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peach-and-bugs · 2 years

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❤️You Shouldn't Hide In The Dark - Villanelle x fem!Reader❤️

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Summary: y/n, Villanelle's unsuspecting target, finds herself in an unprecedented situation when she's attacked in the parking lot outside her flat, only to be saved by said hired assassin instead of killed...

Warnings: Dark themes, such as being followed at night, knives, biting, attempted murder and actual murder, graphic stabbing, mention of stalking, assassins (obviously), tending to and cleaning injuries, blood, and generally canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4,338

A/N: I wrote my first Villanelle fic! I only recently got into Killing Eve and I'm still on season one, but I'm loving it so far and adore the chaotic yet mildly gruesome nature of Villanelle and just had to try my hand at writing for her. I'm hoping this feels somewhat in character for her, and if I write for her again after watching more I hope to get her quirks and mannerisms down, so let's just say that this is only a practice for now. But besides that, I do hope you enjoy and as always, feel free to leave questions or thoughts in my comments or ask box, and happy reading! ❤️

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On most occasions, you would have refused to walk home alone, especially in the middle of the night like this. If you’d checked your watch before leaving, you’d know that the clock was creeping towards two in the morning. Yet here you were, walking with long strides away from the pub, where you’d left your friends as they sang the night away at karaoke. You were reminded now of the benefits that came with driving alone rather than carpooling. Paying for your gas would have been better than this, you thought, blowing a puff of visible breath out of your lips. You wrapped your coat tighter around your shoulders as a midnight chill caught up to your brisk pace.

The fortunate part of this situation was that you didn’t live far from the pub. Only a few blocks and then you’d be at Hyde park where your apartment was waiting with the heat on high. Your heels however had your feet begging for you to take them off. They were a new pair that you had stupidly decided to break into tonight. Granted, you hadn’t planned on walking home initially. You stopped with a mutter under your breath, leaning forward to slip the heels of your feet, letting the cool concert seep through your tights and soothe the arching ache from your new shoes. Standing up straight, you nearly sighed at the feeling.

A ding from your phone distracted you from continuing your journey. Curiosity clouded your judgment as you pulled it from your pocket, only to find your friend drunk and texting you about what was happening at the pub. She promptly sent a video, which you watched without hesitation. You smiled, rolling your eyes as you find belted what you thought was meant to be Wonder Wall, but easily could have been something else. You began to type a response after saving the video. Something stupid about her needing alive in the morning. You weren’t even sure. You forgot your intentions the second you heard a rustling sound from the bushes that lined the sidewalk behind you.

Your muscles went rigid and you squeezed your heels tighter in your hand. You felt a prickling feeling crawl up your spine and through your neck, warning and urging you to move. Footsteps clicked along the pavement from behind you but stopped just far enough away. You turned around, trying your best not to stumble over your own feet, but there were no shadowy figures to be seen. Your breath intensified and you felt like you could hear every sound around you. You began to walk again, faster than before. With a little more energy you’d be sprinting if necessary. The feeling intensified as you moved and now you couldn’t be more confident that you were being followed.

The park was in view now, just another street away. All you needed to do was get to the parking lot and you prayed you’d be home free. Blood pumped through your ears and neck as your eyes darted all around you. The clicking began again, moving along the sidewalk behind you. The parking light laps were lit, guiding you home like the lights of heaven when you die. When you reached the corner, the footsteps intensified. You ran across the street, completely disregarding the notion of potentially oncoming traffic.

Your ears were filled with the sound of your rapid breathing, pumping blood, and the pattering sound of your bare feet as they hit the assault. The tapping was now full-blown pounding behind you and with pure desperation, you darted under a lite streetlamp. Your heels dropped to the pavement with an inharmonious clatter as your hands began to frantically rummage through your bag, pulling out your keys and uncapping the attached pepper spray you carried for times like this.

You listened carefully, finger pressed firmly on the trigger of the pepper spray. The pounding steps began to circle from the shadows just outside the sanctity of your streetlamp. You felt like a moth, hovering under the only light insight in hopes that some good would come out of your situation. You swallowed quickly, trying you’re best to keep track of where he might be, lurking just beyond your view. That’s when you heard the clicking. It was a back-and-forth sound, similar to the flickering of a lighter, on and off. Only this was loud and clean. He entered your view now, passing through the wall of light you’d been praying to with ease as you passed backward.

He was large, larger than you’d ever seen, and smiled a crooked grin, toying with a butterfly knife between his fingers. The weapon appeared small in his hands. You felt yourself tremble, but you held your ground, pointing the spray to eye level.

“I’ll do it!” You warned, though your voice shook more than you’d have liked, letting on your fear as you gritted your teeth. The man only laughed, continuing to pass forward, you felt the chill of metal behind your back, freezing your spine to the lamp that had offered you such promising sanctuary, only to fail you. As he stepped closer, knife clicking and swishing over and over, you realized you’d been attracted to a bug zapper the whole time. In a panic, you released the spray which fizzled out of the tiny can. He maneuvered out of the way just in time and slammed his hand into your shoulder. Your keys dropped from your hand with a metallic clatter. You felt air rushing down your throat as your jaw was unhinged. Your scream was suppressed by the ball of his palm, which only made him chuckle. he held you still against the poll, the knife flickering in the light of the lamp.

“You're a pretty one, aren’t cha’?” He cooed, his words slurred from the alcohol on his breath. “Almost a shame. But I’d prefer a pretty penny, I think,” he trailed the tip of the knife over the curve of your cheekbone and down your jaw, knocking the edge. You winced, face squeezing tight as he laughed again, leaning in closer. Other than that, you didn’t make a sound.

“Hmm, you are pretty tough,” he scanned the parts of your face that weren’t covered by his hand, which was coarse and tasted of dirt between your teeth. He ran the knife over your forehead again, adjusting a loose bit of hair that fell in front of your eyes.

You frantically began to search for something or anyone around you to escape his tightening grip. Your heart races faster with the periodic clicking of the knife as it inched toward your throat. The man maneuvered your head upward, exposing the skin of your neck. The knife clicked again. He laughed as you resorted to squirming, trying anything to move as you watched with frantically wide eyes. You squealed as the chilled metal of the knife met your throat. He began to laugh and you shut your eyes, frantic cries still suppressed by his palm.

“Oy! That laugh isn’t very pretty,” a voice with a thick Russian accent called from the shadows, followed by clicking heels walking casually into the light. The man before you turned his head to look. You felt the knife slip ever so slightly across your skin and you had to refrain from shutting your eyes as you whimpered ever so slightly. You could hear the man grit his teeth angrily as the mystery woman approached with a condescending smile. Her eyes were wide and fixated, hands shoved into the pockets of her slacks as she stood proudly in a pair of black stiletto heels.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt your feelings?” She asked, her smile managing to grow like a Cheshire. The man’s nostrils flared now and the gleam in his eye warned you to keep still.

“There’s nothing for you to see here, bitch,” the man spit. you could practically hear his grip on the knife tighten. When he decided to jump you, he hadn’t planned a course of action in the event he got caught. The woman continued to smile, shrugging her shoulders comically.

“Then maybe you should have been better at your job,” she scrunched her nose as she spoke. With that, the man lunged, finally releasing you from his grip, allowing you to draw in a long, deserved breath. Every cell in you vibrated, telling you to run, escape to your apartment and report what had just happened to the proper authorities, but not even the adrenalin pulsing through your blood could get you to move. You were planted to your place, unable to leave till you know how the story truly ended. So, you slid down the pole, onto the cold ground and watched blood that wasn’t your spill.

When your attacker had lunged at the mysterious woman, she cackled proudly, maneuvering away from his outstretched grip and shimmering knife ass he pulled one of her own out of the concealed part of her pocket. She crouched ever so slightly, waiting for him to try again, and with a growl of pure anger, he did, knocking both himself and the woman to the ground with a loud exhale of breath from both parties.

You stared with wide, unblinking eyes as they grappled with one another on the concrete. At some point there was a clatter of metal, signaling one of the knives had been lost. This gave the woman time to overtake the man fully, punning him down by his waist as she shouldered him in the chest, knocking the remaining air out of his lungs with a disheartening wheeze.

You expected her to execute him immediately, but instead, she made sure to catch your eyes with hers, smiling as though she was performing. There was a ripping motion of her throat as she began to laugh again. The fleeting distraction gave your attacker time to gain his breath and he lunged forward, grabbing the woman's arm with his hands and biting down like a dog. Her laugh turned into an enraged shriek like the ocean’s sirens your mother had told you stories about as a girl. Her cry of both pain and frustration became one of force as she plunged the knife into the man, releasing his mouth from her limb.

Your eyes stayed wide open and your hands came up to cover your mouth, suppressing any sound or shriek you might let out. It was now his turn to cry as the weapon moved up and down, in and out. But it didn’t click, like the butterfly knife, now discarded had. This knife sheathed and unsheathed from a casing of warm, wet flesh. His body was hot, spewing blood that squirt across your cheek. Your mystery woman continued to hack away at him till she was satisfied, though he was likely dead or nearly there by now.

Then she suddenly stopped, knife half plunged into her chest once more as she stared into his eyes like she was watching whatever life might be left in him as it trickled away into the pool of red that surrounded him. She decided that the deed was done, she stood above his corpse, brow furrowing only for a moment before she smiled again.

“He wouldn’t have made good bacon anyway,” she said casually to you as though she hadn’t just grizzly killed a man in front of you.

Your hands stayed clasped over your mouth, watching as she approached you with a curious tip of her head. You felt your hands begin to tremble as he crouched down to your level, her elbows laid casually on her knees, knife healed lazily in her right hand.

“Why so blue, boo?” She asked frowning mockingly as she scrunched her nose again. up close, you could make out the red blood, sprinkled and smeared across her face. She didn’t seem to mind the sickeningly sticky feeling. Her gaze trailed from your eyes and she tisked. She reached her empty hand up to your face and you flinched away with a loud gasp, hands finally moving from your mouth.

The woman furrowed her brow and shook her head as you pulled from her, but she didn’t recoil. Instead, as you screwed your eyes shut, she reached forward and made contact. Her palm was warm and soft against your jaw as his thumb brushed gently across your cheek, leaving a wet stream behind. You opened your eyes slowly, reaching up to touch the same spot. You hadn’t even noticed you’d started crying during the whole situation. You timidly met the woman’s trained eyes and swallowed.

“That’s much better, no?” She asked casually, her smile returning with another tilt of her head.

“Y-you killed him,” you stated, trying to look over her shoulder back at the corpus that had previously threatened to kill you. The woman moved again, obstructing your view and catching your gaze once more.

“Did you want to?” She asked. Surprised, you shook your head.

“But why did you?” You asked. Her gaze darkened at the question, but the curious glimmer in her eye remained.

“I wasn’t going to let him take my job,” she said seriously. You felt your whole body urge you to recoil, but the light poll behind you kept you in place once again. The woman stood up after this, removing her hand from your jaw.

“You-“ you stalled, swallowing thickly. “You were sent to kill me?” You pointed to yourself watching carefully as she began to clean the knife in her hand with the hem of her top. She said nothing more, nodding instead.

“Are you still going too?” You began to stand, your eyes shifting, searching for a way out once more. Here you were, about to be killed by a man, only for a woman to come along and kill him, then explain that you had been her target all along. The whole idea felt straight out of a movie. The assassin sighed contemplatively, pressing her lips firmly together in thought.

“I’m not sure,” she said, crossing her arms as she turned to fully look at you. Her eyes scanned up and down your frame like she was trying to analyze if killing you would be worth it or not in the long run. “I was supposed to be the only one on this job, then piggy here came along and ruined that,”

“He smelled drunk,” you commented, unsure of what else to say. You looked down at her feet, grimacing at the clouded look of your original attacker's gaze.

“That wasn’t a drunken decision this time,” she commented, though her attention had moved from you and to the red blotch of her arm. You touched the bite tenderly, hissing through her teeth at the sting. The action and the wound distracted you and you completely forgot about begging for your life.

“Do you want me to have a look,” you offered after some time. The assassin looked up, arching a brow, which added to her questioning expression. You moved forward with caution, keeping your hands where she could see them. She didn’t stop you as you approached but watched you intensely. “Can I?” You asked again when her arm was within reach of your extended hands. She nodded curtly, offering up her arm, which you took into your hands gingerly. You traced the outline of the wound with your ring finger, leaning in close to analyze the definition of the bite.

“It’s bleeding an awful lot,” you commented under your breath. You leaned in closer, your breath facing over the injury, which in-sighted a hiss from the limb's owner. You promptly pulled away looking at her face with concern for the both of you. Silence fell as she looked away and your eyes returned to the wound, but you didn’t touch it.

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked her again, trying to sound firmer this time. She let out a huff of air, an annoyed crease forming on her brow. She looked down at the knife in her hand, rotating it as she said nothing. If she did intend to kill you, now would be her best chance. One swing of the blade and you’d be-

“No,” she interrupted your reading thoughts. She turned to you once more but didn’t smile. “If a client is going to post his price online, then he’s not getting my business,” the knife slid behind her, tucked away into her belt for now. You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding. Some part of that was reassuring, right?

“Well, thank you,” you said awkwardly. “Can I help you with that then,” you offered as she began to leave.

“The arm?”

“Yes, the arm,” you nodded, pointing behind you with your thumb. “I’ve got a first aid kit in my apartment. And I know how to sew up something like that,” she smiled again and you saw that curiosity from before.

“You’d invite the assassin hired to kill you in to stitch her wounds?” She was amused by the idea. You managed to laugh, albeit very awkwardly, and shrugged.

“I mean, you did say you weren’t going to,”

“I could change my mind,” she stepped forward.

“Then I hope that you don’t,” you replied, clearing your throat shortly after. “Not start putting pressure on that,” you remarked, pointing to her arm. The assassin smiled wide, teeth glimmering in the dark.

“Yes ma’am,”

-*-

Villanelle followed you quietly, noticing the tension in your physic. Granted, that tracked, seeing as that man had dared to lay a hand on you. It irked her that others would be after her target. It was very unprofessional in her opinion. She watched over your shoulder as you fidgeted with your keys, unlocking the door to your flat. Her eyes trailed over the apartment number till the door clicked open.

“Guess you know where I live now,” you said nervously despite trying to make a joke. Villanelle smiled promptly, entering the apartment as you offered. “Can you take off your shoes?” You asked, interrupting her initial response to your question. She arched a brow, turning to look your way once more as you nervously smiled.

“You know, just because of the blood and all,” you mumbled, glancing down at her shoes and then back up to her eyes. She chuckled, shaking her head, and did as she was asked, leaving them outside.

“I already knew you lived here,” she answered your initial comment and heard your slight change in breath as she passed, but rather than react she let her eyes wander around your apartment, taking in as much information as she could.

“Right, that tracks,” you mumbled under your breath, dropping your keys beside the door, along with dropping your heels by the door, which you’d remembered to pick up as you left the parking lot. “Do you want something to drink?” You offered, which Villanelle found strange, given the circumstances of your unprecedented meeting, yet endearing.

“Do you have wine?” She asked as she observed your shelves of books and knickknacks while you disappeared somewhere else in the apartment. She heard clanging around in what she assumed was the kitchen while she picked up trinkets to observe them closer.

“I’ve got a little bit of red,” you called from the other room.

“That will do,” she hummed as she moved to look at a framed photo on one of the shelves. You were wrapped up in the arms of a grinning man, a wide, laughing smile on your face, your eyes shut tight as he looked into the camera. She picked the picture up carefully, analyzing the creases of laughter on your face captured in printed form. She grimaced, wrinkling her nose in response with a furrowed brow. She put the photo back, through it toppled over flat on its front sash walked away, not bothering to fix it. Her attention was grabbed by a record player in the corner of your living space.

She heard a pop of cork from the kitchen as she traced over the edges of the machine with her finger. She flicked it on, not knowing what record happened to be playing already. the center circle began to spin slowly, then gradually pick up speed till she picked up the needle. Putting it down on the spinning record, there was a series of cracks before old jazz started to emit from the machine. She smiled as it played, but turned around as she heard the clearing of a throat.

“I just need to get the first aid kit,” you said anxiously, practically shoving the glass of wine into her hand and disappearing back into the apartment. “Can you sit down for me?” She asked, reappearing with a kit in hand. She obliged, slouching on the couch as she sipped her wine. you put down the kit and disappeared once more. After listening to the sound of rushing water from another room, you returned with a wet washcloth in one hand and a bowl of fresh water in the other. You sat down beside her but left a good space between the two of you. Villanelle stopped drinking, rather than focusing on the way you rummaged through the first aid kit, pulling out various instruments that she’d come to recognize at this point.

“Are you not drinking?” She asked, her head lulling onto the back o the couch. Your eyes darted to her face and back to your hands.

“I’d rather have a clear head for this,” Villanelle laughed into her glass as she took another sip of wine. She felt your fingers brush against her outstretched arm, moving her sleeve out of the way to observe the wound once more. She watched as you moved closer to her. You leaned in close to her arm to get a better look at her injury. Just by sitting up, she could take in the scent of your shampoo, right from your hair. She tilted her head, swirling the remaining wine in her glass as you began to work.

“Let’s get this fixed up,” you murmured, washcloth in hand as you began to dab the injury which had already started to clot. Fresh blood sprouted to the surface, only to be dabbed away by the cloth. You rinsed the cloth in the bowl perched on your coffee table periodically, repeating the process till the concerning bleeding had dissipated. “Ok, now this will sting,” you continued, picking up a bottle of general antibiotic cream. You glanced up into her attentive gaze before applying and she nodded, finishing the last of her wine. You moved forward, gently applying the cream but her hand began to tense. You stopped, looking up at the nearly invisible line formed on her brow. You continued, wetting your bottom lip with your young nervously, moving fast to get the job done as soon as possible.

“Do you have any idea why I was hired to kill you?” The assassin asked unprompted. most of the time she didn’t care about the reason she was hired for a job, but now your uncomfortable nature had her curious. “You don’t seem like the type,” You froze in your movement for a few noticeable seconds before you shook your head.

“No, not entirely,” you hesitated again before sighing. “I could have an idea though, actually,”

“Tell me,” the conversation piece began to put you on edge again, but you proceeded. Talking might be better than awkward silence.

“There was this guy I knew in college. Seems innocent enough at first, but after being friends for a while, he got all clingy and persistent in trying to ask me out. I tried to let him down gently, but,” the assassin tutted her tongue as she listened, knowing exactly where you were going. “I guess the rejection was too much. He started getting creepy. Took a job where I worked and got involved with my group of friends. Even told people we were dating. And after college, he started tracking my movements, still asking me out over and over. A few restraining orders later, he’s the most likely person to want me dead,” the assassin hummed, listening to your story with shut eyes.

She let out a huffing breath through her nose as you finished and moved on to apply the dressing. It had started to bleed again, but it wasn’t too concerning. Nevertheless, you chose a thicker, fiber dressing over a large bandage. You wrapped the dressing tight around the wound, checking with the assassin to ensure it wouldn’t be too tight. You sighed curtly as you finished and pulled away from her side once more.

“That should be alright. But you’ll want to check and redress it for the next few days,” you explained, collecting your supplies as you spoke.

“How’d you learn to do this?” Her eyes scanned over the dressing as she touched it gingerly, testing the tightness and integrity of your work.

“My mother was a nurse,” she hummed accordingly, getting to her feet as you left the room once more. You came back to find her at the door, shoes in hand and ready to bid you goodbye. “Well, thank’s for the help. And not killing me, I guess,” you halfheartedly laughed, crossing your arms and looking down at your feet when an alarming thought hit you. “Wait, am I going to be suspected of murder when they find that guy?” You felt your heart jump into your throat at the idea. The assassin only laughed as though the entirely possible notion was some silly idea to her.

“As far as any cops could be aware, you were tucked away in bed the whole time,” you nodded, then got another idea.

“Will he send others after me?” Her eyes softened, watching you carefully till she shook your head.

“I can handle that,” she left with one more smile on her lips, only this one felt different. It was warm.

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