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comfortless · 5 months

Text

Outside

but you’re mine (chapter 2 of ?)

🌱 PAIRING: König x fem!reader

🌾 CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <— comes with the territory; all of this being said it’s still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: ambivalence, pining, vague mentions of murder/abduction, very slightly suggestive.

🍃 NOTES: this is so much later coming out than i hoped it would be— apologies! wc: 7k.

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Sleep addled eyes open to reveal the orange glow of a hunter’s moon, soil and clover beneath your nude flesh, the tickle of a dead fern rubbing against your bare calf as a gentle breeze pulls dying leaves from trees and leaves a wake of goose pimples on your flesh. Beneath the light of the moon, you gather your bearings well enough, the velvety dark creating illusions dancing at the corners of your vision. The shadow of the large antlers of an inquisitive buck pacing about, a woman swaying as a giggle escapes her parted lips, the sound of a pan flute playing some lively tune somewhere off in the distance.

As you sit up, taking in what you’ve believed you’ve just seen, it all quiets. The forest is as silent and still as always. Eyes wide and panicked heart palpitating wildly, you think to cover your most vulnerable parts with a cupped palm and the cross of your arm over the swift rise and fall of your chest.

How you managed to find yourself out in the dark, nude as any animal, is beyond your comprehension. Rationalizing seems futile, since you arrived not a thing has made any sort of sense to you, anyway. Inexplicable things happen, and frankly, it’s becoming quite the nuisance. Whoever has done this, dragged you from your bedroom to leave you in the darkened forest, can very well bet on the fact that they’ve made an enemy out of you. You stand to your feet, brushing dirt and fragments of leaves from the backs of your thighs and rear before concealing yourself once more.

What started as a series of harmless events seems to steadily build like a symphony as the days pass, and you only find comfort in knowing that it’s yet to reach any sort of crescendo. In your previous life, occupied by a mundane job and gray city skylines, if anything were to occur like this you would think your sanity had slipped. Convincing yourself you’re deluded wouldn’t change much here. You’ve tried already, only to find a man you’ve yet to properly meet curled against you in your own bed.

That night, only a week ago, felt like a distant memory now. He hadn’t been back. You had told Kate about it, of course, and in turn she spoke of her nightly visitor too. Someone who called himself John, who kept a cigar on his person when he anticipated speaking with her throughout the night. A loyal friend he was, she had told you, but you hardly had anything kind to say about the monster who had appeared from no where to steal your things, leave a dead bird in your bed, and invite himself beneath your blanket in turn. The only positive you could think of was that he had returned your lily in better health than it was when it had initially vanished. Kate hadn’t seemed particularly concerned, these things don’t usually harm humans in their own realm. It would give too much away, and they liked their secrets, their games.

Vulnerability looks sweet on you as you stumble about, careful to avoid the jagged edges of broken twigs and loose rock against your soles. You’re hopelessly lost, and god only knew how far from home you truly were. A part of you doesn’t want to play, to give whatever did this the satisfaction of seeing you break down as you spend your night desperate to return to shelter. It’s strange to feel such fear and anger at the same time, the sort of complex mixture of emotions that had you gritting your teeth as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

“Alright, come out, already! Take me back!,” You shout in a moment of weakness, realizing you’ve not progressed whatsoever. You could have sworn you’ve passed this same crooked oak twice already, it’s trunk bending so oddly it resembled someone kneeling in prayer. The air only seems to grow further still at your outburst, and your mind supplies a thought that rids your anger and only increases the fear. You shouldn’t have done that. How could someone so helpless be making demands to something capable of doing something like this on a whim, after all?

To your horror, your exclamation is answered by the metered sounds of footfalls in the darkness, heavy and deliberate. The worst of them only liked to come out at night, Kate had warned you over tea the morning after your visitor had made his appearance. Not all of them, but most. Some were perverse, foul-tongued and inhumanly horny. Some were volatile and quick to anger. Some were simply hungry, luring people out just like this to drag them back to whatever pocket of unreality they had stalked out of to bring so many just like you back to devour in the comfort of their lair.

The sounds draw nearer, coupled with a deep intake of breath, no doubt to take in your scent. It’s the gnashing of teeth that spurs you to run, clamoring through prickly nettles, shredding the soles of your feet on pine cone and loose stone. It gives chase, maneuvering with ease through the woodsy terrain, uprooting bushes and tearing through clover beds in its wake.

“Come…” The voice is a warbled mockery of human speech, fluctuating in a tone that seems it’s speaking from its belly rather than its throat. Even a well taught canine could speak better.

“Come...”

A shriek is ripped from your throat when you hear the creature no longer behind you, but in front of you. It chitters loudly, breathes deep once more. You brace yourself for the feeling of clustered, crooked fangs piercing into your exposed flesh, but… that pain never comes.

Your eyelids flutter when you hear an inhuman wail of pain, see the silhouette of two massive beasts scuffling about before you. Some morbid shadow puppet show, filled with grunts and screeches. There’s a distinct, wet ripping noise followed by the blackened spray of entrails hitting the bark of the trees that surround.

The thing that had been in pursuit of you sounds like a squealing pig as it falls into a puddle of its own blood, weakly thrashing about until a prolonged gasp leaves it. Silence would follow, if not for the sounds of your own ragged breathing.

The victor merely rolls his broad shoulders, tilts his head to look at you as you take a step back. You catch sight of a veil hanging over his head, and as your gaze travels lower you see the glimmer of blood on clawed fingertips. The creature from your room, the irony of the thing you had feared so now becoming your savior.

Perhaps seeing how easily he ripped one of his own kind apart should have terrified you. Yet you find yourself oddly consoled, eager to see something familiar in the dark.

“Thank you,” you huff out before you can catch yourself. No thanking them. There’s no taking it back, even as Kate’s voice rings out in your mind, you don’t even make the attempt to correct yourself. In spite of her warning, nothing happens. The man takes a slow step toward you, careful almost, as though the thought of making you flee was something he actually considered. It’s entirely opposite from how you know him to be, forced cuddles and gifts of rot. Still, you’ve been lucky to avoid some grisly end on this night, and the consequences of your gratitude quickly fall from your mind just as a tear slips down your cheek.

He seems lost in thought as the glow of blue irises lock onto you, reflective under starlight visible through the holes torn in his veil, before he removes the cloak covering his body and places it gently over your shoulders. His hands linger as he gently strokes your arms only to reluctantly draw away.

“Reizendes.” You don’t need to ask what the word means, the way his gaze softens as he stares down at you tells all. It’s the same look you saw Ghost give to Johnny’s grave. Albeit, a little less tame. His stare isn’t just appreciative, something carnal lurks beyond those eyes.

You don’t know why this man, this creature, is drawn to you. Why he looks at you the way that he does, why he came here to save a defenseless human woman. There’s so little reason, so little time given to be worthy of such a strange devotion. Simple curiosity seems an impossibility, Kate’s been here longer than you and she didn’t seem to know just what you referred to when you described him to her. There’s a pleading in your tear-filled eyes as your gaze meets his own. Why me?

The man takes another step, lowering himself just enough to look into your eyes as his widen. It’s the first time you’ve been face-to-face, somewhat. His hand raises, claws drawn inward toward his palm as he considers reaching for you, though he drops it back to his side the moment you dart your tongue out to nervously wet your lips.

“I need to get home.”

“Ja. I will come with you.” He says it as though it’s the most obvious thing to suggest, the only logical way to end a night like this.

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

His eyes seem to crease at the corners in amusement, you imagine a sharp-toothed grin beyond the fabric hiding himself away from you. “You have already slept with me.”

Your reaction seems to be exactly what the fae expects, your lips parted and face warmed from embarrassment as your eyes go wide in surprise. “What— no, don’t say it like that!” To your chagrin, he has the audacity to laugh, a gravely rumble from his solid chest. A pretty sound, a haunted church bell, something you can’t place.

“You can stay with me.”

“Why would I do that?” You’re glaring at him, but you get the sense he knows there’s no bite to your harsh look whatsoever.

“You owe me, ja?”

You’re caught in a strange stasis between comfort and disgust, really. Your room’s felt colder at night since a week ago, even with your window shut tight, curtains drawn, and every blanket you owned piled atop you, none of it could bring back the warmth you felt tucked against him. Yet, here, beneath a pumpkin moon, you still can’t put together what exactly he is and your mind is like a banshee, screaming out for you to leave. Even with his cloak pulled tight around you, fur lining soft on your flesh, you still shiver from the breeze. The running, the confusion and fear. The defiance is clear in your eyes, but the exhaustion is evident everywhere else, from the rapid rise and fall of your chest to the blood staining your bare feet.

The fae doesn’t hesitate as he plucks you from the leaf-ridden ground and tosses you over his shoulder as though you weigh little more than a twig. His hand curves over your lower back, keeping you in place. Though you make your displeasure known with a grumbled string of curses, you’re only met with the touch of his clawed thumb flittering along your side as if in consolation. His touch is something that brings you an odd calm. You’ve considered that since your impromptu meeting if he’s got some sort of magic laced into his fingertips, making you pliant, or perhaps you’re a bit more accepting of his strange courtship than you would ever allow yourself to believe.

“You’ll take me home in the morning,” you whisper, a sulky request.

He huffs, his shoulder seeming to deflate almost imperceptibly beneath your bare tummy. “Ja.”

His strides are great as he begins to walk, clearing through the forest with ease, and he’s careful, careful not to allow any outstretched branches to even make contact with your body. He clutches you tighter when the howling of coyotes could he heard in the distance, rubs at your side each time you shiver. How a monster could be so soft, so attentive is beyond you, but subconsciously you begin to relax just a little more with each passing moment.

He places you back on your feet when you reach a small clearing, a circle of trees surrounding and grass that feels pillowy beneath you. His hands move to your hips, pushing you back as a whine of protest leaves your lips before your back hits a soft nest of furs, cleared away of any debris, right below the lofty gaze of the moon.

“I didn’t like the bird,” you speak up as he sits at your side, you pull his cloak tighter around yourself. The fae cocks his head at you, moving a hand far too large to rest on your knee. You’re confused, so confused. You both want to shield yourself from this titan and open yourself up to him, in bloom. Submissive, but withdrawn.

“I will leave deer next time,” he answers, his blue eyes crinkling again as he grins and leans in to nudge his nose against the side of your neck. “Little doe. Like you.”

Your hand rises to press against the front of his veil, to push him back. He tenses for a moment, but resigns only to push himself closer, nosing at the side of your jaw as he grasps at your waist. It’s futile, really, trying to shove him away but you don’t give up as you twist and writhe against him. “No! Don’t leave dead things in my bed.”

He pulls you tightly toward him, just like the night before. An arm tucked under your neck and one hand splayed over your womb. Your battle lost, banner raised by way of fluttering lashes and parted lips.

“Women like fur and feathers, ja?” There’s a lilt to his voice, both amused and desperate as he practically vibrates against you. “I will give them to you always.”

You busy yourself trying to pry his hand away from your abdomen, making a show of nothing as you weakly push and shove until clawed fingers slot themselves between your own. The simple act of holding his hand snuffs out any bit of fight you had left in you, because damn it all, your heart flutters.

“I don’t want your gifts.”

“What is better then?,” he huffs against your neck, the warmth of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you could swear you felt the graze of teeth just beneath his veil. “To fuck?”

You shake your head furiously at his suggestion, pulling your hand from his and wriggling away from him. “Absolutely not,” you hiss, eyes narrowed as you glare at him only a few inches distance away.

He laughs, and to your horror— your excitement, crawls over you, his hands resting on either side of your head. It’s hard to see in the dark, even as your eyes adjust somewhat, but as the veil flutters with his movement, you don’t catch sight of any monstrous face beneath it, only a man. The glimpse is brief, hardly enough to paint a proper picture, before he softly knocks his forehead against yours and brushes against your face. It stifles you, how a man like this, one that leaves gifts of death and has the stature of a beast could be so very gentle.

“I have missed you,” he breathes against your cheek as he lowers himself atop you, and for the first time you’re realizing he’s just as nude as you are, the cloak the only article of clothing between the two of you. But despite the feel of his regrettably impressive manhood against your thigh, he makes no move to ravish you. In fact, he seems content just covering you like a weighted blanket.

You bite your lower lip, chewing at it as an unwanted surge of arousal pools between your thighs, pressed so tightly together it’s almost painful. Unwanted and quickly over looked. This isn’t simple lust, your heart aches.

“You are so soft,” he continues, lowering his head to hook his chin over your shoulder, a hand stuffed beneath your lower back. “Softer than fur. Softer than feathers.”

“What do you want?,” you ask him for the second time since your meeting. It’s not that you don’t have an idea. He makes it painfully clear with the way he showers you in affection and stares at you as if you’re the only star in the night sky.

Still, he humors you with a response, “Keine ahnung.” Follows it up with a shrug of his massive shoulders and a soft whisper, “I don’t know.”

Yet, he dips his head down, with his lips pressed against yours from just beyond the veil, kisses you softly through the fabric as his hand moves to cup your cheek. The urge to tear yourself away is still there, but quieted, lulled into some sort of comfort. You find yourself reciprocating a little dumbly, unsure of just how to properly kiss with the curtain of fabric in the way. The warmth spreading across your face is dizzying, almost. The sole thought of this feeling predestined beds down in the recesses of your brain.

You think to request that he remove what hides himself from you, yet he pulls away before you can murmur it into his mouth.

“Give me your name.” The words are a demand, indefinitely, and with his size it’s hard not to view them in a threatening light. There’s something else, too: desperation. You’ve already given enough, your gratitude, a debt to be repaid.

You’ve thumbed through some of Kate’s books, the ones separated from the stock of romance novels on her shelves. There wasn’t as much material as you had hoped about these creatures, though you supposed that finding truths about what was not even supposed to exist was bordering on the impossible, anyhow. However, one sentiment seemed to ring out as fact between each meager source— giving him your name is reducing yourself to a possession.

“Show me your face,” you counter, to which he shakes his head with a breathy laugh.

“Not on this night,” he whispers. You find him at your side instead, tugging you close as he hums that very same song that slipped you into sleep just like before.

“Then you won’t have my name tonight, either,” you murmur against his broad chest, languidly pulling yourself closer as you toss the side of the cloak over the both of you like a blanket.

— — —

You don’t want to think about it, the tingling on your lips as though it were truly your first kiss, the way your heart stutters in your chest. Speaking of it seemed somehow worse, as if it would breath life into the memory. The way it weighs on you makes it feel as if it’s already something tangible, a snarling black cat with its claws buried into the shoulder of your coat. It’s raining when you pull your car from the driveway, your keys having turned up digging into your side beneath the sheets after the night you willingly spent wrapped so tightly against him. All the gray somehow made the vibrant oranges and reds of the trees seem dismal, too. You entertain the thought that it’s truly the fact that you’re being haunted by something that rips the intestines of creatures out with his bare hands that’s really causing this wave of misery, but something tells you that it’s the attachment you have to such a monstrosity that truly does it.

He’s done something and you just know it, cinched your heart with some otherworldly fairy bullshit, made the weeks waiting for him to reappear seem utterly unbearable. You feel like some poor housewife, loitering around doing menial tasks while your husband is either gunned down in some foreign battlefield or fucking into some pretty lady a sea’s breadth away. It’s been a month and there’s no sign of him, even visiting with Ghost you no longer feel the stares of the unseen up the walking trail. Just nothing but a hollow in the pit of your gut that taunts you with the suggestion that he won’t be back.

You drown out your thoughts on the ride into town with music, skipping every love song that plays on shuffle with a diligent tap of your thumb on your phone screen. You’ve put no effort into looking nice, a t-shirt several sizes too large and pair of pajama pants beneath your coat. Your eyes look deadened when you meet your own gaze in the rear view mirror. A stupid thing about heartbreak, really, is that you don’t even need too much to feel it. A friendship spanning a mere week could hurt just as badly depending on the circumstances. Feeling some affection for something no other person could possibly get their hooks into only to have him vanish like this almost makes the feeling seem justified. Almost.

Kate and Ghost have been good company. You haven’t told them, but there’s an odd sympathy in Kate’s eyes when she looks at you, she speaks with her passerby friend outside rather than in at night now, and Ghost… Well, he appears more often as a devil dog, shows his teeth and keeps his distance from you. You still have talks, from time to time he tells you about Johnny. He tells you that he’s been lost for a time, but he waits there knowing he’ll come home like any good dog would. It’s just the way he looks at you now, like there’s something looming over you that even he can’t properly detect.

Your solitude helps on dreary days like this, when you can’t pry it out—him, clawing at the corners of your mind.

The town feels just as hushed as everywhere else in this place.

A small street houses old buildings nestled tightly against one another, the brick crumbling and some corners blackened as though some angry soul had tried to burn it all down. It’s the kind of place that feels haunted, you think as you park your car on the mostly empty street, catching sight of your reflection in a shattered window. The thin blue curtains of the building billow outward as if beckoning to you and you tear your eyes away immediately. You don’t want to see anything again. Not him, not another giggling and twirling through clusters of bramble and fern. None of it. It’s decided, a bitter force of your own will.

Yet, when you step foot into the old bakery your mind races with his gift, his promise of more and… would it really be so bad to get him one too? A proper offering, not one that harmed a single living thing. Something soft, like your shared kiss. You step to the counter, noting how coldly the older woman just beyond the pretty cabinet of glazed buns and slices of apple pie eyes you. These days, you don’t feel welcome anywhere, caught in a loop of misplaced pity and loneliness. It’s one or the other, sometimes they overlap.

You pay for a coffee and a sugar bun, tucking the brown paper bag holding it into the deep pocket of your coat before you head back outside and choose to have your coffee on a bench. The wind and rain have lessened, somewhat, falling into a mere drizzle and a featherlight breeze instead. The sound of the earth is much more pleasing to the ear than the void of silence you’ve felt lost in.

Approaching footsteps draw your attention as you take a sip from the paper cup. Your eyes meet a sincere face as he steps towards you, looking a bit uncertain. A cop, no doubt. Perhaps even a rookie. He doesn’t have the hardened face of the standard city police, just a polite smile across his lips, a sort of kind twinkle in his eyes.

“Mornin’,” the cop says to you as he stands to the side of the bench. It’s nice to see someone normal, not unearthly. You offer him a slight pull of your lips, a half-smile.

“Good morning.”

“Kyle Garrick,” he introduces himself, offering his hand out for you to shake. You accept, shaking it twice before drawing your hand back. You hesitate for a moment, but inevitably give the man your name in turn. He is just that, you realize, a human man. “Haven’t ya… well, you’ve seen the news, yeah? Shouldn’t be out on your own like this.” You shake your head slightly, the hand wrapped around your coffee cup falling into your lap. The officer goes on to explain that disappearances occur somewhat frequently around this place. He has the courtesy to spare you the bulk of detailing the state these folks come back in, but your mind can fill in the gaps well enough. Dragged into the dark, a lair filled with teeth. It almost happened to you.

He looks down at you a bit sympathetic for a moment, before he brings himself to continue on. “Not tryin’ to scare you. Just want to make sure you’re aware.”

A shaky sigh leaves you before you bring your cup back to your lips, a long sip lost in thought before you meet the officer’s brown eyes once more. “I’ll be careful,” you respond quietly. “Can’t say the thought of dealing with a serial killer sounds fun at all.”

That earns you a laugh from him. It sounds sweet. Maybe you’re not the most trusting, but Kyle seemed like a good man.

“Can’t say for certain if we’ve got a serial killer at all, but ah— I shouldn’t be tellin’ you all of this, yeah?”

“Sounds like you’re trying to scare me off.”

“No, not at all,” he responds with a shake of his head. “Don’t fret too much. Probably just the grizzlies, the wolves… you know how nature can be.”

“Cruel?”

“Not quite.” He pauses as his brow pinches in thought. “Just… hysterical.”

If only he knew. You don’t have the gall to tell him that what he’s in pursuit of likely wasn’t an animal or a person at all, but some other thing. Kate probably would have outright, you imagine, but you’re not Kate.

He tips his head at you, tugging his black cap down by the brim. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

You nod him off in reply. The wind was starting to pick back up, the sugar bun in your pocket growing cooler with each passing breeze.

— — —

Kate’s been absent more often lately, a small pile of sticky notes left on the countertop all with hurriedly scrawled out ‘Be back soon!’s. When you arrive home, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you to see yet another stuck onto the refrigerator door with the same words written over the blue paper in black ink.

Visiting Ghost proved fruitless. The cemetery was completely empty. It was rare that he wasn’t stationed there, seated like a statue amongst the rows of headstones. Waiting around for him to return seemed irrational. Though he tolerated you well enough, Ghost was an enigma, and seeking out his company felt almost pathetic on your part.

Your hands clench at your sides as you walk the trail back home.

Your frustration is misplaced and you know it, but you’re exhausted with the same scenery. The same four walls surrounding you, the dreary little valley town, the cemetery. When things happen here they spark up your adrenaline in a way nothing else ever could, the high far better than any vice or pleasure you’ve ever accepted. The reverse is a pensive, horrid wait and coupled with this longing, it’s become unbearable.

Kate and Ghost had their secrets that you choose to leave well alone, and you… You realize you’ve got your secrets too as you place the sugar bun on your windowsill as a small offering for him.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he had said.

“I miss you,” you breathe out into the empty air, staring out the window as the rain begins to pick up again.

The sugar bun is gone the following morning and you find flowers in your bed. A bouquet of harebell and Queen Anne’s lace haphazardly tied with a short length of twine.

Late November drags itself in silently. The glass of your window is frosted most mornings, a hand print far too large left against it from the outside. Otherwise, everything is just quieted. Though you’ve rarely seen much wildlife around the house, it seems even more desolate now.

You help Kate set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the den, right by the hearth. The baubles and lights adorning it bring a warmth to you that seems uncanny this time of the year. You stray from your room more often, finding it nice to sit by the warmth of a roaring fire with one of her books in hand. (She tells you that John kindled the flames each time, yet you’ve still never seen them.)

Though you bide your time during the day, nights are your favorite. You leave gifts of honey and small stones, you wake to them gone and often in their place, blooming flowers tied with thin lengths of string. Flowers from someplace far away and less cold, someplace that doesn’t exist for you.

“Leave it alone.”

“Have you ever left it alone?”

Ghost huffs, ears flicked back and eyes narrowed. Try as he might, looking intimidating as a dog was just… impossible for him at least, especially now as he stands on his back legs, paws resting on your windowsill as he inspects your new gift, some strange cluster of unnaturally red pearls and flowers so golden they didn’t seem real. He sniffs at your gifts, black lips drawn back in a very canine expression of disdain. Perhaps you would still think him entirely cute, harmless, if you didn’t know what he had the capability to look like.

“I just want to know… where they’re coming from. You should know.”

“Why would I know what you’re invitin’ in?” Ghost counters as he places his big paws back onto the floor before padding over to your bed and jumping up to snuff at your sheets.

“I just thought I would ask.”

His diligent sniffing pauses for a moment, and you swear you see some recognition in his dark eyes. It’s distant, well guarded, but you feel certain he knows something that he just refuses to tell. The dog falls entirely silent, and you know you’re not getting another word out of him. Not tonight at least.

You had invited him in in hopes for answers, not for more questions, even explained in depth what had occurred that night in the woods. If your eyes were filled with tiny stars as you recounted it all, he hadn’t said a word to acknowledge it.

“Leave it alone.” Ghost repeats when he meets your eyes, dreamily thinking back to him again. Always, a constant gnawing at your mind. “It’ll want more.”

“My name?”

“More.”

“I don’t understand. You don’t want anything more from me, John doesn’t want more from Kate. Why would he be any different?” It sounds pitiful, even to yourself. You wouldn’t know more than Ghost, you’re just desperate. Desperate for the same thing as the fae you spent your nights missing.

Ghost barks out a laugh, surprising even to your own ears. He doesn’t need to say a thing. Black shulk, harbinger of death. A friend, for now, but he knows you’re reckless, knows your time will come eventually. It’s the reason he exists.

He gives you a nod when the recognition floods your face, and almost sympathetically places his massive head in your lap.

Tonight’s the first time he allows you to pet him, trailing your hand down the length of his spine as his wiry fur parts beneath your fingertips. He’s colder than you would expect, colder than the bite of winter outside. You ask him, again, to tell you about Johnny, and in turn, he tells you he’s on his way home.

The chill of Ghost’s stiff body is replaced by the warmth of the fire in the hearth as you lead him back to the door to let him roam into the night after little talk, little introspection.

But something is better than nothing.

The smell of coffee pulls you from sleep, Kate’s humming could be heard from the kitchen, a soft song, one you had heard her play on her record player some nights when sleep dodged you. It’s mornings like these that remind you of just how peaceful things could be here. She hadn’t even seemed to mind how you had fallen asleep on the couch, or Ghost’s dirty paw prints tracked across the hardwood floors. As you stretch and pad over to greet her, a mug of warm coffee is pressed into your hands and she smiles.

“I’ll clean the floor,” you murmur into your cup, a bit sheepish.

“Why? He’s got two hands, doesn’t he?”

You could never grow tired of her laugh, not hers. It’s sweet and so gentle, it almost reminds you of his. There’s love there, an affection born of two lonesome souls finding solace in one another through silly talks of monsters and shared cups of comfort. Kate really has become family to you after only a few short months.

“I suppose so. Want me to drag him back?”

She raises an eyebrow at that, flashes you an unknowing smile, to which you immediately shake your head.

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m teasing you,” she says, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know you’ve got someone else in mind.”

“How did—”

“Ghost.”

You place your mug on the countertop, looking utterly flabbergasted at the fact that he of all people would run telling your roommate about your infatuation with some suspicious stranger. Your face warms, a swell of embarrassment rising from your chest to your temples. It’s not petty, really, he might have your best interest at heart if he truly had one at all, but you weren’t quite ready to tell Kate about the strange gifts or the depth of your longing after a simple kiss. It was more than that, the danger you had been in, the way he had saved you. It felt like much more.

“I should have told you about it all,” you respond tinily.

Kate shrugs her shoulders a bit, idly tapping at her mug as she studies you. You’re stuck feeling like a child again, telling your guardian about some silly crush at school. Thankfully, she doesn’t pry. The look she gives you merely suggests that she wants you to be careful.

— — —

Careful isn’t what you would have called yourself when you pried open your window in the dead of night. You remembered the kneeling tree, the way it slumped over in its prayers to the earth and if you could just find it again, perhaps you could find him. The air outside was frigid, but you prepared as well as your impulsivity would allow; several layers of clothing and a blanket pulled tightly over your shoulders. It isn’t snowing, not so early into the winter here, yet the ledge of the window is still slippery with frozen condensation. You manage to keep yourself stable as you make your descent, grappling at the wall of the cottage to keep yourself upright.

You leave the window open, the light of your table lamp bathing the room in a warm glow, so inviting you nearly forget your motivations to crawl back in. Before the thought takes root, you turn on your heel and storm out into the dark forest.

Nights are a bit more lively, you find. A woman sings someplace far off, an eerie song telling the story of a carriage traveling a dangerous road, something long-forgotten and old. Hoofbeats thunder past you, accompanied by a breeze that chills you down to the bones, yet nothing could be seen, even with the glow of your phone’s flashlight lighting your way. When you do see something, it’s limbs are all crooked and long, mouth wide and filled with sharpened teeth. Its fur cascaded down its back, brown and covered in a light dusting of moss. It merely scuttles past you without a word or so much as a glance.

You know better than ever that this is dangerous, of course, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back. Some part of you believes that if danger comes, he’ll be there to fight it off, time and time again, just like the last.

The bent tree is still in its place when you arrive and try to retrace your steps from that night. Several meters to the left, a desperate sprint forward, and… just as anticipated, your light illuminates the darkened splatter against the bark of the trees where the fae had torn the other apart before your very eyes. There is no carcass, of course, the dried blood is just confirmation that you’re on the correct path. You turn to your right and set off in the direction that the man had carried you.

The glade is empty of pelts when your arrive. In place of the makeshift bed you had shared are only fallen leaves. You expected warmth, the familiar greeting of a figure too tall and broad to wrap you up in his arms, careful with his claws. Careful with you.

You’ve been holding back tears since he disappeared, little exchanges of gifts doing nothing to protect your heart from the weight of what you feel. When you begin your walk home, the dam breaks. Your face is cold from the wetness, the chill of each gust of wind. Heartbroken after a month, but shattered in the winter, unfortunate and weary, perhaps it was best to follow Ghost’s advice and leave it alone. Curious whispers fill the night air, another song and giggles and chimes start up in the distance. In better spirits, maybe you would have followed the sounds of the gathering, lost yourself in silver tongues and mischief.

Your window comes into view after some time, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been out in the cold, but you’re excited to return to your bed, to creature comforts. You reach your hands up to the windowsill, fingers curling over the inward slab of wood as you try to pull yourself back in. Your leg kicks at the side of the house for purchase, only to find none. With a small yelp, you fall onto your rear.

Sneaking out was for children with curfews, not an adult— why hadn’t you just used the door? You’re beating yourself up for your own silly decisions, trying to climb up again when a pair of strong hands reach behind you to tug you back against a firm chest. Your breath catches, panic settling in your guts until your side is stroked with a touch so tender a new wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Little one…,” a voice coos behind you, a veil pressed against the back of your head as he lowers himself down to your height, his arms still curled around you protectively.

“Where have you been? I… I missed you, and you didn’t…” You trail off, feeling so small, so caught up in your own feelings. The sentence is left unfinished as you twist around in his grip to wrap your arms around his middle, face buried into his chest.

“You told me not to come to your room.” He sounds confused, hurt. He tilts your head up to catch your eyes and his soften in time with just a look.

You hadn’t expected him to take the comment about an invitation so literally. His consideration almost stings. The words were said with conviction at the time, assured that you hadn’t wanted a monster in your bed, but couldn’t he see how that had changed? Hear how your heart fluttered now? He’s different, so unlike you in a way that confuses and enraptures you, some long-forgotten god out of touch with human conventions.

“I liked your gifts this time.”

His grip around you tightens momentarily, as though trying to embrace you further, pull you deeper into his chest to keep you locked tight in his heart entirely.

“I loved yours, little one.”

“Tell me who you are and you can come in whenever you like,” you huff out in promise, a cloud of your own breath puffing between you and the broad chest you had grown to admire so.

He curls a hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you against him as he lowers his head to kiss you through the veil once more. It’s warm, even as your blanket slips from your shoulders and falls to the ground. The fur of his cloak drapes around you in a better replacement as you return his affections. The kiss is just as chaste as the last, but the sentiment in it far out measures the contact.

He’s still yours. He never truly left.

“My name is König.” He tells you as he pulls away to carefully lift you from the ground and raise you up to the windowsill with so little effort it makes your knees weak. You pull yourself in and turn to look back at him. His gaze is adoring, yours must be too. You feel the way your eyelids slacken, the smile pulling at your lips.

You accept your blanket from him as he offers it and slot your fingers between his once the cover is cast aside. His hand covers yours almost entirely as it curls over yours. The claws look even more wicked in the low light of your room, but you don’t fear him. Not even a little. This time is so much different. It’s scarier to imagine spending another night without him wrapped around you.

It’s not the flowers, the furs, or the feathers that you want. It’s shallow kisses and blackened claws and the feeling of having a titan at your beck and call. It’s the way your heart flutters and your stomach twists with the thrill of falling in love that you long for.

“Come in, König.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #konig x reader #König #Konig #cod fanfiction #call of duty

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enbyobeyme · 1 year

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MC Becomes A Child But Angst

Prompt: Mc becomes a child again, but they did not have a good childhood to begin with...

AN: This is also an old work of mine that I'm reposting before I delete my old blog, may be a bit dated. I may rewrite this. Takes place in OG game

TWs: Mentions of Child Abuse, Scars, ect. GN per usual. Cringe writing

Vague Edgy Intro For Background.

You remember it since you were young. The live vivisections performed on you, the practice of fusing angels and demons to create your “God”. You were sadly the perfect catalyst for their experiments.

You have seen horrors beyond comprehension, atrocities that show the worst side of man, the lowest point that mortals could hit. Cults were draining. Worship after worship, recruitment after recruitment, experiment after experiment. You had demon and angel prisoners that you befriended in the cult before they were dragged away and eventually killed or turned into some beast...

You grew sick of it- that’s why you ran. How you managed to fight off or completely avoid the Silent Hill-esque monsters but... You did. From that day on you hid any marks, stitches, scars, or tattoos on your body were hidden. You did everything to hide your past, getting rid of any tracker on you, even trying to drain yourself of any demon or angel blood they injected you with.

You weren’t going to be turned into any ‘God” any time soon. To think, that poor angel Lilith had her grave robbed for the blood that now runs through your veins… Despicable.

I can’t imagine how your MC felt to have been summoned by demons? There was at least some level of fear or anxiety, no? Either way, let’s skip past that. You don’t know how, but some type of spell has been cast onto you, turning you into a kid. The same fragile kid from all those years ago. It wasn’t as happy as the brothers hoped for.

Lucifer

Your eyes were dull as you sat in the corner, you didn’t look at anything but the floor like you were waiting for instructions. Your body shivered and you looked so broken. “MC? Are you okay?” No response, not even a glance at him. It was unnerving, to say the least.

He was by your side in an instant once he heard the news. The way you backed away from him warily though didn’t throw him off, at first, he was a stranger to you after all. It wasn’t until he got back to his office to work while looking after you.

You seemed to have something in your hands that you hid even more as he approached. You looked over at him miserably and started to shake more. You never talked much about any parents or any childhood memories- you often skipped over conversions where Asmodeus badgered you for pictures of your young self. Is this why?

His heart hurts a bit as he puts the pieces together. He notices your grip on whatever is in your hands, loosening, he leans in trying to see what it is. Lucifer is taken aback when you hold out a small rusted knife towards him, it was blunt and old, and shaking in your grip.

“P-Please, get away from me, You’re going to hurt me too! They’re going to hurt you!” Lucifer kneeled down showing his hands to you before offering one to you. “I’m not going to hurt you, please come with me…” You shook, eventually putting the blade away. Lucifer reached out slowly to cup your cheek.

You were soon on his lap as he worked. He noticed that you looked over at the stack of papers, grabbing the sheet he was finished with you added it to the right pile. “How do you know to do paperwork?” “I had to earn food by helping out with chores.” He frowned at that.

”Your parents made you work?” “I don’t think I have parents. The leaders said they made me. It all clicked at that moment. “You were- you are in a cult?” You nodded, going back to organizing papers. It was silent for a moment. “You’re a nice demon. I hope they don’t hurt you too.” “Oh? What do you mean?” “A lot of demons or angels that get summoned get hurt. Sometimes, they’re dissected, and I have to help.” Lucifer couldn’t help but hold you a bit tighter. He felt awful for what you were implying.

He tried to ask you directly about the cult, but all he got were soft ‘sorry I can’t tell you that, I’ll get hurt’s’ in response. Dinner soon came, you refused to go out to the table without panicking, and trying to pull away from Lucifer if he tried to walk you there, so he brought food to you. Your eyes lit up as if you couldn’t believe that you were allowed food, you wolfed it down before anyone can take it from you. Afterward, he was able to walk you to your room to rest. “Wait, Mr. Lucifer, before you go” Lucifer looked back as your small child self waddles up to him to hug him. “Thank you, I don’t want you to leave me alone again.” He offered to sleep with you, you nodded profusely.

In the morning, you were grown again. Lucifer asked if you remembered anything from your kid self. You were silent before nodding. “Don’t mention any of it, to anyone. I’ve already dealt with and accepted it.” Lucifer nodded. This will be your little secret.

Mammon

When he heard Solomon shout in surprise during your magic practice, he knew something was up because that bitch never made noise. When he entered the room he saw a small child pointing a blade at the sorcerer. “Where’s MC?! Are they okay?!” “That IS MC. They messed up the spell and got turned into a kid”

You backed up, pointing the blade in front of you, “H-how do you know me.” It came out more like a statement than a question. You overheard the white-haired man, ‘Solomon’ Excuse himself along the lines of ‘Oops, I have to be somewhere’ for some reason this felt familiar. And that is how you got stuck with Mammon.

It took him a bit to convince you to put down the boxcutter, and you only did because you can sense the dumbassery off this guy and you could read him like a book, it would be able to tell when he would want to hurt you. You hid the boxcutter.

Mammon seemed to be on the phone with someone named ‘Lucifer’ you kept your distance. You heard all kinds of stories about the Seven Deadly. For someone in the cult to be named after them, or for a poor demon that was summoned and called by the sin they were strongly associated with was someone important. Important people tended to be the cruelest.

Mammon didn’t know what to do with a kid. Kids like the outdoors, right? Maybe he can get you some icecream? He noticed immediately that you dragged behind even as he offered you ice cream. You were a strange kid for sure.

At the ice cream store you just looked down. “Don’t you want anything?” you shook your head, it’s a trick, a trap, no one would be this kind to you. Mammon could tell something was up, you seemed so scared and hollow, just looking down at the ground. Mammon put a hand on your shoulder, causing you to shrink away. Sometimes he would’ve done the same when he knows he pissed off Lucifer. Were you okay?

“Hey,” his voice was gentle, “it’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you, come on, I got a coupon for a free ice cream anyway!” He didn’t but it might make you feel better. You felt like you had no choice, and zone out, when you zoned back in, there was an ice cream cone dripping onto your hand as you walked through the Devildom. A rare sweet treat that might be taken from you, you quickly lick it up, not knowing when an opportunity for food will present itself to you.

Mammon seemed nice, he talked to you and he even let you go up to an actual playground. You weren’t used to seeing a lot of kids together, especially so happy. It took a bit of Mammon coaxing you into trying to go down the slide. It was… fun. You asked Mammon to play with you.

After what seemed like an hour you both went home, for the first time in a while, you smiled. You were in Mammon’s room looking at all the shiny things in his room. “Thank you, Mammon,” you seemed to speak at a high level than other kids your age, Mammon noted, “I’m not really allowed to go outside.” Mammon frowned and asked, “Why not?” “The robed guys said people might see my marks and get me in trouble. And there was a big forest with all types of monsters.”

Robed guys, monsters? “Err, uhh. What kind of mark?” “Do you promise not to tell anyone?” “I promise.” You slowly pulled up a small part on the side of your shirt, exposing a long surgery scar going up your stomach, and a brand of sorts next to it. Mammon was taken aback. He pulled you close and examines you, on your chest were even more scars, some more brands it seemed like. You freaked out at him grabbing you and started kicking and crying. “Let me go! Let me go”

The box cutter from earlier came out of your pocket, into your hand, Mammon narrowly avoided it, catching your arm. “Woah woah woah! Chill, kid!” You dropped the box cutter and Mammon pulled you in for a hug. You were unfamiliar with it, but it felt nice.

You ended up falling asleep on Mammon. He wanted you to change back ASAP. There was a lot of things he wanted to ask you.

Leviathan

When you were transformed into a child, you just saw a white-haired man around a bunch of magic things and weird sigils. He looks like he was wearing a robe too, bad news. You looked around for something, anything that could help defend you, you usually always had a pocket knife on you and you felt in your pocket. Grabbing it, you knew it would a bad thing to fight, so you ran.

This house was big and had a lot of hiding spots, you ran up the stairs, knife in hand, sneaking around. Where was there to hide, you heard music from one place, chatting from the next, you saw an open door, peeking in, there appeared to be no one, it was definitely someone’s room though. Covered in strange aquariums and many odd… mini statues everywhere.

It was at least something to work with though, lots of things were in here. You closed and locked the door, barricading it with everything you could. There had to be something in here that’s useful, a key, a weapon, even some vents that may lead outside. Maybe the aquarium leads somewhere you can swim to. You began your search.

You opened every possible thing you can open, there had to be something, anything to help you, knocking over statue after statue, book after book. All you found were sewing needles and thread. You pocketed them, good for stitches. Soon you heard knocking at the door and some ramming into it. “What the hell?! Who locked my door. MAMMON YOU BETTER NOT BE IN THERE I’LL KILL YOU!”

Oh no. Oh no. No, nononono. You had a small pocket knife and NEEDLES. That wouldn’t be enough for a fight. Maybe you can hide in the pile of soft human-shaped pillows and sneak attack him? There was nowhere else to hide, you dived in. The door broke open, you held your breath and gazed at the intruder through the plushes. A demon. You know a demon when you see one. You hope he doesn’t recognize your smell. “Mammon! Where are you?! Ugh, you trashed my room! I KNOW you’re in here!”

You started to run out of breath, and let out the smallest exhale. A normal human could not have heard, but a demon could. “Found you.” Levi started to sift through the plushies. Now or never, the door was still open. You leaped out trying to make it towards the door. You were too slow, Levi leaped forward, shutting the door. You kicked at his ankle pointing your knife to him. “Leave me alone! Get away, demon! I’ll hurt you!” Your voice was raspy and you started to sob, swinging at Levi.

The commotion was heard by the other brothers, already informed about what happened by Solomon, the door opened, which squished you between the wall. Levi picked you up like an aggressive cat as you continued to kick and scream. “I-if you hurt me, the cult would never forgive you! They’ll hurt you too! Just put me down and I’ll leave you alone. Please!!!” You were handed to Satan, who actually understood how to console a child from his reading habits.

They were discussing something, you didn’t care. They were all outside Levi’s room. You couldn’t run anywhere but there. You bit Satan’s hand, making him drop you, as you book it back into the pile of plushies. Hidden once more, you can only hope they would leave alone. They did, kind of. Maybe they were waiting for you to come back out? It was hard to tell. You were hungry. Maybe there were some crunchy bugs in here- or maybe that tank had something in it. A goldfish. It was something.

Right as you came out of the plushie pile, Levi came back in. You ran back in and shook. “I don’t taste good! Leave me alone!!” Levi would have laughed if you didn’t sound so terrified and he couldn’t hear your stomach rumble. Levi crept in. This was his room after all. He searched around his shelves for something. “Hey, are you hungry, I have some Ruri-Chan crackers. Come on out.”

Nothing. They were sealed, sealed food was usually safe, you stuck out your hand, expecting him to toss it. You let out a noise of displeasure as he approached. He froze. Levi isn’t good with kids. He placed the pack down near the pile. He was too tired for this, he just wanted to play his Waifu games…

You grabbed the crackers pulling them into the pile and started to feast as Levi gamed. Levi hated the silence with you eating. Usually, you both would talk as you game, this felt wrong that he was ignoring you. Occasionally, as he played, he would talk to you. “This character kinda sucks, their DPS output is trash but they look so cute.”

After a while, you snuck out of the pile, slowly approaching him, and sitting next to him to watch the pretty colors on screen. Levi noticed and handed over a controller. “Want to play?” You hesitantly took it, as he told you what to do. You spent most night playing games until you passed out. In the morning, you didn’t mention anything from the day before. Shushing the demon if he mentioned anything.

Satan

He felt a spell fail. He knows that was never a good thing. He should check on you, you are always dragged into these things. He wasn’t expecting to see a mini-you having a standoff, boxcutter in hand with Solomon who’s clothing seemed to be ripped up from where you tried to protect yourself. You looked so serious.

“What the fuck is going on?” Solomon explained. Great, a de-aging spell. He would have to figure this out. Satan sighed and told Solomon to leave. You never talked about being a kid, sometimes excusing it when anything about it was brought up. As you saw the sorcerer leave and the demon try and calm you down, you pieced it together that he won’t hurt you. For now.

That’s how you ended up in his room surrounded by books. You backed up in the corner keeping your eyes on Satan as he tore up his bookshelves looking for something to reverse this. You watched from afar.

You decided to look around his stuff yourself. Lots of weird demon shit to start with. Most you recognized. You picked up an old tome with a seal that you’ve seen a million times, instinctually, you broke the seal and opened it. Usually, these tomes have something of importance in it. “Don’t touch that!” You dropped it immediately and cowered, expecting to be hit.

Satan froze seeing you cover your head, guilt rising. He noticed that the tome no longer had that damned seal he couldn’t break. How did you…? Satan rested a hand on your shoulder. “I’m not mad at you, MC, I was scared.” You didn’t seem convinced and just looked away.

Satan decided to change the subject. “How did you break the seal on this, hmm?” “I… I know that book.” “You know the book?” “Yeah, the leaders always put those seals on their tomes to protect what’s inside. Only other cultists can open it…” Satan took a glance inside, it mainly detailed a lot of illustrations and descriptions of demons, angels, captives… surgeries… ungodly experiments…

So you grew up in a cult? It must have been awful. Satan tries to change the subject for your sake, you must not want to talk about it. He lit a small, harmless flame in the shape of a small kitty and watched your eyes lit up. “Hey, want to help me out with some magic?” You nodded, shyly.

You were now in his lap, both drawing kittens and look at small photobooks of cats while he also read book after book, looking for some type of spell to reverse it. He glanced over to your drawings as they started to lean into darker territory. Drawings of cats turned into sacrifices of animals. The number 777 was drawn everywhere.

t was the same number as the mark on the back of your neck-wait. Mark on the back of your neck… He glanced at your neck, gently brushing your hair back to show the mark. 777. Huh… He looked back at the spellbook. Finally, a spell to reverse this shit.

A few minutes later, you were back. You and Satan stared at each other, no words were spoken as you went to go grab that damned book from the shelf. You sat next to Satan and skimmed through it, photo after photo, article after article. You see a good chunk of the book titled “The Experiment of Subject 777”

You tore out that chunk, ripping it up and throwing it in the fireplace, handing the rest of the book back to Satan. ”Burn it. Read it. I don’t care…”

Asmodeus

Asmodeus was thrown aback when Solomon called him, telling him what just happened. He zoned out at “Mc is now a baby!” and he was excited to see how cute you looked. He heard something along the lines of you’ll change back in a few hours.

Asmo didn’t care, he snagged you, cradled you, and carried you off into his room. He didn’t even realize the state you were in, afraid and once again covered in the old scars on your body from your childhood returned. He went off to his room putting you down and immediately going to the closet all while saying how much fun the two of you would have.

The smile dropped when he turned around and saw a poor broken child covered in scars of all kinds, surgery scars across the chest, what seemed like self-harm ones on your legs, and that doesn’t even mention the bruises. He remembered asking if you had any pictures from when you were a kid and how uncomfortable you seemed. He can recognize abuse easily.

“Oh, sweetie…” The demon invited you into his arms hugging you and rubbing your back. For some reason the kindness in his voice made you cry. You held onto him as he pats you back. “Come on sweetie, let it all out…”

After what seemed like forever, you had no more tears to cry. Asmodeus knew what could make you feel better. He started to get out some self-care stuff. Showed you facemasks, lip masks, lotions, creams.

He even got out some cucumbers to put over your eyes. You were completely spoiled. It was nice to actually be cared about. After a bit of coaxing, Asmodeus asked to see some of the scars on your body, there is a possibility that you could be injured.

Asmo felt sick. Surgery scars across your chest and stomach, brands across your back and collarbones. It was sickening how someone could do this to a child. Asmo has connections. He recognized the brands all across your body from the cult you were in.

He has seen their members raid the parties he was in, how they walked off with a bunch of intoxicated demons, or snag them using hooks into their wings and forcing them away. He’s heard of the torture demons had endured. Blood experiments. Fusion. The creation of a ‘god’. You were forced to be in there huh?

Asmodeus know that it is not a topic you would want to talk about. He decided that instead, you both should keep your mind off of it. Maybe a few hours of body-positive selfies and watching drama shows and doing makeup will keep your mind off of it.

Beelzebub + Belphegor

Belphegor was asleep as you and Solomon performed spells. He was woken up by a scream followed by crying. Anyway long story short, he ended telling Solomon to fuck off while pulling you away from him. He was too tired to try and ask how to undo the speel so he just went over to his twin’s shared room.

Beel saw a tiny child you and his eyes lit up at the sight of a child. It disappeared quickly when you fucking sucker-punched Belphie and gave him a swift kick into his gut. “Damn demon, get away from me. What are you doing?! Are you trying to die?!”

Belphie dropped you and you already prepared to fight, your body was telling you to scream- run away, get out. You stood your ground. You glared at them. The demons were both shocked. Beel approached you, grabbing you in one swift motion. You squirmed and thrashed. Nothing.

Beel saw the hatred in your eyes along with the hurt. Beel also noticed the brands across your body, he dropped you out of shock, before he caught you again. “Belphegor… Look” Belphegor had never seen his twin look so sad. He went over and looked at what Beelzebub was pointing at. A large cult brand covered your body.

That cult was linked to various disappearances around the Devildom. It has been around for ages as well. He had seen firsthand what they could do- hell Belphegor remembers how they tried to kidnap him when he was an angel. An angel.

Beel remembered the meeting with Diavolo discussing the disappearances and even massacres of their fellow demons. Seeing how they branded a child at such a young age. His stomach churned at the idea of your childhood.

They were snapped out of their thoughts when you smacked your head back into Beels, making him drop you on the floor. You pushed yourself under one of the beds, away from the twins. They couldn’t squeeze their whole body under here and their arms would never reach.

Belphegor lied down and kept trying to reach for you with an ‘ugh, come here brat’. You kept away. At some point, you fell asleep from all the adrenaline leaving your body. You woke up a bit later in someone’s arms. You overhead a conversation with another person.

“This spell should wear off soon, I’ll watch over-” “No, I got them.” Your eyes fluttered open and were met with the below view of Beel’s chin. He held you protectively and walked back to his room alongside Belphegor. Belphegor made eye contact with you.

“Hi…” “...Hey. Gonna kick me again, little-” “Belphie. Leave them alone.” Belphie scowled as Beel set you down on his twin’s bed. You sat up and shyed away. “...Thank you… for not hurting me.” Beel frowned and the overwhelming urge to crush you in a hug overwhelmed him, but he knew it would scare you.

Beel sat beside you, offering a snack, on your other side, Belphegor lied down and turned on the TV. You got to watch some DemonTV. As time went off your belly was full and Belphegor was a comfortable pillow for you. You all fell asleep in a sandwich.

When you woke up, you were back to normal, no more brands, no more scars. The twins looked over at you, you can tell that they pitied you to an extent. You know that they’re worried about you too. “No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

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existennialmemes · 2 months

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Nikola Tesla: You will live to see man made horrors beyond your comprehension.

Me: Sweet!

Nikola Tesla: No, listen, you will see technology that could've been used for the betterment of all, instead used to do unfathomable evil.

Me: Ok, but you mean that in a kinda sexy and fun way, right?

Nikola Tesla: I really can't stress enough how much I do not.

#nikola tesla #man made horrors #beyond my comprehension #monster lovers #the horrors #incorrect quotes #bad history

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roach-works · 2 years

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“you may live to see man-made horrors beyond your comprehension,” like, sure, fine, god forbid a woman do anything

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shitswiftiessay · 6 months

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“you will live to see man-made horrors beyond your comprehension”

#help #imagine having all that talent and using it for… THAT #shit swifties do #shit swifties say #anti taylor swift #creepy as fuck #horror

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elbiotipo · 2 years

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"Fernando are you implying that CFK is an anime gacha waifu 2000 years in the future" I don't think we'll have to wait that long

#cosas mias #you may live to see man-made horrors beyond your comprehension

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his-red-right-hand · 3 months

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his red right hand, Chapter Six

“So, what’s your favourite scary movie?”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. It was him. He found you. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry, your stomach doing an odd flipping thing that you’re pretty sure wasn’t related to your dinner. Wait, shit, he asked you a question. Scary movies, right.

“What kinda scary movies you talking about? Like, there’s lots of different types; and I got different favourites depending on the type. Like, do you want to know what slow creeping scary I like, or like monsters from beyond the stars and outside of comprehension scary? Do you mean gothic scary, where it’s building tension more and more until it all breaks at once, or lots of little jump scares to keep the popcorn flying? Are we just implying violence or is blood splattering everywhere? Or do you just mean masked men with knives chasing around after barely dressed girls?”

There was a pause, oh god you’d fucked it all up, stupid horror obsessed stoner brain; then a chuckle, dark and rich broke you from your spiralling thoughts. “I kinda like the sound of that last one. Maybe with the blood splattered everywhere to.” You could hear a soft rumble from him across the phone line. “You looked so pretty wearing yours.”

Your heart seizes in your chest, letting out a shaky breath as your mind flashed back to being there in that moment, the wall pressed into your back and him so closely against you as he made you bleed. “Are you going to come and kill me?”

“Not changed your mind about that? No brush with death to make life more worth living?”

“If anything it made me want it more.”

The voice changer made it a little crackly, but that was an undeniable groan from him. “You want me to break into your house, hold my knife up against your throat and make you beg me for it?”

“Yes.” Your knees started to shake as you pictured it, sinking down onto the arm of the couch for stability. “I’d do whatever you wanted me to. Anything. As long as you promised to kill me.”

“Not every day a man gets an offer like that. Makes me want to draw it out, have some fun... What if I came to you, someone else’s blood on my knife. Would you lick it off for me?”

You swallowed slowly, of course he would want to talk about the thing you’d been trying to avoid thinking about. Flirting with death was easy when he had been there; looming so large that the bodies he left faded from thought. But just because you were a willing victim didn’t mean that he had any others. You were talking to a serial killer, who had killed and was going to kill again. “I don’t-”

“Turn the light on.” He cut you off abruptly, and you jerked to your feet with a start.

“Why?”

“So I can see your face better while you think about it.”

He was watching, right now? How long had he been there?

“You want to stay on my good side, right? Turn on the light Sweetness.”

You were trembling, not sure if it was from fear or excitement or something else, walking over to the light switch, staring out your open back door as you flipped it. You flinched as you squeezed your eyes shut, the sudden brightness painful to them after becoming used to the dim half-light of the evening.

“Good girl.”

Warmth built inside you at those two words, a small part of your brain telling you that it was worth any moral event horizon to hear him call you that again. Fuck, you were too stoned for this.

“Now think about licking somebody else’s blood off my knife. Yeah, that’s it.” You could hear shutter clicks over the line. He was out there, and he was taking more photos of you, enjoying your struggling feelings.

“Why don’t you just come and kill me now?” you asked bluntly, wanting to change the subject.

“Just skip to the main event? But there’s so much foreplay to be enjoyed Doll. I’m having way too much fun to rush this. Don’t worry, you’re gonna enjoy it to.”

A sane person would hang up the phone right now. They would lock the back door, draw the curtains, and call the cops.

A sane person doesn’t want the killer on the line to mean it.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

A beat.

A breath.

You stared out into the night, where Death was watching you.

His voice crackled down the line, an almost playful note to it. “Lift up your shirt. I want to see it.”

You shifted the phone handset so it was propped against your ear by your shoulder, stepping towards the door as you used your hands to slowly gather up the fabric of your shirt, revealing the plain white bandage on your side.

“Take off the dressing.” He sounded strained, breaths coming faster.

You winced a little as you plucked the adhesive away from your skin, angling your body so he could see the plain row of stitches in your side. The bruising around it had mostly faded to a mottled yellowing now, the skin of the wound itself a light pink at the edges and around the stitches.

He hummed his approval before groaning out an “Oh yeah...” A few more clicks of the camera shutter. “I’m gonna cover you in such pretty marks Angel. You’re going to feel me for days. Not going to be able to look at yourself without seeing me there.”

You bit at your lip as you heard rustling, more groans, then a long breath of satisfaction. A high pitched keening laugh escaped despite yourself, maybe you weren’t stoned enough for this. Your knees decided to give out on you, sinking down into a heap on the carpet, and you just couldn’t stop laughing.

There was a growl, Ghostface’s voice a roiling threat of violence in your ear. “Is something funny?”

You dazedly shook your head, the handset clattering to the ground, which just made you laugh harder as you picked it back up with shaking hands. “N-no,” you gasped out, taking quick harsh breaths in between the peals of laughter that were starting to turn into sobs. “It’s Hellraiser.”

“What...?” The voice changer couldn’t hide the absolute confusion in his voice. Well, at least he was as lost as you were in this conversation.

“My favourite scary movie.” You swallowed back some tears, trying to get some vague control over your raging emotions. “It’s Hellraiser. You asked, so...” You felt like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane, everything you felt had been so dull and dead for so long that you didn’t know how to cope with the force of your emotions hitting you.

His sigh had a mechanical crackle to it, before asking bluntly “Did you smoke today?”

“Yeah...” you sniffled softly, you really were just the best at ruining everything, weren’t you?

“Get up off the floor, get a drink, eat something, and go to bed. We’ll continue this another night.”

“Promise you’ll come back?” You sounded so needy in that moment, feeling like the entirety of your vague connection to sanity hinged on his answer.

Ghostface chuckled, almost sounding fond. “Oh trust me Babe, you’re not getting rid of me.”

Dial tone echoed in your ear and you slowly lowered the phone down to the floor, hitting the end call button. You sat there for a moment, limbs splayed like a broken marionette. Slowly, slowly, getting onto your knees, pushing up onto your feet; swaying unsteadily you stood. Instructions were easy. Something to cling to in the roiling mess of your brain.

Get a drink.

Eat something.

Go to bed.

Wandering into the kitchen, you put the phone back into the base on the half-wall between it and the lounge, then going to the sink. Taking a glass that had been languishing on the drying rack you filled it with water, drinking it down in long mouthfuls and tasting better than it had any right to. You had granola bars in your bag, left where you had dropped it on the table. Picking up the box, you ripped into it, pulling one out and undoing the wrapped with your teeth before biting into it. You needed to take your antibiotics, probably should replace the bandage to. You never thought your tendency to just leave everything in the kitchen would come in handy, but it was paying off for now at least.

Downing the pill was easy, swallowing down more water and finishing your granola bar before looking at the small pile of spare dressings you’d been sent home with. Your hands were still shaking a bit, but it wasn’t too hard to peel the backing off of it. You pressed it to your skin with a soft hiss of pain, pressure on your stitches fucking hurt, but it was clarifying.

You refilled your glass, heading towards your bedroom, hesitating at the coffee table for a moment, then leaning down and picking up the little container of sleeping pills you’d been given last time you’d gone to the doctor. It’d been for stomach flu, but he’d asked if you had any other problems and you’d been wrung out enough to mention your issues sleeping. And what couldn’t be fixed by a prescription pad these days?

You opened it and downed one quickly before you could regret it, taking a swig from your glass to chase it down, turning off the main light before heading into your bedroom. It was somewhat of a stranger to you these days, only really used to store clothes in the three piles of clean, kinda clean, and needing to be washed. You mostly passed out on the couch after hours of nothingness. But you had your instructions.

You put your water glass and pill bottle on the table next to the stack of unread books. A moment’s thought, before turning on the small reading lamp next to your bed. Stripping down to just your t shirt was perfunctory, you knew he was still watching you; but he’d already seen what he’d wanted to and you were in no mood to try and tease or titillate.

It was nice to get under the covers, cocooning yourself in their weight and softness as you closed your eyes, content at least in the knowledge that you were that much closer to doing so for the last time.

#ghostface x reader #fiction #danny johnson #ghostface #dbd #dead by daylight #danny jed olsen johnson

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