remove once it’s full, just because the concept of drinking it is enough to make him fidget, the thought taboo and dirty and so very enticing.)

You can’t really say no to him normally, but you especially can’t deny him when it’s your time of the month - you will be getting fingered, fucked, even facefucked, if only because Feitan needs you, your pretty blood and pretty body making him go crazy in a way he didn’t think possible.

You make him go crazy in ways he didn’t think possible.

“Feitan, I - we can’t, not tonight.” You tell him, averting your gaze away from his as his hands grab at the old t-shirt and short you’re wearing. Unconsciously, your hand travels to your stomach, laying idly and making Feitan’s eyes narrow.

“Why not?” He asks, his voice clipped and suspicious. You didn’t often tell him no, and although there’s a bit of doubt swimming in his chest, he wants to know why you’re suddenly not welcoming his touch. You’ve reached the point of leaning into his cold, harsh hands, so why’re you suddenly being so standoffish? He doesn’t like it, and his hands stay idly resting on your shirt hem.

You’re embarrassed, he can tell, but he doesn’t drop the issue. Instead, he lets the silence sit heavily over the two of you, waiting for you to fill in the space.

“Well, um, you see…” You start, before squeezing your eyes shut and squeaking out, “My period started yesterday and it’s too messy.”

Feitan blinks at you, unsure what to say. Your period? You were bleeding?

“Okay, and?”

Your eyes peel open, daring to sneak a glance at your captor, who only stares at you, unimpressed. “Well, I mean, it’s going to be messy and gross and it probably smells bad and -”

“Shut up, we’re doing it.” He cuts you off, hand yanking at your shirt to bring it over your head. You grimace, already nervous for him to take off your shorts, because although you’re sure he knows what a period is, you’re sure he’s never actually been around a woman menstruating. Or at least, not sexually.

Actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been with a woman sexually in any capacity.

He’s yanking at your shorts next, pulling down the material even as you voice your protests, but one scowl from him has you shutting up, embarrassment pricking up your spine as he grabs your thighs and manually spreads them, the scratchy blanket covering the bed biting into your ass.

He’s staring, dark eyes a bit wider than normal, and you feel yourself shrinking in on yourself, the embarrassment eating you alive. Why was he staring? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Feitan..?” You mumble, biting your lip and letting your arms cover your bloated stomach. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his grip on your thighs tighten, to the point where you think you might see bruises tomorrow.

His eyes slowly, painstakingly, drag up from your exposed cunt to meet your face, and to your surprise you see the slightest dusting of a blush on his cheeks, as if he too was embarrassed. But before you can say anything, he’s rushing forward, lips pressing against yours in a messy, clumsy kiss, full of teeth knocking against teeth and too much spit. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but just as soon as he rushed in he’s pulling back, instead moving to bring his face level with your leaking hole.

Feitan can’t stop staring - there’s blood everywhere, and while he’d normally be thrown into a state of panic at seeing so much of your own blood staining your skin, somehow this is different. Somehow the sight of it staining your pussy, the red color all along your inner thighs and part of your asscheek making his mouth water, his cock already painfully hard. It’s so pretty - red against your skin, your lips visibly swollen, your little clit engorged and peaking out. You look good, like something he wants to taste, and before he knows what’s happening he’s diving forward, tongue licking a long stripe up your slit.

You taste like iron and musk and something oddly sweet, and immediately he’s diving in to taste more, tongue lapping at you like some dog in heat as he keeps his fingers firmly digging into your thighs. He can barely hear your sound of shock at his actions, too overwhelmed by your taste and your scent.

“F-feitan, stop!” You manage to force out, eyes squeezed shut as your hips shake and stutter. “It’s too much, I’m too sensitive, I can’t!”

Feitan stops at that, pulling away from your body with blood smeared all over his lips, chin and nose, staring at you with a look in those wide, dark eyes that makes you shiver. He looks like an animal like this, something primal and carnal - and when your eyes peek down to see his cock - throbbing, bright red and stiff against his stomach - you can’t help but feel as if you’re some sort of prey caught in his jaws.

“Not too much, you will survive.” Is all he says, before he’s resuming his actions, bringing a finger up to prod inside your walls while his tongue gets to work on your clit. His fingers curl and rub, but you’re so damn tight, your walls impossibly clenched, and it makes Feitan grunt against you. You’re even wetter inside than normal, the blood practically running down his hands in copious amounts, making it remarkably easy to slide his fingers in and out. Almost too easy, it would seem.

You’re blabbering his name, the stimulation hurtling you towards your orgasm much quicker than normal, your heightened sensitivity and emotions turning you into a moaning, whimpering mess. And Feitan loves it - those dark eyes are peering up at you from over the crest of your pelvic bone, blood tinging his cheeks and visible to you.

When he angles his fingers to press against the spongey, sensitive spot he knows you love, you suddenly gasp, a hand flying to tangle into his hair, the other gently pinching and rolling at your nipple.

“Feitan, oh fuck Feitan ‘m gonna, I’m gonna come-!” You’re squealing, something that makes Feitan cock a brow, the pure desperation in your body as you squirm under his touch making him feral, his hips beginning to rut against the bed before he can even think about it. You just look so sexy like this, with your nipples swollen and sensitive, your cunt all warm and wet and sweet, and he’ll watch with wide eyes as you orgasm around him, your walls clenching down so hard that they force his fingers out, his tongue and the circles he’s drawing on your clit the only thing grounding you. Your back arches fully up off the bed, tits thrust out into the air, and Feitan bites back a groan as his own pleasure hits a peak, the blanket ruined as cum oozes from his tip and seeps into the fabric.

You’re shaking, literally fucking shaking, and Feitan finds himself trembling too, his hands not as steady against your skin. If he’d known you would taste like this, how sensitive you’d be, how easy it is to get you orgasming while on your period, he would’ve done this long ago.

You’re out of it, blinking up at the ceiling and heaving uneven breaths, but even as sensitive as he is from his last orgasm, Feitan is quickly shuffling to his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and sinking into you, face contorting into something between a grimace and a gasp. You’re so damn warm, and he groans lowly as he sees the way his cock has pink slick all over it when he pulls back, a mix of your blood, your slick and his cum decorating his length.

Fucking you is heaven, the way you clutch at him and writhe, nearly screaming his name as you come on his cock, and Feitan can only grit his teeth and go harder, spurred on by the way your walls are caressing his length, massaging and gripping like a fucking vice.

It feels good, and by the time he’s emptied himself inside you, he’s already made a mental note to mark down when your next period will be - just so he can get ready, so that he can get prepared. So that he can prepare you, too, because you won’t simply be allowed rest after the first night.

God no, not if you’re like this the whole time.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan portor #hxh smut #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_feitan portor

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