When In Doubt.

When in doubt.

Pairing: TF141 (Price, Gaz, Ghost, Soap) X Male reader/ Inferus. (Can be read as platonic)

Word count: 2.1k (about 500 words each (though Gaz's is a bit longer and Soap's shorter))

Content: 141 being carried by Inferus, Readers Callsign is Inferus, no use of y/n, Talk of injuries, kinda angsty in areas, I'm pretty sure there's British slang used though so I'm sorry, this could be read as gender-neutral but Inferus is male in mind.

A/N : Making my CoD Masterlist, is a nightmare but it's happening.

141 meeting Inferus (Dont have to read for it to make sense.)

∥ M.List ∥

⚝ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 ⚝

In the aftermath of a mission gone awry, Price found himself confined to the med bay, his leg wounded by a gunshot. The medics had sternly ordered him to bed rest until the injury fully healed.

After about an hour of bed rest that felt like an eternity, Price's restlessness won over his better judgment. Fuck it he was gonna walk.

 He hobbled along the corridor, his determination outweighing the pain and the danger of reopening his stitches.

Unbeknownst to him, you were the one who had caught him in the act. At first, you just watched from behind, finding humor in the sight of your captain hobbling so desirably despite the injury. 

It wasn't until his leg gave out, and he found himself leaning against the wall, that you intervened. Approaching with arms crossed. Price's sigh carried a hint of resignation as he looked up at you, “Can ya blame me, Inferus? I need to get to my office.”

You couldn't help but shake your head at his audacity. Before he could protest any further, you scooped him up in a bridal carry. As you moved, you could feel the stickiness of blood on his ankle, confirming your suspicions that he had indeed opened his stitches.

If Price could have died from embarrassment in that moment he would have. 

You bypassed the med bay this time, taking him back to his room to carefully reapply fresh bandages. 

His grumbling was a constant soundtrack, but you remained focused on the task at hand, earning a few more sarcastic comments and begrudging thank you's.

The night passed, and morning brought a new day, as well as another attempted escape by Price. He was about to admit defeat and go back to bed but you quickly picked him up bridal style like you had the night before and carried him to the shared kitchen for breakfast. 

Price would have glared at anyone who sent him a look or laughed, but no one did because it was you carrying him. 

Soap and Gaz think it's hilarious, making jokes about Price being the “Princess” to your “Knight”. Price would probably bark at them, pulling rank and all but it did little to deter them. You’re just happy Price hasn't opened his stitches again. 

Price greatly appreciates your presence, as now he's not fighting tooth and nail and getting himself more hurt just to move about. He appreciates it when you wait about in his office for him to finish his work or bring him food during meals and snacks. 

Price's gratitude was thinly veiled by his gruff exterior, but his consistent "thank you"s and occasional glimpses of genuine warmth betrayed his true feelings. 

He enjoys being taken care of, though he won't admit it. He’s polite though, saying thank you every time you grab something or put him down carefully. 

It eventually develops into a routine, you wake up and see an injured Price in his doorway, you pick him up and the two of you go to breakfast. He doesn't ask you to keep doing it but you know he wants to. 

☠︎︎ 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 “𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭” 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 ☠︎︎

Ghost had, somehow, stepped into a bear trap. He had been running from enemies and so it tore quite a bit of skin and did some damage. Loser boy

Getting back to base (Amit some teasing from Soap) he had been dragged to the med bay and stitched up. He knew it would take some time to heal but felt he needed to be better. He had no idea how he didn't see the bear trap and was frustrated that he even stepped on it. 

He knew he needed to be better and didn't excuse himself from being distracted at that moment.  Despite his injury, he ended up dragging himself to the gym in the dead of night. 

You had heard the soft clang from the gym doors. You walk in and found him working out when he should be resting his injury. He didn't notice you, caught up in the adrenaline and ignoring his pain. 

His motions came to a sudden halt as your footsteps echoed in the room. Trying to play it cool, Ghost brushed off his pain. You watched as he struggled to maintain his facade, trying to dismiss your presence. He hesitated when you offered your help, clearly torn between his pride and the need to take care of himself.

As the adrenaline from his workout subsided, the reality of his injury began to sink in. Ghost's facade crumbled, and he finally nodded, his tough exterior giving way to vulnerability. 

You helped him carefully lower himself onto a nearby bench. As you tended to what had opened in his injury, he winced and clenched his jaw, his fingers gripping the edge of the bench. Yet, through the discomfort, his gaze remained locked on you, silently thanking you for your support.

You end up carrying him back to his quarters via a piggyback, however, as undignified it was to Ghost he was secretly impressed by how effortlessly you lifted him. 

He didn't really complain and was happy for the relief on his ankle, he would just lay his head on your shoulder and go limp against your back.

He ends up asking you to do it again the next day, he had duties to take care of to help Price and was hoping for some alleviation of his pain. So you oblige. 

No one is dumb enough to say anything or even laugh, who would when you could so easily throw Ghost at them? Besides, you two were second highest ranking on base, they could get in some serious trouble, especially making fun of an injured man. 

You end up helping him with his duties, hoping it would get him to go back to his quarters quickly so A) he was less likely to injure his leg and B) you didn't have to keep carrying him around. 

Ghost doesn't like asking you to do things for him, so he veils it as orders only to say thank you afterward. You know he doesn't mean to come off as rude so you dont take it personally. 

The day Ghost can stand and walk on his own with minimal pain, the piggybacks stop. He's appreciative of your help, but he finds it embarrassing having to be carried around and being literally limp on your back (especially the times when you had to put a hand to his ass) 

★ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 “𝐆𝐚𝐳” 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 ★

Gaz ended up breaking his ankle after jumping from a height he knew he shouldn't have been and landed off. His ankle snapped on the landing and he ended up face-first on the concrete. 

He was quick to radio in the injury, leaving out how he ended up with a broken ankle. Soap had to drag him from where he fell to the extraction point. His ankle had to casted and was put on bedrest or could walk around on crutches. Both felt rather embarrassing for Gaz. 

He thought it was dumb how he had broken his ankle and hadn't stuck the landing. He was glad no one saw it nor knew what happened, all they knew was that Gaz must have been fighting, jumped for safety, and eaten shit, and not that he was avoiding fire and didn't calculate the height of the building in a fight or flight moment. 

He wanted to spend his reverb off base but couldn't due to how far off his actual off-duty was. So he wallowed in his room, only ever leaving for meetings he wasn't excused from or to get food. 

He felt shitty over the injury to the point he wouldn't let Soap or Price write on the cast. He knew he was being an asshole and avoiding them but he was wallowing and just wanted to be in the field again. 

You decided you had enough of his avoiding, the others were worried for him and you hated seeing him so down in the dumps. So you decided to try and lift his spirits. Literally. 

One unsuspecting morning in the communal kitchen crutches leaning on the counter while he lent on it and held his injured foot up. He was waiting for the coffee so he could slink back to his room. 

You approached as quietly as ever, and before he could even register you in his eyeline he was up in the air. 

You had thrown him up and on your shoulder so that he couldn’t reach the ground. 

“What the Fuck, Inferus! What the Hell are you doin’?! Put me down Now!” 

You just stole his pot of coffee and drank it yourself (through a straw of course), you left his crutches and just went about your duties with Gaz on your shoulder. 

He complained a lot at first until he just accepted his fate and went along with it, even though he was annoyed. 

You got some weird looks, of course, but a mere turn of your head in their direction had them freezing up and whimpering off. 

You fed Gaz thought the day, passing back protein bars and full plates of food for him to eat and refusing to sit down to eat so he could slink off. 

The team thought it was hilarious, you were able to hold Gaz’s injured leg so Soap could write on his cast. Price wanted you to be careful with the injured sergeant but let you on your way. Ghost just shook his head when you walked past him, Gaz sending him a pleading look for help. But Ghost only put his hands up, he was not about to mess with you. 

He huffed and puffed but he had to admit it was comfortable up there. He didn't have to strain his legs and arms to get around, and he wasnt just sleeping all day either. It was good to get out without having to worry about being in the way or benign in pain and having to stop every few minutes. 

By the end of the day, he's feeling much better than before when you deliver him back to his room. He'd probably ask you to do it until his injury heals, you oblige. 

🫧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 “𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩” 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐓𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 🫧

Soap's encounter with a shrapnel grenade left him with a nasty wound, not just on his body but also on his pride. Despite the pain, he tried to play it off, not wanting to show any vulnerability.

You found Soap sitting in a corner, nursing his wound, a mix of frustration and pain evident on his face. With your assistance, Soap made his way back to the base, leaning on you for support. 

He was frustrated and reduced to bed rest, which didn't settle well with him. Sure he could walk but the feelings of holes in his skin remained. It made him twitch and cringe. 

You quickly took note of his discomfort whenever you saw him hobbling out and about. You hated Seeing Sopa down, and in pain, even if he tried to joke through that discomfort. 

You decided to joke about it, no matter your reserved exterior. So one day, Soap was longingly watching the others train from the sidelines, leaning up against the wall. You casually walked up to him, crouched behind him, and put your head between his legs. 

“Uh, Inferus? You alrigh’ Mate?” 

You dont respond, but you stand, forcing Soap over and back to back with you and his knees on your shoulders. You held him there by his ankles as he tried to fight it. He called out and struggled, which caught the attention of the others training.

They thought it hilarious, but you could tell Soap was getting flustered so you took him out.  You helped him upright so he could sit on your shoulders while you were outside. 

He started to enjoy it more once outside, you could tell he was starting to feel in better spirits because he cracked genuine jokes 

Whether he's feeling down in the dumps or in pain from his injury, he will flop back over so he's hanging upside down and it somehow makes him feel better. He thinks it's funny how you're doing your work with him on your shoulders like a parrot. 

He brags about being taller than the others when sitting on your shoulders, Gaz definitely tried to pull him down but Soap pulled the “Nuh un im injured” card and Gaz backed off, fuming. 

Soap insists on you doing it every day, until you realize his injuries have healed and he's just doing it to bother you. Even after his injury has healed he will sometimes as you to give him a shoulder ride or to hang him upside down. You oblige for the fun of it.

CAN I BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST?

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 5

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 5.6k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Literal sleeping together, Bed sharing, Angst/Comfort, Fluff Warnings: Sexual harassment by unnamed characters

In the days that follow, you begin to feel your heart unfurl.

You wake before König most mornings, pad on bare feet to the hearth with its still glowing embers and allow fire to blossom under your hands. The infant flames ward off the growing chill of dawn, light against the planes of your face until they crackle against the logs. It's the sound of splintering wood and bubbling steam from the kettle that often wakes König, who refuses to draw from bed. Instead, he tucks himself closer into the covers, growls at the thought of wakefulness and dozes a little longer. You find it oddly endearing, and it makes sense, given his seemingly nocturnal nature and with the both of you spending long hours into the night talking about all manner of things.

"I've always loved the stars." He tells you one late evening, while you perch in the loft with him, a shawl draped over your shoulders and legs dangling over the edge. He gazes up at the beams of the cabin as if he can see the sky beyond. "I learned when I was a boy to navigate by the sky. I know the winter constellations- see?" He leans over to you, shoulders bumping and raising a hand to trace invisible paths beyond the ceiling. "There's der Wasserman, the water bearer- and der Widder, the ram."

You smile, lean further into him as if you can somehow see the heavens beyond his gaze. He smells like ferns, of damp soil and pine. It floats through your thoughts, holds you cradled against his side until your eyes grow heavy to the sound of his voice.

When you wake the next morning, you find yourself in your bed, one of his blankets tucked around your shoulders, and the faint memory of being aloft in his arms.

The blanket smells like him.

König stays inside during the daytime lest he be seen by your neighbors. You venture out on most days, relishing the sunlight on his behalf. There's always work to be done in the village, and for you, who lives alone, that goes thrice fold. You hike up your skirt as you chop wood for the stove, dig through damp earth for mushrooms and roots to trade for meat, gather apples from the wild orchards, let bread dough rise above the hearth so the scent fills the cottage. Normally the things that feel mundane, perhaps even a hindrance, are now tinted with a soft sense of joy- knowing that once they are finished you return home to him and his company.

There's a tenderness in your heart that you fail to notice at first. It blooms like soft spring flowers, hides the gentle pale of its petals until sunlight washes over it. The air you breathe feels lighter, scented with rosemary hanging from the rafters, filling your lungs in a way that is wholly unfamiliar and yet so welcome. It feels much like the sound of his voice, the brief glancing touches he seems almost afraid to offer. When you meet his stare, the green of his eyes feels like a misty springtime meadow.

König is gentle with you in a way no one else has ever been. He's a touch shy, but in a way that's blessedly endearing. He calls you by soft names, Fraulein, Liebchen, and your favorite: Rotty- a play on your red cloak. He drapes it around you one morning, tying the ribbon with fumbling fingers as his eyes dart from yours to the lopsided bow. When you smile at the sound of his voice, his eyes alight with joy that bleeds into your soul. The companionship between you two comes as naturally as breathing, two lonely souls gently entwining themselves against the growing November frost to keep warm the slow filling of your hearts.

You can't deny the glances you steal when he isn't looking, watching the way he stretches so his just too-small shirt rides up the planes of his stomach or the reach of his muscular arms as he climbs the ladder to the loft. You thought his build was wiry at first, the way he was hunched in his cave, frightened and scared. Yet the more König shares your meals with you the more he fills out, adding bulk to the broadness of his shoulders and thighs.

"See something you like, fraulein?" He asks playfully when he catches you ogling him one evening as the fire glows warmly against his skin. You only return the humor in his voice with your grin.

"I like you." You reply and laugh when he splutters. Yet then he rubs the back of his neck and turns, and the moment is lost.

There's a strangeness between you two that falls in the silence. You lay awake in your bed at night, listening to him snore softly in the loft, and feel your face warm when you wonder what it would be like to fall asleep in his arms. You remember the way he relaxed into your embrace when you looped your arms around him from behind on the night he told you of his mother, wishing he would draw you closer into him in the same way you wanted him. You want to feel the warmth of him bleed into you, chase away the distant ache of your heart as he whispers your name in the darkness.

You...might want him.

Yet, you aren't sure if König wants you.

It goes beyond his shyness. There seems to be a hesitancy to König sometimes that you can't fully understand. Every time he draws closer, lets his voice grow a touch softer, and you think maybe he'll reach out and touch you, he withdraws. Almost as if he doesn't trust himself, as if he won't allow himself. There’s secrets in him that wind around his heart like brambles. You want to reach out in the space he's left absent, tell him to come closer. Yet König seems to know that he might prick your fingers, draw red from the pad of your thumb like the same curse that befell Aurora.

He seems haunted by something you can't see, something that makes him toss and turn on some nights, muttering in his sleep. Yet by the time you climb up to the loft to try to wake him, he's settled once more into stillness, and his nightmares remain a mystery. Come morning his eyes are full of warmth, and the affection in them is sometimes so profound you have to avert your gaze as your face warms under his stare.

You wish he would tell you the things he is hiding, hope that it fills the unknowable distance between you so you can indulge in the feeling of his embrace. Maybe if he tells you, he’ll allow himself to harbor affections for you in the same way you do for him. You wonder, sometimes, if you'll ever get to know the things concealed by the brambles of his heart. Maybe if you push too hard he'll leave you, and you'll be alone again.

You wish...he would stay.

-----

When you arrive at Laswell's, the mood is sour.

You enter into a quiet scene, one filled only by the hushed discussions around Laswell's table and the crackling hearth beside it. They seem not to notice you as you enter and close the door behind you. You eye your companions uneasily, instantly able to discern the low, roiling tone of frustration and restlessness that permeates the cottage.

Price is leaning back in his chair at the table, arms crossed, brow furrowed, having not even lit his pipe- a tell-tale sign of uneasiness. Beside him, Soap leans into his hands with a similar expression, listening to whatever hushed words Laswell is saying to them. Gaz casts them anxious looks from where he crouches near the hearth, tending the flames. You feel the atmosphere press heavily down on your shoulders, stale the air in your lungs as you perch nervously by the heavy oak door.

It's Ghost who notices you, dark eyes flicking up to yours with a quiet greeting. It seems to startle the rest of them from their reverie, eyes turning towards you as you approach with a tender, anxious smile.

"Red." Laswell breathes, and the flintiness fades from her stare into something more familiar. "Please, come sit."

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should interrupt what seems to be a serious discussion. Yet there seems to be a relief in the expressions of your friends, so you settle on the chair Laswell has kicked out with her foot for you, depositing a basket of goods atop the table.

"What's all this?" Soap asks, quick to rifle through the contents of the basket, pulling aside the cloth atop it with eager fingers.

"Some bread, jam, dried fruit, a little bit of lamb." You supply, grinning as Soap's eyes light up happily. The announcement seems to dispel the growing air of anxiousness in the cabin with a sigh of gratitude. "I figured it's a lot to feed four hungry witchers. I'd rather you not eat Kate out of house and home."

Gaz strides over as well, plucking a glass jar of jam from Soap's hands and examining it with a broad grin. He turns it over in his hands a few times before his gaze alights upon you, eyes relieved and appreciative.

"I haven't had blackberry jam in ages." He conveys softly, a touch tender but more than pleased. "Usually we're eating on the run- rabbits, squirrels, boar if we're lucky."

"Snakes too." Soap tells you over a mouthful of bread, wasting no time in devouring some of the food. You think you might hear his stomach growl. "Ghost won' eat em. Can't blame him, they're a little gamey."

"I hate snakes." Ghost offers lowly with a mild sneer, though he too draws closer to the table, plucking a few dried apples and pocketing them for later.

"This was very sweet of you, Red." Price offers from where he sits, face relaxed from his previous scowl. His words are soft, reassuring, and seem to seep away the remnants of taut unrest from the room. You feel your shoulders relax, smiling in return at his friendly, beholden gaze.

"Did you walk here by yourself?" Laswell asks, and you turn to her to see her concerned gaze flicker across her gray eyes.

The unspokenness of the threat that continues to linger in the woods weighs heavy on her words. You needn't be reminded. The entire journey over here, despite the brightness of daylight dappling through the canopy above, was fraught with memories of a massive black shadow in the woods. Even now you can't shake the memory of glowing eyes at the periphery of a haloed lantern, gleaming in the darkness, watching.

"It's still bright out." You explain, shaking off the thought. "I'll be back before dark too. I promise."

Kate looks a little unconvinced, and though she opens her mouth to speak, she's interrupted by a grunt of disapproval from Soap as Gaz tries to wrestle a roll out of his hands. The two bicker for a moment before Laswell sighs, levies them with a stern look and gentle reminder of "Boys." that has both witchers instantly obey and duck their heads in apology.

"Let them eat, Kate." Price sighs, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. "They'll need their strength."

That seems to pass through the group like an electric current, summoning the bright flash of eyes and coiled muscles in response to Price's words. You blink at the return of this tense atmosphere, slide your eyes to Laswell's pinched expression. She catches your gaze, holds your stare for a long moment.

"The full moon is the night after tomorrow." Kate confesses quietly, and her hands reach between you to settle upon yours in your lap. You look from them to her face, your expression open with concern.

"But-" You manage, realization drawing across your thoughts. "You haven't found the wolf."

Somehow, it's Ghost's eyes you land upon in the room of averted gazes. The masked witcher refuses to look away for a few moments, and you think that if you peer past the mask you can see the tightness of his brow in frustration.

"There's been no sign of it." Gaz confesses quietly. "Not since that night."

That night, weeks ago now, the one where you had met them for the very first time. The one where you had allowed yourself a single look over your shoulder to see the mammoth, ragged shadow that seemed to blot out the light of the moon. It had gazed after you, your red cape fluttering behind you as Price rode off into the darkness, feeling the glowing stare of it chasing behind your thoughts.

"You injured it." You breathe, remembering Price at your door soon after. "Maybe...maybe you killed it?"

Price shakes his head, lips a thin line. "We would have found the body by now."

"T-then maybe you chased it off." You try, voice a little firmer now. "Maybe it got injured and retreated up to the mountains."

It's Soap who offers you a quiet, concerned gaze, having placed down his food. "Even if that were true, lass, it will come back. The thing needs blood, it needs to eat."

You feel an icy wave of dread wash over you, one that's not warmed by the crackling hearth at your back. Gaz nudges his friend a touch harshly, scowling.

"Don't scare her." Gaz warns quietly, and Soap levies a glancing frown at him.

"Not tryin’ tae scare her." He retorts, rubbing the spot on his arm. "She needs to know."

You swallow. Your throat feels dry.

"Know...what?" You venture quietly, and Soap turns to you once more, eyes softening as he takes in your frightened gaze. Yet it's Price who responds to your query.

"Your village." Price offers solemnly, and all eyes in the room draw to his hunched posture, his darkened gaze. "Many may die."

Devastating silence.

You stare at Price, your horror written clear across your face. The cabin suddenly feels too small, too thin, the perimeter of the woods pressing closer in on you. Suffocating. When you breathe, it isn't the familiar smell of dried herbs and bubbling stew. No, you swallow and taste the phantom scent of blood.

"W-what do you mean?" You manage, voice very small, wavering with fright.

Price stares at you grimly, and there's a faint concern to his stare that is shielded by the grave nature of his words.

"A wolf of this size may not stop at slaughtering livestock." He explains, voice low in prophetic warning. "We've seen what a monster like this can do. Even if you board your windows, lock your doors, paint the hinges with wolfsbane, it may not be enough to stop it."

A vision washes over you as you stare at the captain, eyes bright with fear. Your thoughts play the image of a massive, snarling beast destroying the walls and doors of houses, of snatching your neighbors from their homes and crushing them between its jaws as red seeps into the earth below a heavy, full moon. Screams slice through the air, and even with arrows lodged in the creature's back it only snarls, cuts through flesh with gigantic, glinting claws.

None will be safe.

"Red." Laswell presses forward, tone urgent. "Please. Come stay here. I know you don't want to leave your home, but it isn't safe. We can protect you. I don't-"

Laswell swallows, oddly emotional. Her gray eyes alight with a sudden insistency that plucks at your ribs. "I can't lose another friend." She whispers, feather light like graveyard mist. "Please."

Your face falls, mouth snapping shut as you regard your friend.

Gently, the soft smell of ferns, of earth and musk washes across your senses, draws you back through the winding forest paths and up the steps of your cottage. There, it's a familiar voice, gentle and pleased that greets you, that skims across your skin and leaves glowing captivation in its wake. His soft words wind around your thoughts, draw you closer to him, into the sensation of your arms wrapped around him while he whispers a question to the starlit sky, and to you.

“Would you ever leave?”

“…Yes.”

You can't leave him.

It's not that König needs you, you realize, but that you need him.

The realization thunders inside your chest hard enough to make you jolt, blink until your eyes focus once more on the woman in front of you. Kate's face is ashen with concern, and you swallow under the intensity of her stare, hands trembling.

Maybe, you think, maybe you can find a way to protect him, to keep you both safe, to bring him to your new friends without the promise of his destruction. If you can do that, if you can keep him until dawn rises on the third day-

"Just one more day." You whisper, even as the waxing moon inches closer towards fullness with every heartbeat.

"Just one more day."

-------

Your words linger in the back of your mind as you meander in the direction of the village. It's not dark, not yet, but the sunlight is fading beyond the trees, hiding behind the hills. The dimness nestled in the shadow of the valley slowly falls as a curtain over the forest and the creatures within it.

Price had once more offered you an escort back to the village, but you'd gently refused him. You need the time alone to think, and between the crowdedness of Kate's cottage and your sheltered guest back at your own, the woods offered a welcome respite from the tumult of your thoughts.

The threat of the wolf, of the monster you saw that night murmurs inside your chest with a heavy, consuming dread. Your dreams continue to be plagued by the beast, offering visions of your red cape snagged in brambles as you race through the darkened, misty woods. The wolf chases you, the earth thundering under your feet as you flee. When you stumble, fall, the creature halts to raise his fanged muzzle to the heavy yellow moon, howling a cursed abraxas before his glinting eyes fall upon you once more.

It's been several weeks now since that night, but the fear the monster presents has yet to fade. Now, in the imminent promise of the carnage to come, you huddle into yourself, look to the trees and wonder if these woods will be the same as they once were once all is over.

You're terrified, of course. For yourself, yes, but for your friends, fit to fight as they are. Soap's story of his young, brawny squad mates falling one by one to a werewolf's claws ripples across the vision of all of them, and you try not to imagine them befalling the same fate. The image of your tiny, unassuming village devastated by the wrath of a singular behemoth feels less like a nightmare and more like an imminent prophecy.

As you look down the streets just as you meet the edge of town, you try not to imagine them streaked with blood and ash, houses torn asunder and the mangled corpses of your neighbors strewn across the lanes. You feel powerless to stop it, knowing the fate that awaits you all, but unable to protect anyone. Not even yourself.

Not even him.

Your house glows with warm, welcoming lantern light in the distance, smoke curling from the chimney with the gentle whisper of birch across your senses. You know the sound of the voice that will greet you, know the soft skim of his fingers and the unblinking interest in his eyes he never speaks. You know you'll both talk long into the evening as you always do, laugh over steaming mugs of cider until your eyes droop heavy and he offers a ginger murmur of "Sleep, Rotty."

You want these evenings to go on forever, you think. Your home is no longer the hollow, empty thing it once was. It feels warm, full, embraced in a tender touch that soothes the lonely fringes of your soul. The presence of him feels so much like the pine scented cradle of the woods around you, something that holds you safe, ensconced in protection. It whispers words to you that you can't understand, but you know in your heart all the same.

Home.

A home about to be ravaged, destroyed, and perhaps him with it.

He asked you once before in a desperate plea not to tell the witchers of his presence, too afraid they might see a leper like him as something not human- a threat. You've worked hard to earn his trust, relish in the gift of it bestowed in chuckled laughter and fleeting touches. To betray it, to tell Laswell that as much she wants to protect you, you need to protect someone too, to reveal him to the people who may very well want to hurt him-

You pause just beyond the stone fence of your yard, look up at the small slope leading to your front door, and once more feel your chest ache with terrible indecision.

You can protect him, you think in a silent, daring hope. You can protect him just a little longer from them.

As your hand lands on the wooden gate to your garden there's a voice that calls out behind you, and you freeze.

You can't make out the words, slurred and unintelligible as they are, but it's the tone that makes you pause, your startled expression peeking from under your red hood.

A man stumbles his way towards you. You recognize him. He's one of the hunters' sons, a lanky, young fellow with large, boyish ears and scruffy dark hair. He's smiled at you before, but the intentions behind his eyes had seemed anything but gentle. The night you, Soap, and Gaz rode through the town square you think you might have seen him, silent as the accusation of your impurity rang hollow against your curled form.

He's holding something in his hand, and you shy away from him as he approaches, untrusting of the staggered sway of his feet and sinister sprawl of his lips. Your stomach roils with acute awareness, skin suddenly cold beyond the chill of sunset.

"Guten Abend." He greets casually, slurring his words. He leans on the corner post of your fence as you try and subtly shift towards your front door, senses awash with danger. "You looked so lonely walking home, fraulein. May I keep you company?"

"No." You respond quickly, voice flat. You scowl at him, trying to clearly display your steadfast disinterest, but the waver of your voice fails to conceal your fright. He seizes on it, straightens and takes a step towards you. It only makes you take a noticeable step back. "Please leave."

The hunter’s son frowns at that, pauses to raise the bottle in his hand to his lips. The wine inside runs a red rivulet down his chin. Yet the ire in his expression is gone in a moment, replaced once more by his ill-intentioned grin.

"It's almost the full moon." He croons, straightening and running one hand over the fence posts as he saunters towards you. You slip inside the gate as he does, chastising yourself for never fixing the latch. Your frowning disposition has taken on a skittish anxiety now as he tries to close the distance, instincts blaring with alarm as he continues. “It's dangerous to be here alone, by yourself."

I'm not. You almost say, jaw snapping shut before you can reveal the presence of König inside.

"I can protect you." He goes on, resting a heavy hand on your gate you'd closed behind you, and your skin prickles at the brazen encroachment on your territory, hands shaking at your sides. "I can keep you safe from the wolf."

"I don't need your help." You bite back, hackles rising now at the threat this man poses to you. Though you tremble where you stand you still plant your feet, raise your voice in an effort to ward him away from you and your home. "You need to leave."

The ire returns in the form of a sneer, and before you can stop him the man swings the gate wide and makes towards you with a growl. You skid on your feet for a moment before racing up the hill to your door, making it inside moments before his fist pounds on the wood. When he tries for the handle you’re quick to latch it, preventing him from entering. It does nothing to calm his temper, and he shoves at the door with your back pressed to it.

"You think you're better than us!" He yells abruptly from beyond the threshold, and you tremble as you desperately press yourself to the door, feeling it shake under his blows. "You're nothing more than a common whore! You and that witch have seduced those men, we can tell!"

Witch.

The accusation pulses through you like an axe to wood, bludgeoning your fragile nerves and making your hands rise to your mouth to contain a shuddering cry of despair. It’s a curse, a jinx meant only for ruin. Once you’ve been accused to the village of such a thing, no amount of protest could ever prove your innocence. Laswell, even with her gray-eyed wisdom, wouldn’t be able to escape.

Neither would you.

He’s cursed you both.

"I bet you're a witch too! Just like her!” He bellows, kicking the base of the door so hard you squeak a shrill, high sound choked in your throat. “You probably brought the wolf here yourselves to kill us all!!"

You can barely hold yourself upright, terrified beyond measure as the door trembles. The earth rolls underneath your feet, shuddering along with your form. Fear, dread, realization bubbles as a deadly potion inside your veins, making your whole body tremble and sway unsteadily. The drum of your heartbeat is fit to burst, the thrum in your ears thunderous, nearly blocking out the man’s voice.

“Do you hear me?! You’ll be the death of us all!!”

A shadow looms over you, falling across your figure and blotting out the warm haze of lantern light. You whimper on instinct, mind discerning just another threat as the body above you leans to brace his wide palms on the door. He leans to keep it from shaking at your back, green eyes watching you shake and shiver, hands pressed to your mouth to silence your cries.

"Don't listen." König tells you, loud enough for only you to hear. His voice is gentle, a startling juxtaposition to the man on the other side of your door. You cling to it desperately, trying to find an anchor amidst the fear and confusion of this sudden assault even as the man yells and pounds at the door. König remains silent, still, pressing his weight against it to try and keep it from trembling. His eyes look down at you even as tears threaten your own, feeling so much like a little girl lost in the woods with no way to escape.

At last, your accuser grows tired, hurls a few remaining curses at you before you hear him stumble down your garden and back towards the main road. You listen to him leave, take several long minutes to be entirely sure of his absence before finally unleashing a trembling, shaking breath of relief.

König waits a long moment before he removes his palms braced above you, no longer crowding you with his massive frame. Yet he doesn’t move away from you just yet, lingers before you even as you breathe into your palms, watery gaze cast to the floor. It’s only once his hand catches your chin, tilts you up to his masked gaze that he speaks.

“Rotty.” He whispers, that beloved nickname he’s bestowed upon you, now spoken with such tender hushed concern. “Are you alright?”

Your lip trembles as you look up at him, face warm with mortification, fear, and anger all rolled into one. Your eyes threaten tears, and through them you can see the soft, worried light of his gaze onto you. He holds you as if you’re something fragile, threatening to break apart should he dare touch you. Yet the warmth of him is undeniable, a flickering hearth that draws you closer. You desperately want to bask like springtime flowers under the dappled sunlight of his stare.

Like home. Your mind offers again, unbidden, and the thought is enough to finally make the tears overspill. A sob cracks your throat, the desperation of loneliness bubbling up in a cry before you can stop it, sending you hurtling into his chest.

You fall into him, arms stretching to wrap as far around the trunk of his form as they’ll go. König jolts at the unexpected touch, coiling in surprise. His hands flutter uncertainly over you, as if he’s not entirely sure where to put them. You think perhaps he’ll pull away, will gently pry himself from you with a hushed apology. He’s constantly like that, allowing himself to dance closer to your flickering flame, only to pull away once more into the shadows. So, your arms fasten around him, fists gripping at the fabric of his shirt in a silent bid to keep him there just a little longer.

Slowly, he eases, allows himself to unwind with a barely audible exhale. His hands descend to your shoulders, soothe downwards to your back, pressing you closer into him as you shudder. You drink in the scent of him, moss and rosemary that floats down from the rafters, of damp soil that coats your fingertips in a beloved embrace. There’s a part of you in this moment that thinks perhaps you’ve known him all your life, have been wandering these woods in search of him without knowing it ever since you were a child- lost and lonely…

…and now found.

“It’s alright, Schatz.” He murmurs in a hushed reassurance, buoying you against him as you desperately try to contain your sobs. His hands grip at you as if he’s trying to memorize the press of your figure against his, as if it will be the last time he will ever hold you. It summons a fresh bout of tears to your eyes, throat thick with a gasping sob as you nestle further into his chest.

“They can’t hurt you.” He goes on, and his voice takes on a dangerous intonation, the semblance of growl reverberating against your wet cheek. You feel his nails dig into your shoulder for the briefest of moments, as if suddenly sharpened by his anger, only to relax less than a heartbeat later. The meaning of his words is left unsaid but echoes in the scarce space between you all the same.

“I won’t let them.”

He allows you several long minutes of your shoulders trembling under his palms before he gently slides his arms around you, bending to cradle an arm beneath your legs. He lifts you to him, and you go without protest, looping your arms around his shoulders and tucking your chin under his jaw. He’s gentle as he moves, careful of where he steps and oddly different from his typical clumsy nature. After a few moments he slowly descends, releasing you so you gingerly slide into your bed.

Yet when he tries to carefully remove your arms around his shoulders you make a whimpering sound of protest, webbing your fingers together in an unbreakable hold.

“Please.” You whisper, throat hoarse from crying, afraid he’ll refuse you. “Stay.”

König pauses, until he releases his inhibitions with a soft exhale. “Of course, Rotty.” He murmurs, and moves to arrange himself beside you in bed, hauling you back into his embrace and curling around you protectively.

The last of your sobs abate, but the fear and worry there remains behind. You cling to König as if that will keep him by your side, protecting you from the curse about to befall your beloved valley in the shadow of the monster. You wind yourself around him like ivy, desperately trying to never part from him, keep him nestled in the hollow of your heart as long as you’re allowed. His deep, even breaths whisper across your skin, feeling like the barest whisper of a breeze through aspen trees.

“I’ll keep you safe.” He vows in a sacred whisper to you, an oath you shut your eyes against, wanting it desperately to be true. His arms close around with a sudden ferocity so fervent it steals the air from your chest. “I’ll protect you, Rotty. I won’t let them touch you.”

You stay silent, allowing the meaning of his words to wash over you. The secrets between you remain unspoken, and as desperately as you want to understand them you settle for this instead- the heat of him, the curl of his body around yours, the press of his hand in your hair, the arm settled heavy across your form that shelters you from the world. You try to memorize it, try to imbue it into the repository of your memories so that if you survive the imminent cataclysm you’ll continue to remember him.

One more day, you remind yourself with a silenced whisper. One more day here, with him. With us.

You send a prayer up to the heavens that after all of this is over you’ll both walk into the woods hand in hand, having found each other after a lifetime of wandering the fern lined paths.

The moon grows heavy in your thoughts.

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omg

i was playing around w character ai and i literally just got inspired to write a fucking story LIKE HELP ME…

like 141 x target! reader

but when they take the shot… they dont die

Like immortal?? YK :3

ALSO I BLOCKED OUT PRONOUNS AND EVERYTHING SO ITS GENDER NEUTRAL…

and like the pov is kinda confusing but I LIKE IT HEHEHE I THINK ITS AN OK IDEA :3

OR WHAY ABT LIKE A GRIM REAPER! READER….

omg

i was playing around w character ai and i literally just got inspired to write a fucking story LIKE HELP ME…

like 141 x target! reader

but when they take the shot… they dont die

Like immortal?? YK :3

ALSO I BLOCKED OUT PRONOUNS AND EVERYTHING SO ITS GENDER NEUTRAL…

and like the pov is kinda confusing but I LIKE IT HEHEHE I THINK ITS AN OK IDEA :3

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 6

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 4.2k Rating: MDNI, Explicit Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Literal sleeping together, Bed sharing, Angst/Comfort, Fluff, Soft smut, Love confessions, Bonding bites Warnings: None

You're running.

Through the woods, under the full yellow moon. It hangs heavy in the sky, obscured by ink-black clouds that roll past the distant glimmering stars. The chill of the Hunter's moon crawls deep into your veins, escapes from your chest with every gasping, fogging breath of air. Your legs pump under you, boots colliding with the soft earth as you desperately hurl yourself further into the forest. Thorns snag at your crimson cape, and you yank it free, the scarlet fabric torn to ribbons as you flee.

A lachrymose howl cuts through the sky, shudders the trees around you. You pause just long enough to listen, to try and discern the impossible direction of the sound. It echoes all around you, engulfing you, unable to be stifled with the roaring hunger that craves for your flesh.

A scream then, but not yours. It curdles in your veins, shrieks high against the heavens, and you know the sound of the voice before your own call cries out desperately through the mist.

"KÖNIG!"

A scream again, and this time of pain. You throw yourself towards it, duck and weave through the trees and call once again for your friend, chest cracking with terror. Yet Konig's voice merely echoes out to you in a desperate attempt to ward you away.

"Rotty!! Rotty RUN!!"

Heedless of his warning, you skid to a stop in a small clearing just as the clouds reveal the full, haunting light of the golden moon.

König is splayed on his back, his mask torn, arms crossed in a vain bid to shield himself. Atop him towers a creature made of shadows, a massive form that summons every inch of fear in your form to a blaring instinct.

Run. Run. Run.

"ROTTY!" König calls, and his hand reaches for you- a plea, a warning, you aren't sure. You want to reach for it, haul him to safety, but the monster before you merely lifts its blood streak muzzle towards the sky, stands on its hind legs so it towers taller than the trees. The howl seems to crack apart the sky, fragment the tender edges of your soul in primordial horror.

You can't move.

König reaches for you again, and the warning he calls out to you is muffled by the thunder of your heartbeat. You catch his eyes, his gaze bright with fear. Gone are the soft green irises that speak to you with warm familiarity, replaced down with an eerie, glowing, gleaming gold that mirrors the light of the moon above.

The werewolf crouches low over his form, opens its gleaming fangs to slowly seize against König's throat. A killing bite, not yet pressing down. König watches you helplessly, an arm still stretched out as if to graze against the tattered remains of your crimson cape.

"Rotty."

Yet the sound comes not from his mouth, but from the jaws of the creature who holds him. You turn your horrified gaze to it, meeting moss green eyes eclipsed by drowning black pupils that suck you down.

"Rotty."

The wolf's jaws snap shut.

-------

You awake with a gasp, body bowing off the bed and trying to summon you upright. Your limbs seize in a violent twist, instinctively running from the horrific crunch of teeth that chases you into wakefulness. Yet a heavy weight is settled across your middle, preventing your struggle. You pull at it blindly, try desperately to free yourself from the iron grip that encircles you.

When it tightens you only squirm harder, chest heaving with quick little gasps of air. A voice, a befuddled murmur does nothing to soothe you, until at last you are released with a concerned, confused mumble of your name.

"Rotty?"

Your arms curl around your frigid form, trembling as you try to shake the remainder of the nightmare. The warmth of a familiar voice gently chases away the shadows, and after a long and heavy pause you feel the body behind you shift, drape something thick and soft across your shoulders. You blink at it, finger the worn edges of the scarlet cape you'd worn the night prior, when you'd curled in his arms and let tears fall from your eyes until he'd hushed you to sleep.

"König." You whisper, and the man at your back shifts closer to you, hesitantly letting a hand lay upon the one clutching your cape.

"It's just a dream, Rotty." He whispers, soft and worried, as if somehow you'll tremble under his touch. "You're safe."

You look over your shoulder then, glazed eyes seeing him for the first time, taking in the crease of his brow partially hidden under his hood. The same one torn in your dreams to reveal the open despair of his expression as he reached for you.

"I saw you." You whisper, scarcely audible. "I saw you die."

It's the wrong thing to say, and you don't realize it until it's too late, because König's worried eyes turn into bright fear. They catch the misty light of dawn that spills through the window, and you swear for a moment they gleam gold.

Yet König says nothing, and you know no words are enough to fill the emptiness of your premonition. The weight of it hangs between you both, an omen that beats closer to the midnight of tomorrow with every pulse of your heartbeats.

You turn to him then, shifting so your hands press flat against his chest, through the thin shirt you sewed for him, still too large for his massive frame. The cape slides from your shoulders, pools around your hips as if you arise from a sea of red. Your fingers splay across the laces, feel rigid muscle underneath. His heartbeat flutters against the pads of your thumbs.

"Hold me." You tell him, muscles still shivering in the aftermath of terror.

König obeys as if your words are a sacrament handed down by the divine, arms reaching for you, hauling you against him with such fragile care, as if you'll shatter under his broad hands. A thing made of glass, something that reflects the misty light of dawn with a dove-gray sigh. You fall into him as he falls onto his side, an arm pillowing your head, the other pressing you to his chest.

"You're safe, Rotty." He tells you gently, and you nod into the thick bicep of his arm, listening to the coo of larks resting atop the eves of your cottage. Slowly, the terror of your dream is released in slow, steady breaths, form relaxing into the sanctuary of his embrace. König seems more than comfortable to keep you there, his own chest rising with slow, even inhales. It feels almost as if he's drinking in the scent of you, trying to memorize the shape, sensation, and smell of you in his arms.

"I should light the hearth." You murmur faintly, and it doesn't budge him from where he lays, back to the rest of the cottage so he crowds you against the wall protectively. Tangled in the blankets, your cape, the layers of your skirt you'd never shed, it feels much like a warm, comfortable den, one you are hesitant to leave.

"Stay." He tells you in a hushed whisper, voice low, deep like the hollow of a tree. "Just a little longer."

You can't find it in yourself to complain, comforted by the weight of his arm slung across you, the warm press of him across your front. You surrender, nuzzle deeper into him with a languid sigh, allow a hand to gently entwine with the shoulder of his shirt.

There's words you should say, you think. A confession to be made. Here, in the soft light of morning, you feel affection blossom in your chest with springtime flowers, unfurling in the damp ethereal break of dawn. You wonder if you speak them like an April headwind they'll somehow carry him away from you, forcing him to draw back as he always does, with secrets hidden behind the moss green of his gaze.

One more day, your mind whispers once more. A prayer, a warning, a plea. One more day before your world is eclipsed by the full moon, before a howl splits the sky, before the thing from your nightmares prowls beyond the lantern light of your beloved home.

You vainly try to ignore it, try to instead imbue yourself in the way König sighs and props his chin on the crown of your head, on the pine-laden scent of him, of musk and cedar the faint smell of smoke that hails destruction. The worries of the world whisper in the air around you, frosting against your senses with chilled fingertips. The warmth of him alleviates it, cradles you in blissful comfort. You, like him, memorize the sensation of this moment, wind it like ivy into your veins as if somehow it will shield you from the things to come.

"This could be our last day together." He says then, thoughts an echo of your own, and you pull back to gaze up at him in grief, expression tight with a desperate worry.

"Don't say that." You whisper, your voice strained as you say it once more. "Konig...don't say that."

His eyes meet yours, and there's a distant sort of grief there, as if somehow he's already accepted his fate. It makes something inside you flare with alarm, and you find yourself gripping him with a sudden ferocity that startles you both as you shift to straddle him, stare down into his eyes.

"We're going to be fine." You tell him in a trembling voice, as you try to convince him as much as yourself. "Price and the others- they'll catch the wolf and kill it. They'll make sure it never touches us, a-and-"

You swallow, unsure of your words, watching the way the grief deepens in Konig's eyes, as if he doesn't believe you. It threatens to catch in your chest with a distant cry.

"We'll be safe." You tell him in a whisper, trying to force prophecy into your words. "and you'll stay. I'll protect you."

König's eyes widen for just a moment, and you watch a flash of realization pass across them. it softens the fear there, the grief and acceptance into something achingly tender. The warmth of it flutters across your chest like the quick pulse of robin wings, startles you so you suck in a breathy gasp from where you sit atop him.

"My brave Rotty." König purrs, and his hands raise to gently rest on your thighs, hidden by the folds of your skirt. "Sweet, gentle Rotty."

You shiver at that, feeling warmth rush across your exposed flesh despite the chill of dawn. You want to chase it down into him, let him warm your form, let the heat of his body alight the cold, lonely corners of your heart. If he does, if he burns a way inside you, you know you won't be able to bear it if he leaves you.

It's a thought that's haunted you this entire time, that König has stolen your heart he will run away with it, that you'll awake the morning after the full moon to find him gone, your bed empty. The hearth cold. There's a prophecy that whispers a warning in your thoughts that despite your tenderness for him, the man before you is made of mist, of a softness that will slip through your fingers and dissipate in the light of dawn following destruction.

It only makes you cling to him harder, hands splayed against his chest, bunching his loose shirt between your fingers. He must see the despair on your face, because König lifts a massive, worn hand to your cheek, knuckles grazing across soft skin.

"Liebling." He murmurs sweetly, and his eyes are aching with adoration from where they look up at you under his hood. "If only you knew what I'll do to protect you."

Show me. You think. Show me everything, the lengths you'll go to, the secrets you keep. Show me how much I mean to you, show me that you won't disappear.

Instead you nuzzle into his palm with an unsteady sigh, cupping it to your face and looking down at him once more.

"I wish..." You whisper despite yourself, thoughts spilling outwards before you can stop them. "That I could kiss you."

It's a selfish thought, and you know it. König refuses to show his face, even after all this time. He's desperately protective of the hood that shields him from you, refuses to show you even a glimpse when you eat together, your back turned to allow him privacy. Yet here you are, once more wishing for the things you're not sure you can have, wanting desperately to vanquish the barriers that stand between you both.

König's eyes widen under the hood, and your face falls, knowing you've made a mistake. Yet then he blinks, and shifts under you, gently scooting you off his form. You think it's a refusal at first, especially when Konig slides from the bed away from you. There's an apology ready on your lips- one that hesitates as the man before you kneels at your feet tossed askew over the bed.

König is surprisingly delicate as he cups your foot, still hidden in its warm stocking, and for a moment you're reminded of the tale of the girl with the pumpkin and glass slippers. Like the prince, König lifts your foot onto his thigh. Yet instead of offering you a crystalline glass token, he instead reaches a hand under the hem of your skirt to drag the top of your stocking slowly down the length of your calf.

You suck in a breath, heart thumping as you feel the fabric slide down your skin, curious as to his intentions. When he finally divests you on the garment, he raises himself up, scooting between your legs and peering up into your face bent towards him.

"Do you trust me, Rotty?" He asks, and there's something different to his voice now, a distant rumbling purr that sounds not unlike a growl.

"Yes." You whisper back, and your hands itch with the urge to raise to his shoulders, somehow bring him closer.

Closer he comes, because König takes the stocking in hand and lifts it to your eyes, tying it swiftly around the back of your head. Blinding you.

There's a stab of disappointment that is quickly erased by daring hope as you hear the rustle of him removing his hood. You press forward eagerly and hear the soft rumble of a chuckle when König takes note of your enthusiasm. He lifts himself with a breathy sigh, lips brushing against yours in a chaste, delicate kiss.

It's just as you imagined in your dreams, tracing your lips in the darkness when he slept above you, wondering if he was gentle with you there too.

You chase after him eagerly, wanting to memorize the sensation of him against you, and König takes only a moment before he too cedes to the desire. Hesitant though he is at first, he eventually allows a sigh to escape his parted lips, mouth moving eagerly against yours as his arms come to wrap around your waist.

"Rotty..." He groans, and you feel his desire bleed into you, crimson and bright, tantalizing against the passion of your thoughts. "Schön Rotty..."

He lifts you then, into the bed, brackets himself above you and dwarfs you with his massive form. You can't see him, senses entrenched in darkness, but the blindness only makes your remaining senses blossom scarlet with sensation, drinking in his scent, his touch, the murmured endearments his whispers onto your lips when he kisses you.

You hook an arm around the back of his neck, pressing him down into you, wanting the warmth of him to be your own. You want the edges of him to bleed into you, to be unable to discern where you stop and where he begins.

"I want this." You whisper to him blindly, fingers reaching up to graze through his surprisingly long strands. He shudders almost violently at the contact. "I want to keep you."

"Rotty." He growls then, and you shiver at the need, the possessiveness that flares abruptly in his words when he answers you. It feels like the distant snap of some forbidden tether, the shatter of some restraint that holds back a beautiful, dangerous creature. You feel almost akin to prey, with his fixated gaze that seems to watch you like a doe in the glade. Respectful, entranced, but hungry.

You wonder if this was his secret, the depths of his desire for you, untamed but gentled for your domesticity, gleaming eyes reflecting the warmth of your hearth even as he hungers for the moonlight. Perhaps he's something different than what you imagined, an animal that eats willingly from your palm, but will swallow you whole if only to slake his yawning desire for your flesh.

You want him to devour you.

Your bare calf peeks from the ruffle of your skirt, hooks over his hip so you spread open for him- willing, eager, wanting. It summons a growl from his lips, a rumbling groan that sounds like the bend of aged aspen against the wind. You long after it, want to carve it into your thoughts just like the touch of him against your skin.

You feel it when he divests himself of his shirt impatiently, and you try to imagine the planes of his body you can't see. Instead your hands try and map out his skin, tracing the indents and silvery tissue of scars you find littering his chest. You want to ask him about them, about why they feel like the claw marks of something wild. Yet König silences your queries with a kiss, hands tugging at the laces of your bodice to reveal you to him.

"I want to see you." He huffs, warm breath curling against the planes of your face. "I want to see all of you, Rotty."

I'll let you see anything you want, just as long as you stay.

"König..." You mewl instead, raising your fingers to comb through his surprisingly long hair. He shudders hard for a moment at the contact, an unsteady breath loosening from his chest before he returns to kiss you with a sudden ferocity that steals the air from your lungs.

"What sharp teeth you have." You murmur curiously, and he stiffens for all of a moment before returning:

"The better to bite you with."

Bite you he does. Gently, with his whole mouth, Konig clamps down on the arch of your neck where your throat meets your shoulder. An indent, not hard enough to bring blood, only to lay a lasting mark you wish to keep there always as a reminder of him.

It feels somehow like a claim.

More. You think, senses growing hazy with lust. Show me. Show me how much you want me, how much you want this, what you'll do to keep me.

You moan as his hand grazes up the inside of your thigh, rucks your skirt up to your hips to reveal the tender flesh to his touch. You arch into him greedily, beckoning him further against you, offering yourself like a lamb to slaughter if only it means it will quench your desire.

"Rotty." He growls again, voice deeper, somehow feral. "My Rotty."

He kisses you like he means it, and you surrender willingly to his rolling, roaming touches, to the impatient tugs of his hands as he sheds you both of your clothes, to his husking groans that drag in his chest at your pliant mewls. His hands grope at your chest, your hips, drinking down your desperate little keens when you plead for him to touch you properly.

His broad fingers fill you like nothing else, and you let your head flop into the pillows helplessly when he croons at your arousal pooling over his palm. It's clumsy, a little stilted, but it's good, his enthusiasm clear in the way he drags insistently at your silky walls, coaxing wanting murmurs to him.

"J-just like that, oh God. König..."

The pleasure multiples, draws higher inside you, stretches for the sun in the shade of the forest, seeking a higher warmth. It remains just out of reach, a tantalizing reward that you cry out for with no reprieve.

"Shh, gently, Liebling." He murmurs with restrained tenderness as he arranges you carefully on your side in his arms, lifts a leg with his broad arm and begins to push inside. You whimper at the stretch, feel your walls eventually ease and allow him entry. The drag of him forces the air from your lungs, and you go limp just so you can take it, take all of him, everything he has to offer and more.

He splits you open, drags his teeth along your jaw like he's searching for a vein, hauls you to him like he's afraid you will escape. You're forced into docile willingness, submitting with wanton little moans as he rolls his hips against yours, forces you higher into bliss.

"Scheiße-" He grunts, hugging you close so he can thrust into you, hand flexing as he holds your leg aloft, parting you for him. "So good for me, Rotty. Want to stay here, just like this, in your bed, listening to you. Just like this."

It doesn't take long for you to crest towards the peak of your arousal, the angle of him inside you grazing against the clutch of your heat and making the spool of desire tighten across your thighs. It unfurls in low, rolling waves, spreading through your limbs, your veins, the marrow of you that's picked clean by his teeth.

König takes you in the way of wild animals, snapping jaws held back only by your delicate touch, offering apologetic little whines when he forces you into overstimulation. He growls and huffs into your shoulder, teeth nipping with scarcely contained ferocity at your bare shoulder. It makes you wonder if he's holding back far more than he lets on, that there's a danger to him that might drown you should you release it.

He hauls you flush to him after several wild thrusts that make your voice ring out in the quiet solitude of your cottage, forever echoing inside the stone walls of this moment where he's claimed you. It's with a snarl, a curse that he spills inside you, warmth curling your insides as his hips jerk, and his voice descends into something akin to a whimper.

You lay in a sweaty heap in his arms, and König hauls the blankets atop you both, nestles you into his embrace, peppers fluttering kisses across your face, your blindfold.

"Dearest Rotty." He murmurs with tender affection. "Beloved Rotty."

There's an affection that floods your chest, sharp, almost painful at the clear adoration in his words. He pets at your back, hums a low, satisfied purr into your ear that speaks of contentment. It's in this moment that you wish you could stay, that you wish you could keep him.

"I love you." You confess at last, unable to see him but feeling his heartbeat flutter in his chest where you lay your cheek. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

I don't need to see you. If you just tell me, if you just stay, I'll go blind for the rest of my life just to keep you here with me.

König pauses for a moment, and at last he sighs. It feels like the final breath of winter giving way to soft spring, a surrender to you as much as himself, no longer able to deny his feelings for you.

"I love you too, Rotty." He tells you, voice full of emotion. "Since the day we met, I think I have loved you."

You think of that, of the day all that time ago when you found him in the forest, on the misty morning in the aftermath of the monster that chased you through your dreams. He appeared there, hurt and broken in the ways you were, and were not all the same. Lonely, needing, hoping to be found. You, you found him, not knowing then that he had found you too.

You should tell him, you think. You should convince him to retreat to the safety of Laswell's with you, to appease Price and the others even if they remain suspicious of him. You know if he denies you that you'll stay, and you'll face the darkness of the luminescent, heavy moon together.

In this moment, in the dawning darkness of what lies ahead, you instead kiss him, and pray it won't be the last time.

"Promise me you'll stay." You whisper against him blindly.

"I promise." He tells you, and once more that prophecy lingers with taunting whispers at the back of your thoughts. A festering doubt not abated by his touch.

You kiss him, and you hope it's not a lie you taste upon his lips.

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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 😭