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msriri030 · 3 months ago

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Meeting under moonlight

Allen Orion x Exhunter! Reader

i guess have random idea so i ran with it Masterlist

It had been months since you moved out of your home, you did miss hunting trips with your father—an experience once exhilarating, now a distant memory. Since hunting hasn't been a necessity, you haven’t hunted anymore. Your scholarship covered your meals, and life had settled into a quiet rhythm. You mostly kept to yourself, occasionally meeting up with Erika and picking up odd jobs for neighbors—mostly dealing with nuisance animals.

Tonight, however, you found yourself wandering the dense forests of Doomsbury, Massachusetts, your rifle in hand—not for sport, but for protection. The woods had a reputation. Poachers lurked in the shadows, and you weren’t naive enough to think you were alone out here. On your other hand, a small river otter wriggled in a trap—the same little thief that had been raiding your neighbor’s fish pond.

Reaching the riverbank, you crouched down, unlatching the trap with practiced ease. “Alright, this is where we part ways. Try to stay out of that pond, alright?”

The otter hesitated for only a second before scurrying into the water, disappearing beneath the rippling surface. You watched it go with a small smile—you never had the heart to kill animals over simple mischief.

With that done, you turned back toward town. It was late, and the last thing you wanted was to run into a bear or—

Crack!

You froze.

A twig snapped somewhere behind you, the sharp sound cutting through the still night air. Every muscle in your body tensed as your heartbeat pounded against your ribs. Your grip on the rifle tightened as anxiety sparked up. The wind whispered through the trees, but you weren’t fooled—someone was there.

Slowly, you turned, scanning the shadows beyond the riverbank. The moonlight barely pierced the thick canopy, casting eerie, shifting patterns across the forest floor.

"Hello?" Your voice was firm but quiet. "Who's there?"

Silence.

Then—a footstep. Deliberate.

You raised your rifle, leveling it toward the source of the sound. You weren’t a stranger to danger, but something about this felt… off. Like the air had thickened, pressing against your skin.

"Step out where I can see you."

A figure emerged from the darkness.

“Sorry for scaring ya,” the man said smoothly, stepping forward with an unsettling ease. His heterochromatic eyes watched you intently, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle. His face held a neutral expression, almost friendly. “I promise, I won't hurt ya…”

But your focus was on the hatchet in his grip.

He followed your gaze, then, without hesitation, dropped the weapon. The dull thud of metal meeting earth barely eased your nerves. You didn’t lower your gun until he lifted his foot and kicked the hatchet far out of reach.

“Better?” he asked, his lips curling into a gentle smile.

You hesitated for a beat before nodding. “Yes, very much.” Then, with a small chuckle, you added, “And… sorry for pointing my gun at you, if that means anything.”

His expression shifted slightly—his eyes widening, just a fraction, as if taken aback. Then, something softer flickered across his face.

Like awe.

You both took a moment to truly look at each other.

To you, he was a tall, well-built man, his frame exuding a quiet strength. Scars marred his face, each one telling a story you could only guess at. His hair was wild and unkempt, reminding you of thick fur—like a wolf. The thought made you giggle softly.

The sound caught his attention, and he tilted his head, watching you curiously.

To him, you were mesmerizing. He had seen you before, releasing animals back into the wild, your touch gentle, your presence serene. In the moonlight, your features glowed softly, like the delicate creatures he had spent his life observing from the shadows. But it was your eyes that struck him the most—deep, endless pools he felt he could drown in.

“What’s so funny?” he finally asked.

You smiled, a playful glint in your gaze. “Nothing. You just remind me of the Big Bad Wolf from a picture book my dad used to read to me.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Oh? I suppose I do live on the edge.”

“Well, thank you for your company. What’s your name?” you asked, your fingers carefully securing your trap back into place as you sling your rifle over your shoulder. The evening air was cool, and despite the lingering sense of unease from the encounter, a warmth lingered between you and Allen. It was strange—he felt oddly familiar, like the kind of person you could trust, but you couldn’t quite place why.

The man—Allen—picked up his hatchet from the ground with a fluid, practiced motion. His gaze met yours, and there was something calculating in the way he studied you. “Allen Orion,” he said with a slow, thoughtful grin. “And what about yours, doe-eyes?”

You raised an eyebrow at the nickname, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Doe-eyes?" you repeated, amusement twinkling in your gaze.

"Yeah, the way your eyes catch the moonlight," he said, almost as if it was a simple observation. "They remind me of something... soft and wild. Like a doe in the forest."

You chuckled lightly, your cheeks warming. “Well, thank you.” You shifted your weight, feeling the weight of your pack and gun pressing down on you. You’d lingered long enough—class in the morning, after all. “It was nice meeting you, Allen. I hope I’ll see you around—”

Before you could walk past him, he shifted, moving in front of you with a fluidity that caught you off guard. You looked up at him, slightly startled.

He smiled, a little more knowingly now. “Why don’t I walk you back? Wouldn’t want you getting lost in these woods, especially at this hour.”

You hesitated for a moment, your thoughts momentarily clouded by the quiet strength of his presence. There was something reassuring about him, and despite the strange situation, you found yourself agreeing. “Oh! Thanks, Allen,” you said, your voice light but sincere.

He nodded, his smile widening just slightly, and without another word, the two of you set off. The moonlight seemed to deepen the shadows in the forest around you, but his presence kept you grounded. His movements were careful, calculated—like he was always watching, always prepared. As you walked beside him, you couldn’t help but feel like you were walking into unknown territory, yet for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t entirely alone.

With each step, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot and the distant sound of the river seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet rhythm of your footsteps alongside his. There was a strange comfort in the silence.

“So, do you always carry a gun with you?” Allen glanced at you, his voice soft but inquisitive. His gaze lingered on the rifle slung across your back, the weight of it resting against your body. You could tell he was trying to gauge you, to understand the quiet resolve that seemed to follow you.

“Yeah,” you replied, the words slipping out without hesitation. “It’s a habit from when I used to hunt with my dad.”

The mention of your father seemed to shift the atmosphere between you. Allen’s expression softened, then his lips curled into a thoughtful frown. He didn’t respond right away, but the question that followed felt different.

“Oh…” Allen's voice was tinged with something you couldn’t quite place, a note of disapproval perhaps? He didn’t exactly look at you with judgment, but there was a subtle tension in the way his brow furrowed. “Do you still hunt?”

He pouted slightly, his eyes flickering with something unspoken—a deep distaste for the idea, maybe? You could see it in the slight twitch of his lips, the way his jaw tightened just enough to notice. The air between you felt a little thicker now, as if his question carried more weight than he intended.

“No,” you replied, your voice quieter, more measured. “I don’t have the heart for that anymore. Plus, I only hunted for food—that’s it.” The words felt right, but the undertone of the conversation hung in the air like a shadow.

Allen seemed to consider your response, his eyes briefly darting toward the rifle again, as if evaluating what you had said. His gaze softened, and his pout disappeared, replaced by something that almost looked like... relief?

“Food, huh?” He said, his voice thoughtful, though there was still a hint of something sharp beneath the calm. "I guess I can get that." He paused, his footsteps slowing as he thought. "I mean, if it's for survival, that makes sense."

You nodded, unsure if you were comforting him or if he was trying to make sense of his own feelings on the matter. It felt like he was wrestling with some internal conflict that he hadn’t fully let out yet.

The forest seemed quieter now, as if it too was waiting for him to say more. But he didn’t. Instead, he walked beside you, his posture a little less tense yet his eyes still scanning the trees, as if expecting something—or someone—to emerge from the shadows. His movements were fluid, instinctive, like a predator always aware of its surroundings.

“You don’t like hunting, do you?” you finally asked, your voice gentle but certain. The thought had been lingering in your mind since he first asked about your gun.

Allen turned his head slightly, his lips curving into a small, almost apologetic smile. “Yeah, I hate it,” he admitted. His voice was softer this time, more vulnerable. “I’ve seen animals getting hurt.” His brows knit together, and for a moment, he looked away, as if recalling something unpleasant.

You studied his face—the way his jaw tensed, the way his eyes darkened with something unspoken. It was more than just a dislike for hunting; it was personal, deep-rooted. This wasn’t about mere survival or ethical debate. It was something he had witnessed, something that had left a mark on him.

The way he spoke, the way he moved, it almost felt… animalistic. Like he was a part of the forest itself, protective of its creatures.

“I get it,” you said quietly. And you did.

Allen glanced back at you then, as if searching for any trace of judgment in your expression. When he found none, his posture eased just a little.

You both continued walking in silence, but the weight of his words lingered. There was something about Allen—something wild yet familiar—that made you feel like, despite the strangeness of the night, you weren’t walking alone in the woods with a stranger. You were walking with someone who understood the delicate balance of nature, someone who saw things in a way most people didn’t.

When you finally reached the edge of town, the warm glow of streetlights spilling onto the road, you turned to Allen with a small smile. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and earth, but there was something else—something lingering between you both, unspoken yet palpable.

“Thank you again… for everything,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Allen studied you for a moment, his mismatched eyes catching the light just enough to make them shimmer. A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips, something both amused and… fond.

“You don’t have to thank me, doe-eyes,” he murmured. “I just wanted to make sure you got back safe.”

There was something in the way he said it—gentle, almost intimate, like he cared more than he was willing to admit.

You held his gaze a second longer than you probably should have, feeling the warmth creep up your neck. Finally, you chuckled softly, looking down for a brief moment before meeting his eyes again.

“Well… I still appreciate it,” you said. “Hopefully, I will see you soon”

Allen’s smile grew, and for a second, he looked like he might say something else. But instead, he just gave a small nod.

“Goodnight, Doe–eyes,” he said, his voice lower now, smoother.

You hesitated before stepping back toward your home, but you couldn’t resist one last glance over your shoulder.

He was still watching you, hands tucked into his pockets, the shadows of the trees framing him like he belonged more to the forest than the town. And maybe he did.

With a final smile, you turned away, heart beating just a little faster than before.

#mdhm alan #my dear hatchet man #alan orion #mdh #mdhm #my dear hatchet man visual novel #my dear hatchet man Allen orion #yandere x reader #yandere visual novel #yandere vn #fanfic #yandere x you #yandere male x fem reader #yandere

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thesleepiemooth · 7 months ago

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Cove notes # 1

How do I start this, I'm alive no they're all gone not that either....

When I was young my grandmama always told me some strange things, though she in herself was an odd lady. She would speak of lambs being favored by a god, that someone was always watching and always waiting. That one day when everything is right he will wait no more......

Strange, how it took the massacre of my flock, my head to roll, to realize that my grandmama was right... there was a God who favored us or rather needed us… one of us ... and he was indeed waiting...

It truly is quite something though, out of all the things I wanted in life I never expected myself to be a leader, a cult leader. To be the eyes of the one who waits, to punish the Bishops that destroyed my kind and locked him away, to slaughter others, to manipulate the mind of the weak, TO BECOME SOMETHING I'VE NEVER WANTED TO BE….

…

The cult is going quite well, to the point that I'm able to sit down and write to myself.

However, there are still many things that need to be done. The ground for the cult is quite messy. I spent a couple of days cutting down trees and mining rocks with Bloom and the other followers.

Speaking of Bloom, I'm just as thankful to have found her as I am to Ratuu finding i. She's been a big help with everything, taking on so many things by herself, welcoming in the others, helping them get cozy and comfortable here and not to mention how she's been… helping me… through my …vulnerable moments, more vulnerable than I would ever let Ratuu see…

Though the cult is one thing, going on these long Crusades is another. I've never spilled so much blood... Nor have I ever taken one’s life before now. Holding a blade in my hand and slicing through a living form.... I know very well I won't be able to get used to it but I'll have to if… I want to reach the Bishops, I must, no matter how I feel about it all...

For now, I'll focus on the cult, making space, adding materials, better sleeping quarters, starting a farm, getting an abundance of food for everyone, doing daily sermons, in all, making it so everybody is happy.

Oh yes, that has reminded me, Ratuu ask me what I was thinking of naming the cult

And I've been thinking since then. Though I'm not sure exactly how all this is going to go and if everything will be okay I want anyone who comes here to see this place as a beacon of peace. And hope, I want them to feel as though they can start a new and not have to worry about anything, that they can live and grow old with out the fear of getting slaughtered by all the dangers out there.... Hope is what I want for them to have hope is what I want to have..

I think I have it. For now on I'll name this little cult

The isle of Hope

#cotl #cult of the lamb #im not the best with word but wala!#this is page one out of many of Cove my lamb!#imma gonna be doing my Au through a journal/diary sorta setting #it actally helps balance fandom and Passion project stuff nicely!#gonna post one every week!#ill try to that is!#writing #fanfic #cotl fanfic #mending deaths heart #MDH

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