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gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

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The Horror and The Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] Medieval Fantasy AU

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one. CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| you're here! Word count: 5317 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig This fic on AO3

— You’re really quiet, little princess.

König isn’t ashamed of staring at you the whole horse ride. He isn’t ashamed of touching you, his precious treasure – cupping your breasts through that pathetic excuse of a corset, trying to feel of your legs through the billions of skirts, his touches sprawling across your skin like bruises. He is a soldier in all regards – his touches are far from gentle, far from how he should behave with his bride. You feel like a piece of meat being presented for him to devour. Like an unwilling sacrifice for a benevolent god.

— Should I scream then?

Snarkiness isn't something that the princess should have – but it's the only weapon you have, although you are not sure if you can even use it. Emperor is laughing, and it is supposed to be a good thing – you were trained to receive such reactions, like a little dog standing and doing tricks on command; you were taught to strive for smiles on the faces of others. But König doesn’t allow you to see his smile, but König laughs all the time while describing to his soldiers the things he wants to do to you. It is almost surely, that he doesn’t think you know his language – you wish you didn’t know.

— I can give you a reason to scream. — You shall not threaten a… — I’m not threatening you, kleine Katzen. With a good time, maybe. — What are you referring to? — That I would love nothing more but to rip your skirt off and show your cunt a royal treatment, princess.

Emperor has a foul mouth, wandering eyes, and grabby hands – he behaves like a drunk man in a tavern, even though you have never once been in a tavern, and the only drunk men you barely saw were the castle guards on various celebrations. He doesn’t act like a glorious king from the romance novels – and you don’t think that you ever read a novel about a king or an emperor, not about princes and glorious knights. People with this much power don’t deserve love, they already have everything they have – so why would he kidnap you?

You turn away from him, the obscenity of his mouth makes your whole face burn. You are trying to hide yourself in your hands, you want to grasp something like a little fan or a handkerchief – everything to sustain your dignity. You are wearing the princess’s name and you have to behave like her – even if you don’t think that she would care about how you are behaving yourself. The dread of being exposed lingers in your chest, the only thing that doesn’t allow you to scream and launch on him like a wild cat. Rules and modesty tie you down stronger than any corset could.

Like a rabbit caught in the hunter’s trap – you steal looks at the nature around you, excited and terrified to see it for the first time – not the perfect greenery of the castle garden, but an untamed nature. You saw the city for the first time – your capital, not burned and agonized under the empire’s boot, but eerie quiet. The city doesn’t know your face, the princess was hidden, kept in the tower as a means to escape the burden of marriage proposals and possible wars for the sake of securing her beauty. Nobody here knows you for your face, and for them, it’s just the empire’s knights, a power from a country too foreign to be worried about, and a random kidnapped girl in a dissarranged dress and tears streaming down her face.

A hand on your waist secured you in place. No matter how much you squirm and cry, try to forget all the filthy nonsense he is whispering in your ear, you are forced to listen – and you want to cry every time his face hovers over yours. His hands are touching you, too much for comfort, your are still wrapped in his cape, but it’s a very small mercy for your torn dress and fragile body.

The road is long and short at the same time. Your kingdom was bordering one of Northern Empire territories, but it’s days away – you never once thought that having the Empire right on your border would be such a nuisance, that it would allow them to simply take whatever they want from your tiny country – the rules of politics are never applying to those in power and, unfortunately, you found out the worst way possible. The road is treacherous, with people surrounding you, with soldiers going through the beheaded country like it’s nothing. You were biting your lips the entire first day of the ride, trying not to cry – you do not want to give him the pleasure of seeing your distress, but you can’t help but sob every time he exits the cabin to yell at his soldiers or laugh at something.

You are not tied up, they trust you too much – they all know you would not be able to run, seeing just a helpless princess, a little war trophy of their emperor. The war trophy without the war, just a doll for him to enjoy. You steal a few glances at him – his spread legs that make you wonder how the poor horse even can handle him riding it, his mighty body, and his muscular arms. He could wrestle a dragon, you think – he could lift up the whole carriage and bring you back to the capital like this. He is a cocky bastard, not even having his sword in his hand whenever you move too much – too confident that this weak princess would not be able to resist him. You don’t want to fall from the horse and so you freeze in your tracks, even when they hit a small pause on the journey.

You can’t, of course – your hands are trained to hold clothes, to braid hair and, sometimes, fetch the water buckets – but you are mostly proficient in holding books, turning pages and embroidering. You can make tea, you can support the conversation, you can faint dramatically whenever the right opportunity occurs, but the ride has been happening for a few hours already, and you fainted three times – for specific reasons, of course, but fainting now would surely be a bit too much.

— Is little princess too tired to hold herself straight?

König chuckles in your ear, hands pushing you against his body. You don’t want to say anything, you’d rather continue your ride until you’re completely exhausted – books were never talking about how hard it is to ride a horse, that your rear would feel numb after the first hour, and your head would be bouncing on every little bump on the road. You never thought that the roads of your kingdom were so terribly maintained – and never thought it would be such a problem.

You grit your teeth, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of confirming just how weak you are – but he stops his horse once you are not responding, a hand slides under your hips to help you get out from the damned animal. You swear to god that you will never ride this foul creature again – but the god, as always, stays silent.

— What is it?

— Princess isn’t used to long detours. We’d have to stop before dawn if we want to keep this a secret for now. — Could travel for a few more hours before it’s too bright.

His second-in-command is a weird man, no doubt. Tall, broad, wearing armor with tiger prints all over the metal – although you never saw a tiger in real life, only on various illustrations of the books you were reading for the Princess. He is painfully informal in a way that makes you wonder how he can keep his head on his shoulders – surely, if he’d talk this way to a king, he wouldn’t be such a profound member of the army. König only shakes his head, pointing at you as the reason to stop – as you begged him to get off this bloody thing. — I need my princess with all innards intact. Especially the soft ones.

Emperor laughs, cupping your ass through the skirts. He somehow managed to grope your softness without breaking the corsage, and you’d feel thankful for him, but the dress was ruined anyway – all the hard work of redoing it over and over, every time you had to manage to squish the princess inside of the harsh corset and billion skirts, every little detail you were thinking through together…it feels somehow suitable, to wear a destroyed dress. Fake princess deserves fake luxury, but even the modesty he allows you to have with his coat wrapped around you feels forced.

Stopping right now, when you feel numb and your legs are getting weak and squishy like that weird transparent foreign delicacy, is very considerate of him. So much so you don’t even want to acknowledge it, hoping he’d just continue to go forward until all the traces of your past are gone. You’re too tired to consider anything from escaping to even opening your eyes. Suddenly, being on a horse of this size doesn't sound like something out of a fairytale. Suddenly, you realize that the horses are tall.

— What’s wrong, princess?

— I’m not going down.

You are sitting, frozen on top of his horse. One of your hands is keeping his coat wrapped securely around your body while the other squeezes the reins, hoping not to fall miserably to the ground. You hear soldiers laugh – the embarrassment spreads around your cheeks when you understand that a true princess would have horse riding lessons. You two never did – it would give you too much freedom, and your castle would never accommodate to large grounds of free roaming to keep a princess and her loyal maiden entertained. You can only hope they won’t think that the absence of your riding lessons would be too suspicious – and you also hope that he would just allow you to never jump down to the ground that feels horrifyingly far from you.

— Do you wish to run with my horse?

— Yes, your Highness. — Run, then. I’ll be waiting, little princess.

There is a laugh in his voice – you squeeze the reins and try to holster them, maybe kick the foul creature to the side so it would take the hint and start running in the direction of the nearest forest. Maybe you would get lucky, and the horse would drop you in front of the house of a kind forest witch that would take you as her student – you can cook, and you can read, so, naturally, any witch would be happy to have you as a disciple. Maybe you will get even more lucky, and the horse will kick you in the head after dropping you, finishing your misery in a tragic road accident. Not a honorable death, but a quick and interesting one. The horse remains frozen in place – just like you. König gently caresses its face, giving it something to eat – an apple, perhaps, a nice and tasty fruit, or sugar cubes, the delicacy that the princess would often indulge in but never gave you, or something of a…ah, this is it – you are starting to get jealous of his horse. Mayhaps, death is the only choice for you now.

— I will run.

— Of course you will.

— Sir, should we prepare the archers?

— Don’t know it yet. Maybe the princess escape would be too swift for them.

You feel your whole face burn – they laugh, they all laugh, looking at you like a piece of meat, a funny joke between them. You don’t want to fall from the horse, and you don’t want to stand here either – but every time you look down at the ground that is so, so far away, you can only shake in your seat. You feel like crying once again – and this is what brings you to the edge. With a deep sigh and shaking hands, you jump down swiftly, your eyes closed and your legs getting tangled in the various skirts, dragging you down. ***

The emperor had an understanding of what he was getting into when he kidnapped a princess. Princesses, pretty and young ones especially, are mysterious creatures that should be carefully studied by the imperial scientist in order to determine how in hell they can even exist without killing themselves on something stupid three times per day. This one, however, was a crowned ruler of weird girls – sometimes throughout the journey, he was thinking about returning her to the king and choosing another one. Then he remembered that he beheaded the king – and so, the bloody dot was sealed in the history of relationships between Northern Empire and this tiny shithole in the middle of nowhere.

Besides, the princess was too adorable to really throw her out. She is smart – for someone like her, anyway; her snarkiness combined with the primal fear of him and his men made him feel strong, more significant than before. It’s funny, in a way – König had defeated countless great warriors and spent his life turning the tiny Empire into the most powerful nation on the blonde, and yet, he never once felt this achieved as when he held the princess in his arms. The emperor never thought of marriage as a necessity, his whole magic endeavors securing that he would never have to worry about leaving an heir or having someone else to rule – but the loneliness can hit you like a royal stallion bred for the purpose of battery ramming into castle doors, and you can find yourself yearning for something that you never thought you’d want. Speaking of royal horses…

The princess is cute, the princess is dumb, and the princess is the most weird and perfect creature in the whole wide world. Makes him wonder just what was you doing in your little castle with your little servants, running around like ants under your dainty heel. You are snarky to him when you know that he is too busy to strike you and too tired to care about his opinion – he likes that about you, little yawns and feeble attempts to appear strong in front of him. He doesn’t, however, like the way you are frozen on top of his horse. He needs his wife helpless, yes, dependant on him in everything – and he also needs her to ask for help when needed, not…well, not jumping from the height of a royal horse in that stupid dress of yours.

God, hive him strength.

König, the ruler of the Northern Empire, biggest royal regime on the globe, thought that he overcame his anxiety when he was young, so long ago, he forgot how fast his heart can beat when the situation is going out of his control. He remembers this dreadful feeling now when that stupid brain of yours has decided that jumping from a horse is a good idea. He is fast, swift enough to catch you before you fall to the ground, and he squeezes your hips enough to hear the crack of that stupid dress construction.

He has to stop himself from yelling. From putting you in your place and slapping you across that perfect face of yours – never the one to beat women, König feels like spanking the shit out of you now. His eyes are flashing with anxiety, and he grabs your shoulders, putting you in front of him – you can’t see his face, covered by his mask, and it’s a small grace for someone like you. He is scary when angry, nostrils flashing with rage when he thinks that you’d rather break your neck than ask him for help.

— Made others set the camp for tonight.

Horangi is as perfect as a knight can be – his friend, his partner in crime, one of the only ones who still can survive his temper and not be intimidated by it. He can see the worry in his eyes when König is pushing the little princess down to his hold, draping the various skirts across his hands to rip them away – and he quickly yells at the other soldiers who produced the operation, making them run in various directions to collect wood, stones and set up the tents for tonight. They have to move away from the popular roads, even though nobody in this kingdom would be strong enough to hurt them anyways – but this operation should be a secret, at least relatively, until the princess is secured as his empress, and her body is sprawled across his sheets, withering from pleasure and…

Ah, Scheisse. König cannot stay mad at her when the mere thought of her smile makes his dick twitch in his pants. He survived through horribly throbbing erection against the metal plates of his armor for the whole ride, the small mercy of not having her soft body press against him directly. It didn’t stop him from wanting more, from whispering filthy things, completely undeserving of your virtue. You are bringing him down to his knees – even an emperor is just a man when a pretty girl looks at him, and even at is age, he could feel like a young lover searching for his bride’s hand.

Oh, but König would love something more than just your hand.

He should be thankful to his knights for how quickly they made a tent for him to secure the dignity of the first moment between a man and his sweetheart. He usually does everything himself, not wanting to make a lady in waiting out of his knights, but he enjoys their help now – he surely won’t be able to prepare for sleep with his wild cat of a bride in his hands. You are unusually active for a princess, trying to get out of his hands, kicking him with your adorable legs, still wrapped in a ruined skirt. Perhaps you were so mad at him for destroying your dress – he gets it, knowing how sensitive ladies are about this. He’d buy you a new one right away, but, for your stupidity, you deserve to wear only his coat until they are inside the borders of the Empire.

— Did you hit your head before I got you, princess? What were you thinking? — You told me to run. I did, Your Royal Highness.

He pinches his nose through the mask, not believing just how arrogant you sound – he wants to push you down, to open that dumb skirt of yours and give your precious ass a few spanks before setting you down, making you sit on the ruined muscle until you’d learn your lesson. The king was definitely not punishing you enough if you still think that you can talk to your betters (and elders) like this.

— I dared you to run. Thinking you’d accept the consequences with the dignity of a royal lady.

— Why don’t you kill me then? For belittling your dignity.

You look too snarky for his liking – he can see how terrified you are, little shakes of your hands and tears in your eyes. You are provoking him, picking the dragon with a stick so he’d burn you to a crisp. König knows that the customs of your kingdom value a good death over everything and just how much you’d love to fall into the grasp of a common tragedy. He also knows that he will not bury his bride before they are even married.

It’s only natural that the emperor grasps the front of your dress, the edges of the corset you tried to tie down to save some of your dignity. The fabric rips with ridiculous ease, all the gold spent on making it runs with the speed of a thread being torn. Suddenly, your front is exposed, even the underwear is not enough to conceal your privacy. König indulges in the view of your open skin, glossy from sweat and so, so delicious in dim magical light erupting from an artificial candle. He knows that he is playing a dangerous game, that not touching you now would be his greatest accomplishment and greatest torture at the same time – your body meant to be touched, you look like a doll and like a statue, like the greatest treasure and the most desirable slut he ever laid his eyes on.

The emperor is a man in the end – a war dog, closer to death than to the start of his life, a perfect incarnation of a horrible match to a young princess like you. Too wrathful, too arrogant, with more chips on his shoulders than the hair on your head, and yet, he holds you closely, putting you out of the torture device you are calling a dress.

You breathe for the first time in forever, and your mouth is shaking from unspoken tears and spoken pleas. He holds himself back from cupping your face in his hands and crushing your lips in a kiss, not because he doesn’t think he deserves it, but because you deserve better than to be fucked on the ground of his tent without proper preparation and some relaxing oils for your body. One kiss would never be enough for him, and he hadn’t touched a woman in far too long to handle himself properly now.

You look like you need to be ravaged – the greatest temptation König ever experienced.

— I can do so much to you, little princess. More than you could ever imagine.

— i’m not…n…not little. Your Highness.

— You are, compared to me. Should be scared, not snarky.

— I’m not snarky.

Just for this, he loses control – your voice, shaking with tears but never losing that arrogant edge, that delicious drawl that cannot be described as something that belongs to a princess, makes him lose all of the composure he had. König had prepared himself for a lady who would fall in his arms and cry the whole night long, he prepared himself for a fierce fighter that would try to kill him immediately – but you are soft and vengeful at the same time, too weak to resist him, but not too helpless to not run his mouth. You speak before you think, and it’s an adorable quality for a princess and horrible – for an empress. good thing you would be his regent, a pretty thing like you should never be annoyed with politics and mingling. König pushes you across his lap, his free hand is tearing through various skirts, and what is left from that awful strick construction you tried to pass as a skirt support. He never understood why anyone would live through this torture – you’d look way nicer in his shirt and nothing more. Or, even better, nothing at all, chained to a bed in his bedroom until he’d think that you are tamed enough to be shown in public.

You yelp in surprise, precious dumb thing. Just like a princess, you are not accustomed to the consequences of your own actions – you think that you can just run your mouth or do dumb things without his wrath falling upon you…and, little princess, you’re in for quite a shock. Your emperor doesn’t have enough patience for this, even though he did want you as his wife and knew what chaos it could bring. He just never thought that he’d have so much pleasure in looking at your adorable bottoms, all modest and long. Your underpants are adorably white, not stained from multiple washings, crisp and new – he feels the fabric with his fingers and almost thinks to not rip them away, just to appreciate the fine silks that went into constructing it.

His mercy is cut short by that sweet whimper of yours. You plead with him not to touch you – like you have a saying on this. König defiled the death itself, so why would he even consider such silly things as chastity before marriage? He certainly had enough women in his bed to forbid him from ever going to heaven, and robbing you of your innocence would be a small crime against all the countless sins he already committed.

But, he doesn’t want you to hate him – and you would, certainly, not in the fiery and passionate way he might enjoy, but a quiet, broken anger. He doesn’t want to turn this fragile thing into the broken shell of the betrothed princess, even if you need to be taught a harsh lesson – and you deserve much better than having your cunt destroyed on the harsh floor of his tent.

— You’re lucky, little princess.

He laughs, taking down your underpants – a harsh hand on your bottom, rough fingers that almost burn you without a glove to conceal his touches. You whimper when he lashes on the sensitive skin, stroking sensitive skin. If you knew how hard you make him, you’d run away with his horse already.

— How am I lucky? You…you killed the king, you destroyed my country, you…

— I killed your father, yes, but I left you alive.

— To make a show for your soldiers, I assume..

— If I wanted to leave you to waste, I would allow them to bounce you on their dicks a while ago.

— How d…

— You’re lucky because you’re mine, little princess. Not going to share you with anyone. But…

— But?

Your voice has finally gone down. he can almost taste the dread in your tone. König was burning down villages, destroyed his enemies with nothing more but a rusty sword and hatred in his heart – but he truly feels like a monster when he slaps your ass for the first time and sees your tear-filled eyes staring at him. God, he never was faithful, but hurting you feels like defiling an angel.

And he loves every second of it.

— You need to learn a lesson of respect, little princess.

It’s a small grace that he doesn’t make you count his slaps – he simply pushes you down, makes sure that your face is lying on his cloak, just for something soft to rely on, and gives you enough slapping to make the rest of horseriding as painful as possible. Maybe, it would teach you a lesson that if you need help, you’d have to ask him, to beg him for this – and not try to hurt yourself by doing it on your own. You’re awfully independent and resilient for the princess.

It took him at least five strong, harsh lashes of his hand on your rear to make you cry as loud as he wanted you to. He cups your face in his palm, forcing you up his lap – and smothered your lips with a kiss. König knows he is overstepping; he wouldn’t be able to let go of you after devouring your lips like that, but he doesn’t care, at least for now. He wants to be your everything, to push every thought out of your head and fill it with himself.

He adores the thought of being your first kiss, your first everything – you’re so inexperienced, so fragile in his hold. Never once thinking of himself as an appreciator of all the thighs dainty and artsy, he wants to worship that pout, your closed eyes, and little prayers of mercy you whisper between each kiss. Your body feels too enticing in his hands, a treasure he needs to keep all to himself. It’s a miracle he didn’t push your underwear down and took you all the way – as much as he wanted to touch you.

König smiled when you cried into the kiss, trembling in his hold like a caged animal. Never once he thought he’d have this much fun without taking some plumpy woman on his dick, but you are full of surprises. Another five smacks on your ass left you with a bruised bottom and tear-strained, wet face. The look of misery in your eyes made him cackle – god, you were adorable. Continue like this, and he’d spend the rest of his life with you on his lap.

— We will sleep now. The Empire borders are still days away, and you don’t look like you could handle the road right now.

You pout, pushing yourself off his lap. Even the hard floor of the tent was better, the cold fabric made your butt sting a bit less. You still couldn’t sit straight, still miserable, with a burning feeling in the depths of your tummy – hate, perhaps, that made your hands shake and your thighs feel a bit too wet and warm for your liking. There is a knot in your lower stomach that makes you feel weird, anxious, that makes you squeeze your legs shut as you push through the pain and get your underpants on again. The soft silks of the princess’s undergarments made you feel a bit better.

— I’d love nothing more but to run away while we’re still at my home, Butcher.

He smiles under his hood, pushing his hand on your backside. You freeze as he rolls you over, making you fit perfectly against his broad chest. He is a horrible, disgusting human being, clingy and warm around you – his bear-like hold is too strong on your limbs, making you freeze completely.

— I’m sure you are, Liebling. And I would love to catch you and spank your rear again.

— I will…you won’t catch me.

— Someone will. I’ll pay handsomely to any knight or wandering hunter to bring my wife back to me.

— I’m not y…your wife.

— Yet.

You turn away from him – try to, at least. He squeezes you against his chest makes you calm down in his hold like a wild cat he picked up on the side of the road. You don’t want to admit it, but he is warm, cozy, and even the harsh fabric he threw on the ground to make you a bed feels nice compared to the castle floors where you spend so much time. You still squirm, trying to find a good position to lay next to him without feeling like a toy in the hands of a grabby kid. König feels your wounded, perfect ass grinding against him – out of most of his armor, he can’t contain his erection now. Oh, how the strong emperor wished he’d have

— Stop moving, princess. Unless you want to consummate our marriage early.

— I’m not…I’m not moving.

— You are squirming. Is the ground not to your liking?

— I must prefer sleeping in a grave with my papa. — Can’t promise you this…but isn’t sleeping with the Death himself would be enough? — You’re not death, your highness. A blight, maybe. Or a plague. — You’re making me blush, little princess. There is a smile in his voice. You feel your cheeks heat up again, but you can’t say anything. Too many nights sleeping by the princess’s bedspot, always being the first one to greet her at sunrise and the last one to tell her stories before going to sleep. Like a loyal dog on the wooden floor, with a pillow under your cheek for comfort – all of her other handmaidens, precious ladies from good families, had their own quarters and rooms.

You had a cot by her bed and her endless affection.

Compared to this, sleeping on the floor of a rich tent with an emperor by your side isn’t as bad. You have to remind yourself that you are sleeping with a murdered, pillager, kidnapper and colonialist – you shouldn’t feel warm by his side. But, he hugs you like a lover. But, he buries his masked face in your hair and inhales your scent – sweet fragrances mixed with the blood and sweat of a long journey.

You fall asleep in his arms before you can think of something smart to say.

König doesn’t fall asleep until hour later – too busy looking at your precious form, wrapped so perfectly in his arms.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #male yandere #konig x you #konig x y/n #cod x y/n

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mvth3r · 2 months

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thinking about you and daryl having matching tattoos..

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut under the cut, light dirty talk, oral sex (fem receiving)

a/n: this was supposed to be fluffy and sweet, but i genuinely can't help myself. enjoy anyway!

the conversation comes up in the prison a few months after the governor had ran off. things had calmed considerably and the group was gathered at one of the tables late one evening. planning for a run had dissolved shortly into telling stories and cracking jokes.

glenn, who turned towards you and daryl with an easy smile, mentioned it first, announcing, "you know, i always wanted to get a couple of tattoos, but i kept chickening out in college."

daryl scoffed playfully, "prob'ly for tha best. needle woulda made ya cry."

you laughed beside him, "like you did?" daryl nudged your shoulder, his grin teasing,

"musta got us mixed up, girl. you was the one doin' all tha cryin'.”

carl piped up before you could respond, "you have tattoos too? i've seen daryl's, but i've never seen yours!"

you laughed, nodding your head. carl was still a young boy, so you weren't surprised at his interest. he wasn't the only one, though, you noted, as rick, glenn, and maggie stared at you in shock right alongside him.

you smiled indulgently, reaching down to tug the hem of your shirt up, exposing a small tattoo of a rabbit on your ribcage when you twisted to the side.

"¡ have a few more," you released your shirt, waving your hand in a vague gesture, "they're all pretty small, though."

"you and daryl have matching ones," carl stated, his smile wide, "that's really cool."

carol, who was seated on daryl's other side, nudged the hunter with a teasing smile, "how sweet."

"whatever," daryl grunted, shrugging carol off him, but the the redness warming the tips of his ears and the smile he couldn't quite keep away betrayed his false ire.

laughs rang out around the small table, the conversation continuing on past tattoos to other musings about the world before. you leaned into daryl's side, jumping in occasionally, but otherwise content to sit in good company.

and when daryl's hand crept over and started moving slowly up and down your thigh, you just turned to hide your smile in his shoulder.

you already knew what he was thinking about.

later, after everyone had called it a night and made their way to their cells, you found yourself spread over you and daryl's shared cot.

daryl laid between your thighs. he'd tugged your jeans down and off as soon as you'd dropped the privacy sheet, leaving you in a small pair of black panties.

his eyes were trained on your lower hip bone, where another tattoo, this one of his name, sat scrawled in black, loopy print.

daryl pressed kisses to your thighs, mumbling,

"ain't tell 'em 'bout this one, girl."

you hummed quietly, trying not to shift as you felt yourself start to heat up at the tone of his voice,

"didn't need to."

daryl didn't respond, instead brushing his finger over the tattoo before following it with his tongue.

your answering whine made him grin. he didn't stop with his kisses, still peppering them over your thighs, but his fingers did hook under the hem of your panties, sliding them to the side just enough to expose you.

dary's groan was guttural as he took you in, glistening from your own wetness, "damn right you didn't. 's just for me, ain't it?"

"yeah, d," you mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed with the proximity, his unrelenting gaze on you,

"got it just for you, baby."

daryl's eyes were glazed when they flicked up from your wet cunt to meet yours. he loved that fucking tattoo, had since you got it way back when. it made him a little crazy, seeing you branded with his name, and all just because you wanted to.

he descended onto you with fervor, moans coming from you both as he licked broad strokes up your slit. your hand slid through his dark locks, holding him to you as he did.

through the haze of pleasure, your mind drifted back to the tattoo. you'd get a hundred more if you could, if it meant seeing daryl light up at the sight. that was everything.

your head cocked back when daryl's lips closed over your clit, sucking hard. you could feel his fingers swirling around your entrance as well, but you were acutely aware that his other hand hadn't moved from where it rested over your hip bone.

you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his, content to fall back into the bliss he was giving you once more.

your man, your daryl, a lover through and through.

and you knew this because, just as his name sat immortalized on the skin of your hip, yours was stamped permanently over his heart.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd imagine

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daechwitatamic · 4 months

Text

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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after-witch · 8 months

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Run Rabbit [Sukuna x Reader]

Title: Run Rabbit [Sukuna x Reader]

Synopsis: You were the first one in your village chosen to be a sacrifice to Ryomen Sukuna. But you won't accept your fate so willingly.

Word count: 2000ish

notes: obsessiveness, reader is set to be a sacrifice, non-graphic injuries, non-graphic sexual assault threat,

There are two types of desperation beating inside your breast

The desperation to live, to not be torn to pieces by some beast, to keep going another day and walk down the path of life, wherever it may take you.

And perhaps the worst of the two, the desperation of knowledge: the fact that you can’t deny that you understand why they’re doing this to you, why you’ve been tied to the tree at the entrance of your village.

Why they have chosen you as a sacrifice to Ryomen Sukuna.

He had slaughtered so many people already, in your village and many more besides. Men, women, children. It made no difference to him--no, you think, perhaps it did. From what tales you’ve heard, he seemed to enjoy killing women and children most of all.

Your own parents had been killed by him while they were traveling to a nearby village to visit your mother’s pregnant friend. Perhaps that’s why the village chose you as the easiest sacrifice--you had no family left to stand up for you.

You were just some orphaned daughter. You couldn’t carry on the family name. You would be a burden, if you were married off, and who wanted to take the time to create a match for you amidst the current heavy fear enveloping the village?

So they took you in the early hours of the morning, when the air was misty and cool, and dragged you from your bed to this very tree that leads to the main path to your village. The tree itself was considered sacred. Or it had been, once. Scattered around you are broken charms, no doubt laughingly scattered by Sukuna himself; failed protections against his horrors.

But you? You were going to be the village’s salvation. Surely he would accept their offering and kill you (perhaps more, beforehand) and spare the village. At least for a while. At least until they had to drag some other pretty thing to the tree, and hope he would take them and spare their village for another day.

That’s what they hoped for, anyway.

But you? You were not going to be a good sacrifice. That is why you have spent the better part of the day sawing at the rope binding your wrists to the tree, using one of the broken charms as a sharp edge.

And as the sun begins to slip beneath the horizon, and the warmth in the air seeps away and leaves a clammy cold in its wake, you feel the rope finally fray to a fragile husk--

Just as every insect in the night suddenly ceases their droning calls, and the night birds in the weaving lakes no longer cry out.

Just as the sound of footsteps approaching the tree replaces them.

You have never seen the demon, curse, monster Sukuna in person before. You had only heard the stories, at first huddled together with your family, and then alone.

He is, above all things, overwhelming. Eyes upon eyes, arms upon arms.Two of each, and faces like halves. He is…

Inhuman. Unnatural.

Without realizing it, you are frozen--a doe in the flickering lamplight of a weary traveler. No, for this is no weary traveler who smiles indulgently at the sight of a frightened deer. You are more like a doe trapped in the unmistakable sight of a hunter’s bow.

“Well,” the monster says, his voice like a rough purr that sends goosebumps creeping up arms. “This is a first… surprisingly.” His eyes look you over, and the sight of the multiple pairs moving sends your empty stomach lurching. “Usually villages try to sacrifice their weakest first. The children… the elderly.”

The way his gaze rakes over your form sends your limbs trembling, and you begin to rub your wrists together, willing the rope to give way to nothing in time for you to have some sort of chance.

If he notices, he says nothing. Instead, he steps closer and looks down at you. “But oh, you’re a precious thing, I would think. A lovely woman.” He calls you precious but nothing in his tone or demeanor suggests he thinks you so.

“Shall I kill you outright? Or have my way with you first?” There’s a laughter in his words, and you’re not sure if he means them, but they create a hard knot in your belly all the same.

It doesn’t matter. Because the rope has split.

“Neither,” you spit out, and you don’t wait for his reaction--you simply run.

The primal part of your brain expects to hear his footsteps behind you. Instead, you hear laughter, barking, harsh--but delighted.

“I’ll give you a head start, girl!” He calls out. You don’t dare look behind you to see if he’ll hold true to his words.

The forest is familiar and unfamiliar all at once, for you never went into it during the night, and certainly never alone--and definitely not with a demon at your heels.

Dark greenery whizzes by, punctuated with scratching branches and your own terrified, panting breaths. Some of the branches catch the fold of your robe and you stumble, pulling until the fabric tears or the branch lets you go.

A branch catches your clothing again, but when the fabric tears this time, you don’t regain your footing. You fall to the ground and your body aches, unused to running and injuries--

And then you hear those footsteps again. Loud. Confident. As if whatever creature makes them knows he is entitled to be exactly where he is, doing exactly what he does. You don’t doubt a demon who has slaughtered countless, seemingly for sport, might feel that way.

Hot tears fall down your face, dripping on the ground, almost in time with the footsteps.

“Are you done already? How boring.” His voice above you (for you don’t dare look up at his face) has lost the delight it held earlier, replaced with something you keenly sense is far more dangerous: a loss of interest.

He’ll kill you. If you don't run now, he’ll kill you.

Some noise, grunting and animal-like, escapes your lips. And then you’ve propelled yourself upward, riding on adrenaline, running into the darkness again.

Behind you, Sukuna laughs.

“Keep going! Don’t give up!”

The mockery in his voice lands and slides off you like raindrops. You don’t have the resources to care about anything but getting away from him.

So you run and run and run.

Your fingers taste of sweat and dirt, but you keep them pressed to your lips, muffling your ragged breathing as best you can.

Sukuna is somewhere behind you. His every movement rustles leaves, snaps twigs. He doesn’t need to hide his presence--why would he? He could kill anyone or anything he came across.

If he finds you tucked inside the hollow of this tree, he’ll kill you. Maybe worse than that, because you can; or because he feels an inclination for it.

“Brat.”

Your muscles turn to ice. He found you. He found you and this is it and now--

But pain does not come, death does not come. Instead, you realize, slowly, that he wasn’t addressing you. He’s talking to himself.

“She’s made it this far, huh? If she crosses that stream…” He sighs, and your mind provides the image of his face, pinched with irritation. “I can’t follow. It’s been blessed. Damn sorcerers.”

Hope, fragile but alive, flutters in your breast. The charms on the tree didn’t work… but evidently something did work against this creature. And you were close--so close you could hear the water bubbling--to reaching it.

And like a miracle, his footsteps recede, and the soft sound of the night returns. The insects, hesitantly chirping; the soft crunch of a fox scurrying out of a burrow.

After a time, long enough to make sure he has truly gone, you slowly, carefully crawl away from the hollow of the tree.

The stream. If you can make it across the stream, you’ll be safe.

With your muscles aching and your feet bleeding from the terrain of the forest, you run towards the sound of quietly bubbling water that will be your only chance of salvation.

You have never appreciated the moonlight as much as you have on this night. The moon is not quite full, but it’s large and bright enough to illuminate the man made rock path lodged across the stream, giving easier (but no less slippery) access to those who want to cross it.

Just get across, you think. Just get across and be safe. Be free. Start over. Find somewhere you can live and settle down and--

You take a deep breath and force yourself not to race too far ahead. You don’t want to get distracted, not now.

Not when every footsteps matters. You go as slow as the panic in your breast allows, keeping your arms straight out like you used to as a child, begging your parents to help guide you across.

On the last stone, you hear him approach. Hear the rumble of his chest as he hums. Feel the oppressiveness of his presence.

But you leap to the wet, mossy ground on the bank of the stream and you turn and your heart beats fast with fear and relief in turn. You made it. You’re safe.

Your face breaks into a sobbing smile just as Ryomen Sukuna takes an easy, sauntering step onto the stepping stone.

His laughter hurts your ears.

“Did you really think I couldn’t cross water?” His four eyes blink down at you, and it’s like your soul wants to drop to the ground and run away. “Country bumpkin…”

The smile cracks, but the sob on your lips pushes its way out as you whirl around and run.

But your body has other ideas. It’s too tired. You were not used to such physical strain, and the stress from being tied to the tree and chased and chased--and chased--like some animal has finally overruled the adrenaline pumping through your body.

Your legs collapse, and you fall to the ground. You’re on your knees, aching and bleeding though they are, and you gulp down terrified, sobbing breaths.

This is it. This is when he kills you. You can only hope it will be fast.

“Finally run out of steam, girl?” Sukuna hums, and you feel his foot press down on the small of your back. It doesn’t take any effort for your body to crumple beneath it, but he keeps his foot on the dirty, frayed fabric of your robe.

There’s an uncomfortable flush of humiliation, but you chide yourself for even feeling it. Does it matte, what he does, if he’s just going to kill you now?

“You lasted longer than I thought you would. Though you were stupid to think I was serious about the river.” His voice is low and lazy. You almost wish he sounded angry, annoyed that he’d had to chase you through the woods.

But then you realize that this chase which has worn your body to its limit was like a relaxing stroll for him.

You were running for your life--and it was nothing to him.

“Just…” Your voice is hoarse, and you would drag yourself to the stream and gulp it down like a wild animal, if you could. What is water, though, when you’re going to die at any moment? “Just kill me already,” you finish.

There is a rustling sound, and you don’t know what it means until you’re flipped harshly on your back. You cry out as you’re flipped, body aching, and hurting even more when you feel rocks digging into your tired muscles.

It was better to be staring at the ground, you think. Better to look at that than up at the face of the monster who will end your life.

He tilts his head at you--the two faces, you think, are not just grotesque but otherworldly and very, very wrong. They shouldn’t exist, and he shouldn’t exist, and you hope that somewhere, somehow, some day, there will be a person who knows how to destroy the thing above you.

He hums again. And after a while, he grins, as if he’s pleased with himself. “No, I don’t think I will, girl.”

His words take a while to sink in. And the question forms on your lips before you have time to wonder if you really want the answer.

“Why--why not?”

Sukuna leans down and grips you by the ruined fabric of your robe. He hauls you to your aching feet, and keeps his grip on you even as your legs try to buckle underneath you from fear just as much as the physical strain of the night.

One of his four hands grabs your chin, and none-too-gently forces you to look at him. His pairs of eyes study you, and your stomach twists and turns as you’re made to stare into his face.

“You were given to me,” he says, voice back to that low, growling purr from when he first saw you tonight. “And I’m going to appreciate this little present.”

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #afterwitch writes

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snotbuggle · 27 days

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Omega when she gets to jail and realizes that she now has to big sister four other children. One of which is nowhere near her age.

Going to try and condense some more serious thoughts about these episodes down below so I can avoid spoiling someone as much as possible and not post a dozen times. I don’t want to miss tag any one of those.

Jex/Jek?? I can’t completely remember his name, but the mirialan kid is for sure not going to trust her at all. Can’t say much for the pantoran kid since they haven’t shown much of them so far, but Eva is going to love her.

I think the mirialan kid is definitely going to be skeptical of Omega’s prior knowledge of the facility, Emerie, and why they’re there. Although he might overlook these things hanging on her promise that her brothers will get her, and in turn them, out of there. I can’t help but wonder what Omega and the others will think after about a week and there still not being a rescue. (These two are assuming that she will be placed with the other force sensitive children. Although she may be moved since her blood actually works for project Necromancer)

Crosshair is definitely going to hear it from Hunter. ESPECIALLY after he threw Hunter’s past failure to keep her out of Tantiss in his face. What I think will weigh on his conscience more though is the fact he thinks she’ll be alone this time. In a way she definitely will, but I have no doubt that he realizes he was probably the highlight of her day. He was probably the one thing that kept her hopeful even if he tried to talk down on her and get her to leave. Yes, she had hope that Hunter and Wrecker would find her, but she also needed someone there with her. A familiar face and not someone who just revealed they were your sister out of the blue. Her situation has changed, but Crosshair doesn’t know that. The Crosshair guilt is going to be so real in these last episodes.

Switching gears, CX agents are always a cool and interesting topic for me. While the identity of CX-2 isn’t usually as engaging, I have to say that I’ve drifted from the standpoint of “there’s no way that’s Tech” to “it’s a possibility” over the course of the last two episodes. I’ve seen some fun ideas for who it is otherwise. Personally, I think that they’re probably just another copy paste man with no autonomy anymore.

ANYHOW! I haven’t seen anyone talk about it much, but the scene with Hemlock reviewing the CX agent data and the capsule has me thinking a little harder on their creation/conditioning. The way Hemlock talks about the other operatives as well. “The others aren’t ready to join you” (paraphrasing) seems to show that after the mental conditioning through obviously brutal means, it takes a load of time to physically condition the agents. Seeing as CX-1 was most likely initiated around the same time as Crosshair (I choose to believe that they were near each other’s tables which is why they’re familiar), that took around five months to half a year. In that time span there had to be a lot of soldiers who Hemlock saw fit to be “reprogrammed” but we see very few operatives throughout. This means that if they make it out of mental conditioning, physical conditioning is most likely very dangerous and often times fatal. I’d like to draw attention to the capsules as a part of that physical conditioning. There were several capsules that Hemlock was observing, along with the foggy one that is most likely that new Huyang-lookin-ass operative. If these capsules are the final stage of physical conditioning, it adds meaning to CX-2’s first line, “Why have I been activated?” (Once again paraphrasing). Although the capsules could be for something else entirely.

Also a bit of a gripe, why in the world do you need a new secret-secret operative, Hemlock? You have the commandos, and then the first X troopers, now the CX’s, and what? You wanted a new one? I can’t tell if this man is an overachiever or just way too absorbed into the advanced trooper rabbit hole. Also for you Tech theorists, it’s kinda suspicious that he makes a new version of agents isn’t it? Almost like there’s something…deviant about him?

Completely side tracking here, I really like Phee’s awareness in the station. Yeah she didn’t hear the blaring alarm, but she was in a room where it’d be hard to hear anyways. However, when she got back she felt something was off about the ramp. We’ve seen how slick CX-2 is, so her noticing something is up was a nice touch imo. Also was very appreciative of her caution and readiness with her knife. I love when female characters get to be aware of their surroundings and ready to throw hands if things go south.

In conclusion, thank you for listening to my dump-rambling. I’ve been trying to keep my lips shut so I don’t miss tag anything and spoil it for someone (because I know that I’ll forget to tag everything right). I hope Wrecker is okay. And even if I’m not a Tech CX theorist, I have to admit that I’ve been seeing some fairly strong parallels.

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lokirulzart · 8 months

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WILD WEST AU!!!!

You ever notice that when fools do a western AU, they cheap out on the horses or ignore them entirely??? WELL NOT HERE, FOLKS. ONLY THE HIGHEST QUALITY HORSE CONTENT. BECAUSE I LOVE Y’ALL AND ALSO HORSES.

Frank has a snooty Appaloosa because he’s fancy, but also appaloosas are reliable trail horses, so that means he can go bug collecting without worrying much. His insect collection is the envy of all the rich collectors in the whole county.

Wally ended up with a chestnut Arabian mare, because Wally is too small for a bigger horse and I just think it’s funny. HANG ON THERE, PARDNER!! SHE’S A WILD ONE!!! Luckily, Wally is usually unaware of his own horse acting up, and the mare ends up tiring herself out just because Wally simply doesn’t even notice her… he’s too busy spacing out. But he’s one of the best Bronco Busters around thanks to her!

Hunter/trapper/fur trader Barnaby has himself a lovely Shire mare with a sweet and patient disposition. She has no trouble carrying whatever Barnaby has hunted as well as big ol’ Barnaby himself… but he still feels bad about making her work, so he only ever hunts what he needs to in order to get by.

Julie and her mustang are BOTH wild. Julie had the chance to tame her, but instead she just fed off of her spirited energy and now the two of them just tear around being crazy together, getting into trouble, rolling in the dust… Julie wouldn’t have it any other way.

What better steed for a Pony Express postal worker than a sure footed mule?! Seriously, mules are the mountain goats of the equine world. Eddie’s mule might not be as fast of a sprinter as some horses, but this animal can trek over ANY terrain, ensuring that all of the mail gets delivered on time. They have yet to miss a single delivery.

(Snake oil) Salesman Howdy Pillar has a general store in town as WELL as a covered wagon to travel around, ensuring that everyone gets the best deals on their pork ‘n’ beans, biscuits, tobacco, and tonics. You want it? Howdy’s GOT it… and his team of 3 dapple gray Connemara ponies, and one brown one, will make sure that you can get it… also the tallest character having the smallest horses makes me giggle.

Poppy doesn’t have a rideable horse yet, which is perhaps for the best. She spends a lot of time at Howdy’s general store or riding in his wagon. She is his best customer. But she has recently come by a thoroughbred foal that she is now raising from a bottle. So perhaps one day very soon Poppy will have her own tall and elegant steed to carry her around… let’s just hope he’s not too fast for her.

Sally is a performer at the local saloon by night and helps out with cleaning during the day… she knows NOTHING about horses… but one night, after all the local drunks went home, a poor American Paint got left behind. Nobody came back to claim the animal, so Sally boards him at the local ranch and visits often. She hopes one day to learn how to ride him, but it’s slow going. She is, after all, a singer and actress first.

AND THEN HOME THE SALOON!! YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D FORGET HOME, DID YOU?? He has a small stable in the back and a second floor, where Wally lives! Wally gets to spend all his free time hanging out, meeting up with his friends, and drinking all the apple juice he wants! (Just don’t tell him it’s apple juice, he’ll get confused. He thinks he’s just drinking whiskey like everyone else. It’s easier this way.) Also Home is the only saloon that can kick out belligerent drunk people itself!

Also Bonus OCs, Luna O’Hare the bilingual cartographer (created by @m0stlygh0st) and Simon, my boy, the ranch hand! Luna has an Andalusian that she likes to dress up, braid it’s mane, and stick flowers in it-… as snacks for later. They’re also grazing buddies and Luna can often be found eating the horse feed because it’s so similar to rabbit food. Simon has a gelding Quarter Horse with golden retriever energy and not a single braincell to his name. Poor Simon… but at least his horse loves him.

YEEHAW!!!! 🤠

#welcome home #wally darling #frank frankly #barnaby b beagle #julie joyful #Eddie dear #howdy pillar #poppy partridge #sally starlet #welcome home oc #cowboy AU #western AU #wild west AU #horses

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supercap2319 · 6 months

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Kraven catches you and has his way with you.

You had tried to get away from him, but let's be honest. The dude's name was Kraven The Hunter. There was no way you were getting out of this one and escaping scot-free, but that was probably the point of it all. Kraven was probably somewhere nearby, laughing and smiling at the thought of you escaping from him.

You headed towards a clearing next to a stone platform and before you could even pass it, a trap was triggered. A bunch of ropes ensared you in their grasp as it tied up your hands and feet and bent you forward towards the platform.

After a few tries, You realized that you weren't going anywhere. That's when you heard clapping behind you and you immediately knew that it was Kraven. The sound of his boots crunched underneath leaves as he got closer to you. "Lookie what I caught. A scared little rabbit all nice and wrapped up just for me." His voice was low and husky.

"Kraven, wait! We can talk about this, right? I'm sure we can talk about this." You squirmed harder than before.

Kraven laughed. "Oh, I'm afraid the time for talking is over my friend. The only reason why you're not dead like everyone else on my list is because I have other methods of punishment...." He let that sink in as he brushed a hand over your ass. "I think you can guess what that entails."

"No! You can't." You cried.

"Oh, but I can. And you're going to love every minute of it." Kraven took out a knife and pretty soon there was a hole between your pants and your bare ass as Kraven gave your butt a firm smack and laughed when you yelped.

"K-Kraven? Please?"

"Hush now. Anymore back talk and I won't be as gentle. But I suspect you like it rough." Kraven said. He licked a stride of your entrance, and when you moaned, he buried his face in your tight virgin hole as you were soon begging and crying for more.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #smut #gay smut #kraven the hunter #kraven x reader #kraven x you #kraven smut #Kraven x male reader #aaron taylor johnson #Aaron Taylor Johnson x male reader #marvel mcu #marvel comics

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yelenasdiary · 2 months

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Forbidden || Chapter I - Welcome To Blisswater

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Bishop! Reader.

Summary: Just outside of the small town of Blisswater, lives two young sisters, Kate & Y/n Bishop. It's hard not to know who the Bishops are, Kate is the eldest by a year. She is a beautiful young woman, smart, protective and is known to have a talent in using a bow. Y/n, she is shy but quiet as some would say but nevertheless, she holds her own talents and can often be seen tending to the animals of Bishop Ranch. One evening while Kate is out hunting to make some money, Y/n is surprised with an unwanted guest, Yelena Belova. A bounty Hunter from Drybellow who has taken shelter in the young Bishop's barn after being wounded from a gun fight.

Struggling to keep money following, Y/n has no choice but to take the bounty hunter's offer of $5 a day if she is able to help the woman recover. During Yelena's stay, the two grow closer, a little too close if the wrong pair of eyes were to see them.

| No Warnings, I don’t think? | 3.6K |

Forbidden Masterlist

"I'm leaving Lucky here with you" Kate, my older sister said as she entered the dining room, "I'll be gone for a least two days at the most. Will you be okay to handle things here?" she asked. A few, long months ago, our parents went on a business trip and are yet to return. Kate and I have been left to run the ranch and keep money flowing until they return, although we haven't heard from them, not even a single letter. My worries for them are endless. "Of course, I will be" I smiled before taking a mouthful of the porridge I made for us.

"Do you need anything from town before I go?" she asked while putting her bowl in the sink for me to wash later, "no, I think we have everything we need. Just be safe, please" I looked to her. "Always, rabbit" she smiled. Kate has always called me rabbit, ever since we were younger. It comes from when my adult teeth were still coming through, they reminded her of a rabbit's front teeth when they would nibble on their food. "I'm just going to go get Arrow saddled up then I'll be on my way" she added before walking out the back door.

I'm used to Kate leaving for a day or two, she goes off hunting for us while I tend to the ranch. We have 3 cows, 5 pigs and 6 sheep! All of which have names of their own, of course. I've been saving some money to buy a couple of chickens so we can have our own fresh eggs. My father said we'd get some but that was before he and mother left on their trip. Today seems like it will be an easy day, feed the animals then off to the general store for my shift.

"Alright, you know the rules" Kate spoke as she returned from saddling up Arrow, "father's rifle is in the case under your bed and please, don't let any of those wandering men stay too long! You can't trust everybody just because they say they've had a long day" she adds. "Yes, I know! You don't need to remind of that every single time, it was just once. Besides, Mr Lang has some very interesting stories to tell" I replied. I wish Mr Lang would return; his stories were almost unbelievable.

"I guess I don't need to remind you to get some more coffee and canned peaches after your shift then?" Kate rolled her eyes at me as she tucked a few canned goods into her saddle bag. "You just did" I replied, sarcastically. "Let's go Lucky! We don't want to be late" I patted my right thigh after placing my used bowl in the sink for laters problem. "Hey!" Kate stopped me just as I was leaving the kitchen, "be safe, okay? If you need anything Mr Barnes is only a call away" she reminds me, again!

We have a bell that Kate brought, it's rather large. I am to ring it if I'm in any trouble and Mr Barnes, the Salon owner, will come over and see what the matter is. Im not exactly sure how he's able to hear the ringing sound from so far away, we've done a couple of test runs and so far I haven't had the need to use it.

"Yeah yeah, how about you be safe? I can't do everything around here if you go missing too!" I smiled softly at my older sister, she knows I'm joking. If anything were to happen to her, she knows I'd be okay…I guess.

Lucky follows me around everywhere, especially when Kate goes off on her hunt. He'll come to the general store and wait outside by the door until I've finished my duties. Mr Wilson doesn't mind, he loves Lucky and even asked Aunt May to bake some of her famous cookies that everybody in town loves, she makes a little extra and dog friendly ones for Lucky. Everybody calls her Aunt May, not really sure why though, I think it's because she's such an aunt to everybody. Almost like a grandma that cooks everybody's favorite treats for the tea party.

The walk to town is always peaceful. In the warmer seasons, it can be rather hot but on days like today when the sun is just starting to peek over the mountains from afar, the wind isn't too cold and the birds sing their morning song, it's relaxing and maybe I tend to take smaller steps just to soak up the morning fresh air before I stay inside for most of it.

"Good morning young Y/n!" A rather tall and very muscular man smiles to me, it's Thor. Nobody actually knows why his name is Thor, considering it's a very unusual name but he's very lovely. "Good morning, Thor! Keeping well I see" I replied with a friendly smile as Lucky and I slowly make our way past the Salon. "Oh, you know me! Can't resist the great liquor that is served here" the most likely drunken man chuckles. It's barely 7am and he is drinking. I guess that's a hobby for most people around here.

Blisswater isn't a town for much entertainment, you have your basics. The Saloon ran and owned by Mr Barnes, the General store ran and owned by Mr Wilson, the doctors office with the only doctor within miles, Mr Banner. The gunsmith, Mr Barton owns and supplies Kate with discounts on arrows and sometimes ammunition for us. Mr Fury is the towns barber, my father wasn't a fan of him but when he was desperate for a cut, he had no choice but to see him. Then there's Sheriff Rogers, T'Challa the friendly banker, Peter the newspaper boy (by the way, he's love for me isn't exactly a secret!) and Mr Quill is the towns blacksmith.

So that's all there really is to know about who lives in and around Blisswater, it's a small town. A town where everybody knows everybody, and word travels faster than you can blink! We all look out for each other here and most don't take kindly to newcomers. Sometimes we have outlaw gangs come passing through, they spend the night at the Saloon, get drunk and make a mess of themselves before pushing on by the afternoon. The walk-through town the following morning is usually a sight of Mr Barnes boarding up the windows of the Saloon from their drunken fights.

The bell rings loudly as I open the door of the general store, and I'm greeted with Mr Wilson's warm and welcoming smile. "Good morning, Mr Wilson!" I smiled.

"Please, Y/n, call me Sam! I've known you long enough" he chuckles before reaching down behind the counter for the plate of Aunt May's famous cookies.

"I'm sorry, it's habit! I see Aunt May has come early this morning" I wandered up to the counter taking one delicious treat. "Lucky's biscuits are back here as well; did you bring him this morning?" Mr Wilson, I mean, Sam asked. "Of course! Kate is out today and left him all to me" I took a small bite out of the homemade goodness. "Parents off again?" he questioned, I nodded lightly. I miss them so much.

"Well, I've got the perfect job to keep your mind distracted. How about you watch the store today?"

"Alone? Me? Are you sure?" I asked with a mouth full of cookie.

"Yeah, I have a couple of things that need my urge attention. I wasn't going to open today but I think you're ready for this. What do you say? You can even bring Lucky inside if you want" Sam smiled proudly. I thought about it for a moment while I finished my morning treat, it can't be that hard, right?

"Sure! I can hold the fort as they say" I replied with a smile, wiping the crumbs from my lips with the back of my hand.

"I'll be back before closing, earlier I can. If you need anything, slip out the back door. I don't need to tell you this, I know" he chuckled, "Bucky will be around if you need anything" he assures me. I guess that's the handy thing about having your store next door to a saloon. "You're starting to sound like Kate!! I'll be fine, I have Lucky! What's the worst that could happen?" I raised a brow.

"Right" my boss smirked, "well you already know where the stock deliveries are, and you know your main duties. Just don't leave the store unattended" he reminds me, I playfully rolled my eyes at him as he stepped away from the counter. "Stop stressing, Sam, the store will be fine. Go do what it is that you need to do" I hoped the door, patting my thigh for Lucky to enter.

Mr Wilson left as Lucky made himself welcome in the store, I closed the door and treated Lucky to his own biscuit before starting to restock the shelves.

——

"Good afternoon, Y/n!" A familiar voice sings louder than the bell as the door fly’s open. "Peter! How are you?" I smiled softly as I was greeted with a smile of his own. "Oh you know how it is, busy busy!" He chuckles, "I ran into Mr Wilson earlier, he mentioned you were here alone today so I thought I'd come by and see if you, uh, needed anything" he adds. A hint of red fills his cheeks while his eyes struggle to stay connected to mine.

It's no secret that young Peter Parker has a crush on me, the entire town knows it. Although he is a very sweet young gentleman, I guess I've just never found myself interested in him in a romantic manner. In fact, I've never really thought about anybody in a romantic manner now to think of it…

"You're very sweet, Peter. Thank you but things are pretty good. I've had no troubles today and please, thank your Aunt May for the cookies and Lucky's treats!"

"Oh, you're welcome! You know Aunt May, always baking" Peter chuckles once more. I could sense a hint of nerves in his voice and the redness in his cheeks grew deeper. "Peter, is everything okay? Do you need a drink? Some water?" I asked with a concerned frown. "No, no. I'm more than fine, thank you. It's just, it's getting a bit wild out there and I thought I'd walk you home later when you're finished here. Don't want you getting sick or anything" he gives me another soft smile.

"It's meant to rain?" My frown only grew bigger as I looked out the window. Dark gray skys covered the town and beyond, distant flashes of lighting lit up the darkness for a moment. Wind blew the dry leafs onto the Main Street, horses stomped their hoofs with every crack of thunder that could be heard from the far, far distance.

"Well shoot!" I sighed.

"Did Mr Wilson tell you when he'd be back?" Peter asked.

"Sure hope it is soon, I have the animals I should move into the barn before the storm arrives"

"It doesn't seem like it is far off. Maybe I could watch the store for you? I wouldn't mind at all"

"You're very kind, Peter but I'm not sure if Mr Wilson would appreciate me leaving the store in somebody else's hands. I know you wouldn't ruin the place or steal from him but he is trusting me today and I don't want him to think otherwise" I explained as I watched the dark clouds darken, it'll be a big storm by the looks.

"I'd be more than happy to make sure your stock is in the barn then" he offered, I turned to him and kindly shook my head. "I'm sure Mr Wilson will be back soon. Thank you again Peter, you're very kind. If you don't mind, there's a few things I should really get done before Mr Wilson returns" I smiled softly, hoping not to have hurt the boy's feelings.

"I plan on having supper at the Saloon, if you need me, I'll be there" Peter smiles before leaving the store.

For the rest of the afternoon, I cleaned the store and did some stock take and made sure the store was exactly how Mr Wilson would like to have it when he returns and just my luck, he returns before the storm hammers down.

"Y/n, thank you for all your help today!" He walks into the store, placing his hat on the coat rack. He looked rather dirty; a nice bath would be in order for when he gets home if I didn't know better.

"You're welcome, Mr Wilson! I'm sorry to leave in a rush but I really need to be getting home before the rain starts" I grabbed my things, Lucky following closely behind me.

"Of course, you best be safe now"

I rushed out of the store, glad the rain hadn't started pouring down as yet but it was coming. You could smell it, the thunder got louder, the lighting got closer and the wind got stronger. The main street was quiet as people already began to make their way indoors until the storm pushed over.

"Come on, Lucky! We haven't got much time!" I patted my thigh lightly before Lucky and I began to race home.

——

The rain soaked the dry ground as expected and Lucky and I were able to get the animals into the barn before it came down heavy. I left a lantern in the barn just so I could keep an eye on it from the house, Kate hates when I do that, says it's a waste of resources but she'll thank me one day for it.

"How long do you think she'll be this time Lucky?" I looked towards him as we both rested by the fire. He tilts his head at me as if he truly understands what I am saying. We listen to the rain dance on the roof and wind whistle outside while the fire cracks and keeps us warm. It's nights like this that I wish Kate wouldn't go off hunting, it's most lonely at night. But I know we need the money, just until mother and father come home.

"Come Lucky, let's check the barn" I stood up from my mothers rocking chair, and wandered over to the window. A frown creeps upon my brows when I notice the lantern, I left behind earlier in the night was gone. I rushed to my room and grabbed the rifle under my bed, grabbed my father's thick coat, a lantern and headed for the backdoor with Lucky right beside me. It was only a short walk from the house to the barn, but the rain was quick to soak me in its gift to the ranchers. Slowly, I pushed the large wooden door open, my rifle tightly in my grip. Lucky entered first, sniffing the ground for anything that didn't belong while I slowly followed behind him, one foot after another.

Only a few steps in and I saw the lantern I had left behind, in the corner where Kate's horse would've been stabled. "Come out! I have a gun and I am not afraid to use it!" I called out, keeping my distance. Lucky walked quickly over to the empty stable slot, growling. "I said come out!" I repeated.

"Don't shoot" a thick Russian accent came from the corner of the barn, "I won't hurt you, just call off the dog, please" the unknown voice added.

"How can I trust you? You're a stranger in my barn! I have every right to shoot you"

"Trust me, if I were here to harm you, you'd already be dead"

I took a few small steps closer to them, Lucky stood his ground and continued to growl. I wasn't going to tell him to back off just yet. "What are you doing here? Do you always just welcome yourself into other people's properties like this?" I asked.

"You ask too many questions" the voice replied, "call the dog off, please" they asked once more.

"Lucky, back!" I called once I laid my eyes on the intruder. A young woman, maybe no older than me. Blonde hair that was braided and she certainly didn't seem to dress how most women dress. Beside her was her gun belt and holster, her hat placed freely beside them. The woman was covered in blood, her right hand pressed tightly against her left shoulder. "You're hurt" you spoke softly while keeping my rifle pointed at her.

She chewed her bottom lip and nodded, "I'll be gone by morning, I just need a place to stay for the night"

"How can I trust your word?" I asked. The woman smirked like I had just made a joke, an odd joke if my question was funny to her.

"I know better than to kill a rich small-town girl" she replies causing me to frown at her words.

"I am not rich girl. So, if you planned on robbing me later, you would find nothing, I can assure you of that"

She chuckled, "well, maybe not rich but you are well off than others. Besides, I have no interest in robbing homesteads"

"You know nothing about me" I snapped, pointing my rifle at her a little higher, aiming for her head. "Get off my property!" I demanded. Lucky growled once more, showing the unknown intruder his sharp canine teeth.

"Maybe we could come to a deal. It seems money is a touchy subject to you, yes?" The blonde hissed in pain when she moved her right hand even the slightest inch. I didn't reply, my eyes were drawn to the amount of blood her hand was covered in. "I'll pay you" she spoke, gaining my attention once more, "$5 a day. If you help me. I'll give you the first three days right now if I could move my hand but as you can see, if I do that, I will bleed out" she offers.

"Once I have recovered you will never see of me again, I give you my word" she adds. $5 a day would really help Kate and I and by the looks of her wound, she could be here for weeks. "I know you're thinking about it but I do not have time for you to think" her thick Russian accent brings me out of my thoughts, I nodded as I slowly lowered my rifle.

"We best get you to the house then"

----

"I'm sorry if that hurt" I spoke softly to the blonde as I bandaged her up, after pulling the bullet from her wound and cleaning the area with alcohol, she suggested cauterizing the wound with a lit candle. The smell of burning flesh is something I will never forget. "Don't stress, I've experienced worse" she looked to me with a soft smile.

"How did this happen anyway?" I asked as I started to clean up the mess. I offered the woman my room until she was back on her feet, and I hoped Kate wouldn't have noticed when she came home.

"Just a little miss understanding with an outlaw. I'm a bounty hunter" she informs me.

"A bounty hunter? That's a little strange for a woman to be doing"

"Well, sometimes women just do a job better"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. It's not often I meet women who aren't following the rules of society" My eyes dropped, I knew my comment offended her.

"You should travel more; you'd be surprised on what or whom you might come across. What's your name?" She pulled the covers up over her, making herself comfortable on my bed.

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine" I looked to her once more. She chuckled, "I'm Yelena, Yelena Belova. Your turn" she replies. I walked towards the bedroom door, my hands full of rubbish from cleaning her wound, "I'm Y/n, Y/n Bishop. I'll get you some water"

"Bishop" Yelena repeated, "your father is Derek Bishop?" she questioned. I nodded slowly, "you know him?" I asked. Yelena shook her head, "no, just heard of him in passing. Water would be great, thank you" she watched as I walked out of the room. Her tone made me question if she was telling the truth; did she know my father? Maybe she knew where my parents were?

Lucky followed me to the kitchen, I grabbed two cups of water and returned to my bedroom, placing one glass on the wooden beside table next to my lantern. "You should get some rest; I'll make breakfast in the morning" I looked to Yelena who reached for her coat that sat at the end of the bed. "As promised, the first three days" she says before handing me $15 dollars in 1 ten-dollar bill and a 5 dollar bill.

"T-thank you" I smiled softly, "do you like coffee? I could make some in the morning" I asked.

"Never start the day without one" she smiled, "goodnight, Y/n" she added.

"Goodnight" I walked towards the door, "oh, I hope you don't mind" I turned to face the blonde stranger once more, "I'm going to lock the door, you know…for safety" I added nervously.

"I thought you would. I understand, I need to gain your trust" she nodded slightly.

"If you need anything, just call out. I won't be far"

"Thank you, again" Yelena smiled once more before I closed the door, making sure it was locked before making my way to Kate's room.

If you want to be on the taglist for this series, please see the masterlist. It's link at the top of this post.

#fanfiction #yelena belova #marvel #yelena belova x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #Kate bishop #kate bishop x reader #forbiddenau

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juanarc-thethird · 7 months

Text

Jaune OF #2

Beacon Academy is in chaos, a manhunt is going on. Most of the female students, and some males, are looking for a sexy man. Target: Jaune Arc. They want him dead or alive, I mean just alive, they need him alive. No one is going to die today… I hope.

Girl 1: Have you seen him?!

Girl 2: He is not in the cafeteria!

Girl 1: Where are you SexyKinght?!!

People search every floor, every room, even every closet. No place is safe for Jaune Arc, but for some reason... they can't find him. Is this the work of an incredible mind that knows how to stay in the shadows or maybe knows how to keep a low profile to fool everyone in their face? Only Oum knows what kind of person they are dealing with.

Girl 1: Wait a minute?

The girl sees a person with blond hair. This makes her suspicious and she decides to investigate who she is.

Girl 1: Hey, wait!

The girl approaches the blond young man. She grabs his shoulder and flips him over in a snap.

Girl 1: Got you! Wait, you're not my SexyKnight.

In front of her was a person who looks like Jaune. The only difference is that he has a big and majestic mustache. His mustache is so beautiful that the girl can't stop looking at it.

Felipe: Hola, my name is Felipe.

Girl 1: Felipe?

Felipe: Si, I am an exchange student.

Girl 1: Exchange student?

Felipe: Yes, I'm here for an academic program.

Out of nowhere an orange haired girl appears with the same beautiful but dazzling mustache.

Gloria: And I am his compañera, Gloria!

Girl 1: Ooookey…. Have you seen this handsome daddy?

She pulls a picture out of her pocket of Jaune choking on a sandwich.

Gloria: Hahaha! They used a good angle for y- Agh!!

Felipe hits Gloria with his elbow right in the ribs and then responds to the girl.

Felipe: No, I have never seen that man in my life. Nunca e visto a ese hombre en mi vida. He looks boring.

She then looks at Gloria.

Gloria: Yo tampoco! (Me neither!)

The girl is confused by Gloria's response in Spanish.

Girl 1: I-I see...

She then puts her precious photo of Jaune in her pocket and takes out a piece of paper and a pen. She writes something on the paper and gives it to Felipe.

Girl 1: If you see him, please call me or send me a message with his location.

The girl leaves with her friend, leaving Felipe and Gloria alone. Felipe throws the piece of paper to the ground and they relax. He takes a deep breath and crouches down as he supports himself on his knees.

Felipe (Jaune): Oh my goodness. I thought they already found us.

In Gloria's case, she is still happy and touching her mustache.

Gloria (Nora): I'm more surprised that these mustaches fooled them. How did you come up with such an amazing idea?

Felipe (Jaune): I'm more worried about the future hunters and huntresses of this academy after we tricked them so easily. I mean, how can they be so clueless?

After a little rest, he gets up.

Felipe (Jaune): Ok, we should focus. There we have to keep moving and we have to get to the Bullhead port without being discovered. Once out of the academy, we can be quiet and you can start a rumor that SexyKnight is someone else.

She stands at attention and salutes him.

Gloria (Nora): Of course my beautiful leader. I will follow him until the end of time.

Felipe (Jaune): I'm still a little mad at you.

Nora pouts at his comment.

They walk down the hall until they reach a new corridor. Jaune looks to both sides and sees a group of students on the left side. He waits for the right moment to slip past them. The students start to walk in the opposite direction from them and Jaune uses that opportunity to continue on his way.

Felipe (Jaune): OK let's go.

They walk quietly to the right. Jaune takes a couple of glances back to make sure no one is following them and to check that the students haven't turned around and seen them. Without paying attention to where he is walking, Jaune bumps into a door that just opened in front of him.

Felipe (Jaune): Agh!

Gloria (Nora): Jefe!!

On the other side of the door a rabbit girl looks out to see what happened and realizes that she hit someone with the door by accident.

Velvet: Oh my gosh!!

She kneels to check if her classmate was hurt.

Velvet: Are you okay? Did you get hurt?

Felipe (Jaune): (Oh Shit! is Velvet! Play it cool Jaune, play it cool!)

He takes a deep breath and gets into character.

Felipe (Jaune): Estoy bien. I'm fine.

Velvet doesn't answer but stares at him as if she's trying to solve a puzzle. He notices this and is concerned.

Felipe (Jaune): I have something on my face? (Does she know who I am?)

Those words make Velvet react and she blushes from how embarrassed she is for staring at him.

Velvet: I'm so sorry, you look like the guy I'm looking for. Have you seen a tall boy who is blonde named Jaune? You may have seen him in one of your classes.

Felipe (Jaune): Sorry, I don't know that hombre.

Velvet turns to see the girl next to Jaune.

Velvet: How about you? Have you seen a guy with that description?

Gloria (Nora): Que?

Velvet: I see, thank you very much. Umm…let me help you up.

Velvet shows him her hand, Jaune takes it, and he gets up.

Felipe (Jaune): Gracias

Velvet: You're welcome… Well, I'm leaving. Sorry again for hitting you with the door.

Felipe (Jaune): Don't worry, I hope you find the person you're looking for.

Gloria (Nora): Adios!!

Each of them went their own way. Suddenly velvet feels like she kicked something. She looks at what it was and sees that it is a phone. She reaches down to pick it up.

Velvet: Hey, I think you dropped your phone!

Just as she picks up the phone, the screen lights up, showing an image of Team JNPR. Jaune checks his pockets and realizes that it is his phone. Unaware that Velvet saw the image, he went to retrieve it.

Felipe (Jaune): Muchas gracias, I didn't realize I dropped it.

Jaune holds out his hand to receive his phone.

Velvet: No problem...

She stands up, turns around, and in a single motion she rips off Jaune's fake mustache.

Velvet: ...Jaune.

Jaune immediately covers his mouth and begins to scream in pain.

Jaune: MIERDA, MI BIGOTE! (FUCK, MY MOUSTACHE!) PUTA MADRE! (MOTHERFUCKER!)

Velvet doesn't react to this and looks at him with a blank stare.

Velvet: I know it's you, Jaune.

Jaune continues to scream in pain and looks at Velvet. He sees that she doesn't react the way he wanted and slowly lowers the tone of his scream until he falls silent.

Jaune: Hey, you can't blame me for trying.

Velvet: Let me get to the point, I want to take some pictures of you…

Jaune: That doesn't sound bad.

Velvet:...Naked

Jaune: And there it is. When?

Velvet is surprised at his unusual response.

Velvet: Sorry?

Jaune: You want to take pictures of me, right? When do you want to do it?

Velvet: I… I didn't expect you to accept. I had a whole plan on how to blackmail you in my head. But then you tell me that it's ok?

Jaune: Ok ok ok, look I don't have all day. I don't know if you noticed but I have the whole school looking for me. When do you want to take the photos? Oh, and can I have my phone back, please?

Velvet: Yes of course.

She hands him the phone and he puts it in his pocket.

Velvet: How about today at 5:30pm? In my room.

Jaune: Sounds good. Just let me check with my agent if I'm free at that time. Oh look, speaking of the devil, he's right behind you.

Velvet: You have an agent?

She turns around but no one is there. After a few seconds she realizes she was tricked and looks back to where Jaune was. He was no longer standing in front of her. He was running to the opposite side of her with Nora on her shoulder looking at Velvet's direction. The only thing left were the fake mustaches on the floor. From afar, Nora can be heard screaming.

Nora: So long, sucker!!!

Velvet: You trick me!!!

She pulls out her phone and talks to someone.

Velvet: He is heading to the training area. I repeat, he is heading to the training area!!!

Back with our favorite duo. Jaune is running down the hall while Nora is still on her shoulder.

Nora: So where are we going now? Do we follow the same plan or…?

Jaune: We will continue with the plan. We just need to change our route a bit. Maybe we can use the back door to the training room? Oh the lockers! We can use the lockers to escape! I am a genius!

????: Yes you are~

Jaune: What the fuck?

At that moment, a machine gun is heard and a line of bullets comes out of the wall and blocks their path. That scares them and Jaune drops Nora to the ground. She got up and stood behind him.

Jaune: Holy shit!!

Nora: We are under attack!!

The machine gun stops and from the hole in the wall appears the incomparable Coco Adel. She looks at Jaune and smiles at him.

Coco: Hello Jaune~

Then she turns to see Nora but with a look of disgust.

Coco: Nora.

Nora, still behind Jaune, answers her.

Nora: Rude!

Jaune feels the danger that Coco emits right now, so he decides to do what he knows better than anyone. Fool people with nonsense.

Jaune: Hi Coco, you look amazing today. Are those new sunglasses?

She points her gun at them and approaches them

Coco: Yes they are new. Thank you for noticing it.

Jaune: No problem. Can I help you with something?

Coco: I need you to confirm something for me. Is that you in this photo?

She shows him a picture of a man wearing Pumpkin Pete's Trunks-type underwear, and he's displaying a colossal package.

Jaune: That ain't me.

Coco: Really?~ Wouldn't you mind if I ask you to take off your shirt to see if that's true?

Jaune: (Ok, Jaune, think. It's Coco you're dealing with, so you can't trick her like the others. She's one of the best fighters and she's smart. What should I do?)

As Jaune thinks of a solution, as Coco gets closer and closer to them. Nora puts herself between her and Jaune to protect him.

Nora: Stay back!

Coco: Relax, I just want to know if it's him, ok? Jaune, if you want I can give you a hand? But I must tell you that my hand tends to slip sometimes.

After hearing that last sentence, an idea came to mind. It's a low blow, but it'll work.

Jaune: *Quietly* Nora, play along with me no matter what happens.

He takes a deep breath and suddenly executes his plan.

Jaune: *Gasp* Coco Adele! That is sexual harassment!

Coco: What?! No, it was just a joke!

Nora: *Quietly* Oh, I see what you're doing. You are evil. *To Coco* Sexual harassment is never a joke!

Jaune starts acting like he's really crying.

Jaune: I've always admired you, and now I find out that you do these things?!

Coco is taken out of her comfort zone, and she panics.

Coco: I didn't mean too! It was a joke, I swear!

Jaune: *Looks away* I can't trust you anymore.

Nora: Perverted!

Coco: I am not a pervert!

Jaune: I need some time alone.

Nora turns around and comforts him.

Nora: Everything will be fine Jaune, don't worry. *To Coco* Are you happy now?!

Coco: It wasn't my intention, I'm really sorry.

Nora: Look, just go away.

Coco begins to walk backwards to leave and continues to apologize.

Coco: I'm sorry.

Out of nowhere Velvet appears on the other side, leaving Jaune and Nora in between her and Coco.

Velvet: Do not believe them! They are lying to you! He's not even crying!

Jaune is very upset that Velvet revealed his plan. All that effort wasted. He gets up and turns to see Velvet.

Jaune: God damn it! This is why they bully you!

They all gasp in surprise at that comment.

Nora: Jaune!

Jaune: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I got a little angry there. I just want to get out of here, and you girls look at me with lustful eyes. I have every right to be mean to you, at least just for today.

Velvet: Seems fair to me, but that's not the point! You're trapped now, there's nowhere to go!

Velvet and Coco begin to approach them. Nora and Jaune are back to back. Nora looking at Velvet and Jaune looking at Coco.

Nora: *Panic* What will we do now?! We don't have our weapons with us!

Jaune: Relax, just... just let me think, ok?

Coco: Thinking about what Jaune? You guys are in the middle of a hallway, surrounded.

Jaune: *Still thinking* Shut up!

Velvet: Just give in and let me show your body to the world with my photography. We will be the window of new inspiration!

Jaune: *Quietly* Window?

At that moment a light bulb goes on in Jaune's head.

Jaune: Nora, get ready to do "The Wrecking Ball"!

Velvet/Coco: The what?

Nora: But Jaune, I don't have my weapon!

Jaune: *Turns to her* Use me.

Nora: But...

Jaune: I have a lot of Aura, trust me.

Nora: O-Ok...

Nora grabs Jaune by the collar of his shirt and his belt and starts spinning him around without stopping.

Coco: What are they doing?!

Nora: AAAAH!!!

Nora screams as she picks up more speed. The two girls can feel a bit of wind coming off of them. At that moment Velvet realized what they were planning to do.

Velvet: Coco stop them!

But it was too late.

Nora: HYAAAH!!!

She let Jaune go towards the wall. The impact caused debris to fall, leaving Velvet and Coco blinded for a moment. When everything is clear, all they can see is a large hole in the wall, a window to freedom.

Coco: Holy shit! Is he crazy?!

Velvet takes a look outside the hole in the wall and doesn't see Nora or Jaune anywhere.

Velvet: They escaped. We'll have to start the search again.

Coco: I heard them talking something about the lockers. Maybe we should set a trap for them there.

Pyrrha: Good idea!

Velvet/Coco: Huh?

They turn to look behind them and out of nowhere they are knocked out.

Meanwhile:

Jaune and Nora are hiding behind some bushes in the courtyard. Nora checking the coast for enemies, while Jaune recovers with his aura.

Nora: So, are we going to change our plan?

Jaune: Let me rest first and then we'll see. Most likely, yes. But give me about 15 minutes, okay?

Nora: Ok

Jaune: Thank you.

He says as he closes his eyes to rest. While they try to take a breath. A new group has them in their sights.

May: *Using heat vision binoculars* I see someone hiding in the bushes.

Neon: It must be Jaune. Ready girls?

Reese/Arslan: Ready.

Neon: Let's move.

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waywardxwords · 1 month

Text

Chapter 4 - Cherry Pie (Taking Chances)

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff, slight language

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

[1] [2] [3]

A quick glance at the clock on the wall made you inwardly groan–how could it only be 11:23 in the morning? Work days were known to drag on, but this was overkill. You figured it might have something to do with the fact that you were just hours away from seeing Dean again. It had taken you far too long to fall asleep the night before; you couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss.

The way his lips felt against yours…the way it made you feel inside…

The buzz from your cell phone distracted you and shook you from your thoughts.

Dean Hey, Atlanta.

You didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the nickname. Another buzz caught you off guard.

Dean Or should I say, Hotlanta?

The text made you laugh out loud, which would have been fine had you been alone somewhere. Instead, colleagues that you hardly knew in this new office all turned to look at you.

“Sorry about that,” you said softly as you excused yourself from the cubicle you had borrowed. You wandered to the hallway and stood there as you typed back a response.

Hi, Dean…you’re ridiculous, but that still made me laugh anyway.

You nibbled on a pesky hangnail that had formed on your thumb as you waited for his text back.

Dean I do what I can. You still up for dinner tonight?

You hurriedly typed back before you hit ‘send’ and waited for his response.

100% yes! I can leave here at 4, but I’m driving to you this time. Just send me the address and I’ll meet you there. Besides, Salina isn’t really a lively city…

It didn’t take long for your phone to vibrate against the palm of your hand.

Dean Just wait til you see Lebanon…

Dean had sent you the name to his favorite burger joint just outside of Lebanon. As you drove through the small Kansas towns, you felt the flutter in your stomach all over again. You really couldn’t remember the last time you were this excited to spend time with someone new. It was overwhelming, almost. Before you arrived, you decided to make a pit stop and pick up a cherry pie—Dean had mentioned pie was his favorite dessert.

Just before 7pm, you pulled into the parking lot for Jiffy Burger. It reminded you of something out of the 50s; a diner, almost. It was cute, and definitely something you could appreciate. In the dating world, not that you spent a lot of time in it due to your focus on your career, there always seemed to be this draw to fancy restaurants where you never knew what fork to use.

Thankfully, it seemed like Dean wasn’t interested in that kind of thing. Especially since he referred to the side salad you almost ordered in Atlanta as “rabbit food”.

As soon as you parked, you spotted the Impala. You gathered your purse and the pie you had brought, and headed inside.

A smile stretched across Dean’s face as soon as he saw you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled from your face down your chest to your legs. Heat pooled in your chest and cheeks as you suddenly felt slightly self conscious under his gaze. With your free hand, you tugged at the hem of your black blazer, but managed a smile back at him as you approached the table.

“Hey,” you breathed as you finally reached him.

“Hey, yourself,” he smirked. He stood and with one hand, he reached behind you and pulled you closer to him. It felt exactly like you would imagine a puzzle piece would as it melded with the other. “What’s this?” His question pulled you out of your thoughts.

You glanced down at the white grocery bag in your hand. “Oh!” You set it down on the table and opened it up to reveal the pastry you had purchased at the nearest bakery. “I know you said how much you love pie…” you gently held it up in the foil container. “I wasn’t sure which flavor you liked best, but I felt like I couldn’t go wrong with cherry.”

He seemed truly surprised. “Damn, woman,” he breathed as his eyes grazed over the dessert. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” His words were so genuine, and he sealed it by leaning down and giving you a gentle kiss that only made you want more.

“You’re welcome,” beaming, you felt accomplished as Dean pulled back the metal diner chair for you to sit. “This place is so cute!” You glanced around at the neon lights on the wall, red and white checkered designs and servers dressed like they had stepped out of the 50s.

“They have the best burgers I’ve ever had,” Dean said matter-of-factly. “And trust me, I’ve tried ‘em all.” As he settled back in his chair, his eyes found the plastic grocery bag again. “I seriously can’t believe you brought me pie.”

“It can’t be that hard to believe,” you emphasized as you watched him. “I’m sure I’m not the first girl to bring you a pie…” you trailed off as you watched him contemplate.

After a pause, “Nah, can’t say that’s happened before.”

It was a surprise to you; surely, you thought, Dean was a ladies’ man. He had all the markings of one, anyway: the leather jacket, woodsy vibe, muscle car…

“You’re kidding,” you couldn’t hide the surprise in your voice.

Dean chuckled softly. “No, sweetheart. You are definitely the first.”

His words were gentle, but true—you could tell. A small tug pulled at the corners of your eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I’m just surprised,” you said carefully as the waitress approached your table.

“Hi there, my name’s Alice. What can I get ya, doll?” She smiled at you with a grin that reminded you of how an aunt or grandmother might.

“I’ll have water, please. I’ll just take a minute to look over the menu,” you smiled back.

She nodded and turned to Dean. “You still doing alright, love? Need a refill or anything?” While her tone had been pleasant and kind with you, it really softened when she addressed Dean. It made you smirk. It only validated further that he was certainly a ladies’ man.

“Nah, I’m alright, Alice,” he smiled back. “Thank you, sweetheart.” You could’ve sworn you saw Alice swoon, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. “How was work today?” Dean asked as he turned his attention back to you.

“Ugh,” you groaned, the smile completely gone from your face. “Same shit, different day, I guess.” You mumbled. Dean seemed interested so you continued. “I just landed a new project. It’s a new client, so there are a lot of growing pains.” You explained. “But it could always be worse, right?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said as he took a drink of his soda. “The more you talk about your job, the more miserable it sounds.”

“Doing what I love doesn’t pay the bills, Dean,” you sighed but found a small smile again. “We can’t all be traveling exterminators.” You winked.

Dean chuckled with a look down at his hands folded on the table in front of him, but then back to you. “Well, what is it that you love?” The way his eyes stared back into yours made your breath get caught in your throat. It was as if he wanted to see you—who you were, not just at face value, but deeper than that.

You took a moment to gather yourself before you continued. “I love writing. I always have. I tried applying it to a career, actually,” your mind wandered for a moment as you remembered the girl you used to be all those years ago. Your gaze found Dean’s once more. He noted the slight sadness that had appeared there. “It just didn’t work out.”

Alice had returned with your water now, and you heard her voice ask if you were ready to order.

“Go ahead,” you smiled at Dean. “I won’t take long.” You quickly spanned the menu as Dean ordered some burger meal in the background.

After he was done, Alice turned to you. You ordered a bacon burger and tater tots. Alice smiled at you both.

“I’ll get that out in no time,” she said. “You two need anything else?” You both shook your heads ‘no’.

“I think that’ll do it, thanks, Alice,” a smile pulled at Dean’s lips once more.

You noticed the way Alice’s red manicured fingers touched Dean’s shoulder. “You just let me know if you need anything else. Anything at all…” she trailed off with a wink.

You pressed your lips together to contain the laugh that threatened to bubble up at how blatantly she was flirting with Dean. He didn’t seem to notice, or at least, didn’t bring any attention to it.

Once she had walked away, you noticed Dean’s gaze had returned to you. You cleared your throat and took a sip of water before you spoke again.

“So, what about you? I’m genuinely curious about this traveling exterminator business you’ve got going on,” the words felt a little silly as they came from your lips, but you were being honest. Ever since Dean had mentioned it, you were curious. Dean chuckled softly as he broke eye contact. He ran his palms down the thighs of his jeans before he looked back up. You weren’t sure, but you would have thought he looked nervous, which seemed odd to you. “Seriously, how do you love being an exterminator? And why is it the ‘family business’?” You used your fingers to air-quote the way he had referenced it before.

Dean shrugged slightly as it was his turn to take a gulp of his water. “Well,” he started slowly. “My, uh, my mom died when I was really young. I was four and my brother, Sammy, was six months old.” He explained. That was something you hadn’t been expecting and your eyes widened. You had somewhat assumed Dean’s parents may be deceased or out of the picture from the way he spoke of it just being him and his brother when you were in Atlanta.

“I’m so sorry,” was all you knew to say. Dean’s forearms rested on the table now as he spoke. On instinct, you reached across and placed your hand just over his. “That’s awful. How did she…?” You trailed off, unsure if that was a question you should even ask or if he would be comfortable talking about it.

“There was a house fire,” he explained softly. His eyes looked down at his lap. “But, uh, after that my dad kinda had a hard time.” Understandable, you thought to yourself but kept quiet to let him continue. “We ended up on the road a lot. My dad met up with my, uh, my Uncle Bobby,” he seemed to hesitate, but you still kept silent to allow him to work through what he needed or wanted to say. “They started up this traveling exterminator business. They’d pick up jobs to help people out. My dad just didn’t want to stay in one place too long, so we moved around a lot.”

It still seemed wild and wasn’t anything you were familiar with, but now understanding the loss of his mom made it easier to absorb.

“I can’t imagine,” you shook your head as you looked down to where your hand still covered his. You pulled it back gently. “I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through, Dean.”

“Ah, it’s alright,” Dean cleared his throat and it felt like he had almost pulled himself out of his feelings as he sat back in his chair. A smaller smile crossed his face. “We’ve all got stuff. We just gotta go through it, I guess.”

While you appreciated his ability to pull through it, you knew there were probably some underlying feelings there. Your mind wandered back for a moment and pulled out something he had said in the hotel in Atlanta to you: he’s terrified of being afraid.

It started to make sense. He was afraid of being afraid: at four, he lost his mother in a horrible tragedy. And by the sounds of it, he may have lost his father because he didn’t know how to be a parent in the face of tragedy. When he told you it was just him and his brother, he had meant it. Who wouldn’t be afraid of being afraid after living through something like that?

“Here you are,” Alice reappeared with a sing-songy tune as she placed your burgers down in front of you.

“Looks great,” Dean smiled down at his plate. You felt a twinge of sadness for him and all that he had been through, but you pushed it aside just as he did.

“It really does, thank you,” you smiled back at Alice. But her eyes weren’t on you, they were all over Dean.

“My pleasure, hun,” she practically swooned. “And I mean it, you let me know if you need anything else.” How many times has she said that now? You matched Dean’s smile.

“Thanks,” Dean said as she nodded and turned to walk away with a long glance over her shoulder.

It took everything in you to contain the laugh that threatened to emerge, the thoughts of your previous conversation fading. Alice walked back to the kitchen and Dean looked at you with a clear “what?” look plastered on his face.

“Oh, nothing,” you smirked before you took a sip of your water. “It’s just that I bet you could get whatever you wanted with a charm like that.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean rolled his eyes, but still smiled, as he shrugged it off.

“I’m serious. All it takes is a little bat of those lashes and she’s putty in your hands,” you teased.

Dean leaned forward with his forearms flat on the table, his hands clasped in front of him. His face was close again—it reminded you of the Longhorn in Atlanta when he was so close, you felt like you could count the freckles that dotted his face. “And what about you, sweetheart? You turn to putty, too?” The playful grin that tugged across his lips made your stomach flutter.

You leaned back a bit and took another drink from your water—it was for two reasons, really. It gave you a minute to gather your words, but it also cooled you off from the flame that burned so obviously in front of you.

“Oh, no,” you quipped, as you attempted to seem unphased. The flirtatious notes from your tone came through, and Dean picked them up–the way his lips crept up in a small smile gave him away. “I’m immune.” A shrug raised your shoulders but you couldn’t help the pull of your lips as you caught the way Dean’s eyes glinted back at you.

“We might just have to test that theory,” his comment made you slightly inhale the bite of your burger you had just consumed. Thankfully, your sputtering only lasted a second, but the gig was up and your cover had been blown. The heat that rose in your cheeks gave away that your stoic demeanor was just a ruse, and Dean was completely aware.

There was something about the way his lips still curved upward, but his eyes bore into you–they were dark, but in a way that felt almost like you were caught in an electrical storm; the little hairs at the back of your neck stood to attention and goosebumps bubbled over your skin.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Dean?” Your voice was low now, your eyes trained on his. As flustered as he had gotten you just a moment before, you forced yourself to stay strong as you stared straight back at him without even a blink.

Without missing a beat, the muscle in his jaw clenched as he bit down with his teeth. The familiar upward curve up his lip made the dimple in his cheek pop as his eyes moved between your eyes and your lips. “Is it working?”

And just like that, you felt like putty in the man’s damn hands.

A/N: Well, hellllllo, Tumblr world! I know, it has been far too long. Things in my life are still hectic, BUT I'm back! I have missed all my reader friends, writer friends and writing in general.

I can't promise double updates each week (but I will when I can). Otherwise, new chapters will be posted on Thursdays moving forward.

I hope you all are well, and I hope you enjoy chapter 4!

PREVIEW OF THE NEXT CHAPTER:

You had never consumed (nor had you seen someone consume) a burger so quickly before in your life. It was a good burger, but that wasn’t what you could focus on.

When Alice came back to the table to check out–ahem, on–you (but mostly Dean), his gaze didn’t even move from yours.

“We’ll take the check now, Alice,” he said carefully as he watched you. The way his eyes studied you made you feel naked. It was like nothing else existed in the world but you. Heat climbed your chest in blotchy patches until they formed puzzle pieces on your neck, your cheeks. The way your heart pounded against your sternum felt so loud, you could hear each beat in your ears. This man was doing something to you, and that was something you hadn’t experienced in too long.

“Here you go, sugar,” Alice gingerly placed the bill in the middle of the table. She watched Dean intently, certainly hoping for maybe one more look into those beautiful green eyes. He glanced quickly with a smile as he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. He tossed enough cash to cover the meal and the tip on the table, then back to you.

“Thanks, Alice,” he said, without missing another beat. He stood and held his hand out for you to take. “You wanna get outta here?”

Words seemed to fail you for a second, so you just nodded very quickly. Before he could pull you towards the door, he grabbed the grocery bag with the cherry pie you had brought.

“Oh, you forgot to eat your pie,” you murmured as you followed him through the diner.

“I was thinking we might have a different dessert tonight,” he paused at the door as his eyes looked over you once more. You realized he was asking if that’s what you wanted, too. Yet again, all you could do was nod.

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