His red scarf [Feitan X Reader]

Chapter two

You spent the next day wondering the city in a desperate attempt to find the man who you had quickly become infatuated with. It wasn't until you reached the deep outskirts of the city that you caught a trace of the familiar blood lust. Using zetsu, you traced it back to the source, a small rundown building at the edge of the forest. It looked as though it was a maintenance building some while ago, but the obvious lack of activity had run it down, nearly to the point of collapse.

Inside you heard muffled screams and mutterings, a clear indication that someone was being tortured. You lavished in the sounds and found yourself jumping onto a nearby tree and onto the roof, where you could peer down from the rafters onto the scene unravelling below. You were not disappointed.

It was the same man from earlier, just as you had expected. In the centre of the room was an old wooden chair, with a middle-aged balding man tied down to it. From the masses of gold rings on his bloody fingers to the stench of revolting but wildly expensive cologne, you guessed he was part of some  sort of mafia. His white shirt now dripped in blood, mostly coming from his nose and mouth. It looked as though his face had been beaten to a pulp. Damn, the guy looked like shit.

That wasn't even the best part. On one hand, the man still had all five fingers, but on the other, it looked as though four of them had been cut straight off. His sniffling cries were like music to your ears, coming every so often as the man fell in and out of consciousness.

On a table to his right were a collection of multiple, well-polished instruments that were obviously for extracting information from certain individuals. Some were smeared in blood, particularly the devise that reminded you of a walnut opener- assumingly used to remove the victims fingers.

It was glorious. You felt the gravel beneath your body as you lay down, absorbing everything around you. The torturer loomed over the man once more, but surprisingly didn't ask any questions. Violently he grabbed the man's face with one hand and prised his mouth open with the other, pulling the man's tongue out of his mouth so ferociously, the man began to gag.
With one swift movement, barely visible to the untrained eye, the man's tongue was cut right out of his mouth and sored across to the other side of the room, landing with a soft echo as it was disregarded.

After a moment's hesitation, the screams began. An animalistic wail coming from the victim, like the desperate howl of a creatures last breath. You relished in it. The pain and beauty of this sound made your insides whirl, and you found your hand reaching down and rubbing your panties through your trousers. Such pain! Such suffering! All witnessed my me.

Then, out of the blue, you heard a chuckle. A deep hearty chuckle that soon erupted into fits of crazed laughter. It was the masked man. He leered over the body, shrieking and howling with as much passion as the incoherent screams of the recently tongueless man. The pure wickedness of the sound send shivers down your spine, and without hesitation, you plunged your hand into my trousers and began to rub, picking up pace quickly as small moans escaped your lips. The muffles of pain and wicked cackles of laughter fuelling you on, as you imagined what ecstasy it would be to inflict so much pain on those around you, to the point of being subject to those inhumane wails of absolute agony. The total control of having another's life in your hands and contorting it to the point where they beg you to end it.
"Kill me! Please! I'm begging you! Make it stop! Kill me!!"

Your hand pumping in and out at an alarming rate, being caught up in your own twisted fantasy, you were so close. The chorus of screams engulfed your mind. Arching your back in pleasure after a few more seconds, you felt your walls close around your fingers and a gushing of warm liquid seeping down your leg. It wasn't until a moment after, you had recollected myself to notice the absence of sound around you.

Rolling over to observe the room again, you saw was the man, still tied to the wooden chair, with a long sword protruding out of his chest, the blood stains still seeping out into his crisp white shirt. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and in an instant you had jumped to your feet, spinning round. In the moment before darkness, you saw the masked figure come up behind you, your eyes locking onto each other for a fraction of a second, then a large blow to the nape before you were engulfed in black.