🃏

Reframing is to express something differently.

To express something that’s already been committed is difficult— but that, too, is reframing.

Before leaving, the unknown angel from the other day returned again, sometime after you had regained consciousness.

His honeyed voice hums in your ears even now as you recall his words:

“What I gave you is the key to your revenge. This is what makes Kael powerful—what allowed him to turn you into this mess. This is Nen.”

“Use it wisely, sweetheart. Concentrate. Meditate. Cultivate it into your weapon. And it is your choice—what sort of weapon you carve it into.”

He had given you so little to work with, and forbade you from speaking to Pakunoda about it; for doing so would only put both of you in danger.

How were you supposed to sit and meditate with all these injuries?

How stupid, you think.

But then again— this is a completely different territory.

And anything you deem stupid is automatically genius.

So you sit down and recall. You summon it—literally drag out the rage, the raw fire flickering inside you.

Let it vent. Let it ignite.

And you feel it.

It’s as if you’re sitting on a bonfire—scorching and unnerving. You feel hot, a sting like thousands of needles inching into your skin. But beneath the pain, it leaves a sensation that makes you feel alive. Worthy.

Perhaps not ready.

You try to bring it to your eyes, thinking maybe—just maybe—it will do something.

But you fail, and the energy slips out of your control. You sit back, exhausted, breathing heavily. The pain intensifies and you groan.

A sigh leaves your lips; your hands fall limp.

It hadn’t been as rewarding as you expected. But it was a lesson—a flicker of hope, a flicker of strength. A weapon. A reason. Freedom.

And knowing that you now have a path to walk—a path that leads to Kael’s downfall—you simply can’t fucking stop.

You push through the night. Reconstructing. Building. Concentrating. Meditating. Learning. Screaming. Rehearsing.

And the coming dawn, finds you on the floor, unconscious.

…

You’re dragged back into consciousness by a firm but unexpectedly gentle touch. Your eyes snap open—too fast—and you jolt upright, cracking your head against the wall with a dull thud.

Before you can curse, a voice—one you’ve grown far too attached to for your own sanity—cuts through the haze:

“Kael will not find you for the next month.”

You freeze.

Your head drops, hair falling forward as you try to process the words through the ache in your skull.

“…What do you mean?” Your voice feels scraped raw on the way out.

“Kael is gone for about a month,” he repeats, tone almost casual. “A perfect window for your training. Which, I see, you’ve already begun.”

You nod, but it’s stiff, hollow.

Training. If you could even call it that.

Last night had been nothing but pain and failure—your muscles screamed, your head burned. You’d collapsed, defeated, useless.

Your frustration spills over before you can stop it.

“I’m too weak for this. I barely have any food—only what Pakunoda manages to sneak in. And sometimes Kael takes even that. I go days without anything. How am I supposed to—” Your voice breaks. “—achieve anything like this?”

You hate the way it sounds. Small. Cornered. Like something he left in a cage.

That familiar helplessness creeps up again, and you almost choke on it.

He hears it. Of course he hears it.

A low hum leaves him, thoughtful. Almost amused.

“In a pickle, aren’t we?” A soft exhale. “And here I thought Kael had given you enough hate to tear him apart.”

You look up sharply.

Why does he always speak like this? Why does every sentence feel like a riddle?

He leans closer—presence heavy, voice soft but cutting.

“I suggest that you should use what you have the most right now, sweetheart. Show me your resolve.”

You feel his gaze settle on you, warm, uncomfortably knowing. You scoff under your breath, irritation prickling at your skin.

He laughs—quiet, velvet-soft, annoyingly pleased.

“I shouldn’t talk to you this often,” he murmurs. “Or I’ll end up under Kael’s regard.”

And just like that— he’s gone.

Leaving the air colder. Leaving you, once again, with nothing but his words.

…

You try to follow his instructions.

Each dawn, you practice—your strength tempered by repetition. You fail, learn, work, succeed, and repeat. With Kael gone, Pakunoda brings food every day, filling in the empty gap for an older sister.

You have seen how different she is, from the others.

She senses rifts, loneliness, isolation—and instinctively tries to mend them. Even in the Phantom Troupe, a group built on ruthlessness, Pakunoda is an outlier.

The only reason that justifies her bringing meals for you everyday, even when she wasn't ordered to do so, means that, she feels.

Deeply.

That is her beauty.

And you feel like having her involved in everything you do, because she contributes indirectly into your success.

The only way you know how to repay her kindness is to share all your endeavours...

But she is still loyal to her troupe, and you cannot share your progress. So in the last few days, you stop letting her—or anyone—visit. No one knows what you’re becoming.

Your advancements are many. Most tears and slashes have healed. The largest wounds have shrunk, the pain easing.

These thirty-one days took much from you, and you gave everything in return. By the end, you were ready—with the rules of your reframed game.

Ready for Kael.

.....

But perhaps he was not ready for you. It was evident, as he stood at the doorway of the room he had locked you in, stunned.

He had barged in expecting a victim. Weak, hurt, pained and at his mercy.

Instead, he found you— healed.

Completely.

As if reversed to your original state.

Not a single mark of the horrors he had carved into you had remained.

Kael felt that helpless, irritated rage— the same feeling he had when you stopped reacting to his torture. When his purpose was discontinued.

And you grin—wide—like the fallen angel rising as the Devil.

Others gather behind him, speechless. You spot Pakunoda—horrified, yet with a shimmer of respect, she looks at you.

The others?

Shocked at the sight.

Not dramatically—just a sudden, vicious stillness, the kind that predators fall into when the forest goes quiet. Eyes narrow. Breaths hitch. Bodies lean forward, just slightly, as if the whole room tilts toward you.

Disbelief ripples through them like a cold wind. Even their usual casual arrogance falters.

Because they remember the wreck Kael carried away. They remember the blood.

And now you stand here, whole.

Their aura shifts as one—curiosity igniting, hunger sharpening, unease threading through the air. The atmosphere thickens, charged, electric.

A short man in a violet mask speaks from the back: “Take her to the boss. He will find her fascinating.”

Kael protests, claiming you as his 'slave' who he wants to share with no one.

The argument between the other members and him didn't last long, and ended with Kael turning silent.

And they take you—

You stand before their leader, seated in a well-lit hall lined with gothic candle stands.

The hall is dim and cavernous. Your footsteps echo, too loud in the cold air. Conversations stop instantly. The rest of the troupe turns toward you—not individually, but as one organism—attention snapping tight, sharp, animal. A ripple moves through them: confusion, interest, something like wariness.

On the far steps, Chrollo closes his book with a soft click. Stained glass behind him casts fractured light over his stillness. His eyes sweep over you once, slow and exacting. His posture perfect, a cross around his neck, a book in his hand—he looks far more composed than the others.

A beat. Then, softly—almost kindly— “How extraordinary, she healed herself mysteriously.”

The room holds its breath.

Nods ripple through the group. Kael stands petrified. They speak to their leader, tease Kael, fall into side conversations.

But you wonder— where is the silk-voiced man from earlier?

You scan the room. You expected him to be more interested in you. As he was, from the very start...

You notice a Jester, lounging on a windowsill, casually flicking his cards. A pink-haired girl with a tired expression. Another girl with glasses, gothic and unbothered. A giant. A small man. A mummy. A ponytailed freak.

All real freaks. And Kael had the audacity to call you one.

Your gaze lands on Kael—bewildered, offended, stunned.

You enjoy the sight.

You grin menacingly.

Kael notices. His disgust sharpens.

"I see your smile, you rat."

Your eyes pierce his; your smirk widens.

“What can I do? I love this new look on your face. Utterly humbled and shattered.” You retort, almost unbothered.

"When did you think you could talk back, brat?" Kael simmers with barely held rage- "I can still put you in your place"

"Try, Kael. Please, try.." You stoke the fire deliberately with a mocking voice that drags sweetly. Everyone around the two of you go silent, attention snapping back to you.

The bloodlust in Kael's eyes chills the room— and for a second, you felt attacked, but for a second.

And that gets on his nerve.

And he retorts with his hand cracking across your cheek. For a brief moment, your head spins to the side along with the momentum of his movement and pain blooms, but you return to staring down his eyes.

Your anger surges, spilling into the hall. The atmosphere darkens—thick, suffocating, powerful. Some shiver. Some freeze. None of them knew that you were capable of such presentation of rage.

They swore they had made Pakunoda check for any memory of Nen, and she had deemed you completely harmless.

They are surprised and you could say even freaked out.

But only one of them is, aroused.

But Kael?

Kael is silent, and enraged. Everyone knows that menacing look in his eyes when something goes out of his control. Kael lives for command, dominance and for oppressing others. But seeing you harness a bloodlust nearly as terrifying as his, he feels offended, demeaned and mocked. That meant you weren't as weak as he thought of you to be. Or he wasn't as strong as he thought of himself.

Kael raises his hand in some gesture. It wasn't much familiar to you, but the look on the troupe member's faces told you it wasn't something friendly.

Suddenly, the Jester moves between you and Kael, blocking the view—an arm outstretched, not defending, but commanding.

Kael snaps his attention to him. You reel your energy back.

"What is it, you freak?" He argues, but the Jester’s silk-laden voice cuts clean:

“I’m afraid I had to step in.”

The voice slices through the tension—silky, playful, unmistakable.

Your breath stutters.

That tone. That cadence. That satin mockery.

You’ve heard it before.

Not here.

But back in that room where you'd transformed. From a victim to You. You heard the voice as a teacher, perhaps? But as someone's to whom you will be indebted, for life, at least.

Your stomach drops.

So that was him all along.

He spares you a look of some approval and then he speaks again, stepping forward, amusement dripping from every word:

“By the looks of it, you were going to kill her.” A pause—one he stretches deliberately, savouring. “But Kael… you should know…” His smile is audible. “I want to fight this girl when she’s ripe enough for me to feast.”

It takes you a little time to register.

Feast?

What does that mean? What does he mean 'ripe enough to feast'?

Is he going to use you, in some sort of wicked and disgusting way?

Whatever the reason may be, thinking about it makes your skin go cold.

Because now you know— the man standing between you and revenge,

is not an angel.

He is a weirdo.

You stare, thinking what his true motives are, as he tries to pursue Kael.. who, shockingly enough, backs off.

The shift is immediate—like someone loosened a noose around the whole room. Breaths release. Shoulders drop. Even the murderous aura thins out, retreating like a tide.

But inside you, something snaps.

It’s small at first—something that feels empty and irritating Then it swells, sharp and molten, rising like a wave that refuses to be swallowed.

Because this—this—is wrong. This tastes too much like surrender. You seriously wanted to kick his ass.

Your body moves before your mind can leash it.

“No.”

The word cuts through the air with a clarity that startles even you. It sounds like a blade drawn in a silent room.

You swallow once, collecting the remnants of restraint gathering in your throat, but your eyes never leave Kael’s.

“I’ll fight Kael.” Your voice is steadier than earlier, with your heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to break free. “I want to fight him.”

Kael’s laughter erupts—wild, echoing, too loud, too sharp. And some of the people in the room follow him.

But The tension tightens, thickens, coils around the walls.

Because something in your voice wasn’t a challenge.

It was a verdict.

And everyone can feel it. The weight of it. The inevitability of it.

Kael laughs. But nonetheless, it was clear that the moment you spoke, the air shifted again—this time not loosening, but locking into place. There was an execution waiting to happen.

You face Kael again.

“Laughing won’t help you, Kael. Man up— and fight your victim”

The jester doesn't moves. He stands there, fingers digging into his fists. Something about him seems off to you. His demeanour changed, he looked like maniac. Though that was the case with him mostly but now, he looked feral. As if he's loving how things are turning out to be. Love or lust, you aren't sure. Because there are a few people who love to fight. And next to zero who have a lust to fight..

You push yourself up from the ground as you hear the door sway open. Pakunoda enters, tense, and with a pitying look, she gently places the hot instant noodles next to you. The container purposefully taps a little louder against the surface.

She pauses and just stares. You squirm a little and settle into the corner of the room. You murmur a small appreciation, smiling a little, and Pakunoda reacts as if it's something rare.

Which it is.

She is surprised. The whole of the Phantom Troupe is surprised — that the members of the vicious group are able to sympathize and pity others. Why wouldn't they? It was atrocious at its best.

She doesn't know why her throat stings at the scene in front of her.

A young girl, clothes barely covering her wound-inflicted, blood-stained body. Scars stare back sharply from wherever the spectator's eyes land. Face drained of any colour, her eyes aren't functional — they're tired of bleeding. Where eyes should have glimmered, there were only charred hollows, dark and unblinking. The skin around them was scorched, cracked, and red — like the aftermath of fire — and even the faintest twitch of the eyelids sent tiny shimmers across the raw, blistered surface.

That's you.

Pakunoda, trying not to remember the branding of your eyes from earlier, softly offers, "Sh-Should I help?"

You shake your head, slow as it hangs down, and yet again, you simply mutter a thank you as you tap your hand around on the ground to find the noodles.

You try to feel its warmth, and when you notice it in the air, you grab it and carefully bring it closer. Paku tries helping, and you almost scowl in disapproval, clearing your throat before replying in a weak, fragile voice,

"I can do this. I think you should leave."

Paku hesitates, thinks a little more, but retreats respectfully. You listen to the tap of her heels against the broken tiles of the room and then the door closing.

Suddenly, you can't taste the food, neither is the world as appealing.

The following days come and go like they're silk slipping away from your hands — except they leave deep scars.

But you don't let it get to you. You don't let his monsters eat you alive. You don't show it. You wipe away the blood as you hold back your tears.

Look him in the eye, and smile.

At first, it seemed so easy for him to toy with you. You would easily cry out, even at the slightest touch of the molten rod — you'd pray to God with tears as offerings.

But he noticed — the twitch of your eyebrows when he had dropped lower to your ears after spitting on your face and whispered,

"Your screams, your tears, your defiance — they’re all for me. Admit it: you exist to be broken. You're filthy — a woman, after all."

If your eyes could light up with rage, they would have. You really were a pathetic little creature — at least, that's what you believed. You hated yourself. All of it. Every little pitiful inch.

Maybe that's why you didn't protest much when all of it had started. You never resisted — not because you had accepted it, but because you were utterly hopeless and consumed by despair. You body was broken, will fractured, and you were clinging to silence as your only shield. There was no fight, only quiet endurance.

But there was this one thing you were exceptionally proud of. You were a woman. Because, the tag of a woman was something that you shared with a lot of humans you admired.

That's all you ever loved about yourself, and now, this Kael guy had questioned it.

You can't let him mock it. Can't let him ruin that about you.

Never let him paint its serenity with his disgusting thoughts.

So you rebel.

You don't give him the thrill of hurting others. You don't give him the reactions he yearns for.

You don't let out even a single noise, whenever he touches you to scar you. You look him in the eye. Daringly, demandingly, dangerously.

Even you are shocked to see this phenomenal change, but you had waited for this pivotal moment all your life. For it comes for everyone. You had to make something out of it — of this new maturity.

But what can you even do right now? You are still helpless.

Simply being defiant won't always help. And the torturer, Kael, has some divine powers. Or else how could you be alive even after that horrendous branding of your eyes?

You feel the pain — no, you were left alive to feel it. As a normal person under these circumstances would have ascended to oblivion.

There's something different — something out of this world, yet in the grasp of humans — and this "Phantom Troupe" has it.

It's Nen, perhaps, going by what Pakunoda is able to provide. But how do you learn it? Do you need to be special for it? Is it even real?

How do you defeat him, in a game that he is supposed to win?

You sigh, put the now empty cup aside, and lay on the dirty floor, like you have been for the last 15 days.

Your mom must be worried as hell. The police must have patrolled the forest side a dozen times. The news must be publishing nonstop about you — where have you been for a fortnight? Who kidnapped you? You bet you will be one of the mystery cases that remain unsolved and are only recalled for making documentaries.

Because there is no way these normal people will be able to find a girl who was abducted by one of the 14 members of the Phantom Troupe.

But you have been planning to reduce them to 13.

You clutch the threadbare sack cloth that tries to cover your body, till your knuckles turn white. You cover the pain with your fury — that's about all that you can do when it's a game, played unfairly by God.

Yet again, how could one question God when they believed in them? Even God couldn't look over the insatiable sense of revenge inside you.

The door opens once again, and you almost don't hear the swing. You only feel someone's breath skim against your shoulder, and you get up frantically.

"I'll be honest, it's lovely to see you getting tortured" A velvety, silk voice vibrates down your eardrums. You can't figure out who it is. Because only one person's voice was devilishly carved into your senses.

And this wasn't him, this wasn't Kael. Maybe someone else.

He smells sweet. But sounds just like him. Grey and immoral.

His touch is even softer than his voice as he runs his hands over a prominent scar on your face. "Poor girl, Kael really doesn't know how to spot potential~"

You stay silent. Potential?

"Hmmmm, I love the way you changed your attitude when he hit your nerve. You're a treasure — nothing of what Kael measures you against."

You just sit, oblivious. He leans in again, and your hands, though weak, still try to push him away — but they only brush against his chest as he drops lower near your ears.

You suddenly feel warmth — a little nurturing, but a lot more alien. It plays with every ounce of your existence — and it's like your rage has a vent now.

His touch lingers, and you realize the warmth isn't external; it's seeping into the scar tissue, threading into your veins. It feels thick, almost like molten metal being poured through a brittle straw. The fire is sudden, centered in your chest—the locus of life and emotion. It ignites not just pain, but the dormant, bitter fury you've been hiding. You can feel him forcing it, a precise, methodical invasion. It’s not a gift; it’s an imposition. You want to scream, but the fire is choking the sound in your throat. The heat is so intense, you wonder if it's re-scorching the flesh around your eyes, or if a new, invisible scar is being carved into your very soul.

And then you black out.

"Don't disappoint me. You're now a part of my game."

A/n: This ain't ending here. There will be more parts for sure. Credits: Chat GPT and Google Gemini for grammar mistakes.

• This one time, he and Joseph tried keeping your eyelids open with the help of tape.

• He does stupid things to see if you'll wake up, like dancing with his butt in front of you, or sneezing in your face.

•Purposefully keeps all the coffee bites in your lap so that Iggy pounces on you to wake you up.

• He once placed you in front of the enemy, making sure you didn't wake up. He was desperate and needed your help. And he literally said "Come on, wakeup, the enemy is in your face, i hope you get the gravity of the situ--- MON DIEU THEY AREN'T WAKING UP!!!" • "Our sleeping beauty tends to be very helpful in certain situations.."

• isn't much bothered with it personally because he would never want to admit that you are the strongest amongst them.

AVDOL.

• My man 🙏🏻😔

• Understands that you can't help it.

•But again, freaks out when the enemy seems to be powerful and you're sleeping.

• Patiently just tries to fight the enemy without you, because he feels it's rude to get you to wake up.

• Treats you with refreshments when you wake up.

• Is genuinely surprised and intrigued by how much of a deep sleeper you are.

KAKYOIN HEHEHEHE

• He's a pookie, that's how it is.

• He and iggy are the ones who come rushing to wake you up.

• Once , he slapped you multiple times you to wake you up but then regretted it and kept apologizing for it.

• Keeps staring at you thinking he can control your mind to wake you up.

• "That's unreal, even my hierophant green can't wake them up"

• He and Avdol are your comfort characters in this case.

• Else, he's mostly like Avdol. ( I can't think of anything else)

JOTARO

•Bro..

•He has personal beef with you because of that.

• This mission is important for him because it's about saving his mom, and he thinks that you don't care because you keep sleeping all the time. (also i think i can't exactly use this logic only for him cuz maybe everyone would be the same because the mission is equally important for all and if not ALL then atleast joseph too because Holy is his daughter but ughhghghghg idk don't make me use my mind much :P)

• I can't think of anything funny in his case 😭😭

•Doesn't talks or does anything about it. Lol. That's how funny it gets, now laugh.

•OOOH, Polnareff once asked him if you would wake up even when star platinum was attacking you. Though it was hypothetical, he didn't wanted that question to keep him up at night. Ofc he didn't actually execute it, you would've died. But he almost did. Just almost.

IGGYYYYYY •I actually forgot him??????? somebody kill me •I love to think that once you and iggy were in a room and got ambushed by an enemy and you were sleeping and iggy had to deal with the most of it but then you suddenly wake up in the end and take all the credit XD •he always growls at you for that. •But i guess he loves to use you as his bed. Yk shuffling about at your stomach or head to make himself comfortable and then snore in sync.

This was, something idk man.

♡ You thought about Hisoka this time too, about the more romantic aspect about him. Though nothing about that scary magician would be romantic instead of that eerie use of pink in his wardrobe. But that still, once again, had you addicted. You were wishing, no– praying to see all of his perfect, flawless skin every time you’d get reminded of his presence. You had seen his strong arms, oh those pretty fingers with the slight flush of blood under that porcelain skin of his, the muscles bulging out with the extraordinary finish of his veins, and his perfectly manicured nails. And then his eyes, oh not his eyes. That deep amber of his irises with the famous quirk of his eyes, crinkling further up as he smiled with his mischievous, beautiful and lustrous lips. And these days you have noticed those heart shaped earrings he’s wearing, that’s got all your feline features back on their feet, throbbing to play with them, your fingers flicking them as they jingled. And the heels he’s been wearing, the thought of him absolutely slaying in those heels with his killer legs lives rent-free in your mind. Sigh Heck, you were all over him And boy did you hate that. You sat there, not very proud of your lazy posture but that’s not something you will be worrying about. At least not right now. You lay down further on the grass, flat on your belly, the sides of your face pressed to the ground, your extraordinarily sensitive senses letting you hear all the hustle and bustle that must be occurring in the distance, your hair being held together barely by your clawclip. Oh, by the way, this claw clip is your favourite, though it serves zero purpose to its owner, it’s still pretty privileged and chosen over thousands of others. Why is that, you ask? For two things. First, your master gifted it to you, saying that– “This is the only thing I can give you so spontaneously upon the completion of your training,” and you accepted it wholeheartedly. It was a traditional piece of Japanese accessory, adorned with gold and silver painted metallic wires coiled into flowers and stars, and delicate cherry blossom features indicating the spring season. Absolute work of art.

And second, for which you scold yourself all the time, is that Hisoka actually told you that it looked nice on your hair. And that’s it, you knew it was never going to be kept away. Your nose, which was overly hypersensitive because of the rough training, catches onto something sickeningly sweet, a familiar scent that usually has you swooning. Also, your ear which was pressed against the ground listened to the thud of someone’s steps, someone’s stride. You quickly quirk up, shuffling about to sit up straight and look around. You weren’t threatened, because you were expecting someone, but not the someone who now stood right beside you, startling you a little, and alarming you much. You practically sprung to your feet in front of him, keeping a poker face despite the heart-hammering in your chest on his appearance. “Oh my~ It’s nice to see you here, like this.” Hisoka coos in his velvety voice, another thing you’d absolutely kill for. You raise an eyebrow, trying to look as casual as possible.

“How did you find me here?” You echo back, being your usual rude self towards him, so much to be obsessed with him Hisoka takes a step closer, and your expression becomes more horrified than neutral. But you stay put, not moving an inch, not tearing your gaze away from his. “Hmm, you really want to think about that?” He answers back, eyes boring back into yours before he adds. “You’ve become stronger, I like that.” Shit? and a BIG YAY

Your dual personality has you questioning yourself for a while, before agreeing on the fact that you have some psychological ailment. By this statement, Hisoka probably means he’d love to have a fight, which you would agree to without hesitating. God knows what angels had bestowed their blessings upon you but you made a mental note to thank them later “Mhm, I have been training”

“That’s great, really. I never noticed your potential, how cruel that must be” “Yeah, sure. What do you want?” He grins wickedly “A fight would be nice.” “Sure”    That came out too fast and too unhesitantly, much to your dismay. You stammer with your words before adding “Yeah, I mean, we could, but, I don’t have that kind of time right now..” “Are you staying in this town?” “For a while– yeah. I mean, for a few hours that is.” “Does that mean you’d be leaving?”  He says pulling out his cards, putting you on full guard as he plays with them on his fingertips “Yeah” “Well, that’s too bad. I think I'd like to take your time right here~" “I am not fighting you here” “Hmph, how about next month, on a discussed date and place?”

He says, throwing one of his cards at you, clearly aimless, flung for distracting you from the bungee gum tentacle darting towards you. And you swiftly dodged both of them, sprinting to a side. “That— sounds nice. You decide” He watched you with a look of approval and something, his eyes scanning you up and down and observing your movements as you walked to lean against a tree. “How about the last day of the next month, 9 pm, in the YorkNew city park” 

He steps closer, deliberately, slowly, cautiously and gracefully, like a swan stalking in its beauty. You watch him do that, again, tranced by his ever-so-consuming presence. His legs move towards you with the finesse he usually carries with him, that cocky grin spread across his expression, still there, twitching upwards. Amber eyes piercing through yours, enchanting, intoxicating and hooking. For a second, you give up on letting even a word out, but you did, for the sake of yourself, you did. “Yeah, sure. Whatever floats your boat—”  you feel something, elastic tightening around your waist, your ankles, pinning you to the tree further. Fuck, when did his bungee gum even caught up? How could you be so careless? So lost in him? “Staring at me like that, hm? Interesting.”  He muses, stepping even closer, dangerously closer, right in front of you, his feet pressing over yours, hot breath fanning your face and making you shiver. You dared not utter a word, his finger reaching out to tilt your face to a side by your chin, letting him take a glance at your claw clip. “Mh, my favourite claw clip, still there?” His hand reaches out to tangle in your hair, pulling it gently to make you wince and probably pulling you back to your senses as well. “What are you doing?” “I am about to steal a few things~”

He coos back, with his finger caressing the back of your neck. He lets go of your chin, hand trailing down to rest at your thigh, pulling your leg up to hook it against his hips, the other hand which was tangled in your hair now cupping your face and forcing you to look at him

This is too much for a single night. Too much to even fit in a K-drama. You’re suddenly receiving everything you’d ever want from him. A promised fight and then THIS??!! Like, he was holding your thighs up your skirt now, his face was mere inches away and that’s got you panicking in all sorts of ways, good ways. Oh, now you can finally see him closely, drink the texture of his skin to memory and play with his earring with your hands resting on his shoulder. All of this, it’s too good to even be a dream, you are convinced you’re in heaven, and the blessings of angels from earlier was just a welcome-prank on you. You needed something to tell you all this was real while you lose yourself in the surreal feeling of staring into his eyes—

And that’s when his lips

Hisoka’s lips are so soft and sweet, it’s like he uses butter for them

They’re against yours, moving gently, tenderly and assuringly, each movement sending jolts through you. His body weight presses you deeper into the tree, fingers digging into your soft flesh of thighs, teeth nipping at your lower lip and his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you, earning himself a sweet little, cherished moan from you. He pauses against your lips, grinding his hips against you as he manhandles both your legs to rest them on his waist with them locked at your ankles.Your hand moves to tug at his hair, pulling him closer, and he leans lower, to place open-mouthed, wet kisses, gliding against your skin, coining whimpers as you tuck your lower lips under your teeth. Your head falls back, giving him new skin, his lips grazing your throat as he nipped and sucked on your soft skin.

“You’re being too easy, don’t you think?”  He breathes against your skin, pushing his lips against your skin, peppering soft kisses.

“Shut up”  You grunt lowly. What? You weren't  gonna tell him you have thought about this moment too much.

He places a soft kiss on your lips, followed by a more defined and passionate one, nails sinking into your waist as his fingers slowly graze your shirt upwards to splay his fingers over your bare skin which almost slide down the elastic of your panties, but decide to trail upwards and waking goosebumps against your skin.He presses your forehead against his, his shallow breaths skimming over your nose, yours waking shivers down his neck. Your eyes are closed, too afraid to open them and realise it was just a mind game, or probably see the heavens like you thought earlier. But the clicking-open sound of your clutcher, and the tightened grip on your thighs told you otherwise, telling you this was real. "Take this from me when you meet me next time" He whispers, lips brushing against the shell of your ear before his teeth tug at your earlobe, as if he can't stop lavishing his lips on your skin.

Hisoka pulls away completely, gently placing your legs back on the ground and letting you go, making you feel touch-starved all over again. And the second you open your eyes, you feel a shift in the air, and realise, he’s gone. Again.

There he was, our good ol’ unpredictable Hisoka, no one knows what he’s up to, what he might do, what he might become. No one at all. Everything you knew was that he took his favourite claw clip with him while making out with you. And now you’re left again as if on purpose.