#this is for something I’m tentatively calling the ‘harbinger AU’

[the-city-kitty]

Jeez a part of me really wants to get ambitious with a drawing of Leo for an AU I’m noodling around with but it’s really ambitious and complicated what I have in mind and the more rational part of me is saying: maybe you should learn how to draw Leo the normal way first before you try to draw him all weird and floaty and semi-dismembered (no gore… I think), which ya know, fair. But I also can’t stop thinking about the AU

[shibaraki]

EXCERPT FROM EDEN ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: the further you delve into the forest the farther you find yourself from your village's good graces—subsequently pushed into the arms of a creature you were warned to stay away from.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, fantasy au, naga aizawa, human reader, childhood friends to lovers, mention of violence (reader has bruises), reader is an outcast, bathing together, nesting, monsterfucking, mating bites (not A/B/O), aphrodisiac venom (so no prep needed), dubcon (for the venom) but v enthusiastic consent, non human genitalia (hemipenes), grinding, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasm, creampie, aizawa carries reader (he is big n strong)

wc: 7.3K

There are monsters in the night.

Adults would spin tales about them when you were young. You were warned not to go near the forest. To never stray from the path. If a voice calls to you, do not answer. Look at your feet and cover your ears. Thoughts filled with blood-steeped, ugly stories of such creatures: half man half serpent taller than an ogre swallowing impious people up whole. Naga, the true tempter, the harbinger of misfortune.

Children spent idle time feigning courage and taunting the so-called beasts in spite of it; playing at the treeline, skittering over the border and rushing back with a surge of adrenaline, as if the creature had been right there awaiting a meal. But above all they liked to frighten you, the runt of the litter. Snakes like to eat mice, they would jeer. Little mouse they would call you. Perfect bait.

It had been dewy that fateful afternoon. You were chased deep into the unknown. Petichor hung thick around the trees after a sun shower. Summer was drawing to a close. Shorter days, darker mornings. Your elders would call the weather ‘temperamental’ and you liked that. As though the Gods were children clinging onto those last dregs of heat, unwilling to let go.

Grass flattened wet under your bare feet, you ran from sharp stones and sharper words. Ran until the only voice left in your head was your own. Lungs tight and spasming for oxygen. You felt eyes on you the moment foliage snapped under another tentative step—but the figure before you did not move. He remained on his stomach, arms folded beneath his head, body stretched long and bare across the narrow clearing to bathe in the sunspot. Lower, right at the base of his spine, pale skin faded seamlessly into black scales that made up the thick, sinuous tail of a snake.

Your knees stung where small open wounds touched the air. A gentle breeze flowed in through the underbrush, took your slight apprehension and whisked it into the thinning redwood canopy. As a child you simply couldn’t connect something so non threatening and lazy to the monsters of old.

You approached the naga with slow, telegraphed movements. Thin pupils drenched in vermillion glow observed behind a half lidded stare. Closer then, trembling hands tugged and stretched the hem of your shirt, popping the old stitching. “Hello,” you said, voice small even to your own ears. “I—I’m not a mouse. Just so you know”.

Something flickered in his expression; a stifled inhale, a brief shift, the naga sighed. It rolled through his body, belly turning toward the sky. Sunlight reflected on the exposed underside and shimmered iridescent, stealing your breath. “That much is obvious,” he replied tiredly.

“Then, you won’t eat me?” before he had the chance to answer, you’d already been emboldened. You tottered toward him with a surge of energy and sureness. “Thank you. Can we be friends?”

“No,” he muttered, retreating into his coils.

A familiar sensation stung behind your eyes and your bottom lip trembled fiercely. It built up in your body and collapsed. Loneliness, shame, the incessant, throbbing ache in your limbs after sprinting so far. You tried again, a quiet warble. “Please?”

But a stern voice rumbled from the layers of muscle, uninterested in your swelling emotions. “Go away kid,” the naga demanded. “It’s not safe out here”.

“M’not a kid,” then you kicked the dirt in a burst of wounded anger. While bigger than you, this naga wasn’t even close to towering an oni, so you bluffed petulantly, “You’re a kid too”.

“While that may be true I am still older than you,” came the disgruntled remark. Then, faster than you could register, an arm shot out from between the dark coils and took you by the throat.

Reflexively, you gripped the naga’s wrist with both hands. But you didn’t flinch. Rather than fight his hold you waited, rabbit-footed heart beating in your chest. Violence was nothing new to a runt like you. The hand slid up to your chin and forced you to keep his gaze. His eyes flickered strangely there in the darkness. Red like fresh blood. The ire in them faltered at your spiritless reaction.

“Annoying human. Your lack of instinct will get you killed,” the creature stated. You said nothing. He continued, “You’re far from home. Follow the river to your settlement. Do not come back here”.

You recall how abruptly your senses sharpened at his mention and latched onto the distant sound of running water. He freed you from his grip, pale limb slinking back into the recesses of his twisted tail. He reminded you of a snail receding into its shell. Boring, lazy and slow moving. Naga were not so frightening, you concluded.

You returned with reluctance, following the riverbank until the end of your new world where it broke into a wishbone shape and wound around the village. Adults frowned at the dry mud caking your feet, ankles and calves. Their calloused fingers squeezed roughly around your wrists and dragged you to the springs to scrub you raw.

“Where on earth have you been?” one asked, mouth set in a frown. Another held you by the shoulders, thumbs pressed into your collarbone with intention to bruise. “Your stupidity is going to curse us all,” they shook you in place and their strength only grew the more you fought. “Do not provoke the naga. Understand?”

Faces twisted in disappointment haunted you all through the night. Eyes sore and puffy. Tears soaked into your shirt; you could taste them in the back of your throat. Oval-shaped bruises adorned your collar yet your throat and your jaw remained unblemished, if not a little tender. You were hurt, but not by the one you were warned against.

Your second excursion into the forest to see the naga was of your own volition. He was not where you first met him but nearby, curled up beneath an ancient tree, right where her bole has spread and warped to create a small depression in the trunk. The wind billowed. Branches swayed and bent their spindly fingers, pointed at you, almost accusingly.

He appeared to be sleeping. Again. Arms folded atop his tail, chin rested on the cradle it made. Perhaps there was something wrong with you—as the elders often stated—but you were not entirely stupid. You kept your hands to yourself, letting only your eyes wander as you crept close enough to see the soft curve of his jaw, the sloped nose, the youthful cheeks.

Long dark hair draped loosely over pale shoulders, expression serene while he rested. You thought he was lovely. Not at all beastly. Right down to the dip of his stomach, where skin vanished into bony hips and an obsidian tail.

A guttural hum startled you where you stood. Unmoving, the naga murmured, “Do you have a death wish?”

That voice untied every knot in your body. “N—no,” you held strong. “I told you, I want to be friends”.

“And I told you that’s not happening”.

When he peeked at you through dark curtains into those dim eyes there came a softness, as though atoning for his harsh words. Under that gaze your stomach started to rumble. “You’re hungry,” you shrunk, palms pressed flat as though to snuff out the sound. “Humans need to eat multiple times a day, do they not?”

“…Sometimes,” your agreement was barely a mumble. “If there is enough for me”.

The naga scrutinised you and your answer, displeased by it. After a long silence he unravelled and asked, “Do you want food?”

Hope filled you from root to stem. You bloomed. Stretched for the open sky like a flower seeking sun, bouncing on the tips of your toes. “Food?” you echoed excitedly. You trailed after him and nearly tripped in your haste. He caught you with the end of his tail and sighed. It coiled tightly around your middle and inched you along with him.

Having glanced surreptitiously in his direction, your warm human hand swept across the cool dark scales. They were glossy and smooth, unlike anything you’d ever felt. As he moved you sensed the power in his limb.

“What do naga eat?”

“Anything. Fish, birds, insects,” he told you. The coil around your waist flexed as if to check you were there. Hearing your trepidation his tone lilted as he added, “But what you’re really asking is if I eat humans, aren’t you?”

You rubbed where you thought his belly might be and pondered aloud, “Would you, if they deserved it?”

He scowled over his shoulder and came to an abrupt stop. “What kind of a question is that, kid?”

You wilted at the sharp verbiage, feeling scolded, though unable to understand his offense. After all, that is exactly what the villagers would say of you if ever he decided to.

That only seemed to fuel his frustration. You worried in the face of it, for a weak moment. Warnings you’ve clamoured in your conscience, soon chased by immediate guilt. Your new friend had offered kindness and there you were, assuming the worst of him.

Sensing your turmoil the naga cautiously brought his hand to your head. Front to back, pausing at a vulnerable, unmarked nape. He attempted to pet you. Wide eyed, you stared ahead until every leaf in the grove coalesced into a green blur. His touch had been deliberate, soft and soothing despite the tension set in his face.

Laid in the palm of his other hand was a pile of plum red berries. The coils relaxed to recline you into a comfortable position and wordlessly, you shared the small treat together. Teeth glinted sharp in the daylight, made to rend flesh from bone. They sank tender into thin skin until it burst and he hummed at the flavour enjoying a simple pleasure like any human boy would.

Their fruity tang clung to your tongue. You took your fill and more. “Thank you…” your voice lost strength, no name to fill the blanks.

“Aizawa,” he muttered. A rough swipe of his thumb across your lips wiped away the citrus. “It’s Aizawa Shouta. And don’t speak with your mouth full”.

The sky darkened on the eventide. Aizawa bid you a flippant farewell, your name at home in his mouth, and you erred on caution, changing course to wash the dirt and foliage from your body. Loud was the pounding of your heart against your ribs, a frantic beat. But nobody batted an eye at your presence, nor the absence of it.

Those short excursions continued for some time. Be it a stroke of boredom, or loneliness, you would find yourself treading back through the banks, to Aizawa’s territory. There was never a discernible path leading to him. Your legs would simply take you there, heart magnetised like the arrow of a compass. Whilst the village raised you with harsh, inattentive hands, he became your North. Years passed together and eyes turned as your insatiable curiosity grew, along with your carelessness.

And with that carelessness came consequences.

Fate is a funny thing. You are sprinting through the forest, feet pounding against the dirt alongside the ghost of your childhood self. The enraged shouts have long since tapered into silence yet you can’t allow yourself to slow. Your limbs ache, a bone deep permafrost, fatigued muscles clenching.

They’d followed you yesterday. Unexpected, given how deliberately people avoided the village border. Everything collapsed in one fell swoop. A single misstep and your life was upturned. You heard their plans to confine you in the shrine and knew—you’d never be able to see Shouta again.

Lost in your muddied stream of consciousness your foot is caught in a bundle of jagged roots. Mossy fingers coil around your ankle. You stumble, taking impact to the knees. The sting is muted as it knocks the air from your burning lungs.

You gasp, a wet and raspy breath; an apocalyptic spring fills your chest. The trees are in bloom. High above the blossoms are pale pink, like branches covered in snow. Ash flowers fell slowly to coat the ground. They get in your hair, your clothes and your eyes.

Shouta finds you there. He has always had the uncanny ability to sense you in his territory, as though the forest were an extension of himself. Your neck strains to lift your head, looking through lashes to see his silhouette. Red eyes flash in the distance, and in a mere blink he is at your side.

“Shouta—”

A low, guttural sound reverberates in the back of his throat. You’re scooped into his embrace. He is gentle with you, always aware of the difference in size and strength, and your heart beats harder for it. “You’re early,” he says. “What happened?”

You exhale through the fresh tenderness searing, “They know”.

Shadows shift above you. A curtain of hair hangs in your periphery. Shouta sinks until your eyes are level. Big. He hit a frightening growth spurt after his juvenile shed. A broad chest, shoulders corded with muscle, his long tail heavy enough to disturb the natural topography of the forest floor. Uneven scars littered across his skin from territorial disputes that you were not privy to. The most recent curves along his right cheekbone, fresh and pink.

Your gaze lingered as you took in his expression. Mouth downturned in obvious discontent but eyes dark, pensive. Beautiful even when he is doing nothing at all.

Shouta’s irises flickered in the softening light of the afternoon sun. Fingers drumming on lacquer scales. “They know?” he repeats. Irritation coated the words, as it often did when speaking of your village. “They should have realised years ago”.

Like him, you had shed your own urgent adolescence. The world became smaller and you preferred it that way. It spun around Shouta as if he were your own axis. When you were with him there was something much bigger than childlike wonder.

“That’s different. I wasn’t anything important. But now I’ve… been slacking on my duties to see you,” embarrassed, you tear up the thinning grass, seated at the foot of his coils. “I’m old enough to be of use, so my absence is noticeable,”

“You were a child. Running off God knows where. You’re lucky an orc didn’t decide to pick his teeth with you,” the snap in his voice almost hurt, but there was no bite nor true anger aimed at you. You’ve had these arguments before.

“I’m lucky because I had you to protect me,” you amended gently, a small smile curled at the corner of your mouth. It took a while for you to realise that he tailed you home each time you visited, just to be sure. His scales shift at your back, carrying the praise through his body. “I know it bothers you, Shouta, but this is just how things are. Don’t worry, I’ll be more careful from now on”.

“This is not about you being careful,” Shouta mutters, though you get the sense he has no energy to truly argue. You hesitate in the brief silence. He takes you by the wrist, not the hand, and you pout about it.

He encourages you to come. You tread through the thick, clammy air as the sun beats down on your shoulders. Shouta takes you up the valley. Where the treeline ends the mouth of the river funnels south, surface glittering softly as the currents part around a large rock in the centre; top smoothed down flat for sunning. You watched while he sunk into the water, tail disappearing behind him as it submerged and disturbed the silt.

“Come on,” he coaxes begrudgingly. You dither by the edge, picking at your sleeve.

“I can’t get my clothes wet”.

Shouta reaches the rock, bracing an arm against it. Draped in open sunlight he turns to level you with a flat look. “Then take them off. Don’t bother giving excuses. I already know you’re wounded, I can smell it”.

Shit. You wince, resting a hand over the marks across your ribs and hip. You were so sure he hadn’t noticed anything.

Anticipation churned in your stomach. You’ve never been nude in front of him before—though not for lack of wanting, and you suppose he himself has always been naked in human terms. You swallow down trepidation and lift your shirt over your head, gaze resolutely pointed away from the river, which rippled with every minute shift Shouta’s tail.

The currents are a cool caress against your body as you step into the river, soothing the bruises. Tentative, you wade further, arms folded over your breasts for some semblance of modesty. Once you’re standing in waist high water something hard, smooth—Shouta’s tail wraps around you and pulls you close.

“Deep water,” he mutters softly. You’re pressed skin to skin. His throat bobs and he looks away. “Can’t have you drowning”.

“Right,” you say, left breathless by the proximity. You can feel his chest rise and fall. Sinew and muscle expands. Rigid scales dotted along his navel press against your abdomen as he sprawled around the sunning rock. “Thank you”.

He hums in lieu of a response. Small waves lap up your spine as he adjusts his grip, holding you with one arm around your lower back. Shouta traces his thumb over the large mark on your pelvis, the claw tip catching. “You said they found out. So this is the result?”

You grimace weakly at the subject. It was naïve to hope he would let it go. “It’s my fault. I was careless,” you tried, slumped in his embrace as though filled with wet sand. “They’re just afraid of what they don’t understand. I should’ve tried to explain years ago—”

“You and your misplaced guilt,” Shouta’s jaw ticks. He inhales deeply, his next words quieter on a long exhale. “Stop rationalising their mistreatment. They’re stuck in their ways”.

“Maybe. But I…”

The truth was that an ugly part of you had never wanted them to change for the better. You wanted Shouta to yourself for as long as he’s willing and their ignorance made it so. Fear kept them away. But it also stoked their anger.

“I can’t help but wonder why they're so against it,” you tuck your chin and smile despite the lump lodged in your throat, suddenly feeling naked in all manner of ways. “They treat me like a curse. And I know it’s natural to fear what you don’t understand, but if they just knew you—!”

“Humans should fear my kind,” Shouta interrupts, a bite to his tone. Your eyes dipped low, and you traced your fingers over the intricate mosaic of scales across his clavicle to avoid his sharp gaze. A short moment passes. “Your association with me doesn’t make you a harbinger of ill omen,” he murmurs, sweeping his hand along the planes of your back in silent apology. “If anything you’ve been protecting them from one”.

You lift your head. His pupils dilate, soften. “I have?”

A broad palm wraps around the nape of your neck, the other resting over your bruised hip. Shouta’s thumb brushes over your pulse. “If not for your insistence and naïve altruism I would have killed them for neglecting you,” Shouta admitted, bringing you tighter to his front. You’re taken deeper, until your feet no longer reach the riverbed and the cold no longer bites.

“When will you prioritise yourself?” he continues. “I’m starting to think you would pull out your own teeth if it could guarantee you’d never hurt anyone”.

You smile, a little dazed by how favourably he regarded you. His skin is cool under your fingertips. “That’s not quite true,” you trace the scar beneath his eye and he slows, turning into your palm. The pad of your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. There you find those monstrous teeth, large and sharp behind his lips. The touch feels momentous, like something only lovers do. “And either way, I’d still have yours to protect me”.

Shouta rumbles at that. The vibrations loosen up the tension in your chest and satisfaction gathers warm in your belly. “Lean back,” he murmurs. Anticipation swoops through your belly as you recline in his arms, cradling you above the ripples to wash your body with his own hands.

“This water has healing properties. Further down the mountain the river splits and forms a hot spring,” Shouta’s claw-tipped fingers brush your nipple, pert under his attention. Your breath hitches. He pays it no mind, palm sliding over each breast and along your shoulders, wiping down the sweat and dirt. The pressure remains delicate around your waist, careful not to agitate the bruises.

Shouta kneads the soft parts of your body even after the filth is gone. You hum, allowing yourself to enjoy his attention. Everything feels heavier. Gravity bears hard on your arms as they lift to brush the wet hair back from his face and you marvel at how his eyelids flutter closed, one after the other. You comb through his roots, scratching lightly over his scalp before working loose the knots at the ends.

Something is beginning to swell beneath you but a quiet contentment overwhelms the reciprocal arousal stirring in your gut. Watching the tension in his face trickle away, eyes falling closed so dark lashes fan over pale cheeks. Your fingertips trace along the smattering of scales by his temple and notice a new vivid sheen to them.

“You look brighter,” you murmur, curious.

Awareness flies over his features. You almost miss it given how swiftly he buries it, taking on that familiar monotonous air. After years spent detailing the subtleties in every fleeting expression and spoken word you’ve become quite accustomed to Shouta concealing his embarrassment.

Turning away from your prying eyes, the line of his jaw becomes sharper as he swallows. “It’ll soon be my seasonal rut,” he tells you, feigning indifference. “My scales are more vibrant for the purpose of attracting a mate”.

“A mate?” you echo uselessly. Dread churns in the pit of your stomach. You knew well what having a ‘mate’ entailed. A white hot sensation prickles at your nape that not even the cool water can quell. In your naivety—and perhaps, selfishness—you’d never considered that he might find somebody else. Somebody suitable. “That’s… really great, Shouta. But who? I thought you chased off the last bed of naga that passed through?”

At this, a frown etched into Shouta’s brow. “You’re making a few unnecessary leaps in that head of yours,” he mutters. “At what point did I say my mate needed to be a naga?”

There’s something in his voice that gives weight to what he’s doing. It echoes an unspoken proposition. Unbidden from the recesses of your mind rose the wishful thoughts you’d imagined so often they were practically dogeared. A shiver trickled down your spine, caught in a gauzy yet comfortable silence as Shouta continued to clean your body.

The tip of his tongue peeks out to taste the air once he’s done. You fruitlessly will your body to temper its desire, to feign some semblance of control as you lift your head, no longer denying him the answer written plainly on your face.

“…I want that,” you confess, picking up the thread he left. You rub across his shoulders and bring your palms together in the middle of his chest, folded over his heart. “I can't go back. Take me home with you. Keep me”.

Shouta looks surprised—a microexpression, if anything; imperceptible to anyone but you—as though he hadn't expected you to accept. You’re warmed by the idea that he might’ve been hoping for more without expectation.

That’s all you’ve ever known, failed expectations.

A beat passes. You think he might be giving you a grace period—allowing time for a regret that never comes. When he realises you’ve no intention to take it back he sucks a hiss through his teeth, and you’re close enough to see his thin pupils spill into his irises until they’re inky black.

The river breaks around you, water foaming at the surface as Shouta unwittingly guides your knotted bodies to the shore. “I see you’re still as reckless as you were when we were children,” he says, sounding hoarse. “You have no idea what you’re agreeing to”.

“I’m saying yes to you, Shouta,” your voice strains, desperation creeping in when you feel his arms loosen and your feet brush the wet bank. “Teach me what I don’t know because I hate leaving. I hate missing you”.

The rough sensation of Shouta’s scales against your inner thighs rippled through your body, core tightening as he retained his grip around your waist. “This is not a conversation we’re having in the open,” he takes you both out of the water and you shy away from the cool air.

He bends over to collect your clothes and drapes them in your naked lap. You clutch the fabric close, “Where are we going?”

“To my den. No questions until then”.

The journey to Shouta’s den is long, deliberately so. Caught in his coils you go, without trepidation—like a willing little mouse, your mind whispers. Only on the third cycle do you realise that he is purposefully traveling in circles to cover his tracks. Aside from the occasional birdsong and cicada you don’t hear anything for miles. It’s so peaceful that you forget that a world exists outside of this vast, sprawling forest.

In time he reaches the den. The sky has darkened to an early dawn, the gloaming orange light casting shadows over Shouta’s face as he leans over you to shield you from the overgrowth to get to the entrance.

Arched tall and gaping, the bumpy outer walls of the cave are fissured with fingerlings of old tree roots. Shrouded in darkness, Shouta slithers around the stalagmites protruding from the floor with ease. Inside the air is thick, humid as he carries you deeper, metres further down, refusing to release you from his coils.

Meandering into a broader section, Shouta spreads out easily in the cavern. You blink around as your vision adjusts and notice narrow streams of light threading through the stalactites hung on the ceiling. Twinkling are various trinkets, tied around and dangling from the spikes. Jewels, chainmail, rusted daggers, cutlery.

When you were a young you’d spend sleepless nights imagining where Shouta lived, conjuring possibilities only a child could. Despite that curiosity you never asked to see his home—you knew, innately, as an avid observer of creatures big and small, that it would be an invasion of his privacy. But of everything you imagined it had been nothing like this.

There’s a wide alcove at the back of the cavern, housing what appears to be a nest near an extinguished fire pit, still carrying the faint scent of smoke. Shouta lowers you into it and slinks away for a moment to discard your clothes. Warmth engulfs you, insulated in the structure. There are branches both large and small intricately woven and padded with an assortment of pelts, lichen and moss. Most notable is the snakeskin used to hold together the joints of the nest.

You pinch a piece delicately between your thumb and forefinger. It’s thick, smoother than expected. “Is this yours?”

Though far off his voice reaches your ears, “Is that your first question?”

Shouta returns holding what looks to be a blanket. His tail drags behind him. The sound ripples around the space. When shaken out and draped over your bare lower half you discover that the blanket is actually the rest of his shed. It’s beautiful, inexplicably silky while being heavy and tough.

You tug the snakeskin higher up your body and note how fervently he tracks the movement. “Yes, it’s mine. It strengthens the nest,” Shouta explains, beginning a languorous dance circling the nest as though he were adding himself to it. Your attention does not stray as his tail coils upon itself, lap after lap until you’re entirely surrounded.

“You’ve been planning this,” you comment. How long had it taken for him to craft it? Did he imagine what you’d think? “It’s beautiful”.

Pleased with the height, Shouta’s upper body slinks down into the centre where you wait. Home. Not simply a place but an extension of his body, like the forest. You’re directly in the heart. A place that you alone have been allowed to see.

Your mind drifts to the feckless creatures and travelers who’ve wandered this way only to be killed. But rather than fear, or sorrow, a distinctive emotion welled up inside you. You felt special.

“It’s mainly instinct. Not much planning,” he says.

You reach to cup his cold face in your hands. Cheeks flush, like all the blood in him had rushed to the surface to greet you. He rumbles as your thumb traces an arc along his newest scar, tucking his chin to nuzzle into your palm. It’s cute, though you wouldn’t dare say that.

A content hum vibrates behind his ribs, “You’re so warm”. Then you feel the tentative press of lips and of fangs underneath. He kisses your heartline. You falter at the uncharacteristic show of affection, clutching his snakeskin tighter. His dark gaze falls to your partially covered chest. Low and supple he asks, “Do you know what it means to wear a naga skin?”

You slowly shake your head.

“Naga gift their sheds to be used in nests or as armour for their mates,” propped onto his arm Shouta presses closer, forcing your thighs to bracket the thick of his tail. “It’s viewed as a public claim,” he stops short a hair's breadth from your wanting mouth, sharing a shallow inhale.

Filled with intrepid awe, your fingertips walk the slope of his throat, hands laying flat to his chest. A hummingbird’s wing, a pulse belying his nerves. You reach for your voice, “Does this make me yours?”

Shouta blinks, pupils dilating. The distant trickle of water dripping from the stalactites echoes throughout the cavern. You feel his stomach clench where your touch slips lower, “Are you sure you want to be?”

“Since you fed me those berries in the east valley”.

“You were a child,” Shouta huffs, doing a poor job at appearing unaffected.

“Children sometimes imagine falling in love, you know,” a small, sad smile comes unbidden to your lips. “I never had anyone to play pretend with,” you tell him softly, meeting his eyes. “You always took care of me. Back then I wondered if that’s what it’d be like to have a husband when I came of age”.

With a furrow in his brow, Shouta cradles your jaw. He tucks his thumb against the corner of your downturned mouth, “A husband?”

“The human equivalent of a mate. A husband or wife,” you say. “Marriage is a promise to be together for the rest of your lives”.

“And you want that. The rest of your life,” Shouta’s words are hoarse, they sound thick in his throat. He brings your foreheads together, almost reverential, and dark tendrils of hair fall around you. “With me?”

You swallow. “Yes. I want…”

Your wandering hand stills at his navel, right in the bend where skin turned to scale. You’re reminded that he isn’t a human man. What you’ve been taught about sex and the parts that go along with the act—that knowledge is mostly worthless here.

Curious, you palm the growing bump where a cock would be, index finger tracing the thin slit along the middle, teasing him as you would tease yourself. Shouta grabs your wrist, arm braced above your head to rock into the touch, a frisson of iridescence rippling through his scales.

The airy groan in his throat quells your anxiety and feeds your longing. Chin tilted, your mouths aligned, a petal-soft brush that shakes him from his reverie and draws him back. You complain and curl your arms around his neck, missing him. He huffs a short laugh but doesn’t retreat any further.

“Careful,” he lifts his upper lip and pushes the tip of his tongue to his left fang. A pinprick of his blood wells there. “You’ll catch yourself”.

“Are you venomous?” and you pout, noticing the mirth flickering across his face. “What?”

“Not in the way you’re imagining. Pay attention,” he answers, and bends to tuck his nose into the hollow of your throat. His jaw unhinges, tasting you with a deep inhale. Oh. Your pulse rockets when he drags his fangs there in suggestion of a bite—breath held as they barely break skin and an abrupt heat tingles around the scratch.

“Wh—what does it do?” you gasp in wonder, poking the blooming mark as Shouta hums, descending to drag his lips over the peaks of your breasts.

“Humans call it a lot of things. An aphrodisiac, drug, relaxant,” he says. Each word is a kiss left everywhere but the one place you need it. Blood rushes to your ears. “A mating bite eases the burden. Makes sure your body ready for me,” you watch on with bated breath while he reaches lower, and jolt, ensnared in his half lidded gaze as he lightly drags his knuckles through your wet folds. His thumb finds your clit, massaging a few light circles around the swollen bundle of nerves. Your hips twitch, and Shouta grins at your soft whine, “Though you’re already doing that beautifully on your own”.

Desperate, you grapple at his shoulders. He rises with an indulgent smile and you lean to kiss him. A clumsy thing, open mouthed and needy, receding enough to make room for protest before kissing him again, and again, nipping the seam of his lips. Hair stands on end as the world suddenly tips on its axis and your positions are reversed.

You’ve no chance to mourn the loss. Shouta lay on his back. He sinks into the nest and draws your knee over his hip. A shiver licks up your spine as you sit low on his navel, entirely bare and wet; with him being so sensitive to his surroundings there’s no doubt he can feel the beat of desire between your thighs.

The flesh spills between his fingers as Shouta squeezes your waist. “I can feel you throbbing,” he murmurs. His own heat is swelling between you. Sticky arousal smeared on your inner thighs. Shouta’s vent pulses in time with his heart—and yours. You exhale a shaky breath, relieved and exhilarated that he wants you too. The growing pressure pushes against your clit and your hips twitch, a fleeting stutter to relieve the ache.

Shouta groans. Large hands find purchase at your hips, appreciating how your body yields to his touch, and encourages you to move. “Oh,” comes a soft gasp, feeling his swollen slit flower open beneath your cunt, leaking arousal. The friction, or lack thereof, is incredible, and you repeat the motion, seeking it again.

It’s slick where your bodies meet. The obscene wet sound of you rocking together leaves you dazed. Shouta’s lower half shifts as arousal zips through him and the nest creaks. “Fuck, feels good. More,” you demand breathlessly. Something else nudges against your clit with every pass, two heads budding from the vent, and your eyes screw shut—

Two?

A groan falls from Shouta’s mouth and your frantic realisation dissolves. You can hardly think. He licks the curve of your throat, nuzzling the barely-there-mark he’d left. Infinitesimal and yet it hasn’t stopped throbbing. An ache spreads through your hips, his hands rutting you against the swell with a desperate rhythm.

“Shouta,” you say, overwhelmed. “Do it. Bite me, fuck me, please. Please. I want—I want to—!”

The sharp pain is dulled so quickly you’re not sure it was ever there. Shouta sank his fangs into the juncture of your neck, a hand firm at your nape to keep you still. Vision blurred, your mouth drops open around a silent scream as your orgasm rips through you—the venom close behind, forcing your seized muscles pliant and stoking your arousal until it’s burning from the inside out.

Shouta releases your neck and trails his fingertips along the length of your back. You whine, a helpless and confused little sound, when the heat allays under his affections. Your thighs are trembling, slipping down his hips as you use the last of your inertia to curl into his chest.

He cradles your limp form amongst his coils, creating a protective barrier around you in such a vulnerable state. “I have you,” he says, the shaky baritone of his voice coaxing your eyes open. Half-cognisant, not quite in and not quite outside of yourself.

“…It’s too much,” you pant.

“I know,” Shouta kisses your temple, paving his way to the corner of your mouth, “You’re doing so well”.

You turn lazily into the kiss. Your thighs have fallen open further, and you subconsciously raise yourself up to better the angle. The blunt tip of one of his cocks nudges through your folds and a white hot sensation prickles over your skull. Shouta lowers you onto his cock with care, muscles corded tight in obvious restraint, wanting to ease you into the stretch. He’s thicker than a human, subtle soft ridges lining the sides, caressing you in places your fingers could never reach.

You begin to tremble and the air is pushed from your lungs with a gasping sob as he splits you open. The sensation is hard to decipher through the haze. Your ears ring, the sound high and metallic. It isn’t numbing—no, you can feel everything, every minute shift, pulse and ridge. It’s an intrusive, satisfying ache, an insurmountable pressure. There’s no part of you he isn’t touching. You consider, the thought vague and half-formed, that when Shouta bit you something in your brain must’ve rewired itself. Synapses crossed, addled by venom, convincing you of pleasure where there would otherwise be pain.

Your small world grows ever smaller. Shouta is all encompassing. His dark hair is tickling your face, smooth scales rippling under your cheek. He’s saying something—he must be, because his mouth is moving above you, murmuring what sounds like sweet incantations of your name.

An immaculate red glow pools into his irises as they roll skyward, brow furrowed in concentration. His second cock drools across his belly, where it lay trapped by your bodies. The slick underside of his cock wet and pulsing against your clit, fully sheathed.

“Do you have any idea how you feel—fuck,” Shouta’s jaw clenched as his cock recedes, leaving only the tip kissing your folds, before he fucks into you again. A shudder quakes through his coils. They constrict around the nest and Shouta pins you to his chest, thick arms held firm around your shoulders and back, tightening with every squirm. “Mine. Knew it had to be you,” came his hushed babbles, composure finally fraying at the seams.

With the surety that you’re not in pain, his pace grows, his rhythm earnest. Laved in shared arousal, you’re so wet every ingress is indelibly easy. To call yourself helpless would be to imply that you wanted to escape. You surrender to the unending, overbearing rapture, sprawled over your Shouta’s lap like a pile of loose skeins with a drunken smile. Chest heaving in exertion despite doing so little. The atmosphere is so oppressively humid that it’s hard to catch your breath.

It feels like he’s carving out something irreplaceable inside of you. A space that only he can fill, a craving only he can sate. Your hips stutter uselessly, grinding your clit against his other cock. Rather than building to a climax it feels as if you’ve toppled into one that never ends, only ebbs and flows without ever ceasing.

Shouta pulls you impossibly closer, so close your could feel the long stretch of his torso, every raised scar and curve. He nudges your temple until your head lolls back against his shoulder, and you’re looking at him. “Soft. You’re so—shit. You’re so soft. Human,” he rasps, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, short tendrils of hair sticking to skin. You flutter around the flared head of his cock as it pulls out, “Look. I can feel you sucking me back in. Made for me, weren’t you?”

You follow his gaze, watching the dark, inhuman length of his cock disappear into your folds again and again, strings of moisture stretching between you. “Shouta,” his name feels thick in your mouth. You blink, air cool against your wet cheeks. “I need—I need you to—”

Nodding deliriously, his bruising grasp on you shifts. Shouta fucks into you feverishly, with an intensity that you fear might engulf you.“Fuck—!” a tremor quakes through his coils. Something audibly snaps in the nest. Shouta’s hips stutter, a long, breathy moan pulled loose deep in his chest, drawn out as a wet, sticky heat fills you—so much that it leaks between your thighs—and the immediate relief of his release has you clawing crescent moons into his shoulders.

Tipping over the crest, a final wave crashes over you. The convulsions force your eyes shut, so tight that pinpricks of light pierce the solid darkness, transforming into a kaleidoscope of vivid colour. The world falls away for a fleeting moment and you only feel yourself clamping around his cock, soaking his lap.

You resurface slowly, as does the sensation returning to your limbs. Venom remedied, easing in your system. You inhale, wince at the tenderness making space beside the contentment in your body, and Shouta runs a smoothing hand down your spine. It sweeps back up to your nape to gently trace the bite on your neck. “How’re you feeling?” he asks. “Did I hurt you?”

You press a kiss to his collar, another under his jaw, “I’m sore and sticky. I’ve never orgasmed that hard in my life. But you didn’t hurt me”. Shouta purrs at that. It’s a noise you’ve only ever heard in the golden hour, when he’s sunning himself. Pure contentment.

You cup his cheek and gently turn him to face you. You kiss him, mouth bruised, fangs peeking through parted lips. Dark eyes soften. He’s no longer inside of you, noted with a weak clench, and his second cock remains half hard between your stomachs. Free to move, you wiggle in his embrace until it lines up, the suggestion kindling to the now twinging emptiness.

Shouta huffs, a loving admonishment, and carefully guides his second cock inside you. You hiss at the sensitivity but it isn’t unpleasant. Satisfaction balloons in your chest and you curl up against him with a pleased hum; no urgency, together for the sake of closeness.

“I’ll feed you and help you wash after I’ve calmed down,” he says. There’s no sign of discomfort or regret in his voice as he stares toward the mouth of the cave. Just a primal need to be alert, to stay vigilant for his mate. “I’ll be a little overbearing for the rest of the night. Be patient with me”.

Your gaze too lingers at the maw, recalling those blood-steeped, ugly stories of monstrous creatures. Indeed there are monsters in the night. But none of them are here.

A wide smile pulls at your lips, “We’ve got all the time in the world”.

[normanbased]

i’m curious as to what influenced your choices for the pokémon AU!!

in exchange i offer some notes on an anthro AU (that i may or may not ever get around to 💀):

I LOVE YOUR LIST SO MUCH!! I absolutely love your choices for Duke and Tracy especially (Tracy gave me Columbo vibes so her being a bloodhound is just perfect) - and a striped-hyena just fits TOO well for Duke - better than the animal I chose anyways. AND THE LAHORE PIGEON FOR MARY!! I WOULD NEVER HAVE THOUGHT OF IT BUT IT'S PERFECT????? I might have to draw something for your AU tonight if I start feeling better.

In return, my anthro headcanons are:

Norman: Loggerhead Shrike - An unassuming passerine, also called the 'butcherbird'. As a result of it's inadequete predation adaptations, it must use barbs, brambles, and spikes to impale it's prey. This means that it has killing grounds where it displays it's kills. It's endemic to California as well as other parts of North America and Europe.

Mary: Red Satin Rabbit - A domestic breed. I don't have any particular reason for choosing this breed aside from aesthetics, but I wanted Mary to be a rabbit to suggest innocence as well as deceit.

Duke: American Badger - Aggressive, powerful, and underhanded, American badgers are capable of mutual hunting with coyotes, and are so self-assured that they are rarely predated on by the country's larger predators.

Bill Raymond: Bernese Mountain Dog - A hardy working breed more commonly seen on farms, Bernese Mountain Dogs can also be trained in mountain and water rescue. They aren't as common to see in mountain rescue as St. Bernards or Retrievers, but I just think they fit his character better than those breeds :]]

(I never got around to deciding any other animals :]] )

And sure! So my Pokemon list is here for reference - and I'll give a quick explanation for each choice below :]] (under cut)

The important one to start with is Absol. It's territory encroached on the land that the motel was built on. It stalked the Bates family for some time, and Norman is convinced that it was responsible for the death of his father. Norma on the other hand - as a result of losing her husband, embraced Absol's habitation and encouraged it to stay near their home. As it goes, Absols are harbingers of disaster, and it still has a cryptic, looming presence over the land over forty years later. Norman doesn't see it very often, but when he does, it frightens him and sparks another bout of paranoia.

Next is Norman's Staraptor. He found it as an injured Starly when he was still a boy. He spotted it in a nesting flock because it's colouration was different, and when all the other Starly's flew away, his remained. He secretly nursed it back to health, moving it from his room to the kitchen and the motel parlour to avoid his mother finding it. By the time it fully recovered, it grew attached to Norman, and even evolved as a result of their friendship. It was too big to hide at that point, so it spent most of it's time outside after that. It only evolved into a Staraptor after Norman made the decision to kill his mother and step-father - promising that it would protect Norman from harm if it needed to. By the time it meets Mary and Duke, Staraptor is rather old and spends most of it's time roosting or on lookout. It's still a very capable battler, though!!

Minccino showed up as a result of Norman's twenty-year absence. Toomey had completely trashed the motel during his time as manager, and so Minccino was instinctively attracted to the mess once Toomey and all the loud, unsavoury guests had vacated. It spent most of it's time timidly cleaning the grounds around the motel until Norman noticed it's presence, and encouraged it to help him look after the motel with him. Now it spends almost all of it's time happily tending to the rooms and the office, and it keeps the place as immaculate as it can. It was frightened of Staraptor at first, but when the old bird showed no interest in eating it, they became tentative friends. Minccino doesn't tend to hang out with other Pokemon, only ever really seeking companionship with Norman.

Marion and Lisa recieved a Minun and Plusle respectively from their mother before she died. They were supposed to represent sisterhood and family, and symbolised the two of them sticking together and looking out for one another. Ironically, the two Pokemon don't really get along very well. Marion also has a Delcatty that Sam gave her as a gift.

Sam has a Kecleon that helps him look after the hardware store!! It changes colour to show different paint swatches to customers :]] and it's really good at keeping track of inventory.

Arbogast has an Arcanine that acompanies him on his detective work, and an Unown that helps him to figure out puzzles and mysteries.

Mary has a Shaymin and a Poochyena as her partner Pokemon. Shaymin is a pretty moody, independent Pokemon, which goes against their appearence. They act pretty dejectedly in their Land Form, spending most of their time in quiet, dark places. In their Sky Form, they become really rebellious and bold, and isn't easy to command. It's terrified of Staraptor at first, but it soon warms up to the older Pokemon, and the two of them often do fly-overs of the motel together. Poochyena is a little bit short-tempered. If you could imagine a 'Scrappy-Doo'-type of personality, that fits Poochyena to a T. All three of them - Shaymin, Poochyena, and Norman's Staraptor, get along really well.

Duke has three electric pokemon, Luxio, a Manectric, and a shiny Jolteon. They can all bark/roar with sounds that compliment that of an electric guitar, so they're INCREDIBLY noisy and are constantly rocking out. Duke sometimes takes the cord for his electric guitar and gives it to Jolteon to hold in it's mouth, and then it uses an electric-type move to boost the amplification. They're bullies, but loyal to Duke. He uses them to threaten people, and the three of them enjoy pushing people around. They ocassionally have infighting, but Jolteon (their leader) usually puts Luxio and Manectric in line. Everyone elses' Pokemon utterly hate being around them, and it takes a really long time for them to actually behave in a friendly way around anyone besides Duke. Out of the three of them, Jolteon is the most serious. Luxio is the second dominant of the three, and Manectric is sort of the "idiot grunt" of the pack. Manectric tends to be the one that gets pushed around when the three of them don't have any other Pokemon to target - and so it's the most likely to have brief moments of camaraderie with Norman and Mary's Pokemon.

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

Werewolf Bites and Hot Summer Nights

An AU in which Laura and Max can’t find Hackett Quarry and end up at the Harbinger Motel, before becoming camp counsellors for the summer. Max is moody and secretive and Laura keeps bumping into the grumpiest sheriff with the cutest puppy dog eyes, and when he gives her his number ‘just in case’ a girl can’t help but drunk dial him one night. Cue overprotective and jealous Travis. And shouldn’t the officer get a birthday kiss?

Banter | Enemies to Lovers | Battle Couple | Smut

Start with Chapter One

Chapter Thirteen

“C’mon, girl. I promise I won’t bite.”

The hand that was tentatively reaching for Travis’ pulled back again, and he ground his teeth together.

Poor choice of words.

“It’s daylight and all your friends are upstairs and worried about you,” he coaxed, reaching further underneath the shelving where the last unaccounted-for counsellor had hidden herself away in the storm shelter. "You got nothing to be afraid of."

Abi, her name was, a timid thing with scratches on her arms. She’d clearly come in contact with a werewolf and survived, and now she was terrified of him.

“Ma’am, I’m Sheriff Hackett. I promise it’s safe to come out.”

The girl finally put her hand in his and he helped her out of her hiding place and to her feet.

She shivered and stared at the scratches on her arms, her hands shaking. “Something attacked me in the woods, sheriff.”

“Do you know what it was?”

Please say no.

By some miracle, no one was bitten last night and no one had seen the “animal” that had attacked them. Every other counsellor was currently arguing with Jacob about whether Laura had been fucking with him when she claimed they were hunting werewolves.

Everyone was of the opinion that Jacob was very dumb and Laura was smart, and he'd taken her midnight quip way too seriously. 

Abi shuddered. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I don't know if I believe me. I just want to go home, sheriff. Has anyone got the van started?”

Total denial? That worked for Travis. He was pleased to tell her that the van was finally working as he escorted her up and out of the storm shelter.

As soon as he reached the lodge steps, Jacob came marching over to Travis, calling to the others over his shoulder, “The sheriff will back me up. Sheriff, didn’t Laura say it was werewolves you were hunting last night?”

Travis glanced at the tired but sceptical looking counsellors, then over at his brother, niece and nephew, who were gathered by the lodge steps.

Travis cleared his throat and used his authoritative cop voice. “Miss Kearney’s got an unusual sense of humour, I hear.” It made Travis’ stomach clench to talk about Laura like he didn’t know her.

As if he'd never kissed her.

Made her laugh.

Made her come. 

Fought to near-death by her side.

He patted the boy’s shoulder as he deflated. “Never mind jokes, son. We get aggressive bears around here at the full moon. Do me a favour, would you?”

Jacob looked up from his confusion. “Huh? What is it?”

Travis opened the door to Max and Laura’s car, found the keys behind the sun visor, and passed them to Jacob. “Miss Kearney and Mr. Brinly wound up at the hospital last night. Mr. Hackett will jumpstart the motor for you. Drive the SUV over to them and have the others follow in the van. Leave their stuff with them at the hospital. That way they won’t…” Travis’ throat felt thick, and he had to swallowed hard. “So they don’t have to come back.”

Jacob stared at the keys in his hand. “Laura’s in hospital? Is she okay?”

Travis heard Laura’s scream as Silas bit into her.

Saw her laying on the ground, bleeding out.

The terror that had filled her eyes as she realized she wasn’t going to heal. That she was dying.

But she didn’t.

Somehow that didn’t soothe the searing guilt inside him.

“She’ll be all right, son.”

Travis had to turn around and quickly walk away. Laura would heal and Max would drive her home, and that was that. It was a miracle no one had died last night.

He remembered Ma and winced. It was with a hollowed-out feeling that he thought of his mother turning cold on the floor of the house under a blanket. He couldn’t even feel sad as he realized that Ma wasn’t around to see the end of the curse. Her grandchildren were free to leave Hackett’s Quarry, if they wanted to.

There was so much anger deep inside him, layers and layers built up over the years, and now that Ma was dead that anger had no place to be. Yet it was still there, burning away.

Kaylee ran to him and put her arms around him. “You did it, Uncle T.”

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. Uncle T. That’s what she’d called him when she was small. That, or Tee-Tee, if she was feeling especially playful. Lately it had been just Travis.

He pulled away and shook his head. “It wasn’t me. It was Laura—Miss Kearn—one of the counsellors.”

Kaylee looked over at the group of counsellors in surprise. “Really? Who’s Laura?”

Travis’ jaw worked. He could go now, couldn’t he? Get in his car and drive back to the hospital. If she was asleep, he could sit by her bedside and just watch her. With dark amusement, he imagined tipping Max out of his chair and telling him to get gone. Laura didn’t need Max. Laura had outgrown him.

And what then? Travis could guess what then. Off she’d go to college without looking back, because they’d agreed, hadn’t they? They only belonged to each other until the night of the full moon, and that moon had risen and set.

He’d look into her face and see how close she’d came to dying because of him. She’d look into his and remember shooting his Ma possibly, maybe, accidentally on purpose.

Guilt. It was a hell of a ride. He wanted off, and he didn’t want to be the reason Laura was traumatised all over again.

“I’ve got to…” Travis gestured vaguely over his shoulder, pulled away from Kaylee, and headed off down the path to the cabins. There were bear traps to be collected. Trail cameras to be taken down. Evidence to be burned. An accidental death to be reported. So much to do, in fact, that Travis barely had time to think.

And yet a blonde covered in blood and gripping a shotgun kept exploding into his mind every other second, making him want to drop everything and run to his car.

The self-control that he’d learned in the last six years, the instinct that told him to cut anything pleasurable out of his life, was the only thing that stopped him.

She’s alive, asshole.

Don’t get greedy.

Summer was over, and it was time for cold nights and fall leaves, and for peace and quiet to finally descend on Hackett’s Quarry.

When his phone rang twice, he didn’t answer, but his throat felt like he’d swallowed razor blades.

***

Laura sat up at the sound of the voice on the phone, and then gasped in pain as the wound on her neck pulled. “Kaylee? Kaylee Hackett?”

The girl other end was bright and cheerful. “That’s me. I had to call and say thank you to the saviour of Hackett’s Quarry.”

The sheer relief of hearing from someone connection to Travis made Laura laugh out loud. “Don’t thank me, please. I’m just so happy to hear your voice. I wish we’d got to meet while I was still in North Kill.”

“Me too!” enthused Kaylee. “You know what’s amazing? Maybe I’ll meet you one day, because thanks to you, the curse is broken and I can come and go from this goddamn town if I want to. How are you feeling? I’ll let Travis know. I heard you got bit.”

The sheer joy of hearing someone say Travis' name to her was almost overwhelming. “I’ll probably have a scar, but I’m fine. Why didn’t Travis call me himself?”

Kaylee sounded confused. “Sorry, what?”

Laura frowned. “Didn’t Travis give you my number?”

“No, I got it from Dad. Uncle T has been charging around all day pulling counsellors out of their hiding places and making sure everyone’s in one piece. The man won’t rest.”

Laura stared wistfully across the room, trying not to feel disappointed that this call wasn’t because of him. Not resting? That sounded like Travis.

“He did stand still long enough to tell us what you did, though,” Kaylee added.

“What I did?”

Struggling with the shotgun.

An almighty blast.

Mrs Hackett’s face blown clean off.

“Killing Silas. Ending the curse.” Kaylee gave a whoop of laughter. “Six years we’ve been trying to nail that wolf. Six years. You come to the quarry for one summer and you manage it.”

“It wasn’t just me. Really, it was Travis.”

“That’s not how he’s been telling it.”

Laura felt a lopsided grin on his face. Goddammit, Travis. He shouldn’t be giving her all the credit when it was a joint effort.

“Can you do me a favour?” Laura asked. “When you see Travis, tell him I…say that I…give him my…”

She trailed off. It wasn’t like her to feel so lost, but how could she put into words everything she wanted to say to the man she couldn’t stop thinking about, to be conveyed to him by his niece?

Where are you? I need you. I think you need me, too.

“I’ll tell him you said hi,” Kaylee offered.

Laura gripped the sheets in her fist and mouthed a curse word. Saying nothing would be better than the inanity of “hi.”

“Is he okay?” Laura asked finally. "Honestly. Please, I need to know."

Kaylee gave a gusty sigh. “Dad says we’ll need to give Travis time. Losing Gammy in that way right at the end of the curse has really knocked him on his ass."

Guilt sliced right through Laura.

Kaylee seemed to mistake her silence for confusion. “You probably didn’t hear about that. Gammy was holding a shotgun and it went off in her hands. So sad. Gammy wanted to see the back of the curse as much as the rest of us.”

The Hackett family’s celebrations were marred by death. How long before Jedediah told Kaylee about the slut who'd been all over Travis and then killed her precious Gammy? 

“Anyway. We’re real grateful for your part in ending the curse.” 

Suddenly, Kaylee's gratitude felt all wrong. “It wasn’t me. It was your uncle, I mean that. Just tell him…”

I’m sorry.

I miss you.

I wish I could hold you.

Every time I wake, I want it to be in your arms.

There was nothing that she wanted to say to Travis that she could say to Kaylee. “Never mind. Thanks for the call, Kaylee. I’m so happy for you and your family. And I’m sorry about Mrs. Hackett.”

A dismal feeling settled over Laura as she hung up and settled back on the pillows.

Travis hadn’t missed her calls.

He’d ignored them.

For noble reasons, probably. To try and spare her the pain of what she’d done. He’d insisted that Max tell her she hadn’t killed anyone, but he couldn’t make it true just because he wanted it to be that way.

Over the next few days, Laura slowly healed and regained her strength. Max kept his distance until he came to tell her that he was leaving.

“Your mom’s coming to get you,” he told her, his hands jammed in his pockets, a cap pulled low over his eyes and a backpack laying at his feet.

Laura gazed at him, wondering if she should summon up some sadness that it was all over between them. 

The least she could do was get out of bed and see him off properly. She'd managed to dress herself in sweats that morning, hating the hospital gown that she’d woken up in.

As she and Max stood awkwardly in front of each other, Max said, “Thanks for, uh…saving my life. You know. Because I was a werewolf.”

Laura smiled at him, and suddenly felt real affection for Max. Maybe they could be friends after this. He was one of the few people in the world who knew at least some of what she’d been through. “Thanks for saving my life. What a summer, huh?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Crazy right? Listen, when you get home, maybe you could give me a…”

A scent suddenly reached Laura’s nose. The smile died on her face and she looked quickly around the room.

“Laura?”

“What’s that smell?”

Max frowned at her. “What smell?”

It was coming from his backpack. It smelled like…everything.

Everything she was craving. Laura realised with a jolt what it was. “Can I have that T-shirt?”

“What?”

“That North Kill Police Department t-shirt.” The one Max had been wearing the day Laura awoke in this hospital. It was in his backpack. She knew it was. 

“Why?”

“I don’t know. A souvenir. Just give it to me,” she snapped, holding out her hand impatiently.

Scowling, his cheeks red with annoyance, Max fished the T-shirt out of his bag and thrust it at her.

Laura snatched at it like a lifeline.

“Well, goodbye then.”

“Bye,” Laura murmured as she turned the T-shirt over in her hands.

Thank heavens, Max hadn’t washed it. As soon as he left the room, Laura crumpled the T-shirt up and shoved her face into it, inhaling deeply. There was a lot of Max. There was some of her, too. Her blood.

But as she took a second breath, she found him. He’d worn this shirt. Breathed in it. Sweated in it. Lived in it. His heart had beat beneath this soft cotton, and if she listened closely, she could hear the echo of that strong and steady sound.

She didn’t understand why, but Travis’ smell brought tears to her eyes. Her legs gave out and she hit the floor, not even caring about the pain that ricocheted through her knees.

Travis.

Laura raised her head with a groan. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d never reacted this way to a man’s scent before. She shouldn't have even been able to tell that the T-shirt was in Max's bag, but somehow she'd sensed it?

Or had she just guessed it was there because of her obsession with that man? 

She wasn’t even in love with Travis. Laura didn’t think she’d ever been in love. Not deeply.

Not the kind of attachment that made you yearn for a person so hard that you couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't think about anyone but him. Love that placed that person at the centre of your heart.

Laura crumpled the shirt into a ball against her chest, curved her body around it, and rocked back and forth, trying to fill the gaping hole that had suddenly opened up inside her.  

It's not love. 

I just really like this T-shirt.

A nurse found Laura on her knees an hour later and helped her back into bed. Laura did as she was told, but she didn't want to eat anything, and when the nurse drew the covers over her and left her alone, her arms were still locked around the T-shirt. 

***

Good plan, Travis. Excellent plan. Out of sight out of mind??? :)))) 

Side note I really want one of those North Kill Police Department T-shirts, and I want it to absolutely reek of Travis. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

[dreamerstreamer]

Devil-May-Care

Pairing: demon!Dream / Clay x demon hunter!gn!reader

Summary: [Demon Hunter!AU] When you went in search of the most powerful demon known to mankind, you didn’t expect him to be so charming.

Warnings: a little horror + some violence + tw// weapons (crossbow, gun)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this was requested by a passionate anon! i fell in love with the request at first sight and had loads of fun writing this, although i did take some creative liberty with it. i hope you all enjoy :)

You huffed as you pushed past the branch hanging in your face, wrinkling your nose as you trudged onward. The forest was almost eerily silent around you, the pitch black night doing nothing to ease the tension that had gathered in your shoulders. Above you, the moon and stars twinkled soundlessly, peering down at you with wide, watching eyes.

Where could he possibly be hiding? you thought to yourself with a grimace. Is he even in this forest?

Your mentor had told you that this forest was the last place he’d ever been seen, and that it would be your best bet. But she also told you not to get your hopes too high, since he was known to be a trickster who never stayed in one spot for too long.

You sighed as you stepped over a fallen log, making sure not to trip. Despite how young the night was, you were already getting tired. Tracking was arguably the hardest part of your job, and easily your least favourite part of it.

Then again, no one said being a demon hunter was easy.

With a slight grumble, you squinted through the darkness while walking past another tree. So far, all you’d seen was tree after after tree, and you were getting fed up. Heck, you could have sworn there was a clearing just ahead of you here.

It was at that moment that the trees suddenly parted before you, and you found yourself standing in the middle of a clearing. The soft grass rustled beneath your feet as you took a tentative step forward, your ears perking up for any noise or movement. When nothing came, the muscles in your legs tensed.

This was the first clearing you had found in hours, and something about it just felt off.

“What are you looking for, little hunter?”

You whirled at the sound of the low, curling voice, your gaze frantically darting around the darkness for its source. You kept your lips pursed as your head whipped this way and that, nothing but silence filling the forest air. Even with the light of the moon, all you could make out between the shadows were the silhouettes of trees and their taunting branches looming over you.

There was no way it was who you thought it was... right?

“Not gonna say anything? Hm. Perhaps that’s just because you can’t see me. Here.”

You heard the snap of a finger, and the clearing around you suddenly lit up in a faint, greenish hue. Your eyes widened as the earth you stood upon began to glow, your fingers twitching at your side. Turning again, you quickly searched your surroundings once more for the voice’s owner. Everything seemed to be exactly how it appeared when you first arrived—the trees were just trees and the grass was just grass, even if they were both admittedly glowing.

Just then, there came a whistle from above you.

You lifted your head, and your gaze fell upon a figure sitting atop a tree branch a few feet away. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight.

Piercing, emerald eyes. A green fitted shirt to match. Dark, golden hair. A smattering of freckles. A cold, wicked grin.

The man smiled at you, swinging his legs leisurely as he tilted his head. “Hello there, pet.”

You didn’t wait another second before your arms were reaching up behind you, pulling your crossbow off your back. You slotted the arrow into the flight groove in near record time before aiming it up at him, aiming for but a split second before you pulled the trigger. In a flash, the arrow went flying through the night sky, pointed directly at his face. You could have sworn you caught his eyes turn red before he suddenly vanished, your arrow passing through empty space before pinning itself into the tree trunk he had been leaning against just seconds prior.

You panted, quickly pulling another arrow out of your quiver and reloading your crossbow as you turned in a circle, not a single detail going unnoticed by your watchful eyes. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you tried to focus on the rustling leaves around you. Your fingers curled around the stock of your bow a fraction tighter, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Where is he? Where did he go?

A smooth voice curled around the back of your neck.

“Is this how you greet everyone you meet, or am I just special?”

Whipping around again, you pulled the trigger without even an ounce of hesitation. A twang of satisfaction shot through you as you heard the distinct sound of flesh being pierced, followed by a tumble to the ground. You rushed over at the sight of the man—or demon, as you should be calling him—lying sprawled on the ground, his arms casually tucked under his head as if he hadn’t just been shot.

“Ooh,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the arrow sticking out of his chest, “your arrows are made of dreamshade.” He grinned at you. “Smart one, aren’t you?”

Before you could even react, he ripped the arrow out, watching with amusement as crimson slowly dripped onto the front of his shirt. You stared at the hole in his chest, left behind by your arrow, a glimmer of glee expanding in your chest. Yes! you thought, your lips quirking as your hand floated toward the pistol hanging at your side. Now’s my cha—

All of a sudden, you watched in horror as the skin began to reform, the sinew and muscle stitching themselves back together to fill the gap. In an instant, his chest was whole again, the hole having disappeared entirely with nothing to even hint at its existence, were it not for the tear in his shirt.

“Unfortunately for you,” he said, tossing the arrow behind his head with a flick of his fingers, “I’m tougher than most demons out there.”

In a flash, you were standing over him, one foot digging into his chest. You didn’t even give him the chance to blink before you were pointing your crossbow at him once more, this time just barely allowing the arrow tip to hover above his neck. You tried to calm your breaths, pushing back the sick sense of joy you could feel starting to boil over inside you. You were so, so close to just killing hi—

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to attack me without even asking for my name?” he calmly drawled, looking bored out of his mind.

You blinked in surprise, your thoughts faltering for a moment before your expression hardened once more. “I know who you are.”

He cocked his head at you, something like delight swimming in his viridian eyes. “Do you, now?”

You gulped, hesitating only for a moment before you began to speak. “Y-You’re Dream. Lord of chaos. Progenitor of destruction. Harbinger of nightmares.” You nearly choked on your own words.

“The world’s most powerful demon.”

He grinned at you, clapping his hands together above his head as he let out a small hoot. “Aw, you know all my titles?” He winked. “That’s cute.”

Cute, your brain repeated dumbly, a fuzzy feeling forming in your chest, but you quickly shook the thought from your head with a scowl. You should not be happy that one of the most powerful demon’s known to mankind called you cute.

(Okay, well. Maybe you were a little happy. Not that you would ever admit it.)

With a stony look, your finger wrapped around the crossbow trigger, the cool metal sending a shiver down you spine. “I’m here to kill you, Dream.”

He didn’t look fazed. “Oh? Even though we only just met?”

A snarl ripped itself out of your throat, fury slowly beginning to claw up your insides. Why did he sound so calm? Didn’t he understand that he was about to die to your hand?

“That doesn’t matter,” you said bluntly, trying to ignore your heart ramming away at your ribcage. “You’re a monster that needs to be disposed of.”

He hummed, absentmindedly picking at his nail. “That’s bold of you to say.” His tone was dull and interested, and his eyes seemed to shine even brighter thanks the green glow surrounding his head. “I can’t remember the last time a demon hunter has ever been so upfront with me.”

The string tying your restraint together snapped. That was it. How could he be so nonchalant? So apathetic? Didn’t he care?

“You’ve killed so many people,” you spat, “taken so many innocent lives, and for what?” You narrowed your eyes, nothing but pure disgust running through your veins as you dug the tip of your crossbow into the soft flesh of his neck. “What reason do I have to stop myself from ending your life right here, right now?”

Below you, Dream only stared blankly at you, his eyebrows raised. Then, he let out a sigh, wrapping a hand around the stock of your crossbow. Panic shot through you as he pulled it away from his throat with ease, his fingers curling around the polished wood. “First of all,” he said lowly, “that little thing isn’t going to do anything.”

In a blink of an eye, you heard the snapping of metal and wood, your gaze going wide. He shot you a cocky grin. “Not anymore.”

You leapt back, gritting you teeth and tossing your now useless crossbow onto the earth beside you. Your hand moved in a blur as you reached down and pulled out your pistol from its holster, pointing it toward him. “Each and every one of these bullets is soaked in holy water,” you shouted, your hand cocking back the safety. “Don’t think I won’t shoot.”

Dream rolled over onto his stomach, his grin widening as he rested his chin on his hand. “Tell me,” he drawled, tilting his head, “do you really think you scare me?”

You ignored the shaking of your fingers. “I—I can and will shoot you.”

He laughed, an uncomfortable warmth wrapping around your gut. “Please, darling—I’ve been alive for longer than you can even fathom. As if you’d be the first to pin me down, let alone try to shoot me.” His eyes flashed crimson, and you felt your stomach drop. “I know all your hunter tricks and tactics, and believe me when I say they won’t work.”

Suddenly, he floated up off the ground, not changing his position whatsoever. In only a matter of seconds, he was hovering above you, blinking down at your shocked expression with mirth glimmering in his scarlet gaze. 

Of course he could levitate—what were you expecting?

“Second,” he said, “I did a lot of those things a long time ago, especially in human years. How long has it been?” He tapped his chin. “Probably centuries by now, which is like forever for you guys.”

You scowled at him, your pistol still pointed at him. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t caused any chaos recently.”

“That’s true!” he chirped, snapping his fingers. “But my more recent activities have been much more... tame in comparison to my golden years, don’t you think?”

As much as you wanted to shoot him right here and now, you also wanted to punch him in the face before you did. “Lives are lives, Dream!” you shouted. “Any more or less lost doesn’t make you any more redeemable.”

A chuckle slipped from his lips, flipping onto his back as he continued to hover in the cool, night air. “Oh, you humans and your morality. How entertaining you all are.”

There was only one word running through your mind as you glared at him, your jaw clenching tight as your rage only multiplied inside you. Monster, monster, monster.

His eyelids fluttered shut as he allowed himself to drift a fraction lower toward you. “Well, I do believe I should ask—who’s to say that I was the one who killed those people, anyways?”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “...what are you talking about?”

He peeked an eye open at you. “It’s not like I flew down from the sky and shot them all with a rifle, and it’s not like I just snapped my fingers and everyone dropped dead.” He hummed at the thought. “Just what kind of person do you take me for?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your toes curling in your boots. “Stop distracting me—you’re dodging the question.”

“On the contrary,” he shot back without missing a beat, “I’d argue that you’re dodging mine, pet.” You could hear the laughter threatening to bubble up his throat as he spoke. “Do you really think I was the one purely responsible for all that destruction?”

You tried to ignore the slight tremble of your hands. “A-Aren’t you?” you stammered out. “You’ve started wars, detonated massive bombs, pushed people to their absolute limits. That stuff’s all your fault.” You gulped. “...isn’t it?”

For a second, he simply stared at you. Then, he burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh, how naïve you are, pet. Just what were you taught?” As he clutched his chest, he sunk a little lower toward you. “I didn’t fight on those battlefields. I didn’t press the red button. I didn’t kick men and women to the ground, pointing guns in their faces. But do you know who did?”

The cogs in your head began to turn as you wracked your mind over his words. Then, a wave of understanding slammed into you, and you lowered your pistol, your arm going limp at your side.

He couldn’t possibly mean...

“Ding, ding, ding! You guessed it.” His lips curled up into a delighted smirk. “Humanity did.”

Your eyes widened in horror. Oh, no.

The manic look in his eyes only grew. “Oh, yes.” He cackled at the look on your face, pointing at you. “I didn’t even have to lift a finger for you to all walk straight into your own demise! How pathetic is that?”

You took a shaky step back, your pistol dropping to the ground. “B-B—”

“B-B-B-But what?” he said mockingly, mimicking you in a high-pitched tone. “Did they tell you that I’m the big, bad wolf and that humanity is Little Red? Because they lied, pet. They lied to you.” He pointed his fingers together to form an X, tilting his head at you. “I’ll have you know that I’m not a liar. A trickster, perhaps. But a liar?” He narrowed his eyes. “Never.”

He bent down where he hovered in the air, waggling a finger in your face. “The truth is, darling, is that I didn’t do anything. I just stood in the room and watched. I might have pointed out that that one little duke was in perfect view, or that that one city only had so many people living in it, but I never took any lives myself.” He lightly tapped your nose, and you shrunk back as he crooned, “Humanity did all that, pet. They’re the real monsters to blame here.”

You wanted to sink to your knees and melt into a puddle on the ground. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Your mentor told you that Dream killed all those people—that he was the one to stab the knife in and twist it while pulling it out. She wouldn’t lie to you, never in a million years.

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But there was something about the freckles scattered across Dream’s face and the way the moonlight bounced off his eyes that made you realize.

He was telling the truth.

A few moments passed in silence as you stared long and hard down at your feet. You could feel Dream’s gaze boring into your figure, eyeing you up and down as you struggled to steady the beating of your heart. You half-expected him to mock you even more, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Maybe he was more human than you thought.

“Why?” you finally whispered after god knows how long.

When you were met with silence, you raised your eyes to meet his once more. “Why did you do it?” you said, louder this time. “Why did you interact with us at all if you wouldn’t even get your own hands dirty? If you knew it would only end like this?”

His eyes flashed, the tiniest hint of carmine swirling in their murky depths. “Isn’t the answer obvious, pet?” He flashed you a wicked grin. “I was bored.”

You blinked, realization slowly setting in. “Bored? Bored?” You were about to lose it, now. “You did all that just because you were bored?”

He shrugged. “Sure did. Chaos makes the world so much more interesting, don’t you think? If only good things happened, you would be bored, too.”

Your stomach churned with disgust. “You’re twisted.”

His smile only widened. “At least I’m having fun.”

All you could do was stare at him in defeat. This wasn’t right. There were more ways to have fun than to toy with humanity’s psyche and drive them to end people’s lives, even for a demon like him. There had to be something you could do. For some inexplicable reason you couldn’t bring yourself to name, a part of you almost wanted to help him.

I must be losing my mind, you thought. What person in their right mind would try to save a demon, let alone the most powerful one of them all?

You, apparently.

The cogs in your head began to churn, your mind bustling as it tried to come up with some alternative, no matter how silly. There had to be something he could do that wasn’t just this.

That was when it hit you.

“Why,” you started slowly, your voice coming out shaky and unsure, “don’t you have fun in a way that doesn’t destroy things... but creates them?”

He blinked lazily at you. “Hm?”

You swallowed, raising your chin. “You—you can have chaos, but it doesn’t need to be destructive.”

He raised his brows. “It doesn’t?”

Your gaze hardened. “Not at all.”

Just then, a flash of memory shot through your skull, and you gasped. “Say, Dream,” you began, “do you—do you know how the Greeks thought the universe came to be?”

You didn’t wait for him to answer. “First,” you said, “there was chaos. And from chaos, life was born. Gods and goddesses, plants and animals.”

“And humans,” he added.

You nodded. “And humans—like me.” You pressed a hand to your chest. “See? Chaos can create things. It doesn’t have to be so full of death and terror.”

While his expression was bemused, there was something sad about it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “You do realize that that’s just a story that you human made up?” he hummed. “How the universe came to be is far more different.”

You blinked. “You were alive for that?”

He sent you a blank smile, the look in his eyes betraying nothing. “Maybe, maybe not.” Waving his hand, he flipped over onto his back, floating a fraction higher than before. “Point is, that kind of chaos probably doesn’t exist.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side. “But it could,” you whispered.

He paused, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “What?”

You dug your heel into the ground, raising your voice. “It could! You don’t know that it doesn’t.” You took a step toward him, throwing your arms out. “Isn’t that fun? Isn’t that exciting? That there’s a whole other form of chaos you’ve never discovered before?!”

Your shout rang out into the quiet forest as Dream stared at you, his lips parted the tiniest bit. Rather than looking amused or arrogant, he almost looked... raw. Real. This might just the most vulnerable look you’d gotten of him all night.

Then, he burst into laughter.

Lowering your arms, you huffed at him, trying and failing to ignore the warmth blossoming between your lungs as you took in his wheezing face. “W-What?”

“Oh,” he gasped between peals of laughter, “what a treat you are, pet.”

Heat flashed across your cheeks as he wiped away a tear from his eye, his chuckles slowly dying down. His laugh should not sound as attractive as it was—he should not be as attractive as he was.

“Tell you what,” he said as he caught his breath once more, sending you a devilish grin. “If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you my real one.”

You stared at him for a moment, then your jaw dropped. “What?”

He stared at you, his emerald eyes glowing in the dim light. “You heard me.”

For a few seconds, you simply gaped, your brain still struggling to process his words. “But... but why?” you finally blurted. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

He hummed at you, flipping upside down. “What about it doesn’t make sense? It seems like a fair trade to me.”

Sputtering, you threw your hands into the air. “A demon’s true name is the source of their power! By handing it over to me, you’re basically putting your life in my hands—in a demon hunter’s hands.” Your face blanched at the mere thought. “A human name and demon name aren’t even remotely comparable.”

He blinked at you, slow and lazy. “I know.”

You didn’t understand—you couldn’t understand. “Then why are you doing this?”

He dipped his down toward you, his face hovering mere inches away from yours. “Isn’t it obvious?” he murmured. “You’re interesting. And rather cute, I suppose.”

You back-pedaled, your eyes wide as you stammered, “I-I could kill you if you told me your real name.”

He hummed, tucking his hand under his chin. “Perhaps, I suppose.” His lips curled upward. “But you won’t.”

Your hand squeezed around nothing. “You don’t know that.”

He chuckled again, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “Oh, yes I do, pet. Don’t act as though I can’t see right through you. I know you’re too wishy-washy to kill me off just like that.”

He tilted his head at you, his gaze brimming with mischief.  “That’s the thing about humans—you’re all so greedy. You all want something you don’t have, something that fuels you to acquire more. It might be power, or fame, or fortune, or love. It’s quite pathetic, really. But curiosity?”

Lowering himself, he pushed himself up until he was standing flat on the ground again, his hands sliding into his pockets. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and your mouth went dry. “Why, curiosity is your greatest flaw of all. You humans always want to know more, and I know that you want to know what I do next, whether you’re aware of it or not.”

You felt like your blood was going to tear right out of your veins. You hated how right he was, how well he seemed to know you. “You’re insane,” you said.

His smile was lazy and wide as he took a single step toward you. “Probably. But I’ve been alive for ages now, and you might be the most fun thing I’ve seen in millennia. I want to know your name, pet.”

This was crazy in every sense of the word. Any other demon wouldn’t even dare utter their true name aloud, even to themselves, yet here Dream was, bargaining his for yours.

You’d be an idiot not to tell him your name, now.

Swallowing, you didn’t dare look away from his piercing eyes. “It—my name is [Y/N].”

His lips parted in awe, and he stepped toward you once more. “[Y/N],” he repeated, slowly. Carefully, like a wolf stalking its prey. “Fascinating name. Haven’t met too many of those in my lifetime, shocking as it may be.” He paused for a moment, and you could have sworn his smile looked different. “It’s pretty.”

A rush of heat went shooting down your spine, your stomach doing a flip. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glared at him. “Well, stop dawdling! What’s your real name, Dream?”

For a long, excruciatingly slow minute, he only stared at you, scanning every inch of your face. You could feel anxiety begin to crawl up your throat as he did nothing more than watch the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed.

All of a sudden, he was standing in front of you, his hand tucked underneath your chin and lifting it upward. You barely had the chance to gasp before you felt a soft warmth pressing against your lips, light as a feather and tasting like ash and smoke.

Before you could even register what had just happened, he was gone.

You whirled, your face growing astronomically hot. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears again, but for an entirely different reason this time. You raised your hand to touch your lips while your cheeks burned furiously.

Did he just... kiss me?

Just then, a whisper ran along the shell of your ear, so soft that you almost missed it.

“My name is Clay.”

[ibelily]

The Horsemen

I don’t even know what this is, but it’s been in my head so it needs to get out ! I might make it a multi-chaptered thing, with a chapter for each side if y’all like that idea. Also I’m tagging @demerite​, @lana--22​ and @taki-random​ because you all sencouraged me to write this so it’s really all your fault ... <3

Highschool AU, OC’s Point Of View 

Pairing: none

TW: mentions of suicide, of death, of physical fights (i think that’s it, pls tell me if i missed something)

Length: 2.1k yeaaaah buddy

Also, i apologise if I got any of the biblical references wrong, Wiki was my main ressource

Urgh, I hate firsts. Firsts are always awkward, and ultimately disappointing. At top of the list is definitely the first day of school, especially when your first day happens to be in the middle of the school year. I had just managed to figure out how my locker worked and had turned to walk to my class when I was pulled out of the way just before being bulldozed by a mammoth of a teenager, who walked past as if nothing had even happened. 

I turned to my savior to see someone even shorter than myself, wearing a baggy yellow hoodie and black skinny jeans, with white Converse. They had short, bright red hair that clashed beautifully with their hoodie, and a simple grey backpack was slung casually over one shoulder.

“Sorry about that” they said, letting go of my sleeve. “You were about to get trampled”

“Yeah I noticed” I said as I dusted myself off.

“Haven’t seen you around. You new?” They asked.

“Yeah, first day.”

”That’ll explain it. You’re lucky Famine didn’t flatten you. Usually everyone gets out of his way quickly so he wouldn’t have stopped.”

“Yeah I was worried there for a sec- Hang on did you just say Famine?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a long story. Tell you what, I’ll tell you at lunch, every newbie deserves to know the story.” They stuck out a hand for me to shake, smiling widely. I took it in mine and gave my best firm handshake, surprised at the upfront friendliness.

“I’m Chris, by the way” they said just as the bell rang “... and I’m late for AP History. Meet you here at noon? We’ll go get lunch” I nodded dumbly as they took off in the direction of their classroom. Not bad I thought, I’ve already made a friend. I shrugged my backpack further up onto my shoulder and went to find my own class.

*****

Midday soon came around, and I found myself in the cafeteria with Chris, looking at a surprisingly good school lunch.

“They’re called the Horsemen” Chris started without preamble as we put down our trays and sat in the hard plastic seats.

“The horsemen?” I repeated.

“Named after the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”

“Oh. I’m not a christian, I’ve never heard that story before” I explained.

“Well in the New Testament, in the Book of Revelation, there’s a chapter that talks about a scroll that is sealed with seven seals. The Lamb of God -which is just another name for Jesus- opens four of the seals which brings down the Horsemen, the harbingers of the Apocalypse and of the Judgement Day.”

“Sounds morbid” I joke.

“Well, that’s the Bible for you” They chuckled. We chatted for a while about other things: where I was before, how I was liking the town so far, the usual mundane things. I found I really liked Chris, they had an uplifting personality and I quickly felt relaxed around them, something that didn’t happen often for me.

“Here they come” Chris announced, and I felt the room grow quieter as the door swung open. In walked a gang of five men -they definitely weren’t boys- who ambled their way over to the line to get some food, talking quietly amongst themselves. The other people in the queue tensed at the new additions, but carried on with whatever they were doing. The men didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t seem to care of their intimidating presence.

“That first one is Conquest.” Chris pointed at the first man, beginning their explanation “His real name is Roman, but no one calls him that anymore. He is what is commonly referred to as a man-whore. He’ll have sex with anything with a heartbeat. No ties, obviously. It’s just ‘Wham, Bam, thank you whoever’.”

I watched as Roman collected his food. He wore a white and red t-shirt, very form-fitting jeans and stylish sneakers. His hair was impeccably quiffed, and there was no denying his good looks. He shot a charming smirk at the lady serving him, and she turned bright red and giggled.

“He looks good, but I don't see how he’s so terrible” I defended.

“There's just something about him. Everyone knows how he operates and yet people fall under his charm and they're goners. They fall in love with him, and he knows it. He uses them for whatever he wants: information, tasks he doesn’t want to do, you name it. Once he's slept with someone, they become one of The Conquered. Half the school has been conquered by him so far, students and teachers alike.”

“Have you been... Conquered?” I asked tentatively. They chuckled in response.

“No, we asexuals are immune to his powers, a fact that annoys him greatly”

Conquest sat down at an empty table, casually ignoring all the loving eyes that followed him across the room. I turned back to the line as Chris continued.

“The next one is War. Real name: Logan. Don’t be fooled by the shirt and tie, he’s definitely the scariest of the four.”

Looking at Logan, I found that hard to believe. He was the very definition of ‘White & Nerdy’. He wore thick rimmed glasses, a crisp black shirt with every button done up, a bright blue tie fastened securely around his neck, and pressed trousers with smart black lace-ups. He had a neutral expression on his face, almost like a robot.

“How could he possibly be scary?” I asked incredulously. As I spoke, a freshman who wasn’t looking ahead of him walked straight into the man they called War. War turned his head rigidly to stare at the younger boy, who stuttered out a faint apology before running away, tripping over his own feet. War stared at the retreating figure, then returned to what he was previously doing, choosing his dessert.

“War has anger issues. He seems all monotonous, but don’t cross him, whatever you do. He will destroy you, quite literally. The last guy who pissed him off ended up in hospital for 2 months.” 

“What did he do to anger him?” I gawked.

“No one knows. The stories go from having sex with his sister to tripping him up accidentally in the hallway. He’s also very protective of the others, so crossing them is crossing him.” Chris shuddered slightly and I found myself doing the same. The more I looked at War, the more he creeped me out; He was so robotic in his actions, his face devoid of all emotion. He joined Conquest at the table, sitting down mechanically opposite him.

“I suppose you’re already acquainted with Famine.” Chris joked, and I turned my head back to where Famine was filling his plate with everything in front of him.

“The name’s kind of ironic; He’s on the wrestling team so he eats a lot.” In contrast with the others, Famine seemed massive. Although he was of similar height, he was at least twice as wide. His blue shirt strained against his biceps and upper back as he leaned forward to grab even more food for his piled up plate. Everything about him was big.

“He doesn’t say much, but when he does speak you listen. If he tells you to do something, you do it. He’s got this authoritative tone in his voice that makes you feel like you have to obey. I reckon it’s the whole being a father thing” Chris shrugged.

“He’s a father?! He’s still in highschool!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah, he’s got two kids. Twins. Not many people know about them though. I only found out because I overheard a conversation between the four of them a while back. They’ve taken to calling him ‘Dad’ as a joke. His real name is Patton I think, but like all the others his name isn’t really used anymore”

As Famine sat down with the others, his plastic seat squeaked as he put all his weight on it. Without saying a word the other two gave him things off their plates to add to his mountain of food, Conquest holding out the kiwi in his hand with a disgusted look on his face.

Then the man that I assumed was the fourth Horseman stepped up to pay. He was slightly shorter and skinnier than the others, wearing a large black hoodie with black jeans and black sneakers. As he turned his head I noticed large purple bags underneath his eyes; It looked like he never slept.

“Who is he then?” I asked curiously.

“That’s Death.”

“Death?”

“Yup. I don’t know his real name, in fact I don’t think anyone does. He doesn’t like it so he makes the teachers and everyone call him either Death, and sometimes Anxiety.”

“That’s…weird”

“He gets called Anx most of the time anyway. He’s probably the least intimidating of the four, he’s actually quite nice, if a bit quiet. I had Art class with him last semester and we actually got on pretty well.” They explained. I watched as he took a seat with the others, jumping in and joining in on the conversation already taking place between them. He made a quick remark at Conquest, making Famine guffaw loudly and put his arm around his shoulders, ruffling his hair. Looking at them interact, it was hard to imagine that any of them could be as horrid as Chris made them out to be.

“So why is he a Horseman?”

“Because of his reputation. There’s apparently a curse on him that means that anyone who gets close to him dies”

My eyes widened and I whipped my head around to stare at Chris.

“Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately. His parents died in a car accident when he was young, and he didn’t have any living relatives so he got shuffled around the care system for years. Apparently most of his foster parents died not long after taking him in, and others just dumped him back in the system. When he first came here he made friends with a girl. Her name was Emmy. She committed suicide three months later.”

“Oh my God, that’s heartbreaking.” I took another glance at him, and he had retreated slightly from the group, eating his lunch in silence.

“Anx sort of shut himself away after that, refusing to talk to anyone, not that he did much talking to begin with. It wasn’t until the gang decided to take him under their collective wings that he started to talk again. Now he’s the one that calms them down when they go a bit too overboard.”

I got a perfect example of that as a small commotion erupted from their table, making everyone’s heads turn to watch. War was standing up and leaning over the table, staring down angrily at Famine, who was staring back just as menacingly. I don’t know what had happened, but War’s face was getting increasingly red, and a vein had popped up on his forehead. Calmly, Anxiety got up and placed a gentle hand on Logan’s shoulder. The other snapped out of his staring contest to look at Anxiety. No words were exchanged, but Logan nodded at Anxiety and the pair sat back down. War extended a hand out to Famine who slapped his own against it, then they bumped fits and carried on the conversation they’d previously been having. For his part, Conquest hadn’t flinched at the interaction, he’d carried on eating his burrito as if it were a common occurrence. The whole scenario was bizarre, to say the least.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I turned back to the food line and remembered the fifth member of the group. He’d also paused at the interaction, but he’d quickly turned back to pick out his food.

“So who’s the fifth one? I thought there were only four horsemen” I asked.

“There are. That’s Thomas. He’s sort of like their ringleader. He’s the worst one of all”

I took a moment to watch him, and was surprised when he smiled and thanked the server for his food before picking up his tray and making his way to the table.

“He looks nice enough to me”

“Everyone thinks that at first. But you’ll learn, eventually. He’s like all four of the other rolled into one deceivingly sweet package.”

“So what do you call him then, if he’s not a Horseman?”

“What do you think? Who sent the Horsemen in the first place?”

I look at Chris blankly, confused. They lean in towards me, lowering their voice to a whisper. I leant in also, feeling the tension build in the air.

“He’s God, who else?”