#fairy fic

[norgbelulah]

This excerpt is not regulation length I’m so sorry

He’s thin, thinner than Raylan remembers him at nineteen. His skin is tanned and weathered, his clothes threadbare. His shirt is a ragged tee, once black, but now gray, sleeves torn off. It hangs on him, stretched at the neck and baggy at the bottom. His jeans are less worn, less baggy, but they are cuffed at the ankles and he’s wearing no shoes. The soles of his feet are black, like Ava’s were before.

His eyes are a muddy green, though Raylan remembers clearly they were once brown. They are twinkling, like he knows something good, and his grin is wide.

“Raylan Givens,” he says with the reverence of an oath, or a prayer, and the tired mirth of an old joke. “You’re come.” He pulls his arms up over his head to caress the stone at his back and he twists suddenly, pressing his ear up against it. He smiles and huffs a laugh, like it’s told him a secret, then looks back at Raylan and says, in a half-sing-song tone, “Prodigal son, your mo-ther wants to see-e you-u. She’s calling, Raylan, call-ing, call-ing.”

The thing, the stopper in Raylan’s chest loosens again, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s looking at the wreckage of a man he once knew, or if it’s... something else. He takes a slow step forward and raises his hands, though he’s certain Boyd doesn’t see him as a threat.

“Boyd,” he says quietly, slowly. “My mother is dead. She died fifteen years ago.”

Boyd smiles at him, curling his legs underneath himself, still clinging to that gravestone. “Isn’t. Didn’t,” he replies. “Frances is in the ground, son, and we’re sore for it, but She,” and he says the word with a capital “s,” “She is everywhere and she wants you to come see her, Raylan. You are come home, home for good and all--she told me so--and can you see the colors, Raylan?” His face has taken on a wondrous cast and he’s speaking almost too quickly to follow, “She shows them to me sometimes and they’re so bright you can’t see for them and the leaves in the trees and every blade of grass--”

He breaks off when he looks down at Raylan’s feet. He scrambles forward, on hands and knees to him, and says in almost agonized confusion, “But how can you feel her with those? You need the earth, Raylan--can’t you hear her calling you?”

I honestly don't remember if I wrote this first and then figured out what the hell was going on after, or if I had an idea of what had happened to Boyd and then wrote this. It definitely sets a tone and a pitch that I think I back off from almost immediately in the rest of the fic because it wouldn't have been sustainable. This is Boyd at his most unhinged because, now that Raylan is back, he can start to come back to himself. Even though neither of them realize it, Boyd's journey to healing starts happening almost immediately after this scene.

I definitely wrote this because I have always been fascinated by the idea of a person being touched by the fairies. I think this goes back to when I read The Perilous Guard by Elizabeth Marie Pope as a kid. There's a character who isn't all there because he hangs out with the fairies--or maybe he hangs out with them so much because he isn't all there? So, I love this idea of a human being so overwhelmed by whatever a fairy is or can do that they start to be unable to function either in or out of the fairy realm. It's just baller, honestly.

So this fascination eventually led me to write this whole fucking novel about very metaphorical mental illness and queerness and people's perceptions and how love can be transformative in both good and bad ways, how you can end up someone you never thought you would be before you realized you were even making a choice that would lead you there and how that same love that was once destructive can lead you back home...

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

Past the Point of No Return

Yandere Fae Enemy General x Healer Fem Reader

TW: Yandere themes, yearning, delusional behavior, etc.

Corvin Fausto it was never one to believe in fate. He truly believed he’d never find his destined one since he lived a life of war. He was the young general of the fae army and lead them to numerous victories against the invading humans… but their elven brethren that turned their backs on the fae and began to help the humans. Which made this war suddenly shift against the fae. A betrayal the fae could not forgive the once peaceful elves for.

He was able to hold the enemy forces back long enough to escape, but they had damaged his wings beyond immediate repair. He’d likely have to go into hiding for a few months until he’d recover… but how? He was being relentlessly hunted by humans.

Corvin hid himself in a small cave, hopeful he could rest here for a while without getting caught… but his hopes were dashed when he saw the form of a young woman tilt her head at him in curiosity.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Corvin didn’t dare speak when a young elf appeared before him. Her beauty was unparalleled, but her ears were much smaller than most elves… she was a half elf.

(Your name) gasped at his wounds in shock. She quickly reached into her satchel to pull out various salves to put on his wounds.

Corvin made an attempt to try to push her away, but he was so weak from blood loss. The last thing he saw was her smiling face as she reassured him with her soft words, “it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

When Corvin came to, he was shocked to find himself in a warm cabin rather than in the forest. His eyes were wild as he searched around but he quickly winced when he shifted his wings too sharply. Corvin was surprised to be patched up and cleaned… where was his armor?

“Oh! You’re awake!” Corvin whipped his head around to spot (your name) leave her bedroom, a soft smile on her lips. “Are you hungry? I have some soup over the fire-“

“I’m your enemy.” Corvin told her with a glare. “You should have left me to die-“

Corvin was shocked when (your name) shook her head and gave him a smile. “That doesn’t matter. You still needed help and it’s my job as a healer to help the wounded.”

Corvin was surprised when she went over to the hot cauldron to pour him a bowl of soup. The half elf placed the bowl beside him. “You can recuperate here for the time being. I’m helping you simply because I want to.”

“My name is Corvin Fausto. What’s your name?”

“I’m (your name).” She gave him a gentle smile that reminded him of spring. And for the first time in Corbin’s long life, he felt his heart flutter.

Corvin hesitantly drank the soup before he smiled softly to himself. He’s never received such care before… did he truly deserve her kindness?

As the days melted into months, Corvin grew attached to (your name). She was kind yet she was stern. Her care never had ulterior motives yet she also didn’t allow him to disrespect her because of her race. She fascinated him. For the first time in his life, Corvin was enthralled.

Corvin found himself helping her around the humble abode. He’d clean, gather herbs with her, fetch firewood, or help her cook. It was such a domestic life together that Corvin slowly began to wonder if she’d want to continue to live a life like this with him. Would she want an idyllic life?

“It’s been really nice having you around, Corvin.” (Your name) beamed at the fae who blushed. His hands itched to intertwine with hers. “I think you have a week left until you’re fully healed!”

Corvin felt his blood run cold with the words. A week… did she want him to leave? He thought they had a special relationship. No. He wouldn’t let her go! (Your name) was his destined mate. The one he’s waited his whole life for… and he’d be damned if she rejected him.

“If you ever get injured again, my door is always open-“ (your name) is surprised when she’s suddenly pulled into his arms in a tight embrace. “Corvin?”

“Come back with me… no.” Corvin thought for a moment. His people would terrorize her if he brought her back, they could hurt her. He could abandon them right? The fae would understand… a destined one was a rule they all abided by. “Let’s just stay together here, in your cabin.”

(Your name) raised a brow. “What do you mean, Corvin?”

(Your name) felt her blood run cold at the crazed look in Corbin’s eyes. “We can live together here in your cabin, far from everyone… far from the war.”

Corvin glanced around the cabin with eagerness. “I think there’s space for two little ones… we can start our life here!”

(Your name) tried to pull herself away from his grip, but Corvin was latched on like a tick. “Corvin, you’re scaring me.”

“You’re my destined one.” Corvin replied in a breathy whisper. “That’s why you saved me despite me being your enemy… you saved me because you knew we were meant to be.”

[ghostlyfleur]

whining and crying while steve fucks you into the mattress that you’re gonna make a mess and he’s like “fuck- it’s okay, daddy will clean it up, don’t worry” in between grunts. so then you stop caring that your cunt is a sopping mess and your dripping all over yourself and the bed. so then he cleans you up and the bed afterwards because he’s daddy 🥰

f u c k

steve harrington is such a daddy.

he makes you feel so fucking good and i always headcannon steve and his gf to have dacryphilia involved in their sex life, so it’s perfect that stevie’s angel is such a crybaby!

steve loves how teary eyed you get when he’s fucking you into the mattress, how whiny and pouty and subby you get for him, so dumb on his cock at times that the only thing you can moan and mumble is “daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy” and it drives steve crazy …….

especially once he figures out just how much you love to be smothered, completely crushed, absolutely smushed under his weight— you’ll wrap your legs around his waist and pull him on top of you with little “no, no, no”’s if he pulls the slightest bit of his weight off of you, starting to cry and grabbing at his shoulders and arms desperately to pull him back, begging him to pin you down, to press closer *drools*

but one thing about steve is that he likes it messy — spit, drool, cum, def lots of cum play, all of it — loves it when he’s fucking you so deep and so hard you go quiet and limp and start drooling… loves leaving bite marks and hickeys all over you, marking you up everywhere he can no matter how visible it is afterwards because he knows you wear his marks with such obvious pride just like he does yours… loves to lick you all over, especially on your neck and tits just to see the full body shivers going down your spine… loves it when your cunt is messy with a mix of both yours and his cum that he keeps fucking deeper into you, pretty much fucking overflowing your pussy so much it starts to spill out of you and all over the bed, all over his thighs, down your ass, making the most lewd wet noises… *sighs*

and at first you get so. fucking. embarrassed. you’re making such a mess and you can’t stop it, your eyes go teary and wide with humiliation and “‘m sorry, stevie, sorry, it just feels s’good” and you try to move away from him in a haste, all upset at being a bad girl and making a mess when your perfect daddy is just trying to make you feel good, to spoil you, and you immediately think of getting up to clean up the bed for him so maybe he won’t be upset and you can be his good girl again but as if he was reading your mind he stops you, won���t let you pull away, stays inside you, and grips your chin to make you look at him

“you’re okay, angel, it’s okay. make a mess, show me how good it feels, daddy will clean it up later, you’re still my good girl”

so you get all flustered and pouty and you furrow your brows that cute way you do that steve loves when you’re trying to be all serious and whisper a little “promise?” because you can’t handle not being his good girl and steve is losing his mind, there’s no way he didn’t dream you up “promise, my angel, you’re daddy’s perfect girl, love it when you’re messy for me” i- 😵‍💫

[ghostbsuter]

"Oh, fuck no." The door is slammed, unfortunately for him, the guy stuck his foot in the jamb and pushed it open again.

"C'mon luv!" Constantine smiles charmingly, not waiting for Danny and entering the apartment.

At least Batman, Nightwing and Spoiler had the patience to wait for him to invite them in. Sagging against the door, he beckoned them inside.

Despite the caution, Spoiler gleefully stepped in, looking around like a child in an amusement park— which might not be too far off.

His apartment is, with all its wards and enchantments, very magical inside than it is outside.

The planetary system of another world, used as light for the living room and for practice.

(Nightwing is careful with what he touches. He still remembers the hours they spent in Mumbo Jumbo's hat.)

Batman on the other hand is following Constantine and Danny to what he assumes to be the office, if the amount of magical stuff carelessly laying around means anything.

"Alright fucker, what are you doing here? And how did you even know I live in gotham?"

John had the audacity to look abashed, scratching the back of his head with a nervous chuckle.

"Something came up and you know Gotham doesn't like me. She is much more used to you and I wanted to introduce bats to you, in case of emergency."

The young adolence stares owlishly.

(How did Constantine expect him to act at the fact that he's trusting a magical situation into the hands of a stranger?

Batman isn't sure how good the boy even is!)

"That's incredible thoughtful of you Connie." Danny hums. "What did you lose for your sorry ass to come here?"

Spoiler snorts, petting a red salamander. "He didn't lose anything." She reassures with a wave, giving an exaggerated smile and raising her brows to show that she's finding it very amusing.

Constantine sputters.

"Ancient knows how Zatanna and Raven deal with him."

Nighteing perks up from the side where he'd looked over the books, some pixie fairies(?) fawning over him? "Raven? You know her?"

Danny suppresses another sigh.

[frummpets]

latest SYONR news: Ming Fan was cursed with... OLD MAN DISEASE

MF, pinching the space between his eyebrows: you lot are gonna give me gray hairs, ugh. MF chapter 17:

from Shen Yuan of No Relation by @grubus !! MF design by @berriecherry <33

✦ TWITTER VERSION

EDIT: adding the versions with the extra dramatic lighting✨ cos theyre too funny; we love ourselves drama queen MF

[saradika-graphics]

Hello <3 I love your blog. You're a lifesaver for us ff writers!! If you haven't done it already can you please do a fairy lights themed one?

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

[daechwitatamic]

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

[eddiebun]

liar • 18+

pairing ; eddie munson x fem!reader

summary ; day dreaming about your dreamy boyfriend who just wants your attention, ironic..

genre ; smut, a little fluffy, established relationship!AU

warning ; this content is 18+ only. sexual tension, explicit sexual content (minors away !! grrr), drugs, oral m receiving, spitting, salvia, dacryphilia?? big dick eddie, praise, reader is coy and dramatic but eddie has a soft spot for her, he’s all mushy for her. teasing, kinda sensitive eddie, he gets tingles from her whispering ehehe. reader is playful and likes breaking eddie’s cocky demeanor, starting to think i dragged out the start.. or is it too rushed oh no. reader goes dumb for eddie’s cock, yeah. i wanna suck his dick and listen ik he’d be more of a giver rather than a receiver but i will give him that gluglug any day, time, place idc

wc ; 2.9k

fairy note ; i haven’t written like this in so many years and i thought i never would have again but oh boy, eddie munson.. anyway i hope this is bearable enough to get through if not i’ll just pretend i left this in the drafts for me myself and i. also if i missed any warnings please let me know, i really haven’t dabbled much in writing on tumblr until now.

not proofread

-

eddie had been watching you aimlessly twiddle and glide his hefty silver sculpted rings back and forth each of his digits, only breaking the comfortable silence when he chuckled under his breath, almost inaudible.

“what are you thinking about?” he spoke in what would’ve been more like a whisper to anyone else in the room but you heard him perfectly clear, feeling his breath by your ear and the curls in his hair tickling your cheek and neck pleasantly.

“mmh..” you murmured, feeling like anything louder would’ve broken the delicate atmosphere surrounding you both.

you could smell that strawberry conditioner he used (you left it in his bathroom and he just started using it), mixed with the scent of cigarettes that was lingering on his shirt he hadn’t bothered changing out of for a couple days now despite your nagging for him to ‘just make another hellfire shirt!’

“y’know, mmh isn’t really an answer sweetheart.” he couldn’t help but find it amusing, it seemed like you were so lost in everything but nothing at the same time, eyelashes fluttering every now and then when you’d come back to reality.

in truth you were just daydreaming about eddie, your sweet eddie and his calloused fingertips from plucking away at his guitar all day contrasted with his soft pillowy palm you could feel against your thighs every time you closed your eyes and recalled the countless times he had dropped down right there, on his knees, pushed your skirt out of his way and in moments had your underwear tugged off and thrown over his shoulder, practically taking your inhibition along with them uhm which he would totally store away for his own collection, just shrugging when you ask where your undies are and changing the topic

eddie was such a pleaser, a giver, a make you come until you’re crying whilst mumbling sweet praises and coos against your pussy with his mouth and chin covered in saliva and cum for hours on end.

you wish you got the chance to give just as much, it’s not like you had to or felt obliged but he deserved it.

you could’ve sworn he would be able to feel the way you shivered thinking about those filthy thoughts swilving around in your brain.

“well.. i’m not thinking of anything.” your bottom lip jutted out and you shook your head.

“liar.” he playfully scowled, “aww c’mon baby, tell me.” he insisted, a tight squeeze at your hips, pulling you further against him as you sat in his lap with your eyes still fixed on his fingers though you were ogling his arms now too.

as if he could read your thoughts despite asking to know them, his arms came up and wrapped around your waist, now feeling your back flush against his chest and it had you hearing your heartbeat in your eardrums.

you could feel him under the thin fabric of your underwear, though the denim distressed pants he was wearing was thick, you could still feel the warmth and shape of him.

gosh, it’s not even like you and eddie had never shared intimate moments before so you didn’t know why you got so flustered and coy so easy with him.

he was gorgeous, tattoos littered over his body and the way the glow of the lamp casted shadows in all the right places was only egging on the bubbling feeling of arousal under your skin.

“stop that.” you grumbled, trying to sound displeased which was the farthest from the truth and he knew it. you could’ve cried right then and there when you felt that knowingly smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“stop what?”

it was his turn to play dumb and dismissive and you could’ve turned around and bickered at him but you sat still, his grip was solid on you anyway.

you pursed your lips together in annoyance, eddie munson was going to be the death of you, with his hold on you only getting tighter and you could’ve sworn you just felt him raise his hips and push himself up against you further, almost tauntingly.

“I can’t read minds my love.” that was true, your boyfriend couldn’t read your mind but you would be a liar if you said you didn’t believe he was just teasing you now!

your hands came up and you squeezed onto one of his forearms, “babyyy,” you dragged out the word, playing it sweet because eddie munson had the biggest soft spot for you, his girl and you had milked that since the start, always matching his big doe eyes and giving him that look when you wanted something and of course he was putty in your hands every time.

“no nu uh, don’t baby me, i know what you’re doing and it won’t work!” he raised his chin a little, tone defensive as he glanced back and forth between your softened expression then the squeeze you had on his arm.

so you shifted around until his hold on you loosened enough that you now faced him as you sat on his lap with either of your legs each side of him and oh god he looked so beautiful so close like this, you almost stuttered as you leaned in to whisper against his ear,

“baby, i’m just thinking about you, you’re so warm..” you sighed out, hands instinctively moving up and under his shirt, so warm.

“don’t whisper in my ear like that.” you felt him inch away a little, sensitive.

bingo, you got him.

his tongue poked out, swiping along his top lip. now it looked like eddie was the one deep in thought as your hands pressed against his chest and you were still close, breathing on his ear trying not to let a mischievous giggle leave your lips.

“am i warm?” once again, speaking against his ear, not missing the way his breathing picked up, matching the pace of your own breathing.

he only nodded, calm disposition as he pulled back enough to come face to face with you, “so warm here, right?” he questioned, other hand pushing your hips down to press against his lap, feeling how aroused he was, “yeah?” he hummed in approval whether you agreed or not.

it was like that action alone had rendered you dumb, head suddenly full of thoughts, the most disgusting ones, “well don’t start drooling already baby.” he felt smug, that one definitely went to his ego.

“i’m sorry, i wanna taste you so bad.” you spoke up, gripping his arms and arching your back to push back against his lap, your mind suddenly on one thing only which was feeling the weight of eddie’s cock in your mouth.

he blinked a couple of times, stunned by the apology and if he wasn’t totally turned on and ready to fold he would’ve laughed but the sudden admission had him almost jumping to his feet.

any other day he would’ve insisted you rode his face or came on his fingers until you were too sore and limp to move instead but fuck, watching you on his lap, hips already stuttering and this desperate twinge of need in your eyes, who was he to deny that? no way.

your breathing stuttered a little, concentrating on the way your clothed clit was perfectly pressing against the raised denim above the zipper on his denim pants and you tried your best not to just dry hump his lap right then and there. your thoughts and urges got pushed aside momentarily as you felt his plush lips on yours and you indulged, nails digging in to the skin of his abdomen as his tongue pushed passed your lips and swirled with yours, greedy.

when he pulled away there was a string of salvia between the both of your lips, eddie wiping it away with his thumb, “Go on then,” he encouraged, “get on the floor, kneeling.”

he didn’t have to say anything further and you heard the way he snickered when you pathetically scrambled to shuffle up and get in position. eddie stood up afterward and he looked down at you, admiring the way you were practically bouncing with excitement just to have him in your mouth, you are such a gem for him.

“are you that excited?” he mused, going to tug off his belt when he felt you slap his hand away, “let me.” you frowned at him, offended that he didn’t let you do it.

“okay, okay!” he laughed, throwing his hands up in the air like he had just been scolded.

he let you work your fingers through the belt clasp and loops until you successfully take it off and moved to discard his pants next. it didn’t take long, eddie cautiously helping you tug them down his thighs a little, happy when you didn’t snap at him this time.

he was big, pushing against his underwear and looking delicious but you wanted to pace yourself- the best you could.

leaning in you flattened your tongue, swiping along the cotton fabric and feeling him twitch in the confinements, hearing a frustrated groan leave his lips. you wanted to look up so bad, you knew he looked so pretty with his eyebrows furrowed and big brown eyes fixated on you but instead you were a bit cruel, playfully plucking the elastic band of his underwear and letting it snap back against his skin, hearing him hiss.

you giggled, hearing him go to curse out but getting distracted when you tug his underwear down finally, flicking your tongue back and forth along the tip of him. you could get use to this, his cock was so pretty, tall and the tip was a flushed red, tasting him on your tongue and hearing him stutter out your name as you enclosed your lips around him was the icing on the cake.

“oh, fuck..nghh y/n..” his eyes squinted, composing himself as his hand found place at your cheek, comfortingly swiping his thumb along your skin. your mouth felt so warm and wet and you were only toying with his tip so far, he didn’t know how he waited this long without his cock down your throat.

his excitement was matched, a gleeful giggle muffling against his tip against your tongue before you pulled back up a little to let yourself drool over the length of his cock.

“here.” you heard him above you before you felt him tapping your chin.

once you looked up at him he pushed your mouth open encouragingly with his thumb before leaning down a little and spitting directly into your mouth.

you could’ve risked it all right then and there, feeling the way his salvia glides down your tongue, he didn’t miss the way you moaned at the action either. you didn’t waste the gift he gave you even though you would’ve swallowed it if he said otherwise but you looked back down, letting your mixtures of spit drip down his hard cock.

“you’re so hot, like it’s insane sweetheart, look at you.” he groaned, stepping closer and pressing the soaked tip of himself against your lips and you let him push back into your mouth, enjoying the heavy feeling of him on your tongue.

your eyes fluttered shut and you concentrated on pushing him into your mouth and it was a stretch, you could feel your jaw threatening to lock up but his encouraging moans and pleased sighs made it so worth it. your nose hit the hairs by the base of him and he let out the most delicious guttural groan you’d ever heard, he was in complete awe of you.

you pushed back up when you felt yourself gagging a little but you didn’t pull off of him, you hollowed out your cheeks and let him sloppily fuck your mouth.

“oh fuck.. baby, baby, mhm!” he chanted out, eyes lidded and a sheen of sweat building on his neck, his hand now at the back of your head, encouragingly pushing you further down his cock.

you let him, relaxing yourself and enjoying the sultry sounds spill from his lips, hearing how wet his thrusts were in your mouth had you clenching your thighs around nothing.

one of your hands came up, thumb swiping along his balls and hearing him gasp out in pleasure, your other hand pumping what was a struggle to fit into your mouth, feeling a particularly prominent vein running along your hand whilst you pumped him.

“okay, okay, fuck..” he rasped out, pulling your hand away and stilling his thrusting, “cant keep going, i’ll cum.” he breathed out.

you pulled away a little and looked up at him, “i want you to, i need you to fuck my throat till your cumming baby. please, please eddie.” you whined out prettily and there was that feeling again, that pang in his heart every time you wanted to get your way.

“ughh, you are going to drive me insane.” he threw his head back, laughing because he knew he wanted nothing more in the moment.

when he looked back down at you he tutted when you bought your hands back up to stroke him, “no, like before. you can do it, right sweetheart?” he asked, big eyes staring down at you.

that question alone paired with his gaze had you immediately nodding, you’d do anything he wanted if he asked like that, you needed him more and more back on your tongue with each second that went by.

but he was still standing there staring down at you, waiting for an answer, “mmh, i can do it, better this time.”

“ohhh, good girl.” he praised, that sickly sweet and heart-pounding smile on his face.

good girl. your heart was pounding and you felt yourself completely soaking your panties by now.

Without another thought or word, he made an encouraging “ahhh” sound and you opened your mouth, inviting him back in.

this time you could taste the bitter bead of precum on his tip, your eyes fluttering shut and jaw relaxing once more as you felt him start a steady pace thrusting into your mouth, steadily breathing out of your nose as he inches closer and closer to the back of your throat.

“you’re doing so good baby, m’ so proud of you, mhm that’s it.” he drew out a moan as he briefly held himself at the back of your throat, only letting up when he heard you gurgle but you only further whined, wanting him back down your throat as soon as he left, chasing his dick with your mouth.

“shh, shh, you got it baby girl, it’s okay.” he swiped a loose tear from under your eye, it only further turning him on, crying because of how much you loved his cock? he was in some sort of heaven.

“yeah, oh fuck.. mouths so good, just like your pussy.” he hissed out when he picked up the pace of his hips, he couldn’t resist it, he needed to chase that feeling, “just wanted to please me hmm? good, yeah?” he hummed, checking in and smirking when he saw her give him an assuring nod.

despite the nature of his sweet words and praise he was filthily pushing himself back down your throat, this time with more purpose and intensity and you could feel it, your jaw ached and you swore you were making a mess of the floor now too with how wet you were.

“shit, ah fuck! i’m really close to cumming, gonna take it down your throat, all my cum? mmh?” he rasped out, head thrown back and you watched him through glassy eyes, he was so fucking gorgeous you could do this all day, just blinking through the tears as you felt the encouraging push at the back of your head whilst he chased his orgasm.

his moans and cursing only got more and more high pitched as he got closer, stuttering out a spew or curse words and your name, “m’ cumming oh fuck! fuck, y/n! oh baby!” he gasped out breathlessly as you felt him release strings of cum down your throat, heavy on your tongue.

he sloppily thrusted into your mouth, hips languid as he panted out, skin sparkling with sweat, stepping back and pushing any mess that spilled out, back into your mouth with his thumb.

you pridefully swallowed down the filth, your mouth dropping open as you caught your breath, head feeling like it was spinning as you rested your head at his abdomen, squeezing onto his waist to ground yourself.

“that was so hot baby, you have no fucking idea.” he grumbled out, voice hoarse as he sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed you, settling you back on his lap, lips instantly moulding against yours, even tasting himself on your tongue.

“my girlfriend has the best pussy to eat, fuck and gives crazy good head? i lucked out.” he winked despite how cheesy it sounded, groaning when you playfully nudge his chest, “but seriously fuck..i’m in love with you.” he laughed in complete euphoria, grabbing a rolled up joint from the bedside table and lighting it, placing it between his lips.

“gonna have to eat your pussy out all night and morning huh? my sweet thing.” he snickered, enjoying teasing you.

“you’re crazy Eddie Munson.” you rolled your eyes, every word he said sending waves of arousal to your core as you plucked the joint from his lips and took a drag, breathing out the excess towards his direction.

“yeah yeah yeah! blah blah, now come sit on my face before i pounce on you because i’m so crazy.” he laid back smugly, voice dripping with sarcasm as he leaned back, his arms tucked behind his head enticingly.

ahhhhh i’m ending it there because idk how to feel about this or how anyone will feel about this,, i just wanna suck eddie munson‘s dick but maybe i shouldn’t have started writing this at 1am until 4 am. pls do not perceive me gbye

[chrollohearttags]

being submissive is cool and all but a man that likes when you talk your shit back? yeah, my type 🥴

cw: rough sex, slapping, spit play, name calling, very vocal reader

one that’s already dogging your shit out..I’m talking both hands around your throat, fingers in the mouth…pulling you up by the top of your head and telling you to take that dick as it makes home at the inner corner of your cervix. Only letting him do so becatse he promises to get it redone. But honestly? He knows you like it just as much he does. Especially considering the fact that you’ve never been shy about letting him know what turns you on..

“Yeah, fuck me! Right there…don’t you dare fucking stop.”

sucking on those teeth in a sultry tone as you glare right into his eyes..groping your own tits and and telling him everything you wanted. And best believe, he’s trying to keep up. God, he’s trying because he doesn’t want to disappoint his freaky little damsel. The one that swallows his cock with ease, whether it’s in that slutty throat or sloppy warmth. The one he can’t last more than three minutes without nutting inside of because that shit has a vice grip like he’s never seen. Honestly, you have way too much power over him but satisfying you is his top and only priority. Even if you do boss him around like a little bitch!

“Goddamn…you feel so fucking good..this my pussy, baby? Tell me?”

“Is it? You better fuck the shit outta me then..like you mean it. Make me nut on that dick.”

you get so aggressive and into it that he can’t help but twitch inside, having to adjust his pace so that he doesn’t blow his load entirely too early for your liking. Only, you’d never let him live it down. Laughing like a fucking demon every time he lost his rhythm and starting panting because you’ve starting purposely tightening around him; making those spasms enclose him like you never wanted to let go. It’s only when he starts pounding your shit into oblivion, spitting into your mouth and slapping your cheek does he elicit a few submissive moans but it’s right back to shit talking shortly thereafter..

“That’s all you got? I said fuck this pussy, beat this shit up and quit playing with me! I want you to come all in this bitch..or you ain’t man enough? What? I gotta go get another nigga to do it?”

at this point, he can’t tell if it’s the immense pleasure or the fact that you’ve pissed him the fuck off but he’s trying to plow you into the mattress and he’s not letting up until he watches your eyes trail ti the back of your skull. Grunting through gritted teeth, he just smirks and continues clutching your neck as that cream coated dick keeps stroking in and out..and all the while, you know that you’re in for the best night of your life.

“You little bitch..just wait. I’m about to have you crawling out of here. Just hold those legs open and don’t move until I fucking say so..”

.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*: .･*:｡.･*:｡.･

sukuna, toji, taiju, eren, tengen, worrick, kenny ackerman, mikey, draken, touya/dabi, zoro, law, eustass kidd, doflamingo, crocodile, smoker, gajeel, taiga, laxus, garou, zeke, draken, kisaki, connie, south, geto + anyone else you’d like to add

[salemoleander]

In another dream, they ended the game together. The blood-crowned king lowered his head, and offered his Hand anything he could wish for.

Cautiously, the knight of Dogwarts said, "I wish for a kingdom," and the king smiled.

"You already have this one."

Bolder now, the shield of Dogwarts said, "I wish for your heart," and the king laughed.

"You already have it."

Quietly, so very quietly, the hound of Dogwarts said, "I wish we could both win," and the king died.

[scarletgray]

they should invent eyesight that doesn't go bad from reading fanfiction on your phone 24/7

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Stories:

The Tooth Fairy (prequel)

Yandere Serial Killer x GN Reader

A bracelet made of pearly, white incisors was placed under your pillow. Silver wire intricately held each tooth in place to form a grotesque version of jewelry. A mockery of the silver bracelet that had recently gone missing under your nose.

A bit of dried blood on the crown of the two teeth which brought a shiver down your spine. Who on earth would bring you such macabre tokens of affection?

You sighed and analyzed the bracelet. This was the fifth piece of handmade jewelry, if you could call it that, in the last few months.

You placed it with the other trinkets on your dresser. A pair of earrings made of human canines and a necklace made with various premolars and molars. And now you had a matching bracelet for your grotesque jewelry from your secret admirer.

You glanced at your window that had the lock obviously tampered with. Whoever they were, they always managed to break in without your knowledge. Were you still waking up and that was why you were so nonchalant about it? Or was it your fascination with serial killers that made you less inclined to notify the police of your… growing collection.

You rubbed your temple as you felt an impending headache grasp you in its hold. No… you couldn’t reject them. Gods only knew what they’d do if you reject them. Kill you? Pull your teeth out one by one? Torture you? You didn’t want to find out, so you became an unwilling accomplice to this matters individuals scheme. Whatever that may be.

You began to get ready for work at the dentist office but not before you checked your reflection.

Your fingers poked at the corners of your mouth to turn your lips into a smile. Your teeth now on display in this fake display of happiness, the perfect costumer service face.

“Smile…” Because you never know who was watching you.

.

.

.

You sat at your desk with your signature customer service smile and sugar sweet voice. A smile that never quite reached your eyes, but it got the point across to the various customers that came in for their dental appointments.

Another day in your other wise boring life save for the obtuse way you handled your stalker. Perhaps you should buy a gun? You’ve never fired a firearm before so you’d need training…

“Good morning!” You nearly jumped out of your skin when the dentist, Dorian Zimmerman, placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Jesus, Dorian! You scared me.” You clutched your chest as your heart nearly escaped from your chest. An amused smile on his face as he eyed you up and down.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so lost in thought.” Dorian shrugged while he scanned the list for every patient. “Will there ever be a day I see you on this list?”

You shook your head. “No, I still go to my family dentist.”

Dorian sighed, “a shame. I’d love to look at your pretty teeth.”

Dorian sauntered off, but not before he cast you one last look. “Can you stay over a bit today? I have something for you.”

“Okay.” You agreed, there was nothing weird about the dentist asking you to stay over, right?

Dorian expression lit up like the sun. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

He then ducked around the bend to get back to his customers. You then diligently went back to your front desk duties.

“He has such pretty teeth.” You whispered to yourself before you noticed a man in all black in front of your desk. “Oh hello, do you have an appointment?”

The tanned man clicked his tongue, his gray eyes glanced you up and down. “Yes. My name is Zahn. Zahn Pain.”

Oh, it seemed you had an edge lord on your hands. But perhaps you were making assumptions based on his gothic appearance and prominent eye bags. His choice of jewelry was rather interesting as well… various animal teeth and crystals were parts of his necklaces, rings, and even earrings.

“Ah yes, your appointment is in about fifteen minutes-“ you were shocked when he placed his face closer to the glass, his eyes locked you in place like a predator staring down his prey.

“Do you like the dentist’s teeth?” Zahn muttered, his hands shook a bit while his face remained unreadable and stoic.

“Oh? Doctor Zimmerman has to have nice teeth to show his clients.” You nervously laugh which made Zahn back down. Why was he so strange?

Zahn hummed and shoved his hands in his leather jacket’s pockets. “I think your teeth are prettier since they’re not veneers. Have more personality.”

You thought for a moment. You hadn’t realized Dorian had veneers… which would explain their uncanny valley perfection. Zahn was surprising observant.

The gothic boy took a seat far away from the other patients in the very back of the lobby that had the perfect view of your desk. His gray eyes bore holes in your head while you continued to work.

You just couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that pooled in your stomach…

[ghostlyfleur]

okay but steve harrington + shy! innocent! crybaby-ish reader where he is like play fighting with her and tickling her to the point where he’s pinned her down and she’s laughing so cute! but secretly, the weight of her boy on top of her and his hands all over her thighs and stomach, is making her rlly rlly wet 🥹

she’s like “steveee stop tickling me!” bc she can’t take it anymore and he does! but he also fully takes his weight off of her which makes her start huffing and whining for him to come back, grabby hands shooting out at him. steve is confused, ofc, like “honey i thought you wanted me to stop?” and she’s so embarrassed covering her face, squeezing her thighs and almost, if not, crying in frustration.

steve pulls her hands off her face to see her eyes, laying back down on her body when her legs spread open again, looking at her to explain further, but all she can do is whine that “it hurts s’bad stevie”.

he’s confused for a moment but then he glances down and her ridden-up oversized t-shirt reveals the wet spot forming on her panties. he presses a big kiss on his angel’s lips before cooing on her mouth, lightly touching her clothed cunt, “aw honey you wanted me to stop bc your lil pussy got all wet f’me, huh? is that what you were trying to say?”

to which she responds something like “wanted y’to stop ticklin’ me, not to stop touching me :,(“! steve finds his lovely girl so adorable, he makes sure to take good care of her afterwards, like always! maybe even mocking her just a bit from getting so turned on from a little tickling 🫠

holy shiiiiit — normal sized font below the cut

this is definitely soft dom!daddy!steve…

like he’s so doting and caring and careful and affectionate, always spoiling and praising his angel, being all playful and funny and silly like he always is— and the two are best friends, don’t get it twisted! they’re dating, but they’re still the best of friends… they banter and play fight and mock each other, share secrets and personal thoughts and feelings and they gossip together, play pranks on each other… all the good best friend things…

so they’re very close. very. loyal and devoted and completely obsessed with each other. as much as steve’s sweet girl loves to dote on him and take care of him, it’s more so her stevie’s self-assigned job to care for his baby.

and so steve buys her flowers, takes her on cute dates, is always looking out for her and can’t help his casual dominance, tying her shoes and carrying her places sometimes and brushing her hair and treating her like a little doll, his little doll. slowly acclimates her to what being in a relationship is like, he’s so so patient.

but he’s so hungry for her, it drives him insane how oblivious she is to the affect she has on him, how fucking adorable and clueless she is but also so very eager to please— because that’s all she wants, to be stevie’s good girl, to make him feel safe and loved and cared for, to make him feel good. but she gets greedy easily now… now that steve has ingrained in her mind that he truly wants her and loves her, that he’s all hers, that he wants to spoil her, marry her and make her his little wife, and spend his entire life with her!!!!!! her! his best friend! his person! they’re soulmates after all!!!!!!

her shyness stays, it’s just who she is (and steve finds it so fucking cute he has to constantly hold himself back from cooing at her all the time), but she’s just so horny for her stevie and doesn’t know how to say it ‘cause she’s so embarrassed and flustered and unsure and finds it hard to voice her needs and wants, so it manifests into tears. whenever she wants something from her stevie she gets all soft and small and pouty, grabbing at him and whining and holding his fingers to get his attention, and steve coos at her, can’t help it, his sweet angel girl so needy, and he always wants to give her the world, right? that’s his baby! she deserves to be spoiled! but her stevie is very clear in his rules— you have to speak up, tell him what you want, communicate. that’s very important to him.

and yeah, in theory his angel thinks it’s perfect, the communication and attention and how safe it makes her feel, but she physically can’t speak up when her stevie is making her feel all these sweet, intense, pretty feelings that she’s never felt before, even though she knows her stevie, her daddy, will always give her whatever she wants 😖 she just gets so pouty and teary-eyed and huffs and puffs, crossing her arms or stomping her foot like a spoiled brat until she’s so desperate bc her stevie is adamant she has to tell him what she wants before he does anything, that he’ll give her whatever she wants if she asks for it, that she whines and mumbles and asks him “pretty please, daddy” and steve is gone.

when her perfect, incredible, dreamy stevie is playing around with her, after she teases him or mocks him or they pretend-fight, or when they’re joking around, he’ll tickle her ‘cause she has the cutest little giggles, even though her laugh is kind of weird— sometimes loud, sometimes silent, sometimes she’ll fall down from laughing so hard. still, he loves it. it’s his favorite sound in the world, along with her little needy noises. it’s always different and funny and steve loves finding out what kind of laugh he’ll get out of his sweet girl that day, so he tickles. and if there’s one thing about his angel is that she loves using him as a weighted blanket, loves his weight on her, pressing her down and molding their bodies together, so that coupled with how his hands are all over her body, fingers gripping her and poking at her, his bulge rubbing against her, she gets needy. wet. very greedy. but if her stevie gets up or pulls away or sits back????? away from her????? she’ll turn into such a crybaby, like it’s the most insulting thing he could ever do, to pull away.

and steve knows. he knows how much she’s taken to steve being all over her, making her feel good, letting her explore and learn what they both like, being the only one to touch her and her him, but she still carries this air of innocence and softness and inexperience that drives him up the wall. the little looks she gives him and the shy smiles and the eagerness. she’ll be the horniest little minx, crawling up his lap and rubbing her cunt against his thigh, but will also hide her face and whimper and get all shy even if steve is balls deep inside her.

the duality of her never fails to disarm him completely. steve definitely tickles his angel sometimes when he wants to rile her up and get her needy for him— he thinks she’s clueless about it, but soon it turns into this thing where steve has pretty much conditioned her to turn into a needy little mess whenever he starts tickling her— she gets wet instantly now.

[spotsandsocks]

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

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

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

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

This bit comes right after the picture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

To his horror the man is Eddie. 

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[ddejavvu]

Eddie throwing your younger niece/nephew/cousin(s) into the couch and in the air and all over the place while you’re gone for five minutes when babysitting them. They’re the ones squealing with delight and asking for it though!

Eddie has assured you that he is more than capable of babysitting while you make dinner. And to his credit, he's over twenty years old, and he's able-bodied. He should have no issues dealing with two toddlers that are winding down for the night already, tired after a day at the park.

Contrary to what he'd assured you, when you walk in to let them know that dinner is five minutes from completion, you watch in stiff, frozen horror as your niece flies through the air towards you.

Eddie's eyes widen in momentary terror until you shoot your arms out to catch her, and she lands in your grip in a heap of giggles.

"Eddie!" You snap, "What are you doing?"

"She was gonna land on the couch!" Eddie gestures to the cushion just behind you, that you'd accidentally covered when you'd stepped through the doorway. Admittedly, she could have easily stuck the landing, but the fact that she was airborne at all makes you nervous.

"It's fun!" She gushes, and her younger sister tugs at Eddie's belt chain. At her prompting, he picks her up, and she points vigorously to the couch, silently begging to be tossed.

"You threw the baby?" Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, and the girl in your arms only laughs harder.

"She's fine," Eddie insists, "I don't throw her far. Move, babe, I'll show you."

"No!" You gush, but he nudges you out of the way anyways. You watch with poorly-concealed fear as he gently scoops the baby into optimal throwing position, then softly launches her less than a foot onto the cushion. She lands softly, a mess of drooly laughter and shiny eyes, and clamors back over to him when he holds his arms out.

He's grinning down at her but soon remembers your distaste for their new game, and regards you with a cautious glance. You scoff at the twin pouts on their face, albeit her cheeks are chubbier than his, and you pass the girl in your arms back over when she reaches for Eddie.

"No more than three feet," You warn him, and all three of the guilty parties grin at each other excitedly, "Remember: If we have to go to the hospital tonight, no one gets mac and cheese!"

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

tiny

kinktober, day fifteen

a/n: bro this is just straight-up goofy. i figured why not go all out silly. HOT, but goofy hehe

warnings: miguel o'hara x fairy!reader, smut, size kink, extreme size difference (reader is small, think like tinkerbell or something, maybe 15-20 cm tall?), fingering, dirty talk, magical fairy vagina

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

This was in no way the first time you had laid in Miguel’s palm. The calloused skin was one of your favourite places to nap. Only this time, you weren’t exactly slumbering… 

“Uh,” your lips pursed as you let out a moan, the tip of his other index finger being expansive enough to cover your sopping core in its entirety as he rubbed you silly. 

“Fuck, you’re so tiny,” he groaned, hypnotised by your twinkling visage, “like a damn leaf, I’m scared I’ll break you.”

“Lucky you fairies are more resilient than you’d think,” a grin curled up on your lips as you wiggled your hips back against him, nudging him against your entrance so needily that he nearly breached, “our anatomy can take all sorts of incredible feats…” a smirk bloomed on his features at your words as he swiftly picked up on your hints and pressed the tip of his digit in, “o-oh!”

Gazing down at you writhing in his palm, a yearnful crinkle appeared to his brow, “shit, how are you taking this much?” watching you fiercely as he split you apart, the extraordinary juxtaposition nearly making him drool. 

Quite literally feeling him in your throat as he pumped in and out of your fae pussy, you purred, “I can take more, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” your chaotic glint began to mirror in his own eye, “how much?”

“Why don’t you pull your dick out and find out.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble