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beels-burger-babe · 2 years

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Eyes in the Dark - The Stalker AU

***Happy Spooky Season my friends! This fic came to me in the middle of class and I immediately started scribbling down ideas for it. It's dark. It's eerie. It's a horror fic. I hope you all enjoy it! 🥰 -B ***

Summary: MC never went to the Devildom, but that doesn't stop the brothers from finding the last piece of Lilith in existence.

CW: Yandere behaviour, stalking, paranoia, explicit kidnapping/breaking and entering

You couldn't put your finger on it, but lately, your life had gotten weird.

Normally, you wouldn't say there was any particularly special about your day-to-day. You worked in a cafe a couple blocks from your apartment that you would bike to every morning. You'd greet the cafe cat, Jinx, and serve the customers with (some) ease. From there, you'd go home after closing, wash up, relax for a bit, go to bed, rinse and repeat.

In your years of living on your own in the city, nothing had ever changed or offset that routine. Honestly you were satisfied enough that you didn't think anything ever would, and yet ...

A crow cawed from the rooftops above you as autumn leaves skittered across your feet and the bike rack.

That was the first thing — for the past month there had been at least one crow everywhere you went.

They didn't do much. They just sat from a distance, never getting closer than 15 feet from you, and watched.

They watched as you washed the dishes, as you locked up your bike, as you brushed your teeth, as you cleaned the pastry display at work.

You shook your head at the bird and made your way into the cafe.

Where ever you went, these crows always followed.

It was daunting. Eerie even.

But what could you do? Nature was weird sometimes.

Opening up, at this point, was a second nature to you — wipe down the tables, run the machines, put out the baked goods. It was simple.

Any tension that the crows had brought onto you eased as you slipped into the familiar actions of your work. Hours quickly passed by as your regular morning customers came and went.

Eventually, noon hit, and you got to work preparing what was always your biggest order of the day.

The cafe's bell rang as you as packaged the last of the pastries.

"Hi," a soft voice spoke behind you.

You glanced over and smiled at the familiar ginger, towering awkwardly over the cash register. You smiled brightly as you gathered the multiple bags of baked goods and carried them over. "Hello, Beel! I got your order here for you. Seven cupcakes, three croissants, half a dozen cookies, a scone, and-" you reached back behind you and cheerfully set down a cup beside the bags, "one extra large mocha with extra chocolate and extra whip cream."

His amethyst eyes widened as he gaped at the bags. "Y-You ... You remembered my order?"

You huffed playfully and crossed your arms over your chest. "What kind of a barista do you think I am? You've been coming here every day with the same order for the past month. At this point, we make an extra batch of everything just for you. Of course, I know your order. It'd be kind of hard to forget."

His cheeks rouged as he bashfully nodded his head. "Right. But it means a lot. For you to take note, I mean."

You chuckled, "I'm just doing my job. Your total is $60.66 by the way."

"Same as always," he joked, tapping a golden card against the credit machine. He tilted his head, staring at you as he began collecting his bags in his arms. "Are you alright? You look a little tired today?"

You tried to maintain your professional, customer service smile as you shrugged. "Just work and other things."

He hummed and nodded his head towards one of the many empty tables. "Want to sit and talk about it? There's no one else here and I could use some help getting through all of this," he lifted the arm-load of food a little higher up.

A quick glance at the clock, and you were shaking your head. "Sorry. My lunch break isn't for a while yet. Besides I've seen you devour the entirety of your order on your own with no issue before. Honestly, I don't know how you do it."

"You'd be surprised," he smiled tenderly down at you. "But I was being serious. No one will even notice. You can step back behind the cash the second another customer comes in, I promise. Just sit and talk for a bit."

You knew you shouldn't have, but Beel had been nothing but sweet to you since coming to the cafe, and it really would be nice to hear someone else's opinion on everything that had been happening.

"Okay," Beel's eyes dazzled as he lead you over to a table by the window.

A crow sat on the other side of the glass. You frowned at the bird for a moment before taking your seat.

Beel's smile only grew bigger as he passed you a cupcake and took a sip from his mocha. "Here. Red velvet is your favourite, right?"

You hesitated as you took the dessert from him. "Yeah. Always has been. How did you know that?"

Beel merely looked at you with that tender expression he seemed so keen towards and shrugged, "Lucky guess. You said work and stuff was bothering you. What's stuff?"

You unconsciously side-eyed the crow to right, only to find the creature already staring at you. You couldn't fight off the shiver that ran down your spine as you turned your attention back to your best-paying customer.

"Well," you began, "There's been a few weird things."

Beel paused mid-bite as his previously delighted expression suddenly became concerned. "Weird things? Are you alright?"

You waved off his worry as you took a bite of your own dessert. "It's probably nothing. But I've been on edge lately and I keep either losing things in my house or find them not at all like I remembered," you lean forward, feeling the words that you hadn't allowed yourself to speak out loud finally spill from your mouth. "Like my body spray. It keeps vanishing! I'll buy a new bottle, and I'll use it for a few days and then suddenly fwoosh! Gone!"

The ginger narrowed his eyebrows. "Is it possible you just misplaced it?" he questioned around a mouthful of cake.

"Four times in one month?" You easily shot back. "And that's not all! I have always made my bed in the morning, but lately I've been coming home and the blankets are just a little more ruffled than I remember, and even if I've just washed the bedding, it always smells used, you know? Like someone has been laying in it all day!"

CAW!!!

You jumped to your feet as the crow beside the window screeched and jumped around a little. "And the crows! The stupid crows! They've been following me everywhere, and I think they've been leaving notes and books on my doorstep, or at least someone has!"

"MC."

"What?!" You snapped as you spun around. You froze as Beel looked at you in pity and your words crashed back into you. You scrambled to your feet. "I am so so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have put that all on you or shouted at you like that. Christ, you probably think I'm insane."

Beel quickly rose to meet you. "Hey, hey. Don't talk like that. It's alright."

"You're my customer," you wallowed. "This was horribly inappropriate. I'm sorry. I ... I have to get back to my shift," without another word you rushed to the back room.

You were completely oblivious to the glare that Beelzebub was giving the crow.

You were slightly dazed for the rest of your shift. There wasn't nearly as much conversation between you and your customers as you served them, and eventually, your boss decided to let you leave early.

The bike ride home was as eerie as the bike ride there — only this time it was because the ever-present crows were now missing entirely. It left a tightness in your core that you couldn't shake, an unease that clung to your very soul.

Maybe it was because, even without the crows there, you could still feel the cold, sensation of eyes following you.

You finally made it back to your small apartment, and you quite honestly, couldn't wait to lock all your doors and windows and just fall asleep. Today had been long. And tiring. And weird. And-

Your door creaked open as you flicked the lock and a strange puddle laid in front of you.

Breath caught in your lungs and your heart froze. You took a cautionary glance around your surroundings — there was no one else in the hallway with you and, from a first look, your apartment was empty, and yet there was a trail of wet footprints that you definitely hadn't left there leading deeper into your apartment.

With a trembling hand, you reached over and grabbed the umbrella sitting by your doorway and held it like a sword.

Each of your careful steps echoed loudly throughout your lone, single apartment, regardless of how quietly you moved. With your heart threatening to jump out of your chest, you slowly followed the steps to the bathroom.

SLAM!

You threateningly held your umbrella out in front of you as you kicked the bathroom door open — empty.

You couldn't help but laugh, a small manic laugh, as you looked around yourself once more. It was nothing. Just like the bed. And the perfume. And the crows. And the eyes. And the books. It was nothing.

Were you going crazy? It certainly felt like it.

All these little things had completely uprooted your peaceful happy life and thrown it into haywire. And yet, there was no evidence to prove these things to be true.

On weak legs, you forced yourself to further inspect the bathroom. There was a strange lingering scent — almost like sea water — but nothing appeared to be missing.

As your eyes scanned over the tub, they doubled back near the drain. You narrowed your eyebrows as kneeled down to get a closer look.

There was a short blue hair, that most certainly didn't belong to you, resting there.

Your hand came up to cover your mouth as you stumbled away.

Someone was here. That had to proof of that right? Someone had come into your house while you were gone. You weren't crazy. There was actually someone-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You yelped, jumping as you whirred around and slashed at the air with your umbrella.

Your eyes fell towards your entrance way — the source of the knock.

You swallowed thickly, taking a deep calming breath and tightening your grip on the umbrella before making your way over to your door.

You stood in front of it for one, two minutes. Waiting to see if the person would knock again.

Nothing.

Goosebumps rose on your skin as you peered through your peep hole and once again, nothing.

Your trembling hand came to rest on the door knob. "It was probably just someone pulling a prank," you mumbled to yourself. "O-Or maybe it was a package."

Regret was already pooling inside your heart as you twisted the doorknob and pulled it open.

A tall man in a black suit with midnight hair and blood red eyes stood not less than two feet from you.

A high shrill burst passed your lips as you tried to slam the door shut, but the man moved with almost unnatural speed and quickly blocked the attempt.

His crimson eyes glittered down at you as he smiled. "Now, that's no way to treat a guest, MC."

Rather than responding to him, you brought your umbrella down as hard as you could onto his head.

A grunt echoed behind you as your bolted for your room, quickly shutting and locking the door behind you. You wasted no time, and began dragging your dresser and desk to block off the door as the sound of the man's loud footsteps came closer and closer and-

A man with navy and white hair sat groggily in your bed. His amethyst eyes, so similar to Beel's, widened as they met yours. "Shit," he cursed. "You're home."

"Urgh, what's with all the noise?"

A wave of paralyzation hit you as another strange voice yawned behind you. Tears of pure, concentrated fear lined your eyes as you silently shook your head and turned around.

Before you could say a word, splinters of wood exploded from behind you as your door was easily kicked in and the furniture thrown aside.

The sleeping creep quickly clutched onto you and yanked you away from the destruction. He curled himself around you, almost as though he was trying to protect you from the danger happening in your own house.

"Devils and gods, Lucifer! Watch it! You could've hurt them!"

"If I remember correctly, Belphegor, you're supposed to be long gone by now."

You instantly tried to rip yourself from Belphegor's grasp only for him to tighten his hold around you. "Easy. Easy. You're going to hurt yourself. Just relax," he cooed as he ran a hand over your head.

Your heart stopped as their words registered within your horror-riddled mind.

They knew each other.

A strange wave of drowsiness washed over you and you felt your heart plummet further and further.

Belphegor chuckled as tears finally slipped from your eyes. "I can see what Beel was talking about. They're even cuter in person. Like a scared little bunny."

Lucifer hummed as he tilted his head at the pair of you. "Yes. I suppose they are."

You sob as you weakly kicked and scratched at the arms holding you, but they held no affect. The drowsiness clouding your brain only grew thicker and thicker with every hit.

"Please," you whimpered as you strained in the man's hold. "Leave me alone. L-Let me go."

"After all the trouble we went to find you?" Gloved fingers gently tilted your chin upwards and forced your eyes to lock with the tall man — He filled every inch of your vision as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "It was already lucky enough that we even found out about your existence. You — a descendent of Lilith," the arms holding you tightened at the name. "But here you are."

You could feel Belphegor nuzzle his face into your hair. "And when we saw you, it was so strange. You are not Lilith at all. You look nothing like her, and you're so very different. You're almost better than her," he sighed in contentment. "I can't wait for you to be home with us."

You felt your eyelids grow heavier and heavier as the world around you began to blur. The last thing you saw was Lucifer smiling at you. "It seems you won't have to wait much longer," he took you from Belphegor and lifted you into his own arms just as your consciousness finally began to fade.

"Goodnight, MC. When you wake, you'll be in your new home."

***I have discovered that I actually love writing this spooky stuff! It was so much fun! I hope you guys really enjoyed this! Thank you so much for the love and support!***

TAGLIST:

@thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @poly-bi-mf @burrixino @salvationprodigy @pumpkins-mainside-blog @acousticpen @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @itskrispy @10paradox10 @vallison-rea @ivoryclive @newfangled-artistry @pumpkinpatchkid @chirikoheina @sailboat21 @theother4 @todoroses @circus-of-freaks @mcx7demonbros @bloopthebat

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wrathofthestag · 1 year

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Phillip's

Benoit Blanc believed there was no godly reason to have five coffee shops within walking distance of one another. So when a new shop called Phillip’s opened just down the street, Benoit couldn’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. At least the name wasn’t idiotic. Also on AO3...

To be honest, Benoit Blanc thought there were too many coffee shops in the world.

Jesus wept; there was no godly reason to have five coffee shops within walking distance of one another. Macco-choco caramel this, that, and the other—a waste of real estate. And the pastries they served? Travesty. Utter travesty. So when a new shop called Phillip’s opened just down the street, Benoit couldn’t help but petulantly roll his eyes. At least the name wasn’t idiotic.

He walked past Phillip’s—it was on his way home, after all—and ignored the smells coming from within, or at least tried to. Benoit’s neighbor, Mrs. Reynolds with the very sweet basset hound named Droopy, had said Phillip’s baked goods were “quite tasty.” Quite tasty, however, wasn’t enough to tempt him to enter the establishment. That was until Phillip’s had the utter audacity to put a sign in the window declaring they had delicious fresh beignets.

Beignets? Outside of New Orleans? Benoit couldn’t help but huff. He had to investigate that surely outlandish claim.

When he pushed his way through the coffee shop door, he instantly noticed how tastefully decorated the shop was. Fresh flowers sat at each table, everything was painted a lovely pale yellow, and Ella Fitzgerald rang from the speakers. Hmm. The shop was fairly empty, with just a few patrons at one table. Benoit couldn’t tell if that was a portend or if he just came in between a rush.

He looked at the chalkboard menu above the counter and studied it for a moment until someone cleared their throat and broke into his space.

“Welcome to Phillip’s,” a voice said.

“Yes, hello, thank you. Can I--”

Benoit looked at the source of the voice, and…

Oh, shitballs.

Well, he was just Benoit’s type, now, wasn’t he? Dark hair, blue eyes, a quizzical brow, and a crooked smile that made him want to trip over himself. He wore a tie-dyed apron and a nametag that read Phillip.

“We have some cheddar bacon scones just out of the oven.”

“Uh…”

“Unless you’re a vegan or something, then scratch that,” the man, the Phillip said.

Benoit took his wits about him as he tried to ignore Phillip’s smile and floppy hair.

“Beignets?” he finally croaked out.

“Ah, a connoisseur of the beignet are you?” Phillip asked as he leaned on his elbows against the counter.

“Yes, you could say that. Absolutely.”

Phillip’s eyes widened slightly, and then he shook his head and laughed.

“Yeah, judging by that accent, you could definitely say that,” he said. “Bugger.”

Benoit smiled and shrugged.

“Beignets outside of New Orleans shows quite the braggadocio.”

This time it was Phillip who grinned and shrugged.

“I hope they’re up to snuff.”

He looked over his shoulder and shouted.

“Lou! Hey, Lou! How long on the beignets?”

“Five minutes!” a voice from out back replied.

“Well, there you go. You can let me know what you think in five minutes. Anything else?”

The two looked at each other for a beat, the ghost of a smile still lingering.

“Coffee?”

“Room for cream?”

“No, thank you.”

“Takeaway?”

“Yes, please.”

“Name.”

“Blanc. Benoit Blanc.”

Benoit wasn’t quite sure exactly why he gave his whole name like that, but he did. Phillip snorted.

“Blanc? Benoit Blanc? What are you? James Bond?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Okay, fine,” Phillip said and exhaled loudly.

“Fine?”

“Some people like to give made-up names, and at this point, I’ve stopped reacting—or at least trying to react. Especially with one as silly as this.”

“Silly?” Benoit sputtered. “Listen--”

“Is that Blanc with a ‘c’ or a ‘q-u-e’?” Phillip asked with an eyebrow raised.

“A ‘c.’”

“I see,” Phillips said as he wrote on the cup and filled it with coffee. “Here you go, Blanc-with-a-C. The beignet will be right up.”

Benoit paid, and as their fingers grazed, he couldn’t help the tiny flip his insides did.

Phillip cleared his throat again and said, “Very well then. It should only be a few minutes on the beignets.”

“Thank you.”

Benoit sat at one of the cushy corner armchairs in a very supple dark grey suede and sipped his coffee.

“Is it always this quiet in here?” he asked toward the counter.

The patrons at the one table turned to look at Benoit.

“Quiet? Hardly,” Phillip called back. “You came during a quiet pocket. It’ll pick up again in an hour.”

Benoit sat and watched as Phillip wiped down the table, his forearms strong while they worked in a circular motion. Phillip paused and looked up right at Benoit, who startled and quickly looked down at his coffee cup.

Phillip shook his head and grinned as he wiped some more.

Lou, apparently, walked out from the back with a tray full of beignets.

“Order up for Blanc,” Phillip said.

Benoit walked up to the counter and breathed an internal sigh of relief as he looked at the beignets. They were a beautiful shade of light brown and covered in powdered sugar.

“I stand ready for your judgment,” Phillip said as he shook some more powdered sugar onto one and gently put it on a plate.

Benoit pick it up and took a bite. It was yeasty and sweet, but not overpowering. It was as fragant and airy as a summer’s night in Savannah.

“Oh, my word.” He took another bite. “Oh my goodness.”

Phillip smiled.

“Good, right?”

“It's… well, yes,” Benoit said with delight.

“I know.”

Benoit put down the beignet and quickly placed a ten in the tip jar and smiled, upper lip covered in powdered sugar.

“Well! What a compliment!” Phillip said as he picked up the jar and looked at it, puzzled.

“What’s wrong?” Benoit asked and gingerly wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Come on! Just an hour ago, this jar was almost full! My tip jar’s been nicked again.”

Phillip sighed, walked over to the register, took out some money, and placed it in the tip jar.

“If it were just me working here, I wouldn't care so much, but Lou and the kids all divvy up the tips. This is the second time it’s happened. I thought the first time was a fluke but I supposed it wasn’t.”

“So sorry that's happening.”

“What kind of a cretin steals tips? I need a detective to solve this nonsense!”

A detective? Benoit couldn't help but laugh.

“What? What's so funny?”

“No, it's just that--”

“What?”

“Well,” Benoit said. “I'm a detective.”

Phillip put his hands on his hips. “You are not.”

“Certified and bonafied.”

Phillip laughed. “Oh god! You’re not one of those overbearing sorts that smokes a bloody pipe, fancying themselves Sherlock fucking Holmes, who thinks they’re too smart for their own good?”

“No, I think I’m just the right amount of smart… and I smoke cigars,” Benoit said with a smile.

The two studied each other for a beat, their smiles growing wider by the second.

“You just think you're so charming, don't you?”

“I have my moments.”

Benoit felt someone watching, turned, and noticed the people sitting at the table looking at them amusedly. The woman at the table mouthed Go on to him.

“Well, all right then, Blanc. Would you like to have dinner sometime?” Phillip said. “You know, to go over the case.”

“Are you hiring me?”

Phillip moved his hand in a so-so motion.

“Not sure yet. I'll let you know after dinner.”

Benoit took another bite of the beignet and sighed.

"Flying colors.”

Phillips smiled smugly.

“Well, Blanc. Let me introduce myself properly. I'm Phillip. Phillip White.”

“Phillip White? You’re pullin’ my leg!”

“No,” Phillip laughed softly. “I promise you, I am not. My hands are nowhere near your legs.”

“Phillip,” Benoit said and stretched out his hand, “it's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Lovely to meet you, Blanc.”

The two smiled at one another, surrounded by pastries, music, and flowers. And if their handshake lasted a bit longer than it should have, well, there was no mystery as to why.

#glass onion #glass onion fic #benoit x phillip #phillip #benoit blanc #i haven't written anything in weeks #*sweats nervously*#PLEASE feel free to comment on ao3 #or here #*laughs nervously*

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tinycheesecakedetective · 2 months

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The Night of Bitter Despair: A Fading Letters Story

Pt. 1

The Night of the Witches. An event that happens once every millennia, where witches from all across the world gather to exchange recipes and secrets with each other. Such an event had never been witnessed by any cookie before... And yet, here Pure Vanilla stood. Worn from days of travel and dwindling supplies, he looked up at the entrance to the witch's kitchen. The hard part was finally over. The answers he sought were beyond those doors. All that was left to do was walk inside. Pure Vanilla quickly gathered himself and quickly ran through the door, the heavy iron slamming behind him. The kitchen seemed dim, vague shadows littering the halls. That was, until, light flooded the room, illuminating everything in various hues and patterns.

"Oh my goodness... It's unlike anything I've ever seen before..." His eyes widened at the sight. Sugar work adorned the table as it looped endlessly into the sky, reflecting onto the table like a kaleidoscope. Palaces made with fondant and marzipan littered the table as a set of hands placed down a fountain spewing an endless amount of dark chocolate. A chortle echoed across the room as the witch's hand swept across the area, forcing the healer to hide behind one of the marzipan creations. As he peaked out from his hiding spot, more and more things were added and removed as the witch saw fit. He saw a whisk being snatched away as a tray of scones was meticulously planted to his right. Pieces of candy were spread like breadcrumbs on a forest trail. Piping bags were constantly in motion as the finishing touches were added. Just in time, too. The witch's endless decorating finally stopped as the doors burst out, slamming against her home.

"FILOMENAAA!!!"

A particularly shrill voice rang out, causing Pure Vanilla to cover his ears. Were the witches always this loud? The witch known as Filomena turned her head before giddily embracing her friends. "WINIFRED!!! BASTINDA!!! It's been a thousand long years! Glad to see y'all!" "HAH! A MILLENIA IS NOTHING IF IT MEANS SPENDING TIME WITH YOU. YOU ALWAYS THREW THE BEST PARTIES!" Bastinda huffed before haphazardly dropping her treats at the table, a flagrant grin appearing. "AND THIS TIME I CAME PREPARED! I'VE HAD PLENTY OF TIME TO COME UP WITH NEW RECIPES."

"...humph. ...even with all your effort, your sweets still look stale..." The third witch, Winifred, sulked behind before placing her items on the table, taking the time to wipe off any smudges. "...unlike you, I've been perfecting my handiwork."

Bastinda couldn't help but roll her eyes, mocking the mopey looking witch with a giant yawn. "look at me... I'm Winnie-Fred... and I make the same old desserts over and over-OH PLEASE, YOU COULDN'T PERFECT A SWISS ROLL FROM A TOOTSIE ROLL!"

"HEY. Settle down, will you?" Filomena huffed before pushing the two to their seats. "It's not a competition! Look at these! They look stunning!" The other two begrudgingly looked at each other before muttering a half baked truce. "There, was that so bad-" She was soon interrupted by a loud bell ringing from across the room. "Oh, what good timing! The main course is finished! Please, enjoy the appetizers while I go put the finishing touches!"

Pure Vanilla removed his hands from his ears, bemoaning the awkward state he was in. But he was grateful because now two witches were just sitting there, eating and talking. He could just ask them right then and there! He picked up his staff and moved from his hiding spot before-

"They're REAAADY!!!" Crumbs.

The other witch had returned, wearing a pair of oven mitts and placing down several plates of cookies. Huh. Pure Vanilla assumed she was going to grab... Well, anything else. She mentioned a main course, so why..? "PHEW! I baked a TON of cookies!" Filomena took one before shoving it in Bastinda's face. "Here, try one! You're gonna LOVE IT!" Before he even realized it, his confusion had turned to horror. Bastinda took the cookie and beheaded it in a single sickening crunch.

"W-what...? What... is this...?!" Pure Vanilla's face paled immensely. A trickle of sweat ran down his face as he froze with fear. His weak dough trembled, instinctively clutching his staff as Bastinda's face lit up with excitement. She clapped her hands with childlike glee before grabbing a fistful of cookies and shoving them into her mouth. The drool and crumbs splattered onto the table while she kept reaching out for more. "...save some for the rest of us, you glutton..." Winifred sneered before sneaking away a few of her own. "OH, YOU KNOW I CAN'T HELP IT! THEY'RE JUST SOO... DELICIOUS!!!" It was disgusting. It was cruelty. Pure Vanilla had to resist the urge to vomit as more crumbs fell from their hands. Soon, all three began to take part in this savagery. What was he doing-?! Why was he just standing there as innocent cookies were being mauled right in front of him? He had a soul gem! Pure Vanilla could save them!

Adrenaline began to run through his dough as he ran to one of the abandoned plates, casting a healing spell over those that were spared in the culling. "PLEASE-!! You must get up!! You have to help me save the others!!" But there was no response. As he took a closer look, Pure Vanilla saw those injured... smiling. They were being eaten, and they were smiling, as if they hadn't a care in the world. He didn't have time to take it in, as one of the hands came back to finish the job. He quickly ran to another plate where he tried again, trying to pull one of the cookies away, but to no avail. What was worse, these cookies were smiling as well. "Why..?" His hurt and confusion rose until it couldn't be contained any further. "Why are you SMILING AT ME?!"

SLAM.

Winifred's hand landed with a hideous thud. The plate shattered on contact, shrapnel dashing across the table as the remaining cookies broke against the wall. "...what's thiiiis? I don't remember making this cookie..!" Her head turned to Filomena, who squinted at the sight. "Well obviously, I must've made it earlier. You can have it as a treat!" Pure Vanilla began to hyperventilate. In a few seconds a target had been placed on his back. He need to leave. He didn't care how or when, he just had to. Immediately his body began to move on it's own, sprinting towards the only exit he was aware of.

"Aaah... this one's a runner."

Spoons began slamming down onto the wood. The knives that once sat idle for decoration were now soaring across the room. The constant thumping made him lose his balance constantly, but he couldn't afford to stop now. Fists came crashing down, shattering one of the plates. Run. A fork almost pierced his neck, tearing the tablecloth underneath him. Just keep running. His only instinct was to just keep going, for as long as it took. "You're so close", he kept telling himself. "You can't stop here or you will die!" So when he began flying, he was almost relieved. At least until he understood what had happened.

"...I got it."

It was so quick, and yet it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Winifred's hand had finally caught up to him, striking him from behind and sending his tired body into a freefall. He felt his soul jam on his neck begin to loosen and slip. His staff had snapped from the force as he saw moments of his life flash before him.

"...Why..?" He finally managed to croak out. He hadn't realized his throat was so sore already. "Why would... you do this? Why would you deceive us...?"

All Pure Vanilla was met with was silence. Tears began to fall, and soon he was weeping bitterly. Deep in his dough, the answer he searched for was answered.

Cookies were made to be eaten.

Why would they ever entertain the questions of something so insignificant if they had always planned to eat him? Had his life mattered at all? He was born with a will and a soul, wasn't that enough to be acknowledged? He had friends and family. He had someone he loved so much he would walk to the ends of Earthbread for her. But to the witches... none of it mattered.

None of it mattered...

All they cared about was that they caught him.

"OOH, RIGHT INTO THE ULTIMATE DOUGH! I DIDN'T KNOW YOU HAD IT IN YOU, YA OLD BAT!" The all too familiar voice of Bastinda cackled as her bulging eyes stared at the cauldron in the back. "Oh, it's been a while since I used that old thing!" Filomena crooned, her gnarled hand tracing the rims of the giant bowl. "...y'know... I always wondered what might happen... if a cookie was baked into it again..." Winifred's eyes lowered, a malicious looking smirk plastered onto her face.

A thought came to them. A truly horrible thought. You could feel their collective gears begin to turn as they all stopped to look at the cauldron. They could, surely they could. What was stopping them? Bastinda's toothy grin curled up before her body trembled in excitement. "ENOUGH STALLING," she giddily gripped the table from sheer excitement, "LET'S DO IT, WINNIE!! LET'S SEE WHAT FORTUNA HAS IN STORE!!"

In unison, the three witches plunged their hands into the dough before lifting up the healer and dropping him onto a spare tray. The oven's heat had begun to spread across the room as Winifred took the honor of shoving him inside, sealing his fate once and for all. The only thing left to do was wait.

This was how Pure Vanilla Cookie was going to die; alone. His determination was greatly rewarded with indifference and malice. Weak to the wills of the creators he once revered, his body would burn to a sad, pathetic lump and be thrown out as the remnants of a failed experiment. His soul began to ache as the fire around him grew in size.

He could almost see what would happen next. Golden Cheese would be wondering where he went. She'd be the first to notice, of course, and she'd be the first to tell everyone. Hollyberry and Dark Cacao would form a search party, desperately looking in his favorite places, places that he would never visit again. He imagined them standing in front of his gravestone after it ended in failure. Hollyberry would bawl her eyes out and Dark Cacao would try and hold back his devastation in a failed attempt to remain steadfast for her. And White Lily... White Lily would never read another letter from him again. She would never know how much he loved her. He would never see her smile again. He would never hear her laugh. He'd never see the way she fiddled with her hair or the way the sun shone down on her eyes or how the world lit up when she was near.

It was a future where everything would stop in it's tracks. It was a future where everything he loved dear would come crumbling.

It was a future he could not accept.

#cookie run kingdom #crk au #pure vanilla cookie #fadinglettersau

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 7 months

Note

Non-angsty prompt coming up!!

Ineffable Husbands reacting to Trick or Treaters in honor of Halloween! (I feel like maybe trick or treating is bigger in America than England, but just pretend that they get trick or treaters!)

🎃

(I hope you feel better and things get easier! 💙)

That sounds cute!

This is Halloween in the South Downs.

On with the fic!

Crowley looked away from the television, where a cheesy vampire movie was playing, when they heard the sound of knocking at the front door. A grin came to them and they extended their fangs in excitement.

Halloween was one of Crowley's favorite times of the year, a night of tricks and pranks, of treats and frights, and a night where a demon could let their hair down in public without judgement! Also, Aziraphale made these really tasty pumpkin scones since the mid-2000s every year and Crowley really liked those.

As they jumped off the couch and made their way to the door, more of their appearance changed. Shoulder-length hair became longer, darker, thicker, almost snake-like in a sense, while scales of black and red peppered their skin like freckles.

Their eyes became fully yellow, the pupils long, thin slits, and their nails became long, sharp claws as they grabbed for something sitting on the side table at the door.

Crowley threw open the door and looked at the children standing there, all dressed up as things Crowley either knew or had no clue because it was something kids liked looking at online. Either way, there was a group, and they were all wanting something.

"Trick or treat!" They shouted, holding out their bags and pails for candies.

"Trick or treat, eh?" Crowley smirked, claws drumming on the large, plastic dish that was black and covered in little images of spiders in oranges and purples. "Which will it be?"

The kids looked a bit confused, before a little girl in a blue dog costume spoke up with glee. "A trick! A trick!"

"Oh? A trick? Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Cried a chorus of excited children.

"Weellll... I suppose one little trick..." They chuckled before opening their mouth wide, fire shooting out from it over their heads for just a moment. Crowley let out a soft cough, then licked their lips.

The kids looked at him in awe, then cheered, though Crowley swore he heard a snap among the shouts of 'do it again'.

"Ah, I said one little trick. That's all you get. Now, do you want some candy or not? Cause we've got full bars!" Crowley said holding out the bowl to the group, who happily snatched up a few bars, then scurried off, thanking 'Ms or Mr Fell-Crowley' as they ran down the dirt path, happily talking about how cool that was and how the Fell-Crowley's always have the best treats.

"Really dear, I know you love entertaining the children, but fire? Nearly burnt my wind chimes!"

Crowley snickered and turned to see Aziraphale, standing at the entrance to the kitchen, his face having a few smears of flour on it.

"The kids love when I do that kinda stuff!" Crowley said as they sat down the bowl, shutting the door with a flick of their wrist. They licked their thumb and used it to quickly wipe off Aziraphale's face when they approached. "How are the baked treats coming along?"

"Almost done, the retirement home is going to love them!" Aziraphale did a wiggle.

"Did you make those one things that Mavis was goin' on about? You did them for a book club a few months ago, right? She was ravin' about them at the knittin' club this week, said you promised."

"I made them, don't worry." There was a knock at the door. Aziraphale chuckled and gently gave Crowley a push towards it. "Go on, I'll finish up here."

"Alright, but when we head out, you need to look a bit more... spooky." Crowley said, heading for the door.

Aziraphale's exposed skin split in places, revealing dozens of eyes, that all rolled at once. "Does this work?"

"Perfect! Should make you hand out the candy if you're gonna do that!" Crowley cackled as they picked up the bowl once more, ready for the next batch of trick or treaters.

I'd like to think that Crowley and Aziraphale made friends with a bunch of the old people in the South Down area, just as Crowley would be friends with the kids.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #crowley #john's drabbles

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multi-fandom-of-madness · 11 months

Text

Darkness At The Heart Of My Love

Pairings: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia X GN!Reader

Type: Fluff that turns to angst w/ no comfort

Summary: Copia had just begun his reign as Papa, and was overworked. He needed to get away from the ministry and all of it. He found someone along the way. Someone who showed him love and happiness. It was perfect, until things changed, and then things descended into chaos.

Warnings: Mentions of character death, heartbreak, use of Y/N, google translated Italian

Word Count: 3,619

Notes: I’m debating on whether I want to make this into a short series. I already have the second part written, but I don’t know how I feel about the plot I previously had for the third part. I originally did this as a self insert, so if there are pronouns that don't correlate with a gender neutral reader, please let me know I will fix it asap. Also I'm sorry for the way the song lyrics copied over, you're just gonna have to deal with it (unfortunately).

Read on AO3

When the summer dies

Severing the ties

I'm with you always, always

Will you walk the line?

My path serpentine

Remember always

That love is all you need

Tell me who you wanna be

And I will set you free

There's a darkness at the heart of my love

That runs cold, runs deep

The darkness at the heart of my love

For you

It was a September afternoon. The leaves were just starting to change and the air had just started to relieve itself of its hellish temperatures. Summer finally started saying its goodbye.

The Clergy had been on Copia’s back recently due to his most recent accomplishment of being in talks to become the new Papa. He knew that they just wanted everything perfect, but he was struggling to believe he could live up to their practically impossible standards. It had been an impossibly long day, and he knew that he needed a break before he snapped, inflicting the wrath of Sister Imperator.

He drove around, just trying to clear his head until he found a café. A small little thing that looked very simple. He didn’t bother to check the name or the reviews before walking inside.

“Good afternoon! How can I help you today?” A chipper voice called out to him. His head snapped up from his phone as he set his eyes on them.

“Oh, hello. I-I’m good. How are you today?” He responded, his cheeks reddening slightly as he stumbled over his words.

“Well, it would be better if it were time to go home, but honestly I can’t complain too much,” the cashier responded. “What can I get for you today?”

Copia looked over the menu for just a moment. “Could I just get a black coffee and a blueberry scone?”

“Sure thing!” They smiled as they told him the total and grabbed his scone. They handed him the bag, and his hand lingered for a moment. He held his breath once he realized what he was doing, and grabbed the bag.

“Grazie,” he mumbled as he walked over to the other end of the counter to wait on his coffee. He watched as they poured the coffee, entranced by their every move.

“Here’s your coffee, sir,” they called as if he wasn’t jumping at the chance to talk to them again.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it and finding a seat. He was the only person actually sitting down, everyone else who came in got their orders and left. Copia knew that wouldn’t do for him. If he left, he didn’t know what would have happened.

He sat for a while, eating his scone and sipping his coffee. It was peaceful in the little café. Soft music played over the speakers, and the scent of freshly baked treats filled the air. It was nice.

“I’m heading out now! I’ll see you guys later!” He heard them call, apron off and bag in their hand. He watched them walk towards the door, and jumped up, not really knowing what he was doing.

“Excuse me, but I was just wondering if you-if you had any plans today. It’s been a long day, and you seem like you would be nice to talk to. Only, if you want to of course! I just thought you were gorgeous-I mean you seemed nice. Not that you aren’t gorgeous of course! I’m sorry, I don’t really talk to people outside of my work,” he rushed his words. He was slightly shaking, scared of what they would say.

“I don’t have any plans,” they smiled. “There’s a park right down the road, I could take you if you wanted.”

A look of relief washed over his tired face. “Really? I-well, I would like that actually.”

“My name is Y/N,” they said, holding out their arm.

He looped his arm in theirs, internally smacking himself for not asking their name earlier. “Copia.”

“Well, Copia, it’s nice to meet you.” They squeezed his arm lightly as they left the café. He smiled and looked at the ground.

The park wasn’t far at all, just about a ten minute walk. It was pretty, especially now that the leaves were changing their colors, shedding their summertime glow. There was a winding path that had trees scattered along with a few bushes surrounding them. The flowers on the ground were already wilting, but the scene was still beautiful nonetheless.

“So, Copia, what brought you to my little café?” They asked, their head tilting as they continued to walk arm in arm. Copia found it refreshing to not have his title used to address him for once. It seemed to be all he heard now.

“Well, work has been getting to me. Sis-My boss likes everything to be perfect. It’s just the way that the company is run. I’m beginning to take on a new…new mantle, and in order to properly take it on, I have to be perfect. It is a lot of stress for one man.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure it is stressful. May I ask where you work? I might be able to help, or at least provide some comfort with a little more context.”

He was hoping they wouldn’t ask that question, terrified of scaring them off. “Well, it’s a, uh, ministry of sorts.”

“Oh, so you’re going to become a priest. I guess that could be difficult. Not living a life of sin and being perfect for God and all of his followers.”

“Well, not exactly,” he admitted to them. “Are you religious?”

“I’m not entirely religious. I’m sure there’s a source of something out there, but if it is, I haven’t found it. I don’t judge religions though.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” he sighed. They gave him an odd look. “Our ministry isn’t exactly…Christian.”

“Now I'm a little bit confused.”

He laughed lightly at their response. “It’s a Satanic church. We preach about the word of Satan, and it’s a fun little gig we have going. We use a band to spread the word. Maybe you have heard of it?”

“That's interesting. What is your band called? I’m not sure whether I would have heard of it or not.”

“It’s called Ghost, we are pretty popular,” he teased. He wouldn’t be sure whether they’d heard of it or not, and was surprised by their reaction to saying he was with a satanic church.

“No, I don’t think I have heard of it actually.”

“Well, what kind of music do you like? I can help be a good judge of whether it would provide entertainment. It’s, eh, not really your basic music.”

“I’ll listen to almost anything, honestly. I’m always down for a good tune.”

Copia was taken aback by this a bit, a pleasantly shocked look on his face. “Well, it’s a rock band. A pretty good one if I do say so myself.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a listen later.”

They continued to walk for a minute in silence before Copia piped up. “So, what do you do for fun?”

“I don’t really know. I like to read, watch TV, listen to music, and all the basic things.”

“What about video games? Any of that interest you?”

“Not really. I never got into gaming.”

“Interesting.”

“What about you, Copia?”

“I play a game or two here and there, but with the Ministry, I don’t get much time to myself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry that sucks. You can always call me up, if you want some company. I don’t really do much other than work. Here,” they said, sticking their phone out to him, “put your number in, and then you can text me whenever you get too stressed and need an outside source for comfort.” Copia took the phone, put his number in, and sent himself a message to make sure he didn’t put it in wrong, then they continued on their first walk of many.

And that is what they did for months.

They texted back and forth often, called, and even went on quite a few dates. Copia had yet another long day, and knew that he could trust the person he now proudly called his partner. He called, asking if he could spend the night at their apartment, and of course they said yes.

Copia made his way to their apartment, using his key to get inside. “Dolcezza? I’m here, amore.”

“I’m in the bathroom! Just got out of the shower!” They called, and he walked that way. He still had on his paints, which still shocked them sometimes, but they were beginning to grow used to it. “Well don’t you look handsome?” They teased, noting that he was in a hoodie and sweatpants.

“What? Oh, heh, yeah I guess I am a beauty. But you, amore mio, look stunning.” He grabbed their hips, pulling them into a kiss. They had on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of black shorts to match. Their hair was wet, and before the kiss they were drying it with a towel. As they kissed, they dropped the towel in favor of wrapping their arms around his shoulders while his arms crossed around their back to pull them in.

“Well, someone missed me,” they said as they pulled away, leaving their arms around him.

“I always miss you,” he said, pressing a lighter kiss to their forehead.

“You’re so sweet, Copia,” they hummed, staring up into his mismatched eyes, nothing else but adoration showing.

“I love you, tesoro.”

“I love you too. What brings you tonight? Anything special?”

“No, just a long day. Needed a way to relax,” he hummed, looking at them.

“What do you want to do?” They asked, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“What do you say I treat you to a dance?”

“What do yo-” before they finished, Copia removed them from where they leaned on the counter, dancing with them out to the living room. They laughed as he spun the both of them around, one hand holding theirs while the other rested on their waist, kissing them while he dipped them.

They were absolutely in love, and that was easy to see. They had only been to the Abbey a few times, but any sibling of sin, ghoul, or anyone who crossed their paths could see the love on their faces.

Soon, the rings on their left ring fingers became evidence enough. Copia, being the romantic he was, proposed to them about a year and a half later.

The air was warm, spring just beginning to settle in, as they walked through the park they first walked at. They walked there often now, finding comfort in the atmosphere. Little did Y/N know that Copia had a surprise waiting for them. It wasn’t uncommon for them to go on picnics, especially not if they were sunrise or sunset picnics.

They walked the winding trail, arms linked together, as Copia nervously led them to their destination. In the other hand, Y/N held a picnic basket that had all of their favorite things, as Copia’s hand nervously fiddled with the small box containing the second most precious gem. The first being his beloved.

The sky was a gorgeous pale blue, the clouds outlined with pink and orange as the sun began to sink past the horizon. Their normal picnic spot had been set up to look very different.

Copia had to pull a few strings, but the trees were decorated with lights, and all of their favorite flowers formed to make a walkway that led to a small platform that was covered in more flowers.

He walked them towards the destination while one sibling of sin hid in the bushes to capture it on video and get the most perfect photos.

Y/N was in absolute awe. It looked like something out of a movie. “Is that for me, Copia?” They asked innocently, unsure of whether this was just for them or someone else.

“Yes, carissima. This is all for you.” He walked up to the platform, letting them take the first step. He steps up next, bending down on one knee. “I knew from the moment I laid my eyes on you that I wanted to be the one you loved. I have cherished every moment, every laugh, even the fights, all because I got to spend that time with you. You are the love and the light of my life. I love you beyond words, Y/N. So please, will you marry me?”

Crying, Y/N lowers themself to be level with him. “Yes,” they cry, holding his face in their hands and kissing him. “A thousand times, yes.”

Copia’s face lights up as he takes their left hand off his face, slipping the ring on, then pulling them into the closest hug they will ever feel in their lives.

Will you spill the wine

To summon the divine?

I'm with you always, always

Now paint a pair of eyes

And let's watch as it dries

Remember always, that love is all you need

Tell me who you wanna be

And I will set you free

There's a darkness at the heart of my love

That runs cold, runs deep

The darkness at the heart of my love

So bold, so sweet

The big day was here. The day where Y/N and Copia would pledge their love in front of everyone.

Marrying a Papa was a big deal. Everyone in the Clergy would gather to watch the occasion. The reception, however, was for close friends and family members only.

“Are you ready?” A voice called from behind Y/N . It was their father. He wasn’t entirely on board with the concept of marrying a satanic pope, but once he realized just how wonderful Copia made them feel, he accepted the relationship, and welcomed Copia with open arms.

“I believe so,” they said, using one hand to hold the bouquet of flowers, the other smoothing down their outfit.

“Then I believe it’s time,” he said, taking their arm in his as the doors opened. They looked up to where Copia was standing in awe. He had on a gorgeous suit and his paints were on. Tradition is that they wear full regalia, but he didn’t want to remember this moment as Papa, just as Copia. He finally was able to compromise with just using his paints, so he took what he could get.

They could tell that there were tears in his eyes. He was always the sentimental type. They smiled as tears welled in their eyes as well.

As they reached the altar, their father smiled at them and kissed their cheek before sitting down. Copia reached a hand out to them as they walked up the stairs, handing a bridesmaid the bouquet of flowers.

“Hi, you look gorgeous,” he whispered excitedly.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” they said, giving him a wink. The officiant began speaking, signaling the ceremony had begun. There was a bottle of wine, two chalices, and their rings on a small table next to the officiant.

A little while into the wedding, both of them poured wine into the other’s chalice, crossing their arms as they sip. It wasn’t the most necessary part of the ceremony, but it was something that they decided to do. A symbol of their joining together.

They slipped their rings on after, officially combined as one.

They walked back down the aisle, arm in arm, smiling like children, so happy that they found their perfect match. Neither of them wanted to get their outfits messed up, so as their chosen guests filed into the reception room, they changed into simpler, yet still formal, outfits.

“I am so happy that I have you now,” Copia said, coming behind Y/N to wrap them in a hug and leaned his head on their shoulders.

“Until death do us part,” Y/N responded in a joking tone.

“Not even death could keep us from each other,” he said, kissing their neck. Y/N turned around, wrapping their arms around his shoulders, kissing him.

“I would never let that happen,” they smiled.

There's a darkness at the heart of my love

That runs cold, runs deep

The darkness at the heart of my love

For you

“Are you excited? It’s your last concert of this tour. I’m so proud of you,” Y/N said, kissing his cheek as they helped fix his robes.

“It has been a blast. I’m sad to see it come to an end, but that just means we can start new journeys now,” he smiled.

“You’re going to do amazing.” They both walked to the side of the stage, waiting for the cue that they were good to go. “Do you hear that? Copia, they love you.” A smile rested on their face, their head leaning on their husband's shoulder.

“No one could love me the way you do, dolcezza. They may love me, and I may entice them, but my eyes are only for you. I am only for you. I will be with you always,” he said, listening to the crowd’s chanting.

“It’s time. I’ll see you after the show, my love.”

“I love you,” Copia said, kissing them lovingly before walking on stage, the crowd screaming their heads off.

Y/N made their way to their designated spot above the crowd. There was always one section where they would stand and watch, no one else to bother them. The crowd was extremely reactive tonight, everyone having the best time. Even the ghouls looked to be having the greatest night of their lives.

They smiled, singing along to every song. Occasionally, Copia would look up to where they stood, and they waved each time.

He bounced around the stage, everyone enchanted by his every move, but now the concert was coming to an end. He looked so content and happy performing that neither of them wanted this to end.

“Now this song is very special to me. I used to sing this song, worried about the pain another would cause me, or a pain that I would cause another if I let anyone near me, close to my heart. I said no! No relationships!” He paused, looking around the crowd then looking up to them. “Now, I know that I was wrong. I wish I could have figured this out sooner, but when I stepped into that little coffee shop, I’m glad it took all the time that it did. For the past few years, my love, my beautiful, my angel, my partner has been by my side. So now, I sing a new song of love. Love for the one I am so glad to be able to call my partner. For my Y/N.” He pointed at them as the crowd cheered at the mention of their name, causing them to grin and blush. "This is Darkness At The Heart of My Love!” The crowd cheered some more as the opening notes played.

He sang beautifully. His voice was perfect, and his movements bewitching. Everything about this performance proved Copia was a masterpiece. Y/N leaned onto the railing, singing and watching as their lover made his way through the song.

“Remember always that love is all you need. Tell me who you wanna be, and I will set you free,” he sang as the song drew near its end, looking up to Y/N as he did.

There's a darkness at the heart of my love

That runs cold, runs deep

The darkness at the heart of my love

So bold, so sweet

There's a darkness at the heart of my love (my love)

That runs cold (runs cold), runs deep (runs deep)

The darkness at the heart of my love (my love)

So bold (so bold), so sweet (so sweet)

Y/N didn’t notice the security coming behind them, but they recognized similar strange figures standing on either side of the stage, stalking towards Copia.

Panic flooded them as they turned to run to try and save him, though it was a waste of effort. The security guards behind them grabbed them, forcing them to watch the events unfold.

“And all this time you knew that I would put you through the darkness at the heart of my love for you!” Copia sang, unaware of the men behind him while Y/N struggled.

When the summer dies

Severing the ties

I'm with you always, always

The men came behind Copia, grabbing his arms and legs, pulling him away from the microphone. A look of fear filled his face.

Paint a pair of eyes

Let's watch as it dries

I'm with you always, always

“No!” They screamed out, watching him get dragged off stage, struggling in the same way they were. “Copia! Please! No!” People in the few rows below them turned, watching the tears streaming down their face as they continued to scream.

Sister Imperator walked out on stage, beginning to say some words, but Y/N couldn’t make it out. The guards let them go, and they crumpled to the ground, shaking and sobbing, feeling utterly broken. “No,” they cried quieter. The crowd was painfully silent as they watched Sister. “This can’t be happening. No. Please.” A few siblings of sin walked toward them, lifting them off the ground, walking them back to a car.

They took them back to the ministry, and they cried the whole way there. They brought them to bed, changing their clothes and making them comfortable. They listened to their cries, sad looks on their faces.

They said nothing now, laying in the bed them and Copia would never share again. They held his pillow close, crying into it.

He was gone, and they wouldn’t get him back.

70 notes · View notes

real-jane · 2 years

Text

best kept

[bucky barnes x baker!reader]

This is for Birdie's Birthday Bash Writing Challenge!! Happy happy birthday, @buckysbirdie ❤️❤️❤️. This was such a fun way to pull myself back into the creative roll! You're a gem and you deserve to have a beautiful birthday fest.

For my prompts, I chose:🍦 Waffle Cone: Bucky Barnes |🧁 Birthday Cake: Baker | 🍭 “You deserve pretty things.” | 🍑 Secretly dating | 🍓 Mutual pining

warnings: idiots in love, miscommunication, fluff, mention of sex. no body descriptions, no use of y/n.

She didn’t mean it the way it came out–you deserve pretty things–like a plea. She intended for the sentiment to land like an observation, based on their few-and-far-between conversations across the register, like the brew of the day is Breakfast Blend or it’s supposed to rain around three o’clock.

But damn him… he flushed. He didn’t smile, quite, but his eyes flicked away and he cleared the embarrassment from his throat, handing over a bill too large for the small black coffee and the intricately frosted cupcake which had nearly given up the whole gambit to his companions, who hung at his elbow with an urgency which could only come from a post-mission adrenaline rush.

He was expressly forbidden from dating anyone inside the compound. He had made that abundantly clear as he fished the buttons of her baking uniform through the holes in the storage closet the day that pull between them became too much to bear. He had still kissed her like he had all the time in the world, and every moment they squirreled away thereafter was precious, but the longer they had to hide in the shadows… the harder it became to keep her tongue from whetting his plush lips where anyone could see. Especially when he picked out a cupcake he knew she had agonized over that morning, thanks to the hastily sent photo he received from the kitchen in the wee hours.

The way lavender buttercream would taste in a forbidden kiss… she ached for it.

He did deserve pretty things. He deserved much more than that, too. But he wouldn’t let her say it. She tried, with her legs tangled in his, to tell him sincerely what he meant to her, how lucky she felt that he would even look her way–but he had shut her down with suffocating kisses and stole all coherent thought. He went another day without knowing she loved him, without her trying to make him listen to her say it.

Maybe that’s why the comment burst out. When she couldn’t say I love you, what could she say? You deserve pretty things, like the cupcake I created because all this love has no place to go, because chamomile is your favorite tea, because it’s one part of you that belongs only to me.

Bucky motioned for her to keep the generous change from his bill, and hastened to the far end of the caf to admire her work from a safe distance. She watched him walk away for only a split second, before turning her attention back to the red-headed woman with a cold brew addiction.

Just wait, his text said. The message had pinged from her back pocket while she ascertained whether or not Captain America wanted a savory scone, so she didn’t see it until he and his cohort departed from the caf.

Clutching her phone over the stove long after the other staff headed home, she stared at the two little words from ‘Jamie.’ No punctuation to hang a hope on, ever. He wasn’t one for soft sentiments. Bucky Barnes touched her with urgency, but he didn’t speak her name with the reverence of a lover. He barely spoke at all, except to coax pleasure from her. She was starting to feel less like a choice, and more akin to a tool he used to blow off steam. It clawed at her heart, making her skin crawl with longing for just one fraction of the effort she was devoting… to a man who had never hidden that he wasn’t supposed to be fucking her.

She couldn’t take much more of such an empty arrangement. How could someone so enmeshed with her bones leave her so devoid of affection, even in the slightest? How could she love someone who stumbled away from a tryst like he’d been stung?

He never showed up before the night shift cleaners did their rounds, but he always showed.

Wait, she did. She jumped when cold vibranium fingers wrapped around her elbow, swiping furiously at her reddened eyes.

“Christ,” she breathed. “You’re a fucking phantom.” She hazarded a glance at him, but his expression was hardened and unreadable. He was frozen at the sight of her persistent tears. She rolled her eyes and eased her arm out of his grip, putting the island between them. Despite the way every hair on her body stood on end in his presence, it was no use hiding the way his silence inspired more tears. She let them streak down her cheeks. When still he said nothing, anger stirred behind her ribs.

“How was your cupcake?” she whispered.

“Um. Good.” Bucky leaned against the counter and folded his arms. The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened. “Chamomile?”

She nodded. “Your favorite. I, um. I sifted loose leaf tea in with the flour, I wasn’t sure how it would go.”

“It was good.”

“Good.” She gripped the butcher block countertop so hard, her fingers ached.

Bucky let an agonizing minute pass. “You’re crying,” he muttered. “Why?”

She snorted. “Tim’s wearing his big headphones while he does the floors tonight, if you want to risk it out here–if you can stand to fuck a woman while she’s sad.”

He was intelligent, she knew it. It hadn’t taken long to see how his mind whirred to strategize around every possible obstacle to the opportunity to take her in a dark corner, and she couldn’t dismiss the way his compatriots spoke about his work on assignment, even if she only overheard snippets of their conversations in the caf. It came as no surprise, then, when he scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

“You wanna be alone. I’ll get out of your hair,” he said tersely.

“No–god.” She laughed, but it stabbed. “I want you. Here. I thought I had made that abundantly clear by sticking my hand down your pants at every opportunity.”

He blinked. “You’re angry.”

“Yeah. Yes, I am. I’m–I don’t know how to say this,” she struggled. “We’re better at the not-talking part of this arrangement. But if I don’t get it out, I’m going to pop!”

Bucky, to his credit, made no move to leave, though every muscle in his body seemed to tense up with the need to flee. Instead, he braced his hands against the counter behind him and nodded for her to say whatever was on her mind. It was then that she noticed that his hair was damp; he never came to her smelling of motor oil, or blood, or sweat, or any hint of whatever duty had demanded of him during the day. It made her want to sob. He came to her clean.

She studied the way his jaw flexed anxiously, and it gave her enough comfort–knowing he was uncomfortable–to make some sort of explanation come out.

“I’m selfish,” she started. “I thought that I could just be content sneaking around, because I’ve been clinging to every bit of affection I can get from you. It was fine for a while. More than fine, Jamie–god, I’m addicted,” she said sheepishly. “But it’s not fun anymore, it’s like I need a fix of you, or I can’t function. I hate that I can’t kiss you where people can see. I hate that you don’t say anything to make me think you want me half as much as I want you. I invented a fucking cupcake based on your kiss after a cup of tea. I–fuck.” She looked up at the ceiling to hold back a new wave of emotion.

“You never promised me anything, so I have no right demanding more from you,” she said. “So. I don’t think I can continue with my part of this arrangement, given that–well, considering that you can’t even show interest in a person without creating a coup with Human Resources–”

“Hang on,” he said softly. “What do you mean a coup?”

“You’ll get in trouble. Especially for sleeping with the cupcake woman–”

“I’m not following,” he said. Then, it dawned on him. “Doll…” Bucky chuckled. From the depths of his chest, a warm and wooly sound that brought heat to her cheeks. He smiled even as he swiped a thumb across his bottom lip.

“I see what this is,” Bucky said. His blue eyes flicked up to meet her gaze and her stomach flipped. Gone was the frown from his expression, and instead, a strange and unfamiliar lightness took its place. “You should’ve told me.”

“What?” she breathed.

Bucky pushed off the counter and walked around the island slowly, until he caged her back against the wood. The scent of his soap–sandalwood and cedar–filled her nostrils. He tipped her chin up.

“You seem to be under the impression that I come here to get my rocks off, and not because I have a sweet tooth. And I’m kickin’ myself for not seeing it sooner. God help me, doll: when I’m around you, I lose all rational thought.”

She wound her fingers into the front of his sweatshirt, a soft and well-worn thing with a faded SHIELD logo over the left pec. “Pardon my French, but those are the most words in a row I’ve heard out of your fucking mouth, maybe ever.”

“‘M a shy guy,” he said.

“I have tried to talk to you about this for months–”

Bucky winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah! You shut me up every time! Hey–stop staring at my mouth.”

He raised an eyebrow as if to say well, go ahead. For good measure, he sat on the stool at the lip of the counter, and bracketed her between his knees. She sighed.

“I don’t know how long this can continue if it can never be more than a secret,” she admitted.

Bucky cleared his throat.“...Are you under the impression that SHIELD has a stake in my personal relationships?”

She blinked. “You said it did.”

“When?”

“Um. The first time. In the pantry.”

He frowned again and looked at the pantry door like it might project the exact conversation they had, amidst a feverish tryst. “I don’t think I did,” he said.

“‘They’ll grill me and everyone in the compound will know–’ You were pretty clear that nobody could know about us. You kept saying it. ‘They can’t know. They can’t know.’”

“I’m not sure I was thinking about anything but putting my head between your legs,” he said frankly, which made her shiver. “Nick Fury doesn’t care about interpersonal relationships as long as they don’t interfere with our work. The guys, however, already give me shit for how often I miss my mouth with coffee because I’m watching the cupcake woman and her damned smile. I was probably talking about them. But I don’t remember, and I’m sorry you’ve been losing sleep over it.”

“I haven’t been losing sleep,” she said bashfully, though her lip slipping into her mouth revealed what a lie that was.

“Don’t you see how messed up I am over you?” The question came out of his mouth like a blessing. She stared at him in astonishment, which made the tips of his ears turn pink. “I may be bad at sayin’ it, doll, but I’m acting up like a lovesick man.” Bucky tucked his fingers into the back pockets of her jeans to pull her closer. “You’ve been hurting. Haven’t you?” When she nodded, his face fell. He huffed. “That won’t do.”

“Tell me,” she asked. “Please, Jamie.”

“You really been thinkin’ about something I said in the heat of the moment… shit, a year ago?”

“Words are precious, where you’re concerned.”

Bucky looked up at her like the sentiment struck a raw nerve. He shook his head. “I’ll be better.”

“You’ve already tripled your usual output,” she teased, letting her hands slide to his jaw. “It’s no wonder you’re good at keeping secrets.”

“What would people say if they knew?”

“Stop. You’re trying to save me from compound gossip?”

He studied her well-loved shoes and the flour which adorned the toes like a deliberate style choice. “Am I a coward?”

“Yeah,” she said, but she brushed his cheek. “For the sake of clarity… SHIELD doesn’t care, but your friends will tease you, and people might gossip, so that’s why you’ve never actually taken me to your room, and why we’ve been sneaking around for the better part of a year?”

Bucky cringed. “In my defense, I thought you got off on it.”

“I did–I do. But I spend about thirteen hours a day on my feet in this damn kitchen. It would be nice to have sex horizontal for once, and not bent over the sink I wash dishes in! Maybe even laying down on a mattress, as crazy as that sounds.”

“You wild woman, you.” He laced his fingers behind her knees. “I’m sorry. All this because I’m afraid of people thinkin’--it doesn’t matter, right?”

“Oh, you’re just now realizing that?” She swatted him on the shoulder. “We should’ve had this conversation eleven months ago!”

He didn’t say anything for a while, but he leaned into her fingers where they dug at the knot in his shoulder while he pondered where they had gone wrong. He gripped her wrist so he could entwine their fingers and study the raised veins on the back of her hand with a curious thumb.

“I always buy whatever pastry you made special for the day,” Bucky said, as if it was a revelation he was making at that exact moment. “I tip you like Rockafeller. I can’t stand the thought of stinking in your presence, so some days I shower twice. I scan the personnel report every morning to make sure you’re on the premises. I check my phone seven hundred times an hour on the off chance you text me. I dream about you. I wake up smelling your perfume. I’m–I’m your damned satellite, woman.”

“Then why are you so worried about people knowing?” she asked it, but she gleaned the answer the moment it left her lips and she pressed her fingers to his to stop him from saying it. His lips pursed behind her hand. She shook her head. “No. You’ll break my heart.”

Bucky waited until she removed her hand before attempting to say a thing. “You don’t know what I’ve done, doll–”

“I’m sorry–you think I didn’t google you within an inch of your life, old man?”

He smiled, despite himself. “My mistake.”

“Please. I would be so proud if people knew”

“Of me?” he asked, incredulous. “Why?”

She leaned in and took the softest drag from his lips, eliciting something like a gasp of amazement from the man. “Doesn’t make a lick of sense, does it?” she murmured against his mouth.

Bucky growled. “If I could have you, I would shout it from the rooftops.”

“You like me.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He stood, looming over her hungrily. “Could I, doll?”

She would have descended into tears again if her heart wasn’t bursting with happiness. “I would love that, Jamie.”

His eyes sparkle. “People will talk.”

“Good.”

“I’ll… I’ll kiss you over the counter!” He gestured to the very counter which separated them daily. “Other people will see me do it.”

She snickered. “I hope they do.”

“Sam will tell you about every time I’ve made a fool of myself watchin’ you–”

“I can’t wait.”

“You’re not ever gonna question me again, because I’m gonna just come right out and say things. All the time.” For the first time in her memory, Bucky fully smiled. Beamed, even. His eyes were lively with excitement and he reached for her hand. He laced their fingers once more.

“I’m going to walk outta here right now, holding your hand.” He backed slowly towards the door of the kitchen, tugging her with him. “Because I want to.”

“Okay,” she laughed. He was giddy, almost, at the prospect of getting to tell anyone who would listen that he was with her. Being seen together was a dream he didn’t know was within reach. It made her heart clench.

“Wait–” She held up a finger and released him so she could dash back into the pantry. When she emerged from the kitchen with the little pastry box in hand, Bucky raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Saved a cupcake for my personal pity party,” she said. “I blew through three dozen of these before noon.”

“Hmm… my cupcake is a best-seller, huh?” Bucky tucked her fingers in the crook of his elbow so he could draw her closer.

“Um. Every pastry I make is yours.” When he couldn’t speak in shock, she nodded. “You’re sort of my muse.”

“You’re jokin’.”

“God, it’s embarrassing–”

“No, no, no! It’s the sweetest thing I ever heard, doll, I promise you.” Bucky stopped in the vestibule where the hallway forked west to the parking garage (where her car was parked), and east to the residential wing of the compound.

“Well.” She shrugged. “I take how you’re making me feel, and I say it in flour and sugar. Everything I couldn’t tell you got baked into pastry. They all have names, too, but I’m not quite ready to mortify myself by admitting some of them.”

He cupped her cheek. “What’d you call it today?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t. Scout’s honor.”

“‘Jamie’s Best Kept Tea-cake.’” She braced herself for him to cringe, but he didn't.

Bucky looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “I am an idiot. Never let me forget it.” He turned on his heel and hastened down the east hall. She had to practically skip to keep up.

“Do you hate it?” she panted.

“What–no!” He punched the up arrow to summon the elevator. “I love it.”

“I love you.” The sentiment flew from her tongue like it had been waiting for that very moment to spread its wings.

The elevator dinged to punctuate her admission, effectively squashing an otherwise perfect moment… made awkward by Sam Wilson on his way back from the gym, standing in the elevator and grinning. Bucky glanced between Sam and the woman who just admitted to loving him, and pulled her into the car.

“Sam,” Bucky acknowledged. “You remember–”

“The way you poured dark roast in your lap when she laughed? Sure do. Hi. How are you?”

“She loves me,” Bucky said. She nudged his ribcage. “What? You do. I’m in love with her, also.”

“I’ve gleaned that prior to now,” Sam said smugly.

Her cheeks were hot, but she leaned into Bucky’s side in disbelief. “Hi Sam. I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. While we’re all sharing our feelings, he’s one of the best people I know, so. As far as I’m concerned, this is a fantastic development. Which I’m suspecting isn’t a new one.” Sam smirked as Bucky scratched his head guiltily.

“Wow. Thanks, man.”

“Whatcha got there?” Sam pointed at the little box in her hand.

“That’s ‘Jamie’s Best Kept Tea-cake,’” Bucky explained proudly.

She squeezed his elbow. “It’s chamomile with lavender buttercream.”

“Oh shit, the magic cupcake! He force-fed us all a bite at lunch. Five stars.”

“Thanks.” She shared a smile with Sam. The elevator arrived on Bucky’s desired floor. Sam said little else, but offered a sly salute to the retreating form of his giddy best friend and the woman he couldn’t stop talking about.

At Bucky’s door, he paused. “I didn’t–is this okay? Do you want to come in? You can use my on-suite shower. Water pressure is amazing. I have a very comfortable bed–”

She pressed up on her toes and kissed him quiet. “You love me,” she murmured, “so I’d like to go in.”

“I’m making a fool of myself right now, aren’t I,” he breathed.

“Nah. You’re just… chatty.”

“I don’t think I can stop.”

“It’s okay. 'S pretty cute.”

He smiled dreamily. “Cute is good. I can work with that.” He let them into the room, but the moment the door shut behind her, he tensed up again. “Um. This is it. I don’t have much.”

“Jamie,” she soothed. “I’m so happy to be here, but I’m exhausted. I’ll take you up on that shower, and we can talk more in the morning. Yeah?”

“Oh–of course, doll, there’s towels…” He babbled on, but she temporarily ignored him in favor of unwrapping the little box on his desk. She grabbed him mid-sentence by the front of the sweatshirt. Something had to be done to dissipate his adrenaline, which was hammering away full-throttle to force every little thought which crossed his brain to traverse his tongue, too.

“C’mere.” She held up the small cupcake and offered him the first bite. His lips grazed her thumb and forefinger, but her own chased them to capture the sugar of a kiss. He groaned into the flowery sweetness. She giggled when he dipped the tip of his finger into the frosting, only to drag it over her cupid’s bow. Warmth pooled between her thighs as he licked the purple sugar from her skin.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I’m. I–doll.”

She laughed. “That, James Barnes, is what you taste like after a cup of tea.”

“If I wasn’t already… I am, now.” He peered at her through half-lidded eyes, drunk on sugar and arousal.

“What?”

“In love.”

He said nothing else. Every sentiment which she inspired in him paled in comparison to the feeling of her. The alphabet of her body was language enough to describe the utter terror of exposing every chamber of his heart, and still come up short for the measure of awe. And as for her…

She had kept him locked away in a neighboring vein for so long, that letting the flow of Bucky Barnes through her senses overwhelmed her with the knowledge that yes, she loved him… and yet loved him more as he exposed his vulnerabilities–like his 3-in-1 shower gel, and his pleasant striped pajama pants with frayed cuffs. He would be best kept at her side, of that much she was sure. Not a dirty secret in the pantry, but softly snoring against her shoulder, with no question of whether or not he wanted her, and an abundance of pretty things… many of which came frosted.

Thanks for reading! :)

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

All The Monsters Come Out At Night

Summary: Elain Archeron has been warned not to go into the woods- they're filled with monsters. When the drums begin to call, and her sisters leave without her, Elain has no choice but to follow.

She has no idea what is waiting for her

[Note: From this prompt: Elain has been raised to fear demons/monsters that go bump in the night. According to the townspeople, demons only want to torture and feed. Elain is terrified, but when she sneaks out of her home in the middle of the night to find her sister she ends up finding more than she bargained for. Not only do these demons love to torture and feed, but they also seem to love to fuck too...]

TW: dubious consent, monsters, off-page murder, a monster with horns + a tail

NSFW, 8k words | Read on ao3

“Don’t go,” Elain whispered in the dark. Amid the sounds of her sisters rustling skirts and shuffling shoes lay a foreboding wind knocking on the thin window panes. “Not tonight.”

It was Feyre who huffed out a breath, impatient with Elain’s fear. She knew if they’d been a little younger, Feyre would have whispered coward under her breath. They were women now, alone in the dilapidated cottage their father had left behind when he died. They didn’t have to be, of course. Elain was going to accept Lord Nolan’s proposal in the morning. She’d marry Graysen and elevate them from this terrible, squalid life.

“Don’t you hear the drums?” Feyre asked quizzically, pulling Elain from her thoughts. Nesta, too, was staring toward the dirty window, her silvery eyes as bright as moonlight. Of course Elain heard them. She heard it every year, louder and stronger this night than all others. The monsters in the forest were out, beckoning the humans to come play.

Looking for a meal.

Feyre and Nesta had been in those woods a million times. Nothing bad ever happens to us, Feyre would croon, bringing in dinner with a blood stained smile. Maybe not during the day, but this was night, and they were banging literal drums.

“The drums are a warning,” Elain said, sitting up in bed. Nesta was fastening her blood red cloak around her throat, while Feyre tucked a knife into her belt. “The creatures—”

“There are no monsters,” Nesta snapped, brushing a wisp of braided hair from her forehead. “That’s a story meant to keep naughty children in bed and nothing more.

But it wasn’t, and Elain knew it wasn’t. People went into those woods and never came out—like their father. Elain felt insane, like she’d imagined him entirely. Feyre and Nesta didn’t mourn him, didn’t comment on him at all. He was just gone, his bloodied boots left at the edge of the treeline.

It’s just us now. That’s what Nesta had said.

He was no great help, and another mouth to feed, Feyre had added. No funeral, no headstone. Just Elain, with her flowers. She’d taken them to where they’d found the boots, laying them each morning in the blood soaked dirt. She ought to have had a pile of them by the end of the month, but each day they were gone, blown away by the wind.

Or stolen by something far worse.

“It’s a celebration in the next village over,” Feyre added earnestly, sitting on the edge of the large bed that dominated the room. “Come with us. Perhaps there is another handsome lord who is far more deserving of your affection. Please.”

“You’re wrong,” Elain said, wrapping her arms around her chest. Nesta threw her arms in the air as if to say, see? “Stay with me, instead. Graysen brought flour and sugar, I could—”

“No more scones,” Feyre said flatly. She stood, wiping her hands on her pants. She was irritated, too. “No more baking, Elain. If you don’t want to come, don’t lower yourself.”

Elain felt as if she’d been slapped. Was that what they thought? Feyre and Nesta had no prospects, despite being just as beautiful as she was. No interest from the men in the village, and no desire to even smile to make things easier. Was it lowering herself to get flour and sugar if she baked and made herself look nice and was nice?

Elain had learned long, long ago that her only currency in this world was letting men think she wanted them. Feyre and Nesta could sneer at her all they liked, but at the end of the month she’d be Lady Nolan and her sisters would never know a second of hunger again.

Neither said another word, leaving her in the bed they shared. Elain heard the front door unlatch and blow open in the wind. Feyre cursed softly, slamming it shut. In order to ensure nothing and no one came in, Elain would have to get out of bed and relatch it.

And her sisters would have to bang and pound when they returned if they didn’t want to sleep in the dirt. Assuming they came home at all. Some nights Feyre didn’t return until dawn, straw sticking from her hair and her clothes all rumpled. Whispers in the market claimed she was carrying on with Isaac Hale, though that seemed absurd. He was so…unwashed. So…so beneath Feyre.

Elain waited a minute, her heart synced to the drums in the distance. Go away, go away, go away.

They seemed to pick up, taunting her for her fear, for her unwillingness to go with her sisters. The wind hammered at the window, crooning come play with me, sweet Elain. Come to me—

“I won’t,” she whispered into the dark, kicking the blankets off her body. If her sisters wanted to be foolish, well, that was on them. She’d bring flowers to their nonexistent graves, too.

Elain was secure in that plan right until she reached the door. Her fingers curled on the deadbolt, intending to lock it.

Would she marry Graysen if her sisters vanished? Would she cosign herself to this life waiting her, one behind walls so high they seemed to blot out the sun, if it was just her? Did she even want to be alive, the last surviving Archeron?

Her heart raced. Dismal options, that was what she had. Venture into woods where monsters and demons resided, or remain behind, alone forever? Elain weighed each in her mind before uttering a soft, furious scream.

She would not be the last Archeron. And she wouldn’t walk down that aisle by herself, either. Elain was going to drag her sisters back by the scruff of their necks, was going to remind them that they could not afford even the hint of scandal. Not when Graysen’s father wasn’t totally sold on his son's marriage.

Her sister's philandering in a nearby village—or drinking, in Nesta’s case—was certain to reaffirm his belief they were not good enough. Elain raced back for the bedroom, discarding her sheer, thin nightdress for a sturdier gown of green. Like Nesta had done, Elain fastened a lilac cloak around her throat and considered a weapon before reminding herself she didn’t know how to use one.

Besides, if she was going to hold something, let it be a lantern. They rarely used it, given how hard it was to get oil—every month Elain swore prices went up. Budgeting for it was nearly impossible, and so they relied on candles and their own eyesight. The oil Elain poured was another gift from Graysen, who had poked his head in their cottage, wrinkled his nose with distaste, and had things sent on his behalf.

She doubted he ever intended for it to be used this way. Still, Elain struck a match, ignited the lantern, and stepped into the night. It was unseasonably warm, just on the cusp of summer and yet to Elain, it could have been the dead of summer for how hot it was. She reveled in it, tilting her head toward the full moon as if she could somehow absorb the sun's warmth even in the dark. Three straight months of rain and gloom had left her sadder than usual, daydreaming of oppressive heat and rays so far reaching they were likely to burn her even beneath the shade of a tree.

Elain took a deep breath.

“You’re not a coward,” she whispered, thinking of her earlier encounter with Feyre and Nesta. They hadn’t specifically said that—not this time. But she knew they were thinking it. Elain wasn’t, though. She was just practical. Going into demon infested woods was the opposite of courage.

It was a death wish. And yet was doing exactly that. Given her cottage was situated at the very edge of the village, there was no one to witness this moment of stupidity. No one to see her dart toward the looming treeline and the rustling leaves that seemed to both mock and beckon her.

Join me, join me, join me, they seemed to call.

“Yeah, yeah,” Elain grumbled, holding her lantern in front of her. She could see the place she left flowers—missing, like always. Before her was a dirt path, worn down from people cutting through to get to the seaport on the other side. Going around was far safer—you avoided the monsters. But going through was faster, and plenty of people chanced it.

Elain filled her lungs and stepped out of the bright moonlight into the shadowed trees. Every inch of her rebelled, her heart racing while her mind tried to convince her to turn back around. Feyre and Nesta couldn’t be that far ahead. She’d walk fast, catch up, and drag them back.

The lantern was a good idea. It kept Elain from accidentally veering off the path, which she nearly did several times. It was hard to distinguish what was the forest floor and what was just dirt given how often she crunched against strewn branches or tripped over scattered rocks. The lantern wasn’t terribly bright, merely a pinprick of light, but offered just enough light to keep her from getting hopelessly lost.

Elain counted each step so she��d know exactly how many she needed to get back home. That plan was going well—until she reached step six hundred and sixty six. A scream shattered through the silence, drowning out the still distant drums.

“Feyre?” Elain whispered, freezing in place. “Nesta?”

Nothing and no one responded. Only the wind, ruffling her hair playfully and those constant drums and their steady, heart-like beat. “Feyre?” she whispered again, looking over her shoulder.

“Lost?”

Fear flooded through Elain’s mouth, bright and metallic like blood. That masculine voice might have come from the trees. Rich and smooth, like melted gold dripping into sparkling water, he purred, “Maybe I can help you.”

Elain didn’t dare turn. “No, thank you.”

He made no noise somehow, and yet when he spoke again, he was just behind her. “What brings you out on Calanmai?”

Fingers tugged on the hood of her cloak, revealing her carefully curled hair from the day before. Hair she’d spent hours on for Graysen, who had only offered her a brief nod in the market before going about his day. Elain was tempted to tug at it, but the stranger was brushing it to one shoulder, skimming her neck as he did.

She shivered.

“What’s Calanmai?” she asked without thinking. Elain felt frantic, but her legs were rooted to the spot.

“Calanmai,” that strange man began, his warm breath curling against the back of her neck, “is the one night of the year magic is strong in this land. Even humans can feel it, and my kind…well…we revert to the beasts we once were.”

Elain nearly threw up on her worn shoes. We. There was no victory in learning she’d been right. There were monsters in these woods, and the drums were a lure. And now they had her sisters…they had her.

“Beasts?” she questioned, trying to think of something she could do besides stand before the thing behind her.

“There is no word in your language for what I am,” he said, curiosity lacing his words. “But once, long, long ago, humans called us Fae.”

She’d never heard that term before. Elain swallowed and hoped she could outrun him. A little less than seven hundred steps was all she needed to get out, and maybe one hundred more to the cottage. Would it keep him out?

“What do you call us now?” he asked her. He’d wrapped his hand around her neck, and though she didn’t dare look down, from her periphery, she could see long claws jutting from his fingers. He raked them gently over her exposed collar bone, though applied no pressure.

“Demon,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. He was holding her. If she ran, he might slice those talons against her neck and she’d die right where she stood. Elain twisted her neck gently, pulling from his grasp.

He chuckled as the wind picked up, bathing her in the scent of woodsmoke and leather. She knew better than to look, and still she peeked over her shoulder at him.

Elain gasped. He was almost a man. Shirtless and made of golden brown muscle painted blue for some unknown reason. Long, auburn hair spilled about his broad shoulders like living flame, too vivid to ever be human. And his face…Elain didn’t know what to make of that face. His cruel beauty felt like a punch to the gut. He put Graysen to shame, even with his mismatched russet and gold eyes and the trio of scars that marred one side of that lovely face. His high cheekbones, his carved jaw, and his full lips would have made even the vainest woman weep for want.

Had it not been for the curved, blood red horns curling from his forehead, of course. Or the claws that tipped his large, broad hands, or the golden scales that edged his brown skin that seemed to glint and shift in the sliver of moonlight.

And the tail…god, that red and gold tail trailed to the forest floor, thick and so otherworldly it made her heart race. Catching her staring, the monster swished it, a smile spreading over that perfect face. Elain caught the sharpened canines, saw his tongue just behind, long and forked like a lizard…she stumbled back a step.

“You don’t like me?” he taunted, not bothering to follow her. He was going to eat her, she thought frantically. He was going to devour her, was going to make a meal of her flesh and bones.

Of course she didn’t like him. Who could, when he was looking at her like he was ravenous? There was no use saying so, not when it might set him off.

“Please,” Elain whispered. He cocked his head, hair spilling across his face while he studied her.

“Don’t run from me,” he warned, throwing out one hand. The claws were gone, though the memory lingered.

Elain didn’t listen. She spun, tearing off before he could say another word. Behind her, a snarling growl ripped through the air, overpowering the drums in the distance. She’d be damned if she let him eat her while she stood there crying.

Coward, coward, coward. The words repeated through her head as Elain recounted her steps.

She made it all of fifteen before something heavy slammed into her from behind.

“I warned you,” the demon grunted, pressing her face roughly into the dirt. Elain opened her mouth, taking a loamy breath before she screamed.

Useless, she knew. Her sisters were likely in the same terrible predicament she was, too. Elain couldn’t get enough air in her lungs, not with his knee pressed against her spine and his hand gripping the back of her neck so roughly her vision had gone black around the edges.

“Make it fast,” Elain ground out, squeezing her eyes shut. At least she wouldn’t have to marry Graysen. What a terrible last thought, and yet she felt a sliver or relief.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he purred. “I’ll be taking my time with you.”

Elain twisted, trying to draw a breath but he didn’t yield. Her very last thought before the encroaching darkness robbed her of consciousness, was her hope that he lost control the minute he tasted her.

That he ended things before she ever woke.

Elain did wake, and for a moment she thought she might have imagined the whole thing. A man with talons and fangs and horns and a tail? That was something only an overactive imagination could conjure. Maybe Nesta was right and Elain had fallen prey to a children’s story. Nestled among warm blankets, Elain groaned, turning her head.

Why could she still hear drums? Louder, now, and faster too. Her blood thrummed beneath her skin, making her feel restless and hot. She tried to kick off the blankets but something held her by the ankle.

Elain opened her eyes and learned three things very quickly:

Someone had removed all of her clothes if the feel of the fur blanket against her overheated skin was any indication. Elain couldn’t squirm, though, because both her ankles and her wrists were bound to posts staked to a hard, cave floor. She was utterly spread and immobilized.

Which brought her to the third point. The horned man who’d sworn to eat her slowly was pacing in front of the cave door, still wearing those tight brown trousers, bulged obscenely in the front. His tail twitched with irritation, thumping against the ground softly with each step. Elain looked away, thinking it was inappropriate to look at him that way even as it dawned on her that he must have looked at her like that.

Who else would have removed her clothes.

“There,” he muttered as something metallic invaded her senses. “Let's see if this keeps that bitch out.”

“Who?” she couldn’t help but ask. His head whipped around, slipping into that same hungry smile from the woods. He was glowing, as if sunlight and not blood raced through his veins. This creature was so otherworldly it set her teeth on edge.

“No one you need to worry about,” he replied, though he glanced toward the entrance again, veiled in some soft magic that glowed like dawn. “It’s just you and me now.”

Elain turned her head to disguise the tear that escaped. “Do it quickly.”

“Quickly?” he asked incredulously. “Where would the fun in that be?”

He paced toward her on the pallet he’d put together on the floor. What was the point of this, when ripping out her throat amid the leaves and the rot surely would have sufficed? Kneeling beside her, he pushed the blanket from her neck.

Down, down, down, until he’d barred her from the hips up. One of his claws trailed down her skin, gently caressing her neck, her collarbone, before he traced lazy designs in the valley of her breasts.

“You could let me go,” she whispered, daring to look him in the eyes. He wasn’t looking at her, but down at her body, likely wondering how much of her he could eat all at once. Maybe he could be persuaded, though.

“Why would I do that?” he questioned, those eyes flickering to her face.

Elain swallowed. Be brave. “My sisters, I—”

“The two foolish humans you were looking for? Feyre and…” he had to think for a moment. “Nesta, was it?”

She couldn’t hide her tear, wiped away by his broad thumb.

“Yes,” she admitted as he tasted it.

“They’re fine,” he said impatiently, glancing back at her. “Alive,” he added, perhaps guessing her true question. “No harm done.”

Alive. It wasn’t all for nothing, then. They’d return home giggling at their night and their near miss with the demons. Would she be there to greet them? Elain forced herself to hold the monster's gaze.

“And me?”

He cocked his head. “You look very alive to me.”

Tricky words. Elain couldn’t think of how to make him agree not to hurt her, and instead decided to try and humanize them both. “My name is Elain,” she told him, unsure if he knew. If he even cared. “What’s yours?”

“Lucien,” he said quickly, blinking rapidly. He hadn’t expected that, then.

“Lucien,” she repeated, noting how his eyes fluttered shut for a mere moment. She didn’t know what to make of that, and continued to plow ahead.

“Lucien. Please,” she began, ignoring the soft groan that escaped him. Elain might have reached for his hand had she not been bound. “I’m supposed to be married—”

A vicious growl silenced her, bouncing off the high, stone walls around them. Even the torches on the walls shuttered for a moment, as if they too couldn’t face this creature's fury.

“There will be no marriage,” he snarled, yanking the blanket from the rest of her body. “Not to a human man, not now, not ever.”

He moved from his place at her side, settling between her spread open legs. Elain closed her eyes, bracing herself for what would come next. Those sheathed claws ripping into her skin.

His fangs…grazing…Elain exhaled sharply, eyes flying open at the foreign sensation against her thighs.

“What…” she trailed off at the sight before her. This creature…this…this demon… was laying between her legs, eyes watching as his mouth teased up her leg. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t respond. Maybe this was part of the torture, then. She knew there was an artery there, easily severed by those long, sharp teeth.

He didn’t slice into her, though. When his hands came to her legs, he merely held her open and looked.

And it hadn’t occurred to Elain until that very moment, with a demon studying her splayed body, that he might have wanted something else. Even with his bulging pants, and the way he’d touched her in the woods… Elain squirmed, but it was no use.

“In the village they say your kind eats humans.”

A slow, sensual smile spread over his face. “True enough, I suppose. I do intend to make a meal of you…just not in the way you imagined.”

Outrage flickered in her chest. “This whole time? Was this your plan the entire time?”

She could feel his breath fanning against her cunt, warming her just as much as it frightened her. No one had ever touched her like this—and Elain wasn’t certain she wanted a monstrous creature to be the first.

“Did you know that every day I walk to the edge of the forest, curious about the humans…and one day as I watched, the most beautiful female I’d ever seen came to me holding a bundle of flowers?”

“You’re the thief,” she whispered, her mind racing. “Those are for my father. He died, I…I—”

Lucien licked her. Right up the center of her body, shuddering at whatever he tasted. Elain was too stunned to admonish him for it, staring at those jutting, curved horns and glinting scales and—

“Don’t you dare do it again,” she warned him. Empty words, given he had her bound. Still, his smile enraged her a little.

“Oh? What happens if I do?”

“I’ll scream,” she threatened, thinking from the delight spreading over his face that he’d like that very much. He lowered his mouth again, that forked tongue sliding from between his teeth. “Lucien. Lucien! Don’t you dare—!”

His eyes never left her face, though the rest of him was focused wholly between her legs. While he gauged her reaction, Elain did her best to offer him none at all. This was wrong, it was so wrong to let this thing touch her like this. She didn’t want it…and she did. And if anyone had asked her, she would have sworn on the gods themselves she felt nothing but revulsion.

It was just, well…he was tracing lazy circles around the most sensitive part of her, clearly hoping to draw a reaction.

And it was working. A low heat had begun to build in her stomach, humming softly through her veins. He pulled back, his lips glistening not from his own saliva, but her arousal. Elain was relieved to find she could still feel horror.

“I can smell your desperation,” he told her, taking one of those long fingers to tease her opening. “Your human fiancé isn’t doing right by you.”

“He couldn’t…he wouldn’t…” she couldn’t get the words out. “It would be wrong to touch me before the wedding.”

“Oh? You’re both untouched?”

Elain gasped at the invasion, hating how her whole body tightened around his intruding finger. She hated even more how good it felt, how she could feel her pulsating heart racing between her legs.

“I…well…no…”

“Mmm,” Lucien murmured, eyes sparkling. He’d known, the bastard. He’d known the answer and still he taunted her, both with his fingers and his words.

“So you remain chaste and hope he doesn’t give you some nasty human disease on your wedding night? Is that it?”

“What about you?” she snapped, her words fading to a gasp when his thumb came up to rub her clit.

“I have no nasty human diseases, given I’m not human,” he joked. “And as for your chastity, well…I admit, it would make the evening easier if you had, but…I can make do.” “You’re disgusting,” she hissed.

“Et tu uxor mea,” he murmured, his words strange and almost gentle. He gave her no time to tease out the meaning of his strange language or what he meant—for all she knew, he was promising to kill her when this was all over.

Lucien’s tongue joined his finger, all the while his eyes remained on her face. Elain had to look away, as if that would keep him from seeing the damning proof of what was happening. She was tied, she couldn’t escape him. She would escape him if she could. She would free herself and run straight back home and forget the way that forked tongue was flicking at her clit or how his finger was pumping in and out of her, curling with each new pass until she felt mindless and breathless all at the same time.

“Please,” she begged, hating how that only seemed to excite him. His mouth and fingers sped up, pumping and licking and sucking until she wasn’t sure if she was trying to escape him or get closer. “Lucien, please don’t—”

If he’d stopped, she might have screamed. Lucien didn’t stop, and the spirling pleasure unmade Elain. She unspooled right there, screaming just as he’d hoped she would. There was rage mingled with her pleasure, and it didn’t matter. Didn’t matter if she didn’t want it, if she never would have asked or offered had he given her a choice.

Some sick, depraved part of her liked what he’d done. Elain had never felt anything like that in her life, bright and warm—alive.

In the distance, the drums continued their near frantic beat, culminating toward something she was certain did not bode well for her. Elain squirmed as Lucien continued to lick and touch, suddenly overwrought and sensitive.

“That’s enough,” she said, too breathless to be believable.

He only growled, eyes flashing with warning. The claws, once retracted, unsheathed as he shook his hair out of his face while his tail curled around her other leg, tightening in a way that made her half mindless with lust. Lucien did not stop, and all too soon, Elain was shaking and sobbing beneath a second orgasm.

“Lucien!” she pleaded to no avail. He only growled again, an animal playing with a favored toy—if her cunt could be considered that. He seemed to glow brighter, his hips thrusting and shifting beneath him to alleviate some unknown pressure. He was wild, spreading her open and licking indiscriminately. It was as if he was being driven mad by the taste of her, unable to stop himself even when he wanted to.

“Lucien,” she tried after a third—and then fourth—orgasm had convinced Elain she could die this way. It was pleasure and pain all at once, a strange sort of torture that was breaking her down. Making her compliant. She’d long stopped struggling. “Lucien, look at me.”

He did, holding his fingers still in her body as he raised his head.

“Come here,” she whispered, hoping when she smiled it was encouraging. “Come to me.”

She didn’t think it would work. Not when his eyes slid back to her cunt, head cocked and eyes narrowed. Elain early sobbed with relief when he withdrew himself and so, so slowly, began to crawl up her body.

Hovering over her, nearly nose to nose, she asked, “What’s happening to you?”

He groaned, arching his spine and rolling his shoulders. “It’s the magic,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut. “It makes me more beastly, more driven by my instinct, I…”

He was going to lose himself. Elain’s heart thudded at the realization.

“You’re going to kill me—”

His answering roar of fury silenced her. “You are not going to die,” he snarled. “Not tonight—not ever.”

Elain didn’t bother reminding him that humans did, in fact, die. It didn’t seem productive at that moment given how he radiated fury, seemed to nearly writhe with anger. She nodded instead, tugging at her restraints.

“Untie me,” she asked.

Lucien shook his head. “I’m not that mindless—try again in an hour.”

And before she could ask what was going to be happening in an hour, Lucien cocked his head toward the door. Elain could hear a woman’s voice calling his name and her boots crunching against leaves and other branches.

He growled, lips curling over his teeth.

“Who is she?”

“Dead, if she doesn’t leave,” he replied, loud enough the intruding presence could hear. Maybe Elain’s savior, too. If she wanted Lucien so bad, she could have him.

“Help!” Elain screamed, drawing a breath. “Help me—!”

Lucien’s hand came crashing roughly over her mouth while he flung a leg over her chest, straddling her all while he silenced her. Shaking his head no, he didn’t let up, thighs squeezing her ribcage until they ached. The female voice faded, and still Lucien kept his hand on her mouth.

“You keep asking me not to kill you, and yet the first chance you get, you invite death right onto our doorstep,” he hissed, rolling his shoulders again. “She would have ended your life if she’d gotten in here.”

“Why?”

He only shrugged. “You’re human.”

The words were left hanging, as though there was more he wanted to say but didn’t—or couldn’t. The drums had increased their tempo again and it was clearly taking its toll on the creature atop her. His head lolled toward his bare chest and a groan escaped him. Maybe it didn’t matter, and yet Elain needed him to answer some things for her before he couldn’t.

“What is going to happen?” she asked quickly, tugging again at her restraints.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he said simply, pulling at the laces of his trousers. “All night, until the drums stop and you are…” he trailed off, his eyes sliding down her bare body.

“Until I what, Lucien?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for it,” he admitted, freeing himself from his pants. Elain was far too distracted by what she saw to even remember what she’d been asking. She’d, of course, seen a penis before. Not willingly—once, a man had exposed himself to her when she’d been newly fourteen, waggling his brows at her while asking if she’d like a taste. Of course she hadn’t.

And she’d seen Graysen’s when he’d pulled it out after asking her to marry him, saying it was okay for them to be together. She’d declined, back against the wall, and rescued by Nesta coughing loudly from the other room in his estate. Both had seemed fine. Nothing special, fleshy and perhaps strangely pink.

Lucien was nothing like either of them. To start, his cock was scaled in the same red and gold, all the way from his taut abdomen to his thick, tapered tip. He was big, with ridges along the top that seemed out of place. There was nothing human about this, and Elain didn’t think this would work between them.

“Lucien,” she warned,” as he scooted closer and closer, rubbing the glistening tip of his cock against her firmly closed lips.

“This will work,” he groaned, thrusting gently against her mouth again. She knew what he wanted and had a bad feeling he was going to get it one way or the other. Elain weighed her options. Was it better to just give in or to fight him? Did it even matter? When she could feel her cunt still convulsing from his mouth or when he was guarding her like some kind of wild, feral animal.

“Open,” he whispered when she turned her head. “Open your mouth and I’ll untie you.”

Their eyes met. It was a foolish bargain on his part. She’d use her hands to slap, her legs to kick. He had to know untying her would only make things more difficult for him and if he was willing to risk it just so she’d open her mouth and taste him, he was more desperate than she’d once thought.

Elain shook her head no, eliciting a growl from Lucien’s lips. “Open your mouth,” he said again. “Or I’ll make you.”

“I dare—”

Her mistake was rising to the bait. Lucien had known if he taunted, she’d fire some comeback and he’d silence her by surging forward. Elain choked at the intrusion, at the stretch required of her jaw to accommodate him.

That clawed hand curled in her hair, lifting her head from the soft palate she was lying against so she could take more.

“Just a little,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. Elain looked at him through blurred eyes, hating him enough to scrape her teeth over the soft appendage. Ridges graced her tongue, softer than she’d first thought. They likely wouldn’t hurt her, and it scared her a little to imagine that she might like them.

Elain thrashed against her restraints for all the good it did. His heavy body pinned her just as well as any rope. While Lucien growled against the scrape of her teeth, Elain lost focus as something else, something thick and warm and distinctly not his fingers or cock began to probe at her soaked cunt.

Her lack of attention gave Lucien leave to push his luck, to sink a little deeper until he’d all but choked off her air. He wasn’t even halfway in her. Elain’s eyes flew to his face drinking in the mischief staring back.

“Need to prepare you,” he panted. It was his tail. Lucien gave her no time to come to terms with her new realization, pushing into her body while he pulled his cock out of her throat by a few inches. Not enough to protest or talk, but enough to draw a heavy breath. Maybe he was right, but there was something so offensive, so obscene about him using his tail where his cock was supposed to be.

In fact, everything was all wrong. His cock didn’t belong in her mouth, and at least in her village, it was offensive to suggest using one's mouth when sex was purely for reproduction. There was no mention of mouths, of tails.

Elain gasped when he pushed further into her cunt, hating the reaction he was getting. Everything he did felt good, even when she didn’t want it to, even when she knew it shouldn’t. She was suddenly grateful his body kept her flat—Elain might have arched up, chasing the friction of his tail when he pulled back.

“Fuck,” he panted, bowing his head so all that molten red hair spilled around them. “Fuck, Elain.”Elain liked the way he said her name, like it was something sacred, both a prayer and a plea. She wanted to touch him, to know if his skin was soft or the scales were rough. If he was as warm as the sunlight leaking from him.

If he’d tremble and whimper like she did when he touched her.

Maybe she was broken, then, for finding enjoyment not just out of what he was doing to her, but out of him, too. Maybe she’d finally snapped and this was her making the best of a bad situation.

Or maybe she’d always been like this. Maybe Elain had always known, deep, deep down, that marriage to Graysen wasn’t going to work because she wouldn’t settle, not truly. She certainly couldn’t go back to her village and marry him now knowing what it was like to be had by something like Lucien.

Fae. That was what he called himself. Elain looked up at him and moaned.

Lucien shattered, spilling thick come into her throat, grunting as he pushed her head as far as he could manage without truly hurting her. It spilled from her lips, mixing with saliva to drip down her neck. Lucien was watching, wide eyed and desperate. All except for his tail, still thrusting in and out of her like it had a mind of its own.

She didn’t want him to stop, which was the worst admission of all. When he withdrew his still rigid cock, shuddering from either pleasure or the increasing tempo of the drums, Elain pleaded, “Untie me. Lucien please—”

“I can’t stand it when you beg,” he whispered. Claws slashed at the rope holding her wrist, unbinding one, and then the other. Elain raised her hand and Lucien flinched, bracing himself for a blow that would have been well-deserved. She didn’t hit him, though. Even when his tail stopped thrusting, leaving her wanting and aching, squeezed tight against him as he just held it inside her.

No, instead, Elain ran her fingers over his biceps, touching the red and gold scales that graced his skin.

“Soft,” she whispered.

Lucien lowered his face to hers. “Yes,” he agreed, lips grazing her own. “Do they please you?”

Their eyes locked. This was important to him. “They do.”

His eyes fluttered shut again. She’d seen him do that before, the first time she’d ever said his name. He liked her.

“Lucien?”

He hummed in response, searching her expression for some hint of what she might be asking. This was it—the drums increased again, making him rigid against her. Lucien’s cock lay between her breasts, jumping and weeping come even after he’d finished. How long before he stopped talking to her entirely?

“What does et tu…et tu uxor mea mean?”

A smile spread over that beautiful face of his. “It means you are my wife.”

She did hit him then. “You can’t just declare that!”

“Sure I can,” he replied with that lovely grin. “You were mine long before you ever stepped foot in the forest. I was going to come for you tonight—I was on my way for you.”

“You were not.”

He chuckled, rich and warm and lovely. “Was so. You think it was mere coincidence I found you? Imagine my pleasure finding my wife coming to me.”

“I can’t…I—what about my sisters?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say they’re in a similar predicament,” he said, pressing a feather soft kiss to her mouth. Lucien slid down her body, trailing soft kisses against her skin and through the mess of spit and come pooled at the base of her neck.

“The first time you came, you were bound to me,” he whispered, chin resting on her stomach. “But by the end of the night, our lives will be intertwined and you’ll feel what I have since the moment I saw you.”

“Lucien—”

“Trust me,” he shuddered, slashing the bindings on her legs. “Trust me.”

Elain pulled her legs up, sighing softly. There was no choice but to trust him. “Don’t hurt me.”

“Never,” he swore, rising up on his knees. Grabbing her ankles to spread her apart again, Lucien repeated, “Never.”

And that was enough, at least for the moment. The drums drowned out anything else she might have said, so demanding that even Elain felt compelled to do as they ordered. Complete this, her blood seemed to scream. She didn’t stop him when he rubbed that large, tapered head against her soaked cunt, having removed his tail a moment before. The offending appendage wrapped itself around her thigh, teasing and stroking her skin as though testing to see what he could get away with.

Elain whimpered, looking back at the horned man now positioned between her legs.

You are my wife.

The words echoed in her head as Lucien sheathed himself in one fluid motion. Elain screamed, a mix of pain and pleasure just like everything else he did to her. The ridges were better than she’d expected, gliding along her sensitive flesh but the sheer size of him was more than his fingers or tail could have prepared her for.

Lucien leaned over her. “You’re fine,” he grunted, his eyes big and apologetic. “I—” His words choked into a snarl. He was gone, right then. He’d done his best, she supposed, but the magic had taken him and all that was left was the monster. His hips snapped, and Elain arched, squeezing tight around him. All she had to do was focus, to breathe through her nose, and relax.

Lucien began to thrust. Each new draw of his cock made her a little more insane, a little more lost to the frantic beating drums just outside. What were they working toward? What happened when they stopped?

She was going to find out soon enough. The once steady, precise beat was becoming messy, frantic and out of control like Lucien above her. The discordant drums set Elain’s blood aflame, allowing her to blame her reaction on the music, the magic.

Anything but the truth.

She tightened around him, cresting back up just as his tail slid between their bodies to tease and rub at her already swollen, abused clit. Elain reached for the tops of his arms too roughly, causing one of her nails to slice against his skin. It drew the smallest bead of blood, sliding toward his elbow before dripping on the soft bed beneath her. Lucien watched, still thrusting, and seemed to rumble with approval.

“You’re absurd,” she gasped, tugging him closer. Lucien jerked over her, bracing his body weight against the palms of his hands. She was tempted to close her eyes, to lose herself entirely. It didn’t have to be him, did it?

But it did. Oh, and she knew it did. She couldn’t look away from the mismatched eyes watching her every breath, nor could she stop herself from raking her fingers through the thick strands of his auburn hair. He tilted his head toward her, eyes shuttering with pleasure.

How long since someone touched him, she wondered? He seemed starved for it, tilting his head closer when she reached for one of those large, curved horns. Elain cupped the base, delighted to find they were smooth and just as warm as the rest of them.

His pace quickened, his breathing rougher. “Do you like that?” she asked, meeting his gaze. He didn’t respond—she didn’t think he could—but he did offer her another rumble, like a big, oversized cat.

Good enough, she decided. And just in time. Between his clever, rubbing tail and the cock she was already far too accustomed to, Elain shattered, gripping his horns like they were handles to hold. She could scarcely breath from her enjoyment, and just as before, was given no reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure.

Yes, yes, yes. She didn’t want him to stop. Elain only opened her eyes when she felt his nose nuzzling her throat, teeth scraping over sensitive, salt soaked skin. The drums outside were louder still, a pounding in her head that made Elain dizzy and desperate all at once.

“Please,” she said to him, earning a whimper in response. He couldn’t stop, and now neither could she. They were here together in this frenzied, desperate climax, and whatever happened after, they’d face together.

Knowing he was a terrifying monster certainly made her feel better about meeting that fate. With each new, wet slap of their skin, Lucien seemed to unspool a little further, until he was nothing but instinct. In her head, she swore she could hear his voice begging, pleading.

More, more, more.

“Take me,” she whispered, unsure what made her say the words. The warmth of the world, made gold in Elain’s delighted pleasure, had settled in her bones, her blood. “I’m yours.”

The drums reached their frenzied, fever pitch and so did Lucien. He roared, falling to pieces inside her. She could feel it, the fluid he’d once poured in her throat now dripping from her cunt and down her thighs. His tail curled around her neck, not tight enough to restrict her hair, but gently, like he merely needed to hold her in some way. Elain wrapped her fingers around it, stroking the soft, scaled skin with her thumb.

The abrupt silence left a ringing in Elain’s ears. “Lucien?” she whispered when he didn’t move, still positioned over her, head bowed so she couldn’t see his face. He held his cock utterly still, his own heart pulsating hard enough she could feel it like a twin in her own.

That wasn’t the only thing. As Lucien remained in the quiet, the warmth she’d once thought was merely the magic of the drum, invaded her chest. Tightening, strengthening—like a cord. Elain pulled at it like a muscle, testing this new piece of her she would have sworn to the great mother goddess had never been there.

Even if it felt like it always had been, and she’d merely been unaware.

Lucien’s head snapped up, his eyes burning again.

“Are you back?” she asked him. Lucien didn’t respond, though he did reach for her wrist. Elain didn’t fight him when he kissed the thin, delicate skin.

“You felt that, too?” she asked, certain his response was a reaction to pulling the cord in her chest. He’d told her she’d feel it when this was all over, hadn’t he? Magic was stronger, or thinner…something magnified, though she couldn’t remember his exact explanation from the woods anymore.

Lucien sank his teeth into her skin, drawing nothing but white hot pain for the first time since he’d taken her. Elain tried to jerk back, but he held her firm, bringing his own wrist to his teeth and tearing at his own flesh.

“What are you doing—Lucien, don’t—” He pressed their bleeding wounds together with a soft snarl of warning not to fight him. Elain looked away, unable to take the mess of blood sliding down their arms, or the white the pain seemed to burn through her like a fever. He hadn’t taken his cock out of her body, hadn’t moved at all.

It was over in the span of a heartbeat. Lucien dropped her wrist, letting her cradle it to her chest. She expected it to bleed, but when Elain looked back at the wound, it was knitting itself back together.

“What did you do?” she whispered.

Lucien swallowed hard. “Mine,” he said roughly. She reached for him, but a soft sound just outside the sealed cave caused his shoulders to tense as his head whipped toward the sound.

All at once, Lucien was gone. Elain mourned the loss of him, scrambling for the discarded, fur lined blanket just as the shimmering veil of the cave vanished like water splashing against rocks.

A truly beautiful woman, with a cascade of white blonde hair and the prettiest shade of blue eyes, made it all of one step inside. She was naked, just as Lucien was, though the blue paint on her body was unmarred while Lucien’s was a streaky mess over his lovely skin. Her eyes found Elain, on the floor and suspicious of this new person.

This was the voice they’d heard earlier. Lucien looked down at her, still naked, his cock somehow still so, so hard.

“A human?” she whispered, looking up at him. That woman took one more step before he snarled with fury and shoved at her. Elain closed her eyes, pulling the blanket over her head to hide the sounds of what was happening.

Lucien had promised she’d die if she didn’t leave and right then, amid the shrieking and growling, Elain understood he was a man of his word.

Or, a creature of his word. She wasn’t sure if he was a man. It was all too much. Overwhelmed and exhausted and sore, Elain gave in to the encroaching darkness and the urge to shut it all out. To escape, if only for a moment.

And yet, as she faded, Elain had the strangest sensation that she missed him.

Unlike before, when Elain woke that second time, it was to the sound of birds quietly chirping and pooling sunlight against her eyelids. She expected to be bound and was relieved when she sat up, she was unrestrained. Still naked, streaked with dried blood and dirt and blue paint, but otherwise unharmed.

In a bed she’d never seen, tucked beneath blankets of cream and gold big enough she could have spread out her limbs and still had plenty of space. The room she was in was new, too. Lovely and elegant trimmed in the same shades as the bed, with tasteful, nice furniture and a cheerful fireplace unlit given the warmth of the day.

“You’re awake.”

Elain twisted, and there he was beside her. Just as she remembered, though he had very clearly bathed himself. Gone was the blood, the paint, the sweat. Just the man remained, scaled and horned, his tail thumping against the bed as it snaked toward her.

“Where are we?” she asked, looking toward those big windows at the far end of the room. Not windows, she realized, but glass doors half opened so she could see the arching balcony…and the sea.

“Home,” he said, his expression so obviously careful. “When you’ve bathed, I’ll take you to your sisters.”

“They’re alive?” she asked, relief flooding through her. Lucien sat, too, the blanket pooling in his lap.

“Just as I promised,” he reminded her. “As are you. Immortal,” he added, reaching for the now healed wound on her wrist. All that remained was the thinnest scar, a match for the one he revealed on his own. “I’ve bound us.”

She couldn’t find it in her to be angry. Elain flopped back to the pillows beneath her, one hand on her stomach, the other flung over her forehead. She tugged at that cord in her chest, drawing a rumble of pleasure from Lucien’s chest.

“Mate,” he said, answering her question.

“I couldn’t feel it before. Could you?”

“Yes. You needed the magic of Calanma…and then a little more, to feel what I’ve felt since I first saw you.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “Is that what last night was about?”

An unapologetic grin. “Can’t a male want to fuck his mate into the ground? Does it have to be special—ow don’t bite me—”

Elain had sunk her teeth into his creeping tail, too light to truly hurt. His eyes were bright, his delight plain.

“Calanmai has a lot of purposes. Replenishing the magic, a little fun, reproduction—”

Elain choked. “Reproduction?”

His grin widened. “If I’m lucky.”

He joined her back against the pillows, his tail slipping beneath the blankets to curl around her thigh while he propped his head up on his fist to look at her.

“And I don’t have to go back?” she whispered, relieved to be freed of the burden of her former life. Maybe she’d mourn it one day, when she felt safe enough.

“Never,” he promised. Elain laced her fingers through his, almost disappointed the claws were sheathed.

“My sisters?”

“As soon as I’ve had breakfast,” he said, reaching for the edge of the blanket. Yanking it over the pair of them, Elain giggled while Lucien hauled her against him. “I’m ravenous.”

Just like the stories had always said he’d be.

#elucien #trusting people to just find this #no moodboard again??? look im tired #this was fun though why dont i write more monsters?#im worried hes not mean enough #i have a feysand monster prompt so maybe ill make it in this universe #give him some wings make him meaner etc etc

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allfryam · 1 year

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Sugarcoated

Andrew was an all star basketball player all through high school and he loved it. He worked out often and he had a slim body with a nice six pack.

andrew was always in shape. He loved playing sports and exercising so it was easy for him. When Andrew was almost finished with his senior year of high school, he had to pick his college classes. When Andrew was looking through the list he found a baking class. Andrew always wanted to step out of his comfort zone and maybe get into a new hobby. Besides, Andrew loved sweets so it would be free food. Andrew was always in for free food.

His whole life, Andrew loved eating. It was the only thing he liked more than working out. He had a crazy fast metabolism though so he would never gain a pound. Once, he ate an entire pizza all by himself. When he was finished he even drove out to get some ice cream. His mom always said his stomach was like a bottomless pit.

andrew’s first few weeks at college were great. His roommate was in a few of his classes including the baking class. With all of the homework and parties Andrew was going to, he almost never had time to work out. This was fine with him though because he couldn’t gain weight if he tried.

one day in his baking class, the teacher made Andrew and his roommate stay and talk to him after class. He told them he accidentally baked three times the amount of cookies he needed to bake. He was wondering if Andrew and his roommate could eat the extras so he wouldn’t have to throw any away.

Andrew thought this would be easy. How many cookies could it even be? 10? 12? “48”. Said the teacher. Andrew didn’t know what to say. 48 cookies was a lot. But he was definitely going to try.

The first few cookies were great. They were like sugar cookies but with a really rich icing on top. After about 10 cookies, Andrew’s roommate said he had to go, so he wished Andrew good luck and left.

Andrew ate the cookies two at a time, one in each hand. Eventually it came down to just two more. Andrew could barely eat another bite. With the encouragement of his teacher, he shoved the last two cookies down his throat and let out a massive burp of relief. And for the fist time in forever, Andrew could see his stomach just barely poking out from beneath his shirt.

over the next few months, Andrew started eating more and more desserts as the class got more intense. Pies, cakes, cookies, biscuits, pastries, bread, scones. And Andrew loved it. He started to notice that all of his shirts were starting to get tighter. There must have been a problem with the washing machine.

it eventually got to the point where Andrew found out he could take a lot of his classes online so he would even have to leave his dorm. Even the baking class would send him ingredients to make the pastries at home. Andrew loved this idea. And apparently so did his stomach.

andrew’s roommate eventually said something to Andrew about his weight gain. He pointed out how none of his shirts fit anymore and he could always see his new round jiggly belly bouncing around when he walked. He also told Andrew he loved it.

Andrew decided that his roommate was just playing a prank on him and he wasn’t gaining weight at all. But it got so bad that Andrew would only wear sweatpants, and he didn’t even bother trying to put on a shirt. Besides, he enjoyed the freedom of letting his belly do what it wanted.

Andrew’s roommate loved to bring home dessert for Andrew and he loved to watch Andrew eat it even more. One time he brought home an entire chocolate cake with rich, creamy icing and bits of Oreos drizzled on top. Andrew was eager to have a slice or two but his roommate wanted him to eat the whole thing.

Andrew started with the first slice. He didn’t even use a fork, just his chubby, greasy hands. He shoved the cake into his face, smearing chocolate all over his lips. He grabbed a second slice and did the same, his stomach began to stretch and expand, getting closer and closer to the counter. After the third slice, Andrew’s stomach was pressed up against the counter. Andrew was eager to finish this cake as he never gave up on a bet.

he moved to the couch and laid on his back with his expanding stomach in the air, wobbling as he laid down. He shoved the fourth piece into his mouth and was starting to feel full. He told his roommate to help him with the last two slices. He was happy to shove some more cake into his mouth. He climbed on top of Andrew’s stomach and began to push cake into his mouth like he was pushing coins into a slot machine.

by the end of the year, Andrew had completely changed. His sharp jawline now completely covered by a thick double chin. His muscular arms were more like flabby sausages now and the most significant change was his stomach. At the beginning of the year he had rock hard abs that looked like they had been carved from stone. But now, he had a large, round, hairy, ball of lard for a stomach. It completely hung over his belt and Andrew hadn’t seen his feet in months. Andrew didn’t plan on stopping either. After nearly 85 lbs of weight piled onto him, he finally realized that he was fat. And he loved it.

#exjock #fat belly #fatty #eating #chubby #wg #fat #fatty piggy #gaining #getting bigger #gaining fat #fat gut #gaining weight #gaining fiction

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 4)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Previously: Feyre and Nesta have bargained with Amarantha! What's Elain going to do?!?

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Thursday, March 14th, 1889

***Elain***

Feyre and Nesta didn’t stop giving her furtive looks until they sat her down for a serious conversation over yesterday’s afternoon tea. And now Elain knew why.

“Nesta and I will be joining Prythian’s Fantasia for the next half year,” Feyre had announced, stirring cream and sugar into her tea as if it were any other day. “We made a deal with the ringmaster: Amarantha will cure Mother in exchange for our service.”

“How?” Elain had sputtered. Nothing—nothing—had helped Isabella Archeron’s illness, which seemed to worsen with spite.

Nesta’s heavy sigh preceded Feyre’s answer: “Magic.”

Elain could believe magic existed. Her gift of reading the future was part of the occult, was it not? But the idea of a magical circus…well, stunning performances did not equate to proof of magic.

“You do not seem surprised,” Feyre observed.

Elain shrugged. “I am skeptical…but I am more concerned with where is Prythian’s Fantasia going.”

“The circus will tour England…then head to Paris for the Exposition Universelle,” Nesta replied, switching into French for the last bit of the sentence. “Feyre will be the magician’s assistant, and I will be participating in the aerial silks performance.”

“What about Mother?” Elain asked. “What about the upcoming season? We ordered all our gowns already. And when Father gets back…none of us will be home…”

“That is why we need you to stay and care for the household…ensure Mother is taking her tonics and manage our correspondence from the other families,” Nesta responded swiftly. Her sister’s gaze dropped down guiltily.

“You will be gone…for months?” Elain’s voice was barely above a whisper, her initial excitement quickly dashed. “And you did not care to include me in this arrangement?”

Feyre was the more apologetic sister. “We will be sure to write, Elain. And Amarantha will give us the curative after a month, which means Mother will be back to health in no time at all.”

“I do not wish for you to write,” Elain had said stiffly. She had spent the afternoon baking scones and preparing the little sandwiches, but now the food was less than palatable. “I wish to join you both.”

“Traveling is far too dangerous,” Nesta said. “Do you think we are going on holiday? Feyre and I will be working. We do not want you to go hungry, or sleep in the cold and damp. Staying here is easier, Elain. And safer.”

“But I want to go to Paris!” Elain had cried, feeling like a petulant child.

“Nesta is right,” Feyre had added. “The journey ahead is uncertain…and what talents could you possibly bring to Prythian’s Fantasia? Gardening and baking are not useful in a traveling circus.”

Elain had glanced at her sisters, shocked that both were in agreement for once. “When do you depart?” she had asked, feeling discombobulated.

“Tomorrow morning,” Nesta had said with finality, clearly assuming Elain was agreeable with their plan of action.

But Elain was livid, and far from agreeable when it came to this issue. How could her sisters leave her behind? Feyre knew damn well Elain wanted to travel to Continental Europe her entire life. And how could Nesta, of all women, assume Elain needed protection from the big scary world? Of course they would expect her to stay home, for she was the Archeron sister that was most well-adjusted to London society. Of course it was alright for radical Nesta and bold Feyre to gallivant England unchaperoned, but the thought of soft and sweet Elain doing so would draw gasps of horror!

Elain called an early night, unable to bear watching Nesta and Feyre pack when it should have been her in their positions. Guilt gnawed at her: it would be their last night together for a while, yet Elain could not bring herself to spend a minute longer with them. Not that it would make much of a difference, for the Archeron sisters had never been particularly close..

But it simply wasn’t fair!

Whatever happened to taking charge of her own destiny? The fact that she had a premonition about a mysterious man in Paris seemed a good sign to leap out of her comfort zone. Elain did not want to shoulder the burden of excusing her sisters’ prolonged absence to her mother. And telling Isabella Archeron her two daughters had left high society for a traveling circus would be a death wish.

Which was how Elain found herself hastily packing after Feyre and Nesta bid her a stiff goodbye in the morning. Dresses, shoes, cosmetics, hats, and gloves were haphazardly stuffed into massive carpet bags. Elain bundled out the door, paying the family carriage driver a generous sum for his discretion.

The big top had been taken down, but the circus performers were still packing up their camp. Feyre and Nesta had to be in there somewhere. Elain’s palms dampened gloves in a mixture of anxiety and thrill—no longer would she sit back and wait for life to happen!

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Elain’s voice was shrill as she ran towards the camp as fast as her daintily slippered feet could carry her. The large cases she lugged in both hands made her gait even more awkward.

In her haste, Elain did not notice how wet and muddy the grass was. Her ankle slipped; she went down with a screech. Cases went flying, her hat turned askew, and her gloved hands sank several inches into smelly gunk. It seemed like the whole camp had come to a stand-still as everybody watched Elain struggle to stand.

“Elain? Elain!” Feyre cried as she rushed over, picking up the muddy cases for her sister. “What are you doing here?”

Elain stood, red-cheeked with embarrassment. Her creamy pink dress was sodden and now stank of filth, her cheeks were splattered with mud. But at the sound of Feyre’s voice, she straightened and indignantly replied, “I don’t want to be left behind.”

“Elain, you must return home,” Nesta ordered, striding over to them quickly. “This is foolishness.”

“What is going on here?” Amarantha’s voice sharply rang out over the crowd of people. “My goodness, who is this pathetic creature?” The ringmaster assessed Elain’s now-filthy form with obvious distaste.

“I’m sorry, Amarantha,” Feyre apologized quickly. “This is my sister, Elain.”

“She will be leaving now,” Nesta added meaningfully, grabbing the last clean patch of fabric on Elain’s elbow and tugging on it. Elain disentangled herself subtly, but Amarantha noticed it.

“Leaving?” Amarantha arched an eyebrow. “Why, it looks like she was planning on joining us.”

“Yes!” Elain cried breathily. “I wish to be with my sisters.” She ignored Nesta’s glare. The crowd of circus performers had grown larger, though, and Elain shrank slightly under their bold stares. This was not the first impression she wanted to make.

It could not be any more obvious that Amarantha was judging Elain’s clumsy feet, her gloved hands, the timid roundness of her shoulders. Elain held her breath, fearful of being turned away.

“I know just the role for you. You will be our fortune-teller. We lost our last one thanks to…an unfortunate accident.”

“I am afraid I do not have any experience in the occult,” Elain blurted out defensively, so taken aback by the accuracy of Amarantha’s assignment. It was partially true, though. Experiencing sporadic visions was one thing; being skilled at “parlor tricks” or channeling specific readings was another. Still, Elain mentally kicked herself for spurning the offer.

“Well? Simply make things up,” the ringmaster waved her hand condescendingly. “As long as the circus visitors are satisfied, you will be of use to me. And do tidy yourself up before we board the train.” Amarantha flashed Elain a gleaming white smile that possessed no warmth before she turned away.

Nesta sighed and motioned for Elain to follow her through the camp. Elain kept her head down, careful not to embarrass herself again. There was a feeling of unease writhing in the pit of her stomach like a black worm. It was distinct from nerves or embarrassment…the sensation was akin to a warning bell.

Elain considered herself an open-minded, friendly lady, who didn’t have qualms with many people. But there was something peculiar about the way Amarantha assessed her, and she didn’t like it. No, Elain did not like it at all.

“We were lucky enough to have our own caravan,” Feyre said, interrupting Elain’s musings. “Come, let us put your cases inside.”

The caravan was painted in a rich green with ornate gold detailing. Glass windows and beautiful lanterns hanging by the door, as well as the fold-down wooden steps of polished dark wood, elevated the caravan’s standing beyond a covered wagon on wheels.

“It’s so small,” Elain commented doubtfully.

“It’s much bigger inside, you will see.” The door swung on well-oiled hinges, revealing an unusually spacious setting. The first thing Elain saw was a copper tub—for bathing—positioned opposite a wooden table complete with green-cushioned wooden chairs.

“At least we can stand upright here! Look, we have a bathtub,” Feyre explained excitedly. “Towels and soaps included. We can heat the water on the stove.” A small iron stove was situated in the caravan’s corner, its black slender chimney extending up and out of the wooden roof.

It was beginning to dawn on Elain that, while the caravan was better than sleeping on the cold, hard ground, nothing would compare to the comforts of home. Since the maids always drew up warm baths upon request, tending a flame and heating up water bucket by bucket would be a harsh wake-up call to reality. Elain wasn’t even sure she could strike a match.

An elegant wardrobe stood next to the tub, facing an upholstered sofa with plush velvet pillows. Thick curtains kept the sleeping area separate: the back end of the caravan was taken up by a large bunk bed.

“I took the top bed already,” Feyre said, pointing to the top bunk where a circular window offered views to the outside world. “And Nesta took the bottom one. But there’s a separate bed on the side for you.”

She had never been confined in such close proximity to her sisters. Elain’s bed was built into the caravan, with extra storage underneath. Across from her bed sat a small counter with a marble wash basin, and an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. Her cruddy face reflected back at her, pale and disheveled. Her first adventure started off on the wrong foot, but she made it, didn’t she?

“It’s quite nice,” Elain finally said quietly. “Home sweet home for the next few months.”

Saturday, March 16th, 1889

***Gwyn***

Birds of a feather flock together. Any stranger would have taken one look at Daphne’s auburn and Gwyn’s coppery-brown hair, their pale skin and willowy statures, and assumed them to be relatives. Gwyn had learned several key facts about the fire performer over the last few days. One: Daphne’s son, Lucien was 26. Just two years younger than Gwyn. Two: she hailed from Ireland, somehow surviving famine and political turmoil. Three: she was married to Beron Vanserra, the sour-faced, Spanish escape artist. Based on Gwyn’s limited observations of the two, Beron was hardly deserving of Daphne’s warmth and goodness. In fact, Daphne seemed to shrink back within herself whenever she was in her husband’s proximity.

Prythian’s Fantasia, Gwyn also learned, was transported from town to town via the great English railway system. Tents were taken down and bundled neatly, caravans were rolled onto flatcars and strapped down, and the performers bundled into carriages.

When they boarded the train to Bristol two days ago, Gwyn could have sworn some odd emotion passed between Daphne and an older man. The man was around Daphne’s age, with earthy brown skin and hazel eyes like that of a wise owl. Gwyn had seen him several times, for his muscled thighs and foreign features were unmistakable around the camp.

“Who is that gentleman?” Gwyn had whispered to Daphne as they sat down in the carriage. “The tall, dark one who just passed us by?”

“Ah…that is Helion,” the lady murmured, looking down demurely. “He assists with the lights during the performance.” From the way Daphne’s fair cheeks mellowed out with color, Gwyn presumed there was more to the story than Daphne would divulge. But she didn’t want to pry when Daphne had just warmed up to her.

Tomorrow would be their first show in Bristol, and Gwyn was currently assisting the circus hands in setting up the music hall. An open-air tent of forest-green fabric had just been pitched. Signage was carefully hung. Polished boards were neatly aligned to form a sizable dance floor. The stage would be elevated by pushing together massive crates, artfully concealed by luxurious curtains and decor.

Amarantha had taken Gwyn into Prythian’s Fantasia to fulfill a singer position in the music hall, but Gwyn had been stationed at the ticket booth for the last few nights with no indication of reassignment. Gwyn was itching to move on from the rote task of checking tickets. She wanted to sing!

Everyone listened whenever Gwyn began singing. Her mother had always spoken of merrow or morgen heritage from their Irish and Welsh ancestors, something Gwyn had always dismissed. Sirens were pure myth; and Gwyn had never seen the ocean, nor felt any draw towards the vast seas. But even she could not deny that her voice was unusually rich and magnetic. Catrin incessantly encouraged Gwyn to audition for London’s high-end music halls, but Gwyn much preferred to offer her talents free of charge at the local church choir.

Sweat beaded Gwyn’s brow as she pushed against the massive crate. The church would never accept her now, after all she had done—been forced to do—at the brothel…and Catrin. Catrin would never get to hear her perform at a music hall ever again, not even this one—

Gwyn’s foot slipped in the mud. A pair of scarred hands positioned themselves next to her, assisting with the crate.

“Careful.” Azriel’s voice was flat, but his hazel eyes were wary. “Severe flooding occurred in Bristol this week.” The corded muscles in his forearms flexed as he easily pushed the crate into the proper position.

“Thank you,” Gwyn replied, wiping her brow. “Are you looking forward to the performance tonight?”

“I am always prepared.” Not exactly answering her question. But from the daggers that were sheathed along his belt, Gwyn had no doubt that Azriel practiced everywhere he went.

“What are you doing here?” Tamlin, one of the circus musicians, rounded the corner with a hammer in his hand. His emerald gaze was fixed on Azriel, and Gwyn could have sworn Tamlin’s imaginary hackles were raised like a cornered dog.

“Someone could not be bothered to quit their hammering to lend her a hand, so of course I had to assist,” Azriel replied shortly, his eyes narrowing with mirrored distaste. His scarred hands hung loosely at his side, within close reach of his daggers.

There must be some history between Tamlin and Azriel, Gwyn decided, for Tamlin had been nothing but cordial towards her, Daphne, and Tarquin. First Daphne and Helion, now Tamlin and Azriel. Prythian’s Fantasia, it seemed, held an unusual amount of secrets under its glossy tents and sparkling performances.

“Tamlin.” A clear, powerful voice rang out as the magician strode into the music hall with feline grace. Tamlin’s expression soured even further. “You have a new performer assignment for the music hall.”

“You do not give me orders, Rhysand,” Tamlin snarled as Rhysand smacked a thick stack of papers against his chest.

Rhysand smirked, his inky black hair the polar opposite to Tamlin’s golden blonde. “They’re Amarantha’s orders, not mine. I do feel sorry for you, Gwyneth, that your new colleague is acting like an uncouth beast.”

“Me?” Gwyn squeaked. It was the first time the magician had interacted with her, and she was surprised that he knew her name. His handsome face was even a bit unnerving to look at, for it was cold as the morning frost.

Rhysand’s violet eyes flicked towards her, faint amusement shimmering. He produced another stack of papers out of thin air and offered them to Gwyn with a courteous bow. “Amarantha has reassigned you to the music hall, as promised. Do inform me if Tamlin gives you any trouble.”

“I would rather be a beast than a bootlicking turncoat,” Tamlin threw back coldly at Rhysand’s retreating back. Bootlicking turncoat? What happened between Tamlin and Rhysand? Gwyn was vaguely aware of Tamlin saying something about practice times, before realizing Azriel had disappeared as well.

***Feyre***

The magician’s tent was far too easy to spot amongst the multitude of colored tents in the circus camp: it was midnight black. It was the key to getting her questions about her shadow capabilities answered. Of finally meeting someone who was like her. Years of wishes on evening stars culminating in this very moment.

“Be still, o beating heart,” Feyre whispered to herself as she approached. To her surprise, the top of the magician’s tent was left open, bathing the space in sunlight. And there he was, leaning casually against a tent pole and fiddling with his top hat. The magician looked up slowly when she stepped across the threshold, like a cat waking up from a luxurious nap.

He was still dressed in black, albeit in a more simple pair of pants and neatly creased shirt. Onyx black hair carefully combed and styled across his forehead, and his tan brown face close-shaven. The magician clearly maintained an impeccable appearance even while off-stage.

“You must be my new assistant, Feyre Archeron.” Feyre’s breath hitched at the smooth purr of voice, shaping the syllables of her name as if he was savoring sweet wine. “I was wondering when you would show up.”

“And you are…?”

“Rhysand,” the magician replied matter-of-factly, as if he was mildly offended she didn’t already know his name. He prowled towards her, mouth curving with an almost intimate smile. “But you may call me Rhys.”

“You are from Wales?” Feyre tracked his movements carefully, unsure of how to act around her new mentor.

“My father is from Scotland, actually.” Rhys halted in front of her, close enough to border on impropriety. Dear lord—his deep blue eyes were hypnotizing. Already she was mentally tabulating the color combinations she could use to recreate the color of his eyes, for they were an unusual shade of violet. Like the color of amethyst gemstone mixed with sunset’s indigo.

“I see.” Feyre doubted the validity of that statement, for Rhys’s brown nose and aquiline nose implied otherwise.

“I heard you arrived here with not one, but two sisters. What is a darling like you doing in a circus like this?” Men who called ladies “darling” on the street were exactly the types of men Feyre rolled her eyes at. So why did she shiver with delight when Rhys said it?

“My mother is very ill,” Feyre explained, tilting her chin up to maintain eye contact. “I sought Amarantha for help.” And you are the first person I’ve met who possesses the same gifts, she added silently.

Rhys’s brow creased slightly, and his sensual gaze chilled. “So you made a bargain with Amarantha.” Displeasure was laced in his tone.

“Only six months of service for a healing potion. But since my mother’s condition is dire, Amarantha will give me the potion after a month,” Feyre explained, unsure of why he was frowning.

“There is no such thing as only six months,” Rhys muttered, more to himself than her. While he appeared lost in thought, Feyre took the liberty of studying Rhys with an artist’s gaze, parsing every plane of his face, the details of his relaxed body. Surely a handsome man like him was married, right? It would be criminal—and alarming—if he wasn’t.

The edges of Feyre’s attention span suddenly thinned and wavered, as if her thoughts were being scrambled up. Raw power thrummed in the air, thick enough to taste. Rhys tilted his head, darkness quickly evaporating into satisfaction.

“What do you know about magic?” A double-edged question: was he inquiring about her skills with magic tricks, or was he somehow referring to the strange shadow capabilities she possessed?

“Little enough for me to seek the master himself,” Feyre responded gamely.

His beautiful mouth smirked as he closed the distance between them. Feyre leaned in, presuming he was about to kiss her…but Rhys’s hand brushed a lock of golden-brown hair behind her ear, producing a small silver chain with a delicate silver cross instead.

“How did you do that?” Feyre blinked in crest-fallen confusion.

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Rhys offered her a sly smile. “Allow me.”

Feyre could only nod slightly, heart hammering in her chest as Rhys positioned himself behind her. She pressed her lips together tightly when his hands brushed the nape of her neck, lest she let out an inappropriate moan. How could such a simple touch bring forth such pleasurable sensations that traveled right down to her very toes?

His fingers delicately scraped her skin again, as he slipped the silver cross under her collar and out of sight. The gesture was chaste, yet the sensation of intimacy hung heavy in the air. “I advise you to keep that cross on at all times…for your own good.”

“...What?” Feyre needed to remember to breathe.

“It’s protection,” he replied simply. “Identification.”

“I am not keen on wearing something around my neck like a dog,” Feyre objected, feeling even more confused.

“Then consider a gift from your mentor.” Rhys stepped back in front of her, putting a regretful amount of distance between them once more.

“Mentor, are you? If I am to be your assistant, I think I should be privy to at least some of your secrets.” She smiled back teasingly, fingering the delicate chain. Violet eyes regarded her with molten intensity. Feyre smiled even wider. Good…it seemed Rhys was just as taken with her. It would be such a shame if he found her uninteresting.

“If you wish to know some of my secrets, then let us begin your training.”

✨

Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed this update! Maybe it took you 5 minutes to read it, but it took me several hours to write it. Would you rather read a paragraph of words an AI strung together over a fanfic with fun headcanons and character analysis, or published writing?

I hope your answer is no, and I hope you will show the same respect to artists by NOT supporting or reposting AI art, especially on TikTok. Artists spend YEARS honing their craft, so propping up AI art is the equivalent of supporting plagiarism. I'm tired of seeing people defending their use of AI images over genuine art in their fan edits because AI "look perfect". ACOTAR fandom, please do better.

#prythian's fantasia #elucien #gwynriel #feysand #acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara #feyre archeron

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