#fae x reader

It was her voice you heard first. A quiet evening stroll led you a little further near the forest, and then you began to hear that hum from the distance. The closer you got, the more you became enchanted by the gentle lilt of that croon, the way it flowed so serenely, resembling all too much a sweet lullaby. 

The voice, feminine and lovely as it sounded, bore a quality that made your chest heavy with unpleasant feelings. As if it left the lips of a long deceased ghost — strokes of grief and desolation clouded the sweet notes and turned them a gray color. 

But captivated as you remained, the voice blurred every path from your vision but the one that would lead you to her.

Down in that unremarkable area beneath hills blanketed with moss, a little stream ran through a long terrain. Hardly anything of the environment caught your attention, especially when your eyes landed on her. Slowly wandering and pacing around with no sense of direction, gaze distant as if she roamed a different reality in her mind, all the while that wordless lullaby became even more audible for your ears.

Thick brown hair descended in waves down her body, almost reaching her knees. It covered her smooth and slightly damp skin, as if she had been in the water but spent enough time on land to dry. 

You felt your heart catch in your throat when she turned to face you, her eyes meeting yours. Never had you seen a lovelier girl, with features so divine you would have thought she slipped out of Olympus from the cradle of the Goddess of love and beauty herself.

She seemed just as caught off guard by your appearance, but then she quickly spoke. Even as she fumbled her words, pausing every other moment to structure her sentences in her mind — you were utterly charmed by her voice and that slight accent which you never quite heard before. 

Though you were complete strangers, it felt as if she wanted to change that immediately. She approached you with no sense of boundary or personal space, her gaze travelling all over your form while she talked with you. Neris was her name. Neris. You repeated it in your mind like a melody you won't be able to ever forget.

Hours passed by like seconds in the company of the girl, and by nightfall you knew it was your time to return. Neris could not join you on your way back, and she could barely allow you to go on your own either. Only at your promise of a visit the very next morning did she relent. She also asked you if you knew of a certain girl, if she maybe inhabited your village. You apologetically told her that you wouldn't know, as you only recently moved here after all.

Something seemed to dawn on her when you said that. It made sense now why you were here, why you would follow a beautiful tune in the woodland, and then so blindly trust a girl that you very well knew could not be human.

You were new, clean, untouched. Your head was still untainted by old warnings and tales.

But for how long would that last? How long would it take until the elders got their wretched hands on you, defiling your pure mind with their ideas that burned with disrespect and hatred toward the hidden? You continued to visit her every day, but could she be constantly sure of your return? 

She once did so trust a human girl, the very first one she had ever even known. A girl whose company she could never get enough of, who dedicated every free minute she had to the nymph, who told her so much of her world and helped her learn more of their language, who once played such a beautiful song for her.

A girl who visited every day, just like you began doing, only to gradually distance herself and then never visit Neris again.

But she had you now, and you were so utterly unaware and naïve, and so incredibly sweet that she could not stand letting you go every night. 

Because every time you left, she wondered if it would be the last she'd see of you.

As your bond grew, so did Neris's attachment, as well as her fears. She needed you to meet her by the stream every day at specific times, and you could not dare be late. You were urged — practically forced, to share every detail of your day: where you went, what kind of people you spent time with, and what they meant to you.

Why did you walk home with that girl? Why were you nice to him? Why would you spend time you owed to her with people who meant nothing? What did you talk about with them? What did they tell you? What filthy, despicable cautionary tales did they poison your mind with? Was there a hidden reason you wanted to go back home early tonight?

Neris' magnificent beauty shed to reveal something less than appealing. Something fearful, desperate, angry.

"You are a liar! You said that you will not do anything to upset me, but you do that every day! You keep talking to these people, you will happily let them take you from me!"

Another night spent trying to soothe the rage of the nymph in front of you, who now completely invaded your personal space and roughly held onto your shoulders, her fingers digging into your flesh tightly as though you may try to escape. 

"They will try to take you away. They will tell you horrible things about me. Do you know what I will do if you never return? I won't let anyone go from this stream alive. The bones will continue to grow until there is more than rocks. I will turn the water red with the blood of everyone who lives in your village."

The nymph's eyes welled with tears, her anger melting into frantic bitterness. "Do you hate me? Is that why you never listen to what I say? I don't even let them get near you." She glanced at the stream, "So why do you let other people be close to you? I told you so many times, I'm not sharing you with anyone! You are mine alone, or you are worth nothing."

You learned with time how to stay safe around Neris. It took a lot of anger, scoldings, threats, and tears, but you eventually figured out how to remain on her good side. Never be late, never leave early, never be around other villagers for too long, never even think about not visiting. 

Another thing you had to be wary of was your language. You had to speak as clearly, directly and simply as you could, to ensure she understands everything you say. Figurative language and slang were dangerous territory. If she misunderstood what you said or did not know what it meant at all, she believed you were doing it on purpose to keep certain information hidden from her.

But even with all the emotional pain you endured, you returned to her side at the stream every day as she asked. Was it fear of her threats, or were you too addicted to her company to give it up? As long as you did nothing to anger her, she treated you with utmost love and touched you only very delicately, as if you were something fragile beneath her fingertips. And she was afraid of breaking you just as much as she feared losing you.

Maybe it was because of how violently it contrasted her anger, but you especially grew addicted to her smile. For someone who constantly suffocated in fear and worry, you wanted nothing more than to pull her out of it. Words of reassurance and affectionate gestures were becoming repetitive, so you figured out new ways.

Instead of coming empty handed one day, you arrived at the stream with an array of fresh flowers plucked from your garden in your hand. You always admired her long and lustrous hair, and suggested spending time adorning it with the blooms you chose for her. It was a silly gesture, and it felt almost embarrassing to offer up.

The glee and delight in her eyes, as well as her radiant smile, caught you a bit off guard. You had hoped that she would be pleased, but didn't expect her to be that thrilled. She closely inspected every flower — each one so new and foreign to her — and she lit up at you touching her hair. 

The way you gently ran your hands through her hair, pulling any strands away from her face and making braids along the floral decoration — it felt so warm and familiar, even if it was the first time she experienced it. 

That night, she begged you to stay overnight and sleep next to her on the bank of the stream. You couldn't object, and couldn't help the warm feelings that bubbled in your chest, even if you feared that she may be growing more attached.

Could you be sure that she wouldn't one day just refuse to let you go?

You wouldn't understand her perspective, you were only a human. And even if it was an unspoken accepted fact between you both that she was not human — she still couldn't open up to you about her fears and the feelings she went through.

As the youngest one of the nymphs, she happened to exist at just the right time where humans no longer roamed the woodland like they did before. Even if they did, they all knew to ignore any singing or call, to wear protection wards, to avoid certain areas. Such as the stream. 

Within that shallow seemingly safe water hidden beings dwell; wicked entities that can never be trusted by mankind. They appear to us as exceptionally beautiful horses, maidens and men — a trap meant to have us ensnared. Some call them fallen angels, depriving humans of their souls to pacify their pain and grief over the heavenly bliss they lost.

Never heed their call, their honeyed tongue, their lovely voice.

Never let yourself be lured by beauty you’ve never seen on mortals.

Never roam the woodland with no protection to ward you from their evil.

So many times did the elders repeat those words to their young, that even the hidden folk heard them.

But they weren’t so different from humans, they exchanged stories among each other as well. For the longest time, that’s where the nymph got her knowledge from. She heard of knights, ladies, lords, maids, and fishermen; she heard of how easily they trust, how taken they are by awe when the otherworldly spoke to them. 

When would it be her turn? To become the muse of an artist, to be gifted offerings and tokens of adoration, to be looked at with reverence, to challenge the resilience of a mortal soul? Will there ever come a day where she speaks to a complete human being, and not just their bones?

It was that villager girl who first fulfilled her dreams one by one, only to leave her with a gap way deeper than the former one. This one was abyssal, it stretched to no bottom, and nothing could make it any less cold. When you entered it, you were like a fragile lighthouse in the North Sea. You could only stay standing for so long, until the waves rise in a storm and break you down, letting your remains sink into freezing depths.

Neris caught the change in your behavior the very first day. Even with how subtle it began, she analyzed your every move and nothing slipped past her overbearing attention. You took a step back when she got close, tried to avoid being in the water near her, and for a moment you eyed her with something akin to… fear? 

The look in your eyes was enough to drive her over the edge. You treated her with wariness as if she was a monster toying with her food before hunting it down. She was sure of what caused this; and when you made an excuse to leave early, it only solidified her belief.

They got their filthy hands on you. They stole your innocent mind and corrupted it with their tales.

Your behavior was all too similar to that girl’s, right before she disappeared. And Neris was sure that if she does nothing, you will abandon her too. The damage this would inflict on her would be beyond measure, and she wouldn’t be able to endure the misery that would befall her. Knowingly selfish as she was, she would not tamp down her desires, nor the urge to eternally keep you for herself.

As soon as she got you in the water, a sense of comfort washed over her. Unbeknownst to you, the moment you let her convince you to follow her into the stream — you ensured a lock over all the doors that would allow you to return. 

She had your voice memorized in her mind, she didn’t need you to speak to hear any word you wanted to say. Even when your body changes and sinks back to the earth, she will have everlasting remnants of her beloved, of her one and only human.

Only at that moment did she finally feel at ease around you. The anger, worries, fear and desperation — they drained from her body and flowed with the stream alongside the crimson liquid that oozed from your head. 

You did not push back or lean away, but stayed so sweetly limp in her arms, the only movement of your body being the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest as your lungs fruitlessly clung to life. Your eyes were half open, no fright or distrust left in them. The starry sky above you became a dark blur. You were cold, terribly so. Perhaps because of the water you were half submerged in. Even as close as you were huddled in the beautiful girl’s embrace, her hand gently brushing against your face and caressing your hair to comfort you, no warmth flowed in your body.

In your last waking moments, you could hear that musical croon softly humming above you — the very one that brought you where you were now. So enchanting in its melody, still with that quality of sorrow buried deep in its notes.

That lullaby led you to something that did not belong to this world, and now it accompanied you as your soul became foreign to this realm as well. 

One of the nymphs who leaned on a rock close to the one you would eventually come to know as 'Ira' softly interjected his story. She spoke in a sharply elegant language no human who still lived among their kind could understand.

"(I don't mean to interrupt you... but this part reminded me— why do you no longer bring your flute along? We missed hearing you play.)"

Ira silently shot her an annoyed glare, but held back his tongue. "(I've been playing too frequently, and for no good reason. I'm sick of it.)"

One of the men who had jade black hair down to his shoulders turned to Ira with a raised brow, his olive green eyes narrowed into slits. "(Do you not enjoy playing music? How can you hate doing something that you love?)"

"(I'm tired of playing for others. For how supposedly mesmerizing the sound of my flute is, they still treat it more as background noise than anything else. And I hardly get much in return. I don't like being used for entertainment like an object. For once, I want to subject someone else through that.)"

A nymph with kinky black hair and a soft frame let out a light chuckle. "(That's a little dramatic. You are no object to us.)"

Ira shrugged impassively, his expression plain. "(I'm not talking about you in particular. It doesn't matter. I don't want to play again unless it is for a good favor in return.)"

"(How greedy. You just prefer to play for humans, don't you? What do they give you in return?")

"(That's right,)" Another nymph, with short blond hair and a slender build chimed in, "(He just has favorites, clearly. That traitor!)" he laughed.

Ira rolled his head back, letting out a groan. "(Why are you all turning on me at once? Actually, you are right, though. I did prefer playing for humans for some time, but I don't like to do it anymore, either.")

"(Why is that?)"

"(Because it's exhausting! They give me too much of what I want. Every time I joined an event or celebration and played my flute for their enjoyment, they never seemed to want me to stop. Even as their feet bled and tears rolled down their faces, they would not stop dancing. It made me feel too guilty to stop, but then I would have to play for days till they finally all collapsed. I could hardly feel bad for them afterward, they did not care at all about how tired they made me.")

A younger nymph who had been quiet up till now finally spoke, her long bright brown hair flowing in the water and almost covering her entire body. "(Speaking of humans, I've been putting more effort into learning their language.)" She swam closer to the bank where Ira sat. "(If I want to call out for one of them to step closer to the water, I'd say 'get here', right?)"

Ira looked aside with furrowed brows, trying to remember if he ever heard anyone speak that way. ("It sounds unnatural, and a bit rude.") He shook his head. "Come closer. (Try saying that instead.)"

"Come closar."

"(No.)" He raised his voice slightly to sound more clear. "Come closer. (Say it again.)"

"Come closer."

Ira nodded. "(That sounds alright. But you should learn something else, there is no point in this. I doubt that any human will visit your stream again.")

The nymph tilted her head, looking up past Ira with a grin. "(Really? Then who is that girl over there?)"

He shifted to look behind, and his face instantly dropped as he saw you. Standing just a few feet away, utterly unaware of your surroundings.

"Come closer!"

Ira scowled at the younger nymph, his irritation growing tremendously seeing you only hesitate for a moment, before curiously stepping closer to the water, where you were sure that nothing was there.

The brunette giggled, "(They listen so well! And look, she has no barriers on her.)" She turned toward Ira, proud of how well she spoke. "(Wasn't that good?")

Ira rose to his feet, stalking over to stand right behind you while glaring at the nymph. "(I didn't give you permission to say that to her!")

("Do I need it? I can do what I want.") She slithered back into the water, slowly approaching you.

Shifting his gaze between you, the nymph, and the large rock that sat not too far in the stream, he hovered his hand around your arm. "(Don't do it.)"

The nymph stopped for a moment, looking at him with confusion. The other dwellers of the water watched on wordlessly. "(Why?)"

"(Because she will become nothing but an unmoving corpse.)"

"(She won't be able to leave that way.)"

"(She won't be able to do anything in general.)"

The girl's expression became sour, still trying to 'reason' with him. "(But it's easier to pretend that she is alive rather than to get her to stay.)"

Others eyed Ira with increasing bewilderment, as if something was genuinely wrong with him. They decided to finally stand up for the young nymph, questioning his behavior.

"(Why are you doing this now?)"

"(You are acting strange.)"

"(You never said anything about any of the other humans.)"

Ira's eyes twitched and he let out a sharp breath. It was the whole stream against him now; he hated being cornered with questions. He had no reason to lie (and no ability to do that directly), so he must give a simple, clear answer at once.

"(I want this one for myself.)"

The stream quieted down for a moment. Those who were interrogating and provoking Ira looked aside awkwardly, then turned away with indifference. Only the younger nymph kept glaring at Ira venomously, rage simmering deep in her bones as she moved slowly in the water, closer toward you.

"(You can have anyone you want. You have the whole forest, where at least some humans still roam. You said it yourself, no one will visit this stream! I'm not letting her go!)" She extended her arm within a second, pushing your foot back with her hand and sending you slipping forward to the direction of the water.

Ira held onto your arm, already prepared for this. He steadied your balance, before reluctantly letting go and stepping aside when you seemed immediately ready to leave.

He wasn't aware that the nymph would not give up after one try, and safe to say both you and Ira were caught off guard when you still slipped again not even a moment later, this time falling into the water. Luckily enough, your fall wasn't as calculated as before, and your head missed the rock.

"Fuck my life..." you mumbled in your drenched clothes as you sat up, unbeknownst to you that you were that close to losing your life. Until you saw the rock, at least.

Nobody seemed to notice you anymore as you got up and left. The nymph bitterly eyed Ira, whose shoulders rigidly raised up and down with each shallow breath, his long fingernails cutting into his palm as he stared back at her.

"(Did you not hear what I said?)"

"(You said not to kill her; she is very alive, and leaving because of you.)"

The other nymphs began feeling uncomfortable, and tried to ease the tension by getting Ira to drop it. You were still alive, after all, it's not like anything bad actually happened.

"(I said it very clearly, it couldn't be that hard to understand!)" Ira snapped. "(You wouldn't mess with any of my other belongings, what made you think this was any different? You directly ignored my words. Do you all have algae in your head? I will never play music again for deaf ears!)"

He turned around, stepping away from the streamfolk as they all stared at him with widened eyes. The nymph with jade black hair rose up from the water and followed Ira on land, calling out for him. "(What do you mean? You will come back, won't you?)"

"(Where are you going? Come back. You didn't even finish the story from earlier!)" Another older nymph cried out.

Ira slowed his steps, glancing back with a sneer. "(Get someone else to finish it. Find someone else to tell you stories, play music for you, and teach you new languages.)" He let out a huff as he stopped and turned to fully face them, his voice carrying a more taunting edge. "(But you would be lucky if anyone at all — from our kin or from humans — visited your pathetic little stream.)"

They didn't say a word. The black haired nymph froze under the weight of Ira's glower, what looked like genuine hurt showed in his eyes. Their stares veered from Ira to the younger nymph. The feelings of support or indifference from before turned into desperate urging.

The brunette's anger began melting down into deep discomfort. Her feelings toward Ira were still spiteful, but she didn't want her kinsfolk to hate her because of what she made them miss out on.

She swam closer to the bank, calling out for Ira in a flat voice. Forcing her face into one of neutrality, she stood up on her feet and took only a few steps closer. "(Wait. I know you are angry at me, but don't punish everyone else for it.)"

She breathed out a heavy sigh. "(I am in your debt. You may ask anything of me, as long as you continue to make them happy.)"

The anger slowly drained from Ira's features, his head tilting to the side in thought. "(You are not the only one I play for. If I were to come back here, you all owe me a favor. The stream itself and everyone that inhabits it — must fulfil what I ask when the time comes. If not, I'll never tread down here again.)"

The nymphs exchanged glances, baffled at the request. The blond frowned, staring at Ira with disbelief. "(You actually are greedy.)"

A snicker slipped past Ira's lips. ("You are one to talk about being greedy! I give you so much of my time and energy, and I scarcely get anything back. Not only that, but you disrespect my wishes as well. I'd be stupid not to take advantage of you!)"

"(I'll do it.)" The black haired nymph muttered. "(If they won't agree, I'll do whatever it is you will ask on my own.)"

Ira rolled his eyes upward, stepping closer to the nymph and lightly shoving his head down, prompting him to shut up. "(You are stupid. I want their favor, not only yours,)" he whispered.

The streamfolk mumbled between eachother for a few moments. Ira was beginning to grow impatient, considering to threaten leaving again, before one of the older folks called him, and let him know that they agreed to his deal.

"(One more thing,)" Ira added, "(Understand that she is not yours. Even if she stupidly comes back here in my absence, you don't have permission to interact with my human without my saying.")

They nodded, wanting to get this over with already.

"(Now, you're pleased, aren't you? Come back and finish the story already!)"

Ira's lips quirked into a grin, as he sauntered back to his spot near the water.

You shot him an incredulous look, leaning back slightly and pushing your hand up forward. "I can feed myself...?"

"I can do that too," Ira scoffed, not impressed by your ability. "Open your mouth."

Reluctantly, you ate the berry from his hand, a wave of heat crawling up your neck and cheeks at being fed like a pet. Your embarrassment was overtaken quickly by the sweetness of the berry as it burst in your mouth, the sugary juice trailing down your throat. It was baffling how such delicious fruit were left untouched to fall and return to the earth.

Thankfully, Ira only fed you like that two times, before gradually losing patience. Starting with handing the berries down to you, and then simply tossing them from where he stood for you to catch. Well, it was better that way.

You did find it strange though that he did not eat any himself. Maybe because he was too caught up picking them while talking with you? That seemed odd, but you did not enjoy eating alone with someone around you.

"Can you come here for a second?" you called out, which made him turn around and look at you inquisitively.

He took measured steps toward you, crouching back down to your level. His expression had been blank almost the entire time, but now there was a small glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. "What?"

You raised one of the berries he gave you up to his lips. "Open your mouth."

For someone who had done the exact same thing just a few minutes ago, he stared at you with discomfort and concern as if you were genuinely losing your mind. Or maybe he just felt uneasy that your roles were reversed for a moment.

The remnants of the plain, rigid disposition he had since you yelled at him up till now fractured. That familiar expression—widened eyes, grin flashing his teeth, came back much to your both relief and discomfort. His hand wrapped around your wrist and brought it closer to his mouth as he ate the berry you held. You had no idea what was so funny about what you did, but he stood up and walked back to the branches with a genuine chuckle.

It didn't seem like he ever planned on not being weird anymore, so you had to ignore this just like everything else. Ira continued to toss berries your way while talking, but at least now he ate some of them as well and he seemed more lively.

If there was one thing that truly ruined this place, it had to be the mosquitoes. While you savored the blackberries, the pests savored your blood. You had to constantly wave your hand and swat them away from your skin, and at some point, you made an idle complaint about it out loud to Ira.

"I know how to repel them," Ira responded to you from the end of the tree's limb, before eating a berry. He did not say anything afterward, and you thought that he actually had nothing more to add, not even an explanation of how to repel them as he said.

You turned to look at him questioningly, but he was already crouched down next to you. This time, he leaned even closer, holding your face in his hands. "Stay still," he muttered and pressed his mouth against your cheek, his lips slightly parted. When he backed away and released you, you had a small, wet and slightly dark purple spot on your cheek, as well as inky fingerprints from his stained fingers. Was that supposed to be a kiss? You weren't even sure.

Ira got back up without a word, leaving you stunned. He carelessly went back to picking berries, while a thousand thoughts raced your mind at once. You did plan on not going back to this way of thinking, but you couldn't help wondering if this was anything fae related. How else could you explain it? The idea was absurd, but you had no clue if there was some piece of folklore you were missing.

"Does... that repel them, or...?"

"No," Ira huffed, finding your question ridiculous. "They don't like the scent of lemon grass and marigolds, but there are none growing around us here."

"Why, what— then why did you even do that?"

This was the second time you feel such horrible embarrassment today, and it had to be even worse. You already knew the information he was telling you, yet your mind wandered into fairy tales instead. Some kind of plant scientist you were.

"I just wanted to see if you would object at all, but you really are accepting of anything I do."

That answer—even with how casually he said it—infuriated you. You had tried your best to send him anything but that idea while maintaining civility. Then again, you did brush off too many things, didn't you?

You shifted your position, turning to face Ira and lifting your feet up on the tree's limb. "Ira, would you object to this?" you stretched out your leg and swung your foot at his heel, making him lose his balance and sending him falling backwards to the ground.

The shocked expression he made as he fell was enough to satisfy you, but as his back collided with the soft grass and berries, he let out an airy laugh. "Why did you do that? You are odd."

He did not enjoy the companionship of humans as they demanded too much, gave too little, and exploited whatever they could if it meant it would be advantageous. Yet, what he enjoyed less than humans was hearing their despair, as it moved him to undesirable emotions and to things like this. He sought you out through inquisitiveness and to ask you why, little human, did you weep so upon the earth?

You knelt by the water's edge with a shattered jar you'd thrown in rage before melting to the ground and dissolving into tears. Mounting expectations from your town to consent to being the next of your sort sent away, married off to some man of lesser noble status in exchange for meager allowances, had led to your frustrations consuming you.

The jar had been a family heirloom; precious, molded, smoothed, and repaired by the hands of your ancestors over time, yet when you looked at it, all you could manage to see behind your eyes was red and rage. It was through that upwelling of red and rage that you'd taken the jar and thrown it to the ground as hard as you could. It had shattered easily, remarkably dully, leaving you unsatisfied and filled with dread.

How could you return home with only fragments?

"Little human, your cries are absolutely averse to me, but I must know why you do so," the fine man announced himself, immediately ceasing your cries and startling you to your feet. "Now you stop, but why ever were you making such horrid sounds to begin with?"

The sight before you was so ethereal and exquisite that you could not bring yourself to answer him. Before you was a silver elk with sprawling antlers reaching high and far, nearly blending into oneness with the tree branches. It had a soft glow surrounding it, a sort of humming halo of light which made it simultaneously a sight you could not tear your gaze away from, yet still too bright as something standing apart from the darkness.

It wore no saddle or bridle like steeds you knew, but seemed to know, intuitively, what the rider wished for it to do without a spur in the gut or tug of fur.

Aboard the immense animal, the speaker was a ghost-pale man with long, icy hair the whitest you'd ever seen. Though his face was inexpressive, you saw a curious gleam in green eyes and a careful tilt of the head. Most fascinating to you about this man were the antlers mounted upon his own head, ones you could not discern whether they sprouted from his skull or were part of some extravagant ornamentation to his person.

"If you can cry so loudly, surely you are capable of speech, little human," pressed the fine man, growing impatient and bored of your stares. "Does something trouble you to be here at night? What is that there at your feet?"

It was embarrassment that broke your trance of the beauty before you. Your face felt like it was singed by the hearth at home.

"I—forgive me, sir, for being so impolite." You placed a hand across your chest and bowed sharply, a formality among your people reserved for those of important status. "It was discourteous of me to assume that I would not disturb others, even at night. Had I known that, I would—"

The fine man gave a suffering sigh, as though hearing you explain was truly a test of all of his goodness and patience, and said, "That is not what I asked. Answer my question."

"The crying, you mean?" Such a strange thing to insist upon demanding an answer for, but you would give it to him as you wanted the conversation to last. "Well, if you must know, I broke my family's most prized heirloom. That water jug." You pointed down at it. "It has belonged to my family for generations, and in my blind fury, I tossed it down, and it shattered. It is not as shattered as I am, however."

To this, the fine man inspected the dark shards of pottery on the grass from his great height. You were quick to notice the slight twist on his face, a downward tug on his lips as if disappointed. Perhaps he'd expected you to say something else.

"Things can be replaced," said the fine man coolly, looking now to you, "one thing your species will never seem to understand is that your things will be lost to time. Heirlooms and trinkets will tarnish and crumble to dust. They are merely things which you imprint importance upon, nothing more. They are no more than what they are."

You gazed down somberly at the fragments of the water jug and considered his words in silence for just a moment. "Maybe you're right. Maybe things have no inherent value beyond what we put into them. But, for one reason or another, they matter to us. They hold power. The hold memories. They tether us to the past and to family and to tradition."

"Does that make it a good thing?" He seemed to be seriously asking.

"I'm not sure," you told him. "Perhaps it's a bit of both. At some point, I started to resent that water jug because of what it represented in my family. Sameness. Embracing rigid, unchanging tradition. I am told that everyone in my family, at my age, is to go to the river to fetch water and bring it home until I am finally married. And then, if it were to happen, my own children were to take the jug and continue the tradition. It's heavy. It's heavy to carry around with me, and I didn't want to do it anymore. It's not what I want to do. So, in my anger, I broke it."

The fine man didn't seem to comprehend the complexity behind your words: your talk of sentimentality and tradition meant very little to a being such as him. This you were acutely aware of, but you had no other way of explaining your grief. Breaking the jar had given you a release, a great rush of relief through your lungs and soul, yet also a great loss. Something you would never get back.

"I don't want to get married away like everyone else I've ever known," you admitted. "I want to be able to choose whom I marry, but it is also a selfish wish. Not giving my consent to the marriage would mean that my family would not receive their allowance to survive. It's difficult."

"Why must their survival depend on you?"

"Because that's the way it's always been."

The fine man dismounted his steed and approached you. His height dwarfed you, yet under his gaze, you did not feel belittled or insignificant as you often did with men. It was something in the way he regarded you with that curious glimmer in his eyes, even though his face would not convey the same thing. He did not look at you as something to collect as part of many things, nor as something to hold ownership over with titles and contracts and rings and traditions.

He saw you simply as what you were: A human crying over a broken jar and an unknowable future.

"I will offer you this: Come away with me. Give me your name and take my hand. We will ride away to my realm, where you may choose to live however you please, forevermore." He extended a ghostly pale hand towards you, palm facing up. You thought that touching him would warm you. "I only ask that you be willing to keep me company, answer whatever questions I may have of this realm."

You smiled at him and didn't hesitate to slip your hand into his, fingers reaching towards his wrist. The contact was warm as you imagined. It pulsed through you like a heartbeat, like the gentle, glowing hum that encompassed the silver elk.

The fine man's softly pink lips rose into a kind smile, and he asked again for your name.

The cold had teeth.

You'd known that since your wings had unfurled, weak and pale. Your mother had always warned you to be careful; winter was a fairy's graveyard. But knowing and feeling were different beasts entirely. This winter had buried your kin. Buried your magic. Buried everything except the screaming need to survive.

Your wings hung from your shoulders like dead leaves. Translucent membranes gone gray with frostbite at the edges. You hadn't fed in eleven days. No summer sun to drink, no flowers to draw sweetness from, no lovers' sighs to siphon.

You were starving.

And the man in the cottage at the forest's edge radiated a warmth unlike anything you'd felt.

First night, you told yourself it was desperation; pure desperation that made you sneak inside. The cottage smelled of pine resin, woodsmoke, and a deep musky scent. A male scent.

Said male lay on his back under wool blankets, one arm flung over his head, light brown hair tousled against the pillow. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of deep sleep. No fire in the hearth—he'd banked it for the night, but the space around his body shimmered delightfully.

You shouldn't.

You really shouldn't.

But your numb fingers couldn’t remember the reason anymore as you climbed onto the bed and curled into his side. You were only five feet tall on a good day... and he was huge. At nearly six feet tall, he took up half the bed, his long legs stretching past the mattress while you curled easily beneath his arm.

Just for an hour, you promised yourself. Just until my fingers stop aching.

You pressed your frozen cheek to his chest.

And the warmth flooded into you like honey.

**

Morning came too fast. You fled before his eyelids even fluttered, leaving behind nothing but a scattering of frost-melted flowers from your hair and a dent in his blankets where your body had curled.

Second night, you told yourself it was only because the wind had picked up. Only because your magic had barely recharged enough to keep your heart beating. Only because—

He'd washed the sheets. You noticed it the moment you slipped inside.

Fresh linen. And something else; a cup of warm milk and honey cookies set by the bedside table. An offering? No. Humans didn't know about fae anymore. They'd forgotten centuries ago. But the milk was there. The honey cookies called to you.

You drank. You ate. And then you climbed into his bed again, shame burning your frostbitten cheeks, and curled yourself along his spine this time. His back was broad, muscled and warm. So warm you nearly sobbed into his shirt.

As you walked away, little purple flowers kept falling behind you. Tiny bell-shaped ones tangled in your hair. You tried to pick them all out, but somehow a few always slipped free.

Third night.

You should have known better. Should have realized he wasn't as oblivious as he seemed. Should have noticed the way his breathing changed when you tip-toed his floor, the way his fingers twitched toward the lump in the blankets where you always nestled.

But you were too cold to think. Too frantic.

You climbed the bed. Crawled over his legs. Sank into the familiar hollow of his chest—

And his arm closed around you.

"There you are."

His voice was sleep-rough, vibrating through his ribs and directly into your frozen bones. You gasped. Tried to scramble away. But his hand was already cupping your entire back, palm spanning from your shoulder blades to your waist.

"Let go of me," you hissed.

"Mmm." He didn't sound afraid. He sounded... interested. His thumb stroked down your spine. "You're the one who's been sneaking into my bed. Leaving flowers in my sheets."

"I—that's not—"

"I thought I was dreaming the first time." His other hand came up, fingers gentle as they tilted your chin toward the moonlight leaking through the window. "You're not a dream, are you?"

"I’m a dream," you spat. "Go back to sleep."

He chuckled. "No, you definitely aren’t. You feel way too real in my arms."

His eyes moved over you. Appreciating.

The light caught on your wings; pale lavender membranes, still lacking their usual shine from hunger but very clearly not human. Then your ears, slightly pointed, your large eyes and your shimmering skin.

You stared at him too.

His eyes were beautiful. Deep violet, like the foxglove flowers tangled in your hair.

You greedily sucked up a little more warmth before he screamed. Flailed and kicked you off the bed. You deserved it.

Instead, he said, "You're freezing."

And pulled you tighter against his chest.

The sob that escaped you was ugly. You pressed your face into the hollow of his throat and felt his pulse jump against your lips. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't have anywhere else—the cold, I can't—fairies need warmth and touch and I haven't fed in days and everyone's dead or gone and I just—"

"Hey. Hey." His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. "Breathe, sweetheart. I'm not throwing you out."

"Y-you should. I'm a parasite. I've been stealing your heat."

"Bullshit." He said it so flatly you almost laughed. "You're beautiful and you left flower petals in my bed. True, you could have let me know but you're definitely not a parasite. You're the best thing that's happened to me."

You blinked up at him. Was he daft?

"Why?" you whispered.

"Because I'm warm," he said, "and I can give it to you. All of it. If you let me."

Your heart stuttered. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I've been alone a long time." His voice dropped lower. His hand slid from your hair down to your waist, fingers spanning your ribs. "And I've done some reading. Old books. Faefolk need more than just lying next to someone, don't they? They need heat. Real heat. The kind that comes from—"

"Don't," you breathed. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."

"The kind that comes from making love." His palm flattened on your belly. "The kind that comes from coming inside you."

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Your thighs pressed together, wetness flooding between them. He knew. He'd read, actually read, about your kind. About how human seed carried warmth like no other source. About how a fairy could go from starving to thriving on a single, well-aimed orgasm.

"You'd do that? For a stranger?"

"I'd do it," he murmured, shifting you until you felt the thick line of his cock hardening against his thigh, "because I want to. Because you're beautiful. Because I woke up with flowers stuck to my chest and a sweet smell in my nose and I've been hard for three days thinking about you."

You moaned softly.

"There she is," he said, smiling handsomely. "There's the fairy who's been torturing me."

"I haven't—"

"You have." He rolled all of a sudden, pinning you to the mattress with his larger body, his hips settling between your spread legs. The weight of him pressed you into the featherbed. The heat of him seeped through your dress like sun through glass. "Every night you curled against me. Every time your sweet body shivered into mine. You think I didn't feel you?"

Your dress had ridden up. His cock, thick and hot even through his breeches, nudged against your bare thigh. You could feel the pulse of it. The delightful warmth. You keened.

"Please," you whispered.

He kissed you. His warm mouth crashed into yours, suffusing you with heat. You moaned into his mouth and felt him groan in response, his hips grinding down against yours.

"Tell me what you need," he panted against your lips. "Tell me exactly."

"Your skin." Your hands fumbled at his shirt, pushing the worn linen up his chest. Hair curled there and you scraped your nails through it just to hear him hiss. "I need your skin on mine. Need you inside. Need—ah—"

His mouth found your throat. Sucked. Bit. Left a mark that would bloom purple by morning.

"Neck's sensitive," you gasped.

"Yeah?" He did it again, and your whole body arched into his. "What about these?"

He shoved your dress up, past your breasts and tossed it away. You shivered, your beasts small, nipples tight from more than just cold. He groaned as his mouth closed over one before you could hide shyly, tongue circling the pebbled peak while his fingers worked the other.

"Oh—" Your back bowed. Your wings fluttered against the sheets. "Yes. Yes."

He suckled like he was starving, wet sounds echoing in the quiet cottage. His stubble rasped against the sensitive skin of your breast. His free hand slid down your belly, fingers dipping into your panties, finding the soaked curls between your legs.

"So fucking wet already," he growled against your nipple. "Is that for me, sweetheart? Did my little fairy get herself all ready?"

"I c-can't help it." Your hips rolled into his touch. "You're so warm. I can feel it pulling at me—your heat—I need—"

"You need my fingers first." He lifted his head, eyes dilated. "Gotta make sure you're ready for me. Don't want to hurt you."

Too late for that. Everything hurt; the cold still gnawing at your bones, the desperate ache between your legs, the terrible beautiful fullness in your chest that you couldn't decipher what it meant.

But when his finger pushed inside you, all thoughts vanished.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're tight."

You were. Even one finger stretched you, his hands were broad, calloused, and the knuckle pressing against your entrance made you gasp. But the heat. Gods, the heat. It radiated from his finger into your core, chasing the frost from your blood.

"More," you begged. "Please, more."

Smearing your wetness, he gave you two fingers. Stretched you wider. Curled them. Pumped them slow while kissing you, breathing warm air into your lungs. You rocked against him, gasping when he found a spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Nnngh—there—there—"

"Yeah?" He pumped his fingers, watching your face. "That's the spot, isn't it? That's where my little fairy needs it."

Eyes shutting, you climaxed, your walls contacting around his digits. Your slick coated his palm, his wrist, dripped down onto the sheets. You'd never been this wet in your life. Never felt this needy.

"Please," you sobbed. "Please, more —I need your cock—need it—"

He withdrew his fingers. You whimpered at the loss.

Clothes followed soon after, tossed somewhere on the floor until both of you were bare.

And God.

He was magnificent

Strong shoulders, thick thighs, a body built solid and heavy in all the right ways. Dark hair dusted his lower stomach and trailed downward to a thick and beautiful cock, jutting up from a dark thatch of hair at the base. The head leaked, heavy balls drawn up tight with need.

"Look at you," he said, wrapping his fist around the shaft and stroking once. Twice. "Look what you do to me."

You reached for him. Your fingers barely closed around the girth. The head alone was wider than four of your fingers pressed together.

"You sure?" he asked huskily.

"I'll die if you don't." Not an exaggeration. You could feel the cold creeping back, stealing the warmth his fingers had given you. "Please. I need you. Need you inside."

"Okay, sweetheart. Okay."

He positioned himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging your slick entrance. You reached for him, your legs trying to snaked around his hips, your hands pressed flat against his broad chest.

He could crush you without trying.

Instead, he impaled you tenderly.

Low moans tore from both of you as his crown stretched your opening. You felt every ridge, every vein. Felt the impossible heat of him seeping into your walls.

"So tight—" he gritted out, licking your pointy ear. "Fuck, sweetheart, you're gonna make me come too fast."

"Don't care. Give me more. Please...."

He laughed softly, kissed your lips and worked himself deeper. Half his length was inside you now. Your body trembled around him, clenching and releasing, trying to accommodate his size. The stretch burned but the warmth... the warmth was divine.

"Oh," you moaned. "Oh, yes."

"You feel that?" He pulled back an inch, pushed forward two. "That's my heat going into you, my sweet. Can feel you drinking it."

He was right. Your walls pulsed around him, your pussy hungry and greedy, sucking at his cock like it could draw his warmth straight through his skin. And maybe it could. Fairy biology wasn't exactly normal.

"More," you gasped. "Harder. I need—ah—"

His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt. Your body screamed in pain-bliss. He filled you completely. Stretched you perfectly.

More heat flooded your core. You could feel your starving cells opening up, drinking him in, your frostbitten wings tingling as blood rushed back into the membranes. Your vision cleared. Your heart beat stronger.

"Yes," you mewled. "Yes yes yes—"

"Yeah?" He pulled out then slammed back in. "Yeah?"

The sound of his hips slapping against your thighs echoed off the cottage walls. Clap. Clap. Clap. Your slick made everything slippery. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, and his mouth peppered kisses anywhere he could reach.

"Gonna fill you up," he groaned, pace increasing. "Gonna pump my come so deep inside you, sweetheart. Gonna warm you from the inside."

Your nails raked down his back. "Please."

"Please what? Use your words."

"Please come inside me. I need it. Need your seed—"

"Mmm, yeah, you do." He shifted angle, drove deeper, and suddenly his cock was hitting a spot that made your vision go white. "There. There it is."

"That's—nngh—that's my—"

"Your what, sweetheart?" He grinned down at you. "Your little fairy womb? You want me to come in there? Fill you up? Make you warm?"

"Yes yes oh fuck yes—"

His rhythm stuttered. His jaw clenched. "I'm close. I'm so fucking close..."

His hand flew between your bodies, bulky but expert fingers finding your clit. He circled it frantically, matching his thrusts.

"Come on," he growled. "Come for me, little fairy. Come on—"

The wave crashed.

You screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, pussy clenching down on his cock like a fist. Your body arched off the bed. Your wings blazed, lavender light spilling across the room.

And that was all it took for him.

"Fuck—" His hips slammed forward one final time, buried to the hilt, and his cock jerked inside you. Once. Twice. Then—

Hot.

So hot you came again. And again. And again.

His seed flooded your insides, each spurt of cum dripping with warmth that spread through your belly like honey. You could feel it working, your body absorbing the heat, the life of it. Your wings flickered brighter. Your skin flushed with joy.

He collapsed on top of you, still buried deep, still pulsing occasionally as the last of his release pumped into you. His face pressed into your neck. His breath came in ragged gasps.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

You couldn't speak. Your entire body was singing.

*****************

You stayed.

Not just that night, but the next. And the next. And the next.

Years later the cottage had changed. An extra room for the herbs you dried from the garden. A bigger bed, one that could fit your wings spread wide and your belly which was swollen round with child. His child.

"You're staring," you said, not looking up from the tiny knit socks in your lap.

"Can't help it." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling softly. "You're gorgeous like this, sweetheart."

Your cheeks burned. They always did when he complimented you. "M'not."

"Are so." He crossed the room, dropped to his knees in front of your chair, and kissed the taut curve of your belly. "Both of you. Gorgeous."

The baby kicked. You laughed.

"Baby thinks so too," he murmured against your skin.

Your hand found his light brown hair. Carded through it. Remembered the first night you'd crept into his bed, frozen and dying. Remembered the way he'd held you like you were precious, remembered how he'd taken care of you, loving you, accepting you.

"I love you," you said.

He looked up at you with those violet eyes, still warm after all these years. Still burning with love and desire.

"I know," he said. And then, because he was a bastard, "You kinda need me for survival, remember?"

You hit his shoulder. He caught your hand. Kissed your palm.

"Love you too," he said quietly. "Now come to bed. The fire's low and you're looking a little pale."

You weren't pale. You were flushed, happy and so warm you thought you might burst.

But you let him help you up anyway. Let him guide you to the bed he'd built for your family. Let him wrap himself around you and fill you deep like he had that first night—only now you didn't have to sneak.