twisted wonderland one-shots (requests CLOSED! for now)

rook x zombie!fem!reader

synopsis: rook finds you while hunting, shoots you because he thinks you'll eat him, and you don't die. after figuring out that you're nearly harmless, he makes the executive Big Brain decision to bring her back to pomfiore to get things sorted out and to find her somewhere safe to stay. crowley is absolutely not happy with the way reader is pulling everyone in bc that means more work for him

tw: blood, stabbing, accidental dismemberment

As much as he liked sticking to Vil's side, there were times when Rook needed time alone. He'd leave the dorm with his bow slung over one shoulder and his arrows over the other, hoping to practice his hand in the forest (and maybe catch something, but he's also going to have to hide it from the rest of his dorm. Vil has grown used to him bringing back his prizes but always insists that he keep them out of sight.)

Rook was deep enough in the forest that it would be difficult to get help were anything to happen. The thought sends a thrill through him; he's all on his own now with no one close enough to help if something went wrong. The added element of potential danger made everything much more exciting.

He's been following a set of tracks for a while—a deer. He can't wait to bring it down and carry it back; he probably won't be able to keep it in his dorm, other than a few trophies, but he knows that he can bribe the hyena from Savannaclaw with a share of it's meat to help hide the rest of the body. Seven knows the lengths Ruggie would go for food.

Rook knows he's getting close when he hears movement coming from a few bushes up ahead, grinning to himself and notching an arrow. He's definitely going to brag about this one when he gets back. He keeps walking, stepping forward, but then freezes.

He hasn't shot anything yet, but he can already smell blood coming from up ahead. His eyes narrow, keeping the string of his bow taught as he slowly approaches, silently moving through the foliage until he gets close enough to see what's going on.

He was right about there being blood—because there's a lot of it. It's spread all over the ground, was splashed on some leaves, and, most importantly, was covering most of your face.

Something in Rook's stomach sinks so fast his knees almost give out. You're eating a freshly-dead, raw deer without a care in the world, ripping off chunks of sinew and shoveling it into your face like you're starving. He isn't as interested in the deer anymore—it's dead, anyways—as he is in you.

There's something terribly, terribly wrong with you. Not just the fact that you're gnawing on the shoulder of a dead deer, but just...something. The closer Rook looks, the more he can make out how off-color your skin is; it's taken on a gray hue, like all of the flush had been sucked right out, and your hair is knotted and wild, and your eyes are yellow and twitching and bloodshot, and the clothes you're wearing are soaked with scarlet, but beneath that they look old and ragged, like you've been wearing them for a very, very long time. He can't even make out what the original colors were supposed to be.

He takes a second to take in how young you look. You're surely somewhere near his age, by the looks of it, but he can't really make it out because of, well, everything else.

It takes him a second too long to realize that the noises have stopped. You've stopped eating and are instead staring right at him, eyes locked directly onto his.