#and his entire being screams at the idea of refusing them

[jessicas-pi]

Unwilling Mand'alor Satine AU: Part Three

(part one (sort of?) || part two)

The Empire has been preparing for its attack on Mandalore for many years. They are well-equipped; more than enough stormtroopers to overwhelm Bo-Katan's Nite Owl forces, and Vader and his inquisitors will be there to deal with the Jedi.

But here's the thing.

Vader was Anakin Skywalker once, and Anakin Skywalker was there on the Coronet that day, all those years ago, when Satine Kryze pointed a blaster at Tal Merrik and couldn't pull the trigger.

Vader remembers this, and when the battle is being organized, he directs the plans accordingly. Satine Kryze couldn't shoot one man to save a ship full of people, so of course she will stand back while Mandalore burns and the Jedi under her "protection" are slaughtered. Satine will not pull the trigger.

Vader is so very, very wrong.

Satine hates violence, that is true. She hates war. The idea of taking a life makes her feel sick.

But she cannot, will not, stand back while the Empire does its worst to the people she has sworn to protect.

Satine pulls the trigger.

---

Kelleran Beq is leading an evacuation of the younglings from the palace when an armored Mandalorian he's never seen before runs past him in the palace hallway, presence burning with controlled fury.

Obi-Wan is drawing Vader's attention away from the palace when he sees a single warrior soaring high above him, a black blade in her hand.

Bo-Katan, who spent quite a bit of her teenage years getting thrown around the training mats by her older sister, looks up and grins.

The Empire will not win this round.

Satine hasn't worn her armor in over a decade, but the weight of it is familiar all the same. She is fighting for the Jedi as much as she is fighting for Mandalore, and the kyber at the heart of the Darksaber knows this. Satine is not practiced at wielding it, but she does not have to be. The Darksaber wields her. It is magnificent to her people. It is terrifying to the Empire.

But this is not the only sight that will be remembered, and in the years that follow, the legends of the Battle of Mandalore begin to spread.

---

Ahsoka has acquired a jetpack by this point, and she leads a charge of Nite Owls in an aerial assault on the Imperial ships hovering around Sundari. She takes a light cruiser by storm, smashing feet-first through the front window, lightsabers blazing green and gold.

(In this universe, she does not wield lightsabers that Anakin modified to be blue like his own. She uses new blades, blades that are hers, blades forged with beskar hilts and powered by crystals she claimed from the depths of the Living Waters.)

(Ahsoka Tano has become a child of two worlds, and she is wearing it well.)

She is the second Jedi in Mandalorian history to have an epic ballad written about her.

She will not be the last.

---

Years ago, Rex was dragged to Mandalore bound hand and foot, writhing against his bonds because his mind was telling him to kill, kill the Jedi, kill her, destroy her, destroy them all, even as every instinct rebelled against it. But Ahsoka and a med-droid working together removed the chip that had wrested control of his body from him, and he's been free for years. Free, and working to free all his brothers. There is a sizable squad of them by now, and they fight for their Generals and their Commanders and the brothers they lost and the brothers they still have.

They fight, and they win, and their songs of victory are sung proudly.

(Jango Fett refused to share his heritage with them. The Mando'a they knew was negligible; they never considered themselves Mandalorians.)

(That has changed.)

(They are not Mandalorians by blood, but by choice, because to a true Mandalorian, blood means nothing.)

---

There are many Inquisitors who accompany Vader to Mandalore---and they do not fail entirely in their mission. More than a few Jedi die.

One Jedi who falls is accompanying a Padawan when she is attacked. She screams for the boy to run, seconds before a red blade pierces through her chest.

But he does not run.

(Not this time.)

Though Caleb is nineteen and a capable duelist, he is no match for the Grand Inquisitor. He lasts four minutes before a slash to the face ends the fight, and he falls to the ground. The Grand Inquisitor steps closer, and raises his blade to finish the boy off, when a single voice rings out loud and clear.

"Leave him alone!"

Through vision blurred with pain---through only one eye---Caleb sees the form of a scrawny child, standing fierce and tall and hopelessly unprepared to face an Inquisitor.

The Grand Inquisitor glances over his shoulder, laughs coldly, then turns back to Caleb, twirling his blade.

"I said leave him alone!"

There is a snap-hiss and a flash of green light, and behind the Grand Inquisitor, the girl drops into the Djem So opening stance. The dead Jedi's lightsaber is comically big in her grasp, and she holds it backwards, but her form is precise, and she is undaunted.

"Come at me, hut'uun," she spits.

She can't be more than seven years old.

Caleb's grip on his own blade tightens, and as the Inquisitor turns away from him to cut down the annoyance, Caleb staggers to his feet and rams his blade through the Grand Inquisitor's chest.

"I coulda taken him," the girl complains, as the Grand Inquisitor staggers once and then drops dead at her feet. Up close, Caleb finally recognizes her.

"You're that kid," he says, gripping the wall with one hand because he's dizzied by pain. "The one Ahsoka's training."

(It's more polite than that feral demon child from Death Watch, which is also what he's heard her referred to as.)

Caleb grabs her by the wrist and runs as best he can---runs not for himself, but for a child in his protection---bringing her to the Sundari citadel, where the Jedi are taking refuge. A Twi'lek healer sits him down and patches him up as best she can, but his left eye is lost to him.

In the aftermath, Sabine draws a crooked jaig eye on Caleb's eyepatch.

---

A stealth squad of purge troopers, led by an Inquisitor, break into the Palace, taking it by surprise and cutting off the escape route for a group of Jedi children. Kelleran orders them to run. He says he'll be right behind them.

Most of the children know it's a lie.

Most of the children do as he told them.

But one turns back.

It is a girl, seventeen years old and different from the rest of the Jedi, because she's not a Jedi at all—only a lonely girl rescued from a dusty red world, the last of her kind. She stops and looks back and sees Kelleran Beq holding his own against the advancing purge troopers, and she knows he will not get out alive. Many of them have fallen, but many more remain, and an Inquisitor with them.

She wonders if she could even the odds.

No, she knows she could even the odds.

So she turns around. A Jedi boy runs after her, grabbing her hand and trying to pull her away, frantically demanding to know what she's doing. But she just grips his gloved hand tightly, narrows her focus to the purge trooper bodies littering the ground, and whispers— sisters, give me strength.

Merrin's eyes burn green and flame dances on her fingertips as she begins to chant.

(This story is spread in whispered rumors from stormtrooper to stormtrooper, and is usually dismissed as horror story nonsense. But the Purge troopers who were there to see it—well, they won't be forgetting it any time soon.)

---

Another Inquisitor breaks into the citadel in the center of the city, lightsaber flashing, ready to strike. The few Jedi Masters there ignite their blades, ready to defend their own.

But one holds her hand up sharply, halting the rest.

The verdant blade in her hand hisses as it deactivates, and she steps forwards.

"Padawan," she says.

The Inquisitor falters.

"Padawan," she repeats, more gently.

The Inquisitor's own blade deactivates as she stares in petrified indecision and fear.

But the Jedi doesn't hesitate at all. She holds out a hand to her, palm up. "Come here, my child."

The twisted black hilt of a scarlet saber clatters to the ground, and with a choked sob, Barriss Offee crashes into her master's arms.

---

Obi-Wan pushes past his grief and his guilt and fights Vader head-on. It is difficult to believe that this twisted monster used to be Anakin Skywalker.

At least, it is difficult to believe it, until Padme shows her face.

She wears armor painted in the colors and patterns she wore as Queen, and tears her helmet off to reveal her face.

Vader freezes.

"Padme?" he wheezes, sounding like someone reached into his chest and ripped his heart out.

Padme levels a blaster at his head.

Bombs fall and blasters fire all around them, but for the three old friends torn apart, there is pure silence.

"Padme," Vader says again, stepping towards her once. "Padme, it's---it's me, it's---"

She cuts him off sharply. "I know who you are, Anakin."

"But---"

"I miscarried. Did you know that?" she spits out. An accusation. (A lie.) "Our baby is dead because of you, and if Obi-Wan hadn't brought me to Mandalore, I would have died with her."

"Padme---"

Padme goes on, breathing fire and fury, because even if her children are alive and safe, her heart is shattered, and she uses that pain. She always has. "I called her Annie. For the moment I held her, I named her for the man I loved! I loved Anakin Skywalker---I love him still!"

Her voice drops low and she lowers her blaster.

"But---" She shakes her head slowly, never looking away from the skeletal mask he wears, and Obi-Wan knows she swallows down tears. "I don't know who you are. Not anymore."

And Vader does something truly unexpected.

He retreats, leaving behind a brother and a wife who watch him go.

(Both of them could have killed him.)

(Neither of them could do it.)

---

Above, around, and through it all, Satine Kryze does battle. Her blood runs hot, and she does not hesitate. She disarms when she can, injures when she must, and kills only as a very last resort.

But she does kill.

When the next morning dawns and the Empire is gone and Jedi leap nimbly from one rubble heap to the next, searching for the gleaming sparks of life as they lead search-and-rescue teams, the Duchess of Mandalore locks herself in her bedroom. Her scorched armor screeches against the wall as she slides to the floor, a blaster in one hand and the Darksaber in another.

She is too tired to cry.

She is too tired to be sick.

She is too tired feel anything but loathing.

Oh, Manda. What have I done?

But even as she chokes the question out to herself, she knows the answer.

She did what she had to do.

And she will never forgive herself for having done it.

[rat-rosemary]

If any animal were to ask Dream he would say that he has no favorites.

I, however, God of this world, do, and Dream was raised by rabbit gods, so he does think and default to a rabbit on a lot of things

He calls Tommy and Wilbur weasels because of the weasel war dance and how they always seem to be able to get in close to bite him again

[bi-writes]

ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)

you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.

it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.

but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?

for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

you can't hurt him. you just can't.

and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--

those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.

he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.

you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.

you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.

because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.

you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.

he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.

ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.

he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.

when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.

he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.

he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.

it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.

because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.

[fancyfeathers]

Hey Fancy! Apologies if this is a wee bit long but it’s a random platonic yandere Batfam idea I’ve had for a long time. Adopted daughter who becomes an investigative journalist. (With Outlast crossover)

Darling was a product of one of Bruce’s affairs and he never really cared, he paid child support and that’s about it. Darling didn’t care as she and her mother were happy together until they weren’t. Darling’s mother starts to have to work longer hours, coming back more and more hollow until there’s nothing left but her corpse. Darling had a gut feeling her mom died because her mom’s boss was cutting corners in safety at some chemical plant and forcing long hours on workers. 

Of course darling has to go to her father’s house now and live with him (I imagine she was adopted a year before Jason died) after a week she’s asked if she wants to become Robin to which she refuses. She wants to fight the criminals who act as altruists, such as corrupt leaders and politicians, companies who have blood on their hands but hide it, because that’s the hero who could save her mom. Bruce accepts this but the family just seems to forget her. Not out of maliciousness, except for Damien, they just don’t have time for a non-vigilante sibling. She feels alone and when Tim and then Damien are welcomed into the family they neglect her too. Damien even mocks her for being useless. The only family she had there is Alfred, as he made sure to care for darling whenever s he could. 

When darling turns 18, she gets out of that house and goes to a university to study journalism. She becomes an investigative journalist who gained her reputation for going deep into the depths of corruption’s depravity and meets this one dude named Miles Upshur who she becomes partners with as they both are freelance journalists because they don’t censor the truth. They get an email one day telling them about messed up things happening at Mount Massive asylum.

They both go and cue the events of the game Outlast and Outlast Whistleblower. I’m not sure if you are comfortable with the contents of those games so I summarize it by saying the patients were being experimented on and broke free causing Miles to get trapped in the asylum with no way to fight back. He only has places to hide and a camera with night vision that drains his batteries. He gets very injured and Whistleblower is the same concept as it’s the same place but from the perspective of the one who sent the email. I imagine the darling was somehow separated from miles but ended up getting out of there with the whistleblower.

She took the footage and instead of letting the whistleblower release it, as the company begging the asylum would hunt him and his wife and kids down, she would be the one as her reputation precedes her. But after dropping the whistleblower off at his home she has no choice but to go to her old one, cause if the company couldn’t ruin her reputation, could just silence her like they did with everyone else. The batfam is going to be very confused when a freshly traumatized, bloody,and bruised darling shows up on their front porch, clutching camcorders to her chest like a lifeline. Who knows, they might just not let her out if this is how she ends up after being on her own.

again really sorry if this is weird or too long! It’s just been brewing in my brain and I needed to share it

God it’s been forever since I played Outlast, I don’t remember everything about the game cause I was screaming and crying for the most part and I literally could only watch Whistleblower and had to skip some stuff

This might not be entirely game accurate cause it has been a hot minute but I will do my best

I do not think Bruce would be exactly neglectful especially since this is yandere content and obsession starts when they normally meet their darling, like a root that takes hold and begins to grow after certain events. I imagine that her mom did not want her daughter to meet Bruce cause she thought he would not be a good influence, the whole billionaire playboy persona. She raised her daughter on her own until her death, her daughter can remember sitting in the hospital when the doctor told her that she was dead, died of radium poisoning, her body decaying while she was still alive.

She remembers sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, waiting after the staff called her biological father to pick her up, a nurse sitting with her. She knew why her mother did not want her to meet her, but her mother was wrong to an extent. She honestly expected someone like Alfred to pick her up, who she knew because he would meet with her mother for fund related affairs since she did not want her daughter knowing her father…

But Bruce was the one who picked her up, in fact he practically came running when he got the call from the hospital when he was at a gala.

When Bruce came into the hospital waiting room, he kneeled down to her level and took her little hands in his, he felt so sorry for not knowing, he could have helped, but for now what he can tell her is…

“Everything will be okay, I’ll keep you safe.”

Bruce is not intentionally neglectful, he really does try his best, but between being Batman and handling his daily affairs as Bruce Wayne he just does not have the time besides to have meals with her. He does keep her safe, puts a tracker in her bag or jacket in case anything goes wrong, but as if something will go wrong while she is playing soccer after school.

Dick is also probably very busy as well to give her much attention but he is pretty similar to Bruce in the way that he cares but he just does not have the time to now that he is Nightwing. He occasionally takes her out to do things, and he apologizes for not being able to spend more time with her, but he is just so busy.

Her and Jason are probably the closest, he is her big brother in his eyes. He helps her transition into her new home the most, making pillow forts, playing video games, taking her out to play in the snow. Then one morning she comes downstairs to see Alfred looking so solemn and Bruce sitting in an armchair in the living room, his head in his hands and still in the Batman suit, but no sign of Jason…

“Dad?”

She knows something is wrong so she hugs Bruce and it is the first time she sees him cry, he hugs her back, as if scared to let her go… but that is because he is.

“Oh sweetheart… I am so sorry.”

He was going to ask her to be a Robin one day, Jason would not have the mantle forever since after all Dick didn’t, but now he can’t stand the idea of loosing her, so he’ll keep her safe, even if that means keeping her at an arms length.

I think after Jason’s death he would probably send her to boarding school in a safer city like Metropolis or boarding school in a small town with next to no crime rate. It breaks his heart to send her away like that, but it is what keeps her alive. She comes home on the holidays and breaks but there is just an aura about the house now that Jason is gone, a constant state of sadness and as if a hand is holding onto her, which is fair because when she is home she isn’t allowed off of the manor grounds, Gotham is just too dangerous. That doesn’t mean they make more time for her, no her summers and holidays are just as lonely as they were before, only this time she is isolated from the outside world and left lonely by her own family.

Tim is similar to Dick in the way that he feels bad but does not make much of an effort to spend more time with her, even less so than Dick does. He only texts her every now and then so show he somewhat cares and talks with her at family meals, but that’s it.

Then there is Damian, she cannot stand him. She knows he grew up entitled in the League of Assassins but he cannot even pretend to be nice. He talks to her as if she is beneath him, despite the fact that when he is brought into the manor she is a senior in high school.

“No wonder you never became Robin, why would father let the most useless child even-“

“Damian, that is enough!”

Luckily Bruce or Alfred normally intervenes and defuses the situation before Damian says something too extreme.

Then she graduates high school and moves on to university, which Bruce pays for in full without hesitation. It is there in university that she meets her partner in crime, Miles Upshur. They are practically joined at the hip and then when that first finals come around and their project is to do a mock investigation and article and they get to choose a topic to do it on and then Miles asked her…

“Hey, what do ya want to do this on? Lexcorp? Abuse in the ballet industry? Maybe-“

“The radium scandal in the Gotham City Chemical Plant.”

“That’s oddly specific, why?”

“It’s how my mom died.”

And that’s how everything started with their chosen path of investigation. They graduate and the two of them even get photos in their graduate robes and degrees together. Her family comes, which an empty seat to honor Jason, despite him watching from a back doorway, she does not need to know what happened to him in the Lazarus Pit and he certainly won’t be caught dead with Bruce at the time.

Bruce is only okay with her going into journalism because he thinks she’ll be working behind a desk at a paper, not what her and Miles plan on doing…

If he knew he certainly would not be happy and try to find a way to interfere…

But sadly he never remembered to ask exactly what she was going to do.

Her and Miles have done a number of stories together, after the first five or so Bruce found out the kind of work she was doing and repeatedly called her to try to talk her out of it, but she would ignore his calls every time.

It was just supposed to be another job, not whatever this was…

They got an email from an anonymous worker, asking to investigate the Murkoff Corporation and their actions at Mount Massive Asylum. The two even joked during their car ride over to the asylum, laughing about stories she shared about her life at the manor and their old college days, they had no idea what they would find inside.

The asylum even looked messed up from the outside, but the inside was a thousand times worse…

Patients who were experimented on, and now they were inhuman and trying to kill, disassemble, mutilate them, you get the idea…

An insane priest to put it lightly…

Dead bodies all over, murdered in horrible ways…

Everyone left alive in there was less than human, insane, or just about to go insane…

And when I say insane, I mean Joker levels of insane.

They get separated along the way, which is good for her, but not so good for Miles.

She makes it out alive thanks to their anonymous source who sent them the email in the first place, Waylon Park who is a software engineer. The two escape together and due to her shock she can’t remember much until long after she left Waylon at his home and she is pulled over at a rest stop half way between Lake County, Colorado and Gotham City, New Jersey, way to exhausted to continue on. She reaches for her phone and finally calls Bruce back.

“D-dad… are you there?”

“Yes, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“S-so much… I want to go home… please I…”

She passes out from exhaustion while on the phone…

But luckily, do you remember what I said about Bruce putting trackers on her things? He never stopped when she was an adult.

When she wakes up she is back home in the manor, in her old room. She is laying flat on her back with everyone around her, even Damian and…

“Jason?”

“Ya… I’m here, lovebug. Just rest, you certainly need it.”

“Need it? For fucks sake she is missing a finger!”

“Dick, shut up-“

Bruce yells them to shut up and he holds her bandaged and stitched hand in his…

“Sweetheart, what happened?”

She only points to the camera in her things as asks them not to play it in front of her. They all watch it together in the Batcave before patrol and…

“Oh my god.”

It is worse than what the Joker did to Jason.

When she finally recovers and is going to write the story and-

No she is not allowed to, Bruce will handle the situation, most likely bringing it to the attention of the Justice League.

In fact she is not allowed to write another story again, she is not leaving the manor again. She is not a hero, she is just a reporter, and Jason is unable to fully move on after what happened to him so how well will she fair out in the real world in her fragile mental state? What if something happens that triggers those memories? They are not letting her take that risk.

Most days she is kept in her room, a controlled environment to make her feel safe. Then most nights one of her brothers or Bruce sleeps beside her in bed after patrols in case nightmare come up and she wakes up screaming. If her mental state get too bad they’ll sedate her so at least her mind is calm and she is not getting flashbacks. Bruce eventually gets her a therapist to work through what happened to her so at least she can have some what of a normal life after what happened…

Well as normal as you can get when you are locked inside for the rest of your life.

[envy-of-the-apple]

ive been really obsessed with your gojo/geto naga oneshots and asks lately it feels like literal brain rot at this point its so good. ive reread it 6 times lol

i was wondering though, what would Geto do if Gojo was just a little bit too heavy handed with you? to the point of a sprained or broken arm or leg. Would he get mad at Gojo or just mad in general that reader was hurt? Also how would they act in response to the injured reader who can't do basic tasks themselves, I personally think they would enjoy the fact she relied on them even more to even move now.

Reminder requests are still closed!!!! I just love this idea so so much holdon lemme-

Part one Part three

(Yandere, dark, implied forced relationships, noncon touching, biting, language barriers, drugging(?))

Top of the Food Chain pt2

Dark!Naga!SatoSugu x reader

Two days later, Satoru still wasn't allowed inside the cave.

You can hear him, hissing and clicking, right outside, hovering just behind the invisible line Suguru refused to let him pass. If you weren't already in so much pain, you would have found pity on the poor thing. He wasn't allowed in his own home, even though the incident wasn't entirely his fault.

Technically, Satoru saved you. It was yet again another escape attempt. Something you'd been doing a lot these days once you've figured out these beings' intentions with you. You'd gotten past the rock quarry this time, a new record. Your plan was filled with holes: there was no way to truly escape the island. You had no boat, no way to call for help. Still, you ran, forgetting that there were more dangerous things on this island other than two territorial serpent men.

It was a monster. There was no other way to describe it. Big, ugly, shiny spikes and sharp teeth, eyes dripping with bloodlust. You would have been eaten, killed, maimed, if Satoru hadn't caught up with you in time.

The only collateral was the loss of nearby plant life and your broken wrist.

That had been Satoru's fault. He'd pulled at you too hard at the hand. The remnants of adrenaline from the fight, his anger, anger made him too rough on your fragile body. He froze at the wet snap, and then you started screaming. That was how Suguru had found you. Despite how much Satoru clicked and hummed and tittered, from his mate's look, you doubted it helped his case.

Another lonely coo made you wince. Suguru only huffed, wrapping you tighter in his coils. They were already warm from your body heat. The numerous animal pelts helped your comfort too.

"Make him stop," you beg, "he's been going on for hours."

At that, Suguru lifts his head from the base of your neck. He tilts his head as he surveys you, and you can't help but think how awful you must look. Sickly-looking from the pain, clammy skin. He can't do much about your appearance, but the least he could do was shut Satoru up.

"What want?" Suguru asks, "water?"

At that, he picks up a sack filled with sea-smelling water. You wrinkle your nose, turning away, cocooning yourself within his coils. With the increased pain, your appetite has decreased, as well as your thirst. The stress of being trapped like this along with your broken wrist was starting to take its toll on your body.

Suguru makes a sound of disapproval, shuffling around behind you. You know he's still mad about the escape attempt, but he's concerned enough for your well-being to put his anger to the side for now. He'd helped wrap your wrist, using something stretchy and soft.

You raise your wrist up, inspecting the thin material wrapped around your wrist. You're not sure what it is, it's too silky to resemble cotton. It must be from the foliage around the island. Yet, another strange thing you'd never find the answer to.

There's another rumble coming from the Naga's chest. He wraps a hand around your chin, bringing your face closer. In his other, he holds the dripping sack.

"Suguru," it's too soft to be anything more than a whine, "it hurts too much to take anything right now. Stop."

"Hurt?" he asks.

To that, you gesture to your broken wrist. It may not have been broken, you were no doctor, so you couldn't say for certain. But considering you'd been in the same amount of pain for two days, it really didn't matter to you.

A click, before he's tossing a glare at the entrance of the cave. He'd already given Satoru a beating right before coming to coddle you. Despite being bigger than his mate, Satoru is docile enough to take them. Suguru had been acting more aggressive lately. You had a feeling it was your fault.

He'd been inspecting your wrist every so often, but you see a different look within his brown eyes now as he takes your injured hand. He carefully turns your palm over, pressing slightly into your wrist. When you yelp, he retracts.

"Hurt." Suguru confirms. You can only nod.

"Hurt. No drink? No eat?" You don't like the way he's talking. As if he's putting a puzzle piece together. Coming to a solution you won't like.

When you go to pull away, his grip only tightens.

"No hurt," he says it like a promise, as though you're a toddler and he's coaxing you into drinking a sour-tasting medicine. His lips part, revealing the fangs you've often seen him use on meat, on Satoru.

Never did you think he'd ever use them on you.

"Suguru," you're pleading, trying to move away when he bends down, his hair brushing your sweaty forehead. You can feel his breath on your neck.

"No hurt," he repeats, and then he bites down.

He lied, of course, he did. His teeth puncture your skin, tearing through like paper. You think you screamed, or maybe it was more akin to a pitiful whimper. In the background, you can hear someone hiss, Satoru maybe?

For a second, you feel everything, the pain, the puncture wound, Suguru lightly licking your neck.

And then, you feel weightless.

It's hard to describe, but your brain feels like it's turned to mush. Your body feels like you're on a soft cloud, just there, floating. In the back of your mind, you remember how dazed Satoru would get whenever Suguru bit him. At the time, you just thought he was lovestruck.

When Suguru pulls away, he's smiling. A trail of blood, your blood goes down his lip. You can barely keep your eyes on him, close to falling asleep.

"No hurt," he says. When he leans down to kiss you, you accept without a single fuss.

You don't remember much after that, but you remember accepting whatever Suguru put in your mouth. The panic in your body was non-existent as he held the water-sack above your lips, watching as your throat bobbed. You think he kissed you a few more times, but you're not too sure. You were a lot more averse to kissing before. It'd make sense he'd take advantage of it.

When you wake up again, you're in between two bodies. The pain in your wrist is still there, but not as horrible as before. You're still groggy, mind fuzzy. Whatever Suguru had given you was still in effect.

Satoru is the first to notice you're awake. Suguru and him must have made up during the time you were unconscious. He props himself up, peering down at you. With how dim the cave is, you can barely make out his features. He looks just as guilty as he had two days ago.

"Sorry," he mutters, "is sorry."

If you weren't still high, you might have laughed. When you continue to stare, he takes it in stride, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, then your lips. You wince in distaste, leaning back.

"Stop," you say but don't fight when he licks at your jaw. You can barely move your fingers.

Panic is still far away, a distant call than anything alarming. It should worry you, but you still can't feel anything.

Suguru is at your back. You can hear his scales move across the cavern floor. He gives a hum, content as he curls himself around you. He doesn't seem to mind Satoru's touches. Your theory that they must have made up is unfortunately starting to strengthen.

You could barely manage Suguru's coddlings. You don't think you'll survive Satoru's.

"Sorry," he mouths into your neck. You can feel the grip on your waist starting to tighten. He stops, rising up to stare at you.

Blue, almost glowing.

"But no more leave."

You're coherent enough to piece together what he means. You can't escape Satoru. You can't escape Suguru. You can't leave this island. Running away is useless.

The nagas understood it. It's time you did too.

"Yes," you finally say, "no more leave."

[mickyschumacher]

𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬.

this post is for my sanity but here is a list of drivers i think embody childhood friends to lovers simply just because (not proofread at all):

oscar piastri. so so so obvious. everything about him screams it. so attentive to everything about you and so goddamn proud of you. definitely only smiles like an idiot around you. refuses any other claims of smiling made by anyone else. the happiest when he's with you. enjoys watching you do something your passionate about. more certain about his feelings (and yours) than you are–like a hundred percent tells you out of the blue and is very persistent on them. like he's not shy about his feelings. but madly blushing and giggling to himself when he's with you. big on hand holding, hugging, cheek kisses... as discussed, he ain't shy. nicole probably tried to get you together first but oscar got embarrassed until he realised he needed her help. has a soft spot not just for you, but your entire presence in his life. oscar also likes to plan his dates with you. anything that makes you happy makes him happy.

mick schumacher. this is also obvious. you and mick have known each other your whole life. rumour has it you were born in cribs next to each other. you both know everything about each other. there for each other's most awkward, saddest, angriest, scariest, funniest moments. not sure if your feelings are real bc everyone from michael and corinna to your grandma has been planning for the both of you to get married. very much a blushing type of guy. he'd happily sit and listen to you yap. enjoys spending time with you no matter what. horse riding, picnics, lunch, long drives... mick would pretend they were dates until he actually told you he liked you. maybe this sounds crazy, but a pinky holder. like before you got together... this drove him crazy. such a simple act but he loves it.

paul aron. the endless nights you spent with each other as children in estonia... they were magical. all summer, you were off to the beach or walking around in the warm evenings to cool off. paul is very much in love with you and has been since he first met you. he tries to play it off, acting all cool about it and what not. "oh her? yeah she's my best friend." very happy to have you as his best friend–definitely brags about you. reality of his pretence: he is an absolute mess around you. always smiling here and there resulting in his brother ralf questioning him. thinking about you 24/7. aka very attentive. if you get sick, absolutely will not stand for it. he enjoys taking care of you. other than being in estonia with you, his favourite time with you is go-karting. teaching you what he's passionate about and then listening you lecture him about how worried you always are... it grounds him.

patricio o'ward. ah pato. the very personification of optimism itself. another one who isn't shy about his feelings but gets shy. he can't help it. how could he not love you? you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. pato loves teasing you. always claims you're smiling because of him, that you're blushing, and, wait for it... that you love him. go figure! (doesn't deny anything when people mistake you for a couple.) pato likes the domestic things with you. yes, he absolutely cherishes seeing you at his races. but he likes when it's just you, him, and norbi. like watching norbi run around the house with muddy paws and you're chasing norbi. loves cooking with you and yapping about the past. secretly enjoys when you and his sister gang up on him because he knows how much elba cherishes you. the best thing, however, is all those things in mexico. p.s. he fake proposed to you when you were kids. has the recording of it and intends to play it at your wedding.

charles leclerc. childhood lovers - CL... it's meant to be. pascale endorsed the idea early on and charles thought his mother was crazy. you were his best friend... you and him? surely not. but then he started seeing you differently. suddenly your smiles were making his heart skip. looking down at your teary-eyed face from a podium made him malfunction. the warmth of your hand was a feeling he yearned for as you consoled him. suddenly his platonic 'i love you' made him breathless and he would spend days learning how to breathe again. you always caught his lingering gazes, immediately for you to look away which got him grinning. was literally told not to tell anyone about signing with ferrari but how could he not tell you? waited for his first win with ferrari to actually tell you he's in love with you. (arthur and lorenzo had never been happier because they had been telling him to do it for years on end.) charles honestly doesn't know how formula one will go for him but he had planned his entire future with you in it. likes to carry a ring around with him because he's always waiting for the perfect moment to pop the question.

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[echantedtoon]

Been tossing around ideas for this with @lavenderdrxp and I find this idea absolutely hilarious. Takes place in Kimetsu Gauken.

*You are Muzan's fiance but not by choice. It was an arrangement made by your families when you both were younger as part of a business deal.

*Despite being his 'fiance', Muzan doesn't even acknowledge your presence unless he absolutely HAS to. In fact he even legitimately forgets you even exist most of the time too busy with his plans to take over Japan. He's a pretty sorry excuse for a fiance. The only reason you haven't just called it quits yet is out of respect for your family but you're very close to not caring anymore and calling the entire thing off. It's not like he'd care.

*Despite this one day he actually does acknowledge you!... Because he wants to use you to infiltrate Kimetsu Academy to spy on his Cousin Kagaya.

*Up to this point Kagaya and Muzan hate one another only acting distantly cordial at family gatherings if even that. Despite that Kagaya has never met You. He knows his cousin was engaged but he's never met Y/n (mostly Muzan's fault for refusing to bring you anywhere EVER), so You would be the perfect spy. (Brilliant thinking am I right?)

*You reluctantly agree only on the basis that he shuts up about this entire thing he won't stop bugging you about.

*You set up a meeting with Kagaya via Muzan giving you his number and intergrade yourself into the Academy's staff as his and Amane's new secretary. Giving you access to many of the Academy's...grading papers. And student profiles and... There's nothing here that screams 'government Intel's or anything Muzan would want. It's just a normal every day school.

*He INSISTS that you keep looking around much to your annoyance.

*Kagaya and Amane know the entire time btw. Muzan isnt as clever as he thinks he's being. They knew from the moment Kagaya interviewed you for the job, but he found his cousins attempts to sabotage him quite amusing and let you stay.

*Slowly things start turning. You start to really enjoy your job at the Academy. You've already made friends with a few teachers like Kyojuro, and Kanae.

*Students start to like coming to the office more because of how bubbly and friendly the new secretary is. The teachers start to talk to you more often and invite you to staff parties and outside work events.

*Was working outside your old job really this fun? You couldn't remember the last time you actually felt appreciated or just had someone WANT to talk to you.

*As part of your 'mission' you were supposed to get as close to the Ubuyashikis as possible to learn about all their little secrets. Again they already know but they're curious about what you'll do so they allow you to (not so discreetly) come around them and speak to them often.

*Kagaya thinks it's amusing watching you shyly peek into the doorway to his office with papers clutched into your hands and bashfully asking if you could come in. The way you so innocently look unsure of something or squeak out a question. It's adorable seeing your attempts.

Amane finds your sweet and bubbly personality is perfect for the job! Especially when she sees how much you love interacting with the students and always friendly towards her own children. When you shyly ask her for help with scheduling or ask where a certain file is, always puts a smile on her face.

How could someone like Muzan be engaged to someone so sweet?

*It's Amane that finally brings up the topic. She accidentally walks in to you crying as Muzan is yelling at you over the phone calling you names before hanging up and leaving you a sobbing mess she quickly comforts. Assuring you that it'd be alright and the three of you should have a long talk.

*You're surprised that they knew, but too tired and stressed out to care allowing the couple to hug and comfort you.

*Muzan shouldn't really be surprised when one day he attempts to contact you and finds himself blocked from all your socials. He's been in contact with you this entire time so what the hell is going on?! He gets Kokushibo and a few other employees to text/call you to tell you to quickly get in contact with him. But they all either get completely ignored or blocked too. He's frustrated more and more everyday that you don't contact him.

*Until one day you unblock him to text him ONE word before reblocking his number- "Goodbye."

*Muzan is confused, offended, and mostly pissed! Goodbye?! What the hell does she mean by goodbye?! Doesn't she know who she's dealing with?!

*Not too long after he gets a text message and photo from Kagaya and Amane. Annoyed he opens the message from his cousin and his wife only for a glass shattering noise to go off in his head, and his jaw drop to the floor-

*It's a photo of You in the middle looking beautiful and happy with Amane and Kagaya on either side of you showing off a beautiful New diamond ring on your ring finger-

Amane: "Thank you for introducing us to Y/n. She's such a a lovely woman. You'll be receiving your wedding invitation soon."

Kagaya: "No bitches?"

Kagaya: "You really need to reconsider your plans better if you want to stop looking like a fool."

Kagaya: "Btw have you met our fiance? lol"

*Muzan has to get a new phone after chucking his in rage. Poor Kokushibo literally has to hold him from behind and keep him from storming into the academy and making a fool of himself.

*He doesn't attend but as a polite gesture (a.k.a Kagaya rubbing it into Muzan's face), he is sent a final message in the form of y'all's wedding invite.

Tagging: @lavenderdrxp

[fellow-fandom-fruitifier]

I’ve seen so many alive!DBD au’s where Edwin and Charles meet first, or Edwin and Niko/Charles and Crystal meet first, but I raise you: Rich Payne and Surname-Von Hoverkraft families meet first. They are industry RIVALS, okay? They DESPISE each other with a burning passion and trade thinly veiled insults back and forth at every event they meet.

(More under cut cause this shit is atrociously long.)

At first Edwin and Crystal ignore each other or send glares, following their parents lead, but then they get older and Crystal starts acting out to get her parents attention while Edwin starts distancing himself from his. Both of them get the idea of, “What if I get to know the Payne’s/Surname-Von Hoverkraft’s daughter/son? My parents would HATE that.” So a friendship is formed.

In the beginning it’s toxic bitch levels of fake on both their sides, good lord they can’t stand each other. One day Crystal’s drunk off her underage ass and just starts openly venting and Edwin — the always sober guy and no it’s not cause he cares that’s preposterous!! — meets her tit for tat. Because, c’mon. Of course they’d drop random trauma on each other like fun facts.

Anyways they’re proper friends now, still appear the same — arguing is their love language — but there’s a level of solidarity now. Insert Edwin getting sent off to St. Hilarion’s for another year — Crystal threatens him to write her back per usual — and his classmates pull the prank. Not sure what 73 years in hell would be here, I’ve seen so many interpretations but I think kidnapping and torture is accurate.

While that’s going on Crystal gets a new boyfriend at her school. Any guesses?? She writes Edwin about David and Edwin does not hold back, he’s part of the reason Crystal tries to break up — it doesn’t go well, not sure how yet — and she writes Edwin about what happened craving comfort. Usually postal’s pretty fast, they aren’t that far, but she doesn’t get a response one day in. Two. Three… She finds out her best friends been kidnapped AFTER a news article has been released.

Turns out her parents knew the entire time but neglected to tell her. Crystal stops speaking to them. It’s 73 days later before she gets anymore news outside of, “The Police Are Still Looking”, and it comes in the sign of a knock. She hadn’t got much sleep that night — didn’t most nights — so she’d been wandering around her kitchen aimlessly. (As you do.) When she heart a soft rap on her front door. Curious, and too tired to care about danger or consequence, she opens the door.

Crystal doesn’t recognize him at first, he’s shivering and there’s so much blood on his- his everywhere but then a very weak voice croaks, “Crystal.” She screams. And sobs. Because what else do you do when your friend had to escape himself after 73 days of captivity and torture and the first safe place he could think to go wasn’t the police, or hospital, but you? Her parents are awoken by her scream and come rushing down because what the fuck is going on? And it’s all a blur from there — she refuses to leave his side and Edwin clings to her like a limpet.

It takes awhile of recovery and physical therapy — and regular therapy — after that but Crystal is holding his hand nigh every session, she’s there to bring him books and bicker and provide a sense of normalcy. Crystal forgets David for awhile, the only one to occupy her thoughts being Edwin because she knows he’d do the exact same. The two also get the satisfaction of watching their parents actually try to be amiable after this, it’s so stilted and awkward and they revel in it. And, yes, the tabloids somehow get ahold of the fact that kidnapped Edwin Payne fought his way to the Surname-Von Hoverkraft’s doorstep instead of literally anywhere else. Rumors pop up about his and Crystal’s relationship and the two make a teir list of their favs and least favs. Secret love child/half-siblings is their favorite, secretly dating isn’t even on the board they hate it so much.

College!!! The two decide against anything super fancy. And by that I mean they move to America together to find some community college to go to because neither want to be reliant on their parents who took a whole ass kidnapping to pay attention to them. Anyways, they share a flat above Tongue & Tail butcher shop with Jenny as their landlord. Crystal works as a freelance artist and tarot card reader (She’s really good.) while Edwin works as the librarians — Maxine’s — assistant.

Charles and Niko meet differently, Niko’s actually advertising her need for a roommate and Charles — who also moved to America to get away from his dad — takes it up. Fast friends don’t have a thing on these two. Niko gushes about this pretty girl across from them and Charles is man enough to admit, yeah, their neighbors are pretty fine. Too bad they’re dating.

———

Anyways more highlights of this AU in no particular order:

Crystal and Edwin physically recoil when Niko says something like, “Wait, I thought you two were dating?” Edwin puts his hand to his heart, too stunned to speak. Crystal fake gags and goes, “Why does everyone think that?! HE’S GAY!!”

Edwin discovers his sexuality at one of the clubs Crystal drags him to when Thomas King — older then them by a few years — flirts with him and he Panics™️. Crystal drags him away with a scathing look toward Thomas and asks if Edwin’s okay. He blurts out, “I- I’m gay?!” and Crystal goes, “You didn’t know??!?”

David tracks Crystal down to America and it’s a whole thing for obvious reasons, also because she forgot to tell Edwin about it in full — too busy helping him. This is how Crystal’s abusive ex trauma gets aired. (Charles maybe reveals some shit about his dad here too.)

Edwin and Niko go on a little faux-date together — cafe, library, just a chill day and night out — but Edwin leaves his flip phone at home and Niko’s dies. (Yes he has a flip phone.💀💀) So Crystal’s panicked as shit, last time she couldn’t contact him he was literally KIDNAPPED and TORTURED. Charles tries to calm her down before simply offering to wait up with her. When Niko and Edwin get back Crystal breaks down like, “You can’t DO that!!” This is how Edwin’s kidnapping and torture trauma gets aired.

Charles has a near death experience at St. Hilarion’s a few days after Edwin’s kidnapping. Turns out they went at the same time but Charles was a year under him and they ran in very different social circles. He gets chucked into the freezing lake and stoned still but a teacher catches them all and sends him to the hospital.

Niko’s dad died and her mom sent her to America to get away from the sadness, she caught a really bad illness and also almost died. Charlotte Knight was her Nurse. (Unrelated but she has Poliosis, which turns parts of your hair white.)

Esther is a serial killer and uses her son, Monty, to lure people in. Very brain washed Monty here sorry guys. She kidnaps Edwin who has several trackers on him — after the Niko Night Out incident Crystal and Edwin spent a night sewing them into each others coats and shoes — and the police arrest Esther and Monty.

Payneland and Palasaki of course, but this would probably be focused on Edwin and Crystal’s friendship. Yes, Niko and Charles get a shovel talk. “You know I adore you Niko and whilst I do not think you’d intend any harm, I will have to do something drastic in the event that it happens.” “Okay listen here dipshit. I have full faith you won’t hurt Edwin but if you do, intentionally or not, I will have to castrate you.”

There’s more I forgot lmfao, this is too long already😭😭 If I made any spelling mistakes no I didn’t

[revelboo]

Yesss! Thank you so much for the Insecticons! You even did Shrapnel’s voice (I’ve been disappointed before lol 😔). Can’t wait to see the human get their four-way gangbang coronation-

Meanwhile reader really doesn’t want the coronation or to be dinner

You (Don’t) Know Me Pt 2

Insecticons x Reader

• Running headlong, branches claw at your hair and arms, scrape painfully across your face. More than once, you bang into trees, eyes struggling to adjust to the dark, but unable to stop running even for a second. Not when you can hear those things crashing after you, your own gasping breaths too loud in your ears. A screech and you change directions, shoulder slamming into a tree as another one comes out of nowhere. You have only an impression of size and that fiery red glow of optics as you scream and keep moving, feeling claws snag the back of your shirt, your feet momentarily leaving the ground before the material rips and you’re stumbling, clawing upright and running again, mindless with terror.

• Almost. Hearing Bombshell’s chittering laughter as you manage to escape his grasp, Kickback grins. Because you’re making them work to capture you, refusing to just submit to them. He’d known when he’d caught your scent that you were what he’d hoped for. Singing out to make Shrapnel hiss, Kickback watches you change directions at the sound. In the trees, you’re small enough to have the advantage, but he’s been here before and knows you’re about to run out of cover. And then you’re his. Theirs. A sweet little treat to claim.

• Lunging for you, Shrapnel’s shoulder bumps into Bombshell’s. The high from the hunt spinning him tight as he tries to be the one to capture you. Knows Kickback’s enamored with the idea of a soft little queen for their small hive, but he’s not entirely sold on that. A toy, though? Or a snack? Hissing as you break from the trees into the clearing, moonlight silvering you, and for a moment, he understands Kickback’s fascination with humans. You look like you’re made of moonlight, unreal almost. Sees the moment you spot the old cabin and head straight for it. But there’s a scent lingering in the area that hasn’t been there before, one that jangles through him dangerously. “Catch the human now, now,” he urges his brothers.

• Eyes burning with tears, you run for the cabin up ahead. Maybe there’s someone who can help you? Maybe you can hide from whatever’s chasing you inside? There’s a bigger shape beside the cabin, a big shadowy lump that you think might be an RV. “Help! Somebody help!” You scream and then that big shape moves. Two glowing eyes opening as something massive stands up, limned in moonlight. Skidding and falling on your hip, your pursuers catch up. Demonic shapes crouched around and over you as that bigger shape takes a lumbering step your way and roars.

• “Grimlock,” Bombshell snarls as he crouches, swapping to his alt mode as his brothers follow suit. Aware of the little human laying in the grass and that he’s not losing you to a dinobot after working so hard to claim you. Hissing, he attacks. Grimlock is bigger and stronger, but slow. Massive jaws closing on air again and again until Kickback screams out in pain. Shrapnel unleashing his pent up electricity in retaliation. Knowing they can’t win against the dinobot, only hope to discourage him from pursuing. Turning to flee, he hisses when Kickback lurches after the human who’s back on their feet and running back into the woods.

• Something snares your leg and you scream as you go sprawling in the leaves and dirt. Feel something grab you by the back of your shirt and then you’re being dragged off into the woods, the thing that has you hissing softly. Struggling to get free, you see the cave and grab at trees to try and stop yourself from being pulled inside, knowing that if you’re dragged in there, you’re not coming back out. Too terrified to scream, barely able to breathe as you’re pulled inside despite your struggling. See the other two monsters lingering at the opening watching. The moonlight filtering through the trees painting an unpleasant picture. Giant bugs with glowing optics. Monsters. “Best hope he doesn’t get hungry, hungry,” one hisses as the one with a grip on you drags you deeper into the darkness.

• Lingering at the entrance to the cave they’d dug out to have a place to escape the Decepticons if need be, Shrapnel watches Kickback drag you into the corner where he’d been collecting soft things to sleep on. Injured as he is, it’s entirely possible Kickback might eat you while he and Bombshell are stealing energon to help him self repair. But then if he does, they can always find a new toy. Even if you were a good hunt. Only getting captured because Grimlock had startled you. And he’d wanted to see how long you could go before you collapsed and submitted to them. A pity.

Previous

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I’ve bought from both of these sellers on EBay. CollectIconInc ships fast from the U.S. Yaked50 ships from China and takes… a lot longer than anticipated to ship, but I’ve bought harder to find Blokees from them without an issue. I ordered the new wave 6’s that aren’t released where I live yet from them.

[smoozie]

I keep seeing discourse on Grian and Scar in Double Life and who was "in the wrong" with the two of them, and I need to offer my two cents because they both acted toxic.

Scar never cared to find his soulmate, and even after discovering it's Grian isn't keen on basing with him. Grian literally screams in frustration when he learns Scar is his soulmate, but outright refuses the idea of Scar living on his own (and even looks down on the pairs not together).

Then, it all falls apart in episode two. Scar attempts to show Grian his pandas and is instantly rejected. This refusal from Grian makes him bitter and leads to him tormenting Grian with powdered snow (and teaching Pearl to do the same). This is also the episode Grian leaves his gift for Bigb and begins the secret soulmate escapade.

There is a lot of ppl who will tell u Scar's hurt over secret soulmates is entirely manufactured by fanon, and this is just straight up not true. His feelings abt the secret soulmates are very much shown through his bitter comments to other players abt it. It seems to contradict his earlier behavior and this is why ppl misinterpret his reaction. He is very much upset abt secret soulmates because he feels like he's getting cheating on, even though he himself doesn't particularly like being with Grian.

Grian knows the secret soulmates situation is wrong, that's why it's a secret. Grian specifically avoids encounters with Bigb in front of Scar (and fails miserably but alas). I've seen ppl try to reframe this as Grian moving on from Scar, but that isn't accurate. It was Grian who forced Scar to stay with him and Grian who chose to leave him.

Fundamentally, what if comes down to is that neither Scar nor Grian want to be with the other. But. They also don't want the other to be with anyone else. So they're in this toxic cycle of being upset with each other and then going out of their way to hurt each other. Neither wants to be there and neither wants to risk leaving. This is the toxic desert duo. Not 3rd Life.

[dark-and-kawaii]

✧˖° Never Broken °˖✧

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Summary: He had failed to perform, a man, who should be strong and powerful, couldn't even get an erection anymore. It felt like his heart was shattering, he was a mess, and the thought of you leaving him over this had his hand clenched into a fist. Zevlor should know by now that you’re creative enough to find new ways to pleasure one another~ And you have no problem reminding him ♡

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Pairing: Zevlor x F!Tav/Reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Content: NSFW - Soft Cock Zevlor - Tongue Kissing - Angst - Hurt/Comfort - Tail Penetrating Your Tight Cunt - Nipple Sucking

Notes: This idea stemmed because of @daisyofwaterdeep ♡ ♡ ♡ Thank you ♡ ♡ ♡

He always feared this day would come, that he’d wake up and find himself broken, a disgrace, a lover that is of no use anymore…

Yet it still stung like nothing before.

As the years with you passed, he got older, he could feel it, he was slowing down, getting weaker, getting tired more often and having less energy every morning… Though he did his best to hide it from you.

But now, here he was.

Lying in bed, his usual hardness completely absent.

He had tried for what felt like hours to make something happen, to feel some semblance of pleasure as he touched himself.

But it was all fruitless.

No matter how hard he touched himself, or thought of you, there was no blood flowing down below.

It was all gone.

And now here he was, tears pricking at his eyes and his pride crumbling.

He had failed to perform, a man, who should be strong and powerful, couldn't even get an erection anymore. It felt like his heart was shattering, he was a mess, and the thought of you leaving him over this had his hand clenched into a fist.

He couldn't take it, the thought of losing you, the love of his life.

His eyes shut and it felt like his chest was collapsing…

Then again, was this not a fair punishment for him?

For what he had done, this was probably just his penance. He had betrayed his people, turned against them, swayed by the absolute… The very reason so many of them had fallen, the reason his comrades, his friends, were gone... Then there was you, his other half, his light… His whole world whom he had turned against that day as well, whom he had nearly killed with his own hands...

He was a failure, and this was his punishment.

He was going to lose you and have no one to blame but himself.

The tears had fallen now, staining the bed sheets beneath him.

He had no clue how long he had been laying there, crying like a lost child.

But it seemed that he would have to move eventually, since a soft knock could be heard on the door.

He quickly sat up, rubbing his eyes furiously.

He didn't want you to see him like this, you had enough of your own problems to deal with.

You didn't need to have the burden of taking care of a broken old man.

“A-Ah... I'm sorry, did I wake you, love?” You softly spoke, the door opening slowly as your head poked through the crack.

The sight made his heart flutter, your hair was styled neatly, your cheeks rosy, and you still wore your revealing night clothes. The swell of your breasts, the dip in your waist, and the curve of your hips... Gods, you were the most beautiful being he'd ever laid eyes on.

You smiled, walking into the room as he watched, “I woke up a little bit ago and was wondering if you wanted me to make you breakfast today? You always seem to be the one doing it, and well, you don't always have to do it all by yourself... Besides, I wanted to make you feel special today, my love.” You wrapped your arms around him, kissing his cheek gently.

He felt his throat close, his voice refusing to work, his heart was screaming at him to just tell you, to let you know everything, that he needed you, that he loved you so much.

“I- …” he sighed and smiled best he could, “That’s very kind of you, dear.” He whispered, his hand coming up to gently caress your cheek, the touch of your skin sending warmth throughout his entire body.

You grinned, hugging him tight and kissing his lips, a smile on your face, and a glint of mischief in your eyes. He didn’t have much time to question what you were planning before you pushed him down on the bed and straddled his hips, a soft giggle leaving you.

“Today is all about you, my love~ let me take care of you, please~ you can let me take control, just for a bit~ please?”

Zevlor’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as you began to rub your barely covered core against him. He could feel his heart sink, a sharp pain running through his chest, you looked so happy, and here he was, about to destroy it.

He had never denied you before, not once, always willing to let you have your way with him and vice versa, to show him your love, to take him.

Yet, when you began to kiss his neck and your hands traveled lower, his own hands found their way to your wrists.

He couldn’t let you continue…

Your head cocked to the side, confusion and hurt crossing your face… Zevlor could swear that his heart had cracked even further, he could hear it.

“Wh-what’s wrong? Did I do something?”

You were already blaming yourself, it was all too much for him, he had to tell you.

He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes, then looked at you.

His beautiful, wonderful, perfect, and kind hearted love. Despite his betrayal with the others you still showed him love, you had shown him forgiveness, fought at his side countless of times, and you had taken him into your home treating him with nothing but respect and affection.

He didn’t deserve you, not at all. He accepted the reality of his fate now, he had no right to you, not when you deserved a man that could give you everything, and a cock that worked properly…

He sat up, his hands still holding your wrists as you stared at him, waiting, “what is it, Zevlor?” The fear in your voice was palpable, and his heart screamed for him to just comfort you and reassure you, tell you it was all alright.

“I-I… I am sorry, but-“

You cut him off, pulling away and sitting back on his thighs, your arms coming up to hug yourself.

His face sunk as tears began to creep in your eyes… He wanted to curse. With a deep breath he continued, “I cannot go on… My body- It will not- I- I can no longer perform- no longer function as a proper man should, I cannot satisfy you-“

Your arms released themselves from your body as your mouth hung open releasing a shaky breath, “That’s-“ You smiled and ran your fingers through your hair, “that’s a relief.” You laughed, a small sob mixed in with the sound.

Zevlor blinked, his brow furrowing as his head tilted, his heart feeling as though it had stopped, he was so confused, why would this be a relief?

He felt the heat of your hands as they came up to his face, cradling his cheeks, wiping the tears that threatened to fall, and he could see that tears had begun to fall from your own eyes.

“Zevlor, I- i was so scared… I thought- I thought that you were going to leave me… ha~” You smiled laughing quietly as your thumb traced his cheekbone.

“Tav…” He whispered, his eyes closing, his mind beginning to race.

You thought he would leave you.

You were worried he was leaving.

You feared his loss.

You wanted him.

You didn't think of him as a broken, old man.

“Zevlor, listen to me-“ you whispered, and his eyes opened, a soft sigh escaping him.

Your hands moved from his face, and he was about to reach for them again, only he stopped himself as your hands found their way to the hem of your night dress.

With a small nod, and a smile, you pull the material up and off, leaving yourself bare from the waist up, “I told you during the netherbrain war, didn’t I?” You began to grind into him ever so slowly, “That I loved you no matter what happens.”

Zevlor was speechless, his eyes roaming your figure, the sight of you always took his breath away, but now… Now he truly was at a loss for words.

The way you smiled at him, the look of pure love in your eyes, the softness of your touch, the way your voice sounded as you whispered his name, it was all too much… You- you-

“Tav…” His voice cracked, his hands shaking as he brought it up, his fingers ghosting along your cheek, his mind and heart a mess, “You deserve so much better than me, you deserve a man that can provi-“

He was cut off by the warmth of your lips pressing to his. The man melted instantly, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close… He was drowning in your touch, the taste of your lips, the sweet scent of your skin. He didn’t want it to end, he wanted to be selfish for once…

The way you trembled in his hold, and the way your tongue prodded at his lips, begging for access, like you wanted him, needed him, it had him reeling.

His hand found the back of your head, pulling you closer, his lips parting, the softest moan leaving him… It felt so good, just kissing you, his tongue running along yours, the taste of you.

He wanted to take it further, wanted to feel you against him, but… That was the problem.

You wanted him, and he-

Pulling away, his hand still on the back of your head, keeping you close as he kissed the corner of your mouth, “I’m sorry, Tav… I just can’t pleasure-”

“There are plenty of ways you can still pleasure me, my love. You don't have to be hard in order to make me scream your name,” Your tongue swirled around his neck, biting at his ear, whispering softly, "I still need you, Zevlor, I still want you… Besides, just the sight of you is enough to make me wet-“

Zevlor shuddered, his grip tightening, a dark blush forming on his cheeks, he couldn't help it.

Your hand reached for his tail, “and I’m sure we can get creative~ I still need my hellrider~ and you are the only one that can make me beg~ even if it’s soft and leaking with precum~” You brought the tip of his tail to your lips, sucking and nibbling lightly, “And who else would know how to use their tongue better than my Zevy~"

Zevlor moaned, his eyes glazing over as he watched. Your mouth felt amazing, and the way your tongue rolled against his sensitive tail… Hells, he could already feel his body heating up.

You were always a master with words, knowing exactly what to say and do to make him submit to your whims, to make him feel whole even when he felt broken...

By the end of the night you were both naked, the blanket kicked to the floor, and the bed rocking against the wall.

You were straddling him, his tail buried in your cunt carefully as his mouth was latched onto your breast. His beautiful soft cock drooling cum, pressed between the two of you.

He had come multiple times, and his mind was blissfully numb as his fingers played with your clit, his tongue rolling over your nipple.

“Ze-Zevlor~ Mnnnhaa~ T-Tails s’deep~ L-Love y-you! Love y-ou! S’much! I-I love y-you so-o~ m-much~” You panted, moaning loudly, his tail- by the gods, was it wonderful. It hurt at first, the stretch and the sharp pain, but his careful ministrations made the pain melt away into nothing but pleasure.

He could never be broken in your eyes. It was a simple truth, and there was no way you’d ever let him slip through your fingers. Not ever. Zevlor would always be perfect to you

[hello-eden]

-Stopped rebirth-

Pain, rage, work, sleep

pain, rage, work, sleep

a cycle that goes on and on and on.

Jason doesn't know how to say anything to his family anymore. He knows some of it's his fault for how he came back but he also refuses to believe it's entirely his fault. 

Jason knows he shouldn't come back all right; he knows the Lazarus Pit rewrote his original Resurrection. He has no idea how he knows that's what happened but he does. Memories that make no sense that are popping up on the outside of his vision. Seeing people and thinking of names that are not their own. Doing things that feel like a habit that he has never started.

Jason knows something has been wrong for a long time and he tries not to rage at his family for not seeing it. The days where he fakes missions and just lays on his bed in agony. Feeling as though he has been hit by a thousand bolts of lightning only for it to relent then start again.

For him to feel nothing when he sees the glowing green eyes in the mirror but anytime someone else brings them up he feels like he's on the brink of a breakdown. Hitting harder than he should when he confuses the people in front of him for others. The urge to fight whatever is in front of him whether it be Friend or Foe. The knowledge that he doesn't quite believe he's human anymore that he keeps to himself.

The bone deep terror that Jason feels whenever Bruce mentioned something Jason didn't have before. The rage that fuels Jason's very being whenever Bruce reminisces. Insults on the tip of his tongue that Jason feels like are not for Bruce. The feeling of wanting to cry in the arms of the only father figure he has ever felt safe with only for Bruce to show again that he is not safe.

Wanting to scream that he did not want this, that the bubbling green under his veins is more corrupt than even Ras himself knows. The knowledge that Bruce’s obsession with protecting his home city is the one thing that brought Jason back. Unfortunate knowledge that Jason holds that he could never tell Bruce because the self blame he will inflict on himself would slowly drive him to Madness.

The flinches that Jason sees whenever one of his siblings gets a little too close. The knowledge that he can never do anything about it. He will spew insults at Dick but they will never be seen as playful as he means them.

That he will never be able to play fight with Tim as he wants to as those instincts that told him to bond went too far.

He will never be able to get close with Stephanie as all she has ever heard has been his horror stories.

He will never be able to have a sister in Cass as she has been in the middle of his violence for far longer than she ever should have been.

He will never be able to get close with Damien again as every single member of their family has made sure they are never left alone in a room together.

Pain, rage, work, sleep, repeat

[cher-rei]

hopelessly obliviously devoted to you [ T.A.A ]

"but baby can't you see? I'm hopelessly devoted to you" [hopelessly devoted to you- olivia newton john]

pairings: trent alexander arnold x fem!reader

summary: when your best friend needs some moral support for her date, you don't hesitate to ask trent for some help. but something else sparks that evening instead

[wc: 2.8k]

genre(s): fluff, idiots in love, denial is a river in egypt

notes: call me capser with the way that I ghost.

"I need your help."

you didn't look up from your phone and continued to aimlessly scroll, hoping that if you avoided eye contact with your friend mia, then she would leave you be.

however, she didn't leave and stood in front of you in your living room, her hands on her hips with a look that screamed "I know what you're doing and it's not going to work".

you could feel her glare boring into your forehead, but you tried your best to persist but you were weaker than you thought. a heavy groan left your lips and she smiled in victory but you knew what you were getting yourself into.

you looked up at her with pursed lips. "I'm not lying to anyone again, or pretending to be your doctor so that you can stay out of work, or--"

"woah, okay." mia waved her hands in front of her in urge for you to stop, a shameful blush flushing her cheeks at the list of things you'd "helped" her with before. your eyebrows raised as she promised that it was nothing of that kind, and that you barely had to do anything.

you nodded in intrigue and she continued with a hopeful smile. "I have a date on friday."

your stomach dropped. "with dean right?"

mia and dean had only been seeing each other for about a month now but it was going well, so you were hoping that she wasn't about to ask you to tell him that she died or something. but to your surprise she said that she liked him a lot, and intended to see where it lead her.

"and you need my help with this how?" you asked with a quirked eyebrow. mia then took a seat next to you and placed her hand on top of yours, a pleading look in her eyes as you mentally prepared yourself for her answer.

she gave your hand a tight squeeze. "we're going to the arcade and I'm really nervous because you know that's not really my scene. so I was wondering if you could tag along and just ease my mind a little?"

just as you were about to interject and refuse the invitation to third wheel the entire evening, mia pulled you back down with a look of utter desperation.

"you can bring trent or something since you two are like--" she made a gesture in the air with her hands. "--like whatever you two are."

if there was something that you hated talking about, then it was that you and trent had a thing for each other. which wasn't true at all! you'd known each other for a while now, about 4 years, and you admit that you were close but nothing special.

"literally everyone can see it except you two oblivious idiots," mia spewed, which took you by surprise. you were just about to agree to her idea of tagging along and she decided to be a little brat.

that's when you made your dash out of the living room, yours and mia's voices sounding over each other as one apologised and the other screamed to block them out.

"I can't hear you!! la la la!"

you ended up going to the arcade.

trent didn't hesitate with his answer either, despite that he wasn't too fond of being around new people which surprised you. his excuse was that you hadn't gone to the arcade in a while anyway, so it would be doing you a favour.

when mia heard the news, she was ecstatic, to say the least, and rushed off to tell dean that you'd be tagging along. so now here you were, in your room, tidying up your outfit while waiting for trent to come and pick you up.

dean and mia left a while ago because they had dinner plans before the arcade, but you made it clear that you and trent would not be joining for the formal stuff.

yname added to their story

it wasn't long before you heard your apartment door open, meaning that trent had arrived. a small smile tugged at your lips as you grabbed your bag from your bed and left to the lounge where he was, a look of surprise on his face.

"where are the cameras?" he asked suddenly and started looking around, lifting the pillows from the couch before looking back at you with a look of mock disbelief.

your eyebrows furrowed at his absurd question. "what are you talking about?"

he took out his phone and pointed towards the time on the screen. "you're actually ready on time for the first time in years."

your jaw clenched at his comment, a flush of red rushing to your cheeks as you threw your handbag at him. "shut up and get in the car. I can't believe I said yes to this."

a hum left his lips as he locked the door behind him, listening to you complain all the way to the car. you didn't notice it, but this was one of those moments where mia would sit back and watch the two of you in slight disappointment and hope.

she would sit in the back seat of the car and watch as trent's attention stayed on you whenever you spoke, a flicker of something lingering in his eyes and on his tongue. mia would notice the effortless gestures between the two of you, such as trent holding the car door open for you no matter the circumstance, the occasional buckle of your seat belt if your hands were full.

how you would mindlessly cling to his side or interlock your arm in his wherever you were. there were always the flirtatious comments that were thrown around but neither of you showed any reaction that wasn't irritation.

it was so obvious to her. so obvious that either of you would always think of each other first before anything or anyone else.

when you arrived at the mall, it was no later than 6 p.m but the mall was already packed with teenagers and family's who couldn't have waited until saturday to enjoy their lives. you took a deep breath and followed trent inside, banter firing back and forth as you tried to find mia and dean.

"we're in the food court and they're not here," you said exasperated and dialed mia's number so you could call her.

trent forced a smile, "well how about you try and look instead of standing in one spot."

that earned a glare from your side, and before you could argue back mia's voice sounded from behind you, to which you mouthed a proud "told you so".

just from the looks of it, mia could tell that this was going to be a long night.

after the introductions were over, the four of you leisurely made your way to the arcade on the 3rd floor of the mall. laughter and excitement boomed from inside and you couldn't help but be a bit giddier than you expected.

there was a skip in your step as you trailed in front of the others, commenting on how it's been forever since you'd been to an arcade— just as trent said. mia and dean walked hand in hand beside trent, who wasn't bothered with trying to hide his smile as he watched you.

you turned around to look at them. "you guys are walking like a bunch of old people hurry up."

dean chuckled at your quip while mia rolled her eyes instead. "I thought you said you didn't want to come to the arcade."

a dramatic gasp left trent's mouth. "she would never. arcades bring back so many memories for us."

a lump formed in your throat when he said that, your heartbeat speeding up at the memory of the incident less than a year ago. the two of you swore never to talk about it again, but you couldn't deny that ever since that evening something between you two shifted.

you were brought back from your daze by the gentle touch of trent's hand on the small of your back. "I'll promise to let you win this time though."

with that, he dragged you off to the token station, leaving behind a very confused dean and a fed-up mia. "I thought you said that they're not together?" dean muttered loud enough for his girlfriend to hear and she clicked her tongue.

"they're not."

40 minutes passed and you and trent were back at it again. it was two completely different sights for the people in the arcade. on one hand, dean and mia were at one claaw machine, giggling and gently guiding each other the best they could to successfully grab the plushy.

and then there was you and trent right beside them at the other claw machine. to say that you were screaming at each other would be an understatement, the both of you swearing that the other wasn't going to get it in, shoving each other at the side to take over.

"no, not that one!" you screamed as you watched trent move the claw with indescribable concentration to find the correct ninja turtle plushy. "mikey is the one with the orange mask!"

a stressed huff left trent's lips. "baby, I can get you a private meet-up with mbappe instead! it's practically the same thing!"

you didn't register the term of endearment at all and instead continued to whine about the plushy until he finally got it. 5 attempts later. but it was done and it was worth it to see you smile that beautifully.

you looked up at him and nudged his arm. "you see. that wasn't too difficult."

he shook his head in disagreement and took your hand into yours again to drag you over to the basketball machine. "you owe me for that later."

you brushed his comment off with a scoff, not thinking much of it.

the evening continued and you couldn't deny that it was the most fun you've had in a while. that and trent had become way more touchy than usual. were you complaining though? hell no.

the basketball machine was one thing but then you stumbled across the photo booth at the back of the arcade, which was surprisingly empty. you tried your best to walk past it as quickly as possible but he spotted it, and you knew what was coming.

a cheeky smile drew to his lips. "I'd like to cash in that favour now."

no. that was your answer, plain and simple. not after what happened last time you were in there. the memory alone was enough to have you feeling lightheaded.

the embarrassed look on your face didn't go unnoticed, and that made him chuckle a bit. it took you a bit of convincing and to no one's surprise, you found yourself on the right side of the photo booth with trent sitting beside you closing this curtain.

"talk about deja vu," he said jokingly which earned him a slap on the arm, out of embarrassment more than anything else.

nevertheless, you shook off your nerves and got on with it. it was just a few pictures, what's the worst that could happen?

the pictures started normally, just as playful and cute as you'd hoped and the photobooth was echoing with laughter and banter as usual, that was until you turned to look at trent only to realise just how close you were.

it went quiet for a moment, and before you knew it your lips were on his. now this was deja vu. he knew exactly what he was doing when he said that you should take these pictures and you weren't any smarter to say no.

the featherlight touch of his fingers beneath your shirt was the reason you pulled away. unlike your bashful expression, trent was smiling from ear to ear.

"okay, now that was on you," he said playfully and you groaned. "last year it was me, I admit that, but this time you kissed me."

your words were lodged in your throat and you found yourself unable to speak, or move, or anything really. the heat that was on your cheeks spread throughout your entire body and all you wanted to do was hide in a hole.

after a moment of recollection, you were met with a look of anticipation from trent who was waiting for you to say something. you sighed and nodded your head, "yeah, this one was on me."

"yes!" he clapped in victory and took the two photo strips, and took the one where you were kissing for himself.

before you could interject, his lips met your again for a peck. "I'm glad the feeling is mutual. let's hurry back to my house, I need to explore these new found feelings of ours with a little more space than a photobooth."

hopeless. you were utterly hopeless as you found yourself trying to suppress your smile, and the sound of mia saying, "oblivious is in understatement."

yname added to their story

[genshin-side-piece]

The Collector

A/N: An expansion on this post. I've been struggling to be inspired, but this one has been sitting for awhile.

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+, Yandere themes, Yandere Behavior, Power Imbalance, Dark themes, mentions of physical abuse, implied kidnapping, sexual themes, no actual smut (sorry), My bad writing

It wasn’t a horrible existence. After feeling like you had been here for an aeon, that’s what you had convinced yourself of. Your needs, at least in a basic sense, were met. The world in which you lived provided you ample food, clothing, and shelter. The weather was tolerable, despite the fact that it never changed, & you weren’t entirely alone. The odd little servant you had been given offered you some interesting conversation. Never anything stimulating or god forbid current, but interesting. You had taken many a nap to the dulcet tones of the bird like creature as it told you stories of battles won and successes enjoyed. Not of its own of course. It, like its brethren, were servants. They held no victories or successes, unless you counted the stain they had shifted from your clothes last week. No, the battles, the victories, the successes, all belonged to one individual. The only individual whose name you were allowed to hear about. Your supposed lord and savior, the reason for your present existence, the cause of your eternal misery; Rex Lapis.

Though, as you laid staring up at the false sky, it was hard to know if he was still your lord. The idea of him being overthrown was one you frequently entertained in your boredom. The potential fall of the Lord of Geo had provided you with many hours of amusement, but you had no way of knowing if it had actually happened or if it would happen. Rex would never allow your companion to tell you if it had. One thing was certain though; he was still alive. Your continued presence in the realm of his own making was proof of that. His visits to your little realm however, had dropped off. It felt like it had been a hundred years since you had last seen him. Maybe it had been that long, it was hard to know. Your realm, like you, was an eternal thing. It existed in a perpetual state of twilight, never giving away how long you had actually been here. Time, like the stars or the true sky or even current events, was not allowed. 

“Basking in the gilded light are we?” The deep, rich tone of his voice cut across you, shattering what was your peace. You shot up off the grass, your eyes boring holes into his golden ones the second you found them. He only answered with a soft smile. The same smile you had stupidly fallen for all those years ago. “Hello dearest.”  He was in a good mood or so you thought. Rex practically purred the word at you. “How wonderful it is to see you. I understand you’ve been quite well.” By that you knew he meant calm. Your last encounter with him, the one where you had verbally banished him from your life, had been a different affair. The circumstances of which you had since come to accept were still somewhat fresh then. You had felt betrayed, furious at his actions. You had demanded your release to the point of screaming it at him, only to be denied. Your rage had been met head on by his will. An unwinnable battle to be sure. On one side was the impenetrable wall of cold stone that shattered all who would refuse to yield and on the other was you. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the result of your confrontation would be. Like everything else that came to blows with Rex Lapis, you too would lose. He would pick up whatever fragments were left and mold you to his will, just as he had the rest of Liyue. All he needed was time, a thing that thanks to him, neither of you had any shortage of. “I thought we might take a stroll together. The air here is quite pleasant.” He actually dared to seem bashful in front of you. After forbidding you any kind of real happiness he had the audacity to act like you were his first brush with love. “I have missed our chats. It would be nice to talk as we did before.” You swallowed. As you had before.

“You mean-“ A bitter laugh slipped past your lips. How many evenings had you spent arm in arm with him, parading through the empty plains, admiring how the setting sun cast them in a gilded light? The same field, and the same light you were now expected to endure for all eternity. “Before you tricked me.” Before he had trapped you. 

It had been so easy for him or rather, you had made yourself easy prey. Rex had played his cards regarding you well. He had expertly guided you down a primrose path, bringing you to its intended end when he had presented you with your very own teapot. A bespoke one, much like the hundreds of others that lined the walls of his home. You had always admired them. Always asked after the different designs on them. Each one was unique, a work of true art, much like the person he kept secretly locked inside. At the time of its presentation, yours had been plain and unexceptional. The simplicity of it was stunning, a thing to behold on its own, but a bit dull. After he had triggered his trap by bidding you to look down inside of it, you had to wonder how it had changed. Was it still simple or like the others, did it reflect your own preferences and personality? You would never know. Despite your many attempts to learn the truth, Rex wouldn’t tell you. The closest you had ever gotten was that it, like you, was a lovely thing. A wonderful addition to his ever growing collection.

“Now now-“ The gentle smile gave way to a frown. His features became harder, reflecting the disappointment he obviously felt by the harsh reminder of your feelings regarding your situation. When he was with you, he preferred not to be reminded that only one of you was a willing participant in this arrangement. He preferred the fantasy that despite his actions, you and he were still lovers. “Of all the paths we can choose to walk on this fine evening, let’s not select that one.” Not when there were prettier ones available to him.“The glaze lily’s have come into bloom. I thought we might discuss that.”

“Why? I thought you only enjoyed discussing the past.” Or was it the present? Maybe that’s why he refused to discuss anything of value with you. Your permanent stasis left you suspended somewhere between the past that he adored, the present he chose to ignore, and the future that in his mind didn’t exist. 

“Please don’t force me to be unkind. I should prefer this to be a pleasant visit.” As opposed to the others, which generally ended with you screaming at him or your own tears bleeding into the soft fabric of the bed after he’d had his fill. Sometimes it was both. This visit would be no different 

You knew why he had come. His attempt at small talk and a stroll were little more than foreplay for him seeding his desires. When his visits had been more regular, Rex would often attempt to pull the wool over your eyes with whatever served his motives best. So long as the encounter ended with him ridding himself of the carnal desires that plagued him without too much of a fuss from you, any effort he exerted was worth it. According to him, only you could quench his unyielding thirst. A night or day or however long it actually was would generally buy you a little peace. Sometimes you got longer or you believed you did. He had an eye for the exquisite, so when a new prize would present themselves to him. He would seize it.  He only returned to you when he had tired of the new favorite or they had disappointed him. He was fickle like that. Apparently not every gem was worthy of pleasing their lord. If they failed, they would be placed on a shelf, forgotten and abandoned for all time. You only knew that because he had threatened to do it to you. According to him, Rex would be remiss in removing you from your honored place near his bed should you continue to displease him. He would hate not to have you near, but that hatred wouldn’t stop him from setting you aside. Your current confinement was proof of that. “Will you walk with me dearest?” He held out his hand to you, his tone becoming less agitated with each word. He was trying to redirect the conversation and the mood to something more pliable, more pleasant. He could work with those. Force, while reliable, was always his last resort when it came to you. He had long learned that the rougher he got with you, the rougher it would be should he decide to call again. 

“Will you tell me about my family if I do?” He wouldn’t, his instant hesitation at the question was proof he wouldn’t. “Then perhaps how long you’ve held me captive? How many years have I rested next to your bed Rex?” If you were even still there. Like time, the teapot being moved didn’t affect you. The only concern you would have is if it were to be broken. 

“Dearest-“ He lowered his hand slightly, his gilded fingers curling in on themselves. “Please do not worry over such things…” You turned away from him not wanting to hear anymore. The idea that he was going to dismiss your plea for what you felt was the millionth time, annoyed you. 

Don’t worry. Don’t trouble yourself. Don’t think. Don’t feel. Stay as you are, as you were. Never change. Never grow old. Never move on. Never die. Just be. It was infuriating. It was maddening. How could you not think about it? How could you not worry over it when your surroundings were perpetual. Nothing ever changed in this place. Nothing would change in this place, not unless Rex willed it to be so. Since he hadn’t, nor was he likely to, your mind could only ever seem to dwell on what you weren’t allowed to know versus the lies he expected you to believe. 

“If you do not wish to walk, then I will join you in your rest. I am happy to converse with you here.” His outstretched hand fell back to his side in defeat. “The glaze lilies-” Gods above, to the abyss with him and his precious glaze lilies. You found yourself hating them more than you hated him. So much so, that you abruptly rose from your spot on the grass in a swirl of gold and silk, easily ignoring his hopeful look. “Have you changed your mind? Will you walk with me after all?” You turned, giving him a glare that you hoped would sour his aspirations once and for all. “If your goal is a leisurely stroll to the house so that you might engage in a conjugal visit, then save your breath. I have neither the will nor the inclination to listen to anything you wish to speak about. Just take what you want and leave.”  He didn’t respond, at least not right away. It allowed you a moment to try to get a head start on him. Regrettably, the opportunity for escape evaporated faster than steam dissolving into the air. Rex reached out to you, firmly taking hold of your wrist before you had the chance to get away. His grip was far from punishing, but the sudden contact startled you all the same. You made a slight effort to free yourself from him. It was a foolish attempt to be sure, but you still tried. Rex, for his part, didn’t entertain it. He silently responded by pulling you towards him, only ceasing when you were next to him. 

A quick glance into his eyes told you that you were in for a world of trouble. The amiable nature of which Rex had approached you had vanished. What replaced it was the version of Rex that you had become all too familiar with since coming here; the conqueror, the emperor, the archon. A version that unlike the former commanded both your submission and your obedience with a single glance. This version did not rely on simple benevolence or honeyed words to get his way. This version would, should he need to, level the world if it meant achieving his desired goal.

“When the time is right I will, as always, be happy to join you in the comfort of our bed dearest.” You flinched at the sharpness of his tone. It cut through you, causing you to temporarily regret the callousness of your invitation. While you hated him, the only thing you loathed more was awakening the temper that laid just below Rex’s cool surface. Beneath his upright facade laid a molten core, one that could easily explode with the right trigger. Your behavior, specifically your refusal of his initial request being that trigger. One glance into his eyes told you exactly how imminent that eruption truly was. He wasn’t interested in your antics, nor would he be especially tolerant of them. While he had come to you with a smile and warm intentions, both were little more than an illusion. A clever mask to hide his true reason for coming here. His already short temper coupled with his quick escalation of the situation spoke to a deeper problem. One that extended past the confines of your little world and into the real one. One that he had come to you to forget. That knowledge pinned you in place, a cold chill running the length of your spine. The last time you had seen this side of him crept back into your mind. It was an experience you weren’t keen to relive. 

While he had never harmed you to a severe degree, Rex had learned how to make things uncomfortable for you. He could twist your world how he liked, providing as little or as much as he wanted. When you displeased him, the general plenty you enjoyed could morph into austerity before he had even left. He would only return what he had taken when you decided acquiesce to whatever demand he had made of you. Then and only then would he physically reinforce his dominance over you, making sure you understood your place in his world before he restored what he had taken. The iron grip on your wrist was one such reminder. It was a warning of the discomfort to come, should you continue to be difficult. 

“That time though, is not now. My purpose in visiting you was not simply to sow my carnal desires and leave.” You tried to look away from him, but he tightened his grip on you, forcing you to look back. “I wish to enjoy your company.” His tone left no room for argument, despite your expressed need to do so.

You had wishes too. Ones that you had voiced over and over, only to have them fall on deaf ears. The idea that you wanted to be free to live your life, that you wanted to go home, that you wanted even the smallest chance to die were all preposterous notions in Rex’s eyes. He dismissed them as quickly as they came. Blocking each request with a practiced ease that only came from a millennia of ruling. The need to voice them again rose. The desire to pull your wrist away from his iron grip so that might walk away began to fill you. Still, for your own well being, you held both your tongue and your actions in check. Like him, you had enough experience to know that now was not the time to argue with him. His insistence had not reached the point of him dragging you behind him or hoisting you over his shoulder so that he might get his way. He merely had hold of you and for now, it wouldn’t go any further than that. The encounter wouldn’t end with you covered in bruises and unable to walk due to the force of which he took you. It could still end in an entirely civil, yet degrading manner. All you had to do was subject yourself to his desires. The question was, could you?

[moonlitstoriess]

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem! reader (mini-series) Part 2

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.

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Warnings: none for now either, I think

The morning sunlight trickled into the room through cracked shutters, casting golden lines across Y/N’s worn wooden floor. She sat stiffly at the edge of her chair, her gaze fixed on the tepid tea in her hands. The cup was shaking slightly, her fingers unable to stop trembling no matter how tightly she gripped it.

It wasn’t the tea. It wasn’t even the too-bright sunlight piercing her bleary eyes.

“Marry me.”

The words from yesterday echoed in her mind, louder than the birds chirping outside, louder than the clock ticking relentlessly on her wall. It had been more of a command than a proposal, Eris’s tone leaving no room for discussion. Her jaw clenched at the memory of his smirk, so infuriatingly sure of himself, as though the entire world bent to his whims.

She had wanted to scream, to tell him he could shove his proposal somewhere unpleasant. But no, she’d stood there, stunned and silent, while he outlined his outrageous plan. A fake marriage. Pretending to be a princess. Attending the royal court.

Her stomach twisted violently, and she abandoned her tea on the table.

She had barely slept, tossing and turning as her mind warred between outrage and disbelief. How could he expect her to agree to such madness? She didn’t even like him. The idea of being tied to him—even pretend—made her want to claw at her skin.

She had spent the entire day trying to distract herself. Fixing the squeaky hinge on her front door, scrubbing floors that didn’t need cleaning, reorganizing her tiny kitchen shelves. But no matter how hard she tried, his words wouldn’t leave her.

Even now, as the morning sun warmed her modest home, her thoughts refused to settle. Eris’s smirk. His sharp, calculating eyes. His promise that this would be the only way to save the lands, to protect innocent lives.

Her teeth ground together. Why me?

A sharp knock at the door startled her out of her spiraling thoughts.

Her head snapped up, her pulse quickening. She froze, staring at the door as if it might bite her.

No. Not him again. Please, not him.

The knock came again, firmer this time.

Y/N groaned, running a hand through her hair. “If that’s you, Vanserra, I swear to the gods—”

She marched to the door, yanking it open without a second thought.

What she expected: Eris, standing there with his smug smile and some new ridiculous demand. What she got: two women draped in flowing, shimmering robes and headscarves that caught the sunlight like liquid gold.

Her words caught in her throat as she blinked at them.

The shorter of the two, a woman with warm bronze-toned skin and large, intelligent eyes, inclined her head politely. “Good morning,” she said softly, her voice smooth as honey.

Y/N blinked again. “Uh…” She glanced between the two women, her grip on the door tightening. “Can I… help you?”

The taller woman, her sharp cheekbones framed by the loose fabric of her scarf, stepped forward. “We were sent by Princess Leone.”

Y/N’s brain stalled completely. “…What?”

The shorter woman—who introduced herself as Noura—smiled gently. “The princess cannot risk her plans being overheard. She sent us to escort you safely to the palace.”

Y/N’s jaw fell open, her grip on the door slackening. “I’m sorry—what?”

The taller one, Samira, tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes glinting. “You are to leave immediately. The princess’s orders were clear.”

“Wait, wait, hold on.” Y/N threw up her hands, stepping back as if to put more space between her and these absurdly calm women. “I haven’t even said yes yet!”

The two women exchanged a look, as if they were sharing some private joke. Noura folded her hands neatly in front of her. “You haven’t?”

“No!” Y/N snapped, her voice rising. “This whole thing is insane! I’m not some princess, and I’m not—” She waved her hands wildly, her voice breaking into a frustrated laugh. “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Samira stepped forward, her movements graceful and deliberate. “Your doubts are understandable,” she said evenly. “But the princess chose you for a reason.”

“That reason being Eris Vanserra,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

“We cannot stay here long,” Noura interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. “The princess does not take risks lightly, and neither should you.”

Y/N glared at them, her hands planted on her hips. “So what, you just expect me to pack up my life and leave?”

Another shared look passed between them, this one tinged with amusement.

Noura stepped inside, uninvited, her soft slippers making no noise on the wooden floor. “You won’t need to pack much. Everything you require has been arranged.”

Before Y/N could argue, Samira placed a firm hand on her shoulder and guided her toward the small chair by the table.

“Wait—what are you—”

“Sit,” Samira said briskly.

Y/N sat. Mostly out of shock.

Samira immediately began undoing the messy braid Y/N had thrown her hair into that morning, her deft fingers working with surprising speed. Noura, meanwhile, produced a bundle of fabric from a satchel she carried, unfolding it to reveal a gown so stunning it made Y/N’s throat tighten.

“Wait, wait,” Y/N said, lifting her hands as if to ward them off. “What is this?”

“This,” Noura said with a small smile, “is your disguise.”

“I don’t need a disguise!”

Samira arched a brow as she twisted Y/N’s hair into an intricate knot. “You’re pretending to be a princess, darling. You do need a disguise.”

Y/N groaned, slumping in her seat. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“You’ll survive,” Samira said dryly, securing a final pin.

The two women worked efficiently, leaving Y/N little room to protest. By the time they finished, she was draped in layers of shimmering twilight-blue fabric, her hair braided and pinned with delicate silver ornaments.

Y/N stared at her reflection in the small mirror Samira held up. “Gods,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I look like I’m about to be sacrificed to some ancient deity.”

Noura chuckled softly, but her tone turned serious as she said, “We need to leave. The others are waiting.”

“The others?” Y/N echoed, her stomach sinking.

Her question was answered the moment she stepped outside.

Her mouth fell open as she took in the small caravan parked just beyond her gate. Horses, sentries in gleaming armor, women dressed in elegant gowns that rivaled her own. A small, ornately carved carriage waited at the center of it all, its wheels gleaming in the sunlight.

Y/N turned to Noura, her voice shrill. “What is this?”

“The princess’s most trusted court,” Noura explained, motioning toward the group. “She chose them carefully. They know the price of betrayal.”

Y/N’s stomach churned. “And what is the price?”

Samira’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Oh, honey,” she said, her voice filled with wicked amusement. “You don’t know our princess at all.”

One of the sentries stepped forward, bowing low. Samira took Y/N’s hand and guided her toward the waiting carriage.

Y/N shot one last, desperate look back at her little house, her stomach sinking further. “Thank the gods my house is far from civilization,” she muttered as she climbed into the carriage. “At least my neighbors won’t see this circus.”

Samira smirked as she settled in beside her. “You’d better get used to it,” she said lightly. “This circus is just getting started.”

The carriage began to roll forward with a slight lurch, and Y/N clutched the edge of her seat, her knuckles white. The horses’ hooves clattered against the cobblestones, the sound accompanied by the rhythmic creak of the wheels. She stared at the plush velvet interior of the carriage, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

This was fine. Everything was fine. She’d agreed to this madness, and now she just had to—

“We’ll start with the basics,” Noura announced, her tone brisk and no-nonsense, snapping Y/N out of her spiraling thoughts.

“Wait, what—”

“You’ll be going by the name Amira Yasmin Idrissi,” Noura continued, as if Y/N hadn’t spoken. “Your family is one of the oldest and most noble bloodlines in the Southern Courts. You’re a distant cousin of the royal family through your mother’s side, which explains why you haven’t been seen at court often.”

Y/N blinked at her. “Amira what?”

“Yasmin Idrissi,” Noura repeated patiently.

Samira leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. “Keep up, darling. It gets better.”

“It gets worse,” Y/N muttered under her breath, but Noura was already plowing ahead.

“You’ve been living in isolation for the past few years, mourning the tragic death of your parents,” Noura continued, her tone shifting into something softer, more sympathetic. “They were assassinated during an ambush on their estate—”

“Assassinated?” Y/N interrupted, her voice shooting up an octave.

“Yes, assassinated,” Noura confirmed, frowning slightly as if it were obvious. “The Southern Courts have always had their share of political tensions, after all.”

Samira snorted. “You’re not a true noble if no one’s tried to murder you at least once.”

Y/N stared at her, wide-eyed. “What—”

“Anyway,” Noura interjected smoothly, “you’ve been in mourning. That’s why no one has seen you until now. You’ve spent your time traveling through secluded estates and keeping out of the public eye.”

“Secluded estates,” Y/N repeated flatly. “That sounds... convenient.”

Samira raised a brow. “What did you think? That we’d send you to the palace with no story at all? This isn’t amateur hour, sweetheart.”

Y/N groaned, slumping back against the cushioned seat. “Gods, what did I even sign up for?”

“You’re also an only child,” Noura added, ignoring her. “Which makes you the sole heir to your family’s lands and titles.”

“Perfect,” Y/N muttered. “I’m a grieving orphan with a target on my back. Sounds like a dream come true.”

Samira grinned. “Don’t forget, you’re also breathtakingly beautiful, adored by all who meet you, and an absolute darling of the court.”

Y/N snorted. “That’s pushing it.”

“Oh, no,” Noura said, dead serious. “You are adored. That’s part of the story.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re killing me.”

The carriage hit a small bump in the road, and Y/N jolted forward slightly. She shot a nervous glance at the window, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. She pushed back the curtain just enough to peek outside—and her stomach dropped.

The streets were lined with people.

Men, women, and children stood in clusters, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the carriage as it passed. Some whispered to each other, their eyes wide with curiosity. Others simply stared, their gazes fixed on the ornate design of the carriage, the fine horses pulling it, the glittering armor of the sentries surrounding it.

Y/N let the curtain fall back into place, turning to Noura with a horrified expression. “Are they... watching us?”

Noura smiled faintly. “Of course they are. You’re a princess, remember?”

“I’m not a princess,” Y/N hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is all pretend!”

Samira smirked. “Tell that to them,” she said, jerking her head toward the window.

Y/N groaned, sinking lower into her seat. “I hate this.”

“Don’t slouch,” Noura said sharply. “A princess never slouches.”

Y/N shot her a glare but straightened her posture reluctantly.

“You’ll also need to work on your manners,” Noura added, as if Y/N wasn’t already overwhelmed. “Proper greetings, courtly etiquette, how to carry yourself in the presence of the king—”

“The king?” Y/N cut in, her voice rising. “I have to meet the king?”

“Obviously,” Samira said dryly. “You’re his niece. Well, technically, his distant niece. Twice removed.”

Y/N’s head spun. “How am I supposed to keep track of all this?”

“You’ll manage,” Noura said briskly. “The princess wouldn’t have chosen you if she didn’t think you could handle it.”

Y/N groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Samira patted her shoulder, her grin infuriatingly smug. “Cheer up, Amira Yasmin Idrissi. You’re about to live every little girl’s dream.”

“Every little girl’s nightmare,” Y/N muttered.

The carriage rattled on, and Noura launched into more details about her supposed backstory—details that only made Y/N’s head hurt more. Her family’s estate was located in a fertile valley near the southern border. Her favorite pastime was horseback riding. She was a skilled harpist.

“I don’t even play the harp,” Y/N interrupted, exasperated.

“You do now,” Noura said firmly.

Y/N sighed, massaging her temples. “You’re all insane.”

Samira laughed. “Welcome to the court, darling.”

As the carriage began to slow, Y/N’s anxiety doubled. She peeked out the curtain again, catching a glimpse of the palace gates towering ahead. Her breath caught.

The gates were enormous, gilded in gold and flanked by towering marble columns. Beyond them, the palace rose like a shimmering mirage, its spires gleaming in the sunlight, its windows reflecting the bright blue sky.

“We’re here,” Noura said softly.

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of her seat. This was it. There was no turning back now.

Samira leaned in, her voice low and teasing. “Ready to meet your adoring public?”

Y/N shot her a withering glare. “Not even a little bit.”

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Noura straightened, smoothing her gown. “Remember, you’re a princess. Keep your head high, smile politely, and don’t let them see you falter.”

Y/N took a shaky breath, forcing herself to sit up straighter. “Right. Princess. No faltering.”

Samira opened the door, and sunlight flooded the carriage. Y/N squinted against the brightness, her heart pounding as she stepped out onto the polished stone pathway.

The palace loomed before her, grand and imposing, its walls alive with the whispers of history.

And just like that, her quiet, ordinary life was gone.

The moment Y/N stepped out of the carriage, it was as though the entire world shifted its focus onto her. Dozens of faces turned in her direction—guards in gleaming armor, palace servants bustling about, courtiers idling in the grand hallways. All of them stared, their eyes narrowing with curiosity, suspicion, or outright disbelief. The weight of their gazes felt like a hundred-pound boulder pressing down on her chest.

She hesitated, her feet glued to the smooth marble pathway that led to the palace entrance. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure everyone within a five-mile radius could hear it.

“This was a terrible idea,” she muttered under her breath.

“Keep moving,” Noura said softly, her voice laced with a calm authority that left no room for argument.

Before Y/N could argue, Samira nudged her forward—not unkindly, but firmly enough to get her feet moving. “Head high, shoulders back,” Samira instructed. “You’re royalty now. Walk like it.”

Y/N resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but she forced her spine to straighten, her chin to lift. As she ascended the palace steps, the grand doors loomed larger and larger, their intricate carvings and gold inlays glinting in the sunlight.

When they finally entered the palace, it felt like stepping into another world. The air was cooler, scented faintly with jasmine and polished wood. Sunlight poured through towering stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the pristine floors. Everything gleamed—marble, gold, crystal. It was opulent, almost offensively so.

And everyone was still staring.

Her palms grew clammy, and her mind raced. Did they know? Did anyone recognize her?

Y/N faltered for a moment, her steps slowing as her gaze flicked nervously to the courtiers who whispered behind their hands, their sharp eyes trained on her every move.

“I can’t do this,” she hissed under her breath, her voice barely audible.

“Yes, you can,” Noura replied smoothly, taking her arm and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Keep walking. Smile faintly. Don’t let them see your nerves.”

“Smile faintly?” Y/N repeated, incredulous. “I’m about to keel over, and you want me to—”

Samira jabbed her lightly in the ribs, making her jolt forward. “Less talking, more walking, princess."

Y/N shot her a glare but did as she was told, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

As they passed a group of finely dressed courtiers, one of them—a haughty-looking male with sharp cheekbones and a jeweled cane—raised a brow at her, his lips curling in a faint smirk. Y/N resisted the urge to throw something at him.

She could already hear the whispers trailing in her wake: “Who is she?” “Is she truly from the Southern Courts?” “She doesn’t look familiar. I’ve never heard of an Amira Yasmin Idrissi before…”

Her stomach churned, but she pushed forward, letting Noura and Samira guide her through the labyrinthine halls of the palace.

As they walked, her thoughts began to spiral. I was a servant here. Just two nights ago, I was scrubbing these floors, serving wine to these glorified highborn bastards. And now? Now I’m supposed to convince them I’m one of them?

Her lips twitched in dark amusement, but the humor was short-lived. Gods, what if the servants recognize me?

Her steps faltered again, and she shot a panicked glance at Noura. “Wait—what about the servants? They’ll know who I am. They’ve seen me.”

“Relax,” Noura said without missing a beat. “The princess has taken care of it.”

Y/N frowned. “Taken care of it? How?”

Samira smirked. “You really don’t want to know.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Y/N muttered.

“Stop overthinking,” Noura said, her tone firmer now. “The princess wouldn’t have sent for you if she wasn’t certain everything was in place. Trust the plan.”

Trust the plan. Easy for her to say. Noura wasn’t the one being paraded through the palace as a fake princess, pretending she hadn’t spent years cleaning these very halls.

They turned a corner, and Y/N caught sight of a set of massive double doors ahead. Her breath hitched. The doors were intricately carved, depicting a scene of blooming roses and curling vines, their edges gilded with gold. Two guards stood on either side, their expressions impassive, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

Her feet slowed, her nerves spiking again.

“This is it,” Noura said quietly.

"You are doing great, just try to act less like you are heading to your execution and more like you are about to meet her royal highness herself." Samira whispered with a small amused smile.

Before Y/N could respond, the guards stepped forward, their movements perfectly synchronized. They each grasped one of the doors and pushed them open with a low groan of ancient hinges.

The room beyond was bathed in golden light, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers and incense. The ceilings soared high above, adorned with intricate murals of battles and celebrations. At the far end of the room stood a figure clad in flowing, jewel-toned robes—the stunning Princess Leone herself, her dark eyes sharp and calculating, her regal beauty utterly intimidating.

But it wasn’t the princess who stole Y/N’s attention.

Standing just to the side of Leone, dressed impeccably in tailored black with his auburn hair catching the light, was the bane of her existence.

Eris Vanserra.

And he was smirking.

Gods help me, Y/N thought, her stomach sinking. What have I gotten myself into?

Y/N stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes still fixed on Eris, the bane of her existence. Every inch of her body felt like it was vibrating with rage, her hands curling into fists at her sides. She was barely aware of the princess’s greeting, her words floating in one ear and out the other as her gaze remained locked on Eris’s infuriating smirk.

"My distant cousin," Princess Leone's voice rang out, smooth and melodic, with an air of graciousness Y/N could never hope to match. "How happy am I to meet you at last."

The princess stepped forward, her arms wide as if she were welcoming a long-lost relative, and for a brief, surreal moment, Y/N almost wondered if this was all just some ridiculous dream. But no—no, this was real. This was her life now.

The two ladies, Noura and Samira, both nodded with pride as Leone turned to them, offering a pleased smile. "You’ve done a marvelous job," she said, her voice laced with a compliment that seemed as natural as breathing. "Well done."

Y/N barely heard this, her thoughts still tangled around the sight of Eris, who was now lounging in one of the luxurious chairs near the princess. His arms crossed in that irritatingly confident way, his eyes never leaving hers as though he found this all just one big joke.

Noura and Samira moved to sit beside Leone, and Y/N was ushered forward, her feet heavy as lead. She took the seat opposite the princess, the silken fabric of her new royal gown sliding around her uncomfortably. She wanted to stand. She wanted to walk right out of the room. But all eyes were on her.

It’s fine. It’s fine, she repeated to herself, but her mind didn’t seem to believe it.

Her hand trembled slightly as she placed it on her lap, and she cursed inwardly at how her body was betraying her.

"Ah," the princess said with a soft laugh, her dark eyes glinting with amusement, as if she could see exactly what was happening in Y/N’s head. "I am aware of how absurd this all must seem to you."

Y/N’s lips twitched, and before she could stop herself, she shot back, "You could say that again. One minute I’m scrubbing the floors and serving wine, the next I’m supposed to act like I’ve been born into royalty. It’s a bit much, don’t you think?"

Leone smiled gently, and for the briefest moment, Y/N saw something in her eyes—a sharpness that told her the princess was far more calculating than she let on. "I know, it is not a position one would choose lightly. But it is necessary."

Eris, meanwhile, was far less tactful. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing Y/N with that all-too-familiar smirk. "You’re handling it well so far. Not every servant gets the chance to play royalty, you know."

Y/N’s teeth clenched, but before she could respond, her voice dripping with sarcasm, Leone raised a hand, her serene composure never faltering. "Eris," she said, almost as if scolding a petulant child. "Let her breathe."

Eris only chuckled, unperturbed. "I’m just saying, she looks the part."

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, and she shot back, "Oh, well, I certainly hope that ‘looking the part’ doesn’t involve being surrounded by irritating people like you."

The princess and her two companions exchanged amused glances, and it was clear that they were both entertained and a little impressed by Y/N’s sharp tongue.

But just as the tension in the room began to simmer into something more volatile, Samira cleared her throat politely.

"Yes, yes, I think we should focus," she said, her voice soft but carrying an undeniable authority. "We have much to discuss."

Leone nodded, turning her full attention back to Y/N. Her smile never wavered. "Indeed. Now, Y/N, let’s get to the matter at hand. You’re bound to have many questions, but rest assured, we’ve thought of everything."

Y/N was already running through the list in her head, her thoughts moving in a chaotic blur. She opened her mouth, but Leone cut her off smoothly before she could speak. "The maids. Yes, they have been given very specific instructions. They will not know you. They will not acknowledge you, not as Y/N. In fact, they’ll act as though they’ve never seen you before in their lives. You’ll have no need to worry about them. Their only job is to ensure you are comfortable while keeping the act intact."

Y/N blinked, trying to process the information. "And what about—"

"No," Leone interjected, cutting her off once again with a calm wave of her hand. "No, you needn’t concern yourself with the details. Everything will be taken care of. The servants, the palace, the way you’re seen by others. All of it has been accounted for."

Y/N’s mind was still racing, but she managed to suppress the urge to argue. "Fine," she said, though she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something she was missing. "What about... the king? My family? What about the Autumn Court? Eris brought... other courtiers with him, right?"

The moment she said his name, Eris’s smirk deepened, and Y/N had to resist the urge to throw something at him.

Princess Leone raised an eyebrow, her voice smooth as honey. "Ah, yes, the king. He knows nothing of you—at least, not yet. Your family, as far as anyone knows, was part of a branch of the Southern Court that dissolved years ago, and your 'lineage' has been carefully constructed by us. The king has no reason to suspect anything unusual. Not yet, anyway."

Eris leaned forward, eyes gleaming with that dangerous charm. "As for the Autumn Court and my dear, dear father, well, he hasn’t a clue either. I’m sure they’ll be just as shocked as you when they see your 'family,' which is, of course, a bit... fabricated."

Y/N shot him a look of disgust, barely able to keep her temper in check. "Fabulous," she muttered. "A fake family for a fake princess. What could possibly go wrong?"

Leone chuckled, unfazed by the sarcasm. "What Eris means," she continued smoothly, "is that the whole court has been kept in the dark about you. We’ve carefully ensured that no one will know who you are or that your family doesn’t truly exist."

Leone’s voice broke through her thoughts once again, soft and reassuring. "The courtiers will behave as though you’ve always been one of us. They’ve been given very clear instructions, and they will be there to protect you if anything goes awry."

Y/N looked from one to the other, her head spinning with all the information they were throwing at her. "So, let me get this straight," she said slowly, trying to make sense of it all. "I’m supposed to pretend to be royalty, be part of a family that doesn’t exist, and fool a court that doesn’t even know I’m—"

"Exactly," Eris interrupted, leaning back in his chair with a smug look on his face.

Y/N didn’t even look at him this time. She turned to the princess, who was still watching her with those calm, measured eyes. "And when the king finds out—what then?"

Leone’s gaze flicked briefly to Eris before returning to Y/N. "We deal with that when the time comes. In the meantime, you’ll have the full support of me, my trusted courtiers, and the two ladies you’ve met, Noura and Samira. They will be your most trusted allies, assisting you through every moment of this performance. If you falter or hesitate, they will step in for you."

Y/N couldn’t help but exhale a sharp breath, the weight of it all pressing down on her. This was madness. And yet, it was the only way forward.

"And Eris?" Y/N asked, glancing up at him again, only to find him watching her with a look that could only be described as smug.

"Yes?" Eris asked innocently.

She gritted her teeth, trying not to snap. "Just... stay out of my way, alright?"

"Unfortunately for you," he replied with mock sweetness. "I can't do that, since...you know, we are soon to be married and all."

Leone’s soft laugh interrupted their banter, and she leaned forward. "Enough with the games, you two. We have much to prepare for, and very little time."

Y/N sighed, but this time, it wasn’t frustration—well, not entirely. There was a sense of inevitability creeping in. The plans had been set in motion, and she had no choice but to follow.

The room was unlike anything Y/N had ever imagined for herself. She stood at the entrance, her gaze sweeping over every inch of the space as the two ladies, with practiced grace, moved about, making sure her belongings were neatly arranged. The high walls, bathed in soft golden light, were adorned with intricate tapestries that shimmered in the sunlight, woven with scenes of distant lands and battles, gods and legends. Low, ornate lamps cast a warm, honeyed glow across the rich fabrics—plush cushions and rugs in deep crimson, amber, and sapphire hues sprawled across the floor. The wooden beams in the ceiling were carved with delicate patterns of swirling vines, their beauty lost on her as she stood still, completely frozen.

Her eyes lingered on the grand mirror hanging above the vanity, its frame designed in geometric patterns and inlaid with pieces of ivory and gold. She wasn’t sure why it felt so foreign, so alien to her. This was supposed to be her new life, a reward for her obedience, her silence, her sacrifice. Yet as she gazed at her reflection, she only felt a stranger. She didn’t belong here.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, gripping it to steady herself. This life—this palace of riches—felt so distant from the life she had lived just weeks ago. Back then, the days had been long and cold, spent working herself into exhaustion so she could afford the next batch of herbs and treatments for her mother. Her mother, who had been fighting a sickness that drained her strength a little more with each passing day. Every time Y/N had returned home, it had been like a new stab to her heart, seeing her mother weaker, paler.

But now? Now she stood in this stunning room, surrounded by riches she could never have imagined. None of it mattered. None of it could fill the empty space where her heart used to be.

Her mother was not here. No, her mother was in the healer’s place, just like she had been for the past few months. The Healing House, a place that Y/N had fought tooth and nail to get her into. She had saved every coin she earned, worked double shifts, and scrimped and saved for months, just to get her mother the care she needed. The healer’s place had been the only option after everything else had failed. It was one of the only places Y/N could afford where they wouldn’t just treat her mother’s illness, but actually try to cure it.

And yet, every time she visited, her heart had shattered all over again. Her mother, once so vibrant and full of life, was now reduced to a shell of herself—her frail body clinging to life, her once-strong voice now barely a whisper. Y/N had tried everything to help, but it was never enough. Every visit, every look into her mother’s weary eyes, was a reminder that she was failing.

She should be there. She should be with her, holding her hand, staying by her side. That was where she belonged. Not here, in a room like this, a room meant for royalty and power. This life, this palace, this engagement—it was all a distraction. A temporary moment that took her away from the only thing that truly mattered.

The thought of her mother, sick and alone in that healer’s house, brought tears to Y/N’s eyes. The guilt was overwhelming, crushing. Her mother had sacrificed everything for her. How could Y/N leave her now?

Why was she even here? Why did she deserve to be the one chosen? Because of her mother? Or had Eris seen something else in her? Was there something about her that made her worthy of standing next to him, of playing the part of this engaged princess?

A laugh escaped her lips, bitter and hollow.

She cursed her father’s name again, the same bitter, resentful curse she’d been repeating since she was a child. How could he have left them both to fend for themselves? He had disappeared without a trace, without a word.

She felt a bitter pang in her chest when she thought of Azriel. How lucky he was to have had a father, someone who cared for him, someone who fought for him. Azriel—someone who had a name for himself, who had a future, a destiny that was his to shape.

Meanwhile, here Y/N was, caught in a web of lies and promises, trying to fit into a life that wasn’t hers. She was nothing but a pawn in this game. She couldn’t make a name for herself like Azriel, couldn't rise to greatness. She was just a female who had been forced into a role she didn’t understand but needed.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let her emotions control her. She had to focus. She had to do this for her mother. For her mother. She couldn’t afford to think about herself right now.

This engagement to Eris, this life she was now thrust into—none of it mattered as long as she could get her mother the treatment she needed. That was the only thing that kept her from falling apart completely. Eris had promised her mother would be cared for. And even though she didn’t trust him, the way he had spoken about her mother had made her believehim, just for that one thing.

The door creaked open, snapping Y/N from her spiraling thoughts. One of the ladies entered, her voice light, but laced with an undertone of amusement.

“Will you stop staring so hard into the mirror? It might break, you know?”

Y/N blinked, startled. “Wha—when did you come back?”

The lady, Samira, gave her an almost affectionate smile. “Long enough to see you lost in thought, staring at your reflection like you’ve never seen yourself before. But no matter. We need to get you ready. You and Prince Eris are meeting the king soon.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the king. “The king?” Her voice cracked slightly, but she quickly regained her composure.

“Yes,” Samira replied with a touch of amusement, stepping closer to help adjust her gown. “The king is... unwell. Don’t worry about him. He can barely remember his daughter's name, let alone yours.”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of anxiety at the thought of meeting the king, but Samira’s calmness was contagious. “You’ll be fine,” she continued, her hands deftly smoothing down the fabric of Y/N’s gown. “Just remember your story and don’t say anything to upset the king. He’s not likely to remember anyway. But don’t worry—all eyes will be on you.”

“Eyes?” Y/N’s stomach churned. “What’s this about ‘eyes’?”

Samira grinned knowingly as she took a step back, her gaze flickering over Y/N’s dress. “You’ll be stepping out as the engaged couple. The garden party in your honor, remember? We need to make sure everyone sees you and Prince Eris as the perfect match.”

Y/N’s lips twisted into a wry smile as she caught her reflection once more. Perfect match. The thought felt strange on her tongue. “What a joke,” she muttered to herself.

Samira gave her a look, as if sensing her discomfort. “It’s not a joke, not here. The court will be speaking about you both, and you’ll have their attention. Make them remember you. They’ll be whispering your name.”

Y/N’s chest tightened with a complicated mix of emotions, but Samira’s steady presence made her feel as though she could handle it. She could play this part, couldn’t she? For her mother.

Still, as the gown settled around her and the final touches were made, doubts and fears began to rise in her mind. Was she really doing the right thing? Was it worth all of this—this life, these lies—to ensure her mother’s safety? Could she really wear this mask, this façade, for as long as it took?

Her reflection stared back at her with a mixture of uncertainty and defiance.

And for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t sure what came next. But she had to keep moving forward. For her mother.

As Samira left the room and signaled for Y/N to follow her, Y/N found herself staring at the door, her heart filled with questions she didn’t know how to answer.

The grand staircase stretched down before her like a scene from a dream, its marble steps gleaming beneath the soft glow of golden chandeliers. Y/N hesitated at the top, her heart racing in her chest. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing on her, the unknowns that awaited her just beyond the doors below. There was a sense of finality in the air, an unspoken expectation, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was truly ready for this.

Behind her, Samira stepped forward with a quiet grace, her hands brushing against the rich tapestries hanging along the walls. “Your grace,” Samira said, her voice low and steady, “I will escort you to the bottom.”

Y/N nodded, offering a faint smile, grateful for the quiet strength Samira exuded. There was something calming about her presence, though the fear in Y/N’s heart remained thick, unyielding.

They began their descent. The sound of Y/N’s soft footsteps echoed through the hall as they moved slowly down the grand staircase. The air grew heavier with each step, the pressure mounting. At the bottom of the stairs, Eris stood waiting for her, his tall figure framed by the archway leading into the next hall. His posture was regal, almost commanding, but there was something more in the way his eyes met hers—an understanding, perhaps, or something less defined.

His palm was raised, an unspoken invitation. “Shall we?” he said, his voice smooth, carrying the weight of both formality and something more, something that made her pause for a moment.

Y/N took a steadying breath, gathering the courage to place her hand in his. His fingers closed gently around hers, the warmth of his touch grounding her in that moment, even as the tremor of uncertainty ran through her. Samira gave a polite nod before she turned, her steps retreating as she left them alone.

The atmosphere shifted, becoming more intimate in a way that made Y/N’s stomach flip. The vastness of the room around them seemed to shrink, the silence between them stretching like a thin veil. She tried to steady her breathing as they began to walk side by side, Eris leading her down the long corridor toward the King’s Guest Chambers.

“So,” Eris started, his tone light but with a touch of something she couldn’t quite place. “I must admit, you look rather... eye-catching this evening.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a wry smile. “We’re alone, Eris,” she said, her voice dripping with an amused challenge. “You don’t have to pretend to be in love with me just yet.”

Eris’ eyes flickered to her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he quickly recovered. His steps faltered just slightly, but only for a second. He cleared his throat, looking more uncomfortable than she expected. “Oh, I—well, you know, the guards are still around, and there are servants,” he stammered, his voice betraying him for the first time since they’d met.

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath, shaking her head slightly. “Right. Of course.” She shot him a teasing glance, but before she could say anything else, Eris shifted the conversation, his voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone.

“Y/N…” His voice was low, almost hesitant, and it caught her attention immediately. “Your mother… she’s in good hands. I’ve made sure of it. Leone secured the best healers for her care, and I’ve ensured that additional funds were paid for the medicines required for her treatment.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her mind momentarily breaking from the tension of the moment. “You did?” Her voice was soft, and she felt a rush of relief at the thought. “I didn’t have enough... I could never afford...”

Eris nodded, his gaze steady as he looked down at her, as if trying to reassure her. “I know. The treatments she needs are... expensive, and the herbs and potions are coming from abroad, so it may take a little time before they arrive in full, but rest assured, she is being closely monitored. That wasn’t something you could afford before, but I’ve made sure she’s under constant care.”

The words lingered in the air, and Y/N felt something shift in her chest. For the first time in what felt like ages, a weight lifted off her heart. Her mother... was truly being taken care of. In the best possible way.

Y/N let out a quiet sigh, her shoulders relaxing as she allowed herself to breathe a little easier. She hadn’t realized how much of her energy had been consumed by worry for her mother’s health. And yet, here was Eris, someone she barely knew, going out of his way to make sure that her mother had what she needed.

“Thank you,” she whispered, barely able to find the words for the overwhelming relief flooding through her. “I don’t know how to...”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Eris cut in quickly, as if he could sense her hesitance. He gave her hand a slight squeeze, his voice low but firm. “I’m doing what’s right. You shouldn’t have had to fight for this.”

She nodded, her throat tight, grateful beyond words. The kindness in his voice—however it came about—was enough to soften her wary edges just slightly.

Before she could respond, Eris’s voice dropped even lower, almost a whisper as they walked. “Now, don’t get too comfortable. We’re nearly there.”

Y/N blinked, startled. “Wait, we—what?”

He smiled, though it was brief, his lips curving upward as he leaned in just a little closer. “We’re here.”

The words hit her before she had a chance to protest. The large, imposing doors of the King’s Guest Chambers stood ahead of them, the faint murmur of voices coming from within.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she glanced up at Eris, her stomach churning again. “Oh gods. Here we go.” Her hand trembled slightly in his, but she forced herself to stand tall. She wasn’t going to let herself falter now.

Eris seemed to sense her growing anxiety, his grip on her hand steadying. “Relax,” he whispered, the calmness in his tone almost surprising given the situation. “You’ll be fine.”

With a final glance at her, Eris gave a small nod to the guards standing at the door, and it opened with a low creak.

Y/N could feel the tension mounting within her as she stepped over the threshold, and there—standing in front of them, looking far better than she expected—was the King. His appearance was old, frail, but there was a life in his eyes that made him seem... less sick than she had imagined. He had clearly been through years of decline, but there was still a sharpness to him, something unyielding beneath the surface.

As Y/N took in the sight of him, her mind raced. She was about to meet the king—an audience that could very well change everything. And she had to make a good impression. She couldn’t mess this up.

The door behind them clicked shut, the sound echoing in the silence.

Eris gave her hand a final squeeze. “Relax,” he murmured again, before stepping forward, leading them both into the room.

The King’s chambers were dimly lit, filled with ancient tapestries and relics of a long-past era, but despite the ornate surroundings, it was clear that time had been cruel to him. His regal posture, once proud, was now bent and frail as he stood with a slight tremble in his hands. His gaze flicked between Eris and Y/N with a kind of slow curiosity, as if he were trying to piece them together.

After a moment of silence, the King’s lips quirked into a smile, albeit a crooked one. "Ah, prince Eris," he began, his voice raspy but oddly warm. "Quite the surprise, I must say. You’ve gone and gotten yourself engaged. Quite sad, though, that you didn’t pick my daughter, but—" he paused, his eyes glinting mischievously, "at least you’ve chosen someone from my lineage… apparently."

Eris’ lips curled into a smooth, controlled smile as he stood taller, his posture unchanged. "Indeed, Your Majesty," he replied, his voice steady and polished. "I believe this union will be most beneficial for all involved. As for your daughter… well, she is already well cared for in her own way."

The King nodded thoughtfully, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the armrest of his chair. "Hmm, yes, of course. Quite the match you’ve made then. How did you two even meet?" he asked, leaning forward in his seat, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he studied them both.

Y/N froze, the question unexpected and a little too pointed for her liking. She hadn’t exactly been prepared for this—this kind of scrutiny, so early on. A part of her wanted to hide behind her words, to retreat into herself, but she knew she couldn’t. This was a test, one she needed to pass.

Eris smoothly stepped in, answering the question with the same practiced ease he always seemed to have. "We met in an unexpected way," he began, keeping his tone light and engaging. "Though perhaps not quite as romantic as some would hope. There were matters of necessity involved." His smile deepened, turning charming but still impersonal. "But it was fortuitous, Your Majesty. Everything fell into place."

Y/N stood beside him, her hands clenched at her sides, unsure of how to react. She swallowed hard, her mind swirling with the absurdity of it all. It was a strange mix of relief and tension. Her heart raced as she watched the King’s expression. His gaze was fixed on them, calculating. He was still not fully convinced, and his suspicion lingered in the air like an invisible fog.

The King’s brow furrowed, and he raised his hand, gesturing idly as if lost in thought. "I see. My daughter, Leone, did speak of the family’s… history. How, supposedly, this branch of our lineage had been lost to time." He squinted at Eris, then Y/N, as though trying to unravel some hidden truth from their faces. "Tell me, how did you convince my daughter of your... authenticity? Prince Eris how are you so surely tying your family history with our seemingly unknown branch?"

Y/N’s stomach flipped, the question more unnerving than she anticipated. Her mind whirred, trying to find the right answer. What had Leone told him? What had been said to paint this story of their family’s legitimacy? She wasn’t even sure herself, having only recently learned of it. She could feel the weight of the King's gaze drilling into her, and her mind became a whirlwind of thoughts, swirling and turning.

But before she could think too much, a voice interrupted her thoughts. Eris spoke again, his voice cutting through the tension with calm precision. “Your Majesty, my family’s history is not one to be easily explained in a few words,” he said, his tone both respectful and deflective. "But, rest assured, our intentions are pure, and this union will serve both our houses well."

Y/N’s head spun as the conversation continued, the King’s voice growing quieter and more thoughtful, yet his eyes never left them. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was probing them, digging for something he was not willing to show. The deeper they went into their explanation, the more she felt like they were walking on a fine line—one misstep, and everything would come crashing down.

Then, suddenly, the King stopped mid-sentence, his eyes glazing over with an unsettling shift. His frail hand trembled as he clasped it against his chest. A quiet muttering escaped his lips, incoherent at first, like he was lost in some strange dream.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She exchanged a brief, confused look with Eris, who had stiffened at the odd change. The King’s head jerked up, his eyes wide and unfocused, his body trembling as he began to speak louder, more erratically.

“No… no, not her… she’s... she’s—” the King stuttered, his voice rising in pitch. “She must—mustn’t get away! She must not! Mustn’t... No, not again! Not again!” His words were nonsensical, a jumble of madness, and Y/N couldn’t make sense of them.

Eris’ grip on her hand tightened instantly, a sharp jolt of awareness coursing through her. He had gone completely still, his eyes never leaving the King, who was now slapping his own face with increasing force.

“No!” the King shouted suddenly, his voice shrill. He began to hit his head with his fists, his body jerking violently as if battling invisible forces. “You’re all cursed! Cursed! All of you—all of you!” His words came faster, more frenzied, his mind unraveling before their eyes.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat, panic rising like a wave in her chest. She wanted to step forward, to do something—but her feet were frozen in place. The sight of the King, so out of control, was more unnerving than she could have imagined. She felt like they were on the edge of something much darker, something far worse than just a simple meeting.

Eris didn’t hesitate. He jerked her hand hard, pulling her sharply to the side as his voice rang out, commanding and urgent. “Get back!” he barked at the guards, his tone cutting through the chaos like a blade. “Now!”

The guards, who had been standing by the door, immediately rushed into the room, drawn by the King’s erratic behavior. But Eris was already pulling Y/N away, guiding her quickly out of the room with forceful steps, his grip unrelenting as he pushed her ahead of him.

Y/N’s mind was reeling, her heart hammering in her chest as the world seemed to spin around her. They didn’t stop until they were far enough down the hall, far away from the madness that had erupted in the King’s chambers.

Eris’ breathing was heavy, his usual composure slipping for the first time since Y/N had met him. He didn’t let go of her hand, even as they came to a halt, his face pale, his jaw clenched.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice quieter now but still tense.

Y/N could barely catch her breath, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts. She nodded slowly, unable to form any words. Her mind was still trying to catch up with the rapid sequence of events. The King… what had just happened? The madness, the erratic behavior—it was unlike anything she had ever seen.

Eris stood in front of her, his gaze searching hers, as though looking for signs of weakness, or something deeper in her reaction. "You’re safe now," he said, though his voice lacked its usual smoothness. It was strained, as if he, too, was coming to terms with the terrifying shift that had just taken place.

The silence between them stretched thick, the tension still crackling in the air.

A few minutes had passed before Y/N was able to collect herself. Her breaths had slowed, and her hands no longer trembled, but the memory of the King’s sudden outburst lingered in her mind like a dark shadow. Eris remained at her side, his usually composed demeanor returning as he led her down the hall toward the sprawling garden where the party awaited them. The weight of what had just occurred hung heavily in the air between them, neither of them speaking at first.

Finally, as they rounded a corner, Y/N broke the silence, her voice quieter than she intended. “What the hell was that back there?”

Eris glanced at her, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as though considering his words carefully. “The King is sick,” he said simply, but the weight of his words was enough to send a chill down her spine.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked, her brow furrowing. “He looked completely… unhinged. I thought I was going to—”

“No, not like that,” Eris interjected, cutting her off with a slight shake of his head. “At first glance, you wouldn’t even know. He’s sick in ways you can’t see, not unless you’ve known him for a long time, like I have.” He sighed, his voice laced with a coldness Y/N had never heard from him before. “It’s not obvious, but it’s there. He's losing his grip on reality little by little. He’s been this way for years now. And Leone... she’s been handling more of the kingdom's affairs than most people realize. It’s why we didn’t worry too much when planning this whole thing and Leone having to cover for you. He is too ill to even remember."

Y/N absorbed his words, the reality of the King's state slowly sinking in. But there was something else lingering in the air, something Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Eris continued, his voice taking on a more neutral tone. “Leone is already in charge of many of the kingdom’s matters. She’s practically running everything. Soon enough, she’ll take her father’s place as queen. It’s only a matter of time now.”

Y/N gave him a sideways glance, her mind still reeling from the oddity of the King’s behavior. She didn’t know if she could ever get used to the sharp realities of this world—the political games, the whispered power plays, and the looming threats of madness hidden beneath the surface.

As they approached the gardens, the sound of laughter and the hum of conversation reached them, signaling the start of the party. The scene before them was nothing short of breathtaking.

The Montesere gardens sprawled out before them like something out of a dream. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and citrus blossoms, their vibrant colors spilling over from decorative stone planters. Lush greenery formed pathways that led through ornate arches adorned with ivy and fragrant vines, while stone fountains gurgled softly in the background. The party was set on large, elegant terracotta terraces, draped with silk curtains that swayed lazily in the warm evening breeze. The atmosphere was rich with the charm of history, yet alive with modern elegance.

Y/N felt a sudden wave of nerves as the eyes of the guests turned toward them. Her breath caught in her throat as their gazes swept over her, appraising, judging, as if trying to find her place in this strange, new world. The weight of their attention felt suffocating, as though she were caught in the middle of a stage play where everyone knew their part, but she had forgotten hers.

Eris, ever the master of composure, smiled—though Y/N could tell it was a practiced one, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He stepped closer to her, his hand sliding possessively around her waist, pulling her closer to him. His touch was firm, almost protective.

"Just follow my lead, Princess," he whispered into her ear, his voice smooth, low, and deceptively calm. "I’ve got this."

Y/N nodded, swallowing her uncertainty, and let him guide her further into the garden, feeling the eyes of the nobles and foreign dignitaries watching every movement she made. As they reached the center of the party, the music quieted, and a hush fell over the crowd.

Leone stood at the podium, a vision of poise and elegance, her posture straight and regal, her gaze scanning the gathered guests. As she began her speech, Y/N felt the weight of her words settle into her bones.

"I’m pleased to welcome you all to this celebration,” Leone began, her voice clear and commanding. “As some of you may know, it is with great joy that we announce the engagement of my dear distant cousin, Amira Yasmin Idrissi, to prince Eris Vanserra of the Autumn Court. A union between two families, bound by blood and destiny, that will surely bring prosperity to us all.”

Y/N felt her stomach twist at the mention of her fake name, Amira Yasmin Idrissi—the name she’d had to adopt for this game of royal politics. A name that didn’t belong to her, but which she had to wear like a mask, like a second skin. She could feel every eye in the crowd on her, and yet, she forced herself to stand taller, to lift her chin, to wear the mask of a princess even if it felt suffocating.

Leone continued, her speech a mixture of formal pleasantries and diplomatic niceties. As she spoke of Y/N, her words were laced with calculated compliments, but Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Leone was using this moment to secure her own position, to strengthen her image as the future queen.

As Leone spoke of her new relative’s “bright future,” Y/N found herself caught in a battle with her own mind, the voice inside her head questioning everything. She was supposed to be this poised, composed female who could command the room with grace. And yet, the tension in her shoulders and the knot in her stomach made her feel more like an imposter than ever.

But Eris was by her side, as always. His presence was a silent anchor, his hand at her waist steady and unyielding. His grip tightened briefly, and beneath the table, his fingers brushed hers. The gesture was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough.

A sense of calm—unexpected, almost unnatural—washed over her in that moment. He was there. He was with her. And though their situation was built on lies, there was something strangely comforting about the idea of having him at her side.

The speech went on, and Y/N kept her face carefully neutral, responding with polite nods when necessary, offering nothing more than smiles. But every now and then, she felt his hand beneath the table, his fingers warm against hers, offering her reassurance in the only way he could.

As the evening progressed, the conversations grew louder, and the guests more animated, and Y/N soon found herself surrounded by a small cluster of nobles—officials from the Autumn Court, with their sharp tongues and inflated egos. The conversations were laced with subtle insults, veiled under layers of politeness.

One of the males—Lord Varin, if she recalled correctly—smiled condescendingly at her. “It must be such a relief to finally find someone of your caliber to marry,” he said, his tone dripping with mock sweetness. “One might say your beauty might be a tad... beneath expectations for such a prestigious family, but I suppose it’s all about making the right connections.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, her hand itching to lash out, but before she could speak, Eris intervened, his voice smooth but sharp.

“Lord Varin, I’m sure your expectations are as distorted as your sense of charm,” Eris said, his words laced with venom. “But, my dear fiancé, has qualities that are far more important than mere appearances. Though, I understand your sudden outburst, considering how such beauty hasn't been found in the Autumn Court in what?...ever. I’d suggest you focus on your own rather than judge hers.”

The sharp retort left Y/N momentarily stunned. Eris had defended her—no hesitation, no flinch. And it wasn’t just an act, she could feel it in his voice, in the protective way he spoke about her.

The evening continued, but as the night wore on, the distance between Y/N and Eris grew. She was soon pulled away by one guest after another, her composure tested with every conversation. She had to smile, nod, and maintain her position, even as the weight of the lies and the unfamiliarity of the situation wore on her.

Finally, just before the evening’s end, Eris stepped forward again, addressing the crowd with that same polished smile, the one that made him seem untouchable.

“My beautiful Amira,” he began, his voice heavy with affection, “we met by chance, but it was fate that made her mine. From the moment I saw her, I knew I had to make her my wife. Tomorrow, we shall be married, and I will call her my beautiful wife from that day forward.”

Y/N froze. Her heart slammed into her chest, her breath catching in her throat. Tomorrow? She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. This wasn’t part of the plan. Tomorrow? Her entire life had been spent in Montesere, surrounded by familiar faces, but now... now she was being torn away, being pushed into a future she hadn’t anticipated.

As the applause echoed around her, Y/N felt the reality of her situation hit her like a cold wave.

And then, as Eris finished his speech, Y/N slipped away into the garden, her thoughts racing. Samira and Nouria were by her side in an instant, following her as she made her way out of the crowd.

“What the hell is going on?” Y/N muttered, her voice a mixture of disbelief and panic. “Tomorrow? He can’t mean it.”

Nouria, always the calm one, glanced at Samira before speaking, her voice quiet but resolute. “You do have to return to the Autumn Court, Amira. The marriage was always part of the plan. It was just a matter of time.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, the realization hitting her like a bolt of lightning. “I... I have to go back. To the Autumn Court.”

Her voice trembled, a flood of emotions rising in her chest. Her life had been here in Montesere. She had spent years in this land, and now... now she was being pulled away. She hadn’t signed up for this—hadn’t signed up for him. But as she stood there, surrounded by her two closest allies, she knew one thing for certain.

This was just the beginning.

The room smelled of roses, lavender, and something sweet—perhaps a hint of cinnamon—and yet, it was overwhelming. The scent lingered in her senses, filling every breath she took as Nouria and Samira worked around her. They moved with an elegant efficiency, their hands delicate yet firm, as if they had done this a thousand times before.

Y/N sat in front of the grand mirror, staring at her reflection, yet unable to fully focus on it. She barely recognized the face staring back at her—the woman who had to wear a mask today, for a life she never truly chose. Her gown was white, an intricate weave of silks and delicate lace that shimmered under the soft light of the room. It was magnificent—regal, even—but it wasn’t her. It was a costume, a dress to make her fit into a role she wasn’t sure she could ever fully inhabit.

Nouria expertly arranged the cascading waves of Y/N’s hair, twisting them into an elegant updo, while Samira applied makeup with deft precision. They had worked in perfect synchrony, their touches gentle but firm.

Y/N could feel the weight of the occasion pressing against her chest. Her heart was a tangled mess of emotions—fear, anger, confusion. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to calm herself. But now, with the gown hugging her body, with her hair done and her makeup perfect, she realized that all of her preparations were nothing more than a way to shield herself from what was truly happening.

"I won’t go through with this," she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible.

"You will," Samira said, her tone unwavering.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the edge of the chair. She wanted to argue, to scream, to throw it all away and run. She wanted to be free—to live a life not defined by the cruel fate handed to her. She thought of the Night Court, of Azriel. He’s so close. He’s within reach now, she thought bitterly. What if he somehow finds out?

Her chest tightened at the thought, but she shut it down immediately. No. I can’t. I won’t let him know.

He must never know.

She could never let Azriel discover that they were siblings. The bond they shared—the one that whispered between them even across vast distances—terrified her. She was about to walk into the Autumn Court, to be bound to a life that kept her near him but also kept her away. She was closer to him than she had ever been before, and that knowledge gnawed at her every waking moment.

Her heart ached for what could have been—for a life she could never have. She had to keep the truth buried, buried deep inside her.

As Nouria tied the final strand of her hair into place, Y/N swallowed hard, staring at her reflection. She didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. This isn’t me, she thought. I am not Amira Yasmin Idrissi. I’m not some foreign princess. I am no one, and I will remain that way.

Her gaze drifted to the door. It was time. The day had arrived. She was going to the Autumn Court. Could he ever feel me? Could he ever sense me?

No. I will make sure of it. I will keep my distance, no matter how close I am. Azriel can never know.

A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. It was followed by the soft, reassuring voice of Nouria, “Amira, it’s time.”

Y/N looked at her reflection one last time. The woman who stared back at her had eyes full of quiet defiance, but also a deep, hollow sadness that she couldn’t erase. With a deep, shaky breath, she nodded. This is for my mother. For security. For the future. She repeated the words in her mind like a mantra.

And then, she stood. The gown fluttered around her feet, its heavy fabric trailing as she took her first step toward the door. No more hesitation. No more fear. She was not Y/N. She was Amira Yasmin Idrissi, the female who had sacrificed everything for the sake of her mother’s memory. And that was enough.

Eris stood before the mirror, dressed in his formal wedding attire, the rich fabric of his tunic dark against his skin. His reflection was flawless—sharp features, tousled hair, and the same intense golden eyes that seemed to always reflect his turbulent emotions. But today, something was missing. Something he couldn’t quite place.

He watched as his servants finished fastening the final pieces of his ceremonial armor, each movement executed with precision.

As he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, the air around him shimmered, and without warning, four envelopes appeared before him, each one glowing faintly with magic. His eyes narrowed. Letters. At this hour?

The envelopes spun in the air for a moment, suspended before him. They were each stamped with the insignia of different courts.

The first was Summer, its wax seal an intricate sunburst that gleamed brightly even in the dim light of his chambers. The second was Winter, its icy blue seal contrasting sharply with the warmth of the room. The third was his father’s seal—Autumn—bold and unmistakable, and the last... Night Court.

He sighed, irritated, and plucked the letter from the Autumn Court first, knowing full well it would be from his father. The harsh scent of pine and smoke seemed to rise from the paper as his eyes scanned the contents.

Eris,

I trust you’ve kept to your word and made the right choice. The news of your engagement has already been sent to all of the High Lords. They are eager to see the new alliance solidified. As for your bride—this “unknown relative” of princess Leone's—while Montesere is a fine match for our interests, I’ll reserve judgment until I meet her myself. I expect you to return home soon so we can discuss this further.

I’ve already sent the messengers. Everyone knows.

His fingers clenched around the parchment. His father’s words were as cold as ever, filled with subtle judgment and that ever-present air of control. Of course, Beron had already told everyone. He always had to be the one to make the announcement. Always had to ensure his name was on everyone’s lips. Eris scowled, tossing the letter aside.

His hands reached for the next letter—the one from Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court.

Eris,

I’ve heard the news of your engagement to a foreign princess from Montesere. Didn’t quite see you as the type to fall for a female from there, but my congratulations. When you return, I’d like to meet the new bride at some point. A few questions I’d like to ask. Be careful though, I've seen that marriages in politics don’t always go as planned. But, of course, I’m sure you know that.

Eris slammed the letter against the desk in frustration. Rhysand. That smug bastard. He couldn’t even wait until the damn wedding was over to make his move. The letter dripped with condescension, as though Rhysand somehow thought he had control over the situation. His congratulations. As if this were a casual affair.

Eris’ jaw tightened. He hated Rhysand with every fiber of his being, and now this?

The last thing he needed today was to deal with that arrogant bastard.

Finally, Eris turned his attention to the remaining letters—the ones from Summer and Winter. But his mind was elsewhere, caught in a storm of thoughts about the marriage, about the bride he was about to meet at the altar, and about everything he had to do to secure his future. He didn’t care about the High Lords or their games. All of this... all of it... was a necessary step in his plan.

With a grim expression, he stood and moved toward the door. He had his role to play, his duty to fulfill. He would do what needed to be done.

The heavy oak doors swung open.

Eris barely noticed the murmurs from the gathered guests, the low hum of anticipation that filled the grand hall. His eyes were fixed entirely on her. On her.

The moment she stepped into view, everything else in the world seemed to fade away. Y/N, in her wedding gown, moved with the fluidity of a dream, her long, dark veil trailing like a shadow behind her. The gown itself shimmered as it caught the light, delicate lace and crystals woven into a masterpiece that made the very air seem to hold its breath.

Her footsteps were slow, measured—each one deliberate, graceful, as if she were moving through time itself. She wasn’t walking toward him, not yet. She was walking toward something much bigger, something far beyond their fleeting connection. But, in this moment, Eris could feel the pull, as if the universe itself had shifted, and there was no longer a choice but to follow.

Her beauty was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was the kind of beauty that left one gasping for air, unable to look away, as though to do so would be to break the delicate spell she cast with every step. The curve of her waist, the soft fall of her hair—her features perfectly sculpted, but not in a way that seemed artificial. No. She was untouchable. She was ethereal.

Her eyes were downcast at first, lips pressed together in a serene but unreadable expression. But as she drew closer, as the tension in the room thickened with every step she took toward him, something shifted in her gaze. She glanced up, meeting his eyes for the briefest moment. And then, she looked away, as if even her gaze upon him was something too fragile to withstand.

Eris' heart stuttered. This was it.

Her gown fluttered against the cool stone floors as she took another step. The distance between them felt impossibly vast, even as she was mere feet away. His pulse quickened. She can’t marry me. He could hardly comprehend what was happening. She couldn’t possibly belong to him. She couldn’t belong to anyone. She had too much fire, too much life within her to be chained to something as empty as this marriage. But then again, what choice did they have?

The moment stretched on, as if the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable to unfold.

Every step felt like it was being measured by the gods themselves. The air in the hall was heavy, suffocating even, and Y/N could feel her pulse thundering in her chest, the rhythm of it too loud in her ears. Her gown, so beautiful and pristine, seemed to drag behind her, the soft lace brushing the floor with every delicate movement.

This is it. This is the moment.

Her veil—fragile, soft, like a barrier between her and the reality she was stepping into—gently swayed with each step. The weight of it settled on her shoulders, pulling her down, reminding her that this was the life she had chosen. Or rather, the life that had been chosen for her.

She had never imagined a wedding like this. She had never imagined him. She had never imagined herself here, standing in front of a sea of unfamiliar faces, moving toward a stranger she barely knew.

Her heart ached with a dull, unspoken grief. Her family, her home, her past… everything was slipping through her fingers, and now, it was just her—the princess.

Her eyes, for a moment, flickered toward the man standing at the altar.

Eris.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him for the first time since the ceremony began. His face was expressionless, his posture perfect. But his eyes… Gods, those eyes.

He was watching her with an intensity that nearly made her falter. The way he looked at her made her feel both seen and desired at the same time.

Focus, Y/N. You are here for the safety. For your mother. For the future. She repeated the words to herself like a mantra. You cannot falter now.

She could feel the pull of his gaze—unwavering, unwavering—and it was enough to bring everything else to a standstill. And yet, the closer she got, the more the heaviness in her chest seemed to grow. Every step toward him felt like a step away from herself.

The world seemed to grow quieter, more distant, until all she could hear was the pounding of her own heartbeat. This is it. The last step. The last time.

Her hand was cool when it settled into his, a perfect contrast to the warmth of his own. He could feel the slight tremble in her fingers, the subtle way she pulled her hand back, almost as if she were already stepping away. It didn’t go unnoticed, and something deep within him twisted at the thought.

The priest—someone Y/N had likely known her entire life, someone she trusted—stepped forward, his voice reverberating across the hall. “We are gathered here today in the sight of the gods, to unite Princess Amira Yasmin Idrissi of Montesere and Lord Eris Vanserra of Autumn. Let us now speak your vows.”

Y/N’s voice was soft but steady as she began, her eyes never leaving the floor. “I, Amira Yasmin Idrissi, promise to be your partner in all things. To share in the joys and the sorrows. To remain steadfast, even when the winds of fate blow hardest against us. I vow to protect what we have, even when the world itself conspires against us.”

Her words hung in the air, suspended between them, heavy with meaning. Eris couldn’t help but notice the way she didn’t speak from the heart. It wasn’t a vow born of love or even genuine affection—it was a vow of duty, of obligation. She had made her choice.

Her voice faltered, and in that instant, something inside of him broke. He squeezed her hand, a small gesture, but one that said more than a thousand words ever could.

Y/N’s eyes snapped to his, and he could see the hesitation there—the uncertainty. 

She had no more fight left in her.

The words left her lips before she could even truly understand them. They felt hollow, like echoes from a distant world. She was giving herself away. Her final remnants of freedom, of hope. The last fragments of the female she had once been.

But the moment Eris squeezed her hand, something changed. A warmth, unexpected, bloomed in her chest. A connection she hadn’t known was there.

His gaze, so fierce, so unwavering, held hers. And for the first time since she had stepped into this hall, she no longer felt alone.

She felt his thumb brush lightly across her hand, a quiet acknowledgment. And for the briefest moment, she didn’t feel the weight of the gown, the veil, the responsibilities pressing down on her.

In that moment, the world around them faded away. All that existed was her and him.

But suddenly, the priest’s voice echoed in the room once more, “Now, you may kiss the bride.”

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Taglist: @batboyslutt @k-godling @littowl @jaybbygrl @kissesfromnovalie @talesofadragon @tele86

[headcanonenthusiast]

Alejandro Vargas NSFW headcanons

This was made with gender-neutral readers in mind.

Ladies, gentleman and everyone in-between, it's him. It's forehead man.

Alejandro is so FINE tho 😍 I'm so excited to be doing headcanons for this man. I'd learn Spanish just for him tbh.

(I completely understand that this type of content is not everyone's cup of tea, and that's ok! But, please scroll and ignore if this type of content isn't your thing as opposed to leaving any sort of negative comments.)

Enjoy!

Nsfw under the cut.

-His hands are absolutely glued to your hips the whole time.

-He gets the widest, most shit-eating grin whenever he manages to hit your g-spot.

-"Listen to those moans. Fuck, is that it? Is that the spot right there, amor?"

-Very confident in the fact that he can make you scream. In fact, he wants you to be loud.

-"Thats it, scream for me. Grita mi nombre. God, the neighbors must be so jealous of me because they aren't the ones making you scream."

-Edges you a lot tbh. Getting to cum immediately w/ him is kinda rare.

-If you make him jealous by talking to someone else, or if you guys just haven't been able to spend time together, he's more likely to edge you for longer.

-"Don't start whining, hermosa/o. You asked for this. Why were you talking to them anyways, hm? Why waste your time on someone like that when you have me?"

-Even if you were just talking to a friend innocently or something, chances of Alejandro's jealousy rising is high.

-He trusts you not to cheat on him, he knows you love him, but that doesn't stop him from being a tiny bit jealous anyway. And that jealously and possessiveness totally seeps into your sex life.

-3 inches soft, 5 inches hard and yall already know it's thick af ( lord.have.mercy🙏🙏🙏🙏)

-The sex is either passionate and rougher or passionate and gentler depending on the mood. But, it's always super passionate. His attention is focused entirely on you, with much deeper strokes if it's gentler.

-Marks you up a lot and doesn't really care who sees them. He wants people to know that you're his.

-"There we go. Look at how pretty your neck is, covered with my hickeys."

-And if you try to wear something that covers the marks, he'll carefully pull it right off of you.

-"No, no. Don't hide the marks, cariño. Why would you be ashamed of showing off how good I make you feel?"

-Will not hesitant to spank you if he doesn't like how you're acting. Slaps your ass and even your pussy/cock with every word he says.

-"Don't use that fucking tone with me. Who do you think you are?"

-Makes you count every slap. If you lose count, he'll start right over and much more harshly. (My dyscalculic ass could never 💀)

-I just know that his ideal introduction to sex is very romantic. Like, candlelight dinner followed by slow dancing that escalates into him carrying you to bed kinda romantic.

-At the end of the day, Alejandro just wants to be close to you. He dislikes quickies for the fact that he wants to spend time and take his time with you. To Alejandro, there's no greater pleasure than the ability to make his partner feel good.

-Will totally worship your body if you're insecure about it. If you ever come to him with your insecurities, his mindset changes from fucking you until the bed breaks to making the sweetest, most tender love imaginable.

-"Aw, look at this body. This gorgeous fucking body. You're crazy for being insecure about all of this."

-"Do you have any idea how many times this body's made me cum? Dios, the thought of this body, the thought of your pussy/dick is enough to make me cum."

-Will also gently massage your thighs as they hug his hips while making love, no matter how big or small they are.

-"Dios mío, these thighs...tan jodidamente increíble."

-Demands that you tell him how amazing you are.

-"Say it, baby. Tell me how beautiful/handsome you are."

-And if you refuse? He'll just keep asking you to, threatening to pull out and not let you finish if you don't.

-"That's not what I asked, mi vida. Say it for me, say how amazing and sexy you are. No dejaré que te corras si no lo haces."

-But the best thing about sex w/ Alejandro if you're feeling insecure and do everything he says? He always let's you cum. Never edges you like he normally would. It's probably because he's not nearly as focused on himself and his own pleasure as he normally would be.

-Enjoys gently cumming inside of you during more gentle sex. Prefers cumming on your pussy/ass/dick or even your chest/belly if it's rougher, though.

-Often shuts his eyes as he finishes, fingers digging into your skin before his grip loosens and his eyes are glued to your face once more. He chuckles while showering your face in kisses, voice hushed and satisfied.

-"Dios mío, that was amazing. Can't believe I'm with someone as wonderful as you, mi amor."

-Almost always hopes you'll agree to taking a bath with him. Like I said, he's all about romantic intercourse, and there's nothing more romantic to Alejandro than getting to wash your body of the mess you've both created.

-And then you're gonna both fall asleep, Alejandro's strong arms wrapped tightly around you while he kisses the back of your neck and shoulders, whispering praises and adoring words.

-Oh, and he usually tries to stay up later than you. Why? Because the look on your face after sex, all satisfied and at total peace, makes him feel accomplished and happy for making you feel good.

Translations: (apologies if anything is inaccurate, online translators can only get you so far :()

Cariño=sweetheart/honey

Amor=love

Hermosa/o=beautiful

Mi vida=my life

Dios/Dios mío=God/my God

Grito mi nombre=Yell out my name

Tan jodidamente increíble=So fucking incredible

No dejaré que te corras si no lo haces=I won't let you cum if you don't

Alejandro has my ❤. He's just so.. 😍

Really enjoyed doing headcanons for him! You can probably tell that I had way more ideas for Alejandro than I did for Gaz (I'm so sorry Gaz enjoyers 😭). I've also intended to do Alejandro for a while, before even Ghost or König. I just did those two first since ik how popular they are.

I'll be doing more headcanons soon, probably more SFW ones, too, because I only have like 2 SFW headcanons on my page 😔.

Feel free to give me suggestions for who to do next!