Series Synopsis: In the midst of a violent political war, Queen Riley Rys’s life is dismantled overnight, forcing her to flee Cordonia to live in hiding as a commoner with a loyal, best friend
Series Warnings: angst; profanity; major character death; grief and mental health discussion; discussion of violence & war; alcohol use; NSFW material
~🖤~
Chapter 1: "...While You're in the World" Queen Riley Brooks-Rys has it all: the perfect life with a decorated king as her perfect husband, and together, they share the perfect fairy tale love... that is until political unrest stirs in Northern Africa. Life as she knows it is about to change.
Chapter 2: "... the Fear That I Can't Control This." Loyal best friend and royal guard Drake Walker recollects his final promise he made to Liam as he helps Riley navigate through her own grief.
Chapter 3: "...Dreaming Makes for Sweet Escape" In the midst of Liam's Royal Wake, Drake surprises Riley with a secret trip away from the palace in hopes that it might help with her sleepless nights.
Chapter 4: "... We Are One Breath Apart" Drake prepares a way for Riley to spend more time with her late husband during the Royal Wake; the funeral and the procession go off without a hitch. Almost.
🖤 Pour Two Glasses Teaser Video, Ch. 1-4 🖤
Chapter 5: "...Wake Me Up When It's All Over" Fighting for her life, Riley is rushed to emergency surgery after the assassination attempt at Liam's funeral; her friends remain close by
Chapter 6: "... Everything's Turned Upside Down" Drake Walker leaves Cordonia for Texas; Queen Riley receives upsetting news that could put her life in jeopardy; Olivia calls upon an old friend when she discovers something peculiar about Liam's death
@mskaneko thank you so so much for your kind words 💕
There will definitely be more! I don’t have character tag lists but I can tag you in my various Drake fics and if you like them, let me know and I’ll just add you to those fic tag lists?
Author Note: I’m relatively new to this fandom, having written a lot elsewhere and it has occurred to me that I have a serious skills shortage in the banging department. My sex scenes occur only as plot devices and usually where there are intense feelings involved. Why am I like this? I don’t know. This is my attempt to cure myself of some inhibitions – and hopefully we can all have some fun while I do so. The story is not safe for work. Read at your peril.
I would like to thank the wonderful @fullbeaumonty for convincing me that people might be interested in this.
1. Circle of friends
The party is in full swing when they begin to withdraw.
The former Queen’s birthday festivities have brought out every noble in Cordonia. Some are there to support her – it’s the first time she’s aged a year without Constantine by her side. Others are there to make sure that the new King and Queen remember who their allies are.
Everyone is there to have a good time.
It’s a rager - just shy of midnight and the dancefloor is full. The waltzing happened earlier, back when the guests were sober and courtly protocol was still observed. The alcohol flows freely and modern music blasts across the ballroom, a resonating bass that sees hips swinging and bodies moving closer and closer together.
It’s the King that gives them their cue, kissing his stepmother goodnight as if to head to bed.
Between her days as a kpop star and secretly moonlighting as a demon hunter, Rumi’s
body had been through the wringer. From the grueling practices with intricate
choreography that were endless. To the interviews and performances on social media
platforms, variety shows, international television and community events like parades &
fairs. Follow that up with the nonstop touring. Oh the months of continuous global
touring had been brutal. Sore aching muscles, stress fractures, blisters, sprains,
dislocated fingers, toes and even shoulders. Nothing could stop her from pushing
through the exhaustion, debilitating cramps, dehydration, stomach bugs, food poisoning
and flu to perform in sold out arenas. She’d pushed herself past her breaking point so
many times…..for the fans. Anything for the fans.
Add to that the perks of keeping the world safe from GwiMa and his demon army. The
bruising hid by concealer, the cuts that occasionally required stitches, the mild
concussions demanding more rest than she ever allowed herself to take. Skydiving from
planes and fighting on top of moving trains, the pain never seemed to be that bad. Not
back then, it was all just in a day's work, really.
But this.
This was the worst pain she’d ever experienced in her entire life. A pain she was
positive would take her out any minute now. In fact, she almost hoped it would put her
out of her misery. There was a small voice inside that told her she’d be ok at the end of
it all, but that seemed so impossible in the midst of her agony. The pain was
everywhere, squeezing like a vice whose grip got tighter and tighter. She could barely
breathe, let alone talk.
She had been waddling back from the en suite bathroom when the pain nearly doubled
her over. Jinu quickly stepped in and it was his strength keeping her upright, he
hunched forward, hands resting gingerly on her waistline. The crown of her head was
on his chest, her arms around his neck as she hung on for dear life.
“Rumi. Baby. You have to breathe.” Jinu coaxed and was met with an angry intake of
breath.
“That’s it. Now exhale slowly.” Jinu demonstrated this by taking a deep breath and
releasing it gradually.
Rumi rolled her eyes but complied, in too much pain for a snappy retort. If she could
speak, he would have had an earful of choice words.
“Good, good. Again.”
Oh for pete’s sake. She thought to herself. I know how to breathe you ass.
“C’mon Rumi,” he pleaded firmly. “You gotta breathe.”
The pain intensified, spreading around her torso, to her back and down her hips so quickly all she could do was hang on tighter.
Admittedly, she knew Jinu was right. Breathing was good for pain management and oxygen flow and blah blah blah. She didn’t want to hear any of that noise right now, she just wanted this to be over.
“Rumi,” he pleaded firmly. “Baby, please. Inhale, exhale. It’s not that hard.”
OMG! She cried internally. Would you shut up already? She took another deep breath for no other reason than to shut him up.
He had some big balls, she fumed. Chastising her about breathing correctly when this was all his fault anyway. He’d done this to her.
“Now release,” he instructed. He droned on about the importance of benefits of proper breathing techniques.
Suddenly all at once, Jinu’s voice was annoying her. She just wanted him quiet. He needed to stop talking. The image popped in her head. Just one swipe of her Saingeom would put an end to his “helpful” rambling. Yeah she’d take his head clear off his shoulders. That would definitely shut him up.
A Kool-Aid smile spread across her face at the thought. It wasn’t nice, especially when he was doing his best to be there for her. But it did help her finally focus on the training she’d paid for.
Moments later she felt the power of the contraction release her. She was free. For a few minutes at least.
“That was a strong one, huh?”
“This is all your fault,” Rumi complained when her voice returned.
Jinu grunted in acknowledgement, a cheeky smile forming.
“If memory serves me correctly,” Jinu started, hands now rubbing her back in firm strokes. “You were the one begging for it.”
Rumi’s head snapped up at this, eyes wide and mouth even wider.
“Excuse me! I – I ” Rumi stammered in disbelief.
“You were extremely demanding that weekend.”
“You’re not doing this right now.”
“But I put in that work.”
“Work? Oh, 5 minutes is work now?”
“I didn’t hear you complaining when I –”Jinu continued
“Handled my business. I took very good care of you that weekend.” He finished with a smirk.
“Took care of me? You kidnapped me!”
“I quelled all of your desires.” he deadpanned.
“Quelled? 1600s much. Who even says that?”
“Enthusiastically and very thoroughly.”
“Dude, don’t flatter yourself.” Rumi scoffed.
“Every. Single. Time.”
He had a teasing grin plastered on his face. While Rumi did her best to hold back her own smile. She failed miserably as a suppressed giggle broke through her facade. His deep chuckle joined hers. Jinu was such a damned menace sometimes. His sense of humor had been the comic relief during the last 26 hours that kept her from quitting this whole ordeal.
Ahhhh, yes. The fateful overnight trip. That long holiday weekend she’d been absolutely ravenous for him. Almost insatiable. They both had been voracious but damn if they hadn’t left exhausted and fulfilled. He’d taunted her from tapping out so yeah, Jinu had left her boneless and walking funny. And quelled. She’d rather eat glass than admit he was right.
Who needs a keychain or magnet when your souvenir is the new life you made.
This went on for several more hours. The ribbing in the breaks between. Them laughing at Jinu’s corny jokes while he fed her ice chips or massaged her back. Making WhatsApp calls to Celine, Bobby and Abby who was traveling back from an Iron Man competition. They even participated in the TikTok baby momma challenge.
Their friends came through, using the back entrance of course. Discreetly as possible. Nobody wanted the fans and paparazzi to get wind of Rujinu’s baby arrival. Those moments, the peace and joy in the midst of the pain made them happy. Their closest friends, folks who’d become family, came to share this pivotal moment with them. Welcoming their first child into the world. WIth controlled chaos, conversation and laughter.
Then, after one extra intense contraction that left Rumi questioning her existence, she felt a pop. A gush of fluid followed, leaving her gazing at the puddle forming under her feet in confusion.
“I – I think my water just broke,” she said shakily.
“Yeah it did.” Jinu confirmed, pressing the call button for the nurse.
Rumi looked up, terror written on her face. “The baby is coming.”
“Yes,” Jinu agreed as he helped her back to the bed.
“I’m scared, Jinu. I don’t think I can do this.” she confessed in a voice shaky with fear.
He pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top of her head. “You can do this Rumi. You’re the strongest person in this room. You’re the strongest person I know.” His gaze was confident and full of love. He knew better than to state the obvious. She had no choice but to do this.
And that’s when ish got real. Rumi thought she’d been in pain earlier, she’d clearly been skirting around the edges. Transition labor was agony. The contractions got progressively worse. Stronger, longer and more draining. It could only be described as torture.
There was no escaping it, only adjusting. Rumi shifted from the birthing ball to the shower to the bed in an attempt to lessen the pain. Jinu joked that the many positions she’d been in rivaled that of the baby making trip and she shot him a death glare. The midwives and everyone in the room did too. That’s when he knew the time was near. He should have read the room.
Nothing truly alleviated the pain of course. It was all encompassing. It was pressurized fire as the baby dropped lower in her pelvis. Her body was being pulled apart with flaming knives and she was a fool for refusing pain meds earlier. Now it was too late.
There were noises coming from her, sounds she had no control over. Loud and primal. She begged someone, anyone to put her out of her misery. “Please, make it stop!” The gas helped take the edge off for as long as she kept the mask on.
Her patterns flaring broke Jinu’s heart. They came to life during their intimate moments, or when she got really excited over something. He’d never seen them dance because she was in pain. But he was there, with the cold towel to wipe her forehead and words of praise. He didn’t flinch when she squeezed his hand with a crushing grip that felt like his bones were breaking. He only wished he could bear their child instead.
“I need to push!” she growled
Everything became a blur. At some point, the guys were ushered out by the nurses. Things were happening around her, the nurses and their gadgets and gizmos, monitoring and measuring reading graphs and dopplers.
She retreated inward and became completely unaware of her surroundings. She was hyperfocused on the animalistic growls that seemed to make it hurt less. The urge to push grew more intense.
“Please, I need to push. Please!”
The nurse checked and sure enough, not only was she 10 cm dilated but the baby had descended further than they expected.
She was tired but the adrenaline rush at finally getting this baby out gave her renewed energy. Dr. Kim came running in, gloved and aproned. “Ruminim, how are you feeling?”
“Please! Get this baby out of me!”
He took his place between her legs. “That’s the spirit. On your next contraction I want you to push to where you feel my hand is ok.”
Rumi nodded and when she felt the next irresistible urge to push, she did. Nothing Rumi could remember felt as good as being able to push. It was such a welcomed relief after suffering through contractions for hours. “Ruminim, push down, through your pelvis. Push into the pressure ok”
Rumi summoned her strength and bore down as hard as she could. Released it. Breathed. Then pushed again. Breathed. Pushed again before the contraction faded.
“Beautiful,” Dr. Kim praised. “Those were excellent pushes, Ruminim.”
For a fuzzy stretch of time, there was nothing but pushing and breathing and resting between in absolute exhaustion. The cycle repeated, again and again and again. Jinu was at her side, praising her efforts, wiping her brow, holding her hand. He wished he could do more.
When Rumi relaxed after an exhausting set of pushes, Dr. Kim smiled up at her.
“You’re doing great. Those are beautiful pushes. It won’t be long until it crowns.”
“You got this, Rumi.” Jinu cheered close to her ear “You’re doing great.”
It continued. Her Pushing, breathing then pushing again before the contraction ended. Along with intense pressure, she started to feel a stinging, stretching pain. It was entirely different from what she’d been experiencing all day. Her scream started low but escalated quickly as the baby’s head became more visible. The burn increased and Rumi stopped pushing automatically so the pain wouldn’t get any worse.
She fell back into the bed, limp from exertion, and wanted it to be over so bad. Jinu rubbed his hand across her shoulders, and offered praises and words of affirmation but he was gutted at his wife’s disposition. He felt utterly powerless to do anything to help alleviate her suffering.
Outside of being her comic relief and her temporary physical support, he felt completely useless. He knew childbirth would be difficult, even with all the medical advancements, it could be dangerous. It could even be deadly. Surely the survival rates were much more favorable in this century than they were in his, but childbirth was always a risk to a woman’s life. Seeing her in this state, and he was responsible, wrecked him. She risked her life to bring this baby into the world and just stood at her side, pain free.
With the next contraction, Dr. Kim told Rumi not to push to prevent tearing.
“Don’t push with this one. We don’t want to force the head through.” Rumi whimpered. Now that she was close to the end, she just wanted to give one last push and have the whole thing over with.
“It hurts!” she cried in protest.
As the contraction built, she tried to channel all her need to push into blowing air out of her lungs instead. Tears stung her eyes as the burning stretch intensified. It fucking hurt so bad.
“That’s the ring of fire, Riley.” Doctor Kim explained, looking up at his patient. “Don’t push, we don’t want you to tear. Just deep breaths, okay?”
She could feel her flesh giving way, stretching even more. Fucking fuck it hurt. It was such a different kind of pain compared to the deep intensity of the contractions. It was sharp. Acute. The burn, the sting didn’t let up and the tears spilled down her cheeks. Shit. Motherfucker. Damn. She was shaking with restraint as another scream ripped from her gut. Fucking hell it hurt so bad.
“Please,” Rumi rasped. “Please, I can’t!”
“You’re doing great, Rumi,” Doctor Kim encouraged.
Rumi didn’t push, she forced herself to breathe through the fire thanks to Jinu’s praise and adoration.
“You got this, my Queen. I’m so proud of you, Rumi. You can do it.” He mimicked the breaths she took so they were breathing in unison. They blew out little pants into the next contraction. A long, shrill cry escaped Rumi, causing the hairs on Jinu’s arms to rise. More of the head appeared, then enough of it emerged for the doctor to suction the baby’s nose and mouth.
For one moment in time, Jinu thought their baby had a beard. It wasn’t until the midwives burst out laughing that he realized he said those words aloud. Thankfully, Rumi hadn’t heard him.
The doctor cleared his throat. He’d heard him too.
“One more contraction and we’ll have the shoulders,” Dr. Kim said with excitement. “Gentle pushes, okay.”
Rumi managed a nod. The pain was blinding, but knowing the end was in her reach gave her the strength to push through. Jinu was in her ear, pouring out heartfelt praise in a voice shaky with emotion. His strong presence beside her was grounding when her world felt it could only focus on one thing.
She was trembling helplessly, soaked with sweat and in more pain than she fathomed was humanly possible. Every part of her body hurt in ways she’d never imagined.
Everything became a blur around her as the last contraction and final push collided. The incredible burn when the shoulders emerged. Then the doctor pulled the baby the rest of the way out.
She fell back in pure exhaustion, barely registering the commotion going on around her. There were cheers from the staff and those present for the birth. Jinu was cradling her in a gentle embrace, sniffles and kisses and words of gratitude flooding from him.
The doctor suctioned more from the baby’s nose and mouth before holding it up for them to see. It was wrinkly and squirmy and covered in stuff. After a moment, it gave a shrill, angry cry. They both laughed.
“You have a beautiful baby girl!” Doctor Kim announced. Their little souvenir was laid on Riley’s bare belly, her face contorted into the most horrendous scowl they had ever seen.
“Happy Birthday, gorgeous,” Jinu began, reaching down to stroke her cheek. “Mi-ja.”
Rumi was sobbing uncontrollably. She had no idea when she started. She just knew she was relieved it was over.
The nurses and doctor were working, doing things that Rumi didn’t have the capacity to follow. Her baby. Her daughter, warm and wiggling, lay on her torso, tiniest thing she’d ever seen. How had something so little caused so much pain?.
“You did it, Rumi. You did it, baby. I love you so much -” Jinu was in her ear, his face wet with the tears he’d been suppressing all day. “I’m so proud of you, my love.”
Mira and Zoey were both crying with joy. Rumi hadn’t even noticed they were still in the room. Romance too. He’d managed to sneak back in once the medical staff were preoccupied with the delivery. He wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to watch a real live birth.
“You are a rock star!” Zoey exclaimed.
Mira, at a loss of words, nodded in agreement.
Once the umbilical cord stopped pulsing, it was clamped and Jinu was given the scissors to cut. He did proudly. The nurses took the baby for vitals while the doctor continued to work on Rumi.
Summary: Jinu doesn't betray Rumi at the Idol Awards.
... It still doesn't work out the way they hope.
Author's Note: Wow, I sure haven't posted fanfic on this journal in a long time. This is potentially a first chapter of a longer piece! It can definitely be a standalone, but depending on if people enjoy the vibes and would like more, I do have loose chapters considered for a fuller fanfic spanning multiple entries with multiple character POVs. Let me know what you think.
No huge warnings in this that you wouldn't know from watching KPDH. There's mental/psychological abuse from a tyrannical fire demon. Unsurprising, probably. Also, this is unapologetically Rujinu-focused. (I will be posting this on Ao3 when it's done with its maintenance.)
The title is also maybe temporary. I think I like it? But maybe not.
"Don't think you can escape what you are."
For a horrifying moment, Jinu realizes he really had thought he could.
The stagnant air that presses down upon him says otherwise. Neon flame had already encircled him where he stood, guillotining any chance of an escape. Beyond the stretch of stone steps that leads to Jinu, the braver demons murmur in a frenzy while others turn submissive and silent at the tone of their master's voice — but Jinu hears none of that. Sees none of it. Blinded by memories, he crumples to his knees upon an altar made of uneven stone, pawing the earth for his sister's hand blindly.
There's nobody there to reclaim his outstretched palm, though.
There is no weeping little girl waiting for him when his vision returns, no devastated mother. Gwi-Ma's tendrils of power, scraping like fingernails against bone, continue to pry around in his throbbing mind; the rumbling laughter behind him speaks to the fire's pleasure at causing him to fumble so helplessly once again — all for a family that died long ago.
Punishment, the word blares in Jinu's thoughts. Punishment for being careless.
He had known Gwi-Ma could've been looking in on him in the human realm. Not always, but often enough. It was hundreds of years ago that he'd learned he couldn't afford to be caught doing anything but what Gwi-Ma expected of him, so he'd crafted a delicate system of how to be — who to be — above ground, and with great care. No more suffering for a misstep on the mortal plane, for following any sense of longing for life beyond the oppressive carpet of the Honmoon. Or, worse: longing for freedom beyond Gwi-Ma.
It had made Jinu a good actor. Quick to provide what was needed of him on the first take.
And with that confidence, the explanations had felt like enough in the moment.
'I'm just leading her on,' he'd say. 'I just need to find her shame, so we can use it. I'm using her. I'm manipulating her — haven't I learned from the best? You don't trust your own teachings?' And each time, Gwi-Ma would hum. Consider. Process. It was an old dance they'd performed together so often over the centuries that Jinu had been confident he could slip by with his bleeding, aching heart unnoticed. Some part of him lied to himself, of course. Some part of him had been such a good actor, he'd even been his own captivated audience.
It was too obvious, though.
The fondness, the burst of love that had lit up his chest when he'd looked into her eyes. The lilting honesty in his voice as it had embraced hers and carried up and over the beautiful lines of light that blanketed Korea… Now, he stares at his trembling fingertips and recalls with pathetic clarity how Rumi's hand had slotted so effortlessly into his own. It felt like something he'd been stripped of for four-hundred years. It felt like what living was supposed to be like.
She'd offered him a fleeting moment of hope, of a freedom that overlooked a vast and beautiful horizon.
The promise of a world beyond the suffering, the guilt, the misery.
"I understand," Jinu finally says, trying in vain to numb himself. "Please, allow me to prove myself. As… you've taught me."
Another song and dance they perform together, when Jinu is caught being insincere in his devotion to his master: grovel in words and actions and hope that he's not picked up and burnt into ash before a horrified audience. Their relationship has always been a wound sewn shut with flimsy thread; one wrong pull of muscle and the whole thing will unfurl. He forces himself to breathe evenly and turn back toward Gwi-Ma, legs wobbling under the weight of everything in his head. As he does Gwi-Ma's flames crackle around him, building sweat on his brow.
"Take off the mask," the fire says.
Jinu's ducks his chin, but he obeys. Pale, healthy skin de-saturates as purple lines creep over his face — an infection in a once human spirit, a symbol of his lies and misdeeds against those who deserved better. Glowing golden eyes cast their miserable stare at the floor. A suffocating silence constricts the very air before his patterns glow and he's unceremoniously forced onto his knees.
"Kneel," Gwi-Ma growls as he falls. Jinu's hands catch him, but the weight of pressure on his back leaves him bent like a straining bow string. The earth is close enough to his face that it cloys his smell, claws scraping on rock rendered the color of flesh by Gwi-Ma's light. His flame dances in staccato rhythm with faint laughter as he tells him, "Ahhh… Stop pouting, Jinu. It's not becoming of a demon so capable as you. Have I not spared you from burning tonight?"
Jinu's downcast mouth twitches.
Gwi-Ma doesn't care for an answer. "This song you've been working on — it's almost done, isn't it?"
Something Gwi-Ma's offering that he can latch onto, Jinu thinks. Something he can use to reorient himself, or else he'll never be able to pull himself out of the burning whirlpool that threatens the humanity left inside him. With focus, his voice becomes disciplined and systematic and cool.
"We haven't completed the ending. It's close, though."
"Look at me," the monster whispers, and Jinu tilts his chin up to obey. "Listen and remember well."
The knot in his throat narrowly goes down as he swallows. "I'm listening."
"And remembering well, my nobi?"
"… I wouldn't dare do otherwise."
Disgust coils in his insides. He's groveling and Gwi-Ma knows it. He can tell by the soft, almost sweet laugh that dislodges from the fiery mass. Lingering outrage at Jinu's flickered hope still paints Gwi-Ma's tone with disdain though, stray embers raining like spittle.
"Living in your mind now — too late, because you're mine now."
Jinu's lips part as a mixture of voices clamor over each other in his head, overlapping with ferocity like a belt lashing on wet skin. He bites back a whimpered breath as his temples throb and ache at the pressure of too much too fast for a meager human mind. Lyrics. Lines are being fed to him with gleeful intent. An unwanted duet, to wipe away all promise of liberation.
Jinu echoes words that were whispered to him four-hundred years ago: "I will make you free when you're all a part of me."
(Jinu watches Rumi's lips move, a smile around every optimistic word… Just them and their song, building effortlessly from each other. It's as natural as breathing. "We could be free," she sings for him, to him, so kindly, "Free…")
Gwi-Ma chisels away the memory of Rumi with each striking word and slots himself there with malice.
"Give me your desire," he mockingly sings to the huddled form on his altar, "Watch me set your world on fire."
("We can't fix it if we never face it." Her hands are warm in his, and for a blissful moment, they're all that exists. Just a swell of promise for a better tomorrow against a secretive night sky. For the first time in four-hundred years, someone looks at him like there's really a chance for a guy like him-)
"내 황홀의 취해, you can't look away," Jinu sings back more forcefully now, heat burning his cheeks, sweat running down stark purple patterns along his jawline.
("Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless," she and he sing. Their voices melt together. He wants to — if he could just tell her…)
"No one is coming to save you," Gwi-Ma hisses.
Far down below the altar steps, the Saja Boys watch, expressions blank.
(He wants to press his lips against hers, thank her for the warmth in his chest. But Gwi-Ma will see, will know. It's too dangerous. But what if it — what if he did let go of it all? His shame, his guilt, that feeling that he'll never be whole again… What if… "Rumi, wait," Jinu calls out. She looks back at him before she can leave, the stars in her eyes. Oh, to believe so deeply-)
Jinu's throat feels tight, and he can't summon the words. The duet with Gwi-Ma feels like sandpaper across his skin.
"You're down on your knees," Gwi-Ma sings. Sings, in a voice that Jinu had once so desperately entrusted with his survival.
(Jinu's smile is slight. "I can't wait to see you on that stage tomorrow."
The moment the words leave his lips, he is ruined.)
Finally allowed to rise to his feet, the final line falls from his lips.
"I'll be your idol."
***
The other boys seem conflicted about the end of their era.
While it's certainly true that the 'Saja Boys' were a means to an end and the work was more grueling than they'd anticipated (interviews, variety shows, fan meet-ups, on and on and on in so short a time-), their work had been a reprieve from all of the wretchedness that often waited down below. This had been the closest thing to freedom that any of them had received in centuries — and why not relish in it? Why not enjoy the purest act of performing, of being adored for voices they had once used to sing to their parents, their aunts and uncles, their siblings?
It was an easy sell when Jinu had approached them. Contrary to popular belief among the other demons, where was no audition to be had. There was no search for the best, brightest performers.
Handsomeness was a requisite, admittedly.
But one doesn't live in the same barren hell for four-hundred years without noticing the distant pull of someone else's voice trapped in song, and Jinu had noted them distantly in the past. Had never approached them, naturally. He had been skittish at the thought of caring about another breakable thing ever again to consider friends or lovers.
Even the tiger and bird had to fight for his affections when they first floated into his life.
But he did listen, any time a demon opened their mouth to sing.
He listened very, very closely to voices when they would carry over the craggy rock that jutted up all over that wasteland. Their songs were so often distant melodies, with lyrics lost to the passages of time, thick with homesickness that Jinu had on occasion escaped into fleetingly. Bolstered by confidence in his plan, he'd approached each demon one by one: Abby Saja had agreed before Jinu could get his pitch out in full. Romance Saja had to consider it for an entire fortnight. Mystery gave no answer, and yet appeared the day he was due. And Baby? Baby had shrugged and eventually conceded that he'd had nothing better to do.
And so it went. Five leashed souls who had very few attachments, if any, and certainly none when it came to one another. But that's how demons are forced to exist. They find joys in the simple things, perhaps even share amused or devious smiles or a mutual understanding. Then they prepare themselves for the inevitable moment those small pleasures and budding relationships are burned to cinder in front of them.
They partook in something dangerously close to mortal life, and they pleased their master as they danced on that dangerous precipice between success and failure, between reward and torture. And soon they would win. They were almost elated by the thought of so many souls being culled tonight.
If you had asked any of them, it was never truly malicious or personal. Jinu had known that feeling himself, after all. None of them had sought to harm until harm sought them, and once a person's been beaten into the dirt and trained to loathe so many parts of themselves, it's easy to find comfort in the intoxicating flavor of a soul as it runs down one's throat.
A momentary high. A reprieve. A chance to be commended by the devil that had distorted them, even if such pride in their efforts would surely rot into disdain for their tarnished souls..
Evil. Irredeemable. Monsters.
For tonight, they could all be desirable to demon and human alike. They could be revered for those fleeting moments in front of a backing track, and then think of all of the mercy that their master would bestow upon them like medals of honor. The voices in their heads would lessen. The realm would never be hungry again. And then… maybe there would be a moment permitted to rest.
Or at least, that's what the plan is supposed to be.
In their small, bright changing room and dressed in shades of black, Jinu peers back at himself in the mirror of his vanity. The memory of Rumi's hopeful smile clutches one wrist, while Gwi-Ma's smoldering heat shackles the other. They tug his mind back and forth relentlessly, all while he sits so very still and studies the shadows across the plains of his face. He's tired, but the glamour of his human mask hides it all behind smooth, perfect skin.
What now?
Here, in one hand: Rumi's peaceful gaze, telling him everything would be okay.
Here, in the other cold, clawed hand: Gwi-Ma's promise of pain if he dared help them.
He can hear them, melting together.
A beautiful voice raising in song for him.
A young voice begging for her brother to come back.
He buries his face in his hands and sits in the silence as the clock ticks down the seconds. It's not until he feels the press of a cold, wet nose and soft fur into his arm that he sucks in a surprised breath, turns his attention to his tiger. Unnamed but not unloved, the beast usually seems to smile with those crooked, odd teeth. Perhaps it's just a trick of his plagued mind, but it doesn't seem to be the case now. Is that concern in his feline eyes?
Sliding his hand over the crown of his large fuzzy head, the corners of Jinu's lips turn up weakly.
"What do you think, old friend?" he asks wearily, with claws summoned to scratch beneath the tiger's chin. "Would the Honmoon save a guy like me?"
***
Rumi's voice soars with confidence.
Light bounces off every angle of her. Rhinestones on her cuffs twinkle like the stars that have returned to her eyes. Gold tassels bounce as she raises her arms, saintly, glowing warm with adoration for her fans, for her friends who prepare to join the stage with her. There is no fear. Just jubilation. Just the auditorium and the taste of a Golden Honmoon on their lips.
"I'm done hiding, now I'm shining, like I'm born to be…" she sings; the crowd joins in with her, harmonizing effortlessly as their souls glow blue and beautiful with inherent power — a sea of happiness and undivided connection. Jinu nudges through the crowd until he's pressed up against the barrier, clutching his aching side beneath his jacket. There would be no demons to steal Zoey and Mira's face. No Takedown to bare Rumi's shame to the world. He can already imagine the looks of anger and betrayal on the Saja Boys' faces, when they realize they'd been led too far astray by his lies to prevent what happens next.
It doesn't matter. Not anymore.
The fans scream and giggle in ecstasy around him. It's so palpable, he's not even sure they'd notice him without his raised hood. If he's honest, he also can't take his eyes off of Rumi as she belts out their hunter's mantra with pride. "… and I know I believe!"
The other two girls appear beside her as the backing track swells exuberantly, and soon their three-part harmony carries through the speakers, through the very air itself. Huntrix moves with fluidity, moons around a sun, three parts of a whole: a perfect, cohesive performance, carefully practiced to delight the very energy that safeguards the planet.
The golden threads of the Honmoon flutter in anticipation at the promise of finality.
They're so close. Freedom, just at the tips of their fingers. It fills Jinu's chest with something warm, so much so that his mouth falls open as he croons the words back. "Up, up, up, with our voices, 영원히 깨질 수 없는…"
As if a lantern through thick fog, Rumi sees his the glow of his blue soul before she sees Jinu's face among the crowd. His soft brown eyes look back in fluttering relief. Relief and — something more, something both had felt as they'd floated in their own delight together, hand in hand, yearning for freedoms neither had been allowed for so long. No more fighting, no more pain, no more secrets.
Her eyes lift into happy crescents as she sings at him — for him. "You know that it's our time, no fears, no lies…"
— and even with the distance between them, he couldn't help but reach his hand out to her with longing to feel the warmth of it again.
Rumi reaches back.
Their golden Honmoon rolls across the earth in a beautiful, intricate wave.
"That's who we're born to be…!"
The last thing Jinu sees before the blanket of gold light violently pushes him back down into the earth is Rumi's horrified expression, just beyond her outstretched, empty hand.
Ah… Well, his downhearted thoughts whisper, just before his body makes impact with an unyielding stone altar. It was nice to dream, anyway.
Cordonian Key Party: Chapter 4 - Scientific Research (Part 3)
A/N: This is a story about a sex party and is NSFW. You have been warned! Strictly adults only. This is the seventh chapter in this series and the third chapter featuring Maxwell and Madeleine. It’s a long chapter. Grab a glass of wine.
Thank you to @debramcg1106 for pre-reading and supporting and inspiring me.
4. Scientific Research (Part 3)
There are eleven steps between Madeleine’s balcony and her bed. Madeleine has never had reason to count them before, but Maxwell kissing her every time they move makes her acutely aware of the distance.
Not that she minds. Each time he brings his lips to hers she remembers what he has just said.
Author Note: I’m relatively new to this fandom, having written a lot elsewhere and it has occurred to me that I have a serious skills shortage in the banging department. My sex scenes occur only as plot devices and usually where there are intense feelings involved. Why am I like this? I don’t know. This is my attempt to cure myself of some inhibitions – and hopefully we can all have some fun while I do so. The story is not safe for work. Read at your peril.
I would like to thank the wonderful @fullbeaumonty for convincing me that people might be interested in this.
1. Circle of friends
The party is in full swing when they begin to withdraw.
The former Queen’s birthday festivities have brought out every noble in Cordonia. Some are there to support her – it’s the first time she’s aged a year without Constantine by her side. Others are there to make sure that the new King and Queen remember who their allies are.
Everyone is there to have a good time.
It’s a rager - just shy of midnight and the dancefloor is full. The waltzing happened earlier, back when the guests were sober and courtly protocol was still observed. The alcohol flows freely and modern music blasts across the ballroom, a resonating bass that sees hips swinging and bodies moving closer and closer together.
It’s the King that gives them their cue, kissing his stepmother goodnight as if to head to bed.
Cordonian Key Party - Chapter 3: Hardcore (Part 1)
A/N1: This is not safe for work.
A/N2: I got my account back after being blurred out on Monday and I’m posting this in celebration. Thank you to everyone who reassured me when I freaked out about this chapter. I have split the chapter into two parts as it was so very long and the second half is undergoing a major rewrite. Special thanks to @zaffrenotes for helping me work out what needed to happen to push this first part of the chapter along, and also to @fullbeaumonty for pre-reading my work and convincing me that it’s worth sharing <3
A/N: Do not read if you do not want spoilers. This is a mini fic (a little over 1000 words) set after the end of CKP. It follows Maxwell’s story. Because I don’t write chronologically I have all sorts of CKP content all over the place. It might be a while before the next chapter is posted due to personal and professional challenges I’m facing at the moment. Hopefully this tides people over.
Maxwell knocks on the open door but he is already inside as he speaks.
The characters belong to Pixelberry and the train wreck below belongs to me. This is the second part of this story. You can read Part 1 here.
Hopefully the remaining three parts will be posted Thursday, Friday and Saturday with the epilogue on Sunday. This is my first time posting a story on tumblr so please let me know if I’ve done something wrong.
ii. First and thirst
They go home to Beaumont Manor. Maxwell is dubbed a guardian of the realm – whatever that means - but he is as aimless as he ever has been.
He spends his days playing with Bartie, who calls him “Unca” and gives smiles that are reserved only for him. Time with Bartie becomes the highlight of every morning and he tries not to ask himself whether his affections would differ if his nephew was sired by Bertrand and someone else; if Bartie wasn’t hers.
He hears them sometimes. Once in the study and another time in their room, their flesh slapping against each other and Savannah sighing Bertrand’s name. His chests tightens but he doesn’t walk away. Instead he stays rooted to the floor, listening to their happiness and accepting that it means he will never have his own.
