dreams-writings

[dreams-writings]

An Ode to…, part 2 // Feitan, one shot - part of hhighkey’s phantom troupe universe series

Rating: mature

Story Contains: Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping and stalking, emotional and physical violence/abuse, isolation, torture, punishments, possessive behavior, rough sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, period sex, murder, female reader, etc

Note: wc ~19k, part 1 is here xxx, AO3 here xxx

-

The hands of the clock hovered over 2PM. Repetitive ticking sounded like bells chiming in your head, your body out of pure habit rising from the couch. Like a ghost you padded along the hardwood floor as your gown fluttered behind, exhaustion pulled at your limbs but you pushed through. The bed was the place you were to be for your midday nap, like clockwork as it was routine. 

Any lingering anxiety over the time and thoughts of being disobedient were expelled as soon as you switched into a nightgown, throwing back the covers. As soon as you were comfy, confined within the blankets gripping a plushie, your eyelids closed and sleep overtook. 

Fitless dreams came to you often now compared to years ago at the start of your life with Feitan. Had it been years? Maybe, but you’re certain it’s been at least a year and a half, maybe more as the snow on the ground was beginning to melt. At times you’d dream of the night you first shared a bed, your first kiss and how you longed for him for weeks after. Or how only your jealous outburst forced him to act on his own insecurities. At points the facts seemed to mesh, all unimportant as it led you two together. 

An hour went by before the front door opened and slammed behind a dark figure. Feitan’s coat dropped to the floor, a trickle of blood falling to the hardwood. It was not his own, his mood was poor even so, the events of last night rather daunting. All he wanted was to watch you go about your day, watch you read, watch you bathe, even watch you breathe. 

Yesterday, Shalnark found proof that the organization of Hunters narrowed in on them and their partners were looking for Uvo and Phinks’s girls. That they were going to take them to the Base, but it went wrong. How he saw the terror in Phinks when they couldn’t find his lover, the worry and how he’d smashed one of the Hunters to mush when he did not give answers. And the relief he saw when Phinks cradled her upon Shal and Uvo finding her. 

Feitan was well aware how easily that could be him, so he wanted his sights on you ASAP. Until then, he wasn't able to breathe as normal.

Nothing could pass by Feitan’s razor sharp senses when it came to his surroundings, so the first thing he noticed was the lack of life. You aren’t there to greet him with your bright eyes and a smile, or concern on if he’d been hurt when away. 

When it comes to you, he’s irrational, he knows it. You’re his weakness through and through, something he’s had to come to accept and live with. Because being without you in any capacity would be torturous, would feel like being burned alive if it were anything like his panic. Just seconds of thinking you’ve left, been injured, had him on fire and ready to split someone open. Fingers flexing from the tight tension in him. 

But it’s the time that’s soothing him, it’s 3PM. Without realizing it he’s briskly moving towards your shared bedroom.

A weight taken from his shoulders. He straightens slightly, heart wrenching against his ribs to be closer to you. How cute you looked huddled under a heap of blankets, even the warmth of the house did little to protect you from the chill of the winter storm brewing outside. A cold draft always seeps up from the basement, Feitan made another note to have it fixed. He found anger at himself at how your lips tinged purple, body shivering every few minutes. 

Unfounded alarm rose in his chest, his hand jutting out to press against your forehead. You felt normal, so you couldn’t have the chills at least. A sigh of relief left him. Brows pinching as a disgust towards his incessant worrying curdled inside. 

He discarded his raging emotions under the shower stream before making sure to toss his bloodied clothes out of sight. Next he made sure all signs of blood on the floor were gone. It didn’t matter that you knew of his occupation, he no longer wanted you seeing pieces of it unless you chose to watch him in the basement. He liked when you chose him, chose it, chose discomfort so he could feel a sense of pride. But he wanted to keep you away from it more and more as time went on, and wanted to wrap you up from all evil things of the world. Except that would include him, he’s pretty sure.

The sound of the running water hadn’t woken you. Still you slept soundly, a tiny sigh sounding like music to his ears. 

“So good.” Feitan cooed darkly, his languid fingers brushing a piece of your hair out of your face. 

Each day after lunch Feitan had slowly instituted a required rest, that getting a nap served your health for the better in the long run. That eating specific food groups at certain times of day was really for the best. Not that he had the background to insist on such. 

He let you sleep a little longer, basking in your angelic glow that made his heart sing. How tight you wound him inside, round and round until his strings were so taut they could snap and he’d be gone. Any little movement or quirk of yours filled his stomach with an onslaught of butterflies that used to make him feel sick. How he enjoyed the painful spasms and lurches within him, making him feel alive.

“Fei?” You whimpered, hand swatting at the air as some unintelligible murmurings passed your lips. 

Dim light streamed through open parts of the curtains, your surroundings hazy as you attempted to pry open your eyes. They felt so heavy, as if your lashes had been glued shut. Cold dense air assaulted your lungs and skin, and all you wanted was to collapse back into the warm paradise that was your bed. 

But fingers prodded at you and you could make out his outline as you wrench your eyelids open. Immediately feeling his overbearingly dark aura as if it were attempting to suffocate you, but in a way it brought comfort. That smothering you needed as if it were a lifeline, as a second of autonomy put you into overdrive.

“Sleep okay?” Feitan asked as he helped you sit up. 

You groaned in response, shaking your head as you pawed at your eyes. Feitan’s eyes glittered with something unknown as he watched how cute yet vulnerable you were as he brushed your bedhead down. You involuntarily moved into his hand, the warmth and familiarity comforting as you still came to. 

“Come. Snack before dinner later.”

Feitan had to practically hold you up as he pulled you from the bed, then the room to head towards the kitchen. This was the worst part, your sockless feet cold on the wood floors, goosebumps up your arms and legs. The thin gown doing nothing to shield you from the shock going from coziness to the chilly air of the house. But Feitan was relentless with your schedule; when and how you did things compared to when he once left you to your devices. 

He fidgeted while he watched you eat grapes he carefully skinned then cut in half. 

You swore this was how a parent would prepare their little child’s food! But as of late his work for the Spider’s seemed to grow, more pressure to it as he did little to fill you in as to why the sudden changes. You wonder if it’s because Uvogin’s wife passed away or got sicker. You think she’s alive, but you aren’t sure. Limited contact and all.

You can see the stress written on Feitan’s face when he thinks you aren’t looking, you can feel the changes in him enough to not protest his weird overbearing behavior.  The last two months of it all you chalk it up to Feitan realizing he could lose you or see you suffer in the ways Uvo’s wife has. Or selfishly he didn’t want to go through what his fellow Troupe member was. 

“Fei.” You stare at him, too cold to want to finish the fruit, “I’m freezing.”

His eyes widened, then he looked you up and down before he darted out the room. This was how it had been going since winter started, him forgetting when he thrusted you from bed you’d be poorly dressed for the chill. Quickly, he was back with thick socks, sweats, and hoodie. He dressed you even as you proclaimed you could do it yourself, which he smirked feeling your glare on him.

“Sorry.” 

“I know how to chew my food, I won’t choke on some grapes.”

“Don’t care. Will help you if must.” 

You shook your head knowing he meant he’d physically hold your jaw to make sure you were chewing proper. He’d done it before so he’d more than likely do it again. 

A chill went down your spine as you remembered last winter with him, so new into your captivi- life with him. How alone you’d been trying to understand what he wanted from you as you mourned everything. But it was the memory of the first time he touched you after beginning a new routine into watching you without hiding. He’d been upset at how quick you were eating some noodles, jutting his hand out to stop your jaw from moving. It practically burned you. It sent blaring red into your mind and a nasty type of nerves down your limbs, stomach in knots. How it had disgusted you then, but now you debated purposely eating too fast to force him to act. To touch you. 

And you do it, swiftly scoop up more of the fruits and popped them in your mouth. You swore Feitan’s eyes bulged outwards before his fingers were tight on your jaw. 

“Stop it.”

You couldn’t stop the smirk as you chewed defiantly before Feitan forced your jaw closed. Even with the minimal strength he used to not hurt you, you couldn’t open it. So the sweet mushed up grapes stayed in your teeth and on your tongue. His eyes simmered with annoyance rather than anger. 

“Not funny.” Before he let go of your face he added, “Letting go now, chew slow then swallow.” 

Listening to his directions, he seemed pleased as you opened your mouth to let him see everything went down alright. 

“Good.”

You’d have done it again if there were more grapes, to see what other sort of rise you could get from him; but you get a sense something’s wrong. Feitan was peculiar; you understood him and his moods fairly well by now. The bite to his words, a slight aura of annoyance had you on an edge that hurt. Panging in your chest as a thick glob of bile seemed to place itself in your throat as your mind desperately raced to read him. 

“Fei? You okay?” And you waited in silence. 

Still unsure how to bear his soul to you or explain his complex emotions- when you asked if he was okay, he always stilled. He was okay, technically. Perfectly fine. But he doesn’t think you need to hear about last night’s disaster. That he’s worried you’ll be taken from him and he’ll be naught to protect you.

“Yes. Fine.” 

“You’re not.” You purse your lips, “You left yesterday suddenly. What happened?”

“Don’t worry.” 

That only made your stomach churn with worry as you swallowed down your nerves, “Feitan, I want you to tell me things. I can handle it.”

“No.”

“But I can handle watching you torture people?”

He glared and it caused you to shrink back. Too far. 

“There are… things going on.” 

What a detailed response, you think to yourself. You feel some relief in his stubbornness because if you’d done something wrong he would not keep it to himself. You’d be punished, which you couldn’t clearly remember when the last one had been. So after all these months you were able to carefully deduce his mood wasn’t of your doing. 

You sighed, head falling to your hands as you massage your temples. Remnants of fog from your interrupted nap still lingered in the corners of your mind and vision.

“Are you mad?” Feitan’s soft dulcet tore you out of the trance you were beginning to fall into. Into your own thoughts of doubt and wonder what it could be that had him closing off. So you couldn’t hide the surprise at the fact he was asking if you were upset. Feitan primarily asked questions to inquire about you, to know details he couldn’t find out for himself, so maybe asking your thoughts in this moment made sense. If he could have it his way, he’d have a direct line to each crevice of your brain, to your consciousness itself. 

“Not mad, just…” You groan as you prod harshly against your skin before sitting up straight. His eyes are on you, squinting through his black hair that needed a trim. He looked more like an angry puppy than anything, almost foolish to think he once terrified you, “Sad I guess.”

“Explain more.” He demanded. Always so demanding. 

“I don’t want to always be in the dark when it comes to your work. If it involves you… I want to know.” You immediately worry you took your words too far again, your stomach lurched. Suddenly you were well aware of the stillness in the air, that the sky outside was already dimming. 

His frown didn’t let up, “Only tell you what need to know.”

“Okay.” Your bottom lip trembled. A strong wave of emotion came over you, one you wished you could push down or understand why it was there in the first place. Nauseating smell of something metallic mixed with the tang of the fruit you’d eaten made you want to hurl.

One of his hands carefully places itself atop your head, you stiffen. 

“Worry too much, not good for your health.” 

He removed the hand from your head with one last pat, before he held it out for you to take. You don’t hesitate as his cold fingers burn against your warmer ones as you rise to your feet, his grip not wavering. 

You’re just shorter than him, so you flick your eyes slightly up to meet his. He looked softer now and you enjoy that he’s closer. You want to move in, force yourself against him and take in everything he had to offer. Wanted to feel his strong arms around you as he’d clumsily play with strands of your hair, feel how he needed to have contact with your skin and hold you close. But even this seemed distant. You couldn’t describe it.

Suddenly you’re pulled to his chest, at such a speed you swear the breath was stolen right from your lungs. But you melt into him. Mind and body swimming in an electric joy that jolted through you at his touch. Feeling how his heart was racing showed you all you needed to know about how he felt towards you. A seemingly desperation in his touch, how he held you taut, head buried into your shoulder as he breathed in the faint smell of lilac that emanated from you. And you took in the fresh pine of his damp hair, telling you he must have showered before waking you. 

You freeze, had he needed to shower prior because of blood? Was he hurt? 

Feitan felt the way you stiffened in a way he did not like. There should never be a way for you to flinch within his loving(?) embrace, or as much of one he could muster. 

So Feitan yanks you back, grip tight on your shoulders as he peered at you, looking for answers. 

“Something wrong.” He stated. 

“You showered?”

“Yes.”

“You always wake me- did you get hurt?”

The sudden restriction around his heart and lungs that would quickly happen due to you, vanished at your concern. He hated being away from you. Hated not knowing your thoughts or what you did without him. He wished he could hover over you at all times, be up inside you so that you’d never be apart from him again.

His grip loosened as if he’d deemed you’d done nothing that deserved such a response, sometimes the torturer cursed his overly fast and violent senses. 

“Not hurt. Someone else’s blood.”

“Oh. Did it get anywhere? Do I-”

“I took care of it.”

You nod in relief, pushing yourself back against him as if forcing him to embrace you. Flinging your arms around his neck you squeeze, enjoying how he hugged your waist tight in return. It felt so natural to hold each other like this, you thought. Especially after the incessant panic you had at how abruptly he left. 

Feitan relaxed ever so slightly, seemingly going lax in your embrace as he shuddered from your touch. Shuddered from the way your fingers massaged into the nape of his neck up to his scalp.

“Fei, will you please tell me what’s wrong?” You hum, “Making me nervous.” 

Reluctantly he gave you more to go off of, “I will later, when I know more.”

You nod against his collarbone, nuzzling your nose further into him as you let his scent relax you. 

“Come, watch something?”

You knew he meant the second movie in a horror trilogy he convinced you to watch. Somehow he still couldn’t imagine why you were adverse to body horror. Or he pretended not to care, using any chance to get you shaking in his arms using him as a shield from the screen. 

He settled you next to him like he did for everything you watched in the living room. Needing your hip bone smushed against his. Needed one of his arms looped around you and settled beneath the hoodie to touch your skin. He’d trace circles along you, experimenting how he affected you with each chance in motion or pressure. Liked to memorize the crevices of your body even in the dark to memorize them past that of sight. 

Feitan never focused on the movies he turned on. He focused on you watching (or hiding) from said movies. He focused on every reaction from a hiked pulse or flinch in your facial features. He’d smirk each time you’d shield your eyes with your hands, squeaking at a jump scare or trying to use his chest to recede into.

By the end of the movie you’re practically in his lap and almost hysterical watching a woman tied up and tortured. 

The noise from the TV zoned out, your mouth opening and stopping. Pupils dilated as a wave of recognition of yourself or even others in the woman on the screen. The woman you’d been jealous of. It wasn’t often you went to the basement anymore. It’d been months. But it made you feel like you were there once more. Cold, vulnerable, and trapped. 

Pinching at your waist, Feitan cocked a head at how you’d frozen and eyes glued to the screen. His time to feel jealousy, that you watched the murderer on screen with an intensity that he wanted on himself. You hadn’t watched him in so long!

But when tears welled in your lash line, drop after drop cascaded down your cheeks falling down your jaw to your neck– Feitan panicked. 

Your body is hoisted and pushed down to the couch with an umph leaving you. Heart hammering all the way up in your throat from the suddenness. Feitan loomed over you blocking the TV with wild eyes and messy hair as he glared along your body. Hands pinned above your head, him moving to straddle you even as you lay pliant.

“Why crying? What happened?”

Your lower lip trembled as you shook your head, “Don’t…”

“Tell. I’m asking.” 

You felt as if you’d ruined the movie even if he’d seen it a million times before. Feitan hadn’t showed you horror films involving such systematic torture in a way that could remind you of him. Your stomach sank. Today was volatile, throwing you every which way and you wanted peace, not to be filled with anxious butterflies.

“That- made me think of you… Of how y-you cut me and then that woman you killed because I was jealous.” 

His grip loosened. He flinched, not liking the reminder of how he’d hurt you so long ago. As much as he liked seeing his name etched into your skin, he felt sick about how it got there. For once blood and hurting another person made him sick- you hurt in any capacity made him suffer.

His face moved centimeters from yours, “That woman, would have died anyway. Not because you. My job.” 

Yes, job. You swallow nodding, reminding yourself her death wasn’t your fault as a gut wrenching feeling began to bubble. Then it dissipated as a pinkish haze wafted over you as Feitan’s face grew closer and you could feel his breath. 

Screams in the background from the TV became null. Your focus is all on Feitan as he hesitantly grazes his lips along yours. It shot sparks through you. A winding knot of need unraveling within you as you whimper, begging him to close the gap.  

Feitan takes your whimper as his cue, pressing his lips coldly to yours with force. You’d take anything he’d give you. Your fingers digging into his biceps as a high pitched whine came from the depths of your throat as your lips molded against his. He kissed you like you’d suddenly disappear any second. All his fears from last night at the thought of Hunters coming for you, came out as he shakes, as he holds you tight he may leave bruises. As his lips fervently move against yours and his tongue shoves its way in, it’s as if he’s trying to eat you whole, consume you as he knows no other way. Feitan’s love was a swirling darkness so finite in its evil and wrongness, that it was uncertain at times. A man of his talents, using caution with you, second guessing each word and intimate notion. 

Your bodies intertwine in a heated desire as the hoodie he changed you into was hiked up, his fingers prodding every inch of you. You writhe beneath him, tug on his hair as the kiss grows wetter, restraint to the wayside as your saliva mixed, as it dripped from the corners of your mouths. 

It endeared you how at times Feitan could be so awkward, his touch reminiscent of that as a school boy in love through possessive touches and the inability to properly convey emotions through words and actions alike. Even his glowering from a corner as he watched you was a way he showed his feelings. 

Ruining the moment was the shrill ringing of a phone. Feitan jerked away, an annoyed look as he huffed to grab his phone. If someone called, it was important you noticed. 

“What.” Feitan spat into the phone as he answered. 

You watched carefully, still disheveled from the heated moment you’d just shared. So you try to smooth down your hair as you attempt to listen. 

But Feitan goes pale, paler than usual and his eyes are fixed on you with an expression you cannot decipher. 

“Huh?” You inquire, your stomach feeling like it’s plummeting to the floor.

“One second.” He says, marching back over, grabbing the TV remote. You don’t know how to do it yourself, but he switches the input and changes it to the news. You’re in awe at that, wondering if he’d show you how to do that, to have access to the outside somehow.

When you look closer, reading the headline about parents making a plea for their missing daughter, your brows knit together. In light of new information from Hunters, they think she may be a victim of the Phantom Troupe like two other girls that popped up on the Hunter website. 

They look like you, you note. The upturn of the woman’s nose, the eyes of the man. Then it struck you, nausea skyrocketing in your chest. A massive ache of pure longing. Those were your parents you were seeing for the first time in so long. Your parents making a plea to find their daughter, for her captor to bring her back. Because that was an old picture of you they held onto, in a frame you made as a child.

As Feitan sees the confusion on your face turn to recollection, the screen turns black. His hands shake, furiously, unlike anything you’d seen from him before. He’s trembling as the careful control he had (or believed he had) slipped through his fingers. A mixture of anger and distress coursing through him as it felt everything he meticulously worked to build was crumbling down. The year he spent watching you. The nine-ish months gaining your trust. And now almost a year of calling you his- could all go to the wayside now. Back to square one.

He brings his phone back to his ear, unable to look at you in case he sees fear in your eyes, “When can you be here?”

“Fei?” Your thoughts are muddled, hairs on the back of your neck standing tall. 

And it worsens as he walks away, causing alarm bells to go off in your head. You look back to the blank TV screen relaying the events that happened suddenly, over and over again they flash in your mind. The images of your teary eyed parents with an old picture of you in hand, ingrained itself into you. It brought you to tears as you hugged your arms around yourself, tucking your legs to your chest. Your forehead rests atop your knees, faint sniffles all that could be heard amongst the chilly silence that reverberated throughout the house

-

You don’t want to leave. This was your home, you hadn’t been past the perimeter of the house’s yard. But Feitan told you to pack a bag and now you sat on the couch waiting for him. 

Nothing had been clarified. All you wanted was for him to explain more, to tell you what you were doing. Was he shipping you off? You can’t fathom being without him for longer than the periods he’s gone for work. 

You’re so caught up inside yourself you don’t hear the front door opening or the sound of footsteps coming into the living room. 

“Hey- you Y/N?”

You jump where you sit, whirling to see a blonde man with bright blue eyes waving at you.

You nod at his question, shock in your eyes as you take in his awfully bright clothing. 

“I’m Shalnark, I work with Feitan. He downstairs?”

You nod again. 

“I can take your stuff for you.” He strides over to you and you shuffle backwards into the couch, eying him warily.

He jutted out his hand towards you with a friendly smile. 

Before you can react, a quick breeze of a fast moving figure causes some of your hairs to blow back. A new hand shot out to slap him away, as if they raced to be in the room. 

“No touching.” Feitan says darkly, positioning himself between you and Shalnark. 

“Ah forgot you’re like… crazy possessive Fei. Phinks did say handshakes aren’t allowed, oops.” Shalnark laughs but it wasn’t innocent, something else you weren’t expecting. 

Feitan’s protectiveness always made your heart soar. Something about how he wouldn’t allow a friend to get within your bubble, made you feel loved. That only he could touch you? Twisted, you knew, but still relief went through you as you worried how he felt since seeing the news. Didn’t like how he’d gone radio silent since, racing about not telling you his thoughts. Letting you stew on your own. 

Huffing, Feitan grabbed a jacket and scarf, motioning for you to stand.

“Here.” He dressed you in the warmer clothes, more than likely upset about having you outside when snow still sat on the ground. He zipped your jacket, then looped the scarf around so it shielded your mouth and nose. 

“Just going to the car, she won’t freeze.” Shalnark chuckled, “You’re insane.” 

Leaving the house as night falls, you tremble and not due to the drop in temperature. You’re herded into the backseat of a car and Feitan tosses a blanket atop you. The door slams. You’re left there, looking around since you haven't been in a vehicle in so long that everything looks foreign. 

Shalnark gets in the driver seat and you squirm. 

“You should probably take the coat off unless you want to burn to death.” He teases.

As if it’s a direction, you follow it without thinking. You didn’t realize the hellscape that heavy coat was turning your temperature into until it was off, and you felt you could breathe. But you still gripped the blanket Feitan left, like it were an imaginary shield from the stranger in the front. 

“Your stuff’s in the trunk. Fei is getting everything he’ll need right now.”  

“Th..ank you.” It’s barely above a whisper. 

“You talk!”

He isn’t what you expect as a Spider. Though, Phinks wasn’t entirely what you imagined either though much scarier than this blonde. You assumed all of them were dark and mysterious like Feitan, and that thought makes you giggle to yourself. 

“I’m guessing Fei hasn’t told you anything?”

“No…”

“Not surprised, he’s definitely one of the most secretive of the group. I’ll fill you in on the drive while he sulks.”

You decide you like Shalnark, hopefully Feitan lets you talk with him more as he seems kind. And definitely not because you haven’t had a conversation with another person in two years! 

Feitan ends up double- and triple checking that your seatbelt is properly buckled before Shalnark could drive away. The way he fussed made you want to kiss his flushed cheeks against the wind, made you want to beg him to cuddle you but he felt so far away once he slammed the door and sat in the passenger seat. Your eyes burned. 

You listened to Shalnark as he did his best to explain what was going on, as it distracted you from Feitan who hadn’t turned to look at you once. He said nothing, you’re sure sending glares whenever Shalnark got into territory he shouldn’t.

The gist you understood is; a separate group of Hunters seemed to target the Troupe for a period of time and one of the leaders took a liking to Uvogin’s girl and kidnapped her. It took four months to find and get her back. Then last night, Shalnark found someone had uploaded Uvogin and Phinks’s partners to a Hunter website to signal they were in danger, which resulted in Hunters ambushing Phinks and almost kidnapping his girlfriend. Which was why Feitan had rushed out so suddenly yesterday and seemed panicked, especially after the news. Your supposed whereabouts were told to your parents which spurred the press conference. 

And honestly? You aren’t sure how you felt taking in the globs of fast moving information. There had been so much going on for so long that Feitan never told you, you wish he had. You did your best not to cry in the back of the car. But your reflection in the window as dark trees flew by, it was impossible not to see the glimmering of tears. 

The last time you thought about your parents… months ago. You were never particularly close after a tough upbringing, your disappearance properly went unknown for days, maybe weeks to them before realizing something was amiss. Something at the back of your mind tells you to keep your thoughts about them to yourself, that it was the sight of you seeing them that set Feitan off into his silence, his extreme moodiness that had you second guessing. 

It’s well past the time Feitan would have had you go to bed normally, because your eyelids feel heavy. 

Using the blanket as a makeshift pillow, you lean against the door, head staring into the darkness. And eventually, as tears slip down your cheeks, you fall asleep. 

You don’t wake as the car comes to a stop outside an apartment building in a neighboring city. You don’t wake as your body is carried in Feitan’s arms out into the early morning moments before the sunrise. You don’t wake as you're set onto a bed, carefully tucked in. And you don’t wake as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

Feitan hovered over you as you slept, watching the way your chest rose then fell. Soft sighs passing your lips that made his stomach fill with butterflies. 

He can’t stop himself from sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers carefully tracing the accessible parts of your body. Inside he was swirling with self doubt. Felt on the edge of exploding from incompetence in all this. He wonders if you’re still thinking about your parents, that you want to be with them. He worries if you want to leave him now, if he’ll lose you, if you would try an escape. 

Like all those months ago, when he watched you run around outside for the first time, he’s retreating into himself. Shutting down as the years in Meteor City come haunting upon him as undeserving and incapable of love, that he’s a monster for stealing you away. He knows he’s a monster. Never even thought of the Troupe as a family, only sees you as his life, the one he wants to serve besides the leader. And how supportive (thankful really) Chrollo was that he found you, that he opened himself to you. 

But all he knew was death, hurting others, how to draw out their pain and make them scream. He enjoyed it. Savored it as music to his ears, greater than any symphony. 

He won’t ask you about your thoughts, he’s decided. He won’t be able to handle hearing you say you miss your family. He’s worried what he might do if you ask to see them. 

Like when Feitan wondered for months whether he should kill you during the early stages of him following you- he begins to consider killing your family. If they weren’t so far away, days of travel away, he’d have gone as soon as possible. He won’t allow anyone to have you or to consume your thoughts. 

His fists clench so much his nails broke the skin, his blood pooling in his palms as he opened them in surprise. 

He looks to you in panic to make sure you weren’t stirring. 

Leave. He knows he has to get distance. He’ll hurt you if he stays any longer. 

Without a second glance, Feitan races out the room, the door closing hard behind him. His chest heaving in surprise of his own emotions taking over, chest tight, feeling like something had its claws clutching his heart. That it dug so painfully, with its sharp nails he wanted to cry out, wanted to lash out. 

A vase on the coffee table went flying across the room before it smashed, its porcelain pieces scattering. 

Shalnark jumped from his spot at a computer at a dining room table, “Fei? What the fuck?” 

“Leave me be.” 

“Our info girl is gonna kill us for that.”

“We shouldn’t be here.” Feitan insisted with venom in his words.

“We weren’t gonna make it to Base tonight, relax. This is one of two outside people boss trusts. It’s fine.”

“You know that’s not issue.” 

“Not my problem. Go take a walk, get your anger out another way then destroy furniture. Might wake your missus.” 

Feitan, as smooth and unnoticeable as a shadow was out the apartment and into the night. Stalking along the alleys escaping the rising sun best he could waiting for the perfect prey. And there it was. A drunken man in a stupor, spewing disgusting words into the wind like it’d wronged him, stumbling about. There didn’t need to be reasons behind what Feitan did, for why he chose to torture or kill. The man is simply at the wrong place, at an unfortunate time as a dark, deathly aura overcame him.

-

You wake to a room you’ve never seen before, alone. You’re up in an instant, sitting straight and looking around for any signs of Feitan. Nothing. 

Your heart is racing already, it hurts as you stumble from the bed, immediately met with the floor. Pain shot up your knees from the impact. 

Shakily getting up, you go for the door but stop. Your fingers gently touch the door knob as you debate what to do, worry if you’re allowed to leave his room or not. A new environment had you on edge, had your stomach churning.

A silent sob left you as you clamp your hand over your mouth. Everything feels like the first time you woke up in the attic. The confusion. The denial. The fear. It felt as if you were assaulted with the memories, similar smells and noises swirling within you. You couldn’t move, stuck in front of the door like a waiting animal for its owner. 

Like you were possessed you retreat back to the bed. And sit. And wait. 

Until a soft knock sounded on the door, it opened to a woman with dark long hair. Something about her sent a chill down your spine, the uncanny look across her face and how she cocked her head with a smile. 

“Good morning!”

You stared at her.

“I’ve been soooo bored waiting for you to wake or the others to get back. Heard you shufflin’ around the door.”

Your blank stare doesn’t falter.

“Name’s Isla, not a part of the Troupe but I knew the leader back in Meteor City for some time, you can trust me.”

Meteor City? You don’t know what that is.

“Wh-Where’s Feitan?” You ask, fingers finding solace in locking together tightly.

“Him and Shal are out right now, you’ll be back on the road once they’re back.” She shrugged, “Hungry?”

Nodding you stand, legs wobbling as you take steps forward. Another female is a sight for sore eyes, you’re keening at the sight of her. There’s suddenly a tsunami of words sitting on the tip of your tongue you want to spew. How you missed comradery with another girl, so you let her guide you out the room. 

“This is my apartment.”

“It’s nice…” You respond quietly, following. 

“Thanks!” 

She’s too upbeat for the person you are now, yet it never crosses your mind that the person you once were could have been more similar. You feel overwhelmed as she talks about the art hanging and as she tugs you into a chair in the kitchen. She’s all over opening and closing cabinets, making you flinch as things are tossed mindlessly to the counter. 

“Are eggs okay? I’m not a great cook.”

“That's good.. Thank you.” 

“My my, you’re so polite. Salt and pepper?”

You nod for ‘yes.’

You debate helping her, the first few cooked on the stove looking inedible. Too much char you didn’t think possible for scrambled eggs. But eventually it’s done, and adding more salt to the bowl in front of you and you’re able to eat.

“I didn’t know Feitan had a girlfriend.” Isla finally broke the silence that lasted a few minutes while you ate. 

“Y-yeah.” Your heart leapt. He did refer to and thought of you as his girlfriend! You’re overjoyed by her words and a smile can’t help but form.

“How’d you two meet?” She asked innocently, but you missed the glint behind her eyes as you focused on setting your fork down with care. You weren’t adept enough to see she wasn’t someone to tell things to, she was just as sneaky, as malicious as someone in the troupe.

“Oh uh.. He thought I was interesting I suppose..”

Isla chuckled, “Don’t need to say much more, it’s obvious.”

You swallow hard, avoiding her knowing look. Avoiding her eyes that seem to be laughing at you as if it was pathetic. How easily you went from finding solace in a female face, to dread filling you. 

“I know some of the guys in the Troupe are looking for this.. Expensive video game that uses nen, not sure if you know what that is. You should ask him sometime, but hey, do you know if Feifei’s read the newest Brown book?”

“I-I don’t know.” Feifei that nickname twisted your insides. The thought of a girl spending time with Feitan while you were stuck at home in the attic or staring out the window… doesn’t sit right. 

She ate you alive as you shrunk back, had you where she wanted you because Isla loved to watch others suffer and squirm even if it took embellishment. 

“You know, I’ve fucked your boyfriend a few times before.”

You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, all color draining instantly. Stomach flitting painfully. Bile rises in your throat. You feel queasy, about to throw up from her words. How they shot to kill you, to hurt you, to get a reaction. 

“I- Excuse me.” And it’s all she’ll get out of you. No over the top reaction, just you standing and fleeing back to your room. Out of her sight but you swore you heard her over the top giggle. 

Back in the room, there’s relief at the fact there’s an attached bathroom. More walls between you and Isla. 

It was then it hit you- a realization that made you go cold, feel faint as you dropped to the tiled floors, squirming into a ball. 

Feitan had a life outside of you. 

You didn’t have a life outside of him. 

You hadn't a clue the things that were talked about- didn’t know of Feitan’s interest in a magic (nen? You’d never heard of that before) video game. Didn’t know of his favorite books aside from the general horror genre. Didn’t know about any of the women he’d slept with unlike him knowing he was your first. Stupidly perhaps, you assumed you were his first with how strange a man he was. Sick jealousy bubbled from your stomach to your chest, pressing against your ribs as a painful ache made you want to break down.

And you’d never been able to buy him a gift before! Your own boyfriend. 

He’d stated you were his life. But in actuality he was yours. His life was the Troupe. And you wondered how long you’d be in the backseat of that said life with him. You wonder how important you really are. You wonder if there had ever been someone else or if he would tire of you. You wonder if Isla meant they’d been intimate while he was with you, why she didn’t know of you. You’re left reeling, doubting, numb. 

Panic strikes you down to your very core. A heavy wave pummeling your body as you seemed to thrash about, unable to swim up to breathe. Stuck in a whirlpool of overwhelming emotion, like the floodgates of your mind could no longer hold everything back to protect you. 

You feel trapped, like the walls began to pinch in as your head spins. A ceaseless, high pitched note droning on in your ears that made you want to scream. Like your skin was about to burst from your bones and nerves, like something stirred beneath the surface that had you spiraling. 

It hurt. You can’t breathe, you think, each intake of air a struggling gasp. 

And the tears come. They fall so heavy as the dam breaks, as they cascade down amongst your blubbering as you sob, hiccup, try to regain composure. Until eventually you lay there staring at the tub sideways, blurry vision and praying this was a nightmare you’d wake from. In that moment your mind screams Feitan doesn’t love you, you’re nothing but pathetic and weak, nowhere near as pretty as the woman outside. That Feitan regretted taking you.

How long did you lay there? 

How long before the door opened and hands grabbed your body to force you upright? 

Feitan hugged your body with a racing pulse, terrified as he found you limp on the bathroom floor after you weren’t in bed. When he and Shalnark came back, the smug look on Isla’s face told him all he needed to know. 

He strokes your hair. Fumbles with you because he doesn’t know how to comfort, how to be a comforting person. 

You stare at him like he’s not there. He furiously wipes at your cheeks, at the dried tears to try to soothe you. 

And like so long ago- you don’t want him to touch you. You brush him off. You push away and scoot to the corner. Feitan’s shocked, he can’t even be mad per say, not with what you may be thinking. 

“Fei we gotta go.” Shalnark called. 

He knows it’s time to leave, but you won’t look at him and you’re shaking like a newborn kitten in the corner. Even when he cut into you, it wasn’t like this. The thought crosses his mind to kill Isla, she isn’t a Troupe member, but Chrollo would still be upset. He thinks angering the boss would be worth it, he hadn’t slept with Isla since he was 22, six years ago. He’s known you for three, had you with him for two. Hadn’t even seen Isla for work purposes in four. He’s reeling. 

“Y/N… Come here. It’s okay.”

No response. 

He scooched closer, “I know.. What she told you..” Closer, “True, years ago before I found you. Phinks wanted me to have experience, I knew her so… You’re only person, my person. Only person I’ve slept with in many, many years. Only person I want to be with.”

Bearing those words to you, bearing his full soul was like stabbing a knife through him repeatedly. No. It hurt worse, but necessary. Necessary to remind him how his life was in your hands. How the pain meant he loved you and losing you would kill him. 

“You- didn’t have sex with her while we’ve been together?” You perked up.

“No.” 

You nod, relieved. You had to take his words at face value, had to or you’d probably lose any sense of purpose. Any will to live. Because the alternative? 

He pushed into your bubble, cupping your cheek and forcing his lips onto yours. You cry into him, hands pushing against his muscular chest. You feel like you're drowning in your own self doubt, barely able to kiss him back as you collapse. And he holds you, petting your head. 

How blankly you look at him as you push away, makes his brows raise and hands stop mid action on your waist. 

“I- don’t know much about you. What’s meteor city? You like video games? I know you like horror movies but- never seen you read them... Y-You have a whole life… Without me. Wh-When you’re my.. Whole life.”

And how’s a sadist, a masochist, a ruthless man supposed to respond? He’s taken so much advice from Chrollo and Phinks since you came into his life, but nothing that would help him now. Not when his primary language isn’t one anyone else speaks, so he can barely translate every profound emotion he has into words you’ll understand. His main language is violence, in a sense. So what he wants to do is break something, wants to shake you until you understand how much you mean to him. How did you not see you owned him? He’d do anything for you! 

“No life without you.” 

You shake your head, “No no no-”

He forces you against him again. Squeezing, a slight rocking to his body as he gracelessly cradles you. His instincts are to maim, but he pushes down thoughts to pin you down to force you to see his feelings. He thinks about carving into your skin again, or into his own, or he’d let you do so! He’d scar himself for you unless it was you who’d want to do so. That he’d let you bleed him, mark him as yours. 

“Stop fighting.” He grunted, “Be still.” 

You stop squirming seemingly upon command. After a few seconds he tugged you to your feet, looking you over. 

“Hurt yourself?” 

“No.”

“Good.” He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead before resting his against it. Your noses touch and it's surreal how wildly his heart is beating. You can feel it, almost hear it and it chokes you up. 

Your bloodshot eyes stare into his after a few moments and he scowls at the sight. 

“Don’t like it when you cry.” Feitan mumbled. 

“Sorry.”

“No- Don’t. I should not have left you with her. I will.. Tell you more about me. I’ll answer your questions later, we have to go first.”

“Okay. Fei.. Thank you.” You sniffle, wiping at your face. 

It’s a soft smile that he gives you, barely there, but still one nonetheless. Or you’d imagine it on account if he were capable it’d be there, but how his eyes softened, in your mind he smiled. 

You don’t want to face Isla again as you ready to leave, Shalnark going over something on a phone. You stand awkwardly near the front door as Feitan races around before settling back by your side. 

He takes your hand into his, intertwining your fingers and you stare down in awe. It’s only ever been the two of you, purely understanding in your feelings so no excessive need of hand holding or cuddling. You couldn’t go anywhere and when he was home he followed your every move. While he liked to touch your skin, liked to watch you squeal as he shoved cold hands beneath your shirt, this was different. A good different though. 

Feitan tugs you as if you were a ragdoll out the door behind Shalnark. You can hear Isla call out, ‘Sorry Y/N, wanted to see you squirm! Haven’t seen Feitan in years!’ So you realize she’s more evil than her innocent look let on, though your gut had been unsettled the second you saw her. You’re content at least, leaving with a lighter heart than the last hour. Any thoughts of Feitan wanting someone else have been dispelled, you could feel the shift in him as he put himself out of his comfort zone for you. A pep in your step as you walk out into the midday sun, gripping Feitan’s hand as it was your lifeline in the new area. Your surroundings had been the same everyday for so long. The buildings that surround you as you shuffle into the car, feel tall and looming, as if crashing down on you. What should feel like freedom outside the chains that bound you to the house within a forest, felt like a prison.

You spend the rest of the drive to the troupe base sleeping. Sleeping through Feitan and Shalnark’s conversation they had in hushed voices, tension biting at their words. A heavy aura licking along the crevices of the car, dangerous and thick, something you had grown accustomed to as it belonged to Feitan. It's why you didn’t wake up, desensitized to it from all the times spent in the basement. 

You dream of Feitan. Of him with another woman, you disregarded to the side as you cry, suffer, feeling the hollow ache the loss of him left. Then you’re spread out on the table in the basement, struggling to be free, begging and reminding him of how much you love him. It ends abruptly, right before Feitan goes to grab pliers. 

When you wake, Feitan’s staring at you, having just opened the car door. He looks puzzled, like there’s something he wants to say but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak first. 

“Bad dream…” You murmur. Your muscles stretch out as he helps you out of the car, in an unknown area well hidden. Like it was at the end of the world. 

Feitan keeps a hand at the low of your back, “About?”

You speak without much thought, still waking, “You didn’t want me anymore. Tied me to the table…”

“Never.” Is all he can say in response, a ripple inside him of discontent. He sucks a sharp breath in, sighing heavily to expel any tension that builds from your admittal. Wondering what he can do to stop dreams like that, he isn’t sure, but after today he’d be doing overtime damage control. Knows he’ll have to watch you more, make sure you don’t find ways to hurt yourself whether purposeful or not. 

-

Maybe you didn’t want to know the answers to your questions after all. Left with a gigantic hole in your chest over his childhood and what Meteor City was. Gives you the understanding of how Feitan ended up the way he was… Not that you excused his behavior, his interests, his work. Right?

Two weeks have gone by since arriving at the Troupe’s base, which you're pleasantly surprised with. Though it may be the fact you see more people than Feitan you’re pleased with. Not that they converse with you, you sit longingly in Feitan’s room or wherever he is. But listening to others, good enough. 

It’s mid day, you think as no clock is around. You find yourself sitting amongst an array of book shelves, Feitan herded you out the room picking a dress he liked on you. So you sat in a flowy pink dress, its billowing sleeves doing little to stop the goosebumps from forming. But it doesn’t matter. It’s almost lost on you as you leaf through a book, enjoying how the words jump off the pages. You eat them up hungrily, eyes scanning the pages at such speed you might have looked mad. With new books all around, you wanted to intake as many as possible before heading home where you’ve read everything. 

“Hey, Y/N.”

You barely hear your name called, but you glance upwards as two blurs move from the corner of your eyes garnering your attention. 

Phinks and a girl stood a few feet away, dressed for the outdoors. 

“Hi.” 

“Are you interested in shopping?” The girl asked. 

Shopping? Are you allowed to do that? You stare up at her from where you’re huddled on a carpet with books around you. 

“Can I?” It’s barely a whisper. 

“Does Feitan not take you shopping ever? We’ll probably get dinner afterwards.”

Eating? At a restaurant? Feitan doesn’t take you to do that or shopping. He decides what you need and when unless you specifically tell him differently. 

Phinks intervenes then, hand on her shoulder as you don’t miss the way he stutters to find a proper response, “Uh, not our place babe. We’d have to ask Feitan.”

‘Why?,’ you want to ask. It’s on the tip of your tongue and you’re almost angry that Feitan has to allow it. Wouldn’t you be safe with another Spider? You know Feitan is out and rarely answers his cell so there’d be no way to ask. But you’re surging with new life at the thought of an outing. Want sparkling in your eyes, as if you were begging them to bring you since they already asked. 

“We should bring her.” A feminine voice adds, one you’ve heard once since arriving. 

Pakunoda enters the room, buttoning a heavy jacket. Her presence calms you; it did from the moment you met her in comparison to Isla. 

“Tellin’ Feitan it was your idea then.” Phinks grumbled as he nudged his girlfriend to get moving. 

“We’ll meet you in the car.” Pakunoda then turns to you, “Go get ready, it’s chilly out, wear good shoes.”

Elation urges you to be quick. A pep in your step as you changed into a more appropriate outfit to head out. Nervous, yet excited butterflies fluttered within you, a smile plastered on your lips. You want to be fast. You don’t want the offer to be rescinded, for Feitan to come back and say no. 

In the car, in the back with Pakunoda, you smile as you stare out the window. The only sense of dismay in you is from the lack of Feitan, you daydream about him taking you out. How you could hold hands as you walk like a normal couple. Like how Phinks and his girlfriend were, their banter was funny, and they got along in a way that seemed… human. Seemed natural unlike you with Feitan. But Feitan didn’t talk as much as Phinks or anyone you knew in your past life. And maybe seeing another relationship in front of you made you realize, made you long for that. 

You’re in an unknown city. If someone told you this was another continent you’d believe them, because thinking for yourself could be a chore at times. You were vulnerable without Feitan, your protector who knew what you needed and didn’t. Who did all the hard work for you. 

Arm looped with Pakunoda you're brimming ear to ear as you look every which way. It makes you think of the first time your father brought you to the city from your tiny town. That buzzing feeling within you, you pushed away. With memories from then, sometimes you had to do that. 

“Let’s go in there!” Phinks’s girlfriend squeals, tugging him past a group of people to head to a store. 

It’s a department store, primarily women’s clothes decking the walls and stands, delicate and showy, fluorescent lights and sparkly designs to draw attention. Areas of beauty supplies, fragrances and jewelry exist too, and the sight of an escalator fills you with a childish glee. There’s a heavy floral scent- a turkish rose, with the musk of an old woman assaulted with offensive notes the day brought; from the different types of people who trekked through. 

Swirling, dense air around you made your head spin as your pulse hiked, overstimulation from the glaring lights as you looked about. Too much to see. Bouncing on the soles of your tennis shoes, you want to take off and race about the aisles. Go to and fro to rifle through the organized racks of different clothes where signs hung overhead detailing each section. 

“I need a new perfume.” Pakunoda dragged you from your trance as you stumbled for a second before grabbing her arm again to follow. 

Feitan brought one of your perfumes with you when he took you. You’d had a few. Easily, you realized he took the one he preferred on you. And as it’s run out twice since, it was always replaced. Something new would be nice, the scent memories of your old fragrances try to crawl its way out. But it’s been too long you can’t remember. 

Biggest problem- you don’t have money. Your stomach sinks. 

Your mood doesn’t last long as you sniff the testers. It felt like hundreds of elegant and fun bottles were out on display. From jasmine to vanilla, to cardamom or amber, there were intoxicating, overly sweet scents, florals, and clean ones. It isn’t long before your sense of smell has gone null, everything smelling the same as you’ve appeared to go nose blind. Still doesn’t stop you from trying!

Not once, even when Pakunoda didn’t bother to keep you in her sights, did you think about escaping. Long gone were your thoughts from the apartment two weeks ago where you entertained it, feeling Feitan didn’t love you. You just kept on shuffling through displays and smelling. 

When Pakunoda offers to buy you something, you’re insistent against it. Saying you’re glad to have had the chance to smell different perfumes, that now you have gift ideas to tell Feitan about. Which seems to please her. 

“Hey Paku?”

“Yes?”

“If I could get Feitan something, do you think he’d like it? I’ve never gotten him anything before.”

She looks at you fondly, or with pity, you can’t tell nor care. “I’m not sure, he likes… tools… What do you have in mind?” 

“Maybe make something.” Your brows furrow, “Something he can keep on himself? I won’t be able to pay you back, I think.”

“It’s fine, I’m sure he’d enjoy a gift. I think I know where we can go.”

A cute store filled with knick knacks and crafting supplies. You carefully look along charms, different strings, trying to remember- remember the bracelets, the keychains you made as a kid. There was a certain design your mother taught you, which caused you to make an incessant amount of (rather crude) things. 

The little charms that catch your fancy are the ones shaped in letters. You dutifully select an ‘F’ and one for the first letter of your name. Success! 

“Here, this material is resilient.” Pakunoda pointed to a display. A small pamphlet sat on a stand beside it, labeled as ‘manuals.’ 

You see the pamphlet lists and shows how to make different designs for what you wanted- from bracelets to necklaces, and to what you want- a keychain to hook the charms into and Feitan could clasp on anything. You imagine him keeping it on himself when he’s gone for work, sleeping with it and looking at it when he misses you, it makes you heat up. Flushed as Pakunoda watches you, surely thinking you were about to catch a flame from how red your cheeks went. 

You pick three colors; black, white and then your favorite. It may not be cohesive but it represents your relationship you like to think. 

Pakunoda tells you she’ll keep it on her until back at the base when Feitan is gone once more, then you can work on it. You realize what she’s implying as well. There was a high chance of Feitan showing up, or being furious upon return. No doubt would he go through any bags she had. 

The two of you meet Phinks and his girlfriend at a small deli. 

It was calm before the storm. Having a wide choice to eat, the autonomy to order for yourself had been overwhelming. But soon you sat outside with the three slowly eating, enjoying how the sun beat down, any signs of the dying winter currently gone. It isn’t busy out, less people on the streets so no one pays you any mind. 

But one. 

Phinks and Pakunoda tense. And it’s another few minutes before you feel it too. 

As the sun sets and your food is finally finished, a shadowy figure approached with clenched fists and a severe face. Feitan’s cat-like, elegant eyes look crazed. 

His hands are on you before you know what's happening. Your face tilted up, the only thing in your line of sight was his fuming face as he leaned down. Fingers squeeze your cheeks. You shudder, a chill down your spine from how flurried he is, unexpectant from him. You dare say he looks scared?

“I brought her with us.” Pakunoda said casually, clearly ignoring the short, fuming torturer. Phinks clamped a hand over his mouth to hide a smirk whilst his girlfriend cowered behind him.

“Never do that again.” He’s shoving his face into you as he speaks at the Spiders. He’s breathing you in, uncaring about watching eyes. Touching you like he thought you were gone, that he needs your presence to ground himself. 

“Get a room.”

Feitan turned, shooting daggers at the two Troupe members. “Call me. She goes nowhere without me. Will break every finger if do this again.”

“Hm says you who take our rules seriously.” Phinks laughs, you aren’t sure which rules he means. 

Fetain breathes hard, chest expanding only to fall quickly in vexation. Fingers trembling at his side as he stands in front of your chair. You can tell he’s doing his best to hold his anger in, his power in so as not to draw attention. 

“Broken fingers heal.” He spat, cracking his own knuckles at the gruesome yet exciting idea. 

“Thought I called you. Oops.” 

“Not funny.” 

Phinks shrugged, as he looped a protective arm around his girlfriend, “It kinda is. You wound up is always a good time.” 

“We leaving.” 

He doesn’t speak as he drags you down the street. You won’t even speak up to tell him his grasp on your wrist is too hard. 

In the car he forces you to sit on his lap. Head nuzzling into your collarbone, inhaling your neck, like an impatient cat. His heart thumping. Everyone else ignores him in the car, but you’re flustered and dizzy. By the PDA and how it makes your insides boil, a haze like trance where all you want to do is touch along his muscles, feel him for yourself. 

When Feitan had returned to the Base, upon a quick look around realizing you were gone? A frenzy overtook him.. Worst case scenarios hitting him like a head on collision. That you’re dead. That you’re running from him. Until Machi nonchalantly tells him where you’d gone, he was on the verge of a vicious breakdown as if consumed whole. It felt like a million little pins painfully pricked him over and over on his skin. An incessant prick, itching feeling that puts him into overdrive, into a heated spiral he can’t see straight in. The nerves and muscles beneath his pale skin tense, troublesome as they feel to be expanding, going to burst him open. 

So upon seeing you in town, at the shop he knows Phinks takes his girl to- relief relaxes him. Barely. It doesn’t quench the fury or the desire to steal someone from the street to maim. What he also wanted to do was grab you, take you away from how close you sat beside Pakunoda. Even the thought of her touching you made him consider cutting her hands off, regardless of the trust and long history. And as he grabbed your face, feeling your cute plush cheeks he realized plenty of other people got to be graced with your presence and jealousy overflowed.

You look ethereal, it steals his breath away as your innocent wide eyes entrance him. Nervous flutters fill his gut. A feathery electric pulse goes through him, as if blessed by your attention, by your touch. 

He still hates how you make him feel- like a lovesick fool. It was demeaning. General feelings aside from masochism and sadism evaded him, and for so long he did not believe himself capable. That suddenly his place as a torturer no longer mattered. He wasn’t that anymore. He was your kidnapper, the woman he loved who he followed then hid away for selfish reasons. He hates how his focus shifted from the Troupe to all you, hating how proud it made Chrollo. 

This isn’t your fault, this outing, he thinks. But what rings in his mind is that he wants to punish you. To make you cry, bleed so he could soak it all in. Lick away your tears and suck along any wound that bled. You’d be so pliant and desperate for him, you wouldn’t want to leave his protection or sight for months. He regrets bringing you to the Base, but for the first time in over a year the thought of hurting you didn’t make him sick.

-

You’re stuck beneath Feitan’s body, him sprawled out on top of you as you lay on his bed. You can’t see his face but you wonder if he’s pouting, or if he’s angry and waiting to snap. You’re metaphorically walking on eggshells, not sure if you should be the one to speak first and apologize to lessen a punishment. The two of you have been confined to his room since returning, surely being gossiped about after the show Feitan put on in front of Pakunoda and Phinks. 

After Feitan seemed content with the time he had alone in silence with you, listening to your hastened pulse that delighted him, he sat up. It’d been so tempting to bite into your tender flesh along your neck, to draw out your blood to make you cry. 

Putting weight down on you, he stares, blank. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

Your words appear to affect him little, you can no longer deny the fear within. Having to guess what’s going on in his mind. Having to question each flinch or breath. If you were at the house you’d have mentally prepared yourself for the basement, for another knife to carve into your skin. You weren’t allowed outside without him, he made that clear, and you broke that. He must have been so scared! You’re riddled with guilt and you grasp him tighter because of it. 

Feitan lets you suffer, he knows you inside-out, knows how you think and react. He’s almost smug as he feels you try to squeeze the life out of him as you murmur apologies. He understands nuances, it’s not all on you. You’re trained to listen, you’d trust another Spider as he once said you could. But he likes how you’re begging for forgiveness, that you feel terrible, that you assumed someone would inform him. It’s endearing until his gut begins to churn- as if reminding him not even an hour ago he’d wanted to punish you with a knife, or maybe his teeth. Once again he’s left feeling ill at the idea of hurting you. Much to his dismay.

He doesn’t want your blubbering to go on any longer, he wants to bask in your presence that’d been so rudely stolen from him. 

Feitan’s lips crush against yours, a surprised squeak escaping before you kiss back. 

You mold into his embrace as he braces himself above you better, enveloping you in his aura. Lips meshing turn to desperate pecks before he pulls away, eyes clouded.

“Not mad at you..” He grumbles, “Mad at them, should know better.”

They must have known how he’d react. You almost giggle at the thought of them plotting to see if Feitan would show emotions over you, of course you don’t giggle aloud. Feitan would probably pout some more (which was adorable but not what you currently needed).

What did you need? 

After that shopping trip you don’t think you could go back to seclusion once more. At least you won’t go without an attempt at a fight. Everything feels different now, the tables have turned and you’ve been given a freedom you never dreamed of with Feitan. Only saw the remainder of your life play out at the house with him, and only him, and it felt like the air was closing in on you. Sucking the life from you. 

For now, you think you still need reassurance. That he doesn’t hate you, or want to toss you aside. You can’t stop the dark thoughts of reality; that Feitan had a life, that there was more to him you’d probably never know. 

“You’re scared.” 

You shake your head as much as you're able as it lays flat on the pillow, upset at his words, “I- I don’t know. Lots of thoughts.” 

“Tell.” He’s swift, how he can move your body to his liking, hiking your legs so that he’s positioned, kneeling between them, then wrapping them around his waist. Easily able to lean down, be in your face. Hands pressed so one sits on either side of your head. He could stay there all day, his strength past superhuman, easily understood by a simple glance at him unclothed. Which you wish he was. Wish to tug at his jacket and run your fingers down his chest.

“Can we go shopping? Just us?”

He visibly tenses, speechless for a second. He’s a thief, he does not need to shop and it was something he made fun of Phinks for doing with his girlfriend. Feitan still responds in a way to keep you happy, “Maybe.”

“I had fun.” You say slowly, trying to gauge. “Want to do it with you now. We could… go on a date.”

“Date?” He wants to make a face. Cliche rom-coms flash in his vision and it’s all he can think of, “Why?”

“Taking me on dates means… you care.” 

“I care.” Proof? One, he stalked you for a year and realized he loved you, and killing you would kill him. Two, he kidnapped you to protect you. Three, he did his best to accustom you to the new environment, for you to finally know him, fall for him. Four, he’s now your boyfriend. It all worked out, “I don’t understand.”

You realize that street is a dead end with him, his mind doesn’t think like that. You don’t know what he would be- a sociopath? Psychopath? You barely know the differences yourself. But what you do know is, he likes pain and doesn’t understand social norms. Now understanding what Meteor City is…? How can anyone who grew up there?

You try again, 

“We can hold hands and walk around, get ice cream, maybe go see a horror movie at the theater?” 

He likes the last option, you can tell. 

But he still says, “We can watch movies at home.”

“Have you been to a theater before?” He shakes his head for a ‘no,’ “They’re fun, with  popcorn, slushies, it’s a totally different experience than watching at home.” 

You push, hoping he sees the appeal. Praying he does because you’re drunk off the high from the outdoors amongst a city. Of different sights and smell, how it brought back so many memories you’d pushed down. 

“What else on your mind?” Feitan switches the topic. 

For a split second you forget your worries as you delve into your fantasy of going out with Feitan. So his question snaps you back. Too much had taken place today. You’re all over the map, “I also just… I need reassurance. I’m sorry today- I’m sorry.”

Feitan isn’t what you need when you cry. Doesn’t know how to hold you outside of wrenching you to him to where he cuts off circulation. He can’t whisper sweet nothings, they aren’t in his vocabulary. 

You try to sit up, scooch backwards and he barely lets go, but just enough for you to unwrap your legs around his waist. He doesn’t move though, still kneeling on the bed.

“I love you.. I worry you don’t want me.” You begin to spill your heart out to him. Tripping over words, “I think about you with Isla. I think about you with other people while I’m at home waiting. I feel like I’m nothing!”

The room is silent, only the soft creak of the mattress as Feitan shifts. His face is unreadable as usual with nothing but a flash of annoyance, then back to blank. 

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why feel that way?”

“I dunno, just do.” You clammer. “Can’t help my feelings.”

“We talked already. About all that.” 

“I want to talk more.”

You can’t help it; the wavering in your voice. How you went quiet. Confidence would come in surges, like with the woman in the basement, then it would glide away almost as soon as it had come. There’s a fine line you walk. Subconsciously, unknowingly. He’s weak to you, to a point, you can exploit. 

“Don’t want to.” 

“Why not? What’s wrong with me? Do you want me to be sad?”

“Stop.” He grimaced. 

“You’re so frustrating! I’m not a pet Fei, god I’m so so tired.” The outburst was unlike you, but gods knew how long it had been brewing. “You’re my boyfriend right? We have to talk things out for a relationship.” 

A flash of red in his eyes, a quick twitch in his jaw. The wheels in his head turned grudgingly as a plan came into motion. 

Feitan was moodier than he’d ever let on outside of his stoic, terrifying demeanor. Walls himself away from others, stowing his mind and words down under heavy lock and key. Could rescind and disappear with ease. And he knew how it impacted you, you hated when he flipped the switch going back to a stalker, a captor rather than your boyfriend. 

“No, no Fei, no please.” Your eyes immediately water, chest heavy as you cry out for him. Twisting and skyrocketing with panic as you try to grab him, but he slips through your fingers with ease.

He lets you cry. Lets you scream for him until your voice goes hoarse, throat burning. Curled into a ball on the ground, shivering and babbling nonsense as you lull in and out of consciousness. And all the while Feitan stood outside the door listening, a rippling of joy and regret fighting in his chest. 

His absence feels like you’re being ripped in two. Like a piece of you is missing. Ripped to shreds, left feeling aimless as you try to go on. The first few days were the worst, always were, you were like a ghost. Bloodshot eyes, puffy face from all the wallowing. And a mind that raced a hundred miles an hour. 

-

You don’t know why he does this to you, which then affects him with his punitive actions. You’d rather he carve his name into you all over than this. The silence. The anger. The confusion. As if he mocks your pain! This wasn’t like after the first kiss when he ran out of fear, this was purposeful to hurt you, to drive you up a wall so he could laugh at you from the shadows. 

You keep glancing at the clock on the nightstand, you’re uncomfortable, not able to relax even with blankets surrounding you. Or with your familiar plushies he’d packed back when you first had to come. The same page of your book has been flipped open for too long now, you feel terribly alone. 

But you’re not alone, you haven’t been for more than a few minutes you’re sure. In the night you feel his gaze watch you from the dark corner of the room. Whenever you read, like now, he’s peering over your shoulder. Eating, you know he’s monitoring. Showering, he’s making sure you don’t slip. A silent killer, stalking his prey, is how it feels.

As if Feitan was a shadow himself. Moving quickly, with no sound or traces to show he was present. He was like a ghost. You only know he’s there because he wants you to know he still is, to keep you on edge. Or to keep you feeling secure. Without him, you’re naught. 

“Fei.” You speak aloud, to the air. 

From the corner of your eye there’s movement. But you still can’t see him. 

“I’m not going to take my nap today, I think I’ll go see Paku or find something to eat.” 

Maybe he really wasn’t there? Maybe he left when you’d called for him? No, he just wants you to think that, wants you to second guess your thoughts to stay pliant. 

“Whatever.” You murmur, pushing yourself off the bed. You put on a pair of fuzzy socks to protect your feet from the cold floors of the Spider Base. 

A flash.

Feitan blocks the door. The first you’ve been able to lay eyes on him in days, or was it a week… or two? Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him; until you see how tired he looked. Darker bags than usual under his pretty eyes. His pretty face looked hollower than usual. 

“No. Two o’clock, go nap.” 

“No thanks.” 

Glowering he stepped forward, but you side stepped him. Only because he lets you. He’s curious as his chest aches, wondering why you weren’t throwing yourself at his feet, in his arms begging him to never leave you again. The sudden alterations in your normal behavior based on how well he has moulded you, has allowed you the wide berth. All because he’s curious. 

The blood coursing through your veins feels heavy, thick, like it moves in slow motion through you. Tension building. You might burst as it takes all your will not to hug him until he pats your head and mocks your tears. 

An intrusive idea invades your mind and you decide you’ll act on it. Not one of those passing thoughts that comes and goes. That you feel shame for feeling- like back when you could drive a car, how you’d wonder what it would be like to drive into oncoming traffic. No, not like that. This one you’ll act on. 

He lets you move around, somewhat sporadically trying to decide, trying to think it through anymore but rationalizing after days of radio silence has you reeling. You shuffle through your things, find what you need then tug on a sweatshirt and heavier sweats over your sleep shorts. The colors don’t match. A dim blue with baby pink. Then slippers that won’t do much good, but they’re the quickest to get on. 

With the anger surging through you, you leave the room in a huff. Certainty like never before to do something Feitan won’t like. Leave!

No one’s in the halls of the Base. No one’s in the grand main room, with its large wood table, and bookshelves lining the walls. A staircase that leads up to what you know as the primary exit. 

Feitan follows as you stomp your way up. Like a child going against parent wishes, threatening to run away. An obvious lie, but one they entertain anyways. Fake sense of autonomy and all.

But he’s laughing at how you struggle. 

“Funny girl.” 

You struggle with it, eventually pushing the minimal body weight, strength you have left into it and up. The door creaks open and you breathe hard as you yank it open. Cold air hits you like a wall. You don’t know this, but you only open it because he allows you to, using miniscule amounts of his nen for it to open. 

You walk for longer than he expected you to. Never looking back. Marching with your head straight forward, a determined look on your face. Feitan thinks you look adorable like this, angry and trying to prove a point. Trying to put your own form of punishment on him. 

“How much longer? For this act.” 

Fists clench, “I’m leaving.”

Sure, he chuckles to himself. This was more entertaining than anything that’s happened in a while. 

“Where you going?” He asks in a teasing tone, knowing very well you don’t have a clue where you are.

“Don’t know, I’ll figure it out.” 

“You’re heading deeper into woods. Going south, need to go north a few hours for town.” 

Stopping in your tracks you whirl around. You glare at him with all you have. With all the frustrations you’ve pent up. How your heart hammers in your chest. How a feathery tinge of jolting pain tickles your chest. Taunting you. 

South is opposite of north, so you walk past him heading back the direction you came. Ignoring his amused looks. And ignoring the urges you have for him. 

You’re cold. Fingers red regardless of having them shoved in the front of the hoodie, But your feet, you can barely feel them. Letting your high of defiance still drive you, not wanting to give in and let him debase you for your outburst. 

Eventually he’s had enough, your charade- it’s time for it to end. You had your fun, he wants his. 

“Fei!” You screech as he grabs your arm, tugging you back.

In one go he hoists you up, bridal style, but you kick your feet in contempt trying to squirm free. Struggle and huffing, but it’s no use. His grip is iron clad as he walks along the forest path. He let you go for thirty minutes north, past the base, far enough for you to suffer but not have permanent damage in any way. Eventually you go lax, bask in him holding you, resting your head into the crook of his neck as he walks. The forest goes by much faster. It’s silent, eerie, but the scent of pine, grass and cinnamon swirl about the breeze as you inspect the foliage and trees, watch the sky and its moving clouds above. 

Whatever you hoped to achieve is lost, but Feitan is holding you so it’s a win in his books. He’s ached to touch you for so long from the shadows, it was his own form of torture while he tortured you. 

“I love you.” You sigh, exhausted. Not having your daily nap finally taking its toll, you’ve hit a wall, body shutting down. 

“I love you too.” He says immediately, robotically, as if he’d been waiting to scream it at you. To tell you he loves you so much (in his own way not the way you love him) that’s why he does these things. He doesn’t know how to act, how to be a good boyfriend. He needs to leave at times so as to not hurt you. That’s how much he loves you, that he knows to back off, to push his urges down. And why he knows to use the words ‘I love you’ when they mean practically nothing to him, but everything to you. 

You smile, nuzzle against him. When he says it, it feels like you’re flying. Those words can be lost on him at times, you worry. Heavy. Love for him isn’t the same for you. 

“You- hurt me, ignoring me, I miss you, miss seeing you. Feels like I should die. Be easier for you if I did. Why haven’t you killed me yet?” With drooping eyelids the horizon goes dark. They won’t open anymore, but you’re conscious lulling in and out of it. 

“No, not easier.” His grip tightened. He was scowling, not that you could see it. 

“I want to die.” 

Evening comes quick, the days yet to get longer with how long the sun is out. The air grows colder. The wind picks up. Tall pine trees sway as one big group, an intricate dance of a coming storm as winter nears its end. Deep gray clouds fatten with water, freezing as it began to fall, a fresh coat of snow painting the ground. 

Feitan wrapped you up in a heavy quilt when he arrived back to his room in the Base, watching how your shivers went null and you snuggled deeper into the bed’s warmth. 

Any humor in the situation had been sucked out of him by your words. His fingers twitch just thinking about it. If a late winter storm wasn’t picking up outside he’d prowl for a victim in the nearest town. Tie them down, rip the fingernails off one by one, snap the fragile finger bones at the knuckles. He’d let their blood run free onto the cement ground, but not enough that they’d die quickly. It’d be slow. Strenuous for them but he’d grin in delight with eyes bright as day as he listens to their screams. 

You want to die. 

Did you mean it?

His muscles twitch. 

He strides over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed. His pale fingers languidly draw along the blanket to you, drawing circles and toying with fabrics. Fabrics from the blankets to your clothes; clothes he wants off you. 

His lips graze your neck, tongue swiping out to taste the sweat on your skin, to lap up your taste and inhale your scent. Divine. You make a noise, stir as his teeth sink into you, breaking the skin with faint blood trickling down, but you don’t wake.

Hips grind against the mattress to quell himself, he strips off your tops, the layers that you foolishly thought would shield you from the cold. He palms one of your breasts as he indulges in the other. Suckling on your nipple as his tongue draws circles along the areola. Lewd noises begin to fill the air, Feitan not caring for his volume, for the saliva that pooled and dripped, or for how his hands wandered. You’re naked, pliant, easy to move how he wanted. 

‘F E I T A N’ the crudely carved letters of his name made his heart race deliciously as he stared at them. Always the best part of undressing you. Fueled his possessive tendencies and his tongue focuses on it. Tracing each letter systematically. Sending chills down his spine and eyes fluttering into the back of his head, he swears from that alone he could find release. 

Legs wide, your exposed cunt all for his taking and he’s entranced. Licking and nibbling along your thighs, breathing heavy as he’s using so much force to keep himself from diving right in. He stalls though, seeing a dull red more pinkish colored discharge along your folds. His heightened abilities allowed him to sense the metallicness to it, to practically smell and taste your menstrual blood. 

He checked your underwear quickly, ecstatic realizing your period came a day early (he tracks it). Still light, but there’d be four to five days max of time he’d get with your bloody, sensitive pussy. Feitan grins. This explains your outbursts, the moodiness. 

All of a sudden, Feitan decides you don’t need to be punished in a proper way (ignoring you or torturing you), he always gets your body to himself the whole time you’re bleeding. Overstimulating you, constantly delving into your core as he could live there between your thighs feasting on your bleeding cunt. Your head will be empty by the end, it may not be a ‘punishment’ but it’s his favorite time of the month, so he’s giddy inside. The glee drove his anger and doubt to the back, he can take his frustrations out on you in the coming days! 

Because in a way, he knew you dreaded your period as much as it twisted you with a sick excitement for what was to come. For days your mind would be wiped, your body wouldn’t be your own as you bordered the edge of a dangerous subspace at Feitan’s mercy. 

Feitan’s eyes rolled back into his head as his tongue licked along your entrance, practically rolling into the back of his head at the taste of your blood. His cock hard and pulsing to the point it brought him more pain than pleasure. So he dove in as all restraint was lost, as he went wild on your cunt. Sucking delving into your folds, his tongue and lips suctioned to you uncaring for the noises that filled the room. Your cute jerks, cute moans, how your pussy clenched desperately at him as your head lolled to the side, but you did not wake. 

So accepting of his touch, even in sleep, subconsciously you wanted him. You knew it was him, wanted to take everything he would give you. Do to you. 

How long had passed with him between your legs? Feasting on you until he got his fill, the permanence of your taste in his mouth, the slick from your unconscious orgasms everywhere. Pink discharge seeped into the sheets, metallic tang on his tongue, blood dribbling from your slit– it was all perfect. Butterflies swarmed his stomach, his chest, his extremities as he felt aflame. Filled with delight, a sick delight, as he discarded his clothes. Impatient, he needed to be inside you. 

Feitan let out an honest to god cry as your swollen cunt sucked him in, your walls squeezing around his cock like a vice. Whimpers continued to fall from his lips as he moved, the sensation overwhelmingly pleasurable as it took over his senses. Numbing and tingling along his spine, his nerves, and his head making him see white. Lightheaded and feeling the coils tighten in his gut, his thrusts turned erratic. Bed creaking, the headboard clacking against the wall. 

You didn’t know the time when your eyes finally fluttered open. You’d been having such a delightful dream, one that had you feeling pleasure in your core, an orgasm on the horizon before you were suddenly ripped from the dreamscape… And you quickly realized why, as the pleasure built and built, finally spilling over you as your eyes flutter in the back of your head. Having been in a daze at first, you now feel every thrust, hear every grunt. It’s overwhelming as your voice escapes you, hazy moans and whimpers as your hands languidly push against him. 

It was too much; too much as you trembled and begged for him to stop, that it was too much and he grins evilly as he continues his onslaught. Your punishment for the antics he let you run amuck with, because he loved it when you disobeyed because he got to have his way.

“Pl..Please..” Fat tears run down your face, they soak the sheets below you. You could barely see straight, painful pleasure like a never ending wave crashing unto you, drowning you. 

His sudden grip on your jaw is frightening. It’s hard and his nails just prick the skin. Then his mouth is on your neck, sucking and nibbling, until his teeth sink in. White pain flashes and your voice cracks, eyes roll back into your head. Because with Feitan, your mind, your body, had to learn to mix pain with pleasure. To mesh your signals to the point you couldn’t tell the difference between him carving his name into you or making you come. So you don’t know what your ramblings are, you don’t know if you're begging him for more or to stop.

-

You could barely walk straight for days after Feitan was finally done with you. Poor brain buzzing, a pile of mush as you absentmindedly spent your time like a lost puppy. This always seemed to happen after an extensively long sex based punishment; a blank look in your gaze with slow blinks as you struggled to comprehend things or do things for yourself. You never got to see the smug look on Feitan’s cat-like features as he doted on you like you were a good pet. 

During that time whilst you were hardly conscious, something must have happened. 

Because once more you find yourself up and taken, like a doll to be carried to and fro. You wanted to stay at the base, but everyone was scattering for something and Feitan was not going to let you be on your own somewhere that wasn’t the house he’d kept you for so long. There’s plenty of questions on the tip of your tongue. Slowly you’ve been able to recount the event that uprooted you to the spider’s base, your parents on TV that somehow your mind had shoved aside. So you’re more confused on why leaving the base was happening now. 

Staring out the window of the car, you wished Feitan was beside you. But you knew how intently he trusted Chrollo, Phinks, and Paku, so you were comfortable enough and whether they talked little due to your presence, you didn’t mind. In a way it was enough to watch the passing scenery, your world had been shrunk down so much that this was a prize in itself; to watch the same type of trees and fields whir by. He hadn’t been thrilled to be parted from you, even if he did his best to hide it, you saw the anxiety in the tiny ways it manifested on him. 

The sun was high in the sky as Phinks drove the car down a gravel road that looked as if it would lead to nowhere. An expanse of thick trees loomed. Darkness spread around the car. 

A whimper of excitement left your lips as you saw a tiny town of scattered wooden buildings. There’s a stunning littering of flowers, of pruned shrubs, and already you’re raring to see it all. Feitan would never let you, you think, so you’re already steeling yourself to ask one of the Troupe members. 

“Come, dear.” Chrollo helps you from the car, gentle as if you’d snap beneath his touch. If you’d been the person you were at the beginning of captivity with Feitan you would have seen the condescending nature of it, his tone mirroring that one would use with a child.

“Chrollo, can I go look at those flowers?”

He peered in the direction of the garden you pointed at. A faint smile pierced his lips as he nodded, amused by your jittery form that could hardly contain its elation. “We’ll be inside that building.”

But you’re barely listening or caring as you immediately skip over. You ambled about the well pruned bushes of azaleas, rows of color coordinated flowers that might have been the prettiest things you’d laid eyes. There were no thoughts of running away even as eyes weren’t laser focused on you, though you know Feitan wouldn’t like the lack of monitoring. Oh well! 

You don’t pay much attention to the passing time, there wasn’t a way for you to know for certain anyways, just that the sun seemed lower in the sky. Contentment reverberated through you as you laid upon the plush grass, watching the clouds move above you, flowers swaying just in the peripheries of your vision. A tiny smile etched onto your face, this was lovely, this was peaceful, and you don’t want to leave. Don’t want one of the Spiders coming to rip you from this facade you built up so easily surrounded by beauty untainted by Feitan, by death, by reality. 

Footsteps sound near. It makes your pulse spike, you shoot to sit up. Expecting to see a Troupe member, you didn’t care if your hair was a bird's nest from the wind or strewn with grass. But your whole body seems to freeze at the unfamiliar person approaching. 

“Hello.. Miss?”

“What?” You blink, unable to comprehend. 

He stops a few paces away. “The garden’s pretty, no?”

“Oh yeah, it is.” 

When was the last time you’d talked to someone who wasn’t Feitan or the Troupe, or their partners, (or Isla)? It’s paralyzing. It’s confusing. For a second you forget to breathe. This is wrong. You’re scared, vulnerable, and desperate for Feitan. 

Your gaze flits to the building where Chrollo and the others went into. Expecting to see one bolt out to save you from this strange man. A second passes, then another, and nothing. You push yourself up, legs wobbling as you fold your arms over yourself like they were a shield. 

“Are you Y/N?” He asks, low, like you're a frightened animal. 

Nodding, you take a step away. 

His words fall on deaf ears. Something about ���Hunters’, ‘saving you’, ‘that you must be scared’, ‘that you’re safe with him.’ But you certainly don’t feel safe as he reaches out to grab you. His touch makes your gut coil, bile lurching into your throat. 

Ripping your arm from the grasp, you stumble. 

“Don’t you want to be away from him? To be saved…”

Saved?

“Your parents miss you.” 

You step closer. Flashes of memories surface to the forefront. Starting with seeing them on the TV, for the first time in years. Then of your school graduations, of birthdays, dinners, and one of your favorite trips to the beach. Tears well in your eyes as chills race down your spine. 

But then your stomach plummets. A bubbling of wrongness, a coiling inside of you that has you stopping, doubting. You’re snapping back into the person you’d become, a shell of the girl you were before Feitan. The obedient girl who’d never want to disobey Feitan. Who knew what would happen if you did. Panic flares. Thoughts of being taken away from him has your lips trembling, hands shaking; you don’t know how to exist without him. To truly make decisions for yourself had been stripped away so long ago and now you’re frozen.

“I’m okay… Tell them I’m happy.” 

The man looks at you with surprise. Pity. But he continued in a gentle tone. “It’s okay. Let’s go.” 

His hand suddenly on your back feels like it’s burning a hole through your clothes and down to the skin. Your legs feel like lead as he guides you. Further and further. Bile rises to your throat, you think you might be sick.

Oh how you would have once wanted this, you’d dreamed of it for months you spent locked away in the attic. Of someone coming and saving you, whisking you back to your life. But now it’s the opposite of what you want; you don’t want to leave Feitan. It lodges your heart in your throat and you unconsciously find yourself planting your heels into the ground. 

“Y/N?” The Hunter stared at you.

“I…” Your voice is stuck. You start to backtrack. Like a deer caught in headlights. 

You can’t be away from Feitan. You can’t be ripped away from him, can’t fathom not having his touches and smirks. You need his directives, his rewards, and punishments to guide you. Without him you have no purpose and that is glaringly apparent now as the world seems to crush inwards on you. A weight on your shoulders. 

“Can’t go with you.” You whispered. 

“Please… It’ll be hard at first, recovery, but with your parents over time it’ll get better. You were kidnapped, you have Stockholm syndrome, that’s why your feelings for him feel so real.”

And that made sense. You could mull over his words, you knew what stockholm syndrome was but it never crossed your mind that’s what this was. Phantom pains from the carving of his name on your body ignites in flames, a pain that has you whimpering, falling to the ground. Tears slip out as your head profusely shakes, hands bared on the ground as you dry heave, terror spurting out of your chest. 

“No!” The word spills past your lips with a shriek. 

The Hunter’s eyes widen in fear, he gazes around with fear and starts to step away. He had told you to be quiet, to listen, and you were doing the opposite. Attention would certainly be upon you now. The air whipped around the two of you like it howled, screeched imitating how you felt on the inside. Blood racing to your head, hot and nauseating as claws seemed to sink into your depths, fluttering, breathy pains simmer along your nape to the top of your skull. Lighthead, swaying, you’re back into the clutches of something dark, hungry for blood– for you. 

The thought of having to live without Feitan consumes you next. The thought of this man or anyone with him hurting Feitan sends ripples of an emotion you can’t quite place through you. Because shouldn’t you be worried about yourself? Shouldn’t you be jumping at this opportunity?

Instead you’re backing away. Heart rammed in your throat. Ready to bolt. And you do try, but before you get a few feet there are arms wrapping around your waist. 

The Hunter is now carrying you, has you flung over his shoulder as you writhe. Tears are falling as he takes you away from the garden and into the woods. Pathetic as you hit his back over and over, legs flailing as he keeps telling you to ‘quiet.’ 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to help you.” 

That only makes you squirm more. Violently at that. And then you’re tumbling down as he loses balance. 

The air is knocked from your lungs as you hit the hard ground with an umph, leaving you gasping and in pain. 

He’s trying to grab at you again. “Look I get-”

Mid sentence, he’s stopping, eyes widened in panic as he looks down. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth as he looks at you with a plea, something sharp sticks out from his chest. A scream is just on your tongue, but you’re wheezing and just as surprised. 

He falls to his knees, pale as he gurgles one last time, life draining from his eyes. Dead. Blood soaks the ground and you can’t bring yourself to turn away. 

And standing over him is Feitan. 

Crazed hatred glimmers in his dark eyes. A sickening look on his face as he glares at the dead Hunter like he’s garbage, a nuisance. Then Feitan’s looking at you and it’s a strange mixture of smugness and desperation. 

His hands are on you so quick, flattening you straight to his chest. You can feel the erraticness of his heart beat as he grips you tight like you’ll disappear. 

“Fei!” You cry out, head nuzzling into him as his scent, presence washes over you. The familiarity, the comfort, the safety lulls you to feel okay again. That you hadn’t realized just you scared you’d been from the stranger now that you’re crashing downwards from an adrenaline fueled high that had your eyes feeling heavy. 

“Safe now.” 

“Wh-Who was that? What’s going on?” 

Feitan lifts and carries you in his arms. “Thought were leading them out, that they’d follow me knowing you be with me… but ploy. One guessed you weren’t, I immediately came.”

You nod against the crook of his neck, clinging to him as he’s your lifeline. 

“Not happy others weren’t watching you.”

“I tried to get away…”

“I know. So good.” A kiss against your temple has you shuddering in delight. 

Oh Feitan is angry. Angry. Furious. Murderous. But he’s secretly thrilled. Thrilled that you fought against the man (even if… it was a rather pathetic attempt but he can’t blame you for being so weak), that you chose him over the possibility of seeing your family again (which might just be what spares them from death). This makes him absolutely elated even through the raging aura he’d felt dripping from him. Cements any other doubts he could have had of your feelings! 

He can’t stop the way he looks at you with odd endearment as you fall asleep in his arms, fingers twisting into his cloak as to keep him close. You look adorable sleeping, lips slightly open as light sighs exhale. He feels his chest twisting. Stomach flipping. It’s an all too familiar sensation you’ve brought him for years now, one he hates because it’s proof of weakness, but it’s far too late to do anything about it now.

But that ‘good’ mood of his doesn’t last very long upon seeing other members of the Troupe. Phinks looked guilty. Pakunoda wouldn’t meet his eyes. And Chrollo had a soft smile that showed he knew what would happen. Feitan’s features turn to one of nonchalant frustration; his words are sharp at the three, angry he hadn’t been informed, didn’t like you being used. 

Chrollo makes it clear that you would have been safe and Feitan, of course, believes him. But it doesn’t wipe the frown from his lips. Or how his fingers flex around your limp body giving away the fact he wants to snap someone’s neck to get out the murderous feeling beginning to build. 

“We were hoping to take one alive…” Chrollo sighs, pinching his brow as he realizes his mistake in keeping Feitan blind. 

“Oh well.” Was Feitan’s only response. Was he supposed to exercise care for once towards someone who’d laid hands on you? Impossible. 

Inside the building that had been beside the garden you’d spent your time, Feitan moved to a side room so he could lay you down. Signs of waking up as movement began under your eyelids, lashes fluttering as your limbs trembled as you stretched them out. The heat from outside and the added stress must have been too much, Feitan decides, he’s sitting perched beside you playing with stray locks of your hair. His territorial-ness is beginning to rise to the surface more and more, its simmering as if a burner had been turned on and slowly he was reaching boiling point. 

The idea of scrubbing you raw so that the male’s touch is gone, is at the forefront. You won’t like it but it’s necessary, he’ll reward you for being so devout and so perfect though, he thinks the last few days without fucking you have been too long. Needs to paint your insides with him. Mark you again and again. 

He pulls up the loose fabric of your top, enough to see the fabric of your bra and the etching of his name on your skin. It makes him go wild. It's fuel to the fire. He truly is boiling now, his body moving over you, tongue against the scar of the six letters that made up his name. The wet tip of his longue traces along it uncaring the saliva he left behind, messy and soon his teeth are dragging along your ribcage. 

“Fei?” You gasp out, confusion as you lift your head to see what’s pressed against you. And then you feel an assault of butterflies in your stomach and pleasure covering your skin as you feel his lips and teeth. Nowhere seemed to be safe, even your ribcage as dark hickies blossomed along it. You were like his own canvas to paint. 

“Shh.” He hisses, wanting you pliant as you jerk around. 

Working his way down your legs spread, long skirt hiked, he bites hard at your supple inner thighs leaving a trail of teeth marks all red with some breaking skin. You cry as he bites once more, sucking over the tender spot making sure to graze teeth where it would hurt most. He laps at the trail of blood beginning to trickle, the wetness of his tongue causes your core to coil and warmth to spread. The pain as he leaves bruises from his fingers digging in, nails going to points from his nen to leave knicks, the way his face is buried into the fat of your thigh– it’s heavenly. You’re in tears and about to be brought to finish as this beautiful build up overwhelms your senses as you whimper and– and then nothing. Feitan is grinning deviously, traces of your blood smeared on his face. You don’t need to look to know you’re a mess, that there’ll be permanent marks and bruises for days that’ll make it hard to walk.

Your bottom lip wobbles as intrusive thoughts plague you, you’re trembling from the high he ripped from you. Desperate for him, hands outwards, fingers reaching for him. Feitan lets you grab at him, relishes in your glassy eyes as he peers over the damage marring your skin he worked oh so hard on. 

“You won’t let anyone take me from you, right?” It’s a whine, barely a whisper, but it's pathetic and quiet, slurring, but it's so goddamns cute to Feitan whose chest expands upon hearing you.

“Never.”

A blush rises along your neck and sprawls across your cheeks. You nuzzle into him to hide your face, your embarrassment.

“Ah good, because I have a gift for you back at the Base.” Surprised with yourself for forgetting, so much had happened, you’re smiling bright, dizzied. 

“Gift?” Feitan quirks a brow up as a finger juts out to trace the sensitive skin of your thighs.

“Yes. I’ve never given you anything.” 

That doesn’t make sense, at least not to him, as you looking at him like he was your world was giving him something. You watched his work from time to time, for goodness sakes. You could have fought him more, could have tried escaping, could have not chosen him when faced with a chance to leave. Now he knows breaking you plays a major role in your love for him, but to Feitan it’s enough. He has you. You want him to touch you, to talk to you, to be his main focus. And that is more than he deserved or could ask for and it was endearing that you thought you gave him nothing. An innocence, stupidity really, because you think you need to give gifts to the man who kidnapped you! But either way excitement flutters in his chest as he wonders what you possibly could have come up with to gift him. 

You look like you might go unconscious again, surely the adrenaline from someone trying to rip you from him must not be entirely gone. And then what he’d just done to you– had you flush, vibrating, oh so warm and with tears dripping from the corners of your eyes. Soon lax on the bed as he watches you like you’re prey. 

Feitan doesn’t know if anymore Hunters will come out of the woodworks like pesky ants, a nuisance and definitely no longer a coincidence now that you’re the third partner of a Troupe member to be targeted. As you lull into sleep, he vows to himself that he’ll kill anyone or anything that threatens his relationship with you, or even tries to touch a hair on your head. Nothing will pry you from his clutches, not while he’s alive at least. 

He lets his slacks drop, robe stripped off and tossed to the side. You’re so tight as he slots himself inside your cunt, his fingers grip your bruised and bloodied thighs, the sight of his teeth marks send shivers down his spine. Fucking you at a cruel pace he’s already close and filling you with his seed, gritting his teeth as his eyes flutter to the back of his head as insurmountable fervor washes over him. His his his his his his his. God he hopes you never wake up one day, wishing for freedom from him, remembering your life before. It’s the only fear that plagues him, that keeps him up at night. So he knows he simply needs to break you down more, make you more reliant, and pray you forget all about your parents on the TV pleading for you back. His. 

[dreams-writings]

It's so ridiculously cruel that Feitan isn't real.

[dreams-writings]

I present my meme to the general public:

[dreams-writings]

All he heard was step on me

[dreams-writings]

This came to me as an obscure fever dream but it matches my head canon that feitan is really into random games and is super protective over them. Phinks is a secret enjoyer as well. Uuuuh this is honestly really stupid but whatever helps my art block ig.

[dreams-writings]

Scentless

It's very late at my place but I wanted to put this out tonight! This is a commissioned piece :D

WARNINGS: A/B/O set in normal HXH setting, Dubious Consent (both parties), Yandere, Yandere! Feitan x Reader, Female! Reader, Violence, Blood, Biting, NSFW, Home Invasion

Feitan walked with purpose, a ghost slipping between bodies on the busy city street. Streetlights cast his shadow on the ground before losing him again.

The pavement, slick and reflective from an earlier rainstorm, showed the chaos of the streets: passing headlights, flashing billboards, the hurried shapes of people probably too absorbed in their own heads to truly notice him passing by.

The air was thick with the usual scents of the city. The usual suspects of concrete and gasoline, sweat and perfumes. But then, Feitan noticed as he neared his destination, something worse. Cloying, sweaty floral with a heap of artificial alcoholic notes on top. Too much perfume masking something delicate and loud. He barely twitched, but his nose curled slightly in distaste as a woman passed, her scent dragging in the air behind her like a net. Feitan adjusted his cowl higher over his face and kept moving.

He made a turn into an alleyway and jumped from the creaking fire escape stairs onto the rooftop of a nearby building. A homeless woman sitting by a dumpster had seen his movement up the side of the building and had accompanied his ascent with an amazed sounding ‘huh?!’. Feitan started running, jumping from building to building.

Better.

The job was one of subterfuge, something he didn’t exactly excel in, so he probably wouldn’t get to do much, but Chrollo disliked doing jobs with no heavy-hitters there to be sent in if things went wrong, especially when he wouldn’t be there himself. Uvogin, Nobunaga and Franklin were off doing something on the other side of the continent,  Bonolenov had a concert he didn’t want to miss if it could be helped, and Phinks had some omega he wanted to break in. 

None of the absences bothered him- he had no reason to care, since he only came because he was nearby and no one else wanted to- but he hoped to god Hisoka wouldn’t show up. Feitan barely had the patience to deal with the magician to begin with, but to be cooped up for days with him, Shalnark and the remaining female members who disliked Hisoka nearly as much as him (save for Shizuku, but she seemed to hold no strong negative feelings on anyone) seemed like an annoying way to spend a week.

Descending back into an alleyway and joining the commuters, Feitan neared the address he’d been given and entered. There were three large revolving doors and a large middle manual door, manned by a widely smiling man in a crisp suit, greeting the guests heartily, his eyes following the backside of every woman he let pass. 

The hotel was the kind of place that reeked of wealth—clean, crisp air-conditioning laced with golden filigree on each piece of decoration, chandeliers casting soft golden light over polished marble floors, littered with the same kind of horribly well-meaning staff smiling widely at each passer-by. Feitan stepped through the revolving door, his eyes flicking over the main hall. 

He didn't belong here, but then again, neither did she.

Pakunoda sat in the foyer like she owned it. One leg crossed over the other, posture effortlessly poised, she barely glanced up from her newspaper as he approached. A half-finished glass of red wine rested on the small table beside her. Her eyes finally lifted from the page as he approached, meeting his unimpressed expression with a vaguely amused tilt of her lips.

"You’re late," she murmured, flicking the newspaper closed with a sharp rustle.

Feitan ignored the remark, his gaze darting briefly to the headlines. Nothing interesting. He shifted his weight, coat rustling as he slid into the chair across from her. "Traffic," he said flatly, though they both knew he hadn’t taken a car.

Pakunoda smirked, tilting her glass slightly. "Mm. And here I thought you got distracted."

Feitan only scoffed. “Do I look like Phinks?”

“At least insult him when he’s present.” Paku said, placing the glass on the side-table, a brown-haired girl filling up the glass up to the rim immediately without being indicated in any way. “How is he supposed to defend himself?”

“He could not even if he was here.” Feitan said, avoiding eye-contact with the waiter who seemed desperate to know if he wanted something to drink as well. “Who choose this place?”

“Not me, if that’s what you’re thinking. Turns out Shalnark objected to the usual place.” The usual place around these parts being an underground sewage pipe turned shelter for Meteor City citizens. “I think he was still upset about that leak into his room.”

“Heh.” 

The waiter girl passed by him again, once more sneaking a glance. Feitan tried to ignore the needy wave of servitude he felt her exude, not needing anything. And even if he did, he wouldn’t call on her, and would instead walk to the bar himself, if only to be left alone. 

So, he ignored her entirely, but her proximity sent a wave of eucalyptus and musk crashing into his senses, making his lip curl in irritation. The combination was sharp and cloying, like someone had tried to drown themselves in an herbal bath and failed. His fingers twitched against his knee. What would it take for some people to just walk around with scent blockers?

Pakunoda must have noticed his expression shift, because she leaned slightly forward, resting her chin on one gloved hand. 

Feitan exhaled sharply through his nose but said nothing.

He had grown up in filth—actual filth. Rotting garbage, the stench of sewage thick in the air, bodies pressed together in cramped spaces, all of it so constant that it dulled his senses over the years. His nose had adjusted to the putrid, to the rancid, until it was nothing more than background noise. 

The second they’d gotten out, his sense of smell had gotten sharper, but after a lifetime of scent being a useless sense, he’d found out that he disliked nearly every scent out there. Every omega smelled like a honeytrap, disgusting him with their scents that screamed ‘look at me! I’m here!’. Alpha’s were more of the same, just as loud with their body odor, filling up every room they came in.

It was the reason why, when working, the first thing he cut out of a person was their scent glands.

He was usually better at dealing with it, though, even his annoyance fading after a few weeks in highly populated areas, but he’d just come from a woodland area, having been occupying his own time with some training. The last fight he’d been in should’ve been easy, but he’d gotten nicked with some third grade kitchen knife on a lucky strike, and Shizuku and Uvogin had been there to witness it, saying nothing but giggling like small children. 

For that, he needed to train, if only to make sure that never happened again. 

But like always, when he was by himself for some time, away from others polluting the air, he always underestimated how much he hated pheromones until he got back to society.

But he could get used to it, it just took a while. This place would serve as a trial by fire, as in places like this, everything was filled to the brim. It was offensive. Scents that were supposed to be "pleasant" felt intrusive, overwhelming, like being suffocated under layers of artificial sweetness, bleach and thousands of cries for attention.

Pakunoda hummed, tapping a finger against the rim of her glass. "You’d think you'd get used to it."

Feitan shot her a sharp glance. "You get used to bad things," he muttered. "Not good ones."

Pakunoda chuckled at that. She didn't press further. She never did when he got like this.

As he left Paku to her drink to unpack his bag in his room and wait for the remaining orders to come in (Shalnark was hidden away in one of the rooms and was doing intel, it was unlikely Feitan would even see him before the job was finished) and so far the set-up had been going as expected, the only hick-up being one of Chrollo’s pet nen-users lurking around the site Machi and Pakunoda were going to infiltrate. 

It was all going well, but still, Feitan didn’t like how loud this setup was. An entire floor rented out? Not inconspicuous. Even if the staff didn’t ask questions, too much space meant too many places for annoyances to lurk.

The elevator slowed. A chime. Doors sliding open.

Feitan stepped out—

And choked.

The stench hit him like a punch to the throat, thick and sickly sweet, curling into his lungs before he could stop it. He immediately noticed the source and felt a hint of killing intent leave his body, which was a frustrating lack of control. Frustration seized him as he stared at the origin.

Footsteps. The lazy kind, drawn out, deliberate.

Hisoka rounded the corner, and Feitan’s nose was once again assaulted by a suffocating blast of bubblegum, so aggressively sweet it made his throat seize.

DisgustingDisgustingDisgusting—

He barely swallowed down the urge to gag. His grip tightened around his bag, and for a fleeting moment, he considered hurling it at Hisoka’s smug face.

“Oh, Feitan,” Hisoka drawled, tilting his head with that insufferable smile. “Didn’t see you there.”

The bastard even had the audacity to reel back his scent, as if that did anything to erase the crime he had just committed against Feitan’s senses.

“Forgive me.”

Feitan didn’t hesitate. “Die.”

“Oh my,” Hisoka said, his face smug as he pretended to be the picture of innocence.

Only one person in the world was allowed to smell that strongly, and it wasn’t the fake weak magician that for some reason had been forced into his life. 

(Phinks)

(He was familiar.)

“Stay away from my room.” Feitan hissed as he passed Hisoka.

 

Like expected, Feitan didn’t get to do too much. 

It was a lot of waiting around for a call that was unlikely to occur. Usually that meant just sitting around, reading or training, but the overcast weather made Feitan want to walk around a bit, close enough to act if something happened, but just to get out and away from the hotel. 

If they ever had a job here again, Feitan would be sure to appeal to the boss that the sewage pipe was better.

Feitan spent the next few hours weaving through crowds, slipping between packed alleyways and busy intersections. The neon glow of shopfronts and the distant hum of traffic blurred into a constant, mind-numbing background. He hadn't meant to be out this long, but the longer he walked, the calmer he felt.

Eventually, he stopped at a small market tucked away from the main streets, a place that didn’t reek of overpriced perfumes and clashing pheromones. The air here was better. Raw vegetables, fresh herbs, the faint scent of soil clinging to produce that hadn’t been drowned in sterilization. He stole whatever he needed, which wasn’t much. A few vegetables, some simple ingredients. Enough to make something edible. 

By the time he returned, the halls were quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices behind closed doors. He stepped into his room, already shrugging off his coat, when he noticed movement inside.

You froze, caught in the middle of wiping down the desk.

For a split second, there was only silence. 

Then, you started to talk.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, sir—I forgot to put the cleaning sign up.” You fumbled with the rag, eyes wide as you backed away from his space, hands raised in apology. He realised immediately why you were so flustered, as his sword was askew and partially unsheathed on the table, and you’d clearly picked it up to look at it.  “I’m done anyway, I’ll leave you be!”

Feitan barely looked at you, irritation flickering across his face before dulling into something more neutral. His grip tightened on the bag in his hand, debating whether this was worth being annoyed over, but he realized he was partly to blame. He should’ve put on the ‘no cleaning’ sign. 

Still, he’d remember your face, just in case he sensed something off about the sword. Nothing about you looked like a nen-user, so he tried to drown out the paranoid part of his mind that told him that if you were dead, it was even unlikely that you’d put something odd on his sword. 

Then you moved past him, and something strange happened.

Nothing.

No cloying perfume. No overwhelming musk. No sharp, headache-inducing pheromones. It was like walking past a blank space in the air. The absence of a scent was so unfamiliar, so starkly different from the rest of the world, that he almost turned his head to check.

Despite the lack of scent, you were clearly an omega, everything about you signing off ticks in his mind. 

You were already at the door, bowing slightly in a rushed, awkward manner. “I really am sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Feitan watched you for a beat longer than necessary. His nose twitched, testing the air. Still nothing. 

“…Hn,” was all he said in response. Then he turned away, walking further into the room as if you weren’t there at all. Either you had scent blockers stronger than his, or his walk in the city had dulled his senses completely. Unlikely, as he’d been holding his breath the entire walk through the hallway, damned Hisoka once again for acting like a set of nails on a chalkboard by stifling the entire floor.

The door shut behind you with a quiet click.

Feitan continued to look after the closed door longer than he could justify, before unpacking his groceries.

Feitan didn’t bother hanging up the sign the next day, nor did he go for a walk.

He told himself it was out of laziness—nothing more. He just didn’t care enough to dig it out and hook it onto the door. If someone came in, they came in. Not his problem.

And yet, when morning came, he found himself waiting.

Not obviously, of course. He still went about his routine, eating what he’d stolen the night before, sharpening and putting his sword away properly this time, flipping through the newspaper he’d nicked off Pakunoda. But when the faint sound of a keycard slotting into the door echoed through the room, he didn’t move.

You stepped in cautiously, clearly remembering yesterday’s mistake. But when you saw him sitting there—very much present, very much watching—you froze again.

“Good morning.” You hesitated, gripping the cleaning supplies in your hands. “I can come back later.”

Feitan barely glanced up from the book in his hands. “No need.” His voice was flat, dismissive, like he barely cared. Which, of course, he didn’t.

You blinked. “You want me to clean while you’re here?”

A short, noncommittal hum was his only response. He turned a page.

It took you a moment, but eventually, you nodded and stepped further in. He could hear you working—the soft clatter of supplies being set down, the gentle sweep of fabric over surfaces. The usual chemical-clean smell that came with these hotels was there, but it didn’t cling to you the way it did to others. It was faint. Background noise.

He kept reading.

The quiet stretched between the two of you, broken only by the occasional rustle of fabric and the soft clatter of items being put back into place. Feitan flipped another page, eyes scanning the words without really reading them. His attention had settled elsewhere.

You were still moving through the room, wiping down the dresser, dusting the shelves. It wasn’t just subtle—it was nothing. 

After another long moment, Feitan spoke, voice as flat as ever. “Why don't you stink?”

You paused mid-wipe, turning slightly toward him. “…Excuse me?”

He didn’t bother looking up. “You have no scent,” he clarified. “Not normal.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, slowly, you went back to cleaning, though your movements were more careful now, like you weren’t sure if you should answer.

“…I use scent blockers,” you said after a moment, your voice slightly lower. “It’s a hotel policy. We’re required to wear them.”

Feitan hummed, absorbing this information. He supposed that made some sense. But most people still had something lingering underneath. You didn’t. Which meant you were lying. 

A curious part of him wanted the answers immediately, to stand up and threaten you with things worse than you ever could’ve encountered in those daytime shows most people watched, but he refrained. The troupe was trying to be inconspicuous in a place that was definitely not that, and he doubted Chrollo would be happy to hear they had to move locations because he couldn’t help but torture a random cleaning lady.

Maybe after the job was over.

Once the rest had left.

Maybe.

He turned another page in his book, then finally glanced up, watching as you wiped down the nightstand. He’d go along with you for now. “It work well.”

You blinked, looking briefly startled, as if unsure whether that was a compliment. Then you simply nodded. “Thank you…?”

Feitan said nothing else, letting the silence return. 

On day four, a thought came to him whilst you were dragging a wet cloth across a mirror and he was once again pretending to be reading.

(He’d made a bit of a mess. Yesterday you’d been done too quickly.)

A part of him was getting paranoid. This felt like a honey trap, one specifically designed for his tastes. What if you’d been placed in his room for this very reason, to entice him and lead him somewhere. It was all a bit coincidental, that someone fit for his exact preferences would have cleaned his room, while they were in the midst of a job, to distract him while-

He exhaled.

He looked over the edge of the book, a ripple of dark nen surging to life around him. It crackled, swirling with malice and deadly intent. You froze, wide-eyed, your teeth almost chattering from the sheer weight of the energy he was radiating, the cloth in your hands falling to the floor.

Feitan’s gaze was unyielding. His presence seemed to crush the air, the pressure in the room making it harder to breathe. He wasn’t just watching you; he was studying every inch of you. Your body language, the way your eyes flickered, every slight twitch in your muscles. He was looking for any sign of deception, any indication that you weren’t as afraid as you claimed to be.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the gnawing fear crawl up your spine. This was it. His nen swirled around you, and for a split second, it felt as though the very air around you was being sucked out.

But then, Feitan stopped.

The nen stopped.

You were clear.

For now.

Slowly, cautiously, you turned to face him, still rattled. “Did—did you feel that?”

Feitan didn’t even look up, casually flipping a page. “What?”

Your fingers trembled as you reached down to grab the cloth, the unease still coiled tight in your chest.

“Oh. Never mind.” You hurriedly gathered your cleaning supplies. “I… I need to go. I’m already late.”

Feitan tutted. You clearly weren’t above a little lie. First trying to get away with playing with his sword, and now this.

“Bathroom.”

“…Okay.”

He’d never seen anyone scrub a bathroom so fast.

Feitan was careful. He always was.

The Troupe knew his habits, but they didn’t question him. If he wanted to disappear for a few hours, no one pried. Still, he took extra precautions—choosing the least conspicuous exits, taking indirect paths through the city, shifting into the background like a ghost. If any of them saw him slipping out of the hotel at this hour, they’d assume he was on some personal errand, something bloody, something useful.

Instead, he was watching her.

He had expected something dull. A straight path home, maybe a stop at some forgettable store. Something mundane and simple. But instead, you led him somewhere unexpected. A hospice.

Feitan watched from the rooftops, crouched against the cool metal railing, his sharp eyes tracking every movement. You didn’t just clean there. You weren’t paid for this. You stayed longer than necessary, speaking softly to the sick and dying, adjusting blankets, listening, nodding. He watched you squeeze an old man’s frail hand before leaving, watched the way a woman smiled at you as you tucked her pillows properly.

Disgusting.

He clenched his jaw, fingers flexing against his knee. What was it with people and their constant need to be good? As if it meant anything. As if the world rewarded that kind of useless, bleeding-heart sentiment with anything other than a shot to the back of the head.

Feitan was already unimpressed, but then you had to go and make it worse.

On your way home, you stopped in a quiet alley, crouching down beside a stray dog—a ragged thing, fur patchy, ribs slightly visible beneath thin skin. A pathetic, filthy, creature. Yet you reached out without hesitation, scratching behind its ears, murmuring something under your breath as it wagged its tail weakly.

Feitan’s fingers twitched, exasperation clawing at his chest.

Of course. Of course you were like this. As if voluntary work and politeness wasn’t already some kind of moral superiority. No. You had to do this too. Next you’d read to some children in a hospital and protest for the environment, if your current track record was any indication. It was so nauseating  it made his teeth grind.

Still, he didn’t leave.

He remained in the shadows.

Maybe he had been wrong about her. Maybe she wasn’t what he thought she was after all. Maybe she was just another one of them.

At this point, he kinda hoped for it.

Feitan slipped into your apartment as easily as stepping through an open door. Locks meant nothing to him. Shadows clung to him like a second skin, making his movements silent, seamless.

The space was small—modest, clean, and lived-in. It smelled faintly of detergent.

He moved through the rooms without a sound, eyes flicking over everything, cataloging details. Nothing out of place. No hidden weapons, no secret compartments, no signs of anything remotely interesting.

Then he found the pictures.

They lined the walls in small frames, tucked into bookshelves, pinned to a corkboard near the kitchen. Feitan stared, unmoving.

You with the elderly patients at the hospice, some laughing, some frail but smiling. You with friends at a café, mid-laughter, a drink in hand. You in different places—on a beach, in the mountains, in a busy market somewhere foreign.

A good person.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

Exasperation curled in his chest, sharp and unwanted. He had been hoping—half-expecting—to find something else. Some secret that explained why you’d caught his attention. A trace of something darker, something real beneath all the selfless, unassuming nonsense. But no. There was nothing. Just more of the same.

Feitan exhaled through his nose, forcing his irritation down.

What did this say about him? That he’d left his post for what? A sudden urge to see if his cleaning lady was up to anything interesting? There was something off with him lately, and these kinds of actions didn’t help. Feitan looked at himself in a hallway mirror, trying to decipher what he had been thinking coming here.

The frustrated glare he sent himself through the reflection didn’t clear up anything.

It didn’t matter. This was just a test. Whether you were an exception or just another fool meant nothing in the end.

The apartment was quiet when you arrived, save for the faint jingle of keys and the soft hum of a tune under your breath. Feitan had been waiting- why?- while shrouded in Zetsu, his presence smothered into nothingness. He could stand right next to you, breathe the same air, and you’d still be oblivious.

You kicked off your shoes, setting your things down with the heavy sigh of someone shaking off the day. The mundanity of it all was oddly fascinating—the way you rolled your shoulders, the way you peeled off your jacket with an absentminded flick of your wrist. 

From the shadowed corner of your room, he didn’t bother to move when you undressed. There was no need; you wouldn’t see him. You stripped out of your work uniform, shedding the day’s exhaustion with each discarded piece of fabric. When your bra came off, you barely even thought about it, tossing it across the room with a tired, careless huff.

It landed right at his feet.

Feitan’s fingers twitched.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he turned on his heel and left, slipping out as quietly as he had come.

The entire walk home Feitan tried to convince himself his heart wasn’t beating rapidly. It shouldn’t. 

When Feitan went to sleep later in the night, having spent too long just staring at the wall even for his own mind to justify, he tried to finally make up his mind on what was happening. 

You.

It was your fault.

His frustration, his absent-mindedness lately, his debasing one-track mind when it concerned you. He’d even pondered asking around for more intel on you, and while he could probably get away with it without others guessing it was for… unseemly reasons, the sheer possibility of someone knowing he was pawing after an omega woman angered him intensely.

He was supposed to be better than that.

And yet.

Feitan had always been a curious individual. The human body fascinated him—its limits, its weaknesses, the way it reacted to pain, to fear. He liked figuring things out, breaking things down. The world was a puzzle, and he enjoyed taking it apart piece by piece. His work for the Troupe was just another extension of that. Whatever the boss assigned, he did. No hesitation. 

But sex? That was different.

The idea of it felt… wrong. Not because of inexperience, or uncertainty—Feitan had neither, as he didn’t want his dislike to become a weakness—but because it disgusted him. The thought of being tangled up with another person, flesh against flesh, drowned in their filth—it made his stomach twist. Like it would be debasing. Like it would drag him down to something lesser. He had seen the way people clung to each other, weak and desperate, and it made his skin crawl.

It wasn't a popular way for alpha's to think.

He preferred his only 'touching' to be done when he was killing someone, when all that remained was blood on his hands. Blood, so filled with iron, never let him down in its unanimous scent and appearance. Once you’d killed one person, it was the same for any other.

And yet.

His fingers twitched slightly against the sheets. His mind flickered back, unbidden, to the past few days. To the silence of the room while you worked. To the way you passed by him, how you’d moved through your room, rolled your shoulders and hummed to yourself. How he was now able to spot the slight panic in your eyes when you lied to him about menial things he asked you, a fact that equally aroused and angered him.

You could work.

The thought came suddenly, sharply, and yet it settled in his mind like it had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. If he had to entertain the concept of physical closeness, it would have to be like this. With you.

He exhaled softly through his nose, shifting onto his side.

Tomorrow, then. He would test it. See if the thought held weight.

Feitan didn’t put on his scent blockers the next day.

There was no need. You were no longer a threat—just a curiosity. Something to toy with. And now that he had moved past the initial phase of assessing you, he could move on to the next part of his plan.

Not that he had fully decided what that was yet.

Sex, probably. That seemed the most likely outcome. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he acted already? One answer was that he was simply being cautious.

The other was that he enjoyed this.

A game of cat and mouse, where you weren’t even sure you were being hunted. Every day, you had to come up into his rented floor, moving stiffly around his space, clearly uneasy but unable to acknowledge why. You were always careful not to look at him for too long, careful to keep a professional distance, but that only made it more obvious.

You felt him, and while he was disgusted by the effect himself, he doubted you were similar to him in that regard. You probably felt what every omega felt when they encountered an alpha. Worse probably, since nen-users’ scents tended to be far more effective than just a regular person. Even the first time he’d met you, he remembered how at one point you’d done a double take while walking past him. 

And that was even before he stopped wearing his blockers.

Now, there was no filter between you and the oppressive weight of his presence. It was fascinating to watch you try to push through it—how you held your breath at odd intervals, how your fingers fumbled just slightly as you wiped down surfaces. He could practically hear your thoughts scrambling for a distraction, anything to focus on besides him.

You even attempted small talk once or twice. He shot it down immediately.

Your discomfort was amusing.

But more than that, it was telling.

He had been reading—at least, that’s what he let you think. His eyes followed the lines of his book, but his attention was elsewhere. He could see you in the reflection of a full-length mirror, kneeling on the bathroom tiles, scrubbing diligently.

Then, suddenly, you looked up.

And your eyes met his in the mirror.

For a single, stretched-out second, neither of you moved.

Then—color bloomed across your face. You dropped your gaze almost instantly, fingers gripping the cloth a little too tightly.

Feitan turned a page, slow and deliberate.

Interesting.

Maybe you were less opposed to the idea than he’d been imagining.

Room 1509 was a fucking creep.

You’d told your supervisor, told your colleagues, even told Mrs. Brownston while you’d readied her evening fruit cup. 1509 stared, made weird comments, dressed like he was from a weird metal band, and made your skin break out in hives with the odd way his scent would swirl around you. It smelled good, of course it did, he was an alpha, but why did he have to be so creepy about it?!

On Wednesday you’d forced through it, showering the second you got home because you could still smell the remnants of that scent on you.

On Thursdays you wanted to call in sick so bad, but then you’d seen in the groupchat that four cleaners had already called in sick, and you could just already hear the lecture if you came in tomorrow looking right as rain while the rest was still recovering. You went in, hated it, tried to pawn off 1509 to someone else, but since you’d been complaining too much they refused. 

On Friday, Paul stepped up and offered to take 1509 for the day if you’d take over a shift when he wanted to visit his uncle’s birthday. Fine by you. 

Saturday. 1509 had made a complaint. Supervisor mad, since of course a diamond card client had made the reservation for the creep. No more switching.

You hated this job.

Sunday was your day off, but you still dreamt about that fucking room.

The scent of it stuck in your mind, thick and cloying, something between cedarwood and dark spice, the kind of thing that should’ve been nice but instead wrapped around your throat like a noose. You woke up sweating, heart pounding, convinced for half a second that you could hear 1509’s door clicking open in the hallway outside your apartment.

Monday came too soon.

You dragged yourself in, armed with the strongest deodorizer the supply closet had to offer, and nearly gagged when you saw the itinerary. Deep clean. Full linens. Bathroom scrub.

For some reason, 1509 had decided to let housekeeping in today. Again.

You tried to swap. Again.

"Not a chance," Nina snorted, tapping her acrylic nails against the check-in list. "Besides, you’re the expert now."

Ugh.

By the time you reached the fifteenth floor, your nerves were shot. The hallway was too quiet, the gold sconces casting weird, flickering shadows. Every floor was identical, but lately, you swore this floor felt off. Something was weird, especially since nearly every room on the floor had a no-cleaning sign hanging on the doorknob. Only one didn’t. 

Room 1509’s door loomed at the end like a goddamn horror movie set piece.

You knocked.

No answer.

You knocked again, louder.

Still nothing.

Policy said you had to wait at least two full minutes before entering an occupied room, just in case. You checked your watch, forced your breath steady, tried not to think about the weird way your skin felt electric every time you got near this place.

And then—

The lock clicked.

And the door swung open.

1509 stood there, barefoot, shirtless, his too-pale skin catching the light like something inhuman. Like usual, he seemed unwilling to indulge in some base pleasantries like ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’, instead just stoically waiting until you said something.

Internally you just groaned. Why did he have to be shirtless.

…And ripped?

Huh.

Not the body you’d imagined.

1509 had the kind of body that looked carved, muscles shifting under his pale skin like something out of a Renaissance painting—if Renaissance paintings featured creepy weirdos with too-intense eyes and a scent that curled around you like a living thing.

You forced your gaze up. Eyes. Look at his eyes. Not at the shoulders. 

"Housekeeping," you said, voice as flat as you could make it.

1509 didn't move.

"Yeah," he murmured, like he was tasting the word, slow and thoughtful. "Come in."

Every instinct screamed at you not to.

But your supervisor had already given you hell for the complaint, and you were not about to get written up over this. You squared your shoulders, gripped your cart, and stepped inside.

Immediately, the scent hit you harder. Stronger than before, like stepping into a wall of it, which was getting to be a problem on the fifteenth floor lately. Alpha scent, dense and dizzying, but this wasn’t your first day on the job. You’d been through worse, and you always came home.

You kept moving, pretending you didn’t feel it. "I’ll start with the bathroom."

"No," 1509 said suddenly.

You froze, fingers still curled around your supply bag.

"...Hm?"

He tilted his head, something almost curious in the way he studied you. "Come here first."

Your stomach dropped.

“Why?”

He made a come hither motion.

"That’s not how this works," you said, forcing a laugh you didn’t feel. "I do my job, and then I leave."

He smiled unkindly, and it felt like he was mocking you. 1509 took a slow step closer, head tilting just a little too much, like some weird bird watching its next meal squirm. Another gust of his scent wafted your way, and your eyes widened in recognition.

"Do you—"

"Nope."

You turned on your heel, grabbed your cart, and walked out.

Didn’t explain. Didn’t look back. Just dragged the cart down the hall, hit the button for the service elevator, and stared at the doors like your life depended on it.

Screw the write-up. You’d deal with it later.

That was not in your contract. 

Feitan stood there, completely still.

For a second, his brain didn’t seem to process what had just happened.

You’d left. Just left. No reaction, no fear, no argument—just a flat nope before walking out like he was some inconvenience. Like he wasn’t even worth acknowledging. Like he’d misread your looks yesterday.

His eye twitched.

No hesitation, no stammering excuse, not even the usual, nervous glances that you always gave him. Just that short, clipped nope and then the sound of the cart’s wheels squeaking away like he was nothing.

Nothing.

The pressure in his chest expanded, thick and suffocating, rage bubbling up with nowhere to go. His nen, usually sharp and controlled, bled out in an ugly pulse.

A lightbulb in the bedside lamp burst.

Glass cracked, a sharp, high-pitched snap, and tiny shards sprinkled onto the nightstand. The scent of burnt filament filled the air.

Feitan exhaled through his nose, steadying himself, but his body remained rigid, his mind cycling through a thousand different ways to erase this feeling.

Embarrassment. Humiliation.

His tongue flicked over his teeth, sharp and annoyed.

A knock on his door.

Feitan’s head snapped up instantly, body already in motion before his brain could catch up. He crossed the room in a few quick, soundless steps, something electric curling in his chest—anticipation, irritation, something else.

You came back?

He schooled his expression into something neutral, fingers tightening around the door handle before pulling it open—

Only to be met with Hisoka.

Standing there like an absolute menace, one hip cocked, that insufferable smirk already tugging at his lips.

Feitan slammed the door shut immediately.

Hard.

The loud thud and crack was deeply satisfying.

From the other side, Hisoka let out a low chuckle. “Rude~”

Feitan didn’t answer. He didn’t even move. Just stood there, fingers still curled around the handle, jaw locked so tight it ached. The irritation that had been simmering beneath his skin flared into something sharper, nastier.

Of course it wasn’t you.

Why would he have even though you would return?

For what?

He inhaled slowly, deeply, forced his grip to relax before he crushed the handle in his palm.

Behind the door, Hisoka hummed. “Oh my, don’t tell me you were expecting someone else~?”

Feitan twitched.

He debated opening the door again just to stab him.

Feitan hadn’t meant to come here.

Yet here he was.

Standing at the edge of your street, watching the familiar glow of your window in the distance, the weight of realization settled over him like an iron chain. His route shouldn’t have led him here. He knew the city’s layout well enough to know that. He’d been leaving, having decided to ignore his own anger and frustration before he imploded and destroyed the entire hotel.

So why had he taken this path?

His fingers twitched at his side, restless.

Feitan wasn’t the type to linger. Yet, he stood in the quiet parking lot outside your flat, jaw tight, fingers twitching at his sides. The same old frustration kept bubbling up—how you’d lied to him, walked away, embarrassed him—all while tempting him like the honey pot you were. It was pathetic to punish you for something so small, but Feitan wasn’t the type to let anger simmer away. It needed a target.

Without another thought, he leapt upward, using the railings to climb higher until he reached your floor. Nearly spotted by one of your neighbors, he moved before they could blink, vanishing into the shadows as his shoulders tensed. He was off his game—slow and distracted. He hadn’t even been on the lookout on the way here. Unacceptable.

And yet, before he could stop it, the thought slithered in, insidious and persistent: I could kill them all.

Quick. Easy. He’d go door to door, slicing off the heads of anyone who’d made the mistake of living close to you. A few minutes of work, and you’d feel unsafe for months, knowing how close you’d been to death. By morning, your building would be quieter, but in the days after, you’d be interrogated for hours. The sole door untouched, you’d be hounded for months—years—after he’d gone.

No one left in the building but you.

His fingers flexed, and for a moment, he just stood there, still and calculating. It wouldn’t be difficult—he could be in and out before anyone noticed. You wouldn’t even know—just wake up tomorrow to find the world a little more empty, a little more terrifying.

The thought was tempting.

Feitan tilted his head, considering. Then he exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if physically shaking the notion off. Pointless. A waste of time. There was no reason to be standing here, letting his thoughts spiral down this path. The vividness of the urge unsettled him—usually his instincts made sense. Usually, his violence had purpose.

Breaking in and fantasizing about killing everyone else in the building didn’t fit that category. If anything, it sounded almost possessive, like he was trying to clear the vicinity and lock—

Oh.

The second he realized what was happening, his pace slowed. So that was it. It’d been a while, after all.

The restlessness, the odd decisions, the damned obsession.

The norm was once every six months for a full week, but Feitan had come into contact with so many product numbing scent blockers that one of the side-effects (namely irregular ruts) had settled into his routine. In his specific situation, irregular meant uncommon. The last one had been two years ago, and he’d locked himself into a bunker using nen-enhanced locks. If he was having sex, it was on his terms, not out of some full-force bodily desperation. 

It was already too late for any of that now. 

Feitan didn’t bother with subtlety when he slipped into your apartment. The window latch was pathetic—barely a barrier—and the lock gave way with a quiet click under his deft fingers. Inside, he hesitated, just for a moment, one foot still on the windowsill.

He hated how his pulse quickened, how his jaw clenched tighter despite himself. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Before realizing whatw as happening, he’d intended to confront you, maybe lash out, make you regret every stupid choice you’d made. But now, standing in your space, surrounded by remnants of you—your coat tossed over a chair, half-finished tea on the counter, the quiet hum of your fridge in the background—he felt something close to nausea creeping up his throat.

Ridiculous. He had no business feeling anything. Especially not something this... volatile.

He slipped off the windowsill and moved through the room like a shadow, his eyes tracing every detail. It was quiet. Too quiet. You weren’t here. For some reason, that fact scraped against his nerves, and he gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to knock something over just to break the suffocating stillness.

His fingers twitched at his side, flexing and clenching as he stalked deeper into the space, senses on high alert. You’d been here recently—your keys were on the side table, your jacket still damp from the rain. Probably just out on some errand.

The ache in his chest dug in deeper. Why the hell was he even here? He should’ve left the second he realized what his body was doing. Instead, he was pacing your apartment like some feral animal, waiting for you to come back. His control was slipping, crumbling into fractured impulses that made his hands curl into fists just to keep them steady.

Feitan huffed out a breath, forcing himself to slow down and reassess. There was no reason for this. No reason to let your absence bother him, to feel like he needed to punish you for not being here when he decided to show up.

But the thought crept back, sharper now, needling at him like a thorn lodged under his skin: If you were here, he could make sense of it. He’d know what to do with all this energy.

He felt his jaw tighten again, an unspoken snarl building in his throat. Pathetic.

Feitan turned sharply, moving to the window again, fingers brushing the glass as he stared out into the night. He should leave before you got back. Get his head straight. The second he lost control around you would be the second he lost his edge—and that was unacceptable.

But even as he tried to convince himself to go, he didn’t move. Instead, he stayed rooted in your apartment, still and seething, waiting for the familiar sound of your footsteps on the stairs.

It took an hour.

Feitan hadn’t moved a muscle.

The sound of keys in the door. Feitan turned around slowly, muscles coiled and ready. The door creaked open, and you barely had time to react before he was on you—swift and silent, one hand closing around your wrist and yanking you inside. The door slammed shut behind you, and in a blur, you found yourself pressed against the wall, his body caging you in.

Your breath hitched, and a scream lodged itself in your throat, strangled and dying before it could escape. Wide-eyed and trembling, you went completely still under the weight of his gaze—the sheer threat of death holding you captive. You couldn’t scream, but the frantic, uneven gasps spilling from your lips betrayed your panic, teetering on the edge of hyperventilation.

His grip was ironclad, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you from moving. You swallowed hard, and he caught the motion, his gaze flicking down to your throat.

He didn’t say anything at first—just stared, unblinking, his face inches from yours. His aura was suffocating, heavy and oppressive. He noticed every singular detail. The fact you were still in uniform, the small dots of mascara that had smudged under your eyes, the stray strands of hair. 

You couldn’t even muster the nerve to speak.

Feitan’s eyes narrowed, and his hand shifted from your wrist to your shoulder, pushing you down. Your legs gave out under the pressure, and you sank to your knees, back sliding down the wall. His hand left your shoulder, but his aura stayed, pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. Your hands trembled against your thighs.

Silence stretched out, suffocating and tense. When he finally spoke, it was low, almost a growl.

“Stay.”

One word. Commanding. Final. You didn’t dare move, didn’t even consider disobeying, the earlier ease with which you’d walked away from him, still 1509 in your mind, a far off memory. 

His gaze stayed locked on you, sharp and assessing. "Why are you scentless?"

You stammered in confusion at the familiar question, words spilling out in a mess before his stare cut through your rambling, forcing you to swallow down the panic. You hesitated, then managed to mutter, “I told you—we’re forced to wear scent blockers.”

His hand shot out, slapping the back of your head—quick and precise. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying,” you snapped, mind reeling with the fact that you’d not even seen him raise his hand. Your words came out sharper than you meant to, but it was clear he didn’t buy it.

“You are.” He’d normally tear off something for the audacity of lying to him so frequently, but stopped himself. “One more chance.”

“It’s a medical thing. The glands kept getting infected,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “They were removed when I was twelve.”

You could feel the change in the atmosphere before it even happened. Feitan’s eyes flashed with annoyance, and before you could even react, he slapped the back of your head again—harder this time, frustration evident in his motion.

“Ouch!” You hissed, leaning forward instinctively, even though you couldn’t move. “I told you the truth, didn’t I?”

 “Took too long,” he said flatly. “And you are comfortable lying.”

You didn’t reply to that.

Feitan glared down at you, as if blaming you for every issue in the world. You didn’t dare move or speak, staying rooted to the floor where he’d forced you to sit, instinctively knowing that your life could be over in an instant if he decided it should be. His gaze flicked down to your trembling hands, and his lips twitched like he wanted to sneer, but he kept silent.

You knew you had to do something—say something—anything to break the suffocating tension. You didn’t want to die. Swallowing hard, you tried to sound calmer than you felt. “You’re... clearly in a rut, but you don’t seem to want to be. If that makes sense?”

He didn’t respond right away, just stared at you like he was deciding whether to shut you up for good or let you keep digging your own grave. When you didn’t immediately take the hint, he scoffed, lips curling into a bitter sneer. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your hands clenched at your sides, fighting back the urge to flinch. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up.”

You didn’t. “There’s... there’s suppressants,” you said carefully. “In the cabinet, above the sink. I keep them in case—”

“You think I’d take pills from you?” Feitan said icily, his finger tapping against his upper thigh, the urge to fidget, do anything other than stand still. Revulsion in his own desires and the desires itself warred inside him. It’d be weak to give in, but at the same time he didn’t know how manageable the current situation was.

One thing was certain, and that was that he wouldn’t take any kind of suppressants.

That would be admitting defeat.

You sat on the floor of the narrow hallway, the painted walls of your own home pressing in on you like they were closing in with every breath you took. Your throat felt tight, and you forced yourself to breathe evenly, even as the sting of tears burned in your eyes. Your options were shrinking, the weight of your helplessness sinking deeper with each passing second. The thought of 1509—of him—hurting you made your entire body panic. All you’d done this year was work and volunteer. That couldn’t be how your life ended. You still had so much left to do.

Your voice wavered despite your best effort to keep it steady. “If... if I help you—if I do this for you... will you let me live?”

If anything, your offer further angered him

He closed the distance in a single step, his hand shooting out to grab your jaw again—rougher this time, fingers digging into your skin. You yelped softly, but he didn’t give you a chance to speak.

“You think that’s what I want from you?” he hissed, his voice low and lethal. “Pathetic. Offering your body like it’s some kind of bargaining chip.”

Your breath hitched, and you tried to shake your head, but his grip was too tight. His eyes burned with a furious intensity, and you couldn’t tell if he was angry at you, himself, or both.

“That’s why you’re acting like this, right?” you managed to choke out, barely able to get the words past his grip. “You’re... you’re in a rut, and I thought—”

“Shut up,” he snapped, squeezing harder for a moment before forcing himself to ease off. His lips curled back in a sneer, but there was something almost bitter in the way his gaze bored into you. “You think I’m that weak? That desperate?”

You swallowed thickly, trying not to tremble under his touch. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I just... I thought it would help.”

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh, clearly unimpressed. “Your help is useless,” he spat. “You’d let me do anything just to save your own skin. Disgusting.”

The words hit like a slap, and your eyes stung with tears again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Despite his anger, he didn’t move—just stayed close, breathing hard and clearly fighting with himself. His fingers loosened a little, no longer digging into your jaw, but he didn’t let go entirely.

Feitan internally felt like he was going insane.

The thought of taking you like that—using you when you were scared out of your mind—made his stomach churn. He wasn’t some mindless animal. His instincts didn’t rule him. He wasn’t one of those desperate, weak things who let ruts tear their minds to shreds.

(...right?)

But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just the need that clawed at him like it would never be satisfied, his pants tightening beneath his coat and his mind constantly spewing vivid imagery of how good you’d feel. It was this gnawing, uncomfortable urge to make you stop looking so pitiful, to make you stop crying and shaking and acting like he’d break you in half just for speaking. It was possessive and softer than anything he knew how to deal with, and it made his head spin with anger and confusion.

He hated it. It didn’t make sense, and it infuriated him that he couldn’t just shut it off.

The entire apartment felt too small, too cramped with you in it, and every breath you took made him twitch like he wanted to close the distance and either kiss you until you stopped crying or just put his hands around your throat and end the problem entirely.

His fists clenched tighter, and he forced himself to glare at the wall instead of you, his voice rough and low when he finally spoke. “You’re making this worse.”

Your head snapped up at that, wide-eyed and wary, and he hated how seeing you like that made him feel even more unsteady. But no matter how hard he tried to stamp it down, the thought kept circling back—tight and vicious and undeniable. Mine.

The thought made his teeth grind even harder. It was disgusting. He didn’t need that. Didn’t need to feel anything like that for someone like you. Someone who’d lied to him, embarrassed him, tried to manipulate him just to stay alive. 

He wasn’t going to let himself feel this way for a random cleaning lady.

He wasn’t going to let himself get so weak from a mere omega.

He was going to kill you.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. The idea made his chest feel too tight, his breathing too sharp. He wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to want to keep you safe, even from himself. The silence stretched out, suffocating, and he felt your gaze on him—hesitant and unsure, like you didn’t know whether to speak or stay quiet. 

He couldn’t stand it. 

Unbeknownst to Feitan, who was unable to do anything but stare directly at you, his internal agonizing made his fingers tense just a little bit more, making the hold on your jaw just that much more painful.

You couldn’t help it. The noise slipped out before you even realized, a tiny, breathy whimper that broke the tense silence. You saw his shoulders stiffen instantly, the air around him going razor-sharp.

He surged forward, lips crashing against yours with a force that stole your breath. The kiss wasn’t hesitant or gentle. Nothing about it was soft or careful. It was raw and unrestrained, his teeth scraping your bottom lip, tongue forcing its way past your lips like he couldn’t stand being denied.

A muffled sound escaped you, half-surprise, half-need, and his hand moved from your chin to cup the back of your head, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. 

When he finally pulled back, you were gasping for air, and he didn’t move far, just hovered there, forehead almost touching yours, his breath fanning over your mouth. 

Feitan’s harsh glare had glazed over somewhat, the earlier frustration and anger abiding, losing to his own instincts.His fingers didn’t leave your hair, and his grip didn’t loosen. You didn’t dare move, just barely managing to keep your breathing steady as you waited for whatever came next.

Feitan’s gaze dropped to your mouth again, his thumb brushing lightly against your jaw as his lips parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened, and you felt his grip tighten just enough to make your heart skip.

“Quiet,” he finally muttered, voice low and gravelly, almost like he was talking to himself more than to you. “Don’t make that sound again.”

You nodded faintly, unsure if you even could make another noise with your heart hammering in your chest. 

He stayed like that, barely an inch away, his lips brushing yours with every shallow breath. You could feel the tension still radiating off him, but it wasn’t the same furious energy as before. It was heavier, like the desire had finally settled into his bones and refused to let him move away.

And despite his warning, despite the danger still thick in the air, you couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that slipped out when his finger traced over your jugular. The moment it did, his mouth was on yours again.

The air felt thick. You’d noticed it immediately, but you’d been too caught up in his rage and the violent way he’d broken into your house to pay attention to it, but now that he was so so so close, it was impossible to ignore. The scent was rich and intoxicating.

Faintly, you remembered having likened it to a noose.

Your head spun, and it took everything in you not to sway. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before: dark, heady, and laced with something sharp that made your pulse race faster than it should. It didn’t help that he was kissing you again, his presence overwhelming and his scent saturating the air around you, making your thoughts blur together into a hazy mess.

You didn’t even realize you were leaning into him, instinctively drawn closer, until his hand tightened in your hair. He didn’t say anything.  You swallowed hard, trying to clear the fog from your brain, but it only made it worse. The scent was in your lungs, coating your tongue, making your mouth dry and your skin tingle.

His mouth found your neck, sharp teeth scraping against your pulse point, and you shivered, a soft gasp escaping you despite your best efforts to stay quiet. He didn’t like that—didn’t like how you tried to smother your reactions—so he bit down, just enough to make you jolt

“Pathetic,” he muttered, voice rough and low against your skin. 

Instead of scare you, as his harsh words had done before, now all it did was send tremors of lust coursing down your body. 

Both of you were breathing heavily, eyes glazed over and hanging by a thread, on the verge of breaking. When you cast a quick glance toward the door, the fragile thread snapped. His hands roamed across your body, and in a daze of your own lack of control, you tried to mirror his movements, your hands tugging at his coat, silently pleading for it to come off already.

He grabbed your wrist before you could touch him.

“Thats not how this is happening.” He hissed, dragging you on your feet and to your bedroom, where you were pushed onto the bed, distantly noticing the window opened and the lock on the floor. “You. Undress.”

The second you hit the mattress, you scrambled to prop yourself up on your elbows, eyes glued to him as he stood at the edge of the bed, practically vibrating with tension. His command lingered in the air.

Your hands shook as you moved to comply, tugging at the fabric of your clothes with clumsy, desperate fingers. Feitan didn’t move, just stood there watching you, his sharp eyes tracking every inch of skin you revealed. To have him so threateningly watching you made your whole body feel like it was on fire, and the urge to cover yourself was only held back by the instinctive knowledge that he’d just rip your hands away if you tried.

When your shirt hit the floor, his lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close enough to make your stomach twist with nerves. You hesitated, but his eyes flicked up to yours, warning clear in his glare. Without a word, you continued, peeling away the last of your clothing until you sat there exposed, vulnerable under his predatory stare.

He finally shed his coat, tossing it aside without care, and your pulse quickened.

His hands moved to his shirt, but he didn’t break eye contact, as if testing your reaction. You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away as he pulled the fabric over his head and discarded it just as carelessly. His lean, toned frame was littered with scars and what should’ve been horror at his clear familiarity with violence turned to excitement.

He circled around you slowly, like a shark scenting blood in the water. You felt his eyes on your back, your sides, your legs, and it sent a shiver down your spine. 

The tension was almost suffocating, and your hands fisted in the sheets as he moved closer, finally settling onto the mattress with a knee on either side of your hips. His fingers traced along your jaw, rough but deliberate, and he let out a low, almost frustrated sound when you couldn’t hold back a soft whimper. His lips grazed your ear, his voice low and threatening, but there was a rasp to it that betrayed his own unraveling control.

“You’ll be so easy to break,” he murmured, and despite the venom in his words, there was a hint of something almost reverent beneath it that made your inner omega very happy. 

His mouth trailed down to your collarbone, teeth scraping just enough to make you flinch, and he laughed cruelly at the way your body tensed under him.

“You’re the one that wants this,” he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt, but his hands moved lower, tracing over your sides in a way that contradicted his words. You swallowed back a retort, too overwhelmed to think straight, and his eyes narrowed as if daring you to deny it. “I’m just obliging.”

You hummed affirmatively, knowing you’d say or do anything to make him continue.

Feitan's hand slid lower, fingers skimming over the curve of your breast, tracing the swell of your hip. His thumb brushed over your nipple and you moaned.

“Pathetic,” he muttered against your skin, but his voice was hoarse, lacking the usual bite, as if your reactions were unraveling him just as much as they were you. He didn’t give you a chance to recover before his mouth moved to your breasts. The feeling of his teeth scraping over your nipple made you gasp, your fingers curling into his shoulders, nails digging in just to ground yourself.

He bit down harder, making you cry and try to pull away from him, which he didn’t seem keen on.

“That hurts…” You said, despite hating the fact that he pulled away from your nipple.

By silent apology, his tongue flicked over the abused skin, soothing the ache before his lips moved lower, trailing rough, open-mouthed kisses down your torso. Each press of his mouth sent a shiver racing through you, and you couldn’t stop the way your legs shifted restlessly, caught between the instinct to close them and the undeniable urge to spread them instead.

His hands slid down to your thighs, squeezing hard enough to leave marks, and you couldn’t hold back the soft whimper that escaped your lips. Before you could process it, he was spreading your legs apart with a single, rough motion, his digits ghosting over your cunt.

You tried to catch your breath, tried to hold onto some semblance of composure, but it was impossible when his hands were tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, brushing so close to where you needed him but never quite giving you what you wanted. 

When his fingers finally dipped lower, grazing over your clit, your hips jerked up instinctively, a strangled moan escaping your throat. Feitan’s lips twisted into a mocking smirk as he pressed down just enough to make your vision blur, the pressure light and teasing despite the roughness of his earlier touches.

“What’s that?” he sneered, clearly enjoying the way you writhed beneath him, struggling to hold back the sounds threatening to spill out. “Didn’t you want me to use suppressants? I think you could use them more, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer—just pushed his fingers inside your pussy, curling them in a way that made your back arch off the bed, another broken moan escaping your lips despite yourself. His other hand kept your hips pinned down, forcing you to take everything he gave without escape.

His thumb traced rough circles, coaxing more desperate sounds from your lips.

Your vision was starting to blur, overwhelmed by the way his hands seemed to know exactly how to undo you, rough and relentless but so perfectly controlled that you couldn’t think straight. An insane part of your mind repeated the same idea over and over again.

If you’d known it’d be like this.

You wouldn’t have left earlier today.

Feitan chuckled, clearly pleased, and his lips found yours again, devouring your mouth with bruising intensity as his fingers continued to work you over, determined to leave you a trembling mess beneath him.

Your body tightened around his fingers, the way they plunged into you relentlessly, and the tension that had been building finally snapped. A wave of pleasure crashed through you, so intense it left you gasping for air, your body arching up into him as shudders wracked your frame. Feitan didn’t let up—he rode you through it, fingers relentlessly pumping inside you as he milked every last tremor from you, watching with a twisted, satisfied smirk as you came undone beneath him.

Your mind was hazy, still trying to catch up with your own body, and you barely noticed when he pulled his hand away, wiping your slick from his fingers on your thighs with a detached sort of efficiency. The absence of his touch left you aching, but that thought barely had time to form before his hands were on your thighs again, spreading them wider.

Your breath hitched when you felt the press of the tip of his cock against your entrance. He hadn’t taken off his pants, merely pushed it down to free his cock, and it felt unfair. 

Feitan didn’t give you much warning before pushing his cock inside, the stretch sudden and overwhelming, and you couldn’t stop the cry that tore from your throat. He paused, just for a heartbeat, staring up at the ceiling.

“Please, please, please can you-”

“Please what.” Feitan replied, his gaze snapping down again, irritated you were interrupting him now that he was finally inside you. 

“Move!” You begged, your body so overheated it felt like you’d burn up if you didn’t get what you wanted right this instance. A part of you knew your heat had been triggered by his scent, but that thought didn’t hold any power anymore, not like it mattered. “Please just fuck me, I need it!” 

He scoffed softly, almost like he couldn’t believe how easily you’d given in, and his fingers dug into your skin as he pulled back just enough before slamming forward again, forcing another broken moan from your lips.

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust hard and deliberate, like he was trying to drive out every coherent thought from your mind. You couldn’t stop the way your body moved with his, desperate to meet him halfway despite the bruising pace. Feitan’s mouth found yours again, messy and uncoordinated, more teeth than lips.

There was something almost feverish in the way he moved, like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get enough of you no matter how hard he pushed. The desperation in his movements was foreign, but it drove him faster, deeper, and your hands scrambled for purchase against his shoulders, unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away.

The room was filled with the sounds of your gasps and his harsh breathing, mingled with the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. The heat between your bodies was suffocating, leaving you lightheaded and completely at his mercy. You could feel the tension building again, winding tight in your core, and the way he shifted his angle, hitting deeper and making your vision blur with the force of it.

Feitan cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering just for a moment before he picked it back up, even rougher than before. You were barely holding on, unable to think, unable to do anything but cling to him as he drove you closer and closer to the edge once again.

Time seemed to blur, each moment melding into the next as Feitan's relentless pace continued—shifting and changing, never quite letting you catch your breath.

You lost count of how many times he repositioned you—fucking you pressed against the wall, sprawled over the edge of the bed, pulled onto his lap having you ride his cock with his hands digging into your waist. Every new angle brought a fresh wave of heat crashing through your body, each touch rough and unapologetic. He barely gave you time to recover before pushing you further.

Your body ached, skin flushed and sensitive, and yet every time you thought you couldn’t take any more, he’d lean in close and tell you to stop being pathetic, which unfortunately did turn you on tremendously. His need seemed insatiable, and even having heard about ruts plenty in your life, you couldn’t imagine it was like this with everybody.

Hours passed, marked only by the gradual shift from moonlight to the first hints of dawn creeping through the window. Your body was heavy with fatigue, limbs trembling and skin glistening with sweat, but Feitan showed no signs of stopping

By the time the sky began to lighten, his movements had finally slowed, the tension in his shoulders loosening as his breathing evened out. You could barely move, every inch of you feeling worn out and thoroughly claimed, but there was a strange sense of peace settling over the room, the air finally cooling as the feverish heat subsided.

Clarity crept back in slowly, cutting through the haze like a knife. You were drained and felt disgusting- your entire body covered in cum, a little bit of blood–1509 really loved biting–and sweat, but your thoughts were finally starting to piece themselves together.

Fuck.

Reality hit hard, and you couldn’t help but curse inwardly. This was just a break—nothing more. Both of you knew it. Ruts didn’t just end after one night; they lasted at least a week, sometimes more, with only brief windows of rest in between. You’d never shared one with anyone before, and now here you were, trapped with the guy from work who’d broken into your apartment and taken you apart like he owned you.

1509 wasn’t lying next to you. He’d shoved your hands away when you (overcome with hormones and post-orgasmic affection) tried to cuddle, snapping at you to quit being clingy. Instead, he sat cross-legged next to you, reading a book he’d swiped from your shelf. The lamplight cast shadows over his face, and his attention seemed entirely fixed on the pages, but you knew better. He noticed the second your breathing shifted from the slow rhythm of sleep to the shallow breaths of regret.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to force down the panic bubbling up. “Oh god,” you mumbled, covering your eyes. “This is... You don’t even know my name.”

“False. I know your name. You just don’t know mine.”

You hesitated, unsure whether you actually wanted to know, but curiosity won out. “...Which is?”

He turned a page slowly, the faintest hint of irritation creeping into his tone. “Irrelevant. For now.”

A shaky breath left your lips, and you swallowed thickly before forcing yourself to ask the question gnawing at the back of your mind. “Are you... gonna kill me when this is over? You know, just in case I... tell someone?”

Feitan huffed, a dark, humorless laugh slipping through his lips. 

When his mind had finally cleared, a part of him had been disappointed in himself, but the other part felt a strange, newfound control. Every inch of his body had been sated, and even the lingering scent of sex only served to further satisfy him. Perhaps denying himself for so long had been a foolish endeavor. Starvation only dulled the senses.

Now that he had you, there was no need for restraint.

“No.” His gaze finally flickered over to you, a cruel glint dancing in his eyes. Every bit of earlier apprehension was gone, his frustration at his own lack of control having shifted into satisfaction. “By then you’ll know better.”

[dreams-writings]

⋆☆★Quicky★☆⋆

(Another excerpt)

Feitan x Reader(GN) Prompt: Just a quick blowie, WC: 364 TW: Rough oral sex (m!receiving), slight dacryphilia,

“Keep your mouth open damnit,” Feitan’s voice rings in your head, as the back of it keeps getting slammed into the cold concrete of the building you’re backed up against. His grip on your hair has only tightened, and the pace of his thrusts have only quickened since y’all began. You’ve had your mouth wide open and tongue flat against the bottom of his shaft for a number of minutes now, and are beginning to lose your breath. At first, you were keeping a steady rhythm of breath through your nose, but now every so often he pushed his cock into the deepest part of your throat, letting you gag on it, momentarily choking you before pulling back, which kept tears falling down your cheeks, and kept you fully conscious since those were very inconsistent. Despite the rough actions he’s inflicting on you, he feels so soft internally, which is keeping him from allowing any sort of prolonged eye-contact. He can't help but feel his stomach turn when he sees your pretty eyes glisten with tears that fall so gently down your cheeks, he wants nothing more than to lick them off of you himself. Even though the thought itself sounds enjoyable, he doesn’t like the fact that he thinks of you that way. From his perspective, the last thing he needs is some random person stumbling into his life, and turning him soft. 

“Keep your fucking eyes closed.” He commanded, he thrusted each syllable into the back of your throat, and gripped harder on your scalp as he threw his head back, his panting beginning to get heavier. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge and squeezed his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip to conceal any sounds he didn’t want escaping. 

“M’ gonna cum down your throat.” Every word he said was like a promise. “Swallow it- ngh-” He thrusts a few more times before shoving his dick as far as possible into your mouth and cumming deep into your throat. He stayed like that for a handful of seconds, allowing each rope to exit him before you swallow around him, and he pulls out, leaving both of you panting.

[dreams-writings]

masquerade of feelings.

fluff. gn!reader × feitan. wc 294

summary. last dance of the masked ball! it takes part shortly after this event of my timeline:)

as the night of shadows and mysteries drew closer to an end, you noticed a lone figure standing by the southern wall of the ballroom. you never expected to see feitan at the masked ball—was he there from the beginning whilst you were so engrossed in swaying to the music of the orchestra? his eyes meet yours. 

you feel out of breath over so many rounds of swift viennese waltz with dozens of contrasting partners, but seeing him out there just calmed your heart and steadied your blood pulse. it felt like you truly had to experience his softened gaze on your body to finish the night euphorically.  

in a minute, the lights are dimmed along with a slower tune played in the background. this is a call for dancers to take their precious time towards the huge arched doorway, to finish the last glass of bubbly champagne and youthfully giggle this magical late night away. 

despite the ball being at its closing act, it was the cue for feitan to move closer to you. he is stretching his hand, inviting you for one final dance. 

he is new to it, trying so diligently to keep up with your moves. although his face showed no reaction, you know how blissful he is—he never gave up as he danced somewhat clumsily and he held you close, sensually supporting your arms and waist. 

partakers are leaving, although, neither of you moved closer to the passage out, rather inwards to the middle under the stunning renaissance chandelier of quartz crystal. 

“we go together. another time,” feitan whispers. he does seem nervous yet unyielding in his statement. 

“another time?” he does not answer, leaving you dancing all alone in your masquerade of feelings as he danced in his.

[dreams-writings]

A masterpiece, if I may say.

[dreams-writings]

He bit me (╥‸╥)

I finally finished this what was supposed to be a small doodle

[dreams-writings]

More Feitan doodles

[dreams-writings]

I forgot I also had this in my notes. It was inspired by the Feitan fanart of him in an IHop uniform. Emo waiter Feitan. >///< I don't own the fanart, but I added some other pictures to it for a mood. I'm sorry if the grammar is bad. This is a real-life au fanfiction. I'm always so nervous posting because I don't proof read enough T.T

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Warning: +18 Smut! No minors interact!

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Emo IHop Feitan 🖤______________________

You were on a long road trip with your friends. Just you, Machi, Pakunada, and Shizuku screaming early 2000's jammers and gossiping about your ex's. Machi had just gotten out of a toxic relationship with her now ex Hisoka. Pakunada hearing the news decided you all needed a girls trip.

This was the last night on the road, and Pakunada of course was driving, like she usually does. She's known as the responsible mom friend, and honestly the four of you needed her, and she needed you all. You were thankful she planned the trip, since your life was draining you, every day looking the same.

The city lights dazzled your vision as Machi half asleep leaned her head on your shoulder, snoring softly. You stared out the window as blinding headlights flew by you, and buildings rose and fell with each passing frame. You didn't want the trip to end. You sort of wished it'd last forever, and that you could spend the rest of your life just giggling with your friends on a road trip, but you knew you couldn't.

"Anyone want Ihop?" Shizuku suddenly announced, breaking you away from your bittersweet thoughts. Machi suddenly jumped awake at this, a beaming smile on her face.

"IHop sounds so fucking good right now." Machi said, rubbing her eyes as she tried to wake up from her nap.

"I can't believe you want IHop, when Denny's is so much better." Pakunada interrupted, checking traffic as she merged into another lane. She always drove so smooth and elegant.

"Of course the old lady prefers Denny's~" Shizuku teased, causing Pakunada to playfully roll her eyes.

"Excuse me, more like I have taste." Pakunada responded, obviously not offended by the playful interaction. "Fine ladies, IHop it is." Pakunada finally sighed.

All of you tired and in cozy road trip clothes stumbled into the IHop, looking a mess, but not caring. Except Pakunada, who of course looked somehow elegant in her yoga pants, which she always complained were too informal. As you entered the building that smelt of sweet syrup and warm coffee, you noticed a certain attractive waiter coming over to seat all of you. He didn't say anything, just nodded at all of you, walking you to the closest booth avaliable. He had black hair with bangs, a black mask covering his lower face only revealing his bored looking eyes, and a name tag with 'Feitan' on it. You blushed as you made eye contact with him, him slightly... glaring at you? It was hard for you to tell. Even though he was short, like he couldn't be taller than 5'2 you guessed, you felt drawn in by him.

"Orders?" He asked in a raspy, unique voice making your heart speed up. You eyed your friends, trying to see their reactions, but it seemed only you were feeling so attracted to this emo waiter in IHop. As your friends ordered, you tried thinking of what to get, but it was hard to think.

You ended up just getting the same order as Machi, and as everyone waited you decided to head to the bathroom, in search of Feitan. You didn't really know how to go about your attraction. Nerves came over you as you thought about asking for his socials or number, you didn't want to embarrass yourself. As you went to open the women's bathroom door, Feitan left the men's, looking at you for a moment. You felt frozen as Feitan approached you.

"You from here?" He asked, his way of speaking unique as you looked at him shyly, blushing somewhat.

"N-No, we're on a girls road trip." You said, your eyes widening as Feitan got closer to you, inches away from your face.

"I'm off work. Hang out with me before I never see you again?" He asked, it almost sounding like a plea, your eyes getting lost in his now more playful looking eyes.

"I-I- have to go back to my friends soon." You said nervously, a bit upset that you didn't meet Feitan closer to your home, and instead on a road trip.

"We just hang for a little then?" He asked, his eyes darting to your lips as you bit your bottom lip, debating.

Somehow all previous events led you to being on Feitan's lap, his thick cock deep in your warm, silky cunt, as he fucked you roughly in the backseat of his car in the IHop parking lot. You bit on his shoulder as moans escaped your lips, your pussy squelching as Feitan thrust his twitching member deeper and deeper inside you. His uniform was still on, and your pajama shorts were flung somewhere, you both almost animalistic as you fucked, the car's windows fogging up, it shaking a bit. No one would be able to tell as it was a black car with tinted windows, but you still tried to conceal your moans as your pussy clenched around Feitan's cock. Feitan reached down with black painted fingernails, flicking and rubbing your clit, trying to help you come undone. That you did, so aggressively, that you ended up squirting on Feitan's backseat, your pussy clenching so tight it milked Feitan's length, making Feitan pull you up, his cock throbbing out ropes of thick warm semen all over your still pulsing cunt, both of you a mess. You both panted as you collapsed together, both of your hearts racing.

"Need your number." Feitan sighed in satisfaction, pulling you against him to hug you.

[dreams-writings]

butterfly.

fluff. gn!reader × feitan. wc 259

it is dawn. you are sitting back pressed against the hard rock and it is chilly. though, you feel comfortable enough. maybe it is because feitan is reading a novel a few feet apart from you. you were waiting for other troupe members to show up.

you keep thinking. and overthinking.

“say, fei,” you whisper. he does not answer or look up from his book. just one sigh from his mouth tells you — he is listening. “if you were an animal, what animal would you be?”

“humans is animal,” he states.

“hm? oh yeah, but... humans are slightly above others anyways,” you say.

it is quiet again. you do not expect his answer, not soon, not ever as a matter of fact. it is like that sometimes.

“you butterfly,” feitan says, so you turn your head to his side. questioning him with your eyes. yet he does not look into yours — his attention is on the dull written pages even now. although you believed he never really read the content of the books when he was around you. he just listens to your breathing, secretly stealing glances at you.

“why? i am a spider after all,” you giggle.

it falls silent again. for a while actually. feels like hours.

“pretty,” feitan murmurs, it is barely audible, still, you heard it. your breathing hitched slightly. this word is something unexpected from him, however you do not inquire about it further. it just finally feels warm. between you.

and you smile a bit. butterfly also means hope, doesn't it?

[dreams-writings]

フェイタン役：平松來馬／『HUNTER×HUNTER』THE STAGE 2

[dreams-writings]

[dreams-writings]

Quick drawing of Feitan, it's been so long since I drew on paper bro I couldn't stop double tapping on my sheet to try to erase 💀