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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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hyperfixatedcatlover · 2 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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kiame-sama · 2 years ago

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Donut Rings- (Yandere!Chrollo x Chubby!Reader)

Warnings; this whole thing is almost entirely self serving, fem reader, short and busty reader, chubby reader, general perversion, cursing, adult themes, adult conversation, jealousy, possessive behavior, yandere, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, mention of aggressive behavior, unwanted flirting, slight objectification,

~~~~~~~~

"Can't fuckin' believe it..."

A long and frustrated sigh left the lips of the blond man standing with his arms crossed. The blue and green jumpsuit he wore seeming over the top given that he was not going jogging, but at an airport. He had an obvious scowl on his lips and certainly seemed less than pleased with the situation he found himself in.

"What has you so displeased, Phinks?"

A man with black hair in a fur lined coat glanced curiously at his compatriot, a single delicate brow raised in question. The two belonged to the larger group that seemed rather disjointed together despite being together. Twelve in total stood together as others ambled past them towards whatever gate would get them to their flight.

"You should have seen it, Boss, Phinks got flat out rejected by some chick."

The largest of the group- both height and muscle mass- snorted out a loud laugh that earned more than a few glances. His wild gray tinted hair made him appear to be almost feral in how he grinned in amusement at the dejection of his comrade. One may compare the large man to that of a bear or a wolf given the wide grin and decidedly feral appearance.

Phinks sighed loudly again as he pouted, clearly unhappy with his rejection and the teasing he received

"Not just some chick, she's the short one with the huge fucking tits at the donut place!"

He cupped his hand beneath his chest to emphasize his point and phantom-mime the size of the breasts in question. Even with the nonexistent chest he 'held' in his hands, he seemed to be yearning to touch the real breasts he was talking about. Hands slowly moving as if stroking the air where the soft globes would be.

"What do her tits have to do with anything?"

One of the smaller members of the group- a woman with bright pink hair and moderately sized breasts- frowned in the general direction of Phinks. She seemed less than pleased with the way the man was talking about the apparent attributes and almost seemed tempted to smack his cupped hands. Out of the group, the pink-haired woman had the smaller sized breasts compared to the other women present.

"You wouldn't get it, Machi," Phinks complained, dismissively waving his hand, "it's a guy thing. If you can get a big tiddy bitch to ride you, it's so fun to watch them bounce. Plus, probably the best thing to fuck other than pussy. So soft, like humping two giant marshmallows."

Phinks moved his hands to mimic holding two breasts at crotch level and thrusting his hips into them to show just what he was talking about. It wasn't as if any of the group were clueless to the intimate actions he spoke of, but he was content to show the action all the same.

The twelve stood near a donut shop inside of the airport, a constant stream of people entering and exiting the line with various baked confections. There was an apparent sweet scent wafting through the air around the bakery as more of the goods were baked and decorated. For every tray of decorated donuts, two trays seemed to be emptied every ten minutes.

Machi glanced up at the window that showed where the employees were decorating the donuts and putting the rich icing onto them. Behind the glass stood the woman in question as she worked to put the sugary icing onto the warm baked rings. She seemed oblivious to the group that stood casually discussing her and watching her work, though a slight glare took over her relaxed visage as Phinks thrust his hips provocatively.

"Is that the one who rejected you?"

Chrollo asked, gesturing to the woman behind the glass as she lifted the tray of donuts and walked away to place them out for sale. Phinks nodded with a solemn look, as if lamenting the fact that the woman was clearly less than pleased with his presence when she wasn't ignoring him.

"Yeah. I was even trying to put on the works for her, you know? Sweet talk her a bit, make a joke or two. But she couldn't even give a fella the time of day!"

"Good."

This caused a surprised laugh from several in the group as Phinks stared at Chrollo incredulously. If he didn't know any better, he would say Chrollo was intentionally being cruel for the sake of being cruel.

"Damn, Boss, that's cold!"

Chrollo shrugged in response to the amused and surprised remark by the feral man that gleefully teased Phinks. It seemed as if the raven haired man was not at all perturbed by the surprised words, glancing back at the window as the woman returned. She still ignored thr group and began decorating the next set of rings without glancing up at the onlookers.

"Spider or not, I don't feel particularly fond of others flirting with my girlfriend."

This made all of the color drain from Phinks' face as he took in Chrollo's casually stated words. If there was one thing that none of the group wanted to do, it was anger their beloved leader. Flirting with Chrollo's significant other certainly seemed like a surefire way to anger him.

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait, she's your-? Forget everything I said about her nice juicy tits! And what I said about humping them-! I mean- fuck!"

"Phinks, I think you should probably just be quiet."

The other blonde in the group laughed at the flustered reaction and stuttered words Phinks hastily choked out. Shalnark was as amused as ever with the quick way the other blonde attempted to retract his statement now that he knew he was talking about Chrollo's girlfriend. If Chrollo were quick to anger, Phinks would have been struck down for his words about the woman who still had yet to look back at them.

"Idiot."

One of the short men with black hair scoffed at the foolish behavior of Phinks, not needing to put effort into a greater response than the slight jab. It was frowned upon for the group members to try and start fights with the others and trying to take a significant other was sure to cause a fight. Luckily for Phinks, Chrollo was not witness to the brazen flirting.

"Didn't know you had a girlfriend, Boss."

The blonde female stated with a relaxed tone, masking the clear curiosity in her voice. Chrollo did not seem like one to keep a consistent partner as he often used sex to extract information from others. Regardless, no one in the group was about to question their beloved leader beyond simple comments and inquiries.

"I do. (Y/n) is not a plaything or a target to be hassled, nor should she know of our exploits. She is far too innocent for that and may try to flee if she realizes the full breadth of our actions. So, until I choose to enlighten her, no one is to mention what we do or where we come from, understood?"

The others were quick to agree to the unofficial order of silence, now more curious than ever to figure out just what about this woman managed to entrance their blood-thirsty leader. For the time being they decided to keep quiet and observe as the woman emerged from the donut shop, seeming rather tired and uncomfortable on her feet. Chrollo was quick to leave the group and approach (y/n) with an affectionate smile, surprising the shorter woman as if she had not expected his presence.

"Chrollo? What are you doing here?"

"Do I need a reason to visit my lover?"

"Only when I'm working. How did you get past security? They're usually pretty strict about letting anyone who isn't traveling or doesn't work here past the entrance."

"I have my ways."

"Right," she let out a short huff of amusement, "next you're going to tell me you have diplomatic immunity."

Chrollo chuckled softly, wondering just how his cute little darling would react to knowing even half of the truth about him and the things he's done. With everything he had done there was no way that he would be allowed into the airport legally. Of course, for those who knew his sordid past, seeing him casually flirt with the short, large-breasted woman was an unusual experience. One that Phinks couldn't help but pout at.

"No fair, why does he always get the hot ones?"

"I'm telling Boss you're talking about his girl again."

"Oh, fuck off!"

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #hxh yandere #yandere chrollo #self serving fic

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bleach-your-panties · 1 year 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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scarlet2007 · 1 year ago

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⊹ ₊˚꒷꒦︶⊹ To tame a mermaid's heart₊︶꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Pairing: Yandere! Adult trio x Mermaid! Reader. (Chrollo x reader in this chapter).

Side pairing: Illumi x Hisoka.

[ Master list ]

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Summary: After being kidnapped by Chrollo, a certain clown and assassin took an interest in her as her childhood friend, Kurapika Kurta, tried to free her from the clutches of those monsters. But perhaps, Kurapika has become one too.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Chapter: 1 of the miniseries.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Warnings: Yandere theme, Kidnapping and human/mermaid trafficking, drugs and overall, horror themes, oh! And i named the reader "Maki".

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Word count: 1.3k

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Requested by: @animerules898

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

The auction light burned her vision, making her cover her eyes as soon as the curtains were opened, the people letting out a gasp as they stared at the scene infront of them. Rumors has it that a mermaid was being auctioned off at the mafia auction this year, and from the looks of it, it looks like the rumours were true as they all watched her blink in confusion, her tail shining brightly as the light from the auction hall hit it, making the vibrant colours appears more mesmerizing.

They all stared at her, listening to the host intensely as everyone wanted the mermaid to themselves. After all, mermaids are rare, and if you managed to make one transform, it can provide great and powerful offsprings.

She looked confused at first before the situation finally dawn upon her as she tried to look for a way to escape, but being enclosed in a tank didn't help her case. As she looked at the crowd and the host in panic, the crowd started to bet more and more, competing against each other to buy her. She was beautiful, as all mermaids are, but what made her more desirable was how innocent and helpless she looked, which just fueled the desires of the people in the auction house more, with one common thought, 'I can't wait to break her.'

After almost half an hour later, she was auctioned off, and in her frantic state, she didn't look at who brought her as a lady started to push her tank towards the storage.

"Kortopi, are you going to make a copy of her too?" The lady that took her to the storage room asked, glancing at a strange man. He had a thick and messy mane of grey hair covering his entire head and obscuring everything except for his left eye. He also had a small mouth and round head. He wore a light blue tunic, light blue pants beneath it, and black shoes.

Kortopi nodded as the lady pushed her tank towards him, as another girl, seemingly called 'Shizuku' as the lady referred to her as, looked at the mermaid with great interest.

The mermaid shifted uncomfortably in the tank, trying to make herself as small and as far away from the top of the tank as she could as a man with blonde hair and black eyes tried to pull her out of it. He looked fairly tall and muscular. His most distinguishing features where his piercing eyes and lack of eyebrows, making the mermaid almost giggle before she remembered where she was.

Suddenly, she was pulled out of the tank in an blink of an eye, by a string as a girl with pink hair rolled her eyes. The mermaid, shocked at what just happened, laid on the ground for a few seconds before looking straight at the girl with pink hair. The mermaid's hair were wet, and so was her whole body as she pant heavily, finding it a bit difficult to breath as her atmosphere suddenly changed.

"Machi, be gentle! Leader told us to bring her without any bruises or cuts!" A man with blond hair and bright green eyes wearing a lavender outfit, exclamated.

"She wasn't going to come out on her own, Shalnark." Someone said as the mermaid was too busy being dragged towards Kortopi, struggling on her way as Phinks tried to keep her to stay still. The mermaid whimpered, feeling distressed at the whole overdeal as she flinched as Kortopi put his hand on top of her head, focusing on greating a copy of her with his fake gallery.

The mermaid watched in the mixture of fear and curiosity as her exact replica was created besides her, the only think that made her unique from her replica was that her replica didn't feel as lively as she did, making the replica almost look like a doll.

"Kortopi, why does the replica look... A bit different from the mermaid?" Shizuku asked, staring intensely at the replica and the mermaid infront of her. Phinks agreed before Kortopi began to explain.

"Mermaids can not be replicated fully, it's one of the things that make them so unique and rare." The mermaid nodded along in almost a child-like manner as she glanced at Kortopi.

Suddenly, the mermaid felt pain in her neck before her eyes were blindfolded as she began to loss conciousness.

"Good thing they are vulnerable to all type of drugs then." Was the last thing she heard before she lost her conciousness.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

The mermaid woke up in a tank, in the middle of a room inside of an abandoned building.

The mermaid groaned, bubbles forming from the action as she looked around before spotting a figure sitting nearby, reading what looked like a Bible. He had slick black hair that were pulled back, wearing a fluffy jacket without anything underneath with a weird tattoo on his forehead. The mermaid stared at him in silence, fear slowly creeping in the longer she stared at the man who was calmly reading the book with the help of the light generated by a candle.

The mermaid flinched as the man shut off his book, turning around to made eye contact with her.

"You're awake." He smiled as he approached her, making the poor mermaid swim as far back as the tank would allow to keep her distance from the man.

"Shhh, don't be, scared, love, you are mine, now. You shouldn't be scared." The man whispered as he stared at her.

There was something unsettling in his gaze, something more unsettling at the way he talked, making the mermaid fear him more.

The mermaid squeaked in fear as he grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her water tank as he pulled her towards his chest, sliding an arm underneath her tail to support it as he nuzzled against her neck.

"Mine... You don't know how long I have waited to get my hands on you, Maki." The mermaid froze in fear, 'Maki', no one knew her name, except her clan members and the members of the Kurta clan, even the people that were auctioning her off didn't knew her name.

Maki gulped in fear, as she glanced at his face, his gentle smile and calm demeanor making her question her own fear.

Why is he so calm? Why was she freaking out when he had been nothing but nice to her? Who was he?

Maki shook her head gently, trying to focus on the situation more and not on her thoughts as she finally spoke after months.

"How... Do you know my name..?" She asked quietly, her voice hoarse from not being used from months.

"Oh, Maki... I know everything about you."

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Author's note: Okay, so... This is my first ever mini-series, so I am kind of excited to see how it will turn out! I really love the whole idea so thanks to @animerules898 for the great idea! If anyone wants to be tagged in the future chapters, then feel free to send me an ask for it! Also, my mid terms are starting from 11th September so I might be a bit slow but I will try my best to be active! Thank you!

Oh, and requests are open but please be patient with them! Have a great day!

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

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z0-ne · 6 months ago

Text

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?

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"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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the-queen-of-sorrows · 11 days ago

Text

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 ||

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 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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lightfeltmemories · 5 months ago

Text

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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what-the-stories-have-foretold · 2 years ago

Note

How do they confess to fem reader

Fluff

Fir chrollo and Feitan (seperately ) plz

Of course 💕

Chrollo x gn!reader (200+ words), Feitan x gn!reader (500+ words)

Navi.

Warnings: mention of murder and torture in feitan´s part bc he´s feitan, reader bakes and cooks in feitan's part, Fei likens the reader to a bunny

The night was cool, though the sky was already clearer, signifying the coming of spring. He had picked you up in a sleek black car, waiting for you leaned against the door, dressed in a tuxedo. He drew you towards him by the waist, smiling lips finding your temple in a soft kiss before he opened the door for you and let you in.

It was quite the sensual night, air buzzing between you both. While you waited for the food, he sat leaned forward, gently holding your hands in his over the table. His thumb brushed over your skin as his eyes were fixated on you and only you.

The entire night his eyes never left yours for more than a moment, always finding them again after a quick glance at the waiter or your lips. His hands always sought yours out, and when you were eating, they were itching to feel your skin underneath them again.

He would soon enough, however. Under the starlit sky then, standing before the door to your home, he held your cheek and tilted your face up for the moon to illuminate. You were for his eyes only, your body only for his fingertips to caress. Your lips only for his lips to part.

You assume he had finally gotten used to you. After many months of being part of the Phantom Troupe - friends with the Phantom Troupe - he actually acknowledged you when you entered a room, shared a meaningful look with you when Phinks yet again made a fool of himself and once he even tried food that you had made.

He liked you, that much was clear even to you. He trusted you as much as he trusted the founding members, and he seemed to worry for you - in his own twisted way. When you got injured trying to capture someone, he would be far crueller than usual as he interrogated them.

It was Chrollo who called you to his side with a smile. Unlike Phinks and Nobunaga he had stayed quiet, not mentioning the obvious change in Feitan´s behaviour - let alone teasing him. You sometimes wondered, if the other two had a death wish making these kinds of innuendos towards Feitan.

Your face was still heated from their teasing when you followed Chrollo. Behind you, you could hear laughter turn into terrified screams as Phinks tried to flee his friend´s wrath. As the door closed, for a moment, you could feel a cold stare sending shivers down your back.

Chrollo - albeit often shockingly emotionally destitute - was very good at reading people. While understanding them seemed to be quite difficult for him at times, in this case, his taste in literature must have come in handy.

"You are incredibly lucky to have gotten on Feitan´s good side so quickly. I even doubt he´d eat food I made for him."

"To be fair I don´t think-" you broke down with a light giggle at the little scowl he sent you. Chrollo shook his head, before his expression turned serious.

"Most importantly, I want to let you know that from here on out a single misstep can signify your or another person´s death. If you are hurt - by anyone and in any way - they will die. Choose your words carefully or the Phantom Troupe or even your loved ones may not live to see another day." You tensed. "That is the love of Feitan. Fiercely loyal, but terrible. One misstep and you are dead. Remember that before you make any decision concerning him and you."

You nodded.

"Thank you, Chrollo."

He only hummed as you left.

Feitan awaited you as a shadow lurking before your room.

"What Boss say?"

You opened your mouth, but unsure what to say, you closed it again. Feitan laid his head to the side, before kicking himself off the wall and gesturing for you to open your door. Inside, he sauntered to the couch and reached out for a box of self-made cookies. When you still didn´t answer, he looked back at you, eyebrows raised.

"What? Cat bit your tongue?" his sharp teeth glimmered in the light.

"He simply told me that as a Phantom Troupe member, I should mind my actions."

Feitan frowned.

"That clear, no?"

"Well...more so because he said I am on your...good side?"

Feitan clicked his tongue.

"Like Phinks, so childish." He bared his teeth for a second before his eyes found yours. His gaze was calculating, as if trying to read you. Then, a smile broke out on his face.

"And what if true, hm?"

"Ah-" your eyes widened, and you fiddled with your fingers. Feitan laughed at that.

"So nervous. Like a bunny in cage," he hummed. "True. I like you. Question is: do you?"

You were unsure what to feel under that piercing gaze.

#chrollo x reader #hxh chrollo #chrollo imagine #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo hunter x hunter #feitan hxh #feitan hunter x hunter #feitan x reader #feitan #what-the-stories-have-foretold #hxh #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter #cafe employee

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years ago

Text

Spider Spectacles.

Chrollo x F Reader.

Various snippets that take place in the Hell Within Reach universe.

Warnings: Some mild not SFW implications, mentions of blood/violence (not towards Reader). Word count: 3.1k.

Phinks can’t believe these same hands that are capable of breaking necks with ease can’t tie a fucking tie.

If that isn’t bad enough, he’s stuck in this ridiculously restrictive suit, the fabric scratchy against his skin. Why anyone would actively choose to wear something like this is beyond him. From his perspective, it wreaks of being pretentious. To make matters worse, he’s fighting against the clock here. You’re to be his “date” for infiltrating tonight’s job. He’s holding things up with how long this is taking.

Just when he’s fantasizing over how he’ll choke some socialite goon with this stupid piece of fabric, you enter his line of sight. Though you’re wearing high heels, your footsteps made no sound, and he’d been too preoccupied with this torture device to sense your presence properly.

You stand before him, dressed elegantly, adorned in jewelry and more prominent makeup. Unlike himself, blending in with those plutocrats won’t pose an issue for you. He wonders if somewhere past your perfectly poised countenance, behind the drawn curtains that obscure your eyes’ true feelings, is there any prejudice toward him? Or the rest of the Troupe as a whole? Shal said you come from a family of bigwigs; why exactly you joined the Spider is beyond him.

He supposes he should trust in Chrollo’s judgment. That’s easier said than done, though.

Tonight would serve as an imperative litmus test. Both you and Phinks were to be the vanguard. Only Paku had seen you in action before, he can’t help but be curious about how it’ll go. Will you squirm at the sight of limbs being torn off? Swoon over disembowelment? Complain should any blood and gore splatter across your pretty dress?

He’ll know soon enough. For now, he assumes it’s only a matter of time before you turn on your heel, uninterested in a commoner’s woes.

Hah. There it is. You’re parting your painted lips, he can’t wait to stamp out whatever propriety-filled nonsense you spew—

“Could I be of any assistance?”

He sets his mouth in a thin, firm line. As much as he’d love to make a point by telling you no, he is technically the reason why you’re tight on time. Had there been the slightest hint of arrogance in your demeanor, he would’ve told you to fuck off, but as things currently stand, that’d be uncalled for.

“... Knock yourself out.”

With this, you set out to work, your hands finding the loose fabric hanging around his neck. It occurs to him then that he’s never seen you without gloves on. You’re always wearing that black leather pair, or in this case, opera gloves. He makes a mental note to talk to Shal for his theories later.

Phinks is treated to a whiff of your perfume when you get closer to him. It’s subtle yet pleasant, though he can’t quite put his finger on what specifically makes it up. Vanilla for sure. He’s smelled worse. Those harpies love to soak themselves in the most egregious scents in existence. He finds himself favoring Meteor City’s stench over the aroma found in high society functions.

Your ensemble isn’t needlessly flashy. Diamond stud earrings with a matching necklace and an off-the-shoulder navy blue evening dress. You must’ve used that woman paint or whatever it’s called to cover up your Spider tattoo. You haven’t plastered makeup on thick enough to make it seem like you moonlight as a clown either.

Before he knows it, you’re done. You straight then tie, then his lapels, smoothing over the many creases born from his frustration. Phinks feels his face heat up, despite the cold surroundings from the poorly insulated abandoned building. He coughs into his hands to cover up this damning evidence.

“Thank you for your patience,” the way you speak is so calm, so assured without spilling into arrogance. He thinks he’s catching a hint of an accent too. “I’ll be waiting outside. I look forward to working with you, Phinks.”

“Uh… yeah, same here.”

You pause, having apparently not expected him to return the sentiment verbally. After a moment’s deliberation, you nod, your face betraying nothing. He finds himself staring at the back of your figure until you’re out of sight. Huffing, he shoves his hands into his pockets, cursing himself for his momentary enchantment. He wasn’t able to be as passive-aggressive as he had hoped to better gauge your character.

This proves nothing, he thinks. I still can’t consider her one of us.

After a few unnecessarily long seconds, he manages to get back into his usual rhythm. He walks down the same path you did, kicking a rock while he does so, the sound echoing throughout the vast empty space. Phinks thinks back to the utmost care you displayed in helping him with such a menial task. It’s such a small, silly thing, but he can’t get the sight out of his head. What a pain this is turning out to be.

Well, Paku did ask him to get along with you… maybe it won’t be as egregious a notion as he originally thought. Maybe. He’ll have to give it some serious thought. So if he’s caught up in how pretty you smell, it’s for a very good reason, he tells himself.

ii.

“You have a very steady heartbeat.”

You’re tracing abstract art into his skin. Shapes, letters, the most memorable sentences from the book you just read; anything your satisfied yet weary mind could concoct.

Following the end of your passionate rendezvous, you’ve found yourself resting your head against Chrollo’s chest. In doing so, you’ve become intimately aware of several elements of his anatomy. His heartbeat is the most prominent addition.

His coarse fingers glide over the flesh of your forearm in an absentminded fashion. “Do you find it off-putting?”

The genuine candor backing his inquiry makes you scrunch your eyebrows together. “I can’t imagine why I would.”

You are both anomalies. Beings that exist in their own sphere, separate from the rest. If not for his conviction to seek you out, you would’ve remained a specter, intangible to all but a few. The peculiar life you have lived up until this point gives you little leverage to judge from.

“… It’s just a thought,” you hear the low rumble in his chest when he speaks. He takes your wrist into his hands, his thumb pressing against your pulse. Your breath catches in your throat. “I’ve come to realize that you’re better at being human than I am.”

“Better at being human?” You repeat the words back slowly, as if learning a new language. It’s foreign enough to essentially count. You might think it a joke if it had been coming from anyone else.

His free hand nestles itself in between your thighs. Despite yourself, the many years of training to have total control over your every bodily function — voluntarily and involuntary — your heart skips a beat. With enough focus, you rein the traitorous back under control, feeling defeated somehow.

“Come now, don’t pout.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” is your petulant response. You then take a deep breath to steady your voice. “This is a physiological response I haven’t adequately prepared myself for. With enough intentionality, I’ll get better at it.”

Silence ensues. You shift in your spot, discontentment suddenly flooding you. It’s a rare dilemma indeed for Chrollo to go quiet for so long. While the air itself isn’t thick or dripping with tension, an unknown energy buzzes throughout.

“I hadn’t intended to critique your abilities, dear.”

There’s something different about his voice — almost an underlying unsteadiness to it. You part your lips, a question blooming then wilting on your tongue at the small chuckle that slips from him. He tries to school himself, and while he achieves mild success, he ultimately succumbs to whatever has amused him.

His heartbeat quickens ever so slightly.

Anyone else may have missed it, but not you. Not when your senses are so attuned to your surroundings as they are.

“You might be getting better at ‘being human’, boss,” your lips curve upward. “Either that, or we’re both losing our touch.”

He hums and gives your thigh a squeeze. “Does the idea bother you?”

“No,” you respond in truth. Far faster than you thought you would too. “And what about you?”

“I believe it should, but…”

He trails off to navigate the tangled web that is his thoughts. Eventually, he arrives at a conclusion, one that transforms the buzz in the atmosphere to a soothing thrum.

“If you’re the cause, I can’t say I mind.”

iii.

“It’s delusion… pure delusion.”

This guy has spirit; Chrollo will give him that.

He sits hunched over in a chair, matted hair obscuring his bloodshot eyes. He sputters out a cough, blood coming up with it, and the abrupt pressure on his chest causes his swollen face to contort in pain. His spit is red when it hits the floor, a few loose hanging teeth clattering alongside it.

Still, the night is young. Chrollo would be sure to keep a close enough eye on his vitals so as to prevent a premature death. That just wouldn’t do. Not when there’s plenty more in store.

“It’s always the same… with lowborn scum like you,” the man rasps out. “Chasing after… what you can’t have. What’ll never belong to you.”

The man rolls his head back, chuckling despite the ache that accompanies doing so. “Lady [First] is in a league above your own. Whatever you think you have working out well for you now… it’s not meant to last.”

Chrollo dislikes hearing your name come from this man’s lips. He’s in a chatty mood now, likely wanting to hurt Chrollo in any way he possibly can. Given the insurmountable gap in physical strength, this must be what he’s left with, bitter words and desperate insults. It’s amusing in its own way. That this completely inconsequential individual thinks himself capable of driving a wedge between you and Chrollo.

Amusing, but mildly grating all the same.

“You know it’s true,” he tries again at the silence on Chrollo’s part. “That’s why you aren’t saying anything.”

More like I don’t consider you worth the effort, Chrollo muses. Or the air.

Another cough — followed up by more blood. The internal bleeding must be getting worse. Did Chrollo misjudge the strength behind his blows? No, that isn’t possible. He flexes his fingers, blankly staring down at his fists. It’s been a long time since he’s tortured someone in a way that got his hands dirty. This was a unique case, however, he wanted to feel the snap of bones and rip of cartilage.

It brought him satisfaction that he didn’t know he needed.

“When she learns the truth about who you are, it’ll all be over. Just you wait. Meteor City trash.”

This conclusion must’ve seemed definitive enough to the man, for he cuts his monologue short and gives the slightest crooked smile. As if he said anything worthwhile. As if he won whatever one-sided battle he thinks he’s fighting.

Chrollo wonders if he should take out his tongue so the man might witness how worthless the muscle is.

Maybe the man’s right that you’re in a league above his own. You were born into a world that he painstakingly crawled his way into, over mountains upon mountains of decaying corpses. Pure nobility, a hallowed ancestral line that can be found in historic textbooks. There are paintings of your ancestors in the most esteemed locations whereas Chrollo knows nothing of his heritage.

At first, he had set out to make you his greatest conquest, a thief’s magnum opus.

And now he would gladly lay down his life for you, or take as many lives as you wanted, should that be your desire.

He far prefers how fate discouraged his original designs.

Chrollo looks down on this poor, misguided man, who thought himself the vanguard of your honor without knowing the slightest thing about you. Your brilliant mind, latent depravity, and vicious loyalty, hidden behind a prim veneer. He can’t blame the man for falling for it. He almost did himself.

Finally, Chrollo gives him a single verbal response. He sees no reason to offer more than that. Not when everything he wants to say can be encapsulated so easily. Short and sweet, the way it should be.

“And if I told you she’s already aware?”

The man’s ragged breath gets caught in his throat. “That isn’t… surely that isn’t possible.”

Chrollo will let him ruminate on it.

After all, despair is best brewed within, as no one can find a worse enemy than their own thoughts.

iv.

Pakunoda has a tall glass of white wine, the glass’ rim stained with her burgundy lipstick.

Machi is sipping on a beer the restaurant had on tap.

Then there’s you, holding your water with lemon, occasionally stirring it with your straw.

In the background, a pianist tickles the ivories, adding to the general pleasant ambiance. There’s chatter from patrons, the clinking of silverware, and the waitstaff coming to and fro. Your soul feels at ease. Good company and good food are a balm for all woes.

“Your turn,” Pakunoda inclines her head toward you. Her diamond earrings catch the light and twinkle. “What’s the strangest Nen ability you’ve encountered?”

You’ve never considered yourself the best storyteller, but your audience of two is familiar, lessening the burdens of social pressure. Pakunoda regaled you both with a witty anecdote of her experience, whereas Machi’s dry and succinct account had its own charm. You comb your memory for a standout encounter to capture their interest with.

After a moment’s consideration, you land on just the thing.

“It was a couple of years ago,” you begin. “I was assigned a job to look into cargo that was stolen in transit, due to it posing a biohazard risk. When I finally narrowed down the search, it was in this tepid marshland. I sensed multiple lifeforms keeping an eye on me, but the aura didn’t belong to anything human.”

Pakunoda raises an eyebrow and Machi hums.

You take a sip of refreshing water before continuing, “Eventually, I found the hazardous material. There were no signs of the perpetrator, however. But when I got within ten feet of the barrels, it triggered some sort of automatic response. The lifeforms that were observing me finally came out and attacked.”

You exhale softly through your nose when you recall what happens next.

“The lifeforms were frogs.”

“Frogs?” Pakunoda questions, her lips morphing into a smile. “Actual frogs, or frogs made from Nen?”

“They were actual frogs, under a Manipulator’s control,” you reveal. Machi snorts. “As for the Nen user… I never found them. I did find human remains inside the frogs, though. My personal theory is that the prolonged exposure killed the user, activating post-mortem Nen. The bodies of the guards and the truck driver weren’t at the initial scene of the attack. I assume the frogs served a similar cleanup utility to Shizuku’s ability, but with a condition to consume deceased organisms.”

“So they ate their dead user?” Machi asks. You nod. “That’s fucked up.”

“... It did change my perception of frogs.”

When they both laugh, you can’t help but join them.

The remainder of the night is spent in high spirits, swapping stories and deepening your bonds.

“See anything interesting?” Chrollo queries.

“Hm?”

“It’s the third time you’ve looked over my shoulder in the past minute,” he explains. He chuckles softly at your nonplussed expression. “I hope it isn’t the male attendant who has caught your eye. I might get jealous.”

“Of course not,” you huff. He can be so troublesome at times, poking and prodding with that handsome smile of his. Your irritation never lasts long — he knows how to rile you up and pacify you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the banter, though.

“Is it the dress, then?” he asks. You give yourself away by fidgeting slightly. “Ah. So it is.”

Chrollo’s otherworldly perception shouldn’t surprise you by now, yet in moments like this, you wonder how he has such insight into the human mind. He hadn’t looked behind himself once to identify what was in your line of sight. Did he catch how your gaze lingered on the boutique earlier and memorize its position? What lengths he goes to.

When you purse your lips, he presses on. “I can get it for you if you want.”

“It isn’t…” you trail off, finding it difficult to form the proper words, “It isn’t a style that would suit me.”

It's a light pink a-line dress at teacup length with floral lace trimmings. Very soft, very feminine.

Very not you.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve worn dresses before.”

“Well, yes. I have to for certain functions. Besides, none of them are like… like that.”

You stare down at your gloved hands, which are folded on your lap. It’s silly, ridiculous, even, this hollowness in your chest cavity you feel when you see certain things. There’s this yearning that leads you astray like the Pied Piper’s song. Your teacher advised you against indulging in needless excess. Everything from the food you eat to your clothes; it should be practical and purposeful. These are the tenets you were instilled with from as early on as you can remember.

“Like what?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You know very well what I mean.”

Chrollo rests his cheek on his fist. “Perhaps. I know what covetous eyes look like even better.”

“It isn’t worth dwelling on,” you straighten out a wrinkle in your clothes. “It’s pretty, that’s all there is to it.”

“It’d look far prettier on you.”

Heat floods your cheeks and your lips part. You go to say something, but find yourself unable, settling for clearing your throat instead. The smile on his face is different from those he uses with the intent to charm. It’s gentle, almost tender. There’s an underpinning of fondness that he reveals to no one aside from you.

You allow yourself one last glance at the dress before returning to your prior conversation, discussing the last book you’d both read.

The following morning, you open your closet door while wiping the sleep from your eyes. You assess the display of garments in familiar shades of black, gray, and occasionally navy blue. At the end of the hanging rack, however, you spot something that sticks out like a sore thumb. Something that was most definitely not there when you went to bed last night.

You run your fingers over the light pink fabric, biting back a giddy smile while you do so.

Chrollo is given a kiss on the cheek when handed his morning coffee.

#chrollo x reader #hxh x reader #phantom troupe x reader #hell within reach #my stuff

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