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pathologicalreid · 23 days ago

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hysteria | s.r.

in which the BAU is called into a case in rural Appalachia when bodies start showing up in an abandoned insane asylum

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (horror?) content warnings: hanging (staged suicide), enucleation, established relationship, ghosts, insane asylum, rope burn, premonition in dreams, death, pov switches, "the green ribbon", lobotomies, abduction, corporeal vs spirit form, CPR, hospitals, painkillers, first aid word count: 8.8k a/n: hey guys i am literally not one to beg for interaction but like if you could send an ask or gimme a reblog if you liked this it would probably make my day. this fic is just an excuse for me to tell ghost stories! and just like that, margotober is over. man, it sure would be a shame if i had something planned for november!

night one

“This is a joke, right?” You asked, eyeing the rest of the team as they observed the property before you. The dilapidated building that stood in front of you was previously completely abandoned, and now you weren’t entirely sure if the yellow police line was new or if the tattered plastic was a result of a crime of the past.

It looked like one of the haunted houses that Spencer would drag you to, one with a much too high budget that would leave you feeling like you needed to scrub cobwebs from your skin. You were waiting for the sheriff to make his way up the hill that the asylum was perched on, the BAU had made it up in SUVs, but the locals elected to hoof it.

Tugging the sleeves of your FBI jacket over your hands, you tapped your heel impatiently and observed the scenery. The fall foliage was in peak season, orange and red leaves fluttered in the wind, falling from the trees until they hit the ground. To the left was the town, small and hidden within a river valley, and to the right was a field of gravestones. Each life lost in the asylum whittled down to a number, hundreds of weathered rocks marked where a body was buried. Even after all of your years with the BAU, the sight still made you sick to your stomach.

The death count on this property had gone up by twelve recently, a group of college kids had found the first body hanging from the staircase, and it seemed like a semi-routine suicide until the local cops did a full sweep of the building and found eleven other bodies, each hanging in a different room.

It wasn’t until the medical examiner looked at them that they realized they were out of their depth, the oldest of the bodies had been dead before they were hung, which told you that hanging the bodies was the intention of the killer and he was beginning to perfect his M.O. Even more than that, the last two bodies had been enucleated post-mortem.

Being grateful for the method by which a person had their eyeballs destroyed wasn’t an emotion you felt frequently, and it was an odd thing to admit to yourself as you consciously blinked.

Over the curve of the hill, you watched as a couple of locals made their appearance, each of them equipped with a flashlight. The sun was beginning to set. Emily had made the executive decision that this case couldn’t wait until morning, so you took off in the middle of the day. Glancing over your shoulder, you found Spencer’s eyes and he gave you one of his patented half-smiles before you looked back at the foreboding building.

The structure had electrical issues, leading to lights flickering all over the crumbling brick walls. The flashes were starting to play tricks on your eyes because you would’ve sworn that you saw a woman in one of the windows, in a long white dress as she looked down at you and your team.

“You must be the BAU,” the sheriff greeted once he was close enough to your group, he waved before huffing impatiently. “Sheriff Shawn Greenbaum, this here is Deputy Conrad Perkins,” he introduced himself and the man with him. You studied them, trying to gauge information about them based on appearance alone.

Emily nodded, reaching her hand out for him to shake and introducing herself before making the rounds with the rest of the team. “Agents Simmons and Lewis are already at the station getting settled, but the rest of us are interested in getting in the building and taking a look around.”

Greenbaum placed both of his hands on his hips before clearing his throat, “That’s not a problem at all. We’ve got a lock up on those front doors to try and keep people out, we’re hoping it’ll put a halt on any more crime.”

Kicking mud off of your boot, you and JJ shared a dubious look. In your line of work, where there’s a will there’s a way—a padlock would do very little to help keep your killer out of the asylum. Even so, you all followed the sheriff as he produced a key from his belt, leading the way to the front doors. They were made of rotting wood. If someone really wanted to get past the lock, they could probably kick them in.

The smell hit you before you stepped foot inside the building, the stench of mildew wafting through the air made you crinkle your nose as you closely followed JJ into the building. A gentle touch to the small of your back told you that Spencer was behind you, each of you shuffling in single file behind the sheriff.

“The first body was found hanging over there,” the deputy, Perkins pointed straight ahead toward the winding staircase. You studied the peeling wallpaper and looked at the faded signs above the different hallways, barely able to make out the words tuberculosis and adolescent as you strolled through the main lobby.

Since they’d initially assumed it was a suicide, the body had been taken down, so even though you had twelve bodies to start your profile with, you didn’t have a fresh crime scene anywhere. In fact, you’d wager a guess and say there’s nothing fresh about this building.

Cringing as you walked over a pile of wet paper, you listened to Emily as she gave everyone jobs, “Reid and I will keep talking to the sheriff, Rossi and JJ, why don’t the two of you check out this wing here with the deputy, and Luke and Y/N can take the upstairs.”

You looked up and found Luke, following him to the staircase and ducking under the noose to go up the stairs, hesitant to use the handrail as you made your way to the second floor, knowing there was plenty of building for the two of you to explore. Pulling your flashlight from your belt for additional lighting, the sight in front of you was worse than what you had seen downstairs. “Watch your step,” you said absentmindedly, bypassing a bucket filled with what you sincerely hoped was water.

“When was this place built again?” Luke asked you, knowing you had done preliminary research with Spencer on the jet. He produced his own light, slipping his cell phone from his pocket and using the flashlight function.

You checked the ceiling, wondering where the beams were and if any bodies had been found in the hallways, “The 1860s,” you responded, keeping your voice soft so you didn’t disturb anything in the building—living or otherwise. You found yourself wanting to walk to the window you had seen that woman in earlier.

Alvez made a disgusted noise at something, and you refrained from looking back at it, knowing you likely didn’t want to know. “And what patients did they predominantly treat?”

Fiddling with the door handle, you nudged the door open with your knee, coughing at the puff of dust that met you on the other side. “They started with a little bit of everything. The elderly, children, adolescents, epileptics, TB patients,” you listed off. “We even found records of people accused of ‘excessive self-satisfaction,’” you continued, finding the window in question. The only thing you found was the same flickering sconce you had seen from the outside.

“Self-satisfaction?” Luke repeated the phrase curiously.

You tapped the sconce with the end of your flashlight, getting it to stop flickering before you clarified, “Masturbation.”

Expectedly, Luke chuckled lightly at your answer, “How exactly would one quantify excessive masturbation?”

Raising your eyebrows, you studied a strange mark on the cement floor, “I assure you; I have no clue.” You turned around, expecting to see Luke right in front of you. “Luke?” You called out his name, confused when you didn’t see him in your line of sight, you flashed your light around the room, wondering if he had found something. “Ah!” You yelped when a hand touched your shoulder, causing you to drop your flashlight.

Luke cackled from his place behind a bookshelf, “It’s gonna be a long case if you’re that tightly wound the entire time.”

You swatted at him with the sleeves of your jacket, “Asshole,” you muttered, taking the practical joke mostly in stride.

“Y/N?” Spencer called from the first floor. Your voice must have carried down the stairs, or they heard the flashlight fall to the ground.

Glaring at Luke, you shouted back, “I’m fine!” You crouched to pick up your flashlight, blowing dust off of it before you tightened your grip around it, “Grow up, Alvez.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, so what did they do after they took in a little bit of everyone?”

You hummed, stepping back out into the hallway, and looking into what you assumed were offices—most of the patients would’ve lived on the first floor. “They started to focus on patients with mental disorders in the 1970s. Around the same time that medicine in psychiatry started to make advancements,” you kicked at a piece of cloth on the ground. “It closed down in the early nineties when people finally started acknowledging that things like lobotomies and electroshock are inhumane.”

Luke picked the next room, wiggling the doorknob before he used his shoulder to push the door open, “Woah.”

Stepping in behind him, you saw what he was looking at. Along the wall was a mural of sorts, a landscape that featured a caricature of the sun. Next to it, the words ‘let the sun shine in’ were scrawled in black paint.The colors were eerily vibrant for the age of the building, “Well that’s…” You let your voice trail off, looking at the size of the furniture in the room and ascertaining that it was likely designed as a treatment space for children.

“Do you hear that?” Luke asked, shining his flashlight around the room and looking for the source of the noise.

Fortunately, you weren’t that gullible, “Yeah, right.” You scoffed, turning back and seeing Spencer at the top of the staircase, “Hey,” you said, tilting your head to the side curiously.

He smiled at you softly, “Hey, it looks like it’s about to rain, so Emily’s having all of us head back to the precinct. We can look at the M.E. reports knowing what we know now about the crime scene.”

You nodded, looking into the room to find Luke, still shining his phone in every corner, “Luke, it’s probably just a rat or a tree branch tapping on the side of the building.”

Luke’s eyebrows were pinched together in concern, but he followed your footsteps into the hallway, falling to the back of the group as the three of you walked downstairs, meeting the rest of the team in front of the asylum.

“It’s kind of weird,” you said mostly to yourself, though you were entirely aware of the people who were surrounding you.

Spencer hummed curiously, making sure the sheriff wasn’t watching before he adjusted the collar of your jacket, “What’s weird?” He asked, mimicking the soft tone of your voice.

You looked back at the window where the light had started flickering again, “How all of these people were forced into the asylum by their loved ones, and now the word has an entirely different meaning.”

Holding your mug in both hands, you listened carefully to the crackling fire in the lobby of the hotel. Matt stood up from where he was sitting so that Spencer could sit next to you, and you absentmindedly slung your legs over his lap, thinking about the case. More specifically, you were thinking about the scene.

Spencer set a hand on your pajama-covered thigh, using his other hand to hold his book open as you listened to the other noises in the lobby. There was a storm going on outside, and a certain level of unease blanketed the team, leading to a convening in the hotel. Emily and Tara were going over case files, Matt and JJ were on the phone with their families, Rossi was playing Tetris on his phone, Luke was on the phone with someone, and you were just observing.

Eventually, Luke spoke up to everyone, “Hey guys, listen to this,” he said, holding his phone out and clicking the speakerphone button, “Okay, go ahead Garcia.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement at the revelation that he was on the phone with Penelope, but you were still grateful to hear her voice coming through the speaker.

“I hope you’re all cozy by the fire because I have found a story about your crime scene that will chill you to your bones,” she prefaced, and you smiled slightly at her embellishments. “Catherine Pence was admitted to the Barnham Asylum for the Mentally Ill in 1978 at the age of 53. She lived a totally normal and insignificant life until she was 50 years old and her mother passed away, at which point, the people in Catherine’s life said she started to behave strangely.”

Snapping his book closed, Spencer set the novel in your lap before pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, “Strangely, how?”

Penelope cleared her throat, “I’m glad you asked, Dr. Reid. She was convinced that her mother was still with her. In fact, she would frequently be confused when other people told her that they couldn’t see her mom. Eventually, she started showing other concerning symptoms, so her husband brought her to Barnham.”

You frowned, sharing a glance with JJ, who had hung up the phone, “What kinds of other symptoms?”

“The file I got my hands on specifically cites paranoid thoughts, but that’s not even the spookiest part,” she continued. “When the doctors did their first examination of Catherine, they decided that whatever she was dealing with wouldn’t be amenable to any sort of treatment. She was a very calm patient who periodically had conversations with her dead mother and voiced paranoid thoughts, but they put her in Block D.”

Block D was the section of the hospital set aside for patients in need of around-the-clock care, which seemed a bit extreme for Catherine.

There was a clicking on Penelope’s end of the call before she resumed, “Anyway, Block D had sixteen rooms and there was always some form of supervision, usually a nurse. All of the doors were locked and there were bars on the window, so it was impossible to get anywhere without someone noticing, or so you would think.”

You settled further into the couch cushions, and Spencer instinctively squeezed your thigh.

“On December 1st, 1978, when the nurse went into Catherine’s room with her breakfast tray, she found the room in absolute tatters. I mean, the bedding was shredded, there was broken glass, everything was scattered around the room, and Catherine was missing.” Penelope said, emphasizing the last word.

Luke, who had previously seemed bored by the story, leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees, “What happened to her?”

Penelope hummed, knowing she had sucked everyone into the story, “The search started immediately. You don’t just have someone escape an inescapable room and move on with your day. The windows, walls, and floor in Block D were completely intact and there was no sign of tampering with the door. No one could figure out how she got out, much less where she was.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to speak before she continued, “Catherine’s nurse said that she was unusually moody and had been for weeks. She completely stopped speaking and showed no reactions when people spoke to her and it was apparently very sudden, but that didn’t really provide any insight into where she could be. The staff searched the surrounding area thoroughly, but there were no leads. Eventually, they notified her relatives and the residents of the town in case she had somehow gotten out of the hospital.”

Then, on January 12th, 1979, a group of men that the asylum hired to do repair work on the second floor found that there was a door locked from the inside.” Garcia cleared her throat before resuming the story, “They also discovered an unpleasant smell emanating from the room, and when they finally got into the room, there was Catherine Pence.”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, simply just imagining the smell of the room.

“Her clothes were removed and neatly folded next to her and her arms were crossed over her chest, one below the other,” Penelope continued. “Mysteriously, when her body was removed and taken to the morgue, there was a trace left on the concrete floor that corresponded exactly to the figure of Catherine. No matter how many times or what they’ve tried, they can’t get the mark out of the concrete.”

Your blood ran cold at the memory of the strange shape you’d seen in the asylum, “What?”

Penelope hummed, “The medical examiner considered hypothermia as a potential cause of death, but apparently that winter was unseasonably warm, so he settled on a heart attack.”

“Did they ever consider homicide?” Rossi asked, attempting to seem uninterested.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the call, “Yes, they did, but they never found anything else to support that theory. At that point, the room Catherine was found in hadn’t been opened since 1976 when it was used to contain patients with a contagious infectious disease. Since then, the room remained locked.” You could practically hear Penelope’s smile as she divulged the final detail, “Residents of the town say that, sometimes, you can hear cries for help coming from the building. There are even reports of Catherine’s ghost being seen in the window of the room where she died, she just stands there and stares out the window.”

Everyone sat around in silence for a moment before Luke grabbed the phone off of the coffee table, “Yeah, alright, thanks, Garcia.”

“Sleep well, my pretties,” she crooned through the phone before the call ended.

You felt heavy as if there had been a weight placed on your chest, and in an attempt to rectify it, you handed Spencer his book, “I’m headed to bed.”

He looked up at you curiously, eyes studying yours before he nodded, “Alright, I’ll be up in a little while,” he assured you.

Your body carried you to the hotel room, using the key to unlock the door and somehow making it to the bed even after your mind had completely turned itself off. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you remembered waking up.

As you sat up in bed, you were having trouble holding your head up, finding that you couldn’t turn your neck to see if Spencer had made it to bed. More than that, the room was pitch black when the two of you usually leave the bathroom light on in hotels. Opening your mouth, no words came out.

Small puffs of air escaped your lips, but nothing else came out. You couldn’t move your hands to your neck—you couldn’t move at all. You wanted to call out for Spencer, and even though no sound came out of your mouth, you saw him before you.

Your eyes widened at his sudden appearance, suspiciously illuminated in the otherwise dark room.

Tantalizingly slowly, his hand reached out for you, touching the skin of your neck with his fingertips before pulling. It felt like he was pulling at a thread, and all you could do was watch as his hand came back with a piece of twine pinched between his fingers and your disembodied head fell to the floor.

You gasped for air, holding your hand to your chest and panting, unable to figure out how to get air into your lungs when you so desperately needed it. There were other hands on you, gently placed on your hip and upper back, the latter rubbing small circles as you choked on nothing but air.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, continuing his ministrations on your back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he comforted you, trying to get you to even out your breathing.

Carefully, his hand reached up to your neck, sweeping hair behind your shoulder, but as soon as you felt his hand on the side of your neck, you flinched away from him, nearly toppling off of the double bed.

He pulled you back as gently as he could, “Y/N,” he said, his voice stern this time as he turned to flick the lamp on. “What happened?”

You shook your head, appreciating how secure it felt to the rest of your body, before pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “It was just a nightmare,” you answered, the sound of your own voice felt disconnected from your body.

“You don’t usually call out my name in your nightmares,” Spencer observed softly, trying to get you to open up more to him, “And you’ve definitely never pulled away from me like that.”

He was right, you had your general recurring nightmares—mostly work related—but you’ve never had anything like this before. You didn’t know how to explain it to him, because how would you explain to your rational, genius boyfriend that you thought you were seeing ghosts?

night two

You felt his eyes on you, Spencer’s big, brown eyes were boring right into yours as you looked at the foreboding structure in front of you. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been watching the stained-glass window, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the ghost to come back.

Sighing, you leaned back in the passenger seat of the car, thinking about the now-cold coffee that you had sitting in the cup holder and wondering if it would be worth the caffeine if it meant you had to pee in the woods at some point in the night.

“You should’ve stayed at the hotel tonight,” Spencer said, his eyes still focused on you.

You pursed your lips, watching the light flicker in the window, “We have a job to do.” That should’ve been enough for him, it had to be enough for you, knowing that at the end of the day, this was just a case and you’d be going home once you found whoever was doing this.

Finally turning his head, Spencer huffed in frustration as he faced the front door of the asylum. “I know you didn’t get back to sleep last night, so you have to be exhausted now,” he told you.

It was nearly midnight now, and you indeed hadn’t gone back to sleep after waking up at two in the morning, but you still agreed to a stakeout when Emily suggested it. Spencer called you out on it then, similarly to what he was doing now, and you were sure he had something to do with you being paired up together. If you ever found out he had voiced a concern about you to Emily, you were going to have issues.

The cool glow of the waning gibbous moon reflected off of the building, the effect only building the eerie feeling in your stomach, winding itself up like a ball of yarn.

With the morning came another body, and it became clear to Emily and the locals that the camera surveillance that had been set up along the perimeter wasn’t doing anything to bring you closer to closing the case. So, she had you and Spencer sitting in a car at the front entrance, each of you armed and on high alert, no matter what your boyfriend thought.

On the other side of the building, Luke and Tara were in another vehicle, keeping an eye on a back entrance that had the potential to be an access point for the UnSub.

Keeping an eye on your window, you squinted as if you could somehow summon Catherine Pence’s ghost. You wished you’d been paired up with Luke again, who at least had seen the mark on the floor, but instead, you had Spencer, who had meddled with your work out of concern for you.

You sighed, reminding yourself that he only did it out of concern for you, wondering how to approach the issue when an all-too-familiar figure appeared in that second-floor window, “Do you see that?” You blurted the question before you could even think about what you were saying.

Instinctively, Spencer placed a hand on his weapon while looking through the windshield of the car, “See what?”

You furrowed your brows, pointing as plainly as you possibly could to the second-floor window where you saw the woman, “On the second floor. Off to the right,” you said desperately, wanting him to see it, wanting him to believe you. “Don’t you see her?”

Spencer’s hand dropped as his gaze went from the building and back to you, “Honey.” You tried to ignore the emotion-filled tone that he gave you, flooding the pet name with an apt amount of concern.

Sitting back in the car seat, “Never mind, I didn’t—” you cut yourself off, “I just thought I saw something.” You tried to play it off, crossing your ankles one over the other and shifting in the seat, trying to keep your ass from going numb.

His eyes were still trained on you, and you tried to ignore him even as he locked the passenger door from the inside. The car remained absolutely silent until you heard a voice come in from the radio, “This is the Death Star calling for the Bat Mobile, over.”

You rolled your eyes at the sound of Luke’s voice, “Don’t call this car the Bat Mobile,” you told Spencer as he lifted the radio to his mouth.

“This is the Bat Mobile, we can hear you loud and clear Death Star, over,” Spencer responded, grinning at the way you groaned in response. The poltergeist of it all nearly forgotten for just a moment.

Placing your head in your hands in frustration as you waited for Luke’s response, Spencer reached over and smoothed your hair back, the gesture feeling oddly domestic for a stakeout. Maybe that was why Emily never paired the two of you together. “Yeah, we aren’t seeing anything out here, are you clear on your end?”

Spencer’s ministrations on your hair faltered for just a moment before he answered, “No, we haven’t seen anything.”

“Tara just got off the phone with Emily, they got the lab results back on those tools we found by the latest victim,” he informed you, “The blood on it was a match.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line and shared a look with Spencer. Part of you was grateful to finally feel like you’d made some semblance of progress with the case, but the other part of you felt physically ill knowing that the latest victim had been enucleated using an orbitoclast. Her eyes and sockets were pulverized by a lobotomy pick, and it almost made you feel like you needed a word stronger than sadist.

“Did the medical examiner say the injuries matched the patterns of the other two enucleated victims?” Spencer asked into the radio, holding it close to his mouth as he spoke.

There was a pause before Luke responded, “Uh, kind of.”

You frowned, “What do you mean ‘kind of?’”

Another pause, “The M.E. concluded that the wound patterns are the same on the three latest victims, but the injuries on the most recent one were inflicted antemortem,” Luke explained.

Your eyes widened as the weight of Luke’s words joined the pit in your stomach, her eyes had been pulverized while she was still alive. The M.E.’s conclusion matched the one you had proposed when you saw the blood spatter this morning. You held your breath to stop a sound of disgust from escaping your lips, but you knew Spencer saw it on your face.

“Thanks for the update,” Spencer said, turning down the volume on the radio slightly before setting it on the dashboard.

Swallowing thickly, you placed both of your hands in your lap, studying them as if you’ve never seen them before, “Have you ever gotten the feeling that a case isn’t going to end well?”

You caught him while he was about to take a sip of his coffee, his movement paused for a moment before he took a swig anyway, setting the cup in the cup holder and nodding, “Yeah,” he answered, his voice raspy before he cleared his throat, “I have.”

Running your tongue over your molars, you raised your eyebrows at him in curiosity, “What usually happens?”

Spencer sighed, going back to facing the asylum before he held his hand out for you to take, you obliged, setting your intertwined fingers on the center console. “The case usually doesn’t end well,” he admitted.

“When are you going to tell me what your nightmare was about?” Spencer asked, squeezing your hand as he made conversation, trying to keep the two of you awake through the night.

Leaning your head back, you looked through the sunroof of the car, thrilled to see the sun beginning to rise over the tiny town. “I don’t think it really matters, it was just a bad dream,” you told him, clearly aware of why it mattered.

You even knew why it mattered to him. You’d never pushed him away like that before, but as soon as his hand had gone near your neck, you’d completely lost control of your body. “Look, I know I don’t believe in dream analysis—”

“Oh,” you scoffed, cutting him off. “Yes, you do,” you corrected him, “You do this all the time, you talk about dream analysis, and you claim that you don’t believe in it but then you actually get into it, and you admit that you just don’t like what Freud has to say about it. Then you’ll list everyone who has discredited him before you tell me ‘Jung still has his merits.’”

Spencer was quiet, and you immediately regretted your interjection.

Sighing, you wished you could melt into the passenger seat of the car, “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I don’t think that analyzing my dream right now will do any good, but I just… I’m sorry.”

He was still silent.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you turned your body as best you could in the vehicle, “Do you believe in the afterlife?”

That got his attention. Spencer turned his head to you, concern etched into his face, “Why are you asking me this?”

You couldn’t tell him. You’d break his heart if you told him that throughout the duration of this case, you’d developed a pit in your stomach and started having dreams about dying. “In my dream, it was like… like I was paralyzed, and I couldn’t move my head. I couldn’t speak or anything and when I thought about calling for you, you appeared.” You sniffled slightly, “You reached out for my neck and your hand came back with a piece of twine, and then my head fell to the ground—completely detached from my body.”

The lack of judgment in his expression was what finally triggered the first tear to fall from your eye, but you didn’t wipe it away. Spencer moved his hand and deftly wiped at your tears with his fingertips, cupping your face in his hands, “You’re not going to die.”

“Spence,” you said, your voice strained by emotion.

He shook his head gently, “Nope, not as long as I’m around. You’re not going to die on this case.”

Your chest ached as your eyes studied his, “Okay.”

“But,” he continued, “I want you to take a step back on this one. No more volunteering for stakeouts, no wandering to the second floor of the asylum, and no listening to any more of Penelope’s ghost stories.”

Nodding, you silently agreed to his conditions, holding out your pinky and waiting for him to present his. Interlocking your small fingers, you each kissed your hands, and you took a deep breath. “What do you think we’re looking at, Spence? Is it another witch hunt?”

Names and faces of people like Leland Duncan and James Heathridge flashed in your memory, but if there was an overlap there, you haven’t seen it.

You didn’t feel like the BAU had a very good track record in Appalachia, Shane Wyland and the still unnamed ‘Mountain Man’ were proof enough of that, but you hoped that Wyland was long dead by now, and these crimes were too organized for the Mountain Man.

“I don’t know, baby,” Spencer admitted, and you knew that it hurt him to say that to you, especially now.

Looking out the window, your eyes caught on Luke and Tara as they made their way over to your car. Spencer unlocked the doors as you hurriedly wiped beneath your eyes, trying to hide any evidence of your upset before reconvening with the team.

Luke waggled his eyebrows at the two of you, “Good morning, how was your night?”

Groaning, you stretched out your neck, “Ultimately uneventful,” you told him, knowing that if anything of real interest had happened, Luke and Tara would’ve been the first people you notified.

“Prentiss asked us if we’d do a quick sweep of the inside before heading back to the precinct,” Tara said, jutting her chin in the direction of the building.

You and Spencer shared a look, but now that you were grouped within your team, you felt comfortable enough to slip your hand in his as the four of you approached the building. Squeezing his hand, your eyes flickered up to the second-story window, and seeing nothing, you stepped into the building.

The smell hit you. The strong tang of blood mixed with that of isopropyl alcohol burned at your nostrils as Tara swore at the sight in front of all of you. A body hanging from the stairwell, eyes completely destroyed, and while the body was covered in blood, the floor was completely void of any red.

“She’s cleaning up,” you observed, stepping closer to Spencer and looking at the streak marks that a rag had made on the floor.

Luke raised his eyebrows, “She?” He asked, confused about the sudden change in pronouns while Tara immediately went to call Emily.

Spencer nodded, agreeing with you as the three of you watched the body turn in the glow of the sunrise, “A man wouldn’t care about the mess he’s leaving behind.”

This revelation left you more confused than anything, you had no idea how anyone could lift that much dead weight, night after night. “Oh,” you breathed, blood draining from your face as you looked up at Spencer and Luke. “We were watching the building all night,” you reminded them. “We never saw anyone enter, but we never saw them leave.”

night three

“Alright,” Emily started, fully equipped in her Kevlar, she looked around the entryway of the asylum, “Rossi and Tara will keep an eye out front in case anyone tries to make a run for it. Reid and JJ will take the tunnels beneath the west wing, Simmons and I will take the east wing, Alvez and Sheriff Greenbaum will head north, and Y/N and Deputy Perkins will stay here in the foyer in case anyone calls for backup.”

In the dark building, Spencer gave your hand a squeeze before everyone turned on their flashlights. “Let’s end this,” Rossi said, earning a hum of agreement as everyone split off into their respective directions.

You wished Emily had done you the kindness of letting you be paired with Spencer again, but twice in the span of a single case was seemingly too much to ask for. “You ever seen something like this?” Deputy Perkins asked you, shuffling his feet across the floor.

Shaking your head, your eyes focused on where the newest body had been found that morning. The body was cleared out and the cause of death was blunt force trauma, but once the realization that the killer had been in the building the entire time settled in, the team got to work on figuring out some of the logistics.

That was when the sheriff brought up the possibility of the killer using a long-abandoned tunnel system. The town had assumed they caved in years ago, but a bit of sleuthing had revealed that there were still a select number of tunnels for her to use.

As long as I stay in the foyer, you reminded yourself, no wandering.

The stench of isopropyl alcohol still floated through the air; it had likely sept into the porous flooring that had been underneath the body. You made note of the flickering lights in the surrounding area, making sure not to get any of them mixed up as you rested a hand on your firearm.

“Did you hear that?” Deputy Perkins asked you, looking up the stairs and shining his flashlight on them, trying to see if he could find anything in the eerie abyss of darkness.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head in response, “No,” you told him, looking to the left and right of you, wondering if one of the pairs that had been sent off was returning. You hadn’t heard anything coming from the upstairs.

He hummed, taking a step closer to the staircase and setting off alarm bells in your head, “I’m sure I heard a shuffling coming from upstairs.” The pit in your stomach reformed as he planted a foot on the staircase and waved you over, “Come on, we should check it out.”

You hesitated, “We’re supposed to be here if someone needs backup,” you reminded him, nearly pleading with him not to abandon his post.

Perkins shrugged at you before taking another step. “I’m going to check it out, and there’s safety in numbers,” he countered before ascending the steps, making it to the first landing before your feet finally moved.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you followed him up the stairs, taking careful steps so that they didn’t creak beneath you. You reached the second-floor seconds after him, but you shone your flashlight around without any sign of him, beaming the light into the familiar room, ��Deputy Perkins?”

You stepped into the room, placing a hand on your firearm as you tapped on the flickering sconce again and looked behind you. Your breathing hitched at the sight of the deputy in front of you, he was crumpled to the floor, his legs folded unnaturally, and there was a lobotomy pick that went straight through his head.

Next to him stood a woman, her clothes were tattered and stained with blood, and she came at you, shoving you to the ground and leaving your gun and flashlight scattered on the hardwood. The force of the impact knocked the wind out of you, and you got yourself out from under her while she frantically searched for a missing piece of the puzzle.

She’d used her pick to take out the deputy, leaving her with nothing to gouge your eyes out. You weren’t sure if you should feel grateful as you rolled over and grabbed the closest thing you could, wrapping your fingers around your flashlight and swinging it aimlessly against your attacker.

“No!” She screamed a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound rang out as you hit her on the side with your law enforcement issue flashlight. The object slipped out of your fingers as you sat up and tried to reorient yourself with your surroundings, you couldn’t see your gun, searching for it as she flung your flashlight back at you, the edge of it catching on your forehead as you fell back.

The UnSub straddled your waist, keeping a firm hold on your throat as she held the pick to your eye, having pulled it from the deputy’s head so that she could complete her ritual, “Don’t,” you gasped, “Think—” your voice broke off as vomit rose in your throat. “Think of the mess,” you told her. “You used all the rubbing alcohol,” you reminded her, pleading with her not to take your eyes.

She was seething, very nearly foaming at the mouth above you as instead of stabbing you with the pick, she used the butt of it to crack against your skull. “You took my friends!” She raged, referring to the people that she had murdered, she was collecting them to keep her company.

“No,” you wheezed, shaking your head even through the blinding pain, “I set them free,” you challenged her, resigning yourself to an untimely demise and crying out when she sat you up.

You tried to claw at her, a weak attempt at saving your own life that received a laugh from the UnSub, an almost childlike giggle. “You can be my friend,” she offered, grabbing an already prepared rope from the floor and looping it around your neck before she slung it around an exposed beam, creating a makeshift rig and pulling on it.

Immediately, your hands flew to your neck, trying to stop the rope from suffocating you completely, and it worked for a little while before your feet lifted off of the ground.

After that, you were gone, left standing off to the side as you watched your body hang from the ceiling while the UnSub who would always remain an UnSub to you watched, cackling as she did so. She cackled up until the moment JJ put a bullet in her brain, the sudden death of your attacker leaving your body to drop to the hardwood floor, the hit softened by Spencer and Emily as they caught.

Tossing the rope to the side, Spencer laid you out on the floor and ducked his head to your chest, listening for breathing sounds. He was listening for anything, any sign of life at all.

There was nothing, so he put his hands on your corporeal form’s chest and started CPR, pushing down on your chest in steady motions.

You knelt down to him, watching tears fall from his face as JJ did her best to keep your airway open and Emily frantically radioed for an ambulance, continuously repeating that Y/N is down.

Assuming your hand would go right through him, you placed a hand on Spencer’s back, surprised to find that he was still solid to you. In a sort of daze, you watched him as he tried to save your life, repeating the same three words over and over again, “Come on, baby.” The mantra continued, tears falling onto your shirt.

You felt like you were on fire as if your body was physically burning while you watched life-saving measures be performed on yourself, “Oh, Spencer,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry,” you said to no one but yourself, knowing that he couldn’t hear you.

Looking to your side, you saw her again. The spirit form of Catherine Pence was watching you die in real-time, and you took a shuddering breath as she knelt next to you, expecting her to impart some sort of spiritual wisdom onto you.

Instead, she placed one of her ethereal hands on the back of your head and slammed both of your forms together. The entire world went dark after that, but you could still hear everything going on, searing pain ran through your entire body, from a throbbing in your ankle to an ache in your ribs to a pulsing in your head, but there was no more pressure on your chest.

“Is she…?” You heard JJ’s voice first, and as badly as you wanted to open your eyes, you just couldn’t gather the strength to do so.

There was heavy breathing and a soft weight on your shoulder, two fingers pressed into the pulse point on your wrist, “She’s breathing. She’s alive,” Spencer answered, out of breath. “Oh, my angel.”

A low groan was the only thing you could muster up.

Spencer shushed you, keeping his head on your shoulder and his fingers on your wrist, “It’s okay, don’t try to talk,” he cooed. “You’re going to be okay, the paramedics are here,” he lifted his head then. “I just want to stay with her.”

aftermath

It was far too bright for you, and the low keening sound that you expelled from your throat was the only way you could think to express that feeling. Whoever was in the room with you understood, turning the brightness down for you, earning a hum of approval from you.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible as he tried to keep his voice as low as possible.

The universe was taking pity on you, you knew it because you couldn’t feel any pain, which either meant you had finally kicked it or the hospital you were in had given you painkillers.

Your eyes felt like they were stuck together, the way that they get when you wake up from a perfect nap, and it took a surprising amount of energy to part your lips, expelling a deep breath out of your mouth. The action led to a pinching pain in your chest, causing your breathing to hitch, “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Spencer said, though you couldn’t imagine what he was apologizing for. “Can you open your eyes? How are you feeling?”

A grunt was all he received in response, the single noise begging him to slow down. Your eyes opened just slightly, looking at him through slivers as he smiled softly at you. His eyes were red and there was a box of Kleenex on the table next to him, accompanied by his phone and a cup of water.

He sighed in relief once he noticed that your eyes were opening, “Hey,” he repeated, “You look good,” he lied to you.

You rolled your eyes at him and his smile only grew, “Hi,” you croaked, your throat swollen and dry as you tried to reorient yourself. You were in a hospital, but the view outside of your window was of a city, not the tiny town that you had just been in.

Noticing your confusion, Spencer reached out to adjust your nasal cannula, “They transported you to a hospital in a city. The local hospital just didn’t have the capacity to treat you,” he explained. “I’ve been with you,” he reassured you, “The entire time.”

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, but he waved you off instantly.

Spencer grabbed the Styrofoam water cup from your bedside table and held it to you, bending the straw so that you could get some water.

Noting his silence, you tilted your head to the side, ignoring the way your brain felt like it had been scrambled, “Are you okay?”

He pursed his lips while setting the cup back down, “I just remember thinking about how I promised you that you weren’t going to die.”

The antiseptic air made you cringe, your body becoming more and more conscious as time went on, “I wandered,” you reminded him, making sure he knew that you broke your promise first.

“That wasn’t your idea,” Spencer challenged, knowing you well enough to say that without having experienced it himself. His fingers nimbly adjusted the blanket on your hospital bed, “You followed the deputy upstairs, it wasn’t your choice.”

In your current state, Spencer wouldn’t let you take any of the responsibility for what had happened in the asylum and even though you knew the answer, you asked him anyway, “Is she dead?”

Nodding softly, he took your hand in his, “She’s dead, and someday I’ll let you know her name and read the rest of the case, but today is not that day.” He skimmed his thumb over your knuckles, each of them cracked and bloodied from your fight with the UnSub.

You sighed in relief, a single tear receding into your hairline as you closed your eyes again, “How long have I been sleeping?” You asked, squinting over at your patient care whiteboard.

“Two days,” Spencer answered gently, dragging his fingers up and down your forearm, “You were tired, and your body had a lot of healing to do. It still does,” he added the last part, not wanting you to claim being healed. “Everyone’s still here, waiting for you to be discharged,” he continued, “I should message Emily, actually.”

“And Penelope,” you added, knowing she’d rather hear it directly from him than through Emily.

Spencer chuckled lightly, a sound that was as curative as any medicine you could be given, “I’m sure she’ll be waiting for us at the tarmac in Quantico.”

A small smile sprouted on your face, “She’ll be the one landing the plane,” you laughed slightly, interrupted by a fit of coughing. You placed a hand on your chest and winced, inhaling sharply before trying to breathe through the pain.

“What do you need?” He asked you carefully, setting his phone back down after sending his texts.

You shook your head, “Nothin’, just you.”

It was an action that would’ve previously earned a few stares from the team, and at least one wolf whistle from Luke, you and Spencer slipping into the galley together and closing the curtain behind you. Now it was simply the easiest place for you to get some semblance of privacy as Spencer snipped at the old bandaged around your neck.

Your hair was secured atop your head, keeping it out of the ointment as Spencer used his fingertips to carefully cover the rope burn that had been left around your neck. “Does it hurt?” He asked, eyes focused on his canvas while coating the hollow of your throat.

Shaking your head minutely, you closed your eyes, “No,” you told him, a slight rasp still peeking through your tone.

He hummed in response, giving you a small smile as he went back to the tube, putting more ointment on his fingers, “Liar.”

Opening your eyes again, you looked up at him as your face warmed, “Only a little bit,” you altered your answer. At this point, the worst part about the burn was that the nurses recommended keeping it covered, and Spencer was taking his job as caretaker very seriously.

He checked his phone for something before going back to his prior actions, “I think it’s getting better,” he observed, furrowing his brows as he wiped excess ointment from his fingers.

You took his word for it, having been avoiding looking in a mirror at all costs. Seeing the bruises all over your body was more than enough for you. You flinched when someone else slipped into your oasis, Emily shut the curtain behind her, holding out a pack of non-adhesive Telfa pads for Spencer to use on your neck.

“Hey,” you said nervously, wondering if she had another purpose or if she was simply bringing you some first-aid.

Emily smiled nervously; her eyes studied the marks on your throat as Spencer covered them. You expected her to speak, but she just watched in complete silence.

Raising your eyebrows, you looked from her to Spencer, and back to her again. “You should see the other guy,” you joked, earning the slightest smile from the both of them.

“I just wanted to let you know that however much time you decide to take off, it’s yours,” she offered to you, watching as Spencer unwrapped another packet of gauze.

You hummed, “I’m really alright, Em,” you assured her, more than comfortable with the automatic six weeks that you were granted by the bureau. It was the standard set for all agents unless there was an extenuating circumstance that prevented them from returning to work.

Emily’s nervous smile returned, “It wasn’t a suggestion,” she informed you, letting you know that she was more or less forcing you to take the extended time off.

Peering at your boyfriend, you frowned, “You put her up to this.”

Spencer shook his head, “I didn’t. Stop moving so much,” he urged you, trying to stretch the number of Telfa pads he had before he had the chance to go to a pharmacy.

“He didn’t,” Emily iterated, “But he could’ve, and I still wouldn’t tell you,” she added. “We’ll talk more—both of you. For now, I don’t want to see you around the BAU for a while.”

You sighed when she left the galley, Spencer finished his last placement before stepping back. “How do I look?” You asked him, keeping your question mostly rhetorical.

His smile was so gentle that it cracked at your resolve, “Good.”

Looking up at him doubtfully, you leaned against the counter, “You’re a really bad liar.”

“Hey,” he said, carefully wrapping his arms around you and letting you rest the unmarred side of your head on his chest, “You look alive, and that’s good enough for me.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober

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weirdchurchgirl · 2 years ago

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i hope every real estate company/landlord that buys a house built before 1965 and unnecessarily guts the inside to turn it into a greige marble countertop open concept plastic “wood” floor one gas fireplace no crown molding bright white LEDs everywhere stainless steel appliances boring two-tone exterior paint job ripping out all of the foliage on the land zero built-in spaces outside of the kitchen and closets “style” dies slowly and painfully when their time comes or perhaps even prematurely

#txt #like i understand if there’s issues with the house being unoccupied for a long time #like obviously if there’s issues w how it is then it should be fixed #but these ppl take perfectly good beautiful old houses and make them look like shit!!#SHIT!!!!#absolutely no style personality character #everything is cheaply made and will never last even half as long as what came before it #lack of foliage makes you have to use your heat and AC more often #and open concepts are dangerous and rack up an absolutely insane electric bill #they used to have fireplaces in every room in houses like this bc you could just heat that one room!!!!!#it all makes me angry esp knowing i want a very old beautiful home one day but will… never find that #whether it’s out of my monetary abilities or atp all of them have been transformed into these #soulless suburban cookie cutter homes #i’ll have to settle for some cheaply made farmhouse style shit #like i saw a pic of beatrix potters home on here the other day #and literally teared up bc of how much i want smth like that

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temporal-discounting · 5 months ago

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Ed begs to differ

This is the cutest thing that Stede says in the entire show, fight me

#seriously look at Ed's face there #insane foliage was the cutest thing he's ever heard

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breadbrobin · 11 months ago

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the trees

clarisse la rue x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of apollo reader]

summary: you have a very specific skill set that helps your team with capture the flag, and clarisse thinks it’s fascinating. in fact, she thinks you’re as fascinating as you think she is.

warnings: swearing, arguments, fighting, PINING, heights i guess (reader is up a tree), possibly ooc clarisse but not too much i hope.

word count: 2.5k

(so the brainrot has (inevitably) spread to clarisse. there’s gonna be a part two to this as well, so lmk if y’all want it (tbh i’ll probably post it anyway but still). oh and also i love her and i am a clarisse apologist and lover until the day i die)

(sort-of-enemies to sort-of-lovers, but more like idiots to pining idiots (in a tree))

(part 2 here)

———————————————

archery wasn’t the only thing you were good at, but it was by far the best thing you were good at. a daughter of apollo: master of archery, mediocre of music and magical at making weird ass noises. bird calls, animal sounds, imitations—you name it, you could do it.

and those were useful tactics in capture the flag, for sure.

annabeth chase was a master strategist, and you had to give it to her: she remembered everyone’s strengths, weaknesses and alliances while you couldn’t even remember what you’d had for breakfast that day.

as always, you were tucked up in a tree, around halfway up. you weren’t too high, so that you could speak and people wouldn’t automatically know you were above them, but you weren’t too low so they couldn’t see you.

you kind of liked being in the trees now. after three years of capture the flag and around six months of freaking out every time you climbed above ten feet, you were finally used to it. it was almost calming; a way for you to relax after a stressful day and pretend that nothing around you existed.

until the red team came by, that is.

that’s what you were waiting for. the flag was around fifty feet to your right. your job was to be a lookout and a distraction.

it was your favourite part of the game, getting to trick people and shoot arrows at them when they came too close, allowing the blue team members around the bottom of your tree to pop out and disarm their opponents.

it wasn’t a trick you used every time—not even the ares cabin are that stupid—but when you did use it, you had the time of your life.

there was a snapping branch to your left. you straightened up from where you were leaning against the tree trunk behind you and peered through the leaves. you were perched on a thick bough, hidden by leaves and branches, but able to see enough through them that you could do your job.

you could hear voices, but you couldn’t see anyone.

you listened carefully. you knew that voice.

you realised with a start who it was.

clarisse la rue.

fucking clarisse, man. she drove you insane. and not for the reason she drove most of camp insane. no, unlike almost everyone else, you were attracted to her. in fact, you were, annoyingly, in love with her, you’d have to admit. it was infuriating.

you could hear her cutting through the forest. it was strange. she didn’t usually come for the flag. usually, she hunted in the woods and caught stragglers. she didn’t want the glory as much as she wanted the fight. to her, winning the battle seemed more important than winning the war.

regardless of why, you could hear her voice. she was talking to her siblings below you, creeping through the foliage.

the sun was warm on your face and you send up a brief prayer to your father.

from your lips slipped an almost perfect impression of your blue team guards. you’d used this trick last game, but clarisse hadn’t been there, so she wouldn’t know. “i can’t believe they put us on guard duty again.”

they all froze in their tracks, looking at each other, then ahead in the opposite direction from the flag.

you held in a snicker. “ugh, yeah, it’s the worst. i mean, why can’t we do anything fun? i wanna fight clarisse!”

you could see the smirk curling on her lips and you had to stop yourself from blushing.

you continued this cat and mouse game. the ares kids below you fanned out, aiming to surround you. it would have been a smart move, if there was actually a flag there and not just a tree.

slowly, they inched in, then leapt out.

“ahh!! you caught us! i’ve been impaled!”

they looked around in fear and confusion but clarisse looked straight up. she always did.

“hey, angel, nice voice,” she mocked. “wanna come on down?”

you shook your head. “no, thanks, i’m comfortable.”

she raised and eyebrow, seeing your arrow drawn and pointed directly at her. “that’s not necessary.”

“isn’t it?” your arrow flew and, though she hit it away, you teammates came pouring out of the foliage, having been waiting for your signal.

a fight ensued. it looked like it was going well for a short while, then the tides turned.

they weren’t as caught off guard as they usually were. hell, clarisse was even smiling!

with what looked like very little effort, the ares campers effectively destroyed your teammates. they were left disarmed and defeated, and you were stuck in a tree. typical.

as her siblings took their weapons, clarisse looked up at you. “you wanna come down now?”

you shook your head. “rather not. the view from up here is pretty good.”

she muttered something to herself, but you couldn’t hear her. then she spoke up. “what if we come up there?”

you drew your bow back immediately and an arrow pierced the dirt right in front of her foot.

she looked down at it, then back up at you, an amused smirk on her face. “right, silly me.”

that surprised you. she was usually cold and cruel in capture the flag, always taking no prisoners and leaving no survivors—in a technical sense. you’d seen people nursing their minor wounds after the games when your siblings forced you to help out in the infirmary (not that you’re much help in there, but regardless), and everyone heard the stories they’d tell of clarisse appearing out of the ferns and attacking ruthlessly. so why was she not being so ruthless today?

she was certainly cruel in her fight against your team members, but any other day, she would have thrown her spear at you or thrown one of your arrows back, or even climbed up anyway. instead, she just smirked up at you, content to wait.

“where’s the flag, bows?” she asked, using a nickname she’d only used a few times, one that referenced both the bows you used and the bows you sometimes put in your hair.

you shrugged. “dunno. they don’t tell me anything. i just get out here and told to be annoying.” your traitorous eyes flickered to the direction of the flag. you’d never been good at lying.

and curse her, clarisse noticed. she always noticed when it came to you, it seemed. whether it was catching you in a lie, catching you when you were admiring her or catching your every move when sparring, she always noticed.

she nodded at her siblings and they moved off. “i’ll wait here. try and flush our squirrel out.”

if they were confused or surprised, they didn’t show it.

once they were gone, clarisse plucked the arrow from the dirt and studied it. “this is new.”

“sam from hephaestus made them,” you said meekly. why would she stay behind? it didn’t make sense. you weren’t a threat, or even a good fight.

her face darkened. “oh. and where is your boyfriend now, then? hm?”

your cheeks flamed. “he’s not my boyfriend.” and it was true. he wasn’t. despite the fact that he liked you and made things for you all the time, your heart was decidedly with another. and she was right below you, tossing your prized arrow aside like an old tissue. “he’s on your team anyway. you should know where he is.”

she smirked again. “oh, yeah. i remember now. that’s right, i sent him to try and get our flag. he didn’t even make it five steps before he was attacked.”

her bitter laugh made your heart clench. was it pity for sam or your feelings for her, or both? you weren’t sure. either way, it was starting to get on your nerves.

it was silent for a long time. she looked up at you every few seconds, then at the tree, like she was gauging how hard she’d have to push you for you to die on impact. her eyes were sharp and her smile was sharper, and fuck you were attracted to her.

you cleared your throat and broke the silence, hearing fighting off in the near distance. you would go and help, but the only way for you to do so would be to tree-hop all the way to the flag, and while you could do it, it wasn’t the best idea. “why did you stay h—what are you doing?” you aimed an arrow at her.

“relax, angel, we both know you won’t actually shoot me.” she was climbing up the tree. fast. “and don’t worry, i’m not gonna push you out or attack you. i don’t like looking up at you.”

call you stupid or whipped or whatever, but you believed her. you lowered your bow but didn’t lessen the tension on your string. she’d almost reached your branch when you swivelled around to face her. you moved fast, your arrow returning to its holster and you body facing the trunk of the tree with your legs swung over each side of the wide bough. your dagger was swiftly removed from its holster and pressed under clarisse’s chin.

she laughed at you.

you faltered slightly. “what?”

“nothing,” she snickered. “i just saw it coming. now scoot back.”

you dropped your dagger and shifted backwards, glad the bough was strong.

she clambered onto your branch easily, sitting facing you with her back against the tree trunk, a smirk on her face.

you sighed bitterly. “you see everything coming.”

she shrugged. “pretty much. but so do you.”

“that’s the gift of divine premonition,” you grumbled. it could be useful sometimes, but all you really got was a sense, a feeling or, occasionally, a single frame of a moment. right now, though, your senses were so clogged with her vanilla-strawberry and leather scent, and with her, that you could hardly think, let alone experience a minor prophecy. not to mention the fact that if you did, you’d probably fall out of the tree.

she shrugged. “isn’t that useful?”

“yeah, when it actually works or doesn’t make me pass out.” you shrugged. “it’s temperamental.”

she hummed in thought, leaning back and crossing her arms. her knees were mere centimetres from yours.

“what are you doing up here, clarisse?” you asked.

she shrugged, but you could see a shift in her demeanour when she said your name. it was like the muscles in her shoulders relaxed for a moment, then tensed again. “didn’t want you to escape.”

“so you let your other prisoners escape?” you gestured to the ground, where your teammates were sitting around fifteen feet from the tree in a circle, plucking the grass.

clarisse raised her eyebrows at you in amusement. “oh, i think they’re fine. they’re too scared of me to do anything, anyway.”

you narrowed your eyes at her. “i don’t think you’re that scary.”

she rolled her eyes. “sure. but everyone else does. so you’re wrong.”

“it was my opinion. my opinion can’t be wrong if it’s my opinion.” that was another thing: you were never one to start an argument, but by god would you escalate it.

“your opinions wrong if i say it’s wrong,” she huffed, her jaw tight.

“not how opinions work, babe,” you said lightly, using your dagger point to carve away at the bark beneath you.

she smacked your hand to stop you. “you’re gonna dull it!”

“the point is already dull!” you protested, poking your finger to show her. it indented, but didn’t draw blood. “see?”

“so, what, you threatened me with a butter knife? i’m offended.”

“it’s the idea of it that cuts deeper anyway. the primal fear of being gutted by a dagger. in capture the flag at least.” you shrugged, carving a wonky flower in the bark. “it’s more about threats than action.”

clarisse rolled her eyes. “and what if a monster comes and attacks you, and all you’ve got is this blunt dagger?”

“you ever seen an archers muscles?” you turned slightly and flexed your shoulders. you could see her eyes follow the sharp lines of your shoulders and back. “i’ll use force. force is more effective than sharpness. you know that.”

“and yet, my weapons are all still sharp.” she snatched the dagger from you and pulled out a whetstone from a pocket in her cargo pants. she began sharpening your blade.

“hey, don’t—“

she smacked your hand with the flat of your own blade when you reached for it, and you withdrawn with a hiss, shaking your hand. she laughed. “i guess force is more important, huh, angel?”

your cheeks were hot. “don’t call me that.”

“why, you worried you might like it?” she looked up, teasing. her eyes narrowed at the look on your face and then she grinned. “you do like it.”

“no. shut up.”

she laughed again, but it was a little softer than usual. she looked back down at the dagger. “did sam make this for you?”

“yeah, w—clarisse!” you gasped as she dropped it off the bough. or, more accurately, threw it off the bough. “what was that for?”

she shrugged. “it’s not that good. i’ll get you a better one from the ares stash. don’t worry.”

you glared at her. “that was mine, though!”

“it was blunt and poorly made,” she protested. “it wasn’t good enough for you.”

the way she said it made you think there was a double meaning there.

“he’s not good enough for you,” she said, softer, proving you right.

your eyes were wide and your cheeks were flaming. “what?”

“you heard me.” her softness was staying, it seemed. if you weren’t mistaken, her hand was reaching for yours. “he’s not. you know he’s not. why do you like him?”

before you could respond, a horn blew in the distance and cheering erupted from around the forest. red team had won.

clarisse didn’t look happy. she leaned back—you hadn’t even realised she’d leaned forward—and glared at the bough between you both.

“congratulations,” you said softly. “you deserved the win.”

“yeah, we did.” her voice carried very little enthusiasm.

you studied her face for a minute, like you were committing every feature to memory. “clarisse…”

she didn’t respond. instead, she swung her leg over the bough and started climbing down. only when she got two branches down did you begin to follow her, hurrying in your attempt to catch up. you couldn’t. no matter how good you were at something, she was better.

she nodded at you as she walked off, your foot caught in a tight spot.

once you’d finally got down, your teammates were surrounding you. some asked you what had happened, some accused you of being a double agent for them, some asked if you were okay.

you answered them all absently as you all walked back towards the stream, but your heart wasn’t in it. what the hell was going on?

you’d reached the stream by the time you realised you’d left your dagger behind, and you were back at your cabin, trying to fall asleep, when you realised that it didn’t bother you at all.

(part 2)

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #clarisse pjo #clarisse x reader #dior goodjohn #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo tv show

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crimson-and-clover-1717 · 22 days ago

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Stede Bonnet, Renaissance Man (Or an Exceptional Man who Thinks He’s Mediocre)

I’ve posted before about Stede’s love of beauty. He’s an aesthete, finding wonder in art and creative self-care rather than the transcendental. Stede’s a freethinker. He challenges the orthodoxies of his time, rejecting forced heteronormative behaviours, and even questioning the accepted traditions of piracy.

The thing about Stede is he often asks ‘why?’ It’s partly what makes him dangerous to some. This slant towards subversion is much of what Izzy observes and detests. It’s one of many reasons Stede must be kept from Ed. Like a number of Renaissance-style thinkers before him, Stede refuses to go along with the status quo. He is ‘doing something original’, questioning dogma. Many find it ridiculous, bizarre even. And it’s significant that instead Ed finds Stede enchanting, because it demonstrates who Ed might be given the chance to find his own path.

Stede is also a polymath and likely an autodidact - I doubt he learned about ‘insane foliage’ at school. He is self-motived and seems to have knowledge across a broad spectrum of disciplines. Literature, drama, botany, entomology, psychology, art, textiles. Stede’s very much about the life of the mind.

And he’ll approach areas at which he’s not so gifted, such as cartography and sword-fighting, with the enthusiasm of a dilettante; when he can’t succeed the traditional way, he simply subverts the discipline and does it his own. However, the most important thing for me in defining Stede as a Renaissance man is his humanism. People are front and centre. Sometimes that person is himself, and he loses sight of others. But it’s okay as that’s the point. Humanism is partly about being a messy individual who can do better. And Stede is someone who can learn and alter his position when circumstances change. He might not do so in the best way all of the time, but he is a quick-learner and highly-adaptable.

Stede also understands that no culture or institution is bigger than the people within it. The most important thing is human dignity - it’s what he shows and teaches Ned’s crew: that they deserve to be respected as people. Stede also has a strong moral core. When he messes up, he feels it deeply. He demonstrates strong ethics towards the natural world too - he’s absolutely disgusted by turtle vs. crab. Stede believes not so much in human superiority, but human responsibility, and this is the flip side of having dignity as a human being.

Another aspect of Stede’s humanism is his belief that culture should be accessible to all. Some of this might be naivety on Stede’s part rather than a well-thought out philosophy, but he believes in it intuitively. Stede wants the crew to have access to his library despite not recognising they can’t all read. He gives them musical instruments and sports facilities - he’s interested in what makes people flourish. And Stede practically invents art therapy!

His ship is also a safe-space for human relationships to blossom - romantic, platonic, and in between. Zheng’s ship might appear to offer collective harmony, but it’s mandated and dogmatically applied. Opting out of morning tai chi for a 24-hour shagathon might be viewed as an act of dissent. No such big brother is judging you on Stede’s Revenge.

And all of this is because of the man Stede is, and the influence he has on those around him. Sometimes it falls on deaf ears. Many don’t like what Stede’s offering. Others actively rebel against it. But anyone with an ounce of goodness will get what Stede Bonnet is about and embrace it. Stede doesn’t seem to understand his own power, it comes from such an authentic place. For me, it makes him all the more endearing.

#stede bonnet #renaissance man #humanist #freethinker #stede is powerful #ofmd

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my-castles-crumbling · 23 days ago

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help - October 31 - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 204 - TW: MCD

James's eyes are hazel. The type of hazel that has a million other colors mixed together- green and blue and brown and gold, all combined into one beautiful kaleidoscope.

Those eyes can show a hundred different emotions. Pure joy and entertainment when pulling a prank. Utter sadness after the death of his parents. Unadulterated adoration when looking at his son.

Sirius could recognize those eyes anywhere.

Lily's eyes are green. The type of green that is deeper and more vibrant than any foliage or blade of grass, more stunning than even the shiniest emerald.

Those eyes have shown a hundred different emotions. Fiery hatred when spitting admonishment from her lips, tearing into Sirius and James for their immaturity. Concentration and skill when casting an insanely difficult charm that only she can manage. Softness and love when gazing at her friends and family.

Sirius could recognize those eyes anywhere.

So when both pairs of eyes stare up at him, unseeing, from broken, crumpled bodies, their gazes faraway and emotionless and glazed-over, he crumples to the floor of the wrecked house. It feels like his soul is being pried from his chest with a rusty knife.

The screaming cry of a baby sounds near him as he whispers brokenly to nobody, "Help," knowing he is far too late.

They are gone.

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tinietaehyun · 2 months ago

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A Cup of Madness, Please!

[MadHatter!Beomgyu x lost!Reader] [Wondrous Tales] [Series] [One-shot]

Pairing: MadHatter!Beomgyu x Lost!Reader

Genre(s): Fantasy, dark fantasy, action, dark romance, supernatural.

Contains: Profanity, mentions/implications of drug use/sedative, complex themes of time, obsessive behaviour, mental breakdowns, binding, violence, gaslighting, manipulation and dialogue-heavy.

Note: thanks for such a patient wait guys! Had t rework this one a lot, and I hope the end result is good! <3

Links: Wondrous Tales Masterlist || Masterlist

Summary: Having managed to elude the tea party and trick Kai into thinking you’ll stay, you scramble for your life by bargaining with a strange caterpillar hanging from the trees to escape.

Being barely lucid, you stumble into what seems to be another secluded grove, another tea party. Oh, you were definitely mad by this point. Not again! You see exuberant host with his feet up on the table with a grin, “Welcome, welcome, do come and join me, little love. I have lots of tea or are you sick of it from the March Hare?”

Panicked you rush off past him, he makes no move to chase after you. How strange. “Toodles, love!” Grimacing you rush off through the tangled foliage….only to arrive back to where you were facing the man again. A loop…?

“Time’s prisoner I am, and so you will be too. I’m awfully lonely and the hare’s fed up of my games. You’ll play with me and keep this Hatter company won’t you?”

Your feet drag along the muddy path. Everything seemed utterly weird here (which was saying a lot considering how much you had experienced and seen beforehand!) but this- this was truly weird!

You gaze at the floating leaves, the wind-blown trees of vibrant hues stuck in position, the birds in the sky forming floating statues with the way they hovered in place. Your mind itself felt fuzzy, your movements slow. This entire area felt absent of time. Despite having walked for what seemed to be ages, you felt as if you progressed nowhere at all.

Was this a sign that you were getting closer to the Hatter? Was this the consequence of killing time? Was he also perpetually stuck in this place with no way out? Surely you’d be safe right, you had heeded the caterpillar’s words of not following the path! Then why was everything getting even worse, you felt as though you were walking right into that madman’s hands!

Instinct bubbles uneasily within you as you sluggishly walk. Something didn’t feel right at all, in fact, it made you feel nervous. From what you had heard about the man, nothing good was bound to occur if you met face to face with that lunatic.

You shudder at the thought. Now your main objective was to somehow make it to the Cheshire Cat’s Woods. Your gaze lifts to the horizon, in the distance you see a murky, foggy space, the ominous silhouette of jagged trees. That’s where you were heading to. It made you feel uneasy, even just from the sight of it from afar. That would be your ticket out of here!

With a renewed vigor, you clench your fists and continue walking ahead. You had to make it out of here, no matter what. You clutch your head, a pounding pain pulsating in your forehead; your perception of time is warped and fatigue strains upon your bones. Everything felt overwhelming and all you wanted to do was go home and take an extraordinarily long nap. To think, you’d have called yourself insane before this, to miss your monotonous and stressful life!

The muddy path seems to curve off away from all the frozen in time chaos and floating objects and your shoulders slouch in relief. Anything further from the Hatter was good news in your eyes. You continue trudging along the path. How much more would you have to walk, to endure? Your mind felt weak, your sanity crumbling by every encounter you had. You really didn’t want to go insane here.

The foliage begins to morph and change, monochromatic bushes of black and white, the path ahead of you seems to change with every blink causing you to become disoriented. What the fuck was happening here? You wobble slightly and your mind feels fuzzy. That same unsettling feeling from before - it was nauseating. As though you had no grasp on anything. White noise fills your ears and you groan covering your ears, you begin running along the path in desperation.

What the hell was this place? You had to get out! After a while running; barely barely lucid, you stumble into what seems to be another secluded grove, another tea party. Oh, you were definitely mad by this point. Not again!

Your legs tremble and you attempt to steady yourself as the white static in your eardrums fades. The tea cups and saucers were mismatched, and numerous were shattered to smithereens on the floor. The table cloth was a colourful mismatch of fabrics, colours and patterns. The chairs all pristinely aligned along the sides and the food seemed untouched - varying from cupcakes, cakes, biscuits, scones and croissants perfectly baked to perfection, sweet and alluring in aroma, making your mouth water ever so slightly.

You couldn’t have wandered in a big circle back to the Hare, could you? No…it couldn’t be. The worst place to be in Wonderland. This couldn’t be the Hatter’s Tea Party? Oh you so desperately wanted to deny it, but you knew. You had indeed fucked up terribly.

“Welcome, welcome, do come and join me, little love. I have lots of tea or are you sick of it from the March Hare?” A rich, husky voice startles you and you whip your head to the side. Another small table of delights and treats arranged in pristine fashion. There, you see the exuberant host with his feet up on the table with a grin.

You look around mortified, it was! It was the Hatter’s Party! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fear courses through your system, you don’t think your mind could handle another insane encounter! You realise nothing is fenced off in this grove, you were free to roam. Why did you have to indulge him anyway? What if you made a run for it now?

Panicked, you rush off past him, he makes no move to chase after you. How strange? No…this felt wrong. Did he simply not care? Were you running into another trap? He calls out grinning, “Toodles, love!” Oh shit. This wasn’t good.

Why couldn’t you think straight at all? You felt so weird, so disoriented? Where did all your logic fly off too? You keep running, adrenaline coursing through your vessels. Perhaps it was foolish to do so, but you didn’t seem to have any idea, you just wanted to avoid the Hatter at all costs. But now, you feel as though you had walked right into the palm of his hand.

Grimacing, you rush off through the tangled foliage, twigs and leaves brush your face. Heavy pants leave your lips, all you wanted to do was escape. You keep running…only to arrive back to where you were, facing the peculiar man again.

Fuck. What was this? A loop?

The eccentric male tilts his head, a wide grin on his lips and mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he gleams, “Time’s prisoner I am, and so you will be too. I’m awfully lonely and the hare’s fed up with my games. You’ll play with me and keep this Hatter company won’t you?”

Your heart slams against your sternum. Was there truly no way out? Or were you simply going insane? He swings his feet off the table enthusiastically and stands abruptly adjusting his tailcoat, a seductive shade of dark blue with vibrant patterned patches here and there and blood red corsage in his chest pocket. If it weren’t for this place, you’d have thought he was a prince out of some fairytale.

Who would have thought the epitome of madness would have such a pretty face? Chiseled features, pouty lips, raven locks which fall in a wolf cut framing his face perfectly; a few strands over his piercing murky eyes. A sharp jaw and pointed nose, truly a beauty with brimming insanity beneath his skin.

With his hands behind his back, he skips over with an ominously delightful tune. Instinctively, you step back, “I-I just want to get to the woods is all, please, I-I- I’ve had enough.”

He tilts his head with a delighted expression and coos, “Oh? You beg so pretty. You’ve had enough? But we’ve just met, love? My darling little love, I’ve been waiting for you! Oh! You mean the others!” The man throws his head back laughing and tosses his top hat off with a flair. Running his hand through his hair, he giggles, “You don’t like our hospitality?”

Hospitality? Glaring, you take another step back, warily keeping your gaze locked onto him. He walks forward, “It’s been ever so long since I’ve had a guest. It’s so, so, so unfair y’know? That pesky king takes the ones that do show up and kills them when he’s bored? Tell me love, then what am I supposed to do? I also want a pretty little guest. And well, well, well, if you made it this far, you truly must be very special!”

You open your mouth to speak. “Ah, ah, ah, shush, shush! Let me introduce myself, love. I,” he exclaims, with an extravagant spin with outstretched arms, “…am the Mad Hatter, tea party extraordinaire, the most fun person in this dreary place called Wonderland...” he hops over and you yelp as his face is millimetres from yours. His voice drops to a whisper, “But, you can also call me Beomgyu.” Like a gentleman, he bows down taking your hand delicately and bringing it up to his lips as he places a soft kiss on the back of your hand. It sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze. It looked like he was going to devour you whole.

Once again, you open your mouth to speak but you’re halted by his index finger on your lips, “Ah, ah, let me finish. Now…” You stiffen. “Say it, say my name. Let's see how it sounds coming from those pretty lips of yours,” he coos. Your eyes widen - goodness, he was impressively tall. All of the wacky figures of Wonderland were terribly good looking too! Almost as if the divine were cursing you!

You remain silent and Beomgyu tilts his head, and your breath hitches as he suddenly grasps your jaw tilting your head up, his lips inches from your own, as he murmurs, “I said,” his tone darkens, “Say my name. Don’t hesitate for long, if you want to stay alive, play along.”

With great reluctance, you utter, “…Beomgyu.” He releases your chin with a sudden bright smile, “Wonderful, beautiful, how lovely indeed! Now, was that so hard, love?” You glare remaining silent and he chuckles leaning down, “Oh you are terribly cute aren’t you? How did the others let you escape, hm? Goodness, who wouldn’t want to keep you to themselves with such an adorable pouty expression? Now your name.”

You remain quiet and he leans closer making you blurt out, “Y/n.” Beomgyu muses, “Oh a lovely name indeed for my pretty little guest.”

Infuriated, you snap, “Stop. This- look. I just want to leave. I’m tired. I…I’m- I don’t know what to do anymore!” Beomgyu shakes his head, “Tsk, oh dear, you must be so tired. So fatigued. I always knew the others never knew how to treat their guests well. So incompetent.”

With a flourish of his wrist, he leans over and grabs a dark purple rose out of one of the vases. A sudden fit of giggles escapes him as he covers his mouth abruptly, “Sorry love, you have to get used to that. I just… find a lot of things amusing.” Another set of giggles leaves his lips and a terrible feel of unease permeates your very being. Oh, he was insane, alright.

Beomgyu raises the rose to your line of sight making you flinch back as you eye the thorns on the stem. His lips twitch and his eyes widen, sparkling with fervour, with…hunger. “Take it love, an introductory gift from me. It’s my most favourite flower here.”

Stammering, you respond, “N-No thanks I-“ He suddenly snaps, “No? You’re saying no?” You feel your hands go cold at his tone before his expression morphs into a pleasant smile and then into manic laughter sending a jolt of fear through you.

“Goodness! You look terrified! How amusing! Were you scared?” Beomgyu asks, chuckling. “You’ve looked more scared than the moment you first saw me? Why? Did the others tell you bad things about me?” He pouts, reaching over to cup to your cheek, “I’m not scary, I just know how to have fun? Is that so bad? Tell me love, is that so bad?”

You stay quiet, hands trembling. You can’t even look him in the eye. Beomgyu suddenly tilts your head upwards again, his lips twisting into a smirk, “Oh love, feeling shy? Oh why? Come now, keep those pretty eyes on me, hm?” You quiver, “What do you want from me?

“Oh, oh, oh! What a great question!” He exclaims before scoffing with a roll of his eyes, “If it weren’t so abhorrently boring. But to answer your curiosity, I don’t know.”

You deadpan, “You don’t know?” He grins a little too widely, “Mhm, I don’t know. You don’t know either. We both don’t know. The possibilities are endless. Isn’t that glorious?”

Beomgyu gazes at the rose in his left hand, “What a thing of beauty,” he holds it up to your face, “Almost as gorgeous as you, love.” You roll your eyes. He drags the soft petal down your forehead slowly, along the bridge of your nose and rests it on your lips, “Doesn’t it smell divine?” Before you can muster a reply, a wonderfully sweet aroma emits from the rose. You inhale deeper, never have you smelt such an enticing scent. What the hell?…

“Inhale it deeply, love,” he lets out a breathy chuckle and you pale. What did you just breathe in? He takes the rose giving it a big inhale and sighs deliriously happy, “Oh, wait for it to kick in. You said you were tired right?”

Your legs buckle and your sight blurs. What drugs was this rose made from? Wacky and vibrant colours fill your gaze and the surroundings distort and stretch making you feel delirious.

“Isn’t it marvellous? Are you having fun?” He cackles watching you clutch your forehead and stumble and clumsily waver. “You can see the world, the way I do!” He laughs loudly, “Its a little hard you see, when time doesn’t move. Makes you go a little cuckoo, but hey on the bright side, you’re never late, or never early, or, or, never really on time at all!” Beomgyu guffaws clutching his stomach as if he had uttered the funniest phrase in existence.

Meanwhile, you were struggling to keep your ground feeling even the ground below you give way. You felt as though you were floating. Beomgyu hums amused, “Ah, look at your eyes blissed out, such a dazed expression, ah, I could never grow weary of such a sight.”

Knees buckling, you clutch your head as your eyelids feel weighty, drowsiness overwhelms your senses - with which you feel yourself hurtling to the ground and your vision snaps to black.

The Hatter muses crouching down, whether he’s amused by the thousands of colours he’s seeing or the fact you fell down with about as much grace as a sack of potatoes spilling, he himself didn’t know. Either way, he was utterly delighted to have someone after so, so long to be stuck in time with him!

Time was overrated. The future is bleak, unpredictable. Change is far too outdone. It’s not about the what ifs, but the what nows. He had killed time with his bare hands for that very reason, tore the fabric of existence here into shreds. He didn’t want Wonderland to progress forward, how preposterous would that be? What if one day everything faded into obscurity? What if…what if he were to be forgotten? The sheer horror of the thought sends a shudder down hus spine.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, he shakes his head, distraught laughs tumble from his lips, “We can’t have that.” Beomgyu gazes at you, his pupils dilated manically, “You poor thing, oh love, wanting to leave. You don’t know a thing about enjoying the present, not being tainted by the future. Eroded by the ravages of time.” He runs his thumb delicately over your cheek, “It’s okay, I’ll teach you, and I’ll make sure I don’t let you escape like I did with Alice, oh so long ago.”

After what seems like hours, you feel a terrible migraine. Your ears feel numb and you feel as though all the blood was rushing to your head. What the fuck did he do to you? You pry your eyes open and flinch at the light coming in. To your horror, everything was upside down. The same scene, but upside down. Your arms hang below your hand, fingertips grazing the vibrant grass below.

No wonder the blood was rushing to your head! You crane your neck to see your legs and see them tied up. You were hanging like a pendulum off one of the branches of this massive tree! Holy shit! Panic surges through your system, he was a a maniac! With every writhe of your body and deep breath, you swing pathetically.

Footsteps resound and you spot the familiar shoes in your line of sight. A low laugh escapes his lips, “You’re awake. I was beginning to think that my scent-of-sleep-rose had killed you or something.” You glare seething at him - him and stupid fucking smile.

“To make you aware, it is you, who is upside down, not me. Then again, to you, I must look upside down. Perception is a funny thing isn’t it?” He rambles with a grin. You snarl, “What’s wrong with you? I’ve done nothing to deserve this!”

Beomgyu snickers, “Oh hush, hush. Why so angry love? I just wanted to play a game. Believe me, we could talk forever, and I mean that literally by the way,” he giggles before abruptly covering his mouth and composing himself, “But I thought, we could make things a little more fun? I like fun. You like fun. Everyone does. So…why so cranky?”

This piece of…your jaw tightens. His gaze sharpens and he leans down, his hand giving your body a little push and you feel nausea hit you unceremoniously. “Well, what are you going to do about it? Glare into me till I what? Turn to ashes, quiver and blubber away,” he mocks, raising his tone of voice. Beomgyu coos, “Love, you’re in my territory, my grove now. My rules, my games, my…my everything.” He dramatically bends down plucking a bright blade of grass between his index and thumb, “Even this blade of grass,” he blows it in your face with a chuckle.

Anger and fear amalgamate within you into an uncomfortable mixture. Beomgyu’s voice darkens, a crazed expression in his widening eyes as he leans down; his face inches from yours, “Even…you.” Beomgyu stands brightly spinning around with a bright demeanour and a clap of his hands, “So! Suck it up, buttercup!”

Your restraint snaps, all your deliria, patience, fatigue building until it bursts like a geyser as you release a shrill scream piercing the air. It takes Beomgyu aback, the sound rattling his eardrums and momentarily making him stiffen.

You scream hoarsely, “Suck it up? Suck it up!? You’re fucking deplorable! You insane maniac! You- you- do you even know how hard it has been to get here? It’s all just a fucking game to all of you!” Your gaze burns into his as he quietly observes your apparent mental breakdown. You snarl, as you swing pitifully, your hands digging into the dirt to steady yourself. “I’d wish you hell! But this place is already worse than hell itself,” you seethe.

“Is it so fucking hard to get a break here?” You shout, tears running back into your eyes with how you were upside down. “And this! Being fucking hung up like meat at a butcher’s shop, icing on the cake really!” You continue rambling and cursing for another minute as Beomgyu stares almost entranced by you.

You snap catching his stare, “What? What now?” For a moment, he doesn’t reply before stepping forward and dropping to his knees. The expression you see next sends a chill through your body. Wide-eyed, he cups your face, “That was beautiful, what a performance. So much pent up emotion,” another set of tittering laughs leaves him.

“Are you…” he laughs again, “are you losing your mind already, love?”

Your heart flies to your throat. No. No you couldn’t be. No way. That was just…a little pent up anger. No, no, no. You? You going mad? That was ludicrous to even suggest. The Mad Hatter of all people to suggest such a thing?

He coos, fingers pressing into your cheeks, “That look in your eyes, it’s like mine. So chaotic, so panicked, so fiery, so delirious. I can see it, this place has taken its toll on you, as it has done on me. We’re the same. Not willing to die, but to endure, to afraid to never wake up again, but tormented to live!”

Beomgyu rambles as you blankly regard him, your mind spinning. Maybe it was the fact that you were hanging upside down or were you genuinely losing your mind? You couldn’t tell anymore.

You attempt to compose yourself as you splutter, “Beomgyu…I- I can’t be stuck like this forever.” He cuts you off, “Oh don’t worry about that, I’ve killed time! So you can? See,” he gestures wildly around him, “I have..,I’ve been stuck here, even if I want to leave I can’t! I just get brought back here,” he throws his head back laughing maniacally.

You feel even more nauseous than before. How were you going to get out of this one? You tremble, “Stuck? You…can’t leave? Why? Because you killed time?”

He nods wiping a tear away from laughing so hard, “Precisely, love. Consider it a punishment of sorts,” he leans down whispering, “Though this is exactly what I wanted, but don’t tell anyone that. This way, Wonderland can stay happy forever, no one will forget anyone, because we’re all perpetually stuck,” Beomgyu huffs, “Especially me, I can’t even leave my grove, the other losers here can at least have a little more freedom.”

You couldn’t imagine why anyone would subject themselves to this? No wonder he was like this, such a fractured mind, such a delicate psyche. You stammer, “W-Why?”

“Why?” He asks tilting his head, “Why?” He chuckles as he rapidly runs his hands through his head, “Because I wanted to. That pesky rabbit kept saying he was late, that abhorrent king said my tea parties lasted way too long. That crafty hare was trying to steal my limelight. Pathetic scum, the lot of them! And, and, and, the guests we get, oh love, before you, we hadn’t gotten anyone new in Wonderland for so long!”

He squeezes your cheeks, “Could you imagine how bored I was? Time was passing so quickly. The king barely came to my parties anymore, the Hare went his own way, and that stupid white rabbit didn’t even bother to tell me anything of anyone anymore. I was…” he giggles brokenly, “I think, I think I was being forgotten? Me?” He cackles, “Me? Being forgotten, isn’t that so funny? I’m the most memorable of the bunch!”

It hits you like a truck. The one weakness of the Mad Hatter. Time. Time’s passage. He was obsessed with being stuck in a moment. The relentless forward march of time terrified him.

Beomgyu releases your face and he peers down at his shaking hands with a wide smile, “Oh look at that. Even my hands are excited.” Afraid, you think, he’s afraid. He’s afraid of the fading joy and madness that defines his existence. He’s afraid of being forgotten.

You almost, almost feel bad. Perhaps you’d even feel sympathy if it weren’t for the fact you were hanging like a bat off a branch. A twinge of guilt permeates you…would it be so bad to exploit his weakness? To get out of here? Would that make you a bad person. No, you just wanted to flee is all.

“Why so quiet?” His voice is sharp and you’re startled by the husk in his tone and you see that you had zoned out whilst he rambled incessantly. “What?” You murmur dazed. Beomgyu’s lips form a twisted smile, “You’re definitely losing your mind.”

“I’m not,” you fire back. He coos, “Denial is always the first step. I would know, after all.” You snap, “I’m not! Just- Just let it be!”

He snickers, “Why? Is being mad so bad? I believe in madness lies great genius! Only the best people are crazy after all. Hmm…that brings me to the question, is being crazy, the same as being mad?”

You groan frustrated and yell, “Just keep quiet for ten minutes, please.” The Hatter muses, “Agitation, the common second phase of going mad,” he smiles darkly, “I like that, the notion of making you go so insane, you cease to function- no, no!” His eyes widen stopping himself, “No..not cease but ascend, to see things the way I do.”

Beomgyu stands with an eccentric step, “Don’t you feel pity? For the Hatter is lonely in his madness? Won’t you join this Hatter in his madness? In his little stagnant bubble?”

Silence stretches between the both of you as you simply gaze at each other. You didn’t know what to say - were you overwhelmed, drained? You didn’t know. You felt nothing.

Beomgyu grabs a chair and spins it around, sitting on it back to front, resting his chin on the back of the chair with his arms for support. “I don’t like when you’re quiet. That scream you let out earlier was delightful. Could you do it again?”

You give him a blank stare, attempting to get your fried brain to work. His gaze morphs into one of displeasure, “Are you ignoring me?”

You say nothing drilling your blank gaze into his. His jaw tenses, a scary expression on his face, “I don’t quite like what you’re doing, Y/n.”

With a long sigh, he hums, “Fine, fine, I’ll humour you since you’re special. I’ll stop pestering. How about this? I’ll let you down-“ Your eyes brighten and his lips quirk up, “Oh that got your attention now did it? All you had to do was say so, love.” You grit your teeth, piece of shit! As if he’d do so if you asked.

“I’ll let you down, if you play a little game. I think we’ve both been a little too personal with each other an frankly I’m just itching to see how that pretty head of yours works. So let’s lighten the mood. Riddles.”

You groan loudly, “No…I can’t even think straight now.” Beomgyu giggles, “That’s because you’re upside down silly!” If you could just wrap your hands around his neck and-

“Anyway, you don’t have a choice, love! I’m good at keeping promises, so don’t worry. All you have to do is answer the riddles correctly and I’ll untie you.”

“What if we raise the stakes? If I answer them correctly, you’ll let me go?” You murmur. His face morphs into one of disdain, “Come now love, that’s not what we agreed to do.” You snap, “We, we? We didn’t agree to anything? It’s all you!”

“You, me, he, she, whatever, whatever, all these are trivial details!” He exclaims. You smirk catching him off guard, “You’re afraid.”

He stiffens, his eyes narrowing, “Afraid? Of what?” Time. But you didn’t want to say that outright. You murmur, “Of me winning. Moving ahead. So you don’t even want to put that option on the table. Because there will always be the tiniest sliver of a chance that I’ll win.”

For a moment, you see his lips twitch and twist upwards and his head snap into a tilt, “Oh. Oh you think you’re so clever don’t you?”

You hum, “I do.” You expect him to seethe with anger but instead he smiles widely, “Good, I like guests with a little spunk. By far, you’re my favourite yet.”

“So you agree to my terms?” You beam. The Hatter muses sardonically, “Of course not, love. Don’t be foolish. Even if you left, you’d not be able to break the loop.”

“And how do you break the loop exactly?” You raise a brow asking. The Mad Hatter observes you amused, “You can’t.”

“I’m sure I can, there has to be a way,” you retort. “There is, one guest managed to. Pesky little brat,” he grits out. You hum, “Care to share?” Beomgyu sarcastically smiles, “When you win my game, I will.”

“Fine, if I win, you’ll tell me how to break the loop,” you mutter. He muses, “Mm, I’ll think about it. Actually, I don’t know. I lied.”

Fury bubbles up within you. Of fucking course! He resumes, “Anyway, first riddle. I can be cracked, made and told. What am I?”

Your brain whirrs slowly. Everything seemed foggy. Cracked? What on Earth? Think, think, think Y/n! Your brows furrow as you see his smug smile. Told…made…? Cracked? Oh-your eyes widen. A joke! A joke!

Before your lips part to answer, you hold back. Why did you have to oblige him? He never promised you anything. Who said you had to give the right answer? You tentatively murmur, “A…secret.”

He stiffens, before snickering, “Oh love, that’s incorrect.” You feign innocence, “A secret can be told, made, and cracked, can it not?” The Hatter’s lips part and then close for a moment and he scoffs, “The answer was a joke, love, a joke. Come now, that was easy.”

“I’m technically right,” you snap. Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “No, you’re not.” You scoff, “It fits the criteria!” He muses, “It doesn’t fit my criteria.” You notice the surprise in his gaze as if he expected you to get the riddle right off the bat.

Hm. Perhaps the key, was to unsettle the Hatter. Use his weakness against him. Time. Lower his guard and attack. He mutters, “Second riddle, I’ll make it even easier this time,” he sighs drawling out his words, “The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?”

Oh you’d heard this one before! It was footsteps! You furrow your brows deep in thought. Beomgyu sharply observes you and muses, “Oh come on, this is a classic riddle, don’t tell me you don’t know this? How did you even get this far then?”

Tiredly, you sigh, “I…I don’t know. I just…don’t know.” His gaze shifts and he mutters, “What’s this…this was supposed to be more exciting.” He scoffs, “Whatever, just say an answer, don’t keep me waiting.” You see him tapping his foot and you have to refrain from smirking, he’s giving you a hint.

You think deeply. Hm, the more you take. The more you leave behind. The more time you take. The more time you leave behind. Time. You could also say time. How…perfect.

“Time.” You utter. The Hatter’s slouch diminishes and his gaze blazes into you, “What? That’s preposterous? How? How in Wonderland do you mess that up?” You feign being disoriented, “I- Is that not right? Everything feels…so…ugh.”

Beomgyu’s eyes narrow, his grip on the back of the chair tightening, “It’s footsteps! The second one is also wrong!” You let out a laugh and you see his right eye twitch. “What’s so funny, that I’m not laughing with you?” He questions.

You laugh louder, “You…you look confused.” His body tenses and he observes you laughing to yourself. Had you truly gone mad? He himself mirrors your laughter, “Has that head of yours been upside down for a little too long? My, my, perhaps my riddles are too complex for you at the moment. You’re losing your sanity as we speak.”

You snap, feigning anger, “No! I-“ His lips form a devilish smile, “Oh but you are, love.” You clutch your head and groan, “No, no, no-“ you let out a frustrated yelp, and you gaze into his eyes widely, “Please, just let me down!”

Beomgyu regards you for a long time before finally stepping forward. He reaches into his pocket pulling out a handkerchief, a flower, a broken pocket watch and then he scoffs in irritation. “Nothing to cut you down with.”

You gaze at the fractured glass of the pocket watch on the grass . How curious that he still had such an item with him. He grabs a knife and walks over beginning to slice at the rope around your ankles, “Do cover your head, don’t want you knocking what’s left of your sanity right out of you upon impact now, do we?”

It had worked! How odd…he caved in quicker than expected. You yelp as you feel yourself fall into a crumpled heap on the ground. The urge to vomit surfaces from the sheer blood rushing back to where it’s supposed to be. God…you felt awful.

You sit up groaning, hair disheveled and panting for breath. Beomgyu crouches tossing the knife aside and grabs your jaw tilting your head upwards, “You’re certainly something, y’know that?” His eyes scan down your flushed face and he smirks amused by your state, his thumb tugs at your lower lip, “Such a pretty thing. I almost feel bad. But if it means you can see things from my point of you, then I’m indeed happy to enable your insanity. Because what I’m doing, what you’re experiencing,” he leans closer; his sweet breath caresses your cheeks, “is your mind being freed. Sanity is the chain which holds you down, but madness, insanity, it opens your mind. You might be feared, marginalised but they don’t know how we think. They fear the unknown, what we’re capable of.”

You gaze into his eyes. God, that face. The type of face you’d believe anything that’d come out of his sinful lips. He whispers, “With every moment, everything you do, it just feels intoxicating. You so…unpredictable, so…thrilling. I love it. I love everything about you so far.” The words send a dark unease through you.

You question, voice just above a whisper, “Tell me, why did you kill time? It’s because you fear the passage of it. The passage of time means you’ll eventually be forgotten.” Beomgyu’s fingers dig into your jaw and his eyes darken, “You don’t get it. Being forgotten- ah, ha,” he brokenly muses, “No, no, no, you don’t understand it like I do.”

You murmur softly, placing your hand timidly atop his, “Then explain it to me.” His eyes widen bizarrely by your sudden compassion, “What are you up to?” You muse, “You don’t trust me?”

His eyes narrow and you see his lips twitching trying to refrain from smiling, “I don’t. But I want to.”

“I won’t leave,” you murmur and add on, “Not like I can. Even if I did, I’d be stuck in this godforsaken loop, that you so, kindly won’t tell me how to break,” you emphasise and he snorts, “Oh I genuinely don’t know. Even I can’t break it. As I said, it’s part of my punishment. As long as I exist, it will exist also.”

You hum, “If you cease to exist?” His eyes widen panicked, “No- no that can’t be. I can never die in this realm. Time has to pass for that.” Time to throw a wrench into his philosophy.

With a small smile, you utter, “You don’t exist outside of Wonderland.” His gaze snaps to yours, “What?”

“No one knows you outside of this world,” you say bleakly. Your hand tightens across his. You had to make him break down, had to keep him distracted until you could think of something more concrete.

“That’s…preposterous,” he stammers, “Even if I don’t technically exist there, I still exist here. I’m still alive.” You murmur, “That girl who once escaped, surpassed the loop, she must have forgotten you, no?”

You remember the caterpillar’s words. Only one of the many guests here had escaped Wonderland. That must be her!

Beomgyu rips his hand away roughly and his gaze darkens. Your notice his breathing become ragged and a mixture of anger and panic on his visage. Beomgyu trembles, “Stop it- don’t remind me of such nonsense! She…no. Forgotten me? I had almost driven her insane, there’s no way she could have forgotten me?”

You continue, “She’s escaped, living her normal life, what, perhaps years have passed in the real world? You think she’d remember you still? The older she gets the more you fade.”

With a shaky breath, you say, “Have you not considered, that by killing time, you’ve only inhibited your ability to progress, to remain relevant. What you’ve done, is confined yourself to the past.” Beomgyu’s eyes dart back and forth and he screams, “Stop, stop, stop!”

A manic chuckle emits from him, “I-I-I know what you’re doing Y/n. I know your little tricky mind game!” You shake your head, “I’m not playing any games. I’m saying my thoughts on our predicament,” you smile widely, “What’s wrong in that?” You inquire, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Beomgyu yells infuriated, “No! No! No! You are not! Such insolence- I- how dare you?” It gives you a strange satisfaction to see him like this. Were you sick for enjoying tormenting his already fragile psyche like this? Maybe. Perhaps Wonderland had indeed taken its toll on you. So why were your lips itching to break into a delirious smile?

You catch a flicker of movement in the sky. The birds, you swear their wings flapped for a second. Your heart races - were you seeing things?

Beomgyu clutches his head distraught, “No, no, I killed time, time is only bound to make things worse! I’m not trapped in the past, I…I just want to preserve the moment. Don’t you get it? How don’t you get it?”

You peer at him with a grimace and he lets out an unhinged cackle dragging his hand down his face, “You’re looking at me like I’m mad? I am, I am?” He chortles to himself. “Oh…I’m a mess...”

Your eyes widen as you see the bunting move a little, the birds’ wings flap. Wait…did that mean time was passing? You glance back down at the deranged Hatter. Guilt and pleasure mix within you. His madness was the key to your escape. He had grown comfortable with his own twisted philosophy, and now that you were intentionally provoking him, provoking his conscience entirely, it seemed to mess with the loop.

With a smile, you bend down picking up the cracked pocket watch, “Why have this with you?”His eyes widen and he goes to snatch it before you place it behind your back, “For someone who doesn’t care much about time, you have something like this.”

“Don’t test me, love,” he grits out standing. You attempt to compose yourself and keep your fear in check as you inhale, “Does the truth hurt? The fact that you’ve trapped yourself in this bubble of time. Whilst everyone outside forgets about you? After I escape, don’t you want me to remember you, Beomgyu?”

Beomgyu marches forward, his hand flies to your throat as he slams you against the tree. The bark digs into your back and you grimace as his fingers dig into your neck. The broken pocket watch slips out of your fingers.

He clicks his tongue rapidly in annoyance as he snarls, “You sly vixen, you think you can just talk your way out of this? You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know anything at all! It seems you’ve truly gone bonkers!” Choked gasps and splutters leave your lips as you try to pry his hand off.

Your eyes flutter up and you can’t help but smile stupidly at the sight, the birds were moving, flapping away. This so-called punishment given by time was intrinsically linked to his mind and consciousness. No wonder he was as mad as he was.

Beomgyu’s eyes widen dumbfounded by the sight of you smiling as he chokes you out. The stagnant air seems to dissipate around him, the scent of nostalgia dissipates and he feels the brush of a hefty breeze against his skin for the first time in a long time.

Beomgyu tugs you forward, his face inches from yours as he seethes, “What? What are you grinning about?” You rasp out, “T-Time,” you cough, “is…moving.”

His hand immediately lets you go as you collapse, gasping for air. He looks up, where were the same three birds which hovered in the air? Why were the clouds moving so jaggedly, almost buffering?

Panic fills Beomgyu’s system as he stumbles back at the horrific sight. Time will always continue. After all, time makes everyone his fool. And now, the biggest fool of them all, was Beomgyu. The Mad Hatter.

A distraught and strangled laugh escapes Beomgyu’s throat as he peers at the livelier environment. Trees rustling, the sunlight glimmering. Tears drip down his face as he laughs, “I have not killed time, but time has killed me! How funny! Is that not hilarious?”

His head snaps to you as he cackles, “Laugh! Laugh, laugh, laugh it up! I’ve been the fool all along? Who was I to think I could outsmart time itself when it was in fact time who kept me trapped in my own consciousness, to be a fool who was but a mere memory!”

You gaze at the Hatter who had been shattered beyond recognition. His chronic phobia of the passage of time had seemed to overtake any remaining sense of rationale. With a cautious step back, you peer at the forest at the horizon. You just needed to slip away now…

Beomgyu beams brightly as sparkling tears run down his cheeks, “Oh, you…you, you. Never before have I seen such cunning, such a pretty face,” he coos before growling, “But twisted mind.”

Beomgyu steps forward, “How does it feel to have broken the Hatter? Huh? Huh? Not only have I been shattered once, but now twice?” He bursts out into another fit of laughter before his crazed eyes gaze lands upon you once more, “That smile on your face… you liked it. You like seeing me suffer, you’re just as depraved as we all are here in Wonderland.”

Your heart drops; no. You…,couldn’t be. Depraved? You wouldn’t go so far to be depraved- okay, perhaps you were enjoying tormenting him a little but that’s just because you were getting closer to a way out- you weren’t twisted or sadistic?

He breathlessly chuckles stepping forward, wiping away his continuous tears, “You’re singlehandedly the most twisted guest I’ve ever received.”

Fuck. You were so close. You step back timidly; you catch him looking at your feet and he runs his hands through his ebony locks, smiling widely to himself, “Oh, look at you, look. at. you.” He muses, closing his eyes as if trying calm his rage, “Get out.”

Your body stiffens at his words. Did you mishear him? “What?” You ask, quivering.

Beomgyu drags a hand down his face as he looks down, strands falling over his eyes dangerously, “Get out of my sight, before I make your pretty little head a cake topper for my next tea party.”

You take another step back, and another one. A few more. Finally, you turn around and break out into a sprint, you even glance behind you only to see him standing completely still - his chilling gaze burning into your back with a clear message:

DON’T. EVER. COME. BACK.

With that, you look ahead and run, run and run like your life depends on it toward the eerie forest on the horizon. The sun begins to set once more and the entire place seems to wane, stretch, move and distort, with a new breath of life. A delirious laugh escapes your lips as you run along the decrepit path, wind whips past your face in which you relish immensely.

The Cheshire Cat…what would you face next? Your hands itch, at the rate you were going, you feel like you could…ki-no. No. Compose yourself Y/n. You just wanted to go home. Was that…so hard? No damn cat was going to stop you.

You’d do anything.

Anything to leave. Anything.

As you disappear from his line of sight, a smile laces Beomgyu’s lips and a breathy chuckle emits from him. His knees buckle and he clutches his pounding, overwhelmed head. His brain was truly scattered, broken into mere smithereens.

If you do get past the Cheshire Cat, by which you will, he knows it. That bastard of a cat, will most definitely let you go.

Whilst he may have lost to time, there’s one ounce of peace and one absolute truth that makes him grin so hard that his cheeks hurt.

He’ll never forget you.

Ever.

And he has a feeling, most importantly, you won’t forget him either.

Taglist: [open]

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wildechildwrites · 2 months ago

Text

Run, Rabbit

König/Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, Violence, Injury, Smut, lightly noncon but in the way that you're fighting it but are down, König being insane

No use of Y/N

Summary: You're on a solo mission in Romania, and König goes hunting

A/N: "Oh look another predator/prey coded Konig fic how original" SHUT UP I KNOW

AO3: Run, Rabbit

18+

You’re in the forests of Romania on a solo mission, snooping around an abandoned military base that’s been the location of some suspicious activity, according to your sources. You find the ghost of the for-hire group Kortac in rat-chewed maps and files, faint footprints in layers of dust, but the trail has long gone cold, the building slowly being reclaimed by nature. The trees show no sign of the changes of autumn, but it's in the air, the late summer whisper of a chill in the breeze. You take your time picking your way along the overgrown roads, enjoying the tranquility of the forest. The extraction point is ten clicks west of your position, but you’re content with your steady pace, the sun still high in the sky, shining brightly through the thick foliage, and the hike is an easy one. Your meager findings are carefully folded in your bag of gear, your gun snug on your hip. Ten meters to your right, a red deer raises its head up, watching you warily, before bolting away into the trees. You smile to yourself and raise your face to better feel the sun.

You hear the crack of the shot and drop, but not quickly enough. Your ears ring, your shoulder burning agonizingly, like someone’s pushing a hot poker against it. You fight against the nausea and pain, willing yourself to move, scrambling into the brush for cover. The shot came from your six, and you grapple for your binoculars, trying to locate the shooter on the hill above you. You recognize the mask first, the bleached tear tracks down an executioner's hood, the hulking form of the figure wearing it unfortunately familiar. König is standing casually, seemingly unafraid of any return of fire, staring down like he can see you through the trees. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle instinctually as he begins to move, a sauntering pace down the hill like the slow lope of a wolf. You drop down again, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you crawl through the underbrush.

Nestled low on a hill, large body half buried in the underbrush, König watches you through the scope of his rifle, toying with the idea of killing you. He recognizes you from the files he’s seen on the 141, but there was nothing left at the base for you to find, no reason to draw suspicion and attention back here. You were harmless like this, and magnetic, head tilted towards the sun, your face lit up in a wash of gold light that plays up the color of your hair. His finger brushes lightly across the trigger as he contemplates his options. He rolls his neck loose before glancing through his scope again.

You stop behind a small boulder, pressing your back to it, breathing heavily, and pull your radio off of your hip. “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Seven Four, over.”

The crackle of the radio is a relief, Price’s voice faint but firm. “Go ahead Bravo Seven Four, over.”

“Enemies one; direction east of my grid two hundred meters, injury sustained, six clicks out of extraction point, over.” You peek out from behind the rock, but can't see anything, so you continue your crawl, waiting for a response. The birds have stopped singing, a deadly quiet that warns of danger.

“Stay calm Bravo Seven Four–” Price’s voice is cut off by the sound of another bullet whizzing near you. You can’t have your radio giving away your position, and the squad is too far away to reach you before König could. You grab your radio and quickly press the button.

“Bravo Six, silence, meet at extraction, over.” You turn it off, not waiting for a response, and tuck it back into your belt. Ignoring the growing burning in your shoulder, you move as quickly through the underbrush as you can. You need to cover more ground if you’re going to make it out of here, so you weigh your options, propping yourself into a low crouch, scanning the woods behind you. You can’t see or hear anything. You inhale deeply, then break into a sprint.

The cracking of branches is faint, but König is listening for it, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he searches for you. He immediately changes directions, moving towards the noise and quickening his pace. If you want to run, he’s more than happy to indulge you, relishing the adrenaline of the chase. Your trail is clear, broken branches like a beacon beckoning him closer. He spots blood on one of the low boulders, and swipes it up on his gloved hand, smiling under the mask.

You're hyper aware of your disadvantage, the sounds of snapping branches as your pursuer draws closer, the sluggish flow of blood down your shoulder from where the bullet grazed you. Your lungs burn, head woozy as you run hard, branches scraping at your form. You risk a look over your shoulder, searching for König behind you, and your heart drops when you miss a step.

All of a sudden, you're falling, hands stretched out in front of you as you tumble down a steep hill. You hear and feel the snap of your ankle in your boot, a whimpering sob yanked from your chest as you finally land heavily in some thorn covered bushes, branches scratching your body even through the thick fabric of your uniform. You pull yourself out, ignoring the pain as thorns drag against your face, drawing blood, then scan yourself quickly, the prognosis bleak. You can't run, not with what is definitely a broken ankle, and your shoulder is still oozing freely, but you won’t go down without a fight. You drag yourself through the dirt using your good arm, stopping periodically to listen to the sounds of König moving through the trees. Your entire body burns, and you fight against the growing fatigue that’s threatening to overwhelm you, trying to hold onto your quickly waning adrenaline.

The sound of breaking branches draws nearer. He’s moving faster, heavy footfalls that make your leg muscles twitch with the urge to run. König whistles, high and loud, and you reach for your gun, cocking it as quietly as you can, turning around to face the direction of the noise, crouching low. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear creeping in, the weight of your situation crashing down on you.

“I heard you cry out,” a voice rings through the trees. There's something light in König’s tone, like this has all been a game of tag. “You can't be too far.”

Then the only sound is the breeze, rustling in the leaves. Blood from a cut on your forehead drips into your eye, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, scanning your surroundings as best you can without moving.

The unwelcome feeling of the muzzle of a gun presses against the side of your head, and your body shudders involuntarily.

“Drop your weapon, Häschen,” König murmurs. You comply immediately, tossing it at his feet, unwilling to argue with a Beretta at your temple. The large man quickly kicks your gun into the bushes. “Sit up,” he commands, and you move slowly, trying not to aggravate your broken bone.

The small shack hasn’t been used in a while, the table in the center of the room is covered in dust, and spiders have made their home in the corners, spinning silvery streamers that hang down, brushing against his helmet. König places you lightly on the small bed in the corner, stooping over uncomfortably in the low room. Your hair is full of sticks and leaves, your face scraped and bleeding. He needs to look at your shoulder, and the ankle you’d been hovering over protectively, but work comes first. You’ve thrown him off, his fingers tingling where he held you to him, the phantom pressure of your head on his chest as he carried your unconscious body through the woods haunting him even now. He grabs your gear bag, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table, pulling your medkit to the side before rifling through the papers you’d found. The information was outdated, but he shoves the papers into one of the pockets of his pants for disposal later regardless.

You knew he was large, but kneeling at his feet he feels like a goliath, towering over you, the gun held in his grip looking comically small in his giant hands. He holsters it, and you get a stupid, moronic, brilliant idea. In a quick motion, you’ve ripped your radio off of your belt, pressing down on the button and bringing it to your lips. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY–” König slams the heel of his palm into the back of your head, and the world goes dark.

He doesn’t bother stripping you properly, just takes his knife and slices it up through the collar of your shirt, baring your shoulder to him. His eyes, unbidden, trace the line of the now exposed column of your throat, and he swallows loudly in the quiet of the room. König draws his attention back to your injury with some difficulty. He barely even grazed you, the puckered wound bleeding sluggishly, and he quietly gloats at his own aim. When he pours alcohol on it, you awaken with a hiss, throwing your arm out hard in his direction reflexively before your brain catches up with you. He deflects you easily, wrapping large fingers around your wrist, enjoying the feeling of the delicate bones, watching with silent smugness as your confusion reads clear on your face.

“Guten tag,” he says, pleasantly casual, as though you’ve run into him at the grocery store. Your head is pounding, and you’re thrown, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your shoulder is burning, and you’re suddenly aware of the air on your bare skin. You rip your hand out of his grasp, pulling yourself as far away from him on the small bed as you can manage. He tilts his head, studying you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice hard.

König gestures with the alcohol he’s holding. “I’m patching up your injuries.” His voice is low, his accent curling around the syllables of his sentences like smoke.

You blink at him, utterly disarmed. “Why,” you pause, biting your cheek as a wave of pain radiates through your ankle, “Are you patching up my injuries?”

“Would you prefer it if I left them?” He volleys back lightly, tilting his head.

You don’t say anything, staring at him with suspicion. He’s got you cornered, quite literally, and there’s no way you can get away from him with your ankle like this unless you can get your hands on a weapon. There’s a knife tucked in your boot, but you can’t exactly pull it out subtly. His beretta is on his hip, his rifle is leaning against the table, but you’d be lying to yourself if you thought you had a chance in hell of reaching either before he could.

König takes your silence for compliance and goes back to dabbing your wound with alcohol. You flinch when he places his hand on you, and he makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. “Such a nervous little rabbit.” The mask conceals his expression from you, but you can hear the frown in his voice.

“You shot me,” you respond dryly. “Doesn’t exactly foster trust.”

“Just a scratch. I could’ve killed you, if I wanted to.” He shrugs, a casual movement that’s unintentionally intimidating, your eyes on the way his shoulder muscles move beneath the layers of clothing he wears.

You spend your time with large men, the boys of your team all averaging above six feet, but König is just startlingly gigantic. You scan his torso, eyes tracing across the wide planes of his chest, lingering too long to be decent. You catch yourself and drop your gaze down to your hands. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?”

“I want to know what you are doing here.” His tone is still pleasant, but interrogative. His fingers are deliberate, surprisingly gentle as he bandages your shoulder, but there’s an unspoken thread of tension in the air.

You’re much more docile when he patches up your ankle, an uneasy truce between the two of you. You sit still as he splints it, legs draped almost intimately over his lap, his large fingers curled around your injured leg, gentle pressure holding you steady as he works. He adjusts his hold, squeezing lightly on the meat of your calf, and your breathing stutters. His eyes flick to yours, something dangerous in their expression, and you hold his gaze as you deliberately drag your uninjured leg closer to you, your boot trailing across König's upper thighs intentionally. His eyes slip close at the sensation, just for a moment, and that's when you act, yanking your knife out of your boot and sinking it into his thigh and launching yourself to the floor. He lets out a snarling cry, and you scramble up, your vision going white from the pain of your ankle, but you push through it, sprinting out of the shack.

“Chasing shadows.” You respond, your voice equally mild. You know he looked through your pack and probably found the papers. You wonder if he thought it was ironic that you came sniffing after KorTac, just to run right into him. You certainly did.

You can't run properly, reduced to a hobble that's made all the more difficult by the fact that you're on uneven terrain in the quickly growing dark. You need to figure out your location and find a way to contact your team, but you’re disoriented and disarmed. You haven’t made it more than a few meters when you hear the sound of the front door slam open. You pick up the pace, trying to put as much distance between you and the very angry Austrian hot on your trail.

“Häschen,” König’s voice rings through the trees, and a trickle of fear runs through you. You duck behind a tree, pressing yourself against it firmly, trying to blend in with the darkness.

“Always trying to run away,” he snarls, shoving his body against yours. He thrusts his uninjured thigh between your legs, pinning you further, and you let out an unintentional gasp at the sudden pressure of hard muscle against your core. König instantly pulls away, his eyes shooting down to your ankle with concern, before dragging slowly up your body, his gaze accusatory.

He can hear you breathing, light and quick, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the heavy sound of his footsteps as he closes in on you. He whips around the tree you’re cowering against, and you try to bolt, but he wraps his fingers around your bicep, yanking you back, slamming his hands above your head, trapping you against the tree.

“You like this,” he says, and you shake your head desperately.

“I don’t–” he interrupts any denials you might have, deliberately grinding his thigh in between your legs. You clench your teeth against the noise it draws from your throat.

He leans impossibly closer, your noses almost brushing through the hood he wears. “Did you like the chase as well?” His voice is a husky rumble, full of heat, and you have to bite back a whine. “I liked the chase.” You realize the hard length against your stomach isn't his Beretta, and an unwanted spike of arousal shoots through you in response.

“You’re insane,” you snap, grappling for some semblance of control over the building pleasure in your core. König pulls away from you abruptly, and you flush at how wet you are, soaking through your underwear.

“How about a game, Häschen?” his voice has lost its edge, back to the pleasant tone he used in the shack, and your head spins at the sudden change. “I'll give you five minutes to run or hide, and if you can make it ten minutes without me finding you, I’ll take you to your extraction point myself, safe and sound.”

Your heart races. You don’t trust him, but there's no way you'll get another chance to get away from him. “And if I can’t?” You ask.

You know you’re fucked, but you scramble through the darkness as quickly as you can, trying to find a good place to hide. If your ankle wasn’t broken, you’d climb a tree, but you’re stuck searching for ground cover, listening with mounting paranoia to the quiet noises of the forest. You’re a celestial body pulled unwillingly into König’s orbit; collision unavoidable.

He says nothing, just purposefully presses his hard cock against your center. Traitorous want flows through you.

You hear him coming, branches breaking as he stalks towards you. You stand as straight as you can, letting him approach you, his eyes bright in the dim of twilight. When he comes within range, you lunge for his gun, almost succeeding in yanking it out of the holster before he grabs you around the waist and pulls you to the ground, pinning you roughly beneath him.

Even as he manhandles you, you're hyper aware of the delicate way he avoids putting any weight near your injured shoulder. He's got your legs splayed around him, but he's careful, adjusting you just so, keeping your ankle tucked safely away, angled so he won't jostle it. His hips press obscenely against your ass, and you can't help arching your back into him, begging for his cock even as you swear at him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, and he just laughs, an off-putting, mean sound, before reaching around and ripping open your pants. The button pops off, and the zipper teeth split forcefully apart as he shoves a hand into your underwear.

“Complain all you want, Häschen, but you're soaked for me,” he coos into your ear, roughly rubbing your clit. You moan at the contact, and he moves his hand lower, pressing his palm against your clit before shoving a finger into your wet center, roughly splitting you open. You gasp at the sudden stretch, König giving you no time to adjust as he pulls his finger out for a moment and plunges it back in, moving in and out at a punishing pace.

“Tell the truth.” He orders, adding a second finger. He curls them, stroking your inner walls, bullying you open until he finds the spot that makes you see stars. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

You're beyond words, making a derisive noise that transforms into a whine as you move your hips back, driving König's fingers deeper, your ass rubbing against his clothed erection. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours, his fingers unspooling you, pulling you apart as he pants along with you. The tension is building, the knot in your stomach tightening as König forces you closer to the edge.

He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you devastatingly empty and unsatisfied, and you let out an anguished whimper despite yourself. He pushes your pants roughly down around your thighs, and the purr of his zipper opening makes you clench reflexively around nothing.

He presses right against your entrance, a breath away from splitting you open on his cock. You shove your hips back, trying to fuck yourself onto him, and he pulls back. “Say you want this,” he demands.

“Fuck. You.” You snarl, even as your thighs tremble. He drags the head of his cock up through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and you gasp.

“Such spirit,” he murmurs. In a single motion, he sinks into you, splitting you in open, pulling the air from your lungs.

He thrusts into you fast and hard, like he wants to tear you open, and it hurts, even with how soaked you are. You cry out, trying to squirm away from the pain. His fingers find your clit again, his breath hot in your ear. He dwarfs you, your legs shaking from pleasure and the weight of him on top of you, pressing you into the dirt.

“You wanted this.” His voice is a panting snarl, his talented fingers stealing your senses as he forces you closer to your orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the forest air as he pounds into you without mercy. “Say it.”

“I want this,” you whimper. You feel the shocking whisper of his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder and realize with a start that means he’s not wearing his hood. All thoughts are shoved out of your head as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and you wail as you snap, the sensation dragging you over the edge, your body trembling as you cum. His thrusts become sloppy, his cock twitching inside you as he shoves his hips against yours, filling you up. He stays like that, flush against you, as his dick softens, keeping you full and trapped under him.

You lay in the dirt panting, hollowed out and raw. There are pine needles prickling against your skin, soreness awakening in your limbs as you come back to yourself. König climbs off of you, still cognizant of your injuries, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a lover, the brutality melting into tenderness like watercolor. His hood is back in place, and the world comes crashing down around you as your senses return, the weight of your actions pulling you down as regret and shame bubble under your skin.

The walk to the extraction point is silent. König holds you cradled against his chest; your hand fisted in the front of the vest he wears. His thigh burns, his entire body consumed with exhaustion, but he clenches his jaw against the pain, focusing instead on your face, turnt up towards him, open and vulnerable, eyes rimmed with red. If he was a better man, he'd be sorry.

König notices your eyes glazing over, the warble of your chin, and reaches up a large hand to cradle your face, wiping away tears you didn't realize were threatening to fall. “Hush bunny, you did so well,” he croons down at you, his saccharine actions thrown in high relief against how violently he handled you before. “Such a good girl for me.”

He sets you down gently on a large rock, and pulls your knife out of a hidden pocket, his hand raised in a placating gesture as he slowly places it beside you. It’s still got his blood on it, dried to rust on the tip. You don’t reach for it, pulling your uninjured leg up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You look even smaller than you did before.

He straightens his spine against the odd sensation in his chest. “Tell your captain to keep a closer eye on his men,” He orders, then reaches out a hand, hovering just above your cheek bone. Neither of you bridge the gap.

You watch him disappear into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole, the sound of a helicopter in the distance.

#konig: i showed minimal restraint when causing u bodily harm y wont u let me hit #part of me didnt want to post it because its simply so unoriginal but thats kind of how tropes work fun fact #I also just hate how it turned out eventually I'll rewrite everything but for now I'm just sorry #foreplay is actually shooting someone nonfatally btw #and reader has a pain tolerance like a mother fucker because this is poorly written fanfiction #I cannot write smut I literally wrote everything but the sex and then sat on it for weeks I have such a hard time with it #konig x reader #konig fanfiction #konig x reader smut #konig x you #cod konig #konig/reader #cod x reader #konig cod

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akutasoda · 2 months ago

Text

| | "drink my love, keep my blood"

╰ ➜ includes - dracula!argenti

⇢warnings - gn!reader, fluff, kind of angst?, implied to be set in 1890-93, maybe ooc?, small mentions of food/wine, mention of blood, wc - 3.7k

taglist - @mitsvriii, @tragedy-of-commons, @tetrachrxmacy, @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

a/n: my chosen prompt was "dracula"! hehe here's my entry for the stellaronhvnters event <3 had so much fun writing this :) got very carried away...

this was a mistake.

you should've listened to your rationality, now it was too late, now you were stuck dredging through a forest in a storm. the rain was relentless, piercing through the thin layers of clothing you hastily threw on prior to departure. the tiny droplets fell in clumps that felt like tiny blades clawing into you. chills racked through your body - you could even feel the oncoming cold that would haunt your body for ages afterwards, if you even made it back.

when you left, the clouds hung low in the sky and were a warning in themselves for what was forecasted for later. you ignored them however, thinking you could run a final errand before the storm. a grave miscalculation. the dreary clouds blocked out any possible light that could seep through and illuminate your path. not that any light would have been seen, it was most likely night by this time. you didn't have an exact idea but it felt like you'd been out for ages and were confident that the sun had set.

unwanted confidence was held in the idea that the storm was not due to pass anytime soon. the barrage of rain seemed to only worsen by the very minute. your feet were aching, your clothes clung to your frame in a feeble attempt to keep you warm but it only served to bring the moisture closer to your very core, and your eyes drooped low in fatigue - the bag you carried only served to tire you out more but you didn't dare lose it.

the hopeful part of yourself was dying, falling away as quick as the rain fell from the sky. dragging yourself steadily through mud and foliage, you cursed your previous self for deciding to take such a risk. your vision was limited, but a deep rooted part of yourself knew that you were lost. never before had you dared venture this far into the forest bordering your home. you tried turning around and heading back the way you assumed was where you had come from, but that seemed to be a hopeless, last ditch effort thought. now it was getting harder to think straight, the fatigue was overwhelming and the storm filled your vision making everything look the same,

you were convinced this was it. the chances of you surviving the night in such conditions were slim.

very faintly, footfall could be made out in the distance. walking most likely based on the periodic steps. you assumed it was an animal, some poor critter that had been caught up within the storm but you thought that the animal would be moving with more urgency - to shelter from the storm, something you wished you could do about now. now the footsteps were getting closer, heavier, and then it occurred to you. was it a human?

nobody was insane enough to trudge through a forest in a storm. nobody that didn't have good intentions. all of a sudden, the downpour was no longer your biggest concern. it was the potential threat of someone else in the forest with you. with visibility low, movement limited, and fatigue wearing down your limbs, if that person had bad intentions you wouldn't be able to do anything. you couldn't even muster the strength to run and hide. you stared down the direction of the approaching figure and with every step they took, it became more apparent it was in fact a person.

features were blurry. the only thing you could make out was a cloak, one that draped over their face and covered their body entirely. panic was setting in, but you couldn't do anything. the figure seemed to move quicker and with more emergency as they got close - they were definitely heading towards you, intentions still blurry. a part of you was hopeful, maybe they had been sent out to find you, to take you back and save you from the storm. but doubt was more powerful. overshadowing your hope and dreading the worst.

however, all your concerns were rendered useless as the stranger reached out a hand once in your vicinity -

“take my hand, i can lead you to safety, you just have to trust me”

their voice was soothing, a deep rich tone that radiated something akin to high status, but it sounded honeyed, as if they were genuinely concerned for your safety - and you weren't exactly in a position to be picky. either this stranger did as promised and lead you to safety, or put you out of your misery. either way you were out of the storm. so you took their hand.

it was just as warm as their voice. suddenly you became subconscious about the dampness that clung to your skin, but the stranger didn't seem to mind. you allowed your hope to build back up again. they moved fast, like they had the entire forest mapped out in their mind and you tried to keep up with them, stumbling and tripping over your own feet in the process.

a part of you was concerned that you couldn't see where the stranger was leading you. likelihood would be that to get home you'd need their help to get home, otherwise you probably would only get lost in the forest again.

it wasn't too long before that changed. through the barrage of rain, you looked up at the castle ahead. it was a stunning building from what little you could make out - did this stranger really live here?

the answer was soon revealed as they quickly unlocked the two grand wooden doors, heaving one open with a strength you could only wish to have. they hurried you inside before following suit and pushing the door closed yet again. sealing you inside the castle with them.

the inside was no less cold than the outside. atleast it was dry. it was dark inside, occasional candles were scattered around the walls and on a rather ornate chandelier hung up high. your vision adjusted rather quickly to the dim surroundings and soon you were distracted by stunning architecture of the supposedly glum castle.

from what you could make out, velvet golds paired with silvers and golds made up most of the decor and surroundings. an educated guess could be that it was all very well kept. the architecture was very cathedral like, beautiful arches and stained glass windows were a prominent feature.

something that couldn't go unnoticed was the smell. or more accurately the fragrance. it was sweet. a tad but of spice such as cinnamon, but mainly like honey or even apples. but it carried the same honey-like warmth the stranger did, something you could now place as a reminisce of wine. it wasn't strong, but it was prominent enough to leave you wondering.

all your thoughts were quickly shoved to one side as from the corner of your eye you saw the stranger pull down his hood. a waterfall of vermillion fell below their shoulders, long locks that looked very well cared for. the stranger quickly rid himself of the rest of his cloak before turning to you.

“my name is argenti” he explained “may i know yours?”

you were hesitant to do so, but he had just saved you and so you indulged the man. he offered a warm smile before ushering you further into his abode. argenti explained how he saw you on his way home and couldn't possibly leave you to suffer in the storm. thus bringing you back to his to wait out the storm.

admittedly, you were still wary about him but you were exhausted, cold and near ill. what could be the harm in staying here till the storm passed?

argenti soon walked you down a corridor to a spare bedroom. he offered it to you to use for the time being and soon excused himself to find something for you to wear until your clothes could dry properly. the spare bedroom was no less ornate than the rest of the castle had been.

it was definitely much better quality than anything you could hope to have. you set your bag down on the floor, anything inside it was probably ruined by now. your suspicions were proved correct when you opened the bag and practically found a puddle inside.

luckily, you hadn't lost anything too important. the majority of the bags' contents were fruits and such, small things you picked up as winter was drawing near and so they would become scarcer to grab hold of until spring, or even summer for some. a sigh still escaped you as know you had to remember to find those same things that had been destroyed as soon as you got back home.

soon enough your attention was drawn back to the room. the same theme of crimsons, golds and silvers lined each and every corner. cautiously, you took steps around the room, checking out each and every corner. it did feel a bit invasive but argenti had given you this room until the storm passed, naturally you would have a look.

out of all the luxuries in the room, the most intriguing to you was the bed and bedside table - perhaps your fatigue was getting to you.

the candlelight was still dim but you could still perfectly make out most shapes and details. the bed was certainly impressive. a small touch to its pillows and sheets were enough to convince you that he was certainly of a higher class.

but the luxurious bed was soon forgotten when you spotted a small, dark stain on the corner of the pillows. it looked like something had been split, something red. upon closer inspection, you could make out a faint coppery smell from it. you pushed your thoughts to the back of your mind and turned to the bedside table.

upon it rested a rather ornate vase, holding a full bloom of roses.

reaching a hand out you gently felt the petal, they were a nice shade of ruby with a velvety feeling to them. although something else caught your eye, a small dot of something rested upon the petal. upon your touch, it dripped. a thick crimson droplet fell from the petal and hit the table.

before you had the chance to do anything else, you heard a knock.

that same velvety deep voice called out “may i come in?”

you called back, saying he could, and quickly shot up and paced back over to the now open door.

“apologies, but this was all i could find for you-” he trailed off, looking down toward your bag and shooting his empty hand up to cover his lower face, taking a few steps back.

it startled you and you quickly asked if everything was okay with him. argenti quickly regained composure and let out a small, awkward chuckle, “yes, sorry but is that garlic in your bag?”

you knelt down to your bag, and sure enough it was the garlic you purchased earlier “it is, is something the matter?”

“you see i'm quite allergic to it, if i may ask, can you move it elsewhere for the time being?” his response shocked you.

mainly because you didn't want to give your host an allergic reaction, especially after he saved you and so you grabbed it out the bag - argenti winced as you did so before asking “may i request you throw it out the window”

he didn't miss the shocked look on your face and he quickly continued “i can reimburse you the money to buy more later”

you didn't argue with him and only nodded. he quickly set aside the pile he was carrying, one hand still over his lower face, and rushed to open one window with a key he fished out of his pocket. you waited until he stepped back before rushing forward and throwing the garlic.

argenti thanked you with a smile, locking the window and turning back to pick up the pile of clothes again.

he handed over a small pile of clothes, the fabric was nicer than anything you owned and your current attire was drenched, you'd take anything but clearly he didn't want to give you anything subpar. and so argenti quickly left again to give you room to change - as he left he called out that he'd be making dinner for a short while later.

and true to his word, not too long later, argenti knocked on your door again and escorted you down to the lavish dining hall.

you sat across from him. the dining table was large but not large enough to create such a distance where you couldn't hold a conversation with him. argenti claimed to of made the meal himself - and if so, you were very impressed, it smelled divine.

the whole situation had left you famished so, cautiously, you took helpings of the dishes you found appetising. you took a hesitant bite of the food and it was as if the the divine smell translated perfectly into the taste.

you watched as he starred down into his embellished goblet before swirling it around, whatever it was had an odd smell, almost coppery, but you used it as an opportunity to break the silence

“what's that? is it wine?” the hesitancy in your voice was painstakingly obvious.

“wine? no, i have not such a taste for that” he paused, looking back down once more, taking a sip before asking you a question

“is the food alright?”

you feigned a smile and responded “yeah, it's nice”, looking over at his place at the table you couldn't help but notice the lack of plate, or even cutlery before him “aren't you having any?”

he shook his head with a smile “no, but please don't let my lack of appetite disconcert you” making a vague gesture to the spread along the table he continued “it was all prepared for you”

although you found it hard to enjoy the meal now knowing that your host was not indulging in the food he made - admittedly it made you rather subconscious but not eating what was left on your plate seemed worse.

the rest of dinner was silent, save for the storm that constantly battered against the stained glass and the wind that seeped through cracks in stone and howled upon arrival. or the occasional times argenti stood up and left, goblet in hand, and came back with supposedly a full glass. each time the smell of copper grew stronger.

eventually it was over. argenti soon escorted you back to the spare room and bid you goodnight. he also quickly gave you directions to his chamber, should you need something during your stay, but you were sure to forget them soon enough.

looking over at the bed, you became very aware of the exhaustion that was seconds away from making you collapse. and so you decided to turn in for the night. ideally you would've preferred to leave ages ago, but the storm was no less better than it was hours ago. so tonight you would have to sleep in argenti’s castle - you were just lucky he was so accommodating..

yet in spite of this, sleep wasn't coming easy to you. whether it was because of the fact you were staying overnight in a castle owned by someone you barely knew, the storm, or the constant feeling of somebody, or something, watching you. but you did notice something in between your tossing turning-

that smell was back.

that rusty, metallic smell that was present during dinner. except it was stronger. more potent than you would've liked - so much so that it was sickly. it was heavy in the air, overpowering the usual sweet cinnamon fragrance.

at this point you were convinced that everywhere in the castle would have an underlying scent of copper.

the next thing you noticed was the sound of something being dragged, just past the door to your room. to say you were freaked out was an understatement. getting up and checking it out seemed like a horrible idea, so you didn't. or you at least waited until it seemed reasonable that if there was someone, they would've been gone.

however, before you could move, you heard footsteps walk back past your door. toward the entrance hall if you recalled correctly. so you waited until they were faint among the sounds of the storm.

cautiously, you made your way to the door. slowly opening it, praying the wood wouldn't creak, and poking your head out looking left and right. it was dark, you couldn't make out much, maybe it was just the walls battling with the storm.

you had no clue what had come over you, but a sudden burst of confidence made you take a couple cautious steps into the cold hallway. candles were truly useless, they were dim and barely gave off heat but they were all you had to illuminate your way.

your steps were quickly faltered when you stepped on something. a liquid. lowering the candle, a trail of crimson slightly turned orange by the flickering flame was leading all the way past your room. looking to the side, it clearly went deeper down the hallway-

someone was watching you.

you felt the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. slowly, filled with dread, you turned around. and there he was.

argenti was stood at the other end of the hallway, wearing that same cloak from earlier, expect this time you could make out faint marks covering most of it. marks that weren't that different to the ones on the floor.

“what are you doing up?” his voice was gentle, like it was trying to soothe you - something that contradicted his actions as he slowly walked towards your figure that was rooted to the spot.

noticing your lack of answer he kept going “did something wake you?”

he was now within less than a meter from you. that coppery smell clung to him like a blanket and it was overwhelming, it made you want to gag. from this close up you could definitely say that the stains and blotches coating his previously pristine coat, were in fact that same crimson trail below.

shakily, you nodded and he gave you a sympathetic smile “ah apologies, was it the storm? afraid there's not much to do, perhaps trying to sleep again is your only option”

was that? was that what you thought it was?

a part of you was convinced that you had seen something, a fang or two, peeking out when he spoke. no. you were tired. your mind was playing tricks on you, surely argenti wasn't…

“if i may ask politely, please return to your room and try and get some sleep.” he stopped to to urge you to turn around “when the storm passes you have a long trip back”

you mindlessly complied. there was no point in overthinking, if argenti really was going to hurt you he would've done so by now, right? one night. that was all. and at this point you didn't even know what to think. your mind too frazzled, scared, and you too exhausted that you just wanted the storm to pass and go home.

and as you tried to get back to sleep, the only thought that crossed your mind was, is argenti really what you thought he was? was he a vampire? you thought they were fictional, a ghost story, the signs were all there but maybe not…

you woke up after what felt like the worst sleep of your life, despite the fact you probably had slept in the most comfortable bed in your life. you quickly found the pile of your now dry clothes and dressed. you desperately wanted to leave, to not overstay your welcome.

argenti found you quickly after you exited the spare room. he showed you to the front door very quickly after hearing you wanted to leave as soon as possible - he was hoping you'd stay for breakfast but he didn't want to force you.

he opened the heavy wooden door again, and you noticed how he stopped at the door, not crossing into the daylight. he smiled “apologies but there is something i have to tend to, don't fear i have requested someone to escort you back the way we came”

in the sunlight you could now tell that there was some kind of pair of fangs peeking out from behind his lips.

“they should be here soon” argenti glanced away to the forest before looking back at you “i do hope we meet sometime in the future”

that sickly sweet smile made you want to run. now that you were refreshed and not worried about dying in a storm you could clearly see all the signs. it made you uneasy. you really just spent the night in a vampire's castle…

you shook the thoughts away and left, grateful to have the opportunity to return home alive. that was it. you'd never see him again, it was best to forget and move on.

although, you could never shake the idea that someone, something, was watching you. through all your theories and attempts to shake the feeling, you never noticed the light scarlet bat that hung outside your house at night.

it wasn't too long after that night that you walked past a group of kids and one adult. and you could never forget the way your blood froze when you saw the adult gesture to the woods you got lost in and say -

“dracula. a creature of the night, don't tempt your fate out in those woods”

#stwf : pumpkin patch!#x reader #x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #argenti x reader #argenti x you #hsr argenti

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