#jurdan smut week 2020

[absinthemind3d]

Bend and Snap

Written for @jurdannetrevels​ Jurdan Smut Week Day 3: Orgasm Delay/Begging/Overstimulation. My first fic in at least six years. Also posted on AO3 here. Snippet: I had been watching him at these events too, saw him trying not to look at me too frequently so his silk pants wouldn’t betray his thoughts. I had been watching, and I had been planning. Tonight, I intended to make the High King of Elfhame beg. 

Content Warning: E for there is some e x p l i c i t stuff

Word count: 3583

🗡--I’ll show you how a real queen behaves--🗡

“Jude.” Cardan snaps my name like a command—and a caress. Despite my feigned boredom, a shiver runs through me. 

“Cardan.” I answer back, arching an eyebrow as I toy with the knots of wood in my twisting, high-backed chair. 

“My darling queen,” he leans toward me, looking for all the world like a doting husband, “You’re being rude.” 

“And you—” I draw closer to him, hand flying instinctively to the dagger on my thigh. Are being a tease. I hated sitting through the hours of feasting, restrained to sitting by my husband’s side when all I really wanted was to fuck him for hours instead. Leaning back in my chair, I let loose a repressed sigh, smiling for the crowd around us and muttering instead, “—Know how good you look tonight, don’t you?” 

I hated it, this wanting—it came at the most damnedly inconvenient of times. Worse still was that I had to wait to satisfy my desires—not that I would ask. Even though I knew he loved waiting for me to beg. My hands shake imperceptibly, I hope, as I bring one to his cheek and the other to my own lips. They still feel bruised from his ministrations the night prior; what I wouldn’t give to be back in that moment… 

“Sweet Jude,” Cardan chuckles; noting the hand on his cheek had moved from where my knife was hidden, he gives me an infinitesimal eyebrow raise before continuing, turning his head so his lips brush my palm, “When don’t I look like a feast in my own right?” Leaning closer again, forcing myself to press my skull against the back of my chair, he whispers, “You know very well how this night will go if you refuse to play along.” He smirks, and I redden despite myself. I knew he watched me at events such as this, like a snake waiting to strike, waiting for any sign of weakness, that I might give in. That I might ask. 

He hadn’t bothered to factor in that I might not need to ask. 

I had been watching him at these events too, saw him trying not to look at me too frequently so his silk pants wouldn’t betray his thoughts. I had been watching, and I had been planning. Tonight, I intended to make the High King of Elfhame beg.

Fairies were, as a rule, less conservative than mortals. I had seen Cardan lose himself in such revels, drunk, lips and skin glittering with sweat and the nectar of various imbibements. Yet, as High King, he has been showing restraint. He touched me as we danced, of course, and there was the odd leg squeeze under the table, but he’d never let go with me the way he had before. Perhaps it was because he was High King now. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to share me. Or—and this was an idea I was very curious to entertain—perhaps he didn’t want anyone to see how absolutely wild I could drive him. I was getting braver, sexually, to put it bluntly, and tonight—Oh, I would have fun tonight. 

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he begins to draw back, threading his hand through mine as it drops from his cheek. I pull him back with that hand, perhaps with more force than necessary. “And you,” I whisper in response, “Have no idea how this night is going to go, whether I play along or not.” 

He raises his eyebrows obviously now and shock flits, briefly, across his face. He knows I am brazen, but this is new. Unexpected. Good. I don’t want him thinking he knows everything I am capable of.

“High King,” I place each of my hands on either arm of my chair and cross my legs casually, refusing to let him know I am already burning, “Let us enjoy the night’s festivities.” He leans back when I do, and as he crosses his ankle over one knee I can imagine we make a formidable looking pair, observing those who have already given over to the drinking and dancing portion of the evening. I can spot Nicasia with her admirers, and it seems a long time ago that she saw me as a threat. I am far away from those petty power struggles; I have something much grander in mind right now, anyway.

I can feel Cardan giving me a sidelong glance, but I do not move my gaze from those dancing. I will not give him the satisfaction of learning what I have planned before I choose to reveal it. Once again, I slip a mask of boredom onto my face and reach forward to take my goblet into my left hand. As I do so, I slide my right over Cardan’s thigh. This is nothing new for us, though it is usually he who instigates such affections beneath the feast table; they are also usually quick, passing, perhaps enough to arouse for a moment. He remains very still beneath my hand, and I resist the urge to laugh. Less than thirty seconds after my initial graze across his thigh, I lean back with the goblet in my hand and allow gravity to pull my hand squarely into his lap. I am silently grateful our chairs are close enough for me to accomplish this, my first task of the evening. 

A sharp intake of breath from beside me. I arrange my skirts, kicking at them with my crossed leg until most of their bulk is on my right side, shielding half of my arm from view so to any passersby it might appear my hand is resting anywhere innocently on my husband’s leg. Again, fairies need not have such actions concealed, but I am not a fairy, and the clandestine element is crucial to my plan. The mix of public and so, so private thrills me in a way I haven’t yet fully allowed myself to contemplate. “Is this not,” I trill, a bit unnaturally, glancing at the High King, “The most delightful of our recent celebrations?” As I speak, I apply the barest amount of pressure, running my thumb up his length. His cock, already hardening under my touch, reacts instantly. Soon, I have him halfway to where I want him, but I am still expecting an answer. My hand stills, waiting, and his bent knee smacks the underside of the table, rattling his own goblet and spilling some of the wine in it. 

Recovering quickly, he snatches up his goblet and runs his finger idly around the rim, then looks directly at me and licks his finger in such a way that has my core threatening to betray me. I clench my thighs together harder. “It is the most… surprising one as of late, my dearest weapon.”

“Well I grow tired of only observing,” I sigh, probably too dramatically, as I resume my strokes. Then I smile brightly and stand, moving my hand to linger on his arm just as he becomes fully erect. “Shall we partake of the dancing?” 

He looks at me as though I’ve struck him, then manages to splutter “Jude” before raising his glass to his lips. I gaze down at his lap and smirk at how little the thin fabric there hides. I chuckle, perhaps a little darkly, but I am deeply enjoying this new thrum of power humming in my veins. I drink deeply and set my glass down, never taking my eyes from his even as I lean forward and place the goblet. My loose hair brushes against his hand, then his arm, and as my body moves I sink my lips to his ear and whisper, “Or is there anything else you require, my king?” The knuckles of his free hand turn stark white as he grips his chair, though his face has recovered and betrays nothing.

I glance around nonchalantly, as if curious. No one is paying us particular attention; everyone knows the king and queen will soon make their way from the dais and join the throng. At this stage in the night, we meld with our subjects—Cardan maintaining more control than he did as prince, but still playing the part of spontaneous host to a tee. Tonight, I am more grateful than most that his demeanour as ruler allows folk to relax at such events. This next phase requires that fine balance. I smile at Cardan once again, and allow the thrill of my previous action to course through my body, still fresh. I turn as if to walk away from my chair, my hand once again moving to the dagger on my thigh. With my back to him, through my dress I flick open the final buckle holding the weapon in place and it clangs to my feet. I kick it behind me, under the table, and turn on my heel. 

“Oh!” I exclaim, simultaneously aware I am a poor actress yet not caring a whit. For a moment I am reminded of the mortal movie Vivi made us watch recently, something about a lawyer. “That’s my favourite dagger,” I mutter as I move swiftly to duck under the table. Cardan’s face is agape and he hasn’t moved a muscle. Good.

Now on my knees, I pick up the knife and sheath it—it is my favourite, and I will not lose it—before turning my attention to the task at hand. Slowly, I take Cardan’s leg, the one crossed over the other, and gently lower his boot to the floor. Idly I wonder if he has any idea what I am about to do. I chance a look up his body, taking a moment to appreciate the view before reaching his face. He’s staring right at me, and when we lock eyes his breath hitches. Realization dawns on his face as I make short work of unlacing his pants, eyes locked with his the entire time. A slow smile makes its way across his lips and he looks away from me, lifting his chin and suddenly finding what is left of the fare on the table extremely interesting. A dare, then. I knew he would take this as a challenge—to maintain control as I pleasure him. I laugh softly despite myself.

Taking his length in my hands, I raise it to my lips and barely kiss it, running my tongue over his head with deliberate slowness. His left ankle jerks beside me and I hear a soft clatter from above, as though he has idly discarded a piece of cutlery on the table. Oh, he was going to put on a good show. I lower one hand to the base of his erection, savouring both the warmth and the size of it. When I take all of him into my mouth, I can feel a similar thrum of pleasure winding through his veins that matches my own. My free hand makes its way to his hip, pressing him back into his chair as I begin a rhythm. I’m savouring this feeling of complete control; his hips are threatening to buck upward off the chair, begging me to increase the pace. But I will not. Instead, I slow as his hands fly to my hair, another desperate attempt to get what he wants. Just as I’ve restrained his hip, he has my head locked squarely in his lap, but that doesn’t mean I am forced to provide complete satisfaction.

Slowly, painfully slowly, I move my mouth up and down his cock and move both of my hands to the base of it, devoting all that is in my power to driving him wild. I let his hips thrust upward and match the increased pace, relishing the way I can feel his body react to my actions. 

Deliciously, I feel pleasure pulse up his length, and I know he’s close. Much as I am enjoying this display of my newfound talents, I’m not done with him yet. I slow my hands and mouth and sit back on my heels; the silver and quartz threaded through the train of my dress now dig into my ass. If any break, it will be a small price to pay. As soon as I sit back, I hear a sharp intake of breath from above, and his hands fall from my head, pulling strands of my hair through his fingers as he moves them to his knees. His knuckles are still standing out, pale as bone. Then, “Jude,” he announces loudly, bending sideways to stare right at me under the table, “Did you find your dagger, my sweet villain?” His voice is like honey, and his finger swirls gently over a strand of my hair that still floats over his knee, but his eyes—were I someone else, in another lifetime, I would have shrank back from that stare. 

But I am High Queen of Elfhame, and I have not finished my quest. Resting one hand idly on my thigh, I stare right back at his black eyes as I reply, “My mortal eyes made the task difficult, but it is right here, my king.” 

“I’m surprised you found it at all,” he mutters, voice dripping venom now, “Since you seem so terrible at finishing what you start.” 

“If you knew me at all, darling Cardan,” I shoot back, voice equally poisonous as I attempt to gracefully rise, dusting off my knees conspicuously, “You would know that once I am committed to a task, I see it through.” 

His face is a delightful mixture of pain, desire, and shock, and I can tell he is trying very, very hard not to take me in his lap and fuck me here. If he wants me, he will have to be on his best behaviour now. I take my seat beside him, thrill and arousal still coursing through me. Weaving my hand through his own, I raise it to my lips and smile over our clasped fingers, being sure he has noted my thoroughly smeared lipstick before I swipe it off my chin with a napkin. “What,” he grinds out, stabbing an errant piece of fruit with his fork, “the fuck,” he spits, running a hand through his hair, knocking his crown further askew, “was that?”

“That,” I spear a grape with my knife and bring it to my lips, running my tongue over my teeth before I take it into my mouth, “was only the appetizer.”

I can feel his knees pressing together and his feet pushing into the floor in his attempts to not carry through with his desires, yet I school my features to appear unmoved. I suddenly become very interested in the candles lining the table, watching the wax drip down their columns… 

I swallow hard; perhaps candles weren’t the most benign of objects to coolly observe. I glance sideways at my husband, and see he is trying hard to stay in his chair. I’m good at action. I’m not so skilled at this: the slow dance between pleasure and release. And, I find as I stand and begin to walk away from the table, sure he will follow, I want to finish him off. My feet threaten to once again turn and take my back under the table, but the finale to this evening relies on Cardan being as riled as possible.

I make sure to swing my hips so that the crystals throughout the fabric in my dress glitter to the movement, drawing attention to my curves. I glance around as I walk: some folk incline their heads toward me as I pass, but most are too lost to their own pleasures to acknowledge even their queen, as I’d expected. As I’d hoped. I cross the dance floor deliberately slowly, refusing to turn and look back at Cardan, though I can feel his eyes boring holes in my exposed back. I arrive at my target: a dark alcove with a single green velvet chair. It is too dark for my human eyes to know it is green, of course; I had it placed there earlier today. Another deep ripple of pleasure runs up my spine, and I lick my bottom lip, envisioning, as I had hours before, my plans for that chair.

I turn as slowly as I dare, stepping back so I am against the wall, which curves inward toward the chair. I have chosen this alcove as it offers the most privacy in the entire room, even away from immortal eyes, yet it amplifies the volume of the crowd. My delicious mix of public and private.

As I suspected, his eyes are piercing through the crowd right to me. He maintains that laser focus as he walks, also slowly, towards me. I am still against the wall when he reaches me; I glance down as he approaches, making sure he knows I am looking him over. His arousal is still evident, at least to me, and he moves to kiss me but I step quickly to the side, gesturing instead at the chair. He looks murderous, but acquiesces and sits in a flurry of black fabric. His tail catches my wrist and begins to snake its way up my arm. I move closer, knowing that is what he wants, and hitch my skirts. 

As I do so, his breath hitches, and I smile fiendishly before turning my back on him. His tail drops from my arm and I move, heart hammering in my chest. Holding my skirts in one hand, I sit back onto his legs and wind my other hand up his thigh. Slowly, I find one end of the tie keeping me from his cock—which I note he has hastily strung together after my last attentions—and tug; soon, his hand is on my hip and he is eagerly helping me as I move to ride him. I gasp as he enters me; from this position, I can feel everything���including his breath, hot on my neck as he pulls my hair away from us, keeping some of it bunched in his fingers. “Jude,” he pants against my back as he runs kisses down my spine, and I move experimentally, pleased when he gasps in reply, “Jude, you have orchestrated my undoing.” I smile smugly at that and gaze at him over my shoulder, rocking a bit, splaying a hand on his knee as I do so.

Through it all, the music plays, the folk dance, and the divine mixture of pleasure and power now pulse at their highest in my veins. There is something in me that loves chaos, that thrives on the inexplicable high I am experiencing from this most private of pleasures and this most public of venues. I feel as though I have never felt power such as this, never had such control during such sensation.

Yet still, I do not move as much as I could. I am still waiting. 

“And how,” I purr, still watching him over my shoulder, “would you like to be undone, Cardan?” 

At his name, I rock faster, and the hand on my hip threatens to rip my gown. I know I am driving him crazy, but I need him to show me just how crazy he can be. I arch my back and begin moving my hips in circles, mimicking my earlier work with my tongue. I know I have him in a position where he can’t control the pace, and I know, after what I have put him through, that this will madden him. I am waiting until he cannot take it any longer, but as I move, I get caught up in my own pleasure.

The heat spreading through my core and down my legs is threatening to be my undoing, and I begin to increase my pace as I find myself teetering on the edge of release. I am lost in what I can feel: Cardan’s hand in my hair, Cardan’s hand on my hip, Cardan’s lips against my neck, Cardan’s length sweetly, deliciously filling me so much so that I can’t think or feel anything that is not this moment.

I am so lost in this that the moment I was waiting for, the moment Cardan begs—”Jude, please, Jude, fuck, Jude”—falls away like all the rest and becomes a background chorus to the main verse as we both gasp our release, as the torrent of pleasure spills over for us both and we both whisper each other’s names as we come.

My eyes slowly flutter open and I lean back into my husband, sounds of the revel around us returning to my ears. No one has noticed their monarchs in this corner, slipping out of reality and into each other, at least as far as I can tell. “Learning new tricks, have we been?” Cardan whispers into my ear, nipping the lobe for emphasis. 

“All the time,” I toss my hair over one shoulder and press my lips to his cheek. 

“You can lose your knife under the table anytime,” he murmurs, voice gravelly. Gently, he lifts me enough so he can string his pants back together. I settle myself onto the edge of his lap. “And Jude,” he catches my wrist with his hand this time as I move to stand, his eyes glittering with conspiratorial delight, “Let’s make this chair a permanent fixture here, shall we?”

[clockworkgraystairs]

Beg for me || Jurdan Dom-Sub One Shot

Jurdan Smut Week 2020   •   DAY 1

@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Rating: M

Summary: “I need you.” 

                  “Then say it. Beg for me.”

Masterlist   •   AO3

Thank you so much @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 for helping me betaing this, even when you’re sleep deprived, I have no words! 🧡

“Look at me, love”

Kneeled before him, Jude lifted her head slowly, her breath coming out in faltering huffs. A prickling sensation ran over her swollen lips. Surely a reaction to the punishing kisses he’d given her just seconds before. The moment their eyes connected, the intensity she saw there sent an anticipatory pulse down to her stomach.

“Do you know why I am doing this?” He said, cocking his head to the side and arms crossed over his chest. His words were low and honeyed. 

Oh she definitely did. Yet, she tugged her lip between her teeth.  

Arching an eyebrow he hauled the little chain that connected with the leather band around her neck, his movement soft but firm. Answer me, it said.

The corner of her lips quirked up a bit. The only sign of defiance she’d allow her body to show, or at least that’s what she tried. “Because I misbehaved… sir.” She quickly added at the change in his gaze.

He chuckled. “I might not be your boss at this moment, but I would appreciate it if you still minded your manners.” With another tug to the chain he signaled her to stand. “On the bed, dear.”

Heat creeped up her cheeks at the appreciative hum that left his mouth at the full sight of her. Black lace that barely covered part of her body, combined with high stockings framing her long legs. She’d bought it knowing he’d like it, but couldn’t get used to how much skin it showed. 

It was almost unfair that he could keep his clothes on. However, she couldn’t really decide if she liked her boss better when he was completely naked, or just like he looked in that moment: bare feet, black trousers and loose white shirt, sleeves rolled up his arms. More than ready to play with her for hours. 

The soft mattress sunk under her. Jude lay down, her pulse rose as he walked towards her. 

“Hands up.” He commanded. A familiar clang reached her ears from the drawer he was rummaging in, sending a shiver down her back.

She swallowed before obeying. He had plenty of punishments in his repertoire, but only few include that artifact in particular. That narrowed the options. 

Cold metal kissed her wrists and Jude gasped. With a small movement she felt the chain of the handcuffs firmly secured to the bed’s headboard. Her chest rose and fell with elaborated breaths.

She was officially at his mercy.

Turning her head back, she watched him loosen his tie and take it off. Popping the first buttons from his shirt open. His carefree movements, along with those mischievous eyes of his always took Jude off guard. 

“Enjoying the view?” He asked.

“You know I do, sir.”

“Hmm.” Her boss purred. “Too bad it has to end.” At that he gently coiled his tie around her head, covering her eyes. He tied it tightly to keep it from falling but not enough for it to hurt. 

Pulling away, he left her there, aroused and disoriented. Jude tried to sense where he’d gone. Focusing all she could on-

Jude yelped when something soft caressed her torso. A low chuckle came from the left. 

The thing about being sight-deprived was that her other senses intensified in a terrible yet exhilarating way. And he knew it very damn well.

Whatever object it was, probably a feather, he used it to roam over every piece of uncovered skin. He trailed it down her arms, her neck, between her shuddering breasts. Dropped kisses here and there, nibbling at her sensitive spots. The sensation was too much and yet not enough, Jude was quickly losing all coherent thoughts. Every time he sucked low moans escaped from her throat.

She breathed his name as his mouth moved down to her hips. He continued his ministrations, carefully avoiding that hot and needy spot between her legs. 

“Are you going to defy my decisions in front of my coworkers again?” 

Of course she would, they were both aware of that. Especially if it lent to more sessions of this. It was all part of their game. She was brilliant at work, with her intelligence and sharp temper she had everyone around her finger in no time. And he, a promising talent on the rise, did everything on his power to conquer her. Even when it implied hiding it from the whole company.  

It felt so good to quarrel in meetings. But it was better when he gave her that look, the one that signaled he would use that same argument against her later. Alone, and naked. 

Jude opened her mouth to answer but felt as if her mind had forgotten how to form words. Fuck, she should be doing better than this, she scolded herself. Focus.

He sucked down on her inner thigh, really close to where she desperately wanted him and she cried out, arching her back. The handcuffs rattled against the board. That damned sound always remained to haunt her in her deepest dreams.

Hot breath caressed her core as he spoke again. “I asked you a question.” 

She licked her lips. “No sir, I won’t.” He hummed, using his thumb to play with the lace of her panties and pulled them down just a fraction. Then he seemed to change his mind and dragged his hands up her sides earning a protest from her. 

Jude felt the mattress shift under his weight, then hot bare skin pressed flush against her as he stretched on top of her. He still wore his pants and even with them, his hardness was evident. She tilted her hips up seeking some friction, but a strong hand held her hips still. She whined one more time and his fingers now grabbed her with enough force to leave bruises.  

“What was that again?” His gruff voice was now against her ear. 

She moved to put her arms around his neck but a metallic sound and a yank to her wrists reminded Jude of her position. She almost said the word she knew he wanted. But held back, huffing in frustration. “I need you.” 

“Then say it.” He groaned, nipping her earlobe. The hand holding her down moved once more, soft fingers positioning on the edge of her underwear. Please, the word was there on the tip of her tongue. With a torturing pace, he slid them under the thin fabric. “Beg for me, Ember.”

“CUT! Excellent, I think we got it. Good work everyone!”

Voices burst around them. 

Jude sighed, the air wavering. Seconds later cold air hit her skin as he moved away from her. 

The tie was taken from her eyes and the bright light blinded her a moment. The handcuffs shackled again and were off a heartbeat later.

“Hey.” She turned to find Cardan, stripped down to only his trousers, with the offending artifact on his hand. “Are you okay?”

She blinked and sat up, taking in her surroundings. Filming set, not suite room. And Cardan, her co-star, not her boss. Sometimes she really envied Ember, her character. Getting the chance to live the excitement of a forbidden romance. A hot, forbidden romance. 

At her lack of answer, he sat next to her and cupped her face. Worry filled his voice. “Jude? Did I overstep?” 

“No, no.” Shaking her head, Jude grinned. “You were perfect, I’m just recovering my breath. I tried to put myself more into it this time.”

“I noticed,” Cardan chuckled. “If I’m honest, for a moment I almost forgot we were acting.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. Me too, she almost said. Instead she just looked at him. Even out of character there was something in his eyes that captured her in a way she didn’t believe was possible. He was kind, funny and incredibly respectful on and off of the set. 

Jude couldn’t help the real fluttering in her stomach in every scene they shot together. 

She knew romances weren’t unusual in their line of work, but since she was relatively new, this tv series her first leading role, she was still terrified to ruin it. Most of all, to ruin the friendship she’d built with Cardan in all those months. 

Coats were given to them, observations from the director and the screenwriters too and at last, they could leave for the day. 

Cardan walked her to her trailer, telling another of his weird experiences he’d had while filming. Tears fell from her eyes from all the laughing. 

“I trust  you’re laughing at the situation and not actually at me.” He teased.

“Oh I’m definitely laughing at you, no need to ask.” 

Making an offended sound he ruffled her hair, Jude shrieking and pulling away. 

“Jude,” He said, his tone more serious than before made her stop her mocking too. “Are you sure everything was okay with the scene?”

A blush covered her cheeks. “It was. You know I’m relatively new to this. I guess I’m just getting used to all of it.” 

He nodded. 

“But, thank you.” She added. “For making sure I’m ok, and...for all of your fun stories that make me relax after. It is...really nice from you.”

Cardan’s wide smile almost left her breathless again. 

“It’s nothing.” He hesitated for a second. “I have more stories though… We could... go buy some coffee and I could tell you all of it. If you want to, of course.”

She stared at him, not quite believing his words. 

He bit her lip and gave her an apologetic smile. “Think about it, will you? I’d really like to...go out with you someday.”

Jude smiled gradually, feeling her heart nearly jumping out from her chest. “I’ll think about it.” She said softly. 

“Let me know.” He walked backwards and winked at her. “And Jude… just for the record, I enjoy being tied up too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ @sweetlyvillainous​ @aesthetics-11​ @thesirenwashere​ @jurdanhell​ @nightbringer​ @b00kworm​ @mysweetvillain​ @thefolkofthefic​ @yafandomsdotnet​ @vanessa172003​ @tessas-herondales​

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you) please let me know!

[jurdannet]

Attention all Folk! We are delighted to announce the second of our annual revels: Jurdan Smut Week. 

This revel will take place 24-31 August 2020, and will celebrate the High King and Queen of Elfhame in their various states of scandal. This means everything from your sweet and tender loving scenes, to your no-holds-barred prolonged manage a trois. 

But we need your help! We want to come up with a list of prompts that caters to your preferences. So we’ve made a form (Prompt Suggestion Form) where you’ll be able to submit prompts for our consideration. The most popular ones will make the official prompt list for this revel!

Some important things about the form:

The form closes 17 June 2020 at 11:59pm (EST).

All answers are anonymous. Even the Living Council will not know who has submitted each answer.

We ask that you submit mainly themes/kinks/short dialogue.

You may submit as many or as few prompts as you wish (there are spaces for 5 on the form, but you can submit multiple forms).

PLEASE KEEP RESPONSES TO UNDER 10 WORDS. 

If you have any questions about the form or the Jurdan Smut Week 2020 revel, please feel free to shoot us an ask/message on here, or any of The Living Council’s personal accounts: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ @mysweetvilllain​ @nite0wl29​ @clockworkgraystairs​

-The Living Council

[piratejudedemdji]

Seeing the first smut week post

[riorsonxaden]

🔥🔥💃

Me during smut week:

╙ edit by: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ 

join the revel 🖤🥀

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Holy | Jurdan One Shot

Written for: Jurdan Smut Week 2020, Day 1: Dom/Sub @jurdannet​ @jurdannetrevels​

Summary: “You’re a liar. A dirty, mortal liar.”

WC: 3171

Rating: E is for Everyone be sinning in this fic

CW: EXPLICIT NSFW CONTENT. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

AO3   |   Masterlist   |   Based on this edit

“On your knees, darling,” Cardan’s voice is dangerous, silken, like the ruby red ribbon he’s holding.

It takes Jude a great deal of effort to sink obediently to the floor. She is so unused to bending at the knee, but trust is the name of the game—a game Jude needs ample practice playing.

Her palms are sweaty with anticipation, her heartbeat a riot in her chest. She is flushed and bare, kneeling before him like some kind of sinless supplicant, though this may be the biggest lie of them all.

Tonight, Jude had lied.

She’d lied to Cardan and he’d known it from the moment the words left her lips. Part of her thinks she lied just to bait him.

A bait he all too willingly took. His temper had glittered in his eyes before he’d swept them off back to the Royal Chambers, closed and bolted the doors behind them, sent the guards away.

Then, he’d undressed her, as one would a wound.

Now, Jude studies the ornate rug she kneels on, the worn leather of Cardan’s boots as he crouches before her, and thinks this is the best kind of trouble she could have possibly sought to get herself into.

And also the worst. The idea of being at the mercy of another is still a terrifying prospect to the High Queen of Elfhame. Fear, she’d found however, in the right circumstances could be quite the heady aphrodisiac.

“My queen,” Cardan says, brushing a stray hair away from her face. “Exquisite. As stardust.”

Jude can’t help but blush deeper.

Her husband’s compliments, though scarce,  were never ordinary, even after all these years. And why should they be, when they loved each other in such extremes?

Cardan takes up her hands gently in his and begins wrapping the long length of ribbon around her wrists, binding them in front so that she is not entirely in control, but not entirely without it either.

It’s funny to Jude that Cardan should be always so careful in this, considering the not-at-all-gentle treatment she is about to receive.

She doesn’t dare laugh, though. Not now.

“Do you understand why I am doing this, Jude,” he asks.

“Yes.” Her eyes flit over the sharp angles of his face. She meets Cardan’s gaze, as bravely as she can. His is calm, like black water before a storm. A storm which shimmers on the edge of the horizon between them.

Cardan stares at her bottom lip, now pulled between her teeth, as if he might bite into it too, given the chance. Jude is sure she would let him.

After a moment, Cardan lowers his gaze back to the task at hand. “And why is that?” He loops the ribbon around itself then pulls tight.

“Because I lied,” she tells him, not an ounce of remorse in her voice.

“Precisely,” he says. “And what is it you lied about?”

“I said I hated you.”

“Yes.” Cardan nods, looping the ribbon a second time. “You said you hated me—in front of the entire court.” He pins her with a glare from underneath the trellis of his lashes, and Jude is reminded of the way in which he used to look upon her frequently—with an odd coupling of ire and lust.

Jude’s heart flies to her throat. There’s no use in denying it. “I did.”

“Why is that a bad thing, sweet villain?”

“Because they might misunderstand,” Jude says. “Because they might think I hate you in earnest.”

“And why is that a bad thing?”

“Because we need to remain a united front for the sake of Elfhame.”

A small smile plays at the corners of his devastating mouth. While her answer is not technically wrong, it’s not the answer he was looking for. Cardan ties off the ribbon in a careful bow, then looks at her with one raised brow, challenging.

Jude looks down at her bound hands, because it’s still hard to admit vulnerability, even to him. Even so exposed as she is now. “Because I don’t actually hate you.” It is a half truth, at best.

Her husband grips her chin between his thumb and the crook of his forefinger, canting her face so that she must look at him.

“Prove it.” Cardan says this like a dare. Probably because it is. The sweet plum wine of his breath fans across her face, making her head spin.

“I love you,” Jude says, softly. Saying these words aloud is always the greatest submission of herself, her deepest surrender.

Cardan knows this, and looks at her like she is the one and only wonder of the world. “You love me,” he repeats, letting go of her chin. It sounds more like he is trying to convince himself of the statement, rather than confirm she answered his question to his satisfaction.

Jude raises her bound hands to cup his cheeks. His face is warm and a bit stubbly. She strokes the pad of her thumb down his jawline. “Very much,” she says.

The way he closes his eyes, leans into her touch, makes something in her heart fracture a little.

“And I, you, my formidable dagger,” Cardan says. Removing her hands from his face, he places a kiss on both her palms before rising to his feet.

Then, something in his air shifts. He circles her like prey. Jude knows she must stay still, but the urge to follow his every move is a tempting one.

“Looking at you now, I see strength and grace. A sharply honed beauty,” Cardan says from behind her. Jude feels her cheeks heat anew, and she is glad he cannot see her blooming humility.

“I also see a liar,” Cardan continues. “And for liars, there is punishment.”

She can feel the thrumming of her pulse, every inch of her alive under his gaze. “Yes, my husband.”

She hears a rumble roll through Cardan’s chest.

Jude knows full well what that particular term of endearment does to him. And since she is so compromised before him, it is only fair she assert herself where she can.

“I am going to spank you, Jude,” Cardan tells her, apparently deciding to ignore transgression. “And when that is through, I am going to take you.”

A delicious curl of desire licks Jude’s core. She shivers.

“Does that sound like fair punishment to you?” he asks.

“Yes, my husband.”

Cardan is at her ear, long fingers at her throat before she can blink. They are feather-light, tracing up the veins in her neck, feeling the pound of her pulse there. It is threatening enough that Jude is given to staying very, very still. She feels the drive of his shoulder against her back.

“If you call me that one more time, Jude,” he growls so close to her that she can feel the vibrations of his voice skitter down her spine, “I will have no choice but to bend you over and fuck you with wild abandon. I will not be concerned with your pleasure, nor will I await your release.”

Jude’s eyes widen and she draws in a sharp breath.

“This will bring me no great amount of satisfaction,” Cardan continues, “As I do so love to feel you come around me. You want to satisfy me, don’t you, Jude?”

Jude swallows and nods.

“Good,” Cardan says, stroking a hand down her hair before moving away. “You are safe, dear Jude, but you will relinquish. Now, lean forward and be still.”

Jude complies, without hesitation this time. Since her wrists are bound, she goes down on her elbows, ass raised in the air.

She is completely exposed. Vulnerable.

Cardan kneels down beside her, sidling up to her left hip. She can feel the bulge straining beneath his trousers.

She’s not sure if it’s this or the knowledge of what’s to come that makes her slick with want. But when she feels Cardan’s palm come to rest on her backside, the simple touch sends a lance of heat coursing through her.

Her thighs press together.

“So eager, my queen,” Cardan hums, steadying her with a grip of his free hand on her right hip. “One might wonder if you devised this plan from the start.”

Jude grins wickedly at the floor, but says nothing.

“Naughty thing,” he says.

Without warning, he brings his hand down against her bare flesh. It’s not a hard blow, just enough for a slight pang of pain. But the surprise of it makes her gasp.

“You’re a liar, Jude,” Cardan says, rubbing slow circles with his palm for a moment, letting her adjust to the new sensation.

She feels his hand disappear again, and braces herself. When he slaps her the second time, it’s harder, a bright shock against her skin. The sound echoes off the Royal Chamber walls.

Jude bites her lip.

The combination of sharp pain followed by Cardan’s cool, soothing ministrations is disconcerting. She shouldn’t like this as much as she does. This pain, this yielding. Everything about it goes against her very instincts. Yet, Jude grows more desperate still.

Suddenly, Cardan delivers three consecutive strokes, hard and fast.

“A dirty.” Slap. “Mortal.” Thwap. “Liar.” Smack.

Then, he swipes two wicked fingers up the length of her heat.

Jude moans, feeling herself pulse at the unexpected sensitivity. Her hips rock back of their own volition, chasing the friction she craves.

Cardan clicks his tongue at that. “I told you to be still,” he reminds her. “Do not test my patience, sweet villain.”

Jude’s fists ball up in front of her, pulling against their binds. In her head, she slings a slew of curses at him.

He is rock hard and throbbing, pressed firmly against her hip. It is a cruel kind of torture to feel his arousal and be without the power to sate it.

She wants nothing more than to be able to touch him, to clamber up his torso and peel him out of his clothes, to feel him hot against her skin, to make him tremble under her touch.

“I’ll be still,” she gasps instead. “Please. I’ll be still.”

Cardan says nothing, only resumes his soothing circles over the rawness of her backside. After a moment, he slaps her rapidly, once on her ass and once more against her swollen folds.

Jude yelps, the contact sending a shudder through her.

The effort it takes to remain unmoving is immense. Her breath is ragged in her chest. She is positively aching, and entirely unsure when or even if Cardan will give her what she desires.

“What are you?”

“A liar,” Jude chokes out.

Cardan brings his hand down hard again, and there’s a sharp spark of commingled pleasure and pain that swells in her.

“Louder.”

“I’m a liar,” she nearly shouts.

He strikes her cunt twice more. “Wrong. Try again.”

“I’m a liar!” She wails into the carpet. “A dirty, mortal liar!”

Jude is on the verge of tears now. She has experienced pain far greater than this before, but none which has held her in such agonised suspense. Such terrible denial.

The flesh of her ass is raw as roses, dripping with the evidence of her arousal between her thighs. She feels the heated prickle of shame flood her face, and yet, she remains still, gaze glued to the floor.

“Look at you,” Cardan says, wonderment in his voice. “You are breathtaking.”

He runs a slender finger up her slit before dipping down between her folds. His finger pumps and curls inside her, feeling her inner walls. The feeling is so delectable that Jude must stop herself from arching into his touch.

Cardan hums, delighted. “You’re drenched, wife,” he says, withdrawing his hand.

A frenzied heat surges through her at the loss of contact. Jude can only manage a sobbed, “Cardan.”

Relief is a balm like no other as her husband shrugs out of his shirt and positions himself behind her, spreading her legs with his own. The sound of his zipper sets her squirming.

When he finally, miraculously, slides into her, he does so in one smooth stroke, until he is buried deep, to the hilt.

Cardan hisses as he bottoms out. But, to Jude’s dismay, he does not move. Just stays there, sheathed in her completely, savouring the feeling of her warmth around him.

Jude is keening, the soft sounds muffled by the carpet as she tries her very best not to writhe against him. Because gods, does she need that ambrosial ache. Starting in her belly and lapping up her spine until every inch of her is flooded.

“Cardan,” she grits out, fingernails digging into the rug.

“Yes, my darling god?” he says, as if he doesn’t know what could possibly be wrong. As if he doesn’t know what torments her so.

Jude swallows. This terrible anticipation makes her feel like live wires twist frenetic under her skin. She hates it.

“Cardan. Please.”

“Please, what, dear Jude?”

“Move!” Her voice is taut in her throat from all of this waiting and wanting and wondering. If Jude were not held at his mercy, she would have pinned him to the floor by now.

A sudden chill sinks in her stomach before she knows exactly why. Then, Cardan has a fistful of her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking it so that she arches further into him.

He leans down over her, making her gasp. This angle is treacherously deep.

“Unfortunately,” Cardan growls low in her ear. “I don’t take commands from lying mortals.”

Jude is perplexed by the desire his words stir up. It licks her to the quick, going against everything she thought she knew about herself.

But the fact that remains is this: Jude craves the force of his arms, the moreish knowledge of his desire, his own unmooring. It is a particular tincture of power which only Cardan can give her. And for that, she must surrender.

Abruptly, he releases her hair and in within the span of a few breaths, strikes her across the ass four times.

The hits come in rapid succession, with much the same vigor as before. Only these are more intense. Her eyes snap open.

Jude, now filled to the brim with her husband’s cock, feels every slap of his palm against her flesh as if they were jolts of electricity shooting straight through her core. They leave her nerves jangled.

She cries out, clenching around Cardan’s length as each blow lands. A low rumbling sound goes through him.

“You feel,” he rasps, voice frayed from restraint, “Utterly divine, my love.”

Jude moans but is unable to form a response. For all the world, she cannot think past the moony haze of her mind, nor the heavenly pressure in her belly. After a moment, she registers the slip of Cardan’s tail coming to wrap gently around her thigh. It is both a reassurance and a question.

All Jude can think to say, the only thing to pass from her lips is, “I love you.”

With that, Cardan is moving.

The first few strokes are achingly slow, dragging all the way out before plunging back in. They strike a match within her.

Soon, Cardan is building a rhythm, thrusts picking up speed. Jude’s pulse races in tandem. That heat in her core clambouring for purchase as she’s driven again and again into the floor.

Jude thinks about the burns her knees will have tomorrow, from this carpet, and a thrill runs through her.

She can hear Cardan’s labored breathing behind her, his little gasps and groans that make her toes curl. He is deliciously hers. The thought makes her tremble in her own delight.

The slapping sounds their joining makes drive her wild. Before she knows it, she can feel the steady rise of her release. Despite her better judgement, Jude cannot help but meet him thrust for thrust.

Cardan seems too far gone to notice his wife’s efforts. He grips her hips as he pounds into her, relentless.

But when Jude turns her head to look at him, he is somewhere else. And that simply will not do. No, Jude would have him here and now, in this moment.

She slows her pace. She wishes she could reach back and pull him to the present with her touch alone. But as her hands are bound, she cannot.

“Cardan,” Jude croons.

At the sound of her voice, Cardan’s eyes snap to hers. He blinks for a moment. Then, he’s slowing his rhythm, too.

“Oh, Jude,” he soughs, scooping her up into his arms so that they are both upright and kneeling, Jude straddling his lap. She leans back against his chest. “My sweet Jude.”

His hand goes to her clit, fingers working slow circles. The added stimulation brings forth plumous mewls from Jude. She rolls her hips in time with his ministrations, feeling the novelty of this angle.

It is the stuff of gods, what they are doing.

“Tell me again,” Cardan murmurs gruffly in her ear.

Jude knows precisely what he means by this. “I love you,” she says, swirling herself over him. He thrums into her neck, nips at her earlobes. His hips begin to buck of their own accord, rutting up to meet the tidal wave of her movements.

Over and over, she tells him. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” His mouth covers hers in a searing kiss. “I love you so much that sometimes I can hardly think of anything else.”

“Gods above,” Cardan groans and, splaying his free hand on her belly, he pushes them forward once more. He’s pounding into her, fingers flying in circles over her clit until she is all sensation. Until she is screaming.

Jude is being cleaved apart. She is trembling on high. Just as it seems her wave of pleasure will rise and rise forever, finally, it breaks.

Jude cries out her release, a jumble of “I love you’s” and Cardan’s name, echoing around the Royal Chambers as she writhes beneath him.

And with that, Cardan tips over the edge, too. With a final slam, he spills into her, shouting a string of words. Her name. Only her name. Over and over against the back of her neck like a curse as he comes.

Jude is still pulsing, shaking in the aftermath when Cardan loops his arms around her waist. He brings them both to rest on their sides, not caring at all that they are on the floor. Cardan tucks Jude into his chest.

He pulls her wrists into his hands and begins unravelling the red ribbon that binds them. Jude, for her part, feels both heavy and as if she could float away on a fog.

“Jude?” Cardan’s voice sounds from behind her.

“Hmm?” She can barely muster the energy open her lids.

“Are you aware how much I love you?”

“ ‘Course I am,” she mumbles.

Cardan looses a soft chuckle. “Liar.”

Jude’s grin is so wide, she’s sure all of Elfhame can see it.

☽☽☽☽☽

AN: So this was… much softer than I intended 😅 but I really hope you enjoyed it! I had so much fun writing this one. This is just the first of a few works I’m putting out this week for Jurdan Smut Week, so look out for those. 

As always, if you have any kind comments, please do share them with me. I’m terrible at responding in a timely fashion, but I will respond to every single one. They absolutely make my day and ultimately encourage me to keep writing.

If you liked this, and would like to be added to my tag list, let me know!

Back to the forest now!

-Em 🖤💫

Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @knifewifejude​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @clockworkgraystairs​ @thesirenwashere​ @courtofjurdan​ @nightbringer​ @aelin-queen-of-terrasen​ @whocares-idont​ @babycardan @sweetlyvillainous​ @aesthetics-11​ @storiesandschemes​ @jurdanhell​ @poeticbrownmermaid​ @thechainofiron​ @random-llama-socks​ @villanellevi​ @lady-thea-of-narnia​ @b00kworm​ @flowersinvegas​ @vanessa172003​ @cardanstrickytail​ @queen-of-glass​ @judiecardan​ @words-of-the-wise​ @scarznstars​ @charincharge​ @fizziefaerie​ @fateandluminary​ @tessas-herondales​ @styles-taylor​ @jyoti96​ @losssssstttttt​ @transbordeamento​ @katsemkitgostadetog @gloriouspalacebakerylawyer​ @woodsbeyond1​ @hizqueen4life​ @highqueenjudeduarte​ @m-like-magic @dorkzrul​ @whataboutmyfries​ @livelovereading123​ @queenofgreenbriar​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @lifeminuspickles​ @df3ndyr​ @christalpaez @aknymph​ @iammissstark​ @st00pid231​ @disco-tits1​ @cardanslittletail​ @katexrenee​ @fandomfanatic987​ @justtryintolivemybestlife​ @hopefullyanauthor​ @junipersuns​ @curlyredqueen06​ @emmabookworm08​ @thebookish-fangirl​

Title Inspo: Holy by King Princess

Liked this? Try:   King   |   Fine Line

[amandlas]

almost gone (in these little moments get your cards out)

tfota | jude x cardan, she doesn’t come back au, no smut, hurtful and punishable tbh (ao3)

entry to jurdan week 2020 by @jurdannet - day 7: wild card! a what-if au had jude tried to make a new life in maine (don’t worry, cardan shows up). heaps of angst. little payout. sorry in advance. trigger warnings: violence, guns, shooting, and death mention.

[canon divergence from twk ending. title from “lay your cards out” by poliça]

*

gone. she’s gone. avulsed from her land, never hers, and her lover, never loved. the mortal world welcomes her with wide arms, arms that are shorter than she remembers, a little less homely, much less magical. after all, how can the ordinariness of television, powder tea, and surround sound compare to the true magic of faerieland?

vivi says it will be well. of course she does. why wouldn’t she, with her strong blood and pointed ears.

jude stares and stares at the tv. at the window. at the door. she’s not so stupid as to believe it will allay her want, but like programming, she follows the routine nonetheless.

*

two months. oak is recalcitrant to her teachings. vivi is buoyant in her obliviousness. they do not see her. she cannot see herself. the closest thing she has to a mirror is miles away, attending a new husband and parading with stars dangling from rounded ears. if taryn were to come, jude thinks she wouldn’t recognize either of them.

*

she is ashamed to watch her pillowcase blotted with tear stains at nightfall.

it’s more embarrassing than waking up the first time to menstrual blood staining her sheets, two stories up in madoc’s estate, knowing not what it meant or what to do.

jude duarte avoids as superfluous emotions as sadness or hopelessness. being a mortal in faerie, those sentiments would wash her out of focus, riddle her with doubt, and with a certainty would so far as kill her.

but, she thinks, i am not in faerie anymore. i am no longer in a place where blood is a better find than tears. where eyes are dry and swords are sated by throats and bellies.

perhaps in her native world it is safer. that’s what jude wanted this whole time, was it not? safety. if she were meant to feel relief, she should feel it now.

survival feels wet against her cheek.

*

he keeps slugging his damn arms. jude tugs oak roughly to her, fixing his stance, and urges him to strike.

“will i still be king someday?”

as per usual, he tries deflection to talk out of a combat lesson. jude is unmoved. “yes.”

“are you sure?”

she shifts her weight to her other leg. “there is no other way.” his form is poor. she identifies his weaker side and rounds slowly to it. “the crown answers to blood. raise your elbow higher. protect your face.”

oak listens for once. his voice is shrill still. “so there is no one else?”

of course there’s someone else. another bearer of the crown, another royal to lead their nation. but jude grits her teeth and resorts to her best asset: lying. “no. no one else.”

her little brother pauses, their lesson half-present in his mind. intrigued, she watches the scrunch of his brows as he formulates a thought. “unless cardan has a child. then there would be another.”

if he sees her freeze, he doesn’t mention it. the scenario turns her thoughts errant, threatens her with a conniption. some sick part of her wishes to linger on the possibility, but with oak before her and posed to fight, she cannot allow herself that masochism.

oak stands expectant, his arm growing weary and slouching. the least she can do is not lie.

“i suppose.”

he remembers none of the stance the next evening.

*

“no word from dad. taryn either.”

jude lifts her face to catch vivi rummaging through envelopes of mail. “what, were you expecting miracles? a shift in the weather?” she scoffs, coming back to her task. counting money. hard-earned cash from late shifts of all services and flavors. espionage, theft, the occasional sparring match. the underground fae crime ring taints the soul, but it pays in fifties.

vivi interrupts her quick fingers. “he liked you best, you know. dad always gave more of himself to you than to me or taryn.” she notices her brother sitting at the couch, leans in to rumple his hair. “or oak.”

jude shoots vivi a cruel look, an exasperated look. “what good that did to me.”

her sister’s eyes are fierce as a growling cat where they pin her in place. “quite some good, your highness.”

jude does a fucking great job at not screaming.

*

she hates to think of the name.

what could his true name be, she wonders? if she commanded it, before the brokering of their epically failed marriage for his release, jude asks herself if he’d given it. if he’d hated her that much more.

her mind swirls with reminders of midnight black eyes, of fingers against her lips and the abstruse feeling of possession by another being.

she won’t think of it. she won’t dream of it. she won’t aerate the two syllables in a whisper of dark sky. she certainly won’t be pelted with the scariest word, the four letters she refused since childhood to allow a place in her. the word that died with a blade on its back as it ran to the kitchen. the word that meant a certain foolishness, a certain danger. she won’t. it’s her new mantra: she won’t, she won’t, she won’t.

falsehoods have always been her strongest asset.

*

“we shouldn’t be watching this shit,” heather sighs between mouthfuls of red licorice.

they’re leaning on the couch, lined up like soldiers catching their breath amidst pilgrimage to battle. the television blares high. jude notices heather has shifted her free hand to cover oak’s eyes.

she inspects the playing show more closely. one second there’s a wide shot of scenery, familiar in its medieval setting, and the next there’s a person. a striking young woman with silver hair like new iron falling in tresses across pale shoulders.

the figure is so intimate it nearly makes jude jump. “a princess,” she murmurs.

heather shakes her head. “no. oh no. well, sorta.” oak squirms in her hand, breaking free of her hold, to which she sighs and acquiesces. “sure, i guess, but more than that. it’s complicated.”

from her place next to oak, jude nods. “royals tend to be.”

her sister’s lover, or ex lover (certainly an ex something), barrels on. she uses hand gestures to further her explaining. “her father was the mad king, but she was only a baby when he got dethroned. she was exiled from her home, far across the sea. then she married a powerful man, leader of a tribe, and sorta grew into herself. after he died, his rivals and his people tried to disbar her. turns out she had more in her arsenal than was believed.” heather wags her eyebrows at the show.

jude couldn’t be more confused until a huge, black winged creature crosses the screen. “are those…”

“yup,” heather confirms. “the mother of beasts. and her husband’s people, they followed her. even though he was gone, and was their real ruler, and it was unacceptable that she rule on the basis of who she was, they still accepted her as leader.”

jude stiffens. “really.”

they made it seem so close, so easy to reach. the princess-who-wasn’t-a-princess straightens her spine, amplifies her voice. when she speaks, people heed.

heather slices her reverie. “because she has magic.” she points to the overflying monsters. “badass.”

ah. because. she. has. magic.

a non-magic girl slouches back in her non-magic couch, watching a non-magic box, consumed by baneful imaginings.

*

unprepossessing. that is what they called her. ugly, if wine or fury loosened their vocabulary. how had i let someone who called me that touch me at the collarbones? kiss my throat? call me his sweet villain? jude has no answer. she replays and loops the plethora of adjectives her dear husband and company had called her. wormfood. unsightly. repellent. direful. unbecoming. synonyms alike to the same derivative, final word.

mortal.

the circle of worms, she and taryn. daughter of dirt.

she wishes she were nobody’s daughter.

*

it takes her three nights after that to realize now she really is nobody’s daughter.

*

her exile hits the half year.

*

bride of faerieland. the mortal queen.

a fugacious dream, she finalizes. no more than a fleeting child’s wish. had she remained at home, no, in faerie , she’d never have been queen. not without the people’s approval and not with her mortality. a hollow crown, a fool’s wreath.

she cements it into her brain, sears it to memory. she never. would. have been. a true. queen.

oh, but what a vision they would’ve been. jude, stiff boned with graying hair, and cardan beside her, youthful as ever and tethered to her with ball and chain. unescapable. a fresh minted prison for him. he’d be gagged to ask for her kisses, much less beg for them. when her skin sagged and time plundered her heart, how quick he’d be to run from her. a bat out of hell.

when it processes that she’s thought of his name, written it to existence in the myriad of her thoughts, she breaks into a cold sweat.

*

she won’t call her exile a blessing. there’s many descriptors for the singular event that redefined the last leg of her fleeting teenage life, and blessing won’t cut it. recently, however, jude has had the chance to add timely to the list.

jude kills a troll. he’d been preying on humans the same time as her abscond to the human realm. this particular troll began his horror streak after developing a taste for the helpless glaze in their eyes at final moments before teeth sunk into shoulders, the way they rolled back or if the occasion came up that the eyelids would fall crookedly. the funny look of a drugged, passed out, mindless loon. except these were dead loons, victims to the desire of a beast. these humans had been lured into the abandoned subway tunnel, but jude had strolled there all on her own.

“that bitch carries the devil,” commented one of the fae. gathered in a ring, stealing glimpses of her over their shoulders.

waiting for her pay, jude kicked the tip of her boot into the solid ground, arms crossed. “that bitch can hear. i may not have fae hearing, but i’d abstain from testing me were i in your shoes.”

the fae she had spoken to was of the sea, and was barefoot. irony not lost on her.

sooner than expected, jude duarte developed a reputation. successful runs, frightening recounts of what she did to earn her money, it swiveled up and circled around her like a tornado. some fae considered testing if the legend was bigger than the person, and some fae had lost the use of a limb. she knew she’d been strong before, but this new world taught her what an unstoppable force she was. had always been.

they give her a nickname. fearful of evoking the name given to her at birth, though being human it had no effect on her. still, shadows shivered at her wake, watching, consuming jude duarte’s trail of defeated foes. in the damp, cold streets of maine, in a world she long since had cut true tethers from, she’s reborn as the wrath.

in her mind, somewhere in the bowels of the elfhame palace, the court of shadows laugh up a storm.

*

oak grows less querulous and more capitulant to his role. jude in turn decides to do the same with her old-but-now-new home amidst mortals.

she watches tv. repaints her bike. buys new clothes. eats toasted waffles with peanut butter and honey.

when heather mentions a museum across town, jude no longer stares at her blankly. she doesn’t fumble or grasp for words. her foot’s planted on the ground, steady and strengthening.

she becomes inclined to music. an old trait, now in a new ambient. vivi glamours money to grant her a gift, a small excuse to cheer her up. the gadget fits most of her hand, sensitive to her tact and bright during the darker hours. heather hauls her laptop once in a while to upload new songs onto it, teaching jude how to sift through the list.

music player in her hand, jude sheepishly assembles a queue of songs that she likes. tunes that have replaced bards in taverns or notes plucked from lutes.

an aggressive song by a vexed wife goes first, the one with words that hit jude harsher than she wants to admit, the title saying not to hurt yourself. another one called once upon a time. a wedding song turned rock, a “strong electric guitar” according to heather, the singer belting about being loved tenderly. paint it, black by the stones that roll. where once her fingers would’ve stumbled over the gadget’s buttons, today she masters with ease.

the stunted child, the wraith of a human girl she once was rears her head in jude’s dreams. she gains color with each passing day.

*

by the time her exile hits eight months, jude begins the transition. she intends it to life, gives it air to breath.

i, jude duarte, will be happy in the mortal world.

she wills herself to change on a molecular level. when the desire of faerieland hightails back, she slams it to the back of her mind. she transforms the pain into power, into will. the scar left behind from her banishment becomes fuel for her new life. for the transformation into who jude could truly be in this wide, marvelous, enormous human world.

they don’t want you. they have not once wanted you.

he doesn’t want you. not like you do him.

he

doesn’t

want

you.

move on, she begs herself. move on. move on. move on. stop chasing after ghosts.

*

the wrath is elbow deep in a goblin’s guts. he swindled bryern a bagful of gold coin. it came down to her to rescue it back, and assure the impediment of a repetition. that’s when she met her.

“hnnnnggg…” moans a figure across the room.

jude ignored the drugged out junkies on her way in, leaving them in the back burner while working through the bulk of her job. but the turncloak goblin is dead, and was that noisy mound moving?

“help…” she hears.

jude rarely considers herself so altruistic. but the meekness of the plea pulls her across the room, tugs her legs to the sprawled person.

human. a girl, dirty blue hair all too reminiscent of nicasia, but not so polished as to pass for a sea princess. no, this girl appeared on the edge of a precipice, thin coat of sweat across her body.

“more,” the girl begs.

like clockwork. jude squats down to get closer. “want me to get you out of here?”

weakly, the girl nods. “she’ll find me.”

“what’s your name?”

the stranger smacks her lips, eyes rolling in her head. “lolli.”

lolli turned out to be an easy haul but a terrible map. jude exasperatedly dragged her through alleys and corners, hearing the laments of her companion through the journey. lolli got sidetracked from her ride-or-dies, see, shot up a bit too much powder - something she called never - and had an urgent need to return to the clan.

jude’s self-preservation rang high when she knocked on the selected door and met a fae two heads taller than she. his red skin shone bright in the doorway, his glamour invisible to jude’s geas.

“thank you for bringing pop back to us. i’m qylin” he says across from jude, having invited her in and given her a once-over. “uh, you mortal?”

she’s declined a drink, but accepted a chair. “as they come.”

qylin moves closer. “and you took out melbor? pop’s supplier?”

“is pop meant to be lolli?”

“her full name’s lollipop.”

“oh. i see.” a red flush runs across her face. “melbor huh? didn’t catch his name. i did catch both his kidneys though.”

qylin whistles.  “damn. a mortal.” he pronounces it with wonder. nothing like she’s used to. it falls with disbelief in her ears.

“that’s quite a might you got in you. here.” in an outstretched hand, jude finds a tiny acorn that no doubt has a message inside it. “if you ever quit meandering for coin and want to run with the real wolves, i’ll answer.”

wolf. she’d been a girl and she’d been a mortal. then she’d been wormfood and after that she’d been a queen. couldn’t say jude once considered herself a wolf, or imagined running with them. then again, she had become so many things far from her imagination.

the ward. the mortal. the queen. the wrath. her list of faces ran endless, each mask pressing heavier and heavier on her fragile composition.

*

in the beginning, vivi congratulated her like a preschooler with a trophy. “look at you, making an effort. i told you home wasn’t so bad.”

months later they’ve turned to “you are too far out” accompanied by the tapping of her foot, a face riddled by concern. “you’re jumping into danger again.”

vivi didn’t know how jude missed being afraid.

*

if she dreams of cardan, the sting pulls her awake and breathless into the chirping crickets of the dark hours.

*

ninth month. her exile is a baby somewhere, born and breathing. a marking reminder of her incipient rule cut short.

jude duarte makes a decision. she steps outside of the girl she used to be, the teenager latched to a world that had not once been hers.

the acorn is light in her hands. she splits it open, unrolling the paper inside, and when she sees the address and phone number it takes her a total of eighteen minutes to pack.

*

saying goodbye without telling them it’s goodbye cracks a new wound in her already shattering heart.

*

oak thinks she’s going to the gym. vivi thinks she’s babysitting oak. heather might’ve had a clue, but she kept silent while jude hugged her, muttering a quick thanks for watching her brother while vivi came from the post office.

it appears, after years, she’d learned to say farewell to all things that were close to her.

*

qylin refrained from asking questions, just as jude liked it. she watched, studied, learned, kept to her rank while scheming for more. the room and cot qylin offers is as home as any she’s had.

*

when she urged cardan to inveigle the princess of the undersea, it led them to a hidden alcove draped with vines, to a couch where she’d bared more of jude duarte than she had in her entire life. the memory is both a memory and the dream that recurs most in her sleep. their tryst, their unculminated tumble, their fumbled connection, whatever people would want to call it. in her sickest hours, jude allowed herself to think of it with a tender gaze, with a pink shiny filter, with the dreaded word she’d been on the run from for years.

that you hate me. tell me that you hate me.

“i hate you,” jude whispers. “i hate you and i married you and i hate you.” the two phrases weren’t mutually exclusive.

*

lollipop has been gone for weeks, but her junkie spirit is alive.

the wrath evaded nevermore like cats did water, but the gradual acclimation to qylin’s ring fills her with misplaced ease. it took them damn near six months, but jude finally surrendered her arm.

it pricks, the needle, like the pinch on her finger when cardan stabbed her for the salt in her blood. for the antidote to faerie fruit.

she’s high. she’s at a revel in new york and she’s vulnerable and she’s high.

it doesn’t take long for jude to cement her decision to never do drugs in her natural life again. but once that’s been engraved in her think tank, the world turns mellow and technicolor. it tells her to enjoy while it lasts.

she’s surrounded by leaves, platter of fruit, dancing pixies and slender fae. painful reminders of the home she direly tries to forget.

in a mirage, she pictures black curls under a golden crown of flowers. cruel lips forming a smile.

as if underwater, ears plugged with chlorine liquid, jude hears a seductive voice to her side. “what a pretty thing.” a woman. tall and thin, fae ears and slit green eyes. eyes that fall down to jude’s chest. “busty.”

not all quite there, jude struggles but succeeds in recognizing the tone coming from her courtier. and before she can respond, to her surprise, a second woman emerges from the back of her new companion.

she’s got beautiful straight teeth and straighter talons. “careful. saphine can bite.”

after being called hideous half a life, this come-on douses jude awake like a bucket of water. she studies the two girls and the raking nature of their eyes. she thinks perhaps if she paid more attention she could’ve recognized that in cardan’s eyes. could’ve told it apart from the hatred, the arrogance and the disgust.

without preemptiveness, without pause to think it over, jude tugs both girls to her. her body busts in sensation.

she remembers cardan in a maze, draped in languor and gold faerie drug and girls. black shark eyes watching her while horned girls had their way with him. one kissed his neck, she remembers, and another his knee.

“here,” she scoffs, pushing down sapphire or whatever’s head to her knees. “above my boot.”

a chuckle. “feisty, huh?” she hears, and she truly doesn’t care.

next, jude unceremoniously pulls the second girl up to her neck, leading them exactly where and how she wants them. she’s a constellation of heat and brief spikes of libido.

does cardan think of her? when he’s in bed or bedding someone new, whichsoever activity he performs at night, does jude cross his mind? does he remember her? sometimes in the ridiculous seclusion of her mind she thought cardan would be faithful to her once upon a time. she could slap her own cheeks for such foolishness.

his face appears stark in her memory. deep hollows on his collarbones, raven black hair and eyes devouring her like fruit. his lips, they’d been so soft.

jude leans her head back and laments her ghosts. she inhales sharply.

after the hot spell passes, after jude feels the trickle of tongue make its way up to her thigh and another down her chest, she pushes them away.

why? she doesn’t know. jude is only sure of the fact that she’s tired and doesn’t want this and instead wants a glass of water then maybe a bed.

saphine tilts her head, rolls her eyes, and waves her off, moving along. jude is thankful, for the first time, at being so easily discarded.

*

a month later makes two years since her infamous exit.

“unless cardan has a child,” oak said. many moons past.

the memory of him brings upon a dream. the opposite to her listless, watered-down dreams she grew used to having.

she sneaks through the palace, it’s name near forgotten to her, crawling against walls or chasing shadows.

he’s there. he’s in many of her dreams and he’s there in this one. hair astray. tilted crown. reclined on a couch, his tail freely swishing left and right.

if he remembers their pact of marriage, he doesn’t bother to show it. no mourning, no sadness, no desperation. unlike the other dreams of him, in this he’s placated. joyful, even, in a way so seldom his character.

jude’s understanding is little.

something squirms in cardan’s arms. when she gets closer it nearly takes her breath away to a fault, threatening to kill her. it’s a baby. older than a newborn but small enough to fit in his arms, to paw at his chin and gargle.

no test could prepare her for this sight.

and cardan. he’s absolutely changed. reinvented in the light of this babe, this creature jude hasn’t seen the face of. because that is his spawn, the tiny tail swishing from its rear indicates as much. that, combined with the black tresses, leaves no doubt that she is looking at a king and his heir.

in the depths of her shriveled dignity, jude duarte senses another break, another disgusting branched crack.

her husband is inconsolable in love. his bright smile slashes wide across his face, softening his sharp cheekbones. he lifts the baby to his face, pressing their noses together, cooing. she hardly recognizes him. but she recognizes the lack of a need for her.

this was a nightmare.

cardan lets the child descend, adjusting them in his lap with heartbreaking gentleness. to her horror, the toddler turns and pierces jude in place with raven black eyes.

she runs cold all over. the child has the look of a girl.

her coloring is unique, darker than cardan’s and any fae’s. it’s closer to… jude’s own. and below the black curls, which she realizes now is actually dark amber brown, there’s ears. rounded, untipped, human ears.

jude is utterly unmoored. the scene melts. she wakes up to hands descending upon her, to frightened questions of why she was screaming and that she’s woken up half of the gang. they cannot get a straight answer from her, and after plowing her with cups of water and aspirins from a quick run to the mini-store, the most they get from jude duarte is a somber face and a fall into her pillow.

*

jude becomes a gallery of girls. she’s judy, and she’s martina, and she’s amelie with the occasional latika. running in qylin’s underworld gang requires her to. police don’t catch her, fae detectives don’t either, and if by chance she needed to run an errand the name she gave was one of a basinful of fake i.d. cards.

“i once had a twin,” she offhandedly told someone.

“what was her name?” they asked.

jude slurped from a tall gas station soda cup. “doesn’t matter.”

*

three years. the earnest smile she’d lost a number of winters ago returns tenuously but surely. as a sliver, as a tiny reminder, as a planted seed showing the very smallest evidence of root.

*

a pixie joins their ranks. young and limber. her cerulean skin reminds jude of a blue court under the sea.

“fand,” she greets the mismatched group. “newborn nomad.”

jude welcomes her by the form of a nod, turning back to the display of headshots splashed on the table, organizing it into a semblance of order.

she feels fand dance around her, suspicious to her presence. she thinks for a hot minute that fand might want to cause trouble. jude focuses her attention to the knife hidden between her breasts.

the pixie stares at her, unabashed, and right as jude thinks to reach to her chest, fand grows the courage to ask. “you. do i know you?”

the question falls flat. “i don’t believe so. there’s little chance our paths crossed.”

fand squints. “well, i’ve just left elfhame. finally broke from that unruly mess.”

lightning forks in jude’s chest, attacking her nervous system. an old phantom possesses her body, causing her to still.

the pixie moves closer, inspecting. “your look, it’s so familiar.”

jude understands in a minute.

taryn. fucking taryn. always, forever, impossible-to-be-rid-of taryn.

summoning years of falsehoods and acting experience, jude breaks eye contact to laugh and feign offense. “all mortals look the same to fae, i’m sure.”

that is not a lie. she learned that from the wickedest prince himself.

*

when fand slips away from the gang two nights later, jude forces herself to block it from memory.

*

she’s almost twenty-one. in faerie she might have died since she was eleven.

here, she’s got a family. a rough knit circle of confidants, people she rarely thinks twice about trusting anymore. her music keeps her company, and her growing arsenal of skills, of wins, it warms the smallest piece of her soul.

how could she have hated such a place?

*

“counterinsurgents. we calculate two dozen below the bridge,” jekka, qylin’s second, explains over a map.

jude’s focus is precise, uninterrupted.

the years, the lack of practice from a simple lack of need to, makes it so that she doesn’t religiously check the perimeter, doesn’t spot a green face. his dark tuft of hair and hooked nose, spying from the window, hidden among leaves and wind.

if she had seen him, she might’ve remembered her old friend. if she’d seen him, she might’ve broken down in tears, or begged for a word, or done none of those things to help jekka figure out their positions for the next day’s raid.

*

“watch for the sniper!” one of her gang yells.

jude ducks, experienced muscles leading her across the space, the shielded street with broken streetlights. abandoned houses repurposed for criminal night creatures sprawl one after the other. they’ve chosen one a stone throw from the river, so close they could taste the salt while counting bloody fae or human scalps.

five, six, seven leaps and she’s out of shot, crammed into a wedge in the building. she took down three counterinsurgents already. the wrath ran rampant today.

another figure jumps out the window, two yards from her, and takes off running through the backside of the house, the one facing the water. swift as the wind, jude pursues in fervor.

bam.

first the noise like thunderclap. then the pain.

oh.

when they screamed sniper, she expected an arrow. she expected a taut bow and a sharp, easily removed tip of metal. not a bullet.

*

in the end, jude has been a galaxy of abridges.

she’s had abridged parents, gone before her eighth birthday. that led to an abridged innocence and an abridged life in their rudimentary home in maine. she’s had an abridged relationship with her sisters. an abridged sense of belonging.

she had an abridged romance with a prince and king. that chapter being severed short was, as they all were, not her fault.

she had an abridged marriage. an abridged kingdom rule.

to be culminated in an abridged life. thin and meager.

she hopes no matter how small her garden has been, that each poison flower and cherry blossoms she’s sowed has done its best to enrich the tiny piece of universe allotted to her.

*

she should’ve known when she saw the river.

in water all began, and in water it ends.

there are no screams. no chaos. the gang has left her, chasing their foes further up the street, looking to corner them. jude? she’s going for a dip. a passage to the next life. she’ll float to it. gargle on the last of life.

“huh,” she whispers.

the ache is pungent in her back, the bullet hitting close to the spine but not quite. deadly, though. deadly for sure.

she wasn’t queen of nothing. she was queen of death, the hierophant of misery. her whole life has been a string of it. well, no longer.

jude duarte reaches the water’s edge, using each fiber of her strength to not fall in quite yet.

*

in the haziness of all that she’d done and all that she’d run from, he comes to her. in dream, in flesh. she’s not yet in the water.

“jude.”

this has to be the mark between. the straddling line of life and death. because somehow, impossibly, she hears him.

“jude!”

or?...

her brows scrunch in confusion, a naked toe in the river already. she wants to turn, but the seeping life at her back won’t allow it.

she doesn’t need to. long arms surround her, someone moving in front of her to read her face, to see what lies there.

it’s him.

jude’s lids droop. her back is on fire, and she burns in the flames. he’s barely changed. matured into his looks, if she had to put it into words. his tar eyes, slender lips, pointed nose and legendary black curls suddenly remind her of being seventeen.

there’s so much in his face she can barely read any of it. “is it you? is it really you?” he demands.

she’s always been jude. who jude became, that was a different question. one she no longer cares to ask.

“i found you. i finally finally found you.” his voice is incredulous.

is he the harbinger of the beyond? was that his role to play this entire time? her thoughts eddy and murk the more time passes with a hole in her back.

it is an arcane thing, in truth, to be held by a creature she’s craved and despised. her body responds on its own by pressing closer, seeking warmth.

he might be crying. could also be the angle of the sun.

“please,” he whispers.

she hasn’t said his name in years.

“cardan.”

his eyes fall closed.

her mouth repeats the motion, recognizing the familiarity of his name. cardan. once her king. her husband. the sight of him brings forth a wave of emotions, cascading through her like a waterfall.

cardan tugs her close to a punishingly tight degree. “i thought you dead.” he speaks into her ear. “we searched for years. i thought you were gone. gone, jude.”

the word pulls her back, creates distance between them. jude lets herself get lost in his eyes, those splendid eyes, bottomless and infinite, a serene look on her face as she responds:

“almost.”

the fractious prince too arrogant to be a ruler does not stand in front of her. this man is similar, but a sense of strength she hadn’t seen is forefront and shining. jude wishes she could appreciate it.

if only this weren’t the last time.

“so it is you.” she says it with wonder, with a detachment that lets her turn away from his arms and face the river.

cardan’s intake of breath indicates he has finally seen her wound. he twists his neck, shouts to someone far back, hidden in the houses. “shes hurt! SHE’S HURT!” his voice is raw and desperate.

jude walks into the water.

a hand at her arm stops her, keeps her in place, but she shrugs it off with newfound confidence and turns around. cardan’s incredulous face sparks memories of faraway lands and kingdoms.

“what are you doing?” he demands.

jude’s lips break into a smile. how she missed his voice. she walks back until water reaches her waist, then her chest, then the crown of her head.

“stop!” she hears.

the layers of the girl she was, who she is, who she could’ve been, they merge. yes, she had missed faerie. yes, she had wanted cardan. yes, she had wept tears of rage at knowing she could not have either of them back. if she cried now, her tears would turn to river water, melding into the beautiful greater whole.

a hand grips her chest. another tugs on her neck, urging her up, up, up.

air. sweet air in her lungs.

jude gasps, her plans interrupted. the bulletwound at her back sears at the salt water, the sensation so intense it actually numbs her and leaves her feeling very little.

cardan presses her flush to his body. he raises her up, and his face is marked with horror and betrayal.

“how could you?” he weeps. his features are anguished, desperate. he’s shaking her by the shoulder. “how could you?”

jude smiles a wet smile. “remember when you pushed me into the rapids? and you forced my twin to abandon me and kiss your cheeks? i can’t remember a time when i’ve been warm since then. the water, it was cold. like a leech.”

“the roach is gathering for a salve. jude, you will be okay. you need to get out now.”

she realizes there’s something wrong. “wait. no. that’s a lie. i am a liar.” she tilts her face to his, eyes meeting. “you were warm. behind the throne room and in your bed. you kept me warm. but you ripped me from my home and i've been cold since.”

cardan does something she didn’t imagine him capable of. he didn’t do so when balekin beat him. he didn’t do so when his family was slaughtered. he did so this moment, with her encircled by his arms. cardan sobs.

maybe this is when he understands he’s been forever her herald. the marker of her death. their destinies, interlinked, but only for this.

as he bares himself open, jude candidly studies his face. there’s freedom in allowing herself to admit she missed him. missed all of it. her kingdom that never was.

“i’ll heal you,” he implores. his hand runs down wet and shakingly down her face. “you’re my queen. we’ll use our magic. we will, jude, if you stay with me. don’t you get it? the exile was fake. i never meant for you to vanish. i’m begging you, please, help me heal you.”

her forehead falls on his. waist-deep in water, she feels his short breaths fall on her cheek. “you held hatred for me once.”

slowly, miserably, cardan shakes his head. the motion makes her pull away but he doesn’t let her, staying together. “love. i held love, jude.”

love

four letters.

years of running. and it caught up to her all the same.

his words hit her worse than the sniper did. she staggers in his embrace.

“hold.” he says the word with intensity. “i hold, jude.” cardan refuses to let her go, won’t let her fall. “you walked away with my heart.”

thoughts swirl in her head. they swim around like the fish crossing in between their legs.

“hold,” she says weakly.

hold love. he loves me.

impossible. and true.

“huh.”

*

“hold me,” she asks him. and he does.

he does.

he appears vacillant to his actions save for holding her.

jude can’t remember a time when she wasn’t running. from her parents’ demise. from madoc’s threats. from the cruel fae. from her sister’s betrayal. from cardan’s torments and, apparently, his ministrations of love. from her own shadow.

they haven’t moved from the water. it’s been a minute. it’s been four years.

jude feels her body slag, the water making up for the new deadweight.

“i wish you’d never left me,” he murmurs.

gratingly, she lifts her hand to trace a finger along the hard, straight line and point of her husband’s ear. “cardan, are you here to ask me for a divorce?”

his face breaks. she’s fully leaning on him, his long arms cradling her to his chest. amidst their soaked clothes, she feels the thudding of his heart against her cheek.

jude’s eyes flutter open and closed. “i want to tell you i will. i want to tell you i’ve waited for it. i - ah…” a jab of pain causes her to pause. “i want to tell you it hasn’t been eating me alive to be apart from you. i want to tell you… so… many… lies.”

through her misty vision, she sees cardan shake his head. “you are not leaving me.” the conviction in his voice draws a laugh from her.

“oh, cardan.” it’s the last good breath in her lungs. in the distance, she feels the ripples of someone entering the river, racing towards them. she sees only pitch black eyes. “i already have. i already have.”

they are esoteric, rendered in numinous light. from their entwined bodies in the water, there grow white flowers at the riverbed, their petals straining for the sun.

[florafey]

Masterlist

Please notify me if a certain link doesn’t work and I will fix it as soon as I can

*** means the piece of work contains smut

Cruel Prince / Wicked King / Queen of Nothing - listen to the playlist

Jude x Cardan stories:

Trouble*** part one // part two // part three

A Storm is Coming***

Twisting Envy***

Under the Guise of Night***

Earned Forgiveness***

Choose Wisely 

Playing Unfair***

Third Heartbeat part one // part two

It’s What You Get***

Refusal***

Jude x Cardan Headcanons:

Headcanons part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six

Madoc and Cardan headcanon part one // part two 

Jude in the mortal world headcanon

Jurdan in the mortal world headcanon

Cardan and sex toys headcanon***

Jurdan in a meeting headcanon

Jude saving Cardan headcanon part one // part two

Cardan hearing about Balekin headcanon

Eldred watching from the Afterlife headcanon

Dain and Balekin watching from the Afterlife headcanon

Jude and Cardan as parents headcanon

Jurdan Week 2020:

Day One*** // Day Two // Day Three*** // Day Four // Day Seven

ACOTAR - listen to the playlist

Throne of Glass

Dancing by Firelight***

Caraval 

Rising, Spiking***

Six of Crows - listen to the playlist

Jesper x Wylan stories:

A House of Crows***

Kaz x Inej Headcanons:

Headcanons part one // part two // part three // part four

Malogranatum (an original Hades/Persephone work) - listen to the playlist and check out the cast

Introduction // part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six

The Tipping Point (an original work) - listen to the playlist

Introduction // snippet one // snippet two // snippet three 

My Thoughts While Reading: 

The Wicked King by Holly Black

Queen of Nothing by Holly Black

Crescent City by Sarah J. Maas // part two // part three

[jurdannet]

By you, we are forever undone.

join the revel!    |    submit a prompt 

╙ edit by: @clockworkgraystairs​

[piratejudedemdji]

Me (beacause my writing is crap) waiting for the first Jurdan smut week post

[jurdannet]

The results are in, Folks!

We entreated the Court and you certainly delivered. A massive thank you to everyone who submitted! Without further ado, in order of popular demand, here are this year's prompts for Jurdan Smut Week:

Day 1- Dom/Sub

Day 2- Knife/Sword Play

Day 3- Orgasm delay/Begging/Overstimulation

Day 4- Public/Risk Sex

Day 5- Aphrodisiac/Sex Pollen

Day 6- Cockwarming

Day 7- Hate Sex

Also by popular demand, we have a list of steamy, smut-adjacent (but not so explicit) prompts for those who are more romantically inclined. Here are this year's prompts for Jurdan Steam Week:

Day 1- Special Occassion (i.e. valentine's, honeymoon, anniversary, etc.)

Day 2- Tryst/Secret Lover

Day 3- And there was only 1 bed!

Day 4- Jurdan + Scars

Day 5- Strip Tease

Day 6- Massage

Day 7- Bathtub

The revel will take place 24-31 August 2020, and will celebrate the High King and Queen of Elfhame in their various states of scandal. This means everything from your sweet and tender loving, to your no-holds-barred prolonged manage a trois. 

So don your creative caps and smutty playlists- any creative Jurdan content is welcome!

If you have any questions about Jurdan Smut Week, please feel free to shoot us an ask/message/comment on here, or contact any one of The Living Council via their personal accounts: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @mysweetvilllain @clockworkgraystairs @nite0wl29

We hope to see you at the revel!

-𝔗���𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔩

[clockworkgraystairs]

There is no such thing as vampires #1 || Jurdan AU

Jurdan Smut Week 2020   •   DAY 2

The prompt was technically dagger play...it didn’t really worked that way but HEY more smut! (vampire smut cough)

@jurdannet​   @jurdannetrevels​

Rating: E (no I don’t mean ‘everyone’)

Warnings: Explicit content, mentions of blood, some biting (it’s a vampire au c’mon), swear words (just in case)

Summary: 

Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying.

Extra comments: Just because I’m extra af, I’ll leave you the ambience music videos I listened while writing this. In case you’d like to hear them while reading:

Rain in a forest at night - Haunted Mansion/rain/thunder/wind - Narnia Lullaby

Written for: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ MA’AM AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR ALL THE HELP AND SUPPORT, FOR BETAING THIS UNENDING PIECE AND FOR HELPING ME CRAFTING THE IDEA FOR IT! ❤️

Part 1 ||  Part 2

Masterlist   •   AO3

“Please tell me again why are we doing this?” I ask for the third time, leaning to rest my head on my sister’s shoulder. We bounce as the uncomfortable van we travel in turns to a cobbled path, leading us deeper into the woods. 

“Because,” Vivi hisses back. “Your little brother is currently in his Twilight-obsession phase, and he just broke up with his girlfriend so we’re trying to cheer him up!”

“He’s 9! And they lasted like, what? Four hours?”

In that moment, Oak turns violently from the front seat, scowling at me. “First of all Jude, we were together two full days ok? She was the love of my life and suddenly she’s not sure about us anymore? Now I shall never find love again! I might have to become a priest. I expect a little consideration.”

Vivi ruffles his hair affectionately. “We absolutely understand, your sister here doesn’t have an ounce of romance in her veins but of course she supports the cause.”

That said, he returns to his place. I bite my lip hard, trying not to laugh. Typical Oak. I love my brother I really do, even if half of the time I can’t understand his dramatic outbursts.

Sighing, I stare through the window, to the heavy clouds gathering on top of us. Great. We are probably far away from the highway by now, nothing more than trees, rocks and occasional wild animals around. For some reason, our father had thought that there was no better way of fixing a kid’s broken heart than going on a quest in search of legends and hidden castles. 

The thing is that apparently, it works. Instead of an incessant whining about love being doomed, my brother spends the days throwing the most random facts about werewolves, vampires, ghosts and any impossible creature. To be honest, I don’t think wikipedia and the Twilight books are a reliable source, but if it makes Oak happy I could live a couple of days with it. And most importantly if I have to choose between this or spending the week back at home with my mother and twin sister going to tea parties for old ladies, well, the answer is very clear.

I remember reading a few books about myths when I was younger. When I turned fifteen, I developed a hard crush on Brad Pitt after I saw Interview with the Vampire, filling half of the walls in my room with posters of him. Even now ten years later, I actually enjoy talking about old folklore and legends, urban myths and stuff like that. 

What bugs me, are the fraudulent morons who want to take advantage of Oak’s naive curiosity to engage us in the most ridiculous tours that were obviously a waste of money. So far, we’d entered three “museums” where most of the so-called relics were made of plastic, and a haunted house with special effects so poorly done, father had discreetly asked for his money back. Only another two of the places we visited were actually interesting, but since the guides spent most of the time flirting with Vivi or me, it had annoyed our father. 

Now though, we are driving behind the car of an old couple who swore their ancestors owned a castle where true vampires had lived once. The sole mention of the word “castle” was enough to make Oak hang from our father’s sleeve begging to go.

I’m not going to lie, it is an intriguing idea. But I remain a little worried about how much money Madoc is ready to pay before he hurries his little son back to his fantasy books and videogames.

“Dad, did you know that vampires like to live in the woods because it allows them to make racing competitions without being interrupted?” Oak asks with enthusiasm.

Madoc gasps. “Do they? Is it because they’re so fast?” 

Okay, he might be willing to pay more than I thought. Next to me, Vivi muffles a laugh and keeps taking pictures for her instagram, occasionally asking for my help.

Upon arriving at the castle I have to suppress a curse. This, now, is a real castle. Nothing like the pitiful buildings we’d visited before. It is huge, made of pure stone and a modest wooden bridge that connects the entrance with the spot where the cars park. A slight fog covers the sides of the castle giving it a creepier look. 

A shiver goes down my back. I turn to find my family who are all equally gaping at the place in front of them. Oak is visibly shaking with excitement. Vivi shoots me an astonished look before taking my brother’s hand and following the couple across the bridge.  

The first thought that pops into my mind is that this place must have been taken out from a movie. Or set up for one. Maybe this is one of those pranks for TV. There is no other explanation for the massive room we find behind the giant front gate. Every inch of the walls is covered by paintings, several images barely recognizable through the dust. Aged furniture rests under dust and spiderwebs, pointing out they haven’t been used in quite some time. The illumination doesn’t help either. Electric lights hang from a few spots on the walls, though not enough for the big space, which I suspect is the reason that long candles are lit up too. 

My next thought is that I should’ve brought my sweater. The damn place is freezing. 

“Phew, sorry about the dust!” The old man says, flashing an embarrassed smile to us. “We were not planning to have any visitors yet.”

“You said this is going to be a museum?” Madoc asks, carefully surveying the walls. Next to him, Vivi tightens her hold on my brother’s hand to prevent him from starting to run around. I swear his eyes are about to pop out of their sockets. 

“It will indeed! This place has been in our family for generations, but since it’s hard to adapt it to modern technology it was abandoned.” He turns to Oak and winks. “Not to mention the creepy things that happen here all the time.”

His gaze widens. “What kind of things?”

“Well, some distant relatives used to try spending their vacations here. But after a couple of days they left in a big rush, claiming some strange force had commanded them to go away.” With a lower voice, he adds. “They also mentioned noises coming out from empty rooms and dark hallways. Steps. Shadows that followed them along the place.” 

For a second everyone remains silent. The only noise I can hear is the wind outside and the start of a slight rain. Somehow my hands are even colder.

“The legend says,” The woman, whose name is Marrow if I remember it correctly, continues while taking one chandelier with her hand. “This was the hideout of ancient vampires, how many, we don’t know. But they didn’t appreciate people trying to live within their domains.”

“So why come here at all?” Vivi asks. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“It might be.” She shrugs. “But that’s half of the fun, isn’t it?”

“We like to think we’ve found a safe way to open this castle to the public without taking any risks. We will use a part of it as a museum, to show some of the family relics. But be aware, no one is allowed to go further than the marked area.” He signals at the yellow tape stuck on the floor forming arrows.

“If you please...” Marrow says, motioning at the stairs where the markings start.

They get me for a moment, not gonna lie. The surroundings and the way they speak are creepy enough to make me doubt my beliefs for a second. I shake my head to clear those thoughts away and walk behind my family. There’s no such thing as vampires or haunted castles.

We go through passages. Madoc has to remind Oak to not touch anything, constantly. From what I see, he’s living his best day. Several counters line up side by side against the wall. Some of them contain jewelry, others weapons, old writing pens among other things. Most of them carry a family shield, although it’s too blurry to properly identify what it says.

The rain thickens outside and Marrow keeps talking. She tells the story of her so called ancestors, whose family were big enough to fill all the rooms in the castle. Elwen, Eldred… something like that, and his many wives had once lived here. Along with his abounding children. I see in Oak’s face the intention to ask about how that family arrangement worked but Vivi gives him a slight pull of his hair. 

I would have thought our guides would try to keep a proud name for their so-called ancestors. But they don’t. In fact, she seems particularly interested in explaining how Eldred’s cruel and terrible nature brought him nothing but disgrace. His once prosperous castle and assets were gone little by little. He claimed he was under the effects of a curse, but no one dared believing him. At least not until people started disappearing.

I stop listening at some point, focusing my attention on the relics in front of me. I’ve always felt a significant attraction to weapons, but not the ordinary ones like guns or rifles. These ones though, such beautiful daggers and swords. I’d give a kidney just to hold one of them. 

On the next shelf books pile one next to the other, the dust around them a clear sign of how long they’ve been unbothered. All except for one. The navy blue cover has almost no dust at all, yet it looks like it would fall apart with a gentle blow of wind. The title is partially gone, probably through time. 

I turn my head to my family but they’re gone, probably to another corridor since I can still hear the muffled voice of Marrow and my brother. Would she care at all if I check out that book?

I bite my lip. As long as it doesn’t break it’s probably alright. Standing on the tip of my toes I reach for it.

“That is an excellent book.” 

I shriek and whip around, my hand flies to my mouth trying to cover the embarrassing sound. The book falls open next to my feet.

Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both. 

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying. “My personal favorite. Too bad the author was a poisonous bunch-backed toad.”

My mouth opens to apologize, but I only manage to let out a strangled. “Shit”

The stranger lifts an eyebrow and chuckles. 

“Sorry, I- that wasn’t what I meant to say.” I stutter. I feel as if my heart has jumped to my throat. “I wasn’t trying to steal the book.”

“I did not say you were.” He answers, his voice is like velvet.

I nod and take a deep breath. “I came in with my family. Marrow is showing us the place.”

His dark eyes wander down my body, but not like one of those rude men on the streets. No. Something in his gaze feels feral, like an animal sizing up his prey. A strange urge to run pools in my stomach, yet at the same time my muscles seem to have forgotten how to do so. 

He looks me in the eyes again and it’s all gone. I let go of the tension in my back and a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When he smiles again, I feel as if I could trust him. Why shouldn’t I?

“And are you enjoying the tour?” He bends to pick up the book I’d dropped before and puts it back on the shelf. His movements are fluid and carefree. I doubt I’ve ever seen such elegance in a simple action. It is unsettling as much as it is attractive. Then I realize I’m supposed to answer.

“Yes, this is amazing actually.” I look around and take in the aged stone of the walls and ceiling. In that corridor there’s only one electric lamp, the rest is only lightened by candles. I can see our shadows dancing along to the flames. “All of this really helps getting in the ‘mood’.”

“The mood?” 

I look at him and notice his tilted head. “Yeah you know, the mood of enchanted castles and old legends. This is well put enough that a credulous person would believe any story. Marrow is pretty good at it too.” Motioning a hand to him I add. “They even have their own actor.”

A thunder roars outside. “I beg your pardon?”

I roll my eyes and flash him a smile. “You don’t really have to keep the charade with me. I’m not some schoolgirl.”

“Yet I managed to pull a scream out of you, didn’t I?” The way he says it feels as if he was talking about an entirely different subject. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

“That was… not the same.” I mumble. “I didn’t hear you approaching. That could scare the living hell out of anybody.”

“I have been told I am quite sneaky, I concede you that.” He nods. “Why don’t I give you the rest of the tour? As an apology, of course.”

He’s doing his job, I remind myself, he’s not flirting with you. 

“You haven’t even told me your name.” I say. “If we’re roaming around a castle together I should at least know who’s guiding me.”

That sounded an awful lot like flirting. Dammit. 

“Cardan, at your service madam.” The tone he uses feels like a caress, he bows his head in a way I’ve only seen in movies. He takes his role seriously. I almost chuckle, but the sound dies in my throat. 

“Cardan.” I repeat, just for the pleasure of doing it. “My name is Jude.”

He straightens. “Delighted to meet your acquaintance.” He answers and offers me his arm. “Shall we, Jude?”  

I can’t believe how far away my family has gone. Cardan and I walk through a couple of corridors and still there is no trace of them. Did we take that long talking?

He’s an excellent guide, I have to acknowledge that. 

While Marrow uses a tone of suspense and mystery, Cardan has this melancholy in his voice that sounds as if he’s talking about a memory. It’s bewitching. He also drops the most ridiculous “facts” about the people on the paintings. I refrain myself from asking if inventing things is allowed for employees, because saying that the girl with the pearl necklace enjoyed to play on the beach while saying she was the Princess of the Sea, certainly sounds like it. 

“If you bite your lip one more time, I am going to do it for you.” 

My heart skips a bit and I let go of my lower lip. I hadn’t realized I was tugging it. It’s an unconscious habit. I turn to him and I find his gaze different, hungry. It sends a shiver down to a place I know it shouldn’t. He arches an eyebrow as though he notices it.

“Is that a thing vampires like to do?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. The last thing I want him to know is that for the last twenty minutes I’ve been listening to him speak wishing he put a different use to that wicked mouth of his.

His gaze doesn’t change. “It is a thing I would like to do.” 

I am pretty sure my expression is giving me up by now. Knowing my traitorous body, I’m probably flushed, my mouth open in awe. Desire coils inside me.

At my lack of answer, he continues. “Why don’t I show you something vampires really like to do?” 

He walks back without letting go of my hand. I notice he steps out from the marked section and into a forbidden corridor. 

The sensation returns, the one that is telling me to run. The problem is that I don’t know whether to run away, or straight to it. My mind wants both and my body, only one.

“You’re going to the restricted area.” I’m partially surprised by how breathless my voice sounds. “You can’t go in there…”

Cardan pauses and a confused expression crosses his face. A second later, it returns to his charming and teasing smile. “Are you afraid?”

I am. 

Yet, I don’t care. I walk into the shadows with him.

As we cross the passage darkened by the lack of chandeliers I tell myself this is a terrible, terrible idea. The way he devours my mouth the moment a door slams shut behind us, convinces me it is the best.

Cardan pushes me against the wall, the cold temperature of the stone goes through my clothes making me gasp. He takes the opportunity and kisses me harder, his tongue explores my mouth with such deliciousness I have to bite back a moan. 

My fingers are tangled in his hair pulling him closer to me, if such a thing is even possible. His hands are everything but still. They roam intensely from my breasts, down my sides and finally to my rear, where he grabs me, pressing me against his pelvis. I hear him groan and the sound makes something clench inside me. 

Before I can double-think about it, one of my hands lowers to rub his hardness, still hidden behind his trousers. His breath hitches. He pulls back a bit and whispers to my ear. “Needy little human.”

I frown a moment, something about his words not clicking inside my brain but whatever it is I forget it the moment he slides his cold hands under my jersey. I yelp at the sensation, not sure if what flutters down my back is a result of the temperature or the eagerness which he’s holding me with. When he reaches my bra I hesitate for a moment. Cardan pauses too and leans back to stare into my eyes. 

“Do you want to stop?” His voice is throaty and charged with desire. Still, he doesn’t make a move, waiting for my answer.

An instinctive part of me knows this is something I shouldn’t be doing. But that’s definitely not any close to me wanting to stop. Without removing my eyes from his I take the hem of my jersey to pull it over my head. The piece of fabric hits the floor, but neither of us pays attention to it. Once again Cardan’s gaze roams me in that predatory way. 

I don’t stagger this time.

When my bra falls to the floor too, I take his hand and guide it to my jean’s button. “Do I look like I want to stop?”

Without hesitation he yanks the button open and slides his hand inside to cup the apex of my thighs. The contrast of my warm skin against his coldness makes my hips buck. Cardan buries his other hand in my hair and tilts my head back. I can feel his lips nipping down my jaw and my neck. A moan escapes my lips as he swipes a finger along my heat. He hums in response, the vibrations of it against my neck makes my eyes roll back.

He continues his ministrations until he feels me wet enough to slide a finger inside, he curls and pulls out. Then back inside. My breath comes out in elaborated pants as he quickens his pace. My hands almost finish unbuttoning his shirt when he slides another finger through my folds, his movements turn fast and punishing. Wet sounds taint the silence around us. As pleasure takes full control of my body I cling to him like a life saver, trying to muffle my moans.

“Let go Jude, let go for me.” He breathes next to my ear. My back arches and I sob a curse, writhing down on his hand. 

He slows down as I come back from my orgasm, but never stops. Despite the freezing surroundings a drop of sweat runs down my chest. My heart beats as if I just ran a marathon. Cardan’s lazy moves continue, frequently grazing that spot that makes me mewl.

I hear him sigh. “You smell so good.” He claims my mouth one more time and bites me hard enough to make me wince. His tongue caresses my lower lip and a warm throb expands through my veins. He freezes and pulls back, releasing me. I stare at him in confusion, or at least as much as I can manage giving my current state.

He pants a couple of times before looking up at me. There’s a fiercess in his eyes that would’ve been scary under normal situations, right now, it only makes me want him more. He swallows before finally speaking. “If we go further, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice is like sandpaper.

My body seems to work on its own account, as I move to cup his face between my hands. “I already told you.”

“Jude…” He warns me, but I interrupt him joining my lips to his.

“I want this.” I breathe into his mouth. Cardan lets out a defeated groan before pulling my body back against his. Either he’s been holding back or it is until that moment that I realize how strong he actually is. He kisses me like a starved man and I can feel my pulse rise once again.

Soon his shirt joins my other clothing. My fingers trace his chest and torso, marveled at the softness of his skin. I mimic him moments before and kiss his neck. A low sound that almost resembles a growl comes out from his throat. My hands travel lower.

Somehow I manage to free his raging erection from his trousers, closing my hand around him. He hisses and then tilts his hips up to my touch. I start pumping him with unsure movements before gaining confidence to do it harder, tighter. Now it’s his turn to curse. Even though it sounds like something taken out from a Shakespeare novel, it makes my core pulse. 

Cardan grips the hem of my jeans strong enough that for a moment I fear he’d rip them away. 

“Take these off.” He demands instead.

I’m not sure of how I manage to do it. My mind feels blurred with a mix of sensations. Disoriented, not sure about exactly how my body is doing all of that, and the bliss of knowing I’m enjoying every second of it.

Before the air hits my skin, Cardan lifts me from the ground. My legs circle his waist in a reflexive move. His lips quirk in approval. Then my back is once again pressed against the wall, making me arch in a failed attempt to avoid touching the cold stone. A sound leaves my mouth, though it is not clear if it’s a protest or a moan. I hear him chuckle in my ear and I turn my head, searching his lips.    

His kiss is slower but still deep. I feel as if small electric sparks are tickling every single one of my nerves. More, I need more. Cardan holds me in place with his hips, letting his hands wander up and down my legs.

The tip of his shaft is grazing my core over the thin fabric of my remaining piece of clothing, with an aching slowness that is not enough to ease my thirst. More.

I might have said that out loud because Cardan’s hips grind faster against me. It feels so good. And yet, it’s not enough.

I whine his name like a plea. 

He continues for a couple of torturing seconds before reaching between my thighs again. There’s no teasing now as he moves my panties aside and immediately sinks his fingers inside me, pumping in and out with a pace that has me gasping in no time. He murmurs something I can’t understand and lines himself up to my entrance.

With soft, deliberate movements he slides through my heat, letting me feel every inch of him until he’s completely filling me. Then he stills. My muscles twitch around him, trying to adjust to the invasion. The exquisiteness of it is making my head swoon. 

Cardan grabs my jaw and locks his gaze with mine. I can imagine what he’s looking at. Hooded eyes and flushed skin, though he doesn’t let me think a lot about it as he starts to move. Slow at first, with careful strokes that quickly evolve into long and deep. My mouth falls open at the sensation and my eyes shut.

“I warned you.” I hear him pant. “That there was no coming back.”

A whimper escapes my lips. I’m not even sure I’m actually trying to say something. He doesn’t seem to care either and leans to whisper to my ear. “You are mine now, Jude.”   

There is something in the way he says it, his words carrying some compelling implication I can’t fully catch. His lips trail down my neck and I want to answer. To tell him that I am, that after the way he’s taking me, how could it be otherwise? 

That’s when I feel a sharp stinging pain on the base of my throat. 

I cry out and try to shake it away but whatever it is won’t let me go. Cardan’s words echo at the back of my mind, Needy little human. 

As if sensing my thoughts he grabs my thighs and opens them wider, he thrusts into me harder and faster. Everything mixes in sensation. Pain leaves as fast as it came, leaving behind it that throb in my veins I can’t really explain. It is more intense now, what I felt as warm now is scorching. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, I’ve never felt so exhilarated before in my life. I don’t want it to stop. 

Cardan sucks on my neck again and I moan his name. Without realizing it, I’m on the brink of another orgasm. I only realize it because he groans when my legs start to shiver around him. I cling to his neck and his hair. If I’m pulling too hard I can’t really know. A familiar swirl comes up from my core to the rest of my body as I spasm around him. It takes me a moment to notice the broken moans and sobs I hear come from my own mouth. 

He keeps going a little longer until his fingers tighten over my skin, surely leaving bruises on both thighs. Muffled moans ring against my skin as he comes, thrusting in a couple of times more before stilling. A warm sensation covers the place where we join together.  His mouth lets go of my neck. I grunt and shiver. 

He puts me down carefully, still holding my waist, which is good considering I don’t know if I’m able to stand by myself. I feel dizzy. Cardan lowers his lips to mine one more time. He’s slow and gentle as though he’s worried. There is a slightly metallic taste in his tongue but I don’t pay attention to it. I trace the fine features of his face with trembling fingers. Little by little my senses start to take in the surroundings, the cold. 

The place rumbles with another crack of thunder.

“You have to go back.” Cardan says, barely pulling his lips apart. Go back. I frown, then images of my family crash in my mind. I look around searching for the door, there is something  on the floor. I realize soon those are my clothes. Shit. The tour, Oak. How much time have I been gone?

I dress in a hurry, not really caring if I put on my jersey correctly. He does the same but with the calm an elegance he has.

Panic must be written in my face because he grabs my chin and turns me to him. “Hey. Calm down.” He soothes me. Then his tone changes, turns commanding. His eyes are darker too. “Listen to me. You are going to do exactly as I say, do you understand Jude?”

I want to ask why, but for some reason I only nod. Cardan grabs my hand and pulls me out of whatever room we were in. “You must follow this passage until you find a way to turn left. Then continue until you see a painting of a black snake then turn right, you cannot miss it or you will get lost. Walk straight, and you will be back to a safe area.”

“But-” I start. I don’t want to go alone. And I don’t understand why but I don’t want to separate from him either. Which is nonsense, I barely know him and still...

He interrupts me. “I cannot go with you, I have lost so much control already and I don’t think…” 

“Cardan, I can’t-” 

A growl echoes in his chest and he pulls me closer to him. While his voice is still hypnotizing it sounds threatening now. “You will not tell anybody about what you saw here. Now go if you intend to leave this place alive.”

Then he's gone. I can’t recall if I blinked or turned, because a moment before I could still touch him and now he vanished.

I take a deep breath and start walking. Focus. Go straight, then turn right. Or was it left? 

All passages look the same, some spaces don’t even have a painting or anything at all to help me differentiate them. Sometimes I whip around, thinking I heard a familiar chuckle behind me. Distant rain is the only sound that is a constant companion, but even with it I’m able to hear an echo of every step I give. It unsettles me more with every minute that passes. Although I feel more in control of my body than before, my knees falter constantly and a sensation of tiredness slides over my mind. 

I find the snake painting just as I’d started to think I would be trapped here forever. 

It’s huge, and despite the years that have probably passed the scales still seem to shine. The head is painted in an angle that gives the illusion of the eyes following the person looking at it. It doesn’t help that the candle’s flames also make the snake look as if it’s moving. Stalking. Before noticing, I start hyperventilating. I shut my eyes close and turn away. Something is terribly wrong with me, I need to get out. 

Turning right, I start running. I cover my ears fearing that if I don’t, I’ll start hearing the snake’s hiss behind me.  

I cross an arch made with the same stone and stop right in my tracks upon realizing somehow I’m back at the room where we first arrived. I blink to adjust my eyes to the change of light, since here’s where all the electric lamps are. The room is empty though. 

I’m not sure of what I am supposed to do now. Sit and wait? Go out to the car?

While I’m weighing my options, trying to choose any that doesn’t imply dropping myself on the floor to have a panic attack, I hear murmurs and steps getting closer.

“Jude!” My little brother yells and runs to me. Behind him, Vivi scans me like she’s trying to find something wrong. I straighten my back and put on my best calmed face.

“Where were you?” She demands. “We lost you hours ago! Are you ok? You look pale.” 

Always such a mother hen, I sigh. “I’m fine. I fell behind and lost y’all. Then... I guessed it would be better to just… return here.”

I try not to frown at my last words, since I didn’t fully intend to say them. You will not tell anybody about what you saw here. 

“Jude knows how to take care of herself.” My father adds. I could hug him, but we’re not exactly the affectionate type. So I just flash him a smile.

Vivi does not look convinced but still stands down. “I guess so. The weather did a mess with your hair though.” A flash of Cardan’s fingers pulling from it to gain access to my neck sends a shiver through my body. Had that really happened just minutes before?

Before I can answer, Marrow calls for us. We turn to find her standing next to a big set of paintings that apparently were covered with a curtain. “You cannot leave without meeting the royal family.”

The canvases are ordered to mimic a family tree. A man with a severe expression rests at the very top. Eldred, I assume. Just by looking at it I feel judged. I can’t imagine what was like to actually live with him. The pictures of his wives look all so different but under them, their sons do have resemblance to one another. A weird sensation tickles my fingers as my gaze continues travelling over the paintings. Finally, I get to the last one. Once more, I cover my mouth to avoid  an undesired sound.

Staring back at me I see Cardan. 

I don’t care if it’s a painting, there is no way I could not recognize those features. Those lips.

“A big family, I see.” Madoc’s words seem so far away.

Marrow hums in agreement. “The Greenbriars always felt proud of their vast offspring. Such attractive sons and daughters. It’s a shame the curse took most of their lives all those centuries ago.” 

“Did he…” I start, without knowing how to continue.

She approaches me to look at the canvas. “Ah, young master Cardan. He was the last one of Eldred’s children.” Then a frown appears on her face. “There was a lot of controversy regarding his death. Some say he died because of the curse, some others say he was the curse. The books all have different versions.”

“That sounds creepy as fuck.” Vivi says. 

“Creepy as fuck.” My brother mimics her, the thoughtful expression on his face makes him look ridiculous. We cackle as Vivi shouts Oak he’s not supposed to say bad words.

By the time we get out of the castle the rain has decreased to a drizzle. 

Madoc carries Oak on his shoulders, listening to his non-stop squeals of excitement after visiting what he calls ‘a real vampire hideout’. This time, I don’t find the words to contradict him. Vivi is the first one to get to the car, shouting back some nonsense about the Greenbriars needing a protection hex. 

The moment I step down from the bridge something shifts in my head and I feel as if I had just woken up. 

Perhaps it is me who needs a protection spell after all. 

Before closing the car’s door, I turn to the castle one more time. Marrow and her husband wave at us from the front gate. 

A dull ache throbs on the base of my neck and my hand flies to the spot. I retrieve it and see blood staining my fingers. 

My heart misses a beat when I lift my gaze to the upper windows, where a tall figure with white shirt and dark hair is looking right back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ @sweetlyvillainous​ @poeticbrownmermaid​ @aesthetics-11​ @thesirenwashere​ @jurdanhell​ @nightbringer​ @b00kworm​ @mysweetvillain​ @thefolkofthefic​ @yafandomsdotnet​ @vanessa172003​ @booksandothersecrets​ 

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you like an utter idot) please let me know!

[jurdannet]

𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔩!

Here, you’ll find a compilation of all the works submitted for Jurdan Smut Week 2020. This list will be updated at the end of each day. 

Steam Week Masterlist

Enjoy the revel! 💃🏻🔥

Day 1- Dom/sub

Fanfiction

Day 1 by @florafey​

Holy by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

the way you see it fall apart by @amandlas​

Beg for me by @clockworkgraystairs​

Edits

You’re a dirty, mortal liar by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

Who is your Queen? by @imjustafangirl-nobodylovesme​

Playlists

Forever Undone by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

Day 2- Knife/Sword Play

Fanfiction

There is no such thing as vampires by @clockworkgraystairs​

Edits

“Do you really believe that dagger will be of any use to you, dear?” by @clockworkgraystairs​

Fanart

AT YOUR THROAT by @fateandluminary​

Day 3- Orgasm Delay/Begging/Overstimulation

Fanfiction

Day 3 by @florafey​

maybe this is danger and he just don’t know by @amandlas​

Edits

Keep It Down by @clockworkgraystairs​

Gentle by @angelofmusic223​

Day 4- Public/Risk Sex

Fanfiction

King by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

Fit for a King by @sweetlyvillainous​

To Please a King by @sweetlyvillainous​

Day 7- Hate Sex

Fanfiction

Fine Line by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

[jurdannet]

𝔚𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔩!

Here, you’ll find a compilation of all the works submitted for Jurdan Steam Week 2020. This list will be updated at the end of each day. 

Smut Week Masterlist

Enjoy the revel! 💃🏻🔥

Day 1- Special Occasion

Edits

Valentine’s Day by @angelofmusic223​

edit by @ketterrdam​

Playlists

Forever Undone by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

Day 2- Tryst/Secret Lover

Fanfiction

Day 2 by @florafey​

Crashing by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

Edits

A tragic love story by @angelofmusic223​

Day 3- And there was only 1 bed!

Fanfiction

Here For You by @clockworkgraystairs​

Day 4- Jurdan + Scars

Fanfiction

Day 4 by @florafey​

I love you by @angelofmusic223​

To Dance With Danger by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

Edits

If I am undressed he will know me by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

Day 5- Strip Tease

Fanfiction

Fire Like Sin by @sweetlyvillainous​

We’re All Mad Here by @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​

Edits

Imagine Jude by @angelofmusic223​

Fanart

The Queen of Nothing by @verryberriess​

Day 6- Massage

Edits

High King of Elfhame by @angelofmusic223​

Fanart

“By you, I am forever undone.” by @verryberriess​

Day 7- Bathtub

Fanfiction

Pretty Woman AU by @clockworkgraystairs​

Day 7 by @florafey​

Edits

Jude is exhausted by @angelofmusic223​

[clockworkgraystairs]

• THE FOLK OF THE AIR •

MULTICHAPTER

~ EVERYTHING I DIDN’T ASK FOR || Jurdan - Fight Club AU

Rating M (can change)

Cardan Greenbriar wished nothing more than keeping his life simple.

A simple apartment with a simple roommate. A simple family. And a simple job.

A difficult thing to accomplish when his roommate was his exasperating ex-girlfriend, his family was either dead or involved in gang shit and he worked as a barman who generally had to ignore the fucked up things he saw daily.

Little did he know his life could take one more turn.

~ SCHEMING GREAT SCHEMES || Jurdan - Pregnancy

Rating T

Collection of stories featuring pregnant Jurdan

Set in canon world, post QoN 

~ HERE FOR YOU || Jurdan College AU

Rating T (can change)

Human world.

When Jude thought her day couldn’t get worse, being a college student living alone, now sick, feverish and feeling like shit, her annoying classmate decides to pay her a visit. 

~ KEEP IT DOWN || Jurdan - Harry Potter AU

Rating: M

Quidditch day was no normal day at Hogwarts. And Ravenclaw’s head boy, Cardan Greenbriar, knew it very well.

~THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS VAMPIRES || Jurdan Vampire AU

Rating: E (explicit)

“Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying.”

~A WEEK AND A DAY || Jurdan Pretty Woman AU  [COMING SOON!]

Rating: M

                                             Teaser

Jude Duarte is a poweful CEO trapped between difficult decisions.

Cardan Greenbriar is a man living from the streets who is about to receive the opportunity of his life. 

~ PREY || Jurdan Spy AU

Rating: M (might turn to E for nsfw content and violence)

Jude approached him, caressing the knife with her thumb. She hated the idea of killing innocent people.

ONE SHOTS

~ SHOW ME YOU’RE REAL || Jurdan - NSFW

Rating E   One-shot

From a chapter of Scheming great schemes:

"More than once Cardan had woken her up from some bad dreams, usually ones in which he didn’t return after Jude cut off the snake’s head. It always left her pale and shaky. Sometimes it happened the other way around, but they always found comfort in each other’s arms."

~YOU GOT ME TRIPPIN || Jurdan

Human AU.

Cardan takes care of his girlfriend after she injures her ankle.

Rain and cuddles, that's it.

~CHRISTMAS DINNER || Jurdan 

Wrote for Jurdannet Christmas in July

The Duarte’s are hosting their Christmas dinner and Vivi sets a trap for Jude to bring his boyfriend and introduce him to the family.

I guess this can be considered a little prequel to You got me trippin?

~BEG FOR ME || Jurdan NSFW

Wrote for Jurdan Smut Week 2020

Just a little of dom/sub

~LETTING GO || Jurdan angsty fic

Warnings: Major Character death. I’m sorry.

Cardan thought he and his family were meant to live happily ever after.

He was wrong.

~MINE || Jurdan NSFW

For the nsfw prompt

“Mine.”

“Say it again.”

~GENTLE TOUCH || Jurdan EIDAF drabble

For the prompt

13. Kissing scars either shortly or long after they’ve healed

~LATE NIGHTS || Jurdan fluff

For the prompt

Person A is working late. They come home to person B sleeping on the couch with 3 empty cups of coffee close to them. Person B was waiting for person A to come home. 

HEADCANONS:

~JUDE AND THE FETISH STORE TAIL || NSFW

On one of Jude’s trips to the mortal world her sister Vivi takes her to a sex shop.

What she finds there wakes up her curiosity.

~CHRISTMAS & SHOPPING MALLS || Jurdan Christmas in July

Prompt: Ice Skating + a mix of things that popped in my head hsjskfk

Jude and Cardan visit the shopping mall near Christmas day!

ART 

Ok maybe not really art lmao, just some things I do when I’m procrastinating my writing.

~Smol Cardan

~Smol Cardan ft. a pumpkin costume

~Relationship Ghouls aka Halloween Jurdan

• ACOTAR •

ART

~Smol Rhys

• My AO3 profile •

[jurdannet]

Happy Smut Week, Folks!

Today marks the start of 8 days of scandal and debauchery at the Court. Whether you’re an artist, a writer, an edit maker, or a playlist composer, we hope you’ll don your creative caps (or fishnet stockings, if you prefer) and churn out some spicy content for our High King and Queen.

Some things to remember for this revel:

No registration is required. If you feel inspired, you can start building your masterpieces today! 

You can post anything and as many things as you’d like, so long as it pertains to the prompt of that day.

We’d appreciate if you tagged @jurdannet​ and @jurdannetrevels​ in your works when you upload them, so we can reblog them here.

Creators: Use the tags #jurdansmutweek2020 for all your explicit content, and #jurdansteamweek2020 for all your non-explicit content.

Fans: follow the above tags!

Jurdan Smut/Steam Week 2020 starts TODAY! and will continue on through next Monday. 

If you have any further questions, please feel free to shoot us an ask/message/comment here or @jurdannetrevels​ . The Living Council are @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ @sweetlyvillainous​ @clockworkgraystairs​ and @nightbringer​ and any of us would be more than happy to answer your questions on our personal accounts as well.

Enjoy the revel! 💃🏻🔥

-𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔩