My Guardian Stalker
My Guardian Stalker
Wynn [M!MC] x M!Dionysus
Warning: Contains a bit of drugging, yandere-personality and a bit of a dark ending?
A/N: I would have posted it up yesterday but got caught with a massive headache and fever - sorry if there are some of you waiting for this! Enjoy!
There’s been something off lately.
There’s been a notable increase of tourists disappearing, some of which I have had the pleasure of greeting in the library or café.
It doesn’t help that Oli has been going offline a lot more – something about loose fuses or glitches. I had offered to crack open his system, see what’s up, but Oli simply brushes that off, telling me that I should be more worried about my lack of personal care due to my attempts of performing all-night research on this…‘Red Lens Murderer’.
Oli doesn’t leave me much room to protest either, considering he went offline in an attempt to rest longer just a couple hours ago.
“Wynner!”
The cheery tone catches me off guard, up to where I yelp from a sudden body colliding behind me. But while the voice is distorted, I can recognize the owner from the delightful tone and the all-too-familiar nickname.
“Dio!” I exclaim and turn my head to see the familiar rabbit mask, the visor on it staring back at me.
“In a flash!” The charm in his voice is light and open. In his gloved hands are a shot glass and a bottle of some alcoholic beverage. My eyes widen.
“Is that whiskey?”
“Only the best one!” Dionysus pipes, “I figured you’d like a little drink.”
As he answers, he’s already pouring me a cup. I let out a laugh.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is a way for you to get me to bed.”
A light scoff escapes Dio. “Please, if I want to do that, I would have pulled out something more sensible. At least you listen to reason.”
I roll my eyes at that, smiling before turning back to the folder I had extracted from one of the cameras down the alleyway of where the latest victim was taken away.
Dio peeks in from my shoulder. “So, what’s keeping you up this time?”
I increase the distance between us, mainly to stop this sensation in the depths of my chest. It’s only been a few months, but I still can’t get the hang of this…constant factor of his presence in my vicinity, especially this close. “I’m looking up on the disappearing tourists.”
“Ah,” Dionysus nods, “you’re talking about the Red Lens Murderer, aren’t you?”
I groan. “They should have picked a better name than that.”
“It’s pretty fitting, considering his M.O. Covering the camera lens in the blood of the victims.” A note of disgust occurs in their tone. “Pretty gruesome, if you ask me.
“Thank God you brought in whiskey then,” I mutter, already pouring myself a shot before downing it. The liquid burns, but fuck do I need it real bad.
“When was the last time you slept, Wynn?”
“I’m doing alright, Dio.” I make an attempt to smile at him. But I can feel a judgemental stare.
“Wynn-”
“Oh shoot!” I stand up, feigning a voice of shock; when Dio’s voice turn parental, it’s going to be a near tyrannic lecture. “I forgot some files are in need of my attention.”
“Wynn!”
I resist the urge to laugh; I can picture an almost pouty expression on his face. But I wasn’t entirely wrong; the files on my other desk aren’t something to discredit.
Maybe it’ll give me insight on what in the world is going on with this murderer…and why their most recent attacks are with the tourists I have a brief conversation with.
Fuck, I need another shot.
:)
Dionysus watches Wynn carefully, from the way the latter frowns at the files to pinching the bridge of his nose with his tanned hand, the dim light of the lab glistening down on his freckles. Pouring another glass, Wynn is already downing his second shot of whiskey. A smile forms underneath his mask.
Standing by the chair, front facing Wynn’s back, Dionysus creeps a gloved hand over to one of the pictures on the desk, silently shifting some of the pictures away until his eyes gleam at one photo, hidden among the pictures the librarian have deemed important.
One picture showed the thick, red stain to obscure the vision of the alley. But there was a small part that dripped off, revealing a glimpse of what was happening behind the crimson liquid. A tourist was being dragged; their shirt tugged by a dark orange-gloved hand.
It’s not hard for Dionysus to sneak it into the hidden pocket of his coat, what with Wynn entirely focused on the documents lying before him.
Dionysus had to admit, he wasn’t the sort to commit such misdeeds. What Wynn doesn’t know is the fact that the Red Lens Murderer is now caught and serving their sentence. At this point, it is simply their title being put onto the blame of the latest kidnappings.
Which, funny enough, are committed by Dionysus himself. It was a little hard, getting their blood to coat the camera lens and shut them up from screaming to high heavens. And yes, Dionysus isn’t one to commit such heinous, hedonistic acts.
But the tourists Dionysus kidnapped and hidden away shouldn’t have approached his beloved with such impure thoughts.
No…they shouldn’t have. It was only fair he hid them away, since murder was beneath him. No matter how much they begged for death after what he did to them.
A yawn catches his attention and Dionysus turns to Wynn, slipping his hand out of the pocket that keeps the link between him and the crime. He walks to Wynn, wrapping his arm around the lean-bodied male. “You sound exhausted, Wynn,” he mentions gently, “maybe it’s time you hit the hay.”
“Noh…” Wynn blinks tiredly, his light green irises wet in sleepy tears. As if drawn by the warmth, the shorter male leans his head into Dionysus’s shoulder.
The simple action sets a warmth the taller male craves for. He strokes the messy blonde hair, shushing in a soft, cooing tone.
“Sleep, Wynn,” his voice pleasantly says, “you can’t find new clues with a drowsy mind.”
“Mn…Buh…” Wynn tries to protest but a yawn simply escapes him. Dionysus lets one of Wynn’s arms rest around his shoulders, carrying him as one would carry their drunk buddy after a night’s out.
“No buts, Wynn.” Dionysus chides in an almost parental tone. “After all,” a smile curls in his lips and he whispers towards the sleeping Wynn, “It’s a waste of good sleeping drugs if you don’t.”
He watches the blond turn his head, confusion swimming in those bright green eyes. Those round, beautiful orbs, drowsy in the effects of the sleeping drug, start to show glimmer of realization.
And just as quickly as the glimmer appears, Wynn’s eyes close shut, and his head slumps back, passing out in Dionysus’s arms.
The rabbit’s contorted voice hums a tune, upbeat and cheery. But in the darkness of the lab, skimming his fingers along the edge of his librarian’s face…
The tune is simply halted by the giggle of joyful insanity.