Summary: an absurdist satirical crack-fic in which you are on Sertraline, and Hazel Callahan tries to make you come.
Pairing: hazel callahan x reader
Contains: mature language and content, oral sex (reader receiving), satirical smut, antidepressants, voyeurism if you squint, reader isn’t described as fem or masc
Word Count: 2.3k
A/N: based on personal experience
———
Hazel Callahan was eating you out.
For the first time.
Before you’d even started dating, she’d sworn up and down that she’d never had a girlfriend before, never even had a proper kiss aside from those middle-school rounds of spin the bottle in Stella-Rebecca’s basement—and even then, she could hardly admit that, technically, her first kiss had been Tim of all people.
But here she was—her head between your legs while you were sprawled out on her indigo sheets—using every technique she had picked up from poorly-written AO3 smut to lap at your clit with perfect precision.
At least… perfect in theory. She was hitting all the right spots, using the right pressure, doing everything right.
And it felt… fine.
But…
“Are you close?” she groaned, a little breathless.
You laughed.
Like the sick son of a bitch you are, you laughed.
Her head popped up in an instant, big blue eyes flashing with confusion and hurt.
“What?” she asked, voice small. “Am I doing something wrong?”
What the hell is wrong with you?
“No! No. God, no. I’m sorry,” you said quickly, brushing away the bangs that clung to her damp forehead.
“Then why did you laugh at me?”
“I didn’t mean to.” A rueful sigh left your lips. “I just… I’m on a lot of medication—”
“Oh yeah? Me too. I take Adderall during the school year, but my mom said I can take a break during the summer months because—”
“No, Hazel, uh…” you chuckled softly, fingers still threaded through her messy hair. “I mean… I take Sertraline. Like a lot of it.”
“Oh.”
“So… I can’t come. Like, physically.”
“Oh!” She sat up, seemingly deep in thought as she toyed with your folded legs. “Like… ever?”
“I mean, I can by myself, but even that takes awhile. I’ve never been able to with a partner.”
She nodded, slow and silent. Her eyes went cloudy—the way they always did when she was thinking—cerulean windows to the gears turning within her analytical mind.
Then—
“What if I wanted to be the one to make that happen?”
You laughed again—like a stupid bitch who hadn’t learned their lesson earlier.
But this time, she didn’t flinch. “I’m serious.”
“I mean…” another chuckle. “You’d have to be down there for like, hours, probably.”
“So?”
You blinked.
Oh.
Oh.
Her gaze dropped, shyly tracing shapes into the skin of your thigh.
“Can I…?” she murmured.
You thought for a moment—then realized there was nothing to think about. Hazel fucking Callahan—the hottest loser lesbian on this side of New Orleans—was offering herself up as your own personal fuck toy, batteries included and infinite life.
What did you have to lose?
“Go nuts,” you said, settling back.
Your legs went through a divorce—the second one Hazel had caused, if her mom were there to weigh in.
———
You were certain Hazel would have given up after an hour—maybe two. Previous partners always had, usually with an apologetic shrug and a “sorry, I tried.” But your girl stayed true to her word—four hours in, and her lips were still wrapped around your clit like a red silk ribbon on a Christmas gift.
That fact alone would’ve made you come.
…if you could, of course.
“How are you not bored?” you asked.
“Are you kidding?” she gazed up at you, grinning, mouth shining with your slick. “How could I be? My favorite thing ever is like, right in my face.”
You decided not to argue with that logic.
———
Another three hours had passed. Seven hours of lying still on your back, and as much as you tried to hide it, you had grown restless.
“Are you bored?” Hazel asked.
“No…” you lied.
She paused her ministrations, lifting her head. “You are bored.”
Jesus fucking Christ, was your acting so bad that even Hazel could read your body language? You made a mental note to send an apology to your middle-school drama teacher.
A handwritten apology.
On your mom’s good stationary.
“Fine,” you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows. “But I’m not bored. Maybe just a little… understimulated. Mentally.”
“I get it, don’t worry.” Hazel gestured behind her to the 64-inch flat screen mounted on the wall. “Wanna put something on while I do this?”
“Is that okay?”
“Sure,” she said, grabbing the remote from her nightstand and passing it to you before settling back between your legs.
You flipped through her streaming platforms—god, she had so many—finally landing on Hulu, and it wasn’t long before Cindy Fee’s “Thank You for Being a Friend” filtered through the speakers.
She lifted her head again. “The Golden Girls?”
“Yeah?”
“You wanna watch The Golden Girls while I eat you out?”
“Yeah? Is that a problem?”
“No,” she said with a shrug, scratching the back of her neck. “It just… seems like an odd fit for the moment?”
“Well, what would be a good fit then?”
Her forehead creased in thought.
“You know what? Good point,” she said, and resumed her work.
———
“Do you think I’m more of a Dorothy or a Blanche?” you asked at the top of the eleventh hour. “You’re definitely a Rose.”
Hazel huffed against your clit, and your body shivered—were you getting more sensitive?
“Okay, talk to me,” she groaned, bending backward to crack her back. “What could I do to help you… you know… get there?”
You muted the TV—right before Rose launched into one of her famous St. Olaf monologues—and hummed in thought.
“Hmmm… maybe I could use some encouragement?”
“Consider it done,” she said, whipping out her phone and typing fervently.
You craned your neck. “What are you—?”
“Don’t worry about it.” She hit send and grinned up at you. “I’ve got you.”
You didn’t have to stay curious for long. Minutes later, Stella-Rebecca, Isabel, Brittany, and the rest of the Rockbridge Falls cheer squad came bursting through the door—shaking their pom-poms and squealing like sirens.
“What the fuck?!” you shrieked, yanking at the blanket to cover yourself.
Hazel blinked innocently. “What?”
“What do you mean ‘what?!’ Hazel, our high school’s entire cheer squad is here, and my cunt is out!”
“Don’t worry, girl! Nothing we haven’t seen before!” Stella-Rebecca chirped, flashing teeth as bright as her voice. “You’d be surprised how often we do this.”
Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Just last week, Annie hired us to stand outside Planned Parenthood with her and modify our cheers into protests,” Brittany said, shuddering. “We’d much rather be here.”
“But what about—?” you gestured to your bare lower half.
Isabel waved you off. “Please. Sylvie has us cheer on her solo sessions, like, every other day. This is nothing.”
“I swear, we’ve cheered for everything except sports at this point,” Brittany murmured.
You hesitated, glancing down at Hazel.
She shrugged. “You said some encouragement might help.”
Your eyes narrowed back at the cheerleaders. “And how do I know you won't tell anyone?”
“Have you never heard of cheerleader-patient confidentiality?” Stella-Rebecca gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.
“But you said Sylvie—”
“Sylvie signed a release form,” Isabel cut in. “I think her exact words were, ‘I don’t care who knows that I rub my snatch. In fact, I want them to know.’”
You had to admit—your general discomfort was being outweighed by your relentless curiosity.
“Fine,” you huffed, laying back. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Stella-Rebecca beamed, squeezing herself to the front of a V-formation—cramped within the confines of Hazel’s bedroom.
“Five! Six!” she called out, clapping her pom-poms together as the others joined.
“Five. Six. Seven. Eight!
There she is! There’s our queen!
We heard she’s on sertraline!
O! R! G! To the A! S! M!
She just has to find her rhythm!”
“Not bad,” you said. “Maybe try a chant with my name?”
Brittany rolled her eyes. “Girl, you know nothing rhymes with your name.”
You sighed. “True.”
“We could try that other one?” Isabel suggested. “The one Josie likes?”
You blinked. God, they really did do this often.
“Let’s do it.” Stella-Rebecca nodded, resetting her stance. “Ready? Ok!”
“Senses blocked? We don’t care!
Hazel’s gonna get you there!
C! O! M! E!
Hazel’s gonna make you scream!
Gooooooo Hazel!!”
“I feel like that one was more for me than her,” Hazel piped up.
You shrugged, shifting your hips. “I don’t know. It’s kinda doing it for me.”
Hazel’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Shit, ok.” She settled back between your legs and made a little wind-up gesture at the cheerleaders. “From the top.”
———
Seventeen hours had come and gone, and the cheer squad had all but lost their voices. They’d collapsed in a heap on the floor, moaning more from exhaustion than you ever had from sex.
“Hazel,” Stella-Rebecca whined. “We do charge by the hour, you know.”
If Hazel felt even a fraction of their exhaustion, she didn’t show it. Her tongue stayed relentless, and she didn’t bother glancing their way as she waved them off.
A collective groan rose from the pile.
“Told you we should’ve unionized…” Brittany mumbled.
Meanwhile—though you didn't think it possible—the longer Hazel stayed at it, the more your blood actually began to flow. You weren’t close, not really, but you were closer than you’d ever been with a partner.
“Hazel…” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”
And ironically, Hazel froze—only for a moment—before diving right back in. Her lips sealed around your clit, sucking with the wild determination of someone convinced you’d been snakebitten.
Your fingers tightened in her hair. “Fuck… just like that, please.”
Again, Hazel didn't bother lifting her head when she gestured frantically back at the cheerleaders—much to their misery.
“Okay ladies…” Stella-Rebecca relented, dragging herself and the team upright. “Ready? Ok.”
“We’ve gone into overtime,
So sorry if this doesn’t rhyme.
We know you’re on sertraline,
Until now we’ve had empathy!
But this is nothing like Sylvie,
‘Cause we’ve been here for hours, please!
T! I! R! E! D!
We’re tired! Tired!
T! I! R! E! D!
We’re tired! Tired!
Let us goooooooo home!”
“Yeah?” Hazel murmured, glancing up at you.
You nodded. “Getting there. Slowly but surely.”
“What can I do? What… what helps?”
You took in a breath, exhaled. “There is one thing.”
“What? What is it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Her face fell. “Why not?”
“It’s like… this thing. Like a specific AO3 tag I’m into, and it's… really weird. But it always gets me off. Every time.”
“I swear I won’t tell anyone. Or judge.”
“No matter how weird?”
“Cross my heart, really.”
You sighed, then jabbed a finger toward the cheerleaders. “And you promised cheerleader-patient confidentiality!”
Stella-Rebecca raised her hands in surrender, then plugged her ears. The rest of the team followed suit.
You beckoned Hazel close and whispered in her ear.
Her eyes bulged. “That’s what gets you there?!”
“You promised you wouldn’t judge!”
“Yeah, but…” she blinked. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”
“It’s fine,” you said—then paused, both of you suddenly unsure of what to say.
Finally, Hazel spoke. “Honestly? I’m kind of relieved. I was worried it was gonna be, like, pet play or some shit.”
You wrinkled your nose. “God no. I said AO3, not Tumblr.”
“Right,” she chuckled, giving your hips a squeeze. “I mean, if you want to pull that up and look at it while I do this, I don't mind.”
“Really?”
“If that’s what helps, sure.”
You whipped out your phone and pulled up a fic you were already familiar with.
“Take five, ladies,” Hazel said to the cheerleaders, then returned to her mouthwork.
“Jesus, you fucking bitch…” you nearly growled, eyes glued to your screen.
Hazel hummed against you. “Is that a good thing?”
Another groan. “Shut the fuck up.”
She didn’t take offense—she did exactly what she was told. Because maybe, just maybe, being mercilessly used as a human rose toy was her own weird little kink.
The deeper you got into your fic, the more sensitive you became—the better Hazel’s tongue felt, the more your hips shifted on their own. That familiar swelling gathered at your clit, your stomach tightening by the minute.
“Hazel…” you rasped. “I think…
And as much as she wanted to stop for reassurance, or adjust her rhythm, or change tactics altogether—she didn’t. She stayed steady, focused, just as she’d want you to do for her if the roles reversed.
“I think… holy fuck… I think…”
And then it happened.
It was no stronger than a deep breath through blocked sinuses—floating through your stomach and up to your head before tapering off.
“Ok,” you breathed, shutting your phone off. “I’m done.”
Her head lifted. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. Sertraline kinda… numbs the sensation too.”
“Oh.”
You blinked. “Are you disappointed?”
“No! God, no.” She shook her head, kissing along your thighs. “I’m just… really happy you let me do this for you.”
“Are we done?” Stella-Rebecca piped up, sprawled across the floor with the rest of the squad.
Hazel chuckled. “Dismissed. Thanks, you guys.”
“Perfect! Isabel will send your total via Venmo.” Stella-Rebecca’s perkiness returned as the team filed out. She lingered just long enough to drop a business card on the nightstand. “Tell your friends, ok? We also do birthday parties, weddings, baptisms, and funerals.”
“But not horse funerals!” Brittany called back on her way out.
Summary: You were made to believe that your girlfriend, Hazel Callahan, lost her virginity to Stella-Rebecca some years ago. But when the truth is revealed during a game of truth or dare, your trust in her is shattered. What reason did she have to lie, and who did she actually lose her virginity to?
Pairing: loser!virgin!hazel x experienced!reader
Contains: mature language and content, lies, smut, fingering, oral, first time, kissing, drinking, tit play, both receiving, both giving, loser!hazel, sub!hazel, biblically!accurate!hazel, reader isn’t described as fem or masc
Word Count: 6k
A/N: soo one of my pet peeves when reading a hazel fic is when hazel keeps her rings on when fingering the reader and the reader likes it? Listen, I lost my virginity to someone who accidentally kept their rings on and it was painful. I had to ask them to take them off, highly unpleasant. I kinda make fun of that here, I hope some of y’all are ready to get called tf out ;)
“Hazel, truth or dare?”
You squeezed your girlfriend’s hand as PJ sent her a wicked grin. The senior class of the Rockbridge Fight Club had just graduated high school, and the club leaders, PJ and Josie, had decided to celebrate by throwing a party—one last ‘hurrah’ for the founding members. Now, you all sat in a circle in Josie’s dim basement, sipping poorly mixed jungle juice from red solo cups while David Fincher movies played on a vintage television in the background. Truth or dare was, of course, PJ’s idea—perhaps in the hopes that someone would dare her to kiss Brittany.
Hazel returned your squeeze, the cool metal of her rings pressing against your warm skin. “Truth,” she answered.
PJ’s lips curled into such a shit-eating grin, you began to wonder if maybe she really did eat ‘literal shit.’ “Who did you lose your virginity to?”
You smiled, already knowing the answer. Early into dating, you and Hazel had exchanged ‘first-time’ stories: yours had been with some girl at summer camp when you were sixteen, and Hazel had confessed to experimenting with Stella-Rebecca freshman year. She stressed that it was nothing romantic, simply two friends getting their first times out of the way, and then swore you to secrecy for the sake of Stella-Rebecca’s privacy. However, Stella-Rebecca was sitting right there, and you doubted she would appreciate Hazel exposing their previous affair to the entire group.
Sure enough, Hazel’s eyes widened as a blush crept upon her cheeks. “Uhhh…”
Her hand seemed to stiffen within yours, tightening its hold as her rings indented your skin. You glanced across the circle at Stella-Rebecca, who stared at Hazel with an expectant (and somewhat oblivious) smile.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you murmured to Hazel in an attempt to calm her, but her grip only further constricted.
PJ rolled her eyes. “Come on, Hazel, I gave you an easy one. Everyone knows you probably lost it to her,” she gestured towards you.
It was your turn to blush. “Actually, uh…” you looked towards your girlfriend, who seemed to have lost her ability to speak. “We haven’t really, uh…”
PJ gasped as her eyes almost popped out of her head. “No way! You two haven’t jacked each other off yet?”
It was true, you and Hazel had yet to take your relationship to that level. Not like you didn’t try, you had been dating for months, but Hazel seemed to shy away every time you so much as slipped a hand up her shirt. You knew you shouldn’t pressure her, but you were beginning to feel a bit unattractive—after all, Hazel had lost her virginity to a model. How could you possibly compare to that?
Josie, ever the peacemaker, decided to chime in. “Ok PJ, let’s back off a little bit…”
Hazel seemed to relax a bit at Josie’s words. She eased her grip, and you heard her exhale a breath you didn’t know she was holding.
“I have to admit, I’m a little curious myself.” Stella-Rebecca interjected, taking you by surprise. “Hazel never talks about her sex life.”
Your face contorted in confusion. Hazel tensed up again, but your attention was focused on the girl sitting across from you. “What are you talking about?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, sometimes we’ll be hanging out and the topic of sex will come up, and I’ll share some hookup story and she’ll just kind of… change the subject or something.”
There it was again, that familiar burn of envy like acid in your veins. “Maybe she’s jealous,” you suggested, words unintentionally dripping with venom.
Stella-Rebecca furrowed her brow, her expression innocent. “I doubt Hazel would be jealous of my sex life… unfortunately, it has more men than I think either of us would prefer.”
”Well, you were her first.”
“What?!” Stella-Rebecca exclaimed, her jaw dropping in shock. PJ cackled maniacally, clearly having the time of her life.
Hazel’s hand was clamped so tightly around yours that her knuckles were white, but you barely noticed as you stayed fixated on Stella-Rebecca. “I mean… yeah… weren’t you?”
Stella-Rebecca furiously shook her head. “Hazel and I have known each other our whole lives, but never like that. Besides, I didn’t come out as a lesbian until after you two started dating. Why did you think it was me?”
You felt like a complete moron. “I don’t know…” you muttered, glaring at your girlfriend. She refused to meet your gaze, staring down at her lap while shades of crimson painted her features. Her hand was still clasped around yours, but you forcibly removed it, too hurt to want to be touched.
“Ok, so, Hazel’s a prude. Glad we got that out of the way.” PJ sneered.
Josie reached over and smacked her arm. “So are you, PJ. Hypocrite.”
“I am not a prude, I’m a virgin.” PJ corrected. “There’s a difference.”
The game continued once the tension died down. No one dared PJ to kiss Brittany, so when it was her turn again, she took it upon herself to dare Brittany to kiss her, which the poor girl blatantly refused. After that, PJ pretty much lost interest and the game dissipated, with everyone breaking the circle to go off and do their own things. Josie and Isabel were tucked away in a corner, failing to be discreet during a heated makeout session. PJ had joined Brittany on the couch, while Brittany sipped her drink and scrolled through her phone, trying to ignore Pj’s passes. The rest of the girls, including Hazel, huddled in front of the small television, chatting through the David Fincher movies. You, however, stayed back in an attempt to avoid your girlfriend.
“How could she lie to me like that?” You asked Brittany, plopping down on the couch between her and PJ. Rolling her eyes, PJ got up and left the basement, retreating upstairs for whatever reason.
Brittany seemed grateful for your company (and relieved at PJ’s disappearance). “I don’t know, babe,” she said, slinging her arm around you and pulling you close. “I’m sure she had a good reason.”
You groaned pathetically, resting your head on her shoulder. “I can’t think of any.”
Brittany leaned down and kissed the top of your head, sympathetic to your feelings. You glanced over to the television area and saw Hazel staring back at you, watching your interaction with Brittany. She looked sad, not jealous, just sad. Those big blue eyes that would look at you with so much love were now pained, filled with remorse. She sort of resembled a kicked puppy, and every instinct in your body told you to run over and hold her, comfort her, before you remembered why you were angry in the first place.
Before you could force yourself to break your shared gaze, PJ suddenly came bumbling down the stairs again, holding an empty beer bottle. “Look what I found in the kitchen trash!” She exclaimed, commanding the room’s attention.
Josie shook her head in disbelief. “Why were you in my trash?”
“Doesn’t matter! Now we can play ‘seven minutes in heaven!’” PJ declared, moving to the middle of the room and gesturing for everyone to get the circle back together.
Brittany groaned, all too aware that this was just another one of PJ’s stunts to try and get with her. It was your turn to be sympathetic.
“Don’t worry,” you whispered to her. “If the bottle starts to land on you during PJ’s turn, I’ll intercept it.”
Brittany mouthed a ‘thank you’ before taking your hand and walking with you to join the circle. This time, you sat directly across from Hazel, as far away from her as possible. You could feel her sad puppy-dog eyes boring into you, but you refused to meet her gaze.
“Alright,” PJ asserted, rubbing her hands together. “If there’s no volunteers to go first…”
“I think our host should spin first.” Isabel interrupted, looking towards Josie with what could only be described as ‘fuck-me’ eyes.
Josie giggled as she took the bottle from a reluctant PJ and spun it in the center. Everyone watched with anticipation as the bottle slowed, almost stopping in front of Annie before Isabel grabbed it and pointed it towards herself.
“Wow, what a coincidence!” Isabel exclaimed, much to Josie’s amusement.
The two held hands and disappeared into the small coat closet under the basement stairs. PJ rolled her eyes. “It’s no fun if you pick your partners!” She yelled after them.
One thing about 'seven minutes in heaven’ that no one talks about is what the rest of the group does during the seven minutes. Do you talk? Keep playing? Listen in? You certainly didn’t know, and apparently neither did anyone else—with the exception of PJ, who set her phone timer before sitting with her ear pressed to the door.
“So… what’s everyone’s summer plans?” Stella-Rebecca asked in an attempt to fill the silence.
Annie shrugged in response. “Mostly working as a counselor for Vacation Bible School and protesting outside Planned Parenthood. Same old, same old.”
“Would you guys shut up over there?” PJ hissed from across the room. “I’m trying to listen to them fuck!”
Eventually, seven agonizing minutes finished with the screech of PJ’s timer. “Times up, lovebirds!” She shouted, throwing open the door.
The ‘lovebirds’ stumbled out of the closet in a fit of giggles. Both of their clothes were wrinkled, hair disheveled, and Isabel’s lipstick was smeared all over Josie’s mouth. The couple was immediately met with cheers and jeers from the rest of the party as they made their way back to the circle.
“Wow, thanks for warming up the closet for us you two,” PJ snickered. “Now, as for who’s next…”
“Hazel, why don’t you spin?” Isabel suggested, seizing the bottle before PJ could and passing it to Hazel.
“Oh, come on!” PJ complained, having been cockblocked yet again.
The group all shared a chuckle at PJ’s dismay, especially Brittany who was laughing so hard tears began to form. PJ could do nothing but pout until the laughter died down and Hazel reached into the center, spinning the bottle.
Round and round the bottle spun, the group watching with bated breath. The hollow glass rotated, nozzle slowing, slowing until it finally stopped on no other than… you. All previously dissipated tension immediately resurfaced as the room seemed to still, everyone recalling the incident from earlier.
“Yeah, you guys! Go in there and give us absolutely nothing!” PJ sneered, earning another smack on the arm from Josie.
You stared at the bottle, nozzle pointing directly at you, no question about it. Through your peripheral vision, you could see Hazel nervously fidgeting with her rings, unsure of how to proceed.
“Maybe we could… play something else?” Brittany suggested gently.
PJ clapped her hands together. “Nope! Rules are rules. Get in there, you two.” She seized your hands and dragged you to the closet, throwing both of you in before slamming the door.
Hazel kept her gaze fixated on her fidgeting hands while you pretended to be very interested in a small tear on one of the hanging coats. After what felt like an eternity, you checked your watch. Only twelve seconds had passed. You let out a frustrated sigh. “Well, one of us has to say something.”
She glanced towards the door. “How much do you wanna bet PJ is listening in on us?”
You shot her a glare, not finding her joke funny.
“I’m sorry…” Hazel muttered, lowering her head again.
At that moment, all of the hurt, anger, and confusion you had kept bottled up to save face rose to the surface. “Why would you lie to me?” You demanded, using her own line against her.
Her face crumpled upon hearing the true betrayal behind your question. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”
“Hazel, you lied about losing your virginity to Stella-Rebecca. That’s such an odd thing to lie about, it doesn’t make any sense…”
“Ok,” Hazel cut you off. “I didn’t have sex with Stella-Rebecca...”
“No shit,” you spat. “So what, you like, want to?”
“No!” Hazel insisted. “Stella and I are friends. I’ve never thought about her that way.”
“Then why have you had me believing you slept with her?” You hissed, a weak attempt to keep your voice down.
She was at it again, fiddling with those goddamned rings. “I don’t know, I just…” she swallowed, hesitating. “You told me about your first time… at summer camp… and you asked me about mine. We had just started dating. I didn’t want you to think I was inexperienced.”
“Hazel,” you sighed. “You are inexperienced.”
“I mean, like, I didn’t want you to see me as an immature little baby who didn’t know what she was doing, so I panicked and made something up. I shouldn’t have, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear.”
The edges of your anger blurred as you realized fear had driven your girlfriend to a desperate lie. Poor Hazel, she looked shrunken, almost. She had drawn into herself, vulnerability exposed like a house of cards in the wind. You reached out and gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at you and taking her by surprise.
“Hazel,” you cooed. “It’s ok that you’ve never had sex before, I don’t care.”
“Really?” She asked.
You nodded. “Of course I don’t care. I just thought you’d been pushing me away because you didn’t find me that attractive, but…”
“What?!” Hazel’s exclamation took you aback, making you drop your hand. “That’s not it at all! Shit, I was just worried I’d mess up somehow, I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my entire life! I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. No, really! Every time I look at you, I’m like ‘holy fuck, how did I get so lucky…’”
You cut her off by crashing your lips against hers. Her body initially tensed at the sudden contact, but soon melted into yours as it had done so many times before. Your hands found the nape of her neck as you drew her closer, pressing her up against you as much as possible. Lip-locks with Hazel were familiar to you, but never had one been so passionate, so rough and yet reassuring at the same time.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were gasping to catch your breath, realizing you had inadvertently chosen each other over oxygen. You gazed upon Hazel, studying her flushed cheeks, her lustrous lips, and the way her shirt collar sat askew atop her shoulders. With the way she stared back, you could tell you appeared just as rumpled.
“Well that’s good to know,” you giggled, reaching out to fix her collar. “Listen, Hazel, you’re a virgin. So what? I don’t care who you have or haven’t been with before. If you’re not ready yet, that’s perfectly fine, really. I would never pressure you into anything.”
Back at it again with those fucking rings. What the hell could you have possibly said this time?
“That’s the thing…” she began, her gaze fixated to the floor again. “I think I… I think…”
“Hazel…” you whispered her name, placing two fingers on her arm and making her shiver.
“I… I think I am ready. I’ve been ready. For a little while now.”
Your eyes widened at her confession. “Seriously?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I want you… uh, I mean… I want to do it… with you. I just… I don’t… I don’t know how to…” each sputter was paired with imperceptible hand gestures, desperate to communicate something she didn’t have the words to say.
“To… initiate it?” You asked.
“Yes! That!” She sighed, thankful you knew her well enough to understand her babbles. “I mean, should it be planned? Spontaneous? Do I just walk up to you and say ‘hey I wanna have sex?’ Where do I do it? How? Can I just blurt it out of nowhere or does something have to be happening first? If so, then what?”
“Hazel…” she was rambling again. You placed your hands on both sides of her head, smoothing her hair. “There’s no right way to initiate it, trust me. You can just do whatever you’re most comfortable with.”
She met your gaze again, head still caught between your palms. There was something different behind her eyes, though, something besides remorse or even vulnerability. Her brilliant blue’s seemed darker somehow, almost… hungry. You finally caught on when she snuck a glance at your lips, and closed the distance between you.
This kiss was different from the last: still passionate, but gentler, lighter, as if you were exploring for the first time. Her hands found your waist, loosely gripping the fabric of your top. You reciprocated, running your thumb over the hem of her tank top and accidentally brushing over a patch of bare skin. She flinched at the unfamiliarity, and you pulled away.
“Are you ok?” You whispered, forehead pressed against hers. She nodded, half-lidded eyes not leaving your lips. “Can I…?” Your fingers hesitated just under her tank top, barely grazing the skin of her stomach. She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. For the first time in her life, she let her body do the talking as she pressed into you, capturing you in another kiss.
Slowly, surely, your fingers inched up the underside of her tank top. You took the time to trace little shapes into her skin, moving from her waist, to her stomach, to the underside of her rib cage. Her breath hitched with each new touch; Hazel had always been ticklish, but the way your fingertips danced along her torso made her shiver rather than squirm. As her comfortability levels grew, your hand traveled up, further, further…
“Holy shit, they were really gonna fuck!”
PJ’s grating voice startled you apart like an unwelcome infomercial in the dead of night. You glared at your intruder standing in the wide-open doorway, a wicked smirk plastered on her face. “Lose track of time?”
Hazel tugged at your wrists, and it wasn’t until that moment when you realized your hands were still under her tank top (much to PJ’s entertainment). With a mumbled apology, you detached yourself and helped her smooth out the fabric bunched around her ribs. Both of your faces were burning with a mixture of embarrassment and fluster.
“You could’ve knocked, you know…” Hazel muttered, watching the floor as she left the closet.
“I could’ve,” PJ admitted. “But where’s the fun in that?”
The rest of the party watched with amusement as you and Hazel exited the closet. Your flushed features and darting glances did not go unnoticed, prompting a series of snorts and stifled laughter. Forget David Fincher, you two were your own movie.
“So, I assume it’s safe to say you’ve made up?” Josie asked cheekily, squeezing Isabel’s hand, who bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing.
“We sure did,” you said with a sheepish grin.
Brittany couldn’t help but snicker. “Guess that explains your rosy cheeks.”
You exchanged looks with Hazel as an idea suddenly popped into your head. “Actually, Hazel’s cheeks are warm because she doesn’t feel too good.”
“I don’t?” Hazel asked.
“You don’t,” you repeated, shooting her a look. “In fact, oh my, I do feel warm! We must be coming down with something.”
“Wait, but I don’t feel…” Hazel seemed confused until she met your gaze and understood your plan. She raised her hand to her forehead, making a big show of collapsing into the basement wall. “Oh, woe is me! It is true! I seem to have fallen ill! Cough, cough, wheeze!”
You had to fight the corners of your mouth to keep from curling. Jesus, this girl couldn’t act for shit.
“Yes… anyway we need to leave. Right now. We don’t want to get any of you sick.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s the reason,” Josie sent you a knowing smirk.
You grabbed Hazel’s hand and ran with her up the stairs and out of the basement, the partygoers calling after you with whoops, hollers, and exaggerated kissing sounds. As the basement door creaked shut behind you, the last thing you heard was PJ’s whiny complaint. “No fair! Hazel gets pussy before I do?”
The two of you rushed hand-in-hand from Josie’s front door and piled into Hazel’s car, you in the passenger seat as usual.
She turned to you, keeping her free hand on the wheel. “Are your parents home?”
“They never are.”
Hazel had to release your hand to put her car in reverse, pulling out of the driveway like a madwoman. You anticipated her fingers intertwining with yours again, but instead, she reached over and rested her hand on your upper thigh. Her thumb gently brushed across the denim of your jeans, sending flutters through your stomach. Hazel was getting bold.
The drive back to your house was nothing but perilous. Hazel had always been a reckless driver, but the sharp turns and disregarded stop signs were wild even for her. Arriving at your house, she parked haphazardly, jumping out before rushing to throw open your door.
“Well that was fast,” you teased as Hazel helped you out of the car. “Looking forward to something?”
Words seemed to fail her as she silently took your face in her hands, kissing you with the desperation of a castaway grasping for a lifeline. She had you pressed into the passenger door, hips flush against yours. Your palms rested on her collarbone, feeling her rapid heartbeat.
You gently pushed her away, almost swearing you heard the faintest whimper leave her lips. “Why don’t we take this inside?” You suggested, to which Hazel could only nod.
The two of you stumbled into your house, barely taking the time to break away from each other to see where you were going. When you eventually made it to your bedroom, you slammed the door behind you and Hazel thrust you against the white wood. You relaxed into her, expecting more kisses, but looked up to find her features filled with apprehension.
“Hazel…” you whispered, moving your hands to her shoulders. “Is everything ok?”
“Y-yeah…” she stuttered, her gaze dropping slightly. She had seized you by the hips, fingers hooked in your belt loops, hands beginning to tremble.
You gently lifted her jaw. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? It’s ok if you changed your mind…”
“No! No, please. I need you so bad you have no idea…” she cut you off, her confession making you blush. “I just… I don’t… I mean… I’ve watched some porn and read fanfiction but…”
“Hazel, sex isn’t anything like porn or fanfiction.”
“Oh fuck, it isn’t?” She asked in disbelief, her wide eyes making you chuckle.
“Why don’t you let me lead, then?” You suggested, calming her with a tender kiss on her jawline. “Go lay down for me, yeah?”
Hazel did as she was told and moved to lie down on your pale-blue bedspread, a favorite of yours because you thought it matched her eyes. You stayed behind, stripping down to a bra and panties as Hazel watched with unblinking eyes.
“Relax, my love,” you purred, climbing onto the bed and hovering over her. You shifted, hips brushing against hers momentarily, causing Hazel’s eyelids to flutter and a sigh to leave her lips. A smirk crossed your face. “Sensitive, are we?”
Hazel could barely speak through her pathetic little whines. “P-please…”
You planted a sweet kiss on her lips before trailing down to her neck, exploring her soft skin, discovering unknown sensitive spots: her earlobe, the nape of her jaw, along her collarbone. Your fingers flitted underneath the hem of her tank top, creeping up, up, until you felt the cool nylon of her sports bra against your palm. Hazel shuddered at the newfound sensation, and you pulled back.
“Still good?”
“Good,” she breathed. “Yes, good.”
You hooked your finger under the neck of her tank top, coaxing her to sit up slightly. Pinching her shirt collar, you slid it off her shoulders before lifting the bottom of her tank, stopping with it bunched under her armpits. She finished the job for you, and you tossed the shirts aside, not caring where they landed.
Now she was left in a sports bra the color of fog, her nipples erect and poking through the fabric. You slipped two fingers under her band, looking to her for approval. She nodded, letting you peel it off until her tits sprang free.
“Holy shit, Haze,” you muttered, practically drooling at the sight of her naked breasts. Underneath the compressive sports bras, hidden beneath layers of baggy clothing, Hazel had perfect tits: round, firm, with little pink buds sitting like cherries on top of two scoops of vanilla ice cream. “How could you keep these from me?”
Hazel let out a laugh that sounded more like a breath, not entirely sure how to respond. Leaning down, you took one of the swollen buds in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it while palming her other breast. Hazel threw her head back against the pillow, letting out cries of pleasure while her hands entangled themselves in your hair. You took your time, caressing, suckling, exploring every inch of her bare chest, memorizing each unique detail: a freckle on her décolletage, a vaguely mushroom-shaped birthmark hidden beneath her left breast.
She was, for lack of a better word, perfect. You had been so distracted, so deeply buried in her cleavage, that you hadn’t noticed time slipping away until you felt her pressing down on your head. Your name flew from her mouth in a desperate gasp. “I can’t… p-please… keep going…”
“So impatient,” you teased, mouth releasing her nipple with a pop. Hazel only whined in response, bucking against your stomach, hips urgently searching for some kind of release. You smirked, leaving her breasts and peppering kisses down her stomach, stopping when you reached the waistband of her gym shorts.
“Off?” You asked, though it was merely a formality at this point; you already knew the answer. She made a noise of approval, a mix between a groan and a squeak, and shifted her hips to allow you to slip them off her legs.
Now, there stood nothing between you two but the thin cotton of her slate-colored boxers. She was writhing, silently begging you to rip them off and have at her, but you couldn’t help but stop and admire the growing spot of wetness that had accumulated through the fabric. Her hips sputtered, shook, pairing with her pitiful whimpers to plead for attention. You, however, had other plans.
“What’s your rush, Haze? We’ve got all night, don’t we?” You were teasing her now, a wicked grin appearing as your fingertips danced along the elastic band of her boxers.
Her raised pelvis came crashing down onto the bedspread as she cried out in defeat. “Fuck… please… just take them off…”
You frowned, mocking her, using your thumb to gently encircle her clothed cunt. Her head sank further into the pillow, broken moans falling out of her mouth like beads from a shattered necklace.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Hazel. Do you always get this wet?” You asked in disbelief. Her boxers felt like a saturated sponge.
“I don’t know,” she sighed, fighting to keep her speech intelligible. “I don’t think so, maybe. I… I need you… really bad…”
“Need me?” You replied cheekily, wrapping your fingers around the elastic and slipping her boxers off in one quick motion.
Your girlfriend's naked body was now fully on display before you. You had to take a moment, admiring details of the areas she had never let you see before: a small mole on her outer thigh, or the way her hip bones protruded to form little ridges across her pelvis. Her chest heaved, lips parted ever so slightly as she awaited your next move.
“Hazel?”
“Y-yeah?”
“Are you ready?”
She took in a breath, blowing it out big. “More than anything.”
You positioned your head between her legs, leaving feather-light kisses up and down her inner thighs. Her head tossed from side-to-side, body struggling to keep still with your mouth so close to where she needed you. Testing the waters, you ghosted a kiss over her clit, watching as she shuddered upon contact.
God she was sensitive.
Finally taking mercy on her, you licked a long, broad stripe up the length of her cunt, tongue lingering on her clit perhaps a bit longer than necessary. The cries that erupted from her throat were enough to send shocks through your own body. You moved to straddle her leg, grinding against it while you ate her out—a shift not going unnoticed by Hazel, only spurring her forward.
“Ohmygod… Ohmygod fuck…” your name tumbled from her lips amidst her breathless moans. She squirmed under your touch—every lick, each roll against her shin setting her body ablaze. A smirk tugged at your lips as your mouth created a vortex around her clit, causing her eyes to roll back like a slot machine landing on the jackpot.
You didn’t get to do this for very long before her plush thighs enveloped your head. “W-what…? It feels… I think, I think I’m…”
“Breathe, baby girl,” you cooed, never taking your mouth off of her. “Just relax, cum for me. Fuck you’re doing so well…”
Her hands flew back to your scalp, legs shaking, guttural cries erupting from her throat as her orgasm consumed her. Fuck she sounded pretty. Her thighs kept you right where she needed you, only loosening once her breathing evened and she slowly came back to reality.
You lifted your head once her legs collapsed onto your bedspread, her bones feeling like jello. “Was that alright, Haze?” You asked, crawling back up to lay next to her.
“Wow,” she sighed, pupils dilated into big black buttons. “Just wow.” She laid there a moment, silently recovering, wearing a dazed, blissful expression. But then her face shifted into something sour, almost uneasy. “I don’t, I mean… I don’t know how…”
“It’s fine,” you ensured.
“It’s not,” she argued. “I mean, you were… and on my leg…”
“Hey, Hazel,” you brushed her hair back, letting your fingers fall. “We don’t have to do anything else. Tonight was about you.”
“No, no. Please, I wanna fuck you so bad, I’ve been daydreaming about it for so long.”
You couldn’t have blushed harder if you tried.
“I just… I haven’t… like you did with that girl from summer camp. What if I try and it isn’t anything like that?”
“Hazel…” you reached for her face, kissing her reassuringly. “It won’t be anything like it was with her.”
Her face fell. “It won’t?”
“Of course not,” you replied. “What I did with her, it was just sex. Nothing like this, this is completely different.”
“Why?”
You had to gather up the courage to say your next words. “Hazel… I’m in love with you.”
She finally faced you with wide eyes. “You’ve never said that before.”
“I know,” you said. “I’m saying it now.”
That blissful expression from earlier returned to her pretty face. “I love you too.”
You giggled, and she pulled you into another kiss. Her weight shifted until you were on your back, her body covering yours, legs on either side of your hips. She tried to emulate you, peppering kisses down your neck and chest until she reached the satin cusp of your bra.
“How do… uh… I only wear sports bras…”
You sat up, guiding her hands around to your back and helping her unhook your clasp. She slid it off your shoulders and tossed it aside without care, her attention fixated purely on the newly-exposed flesh in front of her. “Holy fuck,” she exclaimed on a sigh.
Another smirk crept across your face. “What? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think these were the first you’d ever seen!”
She shot you an unamused look before diving in, suckling at one of your breasts and pawing at the other. Her eyes stayed unblinking, watching you as your head relaxed further into the pillow and soft sounds spilled from your lips.
“Am I doing ok?” She asked in a whisper.
“More than,” your voice came out soft and sweet, causing the tips of your lover’s ears to tint pink.
Hazel trailed downward, her soft lips leaving kisses all the way down to your stomach, her tousled hair tickling your skin. She paused at your cotton panties, her thumb passing over the fabric with uncertainty.
“Need help taking those off too?” You quipped.
“Definitely not,” she replied, seizing the waistband and sliding them off your legs.
Hazel gazed upon your naked body as if she were an artist, and you her masterpiece. Her hands hesitated before resting on your ribs, fingernails gently scratching down the length of your sides. She bent down, planting kisses on your hip bones, reveling in your quiet whimpers.
“Hazel…” you purred, and she got the message. Her hand slipped between your legs, fingertips tracing your entrance before sliding inside.
“Ouch,” you hissed, sitting up in pain.
Startled, Hazel pulled her hand back. “W-what? What happened? Shit, did I hurt you?”
“Kinda…” you paused, trying to pinpoint the discomfort. It almost felt like she had unraveled a paperclip and impaled your core—an unpleasant sensation you couldn’t explain until you saw…
“Hazel,” you exclaimed with a laugh. “You kept your rings on!”
“Yeah…” she muttered, cradling the hand that burned you. “I thought you liked my rings.”
“I love your rings,” you assured. “Just not inside me.”
“But the characters in the fanfictions I’ve read keep their rings on, and the feedback is always positive!”
There was nothing you could do to stop yourself from giggling at her protest. “Hazel, those fanfictions are written by people who probably haven’t experienced the real thing. Trust me, rings up there? Uncomfortable at best.”
Hazel nodded, mumbling a sheepish apology and removing her rings before slipping two fingers back in. “Better?”
“Much.”
With her confidence temporarily shaken, Hazel began to move against you, slowly, steadily, studying your facial expressions. Each gasp, every subtle twitch helped her gauge what you wanted, what you needed from her. She may have gone in blind, but she was a gifted learner, and you her favorite subject.
Soon after Hazel regained her certainty, you started to feel that familiar ache within your core. “Hazel… doing so good… my pretty girl… I’m so…”
She perked up, still keeping her hands where you seemed to want them. “Really? You mean it? Should I do anything different?”
You were about to shake your head, but stopped when you got an idea. “Do this with your fingers,” you demonstrated by curling your own.
She followed suit, reveling in your little mewls when she scratched against your g-spot.
But you weren’t finished yet. “Fuck… Hazel… almost… now just move your palm…”
You didn’t even get to finish your sentence. Hazel curved her palm, stimulating your clit, and your orgasm crashed over you like a flash flood breaking through a dam. Your back arched, legs shaking, chest heaving as you rode out your climax. Hazel wouldn’t, couldn’t look away; a moment ago she had been naive, inexperienced, but now the prettiest girl she’d ever seen was creaming all over her fingers, and it was all her own doing.
Her movements halted at what she hoped was the right moment. She withdrew her fingers, curiosity overtaking her as she popped them into her mouth and moaned at the taste, instantly regretting not going down on you. Her mind swirled, flashbacks of what just happened mixing with the oblivion of what to do next.
“Hazel,” you said finally. “Come lay down.”
She crawled back up to you, laying her head on the pillow. “Did I do ok?”
You giggled. “You did perfect.”
A grin spread across her face, reaching from ear-to-ear. Her eyelids were already drooping. “I’m so tired.”
“Me too,” you rolled over, wrapping your arm around her waist and nuzzling into her hair. “Go to sleep, my love. You’ve had a big night.”
She snuggled up closer to you, muttering a barely-perceptible ‘I love you’ before drifting off to sleep.
Person with this pfp just viewed my profile. I have seen every single Ruby Cruz media (including the threesome) and I CANNOT place this?? What is this from?
Summary: Will you follow your head, and stay in Tir Asleen to marry Airk and rule your kingdoms together? Or will you go with your heart, and run away with Kit to hide in the valley of Nockmaar?
A/N: we’re finally here… the final chapter. Thank you to everyone who’s supported what is over 30k words of pure lesbian pining. Extra thanks to anyone leaving comments, replies, or messages to tell me how the story has affected you—whether it be positive or negative, your words brightened my day!! Onwards and upwards, onto the next writing process, but until then, without further ado… here’s the Forbidden Crown finale :,)
Kit gazed at her reflection in her bedchamber’s polished mirror, the white satin of her gown flowing around her ankles. She shifted her legs with a grumble, feeling bare beneath the billowing fabric.
“Please hold still, Your Highness,” the seamstress murmured from behind, carefully removing pins from the gown. Kit couldn’t recall her name in the moment. “I wouldn’t wish to prick you.”
With the last pin removed, the seamstress stood and circled Kit, inspecting every inch of the newly-finished garment, The way the lace dipped low at her back before forming sleeves that cascaded down her arms like bells, while the satin hugged her hips, gathering at her thighs before softening into delicate folds around her feet. Every stitch was impeccable, the dress handcrafted specifically to give Kit the appearance of the most elegant bride.
With a final nod of approval, the seamstress began to pack up her workbox. “The gown is ready for the morrow’s matrimony, my lady,” she said. “You’re sure to make a radiant bride.”
As she left Kit alone to undress, Kit couldn’t help but note how the seamstress had avoided her gaze throughout the entirety of the fitting. It didn’t surprise Kit; much of the castle staff had been behaving strangely after the events of the previous night. Of course, they knew better than to blatantly give voice to scorn about any member of the royal family, but their sudden eschewal and reproachful stares were difficult to ignore.
It wasn’t as if Kit was overly concerned by their sudden change in demeanor; she had long grown accustomed to strange looks—after all, she wasn’t exactly a ‘beloved’ princess. What troubled her more was how you were faring. Your parents had ordered guards posted outside your doors during the night, making it impossible for Kit to check on you after you were sent to your separate chambers.
Kit turned her attention back to the mirror. Despite her unease, she chuckled softly at the sight of herself in the gown—the white gown; a color worn by brides to signify their purity, something Kit was proud to admit that you had ruined many times over.
Reaching behind herself, she tugged at the laces holding the gown together, only to groan upon realizing the seamstress had left her locked in a double-knot. She clutched at the fabric in frustration, knowing she’d be resigned to waiting until her lady’s maid came to relieve her.
Just when she was considering reaching for a dagger to cut herself free, her door swung open. She turned away from her reflection, expecting her maid—and ready to scold for the delay—but instead came face-to-face with her brother.
“Airk,” she exclaimed in surprise. “What are you…? I could’ve been undressed! You shouldn’t…”
“Come with me,” he interrupted, taking her hand and pulling her along.
Kit was not one to yield to orders and quickly began to protest, but her objections went unheard as Airk continued to lead her through the castle corridors. Anxiety gnawed at her as he steered her around the busy servants who paid them no mind—why would they? To them, it was simply a prince walking with his sister through their home, never mind that Kit was debuting her wedding gown a day too early.
“Could we please just…”
“Here,” Airk opened the door to a random guest chamber and pushed Kit inside. “Half an hour. No more,” he declared cryptically before slamming the door shut.
Kit stared at the wooden barrier in shock and confusion before revolving to take in the room. It was small, dark, lit by nothing but a mullion window in the corner, and only by its narrow rays of sunlight could Kit see you, standing in the center of the floor, donning your own fluffy white gown.
“Princess…” she breathed, taking in the sight of you in your dress. Ivory brocade embraced your chest and torso, flowing into a full skirt around your feet. Gilded laces formed a mock-corset at your waist, matching the gold trim along your neckline and attached hood. You were the picture of wealth, the portrait of a perfect bride, and if you had been wearing that dress in any other context, Kit might have taken you right there and then.
“I’ve just finished my final fitting,” you explained, stepping closer.
“As did I,” Kit chuckled, gesturing to her own gown. “But, what are you…” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the tears staining your face. You wrapped your arms around her neck and kissed her gently, your lips salty from crying. Kit hesitated, but soon brought her hands to your waist, drawing soothing circles into your hips in an attempt to comfort you. Her small gesture prompted the lump in your throat to rise again, and you pulled back, deepening Kit’s confusion. “Princess, what…”
“I just… I wanted to see you… one final time,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you held her tight.
“You… final?” Kit questioned, a nervous chuckle slipping through. Her hands clasped at the small of your back, pulling you closer. “Don’t be ridiculous, Princess. We leave tonight, remember?”
All you could do was shake your head, unable to meet her eyes.
Kit’s face faltered. “No?” She moved you to sit on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I don’t understand…”
Your gaze dropped to your lap as you spilled everything in a single breath—how your kingdom was in dire straits, how Tir Asleen had been financially supporting Azarenth in exchange for your betrothal to Airk, and how your engagement was necessary to save your people. When you finished, you looked up to find Kit’s eyes swelling with tears.
“So… this is it?” She asked, her voice cracking.
You didn’t respond; you swallowed the lump in your throat and seized her lips in a passionate force, almost as if she could take this thing from you, as if you could somehow rid yourself of this reality if you kissed her hard enough. She grasped your hips, falling back onto the bed as you covered her with your body, your hand already slipping beneath her dress.
This would be how you remembered each other—faces flushed and limbs twisted in the linen sheets, hair splayed about the pillow, skirts bunched at your waists, eyes clouding over in pleasure upon reaching your peaks. Kit brought her lips to yours as you came down, removing her fingers from within you and wiping them on the soiled coverings. “I love you,” she whispered against your skin.
“I love you too,” you murmured, still overtaken with bliss. But as your breath evened, and your skin cooled, you felt the fragile oasis you had built begin to crumble, leaving only a devastating reality behind. “It… nothing will ever feel whole… not without you.”
Kit shook her head, stroking your cheek. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”
“I do,” you insisted, your voice breaking again. “I’ll remain in Tir Asleen, but my heart will wander with you, wherever you go—whether that’s Galladoorn or beyond.”
Kit desperately wanted to protest—argue that you would be sisters, that you could see each other all the time, that you could live for little stolen moments like this during visits. But deep down, she knew better—that if you would be risking your lives for slivers of secret bliss, and even if you were extra cautious, your royal responsibilities would keep you far too busy for such endeavors.
Instead, she lifted your chin, meeting your tear-filled gaze. With a sad smile, she whispered, “I want you to have something.”
She helped you sit up, smoothing out your hair while you pulled your freshly-wrinkled skirt over your legs. The lace of her sleeve bunched around her elbow as she pushed it up, revealing a thin, gray string hanging loosely around her wrist; it was frayed, discolored, worn to mere threads, but you instantly recognized it as the once bright-pink ribbon she had stolen from you as children. With one careful motion, she released the knot, letting the ribbon dangle freely from her pinched fingers.
That lump returned to your throat. “Kit, I…”
“Take care of this, would you?” She gingerly took your wrist, wrapping the ribbon around it. “It means a lot to me.”
You shook your head. “Kit, no, I can’t take this. You’ve kept it for fifteen years.”
“Then give it back to me in another fifteen.”
There was nothing you could do to stop the tears from spilling down your cheeks as Kit secured the knot. The tattered strings appeared foreign on your wrist, but not as much as the pale band encircling Kit’s—a narrow strip of skin shielded from sunlight for nearly a lifetime. Unable to trust your voice, you simply nodded, silently accepting her gesture.
She caressed your cheek, her thumb wiping away your tears, though her own had begun to fall. Her voice came out weak, barely audible. “I love you.”
You let out a watery laugh, your own voice trembling. “I love you too.”
She leaned in for another kiss, the taste of salt lingering between you, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. You both pulled back reluctantly, standing up to fix and flatten your gowns as the door cracked open, Airk’s head peeking through, his eyes shut tight. “Are you presentable?”
Both of you let out breathy laughs. Kit took your hand as she responded, “You’re clear.”
Airk opened his eyes, blushing slightly. “Forgive my intrusion, but the half-hour has passed.”
You smiled back warmly. “We truly appreciate it, Airk. Thank you.”
He bowed his head, extending a hand to Kit. “Come on, then.”
Kit glanced at you, her eyes filled with unspoken words suppressed by the absence of time. She squeezed your hand once, holding on until she was out of reach. And then the door snapped shut, and Kit was gone, and you were once again left alone, surrounded by empty darkness.
The following morning, Kit had expected to be awakened before dawn by a frantic servant sent to fetch the bride. Instead, she awoke to golden rays of sunlight spilling through her chamber window and the cheerful sound of birds chirping outside. She rubbed her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the newfound brightness when she heard a soft rap at her door.
Expecting her lady’s maid, she sat up. “Enter.”
The door swung open to reveal Sorsha, standing in the doorway with her hands clasped in front of her.
“Mother,” Kit groaned, her voice raspy with the weight of sleep. “What are you… am I late?” Her gaze drifted to her wedding gown, carefully hung on a rack in the corner of her chamber. “Nobody came to fetch me…”
Sorsha cut her off with a shake of her head. “Make yourself presentable and meet us downstairs.”
“Presentable?” Kit pressed. “I… where’s my maid? I’ll need help donning the gown…”
“There will be no need for that,” Sorsha interrupted. “Dress in your everyday attire and come downstairs. We’re met in the Great Hall.”
Before Kit could further question, her mother made a swift exit, clicking the door shut behind her. Kit sighed, throwing off the covers and dragging herself out of bed. She trudged to the storage chest at the foot of her bed, selecting a loose, woad-dyed blue tunic, some boots, and black trousers. As she dressed, a feeling of unease crept through her—fear of the unknown gnawing at her insides, coupled by an intrusive, pondering voice rattling through her mind and growing louder with each step, only ceasing upon reaching the Great Hall.
All eyes turned to Kit as she stood in the doorway, but her gaze settled only on you—sitting in a beige linen gown, your confused expression mirroring that of your parents sat on either side of you. Sorsha motioned to the seat beside her, and Kit obliged, settling across from you and your parents.
The air in the hall hung as heavy as a drawn bowstring, everyone waiting with baited breath for the meeting’s purpose to be revealed. Kit glanced around the long table, realizing something was missing, and decided to ask, even if she didn’t necessarily want the answer. “Where is Graydon?”
Sorsha let out a long exhale before answering, a breath perhaps even she hadn’t known she was holding. “Prince Graydon and his father have returned to Galladoorn,” she replied finally. “They left early this morning, and Airk has gone with them.”
Everyone at the table seemed to gape at this news, but it was your mother who pressed further. “What do you mean my daughter’s betrothed has fled?”
“He hasn’t ‘fled,’” Sorsha clarified. “I’ve sent him to train with the knights of Galladoorn.”
Not a jaw in the room remained shut. Your mother’s face quickly hardened. “You’ve done what?”
Sorsha merely nodded. “He’s always been quite the swordsman; I think you’d agree. King Hastur certainly did. I had him demonstrate his abilities late last night, and he agreed to take him on as a trainee.” She turned her attention to Kit, her expression unreadable. “Due to this new arrangement, your betrothal to Prince Graydon is no longer necessary.”
Kit could have sworn her heart ceased its beating.
”And our daughter?” Your mother asked angrily. “What is the nature of her engagement?”
”Well,” Sorsha began. “Airk will reside in Galladoorn for the time being—five years, perhaps more. Because of this, I believe the best course of action would be to… postpone the nuptials.”
Something snapped inside your mother; she rose, slamming her hands on the table. “You’re delaying our daughter’s matrimony? You’ve decided all of this without even taking the time to discuss it with us?”
“I see no reason for such commotion.” Sorsha stated, folding her hands atop the table. “The engagement still stands, it’s simply postponed until further notice. Your alliance with Tir Asleen remains intact.”
She glared across the table, her gaze hard and unblinking. Your mother faltered, reminded of something she momentarily forgot; Sorsha held the power—she always had, whether financial, political, or otherwise. With an awkward clearing of her throat, your mother resumed her seat.
“But how shall I fare?” You couldn’t help but ask. “Am I to return to Azarenth for the next decade?” A sense of dread washed over you at the thought of living with your parents for another ten years, especially knowing what they know now. Not to mention, the idea of being away from Kit for just as long made your heart ache.
Sorsha took in a breath, fiddling with her hands as if preparing to say something controversial. “It is of utmost importance to keep up appearances… for the sake of our people, of course. After all, we’ve just made a spectacle of an engagement party.” She glanced at you. “Your parents may return to Azarenth. You shall remain here so our people see Airk’s departure as an unexpected change of circumstance rather than a capricious stunt.”
Something flashed within Sorsha’s eyes—something small and brief, almost imperceptible, but you saw it: recognition. This wasn’t about Airk, or her kingdom, or anything else but her acknowledging the love between you and her daughter. A short gasp escaped your throat as you realized this, tears pricking the corner of your eyes.
Your father turned to you, noticing your hand over your mouth. “Are you alright, Princess?”
You could barely speak; you stood, muttering something along the lines of “you must excuse me” before making a brisk exit, overwhelmed with emotion and unable to meet anyone’s gaze as you pushed through the doors of the Great Hall.
Kit stared after your retreating figure until you were out of sight, wanting nothing more than to run after you—to hold you in her arms, to cry together tears of joy, to promptly move all of your belongings into her chamber despite the protests she would face. It was Sorsha who shook her from her trance with a hand on her shoulder. “I believe we can handle the remainder of the meeting,” she said, gesturing to your still-seething parents. “Why don’t you go… settle your own arrangements.”
With a smile full of gratitude, Kit mouthed a quick word of thanks and dashed out of the Great Hall, determined to find you. She beelined toward your guest chamber, throwing open the door, but was met only with dark, empty space. Her heart quickened its pace, and she rushed through the castle corridors, her resolve to find you growing more desperate with each empty room. All hope was beginning to fade, and Kit became anxious. Her hand moved to fiddle with the ribbon on her wrist—a nervous habit she’d developed—but her fingernails only scratched a pale strip of sunless skin. In that moment—that moment of fleeting forgetfulness—she remembered the sacred oasis you two had shared for so many important moments, and suddenly, Kit knew exactly where you would be.
The wintry February air nipped at her skin as she stepped outside, the tall stone walls of the castle doing little to stave off the shivers running up her spine. Despite the chill, she pressed on until she reached the garden gates, finding you exactly where she thought she might—perched beneath the protective branches of the large tree. You had your knees tucked to your chest, your arms wrapped around yourself in a feeble attempt to shield against the frigid air. The wind whipped at your hair, leaving messy strands strewn about your face and framing your cheeks, stained red from a mixture of tears and the cold.
“You’ve never looked more beautiful,” Kit murmured, latching the gate shut behind her.
You lifted your head to look at her. “Kit…” you whispered, your voice shaky and fragile. “What… what’s happened?”
“I’m not sure myself,” Kit replied, moving to sit beside you. She smiled, reaching up to wipe away your tears. “Can’t we just enjoy it?”
You let out a shuddering breath, shaking your head. “I… I can’t…”
Kit frowned. “Why not?”
“I don’t understand,” you sniffed. “Your mother… after all this time… why?”
Kit smiled, brushing away the wisps clinging to your cheeks. “My mother knows of love,” she explained softly. “Her own union was not arranged.”
You sniffed again, hugging your knees tighter. “This doesn't feel true,” you admitted. “It feels like a cruel trick.”
“No tricks,” Kit assured. “It is true, Princess. Yes, there will be some conditions, and we must make sacrifices for a public appearance, but we can be together. Isn’t that what matters most?”
“But your brother,” you protested. “I’m still his betrothed. What happens when he returns from training?”
“We have at least half a decade until that day, perhaps more,” Kit chuckled. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She took your hands in hers, compelling you to look at her. “Princess, I may not know what fate has in store, but I do know I want you in it. I’ve known since our first kiss under this very tree. I remember it well—you wore that muddy pink gown, all tucked into a pair of my breeches. I’d never seen anyone so beautiful. Somehow, since that day, you’ve only grown more so. Every time I look at you, I manage to fall in love all over again.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Kit quickly shook her head. “We’ve been granted an opportunity, Princess, and if you’ll have me, I’d like to spend the rest of my days—or as long as I’m able—with you, falling in love again and again. Please, Princess. Will you let me?”
Kit’s words swirled in your mind like birds around the eye of a storm. You stared into her pleading eyes, filled with hope and adoration, and your own began to well with tears once more. Dropping her hands, you stood and silently made your way over to a barberry bush in a corner of the garden, Kit’s curious gaze following you all the way. Your fingers fell to your wrist, toying with the delicate knot Kit had tied so carefully the day before until it hung from your skin like a loose thread. Kit’s brow furrowed, but before she could speak, you plucked a branch from the barberry bush and used its piercing thorns to slice the ribbon in two.
A strangled gasp escaped Kit’s throat, her eyes following the tattered string as it drifted atop the garden dirt. “Princess…” she whispered, her face twisting with hurt and confusion. “I don’t… why…?”
You seized the two pieces and knelt beside her again. She couldn’t bring herself to look at you, only at the ruined ribbon hanging limp from your palm. Without a word, you took her left hand and tied one of the pieces around her fourth finger.
“I meant what I said,” you murmured, securing the final knot. “Nothing is whole, not without you, not even this ragged ribbon.” You chuckled breathily, your cheeks reddening at such a blatant display of sentiment, but you continued on. “Because it’s not mine—it hasn’t been in fifteen years—but it’s not yours either. It’s ours, and it cannot be complete without both of us.”
Kit stared down at her finger, once bare and reserved for Graydon’s wedding ring, now occupied by a sweet promise, a piece of you. The gray, uneven bow drooped down the back of her hand, brushing against her skin with every movement. Her heart swelled with affection, and she saw your gesture for what it was—a symbol of your commitment to her, as official as one could be within a realm of disdain.
“I promise myself to you,” you held out your own left hand, the other half of the ribbon resting in your palm. “Will you do the same?”
Kit let out a breathy laugh, overwhelmed with emotion. “What sort of question is that?” She secured the knot before bringing up her own left hand and intertwining it with yours, the tattered laces blending into each other like the tree branches overhead. “I love you, Princess.”
You sighed, a blissful smile painting your features. “I love you, always.”
As you tangled beneath the big tree, sealing your promise with a sweet kiss, you both knew how different your vow was from your previous betrothals; marriage may not have been about love, but the commitment you shared, your bond, would be forever forged within it.
The story I fell in love with so hard it’s currently being rewritten into my first novel. At this moment, it’s around 30k words, and just over halfway done!! 🤗
Summary: You and Kit prepare for your escape, everything seems to fall apart at your engagement party, and your mother reveals a shocking truth…
Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader
Contains: kissing, angst, reader prepares a murder, some boob touching, non-explicit mention of vomiting, medieval partying, drinking, drunk behavior
Word Count: 6.4k
A/N: hope this one knocks your socks off
“Strike once. Through the heart.” Kit instructed, handing you a sword before stepping back.
You stood over the training dummy lying on the stone floor of the armory, the tip of your sword hesitating over its straw chest. The dummy was made to mimic a human form, and while its thatched figure was less than realistic, the very idea that it could one day be Kit filled you with a deep sense of dread. “I… I c-cannot…”
She frowned, crossing her arms. “You promised me…”
“Suppose I don’t intend to keep my promise?”
“Then we can’t go.”
Your face crumpled in defeat as your shoulders slumped, the sword dropping to your side. Kit softened her stance, placing a hand on your shaking shoulder. “Don’t… don’t think of it as me, alright? Because it won’t be. It’ll be… a walking infection, with an ashen face and lifeless eyes. Nothing but an ensorcelled servant to the Wyrm.”
She repositioned the sword in your hands, helping you hold it properly before stepping back again. “Protect yourself, Princess.”
You took a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut before plunging the sword straight through the dummy’s heart. Straw flew up at the impact, drifting around you and making you sneeze. You dropped the sword with a loud clatter, body trembling as you stumbled back into the armory wall. Tears began to spill down your cheeks, and Kit was quick to comfort you.
“It’s alright,” she wrapped her arms around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. “You did perfectly.”
You spoke between ragged breaths. “I don’t… ever… want to have… to do that… again…”
Kit’s thumb wiped your tear-stained face. “Perhaps you won’t have to,” she said, though her words rang hollow, and deep down you sensed she didn’t believe them either.
The fortnight that followed was filled with planning, mapping, and gathering for your escape. Kit regularly pilfered smaller weapons from the armory, stashing them at the bottom of storage chests, beneath her bed, or anywhere she knew a chambermaid would overlook. You were tasked with securing food—a much more difficult endeavor, as stealing from the kitchen without arousing suspicion from the staff proved quite challenging.
It was Kit who had the brilliant idea to procure the help of the kitchen maid. However, the one she called ‘Muffin Girl’ held you both in little favor—Kit due to her relentless teasing, and you for more… obvious reasons. The only one she did seem to favor was her paramour, Airk, so it wasn’t long before he was enlisted as an oblivious pawn in your scheme.
“Remind me why I’m sneaking you extra provisions?” Airk inquired one evening, delivering a basket of bread and fruit preserves to your chamber.
You accepted graciously. “I’d simply like to… fill out my bridal gown a bit more,” you lied.
Airk’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “You mean to say you eat all of this? Each night? By yourself?”
You shrugged innocently. “Kit intends to fill hers out as well.”
He remained puzzled, but a quick mutter about ‘a secret matter of womanhood’ had him bidding you goodnight and taking his leave. It wasn’t a lie, per se—you and Kit were both women with a secret, after all.
As the days passed, your diligent efforts began to bear fruit and your journey was well underway. Of course, your meticulous scheming was not without consequence. Sex became nonexistent, as you both were so preoccupied with getting your affairs in order that it was the furthest thing from your mind. That's not to say either of you wouldn’t benefit from some physical release—coordinating an escape could be vexing—but there was a time and place for everything, and you two would have ample opportunity for such matters once you reached Nockmaar.
Eventually, all packing, planning, and preparations were complete, and right in the hour of necessity, as your parents had arranged an engagement party just two nights before the weddings.
You stood in your chamber, gazing at your reflection in the mirror, clad in the golden ball gown your mother insisted upon. It was a fine dress—you would surely be the envy of every maiden at the party—but it had been awhile since you’d worn a gown of such opulence, and truthfully, it was not to your taste. Your everyday dresses were simpler—looser, allowing a wider range of movement—and never so ostentatious.
“Gold,” your mother had emphasized when she presented the gown earlier that day. “It signifies wealth, luxury, nobility.”
It was difficult to fathom why your mother had been so insistent upon a color denoting status. Azarenth might have been a smaller realm than Tir Asleen, or even Galladoorn, but it was a kingdom nonetheless, and you a princess. Perhaps your mother was overcompensating, simply seeking to appear at equal stature with the other kingdoms.
Suddenly, the sound of a doorknob turning jolted you from your reverie. You smoothed your dress one last time before leaving the mirror to find your mother in the doorway, donning a rust-red gown.
You should have known; your mother wouldn’t knock, nor have any regard for your privacy.
“The guests will be arriving shortly, you’re needed in the ballroom,” she proclaimed.
String music from the consort echoed through the lofty ceilings of Tir Asleen’s grand ballroom. Long tables encircled the dancing area, with place markers clearly labeled for each guest. You were stationed at the front of the hall, joining your parents, the Tanthalos’, and the Hastur’s in greeting the guests as they arrived.
“Thank you for coming. “A pleasure to meet you.” “It’s an honor,” each phrase rolled from your lips, spoken with the practiced formality of routine. Despite your efforts, your wooden smile couldn’t reach your eyes, and a glance at Kit showed she wore a similar mask of indifference.
Kit had worn a dress. You shouldn’t have been surprised; it wasn’t as if Sorsha would have allowed her daughter to wear breeches to one of the most important events of the year. But you had never seen Kit in a dress before, at least not that you could remember, and it certainly was a sight to behold. The fabric hugged her figure in a manner foreign to her usual tunics, and its v-shaped neckline dipped low enough to reveal a bit of cleavage—a stark reminder of the recent lack of intimacy. A metal asymmetrical corset enveloped her waist, complementing the silver motif that adorned the rich green fabric.
Green. The color associated with Galldoorn, and also known to symbolize fertility. You could vomit.
Once the concourse was seated, the feast began. At the high table, you watched as servants poured wine and served roasted meats to the guests. Among them was the one Kit had dubbed ‘Muffin Girl,’ her long blonde hair secured with a linen coif. She kept her head bowed among the other cupbearers—ashamed to be working at her forbidden lover’s engagement party—but occasionally cast furtive glances at the high table, her gaze lingering on Airk.
“Muffin Girl has her sights set upon your betrothed,” Kit whispered from beside you. “Are you prepared to duel for his hand?”
You snorted, quickly concealing your amusement behind your goblet. “Have you spoken to your intended yet?”
“I have,” she replied, her lips curling in amusement. “I even curtsied. Like a real lady. And he sort of… grunted… and shuffled his feet. Like a real… winner.”
“So he’s a mouse,” you said, turning to look at Graydon, who sat with his father at the other end of the table. The way he choked on his wine, sputtering it down the front of his doublet, spoke volumes; much like your father, he was a royal only by blood. Otherwise, he was a meek, reticent man—undoubtedly lacking the ability to keep up with a headstrong woman such as Kit.
As you and Kit exchanged giggles and gossip throughout the meal, Sorsha rose, tapping her silverware against her goblet and commanding the room's attention. “For many moons,” she began. “Tir Asleen has maintained civility with both Azarenth and Galladoorn. Three kingdoms, joined together, but ruling separately… until now.”
Kit slipped her hand under the table and rested it upon your upper thigh. You shivered at the unexpected contact, quickly ensuring no one saw before returning your attention to Sorsha.
“In two days time,” she continued. “My son and daughter shall wed the Princess of Azarenth and the Prince of Galladoorn, respectively. At last, our three kingdoms shall be united—strengthening us and ensuring a harmonious future.” She raised her goblet. “To the brides and grooms; may they rule wisely, and justly, and foster unity and strength within our kingdoms!”
The crowd raised their glasses, clinking them together amongst cries of “To the realm” and “Hear, hear!” You turned towards Kit, studying her expression for any sign of guilt at forsaking her kingdom, but her lips were curled in a celebratory smile as she tapped her glass against yours.
You stood to the side like a hawk perched in the rafters, watching as Graydon awkwardly led Kit around the dance floor. He was a dreadful dancer, unable to meet Kit’s eye as he watched his own feet stumble over here. As humorous as the display was, your gaze focused solely on the hand he rested at Kit’s waist. You shouldn’t have been jealous, you had no reason to be; Kit barely tolerated this poor-excuse for a prince. Yet, the way he was able to hold her close, to take her hand in public without hesitation, ignited a burning envy within you.
The goblet in your hand was nearly empty, and the song had just begun. Visiting the wine table for a refill sounded tempting, but your gaze refused to stray from Kit. You told yourself you were protecting her, simply ensuring Graydon’s fingers refrained from wandering, though you knew it was senseless; Kit could take care of herself, and she would if she deemed it necessary.
Brief visions of Kit drawing her sword at the mere twitch of Graydon’s thumb crossed your mind, and you couldn’t suppress the snort that escaped.
Your amusement caught Kit’s attention, and she turned from Graydon momentarily to face you. Her eyes softened with pity; Kit had been your companion for fifteen years, and as much as you tried to hide it, she could recognize how bothered you were watching her dance with Graydon.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed. Her face shone with concern before crumpling into another wince as her partner stepped on her toes once again.
“In need of company, Princess?”
You spun around to find Airk facing you, his lips curled in a sympathetic smile. Airk had always been handsome—a trait perhaps the reason he was so popular with the ladies—and tonight was no exception. His usually loose brown curls had been slicked back, highlighting his sharp features and piercing green eyes. A doublet the color of coffee beans decorated his torso—understated, much less ornate than Graydon’s grandiose gettup, but Airk didn’t need magnificence. Unlike Graydon, who would likely disappear into the walls of the castle if it weren’t for his crown and jewels, Airk stood forth without assistance. He was simply… Airk, prince of Tir Asleen—all the young women pined for his affections, and you were the one to marry him.
Perhaps if things were different, if you were different, you would be the happiest maiden in all the land.
”You appear lonesome,” Airk spoke again. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were completely disinterested in this entire ordeal.”
You smirked, taking the last sip from your goblet. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to, there's nowhere I’d rather be.”
He chuckled, offering his hand. “Care to dance?”
You accepted his invitation, grateful for the distraction, and let him lead you to the floor. Kit caught your eye as you made your way, her face scanning yours for any sign of trivial revenge, but your warm smile reassured her and she turned back to her partner.
Airk kept his hand in yours, but moved his other to sit at your waist, while yours rested on his shoulder. Neither of you were very interested in dancing properly, so you simply swayed to the tune of the consort’s playing. As you enjoyed the silent comfort of Airk’s company, you caught sight of your mother across the room, standing with your father and Queen Sorsha. You began to realize why she had insisted you wear such a fanciful gown; the brick-red of her own garment seemed dull in comparison to Sorsha’s deep crimson one. If it wasn’t for the splendor of your golden attire, Azarenth would appear poor in comparison.
While you pondered the monotony of your mother’s attire, Airk suddenly moved closer, mere inches from your face. Your breath hitched, shoulders tensed. He wasn’t, no, he wouldn’t…
He smirked. “Surely you didn’t think I was going to kiss you, did you?” He whispered in your ear with a chuckle. “I know where I stand.”
You sighed, relieved. He wouldn’t. “Of course.”
“I was simply going to ask if our parents were watching,” he whispered again.
You peered over his shoulder, locking eyes with your mother. She wore a beam of approval you hadn’t seen since you inadvertently agreed to marry Airk as a child. It pained you, somewhat, that smile. From her viewpoint, her daughter was dancing intimately with her betrothed while he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. It was all she’d ever wanted. And it was a lie.
“At last, I’m the daughter she’s always wanted.” You muttered solemnly. Airk’s mouth formed a straight line of sympathy, squeezing your hand in an attempt at comfort. “You should see their faces.”
Airk spun you around so he could see for himself, and as he did you met eyes with the blond servant tagged as ‘Muffin Girl,’ clearing tables with the rest of the staff. Her glare wasn’t as cold or threatening as it usually was towards you; instead she just appeared… sad, defeated even. You couldn’t help but feel pity towards her; you knew how it felt to watch your lover dance with another, to be promised to another.
”They do seem quite pleased,” he commented.
“Unlike your mistress,” you spun him back around, shrinking under the weight of her unbearable stares.
He glanced over at her, a momentarily flickering of longing in his eyes before turning back to you. “Is your paramour present this evening?” He asked, scanning the hall. “Wherever he may be?”
You forced a smile, fighting back the urge to correct his pronoun misuse. “Closer than you might think.”
Before Airk had the chance for further inquiries, the music ceased, signaling the end of the dance. You broke away from each other, joining in polite applause with the rest of the partygoers. He bowed, bidding you adieu before exiting the floor—perhaps in search of closure from his forbidden lover.
The dancing area was nearly empty when the consort began to play a new song—still slow, but far less somber than before. Sounds of a vielle’s plucked strings filled your ears, giving the emerging melody an almost romantic air. Your eyes met Kit’s—who had also been abandoned by her partner on the far side of the room—and you exchanged glances full of unattainable longing.
In the center of the floor stood two women, close companions from a nearby village, caressing each other with cheeks rosy from the flush of wine, their laughter louder than the music as they swayed. They drew little notice, these ladies, dancing together in their tipsy states; they appeared as merely two friends, carousing as their husbands were elsewhere.
Husbands. Surely they had arrived with their respective spouses. No one would question a married woman dancing chaste with her female companion.
Your gaze returned to Kit, and an unspoken understanding passed between you. Slowly, you moved towards each other, each step forward echoing within you like a heartbeat. Your breath caught as you finally stood face to face, skin mere inches apart, the closest you had been, had been allowed to be, all night. She didn’t speak. She had no need. Her hands moved to sit at your waist, while your arms floated up and draped around her neck.
In every story, all the romance novels you’ve read, this was the moment when the world around you was meant to melt away, only leaving you and Kit together in its sanctum. But as hard as you tried, as much as you longed to lose yourself in the arms of your beloved, you were acutely aware of your surroundings. Whispers from the concourse seemed to drown out the music, filling you with a pertinent dread. It was one thing for the two commoners to dance together at a party, but you and Kit were royals—yet to be wed—and your closeness perhaps breached propriety more than the women you sought to emulate.
“Are you well?” Kit whispered, sensing your trepidation.
All you could do was nod, mind still absent. The arms you had wrapped around her neck trembled as you buried your face in her shoulder, desperate to block out the world.
Kit chuckled. “I’m not complaining, but you needn’t hold me so tightly, Princess. You have no reason to be so envious of Prince Graydon.”
You pulled back, mouth agape, but giggled upon catching the glint of mischief in Kit’s eye. “I most certainly am not.”
“You most certainly were,” she countered. “Enough so you engaged in dancing with my brother to enact your revenge.”
“I was simply dancing with my betrothed,” you retorted with a grin. “Just as you were.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “I saw you, watching me from afar. Envy practically radiated off your body, green as my array this evening.”
“You forget yourself, Tanthalos,” you laughed, smacking her shoulder.
And in that moment—the moment where Kit held you close, her nose scrunching and eyes sparkling as she laughed with you, where you had momentarily forgotten your environs and allowed yourself to be silly with the person you loved, the one who loved you—that was the moment the world around you finally seemed to melt away, leaving only you and Kit together in this melodic bubble. Even so, you could feel your mother’s eyes boring into you from across the room, but for once, you could cast all cares and worries of her judgment aside. She had gotten what she wanted; you had danced with Airk. It was your turn to indulge.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Kit said, drawing you from your thoughts.
You gave her a small smile. “You have nothing to make up for.”
“I do,” she argued. “And I will.” Her thumb stroked the plush of your sides as she leaned in closer to whisper. “And if it weren’t obvious, you are a much better dance partner than Graydon could ever be. I haven’t checked yet, but I’m sure my poor toes are as bruised as they feel.”
You winced in sympathy, but then chuckled along with her until the song came to an end. Applause filled the hall once more, you and Kit joining in after breaking away from each other. With an exchange of curtsy’s, and a final squeeze of your hand, Kit turned and exited the dance floor, vanishing within the crowd like the last note of the consort’s melody.
As the night wore on, bottles of wine seemed to disappear from the tables, replaced only by the staggering and raucous laughter from the party guests. Servants bustled about, clearing empty bottles and mopping spills, while the retinue danced to lively music.
You were no exception to the tipsy merrymakers, the apples of your cheeks tinted pink from the mixture of claret and revelry. Strands of hair had strayed from your once-neat pinup, clinging to your forehead and the sides of your face through beads of sweat. You took another sip from your goblet as you swayed out of sync, comforted by your boozy blur and the warmth in your belly.
Kit had faded from view long ago—not that you were particularly concerned. The gathering was quite large; she could have easily merged with the throng. Although it was unlikely, given that Kit—much like her brother—was difficult to lose in a crowd, it was still a possibility. Moreover, it seemed Graydon had little taste for festivity, choosing instead to hover in the shadows or remain close to his father, as if he were a lost youth amidst a horde of strangers.
As long as Graydon didn’t wish to be seen, Kit had no need to be seen.
The night was certainly alive with the company in high spirits, but for all the sport it provided, you were beginning to grow weary. Finishing your drink, you sought solace near a window at the far end of the hall, partially concealed by heavy velvet drapes. You leaned back, catching your breath while allowing the cool glass to temper your heated skin.
As you began to relax, your breath evening out, a disembodied hand emerged from behind the curtains, seizing your arm and pulling you out of sight. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, but another hand quickly covered your mouth, stifling your cries of protest. The dense curtains eclipsed any light, and fear coursed through your veins as the shadowy figure loomed over you, overpowering your struggles…
“Shh… shh… My lady, it’s me.”
The familiarity of the whispered voice immediately calmed your nerves. You blinked, allowing your eyes to adjust to the darkness until Kit’s sweet face came into view.
“Kit, what are you…”
“I promised I’d make it up t’ you, didn’t I?”
Even in the dim light, the flush of her cheeks was evident. Her hair, once elegantly arranged, now hung about her head in a tangled mess. Each word she spoke reeked of fruit and spirits, her sentences punctuated by giggles and hiccups. Kit was thoroughly inebriated, perhaps even more so than you.
“Yes, but, I…”
Before you could finish, her mouth was on yours. She kissed you sloppily, her hands lazily gripping at your waist to pull you closer. Her lips, the heat of her breath tasted flammable, almost, yet still so intoxicating. You wanted so badly to give into her, to melt under her burning flame, but you pulled away.
“Kit…” you breathed. “Not here…”
“Why?” She groaned. “S’ been so long.”
Your eyes flickered down to her chest once again, gulping at the sight of her bare décolletage. She had a point—a dangerously tempting point—but her invitation posed too great a risk.
“If someone from the party were to find us…”
She dismissed your concern with a wave of her hand. “They’re all b’scotted. Utterly foxed. ‘S fine.”
“Kit,” you giggled. “You’re quite muddled yourself.”
“You’re one t’ speak,” she snorted. Her hands tangled in your hair, destroying what was left of your pinup as she stumbled. You had to laugh, despite yourself; although your soused stupor was much more relaxed than Kit’s, it was far from negligible.
“Alright,” you held onto her hands. “Perhaps we should retire for bed.”
“Fin’ly…”
“Kit,” you blocked her advance, despite every inch of your body screaming to give in. She groaned again, and you sighed, struggling against thoughts of what those groans might sound like under different circumstances…
No. “Surely they’ll notice our absence.”
“Graydon ‘s busy in the corner,” she slurred. “Airk ‘s gone ‘s well. We won't be missed.”
You frowned, knowing just how right she was; with your suitors missing, no one would be searching for the two of you. Beyond that, every moment spent with her in this pocket of darkness only made you want her more—to feel her on you, her mouth against your skin, her hands roaming your body. It truly had been too long, and the sight of her in that bedeviled dress did nothing to soothe your desires.
Almost as if she could sense your thoughts, as if she had planned on interrupting them, Kit pressed her lips to yours once more. This time, you didn’t resist and allowed yourself to burn under the heat of her body. You could never tire of her taste, her touch, her feeling; you could get drunk off her alone, even without the vine’s blood plaguing her breath.
The world seemed to spin faster with your oxygen now compromised, but Kit remained your anchor. You reached for her shoulders to steady yourself, but your hands inadvertently fell at her breasts. A soft whimper escaped her throat, almost inaudible over the roar of the party, but still resonant in your ears. Your fingers slid down her skin, dipping lower, lower, until they grazed the edge of that plunging neckline that had tortured you all night. She only spurred you forward, seizing your hips and pressing them against hers as your touch ventured beyond the fabric of her dress, fingertips exploring the delicate flesh that lay beneath it.
God, she was soft. How was she always so soft?
Her breath quickened, the hot air tickling the skin around your mouth. You took it as an incentive to lose yourself further and further in the arms of your lover, drowning in her warm embrace and the taste of Falernian wine that still lingered on her tongue. She was all-consuming, and the way she gripped at your sides told you she felt the same way about you.
You were both so absorbed in each other, so immersed in the private world you had created, that neither of you noticed the blinding scourge of light that intruded upon it.
Followed by a shrill scream.
That you did notice.
Pulling back, you ignored Kit’s whines of protest and squinted at the disruptive brightness. There, in front of you, was none other than Muffin Girl, clutching the velvet drapes and wearing a look of terror. Behind her stood an equally-stunned Airk, and you swore, for but a fleeting moment before they separated, their hands were intertwined.
You were frozen in place; her scream had alerted the party’s multitude. All eyes fell unto you as the music ceased, the hall became as still as the private chapel during prayers. Your gaze surveyed the room, taking in the varied facial expressions of your party guests—shocked, horrified, disgusted, perhaps even some lascivious interest from a few less-than-respectable individuals. Sorsha’s visage was different, however—still aghast, but not directed towards you, rather slightly lower, and that’s when you felt Kit tugging at your wrists.
Realization hit you like the strike of a battering ram; you had yet to remove your hold on Kit’s breast. Queen Sorsha of Tir Asleen, your hostess, your future mother-in-law, had just happened upon you with your hand down her daughter’s dress.
Immediately, you stepped back and let your hands fall to your sides, yours and Kit’s faces flushed and fear-stricken as you desperately tried to smooth yourselves out. But when you looked up for the final time, catching sight of your own mother’s face, you knew then and there you had reached far beyond the point of no return. You expected her to yell, to scream as Muffin Girl had, or to react with the fury of a siege engine, but she did not. She merely composed herself, turned on her heel, and walked briskly out of the hall. Your father trailed after her, and you knew you were expected to follow as well.
The rest of the party wasn’t far behind. Never before in Tir Asleen had a gathering disbanded so quickly.
Your mother didn’t bother to escort you to your guest chamber, nor even to her own. The first private place outside the ballroom happened to be the solar, so that’s where you ended up. You hadn’t been in the solar before, but it left much to be desired; tall wooden walls matched the floor, nearly barren save for a lone table in the center with benches on either side.
It was ironic, almost, that they called this room the “solar;” it was practically as frigid as your mothers demeanor.
She paced about, waiting for your father to shut the door behind you before dropping her pretense. “Do you loathe me?” She asked, taking you by surprise. “Do you? I can’t fathom what I’ve done. My own daughter, to hold such malice…”
“Mother…”
“I chose a fine young man for you to wed,” she interrupted. “I even granted you fifteen years to grow accustomed to him. I thought it would be cruel, then, to force my daughter into marriage with a stranger, but I now see that would have been best.”
“Mother…”
“After all I’ve done for you, after everything your father and I have done for you,” she turned towards him, seeking his support, but he merely shrunk under her piercing gaze. “Is this how you repay us? Such grievous betrayal…”
A storm of conflicting emotions roiled within you—anger, guilt, fear—but none of them were for your mother. “It is not about you!” You shouted, catching her off guard. She did nothing but stare back; mouth agape; never before had you raised your voice to her. “It was never about you.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, as if she was choking on her next words, before her eyes narrowed. “I never held her in good favor, I’ve always been wary of her influence on you.”
“Pardon?”
“That wretched friend of yours, she has corrupted you. Brought you to the ways of this unnatural lifestyle…”
“It was not her doing,” you snapped. “And we are not friends!”
“How are you not ashamed to speak such words?” She exclaimed, her face twisted with a frenzied fury you were unfamiliar with. “How are you not as abashed as I am? My daughter. Princess of Azarenth. Consorting with her betrothed’s sister, and at her own engagement party no less!”
You hung your head, not ashamed of your love for Kit, but at having been discovered. She noticed your change in bearing and sighed, casting her eyes to your father as she wrestled with her thoughts. “Perhaps… perhaps Airk could still agree to marry you. You were quite wine-sodded tonight, yes? As was Kit? If we offered that as an excuse, and an apology, of course…”
“I do not intend to wed Airk, Mother,” you confessed, your gaze still lowered.
That made her freeze. A tense silence hung in the air before your father’s voice broke it, his tone cautious and uncertain. “Princess… do you mean to say… you intend to wed Kit?”
“Of course not,” you replied; though the idea was compelling, you knew it wasn’t feasible. “I do not intend to stay here at all. And neither does Kit.”
Your parents' faces twisted in confusion, and your pulse quickened as the weight of your words settled over them. As you stared back at them silently, defiantly, their expressions slowly shifted to terror, despair, and… fear?
“Darling…” your mother hesitated, her eyes wide with panic. She displayed a vulnerability you had never seen before in your usually imperturbable mother, and it filled you with unease. “You must stay and marry Prince Airk. We need our alliance with Tir Asleen!”
“Why?” You demanded. “There are many kingdoms with which we could ally, some where I wouldn’t need to marry at all! What could Tir Asleen provide that is such a necessity?”
As your mother stammered, desperate to find the right words, she turned to your father for help, but alas, he tucked his head like a turtle retreating back into its shell. She sighed. “Princess… Azarenth is penniless.”
“Pardon?” You exclaimed, shocked. “Penniless?”
She nodded. “As a poet without a patron. Fifteen years ago, Queen Sorsha agreed to offer financial aid in return for your engagement to her heir.”
You looked to your father for any sign of jest, but his eyes softened only with pity. “Without your betrothal, our union will be severed, and our people will surely starve.”
The world seemed to crash down upon you as everything suddenly made sense—your parents’ insistence on abiding with Airk, how they always seemed to sycophantize with him and Sorsha, the size of Azarenth and how it lacked resources compared to Tir Asleen, how you always seemed to visit the twins and rarely the other way around, your mother’s dress, and how she was so importunate about your appearance, insisting that you look as wealthy as possible.
Your head swam, feeling as if the floor were slipping from underneath you. You pushed past your parents and collapsed onto one of the wooden benches. “Impoverished…” you whispered to yourself, contemplating where your priorities truly lay—your loyalty to your people, or your loyalty to Kit…
It didn’t take long for the Tir Asleen ballroom to clear, but if inquired, Sorsha would swear she spent years of her life stationed near the doorway, cheeks afire as she bid farewell to each scattering guest. The King of Galladoorn barely paid her any mind as he stormed off to his guest chamber, Graydon in tow, both visages aglow for varying reasons.
While his mother busied herself with mending the falloutl, Airk moved his sister to a nearby table, handing her a goblet of water to dilute the alcohol in her stomach. Kit groaned as she sipped from the goblet. Her head pounded; even while seated the room still seemed to spin. She lazily tugged at her corset, its constriction suddenly becoming too much for her to bear.
Airk sighed, reaching back to relieve his twin of the restricting garment. “I must say, I’m intrigued to see how you plan to explain this,” he whispered as he gently undid the laces. “I haven’t seen Mother so enraged since she caught me reading the lewd literature as a lad.”
Though the corset was loosened, Kit still felt her stomach clench as she glanced at her mother. Sorsha’s calmness, though eerie, was intensified by her flushed face, as crimson as her gown. As soon as the last guest departed and Sorsha closed the ballroom doors, the atmosphere shifted to one of unease. Airk noticed immediately, and busied himself with clearing tables, determined to stay out of his mother’s line of fire. Kit gulped as her mother approached, the dread forcing her mind out of its drunken haze.
“I’m not sure why I’m surprised,” Sorsha began, her expression stoic. “Twenty-one years I’ve endured your antics. I once thought it was mere childish theatrics, that you’d surely mature beyond it, but it seems I was mistaken.”
Kit also remained expressionless as she continued to sip from her goblet. She was used to being scolded, berated by her mother, to the point that it had lost its sting long ago.
Sorsha, however, was far from finished. “I just never imagined my own daughter would go as far as to make a mockery of her own kingdom, and for what? To thwart a betrothal? To evade your royal responsibilities?”
Her voice grew louder with each sentence. Kit groaned, clutching the side of her still-throbbing skull.
Sorsha knelt to her daughter’s level until Kit could feel her breath warming her face. “Goblet’s ache? You should give thanks to the gods above for your intoxication tonight,” she continued. “Without wine’s influence, the inquisition would surely have your head after your misdeed this evening!”
Kit’s earlier dread settled like a pit in her stomach at her mother’s words. Sorsha was right; in her lustful, wine-soaked stupor, she had risked not only a scandal, but possibly your lives as well.
Nausea bubbled inside her; she clutched her stomach, desperately fighting back the bile that threatened to rise. Airk quickly noticed his sister’s disposition, and rushed over after grabbing a maid’s bucket off a nearby table.
Sorsha scoffed at her son’s compassion, watching in disbelief as he held Kit’s head over the bucket. “Honestly Kit, did you ever stop to consider how your brother might feel about all this? If I were him, I’d leave you to wallow in your own excretion.”
Upon being mentioned, Airk’s head lifted to look at his mother. As betrayed as he knew he should have felt, as shocked as he was to learn his intended’s paramour turn out to be his own sister, he couldn’t deny, he had been keeping his own secrets. And if Kit’s was so harshly exposed against her will, perhaps alluding to his own could alleviate her burden. “I care little, mother…”
His words grabbed Sorsha’s attention, drawing it away from Kit momentarily. “How can you not?”
“I don't love the princess,” he admitted. “And she doesn't love me.”
Sorsha merely waved off his confession as if she were flicking away dust. “Marriage isn’t about love, Airk! Few engagements begin with love, you learn to love!”
“I have been in the princess’s company for fifteen years,” he argued, beginning to raise his voice before using her own choices against her. “I have not grown to love her, and you and father’s union was not arranged!”
“I married a reckless man because I was ‘in love’ with him, and look where that got me! I ruled a kingdom alone while raising two children, and he’s dead in a ditch somewhere in Nockmaar!”
“That’s where I shall be, too,” Kit interjected.
The raspy sound of her voice took Airk and Sorsha by surprise. They slowly turned to face her. “Kit…” Sorsha began. “What do you mean, that’s where you shall be?”
Kit glanced up from her bucket, her eyes red and watery. “Nockmaar,” she gurgled. “The princess… we’re not staying…”
Both Airk and Sorsha’s jaws dropped in horror at Kit’s remark. Airk was the first to speak. “Kit, you’re not serious…”
“Nockmaar?!” Sorsha cried. “B-but your father… and the Wyrm…”
“Safer than here…” Kit muttered, dropping her face back towards the bucket.
It was Sorsha’s turn for her head to spin; visions of the dire fates that might befall her daughter danced in her head—nightmarish scenarios her mother had long foreseen. She could practically taste her own heartbeat; she knew her daughter better than most, and recognized her obstinacy derived from her father. When Kit had her mind set on something, there was no stopping her, regardless of the peril; Kit would willingly risk everything—even her own life—if it meant being with her beloved.
Without another word, Sorsha turned on her heel and exited the ballroom, leaving her twins behind as the doors shut behind her.
