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sunshine-and-moonshine · 8 months

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The Three Bear Hybrids

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The third bed was just right.

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

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

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

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

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

Tried being the key word here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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sky-high-standards · 1 year

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Yandere!!Fairytale characters!!Dark Reverse harem xFemale reader

I recently edited this

Part 2 here

You always loved stories for as long as you could remember because every night until you turned 8 you had dreams about coming to visit these story book characters but strangely they were your age in these dreams and were incredibly possessive and kept going on about how you would have to get married to one of them when you grow up.

When you were 9 you stopped reading fairy tales and these dreams stopped too.

8 years later~

You where just minding your own business when your mother came in and told you that you had to donate some old toys to a charity shop, you lazily got up and went to your attic where you kept most of your childhood things. As you searched you picked up the story book that you haven't seen in 8 years, a wave of nostalgia came over yo as you flipped through the pages. Suddenly aa portal came from the book and sucked you in.

Story 1 Cinderellis

You found yourself in a castle when someone suddenly bumped into you. You were surprised to see a beautiful woman wearing gorgeous clothing and a crown probably the queen giving you her hand to help you up she apologized and then gasped taking a closer look at you.

Queen: y/n is that you?

Y/n: Um yes?

She beamed and hugged you.

Queen: y/n my dear its been so long you're all grown up and so beautiful!

y/n: Queen Charming?

Then it all came back to you .You where in the castle where you used to play with your old friends Ellis and Johnathan. The queens son Johnathan saw you as a little sister and the queen saw you as a daughter but Ellis was the son of a wealthy man who was very kind and had a close friendship with the royal family. You remember Jonathan was vey protective and teased you a lot while Ellis was very sweet and incredibly shy and was very clingy towards you but he had this dark side and hated competition.

Queen: Just call me Caroline dear.

She smiled warmly at you seeming euphoric to see you again.

Caroline: Come quickly we must tell Jonathan you returned he will be so happy to see you.

So she lead you to the vaguely familiar room belonging to Jonathan

When he turned around you could barely recognize him he really has grown up.

Johnathan: y/n?

You nodded and he then tackled you into a hug like when you were kids.

Johnathan: I knew you'd come back dummy!!!

y/n: You really haven't changed a bit huh Johnny.

After you three caught up you found out Ellis's dad had died after you left and he now lives with his stepmother and his two stepbrothers they stopped seeing him after they met his stepmother.

Caroline the told you that she was gonna plan a ball for your return and to find a wife for Johnathan she sent out invitations to everyone in the land including Ellis and his family.

Ellis's home

Ellis was doing his usual labor because his mother treated him like a slave ever since his father died. His step family now just calls his Cinderellis due to him always being covered in soot. Ellis barely got anything to eat and was always given ragged clothing to wear. His stepbrothers mad sure to make sure he feels and looks terrible because they are incredibly jealous of Ellis because of his looks and all the female attention he gets.

After all these years Ellis hadn't forgotten about you but how could he ever since he met you he had been madly in love with you so much so that he worships the ground you walk on and would do anything to get your attention and much much more to get you affection but after you left a piece of himself left too he was absolutely devastated but he never lost hope that someday you'll return.

When an invitations to the ball came Ellis didn't care but he jumped for joy when you saw that this was for your return finally, he'd see his beloved again.

He told his Stepmother, and she told her sons to try and get you to fall for one of them now Ellis didn't like this and poisoned his family that day, after all Ellis never liked competition.

After the murder he disposed of the bodies he then dressed in one of his fathers suites and daydreamed about how soft your lips where or how happy you'll be to see him he can already picture you running into his arms proclaiming your undying love for him and how you'd never leave him again you'll be his in a matter of time.

Back at the castle

You were getting ready for the ball when a blinding flash of purple light came, and you saw a woman with a wand and beautiful purple wings in front of you.

???: Oh hello dear.

y/n: um who are you ma'am?

???:I'm your fairy Godmother I'm here to help you get back home.

y/n: Why? everyone is so nice here.

She went silent for a moment looking at you sympathetically.

Godmother: Things aren't always as they seem my dear...you have to save Jonathan if you want to make it to the next story.

y/n: WHAT IS HE IN DANGER??!!!AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN NEXT STORY??!!

Godmother: Keep it down, yes he's in great danger and you have a few more stories to complete before you get to go home.

y/n: what do you mean?

Godmother: I mean in each of the stories you will live in you will have a task when you complete it you will be sent to the next story but if you fail a task you won't be able to leave when you were younger you made every one of the male leads fall for you and now their obsessions have grown in an unhealthy way so be careful I'll see you soon.

and then she left just like how she came with without warning and in a poof of purple light.

The ball had begun and you couldn't stop worrying about Caroline and Johnathan. You were shaken out of your train of thought when a young man asked to dance he seemed pretty exited even euphoric and...love sick?

Nonetheless you agreed and he swiftly took you to the the center of the ball room as you two danced you couldn't avoid his stare it was so intense but those gray blue eyes were just` too familiar then it clicked.

Y/n: Ellis...?

He smiles at you and nodded.

Ellis: Did you miss me little mouse?

you smiled back at him and hugged him and he was in pure bliss finally you're back in his arms oh how he's dreamed of this day everything was perfect until he saw those pretty eyes of yours start to lose focus on him as you kept glancing at Jonathan this made his blood boil he was always second place to Jonathan when it came to you he always got your attention but now he's finally snapped he's had enough.

When you left to go check on Caroline he pulled out a vile of poison the very same he used to kill his step family.

Ellis: I didn't think I'd have to use it so soon.

He mumbled coldly.

He was about to pour it into Jonathan's glass when he heard your voice and he quickly his it into his pocket smiling at you, you asked to speak to him privately and he was taken back when he saw you crying and he immediately went forward to comfort you only to be pushed away.

Ellis: Little mouse what's wrong.

You stared up at him with a mix of hurt betrayal and confusion.

Y/n: I saw what you were about to do Ellis...I don't understand, Why would you try hurt him.

Ellis: why? because I love you y/n I love so much that it drives me insane I love you so much that I'd kill anyone in a heartbeat just for your attention I love you more than you will ever know little mouse~

All you could do was look up at him in fear as he caressed your cheek smiling at you with a sickly-sweet smile.

y/n: what happened to you? You were so sweet so kind and so selfless.

Ellis: Oh y/n you happened to me.

you saw a deranged glint in his eyes and his smile turned more sinister.

Ellis: You turned me into this.

At that moment you knew there was no reasoning with him so you had to be with him until you get sent to the next story.

y/n: Ellis I'll be yours if you promise not to hurt anyone else.

You could tell he was more than euphoric hearing those words come out of that pretty mouth of yours it sent him over the edge.

Ellis: I promise Little mouse.

For about 5 months things where perfect for Ellis waking up and knowing you are there being the only one able to kiss your soft lips it was pure bliss until there was a flash and you were gone.

You were falling out of the sky and splashed into the water you tried your hardest to swim but couldn't you were about to drown but you were rescued by a strange being and all you could remember was its voice.

Tell me if ya want me to continue and please give my other yandere stories some love.

God loves you get plenty of sleep and stay hydrated

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painted-flag · 2 months

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Little Red Riding Hood - Cregan Stark

Part 1 of 2.

Story 2 of Between the Pages: a HOTD x Fairytale Series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist. main masterlist. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: cregan stark x f!reader (no use of y/n) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ warnings: a little bit of period-specific misogyny. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ wordcount: 5.7k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ notes: the reason this is split into two parts is that my mac crashed and i lost the full draft (around 10k). i rewrote it, but i promised that it would release on the 29th so despite the fact i have not finished writing the full imagine, i am splitting it into two parts.

The sound of quiet chatter filled the small schoolhouse. It was a stone building, old and worn from the centuries since its construction, one of the oldest buildings in the small town of Wildgate. Young girls sat in a circle, each focusing on the fabric in front of them as they stitched the day away. Their hands gripped their wooden loops and meticulously weaved the needle up and down to create their desired patterns.

The hall was warmed by two hearths on each side that chased away the winter chill. Your clothes aided in keeping warm while you paced around the outside of the circle. Your gaze watched the little girls as they sewed and your heart swelled with pride at the proficiency of your students. It was a rewarding job to work as a teacher for the girls in the town, despite the abysmal pay. Any money counted to the support of your family.

The girls finished their work one by one, earning praise from you which had them giggling and running to go home to their parents and share their work. As each girl left, you began to clean up the room from the day's activities. Once the desks were moved back into their regular position and the chairs in place, you eagerly made leave of the schoolhouse.

You made your way through the bustling town streets. The ground, usually muddy, had frozen over for the winter and patches of piled snow littered the area. People were hastily making their way to their destinations to run from the chill. The deep scarlet cloak you wore had been a gift from your grandmother and provided the perfect reprieve from the icy air. The red contrasted against the snowy surroundings.

Upon turning to another street, you quickly open a wooden door. The heat from the ovens in the bakery had mixed with the smells of fresh bread. You inhale slowly, savouring the scent.

A man came from a backroom and grinned when seeing you, “Ah! Darling, how are you today?” He was a short and plump middle-aged man who never had anything but a smile on his face and rosy cheeks. Every week, he would donate food to the schoolhouse for the children who were from poorer households.

“I am doing alright, James. How have you been?” You put your basket down as he begins to place your regular bread order in it.

“Well, the weather is drab but every day alive is a great day.” He nodded to you and accepted the payment. Once saying your goodbyes, you wandered back outside to the cool streets. Only a few buildings down was your next destination. The familiar sound of metal clanking against steel got louder as you approached.

The area was covered with a roof but open to the elements with a single wall being opened. It was the only blacksmith in the town, which happened to employ the man who had enchanted your fantasies. You watched as Aegon pulled a blade out of a forge and set it against an anvil. He grabbed a heavy hammer and began to pound it down against the glowing steel, over and over. The sound reverberated across the buildings and travelled through your body. He was sweating from work and despite the gentle snowfall, he only wore one set of clothes. The shirt he had on was thin and billowed with the breeze.

Aegon was not your first choice in men. He had only arrived in the village a few years ago and settled down into an apprenticeship. While you could not deny the beauty he held, you had not been enticed at first. You were generally disinterested in most men in the village, especially having known them all since childhood. His uniqueness was what had reeled you in, not the prospect of romance. Though there were no qualms with the way he treated you, the spark you so desperately wished to feel only flickered.

One thing was undeniable, his steady income would protect you and your family. A considerable rarity among the other available men.

Upon seeing you approach, Aegon used large tongs to pick up the blade and dunk it into a nearby vat of water. The sizzle and bubbles from the heat-laden steel rippled across the water. He smiled at you and put the items down. When you made it to the work area, Aegon took and placed your basket down. He gently held your hand and brought it up to lay a small kiss on the knuckles.

You accepted his affection, following like a sheep unaware of the wolf’s lure.

“And how is my lady?” Aegon moved back to organizing some of his tools, lifting them as though they weighed nothing, despite them being heavier than you could imagine. Although he had a lean and built figure, it seemed uncharacteristic with the amount of weight he could lift.

“The girls are doing so well with their stitching progress. I don’t believe there is much else I could teach them.” You spoke and Aegon hummed while he placed a hammer off to the side.

Aegon moved back to you and kissed your cheek, “Well, it is just stitching. There is not much to that work, maybe they could move on to other womanly duties?”

There was a brief moment of bitter taste in your mouth, but you swallowed it down. You reached for your basket on one of the tables and lifted the small cloth that covered the items inside. When you took out a package wrapped in cloth, Aegon watched your movements.

“I got your favourite dinner.” You placed the package into his outstretched hands choosing to ignore his previous comment, “Though, I am still so confused on how you could eat so much.” You laughed at your little joke and Aegon did too, but his gaze still pieced through you.

“I am always hungry,” Aegon’s voice dropped a few octaves and his expression darkened for a moment. It was quickly extinguished and he continued speaking, “Thank you, my love, for bringing this to me. I should get back to work now.”

You nodded at his words and leaned in to kiss the side of his mouth, “I shall leave you to it then.”

Your hands grasped the handle of the basket and picked it up. Giving Aegon a wave goodbye, you started back down the street and hummed idly to yourself. The trek in the falling snow was quiet and pleasant. All of the cottages around you had smoke billowing from their chimneys and glowing windows from candlelight. The sky had darkened fast.

A cottage in the distance caught your eye. The home was not large, but the warmth from your mother and little brother was more than enough to make it feel larger than a castle. You opened the heavy wooden door and rushed in, closing it quickly to keep out the cold. In the open area that consists of the kitchen and living space, your brother was sitting in front of the hearth and your mother was busying herself with dinner.

Upon spotting you by the door, your little brother rushed to greet you. He called out your name and wrapped his arms around your legs with his head burying itself in your stomach. Your arms encircled him and squeezed.

You ruffled his dark locks, “Good to see you too, buddy.” He pulled away from you and started asking countless questions about your day. You laughed at his curiousness and mentioned you would speak over dinner before sending him on his way to wash his hands and prepare the table.

Your mother had moved to the hearth to tend to the cast iron pot simmering with that night's stew. She stirred it around and brought a wooden spoon up to her lips, blew on it, and tasted. She nodded at the taste and decided it was ready. She turned around and saw you standing there and wrapped you in a hug.

“I expect your day went well?” Your mother pulled back and grabbed the pot. She carried it to the table and set it down by the bowls your brother brought out. When you sat down with your brother in the spot beside yours, a piece of parchment was dropped by the bowl that your mother placed.

“My day was fine. What is this?” You held up the parchment.

“A letter from Winterfell’s healer.” Your mother answered. You furrowed your brows. Winterfell was the town over, about a little over a day's ride from here. It was where your grandmother lived. It had been years since you visited last.

You unrolled the parchment and began to read. The more you did, the greater your worry grew. Your grandmother was sick and had been for a while. The healer could not keep watch on her enough while also taking care of others in Winterfell. He asked for a family member to come to the town and watch in on your grandmother for the times he is not there. The healer said he would be waiting at the town gate on the morning of the moon's first quarter to escort whoever showed up to her home.

“That is two days from now.” You spoke to your mother as she swallowed a spoonful of stew, “I will have to go tomorrow at midday.”

“You do not have to.” Your mother interrupted, “I could go.”

“Mother you need to take care of Joffrey.” You interjected. Your mother did not speak for a moment and considered your words. After a few minutes of quiet eating, she acquiesced to your stance and accepted your travel plans.

Dinner was spent with your brother speaking about his day. Both you and your mother occasionally interjected with quips, but the mood from ill news regarding your grandmother hung over the table like a thick smoke cloud. You thought back to all of those moments you had with your grandmother, which became fewer the older you got. Trips to Winterfell became scarce to the point that it had been close to a decade since your last visit.

Cleaning up the kitchen and table was done in silence between you and your mother. Your brother had been dismissed to go to bed early - something he was adamantly against, but listened to nonetheless. You slowly packed the items you would need for the trip over. Getting time off of teaching would be easy, but you were hesitant to leave your family for however many weeks it would be.

Once you were settled in for the night, sleep came quickly.

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

Your black boots made crunches in the snow as you walked through the town. You had swung by the bakery that morning to pick up a couple of sweets and pastries for the road. Your grandmother had always loved raspberry tarts, so you picked out a couple for her. While you may not be able to cure her sickness, at the very least you could brighten her spirits. You were set to begin your journey in just a few hours, but you had one last task to complete.

The same familiar sight of the blacksmith appeared as you made your trek down the street. The sound of metal clanging rang through your head. You saw Aegon working, steady and focused. When you approached closer, he spotted you out of his peripheral. He stopped what he was doing. The smile on his face faded slowly at the neutral expression across yours.

“Are you okay?” Aegon spoke. He moved forward and pulled you closer by your scarlet cloak. One of his hands fiddled with the hood that protected you from the snowfall.

“I have to go,” You began, “My grandmother is sick and it's getting worse.”

Aegon’s face scrunched up in confusion, “Go? Go where?”

“Winterfell.”

For a brief moment, a shadow swept across his face at your answer. His posture went rigid and the hand clasping your hood was pulled back and balled into a fist. You attributed his change of mood to your sudden departure.

“For how long?” He asked.

You reached out to gently squeeze one of his biceps, swiping your thumb up and down in comfort, “A few weeks, possibly a month or two. I leave tonight.” Aegon shrugged free from your hand and stepped back. His arms raised slightly with his psalm facing you. They shook for a moment before lowering.

“So, you’re just going to leave… like that?” Aegon now looked bewildered, with a slight air of offence in his voice.

“My grandmother needs someone from her family to take care of her.”

Aegon began to move his equipment away, “I’m going with you.” The finality in his tone made no room for rebuttal, but you stood your ground.

“I need someone to look after my family here.” After you spoke, Aegon halted his movements and turned back to you. You went up to him and placed your hands on his chest.

“I’m guessing no amount of persuading will work?” He questioned. When you nodded, he accepted your answer. He cupped your face, “Just… stay safe. The people of Winterfell are vipers.”

You rolled your eyes at his overprotectiveness, “I will, Aegon. Just keep my family safe while I’m gone.”

Aegon licked his lips, “I’ll keep your family safe.”

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

The gates of Winterfell looked unfamiliar compared to the faint memories you had of this place. It was morning and the ground was laden with a thick cover of mist that hovered above the packed snow. Early light from the rising sun cast against the snow and sparkled. You breathed in the scent of pine and exhaled, watching as the mist from your mouth evaporated in the air. You wrapped the scarlet cloak around you more to drive away the chill. The horse you had rode had been taken to the stables.

On the inside of the gates, you spotted an old man hunched over. He was dressed in clothes that signalled his position as a healer; neutral grays and a simplistic design of a tunic, trousers, and coat. His hair had turned gray from age and his beard was twisted into a braid that fell down to his chest.

You approached him, “Excuse me, are you Orym?”

“Yes. I assume you are one of the family members?” The old man greeted you politely and shook your hand.

“Her granddaughter. Is she alright?”

“She is as good as she can be, given her condition.” The man responded. Just as you were going to speak, the sound of horse hooves hitting the ground caught your attention. A couple of horses ridden by men passed through the walls. They all dismounted. One of the horses had a wooden carrier that towed the body of a large stag. The man on the horse dropped down with his back to her.

The men all gathered around the stag and clasped the shoulder of the man who, by the positive words being spoken, had taken down the wild beast. From his back, she could see the thick pelts that draped from his broad shoulders. His dark hair was long, falling to his shoulders, with the top half tied up in a knot. The greatsword on his back had to be close to six feet.

He turned around and she saw his face. Strands of his dark hair framed his face, carving out the already sharp jawline he possessed. His brows were even, set over pairs of calculating eyes. The man’s face held a stoic look while his lips were set in a line. You were shocked that such a handsome face could belong to an imposing figure like his. Despite his stately appearance, there was a sense of familiarity there that was comforting. The morning sunlight shone against his figure, almost deifying him.

The man’s gaze found yours and that feeling of calm swayed to a sense of purpose. Like all your life had been waiting for that precise moment.

His eyes were kind and inviting, but also commanding. You were stuck by how off-guard you became. The snow that fell around you, including the world, faded into the background. A sudden pounding feeling hit the back of your head. It was like a part of you, somewhere deep inside, was clawing to be released. It felt as though you knew him already.

Orym shook your arm slightly, “Are you alright?”

You broke your gaze from the man and turned to the healer, “Just fine. Could we go to my grandmother now?”

Orym took your arm and escorted you through the streets of the town. People began to bustle through the streets. All were friendly, exchanging good words with others as they passed. Some stalls opened to sell goods ranging from fish to other oddities. You were slightly angered that you had spent so long away from such a town. This place would have been a wonderful area to grow up in. There was a fair amount of carved wolf imagery in the wood and stone that made up all of the buildings, a running theme throughout Winterfell.

There were summers that you spent here in your youth, but the memories of them had faded with time.

After a few short minutes, you and the healer happened upon a cottage. It was humble but looked homely amongst the snowed backdrop. You had a faint recollection of this place, but since those scattered memories were only marked by summertime, the winter feel of everything was new. Yet, the winter here somehow felt warmer in spite of the biting cold. Three large oak trees surrounded the home, protecting it from the elements.

Orym opened the gate that surrounded the cottage and walked you to the door. He tapped three times on the knocker. He announced you coming before opening the door. Orym bid you a good day before hurrying on to another patient who needed him. When you entered the home, it was apparent that your grandmother lived there. It was neat but decorated immensely with furnishings, quilts, and other odds and ends. The smell of baked goods permeated the air, mixed with hints of dried lilac.

From the door of a room on the far end emerged your grandmother. She was a short and plump woman whose natural energy radiated everywhere she went. While your heart swelled upon seeing her for the first time in many years, you could not help but notice the slight sway in her step and the way her eyes were almost glazed over.

She welcomed you with a great hug, “Oh, darling look how you’ve grown!” For the first time since your arrival, you felt warm and at home with just a simple embrace.

“How are you, grandmother?” You questioned. The woman pulled back to look at you and pinched your cheek lightly.

“I am healthiest than ever. Really, it is just a cold.” She then moved over to her kitchen, but her steps faltered and you caught her and guided her to a seat by the hearth.

You knelt and began to stoke the fire more as it had reduced to burning embers. While you were occupied, your grandmother began to brief you on all her symptoms and how the sickness had progressed, but she seemed to be in denial about how bad it had gotten. Your worry had tripled upon seeing her state.

You took out the raspberry tarts that your grandmother would love. Over the course of a few hours, you two caught up on all the years missed. It was as if no time had passed. You ate the treats and laughed by the fire as the cottage warmed. At some point, you made tea that the both of you nurtured in cups.

There was a sudden knock on the door that broke you out of the story you had been telling. Your grandmother smiled like she knew who was there and called out for them to come in. The door opened, and a large figure fit through the doorway, ducking to get in. The light from the gray day outside hit his back and cast the front in darkness. He closed the door and suddenly you could see it was the same man who you saw just a few hours prior.

“Cregan, how was your hunt?” Your grandmother asked. The man, who you now knew as Cregan, smiled and moved to place a wrapped package on the table next to the kitchen.

“A large stag. I saved you a hindquarters cut.” He responded. You furrowed your brows. The hindquarter was one of the most expensive and you wondered why this man was just giving it away. Your grandmother stood up to go and unwrap the meat and you followed.

Your grandmother looked between you and the man and decided to introduce you, “This is my granddaughter. I told you she was coming to take care of me.”

Cregan then moved to greet you, taking your hand in his and pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “It’s good to see you again after all these years.”

You were confused by his words. There was not a moment you could recall ever meeting a man such as him. Surely, with looks like that, you would remember. Upon seeing your confused expression, Cregan released your hand and looked to your grandmother.

“I am sorry if I misstepped there. It was rude to assume you would remember me, for you were a few years younger.”

It was then that the scratch from the back of your brain was alleviated. The name had sounded familiar, but now that you were closer to him, that familiarity you felt when you saw him for the first time washed away to the faintest of memories. It was flashing still moments in your brain. The tall summer grass, glaring sun, and the images of children running in an open field. The same dark hair bounced on the head of a young child, just a few years your senior, as the two of you chased the other children.

“Cregan?” You spoke, “I think I remember.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards, “Well, I never was one to make lasting impressions,” He joked.

Your grandmother hit his shoulder gently, “Don’t be so silly, you are a wonderful young man.” You could clearly see that Cregan and your grandmother got along well. He must have been taking care of your grandmother for a long time. It made your heart stutter.

The old lady then yawned, “Could you show my granddaughter around Winterfell? I am awfully tired.” There was a mischievous glint in your grandmother’s eye and you were unsure of her motives.

“It would be my pleasure,” Cregan answered. He turned to you, “If you would like to, of course.”

“It would be good to see all of Winterfell as I plan to stay for a while.” Your reply made the subtle, almost indecipherable smile on Cregan’s face light up a little more. You and Cregan gave goodbyes to your grandmother and put your cloaks on. The scarlet colour was a sharp contrast to the greys and blacks that made up Cregan’s clothing.

Cregan held open the door for you. You gave one last look to your grandmother who sent a wink your way. Your face flushed at figuring out her plan to get the two of you alone. Surely, if you had mentioned seeing Aegon back home, she would not have done this. It also made you question yourself. Why had you not spoken of Aegon when catching up with her? He was a large part of your life, yet did not seem important enough at the time to bring up.

Upon reaching the road, Cregan began to point out important locations. The bakery, library, market, and everything in between. You noticed everyone had kind exchanges with Cregan. They seemed to gravitate towards him.

“The people like you.” You spoke to him.

Cregan glanced at you for a moment while still walking, “Well, I am the lord of Winterfell. My family was given the title by our Queen Rhaenyra’s ancestors. It is a lucky position to be in. I’m grateful to serve these people.” You watched as children ran across a patch of road, all giggling and chasing one another.

“Is Winterfell in need of a teacher?” You asked. Cregan weighed your question for a moment.

“We could always use help with the children around here. Are you a teacher back home?” Cregan spoke.

“Yes. If I am to be here for a while, I should contribute and get money to support my grandmother.” You reasoned. A light dusting of snow began to fall and settled all around. Pieces of snow clung to Cregan’s hair and he shook his head.

“You need not trouble yourself with work. I have taken care of your grandmother for years, I can do the same for you.” He spoke.

Your heart warmed at his words. “That is kind, Cregan, truly. However, I would like to teach.”

“A beautiful woman like you should not trouble herself with work,” Cregan responded. Your brows furrowed at his words, having taken them the wrong way.

“So a woman’s looks dictate whether or not she should work?” You crossed your arms.

Cregan froze while you continued to walk. He was caught off guard by your quip. “That was not my implication. I merely thought that your husband would have made sure you have enough coin for your trip.” You turned around to see him stopped with his hands raised in a surrendering manner.

“I do not have a husband,” Cregan caught up to your pace and let out a hum after your words, “But there is a man I may marry, he is a blacksmith back home. His name is Aegon.”

Your gaze was focused on what was in front of you, but you could still see the hardened gaze of Cregan’s features. His lips turned down to a sharp frown. The name almost seemed to evoke a deep response in him.

“Well, then you must be sure that he will treat you perfectly if you are so faithful in his intentions.” Cregan’s words seemed to hide a double meaning that you struggled to ascertain. His steps fell harder on the snow-covered ground. You began to question the meaning of your relationship with Aegon. Now that you were away from him, it felt like you were washed from the confinement of his presence. A troubling but newfound realization. It was then that a guard turned around the corner and looked relieved to see Cregan.

“Lord Stark! You are needed at the gate.” The guard spoke and then spotted you there as well. He lowered his voice, “Tracks have been spotted.”

Cregan tilted his head in question, “I fail to see how that warrants my attention.”

“My lord, it is uh…” The guard whispered the last bit, “Wolf tracks. Not of our own.” His words made Cregan’s shoulders stiffen. His gloved hands formed hard fists. You were confused about those last words, not of our own. The meaning was lost to you.

Cregan turned to you, “It is best that you get back to your grandmother’s house. I must go handle this.” He moved in the direction of the gate with the guard following. You stood back for a few moments in the falling snow and watched as he walked away. The chill crept up your spine and you decided it was best to go inside.

⋅───⊱༺ ☾ 🐾☽ ༻⊰───⋅

The first week in Winterfell was spent taking care of your grandmother, watching over some of the kids at the school, and spending your free time with Cregan. The children in Winterfell were much more calm in the classroom, but also wicked tricksters outside. However, you managed to gain respect from the kids and are not subjected as a victim to their pranks. That was done rather easily having brought them butter tarts and candied lemons.

Once the children trusted you, the people of Winterfell warmed to your presence as well. They were wary of outsiders, but seeing their children take a liking to you was enough to sway them. You were on your way to do errands. While weaving through the streets you listened in on people talking. Bits and pieces hit your ears.

“Jamie is improving on his reading.”

“There are no good pieces of-”

“The full moon is tonight.”

“Where is Lily?”

You made your way through the street stalls. While on your errands you wondered what Cregan was up to. You had found a good friend in him, despite the fact that your heart would beat faster and your cheeks would burn when you got near him. He had been a friendly companion, having shown you around Winterfell and introduced you to his friends. His friends, while a bunch of rowdy loud-mouthed people, had treated you respectfully.

Cregan continued to check in on your grandmother and bring game from hunts every day. There are moments when you are alone with Cregan, that you find your resolve crumbling. With each passing day, your fancy for Aegon dwindled to the point that he was rarely - if ever - on your mind. It brought you an immense feeling of guilt. Aegon has been nothing but supportive of you and your family. While he did tend to get overprotective - at one point fighting an old childhood friend simply for talking to you - Aegon still showed you passion.

Yet, with Cregan, he introduced a type of stability you had never felt before. There was support given to you, but reassurance and encouragement in your own capability of taking care of yourself. You were not treated as helpless by Cregan, a surprising contrast to the men back home. It was nice to see, but also wildly different than what you were used to. It confused you to see such a difference in culture despite there only being a brief two days of travel between the two places. Cregan only said that it was the way Winterfell functioned.

“We are like a pack here - always looking out for one another.”

It was easy for you to fall in love with Winterfell in just a week. With your grandmother’s improving condition, you wondered how many days you had left in your stay. It was incredibly relieving to have your grandmother up and active more and coughing less, though you wondered if it would be okay to extend your stay.

You spotted one of Cregan’s friends, Ser Dustin, walking in your direction. He was a few years older than Cregan, with a bushy beard and muscled figure. His clothing matched Cregans - dark greys and black with silver embellishments and the familiar wolf head insignia on a patch on his chest. You smiled in greeting. His normal warm smile was replaced with a troubled look on his face.

“Are you alright, Ser Dustin?” You questioned.

“Quite alright. The night is approaching, you should be inside.” He responded.

You pulled your scarlet cloak tighter around your frame, “Have you seen Cregan? I have not seen him today.” Ser Dustin sighed.

“Cregan has been busy with his duties. I’m sure you will see him tomorrow.” His brief dismissal was so out of character. You blinked a few times.

“Okay,” You spoke, “I’ll be going home now.” While you wanted to talk to him more, his earlier comment on the day ending almost sounded like a warning rather than an observation. It sent a deep feeling of uncertainty in your bones. The cold of the weather was not the origin of the chill that slithered up your spine.

You took a few steps back from Ser Dustin before turning and going on your way. When you were out of sight, your hands grabbed the fabric of your skirt and lifted it up so you could run. You sprinted as fast as your clothing could allow you until you reached your grandmother's house. You swung the door open and flung yourself against the door to close it. Your lungs were pushing for any semblance of air. Your grandmother looked up from the table as she was setting down two bowls of stew.

“Is everything alright?” She questioned. You calmed your breathing and shrugged off your scarlet cloak to hang it up on a hook by the door.

“Everything is fine, grandma.” You lied, not wishing to stress her out, “What’s for dinner?”

“Stew.” She responded.

Dinner was spent with your grandmother taking up most of the conversation. You nodded along graciously and occasionally made quick observations, but your mind was elsewhere. The entire day something had felt off. An unfamiliar itch that you could not ascertain. The people of Winterfell seemed more tense than usual, and the countless ornamented wolf heads felt like they were staring through your soul, piercing everything within. You had chalked the feeling up to homesickness, nothing more. Yet, your gut was sounding an alarm.

It is nothing but missing home.

You exchanged goodnights with your grandmother and secluded yourself in your room. The gentle monotony of your night routine lulled your nerves just a bit. You were down to your nightclothes - a thin white shift with silver vine embroidery - when your gaze locked with the small window. Night had come and you could see the full moon rising in the distance. Clouds obscured the moon, but its white light still illuminated Winterfell.

A pounding sensation began to hit the back of your head. You lay down in your bed hoping that some rest would wash it away. Over the period of a few hours, your body tossed and turned as you fell in and out of sleep. You had left your window open just a hair to let in the winter cold, but your body felt like it had been set alight.

It was in that forever torment of heat and restlessness that a shrill shriek cut through the crisp night air; a sounding cry bellowed from the depths of a chest and torn through the vocal cords. Wolf calls echoed the sound and bounced off the walls of buildings until they bounced throughout your skull. When the vibrations hit your ears, the pounding in your head eased.

Another shriek rang out.

_____________

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daechwitatamic · 9 months

Text

The Price || MYG

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A good week,” she observes.

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

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

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

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

“You have need of nothing?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were investments, you and your brother.

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

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

It was an easy deal to agree to.

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not extra,” he mutters.

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

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

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

You know that look. You are ignoring that look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The seasons turned. The hurts faded.

And you began to pay mind to Min Yoongi.

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

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

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

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

You learned that he fucked rough but loved soft.

And that was where it had to stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The royal physician’s face says it all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not like him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He will say nothing else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless.

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

She raises her chin and chants,

“Mirror, mirror, look and see…

Who could take this throne from me?

Mirror, mirror, who’s the threat?

Show me which boy’s blood to let.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It can’t be good. You’re sure of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know it. She knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not when you follow orders.

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your forest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you know that’s a lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could probably reach it now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods slowly, expression clearing with understanding.

You feel no absolution for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I -”

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

“Fucking go!” you bark.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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coralcatsea · 5 months

Text

Canon Universe Compilation:

-Nationverse

-Magical Strike

-Another Colour/2ptalia

-Wondertalia

-Fairy Tales

-Circustalia

-Kiddyland

-Gangsta/Gangstalia/Gangstars

-Cardverse

-Hetalia Fantasia

-Tsunotalia

-Gakuen

-Hotelia

-Nekotalia

-Nyotalia

-Nanja Town/Cat Boy

-Sweetalia

-Mochitalia

Note: By "canon" I simply mean something that has shown up in official art. Also, I'm using "universe" somewhat loosely here.

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sweetimpurity · 1 month

Text

Robin Hood: A quest for love and freedom

A Miguel O'hara Fairytale Chapter 1

Ever since the war started, the kingdom is in ruin and the King is far away. With no-one to protect them from the evil Sheriff taking over the throne. Who will save them? Will he be able to do it and preserve his love with the girl he's been dreaming about for a decade?

w.c. 5k masterlist

“It’s that Hood!” “Don’t let the Bastard get away!” The guards shout, chasing him through the castle halls and corridors. All this for a small sack of gold coin. A small sum that could change a poor village family’s life around. He’s been doing this for months. Since he got back from the war, the crusade. The seemingly endless trek with the promise of fortune only to be confronted with the stunning reality that the grail might not even be real in the first place. His loyalty to his king and country blinding him to harrowing truth.

But he’s back now. Back in Nottingham. With a new mission, a new war. A determination to change the times. To steal from the rich and give to the poor!!

“Agh!” He grunts, climbing up into a castle window, overlooking the castle grounds, the ground far below coming into dizzying focus, his eyes on the towers across the way. It's a longshot but he’s made further jumps before in higher stakes than this. He can make the jump if he just- just-

“Stop him!!” A guard yells and they ascend on him like hounds running down the corridor from both ends. Their boots stomping and metal clanging. Armor and swords and a furious desperation to finally get their hands on him. Without a chance to think it through any further, he’s leaping across the open space, everything almost slowed, his long legs extending as if to push him further. To get him there. Guards watching in awe and horror as he makes it across. Like a flash of dark green, a shadow in the night, his silhouette whispering over the cobblestone in the moonlight. The top of the castle wall catching under his arms. He holds on with a grunt of pain at the stress on his muscles, grabbing onto the other side with all his might. His boots sliding over the stone and shoulders aching from the strain. Hanging onto the ledge of the opposing wall and pulling himself up. “You won’t get away so easily Robin!” One of them shouts through the window, watching him climb over the castle wall. He only chuckles, glancing back over his shoulder while still keeping his face concealed in shadow under his hat. No one’s seen his face, they only know the name. Robin Hood. If that’s even his real name at all.

Then he’s gone. From what they can tell. Gone into the night of Sherwood forest most likely. “Send the dogs out! I want him caught tonight! Have them search the grounds!” The Captain shouts in anger. The guards rushing around, metal clanging and boots thumping on the stone floors. A mess of incoordination and desperation. And yet no Hood to present his ‘majesty’. The guards disperse, with the determination to find Robin in the edges of the forest. Even in the dark of night, they won’t give up, they know what happens if they don’t find the infamous outlaw soon.

…

“That could’ve been bad…” Miguel mumbles softly to himself, his usual sarcastic manner coming out even in the aftermath of trouble. Still hanging onto the edge of the wall. Staying up in the darkness where the light from their torches below doesn’t even reach the soles of his boots. He looks down, watching the hounds scouring the grass and the tree line. Countless guards fanning the area. Miguel shakes his head at their stupidity, their utter foolishness. Just waiting until the guards think he’s gone into the forest. Pulling himself up, looking over the edge of the wall and seeing it’s clear. Hoisting himself back over, he balances on the edge of the castle wall. His nimbleness and flexibility allowed him to walk across the stone like a tightrope. He walks carefully to the end, where the wall connects to the next tower over, stabilizing himself with his hands. Grabbing an arrow from his quiver and jabbing it into a crack in the stonework. Making sure it’s stable before pushing himself up and using it as a step to the windowsill. Holding onto the stone that outlines the opening in the wall. He pops his head in, looking both ways.

If he can just get to the top of the east tower then he’ll have a clear shot to climb down to the forest and hopefully avoid all that mess down there. He’ll spend less time on the castle green where the hounds might be searching and guards lurking. And the castle seems much less crowded with all the guards looking for him outside. He stealthily climbs stairs and walks down hallways, admiring the portraits on the walls, the treasures lining the place, so lavish, so rich.

He walks to the end of a corridor, catching a portrait of King Richard on the wall. The rightful King. Not that greedy Sheriff who thinks he’s royalty. The Sheriff who’s raising taxes every chance he gets and bleeding this kingdom dry. He looks down at the sack of gold pieces in his hand. It’s the first time he’s managed to steal directly from the castle. He’s been stealing from that blasted old Sheriff for months. Taking from his wagons as they travel through the woods, distracting his men and trapping them in the forest, taking the gold and riches that were stolen with the intent of giving it back to the victim it was taken from. The King would never let his kingdom go to ruin. But the King isn’t here. If he were, these people wouldn’t be starving and dying in the village. He’s seen children, the elderly, pregnant desperate women needing food, needing clothes. Many of their husbands, fathers, and brothers died in the war. He’s one of the lucky ones that managed to come back home. Many never made it back. But he’s come back to this. A dying kingdom, a greedy bastard thinking he can take the throne just because it’s empty. His actions have earned him the title of wanted criminal. A bounty on his head and a poster with his alias on it.

There’s noise at the other end of the hallway. Without a second thought, he’s gone. Flipping up the dark hood of his phthalo cloak, turning the corner, he’s out of view. And he’s got to get out of here while he still can. Moving faster now. Not wanting to spend a minute longer in this trap. He climbs some stairs to a new hallway and finds a door. Feeling the breeze of air through the crack with his fingers, knowing there must be an open window or something inside. He quietly sneaks his way through and finds open doors on the other side of the room, open to a balcony. Drapes billowing in the breeze. The forest thereafter. A clean escape.

He doesn’t even look around the bedroom he's passing through as he rushes through to the balcony doors. Pushing them open more and the night air hits his face. The smell of the forest, so familiar, and not those perfumes and oils that castle is pumped full of. He marches across the balcony and to the edge, hoping he’ll get down and back to camp in one piece. He happens to glance back and he-

“Miguel…?”

Across the balcony.

Time seems to stop as he sees you. Hears you. Is his heart that hopeful? Is his mind so tortured by your memory that it would taunt him with visions? Are his senses so depleted of your presence that his ears make up the song of your voice? But there you stand, the light of the moon glowing through the fabric of your nightgown, through the abundance of your hair. Across your cheek. Is this a memory? Is this a cruel joke? He’s dreamt of nothing but you and now here you are at last.

But you’re different now. You’re not the little girl he remembers. When he too was a young boy. Two kids together. No. You’re grown. You’re all grown up and stunningly beautiful. The kind of beauty that would bring a mourning dove to song if only for your ears to enjoy. The kind of beauty that brings angels to sweet sugary tears.

He takes a tentative step forward, as if you make sure you’re not a puff of smoke, a figment of his desperate imagination. But you start walking closer too. One step, then another, two more and you’ve crossed the distance into his arms. He’s stunned, shocked by the warmth of your embrace. He’s thought of only you for a decade. “Hah…” He sighs in relief, melting into your arms. Could this really be happening?

“You’re alive…” Your voice is a heavy hushing whisper next to his ear.

“You’re beautiful…” He whispers into your shoulder, his lips pressing to the bare skin there. His dark eyes watching his fingertips graze over your skin. So soft, so warm, so here and real; holding you like a most precious perfect specimen. Like pure beauty blown in glass.

He pulls back to look in your eyes. Only now does he really believe this is real. That he’s seeing you again after all this time. His arms around you, fingers coming to caress your cheek and he just can’t help himself. He’s dreamt of this for so long, too long. His lips meet yours. Crashing into you with the need of a man deprived. A man starved and thirsty. A kiss that would erupt over many kingdoms and countries, it would shake the ground with its passion, its connection, its need, desperation. A kiss that would be felt around the Earth five times over. His arms slide down your back, pulling you in more, only slightly off the ground with your toes just touching the floor, his eager tongue delving into your soft perfect mouth. Is he even worthy of tasting such precious perfection? Yet you taste so sweet, sweeter than any of the times he dreamt of you. He swallows down your gasps, your hitched needy breaths, feeling your delicate fingers digging into his back; soothing you, holding you. He’ll never let you go again.

“I want him dead!” The Sheriff shouts from his throne. Well it’s not actually his but he’s sitting in it. His death black robes clinging to his calves, a pout on his face, gems decorating his fingers cast in gold. Gold and jewels that don’t belong to him. “I want his head and I want it warm!”

“I know sir, we’ll get the Hood next time for you, sir, we just need a bit more time.” The guard Captain bows his head in fear and reverence. “-I’ve given you enough time. He dares to defy me- steal from me and you do what? Nothing!” He growls, pacing across the throne room floor. “I have enough to do as it is, I don’t need some… some ghost stealing what’s rightfully mine! And making a damn fool of me!!” He frowns almost like a child. His robes hitting his feet as he huffs, sitting back down in his throne. Crossing his arms and pouting. “And the bastard won’t even show his face! Some phantom determined to ruin my plans!” He knocks a pitcher of wine off the table next to him. The crimson liquid pooling on the stone floor, like spilled blood swirling and dribbling down the uneven cobblestone.

“Don’t force me to make an example out of you. Captain.” He drawls, pointing his finger at the man, an evil glint in his eye. The Captain gulps, feeling an uneasy sense of dread. “I have no issue with public execution. Unlike our good old King.” He glares at the stained glass decorating the throne room. The red and purple hues, oranges and yellows glowing in the moonlight. Greens, blues, teals, cascading on the floor like water in the stream. An image depicting King Richard, who is at this moment halfway across the continent still on a hunt for the evading holy grail as the war rages on, shown with his family. His siblings, his parents, his cousins. You. His last living cousin. The Sheriff’s only option. An evil one at that.

The Sheriff bellows, grabbing his gauntlet of wine and throwing it at the stained glass window. Glass shards shattering and clinking on the cobblestone. Echoing off the walls, ringing loud against everyone’s eardrums. Breaking the glass to bits, blowing a big hole in the image. The guards in the room gasp and the Captain takes cover from the falling glass overhead. Purified moonlight streams in through the shatter, lighting the Sheriff's face in an evil white light.

“JUST GET ME THAT ROBIN HOOD AND GET HIM NOW!!!”

“Th-this… you-” You stutter and sigh, unable to believe what you’re seeing. What you’re feeling. The last time you saw him he was 15. You were 14 and tearfully saying goodbye as you were sent away for schooling across the continent. You wanted to stay. You wanted to marry him. As a teenager you knew. Even as a little girl you knew in your heart. From running in the blackberry fields to swimming in the nearby streams, spending everyday with each other growing up, even if you're parents may have disapproved of you spending so much time with a peasant boy, as a lady of royal blood. To be separated from him was like ripping the sun of its warmth. By the time you returned at 18 he had already gone off to the war. He was expected to be a man. Fight for King and country. You were the King’s cousin and expected to be a lady, go to church, continue the royal bloodline. But you’d both taken pieces of each other’s hearts. Your heart was broken those long 10 years ago. “I know…” He whispers, keeping his hands on your shoulders, your cheeks. Any place he can keep touching you. Feeling you.

“I thought you were dead” You practically sob and his heart snaps at the sound of your voice. The look in your eyes. “I-I thought… I mourned you” You could cry. You’re nearly crying already. “I know- I know, I’m sorry…” He whispers, fearing anything louder than a hush would rupture your aching heart, wanting to explain, it wasn’t his intention to keep his return a secret. And he wanted to find you but wasn’t sure you’d still be here. That you’d remember him like he remembers you.

“I’ve been back just a few months now… I’m back, I'm here now…” He whispers, trying to soothe your broken heart. “This… is what you’ve been doing? Robin Hood…” You cry, tears brimming and threatening to spill over. He’s been back and you’ve thought him dead for years. Mostly everyone died in the war. Or was taken prisoner. You take a look at what he’s wearing, the quiver on his back. He’s the outlaw that everyone has been talking about. The criminal the Sheriff is hellbent on putting down. “I-I had to… the kingdom. It’s in ruin, my love… it’s all ruined, people are dying and it’s all his fault…” He explains, wiping your tears away with his thumb, looking right in your eyes, his words like a prophecy. “I can’t just stand by and watch. And once the Sheriff caught onto me I… I had to disappear. That’s when the alias arose…” He whispers, watching your face contort in emotion at his explanation. He wishes things could be different.

“It’s been so long…” You whimper, leaning into his hand on your cheek. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

“I wanted to, my love, mi amor, but I... didn’t know you’d be here, I thought you’d be… far from this place.” He whispers. He thought you’d be gone and married by now. With children and a husband for him to envy. Your children should be his children, your husband, he should be.

“I thought you’d forgotten me” He admits, an urgency in his voice, met with the despair and heartbreak written all over your beautiful features. “I’d never have forgotten you!” You cry, more of a protest than anything, shaking your head as if to refuse reality. “I’ve thought of only you in your absence…” You confess, taking his breath away.

“The Sheriff he- he’s after the throne, he’s taking over the castle.”

“I know… I know.” He nods, trying earnestly to understand your desperate ramblings. “But the King-”

“My cousin is too far… too unreachable…” You sigh, speaking through the tears. “The Sheriff has too much power already. The guards listen to everything he says. I even think the priest is on his side.”

He listens to you explain. All that’s gone on. All you’ve been through.

“I’ve been locking myself away in here. Only leaving when I must. He’s kept some distance and my ladies in waiting have been keeping me safe for some time but… I fear he’ll get too comfortable. He thinks he’s King already.”

“Oh, my love…” Miguel wraps you up in his arms, holding you close and listening to every word, wanting to wipe away every tear, take away every ounce of pain. To think the Sheriff’s has been practically keeping you prisoner in your own home, weaponizing your fear. It makes his blood boil with anger and hatred. His heart hammer with the need to protect you, defend you from this abuse. That must be why he hasn’t heard one peep about you. He’d have known you were in Nottingham. If he’d known sooner, he would have come. “It’s okay now… I’ll help you, we’ll do whatever necessary.” He whispers into your hair, his arms wrapping you up in such a safe and secure embrace.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you…” He whispers, his hand running up your back and gently holding the back of your neck. Your body seems to mold to his like soft fine clay, his fingers brushing against your warm skin, arms wrapping around your body. It’s amazing for him to see you this way. A woman. All grown up now.

“You’re so tall…” You smile and pull back to take a look at him, a sight that takes his breath away once more. He looks down at you, smiling himself. “You’ve grown more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.”

Your heart soars at his words. To know that he’s remembered the pure, innocent, yet true love you shared as kids, then teenagers, only to be ripped apart. To have found one another again and feel the same way. Only love true as this could last.

You pull back a bit to look up at him. He’s grown. He’s a man now. Not the boy you once loved, but a man. He’s still got that boyish smile, a lopsided one with those soft brown eyes, so familiar. As if the sight is ingrained into your very heart. It’s almost as if no time has passed at all. You still feel just as comfortable, just as familiar. He feels like home.

His shoulders have broadened, his jaw, chin and nose sharp and handsome. His arms feel thick and strong around your back, his chest feels firm under your hands. His hair curling up slightly by his ears, just like it was when he was 15.

“Oh, won’t you stay? I don’t… I don’t want to be apart from you…” You whisper, leaning into him again, looking up into those eyes. The eyes that have you fawning all over again. “I don’t want to be apart from you either, love. I don’t think my heart could withstand it.” He says.

Your hands slip into his, fingers intertwining, like your souls lacing back up. Like the stars aligning in the sky, everything in their rightful place once again. “I can’t bear your heart being far from mine…” He whispers, his nose brushing up against yours, the night breeze rustling through the trees off the balcony and through your hair.

He kisses you once more. The little girl inside of you squealing with glee. This is the boy you fell in love with and he’s alive. He’s back after all this time.

…

“...so I escaped and somehow made my way back home…” He finishes explaining. The two sitting on the balcony floor, side by side on the stone, under the moonlight. Discussing his time in the war, then as a prisoner and his efforts to return in one piece. Going over all that's happened since you've seen each other last. “How did you ever bear it? I can’t imagine how hard that must have been…”

“We lost many good men… A few of them managed to come back with me. The battle was hard but dreaming of you was much more difficult to bear. I always wanted to return. I always knew I needed to be with you.” He says, making you smile, his fingertips gently stroking the back of your hand. “Then I saw what the Sheriff was doing in the King’s absence and I couldn’t just stand by. I knew the villagers would have no one to protect them with half the army and the King still away searching for that damned grail.”

“I begged my cousin not to leave. I told him the kingdom would be in ruin. That we needed him more than ever. But he thought the grail would be the answer to our prayers.” He listens to you explain, his eyes scanning over your pretty face. A small smile on his lips as he admires your features. A feeling of nostalgia deep in his heart. His fingers coming up to brush some hair behind your ear. “He thought it would end the war, it would end disease and illness, and it would bring back peace. But all this has brought is pain and suffering.” You say, thinking back on the past year. When your cousin left to find the grail and hopefully end the war. Then the Sheriff got too comfortable in the empty role.

“The Sheriff thinks he can be King. I don’t know how he’ll do it but he’ll find a way.” You sigh. Miguel’s expression hardens. Knowing they have to be careful. If the Sheriff is going around Nottingham with some twisted plan, he won’t just stop if asked nicely. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.” He nods, squeezing your hand gently.

It’s quiet for a moment. The breeze in the sway of the trees. The sounds of the night in the forest. It’s like the first moment of peace for both of you in years. Holding each other. Sitting beside each other once more. “So… Robin Hood? What’s the meaning behind that name?” You smile, leaning in closer.

“Oh…well…” He chuckles, smiling bashfully. “I must say it is an impressive hood.” You tease, reaching over his shoulders and lifting the dark green material over his head. Watching the shadow cascade over his smiling face. “Thank you…” He grins, his hands coming to your wrists as you hold onto the edges of his cowl. “And I suppose you are robbing… Robin.” You figure out. Pulling back the hood just a bit so you can see his eyes, the way they sparkle in the moonlight. “Robin Hood.” You whisper, his thumbs caressing the inside of your palms, his eyes completely captivated by your beautiful face and your smile. This still feels like a dream. Like he’ll wake up any minute and be back on the battlefield thousands of miles away.

“I am in love with you…” He sighs, a half hum, leaning forward slightly with that same boyish grin on his face. Watching your face as you giggle and blush at his sudden confession. Although you already knew it to be true. “You are?” You tease, pulling on his hood just slightly to bring him closer. “Yes… hopelessly… helplessly.” He whispers.

His nose brushes yours, lips ghosting just across yours too, so soft and gentle. “Wonderfully… desperately…” He whispers against your lips, turning his head and tilting it, as if to find the perfect angle to kiss your perfect lips. Your eyes flutter closed, feeling so calm and peaceful, allowing his lips to find yours at the exact right moment, not a second later or before. His lips pressing to yours with the smallest amount of pressure, a whisper of a kiss. That sends a chill down your arms and your back, a flush to your cheeks, heat through your body. From then on, he kisses the corner of your lips, then your cheek, moving down to your jaw. It’s the first time you’ve ever been kissed in such a way. His head tilting slowly into your neck and leaving chaste kisses below your ear. The night breeze blowing past your cheek, feeling so weakened by his touch, desperate for more. For all of him.

One of his hands comes to the other side of your face, cradling your cheek and tilting your chin back with his nose, pressing kisses up the column of your throat. The girl of his dreams, in his arms again.

“Maid y/n…” A voice calls from inside the room, beyond the curtains that billow in the breeze, the only cover the two of you have. Miguel instantly draws back from your neck, his fingers gently wrapping around the back of your neck protectively, his eyes trained on the curtains, the candlelight behind them. “Are you alright? You’re not in bed…” It’s one of your ladies. Someone you trust but not enough to see Miguel here. For someone to find out the Hood's true identity. “Yes, I’m fine. Just fine, thank you… just breathing in some fresh air…” You say before she can come out onto the balcony to check. You both watch the light flickering inside. The flame from the candle she’s holding. Hoping by God’s will she won’t venture onto the balcony to check. After a moment, the light flickers and disappears as the woman leaves your room. His arms relaxing from their tense and coiled position. He looks back at you.

“Won’t you come with me? I have a safe place… in the forest. Completely safe for you… for us…” He whispers, knowing he’s risking everything to stay here longer. His fingers caress the side of your face with pure love and affection. He wants to keep that promise to himself and to you. That he won’t allow you into danger if he can help it. He’ll protect you from harm. He’ll get you out of here. He’ll marry you. You’ll run away, find a safe place far from here. He’ll fill you up with so much love and care, you’ll both be bursting with true love and children. Symbols of your everlasting love. This is his promise to you.

“I don’t think it's wise. If I go, the Sheriff will notice and we’ll lose what little control we still have. I don’t want to leave the people with him. They deserve more.” You explain and he nods, fully understanding and admiring your nurturing soul and courage to do the right thing even if it proves difficult or painful. Your loyalty to the kingdom and her citizens matches his own. “But I will come to you tomorrow night… I promise.” He whispers, nodding in sincerity. Cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll be here…” You smile, heart overflowing. You both rise off the floor.

“Stay safe, my love…” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then a slow soft peck on your lips. His arms wrap around your waist, slowly walking backwards towards the edge of the balcony with you in his arms. “Just a little while longer and everything will be right again.” He wants nothing more than to take you away from this place. Sleep with you in his arms, finally make love to you for the very first time after years of desperation. But soon everything will be right once more. He has to keep believing that.

“Stay safe yourself… please.” You whisper, feeling him let go and sit on the edge of the balcony, getting ready to climb down and return to the forest. He turns around, expertly finding his footing and starting to climb down the edge of the balcony. His hands and feet lodged in the stones, ready to climb down. But his heart doesn’t want to leave yet. “Sweet dreams, my love… mi amor…” He whispers with a smile. You lean down to kiss him. The big, golden, low hanging moon shining right through the space between your lips until it’s smothered out by their union. Each kiss you share feels as if it could shake the ground, level this corrupted castle in an instant. You don’t want to but you pull back, smiling down at him and seeing that lopsided grin once more. He’s a dream come true in every sense of the saying.

“I love you…” You hum, watching him start to climb down. “I love you too…” He says, getting a bit further down but still looking up at you, watching your figure back lit by the light of the moon. “I love you unconditionally…” You say, teasing him lovingly. “I love you endlessly…” He says, climbing further down the tower wall and playing into your little competition.

“I love you breathlessly…”

“I love you absolutely…”

“I love you infinitely…”

“I love you perpetually…”

“I love you forever…” You say and see him finally reach the ground. Watching him step back across the grass below. He can only just barely hear your voice now but he caught every word. “I love you forever.” He echos, looking up at you. Pretty, perfect you all the way up in that tower. He walks backwards towards the tree line, keeping his eyes on you the whole way, blowing you a kiss before he disappears into the shadows of Sherwood forest. Only love true as this could last.

to be continued...

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