Wicked Game
AO3 link for complete story which is RATED E FOR EXPLICIT; the below is still a mature plot. Posting on AO3 for their tagging system as this one gets dark. LINK HERE Inspired by @wyervan and their Slasher AU | This story is a good while after Let's Get Physical A night in the forest, adrenaline is high and something about Moon is just a little more than tense... Rated 16+ | Mention of Violence CW: References to Murder, Torture, and Enjoyment of the act, Implication of Forced participation of acts described and at the end, some Suggestive content
It was something to be ashamed of. You were beginning to look forward to these nights with them in the forest.
At first, you had the usual, predictable fear that any sane person would. And truth be told, the fear was not gone. Instead, it had dulled, stretched into something thinner but heavier. The sensation was nostalgic in the same way a half-remembered dream haunts you well after you wake up. This newer fear had settled into the very core of you, lodging itself in the space between your bones like lead to the point you were starting to enjoy the feel of it. You realized too, to your horror, you were even beginning to crave it.
When they first decided to bring you along to 'help', you spent most of the time with your eyes closed. Both your palms pressed tight to the edges of your face, fingers digging down to block out everything you could. It was only on occasion that you peeked out, just when the sounds got too vivid to pretend you weren't hearing them anymore.
The impact of wood meeting flesh, grotesque thuds that would send jolts through your stomach before the distant crunch that followed. All noises of things giving way, whether that was bone, muscle, or something else entirely.
The night would swallow everything, absorbing the echoes of screams, cries, and—laughter.
Because yes, there was always laughter. Not only cruel, but excited for what was to come.
Sun and Moon enjoying their night as they exchanged giggles, Sun's high-pitched wheeze catching in his throat, too loud, always a breath away from a manic cackle. Moon's snicker softer, rising as the night went on, curling in after each loud hit.
You had seen them laugh before: jokes at the Arcade, shared smiles when someone had to clean up spilled popcorn. The way they smirked at each other from behind your shoulder as you were forced to deal with a customer demanding a refund they would never get, always amused by a mundane situation.
But these nights were no small joy to them. This was more sacred than that, pure in a way that only made sense to them. They laughed like they were exactly where they belonged. And that... More than the knives, the blood, the pleas rattling out of the sorry bastard's shattered jaw, was what had once terrified you the most.
And now? Now you didn't look away.
You watched Sun. Tracked his movements with intent focus as his lips curled back just before he leaned in. His knife, held gently, his favorite tool, sharp and curved... ready to be wet.
He dragged the blade, a single, precise stroke that sliced down along the meat of his victim's cheek. Skin peeled back like a neat ribbon, as if he had done this to the point of methodical perfection.
You no longer flinched.
Instead, you found yourself focused on the shine in his vivid blue eyes, the way his breath hitched not from fatigue, but elation. His lean forearm extended with each stroke, muscles pulled and defined. The corner of his grin caught in the light, mirrored in the blood as it glittered and dripped from his knuckles downward.
Sometimes, you caught him as he looked at you. A suggestion of nervousness in his stare before he resumed his performance.
This particular night, you sat at the edge of the action. Sun had been working a weak confession from the newest target's lips.
This target was especially heinous, a good page and a half of offenses in the little black book, which meant that the prior hour of slow torture that had left the man—creature—stripped of most skin was well deserved.
As he pressed the blade of his throwing knife into the exposed lines of muscle in the target’s thigh, you found yourself giggling along with Sun at the pained whine that broke free. It sounded like a wild pig being startled.
You turned in time to see Moon step back into the clearing, his silhouette emerging from the tree line. Pale-patched dark skin caught silver starlight in flashes through the leaves as he stalked forward.
His fingers flexed. Large hands, so familiar to you now, curled and released the handle of something heavy slung low at his side.
An axe.
Unlike Sun, Moon did not care to keep his toys as... polished. The axe never gleamed, not in all the time you had known him, just wore a dark film from extended use. From your place on the forest floor, you focused on the blade of the axe, dull and thick as ever.
The air took on a thick, metallic scent, deep enough that it raked the back of your sinuses raw. Despite how the fear had changed, you still could not stomach this part of the night.
As the screams began to quiet, hushing into sobbing gurgles punctuated by rhythmic crunches that tapered off, your attention pulled away.
You had other work to do.
Quietly, you rose to your feet and moved through the outer edge of the clearing, collecting what you could. Forgotten pieces of tattered fabric, the handle of something that had broken off while being used, a snapped metal chain link that gleamed a bit too brightly under the moonlight.
Sun and Moon would handle the rest. Cleanup was strangely meticulous, both of them extremely particular about how they handled disposal. It was almost ritualistic; there was no way to tell how they'd decide to do it next, if anything would be left.
The only noticeable pattern that you had singled out was if the target had left a family behind. Only then did Sun and Moon ever leave anything to be stumbled upon. It also depended on the relationship, whether the family would be relieved or mournful... It was a wedding ring once, another time a bloodied ripped up shirt; one time Sun had hung a locket from a tree branch like an ornament.
You had yet to find courage to ask outright. Not yet.
With a heavy sigh, you looked down at yourself. Your shirt and pants were filthy, mud up to your knees, crushed leaves clinging to you, even your sleeves were freckled with thin pinpricks that read black under the night sky.
This was exactly why Sun had demanded you bring a change of clothes.
With the echo of the axe still being swung somewhere in the distance, followed by their low voices and the scrape of footsteps as they dragged through the earth, you went to undress.
You had taken a spot next to their van, having retraced your steps back to where it sat, far enough away from the staged area but hidden within the tree line from the dirt road. Half-shielded by its cabin, fingers fumbling at the hem of your shirt as you peeled it away.
The fabric clung, damp with your sweat and something stickier you did not want to guess at. It pulled across your back before it slipped loose, falling limp between your fingers. Without anything to stop it, the night air met your bare skin. It wasn't cold, only the sudden mid-summer warmth of the night. Your nerves were on edge after having watched them so closely. Now you were on full alert, completely alone. Goosebumps prickled across your exposed arms and trailed down the path of your spine.
You held still as the silence of the forest lulled in close; you waited for the feeling to pass before you let your shirt fall to the ground. It crumbled at your feet, too dirty and ruined to bother with saving. You wouldn't be wearing it again.
Your fingers shook as they found the waistband of your jeans, fumbling with the button as anxiety started to form in the pit of your stomach. It was almost too quiet now. A lone cloud slid across the moon, smothering your only light. Denim clung stubbornly to your waist, forcing you to struggle for a few awkward seconds as you shimmied the fabric loose.
With tiny shuddering motions, your hips pitched forward as you tugged your pants down, thumbs dug in as you worked them lower, inch by inch, distracted from how the shadows had deepened around you as you turned toward the van. Your only warning was a nearly silent exhale—
With steady force, you were pushed forward. The side of the van rocked as your chest pressed painfully flat against it; your bare skin jolting at the sudden chill of the metal. A high, broken gasp escaped you. Warm breath fogged the siding at your lips.
A presence coiled in behind you before you could try to push back, the way it neither rushed nor hesitated told you exactly who it was. A confident body aligned with yours in a smooth and slow press that swallowed the little space between you.
"Stuck, Star?" Moon's breath skimmed your ear as he leaned in, voice low.
Behind you, Moon's hands found your waist, fingers splayed wide, digging in hard enough to bruise as he rocked you back into him. The outline of his body was hard and tense beneath his damp costume. He strained forward with shallow rolls of his hips, and the burning heat of him pressed firmly against the small of your back.
