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khalixvitae · 8 months

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★Under The Skin ★

Rook Hunt x Reader | ~3k words

Warnings: mentions of death and dying (not descriptive), a smattering of angst but we don’t have time to unpack all that; semi suggestive at points because I cannot seem to help myself; mentions of book 6 but nothing too descriptive! Reader is also implied to know Floyd. Vaguely canon compliant, takes place ambiguously after book 6

Info: I’ve been obsessed w the idea of Rook w an implied goth reader who collects bones and makes bone jewelry. Entirely self indulgent (i am goth and I collect bones and make jewelry Lmao). GN reader, no physical descriptors used other than that the reader wears jewelry.

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Rook Hunt was an odd duck, you’d always known that much for certain. He was hyper observant and yet seemingly unaware of social norms, constantly invading the personal space of those around him. Ever the chatterbox, he’d seamlessly suck any passersby into a whirlwind of a conversation, gleaning whatever information or entertainment he’d sought out before discarding his still confused target with a friendly adieu. He would regularly monologue, lyricize, and wax poetic about even the most mundane of things. Frankly it was difficult not to notice such glaring personality traits- he had a habit of making his eccentricities everyone’s business.

Even so, his outlandish tendencies and flowery language only further obscured what kind of person he was hiding beneath the surface (and beneath that bizarre hat). He was in Pomefiore, after all- and a Vice housewarden no less. It only made sense that his public persona, as bewildering as it may have seemed, was carefully crafted by his dexterous hands. Always guiding the conversation away from himself with a practiced ease, it was obvious he sought to keep any clear image of his character permanently out of focus. He was like a mirage- not quite tangible, his perimeter fuzzy and constructed only of contradictory statements or nearly mythological anecdotes. No matter how hard you tried to get a peek behind the veil, he was always just out of sight. You had always been certain that the trajectory of any arrow fired by those same hands would be far straighter, cleaner, than any conversation you could ever hope to have with the huntsman.

Which is what made your current situation all the more unexpected.

“And this one?” His eyes darted to another one of the many trinkets you’d scattered across your bed. Lithe fingers hesitated over the pendant he’d zeroed in on, an owlish gaze flickering up to meet your own. He wanted permission. How very unlike himself, you thought. Or perhaps it was more like him than he’d ever been in your presence- you had no way of knowing, of course. You pushed the thought away and instead nodded affirmatively. He plucked the necklace from the duvet, its weight remembered by an indentation in the plush down.

“Yeah, I found that amber while digging around on the beach with Ace and Deuce. I’d never seen inclusions like that before. It just needed a little polishing up and it made for a really nice piece. The other stones are tigers eye- I got those online.” He held the petrified resin up to the sunbeams streaming through your bedroom window, nodding affirmatively as you spoke.

“Magnifique! How lucky you are, mon Trickster.” He rolled the stones between his fingers, a musical lilt coloring his speech. “You have quite the collection- a proper Cabinet des Merveilles.”

You shrugged at that, glancing down at the innumerable treasures you’d accumulated. Well, treasures was a subjective title to say the least. Bones or teeth belonging to unknown animals, each fragment you’d found in the woods and painstakingly cleaned to later preserve. Carefully dried flowers from plants you’d never seen prior to your arrival in Twisted Wonderland, as well as some familiar varieties you’d taken comfort in coming across. Sea glass, petrified coral, and iridescent shells you’d collected on trips to the coast with your friends. A shadow box of butterfly specimens found around the school’s botanical gardens, each one you’d mounted with care. Evidence of your time there, proof of your experiences and your memories and your love for a foreign place you’d slowly made home.

When you managed to untangle yourself from your own sentimentality, you realized he was watching you. He was waiting. His vibrant green eyes were too green in the early evening light, shining like pools of opaque, still wet oil paint.

“I’m glad you like them,” you answered simply, your voice far more hoarse than you’d anticipated. The bizarre nature of your situation only hit you further when he shifted his weight, his attention now focused solely on you- as if you were a specimen in your own collection.

All of this because he’d inquired about your earrings in homeroom.

They were simple things, really. Pretty green glass beads strung together with tiny bones you’d unearthed on one of your many hikes. They had belonged to something small, and you were certain the delicate pieces were vertebrae. It was a wonder they were so intact- however despite their relatively pristine condition, you had no idea what creature they’d belonged to.

You figured they’d caught the light just right, or maybe you’d tilted your head just so- it didn’t take much to catch the hunter’s attention, after all. Whatever the case, halfway through the lesson you’d noticed his keen eyes on you. Your recognition did nothing to deter his blatant staring; in fact, he’d waved at you. As strange as it may have been, you didn’t pay it much mind. Rook was odd, sure, but he’d never done anything outright malicious. Well, not towards you. This kind of behavior was well within his usual repertoire and therefore easy enough to ignore.

In much the same way, it wasn’t totally unexpected for him to descend upon you as soon as the bell rang for dismissal. Rook wasn’t an especially large guy, at least not compared to some of your other classmates. He was broad shouldered and sturdily built, sure, but he wasn’t a notable giant like Jack Howl. And yet something about Rook made him loom, an imposing presence despite his cheerful cadence and charismatic smile. He always toed a fine line, giving the impression that he was all over you without ever once making physical contact. Your encounter that day had been no different; he’d spouted off a laundry list of greetings and praises, only half of which you’d managed to catch, before dipping in closer to view your handiwork.

“Oh! Beau savoir-faire! Did you make these yourself, Trickster?” The way he’d honed in on the dangling vertebrae made you keenly aware of how they framed the vulnerable column of your throat; the equivalent to a neon sign for any apex predator, Rook himself included. Feeling ever more exposed, the rest of the conversation passed with a quickness you had grown to expect from the hunter. Before you knew it, you’d invited him to come by Ramshackle so he could view the rest of your collection. After all, it wasn’t often that someone took vested interest in your little hobby. Ace thought it was outright creepy. Shells were fine, and he could almost (almost) give the butterfly thing a pass, but bones were where he drew the line and made a point to tell you so. And tell you he did. Frequently. Deuce was less outright rude about his discomfort- he wasn’t Ace, after all- but the squeamish look on his face was enough to deter you from showing him any unusual specimens.

When you’d arrived home from classes that day, Rook was already on your doorstep. He looked excited, nearly childlike in his enthusiasm. You’d resolved to yourself then that letting him into Ramshackle would do no harm- Rook was strange, yes, but he was only as dangerous as the rest of your peers. He’d never been remotely unkind to you; in fact, he’d been extraordinarily helpful on more than one occasion. Besides, he was already there, patiently waiting for you on your own stoop. Turning him away now would be just plain rude, not to mention he often made pleasant company.

And so there you were, settled across from Rook Hunt of all people. Alone, in your otherwise desolate dorm- the Great Seven only knew where Grim had slinked off to when your guest arrived. Even the ghosts had made themselves scarce since you’d guided Rook to your bedroom. That being several hours prior, you were astonished that not a solitary soul had intruded upon your peace. Normally something or someone would’ve stirred up trouble for you by then, but the dormitory was silent. He was still silently observing you, and that exposed feeling from earlier in the day seeped back into your bones.

“The ones you’re wearing. May I look at them again? The lighting here is much better, no?” As always he sounded so sublimely agreeable, and it would’ve felt even more revealing to tell him no. Not that you wanted to tell him no, necessarily. If anything, you didn’t mind the thought of him getting closer. That was a damning thought you forced down immediately as you gave him the go ahead. He removed his hat and placed it somewhere beside him- you didn’t keep track of where, far too focused on his reasoning for doing so. He leaned in closer, so close in fact that the brim of his trademark accessory would’ve prevented him from achieving the proximity.

“Snake vertebrae,” he murmured, as if identifying them didn’t take a moment’s thought. “And my, how wonderfully preserved! You’re quite talented, mon Trickster.” His breath grazed your cheek as he spoke, words ringing impossibly close to your ear. The sudden thought that he smelled nice passed over you, only serving to grow your list of absolutely damning thoughts about Rook Hunt. The subsequent realization that there was a list to begin with would have made your blood run cold had the heat of your embarrassment not warmed you down to your bones.

You briefly recalled one of Floyd Leech’s many complaints he’d voiced to you on your living room floor. He’d dropped in uninvited, if memory served you right, but you’d digress for the moment. You weren’t sure of the full context- you didn’t make point to pay that much attention when Floyd was in one of his moods- but what you did remember was a rather innocuous detail he’d given you about the hunter sitting on your bed. That he only wore perfumes when he wanted to be noticed. Of course Floyd’s delivery had been much more coarse and insulting, but nonetheless. And the herbal, nearly floral scent you’d caught was definitely cosmetic, you were sure of that. So he wanted to be noticed by you, then? Another idea to add to your ever growing list.

The soft shuffling of leather brought your senses back into sharp focus. He’d removed one of his gloves, brandishing his bare hand in your line of sight. “May I?”

You nodded silently, watching it for as long as you could. A gentle tug on your earring let you know he was turning the charms around, looking it over carefully with those unnerving eyes of his. Wheatgrass strands of his cropped hair tickled your skin, but you held as still as one of the courtyard statues.

When he finally sat back he looked more than pleased. “Your finds are most impressive,” he chittered, tapping his bare fingers against his gloved ones. You watched them for a moment, taking note of the practiced calluses on each exposed fingertip- marks of his upbringing that even Vil’s carefully coordinated skincare routines couldn’t fully erase.

“But why do you collect them?”

The question wasn’t entirely unexpected- it was quite common for people to be curious about what motivated such a strange hobby. What was unexpected though was the glint in his eye. Something hopeful and genuine brewed behind his placid expression, something you couldn’t quite place but intended to figure out.

“Because they’re beautiful,” you replied, far surer and more steadfast than you’d been moments before.

“Even though they’re dead?” He raised a manicured eyebrow at you expectantly, the shine of his eyes catching the sun’s last bright rays.

“Of course. I mean why wouldn’t they be? It’s not like death itself is innately ugly. And dead things aren’t either.” It was your turn to lean forward, soaking up his expression that wasn’t all that unlike surprise.

A quiet laugh bubbled up past his lips. “So you do not fear death, then?”

You shook your head, matching the soft smile he offered you in exchange for your thoughts. “Death, no. Dying? Absolutely. Dying has a sensation- well, probably, its not like I’ve done it before- and that’s what I’m afraid of. What it feels like. I’m way more impartial when it comes to death itself. Mostly because it’s also impartial. It just is. It’s not malicious, or calculating. It’s just there.”

You brushed a hand over your trinkets, choosing your next words carefully. “I guess the only scary part about death is that when you’re dead, you run the risk of being forgotten. I mean, that’s why stuff like ruins and run down cemeteries are a thing. It’s not that those things don’t matter anymore because they’re dead, but because they’ve been forgotten about. Bones are a lot like that. Just because they aren’t up and moving anymore doesn’t mean they just cease to exist. The thought of dead things being forgotten about… bothers me? I guess? Especially when they’re beautiful things. Because all beautiful things were loved at some point, even in passing.” Perhaps this was all getting a little too introspective. Part of you wondered if you were a forgotten thing back in your own world; what had your loved ones done? Sometimes you felt like a dead thing with no body, no grave for them to visit. Something that had truly ceased to exist outside the memory of those around you. You worried you were revealing far too much, however his wide eyes and parted lips were all the encouragement you’d needed to continue forward.

“So I like to find them and clean them up. Yeah they’re inanimate now, but they deserve to be remembered and loved, even if they’ve changed. And I do love them. They’re special to me, just like the times and places I found them.”

Rook was wound taut like a bowstring, his posture rigid and features affixed in an expression of unmistakable awe. And there he was. Suddenly his usual shifting demeanor was frozen in time. The smoke and mirrors he usually deployed were no longer in effect, and you were absolutely sure that you were getting an honest look at him. Staring at him like that, you could recall a few instances where you’d seen him in momentary clarity. When he’d jump to protect his juniors, or when he nearly took off alone during the STYX debacle, and when something would catch him so off guard he’d throw his head back in unpracticed laughter. This was that Rook. The prolonged sight made it hard to breathe.

The final fiery glows of the setting sun illuminated him, now uninterrupted by the wide brim of his hat that still lay discarded on your bed. In the warm evening light you could faintly see the ghosts of freckles along his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, faded but still a part of him. His soft woodsy perfumes, the bare hand laid flat against your duvet and the hopeful way he stared at you, as if begging you to accept some sort of invitation you’d never consciously received.

For the first time you could recall, he looked weak.

And just as quickly, he began to slip away. His long lashes fluttered and he forced a quiet laugh- he was beginning to recompose his facade piece by piece. He went to work slipping on his missing glove, beginning one of his typical monologues- he was running. Whatever silent offer he’d given you, you’d sorely missed your chance. If you didn’t think of something, anything to stop him, you were sure this wouldn’t happen again. “Magnifique! Another devoted to the pursuit of love, much like myself! How dreadful it is that the evening is drawing to a close-“

“You’re so beautiful.”

Whatever door he’d tried to close was promptly blown off its hinges. There was a heavy silence that settled over the two of you as his already wide eyes grew to the size of saucers. The sun had fully dipped below the horizon, and now the fluorescent street lamp by your window illuminated his visage in new shades of blue.

“Excusez-moi?” His honey colored lashes fluttered as he once again met your gaze. You may as well have punched him in the gut.

“I said you’re beautiful, Rook.” By lightly nudging his hand away from his hat you only further disarmed him. Something in his posture went lax; the bowstring had finally snapped, leaving him boneless, powerless beneath your intense gaze. He looked relieved. Being so exposed was exhausting, yet set a visible shiver down his spine.

All at once you placed that glint in his eyes from before, his silent request coming into vivid focus. An aching desire to be a part of your larger collection- something to be coveted, something to be loved regardless of form. You supposed one devoted to the pursuit of love would crave it the most. Had that been what this was from the start? His benevolent assistance, his endless compliments, his unwavering attention? You’d written it off as his usual eccentricities, but had he been subtly peacocking this whole time? The way he allowed you to ever so gently remove both gloves and press your skin against his gave you all the confirmation you needed. When you trailed your fingertips along his forearms before encircling his wrists, he all but pushed them into your grip. There was something else in his verdant gaze, something that told you he’d ask you to maim him and enthusiastically thank you after the fact. Not that you’d ever want to harm him at all; no, seeing him in such a state gave you an abrupt and thorough understanding of his desire to protect all things beautiful.

However, Rook would, in fact, leave shortly after. Your time had drawn to a close, and he did have duties to tend to at his own dormitory. Part of you worried he wouldn’t come back- that the moment of weakness the huntsman shared would be regretted as soon as he slipped away.

How foolish of you.

A few days afterward on your way to class, you noticed something glinting in the morning light. An arrow, cleanly wedged into the clapboard by your front door. A little bag of trinkets had been secured to it, along with a note.

“Pour le Cabinet des Merveilles de mon amour” - R.

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Tag list for those of y’all who were on the same wavelength over the last few days! Feel free to DM to be added! A Vil fic is probably gonna be next bc I have Pomefiore brainworms alsjdkdj (and dm if you wish to be removed ofc! <3)

@v-anrouge @vtoriacore @phoneymedic @gum-gum-time

#alright boys here it is #me being mentally unwell over rook hunt in the open #I’ve reformatted this so many times but i figured id just floor it while I had a moment !#twst #twisted wonderland #twst rook #rook hunt #x reader #khalix writes （＾＿＾）☆#rook hunt x reader #I am so nervous yikes #edit I FORGOT THE TAG LIST EEEK

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