#feitan.ll

You have a sense, as well, that you are not alone in these dark woods. But of course you would feel that way, right? You’re in the woods with every other night-crawling creature and surely Feitan hasn’t tracked you down already. It’s too dark and you’ve had too much of a head start. He’ll find you and make you regret it in the morning, you think, when you’re too tired and thirsty to give any more of a chase.

A branch snaps somewhere behind you, and your blood turns to ice in your veins. You stop dead in your tracks to look back, but there’s nothing in what little patches of light you can see. The woods are silent apart from your breathing, and you think wishfully that it couldn’t possibly be him because he moves like a ghost through the house he keeps you in, never making noise unless he wants you to hear it.

But that’s just it, isn’t it?

Unless he wanted you to hear it.

There’s another snap from a different direction, closer now, and you don’t know how he could have gotten there so fast and so quietly. It can’t be him. Of course it’s him. Please god don’t let it be-

“Are you done yet?”

It is him. It’s him it’s him and if you were breathing hard before, you’re choking on air now. Your feet feel stuck to the ground.

He continues, taunting and gleeful. “Poor rabbit, doesn’t know where to run.”

You can’t see him, but you can hear his satisfaction at having caught you in your mistake. You think, regretfully, that this was probably what he wanted all along. Another excuse to punish you. You wonder if he gave you the chance to escape on purpose.

Your will to run is draining quickly. You’re not stupid enough to think he’ll let you off easy if you give up now and apologize, but what good does running do at this point? You go to turn towards the sound of his voice, resigned to whatever fate he has planned, when he speaks again.

“You’re done already?” he says for the second time. There’s that taunting edge in his voice again, and you know now that he’s having fun with this. Seeing you struggle, making you scared, watching you fail. It’s all a game.

You open your mouth to tell him yes, you give up, just take you home and get it over with, but there’s a hard thock in the tree trunk closest to your legs, and you whip your head towards the sound to see that he’s thrown a fucking knife at you, and your legs are moving again as he cackles behind you.

You don’t have the presence of mind to think that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh.

Now, when he chases you, you hear him. His footsteps are loud and his voice mocking while you crash through the brush, branches whipping your face and legs and arms. You wish he would just catch you, like you know he easily could. You’re exhausted and scared and aching and it’s enough to make you miss your mattress on the floor of his basement.

Would he punish you more if you gave up? Are you really any better off if you let him run you through the woods all night?

You want to give up. You want to tell him to go fuck himself and his stupid games and all the other freak shit he’s put you through, and your legs burn and your lungs burn and-

Something collides with you from behind with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs, driving you into the ground. It’s him, of course, pinning you underneath him and tangling a fist in your hair to shove your face into the soft moss. Your head is spinning and you can just make out his voice above you.

“Stupid girl,” he spits. “Can’t run. What should I do to you now that I have you?”

You try to lift your head to see him but he holds you down with more strength than you can hope to fight. You open your mouth to speak, to tell him fuck you, I hate you, I hope you die, but before you get the words out he’s pressing his hips down and rolling them into your ass and-

Oh. Oh god.

He’s hard.

Your mind blanks with the sensation, the horrifying realization of what exactly he’s going to do to you. You think he’s breathing harder than usual above you and you know it’s not for lack of energy. He presses his chest against your back and you feel his breath against your ear.

“What will you do,” he breathes, “now that I have you?”

His hands are on your waist then, flipping you onto your back before he drops down to rest on your hips again. The air is cold on your cheeks, and you realize that it’s because they’re wet, and your crying.

Feitan dips down to your face and licks a long line from your lips up to your eyelashes, catching the tears and leaving a sticky stripe behind. In the patch of earth he has you pinned in, there’s just enough light to make out his sneering face, and you wonder if you’ve ever seen him so satisfied as he is now. There’s no question that you’ve given him exactly what he wanted, and he’s going to punish you for it anyway.

His fingers undo the knot on your shorts.

“Will you behave?” he asks as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your shorts and underwear, sliding them under your ass and off your legs. It’s a pointless question. There’s nothing you could do with him straddling your body and snatching your wrists to pin them above your head. With his other hand he undoes the clasp of his own pants and reaches down to pull out his stiffening cock.

You nod in response to his earlier question, and part your lips when he presses two fingers into them. They slide along your tongue, stale with the taste of dirt and sweat, and you gag as he scratches just a bit too close to the back of your throat before reefing them from your mouth and sliding them down his dick. How considerate, you think, of him to bother lubing himself up for you.

It’s also apparently the only nicety he’s going to give you, because in the next moment he’s lining his dick up with your entrance and you yelp as he pushes himself in to the base with one fluid motion. He groans as he bottoms out and you squirm, trying to lessen the stinging stretch, with no luck.

The ground is rough and cold under the bare skin of your lower half, roots digging into the muscles in your back as he begins a brutal pace. Your breathe hitches with each mean thrust, and you turn your head to the side to avoid his searing gaze.

This is surely only the first of many punishments to come. You’ve never done something this blatantly disobedient with him before.

What would he even do, to scare you out of trying it again?

Feitan must notice that you’ve become lost in your thoughts, because his hand is gripping your jaw and turning your face to meet his again. His lips smash against yours, grinding, biting, growling.

“Look at me,” he says against your mouth. His tongue slides in through your lips, tangling with yours, and you taste your own blood on it.

“Look at me”—you yelp with a particularly hard thrust—“when I fuck you.”

In the quiet of the night you can hear the steady wet sounds of his dick pumping in and out of you. That initial pain from the stretch is gone, and the longer he’s at work, the warmer the space between your hips grows. You realize, humiliatingly, that he hasn’t once needed to stop and re-lube himself, because you’re more than wet enough on your own.

He shifts the angle of his hips slightly, and his cock is rubbing up against all the soft, sensitive spots inside you. The wicked glint of his teeth in the moonlight tells you that he’s just as aware of your growing arousal as you are.

It makes your cheeks heat up and the space behind your eyes begins to sting with fresh tears, as that coil in your belly continues to tighten and you both know exactly what he going to make you do.

“You like it?” he sneers. He slides a thumb around the seam where your entrance and his cock meet, picking up your slick and dragging it up to your puffy clit. You sob as he begins circling it with an unfair precision, and your thighs begin to tremble with the sensation.

“You like it,” he continues, “when I fuck you into the dirt like an animal?”

He’s waiting for an answer, you realize, when the nails on his other hand bite dangerously into your wrists, and you sob yes, Feitan, yes.

The steady thrusting, his finger on your clit, and the weight of his body on yours is bringing you closer and closer to the edge, skin hot, core aching, until all at once the coil snaps and your toes are curling with your release.

His grin above you is nothing but predatory, and your cheeks flush with humiliation as your back arches into the waves of pleasure, hips rolling to meet his. You bite your lips to try to stifle the moan being ripped from you throat, but the look on his face tells you he’s gotten everything he wanted anyways.

His pace quickens as your own high sizzles out, and soon the movements become erratic and harsh before he stills altogether, grinding his hips shallowly into yours as he groans and paints your insides with his cum.

The air is cold without the heat of sex warming your skin. You’re boneless on the ground, sucking in deep breaths, and the man above you looks no worse for wear.

You don’t dare meet his eyes. You’re dirty and tired and your face is streaked with tears, and you wish you didn’t care about how pathetic you must look to him.

The hand clasped around your wrists slides down to your mussed hair. Gently, he tucks a stray piece back into place, brushes a few strands away from your damp cheeks. You don’t let yourself stop to think of the implications.

He slides out of you and while you’re gathering your senses, he’s picked up your clothes to tug them back up your legs, under your bottom, and back into place around your hips.

He pulls you up onto shaky legs, and you feel his cum soaking through your panties and dripping down your thighs. You think you could start crying again.

He takes your wrist in a grip with a bit too much force, and tugs you along after him as he starts back towards the house. The pace he sets is just quick enough to have you stumbling after him, and you think again of what he’s going to do to you when you get back.

Fresh tears fall down your cheeks, and in a weak voice you tell him “I’m sorry, Feitan.”

He spares a glance back at you. You cannot see his expression past his cowl, pulled back into place over his nose and mouth, but in his eyes you see the barest hint of his typical cruel mirth.

“No,” he says, dropping his hand down to yours, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. It could almost be comforting.

feitan

when he first takes you, I don’t think he would bother to put any thought into your wardrobe. he’d probably just give you whatever clothes were the easiest for him to get ahold of, and I doubt they would be the most flattering or even fit properly. imagine he just walks in with a walmart bag one day and hands you like five of those $10 tshirts that say shit like “I DON’T WANT TO ADULT TODAY.” what if he hands you one of those violently yellow minion shirts. I might kill myself and he does it on purpose too

HOWEVER I don’t think that would necessarily last forever. I’m still not over the fact that’s he’s into Trevor Brown’s art, which if you’re unfamiliar with, features a lot of creepy-cute style girls in lolita-esque clothing. I feel like eventually he’d realize that he’s wasting a perfect opportunity by making you walk around in unflattering stained tshirts when he could be dressing you up like a paper doll in whatever he wants

I’m imagining white for his darling, or maybe even really soft pastels, especially pinks. he likes the innocence of it, how sharply it contrasts with his own personality and aesthetic. I think he enjoys the feeling of being some kind of “big bad wolf” or the “monster under the bed” with you, and this would even further highlight the power imbalance between you

I love the idea of his darling in babydoll dresses and nightgowns, frilly and flowy and almost infantilizing. honestly though I feel like his taste in clothes would be sort of shit so I have taken many liberties with the example pics PLEASE if you have to be kidnapped the least he could do is let you look cute ffs

phinks

ASS MAN ASS MAN ASS MAN you can’t blame the guy for just wanting to see some cheeks

booty shorts, those skin-tight flare pants with the patterns…you know the ones, the ultimate butt-flattering pants. the man is constantly horny, he would have you walking around naked if he could

I don’t think he would force you to wear anything. he would just be so handsy whenever you did put on the clothes he picked for you, he would not hold back with the praise and you would be 100% aware of how smoking hot he thinks you are in that outfit. you would realize very quickly how much it improves his mood to see you like this, and you could absolutely use it your advantage. the man would be willing to get you anything and dish out a lot of privileges just to see some ass peeking out of a pair of stupidly short shorts

I think she could also use this to blur the lines of consent just a bit, in certain circumstances. she’ll run her fingers down your arm, asking you with little subtlety if you’d like to join her on the bed, and you can refuse but if your memories tell her that you were sort of into it the last time she tried, she’ll use it as an excuse to keep pushing you. gently, of course. she would never dream of outright forcing herself on you, she’s just…coaxing. manipulatively. with information about your sexual preferences that you never wanted her to be aware of to begin with

if you’re unaware of her nen ability I think it would be unnerving, the way she’s so in tune with your innermost thoughts and desires. she could use this to her favor, setting herself up as the person who was made for you, a soulmate almost, with the ability to understand you and love you more deeply than anyone else possibly could.

if you do know about her nen ability, it would put you in a near constant state of anxiety. you can’t hide anything from her. you have virtually no privacy. every little touch from her is going to have your mind racing, reading into every question she asks you for possible memories it could dig up that you do NOT want her to know. in this circumstance, I don’t think she would use her ability so often, because she wouldn’t want you to be constantly on edge around her, but the fear would still be there.

feitan

he’s sadistic and an asshole and self-serving and rough. I could write a dissertation on all the ways sex with feitan could potentially suck lmaooo but I’ll try to narrow it down here. I think we’ve all seen plenty of content about his tendencies for sadism in sex, so I’ll try to think a bit out of the box for these

he’s quiet. very quiet. you could be giving this man that power wash 3000 sloppy toppy and the most noise you’ll get out of him is like, some heavy breathing and the occasional grunt. sir how am I supposed to know if I’m doing well or not?? I love writing him as a dirty talker but I feel like unless he was doing it to tease or degrade you he wouldn’t have much to say

I think, especially in a situation where he and darling have been together for a while, he would put real effort into making it feel good for you, too. not only as a display of dominance, proving that he can have his way with your body and pull whatever reactions he wants from you, but also because you look so, so good squirming and making those sweet faces under him

this is where things have the potential to get awkward, because when feitan is putting in genuine effort, there’s the potential for him to fail, and failure is vulnerability. and feitan does not do vulnerability.

I think a prime example of this would be if he were to go down on you. eating someone out is such an intimate gesture. if you’ve ever had someone go down on you but they weren’t quite good enough to get you off, you know how awkward it is to pull them back up to your face and convince them to just try something else lol. this is not something you could do with feitan.

telling feitan that what he’s doing isn’t working for you is almost never a good idea, especially when he’s already putting himself out there by trying to do something nice-ish for you. it would embarrass him a little bit, and it would reinforce the idea he had when he first went yandere for you, that the best way for him to deal with his feelings is by exerting total dominance and ignoring any impulse he has to show you a more affectionate side. you can’t hurt him if he never shows you his soft spots.

so just play into it until he figures out what really gets you going. unless he explicitly tells you to show him what feels good for you, you’re better off faking orgasms and taking care of yourself in the shower later. it’s not all bad; he’ll be in a much better mood and eventually it may even encourage him to try being nicer outside of the bedroom. I hope you’re a good actress lmao

machi

this poor woman is tsundere to the point of self sabotage. obviously she must like you because otherwise she wouldn’t keep you around constantly, but she can NOT tell you that or make any sort of gesture that would make it obvious, at least not in the beginning. it’s just a little intimidating for her. to be honest you might have to be the one to suggest sex, because otherwise it will take her ages to work up the courage to risk being rejected by you

the actual act of sex will have you wondering if you ever should have brought it up to begin with because…she can not relax into it. in a normal relationship I don’t think she would be so intimidated by it, but in a yan relationship she is hyper aware of the disparity in power between you

she doesn’t expect you to ever genuinely return her feelings, even though she desperately wants it, and she’ll be second-guessing everything that happens leading up to and during the act. do you really want her like that? are you just doing it because you think it’s what she wants? I mean, she does, but not at the expense of your full and willing consent. are you doing it to manipulate her? to butter her up to something? she can’t pull herself out of her head long enough to just enjoy it

on the bright side I think this would cause her to develop a preference for eating you out. laying you out on your back and sinking to her knees would keep you from seeing her face, allowing her to almost hide from you. so you can’t look through her. can’t see the conflicting impulses flit through her expressions. it also gives her a perfect view as your hips roll and your lips part in pleasure, so she can take in all of those beautiful sights and sounds with little vulnerability on her end

shalnark

he’s selfish lol. I do think he would enjoy getting you off, but his pleasure is first priority. in the beginning of your sexual relationship he would diligently bring you to orgasm every time you slept together, because he wants you to eventually be the one coming to him for sex. it took so long to talk you into it in the first place, he does not want to undo all of that work by fucking up and not making it enjoyable for you

as you both get used to it though, he would get comfortable with getting himself off and then flopping over and falling asleep if you didn’t manage to come in the time it took him to finish. not that he would do it every time, but still. asshole

I also think he’s one of the kinkier members of the phantom troupe, and if your kinks don’t happen to align with his then tough luck lmaooo he’s getting what he wants one way or another. I think he would enjoy dressing you up in super feminine lingerie. the guy’s a gamer and you can NOT convince me he isn’t at least a little bit into the cat girl aesthetic

If you happen to like the maid dresses and cat ears and collars with the little bells, then boy you two are going to get along well, but if it’s not your thing you aren’t going to have much fun slipping it on anyway and putting on an act for him. if you do it well enough he’ll eat you out though, so there’s some motivation

anal? I think anal. I think he’d at least want to give it a shot. he wants to claim every hole you’ve got to offer at some point. depending on the mood he’s in though, he may not have the patience to stretch you out well enough before sliding his cock in, and taking a dick up your ass while underprepped is not a fun time

he wouldn’t want to make you cry or anything, he still wants you to enjoy sex with him, but he would also expect you to be tough enough to deal with a certain amount of pain until you relaxed enough to enjoy it. he is such a prick

phinks

the man is obnoxiously horny. unbearably horny. his hand is on your ass 24/7. you could just be unloading the dishwasher, standing on your tiptoes putting up plates, and you turn to look over your shoulder and see him staring at the space where your shirt has lifted up and exposed the lines of your hips and the dimples on your back. bricked up in .6 seconds over nothing I stg

in his ideal world you would be just as horny as he is, but the average darling will just not be able to keep up, and so a lot of your sessions will just be him fucking you hard and fast to get himself off without taking up too much of your time. he does want you to come, but he also doesn’t want to rub your clit raw.

I could see him getting into thigh-fucking as a necessity because of this, he’s a strong dude and when you’re too sore from last night to give him anything more in the morning, the man learns to make do

I think he’d have a thing for risky sex. semi-public stuff like asking you to suck him off in an empty parking lot, fingering you under the table in the back of a restaurant just after rush hour. he wouldn’t force you into it if you were uncomfortable, but he would still tease you with it because he thinks it’s funny to get a rise out of you. sliding his hand up your thigh until you swat at him and glare before frantically looking around at the tables next to you to see if they noticed.

unrelated to sex but on the topic of pissing you off for fun, he’d also 100% dutch oven you. pinning you under the blankets and cackling like a bastard while you gag and claw for freedom. I hate him lol

shizuku

I think a lot of sex with her would be very self-serving. it’s not that she doesn’t care if you come, it’s just that she gets so in her head sometimes that she forgets to worry about making you feel good, too. if you want to come consistently with her, you’re going to have to put in the work yourself. she’s just a little bit of a pillow princess

I see her as having a relatively low sex-drive as well, so if she doesn’t get you off it may be a while before you have a chance to try again with her. she would climax every time you slept together though. she isn’t one for the “sex is about the journey not the destination” philosophy lol, she’s in it to get off. now if only she would apply that same line of thinking towards you…

is so direct with her dirty talk it feels almost clinical. maybe it couldn’t really be called dirty talk at all lol. “spread yourself open. how many fingers do you want?” “come over here, I want you to go down on me. actually, just lie on your back. tap me if you need to breathe.”

uvogin

I know it’s fun to read about taking guys with huge 8 inch schlongs and getting absolutely wrecked but y’all…it’s average dick supremacy in this house. you know how tiring it would be spending ages stretching yourself out and working up to take this man’s dick? who’s got the timeee as an occasional thing I get it but dude…on the regular that would get old real fast 😭

and I do think he would want to take the time to stretch you out. he’s another yandere that wants you to genuinely want him, and because of his strength he’s also worried that if he doesn’t take the time to prep you, he could accidentally hurt you. the upside is that with the amount of foreplay you two will be doing, he’s going to get very familiar with your body very fast

another man who’s constantly horny. slapping your ass, pinching your tits, pressing his hips into you from behind and cupping your crotch. maybe that sounds like something you’d be into, but I think it’d get annoying at some point. like sir…you’re just gonna stand there and squeeze my ass while I’m trying to cook us dinner? at least pick up a knife and start chopping this celery ffs

The night is hot, sticky. Your thin nightclothes cling to your skin as you try fretfully to sleep, with little success. You had only just started to drift off when the sound of a heavy boot splintering the front door rips you from your sleep. Bolting upright in your bed, skin prickling despite the heat, you listen as those heavy boots and more make their way to your room and throw open your door as well, shining lights in your face, pinning your arms behind your back, asking you in a grating voice what a bitch like you is doing with a monster like him.

Feitan is not home. He was supposed to be, sometime tonight, but there are men in your room with hands fisted around your wrists who Feitan would not have hesitated to kill, and the fact that they are standing means that you’re alone in this. It’s a cruel testament to your horrible, horrible luck that the one time you want him he is nowhere to be found.

The man holding your wrists pulls you to your feet in front of him and pushes you out of your room, through the house where there’s another man waiting in the hallway, another by the hole where the front door used to be, and another waiting in a car outside. Four in total. They shove you into the waiting car and the locks click into place behind you, leaving you alone with the man behind the wheel. In the rearview mirror, your eyes meet his, and they do not quite have the same cold edge that Feitan’s have. You think that they’ve underestimated him. You think that, if he were here, he would have all of their heads. But he isn’t, and you’re locked in a strange car, and the other three men outside are deliberating over something while you shake in the backseat.

It occurs to you then that they didn’t come for Feitan at all. They had come for you. It makes sense, you suppose. You must be one of the only constants in the man’s life, soft and weak and easily broken. For someone as powerful as him, as intimidating to approach, it would be a fruitless endeavor to even try to cause him harm.

To hurt you instead must be the next best thing.

The passenger door swings open and one of the men slides into the seat.

“Chris wants to check the basement,” he says to the other. “See if there’s anything left from Ash.” The man in the driver’s seat scoffs.

“Like that prick would bother to keep anything from his victims. You know how many people these guys kill?”

The passenger raises a hand in surrender. “Chris’s vendetta, not mine. And besides, the spider won’t be back for another few days. I’ve had my guy keeping tabs on him.”

At that, your breathe hitches. Days until Feitan gets back? Are they wrong? Did Feitan lie to you about his return date? It wouldn’t be the first time. You think of all the things these men could do to you in that time, the distance they could take you, further from Feitan, further from your own only hope. Wet heat prickles behind your eyes and you bite your cheek to keep it from spilling over.

“Tell him to hurry up at least,” the driver grumbles. “I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to be.”

And maybe your luck isn’t so terrible after all, because the moment the man closes his mouth, he and his partner are sitting bolt straight in their seats, eyes trained on the house, sensing something you can’t see, as if they’ve felt a shift in the energy around them. Whatever is there, they don’t like it, and the enemy of your enemy is probably your friend, right?

“Is that Chris?” the driver asks.

“Fuck no, I know his aura.”

“Then it’s Rick?”

“There’s two signatures and I only recognize one of them.” Panic has begun to bleed into the men’s voices, the driver’s hands tightening around the wheel.

“I thought you said you had tabs on the spider?!”

A window shatters, the sloppy figure of a man scrambling through. His focus is locked on something inside, and you watch as he rips a gun from the holster on his hip and unloads it into the house. Faster than your eyes can track, something small and dark flies through window and connects with the man’s hand, and he drops the gun with a shout as blood sprays.

He leaps away from the window, moving faster than any normal human should be capable of, and plants his bleeding palm on the ground. The earth around him shifts and breaks, and your breathe seizes as you watch three dark shapes claw out of the dirt, inky black and snarling with sharp teeth. They look like dogs, you think, and at an order from their master they growl like them, too.

Through the splintered front entrance, another figure emerges, stalking through with the nonchalance of a predator whose victory is ensured. You recognize the bandana around his neck, the eyes with the steel-cold edge your captors lack, and your heart races with hope. You’ve never been happier to see him. You’ve never been happy to see him at all, until now.

He steps into the glow of the headlights. There is blood on hands.

The car lurches. The men in front of you who’ve made no movement or sound are finally driven to action, driven by their fear, and your gut twists with nerves again as the car reverses down the driveway at reckless speed. Feitan’s gaze flicks to yours, and you plead with him, beg him with your eyes to please, please help me.

The dogs lunge at him and the car swerves onto the road. Feitan disappears behind the tree line. You are alone again.

“What the fuck are you doing!” the passenger cries. The driver’s hands are white-knuckled on the wheel. He doesn’t respond.

“I said what do you think you’re doing?! Turn around!”

“Like you were jumping out to fight him?!” the driver responds. “They’re dead, Sean, I’m not getting murdered for some other guy’s revenge scheme!”

“So you’re leaving him to fight that guy alone? We agreed to do all this together.”

“If you’re so eager to get your head chopped off, why don’t you jump out and run back to him?” the driver spits. Sean bristles, and his mouth snaps shut. His eyes betray his every thought as he considers it, considers running back to his friend who is certainly in a losing fight, and risking his own life for it. You watch the guilt settle in as he realizes he isn’t going to do it.

The drive is quiet for miles, save only for the rumble of the car flying down the dirt roads, and you are trembling with fear. Will Feitan find you? Are you even worth the effort to him? If your captors believe their friends are dead, how much more reason will they have to take all of their grief out on you? That prickling heat from before begins to build in your eyes again, but you don’t dare make a sound. If you sob, they will hear you, and if they hear you they’ll remember that you’re there, waiting for them to exact their retribution on.

The glow of the headlights casts a road sign into view ahead. TWENTY MILES TO SAVANNAH, it reads. It’s the first you’ve heard of the town. Feitan had never allowed you even the slightest idea of where he’d taken you. Now you know that he’d hidden you in the middle of nowhere, in the thick of the darkest woods, and it still had not been enough to keep you there. You had always assumed it was more to keep you from getting out than to keep anyone else from coming in.

You are halfway across the distance to the town when the silence is broken.

“Pull over,” Sean says.

“You’re joking. You want to go back now?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Sean says, his voice beginning to waver. “God, we just left them there. We’re fucking nen users and we ran like pussies. Pull over.”

“I’m not turning around just to die with the rest of them,” the driver growls.

“I said pull over!” Sean reaches for the steering wheel and the car swerves as they grapple for control. The driver slams the breaks, grinding the car to a halt in the middle of the road, your arms flying out in front of you to brace against the front seat.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think you can take that guy!”

“We all agreed to this, we all knew the risk going in! That was your friend and you don’t care that you left him?!”

“I care that I’m alive and not strapped down in that motherfucker’s basement, and I’m not about to let that change!”

The arguing continues, and not once does either man glance back at you. You wonder if you could leave now. Throw the door open, take off running, make it to that town 10 miles down the pitch black road. You think again of the man who pulled dogs out of the dirt, of the way the men in front of you sensed Feitan before you could see or hear him, and you think that you would never stand a chance against them. A single bad move could be the tipping point that convinces them you’re not worth the trouble of being kept alive.

As if sensing your thoughts, Sean’s eyes flick to yours. They are frantic with adrenaline, and your blood chills as you freeze in your seat.

“Fine, stay here,” he growls. “I’m going back for that prick and I’m bringing this bitch with me. We’ll see how much he cares about her when I cut her fucking throat in front of-“

The words die on his tongue, and both men whip their heads to the driver’s window for only a second before something collides with the driver’s door, crashing into the car with enough force to send it rocking onto its side wheels. The door dents under the pressure before it’s ripped off the hinges altogether.

There is no time to react. A hand slices through the dark, plunging through the drivers neck with a sickening wet noise, crunching through bone and tendons. Behind the dying body, your eyes meet the gaze of his killer, piercing straight through you above the hem of his bandana. They are wild, frenzied, spattered with blood. It drips from his head, soaking through his clothes, the remnants of the man in front of you and his two dead friends. You don’t dare move.

The passenger seat collapses back and Sean lunges for you, catching you by the arm and yanking you into his chest as he dives into the back seat. The sharp edge of a blade presses into your neck.

“I’ll kill her,” he says, and his voice shakes. “I swear to god, I kill her right here. Just get out and don’t move, or I’ll-“

Before you even register him moving, Feitan is on top of you, fingers curled around the blade at your throat, his other hand disappearing behind your head as that sick crunching noise comes again, this time from directly behind you. As soon as you’ve heard it, liquid heat pours no down your back, soaking through your clothes and dripping down your spine. You gasp and press yourself into Feitan, away from the bloody spray, but you’re met with more blood as your face meets the soaked fabric of his shirt. The smell is sharp and metallic. His chest heaves under your cheek.

You look up at him, and his eyes are fixed firmly on yours. They’re wild still, and his breathing is ragged and heavy. There is no other car outside. You realize, with no small amount of wonder, that he ran to you.

The knife clatters to the floor, and you catch sight of thin red lines along his fingers before he grips your chin between them and turns your head from side to side, eyes trailing over your cheeks, your neck, every inch of you. Inspecting you.

“They-they didn’t hurt me,” you say in a wavering voice.

His eyes have locked onto your lap, and you glance down to see what’s caught his attention. Bruises on your wrists. The men had dragged you out of the house.

You begin to cover them up, hands rubbing over them and feeling the ache you hadn’t noticed before. Feitan nudges them away, fingers ghosting over the purpling marks. He leaves bloody smears behind, traces from the cuts in his hand where he blocked the blade threatening your life. You let out a shaky breathe.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve sustained no other injuries, he nods towards the other end of the seats. You crawl past him obediently, not once turning to look at the body slumped against the window behind you.

You hear the door open and the thud of something solid hitting the ground, and the noise repeats on the driver’s side in front of you. When he’s cleared the bodies out, Feitan comes to stand in front of your window. You sit on your heels as he opens the door and move to get out, swinging your legs over the edge of the seat, but he doesn’t step aside to let you pass. Your face is level with his chest again. His eyes are calmer now, meeting yours with the dull hint of something you can’t quite recognize. Fatigue? Frustration? No.

…Relief?

Mindlessly, you collapse forward into his chest again. You realize you have not stopped trembling. Your breathing is too shallow, your legs too boneless to stand. His fingers card through your hair, and your mind blanks as you realize that he’s petting you. Comforting you.

Tears sting at your eyes for the third time that night, and your hands come up to fist in his shirt. This time, you don’t bother to stifle them down. You sob, openly, into his chest, feeling his sticky fingers catch and stumble through your hair. He’s getting you dirty. There’s blood drying down your spine, soaking into your clothes that cling uncomfortably to your skin. You don’t care. You cry and he doesn’t mock you for it.

His hand comes to rest on your back and you take that as your cue to pull yourself together. You sniffle one last time and take deep breathes into the metallic scent of his clothes.

“Can-can we go home now?” you ask quietly. He nods above you and moves to let you out. You don’t stop to think that the home you’re asking for is the locked box you’ve been praying for escape from.

Home, not prison. Home, not hell.

You climb into the passenger seat, the only one not soaked with blood, and Feitan slides in next to you. His phone is in his hand, and you see the name Shizuku at the top of his messages before he shuts it off. He turns around, starts back in the direction of his house, away from that town waiting miles away, and away from the bodies behind you. You look back at them then.

They are piled in the ditch by the road. He hasn’t bothered to hide them, and you wonder how he can be so confident that they won’t be found and investigated. Your thoughts are cut short when you notice the bloody stumps of their arms in the grass.

Your hands grip the marks on your wrists again, reigniting that dull ache.

Their hands have been severed. Lying several feet away from their bodies are the hands that touched you, hurt you, took you.

You turn back around in your seat and say nothing. The ride home will be quiet. Feitan will not look at you, and when you get home, neither of you will mention the bodies or their missing hands.