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

Rating: mature Story Contains: Stockholm syndrome, implied past kidnapping and stalking, emotional and physical violence, isolation, torture, feitan dense when it comes to feelings, jealousy, possessive behavior, rough sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, female reader, etc Note: wc just over 9k, updated for grammar, ao3 link: xxx

Feitan followed you for a year before kidnapping you. You'd caught his eye by surprise one day- technically Phinks pointed you out to him- but your fate was decided then and there. So he'd yearn for you during nights he struggled to sleep, which turned into a battle within him raging of emotions unlike any he'd felt day in and out. It was like his chest and heart swelled so much around you or at the thought of you- he was so full with a warm giddiness that he thought he'd burst. For some days he wondered if killing you would make his life easier, until he realized one night that the thought of you dying hurt even more than any injury.

For eight months you'd been his.

And time didn't seem to matter anymore as you spent it in a small attic turned bedroom with a small bathroom. A tiny round window, with metal bars, was your only door to the outside world. You'd watched the seasons change from summer to fall, and now to winter. A dusting of white snow had fallen on the ground and furthermore a cold draft had you shaking under a mountain of thin blankets.

The first month you never left the attic, Feitan wouldn't let you. You didn't see him either, just opening the door to place food inside then immediately locking it again. Screaming and crying until your voice was hoarse and you had no more tears to cry. Days on end curled into a ball as you stared devoid at a plank wall. The ceilings were low, meeting at a point in the center, thankful you were short to be able to move around easier. For a while you refused to be broken, trying to do small things to keep up fitness, but slowly the lack of signs of rescue froze everything. Like your mind and body shut down so matter how you yearned for your prior life. Slipping into your own world you began in your head, an alternate reality with your loved ones that did its best to comfort you.

But each day you awoke in that same room in the same bed. Chilling how Feitan took your own pillows and blankets, to provide you some comfort or familiarity. Your favorite outfits in the drawers across the room, the cloth baby doll you slept with every night- it made you realize just how long your captor had been watching.

Month two you realized things in the room were moved ever so lightly in the morning. At first you chalked it up to your poor mental state, that you had simply forgotten. Until you woke up one night, around 2AM to a pair of dark eyes watching you. Feitan. He was the one who pulled the chair to your bedside. He was the reason you woke up feeling vulnerable and gross. After you caught him, he didn't bother to hide anymore.

He started watching you do the most mundane tasks, primarily eating, worried you'd choke. Started asking you the food you preferred and when you scarfed it as fast as possible, he grasped your jaw and helped you chew. That was the first time he'd touched you and your eyes lit up in shock from the chills that went down your spine. He didn't come around much after that, as you started getting too bold. You'd yell and scream at him, try throwing whatever you got your hands on. He left you isolated for weeks.

Maybe it was your pathetic nature of wanting to please everyone, not being able to stand up for yourself that really drew Feitan in. Because never once did you try to escape— Especially not when the way Feitan walked around the house had your eyes glued to him with stars dizzying within them.

By month four he let out downstairs, let you sit in the kitchen as he cooked. Let you watch a movie as long as you sit on the couch with your hips just touching his. And you did it, because watching the reruns of that boring soap opera was the best thing to happen to you in far too long. It kept you from attempting to escape- asides from the fact there was no way out of the dingy attic, especially when Feitan left for weeks on end.

The basement was cold.

Your feet felt like they'd freeze off the first time he brought you down there. You realized, rather quickly, that you never wanted to be there again.

And it was in that basement that you understood who Feitan truly was, what he did for work and why he constantly disappeared. And why you needn't disobey.

Even when he opened the door to the basement for the first time and motioned, you followed. Because five months in you'd listen due to fear.

But your disobedience shown in the way your body froze when you reached the bottom of the stairs- whimpers escaping your lips as you tried to go back up. Feitan had just stood there, pushing you further.

"Sit," He said, pointing to an armchair set up towards the workstation, "want you see me work."

"W-work?" You swallowed hard. With hindsight you shouldn't have been surprised that someone as cold as Feitan, your kidnapper, was a murderer. A torturer who relished in pain, as not one did your depressed state bother him.

A man- beaten bloody was strapped to a table cranked forward so his head hung. He was in a loose shirt and shorts, ankles and wrists chained to the steel surface.

"No.." The tears began to fall thickly, "please let me go upstairs-"

"No." Feitan watched you, "Sit. Waiting too long. Want you to watch. Been five months."

So you had been with him for five months, a part of you felt it'd been years already. "I can't," You whimpered, "please," your stomach was churning, bile rising in your throat as an intense heat dizzied your body.

Feitan grabbed your wrist as if you were a doll, dragging you over and into the chair, "Stay." it was a threat. You could only nod as snot began to run down your nose and sweat beaded at your brow. Breathing became hard, the air dense and the smell of blood was sickening.

The man's screams.

Your ears ring trying to drown the screeches out.

You couldn't stop your blubbering no matter how many glares Feitan sent your way. Your shoulders shaking and stomach in knots as you were continuously forced to swallow your own vomit to not make a mess, or ensue Feitan's wrath. Because you'd dealt with his cold shoulder or an occasional sprained limb from how strong he was. Used to his harsh words and threats, and invading eyes watching your every move when not locked in the attic. But you didn't want to be on that table, no matter what.

The man was inconsolable as Feitan grabbed a pair of pliers, snapping them over and over as he crept closer. A heavy whirl of silence, of anticipation- the calm before the storm really before Feitan used the pliers to grasp the captive's fingernail. One after another. Scream after scream. Blood. A sickening ripping noise before tossing them to a palette.

Oh the man was a mess. Voice hoarse with tears and saliva dripping down the side of his face as he begged for an end. Begged to die compared to the start for a reprise.

"Please- just kill me "

Feitan's head cocked, eyes darkening, "talk."

"No."

Feitan doesn't like hearing no, you know that. You've felt his silent anger when you'd cry and shriek- because you weren't doing what he wanted. And in that basement watching a man's blood splatter about, you realized you were all out of his good graces he was willing to give. Like his self awareness that you needed time to adjust finally reached its end. Because a wild thump came down with the force of a thousand suns, and three fingers toppled to the ground with crimson red spurting like a wild rose.

"Who moved merchandise?" Feitan hissed as he grasped another gruesome looking tool with his thin fingers.

"Go to hell,"

Rage. A sharp crack sounded as a molar went flying with a clatter across the room. It enraged him, all the defiance this captive had, for your first showcase of his work. So maybe he was embarrassed as he seethed from his pores, muscles tensed as an iron poker bent from his sheer will. He could hear your cries. Pathetic.

As he turned to you- you were cowering in the chair, with your head in your hands. Rocking back and forth as you blubbered about.

You weren't watching.

The man wasn't cracking and Feitan's patience expired. With limbs now missing and blood soaking the floor surrounding them, he knew the man had been serious about dying rather than spilling information.

So his focus was on you.

With horror your head snapped up as a nasty crunching noise forced vomit up your dried throat, the man's neck snapping in half, head falling limp with a bouncy recoil.

"Oh," you whimpered, you shrunk back as humanly possible. Coated in red, with anger, Feitan stalked his way to you.

You stumbled from the chair, your flight kicking in for the first time since he'd brought you here. Crawling and kicking until your back hit the wall and the tears stream heavier than before, like you were smack dab in a horror movie. His grim eyes preying on you like you were nothing but a snack, a glimmering blade at his side that has you quaking. Terror as he stood over you.

"Not watching." He hissed.

"I'm sorry! N-ext time!" You cried, holding your hands up in a meek defense, "I'll be better,"

Feitan was high on adrenaline. Enraged by the lack of pleasure his torture session brought. Frustrated by your reaction. How scared you were of him when all he was trying to do was include you in his work, something he loved. Something he wanted you to watch with pride.

You shriek as he grabs hold of your legs, yanking you toward him. Preying on you like a monster as he crouched down to put weight on you, knife in hand. Such a sadistic look in his eyes as he ripped your shirt up enough to show him your rib cage. Legs flailing. Arms weakly hitting at him. But he didn't move. Feitan brought the tip of the knife down to your skin and you went limp with shock. No noise left your mouth after a few seconds until a throaty, airy cry sounded out with spasming of your eyes following. Blood trickled down your stomach as Feitan carved letter after letter against your pained jerks. Begging. Sobbing. You were a mess underneath him as your vision began to falter as terror and agony washed over you making you numb.

"Next time, tie you on chair to watch." Feitan said with a smirk, possessively tracing the bloody gash that spelled out his name on your delicate skin. All you could do was cry and wheeze in and out of consciousness.

And as you finally went limp, a heavy breath shuddered from Feitan's lips as the reality set in. He grimaced. It was pure adrenaline and anger that he acted on, and the aftermath was a sickening regret bubbling in his chest. Hurting you wasn't something he wanted to do again.. unless absolutely necessary.

The following months you grew familiar with the schedule of when Feitan brought his victims and wanted you to watch.

Perhaps you were too sensitive. Too much of an empath as each incision he made into a captive, you felt the carving of his name burn on your skin. Like a searing branding of understanding their pain, to an extent, that they went through. An understanding of being a victim like them, but you were luckier in a sick sense because you had Feitan's mercy of love. If you could call it that no matter how many times he insisted he took you for protection because you were his.

Life with Feitan could be like living with a bomb, never knowing when or why it set off. Somedays you didn't look at him enough, others you stared too long and when his cheeks turned pink and he grew vicious. Learning his habits or moods was hard, but slowly you became accustomed.

Feitan liked to touch your waist, specifically shoving his hands under your shirt to feel your skin. His fingers would grip and prod even if you flinched from a sudden pinch. His greatest show of care was patting your head. He started doing so after you convinced him to let you take over meals, reminding him you always cooked for yourself prior. In another life basically. Then out of the blue Feitan took your things from the attic and into his room. You'd panicked looking for your missing plushies you needed to sleep, your missing pillow and favorite blanket. The dresser and closet were empty. Your toiletries were gone. Oh. Your heart sank, Feitan had enough of you. You were going to die.

So you went back downstairs, ready for him to take you down to the basement and tie you up. You let your mind wander to what methods or tools he'd use. Maybe he'd be kind and make it quick.

Feitan quirked a brow up as he saw your dejected form pad into the living room. You sat with a glazed, far away look on your face and immediately he panics.

"Y/N?" To hear your name from his lips, made yours tremble.

"I'm sorry."

He was upon you within seconds, grasping at your arms to pull up your sleeves, "What's wrong? Hurt?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

A look of disgust flashed over his features, "No, never. You're mine."

"But my room?"

"Oh." Feitan's eyes immediately flit anywhere other than you, dropping your arms to rest on the couch. He was embarrassed and you're trying to figure out what's going on. "Moved into my room, figured you liked me more, things have been... nice."

Did you? Like him? Not particularly, right? Sure you liked the sound of his voice or when his eyes softened when you walked into the room. You thought the faces he made were cute asides from the maliciously crazy ones when he tortured somebody. And you were beginning to like feeling his touches, unsure advances that showed he was human in there somewhere. Because he wanted your approval, that much was apparent after all these months. Wanted you to watch him with pride and reassure he was touching you correctly, caring for you correctly. And perhaps you were flattered realizing how enthralled he was, how much he knew about you down to the most minor details. While you only knew he was a killer. So maybe you did like him in a twisted way, your brain fogging past details of cruelty and pushing up warm emotions instead. For your own good you needed to forget he forced you to watch others die, that he cut your own skin, that he might have killed your family. You bargained with yourself that perhaps him locking you in the attic was for your own good, that you needed to see Feitan in a better light and you only needed some time. Right?

"Oh!" Your relief is evident. And he looked happy to see that. "Oh my." You place your hand over your heart, breathing in and out.

Feitan slowly rested a hand on top of your head, "Should have told you sooner... sorry."

"S'okay, misunderstanding. I'm good."

Feitan nodded simply because he could feel your pulse begin to slow from its prior heightened pace, "Come."

You followed behind him like a lost puppy needing its owner to find its way. Your heart felt at the bottom of your stomach, nervous to what Feitan had in mind moving you to his bedroom. The realization hit that you'd be in bed with him as you entered. His room was bare, which didn't surprise you. The only hint of life were your colorful blankets and plushies set up on the large bed. Two dressers, loveseat, and two doors you assumed were a bathroom and closet. Secretly you felt relief as it didn't smell of blood and there wasn't any sign of death.

Feitan watched you as you took your time to look around the room. He said nothing as you opened drawers to find your things, while some had his. The closet had more of your clothes. The ensuite was clean as well. He liked seeing you nod an approval of the space you'd share with him, filled him with pride.

You sat on the bed.

You felt along your blankets and then his own he originally had. You rearranged your stuffed doll. Fluffed your pillow. Not having changed out of the clothes you slept in last night, you decided not to change because you weren't sure what Feitan was expecting of you. Embarrassment licked the edges of your neck as you felt your palms begin to sweat.

Terror coursed through your veins, your heart about to beat through your chest as you laid beside him. A few inches of space between the two of you. But it was suffocating as he joined you under the blanket.

"Relax. Won't hurt you."

You gripped the sheets tighter, "Okay."

"Don't believe me."

"I'm sorry." You immediately countered, tensing.

Feitan sighed, trying to remember advice Chrollo gave him: to be more understanding and soft, "Sorry for cutting you few months ago, wanted you to see what I enjoy and you seemed not to care. But I enjoy you more so, only come to basement if you want now. Free reign over inside when I'm gone, just no hurting yourself. No going outside unless I'm with you."

Huh? "I- can go out?"

"With me."

"Can we go out tomorrow? Will it rain? Can I run around on the grass?" You were like a child in a candy store, excitement dripping through your tone that has Feitan's lips turning up in the dark.

"If it rains tomorrow, go another time. Okay?"

"Yes. Perfect!" You were absolutely giddy, to the point personal space did not matter. You flung yourself across the bed to hug Feitan. Feeling his cold body you go still, filled you with horror realizing what you just did. "I'm sorry- I.."

Yet he wrapped an arm around you, ghosting along your skin like he was scared to scare you. He waited to see if you'd flinch away but you didn't.

"Don't apologize, like this." He hugged you taut.

There was nowhere to go but on him, really. You rested your head on his shoulder, forced to sprawl a leg across his own while your other wrenched beneath you. It felt like you may explode, a litany of conflicting emotions pulling you every which way. Hesitantly you placed your left hand across his chest, waiting for him to decide to hurt you or that this was taking it too far. But that never came. Feitan may have laid there like a statue, though after a few minutes he started squirming, attempting to relax with you in his arms while you listened to his wild heart beat.

You swallowed hard deciding to speak up, "I can move-"

"No." His words sounded laced with venom, but you could tell the slight difference. Feitan was nervous. Just like you were.

Your lips parted but no words came out. The fact you were both enduring the same confusing emotions, unsure how to physically figure the other out, made you feel so close to him. He was on your level, just as scared.

"Fei..tan?" You whispered his name, realization blossomed inside you and it was as if the last eight, maybe nine months were finally making sense!

"Yes?" It sounded, at least to you, like he was choking up.

"I- think I realize something. I think we're both awkward people and you didn't know how to go about any of this. Please hear me out." Boldly you pushed yourself out of his grip, pushing up on his chest so you could prop on your knees under the blanket. Feitan followed suit by sitting up to lean against the bed, quickly pulling the bedside lamp's string. He stared at you expectantly. So you continued with his full attention and the sudden coolness of losing his touch, "I think we feel the same way, not sure how to act around the other. I- don't get mad at me saying but you're very rough around the edges and I don't think anyone ever explained you shouldn't kidnap someone you love, or hurt them. But feeling your nerves, I'm realizing we're the same. I never know how to act around you, I thought you hated me or something but you're nervous too."

Your tongue felt numb as you spilled as many words as possible. Unsure if you made sense. Unable to look at Feitan as you spoke.

He was quiet until a hand touched your cheek, "You- feel for me how I feel for you?"

You nod.

Feitan brought your chin up so your gazes could connect. There was no maliciousness, only nerves. His lips aren't in their normal frown, instead they're slightly parted. He pulled you closer, hating that you chose to sit inches too far for his taste, having been in his arms prior.

You let out a whine as Feitan leaned in, his breath fanning along your lips. Your body was begging for him to close the gap, your stomach a fluttering mess of butterflies working its way through your ribcage. Blood pounded in your ears,

"Feitan?"

"Quiet." Fingers shake as you bring them to run through his black locks, causing a shiver to go down his spine and the smallest of noises to come from his throat. You found something he enjoyed and your heart felt content as you massaged along his scalp as his lips lay centimeters from yours.

The kiss was hesitant. Barely a peck as the touch of your lips had you both upright, shocked, staring at the other. Like a deer in headlights you waited for him to get upset, to kill you even. But he only captured your lips again, for a deeper kiss as your lips meshed together. His tongue pushed in, exploring your mouth greedily as he squeezed your waist. You made a noise as he flipped you underneath him, slamming his mouth back against yours as he pressed himself into you.

When you two parted, gasping for air, uncertain as you each explored each other's bodies, a gentle smile pulled at the corners of your lips. Feitan licked along your jaw, licked down your neck occasionally sucking on your sensitive skin. You whimpered and he pulled away as if you'd stabbed him.

"Liked.. that?" When you nodded his eyes glossed over. You liked it as he sucked and bit at your neck. What other pain could he inflict to bring you pleasure? You really were made for him, he told himself.

You reach up to try to take one of his hands into yours, he obliged, put his weight on his other forearm, "So.. I.." Embarrassment hit you and you suddenly felt ridiculous for what you were about to ask.

"What."

"Are we..?"

"Don't understand."

Your face went red, you looked away still feeling his breath across your face, "Never mind."

"Go to sleep, you're thinking too hard." Feitan huffed as he rolled off you, "Taking you outside tomorrow, you need rest."

"Okay."

To your surprise he hugged you from behind, nestling up to you, letting you slot into him as if it were the perfect fit. You could tell this was new, not something he did from how tense his body was. Sleep finally began to overtake your senses. A blossoming happiness in your chest as he traced a finger along your skin whilst holding your waist.

You fell asleep with a smile. Fell asleep with your back to his chest, him spooning you as if this was suddenly normal. As if you were an ordinary couple. You found comfort in his quiet breaths and knowing he'd watch over you. That night you dreamed of the day you met Feitan, and it changed, no longer was it filled with blood and cries, but a joy as if it were love at first sight. You two hand in hand walking off to a new life.

That morning you awoke with not a care in the world. You thought waking up to an empty bed would hurt, but nothing would diminish the smile smacked onto your lips. From an amazing dream to remembering your first kiss with Feitan, nothing could have taken that away. Giddy, you dressed in your most comfortable outfit and skipped out to face the rest of your day with excitement, feeling lighter than ever. The normal weight and anxiety you woke up with, was gone, replaced with a sense of purpose.

A list formed in your head of what you wanted to do. 1. Check the weather and if Feitan doesn't have to work, 2. Make breakfast, 3. Go outside.

The morning sun was strong amidst the blue, cloudless sky as you stared out the kitchen window. You grinned before grabbing ingredients you'd need for breakfast, hoping Feitan would be joining, but regardless you'd cook for him. You worked with a hop in your step, movements nonchalant as you continued to glance at the mid-morning sky. Too focused to feel a presence hidden, watching, until-

"You look... happy."

You squeaked, jumping at the sudden voice. You felt his dark aura first before you turned to see him, standing in the doorway, "Good morning. Hungry?"

Feitan nodded, inching over to the table. Your smile ignites a pain in his chest that he didn't understand. As he looked over you, all he could think about was his lips on yours and the addiction of it that stained his blood. How you'd snuggled into him. How in your sleep you'd begged him not to leave you. Feitan doesn't think he likes the churning in his stomach or the nerves coursing through him as he looks at you- it scares him. You had the power to turn him into this.

"Made scrambled eggs and toast, that okay?" You set a plate in front of him, creases at the corner of your eyes as you do so.

"Yes." He watched as you got him something to drink, then sat down with your own food. On the tip of his tongue are questions about last night, but Feitan felt ridiculous asking if you liked kissing him, or if he could do it again.

"Is it okay? Made it kind of quick, it's a nice day out." You smiled warmly at him, expectantly.

"Yes, good. We'll go outside when you're done."

He remembered and was following through, it meant the world to you. So you finish eating to clean up, which he surprised you by doing himself.

You were like an excited puppy standing by the front door bouncing on the balls of your feet.

"Stay in my sight. Can't run anywhere without me finding."

"I know I know. Can I run around the yard at least?"

"Sure." His threat went right over your head. It hits him that you don't need a threat to stay put. You weren't planning anything.

It didn't take long to undo the litany of locks on the door, it didn't matter if you knew where any keys were kept. Nen was the key factor to them.

He had to urge you out, that it really was okay to be outside, "Go out, I'll be sitting right here." He said rubbing the low of your back.

After a few grueling seconds you comply, a small giggle as you hurry off the porch. There was pure glee on your face, in your body and voice as your feet touched the grass. Squealing you carefully move around, skipping one way then the other.

You were a curious thing to Feitan, who found nothing interesting in the nature that surrounded the house. But you, running around in circles until you collapsed out of breath, loved it. You looked serene, stunning, just taking the breath away from Feitan as he watched you. You were perfect.

It hurt. It hurt. Feitan's convinced he was dying. Heaviness weighing on his chest and shoulders as he watched you. He didn't know how to be what you need. For the first time since kidnapping you he questions his judgment seeing how happy you were being outside, something he'd stolen from you. He wondered if he could give you the love you deserved when he'd never experienced it himself. While he hated himself. While he hated what was inside his darkened mind compared to the light that was you. So ethereal and kind, unlike him whose hands would forever be tainted.

Unbeknownst to you, Feitan retreated within himself while you basked in the summer sun.

Five weeks ago Feitan kissed you. He'd taken you outside and it'd been one of the best days of your life. You were certain it was the turning point in the relationship but- it wasn't. Things weren't worse by any means, but he treated your touch like the plague.

It felt like a continuous stab to the heart, every minute of the day at this point. You felt stupid. After a week of attempting physical contact in bed or on the couch, you gave up not wanting to further embarrass yourself. And slowly the conversation died out. He stopped eating meals at the table. Staying as far away as possible in bed, you began moving your pillows back up to the attic, which caused him to intervene. Making it clear you weren't permitted to do that, he locked the door to the attic shortly after.

He left two weeks ago for an important job. You only knew he was okay because Phinks stopped by to check on you and bring food. It took everything in you not to ask Phinks for advice, you'd only met him in passing and Feitan was... absurdly possessive. Even his closest 'friend' couldn't get within a foot of you without facing Feitan's wrath.

So you spent the days alone re-reading a book because you can't quite pay attention to it. You spend too long staring out the window by the front door, yearning pathetically from the couch. Knowing there were cameras kept you from crying for a strange reason you couldn't pinpoint, perhaps wanting to seem strong if he checked in.

You think it's Friday, 16 days since Feitan left. Time blended together, especially when he wasn't there to mark the calendar.

Frustration bubbled in your chest as you threw your towel into the corner of the bathroom. Your wet hair seeps into your nightgown, purple hues taking over the blue sky. You want to throw your shampoo, then your body wash you think. For a second you felt the appeal of thrashing your fist into the sink mirror. How good that would feel, you'd have control over something.

Breathe in. Out.

You count in your head, staring at your reflection with disgust. This would show him, right? You thought about him finding you all bloody, the panic that would consume him, and hopefully guilt too.

Tears prick your eyes, you huff moving back. Your reflection blurred. Annoyance grew, controlled her until-

SLAM. The sound of the front door closed suddenly, announcing that Feitan was back- and in the manner the door slammed, told you he wasn't alone.

You scamper out of the bathroom, practically forgetting your prior plans, needing to catch a glimpse of Feitan.

In his arms, he carried an unconscious woman bound and gagged.

Your stomach plummeted.

He glanced your way once before disappearing down to the basement.

Lips trembling, you stumbled forward, acting against better judgment. The air leading down to Feitan's torture room was dense and metallic scented. Rotted and death-like. You hated it down there, you felt bile rise up into your throat but you pushed through the fear that begged you to turn back.

You stood hidden behind the doorway, peaking in just so you could see Feitan had already finished tying her down in the chair. You weren't sure if he felt your presence as if he did he made no effort to greet you. Did he not miss you? Your fists clench as you rake across the battered woman, taking her in. She was beautiful. Fuck. The only relief you felt was that she sat in that chair- meaning she wasn't here to replace you. Feitan hadn't put you in that chair ever.

You stepped through the doorway as Feitan picked up a knife from a table.

Feitan's head snapped in your direction. His body language went taut, surprised, so he hadn't noticed you. He'd been too wrapped up in the woman who passed you in beauty in every way possible. Did he notice that as he looked at you now? Self conscious thoughts attack your mind as you drop your head.

"You're- you want to watch?" His voice was filled with hope, not that you noticed. You heard it as disgust by having you in the room.

You nod, drop into your chair beside the door, one you hadn't sat in, in five weeks.

For the first time he didn't need to remind you to watch his every action.

Your eyes couldn't be pried from his hands. He wondered if you were even blinking. What happened for this change? Feitan wracked his brain as he cut into the woman. He didn't notice what he was doing, hardly listening to her cries and shit information spilling from her lips. Did something happen to you? Phinks said you were fine. Feitan's thoughts flick to his recent closed-off behavior, knowing it had to be upsetting you. Shit. That was it, right? He moved on to more cuts, more stabs to bleed his prisoner dry. She was saying things he already knew, he told Chrollo this woman would be useless, so this was a waste. Why were you choosing to watch this? He wanted to look at you but also needed to finish work, for once torturing another being was boring him. He wanted to get back to you, needed to talk to you, apologize even.

SLAM.

You were reeling- unable to contain yourself as you stormed from the room. One second your eyes were flickering from floor to the captive's body following Feitan's every movement, to watching the walls of the basement fly by as you raced towards a bathroom.

Disgust curdled inside you. Anger wrenched at your limbs. You fumed as you remembered how he touched that woman's body as if torturing her was a sensual dance. It made you sick to see how his fingers would flit along parts of her skin that you dreamed he'd touch on yourself. He hadn't looked at you! You gagged over the toilet, head pounding as your body attempted to heave bile from your stomach. Dizzied with jealousy and hurt, you want to cry. Maybe attempt to slap Feitan if he'd let you. You think of your idea with the mirror, that could work.

Feitan stood outside the door, as soon as you opened it, you walked face first into his chest. Out of reflex you shoved him back, wide eyed at him.

"What's wrong? Throw up?" There was concern written all over him. Actual legitimate emotion, softness in his face as he inched closer.

"Dry heaved." You said, unable to hold back the snark in your tone.

"Okay?"

You glared, confidence surging within you as all you could see was green. Feitan took a step back, surprised. "Seriously?" You huffed, "Just go back to your work."

As you turn to leave him standing dumbfounded in the hall to head upstairs, his hand wrapped around your bicep. You're pulled back with force that makes you lose your breath. Your back's forced against the stone wall, Feitan caging you between his arms. "What is wrong with you?"

You swallow, the lump in your throat refusing to go. You felt instant shame with yourself but yet- didn't he deserve your anger? Was he really that dense with your emotions? Squaring yourself, you wouldn't back down, "I'm fine. Just.. go back to her."

Oh! "Funny girl." Feitan cackled. A shallow, chill inducing laugh escaped his lips.

Incredulously you shook your head, "Why are you laughing?"

He pushed himself off the wall and away from you. Still fucking laughing.

You balled your fists and walked over to him, fuming. "Stop it!" He let you hit his chest with your fists, let you throw your little temper tantrum as amusement danced in his dark eyes.

It was when tears began to fall did he finally compose himself. Feitan wiped the stray tears and wouldn't let you look away from him, hand possessively holding your jaw. "Jealous." He smirked. "My silly girl jealous over my work. Work, Y/N."

"I-It's not that- not the same. You've.. You've never brought a girl back here before." Oh god if only you could curl up under a blanket and hide, shame crossing your face, "It's not funny."

"How is it not? You're jealous over someone who will die."

"You're touching her." You spat, "You don't touch me, barely. Not after.. I thought." Taking a deep breath you collected yourself before beginning, "Since you moved me into your room, since we kissed and fell asleep together, you act like it never happened and ignore me for weeks. So yes I'm jealous of her, you're touching her so gently and in places I want you to touch me."

Your confession threw Feitan off his axis, processing your words at a million miles an hour yet it was like he stared at you brain dead. He really fucked this up. "I'm not being gentle. I'm torturing her." He did not understand how you thought he was being intimate with a prisoner, it killed him to stay away from you.

"But you brush along her so gently before making cuts, I thought I was going to die!" And he'd skipped past the part where you brought up the kiss and how he'd held you. Of course, "I'm going to go take a nap."

He let you go, watching your dejected form march up the wooden stairs. His brows furrowed over what the fuck just happened. He'd let you storm off and speak to him in a way he'd never imagine you would.

Feitan clenched his fists. He wanted to follow after you but there was one final thing he needed to take care of.

Red cascaded down the front of the woman as he slit her throat. Her tears and pleading only fueling the fire started within him. He stripped himself of his gear, leaving him blood free to chase after you.

You don't move from where you lay under the covers in his bed, but Feitan knew you weren't asleep. He pads to the bed, carefully sitting on the edge next to you.

"Y/N."

You don't respond.

He sighed, "She's dead." You visibly tensed.

You begrudgingly sit up knowing you've been caught, looking at him with reddened eyes. "Oh."

Feitan tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear, "Since our kiss, I don't know how to act around you."

His omission makes you frown, "I don't understand."

"When you said you felt for me how I felt for you.. made me happy. You kissed me back, wanted me to hold you. I didn't expect it, thought you'd regret it later so I ran."

"I thought you regretted it."

"Never."

"I feel.. dumb." You said.

"Little foolish. But, I like that. Your jealousy is cute." He smirked, "But no reason to be anymore, okay?" You nod, scooting closer to him. Feitan tucks an arm around you, cradling the side of your head, "Was happy you came down to watch but, guess I know why now."

"Maybe I can.. slowly come down for little bits? I- don't like it but, you like it when I watch you work." You're burning, nauseas, because the last thing you wanted was to listen to screams, to bones breaking, to the noises that'd keep you up at night. But it would be for Feitan.

"I would like that." He nodded with sick excitement behind his eyes.

Silence. Softened smiles. Fluttering heart beats as a thick tension develops between you two. He was staring at your lips, your neck, and you couldn't tear yourself away from him. Closer, you silently lean in as your breathing turns heavy. You were sure he could hear your hammering heart beat as if it'd burst from your chest.

The gap closed. Your lips meet in a dance of uncertainty as self consciousness absorbs your minds until it bursts from need. Feitan was cold, certain as he pressed his lips hard to yours over and over, teeth tugging on your bottom lip. On fire as you gasp from the pain, metallic blood enters your mouth as Feitan's tongue pushes its way in. He explored you as his fingers dig into your side, your tongue dancing along his as electricity runs through your veins. You think your whole body is trembling, or maybe it was his as the kiss turned desperate, teeth gnashing, tongues shoved down the other's throat as saliva mixed; once light kisses turned to an all out way for the two of you to claim the other.

Feitan helped your legs wrap around his waist before he flipped you underneath him hovering over you on the bed. His whimpers against your mouth were the greatest thing you think you'll ever hear. And his need to control you, to possess you as his made your head go cloudy with want as his mouth worked against yours. He was consuming you as his confidence grew. That pit in his stomach growing with the certainty of your feelings, the change of the tide after nine months, that he felt. You wanted him. You understood everything he'd done had been to show you his feelings. So now he'd claim you like he should have weeks ago, rather than worry about the kiss.

Atop you, he watched with dark glee how you panted, mewled for him as he pulled away to watch you. You clambered for him as you were out of breath, saliva dripping from the side of your lips. In a swift motion he lifted your torso and pulled your shirt from your body, and as he pushed you back he leaned down entranced by your bare skin. He bit into your collarbone, licked along the mark that broke skin. You'd gasped in surprise, fingers twisting into his top, tears glistening in your eyes.

He continued to mark you, your cries music to him as he broke more of your skin with his teeth. Blood trickling only to be licked up by Feitan. You'd be littered with hickeys in the morning and the thought of you all bruised up made his cock twitch. Feitan slowly nibbled along one of your hardened nipples, studying how your body reacted. You were a desperate little thing he learned quickly as he sucked on your nipples, groping and molding your breasts with his strong fingers. Already quaking- how pathetic.

Feitan began to wonder if you'd done this before, because in the year he'd watched you, you never brought someone home or went to another's. But a possessive streak hits him and he doesn't want to know, because no one else would ever have you from here on out. He was going to make your cunt into the shape of his cock, make it so you'd never want or need anyone else.

"Fei," You whined, and the usage of a nickname made his head snap up to meet your lidded eyes. Your hips bucked against his as he straddled you and the discomfort of his hardened cock in his slacks began to gnaw at his brain.

As his fingers begin to toy with your waist band, he lets himself wonder if this was a dream. He'd have been as patient as you needed him to be. So to think everything he dreamed about for almost 2 years was coming to fruition? He stripped himself of his top and slacks, leaving only his underwear.

Fear clamped in the back of your mind as if you needed to escape. But as the cool air met your exposed entrance as Feitan tossed your boxers away, you relinquished yourself to him. He admired you from his knees as he pushed your thighs apart.

"Tell me what you want." A mischievous glint shone in his eyes and you shivered.

"Y-you Feitan." You squirmed under his heavy gaze, desperately wanting to cover up. He inspected every inch of you, but he always came back to the scar on your rib cage that held his name. His property.

Feitan shuddered hearing how lustfully you spoke his name, he liked this sudden change in dynamic. Liked how you begged for him so easily as he stroked so close but not quite at your most sensitive areas. Your pussy glistened, liquid coating your folds and slowly dripping to the sheets.

You could only see his dark eyes as your world spun on its axis. You feel him between your legs, tongue leisurely licking along your aching clit. Taking his time he listened to your whimpers, to your gasps as he changed the pace. You're grasping the sheets, knuckles white as your entrance fluttered in want. He latched onto your clit, and you cried as he suckled and teeth brushed along your sensitive bundle of nerves. Working you up to a climax, he presses his palms into your legs to keep them open. You're shaking. You're desperately trying to escape an onslaught your poor brain and body had never experienced before. It wasn't longer before you cried out, visiting turning black then white as you came, hips jerking and your lips babbling nonsense. Feitan continued to lick helping you come down, pride beaming from his chest. Internally thanking Phinks for all the times over the years he pushed him into sharing someone's bed, that he needed practice, all for you even if he didn't know it yet.

You moaned, furiously blinking before his tongue dances along your folds, licking and sucking at your cum like it's the best meal he'd ever taste. Tongue prodding at your entrance, his gaze flicks up to see you watch him in awe and pleasure, as he licks along your walls. Your clit is puffy as he worked his way back up, a finger delicately toying at your entrance as you gasp. More?

Feitan hummed against your clit, liquid pleasure pulsing within him but all he could do was grind against the mattress, he wanted to see you come apart some more. You babble something incoherent as he brings a finger up and covers it in your arousal, gently sucking still. His middle finger sunk in with ease, your back arching as he fills you. He adds another. He smiled so cruelly as your heat welcomed them so greedily.

"Tight cunt." Feitan groaned, "So wet. Taste so good." He hummed against your clit and the vibrations made you whimper.

You're moaning for him like he was your life line. Sucking him in and begging for more and you were starting to wonder which way was up or down. His tongue oscillating in mesmerizing circles along your clit, his fingers curling along your gummy walls that beg him for more. You were on the edge. You felt pleasure building you up so deliciously, "Fei, more, more, feel good."

For a second he froze as one of your hands tangle in his hair, but seeing you blissed out in his bed- he made you nearly sob as added a third finger stretching you apart as he cruelly sucked your clit until your moans are cries, gasping and loud, as if you were in pain. But instead, once more, ecstasy blossomed in your abdomen right as you thought you'd burst, and tears fell fast. You came on his tongue and fingers, squirt dribbling, your cunt fluttering around him as his motions slowed.

"Pretty." He cooed as he watched your writhing body with curiosity.

A confused cry left you as his touch disappeared, but you watched as he stripped himself of his underwear, finally leaving him bare.

"Gonna fuck you. All mine."

You whimper as he settles between your legs, his thick cockhead prodding at your slick entrance.

"Be good and take me." Feitan grunted as he began to push in.

"F-Fei- Virgin- I-I'm a-" You cried as you thrashed on the sheets, feeling as if Feitan was splitting you in two as he sheathed himself inside you.

An onslaught of butterflies swarmed in his stomach and could have come on the spot from your words alone. A virgin? He knew you were meant to be his, and him yours.

"There you go, tight cunt for me to fill." He pressed his lips to yours, knots in his core tightened as he thrusted deeper, hips to the hilt as he was finally claiming you, filling you.

He watched your eyes go wide, eyes spasming from the intrusion. Your gummy walls squeezing his cock so good as she attempted to accommodate his size. Feitan swallowed hard, trying to stifle his own noises, desperately wanting to be so far in you that you'd never think of anything else.

Blood trickled from your cunt and onto the sheets and it stirred Feitan's hips into a bruising pace as he felt the warmth of your virgin blood surrounding his cock. Liked knowing what he did to you, watching his outline in your stomach as he pushed down, a slimy grin forming on his lips.

He wanted to break you. But he felt himself losing composure as he pounded into your tight cunt. The two of you consumed with warmth and fire spreading along your nerves as together, you chased an intense high consummating some sick love.

"Mine." You were losing your mind as Feitan grunted those words, "Mine." He snapped his hips and you gasped from the intrusion of his cock against your womb, "Tell me who you belong to."

Your pretty eyes were hazy, rolling back into your head as your poor fucked out brain couldn't comprehend. His cock felt so perfect inside your pussy that coated him in your cream from the bliss you felt.

"You!" You cry out, "Fei- Feitan. You! I'm yours." You sobbed, only his name on your tongue and on your mind.

Feitan relished in the sight of his cock fucking into you, disappearing into your depth, his hips flushed with your own. And each time he pulled out, the sight of your bloodied cum on his length made him shudder. He gathered your discharge on his thumb and used it to coat your clit, relentlessly rubbing over it. His hips started to move again, desperately forcing himself deeper as he played with your bud. Your cunt spasming around him again as you attempted to escape his onslaught of overstimulation.

"T-Too much- can't Fei-"

"Never push me away," He threatened, leaning down to nip at your ear, "Will punish you."

You whimpered but the way your cunt opened up for him told him all he needed to know-- the pain, the helplessness, he was turning you on. Straightening again he continued to fuck into you, swiping over your clit, far past the point of pleasing you, rough thrusts hitting your g-spot over and over. You let out an honest to god cry as your third orgasm hit, words thick and hard to understand but Feitan understood how you begged and pleaded for him.

Feitan gripped your hips harder so he could drive into you at a relentless pace, throwing his head back, looking up to the ceiling as he gave you all he had. You pulsed around him all swollen and tight and he knew he wouldn't last much longer,

"Gonna fill you up. Take my cum in your pussy. Mine. My pussy- you're mine." Feitan was past the point of keeping quiet as his possessiveness slammed into him full force. The thought of his cum painting your insides and leaking out...

Falling forward he crushed his mouth onto yours, giving several long thrusts before his vision whited out as he came. Cock twitching as he filled you to the brim, hips stuttering all the way against you, hot, thick ropes of cum coating you. Claiming you. Becoming one with you.

His pace slowed but his lips never left yours, the two of you panting into each other as you came down. Feitan pulled away, resting his forehead to yours, your eyes meeting. Vulnerability. Like truly seeing each other for the first time. He stroked your cheekbones carefully, trying to sense any fear. But nothing. Your eyes shone with a million stars as you shuddered, staring at him, hips twitching as he pulled out. Leaving you emptier than you'd ever been.

Feitan pulled away, dropping back to his knees, carefully stroking along where he'd carved his name into your skin, stroking down your waist then to your thighs. His touch cold, addictive as he thumbed along your leaking folds, his cum beginning to drip down. "Mine."

"Yours."

He stared at you before his cheeks tinted pink, "I'm yours too. Only yours. Don't care about stupid woman I tortured, just my job. You're my.. life. Won't give you space again, won't run if I get scared, this was all my fault, I didn't want to bring you pain. I'll make it up to you."

Your eyes widen with love filling them, a stupidly happy grin washing over you from the gravity of his words, "I love you."

Feitan froze like he was in head on collision, by your proclamation. Love. Did he deserve that? No. He didn't deserve your love but he couldn't deny the happiness he felt in his chest and how his pulse skyrocketed, "Love you as well."

Feitan laid at your side, stroking along your body as sleep eventually overcame you. You seemed so innocent, so small lying in his arms like that. Watching you sleep was a favorite pastime, but knowing you slumbered with his cum buried in you was enough to entrance him back into your gravity.

Your passed out form hardly reacted to his touches, soft moans as he slid his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt. Little twitches as he sucked on your nipples. And you stayed asleep as he slipped his re-hardened cock back inside of your abused cunt, full heartedly welcoming him in.

The bed creaked and thumped against the wall as he let loose, let his grunt and sobs loudly leave him as he fucked you full once more. This was heaven. Pure bliss. Not even torturing made him feel this way, so high, so invincible. Feitan indulged in you until he was a whiny overstimulated mess, heaving atop you and leaving even more marks. He fucked you until he couldn't cum anymore, dumping two more loads into your pussy that became swollen and tight, a perfect fit for his cock.

It was then that he could finally sleep, curled up next to your limp body holding you flush. He pet your hair possessively as you subconsciously cuddled into him further, blood pounding in his ears. The fact you'd been jealous made his chest soar. You hated someone for having his attention because you wanted it. You loved him for him. And it was then that he could finally drift off to sleep, content knowing you were filled with him. His.

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locobastaaa · 1 month ago

Text

Easier

Feitan x Reader // word count 4.3k

If you drink with him tonight, you’ll still be trapped. Things will not get better, and they’ll likely get worse. You know that. But it’s so hard to resist a chance to feel good.

Tags/warnings: dark content, kidnapped reader, noncon (both parties are intoxicated, it’s implied that reader is more so), drinking, coping through drinking, unsexy smut, drunk sex, outdoor sex, reference to previous threats of violence, attempted knifeplay

Feitan has a habit of bringing you things that you do not want. He does not hand them to you - instead, he deposits them on your bed or your floor and then looks at you expectantly, in much the same way that a cat might deposit a dead mouse on your doorstep. It happens often, so when you hear the rattle and click of the lock on your door, you are not surprised to see him enter with something in his hand.

“Here.” He doesn’t make eye-contact - not until he yanks the door shut behind him, forcing it to scrape against the warped wooden frame, and pulls the chain that dangles from the bare, yellowed bulb in the center of the ceiling. Then, he brandishes his offering, raising it up with an awkward jerk of his wrist. “For you.” A bottle of clear liquor, with his knuckles white around its neck, and a single glass tucked under his arm. It’s a regular one, and not a shot glass (not surprising - you’re shocked that he even owns any cups that aren’t made out of plastic), and the bottle is cheap, but neither of those little details are really the problem.

You shift your weight backwards slightly, bracing your hands against your bare mattress. “I don’t want it.”

Feitan crosses the room, somehow managing to avoid a single creak in the rotting floorboards, and sits on the ground directly beside your bed. He looks at the place on the floor beside him, and then stares at you without blinking until you give in, sliding cautiously from your bed and pulling your knees up to your chest as you sit.

You eye the dubious gift with apprehension.

“I didn’t put anything in it.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” you say, before you can really think about your answer.

He tilts his head. “Really?”

“…not just that.”

“Smart.” He nods curtly, as if he expected this response, although his gaze drops for a moment and his hand twitches anxiously at his side. “I show you.” He pours out about a shot. The cowl over his face comes down with a sharp tug, and he wrinkles his nose at the contents of the glass before downing it with a straight face.

You’ve never seen him drink before, or smelled it on his breath, so you are almost inclined to be impressed.

“What else are you worried about?”

His breath usually just smells like he doesn’t own a toothbrush. You pointed this out once, and ended up with a pair of pliers in your mouth. He didn’t actually remove any of your teeth, and the corners of his eyes were creased as his face hovered over yours, like the whole thing was good fun, you teasing him and him paying it back in kind. His breath was fresh the next time you saw him, washed out with a sickly-sweet-something that repulsed you even more than the rot it replaced.

“What else?” he prompts.

“I don’t like your presents.”

He pauses for a moment, as if he finds what you’re saying baffling. “You like this one.”

“No, I don’t.” There are plenty of reasons not to like it. For one, the fact that it is different from all the others. He usually gives you harmless things. Some of them have been truly undesirable, like the half-wilted flower with strangely shaped leaves and an even stranger smell, or the scuffed silver ring for which the previous owner, he assured you, had no further use. Others, you tried to reject only because they came from him, and took advantage of in the moments when you were too tired to care about your pride. Soap of the exact same kind that you used to stock in your home. A soft pair of socks that very nearly matched and were very nearly clean. They were all unsettling in their own way, of course. But this one is different.

Why is it different? You do not like the answer, but it is creeping up on you, getting stronger by the second. If you drink, you will stop thinking, if only for a few hours. You will stop caring about his breath, and picturing his face hovering over you, and wondering when it will stop merely hovering and do the things he wants it to do.

Why is it different? Simple. Because you want it, for once.

He tilts his head. Waiting.

“I don’t like it,” you repeat, all too aware of the way he’s sizing you up, wondering what little movement or twitch of your facial muscles might give you away. “I want it gone.” You are still picturing exactly what those eyes look like when they’re so close that they make yours go blurry and crossed. He didn’t kiss you then - he still hasn’t. But that’s only another thing to fear. It will happen, and everything else along with it. It’s only a matter of time. “Go away.”

“No.” He pushes the glass towards you, and the bottle along with it. He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t leave.

You should pour it down the sink, or throw it out the window. He’d probably let you. He never forces you to accept anything he gives you, although the look of genuine disappointment in his eyes when you refuse is so unsettling that you usually play along. “Why…” You drop your gaze along with the rest of the sentence. It’s obvious, isn’t it?

He shrugs. “Why not?”

You ask yourself the same thing, and come up with a multitude of reasons, and an answer to them all. You are already here, in this room, in this house, with no way out, and nothing to think about except the things he will do, and when. There is no good choice here. And there is an easier one. You bite your tongue, and then your lip, but it does nothing to stop you. “Okay.”

You hold the bottle parallel to the ground, and count one-two-three like someone once told you to do when measuring out a shot, but it’s full and it comes out fast and maybe just maybe you let your handle tilt a little too far in the wrong direction. It doesn’t go down easy, either. You’ve got nothing to follow it with, or to add to cut through the bitter taste. It wouldn’t be hard to stand up and get water, but you don’t feel like moving at the moment. The usual warm, pleasant sensation that you experience when you down the first drink of the night is absent, drowned out by the face staring back at you.

He smiles, and drops his gaze, and his cheeks are flushed, and you don’t know if it’s just from the liquor -

This was a mistake, of course. Of course. You knew that going in. But it’s too late to correct now, and there’s only one way left to go: down, and down, and down. You splash another helping into the glass - one-two-three-four-five - and close your eyes as you choke your way through it.

As soon as you’re done, before you can set the glass down, he takes it out of your hand, fingers brushing cautiously against the back of your hand before easily prying it loose. “I go now.”

You think, for a moment, that he means he’s going to leave, and take his gift along with him (a twinge of disappointment, or maybe something closer to panic, comes along with this, and you hate yourself for it). Instead, he matches the portions you’ve drank with his own. From his face, you would think that it was only water in his cup, although you think you see that faint look of disgust appear once again in the moment before he drinks. When he’s done, he fidgets with the bottle cap, flipping it effortlessly between his fingers. It’s a repetitive motion, one that might be soothing to watch if it wasn’t for the dark stains beneath his nails. He is focused, almost meditative, not even glancing up at you as he toys with the small plastic round, but there is a tension in his shoulders and the way he sits.

You feel it too. It will be a relief, you think, when the waiting is over.

He offers the bottle cap to you. Silently, another little gift in the same night, perfectly centered in his palm. A part of you wants it. But your hands are not elegant - not now, not ever - and you have accepted too much from him already.

Too much, and not enough. You watch him for several more minutes, and will the bottle to remain on the floor, instead of making its way into your hand.

Outside, a slight wind has picked up, the noise dulled by the metal slats fastened across your window. You turn away from Feitan, towards the sound, and slump forward, holding your face in your hands. It’s peaceful, for what feels like a long time. Peaceful enough that you can concentrate on the presence of your body, and the pace of your thoughts, and imagine the alcohol slowly creeping up through your veins and covering up all the things you don’t want to have in your head.

Feitan comes to crouch in the periphery of your vision. You did not hear him move, but that is nothing new. You would not have heard him, you’re sure, even if you had had nothing at all to drink. But now that he is here, you are imagining how you will feel once the warmth has peaked and faded away, and you are still alone with him, and nothing has changed at all. He passes you the bottle, and you drink straight from its mouth, barely registering the taste, too much, too fast. He snatches it back, and matches your swig -

You have an amusing thought that you know he wouldn’t like. It expresses itself on your face before you can snatch it back.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” You arrange your features carefully, and shut your mouth. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t look at you with suspicion, like he normally would. He just shrugs, and follows your gaze to the slit of starlight that pokes out from an unobstructed section of the window. “No moon tonight.”

“I wouldn’t know.” It comes out bitter, and you are only slightly surprised to realize that you no longer care how you sound.

“You know now.” He does something you’ve never seen him do before: takes off the cowl entirely and discards it on the floor. “If I take you outside, will you be happy?”

“No.” Your tongue is starting to feel heavy in your mouth, fuzzy around the edges. “I’ll still hate you.”

“Okay.” He looks away from you, reaches again for the bottle, then seems to think better of it. “We still go.”

“Now?” You don’t think you want to stand up, but you do it anyways, before he can even tell you what to do. You’re proud to note that the movement comes easily to you; if you were asked to walk in a straight line, you think that you could. Maybe you could run, too. Maybe faster than him, in your current states.

“Now.” He stands up beside you, surefooted, and grabs your hand. His fingers do not interlock with yours - instead, he wraps them around the back of your palm, and presses his thumb hard against the other side of it. His grip is stronger than it has any right to be, but it does not hurt.

“Why?”

“Why not?” He actually grins, and it’s so jarring that it brings you back down to earth for a moment. “You won’t run away.”

“You don’t know that.” You can see his teeth. By some miracle, they are white enough, and straight enough, but you are still disgusted by them. “I’ll probably try.”

“Okay.” He tugs you towards the door by your hand. “You try.”

You hesitate for a moment, and he pauses, allowing you to pick up the bottle from the floor. It is still open, but the smell of it has become far less offensive, and you grip it as tightly as he does to your hand. Then, you are out - out of the room, first, then past the staircase that he has not yet forced you to descend, where he comes up at the end of the day or night - past that, and then you are past the front door, and the wind that you listened to for so many minutes is howling in your ear. It occurs to you that you do not even know what the house looks like from the outside, but you do not bother turning around.

“This way.” Trees surround the house on every side, and he takes you into them, guiding you through the most spacious paths between the trunks. “I show you something.”

The last time he showed you something, it was not nice - you think about this, and clutch the bottle tighter to your chest, and try not to picture the bones beneath the skin of your hand, small and coated in blood and easy to break. He has similar bones in his possession, not all of them in one piece, belonging to bodies that were once people, with names he told you he had forgotten.

What are you doing? You tip the mouth of the bottle up to your lips, but he jerks you sharply in a new direction, and you only manage to catch a bit of what sloshes out. You vaguely register, moments later, that there is a clearing in front of you, and that it might be pretty in the daytime, and that there are weed-flowers at your feet, the color of which you cannot make out. More lucidly, you observe that the collar of your shirt is wet, and that Feitan’s grip on your hand is tight enough to hurt after all.

“We sit down now.” He sits, and takes you down with him, and more of the contents of the bottle slips away as you struggle to keep it in your grasp. The grass is wet, too. His face is very close to yours. His head tilts to a bizarre angle, his face seeming to blur in front of you, the curve of his smile higher on one side than the other. He laughs - it’s a raspy, quiet sound that is completely unfamiliar to you. Unfamiliar to him, too, you think. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” you say, although you do not know if it is true (it probably is - you don’t think he would laugh otherwise). The amusing thought comes back, and this time, you do not filter it away from your mouth. “You shouldn’t have drank as much as I did. We’re not the same size.”

“We’re not.” He blinks unnaturally slowly - or maybe he’s consciously closing his eyes, or maybe it’s just that everything seems a little slower, even the wind yanking his hair away from his face. “Closer sitting down.”

You snort. “Barely.”

“Then lie down.”

You realize that you have been wanting to laugh for a long time, and you do it wildly and bitterly, a grinning scream that you cut short with another swig of the thing which is starting to taste more like water than anything else. “I’m not stupid.”

“No.” He sways forward and puts his hand over yours, and you - after a moment, a stupid, stupid moment - snatch it away.

“‘m not stupid, and I hate you.” Your head feels light and heavy at the same time, scared and free, and neither feeling really matters, and you don’t want to think about it.

“I know.” He looks disappointed, you think, although he might just be tired. How late is it? Late enough that before he arrived - how long ago? - you were scared of falling asleep - you have bad dreams, every night - but you feel okay now -

“Why’d you bring me here?” Your words are not coming out the way you want them to. You don’t mean this clearing - you mean here, with him, forever, or however long he wants you -

“I wanted to.” He gets what you mean, you think. “Might change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“I know.” He slips his hand into his pocket, and fidgets with something inside, and you do not think to wonder what it is.

“You should let me go.”

“No.”

“I should run away.” You laugh, because the idea of running right now is ridiculous, just like every other idea that passes through your head. All of this is awful, and stupid. Better to be stupid. “That way.” You raise your hand, and point to a place where the trees are less dense, where you think you could run without falling, if you really tried. “I’ll live in the woods. Hunt squirrels.” Oh, how nice it would be right now to talk to someone who wasn’t him. But it is good not to be alone. You think you would cry if you were alone. “You’d never find me.”

He coughs out another rusty laugh (but it’s mean this time, or it feels mean, anyways) and sticks his hand into his pocket. “Then go.” His eyes narrow, and he does not look disappointed anymore, but you’re not really thinking about how he feels to begin with. “I give you ten seconds.”

“Really?” You swing backwards where you sit, then straighten, then shake your head. Make it clear. Do you bring the bottle with you? It will slow you down, but you want it. If you do not have it (oh, god) you will have to wake up and think about all of this, and you don’t want that. It scares you. You can’t.

“Ten.”

You blink. “Now?”

He nods. “Nine.”

“Fuck.” You rise clumsily to your feet, stumble on your first step, and take off straight ahead, with what’s left of your liquor held tight to your chest. The trees are dense, your footing unstable, and suddenly you are going sideways when you mean to go straight - a branch scratches your face, and you grab it, as if to tear it straight off the tree. What number is he on? He was not talking loudly, and you cannot hear it except in your own head, where you are trying to keep track. Three, two?

You hear the crackle of dead leaves somewhere close. Closer. Then his hand is on yours, and you have fallen, and you have no idea which one of these things happened first, and your hands are empty, and the ground is wet on your back. You open your mouth. At the same moment, you feel something hard and sharp against your neck, but you don’t register that in time to stop yourself from speaking - or attempting to. You don’t know what you’re trying to say.

“You stop talking now.” The blade that appeared from nowhere (his pocket?) presses down, just shy of breaking the skin, and does not move for what feels like a very long time. But time is strange at the moment. You are not as scared as you are confused. You do not talk, and he takes it away, and it is such a relief that you do not think much about the other things. He is warm on top of you (he is lying on top of you) but not very heavy (but blurry) and his face is close and you can feel his breath on your face and it does not smell bad. Just like yours. The rest of that smell is pouring out on the ground (you heard the bottle crack when you dropped it, you think).

He kisses you before you can laugh about it, or cry about it, and his tongue is strange and slow and thick. Your hands come up, and push, but they fall down before long, and he kisses your neck. Bites. Doesn’t hurt very much at all. Knife catches at the neckline of your shirt, cuts -

Not far. His hand is not steady. Slips. Prick. You don’t think you’re bleeding but you wouldn’t know if you were. Nothing hurts. You think you hear him curse. Heavy metal leaves you and thuds in the pretty wet grass. There’s a strange expression on his face which makes you think that he might be close to laughing or crying too, and you don’t like it. Your shirt is still wet and noticing it again is a relief - you can think about that, and nothing else.

“You want to?” He tugs at the waist of your pants and pulls them down before you really answer. Your legs are apart now, and you do not want it to be him between them, but it feels good to be touched there - there - and you cannot make yourself hate it. You can’t hate anything. You can’t feel much besides him. There is a warm haze, and beneath that, there is shame and fear and loathing that you do not have to feel right now, that would make everything worse if you did feel it.

You do feel it, for a second too long, and your legs slide closer together, but not close enough to make it stop.

“You don’t want to?” His two fingers slide inside you (too easy, easier than it should be) and curl up like they’re trying to push an answer out of you, and your mouth opens and something comes out, but not words. His eyes narrow and he smiles and the darkness or something else makes it all look different than it did before. “I want to.”

Your hips move in the wrong direction, into him, and the thing you should and want to say does not come out, because he makes you feel good when you try. If he was not doing that he would be making you feel scared instead. This is better. This is the best it could ever be.

The smile drops, all at once. “Answer.”

You close your eyes so you don’t have to see it. Now, it doesn’t have to be him. Could be anyone. Could be no one at all. “Feels good,” you mumble.

“Good.”

The hand slips out of you and lands on the side of your face, slick, and you are kissed and you do not kiss back. “Good.” He says it into your mouth between kisses. His other hand is somewhere else. Down. “Good.” You try not to hear it. The wind whips up around you and you listen to that, and feel it hard against your cheek, and him hard against your stomach. Wind scrapes over your skin. He scrapes over your skin. Finds your entrance and holds himself there for too long. “You want to.” Not a question. Maybe he believes it and maybe you do too.

“Mm.” You’ll fall asleep as soon as it is over. It will be easy. Like taking a drink.

His breath shudders as he presses inside you. His whole body goes along with it, tightens against your skin, face shoved into your neck. Your eyes snap open and you fight their lids back down. When you let yourself think about it, the good feeling starts to go away. But it doesn’t hurt. It would’ve hurt, if it happened a different night, when you had to think…

He looks up and you somehow raise your head just enough to see his eyes. Wide. “Talk.”

“Feels good,” you mumble, and it must be enough, because his nails scrape your scalp and snag firmly into your hair and he is going and going but you can barely feel anything at all anymore. You lied, you guess.

It ends quickly. He says something that you can’t hear and then he is out of you and there is wet on your thigh that has nothing to do with the grass. And still, he is not done with you. His weight stays. His arms hook under your shoulders and hold tight.

One final time, you force your mouth and eyes open, because you cannot sleep like this. He’s staring at you, waiting, and you barely recognize his face at all. If you did, you would hate it.

You manage to say it. Exactly what you want to say. “Get off.”

His gaze drops to the grass. It’s quiet, for a long time.

You close your eyes. “Get off.”

“Okay.” His hand flutters against your cheek, and you feel his hot breath over your face, close enough to kiss you one final time.

He doesn’t. His weight lifts, and you can breathe.

And you can sleep.

***

There is a moment when you wake up before you feel any pain. Your head does not hurt, your stomach does not churn, your eyes do not flinch at the sunlight that pokes them through the trees.

But you would take all of those little kinds of suffering over the feeling that overrides them all. It strangles your chest and your throat and keeps you from rising or moving even an inch to look around. You hear his breathing. You hear his body shift in the grass, and know that he knows you are awake.

And yet, he doesn’t say a thing. Not yet. When he does, all the things you half-remember will flood your brain, and you will have no defense, except to hope that he has another bottle stashed away somewhere, and that he will be kind enough to give it to you.

Not yet. You feel the dampness of the shirt on your back, and taste the foulness of your own breath and the rot rising up from your throat, and smell the bitter stench of the night before. And you pretend, for as long as you can, that not yet means never again.

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locobastaaa · 5 months ago

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I want Shalnark to kiss me so badly. I want him to hold me in his arms. I want him to whisper sweet nothings in my ear as I fall asleep. I want him to wipe my tears away and tell me that everything's okay. I want him to hold my hand in places that make me feel paranoid. I want him to love me. I want him to be real...

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locobastaaa · 5 months ago

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ghost hunt // shalnark (pt. 2)

tw ⇢ enemies to lovers, strong sexual tension, mentions of violence, rough sex, manhandling, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, edging, orgasm denial, asphyxiation, spanking, squirting, begging, hair pulling

wc ⇢ 6.1k

part one | part two

The room was bathed in the soft blue glow of the computer monitors. Shalnark lounged lazily on your bed, hands tucked behind his head as he watched you sitting at your computer station, fingers dancing across the keys.

These clandestine visits to your apartment had become almost routine over the past few weeks. On the pretense of trying to deter your cyber vendetta against the Phantom Troupe, Shalnark would show up unannounced. You always let him in with that same inscrutable smile, neither questioning his presence nor revealing the motives driving your actions.

The two of you would then lapse into strange, meandering conversations that veered between charged flirting and genuine philosophical probing about your opposing stances. Shalnark feigned indifference, firing off casual questions in hopes of getting you to reveal why you targeted the Troupe so persistently.

But you seemed to revel in deflecting his efforts, obfuscating with that same amused glint in your eyes. It was an odd game you two played - one that both frustrated and captivated Shalnark in equal measure.

"You really are determined to stay an enigma, aren't you?" Shalnark mused with a slight chuckle, watching the way the screen's glow danced across your features. "Keeping me in the dark must be part of some grand plan."

You flashed him a coy smile over your shoulder. "Now where would be the fun in making things easy for you, Shalnark?"

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Touché. Though I have to wonder how long you intend to carry on with these games before—"

Shalnark's words caught in his throat as his gaze focused on the code rapidly populating your computer screens. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as he recognized the signature strands, the telltale signs that you were hacking into the Troupe's secure networks again.

And you were doing it right in front of him without a shred of guilt or pretense.

Rather than fly into outrage as you seemed to expect, Shalnark merely watched with a sort of calm bemusement as your fingers flew across the keys. He noted the intense focus etched on your delicate features, the slight crease between your brows as you rapidly unspooled the infiltration algorithm.

Only when you sat back with a self-satisfied smirk did Shalnark finally speak up, his tone one of wry impression.

"My, my. Aren't we the overachiever?" He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Gutsy move, pulling a cyberstrike with me sitting right here, ghost."

You seemed utterly unbothered by Shalnark's presence as you breezed through the cyber infiltration. Each stroke of the keyboard was confident, almost taunting in its ease at circumventing the Troupe's security protocols right under his nose.

When you finally leaned back with a satisfied smirk, Shalnark rose from the bed slowly, his movements unhurried but carrying a coiled intensity. Before you realized what was happening, he was looming over you, one hand clamped like a vise around your upper arm.

In a single deft motion, Shalnark wrenched you bodily out of the chair and slammed you down over the desk, scattering keyboards and monitors with a reckless clatter. You gasped at the sudden aggression, but maintained your defiant glare even pinned beneath Shalnark's weight.

He hovered above you, chest heaving with scarcely restrained emotion. For a long moment, the only sound was your mingled breaths - harsh and staccato with friction. Shalnark's expression was unreadable, but his fingers dug almost cruelly into the soft flesh of your arm.

Then, so gradually you didn't register the motion until his shadow consumed your vision, Shalnark drew back his free hand into a white-knuckled fist. You tensed beneath him, awaiting the blow that never fell.

His arm went taut, the tendons and veins standing out in stark relief against the muscle as it trembled with the urge to strike. But something held Shalnark back at the last instant before violence could erupt. Perhaps it was the naked defiance blazing in your eyes, or some indefinable sliver of respect for your audacious spirit.

Slowly, the tension bled from Shalnark's frame as his fist uncurled. Instead, he leaned down until his face was a hair's breadth from yours, heated breaths intermingling in the charged void between you. His eyes bored into yours with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs.

"Next time you pull a stunt like that," he ground out in a voice laced with menace, "I won't hesitate. Consider this your last warning...ghost."

The endearment twisted with undercurrents of threat and promise. You could only stare back, pinned beneath the full weight of Shalnark's presence. Then, just as abruptly as the confrontation began, he released you with a disdainful shove and stalked away.

You were left to gather your wits amid the wreckage of your workstation, ears still ringing with the phantom echoes of Shalnark's parting words.

a few days later

Word had reached Shalnark that once again, the Phantom Troupe's operations had been disrupted - their secure networks breached and an upcoming rendezvous point leaked. He didn't even need to confirm the culprit this time.

You had defied his final warning.

A muscle ticked in Shalnark's jaw as he paced the confines of his spartan living quarters. Rage warred with bitter frustration and that same nagging sense of respect for your abilities that he couldn't quite extinguish, no matter how much you tormented him.

Part of him had honestly thought that perhaps his show of force last time, that razor-edged glimpse of the consequences you were toying with, might have gotten through your stubbornly defiant exterior. But clearly, you were too entrenched in...whatever personal vendetta drove these endless cyber strikes against his Troupe brothers.

Shalnark came to a halt, nostrils flaring slightly as his internal deliberations reached a conclusion. You'd been warned more than fairly, given ample opportunity to save yourself from retaliation. If you insisted on continuing to impede and undermine the Troupe's enterprise, then you had chosen this path.

It was with a sense of grim finality that Shalnark finally grabbed his gear and headed out, already plotting out the most efficient route back to your apartment building. This time, no hemming or hawing, no staying of violence at the last moment out of some misplaced inkling of respect.

No, when he saw you again, there would be no merciful hesitation. You wanted to challenge the Phantom Troupe? You were about to receive their full, implacable wrath personified.

The trip across town passed in a blur of narrowed focus for the blond hacker. Before he could even properly steel himself, Shalnark was already ascending the dingy stairwell towards your secluded flat. His steps were silent but carried a sense of inevitable momentum.

At your door, he didn't even bother with picking the electronic lock this time. A solid kick from his boot was enough to splinter the aged wood inwards with a concussive bang.

Shalnark strode through the newly-formed entrance with propulsive intent, eyes rapidly sweeping the small living area for any sign of you. When his gaze finally settled on your figure, casually leaning against the kitchen counter in a graphic tee and a pair of lace panties like you'd been awaiting his arrival, the inferno banked behind his stare flared even hotter.

"Hoh..." You regarded him with that same inscrutable half-smirk, utterly unruffled by his intrusive entrance. "I figured you'd be stopping by again sooner rather than la--"

Whatever quipfaded shot you might have intended died on your lips as Shalnark crossed the scant distance separating you in a few purposeful strides. His calloused hand locked like a vice around your throat, the other seizing a fistful of your shirt as he bodily slammed you back against the counter.

Leaning in until his face was mere inches from yours, Shalnark searched your defiant gaze for any trace of fear or contrition. But he found only that same maddening glint of challenge and resolve reflecting back at him.

"Did you really think..." Each word was a softly spoken rasp of menace despite the innocent smile on his face. "That I wouldn't make good on my promise?"

You stared back at him, posture taut but expression unreadable even as his fingers tightened infinitesimally around your windpipe. A fragile silence stretched out, loaded with implications before Shalnark finally exhaled a bemused huff.

"I'm honestly not sure whether to be impressed or insulted by your sheer stupidity, ghost."

Abruptly, he released his crushing grip, allowing you to slump forward slightly as you dragged in a rasping breath. Not giving you a chance to regain your equilibrium, Shalnark clamped one large hand around your bicep in an unforgiving grasp and began propelling you backwards towards the bedroom area.

You tried to dig in your heels, but Shalnark was inexorable in his momentum as he practically frog-marched you through the cramped living room. At the bedroom threshold, he paused just long enough to level you with a look of such glacial intensity it stole the breath from your lungs.

"But one thing's for certain..." His tone had taken on a dangerous lilt of anticipation. "After tonight, you'll finally understand the consequences of your actions."

With that silken promise, Shalnark gave a casual shove, propelling you back onto the unmade bedding as he stalked through the doorway after you.

Shalnark advanced into the bedroom like a panther closing in on its prey. You scrambled back across the rumpled bedding, clutching a pillow defensively to your chest as he loomed over the edge of the mattress.

"Shal--" You tried to formulate a protest or defiant barb, but it withered on your lips as he reached out with agonizing slowness to pry the pillow from your grasp.

The battered cushion fell forgotten to the floor as Shalnark's weight settled over you, knees bracketing your thighs and hands planted on either side of your head. His eyes roamed your features with an impassive intensity that made you want to squirm.

"No more games," he murmured, so close now that his breath disturbed the fine tendrils of hair across your forehead. "No more smokescreens or deflections."

One of his hands drifted up to trail a maddening path along the line of your jaw and neck, thumb brushing your racing pulse point. Shalnark's gaze followed the motion, utterly focused and unwavering.

"Tell me why, ghost," he breathed, the weight of his stare pinning you as surely as his body. "After everything, every warning, every chance I gave you to walk away...why keep antagonizing me? What could possibly be worth this relentless obsession?"

His fingers continued their torturously light exploration, tracing the curve of your collarbone and dipping beneath the neckline of your shirt to toy with the heated skin below. You shivered in spite of yourself, the cradle of his hips pressing you into the mattress.

"What are you so desperate to achieve?" Shalnark's lips brushed the sensitive hollow beneath your ear as he murmured. "Because I can promise you, no endgame is worth the retaliation I'm prepared to unleash."

The words carried an undercurrent of dark promise that sent a shiver down your spine. But rather than incite fear or capitulation, the sense of looming danger only seemed to embolden the reckless fire flickering behind your stare.

Perhaps sensing this, perhaps reveling in it, Shalnark huffed a low chuckle against the fragile skin of your neck. "Even now, you continue to defy me with that fire in your eyes."

His nose traced a scorching path along the line of your throat until his lips were hovering a hairsbreadth from yours. You could feel the heat of his breaths mingling with your own, smell the amalgam of his sandalwood and metal scent.

"I'm a patient man, ghost," Shalnark purred, fingertips toying with the hem of your shirt. "But even my restraint has its...limits."

He punctuated the loaded statement by dipping lower, claiming your lips in a searing, demanding kiss that obliterated whatever trace of coherent resistance you might have clung to. You melted into the scorching velvet of his mouth moving with possessive intensity over yours.

Shalnark's tongue delved deep, stoking the first cinders of a wildfire rapidly raging out of control between your entwined bodies. His hands roamed with increasing insistence, pulling your shirt up to skate calloused palms across the bare skin of your breasts, thumbing at your nipples.

He was everywhere at once - his scent, his deliciously wicked mouth, the hard planes of his body pinning you to the disheveled sheets. You gasped, arching against the firm press of his thigh insinuating itself between your legs as Shalnark's kiss turned almost feral with banked intensity.

There was no more preamble, no banter or verbal feints to mask the undercurrent of primal need and challenge crackling between you. Only the unraveling of that exquisite knot of tension, the collision of two unyielding forces utterly unbridled from their restraints at last.

Shalnark drew back, panting softly as he surveyed you through heavy-lidded eyes. Then, without warning, he gripped the neckline of your shirt and yanked it down with enough force to send the fabric tearing straight down the center. You gasped, the sound melting into a moan as he leaned down to drag his teeth against the delicate skin of your neck, the swell of your breasts.

You writhed beneath him, hands scrabbling for purchase in the short strands of his hair. Shalnark smirked against the hollow of your throat, fingers trailing feather-light down your sides until they hooked into the waistband of your panties.

Without pretense, he shoved the skimpy garment down your legs, leaving you fully bared to his heated gaze. Your skin flushed under the weight of his stare as he sat back on his heels to admire you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Gods, look at you." He breathed the reverential curse as his eyes drank in the sight of your naked, quivering form laid out for his taking.

A low hum of appreciation rumbled in his chest as his palms glided over the supple skin of your inner thighs, nudging them apart to expose the slick folds beneath. Shalnark's eyes took on a predatory gleam, pupils blown wide with unbridled desire.

"So pretty..." He dipped his head, the tip of his nose trailing a maddening path along the apex of your thigh. You whimpered, hips twitching as the first touch of his mouth scorched a path through the slick petals of your cunt.

Shalnark groaned in satisfaction at the flavor bursting on his tongue, his fingers tightening around the flesh of your thighs. Then, his mouth was on you with a ruthless, devouring intensity. He ate you out like a starving man, the wet sounds of his ministrations obscene in the charged silence.

Your back bowed off the sheets as a broken cry tumbled from your lips, hands fisting in the rumpled covers. The world narrowed to the sensation of Shalnark's mouth on you, the rough pads of his fingers digging bruises into the plush give of your flesh.

He lapped at your core like a man possessed, the wet sounds of his efforts punctuated by the occasional groan of pleasure as your taste coated his tongue. The way he ate you out was utterly unhinged, unrestrained and almost frenzied with need.

Your hips twitched beneath the press of his palms, grinding into his face shamelessly as your body chased the mounting pleasure. When the first electric pulses of an orgasm began to spark, you moaned aloud, the sound spurring Shalnark's efforts into an almost desperate cadence.

His tongue flicked against your clit, then swirled and sucked the delicate bundle of nerves with an expertise that had your vision blurring with sparks. It felt as though all the air was being stolen from your lungs, a roaring rush of sound in your ears drowning out the wrecked sounds that poured from your lips.

Then, just when the mounting pressure threatened to burst, the sensation of Shalnark's mouth abruptly withdrew. You were left teetering on the edge, so tantalizingly close to a climax, but denied.

Beneath the hazy sheen of lust, you registered the faint clink of metal and the rustle of fabric. The sound of a zipper coming undone, the creak of leather shifting, and then suddenly Shalnark was looming over you, his shadow consuming your vision.

His lips were glistening with the remnants of your slick, cheeks flushed and eyes burning with barely contained desire. "Not yet, ghost."

His tone held an undercurrent of command that was impossible to ignore. Even as the denial sent a bolt of frustrated lust lancing through you, you were helpless to resist.

You watched, chest heaving and skin tingling, as Shalnark shrugged off his jacket, the garment falling unceremoniously to the floor. A moment later, his shirt followed. Your gaze hungrily traced the chiseled lines of his bare torso, the tapering muscles that spoke to years of conditioning.

When Shalnark reached down, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, you bit your lip, eyes widening as he peeled the final layers away. Your eyes raked over the toned, tanned expanse of his body, lingering on the curly blond patch of hair above his cock, already jutting proudly between his legs.

He was fully erect, the tip of his cock flushed a dark crimson and already leaking precum. Your gaze traced the veins bulging beneath the surface, the impressive length and girth that sent a shiver of anticipation dancing down your spine.

Shalnark's fingers circled the base of his cock, stroking slowly up the shaft until a pearly drop formed at the tip. He hummed, eyes hooded and lips parted as he gazed down at you. "Look at what you've done to me, ghost."

Before you could register his movements, his hand shot out, catching you by the ankle. A startled yelp escaped your lips as he pulled you sharply down the bed, the pillows and sheets bunching around you as Shalnark loomed over you.

He didn’t give you a chance to breath before he flipped you over onto your stomach. Your fingers curled reflexively in the sheets as he nudged your legs apart, settling his hips flush against the curve of your ass.

His cock slotted against the slick folds of your pussy, the hot tip nudging at your entrance. Shalnark exhaled a ragged sigh, hands flexing around your waist. Then, his cock was sinking into you, spreading your cunt open with a delicious friction that had you arching against him.

Shalnark bottomed out, the tip of his cock brushing that spot so deep inside that it drew a ragged gasp from your lips. He groaned, his hold on you tightening. Then, he was withdrawing, only to snap his hips forward and bury himself balls deep in the clutching heat of your pussy.

Your eyes rolled back, a litany of moans pouring from your lips as he began to fuck you with slow, deep thrusts that shook the bedframe. His grip on you tightened, nails digging half-moon indents into the tender flesh.

With each thrust, Shalnark sank into your tight channel deeper and deeper. He filled you up so completely, the feeling of him stretching you out so perfectly that it had your vision blurring. You clutched at the sheets, arching into the press of his cock driving into you with a steady, merciless rhythm.

You were so utterly, perfectly full. Each thrust was calculated, the angle of his cock hitting just the right spot to drive the air from your lungs in a keening moan. You could feel the way his length pulsed inside of you, the twitch of his cock as your walls clenched down.

Sparks danced along your spine, your toes curling into the rumpled sheets as the first waves of another orgasm began to crest. Shalnark seemed to sense the mounting pressure, the way your thighs trembled and back arched, and he sped up his thrusts.

You could hear the soft, ragged sounds spilling from his lips, the wet squelch of his cock plunging into you again and again. The slap of his hips meeting the curves of your ass. His hands, one gripping a bruising handful of your flesh, the other fisting in your hair, wrenching your head back as he rode you harder.

Just as you were teetering on the edge of oblivion, he stopped. Once again, Shalnark drew out the sensation of his cock withdrawing from the tight clutch of your pussy. Once again, he left you teetering on the precipice.

You whined, the sound abruptly halting as Shalnark grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you upright, his other hand clamping around the front of your throat. The change in angle sent a spike of pleasure arcing through your body, his cock sinking even deeper inside.

"That’s right, ghost. You still haven’t told me..." Shalnark murmured, the words a rasping breath against your ear. His hand tightened around the column of your neck, fingers digging in just enough to restrict your airflow.

You whimpered, the sound catching on a strangled inhale. Shalnark held you like that for a long moment, his cock twitching with the effort of keeping still, buried so deep inside you that the sensation was maddening.

When he spoke, his voice held a razor-edged edge of warning. "So let's try this one last time. Why are you doing this?"

His grip around your throat tightened imperceptibly. Your breath caught, pulse thrumming beneath the vice-like press of his fingers. The threat of suffocation coupled with the relentless sensation of his cock stretching you open had you delirious with want.

"Y-you seriously want to do this now?" You managed to choke out.

Shalnark's answer came in the form of his free hand descending across the fleshy globe of your ass. The sound cracked through the room, a stinging welt immediately blooming across your skin.

The unexpected pain had you gasping, the sound muffled as Shalnark squeezed tighter around your neck. "You want to be difficult?"

Another punishing strike, this one drawing a choked sob from your lips. Shalnark leaned in, pressing his chest against your back as his hips gave a slow, punishing thrust. "I'll beat it out of you, then."

Your eyes rolled back at the sensation of his cock dragging through your walls. He kept his pace excruciatingly slow, each thrust measured and deliberate as his hand came down again and again.

His palm painted a series of crisscrossing welts across the flesh of your ass, each fresh sting punctuated by a shallow gasp. Shalnark groaned, the sound vibrating against the side of your neck as his free hand came up to cup the swell of your breast.

He pinched at the sensitive peak, rolling the bud between his fingers as his other hand continued its relentless assault. Tears of pain and frustration gathered in the corners of your eyes, a thin trickle of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth.

When his palm finally halted, the skin of your ass was on fire. The heat seemed to radiate outwards, enveloping your entire body in a feverish haze. You were barely cognizant of the fact that Shalnark had loosened his hold around your neck.

The oxygen returning to your lungs sent a heady rush surging through your veins. You panted, swaying slightly on your knees as the sensation of his cock fucking you in shallow, infuriatingly slow strokes began to overwhelm you.

"Still not going to tell me, ghost?" Shalnark's voice was laced with a cruel amusement. He seemed to delight in torturing you like this, pushing you to the limits of your endurance.

His thumb dipped into the cleft of your ass, brushing the puckered rim of your hole. You jolted, the sensation sparking something white hot deep in the pit of your stomach. "Mmm, or is this turning you on even more?"

He punctuated the question by circling his thumb around the tight ring, not pressing in, but threatening. A whimper escaped your lips. Shalnark chuckled. "Maybe you'll respond to this better."

Without warning, his thumb breached the tight confines of your hole. The sudden invasion was almost too much, the sensation sending a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over you. Pain, pleasure, and a sense of helplessness that had you moaning.

Shalnark groaned at the way your ass clenched around his thumb, the feeling of his cock plunging deeper into your pussy. "Fuck...that's right, ghost. I've got you right where I want you. So tell me..."

He gave a pointed thrust, burying himself deep and drawing a cry from your lips. His thumb pushed further into the tight heat of your ass, stretching you open. "Why. Are. You. Doing. This?"

Each word was punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips, the motion rocking your entire body. You gasped, writhing on his cock and fingers. Your walls tightened reflexively, a telltale sign that you were dangerously close to another release.

Shalnark's breath was ragged against your ear. He could feel the way you clenched around his cock, the way your body began to tense. He was getting close, too, his balls drawn up tight and a pressure coiling deep inside.

But he wasn't done with you yet. Just as you felt the beginnings of an orgasm start to crash over you, Shalnark's touch vanished. His cock withdrew, leaving you gaping and empty, the sensation so sudden and disorienting that a broken sob tore from your lips.

The next thing you knew, Shalnark had flipped you over onto your back, manhandling you with an effortless strength that would have been surprising if you weren't already so utterly, desperately distracted.

Then, his body was once again settling between your spread legs, his cock nudging at your entrance. But rather than sheathe himself in one smooth stroke as you expected, Shalnark teased his cockhead along the glistening seam of your folds.

"One last chance," he ground out, his gaze searching yours. "Tell me."

You stared up at him through hazy, lust-drunk eyes, the world reduced to the feeling of his cock grinding against your dripping core. "I...I can't... Ohhh god, Shalnark!"

He had taken advantage of the brief moment of distraction to push forward, the thick length of his cock breaching your entrance. But instead of sinking home, Shalnark merely rocked his hips, the head of his cock teasing the sensitive flesh of your walls.

"Yes, you can," he gritted out, jaw clenched. His eyes bore into yours, his expression a mask of barely controlled restraint. "Tell me, and I'll make you cum."

He was so tantalizingly close, but never quite deep enough, his cock only sinking in a few tantalizing inches. The pressure building deep in the pit of your stomach was unbearable. You arched against him, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, the sheets, anything you could grab.

"Shalnark, please..." You weren't even sure what you were begging for, only that you couldn't take the excruciating tension anymore. "Please, fuck me... Please!"

A low growl rumbled in Shalnark's throat as he shifted, bracing his palms on either side of your head. His chest hovered mere inches from yours, his breaths coming in harsh pants.

"Tell. Me." Each word was ground out, the syllables punctuated by a shallow thrust. His cock slid in another agonizing inch, the friction sending a shudder through your entire body.

Your head tipped back against the pillows, lips parted on a soundless cry as Shalnark continued to grind against you, barely sheathing his cock. His fingers were gripping the sheets so tightly you could hear the fabric protesting, the muscles in his arms and neck standing out in sharp relief.

You could tell he was hanging on by a thread. But even through the fog of lust clouding your mind, something made you hesitate. A lingering defiance, the knowledge that to give him what he wanted was to capitulate.

"No," you choked out, the word tumbling from your lips before you could fully process the implication.

Shalnark's eyes flashed with something like triumph and irritation. Then, without pretense, his cock was pushing in all the way, the sensation so sudden and overwhelming that you cried out.

Your fingers scrabbled for purchase against his broad back, nails dragging angry red marks in their wake. Shalnark grunted, bottoming out and grinding his hips against yours. Then, he drew back, only to snap his hips forward and bury himself in the clutching heat of your cunt again.

You could only lie there, writhing beneath him as his cock split you open, his pubes grinding against your clit with each punishing thrust. Shalnark leaned back, grabbing your legs and hooking them over his shoulders, allowing him to sink in even deeper.

His pace was brutal, the slick slap of his hips meeting your ass echoing throughout the room. You could feel the coil tightening inside, the mounting pressure rapidly approaching critical mass.

"Oh fuck...oh gods, please..." You weren't even sure what was tumbling from your lips, your vision blurring with tears and pleasure. Shalnark's breaths were coming in harsh, ragged gasps. He was close, too.

The rhythmic motion of his cock sliding through your walls, the obscene squelch of his thrusts and the heady scent of sex filling the air, it was all too much. You were dizzy with the sensations, your body moving on pure instinct and need. The bed creaked beneath you, the wooden frame groaning as Shalnark's thrusts took on an increasingly frenzied tempo. His hands dug into the soft give of your flesh, fingertips branding bruises into the tender skin.

You could feel yourself cresting, the wave about to break. Just as the pressure was reaching a breaking point, Shalnark pulled out. Again.

You cried out, the sound edged with frustration and despair. Hot tears slipped down your cheeks, the denial so acute and sudden that it was physically painful.

"You're so selfish, ghost." Shalnark's voice was strained, the words punctuated by heavy breaths. His hand closed around the base of his cock, squeezing tightly as he stared down at you. "You won't even tell me the truth."

You blinked, the words registering dimly through the fog of denial. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

Shalnark leaned forward, his body covering yours as he positioned his cock against your entrance. But this time, he didn't thrust in. He just pressed against the slippery folds, the tip of his cock catching on your rim.

"You know what?" he breathed, his voice ragged. "I'll stop. I'll walk out of here and leave you like this, so desperate and needy. You'll never get to cum again."

You shook your head, eyes wide with panic. "No, please! Please, Shalnark!"

His fingers found your chin, tipping your head up so that your gazes locked. His eyes were hard and impassive, the smile on his face utterly devoid of warmth. "I know, ghost. I don’t like it either. But I warned you, didn't I?"

You whimpered, shaking. His threat was an empty one, you could sense it. But the prospect of being left like this, the idea that you might never experience the mind-blowing pleasure of his cock was enough to shatter whatever lingering barriers of pride or defiance you might have clung to.

"Please... I'll tell you...please just let me cum..." You were sobbing openly now, your cheeks streaked with tears.

Shalnark gazed down at you, his expression softening. Without warning, he plunged his cock deep inside, the sensation so intense and unexpected that you nearly screamed.

"I don't need you to tell me, ghost." He was breathing hard, his face inches from yours. His hand found your hip, guiding your motions as you rocked against him, impaling yourself on his cock.

"I already know," Shalnark said, his gaze searing into yours. "I've known for a long time, actually."

"Then why--"

"Because I wanted you to admit it to me." He silenced the question with a punishing thrust, the action driving the air from your lungs.

His words were punctuated by another snap of his hips, the motion shaking the entire bed. You clutched at his shoulders, the room spinning around you. "And I wanted to punish you for keeping secrets. Especially such a stupid one."

"Shalnark...oh gods, yes! Right there, please, please..." You were babbling, the words pouring out unbidden as he continued to fuck you. His thrusts were measured, calculated, each one striking just the right spot to drive the air from your lungs.

Shalnark huffed a breathless laugh. "Do you think you deserve to cum after all the trouble you've caused me, ghost?"

You shook your head, eyes screwed shut against the overwhelming onslaught of sensation. His fingers found your chin, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

"Look at me."

His tone was so authoritative, the words brooking no argument. You did as you were told, blinking up at him through tear-stained lashes. Shalnark's eyes were glazed with a feverish intensity, his pupils blown wide with desire.

"God, you’re so beautiful when you cry," he murmured, the words a ragged whisper against your lips. Then, his mouth was claiming yours, his tongue sliding against your own.

The kiss was bruising, all consuming. You were drowning in the taste of him, the feeling of his body on yours. Your hands roamed over his broad back, raking across the muscles as he continued to fuck you.

He swallowed down the cries tumbling from your lips, drinking in the broken, desperate sounds like a man parched. His cock sank into the clutching heat of your pussy, each stroke drawing a fresh wave of pleasure from your aching body.

Shalnark's teeth dragged across the soft skin of your lower lip, his tongue laving the sting away. His palm pressed into the mattress, bracing his weight as he picked up the pace. He fucked you with a singular purpose, his entire being focused on drawing out your pleasure and his own.

You clung to him, the room spinning around you as your impending release coiled tighter and tighter, the pressure threatening to burst at any moment. Then, with a final punishing thrust, the dam finally broke.

Your eyes rolled back, a keening wail escaping your lips as your orgasm crashed over you. A powerful gush of hot, fragrant liquid sprayed from your cunt, coating the sheets, Shalnark's thighs, and the base of his cock.

Shalnark groaned, his hips stuttering as your walls clenched around him, the feeling of your cum slicking the way as he fucked you through the peak of your release. His fingers dug into your hip, dragging you against him as he drove into you again and again.

"Gods, that's it. Squirt for me, ghost." He grunted, his words punctuated by heavy breaths. His entire body was trembling, the tension straining at the breaking point. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum...cum so hard..."

Your walls tightened reflexively around him, milking the last of his self-control. With a ragged cry, Shalnark buried his cock as deep as he could, his balls drawing up tight as the first pulse of his release shot through him.

You moaned, the sound muffled against the sweat-slick skin of his neck as Shalnark emptied himself into you, the feeling of his cum coating your walls sparking another wave of pleasure.

His hips gave a series of shallow thrusts, each motion punctuated by a soft grunt and another twitch of his cock as he pumped you full. His face was buried against the hollow of your throat, lips moving against the skin.

"...fuck, that's good..." he murmured, the words little more than a rumble against your chest.

When the last dregs of his orgasm faded, Shalnark lifted his head, his gaze searching yours. He exhaled a soft laugh, his hand coming up to trace the curve of your jaw.

"You crazy, sexy girl. You did all this...for fun, didn’t you?"

A lazy, sated smile spread across your lips. You hummed softly in affirmation, nuzzling against the gentle press of his palm.

"You're a menace," Shalnark chided. There was no heat behind the words, however. If anything, he seemed almost...impressed. "Fucking insane. What am I going to do with you?"

"Well, for starters..." You stretched languidly against him, arching your back and savoring the way his softening cock shifted inside of you.

Shalnark's expression went momentarily blank, his gaze unfocused. Then, his eyes slid shut, a groan rumbling in his chest.

"Ohhh fuck... You're insatiable." He rolled his hips slowly against yours, drawing a gasp from your lips. "I don't think you're capable of behaving yourself, are you, ghost?"

You could feel his cock twitch inside of you, stirring to life once more. Your grin widened, eyes glittering with a challenge. "Not really, no."

"Hmm, I guess I’ll have to fuck that bratty attitude out of you," Shalnark murmured, his voice a low purr against the shell of your ear.

He pulled back, his eyes finding yours. They held a heated intensity, the promise of pleasure and punishment. A wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and you felt a delicious shiver dance down your spine.

"I warned you, didn't I?"

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