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after-witch · 1 year ago

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Late Night Break In [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Title: Late Night Break In [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Synopsis: You never expected to find your soulmate. After all, it’s not like there were lots of people named “Uvogin” out there.

Word count: 3000ish

notes: yandere, soulmate AU, breaking and entering

Another Friday night alone.

But it’s okay. You won’t wallow in self-pity and think about the couples who were out and about the city on romantic dates, or snuggled up on the couch prepping for a night of passionate (or not so passionate, depending on the strength of their relationship) sex.

Life’s too short to wallow. And it’s not like you were exactly alone.

You’ve got your movie collection and your antique figurines and your latest purchase, a vintage sofa with restored upholstery that means you get the benefit of the original aesthetic without the downside of years of stains, rips, and potential bed bugs.

And you have friends. Maybe you don’t see them very often, admittedly because you got tired of being asked when you were going to find your soul mate, whether or not you’d consulted a searching service to find them, if you were interested in one of them paying for the service if you didn’t have the money…

Sure, some people might get a little lonely without their soulmate. Someone who you were meant to be with forever and ever, until one or both of you died. And your coworkers who’d long since found their soul mates or who were actively searching day-after day (usually using those paid services that were perfect for such things--not that you wanted to spend your money on that) sometimes looked at you with these awful pity-filled expressions that made you want to roll your eyes.

More so than your friend’s worried clucks and glances between each other, because at least you knew your friends were coming from a place of worry and not from a place of “why haven’t you done this thing society expects you to do?” like your coworkers.

And, really--

It wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t found your soul mate.

It’s not like there were tons of people in your home city named “Uvogin,” after all.

At least his name was well-hidden on your body. It was written, as everyone’s was, in a neat cursive scrawl in black ink that would never come off. You’d heard stories of people who had gone so far as to cut off the skin that contained their soul mate’s name--fighting destiny and all that--only for the name to pop up somewhere else or sometimes even on the same spot, black as ever on the healing, mangled skin.

It wasn’t something you were going to try.

Uvogin’s name, whoever he was, was on the back of your neck, low, between your shoulder blades. You liked it that way. It meant you couldn’t be the target of scammers or people who’d been unable to find their real soulmate and were obsessively, dangerously desperate to get someone (anyone) to be with them.

And you? Well. You wouldn’t deny that it might be nice to find your soulmate. Some of your friends and coworkers and passers-by-on-the-street certainly seemed happy to be together.

But you weren’t going to stop living your life just because you were still on your own. So if you spent your evenings watching movies or rearranging your decorations or making the perfect beef-and-wine stew for one, what was so wrong with that?

You don’t wake up when someone breaks through the wood of your door with a simple stab of their fingers, slides their hand in, undoes the lock, and turns the door knob to enter without any more fanfare.

You don’t wake up when someone’s eyes dart around your apartment, looking for your bedroom. You don’t wake up when your bedroom door opens with only the tiniest creak.

You only wake up when a hand is slapped over your mouth, and you jolt from a dead sleep with a dizzying suddenness that leaves your head swimming.

You’re awake--you think--and there’s someone above you, a big, heavy presence that seems to take up everything in your field of vision. The taste of salt and flesh is on your mouth, a big hand pressed over your lips and jaw to keep you from moving them.

To keep you from screaming.

“Where is it?” The voice asks, and you can tell it’s a man. But he’s huge, tall as anything, and even in the dimness of your room you can see he has a wild shock of hair that makes him look more like a lion than anything else. The thought is almost silly in the fogginess of your head, but as reality comes in, clearing the way, there’s nothing to laugh about right now.

“Where’s what?” You ask, or try to ask, though you can’t do more than mumble against the large meat of his hand against your face.

It takes him a moment to register that you can’t actually answer. You can see, barely, his eyes narrow down at you.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, and you won’t be. He wants money, presumably, and you can give him that. Or your TV. Or whatever he wants. As long as you make it out alive.

Slowly, he removes his hand, as if waiting to see if you’ll try to scream.

You don’t. As he moves his hand away, your thoughts come quick, untethered, flitting about the unfairness of the situation. You haven’t really lived yet, and you’re too young to die, and you hope he doesn’t hurt you at all but if he does just let him not kill you at least, is that too much to ask, God, you hope not--

“Where is it?” He repeats. And maybe it’s just your imagination or the fear getting to you, but he seems like he’s lowered his voice a little, sounding less harsh and more considerate. Maybe because you didn’t scream and you aren’t making trouble. That’s a good sign, maybe. It’s hard to tell.

You swallow. You wish he would move back, so you weren’t lying on your back in bed. But he does no such thing, so all you can do is stare up at him, heart hammering, mouth dry.

“Where’s what?”

He snorts.

”Your soulmate’s name.”

Does your heart stop? No, but it feels like it does. You expected him to say something else. Like. Your money or your safe or your most valuable items. But your soulmate’s name? Is he some sort of deranged loner who couldn’t find his soulmate and he thinks you’re itt?

Or…

You swallow, thick, as the thought finally comes to you. It’s not something you thought about often, because most people weren’t worried about things like this. But sometimes your soulmate was someone Not Very Nice. Someone that Hunters might be tasked to go after. And this man, bulky and strong and intimidating as hell, could definitely be a Hunter.

More often than not, they went after civilian soulmates when catching the criminals proved to be too difficult--though no one could say for sure what might be done to them afterward.

Some of them were used as bait. Some of them were taken to the authorities to help track down their not-so-law-abiding soulmates. And some… well. You’d heard rumors that killing a soulmate could hinder certain types of criminals.

“None… none of your business.” Your teeth clack against each other, a thin, quick pain that seems to linger on in your mouth.

The man’s lips twist into a frown, half-shadowed by the darkness in the room, although as your eyes adjust you can see more of him. It doesn’t make you feel any less worried about what’s going to happen, though.

“No?”

You see his arm move, and think he’s about to slap his hand over your mouth again, but what he does instead is shove his arm right in front of your face.

You blink.

And stare.

And it takes you a moment to realize what you’re looking at--on his arm, bulky as it is, scared as you are.

It’s your name. In a nice, neat scrawl. Unmistakable and permanently stained on his skin.

This man isn’t a Hunter sent here to kidnap you or drag you into a station or kill you. And he certainly isn’t here to steal your wallet or your television or your collection of rare comic books.

He’s your soulmate.

Uvogin.

“B-Back… back of my neck,” you say, stammering.

He hums. And then he shifts over on the bed, and you instinctively sit up in your bed, glad to no longer be prone underneath him.

“Let me see,” he says, gruff. But there’s a gradual lessening of heaviness in the air, now that you know he isn’t here to kill you or rob you or who knows what else. That still doesn’t excuse breaking into your apartment and doing this, but…

You lean forward, and with a surprising gentleness considering his size, he pulls down the back of your nightshirt enough to see what’s underneath.

“Heh, there it is, huh…”

He lets the fabric go and you lean back, looking at him. He stares down at you, his weight sagging your mattress, his bulky frame taking up most of the bed.

“You gonna scream?”

You think. You bite your cheek. You shake your head.

“You gonna try to run?”

You breathe out through your nose. And you think. And you shake your head. You won’t scream, you won’t run--you can tell without asking that neither of those would do you any good. And… do you really need to? There’s a strange sort of curiosity that’s building inside you, now that you know who he is--your soulmate.

He nods, tilting his head back a little, craning his neck as if to stretch it.

“Hope so. Would be stupid if you tried, and I hope my soulmate isn’t that stupid. You get me?”

You nod again, and your breath hitches just a little when he stands up and begins to stretch his neck again. He sighs, evidently pleased by the releasing of tension, or maybe pleased that he’s found you and you didn’t shriek like a wild banshee and try to get away.

You could still try to run. Your fingers grip on your sheets, still uneasy. Sure, he was your soulmate but… soulmates didn’t usually burst into people’s rooms at night and tell them not to scream. Usually.

Uvogin, like his name, was definitely an outlier.

He leans against the wall next to your bed, looking down at you with appraising eyes. It almost makes you wish you weren’t sitting in bed wearing an old nightshirt, eyes bleary, hair messy. It wasn’t exactly a good first impression.

“Been looking for you for a while,” he tells you. “I thought maybe you were good at hiding… Shalnark’s soulmate kept him out of the loop for a while.” He chuckles to himself, reliving some private memory. “But looks like you’re just that much of a nobody.”

Something inside your chest bristles.

“Excuse me?” You sit up straighter, and finally get the nerve to lean over to your bedside table and flick on the lamp. Your eyes squint for a moment. The addition of new light doesn’t make your soulmate look any less intimidating. But it does make you feel less like some helpless rabbit in the dark, at least.

He raises his eyebrows, and there’s a small part of you--a churning in your stomach--that tells you to sit down and shut up. But you’re not about to be

“That’s rude,” you say, as calmly as you can. “I’m not a nobody just because you couldn’t find me. Maybe it means you’re bad at looking.”

There’s a pause, a beat. You wonder if you’ve pissed him off. But then he throws his head back and laughs.

“Fair enough,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Fair enough.” He sighs, then, and looks up at the ceiling. “There is the question of what to do with you, though.”

Ah, there it is again. That churning in your stomach. A growing pit, tight and electric.

You sit up straighter, and piece what little you know of these puzzles together in your mind. It doesn’t add up to anything particularly wholesome, even with giant chunks missing.

“I… I’m guessing you wouldn’t be okay with a long distance relationship,” you mutter.

He scoffs, a little laugh. “Oh? What gave you that idea?”

He leans forward, and you don’t know exactly what you expected him to do, but it wasn’t to pat you on the head. But he does.

“Smart,” he says, while his voice is teasing there’s something that sounds a little genuine in there. Or were you imagining it? Was it just part of the soul mate bond, maybe, to automatically see things your soulmate did as pleasant?

He sits back down on the bed. The bed frame creaks. You aren’t keen on spending money to replace it, but you aren’t keen on scolding your very large, very strong soulmate right now either. So you keep mum.

He leans forward and rests his hand on his palm, keeping his elbow on his knee.

“Well. I don’t exactly got a house with a white picket fence. Or without one, for that matter.” He rubs at his nose, and it strikes you, how casual this conversation is… your soulmate, sitting on your bed, after breaking into your apartment in the dead of night. You take the moment of his consideration to lean over and look through your bedroom door, which faces the entryway. You can just make out the busted wood of your front door… fuck. What would your landlord say?

“Some of the others got one place they keep their soulmates, suppose I should think about it…” He glances at you, gauging something. “Makes it easier when you have one place to go, ‘stead of dragging your soulmate everywhere.”

His words finally do let you feel a sense of unease. You don’t know who the “others” are, or why they would need to be dragging their soulmates everywhere. He wasn’t a Hunter, but maybe something like it. Something that kept him moving. Or, more likely considering the circumstances of your first meeting, something that kept him on the run.

The thought of being dragged around or even taken to some sort of strange house brings back that churning in your stomach, an awful, lurching feeling. Your eyes dart around your room, to everything you’ve set up in your life up until now.

Every inch of your apartment was carefully chosen, down to the rugs on the floor and the color of the tension rods you’ve shoved into the windowsill. But it’s not just the decor. It’s… your whole life. Your job, the coworkers you’d carefully built relationships with, the fact that you have a favorite diner for breakfast and takeout spot for the weekends.

“I… don’t want to leave here.” Your voice is soft and at first you think he doesn’t hear you, but when you see him raising his eyebrows and lean forward, you get the nerve to continue.

“If-if that’s possible,” you add, a little quickly. “I’d like to stay here. This could be your… the place where you keep me. Or whatever.” The last words come out mumbled. They’re almost embarrassing to say, like you’re some kind of pet.

He doesn’t say anything for a little while. You almost start talking again, some half-baked plead, but he leans a little closer to you. His look is serious.

“How could I trust that you won’t just run away after I leave?”

Your lips press together.

“I worked hard for this place. For this life. I would hate…” And you search for the words, lost somewhere in the dimness of your room. “I would hate for it all to become worthless.”

You sit up straighter, before leaning towards him. Maybe it will be easier to convince him if you don’t act so rigid, so scared. You can do that.

“If you let me stay here, or-or even if you just let me take my favorite things with me, I’ll be… good?”

He snorts. There’s a hint of a smirk as he leans forward.

“Yeah? You’ll be good?”

Warm flushing creeps to your cheeks, and for the first time you think about what it really means to be someone’s soulmate. Togetherness. Intimacy.

Your words come out halted, and fumbling. But you mean them, as long as it guarantees that you don’t have to give up your life. Your apartment, your spots, every carefully curated bit of your existence here. Or even--and the thought is desperate--if he is going to take you away, it would be enough if you could keep your belongings. Just enough.

“I’ll do what you want?” You shrug, keeping your eyes downcast on your lap, though you can see him shift out of the corner of your gaze.. “Cook or clean or… whatever.”

There’s a hand on your chin, but this time he doesn’t cover your mouth. Instead he tilts your chin up and holds it there, forcing you to keep eye contact.

“So what? You want to make a deal? I let you keep some furniture, and you’re going to be a good little housewife for me?”

“I didn’t--” You say, practically spluttering the words out. “I didn’t say that.” Your cheeks feel impossibly hot.

He laughs, and lets go of your chin. You don’t look down.

“No, I like it. It’s cute.” He grins at you. “I’m lucky. Some of the others, well…” He rolls his eyes, and you don’t press him on it.

He drums his fingers against the bed.

You look up at him, eyes wide, hopeful.

He sighs, then gives you a lopsided grin that makes your stomach churn in a different way than before. Though the feeling is just as unnerving.

“All right,” he says, with a casual sort of finality. “You can stay here.” A pause. “For now. If you try anything--and I mean anything, like going to the cops, telling your friends, whatever…” He moves his wrist around in a gesture that you can only take to mean “all of this goes away.” He looks at you with a seriousness that makes you want to press yourself through the headboard and into the wall. “Got it?”

You nod.

But then…

“There’s… one thing I need you to do before morning, then,” you say, voice tight and quiet but determined. “Uvogin,” you add, hoping that using his name might make him a little less intimidating. It doesn’t, but maybe that comes with time.

Both of his eyebrows raise. You almost think he’ll just shut you down, but instead he asks--

“Yeah? What’s that?”

You gesture towards your open bedroom door, towards the front of your apartment.

“You have to fix that door first. My landlord will have a fit.”

For the second time since meeting you, Uvogin throws back his head and laughs.

#yandere uvogin #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere soulmate au #afterwitch writes

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lolita-lollipop · 1 year ago

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broken glass

UVOGIN X READER

warnings: yandere(stalking implied), reader is not okay, bad upbringing, kidnapping.

Kinda long but it’s okay

———————————————————————

Ever since you were nothing but a child, the world had chosen to bring you misfortune. A dead mother, a father who is would love you if alcohol didn’t exist, a lack of friends, or family, or anybody who cared.

Your life was an endless cycle of misery and misfortune. You were cursed with the worst luck possible.

As a girl you were bullied, living in a small town the knowledge that your mother was killed brutally spread fast, and the kids at school would take anything to fuck somebody up. It only got worse when your dad did nothing to stop it. So you grew up an outsider, somebody completely alienated from the rest of the people your age.

The worst part about it, was that there was nothing you could do to fix it. You were strong enough to fight them back and win, nor were you smart enough to get them caught by the schools or their parents. So you had to live with it.

Your unlucky tendencies carried with you all the way into adulthood. You had somehow managed to get into a good college, miles and miles away from your small hometown, where your past couldn’t follow you. But by that time you had no clue how to socialize like a normal person, so you only made a few friends in your first year. Even so, your life was going better than it ever had, you had more friends than you’d ever accomplished to make in your childhood, your roommate cared for you, being much older and much wiser. And you were happy.

Then, you got a call. From the exact person you had been avoiding since you stepped foot out of that awful town. That awful place.

“Y/n… I’m sick” your father sounded older, his voice was scratchy and weak now. Probably from the endless amount of cigarettes he smoked, you knew that your dad would never call you unless he actually needed you. He hadn’t even tried to contact you since you left, barely caring enough to send you a happy birthday text. You were a last resort to him, that much you knew for certain.

“And.”

“I need you to come back. To come home. My legs, my legs don’t work anymore. Please baby…I miss you.” You could hear the lies dripping from every word he spoke, that’s the sweet tone you had only ever heard from your father when he wanted something. Usually it was something as minuscule as money or whiskey or weed. Like usual, he knew you didn’t know how to say no to him when he dangled that ghost of affection in your face. And like usual, you chased after it like an idiot.

That’s what you were, an idiot. You knew ut, your father knew it. Who would go back to a life of misery, back to a town filled with only sad memories, of pain. Who would be stupid enough to fall for the manipulation of an old man who barely raised you? You would.

So, you packed your stuff up from your dorm, opting for the online classes your college offered. And prepared for the long drive home in an old car you bought for half the already low price.

And here you were. Standing in your local grocery store , in your pajamas, trying to decide if you had enough money for snacks for the drive home. Bags under your eyes from sleepless nights, a heavy weight pulling down on your shoulders as you accepted your fate, doomed to a small town full of bullies and lying snakes.

The melancholy of your situation weighed down on you, showing on your face, the frown lines deepening as you sucked yourself deeper into a depressive black hole. Blankly staring at the small bags of corn chips and popcorn, you let your shoulders sag. Exhaustion reading on your posture. You didn’t know how long you were standing there, nor did you care. Not until a string band tapped your shoulder a few times, sending your head to snap up, and your eyes to snap out of it.

“You alright there doll? Ya look a little bit… dead” a gruff voice spoke, it was scratchy and rough. Not in the way your fathers was (withered with age and years of vices), but natural. Husky. Pulling yourself up from your spacing out, you straightened your back, screaming your neck up to see him. The man was fucking giant, taller than anybody you had ever seen before, with tattoos speckling his neck and arms. You stood there for a few moments, staring in awe at the man whom you hadn’t realized was actually pretty terrifying in person. Maybe you were just tired, or stressed, or scared, but the way he stared made you want sink into your own skin and disappear. It was unsettling, how his stare weighed down on your shoulders and pulled you back away from him.

“Uhh- Yeah man. I’m good.” You spoke in your quiet voice, pulling your shoulder as far away from his hand as you could. You sent him a tight lipped smile, and returns to your decision between what bagged snack you would pick. You tried to ignore him, who stayed put in his spot next to you despite your obvious dismissal to his advance on a conversation.

You spotted him in your peripheral vision, staring at you. That heavy feeling never left you, and the longer the giant man stayed there, the heavier and heavier it weighed down.

“The popcorn is gross here. It comes stale even in a sealed bag. I wouldn’t get it if ya don’t wanna feel sick tommorow” he spoke again, leaning down to be at your eye level. You glanced back at him, remaining indifferent despite your ever-quickening heartbeat. His eyes were still focused on yours, while your pen glanced over his physical appearance.

It wasn’t just his height that made yoh hneasy, he was wide in a muscular way, with a beard that put the men of your hometown to shame. There were slight twinges of Greg throughout his long hair, and while he was well kept and smelled nice, he had messy, almost unhinged undertone. And yoh had managed to gather all of that without even talking to him much. You gave another right smile, before throwing the chips back and placing the popcorn in your basket (doing it almost to spite the man) among the advil and energy drinks. You almost missed the way his eyes scanned over your cart. Almost.

“Thanks” with that, you were off, trudging your way to the front of the store with your basket in tow, you heard a pair of heavy footsteps behind you, and the cashier glanced up for a couple seconds. A recognizable look of fear flashed on her face for no longer than a moment, before the bells of the front doors let out a cheery jingle. And the man was gone.

The repetitive beep of the checkout machine rang through the storefront, as the woman made no move to strike up a conversation with you, her eyebags sinking almost worse than your own. You had almost worked here at some point, when you first arrived to the big city. You were glad you didn’t now, as you didn’t want to be subjected to whatever this pooor woman clearly had been through.

She just kept beeping through your groceries, bagging them up, and setting them off to the side for you to grab. When she was finally finished she placed the pricing machine down and stared at yoj like she was waiting for something, you pulled your card out of your pocket and gave it to her, but she immediately handed it right back. You sighed, partially in confusion and partially of exhaustion. Of all times, now was not the moments for somebody to mess with you, at two AM at a stupid grocery store. You stared right back as she held the card out to you, waiting for you to grab it.

“He paid for your shit. Just take it”

Huh

Strange.

———

That night you went home with a weird feeling in your stomach, you know when something feels like it’s gonna go wrong? Yeah. That. You chose to blame it on your father, knowing that you would not be met with a joyful arrival home.

The feeling stuck with you all along the drive to your little stupid house in the middle of nowhere, the popcorn you had bought did actually end up being gross, but it didn’t change the satisfaction you got from denying that man of you following his advice. Your radio was cutting in and out, your car was on the verge of breaking down, and your ac didn’t work anymore, leaving you sweaty and sticky in your car.

You weren’t wrong in assuming that it wouldn’t be a happy “welcome home”, it would’ve been nice yeah, but it wasn’t a surprise when you pulled up to your house and there was no short outside. The dead grass of your front yard, and withering plants of what once was your guarden spoke for itself how your father had been taking care of the property. Leafy vines had started to overtake the front wall of your home, the place looked abandoned. Sad.

After a few deep breaths of preparation for whatever fight that was about to come, you hopped out of your truck and began the short truck to your front door. The small glass frame above it was smashed with many small cracks across the surface.

It was sad really. The house once looked somewhat presentable, none of the houses in the area looked to be well kept or highly perfected in the visual category, they never looked that way, but at least you could tell it was a home for someone whether it be the old lady next door with kids who don't care about her and more debt she could handle, or the couple across the street you used to hear screaming at each other through the night. Somebody really lived in those homes, your house looked like an empty shell.

The pavement leading up to the front door was cracked and probably permanently stained with dirt or paint or blood or alcohol, the little garden you used to try to keep alive while you were little was shriveled and blackened by the sun, no lights were on in the house, and it was dead silent. You hated this place, you hated that you were back here, you hated that you still cared for this empty pit of shame and misery of a home. Cared for a man that had hurt you so very many times.

Approaching the door, you didn't even care to knock or ring the bell, the electricity in your house had long been cut off so it wouldnt matter, and if your father was expecting you he wouldnt mind if you just walked in. It was your house, anyway. Placing your hand on the doorknob, you let a deep breath calm down your running heart and pushed it open.

…

Unsurprisingly, the house was dead silent, a creak resonating through the open space as the noise bounced wall to wall. You could hear your heartbeat as you walked over the rest of the broken glass from the window, leaving quiet crunches under your feet. Just breathing the air in your home sent awful memories of childhood to race across your brain, it smelled like your dad, like alcohol and cigarettes and unhappiness and anger. It even looked miserable in here, almost just as bad, if not worse, than outside.

Flicking on your phone flashlight, little flecks of broken glass reflected the light, they were scattered across the entire house, maybe from the broken front window, maybe from other windows in the house. Your dad was never one for cleaning, knowing him he must've gotten upset and broken a couple. With no one else to clean it, he probably left it there. That's how he is, how he's always been. Why did you love him? How stupid were you?

“Dad?” you called, but it echoed through the home. You now realize just how empty it truly was, no more furniture was scattered here or there or anywhere, it was just empty and sad. Fitting. Really fucking fitting.

“Dad? You called me?” You called once more, still only getting the creaks of the old house in return. You took another deep breath, the smell was starting to get to you, this was supposed to be easier for you now, you were an independent woman now, and the smell of your childhood home shouldn't have you spiraling like it did. You shouldn't have come here.

“I drove all the way out here for you. If you weren't gonna show you could've just called me. Go to hell, asshole.” still awaiting an answer. You knew he wasn't here, and you certainly knew it was stupid to talk to an empty house, but you wasted gas and good money for this. Wasted money on a man who didn't even care enough to show his face. Wasted money to go back to a life you've been clawing to escape from.

You didn't even realize you were crying until you felt the tears start to roll down your cheeks.

It hurt to be here, genuinely, the floors felt like they were trying to soak you up and suffocate you, the walls felt like they were closing in, and the ceilings felt like they were slowly crushing you. What were you supposed to do? You spent so long running away from this place, how could you let yourself be dragged back here, especially for no reason?

Your eyes fell to your feet, sucking in air as best as you could, you tried your hardest to keep your soft cries from turning into sobs. There wasn't anybody to hide your tears from, but it felt wrong, you shouldn't let yourself be this upset. You know.

Your cries halted when you spotted a dark patch of carpet in between the space where your feet were planted, not tears or water or even alcohol, it was bright red. Blood, and not the kind that's gone brown because it's been sitting for so long. This was new, recent blood. The dead silence of the house now had you frozen in spot. Could somebody have broken in? Your eyes followed a now obvious trail of spots leading toward your mom's old bedroom.

They slept in different rooms before she died, whether it was because they hated or other or were scared of each other (or both) he never went in there. Never.

You should leave. Shouldn't you? You should leave, he's not your problem anymore, he abandoned you when you were little, and kicked you to the curb. He deserved whatever was coming to him, he had it coming. You should leave, you should leave, you should leave, you should leave.

…

But you can't.

Even though you were actively willing to run out the front door, you just couldn't find it in you to leave. Pathetic. You knew, but this is how it was, this is how it was always meant to be. He calls and you answer, no matter how fucked up it was.

So, instead of making a haste bolt for the door or any of the broken windows, you slowly crept closer and closer to the bedroom where you said goodbye to your mother, your breath was shallow and unmanageable, almost worse than your uncontrollable heartbeat, whatever was behind the door was surely not pretty.

It took you a few moments to work up the courage to even touch the doorknob, hand quivering along the way there. You waited, the last time you were in this room was over 10 years ago, you couldn't even remember what it looked like, what your mother looked like. You were being stupid weren't you, it was just a room, probably empty by now, furniture either stolen or sold like the rest of the house. inhaling, you twisted, and pushed the door open.

To reveal… absolutely nothing. Just an empty room with the same exact smell as the rest of the house, a puddle of blood sat in the middle of the room, but nobody, no person or animal or thing that could bleed. Just an empty, meaningless room. Just like the rest of the house. You let out a sigh of relief at the uneventfulness of the failed search, that wasn't so bad, you were fine.

Were you? A loud creak echoed through the short hallway behind you, and you made a motion to turn around.

Hands were on you before you could even breathe again. One covering your mouth, and one firmly planted on your shoulder. Huge hands, bigger than your fathers for sure, calloused and strong, scarily strong. Whoever this was smelled familiar, vaguely familiar, not like someone you knew closely. The shock from him grabbing you forced your phone to fall out of your grip. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god

You should have gone home, you should've cursed out your father and left. You shouldn't have been curious or caring or kind… you lived in a bad neighborhood, people died left and right, and the police couldn't give less of a shit what happens here. You were going to die, you were going to die in the same house you grew up in, the same house you cried and hurt and screamed in. What a sad ending, to think you were finally starting to get your life on somewhat of a track, only to die at the hands of a stranger. Fuc-

“Stop thinking so hard, I’m not gonna hurt you” a gruff voice spoke behind you, deep and dark and powerful. You started crying the second he spoke, your heart beating faster than your body should be able to take. Whoever this was, was not somebody you would ever want to mess with, they sounded more authoritative than you could ever even wish to be. You couldn't stop your heart from clenching out of fear, couldn't stop the tears from dripping down your face, couldn't breathe right.

“You don't need to cry… I said I wasn't gonna hurt you” One of his fingers strayed from your mouth to wipe tears away, but it did nothing to stop fear from overtaking your senses or forcing out sobs and cries from your lips. You were positive that your entire body was quivering and shaking, you couldn't feel it, too scared to think about anything other than death, but you knew it was naturally happening. You heard him let out a sigh from behind you (even his breathing was harsh and rough) before his arm hooked under your knees and pulled you flush against him.

“I’ve never been this close to you before, I’ve been waiting for this one for a while. We met when we were kids ya know, you looked so… empty, miserable, tired, fucking empty. You still do, you're just better at hiding it. I've been watching, it since then. You're just too nice for your good.” your cries increased as he spoke, you didn't struggle or scratch or scream, just cried. He was too strong for it to matter if you did.

He chuckled as you kept crying, by now he had begun to walk to the front door.

“Don't make a scene, if anybody notices, they're dead.” The words he spoke were so nonchalant, but still so terrifying that it had you struggling to breathe. He broke the front door open with his foot and pushed his way through the doorway, he hit his head on the top as he went through, that must be why the glass was broken.

You were frozen in his arms as he continued to carry you, the sun now lit up your surroundings, showing exactly who your captor was, now it made sense why you mildly recognized him. He was the man from the grocery store, you should've known by the way he spoke, you should've recognized that voice anywhere. HE caught your gaze as you stared at him, giving you a toothy smile. His canines were scarily sharp, and now that you can get a closer look this man was even more terrifying. His bear, his eyes, his teeth, everything about him screamed danger. You stiffened as you stared at him, why why why why why why why You shouldn't have fucking come here.

“Quit looking so scared of me. God you're stiff as a board, I forgot how jumpy you were. It's been a while since I’ve seen you this scared, not since the incident at the coffee shop-” Who does he think he is? Talking just like he knows you like he's had any kind of conversation with you before that wasn't about popcorn at a stupid stupid grocery store. What were you supposed to do? You fully believed that he was the type of man to kill anybody who tried to stop him, even then nobody would (people in this neighborhood learned to keep their mouths shut), and he was much much stronger than you. You just… you just had to give up. There was no winning, not against him, not here.

The thought alone made you want to curl up and die.

Pathetic.

“Don't worry though, You're scared and I get it. But you'll get used to me. I’ll treat you real good, buy you things you’ve never had before. “ Your breath hitched and you quivered as he continued to blabber on and on about what kind of house he had, he tucked you into the passenger seat of some kind of black fancy car, got into the driver's seat, and proceeded to drive away—no more explanation than that. You couldn't do anything more than stare at him with those wide eyes of yours, he was watching you too intensely for you to try and throw yourself out of the car, and even then you doubted you would get very far before he caught you.

So you awkwardly sat in the leather seats of the fancy-ass car, tears still freely flowing as you sat, waiting for this man to take you to some alleyway and murder you. You picked at your fingernails, eyes darting around the interior of the car, it was clean and neat and looked to be stupidly expensive, everything that man wasn't. Who is that man anyway?

Almost as if reading your mind, the man brought a hand up to wipe the tears from your face, only to end up cupping your cheek and staring at you for a while as he drove.

“The name’s Uvogin, and I’m madly in love with you”

———————————————————————

Hey pookie s I’m back, this has been in my wanna write list for a LONG time. But it’s now so it’s fine. I’m kinda weak in the knees for the entire phantom troupe so tell me what you think.

Sorry for the long delay:) but I’m back now

Have a great day today, bye!

357 notes · View notes

depravitycentral · 1 year ago

Text

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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lightfeltmemories · 2 months ago

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

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

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

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

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admrlthundrbolt · 10 months ago

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Masterlist

Stranger Things

Straight Through The Heart (Eddie Munson x Chubby Reader)

Jojo's Bizzare Adventure

The Most Beautiful Girl In The World (Okuyasu x Chubby Reader)

One Way Or Another (Selkie N'Doul x Chubby Reader

Voices In My Head (Secco x Chubby Reader)

How Did You Love (Polnareff x Chubby Reader)

Heal The Pain (Dragon Wamuu x Chubby Reader)

Black Magic Woman (Werewolf Santana x Chubby Reader)

Evil Walks (Poltergeist Esidisi x Chubby Reader)

Just What I Needed (Gorgon Kars x Chubby Reader)

Believer (Gargoyle Risotto x Chubby Reader)

Resident Alien

Warm Heart Pastry (Harry x Chubby Reader)

One-Punch Man

Love is a Battlefield (Garou x Chubby Reader)

Holding Out For A Hero (Mumen Rider x Chubby Reader)

Elevate (King x Chubby Reader)

Bullet Train

Apple Blossom (Lemon x Chubby Reader x Tangerine)

Stayin' Alive (Ladybug x Chubby Reader

Resident Evil

Your Love Could Start a War (Lady Dimitrescu x Cubby Reader)

New Future Weapon (Mutant Wesker x Chubby Reader)

Encanto

Dance Macabre (Bruno x Chubby Reader)

Harley Quinn

Have Faith In Me (Bane x Chubby Reader)

Overwatch

You Dropped A Bomb On Me (Junkrat x Chubby Reader)

The Road to El Dorado

I Put A Spell On You (Tzekel-Kan x Chubby Reader)

Camp Camp

Perfect World (David x Cubby Reader)

Spider-Man

Ashes (Norman Osborn x Chubby Reader)

Emperor's New Clothes (Doc Ock x Chubby Reader)

Firefly

Wait A Minute My Girl (Jayne x Chubby Reader)

Scream

You Spin Me Round (Billy x Chubby Reader x Stu)

Naruto

Sweet Tooth (Iruka x Chubby Reader)

Batman

Leather and Lace (Killer Croc x Chubby Reader)

Friday the 13th

Die To Live (Jason Vorhees x Chubby Reader)

Hunter X Hunter

Do It All The Time (Hisoka x Chubby Reader x Illumi)

Drag Me Down(Minotaur Uvogin x Chubby Reader)

Guardians of the Galaxy

Edge Of Midnight (Nebula x Chubby Reader)

What We Do in the Shadows

Under The Graveyard (Petyr x Chubby Reader)

Alone Together (Nandor the Relentless x Chubby Reader)

Inglorious Bastards

Some Nights (Hugo Stiglitz x Chubby Reader)

Halloween

Popular Monster (Demon Michael Myers x Chubby Reader)

Pokemon

Electric Love (Guzma x Chubby Reader)

Arcane

Reckless Paradise (Silco x Chubby Reader)

Terminator

One Of Those Days (Sarah Conner x Chubby Reader)

Mad Max

Radioactive (Furiosa x Chubby Reader)

Mario Bros

Love From The Other Side (Bowser x Chubby Reader)

Jeepers Creepers

Centuries (Jeepers Creepers x Chubby Reader)

Halloweentown

Tongue Tied (Luke x Chubby Reader)

Venom

Run Run Run (Eddie x Chubby Reader x Venom)

Stardew Valley

Therapy (Harvey x Chubby Reader)

Blue Eye Samurai

Prisoner (Mizu x Chubby Reader)

#masterlist #oneshots #chubby reader #wip

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luffyvace · 10 months ago

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˚✧₊⁎MASTERLIST⁎⁺˳✧༚

a masterlist of all hcs I’ve done~ (any characters who are not here or in part 2 have not been done—link to part 2 in my pinned post)

One piece

Luffy D. monkey

Luffy relationship headcanons

Strawhat headcanons

Luffy x reader x Zoro

Luffy x black reader ♡

Luffy x male reader hcs ☆

MORE LUFFY RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS

Luffy x heroic fem! reader (requested)

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro’s kisses headcanons

Zoro x male reader headcanons

Zoro x reader x Sanji poly relationship headcanons

Strawhat headcanons

Luffy x reader x Zoro

Zoro x overly sweet reader (requested)

Sitting in Zoro’s lap hcs

Nami

Strawhat headcanons

Nami x male reader

Nami x black reader

Nami x female reader

Nami x poker faced male reader (who’s Robin’s brother)

Nami x fem! Reader ft. Jealous! Sanji

Vinsmoke Sanji

Zoro x Reader x Sanji poly relationship headcanons

Strawhat headcanons

Sanji x black reader (also has Ace separately) (requested)

Sanji x overly sweet reader (requested)

Nico Robin

Brook and Robin thoughts

Nico Robin x morbid gn! Reader hcs

Strawhat headcanons

Hcs of what I think Robin’s ideal s/o would be (requested)

Robin x male! Reader neglects himself from always taking care of the crew (requested)

Robin x (biological) younger brother! reader (requested)

Nami x poker faced male reader (who’s Robin’s brother) (not my idea)

Brook

Brook and Robin thoughts

Strawhat headcanons

Franky

Strawhat headcanons

Jinbei

Strawhat headcanons

Portgas D Ace

Ace x amab! Reserved! reader

Ace adopts a dog headcanons

Ace x black reader (also has Sanji separately) (requested)

Ace x childhood best friend! Reader who he has a crush on

Akagami Shanks

Red hair pirates x male reader who has heterochromia (requested)

Shanks x fem reader (a mini scenario in hcs format)

Shanks x male reader (a mini scenario in hcs format)

Boa Hancock

Boa x older brother! Male reader platonic relationship hcs (requested)

Buggy

Buggy (relationship) headcanons

Perona

Perona x male reader

Monkey D. Garp (platonic)

(Platonic) Garp x younger fem! Reader who looks up to him as his apprentice (requested)

HUNTER X HUNTER

Kurtapika Kurta

Kurapika fluffy relationship headcanons (requested)

Cute domestic hcs of kurapika x fem reader (requested)

Big brother kurapika hcs (requested)

Chrollo Lulcifer

Chrollo x outgoing reader

Feitan Portor

Feitan fluff hcs (requested)

Feitan x seemingly angelic and innocent reader who’s actually in an criminal organization too (requested)

Feitan x a truamatized reader who’s a sadist and has hemokinesis powers (requested)

Machi Komachine

Macho relationship hcs

Shaknark Ryusei

Shalnark x closed off reader (requested)

Shizuku

Shizuku with a S/O she thought she was already dating

Bonolenov:

Bonolenov x reader who’s from his (gyudondond) tribe

Uvogin:

Uvogin x reader who’s as big as him

Phantom troupe relationship hcs (separate):

(Separate) phantom troupe relationship hcs

MY HERO ACADEMIA

Izuku Midoriya

Izuku x male reader hcs

Bakugo Katsuki

Katsuki x shoto twin reader

Katsuki x male reader

Katsuki x black gn! Reader

Shoto Todoroki

Shoto hcs for his big day

Shota Aizawa

Aizawa crush headcanons

How Aizawa courts you/relationship headcanons

Aizawa’s kisses headcanons (mini series by me)

Mina Ashido

Mina x gn! Reader

Minnax black gn! Reader

Uraraka Ochako

Uraraka x shy fem reader

Tsuyu Asui (Fixed! Tsuyu relationship hcs

Tomura Shigaraki (Tenko Shimura)

Shigaraki x scholarly reader with glasses (has dabi separately)

Touya Todoroki

Dabi x scholarly reader with glasses (has shigaraki separately)

BUNGO STRAY DOGS

Fukuzawa Yukichi

Fukuzawa’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Ranpo Edogawa

Ranpo x lazy male reader

Ranpo’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Yosano

Yosano’s reaction to screwing up her first date with you

Kunikida

Kunikida’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Osamu Dazai

Dazai’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Tanizaki Junichiro

Tanizaki’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Naomi

Naomi’s reaction to screwing up her first date with you

Kenji Miyazawa

Kenji’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Atsushi Nakajima

Atsushi’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Mori Ogai (i don’t condone his behavior)

Mori’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Hirotsu

Hirotsu’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Koyo Ozaki

Koyo’s reaction to screwing up her first date with you

Chuuya Nakahara

Chuuya’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Chuuya x gn reader

Chuuya x male reader

Higuchi Ichiyo

Higuchi’s reaction to screwing up her first date with you

Higuchi Ichiyo as your girlfriend

Tachihara

Tachihara’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa

Akutagawa’s reaction to screwing up his first date with you

Gin Akutagawa

Gin’s reaction to screwing up her first date with yo

DEMON SLAYER

Tanjiro

Tanjiro x male reader

Inosuke

Inosuke x black male reader

Rengoku

Rengoku x gn reader relationship headcanons

Obanai

Obanai x chubby gn reader

SAIKI K

None yet~ coming soon!~

MOB PSYCHO 100

None yet~ coming soon!~

BLACK BUTLER

None yet~ coming soon!~

List of characters I want to write for eventually

List of character I want to write for eventually

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ataraxiaspainting · 4 months ago

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500 𝓯𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼 － 𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽

dean cornwell, the other side, 1918

-> aya here - i just wanted to let you all know that i am so, so thankful for you all, and that the support is still strong despite the two-month long hiatus. my gratitude will be never ending, for this community has prevented me from fully burning out this whole time. once again, thank you all so much! ♡︎

achille beltrame, fanciulla con lillà

-> how the event works...

the tarot card event will be telling the fortunes of jujutsu kaisen, hunter x hunter, genshin impact, honkai: star rail, and twisted wonderland characters until august 27th. please do not request anything beyond this date, because our teller would have left by then.

this is an x reader event, and not a character x character event. no exceptions will be made. requests must also follow my rules.

all characters will be written sfw only, but requests with mentions/implications of such will still be accepted. no character with not sfw implications that is below the age of 18 will be written.

you can choose up to three cards and a mandatory other type of card with the fortunes of a maximum of three characters, separate or otherwise.

꧁★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆꧂

-> potential characters...

jujutsu kaisen - gojo satoru, geto suguru, mahito, sukuna ryomen, nanami kento, mei mei, megumi fushiguro, yuji itadori, toji fushiguro

hunter x hunter - chrollo lucilfer, nobunaga hazama, feitan portor, machi komacine, hisoka morrow, phinks magcub, shalnark, franklin bordeau, shizuku murasaki, pakunoda, bonolenov, uvogin, kurapika, illumi zoldyck, pariston hill

genshin impact - scaramouche/wanderer, zhongli, albedo, xiao, eula, raiden shogun, kazuha, childe, cyno, alhaitham, kaveh, diluc, kaeya, kamisato ayato, arlecchino, columbina, capitano, dottore, pantalone, beidou

honkai: star rail - kafka, blade, dan heng/imbibitor lunae, aventurine, dr. ratio, jing yuan, sunday, black swan, topaz, jade, ruan mei, serval, boothill, argenti

twisted wonderland - malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge, leona kingscholar, jade leech, floyd leech, azul ashengrotto, riddle rosehearts, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, rook hunt, rollo flamm, idia shroud, kalim al-asim, silver, sebek zigvolt, neige leblanche, che'nya, ace trappola, deuce spade, cater diamond, trey clover, ruggie bucchi, jack howl, epel felmier

꧁♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎꧂

-> the major arcana - upright

non-yandere

-> the fool - a pillar of order falls for a reader who is free spirited.

-> the magician - your dear partner makes something special with you (or for you).

-> the high priestess - you repress your feelings for someone you have had a crush on for months, or even years.

-> the empress - you host a picnic or some other nature activity.

-> the emperor - your child and your partner bond as you pretend to not notice.

-> the hierophant - your partner, who comes from a traditional family, refuses to find someone else to please them.

-> the lovers - a day in the life of you and your partner doing housework together.

-> the chariot - you and your partner attempt to have healthier habits and encourage each other.

-> strength - someone stops you from being harassed.

-> the hermit - they dream of you.

-> the wheel of fortune - your relationship goes to the next level.

-> justice - you make up after an argument.

-> the hanged man - they leave work early to comfort you.

-> death - you two move in together.

-> temperance - you meet in the middle for a date idea.

-> the devil - your friend convinces you to not get back with your ex.

-> the tower - a rumor spreads about you, but your partner ends it.

-> the star - you both open up about your insecurities.

-> the moon - a nighttime routine.

-> the sun - you go out for your first-year anniversary.

-> judgement - you comfort them after someone says that you're too good for them.

-> the world - play wrestling.

-> the major arcana - reversed

yandere

-> the fool - naive reader.

-> the magician - drugging.

-> the high priestess - your kidnapper isn't the best at expressing their feelings.

-> the empress - they smother you so much you do not know right from wrong anymore.

-> the emperor - your stalker has blackmail on you.

-> the hierophant - you refuse to conform, until your kidnapper snaps.

-> the lovers - a wedding is supposed to be a happy day for all, but you only cry.

-> the chariot - there is knocking on your bedroom window, and a voice telling you to let them in.

-> strength - they are convinced you feel your worst when you are not with them.

-> the hermit - after being put in a white room for quite some time, you are back to how they want you to be.

-> the wheel of fortune - you wake to warm sheets, cold sweat, and familiar blood on the mattress. your period is back, but your captor has no idea... or so you think.

-> justice - shadows of the past are doomed to resurface sometime or another. it is up to them to push them back into the desolate earth.

-> the hanged man - they keep telling you that they will take you outside tomorrow.

-> death - the only place they take you regularly is their self-made cemetery.

-> temperance - they attempt to see things your way.

-> the devil - they can buy your worth in gold but choose to steal you anyway.

-> the tower - everyone in this event is dead... aside from you and them.

-> the star - after much work, you are brought back from the dead.

-> the moon - they watch you sleep.

-> the sun - your captor decides to do something special to celebrate your birthday.

-> judgement - someone figures out where you are and attempts to save you.

-> the world - you successfully escape, only to come face to face with unfortunate familiarity years later.

꧁✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀꧂

-> other types of cards

type of writing

-> suit of wands - a fanfic with a minimum of 1k words.

-> suit of cups - a short story/concept with a word count between 300 and 1k.

-> suit of swords - headcanons with a maximum of ten to fifteen bullets per character.

-> suit of pentacles - an AU request. the suit of pentacles is a special case, so another type of card has to be chosen along with it. please also specify the AU you want.

꧁♔♕♔♕♔♕♔♕♔♕꧂

-> examples of requests include...

sunday, major arcana - reversed, death, the devil, the hanged man, suit of wands. gojo satoru, major arcana - upright, the magician, the empress, suit of cups. chrollo lucilfer, major arcana - reversed, the devil, the emperor, the wheel of fortune, suit of pentacles with demon chrollo, suit of wands. lilia vanrouge, major arcana - reversed, the empress, the moon, suit of swords. eula, major arcana - upright, the tower, suit of cups.

#aya ambles

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thatwasntverycashmoneyofme · 2 years ago

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—𝗎𝗏𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗇

`𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵’

♧↝𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 ♤↝𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 ♡↝𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ♢↝𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄

⁂ 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀

𝗎𝗏𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽. (♧♡)

#uvogin masterlist #uvogin x black!reader #uvogin x black fem!reader

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progg · 2 years ago

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Chasing Shadows

As of Chapter 397 of Hunter x Hunter, I'm no longer certain the Phantom Troupe is responsible for the Kurta massacre. In this post, I’ll explain why I hold this belief, who I think might be responsible, and why Kurapika’s revenge mission may be even more misguided than we thought.

Asking the Question

As I touched on in my analysis of Chapter 393, it’s a common writing tactic to have characters ask questions the readers should be asking themselves. Togashi employs this strategy frequently. On the Black Whale, Hisoka has been asked three times about his identity, but he has never definitively answered.

In a similar vein, the Troupe has been asked twice about whether they were responsible for the Kurta clan massacre.

Chapter 81:

Chapter 116:

In both cases, the Troupe gave a non-response. In fact, it’s Kurapika who repeatedly assigns blame to the Troupe, and he’s not exactly the most reliable source.

Uvogin does claim to remember something resembling the Kurta massacre, but it’s possible this was an act.

He refers to the event in only vague terms, using the knowledge that Kurapika has already provided him. As for the details he does provide, they are dubious at best. Uvo claims the Kurta were "pretty powerful", and while that may be true, it doesn't really add up. He also says Chrollo took “quite a liking” to the Scarlet Eyes which is just... weird. It suggests a shallow, materialist view that Chrollo has never expressed.

In Chapters 397, it’s revealed that the Troupe planned to garner a nasty reputation in order to protect Meteor City.

This is all wrapped up in an allegory about acting. The Troupe want to “play the role of villains”, especially Uvogin.

It’s even in the name: Phantom Troupe. As in not real, fake, an illusion. I’m not saying the Troupe are completely free of wrongdoing, but it would have been in their interest to claim credit for the massacre (even if they didn’t actually do it).

On that note, it’s very possible Uvo was fibbing to Kurapika during their fight—playing the villain to antagonize him.

Sheila ‘the Good’

At first glance, Kurapika’s backstory chapters seem to unmistakably peg the Phantom Troupe as the culprit. Sheila’s actions are especially suspicious, as she seems to reinjure herself several times, suggesting she is faking her injury.

Not to mention, at the end of the chapter, the traveler who discovers the massacre is said to be a woman.

All of this is meant to lead the reader to the conclusion that the Phantom Troupe committed the atrocity with the help of Sheila.

However, Chapters 395-397 paint a very different picture of Sheila. We learn that Sheila actually has a tendency to injure herself while walking, and this could very well explain her behavior in Kurapika’s Memories.

Her right leg is perennially in a cast because she keeps re-injuring it.

We also learn that Sheila was the closest to the Sarasa, whose death catalyzed the Troupe’s descent into villainy.

Sheila says, ‘we’re a package.’ Then she trips again.

Hyping up her friend.

Sheila is the first to offer Chrollo help in searching for Sarasa, and she is close enough to be acquainted with her nannies.

After Sarasa’s death, Chrollo plans to play the villain, enacting revenge on her killers and protecting Meteor City. Sheila disapproves of Chrollo’s plan, and she leaves Meteor City with a dejected expression.

Chrollo himself admits that Sarasa would not condone their plan, and it’s likely that, given how close they were, Sheila objects for the same reasons.

Replace Sarasa with Pairo here. Kurapika and Chrollo are very similar...

In general, flashback Sheila is shown to be a very kind, sympathetic character. It’s possible she gave D Hunter to Kurapika and Pairo out of generosity, which is impressive considering her attachment to the book and her lack of personal belongings.

The official translation for the top-right panel “I don’t really have much. In return, let’s see...”

The Manner of the Massacre

Whether or not Sheila was involved, there is still a major piece of evidence connecting the Troupe to the massacre. The second half of the Law of Retribution, a saying associated with Meteor City, is left behind at the scene. However, if we look at the manner of the massacre, it more closely resembles the work of the mafia. Consider the similarities between the genocide of the Kurta and the murder of Sarasa.

Decapitation, mutilation, a note left at the crime scene.

Additionally, Chrollo describes Sarasa’s murder as a “show” put on by the perpetrators.

When you think about it, this is very similar to how the Kurta massacre is described, not to mention Pairo’s beheading paralleling Sarasa’s.

Was the Kurta massacre a “show” as well? It’s possible the mafia’s intention was to frame the Troupe, but the message may also have been left behind as a statement. It’s not out of character for the mafia to respond to transgressions in this way.

The Troupe can “take away” Meteor City as a source for trafficking, but Sarasa’s killers can simply take their dealings elsewhere. It’s a twisted interpretation of the Law of Retribution—taking it and spitting it back at the Troupe.

A Synthesis of the Arts

Whoever orchestrated the Kurta massacre wanted the Scarlet Eyes and decided to behead the villagers. While the Scarlet Eyes would be valuable to anyone involved in the Black Market, the showmanship of the massacre and the use of decapitation fits more closely with a certain Kakin prince.

The theory that Tserriednich has Pairo’s head begins to make a lot of sense. He didn’t buy it on the black market... he’s the original owner! It also explains why he has the Scarlet Eyes. He owns quite a few of them but may have sold the others.

I believe the mafia group responsible for Sarasa’s death and the murder of the Kurta, in this case, is the Hei-Ly. Not Morena’s Hei-Ly, but the Hei-Ly she overthrew prior to boarding the Black Whale. Everything surrounding Sarasa’s murder and the Kurta massacre fits Tserriednich’s profile.

In Chapter 397, Chrollo concludes that Sarasa’s killers recorded her death and will disperse them on the newly developing dark web.

In Chapter 343, we learn that Tserriednich was identified as the eyes’ owner because he posted a video of them on the dark web.

It especially makes sense that Tserriednich would be interested in putting the disembodied Kurta on display, given his nature.

Finally, Tserriednich’s tattoo artist, a former Hei-Ly member, is complicit in Tserriednich’s hobby.

If the pre-coup Hei-Ly was responsible for both incidents, it adds an interesting layer to the conflict on the lower decks of the Black Whale and the conflict between Kurapika and Chrollo.

Note: In Yorknew, Feitan and Paku are very vague about it, but at least seem aware the massacre occured. Chrollo reasons Kurapika has come for the eyes and revenge, presumably against the Troupe. Chrollo's reasoning definitely makes it seem like they are at least aware they could be perceived as responsible.

#hunter x hunter #manga #theory #succession arc #chapter 397 #kurapika #chrollo #tserriednich

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mrssugarpink · 5 months ago

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Intro

Chubby x Reader only

Think US size 16 and up.

I have black women in mine while writing but tbh anyone can read it but don't ask for straight hair and slim bodies cus I don't do that

I'm Bi so I write for male, female, genderless, nonbinary characters idc as long as they're cute and I think they'll treat a big woman right (or wrong?)

Fandoms I write for

Demon Slayer

Death Note

Black Butler

Hunter X Hunter

Haikyuu!!

And others, just ask and I'll tell you if I've seen it

I don't mind darker themes but I'm not sure I'd be good at writing them so only reblogs on those for now

Things I reblog

Yonder x Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping, Dub Con, Toxic Characters

Things I feel confident writing

Fluff, Smut, Slight Yandere Behavior, Pregnancy, Monsters, Polyamory I'm kinda all over the place

My Faves

Renkaza atm

Tengen ans his wives

Nanami (Have not watched jjk but he makes me want to growl)

Uvogin

Shalnark

Nishinoya

Pakunoda

Requests: Open

send em in

Someone can help me think of a name I don't have it in me rn

#x reader #anime x reader #anime x black!reader #anime x chubby reader #anime x y/n #haikyu x reader #hxh x reader #kny x reader #death note x reader

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highandscared · 5 months ago

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Spiders and Spirits

Chapter 2

Pairing: Chrollo x Fem OC Tags: Fluff, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Light Angst Chapter Wordcount: 5,267

Aamu journeys to the Continent of Yorbia to study humans, she runs into none other than Chrollo Lucilfer. Is she the Nen exorcist he's been looking for? Is he the monster she's been raised to believe all humans are? Aamu is determined to unravel the mysteries of humanity, but she quickly learns that'll be no easy feat!

Click here for chapter one!

Author's Note: Hihi lovely reader! If you've made it this far holy moly thank you so much. This story starts during greed island arc, while Chrollo is without his Nen. I'm trying to write as accurate of a portrayal of Chrollo as I can, and I'm planning on trying to keep it at least somewhat faithful to the storyline that already exists. As always I hope you enjoy! o7

Alone in the woods at a dingy little camp he had time to think. Time to comb over just how everything went so wrong. Had he grown too confident in his abilities? If he had made sure they killed all of the Kurta clan, Uvogin would still be alive. If he hadn't been so focused on stealing Neon's ability, they would've been able to find the chain user sooner. Before he got captured, before he lost his Nen. Chrollo cursed himself for believing that everybody in the Phantom Troupe would be willing to sacrifice him for the greater cause. He knew how Pakunoda felt, and even that some of the others were less than caring of his rules. Now all he could do was wait and hope that he would stumble upon a Nen exorcist. It was all such a mess. He kept asking himself how exactly it all fell apart so quickly. On the outside he was fronting the same stoic nature, but underneath he felt as though his entire being was beginning to rip apart at the seams.

His thoughts were loud, so loud that he almost missed it. The hair raising on the back of his neck and the paranoid feeling that called him to look over his shoulder. He was being watched. As quickly as the onslaught of anxieties had come, they vanished in an instant as he started to deduce who was watching him. He could tell they were hiding behind the trees to his rear. It was clear whoever was watching him was an amateur. They hadn't even tried to hide their presence in the slightest bit. He made no move to indicate that he knew they were watching him. One wrong move and he could find himself facing a Nen user with his bare fists. That's why he had chosen to hide so far out in the woods in the first place. His list of enemies was rather long and if the chain user spread the word that he couldn't use his Nen anymore, people would surely come looking. Very angry people who wanted him dead. This made the task of finding a Nen exorcist that much harder. He couldn't openly parade around looking for one and let the whole world know that Chrollo Lucilfer leader of the Phantom Troupe was defenseless.

He resolved his worries once more, whoever was behind him was making no move to engage. For all he knew it could be a curious child that wandered too far into the woods. He looked around cautiously, and brought his gaze back to the book he forgot he was holding. It was a comic book: The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners; definitely meant for somebody younger but it held a special place in his heart. Memories of when he was a child dubbing over the animated show of the comic always came back to him when he read it. Some days he found himself wishing he could go back to those times. Before Sarasa disappeared. Before it all really began to go downhill. Deciding it was pointless to sit here and let his stalker watch him fall apart, he stood from the fallen log he had been sitting on. Making his way over to the small tent and grabbing a bandage, he wrapped it around his forehead underneath his black bangs. The tent was more of a tarp suspended on a rope and staked down at the corners so it formed a small triangular shelter for him to sleep under. He couldn't risk somebody recognizing the cross tattooed on his forehead, he stood out enough in the colorful little town with his black long sleeved shirt, black pants, and black shoes. Several miles south was a road that would lead him to a small seaside town. It was full of fishermen and farmers, so it was unlikely he'd find a Nen exorcist among the people. When he passed through there the first time, the villagers talked of their fear of the woods north. It was why he chose to make his camp so far out in them. Thinking maybe his stalker had something to do with those fears, he made he way to the town. Regardless it was something other than his countless mistakes to focus on .

As he walked down the dirt road to the city he thought about the fortune he had received from Neon, the daughter of Nostrade:

The calendar loses a precious component. The remaining months gather to mourn. The mourners play a melody, While the eleventh moon quietly rises.

The chrysanthemum withers and falls, To lie on the ground beside bloody Scarlet Eyes. But you will remain supreme. Even after losing half your limbs.

East is the direction to go. You will find one who awaits you. Enjoy the interlude. Be patient with your shadow.

It crossed his mind that whoever was watching him earlier in the day could be 'his shadow' that the poem was referring to. The mysterious person followed him up to the road, but stayed out of sight behind the tree line and disappeared as he made his way towards town. It was around noon when he reached the town square, a small market was being held with farmers filling temporary stalls with fresh produce, fishermen with beds of ice displaying their biggest catches, and even jewelers with rings laid out that dazzled in the sunlight. There were a plethora of other stalls set up selling trinkets and whatnot. It was a busy little town, but still a peaceful one. Nearly a complete opposite of Meteor City. He needed dinner but knew any meat would spoil on the walk back to his camp, so he approached a farmer with a slew of vegetables on display. Bright red tomatoes, the longest carrots he'd ever seen, bushy heads of cabbage, anything you would need to make a delicious stew.

“What can I do for ya' son.” Chrollo hid a small smile, even their accents sounded like they belonged in a quaint little town.

“Two carrots, two potatoes, and a tomato, please.” As he had made his way east from York New he was grateful for all the wealth he had accrued over the years. It kept him afloat while he was trying to figure out how he'd get his Nen back.

“There ya' are, have a good one.”

“Say I'm just passing through town, but I heard you guys stay clear of the woods just north. Why is that?”

“Well ya' see those are the lost woods, it's mostly just old folk tales but people have said they've seen strange lights and what not up there,” the older farmer had a drawl to his voice “if you're just passin' by em' don't fret, nothing bigger than a fox is gonna come creeping on ya'.”

“Thank you sir.” People were starting to line up behind him so he paid, grabbed his paper bag of vegetables, and went off to the next stall in search of more information. He spotted a small butcher's stand that was selling broth. As he was cutting across the busy walkway he felt it again. He was being watched. He looked around slowly to his left then right, they must've been behind him again. He decided it was unlikely anybody looking to attack him would follow him to a busy town square, and even if they wanted to they'd be a fool to do so in such a crowded area. He turned around quickly to see who was watching him, but he only caught a glimpse of a brown streak ducking behind a corner. It was now or never to confront this mysterious shadow, so he turned the corner to where they ducked away but there was no sign of them anywhere. Clearly they weren't interested in a confrontation. It relieved him a small bit as this meant they probably weren't here to kill him, but it left him more confused. If not a fight, then what did they want? There was a small chance it could be an admirer of some sorts. It was uncommon but he had heard of people who supported and wished to take after the Phantom Troupe, he'd even heard of some that worshipped them. The thought of that possibility made him wish that they were here to kill him instead. He returned to the butcher's stand selling broth.

“What'll it be for ya',” the butcher had the same quaint accent, but his voice was rougher than the farmers.

“Chicken broth, please.” Chrollo watched as the butcher reached below the counter and brought up a small container of broth.

“500 Jenny.”

Reaching into his pocket for the money, he asked the butcher, “Say I'm from out of town, are the woods up north really haunted?” The butcher chuckled.

“Ain't nothing but foxes and squirrels up there, don't let the wives tales get to your head, boy.” Even though he was nearing his thirties, Chrollo had a boyish face. People often mistook him for being much younger than he really was.

“Thank you sir.” Unfortunately, his search for answers didn't bring up much. On his way out of the town square he noticed a small book store on the corner of the street. One more try for answers couldn't hurt, he needed a new book anyway. The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners was sentimental, but he could only read it so many times and it was getting rather depressing. Perusing the cramped book shelves, he didn't see anything that caught his eye. The store was old and the selection of literature looked even older.

“It was that damn strange woman that's been lurking around town for days! The one that couldn't speak! She took off with at least four books and left me 100 Jenny!” It was hard for Chrollo not to eavesdrop on such a loud conversation in a quiet bookstore.

“You said she couldn't speak? What did she look like?”

“She didn't say a word, and when I asked her for the money she looked at me like I was crazy! I couldn't tell what she looked like because she was hiding under a hooded robe. It was brown and she had glasses with ginger hair but that's all I could see!” The book store owner cried out to the small town cop. Taking note of the brown hooded robe mentioned, it was possible that's what he saw when turned around to see his stalker.

“And when did all this happen?”

“Barely even thirty minutes ago! If you weren't standing here asking me all these questions you might be able to catch that damn thief!” Chrollo decided he'd come back another time to question the bookstore worker. He didn't want to mingle with the police, even if it was just a small town cop there was a chance he would recognize him. It was more than likely his stalker was also the book thief, which meant it was a woman tailing him. Unfortunately, the possibility of his shadow being an admirer was becoming more and more likely. He tried to reason with himself that somebody who wanted to kill him would be worse than a stalker that was looking for a chance. However he was unsuccessful in doing so.

By the time he made it back to his camp the sun was setting. He started a fire and dug a small pot from his tent when he noticed it. The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners was gone. He was going to give this stalker a reason to hate him if he was ever able to confront her. Maybe once he got his Nen back. He wouldn't kill her, he'd just give her a good reason not go through strangers belongings and certainly not steal their copies of The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners. He tried to let it go, but unfortunately he was once again unsuccessful in doing so. Night had fallen and his stew was almost done, when his shadow came to watch him again. Enjoy the interlude. Be patient with your shadow. The more he thought about his fortune and what he knew of his stalker, the more a picture of just who was watching him formed in his head. Whoever this was probably wasn't literate, if the book store worker was right in her being unable to speak. It made sense she'd take the comic book filled with more pictures than words. Did she live out here in the woods? Probably not. Anybody who spent their life surviving in the woods would know how to hide themselves better. Could she be a victim? Maybe she had escaped human trafficking, but if that were the case why wouldn't she seek out refuge in the town. Was she afraid to? The thought struck a chord somewhere in him, as kidnappings and human trafficking had been a serious issue growing up in Meteor City.

He was lost in thought again when he felt it. She was back. He continued preparing his dinner, deciding she wasn't a threat he needed to worry himself over as she again made no moves to approach. He threw in a potato, two of the carrots, and the tomato. A less keen ear would've missed it, but just as the stew came to finishing simmer the sound of a stomach growl just beyond the light of the fire rang out. He didn't have any extra bowls, only enough for himself. Looking around he saw a cup sitting in his tent. As he was filling it up with stew he proposed a trade with his shadow.

“If you give me my book back you can have some.” He would've offered it regardless, knowing all to well the feeling of famine. But why not try and get his comic book back in the process. He waited a few minutes, and when there was no answer he stood up to put the cup by the edge of the fire light near the direction of where the stomach growl came from. As soon as he got close he heard her scamper further back out of sight. Shortly after returning to his fallen log, he saw a slender hand reach out to grab the cup. A moment later and the same hand put an empty cup back. The ingredients had made more than enough for himself so he went and refilled the cup, but this time he placed it closer to the fire. Again after returning to his seat on the log, she inched out behind a tree. A brown hooded robe, ginger hair, and glasses. In the fire light her face looked thin, and he realized her hand wasn't just slender. It was malnourished. It reminded him of Feitan's frame when he was little. He rested his chin in his hand and watched her down another cup of stew. Instead of retreating to the shadows she stayed on the outer most edge of the fire light where it barely reached her.

“Can you understand what I'm saying?” Chrollo spoke calmly, he didn't want to accidentally scare her off. Whoever she was, she needed help. Although he knew her situation must've been unfortunate, he was rather relieved it wasn't an admirer. She looked at him but gave no indication of understanding what he had said. She got up and walked back into the darkness. He walked over to see where she had gone but stopped when he saw the ground. Paw prints. Big ones too. Was she not human? He knew of mythical beasts that lived in the woods, but again she didn't seem like she had any survival skills that a wood dwelling creature would have. He decided not to follow her, he had a feeling she wouldn't be gone long, and he didn't want to chance threatening her.

It had been a couple hours, and he was about to put the fire out for the night when she returned. She stood at the edge of the fire light holding the copy of The Mighty Sweeping Power Cleaners out to him. He slowly got up, trying his best to be as non-threatening as possible as he walked over to take it. Up close he could see the left lense of her glasses had a crack in it. Her eyes were a vibrant blue that almost seemed to glow in the low light. Everything else was covered by the hood and the robe.

“What's your name?” He spoke slowly, maybe she could pick out a word or two. She looked frustrated, like she wanted to speak but she couldn't. After a few stuttered noises, she pointed to herself.

“Aamu.”

“Aamu?” He pointed at her and repeated it. She nodded in agreement. “Chrollo.” He said pointing at himself.

“Ku ro ro.” She repeated. Having only said his name, he could tell she wasn't from anywhere around here. It sounded like her tongue wasn't even accustomed to forming those vowels. There wasn't much else he could do for her at the moment. The fire was dying and the moon was high.

“Goodnight, Aamu.” He turned to his tent and replaced his comic book. He looked behind where she had been standing, and she was gone again.

The next morning she appeared as he was making breakfast. He had set a handful of small basic traps around to catch squirrels, rabbits, and other small critters. Being raised near the forest in Meteor City he knew enough basic survival skills, on top of what he had picked up from books, to be able to survive in a harsh environment. The forest was no harsh environment by any means, the people in town were right. Nothing bigger than a fox lived in these woods. Which was strange considering how large and abundant they were. Aamu stood by the tree line again, not hiding but also not approaching. She was apprehensive. He looked down and realized he had forgotten his hands were still covered in blood from skinning the rabbit he had caught. The animal was already chunks of meat floating in the pot of stew he was making. Just a couple hundred feet away was a small river, so he left the pot to boil and washed his hands off. When he came back she had a thick leather bound book in her hands, and she was a few feet closer to the campfire.

“Ku ro ro,” he looked up at her curiously from his seat on the fallen log. She inched over to him from the other side of the campfire. Keeping herself as concealed as possible with her robe still, she held out her book to show him a map spread across two pages. Immediately he recognized Yorbia, Jappon, Azia, and all the other continents he was familiar with, but there were more. She had drawn the map as though the countries he knew sat in the middle of a lake, with more land surrounding it. She pointed to the ground, and then pointed to the center of the map, and tilted her head as if she were asking a question. He interpreted this as asking where they were on the map, so he took the pencil and made a small dot on the middle of the east coast of Yorbia. She motioned for the pencil back, but before giving it up Chrollo pointed at her, and then pointed to the center of the map while mimicking her same head tilt. She turned the book around and made a small mark on it, flipping it back around to show him. She had marked the west coast of the land he didn't recognize.

“Ixtal.” She said while pointing to the mark she had just made.

“Ixtal?” All he could do was repeat what he assumed was the name of her home back to him. He had never heard of any place named Ixtal before, let alone the land on the map she had designated as her home. He rested his hand in his chin, trying to rationalize the entire situation. For the first time he noticed her robe was imprinted with a design of leaves on its seam. This wasn't just any old dirty robe, it looked to be finely made. Wherever she had come from, wherever Ixtal was, it must've been at least a some what developed civilization. That would explain why she was unable to survive in the woods. He was fully convinced now she also wasn't human. That would explain hiding underneath the robe. Why had she come here? All the way to the east coast of Yorbia, it had to be a difficult journey alone for somebody lacking in survival skills. She would've had to cross two oceans and a continent to end up here. She crouched down and began scribbling on a new page in her book. After a minute or two she turned it around to show an incredibly rough sketch of him. Had Chrollo not been himself, he'd have no idea who it was.

“Ku ro ro” She was pointing at a space left above the rough sketch, and motioning for him to take the pencil. Taking the book from her he could only assume she wanted him to write his name above the portrait.

“Chrollo” He tried to correct her pronunciation. He was unsuccessful.

“Ku roro” Close enough. After taking her book back, Aamu reached into her robe and handed him a tomato. Puzzled once more Chrollo could only squint his eyes in confusion as he looked at her. She was staring at him, and when he gave no other reaction to the tomato she scribbled something in her book. Closing it and placing it back inside her robe, she got up to leave. After a few steps she turned around, and raised her hand without moving it. With that Aamu walked off back into the wilderness. He went over to check the tracks she had left behind, and he confirmed once more that they definitely weren't human.

Unsure of how to spend his day, he knew he needed to be searching for a Nen exorcist. However he thought back to his fortune: East is the direction to go. You will find one who awaits you. Enjoy the interlude. Be patient with your shadow. There was a chance Aamu could be the Nen exorcist he was looking for. It was just a hunch as he hadn't been given any evidence that she even knew what Nen was, but the entire situation surrounding her was so bizarre that if she was a Nen exorcist it would be the most normal thing about it all. He decided he wanted to see how things would unfold with this strange shadow of his, but she didn't show again for the rest of the day.

The next morning, she showed up again at the same time. Just as he was making breakfast. This time she wasn't as hesitant to step towards him, he had remembered to wash his hands promptly after skinning his meal. Still hiding underneath the robe she walked up to where he sat on the log. Book in hand as she offered him a flower. It wasn't anything spectacular, just a small white flower. They littered the forest floor. He took it, once again not understanding what she was trying to communicate. If anything at all. Just as she had done after handing him the tomato, she stared as if expecting a reaction, and when he gave none she began to scribble in her book. She closed the book, crouching down by the log. Fidgeting with the grass she pointed at the campfire where his breakfast was beginning to boil. Chrollo wasn't one to turn away the hungry, but he was curious as to what she had been scribbling in her book. So he filled his only bowl, and offered it to her. As she went to take it he held it back, and pretended like he was writing in the air. It got the message across as Aamu handed her book over without hesitation. He was flipping through the pages as she downed the bowl of squirrel and tomato stew.

The first couple pages looked like a table of contents, after that was the two page spread of the map, followed by a few pages of a language he couldn't read and didn't recognize. He found the portrait of himself and on the page adjacent a small drawing of a tomato with an X next to it and a few lines of the same language. Underneath the tomato was a small drawing of a flower which also had an X next to it again with a few lines of the unrecognizable language. It took him a second, but it began to click in his brain. She was recording his reactions. She was studying him. That's why she was so far away from home, she was more than likely trying to study humans. Putting Aamu's book down he got up and retrieved the comic book from his tent. If she had made the journey this far from home to study them, then she must be smart, and if she was smart then she could learn his language. If he could communicate with her then he wouldn't have to play a game a charades with every interaction. Instead of returning to the log, he crouched down next to her. She was eyeing him cautiously. He opened the comic to the first page and pointed at the words as he read them. He remembered teaching Uvogin how to read, it had been a challenge with him and he already spoke the language. She understood immediately what he was doing, intently watching his finger move across the page. After reading the entire comic book to her, she opened up her journal and began flipping through the pages. That's when he saw something that made him do a double take. It was the next page following his portrait, there was another very roughly drawn sketch of a person. They had a mane of hair, with bushy eyebrows accompanied by even bushier side burns framing a mean face, an incredibly muscular frame with a tank top, shorts, and what he could only imagine was fur on his hips and legs. Uvogin. Chrollo's head was spinning. How? Why? When? He was pouring through every detail in his head, but nothing made sense.

“Who is this?” He pointed at the rough sketch of who he assumed was Uvogin in her journal.

“Oo vo geen” Aamu replied with out any hesitation, confirming his suspicions She handed him the pencil, and pointed at the space above the drawing. He understood what she wanted, and his hand shook a little while he wrote it. Uvogin. All of the anxiety that had plagued Chrollo before Aamu found him came crashing back down on him. Did she have something to do with the chain user? He couldn't make sense of any of it.

“Ku roro,” She pointed towards the tree line as if there was something there, ��Oo vo geen.” She stood up and walked over to where she had pointed. All he was could do was stare in a stun locked silence. Aamu looked up, as though she were looking at somebody much taller than her and pointed to where she was looking.

“Oo vo geen.”

Chrollo was now determined to teach her his language as fast as he possibly could. It was the only way he was going to be able to figure any of this out.

They spent the next couple days in the same routine. Aamu would show up when he was making breakfast, Chrollo would either go over the alphabet, the comic book, or general words and introductions. It was difficult to explain what scenarios required which words, so he ended up spending a lot of time drawing in the dirt in an attempt to teach her. Luckily he was right, she was smart and she caught on incredibly fast. Today however he needed to go into town for supplies, and he didn't want Aamu to follow him as there was a chance the police would recognize her. She still hadn't removed her hooded robe, although a few times he had seen soft looking paws stick out from underneath it.

“Kuroro! Hello!” She was excited whenever she greeted him.

“Hello Aamu. I need you to stay here today,” she clearly didn't quite understand what he was saying, “Aamu stay here.” He pointed at her, and then pointed at the ground.

“Staaay, here?” She pointed at herself and then at the ground and back again.

“Yes stay here. I'll come back.”

“Yes! Okay!” As he was leaving she sat on the log going over the comic book.

He was making his way back to the camp when he realized how bad he smelled. That was one of the things he had needed from the town, he forgot to get soap the last time he was there. He took a detour to the river near camp instead of heading straight back. It would be easier than having to tell her to wait again. He was pouring over everything that had happened as he made his way. The most logical explanation for Aamu knowing Uvogin's name and appearance was that it had to be Nen related. Maybe she could see past events? He thought of Neon's ability which allowed her to predict the future. An ability that allowed him to see the past of others could be incredibly useful for him and the Troupe. Did that mean his earlier hypothesis of Aamu being his Nen exorcist was wrong? Or did this mean it was right? Still lost in thought he reached the river and hugged the treeline as he walked, there was a shallow part farther up stream where it would be easier to bathe. The forest was rather dense in some areas, so he didn't see her until he turned to walk down the riverbank to the shallow area. He snapped out of his thoughts as soon as he saw somebody already occupying the place he intended to bathe. Quickly ducking back to the treeline, he was glad that he was a naturally soft stepper as he saw a brown hooded robe hanging from a tree closest to the river.

By no means was he a pervert, Chrollo had always respected the privacy of all the women in the Phantom Troupe. He was a murderer, a thief, a criminal, many things, but never a creep. However he was also an incredibly curious person, and he had the opportunity to see why Aamu had been hiding under the robe this whole time. How could he not take it? Moving with an amount of stealth he rarely ever used, his eyes followed the river bank, to the shallow part, to an undressed Aamu. She was kneeling down in the shallow water with her back to him. Bunny ears the same color as her shoulder length ginger hair. With pale blotches along her shoulders, back, and hips that almost looked like they formed a Rorschach test. Everything below her ginger puff ball tail was covered in the water. She was a rabbit. A human rabbit? Even being as far away as he was, he could still see she how skeletal she looked. He found himself wondering how long she had been starving out here. Fortunately, that was something he accounted for on his supply run and he made sure he got enough food to feed two.

#chrollo lucilfer #hxh #fanfic #fluff #light angst #slow burn #divider by cafekitsune

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