#yandere rumpelstiltskin

[wpdarlingpan]

Could we get something with Yandere ouat Peter? Preferably gender-neutral or nb reader.

An idea I had is maybe Hook has a kid, so the character would have grown up in Neverland. I think maybe a platonic Yandere Peter would be v interesting, where he maybe tries to interact with reader as a ‘cool older brother’ sort of figure, despite the fact that reader very much knows exactly who he is and that he’s dangerous. Romantic would be fine too though!

Thank you so much for the request! I apologize it took so long and I have not written in a while so I hope it's okay!

I loved this idea so I had to see how it'll play out. I did the platonic version and although I did use Y/N and made them gender-neutral, I wrote they were 17 for the story's sake. I often have Peter refer to them as a child because in his mind he feels the need to take care of and protect them.

I am considering a part two if people like this idea enough, maybe taking place when the Storybrooke residents arrive.

Warning: Yandere Behavior

Word Count: 2886

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The Love Of A Brother

-----------------

The day Killian Jones, otherwise known by his more colorful moniker Hook, came to Neverland was a day he would never forget.

He had many men aboard, each desiring to never grow old until they wished. They all had been warned about the dangers that lurk within the water and upon the soil of Neverland but the idea of dying from old age was a more terrifying feat to them.

However, one person had little choice in the matter, as they were still somewhat forced to come to Neverland.

Captain Hook's kid, Y/N.

After the day Mila died it was up to him to become a single parent. Overall he was rather good at it. Always telling stories so that they would be able to sleep at night or sitting by their bedside when they had gotten a cold. But, no matter how much love they held for each other, Killian could not stop going after the man who killed his wife and the mother of his child.

Y/N was 17 the day they had arrived in Neverland and would remain so until the day they left.

This was not a decision Hook made lightly. Bringing the person he cared for more than anyone into the hellish landscape wasn't something he'd wish on his worst enemy (other than Rumpelstiltskin) but the idea of leaving them with no idea when he would return hurt even more.

So he created the rules.

Do not leave the boat without permission.

Do not ever interact with Peter Pan or his shadow.

Avoid the Lost Boys.

"Who is Peter Pan?" They asked their father as the Jolly Roger settled after coming through the portal to Neverland.

"A bloody demon." He responded looking at the dark island as it neared.

Hook began telling the stories that he knew. Even sharing how he had met Peter Pan in the first place. Albeit leaving out what happened to his brother as he blamed himself as well as Pan for the tragedy.

Pan knew he was arriving on the island. Hook riskily contacted him through his shadow to come to a truce before being allowed to arrive on the island.

But there was a little thing Hook had forgotten to mention.

His child.

He had hoped that if none of the inhabitants of the island knew their relation, with Peter assuming they were deckhands or something, they wouldn't be targeted if Peter got bored or wanted to play a game.

But the resemblance was noticeable from the first meeting.

-----------------

As the boat docked onto shore to make an initial supply run, Hook kept Y/N close. Half of the crew, including the two of them, walked carefully through the jungle, avoiding every thorn they came across.

But the real danger was just up ahead. After all, Peter Pan wouldn't be a polite host if he didn't welcome his guests.

The second the pirates entered a clearing they were surrounded by the sound of rustles as the leaves moved around the edge of the clearing and a figure appeared about 20 feet ahead on the other end.

Hook froze, he knew he should have expected him to show himself this early, but a part of him had hoped he wouldn't, not yet at least.

Y/N held onto their bow and arrows tightly as they observed the boy up ahead who looked just a little older than them. Judging by the way he held the spotlight, they had to assume this was Peter Pan.

"Look what we have here, I didn't expect to see you on the island this quickly. I mean after what had happened last time you were here, the idea of returning so willingly was unexpected, Captain." Peter spoke as he neared the group, the Lost Boys forming a circle around them to prevent anyone from running.

Peter inspected the group as they each held some form of weapon. Be it a dagger, sword, or even one with a bow and arrow.

He neared the one with the bow and arrow, the idea of figuring out what else made them so different lingered in his mind. Peter stood closely in front of them, studying their appearance and the subtle yet noticeable looks towards the direction of Hook.

This is when something had clicked.

His brain was no longer assessing the group as a whole or messing with the Captain. His thoughts were reserved for only them. The way they were trying to hide their shaking hands and the way they held onto the bow tighter the closer he got. The shine of their eyes as they looked at him almost like a frightened deer.

He could recognize a scared child anywhere and this time he didn't want it to be his fault. It was like an instinct of protection filled his black heart. Their fearful yet innocent gaze was embedded into his soul. Someone like this simply couldn't live with harsh pirates.

He reached a hand out towards them but Hook stepped in the way. His gaze was harsh yet Peter could easily detect the fear hidden in them. For himself or the child, he wasn't sure.

Peter smirked at Captain Hook as he realized why they had looked so familiar now seeing the similarities in their features and hair color. He had been to distracted by the odd feeling of protection and familiarity to even acknowledge the finding.

"You have a child? My you got busy after leaving last time." He teased as he glanced around the man to see them standing there, their gaze locked onto the ground.

"Stay away from them or so help me you will have wished-" Hook began to say before Peter cut him off.

"You'll do what? Let me remind you, you're here because I allow it. You eat the island's food only because I allow it. You only live because I have use for you yet." He threatened motioning his hand for the Lost Boys to run away.

Y/N took a sigh of relief as the group dispersed but their worry would still remain until Peter was out of their sight. The ideas of the horrors they were told, all of which could happen to them just by being in his presence, filled their anxious mind.

Peter stared at Hook seriously before sending a look and a playful wink toward Y/N, hoping to make them less afraid.

"I'll see you soon." He commented staring directly into their eyes before disappearing.

—————————

Apparently soon meant a few days.

It first began when Y/N was laying on deck, watching the stars when someone appeared next to them and laid down on the spare part of the blanket.

“The stars are beautiful aren’t they?” He spoke as if lying on the ground next to them wasn’t an unusual occurrence.

Y/N was silent, trying to hide the fact they were afraid. The unknowing was terrible, the idea that their father was fast asleep, probably passed out from exhaustion at that, was nerve-wracking as they could not call for help.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me.” Pan said genuinely, staring at the side of their face as he admired their courage to hide their fear.

“Why wouldn’t I be? You have a reputation you know. I’m sure you could get rid of me in a heartbeat.” Y/N was nervous now, it audibly showed through the small stutter that sounded in their sentence.

“That doesn’t mean I want to… Do you know why I’ve brought all these boys to the island?”

“Because they’re lost?”

“Because no one deserves to feel alone.”

Peter Pan believed that because Y/N was an only child who spent their whole life traveling the seas, that they had to be lonely. They are constantly moving and never staying in one place, let alone with people their age.

Then their father, he’s a pirate with a drinking problem who is so obsessed with revenge that even though he is protective and loves his child, Peter couldn’t tell you which the man valued more.

Revenge or love?

If Peter were to take her right now, he could be their older brother. Someone who takes care of their little sibling in the face of everything like heartbreak, anxiety, everything that would make them feel anything other than happiness.

Y/N would be his sibling. He’d be their only brother.

Being an older brother to Y/N sounded perfect to him.

—————————

Their next encounter was when they had been sitting on the edge of the beach as the Jolly Roger was anchored nearby.

Y/N's father had allowed them to hang out along the shore alone.

The captain and crewmates were planning on staying on the edge of the jungle that was Neverland. He had figured they would be okay for a couple hours and that he could hear if they needed anything.

He knew the dangers that posed leaving them there alone but he thought they would be cornered again the second they entered the tree line so there really wasn’t anywhere ‘safe’ at the moment.

That’s how he rationalized it at least.

But when Peter saw them sitting alone on the shore, the mermaids moving closer by the second, he saw Hook as irresponsible and unfit to care for Y/N.

He quickly approached them, the sight of him causing the mermaids to swim away quickly, realizing that was not someone they wanted to lure in.

“Y/N.” Peter said as he approached, sitting in the sand next to them.

“What are you doing?” They spoke questioningly “I thought you would be bothering my father and his crew.”

“Is that what he counted on. Me leaving you alone as they frolicked or whatever they are doing in the jungle? Is that why he left you here defenseless?” He replied getting more confident that Killian wasn’t fit to take care of Y/N.

“I don’t like what you’re accusing him of.” Y/N replied, glaring at Pan in front of them but if anything it was adorable.

He raised his hands jokingly as if he actually felt threatened by them.

“I’m just saying, he knows the dangers of this island. If it’s not me, it’s the lost boys, then the Dreamshade, and as you almost realized, the mermaids.” Peter counted off making Y/N realize what the subtle splashing noise they heard was. “He shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“I’m 17. I can take care of myself for a few hours.” They argued, much like if they were telling their older sibling they didn’t need to be babysat.

“Sure you can. But you don’t need to when I’m here.”

———————-

From then on he would appear randomly whenever he knew Y/N was alone.

When they weren’t, he was silently protecting them from the shadows.

If we’re sketching in their room? He’d sit next to them silently, allowing them to focus. Meanwhile he was busy admiring their skills even if it was a simple picture of the sky.

They volunteered to go look for some more supplies on the island?

They mysteriously got separated from the group for a few hours.

He took them saying ‘I can take care of myself for a few hours’ rather literally. In those few hours, they got an entire tour of the main points of the island.

Even the camp.

Peter had them sit on his designated chair, introducing Y/N as their little sibling. Each of the boys came up to them and introducing themselves enthusiastically as the proposed all the fun games they could play if they were to stay.

Even when Y/N emphasized greatly that they couldn’t.

Each and every time.

When their birthday came around Peter gifted them a necklace, his initials were on the inside, to protect them from anyone who finds their way to the island.

Although he made sure to use his magic to conceal the necklace from the eyes of Hook.

Not that he cared about what the man thought, after all nothing would keep him from his little sibling.

Nothing.

-----------

The day Peter had been preparing for came sooner than expected.

Hook had discovered a way to kill the dark one and his need for the island was gone. Meaning it was time to return back to the enchanted forest.

The crew had begun preparing to return back to the forest. Packing up their supplies and strapping down anything they had on deck to prepare for traveling through the portal.

Y/N was packing up anything loose in their room. They had mostly finished other than having to pack the rest of their art supplies.

“So you were just going to leave and not tell your older brother? I'm offended” Peter spoke appearing in their room and sitting on their bed.

In their deal, he had allowed Hook to leave once he had found a way to accomplish his goal.

That was before he had met Y/N.

“I was never going to say in Neverland. I was always going to leave. I don’t know what you were expecting.” Y/N spoke harshly trying to push him away.

They had to admit, after all this time spent with Peter, that it was hard to view him as some irredeemable demon. He comforted them when they had nightmares of their mother’s death, protected them from the mermaids, did their favorite activities with them (even if he was not really invited), and seemed to love them.

Peter knew they were just trying to protect themself from the pain of leaving so they lashed out. He could tell they were saddened at the thought of leaving him. This made him feel warm inside.

Y/N assumed they’d be fine once leaving Neverland, they would have to forget about Peter Pan and their life would go back to normal, well as normal as it gets.

Suddenly they heard approaching footsteps.

“Y/N? Are you ready to go? We are about to enter the portal now.” Killian called through the closed door, his eagerness to leave the island covering the fact that there was a muffled sound as he spoke. Hook was ecstatic, his time for revenge had come. His head was in the clouds as he ran over his plan over and over again. Causing him to not even think to just poke his head in to check on his child, just of the idea that the portal was closing any minute

The muffled noise was Peter whispering that he would not let Hook leave if they said anything other than that they were ready.

Y/N knew if they weren’t allowed to leave, their father would be devastated.

“Yes father, I’m ready!” They called back and the two listened as the man’s footsteps grew farther and farther away.

“You can’t leave Y/N. You’re my little sibling, I have to take care of you.” He spoke manipulatively the second Hook was out of distance.

“I have to. If it’s up to me, I’ll never leave my father. He raised me, he loves me! He will take care of me better than you ever can.” Y/N retorted, frustrated at the situation. Why wouldn't Peter just go away? They knew they cared for him, even just a little bit. But their father was very important to them. Even if he had been a little distracted while searching for revenge, they didn't feel his love any less.

A loving father or a over protective, self-proclaimed brother.

They knew which had meant more. They had made their choice, one they couldn't vocalize as Peter softly blew poppy dust into their face, causing them to pass out instantly.

“Then it isn’t up to you.” as he spoke “This is for your own good. I love you Y/N and I know you love me. You are better off at my side.”

He picked them up bridal style as he and Y/N disappeared off the boat and reappeared in the camp. All of their stuff appears on the ground off to the side of them.

"Welcome to your new home, Y/N"

-------------

Hook had gone to Y/N’s cabin to check on them, the portal closing behind him as they could see the Enchanted Forest off in the distance.

He was eager to see his child, wanting to celebrate the idea of finally being able to avenge his wife and their mother. Hook knocked and didn’t hear an answer assuming they had been disoriented or hurt by the portal, he opened the door quickly.

But, he was met with an empty room and no Y/N.

He looked around for any signs frantically before he spotted a letter on the bed.

Hook,

You were always too focused on the idea of revenge that you neglected what was in front of you. You never deserved Y/N and you never will. Each time you left them alone, I was there. I comforted them, I protected them, and I loved them. Each thing is something you couldn't do while you searched for something you did not even know existed. Y/N will be better off without you.

I always wondered if you'd choose revenge over love.

I guess I have my answer.

Their brother,

Peter Pan

[after-witch]

sideways, between the particles

I really really want to work "sideways, between the particles" into a fic some time.

If you know, you know.

If you don't know, read it--

(Now that I think about it, this was a book I got at the last time I went to a Scholastic book fair. They stopped doing them after middle school. Tragic!)

I kind of imagine this particular Rumpelstiltskin being a non-yandere version of one of my seasonal spirits, tbh, maybe summer or spring as they are more spritely and kind. (In their way.) Probably more like summer, spring is a little too young, a little too nonchalantly callous.

[theyanderespecialist]

Rumple's Swan 1 (Scenario) Rumpelstiltskin X Emma Swan Reader (Once Upon A Time) (Yandere)

[Hello My Sexy Readers, I am here with a Request off of wattpad by Dayakeller27 I hope that you enjoy this chapter here! I made his base headcanons before this but I may have them posted at a different time. Enjoy!]

(Rumpelstiltskin) (The One He's Been Waiting For)

(Rumpelstiltskin's POV)

I knew who (Name) was before she was even born. She was everything I cared for as she would be my ticket to get what I want. But right now, in looking at her. I cannot help but stare. I had waited so long to use her. But in seeing her now I think I have fallen for her. My heart is racing my palms are a bit sweaty. I felt like a young man in love for the first time. She looked at me and got the key to her room. I knew I had to have her no matter the cost.

Looks like my plans are changing slightly.

As time went on I got to know everything I could about her. I knew she was a woman who worked hard and did not depend on anyone else. That made it a bit harder for me to get close to her. She was stubborn in accepting my help. Though she also knew I had different motives. I could not risk loosing her. So I waited for the right moment.

That came when Cinderella did not want to give up her babies. I smirked at this and (Name) looked at me ready to make a deal.

"What do you want?" She demands of me.

"Oh there are many things I want of you Dearie, but for now I will settle for you to start dating me." I say and her eye widen.

"What the hell!?!" She demands.

"You heard me Dearie, I want you to start dating me, nothing official mind you but just enough so you can get to know me." I say. "Maybe then you will have the same feelings for me as I do you."

She looked ready to turn me down.

"Ah ah!" I say. "Remember what is at stake my dear." I say.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "So what will be our first date then?" She asks and I smirk.

Oh she is mine now and I am never ever letting her go.

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS this may just be part one if you guys like this enough I may do more. I hope you All enjoyed and stay sexy!]

[queenstarlight2]

OG done by  @rat-rumpelstiltskin

Hannibal dating sim cover, my version (will make a yandere cover soon) 

[mayullla]

Brain rot really but right now I am just craving either dark or fairytale au kind of fics right now. Like those stories that you read when you where young? little red riding hood, cinderella or sleeping beauty and such~?

Like currently I have two original works that are still wips that are based on Cinderella and a casual damsel stuck in a tower where a dragon protects said tower.

But like I am also thinking about the story with Rumpelstiltskin with Zhongli. You are the daughter of a man who lied to the king that you could spin hay to gold and which then leads to you getting stuck in a tower where you would get killed if you cant spin hay to gold. You were crying till a stranger shows up he told you that you and he should have a contract that he would help you but you must give something in return. The first night you gave him your ring, the second night you gave him your necklace and the third night you have nothing to give. (mainly yandere kinda)

How about something like Hansel and Gretel, where you find two small boys eating from your candy house. You were the witch who lived in but unlike the rumors, you didn't eat children. You gave the two boys a place to stay for a while and you found out that their names were Diluc and Kaeya. Cute children really, you let them stay for a while thinking they would leave at some point... except they choose not to. Wanting to stay with you- (platonic yandere)

How about Alice in wonderland, I used to write platonic yandere wonderland au for Naruto but what about a Genshin version? Where they found you so adorable that they want to keep you.

Or a more yandere version where you are genuinely trying to run away because they were obsessed with you, the white rabbit was the one who to lured you into wonderland, the king of hearts wants you to be his queen, the Chesire cat tries to hypnotize you and follows you where ever you go, or maybe the caterpillar tries to make you fall asleep with the smoke of his hookah so that he could kidnap you from himself. (either way really lol)

[thisisthehardestthing]

18+

GOLD

TENDŌ SATORI X FEM!READER

Pleasant & Strider Present: Fantasy AU Writing Collab. This is a loving dedication to my favorite fairytale as a child: Rumpelstiltskin. 9k words of smut, I apologise for it’s length, but it has to mirror Tendo’s big dick energy, y’know. wordcount: 9,300 Warnings: yandere-ish, virgin reader, oral (receiving), fingering (receiving, penetrative sex, one derogatory word (whore), cheating (this is just to be safe). Nothing too wild, but it’s hella dirty. Tags: @joyousandverywarlike​​ I love you wifey, thank you for beta-reading before we both crashed. Thanks for the eternal hype @whats-her-quirk​​ you make my heart sing! @pleasantanathema​​ , @present-mel​​ and @linestrider​​ . I am so, so happy to have met you three xx

> MASTERLIST HERE <

GOLD.

You pace the small space of your house, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath your weight. The King summoned your father three days ago, and by your calculations, he should be back any minute with news. Your eyes are downcast, watching your bare feet shuffle across the floor, the tattered hem of your skirt rustling with each movement. You sigh, smoothing down the white of your apron and catching a glimpse of your reflection in the polished tin on the wall.

Huffing, you turn away and close your eyes, not wanting to see the worry laced in them. You are a pauper, your father a poor miller. There must’ve been a terrible reason for his presence to have been so urgently demanded at the court. The land has been in crisis for a while now; businesses have started shutting down, and you fear that it is now your small family’s turn to be thrown out onto the streets.

The doorknob twists and the heavy door swings open as your father steps across the threshold, removing his grey cap, cheeks sallow. His best clothing no longer looks dapper but rather worn in, lackluster.

“Father! Welcome home,” you exclaim, throwing your arms around his neck, bringing him in close to smell the lingering scent of a mare and travel. You can tell something is off from the way he half-hugs you, grip weak around your waist. You pull back, that gnawing fear in your gut itching its way up your spine.

“Pray, tell me, what did the King want? Must we shut down the mill?” you ask, helping him to undress, taking his single-breasted coat from his frail shoulders. Was he this small when he left? He chokes back a sob, clutching his chest with one hand to cup your cheek with the other.

“Oh, daughter, my sweet, beautiful daughter,” he begins, his palm sinking to your shoulder, his voice watery as he continues, “that was his original intent, yes.” You feel the weight of his hand pull you beneath the earth, yet there is some hope in your chest as you suck in a sharp breath.

“And what of now?”

“I’m sorry, my darling, I’m sorry,” your father repeats his words, hanging his head before meeting your stare with a shaken one of his own. His lower lip trembles beneath his thick moustache, and you clutch his hand in a vice, it’s ice cold. “I don’t know what I was thinking, it’s madness.”

“Tell me, please.”

“The King asked me if I had anything worth more than the mill to barter with, to absolve us from not affording the tax, and I replied with you, my daughter. You’re worth more than any precious metal to me.” Tears begin to pool in your fathers eyes, and your hands tighten around his, unsure of where the conversation is heading.

“I had told him that you are the most beautiful maiden in the kingdom, however, he cares not for beauty but for material possessions, and without thought I exclaimed that you could spin straw into pure gold,” he says. You gasp, releasing his hand as if made of ice, the cold burning you.

“Father!”

“I am to send you to him by tomorrow evening. You’re to leave on the morrow. I will pray that your beauty is enough for our King to be merciful.”

Merciful? The King is anything but. You feel your world begin to crumble. How are you to spin straw into gold? That is a power only the Fae possess, and you tremble at the thought of what will happen once the King realizes your father has lied.

***

The looming gates of the castle are opulent, brass shining bright in the late afternoon, glinting against a peach and lilac sky. You have ridden on your father's mare through the day and can feel your thighs twitch from the exertion. You’re weary from the hot sun, the travel, and your frantic nerves twist knots in your stomach. Soldiers in fine armor stand to attention, and although they do not move, you can see how the men leer at your features, feel the difference in status crawl over your flesh like spiders.

Although you are wrapped in a dark green cloak, you feel bare beneath their stares, as though they can see the beige shift dress. Clutching its opening tight against your body, you keep your eyes straight ahead to avoid contact with any lingering gazes. You dismount, giving your horse a final stroke before you follow servants into the stone castle.

They walk fast, and you struggle to keep up, taken aback by the marble floor. The stained glass windows litter a rainbow of colours against the white stone, dancing across your skin as you walk through it and into a large hall where King Ushijima is waiting for your arrival. He’s handsome, but the scowl on his features twists your intestines, knotting them intricately. As you move closer, however, his eyebrows begin to relax and lift, his eyes widen, only slightly, taking in your appearance. You keep your head bowed in respect, eyes on the tips of your leather slippers peeking out from beneath the cloak.

The servants excuse themselves, and the doors close. All you hear is the beating of your heart and the drumming of the Kings fingers against the armrest of his throne.

“Lift your chin, girl.”

The King’s voice is gruff, commanding, and you find yourself obeying and straightening up tall so that he can see your face. He huffs, standing up and walking down grey stone steps that seem to glitter in the candle light and the last of the sun. The red of his coat is akin to blood, and it sweeps graciously around his tall frame as he stands over you.

“I thought your father was lying when he said his daughter was the fairest maiden in the Kingdom, yet he has proven me wrong. It gives me hope that the other claims he has made are not false and you may not hang in the morrow after all,” he announces, peering down over his nose at your frame. “Follow me.”

“Your Majesty,” you curtsy, and trail behind the King as he leads you through the high ceiling hallways of the castle, up and up and up the stairs, to a wooden door.

He pushes it open, the weight of the door pulling a groan from the iron hinges and steps aside for you to enter. The smell hits you first, earthy and overpowering, and you see towering piles of straw completely covering the floor and walls. In the center sits a spinning wheel in a pale birch. Your heart drops to your stomach and you feel the colour drain from your face. This must be a dream, a cruel, cruel dream.

“You have until the sun rises to transform all this straw into the finest of gold, or I will have to sentence you for trickery.”

With that, the King shuts the door. You hear the lock turn with a resounding clank. The room is shrouded in darkness and you fall to your knees, sobs uprooting in your chest at the predicament you find yourself in. You tug at the ribbon of your cloak, letting it fall open to the floor as you cry, the tears silver in the light of the full moon shining through the window.

You sob for a while, tremors shaking your body as you curl in on yourself. You barely notice the door open an inch, pale fingers curling around the side before a head with hair the shade of pomegranate peers at your sunken figure.

“Oh, ho ho! What have we here~?” a lilting voice shocks you. Your head snaps up to watch a figure bound into the room. He is tall, waif-like, with heavily lidded eyes. Your breath is snatched away as you gaze upon his hair that seems to stand on end, as though wind travels through the air, but the room is still and the window shut. The door was locked, how did he enter?

“Why are you crying, little girl?” The strange man asks, bending over at the hips with his long fingers reaching out to lift your chin up, wiping at the tears under your eyes. You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, feeling embarrassed for your weakness, and being called young. You are of proper age at three and twenty.

“I have to spin all the straw into gold before the sun rises or I will be hanged. It’s an impossible task and I’m not sure what to do!” you begin to cry again, the tears streaming down your face and slipping down the nimble fingers that hold your jaw. The stranger tuts, tilting his head as he regards your solemn appearance.

“It’s not impossible. What will you give me if I complete this task for you?” There’s a smirk on his lips, and a glint in his garnet eyes that ensnare you to fall into them.

“I have nothing on me to give, I am a pauper,” you whisper, ashamed of your low class. The hand withdraws and you see him stretch up, a hand on his hips as he waves at your body in a grand gesture, fingers seemingly bending backwards.

“False, you have your beauty, and I am a lover of beautiful things~,” the song in his voice then drops an octave as he asks again, his eyes narrowing as if you’re prey, “so what will you give me in return?” You ponder his words, feeling blood flush your cheeks at being complimented by someone so boldly.

“I can only gift you a kiss,” you finally say, pushing up to stand. He eagerly grabs your arms, tugging you close, against his chest. You smell spice and the green of the forest after a heavy rain, transporting you to a far away land, an escape.

“I accept this trade~.” His lips crash against yours, soft pillows melting into your skin. He tastes like molasses, sweet yet dark. The kiss is bruising and his hands wander across your back and down to your waist, pulling you ever closer, letting you fall drunkenly into the taste that is him. He pulls away too soon and you have to bite the protest from escaping your lips.

Humming an odd tune, the stranger sits down at the spinning wheel, picks up a handful of straw and weaves it into a glittering gold thread. It takes only three turns of the wheel before the bobbin is full and he picks up more straw. Like this, he works throughout the night until all the straw has been transformed into precious metal. You’re still drunk from his touch, mouth agape at his elegant movements, and when you next blink, the work has been completed with plenty of time before the sun is to rise.

Wordlessly, he rises from his seat to tower over you, cupping your face delicately between both palms, he plants a lingering kiss to your forehead. He resumes humming, a devious smirk on his mouth as he saunters out of the room and the door closes behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the stillness.

The sun rises, and the King walks through the door with a purpose, expecting for you to have failed at the test. When he sees the glittering gold in the morning light, his eyes darken and a smile splits his face in half as greed consumes him.

“You can live for another day, but do not think you are liberated yet. I will need you to prove it to me once more as this could be the work of illusionment and fade throughout the day,” King Ushijima booms. Turning on his heel, he strides out the room, ordering you to follow.

He leads you into another stone room, this one larger than the previous, filled with even more straw to the top of the ceiling and you start to feel dread claw up your ribs, piercing your skin. There’s no telling what would happen the following morning.

“Turn all this straw into gold by the morrow and I will let you live,” the King states, and curtly exits to leave you alone with the scraps of your freedom.

You spend the entire day in the room, pacing and crying at the thought of failure. When night falls and casts its shadows, you hear the door click open and a familiar tune carry through the air. The handsome stranger from the night before curves around the door, peering at your frightened yet hopeful body. The moon is brighter tonight, almost full, casting a glow around the room and onto your skin.

“Miller’s daughter, you need not cry~,” he sings, making you freeze at the mention of your father’s profession, but the tears continue to pour down your face. He closes the distance between your bodies with two steps of his long legs. His flaming hair wafts around him as he wipes the salted water from your cheeks.

“What will you give me tonight if I spin this straw into gold?”

He notices your brow furrowing and sees how you swallow down your nerves. It makes him want to chuckle at the depravity of his question. You are so innocent, and so desperate for help.

“You are a maiden, are you not? Unwedded, unbedded?” The stranger asks you and he feels how your cheeks warm beneath his palm, letting his smirk twist into a wide smile. You nod, shifting awkwardly under his hold. He drops his cool hands to your shoulders and his skin is the colour of porcelain in the moon’s light. “Then give me your first sexual death in return.”

You step backwards, bewildered, unsure of his advances. You can’t let a man defile you in a way that is meant for your husband, yet here he is, requesting something so perverse. The memory of his lips against yours, the weight of his palm into your waist, flood your mind and you forget to breathe. The straw seems soft enough, your head swims. The King’s warning echoes in a chill up your spine, so you agree to his offer, which is met with a cunning grin.

Either you weigh less than a feather or he’s strong as an ox when he lifts you by the waist and over his shoulder, the round of your ass in the air, which he playfully taps and elicits a squeal from your tear-swollen lips. He hushes you while spreading a pile of hay with his foot.

“You cannot be too noisy, little girl~” he sings, placing you gently on your back, crouching between your ankles, “we wouldn’t want anyone to hear you.”

He seems utterly feral as his deft fingers ghost over your calves to thumb the hem of your simple shift dress. The fire in his eyes burns with impatience as he bunches the fabric up over your knees, to the gentle curve of your thighs where the hem of your breeches end, until it's on your waist. He takes a deep breath, you hold yours, and with your heart beating in your ears, the drawstring of your undergarments comes undone.

You realise he’s humming that strange tune when you shimmy out of your modesty, and the song hitches in his throat when your untouched cunt comes into view. It turns into a low moan and then a whistle, throwing the cotton pants behind him.

“Your sheath is as beautiful as your face, cunning as it calls out to me.” There’s no hint of rhythm in his voice, but rather a deep vibrato as lust takes over and he licks his lips. It makes your heart throb, pounding in your chest and in the delicate skin of your sex.

He lets his strong, long fingers knead the flesh of your thighs, smooth and supple under the glow of the moon, inching them upwards. You bite your bottom lip to keep from sounding out, sure in the fact that a guard may pass at any moment. The wine-haired man shuffles forward, pulling apart your legs until you’re spread for him, accessible. You can feel the blush start from your pubic bone and catch fire all along your body to heat the very top of your head. His intense stare summons your need to shut your knees but he lays down to his stomach, wedging his body so that you are at his whim.

“Has anyone ever touched you here before?” he asks, the palms of his hands so large they cover the meat of your inner thigh, his thumbs ghosting over your outer labia. Your head falls back in shame— no, anticipation. His movements are precise, teasing, and you shake your head to answer him.

“No one, you are the first.” You say silent thanks to the Lord that your voice is unwavering, breathy, and the strange man’s eyes darken to sangria.

“Lucky me to be the first to taste the sap of your fruit, your ripe nectar~!”

His thumbs glide over the soft casing and into the fold between your inner lips, unfurling them, your clit jutting out as the skin pulls taught. You suck in cool air as the nerves tingle against his warm breath. A second passes, and then three more and you’re almost tricked to relax when you feel a wet muscle press against the opening of your cunt. You shiver as he moans, the tight muscles tingle within you; your spine lifts into a delicate curve in response.

He wastes no time in making you writhe, lips encasing the displayed clit and sucking powerfully. You feel yourself drop into him, hands flying down to grab his hair, fingers burying themselves in his locks. There’s immense pleasure, instantly. Tiny shockwaves travel outwards from his mouth into your feet, and they curl in the straw, bending, snapping, folding them beneath your toes.

Soft whimpers escape, struggling to keep them contained as you bite down on your lip. No sooner than a minute must’ve passed for you to feel the heat building in your chest, the tips of your ears burning and your core clenching.

It feels as though a spring winds itself, tighter and tighter, your walls oscillate and spasm around nothing and his warm tongue laps at your slick and sucks at your clit. It draws alphabets and circles, spinning you into a dizzy haze and when he inserts the tip of one of his long, magical fingers, you lose it, snapping that cord within you.

The moan you’re holding back releases, freeing your soul as your eyes roll to see the stars in your mind, a bright light, la petite mort. Your body goes rigid and you can only see black, think of nothing but your own ecstasy as it rolls through your body, tremors in your skin.

The finger withdraws, the mouth gives a final suck, jolting you, and then a lick to lap up any remaining juices before the nymph-like man in front of you sits back onto his haunches. He leaves you trembling in your orgasm, analytical eyes absorbing the far away look on your face.

“And how did death feel~?” he asks, likening your orgasmic wave to an ascension to heaven. His voice returns to a playful tune, coaxing you back to earth.

“I’ve never known such pleasure,” you admit with tears in your eyes and longing in your voice. There’s a small bout of shame in your chest from greed at wanting another, from him.

“Now, you do, hmm,” he hums, trailing off into his signature beat as he stands and begins work on the straw.

You watch him from the ground, tugging up your undergarments with heavy limbs and smoothing your shift down. With three spins of the wheel, the handful of straw is transformed into a full bobbin of gold. The curve of his spine hunching over the machine ignites a curiosity in your mind. Who is he? What does he want? Why is he helping you? But the focus in his eyes, the cheery tune he hums and light tapping of his feet forbids you from asking him these questions.

He’s a savior of your life, there’s no need to know the reason.

The nymph works until two hours before dawn, at some point you drift off into a light, sex-induced slumber, but wake the moment he stands and stretches his popping spine. He gives you a final look, sucking on the finger that was in you, before skipping out the door, humming. It shuts with a click, the lock back in place. You are to live another day.

***

You hear a cock crow thrice before the door opens and the King stands, almost as broad as the frame. The gold in the room reflects in his amber eyes and in the glint of his adornments on his cloak and crown. You curtsy low until his voice booms.

“Arise, girl. You have kept your word and so I will keep mine, your father is free from his debt.” He rubs his chin, rings catching the rising sun as he muses out loud, “however, with a daughter like you, it’s a wonder there were dues to be paid.”

You curtsy again, saying your thanks, expecting to leave the castle and be back in your village by the following day, but King Ushijima has other plans. The sight of all the gold has swallowed his mind with greed, and the thought of being the richest King in the world is a goal that is so near, so attainable. He peers at your frame, slender from malnourishment, your simple garb, the way you instinctively shrink under the gaze of someone with so much of a higher rank than your own. It’s enticing.

He leads you to a third room in the granary, larger than all the others, the center of his stores. He sees the confusion and worry on your features, waving his hand around the room as he explains.

“Turn all this straw into gold by sunrise tomorrow and I shall take you as my wife.”

The glint in the Kings’ eyes is dangerous. He thinks that even though you are but a miller's daughter, low born, he will never find a richer wife. There’s no room for refusal as he turns to leave, ruby red cloak flurrying behind his tall frame and the door shuts for the third time that week.

You’re dazed, swaying uncontrollably as you fall to your knees, the stone floor bruising. The thought of becoming queen makes you giddy, nauseous, terrified. Although you’ve had help these last two evenings, what’s to say the stranger will appear again? And at what cost will it be? Tears prick your eyes, and you think of the last time you were happy; when you weren’t trapped in an exchange for your life.

The sky melts into orange, geranium, the sun falls below the skyline. Your heart follows, dropping to your stomach as it turns and you dry heave. The lock clicks, the door swings open, and that familiar, welcoming hum returns. The stranger practically hurtles into the granary, fingers like the crest of a wave as curls and swings from the ends of his arms.

“Innocent girl, why are you crying again~?” he sings, stooping low to cup your tear-stricken cheeks. His fingers are cold against flushed skin.

“I am to turn all this straw to gold by sunrise. He will make me queen if I succeed and if not, I cannot bear to consider the consequences!” you wail, peering into the quizzical vermillion eyes of the waif, nymph, or whomever this magical being is. His laughter echoes in the room, deafening your ears with it’s cadence.

“And what will you give me if I complete this task for you?” the question is not a surprise, but you have no answer, shaking your head as your lower lip pinches between your teeth in regret.

“There’s nothing left to give.”

The hands on your cheeks grip harder, fiercer, beneath your jaw to pull you up to standing.

“Nonsense, you are a virgin, are you not? Let me do this for you and in return, give me your maidenhood.”

His request is so shocking, so taboo, that it takes you several seconds to comprehend. Your mouth drops, heart hammering away at an unfamiliar beat in your ears. You tremble. There’s no way you can give him what is meant for your husband. He seems to register that thought as soon as it flies through your mind. His hair crackles like lightning, standing on end, his eyes are dark and stormy, and although he speaks with a song, his words are dangerous, dragging you beneath the waves.

“Surely, your virginity is not worth your life?”

With nothing to barter with but your body, you wonder if there is an alternative. Will the King realise you have been tainted if the marriage is consummated? You hope he does not. The stranger's tongue clicks, his hands fall from your face to leave the skin cold and you feel the desire for their return coursing through your veins.

“Time is wasting, Miller’s Daughter, do we have a deal?” his question flips over in your mind, your fingers wring together as you stare up at the looming figure. There’s impatience in his eyes.

“Yes.”

He claps his hands together gleefully, before interlacing them and stretching overhead. Tonight, he doesn’t collect preemptively, sitting down at the spinning wheel to begin. A hand full of straw is scooped up, the wheel spins thrice and the bobbin fills with glittering gold thread. It clatters to the floor as he begins on the next spool, his work methodical and timely. You watch him for a while, the way his heart shaped face is complacent, as though it was second nature to practise this magic. He hums that strange tune. His skin is milk under the pale glow of the moon, and suddenly, you’re thirsty.

Memories of the previous night play through your mind, clear as though a mirage. The way his eyes surveyed you over your mound, the obscene noises you made when his tongue dipped into your tight hole. It leaves you dizzy, breathless, and the enormous room is all of a sudden too small, too confined. You begin to pace. He never stops his humming. The sound bleeds into your pores, into your veins and pumps through you. It calls you to touch him. It’s wrong. You can’t. The night drags on and you don’t notice his song stops, or that he’s standing behind you.

His hands snake around your waist, pulling you back against his chest so that your head hits the firm muscle beneath his tunic. His nose finds refuge in your hair and with his inhale, your breathing stops.

“Mmm, you smell like fresh snow,” he mumbles into your skin, the meaning behind his words not lost on you: uncorrupted, untainted. It sends shivers down your spine and there’s a crackle in the air as every muscle in your body freezes.

His palms drift lower to rest on the meat of your thighs, digging to inch the fabric up slowly, methodically, until the hem is in his grasp and he pulls it over your head to leave you near-naked in the gold-filled room. Your bloomers are tied in a simple bow that loosens with a tug, the cotton dropping down your legs. You haven’t taken in oxygen yet, your lungs screaming at you to breathe, your knees trembling under his shadow. You gulp air hastily.

It is not that you do not want him, in fact, your body craves the very touch he bestows. You’re frightened, anxious at the implications of the act you’re about to perform. He spins you around, and you find those ruby eyes glinting down at you with ravishment, devouring the apex of your nipples in the full moonlight before tracing the length of your collarbones, the line of your neck and jaw, and feasting on your lips.

The way the lid of his eyes wilt, pupils widen, instinctively ushers you forward and into his waiting kiss. Your lips barely touch before his tongue darts out to swipe yours, tasting you impatiently. He’s waited far longer than he usually would to take what he wants, and he’s almost reached his limit. You’re pliable in his grip, body bending and arching with his palms, pressing your bosom flat to his chest. With rough fingers, he trails them up your spine, inciting a moan from your throat, filling the room with a richer sound than the clinking of golden yarn. He almost falls apart at your whimper when his teeth nip at your lips.

His hands advance up, scorching before touching the base of your skull, fingers wrapping around to grip the soft skin of your neck beneath your ears. His palms are so large, manipulating your body so that your jaw tilts up, away and you lean back onto his forearms. His lips slide from yours, trailing fervent kisses down the column of your throat. It’s all you can do to keep up with his strokes. Your lack of experience is evident when your hands dangle lifeless at your sides, almost touching the floor as he bends you backwards to lay down on the hard stone.

It’s sobering, clammy, welcome against your heated flesh. The stranger continues his descent. You feel gravel pressing into the blades of your shoulders, and you shift unpleasantly. All is forgotten when your right nipple, trembling and painfully erect, is captivated by a silky, moist touch. Your saviour suckles, bites, licks, and the static in your skin begins to crackle at his touch, threatening to spark. Luckily, there’s no more straw to ignite a fire. Your left breast is stimulated by massaging presses, five fingers gripping roughly, but not enough to bruise. No, there will be no trace of his defilement on you tonight, for now.

The other hand trails down between your legs, dipping experimentally into your slick folds, testing the waters. Your wetness had begun to grow when your imagination raged earlier, in truth, you don’t think it disappeared from the night before. You bite back a moan as a finger toys with your clit, the shivers current your spine in small convulsions. There’s a warning that you might come undone with just this, and he feels it too, the pulses of your walls contracting the muscles of your lower abdomen.

As though controlled by the impending orgasm, your body moves. Gripping his wild hair harshly, your jaw goes slack, eyes rolling to see nothing as the explosion rips through your body. He does not stop sucking at your nipple, flicking the bud harshly, a finger tracing lazy circles to your clit as you fall back into your body. His lips move to the side of your breast, planting increasingly desperate kisses into the plump flesh. Your grip does not loosen, it follows the winding of his head as it trails to overwhelm your collarbone, your throat with heavy licks.

You can feel a fresh burst of slick drip from your slit. He catches it knowingly and his face lifts from your skin to peer into your eyes. He brings his coated finger to your parted lips, pressing your nectar onto your tongue. It’s tart, musky, unlike anything you’ve tasted before. You swallow it down into your aching stomach, feeling the flames of your orgasm dwindle. You want more, and he sees it in the hungry way you suck. And oh! How he wishes it was his cock sheathed between your plump lips.

“Isn’t it splendid~?” he sings, pumping his finger in and out of your mouth, your tongue curling around to massage the individual knuckles automatically. There’s a heavy silence in the air, your breast is squeezed. You realise he’s waiting for you to answer, even with your mouth full.

“Yesh,” you fumble with the syllable, warmth spreading to your cheeks and he seems glad with the answer. Removing his finger for his palms to push up a knee, he leaves a gentle kiss on the bruise from your morning fall into despair.

You’re spread for him. He only then realises how clothed he is. He retracts his touch, tugging his tunic over his head to reveal smooth, unblemished skin that reflects the golden thread and garnet hair. He’s a stained glass window of colours, an inferno burning bright. It’s breathtaking. There’s a trail of red hair, enticing you to look lower, beckoning you to discover what is underneath. He doesn’t remove his breeches completely, choosing instead to loosen the leather lacing on the front, the fabric splaying open to unveil phallic gold. It makes you squeal, the implications of what is upcoming ramming into your chest, your body humming with ferocity. An eyebrow quirks up in response, along with a simpering chuckle.

“How amusing,” he quips, wrapping his large hands around an equally thick and long cock.

“Will it fit?” you can’t help but ask. Surely not. His laugh is raspy in response, erupting from deep within him rather than on the tip of his tongue like his usually lilting words.

“It will. Or I will make it.”

There’s something in his tone, in his ambitious stare, that sends your skin into overdrive, shivering and vibrating with anticipation. You’re openly waiting, nerves fissioning and calling out. He answers. Your mouth drops open, gasping in shock. It's so soft. And wet. The head of his cock slides up between your folds, tapping your sensitive bundle of nerves teasingly. He’s teasing you, making your hips shake and twitch. A hand comes to stabilize you, pinching the bone. Your eyes are wide, heartbeat in your ears and cunt and when you lock stares, time freezes as his hips move.

You’ve never seen a wider grin on someone’s face. It’s wild, face splitting, imitating your stretching slit as he slowly inches in. There’s a low whistle, a hum, turning into a chuckle as you feel a pressure unknown begin to build within. It’s choking, your throat swelling and with no inhibitions, you moan. Heaven above, hell below, all listens attentively as the desire to be sinfully fucked explodes in your womb. Your hands scramble to grip onto something, him, slinging them around his neck to pull him low. There’s a grunt, his breath tickling your ears, and a jerk of his hips as he sings,

“How needy, how desperate, How infinitely tight and perfect~”

It melts into your skin, the same rhythm as the hums you’ve grown accustomed to. The wind of his words fan flames, your eyes rolling back to escape the heat. But oh, how it’s inside you, boiling in your veins and you clutch on tighter as his hips rock into yours. Each pulse of your walls around his cock makes him vibrate, giddy as he pulls out an inch, only to sheathe himself in completely once more. He hears your whimpers against his neck, so soft, so delicate, not enough.

He sets into motion, plucking your limbs from around his neck, pinning them above your head as each snap of his hips jostles your being. Your simpering cries turn into moans and before you realise it, you’re screaming out for God and his Angels to witness the rapture happening within these stone walls. The man keeps a hand on your wrists to secure you, the other to your sensitive breasts, pinching and massaging as he grins salaciously.

Those fingers trail down the soft skin of your stomach, watching as it leaves indents against your skin before the flesh plumps back up. He raises goose-pimples, your shivering spine clenching your cunt tighter. Each thrust sends a ricochet through your body, bouncing it up before it falls back in rhythm. His blunt nails trace from bone to bone of your hips, lowering until it runs over the tuft of hair on your mound.

There’s enchantment in his eyes, reeling you in deeper, lulling you into a sense of security. A thumb finds your hooded nerves, grinding down until you see stars on the roof of the granary, past the glowing face of your savior. Has the ceiling fallen away? How magnificent. They reflect in your eyes, in the shine of drool on the corner of your lips, your tongue darting out to lick it up before you suck down.

“More.” The words are a caress to his ears, and the smile on his face splits wider until it swallows you whole. All you know is his touch.

He can feel you slipping beneath the waves, your silken walls oscillating around his girth. He leaves your wrists to grab your right thigh, lifting it so that it rests on his shoulder. With your hands now free, they fly out, pressing into the stone floor like trying to stay afloat as the swell of the ocean begins to ripple within you. It’s torrential, the rain within, and unlike before, when it was just his fingers, the dam explodes.

You feel perfect wrapped around him, dragging him down into the depth of the sea along with your desire. He doesn’t want it to end, no, he can’t let it end. He pistons his hips, the rhythm knocking the air from your lungs as he nears his release. The stars above give way to black, then white, and he sees it in your face as you reach a higher plane of existence, one he knows only he can provide. That fire returns, lighting up your insides, evaporating the spray of the ocean, making room for the foam of his seed to take place and fill you.

His hips slow, the fluids within you stirring around until you’re dizzy. Your thoughts can’t be strung together, mind blank. Satisfaction ripples in every corner of the room: carnal and raw. It can be tasted on the air, like the salt on your skin. He withdraws from your swollen walls, adamantly watching as the efforts of three days trickle out of you. His pounding, soaring heart drops as he thinks of the morning. He’s grown addicted to you, he realises. You’re his. This cunt should be no one else's, he’s ruined you for all men, he’s sure of it. It’s dangerous, this feeling in his chest, the plan hatching in his mind. You will not be able to forget him soon.

The rise and fall of your chest is soft, your body exhausted and blissful as you’re already in a post-orgasmic slumber. He traces your skin with open palms, seeing the way you react, even asleep, to his touch, committing your curves to memory. You’re angelic, surrounded by gold. His gold. He stands, limbs heavy, before snapping up to stare at your splayed out frame from above an upturned nose.

“I’ll see you soon, Queen,” he hums beneath his breath, waving his hands so that you’re dressed again, clean and tidy, prim and proper for the King to inspect the room within an hour. He skips out the door, the bounce in his step a little more pointed, sharper, and the lock clicks back in place.

***

You’re sour, like wine stored in the sun. Once married to the King, he promised you that you never had to work another day in your life, the gold spun from straw enough for twelve lifetimes over. And he was right. Your days are spent doing nothing. You have time to spare, and more often than not, you find your thoughts drifting to a red haired stranger, his face contorted in lust, desperate for the taste of your skin. It has been a year since your encounter with him.

It’s midnight, a waning half-moon. There’s no sleep. It has been avoiding you every night, so you lay awake next to your husband. The rise and fall of his deep breathing does little to lull you, and your body is charged with a sexual fire. You’re unsatisfied; richer than you could’ve ever dreamed, but unsatisfied.

Like many nights now, your fingers creep beneath the silk bed sheets to swirl at your ignored sex. A soft sigh kisses your lips as your nerves tense up at the touch. Before you can stop yourself, you hum a familiar tune that melts into your skin as you stroke to the rhythm. With your eyes closed, you picture that strange man that brought you to a place of such intense pleasure, something you had not felt since that night. The next morning when you woke, you had only the residue of what he left behind between your legs. That was the only proof that it was not a dream.

Like the swell of a wave, it begins to crest. You spread your ankles slightly wider, tapping the King’s legs delicately. He stirs but doesn’t wake. He never does. Your hums come out in ragged breaths as you imagine every thrust, every pinch against your body. And when his hands grip around your neck, you almost break against the shore of your orgasm. The familiar smell of forest wafts around you. Are you so starved that you can conjure up scents and touch?

Your eyes fly open, staring up at twinkling rubies above. A dark grin is spread onto a face you had not seen for a while. A cool hand is against your throat, floating up to palm your lips and halt a squeal that would’ve flown from between them in shock. He raises a finger to his lips in a signal to keep quiet, eyes darting to your husband face up next to you. He hums lowly before he whispers to you.

“What do we have here~?” his voice carries a jovial, teasing tune, releasing your face to peel back the edge of the sheets and reveal your naked form. You cover your breasts with one arm, the other snaking down to press flat against your quivering sex. Your orgasm had been so close before it was snatched away, the thoughts blazing through your mind nothing except immoral.

“Does the King not satisfy you, millers daughter?” he pokes at your thigh, hard fingers trailing up, leaving burning lines that sink into your pores greedily. You swallow down the rising heat in your body, the shame of being seen touching yourself.

“I am queen now,” the husk in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by the strange man.

“Ah yes, but you are still your father’s daughter,” the pinch of your hip jolts your being, and you snap your legs shut, the bed bouncing slightly. King Ushijima grunts, rolling to face away from you and the intruder. You let out a shaky breath that you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“What are you doing here?” you ask the man, slowly sitting up right, shielding your lower body once more with the covers. His grin falters at your actions, feeling a tightening in his gut at how you hide what’s his. He swallows down his fury, standing upright. His form blocks out the little light trickling in from the moon outside the window.

“I had come to steal you away from the comfort of your new life,” his eyes flicker to the back of King Ushijima, his voice hushed and low, disdain dripping into his words, “it’s the only proper way to pay for my skills, afterall.”

You swallow down your nerves, feeling a pooling of heat between your legs at the thought of being carried far away, somewhere wild and unknown. It’s an escape you would not be against. Long fingers reach to caress your hair, picking up a strand to twirl it. He inspects the way you shiver under his touch, feeling pride at the reactions he can evoke from your body, but his eyes are hesitant. You may very well not want to leave behind all you have gained in the year.

“Please do.”

That same grin reappears on his lips, splitting his face wide open with giddy pleasure. Oh! How he was not expecting the night to unfurl like this at all. He can feel the desire roll off your skin in waves, and he drinks it in. He can’t give you what you crave so easily, he must play a game with you first.

“Oh ho ho, miller’s daughter, how desperate you are! I can taste it.” he sings, palms boxing either side of your thighs. The touch doesn’t dip the bed, as if he is made of air.

“I will give you three nights to find out my name, or I will leave you here with your eternal longing for more than what he can bequeath,” he propositions, the words dancing around you. How badly do you want to feel such pleasure again? You barely have to think.

“Three nights,” you agree.

With a squeal, he leaps away from your bed, skipping over to the door of the chambers. It’s a miracle the sleeping King besides you remains asleep. Or it’s magic. Head swinging around to looking at you with such intensity, you almost melt as he says one last thing.

“Don’t touch yourself until then.”

***

That night, you have no rest. All the names in the world run through your mind, but how are you to know which one is his? You spend the day compiling a long list, feigning it as names for a future child with the King. ‘You are getting old, I must have an heir within the year.’ It was a curt discussion, not one open for arguing. It is also why every night has been loveless tumbles, only leaving your core soaking with his seed, but nothing grew inside you.

The sun sets below the horizon, the moon rising and you sit next to a warm fire in your chambers. The King is passed out on the bed, fast asleep and unaware of your musings. You can feel how the slick inside you trickles out, unwanted but you resist the urge to wipe it away. It is your wifely duties, after all. Instead, you focus on calming your nerves, trying to untangle the knots in your belly before the strange man visits. He enters, skipping soundless as he hums under his breath.

“So, miller’s daughter, what is my name~?” he flops unceremoniously onto the floor next to you, head coming to rest on your lap. His lidded eyes stare up at you expectantly, a knowing smirk on his face at just how difficult of a challenge he has given you.

You begin to list the names compiled, with each name, he shakes his head, ‘that is not my name,’. As the night drags on, he tantalises you with what you so badly want. The laced hem of your night dress is hiked up around your knees, his unabashed fingers cloying with the soft skin of your thighs, inching closer to your dripping cunt.

“Abel, Balthazar, Oikawa, Hisoka,” you recite, each name getting huskier as he teases you. He barely touches you, instead feeling the remnants of the Kings spill, before pulling back and standing. The movement jostles you.

“The sun is rising, you have two more nights.”

His usual lilting tone is gone, voice hard. He wipes the semen on his finger against the black of your dress, leaving a patch of white, and strides out the door without looking back.

The next day, you send out messengers and knights to scour the town for new names, asking every servant in the castle for theirs. As evening creeps up and your nightly tossle with the King ends, you clean up all that is left over with a dampened washcloth. The stranger peers around the door, taking in the sleeping figure of the King before floating into the room. The static of his gaze as it rakes over your skin catches flame, and the fire beside you seems to dim against the red of his hair.

He leans over you, hands gripping the arms of the wooden chair as he asks you the question. You begin to list the stranger of the names you’ve heard, Martinko, Rumpelstiltskin, Melchior, but each time, he replies that it is not his name. His breath ghosts over your face as you speak, his eyes closing to listen to the whispered cadence of your voice. Instinctively, you widen your legs for his to slot between. He falls to his knees, cheek once more pressed against your thighs, lips mumbling quiet no’s into your hips. With a deep inhale, he smells that you are clean tonight, and it makes his heart soar. His fingers come back to stroke beneath your dress, a deep forest green. You don’t stop saying names.

“This task is impossible,” you whisper out of breath. He had two fingers up to his knuckle inside you, pumping lazily as you recite. Like many times throughout the night, he stops his movements at the brink of your collapse, pulling back to suck at your nectar. He licks his fingers off fluidly, trapping your gaze in a trance.

“You have one more night, or you remain unsatiated,” his grin splinters at your will, a groan tearing from your lips in the quiet room. The crackle of the fire had stopped hours ago. The King twists on the bed, mumbling under his breath at the noise.

“Hush, miller’s daughter, don’t be so desperate.” the man warns, standing and skipping over to the door, humming as he shuts it behind him.

On the third day, you ache for sexual release. The opulent castle walls seem too small for you, and so you wander around the forest just outside the walls. With the sun shining overhead as you stroll, it warms your skin to the degree of the never ending heat between your legs. The earth is soft, and with each step, you seem to fall in deeper to the ground, wanting it to swallow you until you’re no longer charged and lusting.

You are seconds away from turning back when you hear a familiar hum, except this time, there are words. You hide behind a tree, peering out at a small clearing in the woods. Red hair dances like the fire in front of him. The stranger moves around the fire in a trance, celebrating something unknown. You strain to listen in on the words he sings.

"Today I dance, tomorrow I sow, In the evening, I will steal her away from home. And oh! I am glad that she does not know, That the name I am is Satori Tendō!”

That night, you can barely contain your gaiety. You even enjoy the love-making your under enthusiastic partner pounds you with. You take in his heavy touches, the way it doesn’t bleed into your skin, but rolls off like oil with water. It’s your last night with him after all. He’s deep asleep, you had slipped something into the drink he has after the ritual.

You’re waiting for Tendō to enter the room, humming his tune under your breath as you pour wine into your chalice. The nightdress you’ve worn is a red, like the seed of a pomegranate or the sky when the sun sets, the colour of his hair. Sturdy arms wrap against your waist to pull you back against a muscled chest. He laughs into your ear, nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Tell me, Queen,” he spits the name out as though it was too bitter for his taste, “what is my name?”

Feigning ignorance, you list names for the final time. ‘Jack, John, Harry’, hands stroke up the back of your legs, dragging the linen up until your bare ass is on display and pressing against a growing bulge behind you.

“That is not my naaame~” he sings, kissing the side of your neck. Cupping your breast with one hand, the other snakes between your thighs to swirl around at the mess he coaxes from you. You can’t hold in the whimpers, tearing up at the touch given to you after almost a year of loveless sex.

He had introduced life beyond living in those three days, and it was so close now, you can feel it between your fingers. His name is on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. It’s not the right time. He folds you forward, your chest resting on the table top, your head turned to see your sleeping husband, so blissfully unaware of the presence in the room. Tendō pulls at the strings of his pants, letting the leather slip down his toned thighs, lining up the head of his cock with your pulsing core.

“Daichi, Bokuto, Ryunosuke,” you mumble out, shifting back against him to feel the silken hardness poke at your folds.

“No, that’s not my name, miller’s daughter,” and he presses in. With all the strength you can muster to not scream out, your knuckles grip the table's edge at feeling so stretched out.

“Oh, fuck,” you swear, the crude word not suitable to pass from a lady’s lips. It sparks a chuckle from the man thrusting into you. He inches in, knees going weak at feeling your walls wrap so deliciously around him once again.

“What’s my name?” he asks, the snap of his hips with each word. Your body jostles against the table top. You moan, clenching around his thick dick.

“Tendō.”

He freezes, twitches inside you, and you hold your breath in anticipation. A large hand wraps around your hair, pulling it up so that your back curves, tightening the space that clamps down on him between your legs.

“Who told you?” the question seeps into your skin, chilling your bones with their weight. He begins to pound into you again, pace picking up considerably to attempt to rouse your husband from his sleep. The sleeping aid you gave him is strong, but you still worry he would see you, not that it would matter after tonight.

“No one,” you moan, pushing up against the wooden table to try and lessen the tug on your scalp.

“Lies!” he roars, fury fueling his thrusts. Although he is getting what he ultimately wants, he has lost the game of cat and mouse. You have won. Oh, how his blood boils. A hand snakes around your throat, squeezing as he fucks into you with ferocity. You cry out, whimpering his name over and over again. Each time it leaves your lips, he feels his anger dim, and instead begins to revel in how the syllables tease his ears, echoing in the room.

“Who told you, whore?” he asks yet again, not expecting you to react to the rude name. It’s all it takes to fall off the cliff within you after three days of bringing you near the edge. Your skin is on fire, being called a ‘whore’ bristles your nerves, scratches you, and you need more, another orgasm, another death to ascend higher.

“No one, I swear,” you retaliate by bouncing back against each thrust with as much vigour as what he pours into you. “I saw you- uh, in the woods, singing.”

He slows, stills, and leans to kiss at the moist skin of your exposed shoulder. With a smile, he manages to twist you around, unsheathing for a second, only to reenter when you’re seated on the table. Legs spread around his waist, you cross your ankles behind his back to draw him closer.

“A promise is a promise, Tendō,” you whisper, arms locking around his neck to pull him close to your lips. “Take me away from here.”

You close your eyes in the kiss, tasting sweet molasses, smelling rain and dirt, and when you open them, you’re not in the castle anymore. Trees reach up past where you can see, multicoloured stars shine in the night sky. You laugh, the sound bubbling from your chest, and Tendō grins, dipping to litter kisses along your neck. His hips begin to move, your fingers curling into his hair as you moan louder than ever before.

You are free.

-------------

fuck, this is long. sorry! I hope you enjoyed it.

MASTERLIST HERE

[jingabitch]

if i wrote a yandere rumpelstiltskin AU who do you think would be rumpelstiltskin?

[yandereaffections]

Hi dear! Deary Anony here! How nice I even got my own tag! I'm grateful. It's wonderful. I feel almost feel like Rumpelstiltskin form OUAT. Dearie~! Haha. Anyway. Yeah I do have a whole yandere playlist. I'm really into Yandere as you could probably guess. I just hope I didn't overwhelm you with all those songs. Anyway I'm glad I could help! I'm a new follower of your blog dear and it's wonderful. [1/2]

Hehe glad you like the name. I listened to all of the ones I haven’t yet, so I have more yandere songs now yaaay. And Christmas parody’s for winter lol. Glad you like the blog :>