Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The expanse of the lands of trust and hopes was steadily graced by the beams of sun—promise of hope and new chances for the citizens.

He found it ironic, then, that the same light irritated his eyelids as all the days before. The curtains were left open on purpose, and as before he couldn't think to reach far enough to untie them. 

The beast’s body moved slowly, softly, unbothered to take the appearance of the room. His eyes avoided the brightness of his clothes, the pastel of the furniture. 

As all things, it followed a simple scheme; gentle yellows which made him burn with despise, and the blues as accents—never on their own. 

Never as anything else.

Sluggishly he grasped a pillow, throwing it onto the carpet beneath. Thick, soft and yellow—all with the purpose of nearly baby proofing.

His legs dragged over the mattress with difficulty he hadn't known before, filled with numbness. With his shaky movement, he placed his hands underneath his knees, swinging them over the edge of the bed. 

Then, as most days before—when he didn't feel like decaying for hours—he allowed himself to slide forward, with his knees hitting the pillow beneath. 

A wince was all he allowed himself. He couldn’t be more pathetic.  

The hair which expressed his state in the past was now tied, tightly coiled into a braid, layered with a ribbon of gold. His gaze remained on the carpet, then on his clothes.

Even sitting like this now, it couldn't reach his knees—a loose, yellow material ending with white ruffles. 

Cruelty.

He didn’t allow himself to grieve. Didn't allow himself to stare more than necessary, and he didn’t permit himself to cry ever again.

Instead, he placed his hands on the flooring, dragging forward on all fours, with his knees needing more time to move. The weight of his unmoving calves served as a reminder. A crown of thorns. 

The beast’s weight carried over in front of the expanse of the three-door wardrobe, trying not to look at the various toys scattered in the room. Blocks, stuffed animals—each one was a reminder. 

A petty needle into his cheek for what he, apparently, had done wrong. 

If you're going to act like a child, you may as well have these.

Shadow Milk glanced to one side—near the long locked doors. A giant bear which could fit his entire body on it stood there, its limbs tilted from the mass it held.

Yet against its white stood out something else. A thick, golden thread, joining its body with its head. The memory nearly made his lips quirk upward, if it wasn't for the punishment that came from his outburst.

It shouldn't matter, really—beheading a doll was not even a part of the anger that boiled in him all these months ago. 

His gaze travelled up, to where his hands couldn't reach anymore. There, above the bed, lay a paddle; hung up and exposed, far from reach, yet visible. Placed meticulously, with purpose—because everything here thus far meant something. 

Everything here was a statement. 

Shadow Milk glanced at that piece of carved wood and remembered its taste on his bare skin. The sting, the tears, and then—the comfort. 

He hasn't felt angry since. 

On the slow journey to the wardrobe, his gaze flicked over the desk, placed for no reason other than cruelty. He couldn't climb the chair on his own, after all, and the hands which would drape him over the yellow surface never allowed him enough space for spilling tears on paper. 

Finally, he stopped lingering. He moved to sit in front of the wardrobe, where the mirror stood. It was still clear, still pristine—despite the many times he hit and clawed at it, it never broke. The messy prints of his hands stained with tears or worse never damaged its perfect surface.

When his eyes met himself in the mirror, he wasn't someone he recognised. This image of him—with perfectly framed hair and soft clothes—was not truly him. 

Has it become him? When?

A loose article of clothing was laid on his body, with softly puffed white sleeves and a loose dress moving down. It only reached half the thigh, decorated with tied ribbons at the sides. 

He never bothered to fasten them. And then the socks which hugged his legs, all the way up to the rounded flesh on his thighs. It wasn't by his own hands that they stayed upright. 

In retrospect, it wasn't much clothing. The dress held nothing else beneath, no secrets which hadn't been pried from his hands. And then his neck, graced with a thicker yet snug necklace, bearing the shape he now hated to see.

Shadow Milk didn't know what he was anymore. Not a jester. Not a beast. A doll—a replica of a real thing, dressed in glitter and clothes which did not belong to it. 

The shape on the soft yellow choker was not the dark blue he found much comfort in—his own Soul Jam was long gone. 

He did not know where. He asked, he yelled, he pleaded for it. 

And so it was here—just not his own. A button which held a mocking shape of magic. Not the magic of deceit, but the magic of truth.

Shadow Milk tore it off many times—tried to move the necklace to conceal the symbol of Soul Jam of truth behind his neck. Then, when it was always put into the correct position for him, he too gave up.

With the sunrise having passed, he had seconds—minutes, at best. 

He took a last flick at himself in the mirror. Involuntarily, his hands curled at his dress. Tight and tense, his once sharp fingernails dug into his skin. The sensation remained dull as even that aspect of the once-feared creature was simply…

Nullified.

Shadow Milk found himself staring right back. Mocking. Judging. The one in the mirror was but a copy—a doll subjectively tailored. 

It wasn't fair.

When has life ever been fair to him?

The emotional numbness and detachment gave way to anger—the very two things he was capable of feeling. Perhaps in losing his autonomy he has lost his ability to grieve. Maybe in being stopped from being an animal, he has become one.

His jaw became tense. Shadow Milk long stopped grieving the torment, stopped pitying himself. Only when he had recalled—this isn't fair—he mustered enough courage to fight.

Not to win. Not to show his declawed hands and filed down teeth—but to be difficult. Because if it wasn't for himself, it was for not making his compliance easy.

A minute stretched too long before the doors finally clicked, a lock pushed and twisted out of its place. Shadow Milk's face slowly moved to have the doors within his view, never looking too high. 

It was enough to see the legs, enough to watch the doors pushed to a close with the gentleness of a man who had known no violence. 

That much was accurate, he was never violent. 

“Ah, what did I tell you?” The soft voice carried through the air like the chirp of morning birds, forcing Shadow Milk to tip his head higher. “I wouldn't like you to leave the bed before I come in the morning.”

There were ways to go about this. Ways to comply, to not try anything. Shadow Milk could nod, let the other have his fill, and go. He could do that and not make it harder. 

But it was unfair. It was fucking unfair.

Shadow Milk's jaw tensed more, teeth grit together in a poor attempt at composure. But, his impulse control was never big—he would drink scorching tea if it had meant it was sweet. 

“If that stupid curtain hadn't allowed the sunlight in, maybe I would've still slept.” He bit out, purposefully emphasising his anger. 

The taller's smile never faltered, even though his brows furrowed slightly. “Kings rise before sunrise, my dove. I wouldn't wish you to still be asleep when I arrive.”

“It's not like me being asleep would particularly stop you.” Shadow Milk dusted off his dress with little care, just a pretense of casualty. The bite in his voice seemed to have returned after a days streak of earlier compliance.

With the king’s closer approach came the sight of his long locks, ends brushing the ground near his feet. Shadow Milk willed his body into stiffness, holding in the shakiness of his breath. 

“Oh, it would,” A soft murmur, as pillowy as feathers. The taller’s hands gently slid underneath Shadow Milk’s arms, and he bristled—but before an attempt was made, his body was already pulled upwards. The care put into the movement was guaranteed to make Shadow Milk feel sick—he was nearly boneless, only a frown betraying his current agitation. 

Pure Vanilla moved with a steady hand, really, the weight in his arms less than that of a feather. With a graceful step he approached the mattress, first gently sitting the other on the centre, before pulling him up.

The pillow bent under Shadow Milk’s head, soft and wide—embracing the sides of his skull like a protective foam used to package delicate items. Yet, he would be far less than wrapped.

With the expanse of the bed underneath his nearly-bare body came another realisation. Perhaps with how routined things were—with how practiced they were—the thought of defiance simply… stopped crossing his mind. It frequented the width of his thoughts sometimes. And in the past, he would’ve acted instead.

Now, all he could do was to furrow his brows.

”It wouldn’t.” Shadow Milk’s hand moved over the silky sheet, his body involuntarily tensing his digits in response to his defiance, as if readying for a consequence. His mind trailed back, to these ‘affections’, or Pure Vanilla’s ‘tenderness’. And at the end, it always finished the same way.

It had the beast’s blood boiling, then, that the king would justify his actions by saying otherwise—

“But it would.” The soft, sun-kissed fingers gently grazed Shadow Milk’s tinted cheek. It gained on flush since he first arrived here, filling out where it once was empty and pale. Pure Vanilla’s other hand rested on the mattress near the other’s body—gently, yes, but caging nonetheless. “It takes two to make love.”

If anything, it caused the blood in his body to boil further. With impulse and less thought, his hand shoved away that of the king’s—only to earn a surprised blink. Shadow Milk’s teeth grit, before he finally managed to bite out; “Stop acting like you don’t come here for one thing only—

—get on with it and leave me alone.”

The hand stayed in the air for a moment, loose digits curling into a fist not yet tense. 

Pure Vanilla’s eyes fluttered open, just slightly. The smile softened into almost neutral, and for a moment, only the sound of the doll’s breath was heard—as if uttering such a thing took a toll on his already learned mouth. Or, perhaps the minutes that he’s held back left him ragged.

After taking in the image of Shadow Milk beneath, his hand came up once more, brushing a lock of silky blue hair behind the doll’s ear. The near-constant presence of light in the room lightened his curls not too long ago, and the eyes which used to have lined each cranny of the strands did not take any joy in the brightness.

They simply have..vanished.

An unfortunate hint of understanding passed on the king’s features—a comprehension. “You think that I only come here to satiate myself?” The fingers moved behind Shadow Milk’s ear, tracing down to his jaw. 

Pure Vanilla’s eyes softened, and his hand left the other for a single moment. He hated when he looked at him this way—hated that stupid calm on his face as if he wasn’t—

For all Shadow Milk wished to complain, there could’ve been hardly any words to properly describe the soft torment at the king’s hands. All the words to nudge at immoral implications seemed to have been too harsh to be fitting. But no words which were soft could be applied either.

The situation would have nearly been tender and domestic if not for the obvious containment. 

“It’s not about what I want,” His hand shifted off the bed, instead moving to the other’s waist. His digits felt the skin through the material, thumb rubbing lazy circles into it. It grew softer since Shadow Milk's initial arrival, fuller—just as intended. “It’s about what you need.”

The touch wasn’t laced with an ulterior motif. A comforting gesture, if the fact of all the previous comforting gestures was overlooked.

”According to whom?” Shadow Milk bit out, allowing himself more fire this time. “To you?” His hand moved to try and brush off the king’s. It didn’t budge. 

“Now, now.” He chided, leaning closer. “We both know you’re not exactly known for good decision making—just like right now.” 

His hand moved up, to where the beast’s rib cage started, feeling the faint running of his heart beneath the skin, fast and heaving. The other hand remained on the bed, giving Pure Vanilla a leverage to lean over. 

His golden locks fell around his face slightly, tickling some of Shadow Milk’s skin—successfully blocking out the view to anything else. “You can’t see it, but I do. Which begs the question…

Why ever would you believe that this is for me?”

It needed no answer. The reluctance within Shadow Milk’s body, the way he seemed to want nothing more than to be left alone. Under Pure Vanilla’s surgically precise gaze, the beast felt like a pinned butterfly, analysed by two curious eyes of a collector.

He hated the vulnerability—the exposure. Yet there was nothing he could do.

Perhaps Shadow Milk wished that the other could see the unadulterated despise. That he would stop trying to dig beneath the grave, as if hoping to find treasure the further he moved his shovel. He wanted Pure Vanilla to finally see that maybe this disinterest wasn’t from a lack—that maybe, there was nothing else to see to this hatred than just that. 

But Pure Vanilla was nothing if not a comprehender, especially once he too nearly ended in the jaws of a beast. 

“I haven’t… neglected you, have I?” The hand on Shadow Milk’s side idly moved, resting on his stomach flatly. The words were spoken with softness and care that was nearly natural. The doll’s eyes widened for a second, astounded by such a disregard—only to narrow.

His lips opened, but a finger was already on them. “Hush, now. It’s okay. I had plenty of things to do around the Kingdom lately,” he mused. “I understand. Maybe with me temporarily leaving you alone more often, you feel…” Pure Vanilla trailed off, looking for the word.

”Used?”

Shadow Milk couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His body felt hot and cold—warm from anger and cool from the disregard. It wasn’t just that Pure Vanilla predicted his reactions, his feelings—because Shadow Milk could too see the intent behind the other’s words.

And then, like a rubber band, the beast snapped. ”I don’t need anything of you—“

Once more Pure Vanilla’s hand was swiftly shoved away. Shadow Milk’s fingers pressed into the bed to try and pull himself to sit, the limbs beyond his knees dragging like numb weights. The braid which was weaved neatly the evening before seemed to have moved out of place, with some of the locks having left the tight binding. 

“You think you’re doing me a favour by—“ his voice shook. “By what? Keeping me here?”

Pure Vanilla’s hand moved back. He didn’t reach to drag Shadow Milk back, didn’t make a reprimand yet. No, he allowed the dam to break. 

“By—by making me this, by touching me, by—“ he swallowed back. It felt as if all the feelings he repressed for months came back, cascading like a waterfall. But he couldn’t allow himself to cry. He couldn’t.

Don’t cry. 

Shadow Milk pulled his knees with difficulty, the calves weighing. With hands shaking in melted fury, he pressed his limbs to himself. “I won’t—won’t forget what you did. My—“

”Legs?” Pure Vanilla mused, offering an answer. As softly as a spring’s breeze, as casually as if this was perfectly normal. He knew what buttons to push, what to say to have Shadow Milk break. And then, be rebuilt again.

That implication itself, spoken the same way as it had been a while ago—when he kicked, when he ran. 

If you don’t yet know better uses for the gift of mobility, I’ll remind you to be grateful.

The memory pierced him: the weight of the ancient’s body pressing him into the bed, the feel of golden light shimmering to life, that radiant thread sinking into the skin just below the knees. Not burning. Not sharp. Just sliding in, like silk through butter. Wrapping itself deeper than Shadow Milk could ever dig out again.

And now, each time the ancient returned to reshape him—each calculated visit, each touch disguised as kindness—the outbursts grew quieter. Fewer. The fire was still there, but burning behind glass.

Just as intended.

Pure Vanilla watched with keen eyes as the beast’s eyes glossed over, as the reminder moved past his eyes like an old film. The way his breathing got shakier—deeper, more ragged. As if nothing gave him enough air.

His hands, still tender, wrapped around the doll’s ankles, dragging him back down to lay in the middle of the mattress. One hand came to stop near the hip, the other moving to Shadow Milk’s chest. 

“It’s alright.” He felt the rapid beating beneath his digits. Pure Vanilla’s lips curled into a softer smile, feeling the flesh between the ribs be fuller now. He had taken good care of this frail thing after all. “I understand.

I’ve failed to do what you needed of me, and you don’t know why you’re acting out.”

It was so ridiculous that Shadow Milk found nothing else to retort. The ancient’s head was above his own, golden locks blocking out everything that wasn't Pure Vanilla’s face once more.

”I’ll give you the care you need, as I always do.”

Because it was practiced—routined. Shadow Milk felt sick when he realised that, in the habit, it became expected. 

“We can do everything, today.” Pure Vanilla moved on the bed, hands on the other’s knee to pull his thighs apart, if only so he could settle between them. Shadow Milk’s mouth opened, as if the defiance hadn't truly been quelled.

And—in all honesty—Pure Vanilla didn’t expect it to be. 

The king’s hands grazed down Shadow Milk’s thighs, barely brushing on the edge of the loose dress. “I’ll rebraid your hair as all mornings, but we can take a nice bath before that.” With precision the hold shifted, from the hips to the waist. The material riding up wasn’t fully intentional.

Shadow Milk didn’t know whether he wanted to stare at the ceiling and allow his mind to escape, or if he wanted to fight. Get it out of his system—tire, and then forget. 

“I don’t need—need you to do anything.” The beast hissed, hands sliding down to try and shove Pure Vanilla’s through the material. 

The king clicked his tongue, head tipping. “But you do. You need structure.” Pure Vanilla moved forward, his lips marking the beast’s cheek with a chaste kiss. “Routine. It keeps you healthy.”

There—a crack Shadow Milk had assumed he could exploit. His hands suddenly pushed into the ancient’s chest instead, never strong enough to make him budge. 

“Being stuck here, in—in this—“ he couldn’t finish, couldn’t find the word. “That is definitely healthy for me—“

The beast felt Pure Vanilla’s mouth curl against the cheek, where it was slowly moved over his jaw and then, the neck. “I was thinking of going somewhere with you soon, but each time I make plans, you find a way to make yourself not worth my trust.”

It was as if cold water was splashed onto Shadow Milk. He may not have power, not his Soul Jam, but he was still deceit. And he still didn’t feel any from Pure Vanilla. Not months ago—and not right now. 

“You just keep doing this to yourself, my dove.” As a reminder, his hands slid back down. “I told you, didn’t I? If it had meant you suddenly got better, I would’ve undone the thread already.”

There, the touch traveled back to the soft thighs. A faint bruise here and there, yet not done with violence. With the frail and delicate exterior that the doll had, even him stumbling down off the bed on his own earned his skin a shade of purple. They had rounded more—still soft, yet not as healthy as they could’ve been.

Shadow Milk’s breath caught as the skilled fingers found the ties at the sides of the dress, undoing them with a single pull. 

“But—you just keep acting out.” He tutted. “I suppose it is my fault. I’ll take care of you better now.”

With a measured grace, the dress around the doll’s waist loosened, allowing Pure Vanilla to slip his hands into the space even better. It was done plenty before. Once upon a time, he would think to shove. To push, scream. To cry. 

Now, it mattered not.

He laid there, like a doll, too occupied with horrors of his own body and situation to waste the energy on fighting. These outbursts of defiance never lasted long, and each time, it seemed it was easier to nullify them.

Shadow Milk’s mismatched eyes focused on the ceiling for a moment. Pure Vanilla’s lips parted, warm breath greeting the beast’s neck. Wet, open mouthed kisses were left down the surface, to the shoulder, where he nuzzled. 

“It was never about me, Shadow Milk. It was always about you.”

The king pulled back from the warm spot between the neck and the shoulder, hands moving higher to pool the dress around the beast’s waist. It complied, folding over like thin silks, exposing the doll’s abdomen and the skin above the long socks. He was bare spare for these two articles—something Pure Vanilla said that was made to give way to trust.

”I don’t do these things for my own joy.” He mused, bunching the dress up slightly. Shadow Milk didn’t bother to drag a limb, not even as the dress was folded beneath his neck—exposing his chest and stomach. “I understand you, I really do.”

”That’s why I know I don’t do this for my own satisfaction,” Pure Vanilla shifted back just a little, enough to allow him to lean over. His lips met the beast’s sternum, kissing down right where the soft flesh of his stomach began. “a sentiment you probably wouldn’t share if our roles were reversed.”

Shadow Milk’s mouth went dry—he was no fool. He knew what this meant.

This isn’t fair. This fucking isn’t fair.

A low hum left Pure Vanilla as his lips ghosted over the surface, measured and slow. Each time he parted his lips lightly, he left warmth behind—an all too familiar sensation. 

The beast looked down once, meeting the king’s open eyes to his dismay—and so just as quickly he looked elsewhere. He couldn’t see his body. Not in this state. Not like this.

“You think I did this for myself?” A kiss was pressed like a mark, right above Shadow Milk’s heat, one which had no right to exist. One which the beast hadn’t chosen to will into existence. “You think it is for myself that I wished you no more soreness?”

Then, the touch trailed lower—teasing at the inside of a thigh, with his warm mouth parted against the softened flesh. 

“That I didn’t want you to be in more discomfort than necessary?”

It was as though another punch to the gut, veiled with plush—a hit carved into him with feathers. The sensation of warmth in his abdomen all these weeks ago was still fresh, a wound not yet scarred. He recalled how it felt to feel Pure Vanilla’s radiating light against him, and how it dug its filthy fingers into his skin. How it changed him.

Shadow Milk knew this was less about his own power to shift and more about how his body had been rewritten—delicately, deliberately, a form imposed on him. The softness between his legs was no longer his own, a quiet testament to the changes forced upon him without consent.

Pure Vanilla allowed the beast to get lost in the memory—allowed him to relive it as a reminder. The touch on the thighs dragged from the mattress to the knees, where his hands pressed to the top of the flesh. Then, they trailed downward; to the hip and up, feeling his waist.

For a moment, it was as if the beast froze over entirely. The flutter of something in him—something traitorous. A thing of habit, an expectation his body grew to have. 

Using the moment opportune, the king grazed his half open lips down, keeping a keen eye on the other.

”The only pleasure for me here is an opportunity to give you what you clearly need.” He muttered, his breath tickling Shadow Milk’s heat. “And right now, what you need is to be loved and cared for.”

Pure Vanilla’s lips parted as he leaned in forward, eyes searching Shadow Milk for a moment. The king gave him a moment to argue, if only so he could personally retort.

Yet, it didn’t come.

The beast’s fingers twisted into the sheets as the king’s hold on his waist became firmer—like a cage. One arm draped over Shadow Milk’s stomach, firmly enough to keep him down—and there it was again, treacherous betrayal of his own flesh.

“I’ll take my time today.” Was all the warning he received. 

Pure Vanilla’s warmth gently brushed on Shadow Milk’s heat, parted lips moving to his slit. His tongue dragged upwards, tasting his petals to spread them more; earning a shiver of approval. It was practiced, lacking the diffidence one would’ve expected. 

Routined. Expected. As if Shadow Milk’s muscle memory already reminded him of the sensations to come.

Then, another drag, until he could make out the outline of where his doll was most sensitive. Pure Vanilla traced it around once, finally pressing his lips closer.

Shadow Milk’s body moved involuntarily, spine arching as the ancient’s mouth closed around his clit. Being used to something never meant he became dull to it, and as if in a comforting motion, Pure Vanilla‘s hand rubbed circles on the beast’s hip. 

“Hmn—“ 

He almost could hear Pure Vanilla shushing him in the depths of his mind, the pressure on his pearl deliberate. A hum vibrated against Shadow Milk’s heat as the king slowly but surely moved his lips, sucking onto the bud. He could feel the shorter’s body tense beneath, the slight angling of his lips from the feeling.

Pure Vanilla wasn’t one to relent, eyes closed as he hummed again—pressing himself closer. His lips released the spot that made Shadow Milk tremble, if only to mouth at it with a slick noise.

The response of his body was humiliating, as if he was Pavlovian trained—like an animal. His flesh became entirely separate from his mind; enveloped by warmth and anticipation, already salivating like a dog at a morning plate. Disgraceful.

“Hn—m…” Shadow Milk’s lips pressed together, breath hitching. He wanted to hate it. Wanted to be done with it, wanted it to hurt.

But it never did. With tenderness, the ancient’s mouth coaxed at his clit, a sound of approval leaving Pure Vanilla. The taller hummed once more as a sign of enjoyment while Shadow Milk’s hands desperately curled into his wrists. Never quite able to wrap fully.

There was nothing the beast could do to stop his core from tensing, from the need pooling between his thighs. Not as Pure Vanilla drew the sensitive nub back between his lips, not as his mouth ssqueezed and suckled.

Pure Vanilla could tell that his body began to warm up—and he knew Shadow Milk could hear it himself. His hands tightened on the beast, pressing into the soft flesh before his touch became more coaxing.

The firmer hold was always a warning to Shadow Milk, even now. 

Before proper resistance came, the ancient pressed his lips further down, taking more of Shadow Milk’s ache—his flattened tongue moving against the sensitive bud reverently, yet with no mercy. 

“N-No w-wait—“ His body tensed, the hands at Pure Vanilla’s wrists sliding off the skin from his attempt at freedom. His back arching didn’t break the hold, the twist of his upper body only making the king tug the doll towards himself. “..Mnh-“

The ancient knew where to touch. Where to coax—and so he greedily dragged out the reactions, humming against Shadow Milk’s folds as he devoured him like a starved man.

But he was far from starving; he had the beast like this everyday, after all. Maybe then a man who enjoyed his favourite breakfast.

It didn’t take long for Shadow Milk to writhe against the silken sheets, thighs shifting in place as they tried to work around the weight of his numb calves. As the soft flesh pressed to the sides of Pure Vanilla’s head, the king only hummed lowly in approval. 

He tasted the other through the quiet shaking, the soft moaning, the helpless whimpering. The curl of something in his stomach only grew as the ancient suckled onto him yearningly, as if for himself. Soft hums followed.

Shadow Milk’s throat felt tight, his breathing growing shallow—scarce. He tried to hold reactions in, not look desperate. But as Pure Vanilla worked his wonders between Shadow Milk’s heated thighs, his back arched involuntarily. Each breath out made another sound spill from his lips, sounding out with Pure Vanilla’s sounds of praise and approval.

The king moved his head along to the motions, keenly aware of how the other’s body trembled beneath his hold. How the flesh tensed underneath his touch, how rigid the doll became from the overstimulation.

He just kept going.

Up until when the final cry left Shadow Milk, his hips stuttered involuntarily. “Nh—hAa.. Mn-nh..” It snapped within him like a rubber band, sudden and from too much tension. As the pleasure washed over him and his body trembled, Pure Vanilla’s hold lessened.

”h-ha..Mhh—“

The soft mouthing on the other's heat came to a gradual slow, not stopping right away. A tremor ran down Shadow Milk’s body, making him physically shiver—and only once his thighs were quivering from the overwhelming sensation had the king pulled back.

Shadow Milk was still laid on the soft bedding, the braid’s end becoming nearly undone. His eyes remained half-lidded, head tipped to look at the wall. The breaths he drew in were shaky, his body trying to self regulate from care it had just received. 

“You look so lovely like this…” the king pulled himself up to sit properly again, uncurling his grip from around the smaller body. His hands grazed their way from the hips to the knees, where he parted them slightly more. “All undone and lost.”

The beast felt a hard nudge at the back of his thigh, but even Pure Vanilla brought no attention to it at all as he shifted. Instead, his digits ran their way back down, this time on the inside of his thighs. The flesh felt tender still, muscle beneath the skin tensing on occasion. Shadow Milk found no will to pull his gaze back to the other.

“It almost makes me want to simply sit between your thighs,” Pure Vanilla mused, tracing his hands up to the beast’s abdomen. Shadow Milk has grown softer—quieter. Not just mentally, but physically, “but we still have a few more steps.”

He traced a line up the doll’s stomach, as if in unspoken devotion. Pure Vanilla kept him preened and cared for—well clothed. Well fed. His thighs gained a healthy curve to them, the bones of the beast’s pelvis and ribs not as noticeable as they once had been.

The king relished in the thought. 

“Maybe if I’m done with the festival preparations, I’ll make it up to you with more attention,” he cooed. Pure Vanilla’s hold finally moved, one hand gently placed on the shorter’s hip. The soft shake of Shadow Milk’s head didn’t go unnoticed. 

“But for now, this will have to do.”

Once Pure Vanilla’s digits gently dragged against the beast’s wet heat, he gave a hum of approval. Maybe Shadow Milk enjoyed himself far more than he has let on—but that was alright. The ancient could tell, after all.

As two fingers gently rolled against Shadow Milk’s clit, his hips buckled—the nub still sensitive from such passionate treatment before. The threat didn’t last long; just enough for the digits to collect enough of the doll’s arousal. Then they dragged down in a slick glide, to his aching entrance.

If months taught Shadow Milk anything, it would be routine. This was routined. This was normal.

”Ah, did it feel that good?” With practiced ease, the two digits pressed into Shadow Milk. They sank smoothly—only a hitched breath leaving the beast as they moved to the knuckle. “You really do need the attention.”

The slight tension of his thighs was soothed by Pure Vanilla’s thumb, rubbing circles into the flesh of the hip. “There we go, my good boy.”

Pure Vanilla enjoyed it, really. The flutter of the other around his digits was nothing if not pleasant, the steady beat of his pulse as he tried to deny his body’s reactions. It was sweet, really. Once, he would kick, maybe twist and hit. Then he just pleaded—cried.

And oh, how pleased the ancient was when all this became acceptance. Like a treasured thing, having to just take all the love poured into it without breaking from the overfilling extent. 

The sheets were grabbed onto by Shadow Milk’s hand, but Pure Vanilla never stopped him.

”You’re already so nice and open for me, aren’t you?” Another murmur, as if praising lack of defiance rather than compliance. Pure Vanilla allowed his fingers to press more, lightly grinding into the depths of the doll’s heat. With practiced ease they moved, hooking to test the tension. 

”You’re doing better each time, you know?”

The hold on the hip grew slightly tighter as Shadow Milk shifted, the cool sensation of the satin beneath doing little to calm down his frayed nerves. Pure Vanilla moved the digits carefully, withdrawing his hand slowly to then press it back. 

“There we go. My good boy.” he cooed, each draw of his hand accented by increasing firmness. Pure Vanilla allowed himself to play with his doll faster, feeling his heat greedily swallow whatever attention it could.

Shadow Milk didn’t look. He couldn't look. Even as the hand pressed into him more, as soft thrusts gained in depth, as the open palm lightly pressed into his clit with each pump. It was enough stimulation to make the doll flutter, not enough to truly overwhelm again.

“Nh—” his hand came to clutch at the ancient's arm, as if pleading. “e—enough… enough—”

“Shh,” Pure Vanilla only moved his hand faster, keenly aware of the slightest breaths the other held in. “Let me do this for you.”

The wetness only gave the air a different sort of quality, the slick sounds forcing Shadow Milk to accept the way he reacted. 

The king leaned over, drinking in the sight, as if nothing else in the world could draw his gaze. “Let me take care of you.”

He moved down to press a kiss to Shadow Milk’s lips, right at the corner. “There we go. If you keep getting used to this so nicely, maybe I'll get to be inside of you longer.” his words were accompanied by a firmer push of his fingers—steady and slick. 

“A-ah—” The mattress shifted when Shadow Milk arched, two fingertips denting into the barrier of his heat with each slick thrust. 

The corners of Pure Vanilla’s mouth curled a little more, and he lightly moved his fingers over the very top of the other's heat, before finally drawing them out. “But you'd like that, wouldn't you?”

With a steady shift Pure Vanilla pushed himself to sit.

Shadow Milk’s lips parted, his breath short and shallow. A cheek pressed into the coolness below, the ribbon at the end of his hair becoming undone. Pure Vanilla left it like that for now.

His hands returned, gently gliding over the inner thighs. They quivered under his hold, still hot in the aftertaste—Pure Vanilla wasn't parting nor commanding. He was admiring. 

Slow and reverent, he savoured the soft skin he cultivated with lotions and oils. 

“You've come such a long way,” he whispered, head tilting. “When I first brought you here, you could hardly bear to be touched. And now, look at you…”

His hands pressed gently at the hips, palms molding the plush curve like they were made to do so. “See how well your body takes to care?” A coo, thumbs pressing into the soft love handles wantingly. “You've softened so beautifully. Not a sharp edge left.”

Shadow Milk looked aside, at the pastel wall. He couldn't drown it out, not as the king leaned to press a kiss to his forehead, where the mark from his eye had moved.

“All of this—” Fingertips moved over the love handles, to the hip where they squeezed in admiration. “—was made to be held.”

The hands gently moved to the beast’s midsection, knuckles brushing against the soft swell of Shadow Milk’s lower belly. His palms then spread over his waist. “This is how you were meant to feel,” Pure Vanilla murmured, as if worried that too harsh of a breath may shatter the porcelain. “Warm, supple. Easy to cradle.” 

Pure Vanilla moved, a kiss to the doll’s cheek next. “Easy to care for. Easy to love.”

He adjusted his grip on the smaller's skin, pressing his digits into the junction between thigh and hip. Single hand slid lower, below the doll’s knee. The calf weighed limply along, but it stopped bothering either of them. 

“Easy to fill.”

Shadow Milk found his mind long forgotten the days of grandeur. Even now, the memories no longer responded. Not even as a distraction. 

His body shivered softly as the lips pressed to his knee, laced with nothing but devotion. “You don't even realise how perfect you've become.”

He touched everywhere with reverence: the soft curve of his stomach, the dip of his navel, the skin on his sides. Not groping, not indulging—cupping, cradling, as if handling something sacred. He held the body like a silk that easily could be ruined had he pressed too hard.

“All this skin,” Pure Vanilla murmured, thumbs tracing the shape of the curve. “Softer, smoother. Fuller.” 

The hands finally slid to the knees, where one palm stayed. The other slid down on the calf, the limb unable to shy from the ticklish sensation even if it tried. “You don't even flinch like you used to.”

Soft noise of a click carried through the air as the king finally pulled the button of his trousers open, freeing his own ache. 

Instinctively, Shadow Milk stirred, breath catching—but a firm hand on his hip guided him back down. 

“Now, what did I say?” Pure Vanilla's tone was light, like a carefree reprimand. “You're being so good, don't ruin it now.”

His hand wrapped around himself with calm efficency, stroking once, twice, letting the slick remnants of his fingers ease the glide.

The tip lightly nudged against the other's folds, glazing over the still sensitive clit. Shadow Milk twitched beneath from the insistent sensation.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice weighed with praise. “You've been kept carefully. You know I made sure of it.”

The warmth of his tip nudged the others sensitive nub again, before moving down in a measured manner. With the head of his length nuzzled in just enough, he adjusted his hold on the shorter. 

“Be good, Shadow Milk. I'll put it in now.”

The beast parted his mouth more in protest, but the only sound that came was the sound of a whimper. Pure Vanilla's hips moved forward with an unsteady breath, his aching need inching into the other. 

“O-oh…” he breathed out. His thumb pressed into Shadow Milk’s side, his other hand on the mattress near the blue locks. “T-There we go… it's in…”

As he rocked his hips forward once more, the soft textured heat enveloped him fully. 

The sensation of being pushed into never failed to draw a whimper from him, and Pure Vanilla allowed his elbow to sink into the mattress instead, slightly above the other's head. 

His face was close to Shadow Milk's now, only a breath apart. Just enough for Pure Vanilla to press his lips to the doll’s forehead, feeling his head turn. 

The ancient softly pressed his hips into the beast more, a steady roll—equal parts experimental and pleasurable. Shadow Milk found his hands tight on the bed, cheek once more pressed snug to the stuffed pillows.

An unwanted whine left his throat. It was as though his body was trained through practice—through routine. How his heat seemed to ache the moment Pure Vanilla did what he did every morning. He was conditioned, he—

This is unfair.

Pure Vanilla hummed shakily, his hips never withdrawing more than by a breath. His next steady push was accompanied by a twitch of thighs at his sides, the sensation of the rings of muscles against his own need. A soft, slick sound through the air—far too grotesque for such a tender moment. 

More of a grind, really, and as he angled his hips slightly higher, Shadow Milk shivered. “A-ah…”

“It's okay…” he cooed, parted lips tracing on Shadow Milk’s jaw. Caged like that, he couldn't see anything but the blond locks, spilling like honey, and he heard nothing but the king's breaths, harmonised with the wet hush of the thrusts. 

“M-mhm, stay just like…–” Pure Vanilla groaned. “Just like that.”

Shadow Milk’s hands shakily lifted to the other's sun kissed arms, fingers twitching as Pure Vanilla sank into him. “Hn-” fingers pressed into the tan skin, the hold laughably weak.

It wasn't affection, just the need to have something grounding. To Pure Vanilla, however, it was all the same.

Soft shifts remained gentle and patient, the hand on the hip moving higher. Fingers slid between cheek and pillow, cradling Shadow Milk's face.

Once it turned, the ancient finally captured his lips in a damp kiss, angling his head to devour Shadow Milk’s lips with silky tenderness. 

“Mhn…” Pure Vanilla moaned into the kiss, and the sound itself sent the other kindling. The shorter’s hands gripped at the ancient tighter, if only to pathetically attempt moving his face away. 

The kiss broke with a damp hush. 

“No,” Shadow Milk inhaled sharply, eyes shutting tightly. “Hn… don't—”

With a soft huff, the ancients' brows furrowed. The beast felt his chin grasped, face turned again. “Be nice.” The hold was firmer, far from harsh—a statement as good as any.

Only a whine managed to spill before Pure Vanilla stole his lips again, his hips withdrawing slightly more to push back into him again, no longer comfortably shallow. The kiss lasted for a few moments more, gaining on passion just before he allowed the shorter to break it again. 

Pure Vanilla pulled back just enough to take a good look, his elbow still supporting his weight. The sound of him gliding into Shadow Milk was rhythmic, deliberate—too consistent to allow the doll to take his mind off it. 

His cheeks were flushed with fire he wasn't able to put out, eyes lidded with something more than just the eyelids.

And for some reason, the corners of the ancient's lips raised—a smile which fully reached his eyes.

“H-here-” his voice broke off with a shiver, face lightly lowering from the sensation. “Here we g-go— such a good boy.”

With a kiss to the doll’s eye his moves slowly halted, bottomed out quite far into him. The tip of his length kissed at the very depths of Shadow Milk, only a whimper leaving him as Pure Vanilla raised to sit up. 

His touch moved to both sides of his doll, gently gliding down to his hips. Shadow Milk’s lips parted, he knew what came now—and in some strange move, his hands moved as well. 

Smaller fingers grasped at Pure Vanilla's wrists, but the taller only hummed.  

“It's okay.” He adjusted his position, sitting back better. “I'll be careful, I always am.” 

Shadow Milk shook his head, but it wasn't from fear of pain. It was something far more raw, something born from the routine. His protest was dismissed with a click of the tongue, the strong hands pulling him closer—further sheathing him on Pure Vanilla's still aching need. 

The sight bordered on pathetic. If anything, the king would call it cute.

“You always seem so lost in pleasure whenever we get to this part,” a soft chuckle, as airy as spring’s breeze. Carefully, he moved his hips back—easily pushing back in. A slow, measured shallow thrust meant to send Shadow Milk’s nerves on fire.

And it did. “N—mnh…” The new angle forced him to focus on Pure Vanilla pushing up against him, Shadow Milk’s hips pulled back onto his length with yet another glide. 

A hum. “Easy, easy.” 

The words did little to reassure, the subtle sound of wet skin on wet skin only growing as Pure Vanilla allowed himself to pick up the pace. The depth didn’t change at all, causing the doll’s upper body to twist on the bed.

“Mhm, just… like this—” one hand slid off the skin right above the hip, beneath Shadow Milk’s back. The moment Pure Vanilla made him arch slightly, the thrusts gained another sensation. There was no hiding the way the ancient's muscle tensed, the way his breathing caught.

Shadow Milk shivered, a profuse tremor running down his flesh. His body felt warmer than it should've, the flesh beneath the skin tender. The patch of skin above Pure Vanilla's member pressed up against his spread petals, gently stimulating the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

A caring gesture made to please, not take pleasure. 

“Still,” he gasped, eyes watering. “Sensitive— not l-like tHis—” The whimpers weren’t heard, overshadowed by the rustle of Pure Vanilla's hips. 

“No, no.” He hummed, pleased. As casually as rejecting an apology for someone spilling tea. Shadow Milk whined again, the moves methodical yet wanting. Faster. Quicker. “It's o-okay. Mh— hn…”

Shadow Milk felt his grip on the wrist tighten, his heat filled over and over until he could see white. Not rough, no. “Y-You've filled out nicely. Not… mh-” a moan cut him off. Shamelessly, Pure Vanilla hasn't even attempted to compose himself. 

Instead, he allowed Shadow Milk to know just how much he was enjoying it. With wanton little exhales or moans, or his breath hitching each time his hips dragged away and into that lovely heat. 

“Not as.. a-ah— fragile. You can take it.” a low whine. “Witches, you w-wrap around me so tightly whenever we get to tthat part—”

The sensation of being pushed into and pried open only got faster, Shadow Milk’s body tensing with familiar sensation. It started inside his abdomen, coiling and coiling. His mouth fell open with a cry, but no amount of twisting stopped his body from shaking.

“Don't… don't fight it, love.” A faint scold, plausible if not for his burned up cheeks. The feeling of Shadow Milk’s heat greedily wrapping around his length was all it took to make him whimper. Sucking him in so greedily as to milk him as it usually did. 

He doubted he would be satisfied enough with just that.

It didn’t take much for Pure Vanilla to figure out that rhythm and external stimulation was all that it took to get Shadow Milk unraveling. 

His body felt hotter as he was coaxed and pulled to the edge again, eyes watering—the moans that slipped Shadow Milk were shaky, cut off. Pure Vanilla paid keen attention to the shift of his body, the arched back.

“HMh…~ ngh-” The orgasm was shocking like cold water; sudden. A cry tore out of him as his hips shifted on the sheets, bucking for reasons more than one. White flash of bliss seemed to have blinded his mind.

For a moment he just allowed his body to stutter from tension, to feel Pure Vanilla bucking into him through the orgasm with a groan of his own. 

“O-oh-” his face was back near Shadow Milk’s neck, as he gently bottomed out. “H-hn…”

The shorter’s limbs fell uselessly to the sheets, breathing heaving from the intensity of the burst tension. Pure Vanilla held onto him throughout, but something was off. 

“H-Here… mngh- You feel so good…”

Usually, he would've allowed himself to finish with Shadow Milk. It felt good when they shared that moment, even better so when his insides held onto him so keenly. 

Today wasn't an usual day, in that regard. Shadow Milk blinked, the water in his eyes finally spilling from the corners. He hiccuped as he always did afterwards, as his body shook with each cry.

Pure Vanilla leaned in to press his lips into the salty tears, a thumb wiping one away as it always did. “Let it out.” 

And so he did. 

Heaving with sobs. It was far from a cry caused by the violation. All the feelings he shoved away, all the tension and anger from injustice—it always gave way in the mornings, just to be locked away until the hours have passed for his next dose of love making.

“Mhm, I'm here.” Another kiss. 

Usually he would've lingered longer, collapsed near Shadow Milk and pulled him into a coddling hug. Now he just wrapped his arms around his frame, withdrawing his hips more. Right to where only the tip remained. Then, slowly gliding back in with ease—and again.

And again.

.

.

. 

Shadow Milk’s tears were kissed away. Once he received his fill of love, Pure Vanilla cleaned him in the bath. A slow morning, accompanied by being lathered in lotions and expensive materials, draped over his body like silks over porcelain. The light blue of his frosty hair was once more carefully detangled.  

With a smoothing solution gleaming on Pure Vanilla's hands, he carefully covered the strands in the substance, soon enough tying them back again. The braid was looser this time, allowing his scalp to relax as the ancient's fingertips rubbed into its surface.

The shorter kept quiet. 

As the sun positioned itself on the sky, the blond gave it an occasional look. A gesture, Shadow Milk found, meant to measure the time. 

Soon socks slipped onto his legs, the soft flesh between another dress and his knees grazed with watchful fingers. Shadow Milk remained laid on the pillows beneath once he was preened, looking anywhere at all.

Instead of leaving to bring food with himself however, the weight of his body moved near the doll. The pillow dipped beneath the additional weight. An arm draped around Shadow Milk’s waist, firm and steady, pulling him over.

The change, as strange as it was, felt more nauseating than the act of love done to him nearly an hour prior. His throat felt dry as his lips parted, body turned on its side so he could easily be spooned.

“Don't…” he cleared his throat. “Don't you usually go at this time…?”

There was no offence taken to the question. Pure Vanilla felt the corners of his mouth raise.

“Of course.” His body moved, the upper half hovering over Shadow Milk’s body. His fingers tucked a strand of his white hair behind his ear. “However. I do believe that you've been.. adjusting well recently.”

“...and?”

“And, I think I trust you enough to have someone bring food to us instead.”

Pure Vanilla pressed a kiss to Shadow Milk’s temple, enjoying the floral scent of the lotion for a moment, the gentle hair oils in the light blue locks making the shorter smell like a bouquet. 

The doll blinked, but he didn't ask. He didn't want to know anymore.

“This means I will have more time with you here, uninterrupted.” A hum, gentle like sway of curtains. He didn’t really care that Shadow Milk most likely hated the prospect. It was what he needed.

The doll said nothing, at first. He didn't have to.

“Not even your friends know I'm here.” Voice void of its usual bite. “I find it hard to think you'd.. “

“Trust someone to do that?”

Right. More like feel comfortable enough with your deprivation. Shadow Milk said nothing. 

“Mm..” Pure Vanilla leaned in to press another kiss, to the doll’s already dried lashes. “I suppose you're right.” His eyes flicked to the window again. 

“Perhaps I found the beauty in… personal servants..” 

He didn’t want to know. Didn't care. Shadow Milk would rather believe no one knew what happened to him. What he became. He'd rather believe he was stuck here not because no one wished to help, but that no one knew. 

It felt cruel, then, when a knock came. To a room that, apparently, only Pure Vanilla should've access to. 

“Come on in,” the taller one called, not needing to raise his voice to have it carry over the walls like a needle. “It's about time.”

Nothing happened. 

For a moment, Shadow Milk allowed his brows to knit, arms folded to his chest in an almost defensive manner. Only then did the handle turn, released as soon as the doors began to move.

Slowly they revealed a figure, first thing to come being a tray full of food. Golden, shimmering with nutrition that Shadow Milk was sick when thinking about.

The vague shape of white gloves on pale skin, then the muted shades of lilac. 

As the doors opened fully with no creak, as they had done a thousand times, Shadow Milk’s eyes widened.

He looked different. Softened. The dark which defined his outfit was replaced with domesticated purples, void of its bite and edge. He looked tired, yet the single eye visible through his hair widened with vigor. 

There was a pause. 

The purple one's mouth opened, as if willing to say a thousand and one words. Yet, no sound came. Not even a bob of his Adam's apple.

Shadow Milk pushed himself to sit upright, but his vision moved when he was pressed to lay. Pure Vanilla hummed, as if pleased with himself. 

“My new butler,” he cooed, fingers playing with the end of the doll’s braid. “And, as you know, your personal servant.”