#yandere feitan

[feitansbitch]

Don't get me wrong, yandere Feitan is amazing, i love it but...

i think i love the idea of Feitan being unusually kind to you, especially if you are a soft innocent person... a little soft spot that he hates that he has for you. He can't bring himself to actually do anything bad to you, sure he is still cold but you can tell he is being a bit more gentle with you than anyone else.

Maybe he even hates when you are upset, it just makes his heart ache for whatever reason, it makes him want to at least give you a headpat of comfort, he never acts on it but he still wants to.

Maybe he tries it once.

Y/N: *visibly upset with tears*

Feitan: ... *slowly gets closer and awkwardly puts his hand on your head*

Y/N: ... *looks up at Feitan with a bit of confusion*

Feitan: ... "you're okay." *says with a glare*

Y/N: ... *tears up more*

Oh well... at least he tried.

#feitan #yandere feitan #hunter x hunter #hxh #phantom troupe #feitan x reader

[after-witch]

Title: Are You There, God? It's Me [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Title: Are You There, God? It's Me [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: You've been held captive by Feitan for months--you're long-since used to seeing blood. But it's the blood from your first period since you've been taken that has you feeling sick.

Word count: 2671

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, descriptions of wounds and violence, mentions of previous physical abuse, reader gets their period

Over the past few months, you’ve seen a lot of blood. You’ve seen clotted blood on festering wounds; fresh blood seeping from underneath knives and nails; spatters of blood on the walls from the sudden trauma of severed limbs, fingers, toes. 

Over time, your stomach has stopped rebelling at the sight of it. Not that it gets easier to see, but it has gotten easier to stomach. Maybe your body refuses to give up the few nutrients that do make their way down your gullet, thanks to Feitan’s dislike of cooking and unwillingness to provide you with a basic grocery stock to work from. Frozen dinners only go so far. 

Whatever the reason, you’re rarely physically ill anymore when Feitan drags you to the basement and makes you watch him torture people. For information, or for fun, or sometimes both in equal measure. Emotionally, mentally, socially, psychologically ill is another thing entirely…

But here, now, in the quiet upstairs bathroom, the sight of your period blood smeared on your underwear has you ready to hurl. Your guts seize together and you wonder how quickly you’d be able to clean the toilet, should vomit make its way out of your throat. 

Your period is… back. 

It’s been a while. A few months. Stress had stolen it away, and you hadn’t thought much about it. You remembered when your dad died years ago--you hadn’t gotten your period for maybe 4 months, then. So it was no wonder that being kidnapped by some crazed serial killer who could turn his nails into knives seemingly at whim might throw your body’s organic clock all out of sorts.

But here, now, in the same damned quiet upstairs bathroom where you sometimes retreat to cry into towels, it’s back. 

What are you supposed to do?

Your first thought was to search the bathroom for period supplies, but of course, there were none. Not a single pad or tampon. 

(The sick thought occurs to you: even if one of Feitan’s victims survived long enough to get their period, it’s not like he’d be letting them take a break to put on a pad...)

No pads. No tampons. Certainly nothing as innovative as a cup.

So you’ve made do with the old standby: folding as much toilet paper as humanly possible and sticking it in your underwear. But you know it won’t last long. It’s meant to be a temporary stopgap on the way home from work or school, or until you can run out to the shop to grab a fresh box.

You can’t just run out to the shop. You can’t go anywhere. Not even outside, not even for a minute. You’re not even meant to freely ask for things; asking for anything--some fresh vegetables, a blanket that’s actually warm, new underwear--is a grueling, draining task that you often prep days in advance. 

And he doesn’t always say yes.

And this? This? No. There’s no way. You are not going to waltz up to your kidnapper and tell him that you’ve started something so personal and intimate. Humiliation doesn’t begin to describe the act. You want to fold up like a piece of paper and blow into the wind whenever you recall the conversation you were forced to have regarding new underwear made from 100% cotton--

Why? He’d asked. And you’d said it was more comfortable. He snorted. And you were worried that he might not think it was  important, so you had to explain that your body reacted poorly to anything less than 100% cotton. And he’d asked, simply: What do you mean? And you’d had to actually explain, voice mumbled and face blazing hot from shame, that you get irritated down there by other fabrics.

You can’t go through that again. For heaven’s sake--you’d have to tell him what sort of supplies you’d need! Did he even know the difference between a pad and a tampon? What if he asked why you needed an overnight pad versus a normal one? 

And there’s other things to consider. The dull ache in your lower stomach… he does have painkillers, but he’s only doled them out for serious things (your broken wrist, for slapping him--and the time you slipped on the stairs and hurt your back; you’re not allowed to walk up or down them on your own, anymore).

A heating pad would be nice. And a body pillow to put between your legs and curl up with. But to get them, you’ll have to ask Feitan. Ask him properly, the right way, at the right time. 

And he’d have questions, wouldn’t he? 

He’d want to know why you need a heating pad (“Because my uterus feels like it’s being clawed out, goddamn it!” would probably not fly) and who knows, maybe he’d tell you to just suck it up and you’d have to deal with the humiliation of being rejected on top of the shame of him knowing you’re bleeding from your most private of parts and--

No

No.

It’s not happening. You aren’t going to tell him, and that is that. You’ll do what you can to get through it--just a few days, that’s all, you used to have to sit through school without pain meds and heating pads and sure it sucked but you lived--and you’ll soldier on like you’ve done thus far. 

You sigh, and carefully flush the proof of your period--toilet paper and blood tinged urine--down the toilet. You’ll have to be careful about where you sit, and how you sit, lest you accidentally stain the sofa or the dining room chair. 

Then the thought comes to you, almost a buzz in your head--

Oh, fuck… what if it leaks on the bed when you sleep? Feitan would know. Feitan would see. You’d have to ask him for cleaning supplies or get caught dragging the sheet to the bathroom or… or…

No, that couldn’t happen. You’d do something. You’d--yes! The solution is simple. Easy as pie. 

You wouldn’t still be sane without quick thinking, so you nab a few towels from the back of the bathroom closet, shove them under your shirt like you used to mimic pregnancy as a child with an overactive imagination and a tendency for dramatic imaginative play times, and prepare to scamper to your bedroom and hide them until night falls.

You’d make a barrier, that’s what you’d do. Simple, easy. Effective. And Feitan never had to know.  

Feitan rarely bothered with you in the evening, anyway--he was too busy with his work. 

It was a perfect plan.

--

It was not a perfect plan.

Everything was going fine. You’d draped a cardigan around your waist in the afternoon when Feitan insisted you watch a film together, although as usual he didn’t sit on the same sofa as you, and simply stared at you now and then from his vantage point on the chair. The same cardigan had come in handy at dinner.

No leaks. No stains. And you’d pushed through the pain and discomfort of your cramps, all the while practicing pretending that something you ate wasn’t sitting well with you, if Feitan had noticed. 

He didn’t.

All you had to do was get to bed, make your barrier, and cover up with the blanket just in case it was one of the nights that Feitan came into your room in the middle of the night to stare at you like some sort of creepy owl. (Did he know you knew, or did he like to think you were unawares)

That’s it.

Simple enough.

Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

Right?

Wrong.

Because as soon as you’d finished smoothing out the second towel on top of the sheets, Feitan walked through the doorway to your bedroom.

Where he stands, now, staring at you with a look of false passivity.

“Why,” he asks, in a voice so mild that you know it means he’s absolutely invested in an answer, “you have towels on the bed?”

You’d come up with excuses for cramps; you’d even dabbled with pretending that you’d scratched your thigh or something, if you happened to bleed onto the sofa.

Feitan never really came into your room while you prepared for bed, so the thought of an excuse here never entered your mind. And now your mind whirled for an answer, coming up blank.

“I, uh,” you say, plopping yourself down on the towel as if covering it up with your body would somehow erase his memory. “I was… cold?” You offer, not even believing an ounce of your own life.

Feitan’s expression doesn’t change.

“Why?” The question leaves room for no excuses, no lies, nothing but the truth. There’s an ‘or else’ in his tone that you don’t care to uncover. 

This is sick. This is wrong. This is so unfair.

“I’monmyperiod.” You rush out the words, staring down at your thighs, cheeks so hot you’re sure the temperature in the room has raised by a few degrees.

“Slower.”

You could cry. You might, actually, you feel the pressure of tears building behind your eyes.

“I’m. on. My. Period.” The words come out behind gritted teeth.

You hear a sound you’ve never actually heard from Feitan before: a short, stuttered intake of breath. A surprised, involuntarily, clipped little noise of confusion.

It makes you look up, unable to process what you’ve just heard without seeing it. But what you see is even more confusing: 

Feitan is blushing.

Oh, just a little. Just the tiniest amount of ruddiness on his cheeks. If you were one of his victims or some random person on the street, you wouldn’t notice. But you notice all of Feitan’s little expressions, the nuances of his body language. The difference between how far he raises his eyebrows at you can mean the difference between pain and mild discomfort. 

So yes, you notice this slight ruddiness on his cheeks, and your brain whirs pathetically, trying to process what it means. 

He sees you staring. His hand reaches up to his cheek, and he must realize it--

Because then he yanks his cowl up and turns sideways, leaning against the door frame in a nonchalant way that now seems painfully practiced.

He says nothing for a moment. Your heart thuds the entire time.

When he speaks, his voice is quiet and--you could swear--shy. Awkward. Like he doesn’t want to bring it up. It’s a strange reversal--normally you’re the one who’s left quietly murmuring. 

“You need… lady things?”

Oh, this must be how you die. 

It won’t be from breaking your neck on the stairs or from Feitan getting bored of you and slashing your throat. It will be from sitting on a towel-strewn bed in front of your secretly blushing captor as he asks you what type of feminine hygiene products you need. 

You must not answer fast enough, because he jerks his head towards you. 

“Well?” 

He looks just as uncomfortable as you feel--it almost makes you feel slightly better. At least he’s not lording it over you. He’s never passed up a chance to make you feel degraded, but even this must be too much for him.

It gives you the push you need to speak, although your voice practically chokes on the words.

“Um. I need. Some pads? Over--overnight ones, because I tend to bleed a lot--” Your eyes shut for a fraction longer than normal, why did you tell him that, for fuck’s sake. “And--” Your voice cracks. “And maybe… if it’s not too much trouble, a heating pad?”

He shifts his position against the door frame. You wonder if he’s making a mental list. The thought of Feitan waltzing into some supermarket with a paper list that says “overnight pads” is too ludicrous to consider for long.

‘”Heating pad? What for?”

The sound you make can only be described as a short, painful keening groan. It’s not the cramps that hurt--it’s the humiliation. 

“For cramps,” you say quickly. “Mine get really bad. They were um, pretty bad today, but--”

“Idiot.” Ah, there’s the Feitan you recognize. “Why not say something?”

The towel underneath your fingers isn’t very soft, but you scrunch the fabric up underneath them anyway. “I didn’t want... I mean… I thought that…” 

And then that soft pressure behind your eyes builds from frustration, from the embarrassment, from the fact that you’re being held captive and on top of the many awful things you’ve experienced over the past however-many-months, you’re now having a discussion about your intimate period with someone who seems to delight in tormenting you.

The first sniffle is easily hidden. But not the second, or the third. And by the time your lower jaw is quivering and the tears are spilling down your cheeks, you can only lean forward and cry pathetically into your hands.

You hate this. You hate being here. You hate your period, you hate Feitan, you hate the fact that you can’t just go into the bathroom and slap a pad on your underwear. You hate this bed and these towels and the clothes you’re wearing. You hate everything.

“Fine.”

His clipped, sudden word doesn’t make you stop crying. But it does give you a pause, and you swallow down against your tight throat and look at him through sniffling tears. “Huh?”

“I get you heating pad.” He flicks his hand at you, like he’s shooing away an annoying pet dog. “Go to bed. You need more sleep now.” 

You do stop crying then, if only because your brain isn’t sure how else to react. Your mouth hangs open a little as you curl up on the bed--a nap would be nice--and grab an extra pillow to shove against your stomach. 

Feitan, for his part, snorts and leaves your doorway. You expect him to go into the basement, but instead you hear him putting on his boots, grabbing things from the foyer. He’s going out? Now?

All the while, he’s mumbling to himself. You only catch a few of the words--women, hormones among them--before he leaves. The door’s lock seems louder than ever and you clutch the pillow harder. 

Later, you’re yanked out of a fuzzy dream when something both soft and hard lands with a thunk against your head, and your bedroom light is flicked on.

It takes you a few moments to get your bearings.

There’s something draped against you. You blink and hold it up. It’s a heating pad, the plug-in kind with a remote control and everything. 

Feitan is standing in your doorway, holding a large sack. 

When he sees that you’re at least vaguely awake and aware, he turns it over and dumps the contents on the floor. It’s about 20 boxes of overnight pads--a few different brands. He must have stolen half the shelf. 

He regards you with a pleased expression that’s only half-hidden by his cowl. But you’d know his expression of self-serving pride at a job well done anywhere; you’ve seen it enough times when he’s tortured information out of someone. 

“Well? This enough for the month?”

The choked sound that comes out of your throat might have had a laugh in it somewhere, but you hope he doesn’t hear it. You get the sense that laughing about this would actually bother him more than anything you’ve done lately.

So instead you nod, slowly, and unfold the heating pad so that you can plug it in somewhere. Since you’ll probably be up for a while, it would be okay to ease your cramps a bit before morning. 

But when you look up… Feitan is still there, standing in the doorway.

He looks expectant, like you’ve forgotten something you’re supposed to do, but what--

Oh.

“Thank you, Feitan,” you murmur, swallowing hard, staring down at your lap as the sleep-induced grogginess begins to fade away from your brain.  

He hums, then looks down at the pile of boxes he dumped on the floor. 

“Put these away. Don’t want you tripping on them. Clumsy.” 

For once, you don’t mind the insult. 

It’s better to be back on familiar territory. 

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan porter #yandere #afterwitch writes

[bwabys-scenarios]

Yandere!Feitan is pretty off putting and a bit mean at times, but he’s mostly harmless. For someone that tortures others for a living, he’s never even once thought of putting his hands on you.

You’re the only person he could never imagine hurting. Even if you piss him off or try to escape, he just can’t bring himself to punish you physically.

He just can’t. Feitan feels so soft and weak when he glares at you after you let your smart mouth run a bit too long. You shut up the second he glanced up from the novel he had been reading, and for a moment he thought of walking over and breaking a finger or two. Maybe then you’d know to keep your mouth shut.

But he couldn’t. Even the thought of causing you pain, the tears that would well up in your eyes and fall down your cheeks as you asked why he hurt you… it was enough to make him nauseous. He got up and left, slamming the door to his room shut behind him.

Your soft, sweet hands always seem to make him both melt with contentment and stiffen nervously at the same time. Feitan can’t stand it, yet he craves it all the same. He desperately needs your affection and love, but he’s so emotionally stunted that being vulnerable enough to relax under your care almost hurts.

“Fei…”

Usually, Feitan wouldn’t let a single soul get away with using that nickname besides Phinks… but you always seem to get away with it. He grunts in response, glancing at you.

“Snuggles… please…”

Lately you’ve been wanting more physical affection. That wasn’t easy, you made him oh so nervous when you were too close. He felt like he could barely breathe.

“… go back to bed.”

You sniffle, rubbing at your teary, sleepy eyes. “Fei, please… I can’t sleep.”

This man, who had killed more than he could count and tortured even more men than that, felt his chest ache at the sight of your teary eyes. Why did it hurt so much to see you cry? He still couldn’t understand.

“Stupid…” he grumbled, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards his room. “Spoiled brat. Can’t sleep alone, like baby.”

You sighed contentedly as you curled up next to him, his hand stiffly patting your back. “Maybe some k-“

“No. Sleep.”

You pouted a bit, but you didn’t push it. Feitan was easily angered, and you didn’t want to lose the warmth you felt next to you, even if it came from the man that kidnapped you.

“… you’ll stay? Even after I fall asleep?”

Feitan eyes widened slightly at that, his hand gripping the back of your shirt. “… just sleep.”

You did, because you knew that he wouldn’t leave you now, not after you asked him to stay. Feitan watched you sleep, brushing your hair out of your face with a gentleness that didn’t come naturally to him.

Once he was sure you were asleep, he glanced around the room before leaning forward and pulling you in close, kissing the top of your head.

“Goodnight…”

#feitan x reader #feitan porter x reader #requests open #x reader #anime x reader #reader insert #headcanon #hxh x reader #hxh imagines #hunter x hunter x reader #anime x chubby reader #feitan portor #chubby!reader #chubby reader #fem!reader #female reader #fem reader #yandere feitan #yandere hxh #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere #hunter x hunter feitan #hxh feitan

[mamayan]

YANDERE! FEITAN PORTER X DARLING!

TOUCH

⚠️ This is a work of fiction with content I do not condone in reality. This is not meant to encourage or represent any type or sort of conduct. This is merely just fantasy ⚠️

MDNI•18+

Trigger warnings!

This work contains: Yandere content/intentions•NSFW•Kidnapping•Holding against will (darling)•Cursing•Mentions of abuse/torture•Stockholm Syndrome•General depravity•Obsessive tendencies•Sexual acts (consensual but darling is psychologically not sound of mind to be consenting, so somewhat dubcon)•Oral•fem darling•Somnophilia

You have been properly warned and notified of what this work contains. If anything above offends or triggers you, please do not continue reading. Don’t make me waste my time writing all this out only for someone to read and get offended when all the warning literally tell them what is in this. You reading this confirms you are 18+ years of age, meaning a consenting adult agreeing to proceed and consume this content, do not come after me or report me because you aren’t capable of managing yourself.

I appreciate support and love from anyone viewing and enjoying my content. Thank you♥️ I freakin’ love this 1999 anime artwork of Feitan!

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡. .｡.:*

Time suddenly seemed to become irrelevant.

The days passed in a mundane blur, and at some point, everything seemed worthless.

He mentioned in passing that it was November now, though you’d stopped asking the date a few months after your imprisonment. You stopped talking nearly all together these last few months. You couldn’t be entirely sure the last you’d spoken more than a word or two in response to his questions. His own speech minimal, though occasionally you’d catch a glimpse of his chattier side. Even that still couldn’t be considered talkative, more of a normal amount of speech when in a conversation. You haven’t seen that in a while either, maybe it disappeared when you’d stopped your own blubbering and whining. You didn’t ask questions at all anymore. It was pointless and had little meaning.

He sat in his usual spot.

Perched in the corner of the room, eyes sharply trained on your form as always.

His eyes used to unnerve you, riddle you with anxiety and fear of what he was planning. What he might do. What he will do.

It mattered hardly at all at this point.

You’d senselessly begged once, for it all to stop and for him to just kill you already. That’s what he must’ve had planned in the end, for what else did he want with you? An object to admire?

It seemed mad in it’s own way, that thought. Your questions of something or anything personal went unanswered and occasionally punished with weeks of isolation. It was better not to pry.

Asking for mercy and a faster death only brought a wrath you didn’t know lay inside him down upon you.

It was the first time he became physical with you, touched you more than was the bare minimum of necessity. He was surprisingly warm. Except his touch at that time was anything but the usual gentleness you now realized he used with you. His unforgiving grip on your face as he dragged you to your knees, the absolute agony of having your jaw fractured. The pain was unbearable, and even now left phantom pains radiating down your body. He’d dragged you out the front door, for the first time in what seemed to be forever.

Outside was duller than your mind remembered.

You’d been thrown into a vehicle and taken somewhere new.

You’d never wished to take back words more than you did that day. He’d dragged you to some sort of… torture facility. Chained you in a corner and left you there for hours on end. Nervous and frightened, you waited and waited. When he did return, it wasn’t alone. Someone you’d never met was dragged in, strapped down to a table.

Feitan had never really demonstrated anything so frightening before. He’d been somewhat volatile and brash, but the sadistic side never revealed itself like it did that day.

A day turned into several, and for nearly a week you were made to watch his sessions as he called them. Where he’d laugh like a maniac as he turned living humans into creatures you pitied more than yourself. He’d wipe their blood on you, smile as you trembled and begged for it to stop.

When he finally heeded your pleas, he asked a question that left you numb.

“Still want to die?”

You didn’t want to die anymore, at least not by his hand. He knew no mercy. He had no grievance tearing someone apart and from the inside out. The events that followed spanned longer than you bothered to keep track of anymore. He brought you back to your “home” where you were kept locked away. You had a bed, blankets and pillows, clothes and food, clean water and hygiene products. You’d never appreciated a bed like you did that first night back before. The softness and warmth you felt made tears roll down your cheeks and you had thanked him for returning you. It was the first genuine gratitude you’d ever shown to him.

You glanced up from the TV running a show you barely processed to catch his gaze. Those grey orbs holding emotion you couldn’t name or had never seen. He was always so still, and his porcelain features gave him the feel of a doll. For a moment, you merely held his gaze, feeling oddly calm and panicked all at once. Why you felt panicked didn’t make sense, nor why you’d feel calm in the presence of what seemed to be the Grim Reaper himself. The only movement he made to acknowledge your attention was a slight quirk to his brow. His usually ignored but always open book in his hand closing. His face mostly covered left you little to go off to how he felt. You’d gotten somewhat good at interpreting even the tiniest hint of emotion from him, but currently with your own frazzled feelings, figuring out his wasn’t working.

Your legs were pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around them as you settled into a protected fleshy ball. The blanket on your shoulders helping ground you slightly.

Only a little.

“What?” His voice was raspy, his own lack of use evident.

It didn’t sound annoyed, though you could just be misinterpreting this entire interaction.

It felt odd to speak, your mouth slightly cottony and dry, but the urge in your chest felt strangely compelled to say his name.

“Fei” You’d judged his voice, but your own was just as bad.

His eyes widened slightly, though aside from somewhat visible surprise, you were in the dark on how he’d feel about a nickname. You’d given your captor a nickname long ago, though never voiced it aloud. Feitan… Fei felt less threatening.

Feitan is darkness and fear. Feitan tore your life away from you, terrorized you, imprisoned and controlled nearly every little aspect of your life down to your very diet. Feitan is the infamous torturer of the Phantom Troupe.

Fei… well, in your own mind, Fei had become a fictional sort of character. Fei was gentle, Fei listened when you spoke or rambled, and in your dreams Fei would touch you. You hadn’t felt much of any contact in so long, and the last time had left a physically and psychologically painful memory behind. In your dreams, Fei would hold you, touch and caress, Fei was quiet but powerful. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but nothing happening to you or around you was healthy. The mental sickness and insanity most certainly was tickling around your mind.

You’d tested boundaries early with Feitan.

Screaming, kicking, fighting, escape attempts, refusal to eat or comply… were all met with isolation and revoking of privileges. Asking for death was met with nightmares and aching pain that still bothered you when it was too cold.

You’d tried manipulation and coercion, neither you excelled in though. Feitan may be quiet, and occasionally his grammar is less than exemplary, but he is no fool. All attempts ended in… nothing. He did absolutely nothing. He was like a stone wall, impenetrable. Even now, you knew nothing of his intentions. Your only guess at this point, as out of place and ridiculous as it may sound, is companionship. He likely saw you as a pet of sorts, like one might “rescue” a cat off the street. The treatment you receive is rather similar too. In his eyes, maybe you were just like a cat to him. A weak kitty he plucked off the cold streets and gave a warm home. It used to be a thought which invoked fury, but now…

You wished he’d commit to all acts of a pet owner. This included giving affection. You craved it. Missed it. Needed it. Something. A weird and warbled voice in your mind said you’d even accept the negative attention if it meant he’d put his hands on you again. It’s a suicidal thought, but even as his gaze narrowed, you couldn’t stop your body.

He’s silent as always, as you uncurl from your position you’d taken as your usual way to cope. Holding yourself helped, but it’s be better if someone else did it. He didn’t make any indication your nickname offended him.

Shaking, you stood on weak legs and began a pursuit of something you’d never thought you’d even entertain. He was across the room, and while he was by no means a big man, his presence could be suffocating when up close. Gracelessly and with little tact in your actions, you approached until you could smell him. He always smelled like mint and something metallic. For once, the thought of the underlying scent being blood didn’t bother you. He smelled nice, and while his entire body language was closed off and reserved, he still hadn’t even twitched.

He just kept observing you.

Even as you sank down to your knees in front of where he sat.

Those sharp eyes followed you the entire way. When the realization of what you wanted to do came, you weren’t bombarded with the expected humiliation or shame. There wasn’t guilt or disgust like you used to feel when these feelings would arise.

Maybe it signaled you were too far gone to save anymore.

“Fei” his name left your lips again, and for the first time, his rapt attention felt good. It felt good to have him so focused on you. You watched as his head tilted slightly, his face hidden but you could somewhat fantasize about a soft smile playing on his lips behind the fabric of his collar. His favorite jacket always a staple in his clothing collection.

“What?” The way he asked proved he wasn’t revolted at your proximity. He didn’t seem to be asking what you were doing, but rather why you called his name.

“Touch me?” Though you’d phrased it like a question, it bordered precariously on being a demand. You probably looked ridiculous, kneeling at his feet and staring up at him like a sick puppy looking for even the smallest amount of attention. You should be avoiding him, trying to get away, doing anything but this. The only thing you felt though was fear of rejection. That he’d cackle like he does on the phone occasionally, with someone named Shalnark or Phinks, or like he did when he removed the hands of an artist and found humor in the irony. He didn’t answer immediately like he normally would with a direct question. This couldn’t possibly be considered a personal question that he enjoys avoiding, it has only to do with you.

“Please…” you sounded pathetic, even to yourself. The way your bottom lip pouted out and wobbled, the way your eyes watered a little as if you’d cry at any moment, the way you trembled. You didn’t want to grab onto his pant leg, still mindful that a kick from him could easily be your undoing. You’d have to wait till given permission. A pet is what he wants, right?

You could finally be hitting that special point of breaking.

This could be another delusion you’d conjured up and you’re moments away from a lot of pain or isolation again. It’s impossible to tell. No power rested in your hands, and that small realization had tears rolling down your cheeks as you looked at the man who’d reduced you to this mess.

Begging him for measly scraps of what should be your right. Humans needed the physical contact for their health, and while he was clearly the devil, you needed it. Needed him. Needed anything.

“Fei please… I’ll be good, whatever you want, please… I need- hck!” Your sobs were cut short as your body moved faster than your mind could process. You’d nearly bitten into your tongue as you choked for breath, unable to fully comprehend exactly what happened.

The leggings and sweater you wore weren’t warm at all to you. Even blankets seemed to have a chill that seeped through them. Right now though, warmth was creeping through your clothes as mint and copper flooded your senses. He’d pulled you into his lap. The realization was shocking, but the next thought was thrown away when thin strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you into his chest.

“Oh” words died on your lips as a sensation you couldn’t name overcame you. You’d never realized how stiff you were until your body began to relax. Fully relax. “Oh…” it came out breathy and nearly excited, as you foolishly wrapped your arms around his neck and buried your face in the crook of it.

This was insanity.

He was all muscle unsurprisingly, but it didn’t deter you from trying to mold yourself to him. Your much softer figure held in his arms so gently it made a new wave of tears threaten to spill for all new reasons. You straddled him, front flush against his own, as you struggled to accept that you were being held right now.

“This?” His voice so close to your ear had a strange tingling sensation move from your neck down your spine. The shiver didn’t go unnoticed, as his hold tightened and pressed you further against him. It wasn’t necessarily the most pleasant way to be held, but it was many times better than nothing. You nodded against him, mumbling out a soft good as you basked in a moment of joy you hadn’t experienced in what seemed like forever. It felt good to be held.

It felt even better when his hand moved and brushed through your hair. His touch light and careful, and you could imagine how he was noting every little detail of your reactions. The shivers and little sighs you released as he continued to just pet, touch, and hold you.

For once, you dreaded him stopping.

Even as your eyes grew heavy and body went limp in his arms, you dreaded when this would end. If you could just figure a way to keep him like this, you could envision your life being bearable.

“Fei” you didn’t make any effort to move.

“Hmm” his chest vibrated a little with his hum.

“Can I sleep with you?” It didn’t take a genius to realize your question caused him to tense. His muscles tightening up and panic seeping into your system as you worry this took it too far. You both slept separately unless absolutely necessary, something you used to be grateful for and now hated. It was always freezing when you slept, no matter how warm it actually was.

You might’ve ruined his grace, overstepped if anything, but you needed to stay close to him physically. It wasn’t a want anymore but a necessity.

“Yes” his word both shocked and elated you, and with a few more gentle pats in his arms, you were asleep.

Your cunt throbbed and ached, your lower belly pulled tight inside like a string about to snap. You tried closing your legs, whining as the hot wet sensation continued despite the light struggle you began to put up. It felt good, whatever dream you were having, even as the scent of mint and soap surrounded you.

Small whimpers and gasps became heavy panting as you felt raw heavy pleasure blossom in your core. Something prodded your entrance, wiggling bit by bit till you were penetrated and stretched on something long and hard. It moved and rubbed inside you. The warm pressure on your clit only pulling you further.

It was heaven, even as a slight burn inside had you back to whining and arching your back as your cunt stretched to allow something else inside. Fingers?

The thought was gone as the pleasure radiated throughout your whole body.

It wouldn’t be the first wet dream you’d had, but it was the most realistic. The hot breath on your sensitive clit and twitching insides felt real, and the pleasure was so crisp. Your hands curled into the sheets, struggling between sleep and the impending orgasm threatening to take you.

Your eyes popped open as you came, body twisting as a sharp moan punctuated the air.

You were awake and finally realizing this wasn’t a delusion or dream. Someone was lapping at your cunt, your thighs held open and pinned by two pale hands. The sensitivity and slight bewilderment of the situation had you struggling to form a coherent thought.

“Fei-Feitan…?” If there was one thing you knew with perfect certainty, it was that he’d never leave you alone long enough for someone to find you and do this. It couldn’t be anyone else. Though the fact he was doing this was even more incomprehensible. He seemed so disgusted by touch, so detached from human emotions, it really never occurred to you that he’d have normal human urges. He was still lapping at your cunt, even as your eyes locked with his own, even darker in the barely lit room you realized was his own. You were in his bed, with his head buried between your legs, and his eyes locked on you.

“Fei!” A weaker orgasm than the first was torn from you as you came again, sensitivity skyrocketing when he still continued to lick and suck on your clit. The room was spinning slightly, and your naked body began to cool a little as you sweat. He’d stripped you. He must’ve, but things weren’t really connecting in your mind as white hot pleasure was turning mildly painful.

“Too much!” You gasped and you had to force your hands to stay tangled in the sheet to not touch him. Your eyes watered and you made a pitiful sight with your darkening cheeks and open panting mouth. As your back arched to avoid his mouth, a sharp slap to your outer thigh had you yelping in pain.

His eyes narrowed, and it wasn’t hard to see he became annoyed with your squirming.

“Shut up.” His tone was low, no room for arguing or protest as you bit your lip to do as you were told. Trembling under him as he raised up to stare down at you between your spread legs. He looked gorgeous, something you hated to admit. His dark hair mildly tussled and pale skin a little flushed, his signature jacket gone. This wasn’t the first you’d seen his naked chest, but it was certainly a rare occasion. His pants were still on but unbuttoned. His lips were the most sinful aspect, still glossy from your release. It was agonizing to be silent.

You should cry and beg for him to stop.

Instead you found your legs spreading just a bit wider as you looked up at him like he was your personal deity.

Debauched.

His slow and condescending smirk only made your breathing harder, chest tightening with anticipation and lust. He snorted, hand moving to spread your cunt open as he spit on it. You were panting now, barely following his order to stay quiet. It was difficult when you wanted to beg, for more, for him, to be touched.

“This what you wanted? Whore.” His crude words didn’t make this any less arousing, especially as he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock free. He was larger than you’d have ever expected, though it hardly mattered as he lined himself up and began pushing into your unused hole. Despite the wetness and prep, it was slightly painful as he filled you. The heaviness inside coupled with the burn was delicious as your hips moved to take more of him, deeper. You couldn’t help the moan, the way your body shook and hands finally moved to touch him.

He was fast in securing both your wrists in one hand to pin above your head, his hips finally kissing the back of your thighs. You felt him twitch inside you, and it drove you wild.

“Please Fei, oh-!” His hand came down on your thigh again, before he pulled his hips back and slammed into you. Your head goes back as you arch into him and moan louder, as he begins a brutal pace that has your chest moving in rhythm with his thrusts. His tip kissing your cervix has you unwinding into a submissive mess of whining and pleas. You didn’t even know what you were begging for.

You either annoyed or aroused him further when he sneered and used his free hand to grip your jaw, thankfully not roughly as it ached nonetheless, forcing you to open wide before spitting into your mouth. He laughed when you clenched down harder, feeling the coil in your stomach tightening again as the pleasure increased.

“Pretty slut likes being my bitch.” He hardly seemed out of breath despite how hard you were panting. You felt a bit unfair at how unfazed he seemed, but similarly proud at how he gazed down at you. Like you made him pleased. His gaze wasn’t sharp, even bordering on warm despite how roughly he was fucking into you. All you could do was moan his name and beg.

Like a good little pet.

You could feel your orgasm coming again, and you’d meant to tell him, but his lips against yours shocked you silly. You didn’t even bother closing your mouth, Feitan easily slipping his tongue inside and kissing you so sensually it had you coming on his cock. You could only whine into his mouth as his speed picked up and you became overwhelmed.

He pulled away as a string of saliva connected you two for a moment before breaking. He licked his lips before focusing on where the two of you were joined. Watching his cock disappear in your sopping wet little cunt. It was filthy and erotic.

“Pathetic” his words were cruel but he looked beyond pleased as he looked at your fucked out expression. Unable to even form words as he continued to bully your poor pussy. It was laughable to him, how sweet you are now, how obedient and submissive you’ve finally become. All that fight and control gone, and in its place you lay now.

He’d never tell you out loud how perfect you are. How absolutely precious he finds your attempts to run away from all the pleasure he’s giving you.

His training has been worth while, making you everything he wants and more. Though he’d hated the power you held over him, having you now, moaning as he drills your cunt and begging for more, takes away the shame. You were his weren’t you? Then anything he wanted to do was fine, it wasn’t shameful to fuck his toy. Especially when she whined and arched her back up to take him in even deeper, when she cried and came again around him.

Feitan saw you as much more than a measly pet. Those were replaceable. No, you were just his, whatever he wants you to be, but still his. That’s why when he wraps his hand around your pretty neck and squeezes, he’s beyond thrilled at how you relax. You throw caution to the wind and give him everything. He’s not cutting off oxygen, but enough blood flow and air to keep you light headed and disoriented.

“Who do you belong to?” He knows you can hardly tell up from down right now. He knows how good he’s fucking you. Reducing you to this beautiful mess of feeling only. He’s still him though, and it brings him only pleasure to add in another few painful smacks to your bruising thighs. “Answer slut” he asks again, being thrown for a power trip as you choke out, “You!” to him.

His balls tightening signal he’s close, and the thought alone is enough to amuse him.

“Going to cum inside.” His words don’t register immediately to you, he can tell, but it seems all reality isn’t gone from you when your eyes widen.

“I-I- pregnant! I’ll get-“ he cuts you off with a chuckle, hand squeezing your throat enough to shut you up as he savors the sounds of wet squelching echoing in tune with his thrusts.

“My personal cock sleeve doesn’t get to talk.” The struggle you put up is worthless, but entertaining as he really does cum inside you, a soft grunt his only indication of release and overwhelming pleasure. Emptying himself inside and filling you with him. Marking you, painting you inside, signally you belong to him in every way now.

You lay exhausted and sore in his bed, cold as the various liquids dry on your skin and Feitan leaves.

Where he goes it doesn’t matter. You let yourself lay for a little longer before deciding it’s best not to anger him by staying in his space. You move to sit up, wincing as your intimate areas ache, but pushing forward nonetheless to get cleaned up and change his sheets and any mess left behind.

You hate the hollow ache in your chest the most. You look at your thighs to see his cum leaking out of you, and a sliver of dread echoes in your mind that you truly could become pregnant. The possibilities too much for you to handle right now, as you shakily slide off the bed to stand on wobbly legs. He could be back any moment, and it’s best you get to work early. You work on removing the sheets, just as the bedroom door opens to reveal a fresh Feitan, his signature jacket in place as he holds a glass of water.

“What are you doing?” His question is asked in a slightly lower tone that usual, and you quickly freeze in place.

“I-I’m cleaning up…?” You don’t mean to sound hesitant, but this situation is new and will require months of careful inquisition to avoid punishment under his hand. You knew better than to continue any task without his go ahead though.

You stand in silence as he observes you with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Come here” his order is curt, and while it terrifies you, you are quick to stumble over to him despite still being naked and filthy. You hate how badly you must look, barely able to walk while he is up and about his usual day as if nothing even happened. To him maybe nothing did happen, this being just the same as making a sandwich, and you wished the thought didn’t hurt. Maybe this would just be a new pain to live with, and the sooner you accepted that, the better your pathetic existence would be.

You stand just before him, fingers twisting around each other as you stay with your head bowed to stare at his feet while you concentrated on staying upright despite how difficult it felt for your hips and legs to support you.

“Not hard enough?” His words confused you, as you peaked up beneath your lashes to look at him curiously.

“I-I don’t understand…”

“Didn’t fuck you hard enough?” You froze in shock and slight fear, because what did that mean? He fucked you too hard in your personal opinion, and your poor slit agreed.

“Y-you did though…?” You were unsure of what was happening, his gaze not giving anything away.

“Get back on the bed. I didn’t say I was done with you.” Your eyes widened, taking a moment too long to register what he said before his foot took a step closer to you and you scrambled back onto the sheet-less bed in a panic. He paused, observing you again, before tilting his head.

“Next time I’m done with you, don’t move” he’s undoing his pants again, and moving towards you.

“I’ll fuck you good this time.” His words menacing and mean, and you’re left with little wiggle room as he closes in.

It’s his job after all to clean you up and piece you back together, and if you can fix yourself when he’s done, he clearly didn’t a good job the first round.

#HxH #18+ please #Hunter x Hunter #Feitan Porter #Feitan x reader #mdni #Feitan smut #Feitan fic #not edited sorry not sorry #soft! Feitan #yandere Feitan #Yan! Feitan #Phantom Troupe #Yandere Phantom Troupe

[holydayaria]

Risktaker

Feitan x Reader

Synopsis: Feitan takes your relationship further.

Warnings: yandere feitan, afab reader, heavy dubcon, very unsexy smut

3.6k words... this was supposed to be done by kinktober, not proofread i just wanted to get this out of my drafts... i should probably proofread my stuff though lmao

The basement is, as always, poorly lit. The dim light bulb hanging from the middle of the room provides enough light to see, but not enough to make the room look flattering. Then again, any additional light would show off the scratches on the floor and the dried blood splatter that Feitan hadn’t bothered to clean up. He thinks it sets the tone of his basement quite nicely. Two flies, now dead, have somehow been caught in the light bulb. Sometimes when you see them in the corner of your eyes, you swear that they’re still alive.

The mattress you were given, at the very least, is free from blood stains or other bodily fluids. It’s just comfortable enough that your neck isn’t aching whenever you wake up. You’ve gotten used to this by now, not that it was comfortable for you. After what had to have been a minimum of three, possibly four months, the constant of waking up in a dingy at-home torture dungeon did wear you down. You don’t tremble or even bother trying to reason with Feitan, or so much as ask questions when he stands before you. Sometimes you think he’s gotten less scary in the time you’ve been forced to get to know him, and other times you think that he can read your mind. 

It’s as if the moment you think that maybe things aren’t so bad, or that maybe the cumbersome relationship between you two (if it could even be called that) is improving, Feitan comes down the stairs to his basement with a deranged plan for the day. He never lets you get comfortable, always keeping you on your toes. Sometimes he’d hand you the scalpel and have you cut into whoever was unlucky enough to be tied down in the lone chair in the basement; other times you’re left to do the cleanup of his torture session. Today though, he comes with a demand that seems almost uncharacteristic, unbecoming of him.

“Your clothes. Take it off.”

Feitan says, staring you down. You look back up at him, dumbfounded. Well, you should have expected this to happen. Waking up in a strange man’s basement, on a dingy mattress with your ankle chained to the wall, this must have been inevitable. If anything, you should be surprised it took him so long to do this. There’s a long pause and Feitan’s affect remains flat. He has no intention of asking again, he’s just waiting for you to do what he says. You both stare at each other in silence, you wondering if he’s serious and him wondering what’s taking you so long.

You reluctantly strip, removing the loose-fitting shirt and the shorts he gave you, left only in your underwear– because the thought of offering you a bra never crossed his mind. The clothes are discarded on the mattress, you’d rather not put them on the dirty floor. You attempt to keep some dignity, covering your exposed chest with your arm. In the back of your mind, you wonder if this means he’s going to kill you soon. Once he’s gotten what he wants, he won’t have a reason to keep you around. 

“Your arm, down.”

So much for that.

You lower your arm to your side, your bare chest left on display. Each and every of your muscles are tense, and your body is as stiff as a board. The coldness of the basement is felt tenfold without your clothes, and you shiver both from the temperature and the nervousness, embarrassment, fear. It becomes harder to maintain eye contact, and you quickly give up when his gaze stops meeting yours. His eyes go from your face to your chest, then further down, then upwards to settle on your torso. It’s as if he isn’t sure where to look first. Still, his stare is ever piercing and he almost looks bored. Uninterested, even. You don’t miss the way his breathing picks up a little. 

Feitan does not act nor does he speak. He makes no indication at all of what he’s feeling, though if he didn’t have his cowl, the faintest of grins would be visible. He doesn’t make any move to remove his clothes or initiate anything, so you’re led to believe that all he wanted to do was ogle you. Perhaps this is a new form of torture he’s come up with, leaving you humiliated and cold. 

He continues his leering, Feitan inhales sharply with a visible rise and fall of his chest. Beneath his cowl, his jaw clenches and unclenches. His fingers itch to touch you, to feel your warm flesh flush against the palm of his hand. Something holds him back, you can see his brows furrow and a strange look crossing his features. After a long few moments, Feitan, as per usual, leaves without a word. You’re left to guess when he’s coming back and if you should put your clothes back on. The door leading to the basement is shut behind him, and the light that came from above is also gone.

-

Feitan leans against the bathroom wall, his forehead resting against the wall while he pumps his cock in his fist. He couldn’t be bothered to get any lotion, he’s relying on the spit in his hand to ease the friction. He lets out a few ragged breaths, his cowl lowered now. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and he keeps the mental image of you at the forefront of his mind. You looked soft, he should have touched you. Your skin seemed so easy to break, so easy to draw blood from. Damn you, damn you, and all you’ve done to him. He wants to rip you to shreds.

He stifles a gasp and bites down hard on his lower lip, squeezing his cock and trying to imagine it was your hand instead of his own. That instead of his own palm, it’d be your mouth he’d be releasing his load into. You'd be looking up at him— no, you’d be blindfolded. You’d be obedient, just taking it like you were supposed to. You’d be happy, eager, you’d want this. You’d want him. 

The man’s mind begins to wander. Were you a virgin? He could teach you, if you were, (not that Feitan had much knowledge in that area). He could mold you into whatever he wanted. Or were you experienced? Did you have more experience than him? It would certainly take some of the pressure off of him, but it also makes him feel sick to think about another man, balls deep inside of you. It’s enough to almost kill his mood.

Almost.

A low whimper comes from the back of his throat, and the foreign, warm feeling coiled up in his lower abdomen begins to unravel. Feitan cums in his hand, thick and white. It’s a lot, he hasn’t jacked off in a while. A wave of disgust washes over him when he looks at his cum, staining his hand and dripping from his fingers. He, with little grace, zips up his pants with his clean hand before washing away the shame on his other in the sink.

-

The following days, your contact with Feitan was sparse. More so than usual. You hadn’t caught a single glimpse of him, the only reason you knew he hadn’t forgotten about you is because you’d wake up with a small bottle of water and the minimum requirement of food for the day. You’d heard him coming down once, the basement door creaking open and light flooding into the room, even with your eyes closed you could tell. You pretended to be asleep for his sake (and yours).

He comes round to the mattress, lightly kicking it with his boot. “Get up.” You don’t bother keeping up the fake sleep. You notice that today, he isn’t wearing his cowl or the cloak that covered most of his body. Instead, it’s just a plain black long-sleeve. You sit up on the mattress, still wearing the same clothes from a few days ago. You wait for him to tell you to get up, to follow him for a bath. Instead, Feitan once again instructs you to take your clothes off. So, with much hesitation, you do.

Rather than only staring at your chest, Feitan’s eyes drift down to your underwear. “That too.” It makes your heart sink, but a foolishly hopeful thought comes to your mind. Maybe he was just going to stare at you some more? This wouldn’t be the end of it, but there was still a chance he wouldn’t actually touch you, right? It’s not exactly like you have an option here, he was most likely going to tear off your undergarments himself if you didn’t comply. So, you do what he says, in a painfully slow manner to delay the embarrassment. Your legs are tightly held together, knees to your chest. 

Feitan sits on the mattress with you, killing any notion that ‘looking’ was all he wanted to do. You’re awfully compliant, not that you’ve ever acted out in a major way. It furthers his confidence that you, on some level, must want this too. He’s sat in front of you, and with slight effort, pries your legs apart without a word. You swallow thickly, palms sweaty and your entire body wanting to shut him out. You can’t do this, you won’t. Feitan makes eye contact with you as he pushes your legs apart just enough for him to see his prize. “Calm down. It won’t hurt.” He’s trying to be reassuring, you think. You can’t say it doesn’t help, he hasn’t pulled out some awful tool to mutilate you with. Not yet, anyways. 

He says nothing more, his eyes going over everything he sees. He brings a cold finger of his to your folds, feeling around in a clinical manner. His fingers traipse your most sensitive area, feeling as much as he can with an almost juvenile curiosity. You squirm when his sharpened nail presses against your skin, letting out a small noise. The corners of Feitan’s lips twitch to a grin, and you don’t know if it’s because he likes causing you discomfort or if he thinks he’s doing a good job. His other hand rests firmly on your knee, steadying your leg so you don’t try to shut him out. 

His touch isn’t as sensual as it is exploratory, his fingers touching each fold and sharply contrasting the coldness of his hand to the warmth of your core. You’re far too put off and panicky to tell him anything, to try to guide his hand to the right place. Maybe you should just let him figure it out, assuming he ever will. There’s a lingering fear that he’ll suddenly plunge his fingers in, or he’ll cut you with his long nails, accidentally or otherwise. 

Your face, your ears, and the back of your neck burn hot with shame. The only person who's seen your vagina outside of you and your chosen sexual partners has been your gynecologist, and Feitan is feeling a lot more like the latter than the former. You clench your teeth together, not wanting to let out a single peep if you can help it. His cold fingers run over your clitoris, only briefly. He starts to feel and rub at what he thinks is your clit. You don’t have it in you to say anything. 

Sooner than you expected, Feitan stops. You take in a sharp breath when Feitan puts two fingers inside you. His gaze quickly flicks up from between your legs and to your face. “Does it hurt?” He asks, not moving his fingers. You don’t know what to tell him, if you say yes, he might make it hurt more. If you say no, he still might make it hurt more. You try to suck it up, struggling to meet his gaze out of embarrassment. “No.” You murmur meekly.

“Liar.” Feitan huffs, now avoiding your gaze. He moves his fingers in and out of you slowly, giving you time to adjust to the feeling. His ears strain to hear any noise you make. Any breath in or out, any whimpering or mewling, a moan, even. You do your best to keep quiet, jaw clenched. Feitan wants to ask you if you’ve done this before, if you’re a virgin or not. You’d bleed if you were, that’s how that works, isn’t it? He doesn’t trust himself to be able to hide his reaction, regardless of what your answer is.

He comes to a stop, pulling his fingers out. They’re warm and slightly wet, which is good enough for him. You think it’s over, he’s never gone this far. Surely he’ll leave now, give you a few days to comprehend what’s going on, and then he’ll come back to do it again. Instead, Feitan begins to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. You finally find your voice, wide eyes staring at his narrowed ones. “Feitan.” You choke out, as if just speaking up will make him stop. He looks at you, seeing the fear in your eyes. Usually, he’d relish it. Right now, though, he doesn’t like it. 

“Lie down, or I make it hurt.”

That’s all you need. You lie flat on the mattress, legs still parted while trying to come to terms with what’s happening. He’s going to rape you, for God knows how long. You try to convince yourself that this will be fine. He’s done worse, right? No, no he hasn’t. He’s dumped cold water on your head during baths when you moved too much while he washed you. He’s forced you to watch and join in on some torture sessions, but your participation hardly lasted more than five minutes, or however long it took for him to get annoyed with your crying and sniveling. He’s leered at you and stared in ways that could be described as lecherous before. But he’s never touched you in a perverse way until now, and the idea of Feitan forcing himself on you seemed abstract to you. Not that you never thought it would happen, but over the months, it just didn’t seem likely. Feitan speaks up again, this is the most talkative he’s been… ever.

“Don’t be scared. I’ll be nice.”

That sentence alone makes your stomach lurch. You can see his dick from this angle, and the thin, wiry black pubes that come with it. With minimal warning, Feitan inserts himself into you after aligning his hips with yours. You let out a gasp from the intrusion, hands clenched into a fist as you’re forced to take him. Feitan isn’t particularly big or girthy, but it isn’t welcome regardless. He brings himself from his haunches and is now on top of you, albeit a bit awkwardly. Your noses are just inches away from each other, and if Feitan wasn’t still so hesitant to be intimate with you he might have leaned his forehead against yours. 

Feitan lets out a brief, incredibly stifled whimper when he’s gone as far as he can go, You’re so warm, too warm, too tight. You almost wonder if you were just hearing things, if that noise really came from him. His nails dig into your upper arms as he steadies himself, unintentionally drawing blood from how tight his hold on you is. You wince, gasping from how hard he’s holding onto you and his sudden intrusion. You’re barely wet enough to take him, but not without discomfort. 

“Feitan-“ You can’t keep your mouth shut any longer. It’s uncomfortable, it hurts. “Be quiet.” He says, unwilling to hear your complaints, should they ruin his fantasy. You take in a shaky breath, stifling a noise of discontent at how much friction there is. Feitan pipes up again, trying to sound less irritable for your sake. This won’t be enjoyable for either of you if you’re this tense. “Relax.” He says, in a somewhat nicer tone. It hardly helps, but you want to believe that he’s not actively trying to hurt you.

For a fleeting moment, you’re both left to catch your breaths, trying to adjust to the changes. Feitan's eyes, which for a second had softened unwillingly, hardened as his gaze met yours, scanning your face for something you couldn’t quite place your finger on. He can see it on your face that you’re a lot more than just apprehensive. You’re afraid, a look that he’s overly familiar with. You try not to make a face, to not let your disgust and terror show. You don’t know what to say, and Feitan seems to be content with staying silent. Slowly, he begins to thrust in and out, trying to find a good rhythm. He’s incredibly slow at first, not wanting to overwhelm himself and lose control. Meanwhile, you try to think of something else. Anything else. 

You think about your old job. You weren’t fond of it at the time, now you’d do anything to go back. Anything for human interaction with someone that wasn’t an antisocial sadist. You’d give up all you had to go back to your old apartment; your apartment that never had hot water, only lukewarm. At least you could have taken a shower whenever you damn pleased, and ate any meal you wanted whenever you felt like it. Now, you were a house pet confined to this man’s basement at best, and a future victim to his assortment of tools at worst. Feitan continues rocking his hips back and forth at a steady pace, occasional low whines that he can’t quite keep hidden resonating in the back of his throat. You pretend not to hear anything.

You realize at some point that you’re not going to cum from this. It had been in the back of your mind, now at the forefront. Likewise, you knew from the beginning this wasn’t going to be an enjoyable experience. Still, expressing that to your incredibly violent kidnapper probably isn’t a good idea. To his credit, you were worried that sex with him would be extremely rough or involve you getting teeth or fingernails pulled. Just glancing over his shoulder, you can see an assortment of hardware tools and medical instruments hanging on a pegboard on the opposing wall. He used those on many people, and threatened to use them on you. You can see a roach scuttle up the wall and onto the pegboard. The unsexy atmosphere is making this entire ordeal worse. At least Feitan’s enjoying himself.

You bite down on your lower lip, reluctant to let any noise of pain escape. You grit and try to bear it, looking off to the side. You would have thought Feitan would reprimand you in some way, but he seems comfortable with not making eye contact right now. You try to relax, but suddenly he’s picking up the pace. Feitan starts to go faster, faster than you’re comfortable with. Your breath catches in your throat, and Feitan takes the noises you make as encouragement. Surely he’s doing the right thing. 

It hurts, and he only seems to be speeding up. You can hear him over you, panting. You can see your old apartment if you visualize hard enough, you can taste the day-old spaghetti on your tongue. The pained moans leaving you are mistaken for ones of enjoyment. He doesn’t say anything, but you get the feeling that he’s close. You pray to whatever God is out there that he won’t want to go for a second round.

He suddenly leans down and bites down on your shoulder, clinging to you with a harsher grip. You shriek, His toes curl, and he shudders slightly, not bothering to pull out when he cums inside of you. You can feel it, warm and filling, seeping into the parts of you that Feitan couldn’t. Feitan flops on top of you, his head dips to rest on the crook of your neck, and he swallows thickly as he comes down from his high. Feitan doesn’t look at you, keeping his head low. He bites the inside of his cheek, knowing he’ll need to get you a contraceptive of some sort. The last thing he wants is to get you knocked up because he couldn’t pull out fast enough. The entire act couldn’t have been more than seven minutes, nine if you’re being generous. It felt like it could have been three hours. 

After a long few minutes, Feitan moves and pulls himself out of you. He still is laying on top of you, head resting just below yours. He looks down, narrowing his eyes. So you were a virgin, he thinks. There are a few flecks of blood, on him and you. He takes it as a sign of you tearing from the penetration, not from him relentlessly thrusting in and out without proper lubrication. There’s a quiet moment that you two share, and you can feel Feitan staring at you. You keep your gaze on the ceiling, overlooking his shoulder, feeling numb and out of your body. Feitan’s breathing is audible, and he doesn’t move away from you; though he doesn’t move closer either. The roach has crawled onto the ceiling now. You focus on that instead of Feitan’s weight on top of you.

You’re both sweaty and tired, skin clinging to skin. You can’t see the bite mark on your shoulder, but it stings, and you think you’re bleeding. Feitan knows he needs to get up soon and tend to the wound he made on your shoulder. He’d give you a bath while he was at it, maybe he could join you. For now, though, he just wants to close his eyes for a few minutes.

#_hxh #_feitan #feitan x reader #yandere feitan #yandere feitan x reader #yandere hxh #hxh x reader #yandere

[digital-domain]

slip

Feitan x Reader drabble // word count 1.5k

In which you dream about someone you shouldn’t, and talk in your sleep.

Tags/Warnings: yandere, kidnapped reader, mention of blood and gore (past and imagined), knives, implied noncon, implied threat of death (to reader), implied murder (not reader), reader is gonna be fucked up over this forever

A/N: first time writing this man, not sure how I feel about it but it’s either post or stare at it forever

As always - 18+, read the tags, if you don’t like the tags then don’t go below the cut. Thank you and enjoy.

There is a knife against your throat, and you barely know how it got there, much less why. You didn’t do anything. Didn’t run, didn’t try to shove your tormentor away, didn’t tell him that you wished he was dead, or worse. You wouldn’t have had the time to do these things, even if you wanted to. You hadn't been awake for a second before his hand stirred from where it had lain on your waist. And now - the blade twitches, slightly. It doesn’t press quite hard enough to make you bleed, but certainly enough to make you picture what would happen if it did. If it kept going, long past the point where red rivulets stained the threadbare sheets beneath you.

A small noise escapes your mouth. You get nothing in response. It takes time for Feitan to speak, when there’s something on his mind.

It’s taking too long, even for him.

Last night, you thought you were safe. He kissed you, after meticulously washing a stranger’s blood out from beneath his nails. He watched you fall asleep, kept a hand on you until exhaustion finally forced you to nod off in the early hours of the morning. The strange affection he gives you is worse than any cruelty you could imagine, but not nearly as bad as the thought that somehow, you’ve managed to lose it. There are no words in your mind, now, only scattered images of what might happen, what you might become, the barely-recognizable thing strewn out across the floor -

“What were you dreaming about?” Feitan’s voice is dull and quiet, as always. Like he’s asking you this over breakfast, and not on what could be your deathbed.

You don’t remember, and you don’t answer. There is no air left for you to speak. 

“What were you dreaming about?” he repeats. It’s almost the same voice, but there’s a hint of urgency, now. The barest hint - but you’ve grown used to interpreting the faint indications he gives you. “Talk.”

“I don’t”- You gasp, but seem to take in nothing. “-don’t remember”-

“You were talking when you were sleeping.” 

Statements like these are dangerous. He expects you to understand what he means, always. He does not like to elaborate.

“I…” You screw your eyes shut, try to forget where you are just enough to remember where you were. “It was night. In the dream. And I was…” Oh. No. You can’t say that part out loud. Never, ever, ever. When you open your eyes, your vision is blurry. They close once more, of their own accord. “I was sitting with someone. Talking.” Someone. Someone has no face, no name - you pray that he’ll let you leave it at that. That he won’t ask for more.

“You said…” His face is close to the back of your neck, and yet, you cannot feel his breath on your skin. “When you were sleeping, you said I love you.”

Your stomach threatens to infringe upon your throat. You curse your sleeping mind for giving you something beautiful to dream of, and for letting it slip out of your mouth. Beautiful things do not survive here, and your mouth is always better kept shut. 

“Who?” 

You’d think, in your present situation, that you wouldn’t have enough room in your head to feel terrified for anyone else. But you do. Terrified enough to try something stupid. 

You’re sure Feitan can feel the tension in your body, the instinctual way it readies itself for a fight (you would lose instantly) or an attempt at escape (you wouldn’t make it an inch). “It wasn’t about”- you choke on your own breath, try again. “It wasn’t about anyone real. Just a dream-person.”

“Bad liar,” he accuses. You do not protest. It was pointless to try. 

And yet, you try again. You know that your answer matters. Enough for you to force more lies across the blade that still presses against your skin. “Someone I used to date. A long time ago.” Really, it was only a few weeks before Feitan….found you that things ended. But time is subjective - it certainly feels like a long time has passed since then. 

“Oh.” If he suspects that you’re lying again, he doesn’t say it. But he does tend to leave a lot of things unsaid. 

“He”- You suck in a breath as the knife twitches again. The movement is not an accident. It’s never an accident - his hands are unnaturally steady, when he wants them to be. “He ended things. I don’t think he thinks about me anymore.” This needs to be true. He needs to believe that it’s true, or-

“But you still think about him.” 

Your stomach churns. “It was just a dream.” Technically not a lie, either. You’d have to say no for it to be a lie.

Feitan pauses for a moment. You’d have expected him to be furious, to take this out on you in some unimaginably awful way. Instead you hear a single sigh, feel it soft against your skin. “He let you go.” He sounds almost confused, his muted voice drawn out just enough to make his resentment clear. The knife turns slightly, and this time, you’re not sure if it was on purpose. “He must be stupid.”

You bite down on the inside of your lip, sharp and hard enough to tear a bit of the lining away. It’s awful when he says these things. Words that could be sweet, if you removed everything around them.

“I can’t control what I dream about,” you whisper, almost too quiet to be heard. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” He withdraws the blade, swings his feet off the bed - the floor, decrepit as it is, should creak when he stands, but it never does. “You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

You know better than to be relieved, so you turn over, to your other side, and fix your gaze on the floor. Watch him carefully, indirectly. You listen, your breath almost as silent as his, as he picks up his jacket from the end of your bed, puts it on. 

And he smiles. His face is covered, but you see it in his eyes. “I can figure out the rest.” 

The rest. 

Your heart hammers, but your blood stands still. Frozen in your veins. You know why he’s put on his jacket. Why he’s leaving. Where he’s going.

The knife still dangling from Feitan’s hand catches a shard of your reflection, a smudged picture of a terrified eye that disappears before you can look any closer.

The rest. Name, face, address - all too easy. There are clues in your confiscated possessions, in the place where you used to live. 

It’s as if the knife is still held to your throat. No. It’s as if your skin has already broken beneath it. You do not think in words. You think in gory pictures, infinitely clearer than the haze you see before forcing your eyes shut. Your blood, mixing with what you’re sure will be on that blade by day’s end. Skin-gushing-red-bones-out-something being buried, dirty hands returning to you, staining your face, your clothes, the things underneath, silent breath coming alive, painfully soft in your ear -

You open your eyes. You want to scream at him to stop, to stay. But your mouth stays shut.

“I won’t draw it out.” For a moment, he looks down, and you swear you see his face color. Like he’s said something overly sweet, and can barely stand it. “I promise.”

It’s enough to make it real. Enough to unseal your lips. “Don’t…” You should be yelling. But it’s all you can do, finding enough strength to make a near-silent, desperate appeal. “Please. You don’t have to. I’m not going to - to run. To him or anyone else. I’m not gonna do anything. I don’t - it was just a dream…”

“Stop.” His smile drops, eyes narrow. Voice even quieter than usual, deathly calm.

You go silent. Perfectly still.

“If you keep trying to save him, I’ll break my word. I already want to.” 

You forget how to breathe. 

This can’t be a choice you have to make. This can’t be in your hands. There are words in your head, finally, and you can’t say them. 

You have to say them.

“I’m sorry.” 

"Okay." He stares at you for far too long, unblinking. For seconds, or maybe hours, or maybe days - they’re all the same, to you, now. “It’s okay.”

No. He is unforgivably wrong. Nothing will ever be okay again. You’re in some other world, in your mind, and it’s going to take more than you have to yank you out of it. 

You can barely see him in front of you. His voice reverberates strangely in your head. But when he moves, it’s like your senses pull themselves together. You realize that your eyes are wet, that a tear is rolling down the bridge of your nose, that you can breathe after all, but only in ragged gasps…

“You look…nice…when you cry.” He drops his gaze once more, tugs up on the cloth that covers his face. His smile is back, creasing the corners of his eyes, and it is the ugliest thing you have ever seen. “Wonder if he thought that, too.”

#feitan x reader #yandere feitan #tw blood #tw yandere #tw kidnapping #tw violent imagery #tw implied noncon #tw implied murder

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Feitan Portor General Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, murder, mentions of torture, mentions of Feitan carving his initial into you, mentions of masturbation, stalking, jealousy, threats, Feitan tortures a man in front of you, I stand by the (semi) soft creepy yandere Feitan agenda and I will not be swayed otherwise, this got super long I'm so sorry, I'm also delirious as I'm writing it so hopefully it makes coherent sense/is consistent, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

DARLING PROFILE:

Empathetic

In general, Feitan finds his attention drawn by a darling who is almost the complete opposite of himself.

He wants someone sweet and caring, all soft and squishy and warm. He’s never found this particularly attractive before meeting his darling, but there’s something oddly endearing about the way they’re always trying to help those around them, fruitlessly asking them to vent about their feelings, to use them as a supportive shoulder. 

It makes him scoff, rolling his eyes and wondering at how impossibly naive his darling can be, but even he can’t deny how nice it is to have someone by his side, a human presence that’s steady and calm and understanding. It makes him feel good, a warm sensation bottling up in his chest and threatening to explode out, and although he’ll never really come clean with how he feels for you (at least, he never will verbally), a darling who can kind of read his rather emotionless face would be a very, very big attraction for him. 

He just wants a darling who can understand him, even if his rational brain loathes the idea. An empathetic darling is sure to draw his attention, if only because he’ll be mildly revolted and intrigued by how they can be so selfless and so foolish. 

Submissive 

Feitan doesn’t want a feisty darling. 

He doesn’t enjoy having to tame his lovers, and although he’s never really had a lover, he gravitates towards someone who is more naturally submissive and willing to follow direction. 

He already feels powerless enough in the situation, frustrated that he doesn’t really have any say in how he feels. It scares him, quite honestly, if only because he doesn’t like how easily and quickly he’s jumping to conclusions where his darling is concerned, more than willing to jump through any hoop necessary in order to get what he wants, in order to make sure his darling is safe and isolated from every other man on Earth. 

He likes knowing that his darling will do what he tells them to; it builds a layer of trust that makes Feitan go feral, and for every ounce of trust his darling gives him, he’ll try to return it as full heartedly as he can. He likes that he’s fully in control of his darling, and particularly if they were to be submissive in more… intimate aspects of the relationship, he’d be absolutely smitten.

He just wants his darling to revere him and believe his word as the word of God, and the moment that happens? 

He’s only falling deeper into obsession, his desperation for them growing with every beat of his heart, getting harder and harder to swallow until he gives up, jumping head first into every swirling, dark, lecherous desire he harbors. 

Soft

Of course, Feitan’s darling doesn’t have to have a softer body, but he can’t deny that there’s something enticing about a darling who is physically quite soft. Whether that’s rounder features, a plumper figure, or even a soft, demure voice, it all entrances Feitan. 

His darling is something of a dream to him, because he’s never really believed that someone that stereotypically weak could ever really survive in this world. He likes how his darling feels, the touches he sneaks late at night when they’re sleeping sending sparks up his spine and serving as fuel for when he’s unbearably horny, his hand around his cock not nearly enough. 

He’s prone to fantasizing about his darling, slipping into daydreams of his they’d feel in his lap, how they’d look with their ass up and face pressed into the mattress, how they’d feel so good wrapped around him. He just thinks it’s oddly endearing, and a darling who fits these characteristics would help initially draw his eye - he just thinks they’re pretty, a polar opposite to him, even going so far as to playing into some of his more protective traits. 

Of course, he’d rather die than admit any of it, but he’s interally a bit soft for his darling - they’re just alluring in an almost primal way he can’t describe, but he can’t fight it. He can’t fight anything when it comes to his darling, as it turns out, and soon Feitan will decide that he doesn’t care. 

After all, once his darling steps into his life and stays there, nothing at all matters - how can it, when he’s decided that they’re his, his woman to keep and admire and touch and fuck? 

(It will take him a very, very long time to get comfortable with either of the last two options, but the desire and sentiment is still there, if the frequent raging erections he gets as a result of his darling is any indicator.)

Talkative 

This trait is one of the things Feitan loves and hates most about his darling. 

He enjoys listening to them talk; he himself isn’t particularly fond of conversation, nor is he particularly talkative towards his darling in general. And so, a partner who is capable of filling the silence between them sometimes is something that makes Feitan grateful, if only because hearing the sound of their voice makes his breath hitch. 

And when they talk to him, all their attention aimed solely at him? 

Well, how can Feitan not be flattered, not feel a bit prideful that they’re spending their time directing all their focus and thoughts around whatever small question he prompted them with? He just likes listening to his darling go on and on, even if the topic doesn’t interest him much. However, the downside of this trait is that it creates a rather ugly combination with his tendency to grow jealous. 

If his darling is talkative with everyone, it’s sure to extend towards the men they meet, who just stare at them like they’re a slab of meat waiting to be devoured, all of them eager to get their hands on them and destroy what Feitan has claimed as his own. It’s infuriating, if only because it means that they’re interacting with others, putting themselves into a position where they could develop feelings for another man or be put into harm’s way or overhead something they shouldn’t have or any number of things. 

It becomes a massive liability, and one that Feitan is so, so very aware of. It irritates him, and as much as he loves when his darling is chatting with him, he’s not so approving when they're with others.

And so, it’s really in his darling’s best interest to reign in the conversations with anyone else - unless they want to see their blood splattered all over the walls, hear their cries, feel Feitan’s red soaked fingers grasp onto their arms and force them to see the results of their chattiness. It’s in their best interest, and they’ll learn that soon enough. Hopefully. 

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Distant 

There’s a part of Feitan that genuinely hates you for making him feel the way he does. The constant pounding of his heart when you’re merely mentioned, the throb in his chest when he’s gone too long without seeing you, the nervous twitch of his fingers when he thinks about what you’re doing, what other man you’re thinking about… 

He hates how paranoid you’ve made him, how so much of his time and energy goes into you. It’s your fault that he’s always distracted, that he’s not able to fully focus on his work anymore because he’s only able to think of you you you. It’s frustrating, and honestly it initially wards Feitan off from getting any closer to you - he doesn’t like the way he feels around you (that’s not true, but he needs it to be), so he’ll stay away and ignore you. Maybe that’ll get you to stop smiling at him so kindly, to quit asking him how his day was, to stop looking so pretty while you hum and make yourself dinner. 

As time passes, slowly this hatred diminishes (or at least dulls), instead replaced with a desperate, pathetic need to be around you; he just can’t keep himself away from you, no matter how hard he tries. It’s demoralizing, embarrassing beyond belief that someone like you could get his emotions so twisted, but it’s reality. 

He tries to fight it at first, believing himself to be above such stupid human emotion – he doesn’t need you, he’s a criminal and has never needed love or anything of the sort. And yet, each and every time he tells himself to not trail behind you as you walk to the grocery store, his resolve holds out for roughly five minutes. By then, there’s unwelcome thoughts drifting through his mind about what you’re doing, whether you’re talking to anyone, if you’ve managed to trip like you always do and scrape your knee. 

(There’s even a small, very small part of him that wonders whether you’re buying foods that are nutritious for you, or whether you’re doing your usual junk food spree. A thought pops up in the back of his head: him beside you in the store, scoffing as you place chips into the cart. He’d replace them with fruit, mumbling something about you being so stupid, only to see you smile at him and thank him, telling him how grateful you are to have him watching over you. His cheeks feel hot at that, and he buries his face deeper into his jacket, grumbling under his breath.) 

He’ll try to stop himself from circling back to you, but each and every time he finds some excuse of why he should be watching you, of how you aren’t really capable of taking care of yourself without his watchful gaze. It’s patronizing, more than anything, but eventually he’ll stop trying to fight it, submitting entirely and allowing himself the concealed pleasure of watching your horribly mundane life. 

He’ll need to be around you, constantly, but he’s still not willing to let his emotional guard down. No, you’ve done enough damage just simply existing - you absolutely cannot know how deeply he feels for you, how wrapped around your pinky finger you have him. Not only would it eliminate any semblance of leverage he holds against you (in order to stay above you, that is), it also showcases just how far the extent of his feelings for you run. 

And frankly, the thought terrifies Feitan – he’s never felt so strongly for anyone before, not even in the context of hatred or pleasure at their suffering. He’s in over his head, wading through waters he's always scoffed at and dismissed, and suddenly he’s finding himself nearly drowning, head always buried just under the surface. 

So he steels himself, grabbing onto any shred of control and power he can against you – he grabs on and clutches on, strong fingers frantically staying attached so that he doesn’t get blown away and truly drown. And even in the beginning of your captivity, Feitan won’t change the way he’s so detached. He’s purposefully putting distance between the two of you so that he can remain in control of the situation, in control of you, and – most importantly, and most concerningly – in control of himself. 

Because frankly, Feitan doesn’t trust himself around you. He doesn’t trust the way his body just does things, how any rational thought leaves his brain the moment your eyes meet, how fingers are already lifting up a bit to reach out touch you, to brush away stray pieces of your hair when you’re within a few feet of him. 

The biggest way he maintains this control is by not giving you a whole lot of attention, aside from one stark, grave exception: his dark eyes are constantly watching you. He’s always just sort of staring, his expression blank as he observes you, motionless and still. It’s unnerving, terrifying you initially and only slightly calming down as time passes, but Feitan doesn’t care much. 

He doesn’t necessarily want to interact with you, but just watching you allows him to be in your space, to be beside you, to smell you and listen to your breathing. You’re kept in one large room most of the time, and he’ll often sit in the chair in the corner and just stare. He’s not talking much, not trying to touch you or hurt you, but you almost wish he would sometimes. 

He just doesn’t understand what about you it is that attracts him so deeply, that’s morphed him into this lovesick fool, and while he initially tries to understand, eventually Feitan gives up, because does it really matter? 

Does it really matter how he became obsessed with you when you’re locked up in his spare bedroom, duct tape covering your mouth and an expressionless, frozen Feitan watching you with his heart practically bursting out of his chest? Does it really matter if he pinpoints exactly when he developed his love for you when you’re looking at him with those pretty tears in your eyes, whispering out a thanks as he sets the tray of food down in front of you? 

It really doesn’t, now that his feelings for you are formed and solidified, now that they can’t be changed or reversed. So while he’ll never be the most accessible and sympathetic to your feelings, rest assured that Feitan really does love you in some fucked up way - he’s just unorthodox, incapable of properly expressing himself to you. 

But actions speak louder than words, right? He’s always thought so.

Obsessive 

Because Feitan is relatively quiet and secretive when it comes to his feelings towards you, it’s difficult for you to really pick up on this aspect of him. You’re unlikely to ever truly understand just how much he feels for you, the sheer depth of emotions you cause him. 

He won’t ever tell you what’s going on behind that expressionless facade of his. He doesn’t tell you how oddly adorable you are when you’re sleeping in the early mornings, curled up in the corner of your room with your eyes shut and lips slightly parted, looking so soft and sweet and weak.

 He’ll never make you aware of how his breath hitches ever so slightly when you make eye contact with him, even if it’s shaky and you look away too quickly, his spine tingling because fuck, your attention feels good. 

You’ll never know why his foot is tapping lightly when you’re eating in front of him, the way those annoying nerves eat away at his stomach while he subconsciously wonders if you think he looks attractive today. (He’d trimmed his hair a bit, feeling it was too long and interfering with his work - do you like it? Did you notice? He’d hesitated a bit with the scissors earlier, brows slightly furrowing, dark eyes glancing at your sleeping form.) 

He’s very cryptic, and this tendency to keep you out of the loop of his personal thoughts and feelings can cast a shadow on his more obsessive tendencies. That is, before he’s stolen you away from the world, Feitan did an extensive amount of research into you. He does nothing on a whim - he’s a calculating man, and once he’d finally come to terms with the fact that his feelings for you weren’t going to disappear, he was scouring every resource possible to garner your information. 

He’s got access to all kinds of personal knowledge about you - your search history, for example. It’s a bit unexpected, if Feitan’s being honest - you’re much darker than he’d expected, the things you read about making him quirk a brow, his interest in you only deepening because hmm, seems the little sheep may be a bit of a wolf inside. 

He’s getting Shalnark to hack into the camera of your phone and computer, the stream of footage easy to access as he cleans his tools, blood washing away as you smile and laugh at some comedy you’re watching. 

It’s stupid and at first he pretends to find your laugh annoying. But then he sees the way your cheeks get all full and round as you smile, your eyes crinkling up, even the way you wheeze slightly when it’s really funny. 

(Briefly, he wonders whether you’d find his dry sense of humor entertaining.)

He’s got photographs of you from his time spent trailing you, and though they’re a bit blurry and not as focused as he’d like, they’re still something nice to pin to his wall, keeping his favorites beside his bed. He’s never had trouble sleeping, but something about looking at you as he drifts into slumber makes him rest more soundly, wake up more refreshed. 

Once you’ve been trapped with him for long enough, however, Feitan’s front of careful indifference to you will slowly begin cracking. You’ll never see fully through him, but you’ll catch the way the corners of his lips twitch up ever so slightly when you snuggle into the blanket he gives you one day, noticing how you’ve been shivering incessantly at night. 

(He won’t tell you the blanket was freshly stolen, that he’d made sure to take one with the softest, thickest material he could find, and even in your favorite color. It’s just a coincidence, so don’t read into it.) 

You’ll realize he’s slowly inched closer to you the longer you watch the television program Feitan turned on earlier, your spot on the couch feeling smaller and smaller as Feitan’s hip eventually brushes yours, neither of you acknowledging what’s happening. 

(You’ll never know how badly he wants to reach out and touch you, to freely run his hand up and down your thigh, so trace your collarbones, to feel just how soft your body is.)

It all makes him feel weak, pathetic, disgusting, but Feitan can’t help it. There’s something magnetic about you, and he can’t pull himself away. His pride won’t allow him to fully succumb to the thoughts and desires about you that are constantly swirling through his mind, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, that they aren’t bothering him constantly. He’s secretive, and maybe it’s for the best that you don’t know how many nights he’s spent with his fingers wrapped around his cock, his pale cheeks rosy as he imagines the way you’d like tied up with hickeys he made spanning the insides of your thighs. 

Perhaps it’s best that you don’t know how often he’s (begrudgingly) held the extra pillow on his bed close to his chest, dark eyes staring up at the ceiling as he tightens his arms around it.

(No, he wasn’t imagining it was you – he’s a touch starved man, and everyone has urges, right? It’s just coincidence that the pillow casing is one he stole from you, that he never washes it because it smells like you, that he nearly loses his mind when he almost gets a drop of blood from a victim on it.) 

It makes it much easier to scare you into what he wants when you don’t know - you’re much more complainant this way, malleable, willing, and Feitan likes it that way. Sure, having you fall in love would be ideal, getting your obedience through a genuine desire to please him, but at least this way he can keep a piece of his pride intact. 

This way, you’ll never realize the power you have over him - how he’d be willing to wipe out entire towns for you if you so much as mention it. You’ll never understand just how he needs to have you - to have you for what, you don’t know, but you can sense the odd sort of desperation coming off of him. 

You can feel it in the way his fingers grip you just a bit too tight, the way his eyes linger on you just a tad too long, the way the smallest, most embarrassing little whimper falls from his lips when your hand touches his. 

He’s good at hiding it, but everyone makes mistakes - just don’t pry too hard, because Feitan still needs to be the one in control, and you’ll quickly find yourself learning much, much more about the short man than you’ve ever wanted to know. Namely, that the only thing worse than him staring at you is him ignoring you.

Protective  

Although, it will take you a very long time to see this side of him. Initially, Feitan’s feelings towards you are that of mild interest, mild disgust, and mild indifference. 

Mild interest because he had, of course, noticed that you were pretty, what with your soft lips and doe eyes, your figure and the lilt of your voice. Indifference, because Fietan was sure there were a thousand other people just like you on Earth. And disgust, because you were so visibly weak and unable to fend for yourself, like an animal waiting to be slaughtered.

 And yet, the more time he spends around you (maybe a long job has him centered in the same city for a few weeks, and you work at the little store he gets his meals from, or some other service job that brings you in contact regularly), the more complex these feelings become. His interest becomes peaked because you’re not just pretty, but also entertaining to talk to, handling his dry jabs well and even daring to throw back some jokes of your own. (He never laughed, of course, but a wry smile sat underneath his jacket.) 

He’s still a bit indifferent, but not when you’re helping other customers or smiling down at your phone. (Were you texting someone? Your fingers were moving, implying typing – what were they saying that was making you giggle like that? What could he say that would make you giggle? Why does he care?) 

But the starkest, quickest change of heart that Fietan experiences in how he feels about your strength and abilities. Of course, you are weak. Even if you can use nen, even if you know the basics of self defense – Feitan is sure that he could kill you in the blink of an eye, cleanly, easily. (He’s sure because he’s thought of doing it before – never seriously, just a fleeting thought, something that only briefly passed through his mind when he was still resistant to his attraction towards you – it was promptly expelled after that familiar sinking, uncomfortable feeling started up in his gut, but still.) 

You’re embarrassingly weak, really, and as much as he tries to make himself ignore it or to simply stop caring about it, he can’t get it out of his head. He can’t seem to stop imagining you getting hurt, doing something stupid or careless and tarnishing that pretty skin of yours. 

He can’t seem to stop imagining the way you’d take a corner too fast and slip on your own feet, tumbling to the ground and ending up with a sprained ankle or a scrape across your knee. 

He’ll be sharpening a blade, blood stains caked onto the metal, and suddenly a flash of what your blood would look like staining the material makes him freeze for a moment, black eyes just a tad bit wider, the muscles in his arms and legs taut because there’s something sickening about the thought, something malicious and just carnally wrong. 

He can’t help but imagine how you’d fare against someone like his coworkers, whose strength is difficult to handle even for an experienced nen user. How would someone like you fare against someone like Uvogin? Someone like Shizuku? Hell, even someone like Kortopi? 

(Upon first meeting Hisoka, a very sudden and very intrusive image of the clown slicing a card clean through your throat flashed through his mind, and he’d nearly reached forward and ripped out the taller man’s heart at the thought, a purely instinctual response that left him more shell-shocked than he’d care to admit.) 

He knows you wouldn’t stand a chance, and while he doesn’t want it to bother him, it does. It does, as much as he tries to forget the mental images or assure himself that you deserve getting injured for being so weak and helpless. But he can’t just sit still and let it pass by, if it were to ever happen - and so, Feitan’s protective tendencies begin manifesting. 

They’re small, for the most part; making sure to keep his torture tools as far away from you as possible, just so that there’s no chance of you accidentally tripping or running into one or being stupid and getting any ideas. 

He’s making sure that you’re under his watch as often as possible, becoming your second shadow and stalking you every free moment he can spare, just in case someone unsavory crosses your path. 

He’s making sure that all your locks are working every night, compulsively checking them even though he knows they’re still good. 

He keeps his protective tendencies under wraps, making sure that they’re subtle and just ambiguous enough that you won’t pick up on his intentions. Because while there’s something appealing about you knowing that he wants you to be safe, he would rather you not find out just how extensively he watches you, just how much he cares about your wellbeing, deciding that it’s yet another potential opportunity for you to manipulate him. 

And of course, he’s embarrassed - he briefly considers requesting help watching you from a Troupe member or two, only for when he’s aware for long periods of times on individual jobs, but eventually he chickens out, too scared to have to explain why he wants Pakunoda to keep an eye on you.

 He’s not embarrassed of you, per se, but rather the extent to which you affect him. And even once he’s stolen you away (an action which has roots in his paranoia for your safety), those protective tendencies are still firmly in place. He’s not a good cook, but he still tries to provide you with somewhat healthy foods, even if they’re undercooked and limp, bland and just overall unappealing. 

He’s by no means an interior designer, but he’s getting you a somewhat soft, thick blanket, making sure the one pillow you have isn’t covered in stains or lumpy. It’s all subtle, nearly unnoticeable things that you’d have to be very perceptive to catch onto - but to Feitan it’s all important, because while he may still resent you for turning him into a lovesick fool, he’ll be damned if he lets you starve or be uncomfortable.

It’s stupid and he knows it, grumbling to himself the entire time he’s doing something to prevent hurting you, but it’ll always get done - and if you were to ever notice it, to thank him? Feitan would deny your allegations, telling you to shut up and eat your food, all the while the tips of his ears turn pink and his heart flutters because you noticed. 

You noticed the way he takes extra precautions for you, the way he thinks of you and your wellbeing, even having the gall to thank him for it… 

Don’t bring it up again or he’ll grow angry, but the pride sitting in his chest at your words is enough for him. It’s enough for him to know you see him, that you’re paying attention to him, that you appreciate all he does for you - it’s enough for now, at least. 

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Feitan is, unfortunately, a bit prone to jealousy – as someone who is aware that he isn’t the best option out there for you, the acknowledgement that there is a multitude of other men that deserve you more and could likely land you never fails to get past him. 

He’s so, so aware of the fact that you likely don’t like him, that stalking you and planning to kidnap you likely doesn’t earn him any favors. He knows he’s fairly quiet, and while it’s mostly a fear of mildly embarrassing himself that bars him from actually interacting with you, it only pushes Feitan to worry that you only see him as a strange, unfamiliar man. 

It’s likely that you think of him as nothing more than an acquaintance, a man who doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you. And so, the minute that another person tries to flirt with you, to look at you and think of you and speak with you, the insecurities over how you perceive him are blooming in his chest, growing and blossoming into full blown panic, because what if you fall for another man? 

Of course, Feitan has absolutely no problem eliminating the threat, even enjoying taking the life of such a worthless man, but he can’t help the way fear grips his heart, cold and stabbing and brutal, because while he may be icy and difficult to approach, a stone face that leaves little emotion o be seen, Feitan wants you so fucking badly, to the point that it genuinely hurts. 

And while he isn’t all that soft towards the beginning of his obsession (and really, even once you’ve been ‘living’ with him for a while as well), he does honestly want for you to return the feelings, to love him and care for him, to want to be with him and enjoy your new life by his side. Ideally, he wants you to fall for him, to see him and smile, to have your soft skin pressed against his rougher, more callused skin, your hands cupped in a firm embrace, a soft hug, a kiss against the lips and short, whispered words of trust and acceptance. 

Of course, it’s makes him feel so damn pathetic each time he gets caught in a daydream where you’re smiling and laughing with him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and telling him he’s handsome, but try as he may, he just can’t allow another man to steal the opportunity to make you theirs. 

He wants to be the only one in your life, the only man you see and think of and talk to, and quite honestly Feitan will succeed – his profession is death after all, and he’s a master at stalking his prey, locating their weaknesses, seamlessly killing and annihilating his target before they even have a chance to fight back. 

And so, once his jealousy is triggered, the poor man’s fate has already been decided. Feitan’s never been particularly merciful, and where you’re concerned, this trait only grows - it feels good to kill whoever dared to speak with you, like some sort of cathartic release of all the emotions he’s been bottling up, all the anger and desperation and self-loathing and yearning trapped in his chest. 

It feels good, euphoric in a way he can’t describe, and so he’s quick to jump on any man posing a potential threat to your status as single and ripe for Feitan to claim. He’s a trained killer, after all, and who is he to waste away a perfectly good target? 

When the man in the black dress shirt approaches you in the grocery store, Feitan’s eyes narrow. The shorter man had been trailing you all day, watching you go about your weekly errands, and the tri-annual trip to the grocery store had been your last stop. You’d managed to evade any male attention today, a fact that had Feitan simultaneously sighing in relief and growling in anger. 

And yet, here you are, dressed in a rather provocative set of leggings that have Feitan’s eyes absolutely glued to your supple ass, matched with a slouchy, oversized sweatshirt. You’re cute, he begrudgingly admits, and it seems the stranger agrees. 

Feitan’s standing in the next aisle over, staring through the holes in the shelving to see the way you tap your chin and scan the aisles of bread, searching for the perfect loaf. You don’t seem to have noticed the man slowly walking up to you, his eyes visibly scanning up and down your body. Feitan scowls, black brows drawing tightly together as he debates what to do. 

On the one hand, there’s not much he can do - you’re in a public grocery store, and he doesn’t particularly want you to notice his presence. And yet, he can’t just let this man approach you, speak to you, look at you, now can he? He grits his teeth, steeling himself to just watch for now, and jump in if the time is right, if he feels the man goes too far. The man clears his throat, making you jump and look over at him, the suave smile he sends you making your own smile falter a bit. 

Which bread’s best? He’s asking you, and you answer quickly, naming your favorite brand and which style you like best - Feitan’s scowl only deepens when he realizes you’re telling him the truth. 

The man nods along, before his smirk turns smarmy, one eyebrow cocked up as he asks which rolls are best then? I’m thinking they’re yours. 

You blanch at that, disgust written across your face as you awkwardly laugh and inch away, but Feitan sees none of that - how can he, when he’s already moving, already grabbing the man by the neck and sprinting down the aisle and around the corner, all too fast for you to see with the naked eye? 

You’re confused, unsure of how the man just suddenly disappeared, but his comment left you shellshocked and lost at what to do, so you quickly grab a random loaf and anxiously push your cart away, trying to put distance between you and wherever the man had ended up. 

Meanwhile, Feitan’s got the man held against the back wall of the grocery store, fingers wrapped around his neck and a cold, menacing look in his eye. 

Bastard, he grits out, tightening his grip and feeling the way the man panics and scratches at his fingers, trying to rip them away. 

Disgusting, she is mine, didn’t your mother teach don’t touch what’s not yours? Feitan’s shocked he hasn’t just slaughtered the man yet, but there’s something in his heart telling him to prolong this out, to let the man suffer, to make this as slow and torturous as possible. He wants the man to bleed, to scream and sob and beg for his mercy, for being stupid enough to even try to seduce you. 

Feitan’s angry enough that his breathing is uneven, his muscles occasionally flexing without his permission, the rage simmering in his veins nearly potent. He can’t stop replaying the sight of your disgusted and uncomfortable look, the fact that this scum caused you to feel such an emotion making his skin feel hot, his fingers eager to steal the man’s life. 

He smiles as the man wheezes, the lack of oxygen making his face slowly take on a purple hue. What’s wrong? Can’t breath? 

He squeezes once, harshly, roughly, and the man splutters, spit dribbling down his chin and getting onto Feitan’s wrist. He scoffs. Filthy, disgusting. Die. 

And then the man is being stabbed with his sword, not once, not twice, but again and again and again, until holes and wounds decorate the planes of his chest, blood flowing down in rivers onto the dirty concrete floor. 

The man is dead within a matter of seconds, but it’s not enough for Feitan. He’s quick to throw the body to the ground, kicking and stomping and mutilating the body until its unrecognizable. He’s still breathing hard, his fingers shaking, and he finishes it off with a spit at what was once the man’s face, a scowl thrown his way. 

Pathetic, he says, dark eyes closing for a few moments as he looks to sense your familiar presence, already on your walk back towards your apartment. Feitan gives one last, firm kick, before taking off, the urge to have his eyes on you once more making him rush even quicker than normal. He’ll spend the rest of the evening watching you, like always, but this time he’ll pay more attention to your face. 

You’ve never looked at him the way you looked at that man, all scared and revolted. 

You’ve never tried to get away from Feitan, never ran or panicked or anything of the sort. Pride swells in his chest at the knowledge that you like the dark haired man more than that mangled corpse; you’d choose Fietan over him, he’s sure. 

And as you slip under your covers, a soft look on your face as you drift to sleep, Feitan can’t help but slide open the window, slipping into the bedroom and coming up to stand beside your unconscious form. 

Would you choose him over other men? 

If given the choice, would you want him? 

He’d always choose you, his heart always coming back to you no matter what he does or how he hates it - and one day, he’s hopeful you’ll feel the same. One day, you’ll be just as stupidly, pathetically, frantically in love as he is. 

He sighs, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Someday, you’ll be all his. 

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

It takes Feitan a long time to resort to kidnapping you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but rather that it’s never been a priority for him. He’s reclusive, and because it takes him so long to sort out his feelings for you, stealing you away was certainly not at the forefront of his mind. 

It takes him so long to even admit to himself that he cares for you, and that process alone takes anywhere from a month to three months, and only then does the stalking begin. Only then is he allowing the feelings for really grow, to fester and brew in his chest until he’s insatiable, desperate to see you and be in your presence. It takes him so long to warm up to you that he just simply doesn’t have the time or forethought to consider taking you for himself - that is, until his protective tendencies begin coming into play. Once he starts actively caring about your safety and wellbeing, little thoughts begin springing up in the back of his mind. He’s chastising you mentally for staying up late, the hands on the clock moving past hours he’s comfortable with. 

He doesn’t like when you lay in your bed scrolling through that damn phone of yours, the bright light bad for your eyes and making you delay sleeping for as long as possible. It makes him angry (if not hypocritical, seeing as he himself only gets roughly four hours of sleep per night), and before he can even stop himself he’s thinking of how he’d make you fall asleep if he was with you, prying that phone out of your hands and telling you to sleep now. 

He doesn’t like when you walk home alone at night, as if you’re practically asking to be mugged or assaulted or killed, which is why he has to follow you, begrudgingly hiding in the shadows and trailing you as you meander back to your apartment. 

You’re stupid, is what you are, and as time passes, Feitan becomes more and more shocked at how lightly you take your own life - how can one single person be so careless? How can you be willing to eat food so close to the expiration date, or look both ways at the sidewalk just once? You’re helpless, truly, and it pisses Feitan off. 

It makes him mad, if only because he’s trying so much harder than you are to keep you safe, and isn’t it unfair to him? Isn’t it awfully inconsiderate of you to make him spend so much time looking after you, doing everything for you because you’re so damn incapable? It’s a negative view and Feitan doesn’t really blame you, only convincing himself he does in order to make him feel better. It’s an excuse to help him feel like he isn’t as attached as he really is, a way to help alleviate some of the embarrassment he has regarding his feelings for you. 

It’s pathetic, he thinks, but then something happens - something bad, something Fietan had hoped never would. Somehow, an enemy of the Troupe had discovered you. Maybe he was too preoccupied by keeping his eyes on you that he missed the stranger’s presence, unknowingly leading them directly to you. 

Sweet, weak, defenseless you. 

Time is frozen for Feitan as he returns from Troupe work, slinking to your apartment and letting himself in the front door, knowing that although it’s horribly late, you’re surely freshly asleep - except, the door is already ajar, and Feitan feels his blood run cold. There’s someone here. It doesn’t matter if they’re a friend or enemy to you - why the fuck is there another person in your home at such an ungodly hour? 

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and for a moment Feitan feels pure, absolute panic - you’re incapable of warding someone off, especially if you’re asleep, and although he feel sense your presence, there’s a distinct aura coming from your bedroom that isn’t yours. He’s quick to rush in, dark eyes narrowing when he sees the figure over your bed, a man hunched over and about to touch you - 

His sword is slicing through the man’s neck before he can even blink, head dropping to the ground with a dull thud and blood pooling where it lands. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, brows pinched together and his grip on the sword hilt tight. 

His gaze flicks to where you’re still sleeping peacefully, utterly unaware of the man standing beside your bed and the lifeless corpse bleeding out onto your floor. He’s got no choice, really - there’s something ugly stirring in his chest, something big and bad and painful, and he’s reaching out and scooping you into his arms all too quickly. 

The man surely was after Feitan - he’d looked at him with recognition, and Feitan can only swallow and tighten his grip on you ever so tightly, hopping out your window and taking off into the night, the makeshift home he’d been residing in lately eventually coming upon the horizon. 

The whole event spurs Feitan to believe that relocation is really the best option - his enemies are aware of you now, and who’s to say more won’t come knocking? How does he know you won’t be targeted again, those with vendettas against the Troupe knowing that someone weak and such an Achilles Heel like you would be the perfect revenge? 

He doesn’t, and so although he’s grimacing and slightly worried to have you under the same roof, he sets you down on the hard mattress, giving you a few glances before closing the door, sighing to himself and hoping you wake up soon. 

Feitan, once you’ve been stolen away, is mostly just an enigma to you. 

He’s so painfully unexpressive, so difficult to interact with that you’ll be left to wonder just why he stole you away, why he even bothered to take you when he seems so utterly disinterested in you. He doesn’t talk to you - outside of a few clipped, short commands, he’ll hardly ever let you hear his voice. 

Particularly in the beginning of your captivity, he would listen to your crying and begging to be released silently, his eyes slightly narrowed before a small, curt stop filled the room. 

He’s never given you any sort of an explanation for why you woke up in his home one day, even when you ask him over and over again. He’ll only look at you, dark eyes fixed on your face, before telling you to go to sleep, you need sleep and promptly shutting and locking the bedroom door. He’s entirely unwilling to really interact with you in any meaningful way - except, it’s not because he hates you, or because he’s simply biding his time to kill you. 

You may think that, fear swimming through your veins every time you see him, but it couldn’t be further from the truth - he’s not interacting with you much because there’s a part of Feitan that’s honestly afraid to. It makes him feel stupid and pitiful, but every time he tries to ask you a question or tell you something, the words just sort of die in his throat, his tongue frozen in his mouth even as he tries to move, tries to interact and get you to just look at him, dammit. 

Honestly, he’s embarrassed to speak to you - he’s been watching you for so long, acting as your shadow and seeing you so natural and perfect and raw, and he’s grown used to having a front row seat without having to do anything. He’s not used to you being able to see him or hear him or even know he’s there at all. It’s scary to have you be aware of him, placing him in an uncomfortable position where he can no longer simply watch you or long for you from afar - no, now, as much as he hates to admit it, he cares about your opinion. 

He cares about how you view him, how you perceive him, what you think about him. He wants you to think he’s funny when he tells cutting jokes, and generous when he gives you bowls of semi-cold soup. He wants you to find him attractive, catching your eyes settling on his body or your fingers running through his ebony locks. 

He wants your opinion to be favorable, but despite how strong this desire is, the fear that you’ll find him weird outweighs it. He knows it’s stupid, but he’s terrified that you’ll think he’s strange, a freak, some sort of monster if he talks with you. He’s scared he’ll say something wrong, something to scare you or offend you, and while he may be a mass murderer and an atrocious man, there’s something about the way your eyes would get all glassy and teary, face contorting into disgust as you physically recoil from him that makes his gut wrench, a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips. 

He’s too awkward and nervous to speak with you - and so, he resorts instead to the staring, to the watching, to the observing. It’s what he knows best, after all, considering that was how most of his time was spent before kidnapping you. This is better; he has control in this situation, and he won’t accidentally slip and say something that bears too much truth, that lets you in on too much of what’s going on in his head. 

There’s less room for error if he relegates himself to minimal verbal and physical interaction, and while he aches to reach out and touch you, to feel the softness of your cheeks or the texture of your hair, he’s restraining himself. Just the mere thought of your skin against his gets him shivering, but it’s quite easy to overwhelm him; he’s not used to being the recipient of your attention, and while it feels good to have you looking at him and attempting to start conversations, it can get to be too much for him very quickly. 

It’s easy enough to answer trivial questions; things like what the food is that he placed in front of you (doesn’t matter, it’s good is all he’ll answer with) or inquiries into why he wears that same massive coat all the time (warm and my favorite color). 

Those are easy enough, not breaching too close to anything personal or anything that you could use against him. But the more complex questions, or - once the Stockholm Syndrome eventually kicks in and you’re so lonely you’ll happily converse with your kidnapper - compliments? 

As soon as the words slip from your lips, a simple your eyes are pretty or a I hope you sleep well makes him stiffen up a bit, lips parting ever so slightly under that cowl of his, before he’s quickly darting out the door and slamming it shut behind him. He has to take a few moments to collect himself, his ears and cheeks feeling hot because god, you were looking right at him, and you’d even said his name. 

(He spends the rest of the night in the basement, compulsively cleaning and recleaning his torture tools over and over, trying to distract himself from replaying your compliments over and over in his head, ingraining the sound of your voice and the tingling warmth he felt into his brain. Everything is sparkling clean by the time he’s done, a few hours having passed, and yet he’s spent the whole time thinking of you, letting you plague his thoughts like you always do.) 

He just can’t handle having all of your attention on him like that, and although he gets better at it and more used to it as time goes on, he’ll still be very skittish. He’s like a feral cat; he’ll stalk and watch, staring at you with beady eyes from the corner of the room while you try and act natural, only to scamper away when you try to reach out and pet. 

You’ll be starved for human contact as his captee, but aside from the lack of any sort of touch, you’ll find that being stuck with him is actually not too bad - he feeds you a decent diet, and lets you live in the spare bedroom of his home. He’d even cleaned everything up before you arrived, a preemptive measure he underwent one night when he couldn’t sleep, both his dreams and thoughts revolving around you. 

(There’s still bits of dust and a spider or two in the corner of the ceiling, but everything smells not terribly musty, and you don’t notice any mysterious stains on the sheets, so it could be worse, right?) 

He leaves you to your own devices more often than not, just on the condition that he can be present, whether you’re reading a book or sleeping or doodling with some art supplies he stole for you a while back. He’s not too demanding, but eventually the Stockholm Syndrome will get to you - you will eventually start wishing he’d do more than just look, even when he comes home with blood speckling his jacket.

You’ll grow to wish he would sit just a bit closer to you, so that you could feel his body warmth or a brush of his skin against your own. You’ll hate yourself for endearing your captor, but you don’t have much of a choice - Feitan, while terrifying and absolutely capable of killing you in more ways than you can count, is strangely sweet in his own way, even if it takes you a while to notice it. 

He’s not buying you flowers or declaring his undying love to you, but he is leaving small, insignificant gifts on your nightstand, maybe a small pastry that you love, or even a small, pretty little jewel he managed to snatch away from the goods Chrollo said were communal among the Troupe from the latest heist. He won’t ever say anything about them, and if you bring it up to him he’ll either ignore you or deny their existence, but he likes leaving them there as a token, as some way of quelling the intense desire to please you that wells in his chest.

It’s the only route he can allow himself to take, because that way he doesn’t have to confront you, only looking at your sleeping face. You always look so peaceful and pretty this way, all the lines of stress and worry smoothing away - you look how you used to, before he stole you away, back when his infatuation first started. 

And as he gently, carefully, hesitantly sits down beside your sleeping form on the mattress, he can’t help but gulp harshly and slowly, ever so slowly, reach out and rest his palm on your leg, the sheets separating your skin. He’ll keep his hand there for a while, dark eyes appraising your form under the covers, before exhaling shakily and standing back up, making sure the jade he’d brought back for you was securely on the bedside table, right in your view when you wake up. He’s not a bad captor by any means; he just has trouble expressing himself, walls built up too highly and too thickly to ever really knock them down. 

And you’ll get close - as close as you can, at least, as time passes. Feitan will eventually warm up to you, but he’ll never be particularly loving, particularly obvious with his feelings for you - he’ll always be a lovesick fool, but he’ll be damned if he lets another soul know that. 

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Feitan doesn’t particularly like hurting you. Of course, his career rides on his ability to harm, torture, mutilate and extract information out of even the worst criminals and agents, and for the most part he enjoys it. 

There’s something about the way he can elicit screams and tears out of others that gets him giddy, the smile stretching across the part of his face covered by his jacket as wide as can be. And yet, for all the enjoyment he derives out of hurting others, seeing you harmed, bruised, crying and begging isn’t nearly as fun as Feitan had expected. 

He’s not really sure why, but for some reason seeing you looking at him with so much fear dancing in your pretty eyes makes his gut wrench, an uncomfortable feeling sitting at the base of his throat while he mutters something demanding you to stop looking at him like that. It makes him feel weak, frankly, that you have this effect on him, but he can’t help it – early on into your captivity with him, he tried to settle your disobedience by physically harming you, but he got as far as leaving a rather large carved ‘F’ right over your heart before your crying got to him. 

He couldn’t lift his hand as you sobbed below him that day, your wrists bound by leather cording stained with his previous victims’ blood. Your eyes were puffy and glassy, snot dripping from your nose and pathetic little cries and begs for him to stop tumbling past your quivering lips. 

Frankly, Feitan was embarrassed for you. But more than anything, he was pissed – his hands were trembling, the switch knife grasped between his fingers frozen, his dark eyes wide as they stared down at you, guilt flashing through them the longer you sniffled and shook, the sight of you in pain with your pretty red blood dribbling down your collarbone simply too much. 

That day, he cleaned your wound, packed up his torture gear and locked you into your designated bedroom, all without a single word, mostly because his tongue didn’t seem to be working. But the shaky gasps stumbling from his lips as he stared at his own two hands later that night were enough to make him realize he hates to see you in pain, particularly when he’s the cause.

It’s confusing, irritating, scary, even, that you have this effect on him, but try as he might, any thought of physically harming you from that point on makes his stomach twist, bile rising up his throat and nausea hitting him square in the chest. 

But trouble, of course, arises; he refuses to physically harm you in most cases, but he still will only tolerate absolute obedience from you. You can’t simply walk all over him, he won’t let you – you need to listen to his instructions, follow his rules, eat the food he gives you, smile at him all pretty and warm, and let him sneak into your room and hold you when you’re fast asleep in the middle of the night, just as he starts craving. 

Feitan needs you to be obedient and submissive to him, and so how can he mold you into the perfect, obedient partner without laying harm to you?

The solution, as it turns out, lies in making you absolutely believe that he will hurt you, despite it not being true. 

You don’t need to know that the thought of making you wince or scrunch up your face in pain makes him physically hurl; no, you’re much better off thinking that he’s simply playing nice, waiting for the right moment to strike and leave you broken and bleeding. He’ll allow you to believe that he’s constantly ready to punish you, because then you’ll have some incentive to follow his words and rules, and to do what he believes you should do. 

And why wouldn’t you believe it? 

You know what Feitan does – he makes no effort to hide the torture tools scattered across his basement, and while you’ve only been down there once (the initial carving of the F), your imagination can conjure up plenty of scenarios of what goes on in that damp, dark basement. 

The fact that he has hurt you leads to you staying mostly in line – you’re more than aware of what he’s capable of, and although it slightly pains Feitan that you think of him as a monster, it’s for the best. It’s better for everyone when you’re well behaved – when you simply follow his orders and do what he wants you to, no matter how strange it makes you feel. 

You probably aren’t particularly fond of eating in front of him, but he’ll be sitting at the other end of the table as you carefully, hesitantly, twist the strands of pasta around your fork, your gaze flickering from the slightly undercooked noodles to your captor and back again. 

You probably don’t really like sleeping while he sits in the corner of the room, that stupid jacket pulled up over his mouth, making the only part of him visible to your drowsy self those damn eyes – and his hands, of course, with just the slightest touch of dried blood under his nails. You’re probably not particularly a fan of any aspect of being his captive – and Feitan carefully controls this. 

However, on the off chance that you do act up, that liquid courage flows through your veins and you cross him, you’ll quickly grow to regret it. Feitan still won’t hurt you – not physically, at least. 

But others? 

Well, it’s not hard to get Chrollo to give him someone who needs to give up some information, to set up the basement and make sure you get a front row seat as he makes the knots tight around the man’s wrist. It hurts him, really, to see the way your face contorts into horror as you watch him break bone after bone in the man’s body, but Feitan can’t stop looking at you. He needs you to be watching – you have to see what he’s capable of, even if he doesn’t really want you to know. 

You have to know that he’s serious when he tells you that you can’t leave, that there’s nowhere in the world you can run to where he won’t find you. He rips the man’s nails off, a finger at a time, just to make sure you understand that his touch can hurt – but maybe, some part of him hopes, you’ll realize that when he touches you, his touch is only ever gentle. Or at least as gentle as he can be. 

It’s all to make sure you understand that he’s utterly, absolutely in charge – his word is law, and while he craves for you to love him, he’s willing to compromise with just your respect and undivided attention. 

It’s not ideal, but as he watches the way tears stream down your cheeks and your body heaves and shudders with your sobs, he can’t help but slice the knife into the man’s thigh deeper, send the punch to his jaw harder. 

He has to keep you in line – this complicated, doomed relationship he’s forced you into is the only thing that makes him feel that strange, fluttering feeling in his chest, and he’ll be damned if he lets it go. He’ll be damned if he lets you go – even if you think of him as a monstrous, sadistic freak. 

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t; it doesn’t matter, because you’re never getting away.

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

The danger that lies with being Feitan’s darling is much more mental than physical. By all means, he’s not the ideal captor – he’s a criminal and mass murderer, torturing people for a living and liking it. And yet, there’s something about you that tones down the more deranged, violent aspects of his personality - he’s by no means soft, but he’s rounder at the edges, less rough and bitter and cold. 

He hates himself for falling in love with you, for having allowed you to worm your way into his heart and settle there, plaguing his every thought and dream with your face, your voice and laugh and smile and god, your body - 

He blames you, initially, but as time goes on and his feelings only grow stronger, harder to suppress, he finds that it doesn’t matter. You’ve already staked your claim on his heart, and there’s simply nothing he can do to stop what’s inevitable. 

Kidnapping is imminent with him, but it really does take him a long while to actually go through with it; you’ll have a long period of freedom from his clutches where you’re living your own life, with him only controlling it from the shadows rather than blatantly, like when he’s stolen you away. He’s not particularly needy, only demanding that you stay in his line of sight, but there’s something more terrifying about the way he’s always watching you like a hawk watches its prey than simple touching would be. 

You’re thankful he hasn’t forced himself on you or even forced any kind of affection, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that you miss human touch, that you almost wish he would reach out and hold your hand, press a kiss to your lips, slip the ratty old t-shirt he’d given you over your chest.

You’ll find yourself growing stir crazy under Feitan’s rule, growing desperate but still too scared to confront him, because his intentions with you will remain ambiguous at best - he hasn’t killed you yet, so you must be important to him somehow. You’re not sure, but the longer you spend with him, the less you’ll care until eventually you’re actively dreaming of the day when he finally, finally touches you with those cold fingers and lets you out of that bedroom you’re locked up in. 

Feitan loves you, in his own sick, twisted way, and the sooner you realize that the better - maybe you never will, but Feitan will always, always be there waiting, his gaze never faltering once from your figure. 

You’re just too mesmerizing, after all - and Feitan’s never been particularly good at denying himself what’s his. 

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan portor #hxh x reader #_hxh #_lee's profiles #_feitan portor

[ataraxiaspainting]

pretending to be dead in front of hxh yans. because why the hell not?

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, and implied violence.

Word Count: 900. (this was only supposed to be 400 😭)

*~*~*~*

Chrollo

Chrollo will know right away. There is no doubt about that. Even if he was in another room and just happened to walk in through the doorway as you flopped on the floor like a fish.

He will probably hit you up with a "Darling, get up or we won't go to the museum tonight" or something like that. He likes using this carrot and stick technique quite a lot, but with his own spin on it using his manipulation tactics. He will lure you in with a reward for behaving yourself or take something away when you are bad.

If you continue this charade despite his threats, he will attempt to entertain you for a bit. Maybe he pokes you with the end of an umbrella or something, or mockingly weeps your supposed death. Eventually this will annoy you so much you will surrender.

His response is directly proportional to why you did this. Did you do it for attention? He will gladly give it to you, with reading to you and handfeeding you your favorite food, still warm from its takeout box, or maybe he even attempted to make it himself (though, if the dish doesn't come out as planned, as his perfectionism is a huge part of him, he will throw it out before you even find out he cooked something in the first place).

Did you do it so he would actually think you are dead so you could sneak off to freedom? Well, expect him to tease you about it from this point forward, but nothing serious happens. Unless you attempt to attack him and actually prevail, usually his punishments are bare to none.

Nobunaga

Nobunaga is many things. Being in touch with reality is definitely not one of them. He already sees you as a fragile little baby, so trying to play dead in front of him will cause him to have a panic attack of sorts.

He believes your entire act, as bad as you were doing it. He cries and caresses you in his arms. His crusty, dry lips, unholy body odor, and his utterly disgusting breath will be the only reasons you will ever reveal your cover.

He reacts to you being alive as horribly as you expect. He will start yelling at you, scolding you like a toddler who snuck into the cookie jar and not a captive trying to get back to society once more. If he was already in a somewhat bad mood, like you rejected his advances for the umpteenth time, and he got annoyed at you playing "hard to get" again, expect to even be sent to bed without dinner or dessert. Horrifying, right?

But, then again, dinner is always raw or burnt. You are sometimes convinced Nobunaga is trying to poison you to further immobile you, so you won't attempt to escape further. Maybe this whole playing dead thing was successful, in its own way? You would rather eat pebbles than the halfway cooked rice Nobunaga puts in your pink plastic plate.

Feitan

Feitan just stares at you, not blinking. He already knows what you are trying to do. He already has a staring problem, observing everything you do, from drawing to looking outside the small, barred window in your room, so his reaction, in all honesty, does not surprise you one bit.

He will just go about his day. Feitan is an expert on the human body, being the Troupe's lead torturer and all, so he knows the difference from when you are faking being sick (or in this case dead) from when you are actually sick (a possibility from both the escape attempts and the fact that Feitan's little cabin in the middle of the woods has no heat or air conditioner. He says he does not need it, so he does not recognize it as a problem).

As always, he says nothing. He only sees this as a little bit of a tantrum you're having, and lets you have your way for once. When you eventually give up or when he has had enough of watching you, he'll leave the room to do something else.

But nothing bad happens to you, shockingly. But there is major emphasis on to you. If you have refused to admit defeat, he'll torture yet another poor unfortunate soul in his basement, their screams much louder than usual, and you will break at one point or another, either asking Feitan to stop or going to your room to put your pillow (which can also be a weapon with how hard it is) over your ears.

Machi

Machi, similar to two of the three assfarts, knows exactly what you are doing. But, like Nobunaga, she still worries, although she does not show it, and she also scolds you.

But, unlike the rest of them, she tries to listen to you after she shakes you into revealing yourself. She wants to know why you did that. If you say to try to escape from her, her heart will be broken once again.

Machi may not be the most emotionally understanding, but she does in fact try, although what she does after this incident is largely the opposite of what you wanted to happen. Even though her intentions are good, in her opinion. She will become more present in your life, bringing home more gifts for you and trying to hug you whenever you ask, although she will never initiate it herself.

She hopes you won't do that again. She'll tell you as such. She was not trying to manipulate you with the increase in gifts and consensual touches, but you will feel so bad you won't attempt such a thing from that point forward.

#this is highkey a shitpost but that's okay... right? :( #aya abstractions #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere feitan #yandere #yandere hxh #yandere x reader #soft yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere feitan x reader #yandere feitan portor #yandere machi #yandere machi x reader #yandere nobunaga hazama x reader #yandere nobunaga #yandere nobunaga x reader #yandere nobunaga hazama #yandere hxh x reader

[novasdarling]

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?"

With yanfeitan please

I made Feitan talk here more than I think I ever have, so hope that's not a problem.

Kill Me

TW: Kidnapping Mentioned, Yandere Behaviour, Violence mentioned (Punishment), Knife, Threats

The air felt thick, heavy with guilt and anger. Whose anger and guilt you weren't sure of. His or yours? Perhaps both. The way he stared at you from across the room made you want to yell, scream, something. Something to break his silence and get him to move. Get him to react. Get him to change any way you can. His silence made you want to tear your skin off. It allowed no answer, no hint of what he was thinking or what would come next.

"What's my punishment this time?"

Feitan didn't answer, just continuing to stare at you. Keeping his distance. He was off, even by his own standards. Cold and quiet was how he was, but this was different. This version of him made you uncomfortable at a level you had never been with him. Made you terrified more than before.

You had run and managed to escape for about an hour before Feitan dragged you back to his hideout. The place you had been forced to call home for the last few weeks. It wasn't the first time you had run, but it was the first time you managed to slip from his grasp for so long. You knew that would piss him off. You showed him his flaws, that you could leave, that he had weaknesses.

"Going to lock me away again? Lock me in a closet for a few days with barely any food, huh?"

You were provoking him, it was wrong, but at least then you would know what the hell he wanted. What his plan of punishment was.

"You going to-"

"Basement, now."

The basement. Those words made you want to throw up. You knew what went on down there. What his hours down there with some unfortunate soul meant. Feitan had taken you down once, when he first brought you here. He didn't explain why, just told you to sit still as he engaged with his prisoner. You were forced to see the blood, watch how he cut and stabbed with no remorse. Even when you shut your eyes, that didn't get rid of the screams. The pleas for mercy, for him to stop. Even for you to help. There was nothing you could do. That's what Feitan wanted to prove. You were helpless against men like him, against him.

"No, Pl-"

Feitan turned towards you, cutting you off with his look. He still had his icy stare, but this one was telling you not to challenge him. That things were different, were worse than ever before. Feitan turned to head towards the stairs. Expecting you to follow on your own. It would be wise to. To comply until he was finished with whatever he was plotting. Perhaps it would earn you some leniency. Maybe it would cut the punishment short. You told yourself that as you took a step forward, but something else stopped you. Something made you turn and quickly grab a dull knife from the kitchen. Stupid thoughts that knew the truth yet had no real plan. There was no real mercy with Feitan when you messed up. No early forgiveness from him. Just lesson and punishment. If you went down there with him, you could die.

Adrenaline rushed through you as you held the knife up. Pointing it to him like it would offer you any actual protection. Offer you any safety from the monster in front of you. Yet, there you were. Still holding, pointing it at him. Like it was a cross offering you protection against an unholy beast. But God wouldn't answer your prayers. Not today, not when he seemed to fear the man in front of you so.

Feitan turned towards you. Staring as he took in the sight before him. You holding a dulled knife he left up here for you to be able to cut your food. Holding it, pointing it at him with shaking hands and uneven breaths. He could make out the tears falling from your eyes and sliding down your cheeks. Pathetic and yet, enticing. You always reminded him of a sacred trapped animal and this just cemented it. A frighted field mouse trying to distance itself from an owl. With nowhere to hide and no real defence, yet still hoping. Still trying to get away. Simply just delaying what is to come.

"I'm not going to the basement. I-"

You were cut off by him. Feitan made his move across the room towards you. He moved faster than you had ever seen, faster than you thought anything could. You were still holding the knife, but now it pointed at an empty doorway. While Feitan moved behind you. Keeping you in place, holding your arms so they kept the same position as his chest leaned against your back. Pushing you towards him.

"What was your plan?"

You couldn't give him an answer.

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?"

He gripped your arms tighter. Still holding the knife at nothing.

"What then?"

"I-I-"

"I-I-I" He mocked you "Have a plan next time."

Feitan took the knife from your hands before letting go. Making his way back towards the basement. You had made things worse. Made whatever was to come down those steps so much worse. You had threatened and offended him. Following him down, you hoped this punishment would be cut short due to a phantom troupe call. It was the only mercy that would be granted.

#yandere #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan portor #yandere feitan #yandere x reader #yandere feitan x reader #yandere hxh x reader #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #hxh #hunter x hunter #feitan hxh #feitan x reader #hunter x hunter feitan #hxh feitan #feitan #hxh x reader #yandere anime #nova writes

[galamalion]

𐕣. 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐃

summary. you were suffocated by your keeper, attempting to find sanctuary in what you could earn.

⤷ contents. yandere!feitan portor x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, implied past physical and emotional abuse, implied torture, unhealthy relationships // wc. 1.3k

⤷ notes. really getting stuck on the yandere chain...just wanted to write some things for my favorite dream yanderes ;) <3

Leaving your bedroom was always the hardest part of the day.

The small space was your greatest comfort, even if your mattress would leave you aching in the morning, not to mention how thin your blankets were. You’d never voice your complaints, not out loud. Your captor could be rather ignorant of your needs, only giving you a blanket after seeing you, by mere chance, shivering one night.

He chastised you, as if it was your fault for not asking for a blanket. But you had learned previously that asking for things—even necessities—was considered rude, showing that you were ungrateful for what he had already provided.

“What more you want?” he had hissed, flashing you a wicked smile. “Need to learn lesson in basement?”

You learned exactly what the basement held when you were first brought here, and the fear of returning plagued both your dreams and nightmares. Just seeing that rotting door brought back memories of your former life down below. Feitan was aware of this, playing off of your fear as if it were a joke, mocking and threatening you over anything he viewed as a slight towards him.

And so you stayed in your room.

Eventually you would have to make your way out and down the stairs, where he may or may not be waiting. But that was normal with Feitan, lingering either too close or being completely gone. You never caught him entering the cabin you were in, mostly on account of the countless trees surrounding the area. Feitan never had to tell you that escape was futile, the dead quiet atmosphere did that for you. Wherever you were was far, far away from any human civilization.

You fiddled with the lace on your nightgown—Feitan’s newest fixation. Originally you had an odd and wide assortment of clothes, ranging from long t-shirts with weird stains to bloodied and fraying button up long sleeve shirts. You chose not to question their origins. But one day Feitan barged into your room and threw dresses to your feet, taking what remained in your closet and leaving as quickly as he came.

They were softly colored, mostly various shades of white with a few rosy pink gowns peaking out in the pile. Lacy, and most of all, pure. A clear sign that Feitan saw you as a porcelain doll. Beautiful, yet breakable. But you were made of flesh and blood, not as easy to break or crack. You could see how his eyes lit up when bruises formed on your wrists where he grabbed them, the delight hidden behind his bandana when you began to cry. A sadist who valued his toys. Well, perhaps you weren’t valued, but you seemed to be treasured, at least.

“Breaking would be boring,” he had scoffed, “more fun if alive.”

Maybe treasured wasn’t right either.

Your legs kicked back and forth as you sat on the edge of your freshly made bed. Making your bed was on your personal to-do list—anything to avoid leaving. You were dressed and your outfit for tomorrow was selected. It was a short list, but in a room with only a bed and a closet, it was as long as it could be. More importantly, if you waited any longer up here, Feitan would be upset. He had never dragged you out of your room, but his mood was significantly soured if you refused to leave, and you didn’t want to test him now.

And so, with a heavy heart, you left your bed and walked across the creaky wooden floor. You gingerly turned the rusty doorknob, opening the door to the monster that roamed the halls. He was most likely downstairs, waiting in the kitchen for you. Sometimes you felt like he wanted you to cook for him, which you wouldn’t be opposed to. Feitan’s cooking was abhorrent, usually undercooked and bland chicken he found and made himself. But you weren’t allowed to use any of the kitchen appliances, always watched closely whenever you passed by the knife block. You weren’t sure what he was scared of, since he could easily dispatch you with a single hand.

You carefully descended the stairs, not wanting to alert Feitan to your presence. It was probably a futile effort, knowing how aware he was of his surroundings, especially of your actions. He hardly ever interacted with you, instead just staring. Watching. It was disturbing, but there wasn’t anything you could do to stop it except keep your head down and pretend he wasn’t there. He hated when you did that, though.

Upon reaching the bottom, you immediately met eyes with Feitan, who had clearly been waiting for you. He had two cups before him, still steaming. Freshly made, meaning you hadn’t been too late coming down. 

“Good morning,” you whispered, stepping across the floor to join him at the table.

All you received was a soft hum of acknowledgement.

You sat down in the chair across from him, resting your hands in your lap. Feitan had left the other cup near your seat, indicating that it was meant for you. You could smell the liquid before seeing it, and it wasn’t half bad. Definitely some kind of tea, surprised that Feitan had something like this in the cabin. You brought the cup up towards your lips and took a sip. Minty, with a lot of honey. 

“You like?” he interrupted your tasting, staring right at you. Through you.

“It’s good,” you said softly.

He let out a noise of approval, continuing to watch you finish the drink. His went untouched.

Once you had drank the tea, you let the silence simmer between you, keeping your eyes trained on your lap as you spoke up.

“Uhm, Feitan,” you began, playing with your hands to ease your nerves, “I was just thinking about, maybe—and, ah, only if you allow it—taking me outside? It’s just that, well, I think there could be some ingredients out there, and I know you’ve talked about having me cook soon, but, uh, it’s going to be getting too cold in a month or so, so maybe…”

You dared to look up at him, meeting eyes that had been piercing your body even before you started speaking. And that familiar silence arose once more as Feitan, who continued to stare you down. You had only ever made one other request of Feitan, that being shoes, since it was getting cold. Instead you received different socks, varying in thickness.

“It not like you going anywhere,” he had mocked, a glint in his eye.

But that tiny light was absent in his eyes now, only narrowing as he seemed to consider your petition. Of course, he could be feigning care, letting your excitement bubble up only to crush your hopes at the very last second. He always enjoyed doing that.

Feitan stood up from the table, rapidly walking over to you. Your body told you to run, but your brain reminded you of the consequences, leaving you frozen and shaking as Feitan approached.

He stopped in front of you, just staring for a minute. Then, without giving you time to think, he grabbed your face, squeezing it roughly.

“Rules,” he said, “I go with. You do not pass tree line. If you leave sight, basement. If you run, basement. Understand?”

You did your best to nod in his grip.

“Good,” he mocked, releasing your face, “we go tomorrow.”

Immediately your hands fled to your face, attempting to soothe the pain of his hold. You tried to push the tears back inside, but were unable to stop the small streams that escaped your eyes.

Feitan crouched down in front of you, tilting his head.

“Why so sad?” he cooed, brushing away a tear from your face. “I give you something good.”

“Be grateful.”

#feitan portor x reader #feitan x reader #yandere feitan portor x reader #yandere feitan x reader #feitan portor #feitan #yandere feitan portor #yandere feitan #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh x reader #mdni

[rotten-pomegranate]

Good morning 🌞, since requests are open, can I please get head cannon ask for how the adult trio with feitan, shalnark and phinks would react if reader successfully escaped them for years. Please I want reader to win just once 😭🙏🏾

Yes you can 💪🏻

I wasn’t sure if they were supposed to catch you in the end but I made like that

Warnings: mentions of torture, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of rape

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Feitan

Feitans gonna be pissed and offended that you have so little respect for him you escaped and when he finds you it’s hell

you should have killed yourself when you got away because the things he’s gonna do to you and Any friends you made along the way will make death seem like the better option by a lot

You don’t get any privileges your always chained up and you only get enough food and water to survive

He was being nice before, holding himself back, but not anymore now he does anything and everything he wants

Shalnark

He’s gonna be sad he knows he wasn’t the best but was he that bad?

He’s gonna track you down eventually, probably one of the quickest to find you, I’m talking three years or so

When he finds you he just mocks you, like you really thought he wouldn’t find you how cute

He’s gonna stick you with antenna a lot more often to make you do stuff you would never willingly do and he’s gonna make sure you remember every bit of it

Phinks

He’s heartbroken, you didn’t love him? Sure he kidnapped you but he was so nice, he got you gifts, fed you, never forced you to do anything and he let you do whatever you wanted in the fairly big house (he’s a but Delusional)

He’s a close second to shalnark when it comes to finding you in sense of time give or take about three and a half years

When he does find you he’s not gonna be as nice as he was before, your not gonna get sweet little gifts or the privilege to go around the house freely and he’s not gonna brush off your attitude anymore, from now on your getting locked away when you give him any sass

Chrollo

even though he tried his hardest to prevent it He knew it would happen eventually, he let his guard slip gave you to much freedom

It’s gonna take him about five years to find you because he has to focus on other stuff such as the troupe

When he gets you back your never gonna see the light of day again, your locked I and chained In his basement from now on and while it’s a nice basement with carpeted floors, a nice bathroom and a big bed with lots of fluffy blankets that he often joins you in your only there for his pleasure now

He regularly pins you down and forces you to do stuff that he didn’t make you do before whispering how it Could be different the whole time

Illumi

Illumi is savage, has every person in the zoldyck manor out looking for you and that intensity doesn’t go down if anything it gets worse the longer it takes to find you

It’ll take him about four years to find you and when he does your in for it

First he’s gonna beat you black and blue, he’s gonna break both you legs in the process and that’s the only thing you’ll be allowed to see a doctor about

He’s gonna try and get you pregnant as soon as he can and if you where kicking and screaming before he would have stopped but not anymore now your getting tied to the bed frame and having a gag in your mouth

Hisoka

He’s the calmest out of all of them, he knew it would happen, he’s not happy about it but he’s not a total mess like some of these guys

It’s not his top priority to find you but it is up there, so it’s gonna take him about seven years to find you

When he finds you your getting the beating of a life time, I’m talking broken ribs, and kicked out teeth, he will pay machi to come fix you up but he might do it again if you annoy him

He didn’t hit you before but he does now, oh you dropped a glass worth ten bucks? Your getting smacked up side the head

And lastly from now on when you sleep it’s on the cold ground with a chain leash attached to his bed frame around your neck no more comfortable pillows

©rotten-pomegranate- All rights reserved, don’t steal, translate, copy, plagiarize, claim my work as your own or post it on other platforms.

#hunter x hunter #hisoka hxh #hxh #chrollo hxh #goes and snatches hisoka #hisoka #hunter x hunter feitan x reader #shalnark x reader #yandere shalnark #yandere chrollo #yandere hisoka #yandere illumi #yandere phinks #yandere feitan #feitan x reader smut #viral #uvogin #hxh hisoka #hxh chrollo #uvogin x reader #yandere uvogin #writing

[after-witch]

Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Title: Indulgence [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: Just Feitan wanting to touch your nyloned feet.

Word count: 774

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, forced footplay, brief tickling

Feitan's grip on your nylon-clad ankle is not especially tight. His fingers do not press into your flesh, ensuring small printed bruises that will last for days.

Instead, he holds your ankle like it’s something precious and sentimental. Like you held your grandmother’s porcelain figurines when you were little, and she’d told you again and again that she loved those figurines so much that if you were to crack a single one, it would break her heart.

But, taking in the look in his eyes, perhaps sentimental is the wrong word. He looks more fascinated than anything else.

“Feitan?” You ask, shifting yourself on the worn cushions of the sofa. You don’t dare pull your foot away--he’d stop you, if you were stupid enough to try.You’re not that stupid anymore.

He doesn’t acknowledge you at first.

You curl your toes, unused to the stretch of the thin nylon material over them--and his eyebrows actually lift up. Seeing any expression on him that wasn’t irritation or disgusted glee while he tortured people was almost astonishing enough to make your own eyebrows raise.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice low, almost husky.

It’s the question you wanted to ask him.

“Nothing,” you say. Right? You’re just sitting here. He’s the one acting odd.

“You curled your toes.” His answer is short. Factual.

Because well, you did curl your toes. But… you didn’t mean anything by it. They were stiff, you’ve been sitting here so awfully long, and Feitan hasn’t explained a thing.

He didn’t respond this morning when you asked why there were nylons on the bed with the outfit he’d picked out--a short white nightgown that you’ve had for ages, worn in the armpits, with a lace trim that needed a good bleaching--or where your socks had gone.

He didn’t give you a reason when you told you to sit on the sofa, or when he grabbed your legs and yanked them up, forcing you to pivot around to avoid an uncomfortable twist in your hips.

Nor did he offer up any explanation when he’d taken your ankle in his hands and placed your foot on his thigh and simply… held it there--is still holding it there.

“I… I didn’t mean to?” You lick dry lips. “I mean, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just going to ask you why you’re…” You trail off as his eyebrows go from high to furrowed. 

Slowly, his other hand moves from its spot on his thigh and hovers above your foot. Your heart begins to beat faster--you weren’t disobedient lately, or at least he hadn’t said so.

He wouldn’t break your foot without telling you the reason, surely. The lecture he’d given after he broke a few of your fingers the first (and last) time you’d ever slapped him was a testament to that.

His fingers descend--one, two, three, four, five--but he doesn’t break your foot. Instead he begins to massage it.

That should make your heart slow down, but instead it only speeds up, even as his fingers begin to press down harder, a firm pressure down the length of your arch, then up your sole, ending just underneath your toes.

The nylon material shifts under his fingers. It feels strange, like some kind of thin second skin that heightens the sensation of being touched. It feels warm from the rubbing, despite the vague undercurrent of ticklishness that makes you want to yank your ankle away.

His fingers begin to lightly massage your toes, which stretch and curl instinctively. It’s too light, too ticklish.

Your breath hitches.

So does his.

“Ticklish?” He asks.

You nod. Lying had been trained out of you long before this.

He hums. There’s a pit in your stomach that begins to eat itself as you watch emotions play out on his face. It’s harder with the cowl up, but his eyes can give enough away, if you know how to look. You’ve had lots of practice.

He’s delighted by something.

Which is rarely a good sign.

Still, you know better than to try to yank your foot away, even as his fingers return to your toes, pressing down harder. It still tickles, but there’s more to it, now. The warmth is back, an unexpected, unwanted pleasurable feeling.

He stares at you the whole time, gauging your reaction.

Your fingernails dig into the sofa, digging into the already frayed threads. You bite your lip. You don’t want to give him anything. But he’ll just take it anyway, won’t he?

It’s going to be a long evening, you think. And judging by the expression on Feitan’s face--he thinks so, too.

#yandere feitan #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #afterwitch writes #eh I decided to just go to bed before 8pm so a lil indulgence it is

[bwabys-scenarios]

Can we see a chubby!reader who maybe doesn't know that Feitan is part of the phantom troupe, so she doesn't think Feitan can carry her but then he proves her wrong (maybe with a little bit of angst because she's self conscious, and then comfort because Feitan loves that there's more of her)

Idk if that made sense

Perfect

Feitan x Chubby!Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

A/N: another short one… but I like it!! Join my server !!

warnings: insecure reader, a bit of internalized misogyny

SFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @aliceattheart @atransmuter

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

You had been dating Feitan for nearly a year now, and you still knew so little about him. His whereabouts while he was out of town were a mystery to you, and you had no idea what he did for work. All you did know was that he didn’t have a normal job.

When you jokingly asked him if he was in the mafia, he scoffed. “Mafia bunch of puss- wimps. Not part of it, not by long shot.”

You were a little perturbed by his answer, but couldn’t help laughing at the way he censored himself for your sake. He seemed to see you as some kind of delicate princess, closer to a porcelain doll than human. Feitan was always extremely gentle when touching you, his hands almost hesitant when making contact with your skin.

This was something you didn’t understand. Throughout your life, people viewed you as bigger, tougher, when in reality you were quite easily hurt, both physically and mentally. The topic of your weight had been a sore subject…

But your Fei wasn’t really good with reading social cues.

“Eat good. Here, for big girl.”

You stared at your boyfriend as he used his chopsticks to drop an extra egg roll on your plate. In your mind, you know he meant nothing by it. He was friends with larger people like Uvogin who ate tons to keep up his strength and figure.

But your heart felt hurt. You pushed your plate away and huffed. “Hmph.”

He was bad about assuming things, even if you knew it Feitan wasn’t being malicious, it still hurt your feelings when he assumed random things because of your body type.

But what you didn’t know, was that Feitan wasn’t assuming anything. You were his girlfriend, he had to provide for you and make sure you ate well. In meteor city, having meat on your bones usually meant you were well taken care of, and all he wanted to do was make sure you ate.

Feitan, though… he wasn’t good at communicating that. Or communicating at all, really, so he just stared as you pushed away the food. He scoffed, slightly offended that you turned down his offer.

“Why huff? Being brat.”

You sniffled, standing up and storming off. Feitan wouldn’t let this slide, he hated seeing you upset.

The dark haired man caught your wrist, squeezing with just enough force to catch your attention. “Why act like this? Made you mad?”

You pouted, puffing out your chubby cheeks. “Mmph… it’s embarrassing. You’re thin and I’m not… aren’t girls supposed to be dainty and small? Isn’t that what you would prefer, someone you could easily pick up?”

You wiped the tears from your eyes, not daring to look back at your lover.

But you didn’t have to look, because he turned you around and began lifting you with ease. Once you were in the air, he held onto your ass, squeezing softly. You squeaked and immediately wrapped your plump thighs around his waist for support, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“See? Easy. My little bunny.”

He held you in his arms, not straining or struggling in the slightest. It was like you weighed nothing at all to him and it was… relieving.

“Can’t understand? You… are mine.”

He huffed, sitting down with you in his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist. “We clear?”

You snuggled him, burying your teary face into his neck. “Yeah…”

Feitan tried to be a bit more sensitive with you after that, and made it a point to carry you around and show you off to his friends. It was a little embarrassing… but you felt loved and beautiful.

And that was all you needed.

#feitan porter x reader #feitan x reader #requests open #x reader #anime x reader #reader insert #hxh x reader #hxh imagines #hunter x hunter x reader #anime x chubby reader #chubby!reader #chubby reader #hxh x y/n #hxh x you #feitan imagine #yandere feitan #plus size reader #fem!reader #female reader #fem reader #fluffy #fluff #fanfiction #hxh feitan

[lliminall]

yan!phantom troupe most to least likely to get you a cat | headcanons

tags: gn!reader, yandere, mentions of threatened violence against animals

pakunoda

she loves the idea! she even brings it up with you herself. she already likes cats and they always seem to like her, but she never thought about adopting one because of her unpredictable lifestyle. now that she has you, kept safe and hidden away in her home, it seems like a much more viable idea. she really does hate to see you so despondent and upset, and hates the thought of you being miserable all alone while she’s away, so bringing in a cat is a perfect solution to your loneliness. if you’ve been particularly good lately she may even bring you along to find one, either from a shelter or straight off of the streets.

machi

unlike pakunoda she won’t bring up the idea herself, but once you mention it she jumps right on top of it. not immediately, of course. she has to at least pretend to think about it and be cranky about it. really though, she recognizes this as a great opportunity to boost your mood and improve your opinion of her. she brings you a kitten because she thinks it’ll be good for you to put all your energy into raising it, and also because it’s just so cute. even if she won’t say it out loud. adopting the cat has a third, more unexpected benefit though. it ends up humanizing her to you, as soon as you see her cooing and petting the little baby when she thinks you aren’t paying attention.

phinks

sure. why not. that’s exactly what he thinks when you bring it up. he really couldn’t give a fuck about some fuzzy little animal living in the house, but if it’ll make you happy (and finally make you like him) he’ll do anything. the shelter employees are a little hesitant to hand one over when you walk in with this brooding, sketchy looking guy but none of them have the guts to outright refuse him, so you end up bringing home whichever one you want. he doesn’t ever grow to love the cat, but with time maybe he can learn to like it. just a little bit. maybe even let it curl up on his lap and get fur all over his track suit, if you gush about how sweet it is while he does it.

uvogin

another one who just doesn’t give a fuck. he doesn’t like cats, doesn’t dislike them, but if you really want one he’ll oblige. yanks one straight off the street and brings it home to you spitting and scratching like it’s life depends on it. the poor baby calms down a lot once you manage to get it out of uvo’s hands, but the cat never quite warms up to him and really only likes you lmao. uvo doesn’t mind though, he really only got it to make you happy, and as you later find out, to have a more convenient way to bring you back in line when you start acting up. all it takes is one off-handed threat towards the cat and suddenly you’re feeling a lot more cooperative. it is very cute to see him trying to pet it’s tiny head with his giant fingers though, even if the cat is less than thrilled to have him around

shalnark

shalnark isn’t thrilled at the idea of having a cat around, but he isn’t exactly opposed to it either. he just doesn’t really care about animals much. and the thought of a cat getting hair everywhere and jumping all over his desk doesn’t sound like the best idea to him. if you’re persistent enough, however, he might make it into a reward for good behavior. if you can make it a couple months without picking a fight or trying to break a window he’ll bring one home for you, but don’t think for a second that you can ever get away with acting out again. shalnark will not hesitate to threaten the cat to get your cooperation, and he’ll say it all with a smile on his face and a hand scratching the oblivious kitty’s ears. he’s another one who won’t ever love the cat exactly, but might grow to tolerate it. likes picking on it with a laser pointer or some other toy that it loves to chase but never quite catches

chrollo

chrollo isn’t too keen on the idea. he moves around a lot, and it’s enough of a hassle getting you from one place to another with no hiccups. throwing an animal into the mix is not an appealing idea to him, but it’s possible to get him on board if you’re very, very convincing, and by convincing I of course mean being as sweet and cuddly (and maybe even sensual) as you can stand to be. I think chrollo would initially plan to buy you some expensive pure bred, but if you asked for a shelter cat specifically he may be surprised to find out that he’s happier that way. there’s something strangely charming about this scraggly little stray you’ve brought in to care for and cuddle. with enough introspection, he might come to the conclusion that he sees some of himself in this cat; or at least, some of who he used to be. he’s another one who will use the cat to keep you on your best behavior, although I don’t think chrollo would threaten to hurt the cat, just to take it away from you if you aren’t obedient. he doesn’t want you to resent him too much, after all.

feitan

oh god. if you know what’s good for yourself you won’t ever even ask him for one. if you do, and he agrees, it’s for one reason and one reason only: to terrorize you into obedience. feitan will not hesitate to hurt this animal you love if he thinks that’s what needs to happen to win your cooperation. whereas some of the others may use those threats a bit emptily, feitan has absolutely no qualms about breaking a bone on this poor animal to remind you that it’s in your best interest to mind his rules, now. what makes it more disturbing is the fact that feitan seems to get along with the cat just fine while you’re not acting up, petting it and letting it curl around his legs while he’s busy. he’ll threaten to snap a bone or crush its windpipe while stroking it calmly, a wicked smile pulling at his lips. he knows how terrified you are of seeing this animal get hurt. you’ll likely never have the guts to disobey him again.

#god help these poor animals lmao #hxh x reader #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere feitan #feitan x reader #yandere feitan x reader #yandere phinks #phinks x reader #yandere pakunoda #pakunoda x reader #yandere machi #machi x reader #yandere shalnark #shalnark x reader #yandere uvogin #uvogin x reader #hxh.ll #chrollo.ll #pakunoda.ll #machi.ll #feitan.ll #shalnark.ll #phinks.ll #uvogin.ll #my works.ll

[stxrborne]

PRECISION

|| Feitan x neutral! Reader ||

|| dt to @after-witch @ddarker-dreams @depravitycentral for inspiring me to finally get off my ass and write, and also for their amazing works ofc! check them out! ||

It’s ironic, Feitan thinks, to sew up the wounds of his victims. But they can’t die just yet.

His thin, long fingers push the needle through the victims skin of their inner thigh, and he gives out a light scoff in mockery when they whimper. Little rich boy can’t handle a little pain? He hates these rich types that think they can pull one over on the troupe. They were fun to interrogate, they always worked up his temper where taking it out on them was something he looked forward to. Due punishment, not only for their bratty, pretentious attitude, but their lucky pull in birth circumstances. Feitan acts as their comeuppance.

He’ll give it to this victim, however, still holding on to the information despite it all. Usually his male victims would start spilling whatever they knew when Feitan picked up a hammer and pushed their thighs apart. But here his victim was, crying and whimpering, and now a eunuch, and still not speaking.

Feitan finishes his stitches with a clean knot, and sets the needle and thread aside on his medical tool tables. He likes to pride himself in his efficiency and perfection. After all, torture required just as much knowledge of the human body as a surgeon. The image of Feitan as a doctor, in a different life, flashed in his mind and he laughed aloud. Maybe. Maybe if he was born lucky. Maybe if he didn’t have to learn surgery and amputations from the cruelty of his home.

After all, doctors can’t save everyone. And he didn’t see the point in willingly putting that responsibility and burden on yourself. Especially for ungrateful rich brats.

No, it was much easier to take life than to protect it. Much more fulfilling too. Other people aren’t your responsibility.

How funny though, Feitan thought. To now have something to willingly burden yourself with.

His ears pricked up to his victim shuffling in his chains, and he turned to them. The man wasn’t remarkable, only one person really was in Feitan’s eyes. The only thing noticeable now was the man’s family crest Feitan had carved on the skin above his heart.

How can you claim to belong to something, if you can’t even mark yourself with it? When you die, how will people know where you belonged to?

Feitan takes the man’s face in between his hand, and moves his head around to inspect his work. He debated between leaving the cut next to eye, dropping a few drops of an infectious bacteria into it so the eye would eventually eat itself. It’d take about a week, and then another for the infection to spread to the rest of the body.

Feitan couldn’t help but smile at the image. He gripped his victims face with his nails, and told him so.

“It’d be funny to see you swell up with blood and pus. I wonder if you’d get fat like an ugly cyst, but you already don’t look all that different from one.”

He let him go unceremoniously, and watched as his head fell forward. Feitan will grant him the mercy of sleep. After all, a dog will still endure abuse if you feed it often enough.

“Feitan?”

He heard you before you reached the basement door of course. He knew where you were in the house at all times after all.

You knew you weren’t allowed to open the door. If you needed him, just knock or call his name. You think it’s because he’d have to kill you if you saw what he was doing.

He knows that, and thinks you’re silly. He wipes his bloodied hands with a clean cloth as he walks to the door. His eyes meet yours when he opens the door, and his gaze doesn’t leave yours as he closes it. You don’t even know what color the walls of the basement are.

Feitan looks you over, with the same precision he gives to everything. You’ve been picking at your hangnails again and for some reason you didn’t bother bandaging your thumb, where you had ripped and tore at the skin enough for it to bleed. Another thing is that you’re wearing nothing but a towel, which means one thing.

“I want to take a bath,” you say, your clasped hands nervously squeezing themselves. It was another thing you weren’t allowed to do on your own. You didn’t understand why, and you didn’t understand why he did the things he did. He’d set the water the way you like it, even though you don’t remember telling him. He scents it with fragrances and oils that you can tell are expensive, in your favorite scents too. He helps you in and then holds out your towel so he doesn’t see your naked body, and he swiftly turns and closes the curtain. He does the same when you’re ready to come out.

He has a chair he sits on, quietly and unmoving as he watches your silhouette. Maybe it’s a kink or fetish of some kind, you think. It had taken you a while to get use to. But something tells you it wasn’t that exactly. One time you had slipped when washing your body, and before you could fully gasp out in surprise, you were in his arms with his face to the side.

He didn’t act the way you expected a kidnapper would. But it still didn’t explain why you were here at all.

Feitan nods at you, and you lead the way. You’ve learned he preferred to be your second shadow than to be your leading light.

Your large bathroom was attached to your equally large room. Funny how you’ve started to refer to them as ‘yours’. It’s difficult not to, when he is somehow able to let you decorate it the way you want. Feitan does that often, you’ve found. No matter how expensive your request, and you have tested that, he will get it for you. You’re scared to ask how.

He begins his routine when you both step into the bathroom. He gets the water to the temperature you like and let the bath tub fill. The sound of the tub jets fill the air, and you watch as he drips expensive oils into the water. His movements are methodical, and somehow he’s figured out the ratio of water to oil that’s right for your skin.

Feitan doesn’t dare mix the water with his hand.

Your nose is soon filled with the scent, and you feel your tense shoulders slowly let go and relax. He’s watching you, you know that. He stops the faucet when the tub fills up, and you walk up the small steps and stand in front of him.

A part of you is always tempted to touch. His pale skin is smooth and such a contrast to his dark hair. This close, you can see just a hint of green in his black eyes, the way they don’t seem to blink. You wonder if he is even human.

You nod softly and he moves behind you. You can’t even feel his presence, hear his breath, and you slightly jump when he reaches to gently clasp the small fold that holds your towel up.

Feitan waits until you calm again to continue. He never touches you directly, not even a stray touch from any finger. He takes off your towel and spreads it as a barrier between you and him.

But then you do something that has his heart beating and stopping erratically. His breath catches in his throat, your gaze turning to him and he feels trapped beneath it. How do you not know how much power you have over him?

His eyes instantly move to the way you nervously bite at your lip. Somehow he can know everything about you, how you think, how you word those thoughts, and yet now, he can’t believe what he thinks you’re going to say.

“…help me?” You say slowly, so quietly that a normal person wouldn’t have heard you.

But you know he did. And you don’t drop your eyes from him.

Feitan, in return, lets the towel drop.

#feitan portor #feitan x reader #yandere feitan #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #phantom troupe #dea writings #feitan portor x reader #lemme know how you guys interpret Feitan!

[kiame-sama]

Hello~ do I was wondering if you could tell us how is dubcon with Feitan? 👀

Warnings; yandere, NSFW mention (obviously), dub-con, bondage,

- Feitan has a tendency to take things too far when he is in the moment. What usually starts as consensual quickly devolves into dub-con territory as he includes and adds more of his personal kinks. As far as Feitan is concerned, he is being gentle because he hasn't killed them.

- He has a habit for trying up his darling and doing whatever he wants, regardless of how his darling may try to talk him out of it. This means that once his darling is tied, he is the one in control and he does not relinquish that control often. As the primary torturer of the Troupe, Feitan has a tendency to go just far enough that he doesn't permanently hurt or kill his darling, but it certainly seems like either option is still on the table as a potential choice.

- Even if his darling is not a consenting partner, it is very difficult to say no to Feitan. He has a tendency to be intimidating enough that a 'no' very quickly becomes a 'yes' regardless of how tentative it may be. Trying to stop Feitan once he has started is near impossible due to the fact that Feitan takes what he wants when he wants.

- When Feitan is in the moment, he has a very high tendency to slap, spank, and choke his darling. Something about it gets his blood pumping and he doesn't particularly care if they don't like it.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #hxh yandere #yandere feitan