Hi! Can you write a Feitan x Reader, something angsty/ fluffy with the prompt: “Just talk to me. Please.”? :D
Of course! This seems pretty interesting :)
Beware: mentions of torture.
Feitan considered himself to be a perfectionist - at least, when it came to the art of torture. For him, the slow process of hurting a human being was extremely satisfying. His nature was sadistic and therefore he relished in making his victims suffer.
Oh, how they cried and whimpered before him, begging for some type of mercy, one he would not grant. It reminded him of older days, back in Meteor City, when he was inexperienced and daring, capturing those who held information valuable for the phantom troupe and experimenting with them.
His teenage years were over though, and as he practiced that talent of his, his methods became more ruthless, more calculated. Patient torturers were the most terrifying, for they had enough time on their hands to break a person. Feitan knew how human bodies worked, how much pain they could endure before falling unconscious or dying, and he used this to his advantage, always allowing his prey to recover before continuing his deeds.
Feitan prided himself in his capacities, and was completely confident in them. So, he wondered, why weren’t you talking?
He hadn’t crossed the line - he was absolutely sure about that - and still, you seemed broken. There was no light in your eyes, and your gaze was awfully lost. Unseeing, for the darkness was too thick and your spirit too weak. Had you given up?
Maybe, the realisation of him being part of an A-class bounty criminal gang had been too much for you. For you had followed him and admired him from afar for weeks before approaching him, telling him about your desires to become a hunter. You had practically begged for him to teach you nen, and although he had refused your advances in numerous occasions, your insistence and the bluntness that characterised your persona made your relationship master-student inevitable. He had pondered the thought of killing you at first, for you were too troublesome, but something strange flared in his chest at that, and Feitan realised he did not desire your death.
He offered to train you then, and he could still remember the joy that lit your face, the sparkle in your eyes. Yes, you had trusted him. Feitan thought that had been foolish. This outcome, he mused, was to be expected. Even if he hadn’t been the one to strap you to a chair and torture you, anyone could’ve done so in a near future. Your innocence was too grand, your hopes for the future mere illusions. You used to babble for hours about what you wanted - what you would achieve.
He wanted to laugh. It wasn’t his usual cackle, though. It was something more desperate, something bitter. Look at what you have become, he wanted to scream, you are nothing but a shell of what you once were.
It was true - there was no you left. You were awfully serious, face covered by blood. Your hair, once shiny and long, was now short and burnt, sticking to your paling cheekbones. You wouldn’t even talk.
He remembered one summer afternoon, when he was spending time with you after a training session. The heat was scorching, and still you rattled away, unfazed by the blazing sun.
“If you keep speaking, I’ll tear your tongue out” icy tone, dangerous snarl.
You laughed it off, back then, “My only quality is my talkativeness.” He still thinks of that comment as absurd. You were much more than that. You were soft smiles and wide eyes. You were shiny hair and nice perfumes; soft curves and heartfelt laughs. You were sweaty skin he yearned to taste.
Currently, there was nothing that reminded him of your older version -where have you gone? - and it was now, after all the damage had been done, when he felt something akin to regret.
Feitan refused to admit the fear that consumed him, the anger that took control of his body, when he saw your horrified expression. You were disgusted, he knew, by the notion of him belonging to the Gen’ei Ryodan. When you told him about you leaving (you started acting cautiously around him), he felt the need to stop you. A thief takes what he wants, after all, and he refused to let you go.
You had it coming. At least, I am the one hurting you - I am someone you know. Doesn’t that make it better? Doesn’t that soothe the wounds I inflicted upon your skin, at least a bit?
He knew you had felt betrayed by him. That had been the harshest blow - the admiration, the appreciation, amongst other things - all of it discarded and thrown away because of his impulsive decisions. He felt no pleasure with this torture session, but a twisted revulsion towards himself, one that coiled around his guts and squeezed.
“Talk to me.” He demanded. Why, he did not know. Silence answered him, and then again “Just talk to me. ” A hint of necessity present in his voice, and still - nothing.
“Please.” a word he hadn’t muttered in years, for it had never been useful. That got a reaction, your eyes flickered just slightly, your fingers twitched. Somehow, hearing that from Feitan seemed to surprise you. You appeared to comprehend how rare it was for him to beg.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to amend what he had damaged. Maybe, just maybe, he could make you talk to him again, in the same carefree manner you once did.
