OBSESSED I NEED TO BE ADDED TKT HE TAGLIST PRETTY PLS

OBSESSED 😭😭 I NEED TO BE ADDED TKT HE TAGLIST PRETTY PLS

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 2

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 3.3k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Witch Laswell, Traditional German Fairytale setting, Price x Reader if you squint, F! Reader, Injury, Blood/Injury Warnings: Mentioned gore

The sound of hoofbeats echoes out through the forest as Price urges his steed down the misty trail and into town. The trees spill outwards to reveal the faint lantern light of the village, and as you both approach you see shutters peek open and doors swing wide as your neighbors observe the commotion of your approach.

There's few people in the village square- a small collection of self-appointed guardsmen who startle at the sight of the captain atop his massive, dark mare. One nearly falls backwards, scrambling for his hastily constructed spear even as Price's voice bellows down at them.

"In your homes! NOW!!" He roars, and you're surprised at the speed with which the men comply, quickly dispersing in the direction of their cottages. You see them shout at the villagers who dare to stand in their doorways or at their windows, lantern light illuminating them in the nighttime darkness. They too vanish back into their houses, murmuring and speaking with concerned, rising voices at the tone of Price's booming command.

"Which house is yours?" He asks you then, voice quieter but no less urgent as he tries to control his anxious steed under him.

You point to a house at the end of the way, with ivy crawling up the stone and a red stained door at the front. You try to speak, but words seem to fail you, lips parting and voice choked with clawing fear at the shadow that lurks in your mind.

Massive. A primordial, hulking thing. Yellow eyes glimmering brightly in the darkness, claws glinting in the light of the moon. When it had turned to regard you both it had bristled, the coarse fur standing straight and making the thing look even larger. Even now you imagine yourself caught between its fangs, reaching out an arm in desperation as you're swallowed whole.

Price kicks his horse into a trot, and abruptly stops at the front of your door. He dismounts before you can gather yourself, hands at your waist and lifting you down onto unsteady feet.

"Lock the doors and windows." He tells you, voice gravelly with warning.

You find your voice then, startled and raspy but concerned as his hand guides you at the small of your back to your doorstep.

"W-wait, you're headed back?" You ask him worriedly, even though you already know the answer. "It's dangerous- you'll be in the woods by yourself, what if..."

"I'm a Witcher." Is all Price supplies to you as the heavy lock of your wooden door unlatches and you're guided inside. You spin to face him, eyes wide with a near frantic concern. He fills your doorway, allowing you no space to try and dart outside, the width of his shoulders made wider by the leather pauldrons of his armor.

"B-but-" You try to protest, voice wavering, taking a step towards him.

Price's eyes soften then, just for a moment. it startles you, the sudden warmth of his expression that seems almost like endearment. It's gone before you can feel it touch the confines of your heart, his face settling once more into the steely resolve of a warrior.

"Don't venture out until dawn." He speaks, voice grave with danger, pupils glinting with a darkness that shudders through you. Ominous, deadly.

He reaches for the door and pulls it shut behind him before you can stop him, and even then you dart to the window to see Price pull himself onto his horse and gallop once more into the chasm of forest from which you emerged.

You don't call after him, heart hammering too severely to allow any air to escape from your chest. Instead, you watch the mist curl in his wake, look upwards to the waxing Autumn moon that hangs yellow and heavy in the sky.

The shutters clack shut with a sound of finality.

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

Birdsong.

You blink awake, the dimness of dawn washing over your features as you rouse to the frosted morning. You're wrapped in your blankets, sitting by the hearth that has fizzled into ash during your slumber. The gentle noise of sunrise filters in through the shutters, so different from the chaos of the night before, when Price had thundered into the town square with your form huddled behind his back.

You blink at the memory, trying to pull yourself from sleep and place yourself back into the realm of wakefulness even as the timber of the captain's voice drags you back into the darkness of the night before.

You'd stayed up as long as you could, trying to listen into the woods for any indication of struggle or conflict. Yet the forest had remained eerily silent, offering no answers to your concerned curiosity. Quiet, concealing the secrets within in a way you knew they always would.

When you rise from your chair you realize you'd never changed into your night clothes, your scarlet cape tugged tight around your front as you eventually had lapsed into sleep before the hearth. It flutters to the ground as you stand, and when you pick it up the soft fabric grazes across the pads of your fingers, with you lost in thought.

You hope he's okay.

There's no reason why he shouldn't be, of course. Price told you his battles the night before, of his victories and the tales which Soap and Gaz had boasted of. He's a Witcher. He'll be fine.

Yet then you think of Laswell, of her steely gray stare and her sly but warm smile. Maybe, if Price had gathered his men and rode off into the woods in pursuit- if Laswell had been left all alone in her cottage...

Your hands shake as you hold your cape, and a new anxiety seeps into the cracks of your chest. If...if somehow the monster from last night had eluded the hunters and found Laswell, had somehow hurt her...

Your feet move before you can stop them, and with shaky hands you begin to gather things from your home, creating a bundle with which to bring to Laswell's. A blanket, your journal, a change of clothes. Things you'll need if you're to stay with her as you're determined to. You can't leave her alone in the woods like this, and you think neither can you stand to be alone in your own home with the monster stalking both the woods and your dreams.

You take along provisions too, inside your basket. Bread, honey, apples and the herbs you'd been drying for her. They go in a basket balanced at your hip, and it isn't long before you're ready to venture once more into the forest.

It's light out by the time you part from your cottage- a hand stroking lovingly over the red painted door before you make your way up the path. It's still early, and many of your neighbors have yet to emerge from their houses. Those that do hurry to do their chores and vanish back inside- still startled by the commotion of yesterday. You pass them even as they eye you through the shutters, beyond the fences and doors of their homes. You, the girl with the ruby red cloak, the strange one who spends too much time in the forest listening to the whispers of the trees.

The woods swallow you, the familiar path under your feet quickly fading from the main road and into the less traveled trails that diverge from the realm of civilization. The sounds of the village are quickly silenced by the hills, and soon even the braying of goats is dulled to a subdued, gentle hush that washes over you with aching familiarity. Mist rolls down from the mountains, settling in the valley like a soft shroud, a veil that fogs across your senses.

There's a magic in these woods you are accustomed to. The loneliness the trees offer as they cradle you is strangely sacrosanct, an ancient and almost ethereal atmosphere that settles breathily across your shoulders, whispers a low lullaby in your ears. You've known it all your life, have memorized the gnarled ancient trees which yield the rare, mossy ferns used in poultices. You know the rocky crags from which nettle grows, can smell the damp earth where mushroom caps push up against the soil. The forest offers many treasures to those who dare to look, and those who take only what they need.

There are hunters in these woods as well. You hear them sometimes, the braying of their hounds ever closer until you see them pass in the distance in pursuit of foxes, deer and grouse. They stand in the distance, the hunters, pausing to regard the flash of red that catches against the corner of their gaze before leaving you wordlessly. You are not the prey which they seek.

Now a different hunter stalks this forest, and the mere memory of the monster has you clutch your cloak tighter around your shoulders. Gleaming yellow eyes haunt your thoughts, and it seems not even the cold damp mist can match the frigid horror of your heart. The fog curls around you, and even as you tread the well-worn path under your feet to Kate's cottage, it feels as if these woods are now different, hiding secrets from even you, their beloved child.

The air around you is eerily silent, and not even the calls of owls or birds seems to pierce through the milky haze that swallows up the trail ahead of you. The overcast sky offers little light as you walk forward, footsteps light against the packed earth. Yet Price's words rise unsummoned on your thoughts, his warning of dawn lingering like the smell of his smoky breath.

Again, you wonder if he and the others are alright. You try to assuage your fears with the same words the captain offered you last night, trusting in his skill and experience to navigate the dangers that haunt these woods. Even so, the image of Laswell's cottage- wrecked, ruined, blood seeping across the stone stoop, tempts you with the icy sensation of panic you desperately try to swallow.

So preoccupied are you with your own anxiety that you almost don't notice the strangeness on the trail ahead until your boots scuff against it.

Blood.

You halt dead in your tracks, cold air sucking into your lungs as you gasp loud enough to disturb the silence of the woods around you. Fear instantly claws thick and viscous up your throat, and you force it down in a dry swallow, not moving even as bloodied leaves stain the toe of your boot. Yet it isn't the sight of the blood itself that has terror mount within your chest. It's worse than that.

It's still wet.

Whatever creature, whatever person came through here last missed you only by mere minutes, stumbling off into the mist even as scarlet dripped from their form.

"It's just an animal." You whisper to yourself in a desperate attempt to rid yourself of the idea it could be one of the Witchers, that maybe it's Price, Laswell.

Your eyes trace the smear of the blood, and within several steps you find another ooze of drying red off to the side of the desolate trail, into the trees.

You follow it despite yourself, inhibitions dulled by paranoia. Your boots scuff against the scraggly undergrowth, brittle from the autumn winds. You think to whisper a name, but the silence of the canopy above whispers a warning, a silence you hold close to your chest in a talisman of protection.

There's a smear of blood on the bark of a tree as you pass, as if someone has pressed a scarlet hand there to steady themselves before journeying onwards. You eye it fearfully, and for a moment consider retreating back to the safety of the village. Despite the warnings you continue forwards, picking your way down a slope and towards a rocky outcropping in the distance that murmurs of shelter.

"Hello?" You whisper as you get closer, and there's no response as you hover near the edge of the boulders. A hand balances you as you barely peek around the roundness of the stone, eyes wide and brow furrowed in concern as you raise your voice once more. "Are you hurt?"

There's a noise then, a rustle of movement that nearly has your scrambling up the hill back towards the path. After a moment a voice, muffled and strained, echoes out from the shelter.

"G-go away."

You blink, rising terror now ebbing to a terse confusion that has you hesitate.

It's the grunt of pain that makes you circle around the edge of the outcropping, peer into the mossy hollow in search of whoever has pleaded with you to vanquish yourself.

You can't make sense of the shape at first, broad arms and shoulders obscured by torn, raggedy fabric, bare feet sticking from a jumble of limbs. You trace the figure from the dirty soles of his feet upwards, eyes widening as you realize the pure breadth of the person, the massive stature he has managed to fit into the narrow crevice of shelter.

When your eyes search his face, however, you falter, lips parting as you try to make out his features, only to be met with a dark, draped fabric that obscures all but his wide, panicked eyes.

He stares at you, this stranger, and you see your own panic and confusion mirrored in his gaze, the whites of his eyes revealing his terror.

The hooded man swallows, tries to shuffle himself further into the shadow of the outcrop with a small whimper that doesn't befit his hulking figure.

"Please-" He croaks suddenly, voice strangely boyish for a man his size. "Don't...don't hurt me."

You feel your face fall in dismay at the fear in this stranger's voice- a whimpering terror that instantly has guilt pulse through you for your instinct to flee away from him. When he shifts once more, you note the smear of red against the stone that flows from a jagged, gnarly wound around his leg. Like something had seized him and torn him asunder.

Realization dawns across your features, and at once you recognize the wound for what it must be.

Teeth marks.

The man seems to see your shock and consequent concern, because suddenly his breath hitches and he tries futilely to press himself further away from you.

"Shh, it's alright." You offer softly, extending your hands plaintively. "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you."

That seems to catch the stranger's attention, for his eyes lock on yours once more, the fabric of his hood rustling with his unsteady breathing. Yet he doesn't speak, not yet, still too afraid to address you. So, you lower yourself, making yourself small and unthreatening like you would to a wild, injured animal.

"You're hurt." You observe, voice gentle. You don't try to touch his wound, not yet. Instead, you try to keep contact with his eyes, wide and terrified.

"Did...the wolf do this to you?" You ask, voice a breathy murmur, and the man stiffens, entire form going rigid at your query. He doesn't answer, not at first, but after several moments he at last offers a small, hesitant nod in assent.

You swallow, eyes flicking back down the bloodied, mauled mess of the man's leg, his hands coated in scarlet. There's gashes there too, as if he was trying to unhinge the jaws of the beast in a frantic, desperate attempt to free himself. How he managed to escape the wolf is beyond you, but it's evident from the pure terror in his eyes that the victory of the feat is soured by his pain and fear.

"Let me help you." You say then, the words tumbling free before you can stop them. "If you stay out here...the blood...it might be able to track you."

The stranger doesn't respond, continuing to eye you warily, his form coiled tight against the rocks.

"Please." You try again. "I-I can get help, I know a healer, and she knows Witchers, I'm sure they can-"

"Witchers?" The man asks suddenly, voice dipping unexpectedly. You blink at the sudden shift, for all at once his terror seems to turn to disgust, anger, an emotion you're unprepared for.

"Yes." You supply softly, still trying not to startle him. Yet the man only stares at you silently from under his strange hood, offering no response.

"You can't stay here." You try again, and when he doesn't speak you begin to feel frustration rise inside you. "I'll go get help, the wi-"

You make to rise, but all at once the man surges forward, and the sudden motion startles you so much you topple backwards, onto your bottom. A hand shoots forward to catch you, preventing you from skidding further down the slope. You blink just as the stranger's form braces almost over you, his eyes gazing with a wild, frantic concern under the darkness of his hood.

They're green. Like the emerald canopy of the forest in the bright days of summer.

"Don't." He says, voice wavering, his bloodied fingers encircling your wrist and coating it crimson. "Please."

You blink, try to make sense of his words even as warmth rises to your face at just how close he suddenly is.

"I-" He tries, stammering, releasing you and sitting back as he realizes that he's startled you. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

It's your turn to be silent now, regarding him cautiously as your eyes dart to the red smear across your wrist. When you look back at him his eyes seem almost sad at the mark, downcast and guilty.

"I can't." He tries again, then lifts a shaky hand to fist in the fabric of his hood, eyes meeting yours once more. "I'm...disfigured. They might see my face and think...that I'm a monster."

You soften then, brow furrowing in sympathy at his explanation, even as he continues.

"I've been hiding in the woods for a while. I can't get close to the village because I might scare people, they might...." He trails off, but the implication is clear. The villagers, should they see a stranger, one with a face disfigured as he says, would no doubt shun him. Worse yet, you can imagine some of them going as far as to injure the stranger purely for his appearance.

"People will always attack that which they can't understand." You offer, straightening to kneel before him. You smooth a hand across your skirt, place your basket beside you and making sure it doesn't fall. "It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you."

You swallow, trying to bury your own fear in the face of your declaration. Despite your trembling grasp, you extend your hands as a request, open palmed and entreating.

"Please, let me see your hands." You tell him, voice clear like the eggshell blue sky on a crisp, fall day.

He doesn't move, not at first, eyeing your hand, a wild creature full of distrust.

"I can help you." You murmur, tone gentle, like trying to coax a fawn from the ferns. It seems to at last pierce the leather hide of him, revealing his loosening shoulders and uncoiling muscles, tender as he extends an oozing hand into yours.

You smile at him then, the first smile you've had since you settled by the warmth of the fire, flanked by Laswell and your newfound friends. It makes his eyes widen, as if he's just seen sunlight stream through an overcast sky.

"What is your name?" You ask, turning his hand over in yours, eyes looking at the broad planes of his palm, where gashes cut sharply across his fate line.

"König." He whispers, voice different now, somehow distant as he observes you.

"My name is König."

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pikmin !!

STOPPP THIS IS SO CUTE HAHEGWVSJEUWJSBSB ADORAVLE

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。10:07 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

al-haitham asks you to marry him before he even realizes himself what he’s just asked. it’s a random tuesday night. you’re in worn out pajamas, he’s still got slight damp hair from his shower, and the both of you are curled up on the couch.

you’re rubbing his chest and his arm’s wrapped around your waist when you murmur, “we should get a place with more windows.”

he raises a brow, turns to look at you and scan over the side of your face. it’s familiar, the way you look so pretty under the dim light, on the same couch against the same walls in the same living room. but it’ll still feel like the first time even if it’ll be his last.

“is the design of our current home not up to your standards?” he asks, making you giggle.

“it’s nice,” you hum, “but it needs more windows. and a bigger kitchen. and maybe a backyard.”

“this home is conveniently close to our place of work,” he argues, fingers creeping up from under your shirt and rubbing circles into your hip. it’s soft—your skin, it’s warm and familiar under the rough pad of his thumb. it’s a touch that’s routine enough that you don’t squirm in surprise anymore when he finds your bare skin, and then he wonders for a moment if there are other routines waiting for him.

maybe he’ll watch you wait for him through the window as he comes home. maybe you’ll dance in the kitchen as coffee’s being made. maybe there’ll be picnics in the backyard as the sun sets. maybe, when you have a new house but the same home, he’ll find more of you in the walls and the corners of every room.

“haitham,” you huff, “a little extra walk won’t kill you. we should find our dream home.”

“our?” he asks after a moment, like he’s shocked. you only nod against his chest.

“of course, silly,” you chuckle, “i certainly won’t be house shopping with the general mahamatra—”

“we should get married,” he blurts.

“what?”

“my grandmother left a ring,” he instantly explains, “it’s a very nice ring, i promise. you won’t have to worry about having a bare finger—”

“that’s not what i meant—”

“and it can be a small ceremony,” he assures, “it shouldn’t take much planning. but if you’d like something fancier, i don’t mind either, it’s your wedding day just as much as it is mine—”

“that’s sweet, but wait—”

“and if you’re worried about time off for the honeymoon, as the former acting grand sage, there’s still a few strings i can pull for us both. i hear inazuma is nice during spring, so that gives us—”

he’s rambling. he’s figuring it out right here and now and it’s the last thing you expect of him, not having an elaborate plan—and it takes you by surprise. but he’s breathless and his eyes are wide and his chest is warm and his arm is still wrapped tightly around your waist.

and you couldn’t dream of saying no.

“you think you want all this?” you ask gently, “with little old me?”

“there’s no one but you,” he mumbles, holding you closer. and if there’s a slight bounce in his knee as he waits for your answer, you pretend you don’t notice.

“so you want to get married?”

“i want to marry you,” he corrects, “i want you. marriage is just the means of how.”

“okay,” you say with a hitch in your throat. after a moment of silence, you let out a shaky chuckle, eyes watery as you meet his. “okay. let’s get married.”

“okay,” he nods slightly, swallowing thickly.

“and we can have a house with more windows,” you add.

“and a bigger kitchen,” he agrees.

“and a backyard.”

“maybe a bigger study,” he adds thoughtfully.

you grab his face at that, with enough desperation that his cheeks are squished in your hands as you turn him, pressing your lips to his. you taste him, feel him pass through you as a breath of air, hear him ring through your ear as a muffled grunt.

he’s a part of you. he’s every inch of you. he lingers on your skin and knits into your bones. he’s yours now and somehow….somehow he’ll be yours forever.

“i’m going to get married,” you sniffle. “how exciting.”

“i’m going to marry you,” he murmurs, like he’s still processing the fact that you’re here, and his, and you’ve said yes.

“i love you,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his.

his eyes close and his arm squeezes you gently. “i’ll always love you.”

edit: everyone stop fucking commenting about the authors note it was a joke and the comments are getting old :/ why don’t you actually leave feedback on the fic itself for once and show writers some support as you consume content

you people don’t fucking understand how insanely in love with him i am i want to make a fur coat out of his pubic hair and wear it on a cold winter day idc

141 boys waking up in the middle of the night and their partner is nowhere to be seen. they get out of bed to look for them, and eventually find them just sitting in the kitchen in silence with the lights turned off, staring into space. when they try to speak they get cut off immediately "would you love me if i was a worm. don't lie to me."

idk how i came up with this don't ask

-🦝

STOPP PLEASE

They’d think something was very very wrong, until you opened your mouth 😭

WHAT 😭

i lost my hamster… anywayyyyy, two fics should be posted by today or tmrw<3

MORE PLS I NEED HOME DEPOT AU BEGGING I SAW A PIZZA GUY AU AND I LOVED IT pretty please anyone 😢😢

Home Depot AU🔨🦺

This was all a joke but the reactions I’m getting,, I’ll probably turn this into something more🤔