friday night fire fight - oneshots

k. heisenberg (p.1)

mary on a cross
karl heisenberg x f!reader
3.5k words

summary: for decades, the beast has provided for and protected your village. when he suddenly stops, however, the council decides a virgin sacrifice is in order to appease him.

warnings/tags: heavy religious talk/themes, sexual assault (checking virginity), sacrifice, mentions of blood and cannibalism, bondage, swearing, mentions of starvation and violence

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It was the village priest who asked if your virginity was still intact.

But the question was not unfounded.

You could not fathom as to why your ancestors had chosen this spot to settle down. It was a clearing near the bottom of a ravine, surrounded on the north and south by impassable mountains. The forest occupied the other directions, too thick and dense to travel through and cling to the hope you would make it back with all of your fingers and toes intact. Game was scarce, and luxuries such as spice and cloth even more so. It was desolate, and miserable.

You could not fathom as to why they had chosen this spot.

The legends told of the struggle they faced after first establishing your little village. They found no animals to hunt, and the fish they managed to capture from the small creek running along the perimeter were smaller than their dinner plates. Some starved. Others began to turn upon one another.

Then there came the beast.

They said no one laid eyes on him until after the first of the elk arrived at the town square, freshly slaughtered and with enough meat for everyone. It had appeared from seemingly thin air, with only a pair of deep-imprinted footsteps in the snow to suggest it had not wandered in and died on its own. They praised God for the gift. Then the next day, a pair of deer were delivered.

This went on for, they told, a week before someone spied their so-called savior. They spotted him in the nighttime, when he had come to gift them another elk, this one bigger than the last. He held the form of a man and wore clothes far warmer than theirs, shielded from the cold in ways they could not yet comprehend. But then he'd turned to the light, his eyes glinting, and they'd realized it was not a man in the slightest. His eyes were an otherworldly golden, his bared teeth jagged as blades. Long, black claws sprouted from his fingers and his grey hair curtained his face like a destroyed portrait.

The villagers began to offer payment for his deeds. They tried to leave him money, but it went untouched. A beast would have no use for their currency. They left him the word of God, and they found the Bible ripped to shreds. Then one, so the legends went, left upon his offering pedestal a pair of leather gloves.

They were gone the following morning, and he never took another thing.

And, as the elders have taught, the beast provided for the village for years, decades. He brought them food when they were close to starving - how he knew, they could not understand - and protected it from threats. He became their new god. There was no one that did not benefit from his protection, and he never failed to deliver.

Until last week.

Your eighteenth birthday had passed a number of days before, and your family had used up the rest of the sugar making your favorite tarts for your special occasion. Now, you wished you had savored them just a bit more.

The beast did not come on the first day of the week, nor the second or third. The villagers had grown lazy, used to being provided for, and there were no extra provisions hidden away for an unthinkable occasion such as this. Bellies began to grumble, and moods dropped like insects. The beast did not come the fourth, fifth, six, nor seventh day.