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b00kdiary · 15 days ago

Note

i just saw your post about reader who can’t make themselves cum and ugh i love it, especially because i feel like no one ever talks about or includes it. anyways i would love to hear your thoughts on reader who has a hard time cumming, especially during sex no matter how good it feels

I fell that it’s honestly really important to talk about it to let people know that they aren’t alone. And I’m so glad you liked it :)

It is scientifically proven that men can cum easier during sex than women. It’s mostly because women have complex bodies, what works for one person might not work for the other. So when figuring out your own body, it’s important to keep in mind that your body is unique compared to others.

this wasn’t the first time that you’d been sprawled out in bed with Simon pleasing you. He kissed up and down your body, caressed every inch of you, even stopped for a little to rest his head on your chest and make sure you were nice and relaxed. You two had been on this journey together for a little while now, trying to figure out what you like and how he can make his pretty cum. He had tried many things, using his tongue, light pressure on your clit, firmer pressure, no pressure and just stimulating your g-spot, stimulating your g-spot and your clit, adding nipple play to see if that made you more sensitive; but even if it felt good, your body wouldn’t let yourself go.

at first, Simon thought it was because he wasn’t good enough. That he just lost his touch and that he wasn’t doing enough for you. But when you comforted him and explained how you’d been like this since you could remember, it made him feel better and worse. Alright, he wasn’t a complete failure and could still make you cum…but why hasn’t he? Every time you two had sex or just did foreplay, he would make sure to take all the time in the world to get you really nice and wet for him. He would use his fingers to curl inside you and touch that spot to make you mewl and arch your back off the mattress. But you still couldn’t cum. You were in the middle of him thrusting into you, feeling how his cock would twitch gently inside you, his fingers working your clit. Left side, right side, hood of it, right on it, pinching it gently, but all it would do is make you feel more pleasure that lead to nothing but a dead end.

you buried your head into his neck and let out small whimpers as he kept his movements steady. After another 15 minutes, that’s when the whimpers turned into silent sobs. Your body jerked a little as you cried, tears gliding down your cheeks and onto his bare shoulder. His head leaned down against yours and held you tightly, gently sliding your of you to hold you in his lap. You cried softly, neither of you talking, but both knowing what was wrong. “I don’t like being broken…” you said through little cries, voice soft and hoarse. But you were cut off by Simon shaking his head and cupping your face to press small kisses against the apples of your cheeks.

“Yer not broken, love. Y’just different. Just because we don’t know how t’make you cum just yet doesn’t mean my sweet girl is broken.” His words were soft against your ear as he caressed your head, another time failed.

as time passed, you began losing hope. It’s fair, thinking you just can’t do it because something inside is wrong or maybe you just weren’t cut out to be able to feel that pleasure everyone talks about. You started to notice how Simon even began refusing any type of pleasure. Handjob? No thanks, love. Maybe a blowjob cause you had a stressful day? Nope, but I do need cuddles, sweet girl. He was refusing your love. While he sat in his home office finishing some paperwork, you walked in quietly, staring at him as he stared down at the paper, pushing up his glasses. The glasses that you finally got him to buy because he kept complaining about the television being too hard to see and the news on his phone is too small. Thank god you did though, he looked bloody hot in them. Scooting your way into his office, you stood in front of his desk, catching his attention. “Somethin’ ya need, love?”

your cheeks burned as he looked at you, but you couldn’t get distracted! “Why are you refusing my love?”

it was clear the question caught him off guard by the way he paused, mouth slightly agape as he looked at you. “I’m not refusin’ your love. What makes you say that?”

“Wha-…? Yes you are! Every time I offer you a blowjob or a handjob, you say no. Am I doing something wrong? Does it not feel good? Do you…do you not like me anymore?”

he could hear your little heart shatter in that last question, standing up from his chair and walking over to you. He grabs you hands and sits on his desk, pulling you towards him. “I fucking love you. Neve think for a minute that I stopped loving you. I’m refusing to let you do any of tha’ because I don’t think it’s fair to ye. Not fair that my sweet girl has to endure not bein’ able to cum, so m’not gonna either.” He says while looking straight into your eyes, his thick and calloused fingers pushing some hair behind your ear. “Won’t cum until you can.”

while you thought he was refusing your live, he was actually doing it because he didn’t want you to feel left out? This man looked like a scary man, but he was the most thoughtful and caring teddy bear ever. “What if I never do, though?”

“Then neither will I.” He spoke seriously. “Understand?”

the small nod you give him is enough acknowledgement for him, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Now, I was doin’ some research, and I found that most women can’t reach an orgasm without some help. So, what do ya think ‘bout lookin’ for some toys with me, eh?”

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b00kdiary · 15 days ago

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A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel

Chapter Twenty one Snippet:

My hands curled into fists on my thighs, every muscle straining with the effort to stay still.

Every instinct in me screamed—move.

Begged. Pleaded.

To cross the space between us.

To pull Alexis into my arms, fold my shadows around her shaking body, and swear nothing—no one—would ever touch her again. To promise that not a single tear would fall from those pretty eyes again.

Not while I drew breath.

But I didn’t move.

I sat.

And I watched.

Just like I said I would.

__________________________________________________

LITTLE QUOTE SNIPPET OF CHAPTER 21, POSTED ON WATTPAD AND AO3 (linked)

Comment to be added to a tag list for more updates and sneak peeks like this!

@hellodarling1357 @charlineraven @starrystarkey93 @mockingjaytributes @nelapeach14 @alessiazeni @bishhh2003 @impossibelle @firebreathingbishqueen @lovely-susie @sarawritestories @hellowinterlane @minnieoo @charlineraven @acotarfics-mharmie009 @ithan-holstroms-girl @bionic-donut @blackgirlmagicforever @azzydaddy @shinyghosteclipse @shinyghosteclipse @pinkcowracing @marvelouslovely-barnes @mysticalfuncollectorus @daughterofthemoons-stuff @superspideyparker @blissfulliberation @a-court-of-smut-and-sluts @serxndipity-ipity-blog @lilac-witch

#acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #hofas spoilers #wattpad #ao3 #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #azriel acotar #sjm

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b00kdiary · 2 months ago

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When She Loved Me | Joey Lynch

Joey Lynch x Plus Sized Reader

This is the story of a boy who thinks he’s unworthy of love, and the girl who proves him wrong—again and again.

Warning: Mature themes (18+), swearing, fluff, drug abuse, and subtle smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

Joey Lynch had always been a bit of a storm.

Turbulent, unpredictable, dangerous at the edges—but never without reason. And when he met Y/N L/N, it was during one of his worst weeks in months.

His Da was spiralling again, Mam had vanished into her silences, and he was losing sleep just trying to keep the younger ones in clean clothes and fed. Joey was on edge. Dangerous, volatile.

Then she walked into Tommen's sixth year common room like she belonged, shoulders back, head high, her curves dressed in unapologetic confidence—and Joey noticed her.

Really noticed.

Not because of what she looked like (though Christ, she was beautiful in ways he didn’t know how to name yet), but because when some arse made a jab at her size under his breath, she laughed.

Laughed like she pitied him.

He stared.

And maybe Y/N noticed, maybe not. But that day, she walked past him and said, "You should stop glowering like the world owes you something. It doesn’t."

And just like that, Joey Lynch was fucked.

***

It started with biting.

Not literal—at first—but with words. She gave as good as she got, snapped back when he was cruel, stared him down when he raised his voice.

"Don't try to intimidate me, Lynch," she said one afternoon after PE. "I've fought bigger demons than a boy with a short fuse."

He didn’t ask what she meant, but he never forgot those words.

He found himself noticing things. Like how she wore pink nail polish, chipped at the edges. Or how she hummed a tune he didn’t know while doing homework. How she held herself—solid, grounded, unshaken.

And when he started showing up early to class just to see her?

That’s when Podge clocked him.

"You like her."

Joey glared. "Fuck off."

"She's fit," Podge replied, completely unbothered. "Not your usual type though."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Usually you go for the ones who let you push them away."

That stung more than he wanted to admit.

***

The first kiss was a disaster.

She slapped him.

Okay, she kissed him back first, and it was filthy—hands in her hair, her body against his, curves and heat and mouth.

But then she pulled back, slapped him hard enough to spin his head, and snarled, “Don’t kiss me when you’re angry, Lynch.”

Because he had been angry.

Some idiot had called her "brave" for wearing a bodycon dress at a party, and Joey broke the guy’s nose before Y/N could even roll her eyes. She found Joey in the garden later, blood on his knuckles, panting, pacing.

“I’m not ashamed of my body,” she told him. “You don’t need to defend me like I’m some victim.”

“You think that’s what I was doing?” he hissed.

“Isn’t it?”

He had grabbed her face and kissed her hard, wild, like he was trying to devour her and drown at the same time.

But she was right. He had been angry.

And she wouldn’t let him use her as a pressure valve.

***

Weeks passed.

Y/N kept showing up in his life like gravity—he couldn’t avoid her, couldn’t shake her.

She came to his hurling game and heckled the other team.

He showed up to her poetry reading without telling her—and nearly cried when she read a piece about loving your body after years of hating it.

One night, under the stars, she told him, “People look at me and see fat first. You didn’t. That scares the shit out of me.”

Joey swallowed. “Why?”

“Because you see me. And if you ever stop, that’ll hurt more than the insults.”

He cupped her face, reverent, thumb brushing her cheek.

“I won’t,” he said. “I swear to God, I won’t.”

And then he kissed her—slowly this time. Like a promise. Like he’d never stop.

***

The first time they slept together, it was messy and hot and full of whispered things he’d never said aloud.

Her body was soft, warm, welcoming. His hands shook—not because he was nervous, but because he wanted to do everything right.

She pulled him down, kissed his shoulder, guided his hands over the parts of her she used to hide.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against her neck.

“More than okay,” she whispered. “You make me feel wanted, Joey.”

He met her eyes and said, “You are wanted. Every fucking inch.”

She smiled—and that smile broke him open.

***

Joey had never undressed anyone slowly before Y/N.

Every other girl, it had been rushed, desperate. A distraction. Something to fill the silence.

But with Y/N, it was reverent.

He stood at the edge of her bed, watching as she pulled off her top, baring skin that made his chest ache with how much he wanted to worship her.

“You’re staring,” she whispered, biting her lip.

He moved in close, hands sliding over her waist. “You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you look like something made to be touched.”

He kissed down her neck, over her collarbone, then lower—pressing slow kisses to her belly, her hips, her thighs.

When he knelt in front of her, she stiffened slightly.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered. “That I’m… too much.”

His eyes snapped up, wild and full of fire.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

His mouth found her inner thigh, biting just enough to make her gasp. “You are everything. Not too much. Not too big. Just right.”

When he finally touched her—tongue and fingers working in tandem—it wasn’t just to get her off. It was an offering. A devotion. A way of saying you are worthy of pleasure.

She came hard, thighs trembling around his head, gasping his name like a prayer.

And when he moved over her, kissing her again, she grabbed his face and whispered, “Let me see you.”

Clothes hit the floor. Skin on skin. Bodies molded together.

She reached between them, guided him in, and when he sank into her heat, they both stilled.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel like home.”

They moved together, slow at first, then harder, frantic. Her curves cradled him like a vice, her nails in his back, mouth on his neck.

“Joey,” she moaned. “I need—”

“I’ve got you.”

And he did.

When she came again, he followed, burying himself deep and clinging to her like he was afraid she’d disappear.

They lay there after, tangled up, sweat and breath and heartbeats crashing.

He brushed damp curls from her face.

“You make me want a future,” he whispered.

She blinked up at him, lips parted, cheeks flushed. “Then let’s build one.”

And in that quiet moment, with nothing but moonlight and warmth between them, Joey Lynch realized he wasn’t falling anymore.

He was already hers.

***

But things got hard.

Joey had bad days. He pushed her away sometimes. Screamed. Shut down.

But Y/N refused to be a casualty of his self-destruction.

“You either talk to me, or I walk away, Lynch.”

And he talked.

For the first time in his life, he let someone hold the weight with him.

***

The door wasn’t locked.

That was the first sign something was wrong.

Y/N pushed it open and was immediately hit by the sharp scent of bleach and stale beer. The bathroom light flickered overhead. Cracked tiles. A knocked-over bottle of vodka in the sink.

And Joey.

Slumped on the floor.

Back against the tub, legs splayed, hands trembling.

“Y/N,” he slurred, eyes glassy. “You weren’t supposed to see me like this.”

Her heart cracked in half.

He was pale—too pale. Sweat clinging to his brow. Pupils blown. There was a crumpled little bag near his foot, some powder residue still left. Not coke—something worse. Stronger.

She crouched down immediately. “Joey, what the fuck did you take?”

He shrugged, eyes unfocused. “Something Shane gave me.”

Her stomach twisted. “Christ. You promised me. You said you were clean.”

“I was,” he whispered. “I was.”

He looked up at her like a boy lost in the woods, and that was what gutted her most—he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t defiant.

He was broken.

And ashamed.

“I couldn’t breathe today,” he said hoarsely. “Da was yelling. The electric got shut off again. Ollie cried because the telly wouldn’t turn on and I couldn’t—fuck—I couldn’t fix it.”

Y/N blinked back tears. “So you did this instead?”

“I needed to feel nothing.” He looked at her, jaw shaking. “I’m so tired, Y/N. Of always failing. Of always being the fuck-up.”

“You’re not a fuck-up,” she said fiercely, grabbing his face. “You’re a boy with too much weight on his back and no one ever taught you how to carry it.”

“But you believed in me,” he whispered. “And I ruined it.”

“No. You relapsed. That doesn’t make you evil, it makes you human.”

Joey closed his eyes. “You should go.”

“Not a chance.”

He flinched. “I don’t want you to see me like this. I’m disgusting.”

“Stop it.” She shook him gently. “You are hurting, Joey. Not disgusting. Not unlovable. Hurting.”

He let out a broken sound, and she realized he was crying—barely. Just tears sliding down his cheeks while he tried to hold onto some semblance of dignity.

“I need help,” he said, barely audible.

She nodded, climbing down beside him, wrapping her arms around his shaking body.

“Then we get help. Together.”

He sagged into her.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

Y/N kissed his hair. “You don’t get to decide that.”

***

The angst didn’t disappear. It never would.

But neither did she.

And somewhere between the bruises and the soft mornings tangled in bedsheets, Joey Lynch fell harder than he ever thought he could.

***

"You still think the world doesn’t owe you anything?" she asked one night, curled up beside him, wearing his hoodie and nothing else.

He stared at her—the soft curve of her stomach, the stretch marks on her thighs, the strength in her smile.

“No,” he said, brushing his lips over her shoulder. “It gave me you.”

____________________________________________________

A/N: Re-reading the Boys of Tommen series and I have never loved anyone as much as I love joey lynch. Just a little something I wrote last night while in my feels.

#joey lynch #boys of tommen #smut #chloe walsh #binding 13 #saving 6 #redeeming 6 #joey lynch fanfic #joey lynch smut #joey lynch x reader #joey lynch x plus sized reader #plus sized smut #boys of tommen x reader #releasing 10 #plus sized reader

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b00kdiary · 3 months ago

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A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel

Chapter Twenty Snippet:

“That reckless girl,” Amren smiled, actually smiled as Bryce launched into the water and stuck a dagger between the Nøkk ‘s shoulder blades.

Alexis grinned up at her sister.

“Reckless girls,” Nesta amended with dry amusement.

And reckless they were. Magnificent they were.

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LITTLE QUOTE SNIPPET OF CHAPTER 20, POSTED ON WATTPAD AND AO3 (linked)

Comment to be added to a tag list for more updates and sneak peeks like this!

#acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #hofas spoilers #wattpad #ao3 #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #azriel acotar #sjm

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b00kdiary · 3 months ago

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A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel

Chapter Nineteen Snippet:

“So beautiful, it’s almost a shame.” Pure, white-hot rage burned through my veins as he crushed the air from her lungs with one hand, his other stroking her trembling body like it was his to claim.

Alexis clawed, kicked, and struggled. It did nothing.

“No,” Bryce cried from behind him, still encased in that golden bubble of protection.

__________________________________________________

LITTLE QUOTE SNIPPET OF CHAPTER 19, POSTED ON WATTPAD AND AO3 (linked)

Comment to be added to a tag list for more updates and sneak peeks like this!

#acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #hofas spoilers #wattpad #ao3 #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #azriel acotar #sjm

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b00kdiary · 4 months ago

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A Ballad of Flame & Shadow | Azriel

Chapter Eighteen Snippet:

Yet just as she seemed on the edge, the very cusp of free-fall, the door of the cell opened.

Raven-black hair tousled wildly around his face, his piercing violet eyes burning with an ethereal intensity. His golden skin seemed to shimmer, animated markings glowing faintly in the amber light of the flickering flames before him.

Yet it was the expression on his strong, handsome face that struck the deepest— twisted in raw, unguarded pain as he gazed at Alexis.

"Alex," Ruhn breathed, as if her name was torn from his lungs.

__________________________________________________

LITTLE QUOTE SNIPPET OF CHAPTER 18, POSTED ON WATTPAD AND AO3 (linked)

Comment to be added to a tag list for more updates and sneak peeks like this!

#acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #hofas spoilers #wattpad #ao3 #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #azriel acotar #sjm

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b00kdiary · 5 months ago

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Alright, based on your ACOTAR unpopular opinion about tamlin...I will get on my knees and beg you to write a Tamlinx plus size reader fic where she helps him heal and he is just head over heels in love with her Pretty please with sugar on top 💚

Beauty & the Beast | Tamlin

ACOTAR Tamlin X Plus Sized Reader

When Y/N finds Tamlin dying in the forest, she has no choice but to save him. Even if everything in her wished this male dead. Like two storms colliding, they meet. A broken High Lord, a hopeless healer. It almost sounds like fate.

Warning: PART ONE Mature themes (18+), swearing, fluff, and eventual smut next chapter.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

"Wake up!" I hissed, "Wake up, you lumbering brute!"

The beast groaned, his lithe body writhing beneath my hands—hands that pressed desperately against the mortal wound at his side, trying to staunch the relentless flow of blood.

His golden fur was matted with red, the blood oozing from the gaping hole beneath his fifth rib. My palms were sticky with it, and the bitter, metallic scent filled the air. If I could smell it, I knew every predator and prey in the forest could too.

I shifted on my knees atop the muddied ground, my wide eyes canvassing the vast forest around me, scrutinizing every leaf and log and skitter of feet. I strained my ears, listening for any noises that would indicate that more of them were coming.

I glared down at the beast before me, that wolf's head lolling on the floor, his lion's body limp with pain, and those bear's claws coated with guts and gore.

"You're going to get us both killed," I cursed him, cursed myself, cursed the Mother and the Cauldron, and every other forgotten God out there for forcing this upon me.

I had found him passed out in this forest passage, a death rattle trembling from his lungs. If that hadn't been bad enough, my heart nearly stopped dead at the sight not fifteen feet ahead— Naga, five of them, ripped to utter ribbons and scattered across the dirt.

They had put up a furious fight if the scratches and claws and teeth marks covering him were any indication. Enough of a fight that one had managed to strike a deadly blow to the male before it died.

He had been dying when I found him, had lost so much blood for a second, I thought he was dead.

And now here I was— desperately trying to save him. Save the High Lord of Spring.

If he could even be considered that anymore.

I grit my teeth, steadying my breath as I let my power surge through me. White, incandescent light blazed from my hands, channeling directly into the wound. It stitched torn flesh, mended tendons, fused bones, and restored the ruined skin.

Only for a second though, before the injury tore open yet again and a fresh bout of blood began leaking through the gaps in my fingers. It was the same cycle I had been enduring for several long minutes now, and I began to fear his body would not take any more of this.

"For the love of the Mother," I pressed my palms down hard enough to hurt, hard enough for his muscled form to jolt. "You need to wake up, you need to change back to your Fae form!"

Panic rose in me like a tidal wave as his breathing grew shallower. This forest had become a death trap; these lands teemed with danger. If Naga roamed here, then so would bogeys, exiles, and Cauldron knows what other horrors.

Here, on this cursed ground, with this wounded, defenceless male, we were prey. We were as vulnerable as rabbits caught in a snare, awaiting death. And it was all because of him, the state he was in, the state of these lands, the monsters that had been tormenting the people and villages.

It was all because of him.

Anger blazed through me, bringing tears to my eyes. In a moment of desperation, I did something cruel, something that made my very soul weep. I plunged a finger into his wound, the flesh and blood squelching as I repeatedly stabbed into him.

On the third brutal stab, his fierce green eyes snapped open, shining like emeralds amidst the darkness.

The High Lord of the Spring Court roared.

The very land trembled with that roar, and I cringed as birds took flight from trees and the forest animals began dashing away — from the horrible power and anger that radiated off this beast.

He flipped, as fast as I could blink, snapping jaws and growling, nearly knocking me straight onto my ass as he did so. But as quick as that anger came, it was replaced by something far worse, far stronger.

The High Lord groaned, his mammoth form staggering back to the ground as pain overwhelmed him.

"What have you done?" He commanded, in a voice that was nothing Fae or human or safe. He tried to drag himself away from me, but somehow, I was the stronger one in this situation, keeping my hands staunching his wound. "What have you done to me?"

"Will you stop fucking moving?" I hissed, trying not to balk as those soulless green eyes latched onto me and he snarled. "I didn't do this to you, but I am the one saving your gods-damn life."

His claws extended at my words, latching onto the ground. He glared at me as if he wished that it had been my flesh instead.

"What are you doing— "

His voice was the epitome of raw, primal danger as his form moved, snatching back from my hands, from the white light that had begun leaking from it. I swore because as soon as my pressure disappeared, a steady tap of near-black blood began to ooze and puddle under him.

I gasped as he staggered onto his bloodied paws, so fathomably large that he eclipsed the forest, eclipsed the sun and sky above. The blood didn't stop leaking, yet that did little to deter the beast as he tried and failed to step away, swaying and groaning as he did so.

"Stop, you need to lay down," I fought the urge to grab him, cringing at the gore and blood painted across my hands, stuck under my fingernails. "You need to turn, I can't heal— "

"Do not touch me," Another monstrous snap of teeth and threatening snarl when I reached a hand to him. "Do not touch me, witch."

"Witch?" I laughed sardonically. "I am a healer you bastard, and I am trying to save your ungrateful ass."

He hunched forward, grimacing in pain, a pain I saw hollow out his green eyes. It took more effort than it should have for his powerful head to lift and those eyes to meet mine.

"Mind your tongue when you speak to me, witch," He warned, sharp, terse words undercut with laboured breath. "Do you know who I am? I demand respect as High Lord— "

"You demand nothing, you are nothing," I erupted, my voice rising with my temper as I pointed at him. My hands were bloodied, almost symbolic really. "Look at yourself, look around you. You are Lord of nothing, you are Lord of no one, and none but me is here to aid you."

He staggered another step, paws shaking from his weight. If he heard my words, if he felt the sting of them, I couldn't tell.

"You need to turn back to your Fae form if you want to live," I continued, my tone still unforgiving. "My magic is useless to you like this, I can't stop the bleeding until you turn."

"And if I do not?" He retorted, words beginning to slur together. Somehow, he didn't look so scary now— he almost looked afraid. "Will your healer heart allow you to leave me here to die, Witch?"

"Turn," I said again, almost pleading now. Because the blood had begun to slow, and I knew that would not bode well for him. "Please, turn."

He blinked, long, dark lashes fluttering and that terrifying yet magnificent beast face stared at me, stared through me. I wondered if he was contemplating death if the darkness in his eyes was him resigning himself in defeat.

"If not for yourself," I said, my words strained. "Then for your people, for this court. Do not – do not abandon them wholly, Tamlin."

Tamlin. It was the first time I had uttered his name and as if the darkness had been pulled like a blanket from his eyes, I saw clarity shine within the green hues.

One second that foreboding, golden beast towered above me, and then the next, light flared, and I had to shield my eyes to endure it. It took me a moment to reorientate myself and when I had, my breath caught at the sight before me.

Tamlin knelt in the mud, with his head hung low, long blonde hair eclipsing his strong, beautiful face. Those broad shoulders hunched in, his body a canvas of muscle, carved and dipped and moulded to perfection.

He looked like a broken king. A bloodied monarch kicked down to the status of a mongrel.

His moon-pale skin seemed to shine under the dim Spring sun, his chest heaving with shallow breaths as he composed himself. The wound was worse in his Fae form, so much worse. I swallowed back the tinge of bile rising in my throat at the distinct sight of bone marrow and tendons peeking out the gaping hole.

"Cauldron, I need to heal that now— " I reached for him, and the infuriating bastard jerked back. I growled. "Do you want to die?"

His chest rose, faster now, his large, calloused hands curling into fists in the mud.

"Because believe me, your death would bear little impact on me, or anyone else." I continue harshly. "In fact, under different circumstances I'd probably be more incensed to watch you bleed out."

"Then let me bleed, Witch," He rumbled.

"If you die, we're all fucked." I spit, crawling angrily through the mud towards him, my dress streaked in dirt and filth beyond saving. "Because you have no heirs and no powerful contenders in your shitty court to supersede you. It's just you. And as useless as you are, at least the breath in your lungs is keeping this territory from completely collapsing."

His head lifted as I stopped before him, and my breath caught at the first real sight I got of his face.

Cauldron, he was beautiful.

Carved with an effortless kind of regality, his face was a canvas born of strong contours and noble lines that screamed power. High cheekbones, a straight, precise nose, and full yet firm lips, curled into a snarl that allowed the smallest glimpse of the sharp, white teeth beneath.

But it was his eyes that stole the air from my lungs.

Vividly green, deep and endless, like the heart of an ancient forest. And like a forest, they were still, fathomless, soulless. They stared through me.

He didn't argue with my condemning words. In truth, he didn't even seem to be affected by them.

But he unfurled his fists in the mud. And it spoke the words he wouldn't say.

Exhaling a deep breath, I shifted closer on my knees, closing the final gap of space between us. My small shaking hands reached towards that gaping bleeding hole, slowly, like one would approach a wounded animal.

Which Tamlin seemed to be. Wounded. Broken. Damaged beyond repair. The High Lord of Spring was a shell of the male he had been.

It was almost sad. Almost.

He sucked in a sharp breath as my palm connected with his torn, ruined flesh, squelching. I steepled my fingers over the open wound, his skin hot and electric against mine.

"This is going to hurt," I warned softly.

"Careful, or I'll think you care, Witch." He drawled, head bowed low again.

"Not likely," I muttered, and I thought I saw a hint of a sardonic smile.

I didn't dwell on it. I didn't view him as anything other than something I despised.

I clenched my teeth, forcing my breath to steady as I unleashed my power. White, incandescent light poured from my hands, sinking into the gaping wound. Flesh knit together, torn tendons wove back into place, shattered bones fused seamlessly, and raw, ruined skin smoothed as if untouched.

The air hummed with magic, the light pulsing in time with his shallow breaths—until, at last, the wound was nothing more than a ghost of pain left behind.

His chest expanded with a deep, powerful breath and with the exhale, the forestry around us quivered. It was raw power. And yet I had the distinct impression that it was a mere whisper of what he truly possessed in his arsenal.

It was the crumbs of what remained after months of stagnation and stifling.

He groaned, hunching forward, his fist meeting the ground to steady himself. Instinctively, I reached forward, small hands gripping his broad shoulders and using my strength to keep the brute from collapsing and eating dirt.

An electric hum of power burned through my palm where it met his skin, so potent it prickled through my bloodstream and straight to my heart, thumping it loud and hard, again and again.

Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum—

He tore his body from mine, a snarl rumbling in his chest. "Unhand me, Witch. I'm fine."

My eyes narrowed into slits, palms curling into fists and retreating to my sides. "Yeah, you seem fine. Perfectly normal to keel over in the dirt."

Emerald eyes shot to mine, narrowed and sharp with anger at my sardonic tone.

"And you're welcome by the way," I spat, tossing my braid over a shoulder and rising to my feet indignantly. "You know, for saving your life."

My dress was ruined, the simple blue cotton stained with mud and blood and Cauldron only knew what else. The fabric stuck wetly to my body, clinging uncomfortably to every swell and dip and roll I had.

His gaze flickered from my face down my body. His snarling expression didn't shift, but there was a distinct flare in his eyes. Like a male seeing something that he couldn't deny, even if he wanted to.

Heat bloomed my cheeks, and I roughly cleared my throat, straightening my spine. "Guess we're done here. Try not to die again, High Lord."

I bowed mockingly, enjoying the grumble of annoyance that revved through his chest. Before straightening, shooting the male one last scathing look and turning on my heel in the forest and walking away.

I cringed at the blood caking my hands, cringed more as I tiptoed over the mutilated bodies of the Naga scattered around. I'd need to find a stream, or some kind of well, if I walked into the next village looking like a mass murderer I'd be chased off with pitchforks.

Perhaps if I—

A pained grunt broke through my inner thoughts and my feet stopped before I commanded them to. I turned back around and then huffed. "Oh, for fuck sake."

The High Lord of Spring was passed out on the floor, face buried in the dirt.

I hesitated and then trudged back towards him, cursing the Mother for my misfortune.

***

When my senses finally returned, two things became clear.

One: Night had fallen, meaning I'd been unconscious for hours.

Two: The loud, foul-mouthed witch who had saved my life was still here.

With more effort than I cared to admit, I turned my head to the side, the movement sending a dull ache rippling through my skull. A rough, lumpy branch pressed against my neck, its bark biting into my skin.

Blinking away the black spots that danced at the edges of my vision, my gaze settled on the witch.

She crouched before a crackling fire, her small, plump hands outstretched toward the flames. Now and then, she plucked a broken branch from the pile beside her and tossed it into the fire, the wood hissing as it caught.

My eyes traced over those hands—clean now, the dried blood and filth scrubbed away. She must have found water. Where there had once been crusted gore, there was only smooth, unblemished skin, her nails polished and pristine, glinting faintly in the firelight.

I recalled how they'd glowed, incandescent and pure, when she'd pressed over my gaping wound and healed me. The heat had been both excruciating yet relieving, the feeling of that fatal hole closing inch by inch felt like a breath of fresh air after an eternity trapped underwater.

She was a healer, though in five hundred years, I'd never encountered a healer like her, or any female like her. Brazen, out-spoken, mouthy beyond what was smart or necessary.

If I didn't owe her a life debt, I'd likely have torn out that viper tongue of hers. Or plucked out those sharp, piercing eyes that glared and narrowed and rolled as if I were a pest she had stumbled across.

Cauldron, the witch had infuriated me enough that I'd almost forgotten I was dying.

My gaze unconsciously swept over her form. Another distracting thing I would begrudgingly admit to. Her body was pure sin. A temptation any hot-blooded male would be unable to deny.

I rake down the spoiled fabric of her dress, the blue cotton stained red from my blood, dried and flaking. It clung to her obscenely, highlighting the swells of her ample figure in a way that would make any God-fearing male send up blessings to the Cauldron and Mother above.

Much to my chagrin, I was staring. Even with a splitting migraine, and a soul-deep ache, I was staring.

"Finally awake, sleeping beauty?" That viper tongue of hers drawled, and my green eyes snapped up from her body to those unforgiving eyes.

My gaze narrowed.

Her eyes rolled in response, and she chucked another log onto the fire, the flames crackling and rising high. Against the backdrop of the dark, silent forest, the amber fire kissed her skin, highlighting the plump curves and the tart persona.

"You're welcome," She muttered drily. "You know, for saving your life. Again."

"I wasn't dying, Witch." My voice rumbled out like a thunderclap.

"No, you just passed out into the dirt, sweating, heartbeat near non-existent and then didn't awake for half a day," Another eye roll, "Sounds perfectly normal to me."

I tried to raise myself onto my elbows. Tried and failed. A growl rumbled in my throat.

"You came back." It wasn't a question. Just a statement. As flat and unfeeling as my soul felt.

"Seemed a waste for me to make such an effort to save your life, only for you to die from exposure," She shrugged. And I had the distinct impression this female truly did not care if I lived or died.

It should have offended me, perhaps hurt me, but instead, I found it begrudgingly admirable. She hated me and had no qualms being up front about it. That kind of honesty was rare.

I vaguely recalled her words earlier.

"Bastard."

"I am trying to save your ungrateful ass."

My lips almost tugged into a faint smile, a flicker of something akin to amusement blazing to life in my chest. It was an emotion I hadn't experienced in such a long time; I had difficulty even placing it.

My eyes sharpened upon her as she began to walk over to me. Instinctively, I curled my fists in the dirt, feeling the pinprick of my claws hidden just beneath the skin. If she felt my hostility, my aggression, she didn't acknowledge it.

My face was steel, immovable, as she knelt by my sprawled figure. Her face was a mirror, I quickly realised—steel, immovable, and cold—as if it was her instinct to resent being near me, too.

She reached for me, a damp scrap of cloth in her palm. I jerked back, and she glowered.

"Stop moving," She bit out, "or I'll pin your overgrown ass down."

Cauldron, she was a demon.

Ignoring my deathly glare, and the flash of sharp canine teeth, she merely placed the damp, cold cloth against my neck. With more tenderness than I'd expected, she began to carefully soothe my overheated skin.

My breath caught at the first touch of coldness, like ice meeting molten fire. But also cause of the brief touch of her skin against mine. Those soft small fingers grazing my throat and collarbones with each precise, gentle stroke of the cloth.

Her face betrayed nothing as she ran the cooling cloth over my skin, water droplets running down the carved muscles along my pectorals and abdomen. Though she clearly held contempt for me, this female soothed and cared for me with a touch that could only be described as God's-send.

It was the first moment of peace I'd felt in.... so long. Too long.

The forest around us eerily silent, except for the distant noises of lurking animals heard in snapping branches or rustling bristles. The moon above glowed— Dimly. Like everything in Spring, it was dim, depleted, as if the energy had been sucked dry from it.

Because of me.

Spring Court was weak, broken, vulnerable. Like me. A mirror image of the barren landscape that was my soul.

The Witch ran the cloth down my sternum, and the tingle rippled like dominos across my spine.

"For a Witch, who obviously disdains my mere existence," I said, more strained than I'd like. "You're helping me an awful lot."

Another drag of that cloth, down my stomach, my abdomen clenching. "Would you rather I let you die?"

"I think you would rather I die," I mutter.

Those eyes roll again. "I already told you; your death would do more bad than good."

"If you die, we're all fucked. Because you have no heirs and no powerful contenders in your shitty court to supersede you. It's just you. And as useless as you are, at least the breath in your lungs is keeping this territory from completely collapsing."

Right. I was the last thread holding this court together. Ironic considering I'd been the one responsible for its downfall to begin with.

"Have we met before, Witch?" I caught her small wrist in my large, calloused hand. Pressed my thumb against her pulse point and felt it race. The only sign that my presence affected that ice-cold exterior.

"No. we haven't." She said, her wrist in my hand still. "Though I doubt you would remember even if we had. Why bother, I'm only a lesser Fae. Common folk."

Her sharp words had my fingers tightening around her wrist, not painfully, but firmly. "So, you hate me without even knowing me?"

"I know enough."

My fingers tightened further. "You know nothing, Witch, I am—"

"I know that before, you ruled this land like one would rule an army: with an iron fist," She gritted out. "I know of the tithe you forced upon your people, even those who could barely feed their kids. The sanctions you placed as punishment when the common folk could not deliver to your heathen demands. The utter lack of mercy you had."

Her palm curled into a fist, her pulse pounding like a war drum under my thumb.

"I know that you are the reason that Spring had crumbled to the ashes," She continued on her unforgiving tirade. "Some blame Feyre Cursebreaker for the ruination of Spring. But me? I blame you."

Something cracked open in my chest at Feyre's name. The old wound leaking blood, so much, I swear I tasted iron on my tongue.

"Listen here, Witch," I snarled, tugging her by the wrist I still held, until her face hovered over mine. "Control your tongue, before I—"

"Before you what? What, you swine?" She breathed, fire in her eyes. "Because from where I stand, not only is your power little more than a spec, but your strength is even less. So do not threaten me."

My claws inched out my knuckles as I glared this viper down. She didn't so much as blink at it.

"It was your stupidity, your arrogance, your entitlement over Feyre that led you to allying with Hybern, led you to 'winning' her back," She continued, "And the ruin she inflicted upon spring, upon Ianthe, upon your sentinels, and army... it was all your doing."

"She betrayed me," I barked. "She betrayed us all."

"Feyre laid the traps," She scoffed, "But it was your selfishness, your pig-headed, easily led insecurity that made you fall straight into them. You betrayed her first, we all know it. So, stop lying to yourself and me."

"You don't know," I breathed, fist closing like a vice around her wrist, talons pressing to the delicate skin, not yet breaking through. I felt like a fire was burning through my heart. "You don't know, Witch."

"Perhaps not, perhaps that truth is one only you, Feyre and the Gods share," Her voice shook, those eyes glossed with anger and tears. "But after? What excuse do you have for abandoning this Court, Tamlin? What excuse is enough to explain what this land has become?"

The pain in her words felt as raw as her reaching into my chest and squeezing my stagnant heart. My eyes clenched, from weakness, from pain, from denial. I wasn't sure.

Her fingers gripped my chin hard, shook my face, forcing me to open my eyes again. "Look at me! Damn you, look at me!"

I did.

Tears welled in her eyes, her plump cheeks burning red and streaked with tears. But still her lip curled at the corner, a flash of white teeth.

"The sun barely shines; the moon hardly rises!" She continued, voice breaking. "The very earth itself is dying, because you have given up. You roam these lands, resigned in your beast form, and each day this court suffers more and more for it."

My talons pierce the delicate skin of her wrist, scarlet blood pooling from the pricks. But she doesn't flinch at it— I imagined her emotional pain overshadowed the physical.

"And the monsters that dwell here," A noise akin to a sob comes from her and I flinch. "Do you even know what is happening in the villages? What atrocities the common folk are enduring?"

A fresh bout of pain speared my chest. I was feeling again. Fuck, I forgot how much it hurt to feel.

"Monsters— Naga, Bogey, Puca— they roam these lands, uncontrolled," Her chest heaves as she says each word, "But it's our own people, the Fae of these lands, who terrorise us so greatly. Pillaging villages, murdering, raping, stealing, burning homes and business, taking children and wives!"

Breathing became a burden. As if the forest around us disappeared, and the pain that had throbbed in my body and mind and soul had been washed away, all I knew, all I felt, was this female. Her sorrow. So strong, I could taste her tears on my tongue.

My fingers loosened around her wrist, talons retreating into my skin.

"I watched my village burn as they came," She cried, "I saw homes and houses ruined, I saw men slaughtered and their heads spiked on lances and paraded. Women raped and violated before their families. Children beaten and chained. Barely a handful of us survived."

Something wet and hot began leaking down my cheeks, saltiness bursting across my tongue. I blinked back the fog over my eyes, wanting, needing, to see her anguished face above mine as she raged and sobbed.

Cauldron, I was crying.

When was the last time I'd cried?

"All these innocent people dead, violated, lives ruined. And do you know what they prayed for? Begged for?" She snarled at me, a gut-wrenching sob tearing from her mouth. "They prayed to the Cauldron for the High Lord to come save them. They prayed you would come, and you didn't!"

My body jerked, and I damn near almost begged her to stop. Please stop talking. Please stop making me feel this. Please stop.

"You didn't come," Her shoulders shook, head bowing forward as she whispered again and again. "You didn't save them."

Please stop.

Her face blurred in my vision, a cloud of endless tears falling. I didn't speak; I didn't make a sound. I had nothing to say— no excuse, no reason, nothing that could ever undo this. Nothing.

"Feyre betrayed you, but you betrayed us," She breathed. Her head lifted, and those agonised eyes locked onto mine. A look of condemnation from a thousand souls. "You betrayed us."

A gurgled noise bubbles at the base of my throat, the muscles clenched so tight I could barely get down a breath. My fingers tightened around her wrist almost desperately.

She watched me.

Waited.

My lips parted, mouth opening— speak, you fucking bastard, say something, say anything! Nothing came out, no words, no sounds, nothing.

She scoffed, tearing her wrist from my hold, severing the connection between us, and I felt it like the loss of a limb. I watch her hand swipe across her face, smearing snot and tears angrily.

I reached out my shaking hand as she rose and stalked away.

"Sleep, Tamlin," She said coldly, settling onto a log beside the fire, her back to me. "And pray the monsters don't come out to play tonight."

***

I don't know when I fell asleep. Or how.

Perhaps from exhaustion, or pain, or perhaps my bleeding heart drained any reserve I had left until my body had no choice but to sleep.

But when I awoke, I knew two things yet again.

One: It was morning, and the dying sun shone overhead.

Two: The Witch was gone.

___________________________________________________________

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