#and how turned on he was by her subservience

[hyukascampfire]

To: Someone From a Warm Climate

wc: 23.2k

genre: smut, angst, fantasy violence

pairings: faerie!taehyun x human!reader, faerie!yeonjun x human!reader

synopsis: a life lived as a human among the fae is one hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.

you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.

a/n: this part, i put my heart and soul into! i rewrote so many parts and agonized over following the path that i most wanted the story to go down—i hope it shows! xoxoxoxo, love ya! again, this is a long one, so pls let me know about spelling mistakes :,)

! warnings: angst, unprotected sex, voyeurism, orgasm denial, jealousy, angst again, dubious intentions of multiple main characters... poor mc has no idea who to believe

playlists: taehyun | yeonjun | series

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You had hoped that learning of Yeonjun’s relationship with the same crowd who have made attempts on your life would be enough to rattle your brittle heart into sense. You really had. As you watch Taehyun, bent over the war strategy table, though, you wish you had more time to sort it out in your head. You hate the thought of settling on half-baked answers and information all for the fact that time is not on your side. When had time ever really been kind to you, though? It had not made exceptions when you were small and innocent in your cradle, had not slowed down to allow you to at least cherish your final moments a normal child with her human parents. You can only fantasize who you would be if you had been given just enough time to know that gentle love. Even now, time makes your choices for you.  

Taehyun looks over those metal figurines as if searching for something in them. There are more of them stood and strewn out on the map. It reminds you how you are now faced with a plethora of newer, more powerful players.  

You miss when this had been a simple spying mission—when your path forward had been unobscured and clear. You envy that version of yourself: able to believe that bad things presented themselves as such. The world had been clean-cut. Evil had jagged teeth and foul breath, and good had soft edges and sweet smiles. You’re not sure where that distinction lies anymore.  

“How’s your shoulder?” you say, making your presence known. You’re sure he had been keen to your presence from the moment you’d entered the estate, though; not only thanks to his better hearing, but also because Taehyun is constantly assessing his surroundings. The smallest insect could hardly sneak up on him. You push off the doorframe and enter the room. 

He nods his head once in greeting, but he doesn’t tear his gaze away from the table’s ensemble. “It’s doing fine.” 

Sighing, you decide not to push it. The sight of that puncture had been ghastly, and it wreaks havoc in your belly every time you replay it, but the tick in his jaw when you mention it tells you enough of how he feels about disclosing whether or not anything might hurt him. How many times in the past few weeks had you forced him to do just that? It’s no wonder that the two of you butt heads so terribly. Allowing you to stitch him up must’ve been the extent of how far he’d let you see him in need of help. 

You gesture toward the table. “Have you decided when we leave?” 

Taehyun answers you with a strained sigh out through his nose: a testament to how he’d been mulling it over. He levies those figures a few more moments of his gaze as if they might speak an answer for him. They don’t. He concedes to their lack of direction and turns to you. “Every moment we spend here, we risk our identities further,” he starts, crossing his arms over his chest.  

You wince. He still believes that you’d at least contained some of your identity by taking out those three faeries. You know better. Even the bard in that tavern had known what had happened; it’s why Yeonjun ended up finding out in the first place. Even if not all of them had been a part of that rebellion, it’s reckless to assume that there were no more than that. 

Continuing, he says, “And judging by what we’ve picked up, we need to get it all back before the solstice.” He doesn’t pace as he thinks. Only the faraway look in his eyes betray the noise in his head. 

You hate the way it sounds like he’s going to demand that you leave immediately, and you hate how it sieges your tongue and makes it dance into a pitiful ploy to stay. To give yourself some credit, it’s better that Taehyun knows every bit of information you have. This moment is desperate for informed decisions. 

“I saw Yeonjun this morning,” you blurt. The words bubbled and bubbled behind your lips until they’d found the tipping point and spilled out. You’d agonized over what to make of it all for hours: that Yeonjun had been as deceitful with you as you’d been with him, that you are a sorry human girl that had wedged her way into the cross-firings of a war much beyond yourself, that you still have the gall to consider your own feelings despite its grandness... None of that worrying had led you to a conclusion that both your heart and mind would agree on.  

Taehyun’s gaze snaps to you, contained and remote aside from the twitching at the corners of his lips. The intensity of it makes you waver, but you have no time for wavering.  

“He’s... been made aware of our purpose here. He knows that we’re spies,” you say. As you watch him try to piece that together, you add, “He’s part of their rebellion.” 

Now he laughs, barbed and full of mock and disbelief. “The prince is rebelling against his father? He thinks he’ll find the throne like that? What’s his plan for when this falls through? For when his father hears of his mutiny? The prince will lose his head.” 

The thought makes you nauseous, despite how Yeonjun’s image has grown to be something murky. You don’t know what Yeonjun’s intentions are in aligning with the rebellion here. You hardly know anything about his relationship with his father and the High Court aside from the fact that he feels suffocated by his life back there. You’d assume that there’s a lot more to his reasoning, but you’ve learned your lesson about assuming that you know who people are. The inability to lie comes with the need for secrets. The thought that perhaps Yeonjun is only making a shady attempt for power crosses your mind, but either your own reasoning or your own stubbornness shoves it down. Nobody in faerie would hand their fealty to a prince who’d taken the throne of a long-standing king by those sorts of means. He’d be a king with no denizens to preside over. 

You interject Taehyun’s parade of scoffs. “He told me that war is coming, that it’s been coming.” 

His face drops, and he straightens up. “Of course it is. It’ll begin the moment we return with what we’ve found.” 

Your lips go a bit numb, and then your fingers follow. You know that this is your duty—it’d been this all along. It should come as no shock to you that he intends to relay this all to The King. But that was before you allowed your heart to make its home here. How simply he demands that you return to those lands with information that would kill Yeonjun... it has acid crawling a path up your throat. 

You make your best effort to ensure that your voice doesn’t falter as you speak. “He offered us protection as long as we stay here,” you say. “We don’t have to leave now.” You try to catch his gaze as you add, “We don’t have to leave at all.”  

You know that Yeonjun plays a part in the rebellion, but you don’t know how deep his devotion goes, and you also don’t know to what ends you can trust his intentions. How far do his loyalties to the rebellion go? And, where do his loyalties to you stand? The thought that he may have never loved you at all... it’s been a plague to your heart and mind from the very moment he’d revealed the truth to you this morning. Your guilt has chipped away at you without mercy—you’ve spent so many awful nights wishing you could unload your deceptions in front of him. How had it ended up so trivial in the grand scheme of things? How are you the one left feeling betrayed? 

You really, really cannot imagine having Yeonjun’s blood on your hands. He is one of them—a creature deception, and yet you still cannot shake those stolen nights from your bones. He had been your first. He’d made this place a home for you, where you had never had a home. It’s pitiful to search so deeply in someone else for your own strengths; even you can see that. Nevertheless, you do it. You suppose that a pair of warm arms and sweet words will do that to someone, no matter if you know that they could rot you like sweets do the tooth. It’s not unlike drunkards who find their day’s comfort in their drinks, even as it rots their body and mind away. Anything for a stretch of belonging and bliss. You're desperate for it. 

Taehyun’s sinewy words rattle your wandering mind back to reality. “He tells you that he is a member of the same group of people that have tried multiple times to kill you, and you believe him when he says he’s going to protect you? Still?” he spits, shaking his head. “What makes you so sure that he’s not just keeping us from running? That he isn’t handing us on a platter to his rebel friends? You’re going to get us fucking killed.” 

Blood roars like frothy-white rapids in your ears, warring with the echoes of his honey-glazed exclamations of love. To some capacity, he had to have meant those words. Faeries can’t lie, and he had said it so plainly. He loves you. 

“We can’t leave yet,” you say, stepping toward him on legs that you fear might collapse beneath you. “You said it yourself; we can’t return without the whole story. If we return now, we could be missing something.” You study the frosty set to his face and suck in a stabilizing breath. “Please, Taehyun. Please trust me on this.”  

You sound desperate and pleading, but you don’t reel it in at all. You are desperate and pleading. You have no intent of returning as some successful spy and continuing a life of deception and violence. It’s not who you are; it’ll never be who you are. Maybe this world tries to ask it of you, but you refuse to concede to it. 

“Part of our job is staying alive,” he says, his body rigid. He doesn’t like where you’re going with this, you can tell that much. 

“Is that what you want? To be a pawn of war? Isn’t that what we are if we bring this information back?” you challenge. “Don’t you think that if the prince of all people has turned against him, then serving at his hand is the wrong choice? I don’t know The King—I’ve never even seen him! Why should I be excited to serve him?” 

“The prince has more reason than anybody to want his father off his throne.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you say, stepping further toward him. Though, it does make you revisit those thoughts. If vying for the crown is really Yeonjun’s intention, you suppose he’d have no problems pleading with you to stay in order to tie off loose ends. You wish you could see it all from somebody else’s untainted eyes. “What I’m saying is, do you want to be a spy? What has The King ever done for you to earn your loyalty?” 

Taehyun looks at you with disbelief, the corners of his mouth tilting down. “I don’t care about the damn king,” he snaps, and then gestures down at the table with all those figures. “The Queen operates on necessary evils. Where she can find a string to pull, she will pull it. My father was her general for a reason. Do you think she would keep him unless she approved of his violence? There is no good side to this war—just sides. If you’re suggesting that we stay here and try to forget that we came as spies, then you can forget it.” 

You glance over at the war table and wonder how you’ve become a moving piece in ancient faerie politics when all you’d set out for was a purpose. You’d been so warped by your bitterness with your upbringing that you’d failed to see how anything could be worse than that. You’d been so excited that you jumped willingly into dark water without knowing how deep it was, and now your feet can’t touch the ground. Is this the purpose you want? 

“Leave, then,” you say, stepping back. “You can leave. Just let me stay here. Please.” 

Something in Taehyun’s expression flips, so subtle that you can’t name it. It unsettles you, your hair standing on edge. There is something in his eyes that you do not like.  

“So, that’s it?” he says, his voice odd too. “That’s all it took for you to hand your future over on a leash to him?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you stammer. The only ones with a collar around your neck are the spies. They’re the ones who insisted on that geas—the ones who needed to compel you with their faerie magic.  

“It means that you got all the way here, uncovered a whole rebellion, and made a life for yourself, not handed to you by a prince, and you’re going to trade it in. It means that you’ve let him convince you that you are weak and need to be coddled.” 

Your fists curl tight and dig your nails into your palms. “I never wanted to be a spy,” you grit out. Yeonjun is not the reason you want to stay here. He may be part of it, but you’ve come to be utterly unwilling to return to that spy den like it’s your home, or something. It’s not. You’d slept there for one night. Beyond just your word and that geas, what reason do you have to return? 

“You didn’t? And yet, it’s what we are, isn’t it?” he says. “Do you think that I dreamed of being a spy? That I do it because I love it?” 

“Then, what do you do it for, Taehyun?” you say. “When will you begin living your life for you?” 

Taehyun seems to consider your words for a few long heartbeats, and then he seems to settle into something in his head. You allow yourself to let go of some of the tension in your shoulders as you watch his expression morph into something much less poisonous. 

You hadn’t expected him to react like that. 

“Do you have any weapons on you?” he says. 

Faltering, you sputter out, “What?” You look over the room. The last time you’d been in here, you’d sparred. Does he intend to properly fight you in here now? Had you pushed him too far? Shaking your head and feeling at all the places you usually tuck your blades away, you say, “No... I don’t.” 

“Get some. Where we’re about to go...” he trails off, as if reconsidering, but then he continues, “I’ll get you a hag stone.” 

You furrow your brows, not taking off to do so. “A hag stone?” you echo, thankful that he isn’t trying to duel you, but wary at the need for such a faerie ward. Hag stones are of the more serious class of wards used to protect humans from faerie enchantment or glamour. Most often, humans would string theirs up with a bit of thread through the hole of it and wear it around their necks as a pendant. Unlike turning one’s clothes inside out or taking red berries on your person, hag stones protect against the more devastating faerie magic. You shudder simply wondering what you might need a hag stone to protect yourself from. 

He nods a bit solemnly. “Kelpie do not let a meal or trick pass them by when they wait so long to have them.” 

You look at him with wild eyes, hoping to see him laugh or play his words off as a joke. He does not, but of course he doesn’t. Taehyun doesn’t waste his words on jokes. 

“Why... Why would we be going to a kelpie?” you ask him, laughing around the ball of fright in your chest. 

He lends you a wretched look. “I have old debts to call on.” 

❉

The forest in which Taehyun leads you is untamed. At some point, the sound of nature’s buzzing tapers off, and you know that you’ve entered a deeper forest than you ought to be sticking your nose in. When the forest goes silent, it’s only for one reason.  

You’d grown up here. Maybe you’d been born elsewhere, but that does not negate the fact that you had grown up scared every day of the powerful creatures that inhabit this world. Your fear has ruled you for your whole life, and you let it. You’d be a fool not to. It’s how you survive in this world. Your limbs tremble; they plead with you to listen to everything you’ve ever known—do not mess with what is bigger than you.  

You step around frost-capped puddles and dance between briars, careful not to snag yourself on their claws. It unsettles you further that this part of the forest is so untrodden and overgrown. With no folk coming through, you fear how the kelpie might behave when you make an audience before it. Will it climb straight from its frosty swamp and drag you back down with it? Is the hag stone you clutch at your chest enough to keep you safe? 

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this, Taehyun,” you say, delicately avoiding any tumbles as you speed up to gauge his feelings by his face. You’re not fond of the remote blankness in his eyes, nor the staunch determined set to his jaw. “That thing might kill us, and your shoulder is hurt. You shouldn’t be out here; you should be letting it heal.” 

“I know my limits,” he says. 

Grimacing, you return his curt tone. “Taehyun.” You grab at the material of his sleeve with urgency. When he stops to look at you, you continue. “I want you to actually listen to me. You’re being unreasonable. Yeonjun said he’d use his pull to protect us. Both of us. We have no reason to be out here, you’re just putting us in danger.” 

He lets your words stew in the air for a moment before saying, “I’m the one putting us in danger? Me?” He scoffs. “We are about as safe dealing with a kelpie as we are living off his promises. I’m doing what’s best for us. Trust me.” 

You’re winded by his choice of words. You’ve become wary of dealing out your trust so frivolously. Those two words ring alarm bells. 

“But where is this coming from? You didn’t want to stay.” Your breath furls out in a plume of white smoke in front of your face as you speak.  

He looks as if he doesn’t want to answer that. It only makes you more apprehensive. Your limbs fill with lead, planting you where you stand. “Taehyun, I’m scared,” you say. “Isn’t finding help from a solitary faerie a bit too far? How is trusting Yeonjun any more dangerous than that?” 

Taehyun steps toward you. “He is going to kill us. It’s not if, it’s when. That bastard is going to hurt you. This... This is for us. We are self-sufficient; we don’t need his protection shit.” A bitter tang colors his words. “I know that you’re scared. I won’t let it hurt you; I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise that you’ll be okay. You want to stay, don’t you?” 

You nod. You would even make deals with a kelpie for it.  

“Okay, then, let’s go,” he says, taking off with those words, effectively punctuating the conversation.  

You follow him. 

You grow more anxious the deeper you trudge into the forest without any consolation as the daylight begins creeping away. Following behind Taehyun, the wind whips at the perfect angle so that his form takes most of its terror, allowing you a respite from at least some of the brutal cold. You don’t feel any remorse using him as a shield against the elements—frost runs through his veins. He doesn’t shiver or wince at it. 

Taehyun stops a few feet before a wintry mire framed by crystallized cattails and reeds. Your heart stutters as he looks around to ensure that this is the right spot. The water is dark and deep. You stay a healthy distance away from it. You do not want to find out just how deep it is. 

“Where is it?” you say, keeping your voice low as if the beast might lunge from the water and snatch you up if you don’t. 

Taehyun surveys the forest surrounding you and then the body of water as he always does, and when he looks to you, you already know he’s calculated and planned. He doesn’t face a situation without thought—that notion soothes you, even if it’s to the slightest degree.  

“It won’t come until I call it,” he says, gesturing at those murky and horrible watery depths. Swallowing hard, you consider how close you stand to it. You take a shuffled step back. “When you see it, you need to stay calm. Don’t let it see your fear. It’ll find it amusing and latch onto you. Do you understand?” 

A rush of heavy dread spreads from your core and seizes your lungs at his words. You’ve made it this far. You want to stay. You want to stay, bad. If this thing outsmarts you, you will not go down without swinging this time. You have your daggers, and you know how to wield them. Bravery is most of the battle, isn’t it? 

You muster a nod, trying to give yourself a brave heart, but Taehyun shakes his head. Your eyes must betray how stricken you are. “Do you understand?” he repeats, his voice sharp and grave. 

“I do.” 

He accepts your words, pressing on. “It will try to trip you over your words and spin you into a trap with tricky words. Do not entertain it, even as it tries, okay?” 

You’ve been terrorized by faerie tricks your whole life. You can handle their schemes just fine. “Okay.” 

Taehyun frees a blade from its hiding place and brings it to his palm. He slides it there, slicing it open. Crimson creeps from the slit, running in between his fingers and trickling onto the snow. He’d cut pretty deep. 

“Why are you—Taehyun?” you say, stepping toward him as he curls his wounded hand into a fist over the water, shaking it so as to let the droplets down into the black water. You regret those steps you’d made toward him as something comes crashing through the surface. 

No, rather than emerging from under the surface, the beast is born from the water, manifesting from it as something gangly and wretched. From its pointed ears to its hooves, it pushes up from nothingness until it is standing there, real and terrible before you. Its skin glistens with a thickness like oil and its hair and tail hang in heavy, seaweed-like tendrils, plastered against its body. The scum floating on top of the water clung to its hair and pelt as it rose, twigs and the like poking from its withered body. A bridle cages its head, leather reins dangling down. Of all its awful things, you believe that its eyes are the worst—bone-white and piercing, they send a terror down your spine that solidifies in your bones. You know you will not soon forget the ancient soullessness that lives there. The folk do sometimes resemble the places in which they hail from; you suppose that the kelpie bares striking resemblance to the swirling water that sits at its feet. 

You try not to choke or gasp or react in any way at all, but it isn’t easy. You focus your adrenaline on keeping your breathing as even as you can manage. 

“It has been a long time since I’ve found a human at my doorstep,” the creature says, steam blowing from its nostrils as it snorts. How long might a long time mean to a faerie, especially one you know is so ancient? You hope that your presence does not intrigue the beast at all. 

Taehyun swoops in before you can speak, and you are boundlessly thankful for it. “I’ve come to call on the debt you owe me,” he says. He doesn’t leave any room for any familiarity or playfulness. 

“Is it that time?” the kelpie says, placing one hoof down onto the snow. It had looked so incorporeal and liquid that you half expect it to burst and turn to water as it does, but it climbs out just fine. Very real.  

Taehyun eyes the kelpie as it makes land, dribbling with water and its kelp hair swinging. You swallow hard as it disregards his presence to observe you. You’re used to the folk disregarding you, not this. How many years had you yearned for their attention? Right now, you scare under it.  

“For what do you need my help, boy?” it says, voice gurgled, “And why do you bring this human along? Is it for her? Or, rather, have you brought her as your peace offering?” 

Your legs tremble beneath you.  

“I don’t owe you any peace offering, kelpie,” Taehyun says, his head held righteously high. “You’ll offer me what I ask, or you’ll suffer for it.” 

Shifting under the tense atmosphere, you still don’t speak. In Faerie, debt is law. The folk live by a law that is, like many other things about them, foreign to you. Whatever natural laws by which they govern themselves are vastly lost on you—but of keeping promises and respecting debts, you are very aware. They hate to be indebted—you’re sure it’s why this kelpie is so peevish. You hope that the folk’s need to balance their debts is enough to keep it hospitable.  

The kelpie makes a rumbling and throaty sound that mimics that of a laugh. It rumbles the ground below your feet. “Just as rigid as the last time we met like this,” it says. “I wonder if it's because you’ve inherited your father’s stone heart, or because you fear me?” 

The kelpie remains playful with its intonation, but tension lies thick and dangerous beneath both of their words. You know well enough that the beast is not being light-hearted.  

Taehyun holds his face firm. He refuses to give an inch. “Do not try that with me. You have your word to upkeep for my help.” 

Shimmering under the moon’s light now, the beast treats us with a long moment of hostile silence. You can feel its malintent despite how hollow those eyes remain.  

“What do you ask of me?” it finally says, whipping its drooping tail behind it. 

“There is a rebellion here,” starts Taehyun, shoulders relaxing to the slightest degree as the kelpie defers, “The north is uneasy. I’m optimistic that you’ll lend us your protection and hand, whenever I call on it. Regardless of it being in my interest, I’m sure that you aim to keep your lands peaceful, no?” 

“Rebellion? For what would anything of the courts be in my interest? Of their rebellion or even just their ridiculousness, I do not care. I’ve left your gentry to you, leave me to mine.” 

Taehyun’s nostrils flare. “I’m not asking you to care about the courts, I’m asking you to lend me your help when I ask of it,” he grits out, “Or, rather, I’m not asking. I am informing you that I am expecting you to uphold your debt to me, and you’d better be ready to do so. This is just courtesy.” 

You feel the kelpie’s offense in the hollow quiet that follows Taehyun’s demands. Among many things, the fae are prideful creatures. Your stomach is in terrible knots. Taehyun is just trying to regain the power in the situation. You know that. It doesn’t make you any less scared for your life. With an ancient creature like a kelpie, it is paramount to earn its respect, or else it will push you around. 

Worse than that. It will drag you down into its waters and make your soul into a meal. 

“It’s a pity you think that hag stone will save you from me, human.” The kelpie turns its attention back on you. You bade your knees not to crumple. “It takes much more than that to protect you in places like these. Perhaps you’ll be safe from petty enchantment, though.”  

Taehyun shoves his words in before you can give the kelpie any sort of reaction. Not even a tremble. “Understood?” 

“You’ve made deals with our kind before. The magic reeks on you. It’s lousy enchantment, I could dissolve that geas for you. All you’d have to do is climb up on my back, and I’d grant you your freedom.”  

You can’t help but perk up. The prospect of ridding yourself of the geas placed over you is a painfully delicious one. 

Bristling, Taehyun steps between you and the kelpie. Whether he does it to fight off the beast should it lunge at you or to prevent you from approaching it, you’re unsure. “Do not,” he says. 

“Wasn’t going to.” You say it, and of course it’s true. The kelpie is poking around to see what will most entice you. Regardless, you can’t deny how awfully you wish that geas were gone. It’s the one thing that you fear will tether you to The King’s bidding. No matter how you armor yourselves from the rebellion here in the north, what’s to stop the spies from tugging on the enchanted leash? One command from Cricket, and your body would betray you and walk the whole way there itself. 

Though you don’t verbalize your interest, the kelpie no doubt sees the interest alight in your eyes. It pounces accordingly. “Unless you’d prefer that I give you a whole other enchantment. Protection against any of our kind’s glamours? Permanant true sight? A touch to my pelt would be all it would take for you to make yourself free.” 

Taehyun clicks just the hilt of his sword free from the sheathe. “Stop with the tricks. You can find your fun elsewhere.” 

Like the swampish water behind it, the kelpie stands there totally still, studying Taehyun. You really wish this altercation could wrap up at any pace faster than it currently is. You’re itching to escape those white eyes. They’re much more intimidating as night settles in. What sort of thing had Taehyun even done to indebt a creature like this to him? Once again, you’re left confronting how little you know of him and his past. By the time you’ve come to terms with the last thing, the next arrives to remind you that the folk lead much longer lives than you do. 

It finally speaks again. “Why have you brought this human with you, Lord?” Its furls out the term like a weapon. This bitter intonation that you’ve seen be used multiple times to speak of Taehyun’s title sticks with you. The title is a taunt. In this case, the you know it comes from the kelpie’s place of utter indifference and lack of obeisances toward whatever sovereignty the Courts may claim. The kelpie only answers to the land.  

“Because I needed you to know that your protection will extend to her. Know her face, learn it so that when I call on you, you’ll play your part correctly.” 

“I fail to see why you dote over her safety. Who is the human to you?” The kelpie takes a step forward, its powerful muscles rippling with the moon’s white light on its ink pelt. You mirror it with a step back. Taehyun stays put. “I owe her no help. That’s not how this works. I concede that I am bound to your help, but I do not repay double. You overestimate my generosity.” 

You watch as Taehyun takes on a posture that you’ve come to recognize as his offensive posture, potent adrenaline twisting up your stomach and sending your heart into a fit so fierce that you feel it in all your pulse points. You’re sure that swords are a laughable matter to the kelpie. Iron, though, you’re sure would still burn. Turning your hands to fists, you make a conscious effort not to find your iron weapons. If the kelpie were to see that, it may escalate things. You do not want to escalate.  

It’s only smart for you to consider your disadvantages: Taehyun is wounded. He had literally been struck by an arrow last night. You’re so far into the woods that running would consist of stumbling over roots and avoiding thorny bushes. Taehyun might know them, but you’re fully unfamiliar with a kelpie’s weaknesses, or if they even have any at all. You’re better off appeasing the beast.  

“Taehyun,” you warn. 

He pays it no mind. “I said,” he snarls, “stop with the tricks. You owe your very ability to draw breath to me, and beyond that. It was my neck on the line to grant you that. What I did for you was worth many debts. If you want to settle it all to even, you’ll do it. Don’t play this like a fool.” He doesn’t address the kelpie’s first question. 

Taehyun creeps toward the kelpie. You’re not sure where he sources all that fearlessness from inside himself. He’s way too close for your comfort. “What are you doing?” you hiss, quiet and meant for just him. There is no way he intends to fight this thing right now. You’d prefer taking the risk of trusting Yeonjun’s word over this any day. 

“Even the general”—the kelpie spits that word with a similar distaste as he had Taehyun’s title—“knew when he was in over his head. Ask a more respectable payment of me.” 

You suck in a breath. “Let’s just go,” you tell Taehyun. “We don’t need to do this; we didn’t need to in the first place.”  

As Taehyun takes one last step toward the kelpie, he reaches a sword’s distance from it.  

Really? Is this happening right now? 

“I’m giving you grace right now, kelpie,” he says, his voice pure warning, “My father is the one who landed you like that. It’s humorous that you’d even speak of him while we’re sorting out the debts that you incurred because of him. I suggest that you give up the sly act.” 

Once again, a charged and meaningful pause rings throughout the forest. The silence speaks volumes of how the kelpie takes his words.  

It’s a flash of movement, the two dark figures like blurs as Taehyun’s hand flies out to grab a hold of the reins that hang from its head and the kelpie rears back with a bone-piercing, harrowing whinny. He braces himself on its side and uses its flank to push off of. The creature bucks fast, but Taehyun is faster.  

The rage that it bellows with guts you. The forest ground trembles with its frantic clambering, hooves battering the snow.  

The kelpie’s frenzy ends as Taehyun takes the reins in both hands. It doesn’t make any more attempts to send him off, nor does it stumble about wildly. It settles. The kelpie bows its head. Your hands cover your mouth. They’re ready to muffle your scream. You wait for Taehyun to become one with the beast’s figure and for it to drag him down to the depths of its water that don’t see the sun’s light. Nothing happens. Instead, he slips off the back of the kelpie without any trouble, landing with a thud back on the ground.  

“Fix your appearance,” Taehyun commands.  

You allow a sound of surprise to slip as the beast melts down, shedding water to the ground and crumpling over. You watch it shrink all the way down until, where once the gangly beast had stood, the form of a faerie man stands. He unfurls from the forest floor to his full height, taller than Taehyun and reedy in his limbs. His hair cascades down from his head in shaggy, damp brown locks with twigs and leaves tangled in. Sharp faerie ears protrude from it. It confirms to you that this is just another form of the kelpie, not someone else entirely. 

“You’re a fool,” the man says, turning on Taehyun with wild eyes.  

You join his confrontation on Taehyun. “What the hell is going on?” you say. You’re still jittery with the urge to run. 

Taehyun entertains only you, saying, “I hoped that he’d just make things easy in the first place.” 

The man, dripping with water from his tattered, sopping rags for clothes, sneers. “I would not serve you if you fucking killed me. Of course you had to take my bridle.” 

You give Taehyun an expectant look. You’re in dire need of being filled in. 

“His bridle,” he says, grabbing the reins that still hang from the man’s face even in his human form and tugging him into a walk into the forest, “I grabbed it. He serves me, now. He can hate it all he wants, but he’ll do what I ask.” 

The thought makes you deeply uncomfortable, but you can’t pin exactly why. It lives somewhere around the place inside you that loathed the way the folk made your kind into their glamoured servants.  

“We’re just going to bring him back with us?” You trail them tentatively back through the woods that you had arrived from. “Like a prisoner, or something?” 

“Exactly like a prisoner,” the man says, excited to get a hit in on Taehyun. Of course, he’s unhappy.  

He stumbles as Taehyun tugs him forward by his bridle. “Shut your mouth,” Taehyun says. It’s more commanding than angry. “What’s your name?” he asks him.  

The man looks as though he wants to deny him that knowledge. Names are a powerful thing to a faerie. They spend their lives hiding them away—to give away their real name would make them totally vulnerable to the whims of whoever knows and uses it. However, you assume that whatever hold Taehyun has over him now works in a similar way, and his lips move despite his revolt.  

“Beomgyu,” he answers, eyes full of bite. 

You climb between a pair of close-resting, gnarled trees. “Does he have to keep that thing on, Taehyun?” you say, struggling with the sight of him being dragged along. It’s unsettling. “Like, does it work without that?” 

Stopping, Taehyun reaches up to pull the bridle off and around from Beomgyu’s head. He lets it fall to the snow. “You can use his name if you need to command him and I’m not around. He’ll have to do what you say.” Pushing Beomgyu into a walk, he says, “You’re going to protect us if in any case we need it. That includes her. You’re going to stay within my estate, unless one of us brings you somewhere. You won’t try your hand at any escape, and you won’t make any attempts to harm us either directly or by omitting something you are aware will do so.” 

You rub your hands together to generate heat as he lists his commands. Why would he even need those precautions, if Beomgyu is supposed to be his compulsory servant now? Would that not mean that he’d be unable to harm him? Either Taehyun is being extra precautious, or the command he has over him is weaker than you had thought at first. Beomgyu scowls the whole way through. Perhaps if Taehyun had not spoken those exact words, he would have lunged at him. 

As the kelpie stalls, Taehyun urges him forward once again with a shove. “Walk,” he snaps. “You did this to yourself. If you’d been a respectable man, I’d have only asked for your help when we needed. Now, you’re following us everywhere.” He allows him to stew on that for a little before saying, “You do your job well and I’ll let you return to your waters. I’ll forget I even made you my servant, and you’ll live knowing you’re no longer in my debt. You’ll not have to worry that someone might tame you again, because I already had, and I won’t even utilize it. We’ll never even make each other’s acquaintance again. You’ll be free to toil in your forest, and I will stay far away. All I need is for you to keep us alive and unharmed.” 

At least he doesn’t intend to keep him forever as an eternal servant. Most faeries that fall into debts work their long lives as living servants. Your years as Nut-hatch's worker taught you how that life whittles your soul down. Hundreds of years of just that is unfathomable. Maybe that is the cost of betraying honor here, though.

“So be it,” Beomgyu says, teeth gritted.  

You continue to trudge through the forest behind them. 

❉

Once you’re within the walls of the estate and Beomgyu is given a place to stay, you turn to Taehyun. “What part of that was safer than trusting Yeonjun?” you say.  

His eyes drop closed and he sighs. “It was worlds safer,” he grits out. “I knew what I was doing. You had that hag stone, and I’d have cut him down if he tried anything.” 

He stretches out his shoulders, shifting them uncomfortably under the fabric of his tunic. You know that his sewn-up wound bothers him. Could it be getting infected? You hope not—an infection this early on would most definitely mean it would be a nasty one. If only he weren’t insistent on pretending that it’s nothing. “I don’t think you could”—you gesture at your own shoulder—“you’re going to infect your shoulder. I don’t know how to treat an infected wound that big.” 

“I wouldn’t have even gone there if I thought I couldn’t handle it. I had a plan. I can protect us just fine.” 

Us. You’ve been wondering what your purpose here might become once you abandon returning to your duties. Would you be staying with Yeonjun? If he betrays you, and Taehyun were to push you out now that you’re no longer partners in duty, where would you go? Crawl to the doorstep of some random faerie to place yourself in their services, just to find yourself a warm place to stay? Taehyun now makes it clear that he still sees the two of you as a pair, but why? You still can’t understand why he’d suddenly switched up the moment you said you’d stay here even if he left. Realistically, he should’ve killed you for being a traitor to the king that he serves. You know that his intentions are more complex than that, but you fail to grasp where they lie. His actions and his words clash.  

“And when Yeonjun doesn’t betray us? What will all of this be for?” 

“This doesn’t stop at the prince,” he says, “there are more players than just him and The Queen. Any one of them could determine that we’re liabilities. Don’t you think that we should prepare for that? We came here as spies infiltrating their court from the very king that they rebel against; of course they’ll have plans for us. 

“It’s still best that you stay your distance from the prince from this point on, regardless, unless you bring the kelpie.” 

Your mouth drops open, brows pinching. You don’t like the thought of being chaperoned at all. If Yeonjun is to betray you, then it’ll be your own fault. You can take the consequences of your actions just fine. “I think I can make that decision for myself,” you say, voice low. “And I can protect myself, too. Are you saying my skills aren’t up to your standards? Well, I didn’t spend that time working on them for nothing, and I don’t plan on stopping. I know I’m not perfect, but I think I can at least use a dagger adequately, no?” 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Taehyun says, eyes flat with frustration. “You can protect yourself well. I know that. What I mean is that you shouldn’t rest your life on his integrity. I have no doubts that you’d be able to protect yourself from him alone. He’s delicate. The King doesn’t pamper his children, but I have no doubt that the prince hasn’t wielded a sword anywhere other than in sparring. But you don’t know if you’ll ever truly be alone, and you don’t know whether or not he’s setting you up. I think you can at least agree that it’s best that you can acknowledge that and behave accordingly, no?” 

“I rested my life on your integrity today. Am I supposed to trust you blindly, too? What if you’re just stringing me along until you kill me for my treason to The King? You were his spy, no? How many years did you serve him? Why have you given it up so easily? Why are you staying here? None of it makes sense to me, but I still trusted you. Was I wrong for that? Are you a liar, Taehyun? Does your tongue tell lies?” 

His eyes crystallize, a few degrees colder than you’d seen them all day. “I can lie,” he says. “But would I have done what I did today if I intended to kill you? It’s time that you see that actions tell you so much more than words ever will.” 

Again, he treads around your questions about his intentions. “Why are you staying here?” you repeat, studying him with your suspicion.  

He’s quiet. 

“Answer me,” you demand. 

“Is this not my home?” he says. 

Unsatisfied, you press more. “I thought you hated this place. Why would you want to stay here? Don’t you have an awful reputation here?” 

His eyebrows shoot up, but his face stays hauntingly blank. You’re used to his blank mask, but this feels different. “If you think that I left here because of my reputation, then you’ve fooled yourself.” He begins making for his quarters. “I have obligations to fulfilling my father’s role as Lord of this estate,” he says before turning and ending the conversation on his terms. 

That leaves you just as confused. If he cared about his responsibilities here, he would’ve never left them in the first place to become a spy under The King. It makes no sense. Whether or not it’s true, you’re positive that you aren’t getting the whole story. You sigh and drag your feet bed-bound. You hope to never have another day as unending as today again. 

❉

You dodge Beomgyu for the entirety of the day, not sure what to make of a new presence around the estate, even if it’s an indebted servant beast of a presence. You’d half expected Taehyun to rope him up in the horse stalls outside, making that his permanent residence, but he’d given Beomgyu a place somewhere in the servant’s quarters. You’re glad of it—you may be wary of him, but you don’t wish anything like that for him. Now that he has a more human form, you find yourself able to empathize with him more than you were when he was a hulking, killer water horse. He doesn’t necessarily run around much—without a doubt because he’s not the happiest about being forced into Taehyun’s servitude. You don’t blame him. 

Despite your efforts, he enters the kitchens while you’re alternating between chomping on a slice of bread and a platter of dates. He eyes you. Though in this form his eyes are not as piercing, they’re still heavy.  

You offer him a slice of the bread and push the platter toward him. “Hungry?” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t eat the way you do.” 

Then why’d he come to the kitchens? Either he’s exploring, or he came looking for you. “Not even like this?” you ask, gesturing down to his form. 

“I eat when someone is foolish enough to come to my waters,” he says. “I thought I’d be eating yesterday, but the Lord subverted those plans, didn’t he?” 

You laugh a bit, though it’s absurd to laugh about being eaten with the same creature that had intended to do so.  

“I sometimes go for more years than the entire span of your human life without eating,” he says, tilting his head to one side. Shaggy locks of hair follow his head with it. It’s unkempt and in dire need of a washing to rid it of dirt. 

You gesture at his dirt-smudged cheek. “Do you want to clean up? I’m sure Taehyun has some clothes to spare for you. There are some pretty nice bathing quarters, here, too. The kind that makes you reluctant to get out.” 

A wry smile cracks across his face, a bit feral like the rest of him. “I’m not afraid of some dirt. These are my clothes. I’d go naked before dressing myself in his.” 

“Okay, then,” you snort, shrugging. “No baths.” You rip a bite out of the wrinkled fruit in your hand. “How did you even end up... in debt to Taehyun?” you ask, eager to fill yourself in. If Taehyun insists on not telling you anything, you’ll find it in other places. You’d picked up that it had something to do with his father, but you need to know more. The more you’re able to piece together, the better you’ll be able to make sense of Taehyun’s behaviors. You hope so, at least. He holds is truths very close to himself, and almost everybody else seems to harbor a poignant distaste for him. 

Beomgyu’s face sours up again. “I had a dispute with his father. The General was going to raze my forest and kill each one of us. I’d called on him and asked for his help. I’m not sure what he did, but The General never came. If I knew it’d land me like this, though...” He grimaces. “I’d have just let him make me history.” 

Reigning in the laugh that bubbles in your chest at his resentment, because you’re positive that you finding humor in his misfortunes would ruffle him, you nod and pocket that information. “Then, why didn’t you just agree to help when he tried to collect your debt in the first place?” 

“I was going to,” he snaps. “He’s just a prideful creature. No patience. If he’d waited a few moments, I’d have agreed.” 

Humming, you don’t tell him that he’s definitely the one who wound himself up like this. Taehyun had made it clear multiple times that Beomgyu needed to stop playing around.  

Taehyun’s voice comes from the doorway, cutting into the conversation with its matter-of-factness. “Speaking bad on my name while I’m away, kelpie? Should I amend your list of commands to include watch your mouth?” His tone is bare and humorless. 

Beomgyu bristles beside you, about to rebut him before you spy the weapon at Taehyun’s hip and interrupt before they can come to verbal blows. “Where are you going?” 

Taehyun rips his icy gaze from Beomgyu to you. “To Court,” he answers, plain and as if it were obvious. 

Furrowing your brows, you say, “Court? Why didn’t you tell me we’re going? I don’t want to get ready in a rush.” Your mind turns. You weren’t even sure what you’d be doing now that you’re no longer here as spies. There’s no need to infiltrate Court, now. Would you just be attending as revelers? Not to mention that Yeonjun no doubt has no clue that you’re even staying. You hadn’t seen him since you’d ran to him yesterday morning and had your world thrown for a loop as he revealed his truth. How had so much happened in one day?  

His mouth hardens. “You’re not attending with me,” he says, knuckles turning white over the pommel of his sword. “You’ll stay here with him today.” 

Your heart thrums in your chest; not with fear like it had been doing so much over the span of the last few days, but with anger. “What?” you say, voice strained with shock. “No. I’m getting ready; wait for me, or don’t. I don’t care.” You spin on your heels to do just that, gritting your teeth. He thinks he can tell you what to do? Is that it? You don’t care what he’s done for you, or what power he thinks he has over you because of it. You’d left your life of taking commands behind for a reason. This was supposed to be new beginnings, not just your past life under a new skin. 

He catches your upper arm frantically. Whipping your head to him, you rip yourself away from him and back off. “I said, no!” you say, lips twitching into a heavily emotional scowl. It’s not just that he’s telling you to stay back today. You know that what he’s doing is much bigger than that. It sends memories of a life in a seamstress’ cottage flooding back. You struggle to keep your head afloat, to keep yourself from drowning in it, but they’re old and deep wounds. 

“Oh, look at that,” Beomgyu croons. “You are just like him. Except, your father was a general, so at least he had some reason to believe that folk would obey him. You? Not so much.” 

Taehyun’s head snaps to him. He barks a command. “Leave.” 

His eyes flash and he reels against it, but Beomgyu’s body moves against his own will. There’s a spark of ravenous hate smeared across his lips and in the glare he gives Taehyun as he leaves. 

“So, you’re just going to hand out commands and expect them to be followed now, huh? Because you’re suddenly just... taking up this role as Lord? Well, you’re not my Lord. You’re not his, either.” 

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Stop that.” 

Laughing a bitter laugh, you spit, “Stop what? Oh, I’m sorry. I should just obey you like a good human does, huh? ‘Cause that’s what we’re for, right? My bad, I’ll get a head start on working around the estate—what would you like for dinner, my lord? Or, do you need me to press your clothes?” Your words are angry, but you choke toward the end around the lump of emotion in the back of your throat. 

He takes both your arms into his hands, his brow furrowed hard. “Stop it,” he snarls. “Stop it, damn it. Don’t do that. You’re not a servant here. Don’t you try to cry to me, I expect better than this from you. That’s not it at all.” 

You shove back on his chest, putting some distance between you. “I’m not crying,” you say. “And, so what if I was? There’s nothing wrong with it. I think it’d do you a little good to cry some time.” 

“It’s weak,” he says. “Pitying yourself just ends up making you a fool. If you just sit around and wallow, you’ll just stay where you are. The only thing you can do is act.”  

That sounds about right coming from his lips. “Is that what your father taught you?” you ask. “Well, he was wrong. You can cry and try and take care of things at the same time.” 

“I’m just asking you to stay back today,” he says. 

“Why?” you say, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Tell me why? It’s not like we’re spying around or have some sort of mission to keep secret. Why can’t I just go enjoy it like that for once?” 

“Can you just do this for me?” Taehyun says, jaw tight. “I just need you to stay.” 

You’ve become sick of him not telling you things. Being in the dark never feels good, but it especially feels like shaky ground now. If he thinks you’ll be attacked, so what? You’re the one who wanted to stay here. Let you come. You’re better off being attacked as a group of three than he would be by himself, no? 

You decide to lean into his own concerns to appeal. “What if they’re waiting for you? Wouldn’t it be better that Beomgyu and I are there? Isn’t that why you did that whole thing yesterday?” 

He shakes his head. “If they are, then it’ll be easier for me to slip out if it’s just me.” 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you determine by the solemn lines to his face that he’s not going to give. “Fine,” you say. “I’ll stay here today. If it’s so necessary, I’ll stay here. Do you want me to stay inside the estate, too? Could I go see Yeonjun?” 

“I’d prefer that you stay here,” he says, slow and measured and veiling tension. 

You shake your head, pairing it with a tired laugh. “Yeah, right, I forgot. He’s a threat too. Well, you have fun then.” Turning and departing from the kitchens, you leave behind your bread and dates. So much for lunch. 

❉

Reaffirming Taehyun’s ability to lie, it was not just that one day. The next day, Taehyun slipped out for Court, sword on hip and pleading with you to stay in the estate on the terms that he believes they still might have an attack planned for you. It turned into a week that you were cooped up in the estate, and then two. The same walls you’d once looked at in wonder for their beauty became the ones you stared at mindlessly during the most boring of hours. 

You spend most of your time listening to Beomgyu drone on and on about the ways he’d tricked faeries and humans. He’s quite odd, but it’s not like you can blame him for it—most of the folk are odd to you, and he’s an ancient beast among them. You feel like that warrants a spunky personality like his. He’s nice company, anyway. Such a long life lends you an impressive wealth of stories. 

You can’t help but think about Yeonjun. He’s got to have seen Taehyun at Court by now. If there haven’t been any incidents at this point, doesn’t that mean that he doesn’t intend to betray you? The images of him thinking that you’re avoiding him makes you want to slip out to see him. You not sure why you don’t. Maybe the lies that sat between you affect you more than you thought they did. You’re quite the hypocrite, though. You’d kept secrets just as much as he had. 

You miss those stolen nights you two had shared. A knot, queasy and pessimistic, sits in your belly each time you lay in your bed and remember them and tells you that you’ll never see anything like that again. You’d allowed a girlish part of you to blossom beside him—a part of you that could throw caution to the wind and melt into the fun things in life.  

As you rot your days away in that estate that has become more like a dungeon than an estate, you allow yourself to miss him only a little. Once it begins transforming into a certain impending doom about how you’d thought that staying here would be everything you’d ever wanted, you find something else to do. If you aren’t toiling around by yourself or listening to Beomgyu drone, you’re practicing your combat skills. The times that Taehyun stops in to help you, it ends with you insisting that you’re fine to make appearances in Court by now, or at least see Yeonjun with Beomgyu in attendance. He never agrees. Each time, it’s the same awful excuse: Tensions are worse. He doesn’t know if they’re planning something. When you ask why he demands that he can attend, but you and Beomgyu can’t join: He’s a lord. It’s his duty to attend Court. 

The solstice is nearing, too. You’d looked forward to it, honestly. Hopefully Taehyun will let you attend by then. 

You sit crisscrossed on the hardwood flooring, running your fingers through your hair. Beomgyu is stood a couple feet away, and makes big gestures as he explains the one time he’d been called to attend Court as a solitary faerie. Moments like this have kept you grounded over the weeks. 

“And the stupid crone tried to say that I was wrong for catching him,” he exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head as if the ancient memory were still as fresh as day one.  

You laugh. “What did you even do to end up there, anyway?” you ask. You can hardly picture Beomgyu in the setting of Court, even more so meeting with The Queen and her council. Moreover, you’re intrigued to know what he’d said to talk himself out of trouble. You’re amazed that he managed to make a sufficient enough case to save his life. 

“They said that I’d been taking too many of their folk—hah! I must eat too, you know? Oh, the pretention! Do they expect me to starve? If a fool lands themselves on my pelt and then in my waters, it’s only natural that they’re eaten. I’m simply freeing them from one more mud-brained fool. The Courts are full of those, too. It’d take me a millennium to eat them all. What are they so worried for, I wonder? They do the very same to their own people.” 

“Aren’t they ridiculous?” you say. Like you, he’d been an outsider in Court. Though you’re sure that it’s just as, if not more, intricate to those well-versed in it, to the ones like you two... It’s odd to see. You had grown used to it in the time you spent there, but you still know what the first day had felt like. Anyway, you hadn’t spent as many days there as you feel you had. All that had happened had bloated that time in your memories. “To be quite honest with you, your kind are all so odd to me. I grew up among you, but still... my instincts are always kinda at odds with my surroundings, you know?” 

Beomgyu considers that for a moment, as if trying to view the fae from a human’s eyes. “Even when we look so similar?” he asks you, grabbing at a lock of his hair and making a round gesture over himself. 

You nod. “Even in this form, you just... I don’t feel like I’m looking into the face of another human. Maybe that’s because I watched you turn to this from a horse, though.” 

“A kelpie,” he corrects. “What gives it away?” 

“Sorry, a kelpie,” you snicker. You look over his face. It’s so close to right, but somewhere in your mind you can decipher that something is not right. Like all of the fae, though, there’s an unspeakable beauty there, beyond explanation. It demands your human attention. Even the most terrifying are beautiful. “Well, for starters, your ears. They’re pointy. All of you have that, and none of us do. And then... I guess”—you narrow your eyes—“your eyes? They’re just different. And your limbs are pretty lanky, too.” 

He frowns as if he’s unable to see it. “You don’t sound so sure,” he says, joining you on the floor. “I’ve had quite some time to look at myself in my life. I don’t think I ever saw any of that when I was in this form...” 

“I’m sure you did,” you say, lips turning up in a playful mock. A water creature no doubt has an eternity to stare into the water at themselves in its rippled reflection. “Did you do a lot of that?” 

Scowling, he huffs. “No. But I’m sure you would, if you looked like this, huh?” 

You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” His face morphs from dismay to careful concentration. Frowning, you look around and ask, “What?” 

“I hear somebody,” he answers, pushing off the floor. 

Your spine tingles, but you search for the logical explanation. “Like... Taehyun?” 

“No... the walk is definitely different.” He strains to listen. “He’s usually pretty quiet. This one... they don’t conceal their footsteps.” 

Neither of you can get to a window to scope anything out before there’s three heavy knocks from the door, the metal knocker ringing. You shoot him a wary look and tilt your head toward the door. You mouth the word, answer? 

He considers for a moment and then nods. Well, he’s the one able to hear their approach. You trust they’re at least not imminent danger. You pull the door open. A breeze of frost comes rushing in as you do, blowing your hair and as jarring as a hit to the face might be. You’ve been cooped up in here for so long you’ve forgotten how bitter the cold here is.  

Behind the door your eyes lock with a pair of inky ones, settled into a pinched and snooty face. “Letters from the palace I have for you, my lady,” she says, her voice mousy. She holds out a stack full of letters to you, all held together by some twine. 

An errand runner. You furrow your brows down at her and accept them. The little hob wrings out her long fingers. “From who?” you ask her.  

She bows her head to you hurriedly. “Oh, from the prince, my lady! He sends these for you!” 

You look down at the stack in your hands, and your heart begins to run amok in your chest. He’d sent to you? You thank her. She scurries off in the snow and you close the door, sharing a look with Beomgyu. 

“The prince?” he says, brows shot up. “Meaning, The King’s son? He’s sent letters for you?” 

Nodding, you hold the stack close to you. Your feet ache to find your quarters and to begin tearing into each one; you’re ravenous for any sort of word from him. Does he hate you? Does he miss you? At least he still thinks of you. You’d worried that he might’ve found another lady of the court to dote on in your absence... 

“Yeah,” you say over your shoulder, more interested in tearing the letters open than explaining to him why the prince would be sending you letters. Curiosity sits in his furrowed brow. You hadn’t exactly prattled on about Yeonjun to him. Had you even mentioned him at all? 

He tags along as you head to your room and plop onto your bed. You don’t tell him to leave you; opening these letters alone... You appreciate his presence in some odd way.  

Unstringing the pile, you pull the first one out and run a thumb over the wax seal that identifies it as definitely from the High Prince—a fine silver dusted over white wax and branded with the image of Yeonjun’s insignia, the fox. It’s uneven and dribbled, clearly sealed by Yeonjun himself with the insignia ring he often wears on his finger. You pry it open and then unfurl the parchment inside. 

Do you intend to return to Court? Perhaps we keep missing each other. Though, the Lord is always there. I wonder where you are. If my letter reaches you, please write me back. Or better, come see me. My doors are open to you.  

They always have been. 

Yeonjun 

Beomgyu’s gaze burns holes through you as you read this first one. You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you reach for the next one. This one twists a hot knife of guilt into your belly and up into your heart. 

Have I done something wrong?  

The General’s son continues to attend Court, and though I seek your lovely face beside his, you’re never there. I’m under the impression that he wants you not seeing me. Although, perhaps that’s only because I loathe what your absence might mean otherwise. 

Is it because I learned of your identity? Is it that you think I hate you? 

Allow me to make it utmost clear: I do not. I doubt I could if I tried. You’re quite the heart stealer.  

I know I sound a bit ridiculous telling you I love you when we only knew each other for so long. I understand that. It’s that sort of love that ought to burn bright and short, right? But I won’t let it. Not us. 

Some might say that a love found so easily is fickle. That it doesn’t exist. I say it does, because I have felt it. 

Do you remember how it felt the first time our eyes met, too? How odd is it to feel something so deep inside you, but also so far beyond your reach that you cannot alter its course?  

Please write me, pretty. If I can’t see your face, at least allow me the pleasure of knowing that you’re okay. 

Yeonjun 

“What do they say?” Beomgyu asks, timbred voice whipping you apart from the words on paper that manage to send your heart hurting.  

You’re not entirely sure how to tell him that they’re desperate letters of the High Prince’s love for you, a worthless human girl that had avoided him on purpose. He probably wouldn't believe you, anyway. Leaving behind your old life, you had pleaded with the sky to make your life something worth note. It seems that it had answered. Life works in odd ways.  

“A lot,” you say, brushing him off. Your voice cracks with the word, though,  

Hearing the veiled emotion, he frowns, inching forward to take a peek. “Why are you upset?” he pries, and then gasps as a thought formulates in his head. “Have they called you to be tried by the council?” He considers his own suggestion for a long moment and then shakes his head. “You hardly have gone anywhere enough to cause that degree of trouble, though.”  

You let your face drop into your hands. Is the tremor in your chest from laughter, or from crying? You can’t tell. Maybe it’s both. 

The kelpie makes an unsure sound, clearing his throat. “I... uh, I jest...” 

Collecting yourself, you say, “No. I’m not being called in for trial.” You reach for the next letter.  

The next envelope has dried up rose petals that come falling out when you pull out the letter. The flower of love. 

Have you left the north? Could you not have at least lent me one last look at your face before doing so? I don’t mean to be so pathetic, but my heart is lonesome. I thought we’d have more time. Hadn’t you wanted to stay with me?  

If you still reside in his estate, I send these letters to you. I’m not sure if they’ll reach you, but I hope that they’ll move you. Don’t you know that I’d give you anything? 

Please come see me. I beg. Let’s talk. I just want to know what’s wrong. 

Yeonjun 

Why hadn’t you at least gone and told him that you’ve stayed? How had you allowed yourself to feel fear when you think of him? You don’t deserve his love.  

You don’t even know if you deserve love at all. All it would’ve taken was one night of slipping out. He deserved to know that you’re okay. You don’t remember being this selfish. When had this happened? Maybe this is just what happens when someone spends a lifetime not allowed to think of themselves before serving others. You don’t want to be selfish, though.  

The next one you open is more raw. Hurt. The paper, scrawled in writing that becomes less elegant and more frenzied as you read down it, crumples in your hand. 

If you think that I’m the sort of man that will easily forget what we’ve shared, I am not. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please return to my arms. They ache for you. They remember your weight, and they won’t soon forget it.  

Do I need to say it anymore?  

I love you, darling. It’s making me sick.  

Yeonjun 

You stuff the letters back in their envelopes and shove them into a box in your wardrobe. If you don’t, you’ll read them over until you’re ill. Once over was enough for you. 

❉

“The Lord would have my pelt if I let you leave,” Beomgyu, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, says. “Let alone by yourself.” Realizing that his words insinuate that Taehyun holds any true power over him, he backtracks. “If it weren’t for the harness, I’d be unconcerned with his anger, but... Of course, you know, I’m obligated by my imposition to his word, so...” 

Tugging your boots on, you say, “So, tell him I commanded you to stay. You’ll be fine.”  

You had waited for Taehyun to leave for Court, anyway. You have hours of the night to sly-foot your way around him. 

You’d moped around for a few more days, your gut heavy with stones each time you remember Yeonjun’s letters. Stuffing them into a box, no matter how deep into the corner of your wardrobe, still could not wipe those words from your mind. You’d turned them over and over until you couldn’t handle imagining him writing those letters with a hopeful heart any longer.  

The solstice is only a few days away now, too. You’d been bound to the estate for weeks. Although you’re unsure what Taehyun’s real intentions are in boarding you in, you can no longer even care if leaving will end up getting you attacked. You’ve become a bird with clipped wings.  

Even if your wings are out of order, you’ll walk your way to your freedom. Hell, you’d crawl there. It just so happens that Yeonjun’s doorway feels like freedom in this moment.  

Like he’d always said, the doors remain unbarred. You don’t even have to use the metal knocker; you just push through the doors of swirling white engravements. Just as if nothing had changed. He’d been waiting for you. 

Instead of Yeonjun in his quarters, you find a brownie diligently working on doing up Yeonjun’s bedding. When she turns to you, her hands continue their efforts. 

“The prince is not here right now, dear,” she says, snout twitching. Round eyes recognize you before you can introduce yourself. “He’s only just made for Court, though. You should catch him quite quickly, if you mean to.” 

It seems he hasn’t given up searching for you in Court, either. You offer her your gratitude and slip out from his room. Picking up the hems of your dress, you race to catch Yeonjun before he’s arrived at Court. Once he does, things get more sticky—if Taehyun spots you... Pushing down the anxiety that bubbles up at the thought, you cross your fingers. Let luck be on your side.  

Your Court dress, though heavy, feels nice on your skin. Although you often look down on court goers for their pompousness, you can’t deny how good it feels to fit in. That’s perhaps the reason you cling to Court the way you do; you’re beyond desperate for belonging. 

On the plush, snow-dusted bits of the forest’s floor, you spot a set of footsteps. They’re quickly being filled with the flurries. You clasp your hands in an overwhelming bout of gratitude—luck had listened, this time. Those tracks are as fresh as can be. You double your pace. 

Around a bend, you’re overjoyed to see his figure walking there. Finally hearing you coming over the roar of snowfall, he spins. His face pinches and then drops as he recognizes you. 

“You... You came?” he says. Disbelief flips his lips into a frown. “You got my letters?” 

“I did,” you answer, catching your breath. “I’m so sorry.” 

A few feet float between you, the space not yet closed but so magnetic. His cheeks are tinged pink with the cold. Yours must be too.  

“I’d thought you left. I thought I’d never see you again.” 

Your chest caves in a little at the hurt in his voice and the way it clashes with the longing in his eyes. He wants to be angry; he wants to yell at you. He can’t do either when he’s just thankful to see your face. You had missed his just as much. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “It shouldn’t have happened.” 

Yeonjun approaches you and takes your face into his hands. His fingers are ice on your skin. He swallows in your face, soft black eyes darting from your eyes to your lips and around the rest of it; just like he’d begged you to let him do in his letters. 

“Why?” Yeonjun asks you, brushing your hair back with his fingers like he’s just testing the feel of it. 

You don’t know how to answer him. You could tell him a lot of things: Taehyun told me to stay away. He had told me that you’d hurt me. I’d started to believe him. I became scared of you. We had lied to each other. None of them feel adequate in this moment, so you shake your head. 

His eyes harden to a degree as you don’t answer. “Why wouldn’t you come talk to me, pretty?” he urges. “If something was wrong, why couldn’t you come to me? We can’t leave things broken. I sent you weeks of letters. Weeks.” 

Weeks? You’d only seen four.  

“Finally, I got smart enough to send them when he’s at Court. And then you show up here. Tell me, how am I to think that you’re okay? When he won’t even let you speak with me?” 

You blink once. Twice. Taehyun had been intercepting letters. A pit of anger flares in your belly. Whatever this protecting thing he’s doing really is, you’re sick of it. Since when had he become your keeper? He’d demanded that Yeonjun was trying to do just that, but here he is, and you have no clue why he’s doing it. 

“I didn’t know you’d sent letters until yesterday,” you tell him. “I should’ve come and seen you.” 

Running his thumb over your cheek, he murmurs, “You’re not going back there. Please, tell me you’ll stay with me. If you’re to stay here in the north forever, let it be with me. We can’t slip around like this forever.” 

Shaking your head in his hands, you pull back. You can’t decipher the dread that washes over you at his suggestion once again. Your heart is wary with the need to do just that—to not return to the estate where you’d become some sort of prisoner. Something washes over you and tells you that it won’t go the way you’d wanted, just as most things in your life hadn’t. 

Seeing the way you retract, Yeonjun becomes more desperate. “Please,” he says, hands finding your shoulders to hold you as if you’ll leave him there.  

“We’ll figure it out,” you say. “Just give me a few days to think about it, okay?” 

His face stays drawn as if he wants to argue it, but he relents. Taking your frozen hands into his own and wrapping them up in attempts to warm them, he says, “Okay. Okay, let’s get away from this blizzard, then. I’ll wait for you, love.” 

Your chest sizzles. The cold isn’t so bad, today. In a way, you’d missed it. You nod.  

Yeonjun brings you to his chambers and urges you to settle into a plush seat. You run your hands over the embroidered whorls of thread on the cushions as you watch him rummage through a chest. “What are you looking for?” you ask him, drinking in his figure. He’d switched his Court shirts for some more comfortable wear, but even in those he looks princely. He’s so pretty. Your heart flutters as he fishes out what he’d been searching for and turns to you with a smile. He settles beside you carrying a leatherbound book and a miniature wood sculpture of a girl. 

“These,” he says, setting them down on the cushion between you.  

You pick up the wood thing, looking over its painted pink cheeks and feeling the carvings that make its face. It’s fitted with a dress; one unlike any you’d ever seen. Your brow furrows. “What’s this thing?” you ask. 

“It’s called a doll,” he says explains. You feel his eyes on you, watching your reaction, not on the thing in your hands. “Human girls carry them around to play with. They change the dresses and stuff. They even make things for them to hold, but... I couldn’t get ahold of any of those.”  

Heart stuttering, you look at the wood-carved thing. “Human girls?” you ask, imagining a life where you too could have worried only about what dress your toy would wear. You revere the resilience your younger self had to have. At least you didn’t know any better; you didn’t know how you could’ve had it. That ignorance saved you. The painted eyes of the doll stare back at you. 

“Kinda cute, huh?” he says, smiling and scooting closer to fiddle with the thing’s hair. “They even do their hair up all pretty.” Looking back up to you, he says, “It’s a shame that no human who has ever grown up here knows of things like these. Simple joys.” 

You nod, a little choked up. “Yeah. I wish I had. It would have been nice to have something like this as a girl.”  

He tucks some hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face from the side. “How did you ever end up being a spy?” 

Tearing your gaze from the doll to meet his, you find a sadness there despite you not even having told him yet. It’s as if he knows it’ll hurt him already. You fiddle with the little doll’s dress as you recount. “I was a servant to a seamstress,” you start. “A royal seamstress, too. She was favored well by the gentry. She brought in hordes of clients and made dresses and Court clothes for them—but, really, her work mostly ended at being there to hear what they’d want and inlaying the dresses with her magic when they’d ask for it. The rest was my work. Taking their measurements, making their dresses... I worked her shop as soon as I became able to.” Memories of cruel and wicked faces that snickered at your expense or those who found it entertainment to scare you come back, as fresh as ever. Those memories never leave you; the ones so early on that they’d calcified into permanent parts of your personality. That terrified little girl will always be somewhere in your mind. She surfaces quite a lot, these days.  

“There was this one time...” you say, trailing off to trudge up a more awful memory. “A Lady had come in to have a dress made. She brought a guard along with her. He was this massive troll with grey skin like a toad.” You’d recall his details without any trouble for the rest of your life, you think. “I’d ran off to grab some fabric for the Lady, and he followed,” you say, voice wavering just how your little heart had wavered as you had turned around from the bolts of fabric to see the goblin stood there. “He yanked me around by my hair until I sobbed, and then he had me get on the floor and beg him to let me live.” You know now that of course he wasn’t going to kill you—he wouldn’t want problems with Nut-hatch—but you hadn’t known it then. You thought you were dead. “When he had enough of his fun, he let me go. When the other two saw how hysterical I was, all I got was being asked why I’d left them waiting so long.”  

Yeonjun asks, voice soft and tender, “The seamstress allowed that?” His eyes are heavy with a mixture of emotions. You see sadness and anger there, but also something a bit more. 

“Nut-hatch?” you say. “Of course.” They’d known what he was doing in there, of course. Even a human could have heard it. As long as you served your purpose, the folk could not care less. 

He looks taken aback at that, recognition turning his brows up. “Nut-hatch? You worked for Nut-hatch?” he asks. 

Nodding, you hum. You had no doubt he’d know her name. Her work was well-renowned in his father’s court and beyond. “I did.” 

His eyes rake over you for a long few beats before he turns your face up. “Their names?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

“The goblin and the Lady. What are their names?” 

You try to tug at the threads of that old memory. “I don’t remember,” you say. Much of it is fresh, but you hadn’t committed their names to memory. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of it. “It’s okay. It’s passed now.” 

He doesn’t look very convinced, mind wheeling behind his eyes. You don’t want to stay on this memory for too long. Pushing it back into the dusty corner where it stays, you continue explaining. “I accepted that as my life for a long time, but... At some point, I just wanted more. I imagined all the ways I could find a new life as a human here. There are so many other things I’d preferred, but the only one I could manage was that. Even that, I was wrong about. I’m not really made for that, you know?” You lighten your tone in hopes that it’ll make your chest feel lighter as well.  

He listens intently and then leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. Pulling you into his chest and keeping you notched under his chin, he says, his voice smooth to your ears, “I’m so happy you’re here now, pretty.” 

Letting out the weight in your lungs in a long, meaningful sigh, you melt into his touch. It’s difficult not to when his body is so warm against yours. You revel in it for some time, just letting him smooth over your hair and rub your back. You try your best not to let any old, sad emotions pour out through your eyes; this is a happy moment. You’ve made it. Perhaps things had been harder than you imagined they’d be, but you knew it’d be a long journey when you escaped that sewing cottage anyway. 

Peppering a few last kisses to the top of your head, he releases you to pick up the book he had also grabbed from that chest. On the front it reads: Pride & Prejudice.  

“A book?” you say, looking over the brown leather and gold printing. It’s an unfamiliar name to you, but you never read much anyway.  

He nods and pries it open. The spine crackles with age. “It’s also from the human world.” Thumbing through the pages, he adds, “It’s a story. I read it often, it’s quite a nice one. I want to give it to you so that you can read it too; it’s a beautiful love story.” 

You lean in to take a look at the words, too perfect to be handwritten. “Where do you get all this stuff?” you say. It reminds you of he’d brought you to that market for human goods. He seems to be interested in things that are human. Perhaps that includes you. Either that or he continues to show you these kinds of things for your sake. 

“I lived in their world for some years,” he says, flipping through the pages. “It’s quite different. Though... I found myself not wanting to leave. When the time came, I brought these back with me to remind me of that time.” 

Lived? Not just visited, but Yeonjun had lived in the human realm? Your heart flurries with a lifetime of wondering what your true home was like. How ironic is it that he knew more of humans than you? That you’re the one asking him questions about your kind? “How long?” you ask first. “And why were you living there?” 

“Just for something my father wanted me to do,” he answers, “Somewhere around a decade, I believe.” 

He’d spent ten years there. Multiple things click into place—no wonder he’s so able to understand your human emotions. No wonder it feels as though you’ve been seen to a different degree by him than you’d ever known before. He’d spent years with your kind. “What is it like?” you say, not sure where to begin with your questions. 

He smiles fondly. “You wouldn’t even be able to believe me, pretty. You’ll just have to see it.” 

See it. “You’d take me there?” you say.  

“Of course,” Yeonjun says, frowning. He takes one of your hands into his, pressing a kiss to it. “You deserve to see it.” He presses another kiss to your skin, now at your wrist. The hair on your skin raises at the contact. His eyes find yours as he begins a slow ascent of kisses up your arm. Each is warm and sends your spine blazing. Once he reaches your shoulder, he slows down, leaving a long moment between kisses. He continues this pace—one that both makes you wish he’d slow down and that he’d hurry and quell your want—right up the juncture of your neck and up the column, too. His controlled breaths puff out like fire on your skin where his mouth lingers. You let your head back to help his path up. He places one final kiss at your jawline before his lips land on yours, drunken and in no rush at all.  

You can’t help the visceral urge to run your hands over his soft skin, to check if the warmth there was real or if you’d manifested it in your longing. Yeonjun breaks this lethargic kiss just to laugh, but he’s quick to recapture your lips. He meets your hand and brings it under his silken shirt, guiding you up the soft planes of his abdomen. 

Pushing you back, he whispers into your mouth, “I missed you so much, pretty.” 

You rememorize the gentle muscles of his stomach beneath your palm. “It was only so many days,” you tease, “you’re just horny.” 

He lets go of your hand to begin slipping down your dress from the shoulders. “Yeah?” he hums, gobbling up each inch of skin that he reveals. “I suppose I am. It’s a gift to be able to love you in this way.” Once the fabric is clear of your hips and he’s tugging it down your legs, his face turns sly. He studies your wettened core. “I think you missed me too, though, love.” 

You drag your bottom lip into your teeth. You had. Your chest thumps rhythmically in your chest, syncing like symphony with the throb between your thighs. 

Blood sings in your veins when he places his palm right on the boundary between your lower belly and your cunt. Your stomach soars, too, so excited by his touch so near where your body craves it. He runs it up, feeling the curves of your body, up to your breast. You expect him to stop and pay attention to your chest, but he presses his hand down right over your heart and feels its beating against his palm. His eyes flutter to a shut, and he leaves his hand there for a few moments, relishing in it.  

“What other purer form of love can I show you?” he says, tapping on your hip. “On your hands and knees, baby.” 

You flip, your limbs a bit clumsy in anticipation. Once you’ve found your way there, he dances his fingertips on the small of your spine. 

“Did you think of my touches while we were apart?” 

“Mhm,” you hum. Especially on the nights when the estate seemed the emptiest. Some nights, your fingers were just not enough to save you, and you’d contemplate making a big escape to find him.  

“Well, I shouldn’t make you wait too much longer then, huh?” he coos, running that hand down to ghost touches over your slit. Though minimal, you jolt. You’d been so ravenous for this. He’d worked his shirt off so that when he leans forward to meld his chest to your back, it’s his skin that touches yours, not fabric. His hand stays ghosting touches that leave you softly gasping. 

He teasingly pinches your clit, laughing in your hair at the sharp hiss it draws from you. “So reactive,” Yeonjun muses. His fingers find their way to your hole. He dips the middle two in. “Just like the first time we made love like this. Your lovely face is burned into my mind, pretty. You have such hungry eyes.” As he pushes his fingers in, he uses his free hand to tilt your face against the cushion so that he can better see your eyes. 

You sigh, shuddering and breathy, as he begins to curl his fingers. It only takes him a few curls to rediscover that spot that has sparks flying behind your eyes. 

“There?” he asks, chin on your shoulder. “That feel good, darling?” 

Your muscles tremble at their own accord, rendering your huffs trembled as well. “Yes,” you answer. Each meaningful curl hits its mark, knees unsteady pillars that dig into the cushions. “So—so good. Please don’t stop.”  

He maintains a sickening pace—your muscles twitch around his giving fingers, just enough so that your entire body buzzes and your stomach twists, but not enough to send you shaking yet. You collapse down from your elbows, chest in the cushions. He brushes back the hair that obscures your face with the movement, adamant to see your face.  

He eggs you on by curling deeper; faster. Your answering groan is shaky and tense—you can’t get enough of the knot he curates in your belly, but at the same time, it’s daunting. He sits back, but his fingers don’t falter. His free hand explores, feeling your body up for all the time he couldn’t.  

Stomach taut and brimming on your peak, you suck in a breath. Your orgasm sits so close, running a line of electricity from between your legs up to your spine, raising goosebumps on your skin.  

Your eyes fly open, mouth ready to scold, as Yeonjun pulls his fingers from you. Your chest bubbles up with frustration, your orgasm drifting off to somewhere else. “Why?” you ask, cheeks burning. It slips and slips away from you, hole twitching around nothing as if seeking out just enough stimulus to bring it crashing back. “I was so close.” 

His hand soothes the loss ever so slightly by circling your cunt, but he does not make the mistake of offering you any touch where you most need it. It only prolongs the float down, keeping you suspended. You abhor it.  

“Please,” you whine. 

He doesn’t entertain your whines. He only continues to deliver just enough to torment you until he’s sure that you’re not so wound up that you’ll cum the moment he touches you, and then he slides his fingers back in and begins building up a more tense knot with pointed curls. Your insides delight in the return of attention, falling almost instantly back into a brutal climb. Yeonjun doesn’t bother with languid, teasing strokes now. He aims for your ruining. 

You writhe against the cushions. Your heart is a fluttering bird in your chest, trilling at the prospect of your release. It’s so close—so close that you might be able to just touch it. It tastes like honey on your tongue, painting your words sweet. “Love you,” you tell him. “Love you so much.” 

Yeonjun rewards your sweetness with his free hand on your throbbing clit, sending your hands gripping at the cushions. You wiggle your hips helplessly in search of just the right amount of friction that it’ll finally give you want you’ve been wanting. “Yes,” you mewl. “Yes, so close—” 

“Wait, baby,” he commands from behind you. “It’ll feel so much better. I promise. Hold it back.” 

He reins in his touches once again, not stopping like last time. It’s not enough to put a stop to the orgasm rippling right under your skin, right at the edge of ripping through you. You can’t hold it back; it’s right there. 

“No,” he says, once again ripping his touch from you. It doesn’t stop anything—you go rigid just before it crashes over you, and then you’re shaking without his hands even on you. You cum with a vengeance—body reclaiming twofold what he had denied you.  

“Holy shit.” Yeonjun groans watching you come unraveled without his help. “So riled up that you’re cumming by yourself, pretty,” he says, running a hand around to feel your belly muscles twitching and the way they roll along with the twitches of your hips. He eggs on your orgasm with gentle touches at your clit, sending you jolting, until you’re a panting mess and he can tell that you’ve had enough. 

You attempt to push yourself off your chest, but he gently guides you back down with a palm against your back. “Stay there, pretty. You can handle a little more, right? You did so well, I know you can. Let me make love to you, darling.” 

The cushions are awfully warm against your skin and you’re still dealing with the waves of pleasure that drift up from your cunt, but you nod your head for him. “’Kay,” you say. 

The rustling behind you tells of how he’s slipping out of the rest of his attire. You lay boneless as he does, focusing on the waves running down your thighs. It’s ecstasy in its purest form. It floats through your veins, addling any consciousness and breaking you down into what you are at your core. 

The familiar prod at your entrance jolts you back to life. As he presses in, he presses a hand to your flushed cheek. It’s a welcome temperature difference—you feel set ablaze in some sort of languid flame, one that takes its time to consume you. He laughs softly. “You’re burning up,” he says as he bottoms out, as if the feeling of him filling you up isn’t rendering you jittery in anticipation. “Ready for me, pretty?” he teases, taking your hips into his hands. “I need you to make those pretty sounds for me. I want to know that they’re just as sweet as I remember them.” He punctuates his sentence with deep rolls of his hips, aiming where he knows will have you singing. 

You’re helpless to the chorus of ‘Oh's and ‘Yes’s that he draws from you, the smacking of his hips and your sweet moans much too loud for you. You dread the thought of his servants hearing you and push your face into the cushions, muffling the array of sounds that bubble over. It’s all you can do—you could hardly contain your sounds. 

Your scalp strains as he tugs your head back, tugging your face from the cushion. “None of that, love. I waited too long for that. Don’t hide your pretty voice.”  

You shake your head. “Too loud,” you pant. “They’re gonna hear.” 

“I don’t care who hears you. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel, or I’m going to stop. Do you want me to stop?” His fingers cling to your soft hips, betraying how much this is affecting him. You know that he hardly wants to stop. 

You’re turned to mush, though. In this moment, being heard feels nowhere near as awful as Yeonjun ceasing those dizzying thrusts. You shake your head, scalp aching against the movement. “No,” you say, breathless.  

“That’s what I thought,” Yeonjun taunts, letting your cheek drop back into the fabric. “Let them hear our love. Let them hear how real it is, darling. Louder.”  

You tentatively let your sounds out into the thick air, but he decides that it’s not enough for him. Taking his hand off your hip to brace himself on the seat’s plush armrest, he doubles down his thrusts, feverish and desperate to guide you both to a beautifully explosive end. Your mouth drops open, unfiltered words and sounds spilling out from your chest as you grab at the cushions for help. With the hand that he doesn’t use to deliver those wild thrusts, he encases your hand in his own, threading his fingers between yours.  

For a few more incandescent moments, Yeonjun’s room only consists of your unabashed cries, his alternating grunts and whines, the rhythmic and hollow smacks of his hips to your skin, and the musk of your passion. Frantic bodies dance against each other, skin against skin in the purest way. Your thighs tremble pathetically, his cock brushing against your sweet spot until you squeeze your eyes shut and ride out the quivering of your cunt around him. You squeeze his hand as you shake. 

“Yes,” his pretty voice whines, “Just like that.”  

Picking up his pace, he chases to join you in your orgasm. He pants behind you, desperately fucking into you until his hips stutter and he stills, falling into your shoulder to deliver needy rolls and shooting warm spurts of his release into you.  

You two stay like this for some unhurried moments. You focus on his heartbeat; feeling it thudding against your back reminds you that he is real, and he is love. You hold his hand in yours a little tighter. 

❉

“I doubt that this will go exactly as you believe it will,” Beomgyu says, watching you do your hair up. Your eyes meet his in the vanity’s mirror.  

Arms burning as your hold them over your head, your words come out clipped with the ache. “It worked yesterday, didn’t it?” you say. You push a filigree comb into your hair to secure it up. “I got back hours before he did.” 

“I’m not saying that Taehyun is right,” he says, “but I think that it would do us both a favor if you practice a bit more precaution.” 

“What, are you afraid of Taehyun?” you ask, raising your brows at him in the reflection.  

Your taunt hits its mark, Beomgyu shifting in your bed and scowling. “Of Taehyun, never,” he parries, “of the fact that he could ask me to do anything and I’d do it, yes.” He shakes out his lightly matted tresses, a habit you’ve noticed over the passing weeks. “I played a little too closely to the fire with him once, and it landed me like this: no longer the owner of my being. I’d sooner chew off my own fingers than become his obedient dog, but I believe you also know that it’s best to soar low with this, no? Are we not together in this?” 

You press your lips into a thin line. In a way, you’d come to an alliance of sorts with Beomgyu. Despite his being a kelpie, the two of you are not so different now. Both confined to these walls, listening to Taehyun when he commands it. You don’t want any of your actions to snap back on Beomgyu, though. With you attending Court today, it’s almost definite that Taehyun will see you. You turn to face him. “Why don’t you join us, then?” you offer. “I’ll tell him myself that I commanded you to come with me. I’m sure he’ll be less upset if I have you there with me.” 

He gives it a thought, his eyes looking as tired and sunken as they always do. “I’m not one for Court,” he says. 

“But I’ll be there,” you plead, unable to help the twitching of smirk on your lips. “If we do it together, it can’t be so bad.” 

He frowns, but you can see that you’ve won. “I grieve for how the forest left me to my own,” Beomgyu grumbles. 

You surge up from your seat, eyes bright. “You’ll go?” you say, giddy to return to the thrill of faerie revelry and also to see the strange kelpie in the center of it. 

Grimacing, he answers, “I will join you.” 

You take his hands into yours and press a cheeky kiss to his forehead. “You’re not so scary as you try to paint yourself,” you tell him, watching as he catches bait. You laugh as he glowers. 

“Don’t push it.” He climbs off your bed. “I’m scarier than you should imagine, girl. I do this for my own reasons.” 

You pull a patronizing frown and nod. “Of course, I know.” 

You don’t have to wait for him to get ready to any capacity; he tells you that he has no intentions of making any impressions, and you’ve seen faeries in far more drastic states of disarray. Many show up for their reveling in just their skin. 

Beomgyu drones on about how he detests the audaciousness of the gentry folk while you make for the hall. The forest around you is as quiet as you remember it being when you’d first met him. It reminds you that, no matter how used you become to him, he is a creature to be feared. The little folk are right to hide away. For you, though, his might is a relief: should Taehyun be right, you’ll be safe. He moves at your beck and call. Though, the thought of forcing the kelpie to carry out your will is an uneasy one that you do not strive to fulfill. 

Once the buzzing of Court comes into earshot, wonderful faerie music along with it, you breathe it in. “First time in... how long since you’ve shown your face here?” 

“Perhaps four-hundred-something years,” he answers, looking over the scene with as much distaste in his face as his voice. “We solitary folk don’t make ourselves known here unless to bow to a crown. I do not bow to any crown.” 

Itching to find your prince, you gesture toward it. He should be fine—Court is supposed to be an insouciant place. “Don’t they host anybody who decides to come? Faerie hospitality, and all that? You’ll be fine.” 

“It’s all hospitality until you step foot from those trees,” he says. “And even hospitality is sometimes betrayed. You know how capricious we can be, I’m sure.”  

You approach the warm lights, but his words remain with you. It beckons you to remember that their minds are fickle and fundamentally different from yours. However you think they may act, they might act in the complete opposite way. You should at least let that guide how you conduct your actions a little bit. 

As you breach the pillars of trees and are finally surrounded once again by their pinched faces and gangly limbs, you search for both Taehyun and Yeonjun. You see neither, and so you make your way to the tables to seek snacks. You scour them for something sweet to chew over as you wait for him to appear. He’d said he’d be coming around this time, right? You surely hadn’t mistaken the time he’d told you? 

Beomgyu speaks from beside you, observing a hag that loiters nearby. “Is he not here?” he asks. 

Shrugging, you say, “He’ll be here soon.”  

You watch the hag inching closer, bent over with age; though, you assume that’s she’s been old for the entirety of her life. Her pointed ears droop from her thin tresses of silver, cuffed with gold.  

Turning from her, you gesture over the cavorting crowds, more frantically chasing their merriments than ever before. The solstice arrives tomorrow; they welcome its presence with their excitement. “This is all for the solstice?” 

He offers you an affirmative nod. “Just some excuse to entertain themselves like this,” he explains, “the solstice will arrive whether they encourage its coming or not. I believe that they just enjoy this debauchery too much.” His hollow eyes rake over the throngs. “Anyway, many of them are just here because it’s the only time that they’ll see Court. Otherwise, only the gentry gather here.” 

“What makes you any different than them?” you ask. “What makes you so averse to offering your allegiance to the High Courts? Would it not be nice to have their protection, and to keep them off your back?” You seek Yeonjun once more in the crowds, but still, he doesn’t appear. “You know, so they don’t call you in for things like eating too much?” 

“I do not surrender my sovereignty to any. Come they to my doorstep and demand that I do, I could not care. I’m content with the way I make my life.”  

His refusal to do just that must be why Taehyun’s father had come to claim his life. You’re sure that it’s also why the coming of the General’s son to steal his autonomy must’ve made him so angry. You don’t blame him.  

Why would The Queen demand fealty from the solitary folk? You’d thought that, like the High King, she’d leave them to their forests. If they’re all as adamant as Beomgyu, it seems like a lost cause. 

“Well,” you say, “I’m glad that—” 

A gnarled hand, fingers knobbed against your skin and skin about as soft as tree bark, tugs your arm. You spin to find who owns it.  

The hag’s eyes remind you of Beomgyu’s, piercing and dull with the weight of a long life. Though, hers are much more unsightly than his mud-brown ones, saggy eyelids drooping over a pair of eyes with ink-black where the whites of her eyes should be. She pulls you toward her by your skirts.  

You tug yourself back, pinching your brows. “Who are you?” 

She points her clawed, grey hand out at you, bangles of gold and chunky beads jingling as she does. “You, girl,” the hag says, urgent. Her voice is harsh and it crackles as she speaks. She reaches inside of her furry robes and produces a wood trinket from it. In her palm that she shoves at you lays a bit of wood carved into the shape of a wolf, painted in black. Its shaggy black fur reminds you of the kind Taehyun would sometimes wear over his shoulder.  

“I don’t need that,” you say, rejecting her hand. Nothing in faerie comes for free—the hag just sees a human girl that she can offer free things to in hopes that you’ll know no better and take. Then, you’d be in her debt, and she’d demand something from you. You do know better, though. 

“Oh,” she says, shaking her head as she draws out the word. “You do, girl. Take it, take it. You need it, I know it. Take it, I won’t hold it to you, girl, just have it.” Razor teeth appear behind her curled lips. “It is dormant with me. But, in your hands... Take it.” She shakes her jousted hand out at you each time she demands that you take it. “It offers you protection. It would do no good in my possession. It beckons me to give it to you, its pleas are so loud—loud, loud, loud! Take it off my hand, won’t you?” 

Her urging unsettles you, but so do her words. You assume that it’s inlaid with some sort of protective enchantment. Why would you need protection? Although, she could also just be fooling you. She could be holding a perfectly plain hunk of carved wood in her palm for all you know. You shoot a look at Beomgyu. If she were any trouble, he’d tell you. 

He looks about as lost as you do, shrugging. 

“Oh, sakes!” the hag grumbles, clutching her robes to her body. She takes Beomgyu’s hands and places the thing there. “There. I have no reasons to be here fooling humans. Useless debts, what could you give me? Nothing I need.” She points a sturdy, twiggy finger at you. “Keep it on you, girl, else it won’t do its work.” 

With those final ill-boding words, the hag hobbles off, her curved back disappearing between the gaps in the crowd. 

“Here,” Beomgyu says, regarding the trinket with his observation. “That hag really wanted this to be yours, so I think it ought to be in your hands.” He tries pushing it off to you. 

Laughing, you don’t reach out to take it, darting his hand with your whole body. You hang your hands in the air. “I’m not taking that thing,” you say. “She handed it to you, so I really think it ought to be in your hands.” 

He deadpans. “I’ve just been collecting myself a heap of debts, haven’t I?” He closes it into his fist for his lack of pockets. “What’s this one to add?” 

“Does it... feel like it has anything bad on it?” you ask, remembering how he’d identified your geas. “Like a curse, or a bad enchantment, or something?” 

Shaking his head, he says, “No. I feel it does have a protective purpose, but the magic there is... odd. Hard for me to decipher. Probably that hag’s.”  

You purse your lips, nodding. Regardless, whatever protection that thing might have offered you, you’ll be fine without it. 

Shaking off the odd interaction, you resume perusing the snack platters in your wait. You skip over glazed pinecones. Those would be terrible on your human stomach and teeth. You can only imagine how they’d jab at your gums. You opt for a helping of braised fiddlehead ferns. Chewing on the furled thing, you entertain yourself with the revelers. Littler folk dart in and out of legs. Long-limbed gentryfolk with flowers in their hair spin with interlocked hands at the center of the clamor. Sharp-eyed faeries with even sharper mouths speak in clusters, no doubt scheming. In all its oddness, you’d missed it.  

 A silk-smooth voice steals your attention. “A kelpie?” Yeonjun says, regarding Beomgyu beside you. “Now, how did you manage to befriend a kelpie? Even better, how did you drag it here?” 

Your chest lights up. “Long story,” you say, brushing his curiosity off. “What took you so long?”  

He’s dressed in his Courtly best—cuffs made of ruffle and an array of rings decorating his fingers. They catch light as he brings his hand up to run a hand along the expanse of your collarbone. He hesitates to answer for a split second. “I ran into Kai on my way,” he explains. “He’s performing here today and for tomorrow's solstice.” 

Accepting his answer, you go to tell Beomgyu that you’re going off, but he’s not even there as you turn. He must’ve wandered off as Yeonjun had arrived. 

“Want to join them?” he asks, tilting his head toward the dancing bodies. Soft black strands drift over his eyes.  

Shaking your head, you offer him some of the sweets you’d been eyeing, knowing that he’s got a knack for sweets. “Not today. I think I want to remember all of tonight, and, well...” Memories of the way you’d danced uncontrollably until it’d fade to black lick at your mind. You want to revel in your return to normalcy fully, not with a buzzing mind. You can’t deny the allure of that tingling in your bones as you hear the faerie music, though. It curls a wild finger at you, beckoning. 

An uncomfortable look passes through his eyes, gone as fast as it had come. “All right, darling,” he hums, accepting the sweets. “Does the Lord know you’re here?” 

Lips tugging into a faint frown, you say, “Not yet, I think.” The quick expression doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Unlike the ice the Taehyun offers you, Yeonjun wears his feelings all over himself. It’s just one way that they are fundamentally different. “Is something wrong?” 

Yeonjun looks taken aback at your asking. “I’m doing just fine,” he says. “Why do you ask?” 

He does not say nothing wrong. You know it is because he cannot lie. You look him over. What had happened? And, why is he averse to telling you the truth? “Just thought you looked a bit upset.” You shrug. “Did you want to dance?” 

His nose crinkles with a laugh. “No, pretty. I’d be in your presence doing nothing and still be content.” He takes your hands into his, the metal on his fingers biting cold against your skin. “How about we go listen to Kai play?” 

He leads you to where the musicians work at concocting their works, claiming a chalice of some drink from a table on the way. Kai, of course, stands away from the rest, back to a tree while his fingers dance on the strings. You look around for Taehyun from here, but still, you don’t see his face. 

Yeonjun holds the chalice’s neck between his middle two fingers, sipping from it. “It’s nice to know that even as this season ends, I won’t be forced to go back there.” 

His pretty lips wrap over the edge of the chalice as he drinks from it. “Won’t your father know something is up when you return?” 

Nodding slowly, he grimaces. “I suppose that time has finally come.” 

You squeeze his hand in yours. “We both sacrificed things to be here, huh?” you say. You don’t know a lot of what Yeonjun’s life back in his home court was like, but you know that it would be hard to revolt against your own family for anybody. Even for the prince of Faerie. 

He captures your eyes, his soft brown ones making crescents with his gentle smile. “We did,” he muses. 

“Remember our first night in Court?” you say. You’d been so uneasy, searching for a place to fit in. Then, from the crowds of overwhelming faces, he’d appeared, all charm and welcoming smiles. How couldn’t you have let your heart fall? 

Another flash of disconcertment flashes, his smile faltering. He hides it behind another sip of his drink. Swallowing, he nods, laughing off-kilter. “I do. I think watching you dance that time was the best thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Odd, but you don’t push the issue. If he says that he’s fine, it must just be something to little effect. “What made you come up to me that night?” you say, remembering how confused you’d been when such a pretty gentry boy had taken interest in you. You’d agonized over why he’d done so for long, and sometimes you still, but you’ve made some peace with it by now.  

His lips are tight. “I... It’s hard to explain.” 

You accept that answer at face-value and let your head fall into his shoulder while you watch Kai dutifully work at his songmaking. Among those making the music for Court, his contributions stand out as the most enthralling. Faerie music is too elusive for you to decipher why, but perhaps it’s just his lazed passion. “I understand,” you say. His shoulder is tight and less cushy than you expect it to be. Looking up to him, you frown to see how he’s looking down at you, eyes stormy. He looks like he’s sick to his stomach. You go to ask if he’s going to be okay, but he speaks before you can. 

“Pretty, I... I have to tell you something.” He pulls you off of him to look into your eyes. He’s always been so steadfast and sure, but now his gaze wavers. “I’m so sorry.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you. “What?” you say, a tingle in your spine telling you that something isn’t right; that you’re not going to like what he’s going to say. “Yeonjun, you’re making me nervous. Is something wrong?” 

You know it’s awful and you’re not sure why you do it, but for a split second, you inspect the hall for possible attackers. A terrible bout of potent adrenaline makes you want to run or cry. Beomgyu is here, right? 

He swallows hard, face a ghostly pallor. “I can’t keep doing this,” he says, voice trembling. “I need to tell you the truth, it’s... it’s been eating me alive. I can’t look into your sweet face and know...” 

Acid climbs up your throat. Your heart joins it, thick in your throat and choking you. “What? Know what Yeonjun?” you ask, lips trembling. Your skin prickles, hair raising. You may throw up. He looks stricken in place, not answering you. “What?” you demand. 

“I didn’t come up to you for no reason that day.” 

Your heart, still caught in your throat, bursts. It’s a horrifying, bloody affair. “No,” you say, shaking your head. You feel so removed from your body that you can almost envision how your blood-drained face might match his. 

“I knew that you were the spies the moment I saw you. It was....” He sucks in a breath. Your world spins around you as you wait. “I was supposed to determine who the spies were. I was supposed to have them killed, but pretty, I knew I couldn’t do that the moment I saw you. I thought it was just going to be some... some random faerie that I’d...” 

If your world was spinning before, it’s now flipped upside down and inverted. “No,” you repeat, a guttural plea that you know won’t change anything. It’s the only word that your mouth will make for right now, though. 

You’re hurt. You’re scared. You’re angry. You’re frozen. 

Yeonjun grabs for your hands, but you rip yourself away from him, your glaring eyes so at odds with your wobbling lips. “It doesn’t change anything,” he says. “It doesn’t change how I love you now. You know I love you. You know I love you, right? I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you. I did my best to protect you. Please, I never wanted to hurt you,” he rambles, frantically grabbing for your arms as he falls down to his knees before you. 

A few faeries around you gasp, and a blur of their commotion forms around you. The crowned prince of Faerie just went to his knees. Your eyes dart wildly around their guffawing faces, and between a space you spot a familiar face: cold eyes and a cracked mask of indifference. He looks right at you. 

What on earth is going on? How is this life right now? You snap back to Yeonjun in front of you. 

“Please, don’t look at me like that, pretty,” he pleads. “Please.” His voice cracks, eyes frantic. “Slap me. Tell me you hate me for it. But please, don’t look at me like you’re scared of me.” 

Tears scald your cheeks. 

“I know that it’s selfish of me to ask you that; I know, I know it—but please, I can’t handle it, love. I was never going to let anything happen to you, I knew it the moment I saw you. I felt it right here”—he gestures to his beating heart, the one your hand had felt and cherished so only last night—“I knew that no matter how big my ambitions were, they would never be bigger than that.” 

You can’t listen to any more. His words pour out onto your skin, but they all slip off like rain upon a beast’s winter pelt. None can penetrate the ringing in your ears. 

Yeonjun sees how retracted you’ve become. “Pretty, please,” he says, slower and more dire now. “Say something." 

You don’t know what to do. Your feet are rooted fast to the ground, but you know that you have to leave, or else you’ll start creating excuses for him. You know yourself too well to let that happen. 

Picking up your skirts, you manage only a few words to part him with. “Though your kind can’t lie,” you say, “you have been the biggest liar I have ever known. You said you loved me.” 

“I do,” he says, shaking his head, eyes twinkling. “I do.” 

Maybe love is a different thing to a faerie. 

You take off. He calls for you, but it’s muffled by the restlessness of the folk around you and the still-playing music. You dart between openings and bounce off bodies, lights and angry faces a blur in your frenzy. Most folk don’t spare you even a glance; nothing could pull them from their merriment. But others gawk at you like you put on a performance, greedy eyes drinking in any amount of fanfare. Their eyes itch under your skin. Crossing the expanse of the hall has never felt so arduous.  

You’ve become their spectacle. 

Breaking into the cold night air, you don’t run home or collapse to your knees in a sob. You hold your dress hard in your hands, the one he’d gifted you among so many others, its fabric bunching in your fists, and stand there as if frozen staring into the tree line ahead. You don’t move and you don’t think; both would remind you that this is real and that you are a fool. You just allow the bitter air to swaddle your skin. 

You don’t even know if you doubt that he loves you. You don’t even know if he actually never intended to hurt you. Had there been times where all you’d done was look at him with starry eyes, and he’d look at you deciding whether or not to have you killed? 

Why are you even here? There is nothing left for you. Whatever simple joys you thought you’d found, they’re gone. You’re so far away from home, and you’ve nobody to call home. You’d left behind your beginnings of a purpose, and now the only purpose you serve is to rot away in Taehyun’s estate because you demanded that you stay here. 

All that time you’d spent worrying, and still, you walked yourself into this. You’re a joke. 

White breaths unfurl into the night air before you, floating off to join the snowflakes and heavy fog. You just watch those fluffy flakes fall for a while. 

Snow creaks under a few footsteps behind you, someone letting you know that they’re there. “You’ve gotten awfully good at sneaking around,” Taehyun says. 

You let your head fall back, sighing slowly out through your nose. Turning to him, you spit, “I understand. You were right. I got it, okay? I don’t need you to come here and rub it in.” 

Beomgyu approaches from behind Taehyun. 

Taehyun doesn’t say anything for a bit, ice-hard eyes darting all over your face. “Take her back to the estate,” he tells Beomgyu. 

Glad to escape him, you begin your way on your own. You know that he’s only looking at your break down as pathetic. Perhaps it is, but recognizing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Wind lapping at your wet cheeks have them stinging as you walk. 

Beomgyu awkwardly trails behind you as you follow the path that had become trodden in the time that you and Taehyun have been here, foliage and shrubbery broken down to make somewhat of a path. 

He doesn’t speak; you don’t expect him to. Instead, you break the quiet yourself, unable to stand only the sound of wind twirling between trees. “I should’ve taken that ridiculous charm thing,” you say, laughing through your tears. That hag had absolutely been able to feel what was coming with you with whatever intuition that the magic in her bones lends her. 

“But then,” Beomgyu says, “you wouldn’t know the truth.” 

That’s true. Not knowing the truth doesn’t make it untrue, but at least it spares your fragile heart. “I don’t know if I’d mind that,” you tell him. “I think I’d prefer it.” 

Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes. 

❉

You don’t remember falling asleep. You remember climbing into your bed, dreading that you’ll be in your head all night, but to some mercy, you’d found sleep not long after that. 

You’d pulled yourself from bed, no matter how it had grown a gravitational pull and insisted that it’d hold you warm while you weep. If you hadn’t, you might not have gotten up at all. As a girl, you’d force yourself into the day’s routine when you had your worst days. It’s the only way that you live through it. You’d also made an effort to walk past your wardrobe. It carries so much of him: the lovely things he’d gifted you, his letters, and that book he’d lent you. It’s not that you don’t want any of these things; to wither away in your bed, to go through his things and wonder how someone who’d showered you so had meant to be your killer, to drag your feet... It’s that you can’t. 

You poke your needle through the fabric. On the cut of white fabric stretched inside the embroidery hoop, you’ve embroidered a dozen woven wheel stitch flowers of different colors and types. Your bottom aches against the hardwood flooring and your lower spine strains, but you don’t pay any mind to their complaining. You just continue to embroider the little flowers. Some are poppy, some rose, and some you’d made up just to have more to stitch. 

A knock resounds through the war room from the doorway. You look to see Taehyun there. He’s dressed in his Court attire. 

“You should get dressed,” he says. “It’s almost midnight. If you want to make it in time, you’ve got to get ready now.” 

Since when had he decided that you’re okay to go? It’s as if this elusive threat that’d he’d been so careful has up and disappeared. “You can go. It’ll take me too long to get ready.” 

Truth be told, you’d go sick seeing Yeonjun’s face, and you know without a doubt that you would. 

“It’s the solstice,” Taehyun says, stepping into the room. He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. 

Despite how much you had wanted to see it, your heart is too apathetic for it to be worth anything now. Returning to the same faces that had seen your demonstration and no doubt now talk of it... You’d rather finish your fifth rose. “I know.” 

He hesitates, studying you while gears turn in his head. “Hadn’t you thought that something would happen on the solstice?” he says. “Come on. It’s worth seeing how this unfolds.” 

“Why? We aren’t spies anymore. I don’t care what happens in their conflict. It’s well beyond my control as a human here.” 

He grimaces, but you don’t recognize the look there to be anger, more a rigidness. He rests his hand on his sword as he always does. “Then we’ll stay here.” 

You furrow your brows. “Huh?” 

“We can celebrate the solstice here,” he elaborates. “We don’t need to do it there. Plenty of folk celebrate on their own.” 

It dawns upon you that this is his stilted attempt at comforting you. It’s the only way he knows how. You push off the ground. You couldn’t ignore this sliver, however little, of tenderness. You’re not sure if you’d ever see it again if you did. You’ll take anything to distract your mind, as well. You can’t escape the image of Yeonjun’s eyes as he’d pleaded with you from the ground. “I’m not sure Beomgyu will join us, though. He doesn’t believe in the need to celebrate the solstices.” 

“He will if I command it,” he says.  

“What, you’re going to command the poor kelpie to sit and watch a bonfire with us?” you say, imagining how he’d brood. 

The north is wickedly cold at all times, but it’s especially so after night falls. You shuffle closer to the bonfire that Taehyun had built. It’s multitudes smaller than the bonfire you’d sat around with Yeonjun, but it’s warm enough for just the two of you. You quickly shove down those tainted memories before they sting. A lump of emotion forms in your throat before you can, though. You clear it. “Is there anything special that you’re supposed to do?” 

Feeding one last log into the flame, he watches it catch. “We started this really early,” he says. “The fire is supposed to keep you warm and represent the sun’s warmth until sunrise...” He trails off, sliding the cuffs of his shirt that he’d slid up to his elbows to tend to the fire down and sucking in an awkward breath. He looks between the fire and you as though he’d not fully thought out his offer when he’d made it. 

You face your palms to the orange flame, letting the roiling waves of heat warm them. “It’s nice like this.” 

The flame sizzles and pops, spewing sparks and eating up the wood, for a few long moments. You’re not in a talky mood, and Taehyun doesn’t seem to know where to begin on conversation with you that isn't functional. No snow falls around you, and any wind is cut by the estate. This—a place to lose yourself to your mind—is both the thing you need and what you most should not have. 

Taehyun stands watching the fire twirling, his arms over his chest.  

“Is your shoulder healing fine?” you ask, once the air starts feeling a bit heavy with the weight of the prolonged quiet. “Are my stitches holding up fine? No infection, or anything?” 

His gaze flicks up to you. “You stitched it up pretty well,” he answers. “I saw the flowers you were making. You’ve got a good hand.” 

Frowning, you say, “You didn’t say it’s not infected...” 

“It’s not infected,” he says. 

That could be a lie or the truth, you know. But... this sort of deception, you’re more comfortable with. Your human mind can pick up on these subtleties, can catch the careful intonation of somebody trying to hide something behind a lie. “Could I see it?” you ask him. 

He hesitates, expression flat as his eyes convey the extent of his consideration. “You can.” He grabs at his tunic, the fabric the only thing his frost blood even needs to wear out in the cold, and pulls it over his head. 

You swallow hard and fight the flush to your cheeks at the sight of his scar-flecked flesh, his muscled abdomen disappearing as he turns around to show you his back. When you’d last seen his bare skin, you’d been so high on your fear and adrenaline that you’d barely flinched.  

Blinking, you focus on the arrow puncture at his shoulder blade. It’s done some healing, but tinged by an angry red and visibly swollen around the stitches. You curse. 

Of course, he’d rather let his shoulder rot away than admit that he needs any more of your help than he’d been forced to allow. That would require admitting that he’s not just an impenetrable wall of ice. “That is definitely infected,” you say. “Were you just going to let that kill you? Infections like that are beyond help once they get in your bloodstream.” 

“I’ve had infected wounds before,” he says, preparing to put his shirt back on. “This one is nothing. It’ll take a bit longer, but... It’ll heal up fine.” 

You grab his arm. “Just let me clean it a bit,” you insist. “It’s not that big of a deal. You’re not scared that it’s gonna hurt, are you?” 

Sighing, Taehyun says, “I thought you wanted to enjoy the solstice.” 

The hopeful girl you’d been had wanted that, but now it’s just a reminder of everything you don’t want to remember. You wave your hair in the air dismissively. “We did. Come on.” 

You find a bucket to fill with water and cloth along with some stash of ancient spirits in the kitchens, their containers lined with a layer of dust so thick that you know they’re left over from Taehyun’s father. He watches you gather it all. 

You beckon him to turn and show you his shoulder again. He does, bracing his arms on a counter and letting his head hang. You spill out some of that strong liquor into the wound. You’re not really sure if it’ll work as a disinfectant, but as a girl you’d seen an older woman pour it over her wound once, and it’s all you know. 

Gently dabbing at his shoulder now with the water-soaked rag, swollen except for where the stitches sinch it, you say, “You should’ve been going gentle on this thing.” 

Taehyun doesn’t make any fuss as you prod at the wound. “I had more important things to concern myself with,” he says plainly. You press the wet rag to the wound and hold it there, and he begins to try and redirect the conversation to anything other than about himself. “What did the prince say to you at Court?” 

Your stomach drops. “It was nothing.” 

“I know that’s not the truth,” he says, picking up his head to try and look over his shoulder at you. “Tell me the truth.” 

You take the long, torn strips of cloth and begin wrapping it around the expanse of his broad shoulders in a sloppy and amateurish wrap. As long as it shields the wound, it’ll work. “That’s rich coming from you,” you say. “There’s plenty that you lie to me about. You even lied about this.” You tap his shoulder. 

Turning now that you’re done, Taehyun eyes you. You don’t know if he’d been able to hear anything over the sounds of Court or if he’d heard it all with his better hearing ears. You can’t tell which it is.  

“I’ll hear it from some Court gossiper anyway. I think you’d prefer to tell me it yourself.” 

The thought of that scene being a topic of Court gossip makes you ill, but you know that it’s true. The folk love the show, especially one that includes a prince of Faerie on his knees in front of a human. Red-hot embarrassment takes a leisurely stroll up your spine. Your biggest fear has taken flesh in the cruelest way possible.  

Well, if he’s going to end up knowing anyway... You’d prefer it’s from your mouth. You don’t know what sort of conflated half-truths the folk might come up with, since they have no more idea what happened than what they saw. “He was supposed to kill us,” you say, chest too tight to explain it in any depth. “Or, at least, find out who we are, so that we could be killed.” 

Taehyun doesn’t look shocked. He nods. “So, they anticipated our arrival, then. The odds had been stacked against us from the beginning.” 

You nod. Would you have been able to escape? If things had never become entangled between you and Yeonjun, would you and Taehyun lived beyond the first day? Taehyun is strong and you know that he’s no doubt survived plenty in his life, but you’d have been caught completely unaware. “Yeah.” 

“I told you that he’d show you his colors eventually.” 

You want to fight him on that, but you can’t. You have nothing to say. He’d been right. 

What’s left for you now that he has?  

END PART 4

a/n: RAHHH! like i said, this part gave me a bit of grief because part 3 was left so open ended—i had so many options and paths i could follow, but ultimately, i chose this one! how do we feel?

taglist: @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @sanshiningstarhwa , @hyucktapes ,

[gghostwriter]

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

They are friends, but Spencer is in love with her. Spencer gets in one accident and thinks she is more than a friend. He believes she is his wife. (Happy ending, please)

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem! Reader Trope: Friends to Lovers; Fluff! Just fluff Warning: Medical inaccuracies A/N: Reader is part of the BAU, hope that's alright. I had fun writing this, hope you enjoy anon! Main masterlist

Hallucinate. // Spencer Reid

It was Morgan’s turn—based on Garcia’s glitter paper schedule, to keep watch of Reid lying uncomfortably still on the hospital bed. The team was out for a local case—a series of murders that targeted male divorcees. They’ve profiled the unsub to be male in his late 20s, shy in nature, and comes from a broken household. The profile was correct. The team just didn’t factor in the possibility of another unsub—a subservient willing to do anything to let the dominant evade capture, including intentionally ramming a four door sedan to a government owned vehicle. The same vehicle that Reid and JJ were driving to the unsub’s residence. 

Spencer’s finger twitched, bringing his guardian out of his musings. “Reid. Reid,” the dark skinned agent called out.

A series of whispers escaped the patient’s mouth. “W’fe—” Spencer wetted his lips. “Wife, where—wife?” 

“Kid, what wife?” Morgan’s brows furrowed. As far as he knew, Reid wasn’t married. All he had was a tongue twisting, IQ dropping crush on the newest BAU addition, you. 

Spencer tried once more. “Y/N. Y/N, my wife—where?”

And as if you heard his pleas, you quietly entered the hospital room. Tilting your head to the side, silently questioning why Morgan was standing very close to Spencer. The agent smirked at your presence and waved you to come close. 

“Spence?” You asked, taking his hand into yours. His fingers cold, and for a moment, it reminded you of how still he was when he was pulled out of the driver’s seat. 

His eyes flickered under the lids. “Y/N. Wife—y’safe?” 

“I’m here, Spencer. Safe,” you murmured in a soft tone as you note that his hazel eyes were glassy and unfocused. A physical manifestation from the concussion that the physician had theorized when he was admitted. 

He turned his head to the sound of your voice in comfort before tightening his hold and his pupils blowing wide. “Wife—the baby? Is—baby okay?”

Your eyes widened in return. “What?” 

“Aurora—she, strapped in car seat, I need—need to see her,” his voice getting louder and louder as he unsuccessfully tried to push himself out of bed. 

You gently pushed his shoulders. “She’s—she’s fine, Spence. The team has her,” you coaxed him to relax back. Morgan cleared his throat beside you, clearly trying to not let a chuckle escape. 

“Good—good. Safe.” Spencer was locked in a hallucination where you were married and had a child, a girl—Aurora. You pictured a tiny long haired brunette with his waves, clinging to Spencer’s neck and smiling at you, a set of innocent hazel eyes looking at you with such adoration and trust. 

“Wife—you, love you,” he mumbled before closing his eyes and falling back to unconsciousness. 

Morgan took that as his cue and turned to face you—still clutching Spencer’s hand—with mirth dancing on his face. “Damn. Wife and kid huh, pretty boy sure moves fast.” 

You felt your cheeks grow warm. “It’s the concussion talking.”

“Uh huh, keep telling yourself that. Y’know I heard he said the same thing when Emily was keeping watch,” he paused dramatically to watch your reaction. “But there was no kid—that’s new.” 

“What. I—we’re friends,” you jested. Even to your ears it sounded like a feeble excuse.

Morgan appraised your reddened cheeks, your free hand repeatedly raking your hair, and your lips tucked between your teeth. His well experienced profiler eyes cataloging everything. “As I said, pretty girl, keep telling yourself that.” 

———

A few days later, away from the Morgan and Emily’s constant teasing, it was your turn to keep Spencer who was now alert and awake , company. His eyes darted all around the room, finding everything and anything interesting, except you.

“Spencer? You alright?” You sat on the chair near his bed.

He cleared his throat. “Morgan—Morgan said I called you—” his voice trailing off at the end, too hesitant and mortified to repeat what his fantasy conjured up and what his lips had let escaped in his state of confusion and vulnerability. 

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, you did.” 

“And that we—”

You nodded as you watched his blush travel down from his cheeks to neck.

“I also said that I—”

“That you love me?” You clarified in a whisper.

“You did.” 

He covered his face in chagrin. Spencer wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole or better yet, for all of this to be just a dream—a horrible dream. It was no secret to the team, except for you, that he had feelings for you. Amazed with how your mind noticed patterns in cases, grateful with how you actively listen to his conjectures, and stunned with how beautiful you look even on cases that leak into the late nights—how could he not fall in love with someone as incredible as you. It was impossible, trust him, he tried to deny it to himself and to others. He mumbled something in reply but his hands muffled it too much to understand. 

“What was that?” You asked.

He repeated again but made no move to remove his hands.

You sighed. “Spence, I really can’t understand.”

He steeled his nerves before facing you, without a blockage this time. “According to studies, hallucinations are simply a result of neurons firing incorrectly. But I-I meant it. What I said, I mean.”

Silence ensued. He’s been your ride or die since you entered the BAU. Your partner on cases and your person off cases. Penelope always teased you two together—attached to the hip. Like some magnets that need to move in unison, that need to be within reaching distance. “Oh.” 

His shoulders drooped, taking that as a sign of rejection. He wished he could have kept his mouth shut. He’d rather be your close friend than be an awkward colleague.

“It’s not like that,” you hurriedly explained. “I—it’s just—take me out on a date first,” your cheeks enflamed as the idea of progressing your relationship beyond what it was now excited and set butterflies on your stomach.

He perked up and smiled. “Okay, yeah. I can do that.” 

You watched as his hand slowly crept towards yours, stopping an inch away, as if waiting for your permission. You took the initiative and intertwined yours with his, watching him shudder from the warmth and settled back into bed. 

“Okay,” you breathed out. 

He didn’t let go of your hand even when Morgan entered the room to relieve you from watch duty. The profiler zeroed in and opened his mouth, unable to stop himself from teasing the blushing couple.

“So love birds, since you already named your first kid Aurora. How about naming the next one Derek?” 

My inbox is currently open for any more fluff requests! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Subservient | Azriel x Reader

Summary: Rhys’ reputation in Hewn City is less than stellar, so when an orphanage becomes overwhelmed, he offers to take some in. His plan doesn’t turn out how he expected when he’s instead sent you, an employee there, sent to scope Rhys out before sending children to him. And in true High Lord fashion, he unceremoniously dumps you off on his brothers.

Word Count: ~ 3.4k

Warnings: Abuse, starvation, dehydration, child abuse, bruises, scars, injuries, traumatized reader, orphans, but it ends with some fluff I promise

A/N: thank you so much to anon who sent this req in, it def gave me the inspiration I needed, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

When you first arrived, the first thought that Azriel had was that you were a sorry sight, hair clearly previously having been mangled and just brushed in time, clothes old and worn by others before you, eyes tired and dim as you didn’t even try to take in your surroundings, looking completely out of it, even with the High Lord of Night Court sitting only twenty feet from you, lounging on a throne.

Azriel could pick up the subtlest shift of Rhys’ scent, the slight tinge of worry as he took you in, despite the sensual smirk that remained on his face, and his lazy posture like a cat spread out, stretching.

But they were in Hewn City, and Rhys couldn’t afford to be himself in Hewn City, not yet anyway, not until the next generation of Fae that was less cold and brittle arrived. Which could take centuries, at the least. Even now, with the plan that was unfolding, it wasn’t likely the citizens would see him as anything worth their time or support.

And as he watched you silently trudge up to the throne, giving the barest bow in recognition only when the older Fae elbowed you harshly in your too-thin figure, he wondered why he had even thought this would be a good idea. Sure, Rhys didn’t have the best reputation in the Court of Nightmares, and the citizens were angry after the damage done to their city, and the lives lost.

The orphanage had taken in more children than they could handle, requiring help from citizens who weren’t the most willing to serve.

This left Rhys with an idea, one that everyone else in the Inner Circle had given their support for eventually, albeit begrudgingly. He took two birds with one stone and took in some of the orphans to both raise his reputation and solve the orphanage size problem.

The only issue with it had been that the orphanage, despite its problems, and the obvious displays of uncleanliness, lack of employees, and even some abuse, refused to give Rhys any children, and though the High Lord could just override their order, that wouldn’t help with the issue of his reputation.

And so they’d agreed to send a worker, one that had grown up in the orphanage and lived there still, working full time to help the children. And look how well that had turned out, with this malnourished, beaten female showing up, barely even alive.

Rhys didn’t speak, his eyes, unsmiling, on the male who’d led you here, forcing him to speak first. The tension grew thick.

”Here she is, my Lord.”

He said, voice smooth despite the hint of nerves Azriel could detect under it, and in his body language. He was fidgeting, palms sweaty, scent blocked with some sort of sour spray commonly sold here in Hewn City, but Azriel could pick up the notes of fear in it, the anxiety.

Rhys watched silently, waiting just to watch the man slowly become more afraid, before speaking.

”Very well, then. Azriel, escort her to the House.”

He said with a simple wave of his hand, and despite the surprise that rose in Azriel about the fact that Rhys hadn’t called the man out or exposed him in the slightest for the obvious mistreatment of the woman, he pushed it back down, walking over to you and gingerly picking your frail form up as if it might shatter with the slightest amount of force.

A silent winnow to the House of Wind, the shadows gently exploring you, reporting every little injury they found, the dehydration and starvation evident in your body, not to mention the clear lack of sleep from the dark eye bags you possessed.

”What’s your name?”

He tried to ask it softly, so as not to startle you, like talking to a cornered animal, but you weren't very responsive. He sighed near silently, walking to a table, the House pulling out a chair as he set you down in it. A glass of water appeared on the table, and that was the thing that seemed to make your eyes light up again, even if just a little bit. Maybe just natural instincts to get water after going so long without.

He gently grasped the water, bringing it to your lips as they parted, tilting the cup slightly to let the water flow down into your mouth, and you swallowed every drop eagerly, parched tongue that felt like sandpaper finally getting the hydration it screamed for.

You panted as he pulled the cup away, hand going to grasp it to bring it back, but he shook his head and you realized the cup was empty. The House, seeming to sense your thirstiness, decided to help, and your eyes widened when you saw water magically filling the cup. Azriel watched, a small smile playing on his lips at your awe and surprise.

”The House is sentient,”

He explained, voice low and quiet. Gentle.

”It decides that we need a bit of help, sometimes.”

You brought the cup back to your lips, drinking the liquid all down as your hand shakily held the cup. The House filled it up, and you drank again and repeated it until your stomach felt full of all the water it could hold, and you couldn’t keep anything else down.

“Full?”

The shadowsinger asked, and you nodded hesitantly. He seemed to expect it.

”You’ll eat in the morning. For now..”

He glanced outside, at the darkness that had swept over the sky quickly, before turning back to you.

”I’ll take you to your room.”

It was another silent moment, a walk, as he offered a hand you didn’t take at first, only carefully taking after you tried to stand up and your knees buckled immediately. It was more like his arm around your waist, at this point, with how he was holding half of your weight up. Your eyes grew heavy, even as you gaped at the paintings adorning the walls, the carpet and rich wood beneath your feet, the fancy wallpapers and furniture. Just selling one of those pieces of furniture could pay for probably a decade’s worth of food for the orphanage.

A fancy wooden door came into view with a carved siding and intricate leaf patterns with flowers carved around the handle, it opened for the both of you as he walked in. The bed in the center of the room was rich, but looked comfortable, just the way you liked it with the right pillows, blankets, sheets, and everything. There was a side table and a large closet, as well as another door you assumed led to a bathroom. You could’ve sworn you heard music playing somewhere down the hall.

As you walked in, he remained at the doorway, not going to enter your space without your permission as you leaned against the wall, slowly making your way to the bed until you sat down on the edge of it, still in your dirty clothes.

You were too tired to care.

He turned to leave, hand on the door handle before you spoke.

”Y/N.”

He glanced at you, head tilting ever so slightly to the side, eyes narrowing just a bit.

”My name,”

You clarified, voice raspy and thin, but slowly shedding its rough layer, smoothing over with every word you spoke.

“It’s Y/N.”

He looked at you for a long moment, hazel eyes peering into yours, before he gave a small nod, and walked away, the door clicking shut behind him.

~

That night had been the first time you’d spoken to any of them, and also one of your last nights seeing Azriel. He’d been sent away on a mission, only giving you a brief introduction to his brother Cassian, a big, brutish-looking man with a smirk, who had forced you to eat properly every day and even convinced you to help out with the exercises today.

Thanks to the daily intake of protein and nutrients you got three times a day now, as well as water, your thin figure had filled out nicely, and you were outside, detangled and freshly washed hair tied back into a braid that the red-haired priestess had done for you after watching you struggle with doing it on your own. You’d already forgotten her name. Something that started with G.

Cassian was trying to help you with the daily stretches that his mate, Nesta, had supposedly originally started with. Your body wasn’t as frail as before but was stiff as a board due to the long hours of being forced into a wooden chair, or the days spent bent over tables folding laundry or over counters doing dishes, not to mention all the paperwork for an orphanage…

You weren’t flexible. At all.

“Here, try to move your hand slowly down, even just centimeter by centimeter.”

He was trying to get you to touch your toes, but you only frowned, hand refusing to go past the bottom of your knee as you tried to push it further, your already aching back screaming in protest.

The three other females out were practicing their swordplay, or whatever one would call the weapons they were wielding. You could hear steel on steel clinging from here, even, and you saw how Cassian wanted to join them. How his eyes kept glancing up at them, a hint of longing in them, maybe even a gleam of lust at the thought of seeing his mate sparring.

And you felt bad for holding him back from that, bad enough that you just wanted to get this last stupid stretch over so you could go back inside and quit wasting his time. With a little mental shove, you pushed your hand down further, jerking it down and-

Something hurt. Bad. A slight sound of something popping almost, and a sharp pain in the back of your leg. Years of controlling your expression from the harsh punishments of the older women in the orphanage came back as you forced it into a neutral, fingertips gracing your toe as you slowly shifted back into a standing position.

Cassian must’ve been too focused on the other females to notice your subtle limp, or how all of your weight was focused on one leg. He raised a brow, glancing back at you when he saw you shift up.

“I touched it.”

You said simply, and he grinned, genuine pride in his eyes gleaming so brightly that it hurt flashing as he nodded.

“You’re making good progress, go take a break. We’ll pick it up tomorrow, yeah?”

You gave a nod, and he patted you gently on the back as he jogged past, picking up a sword and launching straight into sparring with Nesta as you managed to get into the House.

Cassian might’ve been a bit oblivious, but the House of Wind was anything but. Immediately, a chair appeared right near the entrance, and a strong sudden wind pushed you into it, a cold cushion appearing right beneath the aching spot in your thigh as you sat down.

The chair began moving, going straight into your room, where you shifted onto the bed, sitting on the edge.

Strangely though, the House didn’t do anything further. Didn’t provide any ice, or anything to compress it with, so you supposed it was up to you. Usually, it provided anything you needed badly.

Shifting up, your hand went to gently explore the back of your thigh, tenderly pushing against your pants to find the spot that was aching so badly, and soon enough, you found it. A sharp pain shot through your nerves as you grunted and flinched at it, hand immediately going away.

You tried to stand up, but your knee on that right thigh completely buckled, and you fell to the floor in a heap, vision swimming.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you loosed a deep breath, frustration blooming through you.

“Need some help?”

A familiar low voice asked, and you opened your eyes, only to see Azriel standing right by one of the windows, head tilted to the side, hazel eyes examining. His shadows whirled around him, some carefully approaching you. You froze under his gaze, eyes widening.

“How long have you been standing there?”

You asked, and he began to approach, long strides making their way to you as he crouched down in front of you. He hummed in thought, lips pursing before he answered.

“Long enough to know you’re hurt. Can I pick you up?”

He questioned, eyes peering into yours, asking for consent. After just picking you straight up that first introduction without asking, he figured he might’ve not made the best impression, and he planned to undo that. Or maybe he was just overthinking this whole thing. Either way, consent is still a good thing to get.

You nodded, glancing down at your leg as you began trying to squirm, but with a single shake of his head, Azriel shut it down. His hands wrapped around you, slowly lifting you up and carefully to avoid your hurt thigh as he took you to the bathroom, sitting you down on the toilet seat.

“Do you know what’s..wrong with it?”

You asked, and he glanced at your right thigh, shadows flitting around him.

“I’d assume a hamstring tear. Hopefully just a partial one.”

You gulped nearly audibly at that. An entire hamstring tear, just from some stupid stretches that you couldn’t get down. You’d bothered this family enough, and to have Azriel, probably fresh from a mission and tired as hell, having to help you with this…it was more than embarrassing as well.

“I’m going to need to…”

He swallowed awkwardly, gesturing to your pants, and you grimaced. He must’ve noticed, because he quickly offered up a solution.

“I can have the shadows do it, they won’t hurt you. Promise.”

You nodded at that, a breathy little-

“Okay,”

-escaping your lips. Azriel turned away as the cool touch of the shadows, at first made you shudder, though you eventually adjusted as they unbuttoned the pants, slowly slipping them off, making sure the material didn’t put any pressure against your injured leg. They also made sure to tug your shirt down to cover your underwear, which you silently thanked them for. You didn’t need the shadowsinger seeing all that.

He eventually turned back around, probably having been signaled by his shadows that they were done. His gaze remained respectful, making sure to never wander as he bent down, glancing up at the bottom of your thigh and frowning to himself, before nodding.

“Torn hamstring. We’ll keep pressure and ice on it while I wait for Madja.”

You blinked.

“We? Also, who’s Madja?”

You asked, brows furrowed in mild confusion.

“Madja is our family healer. She’s been doing it for centuries now, I sent my shadows to contact her the moment I saw you injured. And you aren’t going to be staying all alone while injured. It’s a ‘we’ situation.”

He replied bluntly, somehow still not a rude sort of blunt, though. Your cheeks turned red.

“You didn’t have to do that, it’s not that bad. Really, I could’ve managed-“

He cut you off before you even got the rest of the sentence out.

“You collapsed from the pain while trying to stand up. It was that bad. Despite whatever you experienced while at that orphanage may have led you to believe, you are not subservient, and you are allowed to have problems.”

He said almost sternly, and you sat there, shocked for a moment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You said, swallowing down the lump that formed in your throat, and he gave you a doubtful look, moving to sit down so he wasn’t towering over you, settling on the floor across from where you were sitting.

“I’m not stupid, Y/N. I see the way you clean the dishes off after dinners, help set the table before them, offer to babysit Nyx for Feyre, clean the weapons the Valkyries use in training for them…it’s obvious.”

His hazel eyes met yours yet again, and you tried to swallow that lump down, failing, again.

“It’s hard not to try and help out when I’m just stuck here as some charity case for the High Lord.”

There it was. The truth finally came out.

It felt bad saying it out loud, worse than it sounded in your head, but it got rid of some of the pressure in your chest finally saying it.

The orphans were starving and dehydrated, abused, and here you were, complaining about getting unlimited access to food, water, exercise, and plenty of opportunities those children would’ve gobbled up, opportunities you would’ve gobbled up at their age, had you gotten the chance.

Azriel didn’t look surprised. In fact, he looked like he’d been expecting you to say this eventually.

“It’s just—being stuck here, with all these things, when the children at the orphanage need them more than me, with the food shortages and dehydration, and Mother knows the abuse going on behind the scenes—it just feels wrong.”

He let you talk, watching you rant, while a pack of ice appeared on the floor, given by the House. When you finally managed to calm down, tears still welling in your eyes from frustration and anger, he stood up, hand resting on your shoulder.

“I know.”

He said quietly, and you sniffled, glancing up at him.

“What?”

He hesitated, before answering your question.

“I knew the orphanage wasn’t right. I’ve known for a while. It wasn’t about a charity case, or that’s not why I originally suggested it. I needed a whistleblower to shut it down.”

Your eyes widened at his words.

“You want me to…”

“Only if you want to.”

The decision was yours.

Would you keep your mouth shut about the things you’d experienced as a child and employee at the orphanage, where you’d been trapped and abused for years, or would you finally stop being subservient and ignoring your own needs?

~

Nearly six months later, the final court proceedings went through.

It was shut down, and the children all relocated to Velaris’ orphanage funded by Feyre’s earnings from her art studio. After several bruises, scars, deformities, and the obvious malnourishment and illness in most children and employees were pointed out, not to mention some first-hand testimonies led by you, and a handful of other employees and children, it was an open and shut case.

It was a wonder no one had uncovered it earlier.

Almost as if they’d been purposefully ignoring it.

But it was over now, you thought, as you stood in one of the many balconies at the House of Wind, looking at the view over Velaris. A warm presence made itself known as cool shadows began slithering up your arms that were on the railing.

He stood beside you, also taking in the view. His scarred hands, unbound by the usual gloves he wore when getting home from missions, rested on the railing. Your cold hands slowly crept up to his, fingers brushing, both of you holding your breath as your eyes met, and your fingers intertwined slowly, carefully.

Gently, but not because you were fragile, not because Azriel thought you would easily break, he'd already learned that even when you’d been put through trial and tribulation time after time you came out dented, but whole. It was gentle because you both needed a slight reprieve from the world’s chaos and violence. From the horrors that lurked in your mind, prowling and waiting for the right moment to come back up, unwelcome and unwanted.

His wings shifted, one curling around you as he subtly shifted you closer, the limp less pronounced in your sideways step toward him.

Your free hand made its way to his cheek, softly stroking with the pad of your thumb, the barely developed calluses from your training with Cassian a soothing feeling for Azriel. His free hand made to lightly stroke your cheek, letting you take the lead. Giving you a choice.

You leaned in closer, and he bent down slightly, just so you wouldn’t have to rise on your toes to reach his face. Your lips brushed softly against his, a tentative touch, but not unsure as his reaction of kissing you back spurred you on.

And for a moment, both of you intertwined beneath the sky, everything was alright.

[sflow-er]

So many thoughts on the fabulous Barbie film, but especially on how anyone who thinks it’s “hateful towards men” clearly isn’t getting the message.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

[Credit for both gifs goes to their makers!!]

I mean... Ken’s arc is secondary to Barbie’s, and rightly so. This is her film, and her message deserves to be the main takeaway.

That being said, I just find it really sad that the people who could’ve definitely used the point of Ken’s arc just let it go right over their heads. Maybe it’s because they aren’t great at reading subtext, or because they just balk at anything presented as feminist, I don’t know.

Because to me, Ken’s arc is about as far from “hateful towards men” as you can get. It’s a multi-layered depiction of how restrictive, outdated views of masculinity can hold men back and make them susceptible to harmful ideologies that promise easy solutions for all their problems but only make those problems worse and hurt others around them.

The first layer is an allegory for real men don’t show their feelings. In the movie, this is represented by Ken’s need to look tough and cool all the time, and to keep his insecurities and sadness bottled up. Barbieland is a utopia where being happy is a social norm, and the main Barbie also starts to struggle with that. The difference is that she eventually tells her friends, and they all support her. Ken just puts pressure on himself not to look weak - in front of Barbie, or in front of the other Kens.

Which brings us to the second level: a competitive and inherently hostile view of the other Kens, aka. toxic male relationships. Some of them are friends, and all of them work together for a while to build the Patriarchy, but they don’t actually bond for real. Even their boys’ nights are mainly about getting back at the Barbies for all their girls’ nights (which really were about bonding). When push comes to shove, the Kens still see each other as competition, which is one of the reasons why the Barbies are able to play them against each other.

Another reason is the third layer: the idea that Ken only has value if Barbie loves and admires him. It starts out as unrequited love that makes you feel sorry for him...until he turns bitter. He basically starts on the path that could lead him down the incel/mra rabbit hole and into a mindset where Barbie owes him love and admiration and the relationship he wants in exchange for his devotion to her. He decides that everything would be better if Barbies were subservient to Kens, but of course that’s not true. None of the Barbies’ newfound admiration for their Kens is real, and his own Barbie still rejects him.

All this is of course underpinned by the final layer, which is Ken’s lack of self-respect and sense of purpose. He’s got a pointless job, he’s not particularly qualified for anything, and he just feels kind of lost in Barbieland - a society run by successful Barbies who are living up to their full potential. That’s why he gets so caught up in the idea of the Patriarchy, which is supposed to make him successful, get others to respect him, and give him a sense of purpose. (This can be generalised to all kinds of harmful ideologies in the real world, e.g. the alt-right movement.)

However, the success he achieves is superficial and not based on any real passion; he even admits that he wasn’t happy in his new position and already lost interest in the ideology. The (forced) respect of others does feel good for a while, but it only goes so far. At heart, the whole thing is still mostly about his feelings of inferiority and unrequited love for Barbie, and instituting this harmful new system did not resolve those for him.

So what does? In essence, breaking out of all these harmful patterns and internalising the idea that he is enough.

He ends up reflecting on his feelings, finally puts them to words (or rather, song and dance), and manages to connect with the other Kens through those feelings. He even cries in relief and acknowledges that it doesn’t make him weak. He and Barbie finally have a proper talk, he lets go of their (non-)relationship, and he listens when she says he needs to figure out his real self. He starts to see himself not through his job, his girlfriend, or even his competition with the other Kens, but as just Ken, who is enough.

I honestly can’t think of a less hateful message to send men and boys.

[punksocks]

Lilith & His Femme Fatale (18+ Only)

**I tried to make this general but it’s about seduction, I couldn’t pull it lol (fr minors dni!)

*Just based on my observations, only take what resonates

Often Lilith in a man’s birth chart gives less information on him and more information on the type of woman that’s his femme fatale. The type of femme that gives this complex dynamic to the relationship. I would say, similarly to Plutonian influences, this sort of connection charged with such intensity tends to elicit the extreme reaction of either repelling him or making him at least a bit obsessed with finding a way to “obtain” the Lilith person in the relationship.

I think this is always related to Lilith’s folklore of being the untamable wife. He loves her because he can’t control her. But he still wants to try (not always but often imo). Not being able to control her and her seeming so wild and free is one of the many reasons the Lilith person usually brings out the shadow side of the masc person in their connection.

(I think everyone, men/women/enbys/etc, all tend to act out of feminine and masculine energies. The energies of giving and receiving. Action and reaction. Lilith usually throws some upheaval into this because as an untraditional feminine she embodies it all. She dominates whilst not taking any action. Lilith’s sort of chaotic energy throws a wrench in the binary imo. She’s feminine but the effect she has on and within others often puts her outside of the spectrum. I’m speaking about the effect on masculine folks because I believe Lilith pushes them into a power struggle mindset due to her effects and due to our society -and Lilith’s origins- being very patriarchal. With traditional feminine energies there is also a power struggle effect but it’s more like rooted in the feminine power. Like women usually have a default role of using subservience to their advantage- as much as they can- under patriarchy. So the tension with people embodying Lilith manifests in this tension of trying to make the Lilith people conform or outcasting them. There can be underlying s*xual dynamics to this but it usually works out differently/less directly than it does with masc folks.)

Anyway that’s why I believe men/masc people react in such a charged/obsessed way to Lilith energy and why I think it tends to result in this sort of femme fatale dynamic. Now let’s get into it !

-Lilith in Aries: For Lilith in Aries, he’d love an unstoppable woman. Like I noted before (in credit to @zeldasnotes ) this is a strong indicator of a man being a feminist (we love to see it). So this could also indicate a strong attraction to someone that’s in their power, that holds their own, and that is very independent and strong in their own right. He may find himself pushing back on this type of femme, but being impressed and compelled by her when she does take the lead (his mars could show how this dynamic would play out). (You may find yourselves vying for dominance in the connection)

-Lilith in Taurus: A hyperfeminine woman. Obviously, femininity looks different across cultures, but some traits that could show up here would be: a woman with curves, a killer hourglass figure that turns heads; a woman that seems luxurious and well dressed; a woman that feels soft and smells great. Essentially being a Venusian sign, Taurus in Lilith would be absolutely smitten by a beautiful woman that embodied all that soft feminine energy (and took his money lol) (speaking of which, could be a s*x worker or trophy wife type- someone that needs a lot of money/luxury to keep around)

-Lilith in Gemini: A thinker, a woman that outwits you. Someone that keeps you mentally stimulated by challenged your knowledge. Someone that will always make you guess. Very book smart, may be curious about the taboo. Someone that gets their kicks from debating you and testing your textbook knowledge. May also be smitten by dirty talk, talking about the taboo in their intimate time together.

-Lilith in Cancer: A nostalgic nurturer that makes you feel at ease. May embody the bad traits that make you feel especially vulnerable (like familiar toxic behavior). Lilith’ archetype is often an antithesis of cancer’s traditional influence of being the emotional nurturer, so we’d have to assume a bit of corruption here. Just as easily as you could be fueling toxic behavior I’d assume you’d just as easily receive it. So mascs can project onto you and desire to leech off of your nurturing energy.

-Lilith in Leo: A diva. The one that’s in the spotlight without trying at all. Like a burlesque dancer, beautiful and radiant and practically untouchable. Speaking of which they may be smitten with a femme known for her s*x appeal. Whether that’s from having a lot of past partners or being a model or being in s*x work depends on the situation. The Leo person would likely want exclusive access to you after they get their hands on you though (fixed placements can be very possessive, it’s a whole thing)

-Lilith in Virgo: someone with their life together. (I said what I said 👀). A sort of that girl as the kids say :0. She has a meal plan and a routine and a 5 year plan. I’d also wager that this placement is the most likely to have a thing for someone that has their shit so together that it makes the native feel less than. Someone that could shame them and make them feel flawed and insignificant at the drop of a hat (a hat? The hat? Ok). Also likely to be someone that is really subtle but quietly freaky. A good candidate for workplace affairs 🤷🏾‍♀️

-Lilith in Libra: a bombshell babe, a true beauty. Someone who embodies very classy energy. A popular girl, one that you sort of have to work to get the attention of. (A gorgeous femme that distracts others with how beautiful and effortless she is. Pinup material and just as untouchable. Trophy wife vibes but not as intense as Lilith in Taurus (unless this is a 2nd house placement 👀). Also someone that brings a lot of balance and beauty to their surroundings. (She may attract envy due to her looks as well)

-Lilith in Scorpio: S*x personified. Someone with that intense vibe (one of the most likely placements to attract Lilith heavy femmes). Someone that has a presence that holds a lot of power. And a lot of intimate experience or at least a fearless attitude about those taboos. Someone that makes him want to explore those fantasies as a knee jerk reaction (within reason ofc). Someone that can see right through him. Someone that they struggle to gain power over. (Also pretty likely to have a power imbalance or some sort of taboo attached to the dynamic)

-Lilith in Sagittarius: A traveler, a girl struck with wanderlust. Someone you get attached to even though she’s always out of reach. Someone who loves debating and adventure. A philosopher that never stops learning and daring you to broaden your horizons. May be someone from outside of your culture as well. Or someone with a religious background you find socially taboo.

-Lilith in Capricorn: Boss babe all the way. Someone that intimidates others easily and that works very hard. A social climber. A person that knows exactly what they’re after, in that go getter sort of way. Someone mature. Lady in the streets, freak in the sheets. Another possibly of meeting at work, or at least after some sort of public interaction. Another connection where both people are likely vying for dominance. Likely to have themes of restriction show up as well.

-Lilith in Aquarius: manic👏🏾 pixie 👏🏾dream👏🏾 girl👏🏾 (I’m dead*ss). The quirky girl that stands out from the crowd. One of kind in a rebellious way. The other side of fae energy, which is to say that she would be a detached trickster of sorts. Hard to predict, philosophically outside of your comfort zone, impossible to pin down, etc. Someone that forces you to think outside of the box- whether you like it or not. Could bring out the k*nkier side of you. Also pretty likely to bring out the nerdier side of you, for some reason. (Aquarius intelligence ??)

-Lilith in Pisces: fae bae, full stop. A girl like a daydream. Esoteric and ethereal. A person that may be a bit spacey but they’re off floating in space somewhere. Someone creative and subconsciously addictive. Someone that tends to appear in their dreams and tends to be on their minds a lot.

Further Notes:

-Air is most impressed upon by intelligence and uniqueness; water by an emotionally immersive and passionate connection; fire by passion and being dazzled by the person; earth by their material luxury, ambition, and physicality

-water and fire tend to become obsessive over s*xual connections the fastest imo, but it can really mentally affect air and earth placements (it’s that I’m not obsessed but they’re thinking about them all the time and doing god knows what about that 👀)

-fixed Lilith placements can make a masc person a bit more obsessive and possessive over the Lilith energy (especially if they have a fixed Venus/mars)

-Cardinal Lilith placements tend to like to be challenged over taking the lead/dominance in the connection, if underdeveloped they can be rather controlling to their partners as well

-When Lilith is close to a masc’s personal planets I’d say that he may have some sort of archetype/karmic lesson around Lilith heavy femmes (just a significant impact on his life and attitude)

-Houses can show how these energies connect (I wrote this up but the draft deleted itself and I just couldn’t lol 🙃)

[angel-sweets666]

stuck together

Barbarian bakugo x princess! Reader

Your parents arranged you to the brash and rude prince of the barbarians to save their own skin. CHAPTER TWO HERE

warnings and stuff inside of the story: talks of virginity, talks of a virginity check (its accurate to the time period ok?) a/n should I make this a series? I think it’d be fun but idk ur rich btw so just like there’s rich stuff.

THE FULL VERSION IS OUTTT, truely ask and you shall receive. Anyways this is the full edited and lengthened part one I hope it’s better then the sneak peak I gave you guys

AGED UP

Mitsuki leaned back, her piercing gaze fixed on your parents. "So, what do you say? You give us your daughter, and we'll form an alliance," she proposed, pausing for their response. "It would offer protection from the Todoroki kingdom Flamoria, no?" The blonde woman smiled at your father, trying to sway him.

Flamoria had a habit of attacking your home kingdom, however in recent years the bakugos have managed to not only defeat the todorokis but make their kingdom subservient to them.

Your mother hesitated. "I mean, I dunno…"

"We'll do it," he interrupted, cutting off your mother.

"Huh?!" Your mother turned to him, shock evident on her face.

"Perfect. Sign here," Mitsuki said smoothly, handing them a piece of paper which already had both mitsuki and masarus names written down. It was a betrothal agreement, arranging the marriage between you and her hot-tempered son, Bakugo.

Your father reached for the pen, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him. "This will secure our safety and ensure a powerful ally," he murmured, almost convincing himself as much as anyone else.

"But our daughter…" your mother started, her voice filled with concern and disbelief. She looked at Mitsuki, then back at your father, torn between the political necessity and the love for her child.

"We don't have a choice," your father replied firmly, signing the paper. "This alliance is crucial for our kingdom's survival. The Empyrean empire is strong.”

Mitsuki's smile widened as she took the signed document. "Excellent. You won't regret this. Bakugo will make a fine husband, many heirs will come from this, she is a virgin right?” The blonde asks “we can get her checked for it, *name* was very sheltered growing up so we can assure you she’s a virgin.” Your father explains, leaning back in his own squeaky wooden chair. His gaze turns to your mother, who seems distraught about marrying off her child to the barbarian prince. Someone famous for being a violent person.

at 17 years old bakugo had brought back the head of a powerful tribe leader and put it on a stick for everyone to see, at 18 years old he had gathered a small army of men and defeated the midoriya kingdom and had a bloody cloak from the one of the dead soilders to prove it. Then at 20 years old bakugo had forced izuku, the Feywood king to surrender his crown. Which put feywood in the empyrean empire. No one knows where izuku midoriya currently is, all the people know is that he was last scene getting dragged by his green locks by bakugo and was never seen again.

Later on

“YOU ARRANGED ME TO WHO!?” You screamed, staring at your parents in complete horror. How could they do this to you? You make one wrong move and your own husband would order your death! “Look it’s not so bad..” “NOT SO BAD? HES KILLED HUNDREDS! THOUSANDS EVEN” “He won’t kill you though!” Your father exclaimed, An attempt to calm you. “Look, bakugo may seem like a man killing war machine of a prince but his parents assured us that he’s very gentle with women.” You scoffed, leaning your weight to one hip “bullshit. He’s gonna kill me. Brutally, he’s gonna hack off my head just you watch”

Over the next few weeks, you tried everything to call off the arrangement. You attempted to run away before the virginity check, faked illness, and came up elaborate excuses. Nothing seemed to work. Your parents were stubborn, insisting that you marry Katsuki Bakugo for the strength of their own kingdom.

Lying in bed, you tossed and turned, unable to escape the looming dread of marrying the great, scary barbarian prince, soon to be barbarian king. What if he rips your head off just because you refuse to give him a kiss? The thought made your heart race with fear.

Suddenly, a knock on the door snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. A maid entered, her eyes gloomy with pity . "Your Highness? Tomorrow we will wake you early to help you begin packing for the travel to the Empyrean Kingdom," she said softly, her voice trembling as she tried to avoid any kind of trouble.

You groaned and turned your head toward her. "When am I being sent to them?" you asked

"U-uh, most likely the day after tomorrow," the maid stammered, clearly uneasy with your distress.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of your impending fate settle even heavier on your shoulders. "I see… thank you," you muttered.

You looked back at the red headed maid “How far is the journey?” You asked her softly, she fidgeted with her fingers “a-about two days, they live f-far from our kingdom your highness” she stammered. You smiled to the red head and dismissed her.

As she left you stared at the ceiling, your mind racing. The thought of being married off to someone you had never met, someone with a terrifying reputation, filled you with a sense of dread and hopelessness. Your parents decision felt like a betrayal, a sacrifice of your happiness for the supposed greater good of the kingdom

You stood in the corner of your large room, watching as numerous servants took gowns, corsets, shoes, and other clothing items, placing them into bags. "U-uh, don’t barbarians wear less formal clothes? Shouldn’t I bring less?" you asked the maids. All of them turned to look at you, a hint of surprise on their faces.

"Her Highness makes a point," the same red-headed maid from the night before whispered to an older maid. The older maid, seemingly more experienced, turned toward you with a thoughtful expression.

"You're right, Your Royal Highness. They would probably end up burning these clothes or turning them into barbarian-styled garments," she conceded.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping in resignation. "What do barbarian women wear?" you asked the older maid, hoping for some clarity.

"Hm… flowy skirts, I’ve seen a few wear headdresses," she replied, as some of the gowns were hung back up in the closet. The maids began to sift through your belongings, selecting items that might be more appropriate for your new life.

As you watched the process, you couldn’t help but glance out the window. Your mother and father were walking in the garden, deep in conversation. They seemed so in love, so perfectly matched, yet they were throwing you into a marriage that promised nothing but misery. The contrast between their happiness and your dread was almost unbearable.

"Your Highness, we’ll pack lighter, more practical clothing for your journey," the older maid reassured.

"Thank you," you murmured, though your heart wasn't in it. The thought of being dressed in unfamiliar clothes, adapting to an unknown culture, and being wed to a man you feared only added to your anxiety.

As the servants continued their work, you wandered over to your bed, sinking down onto the edge. The weight of your impending departure pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. You had grown up surrounded by luxury and love, and now you were being sent away, to marry probably the most violent man you’ve ever heard of

Tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about the future that awaited you. Would you ever find happiness in the Empyrean Kingdom? Would Katsuki Bakugo, the fierce and terrifying prince, ever come to care for you, or would you be nothing more than a means to an end?

"Your Highness, is there anything else you would like us to pack?" one of the younger maids asked, her voice gentle.

You shook your head, wiping away a stray tear. "No, just… make sure to leave out a few comfortable things for me to wear until we leave."

"Of course, Your Highness," she replied, her expression sympathetic.

As the maids continued their preparations, you lay back on your bed, staring up at the white ceiling. You tried to find comfort in the familiar surroundings, knowing that soon you would be leaving them behind.

"So, what's the barbarian kingdom like?" you asked, looking over to the maids. The older maid once again turned her head to look at you.

"Most of the people live in either big wooden houses with all sorts of weapons around or in these hut-like tent things. Either way, they have all these symbols painted on them," she described, clearly having been to the Empyrean Kingdom before.

"And what about the Bakugos? Where do they live? You asked

"They live in a stone castle with intricate paintings on it, and there's a lot of security. The last time I was there, they had spikes on the bridge leading to the castle, with people's heads mounted on them," the old maid replied,

"How long ago were you there?" you asked, feeling a chill run down your spine at the gruesome detail.

"When the young prince was about fifteen, so around five years ago," she said, placing one last corset into a bag.

You glanced at the six bags of items packed for your journey, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation. It was a smaller amount than you had anticipated, yet it seemed to signify the end of one life and the beginning of another.

"Did you meet the prince?" you asked, trying to glean any information that might help you understand the man you were to marry.

"Briefly," she replied, her expression softening. "He was intense, even as a teenager. Always training, always pushing himself. But there was a sadness in his eyes, a loneliness."

You sighed, trying to reconcile the image of the fierce, terrifying prince with the glimpses of vulnerability the maid described. "And the people there? How are they?"

"Fierce, proud, and loyal," the older maid said. "They value strength above all else, but they also have a deep sense of honor and community. If you earn their respect, they'll defend you with their lives."

The more you learned, the more daunting your future seemed. Yet, there was a strange comfort in knowing that the barbarian kingdom, despite its harsh exterior, had its own codes and values.

As the maids continued their work, you tried to imagine what life in the Empyrean Kingdom would be like

"Is there anything else I should know?" you asked, your voice softer, almost hesitant.

The older maid paused, considering your question. "Just remember, Your Highness, that if you respect them and they’ll respect you."

Her words resonated with you, giving you a small but vital sense of empowerment. You nodded “alright, seems easy enough..”

The day that you needed to travel to the empyrean kingdom came, your parents watched you walk to the carriage by the gate as your mother sobbed into your fathers chest.

The ride to the Empyrean Kingdom was grueling. As the carriage rattled over uneven roads, you gazed out the window, the lush greenery of your homeland gradually giving way to the rugged, bushy but covered in tall trees landscape of the barbarian territory. The closer you got, the more your anxiety grew, each kilometre bringing you closer to the empyrean land

When you finally arrived at the castle, you were struck by its threatening look. The stone walls were decorated with weird red painted symbols, and the spiked bridge, as described by the maid, loomed menacingly ahead. Your heart pounded as you stepped out of the carriage, taking in the harsh surroundings.

A group of stern-faced and very attractive guards escorted you inside. The castle's interior was as intimidating as its exterior—dimly lit, with weapons and trophies of past battles displayed prominently on the walls. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you were led through the cold halls. You swore that if you listened close enough you could hear peoples screams in the dungeons below. Fuck was this hell with its 7 rings?

Finally, you were brought to a large chamber where a tall, muscular figure stood with his back to you. His spiky blonde hair was unmistakable. He was busy looking at a sheet of paper, the one oddly similar to the ones your parents shown you when they first announced your betrothal to bakugo. As he slowly turned to face you, his piercing red eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you want to look away. He looked almost angry at you, furious even. Which was confusing because you’ve known this man for a whole 10 seconds

he was tall and about 6ft with messy blonde hair, scars all over his body and face, and piercings on his ears and lip.

"So, you're the princess they sent," Katsuki said, his voice dripping with disdain. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his expression one of barely concealed annoyance. Katsuki had a deep voice that you couldn’t tell if you found attractive or if you wanted to run away and hide.

You straightened your back, meeting his gaze with as much confidence as you could muster. "I am," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady but it ended up sounding shaky.

Bakugo scoffed, looking you up and down as if to check if you were just a weak small baby or strong enough to be a wife and a queen “Great. Another weakling to babysit," he muttered under his breath.

Anger formed within you at his dismissive attitude. "I am not a weakling," you snapped. "And I am certainly not here to be babysat."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "We'll see about that," he said, turning away from you. "Follow me. There's no point in wasting time."

You clenched your fists, biting back a come back to insult him with as you followed him through the castle. Every step echoed in the vast, cold corridors. His steps much louder then yours due to his much larger frame

Bakugo led you to a large hall where a group of people—presumably his advisors and some of the castle staff—were gathered. He introduced you curtly, barely sparing you a glance as he did so. The looks you received ranged from curiosity to outright hostility, they clearly didn’t want you here. Just like the old maid back had home had warned, these people hated the weak.

After the introductions, Bakugo dismissed everyone, including you. "You'll be shown to your chambers. Don't get in my way or else," he said, theblonde clearly trying to end the conversation between you two before he could get sucked into some conversation he didn’t waht

You followed a servant to your chambers, a mix of anger and sadness within you. The room was surprisingly comfortable, a stark contrast to the rest of the castle, but it did little to lift your spirits. You sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of your new reality settle over you.

Over the next few days, you tried to find your place in the castle. The people were distant and wary, their lack of trust clear in their every interaction with you. And Bakugo… he was even worse than most . He ignored you most of the time, and when he did speak to you, it was with a cold, dismissive tone that made your blood boil. He always had a tone of sass, trying to get under your skin constantly.

as the days grew closer and closer to your wedding date he seemed to just get more and more annoying, constantly having some tone of sass. Never wanting to talk to you and constantly flirting with your maids, you even went the effort to fire atleast 4 of them to keep their grotty hands to themselves.

“you done firing my staff now?” Bakugo grumbled as he caught up with you in the stone candle lit halls “your staff? You mean my staff? My staff who you seem to love flirting with” you corrected him, looking over your shoulder at him. The blonde furrowed his eyebrows and scoffed “I pay for them there for their my staff.” He growled, asking faster in an attempt to intimate you “actually, your parents pay for the staff.” “Hah?” “Your parent pay for the staff so their not your staff, their the palaces staff.” You said ignorantly as you played with the lace of your dress. “You gonna get out of that frill fest you call a gown?” He asked, again trying to insult you “if I do I’m gonna shove it up your ass” “excuse me?”

“Want me to say it slower? I—WILL—SHOVE—MY—GOW”

“OKAY OKAY SHUT UP WOMAN” he growled at you and walked off in spite “THATS WHAT WHAT I THOUGHT. THATS WHAT I THOUGHT.” You angrily yelled back to him, which in real aspect you were yelling at the back of his ignorant head. You huffed and stormed away in the opposite direction as you wanted nothing more then to get away from that man. As you stomped down the halls, footsteps echoing with each step; you heard a male voice call out to you

“Princess.”

you looked over, a certain brown haired man similar looking to katsuki stared back at you. It was king Masaru “I was looking for you” he says, walking towards you. You quickly curtsied to the king “About what?” You asked “we have a wedding date for you and my son” he smiled warmly as if this was a good thing “o-oh.. and when may that be..?” Your eyebrows furrowed with frustration “a month from now, they will date you to get your gown fitted this week” he seemed overly happy about something neither you or his temperamental son wanted.

“Will I wear a wedding dress from my country or your country?” You asked softly, trying to keep your cool “uh.. our country.” He informed you “I’d rather wear my own wedding gown though, your majesty” “well.. you belong to our kingdom now. We can give you a dress that’s a mix of the two if you’d rather” he compromised, trying to keep with both your and his kingdom. Letting out a sigh your shoulders dropped “I suppose that be okay…” a look of mild disappointment on your face “wonderful, I’m glad we could come to a compromise” he smiled and walked off, an electric blonde guard following close behind him who you earlier learned his name was kaminari. The blonde goofily smiled to you, he seemed like a character. The two men walked off as they chatted, rolling your eyes you too began to walk in the direction of your bedroom chambers.

you couldn’t sleep that night, you tried changing your nightgown, exercising, reading a book, meditating, everything! nothing would help you sleep this night, you wondered if it was the weird interaction with king Masaru or the fact your own fiance was when you think about it was cheating on you with your own staff members. you slowly slid out of bed and out of your silk sheets, rubbing your face up and down with your hands with frustration. Looking down at your feet you sighed, looking out of the window. the night sky was so peaceful unlike your mind which was running with less the pleasant thoughts. How could you get Katsuki to like you? or at least tolerate you in some way so he wouldn't be the most annoying little shit.

The creak of the door hinges squeaks as you pushed the heavy wooden door open, wincing at the high pitch noise. Slowly but quietly gou walked towards the chambers of your future husband. As you approached the door you hear two voices come from the inside

“you’ll need to learn to cherish and care for her eventually”

“why would I do that?” “She is your fiancé! Your future wife! Future mother of your heirs!”

“you except me to fuck her too? Shit.”

“Yes obviously! Your gonna need heirs for our kingdom!”

“fine. Before or after this whole wedding?”

“well In her kingdom, you two do that on the wedding night but to be honest I don’t really care when you do her”

“Too easy”

safe to say your whole face was pink, with either anger or arousal but you couldn’t tell

Tag list!

@sagejin @teeesthings @hiimsaraandyou

@peachysuguru @luvgumii

@v3n7s @iangeeluv

[rinhaler]

Don’t You Love It When I Come Around?

Your relationship with him is so toxic. But no matter how hard you try to end things, he always worms his way back between your legs.

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ takuma ino x f!reader

Genre: porn! with a plot! Notes: in january i told u guys to send ino prompts and i would write my favourite and here it is, I'll add the ask below ! Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, dubcon (he's high), toxic relationship, exes to lovers?, rich boy!ino, dacryphilia, pussy eating ♡, light nipple play, vaginal sex, love making ♡, drool ♡, praise, slight orgasm denial, scratching, creampie ♡, manipulation, calls your pussy she/her, pet names (princess, baby/babe, gorgeous etc.) Words: 4.6k

He loves you.

He wouldn’t keep coming back to you with such urgency and wanton if he didn’t love you so ardently. But you ended things, and for the first time there was some finality to the breakup. You’re weak with your will and conviction, usually. You can’t take it anymore, you can’t.

Being second best to every other thing is his life is too hard.

His friends, his family.

Drugs.

You want to be his top priority, but you never will be. It weighs heavy in your heart whenever you’re with him, you don’t feel the type of love you want to feel from him. The kind where you know he’d kiss the ground you walk on and worship your very existence.

Fairy tale love, romance movie love.

He isn’t capable. And it’s taken you too long to realise it.

And usually, you crumble when he begs. His pleas and promises to change always sway you into believing him, despite knowing the truth that he’ll never change for you. He thinks money carries the same weight as love. He thinks his daddy’s credit card is the answer to all of his problems.

He wants to believe you can be bought.

He truly believes that he can buy your subservience with the same unearned money he uses to pay his dealer in fat wads of cash.

The day you met his dealer is the day you think things really began to fall apart between you. He wouldn’t refrain from making lewd comments about you, a fact that has stopped you from going with him to pick up since that first encounter. Your boyfriend didn’t chastise him, no. Instead, he played along. Joking that he’d be willing to share during your most intimate moments or even give you up completely to use as a payment instead of actually paying.

You broke up with him that night, leaving him alone with his friend. He didn’t even bother chasing after you to apologise. He didn’t care enough to check if you were okay, either. It hurt you to think that he was laughing it off with Sukuna, imagining him so nonchalant and uncaring broke your heart.

And you’re lucky you didn’t have to see that you were exactly right.

You can’t even remember why you forgave him that time, it should have been the final straw. He came over, sneaking into your window after your parents turned in for the night. It’s like he’d been waiting for all of the lights to go out. He lifted it, effortlessly, before he stepped inside. He hushed your protests and panic as you worried your parents would hear and before you knew it, he was your boyfriend again.

You jolt from your thoughts as you hear a struggle to your left. Your eyes linger on the window as you notice Takuma try his hardest to lift it open. He looks up and sees you staring, and you recognise something akin to fear sprawled across his pretty face.

He can’t remember the last time you locked the window.

“Baby, please.” he whispers. You shush him, determined to be strong as you approach the window and look at him sternly.

It’s the first time in over a week since you’ve laid eyes on each other, it should have been harder than it was. But you’ve had plenty of practice from when he goes on drink and drug infused benders and doesn’t even bother to send a measly text to let you know he’s alive.

Your fists clench tightly as you hold your parted curtains, though your will begins to dissipate as you see his soft brown stare up at you so pathetically. It feels like love. Maybe one more chance wouldn’t—

“Let me in, baby, ‘m so cold.” he tells you, squatting awkwardly on the roof as he tries to convince you to see things his way. Your blood begins to boil again as you remember how fucking entitled is. Entitled in life and entitled to you. Not this time. “I think it’s gonna—” the metal curtain pole hisses as you abruptly shut them and shut him out of your life for good.

“Go home, Takuma…” you sigh, your own purposiveness decaying as your body seems to crave him, you want to help him, despite knowing you’re being manipulated.

“Oh come on. Don’t do this, princess. It’s starting to rain!” he tells you.

You can’t listen to him. You grab your headphones from your desk and put them over your ears. You quickly scroll through your music library until you find your feel-good playlist and turn the volume to max. Sure you might go deaf in a few years, but it’s better than listening to him do all he can to get you to let him in.

The paranoia of not knowing what he’s doing or saying out there pricks at your skin like needles. Your senses are sharp despite cancelling one of them out. You begin to hear creaks of the window and calls of your name you’re certain you can’t be hearing. Your dad will come to berate you and him if he gets too rowdy. He wouldn’t risk it.

INO: Gonna start singing if you don’t let me in 💕

You learn forward in your seat as you read his message. He’s bluffing, he has to be. And yet, it scares you enough to pull your headphones down while your music continues to play through them. His knuckles are rapping against the window repeatedly without stopping as he waits for you to reply. He gives you a few minutes before the knocking stops, and while you hope he’s given up, you look down at your messages to see three dreaded dots appear.

INO: You’re so cute when you’re mad

INO: What song should I sing?

You freeze as you hear him hum, even over the sound of the rain pelting down against the roof shingles and the glass of your window. It’s a song you recognise instantly, the first song you danced to together when you met at a club two years ago.

“Come on baby, let me iiiiin~!” he speak-sings in tune with the beat and you know it’s only going to get worse. You try to hold strong, you do. The thought of giving him the satisfaction and ultimately the gateway to him winning you back makes your stomach churn, you don’t want to keep being this girl.

But you’ve always been weak when it comes to him.

The shriek of your curtains opening again puts a swift end to Takuma’s singing. His face lights up, and it makes you even angrier. He watches you intently as you unlock the window for him, but you step away to allow him the honour of opening it for himself.

“Shit baby, I’m soaked. Why didn’t you let me in sooner?” he asks, he wrings out his beanie on your bedroom carpet before tossing it aside completely. You roll your eyes as he shuts the window and begins to undress. “C’moooon, you’re not really giving me the silent treatment, are ya?”

You sigh and sit on your bed, carefully taking off your headphones and tucking them back into their protective casing. He barely even looks at you as you tuck your knees up to your chest and observe his every move.

“What do you want Takuma…” you pout. “I told you I don’t wanna see you anymore. Why are you here?” you ask.

He kisses his teeth, the sound makes your skin pinch together and you suddenly feel the harsh chill of the outside breaking in. He smiles at you, his sweet innocent face and warm brown eyes are almost enough to thaw you out.

“You didn’t really mean that, did ya?” he wonders. “Baby, I love you.” he kicks off his shoes and begins to undress. The audaciousness of him is never lost on you, but tonight he’s really something. He sits on the edge of your bed, his back facing you while he moves at a glacial pace.

He’s high. It’s obvious.

The sculptured muscles of his back flex and ripple as he takes off his socks, flinging them without a care in any direction before he stands up to look at you. You swallow, hard, as the buckle of his belt begins to clink before he pulls it out of the belt loops with one hand. Your eyes stay fixed on his as his arm extends and he lets it fall from his grip.

“Bet you’ve missed this dick, baby,” he smirks. “Can see it in your eyes. You’ve missed me.”

You roll your eyes despite his words hitting a nerve. His vision drops as he unbuttons his jeans, missing the way you squirm as you reposition yourself on the bed, tucking your knees further into your chest as you continue to stare while he takes off his clothes.

“Why do you play these games, princess? You know you always come back to me.”

“It’s not a game. I’m done with you, for real this time.” you protest. The way he bites his lip makes you angrier as he climbs on the bed with you, the mattress dipping as he slowly crawls towards you like he has so many times before.

He thinks, he knows everything you say it futile, regardless of how determined you are to not succumb to him for the umpteenth time.

“Take this off, gorgeous,” he demands as his fingers curl into the elastic waistband of your pleated skirt. You shake your head lightly, heart battering in your chest like a drum solo. He snarls, at that, like he hears your heart fighting against your weak defiance. “Suit yourself.” he mutters.

His hands wrap around your thighs and he drags you down the length of the mattress. It takes everything within you not to scream, the thought of being caught by your parents like this makes your whole body sear with heat.

“I’m—” you squeak, a little too loudly. You clear your throat and look at him, your eyes shaking with apprehension and anxiety. He wets his lips as he looks at you, waiting for you to continue. “I’m not fucking you. N-Not tonight. Not ever. Never again, Takuma… I m-mean it. We’re through!”

He sighs, a little pout forming on his lips as he crawls over your body. He cages you beneath him, looking down at you with a moue of dissatisfaction.

“What about a kiss baby? Can I have a kiss, just one?” he asks. His voice is soft and shallow. His honeyed eyes make you crumble as he stares at you with an intensity you’ve never felt from him before. Is it desperation? Is it panic that he’s really losing his grip on you? You can’t even look at him directly, each turn of your head causes him to angle his own so he can continue to stare you down.

And it works.

“Just a kiss.” you mumble, your whole body relaxes when he smiles. It’s such a sweet smile, the one that always adorned his gentle face when you first met. You’ve missed it, dearly.

Your eyes flutter closed as his lips land on yours. It’s chaste, quick, and leaves you wanting more.

“One more kiss, baby. Please?”

You nod, closing your eyes again. You startle when you feel the mattress shift dramatically. Words stay lodged in your throat as you see him on the ground, on his knees, looking up at you between your legs.

“No panties? Must’a known I was coming.” he grins. He flips up the material only slightly. His head disappears beneath the black pleats.

It’s pathetic, truly, the whimper that flees from you when he presses a delicate kiss to your clit. You cover your mouth with your hand, and you even surprise yourself when you feel tears roll down your cheeks.

“Can I kiss her again, princess? Wanna make out with her… do you want me to?” he wonders, repeating the same kiss again… again… and again.

“Y-Yes, Takuma please.” you moan. Your fingers card through his brunette locks, urging him closer to your heat. He complies, desperately. He slowly swirls his tongue over your swollen clit, humming contently as he encourages you to rest your legs over his shoulders.

The pleasure overwhelms you, and you allow yourself to lie comfortably against the mattress. Deep down you knew, you both knew, you were always going to end up like this.

You look between the valley of your breasts when you regain your stability. The shape of his head makes your own begin to spin as you see the material of your skirt move in tandem with his actions. The way he slurps and suckles on your flesh makes it all too clear, you’ll never be able to quit him. Not really, not when he’s so perfect when he’s like this.

Maybe he does love you, maybe all of the things he tells you when you shut him out for so long are indeed true. How else would he be able to ravage you with such vigour and passion? The only time you know him to have drive and patience is in moments like this.

He’s spoilt, but not with you.

He’s a giver, only for you.

Your back arches from the bed when the tip of his tongue targets a particularly sensitive spot between your folds. You moan, you whine, and it only encourages him more. He doesn’t stop when your thighs begin to clamp around his head. It’s more fuel to the fire, you have to smother any and all sounds that want to escape from your body with your hand.

And that, he sees as a challenge.

He holds under the bend of your knee and pushes it, so gently, towards your chest. And still, you feel like the air has been knocked from your lungs. Your skirt is forcibly moved by the action and his face is revealed once more. His eyes glitter and shimmer with expectance and desire as he sees your own face contort from the pleasure he’s forcing upon you.

His lips suction around your clit and he sucks like it’s his sole purpose on earth. Your eyes roll back, and you practically scream into your palm. His hand wanders purposefully to cup your breast. He squeezes experimentally, rubbing his thumb over the material of your top to tease your peaked nipple. The feeling of that is almost enough to make you unravel, your hips jerk at the contact, and he decides to take it further.

He breaches the edge of your crop top, desperate to feel your soft naked mound. Your eyes fill with water and spill consistently as he adds rolling your pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger to the intense amalgamation of pleasure.

“Ino… fuck,” you whisper pathetically, freeing your mouth momentarily to utter his name. To warn him. “I’m gonna cum.”

“… I know.” he mumbles before maintaining his efforts. His tongue swipes quickly over your clit, you whimper and your toes can’t help but curl as he doesn’t dare let up.

You grip the sheets below, desperate to hang onto something as you feel your body seconds from exploding. He shushes you between licks, drooling over your cunt as his jaw hangs low for you. You do all you can to keep quiet, but it’s a gargantuan task. Especially when you haven’t felt so good for so long, it’s near impossible.

Your legs begin to quiver as you cum. Your pussy gushes and coats his face further. And for once in his life, he isn’t ungrateful. He savours the taste and laps at your folds like a starving man. And after such a long time apart, that’s exactly what he is. He’s ravenous, he’s missed this. He’s missed you. And he’ll never not appreciate how delicious you are. And it’s all for him.

“Made such a pretty mess for me, baby,” he murmurs into your skin, repeatedly planting delicate kisses against your inner thighs. He doesn’t stop as he gets on top of you, showering your stomach in the same soft kisses. Each one infused with his desire for you. His urgency to force you to remember who you belong to and who you need.

Your legs spread beautifully for him, his throbbing cock rubs against your core, dampening the material of his underwear.

His eyes fixate on yours as he looks for permission to kiss you. And you give it, instantly, humming when his lips slot against yours. His tongue delves into your mouth, his hips begin to rut into you as you make out.

You run your fingers through his hair, interlocking your fingers to keep him close as you continue humping against each other. He breathes heavily as he breaks the kiss, staring down at you with a hurt look in his eye.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him quietly. It makes your blood run cold, the fear of wondering if he’s about to go back to the regular Takuma again. The one you’re all too familiar with, The one that always lets you down.

“… Don’t like it when you call me Ino, baby,” he tells you. It’s earnest, a twinge of disappointment laced in his words.

“All of your friends call you Ino, Ino.” you repeat. It makes your heart race to defy him, you seldom do. You’re the perfect girlfriend until you can’t take anymore, but this is different. You’ve never felt bold enough to do this, to attempt to rile him up.

Never.

“Stop that.” he growls, kissing you again. “You’re not my friend. You’re my girlfriend, alright? Say it. Please.”

“I t-told you… I don’t want you back. Only let you in so you wouldn’t wake my parents.”

He stops. He stands on his knee and looks down at you with a little frown, his lower lip almost jutting as he hears you. You can’t tell if he’s actually sad, or if it’s merely panic. “Do you mean that? You don’t want me back?”

You shake your head, despite it being the opposite of what you want. It’s almost as if you’ve been possessed.

“… So you wouldn’t care if I left right now? You don’t want to fuck?” he continues. You can barely look at him, you’ve never seen him like this before. He might actually be upset, he’s experiencing regret for the first time in his entire life.

“Well… if you wanna go, I won’t stop you Takuma.” you shrug, it comes a little too easily. It feels like a dream, or a nightmare to Takuma. He can’t help but stare as he realises he’s lost his control of you.

A hand rests on your knee, while the other carefully rubs the lower half of his face. He wants to ask again. And again. Is that really what you want? But he’s terrified to even think it, let alone say it. Because what if you are sure? He won’t know what to do, he’s never known you to be like this before. Maybe he took too long to come over this time, he got cocky. Assumptions and greed consumed him. He came back to you when he was ready, but he hadn’t accounted for the fact you might grow a backbone in that time.

He lowers himself again, your noses barely touching before he kisses the tip of it.

“You love me, I know you do baby,” he says, faux confidence lingering in his tone. Though you don’t notice, to you, he’s just confident. The sound of tender kisses littering your cheeks is the loudest sound in the room, even louder than his desperate whispers. “You gotta love me… because I love you. So much, baby, please forgive me.”

He doesn’t let up, like he’s transferring a love potion embedded from his lips to seep into your skin. You mewl at the sensation, never knowing him to be this affectionate before. You know why, the agonising realisation that he lost you has him resorting to this last ditch effort.

And you hate him, because it’s working.

“I’ll always love you more than anyone, y’know. I promise. I’ll be better this time…” he tells you, the same sorry line he’s told you so many times before. “Can I put it in, babe? Please… Please let me feel you close one more time, if ya really mean it.” he begs. He moves his lips to yours, hoping to silence you with a kiss to remember. There’s a hunger to it, a desperate craving that he can’t satiate.

He needs your help.

He needs you.

“L-Last time, okay? I mean it, Takuma, I won’t take you back.”

He stopped listening to you after he heard you agree, honestly. Reaching down to pull his boxers just enough for his cock to spring free. He moans, it’s akin to a whine as it slaps against his abdomen. He’s been hard since he got that first kiss from you, and tasting your slick made him ache for you.

He jerks himself a few times before he slips himself inside of your cunt. His cockhead resting carefully in your entrance. His body moves closer to yours as he sinks in further, you both moan in tandem as you stretch and swallow his cock oh so gloriously.

“S-See, baby? See how perfect I fit? ‘Cause you love me so much, and I love you.” he explains gently holding your jaw in his grip so he can force you to look at him. His hips begin to roll, but he can’t let you enjoy it. Your attempt to throw your head back in pleasure with your eyes scrunched closed is thwarted as his hips instantly slow. “You gotta say it. Say it back, princess.”

“I love you, Takuma…” you say, defeated. “You know I’ll always love y-you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles widely, moving his hips once more. “Always gonna be mine?”

“… always.” you nod.

He kisses you again, his body weight almost suffocating you as he rests on top of you. He fucks every ounce of passion and longing into you. He covers your mouth, sensing it’s too much. But he can’t stop. You don’t want him to, you’ve never felt so whole with him.

You’re too fucked out to notice how badly your bed is creaking. Even with your moans trapped behind Takuma’s palm, he’s sure your parents will know he’s here by now.

“Fuuuuck, you’re choking my fuckin’ dick, baby. Gonna make me cum too fast.” he tells you, kissing your forehead as he slams his hips into yours. “So tight for me… my p-perfect girl, aren’t ya?”

You nod desperately, clenching around him at his every word.

“Want you to cum for me… but,” he rests his forehead against yours, alternating his movements to slow and deep rather than hard and fast. It has you drooling against his palm, but he doesn’t mind. He likes you, loves you, when you’re his braindead princess. “I only make my girlfriend cum.”

Your eyes widen in horror as you realise what he’s trying to do. You wish you could say you regret letting him fuck you again. But it’s too good, you’re lost to it. You’re almost dumb enough to agree.

Almost.

He moves his hand and cups your face, imploring you to look him in his eyes and tell him you’re his again.

“I c-can’t,” you sniffle. “Hurts too much being—”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t say that, princess.” he interrupts, not wanting to hear your thought in full. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. You love me, yeah? Always gonna be my girl. Mine.”

And as if on command, you nod in acceptance. Because he’s right, you will always be his girl. Whether in an official capacity or not. Even the days you’re separated, he’s always on your mind. You worry that weeks, months or even years could pass without him and he’d still be on your mind.

A particular intense stroke inside of your gummy walls makes your body jolt and a heavy moan tears through your throat. He looks down, admiring where to two of you meet before searching your eyes.

“There, baby?” he asks, experimentally thrusting into the same spot. He grins when he hears you keen once again for him, prodding it again and again until your eyes spill over with tears from the blinding pleasure. “Theeeere she is, right there. Bet you wanna cum real bad, ‘cause I do.”

“I do!” you agree, cupping his face gently before kissing him. “I love you, Takuma, please don’t stop,” you whimper.

“I won’t baby, promise.” he assures you. It’s imperceptible, and he’s glad, you can’t see the relief washing over his entire body as he feels safe once again. You’re his, again. There’s nowhere else you should be but with him. “C-Can’t let my girl down, can I?” he grins.

And after everything. All of the hurt, all of the effort, all of the determination, you’re his again. All of that defiance was for nought. And yet, you’re smiling. Your hands helplessly grip his body, nails digging into his shoulder blades as you scratch, attempting to ground yourself.

His lips find yours, eager to silence himself as he brings you both closer and closer to your demise. His breaths are heavy, his nostrils flaring as he continues to pummel into you. Your kiss is sloppy, but perfect. The messy passion heightens your pleasure, somehow. His tongue finding your own reminds you that there’s no one in the world you’d rather be doing this with.

Every plunge of his length against your sweet spot feels like love. Pure, unadulterated, love. Everything you’ve ever wanted, ever needed, from Takuma this time.

And as you cum together, moaning into each other’s mouths, that feels deeper. He looks into your eyes as he fills you to the brim, your walls clench around him, desperate to keep him inside and milk him for all he’s worth. You never want this feeling to end, he’s the man of your dreams.

He kisses your neck as he continues to fuck himself inside of you, making sure to deposit every last drop of his love into you. He feels it too, it feels different to how it usually is.

Better, somehow.

The pecks of his lips slow as he ventures towards yours again. Each kiss is interpolated with ardour. He doesn’t want to risk stopping for fear of all of this coming undone. He doesn’t want you to see sense, again. Despite what you might think, he is in love. A love so intense he couldn’t begin to explain.

He eventually pulls away, bracing himself for what you might say.

But nothing comes.

He’s grinning from ear to ear because you don’t say a word. Not one. But your expression says it all. You look exhausted, but fulfilled. You look beautiful as bliss ravishes your drained form. However even without all that, he only needs to look into your eyes to see it.

You really are his girl again.

He can practically see the hearts shimmering in your irises. You’re looking up at him like you’ve fallen for that signature Takuma charm once again, but are you really so foolish? Even he is a little surprised.

He wants to do better, of course he does. And maybe this time he’ll really try. He doesn’t mean to let you down so often, it’s not like he wants to do it.

That’s just the type of guy he is.

The type to make promises he can’t keep.

© 2024 rinhaler

anon: okay but imagine ino sneaking in your bedroom every once in a while and fucking you into forgetting he's an absent boyfriend, he's always smoking with his friend (plug! sukuna *cough cough*) he's a trust fund baby, and the worst boyfriend ever but dick game is so good he has you thinking you can fix him, so every time you let him hit you are looking at him with heart eyes and it almosttt makes him want to do better

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

you know how you did bg3 types of yanderes, could you do that for castlevania? Like the trio and isaac, hector, dracula/lisa, carmilla, st. germain??

A/N: For reference, here is the one I did for BG3 villains, and here is the one I did for the BG3 Main Companions. Also, this is unedited as hell so if you see grammar mistakes, no you didn't. 

Castlevania Characters as Yandere! Types: 

Yandere! Trevor: 

Defensive. Calucative. Hardened. Trevor’s seen far worse than you, from humans and monsters alike. He knows the terror and the cruelty that lurks out there. He wants to shield you from it all, for as long as possible. He has this overwhelming need to prevent what happened to his family from happening to you. Even then, he knows your innocence won’t last; it couldn’t possibly. So long as you’re tied to him, you will know hardship. So as much as he babies you, and refuses to grant you complete independence, he is also distant, and frequently unaffectionate. In his line of work, people don’t die of old age; neither of you will be in the other’s life forever. Just let him love you the way he needs, when he asks for it, please. Everything else is so difficult in his life, you don’t want to add to that. Make yourself into the one piece of his life that is easy. And enjoy the easy while it lasts. 

Yandere! Sypha: 

Confident. Feisty. Unyielding. Sypha is always sure of herself. Everything she does, she does with 100% effort and full intent- your relationship is no different. From the moment she sees you, she’s sure she likes you, and she’s certain you like her. Any behavior that suggests otherwise on your part must simply be beginning relationship nerves. After all, she is a scholar and a Speak Magician. Her infectious optimism seeps out of her every pore. Her love for you knows no bounds, and she will not hesitate to throw herself into danger to prove it. I mean, she can conjure fire and ice instantaneously in her own two hands! Who wouldn’t want to be her partner?  Only some sort of complete and total asshole would try and turn her down, or worse, fight against her. She fights for what is right, and what is just. You wouldn’t fight against what’s just, would you? 

Yandere! Alucard: 

Intellectual. Sharp. Melancholic. Alucard is not a stranger to romance nor heartbreak. Losing the people closest to him has left him vulnerable, both emotionally and physically. Instead of processing his feelings, he bottles them up, until he can no longer bear their weight. He feels such pressure to remain composed, remain controlled, not animalistic, to go against the programming of half of his biology. At the same time, he is starving, desperate, and filled with an insatiable thirst for closeness. Such a complicated, disconsolate man, Alucard needs you to stay, more than anything. His life has been so lonely, and so hard; at times it feels like all he knows is loss and the cruel impossible whispers of desire. You need to stay. You need to choose him. He cannot take another heartbreak. It’s quite possible, given his role throughout history, that humanity wouldn’t survive another one of his heartbreaks either.  

Yandere! Isaac: 

Keen. Precise. Self-Righteous. Isaac has journeyed far on his quest for revenge, coming not only into a new land and new role but a new self as well. Gone is the former subservient, sacrificial lamb, who has risen into a stronger, wiser, seemingly benevolent king. Do not mistake this kindness for weakness, however. You must be either admirable or too kind-hearted to pose a genuine threat. Once you’ve caught his eye, prepare for an odd game of cat and mouse, you being the mouse of course. Isaac is not used to having friends, much less romantic companions. You must be patient as he learns the intricacies of your psyche. Surely, you must know he’s been analyzing it since you met? Be an honest, positive presence in his life, and he will keep you safe from all others who may do you harm. Treat him as the wise king he now sees himself as, and perhaps, he will ask you to be his queen. 

Yandere! Hector: 

Reclusive. Embittered. Suspicious. Hector has been forced to toughen up. Too late did he realize at the end of the road, that it is the people, not the zombies you command that can make or break a man. That is where you come in my dear. Following Lenore’s death, Hector’s purpose is up in the air, he is suddenly a puppet, free of its strings. He feels much wiser, but just as lonely. Hector cannot help but latch on to you, the first “normal” person to view him as human. He yearns for a simple quiet life, with a dog (a live one) and a partner to call his own. You’re perfectly plain, or perhaps, you’re just odd enough to make him look normal, and he relishes that. You have to understand that he can’t share much about his past. He can’t possibly tell you about his old life, no, no, no. He’s hiding it from you, hells, he’s hiding from it with you. He loves you dearly, he does. But he can’t trust you, not fully. A man with a history like his cannot truly trust anyone. 

Yandere! Dracula/Lisa: 

Nurturing. Captivated. Smothering. Dracula was not keen on humans before meeting Lisa; she bewitched me body and soul. And now the two of them have become enthralled by you. Dracula has learned the ‘other’ humans are not to be trusted, not with you, and certainly not with his wife. Lisa finds it unfortunate how she is no longer able to treat her former patients in Lupu, but she’s also incredibly thankful now that she has you to take care of! Ever the eager student, she still wants to learn so many things, and how wonderful of a practice dummy you are. Dracula is also eternally grateful that his wife will not be completely lonely; he knows how much helping her fellow humans means to her, and now that you’re here, Dracula no longer has to worry about keeping his wife (and by extension, you) to himself for eternity. 

Yandere! Carmilla: 

Prepared. Calculating. Cruel. Carmilla is a sadist at heart, there’s no denying it. She loves feeling the power she wields over all other people, humans, and vampires alike. For you to have caught her attention, surely you must be something special. Either you are particularly gifted in something she’s not (negotiations, necromancy, art, etc.) or you’re just so unbelievably precious, that she can’t help but want to steal you away for herself. She sees you as a possession, as a rare and beautiful gem, not a person. Even if she did ‘hear’ anything you had to say, she’d simply consider it further fodder to be used in manipulating you should it all come to that. She is not a woman who is denied, not by God, not by man, not by Dracula, and certainly not by you. Chin up, pet. Things could always be much worse. You could be thrown in the dungeons and left to rot. How lovely of Carmilla to instead treat you to more luxury than your kind could ever dare to deserve. For your continued safety, may I suggest showing a little gratitude? I mean it’s not like your life depends on it or anything. It does. 

Yandere! St. Germain: 

Wise. Inquisitive. Obsessive. St. Germain is a man who knows his mind. He knows a great deal about alchemy, and that alchemy, at the end of his days, will be his greatest work. That was of course, all before he met you. You opened up a whole side of him that he didn't know existed. Before you, his conquest was kings and courts; his acquaintances were mages and scholars! But now, in his effort to keep you from himself, you have become his conquest; his acquaintances are vampires and demons, all practitioners of dark magic. To him, it’s of little matter, so long as he can secure you, his one true love. To him, it’s the most important to have someone to share all his knowledge with, all that he’s achieved. To bask in the victory alone does not hold the same merit. He needs you at his side, he needs you to be invested in the great work. Without you, without your love, he fears he cannot achieve it. As such, he will do whatever it takes to get you by his side. And I do mean- whatever- it takes. 

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[dear-tortured-adam]

" 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐲 𝐦𝐞 "

— "your defiance only adds to your allure" ft. lucifer x gn!mc | somewhat suggestive, repost! | i actually heavily don't really like this piece until now, but, I am not putting this one to waste so... yeahh ; wc: around 1.3k!

Your pride was taunting; he hated it.

Lucifer felt himself earn another wrinkle watching you mingle once more with Mammon’s antics. Sat in the dim lit candlelight of his study, his hand whisking the dram of blood-red liquid sitting idly at the bottom of the glass.

He could've just asked for a more subservient exchange student had he known this was how you’d care for him and his brothers. Frankly, he’d swore to banish you off in front of everyone before Diavolo even welcomed you in the Devildom. You were an annoyance: a red herring added to his workload.

His fur trimmed coat had hung to the wooden armrest of the lush velvet seat. With a sigh, he took a sip.

For your schemes were admirable to the point that they were terrifying.

Lucifer spat out his drink, slamming the glass atop his desk while he wiped the residue off his lips. The distinct 'clang' echoed through the room, slicing through the heavy silence that had settled like a thick fog.

Breaking his chain of thought was whatever random concoction replaced his most expensive set: sour with a bitter aftertaste that hadn't left his tongue.

“That human…” was all he could muster, swiftly taking and clutching his fist around the glass. 

The liquid inside appeared normal, catching the light with the same glistening shimmer as always. But as he lifted the it up to his nose, he recoiled. What should have been a fruity aroma was reeking off a rancid odor of a burnt mix of spices, diluted in burgundy and million's grimm worth of demonus.

It was not amusing in the slightest.

He stood there, cursing himself for being foolish enough to fall for a stupid prank. The sound of slow, deliberate clapping filled the room, each clap a taunt. A provocation. His bloodshot eyes snapped to the source, his rage intensifying at the sight.

There, sitting on his velvet chair with the stance of an unamused audience member, sat you. A subtle grin spread across your face, fully taking in the satisfaction of yet another prank. You remind yourself to tally this off to show the others — your ideas were simply astonishing, after all.

“You should’ve smelled it before drinking it,” you spoke nonchalantly. Popping a cherry grape into your mouth.

Lucifer could only look in your eyes as  your expressions got more smug. "Do you find this entertaining?" he hissed, cursing himself.

"Favoritism is not a good look, hm?"

The avatar lowers his taking, stepping closer towards you. "And you hate my preferences?"

"I've hated you," you shrugged, eating another grape. "Past tense."

You really were annoying; worse that your words never made an ounce of sense. He supposed it's with how his own pride was wounded in the process, as he watches you lack even a hint of remorse for your actions.

"You're despicable."

With a hum, you bat your eyes at him. "Do tell."

Truly, 'despised' isn't a proper word to describe this situation. Whatever happened during the discourse instead shifted into a more compromising position.

You looked back at him, mockingly expressing your disdain for his discipline turned sultry remarks. Even if he pretends not to be so, it is certain how he plays favourites with his human. 

If anyone were to make this plan, they would've never lived to tell the tale.

You smirked, sarcastically saying, “You, sir, will not taunt me any longer!”

No one could deny the taunting tinge of royal blue that swirled within your irises. It's adorable how you took pride in your actions even if you were trapped between him and the velvet chair, though you couldn't deny that it wasn't from a stroke of ego.

Your words were stubborn, but the face you focused solely on him with a half-lidded gaze as you took note of his features. Dark hair framing a sculpted face and deep, red eyes that beckon you into giving in to his sin.

As Lucifer caught sight of your longing gaze with an enchanting expression of love, a rush of warmth coursed through his veins.

Flustered.

He couldn't help but curl up a smile, mirroring the affection that danced within his heart. The depth of the human’s gaze had enraptured his attention, a meek challenge if it came from anyone else. He couldn’t resist the small yet tender laugh, whispering his voice softly for his darling to hear. He rarely ever does that, only saving it for more special moments. 

"For someone with a lack of discipline…" He trailed off just a bit as he smirked. "You… your being makes me feel like the luckiest man alive."

“I thought you liked being the one in control?”

He finds your comment amusing, trailing his finger along your jaw. His gloved hand feels as soft as leather can get. Lucifer’s red eyes locked into yours, he stood at an intimidating height. A hand resting on an armchair, leaning closer towards his precious human. 

"Ah, my dear," he spoke, his hand lowering from your face, taking the grape from your hand and eating it.

How sweet — as sweet as what any fermented liquor aspires to be. After that, he tries to mask his ever growing admiration, but his words couldn't suffice for the ever growing blush that adorned his cheeks.

"Don't be such a fool.” Lucifer’s words had an edge to them. As the authoritative man he is, the way he spoke in an assertively gentle tone felt softer. This was no longer an act of hatred nor, authority, slowly shifting to an act of newfound adoration for this human.

You looked at him with a puzzled expression, only able to tilt your head as he barricaded all forms of movement. The human was stuck in his grasp, at his very mercy. Though while your gaze held a lovestruck pool of hearts, it stayed strong. Determined.

Not once faltering your authority. Lucifer finds it endearing how such a little human could greatly embody his sin.

“Though I must say,” the fallen angel leaned closer as he had you trapped between him and his velvet chair. You looked so enticing, feeling small under his intimidating stature.

To him, you were simply enchanting. Your recklessness was a nag to his schedule but your presence wasn't unwanted.

Never unwanted. 

For in his eyes, blue suits you best. He admires how his sin started to waiver as your gaze gets flooded with stars. Lucifer only wishes to savor the moment, softly kissing the corner of your lips.

"Your defiance only adds to your allure.”

For all pathetic moments, you showed him more than typical kindness. You've felt his gentle caresses like soft butterfly kisses, a finger gently running across your jaw. The kiss felt feverish, swirling his tongue in the cage of your mouth.

His other hand settled on your waist as he leaned towards you — inching his body closer, knee deep between your legs. Lucifer couldn't help but deepen the kiss. It was ecstatic. He’s had many experiences with kisses in the past yet none can ever compare to the soft feeling of your lips against his.

Lucifer lets go of the kiss with a small pant. He never thought a mere human would be the one pulling his heart strings. Granted, you were his and his only; but ever the lovestruck demon, he was willing to flip the script.

To bow under servitude for you. That smile is something no amount of control can ever muster.

Your pride felt electrifying — he loved it.

check out my masterlist! | divider by toadtoru [<3]

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Back To Black ||

Pairing: Dark!Winter Soldier James Bucky Barnes | Morally Gray Princess!You. 

Description: When the Winter soldier experiments go wrong on your fiance Crown Prince James Barnes and he ends up crippled and unstable, you call the engagement off and your family proposes that the alliance can still be on if his family pairs you up with his twin brother Nick instead. But then James breaks out of the lab one night and comes straight for you, razing through everyone who stands in his way, hurt and unforgiving.

Disclaimer: I do not own James Bucky Barnes, Nick Fowler or any of the MCU characters mentioned (sadly). This story contains dark and mature content. Minors do not interact.  

Warnings: Dubcon, morally gray!reader, opportunistic reader, smut with plot, dark!Bucky, angst, winter soldier, exhibitionism, choking, hair pulling, slapping, humiliation, degradation, dumbification, manhandling, unprotected p-in-v, biting, missionary and doggy style, breeding kink, creampie, fear kink, power imbalance, Bucky's metal arm (?), pet names (rosey, baby), Daddy kink, sir kink.

Note: I think this sounds a bit unserious and somewhat goofy aah but this was exactly my idea and I don't think I could have done it any different. Please let me know what you think <3 

. 

You rolled your eyes with a scoff at something your now fiance and ex brother-in-law to be, Crown Prince Nick Barnes, said. The night was cool and you had ordered for the lights of the garden that your balcony faced to be turned down. Your silk nightgown that was dark blue in color -Nick's royal color- hung from your shoulders in the most comforting way as the skirt bit of the article swayed with the gentle breeze. You heard Nick's chuckle on the other end of the video call and before you retorted with something edgy because that was just the kind of Princess that you were, you shifted against the railing to make yourself more comfortable while still holding the phone in such a way that he could see you.

His demanding nature was not one you particularly fancied but you supposed that was the kind of liberty that came with being an actual heir. Though you couldn't help but be reminded of how although his brother -the older twin- was a much better crown prince than Nick could ever be and yet he had never made you feel inferior in status by imposing his will on you.  

It was impossible for you not to muse on the possibility that if your older sister, The actual Crown Princess of your kingdom, had been chosen by his brother instead of you, Nick would still treat her the same way and if she would put up with having to be subservient. 

"All things considered, Your Royal Highness, we are still not having a dozen children" the title never failed to sting your tongue due to how you had never had to use it for your original fiance. 

But Nick was just one of those people. 

His snort made you want to roll your eyes but you knew better than to disrespect him as the two of you shared a rather formal relationship that was quite terse around the edges. Perhaps, his brother had spoiled you too much. "I always find it amusing that you think you have a choice in–" you were busy watching the stars because you could not bear to look at him when he behaved like this. But then he abruptly changed the topic and you didn't care to express concern by glancing at the screen, "I thought you said you excused your ladies, little one" he did not appreciate being lied to; something he shared with his identical brother.  

"I did, Your Excellency" when he sighed in disapproval, you had to avert your eyes from the sky to look down at him on the screen with an air of annoyance about you. "I really–" 

"Then who is that behind you?" Nick had also been busy reading away on a tablet as he traveled somewhere -probably back to the Palace- in a vehicle but now he narrowed in on his screen. 

Your eyebrows remained flat and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "Ha ha, Your Highness, very funny" he had a thing for making silly jokes when he was in an agreeable mood, or at least moving towards one. 

"Y/n, I am serious" there was an urgency in his voice as he leaned closer to get a better look. "Turn around right now and tell me who is–" 

"You even wear his color now, huh rosey?" Your body took a good few moments to register the voice behind you and you nearly failed to recognize it at first. Though when your brain finally managed to make the association, your heart dropped into your stomach and your blood ran ice cold. 

You spun around on your heels so hard they ached, coming face to face with James Barnes; the original Crown Prince and your real fiance. The man who had chosen you over your sister; giving preference to you for once, the brave warrior who had surrendered his body to his country; so they could make the best protector possible out of him, the honorable fool who only wanted to do good; a hero too noble for this wretched world.

Your phone that now blared with Nick's alarmed yells slipped through your numbing fingers but James caught it before it could break against the ground. "What the hell are you doing here?" You harshly whispered as if in a defensive autopilot, overwhelmed by how he had grown three times his size. Your eyes unintentionally traveled to where his arm had gotten mutilated on an expedition and you found a metal one glinting up at you in its stead. Maybe your reaction could be considered foolish in hindsight, but the knowledge that you were utterly at this unstable man's mercy and had nothing to defend yourself with against his monstrous stature terrified you. That in turn caused you to act in the only way you thought was appropriate as you desperately hoped for your facade to affect him in a helpful way. 

"Did all those years mean nothing to you, rosey?" His face was covered in stubble and his dark hair was long as it obscured most of his features, deep voice animalistic as his black leather clad form seemed to expand and contract with each heavy breath. Your throat tightened in on itself and your breath hitched. What the hell had they really done to him? 

"You shouldn't be here, James" you looked around for your guards– anyone but found the area to be eerily silent. How had you not noticed this ominous shift in your environment before? "That is against the rules as you're endangering the future Queen and many other people" he was all about rules and that was what you had disliked most about him. "Go back" your heart was on the verge of exploding but you pushed on with as much a semblance of composed firmness as you could muster. 

Nick's threats and curses melted into the background as James coldly snorted before snatching you by your hair, fingers snaking through a tangle of the strands, the action causing you to wince. It was only when you tried to fight him back and the bustle caused the two of you to inch closer to the lighting of your chambers did his face really come into your view. Your eyes widened in horror as your hand went to clamp over the hold he had on you defensively.

His pale face was covered in blood splatters and his glossy teal eyes seemed to shake, their blown pupils crazed. 

"So it was always about the crown then, huh, rosey?" You would never have expected him to sound as hurt and betrayed in this maddened state as he did.

"You know it was" you lied through your teeth to try and get his stance to falter like it always did when you counterattacked to his affectionate advances with hostility; the only thing you had known all your life. "Nothing matters more than the crown" the world functioned on power. So you had always used and abused that you had over him; over his heart. 

"I see" except, it didn't seem to budge him much today. Your eyes desperately scanned your dark surroundings again, this time for a weapon albeit still in vain. "In that case, you should be with me, then" your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you whimpered at how his fingers tightened around your neck. 

"James!" And then you were getting dragged back into your chambers. 

Once he had approached your bed, he placed your phone on the bedside table so a fuming Nick could clearly see whatever was about to unfold. 

Your flailing form was yanked back in frame and then held tightly in place by the clasping of his metal hand over the deep neckline of your nightgown. "Because I am all fixed up," your eyes turned to look at him in horror as he chuckled dryly, "and back to take all that's mine" you screamed and hot tears finally rushed down your flushed cheeks when your compressed breasts sprang free in the air upon his tearing a thick valley between the front piece of your gown. James only snickered into the camera while his brother screamed at him to not dare damage what was his amongst other profanities. 

But wasn't James simply repossessing what had always belonged to him in the first place? 

He had finally corrected himself in the way the world deserved. 

Now he would only live for himself like everyone else was. 

He was done getting played for a fool by all. 

"Please!" Your words fell on deaf ears as the man proceeded to further rip his brother's color off your body furiously until nothing remained in his hold except for your nudity, strong jaw nearly ticking broken due to how it was clenched as he did so. 

"Tell me, dear, did you also let him have you?" You were nearly petrified at this point both by shame and fear as he manhandled you onto the bed before crawling over you like a predator and trapping your limbs under his. "And if you dare lie to me then so God help me" his metal hand roughly fondled your breasts as his other hand tightly restrained your limp yet determined wrists above your head. 

"S- Stop!" Your back arched and you turned your face away in disgust when he started sniffing you all over like a hungry hound. 

"Hm, what about this little pussy of mine down here" a chill ran down your spine at how the crevices of his metal hand felt against your nether lips when he stroked them. "Has she forgotten her Daddy, hm?" He was the stark opposite of the man you had been engaged to and that in addition to how you had last seen him slashing at the lab assistants while speaking a language you did not understand as well as how semi-liquid crimson particles covered his face caused for a wave of pure terror to rush over you. But it was nothing compared to the chilling fact that his body heat and touch -regardless of its fashion- had awakened that one familiar feeling only he could evoke in you.

Nick went silent at James' words and you felt blood rush to your tear stained cheeks. 

Contrary to popular belief, you were not the chaste future Queen saving herself for her wedding night and King like the royal protocol demanded. 

But in your defense, the then future King, James, himself was the one who had defiled you because you were already his. And you had let him for you could act all high and mighty as you desired in front of him as well as others due to how comfortably open he had always been about his feelings for you hence presenting a very vulnerable perhaps even a subservient part of himself to you on a silver platter, but also because the man knew how to fuck.

You were addicted to how he felt against you and though you had never brought your suspicion to your lips, you had wondered for the entirety of the time your betrothal had changed to Nick whether the younger twin would ever be able to come even close to his brother. 

"Would you look at that?" His coo sounded out of place and ominous due to how the pretend softness stood out from the menace of his tone. "It doesn't seem like she has," your fingers instinctively clawed the air to try and take a hold of his hand to deal with the feeling of his bionic digits invading their way between your petals. "She still weeps and blinks up dumbly at me like a stupid slut all the same" horror filled you as you became hyper aware of Nick's eyes on you, and yet your skin began to buzz at the filthy words that still scratched you in that one way regardless of everything. "Rosey…?" It was chilling how he playfully raised an eyebrow like he wasn't covered in blood and flesh of the people that he had torn apart on his way to you, instead giving you a lazy grin as he spread your privates apart with the back of his hand. "Be honest for once and say, you didn't let him touch you, did you?" Your loins sparked to life when the tip of his finger ghosted over your entrance. "I mean, I know how demanding a whore you really are, common ways can't satisfy you and you don't waste your time on lost causes" James bent down to inch his grin closer to peer down at you and you had to turn your eyes away with a clasping shut of your lids. You had been caught. "The crown matters more than anything, huh?" Your eyes further clenched at his taunt and a shiver reverberated through you when his hot tongue darted out to swipe across the tear stains on your cheeks. 

He had promised you during your courting period that he would never allow a single tear to fall from your eyes. It seemed so that even in this state, he was determined to keep it. This way or that.

"I- I belong to someone else now." Having always been treated inferior to your sister, you refused to let go of your only chance at power. So jutting your chin out determinedly you refused to look at him and falter in your stead, for you knew it would make you cave as his face was still that of your protector and pursuer.

Because even if a woman had not the slightest preference for her admirer, the mere knowledge that she was fancied earned him a place in her heart still. 

"No, you don't" his words were stern and determined. "You were mine and you are mine" his lips trailed their way down to your neck to mark you his while one of his metal fingers penetrated your intimate band of muscles, causing you to bite back a moan as your pussy clenched defensively; hence intensifying the pleasure. "It's not your fault, really. Your little girl brain is too small to remember the difference between me and him for too long since we are identical, huh baby?" You hated how your traitorous hips betrayed you and began to move in sync with his finger. "But you don't have to worry your pretty little head about that, my sweet rosey…" His lips ghosted over your ear, hot breath fanning your alarmed skin. "I'll just claim you again to remind you" his teeth were sharp and unforgiving against your skin that had faded out the marks of his passion. "And I'll put my heir into that little womb of yours so whenever your tiny mind tries to get too silly again, my child will remind you who you belong to" he refused to acknowledge your protests at that and plopped his fingers out of you just long enough to undo his pants. "Besides," his hard cock easily found its way to your entrance, as always, "isn't procreation one of the duties of the King and the Queen?" 

It was then you realized that his transformation had been physical in every sense. 

Your eyes widened as your body jolted upwards in shock, lazed out hips now sparking up to life to almost try and get away from the cruel impaler that threatened to intrude it in a manner so devastating that the band feared a ripping of the lining. 

James snorted when your pussy refused to accept him and clenched in on itself defensively to shut him out, your petals nearly trembling in fear. "Aw, baby. How cute, you did stay faithful to me after all, huh" shaking his head when you only sobbed in response, he grunted as his huge shoulders moved to attempt an invasion yet again only to be denied. "Tsk, tsk, never learns her lesson, does she?" 

"Plea–" your words were cut off by a harsh smack resounding against your pussy lips and you jerked up and into his chest. 

"Bad pussy" he seemed to be immersed in a world of his own amusement and lust, ears deaf to your pleas while his dark eyes drank up every last drop you had to offer. "Always playing around with her Daddy" the force of his metal hand was cruel against your tender flesh when three short paced slaps came down on it in quick succession. "Thinking she has a choice, tsk" the next hit was hard and heavy. "It seems she needs to be reminded who calls the shots around here" two concluding slaps later, you were being braced for his cock again and surprisingly enough, your tense little pussy was much more compliant with receiving him this time. 

That, and the embarrassing amount of slick that had seeped through your petals as a product of the brief disciplining session. 

"You feel that, baby?" His eyes finally looked up into yours as he aligned himself along your entrance. "She's all fixed up for her Daddy now" and then he pushed in. 

"Oh!" Your back arched before you could respond since he bottomed out rudely at once, biting down on a sensitive patch of your neck the same time as when he intruded your insides. 

The thing was, it wasn't that James wasn't an experimental lover, no. The two of you had done things that you felt mortified to even think about for too long. But it had always been with proper care and vigilance because the then crown prince was very soft on you as he referred to you as his heart. So you treated him like a pet dog and trampled all over his feelings and the liberty you had found in his treatment of you; something you had never been allowed before. You were used to pulling at his strings like a puppeteer.

But now, the way he pulled and twisted you in whatever fashion that he desired… 

You never expected the rush of hot need that waved its way over you and the thick arousal that gushed out of your womb to slick his cock to be the result of his manhandling you like you were no more than a doll for him to play with. 

And then his touch that you had been deprived of for months was further blocking your intellectual faculties amongst other things. 

James' eyes fluttered close as his metal hand reached for your throat to squeeze out the remnants of your refusals. A grunt left him as he let himself reminisce as well as get overwhelmed by the velvet texture of your splotched walls. He brought his face closer to yours and groaned before pressing it into one of your cheeks to press hard, sloppy kisses all over it as his hips moved but only to press harder up your womb. 

It was James' custom invented way of getting you completely stretched out for his cock. 

… That had grown thrice its size because of his serum procedures. 

And the man had already been way bigger than the average. 

"J- Jame-s!" You gasped out, struggling to breathe. His stiff tip felt like it was beginning to penetrate something else. "P- Plea-se!"

"What do you want, huh baby?" Your features scrunched together in discomfort as you flexed your fingers again. They needed to be freed so they could hold onto something to cope with the overwhelming penetration.  

"Move…" A smirk pulled his lips apart and he opened his dark teal eyes to peer down at you, silently grunting as he pushed deeper at that. "P- Pl-ease–" your tears were starting to become hot and you could feel your nerves bulging against your forehead from the lack of oxygen. 

"Will you behave if I do?" Your toes curled as you hissed, the knee that you wanted to bring up as a way to deal with the pain trapped under his heavy thigh.

You timidly nodded because there was not much else left for you to do. It hurt, and you wanted him to move to ease the pain almost as much as you needed him to fuck you. 

James clicked his tongue in disapproval and bit down on one of your nipples in a punishing manner, making you jolt upwards in pain. "Use your words, honey." A surge of pure pleasure overwhelmed you and you moaned loudly with satisfied nods, letting him know that you were in the process of complying. 

Like you always did when he was buried balls deep in your cunt.

"So you were fucking him when he was courting you, weren't you?!" Nick was furious on the other line, feeling like a lied to fool as you had denied it when he had asked you about it. "I fucking knew it you stupid slut!" The words caused you to clench harder around James' girth as you bit your bottom lip. "I am–" he went to cut the call but a gun entered the frame to press into his temple as his car seemed to come to a halt. You heard a faint 'watch' being told to your fiance.

But for some twisted reason, the way in which Nick's livid eyes now watched you with a quiet rage caused the desire in your hips to only bubble hotter. He didn't have a choice for once and you could go against him all you pleased "I w- will behave… p-lease!" Your eyes had stuck on your fiance so James patted your cheek to redirect your attention to him. 

"Eyes on me" the demand was followed by his letting go of your wrists to snake his arms under your waist to hoist you up and in a more convenient position for his cock. You moaned as your fingers found his long hair to hold on to. 

"Y- Yes… sir" his leather jacket was coated in blood and human and you did not want yours to add to the mix. So you raked your mind and you raked it hard. "T- Thank you, sir" you rather prided yourself on your opportunistic wit. 

James chuckled darkly as he began to reel his hips back, your cavern making a loud decompression sound as a result. You found yourself sighing in relief when his hard skin unglued from yours because for a second it had begun to feel like he was stuck in your channel.

"So fucking clever even with that little brain, aren't we, baby?" Of course you could never truly fool him regardless of how good you were. 

"BUCKY! OH!" A vile whine loudly left you when he kissed your chin only to sink down his teeth into it next as his hips snapped against yours to fuck you upwards. He didn't halt this time and pulled out again to back thrust in, his movements slow but visibly desperate to speed up. "FUCK!" 

"Ah, there is that girl I raised on this cock and its milk" your chin stung when he finally let go to close his mouth on one of your cheeks now, causing you to shiver from how overwhelmed you felt by the pain in your face and the pleasure that bloomed in your pussy that was inching closer and closer to a proper pounding as result. 

"Please fuck your child in me!" It had been far too long. "Please! I need it so bad! Please fuck me full of your children so I can always remember who I belong to!" You liked how Nick watched– had to watch. It almost felt like revenge; a slap you had wanted to hit him stupid with for the longest time for making you feel so low when his brother, who was twice the man he could ever hope to be and your real suitor, never had. James' cock felt just right as he fucked you so good that you began to see neon stars. You didn't care anymore. Or at least, not in the moment. It felt as though your life depended on this release. 

Perhaps… it did.

Besides, the silence in your surroundings and gun next to Nick meant James had it covered in some way. Not that it was much of a surprise. His Kingdom had the greatest army to date and those soldiers were loyal and compliant only to him. 

"You know what's the best part about this, rosey?" Your mouth was agape as you panted and moaned through it alike, tugging at his silky strands as his ballsack clapped against the beginning of your ass before sliding into your cunt each time, the primal smell of slick, sweat and sex floating in the air around you.

"What is it, my King?" You were shameless with it, as you had always been. "Please tell me" the fake way in which you unclasped your fingers from his hair to scratch one of his cheeks with your nails made him clench his jaw as he squeezed one of your tits, pistoning his cock in and out of you even faster. 

"I know you don't mean any of this" you froze momentarily and his crooked smirk morphed into a grin. "But you will before the year's end" you went to speak but his metal hand found your clit just in time and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, nails digging into the stubble of his cheek. "I know you will" him promising you that you'd return his feelings one day wasn't anything new. He had always told you that. However, normally your response would be a roll of your eyes or simply a change of topic. But today, something dangerously final lingered in them and you had no clue why but you found yourself answering; 

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! I will, sir!" One of his thick nerves twitched against a particularly sensitive spot in your walls the same time his tip found your special bundle of nerves and brutally collided into them, tearing out incoherent screams from deep within you. "Oh- I am– I am–"

"Don't cum" his hand disappeared from your clit and your eyes that you had subconsciously closed flung open as you begrudgingly tugged at his hair with a needy whine. "You don't deserve it" your body violently jiggled up and down in his arms as you vehemently shook your head. 

"NO! PLEASE!" If there was one thing he didn't appreciate, it was you raising your voice at him. But you couldn't help it, your build up was nearing its edge and the fear that it would topple over all wrong after such a long time scared you. Because once an orgasm was ruined, there was no coming back from it. James had taught you that one night after a ball when you had danced with someone a little too frankly. 

"No?" He was panting himself as he hugged your waist closer to his, the feeling of his cock's imprint pressing against both of your stomachs only making him slam you down harder and harder. "So you deserve it?" 

You quickly shook your head as your boobs flew about, pussy trying to close on itself out of sensitivity when his metal fist closed around your throat again. "N- No! No! I don't, sir!" Your voice altered in a humiliating manner when he squeezed and your dry throat pressed in on itself, making you cough. 

"That's right" his hand parted from your neck long enough to slap you. "Think you can just say your pathetic little pretty please and I'll forgive you for forgetting my existence the moment I wasn't good enough for you?" You sobbed out of frustration, willing your hips into squeezing themselves closer together so you could hold on from falling over. 

"No!" He slapped you again, the force causing your head to turn sideways this time around. "No, sir!" Desperately reaching for the artificial hand you pressed humiliating kisses all over it. "But it's been so long! Please, my King!" Your back arched from the strength it was taking you to keep yourself from cumming. "I need you so bad! I need it so bad!" In your confusion and oversensitivity you dropped your head against his, your knees trembling. "Only you can make me cum! I tried for months! So many times in so many different ways!" The tears of embarrassment were hotter than those of need that you had been weeping all this time. His movements faltered a little at your confession. "But nothing worked! Only you do! So please! Please let me cum! I don't know what I will do if you don't! Please let me cum and give me your babies!" 

"Only I work, huh?" His voice was eerily quiet, a new kind of dark exploding in the air about him. You vigorously nodded, genuine for once in your life. 

James' chuckle was the only thing your hazy mind registered before you were moved, twisted, turned and bent faster than you could keep up with. 

The next time your consciousness caught up with the present you were facing your phone, on your knees like an animal as your build up slowly subsided. Though your vacant pussy was plunged full soon after, your legs getting pulled apart before being hoisted up in the air by James' hand, your elbows the sole support of the upper half of your body now. 

"Tell him how badly you want to be stuffed full of my children and I'll let you have it" blood rushed to your face to bubble under the skin when your eyes locked with those of the stoic male at the same time but before you could hesitate, James cock began to move inside you although torturously slow. "You might want to hurry up, rosey. I don't have all night" the spank that his words accompanied sparked you into motion like someone pressed a button on you. 

"Please, Nick!" The thrusts sped up and your claws dug into the mattress. "I want James' children so bad!" There wasn't much emotion on the male you faced but the bright red of his ears and neck even in the dim lighting of the car indicated that he was both furious and humiliated. Perhaps even more so than you. "Please! Please ask him to stuff me full of his babies!" The more slaps rained down on your ass as your pussy expanded to welcome James balls deep inside you with each brutal thrust, the more your mouth ran on the most vile autopilot. "All I want in my life is to be fucked swollen and heavy with his children with my body wrapped up in his color while I nurse the other ones!" James cursed before his hand reached for your front to dip between your legs and you moaned before your arms gave out and you fell face first. 

"You heard her, now tell him that" as your cheek rubbed against the mattress everytime you were pounded into it, you heard a man speak to Nick. The Prince tried to protest but something– probably the gun pressing against his head caused him to stop before he gritted out a few seconds after; 

"... Fuck your children into her and wrap her swollen body in your colour, James" the man reminded him that it was King James, for whatever reason and Nick sighed before correcting himself. "Please, King James" you couldn't help the whimper that forced itself out of you at his menacing tone.

Your back arched when the frantic circular motions of his fingers became too much for your cunt to handle and you clenched around his girth again, shuddering as you prepared yourself to get in trouble for the orgasm you were about to have. 

But then your dependable luck did its thing. "Cum," the vibration of the spank buzzed through your whole body, "cum for me" as your tense muscles relaxed and you closed your eyes to let go, you felt James' hot seed explode within you, the force of his thrusts causing the cum to go flying all about. 

Your eyes fluttered shut and the only two things you registered for the next few minutes were shaking profusely while limb paralyzing pleasure exploded through you and the rapid rubbing of your cheek against the soft bed covers which was result of the brutal pounding you were receiving from behind.

When he was done with you, he slowly untucked himself from you and left you trembling on the mattress while he fixed himself up. "Natasha!" Your ears perked up at the name of his second in command and you trembled at his volume. The heavy doors to your chambers opened and closed after the woman in question. 

The red head clicked her tongue as she approached the bed, the heels of her boots faintly clicking against the floor as she walked. "Could've done better…" You jumped from how close she sounded when she spoke. "Because she's still awake" the hair on the top of your head was fisted into his metal arm to pull you up and you had to hurriedly scramble to cover your blushing jizz covered ass. 

"For what's going to happen next" you whimpered at his words as you were moved onto your trembling knees by the humiliating hold that the man had on your hair and your whole body shook under the stern woman's scrutinizing glare. Peeking up at the red head through your lashes, you went to cover yourself up but James' scold for you to stay put had you planting your wrists in your lap within the next second. "Hands down" you hurriedly lowered your head too to avoid further increasing his ire. 

Some shuffling sounded from above you before James approached you again. "Arms up, baby" the endearment must mean that you would be spared… right? You quickly complied with the utmost obedience and James placed a comfortable black gown on you before stepping back to reach for something else. 

You almost gasped when you recognized the brilliant glimmer from your peripheral vision.

His mother, The Queen's, crown.

"There you go" you felt him place it on your head and your heart dropped. "Everything you always wanted placed on that silly little airhead of yours, baby" an embarrassing gasp escaped you when he suddenly pulled you closer by your throat. "Are you happy now, my sweet rose?" Your eyes welled up with confusion and how he suddenly slapped you before pressing his lips against yours roughly. 

"He asked you a question, brat" you jumped at how Natasha spoke up suddenly, clearly fed up with you blinking up at him dumbly. 

"That's no way to speak your Queen, Nat" your heart warmed up at how he clicked his tongue at the woman disapprovingly. "Tsk." 

"Y- Yes. Yes" you nodded, still in a daze of post-orgasm sensitivity and general puzzlement at the absurd turn of events from an already shocking situation. "Yes, sir. Thank you so much." 

He was smiling now. "Good girl" before he pecked your lips and held his hand back for Natasha to hand him something else. "You can rule all of them" your face burnt when your mind registered the accessory that he wrapped around your throat next. A collar and a leash embedded with sparkling diamonds. "I just want to rule you" his metal hand rotated in the air as he wrapped the leash around his bionic digits. "Let's go" you nearly fell on your face as you were pulled off the bed before being marched straight to the heavy doors. 

Natasha opened them to reveal your entire family and staff standing mortified outside on weapon point of James' army. You whimpered and lowered your head in embarrassment until your chin touched the area between your collar bones, fingers tightening around your gown as you suddenly became hyper aware of the faint dig of the edges of the collar against your pampered skin. 

"The King has called the alliance off" Steve, your owner's right hand, announced in his firm and curt voice. "The only reason why he has spared you, I must add just this once, is because you are related to the Queen. Any efforts of contact from here on out will lead to unsavory consequences akin to those his own family has met" a chill raised in your spine as your blood dropped in temperature. Holy fucking shit. They really had made a beast out of this once too noble to be true man. "Lastly, not that any of you really care but if the Queen ever wishes to visit, she will be allowed to do so after she has provided His Highness with an heir, accompanied by some of the best that the army can provide." 

The walk out to the numerous sleek black SUVs felt like one of shame despite you wearing the crown you had always fantasized about.

And perhaps that's exactly what it was.

A balancing of the scale.

For betraying the one who loved you so dearly that even in his mindless state, he had known not to hurt you.

At least, not in a way that hadn't made your silly little pussy weep for more. 

.

Tag(s) <3: @identity2212 @tilltheendofthelinepal13 @cjand10 @ihavetwoholesforareason @myfavbuckyfics

[instantbee]

I had a friend ask if Solas knew what he was doing to Lavellan when he offered to take her Valaslin away. For context my Lavellan is a Mage. She’s her clan’s First, and I think that *significantly* alters the way the scene reads

In short, absolutely not. He did not know or consider the impact this could have on her.

I think he panicked, realizing he could not bring himself to confess everything to her he reached for the first thing he could think of. Because he was staring at her face when he did it, the Vallaslin was what he landed on. Because seeing someone he loves so much covered in (what are to him) slave markings dedicated to a horrifyingly abusive master is viscerally disturbing and makes him so sad.

Solas generally has a hard time understanding or grasping how things have changed, so he underestimated what the Valaslin could mean to a Dalish elf. And especially a Dalish First. Someone who is so wholly invested in rediscovering and preserving the history and values of her people. And he takes something that is viewed as a defiant reclamation of identity, and a refusal to assimilate to a dominant culture. He takes that and turns a thousand years of that tradition and meaning on its head and says “no, this thing you thought was defiance is emblematic only of subservience” it is a soul crushing revelation. Which was absolutely not his intention at the time

She accepts having her Valaslin taken in an emotionally fraught moment before she can really fully think about it. Emotions are incredibly high, and she makes a fast possibly rash decision because she trusts the person taking it. Because she’s come to love and respect him. She maybe regrets it afterwards. Possibly would have done so regardless of if he broke up with her immediately following it.

Is she still a Dalish First if she’s Valaslin-less? It’s a marking that she earned and she’s thrown it away. In some ways she no longer belongs to and with her people because of its loss.

And then on top of that he leaves her with no explanation beyond “I have distracted you from your duty.” Duty to what? To whom? To her people? She just abandoned a marker of that duty by giving up her Valaslin. Is that what he meant? Was it a test? Did she fail? Why did he take her there and tell her that only to leave her all alone. To take her from her people and then leave her entirely alone.

She’s now stranded amongst Andrastians and Chantry soldiers. A little Dalish girl with no Valaslin. Nothing there to differentiate her from the city born elf servants that actually run Skyhold except the clothing that the Chantry’s inquisition has *deigned* to give her.

She’s alone, she’s surrounded by a religion that hates and persecutes her people, she’s been stripped of everything recognizably Dalish about her and plastered in Andrastean clothing and symbolism and held up as a herald of a religion she doesn’t belong to. Is she even *her* anymore?

Or have all the rough edges of Elfness been shaved and sanded off her and made acceptable to the chantry and the humans? She’s been stripped of identity and cast in a role that will be discarded once she is no longer useful. Then her history will be rewritten, just as the first Elven Inquisitor was (thank you Jaws of Hakkon DLC for THAT) and nothing will remain of the Dalish Elf she was

And Solas helps with that. Facilitates that crisis of identity that was already brewing. He doesn’t mean to, but when has Solas’ intentions ever stopped him from fucking up?

[jay-m3]

Soul Contract

Scenario: How will the Hazbin Hotel react to meeting a reader who has a subservient called Sebastian Michaelis

Male reader insert!

Characters: Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Niffty, and Alastor

*Warning: Cursing, suggestive language

Part 1

When you were alive, you made a deal with a demon. A demon so powerful that he can shift through realms of Human and Hell. He was your servant, your dog who followed orders that brought great satisfaction.

Until it was time to eat your soul. Unfortunately for Sebastian, it got interrupted by Angels who rebuked him back down to Hell. What they didn't account for is that the contract between you two was different, sending you down with him.

In Hell, Sebastian was furious as he quickly found out that now since you're both in the underworld, he can't eat your soul.

The contract you made with him put him in a low level of power underneath you. Meaning, you have a bigger collar around his neck.

It's hilarious really. You laugh at his face, arrogance and pride falling upon yourself. You quickly find out that Sebastian was a Overlord. 'Was' as that title went to you automatically. It's quite interesting to see the politics of the underworld but you have no use in it. You're motive now is to get into Heaven and kill those naive Angels who interrupted You're sweet death of white.

So, when you hear about a hotel that's about rehabilitating sinners, you knew this was your chance. If sinners can go up to heaven, then by all means you can get up there, kill those that wronged you, go back to the Human realm to end this suffering.

This is what got Sebastian to make that contract with you. He craved your pathetic twisted soul. Wanted to devour it whole. And you... you loved that attention.

Charlie

When the knock of the front door sounds out through the hotel, Charlie looks at it in surprise before opening it right up. Seeing who's there, a big smile breaks her face at the male standing perfectly straight behind you.

His butler outfit pressed and clean as he bows to her. "Your highness, it's a great pleasure to see you once again." Sebastian smiles at her, eyes closed as he puts his hand on his chest.

A sound of a throat clearing, Sebastian straightens up immediately.

"Pardon me. Let me introduce you to my young master, Overlord (M/n). Young master, this is the princess of Hell, Charlotte Morningstar."

Charlie finally sets her eyes at you. So this is the person that has stole the attention of the demon. She remembers her mother looking distraught when she found out about Sebastian, making a deal with a human once more. She remembers her mother waiting, for a report about the human realm from him but he hasn't returned yet.

Years go by, Charlie watches her mother hiss out his name in disdain. She never knew why but she knows that Sebastian was a big deal to her. And to herself also, seeing him a lot when she was younger.

"Hi! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, please come in. It's great to see you again. Sebastian!"

Charlie was interested in you, seeing as how Sebastian followed your orders without falt, except when he will tease you a little.

She loved how you wanted to help out the hotel (not knowing of your true attentions)

She will listen closely as you teach her about the importance of keeping a hotel alive as you have explained you had a business running up when you were human.

She would also drag you in the exercise of trust and the such, making Sebastian cover his chuckles behind his gloved hand.

Vaggie

"Vaggie! Come here please!" Vaggie lets a small smile when she hears her girlfriend call out to her. She turns the corner to be met with two unfamiliar male faces. Her smile quickly gets wiped off as her eyes narrow down at the newcomers.

"Vaggie, meet Sebastian! Remember when I told you about him. Oh, and this is (M/n). Guys, this is my girlfriend Vaggie."

Vaggie's eyes widen as the name Sebastian rings around her head. This is the guy that baby sat her girlfriend? And (M/n)? She looks at him, an unsettling feeling settling in her stomach when he gestures for them to sit down like he was the host of the hotel and ordering Sebastian to bring them tea.

She watches as Sebastian bows to him before walking off. Instantly she knew that you two have made a deal. On what is the big question.

How did you manage to make Sebastian a servant?

She doesn't let her gaurd down when you're around. Unlike Alastor who explained that he was only here helping out for the entertainment, you were vague.

Chuckling or dismissing the questions before Sebastian stands by his side with dead eyes.

But she has to admit, she was glad for your help with the hotel. Managing a lot of the paperwork and advertising it.

And there are moments where she shivers when Sebastian looks at her in disgust at the corner of her eyes before replacing it with a fake smile.

Angel

When he entered the Hotel, he didn't expect to be met with two very attractive men. He was exhausted from work but the sight of them has him perking up.

"Well, hello boys~ I see you didn't start the party without me." Angel struts to them, sitting down beside you.

You chuckle before turning your attention to the sinner. How bold of him to just sit down next to you like that.

"You must be the patron, Angel Dust." You point out, not missing the worry furrow of Vaggie.

Of course, you already know who Angel Dust is, not by watching porn but from sending out Sebastian for information. You wanted to make sure that you know who your dealing with.

"The one and only. You watch some of my stuff because I can tell you, I can make it into reality. I can take both of ya." Angel seductively leans forward, taking a glance at the butler.

"Okay~, Angel. How about we... put a pen on that. (M/n) here is offering us help on gaining more patrons in the hotel." Charlie informs, stopping Angels attempt on bedding the two.

Angel likes you both a lot as eye candy. He likes to see you blush slightly before Sebastian steps with a backhand insult.

Also, who the hell was Grell?

As much as he flirts with you both, he becomes warry of you on how you command Sebastian around.

It's not how Valentino treats him but more of you saying an impossible command to the demon who surprisingly succeeds in accomplishment. But still.

All in all, Angel doesn't go near Sebastian unless you're around. He doesn't like how Sebastian pops out of no where.

Husk

He glares at the demon butler. His presence makes his hair stand up as he gracefully enters the kitchen.

"Ah, apologies for intruding. I'm just here to make some tea." Is all the stranger says as he starts to make tea like it was his own house.

"Who the hell are ya?" Husk hisses, walking out behind the male with the butler outfit on. He gets introduced to you two. His glare turns curious as he watches Sebastian serve everyone tea.

What made him stare is how the demon steps back, standing tall, not next to you but a little bit behind you, ready to do whatever you commanded. He stares for a while before going behind the safety of the bar's counter.

"Ah, you have a good selection of poison but I do prefer wine." You comment, looking behind him at the wide variety.

"As long as I get shit faced." Husk replies with a shrug.

He doesn't like you or Sebastian one bit.

It kind of reminds him of his own deal with Alastor but the dynamic between you is more, intense.

He sees you. The real you. The arrogant, calculated, sadistic piece of shit you are when you take a seat at his bar, taking light sips of wine.

Pressing on his own deal with Alastor, a mocking tone to your voice before shifting to a cheerful laugh like it was all a joke.

Then there was Sebastian. That bastard is all up in his business. Pointing out his lack of exertion. Sometimes even pushing him off to the side when guests arrive and he serves them himself.

Niffty

"Die!" Niffty cries out, pouncing on the roach that made it's way to the main area.

"Ah, this is Niffty, I presume." She looks up to see you watching her in interest.

She stares back, eye wide as she takes you and Sebastian in.

You don't look like a bad boy. What a bummer. But still, they are men. Great looking men, she might add.

"Yes! Please call me that." She giggles out, a little bit too long as she rubs her hands together.

She gets introduced to you both, nodding along to words that went in one ear and out the other as she stares.

And stares.

Running off after a few minutes when a roach passes by.

She thinks you're both attractive, but not too much because you're not bad boys.

Both of you so proper with your charming smiles.

She likes when you ask her about these pesty roaches. She loves dearly when you pay attention. Even if you don't laugh at the funny parts, you still nod along.

Sad when she isn't allowed to enter your room to clean.

Stupid Sebastian.

And don't get her started on Sebastian. She can talk to him for hours if he lets her.

But he redirects her.

Too bad, he seems to really know how to properly destroy Jackson the stain.

Alastor

"Oh? And who might you two be?" Alastor questions as he examines the two.

Once Charlie explained who you are and why you're here, he grips his cane a little harder, smile shrinking slightly in a grimace.

Sebastian has worked for Lilith?

You're the Overlord that Rosie has gossiped over about not attending to not even one of the Overlord meetings since you got here?

This won't work.

"Hmm, it seems like your help isn't required. Thank you for dropping by though!"

Charlie waves her hands around, telling you that he was just joking. As if.

If he was joking, one would know by the soundtrack of recorded laughter. No laughing is heard right now.

"Seeing as you only have one patron, I figured you don't know what your doing." You looked at him right in the eyes while saying that.

His eye twitches at the sheer audacity.

"Young master, please refrain from pointing out his incompetence. It's quite rude for an Overlord to say to another."

His teeth grinds together at Sebastian words. His calm, light tone trying to 'disguise' the insult.

He hates you.

Hates how you steal Charlie’s attention, running the hotel, and how you speak to him. Like he's just a bug under your shoe.

But he is also warry.

Warry about your hold of the leash of Sebastian Michaelis. The one that had contact with Lilith over the past years.

He, himself wasn't even in hell yet.

How cruel, really. Another reminder of his own leash to that bitch is here in front of him.

Yet he can't help but chuckle.

Watching in fascination how Sebastian would bark if you told him too.

He can feel the rage exuding out of the butler everytime when your mocking expression turns to him and there is nothing the powerful demon can do.

If only he can make a deal for your soul to gain Sebastian's own.

[lovelybucky1]

warnings: dubcon, pregnancy, cheating, manipulation

all the people asking for justice for the reader in this post dont get it

life with coriolanus will never be fair. he is a tyrant. he will only accept absolute control and that’s what he has over the country, and over you.

you don’t get a say in what he does and that’s just how it is. he gets whatever he wants, especially when it comes to you. a good wife is supposed to serve her hard working husband, but if you’re not willing to give into him, he has other ways of persuading you.

without him, you’d be nothing. no money, no name, no house, no designer clothes. he reminds you of such every time you’re “too tired” to meet his demands.

you used to talk back to him, but you quickly learned your place. snow is always on top, and everyone else will always be beneath him. you do what he says without question.

if he wants you to bend over the kitchen counter, you will. if he wants you on your knees in his office, you will. if he wants to take you while addressing the country through a livestream, then he will. if he wants to have another kid, you’ll make one for him. if he wants to fuck another woman, you’ll turn a blind eye.

if you do catch him doing something wrong, he’ll apologize with a large bouquet of roses, jewels, sweets, and gifts. he promises it was a mistake and he swears he will never so it again. you always believe him and that’s why he continues to step out on you.

you’re his toy. his dumb trophy wife that’s only good for making babies and taking dick. maybe it’s in your nature to be subservient to a man like him, or maybe he’s managed to condition you, but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

you love any attention your husband gives you. you’re lucky if he even looks in your direction. you love him more than anything and you’ll do anything to make him happy. it’s not your fault, after all. you were so young when you met. you couldn’t see the anger in his eyes back then.

your husband is not a good man. he’s a liar, a cheater, and a murderer. unfortunately, you couldn’t see any of that when he courted you, and now you’re trapped.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

ACOTAR Masterlist

🥀 = Angst 🌼 = Fluff

🌸 = Comfort 🌹 = Smut

Request Guidelines

Azriel

~ Free Fall | Azriel x Angel!Reader 🌼

Summary: After you fell from the sky into his arms, Azriel finds you as his mate, and finally introduced you to his family.

Part 1 | Part 2

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Summary: After both you and Azriel are left, abandoned and replaced by those close to you, you find company with him in a night of drunken lust, only for old secrets to be unburied in the morning along with a mating bond.

~ Kindred Spirits | Azriel x Rhys’daughter!Reader 🌸🌹

Summary: Amidst Starfall, Azriel discovers that he has a mating bond with you, Rhysand’s daughter, and after pleading his case, he gets to spend some quality time with you at the cabin.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

~ Candles and Cuddles | Azriel x Reader 🌸🌼

Summary: You take Azriel to get a personal wax mold of your hands intertwined, and after overcoming insecurity, settle into each other’s warm embrace.

~ The Clandestine Culinarian | Azriel x Reader 🥀

Summary: Azriel requires a deadly poison, and the only place he can get acquire it is through a bakery in Hewn City, and in the process grows closer to you, the owner of the shop, and is there for you when tragedy strikes.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

~ Snow Bunny | Azriel x Reader 🌼🌹

Summary: After the bat boys enjoy their annual snowball fight, in which Azriel wins, he gets the best prize of all, a night alone with his mate.

~ Short Drabble | Azriel x Reader 🌼

Summary: Sleepy mornings with your mate.

~ Catch of the Eye | Azriel x Hippy!Reader🌼

Summary: After you moved into Velaris, your bright demeanor and clothing seemed to demand Azriel’s attention, as well as the rumors of the Princess of Autumn’s disappearance.

~ Dawn Daydreams | Azriel x Peregryn!Reader🌼🌹

Summary: While visiting Dawn Court with his High Lord and Lady for political relations, Azriel finds himself falling for you, Thesan’s sister, from a distance, only for the bond to snap in the middle of the High Lord’s meeting.

~ Home, At Last | Azriel & WitchDaughter!Reader🥀🌸

Summary: Unbeknownst to Azriel, an encounter he had with a witch nearly three centuries ago will come back to haunt him when his shadows begin speaking of you, his “daughter”, a witch in danger of being thrown out of her coven.

~ Glimmering Shadows | Azriel x Reader 🌼🌼

Summary: While visiting Spring Court on political business with Rhys, Azriel meets you, a Faerie with little glimmering sparks that help you in the same way his shadows help him, and he decides that visiting you a few more times afterwards couldn’t hurt.

Part 1 | Part 2

~ Wine-Nights And Shadow-Sneezes🌼🌼

Summary: You are an artist in Velaris, and a popular one at that, leading you to befriend Feyre. She invites you over to drink wine with her, only for you to later be left alone with Azriel as he confesses something he never thought he would.

~ A Silver Storm | HockeyPlayer!Azriel x FigureSkater!Reader🥀🌼

Summary: Shortly after moving to a new school for better opportunities in figure skating, you meet Rhys, Cassian, Azriel and Feyre. After accidentally getting you in trouble with a teacher, Rhys invites you to a party to make up for it, and at the party you and Azriel end up getting a lot closer than you would’ve imagined.

~ Insufficient | Azriel/Eris x Reader 🥀🥀

Summary: After a few months of dating, your relationship begins to crack, and the truth behind Azriel’s odd behavior comes out.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

~ To Be Known | Azriel x Reader 🥀🌸

Summary: You’ve always been afraid to confess to Azriel about your feelings for him, but after a hookup gone wrong, everything begins falling apart, and he’s there to pick up the pieces.

~ Subservient | Azriel x Orphan!Reader 🥀🌸

Summary: Rhys’ reputation in Hewn City is less than stellar, so when an orphanage becomes overwhelmed, he offers to take some in. His plan doesn’t turn out how he expected when he’s instead sent you, an employee there, sent to scope Rhys out before sending children to him. And in true High Lord fashion, he unceremoniously dumps you off on his brothers.

Cassian

~ Put Back Together | Cassian x Nurse!Reader 🥀🌸

Summary: After the recent attack on Velaris, you, a nurse, find yourself struggling with all the death surrounding you. However, Cassian is always there to put you back together.

~ Just This Once | Cassian x Witch!Reader 🥀🌸

Summary: After a witch has been discovered in Windhaven, Cassian has been sent to bring the creature back, and ‘domesticate’ her, according to Rhys. It proves a difficult task, but he soon discovers that you aren’t as ‘strong and independent’ as you seem.

~ Cassian Hc’s 🌸🌼

Summary: How Cassian would interact and care for you, his teenage daughter.

~ Loving Lies | Cassian x Reader 🌸

Summary: Only a few days after the war with Hybern ends, Cassian discovers that you, the “male” that’s been his Second in Command for nearly a decade, are a female in disguise.

~ Beach Day | Cassian x Reader🌼🌼

Summary: During a lengthy visit to Day Court with the Inner Circle, so Rhys and Feyre can discuss political matters with Helion, you and the Inner Circle find more entertaining things to do, such as have a beach day.

~ Lazy Sunday | Cassian x Reader 🌹🌼

Summary: Lazy mornings with Cassian don’t always go as planned. Today is one of those days.

Rhysand

~ Never Again | Rhysand x Reader 🥀🌸

Summary: Rhys has been too caught up in his work lately, not giving you any of his time. After forgetting the date you'd both scheduled tonight, that was the last straw, and you go out with Azriel instead, only for Rhys to plead for your forgiveness.

~ Dreamers | Rhysand & Daughter!Reader🥀🌸

Summary: After Madja is away in business for two months, he has to find a healer to replace her in her absence, which happens to be you, his bastard daughter, and unbeknownst to him, Azriel’s mate.

~ Saving Grace | Rhysand x Reader 🥀

Summary: The war between humans and Fae is about to happen, and you, desperate to save Autumn Court, your home, from the destruction to come, are going to attempt a political alliance with the current High Lord of Night Court’s son, Rhysand.

Poly!Bat Boys x Reader

~ Insatiable | Bat Boys x Reader 🌹🌹

Summary: Rhys didn’t expect you, his mate, to have so much energy when the frenzy began, leaving him worn out, and so he calls Cassian and Azriel to come assist him.

~ Meaningful Mistakes | Azriel x Cassian x Reader🌹🌼

Summary: After what you had thought to only be a simple one night stand with Cassian and Azriel, you discover that you’re pregnant, and while delivering the news, the bond between the three of you snaps.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Eris Vanserra

~ A New Dawn | Eris x Reader 🥀🌼

Summary: Feyre grows closer to you, a close friend of Lucien’s, as you visit him while she’s in Spring Court. During that time, she learns of you being given to Eris as a servant by Amarantha, but no one could’ve suspected how deep the relationship between you and the Autumn Court heir went.

~ An Exchange in Etiquette | Eris x Reader 🌼🥀

Summary: When a poorly mannered royal his age shows up at the ball, teenage Eris can’t help but take pity on her, offering a deal, that he give her a lesson in etiquette, in exchange for a lesson in defiance.

Lucien Vanserra

~ Missing You | Lucien x Reader 🌸🌹

Summary: After coming back home from a long trip to Autumn Court due to his emissary duties, Lucien is exhausted, but still more than willing for whatever touch you’ll give him.

~ Distractions | Lucien x Reader 🌹

Summary: You’re struggling to write the script for the next chapter of your novel due to overthinking and self-doubt, and Lucien knows exactly how to distract you from it.

[iiseult]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜: 𝒜𝓈 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒥𝑒𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓂

CWs →  fluff, ANGST, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism, arranged marriage, descriptions of birth (not the reader), blood and mild gore (they don’t call it the dark ages for nothin!), one-sided pining

Wordcount: 5.1k

Note: Remember like three weeks ago when I lied to you all and said I’d have this out in a few days? I had to plan out a bit of the actual plot so that’s what took me so long. But I finally did it, so eat up! Also, I really do NOT know how medieval royal weddings worked but the shallow google searches I made weren’t good enough so let’s all hope this isn’t horribly inaccurate, though I’m sure it is. Do we care, chat?

Every day leading up to the wedding was a day that you saw red. Greeting your traitorous mother in the mornings made you see red, sharing a meal with your power-hungry father made you see red, and listening to the two of them prattle on about how you ought to behave once you were queen? That turned the world absolutely crimson. Each night, you crumpled up and clutched your skirts under the dinner table with shaking fists, creasing them with deep wrinkles that would take days to iron out, but all the while you continued to hold your head high, speaking only when spoken to just as you were taught as a girl. Your strained, thin-lipped smile was only let go of in the privacy of your own bedchambers, when it was replaced with a cold expression and even chillier disposition. Somehow, drifting apart from your family day by day wasn’t as painful as you had imagined it would be. It was easy, really, because there was nothing left for anyone to talk about. After all, your mother had always taught you that if you had nothing nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all. However, your sudden “demureness and obedience”, as they put it, did not go unnoticed. 

Your parents were positively delighted with your recent change, or “improvement,” in attitude. Your lady mother congratulated you for finally agreeing to fulfill your societal role as a subservient wife and mother– an aspect of life of which you had previously been a bit resentful– and your father perpetually reminded you how beneficial this marriage would be to the rest of your bloodline. Even your younger brothers seemed excited for you, constantly coming up with new questions to pester you with regarding life as royalty. The only thing keeping you sane was the knowledge that soon you’d be living far, far away from your conniving parents, free to do whatever you wished. Whichever benefits a royal connection brought them would be nothing compared to your own guaranteed lavish lifestyle. You’d soon have your own castle, your own servants, and even your own soldiers! Oh, and the husband, too. You kept forgetting about that part. 

In some ways, the fact that he was a leper was a great relief to you. That meant you’d most likely be spared many of the wifely duties you had so been dreading; mainly, consummating the marriage. At your age, only 14 years old yet, there was nothing that interested you about the male body, giving birth, or raising children. It was not so long ago that you had helped raise your own little brothers, and the idea of going through all of that again made you feel so trapped. Not to mention the fact that giving birth was extremely dangerous. And painful. And frightening. That thought caused a memory you had been repressing for years to resurface from the depths of your mind, like a buoy in the ocean. It was the tortured screams of your mother the night your youngest brother was born. Had you not known better, you might have thought she was being ripped in two, and the labor lasted for so many endless, terrible hours, which felt more like days. You remembered the midwives rushing around, and the maids leaving your mother’s room with armful after armful of blood-soaked sheets and sloshing buckets of burgundy water. As they passed the place where you were hugging your knees in the corridor, a drop fell at your feet and sunk slowly into the stone floor, leaving nothing but a small round stain. 

Once it was time to leave your family home for the castle, you said goodbye to the view from your window, which you had become well-accustomed to. It was probably the thing you’d miss most, besides your brothers. You closed your bedroom door for the last time and meandered down the familiar, dimly-lit corridor, taking note of the particular stone which was still adorned by that tiny dot of brownish red. A shiver ran down your spine. You opted out of doing a final sweep to make sure you’d packed all of your belongings, because soon enough, you’d have better things to replace them with, anyway. The knights they’d sent for you had loaded your bags onto their horses about an hour ago and set off for your new home. Now, the only thing left to transport was you. 

Another knight was waiting for you outside with a large white horse. He watched as you hugged your mother and father stiffly, pretending not to notice your mother’s tears as she kissed you on the forehead like she used to when you were younger. Before you were a lady. Before you were the queen of Jerusalem. Your father said nothing, but his somber expression and the distant look in his eyes and the loose grip he had on your hand as he kissed the top of it told you everything you needed to know. The knight helped you mount the horse and get comfortable sitting behind him, and you waved goodbye to your family as you were carried away, truly intending it to be for everything you had ever known. But whatever sadness you might have been feeling was overpowered by sheer determination. Now, at 14 years old, your life was finally beginning.  

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The knight who sat in front of you on the horse did not turn out to be a very good conversationalist. The only responses you could draw out of him were along the lines of “Yes, Your Majesty,” or “No, Your Majesty.” You were hoping for someone a bit more…engaging, perhaps, as you were feeling an odd mixture of excitement and anxiety that grew with each and every gallop towards Jerusalem. And anxiety always made you talkative. 

“Is it fun at all, being a knight?” You shouted over the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, breaking the long silence that you had been enduring since the beginning of the journey. 

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?”

“You know, protecting the kingdom and such. Isn’t it exciting? I find the idea to be absolutely thrilling! Don’t you think so?” 

He paused for a moment, and then replied flatly, “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

You pursed your lips, waiting in silence for a few moments, expecting him to elaborate, but no such luck. Was it really so hard to share a gory battle tale or two to pass the time? You knew knights were known for having excellent integrity and virtuousness, meaning they would never say something that could potentially scare a lady, but couldn’t he humor you just this once, while you were alone? But maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it, you thought, imagining how burdensome it must be to know the feeling of cutting someone’s head off. So, you graciously changed the subject and mentally patted yourself on the back for being so kind and just. It simply wouldn’t do, as future queen of Jerusalem, to force sensitive information out of this poor, traumatized knight for your own fleeting amusement. Maybe a few months earlier and it would have been acceptable, but alas. You sighed.

“This noble steed of yours is breathtaking. Does he have a name?” you questioned, admiring the animal’s snow-white pelt, entranced by the way its powerful muscles rippled beneath it.

“I do not know, Majesty. This horse belongs to the king. It is the only one His Majesty trusts, so he instructed me to collect you using it.” Another memory flashed through your mind, this time of your first meeting with your future husband. He had been riding this very horse that day, its stunning color matching that of his robes. Your heart fluttered at the idea that he’d cared so deeply for your safety, although it shouldn’t have surprised you. It was not as if he had parents forcing him into this marriage. He was accepting you in holy matrimony for some other reason, a reason entirely of his own. His own choice. A blush crept up the back of your neck, and you were suddenly thankful for the fact that the knight was facing away from you. You cleared your throat nervously. 

“Well, what’s it like, working for the king? Is he nice?” 

You felt the knight’s huge sigh before you heard it, your arms that were wrapped around his midsection rising and falling in tandem with the breath. 

“Yes, Your Majesty, the king is very…nice.”

“Is that all?” you muttered, rolling your eyes at his reservedness. You got the hint. You understood he didn’t want to talk, that much he had made very apparent, but that was just too damn bad. As queen of Jerusalem, you wanted to get to know your subjects, and who better to start with than the one sharing a horse with you? 

“Will I have my own chambers, or shall I share with the king?” You asked, holding back a giggle at the expression you were imagining the knight had on his face. 

“I am sure you will be provided with your own chambers, Your Majesty, but the choice of whether to use them or not will be entirely yours and your husband’s,” he replied, a hint of dry humor in his voice. You let out a loud laugh, which actually startled him a little, and then followed it up with another. 

“I wonder if he snores!” you said, between giggles. The knight smiled, shaking his head. After that, the journey to Jerusalem was easy. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The next time you laid eyes on the king was when you were getting married, standing opposite each other in an architectural marvel of a cathedral, both dressed in extravagant clothing and expensive jewelry. His silver mask had recently been polished, and it shone beautifully in the sun, but still not as beautifully as his blue eyes. They were as you remembered them, only a bit brighter. His gold-trimmed robes were as white as ever, freshly washed and perfumed for the occasion. Even the gloves on his hands looked new and clean. You admired them as the priest rambled on in front of you. If God was listening right now, you thought, he’d surely be bored to tears. There was one part of the day you had enjoyed, though, which was the preparation for the wedding. You had been doted on by countless maids all morning, lining your eyes with black powder and weaving your hair into an intricate, interlocking braid pattern. The gown was altered to fit you perfectly, and the large, bell-like sleeves fell around your arms like wings. You were finally beginning to feel like a real queen. 

The ceremony seemed to drag on forever, but you passed the time by maintaining eye contact with King Baldwin. You drowned out the rest of the world and focused only on him. When you smiled, he smiled back. You could only see the corners of his eyes crinkling, but you knew what that meant. You cocked your head to the side, trying to imagine what his smile really looked like. During that evening you spent with him, you hadn’t gotten the chance to see it. Just as soon as he had taken off the mask, he had to put it back on. The consequences of your parents seeing Baldwin’s face would have been disastrous, but thankfully, their loud footsteps and jovial voices had carried quite well down the corridor, warning you of their arrival. Regardless of how short they were, those few seconds you’d spent admiring his bare face were enough to conjure up a half-formed image of what his smile might look like. However, that image disappeared when you saw him cock his head to the side, too, just as you had. You blinked twice. 

He blinked twice, too. 

Was he copying you on purpose? 

You shifted your feet, and he mirrored you, his robes shimmering like the ocean as they fluttered around him. You bit back a giggle. He was. Flames of mischief danced in his eyes, and something else, too, ignited there when you grinned at him. 

“…that these rings shall forever remained blessed, O Merciful Lord. Amen,” said the priest, approaching the king with a book, two rings laid on top of it. Suddenly, Baldwin became very serious, plucking one of the rings between his slender, gloved fingers and holding it gently. You stared as it glistened in the sunlight, which was penetrating the stained glass windows and casting colorful shadows around the altar. He slowly stepped towards you, making your heart begin to beat faster. His head stayed bowed as he presented you with his open palm. You held your breath and lifted your left hand, gingerly brushing your fingertips against his palm, now understanding what was about to happen. He effortlessly glided the ring onto your fourth finger, where it rested beautifully. The diamond glittered like water, mesmerizingly. Baldwin wrapped his fingers around your hand, now holding it as gently as he could, and the priest was now presenting you with a ring. You followed Baldwin’s lead, pushing it onto his fourth finger, which was waiting outstretched for you patiently. You stood mere inches apart, fingers of your left hands interwoven as the priest finished the prayers. The ring, as breathtaking as it was, was somehow still only secondary to the cerulean eyes of your now-husband, which were like two rich sapphires lined with delicate blonde hairs. 

“…And may God bless, preserve, and keep you, that you may have life and love everlasting. I pronounce that you now be man and wife together, in the Name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The cathedral filled with polite claps and murmurs of “amen” as Baldwin released your hand and you turned to face the pews. Next to you, much to your surprise, he quickly dropped to his knees, his body angled towards you, clasping your fair hand between his. You gazed down at him through your lashes, suddenly feeling your cheeks burn. Boldly, Baldwin drew one hand up to his masked face, grasping it by the nose and swiftly pulling it to the side so that it was hiding his face from the crowd, but revealing it to you. He lifted your hand to his pink lips and pressed a searing kiss to it, liberally letting the physical contact linger, all the while maintaining eye contact with you from under his furrowed brow. You covered your mouth with your other hand to try and hide the toothy grin spreading across your face. He saw it anyway. The next thing you knew, he was grinning, too. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laughed. He laughed. You realized that you no longer had to imagine what his smile looked like. 

After the wedding ceremony, you were promptly bombarded by happy civilians wishing to congratulate you, or simply to catch a glimpse of their new queen, and Baldwin was whisked away by his mother, who seemed to be perpetually by his side. It seemed that she was not quite ready yet to surrender the role of Baldwin’s caretaker to you– but you had no gripes with that. You figured you’d grow into the role of loving, doting wife, as opposed to starting it right away, and unfortunately, the idea of changing his bandages each night before bed still made you shudder. In reality, his mother was not exactly thrilled about the marriage, either. She hadn’t found you or your family quite noble enough for her precious son. However, she was smart enough to see that it was unlikely that anyone else would ever volunteer their daughter to marry a leper, so she begrudgingly allowed the union. 

From the crowd, two plainly dressed women had introduced themselves to you as Matilda and Amelia, claiming that they were to be your servants. They would apparently be with you at all times, tending to your every whim and aiding you during your ascent to the throne, as well as bathing you and dressing you. Matilda was an older, more severe woman who had immediately intimidated you; her lips were drawn together thinly and permanently pursed, creating deep wrinkles around her mouth, and the rest of her face was an intricate web of creases and lines. Her graying hair was pulled back tightly, exposing her thinning hairline and sun-spotted forehead. Even her hands looked harsh, the skin rough and dry, cracking in some places, like mud that had been baking under the summer sun for too long. Amelia was quite the opposite; a timid, pretty young thing with wide brown eyes, fair hair, and a delicate frame. She’d barely had the courage to tell you her name, and rushed into the curtsey to avoid having to make eye contact with you for too long. She seemed to be around the same age as you, if not even younger.

After the attendees from the wedding had mostly dispersed, Matilda brought you back inside the castle to finally see your bedchamber, which you were to have all to yourself. She and Amelia led you through winding corridors and beautiful flowering courtyards, pointing out all the most significant landmarks along the way, such as the great hall, the kitchen, the maid’s chambers, the library, the chapel, the towers, the gardens, and the hundreds of guest bedrooms with conjoined washrooms. The last thing she showed you before your own room was the king’s quarters, which were directly across from yours. 

“Now, Amelia, go draw us a bath. There’s no need for two of us to be standing around here idly while the Queen inspect her chambers,” she ordered, and Amelia nodded, scurrying away to the washroom silently. 

As Matilda threw open the giant oak doors of your room, you couldn’t help but gasp, suddenly rooted to the spot. It was glorious. Taking up the majority of the room was a massive bed with four handsome posts, all carved with intricate floral patterns and stained a deep brown. The mattress was topped with overly-stuffed burgundy throw pillows and a comforter to match. Connecting to the four posts was a frame, from which wine-colored velvet curtains hung to give you some privacy. The same fabric was used to shroud the windows, which were floor-length and leaded. At the foot of the bed lay a pile of bags and wrapped items– all of your belongings from home! On the wall across from them was a large dressing table, covered in jewels and precious metals and bottles of fine-smelling oils. A small, round stool with a cushion on it sat underneath. Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and you couldn’t help but abandon Matilda in the doorway, running and throwing yourself face-first onto the bed, just like you used to at home. You giggled and kicked your feet up into the air, unsurprisingly beginning to sink into the plush mattress. Immediately, you felt your body melt against the malleable, pillowy surface, deciding that you definitely approved of its fine quality. Your bed from back home simply couldn’t compare. However, your glee was short-lived, because it was abruptly interrupted by a stern voice. 

“Your Majesty! You must cease this behavior at once and right yourself! That wedding gown is priceless, and you mustn’t risk causing it any damage!” Matilda scolded, pulling you up by the arm and frantically kneeling to check the delicate garment for any possible tears or imperfections. You winced and apologized quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your juvenile behavior. She was right. As a matter of fact, most things in the palace were probably priceless, and it wouldn’t do to act so impulsively, to be so unladylike. Even you, in your youth, knew better than that. You crossed your arms over your chest, beginning to feel rather insecure upon realizing just how much you had to learn about life as royalty. 

“Come, child, it is time to undress. You must be bathed and prepared for your wedding night,” Matilda called, holding out a hand, her voice much more soft and gentle this time.

You gulped, not wanting to think about that, preferring to cross that bridge when you got to it. She bustled over to the magnificent dressing table, pulling out the stool for you to sit on. You obliged, seating yourself in front of her and watching in the mirror as her spindly fingers deftly unwound your intricate braids. It was relaxing, the feeling of her experienced hands nimbly dancing around your scalp, so you let the buildup of tension from the day slowly seep out of your muscles, loosening up more and more every second that passed. Soon, she was finished, and helped you to your feet, ordering you to keep your arms out straight as she undressed you. She pulled out pins from here and there, untied laces all around, and in a matter of minutes you were ready for your bath. 

The water was warm and steaming as you stepped in, your skin breaking out into goosebumps at the feeling. Rose petals floated across the surface of the water, giving the entire washroom a fresh scent. As you expected, Amelia was waiting for you silently, brush in hand, ready to scrub you vigorously from head to toe. You braced yourself, expecting the rough bristles to be painful, but once she began working attentively, it wasn’t so bad at all. Yes, they were scratchy, but that’s exactly what you needed to get rid of all the dirt and dead skin. She lathered you in delicate smelling soap and added some more fragrant oils to the water, letting you soak until your skin had absorbed all the moisture it possibly could. Not a single inch of you was neglected by the time the water had grown cold, at which point you got out and were dried with a fluffy white towel. 

Next, you were ushered back into your chambers and changed into a pretty blue gown made of satin, which apparently “complimented the color of the kings’ eyes perfectly,” according to Matilda. You felt your gut twist at the mention of him, at the prospect of being alone in a room with him and that piercing gaze again. Now that you were man and wife, everything was different. You had a duty to fulfill, and it seemed to be unavoidable, despite how young and vulnerable you were. Despite how averse to it you might be. Your mother had told you all about it, about how it would only last a few minutes if you were lucky, and that you just had to breathe deeply and count the seconds until it was over. How it happened to every woman at some point in her life, and that what follows would be completely and utterly worth every second of endurance. How rewarding it was to raise a child, or two children, or as many as your womb could bear. But no matter how much you tried to reassure yourself, you were still scared. You didn’t want that yet. You were only 14. 

But before attending to your marital duties, first, there was dinner. You were seated at the complete opposite end of the table as Baldwin, as far as physically possible away from him, despite the fact that he was the only person there you had ever spoken to. You were too far away to be able to tell if he was even looking at you from under his mask. Next to him was his mother, who proceeded to shoot you sideways glances the entire night. The rest of the table was filled with noble men and women whom you did not recognize, their titles unfamiliar to you and the lands they hailed from even more obscure. You picked at your food and tried to stay as silent as possible to avoid making a mockery of yourself on your first night as Queen of Jerusalem. Sooner than you had hoped, dinner had concluded, and you were taken aside by Matilda, who pulled you into an empty corridor as the guests began filtering out of the castle. 

“Child, do you know what is expected of you on your wedding night?” She asked, her voice low so that nobody except the two of you could hear the subject matter at hand. You took a deep breath and straightened you back in an attempt to appear more mature, before replying, 

“Yes, I will lie down and be still and hope that I am blessed with a child.” 

The woman smiled at you and clasped your shoulder, seemingly approving of your answer. 

“Exactly right, my dear. The king will call on you when he is ready, so you may go back to your room and occupy your time with an activity of your choosing until you are collected.” 

You nodded solemnly and thanked her before slowly making your way back to your room, trying to take as long as possible in an attempt to actually slow down time. Upon deeper reflection during this walk, you came to the conclusion that it was not being alone with the king that you were afraid of, but rather the act of consummating the marriage, which was, of course, something he had every right to do with you that night. It was the correct course of action. It was what all newlyweds did, no matter how young and afraid they were. Did he know what he was doing, you wondered, or was he just as oblivious as you? You couldn’t imagine the young king being oblivious about much of anything, in all honesty. He was far too intelligent– something you had seen for yourself over that game of chess. 

Once you arrived at your room, Amelia was waiting at the door for you, an even more wide-eyed look on her face than usual. Uh oh, you thought to yourself. 

“His Majesty the King has requested your presence in his chambers, Your Highness,” she said quietly, bowing her head as she spoke. How did he get here so fast? You thought to yourself, terror rising in your chest. Amelia watched in half fear and half amusement as you frantically wiped your clammy hands on the bodice of your dress and ran your fingers through your hair, which was cascading down your shoulders freely. She was young, too, and unwed, and the idea of a wedding night was something that made her stomach churn as well, so she offered you a sympathetic look and watched as you dragged your feet across the hall, knocking on the imposing oak doors of the king’s bedchambers. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Baldwin had never been so jittery in his life. As he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for you to arrive, he fidgeted with his gloves, pulling them off by the fingers and then pulling them on again, over and over. All throughout dinner he had been gazing across the table at you, ignoring his mother’s neverending ranting as you stared down at your plate. Though you were only a blue blur with a vaguely maidenlike shape from where he was sitting, he was still completely enchanted, his heart beating in his throat every time you looked up in his general direction. He wondered if you could tell he was looking at you. Since the hour you were wed, he was able to think of nothing but you; your dazzling smile, your gorgeous hair, your playful sense of humor, the way the light in the cathedral illuminated your eyes. As the servants bathed him in strong-smelling medicinal herbs and wrapped the raw areas of skin with fresh bandages, he daydreamed about your voice, your laugh. And now, as he sat on the edge of his bed, awaiting your imminent arrival, he thought of practically everything except you. 

He panicked about the state of his body, the pressure of consummating a marriage, the burden of fathering a child at such a young age. He panicked about the weight of ruling an entire kingdom all by himself, no longer able to entrust the brunt of the work to Raymond, and of being a suitable husband. He panicked about how many years he might even have left, if his illness continued to progress. But every worry, every fear, every doubt left his mind as soon as he heard you knock on his door. 

He leapt to his feet, hastily pulling his left glove all the way back on and bounding over to the door, throwing it open wide with a grin on his face, to reveal… you, standing there, gaunt and sweating, looking like you had just suffered a bout of cholera. The smile on his face fell a bit, but it couldn’t be wiped completely clean. At least he could finally be with his bride, his love, his queen. 

“Good evening, Your Highness,” you murmured, your head bowed, pointing down at your shoes, as well as the freshly polished ones directly across from you. 

“Good evening, my Queen,” he breathed, heart beating quickly as you shuffled into his room. He closed the door behind you, letting it shut with a ‘click’ before following you over to the middle of the room, where you hovered like a ghost, still staring at the ground and clasping your hands tightly in front of you. A tense, silent moment passed, and still, you didn't move. Whatever was left of his smile faded from his unmasked face, and the panic from earlier began to return, crashing over him in icy waves. Why wouldn’t you look at him? He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from leg to leg. 

“Are you feeling very well tonight, my lady?” He asked tentatively, shuffling a bit closer. 

You sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly turned, stiltedly making your way over to the bed. 

“Let’s just get this started then, shall we?” You said tersely, laying down on your back on the plush covers and screwing your eyes shut tightly. 

“I am ready.” 

King Baldwin stared at you blankly, frozen in the middle of the room, and completely panicking. No, no, no, this was all wrong, this was not how he wanted it to go…he absolutely did not want to force you into it, to do anything you didn’t also want…and you clearly didn't want it. You were lying there, as stiff as a board. This was the final straw for him.

He wasn’t ready for it yet either, he decided. He would just have to lie to his mother. When she discovered that the queen was, in fact, not pregnant, he would blame it on his own body, claiming to be infertile. It was probably true, at any rate. He took a deep breath, feeling shame and embarrassment at not being able to consummate his own marriage rise to his cheeks, and spoke three words, 

“You may go,” 

And those were the last three words he spoke to you for the next three years. 

Note: I'll give you a kiss if you can count how many times I reference you being the "Queen of Jerusalem" in this chapter.

[netherfeildren]

Pink : Part III : Two

Series Masterlist : Part I : Part II

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Heavy angst; DD/lg dynamics; Dom/sub undertones; Daddy Kink; Jealousy; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Inappropriate shaving; Squirting; Belly bulge; Dirty talk; Orgasm delay/denial; Overstimulation; Face slapping; Spanking; Light degradation; Rough sex; Breeding kink; Divorce; Not safe to read if triggered by pregnancy; Use of misogynistic language; Discussions of mental and emotional abuse; Cliffhanger

A/N: All tags have been updated.

Word Count: 12.7K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

3. Two

“You know that feeling of… of realizing you’re a good person? It’s like– yes, I know objectively that I probably am. That I try to be kind, I try to do things that are good and right, but you know those strangely self perceptive moments where another person makes you – forces you – to realize you’re good? And it brings your whole life, your whole self into clarity, and it’s like – I am good, and I deserve good things. I am good.

But he treated me so badly, for so long. He took away pieces of me, he took away that awareness of goodness. And how could I not believe him, when he constantly told me and showed me that I deserved so little, when it was what I accepted for myself? Constantly waiting for him to turn into a man he never was, never had been and never would be. I accepted those things for myself, I let them happen. Maybe I was weak or stupid or naive or all of them combined. Maybe I was just a girl. But I thought it was hope at the time. I thought I was being hopeful and good, and now I realize that was no true form of goodness. It was only the version of good he needed me to be, a subservient and silent type of goodness.”

“And you know, I had a neighbor who– her husband died last year at Christmas, and it was so sad. They were older, always together, it was… it has nothing to do with this, but I don’t know. It was like when a tragedy is soft and quiet, and it just folds into the rest of life unheeded. Such a strange thing for someone on the outside looking in. I lived next door to them, and I’d see them all the time living their lives together, and I barely knew them, but suddenly he was gone, and I was conscious of the fact that she was over there alone all the time now. Without him. When before he’d always been there. I don’t know what I'm trying to say. It’s just that it didn't happen to me, it affected me in no way, and yet, I felt her loss keenly. Afterwards, I helped her with her cat, an old skinny thing, Jazz. She started going out of town a lot after her husband died, getting out and away, you know, that sort of thing. And I’d cat sit for her, and he was so sweet. But he was old too, and a few months later, he died also. And I remember the week he was going to pass she’d texted me and said he’d go soon, and I told her I was praying for him, thinking of the both of them. I don’t even pray, but I needed to tell her I was with her in some way. And it was nothing, a few nights going over there to feed the old boy, a few text messages. It was the absolute bare minimum I could do, but a few weeks after the cat died, she wrote me the loveliest note. She told me that she appreciated me, that she thought of how kind I’d been during those days, when I’d told her I was thinking of them. She told me that I was a good person, and that she hoped my kindness was returned to me many times over. 

And I’d forgotten, you see, I'd forgotten that I was good. That I had a capacity for goodness within me, and that I deserved to be reminded of it, like all soft creatures are. We all need reassurance and a kind word sometimes, and I’d forgotten that about myself.” You glance up at his eyes, the most tender look held in them. “Do you know what I mean, Joel?” You ask, voice very small, shy and afraid, for one moment, that he won’t understand you. 

But he pets your hair, cradles your cheek, “Yeah, honey. I think I do know.”

It’s a terrifying ordeal, the way the two of you fold into each other in the weeks after that first night. And yet, unstoppable. You do try, and you’re sure he does, as well. The first few days, trying to stay away, not answering his calls, no texts because he says his fingers are too big, and he can’t work those tiny fuckin’ buttons, forcing yourself not to run back over there into his arms and his bed. But then he’s calling and calling and calling, begging, making it his turn to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, saying all the right things like, I haven’t been sleeping, and I need to see you, and I’m suffering, I’m suffering without you, touching you in all the right ways that should be wrong but aren’t. All baby, I hurt when I’m not inside this sweet pussy. He says you make him weak, and you tell him that the only weak thing here is you, and you don’t make it much of a struggle for him when you let him in your home, in your cunt, when all you can say is I miss you, I miss you, your cock, your hands, I can’t stop thinking about you. The two of you are one and the same in all the ways it counts. And he’s not your father-in-law anymore, a chameleon now in the form of the only man who’s ever understood you, wanted you, seen you as more, as a complexity. 

He makes you wonder how you could have ever thought of yourself as anything like sexless when all he makes you is hungry and desperate and wet. Fucking everywhere you can, as often as you can, never being very careful, pulling out and counting your cycle and starting out with a condom but ripping it off halfway through because I just have to feel you – irresponsible bullshit. Not having your head screwed on tightly enough to even really care. He has you on his living room floor one afternoon, whole day gone away on his cock, and the two of you lay there for hours afterwards, bare limbs wrapped around each other, soft, wet cock tucked safely inside of you where he says it belongs. “How could you have not been angry?” You ask him because you can’t help yourself. Because you want him to teach you to be wise now that he’s shown you how to be good. “That he was kept from you? That you missed an entire lifetime of being a father? I never once saw you furious or resentful. How did you do it?”

“Don’t know,” he sighs. “Dunno… I– It was, kind of, the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me, truth be told, but I didn’t have a chance to compute, to sit in any sort of anger. He was right there all of a sudden, too full of anger to leave any left over for me, and he needed me so much. He needs me so much.” And you know he’s right, and there should be guilt now, gnawing at you, but there is really only jealousy. “And he– he…” A swallow, like you can read his mind, you know what he’ll say, already nodding. “And he hates me,” he whispers into the quiet of this lovely home he’s made for himself, his words mixing with the butter yellow ray of sunshine the two of you are lying in, slanting in through the big bay window. “He hates me, hates who I am. That it’s me he found when he came lookin’.” You have to cry for him then, maybe even for the both of them, maybe even for all three of you. 

“Yes,” you choke, so full of sadness for the tragedy of it all. You can’t comfort him with a denial for you’re not a liar here with him. Protection like that isn’t necessary. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He hugs you so tightly, “There’s no reason to cry.”

“I can’t help it,” And return the words he’d given you once when you’d so badly needed a kindness, “You deserve more.”

He’s quiet for a long time after that, and you know him well enough now that you can hear the gears of his mind working and turning, and that makes you even sadder, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of all, this knowing, and eventually he says: “And yet, he is the son I have.” And at the end of it all, you think you are all only yourselves, and nothing can really be done about that. 

And you say you want to be wise like him, that it’s your next lesson, so perhaps you should hold your tongue instead of saying: “He only just got you back, and I’m taking you away from him again. Because that’s what I want – I want to take you away and keep you only for myself. I want you to be only mine and that makes me bad. I’m bad.” Your first lesson quashed beneath the fist of your greed for a man who isn’t for you, and who you shouldn’t want, and it’s wrong and maybe even sinful or disgusting or any and all the things that are always bad. None of that matters. He’s turned you into a real person now, none of the rest of it matters. 

But he understands, because of course he does, because he always has. He grips your jaw in his hands, large, strong hands, hands made for taking care of things, and tells you, not so wise seeming anymore: “Sometimes I look at myself, and it’s like I'm two feet tall. Why didn’t I meet you sooner? First? How could I have been such a coward to not go out there and search for you? I should have known you were out there, I should have sensed it. How can a man be jealous of his own son?” He turns you over then, cock hard and thrusting again, kisses you full on the mouth, and it tastes like ownership, and says, “You could never be bad. No matter what you did. You’re only ever good. Haven’t I taught you that?” 

-

“Joel, there’s someone at the door,” peeking into the restroom where he’s just stepped out of the shower, wet and steaming, shaking his head out like a dog, towel covering all the fun bits. He’d just had you too many times already, and still, you want more. You’re made of nothing but greed now; he’s taught you how to be good, but he’s also taught you how to be greedy. You’d been strewn across his couch, eating chips and wearing his clothes and leaking his come and waiting for him to finish in the shower and come out to make dinner. He was doing steaks on the grill and baked potatoes with all the fixings and roasted vegetables, and he’d even gotten a pie and ice cream, but he said he wasn’t telling you what the flavor was, only that it was your favorite, and you can’t think how he’d know you love rhubarb, but if that’s what he’s gotten, you were going to let him do anything to you. Literally anything he wanted. Not that you didn’t already… but still, it’s the sentiment that counts, you think. He’d also said you weren’t allowed to shower, that the rule tonight was that you weren’t allowed to wash him off, and you really didn’t mind that so much. So there you were, after he’d put on Stepmom for you, and you were just thinking that Julia Roberts was surely the most beautiful woman who’d ever been born, when someone had knocked on the door, a rhythmic, friendly: tap, tap, tap, that had your heart dropping down into your stomach, and you scurrying into the master bath to frantically tell him that someone is here while you’re here wearing him all over and inside of you and what are you going to do now? He gives you a calm smile, running the towel over his wet head, giving you an eyeful of the fun bits now, and you try and not peek, you really do, but it’s really just the most exciting part on him, you can’t help yourself. His smile turns knowing, that look in his eye, “S’alright, sweetheart. Don’t fret, I’ll get it.”

“But–” you try and protest, maybe he should just pretend not to be home. What if it’s– you can’t even think of it. But then no, he’d not come here. He hates coming to this house, the proof of everything he wasn’t all in his face like this was humiliating for your ex-husband. 

His smile remains, but his eyes go a little stern, “No worryin’, I’ll take care of it.” He tugs on his jeans, the man literally never wears underwear, slut, and tugs on a shirt, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he passes you, hand dragging over your belly, smelling of soap and Joel and want, want, want. You follow him on tip toes down the hall, pausing at the mouth of the living room, chewing on your lip and your fingers, about to spit your heart out with nerves as he pulls the door open. 

“Hi, Joel, honey. How’s it goin’?” Pretty, bubbly, overly friendly voice you were definitely not expecting. You take a small step forward, the mouth of the hall slightly to the left of the front door so that you can see her without her seeing you, watch his profile as he talks to her. Edie, he says, and that dishwasher givin’ you trouble again, and laughs at her reply, the sound of their conversation going out of your ears as you watch him, head falling sideways on your neck a little bit, the way he laughs at whatever the woman that’s come knocking on the door of his home all friendly and comfortable to interrupt his time with you is saying, loud, bellyfull, one arm braced against the doorframe so that you can see her eyes flit every few seconds to the thick bulge of muscle there. Your face goes hot, your insides green and bitter, but he’s laughing just handsomely enough that you know it’s not real. You know his real laugh, and it isn’t this one. The woman leans forward, blonde hair and big boobs and batting lashes, but Joel shifts backwards subtly, keeping a respectful distance, and your pulse throbs at the backs of your knees and the pit of your stomach. She likes him, she’s here because she likes him, asking him to look at her dishwasher or something, yeah, sure, sure that’s the only thing she wants looked at. 

“I’ll come take a look at it tomorrow. How ‘bout that? I’m sure it’ll be another quick fix like last time, but you should probably think about just replacin’ the thing at this point,'' he tells her. 

“Oh, can’t you now, Joel?” She pouts, “It’s just that–”

“I’m tied up tonight, Edie,” he cuts her off, an indulgent, too charming smile on his face, and oh, it pisses you off, that smile. You turn on your heel, stomping down the hall back to his bedroom. Huffing, gnashing your teeth. The sight of him with another woman, a more appropriate woman because of course she is, it makes you sick, angry, something terrible, so, so jealous your bones itch beneath the surface of your skin. It makes you small and slanted again, wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl. Not for him, never for him, and it’s so unfair, and he is so– so… Smiling at her like that, using that tone of voice, propping up his stupid huge arm like that so that his muscle’s all defined and put on display, and you hate him and the way he makes you feel and how much you want and need him. On the verge of tears or screaming or vomiting you scramble around his room, trying to collect your clothes and your strewn panties and where the fuck is your bra and your other shoe? 

“What’re you doin’?” Comes his soft, steady voice a moment later. Entirely too even for the way you feel right now. You want to hiss at him or bite him or do something entirely uncivilized. 

“I have to go home.”

“Why?”

“I have something to do. I forgot.”

“Something, what? What do you have to do?” But you ignore him, rifling through the strewn clothes on the armchair in the corner – where the hell is your goddamn bra? “Look at me–” he barks, now having stepped further into the bedroom. 

“Oh, fuck off,” and there’s a part of you that knows that you’re being irrational, that he’s done nothing wrong, but you feel so provoked suddenly. In need of a fight or a thrashing or something, something to make this terrible feeling poisoning you on the inside go away. 

“Watch your mouth, little girl,” and his voice is so calm and so quiet and so scary. It makes you lock up one second, spin around the next to spit and hiss at him like an angry cat. You will not watch your mouth. “She wants you.” You almost stomp your foot like a child throwing a fit, but he’s entirely still and silent, taking you in with the most unfathomable of looks. “Do you know that?” And this time you do stomp your foot. “Do you want her back?”

He blinks once, and then like a lightbulb turning on, even though you’re obvious as daylight, “You’re jealous.”

“Do you want her back?” You ask again, real tears in your voice this time. 

And his gaze goes soft and tender and entirely understanding, “Never.” He shakes his head. 

“She looked like a fucking idiot.” You pout, childish – how will he ever want you when you act like this?

“I only want you.” But you don’t believe him. How could you? When there’s nowhere for this to go. When he deserves so much more than the options afforded to him here between the two of you. And you want to fight with him because there’s nothing to be done, no choices, no other recourse, and it’s not his fault and there’s no one to blame and no outlet for this terrible anger inside of you. You feel like you’re choking on it, being swallowed whole, that head breaking water feeling reversed so that now you’re deep at the bottom of the well of your own wanting. You turn back to the fruitless search for your bra. He’s hidden it from you, you’re sure, some evil old man ploy to keep you here trapped and braless with him. “Did you hear me? I only want you,” he says again, voice closer now.

And you think you’re mumbling or crying, something hysterical bubbling up inside of you, I have to go, I have to go, your movements manic and jerking. He grips your arm, jerking you around into his chest, face flushed with anger now, but voice still even, “You’re not fucking listening to me. I only want you,” and yanks your hand to feel the hard cock trapped beneath the confines of his jeans. This is only for you. But it’s not, not in any real way, not in a way that would let you keep him and that realization sets something off inside of you. You thrash in his hold, let me go, let me go, trying to kick him in the shins while he tries to wrap his arms around your struggling form, that rumbling chant constant in your ear, I only want you, I only want you, I am only for you. It feels like he’s burrowing beneath your skin, unzipping you, splaying your insides wide open for his gaze, taking hold of your bones, a puppet on his string. You manage to yank your arm out from beneath his grip and unthinking, a buzzing so high pitched it makes you dizzy and nauseous sounding in your ears, you slap him in the face. Not very hard, maybe, but enough that you hear the crack of your palm meeting the grizzled scruff of his cheek. The sound like a bone snapping, setting off something inside both of you even worse, more frenzied than before. He groans deep in his chest, big hand fisting in your hair and jerking it back so hard you yelp in pain. “Hit me again, do it again. I want you any way I can have you, even angry. Do it again,” he goads you on, but that mindless hand is fisted in his shirtfront now, pulling you closer to him, tear stained mouth seeking his, opening to receive his filthy kiss. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry, but all he says is that he only wants you, again and again, grips you harder, makes it hurt more, and you whine and whimper and scratch and bite, a wild thing, the two of you caught up in some strange struggle of push and pull and want and fight. You can feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your belly, searching for something hot and wet to fuck into, and you hitch your knee around his hip, open yourself to him, listen to his groan in your ear, throaty and full. 

“You just need a little remindin’? Don’t you, huh?” He tugs your head back, none too gentle, to look at your tear slicked face, his eyes on fire, almost a little manic. He spins you away from him, shoving you towards the bed, ignoring your whines and protests, shut up and bend over, pushing you over the edge of the bed and crouching down behind you. “You just need a little remindin’ of how to be a good girl. I know that’s all this fightin’ is. Right, baby?” No, you try and struggle, kicking your leg out uselessly to the side, but he pins you with your arms back behind you at the small of your waist, pushing his shirt up your back to expose the naked curve of your ass and the pussy you know he’ll find humiliatingly wet and hungry for him. “Just need remindin’ of how to be a good girl for me, right?” His fingers slide down to the apex of your thighs, finding you dripping and swollen from his earlier use and your current desire, all twisted up and compounded ten fold with your jealousy. 

“So wet already for me, baby,” he coos at you. 

And oh, he’s so annoying, and you’re so embarrassing and weak for him. “Shut up, old man,” you whine. A single finger enters you slowly, rubbing up against all the terribly sensitive and swollen places inside of you, then pulls his wet fingers from you to deliver a single stinging swat to the curve of your ass, sticky wet imprint of yourself left behind. 

“Yeah, and this old man fucks you better than anyone else,” he slips his fingers gently back inside of you, “Remember that you little whore,” he says even more gently. The words make you twist and writhe, a terrible flush of lust burning through you. He feels you tighten around his fingers, groans appreciatively. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” He twists his fingers inside of you, pressing hard against something that makes you feel like you’re about to wet yourself. You cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head, refusing to answer. “No lyin’. You daddy’s little whore?”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head, your hips moving with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. He brushes his thumb slowly over your pulsing clit, plays you like a game. 

“No?” His voice is so soft, so teasing. 

“I’m not your whore–”

“You’re not? Then what are you, baby? Tell me.”

You’re right there, so close, about to come on his fingers. “I'm your baby. I'm your baby. I’m yours– I belong to you, daddy.” He pulls his fingers from your cunt, hand coming to grip your ass cheek so hard it hurts, fingernails digging into your soft skin, dragging down the smooth surface. You can hear him panting behind you, shaking, trying to control himself. He makes a gruff, rough sound in his throat, gentles his grip on you. 

“You don’t think I don’t get fucking jealous?” he spits when he’s finally managed to control himself. “You think I don't think about you with my own son and want to die? That he got to have you in a way I never will, and even worse, wasted you? You don’t think it makes me sick with envy?” He brings his fingers back to play in your wet folds, feels the slick drip of you, thrums at your clit, opening you to him with a hand on your cheek and licking you from clit to asshole. Running the flat expanse of his tongue over the length of your sex and then sucking hard at the apex of nerves, hard enough that you can’t tell if it hurts or feels good or a little bit of both. He’s got you bent over the end of his bed facing the dresser so that you have a clear view of the two of you in the mirror above it. And the sight of him, massive frame crouched down behind you, huge and hulking, face buried in your cunt from behind, the curved slope of his nose, the long, thick lashes, eyes closed like he’s enjoying himself more than he’s ever enjoyed anything else in his entire life as he licks your ass and sucks on your clit. He pulls back, and you watch, almost in slow motion, as he shocks you by swatting your entire sex with his big hand, and then immediately brings his face back to lick and kiss your smarting skin. “But he didn’t fuck you the way you needed to be fucked,” he continues. “And I do. He didn’t understand you, but I do. At least I have that.” It sounds like he’s consoling himself, and you can’t help but find consolation in it as well. Your eyes move up to your own reflection, sweat slicked and tear stained, eyes glassy, wet fingers inside of your mouth because you need something to chew on to stand the terrible throbbing in your cunt on the verge of coming. He licks you again, presses his tongue to your asshole. “Did you ever get wet for him like this?” He pulls back, runs the pads of his fingers over your clit in fast, hard up and down motions, makes it feel so good it hurts, you’re right there, you’re right there, pulls away. “Were you ever desperate for him like this? Cunt all drippy and swollen and pathetic for him like you are for me, my sweet baby?”

Never, daddy. Never. Only you. You can’t lie to him when he’s got his tongue inside of you, it’s just not possible. Only me. Only mine. You press up on your tippy toes, roll back down onto the balls of your feet, “Yeah, rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s face,” he mumbles into your skin, slurps at you. He wraps his lips around your clit once more, sucks and licks and sucks again, and your cunt goes so, so tight, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, daddy, and then just stops. Pulls away entirely, gets to his feet, leaves you to throb and shiver and beg, whole body flashing hot and cold on the precipice of orgasm. Still holding you pinned in place with your wrists at the small of your back, you watch his eyes roam along your draped form, he drags his hand down the wet length of his face, wiping the drippiness of your slick away. “Stay just like that for me,” and his eyes move to yours in the mirror, as if he’s known the entire time just how riveted on him you’d been. “What?” He asks with a crooked brow and a mean little smirk. “You think you get to come? After that little display?”

“Don’t be mean,” you whisper, staying exactly as he’d directed. Trying your best to be a good girl. 

“Shoulda thought of that before, sweet girl.” He bends over the length of you so you’re eye to eye now, gets his face right up close to yours and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You wanna pretend to fight, stand there like an indignant little girl stomping your foot and yellin’ about bein’ jealous while my come runs down your thighs still. Obviously, I’m not doin’ a good enough job of remindin’ you you’re mine, how much I want you. Gonna fix that now.” Presses another soft kiss to your mouth now. 

“You’re trying to dominate me,” you whine, struggling to press against his mouth again even as he pulls back out of your reach, plants a big palm between your shoulders to keep you still. 

“You bet your fuckin’ ass I am. You’re gonna do what I tell you to when you’re letting me fill you with my come the way you are. And you’re gonna like it too. You get me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

But then he goes serious, that teasing glint in his eyes flickering away suddenly. “You have nothing to be jealous of. Ever. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t care about anything else but this.” And even though you’re sure it must be a lie, it sounds so lovely, you choose to believe him for now. You nod up at him, sniffling and crying again a little bit. “And no one takes care of you like I do,” he finally says, as if it’s a reminder, a consolation to the both of you once again. 

And he’s right, as he tells you to stay put, be a good girl and not move, leaves you there bent over the bed, that chant sounds in your mind, no one takes care of you like he does, no one, no one, no one. 

-

He steps back into his bedroom to the sight of you still draped over the bed, big eyes wet and slightly vacant, pussy red and swollen and bared to him like a wound with his name on it. You’d brought your fingers up to your mouth, chewing on your fingernails the way you did sometimes when you were anxious or overwhelmed, and when your eyes flit to him, taking in the bowl of warm water, the washcloth and shaving cream in his hold, they go wide, shocked. He arranges his things, gripping you by the hips to turn you over, pulling his shirt from you, leaving you entirely naked, and settling between your spread thighs. “Wh– what are you doing?” Voice all breathy and hitched, the thrum of your excited pulse in your throat. 

“Gonna shave you bare. Then I’m gonna eat you ‘til you’re crying, ‘til you’re so swollen you can barely take my fingers. After that, I’m gonna wedge my cock inside you and fuck you ‘til you’re so full’a my come you’ll remember not to forget you ain’t got no reason to be jealous ever again.” He strokes your curls gently with the pad of his thumb, something like fondness in the gesture, clicks his tongue. “These’re so pretty. Gonna miss ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you choke when he drapes the water warmed washcloth over your spread pussy.

“You wanna be a brat, you wanna fight and act like you don’t know I belong to you and you to me? That none of that other shit matters– I’m gonna remind you, don’t worry.”

You crane your neck, pushing up on your elbows to watch him remove the washcloth and cover the soft curls of your groin with shaving cream. When he opens the blade and brings it to your skin, the sight of the straight edged blade against you, the smooth cream as the steel reveals the bare, satin soft skin beneath, has your chest heaving, sweat pooling at the little notch of your throat –  fucking gorgeous and his.

“You’re going to be so sensitive, baby,” he murmurs as he bends your leg back and opened wide, splitting you for his gaze. Delicate with the movements of his wrist as he shaves you. “All bare and slick down here, just for me. You’re so swollen already.”

You mumble something, moaning and letting yourself flop back against the mattress, he’s quick to pull the blade from you, pausing his movements while you settle, gives you a second to press the balls of your palms into the sockets of your eyes, whining Joel and daddy and please. And the trust in this moment between the two of you, that you’re letting him wield a blade so close to your fragile center, letting him do this to you as a way to remind the both of you of the power you cede and wield over and to one another, something that gives him the opportunity to inflict his will in a way that recenters you, reminds you that you’re his, his to do with you as he will, and it’s just the two of you in this space and you trust each other implicitly, it has a sense of control swelling inside of Joel, making his cock rock hard in his jeans, leak down his thigh. Control in a way there is none of in everything else between the two of you. Control in a way there cannot exist in any other aspect of your relationship. When he’s finished, he cleans you slowly with a new warm, damp cloth, then goes to put away his supplies, and when he returns, he looms over you, taking in the sight of your little bald cunt now. 

Slowly, he starts to pull his clothes off, watching the quick panting of your breathing, the dip and swell of your belly, so aroused by the intimacy you’ve just shared that your pupils are blown wide and dark. “You’ve made such a mess, little girl,” he says, dragging a single finger through your overflowing slit, following the slick from your swollen clit to your asshole where it pools beneath. He fingers your folds gently, avoiding your swollen clit, your little hole winking at him wantonly. “Please–” you whisper so softly, almost gasping for breath you can barely get the words out. 

“Oh, I know, sweetheart. I know you need to come so bad, don’t you?” He drags his palms up and down your thighs, up to your waist and then tugs you down over the edge of the bed and onto your knees in front of him, wide eyes riveted hungry on his cock. “How does it feel? So sensitive, isn’t it?” He’s so hard his erection stands straight up towards his belly, balls hanging heavy and full and aching. He gently drags his fingers along your scalp, feels the heat emanating from your skull. “Lick it all over, get it nice and wet so I can put it inside you.” He knows he needs to be careful now. The two of you are wide open to each other in this moment, so on edge he could come just at the look in your eyes, and you, something more than just vulnerable. He’d worried briefly, in the past weeks, if he should stop, send you away, take himself away, tell you it was too much. You were getting too attached, and although he knew it was too late for himself, that he was beyond salvaging when it came to you, he could imagine nothing worse than seeing you come out hurt from this. Could also imagine no scenario in which you wouldn’t anymore. He feeds you his cock, fisted tightly at the root to stave off his impending orgasm, slides all the way to the back of your throat until he feels his tip hit resistance, enjoying the sight of you choking on it for just a second. Good girl. “Fuck– fuck, yes. See, see how good you can be for me?” He tells you as you suck on his tip, hollowing your cheeks and running your tongue all around the wide head, tonguing his foreskin, making him hiss and bear his teeth at you while you look up at him with falsely innocent eyes. He yanks you up and against him, gives you a filthy, wet kiss, all tongue and teeth and false control, swallowing down the taste of his own precum. He’s never felt less in control of himself, of a situation, than he does right now. He has, in these past weeks, entirely lost sight of himself, of what this should and should not have been, blindly led by his cock and his heart. He’s lost all control, and Joel is nothing but weakness and want now. 

Turning you in his arms, he sits at the edge of the bed, thighs spread wide and pulls you onto his lap, impaling you back onto his spit-slick cock so swiftly he doesn't even think you’re expecting it until he’s bumping against your womb, your knees hooked and spread wide over his own. Too desperate to lick your cunt again the way he’d planned. You let out a long, shocked keen, back arching, trying to escape the too big cock suddenly shoved inside of your tiny hole. Joel has to grit his teeth, take deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth before he can speak at the feel of you fluttering and pulsing around him, “The more you whine, the harder I’ll fuck you, got it?” There’s nothing even close to a coherent response coming out of your mouth, and he was right, shaved bare like this, you’re so much more sensitive. He pulls the lips of your sex gently apart around where he’s impaling you, takes in the sight of your little hole stretched obscenely around his fat cock in the mirror’s reflection and slowly starts to seesaw his hips back and forth, watching his glossy length disappear in and out of you. “How does it feel, baby? You’re so pretty, look at yourself.” He whispers into the small shell of your ear, presses a soft kiss to the lobe, tugs on it with his teeth. He slides in all the way, pulling your hips down so that his balls press against the curve of your ass. “Look, see where daddy’s so deep inside you – can see it in your belly.” Your head lolls back on his shoulder, gaze hooded and delirious, but your hand moves down to the soft skin of your stomach, gently cupping the outline of his cock inside of you. “I’m so deep inside of your tiny cunt, baby. Look at how you’re all mine–” He starts to move again, flicking at your clit, interchanging between fast and hard and slow and so soft you can barely feel it, and your face looks like you want to say something, tell him something, scream, but can’t. And there’s so much he’d like to tell you too, all the things you deserve and probably need to hear from him, but can’t either. He feels you start to tighten up on him, the heat in your body suddenly seeming to flush higher and brighter, almost to boiling, your cunt going so, so tight it almost pushes him out. He presses inside harder, holds you in place with one hand, and thrums fast and hard at your clit with the other, focusing the tip of his cock at the front wall of your pussy, “You’re gonna come–” he grunts, holds you in place and hammers into that swollen place inside of you he’d kill to own for the rest of his life. “Fuck– fuck, you’re gonna squirt all over my cock, aren’t you? Can feel it–” Your face spasms, your belly clenching hard and tight, and you gush, letting out a pained, animal sound, voice broken and breathless, wetting both of your thighs with your come, the bed covers beneath soaked dark. Joel doesn’t stop. He wants more, again, all of you, thrums again at your clit with the pads of his fingers, changes the angle of your hips to roll you fast and hard onto his come-slicked length, pinches your clit hard, watches you squirt all over him again. Something like the sound of his name leaves your mouth in a broken cry, your chewed raw nails trying to claw at him ineffectively. “Dirty fucking girl – creamin’ all over your daddy’s cock,” his voice is gruff, not entirely his own. There’s something here – you’d told him once you’d always felt out of control. In your relationship with Sam, aware of what he was, always, of what you were and were not, and that there was something about control that was so necessary to you now. And there is something here like control, your control over him, taking hold of him entirely so he’s unsure of what it is he should and should not be, here and now, with you. He should not be delusional, he should be aware. He is not adhering to either very well. 

He goes to his feet with you still impaled on his throbbing length, erection so hard it hurts, can barely stand up straight, blood pounding on rhythm to the chant of your name. He pulls you from him, watches the slick slide of your cunt walls dragging along his length, the cream of your slick left as a reminder all over his skin. He presses you onto the bed, rolls you this way and that too look at you all over, bends to drag his tongue through that drippy cunt of yours that squirts and comes so prettily for him, then back up and kneeling above you, between your glossy thighs, and thrusting into that tight cunt, grunting as you clench around him. So hard he feels the screaming tip of his cock punch against your cervix, listens to you make a hurt, hiccupy sound when his balls slap against you.

He should be gentle. He should be careful. He should be aware, not delusional, himself. He should reach back and take hold of that man he always thought himself to be, hard and cold but never cruel. Maybe not good, but always aware and never weak. He’s none of those things now here with you. Joel is now only himself. You’ve made me into a real person, you’d whispered onto his tongue. What he’d not told you was that you’d done the same to him. 

You’re a gift, a gift, a gift, a gift. A gift in the way his son never was. A gift in the way that a whole lifetime lost and returned to him never was, and Joel is weak and two feet tall and made of paper, but for you. Anyways, or despite it all, still made only for you. 

“Fuck me like you’re in love with me,” you say, read his mind, take hold of the beating mass in his chest. Fuck me like you’re in love with me. And maybe you don’t mean it. Maybe you’re too far gone. It doesn’t matter.

He does it anyway. Pulls back, wedges back inside the too swollen, too sensitive, too tiny cunt that belongs to him. He bears his teeth at you, grabs hold of your face so hard you’ll bruise, and fucks you like he’s in love with you. It comes to him so easily, after all. 

Shoving his knees high up beneath your thighs, he brings your ankles to his shoulders, little feet knocking against his ears, he wishes for sense, he finds none, only a deeper, sharper angle. The sounds of your cries and the things you whisper in his ear he knows you should not say and he should not listen to that fill him full of things he should not feel like I was made for you and daddy, there’s no one like you and come inside me, please, please, I need it. He pulls his hips back, swings them forward, listens to the sound of his balls slap, and you beg for harder, savors the fire that pools in his belly and the base of his spine. And he thinks that he should pull out, he’s been so fucking careless with you and your future and your vulnerability, but he’s like a monster full of greed, intent on nothing but staking his claim, leaving a claim, desperate for a way to be remembered or never forgotten or never left behind. “We have to be careful,” he begs you, and feels scared and terrible for a moment, not to be trusted with a gift like this in his hands. “I’m going to get you fucking pregnant, God.”

But you’re like some siren, something taking him away from himself, and you tell him, “I don’t care, I don’t care,” voice gone so far away from yourself too, all hazy, full of bubbles and too cock drunk to be true or sane, but it lands like a gut punch anyway. And Joel tries to hold onto himself he does, he swears he does, tries to remain rational, and aware of what this was supposed to be and not supposed to be. Tells you to please, “Shut up, shut up. Please, don’t say those things to me, I’m begging you.” But eventually that siren song wins out, the feel of your cunt sucking him deeper, milking him dry, your small damp hands pulling at his hair, stubby nails dragging down the skin of his cheeks, over his back, and Joel’s weak now. Weak and full of want and greed and delusion so that all that’s left is capitulation and: “You want daddy to fuck his babies into you? You want me to fill you up and keep you forever?” But something of himself must remain because he covers your mouth, big hand wrapped around your sweaty little face before you can answer, forcing the words silent inside of your mouth, the truth you both know you’d spit out otherwise. Yes, yes, I do. And as if the idea of you carrying his child held a direct like to your orgasm, you start to come around him, overwhelmed cunt, split in two and carved in the shape of his name now, clenching around him, going so wet and hot and tight Joel’s sure he’ll never be able to leave it ever again. You reach down between the two of you, grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, shiny with your slick and jack him off with sharp little tugs, make sure he fills you with his spend full to the brim. He spills over and out, dribbles down the slope of your ass to leave you lying in a little puddle of his semen, and when he pulls out, careful to not ask you to hold all of his weight over you, he brings your fingers to your gaping cunt, “Feel where daddy’s been,” lets you play in the imprint of himself he’s left behind. 

He lays beside you, steaming hot little thing worming up against him, nuzzling beneath his chin, pressing tiny kisses that tell him all the things the both of you need to hear and say, and he feels himself go cool and dry inside and out. Something terrible suddenly swelling within him. Something that reeks of truth, and you must smell it in the air as well because you share a piece of your own painful honesty with him, force him to confront it. “Sometimes I think I’m impossible to love,” in the smallest voice he’s surely ever heard. 

“Haven’t I shown you how untrue that is?” Because if there’s one thing he’ll never do with you, it’s lie.

You tuck your hand beneath your cheek, and you glow, and he feels blinded by it for a moment, eyes wide and so vulnerably tender, something afraid that makes something equally vulnerable inside of him rage and beat its chest. “Is that what this is? Are we in love, Joel?”

He thinks you must see the fear in his eyes, because yours suddenly go calm, fathomless, something steady for him to hold on to, and that stench of honesty chokes him. “Yeah–” he nods, swallows, thinks of his son, hates himself. “I think so, baby.”

-

What can remain the same after honesty like that? After splitting yourself open and showing each other your insides in such a way? What could possibly remain the same? Nothing. The truth is laid bare, and all that’s left now. And instead of setting you free, the truth never really sets you free, it makes everything terribly fraught and frightened and fragile. 

When he moves to stand, the sound of your desperation for him to make you his in an irreversible way rings like exploding shrapnel in your ears, “Do you think we’re bad?” You ask because you’ve only ever wanted to be good, but his eyes are so haunted, large and round and fathomless. His face, taking on a sudden sort of gauntness as he thinks of what to say to you after the worst has already been said. You watch the line of his throat ripple as he swallows several times, reading the real truth in his eyes before he shakes his head slowly, incongruous like a lie, “Never you,” and he does not include himself, “Never you.” It’s devastating. Devastating that the only thing that’s ever mattered, the thing that has finally made you good, is bad in his eyes. 

You sit at the kitchen table, watching him while he makes dinner for you. Cold and shivery and wet between your legs in a way that’s not comfortable anymore. In a way that feels like an essential part of you is slowly dripping out, leaving you grossly empty inside. The beautiful dinner he’d bought and made for you tastes like ash wrapped in all the honesty surrounding the two of you, and you stare at each other and there's no need for more words because the truth is all right here in front of the two of you to see with your own two eyes. You want to go get dressed, but you don’t want to call attention to the seed of wrongness that’s been planted now. Are we in love? When the answer had so obviously been yes for so long already. Naive, silly girl. And you want to be angry with him. Ask him why he’d done this to you, made you fall in love with him when he’d said before that you couldn’t, when it was all so hopeless. You also want to hear him say it, say the words out loud with teeth and tongue and sound, you want to taste the words in your mouth because seeing them in his eyes wrapped in all that hopelessness isn’t nearly enough to satiate this hunger he’s stoked inside of you. You want to ask him to hold you, to crawl into his lap and have him cradle you like a child protected in the embrace of stronger, wiser arms. You want to have never been put on this path, to have never met his son, never have married him, never have met him. You want the whole terrible ordeal to be wiped from mind and mouth and memory. You want to have not had to accept it all, not have moved on, not be grateful in ways you can’t even understand for the lesson it’d all posed. You want it all to have never happened. To never have experienced the entire convoluted mess of feelings this ordeal of tearing down your entire life to make yourself anew had caused. To have never fallen in love with your ex-husbands father. 

He sits in his chair, hands cupping his chin for so long, silent and staring, probably wondering what to do with you, and when he finally stands, nothing but a long, pained sigh to interrupt the terrible silence, you finally muster the strength to go find that missing bra. Crawl home, once again a ghoul in the night in need of wound licking. And it must be that very same terrible silence, the even more terrible look in his eyes that has something pressurized, set to burst, bottled inside of you because when a knock on the door sounds once again, you don’t even stop for half a thought, exploding suddenly. In his clothes and come, ripping the door open, the words on your tongue ready to spit at her that he’s already got one desperate woman on his hands that needs taking care of, and no, he will not be fixing her dishwasher or her pussy or anything else she thinks she might need him for. 

But it’s not the neighbor. And you have nothing but fear lodged in your throat to spit out when you meet his eyes. 

Eyes like his father’s, colder, crueler, furious and humiliated, take you in. Just fucked hair and a flannel that’s not your own, mis-buttoned, come-dryed thighs. And worst of all, his voice, like he isn’t even that surprised, like he’d come here just to find this, “You fucking whore.”

“Sam–” you’re not sure if you actually say his name, but the intention is held there, on the tip of your tongue. A plea for mercy or a shout for help or protection or something. 

“You fucking whore,” and you flinch at the scream in his throat, scuffle back into the safety of the house of the man you love who is the father of the man you were married to, the man who broke you, the betrayed son. He’s shocked still for a single second, before he’s charging at you, fist not entirely raised but definitely held with consideration. And, “I knew it, I always fucking knew it,” before Joel is there, stepping between you and your ex-husuband, his son, blocking you with his body, big hand wrapping entirely around your forearm to hold you close to himself, to hold you in his protection. 

“You better put your fucking arm down before I break it, son.” That moment, Joel’s voice, the utter betrayal in his son’s eyes. The sound of you breaking something that you should have never ever gotten in between. It is worse than all the rest. You take him in, the sight of this man who you used to be married to, he’d always seemed so large in your eyes before, so unattainable. Something never to be fully touched, only gazed upon. Always apart, always cold. Sam’s eyes fall to the place where his father holds you, and his face spasms, something terrible. Broken and alone, a child cast out into the cold. And you want to say that he seems so different now, haggard and gaunt and whittled down to bare bones, but it isn’t the truth. You always knew what he was, your most terrible bit of honesty. You always knew, you’d just not cared before. There was never any separation, no space for you to take a breath and want better for yourself. To be under his scrutiny, something that at one time felt like admiration, but was never anything even close, it was like nothing else, like everything, a great lie. But he was too aware of it, of himself, of that power he held over you, and unlike his father, he was cruel with it. Your eyes move up to the back of Joel’s head, the hard edge of his jaw, the muscle that spasms furiously there. What would it do to you now to be under that same sort of attention, influence, admiration, but from a kinder, gentler, honest source? What had it done to you? Dangerous to risk yourself again, impossible to stop now. 

“I always knew it,” he says again, “I always knew you wanted him. What? You let him fuck you?” The words in his mouth are a terrible thing, Joel says something, tells him to hold his tongue, to get the fuck out, but your eyes are riveted on the sight of his face, this man you used to be married to who’d broken you so completely, who’d stolen your very memory of yourself. He seems wholly unrecognizable now, and in a way, it frightens you, that someone you’d known for what seemed like so long could be such a stranger now. Joel’s hand is an anchor, such a comfort wrapped around your arm. “You barely let me touch you for two years, but you’ll bend over like a whore for my fucking Dad?” His voice breaks and it makes you want to laugh a little bit. 

Joel shoves him backward, jerking you forward still in his hold. “Say that word one more time in my house, and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you. And don’t fucking look at her,” he snaps, reaching up to give him a quick two tapped slap on the cheek to focus his gaze on himself. “Get out, Sam. I’ll call you later. We can–”

But unheeded or too far gone, like he needs to hear the sound of the words as a comfort to himself in this moment, Sam looks back at you, “You’re a fucking whore. I wish I’d never met you, I hate you.” Joel shoves him backwards again, harder this time so that his leg slams into the side table, overturning the lamp there into a crashing heap on the floor, so hard that when he pulls you with him it feels as if he’ll wrench your shoulder from its socket with the force of his anger. You yelp in pain, but cling to him anyways, refusing to let him go either, hiding behind the hill of his shoulder. Pushing his son away, not letting you go. It’s wrong, it’s wrong and you’d told him that you wanted to keep him, to take him away from his own son, that you were made of nothing but greed, but there’s something wrong here, inherently not right, bad. 

And even yet, you can’t help the look on your face that must surely be nothing short of humiliating to Sam for the way he reddens, the little muscles in his face jerking uncontrollably. You’re done here, Sam. Get the fuck out, Joel says again, taking a step forward to herd him out, pulling you along, keeping you close. You taunt him with your gaze, can’t help yourself, “I thought I was a prude?” You say from behind the protection of his father’s body. “Isn’t that what you called me for all those years? Thought I was frigid, unfuckable, unlovable? Am I not anymore?” You ask in a small, breathy voice, falsely guileless, entirely provoking. “Have you changed your mind now that I’ve taken your Daddy from you?” False pout and mocking eyebrow.

Joel’s head snaps over his shoulder, incredulous look on his face, and Sam flinches as if struck, splintered glass in the shape of his son’s gaze, it fractures, falls back to where Joel holds you.“I wanted to talk to you,” He says to his father, “I wanted to– You’re really choosing her over me?” It costs Sam something to say this, and you weren’t expecting it either because suddenly, the game changes. His voice is child-like in its hurt, that son who longed for his father for all those years. “After everything that was stolen from us, you’re not going to choose me?” You know in that moment, he’s won. 

“This isn’t about choice, son,” Joel tells him, but you hear it for the lie it is. “This isn’t about you versus her.”

“But it is,” and his eyes flash to yours, victory held in them. “She was my wife. And you’re my father, and you have to make a choice now. This is fucking sick.” There’d always been an intelligence to his cruelty, and he wields it now. The sound of his son’s name is a choked thing in Joel’s mouth. He goes rigid, a painful stillness, muscles vibrating with warring emotions. You hold your breath for it. He looks down at where he holds you, tightens his grip painfully, and then slowly, so that the three of you are sure to take in the whole procession of it, he lets go of your arm. One finger at a time, the heat of his palm leaving you, and you’re alone. 

“It isn’t about choice,” he says again, and yet, one has already been made. You stand still, head bent, gaze riveted on the place where he’d let you go. He takes a step away from you, towards his son, and his voice is low and gentle and soothing now, and you’re still staring at the barrenness of your arm.

I had such potential to be good, you think. He just never saw it. But you don’t know who you mean. And you don’t think it matters anymore. 

They say more to each other. Joel’s hand on his son’s arm now, pushing him towards the door, but still, still comforting for the thing it symbolizes, a benediction of choice, and you turn around to face the other side of the room. You can’t look – wrapping your arms around yourself. You don’t think you’ll run this time. Face it head on, let it be over now in full. Sam’s voice rings shrill, the sound of your name and curses and accusations, fighting a futile fight against his father’s even baritone, the sound of the slamming door, and then silence. When you turn back over your shoulder, they’ve stepped outside together, leaving you alone inside the house. 

He’d asked you once what you wanted, and you can’t fathom what the point of it had been. What does it matter what I want? That’s the least significant thing here. It always was. 

When he finally comes back inside, you’re dressed, lost bra retrieved, your bag packed and sitting at your feet. You’d gone into the kitchen just before, taken a peek at the pie, and you were right, and you don’t know how he could have possibly known, but he’d gotten you rhubarb. Your face is dry now, no tears and no will to cry. There’s nothing to speak of in his gaze when he leans back against the door to look at you, swallowing down words you’re sure will mean nothing in the face of all of this. And you look at him and you love him and you think, I was married to a man once and now I’m not and now I’m with his father and I love him in the way I never loved the son; and so now, I must ask myself, am I merely looking for the love of lesser man, who could have never given me what I needed, in the eyes of a man who seems to have all the answers? 

You don’t think so. And yet, there are still no answers to be had, and no questions left to ask. 

“I’m going this time,” In case he has designs to force you to stay, and even though there’s a light of acceptance in his eyes, he still shakes his head. Swallows and gathers his seams about himself before he says, “You aren’t leaving me,” gaze churning from warry to flinty to resolved. 

“I was never supposed to stay at all. I was never supposed to be for you. You said so yourself– you said we couldn’t fall in love. That I wasn't for you.” You get to your feet, pulling your purse over your shoulder, and he rushes towards you, pushing the bag back down to the floor, taking your face in his hands hard, something like panic in his eyes and in the air and in the vibration of his voice.

“It doesn’t matter, none of that matters– Whatever was before, whatever was in the past doesn’t mean shit when it’s just you and me here together–” And you’re crying now, real, great sobs of grief. 

“You were the one that said we couldn’t fall in love,” you cry again, try and pull away, but he holds you to himself, squeezes you against him, shivers like he too is crying, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“I was a fucking idiot, a damn liar. There was never any other option, baby.” Most terrible of terrible truths, you’d both known if for the lie it was the moment he’d said it, even before, probably. You stand limply in the circle of his embrace. He’d said once that he’d been a coward not to go out and look for you, but you know the opposite is true. No one is more of a coward than you were for not having waited for him. For having been so desperate for love, you’d been willing to settle for the wrong kind. You’ll never be able to settle for false comfort like that again, and it’s all his fault. “You’ve ruined me now. I’m ruined.”

He pulls back to take your face in his hands again, and you were right, he is crying. “I’m ruined! And I need you to give me another chance. I demand another chance– to… to fix this. To–”

But another chance for what? To change what? “He’s your son, and I only want you to be happy.” And you know he couldn’t ever be happy, truly happy, estranged from his only child. After all, like he’d said, the theft of him had been the worst thing ever done. You wouldn’t commit a crime like that against Joel also, never. 

“Baby, please, I think… I– I love–”

“Please–” You press the tips of your fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “Please, don’t do this to me now.” It makes you angry, this intent of his to trap you here with his love when there’s no room for you to stay. You turn away, picking up your bag again, but he snatches you back into himself, wrapping his big arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest. And you’d struggle if you could, but there’s so little fight left in you. “You’re the one that said – you said we couldn’t!”

“I know what I fucking said,” he spits, voice so angry it almost frightens you. “But there’s still– We have to talk, we have to–”

“What can you possibly imagine there’s left to say?”

“Everything.”

“Or nothing.”

“Look at me. Look at me–” He pulls your head back and to the side by your chin. There’s a bright flush sitting high on his cheekbones, and his eyes shift quickly back and forth between yours, searching for a way to fix this. To fix the good thing that’s now been broken. His thumb strokes the point of your chin softly, and he presses his mouth slowly to yours, eyes open to watch for your reaction. “This wasn’t a mistake,” he tells you, “We weren’t a mistake.” Weren’t. The final nail in the coffin. “I know, I know that there are so many things– that we can’t… but just– just stand here with me for one minute, please. Just give me one more second, and I’ll–”

He doesn’t finish the thought, and you let him kiss you one last time. And when he pulls back, because it doesn’t feel like it really matters, and because you just want to hear the sound of it coming out of your mouth, because you wish it was true and not the complete opposite, because you want to be as cruel and ugly outside as you feel on the inside, you whisper, “I hate you,” a full bodied lie. 

His eyes shutter and flicker for a moment, a wash of hurt suffusing them. But because he’s never been a weak man and because he’s always been honest, and he’s always, always above everything else, been good, he says, “And I love you,” and there it is. You’d thought you wanted to hear the sound of that too, but now that you have, it’s more terrible than you could have ever possibly imagined. And after that, there really is nothing left to say. 

-

Joel goes to see his brother afterwards because it’s what he always does and who he always goes to when he’s lost. When a son in the shape of a man made of nothing but childish fear and anger and hurt, had appeared one day, dropped out of the blue sky, onto his front porch, when he realized he wanted his daughter-in-law in a way no good man should. And now, that he’s admitted, because the realization had already been there, swift and uncompromising, the admittance had been all that was left, the hard going part, that he was in love with you – in love with the woman who had been married to his son, here he finds himself again. Lost and weak and two feet tall, made of nothing but hollow bones. “I’m not myself,” he tells Tommy, and then amends the lie because he’s not come here to tell lies. “She’s made me into someone I don’t recognize and wish I could be forever.” How would he get his old self back now? Impossible. You’d taken him away with you, he was only half made now, half man, half strength. And Tommy is understanding because it has always only been the two of them, and he’s always seen Joel for exactly who he is without judgement. The most honest eyes in the whole world, his brother. “I'm afraid that she’s the love of my life. I’m afraid that I’m not really so afraid at all. And she won’t even talk to me.” You’d left his house a week and a day ago, and Joel was going out of his mind, losing pieces of himself along the way, his sanity, his sense of right and wrong, his self restraint, self possession. He was about to do something crazy, he felt it gnawing and itching at his bones. He could barely remember the look of betrayal in his own son’s eyes amidst the madness of the memory of the hurt in yours, the sight of you walking away from him. “And my son. My son, my child, Tommy, he hates me. And I’m in love with the woman he used to be married to, who he hurt. And he’s a cruel and small man, and he needs me. He needs my help, and I have a responsibility to him. But Tommy– Tommy, I love her. She’s mine. And what am I going to do? What am I going to say to him? How will I ever face him again? She’s mine, and I– I can’t explain it, I can’t excuse it. But she’s mine– she’s my woman. She belongs to me. I know this as well as I know my own name, my own face.”

And his brother, his brother, his brother who always understands him, who always stands beside him, he claps him on the shoulder and says, “If anyone can find a way, Joel, it’s you. I know you can. You’re stronger and smarter than anyone I’ve ever known. And you don’t abandon yours.” And so Joel must believe him because Tommy is his brother, and he knows him, and he knows that even though he’s weak now, even if he must let himself be weak now, in the face of all of this, Joel is not truly a weak man where it counts. 

-

You and Sam had only ever spoken once on the topic of children. It was, from the first moment broached, a non possibility, not even half of an option. Devastating, but now, all this time later, almost like a grace from God. You’d wanted a baby so badly, more than anything in the whole world, and he would not give you one. He’d said your desire for a child was incongruous with your cold nature, how frigid you were. 

And you’d been so long, caught in the who am I, in the what am I doing. You never stopped to ask why. Molded into a bad shape, but mute and deaf to the intricacies of what had carved you so. You’d needed to destroy yourself entirely, tear down everything around yourself, and then recreate yourself and everything else in your life in a new image. Perhaps, then, you’d finally have the chance to be good.

Your husband’s father had given you this. Joel had given you this. 

And Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. How to tell him that you’re sorry? That you’re vile and cruel and yes, even cold sometimes, but for him, for him you can find it in yourself to be soft, something to be forgiven, you hope. His son had called you a prude, and then, his father’s whore. Did it matter what the truth was? You weren’t so sure. Did you want Joel because you were a whore? Because your own father had never loved you, and you were thus desperate to fill that void left by lesser, crueler men? Did it matter? You hated the idea that this desire for him had to have been born by consequence of another man. What about what you wanted? What about the fact that it felt good when he was inside of you? When he gave it to you rough and hard and when he told you that you belonged to him because you did, because it was the truth. What about the fact that you were in love with him? That should have counted more because you said it counted more. And then that was it, nothing more to the thing of it. So what if he was the father of the man who’d been your husband? The man who’d stolen all of your surety, your passion, yourself. Sometimes, retribution feels fucking good. So what about it? And then, and after all, you were in love with him. So what did it all matter after that? 

People liked to say that sometimes a bad thing is worth it if it feels good enough. But what if you didn't think it was bad at all, and what if it didn’t just feel good enough? What if it’s actually everything, the best thing you’d ever had in your whole life? And what if it is simply and solely, or maybe even also, who cares, who cares, what if it is simply because it’s Joel? Joel who is beautiful and strong and good. Maybe even perfect in a way that you need. 

He’d told you once that he’d never had the chance to be angry, that it had been stolen from him, the worst thing ever done to me, he’d said. You know that you could never do that to him. Never hurt him in that way. And there might be so many options. Choices. Truths. Yourself. Finally, you are only yourself. Good in the way he’d shown you to be. In a way that did not bow to anything but the sort of goodness you needed. But Joel; above all else, Joel. He is the first choice, and everything else seems inconsequential after that. What is goodness worth in the face of all he’s given you? 

So, you sit now, within the basin of your empty bathtub, no more leaky kitchen sink echoing through your empty apartment, he’d fixed it weeks ago, and peer over the lip of the tub. And there, blinking up at you from the face of the skinny pink and white stick, is your answer to goodness. It had always been within yourself. And you think, if it must be just the two of us now, then let it. After all, your father has finally taught me how to be good. 

End.

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