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sunshine-and-moonshine · 3 months

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The Three Bear Hybrids

Summary: You find yourself lost in the woods at night but luckily there’s a cozy cabin you can take a rest in! Sure hope there aren’t any lustful bear hybrids who own this cabin….

Warnings: Reader has a Vagina (no pronouns or tits mentioned), Smut, Breeding Kink, Spit Kink (Kinda? Lots of slobber), Reader really just broke into these men’s house, Dub-con (reader is described as having a hazy mind at times, implied like pheromone shit or something)

Pairings: Bear Hybrids!Ghost, Price, and Gaz x Reader

A/N: Any spelling mistakes you see are between me and the Devil so if you see them then shhhhhh

It was a bit cliche to say that it was a dark and stormy night, but you couldn’t find better words to describe it. The sky pitch black, sparkling stars and the bright full moon covered by thick black storm clouds, a deep cold settling into your bones. And you were caught right in the middle of the woods, lost in the forest while out picking mushrooms for tomorrow’s breakfast. You cursed yourself under your breath, worried eyes looking up towards the clouds just as a few droplets started to fall down on you from the heavens. With no other choice, you resigned to find your way home in the morning, wrapping your cloak around your body tightly to fend off the chill and the rain, a new haste in your steps as you trudged through the forest, almost tripping over roots and rocks that you could not see without the guidance of the moon’s light or your lantern that you had stupidly left at home, thinking that you would not be long. Nothing to help you find an alcove of thick brush trees or an abandoned cave to protect yourself against the coming storm.

Nothing save for a faint glow in the distance, a beacon calling out to you in the night. And like a moth to a flame, you followed it. Relief filling your weary bones when you set eyes upon a large cabin nestled cozily in the forest. A bit tattered on the outside, lacking any love. No pretty decorations or painted walls. Vines and moss growing up the sides, the door left cracked open and seeming to be broken off of its hinges, but set firmly in the place it should be to keep the inside warm. Carefully, you approached. Moving the door was a bit of a struggle but you managed it, and you were able to slip inside before placing it back in the frame, looking around at the interior of the cabin when you were sure the door wouldn’t fall on your head the second you turned your back to it.

The inside of the cabin was just as sparse as the outside. Everything made of plain wood, crudely made, everything seeming to be made just for its purpose with no care of how it looked. The table in the living room was crooked, the couch propped up by thick books instead of proper legs. The kitchen bare save for a single freezer box, packed full of meat and varying sizes of jars filled with jellies, jams, and fruit. The glow that called to you earlier revealed to be a small candle left burning in the windowsill, which you grabbed and used to light your way in the plain cabin. Not that there seemed to be much to see in the first place. The only thing of real note being that everything seemed to be made for giants, all the furniture almost comically big. But nothing was as big as the beds. Three plush mattresses in an almost perfect row, just a few inches from each other in the same room. Curiously, you ran your hand over the one in the left corner. Stiff as a rock, and you wondered who could sleep on something so hard. The next bed was softer. Too soft in fact. When you laid your hand on it, it felt like it was just a pile of blankets instead of a mattress. Certainly cozier then the first, but you doubted such a mattress was good for someone’s back. Oh but the third bed!

The third bed was just right.

The perfect mix of soft and firm, still warm with the heat of whoever had last slept on it. And when you couldn’t help but lean in closer, there was a soft alluring musk that waived off of the sheets. It lulled you, made your head fuzzy and stupid. You couldn’t stop yourself from curling up into the bed, that scent embracing you like a long gone lover as you wrap your cloak tighter around yourself just to stave off the slight nip in the air. Just a short nap, you promised yourself. The owners of this cabin surely wouldn’t even notice you were there. You’d be long gone by the time they came back.

The assurances you told yourself were enough to ease you into fully closing your eyes, a sigh of contentment slipping from your parted lips just as the rain outside started pouring down, covering up the sound of heavy footsteps crunching cobblestone beneath their weight.

You awoke to the sound of voices. Your mind still hazy with sleep, cocooned in that nice comfy feeling of warmth and safety and laziness. The kind of feeling you never wanted to wash away just because of how good it made you feel. But the feeling never lasted, and it started to drip away from you like ice melting in the spring sun.

“But they’re sleeping in your bed, Price!” A voice hissed softly, like they were trying to keep themselves quiet. Were they trying not to wake you? It seemed like an odd thing to do when whoever it was was clearly panicked.

“I can see that, Gaz.” A rougher voice said in return, a deep sigh following the statement, and you felt the hair resting on your cheek be shifted away. Still sleep dumb, you could only sigh and snuggle further into the large warm pillows beneath your head, almost missing the amused chuckle sounding from above you. And then suddenly your whole body was being moved, the bed shifting beneath the weight of another person as they pulled themselves onto the mattress with you, tucking themselves up against you. It was what finally drained the last of your sleepiness away, and you tried to shoot up in the bed in your panic.

Tried being the key word here.

An arm, thick and muscular, shot up at the same time you did, wrapping around your chest and yanking you back down, pulling you chest to chest with an older looking man, his blue eyes sparkling beneath the faint rays of the rising sun shining in through the window at your back. They looked like the sea, bright and mysterious, beautiful. You felt like you could drown in them, like they’d pull you under their waves and fill your lungs with that blue til you couldn’t breathe. Unbidden, you felt heat rise up in your cheeks as those blue eyes narrowed at you, clearly not impressed with your pathetic escape attempt.

“Easy, Honey.” That gruff voice, hoarse and rough but almost melodic to your ears, said, a hand running down your back at the exact same time, pulling you even closer somehow. Not giving you the room to run away or fight him off. “We’re not gonna hurt ya, Honey. It’s okay, just calm down.”

Surprisingly, his words did wonders to ease your nerves, your flailing turning to light shaking as he kept looking into your eyes. But your own look beyond him, at the two men standing just at the edge of the bed. One tall, taller than the man holding you, scars criss crossing all over his face, brown eyes looking almost like warm honey in the light. But, seemingly a bit unnerved by your looking, he turned his face away. Looking down at the man beside him. Shorter than the other two but his smile seemed to fill the room, warmer than the sun, eyes a darker brown. Like the wood of a great oak tree, strong and steadfast, but glinting with boyish mischief.

And it was just about then that you noticed something….peculiar about the three men. Namely the round fluffy ears that sat atop their heads, twitching at every sound in the room. And if you looked closely, you were sure that you could see a small fluffy tail twitching excitedly behind the shortest man, and the sound of one lazily thumping against the bed coming from the man holding you. More than a bit confused, you opened your mouth to question them, but the scarred man beat you to the punch.

“What are you doing in our cabin?” He asked, his tone defensive, full of bite, like the dog of your neighbor who so fiercely defended his properly. It made fear peak up again, but it didn’t escalate into full blown panic as the man holding you started to rub his nose against your neck, sniffing you like some forest beast. The heat in your cheeks only intensified, especially when he let out some pleased sound that rumbled deep in his chest.

“I…..got lost. In the forest.” You tell him, biting back a sharp gasp as the man licks a long trail from your neck up to your ear, nosing against it before nipping your lobe. It should have unnerved you, frightened you, but it only made a warmth pool in your cheeks and belly. For some inexplicable reason, you enjoyed it. And so did the man, if the rapidly hardening bump against your thigh was any indication.

“And you decided that breaking into our cabin was the best course of action?” He asked with a quirked brow, disbelief in his eyes. But he seemed nervous, twitching just like the man beside him, both of them seeming almost possessed. Licking their lips and sniffing the air like their was something delicious cooking in the other room.

“I-It was the only shelter I could find.” You tell him, eyes going a bit hazy as the man holding you suddenly shifts, laying you flat on your back and hunching over you, growling as he works to untie the tight strings of your cloak before angrily ripping at it when it would not bend to his will. You wanted to be angry, but find that you couldn’t summon the will to tell him off when he just dived for the open skin of your collarbones, sucking and licking with a fervent need.

“And sleeping in our beds, that was also for shelter?” The scarred man huffed, his tone softer now, thick with something heated and warm as the shortest man stepped closer, starting to undo the laces of your shirt, delving beneath the loosened fabric to stroke eager fingers over your pebbled nipples. You shuddered, head tilting back with a soft whimper as he leans in, whispering against your ear, breathe heating up your skin.

“My name is Gaz.” He says, and you immediately stored that information away, moaning out the name softly when he pinched one of your nipples before lazily rolling it between his fingers. “And this one, the one sucking on you like some cub? That’s Price. And the big fucker behind me is Ghost. He’s a bit shy though, Love. Needs a bit more incentive to come closer. Why don’t we get you undressed and show him what he’s missing out on?” Gaz suggested, and you couldn’t help but nod, your fate sealed as he ripped your shirt clean off your skin, Price already working on your pants, yanking open your legs and letting the sweet honey scent of you fill the air, all their eyes going hazy, all thought washing away from them as they all tried to lunge for your wet core, growling and huffing at each other, tongues darting out for a taste and getting angrier and angrier when they kept accidentally licking at each other in their eagerness.

But you? You were drenched in bliss, the feeling of three tongues fighting between your legs, thighs forced open wide to accommodate them all, hearing them growl like wild animals just for a single lick of you. It was incredibly arousing and the mewl you let out when one of their noses bumped against your clit was loud, all eyes snapping up to your face. Lust all over their faces, mad with it, hungry beasts who wanted nothing more than to tear you apart on their mouths and cocks.

Eventually, after several minutes of the battle for your cunt, Price was the one who growled at the other two to get back, loud and ferocious. Gaz backed away with little resistance but Ghost growled right back, reaching out to grab at your hips and try to drag you closer. That was, until Price gripped the scruff of his neck and practically ripped him away from you, the bigger man going limp before finally backing away with a soft grumbling noise.

Price then turned to you, a happy gleam in his eyes as he leaned down between your thighs again, tongue slower then before, like he was trying to savor a delicacy as he licked a long stripe from ass to clit, his groan reverberating through your lower half in a way that made a tingle go through your belly. And then he was all wild animal again, starved for your pussy as he lapped and succked and nibbled, his nose grinding against your clit and his beard leaving raw scratches along your inner thighs that you knew would be tender for days to come. But in this intense you couldn’t care less, throwing your head back with a loud moan, clamping your legs shut around his head, feet resting between his shoulder blades. It did little to deter him, only seemed to encourage him in fact, and he dug his fingertips into the undersides of your thighs, not letting you open or close them any further, practically suffocating him in your pussy. Just as Gaz was taking to sucking at your nipples like a welp, soft moaning sounds made against your flesh, his eyes closed whenever he pulled back to switch his affections to the other pert bud, licking and kissing along the expanse of your chest, leaving little untouched by his sinfully talented mouth.

And Ghost. Oh Ghost was just enjoying the show, his eyes wide as they roamed over your body and the two men worshipping it, his hand beneath his pants, stroking slowly to the sight of you getting tongue fucked by Price. It wasn’t til you reached a hand out to him that he approached, leaning down to sniff at your wrist a little before licking it, laughing under his breath when you jolted, his free hand coming up to hold your palm against his cheek as he continued to jerk himself off, eyes locked onto yours, his orgasm hitting him at almost the exact time yours hit you, almost twin like soft noises falling from both of your mouths as he leaned in to kiss you, all tongue and teeth, saliva dripping down your cheeks as he bit your lips and licked alonhg the inside of your cheeks. It was the best kiss you’d ever had, and you didn’t want it to end, whining with disappointment when he pulled back to allow you to breathe. But you just grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him back down and forcing your mouth against his, pleased with the rumbling groan he let out in response. It was heavenly, he was heavenly, they all were. You’d never felt such pleasure in your life. The haze over your mind making thoughts sink far out of your reach, like a stone in water. The wave of heat over your body like a comforting childhood blanket. And you were sure nothing would ever feel better than this.

But you were quickly proven wrong when Price shifted between your legs, sitting up straight over you as he shifted down your pants, yanking your lower half closer to him so he could run his cock through your warm wet folds, tapping the large mushroom head against your clit almost playfully before sliding in with one firm thrust that had you crying out with pain tinged pleasure. But they held you through it, all of them. Ghost’s big palms on your cheeks, Gaz’s holding your hands, and Price’s squeezing your hips. Oh and it felt like coming home when Price was rooted inside you to the base, tip so close to brushing against your cervix that it made you want to scream. It burned, in both good and bad ways, but thankfully he gave you time to adjust. Letting his boys shower you with affectionate kisses for a few moments before he gave a slow experimental thrust.

Instantly, pleasure shot up through you like a bolt of lighting and you jolted beneath them, keening and wiggling, much to their amusement. But it was all that Price needed to know, setting a steady pace that battered at your slick walls pleasurably, stretching you out in a way you were sure that you would never fully recover from, sure to gape from the width of him when he would pull out, an ever present reminder of him. The thought made you clench and he snarled, fighting against the resistance your walls gave him, struggling to pull and push when you were clamping down on him so tight. He clicked his tongue, hand reaching down to rub rough circles on your stiff clit, more force behind his thrusts now, unwilling to be deterred by your body’s tightness.

“Gonna breed you.” Price huffed, voice thick, sticking like honey in his throat, like it was hard for him to speak. “All of us are gonna breed you full, Honey. Give you a few cute little cubs to take care of come spring. Maybe get lucky and have one from each of us. That sound good to you, Honey? Can’t wait to see you with a cub on your hip, feeding another one in your arms. Never gonna stop giving you little babies to take care of. You’re ours now. Swell like ours. Sweet little mate, we’ll take care of you.” He promises, his words sending molten lava through your veins, only able to stare up at him as he tilted his head back and growled. Not like the playful and commanding ones he used just previously, but something animalistic, inhuman. Terrifying and arousing at the same time. Ghost and Gaz pulled back just enough to make similar sounds, something in them becoming even wilder at the sound, diving back into you like you were a buffet, slobbering all over your body as they left no inch of you kisses and suckled at, pawing at you and humping your sides to relieve their aching cocks, tension building and building and building.

Until it snapped along with that knot in your belly, your orgasm washing over you as your sight becomes overtaken by a sheen of white, back arching to the heavens as you cry out, the sound copied by the man above you, his own pleasure shown in the ropes of thick white sperm that he sprayed inside you, hips nestling against yours, unwilling to let even a drop spill free as the two other bear hybrids already begin to bicker amongst themselves as to who would get the next turn with you. But all you could focus on was the ceiling, wondering what on God’s green earth you’d gotten yourself into now.

#fairy tale au #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #John price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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daechwitatamic · 3 months

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The Price || MYG

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you call yours: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more in exchange for her grace. But the Queen has just named her latest price: the life of the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: language, drinking, there’s a plague and it’s a problem, reader’s parents died (see the previous warning lol) and there are scenes of her grieving process, reader is a hunter so there’s mentions of animal carcasses and hides, lots of mentions of reader’s big fancy knife, a murder attempt, kissing, nip stim, groping, fingering, clit stim, penetrative sex (protection not mentioned either way), reader on top, angst, unhappy/ambiguous ending

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

There are pros and cons to living outside the village. The pros are that you’re mostly left alone - you live by your own laws, most of the time. It’s better this way; you come and go as you please, you don’t worry about latest fashions or gossip, you aren’t under the thumb of any societal niceties or norms. You concern yourself more with what the forest tells you. Bad weather, humans who don’t belong, sickness on the horizon - the forest knows it all, and you know how to listen.

You knew about the plague - in a vague, something isn’t right here kind of way - days before the first villager fell sick. You didn’t see anything bigger than a possum for three days - you knew something was in the air. It was the baker first, then his wife. Now it’s made its way into the castle, the guards and servants falling like flies.

Another pro - you won’t pick up illness from the baker if you make your own bread in your tiny cabin in the woods.

The main con - the only con, really - is that when you make your weekly trek to the castle to present the King and Queen with your scores (deer, mostly, but usually a few fowl too) it takes so damn long to get there.

It would be faster on foot, much faster, but you have to load your kills onto a cart and take the dirt road, which winds and twists and takes its time. Today your cart is loaded: venison, fowl, a few rabbits, even a fox. That had been a good score. The Queen likes furs - she’ll pay you well for it.

But the trip into town once a week is a fair price for your freedom, you think.

A few vendors through the heart of town wave hello as you pass. You lift your hand in response but don’t stop. You’ll shop after, when your cart is empty and your purse is full. For now, you stay on the main road until it changes over from tamped-down dirt to cobblestone to, eventually, flat stone that leads to the bridge over the castle’s moat.

The usual guard, the one who knows your face and always waves you through, isn’t there. You wonder if the plague reached him, if he’ll recover or if they’ll send his body to the sea like all the others.

You show identification, the card nearly illegible due to how many times it’s been folded and stuffed into your shoe for safekeeping, and this new guard waves you on.

As usual, you stop in the courtyard just inside the first set of walls. You hop down and start undoing the straps of the fabric you have over the top of the cart. Two guards join you, and they begin moving your scores down from the cart. Each is weighed and given a quick once-over as a scribe stands to the side recording it all.

“Make sure you mention how nice that hide is,” you tell him, pointing at the fox. “I got that one special, for her.”

The scribe rolls his eyes a little, but you see him peer at the fox and scribble something on his little parchment. When they’re done, your cart empty, the scribe rolls his paper up and leads you up the steps towards the main doors to the castle. You flip one of the guards a silver coin and follow the scribe. As you head up the steps, you hear the sound of your horse’s feet moving across the stone, the cart creaking and groaning behind him, as the guard you paid takes him to be cared for.

Inside, you follow the thick, red carpet into the throne room. You’re surprised to see only the Queen present, but you school your face and drop into a bow anyway, your forehead brushing the soft carpeting.

When you rise, you see the scribe has handed her the parchment, and she reads over the report of your goods. You wait, knowing better than to speak until she has.

“A good week,” she observes.

“Yes, your Grace,” you say, eyes on the carpet. “I was pleased as well.”

“Are you well?” she asks as she signals for her Chief of Coin, who scurries close to the throne and lowers his head to hear her whispers.

“Quite well,” you say automatically, though you’re not sure what exactly she’s asking. Does she mean your health? Your home?

The Chief of Coin makes his way to you and you pull your practically-empty purse from your back pocket.

“You have need of nothing?” she asks.

This would be your opportunity to ask after anything major - repairs on your home, medicine, anything you couldn’t get during your walk back through town.

“No, your Grace,” you say. “I had need of a new blade, but the local smith took my request.”

The local smith and your new blade are one of your stops on your way home.

“I’ve heard from the citadel,” she tells you, and you pull your eyes away from the Chief of Coin to look at her. “They say your brother is doing well. He’s applying himself to his studies.”

When you’d lost your parents, you’d begged to keep your brother yourself, desperate to keep him away from the citadel’s orphanage. You were of age, could handle yourself. You could handle him, too, you’d argued.

The King had considered this. Your family was well-known in the village, and your father had hunted for the crown for many years. Your brother was only about five years out from finishing his schooling.

You were investments, you and your brother.

In the end, the deal had been struck - the crown would see to the rest of his education under the condition that when he finished he’d work for the crown, pay back his debt, begin to build his own name.

And, in the meantime, you’d take over the hunting. You could keep your family’s little cabin out in the woods, away from town. Your brother wouldn’t be apprenticed off to a stranger.

It was an easy deal to agree to.

“We’re grateful for the opportunity,” you say to the Queen. “If the report said anything less, I’d travel there to knock sense into him, myself. He’s at that age. You know.”

You try to bite back a cringe. The Queen might not know. She’d never been able to bear a child for the King.

She smiles at this, thinly. “Very well,” she says, and you take back your now-heavy purse from the Chief of Coin. “Then I shall see you next week. I wish you continued health in the upcoming days.”

You nod your head. “I wish the crown health and longevity,” you say. Head bowed, you miss the way her eyes tighten.

–

You pick up the goods you need - eggs, flour, and the like - on your way through town. You eye the tavern, tempted to stop for a pint. Alas, you are embarrassingly excited to get your new blade, so instead you carry on down the road towards the smithy.

After tying up your horse - though he’s a lazy thing and probably wouldn’t wonder anyway, not with the cart hitched up - you head inside, following the sounds of a hammer striking metal.

You wait until there’s a break in the noise and then shout a hey back towards the open door to let the team know they have a customer.

There’s the sound of a heavy instrument being dropped to the ground, and you catch yourself smoothing your hair back. Stop it, you scold yourself, scowling.

That’s the face that greets the youngest of the smithing team, Min Yoongi, as he steps into the shop, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light.

“Ah,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “Is it Thursday already?”

“Is my blade ready?” you ask, ignoring both his self-satisfied grin and his question. “Park Jihoon said I could get it today.”

At his boss’s name, Yoongi’s smirk fades until he’s all business again. He turns to the wall, where special orders are tacked. He searches until he finds yours.

“It’s ready,” he grunts, reading the slip of parchment. “Wait here.”

He disappears into the back again, returning with a hefty-looking blade, sheathed in a leather case.

He places it on the counter between you, pulls the blade from its case and turns it over so you can see each side.

You frown. “I didn’t order engraving on the case,” you say, jutting your chin towards the delicate design at the top. It curls in and around itself, all the way around. “I’d better not have to pay extra for that.”

“Ah, but he worked so hard on it!” Park Jihoon says cheerfully, appearing out of the back and clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. You keep your eyes on the knife; Yoongi looks steadfastly at the wall with the orders, a pink flush working up his neck.

“It’s not extra,” he mutters.

“I’m heading to Bridgeport,” the senior blacksmith tells Yoongi. “I’ll be back before sundown. You’ll be okay here?”

“Of course I will,” Yoongi says, disgruntled. Jihoon nods goodbye at you both and moves through the door, leaving you in silence.

“What’s the price?” you ask, placing your purse on the counter and digging for coins. He turns the paper over so you can see what his boss wrote, and you slide him the payment. You work on attaching the blade’s sheath to your belt, ignoring how Yoongi watches you through heavy-hooded eyes.

You know that look. You are ignoring that look.

“Lovely,” you say, once you’re situated and ready to go. You swipe up your purse and toss it once, catching it deftly. “Have fun pounding on metal, or whatever.”

His grin is razor-sharp. “I’d be happy to pound something else, if you want.”

The laugh rips out of you, unbidden and unwanted. “Disgusting,” you tell him, but the laughter takes the bite out of the words. “My God, you ought to throw yourself down the well for that.”

He lifts a brow, his smile turning less dangerous and more open.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “None of that today, thanks. I’ll be off.”

“Come on,” he cajoles, coming around the counter to follow you to the door. “You know you want some. It’ll be such a long ride back here when you change your mind later.”

“Keep dreaming, blacksmith,” you tell him, lips pursing in amusement.

He lays a hand over his heart like he’s wounded. “Blacksmith? You remembered my name just fine last week when you were -.”

“Well, I seem to have forgotten it again!” you blurt before he can finish the thought, pulling the door open. Over your shoulder you call, “Good day!”

His laughter rings out onto the street, following you home.

Regretfully, you have to admit that out of everyone who lives in this village, built out from the castle’s western gate, you know the most about Min Yoongi.

You knew him in passing, of course - before. When you’d ride through this same village on this same cart, your little brother squeezed between you and your father. When you’d stand silently, peeking around your father’s side, while he took payment from the King for his scores. When you’d greet the peddlers and the shop-keepers politely before climbing back on the cart and riding all the way back home.

Yoongi was just an apprentice then. You hadn’t paid him any mind. He was quiet, a bit scruffy, stayed close to Park Jihoon. He was no more interesting to you than the apprentice for the bakery, the tannery, the copywrite. Wasn’t even the best looking out of the bunch, honestly.

He was just there, unassuming. He was there when you’d pass through town on the cart full of your father’s scores, there whenever your family had business with the blacksmith, there when the holidays rolled through and your mother dragged you into town in a dress you hated and shoes that pinched.

There the day your parents’ bodies, along with six others, were loaded onto a barge headed for the sea. There the day your brother joined four more young people from the village as they climbed into a deep blue carriage headed for the citadel.

Yoongi’s dark eyes, cool and undemanding, had been on you as you stood fully alone for the first time in your life.

You hadn’t paid him any attention then, either. You couldn’t pay mind to anything then except dragging yourself through dark day after dark day until, finally, the clouds seemed to part and your new life seemed bearable. And bearable turned into decent. And decent turned into enjoyable.

The seasons turned. The hurts faded.

And you began to pay mind to Min Yoongi.

You began to learn things about him, then - after.

In your time around town, you learned first that he was good at his work - his blades were made well, easily as well as his master’s blades. You learned that he scowled and grunted but hardly ever meant it. You learned that he had a good reputation around the village - was known for helping his neighbors without being asked, known for being polite and keeping to himself. You learned that he had no family either, that the master blacksmith who’d taken him as an apprentice had more or less raised him, too.

Alone with him, you learned that his smile could be razor sharp, one side lifting and eyes glinting in a way that made your pulse sing. You learned that when he meant it, his eyes squeezed shut and his gums showed. His shoulders shook when he laughed. He made the funniest faces when someone said anything he didn’t agree with or didn’t understand. He’d grown strong, his craft shaping his arms and roughening his hands.

You learned that he took whiskey neat at the tavern when he was done working for the day. You learned that he had a smart mouth behind his quiet demeanor, and opinions about everything. You learned what he was willing and able to do with that mouth when he pressed you against the rough wood of the tavern’s side alley, and then later, back in his rooms behind the smithy.

You learned that he fucked rough but loved soft.

And that was where it had to stop.

Because it couldn’t be - but this you knew the whole time.

When he pressed his mouth to yours sweetly, stretching to reach you, brushed one lovely finger down your cheek and whispered, I want you, you knew this: it couldn’t be.

There was no life for you in the village. There was no life for you as someone’s wife. There was no future for you as someone’s homemaker.

Even if he could somehow give you partnership and love without taking away the wildness of your lifestyle - there was no love ready to bloom and grow behind your iron ribs. You had nothing you could give him back. You knew only survival. Only killing and coin. Only the forest and its secrets.

“You can’t have me,” you’d whispered back. “I am not to be had.”

You were surprised when he didn’t fight it. He hadn’t pushed back. He hadn’t held it against you, hadn’t been wounded. He’d accepted exactly what you were willing to give him and asked for nothing more.

You know this, above all else: he’s sweet, and conscientious, and good. Yoongi is good.

You - forest-dweller, hunter, orphan, unmannered, uneducated - don’t deserve him. You aren’t enough for how good he is.

The royal physician’s face says it all.

The Queen purses her lips, her eyes on her husband’s prone form. He meets her gaze weakly, too far gone to mask any of it.

“How long?” she asks, the words clipped.

The physician spreads his hands before him. “Impossible to say, your Majesty. Days, maybe. Weeks, if he can be strong.”

She scoffs. “Days it shall be, then.” She dismisses him with the wave of a hand.

No one is surprised, she thinks. The plague would breach their walls eventually. Only the strong survive - of course it would be her husband who would succumb first, and quickly. He’d never been strong, not like her.

After all, she was the one who tried all these years. She looked and acted the part of a partner. She was faithful. She focused on the crown, on the realm.

Not like him.

He coughs as he shifts on the bed, and she looks at him again. Weak, she thinks again. She can only feel disgust for him, for everything he never gave her.

“You’ll finally get what you always wanted,” he croaks.

She turns to look out the window. The day is grey, dreary.

“It seems I shall,” she agrees. Then she turns and walks closer to her husband’s sickbed - deathbed, perhaps. She drops delicately into the chair at his side and takes his clammy hand in hers.

It might look as if she doted on him. It might look as if she mourned.

“What became of him?” she asks, voice even and unbending. “The boy.”

Her husband’s eyes crinkle with amusement, and the chuckle that rumbles from his chest is accompanied by pained coughing.

“You truly are something, my Queen,” he says, shaking his head. “The boy doesn’t even know.”

He will say nothing else.

The Queen is delivered two things at once, not a week later.

The first, a gilded mirror, promised to possess magical ability.

The second, the expected news of her husband’s passing.

The realm begins its period of mourning, flags lowering, shutters closing. The Queen begins her incantations, alone in the southernmost tower of the keep.

The frame is made of ornately twisted gold, so heavy it takes two of her men to hang it for her. When they pull the dust cover off, she steps back to appraise it.

“Pretty,” she observes, watching her own reflection in the glass - unmagical, unextraordinary.

The swirling, green-hued mist doesn’t appear before her reflection until her men are dismissed, the door closing and leaving her alone.

Your Majesty, the mirror intones, the voice coming from the depth of the mist. Your wish is my command.

The Queen pauses, considering. The throne, the throne - hers, finally, only hers.

Unless.

The King’s last words to her ring through her head - the boy doesn’t even know.

She raises her chin and chants,

“Mirror, mirror, look and see…

Who could take this throne from me?

Mirror, mirror, who’s the threat?

Show me which boy’s blood to let.”

The mist, green and growing, takes over the glass. The Queen’s fists clench tightly at her sides.

The mist clears. The Queen lets out a laugh, short and bitter.

The blacksmith’s boy smiles shyly in the glass, one hand coming up as if to hide his face.

The blacksmith’s boy. The king’s bastard. Her only threat, the only other claim to her throne.

Your next trip into town isn’t with a cart full of venison and fowl. Instead it rings more true to the holidays of old, with your mother in charge. You wear black and a scowl, just as you did then.

The funeral services for the King threaten to last the full day, maybe into the night. You wish you could abstain, but if ever there was an event you were obligated to attend - this would be it.

You’re not sure what the King’s death means for you - for your brother. Will the Queen uphold the bargain? Does she still want your brother’s counsel, someday, when he’s of age? Without the King’s affection for your father, will she continue to allow you to live freely as part of the arrangement?

You sit alone in the church pew; rather, you’re surrounded on either side by strangers. You know Yoongi’s in the crowd somewhere - you can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head. You don’t turn to look for him. What good would it do?

It’s well after dark when the town begins to file out into the night. Your stomach growls, and you ponder if you should stop for a hot meal at the tavern before making the trek back through the woods or if you can hold out until you’re safely back at home.

You’re stopped on your way out the door by a guard reaching across you, blocking your path.

“Her Majesty requests your audience,” he says gruffly, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand at attention. Your audience?

It can’t be good. You’re sure of it.

You don’t meet her in the throne room as you have in the past. Instead, the guard leads you to a small chamber off the chapel, a nondescript little room with no decor, only a table with a candelabra lit in the center.

She’s seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best.

“Is my brother well?” you blurt out as soon as the guard has closed the door behind you. It was the first, biggest concern you had - you couldn’t hold it in. Had something happened in the citadel?

She inclines her head, shrouded in darkness. “I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head, flooded with relief. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is.

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. No sign of grief from the widow, no sign of trepidation from the new ruler, no sign of regret from the human asking you to take a life. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. And I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands.

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat?

Could you tell her yes and then leave? Vanish into the forest? What would become of your brother, if you did? Would he be responsible for your sins?

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could send finer clothes to your brother, help pay for his books, maybe even a little spending money. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years.

And payment for your silence - ongoing? For how long, forever?

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

She accepts your silence as acquiescence and adds, “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” you repeat, voice coming out too wispy.

She meets your gaze, still cold. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you say, the only correct answer. But your mind is scrambling far away, getting ahead - what weapons do you have on hand, how will you do this -

“You didn’t strike me as softhearted,” she says, full of disdain.

“I’m not,” you defend. It’s just that it’s Yoongi. Yoongi, who sees your sharp edges and smiles because he knows firsthand how much sharp edges are worth. How - how - how can you? How can you pretend it’s just a hunt, just a necessity, when you know how his mouth tastes, how he looks at you like you’re something?

Her even look turns darker, a shade closer to a frown. “I know you have the stomach and skill to kill. And I know you dally with him. He’ll follow you - take him to the woods and be done with it.”

You haven’t been as discrete as you thought you had. You wonder who else in town knows about whom you dally with.

Not that it will matter, after tonight. Not if you follow orders.

Not when you follow orders.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you say, head bowed.

There’s no other correct answer. Your freedom had always had a price.

–

There’s some poetic irony, you think, in killing Min Yoongi with the blade he made just for you.

Your mind is stuck on this, circling it, unable to let go, as you approach the smithy.

The lights are out - there’ll be no late-night projects, not during the official mourning for the King. You hope Park Jihoon, whose quarters are above the smithy, just across the yard from Yoongi’s tiny cabin, sleeps deeply.

You know Yoongi keeps a key in the eaves above his front window; you’ve seen him retrieve it no less than a half-dozen times - usually he’s reaching for it, his shirt rising and showing a slip of belly that you can’t help but run your hands across as he laughs and tells you to be patient.

You reach it on your own, tonight. You let yourself in as silently as possible, closing the door behind you, placing the key gently on his tiny, wooden table. His bed is in the far corner of the room, and although the fire in the hearth has gone out, you can see the lump of blankets through the darkness that show you his form.

You approach quietly, as you would approach a potential score, letting yourself slip into the mindset of surviving the forest.

You hesitate when you stand over him. He sleeps on his back, the light from the streetlamps outside casting flickering yellow over his delicate features. His eyelids flutter. Next to his head, his fingers twitch.

If you strike true, this could be over in an instant.

His eyes slide open, and a hazy smile drifts over his face. “Am I having a very good dream?” he murmurs. His eyes trail down your form and freeze on the knife in your hand. The smile fades, and his eyes meet yours again, a question in them. “Or perhaps a very bad one?”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Then, you move at the same time - you lunging and plunging the blade into the spot where his heart lay, and him rolling sideways and hitting the floor with a thud.

You yank your blade free from where it pierced Yoongi’s empty mattress and wheel to follow him as he scrambles upright and towards the door.

You should’ve locked it. You shouldn’t have apologized, your voice and your regret giving him the split second to bolt.

You follow him at a sprint, panting hard, as the fool runs barefoot through the smithy’s yard, heading for the forest.

Your forest.

It’s overcast tonight, threatening rain. No moon or stars to guide you, you follow Yoongi as he zigs and zags blindly through the trees. You have the advantage. You know where you are, even in the dark.

It’s primal, as you forge deeper and deeper through the underbrush, just sinew and silence as you run. Wind whistles around you as you focus on breathing, focus on following the crunch of Yoongi’s wild path. The earth seems to rise up to meet each footfall with a jolting slap. The darkness seems to spur you on like it knows you need this, pressing you onward, telling you, hurry, hurry.

If you can herd him towards the east, you can cut him off at the ravine - he won’t be able to do it barefoot, not without stumbling, not without cutting those bare feet on the sharp rocks. You pick up the pace, emboldened by the plan, knees and elbows pumping as you close in.

Without warning, Yoongi stops short and wheels around on you, feet skidding a little on the loose needles that coat the forest floor. It’s so unexpected that the inertia carries you to him before you can tell your legs to quit. Before you can slow, before you can turn, he grabs you by the arms and slams you backwards into the thick trunk of an oak tree, hard enough to knock the wind out of you with an audible gasp.

You’re surprised enough that the knife drops from your fingers, and he wastes no time gripping you even tighter and throwing you to the ground, instantly dropping his body over yours and holding you down as best he can as you struggle. The blade lies just out of reach, taunting you, and you reach up and stretch as hard as you can to wiggle your fingers closer, but Yoongi roughly jerks your arm away.

You’re gasping for breath as you struggle beneath his weight, trying to keep your vision clear. This wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to have to chase him, have to fight him. You aren’t used to this - the deer don’t fight back.

“Why?” he pants heavily, his whole body heaving with each inhale and exhale. Sweat runs down his neck from the curled, damp edges of his hair. His eyes are wild, confused above you.

“Do you know who your father is?” you respond in answer, and the question surprises him so much that he leans back, like he’s trying to get a better look at you.

It’s all you need. You use your feet and your core strength to stretch just past where you couldn’t reach with his full weight on you, and your fingers close around the blade’s handle. In a flash, you have the sharp side pressing to the pulse point on Yoongi’s neck, hard enough that you know he can feel the sting, your other hand curling in his shirt and holding him still. His eyes widen and he freezes, straining to hold himself up and away from you.

“If you move I’ll do it, and it won’t be quick,” you hiss, teeth gritted so hard you’re sure they’ll crack. Your heart slams in your chest, adrenaline sending tingles clear down to your toes. You’re dizzy with fear. You aren’t sure what’s scarier - actually doing what you’re meant to, or having to report that you didn’t.

You’re both stuck there - a tableau, an oil painting, frozen for eternity, never moving on from this moment. A million possibilities stretch on as Yoongi’s pulse beats visibly against the knife he’d sharpened for you just days ago.

You feel like you’re floating outside your body; you can’t feel any of it - not the knife’s handle against your palm, not Yoongi’s hips still pinning yours, not the sticks and stones beneath your spine, not the sticky humidity of a night on the precipice of storm. Not your own thrumming, frightened heartbeat.

You know you can’t do it - not this way. Not like this, not with his eyes on yours, steady, as if he’s not staring down his death. Not like this, looking into his face and remembering the first time you were under him this way, remembering every time after that. Your hand trembles as you will yourself not to pull the blade away.

But he knows. Yoongi’s always called your every bluff, has always been perfectly capable of shooting you a knowing half-smile and pushing right past your blustering, always able to find the person on the other side of the facade - the person who’s scared,confused, alone.

“No you won’t,” he murmurs, low, and there’s nothing accusing or mocking in it. He’s simply telling you what he knows.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers his face closer to yours, so deliberately that the knife slides harmlessly along his skin until he’s clear of it. He presses his lips to yours, uncertain at first, then with more insistence when you don’t push him away.

The fear and adrenaline crash through you in time with a not-so-distant crack of thunder, blinding you, rendering you thoughtless and animalistic. You drop the knife with a thud, barely aware that you’re doing it, your hand coming instead to tangle in his loose hair, clutching it tightly at the base of his neck and pressing his head closer to yours, kissing him deeper, needing to absolutely drown in his kiss.

He grunts at your enthusiasm, nipping at your bottom lip before diving into you again, licking deep into your mouth and pressing his hips down into yours in rhythm with the kiss. You move with him desperately, the quiet of the woods scattered by your combined gasping breaths, tiny sounds of pleasure slipping through the cracks in your armor, the wet sounds of your mouths coming apart and meeting again hungrily. Despite the earth solid beneath you, you feel like you’re spinning. You clutch him tightly, one hand in his hair and the other arm coming around his shoulders, tethering him to you.

He’s the only thing keeping you here, in the present, not skittering off to somewhere safe inside your head.

You let him hold you there, pressed between him and the unyielding ground below you, channel all the rushing adrenaline into how you meet his fiery kisses, pressing your mouth hard back against his like it’s a battle, into how you roll your hips against his, thrilling at feeling him hard and ready for you. But for all the intensity, for the dizziness sweeping over you, neither of you rushes - you kiss for so long that your lips tingle, your core throbs, the night grows blacker, the thunder tiptoes closer.

You swipe your tongue over his familiar lips, whining in your throat when he opens for you again, welcomes you in, rocks against you and closes his eyes against the sting as you unconsciously tighten your fingers in his hair.

Then he breaks the kiss, pulls himself free of your grasp, nudges his nose to the underside of your jaw until you lean your head back, breathing hard, giving him room to attach teeth and lips to the skin of your neck.

He gathers a bit of skin and worries it between his teeth, muttering, “You won’t kill me. No one else can make you come undone like I do.”

The sound that tears out of you is half laugh and half desperate groan. “Prove it, then,” you goad, fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling the edge towards you. He releases the spot on your neck long enough to let you pull the material over his head. Then he sits back on his knees between your legs and looks you over, one hand absently sliding down the front of his trousers, pressing relief into his waiting cock.

“Yours,” he says, tone steely. You find your own hem with shaking fingers. Distantly, there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating the canopy of tree branches above you before plunging you into darkness again. You pull your top over your head and drop it next to his, leaning back on your elbows.

All thoughts of what you’re supposed to do here have left you; there’s only hands-shaking adrenaline and instinct driving you to give in to your desires and pursue what you want - Yoongi, Yoongi, more of Yoongi.

“Trousers, too,” Yoongi tells you, voice quiet. His fingers are on the string of his own trousers, but his eyes are on your exposed chest. Hungry.

You do as he says, untying your bottoms and pushing them away with your feet and waiting for his next move. The night isn’t cold, but you shiver. The forest, your forest, feels like a sanctuary, like it’s wrapping around the two of you and keeping you safe from everything outside. Like if you stayed in here, together, you might be safe from her after all.

But you know that’s a lie.

You push the thought away by coming up on your knees and approaching Yoongi, who’s still kneeling, too. You press your chest to him with a shudder as you reach to kiss him again. He gives a quiet, happy noise low in his throat and you answer with a hum as you lick into him again.

You slip a hand between your bodies and find him heavy and leaking. He presses into your touch with a nearly-silent keen that you manage to catch, and you trace your fingertips up his length, playing in the wetness you find waiting for you at the tip, then pulling that wetness down to the base again. You repeat the motion, touch featherlight, and listen to Yoongi’s breathing hitch and catch and sigh as he closes his eyes and enjoys it. He’s silky against your fingertips, skin like satin even here.

Yoongi trails kisses down your jaw, making a clear path towards your neck, and he skims a hand up your side and past your ribs, cupping one breast and rubbing his thumb roughly over your hardening nipple. You gasp, fingers twitching against his length, which spurs him on. He runs his knuckles lightly over the bud, then takes it gently between his thumb and forefinger, giving it an experimental roll. Your gasped ah turns into a liquid moan and he does it again, harder. You keen, a note of complaint in it, as he repeats the movement that is somehow both too much and not enough.

You wrap your hand fully around him, done teasing him with barely-there strokes, and roll your wrist once, twice, three times, his low grumbling reply music to your ears. He’s still mouthing at your neck and he switches hands, igniting sparks as he gently pinches the other nipple instead. Then he reaches and bumps your wrist out of his way as he cups your sex and spears you on his middle finger.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you whine, rocking into his hand, trying to take the digit just a little deeper.

He must hear the desperation in your tone or sense it in the way you clench around his single finger, because he takes mercy on you and presses a second finger in beside the first. You sigh, still rocking against his hand, as he fucks into the spot in your front wall that makes your eyes drift closed and your toes curl up. You abandon his cock, bringing your hands to his shoulders, hanging on to keep yourself upright. When he presses his thumb against your clit you groan, loud and long, no one to hear you, and let your head fall back.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, plunging his fingers in and out of your wet heat. You can hear it each time he pushes them back in, the sound ringing in the silent woods, the only competition the approaching rolls of gentle thunder.

He works you up until you’re panting, your forehead dropping to rest against his collarbone, your hips in constant motion as you seek more. Your arms are looped around his neck, though you don’t remember starting to hold him, and your fingers find the ends of his long hair, tugging lightly in time with his motions. Occasionally his thumb circles your clit, causing your hips to jerk, but the angle stops him from keeping it constant. He pulls his hand away, and you take a bracing breath, coming back to your senses as the sensations fade.

He drops back from his knees, one arm behind his head as he lays back. He locks his eyes on yours as he strokes himself, his teeth toying with his bottom lip.

“Come on, then,” he prompts, his hand languid and lazy on his cock. Your body buzzes as you climb over him and sink down, letting him fill you, stretch you, break you into pieces. You ride him hard, one hand splayed on his flushed chest for balance, as around you the wind picks up, the leaves on the trees fluttering.

Yoongi’s eyes screw closed and his head tips back, even as his hands continue to guide your hips through each rise and fall.

You slow, savoring the drag against your walls, savoring his pretty skin beneath your fingers, savoring the grunts and hitched breaths he’s trying to hold back.

You could have loved Yoongi. In another life, where you had chips to bargain with. In a life where you fit into place within the village, where wild wasn’t as necessary to you as air. Even if the Queen had never called for Yoongi’s head - this life never meant for you to love him.

This is what you think about as you lightly rake your nails down his chest, watching him squirm beneath you. You think about all the times he’d been on the edge of saying it.

You think about all the times the feeling had risen up in you, as warm as a patch of sunlit floor, and you’d had to blow it away like an errant dandelion seed.

Maybe you do love him. You just can’t forget - not for a second - how little it matters.

The knife sits where you’d dropped it before undressing, just past Yoongi’s head.

You could probably reach it now.

Yoongi seems to sense the change in your motions and cracks an eye open, his fingers on your hips loosening.

His gaze follows yours. A flash of lightning makes the metal shine for a split second, and then you’re surrounded by the sudden patter of falling rain.

“Guess we better hurry,” Yoongi mutters, reaching up to grip the back of your neck and pulling you down so your chest is flush with his.

All thoughts leave your mind as he hammers into you from below - the knife is forgotten. Your feelings are forgotten. The rain, starting to muddy up the ground around you, forgotten.

You cum around him in silence, jaw clenched, fingers digging into his biceps. The groan he lets out as you squeeze around him in waves is drowned out by a growl of thunder that feels like it’s right above you, all around you.

Yoongi pumps into you with abandon, suddenly losing the rhythm he’d created. He gives two more shuddery thrusts and then lets his arms flop to the ground with a contented sigh.

For a second, you both lay there, sweat-slick and panting. Another lightning splits the sky, and the rain comes harder. He slides out of you and you wiggle until you’re laying just next to him instead of on top of him.

You can’t stop looking at him. He seems determined not to look at you.

The rain washes everything away - the smell of sex, your sweat, your affection, your sadness, your pride.

“My father,” he murmurs beneath you, and you go deathly still. “Yes, I knew.”

You swallow, brush rainwater from your brow. “So does the Queen,” you say back. An explanation, and an answer to the why he’d leveled at you an hour ago.

He nods slowly, expression clearing with understanding.

You feel no absolution for it.

Finally, he leans his head back again, his bangs flopping heavily now that they’re saturated with rainwater, and eyes the knife.

You sit up. He brings his eyes to you and watches silently - as if he accepts whatever move you make. As if, should you reach for the metal, he wouldn’t fight you this time.

“Go.” The word tumbles roughly onto the inch of mud between you. You don’t remember making the decision to say it.

He sits up, elbows and shoulders caked with mud. But all he does is watch you, wait for you to change your mind.

“Go,” you repeat, meaning it. Now that you’ve said it once, now that the decision was made, you know it’s the right one. “I’ll tell her it’s done.”

You could never kill him. You both knew it all along.

He dresses wordlessly, and you do the same, pulling your top back over your head and tying up your trouser string. When you look up, he’s standing in the rain, watching you.

You stoop and grab the knife he’d made you. You grip it tightly in your hand, refuse to meet his eyes.

He’s not challenging you, not questioning you - and that, in itself, feels like a slap.

“You can’t come back,” you say, as evenly as you can muster. When he just looks at you, infuriatingly silent, you add, “You can’t. Okay? If she - she can never know.”

“I know,” he says, and then he gives you a long, searching look. He’s drenched now, and your hands itch to push his set hair away from his face, to use your thumbs to chase raindrops - you think - away from his lashline.

Then, choked, he offers, “You could -”

“Don’t,” you bite out, stopping him before he can make you any kind of offer. You can’t. You can’t go with him. You can’t disappear into the night. Your brother is counting on you. You won’t let him pay for your sins.

Yoongi shakes his head. He takes another step closer. Your fingers tighten on the knife’s handle.

“Y/N, I -”

You raise the knife above your head in a flash, eyes going wide in fury.

“Fucking go!” you bark.

He holds up his hands, takes a few steps backwards, giving up his quest to make this harder than it needs to be. Lightning illuminates him and above your head, the blade shines for a split second before everything is cast into inky darkness again.

When your eyes adjust to the darkness, trees around you forming a shape again, he’s gone.

You don’t follow him, and you don’t return to your cabin. You sink to your knees in the mud, dropping the knife onto the ground, and sob into your hands, the noise swallowed by the flurry of rain and the intermittent cracks of thunder.

—

You sleep. You hunt. When the time comes, you bring your scores to the Queen atop your wagon.

She doesn’t ask you about Yoongi. You don’t offer her anything, just thank her for her grace routinely when she orders your purse to be filled.

You don’t stop at the tavern on the way back home. You don’t stop at any of the shops - not this time. You don’t trust yourself to act right if Yoongi’s disappearance gets brought up. You don’t trust that no one will do the math that he vanished four nights ago, and now you’re a hollowed shell who can’t form words.

The townspeople have seen you grieve before. They’d know what they were seeing.

The next trip is easier, and the one after that even more. The Queen never thanks you, not that you expected it, but you start finding an extra purse of coins in your wagon each time you return to it after bringing in your kills.

The price for your silence. The price for what she thinks you’ve done.

It hurts the most when your wagon passes the smithy, but you keep your eyes on the cobblestones and your hands on the reins and eventually the hurt fades along with the village as you get farther and farther away.

The seasons turn. The hurts fade. You send extra money to your brother. You sleep. You hunt.

Eventually, you stop waking up from nightmares that feature the glint of metal. You stop waking up trying desperately to cling to your dreams as fruitlessly as clinging to smoke, left with only damp places on your pillow and the memory of a low, throaty chuckle ringing in your ears.

Eventually, you can ride past the smithy without the pang in your chest. You can stop for a pint without watching the shadows for the appearance of a gummy smile. You can laugh when the bartender cracks a joke, can sound like yourself when you ask the baker’s daughter how she’s been faring.

It is after one of these trips, deep into color-saturated autumn, that you return to your cabin with wagon empty and purses full.

Something isn’t right. You freeze, casting your eyes around the forest, but it holds its secrets tight.

On the ground in front of your door, illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight, is a brand new, shining blade.

thank you so much for reading!!! i really really like this one and i hope you do too!! <3

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi smut #min yoongi angst #fairy tale au #fic: the price

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laurasimonsdaughter · 8 days

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I just noticed a recurring motif among these Sicilian fairy tales that is so incredibly well-suited for fanfic:

A princess sees a handsome young man (usually a prince in disguise) making eyes at her in the marketplace and begs her father the king to make him a royal servant, because he is so beautiful.

The king complies, because he's too fond of her to say no, and makes the hero a stable boy or gardener.

The princess now suddenly spends much more time out riding or requesting flowers, and then tells her father that the new servant is far too good for outside work and must become a servant in the castle.

The king complies, but soon enough the princess requests that the new manservant is made her personal page. By now the king is getting very nervous, but he still can't say no to his daughter.

The princess and the page manage to keep up the charade a little longer before the princess goes to the king and outright demands to let her marry her favourite.

The king gives the hero three "impossible tasks" that are meant to kill him, but naturally he accomplishes them all through trickery or supernatural intervention and the clandestine lovers get their way.

The pining, the flirting, the sneaking around, the devotion— do you see my vision?

#please make this a new AU #please #in the fairy tales this is usually a side plot to the main event #but a good ship could /make it the main event/#laura tumbles #fairy tale AU #this is the happy version of this motif #there is also an not happy version but I like this one #fairy tales #fanfic #tropes #writing prompts

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gruvu · 6 months

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I drew @squidinu's prince Orion cause he reminds me of a blondie brownie for some reason

#gruvu's art #Squidinu #fairy tale au

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mysticmiav · 29 days

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It was Chilumi Fairy Tale week on twitter, and here are my pieces for it✨️🐳

But the walls of that tower could not hide everything☀️

Day 1- Rapunzel au🍳

Red is the colour of destiny🥀

Day 2- Red Riding Hood & Woodcutter au

"It's... made of glass?"

Day 3- Cinderella au🥿

Don't stare at the perspective too much it doesn't make any sense

He recounts stories of his travels to her⚓️

Day 4- Pirate Siren au✍️

Sooo happy with how this one turned out <3

Salty depths hold secrets⚓️🌊

Day 5- Another Pirate Siren au, because I really wanted to draw their roles reversed; this time it's Pirate Lumine Siren Childe~

"What's wrong?"🗡

Day 6- Ella Enchanted au! One of my favourite movies growing up~

For anyone that doesn't know the movie: the story is about a girl named Ella who, when she was born, her fairy (godmother-ish) casted a bleesing of obedience on her. Due to it, Ella obeys any order given to her no matter what, and, well, you can imagine how that goes when the wrong people learn of this information.

The evening star is shinin' bright so make a wish✨️

Day 7- Princess and the frog au🌱

So my initial goal was to just sketch something for every day (since am busy w work and other projects) but it felt like I kept getting carried away each day, my sketches kept getting more detailed and all. So, for the last day, I wanted to lowkey-shitpost it and go for froggies chilumi!✍️

Alright long post but that's all. This was my first time actually making a piece for every day of those types of events & am happy with all of them🖤

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pinceauarcenciel · 3 months

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Spot illustrations for the enchanting FaraSkye Robin Hood AU fic written by the talented @franzizka for the @onceuponaturnaboutzine 🏹 ✨

💌 Read it here:

The fic is illustrated, so you can admire my art while delighting in the text! Now, you don't have any excuse to not read it!

※ Fanart: Ace Attorney (Gyakuten Saiban) © Shu Takumi/ Capcom

Bonus content under the cut!💰

💘 Characters design of the gang! (because you cant' see the whole outfits in the illustrations but they exist!!)

(Quite the messy art owo) I added the Yatagarasu symbol in Kay's belt afterwards, and Kay+Maya's skin are lighter here because I color picked them instead of doing my hc directly oops

💘 Drop cap (that you can already see in the fic itself!!) 💘 And a sketch from the beginning scene with the Skye sisters (꒪̇ω꒪̇)

#fanzine #zine full piece #my art #fanart #ace attorney #ace attorney investigations #kay faraday #ema skye #maya fey #regina berry #lana skye #robin hood #faraskye #fairy tale au #traditional art #artists on tumblr #we were limited for the number of spot art otherwise I would have illustrated the whole text lol #I had so much fun working on this project (♥´ ▽｀♥)

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spotsandsocks · 11 days

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Seven (and a few)Sentence Sunday 🏰🌳🌳🛖🌳🌕🌳🌳

Tagged by @daffi-990 @wikiangela @tizniz @diazsdimples @bidisasterbuckdiaz

Not sharing anything new today because I want an excuse to show this off commissioned by the amazingly talented @bucksketch thank you so much it’s beautiful ❤️

Lost Without You 28k 5/5 completed A fairy tale about a cursed prince and the man who tries to save him ❤️💔❤️

This bit comes right after the picture.

Buck runs a finger over the the two bands he can see on his arm, he really thinks these marks on his skin are the answer, that he now has a way to break the curse.

A contented sigh slips from his lips as he lies in the bed he just spent the night in with Eddie. A future with Eddie and Chris actually seems possible. All he needs to do is explain things to Maddie and his parents and they'll be happy for him, he’s sure of it.

With uncharacteristically optimistic thoughts about his future running through his head he drags himself up and is almost dressed when he hears the raised voices.

That doesn’t seem right and frowning slightly he quickly buttons up his shirt, pulls on his boots and goes to investigate.

The sight that greets him as he opens the door freezes his heart.

It takes him a moment to fully process what he sees, but it’s real, there are actually Palace Guards in the street and they have a man surrounded. The man is on his knees, head bowed and hands behind his head.

To his horror the man is Eddie.

Tagging people who might like to see the art and for SSS @underwaterninja13 @hoodie-buck @loserdiaz @monsterrae1 @elvensorceress @shipperqueen6 @honestlydarkprincess @hippolotamus @rogerzsteven @caroandcats @exhuastedpigeon @princessfbi @watchyourbuck @wikiangela @thewolvesof1998 @thekristen999 @buffaluff @saybiwithme @bi-buckrights @spaceprincessem @jesuisici33 @father-salmon @fiona-fififi @toughpaperround @eddiebabygirldiaz @loveyouanyway @wildlife4life @weewootruck @bekkachaos @stagefoureddiediaz @bigfootsmom @bewilderedbuckley @rainbow-nerdss @pirrusstuff @giddyupbuck @steadfastsaturnsrings @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @fortheloveofbuddie @loserdiaz @loveyouanyway @actualalligator @evanbi-ckley

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 abc #911fic #911 fic #magic au #fairy tale au #buddie au #fae #curses

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aiwa-sensei · 1 year

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OFMD JanyAUry day 2: Fairytale

Follow the salt&pepper rabbit!

#ofmd fanart #ofmd au #ofmd januaury #ofmd #blackbeard #stede bonnet #izzy hands #steddyhands #gentlebeard #fairy tale au #alice in wonderland

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anika-ann · 21 days

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Ocaruj me (Bewitch Me) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; drabbl-ish; a part of this pseudo-medieval-fantasy AU

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 2k

Summary: Knight Steven Rogers is a man with love. That love is you. His beautiful lady who bewitched his soul even without the supernatural powers you possess. He'll follow you anywhere.

It that means bathing in a lake in a moonlight, so be it.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex (shocking in medieval times huh), bit of angst, fluff, knight Steve ‘cause he’s a warning, Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Actual title is Očaruj mě (Bewitch Me) ...tumblr cannot handle a "č" and an “ě“ in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; inspired by THIS ask (you can find headcanons and a playlist there)

A/N 2: Chronologically fits before the events of Pomiluj mě, but if you read this first, you will spoil some of the reveals.

Magic is a dark evil thing; that is what all knights of the kingdom are reminded during their studies and training.

Magic is the wicked twine that curls around your wrist when you reach out a hand, grips you tight and drags you towards perdition.

Magic takes face of a twisted beauty, a temptress, and leads you down the path of sin with a smile worth of the Devil himself.

Magic only knows curses and wrongs.

Sir Steven Rogers knows these axioms by heart.

Steve knows they are horseshit; or at least fail to fulfil the basic rule of an axiom, which is supposed to be universality.

In Steve’s eyes, people are corrupted by many things, amongst which there is the power that comes with magic. That much is true. But the nature of magic itself is pure; t reveals the person wielding it and amplifies who they already are.

Steve would only agree with part of the axiom second to last, assured whenever he sees you. He would now too, standing near the bank of a lake, still fully clothed, his gaze inevitably drawn to the enticing image in front of him.

You, standing to the waist in the water, dressed in but the luxurious robe of moonlight caressing your skin and wearing the lake like the richest skirt; your hair cascading down freely like an elaborate veil, the commonly dark ink of your tattoo reaching from the side of your neck down your shoulder shinning bright.

When you glance over your shoulder, eyes glimmering more entrancingly than the moon and the stars combined, lips curling in a smile, the last thing Steve would compare you to would be the Devil, a dark evil thing.

The truth, however, is that if you did decide to drag him towards his end, he would follow voluntarily, heart pounding just as hard as it is now, with warmth in his chest and searing heat in is gut.

When you speak his name, a sweet ‘rytier moj’, you indeed are every bit of a temptress, the seductress steering him toward the most beautiful of sins; but not in the name of evil.

In the name of love.

“How is it that you are not cold, bosorka moja? And by gods, remind me, love, why is it that I should follow?” he asks with a grin on his lips, as if he does not feel every ounce of his body being pulled to you by the alluring image of you alone, by the promise of the feel of your skin under his fingertips, of the taste of your lips, of your wickedly delicate hands touching him in ways no unwed lovers should.

You have told him there was a deeper meaning in bathing in that particular lake on this very night, but as fascinated as he always is by your faiths and magic, you have been convincing him with your lips whispering to his own, causing his memory to be considerably less reliable, his mind much more pliant.

You turn around to face him fully, your watery skirt swirling; Steve’s mouth turns dry at the sight of your stiff nipples and plump breasts, his last reservations dispersing as his pants become uncomfortably tight.

“For this lake is believed to possess supernatural properties, rytier moj. For I know it does,” you remind him gently, your gaze trailing down his body in appreciation as he sheds his cloak, his tunic and pants.

You once told him what you saw when he did and have aided him in recalling it quite frequently.

Beauty.

Strength.

Goodness.

Safety.

Home.

And desires personified.

Steve is only a man; all these are virtues in his mind, privileges, and the one that is not makes him preen all the more.

Dark eyes glimmering in the moonlight, your smile earns a teasing edge even as your words begin with gravity.

“Bathing in the light of the full moon nearest to the summer solstice makes one stronger. Something my knight might appreciate. I know I for sure would, since he insists on recklessly risking his life.”

His own lips curl up, heart humming with tenderness; he is cared for. He is worried about. He is loved. He is not the only one who has the comfort of a lover on their mind. Perhaps it is for ‘lovers’ is not quite the word fit for where his heart quivers in the matter of you and him. Not the only word.

Desire personified.

Gorgeous temptress.

But also beloved.

Láska moja.

Bosorka moja.

Home.

“All knights do, bosorka moja,” he says as he steps into the water, the liquid welcoming him with an unexpected sensation of cold and warmth combined.

Where his skin meets the water, immersed deeper with each tentative step on the invisible rocky floor, he is enveloped with an unfamiliar sensation, the warmth seeping into his skin almost violently, leaving gentle tingling in its wake.

His lungs expand. His heart thunders. His muscles ache until they feel as light as a feather. His large bones seem to harden, his joints feel stronger but pliant. His blood pumps vigorously, forcing a shuddering breath out of his chest.

Well, he’ll be damned; he would be if he wasn’t so blessed. He would never doubt you again. Not that he ever truly did.

You watch him, a hypnotic and hypnotizing gaze, soaked in the satisfaction and desire having thickened your tenderness. Your skin almost glows and Steve understands that his eyes were not deceiving him earlier. He is not the only one absorbing power; yours might be different in nature from his, so different and ethereal, a true force of nature, but a power nevertheless. And as you soaked in the water, your immense power grew further.

“And yet, I have not seen any knight, soldier or mercenary, nor the clumsiest commoner with as many scars, nor I saved them from so many,” you oppose him, still playful; yet, your voice has earned a husky quality Steve is drawn to like a mot to a flame, his steps growing confident.

For almost every step he takes, you take one back, away from him, sinking deeper, hiding your tempting body from his hungry sight. A delightful feigned chase begins, one of which you both know will only end in bodies intertwined. A dance Steve knows, for he has felt its thrill before, for he has danced with you before; he has danced lips to lips, hands to hips, hips to hips, lips attached to your mound with hooded eyes too, senses enveloped with heady primal need, laced with love both corporal and intangible.

It all hums within him, pounds with force bolstered by the magic surrounding him. You feel it too; he reads as much in your features.

“You haven’t seen them naked either,” he notes, a slight smile remaining.

The conversation continues even as it fades.

You hum with a smile of your own, stopping at last as takes three long strides and catches up with you, gazing up at him with a sweet challenge he cannot refuse. “That is true, rytier moj.”

But that is not what your body whispers, already miles ahead when only inches from him.

Touch me, it coaxes him instead.

Hold me.

Love me.

Have me.

Fill me.

Make me sing for you. Only for you.

Do as you crave; I crave the same, just as much.

Who is he to deny a lady? Who is he to deny you, especially when the wordless pleas entice him, please him, echo his own?

The slight prickle of strength reborn, one unknown to ordinary men, still heats his very core, his lips speaking on their own even as his fingers wander with purpose, over the skin of your waist, down your hip, over your belly button, to your sternum, over the swell of your breast, stepping closer to feel your hardened peaks brush against his chest, eliciting a breathy sound of his name amongst his questions.

“What of other blessed nights bathing in this lake? Equinoxes as well?”

Your hands move with purpose too; mapping the constellations of freckles and moles on his body, caressing the planes of strengthened muscle with teasing lightness. Your touch is surprisingly warm, Steve realizes distantly, his head and hands full of you; if he did not know better, if he did not know you were a witch, he would think you an entirely different magical species.

As you nod and explain, your hand rises above water, stroking over his shoulder – the water follows seemingly effortlessly, swirling and curling around your palm; even as you speak, he shudders under the touch where your hands could not have possibly reached him, not at so many places at once; and yet, every single of these caresses are just as warm, loving and teasing as those of your own fingers.

With how you bended the water to your will, Steve would have thought you were born to do so. He would have thought he found himself a water nymph instead. His breathtaking, enchantingly playful water nymph.

“Bathing in the lake on a new moon nearing the spring equinox breeds rebirth, ridding of all old aches, body and heart,” you explain quietly, intimately, as your fingers tease along the dip along his hips, his own hands grasping your soft flesh with urgency growing. “First new moon after the autumn equinox calls upon the forest spirits, their protection, bringing the wiseness of our ancestors with their blessings.”

Steve’s head is full of you; your words, almost fairy-tale like, but spoken with reverence of a person who knows them true, whose rituals has called upon the forces of nature and has been rewarded for it, blessed by them.

His hands are full of you too and as his heart sings.

The rest of his body vibrates with need, impatient fingers slipping lower, towards your core, teasing alongside your slit. Even as he asks the only natural question, his focus is elsewhere, fingertip dipping into your welcoming heat, his lips whispering against yours, your hips eagerly meeting his touch.

“And what of winter solstice, bosorka moja? Tell me,” he coaxes, revelling in your playful touch turning into a grip on his hip instead, other hand wrapping around his own to urge him to sink his finger deeper, for another to join.

Who is he to deny you again? His bewitching water nymph, whose heat would envelop him just as welcomingly as the water of the lake and fill him with just as much exceptional powerful sensation...

Love her.

Take her.

Protect her.

Make her mine.

“It keeps your heart warm,” you sigh, mouth chasing after his, fingertips finally brushing over his hardness, curling around the length and squeezing and twisting enough for his strained muscles to melt, rushing to lift your leg to wrap around his waist, opening you up for him, your taste, your scent, your husky voice like the most tempting trap he rushes into with vigour and pride. “Keeps your love safe. On the full moon close--- oh Steve— closest to the solstice- preserving it even through the— the harshest of winters----Steven!

The steady movements of his fingers stutter at the needy pulsing grip around them, eliciting another and another, his thumb brushing over your clit, mouth slanting over yours to swallow your cries of ecstasy, cradling your head to his as your hips keep rocking into his hand. You’ll feel like heaven, like you always do, but the burst inside him at feeling your pleasure coaxed by him is almost, almost enough.

“I’ll be here,” he promises against your lips, kissing you again, tipping your head back, your body so gorgeously pliant to his greedy touch. “I will be here, with you, every quarter a year. Every month, every day, love.”

“Ľubim ťa,” you gasp and Steve makes another promise, to not meet you here, but bring you. Bring you from your shared home at last, because even by the damn equinox, he will have done you right, a ring on your finger, his everything made yours, as you deserve.

“Ľubim ťa, bosorka moja,” he whispers back, a chuckle escaping him when his eyes flutter open, offered a sight of soft sprinkles and curls of water rising above the surface and glimmering in the moonlight.

Your magic exploding outside of you as pleasure fills your veins.

Steve is certain it will never cease to amaze him; or spur him to coax something even more fascinating when chasing his own peak and yours together, even as that alone is a gift he cherishes.

Your hands slide to his shoulders for leverage as his fingers leave you empty, moving to your bottom to lift you up, sliding in almost effortlessly.

No words are needed then. As you connect your bodies and souls alike, the water keeps dancing.

You glow behind Steve’s hooded eyes, tattoo shining as bright as your affection, beauty and goodness, a reminder that no, magic could not be further from the darkness in corporal form. In every waking moment, he would swear he has never seen, nor heard, nor felt anything more beautiful and lighter than you, even with a face and voice of a temptress you embody.

The only sin you have led him to, the only speckle of shame on his honour, is the one he will remedy soon and has nothing do with your magical nature.

No, not the Devil; a goddess in your own right.

And you have not cursed him, no. Sir Steven Rogers, tvoj rytier, entirely bewitched, feels blessed.

Other headcanon and playlist

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe

Complete masterlist

Terms of endearment from Slovak language: Rytier moj (My knight) Bosorka moja (Witch mine) Láska moja (Love mine) Ľubim ťa (I love you)

I hope you enjoyed, loves 💕 Please consider leaving feedback/reblog/anything if you did 🥰

May April be kind to you 🌼✨

#steve rogers x reader #knight steve rogers #knight steve rogers x you #knight steve rogers imagine #knight steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america au #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #medeival au #fantasy au #fairy tale au #ocaruj me #bewitch me #pomiluj me #love me tender #anika ann

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ravewoodx · 11 months

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#ft nalu #nalu #nalu fanfic #nalu fanart #nalu fluff #nalu fairytail #natsu #natsu dragneel #natsu x lucy #lucy x natsu #fairy tail natsu #lucy heartfilia #fairy tail 100 years quest #fairy tail #fairy tale au #100 years quest #ft 100 years quest

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 18 days

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Bluebeard

Summary: After a string of unfortunate marriages, the Lord König has set his eyes on you. You’re in no place to refuse, but you make the best of your circumstances.

Warnings: Brief smut mentions, secrecy, blood, bugs, I tried to keep the reader GN but I accidentally fucked up with the Three Bears and a pronoun so tell me if you spot anything. Afab!Reader (tits mentioned), brief mentions of a wedding dress and night gowns.

Pairing: König x Reader

Your husband was…..a strange man. Taller than the giants from the stories your nanny told you as a child and twice as fearsome. You were constantly on the verge of asking if you had upset him in some way, your poor heart breaking every time his cold eyes swept over you before just as quickly looking away. Like he held no interest in you, despite the fact that he was the one who had chosen you over all 5 of your elder sisters.

Your engagement had been a short affair, your wedding somehow even shorter. A flurry of movement too quick to even distinguish. All you could remember was your Mother’s soft hands lacing up your dress, her lips on your cheek, and then your father’s rough arm practically dragging you down the aisle to your soon to be husband and the priest. The knot tying hasty and sloppy, the words falling from your mouths rushed, you had hoped it wouldn’t be a bad omen for your marriage but it seemed that it was in vain, barely even a moment to say goodbye to your mother and sisters before you were being packed away into the carriage like another piece of luggage. And then it had just been silence, occasionally broken by your soft questions answered with only rough grunts or hums from your new spouse.

Your new home was smaller than expected, but still much bigger than your father’s house. It was simpler too, no gold detailing or overly luxurious furniture. Just barely enough to pass as the image of a nobleman’s house from the inside. But you were still in awe of it when you walked through the halls that day. And when night fell….you had expected coupling to happen that night, and you weren’t wrong. But it was nicer than you had been expecting. Not sweet or romantic like you might have once hoped, but he had been far gentler with you then many husbands were to their wives. Opened you with his fingers, his lips on your neck, made sure you were as slick as water before his cock even touched you. And even when he was inside you he was good to you, rough but not cruel, ocean blue eyes staring into your soul the entire time, watching as tears and smeared makeup ran down your cheeks, listening to the wet squelches of your hole and your bitten back moans. But he only spilled inside of you when you reached up, shaking fingers caressing his cheek.

It was your first and only time experiencing that intimacy with your husband before he had run off on a series of ��business matters’ to attend to, leaving you with a belly full of seed and a ring of keys that unlocked almost every door in his keep. Told you to explore to your heart’s content, and you had. Went into every room, touched everything there was to touch, roamed the halls, met the few scant servants, had cake and meat and every kind of food you could think of. And you became so terribly terribly bored in König’s absence. Until he came home.

So excited to see him again that you did everything you could to welcome him home. Hung colorful banners, had specialty cakes made, stayed by the front door and rushed him when he walked in, taking him by complete surprise. Sat by him at the table and stared up at him adoringly, trying so so hard to make him look at you the way your father once looked at your mother, with love and joy, a certain kind of tenderness that you’d never had before.

And that night, when you crawled into bed with him, you embraced him fully, holding him until the stiffness of his muscles melted away and he was left snoring, curled against you, his head buried in your neck and his hands clutching at your nightgown like you might disappear in the night.

He left before sunrise the next day, leaving you only a note that said he’d be back in a week's time, and a new key to add to your ring. This one opened the personal armory he kept, full of muskets and broad swords and daggers of all kinds. Only one was missing from its place, you hazarded a guess that it was the one he always wore on his belt. A slight thing, with a sapphire embedded in the pommel.

You spent the day aweing over the vast collection of weaponry, picking up some, pretending to fight with some thief or scoundrel, giggling until your heart didn’t feel so empty. But it lost its appeal by the day’s end, and the week dragged along even slower than before, your mood growing ever more dour and downtrodden until your husband returned once again, this time carrying a small chest in his arms.

“Das ist für sie.” He had said, placing the delicately crafted box at your feet, carvings of flowers and dragons on every border. A thing of beauty by itself. “Open it.” He said before plopping down into the nearest seat, leaning back lazily, but those blue eyes of his were laser focused on you.

You were hesitant to do so but quickly conceded to his wishes, kneeling in front of the chest and lightly touching it, reveling in the artistry and time that must have gone into making it. Even the thick leather belts and silver buckles used to hold it closed seem to have had hours put into them. You were careful to open it, pulling the lid back to reveal….books. Many many books. Some plain and leather bound that you assumed were for sketching, others with colorful and hard bindings. History books, cook books, fantasy novels, tragedies, plays. So many books you could hardly number them all, a large smile pulling your face taunt as you took your time pulling out each and every one, tracing the covers and skimming through the pages before looking up to him and meeting his now softened eyes.

“Thank you.” You whisper, hiding the lower half of your face behind the last book, something that appeared to be about medieval weapons and war tactics. “I love them.”

“I’m glad.” He whispered, and you hoped he was smiling under that stupid cloth he always wore over his face. “I figured you would be bored. The servants told me you didn’t invite anyone over this week.”

“They weren’t who I wanted to see.” You tell him after a moment of silence, watching him perk a bit, tilting his head ever so slightly. But he didn’t ask, and you didn’t give him any answers as you carefully repacked the books to be brought back to your shared bedroom. “I asked the cooks to make that stew that you like for dinner, and I special ordered a loaf of bread from the bakery.”

“Thank you, Engel.” He whispered, grabbing your wrist as you passed by, placing a soft kiss on the back of your hand, lips lingering on your soft skin before ever so reluctantly letting you slip out of his fingers. You swore you felt his gaze on you the whole way down the hallway.

That night the bedding was needy, full of heat and sweat and barely stifled groans as he buried himself in your hole repeatedly, filling and then overfilling you with his thick white seed. He made it feel like he was doing it for more than just his duty, for more than a need to have an heir to his estate and titles. Especially when he stared into your eyes like that the whole time, his hands cupping your face, not giving you a chance to look away from him or hide yourself.

The next morning was spent in bed, lazy and soft, starting off with another round of coupling full of slow thrusts and sloppy kisses. Then it was breakfast in your shared bed, strawberries and whipped cream on the side that you both eagerly enjoyed, feeding each other by hand until a dollop of cream landed in the valley of your breasts, prompting him to bury his face between the soft mounds, licking away the mess and creating a whole new one that had neither of you leaving the bed til midday when he unexpectedly left again, adding another new key to your growing collection before he took off on horseback.

“For the attic.” He’d said hurriedly, servants scurrying around you trying to re-pack the carriage with his necessities, but it would still be a few hours behind him on the way to his destination. “It’s rather dusty so be sure to ask the maids to clean it before you go up there, I’d hate for you to ruin your clothes.”

It was all he said before placing a tender kiss on your head then riding off, leaving you heartbroken and lonely, clutching the keyring to your chest. It took two days before you went into the attic, not even bothering to heed your husband’s words, something you only slightly regretted and you inhaled a lungful of dust just after opening the door while two maids fretted at the bottom of the ladder, fearful of you falling and bumping your head, successfully killing the only bride their lord had ever had return his affections in full.

It was a boring place, the attic. Many stored trinkets and cloth, but some paintings and photographs as well. Most seemed to be of your husband as a child but there were a few of him more recently, poised and masked beside women in beautiful dresses with lovely smiles and tired eyes. You counted six different women in total.

His previous wives.

The sight of the photos left you nauseous and mournful, nearly dropping yourself down the ladder instead of climbing down, rushing past worried maids and into your chambers where you could successfully hide your tears in one of the pillows from König’s side of the bed, still tinged with his scent. It was where you stayed for several days, barely eating, barely moving. A sniffling mess that couldn’t be persuaded out of bed.

Not until he came home.

You didn’t even realize it was him at first, too distracted by self pity and jealousy, sniffling occasionally. You didn’t even see him, barely heard the door open. Only paying attention when the other side of the bed shifted and dipped beneath his weight, a sigh falling from his lips.

“Are you sick, Engel?” König asked, big hand reaching out to run along your arm until you pettily turned away, leaving his hand in the air, fingers twitching.

“No.” You tell him, feeling him shift again, laying on his side and wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer, not giving you a chance to escape this time.

“Then what is it, Engel?” He asks, lips pressing against the back of your neck. “Let me make it better for you. I do not like seeing you so upset.”

You went quiet, choking on your tears as he rubbed his hand over your belly, nuzzling his nose against your shoulder in a way that was comforting even when you didn’t want it to be.

“Tell me.” He told you, voice on the edge of desperation and begging, and you were sure his eyes would be big and worried if you turned your head to see them.

“It’s stupid.” You finally end up saying when he started to press affectionate kisses to your shoulders and along your upper back.

“Nothing you say is ever stupid, Engel.” He says, curling his fingers into your gown, holding it tight.

“I went into the attic.” You start, breathe hitching with a held back sob. “And I saw-I saw-” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words, turning your head as your body started to shake with renewed cries.

“Was it the paintings?” He guessed, seemingly taking his answer from the way you only sobbed louder. “Oh, Mein Engel.” He mumbled, strong hands turning you away from your cocoon of safety and into his chest. “Hush now, it will be okay. I’m sorry. I will have them burned.”

“You-You don’t have to do that.” You try and say, though you knew it lacked the conviction you wanted it to.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He says, shaking his head. “Those women….they never meant anything to me. But you mean the world.” He tells you, and you can practically feel your heart stopping before it sped up, practically a vibration in your chest. “You are mein engel. I will burn them, and then I will fill the walls with pictures of you so that you will never forget what you are to me.”

“Us.” You say, red rimmed eyes finally peaking up at him through your lashes, sniffling softly. “Pictures of us, you mean.”

“No. Pictures of you.” He says, ducking his head to plant a kiss to your temple. “Ones of you in the garden, ones of you reading.” His lips twitched into a smirk as he started to whisper. “Ones of you spread and leaking.”

“König!” You say sharply, heat rising in your cheeks as he boomed out a laugh, cupping your face in his warm palms and planting a wet and heavy kiss against your lips.

“Those ones would be only for my eyes though, Engel.” He huffed, sitting up a bit to better adjust himself, thickening cock brushing against your thighs wantingly, straining through his trousers. “I would keep them close. Only take them out when I’m lonely and missing you while I’m away on business.”

You giggle nervously, digging your nails into his sides when he rolled over you, pinning you on your back beneath him, legs splayed open just for him.

It was several weeks before your husband left again, the paintings and pictures in the attic turned into ash and new ones of you and your love were placed all around the estate, some even still waiting to be finished up and framed. And it had been so so good. Every morning was woken in his arms and every night ended with him in yours. Hand feeding each other at dawn and sating other hungers at dusk. More perfect than any picture that was taken, then any dream you had. But you knew you’d have to wake up sometime.

The day he left again was even more heartbreaking than last time. The goodbye kisses lasted longer, the desperation ever growing, clinging to each other like that could somehow make his duties disappear.

“I’ll be back in a fortnight.” He whispered against your lips, the carriage driver prudently looking away, keeping his eyes skyward so as not to make you feel awkward at the intimate display. “Until then, take this.” He said.

What he handed you was another key, this one large and iron, so unexpectedly heavy that you almost dropped it when he slipped it into your open palm.

“What is this for?” You ask, brine shimmering at the corners of your eyes, a losing fight to hold back the tears.

“It is for the basement.” He says, placing another parting kiss on the tip of your nose. “But you must promise me not to go in. It is very important, Engel.”

“What’s in the basement?” You asked, watching his eyes harden before he forced them to soften, his hand tightening around yours.

“Rats.” He said, voice stern and rough. “Lots and lots of rats. And mildew. So do as I say, Engel, and stay out of it. I do not wish to stay by your sickbed as you foam at the mouth from rabies or burn away from a fever.”

“Then why give me the key at all?” You ask, trying to hand it back only to be met with him slipping it into your pocket.

“Because this is your home too, Engel. It is only fair that you should be able to open every door to it.” He says, pressing his forehead to yours for a few moments before pulling away entirely, taking a deep breath. “And I trust you to heed my words and stay out of that room.”

“I will.” You say, grasping onto his sleeve before he could fully pull away. “I love you. Be safe. For me.”

“Ich liebe dich.” König parroted, eyes soft like warm butter on toast. “I am always safe, Engel.”

And that was it, the last words he said to you before riding away, leaving you standing and watching his carriage til it was too far gone to see. Til not even a speck was left on the horizon and the sun disappeared behind the mountains.

It was a week before you disobeyed your husband.

A week of curiosity gnawing at you like a little beast deep in your chest, eating away at you piece by microscopic piece. Little bites turned into bigger bites so steadily that you barely even realized that it was growing and swallowing you up.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Your mother’s voice whispered in your brain.

“But satisfaction brought it back.” The voices of your sisters all giggled in unison.

It was what echoed in your head as you stood outside the door, key clutched in both hands as you stared at the lock apprehensively, conversing with yourself like a mad man before finally making up your mind and slipping the key into the hole, the grating of metal on metal an irritation to your ears. But the sound of the lock clicking open, that was a spark of excitement in the ocean of anxiety that had built in your belly.

The first thing you registered about the room was the darkness. Like a void had opened up somewhere in the room and ate away at the very fabric of the world. You couldn’t see more then two feet in front of you, even with the lantern at your side.

The second thing you noticed was the smell.

Putrid, disgusting, foul. It hit your nose so hard that tears instantly welled in your eyes and you retched, mouth gaping as your breakfast tried to escape you to spill onto the rocky flooring. You stumbled in the darkness, trying to backpedal only to trip over your own feet and send your lantern skidding further into the room. Recklessly, you crawled after it, clothes catching on the jagged floor and tearing, the sound not even registering to you at first.

It was just as you caught the handle to the light that you saw it.

Fingers outstretched in the dark, splayed across the grey stone.

You froze, breath catching in your throat for so long that you went light-headed, eyes lasered in on those pale digits. Small fingers, delicate and smooth. Strangely, you thought of your mother’s hands. The feel of them straightening your clothes or cupping your cheeks.

Trembling, you raised the lantern just the slightest bit higher, choking on your own vomit when you saw it.

A heap of flesh and bone lying in the middle of the floor, bodies upon bodies, each in such varying degrees of decay that it was akin to a diagram. The bottom piece just a skeleton, no flesh to cling to anymore. And the top….she looked almost pristine from the angle you saw. Beautiful black curls and pink lips, milky eye staring into your soul, begging you for mercy. For help.

But when you reached out to touch her, to feel for a pulse, to help, her skull caved in and the mass writhed, maggots crawling out of mouths and ears, from skulls and arms.

You screamed so loud that even your mother and sisters must have heard you, all the miles away that they were.

“Oh, Engel.” Your husband’s voice called out behind you, followed by the heavy slam of the basement door. “I told you not to come in here.”

#cod #call of duty #könig #könig x reader #fairy tale au

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daechwitatamic · 4 months

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banner by @/itaeewon

The Price {coming soon!}

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

Teaser:

The Queen is seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best.

“I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is.

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands.

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat?

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years.

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“Min Yoongi. The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

Posting this Friday, January 12th - please look forward to it and the rest of the collab pieces!!

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fairytalegobang · 2 months

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OFFICIAL Opening DAY

I wanted to clear up some questions and timeline for those not sure if they want to join yet! First, this is a Bang, so Authors will be going first! -That being said we are allowing Artists to submit if they like some inspiration pics to authors who finish early! Second, this theme is fairly open to interpretation; you are not expected or required to do Grimm's Fairy Tales. They may be the most popularly known ones, but that does not make them the only ones. Modern setting is not banned, it just has to feature elements of a Fairy Tale. For the purposes of this Bang, A fairy tale is a story that belongs to the folklore genre. Such stories typically feature magic, enchantments, and mythical or fanciful beings. Myths, Folklores, and Legends are allowed to be adapted, but anything relating to a current religion people follow or important folkloric figures SHOULD be treated with respect when adapting! So stories relating to the Greek, Roman, and Norse pantheons, for instance, are allowed, as well as folklore figures like Robin Hood or Mulan as examples. Original but on-theme stories are also allowed, as long as they feel and have relevant Fairy Tale aspects.

Third, the timeline! January 13th - Voting/Interest Check Opens February 13th - Sign-Ups Officially Open March 13th - Sign-ups Close for Authors May 30th - Summary Submissions Open (50% work due) June 13th - Summary Submissions Close and Sign-Ups Close for Artists June 15th - Claims Start July 31st - Group Check-in August 13th - Final Check-in (Call for pinch hitters) September 13th - Posting Starts

Posting Will be done to AO3 under a collection set up for the Bang and site of the Artists's choosing to host their work. The artists are expected to be in contact with their Authors to provide a link to their work to link in the fic itself. NEITHER work should be posted publically until September 13th!

Server Rules: •Be Courteous and Respectful to Everyone in the server. •Keep NSFW in the labeled areas. •Keep discussions to their relevant areas. •Do not share anything posted here without permission (This can be disregarded if they themselves utilize a link to another page). •You must be at least 16 years of age to be in this server. BANG Rules: •Do not share art or fic outside of the server-assigned areas besides with your beta privately. •Posting will begin on the 13th of September and be expected to be done (at least a first chapter uploaded the week of) with the rest of the fic to be completed and uploaded on a schedule your artist is comfortable with if their art is to feature at a particular point. •All of your fic should be uploaded no later than October 13th if you want to roll out chapters over a period of time. •Claims will be limited to one fic to artist ratio until a full 24 hours have passed to give everyone available a chance to choose before a second claim can commence. •If you are both an artist and an author, you will be able to participate in the second run of claims (6 hours after), Depending on which time zone is most convenient for the majority of users. •No users under the age of 18 can choose from any fic/art rated Mature+ •Fics are to be at least 3k in length.

Link to join is clickable in the Image

#good omens #good omens fanart #good omens fanfiction #goft #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #fairy tale au #fairy tale retelling #fairy tale aesthetic

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 2 months

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Just a thought I had with JJBA but here it is

Yandere Little Red Riding Hood JJBA AU

Bruno is the Hunter, Risotto or Diavolo who is the Big Bad Werewolf and Reader is little Red Riding Hood who’s off to take care of her sweet boyfriend Doppio, who came down with a fever? (It’s not a cold, he’s in heat)

I really, really love your JJBA Fantasy AUs (I always read them when I get that wonderful JJBA itch that needs to be scratched)

Aww thank you I'm so glad you love the aus.

But you tried making me choose who was gonna be the big bad wolf. And guess what?

I chose both.

I don't really know how to end this, maybe three separate endings? Rn I wanna see what you think (anon if you want a say send me a msg or another ask)

Out too late (yandere Doppio/Diavolo, Risotto and Bruno X female reader)

Warning: attempted noncon

You looked up at the evening sky to see the clouds that had drenched the earth in rain fade. You had waited all day for the rain to stop so you could make your way deep into the woods to your beloved Doppio's home.

He'd sent you a letter the other day. Writing about how he was ill and that it was not best you come til he was well again.

Yes, better judgment would agree but you could only imagine how horrible he felt stuck alone in that cottage by himself. So you had spent the morning preparing him food. Even if he refused to have you over that way you'd know he would have the food to help him recover.

So you put on your hood, grabbed the basket of food, and headed out the door. You didn't worry about the dimming sky as you knew the trail and the full moon would light your way home if you were out too late.

You followed the dirt path into the woods as you had many times before, however, you stopped as you noticed a beautiful patch of flowers just a little off the path. Surely Doppio would appreciate them you thought as you stepped into the tall grass and made your way to them.

You began to pick them until the snap of a twig caught your attention. You turned your head to see Bruno, the local hunter. You knew him fairly well but that wasn't hard in a village like the one you lived in.

“(Y/n) What brings you out in the woods this late?” He asked you with concern in his voice.

“I'm off to deliver some food to Doppio, he's been unwell for the past few days” you explained.

“Then you should make haste, the full moon brings the worst of creatures out at night” he warned.

“I'll be fine” you assured him as you stood back up and made your way back to the path.

“Wait!” He yelled as he ran towards you.

“What?” You asked.

“Here, take this. If anything happens don't hesitate to use it” he said as he pulled out a small hunting dagger.

“And stay on the path, I just laid the rabbit traps” he warned.

“Thank you but I doubt I'll need it,” you told him.

“Just take it, if anything were to happen to you I'd only have myself to blame,” he told you as he put the dagger in your hand.

“Alright,” you sighed.

“Thank you” he thanked you before you both left your separate ways

At this point, the orange sky was apparent even in the thick forest.

You put the dagger and flowers in the basket. And made a sprint down the path. It was getting darker a lot quicker than you anticipated.

You ran deeper and deeper into the forest. So caught up in the hurry you hadn't noticed the person in front of you until you crashed into them. The impact caused you to fall to the ground while they remained unfazed.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there” you apologized to them as you looked into the back to make sure everything inside was fine. Then you looked up to who you'd bumped into and your heart nearly gave out.

He was tall and broad with white hair and eyes you'd never seen before, red irises, and black sclera staring intensely at you.

“You answer my questions and I'll let you go” he coldly demanded.

“I doubt I know anything about whatever it is you're after,” you told him.

“I know you know something, I can smell it” he snarled. You crawled back but he only moved closer til your back was against a tree.

“Where's your partner?” He asked with grit teeth.

“Why do you want to know?” You retorted.

“He's caused me nothing but trouble lately, always getting in the way of my hunts. I haven't been able to see him but I know his scent and you're covered in it” he explained as he leaned down a little, pretty much caging you between him and the tree.

“You've got the wrong person, my partner doesn't hunt. He wouldn't hurt a fly” you tried to reason with him.

“You clearly don't know him well enough if you believe that” he snarkily replied.

He had a look in his eye that you didn't like. Like a wolf eyeing down its prey before the final blow.

“Actually… what would he do if something were to happen to you?” He continued.

This situation was getting worse by the second. You had to get away from him.

“I don't know anything, I'll give you money just please let me go” you plead as you reach into the basket for the knife Bruno had given you. You felt so stupid for insisting you'd be alright.

“I don't need money, perhaps you'd-” he was quickly cut off as you plunged the knife into his thigh. He didn't react. Instead, he pulled the knife out, wiped his blood off it on his pants, and put it back in your hand.

“Go home now, if you're still here at night you'll get killed,” he told you as he stepped away.

You quickly stood up and darted towards Doppio's house as it was probably too late to get to yours in time. Whoever that man was he was clearly not to be messed with but you wondered about his whole smell deal. There was no possible way he could have that strong of a sense of smell. Was he just lying to get the answer he wanted out of you?

You looked back to see if he'd followed you but it seems he hadn't. So you continued your way towards Doppio's house.

Once you arrived you knocked on the door but didn't get a response. You turned the door handle and it wasn't locked so you let yourself inside and put the basket on the dining table before heading towards his room.

“Doppio, it's me (Y/n). I know you told me not to come but I thought I'd at least bring you something to eat.

“(Y/n), you came?” A voice deep and strained spoke.

“Doppio you're voice, it sounds so hoarse” you commented.

“Yes I know… my throat is so raw… and swollen” he replied. You could hear his labored breathing as he spoke.

“And you sound out of breath, have you been resting?” You remarked.

“Yes I have been resting… but it feels like there's an anvil on my chest” he replied.

“That's horrible, I'm glad I came with food. You're probably struggling to do anything right now” you told him.

“Do you want me to bring you the soup I made? You've probably got two servings in the jar I brought” you asked.

“Yes… but first I want to see you” he said.

Feeling bad for him, you opened his bedroom door. You walked and couldn't see anything.

“Doppio it's so dark in here,” you remarked as you tried to make your way to his bedside in the darkness.

“My eyes have been hurting… so I closed the curtains” he explained.

“I'll open them now if you don't mind?” You said but then you were pushed onto the bed. Forced to lay on your stomach as a large hand? (It didn't feel exactly like one) pushed you down. This wasn't Doppio.

“Hey, what's the meaning of this? Let me go!” You screamed.

“aww so you're what Doppio's been trying to hide from me?” the same voice you'd assumed was Doppio's said.

“Who are you and what did you do to Doppio?” You demanded an answer from them.

“You don't have to worry your pretty head about Doppio, he's fine” they responded.

“And my name is Diavolo” he continued. You could feel their saliva dripping onto the back of your neck.

You attempted to thrash out of his grip before he pushed you further into the mattress. His free hand grabbed your wrist. It wasn't a hand, or a human at least it had padding and fur like an animal's.

“Let me go” you begged.

“Unfortunately I can't let that happen… you so happened to come right during mating season for us werewolves” he explained.

“You're lucky that the other one didn't take advantage of you earlier,” he commented.

Werewolves! You had scoffed at such a claim but it was undeniable now. You trashed again this time managing to escape. You bolted straight to the door. You turned back to see the brownish-pink werewolf chasing behind.

You opened the door threading to tear it off the hinges. Your blood went cold as you saw another werewolf at the door. Its fur is a snowy white. You noticed the wound in its thigh. Dear God, it was the man from earlier. You screamed and tried to find another exit but there wasn't.

You were trapped here with two werewolves right in the middle of their mating season. You were quickly snatched by Diavolo and held close. You cringed at the feeling of his erection pressed up your back but were too scared to even move.

“I'm ending this now, you've alluded me for far too long” the white werewolf spoke with a hiss.

“You really think you can beat me, you're lucky that you haven't died yet” Diavolo responded before he noticed the wound on his thigh.

“Aww did my little mate do that to you?” He mocked as he held the side of your head, his palm was as big as your head.

“Let go of me, I'm not your mate” you whined as you struggled. The white werewolf snarled in response as he charged forward.

You screamed once more as Diavolo dropped you and attacked. The two dug their claws and teeth into each other as they wrestled.

You watched them carefully. Waiting for a chance you could safely run to the door. They rolled into the kitchen, breaking the table in the process. You took your chance and sprinted towards the door only for one of them to grab your ankle, claws digging into you painfully. You fell to the ground, feeling the shock of the impact in your arms that had tried to break the fall. You screamed out in pain before turning back.

“Where do you think you're going?” The white werewolf growled as he dragged you closer. You realized that Diavolo had stopped attacking him.

“Let go of me!” You yelled as you tried to get him to let go.

Diavolo grabbed your arm and they pulled you back inside. Clearly you were a bigger priority than their feud.

“Please let me go” you pleaded. You were shaking at the thought of what they would do to you.

Then you were deafened by a gunshot, then a second as the werewolves fell back. You stood under and tried to leave only to bump into someone. You looked up to see Bruno who quickly wrapped his arm around you and yelled something. You couldn't hear him through the ringing in your ear.

He then took your hand and you ran with him. When the ring stopped you spoke.

“I'm sorry for disregarding your warning,” you told him.

“I don't think either of us were expecting to encounter werewolves” he replied.

“What were you even doing out this late?” You asked.

“I was checking the rabbit traps, then I heard screaming and that's how I found you” he explained.

You two ran until you arrived back at his home. He quickly sat you down before grabbing some alcohol and a cloth to clean the wound left on your leg.

“Again I have to thank you for saving me, if you hadn't killed them who knows what they would have done to me,” you said.

“I didn't kill them, only incapacitated them. The only way to kill them is to use silver” he explained as he began to dab the wet cloth on your wound, causing you to his in pain

“How did you even manage to live for as long as you did? They could have torn you apart in seconds” he asked. A shiver went down your spine as you remembered what Diavolo said.

“One of them… they mentioned this was werewolf mating season” his head shot up with a look of horror on his face.

“Oh no… “ he stood up, leaving the cloth hanging on your leg as he made his way to his bookshelf. He grabbed out a book and started flicking through it.

“There has to be something in here” he muttered as kept reading through.

“What are you looking for?” You asked nervously.

“A way to get rid of their scent, we may not be able to smell it but they can and they'll hunt you down” he explained.

“How do you know so much about werewolves, and why do you have books on them?” You asked.

“I like researching myths and folklore in my spare time. However, we've seen now that werewolves are no myth” he replied.

#yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere x reader #yandere #fairy tale au #yandere doppio #yandere diavolo #yandere risotto #yandere bruno bucciarati

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