#tw implied violence towards animals | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mamayan · 1 year ago

Note

You up? Give us some delicious yandere stuff 🙏 let's say... Fae King yandere and changeling darling 😏✨

This turned into a full fic :3 ~★ In honor of some monster fucking!

Yandere! Dark Fae King x Darling! Changeling

tw: NSFW • Obsessive/Possessive Themes • Non-Human Morality • Kidnapping • afab Reader • Dubcon • Oral (F) • Grooming (reader is of consenting adult age) • Forced Mating • Imprisonment • Violence (not toward reader) • Implied Murder • Rough Sex • Praise • Overstimulation • Dumbification • Belly Bulge • Size Kink

Part Two: Here

“…hic…sniff…”

Dark eyes glanced into the cool night, curious as to what creature was disturbing his evening.

“…hic…” it came again, much to his chagrin.

The still lake reflected the full moon like a mirror. To his left, not too far off, he honed in on the disturber. Something small and curled up. Shaking. The oddity enough to catch his full attention as he stood silently. The night his home and prison as he swiftly left in a puff of smoke over to the location of his intruder.

You.

His first instinct to end your miserable life, a human somehow entering his domain and crossing his barriers, but upon a closer look… he realized you were of his own kind.

A changeling at that. An abandoned fae left to die in the hands of mortals. Few if any live to maturity like this, but your short human stature led him to believe your growth was surely stunted due to neglect. Young fae needed abundant love and care in their infancy, the first 100 years of life incredibly crucial for their development. Least they end up like him and his kingdom. You were even younger than full maturity, though your physical body had completed it’s growth, your magic was weak and juvenile.

You were making odd noises which drew his curiosity, moving closer to your form, face buried in your lap as you hunched over your drawn up legs. Your feet were bare as the edges of the water lapped at them. Clothing sparse and tattered, rags unfit for even a human, let alone a Fae nearing maturity.

“Noisy little thing,” he hums aloud, startling you as you jolt and nearly throw yourself into the water. Your neck snaps up, pretty face swollen and blotchy from tears looking up and up until you saw a creature looming over you.

Your scream is cut off by a clawed dark hand, slapping over your mouth and muffling the cry as you try to jerk away in fear and panic. He watches in mild amusement, snickering as you realize your struggle is futile and efforts dying down. “Scream if you like, but none other than I will hear it out here.” He assures ominously, thin onyx colored lips pulling back to bare his razor sharp canines and pearly teeth at you. His grin savage and delighted in your terror.

He watches curiously as your wide doe eyes well up with tears, the crystalline droplets spilling up and over your cheeks, soft lips quivering beneath his palm. You reminded him of an animal imploring their predator for mercy by revealing their underbelly. There was a word for it…

Cute. His mind conjured at last. He found you cute, a changeling bold enough to intrude into the kingdom of the corrupted. You hadn’t even dropped the mirage covering you, old magic from your biological family still covering your natural appearance to mimic the human you parasitized off the life of.

“Why do you cry little one?” He asks softly, attempting not to terrify you further and avoid his questions.

You hesitate, but his molten gold eyes seem to melt through your defenses despite his dangerous and beautiful appearance. “I’m wrong,” you sniffle, grateful when he removes his enormous hand off your face, the sharp claws tipped in gold frightening against your soft breakable skin. “All wrong… and I don’t know what to do.” You curl back up around yourself, as if he too will cast judgement upon you.

He awkwardly mimics your stance, curiosity blazing as watches you in fascination. You find the way his monstrously large form contorts to sit like you somewhat baffling and amusing, less frightened now that he doesn’t seem to wish you harm.

“How are you wrong then?” He pries further, cupping his defined jaw and leaning into his hand as he observes.

“I’m not…I’m not human—I’m a—a—,” you stumble, unsure if this night is even real anymore. The shock so great you’re still trying to cope.

“A faery?” He supplies, amused by the way you gesture with your hands, expression so open and easy to read. “A changeling raised amongst humans to feed off their happiness?” His deep voice purrs it happily, as if he’s glad for it.

He is. His hatred of humans not something he feels the need to hide.

You appear devastated though, “I didn’t mean to—I don’t want to hurt or make anyone unhappy.” You mumble miserably, tugging at your hair and skin, as if that will dispel the magic which hides your true appearance.

“That’s just how our kind is, we need that happiness to grow properly.” He rubbles, eyeing your shocked expression. “We also happen to be fickle creatures ironically, and if a newborn is thought to need too much care, it is pawned off on humans who have more patience.” He clarifies, smiling as you seem to take him in with new eyes.

“You— are you a faery too? You just seem…” he chuckles as you awkwardly trail off.

“Evil? Centuries ago humans once called me the devil,” he laughs, his dark hair falling into his face like a waterfall as he shakes the loose fluffy curls, his pointed horns jutting from the top of his forehead jet black and smooth like ivory. He was too beautiful to call a devil, though you supposed it could be because of that which he was deemed so. His every feature seeming to catch your gaze with it’s beauty.

“I was going to say different…” you trail off shyly. “You don’t seem evil to me at least.”

He pauses, taking you in again as you regard him with those harmless eyes still wet with drying tears. It’d been centuries too since he’d left his kingdom, the entrance to the veil this lake he occasionally comes up to lounge by. He hasn’t seen a human since then, let alone a changeling or uncorrupted little faery like you.

He likes those pretty tears. He finds it annoying you shed them for humans you should guiltlessly take from.

His smile widens, eyes glittering mischievously and nearly glowing as he leans closer. The smell of sugar and cinnamon wafting off of him as you breathe in, nearly gasping as your mouth waters.

“How’s this little one? I’ll teach you how to be a faery, to show you there is nothing wrong with you.”

His eyes, where they should be white are entirely inky black, golden irises with reddened pupils framed by dark thick lashes, looked sincerely upon you.

He seemed genuine and kind despite his towering humanoid figure which looked to be capable of killing you easily.

It warmed you though, the thought of wanting to belong strong as you nod with a smile.

“I’d be eternally grateful.” You nod.

Sealing your fate.

“Tell me your name.” He asks sweetly, because despite his menacing size and sharp teeth and nails, your new friend was nothing but kind and gentle with you.

“Y/N” you reply easily, letting him playfully ruffle your hair as he picks out the leaves which got tangled in your locks from your travels here.

When he repeats it though, wonderful shivers shoot down your spine. He smiles, cooing at you like one might a baby as a he teases, “Such a cute name for a cute faery.”

You weakly protest, but fall into easy laughter as he swiftly changes the subject.

He was discussing proper fae etiquette. The basics, to not say please or thank you or I’m sorry. They all meant you expected more from the other or wouldn’t reciprocate, and that was just bad manners.

His soft hands, which could easily cover your entire face, were settled on your upper arms, having sat you in the grass against his chest.

He liked holding you close. Your little figure so soft, and from the dark circles beneath your human appearance, he assumed the neglect from the humans you resided amongst was growing worse. It was bad for your development.

“You should come live out here, they are vile creatures you know.” He comments every time you visit, though he never forces you to stay with him.

“It’s because I make them unhappy…” you explain sheepishly.

He shakes his head, thick brow arching as he rolls his eyes. “You are nearly completely mature now, you suck no happiness from your surroundings anymore silly girl.” Your confusion was palpable as he sighs and further explains, enjoying the squish of your tender flesh as he lightly squeezes you.

“While it is true fae infants are quite the hassle to raise, it isn’t as tortuous as humans make it out to be. In fact, most fae will take their child back if not treated well by their human surrogates.”

You hum, relaxing back against his warm chest and breathing in his sugary scent.

“So why wasn’t I—,” you stop short, brows furrowed but no longer speaking.

He doesn’t pry further, leaning his chin atop your head as he looks out at the lake.

“You won’t tell me?” You push, annoyed how he dances around your question endlessly. Your companion close enough that you feel insulted he won’t reveal it.

“My name is not to be uttered aloud, least calamity befall this land~” he’s teasing, you know he is, but still he refuses to divulge his name. “I gave you mine,” you argue again, huffing as he chuckles and lightly shoves you to your back on the grass, leaning over you and caging you in beneath him.

The moon is bright like the first time you’d met, illuminating his other worldly beauty.

“If you wish to call me something, call me Master,” he laughs, his sharp teeth no longer scaring you, but making your thighs squeeze together whenever he flashes them. He acts nothing like an immortal being, too immature and jovial to resemble someone having lived for thousands of years.

“So why do you get my name, but I don’t get yours?” You question in annoyance, avoiding his kiss to your cheek by jerking your face away. He huffs, sharp gaze daring you to dodge again.

You do. Earning yourself a warning nip to your collarbone as you yelp.

“Mean!” You cry, pushing at his chest as he snickers.

“Yes little flower, I am very, very, mean.” He rumbles, chest literally vibrating much like a cat does to purr.

“You give me weird nicknames…” you mutter, giving up as he licks your cheek. You don’t fight it, even as it feels foreign to you, trying to accept this side of your culture.

He licks your neck, lavishing the point where your pulse races with wet kisses and you tremble and struggle to act unaffected beneath him.

His smile is dangerous outside your view.

“Star!” You giggle, his rumble of irritation not the least intimidating to you as you roll away.

“That is an awful nickname.” He hisses, face twisted in disgust as you throw out the most horrendous names you could conjure in your pretty head at him.

“Lumi!” He growls.

“Then… Kitty?” He nearly bites you, careful not to play too roughly as he lightly tackles you down.

“If I give you a nickname, will you cease your little game?” He feels his anger fade as he wraps his arms around your smaller figure, easily pulling you into his lap. You don’t even flinch, too engrossed in your amusement to care where he handles you. You nod happily, your wish finally being fulfilled.

“Very well you stubborn creature,” he chides, “In addition to Master, you may also call me King.”

You frown. Clearly displeased by the lack of intimacy in the name. He laughs, amused by your obvious dislike. He kisses your puffed cheeks, over your pouty lips, and down to your vulnerable neck. Snickering as he goes, adoring how you so easily become pliant for him.

“I am teasing pretty flower, there was a time long ago I was called Ava, will you settle now?” He asks, voice husky as he sucks a mark into your skin, your little whine flaring his desires.

A strong urge to press you down and mate you nearly overpowers his control, but he merely holds you close and breathes your floral scent in to calm himself.

“I still prefer Kitty…” His eye twitches.

“Ava… this feels weird…” he pauses, looking down at your small form still cloaked like a human. Weak beneath him, partially nude as your skirt is pulled up to your soft belly. Your thighs are spread and shaking, his lips sucking another mark onto the thin skin of your inner thigh while you writhe.

He had your wet dripping slit open to the night air and his lustful gaze, begging for his tongue to taste.

“You don’t want to please me?” He asks, purring as you pout but deny. You were such a good little girl for him after all, so eager to learn and soak up his attention.

He resumes, licking down your thigh until his face rested above the warm mound you so sweetly offered him.

“You’re being so good for me petal, can you keep your legs open or should I help you?” He doesn’t need to look up to know you’re shaking in arousal and embarrassment. He can feel the tremors through the air as you struggle to keep your thighs spread as he asked.

“I-I need help…” you admit, feeling terribly hot as he keeps licking you, except where you seem to ache for him to lick.

He easily shifts forward, arms wrapping around you and letting your legs rest over his shoulders as he finally lets his tongue slip out to taste you.

You glance down, choking at the sight and feeling as he lets his entire tongue come out, the appendage inhumanly long and colored purple. It feels strange, the wet slimy feeling of his tongue slithering through your folds, but when he nudges the tiny nub hidden above your slit, you moan.

It sends jolts of electricity through you, hips canting up so he can to lick there again, earning you a hearty chuckle as he obliges. Licking and even curling his tongue around it, riling you up as your tiny hole leaks arousal and drips down your ass to the earth below.

“You’re making a mess petal, do you feel good? Should I stick my tongue inside you this time?” You moan, feeling the muscle prod at your unused vaginal entrance, too hazy to bother responding. He doesn’t wait for your answer, letting the thin tip of his tongue lap and taste your heady desire before poking and wiggling inside you.

It has your legs shooting straight, back arching as he holds you down with one large hand placed over your belly and chest. He groans as he feels the molten texture of your insides struggling against his intrusion, trying to force him out of your tight heat as he surges forward.

The tip of his tongue curls, swirling up and knocking the air from your lungs as a rush of hot liquid spills from your insides for him to drink down.

You shook and twitched, moaning and curling your hands around his curved horns like a handle.

The touch sends blood racing to his cock, as he moans and loudly slurps your cum down with audible squelching, enjoying the cries you released into the quiet night.

He lets you rest as he pulls back for just a moment, your body limp and panting as your high comes down.

“Good girl~” he praises, leaning over you to kiss softly at your sweaty skin, licking that too and tasting the sweet and salty mixture.

Then he’s pressing his lips against yours, forcing them open to sneak his long tongue inside your mouth, filling it and claiming that space too as his own. You’re helpless to resist, delirious on pleasure as he devours you, wiggling muscle curling and rubbing erotically around your own.

He tastes like sugar and something heavier, more musky, as you come to realize it as your own taste.

“Is this… really normal…?” You can help but ask as he pulls away, his lips still sticking close to trail kisses across your skin.

“It’s quite normal little flower, are you shy still?” He asks curiously, lifting one of your small hands and bringing it to his face, his size dwarfing you considerably. He lightly nibbles on your fingers, making a giggle bubble up as you smile and then squirm when he grins and licks your hand instead.

“A little…” you admit honestly. Always so honest and open.

He nods, as if completely understanding.

“That’s alright, we’re in no rush, I’ll teach you slowly…” there’s something else not said in his words, and you’re left drunk on his pheromones and lips as he distracts you. Then he’s kissing down, discarding your clothing and leaving you naked for his mouth and curious fingers.

Your breasts are lavished in his saliva, pebbled nipples sucked until standing upright before poked down with the tip of his tongue playfully. Always so playful, Ava nips and teases your skin, blinking innocently when you moan and glare accusingly.

“It’s not my fault you enjoy this so much petal~” he pouts, looking comical and so harmless, his glittery gold wings, almost translucent behind him, fluttering as if indignant to your silent accusation.

The golden tattoos which marked his skin more visible tonight, his clothing more minimal in his wish to feel more of you as he explores and plays.

Then he’s parting your thighs and throwing you into ecstasy again.

“Who did it?”

You sat curled around yourself, terror and dread swirling inside of you at the new side of Ava you’d never been graced with before.

The side you supposed was reserved for his enemies, but now showed to you.

Despite your fear, the tears spilling down your cheeks, and the injuries you bore, you still remained stubbornly silent.

He was going insane with rage and anguish.

You truly were a flower. So delicate and easily destroyed.

“Y/N… while I am being reasonable…Tell. Me. Who. Did. It.”

For all the times he’d made himself smaller, less alarming and more charming than his true nature called for, it made this time more appallingly. He stood to his full height, like an unwavering tree he did not budge or allow you to leave, golden eyes flaring and mixing with his red pupils to create something alarming. Even the markings which covered his dark skin seemed to glow and match his eyes, magic crackling in the air and silencing the night further.

As if the stars and moon were frightened too.

Still, still, you did not speak, even as he closed in on you, your fear so strong it almost choked him. Almost. He was too angry, too furious with the humans he liked to cast out of his mind. They needed to be taught a lesson it seemed. Their fear of the Fae renewed. They were becoming arrogant, as if their species was even in the same standing as them.

Your pretty injured face and form, battered from abuse and humiliation, was all the information he truly needed.

If you wanted to protect them, and not tell him, then he’d just punish them all as if they were the culprits.

It soothed him finally, his decision made as the ominous energy around him faded slowly. He let his rage dissipate, worry and concern bleeding through now as he crouched and shuffled towards you, claws spread and outstretched towards you.

“Come here Y/N, keep your secrets, but allow me to hold and comfort you…” his eyes darkened, the glow leaving behind almost a copper color, somber as he looks at you. There’s not pity in his eyes though, as you swallow and sigh in relief, grateful to crawl into his warm embrace where it feels safe.

He’s gentle as he wraps you in his arms, lips and tongue soothing as he tastes your tears and blood.

He grits his teeth, focusing on your scent and the feel of you to calm himself again, before letting his magic seep into your skin. You easily absorbed it, soaking it up like a sponge as your pain and injuries heal.

“Ava—?” Your eyes widen, amazement in their depths which stroke his ego as he taps his forehead against your own. His horns slightly tangling in your hair.

“Do you not want to drop the illusion on yourself?” He asks softly, staring at the human image your portray. He didn’t want to admit it, but it enraged him to see you still trying to live amongst them.

You seem surprised, before looking away nervously.

“It just feels strange… to not see myself anymore,” you confess, burrowing deeper into his chest while enjoying his ability to heal and soothe you. His sugary smell lightening your heavy heart.

He nods slowly, eyes staring at nothing over the still lake.

He holds you a little tighter.

Then you’re asleep.

The burns and screams of the people echo, the night come to life with flames and chaos.

Ava stands leisurely, smile filled with fondness as he watches the human village he’d followed and found to be your residence burn.

He’d spent all night playing with them, listening to them confess the awful things they’d done to you, said to you, and tried to do to you. They even thought of sacrificing you to some nonexistent deity, which only prolonged the nightmare he’d turned the populace into.

He laughed as the sounds swirled into music for his ears, the sharp points curling in delight as he hummed a tune older than the trees towering in this forest.

The night was still coming to an end sadly, and he’d need to return to your unconscious body still where he’d left it.

He didn’t want to let you wake in your new home alone after all.

His body covered in the blood of mortals he’d torn into and feasted on, Ava left them to perish.

Alone you woke. In a bed four times the size of any normal one, within the walls of a palace you’d only ever seen depicted in stories told by faraway travelers.

You glanced down, at hands unlike ones you were accustomed to seeing. You were nude, unable to hide from yourself as you felt tears begin to sprout. The illusion magic wasn’t working, and you couldn’t understand why.

This body was your true form, not that of the human you continuously tried to convince yourself you were. You hadn’t showed Ava, too afraid he’d see your appearance and dislike you for it.

While he was magnificent, you felt puny and odd.

A hiss snatches you from your self loathing, eyes flicking up to land on the one you’d just been thinking of.

He was covered in something, though you weren’t entirely sure what until he moved closer. The pearls lining his chambers glowed softly, his appearance more vibrant as he closed the distance between himself and the bed you laid on.

You sucked in a breath, realization dawning as the red contrasts against his skin. His lower face completely smeared in it, but his lips seemed clean. Until he grinned, red stained sharp teeth with chunks of dark meat stuck in between.

You remembered briefly him mentioning being mistaken for a demon.

You finally understood as a strange fear blossomed in your gut and you scooted away. Confusion and terror consuming you, but your body not catching up with your mind, because it recognized his scent and touch. You didn’t move quick enough, a clawed hand easily curling around your ankle and tugging you close. You slid smoothly over the cool silk, brought close to his body radiating heat. He only wore trousers, his taloned feet bare and ankles revealed as he’d cuffed them up to avoid bloody human fingers trying to grip them.

“Oh my little flower, look at you,” his eyes are swirling melted gold, enchanting and so disorienting. His beauty becoming savage with the blood and human flesh he adorned.

“A-Ava…” you want to ask, but you also don’t want the answer.

Did he find out who hurt you? Or was it unrelated? It seemed too coincidental.

Your chest constricted painfully as he stared down at you in wonder. Your true form so lovely it took his breath away, your image so fitting for you it was a wonder why you didn’t prefer this over your human mirage. Your ears, pointed like his own, were curled down a little with your emotions, as his eyes traced your face.

The shape was the same, your body still so small, and your eyes still expressed every little thought without fail.

He hated to admit it was even cuter, though he mused it was likely because he was the first to see your true form.

An abandoned young changeling, one he only took mild interest in, had him so thoroughly ravenous for all of you now.

“Isn’t this more comfortable petal? Instead of masquerading as a filthy human, aren’t you happier to just be you now?” His callous words seem off, but you can’t quite fathom it all as the shock settles in.

“My precious flower faery, are you scared?” Yes, you wanted to scream, as his bloody face and body near you, his sugary scent over powered by the scent of iron and death. Fae hated iron. He shouldn’t be comfortable.

You choked, jerking back and trying to crawl away from him, but he still had your ankle caged in his hand.

He laughs, but it’s empty and devoid of any true humor as he stares down at you with something dark in his gaze.

He yanks you back, harshly and sending a jolt of pain up your leg as you cry out, pulled back beneath him as he crawls onto the bed over you.

He’s too close, nausea consuming you as you smell and see the gore adorning him.

He finds your useless fear amusing and annoying all at once.

“I asked you a question little flower.” He grips your face, smushing your cheeks and making you look at him.

He rolls his eyes as the tears you so love to shed spill down your cheeks.

“Yes… I-I’m scared…” his smile softens, almost becoming sweet and familiar.

“Good. You should be.” Your blood runs cold.

He has the mercy to bathe, but not alone. You watch as the spray of water from some sort of piping turns pink as it disappears through tiny holes in the marble floor.

He’s nude, like you, and even though you cower and try to turn away, he easily stops any and all retreats with hardly any effort.

“I thought you didn’t like the blood? I’m still not clean petal.” His fluffy curls are flattened by the water falling above, the warm spray soaking you both as you try not to wonder why the sticky redness won’t just wash away with the water. The dried portions difficult to get off without physically touching and rubbing him with your soapy hands. You wanted to know why he was doing this, being so mean.

His ears look more distinct with his hair flat, onyx horns prominent against his forehead as his lashes hold droplets of water to frame his golden eyes.

You try not to show it, but as the blood clears and his dark smooth gold lined skin is revealed, you notice the hard lines of muscle and purple veins which protrude.

You only come up just below his chest, and you can’t look down, least you see it again.

He was making you nervous and scared on purpose, but you couldn’t understand why.

Like a coward you didn’t ask either, because you feared the answer even more.

Ava shifts, fingers coming up to cup your face in his hands and tilt your head up as he leans over you and blocks the water falling. His claws jut out beside your head, one lightly tickling your pointed little ear.

He licks his lips, loving the sight of you soaked and naked, your pretty form so enthralling to his eyes he struggles to contain himself.

“Do you want my help…?” His tone is condescending, eyes uncaring in the least about your inner turmoil.

“Here,” he drops one hand, engulfing your wrist and forcing you to plant your hand against his abdomen. “You have to wash like this—,” he teaches patiently, like none of this was happening and everything was fine. He moves your soft little hand back and forth, the soap quick to wash away as the water continues to fall. “You need more soap petal.” He informs gently, moving to stop the warm spray and letting you both stand in silence now, drops of water falling the only noise besides your breathing.

He sighs when you don’t move, your eyes trained on the corner of the spacious bathing room, where an in ground bath rests. He would take you to the hot springs later.

He fills the hand he has control of with soap, and amuses himself with using it like a washcloth, your little fingers curling as your lips tilt down into a frown.

“Since you need the help,” he goads, watching as those sweet familiar doe eyes flash up a glare from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, a nasty grin filled with something sinister as he chuckles darkly. “Don’t want to be my good girl anymore?” It’s a loaded question you’re unsure of how to answer.

It hardly matters as he forces your hand down, until you jolt at the change in body part you were touching. He forces your fingers to close around his throbbing length, unable to touch or fully wrap around it as your head jerks instinctively to look at what he was making you do.

“A-Ava—,” you try to pull away, but to no avail. He only hums, the soap like lube as he uses your hand to jerk his cock, amused as you stare in shock. He won’t let you go, not when the sight of your smaller form holding his leaking rod is so arousing he comes a minute a later. Hips thrusting with the timing of the squeeze he forces your hand to hold, hot ropes of his seed shooting out onto your chest and belly as he cages you with his free arm from moving away. He allows his purple tapered tip to smear the remaining pearls of his seed on your skin, ignoring your whine of protest as he paints you.

“Fuck, that’s it, be good for me pretty girl,” he growls lightly, chest rattling as he releases his pent up frustration on your confused form.

Really, you couldn’t be more adorable covered in his release looking dazed.

His golden eyes heavy lidded as he crouches down to catch your lips in a heated kiss.

You swallow nervously, staring at Ava as he stares at you from across his bed chambers.

You’d fallen asleep after… after bathing, if you could even call it that, and awoken later to find yourself alone again. Ava missing and your body covered by fine silk sheets while you slept.

You’d scrambled about the room looking for escape, finding nothing but a single exit locked, which Ava now stood before.

He wore a pair of silken sleep pants, tailored to his enormous figure as well as a matching robe left loose and revealing a majority of his chest and abdomen. His wings weren’t physical but a magic which naturally formed behind him, you’d learned.

The gold markings on his body were duller than earlier, his eyes less vibrant and more cool as he looks at you.

He seems more… familiar. Less of the Ava covered in blood and flesh of humans and more of the one you’ve befriended.

He’s silent, unmoving as he stands still in the doorway.

You don’t want to make the first move, unsure in this new environment, but you similarly disliked all of this distance and miscommunication between you both.

You moved cautiously, much like the skittish animal he likens you to in his mind, off the bed. You’d wrapped yourself in one of his sheets, his scent clinging to you the only thing stopping him from tearing it off you in annoyance. He stays put, muscles taunt and jaw clenched as you approach him like he might harm you.

He debated it.

Briefly showing you why you should be obedient and just listen, but dismissing it in favor of you liking him at least to some degree.

When you reach him, he merely stares down at you, face impassive unlike your nervous and awkward expression.

“Ava…?” He finally shifts, leaning down to close the distance a little but still not touching you. It’s you who initiates, because he’s certain he’s trained you well enough in your past touch starved state that you can’t resist the comfort and warmth he provides. You wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your figure to his while looking up with those honest eyes he adores.

He finally relaxes, your touch so addicting he was unable to resist wrapping you further into his embrace while lifting you up. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, warm bare cunt now pressed against his abdomen while your arms come around his neck. The sheet loosening and falling down to pool at his feet. He finally smiles at your flustered state, not letting you climb down to grab it, instead moving you both towards his—your—bed and easily laying you down to drape over you.

“You’re calmer than I imagined you’d be…” he murmurs against the skin of your neck, kissing up to your jaw. “Should I prepare for your wrath later little flower?” He muses, lifting up to look at your expression.

“Was that blood… from a human?” You look guarded but he isn’t surprised.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill them?” He affirms again.

“Was it because of… me?” Those sweet eyes looked so haunted as you asked, as if you knew what he was going to say.

“No. It wasn’t because of you.”

You check his face, as if he were a human and would lie to you as they do.

“Then why did you do it?” You breathed, sagging in relief beneath him. His lips twitch, molten eyes shining with adoration as he looks upon you.

“They greatly offended me.” He answers vaguely, but it was the truth. They offended him by breathing and walking the earth. It was a direct insult to him. They only met misfortune because they caught his attention.

You seemed happy to accept whatever rid you of any guilt, looking up at him less fearfully now that he was clean and not being mean to you. Though, you both shared very different definitions of being “mean”.

“Am I staying the night?” You asked him curiously. You had thought he’d brought you here as he didn’t know where your home in the village was when you’d fallen asleep.

He shook his head, lips curling higher.

“You’re staying forever.” He declares, sweet scent filling your senses as he comes close enough to kiss you.

Then he does.

You thought his teasing was funny, lips tilting up finally as the awkwardness dissipates and familiarity rises.

This is your Ava, warm sweet Ava that smells so good it makes you crave sweets you cannot afford.

He presses you further into the unfathomably soft bed, his lips demanding as you open for him.

“Ava,” you break the kiss, breathing heavier as he growls and nips at your bottom lip, a shiver wracking you as he leans back enough to meet your gaze. “What we’re doing… it’s what lovers and spouses do isn’t it? At least, this is what human lovers do…” your voice becomes smaller as he stares down as you with an expression you couldn’t name.

“And?” He encourages.

You look away for a moment, gathering your thoughts before remembering out of all the cruelty in the world, Ava was the outlier.

“Is that what we’re doing? Like lovers?” You felt too embarrassed to directly state it, to say it aloud, and equally scared this isn’t anything different than exchanging a handshake with another faery to him. It was different to you.

“Do you want it to be?” He leans down, placing a feather soft kiss against your temple so you couldn’t see his eyes glowing bright. “Do you want us to be like lovers little flower?” His voice is deeper than usual, strained almost as he holds himself perfectly still above you.

You take the time to think, much to his displeasure, but when you answer it was everything for him.

“I do.”

He places a chaste kiss to your lips, his own tilting higher and higher until he’s grinning gleefully.

“Then that’s what we’ll be.” He confirms, and you miss it.

You miss every little trap he’d laid, each tiny piece of the puzzle forming around you like a cage. You miss everything and it’s too late to go back now. Ava muses wickedly, as he kisses you more sensually, lets his claws drag so delicately down your soft skin, he thinks how stupid you are.

“I’ll be all yours if you ask for it Y/N,” he speaks directly into your pointed ear, hot breath making the tips curl as you whine. The way he says your name is different than usual, more serious and seductive. You realize this seems wrong somehow, the way he’s making you melt so easily like this, how your panic and fear evaporated so quickly. You aren’t given time to think further, when he shifts and sits up. He sneers when you attempt to cover yourself again, gripping your wrist and lightly pulling you up too. On your knees, you face his chest, eyes looking up to see his heated expression.

Ava cups your jaw with one hand, and pokes at your lip with the other.

He doesn’t ask before his thumb invades your mouth, and you fight not to bite down or jerk away with his pointed claw inside.

He’s exploring, squeezing your cheeks until you open wide so he can playfully run over your sharpened canines. Curiously playing with your tongue until he leans down licks it with his own. It felt strange and erotic, your body vibrating with nerves and budding arousal as he explores you.

“Ava…” you wanted to touch him too, but he didn’t seem to be listening as he lets his hands trail down to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples as your back arches into them.

So you let your own hands wander, bolder than usual as you feel his solid form beneath you. His skin is much softer than it appears, strange markings and golden symbols flat. He had no softer points aside from that, muscles like stone and occasionally uncomfortable to lounge against due to it.

He squeezes your waist, smiling mischievous as you yelp and glare at him. He does it again, finally chuckling as he lets his hands slip to your ass.

This time his squeeze makes you gasp, as he parts your ass cheeks and allows your heated core to be exposed to the air. His claws so careful not to tear your skin open as he drags you taunt against him, rutting his hardened cock against your soft belly.

He moans aloud as he sees the tip poke out between you, your breasts above a delicious sight as he does it again and again.

“You drive me wild pretty faery,” he smiles, licking your cheek as he easily lifts you up to toss you to the center of the bed. You sink in, huffing but giggling as he crawls over you, looking like a dark angel as he covers you completely to capture your lips in a much more filthy kiss.

“I want to devour you,” he purrs, licking and kissing down your neck and chest, spreading your legs. “Make you mine completely,” you moan, feeling delirious as he finally licks your sloppy pussy.

You moan when you feel his fingers prod your entrance, sharp claws gone and retracted as he pushes one inside you while he laps at your clit. It feels different and firmer than his tongue, able to rub and stretch you better as he begins sucking on your puffy nub and purring deep in his chest. “Your little nub is hard~ are you feeling good?” He teases, wiggling the tip of his tongue over your engorged clit.

Then he’s pressing a second finger in, a mild burn heating your core as you gasp and try to shift away to no avail. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, spearing them into you, your soft gummy walls forcefully spread around the two digits as he noisily slurps. He’s being messy and a bit rough, but your moans spur him on as he groans into your pussy when you begin clawing at his hair and whining.

“Ava! S’too much! Can’t—!” You squeak and almost bite your tongue when you cum, pussy sucking his fingers deep and massaging them as you soak his hand and face.

He doesn’t stop, eyes glowing bright molten gold as he watches you squirm and babble senselessly while he stuffs a third finger into your poor overstimulated cunt. Your little hole stretched wide around him, and he’s content to watch as your greedy lower mouth takes it as he pumps them into you.

You’re less amused though, body thrumming as the pleasure becomes overwhelming and you panic.

“Stop, I’m gonna make a mess, Ava stop—!” You cry out, eyes watering before tears fall as you struggle to stop the powerful pressure building in your core, hurting you with the intensity as he pushes you further and further. “Your insides are steadily swallowing and sucking my fingers in, aren’t you a little lewd?” He asks, unaffected by your dull nails digging into his forearm, eyes trained on your drooling hole below.

He’s got an iron grip on your hip with his other hand, nails digging into your flesh every time you try to squirm away. “You’re so lovely like this petal.”

He’s fascinated when you break again, clear fluid squirting up and out from your squelching pussy as he continues to shove his fingers in.

You cum so hard it nearly causes you to lose consciousness, eyes rolling back as you twitch and moan as the dam inside you bursts open.

You whine as he pulls free, hand dripping in gooey arousal as he brings it to his lips and slurps it up without any decorum, appearing almost starved as he gazes down at you with the eyes of a predator. “Messy girl~ I’ll teach you though,” his lips pull back to reveal his sharp teeth, “When you feel so good you think you’ll break, you’re supposed to say I’m coming, do you understand?” He asks darkly.

“No more…” your weak plea only makes him smirk, kissing you softly as he slides forward and uses both hands to cover your hips and lift your lower half up.

Your eyes feel heavy as you force them open, slow to realize that his enormous cock is now laid over your pussy, pulsing and dragging back and forth through your slick folds. The thick veiny appendage causes your trepidation to rise, realization dawning that he intends to fit that inside of you.

“It won’t fit—,” you weren’t being cute or coy, because while you may not be human, your form was still the same size as one. He was much, much bigger, and his cock certainly fit his proportions. You try to catch his attention, unable to close your legs with his body between them. “Ava,” He’s truly not hearing you at all, too enthralled and excited as he lubes his massive length up with your juices. He’s shaking a bit too, heart beating rapidly in his chest as he coos down at you mindlessly, golden orbs almost unseeing at this point as he lines up with your entrance.

“So good for me petal~ you’re all mine aren’t you?” He breathes, and you feel the weight and pressure begin as his tip breaches.

“Wait, stop Ava—!” You whine as the sting becomes a burn and then you’re being filled to the point of excess as you struggle to breathe anymore.

“Shh—♡,” he hushes you, pained as well due to the pressure around him, strangling him as he grimaces and drags back out a little before surging forward. “You’re mine now petal,” he groans.

You’re unable to form words as he works his cock into you like a piece which doesn’t quite fit, bullying and stretching you open to forcefully fit himself.

He leans more weight down onto you as you struggle and writhe, noisy cries falling on deaf ears as he feels himself slipping deeper as your body finally gives up on keeping him out. His tip touches your cervix, before shoving even further and smashing it up as your stomach aches in protest.

You lay limp as he finally bottoms out, twitching with your mouth open and drool pooling down your chin as you feel nothing but the feeling of him inside you. He huffs a laugh, the way you look ruined before he’s even gotten started.

You look like a doll in his grasp, his cock extending your stomach a little as it twitches inside you. Your thighs ache as they’re naturally forced up, unable to spread fully enough for him to settle so he’d merely folded you and pressed you down to prevent escape.

“You did it pretty girl, look at you~” he grins, one hand leaving your hip to press on your belly, making your eyes widen and roll back as you whine. “You took every inch of me in this cute cunt didn’t you?” This male over you isn’t familiar, even as his sugary scent seems to increase and smother you, he seems foreign in his words and actions.

The inconsistencies are difficult to track as he drags himself out of you, the fullness replaced by feeling each ridge and bump of veins decorating his cock as he slides out.

Then he’s pushing in again, stealing your breath and ability to think as he starts to fuck you.

“Don’t worry petal, I won’t hurt you,” you can’t quite understand as he pushes his thick rod inside you, brain shutting off as you go pliant in his hold. “I’ll go nice and slow so you never forget,” he moans as you tighten and jerk, “who owns you.” He’s holding back with all his might as you spasm and grip him in inside of you, walls sucking him back in as he moves to exit.

You make him forget.

As you slick his cock up with your juices, he begins to slip in easier, folding you down further into a mating press as he looks down at your teary face. You make him forget all the time he’s spent alone. Your moans increase as he picks up the pace, pounding nice and deep inside of you and ridding you of any thought beside him. He slips a hand down between you both, claws retracted completely as he softly presses on your swollen clit and throws you reeling into another orgasm around him. “Say it petal,” he grits out, the feeling of you tightening drawing his own end. He’s hardly able to move inside you, short thrusts all he can manage as he drags you over the edge.

“I’m coming—!” Your head tips back, neck bared to his eyes as you cum for him obediently.

He fills you up right after, heavy engorged balls drawing up as he pumps his first load of the day into you. His thrusts not stopping as he rocks forward, expression relaxing as his magic swirls inside of you, his mating mark slowly sinking into your soul as he works to keep his seed deep within your womb. You’re too fucked out to notice, the pleasure and pressure overwhelming your senses as you try to rest now.

Except his cock doesn’t soften.

He thrusts hard once he’s sure his bond has settled, feeling you so much deeper in his soul as he drags his cock out almost all the way. “It’s like your little hole misses me already,” he smiles, watching as you flutter around his tip as if to tell him you don’t want him to leave. “Tell me petal,” he slides back inside, jolting you awake as you stare incredulously down at where you both connect. The slick sounds of him slipping into your sticky wet entrance haunting as you whine, hands digging into fine silk as you try to push away.

He only presses you down harder, cock burrowing deep as if to anchor you. His eyes are wild and swirling, the color so bright it’s almost blinding in the dim room. “How does it feel to lose?”

You blank. His question not making any sense as the room spins and you’re overcome again with pleasure so intense it makes your toes and feet curl in the air where they rest.

“How does it feel to be utterly mine for the rest of eternity?” You gasp, tearing at the sheets as he picks up the pace, balls slapping against your ass as he begins to truly fuck you now. Enormous cock working you into a frenzy as you yelp when two fingers pinch painfully around a nipple. “You’re not going back pretty girl,” he laughs, face wicked and beautiful as you look up through blurry eyes spilling tears. “You’ll not return to that filthy human village,” he releases your sore nipple in favor of loosely gripping your throat, feeling your pulse beneath his hand. “You are not in the land of Fae sweet flower,” he lets his lips ghost over yours, his tip bullying your cervix as you writhe and move to claw at his shoulders. “You are in my kingdom, ours, where the corrupted Fae separate themselves,” you’re lost, eyes crossing almost dumbly as you come again, choking as you cry out his name.

You can’t move even an inch, unable to even squirm as you’re forced to take each punishing inch of his cock and he ruts into you.

“Your pussy keeps tightening up when I tell you all the ways you’re mine. Do you like this?” He delights in your pathetic attempt to push at his chest, clearly finished despite his balls still being heavy with his seed he intends to spill into you.

“A-Av-Ava!” You struggle to form even his name, let alone any sentences as he keeps up his fast and brutal pace. Though, from his perspective he was still holding back as he moans and spills himself inside you again.

“Yes flower?” He coos, pushing your hair out of your sweaty face as he pulls out just enough to grip your thigh and turn you on your side, sliding back to the hilt again. He hugs your leg to his chest, working his cock at a new angle in your abused pussy still spilling cum from earlier. “I’m listening,” he chuckles, knowing you can’t speak, aware his cock was keeping you like this.

Words die down as he uses his hand not holding your leg up to grip your hip, holding you still while pushing his hips forward, railing himself inside your exhausted body. Your head rests against the bed, mouth open as your saliva soaks into the sheets, eyes staring at nothing as you feel another impending orgasm approaching.

Ava doesn’t mind, adoring the cute cock drunk expression as he uses you like a toy, filling you up over and over while you slowly lose your mind. “I’m sorry—Ava please, I’m sorry,” your slurred speech and delirious voice make him laugh. Genuinely amused by your rambling, “Why are you sorry petal? I’m not mad,” he catches your lips, tongue invading and swallowing your cries. He finds you so cute.

His cute, stupid little changeling, so trusting and unaware of his unsavory intentions.

You lose consciousness and count when he comes with his hips pressed deeply into your ass, pressing you belly first into his hand as he keeps you angled up to meet his thrusts. Your sensitive chest rubbing against the silk below, body limp as your world goes black and you convulse around him.

This time he lets you fall flat into the soaked bedding, taking his still hard cock out so he can pry apart your pussy lips and watch his release ooze out of your gaping hole.

His golden eyes flick up to your sleeping form, lips pulling as he coos, “Cute~♡” before he’s stuffing you full again, merciless as he leans on one arm to keep from crushing you as he continues to drill into you.

Even when you regain consciousness, trying to crawl away from his torturous pleasure, he only grips your arm and twists it gently behind you to hold. “You’re soaked and so hot inside, do you know how crazy you’re making me?” He groans, almost sounding like he’s in pain as you squeeze and come again. “I’m not letting you go, stop trying to run. You’ve already lost sweet girl.” As he lifts his hips, tip still encased by your wet hot heat, he eyes the slick mess which coats you both and connects you to him. “Go ahead and go crazy too, be good and listen.” He laughs, slamming back in and making your back arch as you nearly scream, feeling him so deep it makes you wonder if he’s going to break you. You really will go crazy, it’s a fleeting thought stolen by his cock once again, but you truly worry as he drowns you with euphoria and madness.

He’s hunched and leaning over your back, letting his tongue and teeth tease your ear so sweetly while he pounds you stupid, whispering to you things you won’t remember.

“You wanted my name so badly, didn’t you my lovely mate?” He knows you don’t understand, but it doesn’t stop him from speaking on, husky voice lulling you as you cry and lose yourself to pleasure. “I’ll tell you since you’re being so good, taking my seed so well~” he lets a little more weight settle on top of you, his cock nestling into your deepest parts with it.

“I am Avarice.”

Post dividers by @cafekitsune

#Dark Fae King x reader #Yandere Fae King x reader #Yandere Fae #monster smut #Greed x reader #Fae smut #faecore #yancore #yandere x reader #fae king #yandere smut #Dark Fae #kinktober fun #request filled #afab reader #Fae x reader smut #changeling #changeling reader

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hp-hcs · 1 year ago

Text

1.3k words of the author bullying blaise zabini just for the plot (Chapter Three of The Doll) — slytherin boys x gn! ‘the boy’ (2016)! reader

Requests open

tws: dolls, obviously; reader referred to as ‘it’ (presumed inanimate); mentions of past child character death(s); mentions of a house fire—implied arson; violence; & murder

based entirely off of the 2016 film ‘the boy’. the painting? dear jesus fuck. that’s my trauma. watching that scene when i was like, thirteen.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Without further ado, Blaise snatches up the fucking doll, stomping upstairs with the doll carelessly dangling by one porcelain arm. Reaching Y/N’s bedroom (of course the freaky doll has its own bedroom, why wouldn’t it?), Blaise opens the door with much more force than necessary. He pauses in the doorway, taking in the room that the L/Ns had so carefully decorated—as if it were an actual child’s room—with brightly colored bedsheets, cartoon animals painted on the walls, and toys scattered everywhere.

He aggressively chucks the doll onto the rocking chair in the corner, (“The reading chair,” the L/Ns had cooed. “Y/N just loves when we read them bedtime stories”), and shuts the door as he leaves, digging through his pockets for the skeleton key the L/Ns had left the boys and locking the door with a resounding clack!

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he tries to calm his racing heart. Drawing the key back out of the lock and tucking it away safely, he makes his way back downstairs on shaky legs.

He pointedly looks down at the floor as he passes the painting of the L/Ns.

Returning to the living room, his friends stare at him with wildly curious expressions.

“You okay, man?” Draco asks slowly, tilting his head.

“You guys aren’t getting popcorn tonight,” Blaise says with finality, his voice cracking on the last word. Blaise Zabini is not the kind of person to waver while speaking.

The boys don’t press the issue.

They instead scoot over, making room for him to join their blanket pile on the floor as they start the movie. Once he’s settled in, Blaise focuses on watching Cady Heron fumble her way through high school and tries to push the fuckery with the doll out of his mind.

~~~ Passing through the main narrow hallway, Blaise precariously carries a stack of antique books, liable to disintegrate at just the wrong glance. The rain is still going strong, a sudden clap of thunder causing the hallway’s oil lamps to splutter feebly. Cursing under his breath, Blaise sets the books on a decorative hall table and fumbles through his pockets for a lighter. Just in time, another crack of thunder seems to shake the whole house, the lamps giving off one last sad spark of light before giving up entirely.

His thumb slips against the flint wheel a few times before the lighter finally flickers, a flame catching on the wick. The tiny pinprick of light in the otherwise murky and oppressive hallway does nothing to light up Blaise’s surroundings. Moving the lighter around slowly, so as not to accidentally catch anything in the old house on fire, he slowly makes his way down the hall, immediately banging his hip on a console table.

Cursing again, Blaise swings the lighter around, looking for any more furniture boobytraps attempting to further maim him.

Then, a soft sound could be heard.

Blaise freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

It’s the unmistakable sound of a child crying.

Holding the lighter out in front of him like a weapon, Blaise takes a hesitant step down the hall towards the sound. The flame of his lighter then glints off of something hanging on the wall, a very large glossy wooden picture frame.

It’s the damn painting.

Frozen in place, Blaise can’t do anything but stare up at the imposing painting in terror. In the meager light, the L/Ns faces all look demonic and twisted.

The sobbing gets louder, closer.

He glances down the hall towards the sound, his heart pounding in his chest, before glancing back at the painting.

A hand shoots out from the canvas and seizes him around the throat, sharp nails digging into his flesh and squeezing squeezing squeezing-

~~~

Blaise wakes up in a cold sweat. Heart practically beating out of his chest, he breathes heavily, every one of his senses on overdrive, screaming at him to get out of there.

The clock on the TV stand glows a comforting green, whispering the time as an early five in the morning. The sun has only just begun to break over the horizon, gentle morning rays leaking through the decorative bits of stained glass at the top of each of the windows and casting warm shades of colors over the ceiling.

Mattheo lays stretched out next to him, dead asleep and hogging all of the blankets. Enzo and Draco fell asleep on each other, in a way that looks terribly uncomfortable. Theo is sprawled out across all of them, his head on Blaise’s knee and half of his body sandwiched between him and Mattheo. They must’ve fallen asleep before the movie ended, because the little DVD logo box slowly bounces across the screen, avoiding the corners like the plague.

Blaise scrubs his hands over his face, looking around the inviting and entirely non-threatening room. Really, the house is rather cute, in its own charming way. Like how a grandparent’s house is always tacky and poorly decorated, yet still perfect and homey nonetheless.

Knowing there was no way he’d be able to fall back asleep, Blaise carefully moves Theo’s head onto a blanket, sliding out of the group pile and standing up. His knees snap crackle and pop as he grunts to himself, shuffling to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

The kitchen is even cuter in the sunlight, with pale gingham curtains framing the window above the sink and cross-stitch frames dotting the walls. As he flicks the start lever on the coffee pot, he takes the opportunity to look around the room. Tacky linoleum floors? Check. Kitchen towels with embroidered kitschy sayings? Check. Live laugh and fucking love, everybody.

Blaise leans against the counter on his forearms, listening to the coffee pot hum. Taped onto one of the kitchen cabinets in front of him is a faded polaroid of a family in the outdoors, the woman and man grinning widely at the camera while the young child in the foreground appears to be mid-laugh, clinging to their father. The scrawled handwriting at the bottom describes the photo as ‘Y/N’s 9th birthday at the lake!’

Blaise’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks over the photo again. He hadn’t recognized them immediately, but sure enough, the woman and man in the photograph are the L/Ns. They look so much younger and happier in the polaroid, the weight of life having yet to set in.

Caught up in his thoughts, Blaise barely notices when the coffee pot dings to let him know that it’s done. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he pulls down a few mugs for him and the rest of the boys. He glances down curiously when the coffee pot continues to hum.

His brow furrows as he taps at the machine with a fingernail. The coffee maker splutters indignantly and beeps again, then goes silent.

But the hum continues.

Abandoning his quest for caffeine, he peeks out into the hall, wondering if one of his friends had woken up. He peers into the entrance of the living room from the kitchen doorway; he can see the still-bouncing logo on the otherwise mute TV, and his four friends still sprawled out on top of all of the blankets.

But the hum continues.

He steps a little further out into the hall. He can now hear distinctly that the sound is coming from upstairs. Looking back at his abandoned mug on the counter forlornly—and mentally cursing himself for being insatiable in his curiosity—Blaise slowly starts up the stairs.

Once he reaches the top floor, the sound grows louder. It’s clearer now too. Blaise can tell that it’s not a hum.

It’s a child’s sobs.

Eyes widening, his gaze immediately latches onto the door of Y/N’s bedroom.

Surely not.

Holding the skeleton key retrieved from his pocket between shaking fingers, he slides it into the lock and twists, the door slowly creaking open.

The doll is still sitting in the chair, exactly as he left it.

He sighs in relief.

It’s a doll, dumbass. You’re just being paranoid. The war just left you on edge, that’s all.

He turns to leave, to go back downstairs and enjoy his coffee, when something catches his eye.

The doll is crying.

A single tear tracks down its face, hanging still for a moment before dripping off of its porcelain chin.

Blaise stumbles backwards, dropping the key with a clatter. He tugs the neckline of his shirt down frantically, feeling the phantom hand from his dream wrapping around his throat once more. He could swear he feels those damn nails again, slicing into his skin.

Watching the doll with bated breath and terror-stricken eyes, Blaise waits a long moment before another tear runs down its face, running down the bridge of its nose from its forehead.

Wait.

Forehead?

Blaise slowly looks up at the ceiling, a bit convinced that if he looks away from the doll for too long, it’ll lunge. He releases the breath he’s holding when he sees that the ceiling has a leak, rainwater from last night’s storm dripping down. Down from the seam of where the shut tight pull-down ladder to what must be the attic—or some kind of storage space—meets the rest of the ceiling.

It’s just an old house. There’s no crying dolls, no monstrous paintings. Just a wacky old house with wacky old owners.

Yep. That’s all.

~~~

Chapter Four <3

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viaoverthemoon · 1 year ago

Note

Cause I have one request to make. What if older Leon (it can be either but I have vendetta in mind) was asked by the DSO to find an ex-umbrella agent she's kidnapped at the moment.

And when he rescues her there's all sorts of tension between them. She's grateful for him but he's wary of her(understandably so....) And over the time they bond over the fact they both want to save people (she's changed) . But over the time their sexual tension between grows and grows and one day it snaps....... Resulting in 👀👀👀you know

(please tell me you are understanding what I am saying like this idea is ingrained in my brain somehow. But you can ignore this request if you want.)

I see the vision, my dear! I see it so freaking hard!

Please hand over your brain so I can SMOOCH IT!!!!!

The gears are already turning and I grabbed my laptop as soon as I could <3

Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Leon finds and rescues you after being kidnapped. While you are grateful, you can't help but notice the tension that follows the both of you as you head to the rendezvous point.

Tw: Implied kidnapping, ptsd (I think), gun & knife violence/battle, zombies but they aren't described, fluff, SMUT, p in v sex, unprotected sex (Don't be silly, wrap your willy <3) Let me know if I missed anything!

18+!! NSFW!! MDNI!! Read at your own risk!

Enjoy! <3

❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁

A small sliver of light suddenly shines into your dark room.

You'd been in the dark for so long, the light momentarily disoriented you. You back yourself into a corner, your heart rate accelerating as your anxiety rises.

Some new group of bioterrorists had risen, not as bad as Umbrella, but also not trying to do good like the government. They'd kidnapped you in hopes of using the information you must have, since you once worked with umbrella.

But you hadn't given them anything. Within the past week they'd tried everything in mental and physical torture, but you didn't relent.

The previous night, you'd heard some of your captors speaking of them getting impatient and frustrated with you, the possibility of just killing you and kidnapping someone else to take your place getting more and more appealing to them.

But you weren't going down without a fight.

You grab the only chair in the small room, holding it as best you can with your dislocated shoulder. You pant heavily as your wild eyes stare at the door that opens slowly.

You pause when your full name is called out, the chair dropping just an inch. A brunette man with bright blue eyes cautiously peeks into the room, gun raised as he repeats your name again.

A small flash of hope rises in your chest. He can't see you in the dark, so he continues walking in. He repeats your name, "-are you here? I'm here to bring you to safety."

His words bring you so much relief that you drop the chair. The guy whips his body toward you, turning on his flashlight and pointing the gun at you.

When he sees its only you, tired and breathing heavily with a gag between your lips, he relaxes and puts his weapon in his holster.

He approaches you slowly, as if you're a wild animal. "My names Leon Kennedy. I was sent by the DSO to rescue you."

You blink quickly, holding back tears as you nod. You stand awkwardly as he goes behind you, untying the cloth before stepping away. "Better?"

You take a moment to let your mouth salivate and clear your throat before speaking, "Yes... Thank you so much... You have no idea-"

"Good. Let's go." Leon turns back toward the door, leaving before you can finish.

His response stuns you for a few seconds before you brush it off as him just trying to hurry back to safety.

But the tension remains as you both travel through the abandoned city, helping each other up and down fallen buildings in complete silence.

You can't help but notice the way he sharply turns away from you after having to help you, or how an annoyed expression overcomes his face when you take too long to follow him.

It isn't until the two of you are forced to run into a barely standing house to get away from wandering A-Virus zombies.

Leon boards the door shut behind the two of you before leaning against it to catch his breath.

You rest against the wall of the house, breathing heavily as your mind can't seem to stop thinking about the way Leon has treated you so far. You hadn't done anything to him that would cause him to harbor bad feelings towards you. And you always helped him when he needed it. So why? Your curiosity gets the best of you.

"Hey-... Leon?" He responds to your breathy words with a grunt, not even looking at you. This irritates you a little, but you continue with a soft voice.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm super grateful for you saving me... But I can't help but feel like you don't feel all too happy about my safety."

He just grunts again, checking the number of bullets in his gun. "Don't know why you would think that." His tone contradicts his words, and your patience slowly deteriorates.

"I would think that because I haven't done anything to you! I would understand if I'd wronged you, but I haven't-"

"Oh, so working under Umbrella isn't doing something wrong?"

Your sharp inhale is the only thing heard in a pause filled with silence.

The both of you remain silent while staring at each other. Leon, looking at you with a blank look, was in much more inner turmoil at the moment. He wants to trust you, he really does. But Umbrella had taken so much from everyone. He can't imagine how sick a person must be in the head to work with them. Ex-employee or not.

You sigh and look him deep in his eyes, causing Leon to flinch because he swore he felt something ghost over the shell of his soul.

"I understand what you mean. And I'm not proud of the work I did under those monsters... But I'm not with them anymore! I'd found out that what we were doing was wrong, and immediately ran. I'm not who I was before. I swear. I just want to help those in need."

He just looks at you, mildly surprised by your sudden confession. All he can do is nod in acknowledgement. "Right... okay."

And from then on, you both get along relatively well throughout the journey to the rendezvous point.

You make pleasant conversation when possible, Leon asks if you need breaks or if you're hungry. He worries genuinely for your wellbeing. And you'd be lying if you said his care didn't make your heart go crazy. He cared for you. Found you food when you were hungry, handled your injuries, and popped your dislocated shoulder back into place.

The more he interacts with you, the more his determination to get you out of here grows. He hardly cares for himself, only thinking about you. And every time you thank him or give him that deep look of appreciation, he feels... things... Things he hasn't felt since his teenage years. He feels things that make him feel young again.

❁

Once again, you two are forced to retreat into yet another barely standing home. Only this time, you're both laughing as you close the door and board it shut together.

You step away and walk to a wooden desk, jumping up and sitting on it with your hand over your heart as you try to stop laughing. "Okay, that one liner you used when you threw the flashbang- 'Damn, I think you just got flashed.' Too fucking funny-"

Quiet snickers fill the tiny house. "Why, thank you sweetheart. And you're quite skilled with throwing knives. That knife you threw into that zombie's jugular?" He gives a playful chef's kiss, causing you to blush and giggle.

"Thanks. Told you I can handle myself."

"Right, and that's why you were kidnapped?"

You pause.

He pauses.

His words had unintentionally caused for your throat to close up. You cleared it, looking away from him and trying to give a small smile. But he knew he must have over-stepped.

He walks towards you. "Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up-" You instantly try to reassure him.

"No, no! I'm fine- really! I just wasn't expecting it."

You're surprised when Leon gets closer, stepping in-between your legs and wiping liquid off of your face. "Then why are you crying?"

You gasp before lifting a hand to feel your face. Sure enough, you're crying. You sniffle, trying to wipe away the tears but they never seem to stop. "Sorry- I don't mean to cry. I've j-just had a really long week..."

He shushes you. "I understand. There's no need to apologize. This couldn't have been easy."

You take a few moments to calm yourself. And once your tears finally stop, you look up and realize just how close Leon is. Your noses graze each other when you look at him. His bright blue eyes staring into yours with deep concern, his brown hair falling over his eyes, his dark brows pulled together in concentration as he looks all over your face.

Your heart rate accelerates.

You lick your lips, eyes dancing over his face before flickering to his lips. "Thank you... Leon."

He hadn't missed the motion of your tongue, eyes moving to yours.

You both look at each other for what seems like forever before he leans in.

Life seems a little more colorful.

Life feels worth living.

Life has just gotten so fucking worth it.

His soft lips dance against yours, stubble scrapping your chin, but you don't care.

You sigh into the kiss, bathing in the warm feeling that comes when his hands come to rest on your cheeks. You cover his hands with your own, eyes blissfully closed as you forget about everything else.

Nothing else matters. No one else matters. Everything you need, is in this man right in front of you.

Before you know it, he's deepening the kiss.

His hands move down to your hips and he pulls away to catch his breath.

You both pant for a while, eyes remaining locked onto the other's.

"Do you-... Are you sure you want this?"

Do you even have to think about it?

You instantly nod your head, not a single thought of hesitation in your brain.

"Do you want this?"

The question surprises him. "Do I?!"

You laugh when he lunges forward, lips landing on your neck. He sucks and bites like there's no tomorrow, relishing in the sounds of your soft moans and whimpers.

His hands move to the band of your pants. "Can I take these off?"

You give a small, 'Mhm-' and the pants, and your panties, are off within seconds.

You grind into his clothed semi-bulge, moaning at the friction on your clit. Your ass hurt from the wooden desk biting into it, but the pain is barely acknowledged. Leon digs his hands into your hips, stopping your movements.

You whine, about to snap at him for denying you of pleasure. But your complaint dies on your tongue when one of his hands slides between the two of you.

You gasp, hips twitching as he palms at your cunt. "Yes..."

He just chuckles, continuing to rub your puffy lips and your clit as his other hand reaches for his zipper.

You bite one of your nails to keep from being too loud as you watch him pull his dick from his pants.

A whimper leaves your lips at the pure size and girth of him.

He jerks himself a few times, watching the pure lust in your eyes and the drool pooling at the corner of your lips. He calls your name to get your attention. "You ready? You look pretty out of it and we barely even started..."

You glare at him, his hot breath fanning over your face as he slides his cock between your folds a few times before entering you.

Your heart races right against his, both of you panting and groaning as he bottoms out. Your nails create little crescent marks on his shoulder and the back of his neck, sweat collecting on your hairline.

Leon gets lost in the feeling of your silky wet walls, large hands gripping your hips as he begins a slow pace.

Your hearts beat in sync, hands never leaving the other. You can't keep your hands to yourself, scratching along his back, running them down his chest, combing through his hair.

You feel a tug on your soul. A feeling of connection.

There was something so intimate about this moment. You felt truly tied to this man, something you hadn't felt with somebody else in a long time.

You clench around him at the thought and he groans, picking up the pace.

Leon has slept with women before, but there was something special about you.

Everyone else was a mere distraction. Something to keep his mind off of the many years of physical and mental damage he had to endure.

But you?

You're the only one he felt a need to hold on to.

A sudden shock makes him thrust into you a little harder, causing you to cry out. You grip the nape of his neck as your back arches, legs raising to cross behind his back.

Leon grabs the back of your head and lead you into another passionate kiss, swallowing your whines and moans as his thrusts become erratic and desperate.

Both of your releases are within your reach, each of you getting louder and louder as you get closer. "Can I-... Can I cum inside? Please?"

Your approval is instant, not even thinking about refusing. "Yes-! Need it so bad..."

You jerk your hips to meet his with every thrust, the feeling of him kissing your cervix tightening the knot more and more until- it snaps.

Leon has to cover your mouth to muffle the loud sob the leaves your lips, not long after following you over that edge and seeing stars.

He bites the side of your neck to stay quiet himself, breathing heavily as the weight of the euphoria subsides.

You both lean on each other, bathing in the warmth and the safety the other provides.

"-One? Do you copy?"

The both of you startle, Leon accidentally pulling out of you and causing you to hiss at the sudden emptiness.

He mutters a quick apology before bringing a hand to his ear. "Condor One to Roost. I copy." He glances at you nervously. "Myself and-... Viper are safe and still on route to the rendezvous point." He embarrassingly turns away and fixes himself.

You silently gawk at your codename. It was flattering, in a way, but also showed that they really didn't trust you...

Leon soon finishes with his report and turns back to you, seeing you leaning on the desk. Watching him with a small smile and your pants back on.

He walks to you and places his hands on the desk, caging you in, before nuzzling his face into your neck. He breaths you in. "Sorry about that. Of course, we picked that before-"

"No need to apologize. I can see how I may have been kinda... snake-like-"

You laugh when he groans, lightly banging his head against your shoulder. You stay like this for a moment, holding each other, before Leon pulls away.

He gives you a quick peck on the lips and pulls his gun from its holster, checking the bullets again. "C'mon. Let's get out of here so I can get you back home and take you out for dinner."

You giggle, grabbing the first aid and weapons. "What, is this not already first date material?"

He pulls you in by your waist, getting close enough for you to feel his breath on your face.

"For you... First date material is so much more."

❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁

THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE AHHH!!

Ngl, I don't really like how long this is or how it ended, BUT LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Hope you enjoyed!

Requests are open!! <3

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil #viaoverthemoon #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #re4 leon #re4 #smut #resident evil leon #leon s kennedy #leon x y/n #leon kennedy fluff #leon scott kennedy

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the-kr8tor · 1 year ago

Text

Scarlet Leaves

Pairing: Fae! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 9.6k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, Smut implied, CW food mention, CW spiders, TW arachnophobia, CW vomiting, CW religious images, CW death, TW violence, TW blood, CW gore, CW injury, TW animal injury/harm, CW body horror, TW Suicide.

This chapter tackles dark themes, read at your own discretion.

A/N: if there's any warnings I forgot to add, please tell me so I could add it in. Endings are linked below, same warnings apply.

Navigation

The Fall Masterlist

PART III <<<

You open your eyes to the colour green, the grass under you grazes your legs, a delicate emerald fabric over your palms. Your skirt the same shade as the grass below you, camouflaging your form, not knowing where you or the ground starts or ends.

You're drowning in green, but you don't mind as the wind blows cool air behind you, a breath of reprieve from the searing heat of summer. Your fingers expertly fill in a tattered hole in the fabric, dainty daisies littered all over the cloth, all lovingly interwoven within the sea of green.

Pink dahlias accompany your side as your previous companion is nowhere to be seen. Too busy with your needlework, you haven't noticed where he went. Wondering where he went, you Look up from your handiwork, gold fills your vision, brilliant brown dotting around it, rescuing you from all the viridescent.

“Where did you go?” The voice is your own yet foreign in your ears. Tone soft and gentle like the air gliding behind you. You can't control your own body, like an audience watching a scene unfold.

“Out” He leans back, lips in a sly smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. His hands hide behind him, vines dance under his skin.

“We are out, web weaver.” You gesture around the hill, the tall oak standing proudly next to you in a protective stance. “Were you scaring the villagers again?”

“Only the hunters, love” he kneels before you, taking his hand out, laying a lily right behind your ear. The heart under your ribcage beats rapidly. “And the occasional children, someone needs to teach them not to wander off.”

He beams at your bewildered face, heat rising to your cheeks. “Where did your tongue go?” Ramping up his teasing, he plops his head over your lap, crushing his cloak under him. “I think I am quite fond of the view from down here”

You stifle from rolling your eyes, scoffing, you feign anger. “You just ruined my work!” Trying to pull the fabric from underneath him, he laughs loudly at your predicament. “You are an absolute menace, web weaver”

He smiles up at you like you've held up the moon just for him. You'd be lying if you weren't looking down at him all the same. Silence fills the area, the wind carries the sound of birds chirping as he holds up his knuckles to your cheek, wiping at the sweat clinging to your skin. Like muscle memory, you lean towards his touch. Closing your eyes, you savour it, akin to a man dying of thirst finding an oasis in the middle of the desert.

Humming happily, he retracts his hand back only for him to slide it down towards your hip, a provocative action but you don't protest or even move. Instead, you let him rest his large palm over the cotton of your blouse, quietly wishing there isn't any barrier between him and your skin. He feels it too, the lightning passing through your body to his immortal coil. Exhaling, he straightens himself out, expelling any compromising thoughts.

In your disappointment, he lifts his hand off your form. But he couldn't completely part away from the contact, he opts to hold you by the hem of your blouse, mindlessly playing with the cloth. You're completely enamored by him, and he too is the same for you.

A question appears in your mind, judging from the current state of your relationship with the being before you, you're sure he would answer.

“Why do you call yourself ‘web weaver?’ Did someone name you that?”

“Why? Do you not like it?” he dodges the question.

“Just curious” there's disappointment hidden in your voice. “It is a long title, you need a nickname or something similar or one that fits you”

“So, you do not like it? I am willing to take other names, if you have other suggestions”

“Quite the opposite, I am partial to ‘web weaver’ and I do have some ideas”

He leans to his left, face dangerously close to your stomach. You smile shyly, lifting your hands to bravely hold his jaw, gently scratching his nape with your nails. Surprisingly enough, he doesn't fret.

“Tell me” purring, voice tantalizingly sweet. He sighs in content.

“Hobart”

He cracks his eye open a smidge, bright eyes peeking through. “Hobart?” Testing the name on his tongue, he repeats it once again.

“Hobie for short, I have always liked that name. Sounds…modern”

“Is that the only reason?” His arm loops around your waist whilst you continue to cup his face affectionately. A breeze passes by, carrying a dandelion flying freely.

If someone would come across the scene, they would've thought a pair of lovers are enjoying the sun together; not an otherworldly being and a regular human who has found herself uncharacteristically attached to the living myth before her.

“It is a strong contender, the same goes with the name ‘Gabriel’ I suppose”

He scrunches his nose, an act so human you forgot for a second what he really is. “I prefer the former. You have thought it through, clever.”

“It has been eating at me, I cannot keep calling you web weaver or my tongue will get tied”

“Hobie it is then” his thumb presses softly on your skin.

You grin, sunshine making your eyes sparkle in delight. “That was easy”

“You thought I would put up a fight?”

“Yes, because you always do. It took me days just to convince you to let me mend your cloak”

“Yet, I still said yes” Hobie reaches up to cradle your face, swiping at the sweat stuck to your eyebrow, he slowly pulls you down towards him.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, frozen in elation. “You said yes” you said against his lips, yours only grazing his, the friction enough to spread goosebumps all over your arms. “Hobie–I”

He hums, eyes flickering down to the plush of your lips.

“I might love you, and I do not think I can manage it”

He meets your glimmering eyes full of love, “I will, if you cannot, I will manage for the both of us”

Hobie meets with your lips in a chaste manner, you swear your heart stopped beating. He pulls away for a second “Because it is you, and only you, my–”

You wake up covered in sweat, blades of grass right under your healing palms. His cloak protects you from getting poked by the grass. Your eyes look up at the mysterious light floating above Hobie’s abode, providing an eternal morning.

“You're awake”

Sitting up by your elbows, you look at him sitting a few feet away from you, legs crossed over the other, hands occupied with cutting a blood red apple.

“I didn't notice that I fell asleep” the cloak feels soft under your touch, reminiscent of the dream you had. Wind rustles past softly. You narrow your eyes suspiciously, “you didn't have anything to do with that, right?”

“Do you think of me so cruel?” Hobie points at the ground next to you with his knife. “You tired yourself out from making those” The wooden handle looks old and worn out, but the steel still has its shine, a sharpness that could cut bone.

Looking down, you see a pile of crowns made from daisies. All woven by your hand, judging by how your palms smell of flowers. There's one that's not yet completed, the circle broken, edges unconnected.

Picking it up, you rattle your sleep deprived brain on why you started making a bunch of them. You don't even know how to make daisy crowns in the first place.

“How–? Did I make these?”

“Mm-hmm” he replies, mouth full with an apple slice.

“Huh?” you lay back down, admiring your handiwork under the light.

“Hungry?” Hobie tosses an apple at you without warning.

The fruit bounces and slides before it reaches your waist. You look at him with a knowing look.

“Right,” you roll it away, back towards Hobie. “I'm good.”

“It's literally just an apple, no tricks” with a flick of his hand, the apple rolls back to you.

“Sure,” sarcasm rolls off your tongue. You play a game of catch with him.

“I can't lie, remember?” The apple rolls back and forth.

“No,” you emphasize the word with a roll of your eyes.

“You trust me enough for you to sleep here but you can't trust me with a single apple?” He rolls the fruit in between his palms. Brown eyes stare at you teasingly. “You have a weird way of measuring faith in people”

“Accidentally sleeping here doesn't condemn me to a life here. An apple does”

“Because you know the stories so well with your offerings of honey and milk” his smirk grows wider with each banter.

“It was outdated information”

“Thought you humans have a way of accessing infinite knowledge” he lays down, the light shines on his perfect skin. Facing you with a soft smile, his hand still on the apple that's held to his bare chest.

“We do, but that doesn't mean the information is still accurate after centuries. Some things change”

“Not all” He looks away from you, eyes fixated on the sky above.

After a beat of silence, the name still rattles around in your mind's eye. The dream seems so vivid you could still taste his lips on yours. You chance it, hoping he doesn't slice you to bits with the knife near him.

“Speaking of” you nervously lean to the side, facing the being in front of you. With an apprehensive exhale, you bravely ask him. “I've read a book in the manor’s library. A book about the fae” you lie once again.

“I'm guessing a story book then?”

“No, it looks…old and less storybookie”

Hobie raises a confused eyebrow. “Storybookie?”

“Y’know, it doesn't look like it was written for children. No pictures, just a bunch of words.”

“Words too big for you?” He chuckles at his own joke. Still avoiding your face.

You ignore his comment with a silent scoff. In your quest to get answers for your so-called dreams, you place a lilt in your voice, hoping it gets his attention.

“Hobie”

His face slowly turns back to you, big brown eyes staring at you intently. Lips slightly parted, he awaits for your next words, hanging onto every breath.

“There's a name there, it's only mentioned once so it's intrigued me”

“What name?” The space between you gets smaller and smaller with every second that passes.

“Web Weaver. Do you know what it means or who held it”

“Why do you think I would know?”

“Because,” you gaze at his eyes, there's anger pooling in them. Yet you continue on, your heart rattles loudly under your rib cage. “I just know”

The fierceness fades in his eyes, replaced with yearning. “It was my name”

“Was?” You breathe a sigh of relief, relieved that you didn't anger an ancient being. “Why web weaver?”

“How does it feel to be human?” He questions back, you're enamored by his gaze on you and you only.

“Don't dodge the question” The gap between your bodies is now an inch away, so close you could see the vines under his skin, blue flowers blooming among the thorns.

“I fear you won't comprehend the answer to your question” his old world vocabulary peeks out. Hobie whispers to you so you're the only one in the world that could hear his voice.

“And you won't understand mine. Guess we're even.”

There's a shakiness in your voice. Not from fear, but from realization. Talking to him gives you warmth, warmth to bask in, to comfort your soul, to love till your dying breath. You've never been more besotted in your entire life and you've only known him for a few weeks, weeks that feel like years to you.

There's excitement blooming in your chest even though your gut tells you there's danger ahead. Perhaps that's the reason why you're excited— the danger thrills you down to your bones.

Goosebumps appear on your arms despite the heat, Hobie leans over you, blocking the light, engulfing him in a halo. You're seeing God peer down on you.

He gently caresses your arm, laying your goosebumps back down and you keep forgetting to wear the necklace around him.

Your fingers twitch, itching to dance along his skin. There's a raw emotion behind his eyes, one that you can't decipher. Hobie pulls away, standing up, reaching down to you. Your hand connects to his, and you swear you hear tiny bells chime from somewhere.

“Why do you let me hang around you so much?” you stand toe to toe with Hobie, hand still in yours.

“You're in a questioning mood. It's the same reason why you keep coming back here”

Heat rises in your cheeks, you don't even know why. “It’s just—most people would have left by now”

“Not a regular person, remember?” He squeezes your hand just before he releases it. Turning away from you, Hobie addresses you over his shoulder. “Or have you forgotten already?”

You don't answer, not knowing what to say. Sometimes he makes you forget that he's a being beyond comprehension, a man more human than anybody you've come across. Then you get reminded he's not, that he's unfathomable to someone like you.

—

Exiting his domain, the fresh crisp autumn air greets you back. There's patches of ice left on the soft grass from when it rained last night. The sun slowly sets in the west, orange and pinks swirl in the sky. Leaves crunch under your trainers as you trudge the thicket. You've acclimated yourself with the woods, but it's still unfamiliar, your red ribbons tied around the trees help you in finding your way out.

You look up with a fond smile on your lips, watching how the sunlight peek through the leaves, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. There's scurrying under the grass, birds chirp their night song. Your hands glide along the tree trunks and the silky ribbons, using it to guide your way. Your vision is suddenly cleared from treetops, the heavens in full display just for you.

You find yourself on the foot of a hill, one that looks so familiar yet strange. Not remembering this hill as part of your usual trek out, your mind is confused on how you got there in the first place. Trudging up the incline, you grab a long stick to help prop you up.

“Wow”

Breathing out, reaching the top, you watch the sunset bathe the hill in its heavenly glow. You chuckle softly to yourself, you can't remember ever seeing a magnificent sight like this in the crowded city.

“Pretty” you spot a large oak standing tall and forlorn just along the edges. Its tree trunk is dark with no leaves growing along its branch. It looms overhead, ancient and alone.

You expect its leaves to rustle when a wind passes, you're mesmerized by how grim yet beautiful the tree is. It’s alone and sickly, but it stands tall despite the elements and time ravaging its wood.

You decide to continue walking back to the manor now that the sun is merely minutes away from saying goodbye. Soon it'll be dark, soon there will be no light to guide you.

Carefully walking, you feel gravel under your feet, craning your neck down, you see no grass or any greenery. Just a circular patch of death, the soil is black, a deep contrast from the viridescent and orange around you. It matches the oak tree in a poetic eerie way.

You step away from it, the scorched earth sends shivers down your spine just from standing over it. The smell of burning wood hits your nose abruptly. A sense of dread and fear around it, turning your stomach inside out.

“There's something wrong here” You whisper above the wind. Promptly hasting your steps back towards the manor without looking back, afraid something else might gaze back.

—

As the weather grows colder your relationship with Hobie has gotten warmer. The dreams get more vivid, images of fireflies flying in the dark, bumblebees buzzing in your ears, Hobie’s sweet caresses and alluring voice makes it more enticing for you to stay asleep and forever live in the dream. Thanks to Nellie’s morning wake up call, you wake in time.

The strong feelings towards him all feels weird at first, there's always a push towards him, controlling you to call his name and yearn for his searing gaze. There's a mysterious longing, an affection that's completely unfounded. Perhaps the dreams helped you in realizing your emotions towards Hobie. Whatever it is, it has you in an iron grip, refusing to let go. It seems it has the same effect on Hobie too, there's always an immediate response the second you call out to him in the thick woods. His eyes never leave yours, how his touch would linger everytime your skin connects.

There's that electricity flowing between you both, something that makes sparks appear when he holds you. With every tentative touch there's affection behind it, soft smiles bring a promise. You want him to make a home inside your heart, stay there until he's molded himself in your arteries, until your veins run with him.

It's not all desire though, there's a profound need to be near him, to talk well into the night, share stories from almost forgotten memories. Conversing with him until your voice is hoarse from all the talking and laughter. You could just start talking about the surrounding woods and the next thing you know you're well off chattering about your deepest emotions like you're chatting with an old friend you haven't seen in years. You find making him laugh is the best part of your day.

You've grown to look forward to the banter every time you've finished your daily work. Dare you say the favourite part of your day is entering the woods. At first you would only go whenever you're bored or needed company from the isolation. Nellie’s the best at not making you feel so alone, but you still need someone who answers back. The once a week visit turned into twice a week, then to every other day, until you arrange your so-called meetings with him every single day.

It's basically routine now, but you don't always come to him, even though your soul screams to be by his side. That's why you're out in the woods with a basket of autumn flowers and berries you've foraged, it's the closest thing to being with him, to silence the raw hunger without indulging yourself by calling his name.

You have to slowly acclimate yourself by spending the entire day without ever seeing him. You've found him addicting, from his voice to his very presence.

And you're in withdrawal.

You dread being alone again when your contract ends. You'll find it hard to live day to day, still too used to your routine at Mudwood manor. So you're back in the thicket, so close yet so far from him with an excuse to go out and forage for… you don't even know, you just needed an excuse.

The wicker basket grows heavier in your arms the more you forage further into the woods. Which might not have been your best idea, especially when more eerie sounds enter the thick brush, eyes seem to wander around your form, watching, learning your movements. But you wanted to get out of the manor at the same time to be close to Hobie, and escape from the stifling stares of the paintings.

You could go to the small village, but you don't feel comfortable roaming even though you've been in the estate for almost five months. The villagers’ whispers and narrowed stares just get to you, even if you try not to.

You wanted to still be close to home.

But the grounds around the estate feels empty too, with crumbling foundations from ancient buildings that haven't been maintained and exposed to the elements, its brick and wood façade crumbling with just a gust of strong wind. The only building still standing inside the estate's land is the mausoleum, and you're not too keen to hang around the dead quite yet.

The place that you've found yourself most free in, a place where you feel safe in— the woods. You have A sense of belonging within the grove. Especially knowing that Hobie is one call away just in case something much worse decides to come after you.

You know he'll be there.

Rolling around the black cherry like berry in between your fingers, you keep finding your train of thought always leading towards him. Just the mere idea of him seems to relax you, bringing you a sense of peace that you've only felt while with him. You know it's wrong, wrong to feel this way towards the fae. A being that with one twitch of his finger could strike you dead, or make you fall to your knees. Which he hasn't done, not yet anyway.

You don't feel alone in the world anymore. With his company and Nellie's, you haven't smiled this much in a long time. The job was supposed to be isolating, unforgiving to the human need to socialize. With them in mind, it doesn't seem so bad, you should thank them both before you leave and end your contract with O’Hara, which is coming up sooner rather than later.

Taking a handful of berries, you stuff them inside the basket, the juice rubbing off on your palms. Bringing it closer to your mouth, tongue sticking out to taste it. A hand stops you from tasting the sweet nectar, webs wrap around his wrists, crawling towards your hand.

“Don't” you look at with questioning eyes, Hobie’s voice stern and commanding.

“Hello to you too”

“D’you want to kill yourself?” Hobie lets go of your hand, grabbing his cloak to use it in wiping your hand clean.

“No?” you watch closely as he gently cleans your hand free of juice.

“No? You're not sure?” He quirks a brow, still wiping every crevice of your palm.

“It was a question because I wasn't trying to kill myself.” You savour the skin on skin contact.

“Good, you're just stupid then.” You glare at him. “The plant's called ‘Belladonna’ or ‘deadly nightshade’ if you're more familiar with that name”

“Oh” you look down at your basket full of what you've thought to be blackberries. “Shit, I didn't know. Maybe I should've brought that book with me from the library”

“You should've.” Hobie finally lets go of your hand, already languishing the lack of contact. “What're you doin' here? Haven't I warned you enough about the things roaming around here?”

“What are you doing here? I didn't know you could even leave your abode”

“I can, only briefly” He leaves out the part where he feels a stinging sensation whenever he's outside, it's annoying at best, still, it pains his bones just to step outside.

“Are you okay?” You notice the sweat glistening on his forehead and how his eyebrows are subtly knitted together. “You look…” human? Sick? “Tired”

He tilts his head slightly. “You worried ‘bout me?”

Rolling your eyes, you decide to quip back. “Nope, you just look extremely ugly right now” a massive lie on your end. He could be wearing a trash bag and he would still be inhumanly handsome.

“I didn't know I had a mirror for a face” Hobie takes you by the sleeve of your coat whilst you gape at his roast. He chuckles softly at your reaction, brown eyes crinkling in happiness.

Entering his abode, more flowers have sprouted since you've met him. Flowers that don't usually grow in this weather: dandelions, daisies and watercolor roses sway in the wind. The willow tree stands greener and stronger than before. The table still sits in the middle of the glade, food from his realm lay forgotten, swept to a corner of the table. The food you've left for him is the centerpiece. Bread you've made from ingredients you've found in the pantry, fruits cut in misshapen pieces, butter from the fridge and an empty thermos of tea. The place looks and feels more homely. More human.

You drop the basket of poison right near where the ‘other’ food lay discarded.

Flopping down on a chair right next to his, you breathe in the warmer air, eyes closed, basking in the otherworldly warmth. Your skin glimmers in the light, a soft smile on your lips, head hanging over to the side of the marble chair; your neck in full display.

Hobie stares, swallowing the lump in his throat, knuckles tight. His instincts, his innate desire to defile you, to sink his teeth in your skin, biting, taking. Instead, he doesn't, you deserve so much more than that, deserving of affection and care that borderlines on love. Love that exceeds expectations, love that transcends through time. You're more than his desire.

You're sacred in his eyes.

The chair to your left scrapes along the grass, he sits next to you, he hasn't sat on the head of the table since you've decided it was alright for you to sit on a chair instead of just standing around.

You lean your head towards him, eyes cracking open, your smile growing wider.

“Hello there” you whisper the words to him like a secret only to be kept between you two.

Hobie blinks slowly, smile slowly spreading, he finds yours infectious. “Hello yourself, making yourself at home?”

“Mm-hmm, I want to savour it”

“Savour it? You can always come back here whenever you want”

“I know that, Hobie. My contract’s up.” You sharpen the knife. “I only have a week left here” then you stab him right through his heart.

He inhales sharply, sitting up right. The wind stops breezing past, stilling. Light slowly fading.

“Alright, this is goodbye then?”

“Of course not, I can always visit. Sure the drive is far and long and I'll technically be trespassing. But I can always visit”

“Don't come back” he says it softly, pleading almost. “It's better if you don't visit” Hobie stabs you with the same knife.

You try to find the humour in his voice, finding none but a straight faced Hobie, none of the life you're used to. “Why?”

“Because it's better”

You sit up, anger and confusion mixing together. A foul concoction. “Better for whom exactly?”

“For the both of us” He speaks monotonously. The knife twists in your gut.

“You know it's not, we both know it's not” you scoff. Shaking your head, hiding the tears collecting in your eyes.

“It is and I know”

“Yes, because you're all knowing and better than me” You spread your anger before him.

“I am” His eyes swirl into gold, no colour brown that you fell for.

You shake your head, standing up quickly, the chair falls, cracking the marble. “Okay then” masking the shaking of your voice with a clear of your throat. “Goodbye Hobie, it was… nice, yeah nice”

Not bothering to look back, you cross his threshold, leaving his abode. He gazes at his feet, forlorn yet there's no regret in his heart.

“it’s better for you” he tries to convince himself.

—

You stomp angrily inside the manor, the door bangs loudly as you close it with much frustration. Silent tears flow out, you sniff, rubbing it off with your sleeves. “He doesn't deserve my tears” you mumble.

The ringing sound from the living room makes you jump, “fuck!” The landline rings excessively, annoying your already angry state. You walk over to it, “I'm coming, christ”

“Hello?!” You answer the phone with hostility.

“Hello? Y/N?” Miguel's voice replies back, you regret your angry tone immediately.

You compose yourself. “Hi, Mr. O’hara. Sorry about that, I keep getting prank calls” A half lie, the phone rings in the dead of night every other day, good thing you're a night owl and you answer the empty calls. You're almost always reading through the night or annoying Nellie. Still, you find it weird that no one answers back.

“Are you okay?” Miguel sighs. There's a loud screeching sound in the background.

“Yes, are you okay? There's a weird sound on your end”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” There's shuffling in the background. “There, I'm in a quieter place. Is everything alright with Nellie and the house?”

“Yes, everything’s in tip top shape” you cringe at yourself.

He sighs, “Alright, good. Something came up and I gotta stay here a couple more weeks. Are you okay with that? Of course I'll add it to your salary, if not then it's okay.” There's a muffled clanking sound behind him.

“Yes, of course that's alright. I can't leave Nellie yet anyway” The said dog perks up from her sleeping position on the leather settee, wagging her tail, fluffy ears down.

“Thank you, Y/N. I'm off, thank you again”

“Of course, Mr. O’Hara” you click the phone down. Sighing, lumbering your way towards Nellie.

You lay over her dramatically, face full of her fur, hands mindlessly petting her, she huffs in return, letting air out her nostrils.

“Oh, Nellie, it's just us now, old girl”

She barks timidly in return.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it's my fault. Shouldn't have been there in the first place” you cuddle closer to her, she doesn't protest, wagging her tail from under you. “I'd be lying if I don't miss him” murmuring the words, your eyes start growing glassy once again.

“Fucking asshole”

—

It's been a week since you've seen him. Everytime you walk along the edge of the woods with Nellie by your side, you can't help but yearn for his presence. Purposely stopping by, a chance to see him again, even just a simple sign that he wants to see you again. Alas you don't get a trace of him, the woods are eerily quiet in your absence, there's a darkness permeating inside, spreading, echoing, longing.

Nellie tugs you away by her leash, with a bark she guides you back towards the manor. You look over your shoulder, a sudden scent of death whizzes behind you. Goosebumps rise on your skin, a shiver down your spine, perhaps it's a good idea to stay away for a while.

You sleep restlessly, waking up in intervals. Nellie helps though, she now sleeps on the foot of your bed. Her soft snores lull you to a rare dreamless sleep.

“Wake up”

Your ears perk up at the sound of a chair moving across hardwood floors, then almost immediately the scraping stops. Alarm bells start to ring out in your head. The first thing you grab is the nearest and sharpest thing inside the room, silently uncapping the fountain pen, the sharp tip glistens in the moonlight. You tiptoe over to your bedroom door.

Slowly opening it enough to peek through, your heart sinks down to your stomach at the sight of torch lights moving around the ancient walls of the manor.

Hushed whispers can be heard from downstairs, they creep and snicker, tamping down any loud noise whenever they bump into furniture. But you heard them, holding the fountain pen with an iron grip, you close the door as quietly as you can, locking it right after.

“Why are you shushing me? There's no one here” a gruff voice yells out. Making you stop in your tracks, Nellie fully wakes up, alert, wide eyes staring at the door then back to you.

“Still, shut the fuck up!” Another man whisper yells, “this place is old, we might wake up the dead”

“Idiot, you still believe that? What are you five?” A male unfamiliar voice chides in.

There's three of them. Your lips wobble in fear, knees threatening to give out from under you. Your room is on the third floor, too high up to jump down, if you decide to risk it, you would most definitely break your legs or worse. And how would Nellie get out if you survive the fall? An older dog like herself wouldn't make it if she fell that high up.

So you decide on a split second decision, it's either the bathroom or the wardrobe. You surmise that if they would get inside, they would check the bathroom first; giving you ample time to run downstairs and get to your car. So you make time to grab your key inside the drawer, pocketing it inside your sweatpants.

You make your way towards Nellie, grabbing her by the collar, there's no time to be polite but you still guide her as gently as you can– taking her towards the large wardrobe. She doesn't protest, letting you lead her inside. Sitting down next to her, closing the double doors– its hinges creek, you cringe at the sound, loud enough for them to hear the squeak. Once closed, you move the coats back in its place on the rack, acting as another barrier between you and the doors.

You hope it's enough to protect you and Nellie.

She sits down obediently, eyes trained outside. Your hands ache from how hard you're gripping onto the pen.

“Nellie” you whisper, “stay quiet, please.” With shaking hands, you pet her by the ear. “They might not even check here” you reassure yourself. Nellie stares you down, a face you've never seen her make before.

She scooches closer to you, protecting your body from the outsiders. Her fur warms you, calming you a little. Nellie huffs once footsteps walk up the stairs, every step acting like a death knell, counting down to the inevitable.

You pray to every deity there is, your mind wishes that Hobie’s with you, he would know what to do. You desperately need a bright idea for an escape, anything will do in hopes of ever seeing him again, to live through this nightmare.

There's footsteps in the doorway.

“It's locked” the doorknob rattles, tears start forming in your eyes, blurring your much needed vision.

“Move, I'll open it” voice muffled nonetheless frightening you with how close the sound is.

Covering your mouth, body trembling in fear, silent tears flow freely. Your hands tremble, the pen leaving indents on your palm, angry marks sears into your newly healed wound, opening it once again, your life flowing out of you.

Bang!

The sound makes you flinch, whimpering as Nellie looks on. The door is in danger of opening from the harsh kick.

“Christ! You're being too loud”

“We're in the middle bumfuck nowhere, no one's gonna hear”

Bang!

Metal hinges fall on the hardwood floors, scraping towards your hiding place.

“One more, hurry up! The good stuff must be inside”

“You wanna fucking do it yourself? Get off my back”

Bang!

You tamp down a scream when the large door bursts open, falling harshly on the floor, Nellie covers your entire body with hers, stance at the ready. A bundle of nerves sit on the bottom of your stomach, clinging, waiting with baited breath.

One whistles out, “Big fucking room, search the place, the safe must be in here”

“You fuckin' search it, you're not the boss” he seethes, voice fading towards somewhere. “I'll look through the other rooms, you stay here”

The other intruder clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Look who's acting like a boss. Asshole”

Heavy footfalls march towards the bathroom, you shiver, heart thundering inside your chest. Your soul is familiar with the feeling, anticipating your fate.

The doors to the bathroom creek open, you hide your frightened face on Nellie's shoulders like a child hiding behind their mother's skirt. Soft fur tickles your cheeks, you hold onto her, anchoring yourself.

“Goddamn, these faucets must've cost a fortune.” Judging from his footsteps, he seems to leave the bathroom “I don't have time to dismantle those. Now, where in the world is that safe” you hear boots thump on wooden floors, getting closer and closer towards the wardrobe.

Clutching the sharp pen, you wipe your eyes free of tears with your sleeve, brows furrowed in anger, lips trembling.

Right before the wardrobe doors split open, Nellie lunges, growling like a woman scorned. Her large canines bare at the man clad in black. With a quick movement, she aims for the jugular.

Blood gushes out, spraying your face with hot crimson. Nellie's snout covered in the same shade, her mismatched eyes wild with anger. Her body growing larger by the second, paws as big as your head, claws digging into the man's torso–shredding his skin down to his bone.

You hear a woman whisper “Run!” In your ears.

With a pained yelp, the man gurgles, slowly drowning in his own blood, Nellie's fangs still buried in his neck— a sea of red coating the polished floors.

Sparing Nellie one last look, she devours the man, sounds of tearing flesh playing over and over in your mind. A knife glistens in the moonlight, stabbing your protector in her stomach, a last ditch effort to escape.

Running away, pen still in your grip, you run into another man, crashing your body into his.

“What—?” He holds you by your shaking shoulder, dark eyes full of bad intention.

You don't waste time in lifting the pen, stabbing him in between his ribs. Blood leaks out, dripping into the carpet. He staggers back in surprise, still holding onto you, his back hits the bannister in a second, losing his balance.

He takes you down with him.

Air escapes your lungs as you plummet down to the foyer, closing your eyes, you brace for impact. A vision fills your mind, a memory perhaps, a memory that's definitely not your own. Or maybe one that you don't remember.

You fall simultaneously with your other self, the smell of salt and sea fills your nostrils. With your hands tied behind your back, the large stone weighing you down, helping you sink further and further into the deep. Bubbles float above you as darkness swallows you whole. Lungs filled with saltwater. You don't fight the current because it wouldn't have mattered.

It would always end like this.

You hit the ground in an ugly crunch of bones and skin, groaning, gore staining your head. Iron wafts your nostrils. The once clean home is now dirtied with crimson and shattered wood. There's ringing in your ears, hands and back filled with shards of glass from the vase that used to decorate the foyer. Chrysanthemums litter the floors, petals crushed– bloodied and broken.

You spot the open door, cold entering inside, the full moon beckons you over. Crawling to it, glass pricks your forearms, staining the antique carpets. Legs pulsing in pain. With one eye open, ichor gushing out from your forehead– you have one place in mind to seek sanctuary. Someone to help you in your injured state.

“Please” you can barely recognize your own voice, begging to get to safety, pleading to whoever is watching over you to let you live.

Just this one time.

“Liam!” A woman yells from the second floor, fast footsteps echo out in the estate. She grabs you by the foot, dragging you back inside, away from escape.

“You fucking bitch!” her shrill voice dampens your screams of protest.

You try kicking her with the last of your strength, but to no avail. Her razor-edged nails dig into your skin, your palm slides over to a sharp shard of glass, you immediately bend at the waist, stabbing it into her hand.

She yells, letting your foot go. The woman slowly took the shard out of her hand. Flesh opens up, muscle peeking through the wound. Heaving, she has ember in her eyes, you have fire in yours.

As you stand up on your feet, glass and splinters leaving jagged edges over the soles of your bare feet. Lips parted, your eyes catch a glimpse of the man you stabbed taking slow strides in front of you. Bloodied hand now holding on to the weapon you used. Scarlet flowing freely over his mad eyes.

He spits out blood, platinum hair covered in his own gore, teeth stained with crimson. “You weren't supposed to be here”

“You should've left while you had the chance, girl” the woman holds her own hand, trying to stop the bleeding. “or at least not cause problems for us. You had to be a hero, huh? No matter, we can handle you” she brandishes a knife big enough to butcher you.

The man beside her snickers, “And to think I was about to help you, I was the nice one y’know” he drops your bloodied pen, replacing it with rope from his belt.

“Fuck you” gritting your teeth, you curse at them with calmness you never thought you still had.

“Feisty, oh we'll have our fun with you!” She hits you with the butt of her knife, you flinch back, enough to lessen the impact, but the pain still leaves you blind for a second.

Doubling over in pain, she takes the chance to kick your stomach. Bile rises up in your throat, acid comes out of your battered mouth, smearing the floors. Now on your knees, the man tries to kick your spine but you're not going down without a fight. You take his leg just before it collides with your back, holding it, twisting it down with your whole body until he falls flat on his face.

“Bitch!” Knuckles hit your cheek, your nose cracking under the pressure.

You lay in a fetal position, shielding your head with your stained arms, ichor spread around you, seeping out of you, covering you. They kick and hit as a punishment, numerous voices laugh in your ears. The soft soil on your back, staining your clothes, tire tracks left on your skin, lower body nowhere to be seen. The blood stained tracks on concrete, your vision disappearing.

With your last strength, you time the kicks where they stop for a brief second near your face, grabbing her ankle, you bite a chunk of her Achilles heel. She falls on her back unceremoniously, screaming and cussing.

You spit out her flesh, showing off your bloodstained teeth with a cold smile at her partner.

“Fucker–!” He lifts up his boot, ready to strike you down.

A flash of black and white and then he no longer stands before you. His body flinged away, Nellie biting his head off in one feral bite. Head rolling to the soles of the woman.

“What the fuck!” The lone woman yells, a grave mistake she would soon learn.

Nellie sharply turns her head, fangs in full display, claws tapping on the floor, stalking her prey. Her once soft fur is all sharp and upright in fury. She pounces on the intruder, her entire body hiding the deed from you. You could only hear her screams and skin tearing into a bloody mess. Blood flies out of her like leaves blown away by the wind.

With one last squelch of skin and blood, Nellie stops growling, silence envelopes the entire manor.

“Nellie?” You breathe out, throat scratching like nails on a chalkboard.

She looks over her massive shoulder, fur covered in shredded clothes and guts. Her eyes are the only indication that she's the same dog you used to walk around the manor, the same one who sleeps by your bed since you got her back. The same Nellie you've grown to care for.

“Come here” you reach out to her with your shaking hand, she taps it with her snout, warmth

coating your palm. “You saved me, good girl” she nuzzles her head, huffing out in content, tail wagging in delight.

Bang!

A gun goes off, Nellie whines, dropping her dead weight right in front of you. Her essence flows out of her like a rushing river. She shrinks back to her normal form, an old border collie lay before you, whimpering in pain, eyes pleading for help.

“No!” Your voice breaks, hands searching her fur for the wound. Tears slide down your cheeks, leaving a trail of skin free of blood.

Looking behind you, another man stares at the sight in horror, intestines decorate the ancient walls, stray teeth litter around the floors like petals. Blood paints the halls of the great manor. His companions lay dead, bodies growing cold.

“You!” his voice shakes, the barrel of the gun pointed over your temple. He slaps you with the butt of his gun, you fall back down on the gore filled floor.

Everything hurts, your head pounding like a drum, arms stinging, nose aching, your lungs fight to inhale air. The beautiful chandelier you admired is your only audience to the grim scene that unfolded. And the only witness to your impending demise. You try to reach for the keys inside your pocket, resulting in the man stomping hard on your fingers, your bones crack under the pressure.

The man spits maliciously at your pain enveloped form, with a blink an older woman does the same.

“Witch!” She points her crooked finger at your tied form. The spectators scream in agreement. Faceless crowd jeering for your demise.

Snow covers the hill you were once safe in, snowflakes stick to your wet lashes, wood and timber at your feet, the thin white shift you wore doesn't shield you from the cold; in spite of the weather, you're warm. The searing heat burns your skin. Flames rising up, melting the ice underneath. The smoke burns your lungs, coughing, eyes stinging from all the tears you've shed.

“I am innocent, please!” You plead to deaf ears. “Spare me!”

One throws a rock at your shaking form, it hits your bare shoulder, the fire grows closer, it licks up your feet, scorching, burning. You screech in agony, calling his name, hoping he appears despite knowing he won't, can't.

“Hobie!” You feel yourself turning into ash. The growing life inside of you savagely ends abruptly.

“Hobie” clinging to life, your lips forming his name, instinctively calling for him. A whisper, a prayer just for him.

Furious wind rushes inside, the burglar shields his face with his arms, his face mask falling off his face. You crumple further into yourself, whimpering from all the searing pain.

Suddenly, the air stills, the sound of splitting logs, creaking and lumbering, you can smell morning dew through your broken nose. Spiders skitter onwards, black and red dots crawling all over the man. He screams in fear, trying to shake them off as the arachnids march on. Numerous more enter, engulfing his entire body. He hits the walls in an attempt to kill them off, they scatter away like dust, running away when the sound of nails scraping on wood can be heard.

He looks relieved for only a brief moment, then despair fills his entire being. Fear clutches your heart, eyes glued to the sound. There's a lull in the chaotic moment, silent as a monastery.

Lithe fingers slowly furling over the door frame, nails as dark as death itself emerge. Bones creaking, trees cracking, breaking apart at its roots. Your soul sings whilst you feel your heart stop, green whizzes past in a flash.

He stands there, an enormous stature, cloak draped behind him, an ocean of green, a flash of red in his eyes— his hand wrapped around the man's throat, nails digging and drawing pinpricks of scarlet. The pistol falls on the ground, metal striking the wood. He gasps in terror as you watch on with wide eyes.

You witness a myth come true right in front of you.

Spider legs unfold behind him, ripping his cloak, it twitches, the sharp ends poking and prodding at his victim. With a quick movement, Hobie impales the man with his eight legs, right through his torso, neck, legs, groin and eyes.

A life ends once more, a waterfall of warm ichor flowing down, spreading across the hardwood, staining your already blood-soaked clothes.

Hobie lets the corpse go, falling loudly and mercilessly. The corpse's dead eyes stare upon yours. The image would forever stay with you.

He kneels before you, spider legs retracting into his back; fury subsiding in his golden eyes, brown mixing in. Humanity seeping through him like the blood coating his hands. You observe through half lidded eyes, his scent masks the death around you.

Hobie hovers his knuckles over your ruined skin, he avoids the angry gashes of broken skin.

“Clover, what are you– what have they done to you?” For the first time since he saw you last, He feels helpless, a childlike fear under his otherworldly eyes. “I'm so sorry”

You wheeze out a reply. Crimson coated hand reaching out for him. He cups it gently, gore blending together. A vision of him holding you amidst the dark, flushed skin upon bare flesh, fluttering body under his, lips over your neck, nipping and kissing, passion rolling out in waves, love hanging in the air. Desire fulfilled.

“Hobie–” a raspy breath escapes, you don't recognize your own voice anymore.

“Don't talk, I've got you” carefully and effortlessly, he carries you.

You yelp, everything burns, your joints, your skin, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. Yet, his searing warmth comforts you, the familiarity brings a small smile onto your lips.

“I’m right here” his voice wavers, each step heavier than the other.

In that moment, you know everything will be alright.

Holding on, you paint his chest with blood that might be yours. The cold hits you, consciousness fading.

“Well? Your name?” He asks pensively.

“Rose”

“Poppy–”

Snowflakes drop to your eyelashes, melting over your skin.

“Dahlia–”

“Violet–”

The stabbing pain in the back of your skull persits, your life dripping onto fresh snow. Dirtying the earth.

“Iris”

“Fern”

You feel your legs go numb, Hobie's eyes forlorn, his bones ache, yet his grip stays strong.

“Lily–”

“Daisy, my name is Daisy”

He smiles, eyes twinkling with mirth. “Clever one, I welcome you, my name is–”

“I know you” whispering your words, Hobie stops in his tracks. Flicking his eyes down, he sees a sight that breaks what is left of his heart.

“I-I know you” you repeat it for yourself, trying to comprehend it all. Tears unknowingly let out, broken fingers brushing across his jaw.

“You do”

Swallowing a lump of blood stuck in your throat, you mumble out, trying your best to speak. “How–?”

“That's not important, you need to get better or–” he releases a sharp breath, “the food inside the abode can heal you, but it has consequences.” Hobie pleads with you with just a single look. “Do you understand what it means?”

You nod weakly. “Nellie, she's—”

“She'll be alright, that dog has gone through worse.”

You believe him, hoping that she's alright, wishing that she'll be back on her feet and waiting for you back at the manor. There's only hope now for you as the light behind your eyes dim.

You now enter the woods, your limbs grow weaker with every step. Hobie’s searing heat is the only thing keeping you awake. Your blood stains his torso red, the once green colour of his cloak now dirtied with coagulating blood. His own agony makes it harder for him to walk, stabbing his muscles, arms shaking under your weight.

“I’ve got you, I've got you” He repeats it like a mantra. “Stay awake for me, please” Hobie peers down, observing how your blood doesn't stop from gushing out, how your lungs fight to exhale air.

You have questions rushing through your mind, the answers will bring light to your very existence. You don't even know who you are right now but the pains and ache makes your thoughts foggy. At this rate you'll die before you get the answers you need.

Hobie stops abruptly, a snap of a twig from behind makes him whirl towards the sound. Then you smell it, flesh decaying, the smell of burning hair. There's something or someone shambling behind the trees, the rattling sound of chains being dragged along the path turns the blood inside your veins into ice.

Panic settles in Hobie’s stomach. He's frozen under the eyeless gaze of the entity.

He suddenly becomes the prey.

Its skeletal figure continuously drips thick dark blood onto the grass below, its bones chatter in the wind, long fingers pointing at you, bringing the large chains strapped on its wrist above, weighing its lithe arm down.

You were never welcomed here.

An image of a tall man converges with the ugly thing, suddenly, Hobie's right next to him. His entire body covered and trapped by thorny vines, pricking his skin, drops of ichor fall like dew drops on the soil.

The other being turns his head towards Hobie who struggles against the binds. The deer skull hides the fae’s face from view, his dark hair cascading around his bare shoulders. Tiny bells ring on his staff as he grabs Hobie by his jaw, sharp nails digging into his flesh.

“You bare the greatest sin” his voice a mere whisper yet as loud as an ocean wave crashing along the shores. “for what? A pet?” He turns towards you, dark eyes flicking down to your stomach. “An abomination, an affront, a mistake” the being spits venom.

“Now, she must be punished as do you” he turns his neck with a snake-like movement back to Hobie. “You've cursed her, Web weaver. Only by her own hand can cut the ties. Then and only then, she may be free from the binds you have put her in”

Hobie’s eyes are laden with fear and anger, his mouth covered by the same vines, unable to speak. His panicked eyes meet yours, tears freely flow from the brown you love.

You bravely stare at the fae next to him, fury settling in your soul, horror hidden behind the fire in your veins. He tilts his head, a sinister smile on his thin lips. There's flowers in your lungs. With a small wave of his fingers, you get flinged back.

Condemned to a deathless death.

Its jaws unhinge, a guttural high pitch sound blows your eardrums. Hobie kneels, letting you down on the moist soil just before the monster lunges for you.

Blades of grass stab your injuries. You stare up at the familiar ball of light, your fingers clutch the grass when a wave of pain hits your skull.

“Hobie?” Sobbing, you don't see him next to you. “Hobie?!” in your desperation, you yell for him.

There's an ache behind your sockets, memories flash by, once your own, centuries of despair, death and yearning. And you've lived through every single one. You feel remorse for all the lives you've lived, all the hatred and confusion that stems from the first life, from simply loving someone out of reach.

Crawling on the earth, if you bring your ears to the ground, you hear his shouts and struggle against the creature. Your soul begs for you to help him, but how could you do anything in your state? You barely feel your legs now, your right eye shut completely closed from the injury.

With your one good eye, you see your trembling broken fingers ahead of you, desperately clawing at the grass.

Finally reaching the table, you grab its leg. The table shakes briefly, a berry falls, bouncing in front of your eyes. A loaf of bread follows it on the grass.

You have a choice layed out in front of you.

You want to correct everything that your past selves couldn't. But will you be brave enough to do it? Or will you stutter like the others?

Your mind struggles to choose, taking a handful of nightshade would break the curse that's befell you all those years ago. No more struggling, no more pain and death for the next you to bear.

The cycle could finally end with you.

Or you take a piece of bread from his table and continue to live on. Who wouldn't want to live? Your body dies but your soul lives on in a different variant of you. After eating it would bind you to Hobie, you could love him till your time ends and another begins.

Why is it your problem to break the curse? Why not the next one or the one after that? Is it your responsibility to break the wheel?

Is it bad to want to live with the love of your life?

With one bite and you'll stay in this realm, even if the curse looms over your head, forever waiting for your death, whether by time's hand or another vile thing that plucks you from the garden of life. But you get to stay with him, experience what your former selves have.

Then the cycle would continue on unbroken.

Hobie will win against the creature, you're sure of it. And he'll be back here to pick up the pieces of you. You're alone in this choice.

Which one will you choose?

>>> Nightshade

>>> Bread

108 notes · View notes

bumblesimagines · 2 years ago

Text

Under The Moonlight

Request: Yes or No

Don't kill me pls I love y'allllllllll if it helps i have three parts already writtennnnn! look at the pretty man

CW/TW: Violence, implied homophobia, Christianity, bashing Christianity (idk if that should be a warning), Vikings being Vikings, men being men

Apologies to any ppl from Greenland or people with a lot of knowledge on Norse culture and their gods, I will get some things wrong.

~~~

The sail to Kattegat had proven to be a difficult feat, though most trips across open ocean typically were. The ocean had shown mercy at first; when the waves would only brush against the side of the boat gently, beckoning curious eyes to gaze into its depths.

But upon sailing closer to Kattegat, a storm began brewing above. The sky turned a dark shade of gray as the waves began to grow, slamming against the boat harder and harder, threatening to capsize it with each powerful hit. The other boats traveling alongside them began to disappear until the drenched man could no longer see more than a foot ahead of him through the pouring rain. With the roaring waves and claps of thunder hounding his senses, (Y/N) could hardly hear the instructions his siblings shouted in an attempt to keep the boat from sinking into the darkness below. But in the end, Leif's experience allowed everyone to escape the storm without losing a single person.

Rising from the wooden seat, (Y/N) stared at the harbor settled between the mountains, a horn blaring through the air to signal their arrival. The town appeared large and heavily occupied. Far more occupied than he had expected. Kattegat was a seemingly well-known town but the man hadn't expected to see so many Vikings gathered in just one harbor. His half-sister seemed to share similar thoughts. She stared at the town, gaze lingering for a moment before she looked back toward her brothers with uncertainty but after meeting (Y/N)'s eyes, her lips pulled into a warm smile and her shoulders relaxed.

Freydis Eriksdotter. Only younger than him by a few weeks. With her long blonde hair and tender blue eyes, Freydis had been a shining light in his darkest moments. While she physically resembled her mother, her stubborn and fierce personality could be attributed to their stubborn and infamous father, Erik Thorvaldsson. She had proven to be the perfect combination of her parents; her idle hands that could weave thread and mend injuries also knew how to handle a sword. And with a father like theirs, it was imperative they knew how to defend themselves, from animals and people alike.

"Stay close and out of trouble," A voice rumbled from behind him as the boat neared the docks.

Then there was his older half-brother, Leif Eriksson. With his broad structure, long brown hair, and bright blue eyes, Leif resembled their father in more ways than one. And yet, he tried to be everything their father wasn't; gentle, forgiving, and merciful. He and Freydis easily adapted to (Y/N)'s presence after his mother brought him to their home. They gleefully took him in, calling him their brother within days and growing to love him within weeks. Leif proved to be the older brother anyone could ever wish for.

"I'm not the one you should be telling that to." (Y/N) muttered, folding his arms over his chest and feeling the boat slow to a stop. The Vikings on the docks were quick to help secure the boat and one took a moment to examine the condition of it and its passengers.

"How in Odin's name did you avoid the storm?" He questioned curiously as he rested his hands on his hips

Brushing off his question, Leif addressed the man. "Did any ships from the west make it in last night?"

"No, just two ships before the storm." He answered and nodded toward the shore, drawing (Y/N)'s attention to it. Littered across the sand were bodies, flags, and pieces of wood. Few searched through the wreckages for valuables or familiar faces while others treaded into the waters to pull the corpses onto land. A saddening sight for anyone. Lives lost to the rage of the ocean. Leif studied the shore and exhaled softly, shaking his head lightly before turning to his crew.

"Toke, Ulf, you stay here with the boats and resupply," Leif instructed the two men and then turned his sights onto siblings. "Freydis, (Y/N), check with the captains at the harbor. The rest of you will come with me to search the town."

Freydis frowned but before she could protest, (Y/N) gently grasped her arm. "The time will come." He assured her gently. Freydis pursed her lips and nodded, gazing after their brother as he and the others disappeared into the crowded town. She heaved a sigh and turned back to look at their messy boat.

"You know, I do not need you watching over me," Freydis muttered and retrieved some more rope from the floor, squinting up at their sail to check for anything else that had possibly gotten loose in the strong winds.

"It's my job as your big brother." (Y/N) reminded teasingly, a grin appearing on his face when she scoffed softly and rolled her eyes. Freydis expertly tied the rope in her hands around the mast, glancing at the men as (Y/N) took the things Toke and Ulf had quickly retrieved. (Y/N) looked over their supplies, ensuring they had everything they needed.

"Where are you from?" Someone called out, pulling the Greenlanders' attention away from their tasks and onto the man watching them from the dock.

He was tall with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His brunette hair had been tied back into a bun, allowing them to gaze at his bearded face and dark eyes. He regarded the crew with mere curiosity and a boyish smile that screamed trouble, exuding an aura of friendliness. But even with his kind eyes and relaxed posture, (Y/N) couldn't find it in himself to trust him. They were newcomers on strange land. Easy targets for vultures.

Slipping his fingers around his sheathed dagger, (Y/N) allowed his eyes to sweep over the man once more, taking note of the axe holstered to his hip. When he turned his attention back onto the stranger's face he found the man already watching him. The brunette tilted his head to the side expectantly, presumably awaiting an answer from him but he received silence in return as (Y/N) turned his back to him and focused on taking count of their food supply, or rather lack of.

Chuckling softly under her breath, Freydis peered over her shoulder and answered, "Greenland."

"What kind of journey was it?" The man inquired, gaze lingering on the quiet man.

"Long. Five weeks. No stops." Freydis answered once more and watched the man closely as he finally tore his eyes away from her brother and stepped closer to asses the boat. Upon finishing with the mast, she finally faced him.

"Five weeks across open ocean in this?" He peered down at Freydis with twinkling eyes and a wolfish grin. "I'm impressed."

"Then you are easily impressed."

"Not true. My standards are quite high." The man objected playfully, watching his sister with an all too familiar look. (Y/N) had been no stranger to that dance, especially when it came to Freydis and the other women of the crew. And seeing as his sister appeared rather taken with the handsome stranger, (Y/N) doubted she'd only flirt with him.

"So are mine." Freydis pulled herself up onto one of the seats, wrapping her hand around one of the ropes attached to the mast to maintain her balance. She smirked at him, blatantly looking him over to feed into their little flirtatious game. "Are you from Kattegat?"

"No, from Ringerike. I'm Harald Sigurdsson." Harald spoke his name proudly, almost as if he were important. It made (Y/N)'s eyes roll. "Who are you?"

"My name is Freydis." The blonde answered before motioning toward (Y/N) with a nod. "And this is my brother."

"Ah." Harald leaned back, hand resting on the hilt of his axe as he looked back at (Y/N). "Then, I believe after such a long voyage, I would think a hot bath would sound good to your sister." Bold words slipped from his mouth and (Y/N) found himself raising his brows at him, hearing Ulf and Toke snickering quietly from their spots. Freydis looked at her brother with widened eyes but the corners of her lips twitched upward in amusement. Meeting her gaze, (Y/N) knew Leif would be far from pleased if he allowed her to leave the boat with a stranger, but he'd be unable to blame (Y/N) for it. Freydis had a habit of doing whatever she wanted, with and without permission. So, with the knowledge Freydis could easily defend herself if it came to it, (Y/N) hesitantly nodded.

"Well then," Freydis turned back to Harald and stepped onto the dock, turning her chin up at him and quirking a pale brow. "Where could I get one of these hot baths?"

"Come." Harald chuckled, shooting the man one last glance before he placed his hand on Freydis's lower back and led her down the dock until they disappeared from view.

"With that attitude, he's asking for someone to dig an axe in his back," Ulf said as he stood up, casting a glance over the boat.

Shaking his head, (Y/N) looked at him and offered a smile. "We've come for other reasons." He reminded, watching Toke finish securing everything.

With the boat taken care of, the two men followed (Y/N) down the dock and looked around as he led them into town. Sellers shoved varying items in his direction, shouting off prices and rambling about their products. Amongst the perfumes, clothes, and weapons being sold, there were slaves. Shackled and shivering. (Y/N) felt his throat tighten at the sight of them.

"There's Liv!" Ulf pointed out and (Y/N) tore his gaze away from the slaves, turning his back to them as his friends slipped from the crowd one by one.

"No luck." Yrsa sighed. Before (Y/N) could speak, another horn sounded off, signaling the arrival of more ships and it only took a moment for Lief to slip out of the crowd and join the group, looking over everyone with newfound determination.

"The cross belongs to an English Viking." He revealed, eyes searching for Freydis's familiar face and frowning when he didn't spot her. Turning to his brother questioningly, his frown only deepened when (Y/N) avoided his eyes and sheepishly rubbed the side of his neck.

"She left with someone. A so-called Harald Sigurdsson."

Sighing heavily, Leif nodded. "I'll find her. We'll meet up at the docks."

When Leif disappeared back into the crowd, (Y/N) faced the crew and motioned for them to start heading back. On the short walk to the docks, it began to rain lightly but the wind picked up considerably. They just couldn't seem to stay dry for long. It didn't take long for Leif and Freydis to join the crew, eyes trained on the ships sailing into the harbor. Upon getting closer, (Y/N) spotted two of the men on one of the ships, crosses dangling from their necks. Considering the loud cheering from the docks, the two were loved, perhaps even worshipped.

"It's him," Freydis confirmed, looking back at her brothers when the men stepped off the ships. She looked back at the sound of a familiar voice and her eyes narrowed upon seeing Harald greeting them, appearing to know the men on a personal level.

"Isn't that-"

"Yes." Freydis breathed, jaw clenching. Grasping the handle of her knife, Freydis took a step forward, ready to get her revenge on the man who had fled from justice. But she didn't get far before (Y/N) took her arm and pulled her back. Too many eyes, too many Christians. They'd see her coming from a mile away if she brazenly rushed at them and he doubted they'd only pray for her if she were caught.

"Not here," Leif told her, keeping an eye on the men as they strode deeper into town. Grunting softly, the blonde sheathed her knife and stepped back, eyes bright with rage. "Toke, Yrsa. Go get our things."

The men stopped briefly to eat, giving Toke and Yrsa enough time to gather everyones' belongings and bring them back, handing them off just as the men got on horses and began leaving town. The crew followed them out of town, keeping a safe distance away and being mindful of the other Vikings with the men. Leif led everyone into the dense forest, stepping over fallen logs and foliage as they climbed up the side of the mountain. A tiresome trek but a necessary one. Freydis needed to bring justice down on the man who had hurt her and her brothers had vowed on helping her. So, (Y/N) ignored the way his muscles ached for rest and marched on.

The winds lashed furiously on the mountain but it was the least of (Y/N)'s worries as he took in the sight below. A whole camp filled with more Vikings than he could count. Tents perched in just about every corner, horses roaming around, carts filled with supplies. It looked like an army preparing for something, but what exactly? (Y/N) swallowed and looked at Leif, taking in the concentrated look on his face.

"We'll set up camp in the forest." Leif decided, turning to his equally perplexed and surprised friends. "We'll keep an eye on him until the time is right." Leif nodded to his sister and Freydis returned it, eyeing the camp one last time before she turned and began heading back down the mountain, the others following close behind and exchanging glances. (Y/N) strayed for a moment, looking over all the Vikings present. A need for so many warriors could only mean something big, something important. Part of him didn't want to find out what it was.

Turning his attention away from the camp, he caught up with the others and headed down the mountain where they could rest until a solid plan was created. Yrsa and Ulf worked together to prop their furs on long sticks, Liv and Leif collected some sticks to create a small fire and Njal left to watch the camp. (Y/N) explored the forest, gazing up at the tall trees towering over them. While he was no stranger to a lush forest, he'd been used to seeing vast snow-covered plains for most of his life. He missed the openness of his home... He missed his parents and brothers. Sighing softly, he turned his sights onto the bright green brush and grass, searching for fallen branches and sticks to help feed the fire Liv and Leif had started. He'd have to take in the sights of nature another time. They had more important matters at hand.

Returning to camp with a handful of sticks and crouching down by the fire, he set the pile down beside Liv and brushed his hands free of dirt. Liv gave him a thankful smile, picking up a few and tossing them into the fire, the crackle growing louder. (Y/N) lifted his head to look at the others, noting Skarde seemed awfully quiet and upset. Yrsa had settled down on a blanket made of furs whilst Ulf and Toke conversed and his sister sat by herself, looking out in the direction of the camp. She perked up at the sight of Njal, watching him return with a conflicted expression.

"He must be important. He hasn't come out of the main tent." Njal informed them, gaze cast onto the ground as glances were exchanged.

Running a hand over his face, Skarde shook his head and spoke shakily, fingers toying with the thread wrapped around his hand. "This changes things."

"This changes nothing," Freydis spoke, snapping her head toward him and narrowing her eyes when he scoffed.

"Really? What is your plan then? Go down there and simply take your revenge?" He questioned, raising a brow at her as she stood and faced him.

"If I have to, yes." Noticing the growing animosity, Leif stood up from his spot beside Liv, glancing between his sister and friend as they went back and forth, both Greenlanders growing more annoyed with each passing second.

Skarde slowly nodded in disbelief, rolling up the thread in his hands and tossing it to his feet. "I won't be a part of such a plan." He spat, pushing himself off the tree he'd been sitting against.

"Then you break your oath to my father?" Leif furrowed his brows as he walked forward, placing himself between the two and staring up at him. (Y/N) rose up from his hunches and stepped around the brunette to stand beside his brother, briefly pulling Skarde's attention off his siblings and onto him.

Clenching his jaw, Skarde spoke, "I didn't promise your father to be a part of foolishness."

"What do we know of this place?" Njal's deep voice interjected, his tone full of uncertainty. "Trees, cities, and giant armies? These Norse are not our people."

"They are Viking... Just like you." Freydis raised her brows, pointedly looking between Njal and Skarde as she spoke.

"No." Skarde asserted with a light shake of his head. "We are Greenlanders. As are you." He said, inhaling deeply before he continued. "Until this morning, no one among us had ever seen more than 40 people together in one place. Now, I look at more men than in Iceland and Greenland together. We must be able to admit that what we came here for is now hopeless."

Silence fell over the crew and when nobody countered his argument, Freydis scoffed in disbelief and turned away from them, stalking off in the direction of the camp. (Y/N) didn't hesitate on following his sister through the foliage until they came across the tree line. Freydis stared out at the camp with crossed arms and a frown on her face. The crunching of leaves signaled Leif's presence, having followed his younger siblings as well.

"You shouldn't have stopped me at the harbor," Freydis muttered bitterly. "It would be done."

"And you would be dead," Leif stated bluntly, gazing out at the camp.

"Then I'd be in Valhalla with the other Einherjar, feasting with Odin and the Gods. And Father would be proud."

"We are not here for Father, Freydis." (Y/N) spoke up, hand reaching out to gently touch the back of her arm. She looked down at his hand, her tense figure slowly relaxing at her brother's touch. "We came here for you. Besides, Father didn't think of-"

"What are you trying to tell me?" She asked defensively, tilting her head up to look into his eyes. "Do you believe it's hopeless? Because I will not stop until I get my revenge."

"No, Freydis. We're asking you to trust us." Leif said, softening his gaze as he looked at his sister. Freydis swallowed and looked back at him, lips pressing together. She released a shaky sigh and nodded, loose curls bouncing against her speckled skin.

"I trust you."

"Good. Because I have a plan."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" (Y/N) questioned, eyeing the Vikings walking around with their weapons close to their sides and crosses hanging proudly from their necks. When night had fallen, Leif had pulled him away from the rest to take him to the camp. Leif wished to infiltrate the camp and figure out what exactly so many of their people had been gathered.

"If you'd like, you can return to camp," Leif glanced back at him, shoulder roughly bumping against another Viking walking by. (Y/N) stepped closer to his brother, listening to the soft prayers oozing from tents and groups of Vikings. Unease bubbled in his stomach. Too many Christians for his liking. Leif lifted his hand to his face, brushing back some hair before an older man suddenly reached out, snatching his wrist and staring at the tattoo Leif had on his wrist.

"What you doing over here?" He hissed quietly, voice thick with an English accent. He spared a look around before releasing Leif's wrist and glancing at (Y/N). "Come with me before one of these damn Christians catches sight of the both of ya." He sucked his teeth, shoving the brothers forward and away from the other Vikings. (Y/N) stumbled out onto an open area and looked back at the man, watching him warily glance back.

"If that Jesus bunch caught you two prowling around over there, you'd be lucky to get back." He shook his head, leading them toward a cart and pulling their hands up. He began stacking folded blankets and coats made of fur on their hands until the sound of drums began echoing through the air and everyone began heading in the direction of the sound.

"Stay close," Leif whispered to his brother, following the older man through the crowd. Men on horses led the way with their torches held in the air, only stopping once the crowd stood in front of those beating the drums. (Y/N) handed the blankets off to the older man, nodding to him and keeping close to Leif as they slipped through the crowd until they reached the front. A few Vikings stood on top of a hill overlooking the crowd. Harald Sigurdsson among them. He appeared to be quite important.

"Welcome, friends!" The man standing beside Harald began, voice echoing through the valley. Murmurs erupted through the crowd and a name seemed to be passed around: King Canute of Denmark.

"Over a hundred years ago, a great Viking army set off for England to avenge the death of Ragnor Lothrok. It achieved its goal. And after many great victories, our people were invited to settle into communities there. With time, we sent our loved ones to live and work there. The Danelaw became their home." King Canute spoke, allowing a brief moment of silence to pass as the information settled in.

"A year ago, all that changed. And a slaughter began. A massacre. Unknown in the long history of our people. An attack. Not warrior to warrior, but waged on innocent women and children." The more he spoke, the rowdier the crowd got, murmurs growing louder. "Waged for only one reason; to cleanse England of our people. You have been summoned here for a purpose, to avenge the death of our people and to show the English that they cannot murder Vikings and expect us to do nothing!" The crowd erupted in cheers, swords being slammed against shields in support. (Y/N) shifted uncomfortably as shoulders bumped against his, adrenaline beginning to pump in the veins of those around him.

"Our ancestors would not. Ivar the Boneless and Bjorn Ironside would not. I will not. Will you?" The crowd roared their response. It was not in a Viking's blood to simply ignore an attack against themselves, against loved ones. But many of the Vikings present weren't there to avenge a loved one. A blind and unexpected attack was an easy way to bruise someone's ego. "You are here for your families! You are here for your honor! You are here because you are Vikings!" King Canute finished, hearing the overwhelming shouts and roars of agreement, metal swords slamming against shields. Leif and (Y/N) exchanged a look, arms brushing against each other and providing the brothers with some sense of comfort in a sea of furious men and women.

"We will fight the English." One man staggered forward, head turning to sneer at the others. "But not with Christians!" He bellowed, motioning toward them with his axe as others cheered in agreement. Despite the years, (Y/N) could feel his scar ache as he looked toward the gathered Christians, a certain disdain swirling in his chest. "Christians killed my family. They are my true enemy."

"And you are mine, Pagan." One of the Christian men responded, stepping forward from the rowdy crowd. "These men are nothing but idolaters. Worshippers of Satan!"

With a war cry, the first man ran at the other, swinging his axe at him but his blow was blocked by the second man's shield. The two continued swinging at each other, urged on by both crowds alike. Swiftly going down the hill, Harald got in between them, blocking with his shield and swinging at the men in an attempt to push them away from each other. Releasing a cry when a sword cut him, Harald sneered at the men and spread out his arms to prevent them from attacking each other.

"Enough!" Harald snarled at them, heavy pants leaving him. He turned toward the first man, dropping his arms to his sides as he addressed him. "Jarl Gorm, you say you'll never fight with Christians but what am I? Did I not spend every summer of my youth with your family? Did you not love me like a son?" He questioned, whipping his head to look at the second man. "Jarl Nori, a pious Christian. I saw your sister the night of the massacre. What would she say about your refusal to fight with your brothers here? Would she not call you a coward?" Harald looked between the two before taking a step back and facing the crowd.

"That your God is Odin or Christ means nothing to me! Only your honor does! Only your courage does!" He shouted into the night. Heaving softly, he touched a hand to his sliced arm and lifted his blood-soaked fingers into the air. "This blood is not my blood. It is our blood, it is Viking blood! And it will always be!" His words garnered cries and shouts of agreement, flags swinging back and forth. The two men nodded to Harald and retreated to their previous spots in the crowd, content with keeping the peace for the time being.

"It is going to be a long night," Leif whispered as the cheers continued. (Y/N) could only sigh in return.

➸ ➸ ➸ ➸ ➸ ➸

"Did you sleep at all?"

"You know very well I can't sleep around strangers." (Y/N) answered with a yawn, trying to push away the exhaustion clinging to his body. Leif frowned, using his fingers to comb his hair back into a bun but before he could lecture his brother, (Y/N) turned his back to him and looked out at the bustling Vikings.

"What now?"

"We find him and we keep an eye on him," Leif answered and walked forward, the sound of singing filling the camp as Vikings went about their day. Men and women collected supplies, heaving them onto carts and helping one another. (Y/N) searched for the man, eyes flickering from face to face, never allowing his gaze to linger to avoid attracting attention to them. Feeling fingers lightly tap his arm, he followed Leifs' gaze and spotted the man walking through the ground. However, before the two could follow, Leif's shoulder was roughly grabbed and his body turned to face a stranger.

"It's them, all right." The man nodded to his friends and sneered at the brothers. "Your father is Erik Thorvaldson, yes? Erik the Red?"

"And what is that to you?" Leif asked, eyeing the men around them. (Y/N) brought his hand to his dagger's handle, looking over his shoulder at the men behind them, their shields up to block them from leaving.

"Our name is Becken. Your father killed our brother Sven." The man revealed, motioning between himself and the other Viking standing beside him.

"Our father's history has nothing to do with us." Leif retorted, reaching out to grab (Y/N)'s arm and gently push him forward, hoping to avoid a fight but one of the men cut in front of them, blocking them from getting too far and cockily grinning at them.

"Your father is a killer. Run away to escape justice. It has everything to do with you." The first man asserted bitterly. (Y/N)'s grip on the dagger tightened and he looked back at Leif, searching his face for permission to swing at the man in front of him. Leif grimaced and turned toward the man who had begun it, raising his brows.

"You're making a mistake." He warned.

Scoffing, the man in front of (Y/N) shook his head. "No, Eriksson. The mistake was yours." He declared, charging forward but before he could bring the sword down on the younger brother, (Y/N) grabbed his attacker's forearm and turned his body, slipping his dagger out while simultaneously elbowing the man directly in the nose. The man cried out in pain and stumbled backward, hand raising to touch his now bleeding nose. The pain, however, only fueled his rage and he charged again with an enraged cry. (Y/N) quickly dodged the following swing and slammed his foot into the back of his knee, sending the man toppling downward. He rolled over onto his back and attempted to get up but (Y/N) kicked his face, causing more blood to spill from his nose as his head slammed back into the grass. Retrieving the man's discarded axe from the ground, (Y/N) threw it at one of the men charging at his brother, successfully hitting him and causing the man to fall.

"Brother!" Turning, (Y/N) caught the shield Leif tossed at him and blocked a swing from a sword, using the shield to shove the man onto the ground. He spun around and leaned back, narrowly getting cut by an axe swinging in his direction. Lifting his leg, (Y/N) kicked the man in the stomach and made him stumble backward, using his momentary loss of balance to charge forward and dig the dagger into his arm. Pulling it out and panting softly, (Y/N) stepped back and briefly pressed his back against Leif's.

The man that had attacked him first blindly charged, face soaked in red. (Y/N) raised the shield to block his punch and lowered it just as quickly, swinging the dagger at his face and cutting his cheek. Moving his hands down to the bottom of the shield, he swung it sideways and hit the side of the man's face, knocking him down again. When another one charged, he did similarly, aiming at his wrist and knocking the sword from their grasp. Releasing the shield and charging, (Y/N) tackled the man onto the grass and pinned his arms down with his knees, lifting his dagger above his head and bringing it down.

"Enough!" Leif called, and (Y/N) froze, blade frighteningly close to his attacker's eye. Panting heavily, (Y/N) peered over his shoulder and spotted his brother holding a sword to the first man's throat.

"Just like your father." The man cursed, spitting out some blood and saliva.

"You're wrong." Leif lifted the sword, using the side of it to knock him out. "If I were like my father, you'd all be dead." He breathed and turned toward (Y/N), tossing the sword aside and motioning for him to stand. (Y/N) looked down at the man writhing beneath him and huffed softly, standing up and trailing after Leif.

"Taking another's life would've complicated things, (Y/N)," Leif scolded, looking back at him with a disappointed frown.

"They attacked first." (Y/N) argued with a huff. "They would've had it coming."

Sighing, Leif shook his head and looked forward. "You sound like Father." He muttered, leading his brother to a stream near the camp and crouching down by the water. (Y/N) joined him, letting the cool water wash his hands before he dipped his dagger in and cleaned it. Once satisfied, (Y/N) rose and wiped the blade against his pant leg, sheathing it and drying his hands on his pants. He caught sight of figures in his peripheral and gently kicked his brother's leg to catch his attention.

"Eriksson from Greenland. Not the sons of Viking warrior, Erik Thorvaldson, banished from Norway and Iceland for murder?" Harald tilted his head, regarding them with an amused smile. Leif stood up, shaking his hands off, and sharing a cautious glance with his brother.

"The same." He confirmed, eyes flickering to the men beside Harald. Most wore crosses.

"I suppose when you have a father like Erik the Red, you learn to fight like that." Harald chuckled, not catching the distaste that passed over Leif's features at his words.

"My name is Leif." He walked closer, tilting his head up to look at Harald.

"I'm Harald Sigurdsson. We met yesterday, though I didn't quite catch your brother's name." Harald said, tilting his head to look at (Y/N). His cocky and playful smirk made whatever respect (Y/N) had gained for him the night before wash away in an instant. His lip pulled back and he couldn't help but roll his eyes, a soft scoff escaping him. Harald merely chuckled at his distaste, eyes slowly raking over the Greenlander.

"I believe that's none of your business." (Y/N) responded, eyes trailing down from his face to the cross he wore. Harald's hand raised to toy with it, fingers wrapping around it and blocking it from view. (Y/N) lifted his gaze and met Harald's, holding eye contact for a moment before he looked away. Leif's brows furrowed slightly, glancing between his brother and Harald.

"His name is (Y/N)," Leif piped up after a moment of silence, climbing up the short hill to be at eye level with Harald. "We heard you last night. You're a good speaker. You moved many."

"Did I move you?" Harald asked, eyes remaining on the younger brother. His lips quirked into a small grin when (Y/N) refused to meet his gaze, only begrudgingly getting closer when his brother motioned for him. Crossing his arms over his chest, (Y/N) looked back at the men and briefly looked into Harald's dark eyes. When neither brother responded, Harald finally tore his eyes away and looked at the rather perplexed Leif, hand dropping from his cross. "Freydis said you captained your boat all the way from Greenland. Could use good ship captains who can fight. I can promise great glory if you join us in England."

"Glory?" Leif repeated, curiously glancing back at (Y/N). "I thought you were going to England for revenge?"

"We are. But true Vikings always reach for glory. It's what defines us."

"Like I said, you're a good speaker. I'll think about it." Leif answered grimly, although his tone made his answer rather clear and obvious. Harald's jaw clenched but he nodded, watching the brothers brush past him. (Y/N) paused, reaching out to touch Harald's cross, studying the metal and designs carved into it. Harald reached up to pull his cross out of (Y/N)'s grip, pausing when their fingers brushed against each other. His eyes lowered to look down at their hands.

"I wish you luck with our sister. You'll need it." (Y/N) murmured, releasing the cross and joining Leif in heading back to camp.

The rest of the day had gone by uneventfully as the army began moving toward Kattegat where Jarl Haakon allowed them to set up camp outside the walls of her city. She graciously opened the main hall for them, hosting a feast for the warriors ready to fight. (Y/N) and Leif wandered around the hall, keeping to the sides and mostly out of view as they waited for Freydis to slip inside and enact her revenge. A risky plan but they were aware of the dangers. Death is not the end, his mother would say to him whenever he grew afraid.

"There's Skarde." (Y/N) whispered upon spotting the man slipping into the hall. Just in time for another speech from King Canute.

"Friends!" He called from the table settled at the end of the hall, rising to his feet as the Vikings fell silent and turned toward the king. Leif walked forward, heading toward the other side of the hall as quietly as possible. (Y/N) remained on the other side, glancing at Leif as he kept to the wall but made sure to remain within their view, or rather Harald's view. It proved easier than expected seeing as Harald's eyes found him almost instantaneously.

"This is a historic occasion. Our thanks to Jarl Haakon for opening her city to our righteous cause. It is an honor to be here in Kattegat, in the great hall of Ragnar Lothbrok and his sons. To eat from the same table as Lagertha and all the heroes who came before. We are humbled and inspired by their legacy. But now is our time to make history. To show the cowards in England, that Vikings, despite our differences, are still one people. One heart. One soul." He concluded his speech and (Y/N) slipped out toward the middle of the room with Leif joining him midway as the Vikings dispersed. Finally meeting Harald's eyes, (Y/N) tilted his head at him and lifted a hand to his dagger, watching Harald's eyes narrow as they flickered to his hand. His eyes left the Greenlander for a moment.

"That's close enough, Greenlanders." One of the Christians who never seemed far from Harald spoke, stepping toward them and gripping Leif by the collar. Harald rose from his spot at the table and approached them as more men surrounded them. With his attention on the brothers, he didn't spot the cloaked figure descending upon the table with a knife in hand.

"Whatever you are planning, do not act on it. I'll kill you if I must."

"We're not the ones you should be worried about." And then, a frightened scream broke the tension.

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #vikings #vikings valhalla #vikings valhalla x male reader #vikings valhalla x you #vikings valhalla x y/n #vikings valhalla x reader #harald sigurdsson #harald sigurdsson x reader #harald sigurdsson x male reader #harald sigurdsson x you #harald sigurdsson x y/n #leif eriksson #freydis eriksdotter

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howlsofbloodhounds · 11 months ago

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TW:

Biting.

Feral and Animalistic Behavior.

Growling, snarling, biting, etc.

Roughhousing.

Subtle attempts at asserting dominance.

Implied dehumanization.

Mentioned violence.

Mentioned blood and possibility of infection.

Deep loneliness.

Badly translated Arabic.

Implied one sided Color x Delta.

If anyone told Color that he would one day be used as a chew toy for his traumatized, crazed, alternate version of himself, mass murdering best friend; he would’ve called you crazy.

But as luck would have it: he was the crazy one. Because he was currently allowing Stage 3 to chew on his arm like it was a fresh piece of bacon.

It was better than the alternative, of Killer attempting to break Color’s neck with his teeth maybe, but by the stars did it hurt.

“okay, buddy,” with a grimace, Color attempted to shake Killer off his arm. Which was a bad move, because the way Killer’s head snapped towards the skeleton, wide and intense gaze pinned straight on him, was a soul stopping moment.

Color could hear the growl building up in Stage 3’s chest, the ribs rattling, and wasn’t that just swell? Sweat dripped down the skeleton’s forehead.

“look, bud,” Color gulped, attempting to keep his voice steady and to maintain a sense of calm. He knew Stage 3 wouldn’t understand what he saying, but it would understand the emotions. He didn’t know how the crazed being would react to signs of pain or fear, but he knew he shouldn’t stare directly in his friend’s (?) eyes. Animals typically took that sort of thing as a sign of being challenged. “i know you think you’re being nice..”

The responding rumble from the skeleton body latched on his arm seemed to confirm that, and Color couldn’t help but find that a bit sad.

What exactly led this part of his friend into thinking not immediately ripping someone to shreds was being kind, and leaving bite marks in flesh and bone was friendship?

It was a rhetorical question. Color knew who made them like this. Not exactly what, but he could guess. Was it really even a surprise that Killer could hardly function in society? People were either threats, lines of code, or interesting toys to play with his friend’s eyes.

Somehow Color managed to worm his way into being something different. But that didn’t mean he was safe, he was aware of that. He was something new, really.

He just hoped his novelty wouldn’t ware off one day. That maybe that bits of Sans that was left over in Killer had enough care for him to not throw him away once he got boring.

Guilt suddenly overtook Color at that thought. It was a cynical way to view things. He knew Killer was trying, he knew his friend was relearning how to care for or trust others.

The fact Color had gotten as far as he has with Killer, to the point that the multi souled creature would proudly proclaim him a friend, already said a lot.

But it was times like this that Color couldn’t help feeling insignificant; very much like a toy. He knew the higher Stages of his friend’s soul certainly weren’t stable or mentally sane, in a way that was different from Stages 1 and 2. At least they could pretend to keep it together.

But not Stage 3, and probably not 4, either. Definitely not Stage 4, actually. Killer had attempted to hide the existence of that one from Color for a while, and he was clear when he said he didn’t understand Stage 4 in the slightest.

Stage 3 was feral. Or..”crazy,” as One has described it. It didn’t take Color long to realize that 3 didn’t think in complex ways, like he or the lower Stages could.

It saw the world in movements and survival. Non verbal cues, body language, the tone of your voice and facial expressions. The creature was unpredictable; one wrong move could have it attacking whoever moved or looked at it a certain way.

Stage 3 twitched sometimes, uncontrollably. When it was excited or nervous, mostly. Those could pretty unnerving to see.

Its movements were very much like a predator, graceful and adaptive, yet it was clear that it was ready to attack at any moment. Look it in the eyes or smile a certain way, and it’ll be on you before you could even blink.

This even applied to..”friendship.” Color couldn’t really say if the feral animal living inside his friend’s broken body knew what friends were, but Stage 3 was the definition of love bites and roughhousing (if leaving teeth marks and bruises during play times counted as that.) Perhaps a better word would probably be more animalistic, like a pack mate.

Or a pup that 3 had to care for. Or a sheep it had to herd, maybe even a resource that needed guarding. Territory.

Color couldn’t say, and Stage 3 couldn’t tell. Out of all the Stages, navigating this one’s world was the most confusing.

“..but, that hurts.” Color reached out, cautiously placing a skeletal hand on his friend’s skull. He hissed when Killer instinctively clamped his teeth down harder, thanking whatever Gods existed that he didn’t hear a bone snap. Stage 3 was tense, shaking with what seemed like excitement (or maybe it was fear? Fear of the unknown?), yet it wasn’t growling and going for the neck yet. “not everyone can endure what you can.”

Slowly, slow enough that the feral thing could stop him if it wanted to, Color began to lightly scratch along the top of its skull. Killer was quiet and unnaturally still, staring with those dark, huge eye sockets at Color. The flame head attempted to avoid staring back, suddenly aware of how awkward it is to be giving your grown adult best friend head scratches.

He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how he was going to die. Killer had warned Color against Stage 3 for a reason, after all. Had even advised using extreme methods such as killing him, putting Killer down as if he was a rabid dog, if that meant Color lived.

Killer wasn’t the type to exaggerate the danger, not while in Stage 1. Stage 2 was all about the flair and the dramatics, pretending he cared about anything more than he actually did. Emotionally fake, in any way that actually mattered. Everything about 2’s acts was..unreal, like watching an alien putting on its human skin and play acting.

(Color couldn’t hold that against him. There was no winning in his situation. Mask and be seen as a creep, don’t mask, and be seen as an emotionless husk that was still a creep.)

Stage 3 was a threat. It can, has, and will brutally kill. Anything resembling friends and allies were temporary things in its world. The only luxury is that it won’t bother to draw out the death. It doesn’t want pain, it wants you out of its way. Away from it.

Color’s soul felt tight, conflicting thoughts pulling him in different directions. Perseverance urged him to cease any potentially life threatening actions immediately, but kindness and patience insisted in giving this a chance.

Bravery suggested taking a bolder action. Maybe Stage 3 would react better if Color could show that he was stronger?

Justice reared its head in disgust at the thought. Hadn’t Killer had enough people forcing dominance over him?

Judging by the way Color still hadn’t pulled away, his fingers even bravely making their way down and underneath Killer’s chin, the decision had already been made. A unanimous one, once Color carefully went over every perspective.

Sudden movements would only scare Stage 3 off, or provoke its temper. Color didn’t want to hurt Killer, even if said friend was currently chomping down on his bones like a tasty meal. Especially when this was just 3’s atypical way of showing affection, despite how bad it hurt.

With a gentle hand, Color was sure he could show Stage 3 a way of love that didn’t have to hurt.

“it’s alright, جرو.” He muttered lowly, watching the way Killer’s body shook in its fear and confusion. It still wasn’t attacking, despite it all. Trust was there. The hold on his arm was present, but certainly not as hard as it was before. “i won’t hurt you. أنت آمن مع—“

Color’s words were cut off by Killer suddenly lurching away from him, and Color leaned back when the skeleton bared his teeth at him. Dark ink slid down the porcelain white face, staining the teeth, and the soul was barely anything resembling a shape. More red than white.

Color tensed, his breath catching, as he stared back; his eye socket blown wide and the eye light a mere pinpoint. Despite his fear, the flames burned a fierce orange, as he stood his ground; raising his chin up at the animal and narrowing his eye.

It wasn’t a challenge, but there was no way he would allow the fear and surprise to show. And he needed Stage 3 to see that he wasn’t going to be pushed around.

The two stared, one attempting to maintain eye contact while the other stared intently at the space between eye sockets. It was quiet, not a sound beside the rumble of the air conditioner in Color’s run down, crappy apartment.

3 suddenly let out what sounded like a chuff, snapping his teeth at Color. Before the cracked skull skeleton could even react to that, Killer was on his feet and rushing out of Color’s bedroom; in what could only be described as his tail between his legs.

Color watched his friend run away in quiet astonishment, slumping against his bed pillows. He knew where the animal was likely running off to; Nightmare. Or to be more accurate, the dark, warm, and quiet closet in Killer’s bedroom.

Which meant Color likely wouldn’t be seeing Killer for another few days. A few weeks, if Nightmare keeps him busy.

Disappointment was a knife in Color’s soul, that ever aching loneliness already making itself known; an empty cavern in his being that he could never seem to keep filled.

Blood dripping on to his shorts demanded his attention, and Color glanced over at his arm. The bite was in a perfect shape of Killer’s teeth, covered in salvia. An infection was likely, if Color didn’t heal it.

Color didn’t want to. He wanted someone else to heal him for once, to feel the warmth of healing magic and intent washing over him. Battling off darkness and bone deep loneliness.

But Killer just ran away. Dream and Ccino were likely busy with their duties, Epic was likely spending the day with Cross. Gaster was still in the Void. Core Frisk..he didn’t want to have to rely on them. They were just a kid, they’d probably freak out if they saw the injury.

..It might reflect badly on Killer. And his chances on getting into the Omega Timeline, once Color managed to help him leave Nightmare.

Which left Delta. Color was overdue in giving his ex roommate the souvenirs he got for him, anyway. With his uninjured arm, Color reached over to grab his phone from the nightstand; immediately pulling up his most recent contacts.

As soon as he caught sight of the profile picture, of Delta’s brazen smile, Color couldn’t help but consider if things had been different. If he had decided to give up on Killer like everyone seemed to want him to, stayed in the Omega Timeline with Delta and tried to live a normal life.

The thought of it caused his non existent stomach to churn. He wasn’t built for staying in one spot. He couldn’t give up on Killer. He knew it was dangerous, possibly even impossible. Maybe it was even pathetic to be chasing after someone as unstable and danger prone as Killer.

Everyone kept insisting the same thing, over and over. He can’t change.

But Color couldn’t believe that, not for a second. Not when he’s seen the way Killer crashes and breaks after each mission. Not when he’s seen the man come apart at the seams over the injuries of a beloved pet, blaming himself for every single thing that goes wrong.

Not when Killer looks at him in that way. Scared, but hopeful. Trusting. Admiring and loving. He can’t be the reason why such a look no longer grazes that face. The reason why his hope up and shatters and flies away in the wind. He won’t be.

But it’s nice to have support, whenever Color is the one left in shambles. He’s grateful for Delta, truly. But he can’t give the man what he wants. He’s just glad that Delta seems to understand that.

Without allowing himself to ponder much more on it, he quickly presses down on that green call button. He’s silent as the rings fill the air, the sounds breaking through the silence in such a way that Color has to resist the immediate urge to hang up. Grating on his non existent ears.

The rings seem to go on for such a long time that Color finds himself holding his breath once again, wondering if perhaps this is the point where Delta finally leaves. Or maybe his friend was busy, and Color will once again have to patch himself up.

Then the soft, welcoming click of a phone call being answered fills the room, and Color heaves a sigh of relief. He can’t stop smiling when he says,

“hey, de. you have a moment?”

—

I had to use Google Translate for the Arabic bits, so it probably isn’t accurate, but here’s what they’re supposed to mean:

‎الجرو = Supposed to mean pup. But translates to puppy.

‎. أنت آمن مع = “You are safe with—.” Supposed to be “you are safe with me,” if he wasn’t cut off.

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elfqueen006 · 6 months ago

Text

Running Red

A drabble for @themeatpit37's Slasher!Jack AU ft. my OC May-Rose and "Selene," my name for human Moonpie. Basically, it's a chase scene and I hope I captured the maliciousness of the villainous Jack in this.

Wanted to draw something but summer classes and shit cutting in on my fun. Figured I could scribble this up while it was in my head between free time.

Tw: injury, implied/referenced cannibalism and gore, blood and violence, implied death of character offscreen.

---

He fought like an animal. His head dips low and to the right, surveying her from all angles before taking a running start to pounce at her. May barely makes it out the way when she jumps to the side and scrambles back up, ignoring the throbbing in her left arm. It was still scratched up from his "claws" -- some kind of filed metallic material stuck to otherwise friendly, fluffy fur gloves.

Selene was hiding like she told her. Where, she didn't know, but somehow, she felt that was the best case scenario. 'As long as Jack can't find her.' She thought.

Her thoughts were already mixed up out of focusing on survival and worry for her godchild. She didn't know how long this fight would last. She couldn't find a second of opportunity to look inside any of her ex's compartments for a gun. She recalled in college, Ian said something along the lines of hoping he'd never have to own a gun, and she mentally cursed him to his grave. If he owned a damn gun he wouldn't be dead now.

Then again, could a gun work on this... thing? Not even the chair could keep him down. What could a bullet do against supernatural evil?

Jack's big eyes looked back at her from behind his plastic lion mask. She thought they were a bright brown, but everytime his focus was her alone they were a blood red. He didn't have a problem getting on his feet, languidly rising from the floor to stalk towards her again.

"Oh, lioness," Jack purred, "You can't protect your cub forever."

Her voice impulsively lashed out, "What the hell do you want from her?"

He shrugged, "Lion's gotta eat. It's what we do . Especially when the prides getting a li-i-i-tle too big." he hopped forward a few steps in tune with his words. Mays lips rose in a snarl as she backed up. The masked man snickered, and her anger rose over fear at how easily he made their continued survival into a sick little game. Her protectiveness of Selene and hostility towards him didn't add caution but fueled his "lioness" image of her.

Something else then clicked for May -- Jack ...Joseph... whoever he was. Is not a man, nor some freak in a mask, but a caricature of his former self. Someone who's abandoned humanity and empathy for carnal desire. A mascot for terror and evil, one he assumed with glee.

May wasn't sure how she could win against something like this... but she had to try.

She turned and fucking ran. There was no direction she was going with other than away from the predator. The click of nails followed close behind. He was probably running after her on all fours - the freak.

Ian didn't have much in his living area, but whatever May could find, she threw. She threw a small alarm clock and missed. She threw a lamp that he took like a fucking pro. And in her growing frustration she took the wooden stand by the couch and swung it down with surprising force. He cried out as it hit him over his shoulder, making him stumble backward. May didn't wait for him to regain balance.

Reaching over for a glass trinket on Ian's TV shelf, she flung it toward him. It crashed into his chest and she grinned, truly vindicated when he made a pained "Augh! "

As she turned to run, Jack winced, running his hand over his broad chest. Some glass had been lodged in the skin. He clenched his teeth as he pulled it one out with his claws, then two, and three. There were some tinier shards that just couldn't be grasped, making his skin quiver in discomfort. Then his attention was drawn to the familiar and yet jarring red liquid blooming from the cuts on his skin. They came as little droplets before trickling down over the fabric of his shirt.

Experimentally, he swiped a thumb over the blood and tasted it fresh off the fabric... the same. And yet, different. How could he pin that? It was almost the same as touching yourself. You didn't know why it felt different with other people, it just did. And just like an orgasm, you know it's coming, but with others you don't know how. That was part of the fun for him. Finding out different ways to make them bleed. Every wound, every cut, every bruise would open and send him up a fountain of gushing red gold. His reward for playing a different strategy with each kill.

He knew he bled, but it was rare someone showed him how. It was exhilarating.

#somethings wrong with sunny day jack #sunny day jack fanfiction #sunny day jack oc #sunny day jack x mc #sdj mc #ch: May-Rose #slasher au #slasher!jack #horror #visual novel #my fics

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hayleythecannibal · 11 months ago

Text

Twisted Minds: Chapter Thirteen Savouruex

TW: Crime scenes, Gore, Crying, Implied Death, Malpractice, Lying, Realization, Injuries, Gun Violence, Betrayal.

Warning this is Fem!reader. You can also find this on Wattpad and A03 under the name @HayleyMarieOfficial. Comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

Taglist: @punkin-time @miaowkitty @gabriella-aesthetic @urlocalfanficwriter

Twisted Minds Masterlist

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY-

Will is in his bed, dawn light streaking through the windows. He looks drawn, ill, groggy.

The dogs are barking and he throws back the covers. To REVEAL his feet and legs are covered in dried mud which smears the bedclothes. The light hurts his eyes. Will is immediately concerned. A beautiful winter morning. Will shields his eyes on the porch as the dogs rush out barking. WINSTON stays by Will’s side. He looks down at him. Winston pushes his head under his hand. The others bark and mill. Something has them thrown, agitated. Will turns back inside.

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY-

The dogs fuss around Will as he heads for the SINK, and runs the tap good and cold. He drinks from the faucet. GRABS a bottle of aspirin and weighs four in his palm before swallowing them and then bending back to the faucet, feeling bad. He glugs water, sighing breathes between each swallow.

He straightens, wipes his mouth. AND THEN, with sudden violence, he RETCHES and HURLS into the sink. AND STARES. Lying in the sink, spotted with ASPIRIN is a grey, perfectly intact HUMAN EAR... Will STARES at it...

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY-

Will explodes off the porch and drops to his knees in the

yard. Retching and retching but nothing more comes.

He looks up. Around. Nothing. Whirls around. Woods all

Around. Will, his anxiety, his anguish, his fear...

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY -

Will sits on the porch. Shivering. Staring. Hannibal’s car pulls up and Hannibal gets out. Comes to Will. “I went to Minnesota. I took Abigail. We went to Minnesota. She didn’t come back with me.” Will says with this eerily calm and shaken voice. Hannibal is effectively feigning shock and concern.

“Show me.” He holds out as hand. Will looks at it, looks up at Hannibal and then takes it and stands. Hannibal ushers him inside.

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - DAY-

Hannibal wraps a blanket around Will. Sits him down. Through the KITCHEN DOORWAY, Hannibal stares at what is in the sink with stunned silence. Will sits in the living room, looking into middle-distance.

“I don’t remember going to bed last night. But I must have. Maybe I got up to let the dogs out and I…” Will says his face looking stressed and distraught. He knew he could so something like this. But he never thought he would, especially to someone he cares about. What will Y/N think? What will she Do? Will she still love me? “When did you last see Abigail?” Hannibal snaps Will out of his thought process but Will is still zoning out. “I woke up and my feet were muddy.” Will says softly and almost monotone.

“Will….When did you last see Abigail?” Hannibal says while slowly walking towards Will. “Yesterday. At her father’s cabin. I had an episode. She said something was wrong with me. She

was afraid of me. She ran away.” Will says softly. “What happened? Why was she afraid?”

“I hallucinated. I hallucinated that I killed her. But it wasn’t real. I know it wasn’t real.” He looks at Hannibal, desperate, terrified. Hannibal is saddened, concerned. He kneels next to Will

“Will, we have to call Jack Crawford. You can’t run from this. It will only make things worse. Get dressed.” Hannibal says reasonably and Will nods slowly.

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - ENCLOSED PATIO - DAY-

Hannibal stands patiently next to the door observing the PERIMETER FBI AGENTS and LOCAL POLICE have established. Among the FBI and ANIMAL SERVICES VEHICLES, we can see BRIAN ZELLER, BEVERLY KATZ and JIMMY PRICE patiently waiting.

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY-

JACK CRAWFORD stands with TWO FBI AGENTS, surrounded by the dogs. Will sits, still stunned, in his overstuffed chair. “What are we going to find when we go to Minnesota, Will?” Jack asks Will as he searches for an answer he doesn’t have, then admits: “I don’t know.”

Jack studies Will, his broken pony, then turns to an AGENT:

“Process him.”

WILL GRAHAM’S HOUSE - SLOWER MOTION - DAY -

as the door swings open revealing Hannibal Lecter still standing on the porch, a sadly stoic expression on his face. WILL GRAHAM He is in HANDCUFFS, the TWO FBI AGENTS at his side. Jack Crawford follows Will out, but stops on the porch with Hannibal Lecter. Jack nods to his team and the ANIMAL CONTROL OFFICERS and FBI AGENTS, including Zeller, Price and

Katz, get to work, picking up their gear.

WILL’S P.O.V.

Zeller, Price and Katz move into his home with EVIDENCE COLLECTION KITS, their expressions dour. They look at Will, then look away. Beverly looks back, making eye contact.

Will holds her gaze for a moment then has to look away. Will is marched across the front yard by the TWO FBI AGENTS. They lead him to an FBI VEHICLE. One of the Agents opens the

back door while the other Agent tucks Will’s head and pushes him into the back seat and shuts the door.

FBI AGENTS are removing EVIDENCE BOXES from his home. Two ANIMAL HANDLERS are leading the dogs out of the house on leashes. WINSTON breaks free and runs toward Will.

A HANDLER grabs Winston’s collar and drags him away towards the DOG VAN. Winston barks and whines, looking back at Will.

He watches in anguish as Winston is dragged off. And as the S.U.V. he’s in pulls away from his home, JACK CRAWFORD AND HANNIBAL LECTER Inside Will’s house behind them, FLASHBULBS going off as Will’s living room is turned into a CRIME SCENE.

F.B.I. S.U.V. - DAY-

Being driven away, Will leans his head against the window,

his home and dogs and life receding into the distance.

B.A.U. - EVIDENCE PROCESSING - DAY-

In t-shirt and boxers, WILL GRAHAM stands in the brightly-lit, sterile space on a white paper mat. Staring straight ahead. He hands his pants to Jimmy Price who bags them. His shirt and his right and left shoes are stacked on a nearby table in three separate, appropriately labelled evidence bags. His eyeglasses and watch are also bagged and tagged. Jimmy Price holds Will’s khakis with one gloved-hand and digs through the pockets with another. Zeller logs the evidence

next to an operational video camera. It is painfully awkward for them all. Will stares in silence.

“Right rear pocket. One leather wallet containing 17 dollars cash.”

“Right rear pocket. One leather wallet 17 dollars cash.” Jimmy dips a hand into another pants pocket. Removes KEYS. “Front left pocket. Key ring. Two keys. House and car.”

“Front left pocket. Key ring. Two keys. House and car.” Jimmy checks the other pocket. Finds a POCKET KNIFE. “Front right pocket. Folding knife.” He handles the small folded knife carefully, examining the knife handle, a smudged fingerprint in what might be blood.

“Front right pocket. Folding knife.” Zeller grabs a new evidence bag, drops the knife inside.

WILL is staring straight ahead under this. RED FALLING PARTICLES come into focus. Falling through the air like snow --

B.A.U. - EVIDENCE PROCESSING - LATER-

Will stands in his underwear alone with Beverly Katz, who is SCRAPING under his nails with a small tool. A dull red RESIDUE falls onto the white paper. They’ve both seen it often enough to know what it is. BLOOD. The file slides under his nail and the red flakes fall onto

the paper...He watches the dusting of blood fall from under his nail. Beverly is looking at Will. Struggling with the situation.

“I can’t do the silent treatment. I can’t pretend I don’t know you and I can’t pretend we don’t both know what I’m finding under your nails.” Beverly says as Will remains silent, in numb shock.

“You called me once because you didn’t trust yourself to know what was real. This blood is real, Will.” Beverly says with concern for her friend, she never thought he would do this. “I know.”

“Do you know how it got there?”

“Not with certainty, no.”

“Certainty comes from the evidence. I didn’t want to find any evidence on you. I wanted to be certain about who you are. But you can’t even be certain about yourself.” Beverly says with solace. “Not anymore.” Will says almost emotionless, Numb even, but really all he can think about is how this happened and what Y/N will do.

“If you weren’t certain about yourself, then you shouldn’t have been here. This is the FBI.” Beverly says very promptly. “I thought I would get better.”

“How long have you been lying about what’s going on with you?”

“I wasn’t lying –”

“You knew your state of mind. You should have recused yourself from any investigation. You were irresponsible and a girl is dead.” Beverly steps back from him. Angry with him. “However far over the edge you were leaning, I was hoping that you wouldn’t fall.” Will looks at her, hating this. Not wanting to face it. “You always said all you do is interpret the evidence. So do it,

Will. Interpret the evidence.”

“According to the evidence…” Will fights what he wants versus what he thinks. Finally --

a whispered, horrible realization.

“I killed Abigail Hobbs.” Will’s horrible admission… Tears forming and his voice shakes……. F.B.I. ACADEMY - JACK CRAWFORD’S OFFICE - DAY- Y/N on closer and closer onto her growing horror as she listens to Jack Crawford --“We analyzed the tissue. It matched Abigail Hobbs. It was her ear. Her blood was under Will’s fingernails. Scratches on his arms look like defensive wounds. She fought back –” Jack says.

“No. No. No. Shut up.” Y/N is struggling with this information, tears welling. She pushes them back. Finally she can’t hear another word. “Just stop talking.” It comes out more of as a plea as opposed to anything hostile. A long beat of silence, both of them stressed, neither of them above succumbing to the pressure of it.

““He won’t. Get too close.” You Told Alana you would cover him. You could see he was breaking.” Y/N says loudly, she just found out her surrogate daughter is dead, and her partner and Lover killed her. You would be upset as well. Well if you believed it. “Yes, I could. And I kept pushing him because he was saving lives.” Jack says Feeling for the woman in front of him. “Not Abigail Hobbs’ life.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you couldn’t see he was breaking.”

“Of course I could see it! Alana even told you not to put him out there.”

“Every decision I made about Will Graham’s mental health was under the advisement of a respected psychiatrist, who Alana Recommended.” Jack says as he glares at her pointedly.

“Hannibal had to know. He had to see something was wrong.” Y/N knew, she knew Hannibal saw something was wrong, he very clearly wasnt stupid, and he definetly wasnt one to shy away from something he could study.

“Not until it was too late. Just like the rest of us. Hannibal said Will was exhibiting signs of dementia.”

“Dementia isn’t a disease, it’s a symptom of disease. We have to find out what’s causing it and treat it.”Y/N exclaims, its an act, Will doesnt have dementia, this is something Y/N knows, she knows so much and speculates so much more but who can you trust when you know too much.

“The concern is that there may not be anything to treat. Will had a brain scan. They found nothing.” Did they? Did they find nothing or is that just what Hannibal told Will? “This started with Garret Jacob Hobbs.”

“Maybe Will did what Garret Jacob Hobbs couldn’t do. Kill his daughter.”

“Abigail’s blood is on all of us. And so is Will’s.” the weight of that responsibility hangs in the way...

FBI PARKING LOT - Y/N L/N’S CAR - DAY-

We HEAR a MUFFLED SCREAM coming from the inside of the vehicle until it FINDS Dr. Y/N L/N behind the wheel of her car, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as

she lets out her frustration and anger and sadness.

B.A.U. - INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY-

Will sits at a table in his jump suit. Y/N L/N ENTERS. She can’t hide her distress at seeing him this way. And he can’t hide his relief at seeing her walk through the door. “Hi.” he akwardly smiles, he hopes she still loves him. “Hi.” I say as i look at him, i dont believe he could have killed her, nor anyone else besides Garret Jacob Hobbs.

“You’re flushed. You been yelling?” Will notices, it makes me smirk. “Screaming is more like it.” I say with a raised eyebrow as I lean on the wall. “I could use a good scream. I can feel one. Perched under my chin.” Will says honestly, he would probably benefit from a good scream to be honest. “Let it out.” I say softly.

“I’m afraid if I started, I...wouldn’t be able to stop. I’m surprised Jack let you in here.

Given our romantic relationship.” Will says softly as his eyes traces my features as if he would forget them. “Jack doesn’t know about our romantic relationship. Didn’t know.” I sit down across from him and self-consciously glances at the two-way mirror. He slides his hand out, but catches himself and withdraws. Will glances selfconsciously at the two-way mirror.

“Been in touch with Animal Services. I’m going to pick up your dogs in a couple of hours. I’ll bring them back home with me and take care of them until... whenever.” I say softly and kindly, Of course i still love him, but i cant tell him that now, especially with Jack on the otherside of the mirror. “Are you sure? Whenever could be a long time from now.” Will says with suprise, “I’ll take care of them until then.”

“Thank you.”

“We have to do some tests. They’ll be the standard psychopathology tests. Thematic Apperception. Minnesota Multiphasic.” I explain, Im torn between wanting to be the one who does this and not the one. Because its hard to act like i do not care nor that i dont love the person that i have been through the most with.

“Suppose you’re going to ask me to draw a clock while you’re at it.” Will says with a amused chuckle, i meet his eyes with a confused expression. “Hannibal ask you to draw a clock?” I ask confused, if He has what i think he does, Hannibal’s gonna get an ear full. “Said it was an exercise to help ground me in a present moment. A handle to reality to hold onto.”

“Was the clock normal?”

“Would I be here if it wasn’t?” Now My interest is raised. My antenna humming. I pull out pen and paper and slides it across the table. I swear to god. “Draw me a clock please.” I ask nicely and i watch his hands. Will takes the pen and paper and starts to draw a CLOCK.

My anger and horror grows as i watch Will draw a clock with all of the numbers and hands stacked on one side. Dahli-esque. Just like he did before with Hannibal. Will turns the picture and slides it to me. “See. Just a normal clock. Telling the time isn’t my problem.” I look at Will with growing dread.

“It’s the least of your problems.” I knew it, just need a brain scan to confirm it. The truth of that weighs on us both.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - DAY-

We are TRACKING along the dark, empty hallway towards where light shines through from a window by the door. CLOSE and CLOSER to the FRONT DOOR. It OPENS to reveal two LOCAL COPS, guns at the ready. they make their way down the hall. One tries the LIGHT SWITCH but the power is dead. They move to the Kitchen doorway. They flash their flashlights, SCANNING the room. And the beams pick up splashes and sprays of BLOOD, slick black in

the shuttered gloom, turning red in the beams....The floor is covered in a pool of blood.

The TWO COPS hold on the charnel scene and stare...

B.A.U. - EVIDENCE PROCESSING - DAY-

Jack, Me, and Alana are with Zeller, Price and Katz. “Will was a fisherman. He tied all of his own lures.” Jack says to them. “Most anglers use feathers, twine, fur, bits of shell. Designing their flies to catch specific fish.” Jimmy says as he anaylzes the lure in his tweezers. Beverly displays a LURE --

“This one caught my eye. I noticed the hair color. Took me a few to accept what I was seeing. I ran a chem-set to confirm the connection.” Bev says as she looks at me with sadness, i can feel all of the deep emotions in the room. Its almost Overstimulating but i need to know everything to prove Will innocent, I know for a fact he didnt do this.

“What connection?” Alana asks confusedly, she was Just as angry with Jack as i am.

“Four of the lures are made from materials including human remains.” Bev says, well this keeps getting interesting. Alana is stunned. Jack Crawford has heard many strange things in his career, but this requires a beat to process.

“We have DNA matches on all of them.” Jimmy says grimmly, As Beverly explains, she displays her grisly discoveries – “This one is Cassie Boyle. Bits of bone fragments and pieces of lung. Marissa Schuur. Antler velvet, a fingernail, wound with her hair. Doctor Sutcliffe. Crushed teeth, soft tissue from inside his mouth, bound with cartilage from his jaw.” Bev says as she displays the different lures.

“All victims of the Copy Cat?”

“Other lure was made with hair and fiber matched to Georgia Madchen.”

“He kept trophies from his victims.”

“Trophies. Now Will Graham is a serial killer taking trophies?” Jack say incredously, he was in disbelief that any of this is happening. “Something is wrong with Will, physically, neurologically. He’s not a serial killer.” Alana says, she was also upset after i showed her the clock.

“Abigail’s just his latest victim. Must’ve been working together. She was probably going to expose him.” Zeller says in a tone that i do not like but i just stay leaned on the wall and watch and feel the comotion. Jimmy and Beverly glare at him but is unrepentant. “We let the fox into the chicken coop. And he played us all.” Zeller says and i glare at him.

Jack Crawford winces at that horrible possibility...

B.A.U. - INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY-

Will sits alone. A MUFFLED CLICKING SOUND can be heard. Faint, but getting LOUDER. Will looks to the TWO WAY MIRROR. The MUFFLED HOOF STEPS draw closer and closer. Will stands from the table and crosses to the MIRROR, cupping his hands to see through it. nothing. Just the dark reflection of his eyes. Then a SILHOUETTE rises from the darkness behind the mirror, as if made from it. The ANTLERED MAN, Will’s personal Devil. As Will shudders with horror...

B.A.U. - INTERROGATION ROOM - REALITY-

Will is sitting back at the table, staring absently at the TWO WAY MIRROR. He realizes not only did he not get up and cross to the mirror because of his shackles, but now…JACK CRAWFORD...is sitting opposite him, his face slack with worry. A tiny startle from Will. He was off in a nightmare when Jack walked into the room and sat opposite him. “You’re sick, Will.”

“I wasn’t consistent with taking my antibiotics. My fever came back.” Will admits, he knows Y/N and Hannibal would scold him for doing so. “We’re going to move you to a secure medical ward where we will find out what’s wrong with you. And get you the treatment you need.” Jack says with distaste, how could he be so blind he thought to himself. How could he let any of this happen?

“And then what? Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane? Have Chilton fumbling at my head?” Jack analyzes Will, hoping for any confirmation of something. “This job doesn’t generally lend itself to optimism. I desperately want to be optimistic about an alternative to what every fiber of evidence is telling me you did.”

“I can’t confess to something I don’t remember.” Will says, and why would he? For a lighter sentence? No, the courts and media will rake him across the coals. “Question is, how much more is there that you don’t remember? We found your fishing lures.” Jack says with a look.

“I should hope so. They were on my desk next to the front door.” Will says oblivious to what they found entwined in them. “We found human remains in the materials you used to make them. Cassie Boyle. Marissa Schuur. Donald Sutcliffe. Georgia Madchen. Will’s mind reels, he shakes his head, unable to accept what Jack Crawford is telling him. “No. I wasn’t sick when Cassie

Boyle was murdered. I wasn’t sick when Marissa Schuur was murdered.”

“That’s not an argument you want to be making right now. Not to me.” Jack says with a warning look. “Because then I’d be a psychopath.” Will says and his jaw clenches, “My biggest fear is learning you knew what you were doing all along.” Jack says as he looks into Will’s eyes and for once he doesn't avoid it.

“Don’t have to be afraid of that, Jack. But there is something you should be afraid of and that’s whoever is doing this to me.” Will says leaning closer. “Someone is doing this to you? Is that what this is? A set up?” Jack asks confused because Will has made some crazy claims but this- this is insane.

“They’ll be close to you. It could be someone here. Working with you. They know the cases. They know forensics. They know I’m unstable.” Will says, who is doing this? Certainly not Y/N. “Do you hear how paranoid you sound?” Will allows himself a sad smile, not believing what he’s about to say, but also not knowing what to believe.

“Or it could just be you. Then I’m pretty much screwed, aren’t I?” Jack’s heart breaking at the state of Will of mind...

F.B.I. - DAY-

Will, now in IRONS, is being shuffle-walked to an AMBULANCE by a PARAMEDIC and a GUARD. Jack looks on, despairing. Will looks out at Jack as he is stepped up into the

AMBULANCE. Hold their look till the doors slam closed.

AMBULANCE - DAY-

The moving ambulance. Will Graham is sitting back on the GURNEY. His CUFFS round the gurney rail and fastened. Will is watching the solitary GUARD opposite him. He glances away with trepidation, he knows what he has to do, but doesn’t want to do it. He steels himself.

Will looks down, takes a deep breath and CRACKS his thumbs out of joint. A horrible SHRIEK/GROAN of pain as he slides his broken hand from the cuff in one move. The GUARD looks up. Will turns on him with a mixture of malice, pain and regret. And lunges.

HANNIBAL’S OFFICE - DAY-

Hannibal stands with Jack and Me, mid-conversation.

“Broke his thumb getting out of the restraints. Disarmed his guard, threw him and the driver out of the vehicle. They found the ambulance in an alley in Dumfries. These are not the actions of an innocent man.” Jack says, sounds like what Able Gideon did when he went around killing his psychiatrists.

“They’re the actions of a man who is impaired. I had Will draw a clock to test for cognitive dysfunction.” I place Will’s DALI-ESQUE drawing of a clock on the desk. Hannibal reacts, very concerned. Like he didn't already know.

“That’s extreme.” He reaches for his notebook and opens it REVEALING the drawing Will made in his office. “This is the clock Will drew for me two weeks ago. It’s normal.” Bullshit.

“What disease progresses gradually but plateaus for lengths of time?” I raise my eyebrow as I pretend to buy his Bullshit. “Will has periods of clarity. We’ve seen him lucid and aware one moment and then the next moment he’s not.” Hannibal says looking me in the eyes.

“It has to be some form of encephalitis.” I say with a deep breath, I crack my knuckles individually without breaking contact with Hannibal.

“Autoimmune encephalitis. Body’s immune system attacks the brain as if it is itself an infection.” Hannibal says as he searches my eyes for something, i'm not sure what he's looking for but i'm sure he won't find it. “It’s hard to diagnose. There are no tumors. No lesions. Wouldn’t show up on a brain scan unless you knew you were looking for it.” I say, I know this is whats wrong with Will. But I also know someone is setting him up. Jack Crawford puts the train back on the tracks:

“Just tell me if he could’ve killed five people and not known about it.” Jack asks us. Neither I nor Hannibal can bring themselves to answer. “It’s unlikely.” Hannibal answers finally.

“Doesn’t feel like dementia. Feels like an intelligent psychopath. This killer called the Hobbs house, warned Abigail’s father. Hobbs then hung up the phone, killed his wife and cut his daughter’s throat.” Jack says but I just look at him with a sad look. “I and Dr. L/N were with Will that entire time.” Hannibal says, and i nod my head.

“Did he have an opportunity to make a phone call?” Jack asks, my eyebrows furrow, No….He didn't but- Hannibal did.

“At the construction site. Before we went to interview Garret Jacob Hobbs. Will was in the office

while I was outside loading the car with files, but he was only in there a minute or two.” Hannibal says as he looks at Jack to my face that's contorted with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw.

“Dumb luck and bad bookkeeping. It’s how Will said you and him caught Hobbs.

How would you say you two caught Hobbs?” He glances at me, as if to prepare me for what’s coming.

“We were looking through the files and it was as if Will plucked his name out of a hat, based on little more than an incomplete address.” Hannibal says as he studies my face. I shake my head,

“That’s what Me and Will do. We make those kinds of leaps.” I say with a bewildered look.

“Allow me to play the devil, Dr. L/N. This clock test. Would Will Graham know how to fake it?”

After a long moment, I finally answered. “Yes. But i know Will and he-”

I’m fighting the sad apparent “truth” of it all and realizing there's someone in the room that likes to play god... Y/N’S HOUSE - DAY-

I come through the door after WILL’S DOGS, holding them all on two group leashes. The dogs pull until…“Tssst.” The dogs focus.

“Sit.” The dogs obey. Except for one. “Everyone.” The final dog sits. Alana allows herself a small, sad smile as she unfastens each of their collars from the lead.

“Okay.” She gives them each a small treat. Y/N shrugs off her coat and drops her bag on the counter as the pack of dogs mill. She crosses to the REFRIGERATOR. Y/N Pours a glass of bourbon. The dogs follow her. She takes a deep sip and sighs. She rests against the counter as Winston cuddles at her feet. She’s exhausted. Just as she’s noticed the dogs have all trailed away...

“Y/N.” I STARTLE, dropping My glass of Bourbon. Will Graham is now standing in the room with me, the dogs milling about, sniffing and greeting him with wagging tails.“Please don’t scream.” Even if he didnt ask, i wouldn’t’ve screamed.

“Will…You can’t be here, I can’t harbor you. No matter how much I want to.” I say with concern, “I know. Just got a little confused. I needed to get my bearings. It’s good to see the dogs. Thought I wasn’t going to see them again. Or you.” He says as he squats and pets the dogs.

“I know you didn't do this, I know it. You didn't kill anyone other than Garret Jacob Hobbs.” I say softly, I know this, Hannibal knows this. Will would never, even in hallucination, hurt Abigail. Let alone Kill her.

“If I don’t find out who is doing this to me, I’ll be going away. They already think I did it.

They’ll diagnose me with something and they’ll keep diagnosing me and they’ll keep being wrong.” Will says as he shakes his head, and I agree. What's happening to him isnt mental. It's physical. And I know Hannibal knows it.

“I’ll work from the inside. I’ll figure it out honey, I'll do whatever it takes.” I say softly as I look at him. I do mean it. I will figure a way out for Will. I won't let anyone put him away. I won't let anyone take away his freedom. I'll give him the help he needs and I'll make sure justice is served.

“I love you.” He walks towards me slowly, takes my face in his hands and kisses me softly. My breathing hitches as i kiss him back my hands going into his soft hair. I pull away. “I love you.” I say and I lean towards him, my mouth at his ear, “I’m gonna flash the lights of my car, I’m gonna pretend to be frightened. I’m not gonna stop til I figure out who did this to you.” I whisper in his ear and pull away, becoming the character I need to play. Will smiles at me and takes the car keys, sad and disappointed. He considers them a moment, then hands them back to me.

“You were pretty slick about that. You just unlocked your car doors, didn’t you? Flashed the lights? They’ll be waiting for me outside.” Will says in a dark tone, getting into the character he needs to play, though he plays it a little too well. “If there was somebody out there, wouldn’t they already be coming through the door?” I say shakily,taking a shaky step back. “No, they wouldn’t. Because they know I could kill you before they got up those stairs.”

The reality of that hangs in the air, then:

“Goodbye, Y/N.” He quietly moves toward the back door, disappearing down the hall. I wait there for a moment, afraid to move. I realize she stopped breathing and takes a jagged breath.

OFF that moment...

HANNIBAL’S OFFICE - DAY-

Hannibal works at his desk in his darkened office. Then: “Hello, Will. How are you feeling?” REVEAL Will is up on the landing, tucked in the corner. “Self aware.”

“You frightened Y/N.” Hannibal says concerned for her. “She’s confused about who I am, which I can relate to. Are you confused about who I am?” Will asks as he stares off into space. “I’m not confused. I’m skeptical. Meaning I’m willing to change my mind should the evidence change.” Hannibal says as he stands from his desk.

“Do you believe I killed Abigail?” Will asks as he looks down into Hannibal's eyes.

“I believe it’s entirely possible, if not nearly indisputable based on how you discovered her ear.” Hannibal say as he maintains eye contact. “If it was just Abigail, I would have believed. I would have believed I got so far inside Hobbs’ head, I couldn’t get out.” Will says softly. “But it wasn’t just Abigail.”

“I know who I am.” Will says surely.

“All sense of who you are has been distorted by your illness. You know who you are in this moment. That isn’t always the case.” Hannibal says to him. “I didn’t kill any of them. Someone is making sure no one believes me.” Hannibal sighs, debating how to best help his friend.

“If we’re to prove you didn’t commit these murders, perhaps we should consider how you could have. And then disprove that.”

HANNIBAL’S OFFICE - THERAPY - LATER-

Will sits opposite Hannibal, a session like any other save for the fact that Will is wearing a prison jumpsuit.

“If you are this killer, that identity runs through these events like a thread through pearls. Cassie Boyle would have been your first victim. You said her crime scene was practically gift wrapped.” the crime scene in the darkened shadows of the room as if in the recesses of Will’s mind: CASSIE BOYLE MOUNTED ON THE STAG HEAD, all of it PAINTED BLACK.

WILL GRAHAM

“It told me and Y/N everything we needed to know to catch Garret Jacob Hobbs.” As Hannibal speaks, Will can see out of the corner of his eye, movement near the crime scene, A SEPARATE AND DISTINCT DARK SHAPE with ANTLERS, prowling near Cassie Boyle’s body.

“You’d seen one of Hobbs’ victims, you knew how he killed. You may have been exploring how he killed to better understand who he was.”

“I wasn’t in Minnesota when Cassie Boyle was murdered.”

“She disappeared on a Saturday. Found her on a Monday. You would’ve had the weekend to do your work.”

“I know I didn’t kill her.”

“How do you know?” Will’s mind spins for an answer. Hannibal doesn’t allow him to articulate it, continuing to draw a psychological picture

as another crime scene in the room: MARISSA SCHUUR MOUNTED ON ANTLERS, all of it PAINTED BLACK.

“What did you think when you first met Marissa Schuur? How much like Abigail she was? Same height, same weight, same hair color, same age.”

“How could I resist?” The BLACK ANTLERS around Marissa Schuur move REVEALING the INHUMAN SILHOUETTE of the DARK SHAPE, only now it becomes clear it is the MAN STAG that haunted Will’s nightmare. “So much like his daughter, you may have wondered why Garret Jacob Hobbs didn’t kill her himself.” Will fights the confusion, sickened by it. another crime scene behind Hannibal’s desk: DR. SUTCLIFFE NEARLY DECAPITATED AT THE JAW. PAINTED BLACK.

“Dr. Sutcliffe wasn’t killed how Garret Jacob Hobbs killed. He was murdered how you imagined yourself murdering a woman only days before.”

“How Georgia Madchen killed. She said she dreamt I killed Sutcliffe. But she couldn’t see my face. And then she was murdered.”

“You catch these killers, Will, by getting into their heads, but you also let them into yours.”

BLACK ANTLERS rise in the darkness behind Hannibal, the MAN STAG taking shape from the shadow. It has Hannibal’s face. Will winces at the image in his head, shaking it off. “I’m trying to help you, Will.”

“Then take me back to Minnesota. I want to see where Abigail died.” OFF Will’s determination...

HANNIBAL’S CAR - NIGHT-

Hannibal drives, windshield wipers thumping rhythmically as rolls RAIN off in sheets. He glances over at Will Graham who dozes fitfully in the passenger seat.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - DAY-

Hannibal’s BENTLEY pulls into the driveway, Hannibal behind the wheel. Will Graham in the passenger seat. Hannibal and Will get out of the car and head into the house. Even though the car has been turned off, the PURR OF THE BENTLEY’S ENGINE continues to haunt Will beneath the PICTURE and carry on into and throughout the next scene.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - FOYER - DAY-

Will ENTERS. He walks cautiously down the hall, Hannibal no longer behind him. He walks into:

THE KITCHEN Breakfast time. LOUISE HOBBS is cooking eggs, Garret Jacob Hobbs helping her prep. Abigail sets the table. It’s the moment before everything in Abigail Hobbs’ life changed.

Will Graham stands in the room, watching the scene. The phone RINGS. It startles Will. A sense of dread as Abigail crosses to the phone and answers it. “Hello? Just a second. Dad, it’s for you.”

“Who is it?”

“Caller i.d. said it was blocked.” She hands her father the phone and as he raises it to his

Ear, GARRET JACOB HOBBS is NOW WILL GRAHAM. Will puts the receiver to his ear. The pervasive purr of Hannibal’s Bently engine suddenly stops. “Hello?”

“Will?”

“Yes.”

“We’re here –”

He opens his eyes.

HANNIBAL’S CAR - NIGHT-

Hannibal sits in the driver’s seat; we can still hear the carCOOLING and PINGING. Will takes a deep breath and heaves a sigh as he OPENS HIS CAR DOOR and climbs out.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - BASEMENT - NIGHT-

The SLIDING GLASS DOOR slowly ROLLS OPEN and Will and Hannibal ENTER. They move cautiously through the room. Will turns and sees Hannibal standing behind him, a familiarity to

their placement in the room takes us to...

Will stands where he is now, Hannibal in the same position, only Y/N, Alana and Abigail are also present. Abigail asks: “Are we going to re-enact the crime? You be my dad. You be my mom. And you be the man on the phone.” Hannibal is caught off guard. More so by Abigail’s steely nonchalant stare that follows her comment.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - BASEMENT - RESUMING-

Realization dawning, Will dares to stare at Hannibal only briefly before averting his eyes and turning away. “Are we going to re-enact the crime?”

“If it would help you.”

“It may come to that.” Will shrinks into the shadows of the house. Hannibal follows.

HOBBS RESIDENCE - FOYER - NIGHT-

The house is cold. Will and Hannibal climb the stairs to the main floor. Will pauses, bracing himself, as he moves into: THE KITCHEN. the Kitchen is empty. Blood stains everywhere. A processed crime scene. Forensic markers etc.

Will STARES – Steps into the room. He bows his head, his face crumpled with emotion. He takes a breath and then looks up again. “It’s as if Abigail was supposed to die in this kitchen. Nothing we did was able to change that.” Hannibal is as horrified by the room as Will, feigning as though he is seeing it for the first time. Will looks at the ARTERIAL SPRAY on the wall, deeply saddened.

“Her throat was cut. She lost great gouts of blood and there’s an unmistakable arterial spray –”

He stops himself, unable to speak for a moment. “They haven’t found her body.”

“Just the one piece.”

“If you were in Garret Jacob Hobbs’ frame of mind when you killed her, they may never find her body.”

“Cause I honored every part of her?” Will says as he turns around and looks at him. “Perhaps you didn’t come here looking for a killer. Perhaps you came here to find yourself. You

killed a man in this very room.”

“I stared at Hobbs and the space opposite me assumed the shape of a man filled with dark and swarming flies. And then I scattered them.” Will says as he puts his hand into his jacket pocket. “At a time when other men first see and fear their isolation, yours has become understandable to you. You are alone because you are unique.”

“I’m as alone as you are.”

“If you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated themas the inspirations they are, you’d become someone other than yourself.” Hannibal remarks as he gazes at the mural of blood spray.

“I know who I am. I’m not so sure I know who you are anymore. But I am certain one of us killed Abigail.” Will raises his gun and steadies it at Hannibal. “Are you a killer, Will? You. Right now. This man in front of me. Is this who you really are?”

“You called here that morning. Abigail knew. You kept her secrets until she found out some of yours.” Hannibal eyes the gun in Will’s hand. “You said it felt good to kill Garret Jacob Hobbs, Will. Would it feel good to kill me now?”

“Garret Jacob Hobbs was a murderer. Are you a murderer, Dr. Lecter?”

“What reason would I have?”

“You have no traceable motive, which is why you were so hard to see. You were just curious what I would do. What Y/N would do. Someone like me. Someone like Her. Someone who thinks how we think. Wind them up and watch them go. Apparently, Dr. Lecter, this is how I go.”

Betrayed and confused, Will’s finger tenses on the trigger.

Jack Crawford ENTERS, gun drawn, sees Will is preparing to shoot Hannibal, and in a terrible re-enactment, SHOOTS WILL. BLAM! A bullet slams into Will’s shoulder and he is knocked against the counter, slides down it. Right where Garret Jacob Hobbs died. Blood flecks Hannibal’s face and shirt. Jack comes forward, still holding his smoking weapon. He kicks the gun from Will’s loose fingers. Looks down at the bleeding Will with anguish. Will looks up at Jack and Hannibal. Will holds Jack’s gaze. “See? See?” His vision begins to dim and LOSE FOCUS, as it does HANNIBAL BLURS AND SHIFTS into the BLACKENED MAN STAG, and we...

HOBBS RESIDENCE - NIGHT-

The gurney is being moved to an ambulance by PARAMEDICS. Jack Crawford is moving behind it, concerned. They take us past - HANNIBAL LECTER, who watches Will being put in the ambulance. Flecks of blood still on his face... the gurney is rushed into the ambulance and the doors are pulled closed on Jack Crawford. The ambulance pulls away, lights flashing. Leaving Jack to watch it go and then he turns to Hannibal. Their eyes meet.

HOSPITAL - ER - NIGHT-

As an ER team work on Will, his clothes have been pulled away. A DOCTOR is cleaning the BULLET WOUND in his shoulder. The wound is ugly and red. a blood bag goes up on a stand. A needle is slid into the crook of Will’s elbow. Monitoring machines start to bleep. A bloom of BLOOD in the barrel of an I/V needle as Will is injected with drugs. Another I/V bag - antibiotics, slid into his other arm. from the foot of the bed. Will Graham, unconscious, drips and drugs and machines working on his behalf… Sleeps. In a hospital bed. Wired up to drips and monitors.

HOSPITAL - WILL GRAHAM’S ROOM - DAY-

Down the corridor and into Will’s room. Will Graham unconscious in the bed. Two chairs

pulled up by the bed. Hannibal sits in one, eyes on Will. He looks up as Jack enters. Jack takes the other seat. “Right hemisphere of his brain was inflamed. Been placed in an induced sleep. He’s being treated with antiviral and steroid therapies.”

“Is he responding?”

“More or less. He’s expected to make a substantial recovery. Over time.” Hannibal looks at Will in his comatose state, then asks: “Would you have gone to Minnesota if he didn’t have a gun on you?” Jack asks Hannibal as he gazes upon Will who has the feelings of Betrayal dripping from the very essence of his soul. “Even now I feel that I’ve failed to satisfy my obligation to Will.”

“Any regrets?”

“More than I would care to admit. Psychiatrists can have divided loyalties. We have to protect our patients from becoming victims of the pressures we face to help them.” Hannibal says as he sits with the fact that Will does not trust him anymore. “Will Graham isn’t your victim.”

“Nor is he yours.” Jack considers that, not so sure it’s the case. “In my life, I’ve seen some hideous and offhanded ways in which the world breaks people. This is worse than anything I’ve seen on the autopsy scales. What I experienced with Will Graham has caused in me a small tectonic shift. I am not the same man I was yesterday.” Jack says.

“No one in this room is.” Hannibal studies Jack Crawford’s regret as B.S.H.C.I. - CELL BLOCK - DAY-

The cave-like cell on the high security block. The security gate opens and Hannibal Lecter steps inside. He stops and takes in the surroundings. The smells. Straightens his tie. Hannibal walks down the block, aware of the inmates. He continues down the corridor until it finds the last cell on the block REVEALING WILL GRAHAM INSIDE. He wears a B.S.H.C.I. jumpsuit. His cell bare except for bed and table. They appraise each other through the safety barrier.

“Hello, Will.”

“Hello...Dr. Lecter.”

#hannigram #hannibal nbc #fem!reader #hannibal x reader #hannigram x reader #will graham x reader #twistedminds

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raineandsky · 2 years ago

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#24

tw: implied violence, death

No, this… this isn’t right. It isn’t meant to be like this.

The hero stumbles down the alley, feeling their way along the coarse brick next to them. It’s the middle of the night, and the city can’t be bothered investing in lighting for tiny pathways like this. Not that it would matter – a sickening cacophony of blood and tears are streaking their face, getting into their eyes and blinding them. They only have the feel of the wall and the sound of light footsteps trailing after them to go by.

They can’t keep the villain away from them forever, but they can hold them off.

They pause when a wall blocks them to the front. They shakily hold a hand up to feel it, running their palm over it until they hit the opposite corner. A dead end. They can feel their breath quicken in panic – their mind can’t run fast enough to figure out a way out of this.

“Oh, darling, there’s no need to be upset,” a voice purrs from behind them, the same voice that’s been following them all this way, prowling behind them like a predator stalking injured prey. The sound of metal scraping against the wall grates at the hero’s ears, and they shrink away from the noise in repulsion. “This was always going to happen.”

“No it wasn’t,” is all they can manage before they submit to a horrible coughing fit, wracking their frame whilst the villain watches on contentedly. It was never meant to be like this. The agency had promised them safety. Protection. In the end they’d been a disposable asset in the bigger picture, nothing more than a name and a jumble of abilities in a computer system.

The hero turns towards fate, even if they can only see the vague shape of the figure slowly creeping up on them. “You were my villain, I– I was meant to defeat you.”

The villain hums something of a laugh, finally level with the hero. “And believe me, you were my hero. You may have tried to defeat me, but you failed. Now I get to destroy you.”

Something cold rests against their throat, mockingly light, the action holding almost no threat. The villain can see how harmless they are in this state. “It will take me a long time to move on,” they continue with a sigh. “We’ve had some good times, no? It’s a shame it must end.”

The hero sniffles miserably into the silence that follows, and they hate themself for the pathetic show of weakness. The feeling only worsens when the villain coos softly, the metal adjusting carefully against their skin, and they know there’s no other way out of it.

“I’m scared,” they admit quietly. They don’t know what else to say. The agency promised them so much, and now death is staring them in the face. They’ve faced bad situations before, but they’re a hero. It always works out for them. But this doesn’t seem like something they can easily evade – and the thought is terrifying them.

“I know baby,” the villain whispers, the softness in their tone almost believable. Their hand reaches up to caress the hero’s face, and the gentleness of the action almost makes them break down completely. “It’s okay. Tell me what your favourite animal is.”

A laugh chokes out of them at the randomness of the question. “I’ve always been–”

The hero doesn’t get to finish their sentence.

#writing #creative writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #writblr #heroes and villains #hero x villain #tw implied violence #tw death #if youre seeing this for the second time uhhhh no youre not youre imagining things #tumblr deleted this one. on my got dang birthday. rude as hell #back at it with the MURDERRRR #sorry for party rockin >:)

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purgatory-is-life · 2 months ago

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Mechtober Prompt 13/day 13-planetside

i just ended up using this as an excuse to explore some underrated ashes ships

@mechtober-2024 and as usual, also on my ao3

Three Dates For Ashes O'Reilly - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

tw, arson, implied violence, some poor self care habits, raph's Science, gun mention, i think that's everyrhing

Ashes O’Reilly was not, often, a person who enjoyed the soft things of life. Of course, they relished in the luxuries and the finer things, especially when they were playing a long game planetside. But the soft, typical ‘romantic’ things of the world? They didn’t really care for that. They showed the other Mechanisms that they cared in other, less traditional ways. In ways that worked for the crew.

Ashes did like to treat the others to nice things every once in a while, when they were planetside.

—--

They were stopping by a relatively small, unassuming planet for a bit. No longer than a month, just enough to refuel, have some fun, maybe have a few concerts. It was mostly just a restock trip, anyway. It didn’t need to be anything too long. A month was a perfect amount of time, for Ashes purposes.

Ashes strolled into the bridge, while Brian was mumbling arguments with Aurora while they landed. Again. Aurora had been picky about the spot they landed her in, trying to fly off the moment the majority of the Mechs were off of her, so Brian was trying to get her to stay in one spot for longer than a day. Ashes sat down in the chair next to Brian’s pilot’s chair. Brian glanced at them, but spent most of his focus on landing. Ashes let him, spending the time playing with one of their lighters. Eventually Brian and Aurora landed, and Brian turned towards Ashes.

“Yes, Ashes? Do you need something?”

“I was wondering,” Ashes said, flicking their lighter closed as they turned to the brass pilot, “if you’d like to go out on a walk with me ‘round this little planet, Dollface.”

Brian raised an eyebrow, but nodded slowly. “You’re not up to something, are you?”

“Not at all~” Ashes purred, grinning enough to show off their fangs ever so slightly.

Brian sighed and Ashes stood up, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. Brian let them, smiling as they dragged him off of Aurora. “May I ask at least what we’re up to? It won’t require me being EJM right now, will it?”

“‘Course not, Sweet thing. It’ll be fun, promise, but forgive me if I want to keep a few secrets.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Of course, My Lord Hades.”

Ashes grinned, and the two continued. They exited the starship they called home, and out into a chaotic and alien wilderness of the planet they’d landed on.

Eventually Brian fell in step with Ashes as they walked down a winding path in between twisting trees with glowing leaves, plants growing free and animals scattering at the noises the pair were making. Brian hummed quietly, while Ashes led him further into the woods. Brian wasn’t sure how long they walked for, just enjoying the scenery and each other’s company. After an undefined amount of time, the pair arrived at a small clearing. In the center, a small fire was flickering and burning in the center, with a few blankets spread around it on the floor and Ashes’s bass setup next to the fire as well. There were a few bottles of wine propped against a large bouquet of roses and a picnic basket.

Brian stops before the clearing and pauses, eyes wide in shock but otherwise his expression remains frozen.

Ashes doesn’t stop until they are forced to, hand still holding Brian’s, realizing he’s no longer following them. They turn around and stare at the drumbot, while he tries to find the words.

“When did you have time to do this?” he eventually asked.

Ashes smirked. “I find time. I like to dote on you all, every once in a while.”

Brian didn’t respond, and Ashes gently tugged on his arm. Brian looked at them and raised an eyebrow.

“Coming? I set this up for us, y’know. So you could relax,” Ashes walked back over to him and took the drumbot’s other hand. “We can do something else if you want.”

“No, no it’s perfect,” Brian squeezed Ashes’s hands, and leaned down, pressing a kiss on their forehead. “Thank you for this. Shall we?”

Ashes smirked, and dragged him into the clearing.

—--

Raphaella hadn’t left her lab in a while, and that wouldn’t do. Especially since she hadn’t told Ashes about any supplies that she needed resupplied. And that just wouldn’t do-they were only on this planet for a few more weeks, after all.

So, naturally, Ashes did something about it.

Ashes knocked on the door frame of Raphaella’s lab. “Hey, Sweet Bird,” they called, getting the science officer’s attention. Raph popped up from her project, and turned to Ashes. She grinned at them.

“Hey, Smoky Eyes,” Raph turned back to her project, “if you need something, you’ll have to give me a sec, this is a very finicky compound I’m working with.”

“Sure,” Ashes said, leaning against the lab’s doorframe, fidgeting with a box of matches. Raphaella continued with her Science for a while more, and Ashes let her. Raphaella rolled her shoulders, wincing at the action as she flexed her wings. Ashes raised an eyebrow as Raph returned to her work. “Are your wings cramping up?”

“Yes, a bit, but I’ve got to finish this…” Raphaella furrowed her brows in concentration, which made Ashes snort fondly. She was adorable sometimes, Ashes thought briefly.

“I think being able to walk around without your back hurtin’ something fierce is a bit more important than science, Doll,” Ashes said, walking into the lab. Raphaella shot them a glare.

“Nothing is more important than Science,” Raph declared.

“Not even going for a fly?” Raphaella paused, and Ashes grinned. They sighed exaggeratedly, and turned to leave. “I guess I’ll just go wandering around the new planet myself… All on my lonesome, on the ground…” Raphaella made a small trill in the back of her throat, but hadn’t moved yet from her spot hovering above her experiment.

“Maybe I’ll find a cool mushroom, or a cool specimen… And I won’t have a sweet birdie to be all science-y about it…”

And that seemed to be all the convincing Raphaella needed. “Ugh, fine! I’ll go for a fly with you!” Ashes grinned as Raphaella walked over to them after covering whatever compound she was messing with. Raphaella pouted as she looped an arm around one of Ashes and wrapped her tail around theirs. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Doting on my crew? At this point, is that really such a surprise?”

Raphaella pouted, but she and Ashes left the lab and left the Aurora, taking a moment to enjoy the relatively serene nature around them. Raphaella stretched her wings out, spreading them as widely as she could. Ashes grinned wider, and Raph stuck her tongue out at them. Still, she scooped them up into her arms (it was always a surprise how strong Raphaella was, sometimes it even left them flustered, if Raph picked them up unexpectedly) and prepared to take flight. Ashes pulled out one of their guns, then.

“You in the mood for some violence, Sweet Bird?” they asked.

Raphaella’s eyes lit up, almost literally. “Oh, you motherfucker… Of course I’m in the mood for violence.”

Ashes grinned, and that was all the invitation Raph needed to take off in the direction of the nearest town.

Flying was a jostling experience, especially with Raphaella. She didn’t care much about easing turbulence when taking any of the crew on a fly. The only one she was even kind of careful with was Jonny, and that was just because he’d shot her out of the sky enough times for being ‘too rough’ on flights that she’d learned her lesson with him. But Ashes enjoyed it, the wind in their hair and the rushing air around them as they soared through the sky. It felt freeing.

The town was coming into view, and Ashes readied their gun, taking another one out to hand to Raph. It was time for the two of them to have some fun.

—--

The Toy Soldier was odd, but it was helpful. It loved to help, and Ashes appreciated it. “Artillery Stocks Are All Checked, Quartermaster O’Reilly!” The Toy said, saluting. “We Will Not Need To Restock Anything For At Least Another Ten Years, Which Will Allow Us To Reach Our Next Proper Destination With Ease. Though We Could Always Get More Tea, As One Can Never Have Too Little Tea.”

“Great, thanks, TS,” Ashes said, turning away from Aurora’s food stores. “Anything needing repairing immediately? I can take them out to get repaired tomorrow.”

“Nothing That I Could See!”

“Alright. Thanks again.”

“Of Course, Ashes!” The wooden soldier pretended to beam, and snapped its fingers. “Ashes, If You Are Finished With Your Duties For Now, I Have Something I Wish To Present You With, Old Bean! If You Will Follow Me,” The Toy Soldier offered them a hand, and Ashes raised an eyebrow, but took the wooden hand and followed the wooden thing off of the ship. The Toy paused not far away from Aurora, just a place with a nice, clear view of the sky.

It pulled something from its coat, as Ashes turned to look at it confused. It tutted at them, saying that they had to focus on the sky, not itself. Ashes decided to amuse it, and returned their focus to the skyline as The Soldier fidgeted with the device in its hand.

A few moments later, the sky lit up, bright and brilliant, many colorful sparks decorating the sky. Ashes grinned and turned to the wooden doll next to them.

“Fireworks tend to be more Gunpowder’s style, you know.”

“Shush, Old Bean! Just Watch The Show!”

Ashes complied, and watched the sky light up in all of the colors that The Toy Soldier could find. As the firework show continued, Ashes could see smoke wafting from some far off place, smoke in the same direction as the fireworks. And as the fireworks began calming down, the skyline erupted into a beautiful, gargantuan fire with one final bang from a large firework.

Ashes gasped, entranced by the beauty of the fire that was quickly spreading through the forest around them.

“Oh, It’s Absolutely Spiffing! So Much Prettier Than I Anticipated!” The Toy Soldier clapped excitedly, the wooden clacking noise snapping Ashes out of their haze of admiration.

“Oh, TS… You know you didn’t have to, Soldier, dear,” Ashes said.

“Of Course Not, Old Bean, But I Figured You Deserved Something Nice! And You Know, It’s Been A While Since We’ve Had A Really Good Fire. And So, Jonny And Tim Helped Me Set This All Up!”

Ashes slung an arm around the doll’s shoulders, grinning widely. “Well, how ‘bout that. Thanks, TS. I appreciate it.” Ashes dug out their box of cigarettes that they’d pawned off of Jonny at some point. “How ‘bout a smoke, to celebrate the occasion?”

“Oh, I’d Love To Pretend To Smoke With You, My Dear Quartermaster!” Ashes handed it a cigarette and took one for themself, lighting it up with a match that they tossed into the forest.

Ashes took a drag and smiled. “Here’s to violence, and a damn good fire,” they said, and turned, them and the pretend Soldier walking back onto the Aurora as the forest burned behind them.

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wordsbymae · 2 years ago

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How would killer! OC be with a darling who has a soft spot for animals? Like whenever killer gifts them a skinned rabbit or a fox heart they just break down because they hate any and all violence towards animals

I'm so happy you sent this in! This is pretty much how I view the reader already but I never really put it in writing, so thank you for sending this through!!

TW: Violence towards animals, murder, crying (lots), vomiting, very sublte implied smut, that's it I think.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had been gone for hours. Leaving just as the sun breached the darkened sky, not yet returning despite it reaching its peak. You hoped he never returned. You could run, maybe, but the last time you did, he hunted you down like a bloodhound, ripping you from the arms of a helpful hiker. Making you watch as he threw them over the side of a cliff. You still cringed whenever you remember the sound of that poor man's skull cracking against the earth. So no more running.

You waited at the old dining table, it was small and uneven, but it was better than waiting on the bed. He often mistook that as an invitation. You were drawing today. Each day you tried a new hobby. Yesterday it was embroidery, tomorrow was still undecided. Could you perhaps try pottery? You knew an old salt flour recipe that might work.

Or maybe if you asked nicely enough he might let you bake. As long as you ignored the question of where did he get the supplies and from who, you could live with yourself. The heat was sickening, and sweat rolled down your back as you traced the same line over and over again. Then came the distant crack of thunder.

You looked up from your drawing of a lamb in a meadow, the sun was beginning to be covered by angry rolling clouds. The sound of the cicadas and the sweet melody of a magpie died in the sweeping winds that raced through the trees. A storm was coming. Big too, you only hoped he would catch a cold and die.

The rain began suddenly, without much warning and didn't stop. It pounded against the tin roof, slammed against the windows and thundered against the walls. It felt like the end of the world. Lightening flashed and thunder rolled. A part of you wanted it to tear the whole house down.

The door slammed open and a cloaked figure came rushing in. It was him. He shrugged the cloak off and placed it in its rightful place on a rusty hook by the door.

Water fell off the cloak in streams, leaving a muddy puddle underneath it. You took a glance at him and then returned back to your drawing, but then remembered the last time you ignored him and regretfully looked back at him.

His shirt was dry, somewhat, and so was his hair in places. It was only his trousers and boots that were drenched. His face was also covered in rainwater, only for it to be wiped off as he dried himself with a dirty rag. He was holding something in one of his hands, hidden partially by his large body. You could see it was dark maroon in colour, and it was leaking something red onto the floor.

He turned to you and a second later, a skinned rabbit was thrown in front of you, landing on top of your drawing. You gave a shriek and jumped from the table, nearly falling over the chair. It was bloody and fresh. Blood oozed out from it and soaked into the pages of your journal below. As you stood there trying to catch your breath, he grabbed something from the pocket of his cloak and began to walk towards you.

Tears filled your eyes, as your breath only become more shallow and rushed. You could see where he had slit the poor thing's throat. Blood was still pumping through the jagged vein.

He grabbed your hand forcefully and placed something soft and wet in it. You looked down to see the blood-seeped fur of the rabbit. You screamed and dropped it to the floor. Blood was still lingering on your hand.

You rushed over to the wash basin and turned on the tap, drowning your hand under the frigid water.

Lightening flashed and only a second later thunder cracked, leaving the house to shake. It made you jump and for more tears to race down your cheeks.

You didn't hear him walking towards you, too preoccupied with trying to remove the stain left on your hand.

"Bunny" he growled.

You stopped.

His rough hands made contact with your shoulder. He forcibly turned you around. You saw the anger in his eyes. He pulled you forward, then moved behind you. With a harsh push, you began walking.

You left the water running.

The rain only seemed to get louder, it rattled the windows and pushed against the front door. It sounded like a war was raging.

You made your way back to the table. You saw he had picked up the fur and left it next to the rabbit.

Standing just in front of the chair you were harshly pushed to sit down, and he dragged you and the chair forward until your stomach was tight against the table.

The rabbit lay still, except for the blood. That was still moving.

You felt something forced into your hand, and looking down you saw it. A small knife. You looked up to him. Begging him not to make you do this.

"Bunny, cut" he ordered. Face next to your left ear, hands on your shoulders.

A sob wracked through you. The knife in your hand trembled.

A hand slammed onto the table, tousling the rabbit, leaving blood to splatter onto your clothes and face.

"Bunny, now"

his hands gripped your shoulders painfully, and with a cry, you reached the knife to one of its legs. Just as you were about to cut, the animal suddenly twitched, blood flying from its mouth, leaving you startled in shock.

You jumped from the table and vomited next to the table, one hand gripping a chair, the other on your stomach.

When you were done, you broke down even further. Your breaths came out as chokes and your tears were more like a flood.

You yelped when you felt one of his large hands on your back. You tried to stop crying.

Instead of pain, you felt his hand softly run up and down your back. comforting you.

You were lightly gripped by your arms and moved towards the bed. , making you lie down.

you watched in confusion, as he covered you in the thin blanket, then left you to go sit back on the chair.

You could only see his back but you could hear the slicing of muscles and ligaments. You closed your eyes and chose to ignore the foul taste in your mouth.

You were going to need a new journal.

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Hoped you liked this!! Killer doesn't really speak at all so his actions are everything. So I wanted to showcase that he does actually care for the reader, in his own messed up way. He thought he was giving them a nice gift with the rabbit, you could cook it and make something nice with the fur. So for the reader to have such a nasty reaction, left him a bit mean. He was gonna make them butcher it as punishment for rejecting his gift but after the whole vomiting thing he decided to let it go.

In the future, I can see him still getting bloody animal gifts for the reader, but he will do all the hard work. He will bring home a dead stag, show it off and then butcher it in front of you. He'll bring home a wolf and give you its still warm and blood-covered fur to make a blanket. He for sure is gonna give you the heart of every single animal he kills. And will still leave it on your pillow, no matter how many times you cry. In all honestly, he doesn't care if you don't like his gifts, just don't reject them. He's showing you he can provide for you and be a good husband, so be a good homemaker and smile politely.

#killer oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader

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angstyandromanticwriting · 1 year ago

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Harley Quinn X FemWerewolf!Reader Cute, Angsty, and Fluffy Prompt with a somewhat hopeful ending

• Takes place before the events of the first film (Suicide Squad - 2016)

!TW: Mention of previous acts of violence, implied being previously abused (by family/a family member + an ex), breaking and entering, self-put down(s), implied suffering from depression, hunting, having a near-death experience, attempted murder, implied injury/being injured, mention of blood/presence of blood, injury detail, nudity, anxiety + hint of separation anxiety, swearing, violence, mention of being unconscious, mention of having nightmares, murder/previously murdering someone, self-doubt, wanting to die, insult, weaponry, mention of having to have stitches, elements of grief/grieving, being in prison - If I’ve missed any, let me know ❤️!

“Good morning,” Harley chimed as soon as you walked into the kitchen, and you would smile timidly over at her, upon remembering that she’d fought with your father to try and save you from his beatings, before you’d both escaped together, and she had broken you both into an abandoned home she’d come across not too long ago, so you could both stay there until you were forced to move out, and had to go and find yet another shelter you could both reside in, “want some breakfast?”

“Good morning, Sparkles,” you returned, before shyly walking up to her, and wrapping your arms around her waist, “and I will, if you’re having some. You smell nice - did you steal my stuff again?”

She would scoff, before giggling softly, and turning to face you so she could connect her forehead to your’s lovingly. “As if I would,” she replied, “I could never steal from you, Nugget.” You would then lift a skeptical eyebrow, prompting her to burst out laughing again, whilst she found herself thinking about how she’d have never believed, before, that she could be made to be so happy by one singular individual. “You always manage to make me laugh,” she mused, whilst beaming over at you, prompting your heart to begin to race whilst you smiled warmly back at her, revelling in how happy you seemed to be making her, “how do you do that?”

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, “I guess I’m just funny? To you, anyway - I doubt anyone else could ever think so.”

Her smile would then weaken; she wished you’d stop putting yourself down like that all the time. “Oh c’mon,” she replied, “I’m sure many people would agree; you’re hilarious, honestly; the funniest person I’ve ever met-”

“You really think so?” You inquired, and she would nod quickly, whilst you found yourself wondering what you’d done to deserve someone as amazing and kind as her.

“I know so,” she insisted, “now - waffles, or pancakes?”

Shortly after, you found yourself - some time in the afternoon - going out hunting for you both in Apocalypse Forest, as you were both now low on supplies, but the mission was risky; you had almost been killed by the Omegas, but were slowly healing whilst you limped back toward the house with the bodies of the rabbits you’d caught tucked into your belt; you’d made sure to, after changing back into your human form, change back into the clothes you’d left by one of the trees outside of the house. You also had managed to catch an elk, before the attack occurred, and were currently dragging it alongside you. “Y/n-!” Harley chimed, and you would instantly glance up at her upon hearing her voice, before a smile began to tug at the corners of your lips, prompting her to beam widely back at you, whilst she rushed from the porch to greet you. “I’ve missed you so much,” she expressed, before throwing her arms around you, not caring if you had some blood from the hunt still on you - well, she assumed all the blood on you was from the animals you’d managed to take down; she wasn’t yet aware of the fact that you’d been attacked, or the gashes on your back which you’d received from the Omegas, “you were gone for so much longer than you said you would be, a-and - I was scared; I thought something happened to you!”

You would frown, before shaking your head whilst you returned the hug, and wondered why she had been worried; you were covered almost entirely not just by your own blood, but the blood of the animals, and couldn’t believe it didn’t seem to be affecting her; you thought maybe she’d really view you to be the monster you believed you were, that previous moment she’d spotted you from the doorway. “It may as well have,” you blurted out, before you could stop yourself, and she would frown, before holding you at arm’s length, prompting you to feel guilty all over again when you could see that she was obviously saddened and disappointed by your remark, “I - I mean.. look at me, Quinzels.. I.. I’m covered in all this blood, a-and..” You would then sigh heavily, before bowing your head. “Why.. Why would you even - care.. if something happened to me?” You inquired dejectedly, and before Harley could even open her mouth to answer, you would drop the elk, before releasing the rabbits from your belt, so you could begin to take off your clothes again.

“You know why, Nugget,” she whined, whilst trying not to look over your now naked body, though she found she desperately wanted to, “I love you, m-more than anything - I always have-”

“I’m a monster!” You cried, prompting her to falter, before she shook her head quickly; she wished you’d stop saying stuff like that about yourself, when you knew none of it was even close to being true. “How could you love someone who - who does stuff like this?” You questioned, whilst gesticulating to the rabbits and the elk, but Harley would appear unperturbed. “S-Stuff like.. change into.. into a dang wolf, that could easily kill you if it lost control of itself-”

“You could never hurt me, Y/n,” she contradicted, “I know you wouldn’t-”

“Never purposefully,” you interjected feebly, whilst tears began to clear your vision, “but I could, and I would never forgive myself if I did. You-.. You wanna see what I look like - m-my true form, as a beast?”

“You know I’d love to,” she answered, before nervously looking around to make sure there weren’t any uninvited guests nearby, “b-but.. if someone sees you-”

“I know,” you uttered, “they’d either run and tell, or try to kill me themselves, but I don’t care; I want you to see what I am, and I want you to know what I really look like; you have to make your final decision, Harleen - whether you really want to stay with a monster like me, knowing what I am..” You would then inch closer to her, whilst your fangs began to subconsciously unfold, but she wouldn’t let you intimidate her, knowing that that was what you were trying to do; you were trying to achieve a reaction out of her which would suggest that she was scared of you - something she never could be, no matter what, because she loved you too much to ever be scared of you. “Knowing what I do,” you continued quietly, before tilting your head partially toward the animals again, but she wouldn’t allow her eyes to leave your’s, wanting to try and show you that nothing could ever deter her from you, alongside how she found she simply just couldn’t; she often found herself getting lost in your eyes like she was, now, and honestly couldn’t imagine her life without you in it; a life without these blissful moments you both often shared with one another - all she knew was that it would be painful, if she lost you, so she vowed she wouldn’t, and that nothing would happen to her which would result in you losing her, now she knew that you would suffer if you did, after you’d told her everything about how you’d imprinted on her, and what the stone wolf you’d given her meant. “And.. what I could do,” you added, “ready?”

“Always,” she answered, “but you’ll never change my mind, I swear; nothing could ever stop me from loving you the way I do, now, and always have.”

You would scoff, before shaking your head, and evidently doubting. “We’ll see,” you replied, before attempting to change, but you found you felt too weak to, and would soon cry out in pain, before you leaned heavily against her, doubled over whilst you clutched your left side, and it was then that she’d noticed the gashes on your back, and the big bruise on your side which was allowing some blood to seep through a smaller scratch in the centre of it.

“Shit,” Harley whispered, whilst she cradled you closer to her to try and keep you stable, “you didn’t tell me you were attacked, Y/n!”

“I.. I didn’t wanna worry you,” you mustered, whilst you buried your face into her left shoulder, and clung to her, “I’m so sorry, Quinzels, b-but don’t panic - I’ll heal soon, b-before they can get any worse..”

She would appear skeptical, not sure if she should believe you, or not; she was desperate to patch you up, and ensure your survival. “You’re sure?” She questioned, and you would nod quickly, not wanting her to worry any further, but she still found herself terrified that she could lose you if she didn’t act, and fast. “I don’t believe you,” she stated, and you would fight back a grunt, not wanting to upset her, “so I’m still gonna patch you up as much as I can - c’mon.” She would try to lead you back inside, until you found yourself almost collapsing again at the porch, and you soon began to shiver violently in her embrace; you were still naked, after all, and Harley had insisted you leave the clothes alone, for now, so she could treat you before you could put them back on, knowing it would be easier (and that she was hoping she could keep you out of them for a little while, anyway). “Are you cold?” She asked, and you would shake your head, but she, again, didn’t believe you, knowing you were probably lying to try and get her to stop worrying so much about you, but that was something she knew she could never do. “Here,” she would hastily remove her jacket, whilst you were shaking your head; you didn’t want her to be cold, too, especially when you would probably begin to heat up again yourself once you’d fully healed; your crystal was capable of many things, but though you protested, she wouldn’t let you refuse it, “take my jacket-”

“You need it more than I do,” you stated, but she wouldn’t hear it, and would insist until you finally decided to give in, allowing her to - with a blush spreading over her cheeks - help you get it on, and to - very much begrudgingly - do up the top few buttons so she could still easily access the bruise and cut on your side once she’d gotten you inside, and had begun to treat your various wounds as a result of the attack, before she retrieved the animals you’d managed to catch for you both hurriedly from outside so the Omegas couldn’t take them for themselves, when you both were already so low on supplies, and could starve if you were left with nothing - nor could Harley risk leaving you in the house alone to try and steal some supplies from any local shops in the area, as you could be found in the weak state that you currently were in, and could be killed, and she would never be able to live with herself - she knew - if you were, and couldn’t even begin to picture what her life would be like, without you, whilst you found yourself fearing the same prospect, alongside her.

🜸🜚🜸

After you’d been injured, and Harley had had to patch you up, you found yourself healing much slower than you usually would, and would soon begin to feel restless, especially when Harley began to realise and consider going out hunting herself, or even trying to steal again, as food supplies were soon going down again after your last hunting session, and though you were completely against the idea of her going out to try and get more necessities for you both, she wouldn’t change her mind; she wanted you to get better, first, before she could even begin to consider the idea of you going out hunting again, after you were attacked by the Omegas last time. This was why you found yourself constantly anxious, and panicked, whenever she went out; she could be hurt, like you were, except she wouldn’t be able to heal by herself, and you would have to try and track her down if something went wrong, and you knew you’d never forgive yourself if you had to, and were too slow, resulting in you losing her, but luckily she found herself, somehow, managing to survive whenever she’d had to go out in your place, with the help of hunters which were beginning to start scouting the forest themselves, without either you or her knowing that they were now there; they’d begun after hearing the various rumours which had been spreading recently about there being werewolves like yourself in the forest, especially after you’d been supposedly spotted with Harley in your wolf form whilst you both had been in the process of fleeing your father’s home after she’d managed to knock him unconscious to stop him from beating you like he had been before she had begun to fight with him.

On one of the very occasions you found yourself worrying about her, you tried to think of a way you could distract yourself, and would immediately get up out of the bed to try and build a pillow fort for you and her for her return, like you’d both used to do together whilst you had been going to college together, before you’d both graduated out of it, and had been trying to secure places together in med-school, and still were. You would express relief as soon as you could sense that she was approaching, unharmed, and would rush over to the door as soon as her sweet scent began to occupy your nostrils, prompting your heart to begin to race uncontrollably, and your fangs even to unfold again, like they usually did whenever she was with you. “Quinzels-!” You squeaked, as soon as you opened the door for her, and before she could respond, you would rush up to her, and begin to examine her for any bruises or anything that could suggest that she had been hurt, but there was nothing of the sort, and she looked as if she’d caught a good bounty - four or five rabbits, it looked like, and she was beaming, she evidently hadn’t thought she’d be that good. “You never cease to amaze me, Sparkle,” you cooed, before you wrapped your arms around her waist, and she would melt into your embrace subconsciously, “n-now come in - I have a surprise for you!” Harley would, indeed, be surprised, when she noticed the pillow fort, as you’d both not built one in a while, and it would prompt a smile to tug at the corners of her lips, whilst her eyes began to glint. “What do you think?” You inquired shyly, and she would still be struck with awe, too much to answer, for a moment, until she felt she could manage to.

“You - built a pillow fort - for us?” She mustered, and you would nod again, whilst worrying that she maybe didn’t like it, when really she loved it, almost as much as she loved you. “Y/n,” she cooed, before turning and throwing her arms around you, prompting you to instantly melt into her embrace whilst you returned it, “I love it, a-and I can’t wait to use it with you, let’s just quickly sort out the rabbits first.”

“You’re right,” you corroborated, “don’t want ‘em going bad - g-good thinking, Quinzels!” You would then follow her out of the living room to help her with the preparation and preservation of the rabbits she’d managed to catch, so you both wouldn’t be as worried about doing it later, instead.

🜚

That very night, whilst you and Harley were cuddled up together neatly in the pillow fort, you found yourself having a nightmare, and would begin to think that, once you’d been awoken from it, you hadn’t yet told her about your feelings for her, when you had, a little while ago now, but sometimes these nightmares left you a little disillusioned, and often made you anxious about what might happen in the future - always about you losing Harley somehow. “D-Do.. Do you think of me as a friend?” You inquired shakily, your voice close to a whisper, and she would be surprised, evidently not expecting the question, before she subconsciously began to ease you closer to her so she could cradle you, and try and provide comfort to you by doing so, alongside how she was currently stroking your hair with her right hand.

“You’re more than just a friend to me, silly,” she reassured gently, before delicately turning your head a little so she could lovingly connect her lips to your’s, “you always have been, e-ever since we first met; I love you, remember that, okay?”

You would manage a weak smile up at her, before nodding timidly, and snuggling up even closer to her so you could bury your face into the crook of her neck. “I love you, too,” you returned, and she couldn’t help, but silently beam in response; you always managed to make her feel warm and fuzzy inside whenever she heard you coo the significant three words to her, like you had just a brief moment ago, “a-and I always will, no matter what.”

“I always will, too,” she added, before affectionately connecting her lips briefly to your forehead, and then burying her face into your left shoulder, at which point you both were already beginning to slowly drift off to sleep in one another’s arms.

🜸🜚🜸

It wasn’t long after that day that she had found out about how you’d murdered Max, her abusive ex, and you soon both began to fight a lot more often than you usually did; she couldn’t believe you’d done that to him, but whilst she found herself cradling your limp, and bleeding body close to her after you’d saved her life for the third time, from yet another Omega, she found herself regretting everything that had recently happened - every single fight that you’d both had, and the way she’d briefly been treating you after she’d been reunited with you, up to this moment - after she’d promised you that you both would be together forever, and never be parted again, but she wasn’t sure how she could help you, now; you’d destroyed the Crystal which had previously been residing in your chest; the only thing which had been allowing you to heal yourself the way you could, as well as the only thing which had been keeping you warmer than usual, and now that it was gone, you found yourself shivering violently whilst you lost a ton of blood in her arms, no matter how much she was trying to stall the bleeding from the deep gashes you’d secured in the previous fight.

You frowned when you noticed she was trembling, beginning to panic, and crying, all at the same time, and would try to lift your bloody right hand up to her left cheek, prompting her to melt into your touch, and relocate her free right hand up to your’s. “It’s gonna be okay,” you cooed feebly, your voice close to a whisper, and sounding raspy, prompting a strained sob to escape her lips, whilst she shook her head; she couldn’t believe this was happening, and that she had nothing she could use, currently, to try and treat you the way she desperately wanted to, to prevent her from losing you again, “you’re gonna be okay; you don’t need me-”

“Shut up,” she strained, before leaning down and connecting her forehead to your’s whilst she tried to fight back even more invading, and unwanted tears, “you’re not leaving me-”

“I’m not good for you,” you reminded her, and she would scoff, before shaking her head; she obviously believed otherwise; that you were more than good for her, “let me go, Quinzels; there’s nothing that can be done to stop this, now-”

“I - I know I can get you to a hospital, somewhere-”

“We’re in the middle of the forest,” you interjected gently, and she would curse softly, whilst her tears managed to find a way to escape, and roll down her cheeks slowly, before they dropped down onto your’s, and continued their journey, “there wouldn’t be any for miles; we’d never make it in time-”

“Stop,” she begged shakily, prompting you to fall quiet whilst you began to feel guilty again, your heart aching excruciatingly alongside her’s; you hated upsetting her like you evidently were, and wished death would just envelope you right now, to stop you from somehow hurting her any further, “you - you don’t know that; you’re strong, Nugget, you could hold out, I’m sure-”

“I can’t,” you contradicted, “not without the Crystal-”

“Then why did you destroy it!?” She hissed, and you would falter, before looking away from her again. “Y/n-”

“Thank you for always being there for me, Quinzels,” you continued, to the best of your ability in a voice close to a whisper, as that was all you could currently manage, in the state you were currently in, “e-even.. even when you really shouldn’t have been.”

“What do you mean? There’s never been a moment when I shouldn’t have been there for you; you mean everything to me, Y/n,” she expressed, “a-and you - you can’t leave me, now - you promised we’d get married, and that you’d change me, so we could be together for even longer than we would, if I stayed human like I am, now.”

You would shake your head gravely, whilst tears began to cloud your vision, too; you couldn’t believe what you were doing to her, after everything that you had both been through together, and everything you’d promised that you would give her. “I can’t change you, Harleen,” you murmured, and she would grunt, but before she could protest, you would continue, “you should be happier being a human; you wouldn’t be as happy if you were like me-”

“That’s not true,” she claimed, determined to try and get you to change your mind, “I’m happy as long as I’m with you, Nugget, and if you changed me, that - that would mean we would get more time together - please just let me try and get you to a hospital-”

“Please, Quinzels-”

“You saved me, Y/n, at least let me save you, now,” she pleaded, but you wouldn’t budge, though you knew there could be a chance she could if you were both fast enough, but your chances were dwindling, and you believed that she deserved better than you, so you would shake your head, in hopes that she’d be able to find that person, now that you were fading slowly, but surely, from the picture. She then couldn’t hold it back anymore as she broke down completely, and you would feel even worse, beginning to curse yourself for putting her through so much pain, like you evidently were; you even wished you could just maul yourself to death, like you would do to anybody else if they dared hurt her. “I hate you!” She cried, and you would nod gravely again, not blaming her; you’d probably hate yourself, too, if you were in her situation, or - possibly just give up on yourself, because you’d be able to see the monster you truly are. “You never loved me, did you? You just wanted to get away from me-”

You would falter, a hurt look on your face, whilst you shook your head quickly. “That’s not true-”

“Stop lying,” she begged, before releasing you from her hold, and you would watch dejectedly whilst she took out her gun, “want me to do you one better, and put you out of your misery like the mutt that you are?”

You would give in, whilst you began to feel numb and empty, as if you’d lost everything all over again, before you lowered your head back down onto the ground. “Do it,” you mustered, “I deserve it, b-but.. before you do, just - just know that I.. I love you, Harleen, m-more than anything; I always have, and I always will, no matter where I end up; it’ll always be your name that my heart calls, and I’ll do all I can to keep you safe, even though you wouldn’t be able to see me whenever I try.”

She would then find that her hands were beginning to tremble; she couldn’t shoot you, she just couldn’t - she loved you too much to, though she was mad that you were deciding to leave her, and weren’t even giving her one chance to get you to a hospital to try and save your life. “Fine,” she uttered, before downing her gun, “I won’t shoot you, b-but.. I’m not sticking around to watch you die, Y/n, I.. I can’t..” She would then crouch down beside you again, whilst cradling you close to her whilst you began to splutter up blood, wishing she’d just shoot you, and end your burdening existence. “Promise me one last thing,” she requested shakily, and you would nod, before rasping out an ‘anything’ in response to her, “promise me you’ll never forget me, and I promise I’ll never forget you.”

You would manage a weak smile up at her, before nodding whilst your glistening eyes locked with her’s in the best way possible. “I promise I’ll never forget you,” you managed, and she would then lean down a little so she could affectionately boop the tip of your nose with her’s, prompting your heart to begin to race again, though its beats were growing fainter and fainter.

“Good,” she cooed, “because I promise I’ll never forget you, either - I love you, Nugget, and I’m not gonna say goodbye, because it isn’t goodbye; we’re gonna find each other again, I know we will; we’re destined to be together, don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t,” you reassured, “a-and.. I love you, too.. S-See you again soon, Quinzels..”

“See you in our next life, little wolfy,” she cooed shakily, before delicately connecting her lips to your’s, and you would instantly melt into the kiss, feeling empty as soon as she began to slowly drag herself away from your side, though she’d rather stay with you, and still try to do all she could to try and keep you alive so she wouldn’t end up losing you again, but she knew you’d never let her, though giving up would only make her feel worse, and only make her hate herself more the next few days which had followed this numbing and excruciating moment.

🜚

Though you thought that - once you’d fallen unconscious - you wouldn’t ever wake up again, you did, and would wince when you could still feel the pain of the wounds you’d received from the Omega, except this time something was being held down over it as an attempt to treat it. You would groan, before turning your head a little to find a short hazel-eyed girl glancing shyly back at you; she was evidently a werewolf, herself; you could tell, but would express relief when you couldn’t pick up the scent an Omega would carry. “Harleen,” you managed shakily, “is she okay? Did.. Did you see her?” The girl would then shake her head, remaining silent whilst she did, before she rushed out of the den, leaving you feeling more confused and conflicted than ever, as well as even more worried about Harley; she could have been attacked on her way back to the unoccupied bar you’d both been residing in recently, but she - unbeknownst to you - had luckily managed to avoid an attack, except as soon as she had gotten back to the bar, she soon broke down, and began to trash a lot of everything she could see, until she grabbed hold of your stone wolf, and faltered, stopping herself before she could smash it to pieces.

“I’m so sorry,” she mustered, before she began to cry again, and curled up on the makeshift bed she’d helped you set up upon your arrival, with the wolf still protectively cocooned within her shaky, and racked with sadness embrace, until she began to drift off to sleep with it still in the same place that it was, before; she knew she’d probably never be sleeping without it in her hold ever again, until you were both reunited, and she was right - about both prophecies; you would both be reunited, and she still couldn’t believe how, after she’d thought that you had died, when really you had managed to survive somehow long enough for another werewolf pack to find you, and put you back together again, though you would have rather died as you knew you’d probably be a burden if you tried to find Harley again - something you yourself, and the wolf within you was desperate to do; you would always long to be by her side, so you decided maybe you should try, at least, to do things differently, until you finally found her.

🜸🜚🜸

As soon as your state had significantly improved, and you could change between your wolf and human form again without anything paining you whilst you did, and there no longer being any risk of your stitches breaking, you would set off searching for her, tracking her via her sweet scent you were addicted to, and could never get enough of, like her herself, alongside it. It took a couple of days for her scent to start growing stronger, and as soon as it did, you would throw yourself into a gallop in it’s direction, whilst your heart began to soar, and eyes to glint; you were evidently excited to see her again, and would slowly begin to halt when the scent lead into one of the local med-schools in the area - she’d done it, and you would frown when you remembered you had both always been planning to do it together, before the town found out about what you were, and sought to have you killed, but you would try to banish the reminder from your brain, before trotting around to the back, and stilling when you could see her through the bushes and brambles which were hiding you from view; she looked as beautiful as ever, and you would have been coaxed successfully by her sweet scent to lope up to her, if she weren’t in the open, you in your wolf form, with a rather pricy bounty on your head, and if she were alone, dejecting you; you could see, now, that she was sat on the slope of the hill outside of the building with another woman, whom you couldn’t bring yourself to recognise.

You would try to listen to their conversation, picking up little smudges of it occasionally, but what you heard was enough to dishearten you, and prompt you to feel as if you’d lost everything all over again; you really believed that maybe she didn’t want you anymore, and wouldn’t be happy to see that you were still alive, especially when you put her through the pain she’d had to go through as a result of slowly watching you ‘die’, until she couldn’t anymore. “To be honest,” Harley began quietly, and uncertainly, as if she were trying to hastily think of what she could say - unbeknownst to you, the woman you’d never met had asked her if she had met anyone she liked (typical talk to try and get through the stressful day they’d probably both been having) - “there’s.. one person.. a-and - I think I have feelings for them, but.. I don’t know if they feel the same way for me.”

“Who?” Harley’s friend would pry, evidently curious, and she would nervously rub her right arm in response to her question; she couldn’t help, but think of you, and how she desperately longed to go back in time, so she could relive how you’d both first met, and the moment you’d both admitted to having feelings for one another.

“I don’t know if you know her,” she would answer timidly, before looking away from Winter, who would tilt her head partially, but Harley would continue before she could proceed to pry any further, “b-but - she’s beautiful, smart, funny, a-and just.. everything to me; I’d literally do.. a-anything and everything for her, no matter what the cost - I think I’ve even.. l-loved her since day one.”

Winter would be surprised, but delighted to see that Harley seemed to be easing up a little more, as she’d started the year rather subdued, and distracted after she thought you were gone, and found herself constantly thinking about how there was a chance your body was still in the woods; she couldn’t bear to think that the Omegas might have gotten to it already, and torn it to shreds. The reminder of these previous anxieties she’d been subject to would prompt her to falter in speech, and demeanour a little as her eyes began to darken, and the smile began to fade from her lips; she wished - now - that she’d never decided to let you talk her into leaving your side like she had, and wished she’d tried to get you to a hospital though you’d protested against her insisting upon doing so, the night you’d saved her life again, and she’d supposedly lost you, for now. “Aww,” Winter gushed, “that’s so romantic - what does she look like? I’ve probably seen her around.”

You would bow your head a little, alongside your sinking heart, whilst your eyes began to glisten, and grow dimmer, but you would try to remind yourself that this was what you had been hoping for; that she’d find someone better than you, and forget about you, which you assumed she had done, when really she was talking about you; trying to cling to the memories you’d both shared together. ‘Goodbye, Quinzels,’ you phased feebly, before you whined softly, unable to stop yourself; the pain residing within your chest was growing to be excruciating; you couldn’t believe you were losing her again, but at the same time were trying to convince yourself that you were happy for her, whilst you dragged yourself back toward the waterfall, much deeper into Apocalypse Forest, though you felt numb and heavy, and as if you just wanted to collapse and die; you had nothing left to live for, without her beside you, and were terrified of what might happen to you, next.

Harley would smile softly whilst she thought about the day you’d both first bumped into one another in the college hallway, leading into the English department, and how you had - in response to the incident - hastily stammered out an apology, and briefly locked eyes with her, unlocking something within her. You’d looked as if you were - to put it simply - done with life, but as soon as you’d looked up and noticed that it was her you had bumped into, you looked as if you suddenly had something to live for; as if you were ecstatic, or had witnessed something to really have gotten your heart racing, like it most definitely had done, that day, several times over, alongside her’s. She would then falter, after experiencing a sudden pang of sadness, though she wasn’t sure why, and would then shake her head gravely, before she bowed it. “You’ve never seen her before,” she murmured, whilst finding herself trying not to cry all of a sudden; her voice was threatening to tremble, tears threatening to escape her icy blue eyes, and a lump was even beginning to form in her throat whilst she had to fight back the urge to add: ‘because she’s dead - gone, and never coming back.’

“How come you’re so sure I haven’t?” Winter pried, and Harley would wish she wouldn’t question her further about you, and before she could stop herself, she would blurt out, painfully -

“Because she isn’t here anymore!” She cried, before allowing herself to break down, and begin to cry into her hands, whilst Winter would appear puzzled, and worried about her. “She’s gone,” she continued dejectedly, in a crestfallen manner, and Winter would try to provide comfort to her by hooking her right arm over Harley’s right shoulder which was now shaking a little whilst she cried, “she abandoned me; she chose to die, and to leave me alone - she fucking chose death, over me-”

The pips would then sound out, signalling the end of lunch time, and the beginning of the last couple of periods, prompting Harley to fall quiet, whilst Winter tried to make sense of what Harley had just told her. “We should-.. probably get to our next lesson,” she suggested gently, and Harley would begrudgingly nod in agreement with her, “do you - feel okay to go, or-?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” she would claim, before forcing a smile over at Winter, though she felt the complete opposite of even adequate, “let’s just.. go, please..”

Winter would nod, before helping Harley to her feet, after she’d brushed away the last of her stray tears from her now damp cheeks. “Sure thing,” Winter cooed, before slowly walking Harley to their next lesson, and wondering what, or who Harley could have even been talking about, just a brief moment ago, now, but she wouldn’t find out until they were reunited in a few years time, after being separated once Harley had left med-school, and gotten involved with the Joker.

🜸

That same night, Harley found herself lying in bed with tears clouding her vision again; she couldn’t believe you were gone, and that she’d not fought even more to try and get you to change your mind - if she had, there was a chance - she thought - that you might have given her a chance to try and get you to a hospital, and you would have probably still been there with her, as long as you weren’t recognised by anyone. She then found herself thinking back to the night you’d both shared under the stars, lying out on the grass in the garden of your father’s home together, once the prom had sadly come to an end, and everyone had had to disband.

•

“I know I’ve.. probably asked you this a million times already, but..” You began timidly, whilst shyly glancing over at her, and she would then look over at you again, smiling lovingly in your direction whilst she did, prompting both your and her heart to begin to race, especially after she had intertwined the fingers of her right hand with the slightly trembling and unnaturally warm fingers of your left. “Now that you know about what I am - are you sure you-”

She would smirk, before playfully rolling her eyes, and shuffling closer to you so she could delicately connect her lips to your’s, effectively silencing you whilst you instantly melted into the kiss, resulting in a fluttery feeling developing in your stomach, something you weren’t exactly used to, but found easily addictive, like she was, and always would be. Once the kiss had sadly ended, she would prop herself up onto her right elbow so she could connect her forehead to your’s affectionately, whilst her eyes locked with your’s in the best way possible, leaving you breathless, and struggling to breathe, as if you’d completely forgotten how. “Of course I am,” she answered, certain of herself, and what she wanted, and that was you, for forever, “y’know, it’s funny - I was trying to forbid myself from falling in love before, but now I just can’t help it - not with someone as perfect as you around.”

“Perfect-?” You mused, your voice close to a whisper, and she would nod quickly, prompting your heart to skip a beat, as well as your cheeks to begin to heat up. “You.. You really think I’m perfect?” You pried, and she would nod again, whilst beaming widely over at you.

“I don’t think, Nugget,” she cooed, whilst lifting her left hand up to your right cheek, prompting you to melt into her touch subconsciously, “I know you are.”

“That’s sweet, Quinzels,” you replied, “but you’ll always be more perfect than I am; nobody could ever be as perfect as you are, and always will be.” Harley looked as if she wanted to protest, but you wouldn’t let her, kissing her delicately, as well as passionately, before she could.

She then couldn’t take it anymore as she began to break down all over again, soon finding herself sobbing into her hands, until Winter knocked on the door of the small dorm she was in; they were roommates, and she would wince, before looking over at it. “Winter-?” She murmured, and Winter would then open the door, faltering when she noticed that Harley was crying again, prompting her to quickly close the door, before she rushed up to her and tried to comfort her by cradling her whilst she cried within her embrace.

“Is this about the person you were talking about earlier?” She inquired, and Harley would hesitantly nod, timidly, as she was worried about what Winter might think of her, now, after she’d broken down earlier and lost control of herself.

“I guess,” she answered vaguely, “b-but.. I’d rather not think about it anymore.”

“Okay,” Winter chimed, “then we won’t - d’you know what else we could do? Find a good horror film, like.. Scary Movie 2! How does that sound?”

“Fantastic,” Harley answered, whilst trying to force a smile again, and Winter would cheer, before getting up off of the bed so she could take up the remotes and search for it for them both.

🜚

“Seriously?” Harley remarked, as soon as Winter burst out laughing like she usually did at the scene with the priest, and she would only start laughing even more, amused by her reaction. “I can’t believe we’re still friends,” she continued playfully, grinning over at her whilst Winter pouted in her direction, “I thought we’d get past the fart joke part without being affected by it-”

“What!?” Winter squeaked, amazed. “Fart jokes are the best,” she expressed, and Harley couldn’t help, but burst out laughing alongside her after she’d taken the film back to that scene, and Winter would then find herself staring over at her longingly, before she leaned forward to briefly connect her lips to her’s, taking Harley by surprise, and she would quickly move away, frowning when she heard a soft, and barely audible whine coming from outside, and she just knew that - somehow - it had to be you, prompting her to feel guilty for letting it happen, all of a sudden. “I’m so sorry,” Winter spoke hastily, a pained expression on her face, and Harley would then shake her head, whilst she reminded herself of how you had basically abandoned her, and chosen to die, rather than try to survive so you could both remain together, and this thought prompted her to try and harden her heart against you.

“It’s okay, I - I just - I wasn’t expecting it,” she claimed, before timidly inching closer to Winter, and pushing away any remaining feelings of guilt to the best of her ability, “I’m ready, now, though.”

“Are you sure-?” Winter inquired, and Harley would nod, before smirking. “Because if you don’t want to, I-”

She would then lean forward to connect her lips to Winter’s, before beginning to quickly deepen the kiss, though it felt wrong to her, and she felt a pang of sadness when she could hear the sounding out of a crestfallen howl in the distance, at which point she would unexpectedly end the kiss, before timidly rubbing the back of her neck with her right hand. “I - I’ll be right back, Snowflake,” she strained, before mustering a weak smile, and rushing off to the bathroom, where she soon began to break down all over again, crying quietly into her hands whilst she silently begged for you to come back, now that she knew that you were still alive after hearing you outside, “I’m so sorry, I - I love you so much, just please come back, Y/n, I can’t do this without you..” But you wouldn’t return, not until four dark and lonely years had passed, as you thought she didn’t need you anymore, and would be happier without you, which - unbeknownst to you - she hadn’t been, soon admitting to Winter that she didn’t feel the same way, and she felt betrayed again after the Joker had decided to throw her out to fend for herself on the streets, all whilst she still found herself unable to forget about you, and longing for you to return to her, something beyond excruciating in itself, but the pain would feel as if it had never been there, as soon as she saw you again in prison, and began to hope things would go back to the way they used to be, between you and her, which they - to both your and her delight - did, though the threat of the Omegas was beginning to loom even more intensely on the horizon.

~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed it! ❤️

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toki-is-the-king · 2 years ago

Text

Skwistok short story:

Summary: kinda fucked up one shot about Toki beating up Skwisgaar after an argument but Skwisgaar likes it.

Rating: Mature

TW: violence, sexual mentions, PTSD, blood, age regression and past trauma/abuse

(Also I do not sexualize age regression and I myself have it as a coping mechanism. The mentions in this story are brief, but implied that Toki is age regressing on and off due to flashbacks and isn’t sure how to handle his adult feelings as they come and go and overall he just wants comfort).

“Skwisgaar?”

There was a knock at his closed bedroom door and then it was pushed open before Skwisgaar could even answer. Skwisgaar sighed at hearing Toki’s voice. Toki was always barging into his room unwelcome, and it was one of Skwisgaar’s biggest pet peeves. All of the guys did it, but Toki was the most frequent. He valued his space and solitude that Toki was always infringing on.

Toki stood in the doorway, hugging his deddybear in one arm, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He headed towards the bed, where Skwisgaar was sitting hunched over, fiddling with his guitar, because what else is there to do at midnight? Sleep? Fuck that.

“Cans I comes into yous room?” Toki asked, sitting on the foot of the bed.

Skwisgaar wasn’t even phased by this anymore because Toki never waited for the okay to come in.

“Oh ja, makes yous’selfs at homes I guess, whys not just moves in at this point, ehh? Since yous ams alreadys t’inks this ams you’s room too.” Skwisgaar huffed, sarcastically, squinting his eyes at Toki as in irritation.

Toki lacked the ability to understand sarcasm most times and his eyes widened in surprise, “oh, wowee, so I’s can sleeps in here now?”

Skwisgaar flicked an eyebrow up, crossing his arms, “no, Tokis! You’s ams snores too loud and punches me in yous sleep! And dats ams…kind of gay for you’s to sleeps with me.”

Toki frowned, hugging his deddybear tighter to his chest, watching intently as Skwisgaar strummed his guitar. “But you’s said I moves in!”

“I ams being sar-caskics, Toki! You’s ams such an idiots! You nevers understands de perfactly clear anglish I says to you.”

Toki looked like he might sock Skwisgaar in the mouth or start crying but Skwisgaar just stared at him, pausing his guitar session for a split second before turning his attention back to plucking the strings.

“But I has a nightmares!”

“Bigs deals! You ams making mes lives nightmares right now and I’s not even asleep!!”

“Please, Skwisgaar! I nots asks you for anything else ever again, please!”

Toki’s tendency to raise his voice and whine the more distressed he became was also another one of Skwisgaar’s pet peeves, he needed to make a list of them. They were both such polar opposites when it came down to it and it was to some a mystery how they were such close friends.

“Eugh! Fines! Just shuts you’s mouths already!

Toki instantly stopped screaming and went back to watching Skwisgaar play the guitar. He was always pleased with himself when his tantrums got him what he wanted. They didn’t always work on Skwisgaar but when they did, he felt a sense of power. Toki waited a few minutes before jumping up from the bed, ignoring the irritated glare from the older man.

“I be’s right back, don’t’s goes to sleep!” Toki pleaded, and the blond just rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, nots likes I cans now, you ams gives me what’s am called a migraine.”

Toki smiled and left the room. Skwisgaar prayed to the gods that Toki would get distracted and not return so he could keep practicing guitar, but within seconds he was back again, with an armful of stuffed animals and the blue comforter from his bed.

“What ams all this shit you brings into mines room, Toki?”

“I cants leaves dem in mines room they ams scared!”

“They ams not evens real…”

Toki scowled and dumped the pile of stuffed animals onto Skwisgaar’s bed, then climbed in beside them.

“Yes they is real and theys gonna sleeps with us.”

Skwisgaar frowned. “Dat ams so gay.”

“No it’s not! This ams metal!”

Skwisgaar couldn’t hold in his laughter, and it only seemed to make Toki angrier. Before he knew it, Skwisgaar was on the floor and in a daze as Toki glared down at him, deddy bear in hand.

“Toki dids you reallys just hits me with that stupid toys for babies?”

“Stops makings fun of me I hates when you does this!”

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes again, “I stops makings fun of you when yous stops beings a baby.”

Again Skwisgaar found himself being whacked in the face, fucking backhanded by the younger man, and it knocked him back down, flat on his back like a little bitch. It was alarming how quickly Toki could go from sweet and calm to a raging beast. Skwisgaar was usually never too phased by this either, he could handle himself and usually had the upper hand, being taller and older, the one in control; taunting Toki and making him angrier, reveling in the power he felt whenever he could get on Toki’s nerves. Toki was so easy going that sometimes Skwisgaar enjoyed seeing the younger man explode in anger or frustration while at the mercy of his hands. But this time was different and though Toki’s face was hot and red and he was breathing hard and heavy through gritted teeth, something in his eyes didn’t match his actions. It made Skwisgaar feel…bad. Fuck. He never felt guilty for being a dick before.

“Tokis…” Skwisgaar began, but Toki just shoved him when the blond tried to regain a sitting position.

“No! Fucks you! You always makes fun of me and calls me names and I’s sick of it! I thoughts we’s friends what’s cares about each other!”

Usually Skwisgaar would smirk or say ‘so what’s?’ but underneath the surface of anger, there was hurt and Toki almost looked close to tears the way he was contorting his face and clenching his jaw. Before either of them knew it, Toki was on top of the older man, hands around his throat like he wanted to squeeze the life out of him. He could if he wanted to. Killing Skwisgaar would be like snapping a twig. Toki kept his hands clasped firmly, hearing the other struggle to breathe as the air was choked out of him, and it made Toki want to keep squeezing Skwisgaar’s wind pipe until the man was almost dead. There was something so satisfying to Toki about seeing the famous lead guitarist try to fight and claw his way out of his grip, being in complete control for once. Having this much power where he was usually so powerless. The strained whimpering noises coming from the blond only made Toki want to slam Skwisgaar’s head against the floor to show him who’s boss, and maybe he wanted to make Skwisgaar cry, because everyone always made Toki cry and he was so fed up with being treated like dumb kid, but honestly he still felt like one: a clueless useless kid no one loved. Toki wanted to hurt the other man for making him feel this way. Break his bones and make him feel ashamed. Make him feel less than shit. He wished he hated him so he could destroy him. But Toki couldn’t do it, he wasn’t that evil, just feeling betrayed and belittled, having a flashback, he soon realized, of a time he was tortured by his father. Maybe he didn’t feel this rage towards Skwisgaar, and was just taking it out on him.

When Toki felt Skwisgaar’s body begin to go limp, he released his hands from around his throat and tossed him on his back, but spit in his face for one final act of disrespect.

The two of them laid beside each other, panting and in shock, Skwisgaar more so than Toki; the blond was lucky to be alive and survive with only some bruises and bloody nose. He felt sick from the adrenaline rush, and sexually aroused. He wasn’t one who liked to be dominated, especially by Toki, but he was hard. His boner was only a short lived distraction from the pain he was in after being thrown around. Toki probably wasn’t aware of Skwisgaar’s weird kinks like being choked until passing out, so Skwisgaar just kept quiet for a few more minutes, wiping blood and saliva from his face, lying perfectly still as to not set Toki off again.

Why the fuck did he like that? And why the fuck was he hoping Toki would beat him up again? Skwisgaar wasn’t sure what to think or say but then he noticed Toki sitting up, grabbing for his bear again and clinging to it like a life preserver.

“Ams you crying?” Skwisgaar asked, trying to say this is as delicately as possible and not like a dick, but he’s too blunt for his own good.

“No’s! Ams not crying just sits here…”

“Uh…Ja, Tokis, that ams crying, what’s whens de tears in yours eye.”

“Shuts up!”

Skwisgaar tried to tell Toki to shut up, but gasped instead, his hand flying up to hold his face and rub at the stinging sensation on his cheek. He looked just as surprised and taken aback as Toki did after slapping him. The red mark on Skwisgaar’s cheek looked painful to the touch and Toki couldn’t express any of his frustration or feelings at the moment. He was so angry and so hurt, why did Skwisgaar always say mean things to him? Why was he so cold to him some days and others was so fond of him? Why did he love Skwisgaar despite all of this? It was so fucking gross and too overwhelming and it didn’t make any sense.

Toki set his bear down and yanked Skwisgaar into a rough and messy kiss, their spit and Skwisgaar’s blood making for a sloppy and painful make out session, Skwisgaar wincing and moaning in discomfort whenever his nose was bumped or his face was touched. It only bled worse the more Toki kissed him, but the blood didn’t bother him and he just wanted Skwisgaar to know he was sorry. Toki hated that he couldn’t control his temper but it was more than just that. He didn’t know how to deal with his childhood. It always followed him wherever he went, hovering like a dark cloud in the background of every situation and conversation he was a part of. No one else really understood it either. Toki did recognize, after he began to recollect his thoughts, that maybe it was triggering to him whenever people, even if they claimed to be joking, made fun of him or mocked him, pushed his buttons purposefully, didn’t respect him. Anytime it happened he was a little kid again being abused and verbally degraded. He lost all control in those moments and now Skwisgaar’s face and neck were bruised and bloodied and Toki frowned in shame. Being the stronger of the two, Toki pulled Skwisgaar closer to him, both now laying on the hard floor of the bedroom, neither saying a word. The brunette mumbled an apology, kissing the back of Skwisgaar’s head and his bruised neck as he held him, his deddybear somehow making its way back into Toki’s arms, wedged in between with Skwisgaar.

“dette er så homofil, Toki…”

“faen deg, Skwisgaar…you’s gay…”

Skwisgaar chuckled quietly, turning onto his side to face Toki, wincing from the beating he’d just received but dismissed it.

“…maybes…but onlys for you.”

Toki cocked his head to the side slightly, searching for any signs Skwisgaar was fucking with him to get revenge for nearly snapping his neck moments earlier, but there was only sincerity in the other man’s eyes, and Toki could feel his own welling up with tears again just from the way Skwisgaar was looking at him. He’d never looked at him like this before. Like he loved him.

“Skwis…ams…”

“Shh. I knows Toki. I knows.”

Skwisgaar wrapped an arm around the younger man, helping him to sit up, leaning him against the bed.

“You knows…if you’s wants to sleeps in here tonight’s…or any other nights…I maybes don’t mind…just keeps the punchings and beatings to a minimums, ja?”

Toki sniffled, nodding, shamefully peering up from where he sat on the floor, curled up in a ball with his deddybear. So helpless and exhausted, feeling lost in his own body and mind. He felt too young to be this fucked up.

“I would likes that…Ja, I promiskes no more beatings you up…”

Skwisgaar helped the younger man into bed, grabbing a tissue for his nose bleed, hoping it wasn’t broken because fuck, he liked his nose, and sat down beside Toki, who was already snuggling into the warmth of the comforter.

“And Tokis…”

“Ja..?”

“I didn’t says you cants chokes me or beats me, just…nots all de time, heuh?”

For once Toki felt he understood what Skwisgaar was hinting at, and it made him feel only slightly less terrible for losing his temper like that. He and Skwisgaar fought all the time, he’d just never beat him up like this before. It felt wrong and what if it made him just like his dad? His dad beat him up all the time. Toki hoped it didn’t mean he was like his dad… He needed to sleep.

“Gets some rest, huh? You needs it for tomorrows when you does you’s crappy guitars playing.”

“Oh fucks you my playing ams good!”

“Ah…we cans debates about dat…laters…”

Skwisgaar was too exhausted to argue and really didn’t think his body could withstand being a punching bag again, even though it did get him horny, but he wasn’t saying that a second time tonight.

Instead of insulting him further, Skwisgaar took it as his chance to regain some dominance and pulled the younger to his chest, letting him rest his head there while he tried to get comfortable. This was too gay for words so Skwisgaar wasn’t going to say anything, and tomorrow they’d probably both pretend this hadn’t happened. Or maybe they wouldn’t. Who knows. But it felt good to be together and the empty lonely feeling that Skwisgaar usually felt at this time of night was gone and he was at peace with himself and with Toki in his arms.

“I hates you Skwisgaar…”

“Ja. I hates you too, Toki.”

#toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #dethklok #metalocalypse #skwistok #angst and feels #angst with a happy ending #writing dump #Skwistok fic #dethklok fanfic #ptsd #childhood trauma #tw #fanfic #my fic #our Toki alter influences these fics #sorry not sorry #osdd fictive

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hallokatzchen · 1 year ago

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The Collector (NSFW AU fic)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara/Jessica Drew

Word count: 2447

Setting: Alternate Universe (AU), pre-pregnancy Jessica, death god Miguel

TW: Graphic violence, blood/gore, implied rape/non-con, rape aftermath, death aftermath, body horror.

Summary: Detective Jessica Drew takes on her most grisly case yet, and comes face to face with an ancient spider god of death.

Author's note: This might run for more than one chapter.

“We got another one...”, The older detective said while he lifted the yellow police tape so Jessica could enter the apartment.

Before she could say anything, she was interrupted by the loud retching of one of her fellow detectives. A rookie who made the mistake of tagging along to shadow his more experienced coworkers, and he quickly regretted his decision when the contents of his stomach emptied out onto the hardwood floor.

“That bad, huh?” Jessica scowled when she caught the smell of the young man's vomit.

“Bad doesn't even begin to describe it”, Her older colleague shook his head and gestured for her to follow him towards the apartment's bedroom.

On their way down the hall to the bedroom, they passed the rookie who had made his way to the small bathroom. The young man was hunched over the sink, eyes wide with shock and reddened with tears while he heaved and spat bile down the drain.

Jessica shook her head and sighed while wondering what she was going to see when she entered the room if it had her young colleague reacting like that. She soon found out when the other detectives in the room stood aside to give her a clear view of the victim.

She shivered when she felt that the room was oddly cold compared to the rest of the apartment. Despite the fact it was the middle of summer, and there were no other fans running at the time. “What in the fuck?...” Her mouth dropped open when she saw the mutilated remains on the bed.

The victim was laying on their back, hands up near the sides of their head. Their dull eyes were wide, frozen with a look of fear, and their mouth was agape and caked with dried blood. Their throat had been slashed... no, torn open as if they were attacked by some sort of animal. Skin jagged and flayed to expose where their windpipe would be if it wasn't missing and giving Jessica a good view of the vertebrae of the victim's neck.

The rest of their body didn't fare much better as Jessica's eyes trailed down the large jagged split in their bruised skin that showed off crooked and broken ribs. Their sternum was smashed and pulled to the side to give whoever (or whatever) did this access to their lungs. One of them slashed open and collapsed. The victim's heart was missing as well. “Oh my god...” Jessica gasped quietly when she saw what had to be the most unsettling part of the crime scene.

The victim's legs were akimbo. Splayed open to showcase a grotesque mix of blood and some unknown jet black fluid that drained from their mangled orifice.

“Oh my god...” Her eyes narrowed at the sight before she turned to the older detective. “I see why the new guy couldn't keep it down”, Her mouth turned down as a bit of bile welled in the back of her own throat. “It was nowhere near this bad the last time”.

Her partner nodded in agreement as he recalled the last victim being intact and looking far more peaceful, almost blissful, but with the same black substance pooled between their legs.

“I'm gonna be honest. In my forty years of work, I've never seen anything like this. We have no idea what we're dealing with here”, He gestured to the dark stain on the victim's sheets. “We studied the samples of... whatever the hell that is, and nothing was a match for it”.

Jessica nodded then tilted her head as her eyes went over the body once again. “Call me crazy, but I think what we're dealing with isn't human”.

Her partner scoffed and gave her a lopsided smile while scratching the sparse hair on his head. “With the way things are going in this city, I wouldn't be surprised”.

Later that evening, Jessica was back at her apartment and spent the majority of her night working on this strange case. It was the second incident in the span of two months. As Jessica shuffled through the photos, she noticed that both of the victims had their similarities.

The first victim from last month was a young woman, early twenties. Found in her bed in what looked like a night of passion gone terribly wrong. Her face was calm, her eyes closed with a serene smile on her lips. Her neck, upper chest, and her breasts were littered with hickeys that stood out brightly against her skin. Her slender wrists were marred by bruises that indicated that she was held down. And judging from the size of the bruises that someone, or something, was huge.

The skin of her inner thighs along with the junction where the back of her thighs meet her buttocks were dark with contusions. The images caused Jessica's brows to furrow with worry at the thought of how much strength was needed to cause that kind of deep tissue damage, and she put her hand to her mouth and turned the remaining photos face down that showed the young woman's genitals split open and oozing black liquid onto her sheets.

The victim from earlier that day had many of the same injuries but far more visceral. Their body butchered and their face twisted into a mask of terror. Making it very obvious that they died in fear.

Jessica heaved a deep sigh and sat back against the couch. Her body and mind weary as her hands rubbed over her face. She rolled her head back and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Another sigh leaving her as tears welled in her eyes. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the heel of her palms and decided to call it a night.

After a quick shower and her usual skin care routine, Jessica applied a healthy dose of leave-in conditioner and oil mixture to her hair and and twisted her locks into small knots before covering them with a silk scarf. She tied the material securely, then pulled on her loose sleep shirt before shuffling down the hallway to her bedroom.

She let out a long, loud yawn that made her oblivious to a faint glimmer of red outside her fifth floor window that could easily be mistaken for a pair of eyes.

A few hours later when Jessica was in a deep sleep, she shuddered when she felt her bedroom suddenly grow cold. She murmured and pulled her blankets up around her shoulders and curled into a fetal position in an attempt to warm herself before her eyes snapped open. Her mind flashed back to yesterday's crime scene and how the victim's bedroom was strangely cold just like this.

'It's all in your head, Jess...', She thought to herself and remained still under the covers until she heard a low rumbling growl from across the room.

Jessica bolted straight up and was met with the sight of a large shadowy figure at the foot of her bed. She gasped at the sheer size of it. Its broad build silhouetted by the moonlight filtering through the window. She was transfixed by the shimmer of the creature's eyes. The irises a deep blood red in a pool of black sclera.

Another deep growl rumbled in the creature's chest as he slowly rolled his head back. His eyes flickering before sliding shut as the muscles of his broad back flexed to release four black tendrils from his scarred skin. Jessica's eyes went wide when she saw the tendrils flare out to their full length behind his silhouette and take shape to give him the appearance of a giant arachnid. The creature's growl ended with what sounded like a deep, breathy moan when his tendrils stretched when they were fully released and his dark eyes locked onto her.

Jessica inwardly cursed when she felt a tinge of arousal at the sound.

Despite his size the creature's movements were languid, almost graceful. He tilted his head to look at her. A strange sound clicked in the back of his throat. His eyes glimmering while he focused on her as his tendrils stretched out across the span of her bedroom.

Jessica sat stock still in her bed. Her eyes growing wide when she heard the creature take a raspy breath, and his lips parted to speak a language as old as time itself.

“Jessica Drew...”, Despite his voice being low, the sound of it reverberated throughout the room, shaking the pictures and small objects that adorned the walls. “Your time has come...”

Moving with panther-like grace, he climbed onto the bed. Jessica immediately backed away until her back slammed into the headboard. The creature leaning over her legs when she pulled them up to her chest.

His clawed hand ghosted over her right leg. His talons passing lightly over her skin, raising thin welts along the way before he gripped her ankle tightly to drag her underneath him with a quick jerk of his powerful arm.

Jessica yelped at the sudden movement and had little time to retaliate before the creature's hands came up to grab her wrists and pin her arms above her head. Her breath caught in her chest when her mind immediately flashed to the images of the young woman's bruised wrists, and how the marks on her arms were roughly the size of the massive hands that were holding her down right now.

Three of his tendrils came down against the bed, Their hardened points ripping holes into the mattress as they caged themselves around her. The fourth tendril remained supple and stretched towards the nightstand and gingerly wrapped the slender tip around the pull cord of the lamp. With a twitch of his left shoulder the tendril pulled to turn on the lamp, illuminating the room with a low light.

The click of the lamp pulled Jessica out of her panic for a moment, and she looked up to see him looking down at her with those dark eyes.

“I've come to claim you as mine...”, His voice faded into a whisper as he leaned down to catch her mouth with a kiss.

Jessica struggled under him when she felt his long, slick tongue slide past her lips and press into her mouth. Her feet kicked and her entire body writhed when the appendage made its way to the back of her mouth and slid down her throat.

He leaned down and rested his weight on her and groaned into the kiss when he felt her throat tighten when she gagged around his tongue. Jessica whimpered at his weight crushing her into the mattress, and screamed into his mouth when she felt something warm and hard slide against her inner thigh. Leaving a trail of darkness on her skin.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally broke the kiss. His long tongue slowly pulled away, and Jessica squirmed when she felt the appendage ease out of her throat. She gasped for breath and looked up to see him raising up to support his weight, noticing the thick cords of muscle in his arms rippling under his scarred skin.

He looked down at her as his full lips pulled back for a low hiss. His fangs on display as he opened wide. His mouth was a jet black void as that same tongue that was buried in her throat moments ago slid out to show its length. It was dark and glistening in the lamp light as thick string of black saliva dripped from it and splattered on Jessica's shirt.

She winced at the sudden coldness of the damp material that stuck to her chest, and it all clicked when she saw the dark color seeping in.

“It was you...”, Her words hitched when he slipped his hand under her shirt to push it up and out of the way. His long fingers splayed over her flat stomach while his other hand gripped her panties and tore them away.

She gasped and tried to push her thighs together to shield herself from him, but his hand clasped tight on her right thigh to keep them apart. An exasperated groan escaped her lips when she felt the coolness of her arousal on her skin and she muttered a curse at her body's betrayal.

His other hand remained on Jessica's stomach while he leaned in to breathe in her scent. He huffed against her, noticing how her thighs twitched at his breath on her delicate skin. He was salivating at the sight of her. His dark ichor dripped from his mouth and onto her sex as he was about to devour her. Jessica closed her eyes and choked back a sob when she felt his lips brush against her before he suddenly stopped and pulled away.

She felt the bed move as he shifted to sit back on his haunches. His hand still in place on her stomach. She cracked her eyes open and saw that his attention had gone from between her legs to her stomach. He looked down at it and tilted his head like a confused dog before he leaned down and curiously nuzzled at her skin just below her navel.

He pressed his hand on her stomach to get her attention. His long fingers curled to push his claws to her belly enough to to draw her eyes to him, but not break the skin.

She winced and hesitated for a moment on whether or not she should move, but the creature's sudden preoccupation with her stomach prompted her to raise up and prop herself on her elbows to look at him.

Jessica looked down and was met with the sight of those dark eyes staring up at her while his hand was still firmly planted on her belly. Despite their otherworldly color, his eyes looked softer now. They shimmered in a different way in the lamp light as dark tears collected on the red waterline of his eyes when the tiny spark he felt through her skin reminded him of the child he lost eons ago.

She felt the dampness of his tears on her skin when he turned his head to rest his cheek on her lower stomach, gently nuzzling right where her uterus would be. She tensed when she felt herself be moved when his other hand came up to slide under her lower back, and she swore she heard a low whine come from him when his back rose and fell for a deep sigh as he pulled her closer.

“Baby...” He whispered. The barely audible sound belying the commanding voice that shook the bedroom walls only an hour ago.

“...My baby”.

#Miguel O'Hara #Miguel OHara #Jessica Drew #AU fic #dark Miguel O'Hara #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: implied rape #tw: implied noncon #angst #some fluff if you squint #implied M/M #Hallo's fics

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