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Chapter Text

POV- Shrek

When Shrek stepped through the foyer of the castle of Far Far Away, the last thing he was expecting to see was his wife, Fiona, standing next to a stack of suitcases piled high on the dining room table. A look of guilt and shame riddled his lover’s features. Immediately, Shrek grew concerned. Were they going on a trip? Vacation? Had he forgotten their anniversary? No, that can’t be. It’s the middle of January. He thought.

“What are you all packed up for?” Shrek asked cautiously as he began untying the string of his signature mini-vest.

Fiona looked towards her feet, the lights, the ceiling, anything that wasn’t her husband. “I– I’m sorry…” She whispered, finally looking at Shrek, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I– I swear. It just all happened so fast and– and–” She gestured to the pile of suitcases with her arms, defeated.

“Oh my little onion flower… What happened? Whatever it is, we can get through it together.” Shrek took a step forward, reaching for Fiona who, to his surprise, took a step away from him. Never before had he felt such a coldness from his wife. Not even when she first discovered he was an ogre.

Shrek looked into her eyes inquisitively, searching for answers. “My love?..” He asked tentatively, nerves fluttering in his big, green tummy. “What’s all this about?”
Fiona looked off to the side, avoiding his gaze. She heaved a sigh. “There… There’s someone else.” She muttered under her breath. Shrek quirked a brow, unsure he’d heard her right.

“I’m sorry?” He asked.

“So am I…” She replied.

“No, seriously,” He chuckled nervously, quirking a sheepish grin, “I didn’t hear what you said. ‘Think I need to go diggin’ through the ol’ ear canals for gold, if ya know what I mean.”

Without warning, the waterfall of tears that had been threatening to fall from Fiona’s eyes poured out. Her body sagged forward, overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation she had created for their marriage. All because she wanted to have her cake and eat it too. All because she couldn’t resist another man’s musky pheromones.

“I– I’m sorry!” Fiona sobbed, finally looking into her husband’s eyes. Unable to keep secrets from him any longer. “I’m cheating on you!”

Shrek stood there in shock, soaking in the information that had just washed over him. My wife? Cheating on me? His entire relationship flashed through his mind as he wondered what he could have done differently. He wondered how he could have missed the signs. How could another man know what his wife wanted– no, needed… and better than him?

Shrek looked into Fiona’s eyes, betrayal evident in his unshed tears. “How long has this been going on for?” he questioned meekly.

“Only a month now but… Well, it feels like we’ve known each other our entire lives, Shrek. I– I love you. I really do. I just couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t explore this. I need to.”

Shrek felt as if someone had taken a knife and stabbed it right into his heart, twisted it for good measure, and left him to die. “With… With Who?” Shrek asked, voice low and sad.

Yet again, Fiona looked away from him, but this time her eyes trailed to the hallway. Shrek’s own followed her gaze, and that’s when he saw him. Lurking in the dark like some kind of slimy toad. Fiona reached out a hand and gestured for him to step into the light.

“Shrek, meet Ethan Toothstain Grinch. My boyfriend.” She looped her arm through his. A furry, green hand poked out from his spiked leather jacket – his only piece of clothing – and moved to rest on hers.

“Hey there, handsome. I’ve heard lots about you.” Jim Carrey’s Grinch taunted sassily.

Shrek's mouth fell agape, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This furry green fool – with his stupid, singular, jet-black liberty spike – had stolen his woman. His odor was pungent and foul. Shrek couldn’t tell whether he hated it or loved it, which only served to bolster his anger. Not only was she leaving him, but she had the nerve to bring her boy toy to their home to rub it in his face. Despicable.

“What. The. Fuck?” Shrek seethed through gritted teeth. “You brought your whore into our home?!” His voice rose rapidly, and Fiona flinched into Ethan’s side.

In a small voice, Fiona corrected, “My home, Shrek. This is my home and my kingdom.”

A beat of silence passed between the three as Shrek stared at his wife in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Fiona stepped forward, rubbing her arm nervously. “I packed your bags for you. I– I think I need some space. To sort through my feelings. To figure this out,” she finished, gesturing between Shrek and Ethan.

“Space? You want fucking space?” Shrek stepped forward as well, gesturing wildly at the Grinch, who looked entirely too chill for the situation at hand. “I’m the king of Far Far Away, Fiona. As in ‘what I say goes’? I could have this barfed-up, jizz sock removed in an instant if I wanted to.”

Stepping forward, Shrek gave the Grinch’s shoulder a firm shove, knocking him back a few steps.

“Come on man, there’s no need for us to get physical. That’s what your wife is for.” Ethan smirked, looking over Shrek’s shoulder to Fiona.

Shrek seethed, lifting his fist to punch the furry man’s lights out. But he felt a gentle hand on his upper arm stop him. Fiona looked up into his eyes, silently pleading with him to stop. Shrek doubled back, his eyes falling to his hands. Even if he hated this man, he could never let Fiona see him so violent. Not even a betrayal like this could cause him to resort to his brutish, ogrely instincts.

Instead, Shrek turned his back to the pair, allowing his unshed tears to fall down his green, sun spotted cheeks. “If space is what you want, then so be it, my little dung beetle.”
With those final words, Shrek marched towards the castle doors, throwing them open harshly as he stomped out into the dimly lit cobblestone driveway. It was a cold night, and the wind stung his elongated ear holes. But nothing could hurt more than what had just transpired between him and the love of his life.

Shrek barreled through the streets hoping to find salvation – anything that would take the pain away. He looked up at the cold light of a lampost as it illuminated a nearby sign. ‘The Shallows Tavern,’ it read. Shrek bit his lip and decided to break his sobriety as he walked into the bar.

“Of all the nights… it might as well be tonight…” Shrek murmured to himself. He walked through the little swinging doors of The Shallows Tavern. Just a few steps in and he halted. There, sitting awkwardly on a velvet barstool, was his best friend, Donkey. Slowly, Shrek retreated back to the exit. The last thing he wanted Donkey to see was him at his absolute worst. But before he could make it to the door, the sentient animal's piercing voice cut through the room.

“SHREK!!! Shrek! It’s Donkey! You’re best friend, Donkey!” He scrambled out of his seat and scampered to Shrek’s side with a toothy, lopsided grin. The man was a few drinks in, and was almost certainly having a great time. Shrek was wary to put a damper on his good friend's joy.

“Hey, I thought you stopped drinking last year? Why’re you here man?” Donkey asked, voice lowering to a concerned timbre. Ever the observant one, he immediately picked up on the foul mood clouding his best friend's spirits.

Shrek shrugged and slugged over to the bar. “I need a mug of beer and make it fast,” he grumbled to the barmaid. Donkey followed close behind, taking careful steps around Shrek.

“Um- Hey bud. Are you doin’ alright?” Donkey leaned into Shrek's view with a small, tentative smile. The barmaid returned with a mug and placed it in front of Shrek. Donkey watched him pick up the heavy glass and down it in one go. Soon after, Shrek's green sausage fingers slammed the glass down on the bar, earning himself a bombastic side-eye from the barmaid. Donkey chuckled nervously, “I guess not then?”

Shrek glared at the bar top; his thoughts far, far away. A stretch of silence passed between the two, before Shrek faintly whispered the words, “Donkey… Fiona left me.” If it weren't for his excellent, animal hearing, Donkey wouldn't have believed his ears.

Shrek raised a hand, gesturing for the barmaid. The woman was quick to fill him another pint in fear of setting off the ogre's ire.

Donkey sat next to his friend in shock; his fuzzy face crestfallen. For what felt like the first time in his life, he had no words. But that didn't mean that millions of questions weren't swimming through his little mule brain. He thought his friends were happy. The very picture of an idyllic marriage. What could possibly have happened to bring something so beautiful to ruins?

“Oh boy…” Donkey sighed after a long, solemn silence. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would feel if his darling Elizabeth were to leave him. “Well… drink up, brother, and tell your bestie what’s what.” Donkey’s tone shifted, trying his best to lighten the mood. “Do we hate this bitch now? Or are we trying to win her back?”

Shrek groaned, reaching up to rub his eyes in utter exasperation before he picked up his glass and downed it in one gulp, yet again. The barmaid had another mug ready at the go. “I tried talking with her, Donkey… She said she wanted time to herself, with her– ugh!” Shrek buried his face in his giant, meaty hands. “She kicked me out. And let's just say I don't want to go back and see what she's up to. Or rather, Who she's up to.” The ogre’s lip curled into a grimace.

“What in the world are you talking about, man?” Donkey pressed, puzzled by his friend's cryptic words.

“She fucking cheated on me, Donkey.” Shrek spit out the words. He gazed at his reflection in the glass of his beer mug with eyebrows furrowed.
Donkey gasped loudly, “She did what?!”

“Cheated, Donkey! As in ‘fucked another man’,” Shrek exclaimed, pounding his fists on the bar top. He caught sight of the barmaid crossing her arms, hip jutted out, as she glared at him in warning. He ignored her and slammed another drink back. “With a fuzzy, stinky, putrid, emo motherfucker who thinks he’s hot shit because he wears leather and has one fucking liberty spike.”

Shrek fought hard to keep his composure, but could feel himself slipping with every sip of alcohol. “Another!” Shrek demanded as he slammed yet another empty mug down in front of him. Despite her agitation, the barmaid appeased him. The last thing she needed was to be the subject of a belligerent ogre's wrath. She figured he wouldn't pose much of a threat to anyone if she got him drunk enough.

“Damn, homie. I cannot believe she did you like that,” Donkey exclaimed. He cautiously eyed his friend as he inhaled yet another mug of beer, but figured getting cheated on was as good a reason as any to get fucked up on a Wednesday night.

“So how you wanna play this, brochacho? We could burn the house down…” Shrek shot him a sideways glance. "Oh wait– That’s your house." Donkey mulled over all the possibilities in his mind, searching for the best way to cheer up his biffle. Then his large ears perked up, as if a light switch flipped in his mind. “We coouuuld kick this guy's ass. Come on– I bet he’s no match for you. He a big dude?”

This earned an amused scoff from Shrek. “Nope. Skinny and twinky. We could take him easy.” Shrek confirmed. The thought of strangling the Grinch’s lanky, little neck with his own two, massive hands was enough to make him feral with excitement. “What I wouldn't give…” Shrek slurred wistfully.

Donkey leaned in, a look of mischief clear in his eyes. “Then what's stopping us? He pissed all over what's yours. You can’t stand for that, dawg.”

He's right, Shrek thought. That fuzzy little shit slithered his way into his marital bed; his marriage; his wife. He all but deserved to get curb stomped. But then the image of his beautiful wife's hurt expression appeared in his mind, and his anger quelled. “I can’t do that to Fiona. If I hurt him, I hurt her,” he sighed, shoulders slumped in defeat.

The both of them sat for a moment, thinking about the fucked up nature of the situation. That is until a devilish smirk grew on Shrek's lips.

“But you know what I can do…?” Shrek trailed.

Donkey looked into his friend's eyes, confused. A silent conversation passed between them before the animal caught the meaning of Shrek's words. He gasped, repulsed. “No, no, no, NO. Shrek. You cannot do that. I forbid you from seeing him.”

The ogre rolled his eyes in amusement as his idea grew on him. “Come oonnn, Donkey,” Shrek tried, proceeding to take the two mugs that had been set in front of him and downing them one after another. “I mean– can it really be that bad if it feels so good?” He was all but slurring his words at this point.

“Shrek, you know that you're never in a good headspace when you go see him. Absolutely not.” Donkey’s face fell serious, he saw where this was heading.

Shrek splayed his hands out in explanation. “You jus’ told me to burn the house down, but I can’t get some good dick after my wife practically asked for a divorce?”

Donkey jostled his arm with his hoof in an attempt to bring him back to reality. “You know I didn’t mean to actually burn the house down. C’mon man. Just think about this.”

Unfortunately, Shrek was fucked up beyond reason. Fifteen beers deep on an empty stomach, he was running on straight fumes and unabashed spite. Without another word, he rose to his feet– not without heavily leaning on the bar top for assistance. The world was spinning and everything felt blissfully far away.

Shrek grinned at his bestie, who was staring him back in disbelief. “Queen never cri.” And with those eloquent words, Shrek disappeared out the door and stumbled into the night in search of his mark.

Chapter Text

POV: Fiona 

The door slammed shut with a loud crash as Shrek made his exit. Fiona flinched at the sound, not just from its volume, but from the fact that it punctuated the end of her and Shrek’s marriage. Immediately, she began to question her choices. After all, it wasn’t as though she and Shrek weren’t happy. It was just that… well, sometimes her husband could be so distant. As if his mind was constantly somewhere far, far away.

It was always the kingdom this and the kingdom that. He hardly ever spared a moment for his wife – his queen. Date nights were far and few between. Their sex life? Practically nonexistent. After months and months of cold beds and lonely dinners, she couldn’t stand it anymore. Couldn’t stand to keep begging for Shrek’s attention in silence.

So she went out. On her own. Dressed to the nines in her finest fishnets and cherry red heels. She’d earned it, hadn’t she? A little treat for herself. Hells, maybe she’d even get some gods damned male attention for once; some appreciation for her beautiful, voluptuous figure. To be clear, it wasn’t as though she was looking to meet anyone. But she’d be lying if she said the thought hadn’t crossed her mind.

~~~~**~~Flashback~~**~~~

Fiona had returned home after a long day of tending to royal business. The treaty agreement between Whoville and Duloc was quickly falling apart, and she’d spent the last eight hours playing peacekeeper between their respective dignitaries. All she wanted now was to lounge around all day with her darling, Shrek, and do absolutely nothing. Maybe they’d take a mud dip, or braid each other’s back hair. 

Alas, when she got home, her jolly green giant was at his desk. She stood in the doorway as he buried his head in his hands and heaved a heavy sigh.

“Shrek? You’re still working?” Fiona asked with gentle concern. “I thought you said you were planning to get off early today…” She slowly walked up to her husband, only to notice the towering heap of untended scrolls.

“I’m sorry, my little Tadpole,” Shrek responded absentmindedly, mind lost in the stack of royal documents and decrees. “I got ‘muhself caught up with paperwork. Y’know– because of the rampant scarlet fever killing all the peasants down in Squabble Row.” Shrek looked back. He offered her a rueful smile, remorse apparent in the creases of his liver-spotted forehead. “I think I’m gonna need to work late today, muh little sludge muffin.”

Fiona tried to conceal her sigh behind a fake chuckle, “It’s fine… I just wanted to relax with you, but…” She paused to look up at him through her thick, cow lashes, giving him a moment to change his mind. Shrek only turned his eyes back to the scrolls and tomes on his desk, getting straight back to work. She sighed. “I suppose I’ll figure something out on my own…” Again.

Fiona didn’t bother waiting for his response. She knew she wouldn’t get one – she never did. And she didn’t think she could stand another moment of silence between them. It isn’t his fault, Fiona repeated in her head as she stormed through the castle halls, just as she had almost every day for months. Her husband was a busy man. A king. But that didn’t make the feeling of being ignored any more tolerable.

The Queen opened the doors to her sleeping chambers. She decided she wouldn’t waste another second thinking about her husband. She crossed the room to her dresser, opening the top drawer to grab her emergency bottle of wine that she had stashed away. Uncorking it, Fiona chugged the whole bottle in less than five seconds. The wine did little to subdue the whirlwind of her emotions.

“Stupid… Stupid!” Fiona mumbled to herself, or maybe to Shrek. She let the empty wine bottle slip from her hands and shatter on the floor. She didn’t bother to flinch, and she sure as hell couldn’t be bothered to clean it up.

She turned her face to the vanity mirror in her room, bracing her meaty, green, warrior princess hands on the edge of the wood. She narrowed her eyes at the woman that stared back at her. She was pissed. At herself? Her husband? She couldn’t tell anymore. All she knew is that she needed to get out of the house.

“Mice- hit it,” she said, and the three blind mice exited from their little hidey hole in the wall and began to scream the lyrics to Don’t Threaten me With a Good Time by Panic at the Disco! 

**Insert getting ready montage**  Little mouse melodies filled the air, drowning out the noise in her head. The alcohol coursing through her system dulled the pain of being stood up by her husband. Feeling more like herself now, Fiona stripped down to her loin cloth and strutted over to her wardrobe.

Moths flew out as she flung it open with a reckless zest. She decided that tonight, she’d be bold. She pulled out a british flag muscle t-shirt and a leather jacket, throwing them onto the bed. It was a start, but she needed something that would really show off the goods. After some rummaging, she found her tightest leather booty shorts and cuntiest red thong, tossing them onto the bed. Perfect. What better way to show off her voluptuous ogre ass?

Pursing her lips, she scanned her big, green eyes across the room in search of any finishing touches– something to really pull it all together. That’s it, she thought as her eyes landed on her spiciest red stilettos. And of course, she had to complement them with her finest silk fishnets.

She slipped into the clothes and stood in front of her mirror, eyeing herself up and down with a self-satisfied smirk. It was the perfect outfit– exactly what she needed to show off her rockin’ bod. It was impossible not to admire her own reflection when she looked this bootylicious.

She threw on a striking red lip, some smokey eye shadow, and the sharpest winged eyeliner she could manage in her inebriated state. As the mice wrapped up their song, she was already collecting her purse and stuffing Hennessy shooters into her bra, ready to get the fuck out of the castle.

As she made her way out of the castle and down the cobblestone driveway, the confidence she felt in front of her mirror began to wane. She couldn’t help but steal a glance up at the candle-lit window, to the room where her husband was most definitely thinking about anything but her. Fiona felt herself boil over with emotion. What she needed was a night to forget it all. Forget Shrek, her queenship, her responsibilities. One night to forget everything.

She threw herself into the royal onion carriage with reckless abandon. She didn’t care if she mussed her hair, or smudged her makeup, or tore her fishnets. She just needed to get down and dirty on the dance floor. To let loose.

The carriage mufflers sounded off with an annoying pop as she rolled up to the ‘Rusty Guillotine’ in style; a notorious club with a reputation for attracting the grungiest of Far Far Away’s subjects. The bar was run by a sleaz-ball of a man with two eye patches and a name tag that read ‘Two Hooks’. He did not have two hooks.

All that onlookers could see as she first stepped out of the sleek, white onion carriage was the bold, cherry red of her stiletto heels situated at the end of a long, green, fishnetted leg. She was here to make an entrance, and she did exactly that. Mohawk and liberty-spiked heads turned from the line at the entrance of the club. She sauntered to the front of the line, the bouncers letting her through the doors without question.

The interior of the club was packed to the brim. The chaotic noise of heavy metal and the cacophony of voices from the crowd was a welcomed distraction from the thoughts that whirled in her head. The club reeked of beer, B/O, and ball sweat. Bodies bumped and writhed against her as she made her way to the front of the crowd, not that she minded a little booty bumpin’.

It was shows like this that really brought her joy. Senses drowned out, surrounded by a community of people who cared about nothing but rock and roll and alcoholism. It was so beautiful, she couldn’t help but shed a single tear. This was a group of people who really understood her free spirit. For the first time in a long time, she felt free, understood, seen, and fierce as hell.

She felt like an ogre goddess as she mowed her way to the front of the crowd with ease. She was six foot one with bricked-up muscles. It wasn’t exactly hard for her to push through the mob of fairytale creatures. Besides, she wasn’t afraid to pick a fight with anyone that stood in her way.

Fiona reached the end of the stage and began to climb atop it. A member of the stage crew attempted to stop her before she threw a punch to his temple, knocking him clean out. Without hesitation, she pulled herself onto the stage. 

Once up, she pulled a Hennesy shot from between her luscious titties, popping open the cap and downing it in one gulp. She bashed her head to the music, letting the punk spirit overtake her. Then, without hesitation, she took a leap of faith. 

Literally.

With outstretched arms, she let her body fall forward into the crowd. Whos and punks immediately put their hands up to support her weight. After some time, hands groping and grabbing every inch of her body, she began to move across the sea of people with ease.

It was the most peace she’d felt in ages. She closed her eyes, relishing in the music, the sounds and smells, the burn of alcohol in her stomach. Then, suddenly, she felt her head collide against something hard and fuzzy.

“Shit!” she exclaimed. She jerked her body reflexively and the next thing she knew, she was being dropped to the floor, drowning in the sea of punks and goth baddies.

“Damn, baby.” A stranger’s raspy voice sounded sensually from the ground beside her. They’d crashed into each other while body surfing, both of them abandoned by the crowd after their collision. She watched as the stranger got to his feet before offering her a fuzzy green hand. She accepted it immediately.

He tugged her to her feet with surprising ease. Caught off guard by his strength, she lost her balance and stumbled into his soft, furry body. The stranger steadied her by the shoulders, looking her up and down with his big, brown eyes.

“Ever been to a show before, sexy thang?” he chuckled.

Fiona huffed, removing herself from him to dust herself off and check to make sure her Hennessy bottles hadn’t shattered in the fall. Pulling two out and inspecting them, she huffed, “Obviously,” in response. 

“Coulda’ fooled me,” he joked.

She narrowed her eyes at his condescension. Popping the cap off one of her shooters, she gulped it down, maintaining eye contact with him. She hissed from the burn, then responded. “Yeah? Well what the fuck do you know?”

The stranger merely smirked at her annoyance. “A lot more than you think,” he responded, waggling his eyebrows. Both of them were sizing each other up, trying to outmatch the other.

Fiona didn’t want to admit it, but the smarmy man was shockingly suave. He reeked of rotted leather and stale cigarettes. It made her stomach flip with mosquito flutters. 

After a moment, the stranger broke their staring contest. “So ya got a name or should I just keep calling you sexy?”

Fiona deadpanned, but she couldn’t help the heat that flushed to her cheeks from the compliment. “It’s Fiona.” 

“Fiona, hm? Really… Rolls off the tongue,” he said, flicking his tongue out to reveal a brief glimpse at the piercing on his tongue. “I’m The Grinch.” 

She snorted, crossing her arms and jutting her hip to the side. “The Grinch? What is that? Some kind of title.”

“Okay, ya got me. It’s Ethan,” he admitted with an eyeroll. “Ethan Toothstain Grinch.” He made a show of taking an eloquent bow, holding his hand out to ask for hers. After a moment of hesitation, she placed her large hand in his long, furry one. Their green digits matched each other perfectly.

He looked up at her from beneath his luscious, green eyelashes as he pressed a gentle kiss to her hand with a devilish smile. 

Somewhere in Fiona’s mind, alarm bells chimed. This man spelled nothing but trouble, with his studded collar, single, black liberty spike, and irresistible charm. But she felt real beneath his gaze. Seen. And she couldn’t find it in herself to pull away.

*End of Backflash*

Fiona fought back tears at Shrek’s exit. She still loved him; always would. The moments they’d shared together over the years would remain in her head rent-free for as long as she lived. But those happy memories  couldn’t make up for the rift that had grown between them.

Memories wouldn’t keep her warm at night. Memories wouldn’t make her laugh. Memories wouldn’t uncover new parts of herself that she’d never known before. But the Grinch did. He made her feel wanted, and more. He made her feel capable; reminded her that she was a goddamned queen. If the Grinch could make her feel that way– want to make her feel that way– then why couldn’t her own husband?

The weight of it all wretched a sob from her. The pain, unbearable. She felt a warm, fuzzy hand settle on her shoulder.

“Fiona,” the Grinch whispered, her name a prayer on his lips. “ I know this wasn’t easy for you but… but I’ll be right here. Right by your side. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thang, boo thang.”

He pulled her into him, allowing her to bury her face in the crook of his shoulder. His cheek rested on the side of her head while he ran his fingers through her scarlet curls. He spoke with such assuredness and compassion. Fiona felt safe in his arms.

The Grinch led her away from the foyer of the castle and up to their room. They laid in bed together for the remainder of the afternoon and well into the evening, watching wordlessly as the sun set beyond stained glass windows.

Did she deserve any of it? From her husband’s neglect to Ethan’s comfort and affection– was any of it meant to be hers? Or was she just a deep, treacherous bog of despair pulling everyone down with her?

She shot up out of bed and gripped her hair aggressively. “I feel like I made a mistake!” she cried out. She looked over to the Grinch and saw a look of hurt on his face, instantly regretting her choice of words. She reached out to grasp his hands in hers.

“No, no, you’re not a mistake. You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. It’s just–” So was Shrek. She threw her head back in exasperation. “This is so confusing!”

The Grinch’s expression softened as he leaned in to wrap an arm around her. “It’s okay, love. I know what you mean. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Fiona leaned in to his touch. She nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes. It’d been a stressful day, and they were both exhausted. 

She heaved a heavy sigh. “You’re right. It’s just– I’m just…” Her words trailed off. There were too many thoughts in her brain and not enough words or energy to say them out loud. But the Grinch understood her.

Gently pushing her back into bed, he pulled the covers over her chest and smiled down at her gently. “You need to rest, darlin’. It’s been a long day for you.”

Fiona was about ready to break out into tears all over again. He was so good to her. But he was right. So she said nothing, and he blew out the candlelight, and the two of them drifted off to sleep.

POV- Shrek

Shrek woke up to a pounding headache– perhaps the worst headache of his life. The ogre ran a big, musty hand over his face and fought hard to open his crusty eyes. He let out a loud groan as he rolled over in his bed. Except it wasn’t his bed… It was far too plush, the sheets too soft. Was that Egyptian cotton? Where the hells was he?

Before he could finish blinking the sleep out of his eyes and fully orient himself to the situation, an arrogant, regal voice purred in his ear.

“Good morning, shnookums.”

“Oh, fuck!” Shrek exclaimed, clutching at the silk sheets and using them to cover his bare chest as if his massive ogre moobs hadn’t been on full display the night before. 

There, on the other side of the bed, stretched out languidly with his king-sized head propped up on a toothpick of an arm, laid Farquaad. His signature bob haircut lacked its usual tidiness, instead mussed and ruffled in all different directions. Bite marks and kiss-shaped bruises peppered his neck, his collarbone, all the way down to his shaggy-haired chest. He was glowing. 

“I can’t lie, babycakes,” he drawled, voice still thick and raspy from sleep. He traced circles into the sheets with his free hand, “I wasn’t expecting to see you again. You know, after last time?” The sultry undertones of the little man’s voice and the sensual mog of his face did something terrible to Shrek’s brain chemistry.

Realization dawned on Shrek’s face as memories from the night before came flooding back to him. Fiona. Her whore. The tavern. The drinks, and drinks, and drinks. Donkey’s voice of reason. Him not listening; choosing not to listen; choosing to drunkenly stumble through the streets in search of a particular short man’s dungeon and bad decisions he knew he’d regret in the morning. And boy was he filled with regret, amongst other things…

Of course. Of course the king of self destruction had found his way back into Farquaad’s bed. Again.

Shrek was snapped away from his thoughts at the feeling of a teeny, tiny, little index finger tracing down his chest. Farquaad continued on with a smarmy smirk on his face. “But I’m oh so glad you’re here. I missed that big, juicy green ass of yours.”

Shrek turned his body to lay on his stomach and bury his face in a goose-down pillow. “Oh my gods…” he mumbled. Maybe he could smother himself right then and there.

Farquaad tutted, smacking the ogre’s shoulder. “Oh come now, stud muffin. I know you missed me too.” His tone was assertive. He leaned in close. “Say it, Shreky-poo. Say you missed me too.” Shrek could hear the devilish smile in the short king’s voice as he made the command. He hated the way it sent a shiver down his spine. 

As much as he wanted to resist Farquaad’s effortless charm, he was just a man. A man who’d lost everything– his wife, his home, his kingdom, his dignity– in the span of a single night. In reality, it’d taken a lot longer for Shrek to sow the seeds of his own destruction. They grew in the months of distance between him and his wife, watered by his alcoholism and infidelity. Gods, did she know just how foul of a wretch he was? Had she always known? Or did she simply grow tired of waiting to figure out exactly who her husband was?

Pitiful. Pathetic. The bigger the juicy ass, the harder the fall. So what’d be the harm in falling just a little further?

Hesitantly, Shrek lifted his head from the pillow, turning his body to face Farquaad. “I… I missed you… M-muh Lord.” Shrek whispered the last words breathlessly. Old patterns died hard. Their relationship had always been taboo– toxic, even. The king of Far Far Away and the king of Duloc? It was unthinkable. But the tiny top had always had big plans for the green giant. And now, he planned to make sure he knew his place.

Farquaad chuckled darkly, satisfied. “Good boy.”