Warning for vomiting. Nothing graphic. Just some vomit.
For the past few days, Arthur has noticed that something is different with the faeries.
They act almost the same, talking in riddles and saying things that makes Arthur feel hopeful and flustered. Be it about the world beyond his home or his true love that the creatures had been talking about ever since he came into their lives. Despite it all, he can tell that there's something off about them. Something has changed, that he knows but whenever he asks, they always say, giggling amongst themselves, "It's not time yet."
The supernatural creatures, including the folk, are hated by the humans as badly as Arthur's kind is and from an outsider's point of view, it would come as a surprise that the faeries, as fond of Arthur as they are, does not have any intent on helping him out in the matter at hand.
Willow had just fallen into a trap that was probably set for Arthur.
He knows he lives too far away from civilization to have anything as close as a hunter of all things to find him but the strange device that was charmed to absorb energy was something worth of his worry. The shock of almost losing Willow at that time momentarily took his thoughts away from the device and instead took Willow back to his home; away from the terrifying machine.
By the time the thought comes back to his mind and he returns to further inspect what kind of symbol was etched on its steel frame to look into it, it was gone. The telltale marks of another person taking it away was enough to force Arthur to remain in his home for some time, afraid to leave lest whatever it was that was roaming the borders of his home find him.
Looking back to it, he never felt this vulnerable even within the borders of his own home. He swore he could always feel a presence from the woods, glowing eyes between the dark trees that watches his every move and vanishes as soon as Arthur turns his eyes towards them.
Even merely tending to his garden became a dreaded chore. Arthur had started to feel its presence stronger sometimes around his very own house, hands running on the walls and eyes peeking into his window. Sometimes he would swear he had seen a shadow looming above him as he sleeps on his bed, hear rustling of foliage and plants nearby when he decided to peek out through the window, as if there was somebody who was running away from being caught. These things only made him more fearful to leave.
Arthur feared that one day whatever it was that was roaming around his house would finally reveal itself and get him.
When he begged the fae for guidance, they merely laughed at him and coaxed him out of his hiding, singing "It's not time yet." They laughed harder when he told them of his paranoia, told him he was being silly and that there is nothing to be afraid of.
It was merely a trial, they sang.
He has yet to understand what they meant but he followed anyway, trusting the beings that helped him once and brought him to this safe enclosure that he now calls his home.
And they were right, in a way. So far, it has been days since he was coaxed out of his home and there has yet to be another disturbance, no strange machines hidden in the ground to pull at Arthur's energy or harm his friends. Aside from the faeries singing around him "It's not time yet," once more not a little after he was coaxed out of his home, everything seemed to return to normalcy and he's at ease once again.
Later on, he would come to realise that he had spoken too soon.
It happened on the most regular of days, Arthur was out during the hour where the energy around him is giving more than he can take, with the faeries dancing around him for company as he gathers more wildflowers for the medicine he's trying to brew for Willow who is still recovering from the trauma.
Then all of the sudden, the faeries fall into a fit of giggles and started pulling at each other away from Arthur and towards the innermost part of the border, leaving him behind. Arthur looks up in surprise, doesn't know what came upon the faeries' minds to decide something so strange in the middle of nowhere. They aren't this whimsical before.
Then he sees a dark figure looming over him and he turns his back in time to see a person-a complete stranger-with a blade raised and pointed towards him, threatening to strike down. On instinct, Arthur's blood started burning under his skin as it calls the energy of the earth around him, then before he could pull at the stranger's energy to command it like his own, the blade strikes down, eliciting a pained scream from Arthur's lips.
He watches in shock as half of his hand falls on the ground, his other hand flying towards his injured one, squeezing his wrist at the pain and trying his hardest to stop the wound from bleeding out, eyes wide as he watches the blood run freely from the wound.
Then he grunts as he feels another strike towards him and after that, everything became a blur. He doesn't remember when he stopped screaming because of the pain and instead just to know if he's still living despite it all. He can't feel anything anymore and can only hear the blade as it continued to hack his body into pieces. He wonders how long it would take for his body to die, just to have this…hunter leave him alone.
Then he felt a dull pain explode on his uninjured hand. He felt his bones break before the darkness Arthur had been waiting for comes and he happily accepts its hand for the momentary state of death it will put him in. The pain of returning back to the living, he'll think about that later when that happens. He hopes it won't take as long and painful as it did before.
He was hacked to pieces.
When he comes to, he realises he was sobbing, his throat feeling sore and his voice coarse as he gasps for his breath. It was his first breath of life and immediately, he almost drowns at the energy his body absorbs from the earth, channelled into his very being, his veins.
He doesn't have the time to think about how much time had passed between the death of his body and its revival when the pain of his body attempting to heal itself finally came through. He can feel his bones extending, his muscles quivering and his blood flowing. The pain of it regenerating and the pain of his flesh exposed in the air were too much, always too much, no matter how much he had come to expect them and he cries.
At some point, he remembers that he forgot to breathe. The strange emptiness he felt in his stomach enough to make him sick and in so much pain. His body's processes were being prevented from executing without the organs in question to keep the process going and when they have finally grew back, his lungs had to regenerate once again. More pain for him to endure.
His entire body hurt.
Then something in the middle of it all, amidst the haze of pain and magic, something happened.
He couldn't explain what it was or why it had occurred, the sensation wholly foreign to him but whatever it was, brought down something heavy and scorching hot like flames in Arthur's blood. It affected the magic that flowed in his body and he did not like it.
They felt like heavy chains.
Everything went by like a haze and when Arthur finally comes to, he finds himself jumping up from his bed.
His heart was beating loudly in his chest and his blood was pumping at a speed that makes his head pound. Everything feels too quiet and the same time deafening, he can a sharp noise from his ears that indicates silence. His vision is still blurry.
It took him a while to get his bearings back, find himself back in reality and the world to stop looking so tilted. It makes him feel like he's still back in his own head, drowning in memories that he isn't sure had actually happened. He absently runs his hands all over himself and strangely remarks that his clothes weren't in anyway destroyed, contrary to what his mind was still reeling from.
He remembers being hacked to death. He remembers his body dying.
He remembers his blood burning, his magic being scorched.
Like it was being branded.
Arthur inhales, closing his eyes. Focusing on nothing but the energy in his surroundings he calls them upon himself, coaxes them to use his body as another pathway to pass through. It wasn't meant to do anything but allow Arthur to taste the essence of magic from his surroundings, simply using his body as some sort of medium to convert energy into magic and back into energy once again, to be returned to where it had came from. It's a simple exercise Arthur has learned throughout the years to never fail to calm him down.
At the smallest of amount of energy that tried to penetrate-
He hisses.
His blood boils, burning hot.
It was a kind of burn that he had never felt before.
It left his hands numb and his wrists down to his elbows stinging strangely in pain. It felt like his veins were on fire and they hurt every time he tries to move his fingers. Every pull at his tendons a stinging ache. It made him hiss then gasp when he forgets that energy is still trying to enter his body and still failing, causing him nothing but pain. They hurt to the point that he finds himself falling back to bed, curling his body around his arms, his palms up and open, exposed to the air. They hurt so much.
Then he sees it.
Sigils, its shade a mix between red and blue as they glow on either of his arms, wrapped tightly like a coiled tail of a snake. It feels like it tightens every time he tries to coax magic in or out his body, making him grunt in pain each time. They appeared like they were carved into his skin, the cuts deep, blood slowly dripping down from the cuts the more Arthur forces himself to defy what the sigils are so bent on keeping him from doing: magic.
Despite the pain, he continues; urging magic to flow through his veins and grunting every time the pain on his arms increases exponentially, blood flowing down from the lines of the sigils, dampening his white sheets red.
"You're stubborn, aren't you?"
Arthur was startled as he heard a voice, low and silent, pierce through the darkness and he jumps up on his bed, sitting up and head turning towards the source of the voice. He squints through the darkness, trying to make out anything in his darkroom until his eyes finally adjust to the darkness and he was finally able to see an unwelcome guest, resting on one of his wooden chairs by his dining table in the next room.
Arthur can easily make out the silhouette of a man, one of his legs raised to rest its ankle on his knee and an arm resting on the table's surface. His eyes were bright like fire as they appeared to glow, beckoning Arthur in with false promises of hope.
Then he remembers why he was feeling so out of sorts today. He wasn't supposed to be at home. He was by the border, picking some wild flowers for a friend, the faeries suddenly finding it convenient to leave Arthur alone and vulnerable and then a man with a blade hacked him to death.
The memory was still fresh in his mind that he swore that he can still feel the sharp metal cut into his flesh like paper. Cut through his bones like it was nothing. He started to involuntarily shake on his bed, the air suddenly so cold that it affects the blood that was coursing through his veins. Shakily, he raises a hand to slowly run them around his neck, expecting to feel a scar to remind him of the cut that was not there.
Tongue quivering, he manages to mutter, "It was you, who…" cut me down.
The man tilts his head at the words, turning his ear towards him to listen better and remains silent.
When Arthur hears neither a yes or no, he raises both his arms, turning them over to reveal the sigils, still glowing and hot on his skin like a brand, blood dripping from the lines. His arms shook as he raises them high enough to be visible for the man in the other room who remained sitting on his chair to see, looking at Arthur through his bedroom's open door.
"You did this to me."
Silence.
Somehow, the silence does nothing but make Arthur's head spin with confusion, too many questions popping into his head. The whos and the whats and the whys.
"What, what are these?" He adds emphasis to his arms by shaking them lightly, his voice trembling. Knowing nothing makes him feel weak and powerless.
It scares him.
When the other once again refused to give him an answer, he started screaming, his voice pulling at his throat like claws as he does so.
"Answer me! Why did you do this?"
In an instant, he finds himself laying on his back on the bed, the man hovering over him with one of his knees pressed painfully into his chest, prodding sharply, making him gasp for air and grunt in pain. When he was about to push the other man away, intent on pulling at his magic once again, a strong hand shoots up to wrap itself around his neck at which he raises both of his arms to pull them away. He jumps when something got jabbed into the bed, a few centimetres from where his head was.
It was a knife.
When his body stopped moving, trying to get the other man off him, his neck was released but before he got the chance to recover, the hand darts out to grab a fistful of his hair, using it to turn his head towards the man over him, his eyes glowing as they stare him down. Arthur fights the urge to look away, his eyes shaking from their sockets.
The man leans closer until they were almost nose-to-nose, eyes still locked on Arthur's. His free hand catches one of Arthur's arms, making him tense when it grips too hard, his thumb running across the lines, dragging Arthur's blood with it. He pulls Arthur's hand up towards them until its close enough for Arthur to see.
"This," He begins with a low growl, "is proof that you are mine."
Arthur frowns, glaring at the symbols on his arm. This has got to be some kind of joke. There is no way this…thing can actually bind him.
He turns his head back towards the man over him. For the nth time that day, he summons the energy from the surroundings into his body, ready to call forth magic and prove this man wrong. It has been a long time since he had last used his power in such a destructive way and whenever he does it, he still find it wrong and terrifying-to have the power to decide on who lives and who dies-but now, his safety is at stake.
He had to defend himself.
He was told a long time ago that there is nothing wrong with his magic as long as it was for defense. He wasn't the one who hurt first.
He was about to open his mouth, to command the energy from the man's body when suddenly the man above him laughs. He smiles down at him, eyes aglow with uncontrollable glee as he flashes Arthur a toothy grin. He was grinning so hard his jaws are clenching tightly.
"Do it."
Arthur gasps in surprise, inhaling deeply through his nose. His voice faltering, he manages to squeak out, "W-what?"
The man's grin seemed to grow wider, his grip on Arthur's hair getting tighter and Arthur winces. If he grips it any tighter he might start to bleed.
"I said, do it," He answers, face leaning closer towards Arthur's that he can almost taste the man's breath on his lips.
"See what happens." The grip on his hair and arm tightens.
Arthur can feel his breath quickening, every inhale and exhale noticeable and he knows that the other man can feel the tremors in his chest as Arthur swallows and licks his lips. Trying to taste the words on his tongue before uttering them, finally.
"Return to-"
Arthur's words were cut short when he started choking. Then he gasps, tears threatening to drip from his eyes as he feels tearing pain from all over his body. Wide-eyed, his eyes roll towards his arm that the other man still holds up for him to see, the sigils glowing brighter and hissing, burning deeper into his skin. So Arthur was right, after all.
This is a brand.
He was branded.
It appears that the man over him has noticed Arthur's realisation, as he chuckles in amusement, the sound low in his throat. He finally-finally!-lets go of his hair and lets his arm drop above Arthur's head as he begins to bury his face on the crook of Arthur's neck, inhaling sharply as he does so that it makes Arthur shudder.
"Gods, you're something else. Do you really say stuff to make your magic work?" Arthur stiffens as the man's hand returns to his head, but surprising enough, it only settles its palm over his hair, fingers brushing messy locks of hair before slowly running down to his shoulders, then to his arm at his side until it settles on his waist, warm and heavy.
Fear returns to him like a wave when he feels something wet and warm touch the skin on his neck, the hand on his waist going lower to grasp at his thigh. Stroking him.
He starts to panic when the man suddenly stands up for a moment to straddle him, strong legs settling on either of Arthur's thighs to keep him from running away. When he tries to stand up to push him off, his arms were grabbed and he chokes down a sob when he felt fingernails bury themselves deep into the cuts, pulling more blood out of the wounds.
"Don't you dare defy me." He growls at Arthur, the sigils on either of Arthur's arms glow accordingly.
"Don't do this," Arthur manages to say, his throat felt so tight right now because he's fighting back tears. The man above him barely gives his words any notice, snorting as he smiles down at him in amusement. Arthur felt like sobbing for real now because of the fear. He still doesn't know what is going on, who this man was and how he had come across Arthur's home. He's not supposed to find this.
No one is supposed to find Arthur here.
But he did and whatever he was did not only attack Arthur out of nowhere, he also came and intruded his home and had Arthur branded like some kind of witch.
Arthur's breath hitches.
"You," He gasps out. The other stills at Arthur's words, waiting for an elaboration, as if he had already known what Arthur was about to say. It takes Arthur a while before he manages to pull out more words from his throat, his laboured breathing starting to make everything so hard.
"You're a hunter." Instead of replying, the man in question only smiles, his lips slightly quirking up.
He blinks slowly as he tries to recover as fast as he could from the dreaded realisation, a tear drops from one of his eyes.
Of all things that could slip into his home, it just had to be them. Of course, he was a hunter. Only hunters could do something so vile like enslaving people. Because no matter what others may call Arthur, he's still a person.
He's a human being.
Suddenly he remembers the very reason why he had ran and chose to live with the supernatural away from human civilization.
Human beings are cruel. Sinister. Way horrible than the witches and the supernatural they all refer to as monsters. He didn't do anything to them, going as far as to stay away from them yet it was they who went all the way here to get Arthur.
At this point, Arthur was reduced to nothing but a shaking, wet leaf. He would've probably wet himself on the spot if he could from fear. When the man only smiled down at him, eyes glowing bright once again, causing Arthur's marks to burn and bleed some more, he let the tears fall.
It only seemed to amuse the hunter, unfortunately.
For the first time in a long while, Arthur was powerless once again.
He couldn't do anything from the ministrations when every time he tries to push the hunter away he was smacked or kicked painfully. At some point, he remembers getting a bone broken.
At least that gave Arthur some time to breathe because the sight of a disfigured limb had the hunter stopping, his hands suddenly gentle on Arthur's injury.
That is, until he saw it recover, watch the bones realign itself and bring them back anew.
He doesn't seem to show any ounce of restraint in using his strength anymore after that.
He tears into Arthur's tunic, hands running down his pale skin. "A-agh, ah!" Arthur groans when the hunter started dragging his nails down, pressing harder just to see threads of red appear on his pale skin. The hunter's piercing blue eyes focused on Arthur's face all throughout the ordeal.
Arthur shudders when he felt something hard press against his thigh, then gasping once again when the hunter starting humping him. The hunter's hands reaches for his trousers, tearing them open and pulling it off his legs.
By the time he got his voice back, his legs were already spread open. Arthur was powerless against the strong arms gripping his thighs with bruising strength. His breath hitches at the intensity of those eyes between his legs, the hunter's mouth partially open as he openly stares Arthur down, his breathing as laboured as Arthur's at this point, but was probably for a different reason.
Then the hunter puts his own fingers into his own mouth, sucking on them as his eyes remained its focus on Arthur's nether regions.
When he was satisfied, he brings his wet fingers down Arthur's entrance, slowly circling it at first then pushes them in.
From this angle, Arthur couldn't tell how many fingers the hunter had started with but it still wasn't wet enough to be comfortable or small enough to not make him feel so full and pained. The hunter didn't even bother to wait for Arthur's body to adjust, thrusting his fingers in and out already in such speed and strength that has Arthur gasping and groaning, his hands, having nothing to hold on to, grips into the sheet below instead. His legs started to quiver between the hunter's hips, still uncomfortably stretched out since Arthur wouldn't dare wrap them around the other man and give him the satisfaction.
He tenses and whimpers when the hunter finally hits his sweet spot. He grips at the sheets below him harder and bites his tongue, hoping that the other hadn't heard him.
Much to Arthur's luck, he did. He suddenly pulls out his fingers that now Arthur can tell were four, then gripping his thighs to spread his legs open, he leans forward until his forehead touches Arthur's, now damp with sweat. The hunter's breath seemed to have now returned to normal, unlike Arthur's that had gone faster by the time the hunter pulled his fingers out.
Arthur grunts, teeth clacking closed as the hunter's fingers find its way to Arthur's lips, forcing them open and demanding for entrance. He frowns when Arthur's teeth insisted to remain tightly closed, jaw tightening as his hand grips at Arthur's chin, pressing hard until Arthur's mouth is forced open. Arthur almost chokes as the fingers were immediately shoved inside, blocking his airway. Tears started to fill the sides of his eyes as he fights back the want to gag.
He'll throw up.
Then those fingers reached down deeper into his throat, brushing his uvula.
Arthur turns his head away on time as he vomits on the bed, nothing but stomach acid comes out and they drip onto his cheek: sticky, wet, and uncomfortable. As he turns his head to the other side to cough and breathe in air once again, he started crying. The humiliation was too much.
"What are you crying for?"
Arthur shudders when a warm hand grips at his erection, calling Arthur's attention to it.
"See this, you like it."
Like what I said before in my fic, "When madness comes", hunters-some, not all-were able to conjure some teeny-tiny magic and use it to bind witches to themselves. Magic is hella complicated in this AU so only very skilled hunters can do it. It literally binds the witch's souls to theirs, so no witch can defy a hunter that has their sigils on them. Every sigil is unique to the hunter who casted them on, because it literally serves like a fingerprint. Idk. Basic rule is no witch can kill their master without killing themselves, or getting hurt.
Hunters of course, enslave witches because it makes hunting so much easier. I mean, you can just order witches to fight in your place. Alfred can do that too, obviously, but he's too prejudiced to let even one live. And that's offensive. For Alfred, anyway. Why rely on your greatest enemy's help when you can do it?
IMPORTANT STUFF: arousal is not the only reason men get erections. "Morning wood" in fact, is due to a full bladder pressing on the prostate because you can't exactly feel the need to piss much when you're asleep right? Also adrenaline. It's why men are can also get raped by women. Their dicks CAN get hard when they are scared. It's adrenaline.
(now I'm gonna go back to being sad. Real life is such a dick)