#I wrote this whole thing in like one long feverish haze I was possessed

[lliminall]

fear will change us

[yandere!feitan x reader]

word count: 2.7k

tags: she/her reader, yandere, violent character death (not reader), kidnapping, feitan fucks shit up for you

You suppose it was only a matter of time before Feitan’s reputation bled into and infected your own life.

Well. Beyond what it had done to you already. You were hoping the first time you stepped out of his home in months would be under much different circumstances. Maybe you would finally outsmart him, or maybe some brave hero would come and scoop you up out of his hold, like one of those Hunters you hear about.

Feitan had reminded you more than once that your luck just wasn’t enough for wishful thinking like that.

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

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

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

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

To hurt you instead must be the next best thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that Chris?” the driver asks.

“Fuck no, I know his aura.”

“Then it’s Rick?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pull over,” Sean says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Relief?

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

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

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

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

Home, not prison. Home, not hell.

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll both be happy to leave certain things unsaid.

#I wrote this whole thing in like one long feverish haze I was possessed #sometimes u are a horrible man who stabs people for fun until your girlfriend gets snatched #and then you become a horrible man who stabs people for /necessity/ and that is ok #simp feitan is still in the works I just had to get this out of my brain #feitan.ll #hxh.ll #feitan #hxh #feitan x reader #yandere feitan #my works.ll