Consider this, you have been unknowingly pursued by two fae from differing courts, both eager to have you indebted to them or under their control for different reasons, but no matter what they do or how they have tried to trick you, it just won't work.
Not in the sense that you're immune to the laws of the fae and the tricks they play.
But more like you keep just barely sidestepping their traps, one asks you for your name one day when you bump into them in the park, skin just a few shades too light, almost translucent, just a bit too human to be normal and eyes too dark for the bright daylight around you, and you laugh softly before telling them they could shout 'hey you!' and you'd probably respond, another time one asks you to eat with them, teeth sharp and lips pulled back into more a snarl than smile as you hum and regretfully tell them you have just eaten but are happy to give them company while they eat if they really want to keep chatting.
This was meant to be easier! They were meant to be able to have you like any other human in this age, but you are just so empty-headed when they cross your path that they can't get you enthralled, and it drives them mad.
Simple want for a new human thrall in the faewilds becomes an obsession, the two fae pursuing you relentlessly, all while you are off in the clouds about the two oddly pretty people that have started showing interest in you.
hello pookies! i've decided to make my usual High Thots into a drabble a day for kinktober! hopefully i can keep up!
Prompt - Kidnapping | Creature - Fae | WC - 2,418
You knew better than to wander after sunset. Everyone said the woods weren’t safe once the last light bled out of the sky. You thought it was just superstition. A story meant to keep children from straying too far.
But when the forest goes still around you—no crickets, no wind, not even the rustle of leaves—you understand the truth. And by then, it’s already too late.
He steps out from between the trees like he was always there, waiting. Too tall, too beautiful, wrong in a way that makes your stomach drop, smile cutting through the dark like a knife.
“There you are.”
The words are a caress and a command all at once, slipping straight beneath your skin. You try to run, but the ground betrays you, roots writhe like serpents, twisting up your ankles, sinking into your skin until you can’t move. You fight, you kick, but it only makes the bindings bite deeper.
He’s in front of you before you can draw a breath, fingers closing around your jaw with cold precision. Not cruel, not yet. Just claiming.
“I warned them to keep you from me,” he murmurs, voice threaded with amusement, with hunger. His eyes glitter with inhuman light, fixed on your face as though he’s memorizing every flicker of fear. “But you were curious. And curiosity, little mortal, is the doorway I walk through.”
The world wrenches sideways when he pulls you close. Shadows close over the trees, swallowing them whole until you’re standing somewhere else entirely. Stone halls, endless, dripping with candlelight that doesn’t burn. The air tastes too sweet, too thick, and your lungs rebel, desperate for clean air you’ll never breathe again.
The roots release you only to let his hand take their place. He slides his grip down to your wrist, holding you with terrifying ease. Like he’s not restraining you at all, just letting you understand you’ll never be strong enough to pull away.
“Struggle for me,” he says, tilting his head as if this is entertainment. “Fight if you want. It will not save you, but it will please me to watch.”
You open your mouth to scream, and his smile blooms sharp, delighted, terrible.
“Yes,” he purrs. “Sing for me. No one else will ever hear you again.”
The world goes dark, your stomach dropping with a sickening lurch, his clandestine laughter echoing in your skull as you lose consciousness and when you wake…
It’s a beautiful room, high arching stained glass windows, the light filtering through in jeweled bars to where you have been shackled to an ornate bed, legs spread wide on the stone floor with arms pulled taught in front of you. There is no room for movement, no room for struggle. And that sticky laughter curls around you again, long fingers teasing along the bare curve of your ass.
“You don’t know how long I have waited for you to finally come to me,” he murmurs. “The time I have spent trying to lure you deeper, little gem.”
His fingers trace idle shapes over your skin, too cool for warmth but leaving a burning path in their wake anyway. The shackles bite into your wrists as you instinctively try to pull away, the metal creaking but never giving. Every movement only pulls you tighter, exposing you, arching you.
“Look at you,” he croons, voice a low, velvet rasp. “All the warnings, all the prayers, and still you wandered right into my arms.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, twisting against the chains. It’s useless. The cuffs are carved from something older than iron, something that thrums with his magic. And worse, the air itself seems to thicken the longer he touches you, perfumed and heady, sinking under your skin until your thoughts are slow, blurred.
A sound escapes you, a whimper you didn’t mean to make.
“Ah…” His hand slides lower, spanning your hip, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh. “Already trembling.” The pads of his fingers glow faintly, and where they touch you, the same traitorous heat from the forest blooms again, coiling deep in your belly.
You jerk, a choked noise in your throat. “Stop-”
He leans close enough that his hair ghosts your shoulder, his lips just shy of your ear. “I told you to struggle,” he whispers. “I told you it pleases me. But your body… your body is honest.”
The heat spreads with each word. Your nipples tighten, thighs slick with a need that isn’t yours, can’t be yours. You shake your head desperately, tugging at the chains until they cut into your wrists. The scent of moss and flowers is overwhelming now, like a garden left to rot.
He laughs, low and satisfied, and draws one cool fingertip along the seam of your cunt, not quite touching, just tracing circles in the air. The magic follows, a phantom caress that makes you gasp and arch despite yourself.
“Sweet little gem,” he murmurs. “I don’t have to touch you to make you bloom. I only have to ask.”
The phantom touch grows firmer, stroking, circling, until your hips start to rock against it without permission. Tears sting your eyes. You hate it. You hate how good it feels, how your own body betrays you, how the chains rattle with every shuddering breath.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he says, his mouth at your ear again, voice silk over steel. “Tell me, and I will stop. Lie to me, little mortal. I dare you.”
Another wave of unwanted pleasure rolls through you, your muscles quivering, and the sound that tears from your throat isn’t a scream this time but a broken, desperate moan. His laughter curls around you again, triumphant.
“That’s right,” he purrs, pressing a cold palm to your stomach as the magic works you harder. “Sing for me. Fight if you like. In the end you’ll still open for me. It’s what you were made for.”
His palm stays on your stomach, cool and possessive, while the phantom fingers keep working between your thighs. You’re shaking now, hips jerking in tiny, involuntary rolls against the invisible touch. Each movement makes the shackles creak, makes your wrists bite, makes you more aware of how completely you’re pinned.
The fae bends over you, hair brushing your cheek, the scent of him filling your lungs like incense. “I warned you,” he murmurs, and his voice vibrates right down your spine. “Every breath you take in my wood binds you tighter. Every shudder makes you mine.”
The phantom touch presses in, two fingers of pure magic sliding into you, curling, stroking until your knees threaten to buckle. You moan, broken and breathless, and he drinks it in like wine. “That’s it. That’s the sound,” he says softly, almost reverent. “Now open for me.”
He flicks his wrist and the phantom fingers vanish, only for his real hand to replace them. His cool skin drags over your slick heat, thumb circling your clit once, twice, making you jolt. Before you can plead, he presses the head of his cock against you, not human-warm but velvet and cool as riverstone, still thrumming with the same magic that’s been burning you from within.
“No…” you whisper, but the word breaks apart as the invisible pressure inside you surges again, forcing another climax to crest just as he begins to push in. The double assault makes you gasp, arching back against the chains, every muscle trembling.
He slides deeper by inch by tortuous inch, his lips at your ear. “Feel how you take me,” he hisses, voice gone ragged now. “Your body knows before your mind will admit it.”
You’re sobbing now, from overstimulation, from the invasion, from fear, from the way your own muscles clutch at him without permission. The magic doesn’t stop. It keeps working you, stroking every nerve, coaxing every spasm and contraction until you can’t tell where his spell ends and your body begins.
“That’s it,” he croons. “Come until you forget your name.”
The next wave breaks and you convulse around him, clenching tight as he drives the last of himself in with a groan that sounds more animal than man. His fingers dig into your hip, holding you in place while your body shakes, helpless and undone, every breath a sob or a moan.
He doesn’t give you time to recover. He draws back and thrusts again, slow and inexorable, each stroke wringing another broken sound from your throat. His magic coils around you like a net, tightening with each movement, dragging you toward another edge before you’ve even fallen from the last.
“Struggle,” he whispers, almost tender. “But know that you will break before I do.”
And still he moves, cool and relentless, until your body is slick with sweat and your wrists ache in their cuffs and the only thing you can do is arch and sob and come, again and again, while he fills you and whispers your surrender into your ear.
“It was almost too easy to take you,” he growls, his thrusts long and languid, almost unhurried. “And I knew you would be so sweet for me. Little humans are always so soft. So warm.”
Each slide of his hips is a drag of ice and fire, a slow filling that leaves you gasping. His magic coils tighter with every movement, invisible fingers teasing where his cock isn’t, stroking you open even as he claims you. You can feel the glow of it on your skin now, crawling like vines, seeping into your chest, down your thighs, wrapping your heart in invisible threads.
You want to fight, to twist away, but he’s everywhere, his palm on your throat, his nails digging into your skin, his voice pouring into your ear like dark honey. The room smells of him, moss and iron and blooming flowers, until you can taste it on your tongue.
He grinds in deeper, hips rolling, and the invisible caress around your clit turns ruthless. Your body arches despite yourself, a strangled cry spilling from your lips.
“Such a fragile thing,” he murmurs, biting at your shoulder, his teeth just shy of breaking skin. “Yet your body can take me. Can crave me. This is what you’re for.”
The words hit you as hard as the magic does, a pulse that ripples through your belly and down to where you’re stretched around him. He doesn’t speed up, he doesn’t need to. His magic is already pulling you apart, coaxing your body to squeeze and flutter around him, each little tremor drawing a low, satisfied sound from his throat.
“Come again,” he orders softly. His thumb finds your mouth, pressing past your lips, and his other hand slides down to your hip, holding you steady. “Come while I’m inside you. Do it now.”
You shake your head, a sob catching in your throat, but the next roll of his hips pushes right against the spot his magic has been stroking, and your back bows. The pleasure hits like a breaking wave, violent and blinding, your body clenching hard around him as you cry out.
“That’s it,” he purrs, the words shaking with a low growl. “So sweet. So obedient.”
He pulls out just far enough to thrust back in, a deep, slow push that makes you whimper, still twitching from the last climax. His magic doesn’t stop, it pulses with him, building you again, making your muscles quiver.
“I’ll make you come until you can’t even remember what you begged for,” he whispers against your ear. Another thrust. Another shudder. His thumb brushes your clit and you jerk like you’ve been shocked. “And then I’ll fill you until the only thing left inside you is me.”
His pace stays languid but relentless, each stroke dragging out a sound you didn’t know you could make. Your legs shake where they’re spread wide, the shackles rattling faintly with every helpless jerk. His cool breath ghosts over your neck as he murmurs, low and pleased, “Yes. Break for me, little mortal. Break and bloom.”
His rhythm changes. Just slightly at first, the long, languid strokes turning sharper, deeper, a hint of impatience threading through the silk of his control. His breath comes rougher against your throat, and the vines of magic coiled around your body tighten as if they, too, are straining toward something inevitable.
“You feel that?” he growls, voice lower, ragged in a way that makes your stomach twist. “How your body grips me… pulls at me… begging without a word.”
Each thrust now drives harder, hips colliding with yours, the ornate bed beneath you creaking in protest. The phantom touch doesn’t ease, it keeps tormenting your clit, stroking in cruel rhythm with his thrusts, every pass wrenching another sob or cry from your throat.
His hand leaves your hip to tangle in your hair, dragging your head back until your throat is bared, his lips brushing over your pulse. “I could take you forever,” he snarls, teeth grazing your skin. “But I want to feel you break around me as I spill into you.”
He slams deeper, a guttural sound tearing from him, no longer smooth or elegant but raw, feral. The cool velvet of his cock stretches you to the limit, and his magic surges in tandem, pressing you to the edge whether you want it or not.
Your body obeys before your mind can protest, another climax wracks you, shuddering and violent, clenching around him so tightly he groans against your throat. His thrusts grow desperate now, hips snapping, his composure unraveling as he chases his own end.
“Mine,” he snarls, teeth sinking into the curve of your neck at last. Pain flares, sharp and white, mingling with the relentless heat of pleasure as he drives in to the hilt and holds there, grinding deep. The magic coils, snapping tight, and you feel it, the sudden spill of his release, icy and searing all at once, flooding you with something too much like possession to be only physical.
He stays pressed against you, cock buried, chest heaving against your back, his laughter broken now, ragged with triumph. The shackles hum, vibrating with his magic, and the vines caress your trembling skin as though sealing you into him, tying you tighter with every pulse.
When he finally lifts his head, lips glistening with your blood, his smile is sharp enough to cut. “There,” he whispers, still inside you, still throbbing. “Now you’re not just mine in body, but in soul.”
causal dominance sevika who cups the back of your head with her hand, pulling you close to kiss you softly, before pulling you away each time. pulling you away and looking at you with a soft smile before pushing your head back in slowly against her lips. over and over and over again.
Part One: https://writerbyaccident.tumblr.com/post/182816070094/bargains
You sat in the garden, concealed under a weeping willow. At least, you had thought it was a willow tree, until you remembered that willow trees did not have dusky purple leaves. You were slowly becoming acclimated to the strange world you had found yourself trapped in, but that new familiarity brought along its own kind of fear. Fear that you would give in to the temptations of this wiling world, fear that you would forget the life you held before all of this, fear that you would remember, but just not care. That was why you sought refuge in the garden, it was the one place that you could attempt to collect yourself, try to keep your soul from slipping out of your hands.
At the moment, you were writing out your most important memories in the dirt, using a small stick you had found on the ground. You knew better now than to try to break off part of a branch yourself, doing so would only serve to attract the attention of every creature at the palace. The last thing you needed was for your liege to discover your secret ritual. He may not have explicitly forbidden you from sorting through your past, but you knew that that was only due to the fact that he believed this realm would do the work of destroying your memories for him. You paused at the thought, half convinced you hear him approaching. But soon enough your dread passed, and you continued in your task.
You were writing down the names of all of your friends and family that you had left behind, trying not to wonder if they remembered you at all. It was dangerous to be sharing their names, even if it was only with the earth, but it felt even more dangerous to let yourself forget them. Still, you were sure to write their names very small, so that only a person who already knew what they said could tell what they were. In addition, you were also laying in the dirt, covering the names with your body so that no one else could see them, not even the sprites that sometimes enjoyed spying on you. You knew it was a risk to get your gown dirty; he always told you that he could not have his pet appear slovenly before the court, but you knew that any punishment he could give you would be worth enduring. As you wrote down each name, small but precious memories came back to you. The tricks your dog could do, your best friend’s smile, the pancakes your parents would make you each year for your birthday. It took you a minute, but soon you realized that you had begun to cry. They were not sad tears though, not really. They were more of a melancholy nostalgia.
“Why are you crying, my dear?” You looked up, startled. Your sovereign had appeared before you without even the sound of his breath to warn you. He stood above you, looking down in exaggerated consternation. Taking in his sudden arrival, you noticed that his eyes were a haughty silver at the moment, his color for tightly controlled rage. Trying not to avoid his gaze, you slowly moved your hands towards the names, about to wipe them away before he could see. But before you could erase them, he called your name and commanded you to stop.
“Please,” you begged him. He paid no mind to your pleas, and instead moved to see what you had been writing. You prayed that he wouldn’t be able to tell what the words actually said, but your prayers provided little comfort. Peering down at the words, he laughed coldly.
“So this is your little secret? I have to say, I expected something more entertaining from you, pet.” His words were unbothered and condescending, but somewhere in his tone his anger was betrayed. With a frighteningly gentle touch, he grasped your arms and forced you to stand. You dropped your gaze then, afraid of what you might see in his eyes. It could have been rage, or amusement, or triumph; no matter what it was, you knew it would end poorly for you. All you could hope for was that he would spare the names written there.
“I-I just didn’t want to forget,” you whispered, knowing that your cooperation would be necessary in order to obtain mercy for your loved ones.
“But why would you feel the need to hide such a thing from me, love?” he asked mockingly. “I thought you knew our ways. The true power of names is only given when the holder of it gives it freely.” You looked up in desperate hope to see if his words were true, when he suddenly gripped your chin in his iron grip.
“However,” he continued, “I do believe that I could do something with these names.” His eyes began to change into a bright amber, giving him the fitting appearance of a feral animal.
“What are you going to do to them?”
“Well, there are quite a few options. I could visit their dreams, whisper things in their ears, force them to see their greatest fears come to life before them. Or,” he said, leaning to whisper in your ear, “I could show them every single thing that I have done to you here.”
“Please, I’m sorry,” you whimpered. “I won’t do it again, just don’t hurt them.” At your words, he only sighed.
“But you betrayed my trust, pet. I have told you time and time again, I refuse to share you. That includes with memories as well.” In a perverse parody of gentleness, he started to stroke your hair. Despite yourself, you leaned into his delicate touch and let his breaths dance upon your neck. “There is nothing left for you in that world, my dear. Thinking of it will only hurt our chance at happiness. You have given me your name, but until you give me every piece of your being, I cannot make you happy. I would worship you, if only you would let me.” You drank in his sweet words gladly, swaying slightly at their rhythm. They were so tempting, offering you a chance at escape from the cage you had found yourself trapped in. Dimly, you realized that he had begun to trail soft kisses all over your neck, and you closed your eyes in lazy contentment. As his kisses grew more passionate, a thread of heat rose within you, and you were suddenly desperate to feel his lips against yours. You leaned towards him in an attempt to catch his lips, but he moved back with a teasing smile.
“I have a bargain to offer you, little one,” he told you. “I will erase these names from my mind, so that I could not use them even if I wanted to. But in return, you will forget them as well.” You bit your lip in consideration, knowing that the specific wording of the bargain had to be thought over carefully. He was not asking to wipe away your memories, but that was only because he didn’t need to. Once you let go of these names, you knew that your memories would begin to fade with them. Slowly, all of your connection to your past life would be eroded, like a pebble in a stream. Your heart ached at the very thought, and positively roared at the realization that you would agree. You had given up so much already, the prospect of handing over more of yourself to this world and to this man hurt as no physical pain ever would. At your distress, your lord reached forward and cupped his cheek in his hand.
“I do this not to hurt you, love. You know that so long as you hold these memories within you, the pain will never leave. Do you not see-I am the only answer to your suffering, I am the only one who cares enough to heal you.”
“That-that’s not true,” you reminded yourself desperately. “They would save me if they could.” He smiled with patronizing sympathy.
“Then why haven’t they? I did not erase their memories of you, and the friend you saved remembers exactly what happened. And yet, none of them have even tried to find this place, much less find you.” You gave a quiet sob at his words, willing yourself not to believe them. But you knew that the Fae could not lie, so your tears continued, and he began to stroke your hair again. Looking up into his eyes, you saw that they were now a golden brown, warm with fond attachment. There was possessiveness hidden there as well, but you refused to let yourself see it.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “You do not belong there any longer, your home is with me. They are not worthy of you, they never were. You are a jewel among them, why else would I have chosen you? I am the only one who has ever seen your true worth. You are my match in every conceivable way: in your intelligence, in your compassion, in your beauty, in your nobility. Every sacrifice you make for them only proves it further. Let go of them guiltlessly, they are not worth your tears.” His words were gentle, a soothing balm to the anguish that you felt. After so long of trying to keep your walls up around your sovereign, he brought them crumbling down with sorely needed affection.
“All right,” you agreed. “I accept your bargain.” He smiled in gratification, directing you to look down at the soil. To your lack of surprise, the names you had written there had disappeared. You searched yourself for them, and found nothing. The memories were still there, but now they were further away. They no longer demanded your attention and subsequent suffering. Looking back up at your lord, you gave him a small smile. Only then did he meld his lips with yours, enjoying how he could now taste your full reciprocation.
When you bought the lantern, you simply thought it was cute, hanging it in the window of your room and watching as the light caught the tinted glass. The design is unique, and no matter where you look online, you haven't found a similar one. Brushing it off as a one-off creation from some artist, you go about your life with it hanging over your head.
Late one evening, you manage to find the right oil for the lantern, carrying it outside and filling the reserve before striking a match.
What you had expected was the flickering of the flame behind tinted colourful glass; what you got instead was the blooming flash of bright blue flame that morphed into the looming shape of a person. Gentle gloved hands take the lantern from you as the blinding light fades away, blinking and rubbing your eyes before stumbling back from the bright-eyed man standing over you, blue-grey skin smattered with freckles like stars, who smiles down at you.
A mouth full of sharp teeth on display as he purrs about having such a pretty bearer of his lantern. Pointed ears flick and move as this thing focuses on you, stooping down to be face to face with you as he holds your pretty lantern out, cooing to make sure you take good care of him.
You first found it- No, you first found her in the forest, cradled between tree roots napping under the dappled sunlight.
She didn't cry when you approached, you knew about the children of the forest, of the replacements left behind for families that had lost a child, but you're not like them. You've never had a child, let alone a partner to have one with, using every excuse to keep some suitors away from you when they would trek out to you home at the edge of the woods. There is no reason for this child of the woods to be for you, and yet, you scoop her up and carry her home with you, ignoring the whirls like woodgrain and almost knot like patterns at her little joints, uncaring as she makes almost bird like noises over a human babies babbling.
It doesn't matter what family was meant to receive the small changeling fae child, you would be taking care of her from now on.
From between the curtains of leaves her actual parent watches you, large black eyes tracking how you cradled his daughter, smiling as he looks on how you will treat his child. Treasured is the only word he can think of how you treat her, soft sling wraps and small lessons on how to speak as you do, letting her still chirp and warble like the little sparrow you call her, defending her from the others in your town that try to condemn her and you for what she is.
After three years he has seen enough, pulling himself into the human world, treading the path to your home just as you had every time he watched you with his daughter. Tapping long fingers on the wood of your door, avoiding the open braces and handle, smiling as you open the door bouncing his daughter on your hip.
Large, owl-like eyes and deer speckled skin greet you as he steps into your home, too tall and too slim in ways that tell the truth of what he is even before he speaks. Gently taking his daughter from your arms he chirps back at her, nuzzling into her cheek and smiling softly as the faint glamour she had over herself falls away, familiar features between father and daughter show clearly now.
He doesn't ask your name, he already knows it from the town's people he'd seen while watching over his daughter. He simply asks what you call his little bud, nodding along as you call her Obie, a reference to Oberon from the stories of the fae.
Stroking the whirl of wood grain that flows across the little girl's cheeks and neck, he calls her that name and softens more as she lights up giggling and babbling in the human tongue at him as best she can. Looking back at you he smiles and settles into your home, carrying the little girl to the small area with her toys he waits and eventually when the words leave your lips he shudders. You thanked him for letting you care for the little girl, for allowing you to care for Obie and that you understand if he is here to take her home with him.
He tilts his head towards you and softly responds, admitting that you shouldn't have thanked him, eyes soft as he takes your hand and tells you to ready your things and that you will be coming with him past the fog to his home now.
Still smiling as he further explains that he had been so alone since Obie was left in the human world, and it would be cruel to take you away from the little one, so to repay the debt you now owe you will come with him and Obie will have the family she deserves.
The court is a massive open space, with high vaulted ceilings, gold decoration glinting with mage light, and elves, endless swathes of elves. Some have almost translucent skin, others with pigmentation so dark they look like breathing shadows, every tone, tint and shade of elf is here as you and the other delegations of human mages enter.
Countless eyes watch from every corner, black, blue, gold, silver, blazing orange, all watching as you walk with the others. Feeling both over and underdressed for the event, the elves around you were in robes embroidered with starlight and in leathers that glittered with an ore you know humanity would never master the smithing of. Here in this hall, you are the other party, the outsider, and you can feel it in every breath.
Once the titles are called and the delegations are introduced, you move to the sides, and the number of people overwhelms, the scents and sensations mix in a way that makes your skin itch with the beginnings of overstimulation.
You have only just arrived, and it would look rude, impish almost, to leave now.
Sighing as you adjust your robes sash, the drinks that come by aren't for humans, so you ignore tray after tray of colourful bubbling flutes. Instead, you take a glass from a fellow human, ignoring the wink they send your way as they disappear off into the crowd. This is meant to be some grand exchange and interaction between the high families of the elven court and humanity's high mage groups, but all you have managed to do so far is prop up a pillar and watch the crowd move around you.
As such, you startled when the glass dangling between your fingers is snatched away, the tumbler looks strange being held between long silver fingers, as an elf with black eyes and fine white hair sips the drink you'd been holding, humming softly before handing it to the elf on your other side. The other elf looks like they are cast from copper, with patches of oxidised green blue peaking out from their clothes, two of their four fingers fully that deep teal as they take a sip as well.
You spot the emblem on their bracers, a smith's family, though not the same family as the emblems bear different centre pieces. But both families that your particular guild had worked with before, ones whose forges were allied with your archmagos.
A fellow mage passes by, wiggling her eyebrows as she walks arm in arm with an elven woman, mouthing something at you before disappearing behind gauzy curtains. You're confused about what she has said to you as the glass is placed back in your hands; half the drink is gone, but the elves on either side of you watch almost eagerly as you turn the glass and take a sip from the untouched side.
Manners be damned as the glass is passed back and forth again, empty when it reaches you again. You can't think of what to say without being rude, not as the glass slips away with a server replaced by one of the glittering, bubbling elf drinks.
You watch as each elf places a finger beneath the glass you now hold, guiding it towards your lips, eyes crinkling as you realise the trap laid and sprung. It would be beyond rude to refuse the drink. The cold glass touches your lips, and magic slides across your tongue as you sip the strange drink, swallowing thickly as you look between the smug faces of the elves on either side of you.
This was no gathering and exchange for you; this was a well-laid trap, well planned and now slammed shut around you as the two elves share a look of contentment.
Anon asked for bedroom and stars for Puck for the headcannon drabble meme
When Puck lived with the fae, he slept in the forest. His bed suspended by vines high up in the trees. Every night he'd fall asleep to the sounds of nature with sky full of stars and a canpoy of tree sheltering him. It was perfect. Nothing was more beautiful than that sight which he'd fall into the land of dreams with. Nothing was ever going to compare to that.
So when Puck moved to live with the mortals, he had no idea how to recreate that wonderful sight. At first he couldn't sleep. No bedroom seemed right. Not like his forest had. No bed was comfortable. No decoration worked. It wasn't until he found a space that he could work for him that Puck was finally able to sleep once again. Covering the ceiling in a mural of the night sky, stars and all. Then covering the walls of his room in plants, making sure it created a feeling of the forest. That added with his canopy bed that looked like it made into a tree and Puck finally felt like he was back home. His bedroom had his forest and his stars. That way he could live the best of both worlds.
