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laequiem · 3 months

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Cheek to Cheek in Hell - epilogue

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: explicit

Word count: 2,860

Next to the bed, I unstrap my sword belt and let it fall to the floor in a clank of metal. When I look back at him, Cardan has straightened, his body angling towards me. “Master of Revels?” I ask innocently. “Not my consort?” “Do they have to be mutually exclusive?”

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Chapter 20 • Cheek to Cheek masterpost

I watched the Folk reveling from my place atop the dais. Watched as Cardan drank until he could barely stand, all the while sending lecherous glances my way. I haven’t seen him in hours, though—the fool probably passed out somewhere. I smile to myself as I push open the doors to my rooms, the guards flanking the High King’s rooms—now High Queen’s—bowing as I enter.

Iron trinkets already litter my floor like the dullest dragon hoard. No doubt the guards carrying them up to my rooms were in a hurry to get rid of them, though they wore padded elbow-length gloves to avoid touching the metal. Still, they left a path for me to get to my bedroom without having to walk over rusty toasters and tire rims. I lift the hem of my dress as I make my way towards the bedroom, eager to wash off this paint and feel like myself again.

Before I can even locate the bathing room, I stop, gaping. Cardan lounges on my new bed like it’s his, one arm draped over mountains of pillows. He is wearing nothing but the ridiculously fluffy robe he bought from Target—the hood pulled up over his messy curls, two triangular pieces poking from it like cat ears. His other hand disappears under the folds of his robe. I immediately look away when I see it moving, slowly, over the hard length barely hidden by his robe.

“It is cruel of you to make your humble servant wait so long, my wicked Queen,” he drawls.

I risk another gaze at him and lock my eyes on his. I try to keep my face imperious: a raised brow, my mouth set. I can feel the blush on my cheeks, though, and he smiles as though he knows how difficult it is to ignore the lecherous movement.

“If the guards let you in, perhaps I already need to change my staff,” I joke. “I never gave them leave to let you in.”

Cardan’s grin is wicked, “They don’t know I’m here.”

“Sneaky,” I croon. “Should I hire you as a spy?”

“Master of Revels suits me plenty,” he answers.

I have never heard of such a title. For all I know, he made it up on the spot. Still, I make a mental note to ask the Roach. Cardan would fit in with the ragtag group of spies that make up Dain’s former Court of Shadows. He has the Bomb’s penchant for the dramatics, the Roach’s snark and he could buy the Ghost’s affections with the secrets of the palace’s wine stores.

I stalk towards him, purposefully swaying my hips when I see that his eyes dip down to watch my advance. His tail thumps against the mattress, betraying his eagerness.

Next to the bed, I unstrap my sword belt and let it fall to the floor in a clank of metal. When I look back at him, Cardan has straightened, his body angling towards me.

“Master of Revels?” I ask innocently. “Not my consort?”

“Do they have to be mutually exclusive?”

Cardan leans back again as I climb on the bed, the mattress shifting under my weight. When I straddle him, his tail immediately snakes under my dress, brushing against my thigh in a soft caress.

I hum. “I suppose not.” I place a hand on his chest, around where Balekin’s sword impaled him. “How is your wound?”

“Better. Healing,” he says.

Healing. Not healed. I lift off his chest, as my weight on him must not be helping. His hands come to cradle my waist.

“I like you above me,” he complains.

“So do I,” I admit. “But a Queen ought to be worshiped, does she not?”

“You ought to be worshiped.” His hands idly move down my body, spreading over my hips.

With a slight shove of his hands, he flips us around until he is on top of me. His pupils are so large, only the golden rings framing his irises are visible. He looks down at me, his eyes following the strokes of paint he drew on me. I lift a finger to trace his jaw.

“Everyone saw you kneel for me,” I tease. “Surely, that’s profane. A Prince kneeling for a human.”

I’ve teased him about this before. What would your friends think? The Prince on his knees in front of a mere mortal, I had told him, when all of this started.

“I would do it again,” Cardan vows. “If you let me, I would kneel at your feet while you sat on the throne.”

Something in my chest twists at his words and I bite my lip. I love his dramatics, his grandiose vows, but… “I would much rather have you by my side,” I reply.

“You do. For as long as you’ll have me.”

I slide a hand behind his neck and bring his face down to me. Our lips meet in what is possibly the softest kiss we’ve ever exchanged until my hand slides up to his hair and I pull lightly. He groans into my mouth and I flick my tongue against his lips. He opens for me and the kiss morphs into a desperate dance.

His mouth never leaving mine, he kicks my legs open with his knee. As soon as he settles between my legs, he grinds his erection against me, only the thin fabric of my dress between our bare skin. It’s my turn to groan, and he pulls away to nuzzle at my throat.

“You were glorious tonight, my Queen,” he whispers against that soft spot beneath my ear. “You should have seen your Council when you called the land’s power. Soon enough, they’ll be as smitten with you as I am.”

I snort at that, “I don’t think I could handle that. One of you is plenty.”

Cardan hums, running a hand up my side. Slowly, he hooks a finger under the fabric barely hiding my breast and slides it away. His mouth moves down my throat, leaving a trail of kisses in its wake. I look down when I feel his breath against my breast, only to find him staring at me. With a grin, he licks up the slope of my breast to the tip of my nipple, smudging the gold paint. He keeps his eyes locked to mine as he brings his mouth to my nipple, sucking it once before giving it a quick flick of his tongue.

His onslaught continues as he moves to my other breast, freeing it from the dress and smearing the paint on that one, too. He nibbles and sucks at the skin, leaving love bites when he gets too carried away. When he finally moves lower down, his chin is covered in the golden paint, his hair highlighted with sparkling glitter where it brushed against my skin.

Flat on his stomach, Cardan squeezes my thighs and parts them, then brings a hand to my folds and parts those, too, leaving me fully exposed to him.

“So pretty,” he breathes right before bringing his mouth to my core.

I swear, bucking against his mouth until he has to pin me down with a hand on my stomach. He starts with broad strokes, but soon enough isn’t satisfied with my reactions and sucks on my clitoris, flicks it, lets his teeth graze it—until I’m panting and clutching at the sheets.

“Car—fuck, you’re so good at this,” I mewl.

I think I can feel him smirk against me. His tail gives a flick, as if it started moving on its own and he had to will it to stop. When I bury my fingers in his hair and pull, he rewards me by bringing a finger to my entrance, teasing, not quite entering. I groan, my core aching for it. Craving it. When did I start craving something inside me? It was never something I cared for before—if I needed to get myself off, to relax, my fingers on my bud were more than enough, but not anymore. I feel myself trudging towards that blissful edge, but I ache for more.

“Want more?” he asks, as if he knows how desperate I am. Of course he knows.

I pull his hair harder. “I’m not going to beg you.”

With a chuckle, he plunges two fingers inside me. Again, my hips buck and again, he pushes me back down into the mattress. He keeps his eyes on mine as he puts his mouth against my clit again and sucks. It’s all I needed. I scream his name as my orgasm plummets into me, clutching at his hair, at the sheets, until he has mercy on me and his mouth leaves my core.

He slides his fingers out of me and, when I finally look down at him, keeps his eyes on mine as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, his tongue sliding between his middle finger and ring finger in a lewd gesture that has me blushing. It’s only then that I notice his hands are back to being perfectly groomed, most nails filed into points except for the blunt tips of the two he is lewdly sucking on.

“Was this enough for you, Your Majesty?” he jests.

I grab hold of the front of his robe and yank. He tumbles onto me and I capture his mouth in a kiss. It’s titillating, the way I taste myself on his tongue. It’s indecent, it’s shameless, it’s… sensual. Cardan runs his hand through my hair, careful of the messy tangles created by our previous activities.

I bite his lip as we part, then smirk. “You know it’s not. Remove that ridiculous robe and get on with it.”

“At your service, my Queen,” he replies, batting his eyelashes.

He digs into one of the pockets of his robe and pulls out a condom packet. I almost roll my eyes at how prepared he is, until I remember the glances he was throwing with me at the revel and how I found him here, his hand on his cock. Instead, I blush. I lost sight of him hours ago, has he been here all that time, teasing, edging himself? No–he clearly took hours to prepare. There is the matter of his hands, sure, but being back in the palace clearly gave him all the tools he needed to be preen himself back to regal perfection. His brows are plucked, his lashes unfairly long and perfectly curled. No hint of stubble anywhere–all the places where hair grew during our time in the mortal realm are now silky smooth.

Next to him, I must look like a wild animal, but he makes no comment on it, nor does he seem to notice.

Cardan tears the packet with his teeth and slides the condom out. I watch, transfixed, as he rolls it down his length. Then, he shrugs out of his robe and throws it to the floor.

When he positions himself above me again, he slides his hard length over my folds, coating himself in my wetness and his own spit. The head of his cock pokes my entrance. Given how wet I am, he’ll have no trouble sliding in, and yet—he stops there.

I frown up at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s searching the room for something. Just as I am about to ask him what the fuck he’s waiting for, he stretches his lean body over me to grab something. When he is back in position, he presses something cold and hard into my hand, closing my fist over it. He brings my hand to his throat and I see it, the dagger he got me for my birthday, carved with his name. He angles my hand so that the sharp edge is against his throat, then lets go.

“Are you sure?” I ask him.

He nods shallowly, just enough that the blade digs in his skin and he sighs, rocking his hips ever so slightly.

“Fuck me, then,” I order, my voice coming off more confident than I thought it would.

He braces a hand against the mattress, right next to my shoulder, and burrows in so, so slowly. We both gasp when he bottoms out, his hips flush against mine. I wrap my legs against his hips and we both exhale simultaneously, unprepared for the way he suddenly felt so much deeper. Still, he stays motionless, so I move the dagger, scraping the edge of his Adam’s apple as though I was shaving him.

“Move,” I order.

His throat bobs as he swallows and then he moves, barely slipping out as he rolls his hips, shifting. It is technically a trust, just enough that he can say that he did, in fact, move.

“Cardan,” I warn.

He looks at me with the most innocent look I have never seen on his face. Cardan is not innocent, I have never seen him innocent—his family ensured I never would, drilling wickedness and pride into him with contempt and a whip. When he rocks his hips again, he can’t hide the upward tug of his lips, the smug delight peeking through.

I move the blade so the point of it is against his chin and lift it, making him have to stretch his neck uncomfortably to still look at me.

“I asked you to fuck me, not make love to me,” I hiss.

I see the blow land before I even realize I’ve dealt it, when he frowns and his mouth drops open ever so slightly. I was only trying to be… sexy. Dominant, I suppose, but I have no experience with these things.

“Shit. I didn’t mean—” I start, but he interrupts me.

“With you,” he replies, “they’ve always been one and the same.”

I pull the dagger away, wanting to reach for him and … I don’t know, embrace him? Kiss him? Show him that I do love him, without saying the words that I don’t know how or when to say. Before the blade can leave his throat, however, he grabs my wrist and pulls it right back to where it was.

“Show me how much you love me,” I say, a little quietly. “Show me until I can’t remember that I hate you.”

I jump as his tail comes to brush against my ankle, just before wrapping around it. As if to reassure me, when I should be the one reassuring him. Then he shifts, pulling out of me. He unwraps my legs from around his waist, only to hook my knees over his elbows. When he pushes into me again, he puts all of his weight in the movement, pressing my legs back against me as he leans his whole weight against me. The leftover gold dust on his chest mixes with the paint that the lower courts used to draw on my legs. With every plunge of his length in me, the paint gets more and more smudged, mud and blood and gold paint blending to paint him into a filthy tableau of debauchery.

A hand finds my breast and he kneads the flesh before squeezing hard, his nails leaving half-moon indentations in my skin. I reach up for his hair again, pulling him to me. His lips are inches from mine, the dagger between us.

“I wish I had said it earlier. Days ago,” I say against his lips, keeping him only far enough that he can’t kiss me. “Weeks ago. But I love you, Cardan.”

Then, knowing the dagger will dig against his skin, I kiss him. Cardan moans into my mouth, but the threat of the dagger doesn’t hinder me. He kisses me back like he needs my breath to live. It’s messy, all tongues and teeth.

When he pulls away, I see blood pooling from a small scratch. I throw the dagger to the floor and bring my mouth to his neck, licking up the blood.

Cardan’s thrusts falter and I feel him throbbing inside me. He swears, driving into me harder than before. He lets go of one of my legs to slide a hand to my core. With quick, clumsy flicks of his fingers against my clit, I come again. Before I have time to scream once more, he kisses me, keeping the sound of his name to himself. We kiss for what feels like minutes, hours, days, the kiss turning from passionate to lazy, tired kisses. Until it is nothing more than the pressure of his lips against mine, both of us smiling into each other’s mouth.

We don’t really part, he mostly just slumps until he’s all but laying on top of me, dark curls draped over the skin of my chest as his face is pressed between my breasts.

“Stay by my side,” I plead softly.

“I’m not going anywhere, this is too comfortable,” he mumbles, nibbling at a breast.

I flick his head and he looks up, smirking.

“I’m serious,” I insist. “If I’m doing this whole… High Queen thing, I want to do it with you. Together.”

Cardan reaches for my hand and squeezes my fingers.

“Together,” he agrees.

#the folk of the air #tfota #jurdan #judecardan #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte

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moaihybitoyoidaics · 1 year

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Some Things Never Change~ Jurdan

Jue and Cardan return to the Duarte family home to find a gift for Taryn's baby shower. A trip down memory lane leads them to reconnect with Jude's childhood best friend.

A chapter from The Captured King on wattpad (@ teddyhawkins thats me)

Word count: 2148

Jude's POV

The house still stood as it had the day I had left, almost identical to the pictures we had saved more than ten years before. Although now, instead of sun filled windows there were wooden boards, and the parallel-striped lawn was over grown. The door hung ajar, slightly off its hinges. I turned to look at Cardan, whose face was an indecipherable mask.

"Home sweet home." I muttered under my breath before heading up the cracked paving slabs. Running after me, Cardan's composure fell away a second later.

"Jude, are you sure we're okay to be here?" He asked quietly. "Are you sure nobody will be watching the house?"

I stopped just shy of the front door. "As far as this world is concerned, the Duarte family were massacred almost twelve years ago. No one is looking for us anymore, and no body is bothered about this house." I nudged the door open, groaning as it went. "There are things I should like to retrieve, if they're still here." "I'd follow you to the ends of the earth my dear, lead the way." He followed me inside, creeping as if he could somehow wake the ghosts that remained here.

The carpet was ripped up, presumably taken when the police came to investigate the murders. Still, though, a muddy brown stain remained and the floorboards in the vestibule. The sight turned my blood to ice and a cold sweat bead on my upper lip.

"Jude," Cardan tests, his hand grazing my shoulder blade. "What is it?"

I remembered the day Madoc took us, the day he made that stain. I remembered my white converse skidding in the blood, my legs too short to step entirely over it. "I- it's just hard. Being here, it makes it harder to pretend it all away. Let's just get what we came for and go."

I stepped over the stain and moved on through the house. In the lounge the TV was gone, the sofa was charred as if it had been set alight, soot crept up the wall behind it. On the chimney breast someone, probably an edgy teenager, had sprayed a pentagram, dripping and red. I moved on to the kitchen, noticing the notch in the door frame and another dirty brown patch on the floor. I looked out of the window, into the back garden. Our old swing set stood unused, the chains rusted orange, creaking gently in the autumn breeze. I turned to see Cardan sat on the breakfast bar.

"So this is a mortal kitchen."

"You've been to Vivi's apartment, you know what our kitchens look like."

"It's strange to think of you living here. Before all the... stuff happened." He spoke so softly, I could hardly hear him.

"It's stranger to be back." I left the kitchen and made my way upstairs. I had the best chance of finding what I came for up there. "You can wait here, if you want." I called back to him. He shook his head and jumped down off the island.

"No chance."

I pushed open the door I remembered to be mine. The sight sent another shiver through me. The room has been preserved, almost untouched. There drawers were still open, with the clothes we left behind. The bunk beds, made up with Peter Pan and pink floral sheets. "Mine was the bottom bunk, I used to be obsessed with Peter Pan. Sword fighting, pirates, fairies... I guess some things never change."

"Taryn had the flowers, I'm guessing."

"Like I said. Some things never change." I made my way over to our old bookshelves searching for my sister's favourite book. "Taryn would never like to admit this, but she always wanted to be a homemaker. My mom bought her this Tumtum and Nutmeg, I got the first Harry Potter book instead- which is also about magic-"

"I know, I've read them." Cardan said, surprising me out of my nostalgia.

"You've read them?" My mouth was agape, a shocked laugh at the back of my throat.

"The magic is somewhat rudimentary, I mean using wands? But I did cry in book seven." He seemed confused by my obvious shock.

"Okay, we'll discuss that on the way home. Anyway, I thought it would be nice to return her old copy, you know? For the baby shower." I shoved the book into my satchel and made my way towards the bedroom door. "Let's go."

He caught my arm. "Do you not want to stay? Take back some of your old things?"

"It's painful being here, with everything that happened here." For the first time, I realised how strong my husband was. "I do not know where you find the courage to sit in the burgh everyday, where your family was murdered. I am so sorry."

He shook his head. "You are my family. I don't need to dwell on that anymore."

We made our way out of the house, on the front lawn I took one final look at my old family home and sighed. "I can forget this now. I think I can do that." Cardan kissed me softly on my forehead and smiles.

"I think I saw some ragwort by the side of the house. I'll be right back."

I nodded and he turned and jogged away. I took the opportunity to look around the street I used to play on, the cracks in the asphalt, the weeds on the sidewalk, the girl across the street running out of her house...

"Jude?" I was startled out of my trance. "Jude Duarte?" She called.

"No, sorry." I panicked.

"Liar."

"You have the wrong perso-"

"So you're Taryn then?" I knew the girl. Or rather I used to know her, twelve years ago. A lot had changed since then. "I know it's you Jude."

"Jude Duarte is dead." I lied. "So is Taryn and so is Vivienne. They all died."

"Bullshit." She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips together.

Cardan strode around the corner, clutching a fistful of ragwort stalks, "Jude, are you ready to ride?" It was moments like that which made me remember why I used to hate him.

"Sorry, Jude Duarte is apparently dead." She called to him as she smirked at me. Cardan looked to me, visibly confused.

I sighed. "It's Rosie, right?" She grinned again and nodded. "Okay, Rosie, we were never here. "

"I knew he didn't kill you." She yelled. "I knew it! Everyone said I was crazy but I knew I saw him take you."

"Wait, you saw what happened?" Cardan asked. "You were there?"

"I called the police!" She continued to yell. "You left your bike at me house and I was returning it, I saw that guy take you. Sorry who is this guy?" She pointed to Cardan.

I turned to look at him and realised how strange this must've been for Rosie. Cardan, as beautiful as he was, did not look human. I had dressed him in sneakers and jeans but of course he hadn't concerned himself with disguising his pointed ears or his uncanny features, this was supposed to be a quick trip- in and out. Not to mention the fact that for all intents and purposes, to Rosie I was dead and had been for more than a decade. I looked back at Rosie and sighed.

"Would you like to come in? My folks aren't home, but I have some lemonade in the fridge." She asked sweetly. "I have some videos from when we were kids, if you want to see?"

There was a pang in my chest, a deep yearning to look back in time. But the thought of spending more time here with Rosie and seeing who I could have been coiled around that longing.

"We would love to." Cardan answered for me, taking my hand and following her across the street.

***

Rosie knelt next to an old VCR, feeding it an even older VHS tape. The label on the back of the cassette read Rosie and Duarte girls 2008. 2008? The year we were taken. The TV static dissipated and kicked into life, showing grainy footage of an orange summers day, brown lawns and tanned kids in shorts. The first few seconds of footage primarily consisted of Rosie's dad trying to figure out if the camera was on, that was until I heard a familiar voice; like something pulled from a forgotten dream.

"Mark, the red light is on. It's recording." The camera snapped up and I saw a man. The scruff of his beard and the chestnut brown of his eyes, the slight auburn of his hair catching in the August sun. I I grabbed Cardan's hand and squeezed.

"Jude?"

"That's... uh that was my dad." I said, lump catching in my throat. He squeezed my hand in return, his thumb rubbing gently circles against my skin.

I saw a girl, twin to my younger self sat on the grass with a young Rosie, pulling daisies from the grass and lacing them together, coronating each other with flower crowns. Taryn of course. Then of course there was Vivienne, a few years older than us but an eternity younger than I could recollect, sat under a shady tree. She wore the same disapproving then as she always had, as if she had never taken it off.

"I swear you're in this one Jude. Just wait a minute." Rosie mumbles, fast forwarding through what she must've thought was the most mundane memory, I didn't want to miss a thing. She pauses a rewinds it for a second. "You're going very fast, blink and you'll miss it."

For a moment, I didn't understand what she meant. Until I heard my father cheering and my mother screaming in horror. "Jude! Pull the brakes!"

There I was, a blur peddling faster than my little legs had ever gone before, or since for that matter. I flew down the street on my purple bike, which at the time I had insisted I was tall enough for, before crashing into my neighbours trash cans and flying over the handle bars. I landed in a heap on the floor, blood pouring out of my nose, my knees and elbows skinned and covered in gravel. The camera fell to the floor as Mark, Rosie's dad, ran over to me. My parents caught up a second later, picking me up and dusting me off. My mother fussed over me, pulling a Kleenex out of her pocket and dabbing my nose, but I pushed passed them and picked up my bike.

"I'm going again. I will jump over the trash cans." I couldn't help but laugh, some things never change.

***

We spent the afternoon and most of the evening in Rosie's living room, pouring over childhood memories. Cardan howled watching myself, Taryn and Rosie performing a dance routine to Wannabe by the Spice Girls, trying to convince our parents to let us have another sleepover.

"Jude still can't dance." He said, trying to catch his breath.

Rosie watched him cautiously, still unsure of what to make of him. "So, why did you never come home?" She asked tentatively. "I mean I always thought I saw you at the mall or in coffee houses or one time at a pool I think, so you I know you could come back but you never came home."

I thought about it for a moment before answering. "Where I've been, well where my sisters and I have been, is different. We had to change to survive. If you saw what I was truly like now you wouldn't have invited us in." Cardan watched me try to explain myself, engrossed. "Honestly, I am happy where I am. I made something of my life! But being here and seeing how things could've been for me... it makes me feel homesick but for life."

"Life sick?" She whispered.

"Exactly."

"I still have your bike." She grinned, sensing I didn't want to answer any more questions.

"Her what?" Cardan asked. I shot him a look that I hoped told him to shut up.

Rosie led me outside, she wandered into her garage and pulled out my purple bike, still scuffed with a flat tyre, but it was my bike.

"Take it home with you, wherever that is now. But come and visit us sometime, I want to prove to my folks that I'm not crazy."

I wheeled my bike up the driveway and out into the cool night air, turning back one final time to wave goodbye to my old friend. "Can you make her forget?" I whispered to Cardan.

"Why?"

"It'll be too hard to leave if she knows I'm still out there." I sighed. "There'll be questions, people will think she's lost the plot."

"No." He placed his hand on the small of my back. "You deserve to be remembered."

#jurdan #jurdan fanfic #jude duarte #jude x cardan #cardan greenbriar #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #the cruel prince #tfota fanfic #nostaligiacore #jurdan fluff #fluff #fanfic #book fanfic #fantasy

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smartycvnt · 3 months

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Title: Simmer Down

Pairing: Grace Muncy

Prompt: "Don't raise your fucking voice at me!" + "I can't lok at you."

Word Count: 1007

Sex crimes destroyed relationships. Grace had been with the NYPD for long enough to have heard the stories. Every story seemed to go the same way. Everybody seemed to have the case that haunted them in ways that their partners couldn't handle. Grace just didn't think it'd happen to her, or at the very least, not so fast.

Grace wanted to take a step back and warn Ash, but she couldn't. By the time that Grace realized what was happening, it was too late. Grace had been distant, and the moments when she wasn't, Grace felt like she was at Ash's throat. Their fighting was constant with no end in sight.

The case had hit everybody hard, and when it was finally over, Benson had granted Grace a few days off. Grace could feel the tension immediately leave her body like magic when Benson told her to go home. Duarte and Fin seemed to react in similar ways. The case had hit everybody hard, but Grace hadn't quite learned not to take everything home with her yet. It was harder to leave her feelings at work here than it had been in the gang unit.

"Hey baby." Grace leaned down to kiss Ash, but Ash turned her head away at the last moment. Grace frowned, but didn't say anything about it. She walked back into the bedroom to change her clothes. Ash didn't give her a passing glance, but that wasn't what bothered Grace. Ash was quiet, and Ash was never that quiet unless she was angry. "Did something happen at work today?"

"No, I didn't go in," Ash answered. Her tone was curt, but not clipped. Grace sat down on the couch next to Ash. At first, Ash seemed a bit uneasy, but she eventually relaxed.

"Is everything okay?" Grace asked. Ash didn't say anything, she just shrugged. Grace huffed in annoyance, something that didn't go unnoticed by Ash.

"Don't get all worked up. Why do you care all of the sudden again, anyway?" Ash asked. Grace knew that she had been a little weird with the case, but she didn't think it had been that bad.

"I've always cared, you know that. H-how could you say something like to me? You know it's bullshit, you fucking know it!" Grace shouted. Her temper had never been great, and Ash knew that, but she didn't know how much she had been holding back for the sake of her job. There was a lot that Ash didn't know, things that Grace knew she couldn't unload on her girlfriend.

"Don't raise your fucking voice at me." Ash poked her finger into Grace's chest. Grace swatted Ash's hand away as she shot up off of the couch. "Where are you going now?"

"Out. I can't look at you. I just can't," Grace said. Ash watched as Grace stormed out of the house. Grace started walking and kept going. She was shivering by the time that she reached the end of the block, but Grace couldn't go back to grab a jacket. She didn't know what she'd do if she went back in to see Ash staring at her smugly.

Grace balled her hands into fists and punched at the air. There were certain lines that she'd never cross. Grace knew that she was angry and far from perfect, but she wasn't going to become a statistic. It wasn't Ash's fault that they hit a rough patch, nor was it her fault that they had such strong personalities. Ash wouldn't back down, not unless Grace showed that she was also willing to relent a little. It was just hard for Grace to accept that she had to make the first move.

"Fuck!" Grace screamed. She gave herself a couple of laps around the block to calm down before she finally decided to go back inside. Much to Grace's surprise, Ash wasn't sitting on the couch waiting up for her. Grace was walking through the house when she heard Ash's voice through the door.

"I don't know where she went. It's been a while. No, I didn't tell her to leave, I'd never do that. I don't want to break up with her, things are just hard right now. Mom, Grace's job is stressful. Yeah, I'll come by if she's not back soon. Love you too," Ash said. Grace's hand hovered over the door knob, but she couldn't bring herself to grab it.

Grace knew that Ash's mother wasn't her biggest fan. There were things that Ash's mom wanted for her daughter that Grace couldn't give. The big one was kids, but Grace knew there were other reasons. Two of Ash's stepfathers had been cops, and they'd been the shitty kind. They took things out on their families, did things that Ash made Grace swear she'd never do. Grace didn't blame Ash's mom for pushing for them to break up, even if she hated the woman a little bit for it.

Ash opened the door and broke into a smile as she saw Grace standing there. Grace pulled Ash into a hug and buried her face in the crook of Ash's neck. "Grace, you came back. I was worried sick about you."

"I needed to cool off," Grace mumbled. Ash pulled herself out of the embrace to cup Grace's jaw.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you," Ash apologized. Grace knew that it was her turn, but the words didn't come easy. They never did, and Grace wasn't quite sure if they ever would. Sometimes, she thought it was easier to just try being perfect so she wouldn't have to apologize.

"I'm sorry too. It's late, and I'm cold, so why don't we go to bed? Benson gave me the week off, so we've got plenty of time to spend together," Grace said. She knew that the week off wouldn't last the whole week, but the thought of even getting a couple of days with Ash sounded nice. Grace had missed the happiness that came along getting some quality time with Ash.

Tag List: @himbos-hotline @thepalaceofmelanie @polkadotpenguin16

#svu x reader #law & order x reader #law & order svu x reader #law & order #law & order svu #svu #grace muncy x reader #grace muncy #my writing #one shot

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

Text

The North Star - Part Ten: Safe Space - Terry Bruno x Reader

Welcome to mine and @the-hinky-panda The Bronx universe featuring our favs Terry Bruno & Mike Duarte.

This story takes place several years after 'Blood Out'. Terry still lives in the Bronx and works in Manhatten SVU.

Following on from @the-hinky-panda story 'The Dog' Mike has retired from the NYPD on medical grounds due to seizures causes by the attack. He has a therapy dog called Bono and lives with @the-hinky-panda character Meredith.

Tagging: @mysoulisasunflower @legit9thlunaticwarrior @bbyxoo @the-adzukibean @xoxabs88xox @crazy4chickennuggets @beardedbarba @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @storiesofsvu @anime-weeb-4-life

Part One: Moments

Meredith doesn’t realise they have an overnight guest until she trapses into the kitchen in her pyjamas to put on a pot of coffee and realises that only one of the dogs has appeared for breakfast. Shasta sits beside her food bowl, tongue lolling out her mouth, but Bono is nowhere to be seen.

Mike’s upstairs in the shower, so she knows he’s not with him. She calls him again, but there’s still no sign of him. It’s only when she pops her head through the living room door that she understands why Bono hasn’t trailed Shasta into the kitchen.

You’re curled upon the couch asleep, still clad in a dress from the party last night, the NYPD windbreaker drawn up over your shoulders. You’ve tossed the couch blanket over your legs and your shoes are neatly aligned on the floor. Bono’s lying on the floor at the base of the couch, he raises his head as Meredith enters.

“Oh,” she says. “You’re looking after our guest.”

Bono chuffs at her before clambering to his feet and thrusting his head underneath her palm.

“Yes, I’ll keep an eye on her.” She promised Bono who licked her hand before trotting off towards the kitchen.

You were out for the count; you didn’t even register Meredith’s presence as she sat on the edge of the couch and studied you intensely. You hadn’t done this in a long time, not since before Terry. It used to be the cases, when there was one that hit too close to home, or if it was particularly brutal. She’d come in and find you on the couch, with a glass of wine or a tub of mint choc chip ice cream. This was a safe space for you, it always had been, and Meredith hoped it always would be.

She hears Mike’s footsteps in the hall, gentle padding before he pokes his head through the open doorway and spotted the two of you on the couch. His dark brow furrows into a frown as he takes in the scene, you sleeping, the expression of concern on Meredith’s features.

“She ok?” he queries, his voice low as he leaned against the door frame.

Meredith shakes her head.

“I don’t know.” She whispers, tugging the blanket up higher so it covers more of your body. “She’s never this out of it. Something must have happened.”

Mike withdraws the phone from his back pocket.

“I’ll call Bruno, give him a heads up.” Mike says quietly before gesturing at your unconscious form. He takes in the detail, smeared make up, high heels, the dress from the party. “It doesn’t look like she made it home last night.”

“I’m going to wake her up, see if I can get her to go upstairs to the guest room.” Meredith tells him. “Maybe find out what this is about.”

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

Terry was in the final ten minutes of his shift when he received the call from Duarte. To say that he had been going out of his mind was an understatement. You weren’t picking up, the last message he’d received from you had been over twelve hours ago that read. “Gonna be outta touch for a couple of hours. Text you when I’m free x”

That had been before Russo had dropped by with the broken necklace. He had to admit he was worried; you didn’t usually drop off the grid for so long. He’d tried ringing your extension and gotten no answer, your cell went straight to voicemail, and you hadn’t looked at WhatsApp since he’d received that message.

“I think we have something that belongs to you. One Homicide Sergeant passed out on the couch, stealing my dog’s attention.”

That was how it was with Duarte, no pleasantries, just facts. Terry had never appreciated it more than in this moment.

“Thank fuck.” Terry muttered, tapping his fingertip against his temple to diffuse the agonising tension that had built up inside of his head since Russo had made his appearance. “I was about to start ringing around the hospitals and the morgue.”

“That bad huh?”

“Russo paid me a visit tonight.” Terry informed him, his thumb tracing over the engraving of the letters on the compass. “He said some things…”

Duarte cleared his throat.

“What things?”

“He had the compass.” Terry forced the words out, there was an ache in his chest as he stared down at the necklace. “It looks like the chain’s been ripped straight off her neck.”

“You’d better come over.” Duarte said, his voice lowering an octave. “There’s some things I need to tell you.”

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

Terry looks like hell.

Meredith’s never seen him like this before. He’s usually so easy going, so relaxed. It’s one of the reasons she thinks he’s a good fit for you. He never takes himself too seriously, your visits are filled with laughter and smiles. The two of you are so in love, she’d be ribbing you about it if she wasn’t so happy for you.

Right now, though, there’s a rigidity in his shoulders as he leans against the counter. His fingertips rub at the spot between his eyes as Meredith stares down at the broken compass and Mike slowly places his palms flat upon the table like he’s trying to prevent himself from destroying something.

“The three of you pulled a heist.” Terry repeats again before he turns his attention to the kitchen table.

“That has nothing to do with this.” Meredith said gesturing at the compass.

“She was still wearing it before I left.” Mike told them. “I remember it catching the light as I closed the curtain. There could only have been ten minutes between then and the raid.”

Terry rubbed his hand over the line of his jaw.

“A lot can happen in ten minutes.”

They were all thinking the same thing, but no one wanted to say it. Mike’s hands curled into fists, the scars on the back of his hands stretching taut across his flesh.

“I was right there.”

Bono whined, nudging Mike’s thigh with his nose and Mike sighed, his hand coming to rest on the dog’s head, scratching behind his ears.

“I know.” He told Bono. “I’m trying but it’s hard.”

Bono cocked his head to one side.

“If you’d met this asshole, your blood pressure would be going through the roof too.”

Bono huffed once.

Mike rolled his eyes before exhaling deeply and unclenching his fists.

“If it went that far, she would have told us right?” Mike asked Meredith as her fingers grasped the chain of the compass bringing it closer to her face so she could inspect the damaged links. “I mean she would have come to one of us.”

“It’s not that simple…” Terry said shaking his head. “Victims of assault, they have a hard time coming forward as it is, the fact she’s a female cop, in a position of power attacked by another cop…”

He trailed off considering the implications.

“I didn’t see anything that indicated that.” Meredith tried to reassure him. “When I sent her upstairs to bed, her dress wasn’t torn, there wasn’t any bruising that I could see but she still had on that windbreaker.”

“Look.” Terry said, pushing off the counter. “Until she tells us what happened we’re in the dark. There’s nothing we can do but wait until she’s ready.”

“You look like shit.” Mike informed the other man. “Why don’t you head upstairs, get some rest?”

Terry looked at him and Mike looked back, something passed between the two of them, an unspoken understanding. Terry tilted his head towards Meredith.

“Do you mind?”

“Be my guest.” She gestured towards the stairs; the compass still clasped between her hands.

She waited until Terry closed the kitchen door behind him before turning her attention to Mike.

“She needs to feel safe right?” Mike said, leaning on his elbows, before jerking his head towards the closed door. “He makes her feel safe.”

“You’re a wily old dog.” Meredith smiled before raising to her feet and kissing Mike on the cheek. His arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her into his lap. She laughed, a beautiful breathless sound that made his heartbeat even faster in his chest.

“You wanna help me find a jeweller?” He asked her, his head dipping low so that their lips were barely centimetres apart. “Get the compass fixed?”

Her fingertips brushed over the nape of his neck; a soothing, comforting sensation that made him sigh contently as she whispered.

“You read my mind.”

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

You’re still asleep when Terry enters the guest bedroom, at least he thinks you are. You’re bundled up in the sheets, your back to the door so he can’t tell. He sits on the edge of the bed, his palms running over his weary features as his thoughts tumble over each other in his head. He’s exhausted, the panic from earlier has left him feeling redundant. He doesn’t know how to help you; he doesn’t know what you need.

He undoes the laces on his boots, toeing them off quietly before he lies beside you on the bed and stares at the ceiling. This thing with Russo is out of control, it just keeps spiralling. It makes him feel sick because he knows that it’s only going to get worse, that Russo is relentless in his pursuit of you.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the sensation of you shifting beside him, inching closer to his form. He rolls onto his side and gathers you up in his arms, his chest coming to rest against your back as he breathes you in. The ghost of your perfume floods his nostrils as he cradles you close. He can feel the tension in your body, hears that choked sound emitting from your chest as your fingers entwine with his, holding him in place.

The first sob kills him, it vibrates through his entire body, stabbing him right through the heart. He clasps you tighter, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as tears roll down your cheeks.

You’re safe…

I’m here…

I won’t let anything happen to you…

In the shelter of his arms, you tell him exactly what Russo did and Terry knows without a doubt he’s going to kill him.

Love Terry Bruno? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#detective terry bruno #terry bruno #terry bruno x reader #terry bruno x you #terry bruno fic

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visd3stele · 2 months

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What if...?

requested by: @fantasyfox-101

summary:

a/n: sorry it took me SO SO SOOO LONG. i barely got a break from uni. studying drama is easy, they said. get a real job, they said. and i'm over here working 14 hrs a day.

tw: ANGST. SAD ENDING. CUSS WORDS. DEATH. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.

Blood soaked through his bright colored tunic, changing its golden yellow to a deep, autumnal copper. If Cardan was there, drunk beyond senses, he'd laugh about it. How stupid the color looks on him, how dumb the fox proved to be, stabbed by his own wife. If Valerian was there, he'd have killed the ungrateful human on spot for daring such an act of treason against His Majesty's best friend. But if Nicassia was there... oh, if the fair, beautiful, cunning Nicassia was there, she'd tend to his wound, cleaning his open flesh with cold hands of a sea creature taking pity on a dying man.

One might think pettiness alone kept Locke alive. Pettiness and a dire need of vengance. One would be absolutely correct. For months he hide in the woods, using the old tunnels of the Court of Shadows to his own benefit. Collecting secrets, intell, the upper hand. Letting revenge grow roots in his heart, spreading its ugly, thick brenches in the fox's body.

And Locke made sure to nurture it. Feed it until it filled him and his whole body became revenge. And when the time was right, Locke made sure his plan would leave everyone who wronged him in the deepest despair.

"Garret," Locke greeted the blond man before the half human could even step out of the shadows of forest. The fae made a home deep inside the ambush of trees, in a clearing so deep in the woods no one would look for it.

"Lighten up, old friend. I have a job for you."

The Ghost kept silent. Once upon a time he hoped his human nature would protect him from odd fae rules, like the secret names and the power they hold. But Locke made sure to challenge his hopes and crush them to dust. Now, the young spy was bound to serve three masters: the jester, the killer Madoc he was sold to as a dawry and the Queen he chose. All of them having conflicting goals.

"Firstly, I want you to tell me what Madoc wants from you."

The Ghost opened his mouth to protest, but before any sound could come out, Locke already spoke again. "I know he called you to him early this morning."

The half fae sighed, closing in the distance between him and his interlocutor, forcing his mouth out of the miserable smile woven in his lips.

"He wants Jude kidnapped by the Undersea. He planned it all, wants me as bait."

"Interesting. The father turns against the prodigal daughter. Very well, then, follow through with Madoc's plan. With Jude out of the way, Cardan's, that traitorous snake, a way easier target."

"You want to kill the king?" The Ghost gasped. He could do nothing but obey Madoc against his friend and queen, but he hoped – no, he counted on – Cardan, whose love for Jude was plain to see even through blinding fog, to save her. If Locke commands him to kill Cardan, then Jude has little hopes to make it out of the Undersea. A faeling would barely survive it's cruelness, much less a mortal, with frail lungs and breakable mind.

"No, Garret. You do. You were struck by a surge of affection for your dear, late king Dain and, in your righteous rage, decided to dispose of the usurpator."

"When? How? This is insane, Locke, you're going too far!"

"Hush, hush, hush, now. No need to get loud. Here, I'll let you choose. You can kill Cardan first, make sure to tell him Jude sent you and stay with his paling corpse until you're sure all life leacked out of his cold body. Or, you could have a trip to the mortal world. How you must miss it, dear you, half human. Take in the sights, breath some mortal air, visit a certain Duarte family, take a page out of Madoc's book and leave but death behind."

"What?"

"Come now, Garret, you're a smart individual. That twin bitch Taryin tried to kill me. Took our son with her in that garbage pit she called home. I want her dead. I want her to suffer. And I don't want anyone who'd try to avenge her make it out alive."

"What if someone sees me?"

Locke raised a delicate red eyeborow at him. You know the answer, it told The Ghost. And, sadly, he knew. "Kill any witness," he whispered, angry eyes making a hole in Locke's.

The foxy fae pat his cheel in mock approval. "Good boy. Off you go. I don't care about the order, as long as I have my dead bodies by the week's end."

"This week? Taryin is still pregnant with your child."

Locke shook a hand in the air. "Doesn't matter. They'll die together, isn't it what she wanted? To be just the two of them?"

The Ghost took several steps behind. Horrified doesn't begin to describe how he felt. He knew Locke, his twists and sick humor, his pride and his ego. But he never imagined such depravation in the fae's soul.

"Locke, think about it..."

"Shut up!" He cut The Ghost off. And the spy had no other choice but to obey. "You will do as I say, I had enough time to think about it. Go!"

And the poor half human made his way out of the forest where he burried his last shred of heart. Left it to rot alongside his dignity, will and sense of self, long since deceased under Locke's games.

♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤

Madoc's plan was fulfilled, much to The Ghost's dismay. Long after Jude dissapeared he stayed on the edge of the water, trying to glimpse through all the way to the Undersea palace to see his friend.

But Locke's words pulled him by the collar towards his other duties. The end of the week was coming with tomorrow's dawns and he had four people to kill, if only there wouldn't be casualties. Of course he wouldn't have that luck.

The Ghost chose the palace. Cardan might want to save Jude, but so would the Bomb and the Roach. She didn't need the king specifically. And he couldn't yet face the time he was supposed to run a blade through the woman he loved. Perhaps he never will and thus won't be able to go trhough with Locke's command. The fae law would punish him, if Locke wouldn't get to him first, but that won't matter.

Perhaps he should try it out now. See what the consequences of refusing a direct order given to his real name were. See if such thing was really possible before he left Elfhame without rulers.

"Hello, Garret." That annoying, familiar voice broke through the loudness of his mind.

"What are you doing here?"

"Enjoying the show. What's the point in hurting your enemies if they don't know it was you?"

So the two snuck inside the palace, following the underground routes to the King's rooms. Cardan just found out about Jude and to call the state he was in fury would be an understatemant.

"Cardan, my old friend, marriage doesn't agree with you." Locke mocked. And for a second the king's eyes chilled, numbed and defocused trying to understand the sight in front of him.

"You," Cardan's brows knitted together, "you're supposed to he dead."

"Oh, don't let my death pain you so. I'm alive and well. But you won't be for long." The fox's smile darkened, motioning for The Ghost to step into the dim light of broken lamps.

"Ghost? What is the meaning of this? Jude, I– I can't find her anywhere, no one knows where she is, I need you to find Bomb and Roach..."

"Cardan," The Ghost intrerupted harshly, closing his eyes tight to shield himself from the sight of the broken man in front of him. "I can't. Jude... you won't see her again, she's down in the Undersea."

Taken aback, Cardan made a go to the door. Locke stepped in his way, ready to push him and laugh just like he used to in their childhood. But the king barely noticed. "Nicassia," he kept murmuring. "She'll know what to do to get Jude back."

"You're not listening!" Locke allowed his voice to slip into a yell like he never did, brought to the surface by the slight mention of Nicassia, again being used by the same boy that broke her heart. "Your Jude is lost to the sea, Cardan. No one knows, perhaps she went willingly. Betrayed you again. Poor her, a simple human wouldn't know the sea is only loyal to itself."

As Locke spoke, Cardan's knees became weaker and weaker until they cave in and the High King of Elfhame fell to the ground before his jester. "She wouldn't. She loves me. I'd know if she died." He kept repeating. The mumblings of a fool's denying mind before it breaks for good.

And Locke laughed. "Don't worry, my king," he bowed mockingly until his forehead touched Cardan's. "You'll be reunited soon enough. None of you should have disregard and discaed me."

And with that he motioned for The Ghost to bring forth his killing arm and let it fall upon the snake king.

A gasp wiped the smile off Locke's charming face. Nicassia. He would have recognized her voice anywhere, even with one breathy sigh.

"Locke? How? What? What have you done?"

The Ghost slowly turned, dagger ready to be thrown into the unfortunate witness heart. "Wait!" Locke screamed. "Not her. Go to the human lands, finish your job. Now!"

Alone with his love, Locke tried to touch her. Hug her against his chest, away from the blood seeping into the carpets of the royal suit. But Nicassia took a stept bak. Two. Three. Until her back hit the wall of the corridor.

"I can explain..."

"I thought you were dead. They said, Cardan said, Taryin..."

"She tried. And our king didn't care. We're his oldest friends. Only friends. Yet he cares more about a daring mortal and her family. He had to pay for it. Just like the human twins and their own have to pay for what they did to me. To.us."

"Us?"

"He used you." Locke approached her swiftly, taking a strand of blue hair and twirling it between his fingers. "He used me and those human girls disrespected us. You should have been queen, Nicassia. Ruling over sea and land. He let the human steal it from you. Helped her. Turned a blind eye to my death and accepted my killer just for that Jude of his. It's not right. I want to make it right. Let me. Join me."

Nicassia locked eyes with her former lover for the first time. She saw the frenzy in their orange, but she also saw the love he had for her. Nothing changed, then. She wondered is he saw the changes in her. The forgiveness. She wanted to help Cardan and his queen, see them happy.

But now Cardan is dead and her mother will kill Jude soon. There is only one future for her. There always was.

♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎♤♠︎

Later that night The Ghost didn't return. His body laid cold in a puddle of blood. His and The Bomb's and The Roach's. The best spies in the realm saw him walking out of the palace, soaked in fresh blood. The rumor of the king's death spreaded, with Locke and Nicassia offering to take over until young Oak in the human realm can take the crown. Of course, Locke hoped The Ghost would have killed the boy too, but he knew better than to rely on soulfull fools.

The Bomb and The Roach connected the dots. Asked him about it.

"Vivienne. Her lover. Taryin," he choked out his confession. He hoped they'd kill him, but survival instincts are strong in a fighter of his calibre, even when he wishes for death.

They fought and they butchered each other, greeting their rulers together on the other side.

Locke was charming, Nicassia was loved and Oak wanted nothing to do with his birthplace anymore. So, the crown forgotten, sitting loopsided on a drunk king's head, Locke and Nicassia stepped in a new distanity of fae and mer folk alike.

#my writing #my work #my words #my fanfiction #cardan greenbriar #locke #jude duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #fanfiction #nicassia

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jadedjournals · 2 months

Text

So I've been watching ATLA and criminal minds (fall asleep to ATLA or LOK) study to criminal minds but something struck me as a good storyline to kind of take a lil of the Amon plot from LOK and make him an unsub like the Reaper except he's after Emily NOT Hotch. Ik Emily gets her plot line n all but I think that it would fit better I love making AU's and OC's here's the unsub's MO and backstory I came up with

(If you have thoughts on it pls lmk I plan to fit in a lot of Em & Hotch angst in here as well bc again im a slut for angst and stuff)

Erik Duarte is an infamous serial that started killing in the UK while Emily was living there. Secret rallies were held for a while to rise against a political movement. However, it doesn't stop there, cops start going missing and showing up in alleyways with single electrical burns to the middle of the forehead and the chest. Ritualistic in nature and barbaric as hell. The body count rises and this person seems to be going after first responders because paramedics and firefighters start coming up dead as well with the same marks and the death toll rises with each rally and each night that passes.

Erik's motive is to weaken the first line of the city's defense to gain access to people he deems important so that the political climate sways in favor of his beliefs. Emily is new to her job and is put in a position to be an undercover. While its used to find these rallies and these people. Emily quickly realizes that the first responders are being executed in front of a crowd who's cheering on a man behind a mask who vows that the next in line is anyone who works with Interpol. Emily (who is known as Kaitlyn now) is stuck trying to get close enough to get Erik and take out the men working for him. Though his ties run far and wide. Just before the joins the BAU, Interpol has enough to move in just as Erik is about to execute her colleagues. She's "taken out" and moved to the states to start over for her own protection under her real name.

Fast forward to real time, she gets no notice that Erik had escaped from prison and knows her true identity, she knows nothing until first responders start mysteriously turning up dead with the same marks that haunt her in her nightmares. She knows he's here, and she also knows he's probably watching her and everyone she trusts and loves. Emily knows that this man is beyond dangerous and she doesn't want the team to end up hurt, she makes herself the prime target. Mostly because she blames herself for making the decision to have this madman arrested instead of killing him when she had the chance. She feels incredibly guilty to have brought him here and with every death it makes her feel that much more on her shoulders. It forces her to make decisions that normally would be a *HELLNO*, and blurs the lines between good and evil and just doing the job so no one gets caught in the crossfire.

#emily prentiss #oneshot #criminal minds #hotchniss

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rey-in-red · 2 years

Text

Summary: Jude Duarte wants a distraction from finals and the mess that was her breakup with Locke. She hooks up with her long-time school rival, Cardan Greenbriar, at a nightclub and gets more than she bargained for.

Warnings: Language, NSFW, Mentions of Abortion

Note: I had an idea and just ran with it. Enjoy!

-----

They were staring at her. All of them

Normally when someone stared at her like that, Jude would just stare right back at them.

But then again, normally it would be a person staring at her.

She couldn’t decide whether to throw them at the wall or break them in half, but she had to do something at some point.

There was no point in sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at the three pregnancy tests in her hands.

Three positive tests.

A soft knock to the door broke the deafening silence.

“Jude?” Lili's head popped in, searching before locating Jude on the floor leaning against the wall. “It’s been almost an hour, what did they say?”

Jude leaned forward and slid the tests across the floor towards the door. Lili moved fully into the bathroom, closed the door behind her and crouched down to inspect the scattered test lying at her feet. “So, pregnant then.” She moved over to the wall and slid down next to Jude. “You okay?”

“No.” She whispered, her first words in almost an hour. “No, I’m definitely not okay.”

“Do you know how far along you are? Who the father is?”

Oh, she knew who the father was.

There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind about who the father was.

After all, she had only been with one guy in the last 2 month, since things went down with Locke. After Locke she had pretty much sworn off guys. She didn’t trust any guy after that, except for Oak. But given that he was only 12 years old and her little brother, he didn’t really count.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Who is it?”

See that was the thing. Jude really wasn’t ready to admit out loud, that not only had she had sex with Cardan Greenbriar, but she was now pregnant with his unborn child.

- - -

Jude could sense him before he spoke.

She always seemed to be able to sense him when they were in the same room.

“No mirror tonight?” She could feel his lips moving on the curved shell of her ear. That damn accent of his sent a shiver down her spine.

She wished she could blame it on the drinks, but his British accent had started to have that effect on her the last couple of years. It was probably because his voice had gotten deeper over the years. It was so at odds with the half shrilly voice of the bratty high school freshman he used to be.

Although he could still be a little bratty sometimes.

“Taryn and I don’t talk, you know that.” She turned around from the railing she had been leaning against, looking down over the throng of sweaty bodies moving to the beat of the music. Jude was greeted by those damn beautiful gold rimmed black eyes she was so familiar with. “What, no peanut gallery tonight?”

Cardan chuckled at her joke. “Nic is on a date or studying for a test or something like that, I don’t particularly care. Valerian is Gods only knows where and Locke is… well, you know.”

He came to stand next to her, looking down over the railing like she had been for the last 15 minutes or so.

“Yeah. I know.”

Neither of them needed to say where exactly Locke was.

She turned back around to the railing, facing the moving bodies once again, leaning over yet again, resting her forearms on the cool metal railing.

“So, darling Jude.” Cardan said after a minute.

“Yes, his Highness?” The old insult caused him to chuckle.

Jude tilted her head to the side looking up at him. With the bordeaux billowy shirt and the leather pants along with his eyeliner and the silver streaking his high cheekbones, it did kind of make him look like a faerie. The drink in his hand made him look like he was a faerie king holding court.

“Why the face?”

Her brows furrowed. “What face?”

“Your face.” He glanced down at her, a smirk forming on his lips. “We’re in a nightclub, yet your face makes you look like, you’re hunting for your next prey, that you’ll take home to torture and eventually kill.” He turned to face her. ”So yes, darling Jude, why the face?”

Jude straightened and looked into those beautiful eyes, he was taller than her and she had to tilt her head up. “Who says I’m not?” Deciding to be bold, to see if she had indeed just imagined the heated looks he had sent her for many months, even while she was still with Locke. Jude fisted her hands in his shirt and dragged him down to say in his ear. “Of course it wouldn’t be to torture and kill.”

Giving his earlobe a playful bite, Jude let her hands drag down his chest and backed away slowly, giving him a sultry smile before turning around and heading towards the stairs leading down to the dancefloor.

- - -

“Who is it, Jude?” Lili asked again softly.

Jude couldn't say the words.

Cardan Greenbriar.

At least not yet.

“I can’t tell you who it is.” She whispered, because that was apparently all the sound she could get out. “I have to tell him first.”

“Well, at least we know it’s a him.” She joked, giving Jude’s shoulder a little nudge.

Jude let out a chuckle that almost immediately turned into a sob. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She sniffed. “I’m 21. I’m graduating in 2 months.”

She laid her head on Lili’s shoulder.

“Does that mean you want to go to a clinic?” Lili brought a hand up and ran it through Jude's hair.

“I don’t know. I want to go to the doctor's first. Just to make sure.” Jude sniffed and dried the tears with the back of her hand. “Besides, I need to tell the father before making that specific decision. It would be wrong to make a decision without talking to him first.”

Of course that would mean she actually had to talk to Cardan.

The only words she had uttered in his presence since that night, was trading insults with Valerian and Nicasia.

But to be fair, beyond the usual heated looks he had given her, he hadn’t said anything to her either.

It wasn’t like they were friends.

School rivals, certainly.

Former one night stand, she now had three positive pregnancy tests and a possible fetus that said, yes absolutely .

But friends, no.

They are definitely not friends.

This only made her and Cardan’s complicated history even more complicated.

“What are you gonna tell Madoc?” Lili asked, breaking the silence.

“I hadn’t even thought of that.” Jude realized. Which caused another wave of tears. “He’s gonna kill me.” Jude raised her head from Lili’s shoulder to look at her friend. “You can’t tell anyone, Lili.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Promise me, you won't tell anyone, Liliver. Even Van and Garrett. I can’t risk Madoc finding out before I figure what to do or the father finding out before I tell him himself. This isn’t news either of them should hear second hand.”

Lili sucked in a big breath, dramatically put one hand on her heart and raised the other. “I, Liliver Kelsie Moss, promise to not tell a single soul that you, Jude Joslyn Duarte, is pregnant or may I die a horrible, violent death and burn in the seventh circle in hell.” She gave Jude a small smile when she was done.

- - -

He followed her.

Jude hadn’t made it far onto the dancefloor before she felt hands on her waist. Glancing down, she saw long pale fingers adorned with silver rings. The Greenbriar signet ring amongst them. The cool metal of his rings bit into the bare skin around her waist, and then he pulled her against him.

While Cardan Greenbriar didn't look like a particularly muscular guy, Jude could feel every bulge and ridge of his body against her back. Specifically she could feel just how hard he was against her lower back.

Jude smiled to herself. Guess she wasn’t imagining those heated looks he gave her after all.

“Have I told you have fucking fantastic your ass looks in those shorts?” She could feel him smirk against her ear, when she shivered in his arms.

That damn accent.

She grabbed a hold of his hair and pulled his head down to her mouth.

Reaching her fingers into his hair, Jude turned his head to say in his ear. “You don’t have to use your words, Cardan. Other parts of you are already telling me just how fucking fantastic you think my ass looks in these shorts” She grinded her ass against him to emphezise her point.

They started moving to the beat of the music, even though it was mostly just Jude continuously grinding against Cardan.

His hands roved down her body, over the black sequins of her high waisted shorts and settled on her front, ultimately pressing her further against his hardened cock and keeping her from grinding on him.

She felt a groan rumble through his chest, barely audible over the music and Jude’s head fell back against his shoulder, giving him access to her neck.

Cardan seized the opportunity and latched his lips under her ear, sucking hard enough that it would probably leave a bruise. Jude didn't particularly care at that moment. His mouth started moving up and along her jaw and then closer to her mouth. Only to move back down to her jaw, when he reached the corner of her mouth.

When his lips started to move up to the corner of mouth and then down again to her jaw, instead of further up like she wanted them to, Jude placed her hands on his hands and lifted his arms off her body. Then she proceeded to turn her entire body so they were front to front.

Cardan looked down at her, desire shining bright in those beautiful eyes but also amusement. She looked him in the eyes while grabbing his arms, placing them on her body once more.

But instead of on her hips, she guided them down to rest on her ass. Cardan gave her ass a firm squeeze and hooked his fingers under the hem of her shorts.

Then Jude slung her arms around his neck and spoke loudly, so he could hear her over the music: “Fucking commit to it!” and pulled his lips down to hers.

- - -

At some point they slid down completely on the floor. They had been laying on the floor for a couple hours, just staring at the ceiling, when Lili broke the silence once again.

“5 weeks.” She muttered. “You’re about 5 weeks, aren’t you?”

Jude’s head whipped towards her roommate so fast she was surprised she didn't get whiplash. “How did you know that?”

“It was that weekend you had your interview at Oceanside Magazine for that photography internship, and you were staying at Vivi and Heather’s. When you came home that weekend you had hickeys and bite marks up and down your throat, your neck looked like it had been attacked by an animal or something.”

Lili had a thoughtful expression on her face. “You didn’t say anything about it, so I just figured it was some random guy and you didn’t want to talk about it. But if you’re worried about words getting to him about you being pregnant, it’s someone we know or least run in the same social circles as.” Lili twisted her head to at Jude. “It’s someone from Elfhame, isn’t it?”

Shit.

Jude sat abruptly.

“No.” She said, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Jude.” Lili sat up next to her with a worried look on her face. “Is it Locke?”

“I have to find my phone.” Jude got up from the floor, walked out of the bathroom and began searching for her phone.

She found her phone discarded on the kitchen counter, next to the half eaten cereal bowl she had abandoned hours ago, in favor of throwing up. That’s when Lili had handed her the boxes of pregnancy tests, Just in case , she’d said.

Staring at her phone in her hand, Jude realized she didn’t have Cardan’s phone number.

But again, they weren’t friends.

Instagram it is.

“Jude, is it Locke?” Lili asked again, breaking Jude out of her staring contest with her phone. Lili eyes shined with concerned

“No, it’s not Locke.”

“Okay, good.” Her shoulder sagged with what could only be relief. “Good”

“I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole.”

Opening the app, Jude quickly found Cardan’s account and sent him a text.

Can we talk?

His reply came almost immediately.

just drop by

you know the address

;)

#jurdan #jude x cardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #fanfic #jurdan fanfic

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tfotababe · 2 years

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IT'S HAPPENING!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! eVeRy oNe StAy CaLm??

POST TQN || Set 9 years after TQN (Jude and Cardan should be around 27/28 and 28/29 respectively) (From what I got, the things that happened in TWK and TQN were 2 years long? The story started with Jude being 17 so if it was 2 years then she'd be 19 by the end of TQN. Cardan is supposed to be a year and a half older so he should be around 20 yrs old.)

Description: This is me saying sorry for this fanfic ;) Synopsis: Jude Duarte thinks she is poisoned. She feels sick? It must be the poison. She eats more? It must be because the poison made her weak. She missed her period? Yeah, must have been the poison. Was she poisoned? You guessed it! No! Word count: 1, 172

Currently, the High King of Elfhame is showing his generosity. Honeysuckle wine is being unsparingly distributed through the revel. The floral-honey smell of the wine was pleasant that said, the Queen found the aroma too sweet for her liking. From afar Jude Duarte sees her husband talking to Lord Roiben of the Court of Termites. Their expressions leaving no hint of the matter they are talking about. "Sir Fand." She calls to the blue skinned pixie. "Yes, my Queen?" The pixie answered, not a second wasted. "Check on the girl who tasted my wine. If she's unharmed, inspect my glass. Do your best not to disturb the revel." The female knight immediately left to do as she is told. Suspicion plagued Jude's mind. Fae are still trying their luck at killing her. Going at her neck when they can. The High Queen starts to feel nauseated. She put her elbow onto the handrest of the throne, resting her head on her palms she closed her eyes. Jude Duarte dislikes feeling weak in any way. She especially detests it when she does not know why she feels like such. Why did she even stop mithridatism? If she hadn't, she would feel normal now. Notice nothing of the poison. Good as new. As comfortable as an infant in a cot. "Jude? Are you alright? You don't look well." She heard a voice say from behind the throne. She does not recognize it but assumes it is Liliver. "I am well. It just seems to me that the revel is a bit... Spirited." The Queen remarked, keeping her eyes closed, brows furrowing. The creatures in the festivity became too talkative for the Queens approval. She'd like to make merry some more, with the ache of her body and the noisiness however, she found it hard to do. Letting their subjects see their Queen sitting down on the throne with a scowl would ruin the entertainment they are having. Though it might as well be an excuse the Queen tells herself, to avoid disclosing the fact that she finds warming the throne tiring. "I'm heading to our chambers." She stood up, almost falling from the sudden movement. Reflexes acting fast, she catches herself by leaning onto a firm object behind her. "Let me offer some help, Your Majesty." The current Grand General, Grima Mog, supports her Queen by her arms. Thank you. Even after many years spent in Elfhame, the Queen can't seem to let go of the mortal habit she had picked up. Luckily, she felt too sick to even move her mouth more than a small crack. Only managing a nod in reply to the redcap. How surprising... Cardan hasn't noticed..? ~~~~~

"I hope you don't mind my dishonoring the title of High Queen." Jude says as she gets helped onto the mattress. "I do not min-" "It wouldn't please me for word to reach the ears of the Fae." She says now looking in the eyes of the green skinned Folk in front of her. It isn't that the Queen does not trust her General. It is only that in the world of Faeries, such words are more powerful than any intimidation. It reminds her of that phrase she saw on Heather's shirt once... 'Sorry not sorry' was it? Grima Mog shows a teethy grin to the mortal she serves. Jude Duarte smiles at the redcap who aids her. "Do call Tatterfell for me." "Yes my Queen." The General bows to Jude before heading out. Jude relaxes into the cushions, laying down and closing her eyes again. She tries to recall what made her tired -- She hadn't done much today -- She woke up, got ready, ate, attended a few meetings, prepared for the revel, ate, drank wine, and now she's back in their chambers. She was only seventeen hours through her day... But then again she hasn't been able to get an adequate amount of sleep for the last couple of days. Did I ingest the poison a few days ago? She thinks. I did miss my period... But that might be caused by my meager amount of slumber. "Lassie. What do you think you're doing, being in such a scandalous position?" Jude opens her eyes, immediately seeing the elder imp. Her debt to Madoc had ended yet she stays with Jude. It makes the High Queen smile. But then she notices the position she is in; legs wide open, golden skirt gathered on her thighs, arms splayed. Suddenly, she feels not so great of a Queen. Warmth rushing to her cheeks she stands up, slowly making her way to the vanity.

Tatterfell brushes the Queen's hair, removing the horns, and brushing her cascading, currently, very curly hair.

"Would you like to bathe?" The imp makes eye contact with Jude through the mirror. Jude nods. Tatterfell frowns. "You should've said so earlier then. You might be the High Queen but you have to learn to consider the work other have to do." The imp walks over to the door calling for somebody to prepare the bath for the Queen, quickly. Jude chuckles. The Fae had become closer to her than she had expected. She presumes maybe the imp also started to feel attached to her, being more talkative and all.

When Tatterfell comes back she helps the Queen out her golden dress. Feeling the roughness of the imps hand became a very familiar sensation for Jude. Almost as familiar as Cardan's.

Cardan... Has Cardan not noticed my withdrawing from the revel? It displeased her to think such thoughts. Why? Why has he not noticed? Has being married for so long caused him to tire of her? Had she kissed him too many times?

...Wow... The High Queen of Elfhame saw her naked form on the mirror. She shone like a star, literally. Her skin glowed and even now as she felt tired, her eyes gleamed. She felt beautiful, looked beautiful. "Your Majesty, the bath is ready." An attendant announced from behind the door. Tatterfell and Jude headed to the bath. When she sunk into the pleasantly temperate water she instantly felt her limbs relax. Being in the same position she once was as Madoc's mortal bastard, she felt nostalgic. "You smell different, child." Had Tatterfell not commented such, maybe now the Queen would be crying from sentimentality. "How so?" Jude asked the imp, holding her legs closer to her chest. She felt sudden shyness washing over her. Was she foul-smelling? She bathed pretty often though... "Oh, don't act like that." Tatterfell removed her hands from the Queen's hair. "You smell very much of life was what I supposed." The imp continued applying fragrant oils to her hair. Relief glided through Jude's body. ... Huh? "Life? What do you mean?" She turns back to face the imp. Confusion evident in her features. "I meant what I said. Think of it as you will." Subsequently, the Queen does just that. Pondering about what smelling of life implies for the last few minutes she spends in the bath.

[ Next -> ]

#jurdan baby #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #judecardan #jurdan #jurdan supremacy #the queen of nothing #tfota #the folk of the air #folk of the air #holly black #Pregnant Jude Duarte #Post-TQN

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nerdferatum · 1 year

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I was tagged by @gisellasmoonflower to make my OCs in this picrew but since i have so many, I decided to focus on the ones I've been thinking the most lately

So from left to right and top to bottom:

Venus Espligares (she/her) from LITG

Shanar Arjîn (she/her) from ATOC

Vera Duarte (she/her) from Buried Love and Body Count

Byeol Gim (they/them) from Golden

Tagging (but of course no pressure) @ava-du-mortain @chargeortega @doulyeah

#tagged #my characters

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fussyspace · 5 months

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Siren's Call, T.J.J. Klamvik

Word count: ~256,000

Cover: You've got to love an illustrated cover, and this one's gorgeous. It seems like a pretty aurora at first, but then you peer closer and you have that spooky arm coming out between the run-down apartment buildings. The little bit of graffiti in the bottom right is less obvious, but highlights the words that echo through the story.

Blurb: 'In the Doomsday Cycle there are no heroes. The future could have looked different, but the path has been corrupted and only the inevitable awaits. Something lurks in the darkness of space, and it cares little for humanity’s petty squabbles. The apocalypse is here, but will anyone hear its call?

'Councilor Justynia Freid – an ambitious politician of Earth’s most prominent colony – never saw it coming. A scheme by her own Chancellor to restart a war that they themselves had a hand in ending? All without her knowledge? Tossed into a harsh world of intrigue and backstabbing, Justynia has to discover what led to the drastic decision that is going to send humanity into chaos. Only with all the answers can she decide whether to listen to her own conscience or follow the path to power.

'Detective Adelia Duarte does not care for politics – it only ever made her job harder. Tasked with investigating a series of murders that plague Capital City, Adelia has to confront her own past in order to understand the methods and motivations of the serial killer that seems impervious to the security systems that track each citizen down to the centimeter. As the bodies keep piling up, it is difficult to maintain faith. Would someone with a less troubled history be a better fit for the investigation? For now, all the city has is Adelia, and the bodies keep coming.

'Sergeant Jones is also haunted by his past – decisions taken in a war he never truly understood. His only refuge is more fighting. Recruited to join Special Operations, and reunited with old comrades to escort a scientist to an abandoned colony, he quickly learns all is not what it seems. Surrounded by mystery and an unknown enemy, he needs to warn mankind of what is coming. But will they truly listen?'

There's a great spooky theme running through the blurb, and it gives a good introduction to each of the characters. I stupidly forgot to read it before I started reading, as I may have had a better idea of how many characters to expect and who they were in the first few chapters had I done so.

Vote: I voted yes to continue at the 30% mark and continued to read 100% (which took some time).

Content: Siren's Call began with an interesting prologue, the relevance of which didn't become clear until right at the end of the book. As the blurb implied, it switched between three PoVs, which was initially quite a lot of characters to keep track of but got easier over time, especially later as these storylines began to reference each other.

I didn’t always connect to the characters or get a great feel of their emotions, although this may only have been a problem with one character, the councillor. She had an argument with her partner at one point and I honestly couldn’t tell it was meant to be heated until one of them walked out. I'm not sure why, but it was possibly due to some language quirks throughout the book that make sentences quite passive and create distance from the characters.

The writing also had a reliance on adverbs and made some word-choice mistakes like ‘here here’ instead of ‘hear hear’. It lacked contractions in dialogue, often making it feel stilted and unnatural. But its most noticeable habit was using ‘as [they were doing something]’ too often, sometimes twice in a sentence, which became very noticeable by virtue of repetition. A good bunch of editing would have tightened it up, likely making it shorter in the process.

Generally, though, the setting was interesting and I liked the murder mystery aspect, though it didn’t get as much screentime as I would have liked at the beginning, especially when spooky/alien stuff looked like it was getting involved. Because of the scope, the background spookiness and the bits of story focussing on politics, it reminded me of The Expanse a bit. Having read to the end, I feel it definitely could have been shorter, but I did think the ending was cool, wrapping the prologue up in a neat bow while still leaving hooks for the sequel.

#SPSFC #SPSFC3 #SPSFC3 round 1 #self publishing #science fiction #sci fi #SFF

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laequiem · 1 year

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Cheek to Cheek in Hell - Chapter 19

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: explicit

Word count: 1,413

It’s complete chaos. Had I known that betraying Cardan would end in such destruction, maybe I would have put more importance in telling him of my plan. Despite it all, however, I feel strangely proud of Cardan in this moment. In the way he has thwarted my plans, and Balekin’s, and taken control of his own life.

read it on ao3

Chapter 18 • next chapter • Cheek to Cheek masterpost

Jude POV

Madoc is absolutely livid. He stormed to me and immediately started ranting, ordering me, threatening me. Instead of listening, I keep my eyes on Cardan. He looks terrified. His eyes keep darting left and right, until they land on me and they soften. Almost like an apology. Then Balekin speaks, and Cardan’s gaze snaps back to his brother.

“It seems my brother has shown us today what the prophecy surrounding his birth meant. He will be the destruction of the crown and the ruination of the throne.” I vaguely remember hearing about this before, but I thought it was mostly fae dramatics, something not to be taken literally. Balekin continues, “But there was more to it, wasn’t there, Astrologer? Only out of his spilled blood can a great ruler rise.”

Everyone’s attention is on Baphen, the Royal Astrologer. Even Madoc’s, who has stopped screaming at me, has angled his larger body between Balekin and me like he wasn’t threatening me seconds ago. His stance is defensive, hand on the hilt of his sword. We’re all on edge, I realize, when my hand drifts to my own sword, the one that was waiting for me on my bed when we came back to Elfhame. I doubt that I would be able to beat Balekin in a fight—if one of his guards didn’t slaughter me before he could. So instead I reach for the dagger strapped to my thigh, the one Cardan gave me for my birthday.

“I shall awaken the great ruler, then,” Balekin snarls.

I understand all too late what he means. With his fae speed, it’s no hard task for him to close the distance between himself and Cardan. I blink and the tip of Balekin’s sword tears out of Cardan’s back, slick with his blood.

“CARDAN!” His name tears out of me unbidden.

Balekin has his back to me as he watches Cardan fall to his knees in front of him. He flicks his wrist, the blood on his sword splattering to the ground. Before I realize what I’m doing, I lunge at Balekin, dagger in hand. He tries to grapple me, but I’m smaller, quicker, and then my knife is at his throat.

May your hands always be stained with blood.

May death be your only companion.

Perhaps this is what Valerian meant. Perhaps his curse is what led me down this path.

With a quick movement of my wrist, I slit Balekin’s throat. He slumps to the ground, dead. Blood is already pooling under him and the red moths that used to crown him in a bloody halo flutter away from his head. I feel some of them land on my hair like barrettes, exactly where Tattlefell usually braided my hair to keep it up.

I all but throw myself at Cardan. He’s pressing a hand to his wound, his face scrunched up in pain. He hasn’t lost enough blood to faint yet, but his hands are covered in blood where he’s pressing to stop the bleeding. A drop of his blood falls to the ground and the thirsty, dehydrated moss laps it up. It immediately plumps up, almost glowing with health.

Kneeling in his blood, I put my hand to Cardan’s cheek, lifting his face to look at me. He’s deathly pale, but he seems awake enough.

“I ruined your plan,” he tells me nonsensically.

Cardan cups my cheek, too, mirroring me. His hand is wet with his own blood. Mine is wet with his brother’s.

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Funny how we spent so long in the Mortal Realm, only for me to die as soon as we come back here.”

“You’re not dying,” I snarl. “I’m not letting you die.”

“You can fight many battles, but I doubt even you can fight death, my love.”

His thumb caresses my bottom lip. He leans forward, but I pull away before he can kiss me. Kissing has an air of finality to it, and I refuse to let that happen. If he wants a kiss, he will have to survive. Then and only then will I let myself acknowledge what I feel for him, only then will I admit it.

I stand up and whirl towards the brugh. The guards stand at the foot of the dais, trying to decide if they should listen to the orders Madoc is giving them.

“What are you all waiting for?” I ask no one in particular. “Get a healer.”

None of the guards move. They gape at me for so long that Madoc also turns to face me, then he, too, starts gaping at me. Before I can figure out what they are staring at so intently, someone bumps into me, then I feel dead weight pulling me down. I stay standing stubbornly, but turn to see Cardan standing, too. He has one hand pressed against his side and hangs on to me with the other.

“What are you doing?” I hiss at him.

The smile he gives me is pained, but oh so beautiful. “Scheming.”

He lets go of my arm as he stumbles another step forward.

“Folk of Elfhame,” Cardan calls out. “You have heard the prophecy. My blood has been spilled. You can see, as well as I can, that the land has chosen its new ruler.”

He gestures to me. The crowd inhales as one, and I frown. With a smirk meant only for me, Cardan flicks his eyes up, indicating that I should look up.

The moths that were haunting Balekin flutter above my head, until one by one they land on my hair, right where a crown would rest.

“Unseelie Court, night host,” Cardan continues, “will you accept the land’s claim and pledge to its chosen Queen?”

The Living Council members all look towards one of their own, the largest one—a troll with a thick head of scraggly hair. He pulls away from the group and looks between Cardan and me.

“We do,” he says warily.

“Seelie Court, twilight folk, will you accept the land’s claim and pledge to its chosen Queen?”

A tall, slender woman with a mantid face steps forward. To my human eyes, her face is impossible to read—her mandibles click constantly and her large compound eyes could be looking anywhere. Nevertheless, I understand what it means when she bends a knee, bowing her green head low.

“We do,” she says.

Cardan nods to himself and turns towards the crowd.

“Wild fey, Shy Folk, you who cannot be burdened with hierarchies have no representation in the Council. With the Blood Crown’s destruction, any oath made to the Crown is forsworn. Be that as it may, the land has chosen its ruler. If your allegiance lies with the Land and its people, you will bow to its chosen Queen.”

Finally, Cardan turns to me. His face is serious, empty of any trace of the flirtation I have grown accustomed to in the last few weeks.

And then he does something I never thought I would see him do publicly. He kneels. He doesn’t bow his head like the others, though—his eyes stay on me, challenging me.

“As the last known heir of Mab,” he says, his voice projecting through the brugh clear as water, “I swear allegiance to Jude Duarte, daughter of clay, the new High Queen of Elfhame.”

A strange tingling feeling goes through my body, soothing all the tiredness I wasn’t aware I felt. I feel strong, powerful, like I could raise islands and level mountains. My gaze drifts towards the shards of the crown, then to the crowd. They have followed Cardan’s lead and knelt, too. Even Madoc, though I have no doubt that I will be hearing strong words from him soon enough. Still, as I gaze upon the crowd, I feel wholly unqualified for all of this. Perhaps Cardan will be hearing strong words from me soon enough.

When no one moves from their position kneeling, I say in an unsure voice, “Rise.”

Cardan rises unsteadily, a blood-covered hand braced against his side. “Now, if someone could fetch a healer, I really don’t want to die.”

---

tag list @figonas @adxmparriish @hazelsheartsworn (thank you for being the best beta ever i love you) @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @zumurruds @inconspicuoussophia @idonotcareaboutyouropinion

#the folk of the air #tfota #jurdan #judecardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #c2c

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iovelore · 3 years

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❝ MORTAL TALES ❞ ( O1 )

summary and word count: a certain fae can’t help but find amusement in the youngest elfhame’s prince‘s frustration. wc — 1493

pairings: the cruel prince!cardan greenbriar x fem!reader

contents and warnings: jealousy, hinting of threesome, mentions of knife (nothing extreme), suggestive content, mutual pining-ish, fluffy?

a/n: i used tcp cardan because i couldn’t see any context of y/n being used in a fic in the other books (i also need it for the next part </3). i tried my best to include the tail bit since it didn‘t come out right, ill add it in either part 2/3. cardan is a bit ooc (i made him a bit idk how to put it besides: sub?man whore. because i believe that’s what he is 😁). and y/n resembles jude just a little bit with the blade thing, but only a little because jude is neither very flirty or open up about her sexuality (more so in the first book) and that’s what i made y/n like.

also, since this was more in y/n’s perspective, next part will be more so cardans <3

Y/N's legs crossed as she leaned her head on locke's shoulder, while Poppy, a half-faerie: who Locke has shown great interest in— for all the wrong reasons — sat before them and told them of the mortal tales her father would recite to her every night or the ones she gathered on her own from her adventures back where the humans lived.

Y/N found them odd: how they all were almost nothing compared to the people here; they were fragile, but she found similar enjoyment in them all nonetheless — and perhaps she had the eldest duarte to blame for her obsession with all things mortal, and Poppy's tales weren't helping either — which has unfortunately gained her the harsh scowls from the youngest prince of Elfhame.

Though that was no surprise. The boy had never been kind enough for her to realise that his treatment towards her was almost cruel — not that it had mattered, because to Y/N it was a show; she knew where his feelings lay, and it was nothing but amusing. To everyone with eye sight as clear as day, he'd never liked her, but when in class, when he believes her to be ignorant of his stare or his wagging tail; she has a classmate whisper every move his body makes, and it fuelled her heart all too much.

"It's not quite normal there, unlike here, if anyone decided to walk around with it they'd get humiliated till they're six feet under," Poppy snorted, covering her mouth with the back of her palms.

Locke turned to stare behind him, catching sight of the prince and Nicasia — both pouting miserably (one much too obvious than the other), and at that, he smiled. "Oh you’re right, tails are quite odd aren’t they? More so on a prince,"

Y/N shrugged at that, "It's alright, I do think Cardan makes it quite, charming? He’s always wagging it around like some...was it a cat you called it?"

"Yes a cat," Poppy shook her head positively, "though don't say that out loud, I doubt he's as clueless on mortal knowledge as we think he is."

Locke hummed, a smirk growing on his lips as he kept his eyes trained on his friend, Y/N following suite of his gaze and sultry grinning at the boy from afar, ignoring Nicasia — causing his eyes to widen momentarily, before the scowl found home on his face once more.

"He's never quite liked you has he?" His words were soft against her ear, his lips landing gently beneath her ear-lobes, kissing it tenderly as he kept his eyes trained on his flaring friend — who if one squinted, could perhaps see smoke escape his ears, if they ignored the immense swinging of his tail.

Y/N smiled, a small amount of malice lacing her intentions, "hatred I'd say, though he doesn't think I'm that foolish does he?"

Poppy, who now stared at her feet, hands tugging the grass with a blush coating her tanned features, "he's looked like he wanted to murder Locke."

Y/N snickered, a sickeningly sweet one at that, as she lowly muttered, "it’s all working then, sweetness."

Later on, when Y/N was left with no one to keep her company — as Locke found himself adorning Poppy and Nicasia's presence, alone — she took notice of the emptiness of Locke's home. It was beautiful, nothing as extravagant as Hollow Hall, yet she found herself admiring the interior all the same.

And as her hands traced the designs etched on the walls, as if it were a reminiscence of her first time staring upon them, a deep, and rather annoyed cough fleed her from her thoughts.

she stayed in position, her back facing Cardan and only gripping the knife resting on her waist, "now what would the prince need at a time like this? Should he not be in his humble abode by now?"

"Should you not be with your lover boy? Or is it that you enjoy using people like he does?" His tone was hostile as he spat his words, however the light softness that rippled around it was evident and Y/N couldn't help her lips tugging upwards.

She turned around, staring at him — where he leaned cooly against one of the walls — with squinted eyes, faux contempt present in her stare, and he shifted in his spot at her gaze.

She swiftly walked, her steps careful as to not trip on her dress. And when she reached him, she, boldly, placed her hands on his chest, dragging it downwards firmly — and his thumping heart beneath his rib cage could be faintly heard from the short proximity between them.

Y/N titled her head when he clenched his fists, but found a smile etching on her lips when his eyes were lightly fluttering. "Do I really threaten you that much that your hatred towards me is the only thing that keeps you going? It's pathetic truly, especially for a prince."

Cardan gulped, mind hazy at the contact and his body was supported by his tail, that was wrapped roughly around one of his legs. He could not utter the next words without stroking her ego, and it was then he'd wished — though he'd never admit out loud — that he were mortal, because he needed to lie if not keep his mouth shut.

More so with her trapping him, her knees coming forward and slightly spreading his legs, so that the entirety of his body leaned upon the wall. And despite him towering over her due to one of her legs bending in-front of the other, he could not move, catching sight of the shiny blade securely placed on her hips and her rigid grasp on them.

She had been around a certain mortal for too long, he thought, and at that his sneer was present again.

Y/N gently bit her tongue to stifle the giggle from escaping her, "what, cat's got your tongue?"

His lips were tightly sealed, and though he already knew the effects she displayed were affecting him, greatly, he refused to acknowledge her — especially that any movement could cause his legs to move slightly forward and brush . . .

She shook her head with a light hearted laugh that had his heart beating just a little bit faster, just a little bit. Her hands releasing the grip she had on her blade, before placing it on his cheek and patting him smoothly.

"You're quite humorous you know, would be a shame if you wasted all that energy on 'hating' me when it could be used for something else, you decide, my prince." she said, her tone sensual and low, before gradually stepping away allowing room (only a small amount at that) for the boy before her to breathe, she let one of her fingers crawl delicately on his hollow cheek bones, that though looked sharp, were as soft as anything could be.

Cardan's eyes widened ever so slightly, now registering her words, "are you flirting with me?" He asked. The space between them now slightly obvious, and he hated it — almost as much as he pretends to loathe her.

Y/N raised her brows, crossing her arms in an unlikely childish manner before nodding, "you're quite oblivious you know? Yes."

"Well," the confirmation enabled a smirk to appear on his face, only to be dismissed by her voice, again.

"Well? Is that all? Because I have things to do, and if my offer does not interest you then I'll gladly leave and find another willing volunteer," she purred, ignoring the way his brows harshly and quickly furrowed, creating a crease, "how about Locke? We are reasonably close, and he does not have a tail — which looks a bit foolish, don't you think?"

He was blushing crimson now, red sparklings littering his pale cheeks, but then his lips curled up — however, he does not look as frighting as he's expecting to be, he knew that, especially with her knees still resting between his thighs (which is all he's trying to drift his mind from at the moment).

"I don't see anything off with it, I've been told it makes one interesting. You've spent too much time with mortals and those alike." Cardan's jaw clenched and his chest was rising a lot more than it was a few minutes before.

Y/N pursed her lips, "Well then, show me how interesting one can get." She leaned forward, her breath fanning atop his lips and he found his own hitching.

His eyes were wandering from her eyes, which he secretly adored, to her lips, and he subconsciously nodded, leaning forward.

Only then, her hands rested on his chest, pushing him away slightly and his head came in contact with the wall yet again, and he had to bite his bottom lips in hopes that she had no idea how much he’d needed her, all of her.

Y/N stepped backwards, finally standing straight. Her hands on her side once more and she gave the prince an alluring smile, "I'll see you later, cardan."

He glared at the spot she had been standing in once she’d left, and he knew that it was a silly game she’s playing.

And what is a game if it involves one player?

#the cruel prince #cardan greenbriar #the folk of the air #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #nicasia #jude duarte #vivienne duarte #taryn duarte #cardan greenbriar x reader #holly black #prince cardan #jude x cardan #reader insert #Locke

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hazelsheartsworn · 3 years

Text

Want You in My Room

“Want You in My Room” by hazelsheartsworn // @jurdannetrevels

Track 1 of Dedicated, a @jurdannet collab fic with @figonas, @lizziebxnnet, @slightlyrebelliouswriter23, and @laequiem. Dedicated Masterpost

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: Explicit (E)

tags: teasing, solo masturbation, mutual masturbation, public masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, and there was only one chair.

cw: nsfw, teasing, solo masturbation, mutual masturbation, public masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism

Word Count: 9074

Read it on ao3

“Hell Yes, Poppy, you stab him in the heart, girl!” I shout to the empty room. Vivi lent me this novel while we visit and stay at her apartment claiming that the main character and I have a love for daggers and fighting in common. While it certainly isn’t impressive for its military strategy, it is entertaining for a vacation read.

Cardan and I are visiting Vivi, Oak, and Heather for two weeks before Oak returns to school. This morning, I am stealing a private moment to relax before going on a shopping trip. I lean back against the pillows on the bed on Oak’s bed and continue to read From Blood and Ash.

I follow along with Poppy’s panicked rush out of the keep into the snow and my muscles tense up when Casteel catches up to her. While the Atalantians are fictitious, I can’t help the comparison to the Folk, each with their beyond-human nature and abilities. It is to imagine Poppy’s terror emphatically, intensively, because those feelings are familiar to my own with the denizens of Faerie. I gasp when Casteel bites Poppy’s neck, my own hand pressing the tender skin above my collarbone. Poring through the narrative, I wonder what it would feel like to experience the tug of Cardan’s sharp teeth on my skin. I close my eyes briefly and fully form the image before returning to the unfolding scene. Thankfully I’m alone in this room right now. I won’t admit it to anyone else, but I feast on the story, my own body reacts to the angst and smut as I read. When I squirm and shift, Oak’s bed springs creak in response. I just hope no one else in the apartment notices it.

I am so engrossed in the filthy tale before me that I’m only vaguely aware of two legs slithering between mine, feet first, stopping to hem in hips. I barely have time to register this awkward position before Cardan rotates himself and pitches me over onto my stomach, a maneuver the Ghost must have taught him recently. Cardan hovers over me, hooting with pride at the situation while I huff frustrated.

“You made me lose my place,” I complain. I scowl at the closed book discarded on the bed.

“Is that so?” He grabs my hips, pulling them back off the bed so my ass is in the air and pinned against him like we are animals in the wild. “Because it looks to me like you're in exactly the right place.” I can hear the smile in his growl, feel the tempting rigidity of his hard-on as he presses into me." Wiggling in his grasp, my ass rubs right over him and my core tightens in response. His responding moan gives me an idea.

I take the opportunity to strike back. I lean back, pushing my ass into his hips more, distracting him so that when I quickly turn and flop my back onto the bed, he doesn’t notice that I slip one leg on the outside of his. Using his momentum, I grab his left hand and tug, upsetting his balance enough that it’s an easy thing to have him flipped and pinned under me. He, now supine on the bed, startles at the cold feel of the dagger pressed to his neck. Since I’m straddling his hips, I can feel the twitch of him beneath me. My eyebrows flick as I give a quick smirk.

I'm a bit impressed with myself. While we rolled, I grabbed a dagger hidden in my hi-top chucks. Taryn ordered them custom from an Etsy shop with stiletto knives embroidered on the spine which also covers the hidden sheath attached there. She says it’s so I can “take my hospitality wherever I roam.”

“Well, this seems familiar, my sweet nemesis,” Cardan smiles, slightly surprised, but decidedly less nervous than the night he’s remembering. I try to recreate that manic grin, to churn up those conflicting emotions again, but it’s difficult. So much has changed since we fumbled through that toothy esurient kiss. We are no longer disenfranchised power-hungry enemies, but High Queen and King of Elfame. I’m distracting myself by recollecting our start. My legs are clenching inadvertently and squeezing his torso.

“Ergh, Jude” he poses, “I came to see if you were ready to leave.” He gently presses a finger to the dagger, staring into my eyes as he pushes the tip away from his neck. “Unless--ah,” he rasps as the knife draws a bead of blood from his finger tip, “Unless you desire to change our itinerary, to spar first,” his eyes grow darker at the suggestion.

I pull the dagger away, lean up slowly and watch him as I sheath it in my sneaker. His beauty and pull is almost painful. It makes me want to relent, to take him on the bed right now, to muss up that hair, those clothes, to mess up that beauty a little bit.

“No,” I pause, fetching his hand to suck on his cut finger, lapping at the welled-up blood on his finger pad. He’s watching my mouth, eyes still dark, twitching below me again. He looks ravenous. We won’t make it to the store if we stay like this much longer.

I release his finger and my breath with it. “No, the point is to explore first and play later.”

When I lean forward onto him and press a chaste kiss to his lips, both of his hands grab fistfuls of my backside. I am startled into a quick laugh and use the movement to unseat myself from him and stand up beside the bed. I help him up from the bed and in short order, we climb into the back seat of Heather’s Volkswagen Beetle and set out.

The thirty minute drive doesn’t help my nerves, nor does Cardan’s long fingers tracing circles on my knee as we sit in the backseat. Heather drops us off in Portland on the way to some gallery photo show with Vivi.

While the store stands alone, the parking lot is neither too large nor too small. The shop front is tasteful and not garish like I expect. The sign above the entry says “DEDICATED, to play, to love, to everyone.” The shop title that doesn’t insinuate the lingerie and kink warehouse that it appears to be inside. Still, I’m unsettled.

Though I am the High Queen in Elfhame, here I feel so out of place. Like the woman in that one film I watched during my exile. Where she's taken from the streets and into all the swanky jewelry stores and clothing shops. Only this is a swanky sex shop. I flinch at the door chime, much like that main character flinched at the playful snap of a jewelry case.

Cardan notices my hesitation and rests his hand on the small of my back. It’s such a reassuring gesture, incongruous with our history. I’m still amazed sometimes at how we got to this place of casual intimacy. I turn to him, to acknowledge his touch and I’m met by coal-black eyes crinkled with a sense of laughter and mischief. He knows I’m uncomfortable, but is smart enough not to say anything right now. He’s lucky I agreed to come here, though it had more to do with Heather’s advice than satisfying Cardan’s desire to make me blush.

As soon as Heather found out that Cardan and I were married, and once he was no longer a snake, she cornered me on my last visit. Convinced, rightfully so, that my sexual knowledge was limited and determined as “the only responsible influence in our lives,” Heather forced me and Cardan to review mortal sex-education with her. Apparently she did the same thing with Taryn when I was posing as my twin for her trial in Elfhame. It wasn’t bad, actually, and Heather wasn’t judgmental about my lack of experience and questions. That’s actually why we were here. Part of my “education” entails experimenting and exploring so that I can truly learn what I like.

Vivi recommended this shop in Portland. It has enough, in her words, “variety”, that she can walk around with her ears un-glamored and no one bats an eyelash over it. Of course, as soon as Cardan heard about these plans, he insisted on joining me.

As we look around, I notice there are two floors with the main level and a second one lower. Directly in front of us there’s a straight path to the center of the store where a wide and open stairway leads down away from the doors. The whole first floor has more common merchandise, “vanilla stuff” Vivi calls it. It starts on my right and creates a circuit around the stairs, ending at the cashier’s stand on my left. Heather insists that I also browse the lower level with “kinky” stuff. Thumping music and flashing lights pulsing upwards add to my insecurity.

“Where would you like to start?” Cardan asks with a sly smile. There’s still that look of mischief in his eyes. Before I can think more about what that means...

“Um, over here,” I point, gesturing to the nearest section. Clothing racks take up the largest footprint of this top level. In this section, I’m surrounded by streetwear--t-shirts with crude remarks, an abundance of short plaid skirts, and gaudily colored corsets.

Cardan and I both measure our hands against the length of the shorter skirts. I watch him trace one finger down the length of a skirt, the same finger my tongue soothed this morning. My own mouth waters, at the memory or the image of that clothing failing to cover me, I’m not sure. I turn away before I can see his facial expression and look around.

Honestly, most things in this section don’t appeal to me given the clothing available to me in Faerie. After quickly scanning the racks, I am ready to move on. Cardan turns slowly to follow, still reading some sign about custom screen-printing.

We move on to accessories. Cardan’s gaze snags on the clear cases containing body jewelry. Whether for himself or a prank, I leave him be, especially since I don’t want to debate which silly nipple rings will embarrass my adoptive murderous dad most. Cardan’s rictus is too eager, he must have found something glittering and garish with which to taunt Madoc.

I roll my eyes and drift away, letting my hands graze the multi-colored feather boas and suede vests with fringe. I find it hard to begin, unsure about what I want or need. I’m not embarrassed by sex, certainly not after my upbringing in Faerie, but I am self-conscious of my lack of experience. Perhaps it would be helpful to start with costuming, to put on the clothes and act the part. I am accustomed to wearing a mask at court, or to putting on figurative armor to meet the challenges of palace life. This is but a new arena, and I can wear the clothes to act the part until it feels natural.

Glancing around, I find bins with a variety of stockings. Stockings are commonplace in Faerie clothing, though they’re more practical and plain than the variety here. These are all nylon and decorative. I’ve seen magazine and internet ads of scantily clad women wearing these. It seems as good a start as any. As the bins are, I have to bend at my hips and lean down to sift through what’s available.

There are too many choices and the size charts vary by brand. I always find it difficult to determine my clothing size for mortal clothes. Holding several pairs, I try to figure out which size I need. With personal tailoring, I don’t need to know any measurements. Frustrated, about to give up, bowing my head in exasperation, a familiar heat presses against me. Cardan has lined up directly behind me, his hands on the bin on either side of me. I straighten up at the waist, turning my head and torso slightly to glimpse behind me. I can’t move more, Cardan’s hips are holding mine in place. My body delights at this remembering how close I was to tumbling with him this morning.

Cardan chuckles, “While I contend that a queen should never deign to sift through any bin, I cannot deny that the view is incomparable.” He cups and lightly squeezes each butt cheek quickly before returning his hands to the bin ledge. He leans his chin on my shoulder. The feel of him is distracting and my frustration leaves me flustered. I turn around, creating space between us with my elbows while still holding two handfuls of stocking packages. His long arms can accommodate the space and still cocoon me between the bin and him. He lifts both thumbs to caress my curves that are within reach.

In a valiant effort to ignore every glancing touch and sensation, I decide on Large tights because I know my muscles are larger from constant sword practice. Before I discard the rest, I keep a set of classic thigh-highs with the visible stitch line. I drop the remainder and catch Cardan’s half-lidded stare.

“We should split up and look around independently” I rush. “Heather has urged me to explore for myself and you're…distracting...” I trail off. He smirks back with a knowing look, but doesn’t argue. He presses himself flush to me and tilts his head painstakingly slowly to my ear. When he speaks, his breath tickles.

“Consider carefully,” he pauses to nip at my ear right where the cartilage is pierced. “I hope you share in my depraved tastes.” I shutter my eyes closed as he licks my ear, slowly turning as he peels his body away from mine. The hair on my arms is standing up and I feel small tingles everywhere my body misses his. I stare after him sauntering to the opposite side of the store.

I dive into searching through the store. Toward the back I find nicer lingerie with lace and embroidered edges. I shuffle through rack after rack quickly diverting to the next at a rapid pace. I gain momentum as I go, doubting more and more that I’ll find something that matches the high standards I didn’t realize my brain set up. I check myself breathing in slowly to try and slow the staccato of my thoughts. I refocus and frown at the next rack. A hanger rests haphazardly on the frame, like someone rushed and didn’t take care in replacing the garment. My fingers move before I think to fix it.

I separate the hangers around it and freeze at what I see. I think it’s called a teddy, with a fitted corset and panties combined as one garment. The cut and design are well made, the boning sturdy, but the design ensnares me. On an ivory background, curling and twisting all over are finely embroidered black snakes. I am hypnotized. There is no same or similar pattern here, I was thorough in my search. It feels like a portent, the displaced hanger, the timing, the overlapping stitching that vaguely reminds me of faerie clothing. I look for a tag and see it’s in my size. I clutch my discovery to myself and look around quickly, as if a child caught with contraband. I don’t see my husband near me.

I sweep around the rest of the first floor passing by shoes, athleisure and fitness items, and through a section filled with the short shelving of pharmacy aisles. There’s prophylactics and items for safe and healthy sex practices. Before the checkout lines, I finally turn to the stairs. In order to reach them and head down I have to walk through an aisle of shampoo bottles. It’s one of the most colorful sections of the store and I walk distracted by the shapes, shades, and slogans. At closer inspection, I realize they’re all lubricants. The selection is extensive and as I reach the end of the row, about to descend, I swear some of these seem familiar, like I’ve seen them in Elfame.

Directly down from the stairs is a section dedicated to anal sex practices. The section seems to progress from basics to more advanced play. I guess this from the signs; the one on right says “Anal 101” and looks to have items like anal douches and more lube; on the left “Cheeky Chique” has what appear to be animal tails, long ropes with beads that increase in size, and some items that look more like items from a doctor’s office. In between there are so many shapes, I can’t tell where some of them would be used. There are even kits with toys of various sizes and plugs with decorative jewel motifs. Since I don’t see Cardan here, I turn around to see the rest of the lower level.

Unlike above, this part of the shop seems much more like the fancier department stores at the mall. There are boutiques of various kinks and pleasures. Each section has an attendant trained to help in that specific interest. On the sides of the stairs, there are kiosks with a variety of brands and styles of vibrators. One kiosk has a special on vibrating cock rings. My eyes scan to the farthest parts behind the stairs. There are so many ropes, ties, and whips, wide bars, swings, and wedges. I step toward it, very curious and immediately letting the memory of Cardan in my custody rise. But then, my eyes snag to a familiar silhouette, tall, lithe, curls of black hair that my fingers long to tousle. My husband, the High King of Elfhame, is standing before an entire wall of dildos. Of all manner, shape, and color, they’re stuck to the wall by suction cups and if you look askance, you could mistake them for a rock climbing wall. In fact, between the rigging from the bondage, the dildo wall, and the final section with several dancing poles to test out, this half of the store looks like a kinky obstacle course. TVs in the burlesque dance section blare a music video of a man sliding down a pole singing, “Call me by your name” in the chorus. It’s super catchy and I notice Cardan bopping his head and dancing in place to the beat.

In front of this area are fitting rooms and I head there before Cardan can see me. These rooms are nicer than typical fitting rooms. They fit the boutique vibe down here. There are full size doors and walls for separation, lush carpeting, and a triptych panel mirror at the end of the hallway where customers can model. I choose a door to the left, enter, and close it quietly. The individual rooms are well designed. Near the door is a forest green velvet “wing back” chair. With well-padded cushions, cabriole legs finishing with ball and claw feet, it adds a sense of luxury to the room. The chair’s most impressive feature is the deep flared wings that come almost to the edge of the arm rails. Someone sitting there would have the sense of a private, exclusive show. Two hooks are on each side wall. A flat mirror fills the wall opposite the door, with a small square ottoman flush against it, a match in color and details to the chair.

I hang up the items to try on and begin to undress. First I try on the stockings, pleased that I have estimated my size correctly. With my back to the mirror I turn my torso to look at my legs. These stockings have a stitched line up the back and I like the way it undulates to match the curves of my muscles. It's a pleasure to let my eyes follow the line from my heel to my butt and I like the little smirk I see glancing back at me. This is a good start.

The thigh highs have the same stitch in the back and I decide to keep them on while I try on the teddy I found. I slide the straps off the hanger, and turn it over to figure out how to put it on. It is better that I didn’t see the back of this before getting into the fitting room, there’s little to constitute a back. There are four interlocking hooks, each connected by two black adjustable straps on each side. The whole effect looks like four wide X letters across the back, about four inches of space.. The bottom portion just has two adjustable black straps that taper down into a V like the cut of panties, without any fabric in between the straps.

I gulp audibly, and my anxiety spikes as I unhook everything. I fumble stepping into it feeling foolish that something so skimpy requires such deliberate focus. I turn with my back to the mirror and that helps me guide the hooks together appropriately. When I’m done, I place my hands on my hips and slowly turn around, watching myself in the mirror the whole time. I am reminded of how different my body is, how human it is in Faerie. My breasts are full and they spill from the balconette bra cups. My arms and shoulders seem too large, too muscular from my years of sword training. My legs are similar, with sculpted quadriceps and ridges to my calf muscles. Even though I am High Queen, it is so obvious I am an import to Faerie, my mortality conspicuous. Even now it shames me sometimes. Abruptly I drop my hands, overcome with nerves.

I can calm myself before battle, discern the turn of phrase mid sentence from a politician, but here I am getting anxious about my self-image. This whole time shopping I have been working myself up over intimacy. I catch myself worrying my left ring finger, the missing knuckle. It’s my tell and I stop, pressing on the tip while I shutter my eyes closed and let loose a breath. There is no need to succumb to such worry. My every mortal curve is a fascination to Cardan. Just today he’s focused on my ass, touched it at every opportunity.

I turn said ass to the mirror and grab it with both hands, filling my fists. How pleasing to feel its voluptuousness, to see it set the back straps of the teddy at a full curve. This is good, I am fine, emotionally and aesthetically. . My shift back into an athletic stance is automatic, running through the familiar poses will serve as a balm to my disquieted nerves. I mimic holding a sword and weave myself through guard positions, watching my form in the mirror, just as I used to do as seneschal. I stop at window guard so I can see my legs flex and I appreciate the musculature. I know the work and hours that have created these shapes and I am, genuinely, proud of it. Even with the massive scar on my thigh, my legs show my journey, my survival in Faerie. I’ve earned this body and it looks good.

I face the mirror again and smooth my hands down the tummy panel, appreciating the boning and embroidery. My hand flows down, where the front of the teddy ends like my mall-bought underwear. But unlike my typical panties, when I feel down farther the teddy gives way to nothing except two strategic strips of fabric. Per store policy, I left on my tanga-cut undies, but the teddy straps outline them, like a stencil I once had that marked the shape for a drawing you could then color in. However the fabric filling this stencil colors in exactly what should be exposed. A voice within me that almost purrs with anticipation when I think about how Cardan would react to my ass in this. On a day like today, when he’s touched it, groped it, and pressed an eager hard-on against it, this would undo him.

It’s too alluring to resist tracing the slivers of skin peeking between the fabric on my ass. I stare off for a minute, enjoying the feeling of drawing my knuckles down my ass, enjoying the slight resistance pulling my finger pads up. Without thinking I shift my weight, move a hand to the front, and trace over my panties triggering the most sensitive part of me despite the fabric barrier. I feather light touches all over the fabric, the skin underneath eager for each sensation, eager for more. My hand agrees.

A small pleasant hum bubbles out of me and I pause, cautious, all too aware of where I am. When I glance back at the mirror, I see cheeks growing pink, lips slightly swollen from teeth nipping at them. My eyes look slightly spooked. Part of me knows I should finish trying on clothes and return to shopping with Cardan. But that small voice from earlier is now brazen, invigorated by the thrum of blood charging through my veins, emboldened by the throbbing below my hand.

“No, Queen,” she whispers inside my head. “Move past any shame with your defiance. Satisfy yourself.” My likeness smirks back, lips rolled inward, knowing the voice will win my inner debate.

I falter somewhat as I continue. I think through the different parts I’m touching clinically, like I’m matching up the parts Heather made me diagram during her lessons. I swirl my fingers back over my clitoris, enjoying the teasing sensation, indulging the temptation to repeat myself, the stimulation. After a few times, I ease my hand down, perking up when I realize how wet I am through my underwear, how swollen I already am. I push the fabric aside, my fingertips quickly drenched. I withdraw my hand, bringing it close enough to see the shine from my own arousal. I can smell myself and the heavy scent goes to my head.

I am transported back to when Cardan took me to that small room off the dais. To his too clever hands. I remember his hand slipping between my thighs. I lift my left leg onto the ottoman near the mirror, letting my own hands trace up my thighs. The nylon of the stockings ripples on my skin creating little pulses of sensation. But I delight when my hands move past the texture of the stockings and back to my bare skin, cool compared to their destination. I drag my nails lightly on the inside of my thighs, letting myself invest in this fantasy—one where I am aware that I could be caught at any moment.

The panties are still pushed to the side and the slight air circulation feels cool at the junction of my thighs. I huff slightly through my nose when my hand returns, covering that wet warmth. I drench my fingers with my own wetness and let them roam. I return to my clit, lubricating myself and enjoying the response. I can feel my arousal swell and I press down, swirling my fingers in a slow beat. I enjoy this, noticing the ways I jolt with various manipulations. I become wetter and feel an ache build up lower. I work my hands back down, spreading my inner lips with two fingers and I am very slick. I let my fingers limn the outer edges, teasing the skin. My knee shakes a little with it and I open my eyes to look at myself in the mirror.

My pupils are slightly dilated and I’m flushed. With one leg raised and my hands reaching down, my shoulders curve in on myself. Mesmerized, I observe myself in the mirror while I resume. I stare in awe as my body shifts, clenches, and relaxes. I enjoy seeing myself this way, vulnerable and yet, not. My body is wondrous, a marvel of movement and pleasure. My own eyes reflect the truth in this. I am Jude, High Queen of Elfhame, mighty and magnificent.

I straighten and the movement forces my hips forward, and forces my fingers to touch the opening of myself. My eyes shutter closed as I tip my neck back with the sensation. This, this is where that ache is building. I use my middle finger to trace around it, to tease the skin there. I reach in a little farther, clenching and coaxing myself to relax in quick order, repeatedly. The skin is so sensitive and different from the rest of me. Between my memory of Cardan’s ministrations and some new instinct, I follow that pleasurable ache.

I sink my finger deeper and start to pump it very slowly. I keep my eyes closed and focus on how it all feels, on the drag and thrust of my finger, on the silky texture caressing back, on the ways my body answers to itself, pushing and releasing in turn. I twist my leg on the ottoman, allowing more access. I let out a small mewl of a sound in appreciation and alter my pace, diving deeper with each thrust of my hand. I revel in the sensations, giving in to a full fantasy. I imagine all the moments of Cardan’s touch, the way his fingers caress my skin. I let my own hand roam.

I imagine it’s his hands tracing my curves, cupping the swell of my breasts, swirling over the nipple taut below the fabric cup. As soon as I cusp fingers around and lightly pinch the tight peak, my other fingers flinch inside me.

I gasp with the new sensation and a new inner exploration starts fresh. My hips buck in response to my finger, slowly flexing inside me at its deepest. Breaths come gasping, hot, heavy and involuntary as I curl the fingers inside me, trying to sate and soothe the deep ache building up inside me. I can’t make sense of how my body reacts of its own accord and I have to brace my free hand against the mirror, an anchor to my fevered ministrations.

I am frenetic, I feel wanton, I feel utterly human and powerful. It’s liberating, to learn more about my body, what I can do to tempt, tease, and exhilarate her. I acquiesce to my own needs, thinking less and less about what my hand is doing, what I should try next, and rather just feel. My hand roves freely in and out of me, my soaked fingers moving to coat every fold, flickering quickly over and back where I throb most.

When I’ve returned my fingers inside me, I quiver with need and push on with a reckless fervency. As tension builds up low inside me, I notice a tickle on the back of my legs. Quickly, it rises, following the line of the stockings. I shudder at the sensation and freeze, sure that it’s not the air-conditioning circulating. If my suspicions are correct, someone has improved their slyfooting, and lockpicking, yet again.

I have one leg on the ottoman and the other on the floor, both tense bracing me. I have one hand deep inside of myself and the other pushed against the mirror white knuckled with strain. My back is to the door, but I’m sure I would have heard someone come in. My eyes have been closed this whole time. I’m wincing as I open them slowly, staring into the mirror.

It’s a relief and anxiety to see Cardan sitting in that green wingback chair, moved closer to where I stand. Relief that I haven’t caught the attention of the store, anxiety that Cardan has seen me completely unguarded, unknowingly. I spy a shimmer by the door and recognize it as a glamour that Cardan must have put up to protect me from being discovered. My relief grows, knowing that even this unarmored, I can trust him.

I meet his eyes, ink black and hooded with desire in the mirror. He slouches forward in the seat, legs splayed wide, one elbow is propped on the chair arm, its hand braced against his cheek . I find his other hand carefully draped over a bulge in his pants. I meet his eyes again, a smirk having grown across his face at this silent entente.

“Don’t stop on my account” he drawls while his tail bounces and skims playfully along my ass. “You’ve always been the more industrious of us, I’m not surprised you took Heather’s exhortations as agenda tasks. How diligent you are, my Queen. Though I’ll admit these toils are far less boring—I think I’ll join your efforts. Besides, weary as I am from browsing and eager as I am for a repose, this is the only chair.”

He has frozen me with his words and I can’t find the riddle in his coy flirtations. What does he mean “to join” me? I turn to face him, wariness present on my face. He stands and I watch him stalk toward me, with animalistic grace, his stare predatory. I feel drawn to him, lean my body forward to meet him, but he pulls up just enough to not touch me. Inches from each other he leans around me and I hear a squelch against the mirror.

Behind me, he has affixed one of those dildos to the mirror a little lower than my hips, at a height I can access, OH!

I whip my head back to face him. He is grinning, trying to hold back a laugh. “I examined and searched for something close to my own grandeur, and while not perfection, this will make do. Ever diligent, I want to make sure your classroom studies are as close to the reality. I’m curious to learn as well. May I join by watching you? I’m eager to discover what secrets you unwittingly hide.”

I take everything in with my eyes, the closer chair, the dildo, the earnestness of this request written across his face. “Okay,” I whisper less assertively as my brain sorts through the emotions and urges of my body competing with one another. Lust and pleasure override any reticence. Mighty, magnificent Jude likes the idea he’s proposed, that I continue to pleasure myself while he watches, that I touch myself without his interference.

He watches me, hungry and expectant. He moves the chair closer but still far enough away that we won’t be touching. A shiver that has nothing to do with cold or nerves runs down my spine. I feel powerful rather than defenseless, alluring in my near nudity. I can see the want in his eyes and he is unrepentant. He no longer ties shame to his desire for me. It’s invigorating. I ache all over again with this development.

Cardan sits again, in the same way as before, the High King a ready spectator. His right hand rests on his pants bulge. I turn again, showing off my body as my hands outline my curves. I reach toward the ceiling in a full body stretch, catching my hands in my hair to pull the style loose. I rush my return to the ground, aware of bounce in my breasts and ass. His eyes track the movement and I catch his fingers tracing his length. I crave more from this exchange.

I nod toward his hips as I say, “I wish to amend our arrangement. I yearn for some inspiration. Join me by touching yourself. We can both find pleasure from watching each other, as both exhibitionists and voyeurs.” Remembering some details about the teddy, I unhook the straps at the top of my hips. Jet black eyes watch the panties as I shimmy them down my legs and step out of them. When I reach down to retrieve and re-hook the straps, I sell it by giving Cardan an unobstructed view of my breasts spilling out of the cups. Without any underclothes, I wonder if my earlier bet to see him undone will come to fruition. I play coy, bite the corner of my lip and turn to and fro to show off the lingerie, smoothing my hands all over my body.

My wager pays off as I see him unzip the seat of his pants and his penis springs out, eager to join the fun. Cardan catches himself in one hand, casually draping his fingers around his erection. He moves his hand up and down so slowly it’s immediately sensual and hypnotic. His long fingers suit his girth and I know I’m gaping while I watch each stroke, his fingers wrapped around in a relaxed grip that seems to tighten and loosen with each pump.

“Stop biting your lip like that or I won’t be able to stay in this chair,” He quips. “Resume your performance, I missed the beginning of your foray into public masturbation.”

He’s right, I’ve been chewing the corner of my lip gawking at him rather than holding up my end of the bargain. I roll my lips in, flick at my left fingertip, admonished, and back up closer to the mirror, still facing Cardan in the chair. A thrill zings through me at the thought of driving myself to orgasm in front of Cardan as he does the same. Provoked by his chiding and by my impatient lust, I am keen to make this a challenge for him. I close my eyes again and let my fingers roam everywhere on me. I keep them pointed and aligned with my wrists, as if I were extending the movements to ballet positions. With the backs of my fingers, I skim up my ribs, past my breasts and collar bone, up my neck and along my chin. I lean my cheek in to meet my hand.

Pivoting on my fingertips, I lean my head back and rest my palms along the column of my throat, exposing it for Cardan’s benefit. I can hear him shift in the chair and I delight in it, knowing he is not immune to this show, to my intentions. My teeth peek through my smile as I slowly turn my gaze onto him.

I stare into his depthless eyes feeling them devour my image. I up the ante and start to narrate, “First I touched myself everywhere, imagining it was your hands mapping the paths of my body, the valleys” as I smooth my palms flat against the expanse of my chest below my neck, “and the peaks.” I drag my palms along the sides of my breasts pushing them together, letting him see how the teddy strains to contain them.

I squeeze my chest closer “But I couldn’t replicate everything perfectly,” I pause, slipping each breast from its cup, my taut nipples tightening painfully in the cooler air.

“I had to improvise that clever tongue of yours” I whisper and slip two fingers into my mouth, deliberately mimicking what I would do to him, what I want to do to him. He lifts his head from leaning on his fist as I trail my wet fingers over each nipple. It’s hard not to clench my thighs when the skin pebbles and tightens. Something tightens low in my belly the more I tweak and fondle my breasts. He breathes audibly through his nose and I bite my bottom lip to stifle the moan trying to escape. I remember this feeling of power, the voluptuous satisfaction of it. It’s potent.

My hands keep moving, caressing more intensively than before, responding to my body’s reactions in kind. With each movement, he can see my face, as well as my backside, both confessing to the jolts of pleasure I feel. I glance at him before I let myself get carried away. His gaze roves, stopping for a few seconds everywhere, at my face, my hands, my curves. When he peeks at the mirror, I bend forward so he has a better view of my back and ass, at the negative spaces between the straps. He looks as if he regrets agreeing to sit out and it emboldens me.

“I remember behind the dais, how easily you slipped your hands between my thighs” I remind him as I execute the same actions on myself. My hand is surer, confident in its placement. The stockings pucker and I halt to adjust and smooth out the tops of the nylons before caressing my inner thighs again. How well I tease myself, running my fingers over the teddy over and over again. I pet, pinch, and push with every part of my hand near my clit. I remember the paper covered with my name and use his own words as a cadence to my movements. I drag my fingers up the fabric, barely covering my swollen lips, and flick them back down with increasing force, like his manic writing on that old scribbled page. Imagining his voice gasping my name only boosts how sexy this feels. I let my other hand grasp and squeeze wherever it can, wherever it feels good. In the back of my mind I make a note to remember this for future masturbation, it certainly gets me going.

Cardan is holding his mouth behind one hand, the movements of his other hand more intentional. He is decidedly more angular, more at attention sitting in that chair. His grip on himself looks stronger, as if the anguish from staying in the chair directly correlates to more forceful rubbing. He’s so hard and his cock strains forward, toward me. Cardan’s hand is swift and punishing, matching his strokes to the flick of my fingers. My clit flutters and my breath comes out like a whimper at this, watching him time out his masturbation to mine.

“Back Up,” he growls implying that I should use the dildo now.

I can barely respond with my ragged breathing, “I’m not finished yet. Don’t you want to know what I did next?”

He doesn’t stifle the noise crawling from his throat. It centers me enough to shoot him a saccharine smile, hinting at malice. Twisting slightly, I lift my leg back onto the ottoman, skimming both hands up and down my thighs, ensuring the fit of my stockings, tapping playfully on my knees, leaning a stretch into my bent knee, flashing him from the mirror.

“Even in this dim room, can you see how wet I am?” I lead his eyes there with my hands, fingers trailing the straps along my ass. When I follow the straps down, I switch again, reaching from the front to the same spot, dragging a finger along my slit, dripping wet. I lift it in front of me, letting the slickness catch the light before slipping it into my mouth and licking it clean. With one hand in my mouth I lower the other and plunge a finger into me. I jolt myself with the action, releasing a keening gasp as well. I move my finger quickly, letting the sound travel to him. I brace a hand on the leg supported by the ottoman and he has a full view of me, of my finger rushing in and out, of my legs and ass shivering with urgency in the mirror. I train my gaze on him, watching every twitch and movement, imbibing on his reactions and his restraint, getting drunk on the pleasure radiating from both of us. Then, I add a second finger.

A lazy heat coils low in me. I lean back my shoulders against the mirror to brace myself. As I continue to draw my fingers in my sex I share my final discovery, “Next time your fingers are inside me…”

He makes a strangled sound like he’s imagining doing just that. His hand freezes and grips himself tightly frozen and staring while I continue.

“Make sure they’re deep inside me, and draw your fingertip upward as if curling it back.” I act out my narration.

“I p-promise that I’ll - ah - that I’ll squirm for you” I stammer. I can’t tell if I’m chuckling, or moaning, or letting out plaintive chuffs. I cannot help the way my knees quake, how a heated flush rises up my chest and face. My arousal builds steadily.

He no longer smiles coyly. ““Use the toy,” he commands with a feral rumble. It takes me a moment to stop, my body loath to pause the momentum. When I push my torso from the mirror and glance down, looking at how to use the dildo on the wall. It takes a second to realize I’ll need to bend at the hip so that the geometry will work. I do so, using two fingers spread apart and hold my labia in place.

Despite how wet I am, I go slowly, letting my muscles contract around the dildo, sliding backwards until my ass touches the mirror. My whine at the floor is guttural while it fills me. I have braced my hands on my knees. It’s slow at first, letting my body adjust, using small back and forth movements to make everything slick. I keep looking down as I focus on this task. While it’s a new sensation, the monotony doesn’t halt my arousal. Soon, I’ll reach a balance of slickness and friction.

He interrupts, “Would that it were me inside you right now,” and he groans while he continues to pump with a steady vigor. I slide slowly along the length of the dildo, from tip to wall. I’m warm from exertion, but the mirror is cool against my ass. I’m ready to go faster.

“Watch the mirror, see the dildo as if you were behind me,” I command. When he moves his onyx eyes there, I glide along slowly again, letting him see every bit of me while I make the toy disappear. I rock back and forth a few more times.

“Watch me now. Can you see me in the mirror like you’re behind me? Watch me take every inch of this toy and imagine it’s you fucking me,” I taunt.

“Sweet Villain!” He spits out the endearment like it’s a curse.

“Fuck, Jude! Fine then, thrust as if it were me. Think of me and nothing else,” he barks, but it’s so hoarse it sounds like he’s begging. I increase my tempo, breathing harder as I go. He grunts with exertion, too.

He continues, “Moan. Make it worthy of me.” I keep working, pumping myself on the silicone, but I can’t quite get the right traction to the movement with my hands and weight leaning forward without support.

“Come closer, My King. I just want you to get a little bit closer. Bring the chair right before me,” I suggest. Without protest, he lifts the chair and sets it down. It’s within my reach, but there’s enough space that we don’t touch. He staggers back down in the chair. He waits as I spread my legs a little wider and brace each hand against the arms of the chair. We are inches apart, maybe a foot, each with a much more intimate view of the other.

“We still watch each other. Our hands only tend to our own needs.” I grit out, wiggling my hips to adjust to the new angle.

“Yes, my darling god.” He laughs and starts stroking himself again. “I am ever obedient to your demands.” Seeing him up close makes my mouth water. He is exquisite, painfully so. Even while aroused, even while touching himself, he seems indolent. I do hope this pains him.

With better balance, I can thrust harder and faster. I do so, my knuckles whiten as I grip the armchair. Wisps of hair slip from my braided crown. The loose strands echo my movements. They come so close to Cardan’s face. I don’t hold back from breathing hard, from allowing myself to make noise. This close, it wouldn’t matter if I tried to muffle myself. I am sweating from the exertion and from the stimulation. My breasts, still free from the balconet, sway heavily. As they hang down, nipples erect, they swing so low, so near to Cardan’s manhood. May he be dizzy trying to watch it all. May my scents, my nearness, my brazen display overwhelm him. I don’t think it’s terrible that I want him on his knees before me, literally or figuratively.

I lust for this, my arousal is full-bodied and robust. I commit to my satisfaction, to the thrill of it. I keep my eyes closed as I guide myself along the dildo. I don’t think more than whatever it takes to flex my legs and thrust backward. I gain momentum as I go and soon my ass smashes against the mirror with the force of my lunges. The stockings are slipping on my thighs. I let his noises in, I do imagine that it’s his cock I’m riding. Waves of pleasure are building in me, a tide surging as I continue. My toes and fingers, and ears start to tingle as I near orgasm. My eyebrows furrow as I coil tighter and tighter working toward a release.

“Look at me,” Cardan snarls, but I ignore him, I’m so close.

“Open your eyes, my Queen. Look at me when you come.” and I relent. He leans forward just enough to let our foreheads touch, and when we lock eyes, I feel his tail touch me, right where I’m throbbing.

“CARDAN!” I cry out wildly and instinctively as all the tension crests. Even though I am watching Cardan, my vision blurs at the edges. I can only keep my eyes trained on the abyss of his eyes, unfathomable and yet full of intelligence and hunger. He’s memorizing every bit of me at this moment.

My face scrunches while I keep thrusting, captive to the ripples of pleasure pulsing through me. I can feel my vocal cords strain but are these noises of anguish or bliss? I’m panting loudly as I catalogue sensations all over my body; tingling fingertips, cramping arches, loose hairs clinging to my sweaty face. When I hear the slaps of Cardan’s hand rubbing himself, I lift my eyes to his. His eyes shine with wonder, and they cringe as he also comes close to finishing.

“Jude,” he wails as our eyes meet. He tries to stifle his moans and the noise reveals the struggle. His face contorts while he squirms. Since I am still leaning on the chair arms, over him, he comes shooting directly upwards. I feel the heat of his semen as it hits the belly panels of the lingerie. I smile, relishing that he’s spilling on the fabric, forcing this fantasy into reality. He keeps coming, splashing more of the fabric and me. With better timing, I would have liked to lean down and take him into my mouth. I imagine drawing my tongue up the length of him like his tail trailed up my leg earlier.

I start to move so I can lick him clean, but Cardan catches my mouth with his. It’s playful and loving but possessive, showing me that he has his own fantasies that he’s eager to play out. His second kiss is slow and languid, a promise for later. I pull off the wall, sighing as I do, proud and satisfied.

After standing and settling for a few minutes, I look to the chair where Cardan still sits. Our content smirks grow into genuine smiles. He tilts in the chair and retrieves a handkerchief, offering it to me first. Grateful, I wipe my thighs and everything else still wet, including Cardan’s semen on me.

“Well I guess I have to buy this now.” I joke as I return the hankie.

As he wipes himself dry, he scoffs, “Jude, you could be wearing soiled sackcloth and we would still buy it because what I just witnessed was exquisite,” and he means the image as a compliment. I feel myself blush in response.

“Needless to say,” he continues, “this design is well met and I have designs for further ravishment.”

Already eager for more, I start forward, eyes locked with his. I lean my palms on the chair arms again, mimicking what we just did, reminding him of what we just did. I make sure we’re still not touching each other.

“You broke the rules,” I start.

“Well, you--” He begins and I interrupt,

“--You broke the spirit of the rules” I cut off.

“My sweet nemesis, I think you were intentional in your words. You left open the way around the wording. I have committed no transgression and, I posit, that’s exactly what you wanted me to do” He debates.

I can’t keep a straight face because he’s right. And while I could, the lie is heavy on my tongue. So, I glance away with a small smile, choosing not to give a rejoinder. He already knows the truth.

There’s one final question that surfaces from my sated serenity and I ask, “Why did you hold yourself back? I noticed that you waited.”

“Dearest Jude, I thought it was obvious.” he replies and brings a hand to touch my cheek. “ I want you to really explore and find real ways to pleasure yourself, on your own. Though I have no regrets interrupting for my own benefit. But, truly, it’s you first, always.” He becomes very shy with this admission and looks around with the panic of an animal looking for the quickest escape from a predator. Whether happy from endorphins or trusting the intimacy of our situation, I swoon at his words. My face lights up at his candor, and I initiate our soft kisses, tender and reverent.

We clean up. I try on a few more outfits and model them for Cardan before he sits me in the chair and re-braids my hair into a crown. We wander the rest of the store together, shameless in our affection, constantly pressing light touches to one another.

We are thorough in our sampling of the store, and brimming with ideas as we reach checkout with a full basket. Some toys are for Cardan, some are for me, but all of it fills me with excitement for more exploration and experimentation. Something has shifted in me today. I leave more confident in myself, in what satisfies me, and that Cardan wants me unquestionably. Removing each other’s armor is exhilarating rather than upsetting.

Soon we’ll return to Faerie, taking with us our new purchases, including a certain stained teddy.

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