Milk and honey- Yandere Fae x Fem reader
contains- body possession, folk horror, obsessive behaviour
The sun is streaming above your head as you lean against the old cherry tree on the edge of your master's property, your skirt lifted enough to let the cold air kiss your warm calves. Sweat dripping down through your shift underneath. But it is still beautiful in this moment when the world is still, and there are no pressing matters to turn your head to. No letters to send or fires to bank, in this moment you can breathe.
There will no longer be time for breathing when he returns, you know, he will even if he hasn't written yet. The fighting is over, and there have been parades for him, the knight who single-handedly won the war. You wonder how many grieving mothers and widows feel about such a statement, but that is what he has been called. The hero of the realm itself who walked through smoke and terror to reveal the enemy king's head held aloft in his gauntletted hand. Or so they say, rumours spread faster than messengers. While he hasn't written or sent word, you know that he is going to return soon, to his ailing father and to watch you with that absent gaze of his. Eyes feverishly blue that never seem to find anything to focus on, he is always living within a clouded haze.
The creak of metal behind you made you jump up fiercely, truth be told, you could recognise him from the sound of his breathing, how it would be in complete silence, then the quietest haggard wheeze like air being forced through mud, thick and all-encompassing.
“Young master” you stammer standing up, skirt fling back down to the top of your boots “I did not know you would be back so soon- lets return to the main house and greet your father with the news. He has been waiting for your return since you left,” an empty bed and no note he only walked you the door without turning and nothing was heard until some the first storied from the battlefield came ack of a man who seemed to fight with the strength of an ancient hero. You threw up your breakfast that morning so many years ago when you realised what your actions had done.
“The king told me I could have his daughter. But you are not his daughter,” he says slowly, each word thought out with careful effort, “ I have returned with laurels. I can have you, you can have me.” the voice is not right, you knew it ws not going to be right, that this was still going to be the same kind of wrong as he was when he left his home all those years ago. And you, in your guilt, spent the better part of your youth looking after his father for the guilt of knowing that his son is no longer the person he once was.
Yoy drop your own hope that perhaps your nightmares were just that. But fate could never be so kind to you. “I am not yours, you could never be mine, I have no love at all for you within me,”
“You loved this body once, why not love it now?” You don't know if the confusion is genuine, the halting voice and the stiff movements, a walking suit of armour himself, puppeted by something still unused to a human body after all these years
“You are not the boy I knew.” You meet the face of the interloper; he has removed his helmet, but he still wears the body of your old friend like a mask, and you know the seam, the crack where that spirit seeps out. Even though no one else is none the wiser. “You are the userper wearing his skin for the past ten years,”
“No, that boy … is not here” The eyes focus on you, flashing green as whatever creature that exists within him has finally had enough of pretence in this moment. You think the original occupant must still be inside when the moments happen. When the speech is stilted, fighting to exist and contradicts itself. When the blue becomes green and back again, each soul within is fighting for control. More often than not its the interloper who wins, but the boy you knew is still alive somewhere inside. Fighting for you to hear him when he begs you to just run “, you let him die”, but that boy won't win, you know how this story goes.
“I was a child!” you protest. It's the truth, and so was he a child when the two of you thought to go in the woods that may day morning, knowing every fairytale told to you said to be mindful of what calls the woods home when the veil is at its thinnest. He didn't want to,o but joined you pretending he was not scared. You were too enamoured with the warnings that the adults have given you, that faeries will grant wishes to those who give them gifts, but that will take what they desire as the gift. You didn't think it through, a young girl not yet a woman at the time, but with a head still full of fairytails. You knew your wish, to be married to a hero, one gallant, loving, gentle and strong. A knight, as all knights should aspire to be. There was a honey cake in your hand that you left at the base of the old fabric-covered tree as you made your wish out loud. Not noticing the sudden cold air surrounding the tow of you until too late, when whatever creature that decided to answer your call ignored the honeycake for something much more substantial and indulgent. A body.
“You made a wish for me, and I heard you”, a different voice now, one not in sync with his lips, but one you can still hear inside your head. No longer playing puppetmaster, the faery finally speaks as he wishes
“You led the vessel to me, and I took form inside the boy. You requested a hero to love you, and you called forth a hero. I proved myself to you. Now, this vessel and this realm are of no use to me. You now have your hero,” he smiles without any fight or strain as the eyes settle firmly green. “I will now have my bride.”
ellievsbear
yousharknotpass
annaxmalina
