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drsugarsweet · 9 months ago

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You Won't See Me

Fae!Rubber Soul x Reader

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Synopsis: Life seems to be perfect once you've moved to the cottage of your dreams; the peace and quiet is lovely, the sounds of birdsong greet you every morning, and the Old Woods prove to be bountiful with wild foods. There's just one problem. You haven't gone unnoticed.

TW: Fae typical mind games, mild derealization Note: reader is GN, no pronouns aside from 'you' are used.

Masterlist ☆。*。☆。

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AN: Me, taking the chance to wax poetic about my favorite background character? More likely than you think. It was hard to decide on who specifically fit the Fair Folk since a lot of characters work, but c'mon, pretty boy that messes with people? I couldn't resist.

The taste of wild honeysuckle is strong on your tongue as you stride purposefully along the forest path.

The day is glorious. Sunlight warms your skin and peers through gaps in the leaves in a beautiful mosaic of emeralds and jades, whispering pines and ancient oaks. The Old Forest is not where you belong, but it feels like your home. The cottage that lies on the edge of the treeline is your destination nonetheless. Leaves swirl about the dirt trail you’ve treaded many times before and the forest feels alive with birdsong and insect calls.

Heavy upon your arm is a wicker basket loaded with foraged goods. It’s a pastime you’ve taken up ever since you moved to the abandoned cottage. It took some time and many, many books to grow more comfortable with the edible bounty of the forest, but it's been beyond worth it for the sheer variety you can find. The elderberries and chamomile will be used for tea, while the dandelions can make a fine jam. The lamb’s ear, sorrel and garlic tied into bundles will be a perfect addition to your meals for the evening amidst eggs from your chickens and whatever else you can throw in. Finally, nestled in the middle of the basket is your greatest prize: a crop of wild strawberries, rubies of red in their crowns of leaves, the likes of which you’ve not seen in months. Your mouth waters at the thought of the pie they’ll make and your step quickens along the mossy trail.

It’s easy to get lost in your thoughts of delicious meals. It’s easy to almost miss the way the path splits into two branches, one that you’ve traveled many a time and one that wasn’t here when you entered the forest in the morning. What you don’t miss is the ring of mushrooms conspicuously hidden amongst the leaves and weeds dead set in the middle of the path you need to take.

Oh, no way you’re falling for that. You know enough about the beings of this forest to know their tricks. The amount of research you did on the area before moving out here has offered plenty of knowledge, and you know that this ring is a sure sign of the Fair Folk. No way you’re falling for it. There’s one problem however; the ring is large enough to occupy the whole path, and the newer one is all that is left. You trust it as much as a fly trusts a spider, but it seems marginally safer. You take a deep breath and move towards the path less traveled.

At first glance, it isn’t too unusual. The leaves shelter more of the ground and the dappling of the light grows dimmer, but it isn’t dark enough that you would miss any more obvious rings. From this distance you can see that the path seemingly merges back into your original route. It should be fine as long as you’re careful, right? The moss grows thicker along the path and dainty ferns brush your ankles from the sides, the birdsong growing more chaotic the further you go. It sets every inch of you on edge but you do your best to hide any expression of nervousness for fear of prying eyes catching on.

Speaking of prying eyes… You’re being watched.

It isn’t the normal sensation of all-encompassing eyes that come from being in the lively forest. The feeling on the back of your neck is heavy and sharp. The eyes are hungry , and yet you’ve never encountered a wolf or mountain lion or any other predator of the sort out here. There’s a fear settling into your gut that you know exactly what is watching you.

Your suspicions of being followed are proven correct, not by the snap of a twig or the thud of footsteps on earth, but by a laugh. The sound is ethereal - no man laughs with such a musical voice, flowing over and around you like the heady breeze of a summer evening. You’re aware of the presence getting ever closer to your side when you catch a glimpse of someone, some thing from the corner of your eye. Whatever it is, it’s humanoid. It’s larger than you too. If you’re right in suspecting that it’s one of the Fair Folk, then you know better than to look directly. You focus instead on your steps, one foot in front of the other as you hope the end of the path comes soon.

The presence doesn’t give you much of a chance to ignore it. As the being moves to walk next to you, matching each step with ease, you realize you’ve been holding your breath. The scent of sap and exotic fruits and sickly sweet decay teases your senses.

“Now, what’s a sweet thing like you doing out here alone? These woods are dangerous, y'know.” The being is the first to speak. There’s a smugness to the tone that makes you think of a sleazy salesman, smooth and oily and dangerous . The image would almost make you laugh if you weren’t petrified deep down. Still, it would be rude to ignore a member of the fae, and you really want to leave these woods untouched.

“I’m aware of the dangers, I was simply gathering food for my meal. I might ask the same of you, if you’re so inclined?” Not once have those eyes left your form. You want to look - some terrible, hungering curiosity has gripped you - but you wouldn’t dare.

The stranger hums, in agreement or amusement you can’t tell. They seem to be distracted as that feeling of being watched lifts for a moment. You take the chance to peer over hurriedly, your curiosity getting the best of you. Maybe part of you hopes that you’ll see a simple traveler like yourself - a mysterious lumberjack or hiker that you missed earlier. One quick lookover disproves that. You see a being more beautiful than any human you've ever known and ice floods your veins despite the balmy heat the stranger radiates.

Whoever they are, this not-person is gorgeous . Alabaster skin and amber eyes practically glow under the midafternoon sun; in contrast, you see a wild mane of ebony hair that reminds you more of a crow’s feathers, and upon closer look there are feathers scattered throughout their hair. There’s more muscle-bound body exposed to your flustered gaze than you think you’ve ever seen in polite company and really, it’s a miracle you manage to pull your eyes away from ample cleavage and rippling abs at all. They’re terrifyingly alluring and your eyes practically strain from looking at them too long already. If they notice, they don’t comment as their silver tongue drips more honeyed words.

“I live… Close by. I hardly fear these woods. Still, won’t you let me walk you home? I’m sure I can keep your company!”

You swear you see a flash of fang and iridescent skin before it’s gone in a flash. The being is leaning towards you now and the smell of rotting fruit grows stronger. You don’t want this thing to know where you live. At the same time, you fear that saying no will just result in the forest becoming a magical labyrinth until you agree. With a sigh, you figure it’s the only thing you really can do.

“Alright, you may accompany me to the edge of the forest. After that, we’ll have to part ways.” The being grins widely and straightens up and you can swear that you heard them trill like an insect at your acquiescence. Just what have you gotten yourself into? By this point, the split path converges again and you’re on slightly more familiar turf. It isn’t your garden or your home however and you know you aren’t safe yet.

For a minute, you think, you hope that the fae will lose interest in you if you stay silent. That would be far too lucky for your day as the being once again calls for your attention in that voice of wind chimes.

"That is simply perfect. And may I have your name? I'd love to know a pretty little thing like you all the better!" They grin at you all too sharply and for a moment you know how a mouse must feel under the gaze of a barn cat. It's a trick that you're prepared for.

"You may call me Hare."

Their sharp smile falls a fraction. You worry that you're about to be turned into a toad or cursed with eternal bad luck, but their step picks up just as easily as though nothing happened. Every hair on your body is on end. This man - you at least deign to assume they're masculine in nature - is no human, that much you know for sure. He’s of the Fair Folk and every warning you’ve been told comes rushing back at once.

First and foremost, names have power. You aren’t about to relinquish that power so easily. The being’s breath is as warm and humid as drying saltwater on the back of your neck and it’s all you can do to suppress a shudder. Next you know never to step within the rings that mark the entrance to the Other Side, and you’ve accomplished that. What are the others? The presence that grows overwhelming with each step by your side has your mind blurring with panic. If the being notices, he doesn’t make a remark, but those chartreuse eyes as sharp as a raven’s speak volumes.

“Now, now, we both know that isn’t your name. Come on, you don’t want to be strangers with your neighbor, right? I’ll even tell you that you may call me Soul!” His voice drips with sickly sugar, like spoiled honey. You don’t like the way his teeth click with each word as though they’re just a hint too large. You certainly don’t like the way he manages to tower over you and block out the sunlight that much more. The Fair Folk are tricky with their words and you have to make sure you are careful.

“I simply prefer to be called Hare. I’ll remember how to address you as well.”

Your words are curt but you do your best to hide any tone that could come across as impolite. It wouldn’t do to insult his sensibilities. You can tell that he is displeased if the way his shoulders drop from the corner of your eye is anything to go by, but you make no move to comfort him. For a minute of walking, the two of you are silent (eerily so in his case, not a huff of breath or breaking of a leaf underfoot to betray his presence). Even the animals of the forest have hushed in their calls and cries to a level more akin to a muttering audience. It’s impossible for you to fall into a similar lull as the being inches ever closer as you approach the treeline.

The first spark of hope that you feel since seeing the fairy ring comes when the path thins into mossy cobblestones and crumbling wooden fences. A smile tinges your features before you can stop it and the being next to you notices. His aura feels… Not quite hostile, but more impatient, the same impatience of a cat losing its favorite bird beyond a window. Even your quickening step isn’t enough to shake that unerring pace. The roof of your cottage just starts to crest the horizon when he cuts you off by stepping in front of you.

Your eyes avert and the strange hissing of a cicada rumbles from his lips.

“Why the rush to leave, little Hare? Surely I can tempt you to stay a while longer? Or won’t you invite me to your meal?” He leans closer, closer with each proposal until you’re sure you feel teeth at your hairline. You’re too terrified to look up. You have to choose your words oh so carefully but your mind is torn in a haze of fear, intrigue and decaying flowers.

“I always eat alone, I’m afraid I don’t have room for guests. It’s getting late and I must get home. Tha - “ Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes flicker upwards as you barely catch your mistake in time. For a moment, you swear you see hope in the amber eyes gleaming so wickedly down at you. When you swallow with a dry mouth, you assure you word yourself better. “I hope you return to your home safely, Soul.”

The hope in the being - in ‘Soul’s eyes - flickers into something dangerous and hungry and that familiar feeling of fear boils in your gut. You take one sidestep, then another, and Soul doesn’t stop you. Even as you pass by their shoulder and towards your cottage, the feeling of hungry eyes on you doesn't leave. You worry it never will. Despite your fear however, you can’t resist the insatiable urge to glance back once more and ensure you aren’t being followed.

That one glance reveals that Soul is watching you too, a thoughtful look on his face that you can’t discern melting into a keen grin. Just before you can leave earshot, you swear you see his whole form flicker like heat waves emanating from hot pavement and he calls out to you.

“I’ll see you again, right Hare? We wouldn’t want you getting hurt out there after all.”

The chill in your bones as you hurry into your cottage isn’t washed out by tea or a warm meal for days to come.

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