#⑊「 blood like liquid fire ◜ ( self )

[pearlymel]

Immediate disorder

Sum. You walked right into that trap. Did you know it was coming? Absolutely (not).

Warnings. NSFW, smut, fem reader, unprotected sex, noncon(?), slight nipple play, blood (on the lips), biting, idk what to make of this. 1.8k words.

Notes. Did you miss me? Jk. I hope I'm not too late on posting this. Anyway, will probably post a Rafayel day fic next!

Zayne's head snapped to the side as your fingers dug into his jaw, tilting his face at a sharp angle. The needle pierced his neck—hot, then cold, then a surge of searing heat that raced through his veins like liquid fire.

"Stop holding yourself back," your voice, almost a whisper to his ear, something gentle. A contrast to what you had just done. ".. Confront your true self."

He bared his teeth, a feral sound tearing from his throat as the drug took hold. His muscles seized, back arching against the unyielding chair. The restraints bit harshly into his skin, metal groaning as his body strained against them.

His eyes then flew open, hazel-green irises swallowed by black pupils. You stepped back, watching.

Zayne's chest heaved, breath coming in harsh pants. The drug pulsed through him, setting his nerves alight.

Confront your true self, you had whispered. As if he didn't know what that meant.

He was a warden no longer. He was a prisoner. A monster, forged in the crucible of a broken world.

Slowly, he turned his head back to face you, lips curling into a grin. The restraints creaked ominously as he leaned forward from his place.

His voice was a low rasp, "Is this what you wanted to see?"

He rose to his feet, the chains had held him rattled and strained, but did not break.

"Your mistake..." He took a step towards you, head cocked to the side. "Was thinking I was still sane.”

Shit. you try telling yourself that it will be okay, even though he could probably barely recognize you anymore.

you just had to find the activator, press it and he would be fine, right? The biggest challenge was, getting close to him.

With full force, you managed to grab him, pushing him right onto the chair where his back slammed into it, the air forced from his lungs in a harsh exhale. "You think..." he breathes harshly, as if sweating, "you can control this?”

One hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist. His grip was like a vice as he yanked you closer, until your face was mere inches from his own.

“where's the activator?” frustration evident in your tone, only to be met with a chuckle.

“why don't you.. touch me and find out?” He leaned in closer, right next to your ear, "If you fail, there will be consequences.”

That's it. You had a minute to search him, and you weren't going to give up until the end. Your hands caressed his chest, unintentionally, of course. The subtle touch made him hiss, but you decide to ignore it.

Thirty seconds left. Twenty. Ten.

You were terrible at working under stress, and he was going to snap. He was going to break. And you would be the one to bear the consequences.

Three. Two. One.

Zayne felt the chains shatter like glass, the sudden movement sent you stumbling back, but before you could get too far, his hand gripped the back of your head, grabbing your hair to crash your lips together into a bruising kiss.

It was no lover's embrace, but a violent claiming. His mouth slanted over yours, teeth and tongue and breath stealing into your lungs, one hand sliding up your chest to squeeze while keeping your head in place, making you moan helplessly.

Then, you're both on the hard, cold ground before you knew it. His knuckles grazing the concrete floor without realizing it as means to protect your head.

With a shake of his head, both of his hands now grip underneath your thighs to part them, to slot himself in between them before his teeth found the bare skin of your exposed neck.

A strangled gasp tears from your throat, “o-oh,” you want to pull him away, but even tugging on his hair won't make him stop.

He presses your thighs further, “this isn't how you imagined our first to be, hm?” He whispered against your lips before his teeth found your lower lip, tugging on it hard enough to elicit a pained groan out of you.

Until the bitter taste of copper reached your taste buds that he tried swiping it away with a soft glide of his tongue.

Zayne then buried his face between your chest while his hips tried rocking into you desperately, like it was too painful for him him to handle.

His hands that were underneath your thighs made their way up to squeeze your ass before his fingers dig into the fabric to pull it all down, “Don't deny me,” he murmured like he was out of breath.

He only lifted his head to rip your top off almost too easily, zayne could sense your hesitation, anticipation, all the possible overwhelming feelings that you couldn't name at once.

You're left with nothing but you're undergarments, your skin was starting to shiver, maybe from the cold, but also from his half lidded almost hungry gaze.

Your hand pushed at his side, still trying to find the activator, but he grabs your wrist, and his teeth tugs at the lace of your bra to pull down to expose your tit to his hungry eyes. For him to taste and devour.

“Zayne, please—” you grit your teeth together when his tongue rolled around your neglected nipple, the stimulation almost making your eyes roll back.

“Keep saying my name,” he growled, his fingers that almost fooled you to be a featherlight touch, moved to tug your panties to the side, enough to expose your cunt to him, not bothering to slide it off.

“The.. Activator.. Where..” you were almost losing your own sanity when two fingers parted your folds to find the little bundle of nerves hiding beneath them, and the minute he started rubbing without mercy, is when the first moan slips from your lips.

And Zayne is gone.

“I've held myself back for so long.. And now..” he hissed, freeing himself from the tight confinements of his black leather pants. His cock all leaky and red, as if ready to burst if he hears your sweet sounds again.

He wraps a hand around his thick shaft, rubbing his tip over your slick slit, teasing your clit which most definitely made you arch your hips further into him. Wanting, no—needing him inside you because this is all you were missing, no matter how much you tried denying it.

Your head swims back to the time Zayne had silenced the prisoners, carrying a powerful presence and voice, oh was it so hot that you literally clenched around nothing.

“h-haah—!” your eyebrows furrow, and your lips part when you suddenly feel full. While imagining your fantasies, you didn't even notice him thrusting in all the way, the intrusion making you clench tightly this time around his hard length.

The pain was sudden. Sharper than you had expected, a burning, stretching ache that stole the breath from your lungs.

But it was fleeting.

Gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a rush of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He started to move, slowly at first, then faster. Harder.

The wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, mingling with their ragged breaths and needy moans.

"Could stay here forever," he panted heavily while squeezing the plush of your thighs, his tip nudging deep inside that spongy spot on repeat that you couldn't help but cry out.

"Feels.. I-incredible." Zayne looked like he was out of it, eyes half lidded, almost rolled back with his head thrown back, and panting like a starving animal.

“Zayne, mmh—” your whimpers only drove him to snap his hips again and again, each thrust harder than the last. The force of it rocked your body, made your breasts bounce with each thrust that it was maddening.

Your toes curled when you felt the telltale signs of your orgasm approaching. Then, you glance down at his abdomen.

One last chance.

With all the strength left in you, you reach out to press against his abdomen where you were sure was the activator this time.

In an instant, the fog lifted.

The red haze that had clouded his vision, the primal, unchecked rage that had driven him to this point, evaporated.

He blinked once. Twice. His eyes, no longer black and lifeless, focused on your face.

But then all the feelings had become to overwhelming to bear, his hips faltered, and the force of his release made him whine quietly, the back of his hand covering his mouth.

His face, full of ecstasy, made you cum right on the spot as well, “ah shit—” you press your lips together, covering your face using both of your shaky hands as you moved your hips sloppily until you both completely stopped.

Then, a new realization dawned. A cold, hard truth that settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone.

He had hurt you.

The breath left his lungs in a shuddering exhale, and for a moment, he couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could only stare down at you with a dawning horror etched into every line of his face.

“No…” His voice was a hoarse, broken whisper. you could see the way his body started shaking when he slowly pulled out to not hurt you, and the way his shaky hands tried covering your chest up to maintain some decency.

He had never meant for this to happen. Never wanted to hurt you.

And yet, in his frenzied state, he had lost all control. Had become the very thing he had once sworn to destroy.

“F-forgive me.” he almost choked out, and you wouldn't believe it but.. Was he crying? His eyes were red, almost teary. And you feel like it was all your fault.

“I do, I do—” you reply in panic as you sit up, wanting nothing more but to bring him close into the comfort of an embrace.

“I will take care of you,” you both say at the same time, leaving both of you stunned.

But without a word, zayne tries sliding his hands underneath your knees, but he hesitates to even touch you again.

So he glances at you, as if asking silently for your permission. And you nod.

He slides his arms underneath your knees and back, carrying you out of this hell hole for maybe... another chance to prove himself. To show you the real Zayne.

[messenger-of-babel]

Reborn

Summary: Jason did what he swore he'd never curse upon anyone. It just so happened to be you he cursed in the process.

Word Count: 2.3K

Notes: Character death, greivous injury, language. I was actually so happy writing this one, I was thinking I was going to struggle with the prompt but it actually came to me with a lot less struggle than I was expecting. I'm a big Jason girlie so maybe this had a trace of self indulgence in there.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hurry the fuck up!" Jason yells at Tim, hands pressed on the centre of your chest, blood trickling through his fingers. He hates the way the warm liquid seeps into the fabric of his gloves, sticky and wet.

"I'm trying the best I can," Tim grits back out, relaying something through their coms line while he runs to your side, dropping to his knees beside your body in the car wreckage. "Holy…" he breathes out, eyes flicking over your form in concern. Your eyes are hazy and your face is ashy, paling from the blood loss.

"Jason, I don't think we-" he says, picking up one of your limp hands in his own, looking to his adoptive brother with pity.

"Shut up and do it." Jason grits back.

He wasn't going to lose you. Not like this. Not before him, not because of him.

Drop you to work, that's all he was going to do. That's all he was going to do. It was late at night, and he had patrol anyways. You were going in for a trial shift that night at the security company, something that could land you an executive manager role and get you out of that shitty job waiting tables. Something that could get both of you into a better apartment, more independent, the start of your life together. When you first started dating he was more than happy to throw Bruce's money around, the billionaire had more than he needed anyways, he wasn't going to miss it. Yet you had begun refusing after the first month, saying you wanted to be independent, and he fell in love right there.

And is this where it got you?

No. That was still all him. He had picked you up in a simple car since he was staking out some gang causing issues around West End and needed to go on stakeout. No reinforced glass, no secret bat gadget hidden in the glove compartment, just some tinted windows. So, who even saw you getting into his car? Well, what was supposed to be just dropping you at work turned into a car chase while you held onto anything you could, screaming in terror. It wasn't often that Jason would be the one getting chased, and under any other circumstances he would have thrown the car into gear and flipped the tables on them.

But you were in the car.

So, he threw it into reverse and ran as fast as he could. It had all been for vain, a burst tire and shattered windshield sent the car spinning out to a side street, flipping as it hit the curb. The screech of metal was deafening to his ears, the crunch of glass ringing out around him as the world flipped one… two…three…times.

His lungs burnt as he struggled to escape from the seatbelt, head throbbing from the collision on the dash before he looked over to you. His heart stopped in his chest, unable to even respond to the calls of Red Robin over his com link, who he had contacted the moment a gun had been fired at the two of you. "Sweetheart?" his voice cracked slightly, unable to go louder over the ball of fear in his throat. You didn’t respond as he clambered from his seat, arms coming around your back to support you and drag you from the car. he hated the way the image of you, splayed over the glass covered dash, had burnt into the deepest part of his mind. He had dragged you to the shelter of the car, blood boiling in his veins.

Anyone who had come to follow up was laid across the floor in seconds, Jason standing in front of your body like a guard dog. He blocked as much of your features as he could, taking out each gang member that came to inspect the crash with frightening efficiency. By the time Red Robin had arrived on the scene, Jason was already cradling your body in the shadow of the car, desperately trying to stop the bleeding from the bullet wound in your sternum. The bullet wound that he might as well have put there himself.

This was his fault.

"This isn't your fault, Hood." Tim says, laying his other hand on Jason's shoulder, muscled tensed and ready to snap. "None of us could have predicted-"

"Shut up and help," he hissed, fighting to stop himself from crying behind his mask. He hadn't felt this terrified since he was a kid, back in that warehouse. He was stronger than that now. Strong enough that surely, he could help you.

Jason wasn’t oblivious to the pained and pitiful look cast his way. "Hood, they're already gone." he whispers softly, hands coming down to gently cover his still compressed on your chest. Jason shakes his head. "No." he chokes out. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

"Yes." Tim says firmly. "I've…I've got the car. I'll bring it round before the GCPD shows. We can handle this. We can take them back to the cave, clean them up like they deserve-"

"I said No." Jason snaps, blood rushing in his ears. He knew you were gone. He could tell from the way your blood went tacky on your chest, the stream trickling into a standstill. The way your face was devoid of colour, making you look shades lighter than he knew you were. Your hands were limp, head tilted. What was the worst was the way your eyes stared up into him, glassy and fogged, as if cracking open his soul.

Why did you kill me?

Why me?

Why didn't you save me?

He knew you wanted to live, god, he knew you loved life. Loved life with him, and he loved it back in return. If only you had been given the chance he once was. "Bring the car." he chokes out, eyes burning with a fierce determination.

"What are you planning?" Tim asks, hesitant as he sees the way Jason's body is coiled, ready to strike.

"We're going to save them." He says softly, hand squeezing your lax one tightly.

God, he just hoped you weren't going to hate him.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"So, you tracked us down to ask for our services?" Thalia scoffs, circling the two of them. "Didn't think I'd have two birds on our doorstep, didn't your mentor teach you better?" she says disdainfully, eyes raking over Tim and Jason. Jason just holds your body closer, wrapped in a white sheet and cradled in his arms. Tim shifts uncomfortably, making Thalia's eyes gleam when she detects the weakness. "Oh," she purrs, almost delighted, crowding into Tim’s space. "You're off the record."

"This doesn't involve Batman." Jason gruffly says. "This involves me. This is my request."

Thalia's eyes flick back to him, but Jason doesn't flinch. He'd dragged Tim along as an accomplice, going dark on the radar as he returned to the alps, the one place he had sworn to never return to. To do the one thing he had told himself he would never force on anyone.

But he couldn't lose you.

"So, you think you can just show back up and ask to use the pits?" She asks, eyes flicking to your form in his arms. "My, you really are as dumb as you are bold, aren't you?" She hums. Jason remains still, eyes focused on the hooded woman in front of him.

"I'll owe you a favour." he says, without a beat of hesitation.

Red Robin's eyes widen behind him, domino mask unable to hide his surprise. "Hood, are you kidding? you can't just-"

"Shut it." Jason hisses back. "This isn't your decision. This is mine, consequences included."

Tim backs down only slightly. "You know what Batman will say. We can't trust these people; they'll use that favour to burn down Gotham. Think."

Jason tries to, he really does. He tries to see the big picture, but all he can see is fragments of you and your life together that was smashed the second he put you in that passenger seat. "I am." he says softly.

He could walk away now and save Gotham for sure, or he could stay and save his world.

Thalia sidles up to him, lips pulled into a smirk, like a snake rearing its head. "I could do you a deal if that's the case." she says, eyes sparkling like emeralds. "But you have to make good on it. You of all should know how we handle broken promises in the League."

Jason considers it for a second, before steeling himself. There was no other option for him.

"You have a deal."

"I knew bringing you back would be worth it." she smiles, like a cat batting a mouse between its paws. She turns, gesturing for them to follow her with two fingers. "Come." she commands, beginning a clipping pace through the carved stone hideout. Jason follows wordlessly, and Tim soon does a moment after.

"How long have they been dead?" she calls, not even looking back.

"Less than a week." he replies almost immediately. Thalia smiles at that, dark and curious.

"Oh? Snappy, I see. Who exactly is under that blanket to make you run to this corner of the world so quickly?" she grins, stopping at the entrance of a deep set of stairs. She stalks closer, steps echoing and deliberate. With a quick motion she pulls back the sheet from your stiff corpse, eyes raking over your face.

"A lover?" she asks, eyebrows raised at the way Jason holds you closer instinctively.

"None of your business." he replies gruffly, making her roll her eyes.

"We should've taught you how to be subtle." she murmurs, beginning to descend the stairs. He follows into the darkness, shadows beginning to give way to a soft green glow, bouncing off the carved stone walls. Tim takes in the room they step in to at the bottom, a grand, ornate space, yet somehow still appearing crude. Death clings to the atmosphere, cold and uninviting.

"Hood, is this where-" he begins quietly, but Jason cuts him off.

"Yes." he says as he follows Thalia deeper, feet stopping by the edge of the glowing green pool. Panic swirls in his gut, making his senses set themselves on fire. His mind races as he tries to control his own fear, to stop the metallic taste from rising in his throat. Flashes of his own time in the pool pry themselves into the forefront of his memory, making his fists clench in your sheet. He pushes them all down, taking a deep and shaky breath.

This was for you.

"Don't forget, you owe me." Thalia warns, gaze haughty as he kneels by the pool, unwrapping you from your blanket. His heart wrenches seeing your stiff body, eyes still open as if to judge him. When he's untangled the sheet from you, he slowly begins to slip your body into the water, Tim running his hands through his hair in worry behind him.

"Jesus…" Tim breathes, anxiety radiating off him as he watches your body submerge under the green glow of the Lazarus Pit. Jason doesn't move from his kneeling position, Thalia beside him as he scans the water for a sign of life, a sign of movement. A sign of you. After a few tense moments, it happens. A hand breaks through the surface, making Tim jump. Your fingers are clawed in pain, but he chooses to focus on the way your colour returns to the digits. You appear from the pit like you're drowning, eyes rolled into the back of your head as you breach the water. Your mouth is open in a wide gasp, screaming in unmeasurable pain. His heart tears itself in two and his stomach is in knots hearing you make that kind of noise, writhing and clawing at your face.

Thalia watches you scream and double over in the pit, making a mocking pout as madness clouds your eyes. "Aww, how cute. You're just like each other, a match made in hell."

"Shit…" Tim exhales, pacing back and forwards behind him. "Batman isn't going to like this. This isn't right, this isn't right…" he mutters, panic written all over him. Jason drowns both of them out, extending his hand softly towards you, leaning precariously over the waters to gently grip your wrist and guide you his way. He could fix you. he could fix this. He could make it all better.

He guides you until you're in front of him, the familiar burning smell of the Lazarus pit stinging his nose, a smell he struggled to describe yet it haunted him on random nights. His eyes soften under the mask as he sees the panic in your eyes, the shock of coming back paired with the madness fighting to grip your mind. The sound of your cries and screams echoed around the room, a sound so full of pain and fear that he couldn't help but flinch.

He could teach you, the way he was taught. He could help you get your feet back the soft way, a way he wished he could have been offered. He'd do everything in his power to make your second chance as painless as possible. He'd nurse your mind back if that's what it needed, calm the rages late at night if you had them. He'd take you in any form you came to him, growing pains and all. He'd teach you how to live again.

He only hoped that you wouldn't hate him forever for bringing you back.

[moonlitstoriess]

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem!reader (mini-series) Part 1

Summary: When Y/N, Azriel’s secret half-sister who lives far away, and Eris Vanserra form a strategic contractual marriage to further their own agendas, what begins as a carefully crafted arrangement soon becomes more complicated. As they pretend to be a perfect couple, the lines between duty and desire blur, and neither is prepared for the consequences.

Next part

See masterlist

Warnings: none for now, I think.

A/n: Soo I believe that because Eris is the ultimate enemies to lovers boy, what other character would be best suited for this type of story if not him? 🤭

What was life if not a series of obligations and chains?

Eris swirled the wine in his goblet, the deep red liquid catching the firelight like blood. A fitting image, he thought grimly. Everything in the Autumn Court reeked of it—blood spilled for power, blood spilled for survival, and the invisible blood that stained every action taken under his father’s rule.

He stared into the wine, the rippling surface reflecting the gilded dining hall around him. The room was filled with laughter and chatter, the High Lord’s officials and their daughters basking in the false warmth of Beron’s presence. Eris wanted to set the entire place aflame, to reduce it all to ash.

“Are you listening, boy?”

Beron’s voice cut through his thoughts like a whip, and Eris blinked, his fingers tightening around the goblet. He didn’t bother hiding his irritation as he looked up, his sharp gaze meeting his father’s.

“You were saying?” Eris drawled, his tone laced with mockery.

Beron’s lip curled, his fiery eyes narrowing. “I said, it’s time you marry. The Autumn Court needs an heir.”

Ah, this tired song again. Eris leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance even as his jaw tightened. “I didn’t realize the court was on the brink of collapse without me married off. Or is it simply that the officials are tired of their daughters gathering dust?”

A few low chuckles rippled around the table, but Beron’s gaze burned like embers. He leaned in and whispered to his son, “I didn't order for all these females to be brought here like herds of sheep for nothing. Careful, Eris. Your insolence won’t serve you well when you’re High Lord."

Eris’s mouth curved into a cold smile. “And yet it serves me well enough now.”

Beron’s fingers flared with fire, but Eris didn’t flinch. He’d played this game with his father too many times to be cowed by his temper.

As the conversation shifted to other matters, Eris returned his attention to his goblet, though his mind was far from at ease.

Perhaps his father would die soon. That would certainly solve a number of problems.

The conversation at the table turned to the next ball Beron was hosting—a thinly veiled excuse for court officials to parade their daughters before Eris like prized cattle. He ground his teeth at the thought, his fingers tightening around the stem of his goblet until the fragile glass threatened to shatter.

“We’ve extended invitations to the most prominent families,” Beron announced with a self-satisfied smirk. “I trust you’ll make an effort to charm them this time, Eris. We can’t afford your... indifference.”

Eris forced his face into a neutral mask, though his thoughts burned like the fires of the court. Charm them? For what? So they could shove their scheming daughters into his arms, hoping to cement their families’ power at his side?

He knew these men. Knew how they whispered behind Beron’s back, how they lusted for a slice of the Autumn Court’s rule. And their daughters—pretty, vapid faces who smiled too sweetly and batted their lashes with calculated precision. None of them wanted him. They wanted the title, the crown, the prestige.

“I’ll do what’s expected,” Eris replied flatly, his voice betraying nothing.

Beron’s smirk widened, as though he’d won some unspoken battle. “Good. It’s time you understood your duty, boy. This is about the future of the court, not your personal whims.”

Personal whims. Eris resisted the urge to laugh. As if his father cared about anything beyond his own legacy.

Hours later, Eris stood alone in the dimly lit study, the flames in the hearth casting flickering shadows against the walls. He stared into the fire, imagining Beron’s face in the dancing embers.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door. He turned to see his mother stepping inside, her elegant frame draped in rich autumnal hues. She regarded him with a mix of weariness and concern, her sharp eyes softening only slightly as they met his.

“I see the evening went as expected,” she said quietly, closing the door behind her.

Eris let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, it was delightful. Another ball to look forward to, another round of power-hungry men throwing their daughters at me like bait.”

His mother sighed, moving to stand beside him. “You know he’s right, Eris. As much as I loathe him, you are the future of this court. It’s time you—”

“Don’t,” Eris snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. He turned to face her, his amber eyes blazing. “Don’t tell me you’re siding with him now. You’ve always said to wait for my mate, that the bond is sacred—”

“And it is,” she interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “But Eris, you can’t live your life waiting for something that might never come. This court needs you to lead, and you can’t do that alone.”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “So what? I’m supposed to pick some scheming girl with a pretty smile and call her my wife? Let Beron manipulate her like he manipulates everyone else?”

“I hate it as much as you do,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “But this is the reality of our world. You can’t change it by standing still.”

He pulled away, stepping back as if her touch burned. “No. You’ve always told me to hold out for my mate, that she’s my true other half. And now you’re telling me to abandon that for... for duty?”

Her gaze faltered, and for a moment, Eris saw the sadness beneath her composed exterior. “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “duty must come first.”

Eris stared at her, his chest tightening with anger and something far more painful. He turned back to the fire, his voice low and cold. “Then maybe I don’t want this court. Maybe I don’t want any of it.”

His mother didn’t leave immediately. Instead, she lingered, her silhouette bathed in the warm glow of the firelight. She always had an air of quiet resilience about her, like a tree that had weathered too many storms but refused to break.

“You’re angry with me,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady.

Eris let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Angry doesn’t quite cover it.”

She sighed, her expression guarded. “You think I don’t understand how you feel? That I haven’t spent centuries trapped in the same gilded cage?”

Eris turned to her, his amber eyes blazing with frustration. “Then why are you saying this? Why are you pushing me toward the very thing you despise?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Because I know what it means to survive in this court. I know what it takes to hold onto even a sliver of power. And if you think Beron will let you ascend without a fight, without someone at your side to help you weather the storm, then you’re deluding yourself.”

“I don’t need a wife to survive his schemes,” Eris shot back. “I’ve been outmaneuvering him and his sycophants for years.”

His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Outmaneuvering isn’t the same as leading. One day, you’ll be the High Lord, and when that day comes, you’ll need more than cunning to keep this court from tearing itself apart.”

“Don’t act like you care about this court,” Eris said sharply. “You’ve hated it for as long as I can remember. Hated him. Hated everything about this place.”

Her face hardened, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—pain, perhaps, or regret. “You’re right. I hate it. But I stayed for you, Eris. For you and your brothers. Do you think I endured this hell for my own sake?”

He flinched, her words cutting deeper than he cared to admit.

“I stayed,” she continued, her voice trembling ever so slightly, “because I wanted to give you a chance. A chance to be something better than him. To rise above his cruelty and show this court what true strength looks like. And now, after everything I’ve sacrificed, you want to throw it all away because you’re too stubborn to see the bigger picture?”

Eris’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. “This isn’t about me being stubborn. It’s about not letting him dictate my life. I refuse to let him win.”

“And you think refusing to marry will stop him?” she asked, her tone sharp. “He’s already won, Eris. As long as he holds the title of High Lord, he’ll keep manipulating you, keep twisting everything to suit his whims. The only way to beat him is to take his crown—and you can’t do that alone.”

He turned away from her, staring into the fire as if it held the answers he so desperately sought. “I’m not like him,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “I won’t let this court turn me into what he is.”

“And you won’t,” she said, her voice softening. “But you can’t change this court without wielding its power. You have to play the game, Eris. Even if it means making sacrifices.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Sacrifices. That’s all we ever do, isn’t it? Sacrifice our happiness, our freedom, our lives for this damned court.”

His mother stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said softly. “Stronger than him. Stronger than me. And one day, you’ll make this court something worth fighting for.”

Eris didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the flickering flames. Her words stirred something in him—a deep, aching need to prove her right, to show her that her sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. But the weight of his father’s shadow loomed over him, suffocating and unrelenting.

After a long silence, his mother gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and stepped back. “You don’t have to like it, Eris,” she said quietly. “But you do have to face it.”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the ever-present firelight.

The endless parade of extravagant gatherings had become a well-known routine in the Autumn Court, each more suffocating than the last. Another evening, another dreary ball. Eris stood at the center of it all, draped in the formal attire his father insisted upon, an expression of mild annoyance barely hidden behind his regal facade. His father, Beron, had decreed that Eris must choose a suitable wife, one from the political elite, as the latest power struggle played out. For Beron, it was all part of a calculated game, a way to secure more influence for the Autumn Court—and a way to control Eris.

Males, their faces full of ambition, tried their hardest to charm Eris, while women, desperate to catch the Autumn Prince’s eye, all but draped themselves at his feet. It sickened him. Every glance, every touch, every word was a play for power. Eris knew they weren’t interested in him; they were interested in what his title could give them. His sharp gaze swept over the room, taking in the sycophantic expressions, the forced smiles, and the hunger for power in every corner.

Beron watched from his place at the head of the room, pleased with the spectacle, his eyes shining with the gleam of conquest. Beron had made it clear: these gatherings were not just for entertainment. They were strategic. He would not rest until Eris had chosen someone from this selection, a female who could help solidify the family’s dominance and advance the court’s agenda.

But Eris could feel the walls closing in, the pressure mounting. He could hear his father's voice in his mind, always there, like a shadow he could never shake: “It’s time, Eris. The court expects this. You must comply.”

There was a veiled threat beneath those words. Beron had already made it clear that if Eris didn’t choose, if he didn’t bend to his will, there were others—his younger brothers—who could take his place. It was a subtle threat, but one Eris understood all too well. His father’s cruelty and ambition knew no bounds.

The weight of the possibility hit Eris hard. His life had always been a game to Beron, but the stakes were growing higher.

The ball dragged on, but Eris had long since stopped paying attention to the endless parade of hopeful females. With a glass of wine in hand, he withdrew to the balcony. He stood in silence, staring at the empty expanse of the Autumn Court below. The festivities continued inside, a blur of noise and laughter, but all Eris could hear was the pounding of his own thoughts.

What is life?

The question lingered in his mind, an idle thought born from the monotony of his existence. What did it all mean? The power, the position, the endless battles for influence—none of it seemed to satisfy him. All his life, he had been surrounded by people who wanted something from him. All of them were vying for his favor, for his loyalty, for his title. His position had always been a means to an end, never something people cared about for Eris himself.

He was the Autumn Prince, yes. But who was he beneath that title? Was he just another pawn in Beron’s game? Or was there something more to him—something his father never saw? A part of Eris longed for something different, something real.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he stared into the swirling depths of his goblet, watching the liquid ripple and shift. I want a partner. Not a pawn. Not a game. He wanted someone who could see him for who he truly was, someone who wouldn’t be blinded by his position and the power that came with it. But that, he knew, was impossible.

Who would want me?

His fingers tightened around the goblet, and his thoughts turned bitter. He knew the truth: to everyone else, he was nothing more than a means to an end. His bloodline, his name, his legacy—it was all they cared about. Even his own brothers, some of whom had never hesitated to remind him of his place in the family, saw him only as the heir, the one who could secure the future of the Autumn Court.

But how much of a fool he was to believe that tonight he would once more go back to his bedchambers, sleep and this whole ball circus will repeat once again the following evening.

Because it did not.

Something worse happened.

Something Beron told him that very evening.

The day after his father’s ultimatum, Eris was still reeling. His mind raced with frustration, his usual calm demeanor cracking under the weight of Beron’s command. Beron had made it clear: Eris would go to Montesere.

A place far removed from the harsh, cold winds of the Autumn Court. Any of the courts, really. Montesere, with its tropical warmth, golden sands, and sun-drenched lands, was like another world—a place of exotic beauty that felt almost like a dream. Beron had decided that Montesere’s ruler's daughter would be a suitable match for Eris, a political pawn to further cement the Autumn Court’s power and control over the region. Trading, influence, military alliances—Beron wanted it all, and Eris was the one who would secure it.

Eris had argued, of course. He’d protested, pacing in the grand hall of the Autumn Court, his voice sharp and full of anger.

“I will not do this,” he had told his father, fury burning in his veins. “You cannot force me to marry her. I will not be part of your schemes any longer.”

Beron had smiled, cold and calculating, as always. “You have no choice, Eris. You will go, or I will find someone else to take your place.”

Eris’s fists clenched, but he knew his father would follow through. The threat hung in the air like a sword, ready to fall. So, despite every instinct screaming to fight back, Eris had been forced to relent. It was either obey, or lose everything.

The night before he left, Eris had gone to his chambers in a haze, too angry and too betrayed to think clearly. But as the first rays of sunlight broke through the curtains, he found himself boarding a ship bound for Montesere, the tropical city a distant blur on the horizon.

The journey had been long, but as his ship docked in the vibrant city, Eris couldn't help but feel a simmering sense of discomfort. Montesere was a tropical paradise, yes, but it felt foreign in every sense. The air was thick with the scent of spices and wildflowers. The sun was relentless, beating down on the city like an oppressive force, making everything feel hotter than it should have been.

The city sprawled before him—warm, vibrant, and alive with color. The sounds of bustling markets and street vendors filling his ears. It was so different from the cold, rigid courts of his homeland, where everything was ordered, controlled. Here, there was freedom in the chaos. The sun shone fiercely in a sky of brilliant blue, and the city sprawled with narrow streets and grand palaces, lush gardens overflowing with life.

The architecture was stunning—a mixture of Moorish arches and vibrant murals that covered every surface of the grand buildings. Despite its beauty, Montesere gave off an undercurrent of tension, like a simmering pot of water on the verge of boiling over. Everything was too lavish, too colorful, too alive for Eris’s taste. He was used to the cold, biting winds of Autumn Court, the grey sky, and the rigid control of his father's rule. Montesere was an unknown entity, and he found it deeply unsettling.

Eris and his men walked through the city’s bustling streets, his boots making a steady sound against the cobblestones, but his mind was far from the sights before him. He wasn’t interested in the markets with their endless rows of goods, the open-air gardens that teemed with exotic plants, or the vibrant street performers who drew crowds of curious onlookers. He wasn’t here to admire the landscape.

His father had insisted on this alliance with Montesere. Beron had been pushing for months, envisioning it as a strategic move to gain control over trade routes, secure valuable resources, and extend his influence into territories far outside of the Autumn Court’s domain. And the key to that power was the ruler’s daughter—a female named Leona, Beron believed would make the perfect bride for Eris, a political pawn to further his own ambitions.

Eris had argued, of course. He had told his father that he didn’t care for some marriage of convenience to a woman he didn’t even know. He had protested that he wasn’t some puppet to be controlled and that he had no interest in taking yet another step toward tightening his father’s suffocating grip on his life. But Beron’s threats were sharp, and the weight of them had forced Eris into submission. In the end, he had been left with no choice.

Now, here he was, standing at the grand gates of Montesere's ruler’s palace, feeling the weight of his father’s will settle on his shoulders.

He had been instructed to meet with the ruler first—no pretense of formality, no chance to wander the city or take in the sights. It was straight to business.

As he approached the palace, the doors were already swung wide, and he was ushered inside by two sharply dressed guards. The marble floors gleamed beneath his boots as he was led down vast corridors with vaulted ceilings, adorned with intricate patterns that glimmered in the sunlight filtering through open windows. The palace was grand, more so than Eris had imagined, but it felt suffocating in its excess. Every corner seemed to shout wealth, power, and decadence—a sharp contrast to the order and structure of his home.

The king of Montesere was waiting for him in a large, open courtyard. The man’s presence was commanding, his dark eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and controlled power. He stood tall with a regal air, his robes of gold and royal blue trailing behind him as he spoke.

“Prince Eris,” he greeted, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of authority. “Welcome to Montesere. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

Eris met his gaze, offering a tight, polite smile. “As uneventful as one could expect.”

The man studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Come, let us discuss the matters at hand. There’s much to be done.”

They moved together toward a long table set with fruit and goblets of drink, though Eris had no desire to indulge. His mind was already miles ahead, racing through the consequences of his father’s machinations.

It wasn’t long before the ruler finally turned to introduce his daughter.

As the doors of the grand hall swung open, Eris was met with the sight of a woman who could not have been less interested in him. She walked in with an air of quiet dominance, her posture regal, her gaze sharp and unyielding. Her skin was kissed by the sun, a deep golden hue that glimmered like the sands of Montesere’s beaches. Her black hair was coiled into intricate braids, and her eyes—dark and intelligent—flickered with a disinterest that sent a strange ripple through Eris’s chest.

She didn’t even glance in his direction at first, her focus solely on her father. The king gave a small wave of his hand, signaling her approach.

“Eris, this is my daughter, Leona” the king said smoothly. “I trust you’ll find her quite the capable match for your endeavors.”

Eris was about to offer the usual pleasantries when he noticed her subtle shift in stance. She glanced at him, and there was nothing warm in her expression—nothing even remotely welcoming. It was clear from the beginning that this was going to be a difficult conversation, and Eris could already feel the simmering tension between them.

She stepped forward, her chin slightly tilted upward, and looked at him with a cold assessment.

“Prince Eris,” she greeted, her voice clipped and filled with restrained disdain. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Eris didn’t know what to say at first. He was used to being the one in control of a room, used to women falling over themselves for his attention, but here? This female, wasn’t even pretending to be polite. She didn’t care about his title, his name, or what he had to offer.

“I’m sure your father has already told you why I’m here,” Eris said, keeping his tone neutral. “But I’d rather not waste either of our time.”

Her gaze narrowed as she tilted her head, clearly unamused by his bluntness.

“Oh, I’m well aware of why you’re here,” she replied coolly. “You’re here to do as your father orders—arrange some sort of political union. How quaint.”

Eris’s eyes sharpened, intrigued by her lack of filter. “And you don’t seem at all interested in that.”

She gave a wry smile, almost a smirk but before she could reply, her father gave her a nudge and pushed her away while sighing and leading Eris away, talking about anything and everything.

He hadn’t wanted to come here. But Beron’s orders had been clear: Don’t return until they agree to the marriage. But what marriage?

Their first meeting was brief. Eris had been led into a sitting room, where Leona sat, her posture rigid and uninviting. Her dark eyes—unwavering and cold—studied him for a moment before she even acknowledged his presence.

“Prince Eris,” she said with a slight nod, her voice carrying an edge of indifference. “A pleasure.”

The words were a formality, one Eris had heard countless times before, but there was no warmth, no attempt to make him feel welcome. She didn’t even stand to greet him, as if he wasn’t worth the effort.

Eris had forced a polite smile, but his patience was already wearing thin.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, his tone smooth, though he felt no warmth toward her. “I trust we can begin discussing the matters of the courts?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze flicking briefly to the ornate tapestries hanging on the walls. “The matters of the courts, yes,” she said, her words deliberate. “I have no interest in them, but I will endure.”

Eris had been taken aback by the bluntness of her words. No pretense, no sugar-coating. She had no interest in politics, in alliances, in him. And, frankly, he didn’t blame her. This whole arrangement reeked of manipulation and control, something he knew all too well.

Over the next few days, they met daily, as was expected. Eris stayed in the lavish guest quarters, while Leona continued with her duties, often walking the gardens or attending to the administrative needs of the palace. The first few conversations were business—exchange of trade information, a few discussions about potential negotiations—but it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t interested in any of it.

Every conversation felt more like a challenge. Leona constantly looked down on him, her words laced with sarcasm and condescension. She would laugh when he mentioned the complexities of the Autumn Court, or the intricacies of their alliances with other courts.

“What does any of your courts know about real power?” she’d sneer, her lips curling slightly with amusement. “You’ve been wrapped in your little bubble, thinking you control everything, and yet, here you are, in our world, where things work differently.”

Eris found himself both frustrated and intrigued. Still, he continued the charade, as his father had ordered. He met her every day in the grand gardens of the palace, a sprawling, lush oasis that contrasted sharply with the cold stone of the Autumn Court. They walked together, discussing politics in shallow, often biting terms, neither of them giving an inch.

And then, on their third meeting, something shifted.

Leona led him through the sprawling gardens once more, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. As they passed through an ornate archway into a more secluded part of the palace grounds, Eris couldn’t help but notice the subtle tension in her shoulders. She stopped suddenly, and he almost collided with her back.

“Enough of this,” she muttered under her breath, though Eris could still hear the frustration in her voice. “I can’t do this anymore. You need to leave.”

Eris blinked, taken off-guard. “What do you mean? Leave?” His heart skipped a beat, not in fear but in genuine confusion. “I can’t leave until—”

“I know,” she cut him off, her voice like ice. She turned to face him, her expression hard. “Until you marry me, is that what you were going to say?

Eris’s confusion deepened. “Why? Why the hell would I leave?”

Leona’s eyes flashed with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You really don’t get it, do you?” she sneered. “I’m not interested in this marriage. Not in you, not in anything this ridiculous alliance is supposed to bring. I like females, not males!”

Eris stood there, stunned, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t seen that coming. Lesbian?

Her face was flushed with irritation now, her jaw clenched as she continued. “This whole thing, this marriage—it would never work. Not because you’re not… well, you, but because I don’t find males appealing. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to marry anyone.”

Eris struggled to process what she was saying. His mind was still racing. “But… why the hell didn’t you tell your father that? Why not just tell him the truth?”

Leona’s eyes narrowed, her frustration turning into something sharp, almost dangerous. “Because it’s not that simple,” she snapped. “He doesn’t care about me. He wants the alliance. He wants the trade routes, the power. I’m just a pawn in his game, just like you are.”

Eris’s anger flared. This wasn’t just about the marriage anymore—it was about the game his father had been playing with his life. He had been dragged all the way here, only to find out that the princess had no interest in males to begin with. That she had been trapped in this entire situation for a reason that had nothing to do with him, or his father’s plans.

He took a step closer to her, frustration dripping from his words. “So, I’m supposed to just pack up and go because you’ve been lying to everyone about this? Because you’re too afraid to tell your father the truth? And what, I’m just supposed to walk away after being dragged halfway across the world to sit here in this tropical hellhole?”

Leona’s eyes flashed with irritation. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t owe you or anyone else an explanation. But I do owe it to myself to not get forced into something I don’t want. This marriage would be a nightmare for both of us.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you just tell your father from the start?!” Eris’s voice was rising now, his frustration spilling over. “Why drag me all the way here for nothing, when you knew the entire time that this was never going to work?”

Leona crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze unwavering. “Because it wasn’t just my choice, Eris. You were chosen because of your father’s power. And I was chosen because my father wants to strengthen our position in the courts. So don’t stand there, pretending like I’m the only one who’s playing a game.”

Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly, as she sighed in frustration. “I’m not afraid to tell him the truth. I’m just trying to avoid the inevitable fallout, alright? I’m trying to keep the peace in my kingdom, at least for now. But you? You need to leave. You’re making this worse.”

Eris stood there, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his mind swirling. For the first time, he actually saw the weight of the situation—saw it for what it was. It wasn’t just about the marriage. It was about her life, her choices, her struggles that had nothing to do with him.

Still, his frustration simmered under the surface. He had been dragged all this way under false pretenses, and now he was being told to leave because the princess was attracted to women, not men. It was absurd. His father’s games had never felt more pointless than they did in this moment.

“What happens now?” he asked, his voice tight, his anger barely contained. “You expect me to just turn around and walk away?”

Leona’s eyes softened for a moment, but only briefly. She uncrossed her arms and stepped toward him. “I don’t want to be trapped in this world anymore, Eris. You need to understand that. The longer you stay, the more complicated everything gets. For both of us. So yes, I’m asking you to leave. For both our sakes. I will tell father that I rejected you."

Eris stared at her, the weight of her words settling deep into his chest. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this—this was a far cry from what he had been imagining.

For the first time since he’d arrived in Montesere, he wondered if he might have misunderstood everything.

The heat of the Montesere sun beat down on Eris as he walked through the bustling market square, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Leona’s words had taken root in him, stirring up a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to deal with. He was pissed—hell, he was furious—but he wasn’t about to act on that fury just yet. The last thing he wanted was to reveal how off-balance he felt, especially to the small entourage of his father’s men who had accompanied him. No, he’d keep his irritation hidden, at least for now.

As he moved through the crowded market, his boots clicked against the cobblestones, the chatter of vendors and merchants filling the air. The scents of exotic spices, fresh fruit, and roasted meats mingled in the humid air, making it both overwhelming and suffocating. The faces of Montesere’s people were a mix of curiosity and indifference as he passed, his dark cloak drawing the occasional wary glance.

His hand rested casually on the hilt of his blade, a habit born of the tense nature of his travels, though right now, he didn’t think it would do him much good. Still, the constant pull of the surrounding chaos was a reminder that he was far from home, far from control. But as he wandered deeper into the market, looking for anything to distract him from his thoughts, his gaze caught something unusual.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye. A figure—small, quick—darted between two stalls. Instinct kicked in before he could process the scene. Eris’s eyes narrowed, and his steps quickened as he moved in pursuit of the mysterious figure. The market was loud, chaotic, with people shouting at one another over prices, but he was focused, following the figure as it weaved through the crowd, dodging market-goers effortlessly.

He was close now, almost within reach, when the figure suddenly took a sharp turn down a narrow alleyway, disappearing from his view. Without missing a beat, Eris veered off course, following the alley. The shadows were deep here, the walls of the buildings rising high on either side, creating a tunnel of coolness that contrasted with the heat of the sun. He pushed forward, his muscles tense, every sense alert.

As he rounded the corner, he collided with something solid—someone solid. He cursed as his hand flew out instinctively to steady himself, grabbing the nearest source of balance. And then, in a flash, his fingers tightened around a wrist.

“Let go of me!” a voice hissed sharply, a blend of anger and surprise.

Eris looked down to see a female—small (atleast shorter than him) with sharp eyes that gleamed with an intensity that matched his own. She was dressed in simple yet sturdy clothing, something that didn’t stand out in the crowded market but suggested she was no stranger to movement or danger. Her hair was messed up after all that running, poking out from different angles, and there was something wild about her, a certain fierceness that intrigued him even as he held her wrist firmly.

“What are you running from?” Eris demanded, his voice low but commanding. He didn’t release her, not yet, his eyes studying her with growing curiosity.

The female yanked her wrist free from his grasp with surprising strength, her eyes narrowing in irritation. “None of your business,” she snapped, taking a step back, her hand instinctively reaching for something at her waist.

Eris’s brow arched, impressed despite himself. “You seem awfully keen to keep your distance,” he said coolly, studying her carefully. “What’s the rush? Or are you just trying to avoid a charming conversation?”

She shot him a look that could’ve cut through steel. “You want to talk? Fine. But first—” She paused, her gaze flicking to the alley behind him.

Eris turned just in time to see a pair of thugs, rough-looking men, appear at the end of the alley, eyeing them with clear hostility. Their eyes immediately locked onto the woman in front of him, and a heavy silence fell over the space.

“I’m not going back,” the female muttered under her breath, and her voice—barely a whisper—carried a weight of finality. But before Eris could respond, she had already moved.

She darted forward with the speed of a striking serpent, her elbow crashing into his chest, forcing him back just enough to clear the space. “Get out of the way,” she hissed, and there was no time to argue.

The two men lunged, and instinct kicked in. Eris reacted without thinking. With a swift, fluid movement, he drew his blade from its sheath, his movements sharp, precise. The first thug tried to grab for him, but Eris’s blade met his wrist with a crack, sending the man staggering back in pain, clutching at the wound. He barely had time to focus on the second man, who had already launched himself at the female.

But before the man could land a blow, the female was on him—her hands quick and efficient, her movements graceful yet deadly. She had a dagger in her hand that gleamed silver in the dim light, and with a quick twist, she disarmed him and sent him sprawling to the ground with a frustrated grunt.

Eris stood there, momentarily stunned by how easily she had handled the thugs. His grip on his sword loosened, and he stepped back as the last thug, now unconscious, crumpled to the cobblestones.

The stranger turned to face him, breathing heavily but not with any fear. If anything, she looked… amused. “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you to deal with them,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eris’s chest rose and fell with a mix of adrenaline and surprise, but his tone was steady. “And you’re lucky I didn’t leave you to deal with them alone.”

She gave him a look, still incredulous. “I was perfectly fine. Just didn’t want to waste my time. And you,” she added with a smirk, “seem like you could use some lessons in the art of survival.”

Eris’s lips curled into a half-smile. “I’m not the one running from a fight.”

Her eyes sparkled with a challenge, but she didn’t respond, merely tucking her dagger back into her belt. “Name’s Y/N,” she said, offering him a glance that seemed to measure him up. “I don’t have time for pleasantries, but thanks for the assist.”

Eris hesitated, then gave a slight nod, acknowledging her presence, though still not entirely trusting her. There was something about this female—her calm under pressure, her lethal precision—that intrigued him. Perhaps it was more than just a shared moment of chaos.

He straightened, his voice colder now, but still with an edge of curiosity. “Eris. I don’t make a habit of getting involved in other people’s problems.”

Y/N smirked again, and for a moment, their eyes locked. “Maybe you should start,” she replied coolly, then turned on her heel and began walking away without a second glance, her movements as fluid and confident as ever.

Eris stood in the alley, watching her disappear into the crowd, a sense of intrigue buzzing at the back of his mind.

The midday sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling marketplace of Montesere. Y/N moved through the stalls, her fingers brushing against the fabrics, jars, and herbs that made up her trade. She had a small corner booth where she sold trinkets—jewelry made from wood and bone, simple but beautiful things—and herbs her mother harvested from the nearby woods. Life here was quiet, mostly peaceful, though nothing spectacular. Middle class at best, but comfortable enough for someone who had learned how to blend in.

She wasn't anyone important, nor did she ever wish to be. Her mother, a simple merchant who had once caught the eye of a powerful Illyrian male-her father-had raised her in this small, thriving town, far from the war camps of the Illyrian mountains. She never knew her father.

The only thing she knew of him were the whispers her mother had shared, tales of a fleeting romance that ended with Y/N's birth. Her father had never returned to them after that night.

Azriel, her half-brother, would never know she existed. They had the same father, but different mothers. He was born into the cold, rigid world of their father's estate in the Illyrian mountains, a place where power and cruelty thrived.

Yet he had risen above them, had become a legend among the world. He was everything Y/N was not.

She didn’t hate him. How could she, when she didn’t even know him? What she hated was the man who tied them together. Their father, who had left her mother to struggle in silence. Their father, who had chosen to raise Azriel in his home, while Y/N was cast aside entirely. She was nothing more than a secret, a mistake. A child of a fleeting affair, abandoned and forgotten.

Y/N had spent her life trying to avoid the idea that her bloodline tied her to such a man. She never went near the Illyrian war camps, never even thought of them. Montesere, far from the courts and the suffocating politics that ruled them, was where she belonged.

Her mother had kept them hidden, not wanting her daughter to be drawn into a world where she wasn’t wanted. And so, Y/N had grown up far from the Illyrians, living simply as a merchant, living simply as herself. She had learned to make peace with her life—or at least, she tried.

A customer approached, snapping Y/N back into the present moment. She offered the bundle of rosemary with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, her thoughts still tangled in the web of her past. She quickly took the coins and returned to her stall, arranging the trinkets with practiced hands. She had to keep going, keep moving forward. She had her life here, in the town that had accepted her. A life without the burden of court politics, without the weight of her bloodline, without the shadow of her half-brother lingering over her.

The sun had already set when Y/N was summoned to the palace. She had no intention of attending any royal feast—she wasn’t a noble, after all—but the request came from the kitchen, where she had worked for the past year as a second job. The head chef had insisted that her skills were needed to prepare some delicacies for the evening’s banquet, and Y/N didn’t dare argue. She needed the work, even if it meant entering the heart of the opulent palace she avoided whenever possible.

She quietly slipped in through the small side door meant for staff, her worn shoes clicking softly on the stone floors of the servants’ quarters.

“Y/N, get upstairs,” called the kitchen head, a short, no-nonsense woman whose gray hair was tied back in a tight bun. “One of the servers called out. I need you to take the platters to the royal table.”

Y/N’s gut clenched. She had no interest in serving the highborn—especially not after the way they looked down on people like her. She’d rather stay in the back with the heat and the smells of roasted meats than parade in front of royalty and their guests.

“I’m not meant for the royal table,” she protested, wiping her hands on her apron and glancing at the mess of ingredients that still needed attention. “I’m fine down here, really.”

“You’re going, and that’s final. We need someone who isn’t afraid to move quickly. You’ll be fine.”

She opened her mouth to argue further, but the look on the head’s face told her it wasn’t worth it. Reluctantly, Y/N grabbed a tray, carefully stacking the food, and made her way up through the servants’ stairs. Her feet were heavy as she ascended, the grand sounds of music and laughter becoming louder the higher she climbed.

When she finally reached the top floor, she barely spared a glance at the grand banquet hall that stretched before her. The sight of the highborn nobles lounging at tables, laughing and drinking, only reminded her of how little she belonged in such a place.

She found the corridor leading to the royal table and, with a sigh, took a deep breath before entering.

It was just her luck that, as she approached the table, she nearly collided with someone.

A deep voice rumbled above her as she froze in place. “Careful.”

She glanced up, heart thumping, and saw none other than Eris--the stranger from the day before.

For a split second, their gazes locked. He stood tall, an imposing figure even amidst the other nobles, his sharp features sculpted into a casual but commanding expression. His lips curled into a smirk when he saw her.

“You again?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

Y/N’s chest tightened, but she managed to keep her composure. “What are you doing here?” she shot back, her tone colder than she intended. “Shouldn’t you be off enjoying yourself?”

Eris chuckled lightly, unbothered by her cool response. “I’m here on business, just like everyone else.”

The words were quiet, but their meaning was clear—Eris wasn’t here just to socialize. There was something more behind his presence, something sharp and calculating that she couldn’t quite place. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she wouldn’t show weakness.

“Right,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the platters in her hands. She had no time to exchange pleasantries with the likes of him. “Excuse me, Your Highness.”

But as she tried to move past him, one of the servers bumped into her from behind, sending the platters nearly toppling. She had barely enough time to steady herself before one of the dishes slid right off the tray, splashing onto the floor in a mess of sauce and roasted meat.

The noise echoed across the hall, drawing the attention of several nearby guests, including Eris, who watched her with an unreadable expression.

“Lovely,” she muttered under her breath, already kneeling to clean up the mess. She had no interest in making a spectacle of herself, but the eyes of the nobles burned into her skin. The last thing she needed was more attention.

Eris, however, stepped forward, his gaze flicking between her and the mess she was attempting to clean up. After a long beat, he knelt beside her, offering a hand. “Let me help.”

Y/N didn’t expect the gesture, and her hand froze mid-air. She glanced up at him, surprise written across her face. “I can handle it,” she replied sharply, brushing the dirt off her hands. She wasn’t about to accept help from someone like him, especially not someone who looked at her with disdain.

But instead of backing away, Eris’ gaze softened, just a fraction, and he smirked. “I can’t let you ruin your evening, can I?”

Her jaw clenched, but she said nothing as he helped her clean up the mess. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but notice how carefully he handled the delicate porcelain of the dish, as though he didn’t want to make a bigger mess.

Once the platter was back in her hands, Y/N stood, brushing the dust from her skirt. “I don’t need your charity,” she said curtly.

Eris stood too, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You don’t seem to want much of anything, do you?” he said, his voice almost teasing.

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “What is it you want, then? To mock me in front of your friends?”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into that wry smile. “You misunderstand, Y/N. I’m not here to mock you.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them crackled in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Y/N wanted to snap at him, to demand that he leave her be, but instead, she took a deep breath and turned away.

“I have a job to do,” she muttered, not looking back.

As she left the room, her heart still racing from the close encounter, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. Something she couldn’t quite explain.

The morning light filtered in through the window, gently coaxing Y/N out of her sleep. She stretched lazily, dreading the day ahead. The rhythm of her life had been predictable lately—work, more work, and quiet nights alone or with her mom. She had almost grown accustomed to the solitude. Almost.

As she brushed her hair and pulled on her outfit, a sudden, sharp knock on her door sent her heart into a rapid flutter. Who could that be at this hour?

Reluctantly, she moved toward the door, her stomach knotting. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, especially not this early. With one hand resting on the doorknob, she muttered to herself, “Great. Another surprise.”

She swung open the door, only to freeze at the sight of the last fae she expected.

Eris Vanserra.

Her heart skipped a beat, but she quickly masked it with a glare. “What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, crossing her arms. “How did you find me? How did you even know where I live, you psycho?”

Eris smirked, as usual, unfazed by her harsh words. “A prince has his ways,” he said with a wink, stepping closer to the door. “Wouldn’t want you to think you’re living in complete obscurity.”

She stepped back, disbelief crossing her face as she exhaled sharply. “You’re insane. I don’t know you. I don’t even know why you’re here.”

“Let me in. I’m not here to waste your time,” he said, his voice more serious now, though still laced with a hint of amusement.

Y/N hesitated, a thousand questions racing through her mind, but she sighed and stepped aside, allowing him in. “Fine. Whatever. But this better be good.”

Eris walked into the modest home, his sharp eyes scanning the room with an almost calculating gaze. It was humble, far from what he was used to in the luxurious halls of the Autumn Court. Yet there was something about the quiet simplicity of the place that intrigued him.

He turned to Y/N, who stood in the doorway, her arms still crossed. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” she asked, her tone sharp, distrust obvious in her eyes.

He walked over to the small table, setting himself down with the confidence of someone who had always been in control. “I need you to marry me.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, her brows furrowing. “What? Are you out of your mind?”

He leaned back, unfazed by her reaction. “Not quite. You see, I have a little problem. My father is—” he paused, his face hardening for a moment, “—insisting that I marry. He is Beron, high lord of Autumn. But there’s a catch. There’s always a catch. I can’t marry just anyone. I need someone specific.”

She blinked, confusion and suspicion creeping into her voice. “What do you mean ‘someone specific’? What does that even have to do with me?”

He shrugged, his smirk never wavering. “You, Y/N. You’re the perfect candidate. A marriage of convenience, one that benefits both of us. You see, my father insists that I marry someone with noble blood, someone who can stand by me and help me secure my place as heir. That's exactly why he sent me here as a last resort after I refused every female he threw at me. He wanted me to marry princess Leone."

Y/N looked at him like he’d just grown another head. “You’re insane. Why would I ever agree to something like that? What would I get out of this?”

Eris’s smile deepened. “Well, a lot more than you think. For one, I can offer you stability—security. I know you’re taking care of your mother, and I have resources at my disposal. I can help her.”

Y/N froze. The mention of her mother sent a shiver down her spine. Her mother’s health had been deteriorating slowly, a sickness that she couldn’t seem to shake, and it weighed heavily on her. “How do you know about my mother?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

Eris didn’t flinch. “I’ve been doing my research. I can help her get the care she needs, the treatment you can’t afford on your own. If you agree to this marriage, we can keep her healthy, and I can make sure she has everything she needs.”

Y/N’s heart beat faster, but she shook her head, not wanting to show how much the offer affected her. “I’m not a noble. I’m not a princess. Your father won’t accept me. He sent you here to marry our princess, not some nobody.”

Eris’s gaze turned thoughtful, and then, with a small, calculating smile, he said, “My father doesn’t know that. He’s never seen the princess from Montesere. He’s never seen the world beyond the seven courts. But you? You could pass as the princess’s sister. Or, we could say half sister. Perhaps a cousin or a distant relative would be acceptable as well.”

That struck a nerve. Y/N stared at him in disbelief. “You’re insane if you think this will work.”

Eris leaned forward slightly. “Not really. Even if he tries his best not to show it, the king of Montesere is in failing health. His daughter, Leona, has been taking control of the kingdom. She and I had a... disagreement, and she’s made it clear she’s not interested in marriage. But she can help us. Trust me, she has her own motive. She can make it look convincing that you’re the princess’s relative. What kind? you can choose that yourself."

Y/N felt the weight of his words, the possibility starting to form in her mind. But she shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. “But why me specifically? Why would you choose me over someone else?”

He took a breath, his eyes steady on her. “You have a certain... resilience. You’re not easily manipulated. And unlike the other female's I’ve met, you don’t fawn over me. That’s rare, you know.” He let out a soft laugh. “Plus, I'm pretty sure you’re smarter than most think.”

Y/N turned her gaze to the floor, trying to process everything. The situation felt so complex, like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, not sure if she should jump or step back. She needed time to think.

“I don’t know,” she said, rubbing her temple, her mind a whirlwind. “I can’t just do this. You’re asking me to lie—to pretend to be someone I’m not. And-and marriage?!”

Eris stood and walked over to her, his expression softening just a fraction. “Trust me, Y/N. You don’t have to pretend. Just a little... adjustment, and we can both get what we want. You’ll have your mother’s care, and I’ll have the alliance I need. My father’s not going to let me out of this marriage arrangement. I need someone, and you’re the one who makes the most sense.”

Y/N looked up at him, her decision weighing heavily in her chest. She could almost feel the pull, the necessity of this arrangement, especially with her mother’s condition.

“If you don’t agree, nothing will change. But if you do... you’ll have the power to change everything,” he added, his tone insistent but strangely soft.

She took a deep breath, the weight of it all crashing down on her. "Fine," she said, reluctantly. "But this doesn’t mean I’m going to like it.”

Eris grinned. “I didn’t expect you to. But we’ll make it work.”

Later that evening, Eris leaned back in the plush chair of his room, a glass of amber liquid swirling lazily in his hand. The flickering firelight danced across his sharp features, his expression one of triumph.

He pulled out a crisp sheet of parchment, the Autumn Court insignia emblazoned at the top. Dipping his quill into the ink, he scrawled out a short, deliberate message:

Father, Your incessant nagging has finally borne fruit. The marriage is set. Expect us soon. -E.V.

A smirk curled his lips as he folded the letter, sealing it with wax. He held it up to the firelight for a brief moment, admiring his handiwork, before handing it to the waiting messenger at the door.

As the messenger disappeared into the night, Eris leaned back once more, a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. “Got what you wanted, Father,” he muttered to the empty room. “Let’s see if you choke on it.”

The flames crackled louder, as if in agreement, while Eris’s mind began spinning the next steps of his plan. The game was far from over—it had only just begun.

And Eris….Eris would make sure his plan unfolded perfectly.

----------------------------------------------------------

Taglist open!

[fan-goddess]

hello!could you write a reaction to the dragon's house × !fem!reader, when she was flying over the sea with the dragon and one of the enemies was on the ship and shot from a crossbow.

(she and her dragon are alive but slightly injured)

Aegon,Aemond,Jacaerys Velaryon-romantic love

Alicent,Daemon,Rhaenyra,Helaena,Laenor Valeryon-platonic love

sorry if there are any mistakes! I hope everything is clear💝I've actually been thinking about this for a long time💥

HOTD characters reactions of when reader is hurt

The summary: The characters each find out during your usual flight around kingslanding that you were shot down by some people belonging to a certain group that hate the Targaryen traditions and believe it to be an abomination.

A/N: They’re all personalised and hopefully different backstories, but have given reader the same dragon in all of them as making dragons are hard. The wound is also pretty much same, but the severity is altered in some places. In the platonic ones I made reader call them mother or father, since I made them a parent. Some of these are very different as I expanded on some more and developed others. You can tell which.

This ain’t fully proofread we die like Luke!

Taglist: @valeskafics, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee @targaryenbarbie

Warning: Wounds, various gore mentions, incest, kissing, tried to make it gender neutral and lack of descriptions but there are some scattered about! (if I miss any let me know)

Aegon Targaryen:

When Aegon heard the news from his mother who’d rushed to inform him of your sudden injury, he all but sprinted to the infirmary where you were being treated by one of the leading maesters.

“My love, are you alright?!? I am so sorry my love I should have insisted to accompany you! When I find the man who did this to you I shall rip off his head and feed his insides to Sunfyre and Shrykos!” He declares, the words tumbling quickly with how much rage flooded his body at the sight of your wounded self. You could barely keep up with him if you were being honest.

“Aegon, my sweet husband, it is fine! ‘Tis merely a flesh wound!” You insist, yet wincing as soon as the reassurance falls from your lips.

“And yet here you are heavily bleeding, and in very much pain! You should take some milk of the poppy!” Aegon says, looking around to find the bottle, even when you try and insist you were fine. “If you were fine you’d be with me, in our bed, safe and unharmed! So don’t argue with me wife or my wrath will be misguided!”

You merely humour him by sipping slightly at the small contents of the cup the maester had passed to you. Yet still, you can’t deny that the liquid had its desired effects, as your previously aching wound now significantly dulls down to a mere small throb once in a while.

“Now wife. Tell me who hurt you.” Aegon demands, his eyebrows furrowed and his grip tightened on your body as he insured you would be unable to get away from him.

“Just some idiotic men thinking themselves higher than us my love. They shot at me and Shrykos from their ship when we least expected it with bloody crossbones of all things, and somehow barely managed to skim us. Yet they somehow did not expect the very large dragon to get angry that their rider and themself was just attacked with no prior warning. Shrykos certainly made sure to enact on our lovely families motto. By the time she was done with them, there was nothing left but fire and blood sinking to the bottom of the sea.”

Aegons face slowly turns more and more relaxed, and by the end of your tale he’s practically grinning for joy as he kisses you deep on the lips. “That’s my bloodthirsty wife!” He mumbles against your lips, forgetting all about his past aggressions to make you feel as safe and as loved as you could be in his arms. The maester that continues to awkwardly stand their waiting to finish wrapping your arm be damned.

Aemond Targaryen:

He finds out before anyone else, as he tends to wait for you after your dragon rides if he’s unable to go with you that day. So when you come back later than usual with blood dripping down your arm and half an arrow sticking out of you, he certainly is very angry, and very much willing to get on Vhagar and hunt down and kill those who dared harm his wife. Yet he knows he must stay calm for you.

He notices how you try and mumble your dragons name under your breath, so when he makes it past one of the dragon keepers he makes sure to let them know that Shrykos may be in need of some healing. He assumes by the way your mumbles quieten after he says the order that that was what you were trying to tell him. Yet when he actually looks at you Aemond quickly realises you’ve actually fainted from blood loss.

Aemond rushes you to the Maesters room where he insists only the best work on you, even though he couldn’t afford to be picky what with you bleeding out in his arms and all. Though after a few threats and lot of claims regarding his dragon, the maesters quickly manage to remove the arrow and stem the bleeding whilst you continued to lay unconscious on the healing bed. Aemond stayed by your side the entire time, holding your hand tightly in an act of reassurance. Even though you were still unconscious.

He stayed with you the entire time though. Still holding your hand even when he fell asleep. When you eventually woke, three days after you were injured, Aemond was sure to reassure you that you were safe. Even though by the tenth time you were very ready to smack him.

“Tell me ābrazȳrys who did this too you. Vhagar has been ready for the taste of flesh since I found you. I am sure Shrykos too is ready for the thrill of the chase of those who harmed both her and her rider. Tell me, so I can make sure we can tear them limb from limb.” His words drip malice, and yet there is distinct comfort within them. Aemond has never truly been able to show his affection towards you with displays of anything other than action. And in this moment, it just so happens that action involves heavy bloodshed and possible carnage.

“Those men who hale from the vale. The ones claiming our traditions to be an abomination. A sin in the eyes of the seven. They surprised me and Shrykos as we flew above the seas and got some good strikes. But don’t worry ñuha jorrāelagon. Me and Shrykos made sure to burn them to blood and ash before we needed to flee back to kingslanding.” You attempt to smile to reassure your husband, but if anything it appears to make it worse as you wince at the pain suddenly flaring through your whole right arm.

Aemond stays quiet as he makes sure to force you to drink some milk of the poppy.

“Ābrazȳrys. If you were to die, I would have gone to the brink of insanity. I would’ve gone to those peoples homes and burned them all to the ground for what they have done to my wife. To the future mother of my children. They have harmed you though. The have scarred you. And for that offence alone, I cannot allow them a single more moments of breath. I cannot allow them to live.” Aemond storms off leaving you laying there in half shock and half admiration. You knew he would be true to his word. Which is why when not even a day had passed since Aemond had left, you’d heard whispers of what Aemond had done, and you smiled and thanked the gods for a husband like yours.

Jacaerys Velaryon:

If there was one characteristic you could say your husband embodied to the fullest, it would be loyalty. As no matter how many other women, maids and nobility alike, threw themselves at the future heirs feet he always ran back to you.

Even when other men such as the Lannister’s attempted to charm you with their admittedly horrible, yet according to them successful attempts, Jace was always there with a watchful eye, making sure all knew who you belonged too.

He was protective too. A dragon while not in appearance but definitely in spirit. Jace would always find a way to make sure you were safest whether you wanted him to be involved or not. Even this noon when you wanted to get one last dragon ride before dinner, Jace still insisted there was no need. Yet your stubbornness knew no bounds it seems, as while his back was turned you made quick speed to where Shrykos usually slept and flew her into the great distance. A mere speck in the sky before Jace knew what had happened.

You had started the flight laughing with the biggest grin on your face, eager to see the sights from the sky. Yet of course things turned worse as men from one of the many religious groups of the seven kingdoms took notice of you and your dragon, and decided to shoot you with their admittedly massive weapons.

You dodged the best you could, and yet with a scream from both you and Shrykos, you realised you were both hit.

“DRACARYS SHRYKOS! DRACARYS!” You screamed, satisfied when you hear the hells and the screams of the men and the ships bellow. With your good arm, you steer Shrykos to the direction of dragonstone and order the instructions, before all appears to go dark.

When you wake, all seems strangely normal. That is of course, before you see the giant bandaged wound that is your arm. You can see a hint of red peeking from the bandages and are about to see if you could rewrap it, before Jacaerys comes through and with wide eyes realises you are awake and well as you can be.

“My love!” He shouts, running over and encasing you in his arms. Not hearing the low hiss you make when his hands clasp around your still admittedly sore arm. “Where have you been!? You’re hurt!” He yells, finally taking noticing your blood that steadily pools to the surface. “Let us get you to the maesters!”

As much as it hurt you to have Jace pull you like he did, you merely let it all happen so not to cause an event bigger fuss of you than what he already is making. Yet when you get to the maesters chambers and nearly find yourself fainting, that’s when you suddenly understand your husbands worry.

When you wake up though, it’s the feeling of Jaces familiar warmth that settles you as you gaze on his sleeping form. Yet as you wake, so does he it seems. As not even a few minutes after you’ve woken Jace is quick to rise with you. His eyes wide and worried as they roam you for anymore possible injuries you may possibly somehow have hidden.

“Are you alright my love?!” He asks, his eyes still roaming for even a moment of weakness from you. “There maesters took care of your arm and the arrow. And I heard word from the dragon keepers who tell me Shrykos is healing dutifully from his wounds!”

“Good.” You simply say, hissing slightly as you sit up and try to keep yourself grounded. “I’d kill then if she wasn’t.”

Jacaerys laughs at your threat, and his face looks almost serene as he just looks at you. His eyes going soft as his hands continue to hold yours. It’d be an almost affectionate moment had it not been for the sudden flare up of pain in your arm.

“Fuck!” You yell, hissing once again as you’re reminded of why you’re even in the maesters room in the first place. “It is alright husband I’m fine!” You insist seeing the worry now marking his face.

“I will worry when I want.” He simply says, kissing you on the top of your head before moving to sit next to you on the bed. His head resting on yours as he puts his arms around you. Your eyes shutting as a sudden hit of exhaustion hits you, yet you welcome it fully as Jaces arms feel just so welcoming and calming.

Alicent Hightower:

Alicent had always been like a mother to you. Caring for you when you were sick and making sure that you were always in your highest possible health. It was probably why she’d insisted since you were young to fully call her mother, even though you were not biologically related to her.

Whenever she heard about even the slightest of injuries though, she always worried relentlessly about the damage. Which is why when you appeared before her clutching a bleeding wound from your shoulder, you’re quite honestly surprised she hadn’t dropped from shock.

“Oh my darling what has happened?!” She’d gasped, frozen in shock as she stood there not knowing what really to do.

“Bastards on their boats took a few shots at me and Shrykos whilst we were on our morn flight. They got two good shots at us to hurt us but don’t worry. Before we got here Shrykos managed to give them what was coming for them…” You groan, holding your shoulder in your hand that has now from the lack of adrenaline, has begun aching dramatically.

“Oh never mind the men I care only about you!” She fusses, coming closer before stopping half way, staring between your shoulder and your pained face. Maybe Alicent will drop from shock after all.

“SOMEBODY GET THE MAESTERS!” You hear a voice yell, before all appears to go dark before your eyes. When you wake though, it is as if the light is blinding you. You blink a few times to ground yourself, and it’s with a sudden surprise you realise that you feel a familiar warmth on your hand. You turn your head slightly, stiff from the lack of movement you think, and realise Alicent is staring at you with great worry on her face.

“Are you feeling alright my darling? The maesters have cleaned and sewed up your wound, but according to them it shall take a while for it to fully heal. You must tell me dear girl, in detail, what happened out there. What did those people do to you?”

“After me and Shrykos took off, we flew to the stormlands. We were drifting round shipbreaker bay, when those men the council warned us over took notice. Crossbows the size of my arm began shooting at us mother, so I am grateful they managed to get me and Shrykos only once.” At the mention of your dragon, your face turns to worry. Yet before you say anything, your mother quickly moves to interrupt you.

“Your dragon is safe my love. The dragon keepers have been keeping me up to date on her healing, and she is steadily heading to full recovery. The arrow has been removed fully, and the wound has stopped bleeding.” She says, her face betraying her as she is unable to hide her distaste of your dragon.

“Thank you mother, I appreciate the consideration. I know you have no love for Shrykos, nor any of your children’s dragons.” You say, your honesty true as you smile in thanks and understanding.

“You’re welcome my heart…” Your mother smiles, her hand reaching out to hold yours. Which while you admittedly want to shy away from, yet you push through your discomfort to allow your mother this moment that you know your adoptive sister would not have allowed.

“I do not want you to fly unaccompanied anymore my heart,” Alicent begins, shushing your with a single movement when she sees you about to harshly protest. “I have discussed this with your brothers and sister, and they have all agreed. Aemond has already taken the duty on his ever eager shoulders, and has said he will ride with you tomorrow morn at your usual time. It may be in your best interest to thank him next time you see him.”

“Of course mother…” You sigh, already dreading Aemonds smug face and wanting to punch it. Yet you withhold yourself from groaning out loud only from your mother’s sake, who is still holding your hand with intended comfort, even though she is doing nothing but make your blood pump fast around your body. Still, you say nothing. Allowing her to believe she is comforting you with a motherly smile on her face.

Daemon Targaryen:

Daemon had always possessed an amusingly short temper. It was especially tested though whenever it regarded to you. Whenever you got yourself hurt as a child, whether than was to do with training or just an accident in the halls, he always demanded to know the man behind your pain. It’s why you weren’t at all surprised when he reacted that same way when you flew back to Dragonstone and stumbled towards him with an arrow stuck in your shoulder blade.

“Who has dared to harm you zaldritzos? Tell me so I can show them what the exact consequence is for messing with a dragon. I am sure caraxes is already fuelled with my anger alone and is ready to face those who dares spill such precious blood.” Daemon snarls, his face unable to hide its anger as he holds your body steady so it won’t suddenly collapse.

“Bastards from the bloody ships on the bloody sea. Got us good… got us good…” You slur, every word feeling forced from your very gut as your eyes grow heavier and heavier.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes zaldritzos! Don’t you fucking close them!” You hear him snarl once more. But still, you cannot resist the temptation of sleep as you disobey your father and close your eyes.

When you find yourself waking, it is Daemon is standing by you while you slept. His eyes hard and stern as they observe you.

“I suppose you’re mad?” You can’t help but say. Your face admittedly ashamed as you stare to the floor, unable to hold his stare.

“Of course I am mad!” He yelled, refusing to allow you to turn your head away as he forces you to make eye contact with him. “My daughter has gone out without telling me, and she has gotten herself hurt the same way soldiers are hurt in wars!”

“I am sorry father!” You say, tears brimming in your eyes as the disappointed and anger shines through his. “I cannot control where those bastard men sail-“

“But you can control where you fly!” Daemon yells back. His voice rough and frustrated as the inner dragon inside him comes out. “I have taught you better than this zaldritzos! I have been teaching you how to ride that dragon of yours since you were a mere child! So why was it you were no doubt flailing about the sky like an amateur, when I know you could have done better?!”

“I’M NOT LIKE YOU!” You shout, shoving your father away as he stares at you with an expressionless face. “I am not a great leader, or a great dragon rider! I am still learning father! My lessons have not yet stopped being taught! Those men on the ships who shot at us were the ones you had warned us about. The ones claiming our great traditions to be an abomination and deserving of punishment. Me and Shrykos did not know their affiliation as we flew above them. Only when the arrows began to fly for our heads did we realise… I got an arrow in the shoulder, which has now since been removed. Shrykos though listened perfectly and managed to get out of there without any particularly damaging wounds. Still, my anger shon through her, and we managed to light the whole of the fleet up in flames before we flew back home. Where of course, you found me…”

Daemon is silent throughout your rant, yet by the end, when you’re breathless with how quickly you spoke, his hand is placed on your non-injured arm in an unfamiliarly comforting manner.

“I know you are not like me zaldritzos. While I have made you in my image, I hardly expected it to be your only outcome. You have become strong. You have become a fearsome warrior able to bring honour to our family name and our ancestors. I suppose… I may have forgotten that I too have made mistakes. I am sorry zaldritzos…”

The tears that had brimmed earlier in your eyes now tear down your face now that you hear your fathers words. His pride. So you do the only thing you can think of at that moment to show your appreciation. You take your arms and place them around Daemons waist, pulling him into a hug where your head is against his chest. Thankfully his arms seem to automatically go around your own body, and you can’t help but find this act comforting and safe.

“Thank you…” You can’t help but murmur.

“I would never let anything hurt you…” He murmurs back. Words which to anyone else may sound meaningless, but to you, you know they hide your father’s true feeling of care.

Rhaenyra Targaryen:

Rhaenyra had always been a sort of mother to you. A light to guide you in the darkest of your days. Whenever you took ill or had an injury, it was always she who stood by your bed, holding your hand in her own. Even though both husbands and loyal guards warned her of her possibly falling ill herself. Not that she ever did somehow though.

It was like that now. That afternoon, you had decided on a whim to take Shrykos on a fight around the coasts bordering the land surrounding Dragonstone. Yet it seems you coincidentally forgot Daemons talk about the rising threat of a religious group following faithfully the followings of the seven, as you tried to fly past them calmly and peacefully. Shrieking in fear when you realise it was not a harmless fly that flew past your face just now, but a very deadly steel-tipped arrow.

You barely made it out of there alive. The only injuries you yourself sustaining being a few arrow nicks on your shoulders, and the worse of it being a shallow puncture from one of the few successful shots. Shrykos though took most of the hits. Her rage seething the more those pathetic men tried to harm both her and her rider. It was quite satisfying you must say, when you flew away with the fresh smell of burning corpses still behind you, lingering on your clothes.

Yet when you got back home and were standing in front of your mother, that satisfaction quickly changed to a strange sort of guilt when you see her horror struck face.

“What has happened my darling!” She tells, taking ahold of your arm to look at your injury while you yell at her to try and say you were fine, even though you wince as soon as she yanks you towards her.

“Bloody men on the coast of Gull Town decided to shoot at us from their fucking boats. They got only a few good shots before Shrykos managed to get to them. By the time we left, we ensured they became fire and ash. I doubt there are any men alive after that….” You say, barely able to stand as the sudden blood loss reaches you.

You’re barely able to think as your mother brings you to the castle hanging on her shoulder. Soon, maesters surround you whilst your mother fusses by your bed to the left of you. She insists and demands certain things, but by the end, your grateful to feel the pain in your arm significantly lessen not only due to the lack of wooden arrow, but also due to the large amount of milk of the poppy that was pretty much forced down your throat.

“Is it all better now my darling?” Your mother asks, putting your hand between her own to soothe you as if you were a small child who’d scuffed their leg falling on some loose gravel.

“It is fine mother!” You insist. Even smiling as you play the part of the healthy child, able to bounce back from any injuries. Yet somehow she can still manage to see through your facade.

“Are you sure?” She asks again. Her brow raised in questioning as she makes you feel like a young child again. Small, and helpless as you cry to mother.

“Yes I am fine!” You firmly say, taking your hand from hers and placing it on the cold clinical bed sheets. Already missing the familial warmth your mother’s hands had provided you with. “I do not need you pressing!”

“Okay my love. I believe you.” Rhaenyra smiles, acknowledging her child’s want for independence. Moving from the chair she previously had sat on so she can place a quick kiss to the top of your head and smile fondly at the way your nose scrunches. “I will leave you now my love. The maesters had said you’ll fully heal by the moons next turn, but you’re fit to leave the bed tomorrow morn. I’ll visit you then.”

As quick as Rhaenyra leaves, you find yourself already wanting her motherly touch to tell you it’s okay. Your legs tucking under your chin as you hold yourself under the covers, letting your eyes shut so hopefully you’re able to wake up tomorrow by your mother’s voice.

Helaena Targaryen:

Compared to all your other family members, it has always been Helaena you were closest too. A close bond forging between the two of you since girlhood that not once has ever been broken.

You were with her when she claimed Dreamfyre, just as she was there for you when you claimed Shrykos. You also made sure to try and be with her whenever she experienced one of her, moments.

Yet that morning, you were way too busy trying to get ready for your usual morn flight to be with her when she took what the queen would call, a funny turn.

‘Blood of the dragon lost twice over. Beware the boats from bellow filled with men of hate.’

She’d seen your injury and the fire coming from your dragons mouth, and being the anxious person she was, she waited at the dragon keeps entrance with her hands fiddling with each other.

When you fly in holding your arm to try and stem the blood, getting off with difficultly as you try and not fall, you almost scare yourself when you turn and suddenly find yourself face to face with Helaena, who holds a bandage ready to treat you with it.

“Give me your arm…” She softly asks, waiting for you to release your arm from your grip so she can slowly and carefully take the arrow from your arm, choosing to ignore your vocal cries of pain so she can make sure to get the arrow out. When she does, she chooses to just drop the bloody wooden chunk to the floor so she can quickly wrap your now gushing wound, which she cleans with a slightly damp clothe that can’t have been out of the water bowl for long.

“What happened?” She asked while she cleaned your red streaked arm.

“Do you remember those men Aemond warned us about? The ones who hate us for our heritage?” You ask, waiting to hear Helaena unique hum to show she’s truly listening. “Well when I was flying by Tarth, those men were in there boats and obviously spotted me before I spotted them. So they shot at me till they hit me.” You shrug, regretting it soon as you did as you hiss at the sudden flare up of pain.

“It’ll hurt badly. I didn’t manage to take any milk of the poppy from the maesters, so we’ll probably need to visit them soon.” Helaena simply says, giving you a smile before she takes your hand in her own. An act you cannot say in words how much it means to you, given how you know of her usual revulsion for physical touch.

So you stay silent. Allowing her to lead you to the maesters with a small smile on your face, that is wiped right off when you become face to face with them. They stare at your with judgement and soulless eyes as they remove you from Helaenas comforting warmth and instead force you to feel cold metal against your flesh. They ignore you as they unwrap the bandages. Only giving each other looks as they wordlessly judge the state of your body.

It almost makes you want to tear their heads from their bodies and feed them to Shrykos. Who no doubt is feeling your frustrations and anger down in the dragon pit.

Yet you hold your tongue for Helaenas sake, who is watching the maesters take supposed special care of you from the corner of the room. She gives you small smiles whenever you make eye contact, and it’s only with them you manage to pull through. The milk of the puppy though they force down your throat certainly makes you more cooperative though you must say.

“Thank you Hel, for looking after me.” You say, staring at her as soon as the maesters deemed you healed enough and left you. No doing to go get the queen to inform her of your sudden injury.

“It is no problem…” She softly smiles back, moving forward to stand next to you so she can hold your hand in her own. Her soft flesh relaxing you possibly even more than the drugs flowing through your system. “I will always be there for you…”

Laenor Valeryon:

Even though you always knew that Laenor could never truly be your father, he nonetheless always managed to act like one better than anyone. While your mother was busy attending to your brothers, it was Laenor who was always busy attending to you, making sure you were fussed in a way a princess should be fussed.

He always made sure to give you the bestest care a princess may need it. Like right now for instance.

“I NEED A MAESTER RIGHT FUCKING NOW!” You remember your father screaming while your vision slowly began to blur in a variety of difference places. “Where are you hurt ñuha nūmio? Where is the pain? What can I do?”

“Arrow in the fucking shoulder.” You groan, bile building in your throat as you resist the urge to vomit. “Only there father. Shrykos was hit too. Fuck it hurts so much…”

“Do not worry dear girl! The maester will come!” As he says this, guards come running with a maester in tow. The guards take ahold of you carefully as you nearly collapse under the sudden blood rush. The maester barking orders for what to do to you to cause the least amount of damage to your body as possible.

When you get to the healing room, you’re placed roughly onto a bed where now a whole group of maesters now flock to you like a group of crows over a fresh carcass. They all say a different method on how to treat you, yet it’s Laenor whose voice shines louder than them all.

“You will not cut up or harm my daughter!” He yells, his voice firm and harsh as he glares at them all. “You will take out that fucking arrow, and you will heal her. Or I swear, as the heir of the realms husband, I’ll make all of you fucking regret it!”

All is silent, and yet with a firm glare they all scatter to complete your father’s order. Soon, cloth is finding its way in your mouth to quench your screams as hands force the arrow once imbedded in your arm is forced onto a silver plate. Blood gushing down your arm in an admittedly disturbing manner.

By the end, there is an elder looking maester stitching up your blood coated arm, and an arrow head and some wood pieces. Laenor held your hand with every scream and every clench of your body. He made sure you felt as safe as you could in the presence of the same type of men who killed your aunt. He also made sure to quickly push them out as soon as they were done with there work. Nodding along in a dismissive manner as they insist they are still needed.

When they are eventually shushed away however, with the door shut quickly behind them, Laenor quickly finds himself by your side again. His hand laced firmly in yours as he takes a lone damp cloth so he can clean away the dried blood still decorating your wounded flesh.

“Does it hurt much? I can always call a maid to fetch you some milk of the poppy?” Laenor insisted, his touch delicate as he makes sure not to harm you in any way.

“It merely stings…” You shrug, wincing though soon as you do due to the sudden flare up in your shoulder. “I do not need any milk of the poppy father. I can manage my pain.”

“I can see that…” He grins, even chuckling when he sees your own smile. “Though, I must ask. What happened? You did not exactly give me much information before the maesters came for us.”

“Me and Shrykos began our normal journey to the direction of Runestone. But on the coast of Gull town, it appears those men mother had recently warned us about, the ones who deem our customs immoral and a disgrace to a seven, spotted us before we spotted them. They took no time before they were shooting at us with giant crossbows on their ship. They took us by surprise, and managed to get only a single time, but that was enough to enact Shrykos’ rage. I didn’t even say the command father! Shrykos enacted our joined rage and set fire to their ships and their bodies. If they weren’t dead by the time we left, I am almost sure they are all at least dead by now.”

He takes in your words carefully. Murmuring small words every so often while he holds your hand as a sigh of sympathy. When your done though, his face is smeared in deep anger. A hatred you have never seen your father show ever before in your lifetime.

“Well it’s a good think they are dead though,” He finally says, snapping from his thoughts with a huff. “Because if they were alive, Seasmoke would be gorging on a feast right now!”

“Thank you father…” You simply say, falling into his arms that welcome you immediately. You close your eyes and allow yourself to bask in his familiar comforting warmth.

[captain-tch]

Anchor (Logan Howlett x GN!PlatonicReader)

Logan finds you when the memories of the past threaten to swallow you whole Warning: mentions of self harm, implied suicidal thoughts below the cut

There was so much blood. Tents where you once huddled with your friends, laughing, talking, bonding were in ribbons, the poles keeping them upright having been ripped from the ground. One of the poles was skewered inside a body, the face hidden by the red spray masking their features. Fire pits where you once warmed your hands and toasted marshmallows had been destroyed, the thick smell of ash consuming all of your senses. A charred hand reached towards another, mere inches from touching each other. The makeshift laundry lines had been broken, leaving clothes strewn across the ground, muddied footprints and blood stains marrying the materials. And then there were the bodies.

So many bodies. 

You knelt in the middle of it all, unable to move a single muscle. Your friends, your family, all dead. You were the lone survivor. 

It didn’t feel fair - what made you different from the others? What made you worthy of being alive, whilst your knees sank into their pools of blood and their skin grew cold around you? 

You didn’t even move, or speak, as you heard footfalls behind you. You didn’t look up as people descended upon the crime scene, where you most likely looked like the perpetrator. You just prayed that those who caused this harm had returned to finish the job. However, the horror was only beginning. 

“Hey, we missed one!” 

You stared at your reflection with venom in your eyes. Your gaze honed onto the jagged scar running from the corner of your mouth all the way down to your collarbone. Similar wounds ghosted down your body, but this was the one you could never hide from. The feelings rushed you like a wave - rough hands shoving your shoulders into the ground, their hands leaving bruises, a menacing grin leering down at you, the coolness of the blade as it was first caressed against your skin. The fiery hot pain that lit up your entire being when the knife was plunged into your skin. The feeling of hot liquid rushing out the wound, the overwhelming taste of iron hijacking your senses. 

A bubble of anger and hatred began to boil in your veins. The memories kept flooding you, until you couldn’t remember where you were or what was happening or when you were. All you knew was the pain and the terror and the hate.  

A scream ripped out of you. You grabbed the nearest thing your fingers landed on, a small metal bin, and hurled it with all of your might to the mirror. The crash was like music to your ears, the shards flying around you in slow motion. You didn’t feel them slice at your skin. You didn’t feel the blood well or the liquid slip down your skin. You felt absolutely nothing at all.  

It wasn’t enough. You could still see their faces, frozen in death. You could still smell the fire and ash and burning flesh and you couldn’t stop feeling like you were standing back at your campsite all over again and - 

Your fist flew at the shattered fragments. A delicious fire consumed your knuckles. The images fizzled slightly, then overpowered you. You became starved for that feeling of relief, craving the sweet moment of ecstasy where all your brain could focus on was the agony rippling through your hand. 

Again and again you sent your fist flying into the glass, the hits becoming less coordinated as blood coated every surface you could see.

Bodies burned to a crisp. 

Hit. 

A singular shoe discarded in the mud. 

Hit. 

A knife glinting in the light, glowing brighter as it got closer to your face. 

Hit. 

You were so absorbed in seeking relief you didn’t hear how the thud of your fist matched the one coming from behind, until yours was the only thuds once again. You didn’t hear the tirade of swear words leaving their lips, or your name being repeated over and over again. You weren’t in this reality anymore, too deep into your nightmare of memories to escape. 

A pair of muscular arms wrapped around your chest, dragging you from the mirror. A sob wracked through you - now the images were hitting you ten fold, and no matter how much you struggled in your captor's grasp you couldn’t escape. In the jagged remains of the reflection on the wall, you saw Logan behind you, concern painted over his face. 

“Ssh.” A voice soothed in your ear. You thrashed against them even harder - you didn’t deserve comfort, you deserved to be with your family. 

“Let me do it.” You begged, unsure what exactly you were asking for, only knowing you wanted the leaden guilt and torment to be erased from your being. “I just want it to stop.”

“This is not how it’s done.” Logan held you tighter, gently leading you away from the bathroom. You tried to fight back; god, you were so tired. You were tired of fighting back the memories, or pretending to be okay. You were exhausted. 

You crumpled in his arms, leaning heavily into him. His body didn’t falter, only grasped you tighter. You turned to bury your face in their shoulder, trying and failing to stop the images of terror and agony from flashing across your retinas. 

“What can you see?” His gruff voice asked. 

You froze, the words sinking in. Your brows furrowed, struggling to comprehend what he was asking. “What?” 

“Name five things you can see.” 

Your breathing quickened. “Broken tents -” 

“No,” Logan grabbed your shoulders, firmly pulling you away from his neck. He held you at arms length, staring deep into your eyes. “Here, now. What can you see?” 

“Um,” you sniffled, gently pulling your attention from him to the rest of the room. “Glass. A toilet. Shower. Tap. You.” 

“What can you touch?” 

You sought your senses, reaching out to all of your nerves. “Your flannel, the floor, my clothes, my blood.” 

“What can you hear?” 

Forcing your eyes to close, you tried to turn off your other senses, focusing on your hearing. The distant dripping of the tap snatched your attention. Logan’s steady breathing. Faintly, you could hear shouts and playful screams of children from the hall. 

“What can you smell?” 

The answer flew out of your mouth without even needing to think - it was the smell of safety, the first thing you smelt after you escaped from death's clutches. It was what you smelt as you were carried away from the cemetery that was once your home. “Cigar smoke.” 

“What can you taste?” 

Your lips turned slightly at the corners. “Scott’s shitty bolognese.”

Logan kept you at arm's length, taking you in. Your breathing was laboured, but it was evening out. Your eyes appeared more focused and he felt you could actually seem him now.  

“You good now?” 

You contemplated it. The guilt still lay heavy on your shoulders, and the memories were always playing in your brain, except now it was muted enough that you felt like you could cope. Your heart rate had resumed its usual pace and you didn’t have the urge to smash glass.

“That’s a stretch,” you sniffled, wiping at your nose. “But I’m better. Thank you.” 

“Let’s get you to the infirmary.” 

“No!” Your hand shot out, snatching at his shirt, smearing blood on it. “Please, no.” 

His brow quipped. 

“I don’t want them to see me like this.” 

Logan sighed, assessing your injuries and thinking for a beat. “Fine, but you can’t complain about my bedside manner.”

He wanted to go get a first aid kit; he didn’t want to leave you alone. He used his best judgement, hoping the cuts he could see were as minor as they appeared, grabbing a rag and running it over a faucet, being careful to avoid the glass. He came back to your bed, where you sat on the edge staring after him. He knelt in front of you, opening his palm flat to you. You moved your hand into his, wincing at the sight. Your knuckles looked like they’d been massacred, red coating so much of your skin you couldn’t even see the cuts. Without warning, he dragged the fabric across your wounded skin, a flame of pain following in its wake. You tensed up, squeezing your jaw tight to keep the hiss quiet. 

“You know, this isn’t the best way to deal with your feelings.” Logan’s eyes darted up to connect with yours. 

You scoffed. The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on you - many times you had walked into the gym to see him destroying the boxing bag, blood being flung in every direction. “Coming from the expert, clearly.” 

“I can heal.” 

“That’s so not the point.” 

He grunted, dismissing your argument. He carried on his work, his grip on you tight but gentle as the blood disappeared wipe by wipe, revealing the skin beneath. Your skin was littered with cuts; thankfully they seemed minor, them having already stopped oozing blood. 

“Look, kid, you ever speak to anyone about what happened?” 

“Did you?” Logan huffed, frowning at you. You ignored his reaction, watching as he finished cleaning one hand and started on the other. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Logan stared pointedly at you. “I’ve lived over a century and survived a war - you can’t fool me.” 

“Honestly, I’m fine.” 

“The mirror says otherwise.” 

A bubble of anger exploded in your gut. Your words were flung like knives, their edge sharp. “Why does everyone have to keep asking me about how I feel? Is it really that important to have feelings? Why can’t I just bury it deep down til it disappears?” 

“I wish that was how it worked. Stuff like this doesn’t go away overnight. You shove it down, it gets ugly, infected. It’ll turn you into a different person.” 

“Is that what happened to you?” 

A few beats passed, then some more. You worried you had crossed a boundary - this man saved you, and was saving you again, and here you were opening up his wounds whilst he helped clean yours. 

He surprised you by breaking the silence, his voice so low you had to strain to listen. “...Something like that.” 

“No offence, but why should I take advice from someone who clearly doesn’t take it themselves?” 

“Take it or leave it, that’s your call. It changes nothing for me.” He shrugged, wiping away the last bit of the blood. He evaluated his work, carefully turning your hand left and right, assessing for any further wounds he couldn’t see.  

“Either way, it’s going to destroy me, isn’t it?” 

He paused, eyes flitting to yours. He surprised you yet again, sending you a small smile. “Great thing about destruction - it leaves room for something new.”

“Hm.” You pondered it for a minute. “That was very wise of you, you’re starting to show your age.” 

Logan brushed off your attempt at humour, his face turning serious. “Let’s just get one thing clear - this,” he gestured to the bathroom, where the glass still lay shattered on the floor. “Is not going to be a habit.” 

“Why do you care?” 

“Because I only have a few shirts and you’ve already stained two of them.” 

You looked at his white top, cringing. It had smears of red, marrying the immaculate white. “Sorry.” 

Logan waved it off. He threw the rag to the floor, bringing himself up to his full height. He towered over you, yet you felt no fear at his size. You felt at ease, enjoying how his shadow fell over you. 

“What do you suggest instead?” 

“Find me. We can spend some time working on your god awful fighting form.” 

“It’s not that bad!” 

“Whatever you say.” He smirked. A warmth blossomed in your chest. 

Maybe you wouldn’t feel like this forever. Maybe the memories would overwhelm you less and less with time, but they would never disappear. They would always haunt you, lingering in the back of your consciousness. But the man in front of you, your friend, would help keep you grounded. He would be your anchor. And he’d never admit it, but you’d do the same for him too.  

marvel masterlist

[mjr-acourtofdreams]

Drowning

Warning: depression, suicidal thoughts and actions, anxiety. torcher, blood, self-harm (If missed anything lmk) Description: realizing that she was never enough for him and deciding the world might just be better without her in it

part 4

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

It has been three weeks since Azriel's and I talk in the kitchen during that early morning run in, he has been stealing glances more often now but still most of his attention is taking by that sweet Elain. As those three went by it has been getting hard to even be in the same room has everyone since I knew that those two would be basically on top of each other it seems, maybe I am just overreacting about the whole thing I should be happy for Azriel that he is happy and he found someone that makes him feel that way but why does it hurt so much though.

Cold sweat coats my skin, my breathing is fast and labored. Running as fast as my legs can carry me the branches of the trees rip my skin as I fly through them trying to escape, the wetness of the blood dripping down across my skin burns like fire and ice. Laughter and screams echos in the dark. RUN! RUN! RUN! WORTHLESS! WHORE! USELESS! I covered my ears with my hands and fell down to the ground and screamed, the ground opened up and I fell into the darkness I reached up for anyone to help me my own screams now echoed in the dark hollowness... no came so I fell down, down until...

I gasped and sprung up right holding my chest trying to catch my breath a dream it was a dream. flinging the covers off my burning body and walked over to the window and looked out towards the lights of Velaris the night sky was full of the stars that look like they were alive I tried to calm myself but all those feelings that I was feeling in that night terror came rushing back and hit me like a brick wall and then the tears came rushing down my cheeks "worthless... useless..." I looked down at myself and wrapped my arms around myself "unwanted." it hit me then, that all of that is in fact true. Turning I made my way to my bathroom and shut the door be hide me locking it.

Seeing my reflection in the mirror the tears started to run down my face again I am a shell of the person I once was. Opening the medicinal cabinet, I grab my razor blade and the vile of fae-bane, lacing the blade this liquid I slide down the side of the tub and sat on the floor bring my right arm across my lap and looking down at the scares that now ghost the skin, silent tears fell from my face while I took the razor blade and ran across my skin the burn from the fae-bane made me winced but that soon passed and I see the blood start to bead up then I again to the blade slicing it across my skin again, again and again until all I saw was red. The razor dropped on the floor leaning my head back on the side of the tub tears drained my face just the words echoed in my mind "worthless, useless, unwanted." over and over again.

Azriel's POV

Tossing and turning sleep was not finding me once again tonight seems like it just has been getting worse the last three weeks, setting up I ran my hands down my face looking out towards the window seeing the night sky full of stars that seems a little dimmer than normal I flung the blankets off and made my way to the bathroom the faelight came on and looked myself in the mirror the dark circles formed under my eyes signing I turn to leave and try to find sleep once more when a shadow came up to me in panic HURT HURT the shadow bounced back and forth in a hurry panicking more and more NEEDS HELP HURT now I felt the panic start to form inside me as I made it to my bedroom door to the hallway and stopped "who?!" I spoke the shadows that zipped to the door across the hall Y/N my heart felt like it was about to explode out of my chest as I ran across the hall and flung y/n's door open to see her bed a mess and the room dark my shadows took off all at once to the bathroom door where I see the light shining through the crack of the door and sprinted to the door trying to opening it but it was locked, my shadows went under the door and only a few came back to me yelling at me HURT I banged and banged on the door "Y/N! Y/N! OPEN THE DOOR!" I banged on the door again "fuck this." I whisper to myself I took a step back and kicked the door with much force the lock broke and pushed through the door "y/n!" falling down to my knees grabbing her pulling her close "no no no no... stay with me, wake up. Wake up y/n." I yelled for Rhysand in my mind telling him to get here has fast has he can and to bring Madja. Looking down I see y/n looking at me with silent tears running down her cheeks my own tears were now starting to fall. "you're going to be okay, Rhys and Madja are coming." she looked at me, like she was looking right into my soul "I'm sorry Az..." I shook my head before I could respond to her Rhysand and Madja rushed in "Get her to the bed now!" they both seems to yell I set her down carefully on to her bed "now move! I got to get to work!" Madja demanded Rhysand pushed me out the door and shut me out while he returned to help Madja. Tears poured down my face as I looked up and seen Cassian and Nesta watching me with worried looks, it was Cassian that spoke first "W-what happened?" his own voice cracked I looked at him my body started to shake "I-i don't k-know..."

[lazaruspit-salesman]

TW: Self Harm?

(Up To Personal Interpretation On The Definition Of Self Harm)

It was a dark and dingy alleyway, illuminated only by the glowing liquid that seeped from his arm and the moon hanging right above. With a cloth tourniquet wrapped around his upper arm, he bled out into an empty milk jug. His blood -- if you could even call it that -- was hot, with steam rising above his head as the liquid fell below. He continued to bleed out into the jug until the wound suddenly healed, which prompted him to tear a chunk out of his arm with his bare teeth, repeating the process as many times as needed until the jug was full.

He could feel it clawing at the back of his head -- the madness, the urge to go rabid. It was all too overwhelming. Staring at the glowing green liquid was like staring into a fire. He couldn't look away. It engulfed him. It pulled him in. It clouded his mind to where he could hardly remember that sweet face. The face of the sweetest girl he'd ever known. He once made a promise to that sweet face. A promise to live. But the longer this went on, the harder it became to tell if he was truly living or not. Though as dead as he appeared to be, his heart still beat.

[chiyoso]

“THE MARA'S WILL”

someone as fragile as you shouldn't have to reign the bloodied fields of cloudford, along with raging war against two powerful factions—as well as an internal presence that invaded your mind that started all of this mayhem.

content warnings; oneshot · female reader · honkai impact 3rd inspired · takes place after xianzhou arc · canon universe · manupulation · mentions of depressive tendencies · declining mental health · war · death · traumatic events · mentions of blood · fighting · sensitive descriptions · dead dove: do not eat.

author notes; an open ending is an open ending. i appreciate all your of love for this oneshot, but i won't be making pt2. ty.

The Astral Express.

A widely known faction of celestial mysteriousness that traverses across the galaxy, they dedicate themselves to the ways of trailblaze and adventure, an enormous train conducted by a rumored fluffy creature that travels through vast worlds with its starry residers.

However, you didn't expect to meet the faction like this. The time that you yourself encountered the famous members of the Express— or rather, they bumped into you.

A memorable impression, leading their hearts and minds to waver in complete uneasiness, fear and curiousity.

It was one of those moments. Moments of tranquility, replaced almost immediately with unsightly chaos, and screeching horrors.

And they weren't coming from you.

2:49 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

NOW PLAYING ♪ TOT MUSICA

11 minutes until eruption.

ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ

ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ

“F- Fu-aahh.... Haah...” You groaned in pain. The sounds of alarms, crumbling and a voice of elegant dread echoed inside your mind, chanting unfamiliar, incomprehensible sounds that you were unable to understand nor fathom its sound waves.

Your flesh continued to crack as gold seeped out from the insides, bright lightning marks all around your form, accompanied with your heavy eyelids, struggling to keep your consciousness as you panted heavily. Your thoughts fogged viciously with memories of all kinds, your mind had felt like a mix between ice and fire. A flaming vortex along with an Icy storm that seethed inside, causing a severe throbbing that had you wailing in pain in heaps of volume consecutively as you grip your head.

“M- Mr. Yang!” A high pitched voice trembled, struggling on her feet while a grey haired female helped her up to stabilize her balance.

“Go. Call for reinforcements. I'll take it from here.” He says, gripping his cane while the other hand hoists his frames up to his nose bridge, returning his gaze towards the sight of you.

Reinforcements?

“H-hhgk—” You coughed up gold. Your face stained with your aureate tears, gasping for air as you clenched the area of your heart, which was beaming light, pulsating with the same color as the liquid that stained your whole being.

What was happening?

You screech, lower limbs suddenly at work, executing swift dodges that your untrained body couldn't handle physically, stretching and tearing your muscles.

Something was fighting for survival, and it wasn't you.

Your actions lowered the morale of determination from the Cloud Knights that had stationed on the sidelines, now replaced with a panic and fear from your ever so visibly increasing strength and agility, etching negative emotions into their wounded states that you have inflicted previously.

The man with the glasses, distance away from you clicked his tongue in frustration, he had summoned a multitude of black holes, raining hellish orbs of gravity towards you in such high speeds and velocity, but you... despite your poor state of self, you've managed to avoid them all.

But,

Even you weren't aware of your own skillful sequences.

ᛗᛁᛖ ᚾᛖᚷ ᛟᚾ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ ᚷᛁᛖᚲ

ᚾᚨᚺ ᛈᚺᚨᛋ ᛏᛖᛉᛉᛖ ᛚᚨᚺ

“P- Please... shut... get out of m—”

Feeble attempts of retribution, cease your resistance.

Play into submission, child of Lan.

You cocked your head to the skies, letting out gutteral sobs to the heavens, screaming and pleading your heart out while your own nails dug into your skin, your eyes weeped in gold, blurring your sense of sight.

Your thoughts were a sea of fragmented memories, bad ones, the negative ones that only fueled your transformation and the thread of your consciousness that you desperately were holding onto, was now being threatened harshly.

The man in glasses gripped his cane, firming his hold while witnessing your overwhelming presence and what was happening infront of him.

You were talking to yourself. You were visibly in pain, you were weeping, and the mara that was supposed to overcome you right now was... being barely resisted. Resisted. Resisted?

That's impossible.

You can't resist the Mara.

Beads of sweat formed trickled down along his jawline, his eyes diluded towards the sight that was all too familiar for him.

Someone- or something was talking to you, and he felt nothing but the sensation of dread swell inside him.

He didn't know what to do. Based on your own visible actions, it was clear—you didn't mean to do any harm, you were struggling more than anyone in this dire situation.

You brought your tainted hands that was darkening onto your face, trying to hold onto what's left of yourself, your consciousness.

“PLEASE! L- LEAVE M—” You choked out.

You were stumbling on your feet, drowning in pain as you sobbed your pleas of desperation.

His face scrunches, biting his bottom lip, frustrated over his hesitancy and lack of determination into going all out against you.

You reminded him of a state that reminded him of his past companions from another world, a state that only led to an upbringing of a powerful force, leading to the destruction of humanity and civilizations, a state that almost destroyed his homeworld.

But he had to remind himself repeatedly, you were just... Mara-strucked. A man-made work from the schemes of Sanctus Medicus, their work, befalling to an unfortunate character before him.

But... why the hell were you talking to yourself? Why were you pleading? Crying? How were you still able to talk? And most importantly, how were you still able to resist your supposed inevitable demise?

You peeked through your digits, your eyes pierce to the man with glasses, before lowering your hands to your sides in idle, continuing to pant heavily in place.

Your stance had your staggering legs slightly bent, your chin upwards—but your stained eyes remained on the figure infront of you.

His eyes diluded upon meeting your sorrowful gaze, his hand tightened around his cane further, seemingly ready to take on any action you will commence, but he wished you didn't engage, he wished for your attacks to cease. He didn't desire to harm you at all—You were in obvious pain, emotionally, physically and mentally, and only his veteran observations can see that.

“M- Miss—”

“Kill me.”

You said breathily with your burning throat, your voice had been accompanied with a second, mixing with your original tone with a now deeper, and sinister chord that showed the fruition of the transformation you were currently experiencing.

Your hands find their way to your throat as you coughed out more gold, along with the taste of iron that mixed with the aureate liquid that had turned into an morbid shade of color from your blood.

Your legs gave in, bringing you to your knees while you continued to choke on your own secretes, sobbing continuously from the sensations you were experiencing.

“BENEFACTOR! SHE HAS FALLEN!”

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”

“END HER LIFE BEFOR—” “Gghk-... Nngh...”

“Reinforcements are on their way.”

“I- It hurts.... It HURTS!!!”

“Call for further units! At ONCE!”

“P- Please tell me I'll live...”

“BENEFACTOR ITS YOUR CHANCE!”

“M- Monster!” “M- MY ARMS!”

“KILL HER!” “HER STRENGTH IS ONLY-”

“KILL HER!” “KILL HER!”

“KILL HER!!!!”

“KILL HER!”

The man with glasses was overwhelmed with contradicting emotions, hindering his wavering will to use the opportunity of your vulnerability.

The cries and pleas of desperation from the several Cloud Knights that have fallen from your battle, ring through the bloodied field, along with your genuine—sorrowful filled sobs that only haunted and hesitated him much more.

His own thoughts were only mirroring the mess that you were in, having to be filled with deep memories of a life that was filled with death and torment, reminding him of his sins once again.

The child of the Hunt, hopelessly clings onto the wretched humanity, only to be shunned out and betrayed by your own race.

I feel their sea of desperation, their desires for your lesser existence to perish without a trace in the galaxy.

Give into the sensations of truth, let it embrace your poorly sculpted soul, for I will accept you without fail.

You were already on the floor arched, your hands had continued to hold your head, gripping your hair as you wallowed in your pool of tears, gold and blood that soaked your once beautiful skin.

“Sss-top... Stop... Please...”

You've already hurt your own kind.

“I- I... Hgk— Ahh-Haah...”

You've already inflicted enough despair and chaos to the point where these lowly humans cling onto their life in a feeble attempt of living.

“Th- That's not...”

Savor their pleas and screams of anguish as they call upon your death. You aren't wanted, you aren't needed.

“THAT'S NOT TRUE—”

The floor beneath your shaking body began to crack, the density and force around you had only drastically strengthen, creating a growing crater below you.

You are only inducing fear in your surroundings, and you are more than aware of what you're causing.

Hatred. Anguish. Despair. A need for violent measures. A selfish greed of clinging onto life from their grave wounds you placed upon them. This is all you.

All you.

Mindlessly in pain, your body unwillingly helps itself up despite your own injuries. You took a heavy step forward, only ceasing the noises that surrounded you as they witness your hauntingly beautiful yet bloodied form, but there was no attraction, they were now instilled with a new type of fear.

2:55 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

5 minutes until eruption.

You were a golden death. A victim.

A new dreadful existence that was unintentionally yet successfully created by Sanctus Medicus.

The golden liquid had already burned the rest of your outfit. Your body only continued to pour gold from the rifts on your skin, your heart—or your now crystalized core, pulsated with consecutive glows, as if your former heart, and the rest of your biology had changed, in which case, it did.

That's it... Embrace it... Your perfected, honed and better self.

Shut up.

The voice chuckles, continuing to fog and envelope your whole essence.

The unwavering, unbearable pain was now released, replaced with the sensations of your skin, healing slowly. The paleness in your face had become warm once again along with your body.

Your hair only grew longer, luscious and free, your eyes glimmered in high self esteem once more, while previous cracks all over your body had almost disappear as if nothing was there in the first place.

You will never admit it, but you felt more healthy, you felt beautiful, you felt confident, you felt...

New, refreshed and reborn, and you grasped control of yourself once again.

Your newfound vigor and vitality only brought unease and curiousity to the Cloud Knights who loathed your existence being a supposed child of Yaoshi the Abundance now.

The man with glasses couldn't help but be reminded of his weakness from your newfound growth, he had hesitated until now, witnessing your upbringing and his own actions had left a sour feeling on his drying throat, unease had surrounded the man, in fear of what will commence. He doesn't know how much longer he can fight, accompanied with the knowledge of his two fatigued Astral companions seeking out help of any kind, but another question lingered in his thoughts;

What were you?

You weren't a mindless Mara-strucked individual that they've previously continuously dealt with, nor you had the appearance of golden leaves that battered and grew out of you. You were just a woman, at what he assumes to be your very prime, the high peak of your health, appearance, physicality and mental state, and your curiousity and confusion about your own state confirmed his assumptions.

“I-...” Your senses interrupt you as your instincts come into fruition, tilting your head to the right, only to reveal a Cloud-Piercing spear infront of your vision that had thrusted forward from behind. The light, horizontal slit from your left cheek which the Cloud Knight slightly grazed, begun to heal almost quickly, as well as suddenly realizing your hand was already around the unfortunate Cloud Knight's neck, lifting them up in a chokehold as their air supply begins to be cut off.

With widened eyes, you immediately loosened your grasp upon becoming aware of your actions, retorting your hand while guilt pumped into you.

“It- It was... It was instinct I-” Your voice cracked, bringing both of your hands to cover your mouth as your once blurred vision finally had a good look to your surroundings, grasping the situation and your hellish surroundings at bay.

Remember the sight.

Your mind throbbed once again, yet your nerves find ways to soothe the pain, but... even then, it will never be able to heal your aching heart and the damage you inflicted against the soldiers of the Xianzhou Alliance.

Instincts went into play once more, feeling a sudden familiar, pulling force behind moving towards you in a faster, denser velocity, only for you to barely dodge a faster orb of gravity that you had previously, went up against.

“W- Wait! I-” You turn your face quickly towards the man whom attacked you just now, only to be met with a bright, icy blade that moved quickly towards you, but both of your hands had already instinctively raise to your face, piercing both of your palms instead, grasping in the side of the bloodied tip of the cold sword that pierced you.

“FUCK!!! NNGH—!” You whimpered in pain, feeling the sensations of burning that sourced within your palms, along with the skin and nerves that was already healing, your own rejuvenating flesh, pushing out the icy sword as a 'CLANG' follows suit.

“Hmph. You're lucky I didn't throw it with too much force, otherwise you wouldn't be able to survive that!” A voice of a young boy graced the battlefield, turning the red sea into a cold, thundering storm of snow and ice, putting the injured Cloud Knights at ease and discomfort from the coldness that surrounded the environent.

“L-Lieutenant Yanqing!” A Cloud Knight gasped at his arrival, alerting the rest with jarred cheers erupting, while your gaze dilutes back and forth to the man with glasses—and a child who happens to be a lieutenant that had arrived.

“P- Please- I-”

“Save it servant of the Abundance!”

A continuing, cold breeze of snow enveloped the young boy, his aqua colored swords flying towards you once more.

Now equipped with newfound, engraved instincts that you have begun to get use to, your body- that had not tasted the ways of war and battle, danced its way around elegantly and flexibly from the skillful wrath of ice that relentlessly continued to attack you.

Despite your consciousness and having a sense of control once again, you felt another sensation, one that felt like another presence, another soul, tangled with yours, tugging at your essence, and it was most definitely the reason as to why you were moving in such a way, that continued to inflict fear and uneasiness to the Cloud Knights, and the man with the glasses whom continued to witness your dance of agility and grace against the right hand of the Arbiter General.

...

...

Why me...?

Imperfect.

There are many others.

...

The embodiment of failure and success.

Wh- What does that even mea—

A host of purity and defections all in one. All suited for me.

A canvas of the purest, warmest of soul, painted with absolute grief, sadness, regret, pain — yet harboring no anger, rage, hatred. A non-existent need for revenge.

Something a certain diciple of mine lacked, thus her inevitable defeat from the subjects of Akivili.

And you are mine to break and reconstruct. I can finally fathom why the Hunt had their arrows set on you.

The words gnawed your logical, racing thoughts, leaving you in a moment of disarray, visibly seen from your relentless opponent.

The Hunt... The... Reignbow Arbiter? But—

“Hhgk—!”

Tch. So flawed.

You felt another burning sensation to the left side of your waist, looking towards a deep cut that split your flesh into two from the icy blades that hailed like the rain against you, yet once again, it had begun to heal slowly, as sounds of your flesh and cells crickled, halting the young boy in his trained steps for a moment.

“What... What are y—” The young boy gets cut off.

Your gaze suddenly returns to the boy, with your left iris flickering into a golden color, replacing your original shade.

“Your demise.” The voice took over your vocals for a moment.

“N- No! you will NOT HARM ANYONE FURTHER!” You grit your teeth, holding your curled fists into each other, retraining yourself and letting the voice solely focus on avoiding further attacks.

How unpleasant.

Why do you continue to resist, child of Lan?

The sight of you... talking to yourself? No... Your voice had continued to change back and forth, only confusing him further.

Something was amiss, but the young boy and his youth couldn't fanthom the uniqueness of the situation before him, he had only one thing in his determined mind, the solution of exterminating a being that threatened the peace for the Xianzhou Luofu; You.

The boy took his stance, his flying swords once again stationed behind him, but a sudden deep voice emerges from behind him, only startling the whole battlefield in his appearance.

“Yanqing. Well done in keeping the adversary at bay.”

A commanding presence immediately intensified the trickling air of tension, only leaving sounds of sharp breaths and your continuous argument with yourself.

Hush.

Huh?

You fall into silence to its bidding, only to look around to the young boy, who was now accompanied with the famous Arbiter General, holding a glaive that had a threatening presence, along with the General himself.

“I apologies for my tardiness Mr. Yang. I had matters to tend to.” The strong presence spoke, his eyes hovering upon your naked, yet coated state, assessing the situation with an unknown gleam in his eyes.

“Where of Stelle and March?” The man with glasses walked beside him, mirroring his gaze upon the beautiful woman before their sights.

“I sent message to the High Elder Vidyadhra medic to tend to their wounds, not to worry, they will be back.” He said faced to him with a knowing smile, only causing goosebumps to your skin, he was taking in this stage you set lightly, only irritating the voice in your head slightly.

“Now... What of the contexts of this fascinating situation?” The Arbiter General's penetrating gaze returns to you, eyeing your undeniable attracting form. You were oblivious, but the voice wasn't.

Leave the premises, now.

Wha? W- Who are you to tell me what t—

The throbbing had begun once again. Their conversations sealed upon noticing your actions as your hands gripped tightly around your head, whimpering in place.

“S- Stop...”

No. If you perish, I-

...

Leave, woman.

“Is she...?” The Arbiter General looks towards the man with the glasses, his eyebrow raised slightly in speculation.

“She's... She had been at this state for more than a few minutes since earlier...” He frowned, gripping his cane, being reminded of fragments from his life that whispered evily to him.

“Who cares? Let's extinguish her presence already General!” Impatient, the young boy firmed his grasp around the hilt of his sword of ice, pointing the tip of the sharpness towards you, his sky filled eyes sending daggers to your direction with determination.

“Patience little lieutenant. One does not rush in unknown, trifling matters.” The General warns with a faint smile that doesn't reach to his eyes, and without a choice from the tone of command, the young boy's will wavers with a sigh, lowering his blade in defeat.

“P- Please, end me...”

Your words grasped the attention of the trio, while your tears began to flow, taking note of your willingness to submit in defeat.

“See?! Even—” The young boy gets cut off once more, earning a serious glare from the General that hushed him almost immediately.

“Please I-... I'm sorry for causing harm...” You continued to sob quietly, gritting your teeth while your head continued to throb mercilessly with ruthless, familiar pain.

I said leave now, and I'll cease the pain.

The Arbiter General takes a step forward, his left hand holding the body of his glaive, no words left needed to describe that despite his aloof hold around his weapon, he was more than ready for any attempt of violent assault.

NOW.

Mirroring the gesture of his, you took a step back abiding the voice's word, your glistening, heterochromic eyes lock with the readied General, only fascinating him further from your saddened, alluring gaze. Noticing your hesitancy for closeness.

“...My lady, if you escape this very moment, I will make sure that every inch of the Xianzhou Luofu will be well guarded, awaiting your presence in every corner you find yourself in to hide away from our— from my grasp.”

A silence from him ensued for a few long moments, following a faint warning smile from earlier, his gaze unwavering towards you while you weeped, assuming you aren't able to grasp his own chords.

“I- I do not... wish to harm anyo—”

“You're right my lady, I won't allow it.” He came closer, moving towards you with delicacy in his footsteps.

“ ... ”

...

...Stubborn child.

“Don't go, my lady.”

“It- It hurts... My head... General I-”

“Our High Elder Vidyadhra apothecary will assist you.” The General says firmly with undertones of softness, taking another step forward, but you remained still, weeping in silence from the continuous throbbing and regeneration of the nerves that seethed you repeatedly.

He manipulates.

S- Stop the—hhnghk... Please...

His experienced words, eons worth of vocabulary, coming into fruition, laying the power of syllables onto you. Do not—

I DON'T- I CANNOT CARE FROM THE UNBEARABLE PAIN YOU CONTINUE TO MAKE ME SUFFER IN!

A befitting punishment for your unwilling soul.

“I- I didn't mean to... General I- Hnnhk—...” Your form staggers, suffering from the internal turmoil that resumed, collapsing in place—but before you hit the floor, the sensation of warmth arrived behind your lower back and waist.

You found your crystalized golden core, your bare, coated chest pressed up against a man with command, towering and holding your suddenly weakened state that matched a situation one again in prior events.

“Jing Yuan.” He said, lowering his own golden to you, his expression, hidden with enthrall from your weakened state.

You hear the voice click its tongue.

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so—”

“Hush my lady,” He said in his low, husk voice, holding your weakened body, his hand firming against the soft, coated and warming flesh of your waist, stirring a once familiar sensation that rooted in his stomach.

“General Jing Yuan—” The young boy averted his gaze with a slight flush in his cheeks. Jing Yuan had not heard him, lest deciding to tend to the injured Cloud Knights instead, grumbling under his breath.

The man with glasses came closer to the two of you, his gaze feigning ignorance on the display.

“Miss... What—” He gets cut off, both men alarmed from your sudden intense grip around his biceps, your golden, crystalized core beaming, pulsating rapidly along with your quickened breath.

A golden ray of light erupted from you surrounding you vertically in a circle, sending the light up towards the sky endlessly, alerting everyone who bore witness to the intense display.

So be it.

A powerful, echoing screech escaped your mouth, tilting your head up to the direction of the clouds that welcomed your gaze as rubbles of cement from the previous struggles of the battle began to levitate the surroundings.

”ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᚲ ᚷᚨᚺ ᛉᚨᚾ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛏᚨᛏ ᛒᚱᚨᚲ”

I claim your soul, little child of the Hunt.

You will be my host, my pure, imperfection of despair.

Only I shall intertwine with you, body, mind and soul eternally.

And this mortal, blessed with the lightning guardian spirit, shall be your first prey.

3:00 PM — CLOUDFORD, XIANZHOU LUOFU

The eruption commences.

how ironic, this fic being my first successful hsr fic ended up being the reason why i got my ppl pleasing tendencies back pfft. anyways, reblogs help my audience reach, thank you!

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

​GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dream manipulation. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Plot related cigarette use. Dubious consent.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So I know I initially billed this as a two shot but the story has run away with me in the most lovely way. Part 3 will be coming soon. Thank you for all your kind responses to part 1, it honestly means so much to me. Hope you enjoy this one too. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

The veil of sleep comes down upon your weary body with a feather-light touch, trying to coax your mind back into the world of dreams.

Dreamscapes have been a whole new experience for you in the past month of your life. Before, you would wake with no recollection of what had played out. Not even the slightest inkling. Now, you remember everything.

They are staggering; bursting with details and ideas beyond your most outlandish daytime imaginings. The emotions that are conjured by them, both when asleep and also awake are just as bold.

And even though it's been 23 nights since it started you are still finding them predominantly jarring and disorientating. You are baffled by how other people cope with the sheer vividness. The unpredictability. Maybe they have become desensitised. You can only hope that the same will happen for you in time.

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

At least, you don't think they are. There's no resemblance between yours and what you have heard others describe over the years, nor to those outlined in a dream decoding book you had checked out of the library last week. There's no obvious threat or fear. No re-living of traumatic events. Just weird subtext.

The first dream found you standing barefoot on a beach. A mirage distorted the particulars of the scene making it impossible to see further than half a meter in front of you. The temperature of the sand under your soles was verging on painful and as such, it forced you to walk into the unknown before you.

A groaning wind started to brew and lifted the sand into sparkling flurries. You shielded your eyes from the abrasive particles.

The sun was at its apex when you heard the ear splitting bangs. Unmistakably gun shots; you didn't last much longer in the dream and woke with a start.

For the next week, your dreams had been like a series of video clips edited into a supercut.

Raven wings. Black cats. Hellfire. Ruby red glow. Sprawling library shelves. Landscapes hewn by earthquake fissures. Hotel corridors. A handsome, blond haired man wearing sunglasses, holding a blood covered knife.

If you didn't know any better, you would begin to suspect that your new box of tea bags had been laced with a psychedelic. Alas, no. Your hypothesis was unequivocally disproved when you friends had been completely unaffected after stopping by for a Sunday afternoon catch up.

This quick fire of snapshots eventually stopped, transforming into lucid long form dreams. You often think back to the first one where it happened.

Standing in the the empty room, and the appearance of the figure dressed in black. The colour that had flashed in their midnight eyes had the quality of liquid silver. Sometimes you wonder if you see the same image in other dreams, standing in amongst a crowd.

From that point on, regardless of what dream you are in, you cannot shake the intuitive prickle down your spine that tells you someone is watching you.

You reason that it is nothing to be concerned about. Humans dream, and you cannot deny that some of them - swimming in a sea of clouds, re-visiting childhood haunts, trying out superpowers - have been quite fun.

You roll over on to your left side and close your eyes.

You dream.

The room you see is expansive in breadth and depth. Impressive windows bring brilliant light into the space which bounces off the ivory stone of the floors and walls. There are statues positioned at equidistant intervals, implying that the chamber is a gallery of sorts.

One effigy, fashioned from bronze, and rich in colour draws your attention. The lines and curves of its form intrigue you, despite not knowing the creature it was portraying.

You are about to move on when the feeling of being watched sparks through your skeleton.

Everything changes.

Clarity gives way to haze. Sun is swapped for moon.

You see a man across the room. He stands with a perfect posture. Graceful, powerful. His elbows are bent, fingers interlaced, palms facing upwards. Sheer black fabric floats around his frame. It moves languidly, giving glimpses of his bare body beneath.

The man's face is imperceptible. The distance between you too great but somehow you know you are the focus of his attention.

His robes fall to the floor with a gossamer sigh. The pale, unmarked skin of his slight form glows beautifully in the moonlight. You look down in embarrassment as arousal flushes through you, and you see that you are suddenly as naked as he is.

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

The sight you see is rather unexpected. The man is intimately touching himself.

You feel compelled to mirror him. You immediately reach between your legs. The man groans as you make contact.

All it takes is a little bit of attention on your clit before you are ready to slide two fingers into your core. The noise you make at the feeling of the stretch is salacious. The man echoes you with a sound that is just as dirty.

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

You curl your fingers until your legs are weak and quivering. You long to sink to your knees so you can finish in a more comfortable position yet you can't. An invisible force is preventing you.

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

You wonder if it is for the man's benefit.

You try to focus on him but it is impossible to do so through the trembling glaze over your eyes. All you are able to sense from him now is the sound of the rhythmic pump of his palm around his cock and his panting breaths.

Desperate whines escape your lips. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm but you can't seem to lose your balance and fall into the abyss. The unsteadiness in your legs is too much of a distraction. You rub at your clit again in the hope that it will bring the satisfaction you need.

It does nothing.

You are so frustrated by your body's disobedience that it is almost painful.

"Please. Please. Please," you mutter under your breath.

A voice suddenly speaks next to you ear. A velvet voice with the timbre of a thunder rumble. It pours like a soothing syrup into your brain and commands you to do exactly as it bids.

"Let go."

You climax intensely, crying out in relief, squirting all over your fingers and onto your hand as you legs finally give way.

The fall jolts you back into consciousness and you wake with a barely contained scream of pleasure in your throat and adrenaline lighting up your nervous system.

Daylight is peeking through a little gap in the curtains. You take a deep, grounding breath.

That was obscene.

The context, the actions, the sounds. That sultry voice at the end. From the throbbing in your vulva and the twitching of your legs it seems like you didn't just finish in the dream.

There is really no point in looking it up in the dream decoding book.

You were clearly horny on a subconscious level. Or craving attention, hence the exhibitionist behaviour. The latter is not usually in your nature to seek out but if it is the reason, you might not have to wait long before the desire is fulfilled. There is a work event happening this evening that may require you to accept an award and address the crowd.

You love this time of year where community projects get recognition; a nomination alone is a sure-fire way of garnering publicity which in turn helps the charity's outreach.

But first, a normal day at the office. You throw back the covers and go straight to the bathroom to rinse off the evidence of your wet dream.

---------------------------------------------

Your right hand connects with the metal push plate of the function space's front door. The heels of your boots click and clack as you cross the threshold, moving from floor board to paving slab.

It's fortuitous that you brought a long, thick coat with you this evening for the wind is wintery and unforgiving. You stay close to the wall of the building to try and shelter from it as much as possible.

The pavements are slick with recent precipitation, streetlamps bouncing off of the water with caustic white light.

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

He's breathing in such a laboured way that you wonder if he is sick.

Your phone is still inside the venue, currently being guarded by a colleague along with your bag but it wouldn't take long to retrieve it and call for medical assistance.

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

His reply comes quickly and assertively, "I am well, thank you."

You nod, not entirely convinced for the stranger's response was as stiff as his posture, and reach inside the pocket of your coat for the box of cigarettes and lighter stashed within.

You settle one of the sticks between your lips and use your thumb to bring forth a flame. The crackle of smouldering paper and tobacco perforates the damp air and you take a needy drag. The nicotine taints and tantalises in equal measure, filling you with guilt and relief. You've been trying to give up but the little voice inside your head had won this evening. You close your eyes and focus on the pleasure it brings before flicking some ash into the tray mounted to the wall.

Your attention now back on your surroundings, the stranger steps into the scope of the streetlight. The angles of his cheekbones, jaw and nose are accentuated to an incredible extent in the gleam. His dark hair is being buffeted about the wind, locks of it very close to falling in the blue eyes that are unwaveringly trained on you. He begins to talk again, showcasing his deep baritone.

"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you just now. It is not how I envisaged our first interaction transpiring. I hope that you can forgive me for my deception."

You laugh nervously and take another quick drag. "It makes no difference if you're honest with me or not. I don't know you."

"You are correct. You don't know me. Not yet -"

"Oh," you cut in quickly. "I'm not looking for a hook up."

While you cannot deny that he is arrestingly beautiful, you are technically working and have never been one for one-night stands.

"You mistake my meaning. I have been searching for you for so long. I oftentimes doubted your existence however I was wrong and I find myself humbled to be in your presence at last."

The grandiose declaration is one of the stranger things you have heard in your life and you used to deal with drunken patrons when you worked at a university bar. Maybe he was intoxicated; it would explain a lot.

"Look, this might work on other people but I just came out here to have a cigarette -"

It is his turn to interrupt you now. "You will have no need of those going forward. Your addiction to them will be replaced by me."

"Excuse me?"

You are trying to sound incredulous, however, inside you are rather frightened by the turn the conversation has taken. His gaze is not helping either.

The crystalline eyes are embodying every part of the descriptor; a hard, chill inducing blue. Ash drops from the smouldering cigarette as a tremble of fear rattles through you. The man sees this and the ice suddenly melts to a warmer hue.

His tone turns soft and gentle. "We are supposed to be together. Our union is fated."

He's staring at you expectantly even after your two attempts at rejection. You swiftly stub out the part-finished cigarette and take ownership in ending the interaction.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going back inside now. If you try and follow me, I will speak to the venue's management. If you are still here when I leave later, I will call the police."

You turn towards the door.

He calls your name. Your full name. Middle name too.

Despite your brain chanting at you to go inside, you can't stop yourself from looking back at him. "H-how do you know my full name?"

The profound rumble of his voice resonates deep in your ears. "I know everything about you, Y/N."

He's right in front of you now. His posture is bordering between desperate and predatory. Like he can't quite decide if he is seeking comfort from you, or if he wants to consume you.

You are fumbling behind you to find the door handle. "Please get away from me," you say hoarsely.

He reaches for your hand.

You jump back and struggle to get out of his grip but his strength is inhumanly strong. His skin of his palm is glacial against yours and yet somehow, the touch makes heat snake up your arm and settle in your chest.

You become aware of an internal feeling that you've always had, like that of chapped lips. Low level but something that constantly nags. Something that existed every minute of your life until the moment he touched you.

You grip his hand and look up at his face in astonishment.

"Good. That's it. Look into my eyes. See what you know is there."

You do as he says, totally stunned by the depths that seem to reside within them. It's as if there are universes suspended inside. Maybe there are. Perhaps you could float among the celestial bodies if you asked him to show you how.

You feel so alive and overstimulated that you welcome the delirious thoughts taking over your mind.

You welcome him.

It's like there is a cord connected between your heart and his that is shortening in length. The intensity scares you.

"Give into the pull," he urges darkly, sensing your anxiety.

You obey, feet moving of their own accord and then you are standing before him, just centimetres apart.

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. More heat sears through you from the additional skin-on-skin contact.

Your peripheral vision closes tighter and tighter with every passing moment. The outside world is gone.

He leans in further and you wonder hazily if he is going to kiss you or break your neck. Both options are equally viable given the behaviour he has exhibited. You keep staring at him regardless.

His irises flash silver as he intones his next sentence. "Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

-------------------------------------

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

"Am I your dream girl? You think of me in bed. But you could never hold me. You like me better in your head."

[milkbobatyun]

for you, i'd do it all over again

pairing: illumi x reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: you loved illumi, to the extent that you would destroy yourself, work yourself to the bone, with the silver of hope that he would look at you with love in his gaze, but does he ever?

word count: 904

a/n: finally wrote an illumi fic for you @nfekwefdskldm, some creds to you, (¬_¬") *big sigh from me* "miss skibidi rizzler @nfekwefdskldm" for giving me inspo for the last part (smw save me i was held at gun point to say this)

his nen was overpowering, stifling the breaths lingering in your chest. blood ran down your forehead, the scarlet liquid of life streaming from the shallow cuts all around your body.

illumi’s tall figure loomed over your crumpled body, his gaze cold and unfeeling.

“you’re weak.” his emotionless voice echoed around the chamber, the light catching and reflecting off of his golden shiny needles, peeking from his fingers.

“get up.” he ordered, voice sharp and unyielding, as though failure to comply was not an option.

your limbs felt like lead, weighing you down as your muscles screamed in protest. the love, no, the fear you had of him gnawed at your insides, threatening to crush your resolve.

despite the pain, you placed your shaking hands onto the ground, pushing against the cold stone floors of the training room. you were fighting to stay awake. after all, no ordinary person could fight for 36 hours straight, without sleep.

slowly and painfully, you forced yourself to your feet, fire smoldering behind your eyes, defiant and ready.

“good,” he murmured, face unchanging. this wasn’t praise. it was merely a comment, an expectation. it was a requirement that you finished this intensive training before you went onto your mission.

and so, you stood, shaky but upright, facing the twisted monster before you, the one that your heart held true to, knowing that he only saw you as a puppet on a string, not his lover.

the mission had been long and intense, you stalked your prey day and night, sleepless, driving by the hope of going home to illumi. you imagined him, waiting in the foyer of the mansion, despite the ungodly hour of night, impatiently hoping for you to get home, so he could wrap you in a warm, comforting hug.

the poison surged through your veins, a biting pain that kept you awake as you trudged up the mountainous path. you clung to the miniscule shard of hope, that he would be waiting for you. something, anything to make this suffering worthwhile. you had sacrificed many things to be with illumi. your friendships, your family, your self-esteem. all of it, now lost because of your selfish love for this man.

with aching arms, you pushed open the heavy gates, panting for breath. your vision was swimming and you felt nauseous, but you pushed on. home was only a few paces away.

a flash of white hair appeared from the corner of your eye. killua had come to greet you.

“you look terrible,” he commented, nose scrunched in disgust, though his eyes reflected pity. “honestly, i dont see what you see in my brother.” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you’re better off with someone else.”

you forced a wry smile. the heart, you thought bitterly, is a foolish thing.

with a resounding creak, you swung the weighted doors of the mansion open, eyes squinting in the dimly light hallway. shadows danced across the walls, the flames of the candles their dance partner. your vision swam, sweat pouring down your forehead, the floor spinning under your feet.

“you’re home.” illumi’s voice rang out from the shadows. “report on your mission.”

you felt his cold, calculating eyes scan over you. a pause filling the air. you waited for something more—a hint of concern, a tinge of worry in his tone.

“never mind,” he dismissed, voice devoid of emotion as always, though you could detect a faint hint of impatience. not a hint of worry or pity. “come find me when you have cleaned up.”

with a flick of his long ebony hair over his shoulders, illumi turned on his heel, footsteps echoing down the hallway as he departed, leaving you alone in the vast foyer.

heaving a sigh, you slumped onto the floor, clutching your stomach as you fought back the urge to throw up onto the carpet. the poison multiplied the pounding headache ten-fold, as you collapsed into yourself, but worse still was the ache in your heart—the slow, consuming burn of disappointment, sadness, rejection that not even sleep and rest could fix.

you could work yourself to the bone, bleed yourself dry, rip your heart out and present it to him on a silver platter, but nothing—nothing—could make him turn and look at you with a shred of love in his soulless eyes.

you used to find solace in the quiet moments with illumi, but now they suffocated you, tainted by the thought of him. he draws you like a moth to a flame, companionship morphing into ugly manipulation, eating away at your sanity.

you see his presence everywhere—the flickering lights, the air that thickens around you. each encounter tightens the noose around your neck, your laughter turning hollow, joy a distant memory.

days blur into nights, sleep slipping through your fingers like sand. and yet, you find yourself in his room, conversing with the devil who kept you awake, every revelation another thread unravelled, each response from illumi twisting your words, feeding on your vulnerabilities.

you’ve lost sight of who you are, now merely a dried out husk. the noose is tightening, choking you with illumi’s influence, whispering your name, sending chills down your back.

you find yourself losing, fading, in this dance of control, voluntarily following illumi as he manipulated you, trapped in a nightmare disguised as a dream, as illumi watched your life slip away, numbness enveloping you in its cold embrace.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox, @nfekwefdskldm

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[emjiroki]

Warnings: breeding, creampie, mentions of blood and boxing (just snippets) pro boxer Yuji Itadori

A/N: Hello lovelies! back again with my little entry to @his-sweet-minx Sex Me Up event! I got "Missionary with a twist" which is just so perfect for our sweet boy Yuji and I hope it lives up to expectations! please enjoy (also this is SO self indulgent pro boxer Yuji is the LOML)

all reblogs, comments, tags, and likes appreciated and treasured

Sweating. Shuddering. Heavy breathes warm against each others skin as you melt together. You were trying to be easy against his bruised ribs, though it didn't matter to him. The fight was only two rounds before his opponent was face down in the ring, he probably wouldn't even blemish and he wanted, was close to begging, for you to cling to him. Claw his skin, bite his tender muscles lax beneath your hold and mark him for your own.

He needed you. Primally. In a way not even the ring on your finger could satisfy. After the promise you made him before his fight, he wasn't planning on letting out of this bed or off his cock for awhile.

"You were serious when you promised earlier r-right?" He whimpered, just barely able to pull his lips away from yours. You nodded breathlessly, mind swirling in a torrent of sweet pleasure and need.

"I meant every word of it, I want to have your baby Yuuji".

The way he groaned so helplessly lit a fire in your belly, having this man who not even two hours ago had another man's blood smeared across his cheek broken and pleading for you was a high nothing could match. This was a side of him only you were allowed to see.

His hands were so soft against your skin as he squeezed and pulled, his hot tongue licking out against your hard nipple as his thumb worked the other one, his amber eyes glazed over and looking up at you with so much love you felt your heart swell.

"We're not leaving this bed until we have a positive test" he said, sitting up on his knees between your spread legs, "that's my promise to you". The head of his cock was so warm it sent a shiver down your spine as he dragged it through your wetness, bumping against your clit a few times as you moaned into each other's mouths, tongues dancing together and spit leaking from the corners of your lips as the first inch sank in.

"So tight, goddamn" He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours, pressing closer and stretching you so deep it had your toes curling against his back. Before you even take a deep breath to adjust to the intrusion he had your leg hooked over his shoulder, a pussydrunk smile easing across his lips.

Why was it so hard to keep your eyes focused? You could feel your lids pulling shut with every syrupy slow thrust into your heat, the veins along the side of his length dragging against your soft velvety walls. It felt all too much to keep your eyes locked on his, sweat rolling down his cut abs as his big hands kept you pinned beneath him as he took his time to completely unravel you, like the sun was radiating beneath his skin as he pressed kisses across your collarbones and whispered his devotion so low it buzzed in your veins.

You moaned when his hand grasped your jaw, his cock so deep you could feel his heavy balls against your ass as he ruined you.

"Eyes on me baby girl" He murmured, tracing his hand down to lightly squeeze your throat, just enough to have your head spinning as he fucked against that throbbing sweet spot deep inside. "Feel how wet you are?".

It was leaking down to the sheets as you nodded. It felt like your bones turned to liquid with every press of his hips against yours.

"Y-Yuji I'm gonna- aah" your fingers dug into his shoulders as you shivered beneath him, a nearly sinful groan rolling from deep in his chest as your pussy gripped around him so tight he could barely move.

"Squeezing me so good baby," He hissed, bucking his hips in a broken rhythm that nudged the still pulsating spot so roughly that you felt yourself gush against him, your wetness beginning to drip down his abdomen to his thighs. "So pretty when you cum".

"Want you to cum Yuji, please I-I need it" You panted, using the leg he wasn't gripping to pull him in closer. The kiss he pressed against your swollen lips was needy, hungry and insatiable in the way he devoured you until your teeth clashed and your tongues were interlocked, barely able to breathe. His pace was rocking the bed, the headboard banging against the wall and your hands clinging onto him till he had scratches in his skin.

His hips stuttered at the cry of his name that left your lips, whimpering moans huffing through his nose as you felt his cock jump, gush after gush of hot cum filling you until it began to drip out around him. After a moment, he was soft and sensitive, rutting his hips to keep himself inside of you as his cum made it so wet. But the tension was shattered when Gojo's ringtone blasted from Yuji's nightstand, his phone vibrating against the wooden surface. Immediately he snatched it up, declined the call and shut his phone off.

"Manager can wait, I've got a promise to make good on" He smirked when he saw your questioning look, laying a warm hand against your abdomen and planting a soft kiss beneath your bellybutton, his eyes warm with something lustful, "and so do you".

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Alpha angst because I cannot leave this ghoul alone ! If I have to suffer so does he ! (I do love him very dearly)

"Why not me ?"

The question slips from too-loose lips, one too many drink freeing a sentence Alpha has bitten back many times in his existence topside. Omega pauses, bottle halfway to his lips, bicep stretching the black cotton of his shirt. His thick eyebrows pinch forward in a wordless question. Alpha sways forward, pressing into the quint's side. The kitchen is dead silent at this hour of the night, the empty bottles scattered around them a testimony to their dedication to getting thoroughly intoxicated, not an easy fit for creatures from hell. The only light pours from the window, liquid silver making the both of them look ethereal, not meant for this world. It isn't far from the truth.

"Why Terzo and not me ?"

Alpha truly must be that self-destructive, to ask such a question at such an hour, when Omega looks so unbearably soft, hair messed up and eyes gentle. The quint's mouth falls into a sad frown, and Alpha hates himself for being the reason behind such an expression, but doesn't retract what he said, just waits, with pleading eyes so unlike him, probably too close for comfort but too drunk to resist the pull of Omega's warmth.

Satan, Alpha feels so cold. How ironic.

"Alpha, you know I love you," Omega whispers in the silver of space between them, setting his bottle down. Alpha's face twists in a pain he's not sober enough to mask.

"But not like him."

Omega hangs his head down, eyes fluttering shut for a second before he faces Alpha again. The longing that hits the fire ghoul feels like running head first into a brick wall, breath catching in his lungs and refusing to get out again.

"No, not like him," Omega confirms softly, voice barely there, sticking in his throat. Alpha makes a wounded noise, even though he knew the answer, even though he hates how small and weak it sounds. Omega drags him closer, wraps his arms around him, does his best to smother the hurt he caused, rubbing his forehead against Alpha's temple.

"Why ?"

Why ? It's a question that haunts Alpha at night, keeps him up with his eyes on the ceiling, wondering, trying to understand. Terzo is a great guy, no amount of jealousy can deny that, even if Alpha, in his worst moments, likes to pretend, to dissect the smallest of Papa's actions to find an imaginary, unforgivable flaw. It's all wiped from his mind whenever Terzo hands him a water bottle after an excrutiating practice session, or smile at him with a proud glint in his eyes, or goes up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to his forehead. Then, only guilt remains. Yes, Terzo is a great guy. But isn't Alpha too ?

He almost scoffs out loud. Of course not. He's bitter, cranky, snappy, he has no patience and is stubborn to hell and back. He isn't great, no, he's not even good, not even a little bit.

But, still. Alpha was there with Omega, from start to finish. Granted, the start was rocky, to put it mildly. Blood splatters on the autel as they fought, Alpha desperate to regain control in a situation where he had none. But surely, he can be forgiven for this misguided reaction ? Surely, years of companionships, years spent with his shoulder pressed to Omega's, years spent supporting and encouraging him, surely those years are penance enough ?

They would fit so well, Alpha thinks, as Omega shifts and presses their foreheads together, they would make sense. Two puzzle pieces meant for each other. Except sometimes, pieces get lost, are put back in the wrong box, are damaged ; and, suddenly, they fit with another piece, a different one from a completely different puzzle, leaving the original missing piece tethering on the edge of an all consuming void, never to be filled by anyone else.

"I don't know," Omega finally answers.

Alpha aches.

Even when Omega's mouth presses against his, scotch flavored tongue slipping past the fire ghoul's lips, even as he kisses back with the desperate hope that it might soothe the burning in his throat, behind his eyes, in his heart, Alpha aches.

Because they can do that. They can kiss, they can cuddle, they can call each other sweet nicknames and even, sometimes, fuck. Alpha thinks it would maybe be easier if they couldn't. If Terzo was jealous of their easy intimacy, or if he simply was monogamous. But, no. No, Terzo is so comfortable in his relationship with Omega, so confident in it, trusts Omega so much, that it never has been a problem.

Because they know, all three of them, that no matter how strong what's between Omega and Alpha is, it could never compare to Terzo and Omega. To the couple that makes Siblings sigh dreamily and giggle with rosy cheeks, that makes even ghouls comment about true romance with only slightly teasing smiles. Terzo and Omega were not meant to be, a hellbeast and his too charming human, two worlds never supposed to wound up so closely entwined, and yet they defied every expectations, faced every criticism with unwavering conviction, and they made themselves fit, mismatched and yet perfectly harmonious.

It's precisely why they are as beautiful together as they are.

It makes Alpha want to curl in on himself and sob. He never stood a chance.

Anger would be easy, as he and Omega part, panting in each other's mouth, but the quint's eyes are so tender, so regretful, tears shinning in them like tragic jewels, he can't quite muster it. Not this late, not with his heart so bare, not with so muh alcohol in his blood. Instead, he presses a trembling hand over Omega's heart. Over the "III" inked there.

"I would love you until it killed me."

Omega's tears fall.

"You already do."

Alpha's head bow down, a suplication. He's never been more devout than when it comes to Omega. The quint drags him even closer, guides the fire ghoul's head to his shoulder, rocking them side to side. He presses kisses to every parts of Alpha he can reach, apologetic.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could take your pain away."

He can't. Alpha won't let him. Won't let him distance himself, won't let him try and find a way not to wave his relationship under Alpha's nose. Omega shouldn't have to walk on eggshells around him, especially not about something he fought so hard for. And as much as it kills him everytime it happens, Alpha refuses to give up the comfort of Omega's lips on his, the quint's body pressed to his, their soft noises mingling in the air.

"You are so dear to me, Alpha. So dear. I'm sorry it isn't enough. I'm sorry the way I love you is not what you wish for."

Alpha burries his face further into the soft fabric of Omega's shirt.

"It's alright," he whispers brokenly after a long handful of seconds.

It isn't, but Alpha can pretend. Knows Omega will let him.

"Just...for now..." Hold me.

The fire ghoul doesn't say it out loud, but they do know each other, achingly intimately. So Omega tightens his arms around Alpha.

And pretends he doesn't feel the tears dampening his shirt.

(tagging you @wrathofrats since you know. Alpha angst.)

[ang3l-fac33]

If this place is safe for people with dad issues, might I request a dad themed Lucifer fic too? With reader this time who is like a personal assistant for many many years? Maybe reader is a sinner but only cause they accidentally killed someone in self defense cause the asshole was violently harming an innocent. Lucifer before knowing Reader’s story, was more serious with them, but when he finds out, oh does a switch flip and he becomes more affectionate in a fatherly way.

(of course! this is always a safe place for dad issues and many other things! ^_^)

warnings: mentions of blood and death, not proofread!

lucifer x sinner! reader. (platonic)

—

“lucifer, sir?..” you tentatively knocked on the door to his work office, a steaming cup of coffee that he had requested in your other hand.

when there was no response after a few seconds you decided to just nudge the door open slightly, allowing you to see inside through the crack. the last thing you wanted to do was cause a disturbance when he was most likely working.

if you were being honest you were a bit intimidated by lucifer.. not just by the fact he was the ruler of hell, but also because he was really serious and strict around you. it made you nervous and you were always careful not piss him off or disappoint him.

when you looked through the crack you noticed that lucifer was indeed at his desk working, probably too focused to hear the world around him. you carefully approached and cleared your throat.

“lucifer?..” now that you were closer the devil seemed to finally notice your presence, jolting in response. he was obviously startled, and that made you flinch lightly.

“you scared the shit out of me!” lucifer said, pressing a hand to his chest. you waited silently with an apologetic look, and you waited for him to calm himself down. the devil then looked at you with a stern look, and it made you shrink back slightly.

“any reason why you came in here and decided to scare me like that?” lucifer asked in a tone that you couldn’t point out. he didn’t really pay attention to you, quickly looking down and shuffling around the papers on his desk.

“uh.. i brought the coffee that you requested..” you mumbled, quickly setting the cup down on his desk. that seemed to make lucifer perk, his eyes snapping towards the steaming mug. he took the handle in hand and brought it up to his lips, sighing as the warm liquid went down his throat.

you watched in silence, unsure of what to do or say next. should you just let him go back to work and leave? but maybe he still needed something from you. you ended up watching him drink the coffee for a few more seconds before deciding you should make your leave.

but before you could go, lucifer spoke up again. “i need to ask you a question. it’s something i’ve been wanting to know for quite a while now.” you froze and blinked, wondering what he was about to ask.

“..how did you end up in hell?”

that made your blood run cold and your body tense, the memories of that night suddenly flashing through your mind. the accident.. the blood.. all the horrible, nasty thoughts.

lucifer quirked a brow, leaning forward slightly on his desk. “i just figured i had to know at some point, right? i need to know what kind of secret violent psychopath i’ve hired. this talk was long overdue.” he spoke, a bit of bitterness in his tone.

it was obvious that lucifer didn’t think kindly of the many sinners here, and by the way he was looking at you he was assuming you did some horrible crime just like the rest of the people down here. the only reason he probably hadn’t fired you, or any other sinner that worked for him, was because it was such a big hassle to take care of everything himself.

you took in a shaky breath, already feeling the stinging of your eyes. what landed you down here was something you’d rather not remember. but here it was trying to be forced out of you. it was sending a rush of panic through you.

“well.. are you going to tell me or not? i’ve been curious for quite some time now.” lucifer sounded much more impatient now, taking no notice of your panicked expression. you realized you had to answer, there was no other option. you felt kind of cornered now, almost like a scared animal.

you inhaled again to compose yourself, wiping the upcoming tears from your eyes. “i murdered someone..” you finally muttered, not making eye contact. then you flinched at the sound of lucifer scoffing, and it sent a wave of shame and guilt through you.

“all you sinners are the same..” he grunted, taking another sip of his coffee. “humor me. how in the world did you kill somebody? stabbing, strangling? what was it?”

the way he was looking at you with such disappointment and disgust made your stomach flip uncomfortably, and you hesitated to answer for a moment. “it was an accident..” you whispered, your voice cracking. you seemed on the verge of breaking down at this point.

a gunshot, a body dropping to the floor, and the sound of your own horrified scream rang through your ears. there was so much blood…

“i was just trying to clear my mind by going for a walk one night..”

the remembrance of the pitiful cries of help coming from the alleyway made your body shiver with nerves. “and then there was.. screaming. i was scared but my mind acted on its own, and before i knew it i was rushing towards the screams that came from an alleyway.”

lucifer seemed a little interested now, his eyes focused on you as you told the story. but he didn’t speak and let you continue.

“there i saw..” you gulp nervously, trying to steady yourself. “someone was robbing a lady in the alleyway. she was badly beaten up, and it looked as if the attacker was going to finish her off with a gun..—“

you proceeded to tell the rest of your story. how you wrestled the gun out of the attackers hand, how he rushed at you angrily, and how you shot him out of fear and panic. you were starting to tremble slightly, and lucifer noticed this.

his eyes seemed to soften a bit at the realization that you weren’t actually a horrible person, but rather a person who got sent down here from an accident after saving someone’s life. he really just thought that you were playing nice to keep your job, but apparently not!

when he saw your panicked state worsen, lucifer got up from his seat and walked toward you, careful not to startle you. he then pulled you into a soft hug, and that startled you enough to jolt. he was hugging you?.. but why? you didn’t really deserve any sympathy.

the incident that landed you in hell was something that haunted you until you died, and even then you still couldn’t escape the crushing guilt.

“hey.. shh..” lucifer shushed you, gently rubbing your hair to comfort you. “..i see now that you’re just a good person who got punished for something that unfortunately happened. even then i still think you were in the right to shoot that person..” he sighed, and you hiccuped.

you finally hugged him back, your panicked state calming slightly. you heard lucifer mumble about heavens dumb rules before rubbing your back, making you feel.. strangely nice. this was the nicest lucifer has ever been to you, and the fact he actually sympathized with you had to mean something, right?

after a few seconds the devil pulled back slightly to look at your face, and he gently wiped the tears from your eyes. “i can see how much guilt you feel, but the only thing you should be feeling angry for how you were punished unfairly. you did something good, even if it resulted in the death of a person. you’re a good kid.”

you felt a rush of different emotions at lucifer’s words, and you felt like crying all over again. for years you’ve felt the crushing guilt for what you’ve done and now your boss, the most strict and serious person you knew, was being so nice to you.

“and though you’re in hell now i’m going to make sure you’re safe and secure. you have my protection, okay? does that sound good?”

you sniffled and nodded once more, not trusting yourself to talk without crying again. lucifer smiled in return and pat your head. “good. now how about having the rest of the day off? i can take us out to lunch, my treat.”

you were a little stunned by the offer but were in no means against it. “that sounds.. nice.” you gave a wobbly smile and wiped your eyes for the final time. you worked hard today and you were very hungry.

“well then go get dressed kiddo!” lucifer gave another sharp toothed grin before lightly nudging you towards the door. “i’ll meet you at the front door.”

you nodded, feeling a sudden sense of happiness. you turned and left his office, ready to put on a more casual fit instead of your work clothes.

..though your guilt may not ever go away fully it finally eased a little, the intense guilt in your heart finally letting go of you.

(a/n: hggh,, sorry this took so long! it’s not really my best work and i apologize for that but i hope you still like it! i’m going to go crawl into a hole and die now)

[danosrosegarden]

edward nashton angsty nsfw? hmm... him stealing your boxers and sniffing your pillow while crying a little. sad wank because he knows he can never have you and he can only have this and this. this still isn't enough. he wants to crawl in your ribcage and protect your heart from the inexorable tide of Gotham and he can't and every second he can't he's filled with anxiety and the anxiety is eating him. he wants to taste your skin, not just your discarded fabric; god you're so precious, how can he defile you like this, even just in his mind? he's not good enough for you (he thinks, to himself) and he wishes he was because you're so fucking beautiful and he wants to cage you to view for himself but he can't! because he doesn't deserve it and he could never keep something like you. because everything he keeps rots. you smell so so good and he can't help it and he's sorry. In this essay,

my ugliness is not my fault, i know god just made me wrong - edward nashton x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW)

{contains: "breaking in" (really just breaking of trust/misuse of keys), male masturbation, obsessive behavior and thoughts, and self-deprecation/angst.}

♡ You were naive, Edward was desperate. It was the perfect mixture to get just what he wanted. Just what he needed.

♡ Just in case, you had told him as you handed him the spare key you'd cut for your apartment. He could cry at your kind, clean innocence. You'd cut a key for him. In case you were at work and he'd realized he left his jacket laying on your couch, or something. He thought of how you'd react if you saw him now, using his key for this. Your furiously furrowed brows, your mouth fixed in a horrified grimace. Maybe that was part of the allure.

♡ Truth was, the very last thing he wanted was to cause that lukewarm current of discomfort to slosh from within you. To be the reason bolts of fear and horror shot through your boiling blood would just be too much. He was a friend to you. A very good friend. He didn't want to mar that pristine canvas.

♡ He'd much rather just be the freak rifling through your underwear drawer while you were out than confess his carnivorous appetite for you. How would that conversation go, he wondered. How could he reach into the deepest parts of his guts, the darkest parts of his brain, and yank out those inky black desires without casting you off for forever? Surely, you'd gaze upon his blood-stained longing and run for the hills.

♡ The thrill of it all had him painfully hard and already dribbling. He unbuttoned his pants and took himself out with a slow pull of his boxers, teeth clenching and a sharp breath drawn in from the feeling of the cool air lacing itself around his cock.

♡ Edward gripped your underwear with one hand and began giving himself gentle, languid tugs with the other. He imagined how it would be if the blood and guts and grime didn't scare you off completely. He imagined your sweet, tender coos of encouragement in his ear. There you go, darling. Keep going for me, angel. You're so beautiful, sweetheart. I love you, Eddie.

♡ White-hot pinpricks were already popping behind his knees as he gripped himself tighter, high hums and whines pouring from his mouth like liquid silk.

♡ Edward knew this could never be truth. You would fear him. You'd take one look at his innermost hunger and be horrified. He couldn't even fully comprehend the extent of his fiery passion.

♡ He wished he could protect you from the filth that injected itself into the heart of Gotham. Such a perfectly crafted gem didn't deserve to be scratched or chipped. You were a blindingly bright bird to him, your wingspan magnificent and your technicolor feathers brilliantly tinted. He knew to cage you was cruel, but he was consumed by crashing waves of fear that you'd be hunted. Shot down. Ripped apart. He wouldn't be able to continue on if something happened.

♡ A tight current of thickened nausea splashed around in the pit of his stomach and he felt the crackling fire of heat burn between his legs. God, he'd do anything to be the cool one. The calm one, the collected one, the one who knew exactly what to say to wrap a spellbinding cloth of charm around you and pull you in close. Instead, here he was, gripping his throbbing cock tight in his hand while laying on your bed, desperately clawing and grasping for any semblance of you. Any silk soft touch. Any juicy taste to dribble down his chin. Any symphony of sound. Anything, anything.

♡ His orgasm rippled through his body sharply, suddenly, a shot of slam-on-the-brakes adrenaline streaking through his body. He watched the soft skin of his stomach flutter up and down with each ragged breath.

♡ Sometimes Edward feels as though a hex had been placed on him since birth. The future looked bleak, the present was weary, and the past was nothing more than a mildew-scented memory. Life had never been kind. But you. A flood of glimmering sunshine. A bright, sparkling rainbow after a dark, storming day. A gasp of crisp, fresh air breathed deep and long. Lovely, compassionate, angelic you. It only made Edward look that much more rotted and moldy by comparison.

♡ With a turn of your lock and a quiet click of shutting your door, he left your apartment with a thick scoop of guilt melting around his thumping heart. He took every day with you one at a time, careful not to reveal this sinister secret or let you in on his insatiable hunger. It would remain inside of him. He would not act upon it again. It would be festering, brewing, bubbling...until the next time you were out and the starvation spoke louder than reason.

[arsenal-womens-1]

I see you in my reflection

Tw: self-harm guns shooting school death blood can’t think of anything else but please tell me if there is any more

“The most agonizing part of loving someone is not just missing them, but grappling with the void where they once filled your world.” - Unknown

6 months ago, you made the decision to move 3,459 miles away from home. You still haven't decided if it was the correct decision or not. You miss home, but at the same time, I will never step foot inside that country again.

Walking into the locker room, the room is filled with chatter. You're the youngest on the team, having just turned 15. You signed with Arsenal at 14, which makes you the youngest person in the WSL to sign a contract. Because of your age, you had to stay with a teammate or teammates. Beth and Viv had offered to let you stay with them; they were the best. You have nightmares at night a lot. Viv helped with the panic attacks that would happen after waking up. They didn't know about them for the first 4 months, then one night they found out.

“Come on, Lilly, keep your eyes open for me, keep them open.” Blood was everywhere; no matter the pressure you put on the wounds, it wouldn't stop. “Y/N, it’s okay, it’s okay. Go be a superstar, win all the trophies. Don’t give up on your dream.” The sound rings out again. You shoot up. It was just a dream; you know that it's not happening again, but the tightness in your chest won't go away. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest. Stumbling out of bed, holding onto the wall, the feeling gets worse. Somehow managing to get to the kitchen, grabbing a glass, filling it with water, you go to take a drink out of it. “Y/N, what are you doing up?” Beth's voice startles you, dropping the glass. A warm liquid runs down your shoulder. You look over to Lucy; she had been shot in the shoulder. Looking back down at Lilly, her eye held no life or color. “Breathe, kid. I need you to copy my breathing for me.” Viv's voice fills your ears. It feels like you're there: the coldness of the floor, the shouting, the sound of bullets being fired, the sound of people crying, people begging to be saved, the feeling of Lilly's body, the coldness of Lucy’s face, the smell of blood, the metallic taste in the air. “Come on, kid, copy my breathing.” The feeling of being moved into someone's lap brings you sort of back to reality. The sound of a heartbeat fills your ears; slowly your breathing slows down.

After the night, both of the women had asked you what had made you react like that. You hadn't told them; you hadn't told anyone. They had become protective of you a lot more after that night. It's February 2023. You stayed over at Leah's place with a few other people. You had a nightmare, which luckily wasn't that bad. You tried to get back to sleep after you woke up but couldn’t, so you went outside. That’s where you are now: headphones on, kicking the ball around as the sun rises. The feeling of something hitting you on the back startles you. Turning around, you spot Leah and Katie watching you. “Why did you throw something at me?” Walking up the steps into the house, you see everyone who stayed the night awake. “We tried to get your attention, but you didn’t hear us.” Sliding over the back of the couch, your shirt rolls up, which in turn shows your scars. Few look self-inflicted with how neat they are. There were 6 in total that you could see. One is circular. You pull the shirt down quickly, hoping nobody saw. Unaffectionately for you, most of the people saw. “What are we doing today?” You try to make them forget, but the people who saw just looked at each other. Leah was the first to respond. “We have media all day, kid.” By the time Leah had stopped talking, it seemed the people who saw decided not to bring it up just yet. “I’m sick, sorry, can’t do it today.” One thing everyone knows is that you hate media days. “You’re still going, kid. If Beth or Viv found out you didn’t go, we would all be dead.” She wasn’t wrong, but still. “Get ready; we need to leave in 30 minutes.” You just grumble as you walk up the stairs with the bag Beth had given you last night. Opening it, it was the Arsenal kit with an Arsenal jumper as well. The rest of the team get changed at the training ground, but you always get dressed at home. You go to the bathroom; there is a big mirror on the wall. You rarely look at yourself in the mirror or in pictures. You look up into the mirror, and all you see is Lucy. It may have been 5 years since that day, but all you see is her. The sound of the ambulance bangs against your head. Apparently, you had been shot 3 times: one time in the stomach and two times in the shoulder. The heart monitor sound fills your head. You were next to Lucy. The sound of the shocks fills your head. 3 minutes then, “Time of death 14:25 PM.” You stare at yourself in the mirror, trying to shake off the lingering images and sounds. The scars on your body are a constant reminder of what happened that day and for 4 years after. You try to focus on your reflection, to see the athlete you’ve become, but Lucy’s face keeps haunting you. You grip the edge of the sink, taking deep breaths, trying to get the images out of your head. Looking back in the mirror, you whisper, “I wish you were here. I like to think you're proud.” Pulling the clothes out, you get changed, looking at the scars on your body: your stomach, thighs, hips, and arms. You’re 5 months, 21 days self-harm free. There's always a voice in the back of your head that tells you to relapse. You have been close a few times, but you haven’t yet.

You button up your Arsenal kit, the familiar red and white fabric offering a small measure of comfort. You take one last look in the mirror, swallowing hard as you remind yourself why you’re here: to fulfill a dream that Lucy never got to see come true. A knock on your door snaps you out of your reverie. It’s Katie, her concern evident despite her attempts to keep a cheerful facade.

“Ready to go?” she asks, giving you a reassuring smile.

You nod, forcing a smile of your own. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

Walking out the door to the car, you put your AirPods in and put a random playlist on.

[nn-ee-zz]

What are your other OC's like? I'm interested in hearing about the stories you came up with for them.

UH OH youre gonna get me talking!

My OCs are NPCs by origin. I was (still am) the DM of my friend group and to get their characters moving along I had to create my own.

Unexpectedly, my friends loved them.

ILYA - unwell henchman

i know its a boys name,

An aiding hand to an ambiguous villain, Ilya was introduced as sneaky, smiling, and untrustworthy. The facade collapsed once she vomited inside a cup after accidentally touching the liquified remains of (unbeknown to her) her younger sibling. The villain is a wizard of great power and transported all the liquid from their body to put out a fire, mummifying and killing the person in the process in an attempt to save several.

She seeks her sibling amongst the city. The tingling awareness of their demise at the hands of the guild she encouraged them to join and growing panic and grief led her to start a fight with someone who is spiraling as well.

She ends up at the local clinic, heavily injured and minus one eye, and spirals further from her injuries, her guilt, and the knowledge her family was correct about her being too mentally fragile to be in the city. Until....

(For now. The overall arc for this character is of recovery and improvement instead of pain and self-destruction. Forgive your past and find value within you that goes beyond self-sacrifice. With the help of others, of course.)

Despite her questionable moral position, a lot of characters feel the need to protect her.

Art - Her wearing another characters shirt and her getting a widdle kiss from said character, because even I (the monster freak artist) have my lovely ships

ED - emo organ trafficker

''Nez, I want my oc to be kidnapped and rescued by another oc'' ''Hm, I'll make up a guy to kidnap them then''

Originally meant to be a minor antagonist that would kidnap a character to harvest their organs and be easily defeated. Villain of the week type.

However, his snarky behavior, violent temperament, fancy victorian-boy-esque looks captured a lot of attention. He is a little freak but his direct words seem to bring out a lot of honesty in other characters.

Fun facts; His name is inspired by Edward Hyde. He is roomates and best friend/adopted sibling to Ilya. He makes an effort to be fancier than he is because he was born a bastard child and forced to be his fathers servant before he murdered his siblings and father and joined the army to escape (where he met ilya and ultimately got adopted into her family <333)

Art - Him, and him as a chibi fighting the guy who rescued the person he kidnapped. They also fall in love

REDD - funny bully

I recently made an oc just to mess around with the players while they were in jail! Well, now one of them drank his blood and is forever connected to him. The other one got her finger broken cuz she poked him. He also had the prision keys the entire time but pretended to be a prisioner as well. What a menace! I love making horrible pests. His name is red cuz thats how the others refered to him, because I described him as having red hair and red eyes.

Isnt it funny how despite being a DM I never use my monster designs?! I find it a lot more interesting to make characters specifically meant to alter the course of the character development of my players. I love to change deeply and irrevocably! : D