#snow white!reader

She remembers being wet and cold and this scary man saving her. But he’d also tried to take her life from her, crush it under his boot like it meant nothing. But he hadn’t. And for some reason that means something to her, something she can’t quite grasp; like a butterfly flapping its tantalizing wings around her, making her believe it might rest upon her stretched-out fingertips but it never does. 

His arms feel protective around her, a false sense of security wrapping around her thundering heart because she’s never been this close to a man before—especially a man like him. 

Cedar and soil. That’s what he smells like and she lets out a frustrated huff because she doesn’t entirely hate it, and with her thoughts all muddled up she’s uncertain what she’s supposed to think of anything anymore.  

“You awake?” Rafe’s chest vibrates against her back in tandem with the low rumble of his voice. 

“I thought you were still sleeping,” she rushes out because the unexpected sound startles her and he’s still holding onto her, despite there being no need. 

“M’not.” his answer is clipped, exasperation coiling around it. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she frowns. 

“Didn’t really feel like listenin’ to you whine about bein’ tired cause I disturbed your beauty sleep,” he mutters before he’s moving away from her, the imprint of his heated body lingering. His tone confuses her, however. She doesn’t understand why he sounds so angry all of a sudden. 

“Are you…okay?” she turns to look at him already standing tall on his feet while pulling on a fresh shirt. 

“Am I okay? Tha’s what you’re fuckin’ askin’ me right now?” he snaps and the agitated oceans of his eyes flicker to meet her own, making her pause. “Everythin’ about this is fucked. You’re ruinin’ my plans ‘n I’m sick of lookin’ at your perfect fucking face. Do you know how much money I could make if I sold you? There’s probably a bounty on your head that’s worth more than I’ll ever make and it pisses me off that you keep looking at me like I’m some night in shinin’ armor when m’not. I’m a bad man, Snow, ‘n you shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice is a quiet whisper, barely audible over her thundering heartbeat and the rustling of sheets when she sits up in his bed. She refuses to meet his heated gaze though, because she can already feel her eyes beginning to burn, embarrassment clawing at her insides because she is not going to cry right now. 

“Yeah, I know you are,” he lets out an irritated sigh and she chews on her lower lip while she considers his words.

“Are you saying you want me to leave?” her question sounds panicked because that’s how she feels right now; utterly terrified of her only hope giving up on her. 

“Yeah, cause you shouldn’t be here.”

“But you said–” 

“I know what I said but I’ve had some time to think ‘n I don’t need you on top of all my other problems, okay?” 

“But I don’t–I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you,” she swallows thickly. 

“Listen, m’gonna take you to this village outside the kingdom where a few of my friends live ‘n then s’best for the both of us if we part ways,” he leaves no space for objection and she’s forced to nod her agreement, even if the fear of being left all alone begins to gnaw at her bones.

“They’re a lot nicer than me, okay? You’ll be fine,” he stares at her for a moment, seemingly expecting her to say something in response. However, when she merely blinks back the tears from earlier and makes a move to get out of bed as well, he scratches at the back of his head and looks out the window. “Good. Now that that’s settled, we don’t really have time to waste, so get ready ‘n we’ll leave as soon as possible, okay?”

She hums as she gathers her dress from the floor, contemplating whether she should wear something to cover up the expensive silk only royalty could afford. “Do you think I could borrow a shirt from you?” her question is soft, scared of upsetting him once more. 

“Yeah, take whatever you want,” he mutters before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him, leaving. Just like he will in a few days.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Heavy droplets cling to her hair and the trip on foot to the unknown destination feels eternal—especially when it’s raining as heavily as it is right now. Her shoes are soaked through and the cloak Rafe gave her only does so much to keep the raindrops from saturating her clothes underneath it. 

He claimed there was a small village close by where they could rest and buy some food. However, her understanding of the phrase ‘close by’ appears to differ from his drastically. Of course, it would’ve taken a lot less time if they had a horse but unfortunately, both her and Rafe’s horses are still happily eating carrots and whatnot back at the palace. 

They only exchange a few words during their journey, mostly because she suddenly finds herself nervous around him and because (she learned this very quickly) he’s the kind of man who doesn’t speak unless spoken to.

On the first day, she found out that Rafe doesn’t like to rest either; her attempt at politely suggesting they sit down on a tree trunk for a little bit after hours of persistent walking was met with an exasperated ‘stop complaining’ and only when nightfall was quickly approaching and her feet ached painfully with each step, did he agree to settle down for a freezing night under the twinkling stars and inky sky. 

That’s why the small village they finally stumble upon after two whole days of hiking in the pouring rain and gloomy forest feels like a reward from the heavens themselves. It’s bustling with numerous stands selling different assortments of food, clothing and other necessities. There are children running around and merchants occupied trying to earn money with their produce at a fair that seems to be taking place here, and she’s not sure if she’s ever been anywhere with this many people before. 

“Just, uh, try to blend in, yeah?” Rafe murmurs as he tugs the hood of her cloak over her head, adjusting it so it covers her as much as possible. “And give me your hand,” he orders next before gripping her smaller palm in his own, dragging her into the ocean of lively villagers laughing and chatting all around them. 

“Would the lovely pair fancy some magical bread?” a peculiar looking vendor asks when they pass a sign that says POTIONS, SPELLS & ENCHANTED GOODS. 

“What does it do?” she asks, child-like fascination cracking through the surface upon reading it.

“Well, my dear, it works differently for everyone since it enhances one’s deepest desires,” the old lady whispers the last word, her crooked front teeth visible as she offers her an impish grin. 

“Really?” curiosity gets the best of her, as always. 

“Yeah, right,” Rafe scoffs upon noticing their interaction. ”Bet it doesn’t do shit, s’just normal bread she’s tryna sell for a higher price.”

“Rafe, you’re causing a scene,” she quietly scolds him, nervously looking around. 

However, the lady doesn’t seem all that troubled, a challenging gleam in her pale eyes as she turns her attention towards him. “I’ll give a special discount for the man in doubt…only four coins for you,” she proposes. 

“We don’t want your fuckin’ bread, alright?” he huffs out, already turning around, but the princess hanging off his arm refuses to follow.  

“What?” his exasperated eyes flit over to her in question.

“The other ones cost twice as much and we’re already running low on money,” she tries to reason. “I mean, how bad can it be?”

He contemplates it for a moment, before looking over to the elderly woman once more. “Shit, alright, we’ll take it…but m’not payin’ any more than three,” he mutters out, snatching the loaf of bread with a roll of his eyes before tugging her along with him towards another stand. 

They begin to stroll around the fair some more, purchasing more food for their journey when commotion suddenly breaks out a bit further down the street. However, she’s far too distracted by the glint of a diamond necklace to notice anything out of the ordinary, flinching when Rafe is suddenly yanking her behind another market stall. Her back presses against his hard chest when he tugs her against him, and she doesn’t even have the chance to open her mouth before he’s pasting the hollow of his hand over her mouth. 

“Shut up,” he breathes into her ear, his whisper nearly inaudible as he nods towards a few of the queen’s soldiers walking through the crowd, clearly searching for someone.

Her heart hammers violently in her chest, her labored breathing warming the skin of Rafe’s palm as they stand there, unmoving until the men in question are merely a few feet away from them. She can see their armors and swords glinting through the gaps in the boards that make up the wall of the vegetable stand they’re hiding behind. 

“Hey! You there, turn around!” the angry shout makes her gasp against Rafe’s hand and the fingers of his other one dig into her waist painfully. However, when the soldier stalks up to a girl around the same height and age as her and turns her to face him, she thanks her lucky stars. 

“That’s not her you idiot, keep searching!” another voice barks in an irritated tone, causing her to grow rigid against Rafe. The hunter behind her merely pulls her closer, his calculating gaze bouncing from one soldier to the next and forming a plan in his head for their escape.

Once the immediate threat has passed, Rafe leads her along the narrow road between the stands and the fence lining the entire perimeter of the village—hurrying her along towards the stables housing a few horses happily munching on some hay. 

He quickly looks over his shoulder to make sure the coast is clear before shoving her inside hard enough to make her stumble over her feet. She nearly lands on the muddy floor before the same hand that pushed her steadies her once more. 

“We have to get out of here,” he mutters with his eyes glued to the horses behind her. 

“How? If we steal a horse they’re going to see us,” she says worriedly. 

“No they’re not, c’mon.” he prompts while offering one of the bigger horses a bright red apple, which it instantly takes and nearly swallows whole, nudging its muzzle against his arm in a silent request for more. 

“Oh, she’s so sweet! Can I feed her too?” her eyes round out, looking at the creature with pure adoration.

“The fuck are talkin’ about? We don’t have time for this,” Rafe shakes his head with an irritated huff while looking around for a saddle.

“You’re right, sorry. But is she even gonna let us ride her?”

“Only one way to find out,” he replies, already climbing onto the horse’s back and beckoning her to follow.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The world is a blur when her eyes finally open with her lids heavy and a dull ache in her skull; a pounding that only seems to grow stronger the longer she blinks. Her brows draw together when the murky room she’s in materializes in front of her and she realizes she’s in some sort of a dungeon.

It’s not like the ones located under the palace though. No, those are different. This one appears to be a lot smaller, surrounded by thick stone walls with only one tiny window allowing sunlight to pour over the small space she finds herself in, and she briefly wonders whether it’s still the same day or the next. What on earth happened?

Her eyes settle on Rafe, who sits on the floor and leans against the wall further away from her, his position much like hers. Although for some reason, his hands aren’t bound with the thick rope that scratches the inner skin of her wrists in an uncomfortable way. She’s about to ask him why, when she notices something else that’s quite uncomfortable; a throbbing ache between her thighs, which confuses her to no end because this is not the time nor place to be feeling like this.

The stone is cold against her back but her skin is entirely too warm—a fire inside her that isn’t willing to die until she does something about it. She decides to ignore it though, letting out a relieved breath upon seeing him because now she at least has some sort of a chance to get out of this place. 

His eyes are closed, however, and for a moment she hesitates; eyes gliding down his features like raindrops against glass. There’s a crease between his brows and his chest rises and falls rapidly, making her wonder whether he’s having a nightmare or merely deep in some troubling memory. Nonetheless, she ends up calling his name in a soft whisper, scared to speak any louder in this strange place they’ve found themselves in. 

His eyes snap open and his heated gaze settles on her in the next second, making her breath hitch because the heady look he’s giving her forces the discomfort between her thighs to grow tenfold. It’s painful now, nearly all consuming as she tries to force her thoughts away from it but it seems like the more she tries to fight it, the stronger it becomes. It’s a starving thing, tickling at her guts and itching for a release that she’s unable to give with her hands bound. 

“Told you we shouldn’t have trusted that old hag.” it’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth and she flinches at the sudden sound of his deep voice.

“What are you talking about? Why are we here?” she manages out, confused to no end because the urge to rub her thighs together to create some semblance of friction is overwhelming, muddling up her thoughts until there’s only one left. 

“The bread.” he grumbles, an exasperated hue coloring the word and she pauses, forcing her brain to focus on her memories from before she passed out—vaguely recalling the village, the strange old woman, them running low on money, her being hungry…the bread. 

She remembers them filling their grumbling bellies with it (because it merely tasted of flour and salt, so it must have been fine) and then deciding to settle down for some much needed rest in an outlying area of the forest they’d found themselves in. The verdant canopy of the trees and the greenery of the bushes provided them shelter, tucking them away from the rest of the world and she remembers feeling so calm and safe, finding it impossible to stop herself from closing her eyes for a moment.

But that moment had apparently turned into a few hours, and they’d fallen into a slumber so deep they hadn’t noticed someone capturing them and locking them here. 

“Oh.” she manages out but when he merely shifts uncomfortably on the floor before adjusting his pants, she can’t help but let her eyes drop to his crotch, noticing she’s not the only one who feels like this. And at that thought something stirs inside her, dragging her towards him with an invisible string until she’s forced to crawl closer to him on her knees—the damp, dirty stone floor scraping against her skin from where her dress has slid up. 

The bite of the small cuts burn, but not enough to halt her movements as she scrambles towards him until there’s merely an inch between them, her ragged breathing heavy and uneven. “Rafe,” she practically moans his name because it hurts so much she feels like she’s going to die. “I feel like…do you…” she stumbles over her words, feeling dizzy to no end while pressing her thighs together as an attempt to alleviate the tingly ache there. 

And without thinking, she leans closer to his face and presses her lips against his mouth in a clumsy kiss that makes her heart race. His rough stubble scratches her skin, making her let out a pathetic sound because even that feels so incredibly good she doesn’t know what to do with herself. With her hands still bound, she’s forced to lean against his firm body for balance which makes her feel all sorts of desperate since he doesn’t even respond to her lips moving against his, merely sits there and lets her make a fool of herself.

And then he’s pulling away from her altogether. 

“The fuck are you doin’?” he snaps and embarrassment burns its way through her limbs. 

“I…m’sorry I don’t know why I—I just—“

And for a moment, he just stares; an obscene glint in the pools of water that make his eyes. The moment feels everlasting, imbued by this miserable need that only seems to increase with each passing second until he lets out a huff through his nose, the edges of his mouth tilting. 

“You jus’...what? Hurts that bad?” he pouts with furrowed brows but his eyes lack the empathy she oh so craves. 

“Rafe…”

“What? You’re the one who wanted to buy food from that witch, so deal with the fuckin’ consequences,” he scoffs, although the frustrated movement of his hips tells her they’re both dealing with the consequences. 

“Shit,” he mutters before he’s stuffing a hand into his pants, a lewd groan escaping his throat when he seems to find some semblance of relief. And she has no choice but to sit there and stare, mouth growing as dry as a desert when the back of his head hits the stone wall he’s leaning against. 

“Why are your hands not bound?” she asks when she finally manages to gather some sort of discipline, unable to look at him any longer without the need to burst, which is why she opts for examining the dirty floor instead. 

“Cause the shithead that locked us here doesn’t know how to tie a proper knot tha’s why,” he answers through a groan. “And before you ask, no, the door wasn’t as easy to open.”  

She lets out a sigh, noticing the idle piece of rope not that far from where he’s sitting and letting out those noises destined to drive her mad. 

“Can you open mine?” she asks hopefully, lifting her gaze to him once more—immediately regretting it because the view of him touching himself in front of her is far worse than the sounds he’s making. Or maybe the sounds are worse. No. It’s definitely seeing his hand moving inside his pants while those shameless eyes of his remain glued to her. 

“So you could touch yourself?” he lets out a patronizing laugh. “Nah, I don’t think so. You’re the reason we’re here in the first place, remember? You’re not gettin’ off that easy.” 

“Rafe…please, m’sorry,” she resorts to begging because he’s being mean and she doesn’t understand why he likes to see her suffer so much. 

But he merely shakes his head, a cruel smile on his lips that makes her let out a disgruntled growl, the insides of her wrists stinging from the harsh rope as she tries to free herself, albeit to no avail. And before her brain has the chance to grasp onto what she’s doing, she’s climbing onto his lap, her entire body restless and frustrated while she pants—the solid hardness of him so tempting she can’t help but move against him. 

“Fuck, what’re you doin’?” Rafe gasps, his hands seeming to have a mind of their own when they settle on her hips, pressing her against his dick harder, rougher. And then his frantic fingers are fumbling with his belt and unbuttoning his pants so all that’s left between their heated cores is the cotton fabric of their underwear. 

“Oh my god, that feels so—Rafe I think I’m…” she trails off, losing that train of thought because it feels so good to rub herself against him she can’t think straight. 

“Oh yeah? Gonna come on me, Snow?” his eyes are hooded while his fingers slip underneath the skirt of her dress, digging into the skin of her thighs in an attempt to pull her closer.

Snow. The last time he called her that, he was yelling at her but now the nickname holds something much more tender, something desperate. 

She blabbers out incoherent nonsense in response, her head dropping to lean against his chest when he begins to meet her rushed movements, rutting against her more aggressively, his cock twitching and throbbing, begging to be released but he ignores it in favor of dragging her sticky cunt over it again and again until both of them are nearing their highs. 

“If you’re gonna come, you’re gonna look at me, okay?” he orders, forcing her to face him with his fingers holding onto her jaw. 

Her intoxicated eyes snap up to meet his own and when they do, she pauses, her limbs twitching and shaking when she finally lets go of all the pent up energy bouncing inside her, soaking her panties and letting out satiated whimpers. 

“There you go, let me feel it—let me feel how wet you get,” he grunts, the dampness against his dick pushing him over the edge too, making him let out a breathy moan against her open mouth, their lips grazing each other but never fully touching.

And then she feels it, his sticky cum wetting their undergarments even further and pulling another orgasm from her because she’s unable to hold it back when he’s rutting against her so desperately. 

“Shit,” his voice is breathless and raw, making her feel all hot for him once again when out of the blue, the door swings open and both of their heads snap towards the man that steps inside. 

She hurriedly scrambles away from Rafe, cheeks burning and feeling all sorts of mushy while he straightens up and sizes the man up with a glare, annoyed by the interruption. 

To her surprise though, the guy doesn’t resemble a tall and scary assassin whatsoever, instead he’s a rather normal looking man with a short beard the same color as his auburn hair. If she has to guess, she’d say he’s in his late thirties, judging by the faint frown lines on his face. Upon further investigation, the look in his jade eyes almost makes it seem like he’s scared of them. Or more specifically Rafe because she finds it hard to believe anyone would be scared of her. 

“Don’t move!” his voice holds a slight tremble, the rusty sword in his hand shaking.

“Or what? If you wanted to kill us you would’ve done it already.” Rafe grumbles with his hands behind his back. 

“I’m going to bring you to her majesty and she will reward me.” the man answers with his head held high, feigning confidence. 

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try,” Rafe scoffs. 

And in the next second, when the man takes a step towards her, Rafe punches him. Hard. The loud thump from his body hitting the ground echoing around the hollow space and making her flinch. 

“Oh. Well that was quick,” she blinks, eyeing the unconscious stranger warily, ensuring he won’t wake up any time soon. 

“Want me to teach you how to do that?” he smirks at her in amusement, seemingly unbothered by the fact that they’re still very much in a dirty dungeon and not even two minutes ago all over each other. Not to mention he has yet to button up his pants. 

“Um..shouldn’t we get out of here first?” 

“Your wish is my command, your highness,” he jokes, extending his arm towards her.

However, when she attempts to take it, she realizes her hands are still tied. “Very funny,” she glares at him when the edges of his mouth tilt.

“Alright, fine, c’mere I’ll help you,” he promises, offering her a grin that makes her pause because she’s almost certain this is the first time he’s given her a genuine smile. And she thinks it suits him.

She’s not entirely certain why the queen had been so adamant that this grumpy huntsman was to accompany her on this peculiar evening walk, when she’s never even uttered a word to him before—doesn’t even know his name.   

When she’d asked why they had to go so suddenly and after the sunset had already colored the skyline with its cherry tinge, he’d merely muttered something along the lines of ‘following Her Majesty’s orders’.   

She’s well aware of her stepmother’s disdain for her, never quite understanding why her father had married such a cold woman to begin with. However, it has never been in her wishes to upset her any further than she apparently does by simply existing, which is why she’d quietly agreed without much resistance—even if the request had seemed rather strange to her.       

“Uh…I dunno, they all sort of look the same to me, Your Highness,” the sudden rumble interrupts her thoughts.   

“Oh,” she’s slightly taken aback by the gravel in his tone, offering him her own answer nonetheless. “I love daisies.”

“Right,” he mumbles out; mind apparently lost somewhere else entirely as he keeps leading her deeper and deeper into the grim, bleak woods. With every step she takes, the leafy trees begin to turn into something impending, sinister—their slender branches beginning to resemble bony fingers, merely waiting for the right moment to latch onto her and claw at her arms.  

Therefore, she’d much rather hear his voice instead of this daunting lull in their conversation (if she could even call it that). Unfortunately, what she’s gathered from their brief interactions so far, is that the preferred topic of discussion for a man—a hunter like him, is silence. 

And that’s something the murky forest around them is already far too generously presenting her with; this late into the day not even the bluebirds chirp their delightful melodies to make the eerily serene atmosphere of this prolonged journey of theirs a little less dreadful.  

“What’s, um, what’s your name?” she attempts to have him speak some more.   

“Rafe,” he merely offers her a fleeting glance; as if it’s the most tedious thing in the world to even utter out his own name to her.  

Rafe. 

Upon further observation of the rugged lines of his face, she decides it suits him. What doesn’t suit him, however, is the ever-present scowl staining his (rather handsome) features. It’s almost as if something is tormenting him, acidic, putrid on his tongue.  

“Is something wrong?” she questions next, him being vague on purpose not exactly soothing her concerns regarding this entirely too ominous trip.  

They’ve been strolling along some path he apparently has in his mind for quite some time now, at this point nearly reaching the very core of the vast forest that surrounds the entirety of the kingdom.  

“Everything’s fine,” his tone is gruff—a heavy palm on the small of her back nudging her forward when she momentarily halts her movements.   

“Do we have to go so far? M’getting cold,” she complains because even if the palace hasn’t felt like home ever since her dear father’s passing, she wants nothing more now than to return to the thermal fireplace and silky sheets in her bedchamber.

All of a sudden, the snapping of a branch somewhere close by causes her to flinch. 

They both turn towards the noise as it transforms into foreboding rustling of leaves and something akin to footfall against the muddy ground, forcing a shiver to crawl under her skin. She begins to prepare herself to face some gruesome monster when out of the blue, the smallest white-tailed deer she’s ever laid her eyes upon, pokes its head from behind a tree trunk.   

She gasps in adoration, tiptoeing closer to the trembling animal before crouching down. “Hello there. Why are you here all by yourself?” she asks with a tender coo, mindfully reaching a hand out to pet its ruffled head.  

Seemingly liking her, it takes a careful step towards her in a moment of bravery, its teddy bear eyes curious and wide.

“Well aren’t you adorable? I wish I had something for you to eat but I don’t,” she croons out as it nestles its slobbery nose into the hollow of her hand, when all at once, its button eyes dilate and its fleecy ears lift up in alarm.  

“Wha—” she doesn’t have the time to finish her sentence before it’s hurriedly scrambling away from her and disappearing into the viridescent foliage in the blink of an eye.   

She looks over her shoulder to locate the source of such horror, coming face-to-face with a gleaming blade and Rafe’s threatening eyes fixed on her suddenly immobile form.   

“What are you—” her words wither away on her frightened tongue when he abruptly brings the hunting knife to her throat—terror wrapping around her like yarn, tautening around her organs and making her helpless heart thump against her ribcage in a state of hysteria. 

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, alright? I promise I’ll make it quick,” he sounds determined and her unnerved eyes round out. 

“Rafe, you don’t—you don’t have to do this,” she manages out before she feels the harsh edge cut into her delicate skin just the slightest bit—a droplet of crimson trickling down her neck and towards her heaving chest.  

His gaze tracks the rivulet as it dribbles down all the way into her cleavage; leaving a scarlet trail to stain her skin in its wake as her pounding head begins to spin. 

She sits there on the forest floor, unmoving and unable to properly suck in air through her lungs as trepidation slithers itself into the crevices of her bones; merging into her marrow and turning her limbs into icebound liquid. 

“You think I want to?” he mutters out through his teeth.   

“I—I don’t understand...why are you doing this?” she squeaks out when he squeezes the handle in his fist—seemingly torn between two alternatives yanking him into separate directions, their claws scraping at both of his arms.  

“Cause the queen wants your heart on a platter ‘n m’supposed to be doin’ what Her Majesty tells me to, yeah?” he spits out the title as if it’s rotten, as if it’s tasted acrid in his mouth for a long while now.   

“My heart? Why would she want my heart?” she asks with something akin to hurt in her voice; not realizing her stepmother’s hatred towards her branched as far as wanting her dead.   

“Cause she’s lost her fuckin’ mind,” he huffs out, still tightly gripping onto the weapon. “...but then you look at me with those fuckin’ eyes and how am I—how am I supposed to…kill that?” he rambles more to himself than her, making her brows knit together even further.  

“You don’t—you don’t have to, you can let me go and I’ll— I’ll hide in the forest,” she suggests, voice wavering.  

“And freeze to death?” he scoffs.  

“I thought you wanted me dead?” she sounds disconcerted.  

“I don’t want you dead!” his volume is as clamorous as thunder, tone frustrated.   

“But you’re holding a knife to my throat?” her voice trembles; the frigid steel still imprinting her skin.  

“Yeah, cause m’supposed to fuckin’ kill you, alright?”  

“I…I don’t understand,” her tone is a muted whisper and at last, he loosens his hold on the knife—a faint thud echoing in the space between them as it hits the soil covered in moss. 

Then, he’s shaking his head, seemingly exasperated with the girl before him. “Talkin’ to fuckin’ deers ‘n shit. I mean, who the hell does that?”   

“I…I do? They’re my friends, why wouldn’t I talk to them?” she bats her lashes at him, seemingly confused out her innocent little mind. 

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he lets out bitter scoff. “Now tell me, what am I supposed to do with you, hm?”   

“You’re not going to…” she swallows the rest of the words—too vile, brutal for her to say out loud.   

“Since you’re makin’ it so fuckin’ hard, no,” he lets out a displeased breath before presenting his palm for her to hold onto. “Get up,” he orders while glaring at her.  

“Oh, um, thank you,” she blinks up at his frowning countenance, gingerly grasping onto his much bigger hand and letting him lift her up with ease.  

“Right, uh, why don’t we get you somewhere warm, yeah? You must be freezin’ only wearin’ that dress,” he clears his throat when he notices a tremor rattling through her in tandem with a frosty breeze sweeping past them.  

Taken aback by his sudden concern over her well-being, she merely stands there with a blank expression before he flits his eyes over to hers; seemingly expecting a response. 

“Oh, um...I think—I think I saw a cottage on our way here,” hesitation tinges her suggestion.  

“You did? Where?”  

“It was, um…” she pads along the faint traces of their original route she had sidetracked from in order to greet the baby deer—his heavy footsteps following close behind.   

“There,” she points her index finger towards a small hut partly hidden away behind old, lush trees. 

When they step onto the threshold, she softly knocks on the mahogany door decorated with intricate swirls and designs embedded into the wood.   

“Hello? Would it be possible if we could come in to warm up a little bit? It’s terribly cold out here,” she politely asks.   

However, they’re not granted any sort of a reply.   

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Rafe notes as he peers through the windows into the unlit interior, before trying his luck and pushing down the handle.  

To both of their surprise, the door is unlocked.   

“Rafe! We can’t just break into someone’s home,” she scolds him with wide eyes.   

“S’not breakin’ in if the door’s open,” he merely shrugs before cautiously stepping inside—having to duck his head since the roof is hanging far too low for his tall figure.   

He looks around the compact space, as if to make sure they truly are alone, before glancing over his shoulder at her still tentative form shivering in the doorway. “What are you waitin’ for? Come in. Unless you wanna get sick standin’ out there?”   

She feels guilt eat away at her soul when she gingerly steps inside the cozy cabin, feeling far too much like an intruder, even if Rafe doesn’t seem all that bothered by entering a complete stranger’s place of residence without permission.  

“Shit, why are these chairs so small?” he complains when the wooden stool creaks under his weight, threatening to crack while he lights up some candles he found—the walls soon bathing under the burnt-orange flames.    

“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” she suggests meekly.   

“S’not like we have options to choose from,” he points out, stretching his big arms over his head in an attempt to get comfortable.  

“You’re right...I’m sure whoever lives here will understand we needed a place to stay, right?” she tries to convince herself in hopes of brushing her worries under the rug.  

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Let’s see if they have anything to eat around here,” he dismisses her as he stands tall on his feet once more. Then he begins opening and closing the cabinets and cupboards in a search for food.  

“Why do they have so many fuckin’ apples in here?” he mindlessly questions when he sees a pile of the red fruit hiding behind one door.  

“Oh, I could make you an apple pie?” 

He turns to look at her beaming with that sudden grand idea of hers. “Uh, m’not sure if that’s…”  

“Do you not like them?” she sounds concerned, as if not liking apple pies should be considered a crime in the fairytale world inside her skull.   

“Nah, I do, I just—shouldn’t we be comin’ up with some plan to keep you safe ‘n shit? Not bakin’ pies. We don’t really have all the time in the world before the queen finds out you’re alive,” he mutters out. 

“Well, I don’t know about you but I can’t think with an empty stomach. And, um, it would also be a thank you for you sparing my life,” she timidly looks up at him. 

He clears his throat at that, seemingly surprised by her sentimentality; feeling unworthy of the gratitude she’s so willingly offering him. “Right, yeah, uh, alright. Well, you do that ‘n I’ll go get us some firewood or somethin’, yeah?”  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -   

Later, when he returns to the cottage, the saccharine smell of oven-baked apples instantaneously whirls around him—holding him in a cinnamon-scented embrace and dragging a grumble from his belly.   

“Oh, you’re back just in time!” she exclaims as she sets down two porcelain plates for them. “I might’ve went a little overboard with the cinnamon but I hope you don’t mind?” she asks while cutting through the steaming pie that’s making him practically drool.   

“Uh, nah, I…love cinnamon,” he murmurs, not sure why he just said that since he doesn’t even particularly like it. However, he’s certain that nothing that smells like that could possibly taste bad.  

“Really? Me too!”  

He thinks this is the first time he’s seen her eyes glitter in that way; as if he’s just single-handedly hung the moon or professed his undying love for her. It makes something unfamiliar poke at his insides—scratching at his organs and begging to be let out. However, he decides not to pay it any mind as he sits down on the kitchen chair that’s still entirely too tiny for him.   

“Do you like it?” she asks with her gaze glued to his expression when he takes his first bite. She hasn’t even touched her own slice yet, opting to stare at him instead, and he momentarily wonders why she’s so eager to please him.   

“This might just be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth,” he can’t help but groan out loud in response to the luscious flavors practically melting on his tongue.  

She swallows at that, mind seemingly stuck somewhere else entirely before she softly clears her throat. “You, um, you think so?”   

“Uh huh,” he hums out with delight before shoving another forkful of softened apple pieces and golden-brown crust into his mouth—a smirk soon blossoming on his face when he catches on to the double entendre of his mindless compliment that apparently turned her all shy. “Someone’s got a dirty mind,” he chuckles, mocking her.   

“I…” she opens and then closes her mouth like a goldfish. “I do not—”   

“Alright, you caught me. Second best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth,” he decides to toy with this sweet little princess some more, for some reason wants to see her all flustered—in some crooked way enjoys having an effect on her.   

“Um, right…yeah,” she stumbles over her words, eyes flickering towards her plate as she finally digs into her own portion.   

He’s all too preoccupied grinning at the way she’s avoiding his gaze when out of the blue, the sight of a bed peeking through the slightly ajar bedroom door catches his attention.  

And it’s not so much the piece of furniture that halts his chewing and makes a crease form between his brows, but more so the size of it. It forces his feet to move on their own accord to the room where he’s met with six more beds—just as minuscule as the first one. At that, he wonders if he really was so caught up with the princess that his brain couldn’t fit the very clear pieces together any earlier.   

“Oh shit, I think I know these guys ‘n I don’t think they’ll be too happy to see me here when they get back,” he mutters while padding back towards the kitchen. 

“What do you mean?” concern paints over her features.   

“Nah, nothin’ just…uh, they don’t like me very much, so we gotta leave. I mean, they probably won’t mind you bein’ here all that much. They’re probably real friendly if you don’t piss them off like I have,” he scratches at the back of his head.      “What did you do?”  

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Uh, I have this cabin for when I’m hunting, but s’not very close. Think we should be safe there for tonight though. Unless you wanna stay here?”   

“No, I wanna go with you. I—I don’t want to stay here alone,” she’s quick to answer. 

“You sure?” he raises his brows.  

She nods.   

“Yeah? S’probably gonna be a few hours on foot. Think you can walk for that long in the woods, princess?” he asks next, his cadence turning into something playful.   

“Of course I can. I have two healthy legs,” she sounds almost offended. 

“I can see that,” an entertained smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “And you’re not scared of the dark either?” he adds, almost as if testing her.  

“Of course not,” she lies through her teeth—eliciting a humored chuckle from him.  

“Mm. Could’ve sworn you were getting a little jumpy on our way here, but must’ve imagined it, right?” he drawls out, eyes narrowing in a challenge. 

“Yeah…” she doesn’t give in, a smile beginning to pull at her lips to match his own, neither of them seeming to mind when something feather-light takes the place of the once leaden ambience between them. 

Momentarily, she wonders why she’s never talked to this strangely captivating hunter before—his blue velvet eyes nearly entrancing, compelling her into an incantation she seems to unconsciously gravitate towards.   

The inky sky has turned into an even gloomier hue, and if it wasn’t for the luster of the moonlight illuminating their journey, they wouldn’t be able to see a thing. However, it’s still a challenge for them (her) to evade the thick roots hiding underneath the spongy moss and brittle lichen—she thinks her fingers aren’t enough to count the times Rafe has had to prevent her from toppling over onto the soil with a steadying grip on her arm.  

At this point, she can’t comprehend how he even knows where they’re going. She thinks that every rock and tree trunk they pass resembles the last but apparently, he’s using them to track the route to his cabin—something he tried to teach her about two hours ago, but gave up the moment her attention was captured by a tiny squirrel hurriedly scampering off into its hiding spot.   

“If I’m bein’ honest, I think killin’ is the only thing m’good for at this point,” he murmurs while inspecting a fallen spruce in the middle of their path. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she argues, rounding the obstacle while he simply steps over it.   

“Tha’s cause you don’t know me. Listen, m’not…m’not a good person, I’ve done some, uh, real shitty things, alright?” he looks over to her, gemstone eyes sullen.   

She wonders if the real shitty things include other people’s blood on his hands. After all, the queen wouldn’t have asked him to end her life if he’d never done it before. A shiver creeps up her spine when a vivid image of him doing something so remorseless flashes in her mind. However, it’s soon replaced by him dropping the knife and sparing her life, even if it meant complicating his own.   

“I think…a bad person wouldn’t be helping me right now,” her words are honest but he doesn’t offer her a reply, merely flits his eyes over her frame with a furrow in his brow.   

They fall into a serene silence, wordlessly treading further and further into the somber forest while she keeps getting distracted by the glittering stars above them; mesmerized by the beauty of something so far away from all the cruelty on this planet.   

However, when she goes on to take her next step, the ground (or what she thought was the ground) suddenly cracks underneath her, the partly frozen lid of the pond shattering with a loud crackle—only a surprised squeal leaving her throat when she loses her footing and tumbles right into the frigid water with a splash.   

Turns out, it’s not just some small little puddle that’s partly covered by fallen leaves and branches, but a rather deep one; saturating her all the way up to her neck as she gasps for breath when the coldness surrounds her helpless limbs.  

“Shit.”   

She hears Rafe hiss before humored laughter bubbles from his chest.  

“Rafe, this is not funny,” she complains with her teeth chattering when the icy liquid soaks through the fabric of her dress in an instant.   

“M’sorry, you jus’ look like a wet kitten right now,” he shakes his head, chuckling as he extends an arm towards her—pulling her up and steadying her with a firm grip on her waist.  

“Ow,” she cries out when she leans her weight on her left foot.   

“What’s wrong?” he seems almost concerned as he scans her for any visible injuries.   

“Think I sprained my ankle, it hurts,” she frowns, reaching for his forearm for balance.   

“Of course you did, told you to be careful,” he clicks his tongue, slightly annoyed at the fact that she really is a helpless case. “Can you walk?”   

“I don’t know…” she mumbles, face crumpling up when she tries to take a step forward.   

“Right, uh, c’mere then,” he huffs out before his hands are on her waist once more and he’s lifting her into his arms like a bag of flour.   

“Oh, you don’t have to—”   

“There’s no way you’re walkin’ right now,” he scoffs as he shifts her into a better position before he’s continuing their trek. “What would you even do without me, hm?”   

“Probably freeze to death like you said,” she pouts, eyes despondent when she leans into his supportive hold.  

“Yeah.”   

“M’sorry,” she sniffles, the ache in her foot combined with him being mad at her causing her eyes to burn.  

“Shouldn’t be that long ‘till we’re there, princess. Think you can manage not to cry before we get there?” 

“I don’t know…it hurts and m’cold,” she sulks, feeling miserable, even if she knows she should be grateful she’s not dead or alone in the woods right now.   

“You’re a big girl, know you can take it. You’ll feel better soon, yeah?” he attempts to provide her some sort of comfort with his limited knowledge of handling something so fragile.   

She hums out something incoherent in response, weak arms wrapping around his neck as she takes in a shaky inhale—damp skin prickling under the chilly air that’s making the leafy trees sway back and forth, reminding her of shadowy ghosts.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -   

“Uh, think there should be a dry shirt for you here somewhere…” he trails off as he goes through his closet. “This is probably a little too big but should be fine, yeah?”   

The cabin is small and secluded; the darkened walls blending in with the rest of the forest and concealing them from the outside, making her feel strangely secure. However, his taste in decor makes her rather uneasy as she tries to desperately focus on the crackling fireplace beginning to warm up her trembling limbs and not the assortment of dead animals and their fur or other body parts on display.   

“Oh, it’s perfect, thank you,” she tears her eyes from the elk antlers presented on the wall, offering him a tense smile when she takes the cottony shirt from him, the material surprisingly soft between her fingertips. 

However, before he has the chance to leave the bedroom in order to give her some privacy, she timidly speaks up again, words clumsy and hurried. “Could you—um, could you help me undress? This corset is quite impossible to take off by myself…especially now that it’s wet.”  

“Uh, right, yeah,” he clears his throat, gesturing for her to turn around before he’s pulling her closer by a grip on her hips, the wooden floorboards creaking underneath their feet making up for the sudden silence.  

She doesn’t know why the gesture feels almost intimate or why it makes her hold her breath when he begins to unfasten the strings holding the corset top together, but a strange shade of suspense colors the air around them nonetheless. 

“A tight little thing, huh?” he rasps as his fingers deftly work on the satiny ribbons—a process that feels eternal while she tries not to pay any mind to the way her heart keeps thumping louder and louder by each passing second. 

When she finally feels the silky material loosening around her middle, she has to will her erratic breathing to slow down as he unhooks the rest of the dress, the fabric forming a pearly white puddle on the floor. Then, he’s wordlessly slipping his shirt over her head; the sleeves far too long and the hem fitting her more like a short nightgown.  

“Thanks,” she swallows before she’s gingerly turning around, lacking the courage to look him in the eye for any longer than a glance.       

“Right, uh, we should get some sleep. You can take the bed ‘n I’ll sleep on the floor, yeah?”  

And she’s already nodding before the words register in her disconcerted brain. “Wait, no, it’s your bed. I can sleep on the floor,” she argues immediately, momentarily forgetting why she was so shy in the first place when the weight of being an inconvenience builds up on her shoulders.   

“Nah, m’not gonna let a fuckin’ princess sleep on the floor. S’fine, jus’ take the bed, I don’t want it. Need to make sure we weren’t followed anyway,” he grumbles, attempting to leave the room once more.  

“Rafe, you need sleep just as much as I do. It’s the middle of the night, my stepmother doesn’t even know what you did yet. She’s expecting you to return tomorrow, right?” she tries to reason, not willing to give in because letting him sleep comfortably is the least she can do to even begin returning the favor.  

He lets out a weary sigh before shrugging off his jacket, far too worn out to argue. “Yeah, alright, guess you have a point.”   

- - - - - - - - - - - - -   

They end up sharing the bed.    

And once they’ve both settled into the opposite sides, she’s far too intimidated by Rafe’s disgruntled aura to utter out anything other than a whispered goodnight before it’s quiet once more. However, as the night stretches on, she begins to grow restless; tossing and turning on the creaky mattress and driving Rafe mad in the process.

She doesn’t mean to, the last thing she wants is to disturb his rest but her thoughts are racing and she can’t seem to close her eyes for more than a few seconds because truthfully, she feels terrible—everything familiar has been turned upside down in the span of a day and the only life she knows has practically ceased to exist. All she wants is to go home but that’s not an option anymore and it’s scary. 

“Hey, uh, you good?” Rafe’s sudden drawl makes her flinch.    

“Sorry, can’t sleep,” she peeps out, expression apologetic when she twists to face him, causing the sheets to rustle around them.    

“Yeah, me neither since you keep movin’ around like a lunatic,” he grumbles, irritation clear in his tone.   

“M’sorry. Just can’t stop thinking about everything and I just…I’ve never understood why she hates me so much,” she breathes out, features contorting into something heavy-hearted as she chews on her bottom lip. 

He blinks tiredly, movements lethargic when he runs a hand through his hair. “The queen? Well, in case you haven’t noticed, she’s, uh, not that alright in the head. M’sure you’ve done nothin’ wrong, okay?” he attempts to reassure her, albeit to no avail.   

“I just—just feel like...this is all my fault, you know? And now you’re in danger too because of me,” she rambles, not able to let the thought go.    

“You don’t need to worry ‘bout me, princess. There’s enough people that want me dead already, what’s one more?” he lets out a dry chuckle that makes her frown.    

“What do you mean?”    

“Nothin’ just, uh, listen…the worst thing that’s gonna happen is that she’s gonna have me killed when I don’t return, ‘n once she finds out you’re still alive, she’s gonna send her soldiers to bring her your head and—”   

“Rafe, that’s not helping. Why would say that?” she interrupts him and apparently, he finds her scowling face to be the most hilarious thing in the world because next thing she knows, he’s laughing, sleepy features scrunching up as he shakes his head. 

It’s safe to say she does not understand his humor, whatsoever.    

“All m’sayin’ is that we’re gonna have to find someplace good to hide.”    

“We have to leave the kingdom?” she asks, worried.    

“Yeah, think so,” he says, sounding far too impassive for her liking.    

“But I can’t just leave, this is my home.”   

“I know, but s’gonna be okay,” he murmurs, mouth stretching around a yawn.   

“But what if—what if something happens?” she sounds panicked, all the worst-case scenarios bouncing around her skull because she’s never even been this far from the palace. How on earth is she meant to survive in the real world? 

“I’ll keep you safe, yeah? Now can you let me sleep?” he lets out a drowsy exhale, seemingly fed up with the conversation already.   

“But what if—”   

“Shh, c’mere,” he hushes her before he’s tucking her flush against his chest, a heavy palm resting on her thigh to keep her from moving because he’s exhausted and more than aware that tomorrow is going to be a long day, especially with this overthinking princess who he wishes would just shut up.   

It’s something he’d tell her outright if he wasn’t certain that she’d start crying all over again in response—the rest of the hike here with her sobs and hiccups thrumming in his ears more than enough for one day.   

And the sudden proximity seems to work because she stops shifting around, nearly stops breathing altogether when she swallows. “What are you…”   

“Just, uh, need you to calm down, yeah?” he pats at her hip before she’s clumsily humming out another apology.  

And despite the slight trace of the muddy water, her hair still smells of forest berries and wildflowers, making exasperation worm its way into his veins. He doesn’t understand why she’s trusting her life in his hands so thoughtlessly; it’s like she has no sense of self-preservation with the way she’s blindly following him anywhere, when not even a day ago he attempted to murder her.   

He wonders if she’s always been like this; naïve and dumb, always seeing the good in people, even when there isn’t any. All it took was a few remotely sweet words and she’s already allowing him to hold her this close—a foolish lamb resting peacefully next to a starving wolf and expecting not to get hurt.    

Momentarily, he gets the urge to just finish the job right now, wrap his arm around her throat until the flame burns out, leaving her eyes dull, lifeless. After all, it would make his life considerably easier. He can almost feel it—the moment her heart comes to a halt as she turns into nothing more than flesh and bones, freeing him from this burden.  

And at the end of the day, it’s part of his nature to kill for his own benefit, muscles nearly burning with the self-serving temptation because that’s what he’s always been; selfish.    

“Rafe, that hurts,” her voice is small, nervous, nonetheless forcing him to resurface to the current; his rough fingertips mindlessly sinking into the bare surface of her thigh, harsh enough to leave a bruise. Her entire form is tense, breathing shallow and limbs unmoving, resembling a rabbit rigid with fear, only amplifying this ever-growing itch under his skin.  

He clears his throat.