#phinksxreader

“Anyways,” you continued, picking up your bag. “I’ll be off then. Thanks for breaking up with me three seconds before my midterm. I really appreciate it.”

“You--okay, right. Fucking bitch.”

Before you could turn around and leave, Phinks had already stormed off, an angry snarl etched into his face. You sighed and walked along to class, a lingering emptiness following you as you tried to keep your mind off the subject. Your midterm was first. 

Your attempt to go through the rest of the day without reacting went surprisingly well, the numb feeling your mind adopted to deal with getting broken up keeping your thoughts clear of any thought related to the blonde. Your midterm went okay, though afterwards you realized you could’ve add a bit more text with some questions, and your ride home was uneventful.

You heated up some left-overs from the day before, a bowl of curry that had been okay yesterday and became barely edible today. You’d made it together with Phinks, who’d chopped up all the ingredients, leaving you to throw all of it together. A bluetooth player had been connected to his phone during the preparation and some music you didn’t recognize had played, but even though you didn’t recognize it, you’d swayed along with the rhythm, and Phinks had kissed your cheek when he’d left.

Tears were falling down your face before you realized, and as you took a bite, all the thoughts you’d been pushing away the entire day resurfaced, forcing you to deal with the fact that Phinks had really broken up with you.

He hadn’t given a reason, and you hadn’t asked for one either, afraid the answer would break you. 

What if his reason had been that you weren’t good enough, or that he found someone else that was more beautiful or funnier or just better. What if he’d fallen completely out of love with you over something you did, something so intrinsically you that he couldn’t help but withdraw in disgust. If the reason for this break-up was anything like that, you wouldn’t want to hear it. 

But now you needed to deal with the fact that your entire life, which had involved him so greatly, would have to move on without him. It felt like he’d opened up a giant gaping hole in your chest, leaving you to figure out how to fill it up again, if anything even could. 

As you slowly got ready for bed, preparing to cry yourself to sleep, everything reminded you of him. 

It seemed so easy for him to just walk through the door and greet you like he’d done yesterday. It would have just been a bad dream, one forgotten after you’d wrap your arms around him and exhaled. Despite your wishes, the door remained closed, and you ended up falling asleep firmly holding your pillow, wishing it was someone instead.

When you woke up, in the middle of the night, you notice someone in your room. Thinking it's a roommate trying to wake you up, you sit up and gently ask what’s up. It’s only then that you notice the packed bags and the way your closet is torn open. The fact that it isn’t one of your roommates but your new ex only follows that shock. He curses when he sees you awake. 

“..Phinks? What are you doing here?” You sleepily ask. 

“We’re going.” He throws some clothes your way. “Get dressed. We leave in five.”

“Leave? Is there a fire or something?” He just points at the clothing and grabs two bags filled with your stuff, moving them out of your room to the entreeway of the house. 

You faintly hear a car running. He doesn’t explain himself and instead drags you with him to to the kitchen table, where a pen and paper lie waiting for you. 

“You’re going to be writing a letter explaining why you’re leaving.” He places your hand on the pen, and squeezes threateningly. “You’re heartbroken by the break-up and have decided to run away. Write that down.”

By now, you’re pretty sure he’s going to kill you, but seeing no other way, you write the letter. He’s reading over your shoulder while you write, so you don’t dare adding anything like a call for help, not able to think of anything covert enough that he won’t notice.

When you finish, he reads it once over and nods before dragging you out into the car. You try to scream, but he covers your mouth when he pushes you in, whispering in your ear how he’ll break your arm if you disobey. Still emotionally vulnerable from your entire evening of crying, you break down again and are reduced to quiet sobs. Phinks sees, but does nothing as he drives away from the house.

It takes about fifteen minutes of silent driving before you’re able to say anything. 

“Why are you doing this?” You eventually croak out. “First you break up with me, then you drag me out in a car I don’t recognize, and what next? Are you going to kill me?”

He seemed horrified by the accusation. “Of course not.”

“What then?!”

“Just shut up and wait. I’ve made arrangements, you’ll be somewhere safe before tomorrow afternoon. If you can just stop crying and calm down, this’ll go much easier.”

“No.” You tried to undo your seatbelt, but Phinks’ gripped your wrist and shook his head, making hot fury explode in your chest. “What is your plan here?!” 

“I thought...” He stopped explaining himself, his momentary confusion switching over to undeserved confidence. “It doesn’t matter what the plan is, it’s working, so stop your fucking yapping and calm down.”

“You can fucking choke on your stupid plan, you motherfucker, what the fuck!” You’d maybe picked up his habit of cursing a whole lot when you were angry, as the words seemed to come as naturally as breathing. “Now bring me home.”

“No way.” His voice was even, steadfast. If there was anything worse than an angry Phinks, it was a quiet Phinks. If he was angry there was at least ways to convince him, to talk into him, but once he got all quiet, he wouldn’t listen to another word you said. “Just because you can’t understand this, doesn’t mean it’s not the way to go.”

“Kidnapping me isn’t the way to go.”

“It’s not kidnapping.” He repeated.

You decided to ignore him and look for a way to contact the authorities whenever possible. He seemed to find this new silence acceptable, though you heard him curse underneath his breath for a few seconds first. 

When he eventually pulled up into a motel, he sprinted to the other side before you could leave and dragged you inside one of the rooms, having gotten the key beforehand. 

The knowledge this was planned and not an impulse decision didn’t quell your nerves.

The motel is dimly lit and consists just of a two-layer apparment complex that could definitely use a new layer of paint soon. There are only two other cars in the parking lot, and there are no people walking around, meaning no one sees when Phinks drags you up the staircase to one of the rooms there. 

When he finally got you inside, he made you sit on one of the chairs and grabbed a long piece of rope, tying your hands and feet to the chair. You tried to kick him away, but Phinks made the daily gym visit speak for him, and managed to hold you still without too much fuss. Afterwards, he seemed highly aggravated with the way you were acting, and just ignored you in turn. 

You tried to wriggle out of the bindings, but that only resulted in the chair falling to the side, making you gasp out in pain as one of the handles of the chair dug into your side, a slight iron edge on the furniture digging deeper into your skin than you would’ve liked. 

It’s when he goes to bed, not even pulling your chair back up, that you break and beg him to explain himself. You cry and cry and cry, because you were broken up with and now you’re being kidnapped and your side hurts so fucking much and what if he was going to kill you and-

“Why?” You ask for the thirtieth time, hoping this time Phinks would answer more than just a gruff ‘shut the fuck up’. “We were doing well, right? Did I do something wrong?”

“This crying thing is getting really annoying.” He didn’t even look up from his phone, the blue light reflecting on the cheap wallpaper behind him. You could only see a small part of his face from your position on the floor, the armrest still digging in your side painfully. “Stop it.”

“I just don’t understand.”  

“Didn’t I say to stop?” 

You could only sniffle in response.

Eventually you manage, with a lot of effort, to fall asleep, your body too exhausted to stay awake even with the pain of the position you were in. True to his word, he didn’t spend another moment paying you any mind, only talking when he needed to tell you to shut up or stop crying. 

Memories of Phinks bringing you tea when you were sick and comforting you after the loss of a family member felt fake now. You could see it had all been performative, since he clearly didn’t really care about your comfort. You still didn’t know what was going on, why Phinks seemed to change so much in so little time, but this wasn’t the boyfriend you’d fallen in love with.

The rest of the night and morning need to pass before you finally get some answers, when you make a truly pitiful noise when waking up and he decides to answer, all the while he’d been checking the forecast on the small motel television. 

A few hours of sleep seem to have calmed him down, making him more open to answering the questions you’d asked all night.

He’d clearly been thinking of what to say for some time, but only half of you is preoccupied with listening to him, the other half screaming out internally at the pain in your side. It had already hurt immensely when you’d tried to sleep, but that wasn’t comparable to now, where it felt like your entire side was torn open.

Phinks only notices you being awake, not necessarily the pain you’re going through.

“I thought we’d be different.” He admits, a humorless smile on his face as he puts the television on silent. “I really did. We’d finish college, I’d go do my thing and you would do yours, and everything would work itself out. The others would’ve been obsessive fools, idiots that can’t even trust their loved ones with family.”

“And I tried. I tried letting you go your way, but after last week, I-” He stopped, pulling a pillow lower behind his back so he’d sit more comfortably. “Chrollo has a plan. A huge plan, and I believe in him. It’ll work. It has to work. It’s just-- his plan needs a couple of ruthless thugs. Some drop-out no good wannabees that don’t care about the face beneath the fist, that don’t care if they have to start killing.”

“Uvo had already killed some dude when he was twelve and never stopped, Nobunaga has been getting busy lately too, I think a total of three just this month.” You wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to participate in something like that, but something about his expression shut you up, making you wonder if that was really the conclusion you should be taking here. “I’d beaten up some people, pretty badly too, but... I’d never killed someone.” 

“Hmm, and that, ahh, changed?” Even with the pained whimper in between, Phinks just kept on talking, blind to his surroundings.

“Yeah.” He laughed humorlessly. “I don’t feel shit about it, not a single slice of regret. I kept seeing flyers and posters around town but I just walked past. If anything, it made me realize something else entirely.”

He looked at you, and he probably assumed the tears where because you were emotional.

“The amount of police searching for me right now. The amount of gangs rising up and yelling orders around town to find me, the amount of people looking for revenge. I finally get it, finally see why Machi feeds her darling drugs and why Uvo keeps his locked up in his appartment.” His voice laced itself with a tinge of desperation, a hope for you to get what he was saying. “I love you, y/n. I truly do. I’d go absolutely batshit if you’d die, and the more I have to work for Chrollo, for our plan, the more danger you’ll be in.” 

You found his confession of love to be a bit misplaced, especially after all the abuse he’d just put you through. You were still tied to the fucking chair, iron edges poking into your sides and making it feel like your guts would start spilling out any moment now. Where was that love when you cried and asked him to let you go or to explain? Your bitterness laced your words. “I see.”

“Oh fuck off.” He didn’t like your tone. “You would’ve started hating me even if I’d been sickly sweet to you during all this. This method at least guarantees you won’t run the fuck away.”

“It also guarantees I’ll pass out due to-- oh fuckkkk, aah-- blood loss soon, but whatever floats your boat.” You seethed.

“Blood loss?” Phinks sat up and bent over the bed until he could reach you, lifting you up and setting the chair upright. You gave out a cry of pain as the iron finally stopped digging into your skin, the sudden lack of pressure hurting a lot as the open wound gushed freely. 

Phinks cursed. “Oh no, babe, damnit, why didn’t you-”

“Why didn’t I say anything?!” You yelled through your tears. “I did! You just said my crying was getting annoying, you fucking piece of shit bastard!” You tried to wiggle out of your bounds so you could hit the blonde in his face like he deserved, but instead you just further opened the wound, making you heave in pain and hiss through clenched teeth. 

Phinks looked like he’d been hit by a truck, his gaze transfixed on the iron that was covered in clotted blood and the wet that covered your cheeks.

Without another word, he undid your bindings, using a pocketknife he handled with too much finesse. Tearing through the rope, he let you struggle and hit him when your arms were finally released. He didn’t fight back as you just kicked him away and stormed into the motel bathroom, locking the door behind yourself. Phinks could’ve easily taken you down or stopped you, but he was still reeling from realizing his actions had caused the massive wound in your side. 

As you limped inside the cramped bathroom, you tried to breathe normally and figure out what to do.

You immediately grabbed a washcloth, ran some water over it, and pressed it against your side. You knew you needed to lift your shirt up, but the prospect of picking out the, with no doubt, clingy fabric from a flesh-wound was still too scary, so you let it be for now. There weren’t any first-aid supplies in here, the door was locked, and with a quick look throughout the dingy bathroom, there was also no window to escape from.

You slinked against the door, curling up the fuzzy showermat behind your back so you could at least sit comfortably. It was a tight fit, as the bathroom barely contained enough room to hold the toilet and bath, but it was enough. 

From the other side of the door, you could hear Phinks do the same, his weight plopping down right behind you.

“I’m so sorry.” What good was an apology like that right now? Even if he brought you home and spent the rest of his life apologizing, you weren’t certain you would ever forgive him. “I... I didn’t mean for this to happen. I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t reply, too busy thinking about the splinters that had no doubt buried itself in your wound. Would you need to pull those out? That would hurt like a bitch. You wouldn’t be able to do that, your pain limit already exceeded many times over. As soon as you got out of here you’d try to find a hospital and ask them to help you.

“Can you hear me?”

Pulling away the washcloth, you shivered and exhaled shakily as the entire thing was already red. God, were you going to bleed out? The wound had been there since you’d woken up, how much blood had you already lost?

“Y/n? Y/n?!” Phinks calling got louder and more frantic, his fist banging against the door. “Open up! Are you okay? What’s going on in there? If you don’t say anything right the fuck now I’ll bust this door down!” 

“I’m here.” You said in order to pacify the situation. The last thing you wanted was Phinks breaking down the door and screaming in your face. Even before today, an angry Phinks scared you, but you’d always thought the occasional broken glass was just a result of some anger issues, not necessarily an actual wish to hurt. Him admitting to murder changed that view a bit. “Calm down.”

“Look- Look I know I’ve been shit to you today.” Understatement of the year. “I know, okay?! I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“Hmhmm.” 

“I’ve gotten in a lot of fights so I know my first-aid, I brought some just in case, though this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. If you come out I can fix up that wound and you can just go to sleep. We don’t have to talk about this anymore and it’ll be fine. You can forget all this.”

“And you’d let me go home?” You asked, your breathing growing heavier and slower as you felt the temptation to fall asleep stronger with every passing moment. Shit, the fuzzy showermat was drenched. Phinks didn’t reply but you didn’t get the vibe he would agree to that. “It sounds like you’re the only one who’d like me to forget this, babe.”

The petname was a lowblow, but you felt a bit vindicative. 

You heard him shakily exhale, and you just knew he was trying to calm his anger. It was still audible when he started speaking. “In ten years, no wait, even sooner. In one year, you’ll see why this needed to be done and you’ll thank me. You’ll thank me, and you’ll understand that this is just me telling you I fucking love you.”

He nearly screamed the last few words. 

Another shaky exhale.